#how would she know that calling the empress sister would be offensive

[sunsetsmakemesad]

Me when I'm reading a webtoon and the comments are absolutely dragging the character I never really had a strong opinion on:

[criminalmutantsins]

(MK1/12) Kitana and Mileena Headcanons

Kitana:

-Kitana likes Raiden but doesn’t want to pursue a relationship because of their different lifespans.

-She was unintentionally compared to her sister because she wasn’t as interested in combat and was weaker than Mileena.

-She had a small crush on Liu Kang for a couple of years (nothing came of it).

-Kitana is interested in traveling to Earthrealm and experiencing the culture, especially after watching some movies Johnny recommended.

-Kitana chose the fan as her weapon because it matched her more defensive fighting style, but added the blades on the ends for offensive purposes.

-She is very apprehensive of Tanya because she comforted and helped Mileena through her breakups. Kitana sees how much her sister loves Tanya and doesn’t want to see her get it hurt.

-After Jerrod’s death, Kitana became the mediator of Sindel and Mileena’s arguments. She often wonders how he did it so well.

-Her and Sindel had a closer relationship because there was no pressure to train Kitana to be the next Empress and their different personalities matched well. They would often have tea or plant flowers in the gardens.

-The idea of Kitana being Empress became more favorable after her frequent visits to the cities and helping citizens when needed. Her compassion became well renowned.

-As children, Mileena would call her “Kitty”.

Mileena:

-Along with Li Mei, Mileena was trained by General Shao since their brutal fighting styles matched. The two were close when Mileena was a child and young teen but it faded when Shao grew resentful towards Sindel and Jerrod’s rule.

-She’s had multiple secret affairs throughout her teens and early adulthood. They usually ended after Mileena learned she was being taken advantage of or a mutual break up because betrothment was not possible.

-Mileena was a troublemaker and would sneak out multiple times without anyone knowing until she contracted Tarkat from one of those outings.

-Her relationship with Tanya began after Jerrod’s death and Tanya comforted her during the grieving process.

-Mileena came out to Kitana first since she trusted her sister would be there for her and not tell their parents before she did. Kitana and Mileena hugged and the former told her that nothing would break their sisterly bond. She was nervous about coming out to her parents because she didn’t want them to view her differently and the idea of producing an heir weighed heavy on her. She was happy when they assured her that they still love her and nothing would change that. Mileena cried during both instances.

-Mileena chose the sai as her weapon since it matched her aggressive fighting style and made her focus on defensive fighting.

-Mileena chose Kitana to replace Shao because of her sister’s compassion and wish to unite Outworld, something Shao lacked.

-Her and Jerrod had a closer relationship because she could vent to her father about her worries and frustrations with being the future empress without judgment. They also spent time walking in the gardens and having picnics.

-After Sindel started training Mileena, their relationship soured since it became the basis of it and led to many disagreements.

-As children, Kitana would call her “Milly”.

[guiltydumpling]

The Guard: Chapter 3

[KUVIRA X READER ROYAL AU]

Summary: “I called you all here to announce that we have a guest arriving sometime later today. Princess Y/N of the Kingdom of Elysian” The people in the throne room looked at one another confusingly. “Their palace was under sieged and the king had to send the princess away to keep her safe from any assassination attempts. Their kingdom has done a lot for us and has proven to be great allies for generations. She’s come a long way and has been traveling for a week, I expect nothing less than for all of you to treat her as you do a member of the royal family and to attend to everything and anything, she might ask for… This poor child has already been through too much.” There was silence in the throne room for a while, as they let the information sink in. “Dismissed.”

A/N: Hi beautiful beings <3 This chapter has mature content (i.e. masturbation and sexual thoughts) so please don’t proceed if that makes you feel uncomfortable !! 

P.S. I hope you are all enjoying the story as much as I am and I can’t wait to post the next chapters cause thing’s are gonna get interesting... and sad. According to my outline there’s about 4 more chapters left for this short story and I am exciteeeeedd

Word Count: 5.2k

A month goes by and each day you start to become more okay. You received a letter from your father two weeks ago and he assured you that things were slowly getting better and that you would be home soon enough. That letter was enough to comfort you for the next days to come while you in were Zaofu.

Meanwhile, since that night in your chambers, you and Kuvira grew to become incredibly close. You finally convinced her to start reading the book you recommended her which she reluctantly did after over a month of you suggesting it. It became a routine of yours to watch her spar every morning with the twins or train the new recruits.  She was a natural leader and everyday you admired her more and more. Occasionally you would bring a paper and a pencil to sketch her. She noticed you drawing her one time and you told her you just wanted to “practice” which she obviously didn’t buy but didn’t bring it up again. You enjoyed watching Kuvira in her element.

Some nights, she would join you for drinks in your chambers with Zhu Li and other nights it was just the two of you. You would be lying if you’d say that you didn’t prefer the latter. You talked about anything and everything. You didn’t have much of an interesting life and you were always excited to hear about Kuvira’s adventure and experiences as the Captain of the Guard. Everyday you fought the urge to do something you might regret with her and your self-control was getting weaker each day. Suck it up. You would say to yourself.

Before Avatar Korra left, Opal was able to convince Suyin to let her train with the Avatar and the rest of the new air benders in the mainland. Tears of joy nearly fell from your eyes when Opal was saying goodbye to you. You rooted for her so much and you were overwhelmed with pride when she chose to follow a different path rather than what was originally laid out for her.

What you would give to be able to forge your own path. But you didn’t have that luxury. Not anymore. Not since your sister’s death and the siege on Elysian. You had a duty to your people and to your father now.

You spent most of your afternoons in the library with Kuvira or in the garden with the Empress. You never knew your mother, so you were always eager to spend time with Suyin and have conversations you wished you had growing up. You really only had Zhu Li to talk to about things on your mind and it was comforting to know that Suyin was there too.

You were surprised to learn that your mother was born and raised in Zaofu. She was one of Suyin’s ladies and that she was originally supposed to marry your father to strengthen your kingdom’s alliance. You never knew this story and you never thought to ask about how your father met your mother. You always assumed it was like any other royal union. Early engagement and marriage. But this was so much more than that.

“Your mother was my best friend. And at the time of my engagement I was in love with somebody else. An architect.” She starts

“Emperor Bataar?” you ask, and she nods in confirmation. You were walking along the garden, collecting flowers to send to Opal along with many gifts from the Empress.

“While your father was here to court me, I would ask your mother to always cover for me so I can sneak out to secretly see Bataar. And along the way, your mother and your father got along really well. Not that I minded, in fact, I was happy for them. Your father talked to me about our marriage and we both agreed that neither of us wanted it. We ended up becoming good friends instead and I gave him permission to court your mother while I proceeded to marry the man I truly loved.” She explains and you nodded fully invested in the tale, urging for her continue. “Your father and I married separately but happily, and we knew that we owed it to each other. We loved one another not romantically but as people who we were thankful to have in our lives. After that, we didn’t need the marriage to strengthen the alliance anymore. Because we knew that no matter what, we would do whatever we can to be of service to each other.” The empress finishes as she picks the last flower for her arrangement. “Thank you for telling me this your majesty.” You say with soft smile.

~ ~ ~

You were playing the piano in the library while Kuvira sat on the couch reading the book you told her to read while humming lazily to the tune you were playing. “Her majesty told me about how my parents met” you say after you stop playing and Kuvira looks up from her book. “Did you know that my father and the empress were supposed to get married?” you continued and Kuvira raises her brows in surprise “No, I did not” she answers. “Neither did I” you say with amusement

“You would have been the princess of Zaofu” Kuvira suggested

“Or I probably would have never existed at all” You retort and Kuvira shakes her head

“Well then thank the spirits above that they did not end up marrying one another” she says as she goes back to reading her book. You cocked your head to the side in confusion. “Why is that?” You ask Kuvira and she looks up from her book once more. She takes a moment to respond. “A world without you would be bleak. Not really a world worth living in if you ask me.” She says in a serious tone before going back to her book once more.

Heat rushes through your body and you fought the urge to smile. Kuvira did this a lot. She would compliment you or say sweet things to you so passively that you sometimes wondered if she knew how this, how she affected you.

You went back to playing the piano.

~ ~ ~

You just got out of bed when Kuvira walks into your chambers with morning tea for you and Zhu Li and you two thank her. “Are you training anybody today Vee?” you ask Kuvira as you take sip from the delicious tea while Zhu Li brushes your hair. “Nope, not today princess” and you frown slightly.

As inappropriate as it was, seeing Kuvira breathing heavily and sweating was the highlight of your day. If you couldn’t touch her, the least you could do was look at her. And it wasn’t like you were harming her or anything, you just needed to be entertained.

“Why princess? You had something in mind?” Kuvira asks and you thought about it for a while before an idea struck you.

“I was wondering if you could train me” you suggested and Kuvira raises an eyebrow at you. “You want me to train you?” she asks just to make sure she heard you right and you nod your head with a hum

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to fight, just in case a noble decides to piss me off” you say jokingly and Kuvira laughs “Fine. The nobles would most probably deserve it anyway” Kuvira jokes along and Zhu Li joins in on the laughter.

You were now on the training ground and you had on black bottoms that were made of spandex that hugged your legs perfectly along with a tank top similar to Kuvira’s, except yours was a deep red. Kuvira on the other hand, was in her usual training clothes.

“Okay so first thing’s first you’re going to have to learn defense before you can go offense” She explains to you. “Why can’t I do offense?” you ask “Well mainly because defense is more practical for somebody of your status and judging by your eagerness to learn, you’ll most likely start picking fights with random people all over the palace” she says with a playful look and you mischievously smile “just the nobles” you answer and earning a chuckle from Kuvira

The training started and you noticed that Kuvira wasn’t training you like she would train other newcomers. First of all, she was too gentle. She would pretend to do offensive techniques on you so that you can practice the application of the new defense move you learned, and you easily won everytime and it bothered you.

After she complimented you once you tried to do another defensive technique, you had enough. “Stop it” you say seriously, and she looks at you in confusion. “I’m sorry?” she asked “Stop giving me the special treatment. I know how you train people, and this is not it.” You say as you turn to her to meet her deep green eyes and her features harden. “You want me to order you around?” she asks and your stomach flutters. Something about the thought of her “ordering you around” was incredibly intriguing and hot. So, you nod. She looks at you for few more seconds before she speaks “okay then”

Moments later and Kuvira didn’t hold back in “ordering you around”.

“Tighter” she says as you grabbed a hold of her wrist in an attempt to stop it from coming at you. “Harder” as you try to fight against its force. “Stop” she says, and you do. “Horse stance” she demands, and you comply.

You stare straight ahead and Kuvira circles you, closely observing as she tries to look for something to correct. “your form is right, but you can be easily knocked over. The point of this is for you to be able to withstand force.” She explains and you nod. She kneels in front of you just enough for head to be leveled with your hips “look at me” she says, and you do.

Kuvira kneeling in front of you in that top with sweat dripping from her neck to her chest was a sight you might never be able to rid your memory of. She put both of her palms on either side your thighs and squeezes them, causing your heart to raise. “I need you to tense these up for me” and you do. “harder” she says, and you comply. She smiles at you before saying “good”

Kuvira slowly gets up without breaking eye contact and she was directly in front of you now. Her face and her body just inches away and your breath hitched when you felt her place both her hands on your waist. She dragged one hand to your abdomen to press it. “Now I need you to tighten this for me” she says. For me. At this point she can ask you to jump off a cliff for her and you might probably do it.

She is still looking directly at you, “I want you to think of something that gets your body to tense up. Anything at all” She tells you and you furrow your brows in confusion “what do you mean” you ask “What gets you riled up? What gets your body to react and stiffen?” she explains, and your mind flies to images of Kuvira immediately.

“Close your eyes and picture it, something that will get your body to physically react” she suggests, and you do. You close your eyes and picture things that might get you to tense up. Kuvira.

Her hands all over your body. Tracing kisses all over your neck to your collarbones then down your chest. One hand holding you by the waist and the other squeezing your breast. You think about her pushing your dress up to grab your thighs. Fingers inching slowly towards your heat to tease you as you feel her heavy breathing. You think about her pressing her middle and ring finger against your heat over your underwear and moves it agonizingly slow that your knees would buckle from arousal. You think about her wanting you. Pleasing you.

Naturally, your body stiffens. “Very good princess” Kuvira whispers in your ear. The thoughts running through your head along with your proximity with Kuvira was beginning to be too much for you to handle. You feel warmth pooling at your center and your breathing was starting to become heavier. Suck it up. You thought to yourself. “Open your eyes. You can relax now.” She demands and you follow standing up right once more. You see a faint smile playing on her lips. Her lips. “I want this much tension in your body everytime we train. Got it princess?” She tells you and you simply nod unable to form words, still feeling flustered.  

“How does it feel?” She asks you and you had to hum, indicating for her to repeat the question because your mind was still elsewhere. After she repeats the question you think for a moment. All you felt right now was desire and frustration from not being able to do anything about your desire. What do you feel?

“I feel… tired” you manage to say, and she nods her head in agreement. “We can continue another day. You should freshen up now. I’ll take you back to your chambers” she offers, and you shake your head no. “It’s okay I can head back there myself. Why don’t you go freshen up as well and I’ll see you after lunch?” you suggest, and she hesitates for a moment before agreeing. You turn to leave, and you feel your head start to spin. Was it from training or arousal? You will never know.

You reach your chambers and thankfully Zhu Li was already there tidying things up and does a curtsy when she sees you. You smile at her and you plopped yourself down on the couch not wanting to ruin the bed she just fixed. You close your eyes for a moment, and you feel Zhu Li’s eyes on you and as expected, you open your eyes to see her sitting across from you.

“Can I ask you a question?” you say to Zhu Li and she nods. You bite your lip feeling a little bit embarrassed by the question you want to ask but if anyone can help you it would be no other than Zhu LI. “How do you find… other women?” you ask her

“How do I find other women… physically or emotionally?” she asks, and you answer with “both”. “Well your highness, I think they’re really beautiful. All unique in their own way. As for emotionally… I guess I admire them, mostly women who are good in combat. Or outspoken.” She answers and you shake your head.

“That’s it? You don’t think about them… or try to not think about them at all? Or maybe wonder if… they might… think about you too?” you say, your voice trailing off and Zhu Li raises a brow at you. “You mean Kuvira?” she asks, and your eyes widen in surprise “What?! Where for spirits sake did you get that idea?!” you ask trying to not sound defensive but obviously failing.

“I’ve known you since you were a child your highness. I know you’re reserved and most of the time untrusting. But with Kuvira… You’re always glowing around her. I’ve never seen you more comfortable with anybody else since your sister” She explains “Not to mention that your face gets red after every single compliment she gives you” she playfully adds, and you bury your face to your hands in embarrassment. There was no point in hiding it now.

You let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t know what to do Zhu Li” you say as you look back up at her. “What do I do?”

“As a friend… I would advise you to follow your heart. Cliché, but that’s the only way to be happy. And you deserve to be happy.” She says and you smile at her. “But as a royal subject, I would advise you to think about it carefully. At the end of the day, you are still an heir. The only heir at that. And although things have been more progressive since the Avatar admitted her love for Ms.Sato, it is still not generally accepted. Especially for people with your title. A title that requires heirs and a title that would require you to marry not for love, but for power and security.” She explains and you nod your head in understanding. You already knew these things. Which is why you never acted on your urges before because it would just be pointless. But it felt a lot more real now that it was somebody else who was saying these things to you. The stakes felt heavier. “Whatever you decide to do, I will support you. But I beg you… think about it” Zhu Li adds, and you nod your head once more. “Thank you for speaking your mind Zhu Li. I can always count on you to tell me the what I need to hear” you say before standing up. “Shall I draw you a bath?” Zhu Li asks, and you say yes.

You touch the water to check the temperature. Deciding it’s warm enough you start to disrobe before soaking in the bath. You exhale loudly as you let the warm water ease your muscles. I’m definitely going to feel this tomorrow. While scrubbing off the sweat and dirt on your body, your mind starts to replay the events this morning. You recall the feeling of Kuvira’s breath tickling your ear and her hands on your waist. The image of her on her knees in front of you, breathing heavily and glistening with sweat. You feel the warmth between your legs once more and you press them together to try to alleviate the sharp tingle.

You try to ignore the sensation between your legs as you proceed to rinse the lather off your body before you submerge yourself deeper into the bath. It was still tingling. Letting out an exasperated sigh, “fuck” you whisper to yourself and you close your eyes.

You remember your conversation earlier with Zhu Li about your desire to pursue Kuvira being impractical. You knew it was. But is it so bad that you want her anyway? Nobody will ever know right? How bad you want to feel her lips against your own. How you want to entangle your fingers through her thick hair. How you want her to kiss you all over your body. To feel her fingers there.

You peeked at the door to check if it was locked and with a shameful blush, you slipped a hand between your legs. I might as well get something out of this you thought. Your one hand rubbed against your sex in slow circles and you gasped when you started to increase your pacing. You dragged your free hand across your body to massage your left breast imagining it was Kuvira’s instead and you couldn’t help but let out soft moan escape your lips.

Your legs were starting to shake, and you slipped your middle and ring finger in and you had to bite on your lip to keep yourself from making anymore noise. Your fingers pumped in and out and you bring your other hand from your left breast to press against your clit. As you fingered yourself, along the way you pumped deep enough to find your sweet spot and your eyes widened. “Yes…” you moaned as you continued to pump your fingers making sure that you were hitting the right spot, but your body demanded more.

You increase your pace and you lifted your hips to rock them and match the rhythm of your fingers while your other hand continued to rub your clit. This time you didn’t bother to stop yourself from making noise anymore. “Fuck, Kuvira” you moaned, and you felt yourself clenching around your fingers. You were so close.

You put your hips back down and instead lifted your legs to rest it on either side of the tub, comfortably spreading your legs apart. You continued to pump your fingers and your hand moved to your neck, putting enough pressure to limit your air supply and this turned you on even more. Your mind replaced the hand around your neck with Kuvira’s as she whispered dirty things in your ear. “I want you to come for me princess” You imagine, practically hearing her voice. “Yes… oh fuck yes…” you moaned as you shut your eyes and your body starts to shake as you reach your climax and you had to bite your lip to keep you from screaming Kuvira’s name. You couldn’t help but let a string of moans slip from your mouth and occasionally Kuvira’s name as you continued to slowly pump your fingers, letting yourself ride your orgasm out.

Finally pulling your fingers out, you rinse them in water, and you emerge your body from the bath, your legs still shaking slightly. You patted yourself dry before draining the water from your tub. You turned to see yourself in the mirror and your cheeks and lips were more pigmented than they usually were which you admittedly kind of liked. It made you look very relaxed and problem free which for a moment back there, you were. And you knew in your heart no matter how much it embarrassed you, that whatever you just did, would not be the last time.

~ ~ ~

Two weeks go by and you were practically touching yourself to the thought of Kuvira every chance you got. It was starting to become a problem. Especially since Kuvira was really comfortable around you as well which meant more touches, more jokes, flirty lines, and innuendos. You hated yourself for it. You felt icky.

It wasn’t your first time touching yourself of course, it was just your first time touching yourself with someone in mind. You already knew she had similar feelings for you, but you doubt it was as strong as yours. And who knows, maybe it was just her being intoxicated that one night that led her to almost kiss you.

You had moments with Kuvira where she would intentionally let her touch linger a while longer than necessary and you just know that she knows how much it drives you wild. She would chuckle at you whenever she would catch you staring at her or whenever she’d witness you blush from one of her comments about you. It was as if she wants you to want her, and it was extremely frustrating.

Your combat training continued a few more sessions before you had to stop because she needed to train newcomers and you would be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed. You tried giving her a lesson in archery once only to have Kuvira realize in that moment that she hated the sport, which you didn’t really quite understand if she really thought it wasn’t for her or if she just didn’t like the way you thought her in that one session. You were hoping for the former.

You were now situated on the couch in your chambers outlining a sketch of Kuvira from the training this morning. Moments later and you were drawing her arms. I wonder how it would feel wrapped around me. You blush and move on to her hands, her fingers. Those long and strong fingers must feel good pressed against me. And you feel the familiar warmth pooling between your legs, and you stop drawing. “Why the fuck am I like this?” You ask yourself quietly before placing the sketchbook down and slowly spread your legs comfortably on the couch.

You let out a deep sigh before undoing your night robe to expose your naked body. You lightly twist your nipples in between you thumb and your index before sliding your hand between your legs. You let out a soft moan when you start rubbing slow circles against your heat and you let your head fall on the couch, relishing the sensation. You close your eyes and your mind replaces your hand with Kuvira’s like you would usually do.

You start to rock your hips against your hand, and you increase your pace. “Spirits… fuck…” you moaned. You felt your hand starting to slip from your clit because of how wet you were, and this turned you on even more. You kept the fast pace and your legs were now starting to shake. You let go of your breast and gripped the side of the couch to release some of the tension you were building up in your body. You were so close to the edge and you were breathing so heavily now.

Knock knock

Your eyes snap open and you immediately get up from the couch to look over at the door. “Who is it?” you yelled with a hint of annoyance hoping they would get the memo and leave.

Knock knock

You huffed in frustration and secured your robe around your body in an attempt to look somewhat presentable. You stood up from the couch and walked over to the door to open it and you were surprised when you see Kuvira standing there with an unreadable expression. She was still in her uniform, but without the metal armor.

“I finished your book” she says, and your eyes widen in surprise

“That’s um… great?” you answered not quite sure why she had to come all this way at this hour to tell you that. “How’d you find it?” you ask

“I think it’s stupid.” She answers and you were taken back, “excuse me?” you ask somewhat offended. “May I come in?” she asks, and you let her.

You close the door behind you and Kuvira start to pace back and forth before she stops to lock eyes with you.

“Why would you make me read this? You told me it was a story of courage!” She says, frustration laced in her tone. “It is!” you answered back starting to feel annoyance amidst the confusion. “No, it isn’t! They both die in the end because of their stupidity and greed, Romeo should have just stayed away from Juliet in the first place!” she explained, and you were still confused as to why this affected her so much.

“Romeo loved Juliet. And for him, it didn’t matter if their families were never going to accept them because he was willing to risk everything just for her and her for him” You try to explain calmly, not wanting to rile Kuvira even more which seemed to work because Kuvira’s features softened. She walks towards you and stops when she was only a foot away from you. She stares into your eyes for a while before letting out a sigh.

“Do you really believe that?” she asks in a low voice. And you understand now. She was referring to the two of you. You nod, unable to form words at the moment.

“It doesn’t make sense Y/N” she says and your heart flutters when you hear your name fall from her mouth. She’s only every called you “your highness” or “princess” despite giving her the permission to call you by your name. Now she’s used it, and all you want to do is to hear her say your name over and over.

“What’s the point in pursuing someone if you both know that it will never work? That no matter how much you love one another; you just aren’t meant for each other. What do you do when all you want is to hold somebody in your arms and tell that person how you truly feel, only to have to let that person go at the end? What happens then?” She explains and your heart is now beating out of your chest. You try to fight the tears that are welling in your eyes and you don’t break eye contact with Kuvira.

“I don’t know… But isn’t better to live a life knowing love than not at all?” you start. You walk towards Kuvira. She doesn’t move so you take this as a sign to continue walking closer. You gather all your courage and you bring your hand up to her face, neither of you daring to break eye contact. Naturally, she leans into your touch and brings a hand up to put on top of yours and her other hand snaking around your waist to pull you closer. “Sometimes you have to stop thinking about the future. Why should it be such a sin to be selfish from time to time? To take what we want?” you continue. “What do you want?” she asks.

Kuvira’s eyes shifted from your lips and back to your eyes. You knew what she wanted to do, and you wanted her to do it. It’s been over a month of self-control, tension and denial and you were exhausted. You worried about what is expected from you all your life that you never really knew what you wanted. Only that you wanted to meet those expectations. But right now, with Kuvira right in front of you, you were never sure about wanting something in your life than you were at this moment. You wanted Kuvira.

She was the only person to ever make you feel so comfortable and secure. You never liked being vulnerable around other people, but everything was just so easy with Kuvira. Everything felt so natural, so right. You were absolutely nothing alike and you complemented each other so perfectly. You loved how she never tried to impress you or never hesitated to call you out unlike most of the people in your life. She was genuine and honest, and spirits was she everything you never knew you needed.

“I want you” you finally admit. And Kuvira gives you a soft smile. “yeah?” she asks “yeah” you confirm returning Kuvira’s smile and no longer able to wait, finally, you put your free hand on other side of her cheek and you pull her in for a kiss, closing the gap between you and she places both her hands around your waist to pull you even closer.

It was everything you ever imagined and more. Your stomach was filled with butterflies and the feeling of her lips against your own was something you never thought you’d experience. Her lips were soft even when pressed hard against yours and you decide to wrap your arm around her neck wanting to feel even closer.

Kuvira pulls away first and you were both breathing so heavily now. She presses her forehead against yours, “you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this with you” she whispers, and you smile at her.

If you only knew what I’ve been up to the past weeks. You thought

She pulls you in for another deep kiss.

[lilith-devi-nyx-elsword-theorist]

Elsword Player Stereotypes (RE:TYPED)

*Add your own experiences of certain characters used by players* Elsword - often they like to challenge peeps *mostly the newbies*, while veteran Elboi’s are guidance or boast their “amazing” skills which is humorous when there’s the same class as them nearby who might be just as better than they are. But most Elboi players seem to Run ahead leaving the mobs behind mostly for the Janitors to clean up what they’ve could’ve picked along the way. While other Elboi’s take away your kills so fast that you’ll see that lovely warning message of ‘ Hey, you like being kicked?’ They still are the amazing Elboi’s of random wonders. Now if their Main protagonist title ego’s and aggressiveness can be slightly taken down a notch, that’d be great.

Aisha - Noisy chattergirls  including they seem to have a problem of not being op or talk about a previous dungeon run about some person who I don’t know about,*no offense I do appreciate talking in the game, but not all the time in the dungeon.*, though are somehow the innocent type of players but they’ll notice that, if you’re not buffed, they will chase your booty down, to give you that DAMN BUFF! Just like those veggies your motherly figure tells you to eat, just take your veggies, and you wont be hunted down, trust me on this. They are the fun kinds of people who throw magic in any direction, just don’t let them get walloped.

Rena - Speaking of Motherly figures, These players love to help if you ask nicely probably *past experiences mostly I not sure as of now lol*, They tend to be the guidance of players mostly in the right direction. P.S. They are cool.

Raven - Raven players are now somehow cooler in this department, what changed? Y’all were so edgy when I first started in 2012. But y’all make good mentors just like the Rena’s its, actually amazing I should start hiding behind Raven’s if there’s an Add nearby, because there’s a good chance I`ll be followed by Add’s. Don’t take their points to harshly if they tell you a problem you may have made especially in a PvE scenario, its what learning is for.

Eve - *I know I’m an Eve player* but We are mostly the guidance type of players, we seem quiet, and No, we are not Chobits/Persocoms, although we might appreciate that more than Nasod lol. But anyways, We seem to be very..... on point on some situations, its funny when I was with this Code: Empress with my Base Class Eve doing story mode to 99, She knew I was preparing for Code: Antithese. We will give you some bits of info, sometimes a little critical but hey, learning from mistakes makes you good. Also, we might hunt you down to give buff, so you better sit still or Veggies is nightmare mode for you. Also we might be a little too much of a fanbase of Eve’s and fashions for Eve, this is why Eve can be Postergirl most of the time.

Elesis - they mostly take notes from the likes of Rena, Raven and Eve’s they indeed are the Older sister role *I mean from personal experiences when they help you or something I feel like this would fit the whole Veteran’s thing.*

Chung - Some reason, Cool to hang out, but I feel like they lose their temper or attitude towards someone in their vicinity, I’m not saying all Chung players are bad, I’m pointing out the ones that seem to just, be rude. Add - Accelerators incoming, I mean Add’s are somehow.... don’t know how to describe them aside from my encounter with 3 of em in each path in a party together only to ask about Home Rental insurance. Huh, Add’s selling Home Insurances sounds more funny than Add’s bugging Eve players about their codes or roleplaying with Eve’s *Yes has happened a few times in my case, rare ofc.* or being Edgy, some other things, I swear though, I know y’all can flex that amazing uhm Awakening turning on and off by yourself but calm down there. Ara - Somehow almost most disliked and most will want in a party, I don’t understand Ara’s, yes I understand that she interrupted Chung from killing Ran using Aren’s body, but do realize thats a character pov and not a player pov? Also I’m noticing more Ara names being named by Fruits and it’s making me laugh more and more. its a New player phase too, Ara’s are fruits. Lu/Ciel - Roleplayers, I don’t know why I will call a few Lu/Ciel players as roleplayers, but they are fun players but, I don’t really... understand the concept for Lu/Ciel players, its been years from when they first released soo. Ain - Don’t go lookin away AinCiel shippers, I see you hiding in the corner, also more importantly, Ciel is dead *YES JUST BECAUSE HE MAY BE BROUGHT ALIVE BY LU’S CONTRACT DO NOTE CIEL IS STILL DEAD HE GOT TURNED HALF DEMON HE MAY BE ALIVE, BUT HE’S STILL DEAD IN MY BOOK XD* But Ain players seem to distance away from most players, few seem to be playful with most players, while others get closer to Laby’s, Elswords, and Ciels. Hmm I’m seeing a lot of mixed signals and they don’t feel comforting. Except for one Ain, who keeps screaming in the Megaphones for pvp I think like 2v2′s or 3v3′s. Rose - Y’all too quiet *Yes quiet as in silent, not ‘quite’ that’s not a reason to screw up on a word you mean for silent.* but, Rose players seem to just be quiet, I don’t know why. Did Timmy fall down in the well? Did someone tell you a bad joke? I don’t understand. Laby - For some reason, the innocent types again, though most players treat Laby’s like silence because I don’t know, what did Laby do. She’s like best tier character in my book lol, third person speaking is my favorite thing. Noah - Another case of some players attempting to be Edgy as Liberator and others trying to be FABULOUS~ with Celestia. It’s kinda sad and funny at the same time that I just can’t help but watch in humor.

[sims4imperialhouseofmarasea]

Fairytale Romance: An engagement interview!!! HIRH Prince Imperial Darius and his Fiance Miss Alysha Estep sit down for an interview with Selena Murdoch!

Marasean International broadcasts from The Imperial Palace a live interview with HIRH Prince Imperial Darius and Miss Alysha Estep.

Selena Murdoch: YIRH, Miss Estep, Thank you for agreeing to sit down with me today and congratulations on your engagement. I'm sure many Maraseans agree with me when I say we are very excited for the up and coming nuptials.

HIRH: Thank you Ms Murdoch.

SM: So I guess the first question should be, which every one is dying to know, when did you two start dating? We know you met whilst you were both at University, but when did you know there was potentially something blooming between you?

HIRH: Well yes. We met during an Eco Rally, it was one of the few occasions our respective universities weren't competing against each other. Alysha actually wouldn't give me the time of day. She simply brushed me off at the Rally. It wasn't till a few days later at a convention when I tired my luck again.

Alysha: Believe it or not, I hadn't realised who Darius was until one of my roommates at the time told me that evening. To tell you the truth, I was shocked and didn't believe her until Darius found me at the Unified Marasea convention a few days later and asked me on a date.

Alysha: I'd say, it wasn't until the fifth date and, maybe... two, two and a half months of speaking via telephone, video calls and text messages did we feel that... well spark, where we got really comfortable with each other.

HIRH: I think I fell in love with Alysha pretty quickly, maybe after the third date.

Alysha: Darius actually said I love you first. This was maybe after 8, 9 months of dating.

HIRH: Which was fine. Dating a member of my family is never easy nor straight forward. Alysha didn't want to rush into anything, we both didn't. And rightly so, Alysha also wanted some guarantees that her life wouldn't be turned completely upside down. I was glad to give it to her.

Alysha: Yes, Darius was very understanding, and patient might I add. Admittedly, I was initially terrified, but, Darius was so attentive and caring, it didn't take me long to fall for him and to fall hard.

SM: And the rest of the rest is history?

HIRH: Yes, almost five years later, the rest is history.

SM: So you took your time?

HIRH: Yes, I didn't want to push Alysha, because I knew she was special, and... I wanted to give her an out.

SM: An out?

HIRH: Yes, an out. As a member of my Family, our whole lives are dedicated to public service, which can sometimes leave time for little else.

Alysha: Darius did explain to me, after about two years of dating and a couple of months before I met TIRM's what it would mean to join the Family. It was already clear by that point that the relationship was serious, if not quickly getting there. Of course we have discussed this in more detail since.

SM: And we know around that time you had just moved in together. There were reports about a number of break-ins and security had to be increased. Could you tell us a little more about that? I must have been a difficult time for you.

HIRH: Well we won't go into too much detail about that, but yes it was a difficult time for me, for us, but especially for Alysha. We had kept the relationship under the radar pretty well until that point. We were going out in public a bit more often, and with that comes the increased likelihood that we will be spotted. Hence the Lady in Red edition in the Marasean Times. After that, another news outlet produced what can only be described as a resume on Alysha from what could be garnered on the internet. Thank fully not much. But there was enough trivial information to stimulate some interest into who Alysha was, or maybe because there was so little. Some employees of a news outlet that shall remain unnamed, where... overzealous, and saw an opportunity to be the first to ''spill the beans'' on the Imperial Prince's girlfriend. We won't say anymore on the subject...

SM: Fair enough. So how long was it before you introduced Alysha to the Imperial Royal Family and visa versa?

HIRH: As you know, we were dating for two years before I introduced Alysha to my parents. It was actually my Uncle ( the Imperial Duke of Sulani) , who met Alysha first. By the time of our graduation I had already relocated to where we live now and was spending most of my time in Sulani by that point. It happened organically really. Alysha was there for a visit and he just dropped by with the family, my cousins and my Aunt. We're not very far from each other, maybe a 10 minute walk. We're dropping in on each other all the time. It wasn't planned, it just so happened that Alysha was there that time around.

Alysha: Darius' Uncle, Aunt and cousins were all really welcoming and we ended up spending the rest of my stay, if think I was staying for two weeks at the time?

HIRH: Yes about that.

Alysha: We ended up spending the rest of it with them.

HIRH: That was the first year of dating, a couple of months after that it was my brother (Imperial Duke of Linacre) and Lorna, he had been dying to meet Alysha, so they invited us around to dinner. My little sister (HIRH Princess Imperial Erika Cara) was there too. And then it was Nerina and Greyson (TIRH The Grand Imperial Duchess and Duke of Marasea), again for dinner. A couple of months after that, it was time to meet the parents.

SM: So the Christmas get way to Terra House last Christmas wasn't the first time you introduced Alysha to the family?

Alysha: No, I had met them all before that point.

SM: Did you have any worries about meeting them Miss Estep?

Alysha: No, not at all. I was more worried about the protocols and addressing everyone by the correct titles. Once you get past that there was really nothing to worry about. Darius only ever referrers to them like any other son would, sister, brother, mother father ect... To me I was meeting his family.

SM: And what about your Family Miss Estep?

Alysha: It was within the first year of dating that Darius met my sisters. I was living with them during my last year of University. So, it was easily done. Darius came over and we ordered in some take away and that was it really, it was a really normal night.

SM: Your sisters? Are you not an orphan?

HIRH: That is an in inappropriate and personal question...

Alysha: No, Darius it's okay. Yes, I am an orphan, but family isn't always the one you are born with, sometimes it is the one you choose and make for yourself. So yes, my sisters, I have four, are my family. I make no distinction between them and those I may be biological related to.

SM: I'm sorry if I caused any offense, it was not my intention. What you have said is very moving... apologies.

Alysha: Thank you...

SM: So the wedding, is there anything you can tell us about it? Will it be a private affair?

HIRH: There is not much we can tell you about it now, we haven't even decided ourselves...

SM: Nothing at all?

Alysha: Sorry no, unfortunately everyone will have to wait. We can say that there will be announcement made soon.

SM: Okay, we will all, no doubt, be eagerly waiting for the news. YIRH, after you are married, have you made any decisions in regards to your position in the Imperial Family? We've known for years that you have wanted to step back for a more private life like you Uncle, The Imperial Duke of Sulani. Has that changed now that you have met Alysha?

HIRH: Well yes, yes it has...

SM: And???

HIRH: I, well we, have decided to stay and serve as working Imperial Royals. I realised, when Alysha and I attended a couple of engagements together, that what I was really missing was a partner. A weight of the responsibility is shared when you are able to perform you public duties with a partner. My brother found it, my sister found it and my mother found it too. I have found my partner, in life, service and in love in Alysha.

SM: Unbelievable, wonderful. Such a beautiful sentiment. What about the charity in Sulani, you were setting up with HIRM, Prince-Consort Ngata?

HIRH: That will still go ahead. We are still dedicated to setting up a charity there. We will have our main residence near to Mother (HIRM Empress Sheva) to be of service, but will split our time between here and Sulani. We are determined to make this work.

SM: Wonderful! That's a perfect way to end this interview. Thank you so much for your time. May I offer you my congratulations once again!

HIRH: Thank you...

Alysha: Thank you...

Phew! That took forever to write, I hope you all enjoy!!! Fingers crossed. It's a long one, but I saw no way to shorten it... :)

[caydesgirl-uldrensprincess]

More about my Warlock

Guardians name: Isabelle Aubrey Brigham

Age: 27

Race: Awoken

Pronouns: She/Her

Class: Warlock

Preferred subclass(es): Void

Ghost's name: Hermoine

Fireteam name: The Sisterhood

Fireteam teammates: Chloe Brask, Tori-3, and Sage Heathcliff

Favorite legendary weapon: The Supremacy

Favorite exotic weapon: Hawkmoon

Favorite exotic armor: Felwinter's Helm

Favorite ornament armor set: Celestial

Favorite weapon ornament: On Ashen Wings

What stats do they focus on: Mobility and Recovery

Are they offense, defence, or support: Support

Do they prefer being close, mid, or long range: Long

Do they lean more "Element of Surprise" or "Upfront and Aggressive": Element of Surprise

Strikes, Gambit, or Crucible: Crucible

Who was their mentor(if they had one. If it is a character you created, tell us about them!): Ikora Rey

What ship do they have: Starfarer 7M

What is their Sparrow: Always on Time

Favorite Ghost shell: Star Map Shell

Favorite shader: Dawn and Dusk

Favorite color: Pink

Favorite food: Italian

Favorite piece of Pre-Collapse tech(if they've seen any): Her Nook e-book portable reader

Favorite Pre-Collapse music(if they've heard any): Disney and pop

Favorite place in The Last City(if it's a place you created, give a little description!): the giant park in the middle (it's kinda like Central Park in NYC)

Favorite NPC(s): Uldren/Crow, Ikora, Orisis, Saint-14, Shaxx, and Eris

Favorite patrol location: The Dreaming City

5 things your Guardian likes(can be anything): read, cook/bake, dance, sing, and going to Disney

Least favorite food: Kale

Least favorite shader: Indigo Matrix

Least favorite patrol location: Nessus

Least favorite Pre-Collapse tech(if they've seen any):  not really

Least favorite NPC(s): Asher Mir

Least favorite weapon ornament: Bound Hammer

Least favorite ornament armor set: Intrepid

Least favorite legendary weapon: any pulse rifle

Least favorite exotic weapon: Coldheart

Least favorite exotic armor: Sunbracers

5 things your Guardian dislikes(this can be anything): Mess (Isabelle has major OCD),  liars, Spider, Riven, and cats (she's allergic)

Your Guardian has to rest. What is their living space like: A very clean and spotless apartment.

Does your Guardian have any casual wear?:

What hobbies and/or skills does your Guardian have: Cooking, memorizing (she's a walking encyclopedia), and strategy

What would your Guardian's lore book be called: Forbidden

Where was your Guardian reborn?(If you created the location, give us a little description!): London, England

What were they wearing when they were reborn: a blouse, dress shorts for women, and flats

What was their reaction to being reborn: "how is this possible?"

What was their reaction to their first rez: *looking at her ghost* "You can do that?"

After being reborn, did they meet friendlies first or hostiles: Hostiles, Isabelle ran into the Hive

Who was the first other Guardian they met?(Same thing! If you made them, give a little description!): Osiris

Did your Guardian get reborn with, or find, any indication of their past life? If so what do they have/found: no

How did your Guardian get their name(if they didn't rez with past life momentos): Her ghost just knew that her name was Isabelle

Going back to your Guardian's lore book, what would be some some quotes or passages from their book: "I love you, Uldren, unconditionally. Your dark side won't scare me off." "You're my best friend, of course I'm coming with you!" and "Dreams are something that we truly wish, we only need the courage and perseverance to make them come true."

Does your Guardian have a significant other: Uldren/Crow

Did your Guardian go explore first before going to The Last City? If so, where to: Isabelle explored this old library in London, she found so many books that peaked her interest

What was their reaction to first seeing The Last City: "This place is so bloody crowded!"

Is your Guardian a part of a clan: no

Does your Guardian's clan have a back story? If so, what is it?(if you want to or able to share): nope

If your Guardian would have a quote as a flavor text for a weapon and/or piece of armor, what would they be:  "Do you want to know you I call her Belladonna? It's because death is the deadlist poison put there."

If your Guardian has had any interactions with any civilians (The Last City/The Farm), Eliksni, Cabal, Vex, Hive, Taken, Scorn, Rouge Lightbearers, or Iron Lords/War Lords(if your Guardian is an Old Light) tell us about it!: not really, Isabelle prefers books over socializing

Does your Guardian have any unconventional allies or connections(By Vanguard standards): no

How does your Guardian feel about themselves or others using Stasis: Isabelle doesn't like it, she thinks that if guardians use it long enough, it'll start to slowly corrupt their minds.

Did they run The Last Wish raid? How did they react to seeing a live Ahamkara a.k.a Riven: She felt nothing but anger towards Riven, the wish dragon was the reason Isabelle lost Uldren.

Did they run The Deep Stone Crypt raid? How did they react to the Crypt and seeing Exo Eliskni: She thought it was interesting and wanted to know more.

Is your Guardian from D1? How did they react to seeing Taniks alive once again: Yes, Isabelle is from D1, she had to calm Chloe down, but she was equally shocked.

Where did they go and what did they do during The Red War: She helped the children at the Farm calm down by reading them stories like Harry Potter or Percy Jackson

Here are some characters that are either polarizing or have created a strong enough mass emotion within the community. What opinion does your Guardian hold on each of them(These are only a handful of characters!)>>>

Osiris, First Warlock Vanguard, originally exiled: A great friend

Eris Morn, Bane of the Swarm: A really close friend

Cayde-6, Sixth Hunter Vanguard: A great friend

Ikora Rey, Second Warlock Vanguard: Mentor, teacher, friend

Commander Zavala, Second Titan Vanguard: respect

Saint-14, legendary Titan, First Titan Vanguard: even more respecr

Lord Saladin, Iron Banner handler, One of the last remaining Iron Lords: she does really mind Saladin

Lord Shaxx, Crucible handler, Hero of Twilight Gap, living megaphone: She praises him for the encouragements during Crucible matches

The Crow, New Light, Ex-Enforcer to The Spider: The love of her life, Isabelle would do anything for him.

The Spider, The Shore's Only Law, founder of "House" Spider: She never trusted Spider

Uldren Sov, Prince of the Reef, Master of Crows: The love of her life, the first person would made Isabelle feel loved and wanted by someone romantically

Mara Sov, Queen of the Reef, Queen of the Awoken, Ex-Kell of Wolves: Isabelle's Sister-In-Law, she respects Mara

Variks, the Loyal, founder of House Judgement: very good friends

Mithrax, the Forsaken, Kell of Light, founder of House Light: very good friends

The Exo Stranger/Elizabeth "Elsie" Bray, Granddaughter of Clovis I and Sister to Ana Bray: Isabelle, like Chloe, found Elsie to be closed off and hard to read

Eramis, of House Salvation, Kell of Darkness: Eh, just another day at the office

Empress Caiatl of the Cabal Imperial Empire: Isabelle is weary about her.

Taniks the Scarred, the Perfected, the Abomination, the Shadow Thief: when it comes to this bastard, Isabelle sides with Chloe

The Darkness is fast approaching. How is your Guardian handling it: She nervous, but Isabelle tries to keep a level head

And finally, does your Guardian have any advice for any New Lights: "Out on the battle field things aren't always what they seem, but it's important not to lose sight of what truly matters and that's protecting the Traveler, the Light, and those who can't protect themselves."

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 75: Two Different Kinds of Tension

One of our lead couples has lunch with their in-laws and the other couples goes on a date.

Much, much later than I said it would be, here’s chapter 75!!!

First  Previous  Next

Adam is preparing to return home, watched by a very forlorn Galra. As eager as he is to go home, to get every detail of Altea back into working order, he finds a certain reluctance tugging at the back of his shirt. A part of him wants to stay.

“Do you really have to go?” Shiro asks, not for the first or last time, even though he already knows the answer. He wants Adam to stay too, or maybe he wants to follow. Neither is possible.

“Yes, I really have to go.” Adam pulls the last of his clothes from the captain’s closet, realizing just how many of his things -all of them- made it into Shiro’s quarters. “I’m leaving tomorrow with their Majesties and Pidge, as planned and expected.”

“I know. I know. I’m just really gonna miss you. You can’t blame me for that.”

“I suppose not.” Adam murmurs, laying out a set of nightclothes and a change of clothes for tomorrow on the stool up against the wall. “Though I still don’t really know what you see in me.”

“No, you don’t, do you?” Shiro hangs his shears on the wall, sweeping the trimmings off the floor below his trellises. The pieces he wants to keep are laid out on a worktable, ready to be tied and hung. All normal, innocent, except for the sly smirk on the man’s face.

Adam bristles. No one gets under his skin, sees everything underneath, the way Shiro does.

“I am a soldier, Adam. As far as I’m concerned, loyalty is the best characteristic a person can possess. The Captain takes his hand, gently tugs to pull him closer. “You fit that ideal more than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re clever, conniving, brilliant, beautiful-”

“That’s not-”

“It is true,” Shiro insists. “You are many things, and I wonder if you’re actually living up to your true potential.”

Adam licks his lips. Gulps. Melts against Shiro’s encompassing frame. “I am happy with what I’m doing. Though I’m not happy it’s time to leave.”

“It’s probably for the best, though. At least for now. My season is coming up in another movement. It might be a good thing you’re a planet away.”

“Right.” Adam’s edges fit with Shiro’s as best it can despite the size difference between them. “Call me after so I know you’re well, and let me know if I can send you anything.”

“Definitely. I’ll probably be missing your voice anyway. Maybe you could leave something of yours behind for me?”

“Just pick something. Whatever you want.” Adam closes his eyes, wraps his arms around Shiro’s waist. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more. I don’t want to leave you behind bonded to me.”

“I know. I’ll hold out for a day in the future, when one of us finally decides to retire. When we’re old and impotent.”

Adam scoffs. “Like we’ll like that long.” He steps back. “But I’ll look forward to it, just in case… What should we do with our last day?”

“Steal a ship and go for a joyride?” Shiro suggests. “I have something I’d like to show you.”

Adam regards his companion. “Yes, alright.”

“Excellent!”

As he pulls Adam down the hall, he never lets go of his hand. Adam doesn’t let go either.

Lance sighs, finishing the final clasp on his vest. “Can’t believe we’re going from baby joy to lunch with Zarkon. Are we being punished?”

“I’m just surprised he actually wants to see me,” Keith admits, tossing his now ill-fitting vest aside in favor of traditional clothes. He plans to decline a new wardrobe upon his return, at least until he has the kit. There’s no point in wasting materials. “I bet it’s just out of obligation. We’ve been here a phoeb and a half and he hasn’t called upon us yet. Word’s probably reached the people by now. Do I look okay?”

“What do you mean?” Lance asks.

“Do I… I want him to regret it. Throwing me away,” Keith whispers. “I want him to know he made a mistake.”

Lance stares at him for a long moment before kissing his forehead. “If he doesn’t already know, he will. That’s a promise, beloved. As for how you look, you look like a prince of Altea. We can do better, and we will soon, but this will do for now.”

“What does better look like?”

“Like a Galran prince of Altea. Like I said, when we go home, we’ll pick some better colors for you, and get some new jewelry made, and maybe replace this-” Lance points at Keith’s circlet. “-with that comb I gave you.”

Keith smiles, takes a deep breath. “Let’s grab Bruna and Calik. I don’t feel like walking- hi, baby!” BleepBloop scurries in, leaping into Keith’s open arms, wrapping his own arms around the prince’s neck. “Aw, I missed you too. You wanna come make a mess at lunch? Yeah, let’s go.”

“My only real competition,” Lance quips.

Keith cradles his pet, turning to his mate with a grin. “For now.”

Lance gasps, pretending offense. “That goes both ways, beloved!”

The princes mount their elk, returned this quintant by Krolia, hastening them on toward the compound at the top of the mountain. Krolia is waiting for them, smile quiet and subtle, another Galra with cheek and lip piercings standing beside her. “Bashti, take these elk to the stables; make sure they are fed and watered. Your majesties, I have been asked to escort you. His excellency has decided to eat outside today.”

Krolia leads them through halls into a courtyard bearing nothing but a table furnished with food and drink. The edge of the open ceiling is framed by columns, shaded halls beyond. The royal family is already there, Lotor speaking urgently to his father. Krolia leans in to explain.

“One of Captain Shirogane’s men, Haxus, failed to report a few quintants ago. No one has seen him since. This makes forty-seven members of the compound militia. Others have vanished from various fleets and battalions. Zarkon believes they are simply deserters. Lotor disagrees.”

Allura catches sight of them from her seat next to Lotor, face splitting into a grin when she sees her brother. She gets up, hurrying over, throwing her arms around her brother.

“Hi! It’s so good to see you both!”

“Hey! How’s my nibling doing?” Lance pats Allura’s rounding belly.

“Nibling is fine. I’m fine too, in case you were wondering. Lotor is… resisting the urge to commit patricide-”

“Sounds normal.”

“Yes. Romelle is… less fine, but she’s relatively healthy, so that’s something.” Allura tucks a loose curl behind her ear.

“I’m so sorry, ‘Lura.”

“It is what it is.” Allura smiles. “Father’s still looking, but at this point I’m not optimistic.”

“We’ll make sure she’s well taken care of, regardless.” Lance kisses his sister’s cheek, maneuvering carefully around her protruding belly. “Shall we go rescue your dear husband before he runs out of self-restraint?”

“Please and thank you,” Allura agrees. She pulls Keith into a hug. “I’m so glad to see you’re well-”

The prince pounds his fist on the table, making Allura jump. “IT IS NOT NORMAL!!!”

“Son, please. There is political upheaval. The people will adjust.”

Lotor seethes, jabbing a finger at his father. “You are completely-”

“Ah, Crown Prince Lancel, Prince Yorak! Welcome! I apologize for anything you might have overheard. My son and I were just having a disagreement.”

“It’s fine.” Lance waves away the emperor’s apology with a cheerful smile before helping Keith into his chair. “I’m just glad to know I’m not the only one who has the occasional screaming match with their father.”

“Oh, surely you and Alfor get along,” Honerva protests. “You are both so much alike.”

“I know.” Lance’s grin is sheepish as he takes his seat. If he notices the sly curl to the empress consort’s smile, he doesn’t show it. “I fear that’s where the problem lies. Our personalities are quite similar, but our views are quite different.”

“It is always this way with sons,” Honerva sighs. “It is for this reason I hope my sweet daughter is carrying a daughter of her own.”

Keith can feel the way Lance bristles at Honerva’s claim to his sister and nibling. He nudges his mate with his foot under the table.

Allura rescues them from a response. “Son, daughter, neither, either, I care not. If they are healthy and firm in their convictions, I will be satisfied.”

Zarkon grunts. “Better a son. At least let them present as male, so they’ll have better success in conquest.”

“Father, that is wildly archaic.” Lotor glares. “Conquest isn’t everything.”

“Conquest is the foundation for our entire society! If we have no conquest, we have nothing!” the emperor snaps.

Lance sighs. “Just when I think I understand you people…”

“Mnh. Understanding. A powerful thing,” Lotor agrees. “One that our peoples unfortunately struggle to find.” His gaze darts to his father with vicious accuracy.

Keith takes a deep breath, willing no one to start a fight as he starts in on his lunch. He has no real fondness for his uncle or aunt, less so as time goes on, as he processes everything these people have done to him. He meets his cousin’s eyes across the table, a flicker of understanding in his hybrid eyes.

“I’m working on it,” Lance continues, clearly trying to steer conversation. “I have a few ideas, but nothing actionable as of now… What concerns me is the fear. The locals here were terrified of me when I first arrived. It’s taken me my entire stay and a kronil attack to gain their trust, and I’m still not entirely sure that I have it.”

“They trust you,” Keith assures, dropping a kiss to his shoulder.

“Mnh. They did until we got back from your den in the woods and all my scales were glowing red.”

“They what now?” Allura looks up from her lunch, eyeing her brother with bafflement. “Why would they do that?”

When Lance only shrugs, Honerva cuts in. “Your alchemical abilities are unstable, aren’t they?”

Lance nods. Keith rises to his defense. “But improving every day.”

There’s a stretch of awkward silence in the wake of Honerva’s unimpressed look.

“At any rate,” Zarkon says, breaking the silence. “You all have much to learn, including how to be respectful of tradition. The Galra will not be altering their ways to please the Alteans. It’s your duty to make amends.”

“Make amends?” Lance frowns.

“Your people attacked us. Sooner or later, reparations must be paid.”

Lance inhales, ready to snap, but Keith kicks him under the table. The Altean bites his tongue, not willing to put Keith in the line of fire, even indirectly.

“I'm sure we’ll pay in one way or another,” Lance murmurs, thinking of his people’s declining numbers and quality of life. “We both will, I think. Having so much mistrust in your closest neighbor, it’s not good for any of us.”

Zarkon hums, watching Lance eat. He says nothing. No one does.

Keith watches his uncle, observing the way he inspects his mate. He can sense Honerva observing them, too. A glance at his cousin and sister-in-law shows that they’ve both noticed the imperial couple’s fixation on them. He wonders suddenly if his uncle can tell he’s pregnant, is already deciding how to use their kit the moment they’re born. Possibly before, if he can come up with something.

Have they made a mistake?

Keith finds Lance’s hand under the table, guides it to where his blade is concealed at his hip, a silent warning that they might be in danger. Lance laces their fingers together, acknowledging his concerns, promising support.

It only occurs to Keith much later that Lance was extremely careful not to reveal how much authority he has on Altea. He suspects that was for the best.

“So, you’ve seen rivers by now, and rain, and thunderstorms, but have you ever seen a sea?”” Shiro asks.

“I have not. I assume by your tone they are impressive?”

“I find them impressive, so I figure an Altean would as well. And this particular place has sentimental value to me.”

“Very well, then,” Adam sighs, pretending to find the excursion tedious. “Show me.”

Shiro kisses his cheek. “Always so contrary. I’ll settle us a ways back from the shore… This is where I was born, though it was a village at the time. It was destroyed in a skirmish before I lost my first set of teeth.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Mnh. Thank you, but I don’t really remember enough to be sorry myself.”

They both know that’s why Adam is sorry, but neither mentions it.

Shiro settles their ‘borrowed’ craft down on a flat bit of orange rock speckled with green corals, lowers the ramp. Adam takes the Galra’s hand preemptively, finding the action oddly satisfying. “Show me your sea, then. And what’s left of your first home.”

Shiro leads him from the craft, onto a swath of rock formations. The air smells of salt. “Watch your step. It’s just this way. I would have landed closer, but there’s not much more than sand where we’re going. It’s not good for the craft.”

Shiro leads him down the smoothed mounds of stone and around a bend, revealing a view of blue sky and brilliant green lagoon, waves curling over bright yellow sands. There are large, winged reptiles flapping overhead, diving into the water. In the distance, a great beast breaches the water, scales glinting in the sunlight, fins like wings as it sails long over the water.

“Well, here it is. The, um. The headman’s house was over there-” Shiro points their joined hands across the sand to the other side of the lagoon. “And there was a dock in the middle that stretched to the edge of the lagoon and across in both directions. The homes were made of wood and reeds, and they floated on the water.”

“What happened when it stormed?”

“We came ashore and hid in the cave cellars. Or so I’ve been told.” Shiro smiles. “We were a fishing village, and our livelihood came from the sea. Can you imagine it? Me? A fisherman?! But who knows, maybe I would have been good at it. Happy, even.”

“I can’t quite see you sitting on a mat of floating reeds, catching fish,” Adam muses. “I don’t think you could sit still long enough, if fishing actually works as I’ve heard it does.”

“With a stick and a string? Yes, that’s how it works.”

“Definitely not for you.” Adam gazes out at the green water, wind in his hair, salt in his nose, sun on his skin. “Then again, I imagine you would have loved the view. You could fish, and stare at it all day, imagining what’s beneath and on the other side.”

Shiro laughs. “I do think about it! Whenever I find the time to come here, I think about it… I’d like to take you back here, one day. To stay a few quintants, if it’s agreeable to you. I know it’s beneath you, but-”

Adam stops short, turning Shiro to face him. “It’s not. Nothing about you is beneath me, Takashi. Nothing at all. Please, if you believe nothing else, believe that.”

“If you say so.” The soldier gives him a crooked smile before leaning in to kiss him.

For once in his life, Adam decides not to resist change, or even hesitate, choosing instead to drown, to reciprocate. He pours as much into the kiss as he can, trying his best to feel sincere.

He lets their tongues twist, one smooth, one raspy. His fingers curl into the Galra’s short hair as their bodies press close together.

When they finally break apart, because that’s how it always is, Shiro’s gaze is part surprise, part questioning.

“I will miss you, Shiro. Every day.” It’s imperative that Shiro believes him.

“I’ll miss you too. Every day.” The Galra smiles, gray eyes shockingly warm.

Adam turns back to the sea, the waves sighing in his ears. “We should come back here someday. It’s quiet.”

“If ever we both find a day off, we will. But for this quintant, I think we have time for a walk?”

“Yes, we do.”

Grinning, Shiro reclaims his hand, leading him off across the sand, pointing out the remains of some architecture, a net stuck fast in a rockface.

When they return late in the evening, and Adam has time to pack all but the very last of his things, he finds hidden within them a small glass bottle full of bright yellow sand and a few tiny shells.

“Did you put this in here?”

“Yes. It’s a gift. I’ve had it as long as I can remember.”

Adam stares at the bottle, index finger running over a chip in the cork, a scratch in the glass. It’s an incredibly sweet gift, one he hadn’t expected.

“Takashi, will you do something for me?”

“Of course, if I can.”

“Will you- Will you write to me? Writing’s easier than talking.”

“Sure.” Shiro’s hands find his waist. “I look forward to reading what you have to write.”

“And I look forward to more gifts.”

Shiro chuckles. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Adam believes him. He promises himself he’ll reciprocate.

[thelegendofclarke]

still got scars on my back (from your knife)

A Bellarke Knives Out Au in which Kane is probably Benoit Blanc, Clarke might be Ransom Drysdale, Bellamy is definitely Marta Cabrara, Dante was Harlan Thrombey, and like Detective Elliot, Miller is just along for the ride.

Written for @bellarkejanuaryjoy Day 29 and dedicated to @marauders-groupie and @woodswit who were the best sounding boards and cheerleaders and are the reasons this fic exists in any way, shape, or form.

When Bellamy walks into the Mt. Weather police station again, where he has been far too many times in far too few days, he is tired. The kind of tired that starts in your bones and slowly leeches into your soul. He has a migraine that feels like it originated in his prefrontal cortex, and he genuinely can’t remember the last time he felt like he could breathe normally or wasn’t on the verge of puking.   He’s led into an interview room in the back and when he enters he stops short. Marcus Kane, the self-proclaimed “last of the gentleman sleuths,” is perched on the corner of the table, posing dramatically as always. And sitting in a chair next to him is Clarke. Despite being arrested over 48 hours ago, she isn’t wearing handcuffs or an orange jumpsuit. Damn it must be nice to be a rich white girl. She’s just wearing a regular button-down shirt and jeans, and that small smirk that always made him want to kiss her. There’s something softer about it now though, and he hates how much that just makes him want to kiss it off her even more. Detective Miller motions for Bellamy to sit down in the chair across from Clarke. He does so without looking at Clarke or saying anything, just glaring down at the table so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry.

“You’re probably wondering why we’ve called you back here…” Miller starts.

“Oh, I’m wondering about a lot of things.” Bellamy shoots back at him.

Miller just snorts and looks over at Kane, “I’ll let you take it from here.”

Kane pulls out the pipe he carries around with him and starts to pack it. Bellamy can feel his scowl deepening, who the fuck even carries a pipe anymore?

Continue reading below or on Ao3...

“First of all, Mr. Blake,” he starts without looking up, “we must begin by giving you our most profuse and sincere apologies.” Kane lights the pipe and brings it to his mouth, then he looks at Bellamy and grins. That dramatic asshole actually smiles, far wider than Clarkes’ smirk, but equally as infuriating. “But you are just far too honest and decent a man to have been let in on all our plans.” He turns to Clarke and nods.

Clarke takes a deep breath and starts talking, but Bellamy can’t bring himself to look at her. He knows if he does all he’ll see is her grabbing his hands when he started having a panic attack, all he’ll feel is her fingers running through his hair, all he’ll hear is her soft but strong voice telling him to look at her, to focus on his breathing, reassuring him “It’ll be okay I promise… We’ll figure this out… Together.”

“You know, I used to be one of the only people that could ever beat my Grandpa Dante at Go. I used to pride myself on that,” she chuckles. “And then you came along and he told me you beat him twice as often as I did.” Bellamy looks up at that and finds Clarke looking right at him, her eyes focused on his. “He said you beat him almost every time. That you had never even played before you met him, but that somehow you would always win. And god that used to drive me fucking crazy,” she laughs again. “I couldn’t figure out how the hell you were beating him. I knew he wasn’t letting you win, he wasn’t that nice. And I knew he wouldn’t lie about it, he was far too arrogant. It was one of the mysteries he could never solve” she shakes her head ruefully at the memory. “How you beat him at that goddamn game night after night.”

“He never figured out that answer to that mystery,” she continues. “But I did. I finally solved it… You win because you don’t just play from the head, you play from the heart.”

“And you won again Bellamy… You won this game not by playing my way or my grandpa’s way, but by playing your way. You won because you are a genuine and honorable and fundamentally good person. You played it honest, you didn’t lie or mislead anyone or try to throw them off your trail. That’s why all the pieces fell perfectly into place: because you made all the right moves. You won by figuring out your strategy and making your decisions the same way you always have: from the heart.”

Bellamy just stares at her for another minute and then looks at Kane. “Look I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s been a really long couple of days and I’m pretty worn out so I’m just going to be really straight with you here and ask: what the actual fuck is going on?”

Miller snorts again, “I asked the same damn question.” He turns to Kane and Clarke and pulls out his little yellow notepad. “Actually, would you mind starting from the top again? Because I’m still not sure I really understand what in the damn hell happened.”

Kane and Clarke look at each other again doing that annoying nonverbal communication thing they seem to be so good at. Bellamy thinks he probably can’t complain about that too much though, since he and Clarke had gotten pretty damn good at it themselves after years of knowing each other, pretending to hate each other, and refusing to admit that they secretly adored each other.… Or so he thought… How the hell did he get her so wrong?

Before this week, Bellamy would have told anyone who asked, with a higher degree of confidence than he possesses about most things, that he could tell you almost everything there is to know about Clarke Griffin…

Namesake: Science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke, who her father had been a massive fanboy of and managed to convince her mother to let him name their newborn daughter after while Abby was still high as a kite on epidural anesthesia. Evidently, he had persuaded her by arguing that it was probably better than Arthurette or Arthurina; when Abby tells the story she always magnanimously says that at the time it seemed to be “the least of the evils.”

Middle Name: Matilda, after Empress Matilda, a member of the British monarchy who was some distant relative of the Wallaces, but that she pretended was after Matilda Wormwood because that Matilda was “infinitely cooler in all ways.”

Notable Likes: Inclusive, intersectional feminism. All forms of alcohol; with the notable exception of tequila which she will not look at, smell, touch, or tolerate in her presence in any way, shape, or form (he’d tried to ask her why once but she’d promptly turned green and puked into the nearest potted plant so he decided not to push the issue). Shark Week. Jane Austen novels. True crime documentaries. The Jonas Brothers (“They’re making a comeback Bell, whether you like it or not! Just save yourself the trouble later and lean into it now!”) Any and all things Harry Potter related (he’s pretty sure she’s on multiple bar trivia teams, including his own, just to answer the Harry Potter questions… And get the free booze.) Netflix. Adult coloring books. Anytime someone climbs a building to tear down a Confederate flag. Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Antique tea sets. Movies that have women wearing armor and/or holding swords. Wearing high heels because they make her feel tall (her diminutive frame is something she endlessly despairs over, but Bellamy maintains she makes up for through presence, spitefulness, and sheer force of will.) Her cousin Roan.

Notable Dislikes: Donald Trump. Tinder, which she has an active profile on (a fact that definitely did not bother him. Much.) Twitter, which she hates even more, and has an even more active profile on. Blavy (“I don’t care what Tom Ford or Marc Jacobs said Bell, it’s a disgrace!”) Humidity. The NRA. The Twilight series (because it was “pushing the suspension of disbelief” that anyone would pick Edward over Jacob, and “downright offensively unrealistic” that Bella wouldn’t just dump them both and run off with “the hot Cullen sister… Either one of them.”) Most forms of organized sports. All forms of organized religion. Camping. When people talk during movies. Having to wear “real pants” for more than a couple of hours on a given day. The American Healthcare System. Toxic masculinity, men yelling, manbuns, manspreading, mansplaining and men having to put the word "man" before everything because their egos were so fragile. Wearing high heels because they are “torture devices of the patriarchy” (Clarke speak for “they make her feet hurt and she’s a wimp.”) Her cousin Ontari.

Favorite Foods: Sushi. Guacamole Doritos (which she had cried genuine tears over being discontinued). Her grandfather’s disgustingly greasy fried egg sandwiches that taste like heartburn. Her mother’s blueberry cheesecake. Avocados (Bellamy never understood what the deal was with white people and avocado; like yeah avocados are great and all, but damn do white people really love avocado.) Movie theater popcorn. Bellamy’s adobo. Octavia’s empanadas. All kinds of Indian food, the spicier the better. Watermelon, especially when it’s filled with vodka. Almost anything that has chocolate in or on it. Potatoes in all their forms, especially the ones that have cheese on them. Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Cheese Blintzes. Cheese fondue. Cheese in general, honestly. “That one thing we got at that one place that one time, Bell!” which he always knew exactly what she was referring to (Dante had always said that Bellamy, like him, was “fluent in Clarke: a skill coveted by the many, but possessed by the few.”)

Hobbies: Smashing the patriarchy. Art; painting, drawing, sculpting, anything that struck her fancy really (she even went through a sand art phase at one point, which ended up being short lived because while she loves art, she hates sand.) Making fun of Bellamy. Conspiring with Octavia to make fun of Bellamy. Making fun of her grandpa Dante. Conspiring with Bellamy to make fun of her grandpa Dante. Equestrian activities, the only kind of formal, organized “sport” she was actually good at (“All I have to do is sit there and tell the horse what to do, Bell. I’m so good at sitting around and telling people what to do!”). Fighting Twitter trolls. Reading, especially her grandfather’s mystery novels. Krav Maga, which Bellamy will admit surprised him a little (and then surprised him more than a little when he’d asked where she’d learned it and she shrugged and said “Israel” like it was as obvious as the inevitability of death and taxes.) Online shopping. Pretending to hate it when Bellamy calls her Princess. Buying and playing video games she doesn’t really understand with her little sister, Madi (“ I can’t trick her into thinking I’m cool anymore so it’s the only way I can get her to hangout with me. I’m just embracing bribery as a form of bonding!”) Over, and incorrectly, using the word “literally.” Telling Bellamy he is literally a pedantic killjoy.

He knew that she was deathly afraid of heights and irrationally paranoid about catching scurvy and getting cat-fished. He knew that she liked real bananas and blueberries but hated banana and blueberry artificial flavoring. He knew that her first kiss was with her best friend Wells in a closet during a game of 7 minutes in heaven at a classmate’s birthday party in 6th grade, and that her first kiss with a girl was in the exact same closet playing the exact same game at the exact same classmate’s birthday party two years later with a girl named Glass. He knew she lasted exactly one and a half years in med school before telling her mother that she needed to choose between Clarke being a doctor and Clarke being alive, because it was it was killing her slowly and driving her insane. He knew that she always ordered some kind of strange, obscure plant or flower to place on her father’s grave every year on the anniversary of his death because “he was weirdo who liked weird shit” (this past year it was a Venus Fly Trap, the year before that it was a Ghost Orchid because she was “feeling ironic.”)

He knew that she once met the Clinton’s at a charity fundraiser when she was little where she told then President Bill Clinton that he looked better with brown hair and threw up on Hillary Clinton’s shoes. He knew that she’d actually thrown up on several member of the rich and powerful elite; notable examples including Condoleezza Rice’s Hermès Birkin bag, Paul Ryan’s Armani sports coat, and Eric Trmups whole entire arm (which she admitted was definitely not an accident.) He knew that she loved school and learning and once got her English Lit teacher fired for failing her on a paper where she argued that Humbert Humbert was an obsessive, delusional, predatory pedophile who deserved to be medically castrated and the teacher had tried to tell her that Lolita was a “tragic love story” and that she was “simply too narrow minded to appreciate Nabokov’s true message.” He knew that she had unsuccessfully tried to pierce her own belly button in high school and managed to successfully pierce her own nose in college. He knew that she has four tattoos: a small crown on the back of her neck (which only made Bellamy double down on the Princess nickname after he found out about it), a lion on her left foot for her father, a lotus flower on her on her right wrist for her ex-girlfriend Lexa, and the Latin translation of “do no harm, take no shit” running down the left side of her rib cage.

He knew that she pretended to hate Valentine's Day when really, every single year, she handmade super elaborate and incredibly awesome cards for all her friends and family members (well, the ones she liked anyway). He knew that she was planning on naming her first daughter Gertrude after her grandmother, Dante’s deceased wife, even though the kid would probably hate her for it because her grandma was a badass and “metal as fuck.” He knew that otters were her favorite animal and that he favorite type of otters were those terrifying Amazonian river otters that could fight crocodiles (which was typical Clarke, honestly.) He knew that she loved her adopted little sister Madi more than anything or anyone in this world and was as fiercely protective of her as he was of his own little sister. He knew that she loved horror movies and hated Claymation because it freaked her out that that she has seen every single episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. at least three times and could sing all the lines of every single song Lana del Ray has ever recorded from memory.

He knew that she started drawing when she was really young and would sit on the floor in her dad’s office and draw on his grid paper while he worked on his designs; he knew that art had helped her through some really hard times like when she started questioning her sexuality and when her father had died and when he girlfriend had been killed and that she hoping to go back to school to become an art therapist. He knew she was stubborn and loyal and empathetic and unafraid to speak her mind. He knew she could be cunning and calculating and ambitious and ruthless and even downright vicious when it came to things going her way or getting what she wanted. Bellamy had just never thought there would come a day where he would be on the receiving end of all that Clarke Griffin Intensity. At least, not like this.

In all the years he’d known her, Clarke had never treated him like one her family’s employees or made him feel like “the help.” She got along (scarily, in Bellamy’s personal opinion) well with his little sister, and took (or sometimes dragged) him out places with her. She asked his opinion on things, and incorporated him into her friend group (while gleefully teasing him about how hot they all thought he was). She went to him for advice, and liked all his friends. She actually read the books and watched the movies and listened to the music he would recommend to her, and made him feel included at Wallace family events and dinners. She always laughed at his dumb jokes (sometimes so hard she would snort, which was his favorite), and would go to his apartment to feed the cat and water the plants when he was out of town. She would text him while she was on a bad date or at a boring event, and listened to all his rants about mythology and colonialism and the Star Wars universe and representation in media and all the historical inaccuracies in every single period drama they ever watched together. She would show him the art pieces she was working on, and remembered shit like his birthday and that he was allergic to tomatoes and the anniversary of his mom’s death and that Nerds were his favorite candy. She treated him like he was someone important to her, someone she cared about even. She made him feel valued and respected. She’d never treated him or made him feel like anything but her equal.

But now, finally looking up at the girl across from him, knowing just how much time and planning and work and effort she’d put into trying to fuck him over and ruin his life, it feels like being in the room with a complete stranger. And it might be one of the worst feelings in the world. Bellamy thought he knew her. Thought he could trust her, that he understood her, that they understood and trusted each other. He had considered her a good friend and, after so many years of knowing her, possibly even a best friend.

He had introduced her to his friends and his sister, and texted her links to stuff she would find funny and when someone said something absurdly ignorant or hilariously dumb on TV. He started keeping those alcoholic ciders she liked better than beer in his fridge, and thought way too hard about what to buy her every year for her birthday. He told her stories about his mom, and his childhood, and his first kiss, and his first girlfriend, and the first time he got punched and the first time he punched someone which were, to Clarke’s endless amusement, two completely different situations.

He told her about how terrified he’d been that he would never see his sister again when they were separated after their mom died, and how for years the only time he felt truly happy was during their weekly visit with their social worker when he got to see her, and how it took the longest time after he was officially able to get custody of her for him to finally relax and not worry that she wasn’t coming back every time she left the apartment, and how fucking proud he was of her for getting into a good college, and all kinds of personal shit he would never just tell to just anyone.

She’d become a fixture in his daily life, a staple in his routine, the first person after O that he wanted to share good news with, and the last person he wanted to say goodbye to before he left the Wallace estate to head home for the day. He let her in.

After years of his mom’s revolving door of terrible boyfriends, and moving around different towns to where ever Aurora could find a job, and constantly having to switch schools, and never really having time to hang out with kids his age because he had a little sister to take care of, and being passed around from foster home to foster home once he was put in the system, Bellamy didn’t just let people in and make friends with them. He has a screening process, a thorough one, what he had thought was an effective one; but somehow, Clarke Griffin had managed to make it through with flying colors in record time.

Bellamy is well aware that, in all likelihood, he should be more concerned about the fact that finding out he didn’t really know Clarke as well as he thought he did feels like his whole world has turned on its head and he doesn’t know which way is up. But between Dante dying and being framed for his murder and having paparazzi actually camped out on his front lawn and being put in charge of an entire estate he has no idea what to do with and bequeathed an amount of money so high he wouldn’t have believed it existed, there’s a lot to be concerned about. He can prioritize. Or at least multitask. Probably.

“Well why don’t we start with who it was that hired me,” Kane begins as he puffs on his pipe.

“We know who hired you,” Bellamy interrupts. “Clarke did. As part of her plan to frame me for Dante’s murder… I really don’t need to hear about it again.” If he has to listen to the whole story in terribly thorough detail again he is definitely going to do something stupid like cry. His voice breaks a little on the last words and out of the corner of his eye her sees Clarke bite her lip and look down at the table. Good, he thinks, she should feel like shit.

“Yes, Clarke did secure my employ,” Kane confirms.

Bellamy almost rolls his eyes. ‘Secure my employ?’ who the actual fuck even talks like that anymore?? While smoking a pipe??? Jesus tap dancing Christ.

“But she did so by proxy,” Kane continues, “under the instruction of her grandfather.”

That stops Bellamy and his internal running commentary on Kane’s outfit (Who the hell wears actual suspenders? And a goddamn deerstalker hat?? Where the hell do you even buy a deerstalker hat anymore?!?) right in their tracks. “Wait… What?”

“Dante Wallace hired me not only to solve his own murder, but to help his granddaughter frame herself while she also pretended to frame you at the same time.”

Bellamy blinks at him.

“You see Dante Wallace knew he was going to be murdered before he committed suicide,” Kane begins what Bellamy suspects is going to be one of the most confusing and ridiculous stories he has ever heard in his life. “And yes, Dante Wallace most definitely did commit suicide.”

This time Bellamy turns to blink at Miller. “Yeah,” he says dryly, “this is about where I started screaming internally too.”

Instead of continuing, Kane uses the pause to pull out that stupid coin he’s always tossing around and flips it in the air, catching it again without even looking but with uncanny precision. Bellamy is sorely tempted to tell him exactly how far he should shove the damn thing up his ass, but he physically restrains himself and waits for Kane to go on.

“Mr. Wallace knew not only that he was dying, but that he was being murdered. Slowly and painfully at that. He knew he was going to die and how, but he didn’t know when it was going to happen or who was doing it. He had a murder and a murder weapon, but no body and no actual death.”

Kane pauses and runs his fingers over his beard. Bellamy is like 99.9% sure this dude grew a beard just so he could stroke it dramatically. “He did have one other thing though,” Kane goes on, “and that was an obvious suspect.” He nods in Bellamy’s direction, “you.”

All three of the room’s other occupants are looking at him in silence. Bellamy’s breath catches and he starts to panic, “But you already cleared me. You said you know it wasn’t me. It wasn’t… I didn’t… I couldn’t… That’s…”

Clarke reaches out and grabs one of his hands. Bellamy can’t help but think that her tiny hand on his huge one shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is. “We know you didn’t do it Bell,” she tells him softly but firmly. She squeezes his hand, “we know you could never.”

He wants to smack her hand away and tell her not to call him that. He wants to tell all three of them to fuck off, he wants to get the hell out of here, he wants to get some weed from Monty the groundskeepers’ stash in the garage, or go down to Polis Pub and have O mix him up of those “kitchen sink” drink thingies she makes that he is pretty sure have what must be an illegal, non FDA approved amount of alcohol in them. He wants to go home and sleep forever, he wants to wake up tomorrow and have this all just be a terrible dream, he wants to travel back in time and never take this fucking job in the first place. He wants to do a lot of things, but he doesn’t. He just stays quiet and waits.

Clarke withdraws her hand and he sees her clench it into a fist on the table in front of her. “Grandpa Dante was being poisoned,” she says matter-of-factly. To anyone else it would seem like she was emotionless; but Bellamy sees the tension in her shoulders, the clench in her jaw, the rapid blinking of her eyes. He has been around the Wallace family long enough to know that they know how to put on masks. The can tamp down their anger, and swallow their sadness, and choke back their tears, and fake out their fear, and affect apathy along with the best of them. But Clarke has her tells, and he knows them. Dante always told him he was observant for his own good; that he was a good judge of character, that he pays attention to detail, that he notices the little things others wouldn’t even know to be looking for. And that one of these days it was going to get him into trouble.

He saw Abby disguise her sorrow and depression and grief after the tragic death of her husband Jake. And a few short years later, saw Clarke as the ice-cold, emotionless mirror image of her mother after her girlfriend Lexa was shot in a drive by. He saw Maya mask her terror the day she got her diagnoses, when she’d found out that she had developed a rare, life threatening blood disorder before she was even able to drive a car, that she would have to go through painful blood transfusions for the foreseeable future just to stay alive, and sees her to the same every time she leaves to go get her treatment. He saw Roan force back his fury every time he sees his mother treat people like dirt and watches his little sister show up to yet another family event high out of her mind. And he constantly saw Dante hide his sense of regret, his feelings of helplessness and hopelessness, when he reflected on what his family had become.

None of them managed to mask their feelings the day Dante’s will was read though, their emotions were written all over their faces: Nia’s fury at being passed over for “the help.” Abby’s shock and confusion at her father’s decision and clear feeling of betrayal and heartbreak that her father trusted Bellamy with his legacy more than he trusted her. Emerson’s horror over not being able to continue to maintain his lifestyle or pay for the treatment his sick stepdaughter needs to survive. Ontari’s hysterics at the easy funding for her pill and powder fixes being cut off. Roan’s indignation when he finally snapped ad yelled at his family members to “chill the fuck out and back the hell off! Bellamy clearly doesn’t know what the fuck is happening even more than we do!” And finally, Cage’s rage over Bellamy daring to take what Cage saw as rightfully his.

Not Clarke though. Clarke remained seated in the arm chair she had unceremoniously plopped down on when she arrived, throwing her legs over one of the arms and pulling up Candy Crush on her phone. Her attention wasn’t focused on her phone anymore though. Unlike the rest of her family, she stayed silent. Also, unlike the rest of her family, her ice blue, all seeing eyes were focused not on him, but on the people gathered around him, yelling and screaming, all hellfire and fury, threats and accusations flying. At first glance she appeared stone faced and detached. But while she studied her family Bellamy looked closer at her and for a brief moment, no more than a second, he saw it: the slight smirk curving at the side of her mouth.

Bellamy couldn’t tell exactly what was running through her mind that day, but he knows what she’s feeling now: grief over Dante’s death, sorrow over losing a family member (one of the only family members) she was close to, anger over her grandpa being murdered, and primarily: pissed as fuck that someone would do this to him. Bellamy still isn’t sure what’s happening or been able to process all the information he’s been given, but he’s starting to strongly suspect that hell hath no fury like Clarke Griffin scorned.

Kane rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder, wordlessly encouraging her to continue. Clarke takes another deep breath seemingly trying to calm herself, like it’s been ages since she felt like she was able to catch it. He knows the feeling. “I figured out he was being poisoned a while back,” she says. “He was just… He was getting sick way too fast.”

“I might not have been in med school for long but I was there long enough to know that his condition shouldn’t have been deteriorating so quickly,” her voice is getting steadier now. “He shouldn’t have been in so much pain, he shouldn’t have been so tired all the time. And nothing was working; some of the treatment should have been working, something should have been working.”

“You must have noticed it,” she half states, half asks. “I mean… He was just so… And nothing was… You had to have noticed it too?”

Yeah, she’s right; he had noticed it. Dante shouldn’t have been so sick so quickly. No matter how much he slept, he always felt tired. He started to lose drastic amounts of weight and his skin started to yellow at a disturbingly rapid pace. His heart rate and blood pressure were all over the place. His bones appeared to have become brittle overnight and he seemed to be in almost perpetual pain, his body shrugging in on itself while he sat, or contorting itself while he slept, just trying to get comfortable. He started getting spells where he was confused, he would have no idea where he was or not remember why he walked into a room or forget something Bellamy had told time only minutes prior. The spells wouldn’t have normally been too alarming in an elderly patient except that this wasn’t any other elderly patient, this was Dante Wallace. He had never been anything but sharp as a tact, quick on his feet, alert and awake and of perfectly sound mind.

She was also right about the treatment. Lung cancer is obviously nothing to scoff about, but the kind Dante was diagnosed with should have at least been manageable, if not treatable or even curable, with the right medication. Medication Bellamy knew he was on because he was the one that administered the drug to Dante every day, which subsequently brought him to the shit storm he was currently caught in without rain boots or an umbrella. Not only did the medication not seem to be doing anything to improve Dante’s condition in any way, they seemed to be making him worse. It was almost like they were causing new symptoms in addition to exacerbating the ones that were already there.

So yeah, he had noticed. Bellamy was no medical professional or trained expert; he was just a caregiver, a companion, he was just “the help,” but even he could tell that something was wrong. Whenever he had tried to express his concerns to members of Dante’s family as well. But whenever he tried to speak with Dante’s children about his health, he was either told off-handedly that it would be checked into, or told in no uncertain terms to mind his own goddamn business or his ass was fired.

“I mean, I’m well aware that me making the illogically, dramatically huge jump straight from ‘my grandpa is super sick’ to ‘MY GRANDPA IS BEING POISONED!’ is a little odd,” Clarke shrugs. “But it turns out that when you’re majoring in pre-med and spend your summers researching insane, off the wall ways to kill someone for your grandfather who writes murder mystery novels, you pick up some things,” she says grimly.

God, he thinks, her whole entire life must just be so weird.

“I remember taking a random medicinal chem class in undergrad,” Clarke starts rambling. “That’s how I think I first figured out what was happening. It took me a while to figure out the specifics, but once the details starting becoming clear it was obvious: Grandpa had anthracycline induced cardiac and pulmonary toxicity that was incorrectly diagnosed as potentially malignant, early stage lung cancer.” She’s talking even more animatedly now and gesturing wildly with her hands like she’s really getting into what she’s saying. Bellamy hates how cute he finds it.

“He was then treated with unnecessary, prolonged, and continuous exposure to radon which not only served to exacerbate his current vascular symptoms, but also caused additional idiopathic neurological, respiratory, skeletal, cardiovascular, and immunological afflictions that caused his condition to deteriorate to the point of inviability,” Clarke explains. Kane is nodding along like this all makes perfect sense to him and that she was explaining something as simple as how two and two makes four.

Bellamy and Miller just stare at her with blank expression of incomprehension on their faces. Miller previously had his pen poised over his notepad like he would have written down every word she said if he knew how to spell half of them. Now he just sighs and tucks his pen behind his ear and shoves the notepad back into his back pocket.

“Uh huh, right, exactly,” he says dryly. “How about you repeat that one more time in Normal Person.”

“He was poisoned with something that made it look like he had lung cancer,” she states matter-of-factly.

Miller shots Bellamy a look that he knows is asking “the fuck couldn’t she have just said that the first time?!” There’s a similar expression on his own face right now, he’s sure.

“Then he started getting chemo and radiation for the Not Lung Cancer which probably ended up giving him the Actual Lung Cancer and definitely gave him a whole bunch of other bad shit. He was slowly but surely dying,” she swallows and looks down at her hands, picking at one of her fingernails. “And the stuff that was supposed to be helping him was really just causing radon poisoning and killing him more quickly and painfully,” the crack in her voice makes him want to fold her up in his arms and tell her everything is going to be okay, the way she had for him so many times over the past week. Until he reminds himself that we don’t comfort people who try to frame us for murder. People who try to frame us for murder are assholes, no matter how pretty they are.

“My first guess was obviously Cage,” she goes on, “mostly because he sucks and I hate him. But still, it's not like I was wrong. It took a while for me to convince grandpa though, he was actually really pissed at me for even suggesting it in the first place.”

Bellamy remembers those few weeks severalmonths back when Clarke had stopped coming around and Dante had gone from his usual “exasperating old man shouts at cloud” to “insufferably cranky asshole.” When Bellamy suggested that maybe they invite Clarke over to cheer him up since she hadn’t been around in a while, Dante had just glared even harder and huffed that he and Clarke had “parted ways” due to “irrevocable creative differences” before flouncing from the room like an egregiously offended prima donna and locking himself in his study for the remainder of the day.

“I finally managed to convince him by figuring out where Cage would have been getting whatever he was poisoning grandpa with: his wife.”

Bellamy didn’t really know Cage’s wife, Dr. Lorelai Tsing Wallace, very well. Nor had he made any effort too. Primarily because she gave him the fucking creeps. She wasn’t the same brand of downright terrifying like Nia, or intimidatingly poised like Abby. She was scary in her very own, unique “don’t stand so close to me,” “makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up,” Stranger Danger kind of way. He would catch her eyeing him with interest sometimes, and he could never quite tell if it was in an “I want to jump you” kind of way or an “I want to kidnap you and harvest your organs” kind of way.

“It seems that the pharmaceutical development company Dr. Tsing works for had been doing a great deal of experimentation with alternative forms of radiation and chemotherapy treatment.” Kane says from where he’s returned to his perch on the table. “Namely, orally administrated, pill forms of radon.”

“We haven’t been able to establish any conclusive evidence that Lorelai Tsing-Wallace was knowingly or willfully involved in her husband’s plot to kill his father,” Miller interrupts, all procedure and formality. All three of them look at him with thoroughly unimpressed faces. “But yeah,” he concedes. “I honestly have no idea how the hell Cage would have gotten his hands on so much radon for so long without her help.”

“So yeah,” Clarke continues. “Once I was able to sit grandpa down and calmly and rationally explain to him what was happening to him and how, he was persuaded to see reason.

It’s another part of the story that Bellamy can’t help but snort at, because looking back, he’s pretty sure he remembers the exact incident she’s talking about. After going weeks without seeing her, Clarke had stormed into the house like a category 5 hurricane (as opposed to her typical level 2 tornado) and stomped up the stairs to Dante’s study. She’d pounded incessantly on the door, demanding he let her in and talk to her. And when he’d continuously and steadfastly refused she’d threatened to “kick in his antique, handcrafted, mahogany door with her heavy-duty riding boots that he knew would fuck that door right up because he bought them for her and knew exactly how expensive they were and exactly how much she was not screwing around.”

Eventually Dante had relented and after that there was a lot of muffled yelling and what definitely sounded like things being thrown and furniture being knocked over, all of which was typical for a Wallace family argument. “You can never say we lack passion,” Dante had always told him. But it was the eerie silence that came after that was concerning. After they were quiet for so long that Bellamy genuinely began to worry that they had somehow managed to kill each other, he relented and made his way up the stairs.

His soft knock was met with an even softer “come in.”

Bellamy had popped his head in and teased “just wanted to make sure everyone was still alive up here.”

God in hindsight that was such a terrible joke, pun absolutely not intended he swears.

“Yes, yes, everything is just fine Bellamy, fine.” Dante had said quietly. Both he and Clarke had been sitting at his desk, red eyed, red faced, and looking horribly sad and defeated.

“Uh ok,” Bellamy had cleared his throat. “Well can I get either of you anything?”

Dante didn’t answer, still staring at his desk, so Clarke said “No I think we’re fine… Everything is… Fine.”

Dante had looked up at that point. “Yes,” he’d said, still sounding odd. “Just fine… You may go for the day.”

Bellamy should have known at that moment that something was up; it was only 11 am and Dante rarely ever even dismissed him an hour early, much less before noon. But he’d just shrugged it off as “family stuff” he didn’t want or need to get involved in, and made his way home, honestly happy to have a day off.

“All that evidence combined with the fact that, starting several months earlier, Cage had apparently started coming around more often wanting to do “guys night” with grandpa and bringing over whatever absurdly exotic, stupidly expensive liquor he could find that week for them to try, was what finally did it.” Clarke continues her story.

Bellamy remembers that, too. Cage had started coming around in the evenings to visit with Dante and they would drink and smoke cigars out on the screened in porch or in the den. Bellamy had been wary of why Cage started coming over so often when he had basically never made an effort to spend any time “getting to know” his father since Bellamy could remember. Dante had, of course, decided to humor him saying “perhaps there’s still time.” Bellamy had never really figured out what there was possibly still “time” for, given that there was no amount of time in the world that could reform Cage into a halfway decent excuse for a human being. But he guessed that was really none of his business.

When he’d asked about it off-handedly, Cage had thrown him some kind of excuse about “who even knew how much longer the old quack was going to survive, so he needed to get in quality time while he could.” Bellamy had just glared and scoffed quietly when Cage turned his back, chalking it up to Cage being an insensitive asshole and generally awful person who was just trying to make sure he would get his cut after his father died. Bellamy just hadn’t realized exactly how far Cage was willing to go to make that happen. At that moment, Bellamy also remembers that after the Hurricane Clarke situation was apparently resolved, that Dante stopped seeing Cage as often. He would make up well and truly absurd excuses like “he volunteered to referee a charity tennis game… at 7 at night… in the middle of January” for Bellamy to give Cage about why he couldn’t come over in the evenings or why Dante wouldn’t be making it to Cage’s house for their usual Thursday night dinners. Eventually Cage got the message and just gave up; not that Bellamy had minded getting to blow Cage off. It had become one of the highlights of his day.

“It was also me who figured out that the person he was probably trying to pin the poisoning on was you,” Clarke says.

“Okay this is one of the parts I’m still a little fuzzy on,” Miller interjects.

“Same,” Bellamy agrees, with feeling.

“I mean it was basically just simple process of elimination,” Clarke says, like figuring this out had been nothing more than a leisurely stroll in the park. And for her it might have been honestly. She’s terrifying.

“Cage was going to have to pin it on someone, he might be a slimy little shit weasel but he’s not completely stupid. And the fact that you gave grandpa his meds, including his radon shots, every day and night, made you the most obvious and ideal candidate.” She’s right of course. “They were going to need some way to explain the inexplicably high levels of radon in Dante’s system. So the most straight forward strategy would be to make it look like you were either knowingly, willfully, and purposefully trying to kill him, or at least make a solid case for elder abuse and negligent homicide.”

“That’s also why we felt we couldn’t go to the police at that point,” she says sadly. “We had no real idea how long Cage had been at this, except that it had been awhile. And we also had no idea just how much evidence he could have fabricated against you, how well he had covered his tracks. He wasn’t just a step ahead of us, he could have hiked the whole Appalachian trail for all we knew.”

“That’s probably also how he came up with the insulin and morphine ol’ switcheroo scheme,” Kane says.

Switcheroo? Bellamy can’t with this guy, he really just can’t.

“And this is where you lose me,” Miller interjects. “How do we jump from Long-term Radiation Poisoning to Lethal Morphine Overdoes to Slit Throat. Not that I don’t think it’s not possible,” he reassures them, "mostly because you are all insane,” he tacks on to the end. “It’s just that I’m gonna have to explain all this to a jury, and with those three potential causes of death, I can barely draw a Venn diagram… And juries love diagrams, so I’m gonna have to come up with something to show them.”

“Have you considered a histogram?” Kane asks, completely unhelpfully. “I know they have developed a somewhat questionable reputation in the chart and graph community, but there is really something to be said for…”

Miller just levels him with a glare that Bellamy is pretty sure could cut through bullet proof glass and Kane raises his hands in apparent surrender. “Just something to consider.”

“Anyway,” Clarke says, bringing them all back to the task at hand. “Like most heartless psychopaths, Cage is nothing if not a determined little creep. It’s why he has several restraining orders again him. I don’t even know how many it is at this point to be honest.” She glances over at Miller, “Could you look that up for me actually? I’ve always wondered and whenever I try to ask him about it he gets all testy.” Miller just looks at her disapprovingly, but when she turns away Bellamy sees Miller write a quick note on his pad and yeah, he’s totally looking that up. They’re all curious about how many it could possibly even be now.

“Since his quality poisoning time with grandpa had been severely limited once we figured out what he was doing, we knew he was going to come up with another plan. He once called 73 ‘Kate Johnstons’ trying to find a girl who had already changed her phone number once because he wouldn’t stop harassing her. His brand of Relentless Creeper Bravado knows no bounds,” she says with a disgusted, despairing look on her face.

“We could never tell exactly when it was going to happen or how it was going to go down,” Clarke said. “But we knew it would be coming eventually. Grandpa knew he would have to help you when the time came, and he also knew that I would need to be there to have your back and cover anything that might look like your tracks in the aftermath. I mean, I had to make it look like I was throwing you under the bus and then hanging you out to dry. But I really was trying to cover your ass. It’s a great ass, I would have hated for anything to happen to it,” Clarke grins a little like the cat that ate the canary and Bellamy can’t catch himself before he starts to grin back. It’s been a long day alright, there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep track of everything that’s happening and control his facial expressions at the same time, sue him.

God he would be a terrible murderer. There is just way too much going on, he would never have been able to keep all this straight.

“We knew we needed to make the plan, including the final cause of death, airtight so that no average cop would ever even consider you as a suspect. No offense,” she says, glancing over at Miller who just shrugs like he wouldn’t have even considered taking offense in the first place.

“So that’s when it was decided that Clarke would be the Moriarty to our Holmes and Watson,” Kane says with a flourish of his pipe.

“I want you to be the Watson to my Holmes on this Mr. Blake,” Kane had said a few days into the investigation. “As one of the last people to see Dante Wallace alive, you have a unique insight into his state of mind and what happened that frightful night… Whaddya say?”

“Sounds like a dream come true, sir.” Bellamy had deadpanned, biting his cheeks to keep from smiling when he heard Clarke inelegantly, and completely ineffectively, attempt to cover her snort of laughter from somewhere in the background.

Kane had just grinned at him. “The game is afoot, eh Watson?” he’d joked in his comically slow, exaggerated southern drawl. That time he was pretty sure Clarke didn’t even try to choke back her snickering.

“Wait…” Clarke says glancing up at Kane. “Would I technically be Moriarty or Irene?”

“Well,” Kane ponders, stroking that goddamn beard again. “You were technically good even thought you were pretending to be bad, so wouldn’t that make you Irene?”

“Yeah… But I was still pretending to be something I wasn’t, so wouldn’t that just make me Moriarty either way?”

“Guys,” Miller interrupts their exchange.

“Right. Sorry,” Clarke says, like she’s just remembering where she is and what’s happening. Kane, on the other hand, looks like he’s still deeply considering the question and will continue to do so for the time being.

“It was actually the slit throat that tipped me off in the first place,” Clarke says with a little shake of her head and a half smile, half grimace. “If grandpa was really going to commit suicide he would never do it by slitting his throat,” she explains.

“He refused to use it as the cause of death in any of his novels because he considered them ‘offensively unimaginative’ and ‘inelegantly pedestrian’,” Clarke says, doing her best Dante impression which, Bellamy must admit, is pretty good. “But it was an effective way to blatantly show that his death was definitely self-induced. So that’s how I knew that something had gone wrong,” Clarke explains. “And when you told me about the accidental morphine overdose I knew it had to be the King of Try Hard’s plan put in motion and that it was Go Time…. No pun intended,” she adds quickly.

Bellamy runs his hand over his face thinking about the Go board, which is probably locked up in evidence right now, covered in Dante’s blood.

“Apparently,” she continues with a look in her eyes that could only be described as ‘murder mode’, “grandpa Dante was taking too long to die for Cage, so he decided to expedite the process. He knew that grandpa would never be able to say no to his birthday cake at the party.”

It was his favorite, German chocolate. Cage special ordered a huge one from Dante’s favorite bakery just for his birthday Bellamy remembers sourly. “I can’t believe you lived through World War II just to keel over and die from a German induced sugar high,” Bellamy had teased him while Dante dug into his second piece.

“Maybe so,” Dante had grinned at him. “But what a way to go eh?” Bellamy had just chuckled and walked away. He remembers reminding himself to make sure Dante got his insulin that night, and to make sure he got the higher dosage.

He can’t smile or laugh about that memory now though. All he can do is remember the horror and heartbreak that came just a few short hours later. He can feel himself starting to panic as he remembered looking down at the tiny glass bottles that held Dante’s insulin and morphine prescriptions. The terror that almost made his heart stop when he realized he’d given Dante more than 200 milligrams of morphine instead of insulin — more than enough to be a fatal dose.

“Hey, hey, Bellamy you gotta breathe,” he hadn’t even registered her moving, but somehow Clarke was kneeling right in front of him. Bellamy sucks in a deep breath through his mouth, but somehow the oxygen still doesn’t reach his lungs and he starts gasping for air.

He remembers the horror that washed over him as he realized: he’d switched the medication vials; the way it grew and started squeezing his lungs and clawing at his throat as he discovered that the emergency Naloxone was missing from his med kit. He remembers the feeling of urgency washing over him while he quickly told Dante what he did and picked up the phone to dial 911. The confusion when Dante pulled the phone cord out of the wall telling Bellamy they needed to “not be too hasty” and “to think this through” all the while Bellamy desperately trying to tell him that he only had ten minutes.

“Ten minutes until what?” he’d asked blandly.

“Ten minutes until you’re dead Dante! Like, stone cold dead. No do overs, no take backs.” Bellamy remembers trying to yell, but what came out was high pitched, hysterical panic. “We need to get you an ambulance NOW!” He’d lunged for the phone again, but Dante stopped him.

“Bellamy, son, listen to me right now,” Dante had said in his most serious I Am Dante Wallace and I Am Not Fucking Around voice. “If it’s only ten minutes, I’m already as good as gone. There is no way an ambulance could ever get here in ten minutes. We are too far from a main road, too far back on the property.”

“Dante, listen… There is no time, you have to listen! We have to get you help!” Bellamy had begged him, not even trying to maintain any of his composure at that point.

“Stop it! Stop this, Bellamy!” Dante had said, his voice even more serious and harsh. “Don’t you understand? If what you said is true, there is no saving me. If you call for help, the authorities will find you and a dead body and you will be in serious trouble for this. Trouble that you may never recover from.”

“I don’t care!” Bellamy had yelled. “I’ll deserve it!” I killed you, he’d wanted to scream. You’ll be dead and it will be all my fault.

“Think Bellamy, think about this. What about your sister? If you are tied up in, or even bankrupted by, lawsuits and legal proceedings and very possibly end up having to serve jail time, who will take care of Octavia? Who will be there for her? Who will protect her?”

Bellamy had glared over at Dante, he knew O is Bellamy’s kryptonite. He’s right though, Bellamy can’t just leave his baby sister alone in the world, not when he’s the only family she has left. Not when she’s relying on him, when he’s putting a roof over her head and making sure she eats and sleeps and does all those things young adults seem to constantly forget to do. Not when he’s paying for her health insurance and car insurance and putting her through college and planning on helping her with grad school. All with the money he made from this job. Fuck. He can’t just abandon her, can’t bring her whole life crashing down around her. He can’t do to her what was done to him when their mother died.

Dante must have noticed the change in Bellamy’s demeanor because he’d placed his hands on Bellamy’s shoulders and said, “We have to get you out of this. If you go down for this, your family will be broken again, but we aren’t going to let that happen are we? You need to listen to me very carefully and do exactly as I tell you… Will you do this Bellamy? This last thing. For me. For your family.”

He remembers trying to calm himself down and snap himself out of the overwhelming, panic-stricken haze that had overtaken his brain as he tried to pay attention to all of Dante’s instructions. He remembers the frenzied anxiety that he felt trying to remember what Dante had told him to do. Was it the drain pipe on the left or the right side of the house? Was he supposed to turn off the road before or after the tiered fountain?? What was the back-gate lock combination again??? Bellamy had known every single lock combination on the estate for years, but in that moment it had taken him at least six guesses. He remembers the frantic need to get as far away from the estate as quickly as he possibly could as he was driving home.

He remembers walking into his apartment and all the adrenaline that must have been keeping him upright completely disappearing. He remembers dragging himself into his room and lying in his bed all night, not sleeping a wink, just staring at his god awful beige colored bedroom ceiling, sobbing silent tears, a nifty little life hack he had picked up during childhood so as not to wake O who was usually sleeping in the room right next to his, if not in the actual bed right next to him. He remembers the freight train of emotions steamrolling over him as he realized that one of his best friends was dead. That he had killed one of the only true friends he’d ever had in this world.

The thing that he remembers most vividly of all though, was turning around to open the door to Dante’s study right after he’d stepped out to say “Fuck it. I’m calling you a goddamn ambulance, I don’t give a shit,” just in time to see Dante slitting his own throat.

“No, no, in through your nose and out through your mouth Bell,” Clarke says a little more urgently, jerking him back into the present moment. She grabs his hands and pushes her thumbs hard into the middle of his palms, trying to ground him. “Close your mouth and breathe through your nose and think about something else, like Kane’s stupid pipe. I know how much you hate that thing.”

Kane’s expression momentarily turns from concerned to offended. When he opens his mouth Bellamy just knows he’s about to launch into a diatribe about how pipes are traditional and sophisticated and all that shit. The thought makes Bellamy snort out a laugh which interrupts his breathing efforts and he starts gasping again.

Then Kane comes to kneel next to Clarke and looks at Bellamy with the first serious, sincere expression he thinks he’s seen from the man since he met him. “Bellamy, son,” he starts in that ridiculous drawl that Bellamy is sure must be greatly exaggerated, if not totally fake, but doesn’t really know enough about Southern dialect to call him out on it.

“Bellamy listen to me,” Kane goes on, making Bellamy meet his eyes and squeezing his shoulder. “You didn’t kill him, son. You did not kill Dante or do anything that led to or resulted in his death. You are an innocent man, Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy tries to listen to what they are saying to him, but it sounds like they are talking under water and he feels like he’s drowning.

Miller rushes back into the room with a styrofoam cup that he gives to Clarke who then thrusts it into one of his hands while keeping hold of the other. “Here,” she says decisively, like somehow this cup is going to single handedly subdue the sheer panic tsunami that’s still building up inside him. Maybe they just think he needs something to throw up in. When Bellamy looks down at the cup though, he sees that it's full of ice cubes. “Now start crunching and breathe through your goddamn nose.” He does what he’s told and can’t believe she remembers such a small, insignificant detail like that this is his mental breakdown self-medication of choice.

They had been at the Dropship Diner for about an hour or two, and it was during one of the lulls in their anxiety inducing and more than a little depressing conversation about What the Actual Fuck Happened to Dante that he'd noticed her staring at him.

“What?” he’d asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

Clarke had blinked like someone just woken her up from a coma and then shaken her head a little ruefully. “No,” then she’d smiled slyly at him. “Well… At least not anything you can fix.”

He’d snorted. “So just thinking about who you’re going to hire to slowly and painfully kill me to avenge your grandfather’s death then?” He’d only been about half teasing, give or take. Clarke was very much her grandfather’s granddaughter in that she could be downright terrifyingly intimidating when she wanted to be.

She’d cackled at that. “Definitely not,” she’d laughed. “I mean, why outsource a job I could easily do myself?” Bellamy wouldn’t put it past her to be honest, but her grin while she said it had made the would be threat completely ineffective, and he could feel some of his nerves finally begin to settle a bit.

“I’m honestly just wondering how in the world you still have any teeth,” she'd said, shaking her head. “Did you make some kind of dental deal with the devil? Can he do something about my molars? I mean, I know I clench my jaw all the time, but them chipping so often feels a little dramatic.”

He’d barked out a laugh. “What?”

“Well I’ve watched you chew your way through cup after cup of ice water with the hyper focus of some kind of robot beaver on meth, but I don’t think you’ve actually drank a single drop of actual water.”

Bellamy looks around him and sees that yep, there are about eleven half empty water glasses in front of him that he had sucked the ice out of with the tenacity of a Roomba.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Just a weird coping mechanism,” he’d told her. “I started doing it as a kid. We were too poor to get me on any actual anxiety medication or pay for me to do something constructive with all my nervous energy, like ice dance kickboxing or therapeutic underwater basket weaving or whatever it is you rich kids do.” She’d snorted at that but still nodded her head as if to say fair enough. “But between all my mom’s shitty, drug addict boyfriends and being my little sister’s primary caregiver while still trying to get good enough grades to not get kicked out of the charter school I was in, I had a lot of nervous energy. So yeah, ice chomping it was.”

“Wow,” she’d said. “That took a real hard left from cute childhood anecdote to tragic backstory really quickly. Never even saw the plot twist coming.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a few of those,” he'd told her, trying for a joking tone but completely missing it, if the way her expression had softened was any indication.

"I know you do.” She'd said quietly.

“You know you’d make a perfect broody detective with a tragic childhood in one of my grandpa’s books,” she’d said lightly, obviously trying to bring the levity back to the conversation. “You know, the dramatic ho, asshole with a heart of gold type who says shit like ‘they work outside of the law, but on the side of justice’ .”

He’d just shaken his head and smiled ruefully at her before putting his head in his heads, thinking about how much he was going to fucking miss Dante and willing himself not to start crying again. He’d cried more in those past few days than he had in a long time.

“SO!” she’d said loudly all perk and pep, clapping her hands like an annoyingly upbeat cheerleader and jolting him out of his reverie. “What are we gonna do about the whole ‘you potentially being caught propelling down a drain pipe with the stealth of a cat thrown into a swimming pool a few minutes after grandpa’s overdose’ thing? Because even I gotta say… That one is gonna be a toughie.”

Of course she remembers, he muses, she’s Clarke. And even though he’d never admit it, he’s pretty sure he remembers every single small, insignificant detail he’d ever learned about her too. She’s Clarke after all, his Clarke. The thought comes with such startling clarity and certainty that it’s what finally manages to snap him all the way out of the deep, dark panic hole he had been digging.

He opens his eyes and sees that Kane has moved away giving him some space. But Clarke is still there, holding his hand tightly in hers and stroking her thumb gently over his knuckles. She’s looking up at him from her place on the floor; all soft, concerned blue eyes and earnest, encouraging heartbreaker smile and yeah, he thinks, definitely His Clarke.

“Did you hear what Kane said, Bell?” she asks gently. “You’re innocent, you didn’t do it.”

Bellamy opens his mouth to contradict her, but Miller interrupts him before he can say anything, “It’s true Mr. Blake. Dante Wallace’s official cause of death is in fact blood loss from a self-inflicted stab wound.”

Bellamy opens his mouth again to point out that Dante never would have cut his own throat if Bellamy hadn’t fucked up and given him a huge overdose of morphine, but Miller also interrupts him again. “The toxicology screens and blood tests conducted as part of Mr. Wallace's autopsy also showed that there was no morphine in his system at all, just his normal dosage of insulin. In fact, the only abnormality found on Mr. Wallace's tox screens was an irregularly high level of radon in his system. Inexplicably high, even for someone who had been undergoing regular treatments of radiation or chemotherapy for some time. You didn’t give Dante Wallace an overdose of morphine or any other drug.”

Bellamy just sits there, totally speechless and completely dumbfounded.

“Now that Wallace’s deathly has been unequivocally ruled a suicide, neither you, nor anybody else, is under investigation for his murder,” Miller says firmly.

“But,” he goes on and Bellamy feels his gut clench again. There’s always a but. “In anticipation of the potential event that Dante Wallace’s death was not a suicide, we started considering potential motives. With a man like Dante and his considerable fortune and assets, as I’m sure you could imagine, money was obviously the first thing we came up with.”

“Dante’s oldest child, Abigail Caroline Griffin had no financial motive to want him dead that we could find.” Miller said nodding at Clarke. “Nor could we find any financial motive for his other daughter Antonia Elizabeth Kingcade. Like, none. Absolutely. Whatsoever.” And damn, Bellamy knew that was the god’s honest truth.

Not only was Nia still getting alimony and child support for Ontari from her ex-husband, who somehow managed to make more money than she did, he knew that Nia regularly made a killing in her own career. Figuratively that is; although it’s totally possible Nia actually kills people as part of her job, he wouldn’t be that surprised. Bellamy never knew what exactly it was that Nia did honestly; every time he’d try to ask someone, including her own son, they would open their mouths and start to answer him only to say something like “huh” and scratch their heads trying to figure out if they just couldn’t remember or ever even knew in the first place. Eventually they would start to look like they were thinking so hard they might hurt themselves, so Bellamy would just say “never mind” and eventually gave up trying to find out. All he really knew about what Nia did for a living was that she did a lot of it and that she did it very well. Well enough to land herself a spot on the high ends of all those “Fortune 500,” “50 Most Influential Under 50,” “Lifestyles of the Super Rich and Powerful,” "Have Never Paid Their Federal Income Taxes," "We Could Probably End First World Poverty But Just Choose Not To," lists that magazines like Forbes and Time made year after year.

“His oldest son Cage Bradford Wallace however,” Miller says with a pained look on his face like the name is so douchey it offends him to have to say it. Bellamy will hand it to him that it is an offensively douchey name. It's almost like his parents knew he was going to be an offensive douche bag and named him accordingly, “had more motivation than a Richard Simmons workout video. Turns out that Wallace Jr. has been running his ‘investment firm’ less as a business and more as a personal piggy bank. We think he figured out a long time ago that it was going to catch up with him and that he was going to have to somehow magically replace all the money he’d stolen from his investors. But apparently the scheme he came up with the get that money was less magical and more... attempted homicidal.”

“We have a forensics team sweeping his home, his car, and his office right now as well as digging through all his trash,” Miller says. “And I’m not a betting man… At least not during the week anyway… But I am more than willing to bet we are going to find radon residue all over Cage’s entire life from the past year or so.”

The door swings open, interrupting Miller’s monologue, which he looks vaguely put out by. “Not probably, definitely.” It’s Detective Reyes, Miller’s partner and head of the forensics team on the case, and who is the same brand of disconcertingly intelligent and unnervingly observant that Clarke is.

The first time he’d met her, she’d been taking his fingerprints and DNA sample and collecting fingernail scrapings and whatever else it is forensic people collect. He was having a hard time focusing at that point, the panic fog still hanging thick over his brain.

“Okay, you’re all set!” She’d declared when she was finished with whatever it was she was doing. “I’ll let you get back to your cat.”

“My…?” he’d started, staring dumbly at her.

“Your… cat…,” she’d said slowly, like she was trying to explain the rules of Candy Land to a four year-old. “Orange Calico, I’m pretty sure… Might be a Tabby though.”

“How did you…?”

She’d reached over to pluck off a tiny orange hair Sphinx must have left on his jacket that his heavy-duty lint roller didn’t catch. Then she’d just grinned like a wolf and left him with a cheery “have a nice day!” and blown out of the room in a whirlwind as quickly as she came in.

“We also strongly suspect that Carl Emerson Wallace is a co-conspirator in his father’s death,” Kane adds flipping his little coin thingy again. Bellamy decides that he really doesn’t need to work both the pipe and the coin at the same time. One would be enough for him to maintain whatever vibe he’s going for. Bellamy still isn’t completely sure what that vibe is exactly, but at this point he’s a little too afraid, and mostly too tired, to ask. 

“Not only did he also have a financial motive,” Reyes says letting a stack of file folders drop loudly onto the table and making everyone in the room jump, “being that he too was broke. But a search of his car turned up a small vial of Naloxone, which he has no business or reasonable explanation for having in the first place. And it will likely prove to be the emergency Naloxone missing from your kit.”

The emergency Naloxone Bellamy needed that night. The Naloxone that would have saved Emerson’s own father’s life. Bellamy can’t help but clench his jaw and tighten his hold on Clarke’s hand. Fucking Emerson, this would be the one time he manages to do something vaguely useful or slightly right.

“Okay. Ow. Bell,” Clarke interrupts his mental tirade by poking his leg. “I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but maybe we can negotiate about which of my appendages you get to rip off? Because I like my fingers, and I just got this manicure.”

Bellamy looks down to see that Clarkes fingers are literally turning white in his grip. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly letting go of her hand. He can’t help but chuckle, both at himself and over the fact that Clarke doesn’t know she’s basically his favorite person in any given room at any given time. Even, evidently, when she’s fake framing him for murder.

She just smiles ruefully at him and gives his hand one more warm, reassuring squeeze before making her way back to where she had been sitting on the other side of the table. He wants to drag her back over to him; to take her hand back in his and fold her under his arm and know she’s on his side again. But he doesn’t, he can maintain some level of chill. He can.

“We knew Cage would fuck up at some point,” Clarke says once she’s settled. “He might be a clever little douche canoe, but he’s not that smart. And his first major fuck up was thinking you would fuck up.”

"He switched are the vials in your med kit," Miller says when Bellamy looks at him questioningly, "or had someone switch them around for him, as the case may be."

Fucking Emerson.

"It was as simple as using the syringes in your kit to switch the liquids in the insulin and morphine medication vials, and then taking the emergency Naloxone as a precaution," Reyes explains. "So simple even an idiot like Emerson could apparently do it."

Bellamy might just end up in jail for murder after all before this is over, because he is going to fucking kill Emerson.

“Apparently, the one thing Cage didn’t count on was that, unlike him, you are actually competent at your job,” Kane says pulling several small vials out of his bag on the floor next to him and setting them on the table in front of Bellamy. "Not just competent; dedicated, skilled, exceptional, unerringly so it turns out. And for that reason, you did not give Dante an overdose, you did not use the incorrect medication. You switcherooed the switcheroo."

Bellamy can't even be annoyed at Kane's word choice, because he is genuinely to stunned to think straight.

“That’s impossible,” he manages to choke out. “I was there… I know what I… I know I gave him an overdose.”

“No, you didn’t,” Kane counters. “Here, I’ll show you… Hand me that vial of morphine.”

Without thinking Bellamy grabs the bottle of morphine from the table and hands it to Kane, who takes it from him grinning. “If you look Mr. Blake, you’ll see that I have taped over the labels of all these medication vials, and the vials themselves are identical… So how did you know this was the morphine?”

“I just knew,” Bellamy says shocked as hell and honestly surprised he can talk.

“Yes, you just knew. You knew because there are the slightest, almost imperceptible difference of tincture and viscosity between all these liquids. You knew because you had administered these exact same medications to Dante Wallace steadfastly and without fail every night for years. You knew because you'd done it hundreds, if not thousands, of times. You gave him the correct medication because you are a good care giver.”

“Then Dante was…?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Blake, but yes,” Kane says sadly. “Mr. Wallace was perfectly fine. His blood was normal. The cause of death was truly, solely suicide, and you are guilty of nothing but some slight property damage in the form of a broken drainpipe and a few amateur, albeit impressive, theatrics. In fact, if he had listened to you and called the ambulance, he would be alive today.”

Bellamy swears his heart actually breaks in that moment. He can feel the sharp, relentless pain starting in his chest and radiating through his entire body as he puts a hand over his mouth and chokes out a strangled sob.

“Yeah,” Clarke says sounding and looking absolutely miserable. “You would think he would have learned at some point to just listen to you,” she tries to tease, but it doesn’t quite land.

“Anyway,” she says curtly, quickly wiping a tear off her cheek like it’s personally offending her. “Once we found out that grandpa had left you literally everything, Cage was even more likely to start getting sloppy and desperate. But what we couldn’t have happen was for us to wait for Cage to dig his own grave and have you go down in the meantime. And I just so happened to be the perfect scapegoat,” a little bit of her grin coming back. “The greedy, self-obsessed granddaughter whose more than willing to hang ‘the help’ out to dry so she can get her perfectly moisturized hands on her share of granddaddy dead and dearest’s dough.”

It’s in that moment that Bellamy actually understands just how immeasurably huge of a gamble Clarke took in risking her ass for this. Sure, it was a calculated risk, with several elaborate fail safes and back up plans, but still. As he begins to truly appreciate what Clarke had done, what she had been willing to do, all for him, to keep him out of trouble. The guilt settles over him like a dark, heavy cloud. He’s spent days hating her. He has said some truly heinous things about her in anger. He had no second thoughts about believing the absolute worst of her. She’s supposed to be his friend. He should have known she would never truly do something like try to frame him for murder she committed. Hell, he should have known that she wasn’t even capable of committing any type of murder at all, much less the one of a person she loved. Clarke could never in any time, dimension, or universe do anything like that. Not his Clarke.

She must notice the heaviness settle over him because when he opens his mouth to start apologizing to her, he’s not above begging really, she puts her hand up and says “I know what you’re gonna say, and don’t… I also know exactly what you’re thinking, and stop.” Honestly he’s sure she really does know, she always knows somehow.

“Yeah sure it was risky,” she says with a shrug, like possibly going down for first degree murder is about as potentially risky as buying a lottery ticket. “But, given the fact that I didn’t actually kill grandpa Dante, they never would have been able to come up with much more than a pretty weak, completely circumstantial case against me… Again, no offense,” she says to Miller who just nods as if to say ‘well, it’s not untrue.’

“And besides, it’s not like I couldn’t afford adequate legal representation who could have totally gotten me out of it. I mean, we might have had to sell one of the summer homes, but it’s like they always say: victory stands on the back of sacrifice,” she says with a completely straight face.

That does startle a bark of a laugh out of him, but the guilt is still there. It’s pinched between his eyebrows and clenched in his fists and sitting heavy in his gut. He knows he won’t be free of it until he really gets to talk to her. Just the two of them. Together. But this clearly isn’t the time or the place to do it. There’s already way too much going on.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Miller interrupts, startling Bellamy. He had genuinely forgotten Miller was there, or that they were in a police station, and pretty much everything else that was happening. Clarke tends to have that effect on people. Well, mostly him, that he knows of; but he’s sure there are others somewhere. “Why not just tell Bellamy all of this?”

“Kane wasn’t just being figurative or facetious when he said Bellamy was ‘too honest’ to be in on it,” Clarke says. “He is literally incapable of being a convincing enough liar for us to have told him anything about it. He has an unfortunately obvious tell when he tries to lie.”

Ah, so Dante told her about the stutter. Bellamy knows he shouldn’t be surprised really, especially now that he knows Clarke was Dante’s ghost writer. And Clarke was observant as hell, it was totally possible that she just picked up on it herself. He tried not to make it a habit to lie to his employers, but when you are working for the impossibly rich and impossible to please, sometimes it’s necessary. He could usually make it through a quick fib without his voice shaking too much, but he knew it was still noticeable if you were paying attention or looking for it.

“Yeah,” he says with a grimace. “It’s a little nervous habit I picked up during childhood.” He knows that’s putting it very, very lightly. He’s not sure exactly how much Dante would have told Clarke about how Bellamy developed the “stammers when he tries to lie” thing. Probably not much, considering the fact that it’s not a particularly fun or entertaining story to tell.

It had started with one of his mom’s shitty boyfriends, who happened to be O’s dad, which came with the unfortunate side effects of him not just being around for a while, but actually living with them for an extended period of time. While all of Aurora Blake’s boyfriends had been shitty humans in general, this one’s particular brand of shiftiness was a drug induced one. The guy, whose name Bellamy refuses to remember on principle, was a crazy, paranoid tweaker who had decided that 10 year-old Bellamy was somehow the root cause of all his problems and the bane of his entire existence.

When Aurora was at work he would yell and scream and threaten Bellamy for hours on end, sometimes keeping him up until the early hours of the morning when his mom had to work the night shift. He would sit Bellamy down at the kitchen table and pace around the kitchen, using the “bad cop” style of interrogation that Bellamy recognized from those crime shows he definitely didn’t secretly watch while his mom was at work or he was at a friend’s house. He would accuse Bellamy of lying to him, of stealing from him, of spying on him, having him followed, trying to take over his mind, trying to body snatch him. Of being everything from a Ded to a demon haunting the apartment to a rare alien species trying to take over the world and make humans their slaves.

Eventually he started throwing in threats about hurting his Mom and O, who was still just an infant at the time, and Bellamy got so terrified of the dude’s escalating behavior that he just started making things up and telling him what he wanted to hear. Typically, this would appease him and he would calm down for a while until he shot up again and the process started all over. Bellamy would admit to anything, confess anything, say literally anything just to make it stop.

He got so used making things up that he almost couldn’t tell what was the truth and what was lies anymore, except for one thing that kept them apart for him. Bellamy would try to come up with stories so quickly and talk faster than he could think and get so terrified and nervous that whenever he came up with a lie, he would stutter, desperately making things up as he went, just trying to get it out before the yelling and screaming started all over again. It started happening with other people and in normal, everyday conversations too. And before he knew it, he couldn’t even tell a simple fib without breaking out into cold sweats and stammering uncontrollably.

That had gone on for what was probably way too long, until it eventually escalated into the shitty boyfriend demanding Aurora kick Bellamy out because he was actually some kind of government drone sent to spy on them. For what reason the government would give enough of a fuck about this deadbeat, drug head to send a drone to spy on him, Bellamy could never figure out. And it was honestly kind of a moot point anyway because Aurora had ultimately refused, obviously. While she had horrible taste in men and difficulties holding down a job, she made for damn sure that no one fucked with her kids.

It was after that incident that Aurora sat Bellamy down and explained to him that while she counted on him to look after his sister, he also needed to look out for himself. That she wanted to look out for the both of them, so she needed to know when someone treated either of them badly, or he thought someone was treating her badly. That if anyone ever hurt or scared him or his sister, or gave him a bad feeling, he could tell her and they would be gone, no questions asked. And to Bellamy’s surprise she actually kept that promise for the remainder of her life. But unfortunately, “the rest of her life” would only be a few more short years. He lost a lot of things when his mom passed: he lost her, he lost his sister for a while, he lost his home, and he lost any small sense of stability and security he’d had in his life. But the stammer stubbornly refused to take a hike. Now it’s just a part of his everyday life, a quirky personality trait. At best, it’s a fun, if not kind of bizarre, party trick. And at worst, it’s some stubbornly residual PTSD resulting from a depressingly tragic back story that Bellamy probably should have gotten years of therapy for. And hey, now that he’s loaded, he can actually afford it.

Dante had found it absolutely fascinating. He even used an adaptation of it in one of his books. One of the main characters in the novel was a young woman who had a “regurgitative reaction to mistruthing” or, in other words, she blew chunks every time she even thought about telling a lie. Bellamy hadn’t particularly cared for that rather unflattering iteration of his condition. But apparently Dante’s publisher’s thought it was inspired and his readers went absolutely nuts for it, so he just got over himself.

“But grandpa Dante didn’t need to know any of that to be sure that you were the right person to trust to leave in charge of his estate,” Clarke says. “I still can’t believe how genuinely shocked some of them were that he would leave you something… Leave you everything even… I saw it coming honestly.”

“See my grandpa knew you Bellamy Blake. Even when he found out he couldn’t trust his own family, his own children, even we he thought he could no longer trust his own judgment, he knew he could trust you. He knew you wouldn’t sell his stories or his company off to whoever was the highest bidder like Nia wanted to, that you would make sure it went into the hands of someone who would respect his vision. He knew you would never do something as cruel as leave Maya in the lurch with her blood transfusions, but would be able to keep Emerson from seeing ‘one red dime’.”

Bellamy can’t help but smile at Clarke’s use of one of her grandfather’s favorite dramatic epitaphs; but at the same time, he feels his gut clench at the memory of the phone call he got from Maya the other day while he and Clarke were sitting in the Dropship Diner, staring at what had to have been at least their fourth pot of coffee.

“Hey Bellamy,” she had sounded nervous, her voice strained.

“Maya? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No… I was just wondering if you had decided what you were going to do yet? With grandpa’s estate? Are going to keep it or…?” she trailed off at the end.

“I don’t know yet Maya,” he’d told her. “I’m still in shock my head is spinning, I can’t even…”

“I think you need to give it back,” she interrupted him in a harsh tone she’d never used with him before. “I mean, it’s the right thing to do Bellamy. This family… We were always good to you. We’ve always been really good to you and your sister… It wouldn’t be right just taking everything from us like that… It was shitty of grandpa to put you in this position and I think you really just need to…”

She’s rambling, her voice is getting even more high pitched, it sounds like she’s panicking. Somethings not right, he can tell. “Maya, slow down okay. Just… Tell me what’s going on.”

He hears her choke back something like a hysterical sob.

“Shitgoddamnitfuck,” she sounds even worse. “I can’t do this. God, I’m sorry Bell! I’m so fucking sorry I’m…”

“It’s fine,” he tries to keep his voice level, nonchalant, reassuring. “Just tell me what’s up.”

“My dad can’t afford my treatment on his own.” Bellamy swears he can feel his balls drop and a cold dread settles over him. “My dad is… He’s broke Bell… He can’t pay for them, grandpa was paying for everything and now he’s not and I don’t know what will happen if I stop being able to get my treatment Bellamy, I don’t even know if I’ll…”

Bellamy knows: she’ll die. Maybe not right away, but eventually, her condition will turn from manageablely life threatening to undoubtedly fatal. Without the ridiculously expensive medication she has to take and her bi-weekly dialysis and transfusions, her blood will start clotting, her immune system will stop being able to fight off infection, her bone marrow will break down, and her body will collapse in on itself. He’s not a doctor or nurse, but he’s been around enough sick people to know what all the big words and scary jargon add up to.

He was there a few years back when the Wallaces called one of their rare Official Family Meetings and were told that Maya’s aplastic anemia had progressed to full blown paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria. He was there when Dante called in doctor after doctor and flew in experts and specialists from around the world to get 2nd and 3rd and eventually 12th and 13th opinions. He was there when Maya would stay over at the estate for days at a time, not wanting to be home alone while her step-dad went off on one of his “business trips,” (aka his week-long benders in Vegas or Miami or where ever there wasn't currently a warrant out for his arrest for some kind of misdemeanor). He was there when Maya would break down and crack under the depression and the fear of dying. And he was there when Dante would cry on his shoulder over the helplessness he felt that, even with all his fame and fortune and infinite resources, he couldn’t fix this for her.

God, it was just like Emerson to blow through all their money without giving a second thought to his 16 year-old step daughter and her life threatening condition for which she needed continuous care for the foreseeable future. Bellamy never got the chance to know Ada Vie, Maya’s mom, very well; but at least he knew she loved and took care of her daughter. He could never figure out why the fuck Emerson got married in the first place, especially to a woman who already had a kid. He had no interest in being a husband and even less interest in being a dad. Bellamy had always slightly suspected he married Ada for her own family money, and now that he knows Emerson has blown through it all, it’s not even a suspicion anymore. Ada had died suddenly a few years after they got married, and after the dust settled Emerson was left with a step-daughter and dependent whose share of her mother’s estate he controlled and had apparently plowed over like a goddamn 18-wheeler on the interstate.

“Hey listen to me Maya,” she’d been crying in earnest at that point, still apologizing for trying to guilt and manipulate him. “No matter what I decide, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I won’t let it, I would never do that,” he’d promised her. And he’d meant it. Dante was always more of a father figure to Maya than Emerson ever was, and Bellamy knew beyond all shadow of any possible doubt that Dante would have wanted Maya to be taken care of.

He hadn’t been able to figure out why Dante hadn’t left anything to Maya or any instructions about her care in his Will, but now it was clear. Maya was underage and would be for the next two years. Until she turned 18 her legal guardian would have control over the funds left to her as well as if and how they were used. And that legal guardian would have been Emerson. After finding out that Emerson had not only been scamming him, but also using Maya’s inheritance from her mother as his own personal piggy bank, there was no way Dante would have ever trusted his son with this.

“The only one of his kids Dante really worried about cutting out of the will was my mom. But in the end, he knew she would respect his decision like she always did, even when she didn’t understand it. Besides,” Clarke grins, “it’s not like she was left high and dry or anything. My dad left her with a pretty cushy set up when he died.”

Jacob Griffin, also known as Mr. Go-Green; the environmental engineer responsible for most of the prototypes used for the U.S.’s eco-friendly technology. The man who helped spearhead sustainable energy as the world knew it. Yeah, Bellamy could imagine his wife wouldn’t have much to worry about after he died, and his daughter too.

As if Clarke could tell what he’s thinking she adds, “I mean obviously he set me and Madi up nicely too. But honestly, I do pretty well for myself… Who knew that working as a research assistant and ghost writer for one of the most famous crime novelists in history would be so lucrative?!” There’s that smirk of hers again. This time he doesn’t even try to stop himself from smiling back as he feels the last bit of the knot that’s been in his stomach since Dante died finally begin to fade.

“We figured Roan wouldn’t be too much of a problem either since he hates this family’s money on principle and probably wouldn’t have even taken his part of Nia’s inheritance in the first place. Plus,” she goes on, “he would be on the opposite side of his mother and sister purely out of spite. Apparently he’s not hurting for cash either,” she adds. “Did you know that he owns the largest and most lucrative chain of non-medicinal marijuana dispensaries in the North Eastern U.S? Roan, an entrepreneur… Who knew right?!?”

Bellamy actually did know that; Roan told him once while they were commiserating over some of Dante’s good whiskey. What he didn’t know was that Roan was keeping it under wraps or not telling his family though, apparently the combination of top shelf liquor and good weed makes Roan chatty. Or maybe it was just Bellamy that made Roan chatty. Bellamy has that effect on people, as it turns out. Yet another one of his sparkling personality traits that seems to get him in predicaments like the one he is in now.

“I’m kinda jealous of how much he’s winning at life honestly,” Clarke groans. “God… How did the cousin who thought he could practice Santaria and unironically wore dreads and spent multiple summers following Black Sabbath around on their world tours end up being the one with a successful career and functional relationship?”

“According to E!News he’s dating that insanely hot, Icelandic supermodel with no last name. God what is her name?” Clarke starts tapping her head like she’s trying to poke her brain into submission. “Gecko…? Ghetto…? Techno…?”

“Echo.” Miller says in a patronizing tone implying that not only Clarke, but everyone on this planet, in this world should be aware of the information.

“Yes!” Clarke cries out, snapping her fingers at him and making Bellamy jump, “ECHO! Oh my god thank you, that was going to drive me nuts!”

Miller nods at her like he’s willing to let it go this time, but he won’t tolerate such an infraction again.

“Pft you would know that,” Reyes chimes in with a scoff. “I swear, for a dude who is strictly dickly, you are more knowledgeable about supermodels than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re like a walking Hot Chick Encyclopedia.”

“Don’t you have something to be analyzing with some super overpriced high techy-tech thing that we paid way too many hard working, taxpayer dollars for somewhere?” Miller asks her wryly.

“Roger that, chief.” She says with a mock salute.

“So nice to meet you by the way!” she says to Kane on her way out the door. “I’m a huge fan… You’re so much taller in person than I thought you’d be.”

Kane beams radiantly at her and places his hand over his heart like that was the most touchingly gratifying compliment he had ever received. And with that, Reyes breezes out of the room, flicking her perfect pony tail behind her.

“Anyway,” Clarke says, presumably finished with her lamenting and ready to get back to business. “Grandpa knew that those of us he actually wanted to leave money to didn’t actually need it or honestly didn’t give enough of a fuck to try to get our hands on it. My mom and I are set. We both have plenty of savings, we both work, and we’ll have no problem making sure Madi goes to good schools and can take up all the ridiculously expensive and completely useless hobbies she wants.” Bellamy snorts at that and Clarke grins again.

“Roan and his inhumanly hot girlfriend are off conquering the weed market, one pot lollipop at a time, and Maya’s medical care would be taken care of. You were the perfect choice.

“But unfortunately,” Kane says gravely, “that also made you even more of a target for Cage.”

“Idiot kept his cool for about a day and a half after you were released before he tried to hire a hitman,” Miller scoffs.

Bellamy startles at that, “He what?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Miller says waving him off, a scooch too nonchalant about Bellamy's life hanging in the balance for his liking. “We had his phone tapped and got a warrant for his arrest as soon as he made the call.”

“He also just so happened to call an undercover federal agency posing as some kind of hitman concierge service. It’s like he Googled ‘hitmen in my area’ and then just called the first number that showed up. Pleeb,” Miller scoffs again, like the murder for hire business should be easier to figure out than a single serve Kuerig.

“He was brought in about an hour after you were,” Miller says, looking down as gets a message on his phone. “And apparently Emerson is being brought in right now, so I need to go deal with that and you two,” he says pointing at Bellamy and Clarke, “are free to go.”

As Miller is walking out of the room he says over his shoulder, “if you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to call Detective Reyes... Or Lieutenant Pike… Or Sargeant Byrne… Or even Petty Officer Jordan if you’re feeling desperate... Basically anyone but me to be honest. After this amount of white people nonsense, I’m going on sabbatical.” And with that he’s gone, letting the door slam behind him.

Kane says something about needing to greet his “adoring public” and fixes his bowtie as he starts to strut, all pomp, circumstance, and perfectly coiffed hair, towards the doors at the front of the station, while Bellamy follows Clarke as she heads to more discreet back exit.

Standing in the back parking-lot, she puts on her big floppy hat and hilariously huge sunglasses and Bellamy can’t help but remember the first time he ever encountered Clarke Griffin. It was right after he’d started working for Dante; Clarke had pulled up to the house in her latest model Mercedes Benz looking like she’d traipsed straight out of a Lily Pulitzer catalog, all impeccably dressed, and flawlessly made up, and perfectly curled blonde beautifulness. She’d skipped up the front steps announcing that her spring break trip to Cabo was canceled so she was here to visit her grandfather.

“You’re new,” she’d said, looking at him over the lenses of her ridiculously, unnecessarily large sunglasses that she was still wearing inside.

“I usually go by Bellamy,” he’d responded flatly.

Clarke had grinned at him like she approved, even though he didn’t give a single shit about getting her approval. He swears, he did not.

Then she’d stuck out her hand and said “I’m Clarke Griffin, the prodigal, heathen granddaughter.”

“Heathen?” he’d asked her raising an inquisitive eyebrow and shaking her hand.

“Feminist, agnostic, bisexual, liberal Democrat takes way longer to say,” she’d said, still smiling widely. “Nice to meet you.”

He’d had to put an embarrassing amount of effort into keeping a straight face and not give into her grin. “Uh huh,” he’d said “your grandpa is in his study.”

After that he’d though she was just another dumb, ditzy, blonde, rich princess who had no idea how privileged she was and did things like blow wild amounts of money on fancy cars and trips to Cabo and whatever else it was that princesses spent their money on because she could.

While he’d figured out very quickly that he couldn’t have been more wrong about the dumb, ditzy, and ignorant parts (and about the spoiled princess thing too, admittedly. But he refused to give up the nickname on principle because it got such a rise out of her and riling her up was one of his favorite pastimes. He might have never gotten past the whole “pony tail pulling” stage of flirtation, but he’s working on it. Mostly), he was right about Clarke doing things just because she could.

She definitely did things like blow money on exorbitantly expensive shoes and even more expensive booze; and take last minute trips on jets and yachts to the Hamptons or the Virgin Islands or wherever it is rich people go when they need to “unwind” from their completely stress free lives; and eat caviar on crackers as an “afternoon snack;” and get the same kind diamond infused nail polish manicures that Beyoncé does; and always have the latest models of cars and computers and even a moped that one time. All because she could.

But she also did things like give thousands of dollars and hours of her time to countless charities; and maintain multiple scholarships for low income students interested in STEM and sustainable energy in her dad’s name; and spend her winter vacations working at places like a Sri Lankan elephant orphanage or a battered women’s shelter in El Salvador; and buy staggeringly over the top generous birthday and Christmas gifts for Bellamy and Octavia like all new stainless steel kitchen appliances for their apartment because the ones they had were “tragic,” and those stupidly expensive running shoes O had had her eye on along with a new iPod because “She can’t run without an iPod, Bell. She’s not an animal”, and the annotated first editions of The Iliad and The Odyssey that her book dealer managed to find (because of course she had a book dealer), all of which she apparently got “great deals on” and refused to return because they were all conveniently “final sale;” and pay for everyone’s meals and bar tabs and cover charges and Uber rides and movie tickets and concert seats and amusement park passes and, a few notable times, their hospital bills without even thinking twice or accepting a word of thanks or asking for a penny in return. Just because she could.

He’d asked her once, about the gifts. “Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he’d said quickly. “Obviously I do. A lot. Like, so much. I’m just kind of wondering… ya know… why?“

“Because you deserve them,” she’d answered immediately without looking up from whatever she was viciously typing on her phone in her latest Twitter fight with whichever woefully misguided, conservative, alt right, incel, neck-beard, dude bro had dared to take her on that week.

Then she’d tilted her head up at him with her little smirk he was a completely normal amount of obsessed with. “And because I can.”

Once he’d gotten to know the real Clarke, he still couldn’t help but laugh and heckle her about her over dramatic eye and head wear that made her look like a widow visiting her convict pen pal turned clandestine lover in prison where he was serving time for tax fraud. She is absolutely one of those ridiculously over the top rich people and she absolutely knows it. But her ridiculousness is far surpassed by her kind-hearted, earnest generosity. That was just Clarke.

His Clarke.

“Oh! Before I forget!” Clarke exclaims, reaching into her absurdly large purse, which he must say goes perfectly with her attire. She pulls out a thick manila envelope and hands it to him. “Grandpa Dante wanted me to make sure this got to you. I mean, it’s technically yours anyway since he quite literally left you everything,” she smirks at him again. “But he especially wanted to make sure this made it directly into your hands.”

Their fingers brush as she hands him the envelope and instead of pulling away she twists his fingers into his. “Look Bell,” she starts awkwardly. “I know this was all really fucked up, like beyond fucked up, Kardashian levels of fucked up even… But I just want you to know I am so sorry.”

“More sorry than words can say. For every thing... And I totally get it if you can’t trust me anymore or don’t want to be friends with me,” she starts rambling. “I mean I probably wouldn’t want to be friends with me either after this. Honestly if I could ghost myself right now…”

Bellamy just chuckles and tugs on her hand until she’s close enough for him to press his lips to hers. It’s a totally chaste, 8th grade style kiss. But still, she lets out this little sigh against his lips; and if they weren’t literally standing in the parking lot of a police station right at this moment, the situation definitely would have escalated from tolerable PDA to public indecency.

Instead he just pulls his lips away but keeps his forehead pressing against hers. He opens his eyes and finally feels relaxed for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He’d been wondering where his ability to breath normally had run off to. Figures it had been with her the whole time.

“I’m trying to come up with something really smooth to say right now,” he says, “but I’ve been dealing with a little stress lately so I’m kind of off my game.”

“It’s ok,” Clarke says, eyes still closed, more than a little breathless he thinks proudly. “You’ve never been smooth, I don’t know why you would start now.”

He starts to object that he is the smoothest, but she just pulls his mouth back down to hers and he figures there are much better things his lips can be doing at this current juncture. And when she throws both her arms around his neck to get him closer he finds himself yet again wishing the nearest building weren’t literally full of cops so that he could press her up against the side of it.

When they pull away for air he can’t help but think about how damn smug as shit Dante would be about being instrumental in pushing Bellamy and Clarke together. This probably wasn’t quite how he imagined it going down, but still.

Dante had never outright pressured them, or come out and said they should go on a date, or anything of the sort. No, Dante knew his granddaughter needed to go at her own pace, knew she need time and space to grieve and move on after girlfriends’ death, and, most importantly, knew she would vehemently resist being ordered or pushed into anything. Instead he would find small, yet absurdly unsubtle ways, to nudge them towards each other, to suggested how they would be good together.

Sometimes it was Dante all of the sudden “feeling a tired spell” or “losing his appetite” when he had arranged for his personal chef to make a nice lunch for the three of them, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone out on the patio, rolling their eyes and chuckling awkwardly into their salmon club sandwiches and sweet iced teas. Other times he would request Bellamy go pick up Clarke when she would work for him during the summer do he wouldn’t have to “wait around for Lincoln or bother him with such a short trip when Bellamy could easily do it,” all while Lincoln, Dante’s own personal chauffeur, sat approximately 20 feet away on the patio where he had been all morning, snorting behind his newspaper. And then there were the times when Dante would have an oddly specific, and usually vaguely ridiculous and completely unnecessary, errand he needed Clarke to run at the exact same time Bellamy would be running his own errands for Dante, and “oh well wasn’t that convenient that they could just go together?!”

Typically, Dante’s antics were met with raised eyebrows, unimpressed expressions, and the occasional snort or sigh from both of them. They had only ever acknowledged it between them once while they were on their way to Saks one summer a few years ago. Dante had decided he needed Clarke to pick out some new swim trunks for him for the pool he literally never used because “she had the best taste in seasonal attire” and needed Bellamy to go with her to make sure the material of whatever she picked out “wasn’t too scratchy.”

“I can’t decide,” she’d said flatly, “if I’m more offended by him thinking he’s actually fooling us with this, or by his clear belief in my total and complete lack of game.”

Bellamy had snorted while desperately trying to come up with something to say about how he thought she had great game, the best game ever, like Shaq level game, without sounding like a total moron when Clarke’s phone had pinged with another text notification.

“He said he also needs flip flops,” she’d said raising an eyebrow. “But the ones without ‘the thingies that go between your toes’.”

“God, what does it say about me that I actually know exactly what he’s talking about?” Bellamy had groaned in response.

She’d looked over at him and they had both burst out laughing. The moment may have been ruined, but he had always been of the opinion that laughing with Clarke Griffin was a moment in and of itself. She didn’t really, truly, genuinely laugh all that often. She would usually cackle or snort, and there was the occasional chuckle, but the only person who seemed to have the innate talent for well and truly cracking Clarke up was her grandfather. Bellamy would hear them both losing it over something or other behind the closed doors of Dante’s study when she would come visit him or do whatever work it was she did for him over the summer. It seemed like someone had taught Clarke at some point in her life that she was only allowed a finite amount of happy and carefree moments, so he always felt a weird sense of accomplishment when he got to witness one; and being the cause of one was even better.

He opens his eyes and sees that right now she’s wearing the biggest, brightest, most beautiful, bonafide Clarke Griffin smile he’s ever witnessed, and he’s more than a little smug that he put it there. They stand there for a minute, just breathing each other in, until she pulls away slightly and beams up at him.

“Well,” she says giving him one last peck on the lips. “You’re about to have to answer an entire metric shit ton of questions from the media who will probably be here in about 3 minutes and 47 seconds, give or take. And while I usually love a good press conference, I haven’t showered in about 3 days and there is no amount of dry shampoo in the world that could tame the epic tragedy that is currently my hair.”

She steps out of his arms and starts digging around in her Mary Poppins bag for her keys. “Wait...” he says incredulously, “you’re leaving me? To face them all alone?! Clarke, how am I supposed to give a press conference?!? You know I can barely even talk on the phone!”

“Oh Bell,” she says patting his shoulder affectionately. “You’re rich now… Rich people can do anything!”

“You’re a dick!” Bellamy calls as she starts walking towards her car.

“You know you love me!” she yells back and yeah, he definitely does. He’s not gonna tell her right this second or anything, but he does.

She blows him an exaggeratedly loud kiss as she hops into the driver’s seat and revs her engine obnoxiously as she speeds away and God he’s totally gonna marry her, he thinks grinning like an idiot, he has no doubt. He’s going to be the shameless, boy toy, arm candy, trophy husband of one of the coolest chicks in the entire world and it’s going to be awesome.

It’s not until hours later when Bellamy gets home that night (gets to his new home holy fucking shit), after Cage and Emerson’s very public arrests, after the press conference clearing Bellamy and Clarke of all wrong doing, after posing with Kane for an endless number of photographs. and after answering what had to be a floppily trillion questions for the media, that Bellamy remembers the envelope. He pulls it out of his bag and slowly opens the seal. Inside is a thick stack of papers with a letter on top in Dante’s messy scrawl.

Dear Bellamy,

Thank you for being a kindred spirit, a loyal friend, a kind heart, and an excellent listener these past few years. And thank you, most recently, for being most inspiring muse yet.

It felt only fair and just for you to be the first to read the completed debut novel of my newest series. I think it has some real potential, but it’s up to you whether or not it will continue.

I trust that you will find someone with the perfect head for it and leave it in the right hands.
 


Best,
 Dante H. Wallace

Bellamy sets down the letter and looks at what he now realizes is the title page of a manuscript... The Casefiles of Odysseus Private Investigations & Detective Augustus B. Blake
                            Book 1: The Gold That Killed King Midas.


On the next page he finds a dedication: for C and B, the head and the heart. Bellamy settles back into his new arm chair in front of his new fireplace in his new study and gets comfortable.



Prologue: Augustus had a sister, her name was Octavia…

[coe-lilium]

Fate’s Avenger Amakusa Masuda Shirou Tokisada from FGO EoR III. 

Shimosa just passed its 2nd Jp birthday, has finally debuted in NA and my pipe dream of getting him as playable Servant is still a pipe dream, so to hell with it,  I made him sprite and profile myself. 

Hopefully I’ve managed to get the tone of official FGO profiles right. 

Warning: there are some brief spoilers for Arc 2

PROFILE

A nearly 40 years old Amakusa who survived the siege of Hara and lost himself to grief and hate to the point of resembling a vengeful ghost long before his death.  

Discrete as a swordsman, but experienced and lethal as a mage; a jaded person who looks younger than his age but behaves like he’s older.

The years of his life between Hara and the events occurred in the Shimosa pseudo parallel world are shrouded in mystery.

Height/Weight: 180cm - 66kg                                                                    Source: Historical Fact / Alternative history                                                Region of Origin: Japan                                                                          Alignment: Chaotic Evil                                                                              Gender: Male    

A very different person to the Heroic Spirit previously summoned by Chaldea.

Bond 1

Up until he was 17 years old, his life went down exactly as his PanHuman history self.

However, as he was bleeding and about to die a man dressed in ridiculous clothing sprung from thin air, got rid of the shogunate soldiers and quietly offered him a clawed hand. 

After some time of feverish nightmares, Amakusa recovered enough from his injuries to witness Hara castle being razed from distance, too weak to stop it as he’d be to stop the mass executions that followed. His despair began turning into hate when heads were lined up by the thousands. 

Edo and the shogun’s family burned to ashes few years after 1639 thanks to his and Douman’s sorceries, dooming Amakusa original timeline to erasure and setting him on the travels that ended in Shimosa.                                                 

Upon his arrival in Chaldea and made to confront Ruler’s presence he renounced the Amakusa title and retook his family name of Masuda.   

Bond 2

«Amakusa Shirou» always possessed a decent number of magic circuits and the ability to wield any form of magecraft as long as he connected his circuits to a foundation, but usually his short life and the lack of magical education prevented him to become fully aware of his powers and reaching his potential as mage. 

As Masuda is an “Amakusa who got to live”, he also got the chance to hone that ability and learn to use many types of curses and offensive magics, in which he now specialise. Thanks to time, studies and the occasional guidance of Douman he became a cruel and skilled mage. 

Similar to his Ruler self, his arms have become a Noble Phantasm.      

Bond 3

The attempt at looking like Chaldea’s Amakusa employed in Shimosa discarded, Avenger now appears in his late twenties even if he was 37 years old at the time of his death. 

He learnt a technique or two for slowing the ageing process but as he refuse to look as if he didn’t survive 1638 or be confused with Ruler, he settled for a decade of difference from both. Outside the off-putting red sclera, his hair and skin color are those he was born with.  

His clothes are identical to Ruler’s but in colors and details, the main difference in their attire being Avenger’s armor. The one he wears was gifted to Yamada Emonsaku by the government in one of the first worlds Masuda and Douman visited. Avenger, who by then had mostly recovered and was furious, hunted down Emonsaku, killed him and took the traitor’s armor for himself. 

He could’ve washed the blood or scrubbed the crest away anytime but chose not to, for reasons he probably won’t be albe to fully explain.

Bond 4

The events of the pseudo parallel world of Shimosa were the culmination of twenty years of travels, machinations and despair that once again ended in failure thanks to Musashi, Senji Muramasa and the Master with which he has now begrudgingly formed a pact… let’s just say he’s far from having the warmest attitude or personality in Chaldea. 

Upon his death he was registered into the Throne as a distinct soul for obscure motives, perhaps even thanks to the machinations of a certain AlterEgo. 

Summoning this individual instead of the PanHuman history younger self when trying to call forth «Amakusa Shirou» would be near impossibile without Chaldea’s FATE system.

Bond 5

What all my nightmares are made of                                                          Rank: A                             Type: Anti-Army                                                                                           Range: 1~200 Maximum number of targets: 500 people Hell of Shimabara

A Reality Marble exclusive to this “Amakusa Shirou” alone. For a given time, reality is overwritten by the mental world of the caster. In Avenger’s case, the targets will find themselves in a hellish landscape were the terrain is made of ashes and dead bodies, the air a deadly poison filled with pained screams, fires rages and the burning, half-collapsed castle of Hara towers over its old and new victims.

Difficult to escape from, other than the obvious purpose of killing its targets it can serve as a momentary cage and torture device to those its owner knows able to survive it but wants delayed or trapped for any reason.

Tends to be more effective when employed against Heroes with Good alignment or receptive to the suffering of people.          

Right Arm, Path to Wickedness Left Arm, Foundation of Hell’s Curses Rank: C Type: Anti-Unit Range: 1 Maximum Targets: 1

His hands that have become Noble Phantasms. With them, he had caused ‘miracles’ to occur before the rebellion and with them he learned many ways to destroy his enemies after the siege. Able to connect to any magecraft foundation, they form a ‘key’ that allows him to wield any form of magecraft to various degrees, even those he has no understanding of. 

A rank higher than Ruler’s thanks to Avenger’s additional decades of magical education and training.

Miike Tenta Mitsuyo Rank: C+ Type: Anti-Unit Range: 1 Maximum Targets: 1

the sword Avenger carries, formerly of a "certain one-eyed master swordsman”. While a simple armament in the hands of PanHuman Amakusa, Masuda has spent years strengthening his own and embedding it with curses, which results in it current state of being surrounded by fire (that and the amusing reactions a blazing sword tends to have on a common soldier). 

Even if the powerful being who aided him in his revenge was never a devil, the blade gained some traits of genuine demonic swords thanks to its owner different conviction, a process not unlike the one that gave the Assyrian empress the Gardens even when she had no true connection with them.         

Not impressive as far as demonic swords go, but its wounds are poisoned and can pose a serious danger to saints or otherwise religious figures. 

CHARACTER

Personality

A calculating man who is no stranger to sudden fits of rage or detached silences and keeps to himself. Abrasive with allies as with enemies, he tries his best to actively push people away, not last because of familiarity with solitude and for finding crowds of people to be distressing. 

The smug but not malicious attitude of Chaldea’s Amakusa was probably part of Avenger’s personality too in the past, before it turned into the current viciousness and gratuitous cruelty in actions and remarks.

Glimpses of a empathic and thoughtful person buried under the rage can still be seen, albeit rarely, with young heroic spirits or those who have suffered a great deal unprepared. Like a Master freshly out their first destroyed, innocent alternative history.   

Not impossible to mellow out, but the process to gain anything more than detached tolerance would be a long one.

Motives and attitude

Aware of having being used as test for the Lostbelts plot by someone he thought an ally, he summoned himself to Chaldea out of spite and to return the betrayal with interests. He still resent the Master for what happened in Shimosa, but he posses intel Chaldea could use and he’ll provide it with glee. Somehow similar to the Count’s reasoning for appearing in the Time Temple, just less benign. 

Focused and effective in battle, it’s best not pair him with Servants who use firearms and cannons. The sound could bring his memories back to Hara and leave him in a state that could jeopardise the fight.        

The relationship with the Master is particularly sour and he’d rather spend his time holed up with Holmes and Sokaris sharing informations and discussing strategies and chances against the remaining Crypters than giving Guda some time or finding selected fellow Servants to relax with. 

Nonetheless, Guda persists.   

RELATIONS

Amakusa Shirou Tokisada (Ruler)

A nightmare for both.

Avenger is torn between resentment and envy for the boy with whom he shares family, people and the pain of seeing them slaughtered… and yet choose to protect humanity and -he believes- had it easier by not having to live with the guilt of being the sole survivor of the massacre.                                                   If one were to discuss Ruler’s plan for the Grail and how it’s hardly the wish a «not troubled» individual would make, Avenger would dismiss the attempt to have him see how alike they are saying «but he did not kill thousands, did he?». After some time, however, his resentment will mostly die down and he’ll be relieved to see how happier the kid seems to be in this strange new life.             

Ruler is horrified to face what could’ve become of him and tries not to see nor interact with Avenger in any way, up to avoid pointing out that by being incarnated for decades after a certain summon he knows all too well how it feels to live with survivor’s guilt. Nonetheless, after the initial shock has passed, he’ll sneak behind his older self back and asks for other Servants’ cooperation in not letting this mirror of his be alone.        

Ashiya Douman

The one who saved him from the siege and helped him bury his mother and sisters after the shogunate had them executed. An accomplice and manipulator at the same time, who nonetheless was the only familiar face and constant help he had in twenty years and his main teacher in magic. He doesn’t know if he wants to toss Douman into the sea for leaving him to die in Onriedo, leave him to other Servants tender mercies or…    Either way, he won’t push the AlterEgo away unless he’s in a terrible mood.  

After Douman joins Chaldea, half of Avenger’s time is spent keeping him from stirring trouble or from being murdered by the likes of Fuuma Kotaro or Asklepios and their roles of guardian-charge get inverted. A single action is completely forbidden to his old ally: going anywhere near Amakusa.  

Edmond Dantes

A strange man. What business could someone like him have with his Ruler self? And why would he pester him instead of leaving him alone or in Limbo’s company? Still, he doesn’t completely resent the attempts. They joined forces in physically throwing Douman away that time the AlterEgo had the disgraced idea to approach Ruler.        

Jeanne Alter Santa Lily

Much to Amakusa and the Jeanne sisters initial horror, Avenger has taken a liking to Lily, who reminds him of his younger sister Man. He tends to keep his distance but won’t send the young Lancer away if she were to approach first.     

Saint Martha

No matter how disillusioned with God Avenger has become, he has nothing but respect for the saint his mother was named after, especially after seeing that her moral fortitude and fighting prowess are paired with the personality of a punk brawler instead of the distant and composed lady he expected. When addressing her, he’ll use the most formal and respectful register.    

Japanese Heroic Spirits connected to the Tokugawa clan or government

For the well being of everyone in Chaldea, keep them separated. The same advise would apply to any eventual Dutch Heroic Spirit.  

Senji Muramasa and Shinmen Musashi

«Keep them the fuck away from me if you don’t want Chaldea to be covered in dead people’s ashes».  

Other Avengers

Initially fascinated by Angra Mainyu, he began keeping him at arms length once he learnt of Angra’s circumstances of innocent scapegoat on the grounds of «a victim shouldn’t be compared with a real mass murderer» and the frankly bizarre tendency of the boy to flirt with his younger self.                                        Displaying a detached tolerance for Jeanne Alter’s noisy personality, they once drew their weapons against each other the time Jeanne was worried for Lily but the matter was quickly settled and they were back to barely interacting.        He finds himself at ease in Gorgon and Hessian Lobo’s company and can be found napping in Lobo’s fur from time to time.  

Chaldea’s versions of Shimosa’s Swordmasters

No reaction except a smirk or a sad smile depending on the mood. Disappointed Chaldea’s Kojiro is a completely different person from the one he knew. Douman is fine, but sometimes more than one familiar face to hang out with wouldn’t hurt.

[siderealxmelody]

By Blood & Bone {Paimon}

Or where the Exiled Demons came from.

Paimon opened the doors to her sister's throne room. 

She knew who she was now, what she was.

Now everything made sense. Her wish to change things, her call for equality - males should be given more and not treated as just sperm banks. 

"I am a demoness sister."

She started slowly as she walked into the room. 

"I wish to change things, to improve Hell. And so, I challenge you for the throne."

Aeshma stared down at her brother no sister.

She moved from the throne and to the ground. She shook her head, the diamonds in her horns sparkling as she did so.

"Even if that is what you believe, what you see as true. The throne would never accept you. To ask for more than you are given is foolish Paimon you know this. You were born male, and a male is what the Throne and Mother will see you as."

"Yes it will."

Paimon said anger in her rising. Who was her sister to say who or what she was? Mother loved all her children, the Throne would accept her.

She cut her palm using a jagged piece of ceramic on the floor. 

She pressed it to the arm of the throne, the blood swirled along the rivets in the stone. Lining the throne in a deep red. 

As Aeshma watched slack jawed the thone scepter still fitted into the rock pulsed - the core recognized her as a viable Empress.

Paimon turned to her sister and sneered.

"Things need to change, Hell has forgotten. I have seen how the downtrodden, how demons like are treated! Aeshma they're more than sperm banks! There are demons -"

"They are degenerates, they cannot hold down a job, they cannot work. All male demons wish for is to sire children. Even then they do not help, why should we help ones who do not help themselves or their children?"

Paimon yelled in frustration and began to pace.

"They do! They will if asked, if allowed! It is a matter of upbringing, I have met so many who wish for more. Males who wish to teach, to learn, to heal -"

"Healing?"

Aeshma laughed and continued,

"Males are too brash and loud for such an auspicious calling."

Paimon glared at her sister, Aeshma only sighed heavily.

"Paimon, I love you, I do. I wish things could be different but they can't. These words were taken from Mother herself. Do you say she is wrong then?"

"Misguided."

Paimon said soflty, she waited to be swallowed by the earth, or for rocks to fall on her for suggesting such things. 

But when nothing happened her confidence swelled and she started again. 

"She is misguided, males, demons like me - we are not wrong, we do not hate Her. We do not spit in the image she bore us as you all presume. 

We just know ourselves better. Did She not say to explore all of ourselves? To not shy away from the deepest and darkest parts of ourselves?"

Aeshma's jaw set. Proclaiming she wanted her throne was one thing. It was the least offensive thing Paimon had said.

But she would not tolerate such - such ridicule such twisting of Mother's doctrine. 

Males and those of a third gender were where they were supposed to be. 

Paimon would be given titles and lands because of her transition. As a male she would have been given nothing.

Why was Paimon asking for more than she was given? 

Why was she demanding things Aeshma could never give her?

"Get out of my throne room. I cannot even look at you."

Aeshma turned away from her sister, hoping a drink of saffron wine would calm her nerves. 

She did not see the blade that Paimon slid from her waistband. She did not see the grim look in Paimon's eyes. 

"No sister, I think its time you were gone - I think it's time things changed. By blood and bone, I ask Mother to bless this moment. What will happen will, and She will smile down on me. She will be happy I dragged Hell into the modern era."

The last thing Aeshma saw was the dagger glowing a light silver.

@waywardlightbearer

@fallcnintohell

@nptperfect-indadseyes

@candy-addicted-angel

@archangelhuntress

[im-not-corrupted]

Safi, No (a Witchlands fanfiction) - Chapter Eleven

Also written with @un-empressed, who you can thank for the insanely long chapter.

Read chapters 1-10 here: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten

Chapter Summary:

Merik gets a reality check and Aeduan wishes to be a blade of grass in Spain.

Also on Ao3!

Merik never bothered with so-called stress relief activities, but Kullen insisted that a walk after school would do him well and take his mind off of the rumor. 

So there he was, with Ryber and Kullen on either side of him, talking about simple, irrelevant things. Merik found it quite annoying. They couldn't actually want to hear every little detail of each others' lives, could they? But Kullen asked Ryber about her day, and Ryber asked Kullen about his, and they both smiled while the other talked. It was quite unnecessary.

Finally, after about an hour, Merik couldn't handle it anymore. The 'pretty meadow' Kullen said wasn't too far away was nowhere to be seen, and they were still talking. It wasn't even an interesting conversation! 

"We really don't care about Tanzi's opinion on french fries," Merik said, cutting Ryber off.

She rolled her eyes. "And we don't care about your opinion on the conversation you're contributing absolutely nothing to."

Merik was sure she would leave it at that, but Kullen looked much more offended. Suddenly Merik wished Ryber yelled at him, even a little bit, so Kullen wouldn't. He couldn't stand anyone saying anything against his girlfriend, no matter how true it was. 

"Tanzi is at least funny, so when she decides to interrupt our dates, they're still great." Merik made a face. He wasn't interrupting anything!  They invited him to go on a walk, and even if it was a date, it was deathly boring. They were his friends and Merik cared about them, but judging by that conversation they were having before, they picked awfully boring people to  be in a relationship with.

"The two of you invited me here! It's really not my fault that you have to give up kissing for a whole walk."

Kullen was usually calm, but he looked really irritated in the moment. Irritated wasn't the right word, actually. He looked like he was about to explode. 

But it stopped as soon as it started when Ryber shook her head. "Don't bother with him." 

"What's that supposed to mean? Do you have something against me?"

Kullen and Ryber shared a look. Something told Merik it wasn't just a romance thing. "Should we tell him?"

Ryber nodded, and Merik never felt more confused in his entire life. Well, maybe when Vivia was acting so... cheery earlier. It seemed like the point of the whole day was to leave him wondering what he had just witnessed.

"Tell me what?" Merik said. Then he realised how eager that sounded. He really did want to know what Kullen meant by it, but it couldn't actually matter. So he mockingly added: "Am I adopted?"

Kullen cracked a smile at that, but it disappeared more quickly than usual. "No, you're just... Self centered. I know how it sounds, but it's the truth. You always have to be the victim and it's really irritating at this point."

Merik didn't expect his best friend to say something like that. Even more so, he didn't expect Ryber to nod along to what he was saying. She was usually against every argument. And she was usually the reasonable one. There was no way she was on Kullen's side here.

But she was, and that made Merik uneasy. He found himself replaying his whole life in his mind. But before he was confused, he was furious. They were his friends, they weren't supposed to think that!

"Oh, so you brought me in this forest to kill me? Because I'm such a burden on society?"

"That's exactly what I'm talking about!" Kullen exclaimed. "We can't even say anything about your oblivious flaws without you getting defensive and blaming us."

"I don't know what you mean."

Ryber didn't look like she wanted to be there. She sat on a nearby rock, listening to the exchange. Merik focused on her, because he couldn't look Kullen in the eye. Was he really like that? Did he really play the victim?

Kullen sighed, and Merik returned his attention to his best friend. "Look, I don't mean to be offensive, but it's something you have to fix if you want us to be around you any longer. You're my best friend and you know I love you, but if you don't listen to me now then I'll know you simply don't care."

That left Merik speechless. Many people told him he had a problem with arrogance, but it was mostly people who hated him. Mainly his sister. He wouldn't believe Vivia if she said milk was white, but if Kullen said his attitude was too much... He couldn't lose Kullen.

"I do care, but I just don't understand. Tell me what I'm doing wrong and I swear I'll try to fix it." Merik knew how desperate he sounded. He knew his father wouldn't approve of changing himself to fit someone's perception. Not because he cared about Merik, but because Merik was so much like him and Serafin Nihar couldn't possibly have a son who cared about others' feelings. 

"Merik, why does Safi hate you?" Ryber asked. It wasn't an answer to his question, but Merik figured he should answer. He was still confused about what was happening, but he knew he hurt his friends. That was far below him, and it needed to change. He couldn't lose Kullen. Or Ryber, either. 

"Because I spoke over her."

"And that's a reason to hate somebody? To spread a rumour about them?"

Merik was suddenly attacked with a thousand thoughts at once. "No," he said. He had the urge to repeat it as he further thought about it. No. He just saw someone who didn't immediately like him and accused her of spreading a rumour. 

"See? Now that you think about it, doesn't it-," Ryber was cut off by Kullen's phone going off. 

"It's Stix," he said before answering. Kullen had a habit of having even the most serious of conversations on speaker, which Merik usually found irritating, but this time he welcomed the distraction. "Where were you at lunch today?"

A moment later, as if she was considering her answer, Stix's voice filled the forest. "Yeah, sorry not sorry. Anyway, I met this really cute girl and we kind of flirted for a short time and I just realised I don't even know anything about her? I don't know what classes she takes, I don't know what she likes... Hell, I don't even know her last name!"

"Unless she's deaf that won't be a problem," Kullen said with a grin. Merik didn't know how he could possibly smile after the conversation they had just had.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're not the best at flirting." Merik had never heard Stix flirt with anyone but he had the urge to agree just to spite her. In the light of the current events, that didn't seem like a feeling he should've had. Not if he wanted Kullen and Ryber around any longer.

"Oh, hush, we don't all have a stable relationship," Stix said. She would've been way harsher if it was Merik who insulted her. For the first time in forever, he doubted that it was her fault.

"And your flirting skills are to blame."

"Is Ry there? Ry, tell him to stop."

Ryber rolled her eyes, but unlike Kullen she didn't have that fond smile on her face. Merik was glad he wasn't the only one affected by the tension of the previous conversation. The conversation they didn't finish. 

Ryber got up and spoke into Kullen's phone: "We both know he'll ask about the details as soon as you see each other in person."

"That's a great idea! Can you come over? Like, right now? She said she doesn't talk to many people but there's a small chance you guys could know her in passing. Maybe even a social media username?".

"Can't you just ask her tomorrow? We're on a date right now," Kullen said. This time the date comment made Merik feel bad. 

"Well I could also be on a date in near future if you help me!"

Kullen was full on laughing on now. "Bye," he said, "we love you"

"Kullen Ikray, you get your ass right here or so help me!" Merik heard someone speaking in the background but he couldn't make out a single word. Stix groaned. "Well I wouldn't threaten my friends if they weren't useless!"

"Fine, we'll be there," Kullen said, hanging up. He turned to Merik. "This conversation is not over. Just... Go home and think about what we said, okay? I know you don't do it on purpose. Or at least I hope so. It is infinitely easier to act like the world revolves around you, but it's also incredibly unfair to the rest of us."

"Okay... Okay."

Ryber and Kullen resumed their conversation from before, and Merik found himself joining in. He still wasn't interested in Tanzi's opinion of french fries, but he didn't cut Ryber off this time. 

When they finally made it out of the forest, they all went their separate ways. Ryber said she "didn't have it in her to listen to Stix right now," but she didn't live anywhere close to Merik so he was left to walk to his house alone.

Alone. With nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. It was an objectively short walk, but there was too much on Merik's mind for it to be considered anything but torture.

And even when he got home, it was all too much. Was he really self-centered? Did he make everyone feel that way? 

Turning the TV on didn't help. He debated texting Kullen to ask him if he could come after he and Stix finished gossiping, but decided against it. The only thing worse than his mind telling him he was wrong would be Kullen doing so.

Merik gave up on watching whatever film was playing. He just couldn't do it. Not while so much was happening inside of him. He couldn't be alone, but there was no one else inside of the house who would be willing to talk to him. 

Merik didn't even think about telling his father what happened. He'd just get laughed at, with that harsh, cold laugh that he got enough of from Vivia. 

Vivia wouldn't want to see him either, and though a distraction would be welcome, Merik didn't want to start an argument. He didn't believe his newly discovered self-absorbed attitude hurt her like it hurt Kullen, but he couldn't help but wonder if maybe her coldness towards him was a response to it.

Merik tried to remember if he and Vivia ever talked about anything that wasn't the others' flaws. Occasionally he'd go to her room to ask her if she could lend him her charger and she'd tell him to get lost. 

Looking back on it, Merik saw how it must've looked to someone else. Kullen only met Vivia once, but he was vocal about his disapproval of how distant they were. Merik asked him not to tell the others about Vivia, though, and Kullen didn't. Maybe he truly was self-centred. 

But he could fix that, couldn't he? At least he hoped so. 

As Merik approached his sister's room, he heard laughter. It was the genuine kind once again. The kind that was seemingly reserved for everyone but him. 

Merik knocked once and entered. Vivia looked at him. There was a smile on her face, and it disappeared for a second, as if she was consciously trying to make it go away, before it resurfaced.

"What do you want?"

"I just wanted to talk, you know, see what you're doing," Merik said. Vivia rolled her eyes at that and the smile was replaced by a frown for a minute.

Vivia looked like she might yell at him when her phone vibrated. She read the message and quickly responded. Then she looked at him once again. "Okay."

"Really?"

"Yeah! Let's play truth or dare. You go first." Before Merik could say anything, Vivia's smile became aggressive. "Did you say truth? All right! What the hell are you doing here?"

Merik sighed. There was no point in lying to her, was there? He sat down on the chair next to her desk and turned to Vivia. "Kullen called me self-centered and he... He might have a point."

"Well it's nice that someone could push you off of your fucking high horse, but what does that have to do with me?"

"It's my turn, Vivia. Truth or dare? You said dare? Okay," Merik mocked. Vivia rolled her eyes but she no longer seemed as irritated as before.

"Fine, give me a dare and get lost."

"Read the next message you get out loud." Vivia looked conflicted but she nodded, never the one to lose, especially if it meant Merik would win. Her phone soon vibrated again, and she looked confused.

"Uh, it's an unknown number, I don't- Oh." Vivia smiled again, this time wider than before. 

"So? Read it!"

"It's a personal conversation. Make me drink tea with pepper or something else," Vivia said. Merik noticed that she was blushing a bit. Well, now he had to know.

"A dare is a dare, you can't take it back."

Vivia groaned. "Fine! But I am not telling you who it's from." She seemed to be mentally preparing herself before she read the message out loud: "I don't usually take phone numbers from group chats, but 1. My friend made me, and 2. You're just too cute and I don't think the group chat would appreciate me saying that in front of all of them."

That left Merik speechless. Group chat. As in, Vivia had more friends than just Vaness all of a sudden. And this person, whoever they were, was openly flirting with her. And there was no introduction in the message, so that meant they'd probably flirted with Vivia before. 

"You can't not tell me who it is!," Merik said. Vivia rolled her eyes, and started typing a response. "What are you saying?"

"None of your business."

"It kind of is now-"

"Get out!" Vivia shouted at him. There was no usual harshness in it, though. "Get out of my room before I strangle you!"

And Merik did, but he felt like he was still there, talking to Vivia. He replayed their short, yet surprisingly civil, conversation in his mind. Kullen will be so proud. [x] Aeduan was sure that one of these days they were going to get kicked out of the ice cream place. They were a big group, after all, and Safi had absolutely no filter. None.  Aeduan honestly didn't know why he was putting up with her when he could have just walked away the first time. Hell, he could've sued Leopold for somehow getting his number. Not that that would work out in his favor. Leopold's uncle was awfully rich, and apparently really influential as well. Still, Aeduan would've at least gotten the satisfaction of wasting Leopold's time, much like he wasted Aeduan's. And maybe Henrick would even yell at Leopold. On a second thought, Aeduan didn't think Leopold would particularly care for that. He never seemed to listen to common sense, also known as Iseult and Vaness (if you take out the insults and occasional swearing).  They were all waiting for Safi to come that day. It was unusual, because she was always the first one to come to their after school meetings. Hell, she was the one who scheduled them, if she wasn't on time, why would the rest of them be?  She usually came with Iseult, too, but this time not even her best friend knew what she was doing wherever she was.  "I bet this has something to do with the 'smell of unnecessary revenge'," Iseult said after a short time. Aeduan had to agree. He couldn't even begin to guess what the madwoman did this time, but he had no doubt every one of her antics would be worse than the last.  Leopold said it was "because you love us!" but that was clearly not the case.  "If she robbed a bank without us, I'll go rob her." Aeduan heard Vaness telling Stix she was a careless idiot and a sarcastic 'thank you'. "I wouldn't put it past Safi to have actually murdered Merik," Aeduan said. "Maybe she's hiding from the police now." Iseult laughed, but still checked her phone. Aeduan didn't know if she expected a message from Safi or if she just wanted to see what the time was. She seemed genuinely worried for her friend.  "I'm sure she'd tell you if she was delayed. It's Safi, she probably wants to make an entrance." "You're probably right," Iseult said. And Aeduan was, but as soon as Safi walked in he wished she had been late because she got hit by a car. But no, she was perfectly healthy. Excluding whatever mental damage she suffered because she was grinning like a maniac as she set the many bags in her hands on the closest table. Iseult and Aeduan shared a look full of dread as Safi sat down on the table where Lev, Caden, Zander and Leopold sat.  She looked around the place theatrically, still grinning from ear to ear, probably enjoying everyone's reactions. Vaness rolled her eyes as Stix grinned back. Leopold laughed as the other three at his table tried to take a look at whatever was in the bags. Vivia looked more confused than anything.  And then Safi said those words. Those four words that were enough to make Aeduan wish he was born as a simple blade of grass in Spain. "I got us jackets!" The group's reactions varied from "Fuck, that's so cool" (Leopold, Stix and Lev) to "What drugs are you on?" (Iseult, Aeduan, Vaness and Caden) to "That wasn't a joke?" (Zander and Vivia).  "Let me get this straight," Vaness started. "You bought not one, but ten personalised jackets, behind our backs, just because someone mildly annoying did something mildly annoying?" Safi pretended to consider her answer for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, that's pretty much it." She dug through the bags. Something told Aeduan that the jackets weren't nicely folded and put inside with care. Safi finally pulled out a small jacket with the words "Bribery & Corruption" written on the back. "Here's yours! I hope it isn't too big for you."

If Aeduan didn't know Safi, he'd think it might have been a genuine concern, but after spending almost a week in her company, he knew it was a jab at Vaness's height. Or the lack thereof. And he also knew Vaness wouldn't let it slide that easily. Safi had some serious guts. Or maybe she was just too caught up in the euphoria of having stupid personalised jackets. "This is ridiculous. I'm not wasting my money on that." She said 'that' with such disgust, as if she was looking at who knows what. "You don't have to. I paid for all of them." Vaness wasn't the only one protesting that. Vivia didn't seem to like the thought of someone paying for her things either. "Oh, shush. We're friends, aren't we? You didn't complain when I paid for everyone's ice cream a few days ago." "I appreciate this, but there is no way that these are anywhere near ice cream prices."  "So what if they aren't? You can repay me by wearing them. And you can't say no because I've already paid the bill. It's over." Aeduan was impressed at how thought out the plan was. Safi might have a lack of self control, but she wasn't stupid. That was even worse, in a way, because she had a mind capable of making her crazy schemes work.  "Then at least let me pay for your ice cream," Vivia insisted. "I thought it wasn't the same thing?" Vivia rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her face. Safi obviously counted that as another point for herself because she smiled brighter. Then she threw Vaness's jacket at her. She proceeded to do that with everyone, going as far as to tell Caden to get up so she could throw it at him from a reasonable distance.  "I'm not going to wear this!" Aeduan shouted as he got his jacket. Safi just smiled knowingly, as if she already had a plan to fix that.

[heroineimages]

Slavery in First Empress

Given the assumed Iron Age setting of First Empress to me it feels... disingenuous not to cover the topic of slavery within the story. I’ve studied plenty of ancient cultures and the only people I’m aware of who didn’t practice slavery was the followers of Zoroastrianism under the Persian Empire. Under the Ancient Greeks, off of whom I based Queen Viarra’s people, slaves were bought and sold and traded like any other commodity or resource, and indenturing oneself or one’s family was a common and legitimate form of favor exchange or debt settlement. 

For the most part, I tend to treat slavery as something normal in First Empress, but I also try to show the consequences. One example from later in the story, Viarra’s hegemony comes under attack by a coalition of Gannic (Gaul) tribes from the Vedrian Mountains that form the northern border of her kingdom. Repelling the invaders requires a massive mobilization of hoplites from her own and her allies’ city-states. Such mobilization isn’t cheap, and a defensive campaign just doesn’t produce the spoils of war that come from an offensive campaign. 

Thus the most practical way to pay for this mobilization is in slaves captured from the invading tribes. And as these tribes were largely migratory, the families of the invading warriors are left vulnerable to the defenders’ retaliation once the warriors are defeated. The following scene is from Zahnia’s perspective and shows the grimmer side of the aftermath of war and conquest. It’s not particularly graphic, but it does show specific examples of captured invaders and their tribes people being enslaved and oppressed by Queen Viarra’s soldiers and allies. To help emphasize that this was considered ‘normal,’ I added in descriptions of kind and otherwise likable and heroic characters taking prisoners to keep for themselves or sell as slaves. Reader discretion for descriptions of ancient-world slavery. 

Covering her mouth with one hand and grasping Elissa’s hand with the other, Zahnia wept with horror as Tollesian soldiers rounded up thousands of Vedrian slaves. 

Across the camp, some of Captain Vola’s cavalry escorted over a hundred captives from whichever tribe they’d raided or demanded reparations from. Despite having once been a slave, Vola laughed and joked with some of the other riders, seemingly nonplussed at the sight of others’ enslavement. 

Zahnia wept as Tapris, the nice hoplite who’d rushed to defend Zahnia and Elissa that night their camp’s defenses were breached, dragged a wailing, brown-haired boy away from his mother or sister. The woman screamed and sobbed, reaching after him as another soldier dragged her in a different direction. 

The Gannic mercenaries and allies in Queen Viarra’s service were no more merciful toward their fellow Vedrians. She overheard a group of warriors debating whether the pregnant woman they’d captured would sell for less money or more money. Across the way, Zahnia saw a fistfight break out between two mercenary spear-warriors over a pair of handsome twin boys. Three hoplites rushed in to break up the fight. 

Meanwhile, two of the observers from the Daughters of Avilee examined a naked, weeping shieldmaiden, still bandaged and recovering from battle injuries. Zahnia looked away when one of them wrapped her arm around the captive and made some kind of joke or innuendo to her companion.

The freedom that these tribespeople were losing and their treatment from their captors threatened to wrench Zahnia’s lunch from her stomach. Since many Tollesians and Venari and other peoples from around the Vestic Sea considered the Gannic paler skin and lighter hair exotic, many of these captives might eventually end up as decorative, household, or harem slaves, Zahnia knew—living trinkets for rich people to show off to their rich friends. Other slaves would end up in brothels, spending every day and night servicing dozens of infantrymen or sailors or nobles or whoever.

Many of the slaves, however, would be forced to work in the quarries, lumber camps, grain fields, or merchant galleys, toiling at back-breaking manual labor until they died from exhaustion or injuries. 

Damn it, it wasn’t their fault that their leaders and warriors had declared war on Queen Viarra. But with many of their leaders and warriors dead or wishing to curtail the queen’s retribution, it was the people who now suffered her soldiers’ wrath. The slavers led away a very pretty, blonde teenaged boy who would probably end up as a catamite in the nobles’ brothels. Zahnia wept for him and for the other slaves. 

The tears and screams dragged up dozens of memories for Zahnia—painful memories of her own enslavement and captivity. They were memories she thought she’d forgotten. She remembered now the raid on her home village. Soldiers from another city-state, she thought they were. Zahnia remembered them now—their shining, steel-tipped spears and their bronze and linen armor. They’d raided houses, murdered resisters, and demanded money and slaves from the village leaders. Zahnia, an orphan, had been given to them without hesitation. 

She could see those men now. She could see them in the hoplites of Queen Viarraluca—hoplites of Zahnia’s beloved queen—now beating and enslaving others just as Zahnia had once been beaten and enslaved. 

“Are you alright, Zahnia?” Elissa asked her. 

Zahnia couldn’t answer, closing her eyes against the tears. Releasing Elissa’s hand, she turned to run. Not caring the direction, Zahnia ran as far and as fast as she could, barely registering Elissa calling her name. Out of the encampment and past the guards and palisades she ran. Tears burned her cheeks as she ran amid the pines, west or southwest of the camp. Deep into the woods she ran, finally collapsing at the foot of a great, tall pine. 

Curling up on her side amid the grass and dirt, Zahnia coughed and sobbed, choking on the memories and the sights and sounds of others’ grief. Gradually, she dragged herself upright, scooting up against the tree trunk. Pulling her legs against her chest, Zahnia continued to weep against her knees. 

Perhaps minutes later, perhaps an hour later, Zahnia heard calm footsteps approaching from the direction of the camp. Based on the length and authority of the stride, she had a pretty good guess who it was. Not looking up, Zahnia pressed her face into her knees. 

“May I sit?” Queen Viarra’s voice spoke from a few feet away. 

“Like I could stop you,” Zahnia bit out, still not looking at her. 

“On the contrary,” her majesty disagreed. “You’re one of very few people whose permission I would ask and one of fewer from whom I would accept such a rejection.”

“I don’t care what you do,” Zahnia muttered. 

The queen paused as if studying her, then stepped closer and sat beside her, armor clinking as she sat back against the tree. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” Queen Viarra offered. 

“Part of me wants to hate you for bringing me here,” Zahnia murmured, eyes still closed and her nose between her knees. “But you gave me a choice to be here. You warned me of how terrible war is and how I’d see things no one should have to and how coming with you would change me forever—and I chose to come anyway. I could have sailed back to Kel Fimmaril with Pella and Naddie and not had to know the sights and sounds and smells of warfare and conquest and enslavement. And... I kind of feel like there’s a part of you that would have preferred that,” she added, opening her eyes as the thought occurred to her. 

“There is indeed a part of me that would have preferred that you returned to Kel Fimmaril to be with your friends,” Queen Viarra agreed. “There are horrors of war that no one should be exposed to, let alone a child. But this was a lesson I realized you’d need eventually as my chronicler, and I’d have stopped you from coming if I didn’t believe you were strong enough to handle it. You’re far too introspective to believe there’s anything good or honorable about any of this—and that is exactly the kind of chronicler I need. I don’t need or want a chronicler to stroke my ego, sing my praises, and to only portray my good side and great deeds. What I need is a chronicler who’s not afraid to disagree with me and not unwilling to portray the darker side of who I must be as queen and hegemon—one who understands the difficult choices I must make and the consequences of those choices.”

“I wish knowing and understanding things better made them easier to deal with,” Zahnia sighed, lifting her head enough to rest her chin on her knees. “I know that King Vedon and his allies started this awful war. I realize that they slaughtered and enslaved the people of Gillespar. I know that he’d do the same thing to our people if he’d won. And I understand that mobilizing our soldiers and allies against him was expensive and that the surest, most practical way to pay for that mobilization is with slaves taken from the invaders. But, gods, I wish there was another way!”

“So do I,” Queen Viarra sighed. “But slavery is how the world works. It plays an irreplaceable role in how resources are gathered, goods are produced, materials are transported, and trade is conducted. If there’s a culture that doesn’t rely heavily on some form of enslavement of others, I’m not aware of it.”

“But you’re–you’re one of the wisest and most powerful rulers on the Vestic Sea,” Zahnia protested, knowing she was grasping at straws. “Surely there’s something you can do to–to–to... to I don’t know. Couldn’t you phase slavery out or discourage it somehow or–or something?”

“How would you suggest I go about accomplishing either of those things?” Queen Viarra asked, sounding both patient and curious. 

“I don’t know,” Zahnia sighed, looking down with defeat. She sniffed, scowling as she rubbed a tear from her eye.

“I’m a powerful monarch reigning over an expanding hegemony, but abolishing an institution that’s older than history itself is a task far beyond even me,” the queen admitted. “Though, I’m honored that you think so highly of my abilities.” Zahnia looked up to see Queen Viarra smiling down at her. 

“Regardless, I’ll never live to see the day when humankind no longer conquers and enslaves its brethren,” her majesty shook her head, leaning back to stare into the distance. “Nor will my children,” she added, “nor will my children’s children, nor the children of my children’s children. Nor perhaps will anyone who can trace their ancestry back to me. But perhaps...” she paused, looking meaningfully down at Zahnia. “But perhaps, dearest Zahnia, you will live to see that day,” she concluded, raising her brows and reaching over to stroke Zahnia’s hair. “And perhaps when you chronicle those events for future generations to learn of, there will be deeds I accomplished and decisions I made within my lifetime that will have led to that day.”

Zahnia pursed her lips as she considered that. 

[thekrazykeke]

This imagine is inspired by Taeyang’s Wedding Dress but there are some potentially, implied, triggering things in here, so read with caution, y’all. 

He should be enjoying the beauty of the venue. The exotic foods and conversation. He’d been attending formal events his entire life, so he knew how to fake it convincingly without people becoming suspicious.

Right now though, he’s never felt more hollowed out and defeated. All that he wants is to leave, leave and return to Wakanda immediately, regardless of how rude that would look to the hosts.

“T’Challa, I know what you are thinking, but do not be this way.” Lips barely moving, gaze straight forward, Queen Mother Ramonda looks regal and composed, beautiful and ethereal in her dress for this event. 

“It has been spelled out to me very clearly, Mother.” The bitterness slips into his tone unintentionally. “I know my place and I will not cause further distress or embarrassment, you have my word.” 

“My son...” Sighing quietly, she placed the chute of champagne down. “I love you, and the Empress...cares for you.” Ramonda tried to phrase it delicately.

T’Challa snorted. “She tolerates me.” 

“She cares for you.” Ramonda reiterated more firmly. “Cared enough to look the other way when you and (Y/N) broke many laws and traditions due to your friendship. However, her people must come first in this. It is a blessing that she permitted our attendance at all.”

Chastised, T’Challa loosed a sigh and his eyes darted away from his matriarch, the both of them well aware of exactly why the Empress was leery.

Since it’s humble beginnings, the Kumlua and Tykiose clans inhabiting the nation of Stroishevia had been at war with one another for the title of Empress and by extension, to gain control of the Aspectsilk. 

Based on wild rumors and myth, the Aspectsilk had been delivered to Kumulan leader, Lynx, by way of a dream, after ten days and ten nights of fighting with the Tykiosean army and it’s leader, Arata. Enraged and grief stricken after the atrocities committed to her two daughters which led to their murder-suicide, she had wanted to exterminate the entire tribe that housed the offenders. Lynx, while equally incensed and sickened, thought that killing an entire tribe, down to the last baby, to be too extreme and proposed diplomacy. 

Neither woman could concede to the other, but the Aspectsilk, which defied logic and explanation, turned out to be Lynx’s greatest advantage on the eleventh morning. The day that she forced Arat to surrender and absorbed a quarter of the Tykiosean army into her own is also the day that Stroishevia labeled her as Lynx the Conqueror right after she invaded the tribe and flayed several of the men there, leaving their corpses on display. 

History books would say that Arat could not stand to follow after Lynx after a certain point and she died while on a routine scouting mission, but the convenient way she died had other Tykioseans frothing at the mouth, claiming foul play. And just like that, the feud was reborn anew. Generation after generation, the warring only intensifying with technological advancements, not abating in the slightest. 

Until now. 

The current Empress, Uzahi, had called for peace. And Kehlani, the current Tykiose leader, agreed. The only way that the feuding would end being through a political match; a wedding. 

Hands find his shoulders, patting lightly. “You look as if this is a funeral instead of a day of celebration!” Smiling from ear to ear, absolutely glowing in your wedding gown, you peered around T’Challa’s shoulder to glance at Ramonda. “Wait, is there...?” 

“No.” Faintly, he managed to smile. “I-I am just...tired.” 

“Aww! We haven’t even gotten to the dancing yet. Maila is an amazing dancer, you have to see her to believe it. I thought with how tall she is, she’d be one of those people with two left feet, but she was spinning and twirling me around, and, and, T’Challa, you really have to see it.” You gushed. “Maila!”

‘She is beautiful.’ T’Challa reluctantly conceded as the woman in question, a head or two taller than many Kumulans, Tykioseans, and Wakandans sprinkled throughout the temple, smoothly navigated around well wishers and party goers. ‘But smug.’ Without hesitation, her hand is on Y/N’s shoulders familiarly, intimate. 

“You called for me, sweetling?”

Flustered by the endearment, you laughed, twining fingers with hers. “I just wanted King T’Challa and you to meet. He’s been my best friend since we were children, you know?” 

There’s only the barest hint of wariness and distrust in Maila’s gaze, but he doesn’t take offense. “I’ve heard the rumors.” There’s a small pause that lingers almost too long. “It’s a pleasure to formally meet you, your Highness.”

“Likewise.”

But the she-devil isn’t finished. “I also hope that we can get along. Especially because Y/N is a very lovable woman, and with you being her oldest friend, it would just be a shame if we weren’t friends too. It’s my plan to be with her for the rest of our lives after all.” 

As he tries to find something to say, someone bowls into him and the scent of Shuri’s perfume wafts up to his nose. “Come on, brother! You have to try these pastries. There is a taste of heaven in every bite!” And then he’s being whirled away. Shuri squeezes his arm. “...You look like you’ve been hit by a two by four.” 

“No, I...” Laughing weakly, he accepts the pastry she insistently pressed into his hand. “I am fine.” 

“If it makes you feel better, I really think that Maila woman will make Y/N happy. Because you are such a tortured soul, you would worry about something like that.” 

He must look quite pathetic that even his little sister, so teasing normally, is trying to cheer him up. With food and in this corner away from the rest of the people in attendance paying attention to the couple, T’Challa blinks back a swell of tears. Face mercifully dry, he takes a bite of the sweet. 

He hums at the taste, “I only want whatever is best for Y/N.”

‘Even if it is not with me...’ 

[anastasiaheadcanons]

Countless Things I Love About Anastasia (Act 2)

Paris Holds The Key - (TBH the soundtrack version is better but this is still fun)

Vlad and Dmitry’s reactions to the belly dancer girl

“A _ is a _ is a_.”

Anya and Dmitry standing in the orchestra pit to watch

Ayy the group is well dressed now

Shout out to Christy because that’s a quick wig/costume change

The French flag made from ribbons

“Not bad.”  DIMA SHE IS GORGEOUS AND YOU KNOW IT

Is Paris life not just hanging off an Eiffel Tower?

Crossing A Bridge

“I don’t think he’s ever been in a real bathtub!”

ANYA MY PRECIOUS CINNAMON ROLL

“On this beautiful night.”

Close The Door - (AKA the Heartbreak Song)

“Along with every other White Russian in Paris.”

“I’ve given up dancing for Lent.  Next Lent.  I’m getting an early start.”

“Sounds dreadful, Cleveland.”

“The Grand Duchess Anastasia is dead, and the Dowager is dead with her.”

THESE PEOPLE ARE TAKING ADVANTAGE OF AN OLD WOMAN WHO LOST HER ENTIRE FAMILY AND WAS JUST HOLDING OUT HOPE FOR ONE OF THEM TO STILL BE ALIVE THIS SONG IS SO DEPRESSING

Little Anastasia standing behind her while she laments about the past

Land of Yesterday

A jazz lounge song..enough said

Gleb needs a chill pill

Russian dance break

Countess/Common Man

“Admit you’re happy to see me!”  “I’m glad you’re not dead. That’s as far as I’m willing to go.”

Vlad is still a dog

“I knew I was beneath you.”  “You were right, Darling, you were.”

Vlad pulling her closer to him on the bench

The “elderlies” sore and out of breath from dancing

Vlad’s kissing is disgusting and hilarious

Lily scratching his chest while he does some weird party lean back thing

He drapes his coat over her shoulders it’s so cute

Crowd Of Thousands - (GREATEST SCENE/SONG IN THE WHOLE DAMN SHOW)

Okay so someone else did an entire list for the scene and you can read it here

“Can I tell you a secret? I’m going to die soon, we all are.”

The concern and panic in Dmitry’s voice when he calls to Anya

I LOVE THIS WHOLE THING SO MUCH

PROTECTIVE DMITRY PART 2

“I began to wonder if you were ever going to pay me a compliment.”

Have I mentioned how much I love Dmitry yet?

So he’s wearing a shirt in this but can we appreciate when he wore a tight white tank top in this scene

His “offense” at being called dirty

His stutter

THE RUN TOWARDS EACH OTHER TO HOLD THE OTHER GOD THEY’RE ADORABLE

Dmitry’s realization and slow backing away to kneel

“Your Highness.”

Meant To Be

Dmitry is always tying his shoes

ANYA YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL

She fixes Dmitry’s tie, they are so married

Vlad blames himself for them falling in love because “She’ll break your heart, Dmitry.”

Quartet At the Ballet

I love ballet.  Just putting that out there

The ballet mimics who is singing at the moment

“Holding tight as the dancers whirl”  To what, your hand? Because I hope so

THE EMPRESS WOULD HAVE RECOGNIZED ANYA IF SHE HAD LET HERSELF HOPE

“Someone rescues her from the storm” CUE PROTECTIVE DMITRY

“Find a wayyyy, Anastasiaaaaa!”

Everything to Win - (I Love My Trashcan Son)

Again, I love Dmitry

“Tell Lily I needed a stiff glass of vodka.”

I LOVE HOW THEY CHANGED THE NORMAL SCALE DOWN TO HAVE HIM SING THE FINAL NOTES UP

“But even so-o-o”

“One small part I never knew” Dmitry never loved anyone like that and I’m sobbing

“She only wants what’s rightfully hers! Your recognition and your loving embrace!” *steps on back of the Empress’s dress*

*Empress slaps him in the face*

“God will judge you harshly, old woman. History already has.”  THAT LINE IS SO GOOD

Once Upon a December (Reprise)

“I bought it for you-”  Dmitry buys Anya gifts I love him

Vlad bows to the Dowager but Dmitry just stands and looks kinda pissed

Anya stops rambling and cuts right to bowing to the Empress

“How dare you sit without my permission! Alright, sit, you have my permission.”

“You should wear spectacles, I’m sorry.”

“Who are you?”  “An old woman who remembers everything the way it should have been and nothing the way was. I am unreliable. I am a historian of the heart.”

THE DOWAGER’S FACE WHEN ANYA PULLS OUT THE MUSIC BOX AND STARTS SINGING MAKES ME SOB

“You’ve come too late.”  “It’s never too late to come home, Nana.”

“Orange blossoms.”

Press Conference

“P-O-P-O-V!”

Lily getting annoyed with Vlad for saying they’ll meet the princess

“Patience is a virtue I’ve been practicing for years” *Looks at Vlad*

“No wonder my parents laughed at you behind your back!”

Everything to Win (Reprise)

“Another kind of prince” PRINCE OF PETERSBURG

Dmitry found enough reward in Anya’s happiness

The Empress, after waiting years to finally find her granddaughter, lets her go so she can be happy

“Funny, the one small part I never knewww.”

“Forgive me, Nana.”

Still/Neva Flows

“We are both good and loyal Russians.”

Give Gleb another chill pill

“I am my father’s daughter.”  “And I am my father’s son.”

“Do it.  Do it and I will be with my parents and my brother and my sisters!”

The Romanov family marching backwards towards Anya with their hands on each others shoulders under the red lights

“ANYAAAA”

“The Tsar lies COLD.”

“I am the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov!”

“Long life, comrade.”

“Dmitry!”

Finale - (I’m Not Crying, You’re Crying)

Anya left the music box for her grandmother

“I don’t want to be in love with someone I can’t have for the rest of my life.”

“I’m not your prince, Anya.”  “The Grand Duchess Anastasia would beg to disagree, Dima.”

THEY KISS AND I’M HAPPY

“The parade-”  I’ve said how those two words are my favorite vocal moment in the whole show

Vlad gets to be with Lily and high class again and Anya and Dmitry get to be themselves and happy

The Dowager says “Still” THE DOWAGER TAKES THE SONG OF THE ANTAGONIST AND MAKES IT CARRY ON ANYA AND DMITRY’S STORY

The spinning stage around Anya and Dmitry form the inside of the music box while everyone sings around them and I LOVE THAT SO MUCH

[exaltatuss]

Snow Angel turned Winter Empress

Name: Weiss Schnee-Blanco* (*Adoptive Surname)

Nicknames: Ice Queen, Snow Angel, Winter Empress

Age: 18 (Canon), 28 (Canon-Divergent)

Height: 5′3″ (Canon) , 6′4″ (Canon-Divergent)

Weight: 54 kg

Blood type: A

Hair Color: White

Complexion: Pale White

Eye Color: Light-Blue

Handedness: Left

Sexuality: Homosexual

Bust Size: A (Canon time) , D (Canon-Divergent* *Who says bust size can’t be increased in time by natural, safe means/methods?)

Build: Athletic

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Should-be Notable Physical Featue: Scar over the left side* (*Disappeared completely over time. Again, who says that certain scars never disappear, most specifically small ones by natural, safe means/methods?)

Attire:

Uses this now

Nationality: Atlesian

Occupation: Huntress

Personality and Background: 

(A Summary of the Canon Personality)

Weiss, being born to a family of high status in Atlas, all while having some issues with her father, and constant attacks being experienced from the extremist White Fang back then would result to her initially having that feeling of loneliness, and also would branch towards her initial cold, and mostly difficult personality. However, in time, she eventually warmed up, and while she gives blunt criticisms here and there at times, she, at least, have mellowed down, personality wise.

She would also then vow that she would elevate the Schnee name, far above from how her father had dishonored it, and, with her sister’s advice, relieves herself of her binds with the family company, in order to discover more about herself

Prior to returning to Atlas, after the Beacon incident, and having had enough of the Atlesian lifestyle of living lavishly without a single genuine care in the world, she would then eventually leave Atlas, which in turn, also effectively most likely making her disowned by the family, considering that Jacques already had been planning to make Whitley the new heir of the SDC and not her.

However, Weiss would still have that resolve to elevate her family name her own way, and prove to others that she’s more than just a name.

(Canon Summary ends here, and thus begins the Canon-Divergent Summary below*)

Some time later, she would then be taken in by yet another known family, namely the Blancos. At first, she was skeptical, considering the somewhat similar traits this and her family had, in summary, what with having a rather questionable reputation, with the Schnees starting to have a shaky reputation when Jacques came along, while the Blancos had a longer history of such, dating back directly to the ancestor, Jotun.

But alas, the head of the Blancos has been replaced during this time, hence said family wouldn’t have that familial issue it had before, namely a twisted, controlled version of Natural Selection.

Hence, she would also be taught the ways of the Blanco. Well, the renewed one, at least, which would be easy for her, considering her innate intelligence, already. She was only taught, and not have her innate Schnee traits attempted to be overwritten, as those were already hers, since the beginning.

After being taught and trained, she would eventually become stronger, both in combat and personality, and thus, would also mean that her resolve in making her own choice be strengthened even further.

For the meantime, she does sometimes use the Blanco surname, as it was made optional for her whether to use it or not, anyway. But alas, one day, she’d return to the Schnee household, and make things right for her family, once and for all, just like what the head of the Blancos, Chione, did to her own family.

Likes: Music, Singing, Reading, Ballet

Dislikes: Extremism, Recklessness, Intolerable Lavish Lifestyle

Positive Qualities: Confident, Decisive, Adamant, Caring

Negative Qualities: Blunt, Stubborn, Cocky* (*An acquired trait from those that had taken her in.)

Fears: Failing to uphold the Schnee name once more, Death

Phobias: Thanatophobia

Favorite Food: Salisbury Steak

Favorite Desert: Blueberry Frozen Yogurt Flavored Ice Cream

Favorite Beverage: Jasmine Tea (Non-Alcoholic), Margarita (Alcoholic)

Team: RWBY

Parameters* (*Canon-Divergent Based):

Offense: 10/10

Defense: 8/10

Aura: 10/10

Speed: 10/10

Agility: 10/10

Teamwork: 8/10

Charisma: 7/10

Weapon Proficiency: 10/10

Weapon (Most of Y’all know this by know, but eh, still putting it here): Myrtenaster, the Multi-Action Dust Rapier (MADR)

Semblance: 

Glyphs/Summoning: A Utility Based, Inherited Type Semblance that has two uses, one for utilizing Glyphs that has a wide variety of numerous effects, while the other use would be the ability to summon what the user had slain or killed in their lifetime. Both uses are already useful on their own, but when used together, it would open several possibilities of combinations and results.

Known Relatives (Legitimate):

Nicholas Schnee (Grandfather)

Unnamed Mother

Jacques Schnee (Father)

Whitley Schnee (Brother)

Winter Schnee (Sister)

Known Relatives (Adoptive):

Ymir Blanco (Adoptive Grandfather)

Boreas Blanco (Adoptive Father)

Shiva Blanco (Adoptive Mother)

Orithyia Blanco (Adoptive Sister)

Chione Blanco (Adoptive Sister)

Fubuki Blanco (Adoptive Sister)

Cryona Blanco (Adoptive Sister)

Notes:

-At times, when Myrtenaster just won’t cut it, she would summon a smaller, yet more intricately designed version of her knight’s sword for her to use in battle. She affectionately calls this summon-able sword Wendigo.

-As compared to herself before, she’s a lot more easier to talk and converse with now.

[wordsablaze]

Love Ignores Hierarchy

Malec met at a party, but this party isn’t held by the High Warlock. In fact, Magnus is held by this party. Until Izzy drags Alec along and changes their lives for the better. A Malec meeting oneshot featuring Sizzy and Clace.Enjoy!

Alec sighs.

Of course Izzy would try to drag him along to one of the many annual parties their classmates throw.

He sighs again as Izzy hold up a pair of jeans, lifting them out of his cupboard. She’d made a habit of marching in his room at random times to ask him about his fashion sense, or lack thereof.

“How’s this one?”

“Do I have to go?” Alec rolls his eyes.

Izzy makes a face at him, “Of course! It’s saturday and there’s no way you’re getting out of it.”

“Fine.” Alec caves in, “And the jeans are okay, I guess.”

“You better know, you’re wearing them.”

Alec rolls his eyes again but doesn’t say anything, instead lounging on his bed with the play he’d started reading before Izzy had marched in and declared that the three of them were going to her friend’s party.

“Who are you looking to catch?” Izzy asks suddenly.

Alec looks up to see a knowing smile on his sister’s face and frowns at her, “I’m not catching anyone.”

“Oh, come on, are there any guys you like in school?” she asks.

Alec makes a face, leaving that as his answer: an obvious no.

She sighs, “Fine, we’ll just go with generally attractive.”

As she rummages through his shirts, he puts her favourite song on repeat, making up for the lack of his talking to her.

Once she’s picked his outfit for him, taking his approval, she throws it at him, “Get changed within the next two hours, I’ll be back.”

Alec shrugs before placing the shirt and jeans to one side and continuing to read his play for the next one hour and fifty five minutes. In the last five minutes, he quickly gets changed, just as Izzy walks back in.

While she wasn’t dressed shabbily before, she’s now gone for a striking look with a laced, black, knee length dress and dark make-up to match her deadly attire, a small amount of silver glitter shining on her skin. Her silver, coiled snake bracelet gleams on her wrist to match the hem of her dress. Her hair is left down, cascading over her shoulders in a sleek waterfall. A small silver diadem holds up the heart-shaped bead resting on her forehead, adding to her black and white look.

Alec laughs, “You look good.”

“You sure?” she asks, fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist.

Alec nods, knowing that her question is a show of the vulnerability she usually hides away. But that vulnerability sometimes comes through when she’s with Alec, something he gets to see only because he’s her blood brother; it’s his job to chase that away.

She nods in satisfaction and grabs his comb, raking it through his hair, “By the angel, Alec…”

“What? I didn’t need to brush it for reading a play!” he says defensively.

She cracks a smile before deciding his hair is neat enough and pulling him along, somehow not losing equilibrium even in her high heels. When she catches him staring at them with disapproval, she sighs.

“Nothing less than seven inches, that’s my motto.”

“That motto will get you killed, you mushroom.”

“Was that meant to be offensive?” Izzy flicks her hair over her shoulder as she scoffs.

Jace joins them at the door, his blue and yellow t-shirt with sporty trousers a contrast to Alec’s grey shirt with black jeans.

He does a fake double take at Alec, “Alec Lightwood, willingly stepping out the house on a weekend?”

“Oh, shut it,” Alec grumbles, amused nonetheless.

It takes them no less than half an hour to drive to the party venue, Alec having to drive because he’d gotten his driver’s license first time so Maryse had said only he could use her car for outings.

The other two hadn’t argued.

Much.

“Izzy…” Alec’s voice takes a warning tone as he sees whose house it is, and something clicks inside his head.

It’s Sebastian’s.

“This can’t be it…”

“This is the address,” Alec confirms.

“But… Clary didn’t tell me that-” she stops talking as her phone rings, answering it immediately.

Jace looks confused before he spots someone coming their way, “Iz, the downworlder guy?”

“Straight ahead.” The downworlder who’d appeared tells them, pointing.

“Thanks man.” Jace smiles as Alec takes a breath and drives ahead, parking their car.

“Izzy, you didn’t know?” Alec questions as soon as they get down from the car and lock it.

“I know, I know…” she says to whoever’s on the phone, simultaneously shaking her head as a no to Alec.

“I can’t go to a party where they mistreat downworlders, I can’t.” Alec firmly folds his arms.

“I know but Clary’s saying that he’s going to leave, then it’ll be fine.”

“We’ll just try not to draw any attention,” Jace relents, clapping his hands together with a wink.

“Alright, fine.” Alec’s response is stoic.

The three of them make their way inside and through the hallway into the living room, where Clary and Simon greet them with small smiles and waves.

Clary’s wearing a simple red dress that ends halfway down her shins, with red ballet pumps and a ruby pendant resting on her collarbone. Her make-up is clearly done to impress, pink blush on her cheeks and a pink arch on her eyelids. Her eyes are lined with double wings but there’s no trace of glitter on her face.

Simon is dressed in his usual ‘use the force’ t-shirt and baggy bottoms that clearly show he isn’t really bothered about the party as such. He has, however, gelled his hair to stay in a permanent quiff, perhaps to impress a certain Lightwood…

“Jace!” Clary grins and hug said shadowhunter.

Izzy goes over to Simon, nudging him as a greeting, “Hey, nerd.”

“Greetings, empress.” Simon salutes at her in return.

“Who are you?” Jace asks Simon, apparently not having seen him before.

Izzy glares, “That’s Simon Lewis, and he is my boyfriend.”

“Nerd love, huh Izzy?” Alec grins at his little sister as she rolls her eyes and loops an arm around Simon, the two of them going to get a drink and Izzy probably going to find Simon a stylish jacket from somewhere.

“Drinks?” a soft voice asks behind Alec, startling him.

“So sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.” The voice continues, “Drink?”

Alec finally blinks away his shock and stares at the boy facing him.

The downworlder with the most magnificent eyes he’s ever seen. The kaleidoscopic yellow and green shaped into a vertical almond inside the pupil make them seem like cat’s eyes, downright magical.

Alec’s breath catches as he lets his gaze roam over the boy’s warm caramel skin and inky black locks that fall over his eyebrows. The locks that loo softer than velvet, smoother than chocolate and sleeker than Izzy’s eyeliner.

With that thought, Alec notices the dark kohl drawn around his mesmerising eyes that seems to enhance the glitter on his skin. Izzy might have added a sprinkle of glitter to make her shine but the boy has much more glitter than one person should be allowed to use in a lifetime.

And yet, there’s something so innocent about the boy’s stance, the way his shoulders are dropping in a resigned manner and the way his feet are placed one behind the other, as if he’s preparing himself to run away with a split second’s notice.

His clothes are a vast array of colours bright enough to make him seem like the human embodiment of a rainbow. He’s wearing purple skinny jeans and a cerulean shirt that seems to match Alec’s eyes. Not that you can see much of it with the three scarves, all different shades of the same colour: emerald green, fern green and mint green.

Alec forces himself to breathe again as he shakes his head, “N-no, thank you.”

He instantly chides himself for stuttering, especially in front of a downworlder.

Even if it was a handsome downworlder.

Said handsome downworlder smiles at him, a half-hearted smirk devoid of actual joy, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Only now does Alec notice that the boy is barefoot, small scars winding up from the soles of his feet. Only now does Alec see that the boy has shackles around his wrists, linked to the back of his waist with a silver but unnoticeable belt. Only now does he realise the downworlder is limping but walking a lot faster than he should be able to with such an injury.

Alec’s heart twists.

He vows to find the downworlder again.

Clary nudges him, “Hey, earth to Alec, you need anything?”

Alec jolts out of his thoughts as he glances down at the redhead.

“What’s his name?” he finds himself asking.

Clary tries to see who he’s pointing at and shrugs, “Who, Magnus?”

Magnus.

Alec mentally rolls the name on his tongue and smiles, unable to help thinking that the name is absolutely perfect for the boy.

“Why?” Clary asks.

“I… put my phone on his plate,” Alec lies, trying to make use of the otherwise pointless drama lessons he has to endure in school.

“Oh, that sucks. Try the balcony, he goes – um, works there a lot.” Clary doesn’t wait before sauntering off to join Jace, whose current focus is the pixie asking him about the newest trees planted outside.

“Magnus…” Alec whispers to himself.

He checks that Izzy and Simon aren’t in trouble before weaving through the crowd and trying to find the balcony Clary had described. Half an hour, two polite tries to decline a drink and, not one but four awkward encounters with passionate couples later, he finally sees the silhouette of the boy. Honestly, why can’t straight people control themselves?

“Magnus!” he calls, sliding to a stop next to the boy.

The boy jumps, his shackles rattling as he frantically stands upright, “Sorry Se- oh, it’s you.”

Alec frowns but sits next to him as Magnus resumes his previous position, rubbing his wrists.

“Do they hurt?” Alec asks.

“No, not anymore.” Magnus looks to Alec, his eyes shining brightly, “Why do you care?”

Alec tries to feel offended but the plain question throws him off and he knows Magnus isn’t being rude.

“I just… it doesn’t seem fair.”

“I’m dangerous.” Magnus’ reply is so droll, Alec can’t help thinking he’d been told to say that.

“Oh really?” Alec raises an eyebrow, trying his best to make it a jovial matter.

“I could kill you with a snap of my fingers,” Magnus says, humouring him.

“How?” Alec asks, now curious.

Magnus cocks his head at him as if he can’t believe how someone could be so oblivious, “I’m a warlock.”

Of course.

Alec kicks himself for not making the connection.

Of course he was a warlock; his eyes are his warlock mark.

“So, you have magic?”

Magnus sighs, “Look, sweet pea, I know warlocks aren’t exactly a subject in school but having magic is rather an obvious, is it not?”

Alec blinks before laughing, properly laughing for the first time in weeks. A small blush appears on his cheeks due to the nickname, which goes unnoticed by Alec but not Magnus. The warlock looks surprised but his mouth curves up into an amused smile.

“You’re not exactly dressed up for a party,” the warlock comments.

“I don’t do parties so this is me 'dressed up’.” Alec grins.

“Oh consarn, the party!” Magnus exclaims, the smile sliding off his face.

“How old are you?” Alec asks, puzzled.

Magnus pauses, “Pretty boy, I was alive when the Dead Sea was just a lake that was feeling a little poorly.”

Alec feels the blood rush to his face again and has to cough before he can talk again. By this time, Magnus has assembled the small snacks on his tray and is standing up with his shoulders angled downwards again.

“You just swore straight out of an 1854 dictionary.” Alec chuckles.

Magnus winks, “I’m a vintage warlock, you literature geek.”

“Hey!” Alec protests, but not unkindly.

Magnus salutes before slipping back inside, pausing briefly before joining in with the crowd as if he never left, offering the bitesize food to shadowhunters as he goes.

Alec smiles sadly, wanting to spend more time with the enigmatic warlock.

He ends up claiming a table in the corner, watching as people go past and keeping an eye out for a certain colourful warlock.

It’s about half an hour later when a hushed rumour spreads through the masses like a long awaited wildfire: Sebastian has left.

After a few minutes of clarification, there’s an explosion of excitement where shadowhunters are drawing runes on the downworlders’ shackles to break them. Naturally, some shadowhunters leave, unreasonably repulsed at the very notion of equality. They’re swiftly escorted out of the house, less than politely, and they’ll be the ones who complain on just about every social media platform, also being ignored on most of them.

Unfortunately, Alec has lost sight of the one downworlder whose shackles he’d like to shatter.

“Alec, where did you go?” Izzy asks, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Have you seen Magnus?” he asks her, not bothering to answer her question.

“Uh no-”

“I have,” Simon interrupts, “someone asked him to grab their coat from the storage room.”

“That can’t be good.” The lightwood siblings say in unison.

Alec thinks he manages to thank the nerd before making his way to the aforementioned storage room, knowing that nobody leaves a party like this with their coat. Nobody even comes to these kinds of parties with a coat in the first place because they know that getting it back is almost certainly impossible.

With a stone weighting down his heart, he notices that the cupboard is locked. Strangely, he can’t hear anything from inside, the silence only adding to his worries.

He curses as he drops his stele, quickly drawing a rune – a perfect one – to unlock the door.

The door swings open and Alec gasps.

Magnus sighs with relief.

The warlock is currently unable to move, his shackles looped and knotted behind one of the racks at an awkward height that renders him incapable of both standing and sitting, forcing him to kneel with his arms uncomfortably pulled behind him.

Alec rushes forwards and redraws the same rune he’d used for the door on the silver metal, having to do it thrice before the shackles give way and unclasp themselves.

Magnus gasps as his numb legs tremble and the momentum of his arms falling forwards causes him to tilt forwards.

He lands on top of Alec, whose knees fold and send them both toppling to the floor.

Strangely, both Alec and Magnus are laughing instantly, pulling themselves upright.

“Thank you, sweet pea.”

“My name’s Alec. Well, Alexander. But most people call me Alec.”

“In that case, Alexander, it’s a good thing I’m not 'most people’.”

Magnus winks before rubbing his arms, purple tendrils of what seems to be a fusion of smoke and fire twirling around his arms as the bruises fade away into nonexistence.

Alec watches, transfixed, as the magic dances around the warlock’s eternally sun-kissed arms.

Magnus smiles as he looks up, clicking his fingers as the magic folds in on itself, vanishing with one last curl around his pinky finger. Alec finds himself noticing the warlock’s nails – each one a different base colour and small patterns drawn on with yet another colour. It looks like the rainbow shattered and his nails caught each fragment, placing them all together to make miniscule art.

“You should let me paint yours.”

Alec nods, then coughs, “Wait, what?”

Magnus laugh sounds as lovely as someone releasing auditory beauty into the air around them.

“I said you should let me paint your nails, sweet pea.”

“I don’t know…” Alec can hear the conflict in his voice as clear as crystals.

Magnus only winks, “Maybe that’s a third date thing?”

“D- Date?”

Magnus walks backwards until he’s out of the room, then lifts a hand, curling one finger with a sly grin, “Why don’t you come out of the closet first, then we can carry on talking…”

Alec would be mad if it weren’t for how clever the warlock’s pun is. As it is, he shakes his head and walks out after Magnus, locking the door behind him.

“Nothing gets past you, huh?”

“Well, some shadowhunters did…” Magnus admits quietly.

“Who were they?” Alec demands, “I’m going to kill them!”

He can’t explain the sudden blaze of protective anger that surrounds his heart and rushes through his veins, he can’t think of a reason for him wanting to pay revenge on behalf of the warlock. But it turns out he doesn’t have to.

“It’ll be the ones who don’t turn up to your school on monday,” Magnus tells him with a sly smirk and a twirl of his magic.

Alec laughs, pulling the warlock back into the main room and quickly locating Izzy.

“You found him!” Izzy cheers, Simon making a four – fingered peace sign.

To Alec’s shock, Magnus does the peace sign back at Simon and smiles, “How’s Raph?”

“Raph?” Jace asks, joining their conversation along with Clary.

Magnus rolls his eyes, “Raphael Santiago? The head of the vampire clan?”

Izzy’s eyes widen, “Simon, you know him? And you didn’t tell me?”

“It’s not exactly an everyday casual conversation, is it?” Clary laughs before Simon can attempt to explain himself.

“You lose, Iz.” Jace elbows her, which only makes her pout.

“Hey Biscuit, you might want to remove the soundproofing on the cupboard.” Magnus looks to Clary, who profoundly swears.

“Woah, calm it down, spitfire.” Alec holds his hands above his head with his fingers splayed.

Clary sighs, “Sorry. It’s just that I only undid that an hour ago…”

“Why don’t you try making a rune for it?”

“You really believe I came do that?”

“I swear on us, there isn’t anything I believe in more.” Jace puts an arm around her shoulders, giving her a sideways hug of encouragement that makes her smile widely.

“And anyway, it’s not your fault shadowhunters are crazy!” Simon protests.

She gives him a pointed look, gesturing between their small gang.

“It’s not your fault that certain shadowhunters are crazy.” Magnus winks.

“And what are the rest?” Izzy asks.

“Dateable,” Magnus jokes, intertwining his hand with Alec’s and letting their fingers lock together, his warm hand a pleasant shock to Alec, whose breath seems to get stuck in his lungs.

“Breathe, sweet pea, breathe,” Magnus whispers softly, squeezing his hand.

Alec grins and, much to everyone’s shock – especially Izzy’s – kisses Magnus’ cheek softly.

So softly that his lips barely even brush the warlock’s glittery cheek, but it’s a kiss nonetheless.

“Dude, get a room!” Jace whisper-yells, clapping Alec on the shoulder.

“Oh, trust me, that’s the plan,” Magnus says coolly.

Alec, on the other hand, chokes.

Simon whispers something to Izzy, who unceremoniously bursts out laughing before clapping a hand over her mouth. “Ah, nerd love…” Alec uses this as something to cover up his own embarrassment.

“It’s a beautiful thing, whilst also being an object of hilarity and mockery for those of us who are more sophisticated…” Magnus finishes, smiling fondly despite his words.

Izzy just smiles back and Simon goggles at her before his face splits into a broad grin.

“Should we make this party more private?” Clary suggests, “We could all go to my room?”

Jace gives her a lopsided smirk; Clary whacks him.

“Shut up, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“I agree with Biscuit, let’s go.” Magnus suggests.

Izzy and Simon follow as Clary leads the way, the redhead obviously hand in hand with Jace.

Alec glances at Magnus with a proud, happy smile.

Magnus returns the gesture, “Speechless, Alexander?”

“Maybe?” Alec murmurs.

“That’s okay, you have centuries to find your words again,” Magnus murmurs back.

“You think we’ll be together for that long?”

“I hope so.” Magnus’ eyes suddenly stop focusing on Alec as he loses himself in the thought.

Alec nudges him softly, “We’ll find a way.”

Magnus nods, “That we will, Alexander. That we will.”

And, with the promise of an entwined future, the two of them head upstairs.

Hand in hand.

Together.

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