#i think it would be easy to come up with a rogue specialization too since the MW's studies focus a lot on alchemy and anatomy

[revenantttt]

was a bit funny seeing someone say that the mourn watch background should only have been available to mages bcs "why would the mourn watch need warriors or rogues", when one of the most common complaints about the combat in this game is that it's hard to play a mage without a tank in the team lol

[rogue-durin-16]

MISHAPS AND SILVER LININGS

Request: maybeee dialogue prompt 53 with Nixon x female reader?? But maybe kinda angsty also??? (anything u write is great so 🤷‍♀️)

Summary: after all the tragedy endured during the war, nobody would have guessed one last mishap would help the stars align for Lewis Nixon and Y/n Y/l/n.

Prompt:

53. "I remember kissing you. Why do I remember kissing you?"

Pairing: Lewis Nixon x Reader

Genre: angst/fluff

Tags:

Requested by: anon

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: alcoholism, swearing (that's it omfg)

A/N: writing for Nixon was surprisingly easy? I high-key had fun with this one. Thanks for the request love. Remember that requests are open rn so feel free to send yours in. Meanwhile, enjoy this little fic <3

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

A dull light crept through the curtains of the flat Regiment had billeted me in when Nixon finally stirred.

He shifted on my bed, a slight groan escaping his lips the moment his barely open eyes hit the few rays of sun striking the mattress. He had one hell of a hungover.

During the last year of our lives, Lewis Nixon and I had worked side by side across Europe practically at all times— which meant I wasn't exactly a stranger to his drinking problem. Since we came back from that jump over Germany though, it had escalated to a different level.

'He's been demoted' I had disclosed to Dick as soon as we linked back up with Battalion HQ.

'Demoted?' Although his friend had questioned it, no explanation was needed. He already knew. 'Okay, I'll talk to him'.

I don't think anyone could blame him. It all had become too much to handle, specially if one had lost conviction in the reasons we were still fighting this war.

I knew he had lost it. As if it wasn't obvious enough, he had blurted it out one of those nights we stayed awake for one reason or another. That exact night everyone had stayed awake, I believe.

That damned patrol back in Hagenau. We had fought Sink not to push forward that mission, but there was no use.

"This is stupid." I mumbled, arms crossed and my eyes fixed to the other side of the river.

The full moon's light reflected on the snow. In any other setting, I would have found it beautiful, but with fifteen Easy Company members being sent on a suicide, the landscape was far from that.

"Glueing yourself to the window won't help them."

I shot Nix a tired glare and pushed myself off the window in order to walk towards him. "They shouldn't be out there."

"None of us should be out here."

"What do you mean?"

"Why the hell are we here at this point, Y/n/n?"

I didn't have a response.

"Don't you wanna come back home already? To that lovely husband of yours." He teased with a bitter half laugh.

"You're funny." He didn't know about the mail. How could he know? "Don't think he'll be there when I come back."

"What?"

"He sent a letter back when we were in the Bois Jaques." I explained, snatching the glass of whiskey Nix had by the typewriter. "Said if I wasn't home by New Year, he'd file for divorce."

"You're kidding." Nix sat straight in his chair when I didn't laugh. "Who in their right mind would leave you?"

"The man I married, apparently." The officer struggled to meet my eyes. He knew by now I didn't want pity. "Guess he doesn't know why we're still out here either."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He sat up slowly, squinting against the light, one hand coming up to clutch his head. It didn’t take long for him to notice me slouched on the bedroom's armchair. His gaze darkened, panic flashing across his features.

“What the hell…” he muttered, groaning softly. He rubbed his face and looked around, as if hoping he could piece together the memory.

I watched his eyes darting around like he was still scrambling to make sense of everything. The awkward silence stretched between us until he finally spoke.

“I… I remember kissing you.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost angry with himself. “Why do I remember kissing you?”

The Night Before

The knock at the door was unsteady, clumsy, like he could barely remember how to make a fist. I pulled on a sweater and padded across the cold floor, half-expecting to find someone delivering bad news. Instead, there was Nixon, eyes glazed, swaying slightly as he tried to focus on me.

“Jesus, Nix…” I murmured, instinctively stepping aside as he staggered into the room. The sharp, sour scent of whiskey clung to him, familiar but stronger than usual, almost suffocating. I shut the door behind him, hands already moving to steady him as he slumped into the nearest chair, his gaze unfocused.

“What on God's name are you doing here?”

He looked up at me, his face a blur of exhaustion, frustration, and something else—something deeper. “She’s leaving me, y'know,” he slurred. “Kat's divorcing me."

"Jesus, Lew." I poured him a glass of water and kneeled down. "Now?"

"Took… took the damn dog, too."

"She took your dog?!"

He snorted with glassy irises. "Everything. I think... I knew it would happen, but… didn’t think it’d feel like… like this.”

I swallowed, feeling the heaviness of his words settle in my chest. “I’m sorry, Nix,” I whispered, unsure of what else to say, until I remembered the words he said to me back in Hagenau. “I don't know who in their right mind would leave you.”

It was soft, just like the featherlight touch of my thumb brushing away a rogue tear before it could reach his jawline. It sounded dangerously similar to 'I wouldn't leave you'. Maybe that's what he had meant back then.

He let out a bitter laugh, his head falling back against the chair. “Yeah, well… doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” He closed his eyes, breathing out, then looked at me with a strange intensity, like he’d finally worked up the nerve to say something he’d been holding onto for too long.

Something I both craved and dreaded to hear.

“Do you know…” He trailed off, blinking as if the words kept slipping away from him. “Do you know how hard it’s been? Pretending I don’t… pretending I don’t want to kiss you every damn time I see you?”

The confession knocked the air from my lungs, and I stood there, stunned, heart pounding too loudly in the silence that followed.

“Nix…” I began, voice barely a whisper, but he just shook his head, his eyes shifting, unfocused and pained.

“I wanted to kiss you from the very first second I heard your voice.” he said, voice rough and broken. "I remember how beautiful you looked the first day we worked together, how smart you were and how I just wanted to... But Kat- I couldn't... Do that to her and your- you..." He pinched the bridge of his nose, "I tried and... for what? For this?"

My lips were sealed with panic but the glint in my gaze and the liquor in his veins spurred him.

"Tell me it's just me... Tell me..." He did his best to lean forward without lolling too much. "Everytime it almost happened... Just say..." His look dropped to my lips, too intoxicated to care how obvious he was. "The 'what if's haunt me when I stare for too long..."

I couldn't say I didn't feel exactly like that. The cautious dance we were in was long overdue —the brush of a hand, a whisper closer than necessary, that drink we shared in Mourmelon that almost made us cross the line—, but it had been a silent mutual agreement not to act on it.

Before I could process everything, before I could find the right words to stop it without pretending I didn't feel the same, he leaned forward, his hands gripping my arms for support as he pressed his lips to mine.

It was lousy, desperate, filled with something raw and aching, and I didn’t know if it was my own hesitation or his unsteady hands that made it linger just a second too long.

He staggered back, eyes half-closed, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the whole thing. His hands dropped, and he swayed, his breath slowing as the exhaustion finally took over. His head slumped onto my shoulder, and he exhaled, a quiet surrender.

“Nix?” I whispered, looking down to see his eyes shut, breaths now slow and even.

The confession hung between us, unanswered. And I sat there, his weight against me, tangled in everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The panicked question floated in the air, heavy with something I couldn’t quite name.

"Y/n." I looked down, unable to meet his eyes. "Why do I remember kissing you?"

I cleared my throat and did my best to sound somewhat nonchalant about it. “Well, maybe because you kissed me, Lew.”

"For Christ's sake..." He groaned, rubbing his face with his palms. "Just what I needed, great. This is great."

"You drank too much." I tried to excuse him. Emphasis on 'tried'.

"I always drink too much and this never—" Another frustrated groan, this time louder, escaped him.

"I've never seen you... That drunk." The statement was tainted with worry; a worry I had felt the night before and didn't have time to voice. "You looked... awful. I had to drag you to the bed." I stole a peek at him while I explained, catching a mortified expression on his part as he sat up, legs hanging from the side of the bed as he was now facing me. "I get it. I really do. It's hard enough out here. Hey—" I kneeled down to meet his casted down face, much like the night before, but with very different circumstances. "You saw me in Noville. I wasn't... I wasn't myself. And it wasn't even-"

I pondered how to put my thoughts into words without making it worse. The best way to explain he wasn't all that bad without making a fool of myself.

"I didn't... Love him, y'know? Charles, I mean." At the name of my soon to be ex-husband, Nix seemed to regain the will to meet my eyes, which now recoiled from his. "Not anymore, at least. But it felt... The letter felt like a gut punch— I felt like... my life slipped through my fingers. And when stuff like that happens, we do stupid things. Because we feel lost."

"Is that what I said?"

"Huh?"

"That I felt lost."

I shook my head no, the realization that he didn't quite remember his drunken speech dawning on me.

"What exactly did I tell you?"

"You... Don't remember what you said?"

"No- I... What did I say?"

Suddenly eager to put distance between us, I bolted to my feet and walked out of the room. "I don't know- things anyone would say when they're drunk as a skunk."

"Like- like what things?" He questioned, his steps trailing behind me in the kitchen's direction.

"Nix, you were drunk and going through shit." Deep down, I didn't think I would be able to reason my way out of that one, but I had to try. "Don't put much thought into it." I insisted, reaching for the percolator to brew a very much needed coffee.

"What did I say? Y/n-" just as I was about to turn on the stove, he interlaced his calloused fingers around my wrist and gently tugged on it to stand face-to-face. "Just tell me how much I screwed it."

"You didn't screw anything."

"Then why can't you look at me?"

"Maybe because we've been trying not to end up here for a literal year and now this happened?"

Lew scrutinized me with fear in his dark eyes. I had seen that expression too many times, he was drawing his conclusions based on what he knew.

"Did I tell you I'm in love with you?"

Silence. Charged silence. One look was enough for him to realize he did not say that. His hand let go of me to cover his mouth while he took a step back.

Once more, I was at loss of words, which was something Nix had rarely accomplished in the time we had known each other.

"I... I don't know what I was thinking— Jesus Christ—" he exhaled the last part, an apology plastered all over him. "I'm just gonna... I shouldn't have come in the first place."

He was about to turn heel and leave. We both had done that before, more times than we could count. The difference was, there was no need for me to let him slip away; not anymore.

In a spurt of bravery, I grasped at his forearm and tugged him back, daring to stare straight into his soul while I spoke.

"You said Kat was divorcing you. Said you didn't think you'd feel like this." I began, voice clear as day. "You said you were done pretending you didn't wanna kiss me everytime you see me." He dropped his gaze, a flicker of regret in his eyes, jaw clenched tight. "You said the 'what if's haunt you if you stare for too long. You asked me if it was just you who felt like that."

"... Am I?" He recalculated the situation, shame dissipating to let me discern something similar to hope.

"Y'know what's the first thing I thought after reading Charles' letter?" He barely had time to deny with his head before I continued. "I thought 'fuck him, the man I love sleeps in my goddamn foxhole'." His breath hitched at the word but he didn't shy away from me; on the contrary, he watched my every move while my grip eased from his arm and traveled to the back of his neck. "Now tell me, are you fucking sober yet?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good 'cause I'm done pretending too."

My statement was hasty and quick. The previous night had left me too eager to return the kiss I had so desperately wanted to give him.

Months of stealing longing glances at each other fueled our need to make sure there was no space between us anymore. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling my upper body flush against his while the kiss deepened in a way we could only have fantasized about— had it not been for those damn letters.

Who would have thought our silver lining of war would be our failed marriages?

[chaoticbardlady99]

Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me

Spawn! Astarion x F! Ghost Reader\

Chapter 7: Skinny Love

Synopsis: You and Astarion go shopping for a dress and end up stumbling upon a very special Violin. After a week of Astarion avoiding you, you decide to do something about it.

Disclaimer- put together the picture for the banner, but I do not own any of the pictures. I did take the picture of ‘Birdie’ and Astarion on my PS5

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you for all your support and love!

 Gods above, Astarion thinks, if you do exist- some assistance with self control would be appreciated.

  This is probably the eighth dress you have tried on and while he can tell you aren’t happy with it, he and his body certainly are. Just like the last dress, and the one before, and the one before that. 

 It had been about a week and a half since you both arrived in Waterdeep and he immediately began teaching you how to fight like a rogue, but also provided you with typical bard weapons like hand crossbows. He bought several different types of weapons for you to try- so far you seem most adept with the Rapier, hand crossbows, and hand to hand combat. 

 However, this means both of you had been excessively close and touching frequently- sometimes in compromising positions that make Astarion want to take you right there- eat you out while you cry out his name like a prayer on the sparring mat Gale so graciously conjured up. 

  His libido hasn’t calmed down- it’s gotten even worse- along with his intense feelings towards you. Yesterday’s debacle didn’t help. Astarion had taken a fairly easy contract so that you could practice sneaking around. Well, the family came home earlier than anticipated and Astarion had dragged you both into a large Wardrobe that was obviously never used and only for show. 

  You had tried to argue  in protest because you didn’t know what was going on- Astarion found himself holding you tightly against his chest, your back to him, and his hand covering your mouth. 

  He could smell your arousal, the way your heart started up again like a kick drum after it stopped, and you certainly couldn’t hide the minuscule moans that had left your lips when he pulled you closer to him whenever someone walked by. He just hoped you couldn’t tell how hard he was against you. 

But do you actually want him or was that just the nature of the circumstances?

  It’s become borderline unbearable- sleeping next to you is a wonderful experience, but he’s often up early trying to tell his body to calm the hell down- his imagination getting even more imaginative.

“What about this one?” 

  You hop up on the little platform and look in the mirror with your hands on your hips before twirling to look at him. 

 You look like a dream- the lavender satin fits your curves in all of the right ways and accentuates your hips, ass, and breasts without being overly showy. It’s modest- the top wrapped in a different direction than the floor length skirt and the straps are meant to hang, unsupported along your shoulders before dropping down along the back- reaching just below the skirt so that it looks like you are almost wearing a cloak of sorts. 

  “You are a vision,” he whispers, the words he’s been trying to hold back all day finally come flying out of him. 

 “So yes?” You ask nervously, while picking at your nails. 

  He nods, too worried he may give a full blown love confession in the middle of the dress shop if he opens his mouth. 

  Thankfully, shoes and purchasing everything was the easiest part of the day- the sun beginning to go to sleep. You kept insisting on letting you do something to pay him back for buying all these items for you, but he doesn’t want you to feel like you owe him a damn thing. 

  You don’t have money- you were quite literally a cat up until two weeks ago. Astarion is more than happy to make sure you have what you need- reminding you, once again, that if it were anyone else it would be a nuisance, but you are worth it.

 You are Astarion’s Godsend after all. 

 “Gods,” you stop in front of a music shop, “look at that beauty.” 

  Astarion follows as you are completely enraptured and away from the world- pulled inside towards the beautiful instrument and you just stare at it. 

“Ah- I see I have a fan of the classics!” The elderly man comes up and gives you a firm pat on the shoulder that Astarion has to help you rebalance from, “Made of Englemann Spruce with Maple sidings. Rosewood fittings along the pegs and the floral pattern as well as the leafing pattern are hand carved.

“It’s not for sale- it’s a part of a little competition I have put together.”

“Competition?” You are practically frothing at the mouth, “what competition!?” 

  The man smiles widely, he must be an older bard and a teacher. Symbols of Oghma are along the walls and Astarion is absolutely thrilled that your first real choice of stop doesn’t have a single attractive individual around. He doesn’t have any desire to fight for your attention.

“It’s not so much a competition, per say, but lots of people have turned it into one. Anyone who walks into this shop and sees this Violin is drawn to it for a reason,” he says, “but only one person is meant for this Violin. It’s waiting for someone- otherwise it sounds like shit.”

  You laugh at the man’s last sentence, “so temperamental.”

“Aren’t they all?”

  You look at the Violin and Astarion studies your expressions. There is apprehension and fear, but also so much hope- so much hope that you may be the one the Violin has been waiting for.

 “Would you like to play it?” The elderly man rasps, “I have never felt it produce such intense energy nor yearning to be played as it is right now.”

“I know,” you whisper, “I can feel it.”

  You take the violin and Astarion notes how you hold it as if it’s a living breathing human being that deserves respect. You hold the violin as if you are worshipping it- not a single sound comes from it as you gently pick it up and cradle it against your face.

“What are you going to -“

 You hold up a finger to the old man- listening to the violin. Within in an instant- beautiful, bright, cheerful music pours from your finger tips and into the violin. 

  Astarion feels the breath he doesn’t need being stolen from his lungs and brought to life as it always should have been- the air feels warmer, but in a soft spring day kind of way. The sun’s rays seem to warm the room even though it is the evening and Astarion feels utter- complete bliss. So calm and relaxed, the store clerk seems to feel the same way.

   Astarion feels disappointment float through the air when you stop playing and he notices how you look at the clerk with wide, desperate eyes.

“Is that what you were looking for?”

  The man smiles and you hand him back the violin- he begins to move to the part of the store where the cases are.

“About 400 years ago- I had a feeling I needed to make this violin,” he says wistfully, “I could never figure out why- it all had to be particularly done in a certain way and when I tried to play it, it wouldn’t produce a single noteworthy sound.

“I thought I did something wrong,” he shakes his head laughing, “but then Oghma came to me and said that the violin is waiting for it’s person, it’s purpose and that I will know when they arrive.”

  He places the violin in a deep blue velvet, hard case and locks it. Before handing it over to you- you look like you are on the verge of tears and honestly, so is Astarion. He is so happy for you he could scream it from the rooftops.

“I’m glad I no longer have to look,” he says with a wink, “take care of the old gal, will you?”

“With my life, sir!” 

  You are giddy and hugging your new violin to your chest- dancing along the streets and skipping occasionally from giddiness. 

  You almost miss the empty park- almost.

 Astarion gently grabs your arm and guides you to the park- a few people are wandering around or sitting at the bench. One elderly woman looks at the sky crying. 

 “Oh, do you want to go for a quick walk?”

“No- I want you to play.” 

  You look at Astarion like he’s grown a second and then third head. 

“I couldn’t,” you shake your head, “I haven’t played for a group in years and-“

“And yet you are still one of the most incredible violin players I have ever heard,” he whispers, not wanting to have anyone else pressure you, “I understand if you don’t want to, but I think it would be a disservice to all of humanoid kind to not hear you play tonight in this park.” 

  You look up at him- searching his face. Astarion is begging and pleading that you don’t discover how disgustingly love sick he is for you. He doesn’t want to ruin your friendship- he doesn’t want you to run off because you can’t possibly ever return his feelings and don’t want to hurt him. 

 “You really think so?” 

“I know so, my Darling,” Astarion says, absentmindedly cupping one side of your face and swiping his thumb along your cheek gently, “you are brilliant and I will take every little morsel of your talents that you are willing to share.” 

  That seems to do the trick- you walk out on the little stage meant for bards and you begin to set up. You make sure the instrument is tuned and you seem to be thinking hard about something. You look at him while placing the violin on your shoulder and pressing your chin into it. 

  One of Astarion’s favorite songs hits the air and he feels engulfed in it. Your last several months of traveling had allowed you to teach him a lot about violin music and how to feel it, not just listen to it. Astarion always jumped at the opportunity to take you to see a Bard in the park after the first time at Baldur’s Gate.

  You know how to play other instruments as well, but your favorite is the violin, so he always made a point of traveling faster if there had been a violinist heading to the town nearby. Gale kept him updated as you traveled- it was very easy to make happen for you.

 He never wanted to walk down the Crypt of the Rothwell steps and see you grieving for your biggest fan, your mother, ever again. She died, not even saving herself, because she loved you so much she couldn’t bear to live without you. Astarion, as much as he wishes he didn’t, understands exactly how your mother felt and he can only imagine the bliss she felt at the idea of being reunited with her again or at least, not feeling the pain of your absence, anymore. 

  You only play songs Astarion likes- he notices. It fills his heart with hope, but he also didn’t realize how many happy, cheerful songs he has taken such a liking to. 

 It is because of you, after all, so it’s fitting that you would be the one to perform them. It sounds better when you play them and Astarion is certainly ruined for any other bard from here on out.  

  His entire life, his soul, and even 200 years of torment seem to have been balanced with every moment he has with you- now you are here and playing violin for him as if it’s the simplest task in the world. 

 After 200 years of keeping his candle alight, you are still helping him to see more clearly- your love, your life, your laugh, everything about you, has given him back a spark he never thought he would find again.

 He would marry you tomorrow if he could. You could travel together, live anywhere in the world, and the possibilities are entirely endless. Maybe one day you will both find a couple of wish scrolls to reverse your respective afflictions.

  You would never know what it means to be unloved again. You would never want for anything because Astarion would find a way for you to get whatever you needed and then some. 

 You play with the same vigor you started with- even though it’s been about an hour. People are gathered around you in awe, but not a single gold coin. 

 Astarion gets up and places a couple coins in your case- others quickly swarming. You look at him and Astarion swears he sees the emotions he wants you to feel towards him.

 Love, happiness, belonging. 

  Several hours go by before you end up back in bed with him- cuddling close. Astarion had complimented you until your entire face and neck were a blush red color and, admittedly, he was thrilled that you had turned down every man who had asked to get to know you tonight. 

 However, there was one thing he struggled to understand.

“Why did you play songs that are my favorite, Darling?”

 You look embarrassed and avoid his gaze.

“You are the only one worth playing for,” you whisper, “and I wanted to do something for you because it makes me happy when you are happy.” 

  Astarion looks at you and you look at him. 

 “You make me happy just by being you,” he whispers, “never change, Birdie.”

  You smile and snuggle closer into him. He doesn’t even try to stop the pleased sigh that leaves his body. You relax significantly more after that. 

 “My mom used to put a gold coin in my case when I played in public,” you smile, your tears a mix of wistfulness and grief, “she said it made other people feel obligated to do it.” 

 Astarion snorts, “that was exactly what I was thinking- great minds think alike.” 

  You laugh and the sound fills his chest with adoration. He is truly truly fucked. Astarion doesn’t know what it’s like to be in love with someone, but this feels pretty damn close to what books describe.

  He isn’t ready to shatter the illusion or go plummeting like Icarus when you ultimately reject him. 

 Astarion is grateful for your breathing evening out and he let’s himself continue to bask in the illusion that you are his and he is yours.

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

   You stand near Astarion’s location and sip on your flute of Champagne- trying to soothe the bruises to your ego as Astarion confronts his mark. He flashes you a look every once in a while- frustration and fear. 

  You weren’t supposed to be there, but you had snuck after him- letting him think you would stay in Gale’s tower and spend the evening with them. 

  You had argued against it for the entire day- he used to take you everywhere, why is he suddenly leaving you behind all the time?

 “You have no proper fighting skills,” he said in exasperation, “and it’s not like I can fit you into my bag anymore- even that wasn’t safe enough!”

  He left in a huff and you waited a while before trailing after him. Unfortunately, he caught you pretty quickly right outside the party- pulling you into the bushes and telling you to go back. You refused and he caved, but you had to stay out of the way. 

  “I want you to know that I personally have no problem with you being here,” Astarion says to the imposter Marqui of Nesmé , “I actually find dogs to be relatively good company from time to time.”

The man looks positively flabbergasted under the pounds of make-up and a disguise glamor- he’s evidently not very good at protecting his identity. You can hardly judge though- Astarion  is all melodramatics with pretty words and funny quips- he could disarm even the most apathetic of individuals. 

  Astarion is also hardly inconspicuous with the amount of male and female attention he attracts- the Marqui is obviously noticing this now too as people begin to murmur around them. 

 You are already anticipating possessing the ‘Marqui’ and dragging him outside before he (or Astarion) can crash the Duke of Waterdeep’s Ball. Duke-what’s-his-nuts had demanded that his guards rid Waterdeep of all Werewolf presence that had infiltrated the citiy’s walls. The order was put out due to the recent slaughtering of livestock and increased infection rate, but his guards failed. He was furious! He wanted to be the one who gets to brag about saving the day!

 Thankfully the Duke isn’t privey to the fact that the stranger who will be earning his gold this evening is like a  character from a children’s book; most of his plans are not thought through- despite how many times he has learned that lesson- and the execution is… well sloppy.

 However, you would be lying if you didn’t say the lack of a plan is rather exciting. You enjoy thinking on your toes- you miss being the ‘brains’ of the operation and getting to be involved, but you will settle for this for now.

  The man says something that you can’t hear- Astarion puts his hand over his chest in shock and takes two dramatic steps back. You can’t help the little bit of laughter that rises up your chest- Gods he’s adorable.

 “Did you just-? Did anyone else hear that!?” Astarion says with fake distress, “this man just threatened me!”

  The other man is panicking now- realizing that Astarion is, in fact, the one fearless asshole who isn’t going to let him leave alive without a fight.

“Will you shut your mouth already!? I did not threaten you! I merely suggested you walk away! I can give you gol-“

“With a knife to my chest, nonetheless,” Astarion says, barely containing his grin and keeping up the act, “I am positively flabbergasted- bamboozled. How dare I be treated this way in my own Duke’s home!”

 “And then attempt to bribe him!?” Some gorgeous woman says before throwing her croissant at the werewolf man, “do you have no shame!? This man is a sweetheart! A hero!” 

  Suddenly multiple nobles are throwing their food or drinking glasses at the man. Red, angry magic begins to flow out of his skin. You are struggling to contain your laughter- how in the hells Astarion managed to pull this off is a mystery to you, but you are enjoying every moment.

 “Fifty years! We’ve been married fifty years!” the unknowing widow cries, “you aren’t my Daniel!”

 “Of course I a-“

 Astarion looks positively annoyed that the woman has stolen his spotlight and is causing the Marqui to panic even more- you had heard rumors that the Marqui had been abnormally affectionate with his wife as of late and referring to her as “My Marquess”. That poor woman has to be so confused.

 “GUARDS!!!!!” Astarion screams, “THERE’S AN IMPOSTER TRYING TO FOOL A DEVASTATED WIDOW!”

 “WIDOW!?” 

  Leave it to Astarion to find the worst way to tell a Wife she’s now a Widow. 

 The Marquess cries out dramatically for the crowd- well known across the town as having a flair for the dramatic. In the meantime, Wolfie is still trying to fix his blunder, but continues to fail miserably. 

“Uh your name is…. Allison?”

 “MORGANA! MY NAME IS MORGANA!”

 The crying continues and the Marquess slaps the man staring at her with his eye twitching.

 Astarion flashes the Werewolf a shit eating grin- the same grin he wears when he knows he’s caught someone in a lie. The imposter is trembling in rage, the Marquess is performing her grief with so much agony that she looks like she is going to pass out, and Astarion continues to Goad the man.

 You look around the crowd with watchful eyes- the scene Astarion is making is attracting more attention by the minute. Yet he’s still incredibly charming while he throws insults in the Werewolf’s direction. All the women and men are practically swooning- if only they knew what a terrible planner he is.

 “Ha!” Astarion releases a laugh of victory, “you didn’t even bother to try to find out his wife’s name? How inconsiderate- look at the poor thing- she’s devastated! Her husband is dead, she has the face of an ancient spinster, and some stinky heathen didn’t even bother to try to play the part right.” 

  The Marquess is definitely more upset about the comment on her looks than her husband being in the Fugue plane. She doesn’t remain sad about it for two long though because the Werewolf summons a shadow blade and shoves it between her eyes. The crowd begins to scream and run around frantically in the ballroom.

 You catch the man flashing you a wicked smile through the crowd and sizing you up out of the corner of his eye before looking at Astarion. You barely hear what he says next as you make your way over. 

“I’d be careful with your next move, Spawn,” the man’s voice is suddenly louder and more malicious, “it would be a shame for your lovely friend over there to develop Lycanthropy, wouldn’t it?”

  Astarion waivers for a half of a second before he goes completely blank. Your stomach turns over at the statement- probably because becoming a Werewolf is one of the last things (maybe even a throw away item) on your bucket list. You aren’t sure you can become a werewolf, but you would prefer not to find out.

  The werewolf and Astarion  continue to face off in the middle of the room, the guards struggling to get past the sea of “innocents”. 

 “Well, aren’t you one to ruin the fun?” Astarion says darkly, a stark contrast to his earlier tone, “now you’ve gone and made it personal- it’s a shame, really. I was hoping we could be friends someday.” 

 “A disgusting creature like yourself? My friend?” Wolfie laughs bitterly as his transformation begins to take over.

 “Pot,” Astarion gestures to the man before himself, “meet Kettle.”

 The man lets out a hungry growl and his skin tears unnaturally.  Now in full Werewolf mode- the Imposter begins to lash out at Astarion who manages to dodge every blow until Mr.Werewolf picks up a woman and flings her at Astarion- he topples over to the ground from the impact and surprise. Wolfie begins to stalk towards Astarion, licking his sharp canines as he creeps forward.

 What happens next takes mere seconds, but it feels like it happens in 10 hours as your legs make their way across the gap, silver dagger in hand, before unceremoniously lodging the weapon into the Werewolf’s throat. A high pitched, pained howl escapes the werewolf’s lips as he keels over. That was so much easier than you tho-

 “GUARDS!” The Duke says as the guards come running towards the scene, “THAT COUPLE NEED TO BE ESCORTED OUT OF MY HOME! Those degenerates are not supposed to be here!!”

  Thought too soon.

 “YOU RAT BASTARD!” Astarion yells, “you hired me to kill him!”

 “Oh did I?” The Duke shoots back with a grin, “and why in the world would I waste my money on the likes of you?”

 You just barely helped Astarion up from his daze when the Vampire is grabbing your wrist and dragging you through the crowd, away from the guards. Eventually he drops your wrist when you are right on his heels, but the guards really aren’t that far behind. 

  You follow Astarion closely as he takes sharp corners and jumps over furniture as he leads you out of the looming castle and up one of the towers. It feels like yards are being added to their escape attempt because the stairs never seem to end. You are beginning to hear the rattle footsteps of guards getting closer to you and your heart rate speeds up even more in fear. 

 “Star,” you manage to yell out between breaths, “what’s the plan!?”

 “I’m working on it!” He yells back at you.

  Astarion suddenly changes course, exiting the tower through one of the doors. You chase him across the ramparts, through another door, and try not to lose your balance as he goes sprinting right down a hallway with an open window.

His plan is to jump!?

  You are suddenly being yanked into Astarion’s chest as he goes leaping out of the window- a scream of terror dies in your throat as you go plummeting towards the ground from the 80 foot drop. With a flash from Astarion’s hand- you go tumbling and you both land at the portal entry in Gale’s house.

 Your head is still spinning, but Astarion is already upright and he looks furious. 

 “What in the HELLS WERE YOU THINKING!?” he screams, you flinch at the sound, “are you trying to get us both fucking killed!? No scratch that- are you trying to get yourself killed!?”

 You don’t know how to respond. You feel frozen and small. 

 He sighs, “this is a mistake- I am going to write Halsin tomorrow after the wedding and see if you can’t live with him for a while.”

“What!?” You sound even more shattered than you thought you would, “Astar-“

“No,” he begins to stalk towards the door, “you can-“

“YOU USE TO TAKE ME EVERYWHERE!” You scream at the top of your lungs, not wanting him to keep bowling you over in this conversation, “and now what!? I’m boring- I’m not enough? What is it!? Because you are not sending me away like I’m a child! We are EQUALS!”

  Astarion looks at you and for the first time all week- you finally see him again. He looks broken all over, like he had only left Szarr palace mere days ago instead of months. There are even tears in his eyes and you move without thinking- wrapping your arms around him- he is quick to reciprocate and hug you even tighter.

 “That isn’t it,” he whispers, looking defeated, “I don’t know if I could handle losing you again- especially not now.” 

“Then why are you pushing me away?” You choke on your own words, “what is going on?” 

  You feel him shake his head- a sign he isn’t ready to talk about it yet. 

“Okay,” you sigh, “if that’s what you want, I will live with Halsin for a while.“

  Fat, wet tears hit your shoulder and you know he’s thinking. About what? You aren’t sure, but you hope he is changing his mind. The last thing you want is to go live with Halsin. You want to be with Astarion and you accepted a while ago that a romantic relationship would never be in the cards for you- despite how in love with him you are.

“No, it’s not what I want. That’s probably actually the very last thing I want, but I am so worried about you that what I want doesn’t seem important,” Astarion sighs and holds you even tighter, “I will start taking contracts that you can go on again so you can keep practicing.

“And it would be nice to have you back,” he murmurs, “it’s all rather boring without you.” 

“Then please stop pushing me away,” you plead and he looks at you- still holding onto each other, “I don’t know what happened, but I feel like you don’t want me around at all anymore.” 

  “I am… going through something personal and,” he pauses, “I just need more time before I am ready to talk about it.”

 You furrow your brow and you can feel your frustration trying to get the best of you, but you have to respect his boundaries.

“Okay,” you whisper.

“I promise- I want you around,” Astarion says, wiping away the tears staining your cheeks, “more than anything and once I figure out my, uh, personal matters- I will let you know what I find.”

“Okay.” 

 You leave it alone- Astarion says he needs alone time.

 You can’t help but feel defeated. You had hoped he had the same feelings for you when you played all of his favorite music. Obviously he doesn’t. 

  Alone time usually means he’s off to find someone in a brothel and probably won’t be back until the morning at the latest. He will come home smelling of someone’s cheap cologne or perfume and will surely have a story to tell about the person's bed he ended up in last night. 

   You feel your unwilling tears begin to flow as you sit on the couch on the balcony in the living room- your arms wrapped around your knees and your knees to your chest. 

  Or maybe he is meeting with someone he really really likes and doesn’t want to introduce you. Maybe that’s the personal matter- he doesn’t want to introduce her or him or them to you yet because he’s worried you are going to be an absolute freak about it and go crazy since it’s obvious you are obsessed with him. 

  At least you tried or at least that is what you keep telling yourself. 

“Birdie! How was- wait what’s wrong!?” 

  Oh no, it’s Tav. You really like Tav- you do- but she is Astarion’s friend and is probably going to tell you to get over yourself.

  You wave a dismissive hand, “oh nothing- just so moved by how beautiful the moon is.”

  There isn’t a peep from behind you so you assume she shrugged and walked off. 

“Where is Astarion?”

  Nope, too good to be true. 

“He is, um, having alone time.” 

  You don’t mean to make it sound so venomous.

“Oh? I might need some more context,” she says with an awkward chuckle, “that doesn’t sound terrible?”

 You let out a huff of annoyance.

“It means he’s at a brothel or, considering our earlier conversation, he’s with a person he really likes,” you murmur under your breath. 

  The silence is damning. 

 “Why would you think that?”

  So you are right- Tav sounds uneasy. 

 “Gods,” you hop off the couch and look at Tav with your bloodshot eyes and arms crossed, “I don’t know because I played all of his favorite songs at the park as a sort of impromptu, ‘here is a set for you! The person I care about more than anything else in the world’! Oh by the way- THIS IS A TRADITIONAL WAY A BARD PROFESSES THEIR FEELINGS!!!!

“We fall asleep in the same bed, in each other’s arms and up until the day we went fucking dress shopping- I really thought I had the right idea. Obviously…. I was wrong.” 

  Tav is just looking at you and she looks like she has no idea what to say to you. You just shake your head in defeat.

“Good night Tav,” you say, “I hope this can stay between us.” 

 You go past the shell shocked woman and go marching back upstairs to your shared room with Astarion. Tav told you that you were welcome to any room if you wanted your own, but that was when Astarion wanted you around. Maybe it’s time to take her up on the offer. 

  You pack your stuff together and drag it out the door towards the next room over. You catch a glimpse of Tav who looks like she’s panicking and has no idea what to do.

“Oh um that room is going to be occupied!”

 You look at her lamely, “when?” 

 “Uh two days from now.”

 “Okay,” you say flatly, “then in two days I will clean everything up for you and find an inn- if that’s alright with you.”

“You really don’t want to stay with Astarion anymore?” Tav says with a nervous chuckle, “maybe you should talk to him before you-“

“There isn’t anything to talk about Tav,” you snap, immediately regretting it, “I-I am sorry. I- please. I can’t keep humiliating myself like this.” 

  Tav looks extremely conflicted.

 “Okay.”

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

Author note: Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Please let me know if you would like to be on the tag list! I am using the Ghostwalk campaign for NPCs, locations, etc. It is a 3e Campaign and doesn’t mirror 5e Ghosts. I have tweaked some of the ghost powers and such for the sake of the story, but if you would like more information on Ghostwalk and the City of Manifest, there is a PDF online that is free to download :)

Tag List: @n3rdybirdee @fandomarchiveilyd @dajeong @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @bitchstarion @hereliesblackdragon @pebble-bb @preciouslittlebhaalbae @lavvyan @beepersteeper

[nat-seal-well]

So I'm dying to ask nosy questions about Villain!Nat... Do you think she'd still be part of Unit Bravo and just biding her time til she can act out her plans? Or would she have been a rogue element the whole time? Would she and Ava have any kind of personal rivalry (sexy or otherwise) or just be obstacles in each other's paths? 👀

I’m sorry it took me so long to reply to this, haha, but I spent the entire last half of my shift thinking about it and realized it was gonna be too long just to write it all in a post, so I had to make a document and then copy/paste it over lol.

I don’t think she’d be part of UB (but can you imagine how much fun it would be if she was? Just waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and keeping up the façade…)

Villain!Nat would work better as more of a rogue, I think. I can see her being mostly on her own ever since her turning. Imagine: never being found by the Agency after the massacre on The Queen’s Sabre, never really being guided or taught by anyone other than the vampire who turned her, and then being set loose. 

It would all come down to that whole “nature vs. nurture” thing. A lot of who you are is shaped by the environment around you.

She’d never have had the support she received in the canon. There’d still be a lot of her personality that’s the same; she’d have a love for reading and collecting old books, she’d still be a little old-fashioned as time went on, etc. She’d just be more like the vampires in the traditional books, reclusive in some grand, old home out in the middle of nowhere. 

She’d also still be capable of love and affection and her usual overprotectiveness… she just wouldn’t be aware of it for a very, very long time. And in the moments where it’s staring her down, she’d hide it away and lock it up. 

Ava and Nat would have a rivalry (sexy, of course, because there isn’t much that’s hotter than the intimacy of being sworn enemies. The combat scenes would be gorgeous. Also, it would hurt to watch… which means it would be even more fun, haha :) )

Naturally, Ava would make it more difficult for Nat to ignore her emotions, lol. And she wouldn’t understand them a lot. She’d end up deciding that “hate” is the way she feels, because there isn’t any way it could be love. That’s impossible. Natalie Sewell doesn’t love people. Right? So loathing has to be what it is. 

I’m a sucker for anything poly so consider: throwing the Detective into the mix. It would be like a much, much darker take of the LT route, haha.

Maybe she hears some rumors about the vampire who’s going around killing humans who have a very special blood mutation, and she gets curious. She’s a collector, after all, and a human with blood like that would be priceless and a very good addition to her collection. We already know there’s someone leaking Agency info, so maybe she finds out that way? Probably not until after the events of book one.

So she follows after UB. Naturally, Ava has a suspicion they’re being watched, because she and Nat know each other better than they know themselves. Of course she catches on very, very quickly, but does her best to keep it under wraps. Easier to keep an eye on her that way. 

We also all know how good Nat is at lying and wearing masks. It’d be easy to convince the Detective she’s someone they can trust, especially after they've been thrown headfirst into the supernatural world without any real say in the matter. Nat would be drawing them in under the guise of stealing them away, only to discover–to her horror–that they intrigue her far more than they should. Only… this confuses her. Because the Detective makes her feel the same way Ava does, and there’s no way she can hate them. 

Que an emotional journey full of inner turmoil as Nat tries to come to terms with the fact that she’s capable of softer feelings, after all. And that she might not be so cold-hearted as she thinks. I imagine it would be very long and very painful, because she has three centuries of habits and beliefs (lies that someone hammered into her brain) to unlearn. She’d be fighting it every single step of the way, all while trying to keep it hidden. 

Villain!Nat would be more obsessive, just because I think it’d be a nice touch. Especially as she’s forced to face the truth: that she’s falling in love with her adversary of three hundred years, and a human, of all things. How terrifying. 

As much as I love angst and hurt, it would come to a happy ending. Eventually. Everyone loves a redemption arc, right? I don’t know how it would all come to a head. Maybe in the middle of a battle, maybe while facing down other rogues, and she realizes she might very well lose the two people who mean the most to her. 

Y’know how in ATLA, the gang kind of adopts Zuko? Imagine that, but with UB, haha.

Sorry, lol. This is probably way longer and way more detailed than you wanted, but I’m a sucker for any and all kinds of AUs and this was so much fun. Thank you, friend! You made the last four hours of my shift way more enjoyable, haha <3

[doodlegirl1998]

Saw your ask about fic "fix it" and fics " with passion" and yes I agree. I'm doing two currently. Rogue and Wrong Heaven aus are basically that...and the most change I made is "lets stop dogpille on Izu"

But your idea made me think smth. Tenko le hero...would have the choice of wanting to be smth else? Bc mha is a bit dystopian world...and I can see people forcing him to be one. "You are a Shimura!"

And how Izu and Tenko would meet?

Not about ship here. Its your idea, your fic. But one thing that makes Shig well Shig...is his thing for Izu.

Hero Tenko has 0 reason to care for Izu...guess who has tons of photos said villain?

Also...I do think Tenko would be mistreated in ua.

Which now makes me think on afo. He would take izu in out of the godness of his heart...so it would be easier to believe lady nagant did that than afo.

(I totally think he would have killed Izu, specially if is quirkless Izu. Why? Bc he is afo. He is dumb and cruel)

You may write afo as bad guy as you want but thanks to canon is so hard to see him as a big deal.

To conclude: I think Tenko would be treated badly in ua(courtesy of Aizawa) and I like to think Izu would be somewhat ok if lady nagant is his mentor. Izu destroying Bk's life is sexier than him just murdering him

Tenko:👀 oh my

Heroes:🤨Midoriya is indeed dangerous. He ruined the career of bk and Aizawa

Tenko:👀 sign me up!

Hi @mikeellee 👋,

Indeed :) I like your stories too and seeing Izu get the appreciation he deserves.

A good point, since we don't really see how hero families really work or if there's prestige or expectations of heroism that come with that it could be easy to see Tenko as expected to continue the family line of heroism.

However, in my story I am thinking of a different angle - enter Dadmight. Instead of having AFO twist little Tenko like he did in canon, an ally of AM finds him and... cue the number one hero navigating his way into fatherhood as well as nurturing Tenko to help him heal from his trauma. Which inspires little Tenko to want to save people like All Might does (and Nana did.)

For the first part, that's a spoiler for now 🤫 but I'll have to add to the tags of the story when I post it. Also - did you read my mind? I am planning on having villian!Izu keep up his hero / quirk analysis hobby and be a fan of Tenko.

As for Tenko's time in UA... That'll be spoilers 🤫😏

And Izu does get sweet revenge on Bakugou with the assistance of the LOV and AFO 😁

[bewitchingbooktours]

Enlightenment of the Rogue Emperor by Jana Klánová #YAFantasy

Enlightenment of the Rogue Emperor

Rogue, Arcane and Desolate  

Book One

Jana Klánová

 Genre: YA Fantasy Adventure

Publisher: Jana Klánová

Date of Publication: 19th May 2023

ISBN: 978-80-11-03194-7

ASIN: B0C4LH4VYV

Number of pages: 526

Word Count: 155k

Cover Artist: nskvsky

Tagline: Until death or authorities do us part

Book Description: 

Eugenie is a certified, double-vetted, regular, ordinary high-school girl living her best life someone more competent planned for her, in a perfectly normal world, where strange things don't happen because that is simply impossible.

Or so she thought.

Right the second she graduates, the rug under her feet gets pulled and she, alongside a young, mysterious scoundrel, takes a wild tumble down a mountain of myths and hoaxes that her country has been built upon into a whirl of unknown, scary… but oh, so exciting.

Amazon     Bookbub

Excerpt:

It was finally over. The last day of Academy began with a rather underwhelming and bleak summer morning.

After spending four long years at the Military Academy of the capital city Concordam, cadets were anxiously shivering with expectations for the Commander’s arrival; it was his decision that would sort them into specialized military branches and launch them into their new lives and careers.

While Eugenie sluggishly approached the classroom through a dim academy hallway, she couldn’t help but overhear the excited chatter of her classmates.

“Oh, I hope I go to the Navy! I submitted my preference form a day after the deadline.

Do you think they’ll still accept it?”

“I applied for covert ops!” exclaimed an annoying voice of an annoying classmate.

“You just proved that you’re too dumb for that,” someone reacted, and a burst of clamorous laughter followed.

Eugenie rested her back against the wall outside the classroom door. Waiting quietly all by herself for the chime to announce the beginning of the end. When it finally rang, she slung her bag, packed in accordance with the protocol for immediate transfer, over her shoulder and then headed into the classroom. It was easy to notice that the second she entered, the joyous murmur of the class notably faded.

Eugenie was odd.

She used to strike everyone’s attention by being decisively the tallest girl in the class with a wordless greeting of an unimpressed stare– eyes cold and grey like a stone. Her chestnut hair, slovenly laid to her shoulders, naturally rebellious fresh face and slender stature were still making people turn around, but it had been a long time since boys had dropped the attempts to impress her, and girls gave up on involving her in recess chat. Eugenie did not seem bothered. By nothing and no one. She could return compliments, but that idea never crossed her mind.

Days passed by without her saying a full sentence. Her whole image and emotionless behaviour that she had displayed steered her classmates to the conclusion that she was an incorrigible, arrogant bitch.

She waddled to her desk at the back of the room and collapsed unglamorously into the seat. Before classmates managed to revive the flow of the chat that Eugenie disrupted, the Commander of the Academy walked in. In a blink of an eye, the class stood in a rigid salute, greeting. Commander Vance Ewin, who had constantly smelled like an ashtray, was a remarkably vital man in his early seventies. Or unusually worn out in his mid-fifties. No one knew for sure. His age was the first military secret cadets came across.

“At ease, sit down,” he answered and casually slid his hands into pockets of his heavily decorated olive-green uniform.

“The time has come for cadets to follow their own paths to carry out the will of the motherland. As we all did. In the past years, while ya’ll have been training on the grounds of our Academy, your performances and physical and mental strengths were up for some evaluations.

Last month you were ordered to submit your preference forms! If there is a match between your skills and the General’s demand, your wish is likely to be granted. If the demand can’t accommodate you and your preference, don’t think we’ll send you home. You’ll be sorted into a branch that will utilize your existing skillset the best… Well, I bet ya’ll know the drill by now pretty well, so let’s move on to what everybody is waiting for.

I’m now going to hand out envelopes. Each envelope has a number inside. A respective military branch officer will come later, call a number, and if they call yours, you’ll follow, no questions asked. Until then, you’ll be quiet like a mouse. Instructions couldn’t be clearer.”

He didn’t wait for any response and barked the name of the first cadet in the alphabet:

“Aikman!”

Trissy Aikman was briskly on her feet and paced to the Commander confidently. There was no need to hesitate; they all had been through something similar before. She saluted. The Commander then shook her hand formally and passed the envelope to her. After that, she skittered to her desk to find her result. She raised four fingers in the direction of her besties, sitting across the aisle, to indicate which group she landed in.

Ingo Broft repeated the same protocol precisely.

“Dean!” Eugenie got minor heart failure when she heard her name. She stood up so rapidly that her chair tumbled on the floor with an ear-splitting clatter. Her face flushed red from embarrassment. Eugenie staggered as if she instinctively wanted to put it upright again, but she froze in motion. Fixing mess was not part of the envelope protocol. She overstepped the disaster on the floor and headed towards the Commander. The Commander rolled his eyes and nodded, albeit begrudgingly.

“Commander! An amazon is attempting to destroy the Academy properties!” Broft, now a successful navy candidate from Panumbreno, caused a boom of boisterous laughter.

“Broft! You think I can’t hear that damn racket? Well, I did, but did you hear my order to shut the hell up and wait? Maybe you want to run laps till your hearing gets better?” Commander Ewin growled back at him.

“No sir,” the classmate peeped, humbled.

Eugenie made it to the Commander and saluted with apologetic eyes, but the Commander’s capacity seemed to be completely spent by the correctness of the envelope ritual while simultaneously emitting his don’t-fuck-with-me vibes in Broft’s general direction. After Eugenie returned to her desk, she got her chair upright and hid her face away from the judging looks of her fellow classmates.

The Commander took only minutes to serve all the envelopes he had at hand. “Respective officers will be in here shortly. Make us proud. Make yourselves count,” were the last words of advice they heard from the Commander before he left the religiously quiet classroom.

Eugenie opened the packet slightly. But she saw nothing. She pulled the paper out to see the other side. Empty. She flipped the page frantically and then inspected the inside of the envelope, utterly dumbfounded.

Eugenie was given a blank paper.

Every time a group of classmates left, her stomach clenched tighter and tighter. It did not take long for the classroom to get deserted. The thick aura of frustration, condensing slowly around Eugenie, became the only other entity to keep her company.

The blank paper’s gotta mean something. The Commander gave the order to shut up and sit. That means I can’t just leave yet, Eugenie assessed.

She did not know how to execute the white paper protocol, but she was as sure as sun that no cadet in the Academy of Concordam was meant to take any action against orders.

I’m getting kicked out of the Army, she concluded, breaking out into a cold sweat.

The dreary tension was making every tick of the clock drag like years. Eugenie was in quiet panic mode, mentally preparing for the possible outcomes of expulsion from the Army. The regime was not leaving many options to anyone, but Eugenie did not fear the prospects that unsuccessful cadets and students were haunted by.

It was the terrifying uncertainty of what would happen next that was curdling her blood.

On top of that, she was not even permitted to leave; an officer had to allow that first.

The Academy had emptied. Eugenie did not hear a single squeak in the hallway for a long while. Suddenly, the silence was shattered by an ear-splitting tire screech from outside. Her desk by the window allowed a little peek into the Academy’s backyard; Eugenie leaned in to quench her curiosity, fuelled by the boredom. She witnessed how an executive limo had parked in the middle of the backyard with almost dastardly disrespect to any kind of order. A distinct shape of an officer emerged from the driver seat and scooted across in an agitated rush.

Oh no, Eugenie thought. Nope. It’s not him. It’s NEVER him. He never visits the Academy. I wish that maybe someday, SOMEDAY, I’d get to meet General Everian. He’s a rockstar just by the rank, an Imperial... and his looks on top of that! She had been lost on a train of her gushing fangirl fantasies until steps in the hallway grew louder and disturbed Eugenie from her convenient daydreaming.

Gingerly, she glanced through the open door in the direction of the incoming noise and in that second, her heart stopped beating.

A man in his late twenties, of a tall, athletic stature, with a decorated army hat pressed against black hair, brushed into a fringe, was rushing through the corridor like a merciless tempest. Even if this was Eugenie’s first time to see a general in person, she could clearly recognize the sign of the Imperial family; a coral-red sash was peeking through his loosely unbuttoned, anthracite officer trench coat. And yes, he was carrying a long-hilted sword clipped to his belt.

There was no doubt left. General Alistar Everian was coming at her. A reflex immediately kicked Eugenie into a frenzied attention stance.

The handsome machine of authority charged into the empty classroom but quickly lost his momentum in front of the blackboard. Perhaps, he came to a shocking realization that it would be easier for him to navigate without his hat. The annoying visor of his General headpiece kept invading his line of sight constantly. He took it off, furrowed his thick eyebrows and pierced Eugenie with a fiercely stern gaze. Even across the classroom, Eugenie was snared by his frosty blue eyes.

“It is alright, Cadet. At ease,” he uttered coldly. A displeased grimace on the General’s face curved his lips and revealed his perfect, glistening teeth.

Eugenie felt like all her blood had decided to go on a strike, despite her heart’s insane efforts. She tumbled down to the seat like a pine tree defeated by a hurricane. General Everian paced to her, and with a swift move, he snatched a chair belonging to another desk and descended on it, right in front of Eugenie, with grace that would make a swan jealous. Eugenie panted for a breath and leaned away in a desperate attempt to increase the distance between them.

“Cadet, none of this is in my job description, and I have no time for this. Are you even at least aware of what could possibly bring me here?” He was not smiling. Nor graceful. His voice was so neutral that Eugenie could not tell if he was trying to comfort or intimidate her. She shook her head and turned her eyes down in a negative response. The General softly exhaled, and from his exasperated hand gesture, it was clear he was searching for words.

“Alright. Let me tell you the story from my end. On one fine evening, I am sitting in my Commanding centre, minding my own business. Nothing too important. As a Cordam General, I am only responsible for supplying military personnel into seven provinces.” Even though he was ranting, Eugenie could not help herself; all she could think of was how glorious General looked when he was doing that.

“That’s the core responsibility of Cordam. We produce soldiers, officers, clerks, lawyers, doctors, teachers and all this—” he waved his hand impatiently, “—to maintain public order in the Unity lands.” Eugenie nodded vigorously. The word he was missing was infrastructure, but she did not find the courage to suggest it.

“Then this fat piece of – Commander-- waltzes in my Commanding centre and tells me: look, Alistar, I have one excellent cadet with a unique psychological profile, and I don’t know how to sort her after she graduates, which is roughly in 14 hours. Now you see, cadet, I got played like a banjo by that stinker because you can already deduce, he got me to visit the hellhole he runs to check on your sorting process,” he fired off his version so casually as if they were drinking buds. Eugenie pulled another weak apologetic face. When General noticed her reaction, his murderous drive faltered. He looked around erratically as if he was supposed to search for some hidden clue.

“Looking at you, I assume that you’re already guessing the cause of my presence. Can I see your envelope, please?” By the end of the sentence, he posed his hand in a demanding gesture to Eugenie. Even though he sounded calmer, saying no was not an option. Eugenie was shaking when she passed the envelope to the General. He pinched it with two fingers and inspected it against the light without any due. He scoffed at his findings.

“Cadet Dean, why did you not fill out your preference form? You would get sorted by your choice, I can guarantee that,” there was a negligible hint of curiosity in his tone.

“I didn’t like any of the options, sir,” she replied bluntly. Immediately, she regretted not thinking her answer through.

“And what would be to your liking then?” he fired back at her. This time she was ready with an answer. She had spent years waiting for someone to ask her this question.

“I’d like to be Emperor’s personal guard, sir!” Eugenie spouted proudly.

Although General Everian was a seasoned professional in his trade, he lost his face in front of her again. This time, he was genuinely baffled.

“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? Imagine as if I, when sitting here ten years ago, said: I wanna be a General, but there is no box to tick in your form, so piss off.”

Eugenie just kept her eyes low; no military officer was ever in the mood for delusions of grandeur.

“No wonder you couldn’t find a match in the preference form. Are you even aware that the Emperor has no dedicated military personnel?”  

“Yes, I know, sir. That is why I submitted an incomplete preference form. No matter what I’ll get sorted into, it will be a disappointing result.” The General could no longer maintain his ironclad composure, and his face got tainted with an amused grin.

“Why the Emperor? Why not… me, for example?” he acted frisky.

“Ignore that question, Cadet,” he waved it away the second he noticed that Eugenie was violently blushing.

About the Author 

Jana Klánová is an author from the capital of beer and magic, Prague, Czech Republic.

Her work is hugely influenced by authors like Terry Pratchett, J.R.R. Tolkien, George R.R. Martin, Stephanie Meyer, Tara Gilesbie and other absolute legends.

https://www.janaklanova.com

https://twitter.com/JanaKlanova

https://www.bookbub.com/authors/jana-klanova

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/26602726.Jana_Klanova

[incorrectbatfam]

What are your thoughts on the Batman: The Knight comics?

Spoilers under the cut since it's relatively new

Batman: The Knight is a 10-issue retelling (spanning from January to October 2022) of how concept of The Dark Knight was conceived. It focuses on a young Bruce Wayne in the first handful of years after his parents' murders. I'll be honest, going into it I was a little like "whatever" because we've had countless iterations of Bruce's backstory and at the moment it seems like DC is oversaturated with Batman compared to other heroes, but while this isn't the most original take, the storytelling format coupled with the artwork makes it among the more memorable.

I like how the first issue starts with Bruce trying to channel his emotions into a productive way to help Gotham, but it quickly comes out in ways that aren't as helpful as he thought (with folks like Alfred helping him see that). His fighting/training is intercut with flashbacks of therapy sessions with Hugo Strange. This makes for a good setup because it shows how his noble intentions are confounded by his youthful recklessness.

Issue #2 is a continuation of Bruce learning his Batmanning skills in Paris. I also like how this issue addresses the hypocrisy of vigilantism—he's committing crimes to stop crimes. He also has to learn to be more independent because his whole life, he's been far too dependent on Alfred. I'm kinda meh on the kiss at the end, though I view it as foreshadowing for his future relationships, namely Selina. Also, I love the little details of the past like Bruce owning a Razr and the artwork being reminiscent of the late 2000s.

#3 is where we start really diving into the psychological aspects of Batman. It shows that Batman wasn't an easy decision and we have these glaring moments of self-doubt that, understandably, Bruce would have. Because, as the comic put it, how do you stop monsters without becoming one? The detective work itself felt a bit lackluster but the show-don't-tell of Bruce's trauma and the emotional kick to the solar plexus makes up for it.

I'm not as big of a fan of #4's cover art because it doesn't have the same feel as the first three but that's whatever. Story-wise, I think it's a nice take on Bruce's ninja training but there's nothing too special there. It feels like a transition comic and I was hoping to see more of Ducard. It also reminds me a bit of Batman Begins, but overall it sustained my attention and made me look forward to what he's gonna do next with his new skills.

#5's cover art feels like Carmine Falcone should be in it even though I know better. Not sure why. Anyway, Bruce is now in Russia on an espionage mission. Even when he's in a vulnerable place, we still see Bruce pulling together everything he's learned to outsmart Anton. Also, Bruce was ~this~ close to kissing a man. Half the fandom already knows he's some flavor of queer but I like having another piece of proof for when I inevitably get into an argument with another cishet neckbeard at a convention.

We all know that later in life, even with the batkids, Bruce has these walls around him that take a lot of work to chip away at. Well, in issue #6, we see these walls start to build up. Bruce wasn't always a hardened control freak. The opposite, in fact. He fails to consider the consequences of breaking the rules. We see this portrayed as a flaw in other comics, like when the Gotham Rogues continually break out of Arkham or evade the system, but this issue illustrates how that's not Bruce's fault, it's the system that's supposed to take care of the villains after he turns them over. We see Bruce losing faith in the system and relying more and more on himself, which leads to the popular lone wolf portrayal of him later on. I enjoy not just the nuance, but the details that show how someone like him would become closed off.

(Not a fan of the cover art in #7 that's just me.) This issue is where we explore Bruce's early relationship with Zatanna. She plays a smaller role but it's interesting nonetheless. We see Bruce experiencing magic and he even has the opportunity to acquire it, but he ultimately decides against it. He does a good job of placing boundaries on what he's willing to do, and at the same time it highlights why he trusts people like Zatanna and Constantine more than other Justice League heroes. Also, the humor feels very on-brand.

The training part of issue #8 felt a bit short for my liking, but I still enjoyed where the story went. This issue in particular felt more like it was about Anton's journey to becoming Ghost Maker, so while I didn't expect to see that in a Batman origin comic, it provided some interesting and necessary context for that character. For Bruce, I really like how this highlights that the battle for justice is just beginning, even though we've seen him endure so much already. With abstract concepts like justice, it's hard to picture the uphill battle, but toward the end of this issue I finally start to understand the magnitude of what Bruce is up against.

Issue #9 came out a day ago so it's the freshest in my memory. Bruce's globetrotting is finally over and he faces his real test against Ra's Al Ghul himself. We finally see everything come together to make Batman. We also get to see why Ra's Al Ghul was seeking Bruce in the first place with the incorporation of The Still. The pacing felt a bit off to me because with all the detail they're packing about how Bruce navigates the league of Assassins, it's hard to believe this is the second-to-last issue (I think there should be at least one more). The artwork also felt a little inconsistent at times but it doesn't detract from the story (the coloring is great though). Overall, this issue sets the foundation of the relationship between the Waynes and the Al Ghuls, even providing a possible connection to Damian's storyline.

The last issue comes out on October 18th. I'll definitely be reading it, but I might not remember to review it here so if you want my thoughts, shoot me a reminder.

Overall rating: 84/100. Not the most original retelling, but a detailed and fascinating spin on what we already knew. Also a good starting point for Batman newbies.

[uncpanda]

The Ties that Bind: Hangout

Synopsis of series: Being the older sister of a literal genius? It’s not easy. Raising said genius from childhood on? An act of love. Uprooting your life again when he gets in over his head? A no brainer. Finding a new family and support system for yourself? Well, you suppose that’s just luck.

Master List

AN: Episodes referenced in this chapter are all in season three and are episodes: 12, 14(Which has its own chapter), and 16. 

“I’m sorry, he put the victims into the chili?” 

“Yep?” Aaron follows the statement by taking a long pull from his beer. You copy him and take a gulp of your wine.

“Of all the stories I’ve never needed to hear about your work, I think that one is at the top. Please tell me you didn’t eat the chili.” 

He laughs, “I didn’t. I wasn’t at the search site much, and I don’t tend to eat a lot on cases. I get stressed and preoccupied, and I just forget.” 

You lean forward on your arms, “DO I need to start sending you texts to remember to eat? I already send them to Spencer.” 

He laughs, “I’m good.” 

“Fine, but if you start getting too skinny, I’m gonna start sending the texts.” 

“Fair enough. How’s Spencer doing?” The last part of the sentence is said very quietly, and if you hadn’t been sitting right next to him you wouldn’t have even heard it. These weekly meetups have become a thing in the two weeks since you confronted Aaron in his office. Your brother is blissfully none the wiser, and you prefer it that way. In fact, until this moment he hasn’t even come up in conversation. The Beatles? Yes. The best restaurants DC has to offer? Yes. Safety reminders and discussion of therapy sessions? Yes? Spencer? No.

But there’s something in Aaron’s eyes, so instead of telling him Spencer is off limits, you ask, “Did something happen?” 

He debates telling you, “About two months ago, we had a case where two teenage girls 

were abducted. One was killed, the other wasn’t. The father of the girl who was kept alive, turned out to be in WITSEC, as a witness against the mob. Because he was formerly a part of it.

“The father went rogue. Found his daughter. And he killed the man who took her. Spencer got there first. He tried to escalate things, but it didn’t work. And this last case, we had a kid who was basically shunned by his father, failed by his teachers, and just . . . it was bad. Spencer identified with him. He wasn’t as professional as he could have been.” 

“How unprofessional?” 

Aaron bites the inside of his cheek before admitting, “I would have been within my rights to fire him.” 

You take a deep breath, “He started going to meetings.” 

“I thought so.” 

“He doesn’t like to talk about it. But he told me when he started going, and sometime he’ll slip it into conversation. Before the meeting he would call me up sometimes and just say he needed me to come over. He didn’t say why. He didn’t have to. Those calls were coming really frequently, and now I know why. But, they’ve gone back down recently.” 

“Were the meetings your idea or his?” 

“His. I tried to get him to go earlier on and he was really resistant. He’s found a therapist that he likes, I think they talked him into it maybe? How’s he been at work?” 

“Better. Calmer.” 

There’s a moment of silence before you ask him to tell you about the boy Spencer identified with. He tells you how the mother died due to driving drunk, how the father had to leave the marine corp and blamed his son, how the son didn’t measure up because he didn’t do well with sports, he details the symptoms and things. And you bite your lip. 

It wouldn’t be the easiest thing to identify his problems with special awareness, but it wasn’t impossible. Especially if there was class participation. Kids who did better talking it out and answering verbally, but couldn’t replicate the same thing on a piece of paper was always a red flag. At the very least, he should have been tested for something. And if a kids’ grades started going down? There should have been something that was done. Your gut twists when he tells you about the video. That’s followed by blinding anger. 

And to be honest? You get it. You can see the elements Spencer identifies with, but you can’t tell Aaron that. He probably knows the broad strokes, but it’s not your place to tell him anymore than that. Your leg starts to bounce as anxiousness settles in. 

A second later you feel Aaron’s hand engulf your wrist. You look at him, and he nods down at his hand. You watch as his thumb strokes back and forth against the skin of your wrist. You focus on the movement and then the feeling. His fingers are calloused. It takes a moment but then you look up at him, and shoot him a smile. 

He shoots you one back, and you ask, “How do you feel about a book store?” 

“As in going to one right now, or just in general?” 

“Right now.” 

He laughs, “I’ll go pay the tab.” 

And feeling just a tiny bit childish, you spring from the table and say, “Not if I get there first.” 

You dash to the counter, and a moment later you feel Aaron collide with your back. You snatch his credit card out of his hand before he can reach over you to give it to an amused hostess. You stick it in your pocket and hand your own card over, before sticking out your tongue at him. His smile widens and he shakes his head fondly. 

You add a generous tip and the two of you head to the local bookstore. Naturally the two of you separate. You pick out a few books from several different genres before ending up in the romance section. You may not be good at relationships, but that’s never stopped you from enjoying stories about them. 

That’s where Aaron finds you. Debating between two books. There’s a smile on his face, and you almost expect some sort of teasing but he doesn’t say a word. In the end, you get both. Aaron has a few different law type books, a murder mystery or two and some historical novel. You don’t make a joke about the mystery books despite having several comments on the tip of your tongue. 

After you make your purchases, you tug him back into the stacks and make him sit on the floor. He gives you a look, and you shrug, “I like reading while being surrounded by the smell of books.” 

That seems to convince him, and he takes a seat next to you. It doesn’t take long for you to get into your book. And after a little while you shift so that you’re leaning against Aaron. You don’t even realize it until he leans back into you.

And the action makes you smile, because this friendship has been easty, and you’re so grateful for your best friend.

[sasukeishot]

Sympathy Pt.3

a/n: ok, so im getting requests to do a crying pt. 2, but i already wrote a sympathy pt. 3 😬 here you go.. i hope you enjoy :p

genre: fluff, lil angst (nightmare)

warnings: nightmare, fear, grammar mistakes lol

summary: Kakashi and Y/n are given a mission that connects them even more

word count: 150+

~*~**~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~**~*~*~*~ Kakashi had just gotten assigned his first C-rank mission, and just his luck you were his partner. It would’ve been Gai, but he was in the hospital wing. Maybe he shouldn’t have shown you that Jutsu he “mastered”. “I’m assigning you, Kakashi Hatake, and you, Y/n L/n, with capturing thieves in the Mist Village” Minato explained. ‘Sounds easy’ Kakashi thought. “This mission should only take two days and one night with little effort. The thieves *shows pictures* have been disrupting the Mist for a couple weeks now. Make sure after this assignment you come in and file your reports. You are dismissed” You and Kakashi nod your heads and walk out.

“Sounds easy enough” you say.

“Yeah, you’d think he’d give us a harder mission” Kakashi sighs. Kakashi didn’t mind the mission, he was just nervous about the night he’d have to spend with you. ‘Would it be awkward? Sleeping so close together’ he thought. Maybe he’s just getting ahead of himself… it won’t be any different then have a “sleep over” with other ninja. “I’ll meet you back here in an hour or so?” You say standing by the entrance to the Leaf. “Sounds good to me” Kakashi announces.

*one hour later*

“Got everything?” Kakashi asks. “I think so..” You say, checking your pocket for your special kunai. “Then lets g-” Kakashi speeds off before he can even finish his sentence. He already feels the tension between the two of you. “Hey wait Kashi!” You yell while jumping through brush. Luckily, you’re a pretty fast kunoichi. Kakashi stops in his tracks. ‘Maybe I am going a little fast’ He thinks while turning around to look at you. “Kakashi let’s go a little slow.. I like spending time with you and we don’t get missions together a whole lot” You explain while panting and supporting yourself up against a tree. Kakashi is shook to say the least. ‘She likes spending time with me..?’ “Oh.. I guess you’re right. I like spending time with you too” he says trailing off a little bit. You happily walk up next to him grab his hand. Kakashi isn’t so shocked since you did grab his hand on your “ramen date”. Was it even a date? Or just a friendly lunch? “Oh look! A Sakura tree! So pretty” you say while pointing at a nearby Cherry Blossom. “Not as pretty as you..” Kakashi croaks. ‘Did I really just say that? I’m so cringey 😬’ Luckily, you blushed and squeezed his hand. “Aw Kakashi..” you say, looking at him and then quickly looking away, blushing at the ground. You both awkwardly walk through the path aligned with Cherry Blossom trees. After about two hours or so of walking, the Sun starts to set. “Kashi I think we should set up camp it’s getting dark” you announce looking around. You were very brave, but the darkness was your weakness. Or maybe perhaps what lurks in it. “I think we can go a little further..” Kakashi says keeping his head straight. “Please Kashi..” you say almost begging. He looks back at you and sees your scared face. Your pleading eyes and trembling lip. “I mean if you say so” He says with a light chuckle. Luckily, there’s a small cave that he starts heading to and you follow. He gets out his sleeping bag and you get out yours. “I’m going to go wash my face in the pond over there” you point. “Ok be quick” he says, nervous about rogue shinobi at night. You lightly trudge out of the cave while kakashi watches you. He sees your delicate, small hands wash your face, closing your beautiful eyes. The moon illuminating your skin. You look up and he quickly looks at the book in his lap. You retreat back to the cave and Kakashi notices your shoes and vest are in your hands. You must’ve taken them off by the lake. “Good night” you say while resting your head on your pillow. “Night” the Copy Ninja says back. Resting his head on his pillow, praying he can get at least a couple hours of rest.

Kakashi jolts awake to see you with a concerned look playing with his hair. He hyperventilates and puts his hands on his eyes, shaking. “Kashi… are you ok? You were having a really bad nightmare” you say, concern in your voice. He removes his hands from his face and grabs the edge of the blanket. “Yeah.. yeah I’m fine. Just go back to sleep. Sorry to disturb you.” He says, putting the blanket over his shoulder and lying back down on his side. “No” you say looking at him. Kakashi flips back over on his back and looks at the ceiling of the cave. “Y/N just go back to sleep. I have these nightmares every night it’s not a big deal…” He states, looking back over at you as you drag your sleeping back next to his. “I’m just gonna sleep next to you in case it happens again…” you announce, slipping into your sleeping bag. Kakashi is stunned at your move. You’re a few inches away and he can smell your sweetness. “I think hugging you will help.. ya know, with the nightmares?” he says shyly. “Yeah… I think it will” you giggle. He puts an arm around you and drifts off to dreamland. That night the Copycat Ninja slept like a baby.

a/n: hope you guys liked it !! 💕

[grismavessel]

👀 A Howl's Moving Castle AU with the Submas twins? If you'd like to share, would you please tell more about your AU?

OF COURSE I WILL!

SO-

So I basically combined the concepts of the movie/book with the pokemon universe, so all the regions are there, but pokemon and stuff are reserved for those who can use magic. So pokemon are like familiars/spirits/summons/or just creatures roaming the lands like ancient dragons. Most spells and incantations would be based on pokemon moves aside from a few just stemming from latin words because its just easy spell making.

For the twins, I'd like to think they both were studying magic together when they were young, but had both caught shards of a shooting star. Ingo creating Chandelure from his heart, and Eelektross from Emmet's. Afterward, the two abandoned their studies in favor of putting their newfound magic to better use, wanting to assist the people of Unova and battle against any malicious magic users in the land.

So they become traveling sorcerers, finding an old train and it's abandoned cars and fixing them up. Using Chandelure to power its engine it could travel for thousands on miles with a few pieces of coal. Eelektross helps keep the lights on inside the train, and so the brother created The Traveling Station, a train always on the move, willing to pick up and drop off people from across the lands of Unova at no expense. Especially helpful when some people end up stranded because of the incoming war.

Every once in a while, a nosey and selfish witch or sorcerer would come along, wanting to steal their magic, so the twins would deal with them with a magical battle.

Ingo is more eloquent with his words so I wanted him to specialize in really complicated spells where you cannot mess up a single syllable or the syntax. Is often too stiff or still when performing magic. Emmet has a hard time keeping a good flow with words but practically dances along with his magic. That's why I gave Ingo the long cloak and Emmet the shorter one since Ingo doesn't move but Emmet is very expressive with his magic.

With the two of them using their magic at the same time, together, it'd be like a spectacular display of powerful magic, Ingo's powerful words and Emmet's entrancing movements, you better hope you are just a spectator and not their target.

As for Howl turning back and forth into a bird creature, I have in my notes that Ingo would transform into a Haxorus-form, so dragon basically. Emmet would become a bird-like creature, resembling that of Acheops with colorful feathers.

The Traveling Station is very messy and labyrinth-like like Howl's castle, but just a tad bit cleaner. There is a place for passengers to reside in, the two providing food and services to the travelers onboard. The rest of the station is in disarray and the twins are still workaholics, making sure the passenger get to a safe place while also trying to prevent any of the war efforts from spreading in Unova.

Joltiks are everywhere on the train, taking the form of little spark sprites that help keep the electrical system in good shape and also assist in giving The Traveling Station power throughout it.

Sneasels are also roaming about as little familiar spirits, keeping pests out of the station and dealing with every peskier passenger. Basically the security measure of the station.

I would also like to think there's just a door in the station that leads to various places (undecided yet)

Elesa is tagging along as well as an apprentice, wanting to become a fabulous witch with a specialty in transformation spells and also a keen eye for fashion.

I potentially want N a part of the AU just so I could make Ghetsis the cause for the war in Unova (i don't really have anything solid planned for the two of them), though N would be taking the role of the Witch of the Wastes, but as the Warlock of the Wilds, trying to hunt the rogue magic users since he's convinced they're the cause of the destruction of the land, the train always going away from the burning land. He had a spell cast on himself to appear as if he was a pokemon, but after going to the capital he loses his magical abilities (still working on this part)

As for who's Sophie in the au . . . depends on you! The au is free for anyone to draw or use or write about, though I have some ideas for my own pokemon oc.

[hamliet]

The Crows Summon the Sun

Or, Hamliet’s review of Shadow & Bone, which gets a 4.5/5 for enjoyment and a 3.5/5 in terms of writing.

The true heroes of this story and the saviors of the show are the Crows. However, the problem is that the show then has an uneven feel, because the strength of the Crows plotline highlights the weaknesses of the trilogy storyline. But imo, overall, the strengths overshadow (#punintended) the weaknesses. 

I’ll divide the review into the narrative and the technical (show stuff, social commentary), starting with narrative.

Narrative: The Good 

It’s What The Crows Deserve

I went into the show watching it for the Crows; however, knowing that their storyline was intended to be a prequel, I wasn’t terribly optimistic. And while it is a prequel, the characters have complete and full arcs that perfectly set them up for the further development they will have in the books (which I think should be the next season?). Instead of retreading the arcs they’d have in the books, which is how prequels usually go, they had perfect set up for these arcs. It’s really excellent. 

Jesper, Inej, and Kaz are all allowed to be flawed, to have serious conflicts with one another, and yet to love each other. They feel like a found family in the best of ways. Kaz is the perfect selfish rogue; he’s a much more successfully executed Byronic hero than the Darkling, actually. Inej is heroic and her faith is not mocked, yet she too is flawed and her choices are not always entirely justified, but instead left to the audience to ponder (like killing the girl), which is a more mature writing choice that I appreciated. 

Jesper is charming, has a heart of gold despite being a murderer and on the surface fairly greedy, and MILO THE EMOTIONAL SUPPORT GOAT WAS THE BEST THING EVER. I also liked Jesper’s fling with Dima but I felt it could be better used rather than merely establishing his sexuality, like if Jesper and Dima had seen each other one more time or something had come of their tryst for the plot/themes/development of Jesper. 

Nina and Matthias’s backstory being in the first season, instead of in flashbacks, really works because it automatically erases any discomfort of the implications of Nina having falsely accused Matthias that the books start with. We know Nina, we know Matthias, we know their motivations, backgrounds, and why they feel the way we do. It’ll be easy for the audience to root for them without a lot of unnecessary hate springing from misunderstanding Nina (since she’s my favorite). Matthias’s arc was also really strongly executed and satisfyingly tragic. Their plotline was a bit unfortunately disconnected from the rest of the story, but Danielle Gallagan and Callahan Skogman have absolutely sizzling chemistry so I found myself looking forward to their scenes instead of feeling distracted. Also? It’s nice seeing a woman with Nina’s body type as a romantic and powerful character. 

Hamliet Likes Malina Now

Insofar as the trilogy storyline goes, the best change the show made was Mal. He still is the same character from the books, but much more likable. The pining was... a lot (too much in episode 4, I felt) but Malina is a ship I actually enjoyed in the show while I NOTP’d it in the books. Mal has complexity and layers to his motivations (somewhat) and a likable if awkward charm. Archie Renaux was fantastic. 

Ben Barnes is the perfect Aleksandr Kirigan, and 15 year old me, who had the biggest of big crushes on Ben Barnes (first celebrity crush over a decade ago lol), was pretty damn happy lol. He’s magnificantly acted--sympathetic and terrifying, sincerely caring and yet villainous in moments. Story-wise, I think it was smart to reveal his name earlier on than in the books, because it helps with the humanization especially in a visual medium like film. Luda was a fitting (if heartbreaking) backstory, but it is also hard for me to stomach knowing what the endgame of his character is. Like... I get the X-men fallacy thing, but I hope the show gives more kindness to his character than the books did, yet I’m afraid to hold my breath. Just saying that if you employ save the cat, if you directly say you added this part (Luda) to make the character more likable (as the director did) please do not punish the audience for feeling what you intended. 

I also liked the change that made Alina half-Shu. It adds well to her arc and fits with her character, actually giving her motivations (she kinda just wants to be ordinary in a lot of ways) a much more interesting foundation than in the books. Also it’s nice not to have another knock-off Daenerys (looking to you Celaena and book!Alina). Jessie Mei Li does a good job playing Alina’s insecurities and emotions, but... 

Narrative: The Ehhhhhhh

Alina the Lamp

Sigh. Here we go. Alina has little consistent characterization. She’s almost always passive when we see her, yet she apparently punches an officer for calling her a name and this seems to be normal for her, but it doesn’t fit at all with what we know about her thus far. Contradictions are a part of humanity, but it’s never given any focus, so it comes across as inconsistent instead of a flaw or repression. 

I have no idea what Alina wants, beside that she wants to be with Mal, which is fine except I have no idea what the basis of their bond is. Even with like, other childhood friends to lovers like Ren/Nora in RWBY or Eren/Mikasa in SnK, there’s an inciting moment, a reason, that we learn very early on in their story to show us what draws them together. Alina and Mal just don’t have that. There’s the meadow/running away thing, but they were already so close, and why?  Why, exactly? What brought them together? The term “bullies” is thrown around but it isn’t ever explored and it needed to be this season. If I have to deal with intense pining for so many episodes at least give me a foundation for their devotion. You need to put this in the beginning, in the first season. You just do.

A “lamp” character is a common metaphor to describe a bad character: essentially, you could replace the character with a lamp and nothing changes. Considering Alina’s gift is light, it’s a funnily apt metaphor, but it really does apply. Her choices just don’t... matter. She could be a special lamp everyone is fighting over and almost nothing would change. The ironic thing is that everyone treating her like a fancy lamp is exactly the conflict, but it’s never delved into. We’re never shown that Alina is more than a lamp. She never has to struggle because her choices are made for her and information is gifted to her when she needs it. Not making choices protects Alina from consequences and the story gives her little incentive to change that; in fact, things tend to turn out better when she doesn’t make choices (magic stags will arrive). 

Like... let’s look at a few occasions when Alina almost or does make choices. For example, she chooses to (it seems) sleep with Kirigan, but then there’s a convenient knock at the door and Bhagra arrives with key information that changes Alina’s mind instantly despite the fact that Bhagra’s been pretty terrible to her. If you want to write a woman realizing she’s been duped by a cruel man, show her discovering it instead of having the man’s abusive mother tell her when she had absolutely no such suspicions beforehand. There’s no emotional weight there because Alina doesn’t struggle. 

When she is actually allowed to carry out a bad choice, the consequences are handwaved away instead of built into a challenge for her. Like... Alina got her friends killed. More than once. I’m not saying she’s entirely to blame for these but could we show her reacting to it? Feeling any sort of grief? She never mentions Raisa or Alexei after they’re gone, just Mal, and I’m... okay. They were there because of you. Aren’t you feeling anything? Aren’t you sad? The only time Alina brings up her friends’ deaths is to tell Kirigan he killed her friends when they were only there because she burned the maps. She yells at Kirigan for “never” giving her a choice, but she almost never makes any, so why would he? Alina has the gall to lecture Genya about choices, but she herself almost never has to make any. 

Which brings me to another complaint in general: Alina’s lack of care for everyone around her when they’re not Mal, even if they care for her. Marie dies because of her (absolutely not her fault of course) but as far as we know she never even learns about Marie. She certainly doesn’t ever ask about her or Nadia. Alina seems apathetic at best to people, certainly not compassionate or kind. 

The frustrating thing is that there is potential here. Like, it actually makes a lot of psychological sense for an orphan who has grown up losing to be reluctant to care for people outside of her orbit and that she would struggle to believe she can have any say in her destiny (ie make choices). It’s also interesting that a girl who feels like an outsider views others outside her. But the show never offers examines Alina’s psychology with any depth; it simply tells us she’s compassionate when she is demonstrably not, it tells us she makes decisions when it takes magical intervention to do so. It’s a missed opportunity. This does not change between episodes 1 and 8, despite the episodes’ parallel structures and scenes, which unintentionally reinforces that Alina had little real development. 

Inej and ironically Jesper and Kaz embody the concept of “mercy” far better and with far more complexity than Alina does. The Crows have reactions to the loss of people who even betray them (Arken, etc), learn, and course-correct (or don’t) when they are even loosely involved in having strangers die. They’re good characters because they change and learn and have their choices matter. When they kill we see them wrestle with it and what this means even if they are accustomed to doing so. Jesper can’t kill in front of a child. Kaz wonders what his killings do to Inej’s idea of him.

Narrative: The Mixed Bag

Tropes, Themes, Telling vs. Showing

So the show’s themes in the Alina storyline are a mess, as they are in the trilogy too. Tropes are a very valuable way to show your audience what you’re trying to say. They’re utilized worldwide because they resonate with people and we know what to expect from them. The Crows' storyline shows us what it wants us to learn.

Preaching tells, and unfortunately, the trilogy relies on telling/preaching against fornicationBad Boys. It’s your right to write any trope or trample any trope you want--your story--but you should at least understand what/why you are doing so. The author clearly knows enough about Jungian shadows and dark/light yin/yang symbolism to use it in the story, but then just handwaves it away as “I don’t like this” but never does so in a narratively effective way: addressing the appeal in the first place. If you really wanna deconstruct a trope, you gotta empathize with the core of the reason these tropes appeal to people (it allays deep fears that we are ourselves unlovable, through loving another person despite how beastly they can be), and address this instead of ignoring it. Show us a better way through the Fold of your story. Don’t just go around it and ignore the issue.

The trilogy offers highly simplistic themes at best--bad boy bad and good boy good, which is fine-ish for kid lit but less fine for adult complexity, which the show (more so than the books) seems to try to push despite not actually having much of it.

Alina and Mal are intended to be good, we’re told they are, but I’m not sure why beyond just that we’re told so. Alina claims the stag chose her, but in the show it’s never explained why at all. Unlike with Kaz, Inej, Jesper, and hell even Matthias and Nina, we don’t see Alina or Mal’s complex choices and internal wrestling. 

Like, Inej’s half-episode where she almost killed the guy they needed was far more character exploration than Alina has the entire show, to say nothing of Inej’s later killing which not only makes her leaps and bounds more interesting, but ironically cements her as a far more compelling and yes, likable, heroine than Alina. We see Inej’s emotional and moral conflict. We can relate to her. We see Kaz struggling with his selfishness and regrets, with his understanding of himself through his interactions with and observations of Inej, Alina, the Darkling, Arken, and Jesper.

We don’t explore what makes Mal or Alina good and what makes them bad. We don’t know what Alina discovers about herself, what her power means for her. We are told they are good, we are told she knows her power is hers, but never shown what this means or what this costs them/her. Their opportunities to be good are handed to them (the stag, Bhagra) instead of given to them as a challenge in which they risk things, in which doing good or making a merciful choice costs them. Alina gets to preach about choices without ever making any; Inej risks going back to the Menagerie to trust Kaz. Her choices risk. They cost. They matter and direct her storyline and her arc, and those of the people around her.

Production Stuff:

The Good: 

The production overall is quite excellent. The costumes, pacing, acting, and cinematography (for example, one of the earliest scenes between the Darkling and Alina has Alina with her back to the light, face covered in his shadow, while the Darkling’s face is light up by her light even if he stands in the shadows) are top-notch. The soundtrack as well is incredible and emphasizes the scenes playing. The actors have great chemistry together, friend chemistry and romantic when necessary (Mal and Alina, the Darkling and Alina, Kaz and Inej, Nina and Matthias, David and Genya, etc.) All are perfectly cast. 

The Uncomfortable Technicalities Hamliet Wants to Bitch About:

The only characters from fantasy!Europe having any trace of an accent reminiscent of said fantasy country's real-world equivalent are antagonists like Druskelle (Scandinavia) and Pekka (Ireland). When the heroes mostly have British accents despite being from fantasy Russia and Holland, it is certainly A Choice to have the Irish accent emphasized. The actor is British by the way, so I presume he purposely put on an Irish accent. I'm sure no one even considered the potential implications of this but it is A Look nonetheless.

The Anachronisms Hamliet Has a Pet Peeve About: 

The worldbuilding is compelling, but the only blight on the worldbuilding within the story itself (ignoring context) was that there are some anachronisms that took me out of the story, particularly in the first episode where “would you like to share with the class” and “saved by the horn” are both used. Both are modern-day idioms in English that just don’t fit, especially the latter. The last episode uses “the friends we made along the way.” There are other modern idioms as well.

IT’S STARKOVA and Other Pet Peeves Around the Russian Portrayal 

Russian names are not hard, and Russian naming systems are very, very easy to learn. I could have waved “Starkov” not being “Starkova,” “Nazyalensky” not being “Nazyalenskaya,”  and “Safin” not being “Safina” as an American interpretation (since in America, the names do not femininize). However, “Mozorova” as a man is unfathomable and suggests to me the author just doesn’t understand how names work, which is a bit... uh okay considering a simple google search gets you to understand Russian names. They aren’t hard. I cannot understand why the show did not fix this. It is so simple to fix and would be a major way to help the story’s overall... caricature of Russia. 

Speaking of that... Ravka is supposedly Russian-based, but it is more accurately based on the stereotypes of what Americans think of Russia. Amerussia? Russica? Not great. 

The royals are exactly what Americans think of the Romanovs, right down to the “greasy” “spiritual advisor” who is clearly Rasputin and which ignores the Romanov history, very real tragedy, and the reason Rasputin was present in the court. The religion with all its saints is a vapid reflection of Russian Orthodoxy. The military portrayal with its lotteries and brutality and war is how the US views the Russian military. The emphasis on orphans, constant starvation, classification, and children being ripped from their homes to serve the government is a classic US understanding of USSR communism right down to the USSR having weapons of destruction the rest of the world fears (Grisha). Not trying to defend the Soviet Union here at all, but it is simplistic and reductive and probably done unconsciously but still ehhhh. 

However, I’m not Russian. I just studied Russian literature. I’ve seen very little by way of discussion of this topic online, but what I do see from Russian people has been mixed--some mind, some don’t. The reality is that I actually don’t really mind this because it’s fantasy, though I see why some do. I'm not like CANCEL THIS. So why am I talking about this beyond just having a pet peeve?

Well, because it is a valid critique, and because it doesn’t occur in a vacuum. The Grishaverse is heralded as an almost paragon for woke Young Adult literature, which underlines itself what so frustrates me about how literary circles discuss issues of diversity and culture. Such praise, while ignoring its quasi-caricature of Russia, reflects a very ethnocentric (specifically American) understanding of culture, appropriation, and representation. All stories are products of their culture to various extents, but it bothers me on principle what the lit community reacts (and overreacts sometimes?) to and what people give a pass to. The answer to what the community reacts to and what it gives a pass always pivots on how palatable the appropriation is to American understandings and sensibilities. There’s nuance here as well, though. 

I'm not cancelling the story or thinking it should be harshly attacked for this, but it is something that can be discussed and imo should be far more often--but with the nuance it begs, instead of black/white. But that’s a tall ask. 

[iphoenixrising]

The Demon You Know

Day 1 Urban Fantasy AU | Magical/Supernatural Creatures | Time Travel

So, something a little off the grid for my first day of DickTim Week 2021. Special thanks to my wonderful babe @vellaphoria for the beta and the incredible peeps on the Capes and Coffee discord (looking at you @themandylion, @strawberryjei and others). Also need to show my undying love for @chippon because babe, we are making it work.

**

When the sun creeps up over the sky in Gotham, then it’s time to GTFO. Capes in the daytime aren’t the usual for the city, and Red Robin has been playing it too late, staying out far past O’s warning to bring it in for the night. So, really, he’s only got himself to blame.

His penthouse perch has seen more use in the last few months since, welp, Gotham and the fact he likes to get away from the team mentality sometimes, like to return to his roots and run the rooftops like when he was still that Robin. His trips to the Manor had become more frequent since B was back in the cowl and things in the family seemed to be returning to some semblance of normal. 

Well, as normal as it could get, really.

But all that goodwill and positivity is literally ghost. Red’s hands are shaky and his inner calm is absolutely blown. He’s ducking into his perch to throw his suit off, grab his duffle bag full of sundries and fake idents, then he’s going to hit the airport as fast as he can get a flight the hell out of town, away from the terrifying sight.

(He should just call Bart or Kon or Cassie, tell them he needs an out faster than he can arrange it himself, he needs to get away from–)

He knows he fucked up when the slight sounds, small and metallic in nature, make it past his pulse thumping in his ears.

Like a horror flick, he slowly turns as the front door gives a groan and is pushed open by a very familiar palm.

Dick’s blue eyes fall on him like a ton of bricks, on Red Robin’s feet frozen to the floor, his suit only half on, and no way he can get far enough to throw himself out a window.

Fuck.

“So,” Dick keeps his voice soft, footsteps easy as he steps inside Tim’s penthouse and closes the door behind him, “you finally found me out.”

Keeping his mouth shut in times like this has really saved his ass before, so Red doesn’t say a word, keeps every muscle in his body ready to spring for the right second –

Watching the would-be robber struggle in Dick’s grip, watching the light show brighten overwhelmingly, seeing what had to be-had to be feeding.

“I figured it would be you if anyone, actually, so I’m not really surprised, just… disappointed.” Dick continues softly, only in jeans and a t-shirt since Nightwing was oddly missing from the patrol roster last night.

And Red is apparently the only one that knows why.

“But that doesn’t mean I can just let you go, Timmy,” Dick isn’t stopping, his whole body lax while Red is wound tight, backing away from the man he thought he knew. “I really wish you hadn’t found out like this. I...I had other plans.” 

Whirlybirds and pellets aren’t going to help him here. Hand-to-hand and martial arts, aerial acrobatics, none of it is going to make a difference. 

His throat goes dry when Dick’s eyes get more and more blue, when his former mentor doesn’t stop advancing, and Red Robin is running out of room to back away.

“I tried to save you, Timmy. I tried so hard to get you away, out of Gotham, even if you went because you thought you had to find Bruce, I’m the one that gave you the compulsion to leave.” The low laugh is edged with something desperate, “why the hell couldn’t you stay away?”

“This is my city, just as much as Batman’s. You taking my fucking cape wasn’t enough,” Red Robin bites out, back thumping against the kitchen counter, realizing Dick had backed him into the corner. “How did you keep it from him? Constantine, Zatanna, all the magic users he has on speed dial and he never figured you out? No one in the JLA or Titans did?”

That makes Dick pause.

“He never had to. He knew what my parents were before they ever died, Timmy. Haley’s Circus came to Gotham regularly. Bruce always knew.”

The information blast hits him painfully, that Bruce didn’t bother to tell him and look at where they are now.

“And he didn’t try to help you?” Red, Tim, gapes at the still silhouette that used to be someone he thought he knew like he knew himself. Someone that’s always had this secret. “He didn’t try to –”

“Cure me?” Dick’s mouth lifts in a semblance of a smile Tim knows. “There is no cure for this, Timmy. It’s what I am. What my parents both were, the curse of the Romain Bababiljos. It’s unfortunate for me both of them were cursed, that just makes the...the hunger two-fold.”

And it’s just a few more steps, a raised hand that makes Tim flinch back, but only a fingertip taps the edge of the domino, makes the whiteouts raise.

Automatically, with everything he’s learned, studied, experienced about supernatural creatures, he ducks his head so he isn’t looking directly into those eyes. That doesn’t stop Dick from bracketing Tim in, both hands on the counter, their bodies a breath apart.

Dick laughs softly, close enough for Tim to feel the breath on his face. “The Titans...I never had to tell them. By then, I could control myself, at least mostly. The JLA? I’m one of the Batman’s proteges. I’ve been fighting crime since I was eight. They believe in me. There was never a reason for any of them to look too deeply past the surface.”

“Wh-what do you mean mostly?” Tim’s heart slams in his chest, “how many people have you killed, Dick?”

“Do you have any idea how awful the hunger is?” And the lower Dick’s voice goes, the harder Tim’s heart starts to pound. “Surviving on hugs and family affection is tantamount to starvation for someone like me. It’s so easy to kill someone during sex because the hunger is so much I can’t control it sometimes. Anyone I’m with is in danger.  That’s why I couldn’t stay with Babs, she’s too human. The one time I came close–” 

Dick breathes again and all Tim looks at is the span of throat, thinking of the soft, vulnerable parts, anything he can use to get the fuck away.

“–but I didn’t. I have...willpower sometimes. I drained her so close, though. She was-was so fragile, Timmy, and I was so hungry. I’d been starving for so damn long. She was hospitalized for longer than she’d been when the Joker shot her, and I said never again. But Wally and Kory were...different. I could go further with him without killing them, I could get more full than I’d been in a long time. It was still dangerous for them, but I was so far gone by the time...”

“They’re both still alive. Babs is still alive. Does she–?”

“Remember? Of course not. None of them do. I made sure of that, Tim, so none of them would be afraid of me.”  And the air changes when Dick gets closer, his eyes get brighter, and Tim almost chokes with the almost touch to his body under his suit. “But, you are going to be different, aren’t you? I’m not going to be able to convince your mind that what you saw was a dream.”

“So what? You’re going to make me “disappear”? You’ll give Bruce some sob story about how I got tired of the vigilante life and left for college or some shit? Going to bury me where no one will ever find me?” He isn’t looking at Dick’s face, can’t see his own end coming, can’t believe he’d put all his faith and belief in this man only to have it all come to this.

Tim laughs wetly, blinking rapidly, and everything suddenly comes together. “He won’t ever come looking for me anyway. You made sure of that when you made Damian your Robin. Nice plan, Dick. No one is going to give a shit if I’m never seen again anyway.”

And it’s stupid not to at least try, not to duck and kick out, trip up whatever Dick really is, to break a window and fucking run, try to get Bruce, Clark, Kon and Bart and Cassie, to get anyone to listen to him about what Dick really is, to try to save himself.

(If you’d never figured out Dick was Robin, if you never put yourself in front of him, you’d be safe now. Miserable but safe.)

Even if it’s his own brain pan spitting this out, he knows it’s bullshit. 

If he’d never approached Dick Grayson with proof Batman was losing his mind, Tim Drake wouldn’t have reached twenty-one. The way his life was going, he would have probably hung himself long before getting to this stage in his life. If he’d never had Bruce or Alfred or Dick or Steph, if he’d never had Robin, never had Young Justice or The Titans, if he’d never had the Clench, never felt the rumble under his feet as Gotham had fallen, if he’d never had the agony of losing everyone in his life, if he’d never had the drive to prove his adopted father was alive…

The civilian Tim Drake wouldn’t have had the strength to make it through life alive.

So if this is the way he goes out, if Dick is the one that ends it for him–

There’re worse ways to go.

He’s not going to be the Joker’s next victim or Ra’s al Ghul’s heir with a mix of Lazarus Pit crazy. The HIVE, the Light, the mass of aliens he’s fought, any number of Rogue Gallery thugs, none of them will be the ones to take him out.

But this?

His career as Robin started out with Dick Grayson, so maybe...maybe it’s fitting this is the way it all ends. 

He sucks in a breath and finally tilts his head up, looks up into those electric blue eyes, and lets his breath out so so slow.

Because Dick is looking at him with watery eyes, with a grimace, with something Tim can actually recognize.

But those eyes light up in his penthouse perch, take on a supernatural glow, Dick snatching his wrists in bigger hands, pulling Tim closer, the heat getting through layers of Kevlar and Nomex. And just like that, he can’t pull away, can’t pull back.

There’s no way to defend himself when Dick pulls him in, when he expects to get his throat ripped out, his neck snapped, something important crushed, for the darkness to take over and his heart to slow down to a sad, weak pitter patter.

He can’t defend himself when Dick kisses him, opens his mouth, and stuns him into going completely slack.

“I told you,” Dick growls softly when he pulls back, bends enough to get Tim laid out over his shoulder, “I had other plans.”

But Tim can’t reply, can’t do anything other than lay across Dick’s back as the Romani love deamon strides down the hallway and kicks open the bedroom door.

**

And if Tim Drake survives until morning, shocking the hell out of the both of them, staring up at Dick’s surprised face and glowing blue eyes, if the soft touch to his jaw contrasts sharply with the bruises and red marks blossoming all over his body from an intense night with his supernatural mentor and best friend, if Dick doesn’t whisper, “finally, finally, my mate,” before kissing him. 

If the power Dick drains from him doesn’t kill him, doesn’t do more than give him the most amazing span of unending multiple orgasms to ever happen, if Dick isn’t fully satisfied for the first time in his life. If Dick doesn’t call them both off patrol for the next three nights, carts Tim back to his apartment, refuses him clothes and computers and tech, tells the Titans they’re taking a break from crime fighting while Tim is tied and gagged in his bed, sated enough to listen hazily with half-mast eyes. 

If Dick doesn’t hand feed him while he’s getting feeling back in his legs (finally) and give him the full run-down about his parents. If the strange mark on his abdomen doesn’t get warm whenever Dick’s hand is on it, fingers tracing the edges, making those blue, blue eyes dilate in possessiveness. If Tim doesn’t eventually escape with his sanity intact and a little terrified how much his body craves only to have Dick chase after him with single-minded purposes to convince him they’re meant to be.

Then only the man with cameras all over Gotham, waiting and watching with bated breath and fear for his Robins, unmitigated relief when his theory proves true, would be able to give all the details.

[enigmamuse]

Scarecrow Ask (Museverse) #4-6

4. If they happen to be, which preexisting Crane are they most based off of?

My Jonathan has a lot of influence from Year One, mostly backstory. There are sprinkles of other source material like BTAS and Fear State, but he's sort of a mish mash of different things I like about Jon in general. He's grown older and is more methodical about his revenge and crimes now. 

5. Are they a lone wolf or do they have a special somebody(ies)? Could be just friends or any significant other(s).

He has heavy social anxiety based on bullying and rejection (among other things) in his past, so for the most part, he's a more solitude version of Crane.

Edward Nygma. They're dating, but that was following a period of years knowing each other as Rogues. Jon didn't like Edward initially - he was easy to read: insecure, self absorbed, a textbook case of several disorders, too similar to parts of himself (See: we are made of the same material(derogatory)). They started out liking to annoy each other. While Jon's version of "annoy" literally scares off people, Edward is very persistent and would come back, not wanting to "lose" whatever game they had going on. 

They worked together a lot - Edward citing that Jon was "actually capable" , which is genuine praise coming from him. They were weird constants for each other, drifting in and out of Arkham, bonding over niche reading and games that others couldn’t be bothered with. Acted like a couple who're not actually a couple for a while. At some point, someone pointed out their behavior and caused both men to go into a panicked identity crisis where they practically didn't talk to each other for months. (However, Jonathan was included in a lot of Edward's riddles during that time, and it was a whole Thing for Batman.)

Harleen Quinzel. So while I think the idea of Jon having met Harley while teaching at university or where both were working at Arkham is cute, my version of Jonathan doesn’t meet Harley until after he’s become Scarecrow. He was an inmate at Arkham when Harley was first being influenced by the Joker, but was not one of her patients. I think he took a fascination in her as both someone wanting to study super criminals, and after as one who became one following some persuasion. Their relationship improved immensely after she cut ties with the Joker, as Jon began to regard her as an individual force versus a buffed henchman.

Jonathan thinks Harley is capable and intelligent, but still somewhat immature. There's a kinship there, but he wouldn't call it "fatherly" because that has never meant anything positive to him.

Jervis Tetch. Jon and Jervis share a bond that's close, but difficult to understand. They're able to tap into the same frequency that doesn't really make sense to others, so their conversations and streams of thinking, particularly when Jon is more Scarecrow than Jonathan, align well. Jonathan became a Rogue before Mad Hatter, and had known him as Dr. Jervis Tetch, esteemed neuroscientist [whose research I want to steal].

Bonus! This one is purely for me, but Jon is one of the few people who gets along with Victor Fries. Despite not being able to get a rouse out of him (which he hates), Jon likes Victor’s straightforward personality and that he generally doesn’t have to worry about the other man having ulterior motives. It’s a rare case of Jon actually being the sillier one of a dynamic. They’re just two dudes who are silent in the same room for a long period of time, but if you asked either they’d be like “yeah, my friend Jon/Victor”.

6. Do they have corvid or any other animal friends? This Jon had birds for a time as a method of exposure therapy to get over his childhood ornithophobia, but he does not currently keep any. They're more visitors to him, so he keeps specialty seed and supplies, but not crows proper.

Farmer Jonathan is something I find cute, but since he was relatively poor growing up, raising animals wasn’t something he really did. However, he does have a very rural mentality about animals: he’s respectful of them, but very blunt about their status as livestock.

[notabloodmage]

Anders Clinic: early Act 1

hello! i am handers trash! here is the first time my hawke helped Anders around the clinic! thank u!

The clinic was crowded today. There was another fever burning its way through Darktown. Anders was stretched thin as it is, with very few volunteers in recent days to help him keep the clinic running and safely hidden. As it turned out-- operating for free meant that help was hard to find. His mana was low, even with the extra reserves that Justice granted him. The clinic was overrun with patients-- his little corner of Darktown a filled with a cacophony of retching and the groans of the ill. He shuffled tiredly, but with purpose, from patient to patient. He was grateful that Justice wouldn’t let him rest until the job was done. It wasn’t good for Anders, sure, but it helped save the lives of all these people, so it had to be worth it, right? 

“Uh, Anders?” A familiar voice broke through the crowd. Hawke was… unexpected. The little rogue had weaved her way through the crowd somehow to make it to his side. He didn’t even look up from his work to greet here, focusing on blue fade-energy pulsing at his fingertips. 

“Sorry, Hawke, but I really don’t think I can be of any help to you today,” Anders said balefully. He was knelt over an old woman, a Ferelden refugee not unlike the rogue before him.

“Er, actually, I was wondering if I could help you…” 

That made him look up, and the sight was so beautiful it made his head spin (or perhaps it was the fact that he was going on 50+ hours without sleep). 

Hawke was looking down with her signature crooked grin, brow cocked with concern at his appearance. She wasn’t wearing her armour like usual, he’d never seen her without it before, all that tan freckled skin in the open. She was wearing a casual peasant shirt with a hastily lased collar and simple trousers torn at the knees. He snapped his eyes onto her warm brown gaze to keep them from wandering. Her eyes always had a twinkle in them, somehow, like she knew something you didn’t. 

She just had a way with people, Anders supposed, even the woman he was treating seemed to relax at her mere presence. 

And more than that, he realised, she may as well have been handing him a pot of gold. She was holding out a basket of fresh picked herbs. Elfroot, Embrium, Blood Lotus-- everything he could possibly need to treat this flu. She beamed when he looked up at her incredulously. 

“Bethany is here too, somewhere-- healing isn’t her speciality but Father did teach her the basics. And I may not be a mage, but I do know my way around a cauldron.” She winked down at him, turning toward the back of the shop. “You do have a cauldron, right? Or at least a pot I can cook with?” 

“I… What?” Anders gaped--half-convinced the exhaustion had finally gotten to him and he was hallucinating. Hawke giggled.

“A cauldron, Anders, so I can make some healing potions for these people. Father used to make this awful potion for us whenever we were sick, it tastes like the void itself but it always works! I’m not as good as he was but I do know the recipe!” She looked back at him quizzically.

“There’s a cauldron on the fire near the back, miss.” One of his other patients, a young boy who had been in the clinic before spoke up for him. 

Anders still couldn’t believe this was happening. This couldn’t be some kind of stress-induced hallucination, could it? Hawke wasn’t really just sweeping in to solve his problems again was she? First with Karl and now this...

“That’s… I…”

Before Anders could fully process the situation he was whisked back into his work. 

The sunset bled the day into night, the work still hard but going significantly more smoothly now. He’d bumped shoulders with Bethany a few times throughout the day, who’d always given him an encouraging smile before returning to her work, she may not have been as adept as he was at healing but she did better than fine. Her proficiency with the elements kept the fire burning and kept them supplied with clean water so Anders could focus solely on his healing abilities. The atmosphere of the clinic had changed, it was no longer so frantic, and although he felt as though he was about to collapse with exhaustion, Anders was cautiously optimistic. With all the help they’d been able to give it looked like most of the refugees would actually survive this. 

Plus, Hawke wasn’t kidding. She did know her way around a cauldron. Between patients Anders caught glimpses at her slicing up herbs at an alarming speed, Anders hadn’t considered that he proficiency with daggers would translate to something as mundane as chopping up potion ingredients. She’d brought more than enough, too.  With this potion a little goes a long way, she’d assured him, and she proved herself right. Sip after agonising sip of the sludge-like fluid had patients perking up already. She’d even been able to slip in a lyrium potion or two to keep Bethany and Anders running late into the evening. 

She hummed a cheery little tune to herself as she stirred away, serving patients with a smile and a joke. She made it look so easy, but she had to tired by now...

The clinic finally began to slow around midnight, most of the patients had cleared out and those that remained were asleep. Hawke had sent Bethany home before sundown-- Leandra got nervous when Bethany was out late, apparently-- so it was just the two of them that remained, in the back of the clinic. Anders was warming himself by the fireplace, hands gripping his mug tightly to keep them from trembling with exhaustion, as he sipped the tea Hawke had pushed into his hands. It smelled like like home somehow-- Ferelden. 

Mint, fennel and elfroot, sweetened with honey.

Hawke bit back a yawn, she was sat on a stool, scrubbing out his old cauldron-- he’d gotten it second-hand after he’d set up shop down here.

Her curly brown hair was tied back with a white rag, and at some point she had lost her overshirt, leaving her in tight camisole. Anders tried desperately to ignore how it gave him the perfect view of the way her chest heaved as she worked. Her toned, tanned arms were in full view, every inch of her skin patterned intricately with freckles. Sweat dripped down her neck into the valley between her breasts and Anders cleared his throat in an attempt to clear his thoughts.

“Thank you for today, really. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.” He fixed his gaze on hers once more. She was smiling at him with something that looked like admiration her amber eyes, and he didn’t know if that terrified him or turned him on. 

Maybe both.

“I can’t believe you do this every day… I don’t even think I can stand back up…” Hawke leaned back, setting the cauldron aside so she could stretch, letting out a sweet sound of satisfaction at the relief on her sore muscles.

Anders nearly cursed aloud when Justice forced him to avert his gaze.

“It’s not always this bad…” He stammered out, as Hawke stood focusing his eyes on the hearth, where the fire had burned down to coals. She was looking at him again. He could see it from the corner of his eye, she was studying him intently, it seemed. 

The silence hung over them--warm, wanting, and not quite comfortable. 

Anders wanted to thank her again, but he couldn’t find the words. He still couldn’t believe she’d come at all. Completely unprompted, unasked. He’d asked her a few hours in what she was doing there and all she’d said was that Varric told her was busy at the clinic and she wanted to help. She didn’t say how she got the herbs or found the time, in her busy schedule though, and Anders thought that maybe he should ask if he could pay for those... not that he could afford them, he thought bitterly. 

The silence was broken by Hawke bursting into a fit of giggles. 

He looked at her, brow creasing. She was… Odd. Always smiling, always laughing at something or other. She’d tripped over her feet on the way up the Chantry steps that first night they’d met and he could’ve sworn her laugh echoed through all of Hightown, far too loud for someone as small in stature as she. In that moment she’d put him at ease, and even though his meeting with Karl went as terribly as it did she stuck by his side, even inviting him out on jobs with her in the days after, knowing full well that he could use the money, and time out of Darktown. 

Her eyes glimmered with mirth as she turned to him.

“I just realised I never told you my name.”

Huh. 

So she hadn’t. 

It was strange, given how much they’d been through together in the, what, few weeks? Since they’d met? Anders found himself laughing alongside her. 

Maybe they were delirious-- maybe the fever had finally caught up to them-- but Maker did the two of them laugh.  A gross, hard day full of grief and sickness that had left them both worn and covered in vomit and the pair laughed themselves to tears. 

Justice was confused. Anders was laughing. Why was Anders laughing? 

Anders didn’t quite know the answer himself, but he figured it didn’t matter as Hawke extended a hand to him. 

“I’m Minerva Marian Hawke, and you are?”

He took her hand in his. His handshake was a little too firm in an attempt to disguise how his hands were trembling. 

“Anders. Just Anders.”

“Just Anders, hm? Coooool~” She grinned, voice regaining its familiar teasing quality. He couldn’t help but return her grin. “Well, Just Anders, I’ll come by tomorrow, okay? I think it’s time to get some rest. Both of us, okay?” Her eyes flickered over him, an expression of genuine concern on her face. Anders didn’t know what he’d done to earn such kindness from her, but he couldn’t deny the way it made his heart pound in his chest.

She smiled her farewell and turned to leave.

“Goodnight, Minerva.” Her name tasted sweet on his lips. “And thank you.”

[shihalyfie]

So, this is... uh... a bit complex and extremely specific but..

If the Adv/02 kids had RPG/MMO weapons/jobs, which each of them would have/be? (... Yes, DR ch2 hype made me think about it again)

Well, this is just me going on a complete lark, so enjoy my very self-indulgent headcanons, haha.

Taichi: Well, the usual swordfighter, of course. I have a feeling he himself would go for it; conventional, well-rounded, easy to figure out.

Yamato: There's usually a kind of "also conventionally combat-oriented but also slightly off the beaten path" sort of class, like a lance wielder (fitting for Yamato's position as the series "lancer") or a brawler (you know, Yamato's really into those fisticuffs...).

Sora: The archer type, because she wants to join in but probably is not a huge fan of getting up close. Alternatively, in Fire Emblem terms, maybe one of the pegasus or wyvern riders.

Koushirou: Probably an alchemist or apothecary type (it requires a bit more finesse than the usual mage classes).

Mimi: Bard/music class, and I'm not just saying this because of her singing skills; it's because Mimi is the one who absolutely dislikes fighting the most and would vastly prefer to take a support role by any means necessary. So she'll specialize in buffs/debuffs instead.

Jou: Medic. Well, of course. His specialty is coming in at the right time when people are in greatest need, after all.

Takeru: I think one of those "paladins" who specializes in holy magic that are super effective against dark forces, but also tends to be a bit overspecialized as a result.

Hikari: Tempting as it is to make her a pure healer, I think personality-wise she's actually the kind of person who's still much more willing to engage in combat than Jou would, so she wouldn't go for something too specialized. I imagine her something more as along the line of the cleric kind of archetype, where she does have offensive abilities even if they're somewhat on the specialized end. (That said, she probably serves as the closest thing the 02 group has to a dedicated healer.) Alternatively, she may make a great summoner archetype, but technically speaking, the summon is really just Tailmon, so that’s not all that interesting...

Daisuke: Daisuke's the protagonist in front and it's tempting to make him the sword archetype, but I think he'd actually be into the mage class because he likes giant dramatic explosions. (Better hope whatever game he's in doesn't require large cast or cooldown time, though; that'll drive him nuts.)

Miyako: On the contrary, Miyako is the one who probably would like to bash people in with weapons. To make things even more dramatic, give her a giant axe or something.

Iori: Martial artist, similar to why he does kendo: discipline, focus, and proper training.

Ken: The assassin/thief/ninja/rogue "stealth and off the beaten path" archetype. It's a bit ironic since Ken himself is actually the Lawful type, but there's a reason the Stingmon line tends to favor the assassin archetype: as far as actual combat goes, he doesn't cut corners in the slightest.

[sevlgi]

the special one

requested: yes

group: mamamoo

pairing: moonbyul x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst

contents: vampire!moonbyul, bartender!reader

warnings: blood, weapons, vampires

synopsis: Moonbyul was always used to getting her way. So encountering an entire bar warned against her powers, and led by a surprisingly feisty human, wasn’t exactly on her bucket list.

a/n: lowkey wanted to wait for byul’s birthday to post this but i couldn’t wait :D enjoy!!

word count: 3.3k

As soon as she stepped into the bar, Byulyi could smell the thing she had been craving for the past month. Well, two things: blood, and some good alcohol.

She paid no mind to the hands grabbing at her as she slid through the crowd, skillfully evading being pulled into a dance circle by a group of admittedly pretty girls. Sure, they were easy targets for feeding, but there needed to be some alcohol in her system before she dealt with horny foreigners.

“A bottle of your finest soju, please.”

She smiled at the waiter who turned around, a girl probably barely 20 years old. A perfect target, then- someone who didn’t know the kinds of creatures that frequented the darker bars of Seoul.

It wasn’t even an egotistical thing to say that no one had been able to resist the allure of Byulyi’s gaze for centuries, and she never expected an almost teenaged girl to be the one to break that record. To her surprise, the kid looked down instantly, voice sounding odd as she polished the glass in her hands. “One second, ma’am.”

Pursing her crimson-stained lips, the vampire checked her clothing for the unlikely chance of bloodstains on the black fabric. Maybe it was the dark smeared eye makeup? But usually, all her looks did was draw more people in, even without using the power behind her eyes...

“Another one of you, eh?”

When her eyes shifted over to the staff door that the boy had entered, she found a defiant gaze, eyebrows cocked and hip jutting to one side. Unlike the earlier bartender, you stared right into her eyes without a change to your expression, no lust or euphoria seeping into cold irises. “I’m sorry, you are?” Byulyi asked, sending you a small smile. 

You remained unimpressed, flinging a dishrag onto the bar counter as you slammed your hands down onto the stone and leaned in closer. In close proximity, you were interestingly beautiful, the lack of sympathy attractive in some twisted way. “Y/N. Manager, and a strong hater of you vampires. See yourself out.”

The short-haired woman shrugged, leaning back in the barstool and crossing her arms. “I don’t think I will, manager. Tell me, did you train the kid how to recognize people like me?”

Taking a good look at the points of Byulyi’s nails and the glint to her teeth, you evidently decided not to fight her, gritting your teeth instead as you matched her stance. “Ryujin’s smart. She isn’t as strong as me, maybe, but she knows enough to not be caught in your trap.”

Every word spat out of your mouth sounds like a barbed and poisoned insult aimed right at the vampire’s heart, but they make no impact on stone skin. Still smiling, Byulyi waved a hand at the alcohol littering the bar. “Well, since you know not to fight me, how about that soju?”

You bristled at being ordered to do something, but set an ice-cold bottle of the soju down on the counter. “The most expensive in the house,” you hissed, shoving it over at her. “And you’re going to have to pay. No one else is coming to serve you tonight, now that I know what you are.”

“See you soon, manager,” she saluted, cracking the soju open with a simple flick of her wrist. Even if nothing else resulted from the night, she’d found another first.

You were going to be the first person that Byulyi won over by herself, without the influence of any powers whatsoever. And yes, she would win you over somehow. Eventually.

At first, Byulyi had been confused by the vendetta you seemed to have against vampires. It was true that she didn’t fit in with the clan system that most vampires in the city (or world) tended to adopt, but she didn’t think that anyone could be bad enough to make you quite so wary.

And it just so happened that the next time she dared to visit your bar, you were dealing with the difficult ones.

“I told you that we don’t allow vamps for a reason,” you scowled, eyes flicking between those of the five girls who stood with their arms crossed before you. “I may not be able to control you, but I sure as hell won’t let you feed on innocents.”

Irene exchanged a glance with Joy, who was just about to step forward when another voice interrupted the conversation. “Hey. Are you giving the manager trouble?”

You glared at Byulyi as well, though there wasn’t the venom that you directed at the clan. “Rogue. You’re going against us?” Seulgi asked, head cocked to a side. “Isn’t it in your best interest too to get rid of this... human?”

Strolling forward with her hands in the pockets of her pants, Byulyi sighed. “Look, manager here is stronger than you think. And if I want to remain in her best interests, be able to come to this bar sometimes, I’ll do what she asks. Including throwing you out.”

Despite the numbers of the clan, there was no possible way any of the five could match up to Byulyi’s sheer experience. She wasn’t violent compared to some, but she could certainly hold her own in a fight. You were silent behind the bar, but the stare you directed at the clan spoke volumes.

“Fine,” Yeri rolled her eyes, lips pinching together. “Come on. Survive another day, right?”

As they filed out of the bar, Byulyi’s eyes remained on them until the door swung shut. “You didn’t have to do that,” you said with your back turned, hands scrubbing at a bottle for no reason.

“Don’t worry, it was fun,” she grinned, sliding onto the barstool. “Is this why you dislike us vamps? Not all of us are like them, you know.”

You turned just to send her a half-hearted glare. “No, that’s not why. I always- I never liked you undead things, and being immune to your powers doesn’t help anything. But hoity-toity ones like them make it worse.”

The vampire leaned her chin on her hand, watching you work. The reddish glare of the bar’s lights only made the column of your throat look more inviting, but Byulyi wasn’t reckless enough to attack someone capable of resisting her. Besides, you were an interesting one. “I see. Well, if anyone tries to mess with you again, you call me,” she jested, smiling wider when you scoffed.

“Sure.” But contrasting your cold words, you slid a bottle of soju over to her, the same flavor that she’d liked best the last time. “On the house this time. But I don’t owe you anything after this,” you warned.

“Come on, a bottle of soju isn’t enough,” Byulyi pouted, laughing when you scrunched your nose. “You owe me a favor. I’m responsible, promise, I won’t ask for your blood or anything.”

You hesitated before agreeing, but finally allowed her to shake your hand. “Fine. A favor- geez, your hands are cold.”

She stared down at the pale skin once you had jerked away, a slight warmth from your human hands lingering. “I guess. I mean, I’m dead, what do you expect?”

“Dead, huh?” You almost look sympathetic for once, pouring out some soju for the both of you. “What’s that like?”

Byulyi raised an eyebrow as she clinked her glass against yours. “Being dead? Well, I don’t remember that. But now, it’s similar to being alive. My heart still beats, if that’s what you’re wondering. That’s what makes it hard for people to realize that we aren’t human too.”

“It still beats?” you frowned, scrunching your entire face at the taste of alcohol burning the back of your throat. “I always hear differently.”

She reached out for your hand, holding on loosely when you allowed her to hold it. “Come on, feel.”

You exhaled sharply when you felt the pounding at the pulsepoint of Byulyi’s neck, leaning in closer as if that’d allow you to hear it, too. When you looked down, though, you realized the position you were in. “If anyone looked at us, they’d think I was the vampire.”

“You’re right, aren’t you?” she smiled, only tilting her head more to expose her neck to you. “You could kill me right now.”

“Aren’t you already dead?” You bent down under the counter to hide the heat in your cheeks, your fingertips icy just from a couple seconds of contact. “How would I kill you?”

The vampire shrugged, “Wooden stake works on the weaker ones. Holy water, if you had any, but that one takes a lot to kill. For us older ones, the only thing that works is a sacred bullet; hard to come by for you humans, which is why you don’t know about it.”

Frowning, you looked over from the vault of good alcohol stored under the bar. “Huh. What else is fake?”

Byulyi scrunched her nose, looking remarkably like a cute and harmless hamster in a slightly bloodstained black outfit when she did. She was almost charming when she pondered your question, tapping blunt fingernails against her chin. “The mirror thing is, my friend Yongsun spends hours staring at herself. So’s the garlic allergy. I like garlic.”

“Good to know,” you chuckled when you stood up again. “Enjoy your soju, Byulyi  .”

She ghosted her own hands over your fingerprints marring the frosted glass of the alcohol bottle, bringing the entire thing to her lips. “I will.”

Seulgi’s grip was iron tight as she pulled your head back by your hair, your wrists straining against the duct tape holding them together as your scalp screamed. “I’ll ask you again. Where is she?”

Ryujin’s eyes were nothing short of terrified over the tape clamping over her mouth, but you remained firm with your chin jutting out. “I. Don’t. Know. I don’t serve vampires, and I don’t protect them.”

Scoffing, Irene scraped a fingernail against your cheek, the skin tearing under the serrated tip. “Don’t lie. She saved you from us last time, and Byulyi doesn’t risk her rogue status for just anyone.”

Glancing up at the ceiling, or the floor of your actual bar, Wendy mused, “I wonder if she’d hear you scream. If you mean so much to her, what would she give to save you?”

You sighed, going limp just to shake your head. “I told you. Byulyi protected me out of spite against you, not because she gives a shit about me. And I won’t scream. You can kill me in peace, as soon as you--”

Crashing into Wendy, the door to the basement slammed open with a kick from the very person you claimed to not give a shit about you. Byulyi finally looked like the vampire you feared her to be from the start, dark eyes ablaze with something that quite honestly frightened you. Her dark clothing swirled around her in the dusty air, pale brown hair glinting gold as her own nails cut the bonds holding Ryujin. “Go.”

She ran as told, too fast for Yeri’s claws to grasp onto the hem of her work jacket. “So it worked,” Joy smiled, cocking the slightly rusty pistol in her hand. Sacred bullet, you remembered, struggling more against your bonds when you realized what that bullet could do to the vampire glaring daggers at her opponents. “Stupid of you.”

In a sudden burst of strength, the duct tape ripped and you surged up, feeling at least a couple locks of hair remain in Seulgi’s fist. But in that rush, you tackled the tallest girl in the room, all breath knocked out of your lungs at the impact.

Scrambling for the gun, you screamed out at the feeling of sharp points sinking into your arm, hand faltering. “Let go--”

A harsh crack sounded by your ear when Byulyi’s foot stomped down on Joy’s ribs, her fangs pulling out just as your fingers closed around the gun. You panted as you twisted, blood dripping from your arm onto your face as you pressed the stone cold barrel into the girl’s pretty face. “Stand up,” you breathed, hands shaking as she eyed you. “Stand.”

The other four in her clan circled around you; despite the fact that you had no clue whatsoever about how to handle the weapon in your hands, you hoped that the fierce expression on your face was enough to convince them. Byulyi’s hand was surprisingly gentle on your shoulder, as was the expression on her face when she smiled at you. “Well. I believe you know what the blessed bullet in this gun does, and I’m sure you know better than to fight me on this.”

Irene hissed, fangs glistening under the dim lighting of the basement, “You don’t have Yongsun with you right now. What makes you think we can’t kill you, and your pretty human girlfriend too?”

Byulyi’s lips curved up in a smile as the cocking of another gun sounded by the basement door, Ryujin’s brow furrowed as she aimed. “Unlike this one, which I bet you only loaded one bullet into, that pistol over there has 4 bullets, straight from the hands of a priest,” the vampire explained with her hands behind her back. “More than enough to kill all of you, if I don’t get to you first.”

Yeri was already tugging at the wrist of Wendy, who stared futilely at the gun still pressed into Joy’s neck. Finally, Seulgi spoke up with a wavering voice, Irene not bothering to dispute as she asked, “What do you want? Money?”

“I want you to stay away from this bar, and with it, Y/N,” Byulyi gestured, deep voice smooth as she turned to you, sending a greasy wink that you rolled your eyes at. “And I’ll be telling all the other clans about this... incident. Sound fair?”

You breathed out a shallow sigh of relief when Irene nodded tentatively. “Good. Then get out, and don’t expect the pistol back,” you warned, waving Ryujin to get out of the stairway. “I don’t ever want to see your faces again.”

“I can’t thank you enough.”

Byulyi shrugged, clinking sojus with a grin on her face. She looked positively delighted, though she wasn’t the one with bite marks on her arm and a scrape on her cheekbone. “No need to. It was fun.”

“Fun?” you scoffed, downing the alcohol. “I wouldn’t call it that. But seriously, what do you want in return? That’s two favors I owe you now.”

“Is it?” she blinked. “I wasn’t keeping track.”

Looking out over the bar, you smiled at the sight of a vampire-free crowd, customers downing Ryujin’s specialty drinks as music boomed in LED speakers. “Yeah. Two favors. You better think fast, vampy.”

“There is one thing in mind.”

You raised an eyebrow and looked back over, head tilting when you realized that Byulyi wasn’t staring back like she usually did. “Yeah? What’s up?”

She cleared her throat suddenly, though you were sure that alcohol didn’t burn her like it did you. “I don’t want to use the favors for this, since I think that’d be immoral, but I... I want to be closer to you.”

Flicking your hand in the air between the two of you, you clarified, “What’s that mean? You wanna be friends? You wanna sit closer to me? Or sex--”

“No!” She held her hands out in front of her; to your satisfaction, you were sure that she’d be blushing if she was capable of it. “I may feel something for you. Not sexual, but something that I haven’t felt in a while. If I can, I’d like to use both my favors to call you my... girlfriend. Is that the term you use these days?”

“A girlfriend?” you laughed, shaking your head as you leaned forward in your chair. “That’s great and all, but you’ve barely known me for a month.”

Despite being a (not-so) human being, Byulyi visibly deflated. Without realizing it, your hand shot out and settled on her knee, thumb caressing the rough material of her jeans. “Okay. Then how about this: I will be your girlfriend. But it’ll be probational, like our alliance. As soon as you do something to piss me off, which I’m sure will be soon, I’ll decide if it’ll continue.”

She grinned, nose scrunching up as she offered you a toast. “Sounds perfect to me.”

The clink of the glass bottles was the chime of bells ringing in a new chapter, clear over the drunk energies of the night. Not wedding bells, of course- that wouldn’t happen for a good hundred more years.