Neira always keeps the Warden's Oath pendant on her

she got a burn scar from a darkspawn Emissary shortly after Ostagar

she got darkspawn to thank for the face scar as well, but that doesn't happen until Amaranthine

Kala has a whole lot of smaller scars from her Carta days, but only got one big one on her side from one of Children in Awakening

the arm tattoo started with just one band but she slowly expands if over the years

she keeps her hair short after Orzammar apart from one braid/ multiple braids over time

she also makes sure to keep her casteless brand visible even when growing out her beard

Porosity of the moon’s crust reveals bombardment history Around 4.4 billion years ago, the early solar system resembled a game of space rock dodgeball, as massive asteroids and comets, and, later, smaller rocks and galactic debris pummeled the moon and other infant terrestrial bodies. This period ended around 3.8 billion years ago. On the moon, this tumultuous time left behind a heavily cratered face, and a cracked and porous crust. Now MIT scientists have found that the porosity of the moon’s crust, reaching well beneath the surface, can reveal a great deal about the moon’s history of bombardment. In a study appearing in Nature Geoscience, the team has shown through simulations that, early on in the bombardment period, the moon was highly porous — almost one-third as porous as pumice. This high porosity was likely a result of early, massive impacts that shattered much of the crust. Scientists have assumed that a continuous onslaught of impacts would slowly build up porosity. But surprisingly, the team found that nearly all the moon’s porosity formed rapidly with these massive imapcts, and that the continued onslaught by smaller impactors actually compacted its surface. These later, smaller impacts acted instead to squeeze and compact some of the moon’s existing cracks and faults. From their simulations, the researchers also estimated that the moon experienced double the number of impacts as can be seen on the surface. This estimate is lower than what others have assumed. “Previous estimates put that number much higher, as many as 10 times the impacts as we see on the surface, and we’re predicting there were fewer impacts,” says study co-author Jason Soderblom, a research scientist in MIT’s Department of Earth, Atmospheric and Planetary Sciences (EAPS). “That matters because that limits the total material that impactors like asteroids and comets brought to the moon and terrestrial bodies, and gives constraints on the formation and evolution of planets throughout the solar system.” The study’s lead author is EAPS postdoc Ya Huei Huang, along with collaborators at Purdue University and Auburn University. A porous record In the team’s new study, the researchers looked to trace the moon’s changing porosity and use those changes below the surface to estimate the number of impacts that occurred on its surface. “We know the moon was so bombarded that what we see on the surface is no longer a record of every impact the moon has ever had, because at some point, impacts were erasing previous impacts,” Soderblom says. “What we’re finding is that the way impacts created porosity in the crust is not destroyed, and that can give us a better constraint on the total number of impacts that the moon was subject to.” To trace the evolution of the moon’s porosity, the team looked to measurements taken by NASA’s Gravity Recovery and Interior Laboratory, or GRAIL, an MIT-designed mission that launched twin spacecraft around the moon to precisely map the surface gravity. Researchers have converted the mission’s gravity maps into detailed maps of the density of the moon’s underlying crust. From these density maps, scientists have also been able to map the current-day porosity throughout the lunar crust. These maps show that regions surrounding the youngest craters are highly porous, while less porous regions surround older craters. Crater chronology In their new study, Huang, Soderblom and their colleagues looked to simulate how the moon’s porosity changed as it was bombarded with first large and then smaller impacts. They included in their simulation the age, size, and location of the 77 largest craters on the moon’s surface, along with GRAIL-derived estimates of each crater’s current-day porosity. The simulation includes all known basins, from the oldest to the youngest impact basins on the moon, and span ages between 4.3 billion and 3.8 billion years old. For their simulations, the team used the youngest craters with the highest current-day porosity as a starting point to represent the moon’s initial porosity in the early stages of the lunar heavy bombardment. They reasoned that older craters that formed in the early stages would have started out highly porous but would have been exposed to further impacts over time that compacted and reduced their initial porosity. In contrast, younger craters, though they formed later on, would have experienced fewer if any subsequent impacts. Their underlying porosity would then be more representative of the moon’s initial conditions. “We use the youngest basin that we have on the moon, that hasn’t been subject to too many impacts, and use that as a way to start as initial conditions,” Huang explains. “We then use an equation to tune the number of impacts needed to get from that initial porosity to the more compacted, present-day porosity of the oldest basins.” The team studied the 77 craters in chronological order, based on their previously determined ages. For each crater, the team modeled the amount by which the underlying porosity changed compared to the initial porosity represented by the youngest crater. They assumed a bigger change in porosity was associated with a larger number of impacts, and used this correlation to estimate the number of impacts that would have generated each crater’s current-day porosity. These simulations showed a clear trend: At the start of the lunar heavy bombardment, 4.3 billion years ago, the crust was highly porous — about 20 percent (by comparison, the porosity of pumice is about 60 to 80 percent). Closer to 3.8 billion years ago, the crust became less porous, and remains at its current-day porosity of about 10 percent. This shift in porosity is likely the result of smaller impactors acting to compact a fractured crust. Judging from this porosity shift, the researchers estimate that the moon experienced about double the number of small impacts as can be seen on its surface today. “This puts an upper limit on the impact rates across the solar system,” Soderblom says. “We also now have a new appreciation for how impacts govern porosity of terrestrial bodies.” This research was supported, in part, by NASA.

A Social Experience

Characters: GN!MC, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Mammon

Wordcount: 1700

Tags: Fluff, Domestic, Bonding Activities, Humor

(No spoilers for latter lessons, but takes place fairly late in the game.)

***

"--a gross, shut-in otaku like me!" Levi finished, on the all too familiar note.

Usually by this point you would already be launching into reassurances that he certainly wasn't gross, and shouldn't talk about himself like that, but this time there was nothing but a silence that bounced off the walls, damning and louder than any words.

You reached into your bag of chips, removed a single potato chip, and ate it as you tilted your head in thought. Levi took your silence like a slap in the face, and recoiled, his face already wavering. The sound of your chewing was distressingly loud in contrast.

You finished chewing and swallowed. "I mean, is that even true anymore?" you asked after a nerve-wracking length of time.

Levi's expression twisted more into confusion than hurt. "Huh?!" 

"Don't you kind of lose your hikikomori credentials if you become popular and people start coming to spend time with you all the time?"

"That's not-- I'm not-- You don't count!" Levi sputtered.

"Oh, I don't count, huh," you repeated, putting a hand to your chest and dramatically feigning heartbreak.

Levi looked abashed now. "Th-that's not what I meant," he rushed to add.

"I know what you meant," you said. "Give it an hour."

Now Levi tilted fully into confusion.

"Give what an hour?"

"My point to be made," you said, and placed your D.D.D. onto the lip of the bathtub, out of your own reach. It was also clearly visible to Levi as you both sat on beanbags in front of his TV, next to the bath tub. "An hour," you repeated in a portentous video game narrator voice.

Levi scowled and picked up his controller again, turning back to his game. But his reactions were off, now. His character moved jerkily around the screen, doubling back and taking wrong turns on the 8-bit map as Levi's mood roiled with the strangeness of the conversation.

You continued eating your chips slowly, savoring the taste of the limited edition novelty flavor that Levi had generously acquired for you. He'd tried to pass it as a coincidence, but he didn't really know anyone else who unironically enjoyed the taste of cream and devilradish chips.

Not even half an hour passed before there was a knock on the door. Levi asked for the password on reflex. Surprisingly, from the other side of the door came a sigh, and then Asmo's melodious voice reciting the string of nerd trivia that Levi had set as a password for him ever since they became unlikely allies for the Bloody Moon competition.

"Come in, I guess," Levi replied, giving you a long look. Your D.D.D. was still on the edge of the bathtub, untouched as you sat there elbow-deep in greasy chips. You couldn't have called anyone over. And yet, was this what you expected to happen?

"Give it forty more minutes now," you said low.

Asmo fluttered into the room, like a passing breeze bringing in the smell of perfume. 

"Oh, there you are, darling, I was wondering where you were," he said, face lit up as he saw you.

He sat uninvited next to you in the beanbag, and you scooted over to make space for him. Levi would have complained, except moving to make room for Asmo meant you shuffled closer to Levi instead, so he ended up biting his tongue.

"What do you want?" Levi grit out.

"Must I want something?" Asmo asked, "Is it not enough that I give my adorable brother the opportunity to entertain me?"

"He's bored," you translated.

"I'm soooo bored," Asmo whined, his shoulders rolling in a full-body sigh. But he perked up as he leaned forward to look at both you and Levi. "But what about all this? Mind if I join the fun~?"

"Let's find a game Asmo can play," you suggested. 

"If you'd like," Asmo acquiesced with a shrug, indicating he'd had some other kind of fun in mind.

Levi gave you another sidelong glance, full of suspicion, but his head was out of the game he was playing anyway, so he exited and pulled up his game library instead. Deciding which game to choose was the trickier part, because Asmo had terrible reflexes, and an attention span worse than Mammon's when it came to playing anything. This ruled out anything requiring twitch reflexes or understanding complicated rules. 

Asmo, meanwhile, scrunched his nose at your chips.

"All that grease and salt is going to be awful for your complexion, darling," he said, clearly disapproving.

"I'm not rubbing it on my face," you said, and defiantly sucked crumbs off your thumb. Levi nearly choked at the sound, which was borderline obscene. The little sound Asmo made in response did nothing to contradict this impression. Levi managed to swallow back the wave of envy before it came undammed by concentrating on the list of games on the screen. He still had to make a selection.

A farming sim seemed like a safe enough choice; something bright and frivolous. Just like Asmo.

Levi passed the controller as the title screen came up, and Asmo, to his credit, managed to choose the 'New Game' option without messing anything up. Yet. When the screen went dark as the game loaded, Asmo couldn't resist looking at his reflection and primping his hair a bit. Levi did resist snorting and rolling his eyes, but it was a close thing.

The character creation screen popped up with its myriad of options, and Asmo gasped in delight.

"Oh! This is a good start! Much better than getting shoved into some ugly gray metal suit at the beginning," Asmo remarked cheerfully. He cycled through the hair and clothing options with the speed and deftness of a veteran player. 

"Hey, beginner armor in RPGs can be colorful too," Levi protested.

"But not fashionable, apparently," Asmo sniffed.

Asmo had only just barely settled on a hairstyle and color combination he thought was adequately cute, and was scrunching his nose at the shirt options, when another knock came at the door.

"Come in," you called out, before Levi could demand a password.

Mammon's head popped through the door, and he pulled a face when he saw you there, just like he always did when you were in somebody else's company and not his.

"Eh? What're you doing here?" Mammon asked, closing the door behind him and sidling up to the three of you. 

He craned his neck and squinted at the screen, like he was verifying that whatever you were doing, it passed his requirements for propriety. Between knowing the kinds of games Levi had in his collection, and seeing Asmo there, maybe he was not completely unjustified in some suspicion, but it still made you want to roll your eyes.

"We're watching Asmo create his character," you explained.

Mammon guffawed. "Betcha been watching him do that for a while!"

"Fifteen minutes, more or less," you said. "But to be fair, Levi takes way longer to create characters."

"It's an important step!" Levi sputtered.

"Especially with the quality of the options," Asmo added. "Look at this. A purple T-shirt with a pink butt on it?"

"That's a peach!" Levi protested, his face turning red.

"I know what a butt looks like, Levi," Asmo replied tartly.

"Wait, wait, Asmo, that black one with the gold design ain't half bad! Go back an' pick that one." 

"That gaudy thing! Absolutely not!"

"Mammon, why are you even here?" Levi asked, now completely exasperated with his brothers.

"I was just seein' if we were still on for Devil Kart against those Purgatory Hall guys. We need ta win back our honor, ya know."

"Do we?" Levi asked suspiciously, "or are you running a betting pool again?"

Mammon made a good show of appearing indignant at the very suggestion, but he'd hit you up earlier today about whether you'd be willing to take a dive in the second half of Candy Mountain in exchange for a lump grimm sum, so you knew too much about the subject to defend Mammon without exposing him.

"Can't I be showin' an interest without ya gettin' all suspicious a' me? What makes me so weird, huh? Asmo here doesn't even play games, and I don't see ya hasslin' him!"

"I do too play games," Asmo protested.

"Really? 'Cause only thing I ever saw you play was that stupid matching thing with the gems, and I ain't seen much of even that lately."

You knew which game Mammon meant, because it was the only game app you'd ever seen on Asmo's phone. You'd watch him play in moments of boredom, swiping his screen with a completely blank look of concentration as he matched the colors of the gems in rows and columns, and they burst into sparkles. 

"Ugh, of course you haven't seen me play, I finished it. I have to wait until they add new levels."

"Didn't that game have like ten thousand levels already?" you asked. "You mean you passed all of them?"

"Eleven thousand and sixty five," Asmo corrected primly. "And yes, I did them all. I have to wait until they add more now. I asked."

The room fell into shocked silence at this. Even Levi looked mildly dyspeptic at the thought of completing eleven thousand levels of a match-3 game. You'd played it yourself for a while, and past the two hundredth level, the number of complicated mechanics the game introduced had completely broken you.

"Anyway," Mammon said after a few more beats of silence. He gestured to the screen, where Asmo was flicking between two shirt options. "This thing got co-op or somethin'?"

You finished your chips, and folded away the empty bag. When you picked up your D.D.D., fifty five minutes had passed.

"Still five minutes left," you muttered to Levi while Asmo and Mammon bickered over the choice of pants. "Wanna play the long odds and see if the twins show up too?"

"Okay, okay, you've made your point," Levi grumbled. "I let way too many people waltz in here. I'll have to tighten security."

But Levi's heart wasn't really in it, and when he turned to watch Mammon try to swipe Asmo's controller while the latter loudly protested, there was almost a smile threatening to spread over Levi's face.

I see that ask is open! I've been thinking what if MC decides to stay with the demons forever, after all she's only human, years will pass and she will keep aging, losing her beauty and becoming more fragile, while the demons will remain young and handsome. Can you write about MC sharing this concern with the demon brothers and how they'd react to it ❤️ "Would you still love me when I'm old and ugly"

Scenario: “Would you still love me when I’m old and ugly?” + Demon Brothers Reactions

//the theme of devotion and dedication ALWAYS has me emo; I ADORE this prompt, so thanks for sending this in! I’m a real sucker for the immortal/mortal relationship conflicts 

let me know what you think! :)

starts singing Young and Beautiful by Lana del Rey 

Note: I kept it gender neutral “you” as per usual! 

--

Lucifer

“Yes,” Lucifer says to you, taking your hand and pressing his lips to your knuckles. “And I’ll continue to love you even after. Death will not stop me from loving you, let alone how your face may change-- though I dare say I’d still think you’d be beautiful regardless.”

Calm as ever on the outside-- especially if you’re evidently concerned about this. He won’t hesitate to ensure that you know that his love goes far beyond what you look like on the outside or to how capable/strong you are. Lucifer refuses to hear anything self-deprecating, and he will NEVER let you doubt that he loves you as you are. (He’s real good at smooth-talking AND dirty-talk-- don’t test him or do.) Body worship probably becomes more of a regular thing because he really does adore every part of you because they make you you.  

When he’s alone with his thoughts though, his mind tends to wander and it scares him to think that one day he will lose you, but it makes him cherish the times you do have together even more. He surprisingly is indulgent to a lot more of your whims thereafter and tries harder to not let work get in the way of being with you. If anything, this concern of yours has reminded him that time is finite for you, so he’d like to be able to spend the rest of your life with you, if you’d allow it. 

-

Mammon

Mammon is actually a little indignant and goes on a tangent because the thought of even not being in love with you is just… not possible to him. Who cares if you’ve got a few wrinkles? Who cares if you need a little help walking? You’re still going to be the person he fell in love with.  

“First of all,” he starts, fuming, “you’re never gonna be ugly to me-- so get that squared away, alright?” 

“Secondly, when you’re old, I’m gonna be there for you. No matter what!” 

“Thirdly,” he says, surprisingly serious. “there’s nothin’ in all three realms that would make me fall out of love with ya. I’m crazy for you, can’t you see?”

He’s definitely a little embarrassed after that outburst (especially if that was in public), but he needs to let you know that you’re important to him. He can’t have you think for a second that his feelings will waver the moment something changes-- he’s your first man FOR LIFE. Forgive him for being a little extra the next few days; he’s going to compliment you for everything you wear and probably get into squabbles with anyone who says otherwise-- but he’s doing it for your sake so you feel a little warm. If you were ever feeling sad about that concern, the thought is gone from your mind when Mammon is there looking at you like you hung the moon and stars.

-

Leviathan

I think this question may come as a surprise to him, and it does make him a little flustered. It’s never crossed his mind that things would eventually change because you’re a human because, to be quite honest, he’s focused on time he spends with you in the now. But he supposes he does see some changes. Your hair grows, your appearance changes as you age… but did you think he wouldn’t love you when you grow old or that he won’t find you loveable when you’re older because his anime characters won’t age? That’s probably the first thing in his head (and yours if that is a concern of yours), and he’s quick to drop whatever he’s holding or playing and grasping onto your hands.

“Of course! Of course I will! I told you, didn’t I? You’re going to be my Player 2-- now and forever!” 

“And you’re not going to be ugly,” he tells you fervently. “Never. Not possible. Not to me.”

He’ll try his best to comfort you if you are feeling down about it though, probably using comparisons and how seasons may change a character but that doesn’t mean Levi loves them any less-- which applies to you even MORE. How could he not love you? For whatever enjoyment he gains from anime and games, there is nothing better than to know that you’re by his side, which means that he’s going to be by YOUR side too when you need him. If life was a co-op, he’d like to be your Player 2 for as long as he can. 

Satan

“Of course I will. Nothing will change how I feel about you.”

Satan’s answer is straight-forward, calm, and almost immediate-- which is sweet, like there was never a question in his mind that his feelings will remain the same no matter what happens. If you’re feeling a little down about it though, his eyes will soften and he’ll pull you into his arms and kiss your forehead. “I’m in love with who you are on the inside-- not that I don’t think you’re beautiful,” he fumbles, embarrassed but pushing through to make sure his thoughts were known to you. “But I fell in love with everything about you: your laugh, the way you wake up in the morning, how your hands fit in mine… And these things just don’t change.” 

“And even when your mind wanders,” he says, kissing your brow. “I’ll love you still.” 

No matter how many times you bring this up, he always patiently lets you vent to him. He can’t possibly imagine how it must feel to grow old and change in such a small (to him) amount of time, but if anything he’s ready to understand how you feel so he can help you feel better-- as much as he can. Satan does probably push the thought of you growing old to the back of his head-- not because he doesn’t think he’ll love you (definitely not, he’ll stay around you as long as you love him), but because the thought of losing you to old age is not something he’s thought of much.

(That’s something he’ll have to reflect on on his own.) 

-

Asmodeus

Asmo probably makes jokes like him being beautiful enough for the both of you, but I think in reality, he takes your concern quite seriously. No matter how much he may take pride in his own appearance and the beauty of others, it is you who he’ll love regardless of how old you grow. He genuinely believes that you truly are beautiful, no matter the number of wrinkles on your hands or the crows feet by your eyes. In fact, he thinks they’d be lovable on you. As you change he’ll find that there is something lovely about those changes because now there are other sides of you he’ll get to love and discover. 

“Don’t you know true beauty is on the inside?” He’ll tell you, holding you to his chest and stroking your hair. 

From then on, he takes offense if anyone negatively points out any signs of aging on you (“Aging is not a bad thing, honey-- it makes you look more distinguished”) and discourages you from hiding your blemishes and wrinkles if you think they make yourself less appealing to him but would help you if you would like to do a little make-up. (He definitely would make love to you just to show you eagerly that you are still attractive to him.)

-

Beelzebub

He doesn’t understand at first. He knows how short the human lifespan is-- certainly, in the back of his mind-- but the idea that you could become even weaker and more fragile than you already are as a human is-- to say it simply, terrifying. If you’re asking this truly out of concern, he will undoubtedly come up to you and hold both of your hands in his gently.

“I’ll love you no matter what. And I think you’re beautiful no matter how old you may look-- you’re still you.”

He’s a little scared to think how easily you could get hurt, so he makes sure to be extra careful with his strength and learn how to support you when you need it. Beel will protect you as you grow older, be patient when you are no longer spry, and help you when your body fails you. He is (physically) the strongest in the family, so he takes it as a personal mission to make sure he takes care of you when you no longer can. He probably takes extra note to compliment you every time you ask for his opinion, and will continue to tell you you look beautiful everyday-- even if you aren’t wearing anything special-- just to remind you that he thinks you’re beautiful inside and out. 

-

Belphegor

“If all you want to do in the future is sleep, I’ll do that. If all you can do is be with me, then that’s fine too. I’ll love you anyways.”

A little alarmed when you address this concern to you, but you wouldn’t have known. He keeps a pretty calm veneer but much like his brother, the thought of losing you so soon is terrifying. Regardless of how scared he may feel thinking about the day that you’ll one day grow old and pass away in this short human life span of yours, whatever he said was the truth: it doesn’t matter to him if you’re old or if you’re ‘ugly’ (as if that would ever happen in his eyes), because he promised to protect you and to be there when you needed him-- and he takes that promise very seriously. (Till death do us part.) 

Belphie clings to you a little tighter when you sleep together and follows you around a little more for the next few days, and makes it a point of making sure he wouldn’t care how much you change your appearance. If anything, this makes him fall even more in love with you. He’s always loved humans and the fact they make the most of their lives despite how short they are-- and he want to make sure that every second of your life is the best he can give you.

Saviour (mine or yours?)

SURPRISE, IT’S ME!! This is literally the first thing I've been able to write in longer than a year and it’s help remind me what pleasure I get from writing. On May 20th I have my final University exam before I take a gap year dedicated to doing the thing I love - writing! I aim to finish my first novel and hope to be significantly more active on here so I hope to provide you with a lot of content and hear your thoughts on it or requests for more!

Summary: OUAT Peter Pan x Reader. Charming and co decide it’s a good idea to kidnap the person that Pan cares about most, Hook realises that that’s a very bad idea. You, on the other hand, are having great fun being kidnapped and can’t wait for Pan to show up and cause some hell for the idiots who came up with this plan.

Word Count: 1,611

---------------------------------------------------

The man standing over you was one you recognised, Prince Charming in all his glory; you and Pan liked to watch his little group run around Neverland like they own the place, oh how it made you laugh.  

“Charming, how wonderful to finally meet you! I’ve been watching you for so long I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever get the joy of talking to you,” you giggled, staring unbothered down the line of the Prince’s sword.

David stooped to untangle the net he’d caught you in, trying his hardest to convince himself that this was for the good of his son as he brought out some rope from a bag on his back.

“Stand up, please. I need to bind your hands and take you back to our camp,” Charming said, struggling to keep eye contact with your piercing gaze and maintaining a delightful air of politeness.

You grinned widely and clapped your hands. “Oh, we’re going for a walk, how lovely! Care to give a lady a hand up?”

David’s eyes narrowed and he contemplated it for a second before holding his hand out in front of you, sword still pointed closely at your throat.

You reached out to grasp his hand firmly, pulling yourself up in a fluid motion until you were next to the prince’s ear with a sword pressed against your neck. You whispered, “It’s only fair to warn you, hurt a hair on my head and you won’t leave Neverland alive.”

Startled, Charming pulled back and hurriedly began tying the rope around your hands, trying to ignore the nerves your words created.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be threatening me.”  

You laughed out loud at this, “Me? Hurt you? Oh, I wouldn’t hurt a fly, Charming. But it’s not me you should be worried about.”

A dangerous glint formed in your eye, the one that usually followed the devilish grin you were currently sporting. You revelled in watching the Prince’s demeanour change as he realised to whom you were referring, and his eyes suddenly began to flicker rapidly around the silent trees in search of an attack.

“We’re going to the camp now,” he said firmly, “turn around and walk in front of me, don’t get any ideas.”

You span around with a flourish, delighted with the attention you were receiving and were sure to soon receive from Pan as you skipped through the forest, practically tugging the Prince along as he held onto the rope trailing from your bound hands. You didn’t bother to register the sword pressed into your back, simply choosing to enjoy the deviation from your usual routes around Neverland.

When the pair of you arrived at the camp of adults, all eyes quickly turned to you and you were met with an array of confused and apprehensive faces. You did, however, see a face you recognised very much and enjoyed watching his jaw drop when he realised the severity of dear Prince Charming’s actions.

“What the hell have you done this time?” Hook practically yelled across the clearing, storming towards you with a manic fear in his eyes.

As the pirate moved to untie your hands, David brandished his sword at him and asked in an incredulous tone, “What are you doing? You said Pan has a female he holds in high regard, so I’m giving him an incentive to return Henry to where he belongs.”

“Given Pan an incentive to kill you slowly and painfully more like,” Hook yelled, throwing his arms about with agitation. “You need to let her go right now before Pan turns up and stops your heart for touching her.”

Watching the situation unfold had been far more entertaining than you had expected and once more you found yourself laughing, “You think I’m here against my will? If that were the case Pan would have killed you already, he’s just letting me have a little bit of fun – I never seem to get out of the house these days.”

The witch, Regina, piped up. The others you could have fun with, the witch you simply disliked.

“If she’s so important to him, maybe Pan will trade her safety for Henry’s,” she growled, already stalking towards you.

Not liking the fire in the witch’s eyes, you took a step back from her approach and smiled, “Bored now.”

You let a high pitched and impressively loud whistle leave your lips and Hook swore extensively.

“Now you’ve done it, you bloody women,” he groaned.

Eyes narrowing in anger, Regina raised her arm and your whistle was silenced in your throat as magic trapped it there, along with your ability to breathe. A strangled noise barely had time to escape your lips before the leaves in the forest swirled in a familiar pattern.

Why should you care about something as stupid as breathing when your own prince had arrived right on cue?

“I believe you have something of mine,” Peter’s voice swirled around in the breeze until his body followed, a dangerous look on his face.

The invaders’ medley of weapons were quickly pointed towards where Pan stood at the edge of the clearing, and Prince Charming bravely spoke, “We could say the same to you.”

Air rushed back into your lungs as Regina’s throat was closed just as yours had been and Peter had a delightfully malicious grin as he said, “I don’t think you should be saying anything to me that’s not your deepest apologises or best attempts at convincing me not to kill all of you right now. Y/N is not part of our game and her involvement will not be tolerated.”

As the sound of Regina choking filled the trees, the women you recognised as Snow White rushed to her side while Emma and the prince brandished their weapons and Hook tried to appear as apologetic as possible.

“Let Regina go, Pan. We don’t want trouble, we just want Henry,” Emma pleaded.

“You should have thought of that before you got Y/N involved,” Pan growled, “It’s a shame, I was having such a fun time playing our little game – unfortunately now I have to kill you.”

Emma was the next to lose the ability to breathe, and it was Charming who dropped his weapon to rush to her. Leaving yourself unarmed to assist a comrade when there’s nothing that you can do about it? The selflessness of it intrigued you; selflessness was not in abundance on Neverland.

Suddenly deciding (definitely not because of the pure desperation in Charming’s eyes as he watched Emma suffer) that watching these adults run about could be more entertaining than watching them die, you piped up, “Peter. I’m bored, I want to go home.”

That was all that needed to be said and in a flash you were in your sweet prince’s strong arms, and with a gust of wind you were back in your tent.

Releasing a sigh to remove the adrenaline that you no longer had interest in keeping in your body, you fell back onto the soft covers of your bed with a smile.

“You know, a person who didn’t know you as well as I do may have thought you were actually concerned about my safety back there, Peter,” you giggled, amused by the idea of the great Peter Pan allowing himself to feel anything at all. “You know I think you’re becoming attached to me.”

Pan stared deeply into your eyes with a deadpan expression, and you forced your face to do the same. He grunted, “If anyone asks, I’ll deny everything.”

The deadpan expressions gave way to matching grins, as the pair of you allowed the facades necessary to survive Neverland to fall away. Pan stood up from the bed and made to leave your tent, all this genuine emotion obviously too much for him.

Needing something more, you sat up abruptly and smiled shy at the idea of the vulnerability you were about to offer to Peter. “Thank you for saving me.”

“Thank you” was not something often said on Neverland, it was an announcement of your debt to another person and often seen by some of the boys as a relinquishment of power to another person.

If the statement was one that shocked Pan, he didn’t let it show, breezing past it and instead saying, “What were you saying about being bored? We could do with going on a hunt, I know how killing things keeps you entertained.”

Clapping your hands in approval you let the wide grin spread across your face again as you rolled off the bed to try and find your bow. “Oh, you know me so well, Peter Pan.”

He was silent for a second, before his voice sounded considerably closer to you than he had been, “I should be thanking you for saving me, you do it every time I look at you.”

Shocked by the very idea of Pan himself using such a taboo phrase, let alone the vulnerability he allowed himself to show by using it in such a sincere sense, your mouth fell open. When you turned with astonishment to see where Peter had teleported to, your lips were captured in a passionate kiss. You allowed yourself to melt into it, not knowing when Peter’s walls would come down again and fall back into being Pan.

After some time, your lips were released, and you sighed in contentment before opening your eyes to meet Peter’s, “Oh yeah, you’re definitely not attached to me...”

“I could have you kidnapped again in seconds, don't test me.”

Laughter filled the tent as the pair let themselves embrace vulnerability, if only for a minute.

On Specialization

I’ve never been comfortable with the term “bassist”. This may sound peculiar coming from a bassist, though not so peculiar if you consider that, as Whitman famously wrote, “I am large, I contain multitudes.”

First, a word about the pecking order of a typical rock band: often, the singer is understood, rightly or wrongly, as occupying the top rung, while the bassist will often come last. The zeitgeist supports this claim. For example, in one episode of Just Shoot Me, Wendy Malick’s character, Nina Van Horn, brags about having laid the singer of a band the previous night, but spits out her water when she’s informed by more sober members of the party that it was in fact the bassist she’d slept with.

In the broadest sense of the term, a rock band is kind of like a layer cake. The singer occupies the top layer, with the other instruments on down. Flashy guitar leads and sexy lyrics (“Come here, baby,” and so on and so forth) take center stage, followed by the drums, slamming and banging like an army coming from behind.

And at last, at the bottom of the cake, the bass guitar, which, to the untrained ear, most often presents a barbaric, low-frequency drawl. Often it’s made even more unintelligible by the music hall’s cavernous reverb. The end result is that the casual listener begins calling the bass player “the other guy”.

When I was active as a professional musician, as the band Interpol’s bassist, I obsessed over this totemic arrangement. It was difficult to ignore how recessive I could become with this instrument around my shoulder.

So, when the band stumbled onto the good fortune of fame and success, when cameras and journalists trained their gaze on us, I compensated for this “imbalance” with sheer braggadocio. Onstage I impersonated Nikki Sixx, while backstage, in interviews, I dropped outlandish statements, the better to have my words show up as pull-quotes. Sealing my public relations push, I scheduled extracurricular activities, such as DJ’ing and, well, coitus, because, hello, it was rock music.

It seemed I’d pulled a switch, that ropes were cranking open an underwater gate, and, before I could finish saying “Cocaine”, an inner Poseidon was releasing the Kraken. It felt as though I couldn’t possibly sate my appetite.

This was a survival strategy, of sorts. I had to find some way to course correct for the imbalance, to prevent my ego from disappearing under the bass guitarist’s fate, the opaque destiny of the bottom rung. I was (and still am) too much a narcissist to endure the role of “filling in the blanks”. I needed more, much more.

Many a fine bassist is perfectly happy to fulfill the humble dispensation of their craft. The best of them are masters of understatement, achieving great notoriety among aficionados (John Paul Jones, for example). But, for better or for worse, I was too much of a diva for that. I’m not exactly proud per se that I’m a diva, but this shouldn’t stop me from being honest.

I suppose this is why I now bristle when someone calls me a “bassist”. The word registers to me as a reminder, not only of lowly status, but also of an embarrassing rebellion against that status, which time has demonstrated as the sign of narcissism, not to mention immaturity.

But the word also implies a degree of specialization with which I have never been comfortable. Jaco Pastorius was a bassist. Bernard Edwards, of Chic, was a bassist. Cliff Burton, of early Metallica, was a bassist. Among the living, Billy Sheehan, of David Lee Roth’s band and Mr. Big, is a bassist. I will even concede that the chief influencers of my bass playing, Peter Hook of Joy Division/New Order and John Taylor of Duran Duran, are bassists, in the truest sense of that word.

But I? I was a gifted musician and composer who came across the bass guitar by way of a college band that happened to take off. Afterwards, I simply used that talent for the less than sincere objectives noted above.*

I don’t disparage the life of specialization, nor those who’ve chosen it. If anything, I envy their attention span. Encountering satisfaction, and even success, following a single career track strikes me as patently wise, to say nothing of the karma of furthering the conversation in a certain field.

But I would hate to detract from the more esteemed practitioners of this instrument, those who clearly set out to make it their life’s work, by welcoming this appellation without the caveat I am writing here.

In anything, one can’t start from a weak place. Otherwise, the foundation is shabby, having begun from an inauthentic proposition. “This is what I should do” is deplorable. “This feels truthful to me” is the better course, no matter the cost, nor the risk. Playing the bass guitar, over and over again to the exclusion of other pursuits, just didn’t feel truthful to me.

At every step on the One Path of Specialization, my gaze would inevitably fall on the alleys and byways fanning out on either side. I’d feel a piece of my heart break every time. At the end of each day, having successively stranded one part of me, then another, I’d go to sleep feeling much less complete than in the morning.

This is no way to end the day. So, in order to preserve my sleep, I decided my curiosity was too important to ignore, that the greatest failure I could envision, for which there seemed to be no justification in permitting, was lying on my death bed wondering what lay under the stones I’d passed my whole life.

Naturally, taking action was an agony. Procrastination was the order of the day. It took years to make headway, years of worrying what would happen to me if I quit, of the deep regret I might encounter. My therapist at the time, listening to the 124th hour of my pretzel-twisting, finally said, “Carlos, you have the right to fuck up your life.” That was the narrative game changer I needed to hear, and I made my decision right then and there to leave Interpol and pursue training in other fields of interest, mainly acting, but also writing.

This isn’t to say I don’t experience regret, agonizing distress even. How often have I stopped for a latte at the local café, overheard myself playing bass guitar through the speakers, and rued the impetuous decision to leave behind such glorious specialization! It’s the height of confusion to taste blessed freedom and bitter mediocrity in the same quaff.

But then I think of two of my heroes, who support their rejection of specialization with an ironic philosophical outlook.

Stephen Fry, on a recent airing of Sam Harris’ podcast Making Sense, explained to his host how he was able to produce the astonishing breadth of his oeuvre – novels, TV appearances, comedy specials, productions of Shakespeare, documentary films, influential tweets – with a humble confession: “Without sounding over paradoxical, it may be a result of having no particular talent.”

Henry Rollins, the punk rocker emeritus, admitted to as much on the multimedia web portal, Big Think, when he said, “I don’t have talent, I have tenacity . . . I have discipline, I have focus.” TV show host, lead singer, travel documentarian, actor, spoken word artist, writer, publisher, Rollins is not so much a great artist as a great “artwork of himself”. He exemplifies the truth that the sum total of mediocre talents equals a net gain of life excellence.

I always like to say: “There’s nothing wrong with being a jack of all trades, for the adage is incorrect: yes, you’d be master of none except that of being a jack of all trades.”

Thomas Jefferson’s epitaph reads: “Author of the Declaration of Independence [and] of the Statute of Virginia for religious freedom & Father of the University of Virginia." Notice the absence of his eight years as our third president. “Author of the Declaration” is certainly no secret, but the other two are generally not well known. Clearly, he was making a statement, despite what historians might prefer to emphasize, of what was truly deserving of remembrance.

Hedy Lamarr, a talented and beautiful mid-century Hollywood star, also co-invented a radio guidance system for Allied powers in World War II that Bluetooth technology incorporates today. August Strindberg, the dean of Swedish drama, was also an influential painter whose subjective landscapes, like the astonishing Wonderland from 1894, were ahead of their time.

Don’t get me started on Al Franken.

Rejecting specialization, because it affords multiple avenues and narratives, is a roundabout way to attain control, and therefore, if he’s feeling constrained, a control freak’s preferred modus operandi. What you lose in the area of expertise, you gain in control over the conversation, for at no point do you involve yourself so much as to permit outside narratives to latch (or leech) on to your pursuits.

At a certain point, I realized that my rockstar posturing in Interpol had an expiration date, past which it would be cute no longer, not to mention hazardous to my health and the emotional wellbeing of my colleagues. The history of rock music presents copious examples of this sequence of events.

But I still needed control. Therefore, I chose to reject the specialization of a successful career as a bassist.

Differences in career objectives meant that I would eventually have to leave the band. Of course there were other factors, more personal than I’m choosing to write here. I will cover that part in other entries. But the need to retain control of my own conversation, along with the desire to achieve that control through a kind of diaspora of artistic pursuits, is salient nonetheless.

I’ll close with a bit of a Marxist riff. Specialization is a capitalist construct (and I mean that with all the opprobrium that statement must sound like it’s making). Its origins lie in the Agricultural Revolution, the first time human labor was ever divided on a large scale, and the Industrial Revolution, which automated that division, created incredibly precise specialization, and amplified the labor force beyond anything previously imaginable.

This has given birth to a fetishization of “expertise” that has pervaded almost every industry. Today, we often ask someone we just met “What do you do?” One of the chief faults I could lay on modernity’s doorstep would be that this question, among all others, does indeed, sadly, provide the fastest track to a person’s core identity. “Trust the experts” sounds eminently advisable. People distrust non-experts the way they distrust when someone’s thoughts evolve, branding them as inconsistent, therefore untrustworthy.

But this is all optics. We are inculcated to believe in the unhindered progress of Capital and this presumes labor, specifically specialized labor, to fulfill its mandate. This makes us suspicious of those who do not specialize. We want someone to stand still, and “be someone”, meaning “be a specialist” in this, that, or some other thing. But this suspicion holds only if you truly believe that the end all of human civilization is the progress of Capital, a belief I am sure most readers, hopefully, at the least, of this blog, reject.

*There is an interplay between sincerity and artifice that permeates rock music, but I don’t wish to get into that here. Suffice it to say for the time being, that there are instances when a rock band suffers extraordinary reputational costs when pursuing a “sincere” style, and this happens, in my opinion, because rock music, in amplifying lifestyle, spectacle, and fashion, is inherently a post-modern art form akin to Pop Art and Dadaism, and therefore more ironic than sincere. This explains why it is so easy to make fun of Coldplay. But I’ll spare the reader the musicology lesson for another time. Yet, I write this to mitigate, perhaps only slightly, the disingenuousness of my “insincerity” as a bassist.

Jenovawatch

Should I apologise for the title? Hopefully who equates to who is more or less clear (this turned out massively different to initial ideas; Aeris was meant to be D.Va, but thanks to effortlesslyuncool she turned out to be Brigitte):

The Jenova Crisis was a global issue. Aeris understood this. She also understood the need to co-operate with other organizations in their response to the persistent and ongoing threat to life on the Planet. It would be nice if Shinra got the reasonably clear-cut memo that everyone else in the world seemed to have received; look we have to work together or we will all be wiped out, you lot can do your assassinations and weird science experiments later surely? Shinra remained theoretically committed to stopping Jenova instances if not wholly for their eradication; rumours abounded of what their head scientist Lucrecia was doing with captured specimens.

Fortunately the current mission should not lead to an encounter with the disgraced scientist. Rather, Aeris had been dispatched to take care of a possible hidden infestation on a tiny island off the coast of Wutai. And since said mission took place in Wutai territorial waters, some negotiation was necessary with Wutai’s government. Never a problem, Wutai were more than willing to assist Avalanche, though remained quite separate from the organisation. Their deep-rooted hatred of Shinra ensured there was no chance of an alignment with the nefarious group. That master hacker Shelke had reportedly been sighted in the area should have been no concern for Aeris.

But. Wutai insisted on sending assistance in the form of Yuffie “D.Va” Kisaragi. Not that Kisaragi was not an accomplished operative and combatant. It would be foolish to overlook her rise to prominence from online gaming to mech-operator. Mere months ago she had handled a Jenova incursion solo at great personal risk. Not to be underestimated.

But. Kisaragi’s public, or rather, promotional persona was misleading. Until today, Kisaragi had been an immaculately presented, chirpy and glamorous figure, aficionado of the finer things in life. Now, Aeris was well aware the late teenager had a tendency to gorge potato chips and soda. Also an attention span for which micro-seconds seemed too short. Two hours scouting the island, and the moment Aeris stopped to rest, out came the snacks, a holographic screen snapping into existence in the air, the mecha folding its legs. Kisaragi was gaming.

Not for the first time did Aeris wonder how wise it was to bring such a mobile weapons platform on a mission with a risk – however slight – of an encounter with a master hacker more than capable of puppeteering any mechanical entity she so chose. This had been explained to Kisaragi a number of times to little concern of the operator. Nor was she apparently worried about bringing a pink robot to a jungle. This was Aeris’s life apparently. Best to- A noise off to the right; a sound in the undergrowth.

“Kisaragi.” The pilot continued clicking the buttons of her controller. Aeris repeated herself, hefting her flail and shield generator, gaze focused on the direction. Jenova? Shinra? Some wildlife unaccounted for in the scans?

“Huh? What?” The screen snapped off and with it the nuisance electronic bleeps.

Aeris waved at her and crept closer. “Something’s out there.”

The mecha unfolded itself and stood up. And with that one movement, pretences of stealth were gone. That machine was less than quiet. Should have left Kisaragi to her game. “Where?”

The whisper was almost enough to make Aeris face-palm. She was at least trying. Aeris pointed, the rustle in the undergrowth louder now. She flicked her shield on, the mecha’s canons twitching, concealed panels jutting open to reveal the gleaming tips of the micro-missiles. They remained tense, the mecha mercifully silent when not moving. A louder crash, a glimpse of something moving, a grey uniform- Not Jenova then. But Shinra was a possibility.

The gun appeared first, a huge cannon of unfamiliar design. The woman who carried it hefted it with muscular arms; short, cropped black hair, amazing arms, red eyes. The woman stopped dead the moment she entered the clearing, her gaze flicking between them. A burst of unfamiliar language, a pause, and then something that sounded familiar. A question. Kisaragi agreed and grinned.

“Uh,” Aeris blinked forcibly.

“Can’t escape my fans it seems,” she said. “Listen I’ll do the autograph later.”

“Autograph?” The situation seemed to click and Aeris suppressed the urge to groan. Of course. While Avalanche was known, none of them were celebrities in the same vein as Kisaragi. The woman’s gaze flicked to her and remained. Not unwanted, but who was this? Not something Kisaragi seemed to have considered.

“Avalanche?” Her eyes narrowed before the next word. “Or Shinra?”

“Avalanche,” Aeris replied hurriedly. The cannon might well be capable of piercing her shield given its size.

The woman nodded, her posture relaxing.  She let the cannon sink to the ground and straightened her back. “Good. But also bad. If you were Shinra, perhaps you could tell me where Shelke is.”

A glance to Kisaragi. Curious. “You don’t seem aligned with Shinra-“ The woman snorted. “-so who are you?”

“Tifa Lockhart, mercenary,” she replied straightening her back. “I have been hired to hunt down Shelke.” No shortage of people the hacker had upset, though curious who Shelke had riled sufficiently to hire Lockhart.

“So you heard that rumour too.”

A nod. “And yet, you bring this machine here?” She gestured at Kisaragi. “Poor choices.”

“No way Shelke can hack me,” Kisaragi snapped. “We are way too advanced for her.”

Lockhart’s tone softened. “It does not to pay to be overconfident with her. Or those she is aligned with.” Kisaragi glared at her and stomped out of the clearing on a different course to Lockart’s.

“Sorry about her. She’s-“ Aeris shrugged helplessly.

“Different,” Lockhart replied with a grin. A glance in the direction of the robot. “Do you object to an alliance?”

She was not aligned with Shinra, that should be enough. Hopefully Aeris would not find out later that she was not somehow involved with the Jenova worshippers. That seemed unlikely given her lack of hostility to Avalanche. Aeris shook her head. “More back-up is appreciated. To a point anyway.” She sighed. “Guess we better follow her though.”

Together they made their way deeper into the jungle, progress easier with Kisaragi striding ahead on tireless, mechanical legs. Mission first Gainsborough. But perhaps another glance at Lockhart would not hurt- Stop that. “Why do you do this?”

“Sorry?”

Lockhart’s lips moved silently for a moment. “Why are you in Avalanche?”

Ah. “You could say it’s a family tradition.” All of them still alive thankfully. “I wanted to do my part too.” The other woman nodded. She opened her mouth to speak and stopped. Kisaragi was paused ahead of them. “What is-“ Aeris cut herself off as she circled the mecha. Two meters away the ground sank and plummeted into the abyss. Denizens of the inferno writhed and clawed. Another blink. Not a vision from Dante; this was a more familiar horror. The constantly changing fleshy mass that was Jenova. “Guess we found the infestation.”

Lockhart whistled while peering over the edge. “I haven’t seen that many since the war.” She pointed. “That is a flier.”

“Are you sure?” Aeris followed the indicated direction. A larger mass of Jenova was shifting form in the centre of the pit, wing-like vestiges shaping themselves. Aeris swore. “I don’t think we can do this alone.”

“How long until back-up?” Lockhart’s gaze flicked around the lip of the crater. No sign of Shelke, but if the hacker was here, then perhaps Shinra had been called. Perhaps she was holding off in lieu of the greater prize. Another reminder of the rumours about what Lucrecia wanted with samples.

Aeris shook herself. “An hour maybe.”

“That thing is not going to wait an hour,” Kisaragi muttered. The mecha hunched.

“Wait,” Aeris said. Below the mottled purple flesh of Jenova receded from the mass in the centre; the true form of the flying Jenova was near complete. “We go in there, we get overwhelmed.” She grabbed her radio and signalled headquarters. A rush, a sensation of something ascending at speed. A heart-rending boom that made her jump, a rush of wind and Kisaragi was no longer beside her. “I said wait,” Aeris roared.

“She cannot,” Lockhart replied and hefted her canon. Above them Kisaragi ascended, the dark form of the Jenova flier visible above her. Staccato bursts of pulse cannons sounded distantly. “I hope you are right about Avalanche’s response. We must hold out.” A burst of energy towards the pit; a tendril of Jenova withered and disintergrated into ash. The rim of the pit disappeared beneath a rising tide of the alien creature.

“Fall back,” Aeris said, Lockhart already moving back, her gaze flicking from target to target. A click and Aeris’s energy shield burst into life; a snap of her wrist and the flail snaked out to smash a tendril attempting to flank Lockhart. The other woman nodded in thanks and fired another pulse of energy. Above them, Kisaragi darted through the air, never letting the flier move towards the open water. How much ammo did that thing carry? How much fuel?

She would need to trust Kisaragi; for now they needed to concentrate on staying alive. “I have never seen it behave like this,” Lockhart muttered. “Is there something here?”

“Interesting question,” Aeris replied, swigging at her flask; she tossed the rest to Lockhart, the tiredness fading from her limbs. “Give me your number and I’ll tell you what we find when back-up arrives.” Left unsaid: assuming they were both alive by that point.

“Attractive girl asking for my phone number.” Lockhart shot her a smirk. Aeris was on the verge of explaining that she meant solely professionally, but if Lockhart was into that and didn’t have that many skeletons in her closet maybe- “I would like to discuss over coffee if acceptable.”

Aeris grinned. “It’s a date.” With renewed vigour she brought her flail down over and over again. The tide slowly shifted, the Jenova tendrils ceasing to advance, the flier blasted out of the air by a burst of missiles. Kisaragi dropped beside them and helped the now minimal efforts to contain Jenova while they waited for more operatives and a planned controlled burn. Uneasy questions; why was the nest so massive, and why here of all places? And where had the rumours regarding Shelke come from? Had she already left before they arrived? Aeris shot a glance at Lockhart. Questions for others; now she wanted to see what coffee might bring.

I Liked Fates Before It Was Cool!: Revelation Part 2

Prologue

Opening Chapters

Revelation Part 1

Chapters 13-19, in which everyone’s going to Valla even though half of them suck.

Chapter 13

Hey look, Hoshidan scum!

Ok, meme comedy done. This is in my opinion the first really strong chapter of Revelation, with satisfying gameplay, escalation of the threat posed by Valla, and some good character development. It’s an utter tragedy that it takes place against the literal backdrop of Cyrkensia’s ruined opera house, but I can (mostly) live with the destruction of my favorite setting in Fates when it’s so effective at getting results. Azura still gets to sing here after a fashion, and although there’s no cutscene to go with it the results of this particular show do a good job of subtly foreshadowing that Azura and Mikoto use similar pacifying magic from the same source.

After Kaden and Keaton are done lampshading why the party always runs into shapeshifters in Cyrkensia, it’s time for Corrin to step between Xander and Ryoma as they left them back in Chapter 6 - at each other’s throats in a conflict ultimately engineered by Anankos. It’s a good demonstration of what the war between the two nations would look like without Corrin’s intervention, and the crown princes’ characters logically follow from their behavior as antagonists in the other routes. Xander is resolved that Corrin is a traitor and merits only death, whereas Ryoma is more hesitant to accept Corrin’s choice and, unlike in Conquest, willing to listen to their stated motivations when he’s not on the verge of death. Ryoma’s mellower outlook may be attributed, oddly enough, to the strong intimation that he’s got something going on with Scarlet, something I completely forgot about until I replayed this chapter. I don’t blame myself for doing so; in an Avatar free-for-all dating game romances between the other playable characters are naturally going to get short shrift in the story, and it doesn’t help that Birthright doesn’t suggest this relationship at all even though it’s the one route where both characters to survive to the end. And...yeah, there’s that part, but that’s for a bit later. It’s interesting to imagine how the different circumstances of Revelation could have encouraged Ryoma and Scarlet to grow closer in Revelation than they do in Birthright, though realistically it probably just boils down to Corrin not being there for most of their time together.

In any case, Ryoma shares what he knows about the Rainbow Sage - odd how the fourth person to visit the Sage is still Xander on this route when in the others it’s unsurprisingly the opposing older brother - and Corrin and co. are off to follow the path of Conquest 10 and 11. At least there’s no sequence-breaking teleport books this time.

Chapter 14

This time I’m not focusing on the cutaway to Garon and co., because his obvious gloating has reached such alarmingly stupid levels that I have nothing more to say about it. The payoff, such as it is, to that plot thread is still a few chapters away anyway...as is the appearance of Iago and Hans, who have yet to do much of anything on this route and yet get to appear as bosses at a plot-critical moment. Boo.

Let’s talk about unit balancing instead. Elise shows up with her she’s-legal-we-swear panty shot, and one look at the stats of her and her retainers showcases another glaring problem with the gameplay of Revelation. From this point onward, there’s really no point in training any of the numerous unpromoted units the game throws at you, because there’s no time to raise them up to par unless you do a lot of grinding. This is one instance where Revelation’s similarities to FE10 are more superficial than they first appear, because 

1) when compared to just one route of Fates Radiant Dawn is a much longer game, and in fact at 43 chapters still holds the record for the longest individual story campaign in the series. Revelation’s pacing and design suffers terribly from the requirement that it cover the same number of chapters as the other routes.

2) Radiant Dawn also has a massive roster (second largest in the series behind New Mystery) with several units who come behind the level curve, but they’re spread across the course of the game rather than lumped into a span of a few chapters. Examples vary from earlygame recruits just a bit behind (Meg) to underwhelming midgame units (Kyza and Lyre) to a bonus run Est type in lategame (Pelleas). 

3) and most notably, units in FE10 are divided into separate armies with different resource pools until lategame. While the balancing between those is infamously unequal, this setup almost requires that you train more units than you’ll ultimately be sending into endgame, giving even the lesser ones a small chance to shine.

I imagine that the design philosophy behind Revelation is that the player would be expected to spend a lot of time grinding on this route to get its numerous unique supports and raise a much larger army. It seems intended for a slower pace, particularly as this also helps with building up the castle base when you’ve got duplicates of most buildings to upgrade. I still don’t care for it though, because I don’t feel like taking that extra time to raise an oversized army and because some of the recruitments continue to be unexplained in story. Why would two border guards join in the invasion of a foreign port? Revelation doesn’t know or care, but it’ll make you run your new underleveled healer to both sides of this large map to recruit them regardless. At least Elise is mounted....

Chapter 15

Seriously, look at this. These two join in the same chapter, what the hell. This isn’t even mentioning that these are also some pretty random recruitments. Shura is awfully nonchalant on hearing that Corrin got his revenge for him, and Nyx has no more reason to be here than she did in Conquest 9. With her it really feels like the writers had a great (if highly fetishistic) concept for a character and came up with a plausible backstory only to find that there was no way to fit her into the plot, so...here she is. On a related note, Nyx is the only first generation character other than Gunter to outright not appear in one route, and at least there’s an explanation for Gunter’s absence in Birthright. Her presence really is just that random.

Before doing the write-up for this chapter I read back over what I’d written for the Sevenfold Sanctuary in the other routes. The gameplay of the Revelation iteration offers nothing really to speak of, lacking either Conquest’s class and skill-themed rooms or Birthright’s power jump. The Rainbow Sage uses an alternate old man sprite initially to make it less obvious that he’s repeating the same trick he pulled in Birthright, but his exposition at the end is worth the trolling for finally confirming that he is indeed a dragon and giving us the obligatory Fire Emblem name drop. Fates’s cosmology reveals itself to borrow mostly from Jugdral of all places, though I’ve never yet seen anyone try to piece together the scattered hints of worldbuilding to link the twelve dragons of the two settings. I’m certainly not going to attempt it, because even with divine weapons and draconic-blooded families in the mix there’s remarkably little to conclude definitively that the First Dragons of Fates are/were the dragons that appeared to Jugdral’s Crusaders. My pet theory aligns it a bit more with Tellius because of certain other observations about Fates’s setting and because something is going to have to connect the dragon laguz to the rest of the series’s lore eventually.

Chapter 16 + 17

I’ve been pretty down on Revelation thus far, and at first I was fully prepared to rip into these two chapters in similar fashion...and then I finished playing through them and changed my mind. If I had to pick one moment from FE14 to represent in miniature the beautiful mess that is this game, with all its inventive concepts and missed potential, its stirring emotional moments and lazy copouts, I would choose these chapters. In spite of everything they nail the very best of what Fates offers on an emotional level, and as a midgame climax they land almost as well as the Branch of Fate lands as an establishing moment.

And yet there’s so much wrong with them! Hans and Iago have never been flatter or more inconsequential antagonists; note that before this point in Revelation they’ve done nothing aside from knock Gunter off a bridge and use an illusion to piss off the Wind Tribe. The Ryoma/Scarlet angle is abruptly dialed back to the friend zone, presumably to make it okay for the Avatar to bone them, while Hinoka abruptly joins in the action after having been forgotten about for eleven(!) chapters bar one throwaway mention in Chapter 13. Xander and Leo’s apparent betrayal of Nohr has little bite to it even from Iago as Garon might as well not exist by this point, and their retainers fail so hard as backup I almost always just send them to a corner to wait out the battle. Speaking of which, the trend of underleveled units reaches its zenith, here where maybe four of the eleven units obtained in these chapters can reasonably be used without grinding after this point. It’s even worse than the torrent of garbage units the Archanea games throw at you, because at least those sometimes come with nice stuff in their inventories (hence the “Free Silvers” tier jokingly used on some of the DS tier lists back when those were popular). And to cap it all off the ticking timer that’s been running from Chapter 7 up until this moment, of the skies over Hoshido and Nohr switching as the moment that the portal to Valla will close, makes no sense either (meteoro)logically or narratively except to add unneeded urgency and entice a few of the characters to the Canyon. For that matter, since Revelation appears to take place in the same time frame as the other two routes it’s baffling that this bizarre bit of worldbuilding goes unmentioned in them. Wouldn’t it be kind of a big deal for Nohr to get a normal sky every few decades, and for Hoshido to get a bad one?

But somehow despite all that when the Nohrian brothers show up in Chapter 17 and the music switches to “A Dark Fall” (quick aside, but one thing I love about Fates as a whole is its soundtrack) I fully got what the developers were going for, and to see all the royals finally interacting with each other - something sorely missing from Chapter 6, if you recall - and calling a truce to face whatever awaits them in Valla together just sealed that feeling. The Hoshidan and Nohrian contrast to these two chapters followed by a scene of Corrin’s families united for the first time really sells the main draw of Revelation, even if for some of them the buildup to that moment was rushed (Takumi, Camilla) or just not there at all (Hinoka). Yeah, it comes with the distinct aroma of Avatar-centered plotting like everything else on this route - as Ryoma actually points out in Chapter 16, funnily enough - but even though some of the particulars are undercooked and most of the circumstances are downright silly I can completely get on board with this group of people in this moment banding together to, uh, jump off a bridge before an interdimensional portal closes because the sky is changing color and...ugh, never mind.

Chapter 18

I will say this for Valla: I really enjoy its visual style, a sort of supernaturally-ruined pastoral idyll that resembles nothing like the world above. It also helps that it’s not tied directly to any real-world cultures like Hoshido and Nohr are, and its nods to Middle Eastern, Indian, and exclusively in localization (I think?) Greek cultures come across in the series’s more typically understated fashion. Of course that otherworldly quality lends itself to more frustrating map mechanics, so it’s not entirely a positive. This one isn’t so bad provided you’re fielding a bunch of royals to activate all the Dragon Veins - and really, it’s not as though the player needs another excuse to use them to the exclusion of almost everyone else.

But of course the big moment of this chapter is Scarlet’s death. The bit with the flower is a painfully obvious hint to recall when it comes time for the reveal of her killer, but nevertheless the sequence does well despite that and some awkward staging with battle models. What doesn’t work quite as well is the reintroduction of the Ryoma/Scarlet angle just to add more punch to her death...completely ignoring the possibility that Corrin might be married to either of them (and Scarlet just undergone what had to have been one of the most hyper-accelerated pregnancies in all of fiction, if you want to be really sadistic). Because of their earlier buildup this may be the most egregious example of Fates needing to ignore its own support mechanics for the sake of the main plot. In any case, if Corrin didn’t shack up with one of them the scene after the chapter is pretty solid. I consider it comparable to Lilith’s death scenes on the other routes, since she also dies taking a hit for Corrin, but as the circumstances are less random and Scarlet actually gets most of her characterization outside DLC it’s much more effective overall.

Chapter 19

Enter the strange child with the oversized forehead. At least it’s not immediately obvious that’s he’s evil, I guess?

It’s interesting to note that the Valla chapters are structured almost as a route unto themselves, having to establish a new set of characters previously unseen in Revelation and not seen at all in the other routes. Although in terms of gameplay they function more like an extended endgame in the vein of Radiant Dawn’s Tower of Guidance, bizarre architecture and all. I’ll be talking more about Anthony and Arete and the others later on, but I wanted to note the setup for when I talk about it in the next post. 

The intro to this chapter also delves into a bit more of Fates’s cosmology, specifically its deified dragons. Xander asks what only Iago thought to question in Conquest, namely why Garon would worship Anankos and not the Dusk Dragon, only to get the obvious but still technically necessary reveal of Garon’s true nature. I do like that the First Dragons are vague enough in their presentation that I could believe either that the Dawn and Dusk Dragons are just different interpretations of Anankos or that they’re all separate entities. As I recall however this is somewhat muted by the knowledge that the emotional payoff re: Garon is going to be rather muted when it finally happens, so this really is just more vague worldbuilding. 

Oh, right, the chapter. It’s Conquest 15 with a bigger party and entirely too many items drops on the optional path. Why the developers think the player needed so many items thrown at them in a game with no durability and a route with no shortage of funds I’ll never know.

Next time: Revelation Chapter 20 - Endgame

Henry Danger Carnival/Fair Fic: Part 1

Inspired by: @sunbeameyes bc of her Disneyland hc. The ideas in my head were too many and too great to pass this opportunity up, so I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Henry Danger

Word Count: I have no flippin' idea bc I didn't use Word, and I was NOT about to count each word. No siree. So, it's just A LOT. lolol sorry.

Summary: The gang--Ray, Schwoz, and the kids (Piper included)--spend the day and most of the night at the Swellview Fair.

A/N: Okay, I know Schwoz hides his identity every time he's around Piper in the show, but I don't really see the big deal in having her know that Schwoz works with Henry and Co. or at least that he exists. So, in this fic, Ray has told Piper that Schwoz is his cousin. Also, the story is told in 3rd person omniscient p.o.v because there's a lot of characters, and it's three parts because it turned out to be hella freaking long. I had a lot of fun embellishing this au, so please enjoy! xoxo

-------------------------------

"Come on, Piper. Everyone's waiting on us!" Henry called up the stairs for the third time in a span of twenty minutes. What was taking her so long?

He was supposed to be meeting Charlotte and Jasper at Junk 'n Stuff right now so they could all leave for the Swellview Fair in the park with Ray and Schwoz, but he hadn't even left the house yet because of a certain little sister of his who was taking her sweet time getting ready.

"I'll be done in a minute!" She called back, obviously annoyed.

Henry thought it was pretty audacious of her to be the annoyed one considering he was ready to walk out the door. He had been ready for the last twenty minutes. Piper wasn't waiting on him. He was waiting on her. If anyone had a right to be annoyed, it was Henry.

"You said that ten minutes ago!" He groaned, grabbing onto the banister of the stairs as he slouched down and dropped his face on his arm. He was getting impatient. He didn't even feel like standing any longer. He just wanted to go.

"Well, now I'm nine minutes closer!"

Henry stood back up and made a 'what the' face to the empty house around him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and called back up the stairs, "That doesn't make any sense!"

Piper responded immediately. "You don't make any sense!"

"Okay," Henry relented knowing the conversation was going nowhere.

He tapped his phone screen with his fingers, trying to maintain what little patience he had left while he waited, but it didn't occupy him enough. The sound was a bit aggravating as well, so he decided to count the number of squares on his plaid shirt to pass the time.

When he was at 206 and 15 minutes had passed (Henry considered pointing out that Piper had passed her estimated 10 minutes but thought better of it), Piper appeared at the top of the stairs.

"It's about time," Henry sighed. "You ready?"

Piper gave him an irritated look. "You see me walking down the stairs, don't you?"

Henry shook his head, ever amazed by his sister's readiness to be sarcastic. "You know, I didn't have to invite you."

"Yes you did." Piper stated simply as they walked out of the house and Henry locked the front door. "Mom and Dad are out of town, and you have to watch me. Even though I don't need a babysitter." She added the last part under her breath.

"Okay, that's true, but it's not the only reason." Piper gave him a disbelieving look, but Henry only shrugged. "I don't know. It's Saturday, and the fair is in town. I thought you might want to go because we used to go with Mom and Dad when we were younger. I know you don't really like hanging out with me and my friends, but there's rides and games, and they have that one thing where you get to hit stuff, and I remembered you really liked that one as a kid, so--"

"Alright, I get it." She cut Henry's rambling off.

"The point is I chose to ask you to come." He finished, not looking at her. Of course he loved his little sister, but actually acknowledging that out loud always felt weird.

Piper obviously felt the same because she made a face of mock disgust. "Don't make this any weirder than it needs to be." Piper wasn't going to ever tell Henry this, but she was actually glad to hear that he had chosen to bring her along. It was actually nice to know her older brother wanted her around.

Henry nodded in agreement. He and Piper had a complicated sibling relationship, and too much talk about feelings made them both uncomfortable. "Right. Let's get to Junk 'n Stuff."

"I'll drive us." Piper announced, walking towards the driveway.

Henry grabbed her shoulder to stop her, but she immediately pulled away from him.

"Don't touch me." She ordered in a loud voice, startling Henry who jumped back instantly.

Henry stood still for a minute, shocked by her reaction, but he shook it off. "Whatever. Look, you're not driving us."

Piper crossed her arms defiantly. "Why not?"

"For one, you're too young." Henry said, incredulously. He didn't see how it was even in question. He wasn't even driving yet, and he's older--not to mention of age to actually drive.

"I have a license." She argued.

Henry dragged a heavy hand down his face. "I don't care if the DMV gave you a license. It was obviously a mistake."

He still couldn't believe the DMV could accidentally send an twelve year old a seemingly bonified license. Gives a person real confidence in their government.

Piper shrugged. She didn't care why they sent it. She only cared that they did. "It's still a valid license."

"No, it really isn't." Henry emphasized. "Twelve year olds can't get a license. If the police pulled us over, it wouldn't even matter if it was real or not because you're not even old to enough to be arrested for having a fake license!"

Piper glared at him. "Would you stop being such a baby?" Henry scoffed, but Piper ignored it. "Give me the keys."

"I don't have them." Henry smirked. Piper narrowed her eyes at him, so he continued. "Mom and Dad both took their cars."

Piper let out a frustrated groan, but she let the matter go seeing as how she didn't have any other option. "Fine. We can take the bus."

Henry celebrated his mini-victory in silence as they walked to the bus stop. It wasn't often that Piper gave in that easily.

As they waited for the bus, Henry sent Charlotte a text.

----------

"Henry's bringing Piper." Charlotte told Ray after receiving a text from Hen that said they were on their way.

Charlotte, Jasper, and Ray were all milling about in the store, waiting for Schwoz to get back from his long-overdue colonoscopy and for Henry--and now Piper--to arrive at the store so Ray could drive them all to the fair.

She was glad for the interruption Henry's text brought because, for the past twenty minutes she and Jasper had been at the store, Ray had been going on and on about how the Swellview Fair has the best candy apples anywhere and that he had waited a whole year for the fair to come back to town just so he could eat said apples. Charlotte couldn't believe that someone could talk that much about a piece of food, but somehow Ray had managed it--for twenty whole minutes. Henry's text had come at just the right time; one more mention of any kind of fruit covered in candy or caramel or little chopped nuts, and heads were gonna roll.

Ray and Jasper groaned at the mention of Henry's little sister.

"Hey," Charlotte scolded. "What's wrong with Piper?"

"What isn't wrong with Piper?" Jasper sneered. "The girl is straight up evil." Ray nodded in agreement.

"Well, I organized this whole thing, so I should get the last say in who gets to come with us." Charlotte reasoned.

"But I'm the one driving," Ray argued. "And I'm the one who has to make sure none of you kids gets lost or something. I don't need another bratty kid running around. I've got enough as is." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in Jasper's direction. "I didn't even want Jasper here."

Jasper's held his hands up defensively. "Hey!"

Ray pretended not to hear him and continued to look at Charlotte with an expectant expression on his face.

Charlotte waved them both off. "Get over yourselves. Piper isn't that bad. Sure, she's a lot to handle, but she can be really cool." She saw Ray was about to protest, so she quickly added, "Henry's parents are out of town, so Henry has to bring her." Charlotte knew that wasn't the only reason Henry had brought her, but she knew it was the only way to get Jasper and Ray to stop complaining and accept the fact that Piper was officially going with them.

Ray let out an exaggerated groan. "Ugh, fine. The bratty little girl can come." He turned to walk away, but quickly turned back to face Charlotte, one finger held up in her face. "But don't think that this means I'm buying her a candy apple."

Charlotte nearly pulled her hair out. "God, would you forget about the candy apples?"

Ray looked horrified. He placed a hand on his chest. "I will do no such thing."

This time Charlotte walked away rolling her eyes, fed up with Ray's typical flair for the dramatic.

Jasper came up to her then, a large, empty bucket with a ferris wheel on the side in his hands. He gave Ray a mean look when he passed him; he was still miffed about Ray's comment. 

Ray couldn't be bothered. Instead, he went to call Schwoz to see if he was on his way so they could leave as soon as Henry--and that Paper girl or whatever her name was--arrived.

"What's that for?" Charlotte asked Jasper warily. She was wondering if her friend's long forgotten bucket obsession was making a brief come back, but she hoped that wasn't the case. Jasper had been a bit excessive with his bucket collection.

Jasper looked down at his bucket and smiled. "This is my ferris wheel bucket for holding all my tokens."

Jasper was so excited about going to the fair, he couldn't stand it. He had never been before, but the way Ray had talked about the candy apples assured him that it was a magical place. He wanted to make sure he was prepared, so he had brought a bucket to store his tokens. He didn't want to be stuck not being able to do anything because he didn't have enough tokens or worse--no place to store them. What would he do with them when he got one of those infamous candy apples? Where would he put them so they wouldn't be stolen? No, he needed this bucket.

Charlotte didn't look like she understood. "Tokens?" Her voice trailed off, waiting for an explanation.

Jasper rolled his eyes, suspecting Charlotte was teasing him, "Yeah, tokens. So I can ride on the rides and play the games and stuff."

"Jasper," Charlotte began slowly. "Fairs don't do tokens. Those are for arcades."

"Oh," Jasper's face fell a little. "Well, I've never been to either. You know how my parents are." He muttered dismissively. "They don't like anything that involves other people."

Charlotte nodded her head in agreement--albeit a little reluctantly. She understood that his parents were strange, but she didn't understand the strange things they did or why they did them. She didn't want to crush Jasper's spirit nor his obvious excitement though, so she offered a solution.

"They give you tickets for the rides, so maybe you can put those in there?" She suggested with a smile.

Jasper perked back up. "Oh, well, great! Then I am prepared."

Charlotte returned Jasper's smile.

The bell on the front door to the shop rang as Henry and Piper walked in.

"We're here!" Henry called out.

Jasper immediately ran to him, eagerly holding his bucket right up to Henry's face. "Look at my bucket! It has a ferris wheel on it!"

"Um, okay?" Henry was a taken aback by Jasper's suddeness, but he gave a good-natured chuckle in response to his friend's excitement. He moved the bucket back so he could actually see what it was instead of a blurry blue mass."Cool bucket, dude."

Jasper felt his cheeks heat a little at Henry's approval. "It's nothing."

Henry smiled, happy to see that Jasper's love for buckets hadn't completely faded. He had wondered if Jasper still collected buckets but just kept it secret; he had been crazy about them at one point, but Henry liked how excited Jasper got about them.

"Okay, can we leave now?" Piper piped up from behind Henry, ceasing all bucket talk. Piper didn't care what Jasper had, bucket or not.

"No," Charlotte sighed, shouldering her bag. "We're waiting on Schwoz--" she stopped when she realized Piper didn't know who Schwoz was.

She looked to Henry then to Jasper, all of them sharing the same nervous look. What were they going to do about Schwoz and Piper? Piper had seen Schwoz before--the crazy happenings that were typical of Swellview had had Schwoz appearing at the Hart house quite a lot--but it was never under the best circumstances. Schwoz had crashed through the roof of Piper's house and landed on top of her at one point. How were they going to explain why he was suddenly coming with them to a fair?

Piper looked from Charlotte to Jasper to her brother with obvious confusion on her face. "What's a Schwoz?"

"Umm," Henry looked to his friends for an answer, but they both shrugged. The sound of Ray talking in the back of the store made a sudden crazy idea come to him. "He's my boss' cousin." He improvised, hoping he had sounded believable.

Piper didn't look like she believed him.

Henry turned to Charlotte and Jasper once again, motioning for them to go along with it.

"Yeah," Charlotte said suddenly. "He's in town for the weekend."

"That's right." Jasper continued. "He's not from around here." He hoped that would keep Piper from asking questions about Schwoz' accent. Henry gave Jasper a grateful look, obviously glad he had added that detail, and Jasper gave him a wink in return.

Piper gave the three of them a look that said she wasn't buying it. "Right." She said skeptically. Lucky for Henry and his friends, Piper didn't care enough to push the issue any further. She was just glad she wasn't spending her Saturday stuck in the house.

"Okay, well let's see if Ray and his cousin are ready leave." Henry said nervously, hoping to get the focus away from Schwoz' identity. "Ray, you ready to go?" He called to the back of the store.

Ray appeared, still holding his phone. "Yeah, I was just on the phone with Schwoz. He's gonna meet us--" he stopped when he saw Piper, taking into account what the rest of the them had just been worrying about.

"Your cousin Schwoz, right?" Henry urged, slightly nodding his head.

Ray looked to Charlotte and Jasper who were both giving him looks that said he should go along with it. Even pretending to be related to Schwoz made his skin crawl, but since he obviously couldn't get rid of the little girl, he was just going to have to acquiesce to the ridiculous lie.

"Yes, my cousin," he said forcefully and not fondly. "Anyway, he's finished with his colon--whatever, and he's waiting for us at the park."

"Then let's go to a fair." Henry said quickly, motioning for everyone to walk out the door.

"Yes, let's," Ray muttered, filling his head with thoughts of candy apples as an incentive to continue on with what had seemed like a good idea at first. Now it was more like babysitting, and he had to pretend to be related to Schwoz. "Candy apples, I am coming for you."

----------

A/N Part 2: Okay, so this is pretty boring, but I had to set the story up. That's always the boring part. Now that everyone's headed to the same place, things will hopefully be more interesting in the next parts. Please stick around for those because I'm excited to write them. I'm sorry if this sucks, but feel free to tell me if you think it does. Or doesn't. Whichever one. lol I want your feedback, no matter the nature. xoxo

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The Raven in Winter- Chapter 2

Summary: On the eve of her wedding, a familiar face arrives in Fornburg alongside two strangers, bringing with them a chance at adventure. When Sigrid reluctantly follows her husband to England and learns of the sinister forces that hunt him, she is thrust into a dangerous plot to control England. Will she and Eivor be able to unravel the web of mystery that surrounds their new home? Or are they destined to choke under the rule of the Order of the Ancients?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665312/chapters/67980043#workskin

This tale will span the events of the game and beyond as Sigrid and Eivor's journey unfolds.

Pairing: Original Female Character x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Do I spend too much time making sure this is historically accurate? Yes, yes I do.

Have some wedding night drama and me trying to make Sigurd seem less awful and the relationship between him and Randvi feel more flushed out. Cause the writing in that aspect leaves a lot to be desired.

Also, promise we are getting to the game stuff soon, just needed one last section to set up some story.

It had been an odd moment, when a swaggering Sigurd approached his father, as though the world hung on the point of a sword. One tip and all would be lost, and when father and son embraced, it was as if time had once again begun to flow. Sigurd had brought with him tales of far off lands. Tales that loosened nerves and tongues alike and soon the longhouse had shed the odd tension that had hung in the air.

Beside me, Randvi had been so still I was unsure if she drew breath. “Go to him,” I whispered, gently squeezing her hand to draw her from her stupor.

She approached slowly, cautiously, and when the two finally embraced, a storm of emotions naked upon their faces, I wondered if I would have felt the same. Would I have been able to endure such a parting? Randvi had been stoic, firm, and when I often pressed her on the matter, she had remained silent or simply did not answer.

It was only when we lay tangled in my bed, on the eve of my wedding, with dawn fast approaching, that she admitted her dissatisfaction at her husband’s absence.

“I am expected to appear as a weepy maiden,” she whispered, cool fingers brushing my dark hair from my cheek. “But how can I act such a part when Sigurd and I have known each other for so little and I have grown so fond of my freedom.”

“You are permitted to spread your wings as you see fit, sister,” I replied, squeezing her fingers with my own. “And should my cousin never return, you will have a place at my table.

“Sigurd is too stubborn to perish in such a way,” she admitted with a giggle, her face pressed to my shoulder. “And to leave his glory so unclaimed? He would sooner sacrifice his own eye.”

“Rightly so.” I settled my cheek upon her head with a gentle sigh. “Then you shall have to embrace him as a good wife when he returns, and only you and I shall know the truth of your affections.”

“And Eivor,” Randvi teased with an unladylike snort. “For I know you whisper all my secrets to him when you are alone.”

Now, as the pair unsurely held each other, I could see the forced smile upon her face, the way her hands did not dare to linger on Sigurd’s jaw longer than necessary. I knew she had chosen duty over her own emotions. Their reunion continued for a moment longer, Sigurd and Randvi sharing a chaste kiss, cheers echoing around them, before parting.

Soon they were joined by my bear of a husband, his hands clapped on their shoulders in a warm embrace. When I finally joined them, I found myself as unsure as she, my touch light when I finally dared to settle my hand on Eivor’s forearm.

“Brother, may I introduce my wife, Sigrid Arnesdottir.” I was pushed forward towards Sigurd, and without laying eyes upon him, I knew my husband’s lips were split in a wide grin.

“Married?” Sigurd smiled charmingly, feigned surprised poorly concealed in his expression. I rolled my eyes in return. “Little Siggy? When I departed you were but a girl, and now I find you are married to this brute!” Travel had tempered Sigurd’s wild moods, that much was evident.

“Much has changed, cousin. As it seems, so have you.” I embraced Sigurd with a smile, part of me overjoyed to have our small family together again. “Come tell us of your travels. We have plenty of ale to share at our table.”

Sigurd lounged at our bridal table drinking heartily as he regaled us with a tale of a land covered in coarse dirt he called sand. Randvi sat beside him, her tense countenance bleeding away as quickly as she drained the ale before her. “An ocean of sand, smooth as snow, brother, as far as a man could see.”

If I closed my eyes, I could picture it, the coppery mounds baked and warmed in the sunlight. I could feel the warmth as hot as raging fire upon my skin, the warm wind that blew through my unbound hair. “I wish I could have seen it,” I sighed, dark eyes fluttering open to regard my cousin with a dreamy smile. Sigurd returned it with a bright smile of his own.

“I intended to bring your husband with me in late summer raids, perhaps you may join us, cos.” His laugh rang out through the hall when I cast a hopeful glance towards Eivor.

“And leave me so alone,” Randvi laughed over her flagon of ale.

“You could come with us,” I offered, reaching across the table to take her hand in my own. “We shall be the fiercest pair of shield maidens and strike terror into the hearts of our enemies.”

“That you shall, little wife,” my husband mused, warm lips pressing to my hair with a gentle smile. “You shall intimidate children all over the land with your mighty size.” My fingers slapped his chest with a dull thud, Eivor answering with a pained grunt.

“And leave your uncle alone with Hlif? I fear they should drive each other mad before we return. It is good you returned so soon, husband,” Randvi continued, a gentle smile upon her lips, “for I should be driven mad by this one as well.”

“Yes, wife, it is fortunate I returned in time to save you from the wedding feast.”

“Fortunate indeed,” Eivor answered in my stead, his arm shifting where it draped heavily across my shoulders. “And what of your companions?” I followed his gaze to Sigurd’s strange pair of companions who talked between themselves in the shadowy corner behind the ale casks. “They seem a curious pair.”

Sigurd leaned forward, his answer scarce a whisper. The sound of music swelled through the longhouse as dancing struck up around us, drowning out the words passed between them. “Go dance with your wife, brother. We shall speak more on this matter later.”

“Will you join us, cousin,” I asked, smiling brightly at Randvi who answered with a strained flash of teeth.

“Alas, cos, I must speak with my companions.” He rose from the table, and I did not fail to notice the tension bleed from Randvi’s shoulders. “Enjoy your dance. We shall speak later.”

“He seems in good spirits,” I murmured to my husband once we were out of earshot. “And it has done Randvi good that he has returned. I have not seen her so at ease in a long while.”

“Indeed,” Eivor agreed, his hand heavy in mine, though he did not steer us towards the slowly growing crowd of dancing couples. When I stilled, he urged me forward with a soft smile till we stood in the frigid air, the sound of the feast a dull roar at me back. In the distance, Sýnin’s calls echoed softly from the mountain tops.

“What of dancing, elskan mín,” I asked when his hands settled heavily upon my waist to draw my head to his chest. “And what will people think? Stealing your bride away like a thief, wolf-kissed?”

“Exactly as you say, ástin mín, that I am a selfish bridegroom eager to be alone with my new wife.” His lips chased after mine, stopped only when I pressed my hand against his chest.

“And what of my virtue,” I teased, slipping just out of reach with a sly grin. “I fear to be alone with a brute such as you, husband, my virtue shall not remain unscathed.”

“An honest point, ástin mín,” he murmured, his hands suddenly upon my hips to haul my body back against his. “The temptation is too great.” His lips traced the line of my jaw, coarse beard tickling my skin to pull a series of giggles from my lips. “And you shall find I am a weak man.”

“Eivor,” I warned sharply, hands pulling at his own once they had traveled to cup at my breasts through the fabric of my dress, and against my bottom, a clothed hardness pressed insistently. “We must wait.” My hands only pulled half heartedly, for my body pressed eagerly back towards his. A soft moan, quickly silenced by his warm hand clamped over my lips, spilled forth when his thumb and forefinger pinched at my clothed nipple.

“Ástin mín,” he groaned into the skin of my neck, hand trailing down past my belly to sink between my clothed thighs. “This will help, but you must keep quiet.”

I whined in response, a high pitched needy sound that had never before tumbled from my lips, my head falling back to thump against his chest. Eivor’s fingers worked quickly between my thighs, tight, rough circles round the apex til my body pulled tight as a bowstring and I cried his name into the skin of his palm.

“Where did you learn that elskan mín,” I murmured once my voice was no longer a series of sharp breaths and I could again think over the haze of pleasure that coursed through my veins. Eivor answered with a press of lips sweetly to the corner of my jaw.

“Ah well,” he was gone then ducking away to rub at the back of his neck, “Sigurd may have mentioned a few things about the marriage bed.” When I turned sharply to gape at him, I found his cheeks as flushed as my own, his gaze focused too intently on the moon above us.

“Eivor you didn’t…”

“We only talked a little,” he admitted, hand still rubbing his neck, the flush on his cheeks deepening. “He explained that the first time can be…unpleasant for a woman.”

“Please do not tell me you have discussed such things with my cousin,” I whined, my face buried behind my hands.

“And your uncle,” he continued. And I prayed that I would sink straight to into the ground. Or burst into flames, the warmth from the splotchy redness on my chest and cheeks would serve as kindling. “They were…ah, eager to provide their advice on how to please a woman in bed.”

“Advice? By the gods, I shall never be able to face them again.”

“You shall, ástin mín,” he answered, fingers gentle as they pried my own from my face. “Now come, we should return before they notice we are gone.” I allowed Eivor to link our hands as we walked back to the feast, and straight into raucous cheers.

And though I had thought it impossible, my cheeks were set further aflame with embarrassment. Mercifully Eivor appeared unaffected, receiving most of the jeers and claps on the back as we wound our way back to our bridal table.

“Come now, wife” he announced, arms wrapping about my waist to haul me close. “Finish your ale, for I grow tired of waiting.”

He was playing the part of the eager bridegroom and playing it well as he pressed my flagon to my lips and urged me to drink the small amount of ale left inside. And with a hearty roar, Eivor Wolf-Kissed finished his own in a single swallow, his hand still a heavy weight on my hip. And hidden out of sight, his thumb stroked softly up and down along the seam of my dress to still my nerves.

“Run along, ástin mín,” he whispered into my ear with a swat on my bottom. “I shall join you in our marriage bed soon.”

“You shall worry a hole through the floorboards with your fidgeting,” Hlif chided as she fastened the last tie on my camise with a disapproving cluck. Randvi and I met each others' gaze, a silent smile shared between us.

“There,” Randvi declared, her fingers deftly tying off my simple braid, “Eivor shall be unable to resist you.” Her fingers were cold where they brushed my hair from my shoulder.

I answered with a forced smile, my bare feet tapping nervously as I fought the urge to pace.

“Do not worry, Sigrid, you shall be fine,” she soothed, taking my hands in her own and settling us against the bed. “Hlif, please see what is keeping the bridegroom and my husband.” Before Randvi whisked me from the longhouse to my new home, I had caught one last glance of Eivor as he approached Sigurd and the pair of strangers. I wondered if that had been what was keeping him, though I was thankful it gave me a moment alone to collect my nerves.

“Randvi,” I breathed, fingers wrung into knots in my lap, “will it hurt?” I glanced up at the gothi who stood mercifully silent near the door before settling my hands back on my lap to pull at the thin fabric of my camise. “I should be excited to at last know Eivor in the way a wife knows her husband, but I find that instead of excitement, I am afraid.”

“It will,” she admitted, hands taking mine, “though I suspect Eivor will ensure you are comfortable before taking his own pleasure. And it is perfectly natural to be nervous, Siggy. I felt the same on my own wedding night.”

“He already has,” I breathed, my voice soft as I cast another wary glance toward the gothi, who if he heard my words did not acknowledge them. My cheeks were aflame again at the memory, the heat at least chasing away the chill.

“I could tell.” Randvi smiled her thumb a soft pressure on my wrist. “You had such a beautiful pink flush to your cheeks when you returned.”

“He said Sigurd taught him. Some trick with his fingers that…” my cheeks grew warm again, “ it felt like I had died and gone to Valhalla.”

“Ah, I know that trick well,” she murmured, “for it was I who showed it to Sigurd on our own wedding night.” Her thumb stroked again, and I found myself resting against her shoulder, the storm brewing in my chest slowing to a dull ache. “I am glad it served you well. I shall have to show you others when we have a moment alone.”

“I would like that.” I could hear the sound of loud voices approaching just outside the door, and the storm of nerves once again began to swirl inside me. “Gods grant me courage,” I murmured, reluctantly standing to greet the small party led by the proud figure of my uncle, Styrbjorn King.

“Hello, little one,” Styrbjorn greeted, his hands warm upon his shoulder as he embraced me. “You have grown into a fine woman. Your father would have been proud.” My heart clenched at his words, an unspoken thing that I had tried not to dwell upon. Instead of Randvi, it should have been my own mother who dressed me and braided my hair. And instead of my uncle, my father to give me away. “As would yours,” he told Eivor as he pressed our hands together.

The gothi read his blessing, smeared blood upon our brows, and begun his prayer to Freya, though I did not truly hear it. I found myself instead focusing upon clear blue eyes that met my own, on the soft curling hair peeked from beneath the neckline of his own tunic, the crooked smile that softened his harsh features. And when the gothi finally led us to our shared bed, I finally allowed myself to glance about the room.

My uncle at the foot of the bed, hands clasped in front of him as he conversed with the priest on the bride price. Sigurd and Randvi to my right, her, an encouraging smile, he, a crude wink and gesture to my new husband. And finally to Hlif and the bear like man Sigurd had called Dag, whom Eivor had chosen as his witness. I hadn’t failed to notice the crass remarks the man had made when they had entered. And when Eivor climbed above me, I shifted to hide myself from view.

I was pressed back to straw mattress, and I was certain every person in the too small room could hear the rapid beating of my heart. Eivor was above me then, his weight settling into my hips. “Breath, Sigrid,” he whispered, just soft enough that only I could hear. The furs were draped upon us, allowing for some small measure of privacy. The gothi called out one last blessing and motioned for us to continue with little concern, as though it was as little consequence to him.

“I can’t.” My eyes were fixed just over his shoulder on a thin rope that hung from the beams. I was going to vomit, the bile burning in my throat, my nerves knotting painfully in my gut.

Eivor’s hands shifted to rest on my hips and my breath came sharper, harsher than before, and I swore I would faint from the sensation of it all. Instead, I gazed at that rope, the way it swayed ever so gently. I was like the rope, my emotions, fear casting me about like a leaf in a stream, and I scrabbled for land, for purchase.

This was Eivor, my mind cried, kind and loving Eivor. I had dreamed of this moment for so long, yet the thought did nothing to calm my trembling. I knew if I met my husband’s gaze, what remained of my resolve would crack.

“Do it. Please, elskan mín,” I begged, hands fisted into the mattress to still my shaking fingers.

Eivor was hard and heavy against my thigh, and even through the fabric of our clothing, I could feel him drag against me with each shift of his hips. His hand was warm where it drifted between us to hike my camise to my waist with little ceremony. With one last shaking breath, my eyes fluttered shut, even the sight of the swaying rope too much to bear.

His fingers stroked gently along my hips, a warm path cut to the apex of my thighs where he resumed the same rough strokes. The tightening returned, sharp and sweet between my legs, and I found them parting against my will to splay about him, Eivor sinking further into the cradle between my thighs.

“Open your eyes, ástin mín,” he murmured against the skin of my jaw. “I want to see you.” He was above me, eyes meeting mine as they fluttered open, clear blue so open, so caring it tore a sob from my throat.

Elskan mín. I whispered the endearment upon his lips, and it became a prayer as my hips rocked against his hand. He was my rock, my land, and I was no longer adrift as I clung to him, fingers clutching desperately at his shoulders, as if to let go would me I would be lost.

Randvi had been right, it was only just he and I, only the weight of his body atop mine, only the rocking of his fingers against me, within me. I was winding tighter, the strange feeling coiling in my belly, sharp, new.

And then his fingers were gone drawing a high pitched whine from my lips. “Shh, ástin mín. I have you,” he murmured, hands shifting to part my thighs wider. “And I am sorry for this.”

The pain was sharp as he thrust forward, my maidenhead torn free, and I cried out, a wail that had my eyes screwed shut and my hands pushing weakly at his shoulders for reprieve. I didn’t want this, not like this. Not with a room of people watching as I lay prone beneath my husband, tears leaking from my eyes as he rut against me.

It was not over as quickly as Randvi had promised, though I prayed it would be so that I would escape the dull ache between my thighs. Instead, one slow thrust turned to ten, and then Eivor was gripping my hips with a grunt to tilt them higher, my legs wider, his pace quickening, and slowly, I found the pain ebbing way to the dull tightening in my belly.

“Let go,” he murmured, lips finding my own, his fingers back between my thighs. “I have you, ástin mín.” Eivor whispered it again, and again, each time punctuated with a gentle kiss upon my lips. And each time I followed, chasing his lips with my own as my hips began to move against his, with his. I was a bow, pulled taught, an arrow ready to be fired. I was loosed, punched from the precipice, a cry wrenching harshly from my throat to be swallowed by my husband’s lips as his hips stuttered against my own.

And just as I began to come back to myself, Eivor growled, a feral sound against my shoulder as he thrust one last time, and a warmth flooded through my belly. I dimly registered the gothi reciting a final blessing and the murmurs of congratulations as the onlookers shuffled out. I heard neither, entranced with the man above me who did not speak, but instead pressed soft kisses to my brow.

Much later, as we lay bare beneath the furs, our clothing long forgotten, Eivor spoke of the mysterious strangers, Basim and his acolyte Hytham, both from a far away land. His hand carded lazily through my unbound hair as he regaled the story. They had come with Sigurd to learn of Fornburg and its people, though Eivor himself doubted their intentions were true.

“I find myself drifting to Valka’s words, and I wonder if Sigurd understands what he is doing.”

“Valka?” I pillowed my chin on his chest, the coarse hair tickling my chin as my fingers traced over the blue black ink that marked his flesh. “You went to see the Seer?” Eivor grunted in agreement, the sound vibrating against my jaw. “I did not know you put stock in such things.

He nipped at my nose with a sharp smile and a soft growl, ever the wolf. “My father’s axe, it granted me a vision. And Valka helped me to understand,” he answered, blue eyes meeting mine, the intensity there stilling my squirming. “I saw Odin and he spoke to me.” His voice was distant as he recounted the dream. Eivor spoke of his vision, of Sigurd and Fenrir and Valka’s words that brought him no comfort.

“You would never betray your brother,” I soothed, brushing his sweat slicked, dark hair from his forehead. “And her words are just words.” I pressed a kiss to his chest. “If you recall, she told Svend he would gain riches by Yule, and he has instead lost much of his silver gambling.”

“You shall betray three, your brother, your love, and yourself,” Eivor recited his gaze distance.

“Well now we know her words were false, for you would never betray me, Eivor Wolfsmal,” I murmured, smoothing the worry from his brow with sweet kisses.

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blood ties; 01 [SVT’s S.Coups]

Genre: Vamp!AU, supernatural and pretty fluffy I think :)

–> part 2 | part 3

Word Count: 2.04k

Admin: Rianne⭐️

83. “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

The first time you met him, you were 5. You had wandered past the boundary, chasing after the ball you were playing with. It was your fault to begin with, playing so close to the edge of the safe zone, but you didn’t even notice when you ran after it.

The ball stopped at someone’s shoes and you looked up and saw his red eyes staring back at you. He blinked once, looking down at the ball and looking back at you. “You shouldn’t be here.” He warned you in a low voice.

You hesitantly reached out to take the pink ball back from him and you nodded. “I’m sorry.” You said, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and his eyes widened.

You ran off, already sensing the danger coming. You risked a glance back and saw him watching you. He was a head taller than you, you realized thinking about the memory again. But he had looked like a child, just like you.

You made it back to your side, the safe side, the human side.

For as long as you could remember, your city had been divided into two parts. Humans and vampires. The defining line creating a safe zone for humans, vampires couldn’t cross it without permission or they would face severe consequences.

The safe zone was supposed to be for the protection of the humans, but it never seemed to work. Night after night, humans were discovered dead, thrown back onto the human side like trash. It was no secret that the vampires held a grudge against those in power for restricting their freedom.

They had voiced very publicly that they wanted to be treated as equals. They didn’t have to kill a human to feed, but they needed to feed more often than once a week like the city had strictly implemented on them.

However, the rule was if a human ever crossed the line, left the safe zone, they were free game. Because it was the humans’ fault for endangering their own life like that and the city could no longer be responsible for the vampires’ actions on their own side.

The next time you saw him again, you were 15. The city was trying to establish better relations between humans and the vampires so they created a new idea. 24 hours of co-mingling under strict supervision and in a controlled environment. A permission form from the government was required to attend the event and it was held in the arena that sat equally between both sides.

There were intense security guards armed to the teeth with guns full of dead man’s blood bullets as well as regular bullets in case humans got too rowdy. They created a carnival of sorts, full of booths of food, toys, as well a stereo system playing music. They installed a bunch of rides and created a coupon system to pay for things so that money could also be regulated.

You had your eye on a booth that made freshly baked cookies and hurried over to get in line when the person in front of you turned suddenly, almost too quickly and elbowed your side. You winced, recognizing the bruise that would form there eventually and he looked down at you.

His red eyes looking back at you again and he smiled, “I’m so sorry, are you okay?” He asked, his hand covering yours as you nursed your side.

You shook your head in assurance, “It’s okay. Nothing’s bleeding.” You said and he smirked at that.

“I would be able to tell and that would be dangerous here.” He said, draping his arm over your shoulders as more people tried to squeeze past the both of you. For a space as big as the arena, you were surprised that it could still get this packed.

You had thought the event was a bit exclusive, after all, the city didn’t want any extremely close-minded people nor did they want someone too carefree that wouldn’t listen to the rules at all. You had come alone as you assumed someone you knew would be there. You hadn’t thought it would be a vampire.

“How do you remember me?” You blurted out as the line moved forward and the two of you moved up together. As soon as the words left your mouth, you realized it was a stupid question. Vampires had impeccable memory, after all, they lived forever and at least 3 times the life span of a human if they didn’t piss anyone off.

You watched as his lips curled up into a smile and he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “As if I could forget you.” He watched as his breath tickled your skin and made goosebumps rise. “Brave enough to chase after a ball no matter the consequences.” He said in a low voice.

You could feel the shiver run down your back, you knew you were a sucker for deep voices and the fact that he was whispering in your ear didn’t help at all. Your face flushed red and people walking by looked at you suspiciously with his arm around you.

“You were cute too. Still are.” He dragged his lips over your cheekbone and you felt his lips curl up into a smirk again. “But you’ve grown up a little.” You felt his eyes graze over your skin and you felt so exposed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Are you alone?” He asked as the both of you got to the front of the line. He gestured for you to order and you looked at him confused. The girl behind the counter looked bored and huffed as she waited, albeit a bit impatiently, for you to speak.

“One bag of soft chocolate chip cookies.” You said, reaching into your bag when he stopped you. You watched as he already pulled out enough coupons for the bag of cookies.

“I like soft cookies too.” His eyes sparkled as you both walked over to the side to wait for your orders to come up. “My name’s S.Coups, by the way.” He leaned in close again, “But I want you to call me Seungcheol.”

“_____. I’m _______.” You said, rubbing your neck to calm the goosebumps that appeared again. He was too good at that, definitely having too much fun with that. He pulled you close again as a group of vampires walked by.

You looked over at them and you swore one winked at you, but it made your skin crawl. You recognized that was weird since you were perfectly fine with Seungcheol practically hugging you. He grabbed the cookies when they came out and you walked over to the side.

He handed you one and took another out for himself as well. You squealed a little, breaking the soft cookie in half and watching the chocolate ooze out. You twirled your finger in it and licked it.

“Someone’s excited.” He commented, grinning. You barely caught it, but he had flashed his fangs at you and you knew it made your heart skip.

“I love these kinds of cookies.” You replied, playfully sticking your tongue back out at him. “Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not, but that was cute.” He said, as you started nibbling at it. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up again and you turned to see the vampires from earlier looking at you. “Don’t mind them.” S.Coups told you.

“Who are they?” You said, rubbing at your arms where the goosebumps formed again. You didn’t like it, they made you feel queasy, like they were bad news. You couldn’t shake the feeling, your intuition was never wrong and you wanted nothing to do with those boys.

“The top vampires of the moment, the one whose been looking at you is Kim Namjoon and the rest are just his brothers.” S.Coups explained. “They’re not really known for being pacifists, I’m sure you already know? The news stories are all about them.” He said, as you moved closer to him.

“I’ve heard. But why are they here then? I thought you had to pass a security check to get a permission form.” You asked him.

“They probably demanded one if anything, but the restrictions for entrance weren’t as strict as you think. We just needed a clean record which everyone here has.” He said. “Even if they have more radical beliefs than others.”

You nodded your head thoughtfully after that and didn’t say a word.

It had been 4 years since then, you had made it to college and spent as much time as you could together. The city had been re-lined, with new designated areas for co-mingling. S.Coups met you at cafes in those co-op areas several times.

It hadn’t taken long for you to realize that you loved him, he made your heart race and he genuinely cared. Even when you tortured him with the pleasant tune of your changing heartbeat. He always teased you about that, it was like a drug, listening to the way your heart sped up for him and the constant temptation of you.

He had been careful, light kisses, nothing heavy, just in case, after all his utmost priority was your safety even from him. But you had offered on multiple occasions, on days where he looked even more tired than usual, you offered. When he struggled with being around you, you also offered.

You didn’t mind, he was the only one you cared about, for him, it would be okay. But he always refused. Too dangerous, not to mention it was definitely against the rules. Not that you cared, honestly.

The rules didn’t cover if a human and vampire were in a relationship together. So you believed you were exempt.

You had spent another late night studying and S.Coups had gone out to get you some food instead of just more cake and coffee from the cafe you were studying at. He told you to call him if anything but you were done reviewing and wanted some fresh air. It had already been 10 hours since you had seen the sun.

What could it hurt? You walked right outside the door of the cafe and breathed in the cool night air. It was a pleasant sting in your lungs as your body adjusted to the temperature change.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the pretty little thing from the fair.” You heard a voice behind you and you turned, nervous. You knew who it was, you didn’t even need to hazard a guess. It could only be Namjoon, he was the only vampire that made your hair stand on end.

You turned to look at him slowly and he gave you a small little wave. You said nothing, taking a small step to the side, just to face him straight on. Moving backwards meant he’d think you were scared, not that you weren’t, but he didn’t need to know.

“The name’s Namjoon.” He said. “What’s yours?” He took a step closer to you and you had to will yourself not to take one back.

“None of your business.” You replied, sliding your phone out of your butt pocket. You couldn’t see, but you had that phone for so long you knew how to dial S.Coups’ number without looking.

Namjoon tutted, “We can’t be having any of that, pretty thing. Do you know who you’re speaking to?” He said, a dangerous edge in his voice and you could tell he was upset. No one had given him attitude and here you were a human, testing his little patience.

You could hear the dial tone, but so could he. His eyes widened and you bolted. You weren’t nearly as fast as he was. But you did what you could to know the little hidden spots of this co-op in case anything happened. And you ran for it.

Just as you pulled into your hiding spot, S.Coups answered his phone.

“Hey baby, I’m almost-“

“Namjoon is here.” You said, cutting him off.

“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.” He said sternly, hanging up the phone.

I LOVE COUPS. HE LOOKS SO GOOD IN THE MV THIS JUST CAME THROUGH BECAUSE OF THE VIDEO WOOOOW -Admin Rianne