#welp name debate took less time this time at least

[bluepunkmon]

solarpillar replied to your post: oh forgot to mention! i managed to get devil...

I really want to tell you that Dumuziamaushumgalana is a good name considering shepherd but it is impossible that a modern Japanese couple would name their child like that, but as nickname maybe…

that sounds really good, is there a shorter version of it i can use? maybe i can just hc that their parents were just weird with names, and yeah theres always the nickname

[delicatelyherdreams]

Pragma(tic) 6: He Never Listens

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 5244

Warnings: Language

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 5: She Deals With a Pest

“Where’s your head been lately, Buck?”

“Hmm? I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean,” Steve said turning his torso to face his best friend, “you’ve been distracted these past few weeks, and I want to know why.”

Bucky only shrugged, his eyes glazing over as he stared down at the mortal city before them. “I dunno, man. I guess I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?” Steve was persistent, prodding, desperate to know what was troubling him. “Come on, man, you can tell me anything.”

This was true, but Bucky wasn’t sure he could tell him this: that he was still sneaking into the Underworld when their backs were turned or when he had a spare moment. He wasn’t sure that he could tell Steve that he was enchanted by the only goddess he was forbidden to talk with.

It’d been about two months since his and Hades’ first meeting, and he’d been down there a total of four times since. The first time, she caught him at the border and sent him back after a scolding. The second, he made it to beautiful Elysium, spooked a couple spirits, and had the time of his life before she dragged him out, less annoyed and more amused than the first. But these last two times, even though she told him that he wasn’t allowed to be down there and sent him back, she talked to him like he was an acquaintance. She answered his questions (“Where do you live?” “On the mountain.” “Is it lonely?” “Sometimes, but that’s why I have a dog and friends.” “Am I your friend?” “No.” “Are we ever going to be friends?” “I cannot say.”) and even gave him a smile. That was a personal accomplishment for him.

He felt like he was getting to her, breaking down the walls little by little. Gods, he knew he still had a long way to go, but he couldn’t help but feel proud that he’d gotten as far as he did. The last time he was down there, she didn’t even kick him out that harshly; she just walked him out as if walking guests out from a party and actually said “Goodbye, James” when she left. If that wasn’t progress, Bucky didn’t know what was.

Bucky pursed his lips, debating on how to tell his friend what was going on without really telling him what was going on. “I guess it’s just…” He trailed off, his brain running with ideas and words, none of which were good enough to conceal the truth.

“Yes? It’s just what?”

He nodded his head to the side, before finally saying, “There’s this girl, and I can’t get her out of my head. She’s so different from other people I’ve met before, and it’s wonderful. But I’m not sure how I feel about her or how she feels about me, y’know?” He sighed and lifted his head up to the sky to stare at the clouds. If he focused hard enough, he could almost make out her face in the patterns, as insane as it was. 

“I mean, kinda?” Steve shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve never really had that before. What’s her name?”

“Hade— Harriet.”

Steve snorted, his chest jolting with the sudden movement. “Hade-Harriet? What kind of name is that.”

Bucky could feel the color rising up his neck as it tried to creep on his cheeks. He turned his head away. “Her name is Harriet.” *Harriet.* Really? Was that the best he could come up with? Welp, it was going to have to work for now. “She’s really cool, but she’s also stubborn and strict. She’s really insistent on boundaries.”

“Uh-huh, and where did you meet her?”

*Dammit, Steve. Stop asking questions.*

“I—uh—I met her in the Mortal World. You and Sam were napping and I wanted to go shopping, so I went down to the mainland to see what stores there were. And we just kinda ran into each other, you know.”

Bucky was impressed with how easily he had fabricated the story, he just hoped that Steve bought it.

Steve didn’t, but he didn’t get a chance to call Bucky on his bullshit.

The wind picked up, swirling all around the two men. The grass spun around them, blowing violently, bringing the smell of plants along with it. The wind funneled, creating a narrow tube. The wind grew hazy, thick with grain and greens, as it moved to a spot in front of them.

Steve straightened up, his shoulders rolling back to appear more formal.

Bucky did the same, for he knew what this wind meant: the arrival of his mother.

When the wind cleared, a woman with dark hair to match Bucky’s and startling green eyes stood before them. She was dressed in a deep green suit, gold ornaments woven into her hair. She beamed down at the two, her eyes sparkling when she laid eyes on her son. “Hello, James,” she greeted, her voice as strong as her finest plants and her smile as warm as the sun that fed them.

“Mother!” Bucky rose to his full height, a good five inches taller than his mother, and took fast strides over to her to engulf her in a hug.

“Oh, my baby boy,” she said as she hugged him tightly. “It’s been too long! How are things? How are you doing? Staying out of trouble I assume?” 

“Oh yes, Mrs. B,” Steve chimed. “Sam and I have been doing a good job at keeping James here straight.”

She smiled. “Good. Speaking of which, where is Sam?”

“Oh, he’s down in the city grabbing us some cheeseburgers. He lost rock paper scissors and got sacrificed to go on the food run.”

At this, Winnifred frowned. “You know I don’t like you boys going down there. Why don’t you go up to Olympus for lunch instead? There’s this cafe that makes the best ambrosia ever! You simply must try it.”

Bucky gave her a polite smile. “Alright, Mother. We’ll go there next time for lunch.” He cleared his throat, starting to change the subject. “So, why have you come?”

“Oh, you know. I had a bit of a break at the office and decided to come visit my son, make sure he’s doing well and— Wait, what’s that smell?”

*Fuck.*

“Wh-What smell?” Bucky asked, trying so hard to keep his voice steady and even. He knew damn well what smell, but he wasn’t going to point that out.

His mother scrunched her nose in disgust. “It smells like death. What the—” She turned her eyes towards Bucky, seemingly fixating on him and glowering.

Bucky felt the color drain from his cheeks. He was done for. She knew. She knew it was him and—

“What the hell is happening here?” She marched towards him, passing him with an air of agitation. She stopped at a tree several yards behind the boys and stared at it with a glare. “James, this tree is dying, and you didn’t save it?” She reached out and pressed her palm flat against its trunk. Instantly the dark bark began to lighten with life as she rejuvenated it. “Honestly, James. You’re supposed to be a god of spring. The least you can do is keep alive what little area I gave you.” She shot a teasing smile at him over her shoulder.

Bucky almost laughed with relief, but instead, he adopted a more serious demeanor. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’ll do better next time.”

“You’d better if you want to become an even better god!” She pulled away from the tree before walking back to the boys. “Well, I’m sorry to have to leave so soon, but I only came for a short visit. Work is busy as ever in the spring and I need to keep tabs on all the harvests.” She smiled at Steve. “You tell Sam ‘hello’ for me and keep an eye on my boy, you hear?”

Steve nodded politely. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll keep him out of trouble.”

“Good. Then…” She turned to Bucky and held her arms out. “Give your mother one last hug.”

Bucky chuckled but complied. “Mother, you don’t have to treat me like a kid anymore. I’m more than a thousand years old.”

“I know, but you’ll always be my baby boy.” She kissed his cheek before pulling away from him. “I’ll see you soon, my child. Until the next time.” And just like that, she was gone; vanished into a cloud of grain and wheat.

As soon as she was gone, Bucky let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. He was always tense around his mother, even more so now that he had something to hide. He just hoped that she would never find out his dirty little secret.

———

It was another few days before Bucky was able to sneak away from Steve and Sam again. It was in the dead of the night, when they were sleeping, that Bucky crept away, staying as silent as possible. He walked away from the clearing that the boys had chosen to sleep in, and summoned a pair of dark jeans and a blue shirt to clothe him. The garments materialized on his body as they did for every god, taking the place of his pajamas. Using the cover of night, he slipped away.

A perk of being a god, even a minor, fledgling one like him, was the teleportation. With a destination on his mind, Bucky could travel anywhere on Heaven and Earth that he wanted. And it was through this, that Bucky appeared on Cape Matapan, a small landmass at the end of Greece’s Mani Peninsula. The mortals had said that the elaborate network of caves there concealed an entrance to Hades. They were right, although it was a difficult journey. But Bucky had been using these caves to get into the Underworld ever since Hades sealed off the Dikteon Cave and tightened security at the Acheron. She wasn’t quite aware of this entrance yet and Bucky wanted to keep it like that. After all, he was starting to run out of ways to sneak in under her nose.

Bucky took a couple of steps into the cave before pausing and leaning down. A flashlight was nestled against the wall of the cave, right where he’d left it the last time. His fingers wrapped around the metal cylinder of the flashlight and he flicked it on. The beam pierced the darkness of the cave, illuminating the tunnels ahead, and he began the short journey down.

Slopes and declines in the path took him deeper and deeper into the earth; and as he descended, he could feel the life seeping out of the air—a telltale sign that he was nearing his destination.

He walked for twenty or so minutes before he hit the end of the tunnel network. The cavern opened up slightly, still darkened with a black that swallowed up any and all light around. 

Bucky grinned. He’d made it down, and now all he had to do was take a step in. He flicked off the flashlight, plunging the cave into darkness and set it down on the ground before walking right into the mass of black before him. It was cold as always, stealing any sign of warmth and life from his bones, and it made him shudder, but he pushed on. Eventually he was tossed out onto the other side, right at the edge of a flower meadow. The cave behind him sealed, taking on the facade of being a simple wall, but Bucky knew what it was. He stumbled a bit as he emerged, but he caught his footing pretty quickly. He wasn’t going to fall like he had the first time, not when there were so many spirits around to bear witness to it.

He straightened up and looked over the area.

Shades milled about the field—the Asphodel Meadows, he thought it was called—all minding their own business as they floated aimlessly. Very few paid him any attention, but that didn’t bother him. The less attention he drew, the better. Beyond the Meadows, he saw the gates of Elysium rising high and the mountain right next to it. The black mansion at its peak was daunting as ever, and yet that was his destination. Bucky wondered how close he’d make it this time before Hades found him and sent him home.

Determined to at least make it to the base of her mountain, Bucky started walking. The shades around him parted, making a narrow path in his wake and allowing him easier means to reach his destination. Of course, he could’ve just walked through them, but that would’ve been rude and his mother had raised him to be a gentleman.

The mountain grew larger as he neared, towering over him and becoming more and more intimidating with every step. He could begin to make out the details of Hades’ mansion now and even see figures moving behind the frosted glass of the windows. She was home, and she had company. 

He hesitated. If Hades had guests over, as surprising as that would be, maybe he shouldn’t impose. He could always come back another time or—

“Back again, I see.”

He squeaked and whirled around, lifting his hands to defend himself in case of an attack. But none ever came.

Instead, Hades just crossed her arms and smirked, her red-coated lips quirked up with amusement. “Did I startle you, little prince?”

Bucky scoffed, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “No. You just caught me off guard.”

“So I startled you?”

“Well… Maybe.” He shook his head and looked her over.

The other times he’d weaseled his way in and she’d come to greet him, she’d always looked professional, prim, and proper. She would always be adorned with a black business blazer, pressed pants, and an elegant pair of flats. Her eyes would always be shrouded with a smokey eye and her lips would always glow as red as her eyes. Her hair would always be styled, not a single hair out of place. But this time there was no makeup on her face that was apparent to him, strands of loose hair flew every-which-way in a fashion that was unruly but still attractive, and she was dressed in a more casual attire of black jeans that hugged her legs, a plain grey shirt that hung loosely from her shoulders, and black sneakers. 

If Bucky had an opinion, he would’ve said that she looked as attractive as ever, but he didn’t have an opinion. He lifted his chin with a smile. “How did you get down here so fast?”

“I sensed you coming. Using the shadows, I came to your side.” She gestured down to the shadows of the flowers that fell on the ground. She was standing in one like she’d just risen from it. 

“But I just saw you and someone else in the window and I thought that you had company.”

“Oh, I do,” she said with a nonchalant shrug. “But it’s just Peggy. She was on her way out anyway; she has her own paperwork to get to.”

“Peggy? Goddess of magic, crossroads, ghosts—”

“And other things,” Hades confirmed. “The mortals call her Hecate, but her name is Peggy.” Hades turned her head away from him and looked up at the mansion on the mountain. “She’s up there with my dog. I sometimes think that she likes him more than she likes me.” She chuckled.

“I didn’t know you had a dog.” Bucky smiled softly at her, keeping his head down so he could see her easier and she could see his face.

She scrunched her nose. “Really? You seriously did not know that I have a dog? Cerberus is in nearly every myth about me, and he helps guard the entrance to the Underworld to make sure the souls don’t get out.”

Bucky had no idea. He never read the myths, he only knew some names of the other gods. With a sheepish laugh, he rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his weight from side to side. “N-No I didn’t. I—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence because, at that moment, Hades brought two fingers up to her mouth and whistled. The sound rang loud and clear through the still air and a crash followed it almost immediately.

Rapid movement from the mansion atop the mountain drew his eye, and he saw a black mass bounding down the path of the mountain. It was moving at a speed that shouldn’t have been possible for a normal dog, drawing dangerously close with every second. Bucky was tempted to run away—he’d never seen anything like this before—but Hades, with her calm demeanor as she watched the figure approaching with only an amused smile betraying her emotion, coaxed him to stay. He stood his ground, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the black mass.

As it neared, its details became clear. He saw the animal’s shaggy black fur shining in the dim light of the Underworld and its glowing red eyes staring at him and Hades. Its tongue was hanging out of its mouth, its lips spread wide as if it was grinning. When it came within three yards of the pair, it let out a loud yelp before leaping into the air right at Hades. Bucky was certain it was going to knock her down, but she opened her arms and caught him as easily as if it were a child.

She laughed, the sound music to Bucky’s ears, as the wolf-like creature attacked her face with its tongue. “Cerberus!” she cried, her voice as light and airy as Bucky had ever heard it. “Get down! I’ve taught you better than this.”

It was then that Bucky realized that this was her dog. His lips split back into a smile. “Well isn’t he a handsome thing.”

“You think this is great, you should see him at his full height.” She grinned down at her dog, cupping his face in her hands. “He’s huge, and all three of his heads come out. It’s sad though, I only have two hands and I can’t pet them all.”

Bucky snorted, but said nothing, opting to observe instead. He was fascinated with the scene in front of him. He’d never seen Hades so relaxed; she was always ushering him out as fast as she could, and it was amazing for him to see her like this. It made his heart race in his chest and his smile widen to an uncomfortable size. It made his head light and his stomach flip. It made him happy.

Hades pulled away from Cerberus and turned to look at Bucky. “I figured you two ought to be acquainted since he’ll be helping me kick you out from now on, or doing it himself if I’m too busy to deal with you.” She glanced at him through her eyelashes.

Bucky feigned being hurt and clutched his chest with his hand. “I’m not even going to have the pleasure of being escorted out by the Queen of the Underworld?”

“Not when she’s too busy dealing with queenly things to take care of your ass.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Now, come on. You know the drill.” She jerked her head in the direction of the Acheron. 

Bucky groaned. “Oh, come on! I just got here!”

“And now you’re just leaving.” She rubbed Cerberus’ head one more time before reaching forward and grabbing Bucky’s wrist. “I’ve got shit to deal with right now. Filing away souls, welcoming new Elysium residents, going over appeals for Elysium admittance; my job is never done.”

Bucky walked with her, staring at the hair on the back of her head and tracing the patterns of the strands. “Yeah? What else do you do?”

She shrugged, but answered, “A variety of things: manage the other gods down here, maintain border security, deal with difficult souls that want to cause disturbances, walk my dog, sometimes go around Elysium and mark up renovations that need to happen. You name it, I probably deal with it in one way or another. That’s what happens when you rule a realm.”

Bucky nodded, his eyes glinting with interest. “It seems like you really care about people down here.”

“Oh, I do,” Hades agreed. “They’re my subjects, mine to protect and guard. I love them like my family.” She smiled fondly, her lips twitching up as her eyes crinkled at the corners. “There’s a bunch of good people down here, but there are also some bad…” Her smile dissolved and her eyes flickered towards the far wall of the Underworld where the Phlegethon flowed. “But that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is how you’ve managed to keep sneaking down here. Would you care to clue me in?”

He smirked. “You know, I would but then you’d just go and block it off and I’d never be able to return.”

“You’re damn right. You’re causing major security concerns whenever you get in without me knowing until you’re already down here.” She was deadly serious now, and Bucky could feel it radiating off her in waves. “If you can get in, then that means other things can too. And I don’t know if you’ve been made aware or not, but we’ve got some big-shot prisoners down here that enemies of the gods would just love to set free. If they were to find out that the Underworld has a security breach, then who knows what kind of chaos they could unleash.” She glanced at him, just barely turning her head in his direction. “I need to know, James. How are you getting in?”

Bucky nibbled at his lip and turned his head up. He was thinking. 

On one hand, he could see where Hades was coming from, and logically he knew he should tell her where his entrance was, but on the other he was afraid she was going to seal him out forever. He’d grown attached to the Underworld, finding it interesting, unique, and beautiful. He wanted to know more about it, explore it, and see what made Hades love it so. He wasn’t ready to give it up, but he knew he had to share. 

Bucky crossed his arms and pressed his lips together, reluctance rolling off him in waves, before admitting, “Cape Matapan. The myths said that if you go down deep enough into the caves, then you’ll reach the Underworld and, well, they’re right. I’ve used them the past couple of times.”

And at that, she smiled at him. Not one of the half-smiles she’d been giving him, but a full-blown smile that lit up her entire face. 

It made Bucky’s heart flutter with exhilaration, and he couldn’t help but think that he should do things to make her smile more. She was breathtaking; drop-dead gorgeous.

She continued to smile at him as she said, “Thank you, James. I really appreciate your honesty.”

He smiled back and nodded. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry I’ve been a pain in the ass, but there’s just something about being down here that I can’t quite put my finger on.”

She chuckled. “I know the feeling. It’s very peaceful and calm down here. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

From there, they started walking in silence, drawing nearer and nearer towards the Acheron. At some point in time, they began to walk next to the Cocytus, the river that fed into the Acheron. The water wailed beside them, the pitiful cries of souls long past that had become trapped in the water’s rush filling the air. The sounds made shivers run down Bucky’s spine.

But it wasn’t just the noise that made Bucky uneasy, although Hades seemed unaffected, it was the figure standing about a dozen yards away from him and Hades.

The man lurking along the river bank was obviously a naiad. He sported the same blue tint to his skin that all water nymphs did, the water beside him only highlighting the features. His dark hair was coiffed and his jawline was marked with a short stubble that came from not shaving in a few days. His heavyset, brown eyes cut through the air as they stared at him and Hades, filling the air with suffocating intensity. His arms were crossed as his eyes trailed Hades. He watched her, studied her, with his unrelenting and almost predatory gaze. 

Bucky wasn’t sure why, but looking at that man watch Hades like she was his made Bucky’s blood boil. For the first time in his life, Bucky wanted to pick a fight with a man—this man. He sneered. “Who’s that?”

“Hmm?” Hades tore her gaze away from the road ahead and followed his line of sight towards the man on the river bank. She stiffened, her lips forming a hard line as she stared at him. “No one,” she murmured, but Bucky wasn’t entirely certain that was the truth.

He could feel his body gravitating towards hers protectively, his shoulders rolling back and his chest puffing out to make him seem more like a threat. He did all in his power to radiate “back off’ vibes, but he wasn’t sure how successful he actually was.

Successful or not, the naiad stayed away, opting to simply watch them as they passed.

They followed the river the rest of the way until it fed into the Acheron before stopping. 

Hades stood at the river’s edge, the water just barely missing her toes where they sat. She looked up at Bucky. “Well, I guess this is your stop.”

Bucky didn’t want it to be, but he said, “Yeah, I guess it is.” He looked down with a frown.

As if sensing his dismay, Hades sighed and dug into her pocket. “I cannot believe I am doing this,” she muttered, pulling out a small leather pouch. Bucky watched her with curiosity as she fiddled with the straps and held it out to him. “Here.”

Bucky took the pouch and pulled it open. Inside there lay about two dozen brown seeds, none of which Bucky recognized. His brows furrowed. “What are these?”

“They’re Asphodel seeds,” she answered, shifting her weight. “They’re what I use to get to the Underworld. You plant one, and a hole will open up for about thirty seconds. Jump in, and you’ll pop out here with only a flower in your stead. You’ll be deposited back into the Asphodel Meadows, but you’ll still be down here.”

Bucky stared at her, dumbfounded. “Wait, you mean you’re just giving me a key to the Underworld?”

“Yes I am, but don’t make me change my mind.” She rolled her eyes. “This is simply because I don’t want you hurting yourself trying to find a way in. And just because I gave you a way in doesn’t mean you can come down every day. You only have so many seeds and each is good for a one-time-one-way trip. There are no do-overs nor repeats, you hear?”

“I hear.” He smiled softly down at her. “Thank you, Hades.”

“(y/n).”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“My name. It’s (y/n). You keep calling me ‘Hades.’ No doubt you got that from the myths too, but that’s just the name the mortals gave me. (y/n) is my true name.” She shuffled her feet anxiously, but Bucky couldn’t have been happier.

He didn’t know why, and perhaps she didn’t either, but she was opening up to him. It made him happy, and he figured that if she was willing to share something, he should too. “Then my name is Bucky. Only my mother calls me ‘James.’ To everyone else I’m Bucky.”

Her nose crinkled. “Bucky? Where the Hades did they get that from?”

“My middle name: Buchanan. I know it’s a little weird, but it’s the most familiar name to me. James just feels so formal and uptight; I’d much rather be Bucky.”

“Bucky,” she repeated, testing out the syllables on her tongue. “Alright, Bucky it is.” She straightened up and smiled at him, holding out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Bucky. My name is (y/n), goddess of the dead and Queen of the Underworld.”

Bucky took her hand, a matching smile adorning his face. Her hand was cold as death, but he didn’t care. The warm feeling the contact brought to his chest was worth it. “It’s my pleasure, (y/n). I’m Bucky, god of spring. I hope we can get along and be friends.”

“Yes… Friends… I think I could get used to that.” She nodded and squeezed his hand. “Then, until next time.”

“Until then.” Letting go of her hand, he pulled away and mounted the ferry that had come to take him home. His eyes never once left her, not even when the boat pushed off and into the river. He only lost sight of her when he crossed over into the Mortal World and a wall of mist and fog separated them. He sighed as she vanished, turning to the ferryman—Phil Coulson, he thought was his name.

Phil looked down at him sympathetically. “You’re never going to stop coming down, are you?”

“No, I don’t think I am.” Bucky smiled softly up at him. “I guess you’ll be seeing me a bit more often now.”

“Oh joy. Yet another god I have to deal with.” Phil rolled his eyes. “I just hope you’re less of a pain in my ass than the others.”

Bucky chuckled. “I will do my best to be better than them.”

“Then we’ll get along just fine.” Phil smiled as they came to the mortal side of the Acheron and stopped at the bank. It was dawn now, the sun was just barely rising above the horizon.

Bucky frowned in confusion. “Morning already? It was night when I left and I know I wasn’t down there for that long. How is already morning?”

“Time seems to flow faster works in the Underworld,” Phil said as he tied the ferry to the land. “They say that death feels like nothing.” He pulled the ferry to a stop in the Mortal World and turned to Bucky. “You take care of yourself, godling.”

“You too, Phil.” Bucky stepped off the ferry and appeared again just outside the field where Steve and Sam should’ve been sleeping. He had to be quiet. This early in the morning, his friends were easily aroused and he didn’t want them to know he’d left.

Bucky had teleported right behind a tree where he had a full view of the field. Steve and Sam should’ve been sleeping in the middle of the meadow, but there was one body missing. Bucky frowned and crouched down. Where was Steve? Did he get up early? Oh shit, did he notice that Bucky was missing? Bucky held his breath as his eyes scanned the field, searching for his friend desperately. 

“Looking for somebody?”

Bucky nearly screamed. He turned around, probably white with fear.

Steve had his hands on his hips and was glowering down at his best friend, his eyes intense and slightly pissed. “Where were you?”

“I… Uh…” Bucky had to lie, and lie now. “I went down the mountain to the village.” 

“No, you didn’t. I checked there. I checked the whole island.” Steve’s glare only intensified. “Now, where were you?”

Next 7: Her Thoughts Conflict

[sol1056]

hey! i noticed that you’ve written a lot about how voltron fails as a mecha series, and it got me curious about what a GOOD mecha series looks like. do you have any recs for someone whose only experience with the genre, quite literally, is voltron?

note: that is NOT where I wanted the cut. who knows what the devs are doing over there at tumblr hq.

-----

Welp, there’s more than one kind of mecha. There’s super robots -- where (in general) the robots are ultra-powered and relatively indestructible. Then there’s real robots, which will break down and/or run out of ammunition at the most dramatically critical moments. And then there’s a category that at best might be nearly-sentient robots, which have minds and motivations of their own -- but I wouldn’t say that’s a true category (in terms of the genre) so much as a distinction I've noted.

I’ve never been big into the super robot series (with a few exceptions), and I mostly find the combining robot genre to be frustrating. Former mechanic and engineer who currently works with AI, so a lot of the hand-wavey aspects are frustrating for me, especially in super robots where things mysteriously repair themselves and there’s never a struggle to upgrade/repair. (And don’t even get me started on the idea of controlling a bipedal reactive machine with only two foot pedals and a damn joystick.)

Which is all to say, I suppose I should recommend that you watch the classics, except I’m not really sure what they are because I’ve forgotten most of them. And frankly a lot of them are really shoddy animation by today’s standards, and life is too short to waste time on that. I’ll need to refer you along to other mecha fans to add their recommendations, instead.

Well, I can at least recommend Gundam and Macross, but that’s kind of like saying I recommend Doc Martens and Aididas -- that barely narrows it down, since there’s so many options within each brand. Everyone’s got their favorites in each, as do I, but any mecha series that’s stayed with me is one that found a way to either twist the core trope, or explored implications that other series glossed over.

Note: I’ve never seen any version of Eva, and never felt the urge to, either. Sorry. Ask someone else for input on that. Plus there’s also ones I’ll leave off here ‘cause they’re veering over into AI/robots/tech and less what would usually be called mecha, but they’re still worthwhile: Battle Fairy Yukikaze, Ghost in the Shell: Standalone Complex, Broken Blade, Last Exile, and Voices of a Distant Star all come to mind.

Gundam

For me, I adore the technical geeky touches in Gundam F91, but the story is total spaghetti, so you might want to skip that until you’re more familiar with the gundam tropes. (It was meant to be a series, iirc, got shut down, and they took the pieces and made a movie from it, so it’s... kind of compressed, to put it mildly). 

Gundam Wing and Gundam 00 are considerably less geeky on the technical (though they do satisfy the mechanic itch, with a bit more real robot, at least on the technicalities). I like the international core cast, and the way each series explores geopolitical dynamics. (That said, skip the second season of Gundam 00. It just goes totally off the rails into some really wild and wacky directions.)

A long-running concept like Gundam is recognizable across the series thanks to core concepts, and in Gundam’s case it’s the conflicts between imperialism and colonialism, war versus justified rebellion, and pacifism versus a first-strike as self-defense. What I liked with Wing and 00, in particular, was its central pilots felt more tied to (and aware of) the political ramifications of their actions.

I did watch about half of Iron-Blooded Orphans, which struck out in a new direction by having Mars as the colony instead of the lagrange points, but didn’t bother finishing. From what I hear, watch it with a box of tissues, as it’s a return to the classic kill-em-all perspective of the original Gundam series.

Macross

I’m sure someone else will tell you to watch the original Macross (the american version being Robotech, albeit highly edited). I know lots of people adore the first Macross series, but it’s just too late-80s for me. (The hair, my god, the hair.)

Personally, I prefer Macross Frontier -- the amination is much improved, though the fact is I also adore the voices of Yuuichi Nakamura and Aya Endō. Macross has some politics, but it’s mostly internal -- that is, the opponents aren’t human, so whatever debate there is about who’s right or wrong is mostly one-sided, since we only ever see humans doing the talking.

I tried to watch Macross Delta but it just didn’t do it for me -- and therein lies some of the issues (for me) with both Gundam and Macross. Because both have some core elements that they tackle in every series, it can start to feel a bit repetitive.

For Macross it’s always music, Valkyries (the mecha type for Macross), and a love triangle -- which sometimes isn’t even resolved. (I’ve read all kinds of debates about whether Alto ends up with Sheryl or with Ranka, but the series leaves it open.)

A good writer can explore these themes over and over, but between the two, I personally think Gundam has done a bit better of pivoting to take a new angle with each series. But at the same time, Gundam is pretty consistent about not building on a previous series -- with a few notable exceptions, most of its series are alternate-universe stories to each other. In Macross, they’re all continuations of the previous -- so if you’re not into its setup about aliens and weird diseases and whatnot, you’re only going to get more of the same in the next series.

Everything else

So here’s the series I like, but I’m not sure all of these would be counted as ‘true’ mecha by other fans (a debate I mostly ignore, so I’ll leave it to others to argue about that).

Escaflowne -- one of the rare breed of fantasy-styled mecha (Broken Blade being another one that comes to mind). The animation is strongly 80s, but the voice acting is superb, the story (originally meant to be longer, then budget cuts forced a much longer story to squeeze into half the episodes it really deserved).

[It’s also a series I’d call a harbinger, similar to tripping over little-known movies from twenty years ago and realizing every single actor including walk-on parts went on to be massive names. Escaflowne’s got that, but that also extends to its animation team, its director, its composer, on and on. All of them went onto work on some of the greatest hits of anime. That makes Escaflowne immensely (if quietly and somewhat subtly) influential, both for the genre and animation overall.]

Eureka Seven -- another not-on-Earth story. At first the mecha movement -- almost like surfing in the sky -- was odd, but they took some interesting physics concepts and made them not just worldbuilding, but integral parts of the story. Okay, I’m not keen on how the female lead gets successively down-graded as the hero ramps up, but there are some emotional implications of Massive Destructive Machines where Eureka Seven lingers that a lot of other series gloss over.

Fafner in the Azure -- another aliens-against-humans, but first off, I’m gonna say it: you either love Hisashi Hirai‘s character designs or you want to torch them with total prejudice. If you can get past that, Fafner is brutal to its characters well beyond most other series, excepting the earliest Gundams. Although (of course) the pilots are all kids, there are in-story reasons, and there are still adults running the show. And there are consequences, small and large.

Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion -- because what would life be if we didn’t have at least one mecha series with character designs from CLAMP. (Which, admittedly, I loathe, but somehow it worked here.) Can’t speak for the second season, but the first season played up something a lot of mecha bypass for just plain banging on each other, which is strategy. It caught me at the time, at least.

Full Metal Panic -- watch this after watching Gundam Wing and/or Gundam 00, to get the tropes they’re playing on with Sousuke Sagara (the ostensible protagonist who just cannot seem to relate to real human beings). I saw one description of him as “about as well-adjusted as a feral child” and that kinda fits. It’s more real robots, and of course parts require some hardcore suspension of disbelief (the commanding officer who looks 14, sounds like she’s 12, and has boobs that never occur in nature on a frame that teeny). But all told, a lot of fun and plenty of explosions.

RahXephon -- this is another oddball one, because the mecha aren’t mecha, they’re golems (as in, creatures made from clay). For all that, there’s a lot of significant mecha influence and tropes at work. It’s held up pretty well, animation-wise, considering its age (from 2002). and while it’s the same ‘strange aliens attack earth’ plotline, it spins all that off in a completely different direction.

Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann (aka Gurren Lagann) -- don’t watch this one until you’ve seen plenty of others, though, because it’s a fondly affectionate send-up of nearly every possible trope from combining to super to real robots. Cranked up to eleven.

Knights of Sidonia -- of all the ones on this list, KoS is possibly my most favorite. It was an early all-CGI series, and a lot of people were turned off by that, but once you get used to it, the story can carry you along. Like Macross Frontier, it takes place in deep space, where a colony of humans fight for survival with an incomprehensible (and nearly unstoppable) alien foe. But KoS is true science fiction, with a lot of solid science driving its dramatic points. Also--unlike most of the others series--although the characters are technically human, they’ve also evolved as a result of their time in space. For one, they have three genders, for another, they don’t eat; they photosynthesize.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Bedside Stories ch.3 (baon)

Summary: Edge is finally home, ready for a week of relaxation and healing! Yeah, about that...

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, 

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it here!

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So, thing was, Stretch loved Edge. Like, really loved him. It was hard to believe a few years ago if he’d stumbled across Edge drowning in a lake, he probably would have offered him a nice glass of ice water. To be honest, Stretch didn’t even like to think about those days because it had a lot less to do with Edge and a hell of a lot more to do with him being a raging dick, but eh, it happened, they’d worked through the hedge maze of their issues, and the prize at the center was finding the love of his life.

A few bumps in the road didn’t change that, a little stupidity shared on both sides. He loved Edge, Edge loved him and that was a fact.

So it was kinda nostalgic, in a way, how much Stretch wanted to murder him.

Okay, not really, but he might’ve considered a little light maiming, if Edge already being maimed wasn’t the main issue at hand.

Literally zero people ever would be surprised that Captain Control Issues was a very shitty patient. Stretch liked to think that he personally raised annoying doctors until they cut him loose to a new artform, destined for museums and private galleries alike. But Edge, ah, he didn’t argue with doctors or nurses or brothers or husbands or whoever took the time to wander into his life to give some much needed medical advice, no sir.

What he did was politely allow them to state their piece and then completely ignore it and do whatever he decided was the best course of action instead, and if that ended up with him passed out on the bathroom floor that one time after a nasty bout of Monster flu, welp, next time he’d probably just try harder not to get caught.

The irony of him demanding to be able to take care of, oh, everyone and not allowing anyone to give back the favor was bitterly delicious.

Getting Edge to promise to behave was a pretty good first move, but that had problems of its own. To begin with, Edge tended not to give promises the weight that Stretch thought they deserved, and he didn’t much feel guilty if he decided it was in everyone’s best interest to break it.

Two, even if he was keeping to the letter of the promise that did not mean he couldn’t be an asshole about it.

Stretch could admit he’d probably been setting himself up for a fail by asking Blue to give them a ride home from the hospital. His reasoning for doing it made sense at the time; Blue was feeling a little left out by his big bro, so while Andy could’ve done it and would’ve probably rejoiced to be asked, Blue had been freaking ecstatic.

Problem was, there was only so much ecstasy to go around and Blue took up all the best shares.

The drive home was like getting served up a nice, rare slice of hell, with Blue chattering nonstop about how Edge needed to follow the doc’s directions and that he needed to listen to Papy, and that he’d be happy to come over and help out with chores and he could clean the kitchen, do laundry, whatever they needed, they only had to ask and Blue would be there in a flash, starry-eyed and ready to work!

Edge’s noncommittal grunts morphed into strained silence, then to something very nearly a subsonic growl of restrained murder, especially when Blue mentioned touching the kitchen. Stretch could only desperately go for the diversions, not an easy task when he was origamied into the tiny backseat, prying his knee out of his mouth long enough to change topics.

He’d felt like a batter at a baseball game filled with maniacal clowns that’d tied one hand behind his back so he was stuck desperately swinging at any ball that got hurled in his direction on the off chance he’d get the miracle of a home run.

The straw that finally broke his wounded camel’s back was Blue innocently asked if Edge had scheduled his mental health assessment yet, and that was interesting for two reasons; one, that he obviously hadn’t and two, that Stretch didn’t know about it, which was a little bit of bullshit. There was already one person in this relationship who liked to lie by omission, they didn’t need two.

“you need to get an assessment?” Stretch asked, cautiously, because he could read a room, thanks, “for what?”

After a long moment of deafening silence, Edge said, “Everyone involved in the incident is required before they return to work, and, no, I haven’t scheduled it yet.”

Stretch got the nuance in that right quick, he was pretty damn familiar with his baby’s quirks, and the growl layered under his voice meant, ‘I do not want to talk about this, so I cordially request you stop, lest I am forced to do something awful that I will feel guilty about for days.’

Shame Blue wasn’t fluent in Edge-ese, since he immediately started in, “Oh, but you should, it’s wonderful! I stayed for a few hours just to chat and--”

“I will get around to it!”

That snarl was loud enough to echo in the car and Stretch cringed as Blue fell silent. This...this sucked, this was awful, a parody of all the times Blue interceded when he and Edge were still at each other’s throats, only Stretch wasn’t nearly as damn good at it, he didn’t want his husband and his brother fighting, but anxiety was choking him as he tried to think of what to say to take things down a notch.

Blue beat him to it, saying with easy mildness, “All right.”

He snapped on the radio, and that he chose an easy listening channel that Edge was fond of was a pretty nice concession in Stretch’s opinion.

He wasn’t so sure Edge agreed. The car had barely stopped when Edge was out the door, simmering gently while he waited for Stretch unfold himself from the backseat and get his crutches out of the trunk. Stretch only offered them silently, watching as his husband bumped his way up to the porch, balancing awkwardly on one leg to unlock the door, which he shut firmly behind him.

Okay, yeah, got that loud and clear.

Seemed like Blue wasn’t as oblivious to the early stages of homicide in the air as Stretch thought, because he didn’t follow, only left the car running as he got out. It was so frustrating, Blue’s heart was always in the right place and damn if there was anything Stretch could think to do about the sadness in his smile as he said, “Why don’t I just bring over a casserole later?”

“that’d be great, bro,” Stretch said honestly, even as he waffled helplessly. He knelt and pulled him in for a hug, holding on tight. That Blue snuggled in happily made him feel a little better, and he whispered against the side of his brother’s skull, “keep me from trying to burn down the kitchen making dinner.”

Blue nodded, his chin digging into Stretch’s shoulder. “Tell Edge I hope he feels better soon? And if you do need anything, please call.”

“i will,” Stretch promised, then lingering outside to watch his brother drive away. Only then did he go in and that was when the real battle began.

Here he was, ready and willing to give his baby anything and everything he could possibly need to help him heal and what the survey was coming back with was that what Edge wanted was absolutely nothing.

Help getting into the shower? Nope. Help propping his leg up on the precise stack of pillows he’d insisted on making himself? Nada. Food at least he took with grudging thanks, eating it with sharp, precise bites while he sat glaring at either the television or his phone. Stretch almost told him if he didn’t pay attention, he was gonna bite off a finger, but eh, there were times when it didn’t pay to test your luck.

Three days in and about the only thing Stretch could be grateful for was that they didn’t have any hair because both of them would’ve been ripping it out in handfuls by now. If Edge was going stir-crazy in slow increments, then Stretch was just plain going nuts. He was sick of watching the news, sick and sickened, all the debates back and forth about the responsibility of Monsters for what’d happened. Two Humans died in the explosion, but no Monsters had and somehow people were adding two plus none and getting bullshit because conspiracy theories were sprouting up like daisies over that. Even worse, since the trip hadn’t been advertised all the junk blogs were howling about deception and plots. Like any other ambassador for any other country went on the press junket before they went out of town?

It was all so stupid and Edge was working on jittering his way to bonkers because he wasn’t allowed to do anything about it. Normally Edge didn’t need much in the way of sleep, but that didn’t apply so much when his body was trying to heal. He should be getting plenty of rest, snoozing away in their bed with Stretch cozied in next to him or sprawled out on the sofa, his leg safely propped up while some ancient black and white movie rambled on in the background. Instead, he was staying up way too late watching the damn news, and if Stretch had known Edge was going to be laser focused it, he would have blocked the stupid channels. Shadows were starting to show under his sockets, faint reddish stains and yeah, he was keeping off his feet, but it wasn’t like the doc knew he was supposed to order Edge to sleep. His fault for assuming the Director of Operations for the Monster Embassy had the common sense of a baby moldsmal.

The fourth day was kicker.

Stretch’s pitiful cooking skills were getting one hell of a workout since he didn’t want Edge to have to live on casseroles and frozen leftovers the whole time he was convalescing. Grilled cheese at least he could manage, he’d helped Edge make it often enough, and he forced himself to stay right by the stove while it was cooking, no wandering off for one second, no quick check of his twitter. He stared that toasting bread down until he was golden perfection. Okay, yeah, the cheese was sort of oozing out of the sides but close enough. That along with some of Edge’s homemade tomato soup was a pretty good lunch and Stretch carefully put it all on a tray to take it out to the living room.

Edge was sitting exactly where he’d been for the past three days, in the corner of the sofa with his cast propped up on a very precisely placed stack of pillows. The side table next to him was filled with pens and notebooks alongside scatterings of post-it notes. He was watching something on the tv with painful intensity, scribbling furiously.

It was hard not to snap at him that he wasn’t supposed to be working, especially since he technically wasn’t because nothing he was doing was getting to any of the folks at the Embassy. Frankly that only made it more irritating, all this stress was for nothing.

“hey, it’s about that time,” Stretch said with forced cheer, carrying the tray over.

“I’m not hungry,” Edge said curtly. He didn’t look up, still writing furiously.

“except you should be, because you barely ate this morning,” Stretch said, calling on reserves of patience that he’d been storing up since he heard Edge would need to stay home for a week.

That only got him a scowl add-in, free of charge, “I don’t want them, I’m fine.”

Stretch gritted his teeth and breathed out through them. “except for how you’re totally not fine. you have a leg that is barely healed from being broken and you need to eat something so you can take your meds.”

“I’m not hungry and I don’t need them right now,” Edge repeated, sharper. “I’m trying to listen to this.”

For fuck’s sake, it reminded him of Blue when he was a toddler and didn’t want to stop playing even for lunch, but the brief mental picture of Red trying to deal with a stubborn babybones Edge wasn’t enough to calm Stretch’s growing irritation. “except you don’t need to listen to it, you’re off the clock. what you do need is to eat something and take your pills per the doctor’s instructions because you told me you would. you promised me.”

Intellectually, Stretch knew what came next was an accident. Edge was only gesturing, a sudden, fierce sweep of his arm filled with all his frustrations that was supposed to punctuate a snarl of what he thought about doctors and promises, and fuckall else that was bringing him down. He didn’t mean to clip the side of the tray, sending soup and sandwiches flying. Totally an accident and that was the truth.

That didn’t stop Stretch from yelping in surprise as he was promptly covered from brow bone to crotch with soup. It didn’t hurt or anything, it wasn’t that hot, but he could only stand there, stunned, blinking at Edge who looked equally shocked through a dripping curtain of tomato.

Okay, yeah, looked like here was a good place for a time out.

Silently, Stretch turned on heel and went right back into the kitchen, ignoring Edge calling his name. He snagged a dish towel and wiped off his soupy face, then tried the same with his sweatshirt and pants as much as he could.

Through the door, he could hear the thump and bump of a skeleton on crutches, Edge would be coming through it any second now.

Stretch didn’t wait around for it. He shortcutted out, even though that was a surefire guarantee that he’d never get the damn stains out of his sweatshirt; apparently a trip through the void made it a lot harder to shout it out.

He only went as far as the porch, dusting the tiny drift of snow off the steps to sit down as he pulled out a pack of smokes. He lit one, inhaling deeply and letting the soothing nicotine wash over him, easing the low simmer of his temper. He couldn’t help being a little amused that it tasted a bit like tomato soup.

The cigarette was nearly burned down to the filter by the time the front door opened. Stretch didn’t look up as Edge limped out, standing behind him, leaning heavily on his crutches as he said softly, “I’m sorry.”

Stretch exhaled a cloud of smoke and said, “gonna need more specifics than that. sorry for redecorating my shirt? sorry for being a shit? sorry for working your ass off when you’re supposed to be resting?”

There was a long silence, the crutches creaking as Edge shifted his weight. “Am I allowed to choose all of the above?”

Wasn’t possible to hide his smile and Stretch could nearly feel the tension easing in the air, “sure. can you come down here?”

“Yes, but I can’t promise I’ll be able to get back up.”

Carefully, Edge eased his way down, his casted foot stretched out in front of him as he settled on the stairs next to Stretch. Not that they stayed next to each other for long, Stretch went ahead and curled around him from the side angle, one leg across his lap and the other knee braced against Edge’s spine. Made it easy to wrap his arms around his baby and pull him in close, pressing a kiss against the side of his skull.

He cupped a hand at the back of Edge’s skull, smoothing along the curve with his thumb. “babe, i know you’re trying to help, but you really need to take care of yourself first. you’re supposed to let me help you, you know?”

Edge leaned into his touch, but his words were firm as he said, “I need to do this.”

“why?”

“I need New New Home to be safe, I need you to be safe.” It almost sounded like a confession and Stretch wondered what was going on in his husband’s beautiful, battered skull. How much he was beating himself up for what happened, because, what, he couldn’t predict the future?

“baby, i need you to be safe, too. safe and healthy and taken care of, no,” Stretch insisted when Edge tried to interrupt. “listen to me now. i let you run a little wild with the protectiveness because i know it’s something you need, okay, but, we’re married, full partnership. that means sometimes i protect you and take care of you, i don’t give a shit what nonsense red’s pounded into your skull. it’s my turn now.”

He waited until Edge nodded, reluctantly but it was there. “and i get that you need to see what’s going on with the embassy, but you aren’t going to be any good to them if you go back exhausted. you need to take care of yourself. let me help. turn off the tv for the day, hide your phone in your desk, and get some rest.

For a long moment there was nothing but the hush that came with lightly falling snow, then Edge sighed heavily, “Okay. “ He swallowed hard and the dregs of shame in his voice made an ache rise in Stretch’s soul as he said, softly, “I feel like I’m doing everything wrong for you lately.”

Stretch pressed a rough kiss against the side of Edge’s skull, breathed in hard the scent of his magic faintly tainted with tomato. “might feel that way, but you’re not, babe. i promise. come on, let’s try something different, yeah?

He helped Edge wobble to his feet and followed him inside, biting back a couple choice words when he saw Edge’d already cleaned up the soup disaster. Not worth an argument and Edge did let him help to get settled on the sofa, his cast propped up on its pillow nest.

“comfortable? in any pain?” For once he wasn’t going to fuss about the pain meds.

“Yes and no, in that order.

“Great.” And without preamble, Stretch pulled his sweatshirt over his head, then pushed his track pants down to puddle at his feet. Didn’t bother to try for seductive, there wasn’t much need, anyway. Edge was usually seduced by him breathing, proved it by staring with wide sockets as Stretch sauntered over. “think you could use a distraction, don’t you?”

“I...yes. Yes.” The word shifted closer to a moan as Stretch straddled him, and he could say with a good amount of smug pride that very soon, Edge was pretty damn distracted.

Afterward, while Edge was sleeping peacefully on the sofa, Stretch went upstairs for some fresh clothes, taking a second to scrub the last dregs of tomato off his bones, ugh, used soup wasn’t much of an aphrodisiac, but he’d made do. Letting it linger like the world’s worst perfume was out of the question, though, people downwind would think he was Sans. He scribbled a quick note to leave on the coffee table and paused, looking down at his husband.

The blanket rose and fell with every breath, and beneath it, Edge was still bare to his bones. His sockets were finally closed in sleep, all the tight stress-lines on his face eased, making him seem oddly young, or maybe just his age. Looking at him, Stretch felt a surge of love so strong it made tears sting. He leaned down and pressed the lightest kiss against Edge’s forehead, the softest touch. He didn’t stir, days of exhaustion catching up to him, although Stretch liked to think it had something to do with the last pleasant hour, too.

He left Edge sleeping and headed out to the bus stop, settling into his seat as the bus droned on to Ebott. There was someone who owed him a favor and Stretch was about to call it in.

~~*~~

tbc

[seaquestions]

fulcrum makes candy

i havent be able to work on any of my fics bcos i’ve been busy (and terribly unmotivated lately) but! i thought i’d post a wip since it reads as mostly finished so far.

(artistic licence for science stuff btw. i’m basically writing what should be chemistry as confectionery lmao.)

It all started when Crankcase told him about meeting up with CONS4EVA again.

Or Symbols, rather. The dimension-hopping Dire Wraith figured that a Cybertronian translation of his name would be a smidge less awkward than using his TBC handle or a mispronounced, synthesized version of his actual name. It sounded about the same to him with the universal translator, so no big deal. Crankcase still tried to say his real name right anyway.

Regardless. The point was--Fulcrum needed to make more energon goodies. The last batch had unfortunately been thrown in Symbols' face when the Dire Wraith was disguised as Thunderwing, so it was imperative to try again. He also ate all the good ones last time, which, note to self: don't do that, Fulcrum.

He almost forgot to ask, actually, if Symbols was even capable of eating the sweets. The answer had been yes, maybe. The Dire Wraith could \consume/ energon, but whether or not it'd taste any good or if it would all end up regurgitated on the floor was a mystery. Still! Fulcrum needed any excuse he could get to make goodies.

The pressure of being around so many Autobots was starting to get to him, a little. His proximity alerts kept popping up, all the time, because none of these people had any sense of personal space. Plus, do you have any idea how many times he had to frantically re-label someone from [enemy] to [ally]? It was a lot! His drop on Clemency might not have killed him, but it certainly didn't do him any good. He had to do all that manually, now. It was stressful, okay?

And Fulcrum liked to stress-bake. When he \could/, anyway. It was certainly better than some of his \other/ coping methods. But there usually wasn't enough energon on the WAP to go around making candy, so it had been saved for the particularly bad nervous breakdowns or for special occasions, like successfully escaping mortal danger or Crankcase going on a date.

Thankfully, the Lost Light seemed to have plenty of fuel for both itself and its passengers, which was beyond nice. Fulcrum had reluctantly gotten used to the whole siphoning and cannibalising thing while living as a Scavenger, but boy was it good to be back to consuming real energon. He might actually be able to make more than just plain gelled energon cubes! But since he didn't \actually/ know if Symbols could enjoy the treats, he'd keep it simple... This time.

The hard part was getting the equipment to make candy in the first place. He didn't know if there was a kitchen area on the Lost Light, but even if there was, he didn't really want to make candy around other people. He knew, from experience, that it was a bad idea. But the anxiety of asking someone for materials left him paralysed, and he almost gave up on the goodies entirely if it wasn't for Krok.

The mech, Primus bless his spark, had gone to ask the command staff in his stead, and surely enough, Krok arrived in Fulcrum's room arms full of everything the K-Con needed and more, in both equipment and ingredients.

"The captain got real excited when he heard that someone was thinking of making sweets," he said, with smiling optics, "A lot of these weren't even on your list."

And so, Fulcrum got started.

Cooking might seem a little daunting for the average Cybertronian. Energon had a reputation of being volatile, to an almost comical level. Heat it up a bit too much, and it just might explode. Every element had their own distinct flavour that changed wildly based on their interactions with other substances, and it was impossible to memorise them all! Or so it seemed. But in reality, it wasn't so difficult. At least to him it wasn't.

For a mech with absolutely no background in chemistry or metallurgy, Fulcrum took to the culinary arts very well. While he might not fully understand the hows and the whys of chemical reactions, he definitely knew what was delicious and what wasn't.

The first step was making the flavouring. Energon itself, in its processed liquid form, was virtually tasteless, so this was important. Adding simple ingredients like copper shavings, which had a tangy, sour taste to it and chromium flakes, which was just plain sweet, was the most basic form of food preparation.

Just dumping metal into energon felt a bit amateurish to Fulcrum, though. He wanted the goodies to have a consistent look and taste to them, like they were professionally made.

So, the little metal flakes--he went with copper, cobalt (tart, with a subtle sweetness), iron (bittersweet and kinda savoury) and cadmium (mildly sweet and rich, his personal favourite)--were finely ground into a powder alongside pigments to add variety to the colour palette. He didn't want everything to be bright neon pink. One had to differentiate between the flavours somehow. Plus, the pigments themselves could also add to the taste, depending on what you chose. Unless you bought those tasteless food dyes, but those are for cowards, and in the kitchen, Fulcrum was not one.

Cadmium sulfide, for example, worked as a yellow dye, but gave the energon a certain acidic sharpness that wasn't there before, thanks to the sulfur. Cadmium \selenide/, on the other hand, was a deep red pigment that went beyond sharp and turned it into full-blown spicy. But Fulcrum was supposed to be making sweet treats here. So instead, he paired the cadmium shavings with chrome yellow, or lead chromate, to enhance the sweetness of the pure cadmium.

The cobalt and iron powders were simple, matched with cobalt aluminate (blue) and iron oxide (red). Classic choices, though he had to be careful with the latter, because it could very easily start tasting like actual rust, which was simply disgusting. He \could/ use the mercury-based vermillion instead, which was also savoury, but again, Fulcrum was not a coward. In candy-making, anyway.

The last one, however, he always had to have a whole internal debate over. Copper-based pigments tended towards greens and blues, but that wasn't really what people thought of, now was it? He could use gold ochre, but the iron-based pigment didn't really mesh well with copper, in \his/ opinion. He could mix a cadmium orange, but, again, he didn't want his candy to be spicy.

In the end, he just went with the basic green copper carbonate.

Alright! With that done, it was time to work on the energon itself.

In a large pot, Fulcrum gently heated the liquid fuel up, slowly pouring in a gelling agent that he had warmed up earlier. Under normal circumstances, regular processed energon did not solidify. To do so, you'd have to freeze it or leave it out for \way/ too long, letting it congeal, which was gross. (Looking at you, Misfire.) The gelling agent would let the fuel cool into a nice firm slab of jelly.

He then added one and a half cups of crushed lead acetate, stirring constantly to dissolve the sweetener in the energon until no particles were left in the semi-opaque pink liquid. It had also gotten lighter, light enough that the dyes wouldn't end up mixing into really ugly colours.

When the mixture started to bubble the tiniest little bit, Fulcrum took the pot off the heat, pouring the fuel into four bowls, one for each flavour, that he then mixed with the corresponding pigment. Red iron, blue cobalt, green copper and yellow cadmium.

The jelly would need a flat plane to cool on, of course. When Fulcrum went to grab a tray though, he noticed that he'd also been provided with plastic molds. Someone else must've been into cooking, then. He wondered who it could be, maybe they could share tips or something.

The molds were pretty basic shapes, like stars and circles, but it was nice of them to have given him this, whoever it was. He should use them then. If he poured the blue cobalt into the circle ones, it could look like little sparks... which was a really cute idea.

...He did it. Of course he did.

Blue sparks, yellow stars, red cyberkittens and green raindrops. It was almost unbearably adorable.

The leftover fuel was poured onto the same tray, creating some neat rainbow gradients. They were pretty to look at but to be honest, he had no idea how those parts would taste. Welp! Who cares!

Fulcrum stretched.

That was the hard part done. He put all of the filled up casts inside his room's mini-fridge. A few hours and they'll be solid. At that point, he'd have to take them out of the molds and cut the leftover ones into little cubes. Then after \that/, he'd have to leave them out to dry overnight so the goodies could form their crisp exterior, while also exercising enough self-restraint to not surreptitiously pop one into his mouth.

Oof. Forget what he said, the hard part hasn't been done yet, actually.

Still. This meant that he had time to take a break.

[their-destinys-writer]

Misadventures in Reporting - Christmas Special 2017

About the series: Misadventures in Reporting is a series of short stories about the adventures of a normal reporter living in an abnormal world.

Rating: PG-13 for mild cursing and one very drunk superhero

Word count: 1,782

I want to dedicate this to my best friend who’s been living in the United States for several years now (love you, bestie) and to every Puerto Rican living abroad. We miss you over here. Merry Christmas to you all.

Calling Home

It was the first day of snow. Normally, it wouldn’t fall until closer to Christmas, and sometimes not even then. But this year, Chicago was already filled with icy patches anywhere water had leaked days before Christmas Eve. That meant the citizens had to watch where they stepped. While the city’s maintenance employees had done their best to keep the sidewalks as safe as possible, there was only so much they could do. Everyone knew this. But Melinda was too focused on her phone to remember.

It was the third time she tried calling her family back home, but the call still wouldn’t get through. Each time it went straight to voicemail. She growled at her phone, her ungloved hand already hurting from the cold. Although she had been living in Illinois for several years already, she still couldn’t get used to the cold.

She switched her phone to her other hand, flexing the exposed one in hopes of unfreezing it. Once mobile enough, Melinda tried calling for the fourth time. This time, it rang twice. Her heart skipped a beat. Yet, once again, she was met with the familiar: “You have reached to voicemail box of; seven, eight, seven—”

“UGH!” she growled as she crossed the street. “Just work, you stupid, useless fu—ARGH!”

Melinda fell flat on her butt, but was not given the chance to properly register.

In a split second, a honk resounded in her ears, at the same time that a shooting pain invaded her shoulder. But the pain was not from the incoming headlights. Instead, Melinda had the time to look up to see someone had grabbed her arm, and was now flying her up to a nearby apartment building.

Ungracefully, what looked like a young man dropped her on the rooftop, making her fall face-first on the ground. She got up to her knees, groaning and looking for her clumsy savior. Only eight feet away from her, the man landed, staggering further away from her. He bent down and then…

Threw up.

That’s not what I expected, she thought, covering her nose and mouth.

“Ugh, I regret everything,” the young man slurred, holding himself up from a wall. He gagged again, like he was still nauseous.

That’s my savior? Melinda wondered, skeptical. She looked closer at the young man, who looked no taller than five feet and several inches. He was dressed in several layers of sweaters and jackets, the one over all colored black. He also wore a thick, red beanie that covered his ears, and large sunglasses, making it hard to make out his face. Yet, his very tanned skin was still visible.

“Are you okay?” she asked hesitantly.

“I feel like shit,” he mumbled, dragging his feet away from the bodily fluids he had just expelled. “I’m never—” He stopped on his tracks. He swallowed hard and deflated. “I’m never drinking again.”

“You’re drunk?” Melinda deadpanned. “First time I get rescued, and you’re drunk?”

“Sorry—hic—to disappoint, lady,” the young man snapped.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” she asked, mulling over his short stature.

“I’ll have you know that—hic—my height doesn’t define my age,” he complained. He then took a deep breath. “Whatever, you’re fine. I’ll leave.”

He waved dismissively at her, but just as quickly as he took flight again, he was back down on the rooftop.

“Nope,” he managed to get out, covering his mouth again. “Bad idea.”

Melinda frowned, staring at the imbalanced man. Flying wasn’t a common power superheroes had. Which was ironic, considering all the comic books she had read while growing up. In fact, there was only one super she knew of who had that ability. And one of the traits people mostly described of him was that he was shorter than you’d think.

“You’re Hermes,” she let out. “You’re one those heroes that travels around the world.”

The young man became still, hand still on his face.

“I’m not sober enough for this,” he breathed, slowly sitting on the floor.

Meanwhile, Melinda’s heart started beating erratically. These international heroes were not easy to catch. Most of them denied interviews, or didn’t speak the language of whatever country they were visiting at the time. Only once she had managed to see one, and it ended with her trapped in a cage of dirt.

This guy was drunk and unable to fly. He was easy prey.

Yet, she found herself struggling between her journalism instincts and her human ones. It wouldn’t be fair nor ethical to take advantage of someone who had saved many lives. Much less of someone who made his first public rescue back home, where her family resided.

“Do you need anything?” she found herself asking.

Hermes merely shrugged. As softly as possible, she moved closer to him, until the tips of her feet almost touched his knee.

“Why are you drunk?” she couldn’t help but ask. “You sound like a kid.”

“Where I’m from, I’m old enough to drink,” he slurred.

“But we’re not in wherever you’re from,” she deadpanned, crossing her arms.

Hermes shrugged again. “Debatable.”

Melinda frowned. What was that even supposed to mean? This guy wasn’t making much sense. She could just leave. She wasn’t her babysitter or designated driver; she didn’t have to stay. But what if someone came out into the rooftop and found him like this? Not everyone was a kind soul. They could end up taking advantage of his state to find out his real identity, or worse.

With an exasperated sigh, she collapsed next to him, crossing her legs for warmth. At least the rooftop was kept as clear of snow as possible.

“Why aren’t you in costume?” she asked.

“Wasn’t working,” he whispered. “Didn’t have time to change. Much less in my state.”

The journalist hummed. “And why risk your identity, if you were not—”

“Are we playing twenty questions?” Hermes interrupted. “I may be—hic—drunk, but I can still keep my secrets.”

“No, I wasn’t—” But she stopped abruptly, sighing instead. “Sorry. I ask questions for a living. It’s like second nature sometimes.”

Hermes grunted. They remained quiet for several minutes. In that time, Melinda stole several glimpses his way, still processing the fact that she was sitting next to a very famous superhero outside of work. In those glances, she noticed a pin attached to his jacket. It was a flag, with a blue triangle and five stripes. Three stripes were red, while the other two were white. And inside the triangle, there was a lone, white star.

It was the flag of her home.

“What’s with the pin?” she couldn’t help but ask, despite her previous apology.

For a moment, Hermes hesitated. Yet, eventually, he responded.

“My mom gave it to me,” he said. When Melinda opened her mouth to ask further, he continued. “She wanted me to have a piece of home with me always. To remind myself from where I come from. Like I could ever forget it.”

Melinda could almost feel herself vibrate with excitement. Who would have thought one of those famous superheroes was Boricua, like her? She wanted to jump up and scream, or start talking in Spanish. However, the melancholy in his features held her down, feeling it was not the time to freak out about it. Instead, she went another route.

“I miss home, too,” she said quietly. “I was trying to call my mom when I fell on the street. Cellphone service had been kinda bad in Puerto Rico lately, so I wasn’t paying attention to where I was stepping. Thank God there was a fellow Boricua to save me, huh?”

This time, Melinda turned her head to look fully at Hermes. As for him, he was already staring at her, lips parted. Slowly, a grin replaced his surprise.

“My cousin thought—hic—it would be funny to give the coquito and extra kick,” he responded at last, basking in the fact that he could talk about the Puerto Rican eggnog without having to explain himself.

“And, what, you just kept drinking?”

“It was so good!” Hermes defended.

Melinda snorted, trying to hold back laughter. They then proceeded to talk about Christmas food and drinks, arguing about which was the best part of their traditions, and other things. After a while, they fell into silence.

“I miss the stars the most,” Melinda said suddenly, looking up at the sky. “I could see so many of them from home. Here, it’s lucky I can see at least one.”

“Me too,” Hermes sighed, starting to sober up. “But did you know you can see a lot more stars out in the sea?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Melinda shrugged. “I’ve never been sailing or on a cruise.”

“You should someday,” he said. “It’s one of the coolest things you’ll ever see.”

“Maybe someday.”

There was another pause, finally broken by Hermes starting to rise from his sitting position.

“Welp, I’m feeling much better,” he announced. “I should get going before my cousin freaks out.”

“Right,” Melinda agreed, standing up too.

Hermes was starting to climb the low wall, when he suddenly stopped and turned back to her.

“By the way, could you not tell anyone about the stuff I told you? Keeping my identity secret is very important to keep my loved ones’ safe. I’m sure you understand.”

The journalist waved a hand over her mouth in a zipping gesture.

“My lips are sealed,” she assured. “Not everything needs to be reported on.”

“Reported on?” Hermes whispered to himself. “What’s your name again?”

“I’m Melinda Martínez,” she responded, as if stating her name for an interview. “I’m a journalist, so you’ve probably read my name on a byline of the Chicago Metro Times. But don’t worry,” she added hastily when she noticed him become still. “I’m not the paparazzi type of reporter. I can keep a secret. Besides, you never consented to an interview, and I take my journalism ethics very seriously.”

“Oh,” Hermes breathed. “That’s nice of you. Well, see you around, Melinda.”

With a stiff wave of his hand, he bid goodbye to her and jumped into the air. Melinda took a step closer to where he had been, watching the fading figure in wonder, imagining how it felt like to fly. She gave a wistful sigh, right before looking at her phone again. She took a deep breath and tapped at the contact that said ‘Mami’. She waited several anxious seconds, until, at last, the phone on the other side rang.

After only two rings, a woman responded: “Hello?”

“Mami!” Melinda sighed, with the widest smile she’d had all day, despite the freezing Christmas cold.

[forsaken-city-rp]

Welcome to the Forsaken City!

We’re glad to see that you have arrived safely within the city limits.  You have three days to make your facebook and add the admins Z.Tao, Seunghyun, and Forsaken.  But be careful, the sun is rising quickly, and hunters are always on the move.

NAME, STAGE NAME, AND GROUP:  Kim Woosung, Sammy, The Rose

AGE:  Over 1000; appears around 21 years old

SPECIES:  Nøkk/Nixie/Näcken

LIT RP SAMPLE: It wasn’t that Woosung was out of food.  That wasn’t the problem.  It was just that it was way past three in the morning, he’d just crashed down from a several-hour-long lyric writing binge that had directly followed a full of day of teaching and an evening singing gig (and a make out session behind the club but that wasn’t important), and right now all he wanted was this one specific kind of cheap, salty yet somehow still painfully-spicy ramen, found only at this one nasty little convenience store a few blocks away, possibly followed by a bag of knockoff gummy candy and maybe some chips if he felt like really going crazy and treating himself right.   It was that kind of craving that can only ever really hit in the middle of the night, when it’s cold or otherwise unpleasant out, and the distance is too long to walk but too short to drive, and it only ever really happens to young adults who fully know it is within their personal capabilities to go and get the object(s) of their sudden desire, while also being fully aware that it’s stupid, late at night, their fridges have other shit in them if they were really threat hungry, they have shit to do in the morning, and whatever it is they want is most definitely not worth the ultimate effort or cost.  Or carbs.  Thankfully, however, Woosung had absolutely no need to worry about caloric sins, nor did he need sleep, and money was certainly not an issue after, not to mention that a nice hike across the district definitely wouldn’t kill him.  The fact that it was raining also really sweetened the deal.  So after a very brief internal debate (not about whether or not he was going, he was for sure going, but on if he should bother putting on real people clothes or not), he grabbed his shoes, pulled a coat on over his comfy but definitely not weather appropriate lounge-wear, and ventured out into the dark and unforgiving night.  No one was gonna see him, anyway, and even if they did, it’s not like they wouldn’t like what they saw.  

The streets of Seoul, at least those near his apartment building, were decently quiet at such an hour, half-illuminated by dimming lights and colorful signs, and the way the rain hit the pavement under such synthetic glow made each drop shine like a falling star.  A fake rainbow hued, halogen and electric-waste lit star, but a star nonetheless.  He couldn’t see the moon, not through the storm clouds, but that was perfectly alright, he knew it there, watching him through the haze, he could feel the echoes of its tidal pull ever so slightly lifting the hair on the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine.  It wasn’t unpleasant though.  Just a reminder, neither here nor there in its importance.  He hadn’t bothered with an umbrella, but why would he?  The water was cool against his skin, his coat just enough to keep the bite of the wind out, and he liked how the rain felt as it ran down his face, clinging to his lashes, beading up at and falling over his lips.  He would have really taken his time and enjoyed the walk, if he wasn’t so hellbent on getting a hot and heaping mouthful of stale, tongue-burning noodles into his mouth as quickly as possible.  After all, this was his current favorite guilty-habit snack, which meant he’d come this way countless times before and would undoubtedly come that way countless times again before he found a new craving.  Like those Ikea cinnamon buns he’d been obsessed with a few months ago.  Or those sour candy children he’d gotten hooked on last time he’d stopped home in California (big mistake, traveling half the world for a bag of neon colored sugar blobs was really way too much work).  Regardless, the way was well known to him, so he was free to zone out and let music run through his thoughts, piecing words to melodies and humming new tunes beneath his breath, all without slowing his determined, slightly rushed pace.

There was a scuffle and a bang behind him after a solid ten minutes of walking, breaking him from his trance and making him jump, a perfectly manicured hand with fucked up pointer and thumb nails (guitar pics and nail polish do not get along) coming up to clutch his heart.  He whipped back, though when he turned around, it was only to find a small hoard of stray cats following after him, a metal trash-can lid lying in the middle of the road, no doubt disturbed by one of his audience members jumping out to join the fray.  Oh.  Right.  He must’ve gotten a little loud with his singing. Not that he minded having a crowd, but it certainly hadn’t been his intention to lure anyone, or anything, in to him.  Especially not cats.  He liked them fine and all, they could be cute and he’d never met an animal that didn’t like him, but they always kinda weirded him out.  And made him sneeze.  Okay so mostly it was the sneezing.  Still, cats were kinda weird.  Kneeling down, he stroked their wet little heads and booped a few on their cold little noses with a delicate finger, letting them nuzzle and lick at his skin, before he politely told them to go fuck off and find shelter before the storm got worse.  Of course they all listened, and he watched the last of them vanish into the alleyways and dark corners, before he got up and continued on his way, only now very mindfully silent.  He needed that goddamn ramen and getting held up because someone got a little caught up in listening to his voice would really be a major waste of time, not to mention a pain to deal with.  At least the cats had been easy to handle.  Cats didn’t tend to get violent when they were told no.



Continuing on his way, Woosung made sure to keep his mouth shut, though that didn’t stop him thinking about the lyrics he’d been writing earlier, back when he’d been curled up on his sofa beneath a thick, warm blanket, in his nice, cozy apartment, with a cup of coffee and a heart rate not threatening to yeet itself into the thousands because of the minor cardiac arrest those cats had given him.  Enhanced hearing really did make any loud noise that came out of dead silence seem so much more severe.  And he’d always been weak for jump-scares.  Shaking his head, he picked up the pace, both for want of the ramen and a desire to get away from the place he’d been ambushed by little allergy beasts with good music taste.  The rain was falling a little harder now, thunder rolling lazily in the distance, and he could practically feel the electricity in the air as it danced with the water running across his skin.  It was a little cold; what could he say, he was from California?  It was always warmer there, breeze tinged with heat, summer lingering even when winter came.  But even still, he liked the chill, the way it traveled through his bones.  All weather was good weather, from languid spring showers to blizzard-and-death hailstorms, days with cloudless skies and bright sunlight to dark, overcast ones, when night was hardly discernible from what had come before.  He wasn’t warm nor was he cold blooded, he just /was/, like water, adapting to what was around him, taking on the temperature of whatever was beyond him and just going with it.  Though that didn’t mean that he didn’t A) really want some hot noodles and something hotter to drink or B) wouldn’t appreciate being back under a nice pile of blankets and sweaters.  Maybe he really should have put more clothes on but he’d been so comfy.  And getting dressed-dressed was so much work.



Turning a corner, he could see the hazy light of the convenience store sign in the distance, about a block away, a smile drifting across his features, he made it about three more steps forward before he heard yet another unpleasant sound—this one being the unmistakable click of a gun’s safety being flicked off.  Welp.  That was certainly far less innocent than a cat knocking over a trashcan.  Pausing, he forced the smile to remain on his sweet lips as he turned to face whomever was approaching him guns drawn, apparently.  There were two men speedily heading towards him, one with a pistol already shakily aimed at his head, the other apparently still fiddling with his own, like he’d ben surprised they’d actually managed to find someone (or something) to pursue, like their hunt being genuinely prosperous was a new and unnatural experience.  Ah, nothing like young, unexperienced humans who had no idea what they were dealing with and likely thought they’d already won.  Fuck they’d probably seen his shit with the cats and followed him.  Just his fucking luck.  At least they didn’t seem to have the brains to know they should’ve shot before he had a chance to open his mouth.  They also didn’t seem to have gotten the memo that the bullets, brass, wouldn’t leave more than so much as a scratch in the morning.  Iron and steel were the only ways to go.  Pity they didn’t know.  Eying the weapons with mock concern and fear, he tilted his head and schooled his expression into one of total innocence and confusion.  “I’m sorry, is there a problem?” He asked, voice soft and lovely, wavering ever so softly, like he was afraid of whatever they thought they could do to him.  He could feel their emotions shift, from adrenaline-laden conviction and confidence to hesitance, concern. 



Idiots.



“You don’t want to shoot me, baby,” he told the nearest one, eyes flashing molten gold, reflecting the light, ruby lips pulling back over sharp teeth that flashed dangerously as his glamour faltered from the use of his voice, his true voice.  He slipped closer to him, holding out his hand, which the man took, his eyes glassy as he nodded, entranced.  Not that he really wanted a hunter to touch him, but it always got easier to make men listen the closer they were, the more they felt like he was theirs, the more of him they could pretend, if only for a moment, to own.  Especially if he wasn’t going to sing; speaking was less powerful.  And especially if he was going to make them do something particularly against their will.  “You want to shoot your friend.”  He purred out the words, though ever-light, gentle.  And of course, that worked, as within but a few moments the other hunter was hitting the ground, a hole placed squarely between his temples.  He didn’t seem to realize what he’d done, continuing to stare all doe-y and dumb at the creature before him.  Fuck he hated hunters.  All his life he'd watched them kill and hurt and ruin whatever was in their path, regardless of how undeserving.  Woosung was a creature of mercy, a protecter just as much as a predator, he wasn’t keen on killing for the fun of it or simply because he could, but when it came to hunters, his moral ambivalence and tendency to remain grey threw itself out the window.  No, these bastards deserved it.  “And now you want to shoot yourself.” He told him, smiling as he caressed the man’s cheek, smiling even still as he watched him nod and pull the gun on himself, aim it at his own heart and pull the trigger.  He watched the body fall, twitch for a few minutes before going still.  How very anticlimactic.  

Stepping over the mess, he leveled his gaze once more on the gas station and store in the distance, grinned to himself at the thought of what awaited him, and walked on.



The nøkk was gonna get his fucking ramen.

[chromemuffin]

Shoukoku no Altair Liveblogging (Chapter 12)

Yeah, this took a while to get through for some reason.

It’s already the third volume! And yet Mahmut’s journey is just barely getting started...

Anyway, a lovely cover as always. The style is a little different here, definitely going for a much harsher look, though still elegant. (but how the hell do you draw such intricate patterns without getting dizzy). I like the crescent moons on his belt the most. Also, that’s an interesting sword. Can’t really tell if it’s his usual curved one. It doesn’t look like a straight blade though.

Aaanyways, looks like it’s back to the Balt-Rhein people. I am considerably less interested in them than others in the cast, but ok.

Chapter 12: The City by the Lighthouse

Ah yes, Louis. I haven’t really missed you. Interesting um, port town? Maybe. It’s well defended. Though there are some nasty whirlpool things in the upper right, and a little sea monster at the bottom.

OH, I see. The whole thing is supposed to look like a chess board, with the city surrounded. Haha that’s why the wall around the town looked a little weird.

Nice perspective here, it makes the ships look very tiny next to the imposing wall/barrier like structure with the heavy chains half submerged. Which makes sense, in context of the ocean, though we can’t see much of the water.

Helloooo Mahmut. Looking a lot better compared to last chapter. He has a much lighter expression here as he muses about the origin of the pyramis charm.

And once again, I like how the random townspeople all look different from each other. This time, the townspeople are clearly dressed differently from the other towns we’ve seen. Which makes sense, considering its real life counterpart.

rawr

It’s cute. In a weird way.

New character! I guess he’s a jewel merchant or something?

I wouldn’t really call this advice, but a little heads-up. That came a little too late. But, you live and you learn.

I wonder if Mahmut ever gets to travel without everyone finding out who he is the first day he steps into town. He’s not very good at staying low-profile (though a giant bird following him around doesn’t really help matters...).

When does Mahmut not get caught up in some kind of trouble? Helpful guy is not actually being very helpful.

It’s all part of the learning experience, I guess.

It’s clearly intentional, but I am nonetheless continually amazed by how tiny Mahmut looks next to, well, almost everyone he meets.

but lol “I see you are quite devoted to your worship. I have indeed heard of how faith in the water spirit is a national characteristic of Turkiye.”

The pyramis really is a clever way to contact fellow spies. But judging by this guy’s tone of voice and the cult people from the last chapter, I’m not sure it will hold up for that much longer.

He recovers his composure very quickly, for how easily he gets surprised in the first place, and I appreciate that.

Ohoho that play is going to haunt him for the rest of his life, probably. But lol at the intimidating “The Phoenician Magistros Constantinos wants to see you.” And then we get this smiley guy.

My thoughts exactly.

BUT AT LEAST WE GET FURNITURE I CAN MAKE SENSE OF. Kinda hard to see, but the little feast laid out is neat. Though those cups with tentacles hanging out are a little...

I’m dying.

Welp, that’s the ancient world for you. Poor Mahmut, getting interrogated.

It sort of doubles as a really weird table decoration, so...

Ah, but we get back to business in the next panel. Apparently the Balt-Rhein peoples are in the area.

DON’T JINX YOURSELF DUDE. Look at what you did. The city’s probably going to get attacked now.

Oh, but you are sort of hoping the Empire attacks...? Interesting.

And an interesting stance here. “With power comes responsibility” I suppose. So what is the Empire currently doing to those it has taken over? You’d think that any empire’s methods of expanding/gaining control over other lands would be quite similar no matter the times, but this guy implies that the Balt-Rhein Empire isn’t doing right by its own people not to mention trying to conquer its neighbors.

Interesting.

I was going to skip this panel, but Mahmut’s tiny mouth, lack of face, and the fact that Iskander is a ball with a vague beak-like dot on him is too good to pass up.

Is this Mr. Glorious Hair whose actual name escapes me at the moment.

Also, I love how everyone saunters while walking down a random street in town late at night with almost no one to see them.

Y’know, maybe you’d be more welcome if you stopped trying to invade your neighbors. Just a suggestion.

Once again loving the designs of the background and secondary characters. I guess this is a gathering of officials in the city? In any case, Apollo is the only one pleased by this turn of events.

Iskander does in fact sleep with him. :3 which is why he takes him up to the rooftop with him alll those chapters back when Shara was staying over his place. Iskander is also getting more and more poofy and round like a turkey or something lol.

Aww not a morning person, I see. I also wonder what he’s wearing? I think that shirt is just the one he wears normally under the red vest....thing (it’s not a vest but I don’t know what it’s called). The little buttons and bindings are a cute touch. (I do think we’ve seen him wear this to sleep before, I just forgot which chapter...)

lol why is Mahmut needed to sit in on the debate. In fact, his position and status is sort of in limbo now. Everyone is used to calling him Mahmut Pasha though.

I don’t really have anything to add to this conversation other than that both sides have realistic arguments.

I’m glad the Empire has at least one weakness, naval warfare, I hope this stays true for a while. It’s gotta have something it’s not good at.

OH NO, watch out Mahmut! They’re gonna come for you now. He was just minding his own business, listening, getting slightly concerned, and now he got dragged into the argument as proof that the Empire can be defeated.

Which, if you think about it, was actually quite important in the grand scheme of things. It seemed like a tiny event and Mahmut himself seems startled/shocked that they’re blowing the event way out of proportion. Except, it probably wasn’t as insignificant as he (or I) was thinking.

Hisar was an important town, and several of the Empire’s people weaseled their way in and made the locals help them take over. But Mahmut, through some quick-thinking, actually managed to thwart it. Considering the Empire’s military might, I can see how this guy would use it as evidence that they aren’t as omnipotent as they seem.

lol he was not anticipating this.

Ooh, and now he gets to tell his side of the story! I like how he tries so hard to clear misconceptions up every time people blow the events out of proportion, though.

I also like how he can sometimes be a great orator, even during some odd moments (like when he was going to sacrifice himself because he felt guilty for getting Suleyman hurt), and other times he wavers a bit like here. You can tell by his speech bubbles that he’s not 100% confident here. It’s awkward for him, since people keep building him up to be this amazing hero in stories.

Tough spot here.

On one hand, he’s urging them not to start a WAR on the basis of false information and misconception. On the other hand, lol, he’s basically urging them to give into the Empire because it’s hopeless to win against them.

These boatsssss. (or ships). Very nice details. So pretty. But menacing.

lol no one is infallible. 

NO THAT IS A VERY BAD IDEA.

Are there like. No military leaders in this place or. This guy is a tradesman, so him supporting a compromise that doesn’t end in war and all that messy business entails is sort of understandable. I forget how these debates and assemblies worked in that area of the world back then so.

lol be a little more self-aware, kid.

OH. That’s not your real hair.

yippee?

Probably not, but. The alternative wasn’t too good either.

I’m rooting for you guys, but the issue is that Phoenica probably hasn’t waged war against anyone for quite some time. The Empire certainly has been militaristic for a while now, while Phoenica seems to have become a place of mainly trade and commerce. That could be an issue.

He’s not going anywhere, but yeah, it would be wise to get out of there while you can.

Determined Mahmut makes his (re)appearance.!

And that’s a wrap! Sorry this took so long to get out. This was a fairly long chapter, and I’ve been really busy lately.

← back・onward →

[thalsianiii]

❀ What has made you completely lose your chill?

Honestly, it takes a good chunk of shit to make me actually lose my chill in the real world. In the RP world though I’m a little less reserved because... well honestly I don’t care as much about most of the internet people.But I think the biggest thing that gets me steamed over RP stuff has to do with Lore accuracy. I’m a Nazi about it and you know what? I’m proud of that. It’s why in most of my sciency themed blog posts I’ll have an OOC bibliography at the end. And anything I can’t source I claim as head canon. And I think it has a lot to do with why I have at least a little more notoriety than the average bear on WrA...

Now I have gotten better at letting shit slide once I realized the sheer volume of lore ignorance that occurs. Conclave was very strict on their lore accuracy and expected their members to be on point. Did it make us Elitist? yep. Do I feel bad about it? Nope. But I get not everyone who RP’s on Warcraft feels the need or desire to conform to the history and cosmology that the Developers wrote for us to immerse ourselves in. They want to be a Pregnant Half elf Worgen DK? hey, it’s their $15 so I can’t tell them how to play. But fuck it I’ll silently judge them.But that’s not what gets me really steamed. Some people just don’t know. And it’s not entirely their fault. Not everyone knows there’s as much lore behind some of the warcraft universe as their is or where to go to find it (wowpedia is your bible). For example, not a lot of people would know the warlocks utilize the ‘true name’ lore in their demon binding (Jubeka’s Journal, day 28). So I’ve come across people who just know the names of their warlock friends demon and have told me IC and I’m just there like “welp now that demon is absolutely no threat” but again. They didn’t know. And that’s not their fault. Especially since Cataclysm when Blizzard took out a lot of quests & mechanics that, while they may have been menial, held a lot of interesting minuscule details about the world we’re playing in.What really gets me steamed is when people stubbornly CHOOSE to continue to be ignorant. Especially people who try to act like they’re ‘lore abiding’ but are just straight up wrong. People I’ve had Percy educate IC, people I’ve educated OOC. I’ve (politely) debated with people, offering 3+ citations and sources on why they’re incorrect in their lore and they just get pissy and say “Oh well it doesn’t matter anyway.” and storm off in a huff. Or people I know have the resources and tools to make a really well written character (because I showed them those tools personally) but instead just decide “NOPE! I’d rather be speshul snowflek trash.” Which again, I’m not paying your sub. I can’t tell you how to play.

But a Person choosing to be ignorant just drives me up the fucking wall. Same with people who have a tantrum when you tell them they’re wrong. No matter how polite you are, no matter how much evidence you have, they just turn into a fucking piss baby because god forbid someone tell you you’re wrong because you did RP one time with one guy who said he knew what he was talking about and you believe him over quest text, novel entries, in game items, &c.But hey, not everyone is an objective scientist.And I hate everyone who isn’t.

#Salty

[mystery-moose]

FIC: Angus McDonald and the Flight of the Flying V (12/?)

[AO3 link]

They’ve come a long way, but even ten years after the world was saved, they’re still not quite where they should be. A whim, a missing painting, and a handful of near-death experiences help a flip wizard and his apprentice bridge the gap.

Taako does his best. Angus takes some risks. Introductions are made, bonds are tested, and lessons are learned — better late than never.

Taako didn't bother trying to sleep, and he certainly didn't try meditating. He waited in Angus' bedroom until he heard movement (no more Clairvoyance, he'd gotten in enough trouble with the boy tonight) and waited even longer until he heard the front door open and close. Very quietly, Taako edged open the door and poked his head out. He didn't see anyone at first, then he caught sight of Angus' telltale head of hair still poking above the back of the couch.

Magnus had told him once that you shouldn't go to bed mad. Taako certainly wasn't, but Angus might be. Why he might be was a mystery, considering how the night had gone, but it was a distinct possibility. Which meant Taako had to do what he disliked the most, and talk to someone about their feelings.

Think about it this way: if he's mad, you can sort of half-apologize and he'll forgive you, and if he's not, you get to say I told you so. No downside.

He stepped out and sauntered over to the couch. "You're welco—"

Angus' eyes were closed, and he was snoring quietly.

Taako blew out a sigh of relief, though he was a little annoyed at Silvia for skipping out on the boy before breakfast. That is, until he saw the puzzle on the table — a number of pieces had been removed and set aside, leaving a heart shape in the center.

He covered his eyes with his hand and stifled a groan. These fuckin' nerds.

Taako debated waking him, but decided against it. Instead, he returned to the bedroom to get Angus' comforter, and then gently draped it over him. Firmly ignoring the warm feeling in his chest, Taako dusted off his hands, congratulated himself on a job well done, and then went back to kick it for the night.

After a long and rejuvenating soak in the spa's hot spring, Taako laid around in a terrycloth robe for a few hours reading Fantasy Cosmo until he heard movement from outside. When he poked his head out, he found Angus, freshly showered and buttoning up a new shirt.

Welp. Time to tear off the band-aid.

"Mornin', boychik," Taako said casually, leaning on the stiff canvas doorway.

Angus didn't turn around. He finished buttoning his shirt, then glared at Taako in the mirror.

"Just because your little plan worked out doesn't make it okay," he said seriously.

"Are you still mad about that?" Taako asked innocently. "I thought time healed all wounds."

"It was less than twelve hours ago."

"So? C'mon, Ango—"

"I mean it." Angus leaned on his dresser. "Don't do that again."

Taako looked away with a groan. He realized he was fidgeting on the spot, and rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright."

"And that's a promise?"

Taako crossed his heart and held up two fingers.

"Okay then."

Angus looked away, opened a drawer and pulled out a tie. With a sigh, Taako turned to head into the spa and get dressed himself.

"Hey, Taako?"

He paused. "Yeah?"

Angus tightened his tie and smoothed it against his chest. He glanced at Taako in the mirror, and smiled.

"Thanks."

He took a vest off the top of the wardrobe and slipped it on, then left the bedroom without another word.

Taako took three steps into the spa, then proceeded to run around with his arms in the air like Jordan after he won one of his many basketball championships.

There was no time for a decent breakfast. Angus wanted to get right to work, catch up with his secretary, and pour over these onerous-looking tomes he got from the library. Taako could have stayed behind, or gone for a walk, or even gone home, but he felt compelled to stick close by. If only to make sure Angus didn't do anything he learned from his Uncle Burnsides.

They stepped inside McDonald Investigations. The secretary stood from his desk as they entered.

"Good morning, sir," Gavin said politely.

"Morning, Gav," Angus said, setting down his books and taking off his coat. "Have a good weekend?"

"Quite, sir," he said with a curt nod. "Thank you for asking. And yourself?"

The boy hung his coat and cap on the rack next to the door. Taako didn't bother.

"Not bad," said Angus with a smile. "All things considered."

"Shyeah, apart from almost getting roasted, sure, real relaxing," Taako said sardonically.

Gavin quirked an eyebrow. "Roasted, sir?"

Angus blinked and adjusted his glasses sheepishly. "Well... yeah, that did happen, huh."

"And the runaway wagon!" Taako said. "Don't forget that."

"Let's call it an 'interesting' weekend, then," Angus said diplomatically. He turned to Gavin. "Any mail?"

Gavin furrowed his brow, but quickly got back to business. "Two potential clients with an interest in your services, regarding matters less than urgent. I wrote them back that you were currently indisposed. Their names and addresses are on your desk."

"Great, Gav. Thanks. No appointments today, right?"

"No, sir."

"Good. I'm gonna be busy for a while. Let me know if there are any walk-ins."

"Of course." Gavin sat back down in his chair.

As Angus walked into his office, Taako leaned over to Gavin's desk.

"Hey, listen. About the other day. I just wanted to say..."

Gavin glanced up from his work, expression flat, but curious. Perhaps expecting an apology.

"...your hospitality could use some real work," Taako said sincerely. "Like, I shouldn't have had to ask for water. Or a straw. No no, I get it," he continued when Gavin opened his mouth to object. "You were probably really busy that day. It's cool. I just want you to know... I forgive you."

Gavin looked like he wanted to punt Taako into the sun. Taako flashed him a smug smile.

"Chin up, homie. You'll climb on up that ladder someday."

He ducked into Angus' office and shut the door behind him. Angus was sitting behind his desk, paging through a book. He looked up and glared at Taako.

"Be nice to my employee."

"I'm nice!" Taako said defensively. "Didn't you hear me forgive him?"

Angus shook his head and turned back to his work with a sigh. "I've got a lot of reading to do. If you're not going to help, at least don't be a nuisance."

"A nuisance? Me? Never!" Taako plopped down into one of the two chairs in front of the desk and propped one leg up. "I can totally help. I'll be your sounding board. Y'know, help you bat stuff around. I'm a great ideas guy."

Angus sneered a little. "As long as you do it quietly, sir, I don't mind."

"Cool." Taako reached into one of his pockets and pulled out an apple. "Just start talkin', Columbo. I'm all ears. Hee. Get it? Elf joke."

"Hilarious, sir."

Despite what the incident in Rockport might have implied, Taako was quickly learning that detective work was profoundly, upsettingly dull. Angus spent most of his time reading, skimming through passages about a million boring subjects just to find one little detail he'd jot down in his notebook. Taako was on his second apple while Angus was going through a new issue of the Neverwinter Times Gavin brought in.

"Story hasn't broken yet," Angus muttered. "Can't be much longer, though."

"Why even keep it quiet?" Taako asked, biting off the bottom of the core.

"The Museum is famous for its security. It's how they get so many donations from collectors." Angus turned the page and skimmed it. "Once word gets out that something as priceless as the Flying V was stolen, that's gonna lose them plenty of backers."

Taako took another bite, careful to avoid the seeds. "So how'd it get stolen?"

"They don't know." Angus folded the paper up and set it aside. "The guards switched shifts, and when the next guy got to the art wing, it was gone. No evidence of any kind."

"So, magic."

"Yeah, probably." Angus opened up another book and checked the contents. "Museum had a ton of mystic wards set up, but it wasn't impregnable or anything. A seventh-level magician could conceivably disable the wards, nab the painting and vanish in a matter of seconds. Especially if they knew the layout and timed it right."

Taako stuck the remaining core in his mouth and bit it off at the stem as Angus turned a page.

"Why that particular painting, though?" Angus muttered. "Why that and nothing else?"

"You tell me, Agnes," Taako said, tossing the apple stem into a bin by the door.

"I don't know yet," the boy replied, "but I've got a hunch."

"A hunch?" Taako straightened a bit in his chair. "Well, dish, bubeleh."

Angus lifted and spun his book to face Taako. There was a bunch of incomprehensibly ornate type on one page, and on the other, an illustration of a person with three different faces on their head, five arms coming out of their robes, and wings sprouting from their back.

Taako nodded slowly. "A monster did it."

"This book is from a hundred years after Flying V was painted," Angus explained. "This is who painted it. Seathe Samulkyn."

Taako leaned in and peered at the picture. "With which arm?"

"I think it's meant to be metaphorical," he said, spinning the book back around.

"You think?"

Angus shrugged helplessly. "Every single account I've read so far describes them differently. Sometimes they're an elf, sometimes a human, sometimes even a goliath or a dragonborn. The one thing that they all agree on, though, is that they were a very old and very powerful wizard."

Taako's eyebrows rose. "A wizard, huh?"

He nodded and adjusted his glasses. "They use the word 'Scholar,' but yeah, that's what it means as far as I can tell."

"So what's your hunch?"

"That the only reason a wizard powerful enough to break into the Neverwinter Museum would want to steal this painting, is because of who painted it."

Taako took a moment to consider the implications of that. Then his eyes widened.

"Oooooooh. This isn't an art heist, it's some Da Vinci Code shit!" Taako clapped his hands together and grinned. "Very nice, Ango."

Angus gave him a look and closed the book. "It's just a hunch. I don't know for sure."

"Nah, I'm sure that's it. Elven intuition tells me so." Taako tapped his temple. "It's like I always told you, boychik. Go with your gut."

The boy rested his chin in his hand. "You've never said that, sir."

"Pretty sure I did."

"Not once."

"Agree to disagree."

There was a knock at the door. Angus perked up, and Taako looked over his shoulder as it opened. Gavin poked his head in.

"Sir, there's someone here from Castle Never."

Angus' eyebrows shot up. "Sorry?"

"They say they've a message, sir. They're very insistent it be delivered personally."

"Uh." Angus stood from his seat. "Sure. Yeah. Send them in."

Gavin opened the door and stepped aside. A courier entered the room, clad in the humorless greys and blacks of Castle Never with a rich velvet longcoat trimmed in what Taako suspected was actual gold. He was impeccably groomed, and Taako had to admit he cut a reasonably dashing figure for a noble's flunky.

"Angus McDonald?" he asked, ignoring Taako completely.

Angus nodded. "Yes."

The courier reached a gloved hand into his coat and withdrew a scroll, sealed in blood-red wax. He held it out silently, and Angus took it.

"The Lord High Steward requests your presence this evening."

Taako glanced between the courier and Angus, who was staring at the scroll like it was a particularly dangerous tarantula. He looked up and seemed surprised that the courier hadn't left.

"If you're unable," the courier explained, "I can deliver your refusal to Her Lordship."

"No!" Angus said loudly. Then cleared his throat nervously and steadied himself. "I'm able. I'll be there."

The courier bowed slightly at the waist, turned on his heel, and left without another word. As soon as he was out of the lobby, Taako blew a raspberry.

"No good, pompous, stuck up—" He glanced at Angus and cocked an eyebrow. "You alright, boychik?"

Angus looked like he'd had some particularly bad shellfish. He sat down at his desk and, exceedingly gently, broke the wax seal, and unfurled the scroll.

"What's it say?" Taako asked. When Angus didn't answer, Taako frowned, pushed himself out of his chair and went to read over his shoulder.

This Precept entitles the bearer,

ANGUS MCDONALD, of MCDONALD INVESTIGATIONS,

(and whosoever would accompany him)

passage under escort into the Second Sanctum of Castle Never.

It is issued this day, the 25th of September of the year 1600,

by Castle Chamberlain Kimberly Higginbottom,

upon the order of the Lord High Steward,

KATARINA IPHIGENIA FEDOSIA BLISK

Her signature rested at the bottom of the scroll, in large and ornate calligraphy. Taako snorted.

"Real full of herself, ain't she."

Angus laid the scroll on his desk and slumped backward in his chair. He took a deep breath and blew it out.

"Oh, c'mon, Agnes," Taako said with a scoff. "It's just another rich noble lady, probably does her hair up all crazy and sticks a birdcage in it."

"Taako..." Angus pulled a hand down his face. "You remember how we saved the world? And how no one actually knows we did?"

Taako nodded. "Still kind of bitter about it, yes."

"Lady Blisk is like that, if people actually knew about it." He started counting off his fingers. "She's slain dragons, banished demons, stopped natural disasters... she's saved tens of thousands of lives through her direct intervention. And that's only the stuff I know about."

Taako leaned his elbow on the back of Angus' chair. "So what you're saying is we're on equal footing."

Angus blinked and stared off into the middle distance. "You can't come," he said, standing up and pacing to the end of the room. "You can't come, that's all there is to it."

"Oh, like hell!" Taako leaned forward, hands on his hips. "You think I'm letting you walk on in there without me? She's a suspect, right? You said it yourself!"

"I never said—"

"And the fancy invitation clearly says 'whosoever,' and correct me if I'm wrong, but that includes yours truly!"

"Taako—"

Taako walked over and slapped his hands on Angus' shoulders. He glared at the boy as seriously as he ever did.

"We're in this together, Agnes. Understand?"

For a long moment, Angus looked like he didn't know how to react. Taako could relate — he'd barely even thought through what he was saying as he said it. But when the boy had threatened to go in alone, a whole chorus in Taako's head had shouted in perfect unison, fuck that. Taako wasn't in the business of second-guessing himself.

Angus dropped his gaze for a moment, took a deep breath, and nodded. "I don't suppose I could stop you, anyway."

Taako let go of Angus and crossed his arms. "Damn right you couldn't."

"But please," he pleaded, putting his hands together. "Please do not piss off the most powerful wizard on the planet in her own castle."

Taako laughed. "Please, pumpkin," he said dismissively. "I know how these nobles do. I'll be on my best behavior. Won't even take anything that doesn't belong to me!"

Angus buried his face in his hands. "You do so little to instill confidence, sometimes, sir."

"Oh, have a little faith in cha'boy!" he said, throwing an arm around Angus' shoulders. "And I know you're under some stress, so I'll ignore that comment about the 'most powerful wizard.' Now let's go shopping!"

Angus looked up curiously. "Shopping?"

"Uh, yeah, boyo." Taako tugged at one of Angus' lapels. "I'm sure as shit not going to be seen in high society with someone dressed like this."

It was still the afternoon, so Taako had the time required to get Angus looking presentable. He dropped him off at the place that had done the tailoring for his wedding, and paid up front before Angus could argue about it. While he was being measured and fitted, Taako took his leave. He had his own Sunday best that he'd brought with him back in the Pocket Spa, but there were a couple other important things he wanted to have before they went into what was potentially an evil witch's castle.

First, an alchemist's shop. The old guy who ran the place was persnickety as all fuck, and normally Taako would have taken some amusement in tormenting him, but he was here on a mission, so he bought what he needed, and skedaddled. Then, a magic parlor along the same road. Nothing fancy here, only a few ritual components, but ever since that seventh-level barn-burner he'd been thinking that he might need to do something similar down the road.

Errands complete, Taako threw down the Pocket Spa in a secluded alley and changed into an outfit that was suitably elegant-yet-bold in that "don't fuck with me" sort of way. On impulse, he decided to strap his old knife to his lower back, largely because it made him feel better. Then he headed back to collect Angus.

The boy was waiting out front of the tailor, standing beneath an alchemical streetlamp in his brand new formalwear: black longcoat, black trousers, black vest, shiny shoes, a brilliant white shirt, and a tie in a summer sky's shade of blue. He looked uncomfortable, though how much of that was due to the situation, Taako couldn't tell.

"I feel ridiculous," Angus said, tugging at the bottom of his vest. "And what do I need these gloves for?"

"Gloves complete the look," Taako said simply, brushing off the boy's shoulders. "You're welcome, by the way."

Angus sighed. "Thank you, sir. Although, again, you didn't have to pay for this."

"Oh, yes I did, bubeleh!" Taako said knowingly. "This guy don't work for peanuts!"

"You're really not making me feel better about this," Angus said as Taako started to direct him down the street.

"Don't worry about it, Ango. You don't owe me a thing."

Angus looked up at the darkening evening sky. "Three, two, one—"

"Except undying loyalty for the rest of your natural life."

"There it is."

Taako laughed and smacked Angus' bicep with the back of his hand. "Come on, let's go meet the queen or whatever."

"Lord High Steward and Archmage."

"I said 'or whatever!'"