#terra wade

[chess-blackmyre]

Your Father’s Eyes

Summary:

Birth, Adam learns, is a painful process. As Terra holds his hand in a death grip, sweating and groaning as she forces their child out of her body, he realizes his own birth was merely a different kind of pain.

[yvonestrahovski]

[bumblebee-art-blog]

May be an anti hero that kills bad guys, but Ruby can’t ice skate for shit. Thankfully she has her girlfriend

LAST DRAWING OF THE 2024! A bit of a messy sketch but I wanted to throw something in before the year was over.

[acronym-chaos]

Minecraft Inspired ID Pack

[PT: Minecraft Inspired ID Pack].

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom. End ID].

Names

[PT: Names].

Alex, Amber, Amethyst, Ash, Azalea, Blaze, Block, Brick, Briar, Brielle, Brook, Carver, Celeste, Clay, Cobble, Cree, Crystal, Daisy, Dawn, Dusty, Ember, End, Eve, Flora, Flint, Forge, Garnet, Gemma, Granite, Grayson, Harper, Hazel, Holly, Hopper, Iris, Ivy, Jade, Jett, Juniper, Lapis, Laurel, Lilac, Lily, Maple, Marigold, Mason, Meadow, Miner, Mira, Moss, Nova, Oak, Onyx, Opal, Pearl, Pebble, Poppy, Pyre, Quill, Reed, Red, River, Rocky, Rose, Rowan, Ruby, Sage, Sable, Sapphire, Selene, Shale, Sky, Skylar, Slate, Smith, Spruce, Steele, Stella, Stone, Sunny, Terra, Thalia, Timber, Torch, Violet, Wade, Willow

Pronouns

[PT: Pronouns].

A / Ax / Axe; Bla / Blaz / Blaze; Blo / Block / Blocks; Build / Build / Builds; Cob / Cobble / Cobbles; Cra / Craf / Craft; Cra / Craf / Craft; Cree / Creep / Creeper; Dig / Dig / Digs; E / En / End; Flint / Flint / Flints; Fo / For / Forge; Mi / Mine / Mines; Pi / Pick / Picks [Pickaxe]; Red / Stone / Redstones; Sap / Sapling / Saplings; Shea / Shear / Shears; Sho / Shovel / Shovels; Sme / Smelt / Smelts; Sta / Stack / Stacks; Sto / Stone / Stones; Tor / Torch / Torches; Wo / Wood / Woods

Titles

[PT: Titles].

Builder of Worlds; Crafter of Blocks; Master of the Mines; The Blocksmith; The Brave Explorer; The Collector of Resources; The Creator of Realms; The Defender of the Village; The Ender of Mobs; The Master of the Redstone; The Master Miner; The Pixel Pioneer; The Resource Gatherer; The Survival Expert; [Pronoun] Who Crafts with Precision; [Pronoun] Who Delves Deep; [Pronoun] Who Faces the Nether; [Pronoun] Who Mines and Builds; [Pronoun] Who Shapes the World

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, end ID].

Requested by @rwuffles on Discord!

Also tagging: @pronoun-arc @id-pack-archive

[pupsmailbox]

MINECRAFT ID PACK

NAMES︰ alex. amber. amethyst. ash. azalea. blaze. block. briar. brick. brielle. brier. brook. carver. celeste. clay. cobble. cree. crystal. daisy. dawn. dusty. ember. end. eve. flint. flora. forge. garnet. gemma. granite. grayson. harper. hazel. hero. holly. hopper. iris. ivy. jade. jett. juniper. lapis. laurel. lilac. lily. magnolia. maple. marigold. mason. meadow. miner. mira. moss. nova. oak. onyx. opal. pearl. pebble. poppy. prairie. pyre. quill. red. reed. river. rocky. rose. rowan. ruby. sable. sage. sapphire. selene. shale. sky. skye. skylar. slate. smith. spruce. steele. stella. stephen. stone. sunny. terra. thalia. timber. torch. violet. wade. willow.

PRONOUNS︰ a/axe. adventurer/adventurer. allay/allay. ar/armour. ax/axe. bam/bamboo. bat/bat. bee/bee. biome/biome. birch/birch. bla/blaze. blaz/blaze. blaze/blaze. blo/block. block/block. build/build. bun/bun. cake/cake. chest/chest. clay/clay. cob/cobble. copper/cooper. cow/cow. cra/craft. craf/craft. craft/craft. cre/creative. creep/creeper. creeper/creeper. dark/dark. deep/deepslate. deep/slate. dig/dig. disc/disc. drown/drown. ely/elytra. elytra/elytra. en/end. end/end. end/eye. ender/ender. ender/enderman. enderman/endermen. explorer/explorer. fight/fight. flint/flint. for/forge. fox/fox. ghast/ghast. glow/stone. goat/goat. grav/gravel. heal/heal. hive/hive. hun/hunger. husk/husk. hx/hxm. hy/hym. ice/ice. kaboom/kaboom. kelp/kelp. lav/lava. love/love. magma/magma. mi/mine. mine/mine. mob/mob. mod/mod. moosh/mooshroom. mooshroom/mooshroom. musicnote/musicnote. nether/nether. nostalgia/nostalgia. nostalgic/nostalgic. oak/oak. ocean/ocean. ore/ore. over/overworld. over/world. pearl/pearl. phantom/phantom. pi/pick. pig/pig. pig/pigstep. pig/step. play/player. ram/ram. red/stone. sap/sapling. scream/scream. sculk/sculk. sea/sea. shea/shear. sheep/sheep. sho/shovel. shulk/shulker. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. skele/skeleton. skeleton/skeleton. skulk/skulk. slime/slime. sme/smelt. smp/smp. snow/snow. spawner/spawner. spec/spectator. speed/speedrun. spider/spider. spruce/spruce. sta/stack. sto/stone. strider/strider. surv/survival. survivor/survivor. swo/sword. tele/teleport. terra/terracotta. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. tnt/tnt. tor/torch. tree/tree. ve/vex. vwoop/vwoop. warden/warden. warp/warped. warrior/warrior. wat/water. wit/wither. wither/wither. wo/wood. wolf/wolf. xp/xp. zomb/zombie. zombie/zombie.

[mysimsloveaffair]

I never intended to disappoint Tami, and the arrangement I made with Xavier is sure to please Maia as well. Speaking of Maia, I realize in all the excitement I forgot to make sure she was there. I wanted this to be a surprise for her, too.

Wade: Where’s Maia? Does anyone know where she is?

Terra: I’ll go find her!

Terra walks over to get her, while I stand there feeling proud I could make my daughter’s biggest wish come true. 

Meanwhile…

Terra: *to Maia* You guys are the best parents in the world! What teen doesn’t want a horse?

Maia isn’t sure what Terra is talking about, but she plays it off with a pasted-on smile. She sees the crowd gathered and walks over to find out what’s going on. Her eyes land on Tami and the horse.

Maia: *to herself* Dub! What did you do?

[nichknack]

Wandering Witchbreed Masterpost

A Master Post for my Marvel/Xmen Medieval Fantasy AU focusing primarily on the travels of disgraced knight Sir Logan the Wolverine and the Part-time Jester Wade Wilson.

This AU borrows from a variety of sources, including the comics, movies, and cartoons. Basically whatever I think is cool.

Main tag - #wandering witchbreed AU

Premise -

In a universe that is not-quite that featured in the Sonyverse and The MCU, the feared and disgraced knight known as The Wolverine is sentenced to death for the crime of being a witchbreed. Sent to the pyre by Father Robert Kelly of The Holy Order alongside the part-time jester Wade Wilson. Despite both Witchbreed meeting a seemingly painful end, Logan is shocked when the jester also does not die.

This AU is very much a work in progress and open to change, as I also have plans to encorperate the avengers and various spider-men.

AO3/ FICS

Main Cast -

ⓧ Sir Logan: the Wolverine ��� Wade Wilson: That Damned Dead Fool

World Building -

ⓧ Witchbreeds

"Witchbreed" is the term used to refer to mutants. Originally used by Neil G*iman in the series Marvel 1602. While Witchbreeds--like their modern day counterparts--are the next step in human evolution, The Holy Order preaches that they are the spawn of demons and witches. Often, human mothers to witchbreed children are accused of either being witches themselves or allowing Mephisto into their hearts.

ⓧ Map

The world of the AU is very much like our own, with a few distinct differences. While the general 'layout' of the globe remains the same names and climates are not exact one-to-ones.

Current locations of importance include:

- Kingdom of Ventra Where the majority of the story takes place. Name comes from a combination of the Latin words "Ventus" and "Terra", which (roughly) translates to "land of Wind", the direct translation of "America". Made up largely of small towns and hamlets surrounding larger cities, often ruled over by a noble lord or lady. The Holy Order has a lot of sway within the kingdom, preaching anti-witchbreed sentiments throughout the land. In many places being a 'witchbreed' is punishable by death--however there are small towns or groups that act as safe havens for Witchbreed, such as the mining town of Acmeore at the Ventra-Kanata boarder.

- Kingdom of Kanata The home kingdom of both Logan and Wade. Name comes from the Huron-Iroquois word meaning 'village' or 'settlement' (believed to be the origin for the spelling of 'Canada'). While The Holy Order does have a foothold within the kingdom, it is not to the same extent as Ventra. Rumours of the Kanatan spymasters using Witchbreeds to do their bidding have been rife for decades.

-The Rossiia Empire The home of Pitor and Illyana Rasputin. Name comes from a 15th century name used to refer to modern day Russia. Unlike Ventra, Rossiia actively recruits Witchbreeds for combat roles in their military. However, this does not mean that they are widely accepted by the people of the empire as a rule. Due to the sheer size of the empire, treatment of and opinions towards witchbreed differ from territory to territory and even town to town.

ⓧ The Feywood

A realm of magical creatures. The home of most of marvel's alien races.

Factions

ⓧ The Knights of Xavier

ⓧ The Holy Order

ⓧ Sentinels

Divider credit to @sister-lucifer

[mimiplaysgames]

in the shape of a star (5/5)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T Word count: 5,176

AO3 Link

Summary: In which Terra finds out what the Guardian did to Aqua. The gentle aftermath.

A/N: AHHHHHH y'all it's so weird to get back to a fic so old. Like, OLD. A younger Mimi challenged herself so hard writing this fic, and learned so much along the way. Truth be told though that it's surreal - I don't write like I used to anymore, and yet I can see all the little glimpses of what would evolve into my style. But that's what makes updating old fics so hard - this doesn't reflect me anymore (and yet it somewhat does). If I wrote this nowadays, I would have approached this so differently. ANYWAY, I hope you enjoy the ending???? It's fluffier than my usual lmao. I suppose this ship needs its happy moments. HAPPY TERRAQUA DAY!!!!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

wayfinder

Taps on a window, too deliberate for rain. Harsher, struck by the blades of ten fingernails. Twenty. But there was rain, running slobs over her head. Aqua grasped for purchase before she swallowed water, coughing as she kept her head afloat. Her buoy was a pillow, wading in the turbulence of a black ocean. Ahead, two lights flickered on. Red moons, a pair of eyes blinking in the void that infected the horizon. Surely if Aqua crept close, she’d be eaten by the cavity as well.

Taps.

Not from the window. 

From the mirror.

Aqua gasped. Rising up, her forehead smacked the droopy ceiling of the makeshift blanket-tent Terra built for them. One of the sheets hung too low, and her view was nothing else but white cotton and the smell of laundered-lavender. Birds sung their good mornings. None of that mattered, though, when the heart hammered. Stormfall lingered at her fingertips, willing to be summoned. 

She expected red eyes waiting for her as soon as she pulled the tent away. Might as well. On the count of three. One, two…

A warm hand massaged her back, careful not to startle her.

“It was a nightmare.”

She exhaled, swinging her legs over the bed. “I still have to see.”

Every morning, Aqua had to see. The mind was strange, and the heart sometimes perceived the wrong things. For the last two weeks, it was an equal exchange. On Terra’s bad nights, it was Aqua shushing him back to sleep, telling him he was safe while she stroked hair out of his forehead. But on the hardest days, safety was a conscious choice they both had to make when it made no sense.

No enemy stalked her outside the tent. A pair of Terra’s clean underwear was left thrown on the carpet—he rummaged through their now-shared dresser for a different color the day before and never tidied up. A teapot sat half-filled at the vanity. Piles of books that belonged in the library proudly squatted in stacks on the floor. Normally, mess would have driven Aqua crazy. Mess, however, was proof of Terra. An ordinary bedroom greeted Aqua, not eyes. 

But that meant nothing. She heard tapping when she woke up, she knew it. Aqua marched to the mirror and threw the sheet covering it off—glaring down at nothing else but her own unremarkable reflection. Dried drool down her chin. Her shirt twisted from sleep, nearly exposing her breasts. Bed head. 

“Stars,” she muttered. Today was an easy day. Safety was a fact.

“You look beautiful,” Terra said, peeking his head out of their tent. He yawned. 

Aqua readjusted her shirt. She wasn’t ever going to get used to that. 

Teeth brushed with shy smiles, kisses given, clothes worn, smiles, more kisses, shared breath, a touch on the abdomen, clothes off, sex back in bed, clothes back on, and finally Terra latched the armor on his arm together, the pieces clicking. Aqua rolled a stocking up to her thigh, eyeing the briefcase Terra took to his meetings with Merlin. It sat on her (now their) vanity. 

Every night, she fought the instinct to look. Every night, she failed. Crystals. Crystal magic. Terra was giving something up to make them work, like bloodletting. These last few “courses” with Merlin were taking their toll. He started coming home tired, and it took gulping something lodged in her throat over and over not to say anything to him. As if the crystals were stealing from him. Every night, they looked sharper, neater, with more shine to their transparency. 

“Blink once and they’ll change colors,” Terra said.

“Hm?” Aqua blinked several times. Oh. He was saying that she was staring too hard. Aqua’s mouth turned dry—she needed to improve at not getting caught. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t.

“Terra—”

“It’s my last lesson with Merlin,” he said. He meant it in a way that said, Please. For me?

Aqua nodded. “Good luck with your graduation.” Okay.

He smirked. Now more than ever, his smile electrocuted her, her heart pumping it into her throat. She’d jump back in bed with him. Alternatively, Aqua could smack him too, but she blushed instead. 

“I found it, by the way,” he said. 

She blinked. “Found what?”

“The passage.” He lifted Affairs of the Heart from the top of a stack, near the door. He marked a place with a folded page. “I said I would shove it in your place when I got it.” And he did, two open pages too close to Aqua’s face that she couldn’t read.

She groaned and pushed the book away. Her instinct was to win, even with something so petty. “Actually, you said you would rub it in my face.”

“Oh, excuse me.” He shoved it back, this time shaking it.

Aqua shooed him away and took the book. She read:

Darkness purg’d in sorrow did weep, f’r only the Light beckoned yond memory and deliver’d.

With free shall, alloweth the Darkness wither, f’r allowing the Light to smiteth did measure vig’r. 

“You owe me twenty nights of dishwashing,” he said, slipping on his shoes.

She read it three times over, wishing the Master of Masters would be more practical. “I owe you nothing.”

“Why, Aqua,” he said, holding his hand to his heart in mock-offense, “I didn’t take you for a sore loser.”

“He’s talking about oblivion.” Like the traps in Castle Oblivion? “Forget the past and you free yourself from pain.”

Terra slowly nodded to that, running a hand through his hair. “It’s the opposite. I think…” He paused. Aqua learned to hate that, like he was too afraid to say it in front of her. “Anyway, you know how you form bonds with other people?”

“Yeah?”

“You form bonds based on your history together.” He didn’t look at her. “Sure, what you said before: You need Light to illuminate your past. And people always want to blame Darkness for being a source of pain. But what happens when you look at pain, when you really look at it? When you’re ashamed of the things you’ve done in the past? You can’t interpret, or forgive the past if the Light is glaring too strongly. It erases all the shadows, and then what? There is no courage in that, so”—he tapped the page—“see that word? Vigor?” (She nearly said, Yes, Terra, I can read.) “Sometimes, you need the cloak of Darkness to explore your fears safely. That takes more courage than to do it in the Light.”

She didn’t have an immediate answer for that. Aqua shut the book and laid it on her lap. 

“Anyway,” Terra concluded, “thirty nights. For the amazing defeat.” 

“I didn’t agree to that. I didn’t have time to respond.”

Terra grabbed the briefcase, tightened the latch on it, and bent over to kiss her, smiling into her lips. 

That was his only reply. He left, her bedroom door shutting quietly and she wished, wished, wished Terra would come back. Open any and every door she had hidden in her mind, letting the Light into the rooms and crevices she didn’t want to look at.

The birds stopped singing.

~*~

Nightmares or not, chores had to be done. Aqua instructed Ven to pull weeds out of the garden, and she went to work in replacing foggy glass panes on the lanterns that speckled the hallways. Not to mention the chandelier that (exploded) broke when Terra had his… episode. That had been cleared out, the skeletal remains of the chandelier left on top of the pool table, needing new containers. 

Except they ran out of glass. Most of it was stored in the basement, where she had spent long hours in the middle of nights while Terra and Ven slept. To make their Wayfinders. Wow, that was such a long time ago. That was a more innocent Aqua. 

A cynical Aqua would have done the same today. She dragged out neglected cauldrons and peeked inside cupboards, but there was no extra glass, clear or stained. The next step would be the attic, but there weren’t any there, either.

(Add to the list: Dust the attic. Appalling.)

What was left was the coat closet (Which didn’t actually house coats—who named the rooms in this castle?) Chances were that there would be no glass stored inside, but if Aqua didn’t check, she would go to bed that night wondering if she missed a step. And she couldn’t have that.

(It’s dustier here than in the attic. Add: Clear away the cobwebs and spiders.)

The coat closet had space to fit one person. Aqua nudged over empty vials (Don’t these belong in the classroom?) and vases with blank labels (These could be used as flowerpots) to witness the scatter of tiny feet. Baby spiders. 

Aqua had to smile. The last time she was in here, before the Mark of Mastery, she searched for… she didn’t remember what it was now. Terra knocked and peeked over the door. “What are you doing here?” he asked, then shoved himself inside despite there being no space. His body was so broad. Funny to think of a memory like that now. There were so many signs of them wanting to touch each other, to speak of a truth they didn’t want to confess to. Terra searched the shelves for nothing in particular, and laughed at her annoyance. But it wasn’t truly annoyance. There was proximity, arm to arm, hip to almost hip. 

“Nothing here,” she said to the void (black sky, black ocean). Spiders seemed pathetic now, in comparison to everything. 

That was when the door behind her slammed closed, suffocating her in darkness. Aqua strangled a scream, and gripped the wooden shelves in front of her.

She couldn’t see. The pads of her fingers registered the grooves of the wood beneath them. What felt like prickly, feathery brushes swept over her knuckles. Spiders? Threads of silk tickled the back of her neck. Dust settling on her? Cobwebs? Breath?

Calm down. All she needed was to find the doorknob. 

For some reason—instinct, self-preservation—she turned her head left (right, the door was to her right). Above a row of unused quills, red eyes glared back. 

Aqua shrieked. Stormfall materialized. She swung, and all the bottles of old vinegars and cleaning solutions shattered. Aqua backed up against the door, scratching to find the knob. Twist. Open. Tumble onto the floor. 

Catching her breath, Aqua clutched her chest and inspected the damage. Torn open medicines and snapped-in-half brooms stabbed by the carnage of icicles. This was getting out of hand.

“Pull yourself together,” she told herself, standing up and straightening out one of her sashes. One last exhale. Add to list: Clean up—

One of the lanterns down the hall dimmed. Wait, that couldn’t be. It was broad daylight outside. It was as if a paintbrush of black had snuffed out the rest of the hallway. And Aqua didn’t want to look.

Of course I should look. What am I, unprepared? 

She looked. A strange Chirithy glared back, its coat an unsettling mauve color. Eyes wide (too wide), like bloodied pennies with pupils as big as her mouth staring back. Aqua shivered as she gripped Stormfall. This wasn’t right. She’d never seen such a wild expression like that on an Unversed before, much less a Heartless. 

But she was prepared. Aqua gulped, and struck with Stormfall, ice and hail and blizzard blending to pummel the hall in a fierce winter. Ahead. Around the corner and down the hall to the right—

Aqua heard a meep, a crash, and a cry. 

She gasped. The nightmare vanished, the day was back, and what was left was a soft weeping. “Cheers?” She raced, skidding on ice to a stop.

It was Cheers, with its perfectly normal gray coat, rubbing its snout as it plopped next to a toppled table and a broken vase. 

“Oh, Cheers, I’m so sorry.” She skated over, dropping to her knees. How could she have done this? How could she, how could she— “Come here,” she said, and cradled it in her lap. 

“If you were trying to turn me into a statue, you have bad aim.” It sounded nasally, its little nose swollen. 

“I wasn’t,” Aqua said, praying a Cure spell to ease its discomfort. 

Cheers perked its ears. “Well, if this is your definition of decorating—”

Her cheeks flushed. She thought of what the Master would think, of how he once said, Level heads brought level judgments. She considered she was worse at this than Terra. “No. I thought I saw…” She bit her lip. They had this conversation. Cheers had already said it was the only Chirithy in the castle. 

But what kept in the Dark was now in her awareness. And that had to account for something. “Tell me,” she said. She wanted to word it carefully. So many things had nagged at her since its appearance at this castle. What it knew. What it kept secret from them. From Ven, even. Ask too vaguely, and Cheers would bury the truth further since it wouldn’t need to answer. “What brought you to life?”

“You’re better off asking ‘who.’”

“Then—”

“I didn’t say I was comfortable with you asking who.” Cheers wiggled its snout and settled into her arms, as if nesting for warmth. Which made sense—the ice she created was formidable, and wouldn’t melt without her permission. “Besides, only one Keybearer can create it for others. None of that happens anymore.”

“Then why haven’t I heard of something like you before?” Aqua said before stopping herself. She didn’t want to know the answer. 

Because the answer was this: This magic would have been so old, it must have existed before most of her textbooks were written. Most, probably except for one, in its archaic language with its cryptic author.

Thankfully, Chirithy didn’t answer her. Not that it needed to. Cheers had said before that every Keybearer had the capability to have a Chirithy of their own. And if said Keybearer made hers—

“Oh, cool!” Ven’s voice bounced across the hall from the other side. “Ice skating!” He threw himself, his sneakers squeaking until he lost balance and fell on his hip. He scratched the back of his head, laughing. “What are you guys doing sitting in the cold?”

Nevermind all that. Who made Ven’s?

And when? Heat pierced Aqua’s eyes.

“Huh? What’s wrong?”

Aqua cupped Ven’s cheek and stroked it with her thumb. Ven was a long way from home. 

No, Ven was already home. He was her family, as he was Terra’s. (Though… did he belong to a different family beforehand? Did they want to find him?) Aqua couldn’t bear to finish those thoughts. (Ven had roots deeper than any tree she could imagine.) She bit her lip and forced a smile. 

“Don’t mind me,” Aqua said. “There are certain things I want to be less scared of.”

Ven’s eyes widened. He nodded wisely. “I get it. It’ll take a while before things go back to normal.” He sounded so sincere, not knowing what she was talking about. Ven opened his arms and Cheers crawled into them. “You know what? Why don’t we go sledding?”

Aqua chuckled. “It’s summer.”

“Why bother with seasons when we have you?” He flashed her a toothy grin that resisted her, even when she shot him a look that said, Don’t you dare think about it.

~*~

The Master would disapprove.

As if reading her mind, Ven leaned on the railing of the balcony that overlooked the foyer and said, “You’re Master of the castle now. You can do whatever you want.”

Aqua pinched her lips. This was harmless. But something about it was so reckless it bore against her nature. She knew better.

“Besides, it will melt,” he continued.

Cheers cleared its throat.

“When I command it to,” Aqua said.

“Okay. So all we gotta do is make sure you don’t get a concussion.” As if that was a solution, and without a preventative plan.

Any decent Master would have said no. But who could deny Ven such excitement after so many years of sleeping? With the way he nearly hopped in place? “Well?” he said.

Cheers cleared its throat louder.

“I’ll be your pillow,” Ven said, and that alone made A qua choke on a lump. Something about a pillow in the water. “No concussion will be had here. Nope.”

He sounded desperate. “Alright.” She summoned Stormfall, which hummed a vibration unlike what Aqua was used to. It was as if Stormfall knew there wasn’t a reason for it to be summoned—no enemy in sight. No sparring to prepare for. Just pure fun. A foreign concept for her Keyblade.

Aqua sliced Stormfall across. Snow gathered in a makeshift breeze, building over the stairs and cascading down to the front door in a waterfall of white. It whisked away, leaving smooth marble. 

“You need to teach me how to do that,” Ven said. 

Aqua nearly said, Maybe it’s more appropriate to teach you how to fly, but that seemed preposterous. “You ready?”

“Here.” Ven pulled on the sled they normally kept in the attic, already dusted and ready for yse. “Cheers, you’re gonna have so much fun.” 

Cheers cleared its throat once more, this time to itself. 

“Sit here.” Ven nestled in the middle of the seat and patted the space between his legs. Small enough for a cat. Aqua sat herself behind him, her legs bracketing his, and she held fast to his waist. 

They might crash into a wall, and if she was dealt with a concussion then yes, Ven deserved to spend hours melting the ice with Fira spells on his own. 

“Seatbelts on,” Ven started.

“What’s a seatbelt?” Aqua asked.

“No idea. I heard the word once in another world—or was that in a dream? I don’t know. Something to do with driving.”

Cheers groaned. 

“Anyway,” Ven said, reorienting. He applied pressure on one foot, about to take off. 

But Ven wouldn’t start engines at that moment, since Terra opened the front door. He yawned as he shuffled his feet, his satchel hanging by his side like it belonged on his shoulder. 

“You’re home early?” Aqua said. It was mid afternoon. The sky was still blue. 

Terra coughed a laugh, gaping up at them from below. “I’m surprised?”

“Terra, join us!” Ven said.

“I don’t think this will support his added weight,” Cheers muttered.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Terra said, and Aqua wished he hadn’t. Levels heads and level judgments indeed. Terra settled his satchel on the opposite set of stairs, and climbed up to join them. He sat behind Aqua, the warmth of his legs enveloping hers. Regardless of it all, Aqua breathed easier—which was silly, this was still dangerous—but things felt more secure with the weight of his chest bearing down on her back. He held the reins with Ven. Aqua burrowed in between. 

Terra chuckled, and his breath brushed her earlobe. 

“Do we count down?” Ven asked.

Terra smirked into her neck. “No.” And he kicked them off.

Inertia built too fast. Aqua shut her eyes as soon as the wall to her right crept too close. The castle was too claustrophobic, not bearing the freedom of the mountainside with the cushion of fresh snow and open expanse that would prevent crushed limbs. Terra’s knees squeezed her, and he said something about pulling the reins to the left. Not to her. To Ven.

It all seemed to flow in slow motion, the sled plummeting down until it wasn’t down but sideways. Until the sled bucked and bounced and they’re all thrown out, landing on their sides in a giant group hug.

Aqua forced her eyes open. They were sprawled out on the tile. Ven gripped Cheers so tightly that it gargled and asked him to allow it to breathe, but he laughed so hard, he might not have heard. Aqua had to lean over and loosen his grip on his behalf. And Terra laughed behind her, nudging his nose to the back of her head.

Which was contagious. Aqua couldn’t help herself. Something about telling Ven to stop killing his cat seemed, well, preposterous. And even though she tried to contain her laughter, she melted into it, like sugar dissolving into medicine before the spoon was put in the mouth.

~*~

“We need more glass,” Aqua said, showing Terra the billiards room where the chandelier was torn down. It was now night, and their only source of light was the largest and heaviest lantern Aqua could find. 

Though it didn’t expose the corners of the room. 

Aqua needed to get serious—there was no such thing as a nightmare Chirithy haunting her and she needed to get over it. Anyway, back to chores. “We have none left.” She placed the lantern on a table. It dropped with a deep thud. 

Terra set down his satchel next to the lantern. He crossed his arms. “Interesting thing to put on a grocery list.”

“We should also probably rename this room.”

His brows furrowed. “Why?”

“We don’t need a pool table. And the wine can be stored somewhere else.” Aqua scanned wall to wall. It was too small for a ballroom. Yet it would be so empty without this silly pool table hiding all the exquisite (tacky) rugs. Maybe it could be useful for something else. Probably. 

“Blasphemy. I can’t believe you would suggest such a thing.”

“Terra, why do we need a billiards room? The Master didn’t know how to play. We don’t have any billiard balls. We never figured out why this room existed.”

“To confuse everyone in the castle. Like we were. Why refuse them that experience?”

Aqua scoffed through her nose. Her cheeks flushed and she hoped they didn’t show it. She wondered why it was so hard to admit it, but she loved it when Terra was like this. She’s loved it forever. She’s missed it for years. 

“If you say so,” she whispered, tapping her cheek with a finger. 

Terra grinned. “I love it when I win.”

Aqua wasn’t sure whether she agreed. She glanced over her shoulder at the satchel being forcibly ignored. 

“Aqua, you make it really hard to time a gift right.”

Her heart dropped. Sticky nausea churned in her belly. “Gift?” Crystal magic? She’d never ask for such a thing.

Terra lifted his hand. “Don’t say anything until you see them.”

“Terra,” she started weakly, nearly a warning. Which wasn’t fair. She shouldn’t automatically assume disappointment when he worked so hard. 

And yet it was disappointing. How could she lie to herself?

He handled his satchel gently, pulling out a waxed wooden box in a deep umber, the lid carved in intricate designs that reminded Aqua of stained glass windows.

“A little early for your birthday,” Terra said, not looking at her. He presented the box and actually trembled, and Aqua’s heart sank to her stomach again. She hated how she made him feel inadequate, as if he vied for her approval. She hated that he needed her approval in the first place.

She unlatched the lock and opened it. Laid encapsulated in velvet burgundy grooves were five slender crystals, glassy and smooth, arranged in the shape of a star. 

Aqua clasped both her hands to her chest. “They’re beautiful,” she said, not knowing what else to say. But again, that sinking feeling left her face cold. She had beat around the bush this entire time, and the thought of confronting him threatened to make her cry. Why did she have to be so difficult, so unaccepting, all the time? She hesitated, and Terra tensed. She had to ask. “Be honest. What did it cost? What magic did you sever to activate them?”

Terra inhaled. He glanced at her nose, her lips, her hair—everywhere but her eyes. “Curaga.”

She stopped breathing. “Terra—”

“I can still cast a basic Cure, it will just be weak.”

Try to give him the benefit of the doubt, Aqua. “Okay, but—”

“Casting Cure spells isn’t the way I want to heal,” Terra said, and Aqua shuddered, gaping at him. He smiled shyly, tears forming in his eyes. “Touch them. Please.”

Aqua’s instinct was to scold, but she had long since learned that her instinct wasn’t reliable. She tucked her hair behind both her ears and caressed one of the crystals with a careful finger. All five glowed and floated up together. They spun as if a center of gravity held them in place. A personal rotating star with an angelic glow.

“I want you to know,” Terra said softly, “this is the way I want to be remembered.”

He didn’t need to say more for Aqua to understand. He didn’t want to be known as the boy that Xehanort took advantage of. He didn’t want to be the reason why Sora and other innocent kids were called for the Keyblade in such destructive ways. He didn’t want to be the foundation for all things gone wrong, including Sora’s disappearance. 

Crystals lasted forever. Far longer after they’re all dead, these crystals would linger for future students to use as guidance.

“A personal light,” Aqua said. “It’s very thoughtful.” 

“Better than that.” Excitement seeped back into his voice. He shuffled to the table and put the box aside. “I don’t expect you to need them forever if they do their job right.” He turned the lantern in its place and rested a finger on its air chamber, waiting to dim it. “With your permission.”

Aqua swallowed. No such thing as nightmare Chirithies. “Sure.”

He twisted the knob and the air chamber cut off its breath. Darkness dawned on them with the exception of Aqua’s personal star. One of the crystals moused over to Terra, spinning on its own axis. The other four stayed with her. 

With pride, Terra said, “They’ll tell you if you’re not alone.”

Aqua’s breath hitched. Was there a word for it, to not want to be perceived for reasons you didn’t approve? But to desire the acknowledgment all the same? To have someone listen to what you’re not saying? To be heard when you didn’t know you were saying anything to begin with? Aqua wiped her eyes to stop herself from crying, but down the tears came anyway. 

“You’re welcome,” he whispered. He approached her, and the crystal with him followed until it joined its siblings. He kissed her forehead and rubbed her arms. 

Aqua would hug back except… there it was. The Chirithy. She could only make out the silhouette, creeping in the far corner. But she couldn’t deny its round, red eyes, as if on fire.

“What is it?” Terra asked. He looked behind his shoulder. 

“Do you see it?”

Terra squeezed her. “Aqua, I promise there is nothing there. The crystals would know.”

“But do you see it?”

He cupped her jaw and pressed his thumb on her lip. Despite it all, he smiled. “No. What is it?”

“Another Chirithy.” And to admit it to him, as if she was going crazy, unloaded the dam of tears even further. Her eyes stung. “Except this one is wrong.” She tried to swallow a sob, but she failed. “And I think it’s mine.” At his confused expression, she continued, “We all have the possibility to connect with a Chirithy. They have to be made for us by someone who knows what they’re doing, and… I’m sorry. I’m rambling.”

In the glow of the crystals, tears fell down Terra’s cheeks, too. “Is it as rude as Cheers?”

Aqua slapped a grateful hand on his chest, her smile crooked and her laughter subtle.

“For what it’s worth,” Terra said, “I think mine would be wrong, too.”

Aqua loved him for being Terra, for being with her. She kissed his wet mouth, and he kissed her back, and for a moment there was one star in the dark, no Chirithy but warmth and softness, the hardness of a chest crushing against her as he locked her in his arms. Safety.   

A fiery light bubbled, like a hearth building up. Aqua opened her eyes. Two crystals had left the group, hovering near Ven and Chirithy. Ven finished lighting the lantern, and scowled at them with disgust. “Can you guys find a more private place to do the nasty?”

Aqua blushed and covered her face. “We weren’t doing anything—”

“Nah,” she heard Terra say. “Rather do it loud and proud. I’ll announce it next time.”

Ven rolled his eyes. Cheers hopped off his shoulders. “Whatever. Did you actually accept the gift, Aqua?”

She stammered. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Are you kidding? It’s a glorified nightlight to help you go to the bathroom. I thought you would hate it.”

“Um.” Too much blushing. Too much attention she didn’t want. “Not at all. They’re beautiful,” she said for the second time that night, not knowing what else to say.

Ven, either distrusting or genuinely surprised, scoffed. “Terra, stop looking at her like that.”

“Why?” Terra shrugged his shoulders and crossed his arms. “She’s beautiful.”

Ven lurched as if he was about to vomit. “Oh. Ugh. Why.” He clasped his ears. “Why would you say that, that’s disgusting.”

Terra leaned over and said to Ven’s covered ear. “She’s beautiful.”

“Aqua, stop him.” He didn’t give time for Aqua to say anything. He flinched, then turned and ran off. “This is domestic violence.”

“Wait, Ven.” Terra followed. “I need to tell you something.”

“No.”

Three crystals stayed with her and Cheers, until Terra and Ven were far. Soon, the other two came back to their own family. 

Aqua searched for words to follow up with their previous conversation. But she did not want confirmation that Ven was from a different time period. Clearly, Cheers didn’t tell him anything either, and while she didn’t know its reason, it was probably similar to why she didn’t press to know more. The past should be searched and prodded and digested with comfort and peace. In the Dark like Terra said, not by throwing a harsh Light to force answers out. Ven was happy, and he didn’t need his peace disturbed before he’s ready. 

“You hungry?” she asked instead.

Cheers cocked its head. “Maaaaaaybe.”

Aqua laughed through her nose. She opened her arms and invited it to come with her. “You can choose the spices if you want.”

“I’m no cook.”

“It’s not hard. Easy to learn.”

“If you die from accidental poisoning, I relinquish any responsibility.” 

“Fair enough.”

She carried Cheers with her, petting its soft, living, warm fur. Her star followed. She considered many times when wandering the Realm of Darkness if she was difficult to love, and she didn’t want to know the answer to that, either. That was a thought she swept past a door she kept in the corner of her mind, where dreams and nightmares couldn’t reach. She ate the key. Carried a proper, indestructible reputation. Stood upright. Be loved for the Light she nurtured.

And yet, Terra knocked in the Dark, poking holes and looking in, smiling.

[queersrus]

request for cottagecore + sad-ish? id pack? please + thanks!

here's my attempt!

assuming id pack includes more than just the usual npts i'll throw in a few cottagecore and sad related labels i found

(nick)names:

ambrose, amos, ansel, acacia, ada, adelaide, arwin/arwen, ava, avery/averie, aviva, amaranth, able, arbor, art, arty/artie, asher, ainsley, acheron, adalia brandy/brandi, branwen, billie/billy, bryony, bill, banner, booker, bram

barley, brion, brian, bryce chloris, chandra, cyrene, cayenne, cade, clyde, chester, cliff denna, diana/dianna, diona, donna/dona, derby, dallas, danica, daphne, dixie, dawn, dylan

edmund, elenore, elodie, eudora, elenore/eleanor, ebony, erica, eila, eira, eve, eithne, everlee, elize, eliza, elizabeth, everlyn, elwood, emerson, elowen finnegan, freddy/freddie, frederick, fallin/fallon, florance/florence

fable, frank, frankie/franky, franklin/franklyn, faine, filbert, finneas ginny/ginnie, gale, georgia, george, georgina, granger halcyone, hana/hanna/hannah, harriet, harry, hayley/hailie/hailey, halie/hallie, heather, harlowe/harlow, harrow, hadar, hawl, hayes,

huck, holden, huso ilana, illiana/iliana, ingrid, ivory jane, janet/janette, jesse/jessie, josie, jose, jack, jackie, jackson kingston, kodi/kodie, kodiak, kylan

lupin, lian, liana/lianna, liane/lianne, linc, linden, lyle, lucius maisie, matilda, maude, mabel, merle, marin, mica/mika, mason/macon, martin, miller, miles nellie, nyssa, ned, nick, ness

opholia, oliver, olive, olivia, oleander, odell, oriel, oscar paisley, poppy, posie, phineas, parker rose, rosemary/rosemarie, rosy/rosie, rory, rosette, rosetta, rue, rosabel/rosabell/rosabelle, rosa, rosabela/rosabella, rosella, rosaria,

rosario, rob, robert, ray, reed, ridge, ryland, rowan, roan shiloh, sharon, scarlet/scarlett/skarlett, sam, samantha, samuel, sunny/sunnie, sawyer, shaw, shay, steve, stevie, stevia, sorell/sorrell, seb, sebby/sebbie, sebastian, saddie/sadie, sade

theodore, theo, tori, toria, tamie/tammie, tawny, terra, timber, tim, timothy, tanner, teddy/teddie, trevis/travis, trevor, tyler, tristan/tristin, tristah/trista, trystia verginia, vicky/vickie, victor, victoria, viola, violet/violette,

violeta/violetta, valerian, vernon winnie, willa, winston, winifred, winslow, will, william, willow, wade, wagner, warren, watts, watson, wilhelmina yvonne, yves zephyr/zephyre, zara, zinnia, zion

surnames:

appleyard, ashton, ashwood baker, brookstone, butterfield catkin, cobbler, cooper, copper, copperwood, copperfield, crestfallen dogwood, direwood, direbrook, direfield, desperfield, downyard

doleman fenlon, falkner, forlorn greenwood, greenfield, golding, goldwood, goldfield, griefman, griefwood, gardner

hilbrook, holbrook, heath, horsewood, horsefield, hawksley, harrowing, hawkswood, hawthorne, hawkner, hawkfield, holloway, hallowood

larken, limewood, lockhart, lovejoy mourner, mournwright, mournman nettleship

plowman, penrose, penwright redbrook, rosedale, redwood, rosewood, redfield summerfield, sweetnam, seawright, sorrowfield, sorrowbrook, shamewood, shamewright

thacker, thatcher westfield, wainwright, write/wright, wagonwright, woodsman, wyrmwood/wormwood, winterwood, winterrose, wretchwood, wretchman

system names:

the cottagecore *system, the sorrowful system, the melancholic cottage system, the mourning flowerbed system, the gloomy garden system, the tearful system, the harvest system

1st p prns: i/me/my/mine/myself

ci/cotte/cottagy/cottagine/cottageself hi/he/hy/harvestine/harvestself gi/garde/gardy/gardine/gardenself si/sade/sady/sadine/sadself si/sorre/sorry/sorrowine/sorrowself mi/me/mely/melancholine/melancholyself

2nd p prns: you/your/yours/yourself

co/cottager/cottagers/cottagerself ho/harvester/harvesters/harvesterself go/gardener/gardeners/gardenerself so/sader/sadders/sadderself so/sorrower/sorrowers/sorrowerself mo/melancholer/melancholers/melancholerself

3rd p prns: they/them/theirs/themself

co/cottage, cott/age, cot/cottage, cot/tage, cottage/cottages, cottage/core har/vest, ha/harvest, harv/est, harvest/harvests gar/den, gar/garden, garden/gardens, garden/core farm/core sa/sad, sad/sads, sa/ad, sad/sadden, so/sorrow, sor/row, sorr/ow, sorrow/sorrows, sorrow/sorrowful mel/melancholy, mel/ancholy, melan/choly, melancholy/melancholies, melancholy/melchancholic

titles:

the weeping gardener, the mourning farmer, the sad cottage dweller, the melancholic planter, the sorrowful woodsman

**one who lives a sad cottage life, one who mourns within ones cottage, one who weeps amongst ones gardens, one who copes with sadness through cottage life

book titles:

the sad little cottage, a melancholic villager, the weeping willows, the mourning garden, the sorrows of an old cottage, a pitiful harvest

genders:

buncottagecoric(link),

cottagegoric(link), cafdreamian(link), cottagecrittean(link), cottagecoric(link), Cálidatierramielgender(link)

epuisetristic(link)

gendersob(link)

Sadnostacatgender(link)

orientations: (n/a)

other:

cottagecore bpd(link)

many can be found by searching cottagecore genders/mogai/liom as well, there are many versions of cottagecore flags especially for lgbt related labels so they should not be hard to find if you feel like looking!

*system can be replaced with any alternative (ex. cluster, collective, hoard/horde, etc)

**one can be replaced with any prn

[chess-blackmyre]

[barn-anon]

Gabriel knows he's been overprotective lately. Yet as she snuggles up to him on the couch while some show plays on the tv... He knows he needs to keep himself in check but he can't help it. How could he when his human is so innocent and vulnerable in such a harsh and cruel world? He has to protect her, he has to keep her smiling and laughing. Her mind shouldn't have to worry beyond which outfit she should wear, or what should she cook for dinner.

He cares for his battle brothers. He looks up to his chapter master, captain, chaplain and other more senior Blood Angels. Love? He loves her. Yes that feels right, he loves her, an emotion he thought he could never feel in such a great degree. It should be insanity how she has captured him so entirely. He's not the only one though it seems, other bonded Blood Angels too have described their love for their humans to be similarly overwhelming.

There's no denying that this strange world is scary. It's so different from his original world. Humanity is in it's infancy, only just taking it's first baby steps into the stars. What would the presence of his fellow Space Marines mean? How might it impact humanity? He hopes they could help build humanity into a better version of itself, yet his experiences all tell him that humanity is doomed to struggle. That if humanity wants to carve out a place for itself in the stars, it has to pay with the lives of it's children.

He fears the future that's creeping their way, an unavoidable eventuality. When his hands are idle, his mind drifts, he can see the endless battlefields he had waded through. Corpses that pile higher than he is tall, tragically and fragilely human. He buries his face against the top of his human's head, letting out a purr to soothe her worried inquiry.

Maybe this version of Terra won't be doomed, maybe it will be the gleaming crystal of the galaxy that it should've been in his world. Maybe it would crash and burn, mutating into an even worse hell than the one he once lived in. As long as he can still hold his human in his arms and wipe away any tears that may come, any hell he walks through with her is infinitely more meaningful and precious than any heaven without her.

Tagged: @kit-williams • @egrets-not-regrets • @bleedingichorhearts

[sabraeal]

The Man of Progress, Chapter 3

[Read on AO3]

If there is one thing Viktor has learned wrangling with these crystals these past two years, it’s that Talis’s forges can cast a blast door as sturdy as will still take a hinge, but they still can’t make steel thick enough to keep Jayce’s voice from cutting through.

“He’s not going to go for it.” The man might well be standing in the same room for all the door does to stifle it; a pillow might do a better job. To make matters worse, his voice is pitched lower still, trying to locate a whisper and instead finding the precise frequency that turns solid metal into a screen door. “You can ask him if you want, but I don’t know what good it’ll do you.”

The Councilor’s reply is muffled; her cultured tones may be able to quell a querulous council room, but it cannot defy the very laws of physics. Little more than the highest curves of her conversation curl through the gap between steel and concrete, but Viktor doesn’t need to hear the content to know exactly what’s happening in that showroom. Their patron has a plan, and as much as Jayce might dig in, a broad-shouldered barrier between her and their work, Councilor Medarda hasn’t ascended to Piltover’s loftiest heights to be stopped by mere flesh and bone and spirited protest. No, she’ll bully herself right past him, and if six feet of muscle-bound engineer can’t stop her, eighteen inches of steel won’t be much of an impediment either.

The door swings open with a squeal, stopping only just short of the dent Jayce made the first time he opened it. She approaches at an unhurried pace, not so much a sashay but a stride, confidence radiating from every subtle clack of her golden heels. They echo up the walls, gathering in the the ceiling’s vault like the prelude to a storm, inexorable, unavoidable—

And here. “Viktor. Good Morning.”

He sighs, contemplating the pliers in his grip. There had been boys who would gather at the shore when the clouds turned heavy out to sea, who used to dig into the sand when thunder pealed over the waves, waiting for the lightning to scrape across the sky. They’d stand in the water up to their knees, watching the skies churn even as their own darkened, swearing they could feel sparks when it hit. That there was a thrum that came in with the tide— better than Shimmer, one of them had boasted, long before any of them had been lost to it— one that made them powerful, invincible, like the enforcers in their armor—

At least, until one of them was struck. Wandered too far, or maybe too close, and was swept away before any of them could see if there was enough of him left unburnt to breathe.

Jayce’s scuffled steps struggle over the threshold, stumbling to catch her heels, and he might as well be knee deep in the water, wading out to see the storm. There are just some boys, it seems, that long to be burned. “Councilor, wait…”

Viktor, for his part, keeps his feet on terra firma. The sand’s no place for a man with barely a leg to stand on. He’d learned that well enough watching the other children scuttle across the rocks as he tinkered with his boat. Playing the same games as them only ended in bruised pride and scuffed knees.

So he only dares to glance at her in reflection, through the warped mirror that chrome creates. At least there she looks something closer to human than sublime. “Councilor.” He sits back on his heels, squinting into the clockwork clutter. Makes no move to turn toward her— she’ll get what she wants by the time she sweeps out of this lab, but he’ll be damned if he lets her have it ten steps through the door. “To what do we owe this pleasure.”

Jayce strains a breath through his smile, all his dire warnings about teeth and hands that feed caught between his own. But even the warped reflection can’t manufacture the lift of the Councilor’s eyebrow on its own, or how her mouth moves to mirror its curve. “Am I not allowed to check in on my investment?”

She circles behind him; a slow, measured saunter marked by the clack of her heels on the concrete. And by the accordion pull of her reflection, languidly stretching across the metal’s peaks before pooling in its valleys, a flicker of the real before the reinstatement of the absurd. And yet there’s no mistaking where that sharp gaze lingers— not on the machine, but on his back, carving a line between his shoulders from attention alone.

“We’re the best minds the Academy has to offer, Councilor, do give us some credit.” The pliers clench around a cog, wrenching it to where its teeth mesh with the ones beside it. “I think we’ve learned by now that we couldn’t hold you back, even if we tried.”

His name hisses out from behind Jayce’s perfect smile— oh, this afternoon’s going to be a litany of hands, food, and would it kill you to be nice for once?— but the Councilor only lingers behind his shoulder, mouth stretched so wide across the metal that a millimeter more would turn her all to teeth. “What a…flattering assessment.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” he lies. “I’m simply acknowledging the reality of the situation. No matter how unpleasant.”

Jayce practically chokes on his own forced laugh. “He— he doesn’t mean that. We enjoy every moment you choose to spend down here.”

“Not that we have much of a choice,” Viktor adds, setting aside pliers for a wrench. “Since I doubt there’s a man alive that could keep you from where you mean to go.”

One perfect brow twitches. “Some have tried.”

And failed, she doesn’t say. Doesn’t need to with the way her chin lifts, conquest etched in every line. He nearly likes her better for it— after all, if a storm is meant to sink ships, it should take pride in each one scuttled in its wake.

At least, he might, if he wasn’t already watching one founder. “Councilor, Viktor’s just, er,” —making Jayce sweat bullets, from the look of it— “joking. He’s a real kidder.”

Viktor’s head swivels on its axis, quick enough to make his neck ache. It’s worth it to spear his partner with a scowl where he stands, letting the angle of its furrow heavily imply, what the hell are you doing?

Jayce’s hands splay helplessly in a shrug, eyebrows hiked so high there’s barely any forehead left before his hairline. What are you doing?

“A kidder.” The Councilor is unconvinced, arms folded under her chest like a guillotine’s blade. “Really.”

It’s not a question. But at a bulge of his partner’s eyes, Viktor cobbles together an answer. “That’s me,” he blurts out, ignoring the coughing jag coming from behind her shoulder. “A jokester. A real…funny guy.”

The inviting pout she wears tightens to a close-lipped purse, eyes narrowing the way doors might before they slam shut. “I would never have guessed.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s a laugh riot.” Jayce steps up beside her, grin so wide Viktor’s gut goes cold. “You should ask to see his Heimerdinger impression.”

The Councilor glances back— incredulous, of course, though too politique to show it in anything more than a squint of the eyes— and Viktor lets his brow pinch behind her, displeasure seeping out of every pore. His early years at the Academy had made for a veritable world tour of puerile pranks; a lame boy from the Undercity made the perfect target for callow youths, missing the sort of bullying they had been able to wreak at all the best private institutions Piltover could offer. He had become a connoisseur of the uncomfortable, an epicurean of embarrassment— and with a glare, he lets his partner know he has not forgotten a single one.

Jayce sends a worried glance toward the coffee pot. Ha. A single trick he’d been subject to would make that man beg for bodily fluids in his cup.

“I’ll take your word for it.” She turns back, frowning at his placid expression. “Though I do wonder what inspired him to humor this morning.”

“I thought I would keep the mood light,” he tells her, already angling himself towards his cogs. “You know, since you two seem so serious after conspiring in the showroom.”

Jayce nearly chokes. “You heard that?”

“You weren’t exactly subtle. So go on”—he spares the Councilor a weary look— “what is it I’m not going to like?”

“The Distinguished Innovators Competition,” she informs him, shameless, as if his eavesdropping had been part of the plan all along. Knowing the way Jayce’s voice could carry, it might well have been. “I was just discussing it with Mr Talis. He didn’t think you’d be a fan.”

“Distinguished Innovation?” Two relatively benign concepts. “What’s not to like?”

“She wants us to enter it.” That earns the golden boy a glare from the Councilor. Apparently throwing her beneath the carriage had not been part of her plans.

“Oh.” He glances between them, disinterested. “He’s right.”

“What I was saying,” she begins, sharp enough to tug his attention away from cogs and chrome. “Was that it would be a good opportunity to show that Hextech is a real, viable resource, not just another pipe dream of two Academy engineers.”

“Oh?” He blinks, sitting back on his heels. “I didn’t realize pipe dreams regularly blow out windows in the government building. How difficult that must be for you, Councilor.”

She grunts softly; a palpable hit. That’s one point to him. “I’m not talking about a proof of concept. If you can show these people a concrete demonstration of just one crystal’s power, the interest it would generate in Hextech’s future…it would be enormous.”

“We have enough interest.” He shakes his head, turning it back towards the table. “The last thing we need are more investors wandering around here, cackling over their winning horses.”

Jayce shifts, leaning so close to the Councilor their reflections blur together, one big puddle of patron and patronized on stilted legs. “I told you.”

Her hand lifts, a soft curl that quiets him quicker than a shout. With a turn of her head— a tilt of her chin, really— she manages to say without speaking, I’ll handle this. Or maybe, I’ll handle him— a mistake, on her part. Viktor has learned to keep his head down, to toe the line these top-siders are so partial to, but he’s Undercity, through and through. Ungovernable, as her colleagues are so fond of saying.

A fact Jayce knows all too well. But although he may snort, may toss his head like one of those metal steeds strapped to their track, he still turns, tromping his way right across the floor. Throws his hands up for good measure, with a shake of his head to give it a resigned flavor. It’s a lost cause, he doesn’t say, because the slam of the door says it loud enough behind him.

It's still ringing in his ears when her hand presses flat to the table; a warm earthen brown stark against the cold gray of metal and stone. Comically small next to the gauntlet’s size, like a child’s pressed against their father’s. Something startlingly real compared to plates and pistons. The rest of her follows after, the curve of her hip resting against the hard corners of the counter.

“I’m not recommending you participate for bragging rights, you know.” The Councilor’s voice is lower now, less strident; not made for an audience but to fill the inches between them. Intimate, almost. Enough to make his shoulders itch just beneath his nape. “If you place in the competition, you’ll have all the clans bidding to sponsor you. Enough money to fund you for a year, at the least.”

Tempting. But then, what she offers always is. “What’s the matter, Councilor? Purse feeling a little tight?”

Something huffs out of her, not a laugh but a kissing cousin, one not so sweet but infinitely more interesting. “It would take more than a lab like this one to beggar Medarda’s coffers. But needless to say, you are hardly our only investment.”

Just the biggest risk. Or at least, the most entertaining one, by how often her itinerary takes her past the workshop. “Even so. We’re more than adequately funded through the next three years, let alone one.”

“Oh?” One brow lifts. “For all your projects?”

Her gaze rests pointedly past him, on a tarp haphazardly tossed over a machine, dust collecting in the valley tented between its arches. An ungainly shape, sequestered to the most solitary corner of their workshop, abandoned yet refusing to be forgotten.

“It’s part of the process,” he murmurs, faint even to his own ears. “Innovation requires experimentation. And some are…less promising than others.”

She shifts, close enough to startle him, to make him stare straight up into the shine of her eyes. “Albus Ferros has outbid every clan for the winning innovator seven years out of the last ten. He may not have been sold by Cassandra Kiramman’s little sales pitch last year, but if you show him that you can outshine your competition…well, you may think my pockets run deep, but Clan Ferros…”

She hardly needs to tell him. Ferros may not sponsor many Academy graduates, but the ones they did��� their portraits all hung in its hallowed halls, its proudest successes: men who changed the world.

And lined their pockets doing it. Though that mattered more to the students that walked those halls, rather than the trustees who commissioned the portraits.

“It’s also a good opportunity for you.” Gold glimmers as her shoulder lifts, following her movements less like metal and more like a second skin. “At least, to be known as more than Jayce’s assistant.”

Ah, that’s the problem with letting the Councilor linger around here, watching the process. As much as she learns about her investment, she also learns about them, and it leads to— to this. To this way her words wedge beneath his skin, caught like a metal sliver beneath his nail.

“I’d rather people that close to the top not know me by name. It’s bad for the neck,” he explains, rubbing at his. “You see, I like how mine is attached to my shoulders. I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

The Councilor doesn’t frown, but her arms cross, cheeks stretching sharp over the architecture of her face. “What, so you think they’ll string you up for being clever? Insolence? Magecraft?”

“They did once,” he mumbles into his machinery. The Undercity doesn’t teach history to its children— at least, not anything past the debts the Chem-Barons collect when a person is fool enough to deal with them— but he’d seen the frescoes on the government buildings walls, the paintings hung in Heimerdinger’s office. “What’s to say they won’t find a taste for it again? Some of them could use a hobby.”

Her eyes narrow, honing all that carefully maintained beauty to a fox-like point. “Don’t tell me you’re intimidated by my colleagues.”

“I’m not intimidated.” He rolls his wrist absently, wrench still in hand. “I’m cautious.”

She sniffs, all incredulity. “I must admit, I’m not seeing the difference.”

“You wouldn’t,” he mutters— a mistake. She’s too close for it to be lost in metal and machinery, an aside gone astray. No, the Councilor hears every word, spine stiffening with the affront only the privileged can afford. “Councilor, when you look at me— what is it you see?”

Viktor does her the favor of leaning back, of turning toward her so that she can take all of him in. He half-considers reaching for his crutch, of maybe even getting to his feet and taking a step toward her, so that she could see the way his shoulder dips as he walks, the grotesquerie of his movement—

“A genius.”

That’s it; no hesitation, no pity. A simple assessment without the fixed point of her gaze ever straying.

“Councilor…” he coughs, surprised. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Her mouth threatens to smirk. “No, it won’t.”

“No,” he agrees, oddly amused, “it won’t. You’ll call me a genius today because you’re pleased with my progress, but when I disappoint, well…then I’ll be—”

“A pain in my ass?” she offers with a quickness that implies practice. She shifts, spine falling into its usual coy curve. “A downright bastard.”

A laugh barks out of him before he can leash it. “To say the least. To your honored colleagues, I might be an Academy engineer today, one of the best and brightest balls of gas the professor has ever condensed into a star, but tomorrow…” His mouth rumples around the sour taste in his mouth. “Tomorrow I could just be another piece of Undercity trash. A rat from the sewers who slipped under the door.”

He leans toward her, one arm braced on the table, conspiracy curving his smile. “I’m sure you know how it is, Councilor— the higher you climb, the further you have to fall. Academy Engineer might not seem like a lot to you, but to me, well” —his shoulder lifts, lazy as he sits back— “I have much deeper depths to plunge.”

He expects her to huff, to protest, maybe even to laugh— that’s what Jayce has always done, shaking his head at every refused invitation as if he were a child pushing away a full plate. But instead the Councilor simply stares at him, her smooth brow marred by a furrow. Utterly still, not even a twitch to give her away as something flesh and blood.

Ah, now he’s done it. Made things awkward. “Jayce is better at dealing with those people anyway,” he tells her, a pleasing patch over an unpleasant truth. “He even looks like one of them.”

Because he is. For as far as he is from the Council’s heights, he’s still a clansman, albeit a minor one. Not something he enjoys being reminded of, especially not when he’s being stuffed inside one of those monkey suits, going off to ape his betters.

“Ah.” The Councilor hums, her chin taking its usual superior lift. “So that’s it. You think that next to Talis, they’ll find you—?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” At least, he’s not trying to. But the words come out at all angles, the way his shoulders do when he walks, and the only way to stop them is to snap his teeth around them like a steel trap. “I don’t care what those people think of me. I know who I am.”

“An easy thing to say.” Her heels clack, achingly slow as she steps towards him, so close that the hair raises along his arm. “A harder thing to live. Especially when you aren’t the one drawing the line in the sand.”

He risks a glare at her, but she only smirks, amused.

“If the only face they see with Hextech is Talis, then they’ll assume that Talis is all there is to Hextech.” Her hand may rest on the wrought wrist of the gauntlet, but her gaze swings wide, settling on the ungainly mess in the corner. “And it will only ever be his vision that sees the light of day.”

Viktor’s jaw clenches, hard enough it aches. “Our ideas are implemented equally. It is just the nature of the work that not all of them bear fruit.”

The Councilor hums, fingers brushing across smooth metal as she removes them. His own wrist flexes in some strange sympathy. “If you say so.”

She stands then, fabric flowing after her like a wake. “Think about it, at least. The Distinguished Innovators Competition, I mean.”

On a lesser mortal, that skirt of hers would tangle, would trip her up as she sashayed across the floor. But instead it moves like a part of her, her walk all hips and suggestion.

One that turns into a question when she stops, one foot lifted hesitantly.

“For what it’s worth…” she tosses over her shoulder, gaze not quite meeting his. “Even if you didn’t win” — not likely, her tone says— “I think you would at least cause quite a stir…”

*

“Sorry about all that.” Jayce scratches at the back of his head, bashful, the way naughty dogs were. “I didn’t want to put you on the spot like that. But you know how Mel is.”

Viktor grunts, one brow hiked. Funny, it’s all Councilor this and Councilor that when she’s swanning around the showroom, deigning to grace them with her esteemed presence, but once the woman’s out of earshot—

Mel. Ha. By the flush slapped across Jayce’s neck, it’ll take a few more years yet before he tries it to her face. A couple more of those fancy parties, one or two awards under his belt. Get more than a few stiff drinks in him, and Jayce might try it even sooner— clothing optional.

With a snap the wrench tumbles out of his hand, clattering across the table as something small and metal pings against the concrete. Viktor blinks. Ah, well…that’s never happened before.

A hand comes down heavy on his shoulder, a perfect lantern jaw hanging itself over it. “Woah, you okay there, buddy? Lose your grip or something?”

“The opposite.” His hand uncurls— aching, still— to show where a small spike of metal juts out from the plating. “The bolt sheared right off.”

“Huh.” Jayce looms closer, squinting at the jagged edge. “Well, would you look at that. I’ll have to talk to the professor about it— it’s fine if it’s one or two, but if it keeps happening, someone’s going to need to talk to the supplier about quality control.”

“Right.” Viktor flexes his fingers, oddly light-headed. “Quality control.”

It’s a clean fingernail that prods at the wreckage, not a speck of grease trapped in its bed; Jayce must have scrubbed before the Councilor came in the door, saving her the indignity of touching anything real. The broken shank doesn’t give so much as a wiggle, not even when a thumb joins the finger, bearing down before it tries to twist and tug.

“Man, that’s in there good.” He steps back, slapping a pair of pliers across Viktor’s palm. “At least it’s one of the small ones. Not a lot of metal, not a lot of room for mistakes. Probably just flawed from the start.”

Viktor grunts, fitting the nose hard against the shank. Flawed from the start. That’s one way of putting it.

“If we were to do this…this Distinguished Innovators thing,” he says, uncertain, twisting until threads peek up from the gap. “I’m not saying we are, but…what would we present?”

It’s easier to talk about this with Jayce behind him; that way he doesn’t have to see when his jaw drops. “If we…?”

“Hypothetically,” Viktor reminds him, but it’s too late; he can hear the excited pace to his steps, like a dog that has caught a glimpse of its leash.

“Of course, of course.” It may sound like an agreement, but Viktor knows all too well: it’s a clearing of the slate, a tabula rasa of thought. He can protest all he likes, but to Jayce, a maybe is as good as a yes. “We’re coming along pretty well on the gauntlets, aren’t we? With a couple more weeks on them, we might have something that could really wow people.”

Viktor takes in the visible bolts tucked between chrome plates, the barely hand-like appendages jammed onto the end of its wrists. When he looks back up, catching Jayce with the corner of his glance, he hardly needs to say, bit of an anemic showing.

“W-well, I mean, we won’t just have the presentation,” Jayce stammers out, scrubbing a hand through  the thick mass of his hair. “We’ll have floor space too. We could probably show off most of what we’re working on. Let people get a real glimpse of everything Hextech could do.”

“Everything?” Viktor asks, tone utterly even.

“Ah, well” —Jayce glances to where the tarp sits, wrought metal peeking out beneath its hem, before his eyes skitter away— “Sure. Why not?”

His words might convince him, if only a note of it was sincere. “Because you’re afraid of it.”

“I’m not— I’m not afraid.” An assertion that might stand if he didn’t flinch while making it. “They’re just not…er…”

Safe. That’s what Jayce means to say. It’s not safe. It thrums in the air between them, like the moment before lightning strikes, so charged— so contentious that all his hair stands on end.

“…I just don’t think they show off Hextech to its best advantage,” Jayce says instead, mincing through his words like he was barefoot and each one was a shard of glass. It’s careful, politic, and it sounds more like that woman than it does his partner. “You know what I mean, don’t you?”

“They are a proof of concept.” It’s the same disagreement they’ve had a dozen times— no, two dozen. None of the sting is left in it, all his arguments so worn that his brow settles into its furrow like a cog does in its groove. “A demonstration of the power that could be wielded by the crystals if we could be refined past their raw state. Something beyond the household applications we’ve tried, which—”

“Which isn’t what Hextech is about,” Jayce says, loud enough that its echo rings throughout the lab, buzzing in his ears. “I appreciate the work you’re doing on it, really, I do. Even if it’s not the direction we chose to take, it belongs at the show. But if we’re going to present something…”

He hefts the gauntlet onto his arm, visibly straining under its bulk. “It’s got to be something people know how to use. Only academics appreciate the abstract.”

Viktor can’t argue with that. But that hardly means he doesn’t have a quibble or two. “You can barely lift that.”

“That’ll just make it all the more impressive,” he grunts, teeth more grit than grin. “When we fire this thing up and I’m swinging it around like I was born with it.”

They’re still weeks away from that, from getting the crystal to do anything but spit and sizzle as it sits in its bezel, but even so— he can picture it. The way Jayce will swing his arm, gesticulating with the cogent verve these merchants clans breed into their children; the halting way the fingers will fold into a fist, unnatural and yet more human than any machine could manage. And the bare blue glow of the Hextech beneath it all, casting a new set of shadows across its onlookers.

“All right,” he relents. “As long as the arches are displayed too.”

“They will be.” Jayce claps him on the shoulder, as good as a promise. “We’re in this together, aren’t we, partner?”

*

The Councilor wastes no time in submitting their paperwork; within a day she has a form couriered to them, every field filled in her meticulous cursive save for their abstract . It’s blatant enough that even Jayce grimaces, tugging at his collar as he asks, “You don’t think she, uh…?”

“I think,” Viktor says, plucking the sheet from his hand. “That she was not willing to entertain second thoughts.”

“Ah…” Jayce rubs a hand over his neck, concern finally filtering through common sense. “Right. When was this thing supposed to be again?”

“Six months.” At least one of them knows to read the fine print. “It’s part of the lead up to Progress Day.”

“Right, right.” Jayce sucks in a breath deep enough to broaden his shoulders, hands coming to sit at his hips. “Well, that’s plenty of time.”

Viktor turns, arching a dubious brow. “Is it?”

“Hell yes.” His hand drops, giving a gauntlet a proud pat. “We’ll have these babies done with weeks to spare.”

Viktor tries not to find something ominous in their dull clank. “If you say so…”

*

What had seemed a spacious six months quickly becomes a cramped two weeks of all-nighters and mounting anxiety. They had fallen for the siren song of Piltover’s spring; thinking that their projects would bloom in the passing weeks with all the steadiness and ease as the city transitioned through its seasons. Oh, how easily they had forgotten what even the first year engineers knew all too well: progress was never linear. Two steps forward often led to ten step back, and by the time the competition loomed on the horizon, well—

“Just a little more,” Jayce promises, a pair of over-glorified tin snips in his hand, trying to notch the last few gears. His hands tremble, gripping tighter as the steam carriage rocks beneath them, groaning with each sharp turn they take. “Couple more clips and we’ll be done, I promise.”

Viktor groans, head wedged between the cabin’s wall and his elbow, struggling to keep the bile at bay. The carriage must be on a mission to find every pothole between Midtown and the Academy, engine rattling as it hurtles over the cobbled streets. “I’m going to throw up.”

“You’ll be fine.” That might assure him, if any of that confidence came from an actual lack of concern, rather than force of will. Jayce does spare him a glance, one that turns quickly toward a grimace. “When was the last time you slept, by the way? Or ate?”

Cogs jostle as the driver goads the gears faster, setting the acid sloshing in his stomach. The faces of the other passengers are pale, some even screwing their eyes shut, as if that might save them from a flying gear. Viktor tries the same, wondering if it might stop the roll of his stomach, but oh, ah…that’s worse. So much worse.

“Viktor!” A hand bands around his shoulder, as much a steel vise as this brace he wears, and his eyes jolt open, meeting Jayce’s open concern. “Seriously. You look like you need a sandwich.”

Just the thought of it puts acid in his mouth.

“I think if we win this thing,” he manages, swallowing back bile. “Heimerdinger needs to clear out a lab.”

Jayce huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Sure thing, buddy. It’s the least he can do for his most promising protégés, right? Be nice to get a little recognition around here.”

He lets his head lean back, settling against the seat. “I’ll just take never having to get in one of these hellish conveyances as long as I live.”

If it could have been left just at that, the carriage would have been at worst an inconvenience; a mode of transportation Viktor would require copious cajoling to consider again. But instead the whole carriage hitches, weightless for a moment before it pitches from one side then to the other. Other passengers are nearly flung from their seats, held in only by the strength of their own grip, but their gears— they fly off Jayce’s lap, skittering across the carriage floor, lost beneath a confusion of boots and skirts.

With all the subtlety of a burst pipe, the whole thing lurches to a stop, engine spewing steam into the cabin, and Viktor—

He can’t take it.

To say he struggles with the door would be an overstatement; he merely jiggles it until the latch prises loose, managing two shuddering steps across the cobbles before he pitches to his knees and loses what little breakfast he forced into his belly in the gutter.

“Viktor!” Jayce springs out after him, hand clasping his shoulder. “Are you all—? Oh, hell. The whole baggage compartment…”

With a queasy glance over his shoulder, he sees it: the metal compartment tucked beneath peeled open like a can of sardines. Bags are strewn across the street, too haphazard for the other carriages to miss, crumpling beneath the wheels of those who can’t bring themselves to stop.

“I want to go home,” he groans, sitting back on his heels. “Can we do that?”

There’s no humor in Jayce’s laugh, just simple bravado. The simple refusal to be cowed by whatever fate can throw at them. Viktor might even feel fond, if he had room for anything but the nausea. “We’ve come too far now. The convention hall is only two blocks away. Just let me find our case, and we can hoof it.”

Viktor glares up at him. “Don’t tell me you expect me to walk.”

“Come on.” He claps him on the back this time, nearly bowling him over. “I think a little fresh air is just what we need.”

*

Viktor arrives at the convention hall with all the dignity of a collapsed soufflé: drenched in sweat, covered in stains of ignominious origin, and worst of all, limping.

“Really?” Jayce croaks, shouldering him up the steps. Not that his weight is the problem— soaking wet, Viktor would struggle to tip the scale to eight stone— but with both him and the gauntlets’ case, even his partner’s knees start to buckle. “That’s what’s got you? You walk with a cane.”

“A cane is dignified,” Viktor informs him loftily. As much as one can when the only way air can enter and leave through his lungs is a wheeze. “This is” —pathetic— “a trainwreck.”

Complete with a peanut gallery to rubberneck. Each head swivels as they pass, curiosity and pity mingling in most of their onlookers, but others— others sneer with disgust, or worse, forget to smother their smirks. They should have told us there’d be a freak show, one man in a white waist mutters just a hair too loud, I would have brought peanuts.

Viktor heaves himself away, brace clanking under the sudden shift in weight. “I can do it myself.”

One arm still hovers behind his back, as heavy as if it held him still, and Jayce raises a brow. “You sure? You look like you’re going to fly apart like that boiler—”

“Don’t.” Bile gags him at the thought. “Just— my crutch.”

“It’s seen better days,” Jayce warns, and ah, it’d never sat straight to begin with, but there is distinctly more twist to it now, as he hands it over. “Really, Viktor, if you need help, I’m happy to—”

“I’ll manage.” Annoyance sharpens the words to a point, one his partner hardly deserves aimed at him. He shakes his head, fitting the support beneath his shoulder. “Our table is only around the corner. If I can’t make it that far, then maybe I should have gone home.”

“As long as you’re sure. It’s not like I can’t handle it. Heck” —Jayce grins, flexing one of his ridiculous arms hard enough his shirtsleeve strains over his bicep— “I could probably carry two of you without even breaking a sweat.”

Viktor’s mouth twitches. “Rub it in, why don’t you.”

“Hey, it’s not rubbing it in if it’s true. Just because I’m the buffest guy in this whole Academy doesn’t make me any less of an engin— ah, here.” Jayce doesn’t so much set the case down as heave it onto its side as gently as its weight allows. “We made it.”

Their projects haphazardly litter the floor, dropped wherever the university’s teamsters saw fit to leave them. Despite all of their hours of last minute fussing, peeling years off their lives until chrome was polished and shined to gleaming, it would take time to get them showroom ready again. With a hundred other academic hopefuls’ dreams to cart from every corner of the city, the workmen had handled every project with equal care— that is to say, none at all. It’s time they don’t have, half of it lost between the carriage catastrophe and the convention hall.

It’s enough crunch to make his stomach churn, acid washing over his tongue with all the familiarity of an old friend. But if there’s no time for a spit and shine, there’s even less time for panic; with a steeling breath, Viktor bends his mind to what it’s best at: numbers. He tallies up every last tweak and polish, the number coming out just shy of impossible. Improbable, maybe, but he’d seen projects more hopeless.

That is, until Jayce pops the latches on the case, proving that the carriage’s mishap caused more casualties than the contents of his stomach.

“The gauntlets…” Its case might sit open at his knees, but there’s nothing glove-shaped inside, just a thousand piece puzzle made out of the most delicate machinery human hands had ever made. “They’re…it’s ruined. All of it. I can’t…we can’t…”

Viktor sways on his feet, not so much crouching beside him as falling into a squat. “You put them together, didn’t you? You can do it again. I’m sure someone around here has some solder—?”

“These took me over a year to put together, schematic to prototype.” Devastation turns his voice thready, same as it had been in that council chamber, years ago. As it had been when he stood on that ruined ledge of his apartment, unable to watch as his foot took a step into free fall. “There’s no way I can build it all again in” — he glances at the clock overhead— “oh, god, a half hour? That’s all we have?”

“Huh.” Viktor grips his crutch, settling into his squat. “So that carriage ride was the longest in my life.”

It’s not much, but it’s enough to get a huff out of him, even if there’s no humor in it. “We have to withdraw.”

Jayce levers himself to his feet, scrubbing a hand over the stubble that’s already started to pebble the planes of his jaw— really, what do they feed them in Clan Talis?— leaving Viktor to stare up at him, acid churning in his gut. “What do you mean?”

His hands splay, fingers spiking out toward the case. “We don’t have anything to present! It’s all ruined, every single part of it. And we can’t…”

He shakes his head, shoulders slumping as he turns, putting his back to it. To all of it. To him. After Viktor already walked half the city to be here, shaved days off his life to meet a deadline just short of impossible to have the chance of winning this ridiculous competition.

“We can’t just give up.” Viktor can hardly believe he is the one saying it. “It’s a blow, I’ll admit, but it’s hardly the only thing we have. Our other prototypes are here, in working order, I assume. We can just—”

“But we can’t present any of them,” Jayce snaps, looming over where he squats. “The gauntlets were the thing we put all our time into. We can’t even guarantee any of these will turn on, let alone perform.”

Viktor’s grip tightens on his crutch, chin tilting up to meet his partner’s desperate glare. “There’s at least one.”

Jayce blinks, but confusion quickly clears to fear. “No. No way.”

“I could get them up and running in fifteen minutes,” he reminds him, creaking his way to standing. “All you would have to do is look good. And stand where I tell you.”

“Uh-uh. Not happening.” His hands wave between them, as if somehow Viktor might manage to physically force him to use the thing. “’Stand where you tell me?’ Viktor, I appreciate that you’ve done the work, but that thing isn’t safe.”

“It’s completely safe,” he insists, “so long as you listen to me.”

Jayce stares at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“You wanted to show something big, didn’t you? Something they’ve never seen before.” He sweeps a hand toward where the arches sit, impressive even covered. “And this fits the bill, doesn’t it?”

“I meant something that would represent Hextech. Something that would be helpful. Not…” Dangerous. Jayce sighs, hand raking through the mass of his hair. “Hextech isn’t supposed to be…be…”

“Who knows what it’s supposed to be, Jayce.” It’s not easy to approach him— every step aches, even with the aid of his crutch— but Viktor does, not stopping until dark eyes peer up from that hung head, more scolded dog than agonized academic. “It’s the arcane. We’ve been working on this for two years, and we’ve hardly scratched the surface. There’s so much we don’t know…that we’ll never know if we stop here.”

“Yeah? And maybe we’re not supposed to.” His head wrenches away, a scowl furrowing the stern lines of his face. “You ever think of that?”

Viktor stoops, mouth pulled thin. Enough was enough. “You didn’t sign every page of your notes to give up whenever things got a little too hard, did you?”

Jayce glares at him. “It’s not just…hard. It’s impossible. Suicidal.”

“So?” Viktor steps back, shrugging his shoulders. “What’s progress but a laugh in the face of death?”

“Of course you would say something like that,” Jayce grumbles, arms folding forbiddingly across his chest. “You’re proud of blowing out that window.”

“It was a promising result. Nothing a little calibration couldn’t fix.” He casts Jayce a long look from the corner of his eyes. “Besides, I bet a man like Albus Ferros needs a little danger to impress him.”

A laugh saws out of the vault of Jayce’s chest. “Well, he’s certainly not known for being safe, that’s for sure.” His head shakes. “Fine. You got me. Let’s do it.”

Viktor blinks. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Jayce gets to his feet, brushing the dust off him. “And hey, who knows. Maybe if this stunt of yours does impress Lord Ferros, we can try things your way. Think big. Outside the toolbox.”

He coughs, shaking his head. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

*

“Well, well.” The Councilor sweeps down the auditorium aisle no different from if it was a grand stair, lingering on every step as if there were more than empty seats to provide her adulation. The addition of the professor, however, does detract from the dignity of it, hopping down happily with that poro hot on his heels. “The prodigal engineers arrive. Fashionably late, I see.”

Jayce’s wrench rattles the tray as he turns, arms stretched as wide as his smile. A showman if there ever was one. “That’s why you like us, don’t you? We have style.”

“I’d like you more if you showed up earlier than the eleventh hour,” the Councilor sniffs, skirting around his outstretched hands to circle around the podium. “But I’ll take what I can get.”

Heimerdinger hops up to the stage, peeking his head through each portal, whiskers bristling bushier with every step. “This isn’t the project I thought you would be presenting today,” he says, a note of distress threading through his hum, “What happened to your…er…what did you call them? Alter garments?”

“Atlas gauntlets,” Jayce corrects, tugging at his collar. “They had, ah…technical difficulties in transit.”

The Councilor arches a brow. “And what does that mean?”

Viktor grins into the guts of the machine. “They broke.”

“Oh, ah!” Heimerdinger’s shaggy brows hike up his forehead. “Well, there’s no helping it then. If only you boys had let me bring it over earlier, we might have been able to avoid such an unfortunate setback with your research!”

“There were still some last minute tweaks we wanted to make,” Jayce informs him, broad smile slapping spackle over the holes in that argument. Sounds better than, we hadn’t finished it, at least. “We thought we might sneak in a few more man hours if we finished it in the— ah, I mean, before the carriage arrived.”

“Ah, I should have known.” The professor puffs up proudly, even as he shakes a finger at them. “I hope all this has taught you boys a valuable lesson. Just like any artist, an engineer needs to learn when a project is best left done!”

It’s the sort of fatherly chiding that always set Viktor’s teeth on edge, but Jayce simply chuckles, huge shoulders heaving in a bashful shrug.

“Of course, sir. But I think we’ve got something here that’s just as exciting as what we had planned.” A broad hand pats an arch with the same sort of blustering pride as a lord with his new steam carriage, boasting about how fast it crawls through the streets. “Viktor’s design, actually. One he’s been working on since, er…”

“You blew a hole in the side of the government building?” The Councilor offers, the hem of her skirt sweeping so close to chrome Viktor’s atoms practically vibrate in sympathy. “So what does this do, exactly?”

Jayce flounders. Make real big sparks isn’t exactly what this room wants to hear. Neither is, we don’t quite know. “Ah…”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait and see.” Viktor hands never pause in their work, but he spares her a glance from the corner of his eyes. “Patience is a virtue, isn’t it, Councilor?”

The stare she turns on him might be unimpressed, but a smile flirts with the edge of her mouth, tempting a wayward corner to curve. “It is. My least favorite, I must admit.”

He smothers his smirk to a twitch. “I think a person of your caliber can live with a little delayed gratification.”

“I can.” One finger reaches out to trace up a wrought curve, skin barely brushing the metal. “As long as I leave satisfied.”

A strange static crackles along his skin, his assurances stuck in the scoured pit of his throat— a nervous response, perhaps; a reaction to seeing his invention so thoroughly inspected. An engineer’s instinct—

One Jayce must share, since he barks out, “Don’t touch that!”

The Councilor’s fingers flinch away, hovering uncertainly above an arch. She glances over her shoulder, first at him— still speechless, though for different reasons now— then at where Jayce stands, wide-eyed.

“It’s, uh…” Dangerous, that’s what he’s trying to say— it’s written in the furrow of his brow, in the glaring whites of his eyes. This is no prim protest, but pearl-clutching alarm. And for some reason, glances toward him for support. “…Delicate?”

Viktor scowls up from where he’s crouched. Between the two, he’d rather frightening than fragile. At least one doesn’t call into question his credentials.

“Oh.” The Councilor’s laugh bubbles over his shoulder, rolling up from deep in her chest. It does nothing to help the static. “It’s hardly my first time. But I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Jayce grimaces. “Viktor…?”

“What? I’ve told you. It’s perfectly safe,” he scoffs, turning back to where a panel sits open, gears and wires exposed. “Not going to blow up just from being turned on, that’s for sure. This time, at least.”

The Councilor’s hand drops down to her side with a sigh. “Please do not explode the exhibition hall.”

“Not to worry, Councilor Medarda,” Heimerdinger hums brightly, circling the stage. “If I’m correct in my understanding of how this particular machine is engineered— and I’m sure I am— there’s simply no chance of it exploding.”

“Well." Her arms cross over the narrow nip of her waist, as casual as she is unconvinced. “That’s a load off my mind.”

“Oh, yes.” For all the professor’s previous reservations, he’s quite chipper as he adds, “With a design like this, the only risk is of implosion.”

There’s a slight pause before she turns to Jayce with an artfully rumpled brow. There even seems to be actual concern— for the lecture hall, most like. “Please tell me he’s joking.”

His partner smiles weakly. “Kind of?”

The Councilor sighs, pinching at her brow. “If you would do me the favor,” —her heels clack as she takes the steps up to the doors— “keep the property damage minimal, please.”

Viktor sits back on his heels. “No promises.”

“That,” she sighs, “is exactly what I was afraid of.”

*

It’s only when Viktor has nearly finished his last round of calibrations— and finally put the final chalk ‘X’ on the stage floor— that Jayce blurts out, “I can’t do this.”

He blinks up from his crouch, chalk still pinched between his fingers. “Of course you can. All you have to do is stand around and look good. You already do that all the time, I’m not sure why you think it will be hard to—”

“No, I mean…we shouldn’t.” The back of his hand rubs at his forehead leaving a smear of grease behind. “This…this can’t actually be safe. What if it hit someone? What if it hits me?”

“It won’t hit you,” Viktor assures him. “As long as you don’t move from your mark, at least.”

“Urgh, I knew it,” Jayce moans, clapping his hands over his face. “This is a mistake. Someone is going to get, uh…”

“Teleported, theoretically.” He lifts a shoulder, unconcerned. “If my math is right. If it works at all.”

“Great, not only do we not know what this thing will do if it hits someone” —his hand swings out, jabbing at the arches— “we don’t even know if it’ll work.”

“It will work just fine.” Viktor grips his crutch, hauling himself to his feet. “I’ve done it dozens of times in the lab. As long as I haven’t dropped a decimal or forgotten to carry a one, there shouldn’t be anything to—”

“And what if you have, huh?” Jayce snaps, a dog at the end of his leash. “You were just sick all over Grand Avenue this morning. Just how good is your math right now.”

Better than yours, he doesn’t say— even if it’s true. The last thing he needs now is to be pulling transcripts when they need every second to prepare. “You’re really not going to stand in the cage?”

Broad shoulders square, and ah, Viktor knows that stubborn set to Jayce’s jaw, that firm line of his mouth. “No. I’m not.”

“Fine.” He sighs, fitting the crutch beneath his shoulder. “If that’s how you feel about it.”

He gets two steps across the stage before Jayce asks, “What are you doing?”

“Recalibrating,” he grunts, crouching down. “I’m shorter than you, which means I can get closer to the cage without worrying about getting my hair singed. It’ll look more impressive.”

“That’s…” Jayce scrubs a hand over his face. “When I said I wasn’t going to do it, I didn’t mean you should.”

“Well, someone’s got to.” He traces another ‘X’, reaching out to smother the last. “And if it’s not going to be you, then—”

“It shouldn’t be either of us!”

“What?” Viktor cocks his head, curious. “You think the Councilor will do it?”

“What? No! Hell, Viktor…” He groans, clawing through the thick tangle of his hair. “I think we should shut the whole thing down.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous! You could get yourself killed— or worse!”

“Teleported?” He sits back on his heels, forearms balanced across his knees. “I’ve already told you I’ve done the work: it’s safe.” He hesitates, the floor suddenly unsteady beneath him. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Viktor, I— of course I do!” His hands catch on his hips, breath heaving. “You’re my partner. I’d trust you with my life.”

Funny thing to say when he’s the one quibbling about which set of shoes are going to stand on a chalk mark. “But you won’t trust me with mine?”

“That’s not what I’m”—Jayce grits his teeth, an annoyed grunt straining through them— “that’s not what this is about!”

Viktor cocks his head, agitated. “Then what is it about?”

There’s a pause-- too long, too heavy not to be something-- before Jayce sighs, shaking his head. “You know what? Fine. Go stand in the cage.” He leans over, plucking the wrench out of Viktor’s grasp. “But I’m the one finishing up these calibrations.”

“What?” His nose wrinkles, stopping just short of a sneer. “You think a little light vomiting is going to keep me from remembering where the decimal place goes?”

“No.” Jayce shakes his head, mouth slanting into a smirk. “I do think you need to change though. You smell like a gutter. Looks like you just rolled out of one too.”

Viktor glances down, taking in the grease and sweat and faint stains of something that still smells vaguely of sick.

“Ah,” he hums, smoothing a hand down his front. “Fair enough.”

*

It’s impossible to find a spare set of clothes his size, Viktor would know— he’s the one who painstakingly takes in his trousers until they stop falling off his hips, who changes the fit of his shirtsleeves so that the stiff corsetry of his brace makes a seamless line with his chest. What Jayce does manage to dig up is a set of women’s trousers— he won’t ask how— with a shirt to match. The hips are far too wide, and the chest refuses to sit flat, but it’s nothing a few safety pins and a jacket can’t cover.

Even still, when he hobbles out in front of that crowd, crutch twisting his frame as he makes his mark, he feels less like a lecturer in front of his peers, and more like a child playing dress up in his mother’s frock. By the looks the gallery gives him, half-curiosity and half-disgust, the reality cannot be far off.

Viktor doesn’t make a habit of attending symposiums— and even less the kind that draw crowds like this— but he’s seen Jayce put on a show before, striding out onto the stage with all the confidence of a born actor. This is the part where the crowd is supposed to hush, awed by the cut of his jaw, or the way his shoulders fill out a jacket. But for him there’s not even a pause, not even a lull he could elbow into. Hell, he’s pretty sure it gets louder, speculation suddenly running rampant as the room realizes another man has taken Jayce Talis’s place. That somehow the sideshow has taken over for the ringmaster.

“Welcome.” His accent bites into the word all wrong, all elbows and knees instead of Jayce’s sure stride, and the murmur only grows, rising like the noise might swallow him whole. It was a mistake to come out here; they’re all expecting a man to rise from the stage perfectly formed, like a god emerging from sea foam, and instead—

Instead they have him.

Presenting isn’t that hard, Jayce had told him as the lecture hall filled. Just pick someone, anyone. Make eye contact. Then it’s not some big show— you’re just talking. Anyone can talk.

Easy thing to say when someone’s walking around looking like him. With a suit one size too large and a face that looks like it’ll faint the next time someone breathes a little too hard in his direction, Viktor isn’t exactly spoiled for choice when it comes to attentive onlookers. At least in this crowd.

He scans the seats, eyes darting from one face to the next, trying to find someone— anyone, really— to hold to. This is why he’d done so well as an assistant all those years; he faded so well into the wallpaper, no one thought to hesitate in front of him, to wonder if Heimerdinger’s dour shadow might remember the promises they made, or the offhand remarks they let slip. But now there’s not one set of eyes that will—

There. It’s the Councilor, half turned in her seat, her conversation partner rambling on, undaunted by her lack of interest. Their eyes meet, that strange static building beneath his skin, and when her brows rise, there’s a question in it— no, a challenge.

“Welcome.” It’s louder this time, breaking through the loudest crust of conversation. “Ladies, gentlemen. Fellow academics.”

Her whole body swivels in its seat, facing him, one hand raised to stem her partner’s words to silence. Her head tilts. Well, it says, curious. You have my attention. What are you going to do with it?

His mouth twitches. Wouldn’t you like to know? “I am sure many of you here have heard of Hextech. That one day we will harness the arcane— the same force that allowed mages to build empires and make miracles— and put it in the hands of ordinary people, just like you, or me.”

This is where Jayce might pace the stage, weaving through the arches like the first step in a magic trick. But Viktor only steps back between them, placing his feet firmly over the smudged cross.

“A pipe dream, some of you might call it. Impossible. Destined to be a pale imitation of the power they wield. But today” — Jayce said to smile here, to be friendly, but Viktor takes one glance at the Councilor's raised brows and it’s a smirk that unfurls instead— “you’ll see the true power of Hextech.”

He lifts his arm, the cue to start flipping switches, to turn a trick to reality, and—

There’s nothing. Not a single spark. Such absence of something that Viktor can’t help but wonder if Jayce has changed his mind, if he’s decided that this is too much of a risk after all. If his second thoughts have brought him back to handy tools and tight boxes, leaving him out here to flounder.

And then, the lights flicker. A flash of dimness that sets a murmur through the crowd. Another chases its heels, longer this time, and in the darkness—

There, the first arc of arcane, stretching from the side of one arch to another. A larger one next, a bolt from top to bottom. Three, just after, bleeding into each other until there’s a pane of glowing blue, so thin he can see through it a moment before it collapses. But then there’s another, and another, larger pieces of a rippled window, staying for seconds before flashing to nothing until—

Until a pane stretches down every arch, roiling like waves against the rocks, a glowing cage that nearly lifts himself off his feet.

“There you have it,” he manages, barely holding back a gleeful laugh. “Man-made arcane.”

He stops fighting his weightlessness, crutch dropping as he floats up from his mark, watching his audience like a fish does from his bowl. Their face fall agape, hands pressed to bosoms and men half crawled out of their seats, torn between awe and fear, and—

Well, there’s one way to make sure it’s wonder that wins the day.

“As you can see…” He reaches out, fingers just barely skimming the surface of the arcane—

Only to find himself on the other side of the arch, gently lowering to the stage. “Even surrounded, I am perfectly safe. Anyone could stand in my place and never fear injury!”

There’s more murmuring now, a din threatening to rise to a fevered pitch. There’s more to the little speech Jayce drilled into him, but there’s no hope of making them listen, not when doubt and fascination already struggle to hold their attention.

None of it ends up being necessary, however. Not when a clear voice calls out “Do you take volunteers?”

Viktor looks up into the Councilor’s self-assured smirk, the glow of the arcane turning the gold flecks on her skin to stars, and reaches out his hand.

*

There’s more than enough back-clapping and congratulations to last Viktor a lifetime when he steps off the stage, feeling too heavy under his own weight. Former classmates— ones who had so easily let their eyes drift over him when he stood in Heimerdinger’s shadow— crawl out from the woodwork, crowding him before he can get a word in edgewise.

“Hey, hey! Give me some room to get to the man of the hour,” Jayce laughs, elbowing a few engineers aside. “You can ask him for the whole spiel when we’re on the exhibition floor.”

“Don’t make promises I don’t plan to keep,” Viktor grumbles, wincing under the hand that clamps onto his shoulder, too tight.

“Speaking of promises,” Jayce says, smile stretched thin as they mount the stairs to the door. “I don’t think we talked about that little stunt you pulled up there.”

Ah, well. “Inspiration of the moment.”

“Inspiration of the…? Are you kidding me?” He groans, scraping a hand over his stubble. “What if you had gotten split in two? Or shattered into a thousand pieces? What then?”

“I ran the calculations,” Viktor informs him primly. “That didn’t seem likely.”

“Likely.” He shakes his head. “What am I going to do with you, huh?”

"Listen, may--"

“Excuse me.”

A man stands at the top of the aisle, frock coat squared at the shoulders, capped by what seems to be actual gold epaulets, toothed like actual gears. But for all the attention his coat demands, the man beneath it is rather nondescript— save for the mustache, perhaps, and the spectacles set above it.

“I hate to interrupt,” he says, not the least bit contrite. “But I was wondering if you lads might have a moment.”

Jayce blinks. “Ah, we were just heading back to the exhibition hall—”

“Of course, of course. It’s only…I saw your presentation.” The man takes a single step down, and in the light, the rune of Clan Ferros shines. “And I find myself quite…interested in the future of Hextech.”

[robynmas]

Been playing around with making a backstory for Stork, as mentioned, and I just want to get out what I have so far because writer's block from work has been killing me.

Basically started as my analysis of his trauma/paranoia. We never really learn how long he was in the wastelands, just that it's been years, and he's been alone and surviving that whole time. That alone could explain a lot of his behavior, especially his attachment to the condor. However, then I heard about this theory that the battle Lightning Strike's Storm Hawk team perished in was actually over Terra Merbia, and that started to make sense, proximity wise, to how Stork had been able to find the Condor in the first place (as I imagine he would have immediately taken shelter in the first "safe" location he could find, especially considering he was running from a war zone).

From there it blew up. I know Stork's age is inconsistent, the general range being late teens early twenties, but regardless Stork would have been a child if this timeline fit. A literal child alone in the wastelands. I started to work out ideas for his family; his parents dying in the attack on Terra Merbia, maybe one being alive, etc but I kept coming back to the idea of one of Stork's parents being a mechanic. If I were to have Stork, as a child, survive the wastelands and be capable of repairing the ship, he would have to have a familiarity with tools from somewhere. This made sense but then I thought about taking it a step further. What if one of Stork's parents was actually a member of Lightning Strike's team? Understandably, Stork's devotion to the Condor would take on a new tragic light. It could also explain why he was so ready to believe/help Aerrow and the team when they first met. He believes they're the Storm Hawks because he knew the original Storm Hawks.

So then we're wading into deeper angst. I like the idea of Stork's parent bringing him along on some missions, on him basically living on the Condor, to the point where he considered Lightning Strike and his team family. This includes the Dark Ace who, at this point in time, would also have been the closest to Stork in age range (around 12-16 during his time with the Storm Hawks) which is just too tempting to ignore.

So there you have it. What went from being a simple backstory just to get something finished has turned into Dark Ace and Stork being the brothers from hell, much to the confusion of both their teams.

[arbitrarygreay]

FF6 Remix MFS AU

Most people treat Celes and Terra to be about the same age because that's how the character designs are, but of course ideas change when one is in the throes of Talder brainrot (Background: I don't know much about FFs beyond 6, 7, pieces of 10, and 13, so any similarities outside of 6 are coincidence, particularly anything to do with FF4 and Rydia) General Alder of the Empire (don't @ me about the problematic, MFS Alder had to conquer the continent in order to cede any of it back to the indigenous in the first place), Magitek knight, whose powers are drawn from the Biddies, the group of espers imprisoned at the Magitek research facility. I mean, honestly, it makes more sense for an older woman to pass as a well-established opera star lol. Hearst is Kefka, of course. Which makes Witchfather General Leo. This points to Silver being Gestahl, but we could go with Brandt instead for funsies. Actually, for REAL good funsies Brandt could be Kefka instead. There's no good match for Wade. But yeah, so Tally is a great match for Terra here, what with the redhead and fire magic and if the Biddies are espers, then Tally being a half-esper is a good nod. With this setup, Tally also would have been raised by Silver alongside Penelope, which could be interesting. Unfortunately, this setup does lose all of the "Alder first witch to fight back" and the conscription element that defines the series, particularly Tally's dispensation that partially defines her backstory. That's why I considered a much more divergent remix where Alder is either a full esper or half-esper that negotiated the Accords with the emperor centuries ago, and then Tally volunteered to become a Magitek knight. Either way, there are some interesting twists of motivation. For example, in FF6 everyone desires and pursues magic, so there's no meaningful Camarilla faction. Kefka and Gestahl aren't driven by bigotry at all, just lust for power. Meanwhile, the Bellweathers mostly match to Figaro. At the beginning of the game, Figaro is publicly allied with the Empire. Petra's scheming here does become actually seditious, though, rather than a power play of ambition, which is a bit of an awkward match. Making Petra General Leo would be sad, though. Meanwhile, Abigail fits elements of both Edgar and Sabin. She has that sense of duty and that lusty streak like Edgar, but goes rogue and forges her own path more like Sabin. Scylla is Locke. Nicte is Banon. As I said before, the lack of the conscription element means that a lot of characters lose their defining features. For example, there's no room for anyone like Shadow in MFS. Raelle is a major case, losing that Willa backstory and her initial arc in one fell swoop. Relm lol? SETZER LOLL? Unless we embrace the remix and make Raelle Locke, but with Willa as Rachel/Phoenix. In such a setup, Scylla would probably be the pre-Shadow Clyde, with Porter as Baram. Anacostia is an even harder match. Her being General Leo would be EVEN SADDER. We could remix Cyan extra hard, where Doma was actually an Empire-allied state that Kefka sacrificed to take out Returners or something. Either way we lose out on all of her great relationships and dynamics with the unit, Scylla, and Alder, which is really sad.

[wrestler-smash-or-pass]

Weekly Wrapup 3/24/24 (late)

This Week's Rankings:

Lash Legend - 71.7% smash

Killer Kelly - 66.9%

Wade Barrett - 65.5%

Jordynne Grace - 65.3%

Rey Mysterio - 64.9%

Shayna Baszler - 62.7%

Angelico - 58.2%

Santos Escobar - 58.1%

Dominik Mysterio - 58.0%

Bollywood Boyz/Singh Brothers - 44.5%

Ryusuke Taguchi (Apollo 55) - 43.0%

Nick Wayne - 32.5%

Nia Jax - 28.7%

Nasty Boys - 7.1%

Average smash rating this week: 51.9%

More stats under the cut, along with my observations, commentary, and some of my favorite tags...

Most total votes this week (most enthusiasm)

Nick Wayne - 397 votes

Dominik Mysterio - 371

Shayna Baszler - 244

Nia Jax - 230

Santos Escobar - 227

And least total votes this week (least enthusiasm)

Ryusuke Taguchi - 149 votes

Bollywood Boyz/Singh Brothers - 164

Lash Legend - 173

Killer Kelly - 181

Jordynne Grace - 193

The closest poll was Bollywood Boyz/Singh Brothers, who lost 73-91.

Bottom Ten Overall

Vince McMahon - 3.9% smash

Ric Flair - 4.6% smash

Nasty Boys - 7.1% smash

Kane (Corporate variant) - 10.1% smash

Miracle Violence Connection - 11.8% smash

Gene Munny - 12.4% smash

Spike Trivet - 12.% smash

Kevin Sullivan - 13.1% smash

Triple H (Terra Ryzing variant) - 18.6% smash

Eric Bischoff (NWO) - 20.0% smash

Bottom Women Overall

Nia Jax - 28.7% smash

Eve Torres - 47.1% smash

Carmella - 47.8% smash

Nikkita Lyons - 48.2% smash

Julia Hart (Cheerleader Variant) - 49.8% smash

With an average smash rate of 51.0%, this is the lowest-scoring week yet. The overall average smash rate currently sits at 58.9%, and the previous low score was allllllll the way back in Week 1, at 52.6% average smash rate.

We also got two changes to the overall rankings: Nasty Boys made it to No. 3 on the Bottom Ten Overall list, and Nia Jax was voted the least smashable woman so far. There are still 31 men considered less smashable than her, but it's a major accomplishment to be the first woman to score significantly under 50%.

In happier news, someone finally requested one of my personal blorbos: Angelico. It has been agonizing waiting for him to be requested, so thank you to whoever sent him in. Now to see how long it takes for someone to request my other blorbo...

Rey Mysterio is more smashable than his son Dominik, 64.9% to 58.0%. Dom got 149 more votes, though.

Ryusuke Taguchi is more smashable as a member of Apollo 55 than he is on his own, but not smashable enough to get over the 50% mark (43.0% vs 28.4%).

Nick Wayne got the most votes this week, at 397. A lot of the tags said something along the lines of "he's too young right now, but let's check back in a few years." So, if this blog is still around in 5 years, I will make sure to run a new Nick Wayne poll.

And now for some of my favorite tags and comment

@dm-me-your-weltanschauung on Nasty Boys: #if you told me that this photo was from a campaign encouraging people to get tested for STIs I would believe you#or one of those “talk to your kids about sex before THEY do” things

@booboo-eyedbambi on Dominik Mysterio: #he gives me cute aggression in a way that makes me wanna squeeze him dry like an orange or burn the world down if he says he's chilly

@romanthereigns on Jordynne Grace: #I would let that woman throw me

@discow1tch on Nick Wayne: #he would 100% have been my type when I was a teenager but unfortunately I'm old now and would rather fuck his evil step dad

@supernaturalkickparty on Nick Wayne: #if anything take him to ihop gamestop and build a bear#think i saw a turtleneck shirt this past winter#he can make a christian cage bear

[mysimsloveaffair]

Here's the newest updated version of the Banks Dynasty family tree (larger view here)**!

New additions/changes to the family tree include:

Cousins Brianna and Terra have both welcomed new additions to the family (I posted about that here)

We've lost Wade's uncle Jalin (Jalin's in memorial post)

Drake's new love interest (Mariana) has been added to the family tree.

Mason and Zoe are now married (I'm editing these posts. They will be queued starting tomorrow.)

The last family tree can be seen here.

**The link takes you to Google Drive. Please let me know if there are any issues.