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grailfinders · 3 years

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Fate and Phantasms #209

Today on Fate and Phantasms, it's time to get Gudaguda once more! With us today is Okita Souji (Alter) in her special one-time-only appearance! (just kidding, could you imagine DW not capitalizing on a servant as much as possible? ridiculous)

Anyway, oki is a Kensei Monk for an infinite sword, and a Horizon Walker ranger so she can specialize in taking down the servants of this holy grail war.

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: All we gotta do is stick every swordfighting style ever made into one build. Easy peasy.

Race and Background

Okita was a human, but her spirit origin's been messed with by the counter force to make things a little bit spicier, so now she's a Custom Lineage. This gives her +2 Dexterity, a medium build, Darkvision just to dunk on Original Flavor Okita some more, and the Mobile feat for an extra 10' of movement speed and the ability to shut down an enemy's opportunity attacks by attacking them.

This Okita's background is tough to crack, mostly because she doesn't have one, so I settled on Far Traveler like her counterforce senpai. She gets Insight and Perception proficiencies.

Ability Scores

First up, your Dexterity has to be top notch. You're everything good about Okita bumped to the nth degree, so you're going to be just as fast as she is. After that is Wisdom. You have to pick your target out from an endless void hellscape, so that's a pretty solid perception you need there. Switching things up, your third highest ability should be Constitution. If you're going to fight heroic spirits, you've got to be able to take some hits. At least until your expiration date, anyway. Your Charisma also isn't that bad, you're popular enough to get a swimsuit version, and also that sword is probably a warlock thing. We don't really need Strength, so that can be pretty low, but we're dumping Intelligence. You were, in fact, born yesterday.

Class Levels

Ranger 1: We're starting as a ranger for the extra health and a skill, but feel free to go with monk first, it won't matter too much in the end. Starting off gets you proficiency in Strength and Dexterity saves, as well as Athletics, Investigation, and Survival. Tokyo's more of an urban jungle, but there's still plenty of apex predators running around, so it more than counts. You're also a Deft Explorer which makes you Canny at insight checks, doubling your proficiency bonus. Like, 90% of a servant fight is just figuring out their true name, and that's probably some kind of insight check, right? To make it even easier, make Humans and Aasimar your Favored Enemies, giving you advantage on checks to track and recall info about them.

Monk 1: Bouncing over to monk gets you Unarmored Defense, giving you an AC of 10 plus your wisdom and dexterity modifiers while unarmored. Now your outfits can run the whole gamut of your ascensions! Sticking with the early ascensions is probably better though, because then you have access to your Martial Arts, letting you attack with an unarmed attack as a bonus action after making an unarmed or monk weapon attack with your action. Rengoku isn't a monk weapon yet, but we'll fix that soon enough. For now, feel free to stick with a short sword. Also, monk weapon attacks can be made with your dexterity or strength, and they always do at least 1d4 damage, and that grows as you level up.

Monk 2: Okay, we fixed it. Second level monks can turn one weapon they're proficient with into a Dedicated Weapon. As long as it isn't two-handed, you can make it a monk weapon over a short rest. Rengoku is a longsword, and versatile weapons are a-ok! You also get ki points to dash, disengage, attack twice, or dodge as a bonus action Monk Level times per short rest. On top of all that, you get Unarmored Movement, bumping your speed up even further while not in armor.

Monk 3: At third level, you can Deflect Missiles as a reaction, reducing incoming damage and even getting a chance to throw the arrow back with a ki point. Let's see those archers mess with you now! You also become a Kensei monk, teaching you the Path of the Kensei. This is really four different bonuses in one: You can turn two weapons into Kensei Weapons, turning Rengoku and... idk, a sling I guess, into monk weapons. You can also perform an agile parry while holding a melee kensei weapon, giving you +2 AC each time you make an unarmed attack in your action. The Kensei's Shot makes your ranged weapons marginally more deadly, adding 1d4 to their damage for the turn by spending your bonus action. Finally, Way of the Brush gives you calligraphy proficiency. Truly, Okitalter is a god amongst Okitas. (You do get more weapons later, but we only need Rengoku.)

Ranger 2: Bouncing back to ranger nets you a Fighting Style. Most of them don't affect you since Rengoku is a bigger weapon than most rangers use, but you can get Blind Fighting for blindsense out to 10'. Servants fight faster than the eye can see, so why bother trying to see them? You also get Spells that you can cast with your Wisdom. Pick up Hunter's Mark and Searing Smite to make your sword scarier. They both make your weapon deal extra damage, but the former gives you advantage on tracking them, and deals a little extra damage each attack, while the latter deals damage in one attack, then again at the start of the enemy's turn for up to a minute. Hunter's Mark is almost certainly the better option in general, but sometimes you need to dump damage into a single attack.

Ranger 6: At third level of rangering, you become a Horizon Walker. This gives you the ability to Detect Portals once per short rest, leading you to the closest planar portal within 1 mile of you. Most of the servants are already going to be set up when you arrive, but technically the grail is a portal to the root, so at least you can track that. More importantly, you're also a Planar Warrior, so Rengoku can do that cool black light technique. Use a bonus action to call out a specific creature, and the next time you hit it all the damage you hit it with will be force damage. Also, you'll deal a little extra for your trouble. On top of that, you get more spells! Zephyr Strike gives you even lighter steps, so you completely ignore all opportunity attacks. Also, once before the spell ends you can end the spell early, dealing extra damage and speeding you up by 30' for the turn. And since you're a Horizon Walker, you get Protection from Evil and Good. Most servants are either backed by a god or some kind of demon, so this might help out against them.

Monk 4: Bouncing back to monk again for your first Ability Score Improvement. Round up your dexterity and constitution for a better AC, better weaponry, and more HP. You can also Slow Fall as a reaction to reduce falling damage. If you're going to be one of Guda's servants you'd better be ready to fall from orbit on the regular.

Monk 5: Fifth level monks get an Extra Attack, so you can attack twice per action. You can also turn those attacks into Stunning Strikes, spending a ki point to force a constituiton save, which if failed stuns the target for a round. Advantage on attacks is good, especially for you. Also, your martial arts die is a d6 now.

Monk 6: At sixth level, monks get Ki-Empowered Strikes, so your unarmed attacks are magic now. As a kensei monk you're also One with the Blade, so your kensei weapons are also magical, and you can make a deft strike with your ki points to deal extra damage equal to your martial arts die.

Monk 7: At seventh level, monks get Evasion, so your dexterity saves are even better. Your failed saves still protect you from half damage, and your successful saves protect you from all of it. (Note: This is specifically saves that would protect you from half damage normally. Cantrips and Disintegrate will still merk you if you fail. So don't do that.) On top of that, Stillness of Mind shuts down a couple servants by ending one effect of charming or frightening on you as an action. Poor Abby. And Medb. And Mata Hari. And Euryale. And Stheno.

Ranger 4: Back in ranger now! You get another ASI, so bump up your Wisdom for more AC and stronger spells.

Ranger 5: Fifth level rangers get nothing because extra attacks don't stack. I just lied, you get second level spells. Locate Object will help you track down servants: just lock onto their noble phantasm, they don't go anywhere without them. As a horizon walker you can also use Misty Step to go full "nothing personnel, kid" on someone, bopping yourself up to 30' away as a bonus action.

Ranger 6: For your next round of Favored Enemies, pick on Tieflings and Elves to grab as many servants as you can. You also become a Roving ranger, giving you 5' of extra movement, and a climbing and swimming speed. There's no telling where a grail war will break out, it's best to be all-terrain.

Ranger 7: Seventh level horizon walkers get an Ethereal Step, letting you hop up to that blank plane for a turn without using a spell slot once per short rest. While up there, you can move in any direction, and through objects that aren't on the plane. If you pop back inside an object, you'll take damage and get shoved into an empty spot. You can also Pass Without Trace for a +10 on your stealth checks. Despite those clacky shoes you're still light on your feet. It helps that you're not in this dimension half the time.

Ranger 8: Another ASI! Bump up your Wisdom again. More AC is good. You also get a Land's Stride, so you can move through difficult terrain easily and have advantage on saves against plants like the Entangle spell. Poor Tristan, how sad.

Ranger 9: Our last level of ranger is just enough for third level spells! Yours are Conjure Barrage for your sword beam, and Haste for more speed than even the original Okita can match. Probably. It also gives you +2 AC, and an extra attack, all at the low low cost of taking a breather when the spell ends.

Monk 8: Your last ASI, at last! Max out your Dexterity for the best sword and armor you can get.

Monk 9: At ninth level, monks get an Unarmored Movement Improvement, letting you run up walls and over water. Just get to dry land before the turn ends and you'll be fine. That Roving's coming in real handy now, huh?

Monk 10: Tenth level monks have a Purity of Body that make them immune to disease and poison. Sorry OGita...

Monk 11: Your capstone level teaches you to Sharpen the Blade spending up to 3 ki points as a bonus action to add that much to a kensei weapon's attack and damage rolls for up to a minute. You can't do this to weapons that are already +whatever, and you can't do this to two weapons at once.

Pros and Cons

Pros:

You are very good at figuring your enemies out and tracking them down, with great speed to keep on their tail, advantage to figure out where they are, and a boosted insight check to figure out what they're capable of.

That speed also makes it really hard to shake you off the trail, with more speed in one movement than most people get by dashing, the ability to walk on water, and climb up sheer surfaces. If that wasn't enough, you can even phase through objects that are getting between you and your target. Etherealness doesn't require concentration either, so you can totally be hasted while doing this for up to 390' of just completely ignoring whatever obstacles are in front of you. Have fun pissing off your DM, because you can get from the dungeon entrance to the boss room without fighting a damn thing.

Despite all of this, you're no slouch at dealing damage either, with a +14 to attacks with a sharpened blade and plenty of ways to add damage to your attacks.

Cons:

Like all rangers, you have a serious issue with concentration. Even if you keep it up, you still have to deal with being forced to choose one spell at a time, which is rough for a monk with hunter's mark.

Speaking of, there's a ton of overlap between monk and ranger and that muddies the waters a little, especially with regards to your bonus action. You get tons of stuff from being a monk already, but ranger adds smites, most of your spells, turning your sword into a lightsaber, and popping into the ethereal plane. You have way too many options, so you might freeze up when you have to pick one. Also, UMI almost totally negates the benefits of Roving, which hurts considering how few ranger features have use in the first place.

Finally, dumping intelligence might hurt you in the long run, since you need a good history check to figure servants out. This also means you might leap before you look and find yourself several hundred feet away from your party with no way to get back.

#fate grand order #fgo #D&D 5e #DND #Okita Souji alter #Ranger #Monk

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vi-is-short-for-violence · 3 years

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New Frontier A Hollow Knight and Bug Fables crossover OC fic.

Full fic is under the cut!

PLEASE REBLOG!! MANY HOURS WENT INTO THIS AND I’D RLLY APPRECIATE THE SUPPORT!!

It had been a very interesting trip, taking the ferry from the continent Bugaria resided to the main continent known as The Outlands. Team Snakemouth, the heros of Bugaria were treated like celebrities everywhere they went. Everyone knowing them all by name and singing their praises, and if some weren't convinced of their greatness, many times bugs would contest them in combat and were quickly swayed into seeing their power. Vi especially enjoyed this attention.. being one of the first bees to truly venture beyond the Hive and find her place in the world as an explorer and rouge. The other two would often need to reel her in. Usually Leif did not mind Vi's more combative nature, so long as it wasn't a major risk.. though her pride is what both Leif and Kabbu would regularly keep in check. Leif appeared largely indifferent about their praise, but beneath his cold exterior, his friends knew he couldn't help but be grateful and flattered. Kabbu on the other hand loved the praise as much as Vi did, but unlike her, made sure to ground himself. If their mission around the legendary Everlasting Sapling taught him anything, it was that nothing was indestructible. Not the sapling, not his team, and certainly not him. After their first adventure however the one thing they all unanimously agreed on, was that they longed to continue their quests and even venture beyond Bugarias borders, and travel the mainlands.. The Outlands. They set sail into the world... the main continent.. the setting of their greatest adventures yet.

Team Snakemouth now walked on these ancient grounds.. and already the way they'd seen the world was beyond different than the world that came into view around them all. Chompy, the fourth and most beloved member of the team, who was resting comfortably around Vis neck and shoulders spread her autumn colored leaves.. taking in the bright sun. The other three gave a breath of pure awe.. The Outlands were full of rocky and mountainous terrain. Great mountains could be seen in the distance, their might and elegance seen plain and true even in the most distant horizons. "OOOUGH WHERE DO WE GO FIRST?! THE MOUNTAINS? THE PLAINS? THAT GIANT CLIFF?? OR- OR MAYBE WE COULD SEE WHATS OUT AT SEA OVER THERE!!" Squealed the VERY excited honeybee! "I'm not sure Vi! But my.. it is truly beautiful.. just as the tales foretold!" replied Kabbu. Looking just as giddy as Vi! The sun shining onto his iridescent green shell. "We feel like we've entered an entirely different realm. We can already feel an abundance of magic and energy here.." Leif remarked, spreading his navy blue and pale yellow accented wings. "Yeah yea, but can you imagine what kinda crazy treasure we could fine here? I heard this place is ancient as HELL!" "If I recall correctly Vi, The Outlands were settled eons before Bugarias continent was! It was filled with ancient scattered kingdoms." Kabbu knelt and placed his clawed hand on the ground, as if he were resting his claws on a monument of ancient history and peering into its secrets. "Hundreds of years ago, these lands were barren wastes. Polluted and corrupted with a dark substance.. These Outlands were once called The Wastelands, lawless and filled with mad bugs. That is why these scattered kingdoms existed. In a world devoid of life and law, someone had to do something." "Are these lands not still devoid of law? Law only exists in those kingdoms still we'd imagine." Inquired Leif. Kabbu stands back up and looks at his moth friend. "Well, yes and no. Some of the rulers of these lands keep an eye on the Outlands as a means of protecting potential citizens." Vi looked at Kabbu and raised a brow, "Jeez how do you even know all this stuff Kabbu?" "Well! If we planned on visiting this place, we might as well get to know it's history a little better." Vi shrugged, "Meh, fair. But hey, there's a lotta history in treasure toooo.~" "We anticipated a response like that. Lets not dally then. Kabbu, you know more about this place than either of us, do you know where we could head first?" Kabbu hummed wonderingly. "We could potentially head for the mountains, there are a fair few kingdoms there and we could stock up on supplies for the rest of our journey!" "FUCK YEA MOUNTAINS!!" Vi cheered, much to Kabbus displeasure hearing her curse like that again. "VI!! Watch your language!". Leif proceeded only to laugh.

It had been a long day, traveling to the base of the mountains. Bandits and beasts making attempts on their supplies and even their lives. Nothing they weren't used to really. Though there were a disturbing number of poachers. A dark stain from the Wastelands past economic practices; slaying bugs and selling valuable parts of them to the black market. Primarily wings, fluff, horns, hard shells and stingers, unique defenses of specific bugs, even certain pheromones to lure in bugs like ants. To say that their encounters with the poachers did not shake the group up a fair amount.. would be a dirty lie. They triumphed, but were still very on edge if they could harvest them. The sun began to set however, and the quartet was weary from the long day. Not a bad day, only a long one. Whimsy tainted by the reminder that the life of an explorer was still a dangerous one. Regardless, the team kept their spirits up. Knowing that the next day would bring great discovery! Following a nice meal and usual banter expected of their team, Team Snakemouth set up their temporary beds, and went to sleep for the night. Though one member of the team was far less of a deep sleeper than the others.. hearing faint, yet heavy footsteps, caused on of Vis antennae to perk up. She perked up, slowly looking around the area.. bathed in moonlight, yet sheltered from it in some areas with the rocks and shelter of the mountain and nearby terrain. But she could clearly see it. In the distance.. a tall, large and shadowed figure a fair distance from the team. It's silhouette was not one that Vi could identify, it appeared to have multiple horns, but the rest of its body held no defining traits. No abdomen, no wings, just a horned head and a long cloak.. as well as.. something spilling from its head that nearly dragged against the ground. Was... this even a bug? The lack of identifying features deeply frightened the bee. She remembered the last time she saw something like this. The reminder of the canniness of the Dead Landers shot a spine straight through her of pure fear and stress. This was... big. Not nearly as big as that.. thing with those large orange eyes was.. but it was still big whatever it was. Vi, now thoroughly terrified, slowly grabbed her beemerang and slowly approached the large rock that sheltered them from outside sight. Slowly she turned back to look at the figure. They appeared to sit down, back against the base of the mountain, sifting through items that Vi could not properly see due to the lighting. She squints to try and get a better look, before her heart was thrown into the base of her stinger. It looked at her. Two bright blue sparks for eyes stared directly at her. As quick as she could she immediately ducked back behind the rock, stifling any and every sound she made by desperately covering her mouth. Claws digging into her cheeks as fear overtook her. Dammit! Being stuck in this sort of situation scared the hell out of her, no, terrified her beyond words, but at this point she was starting to grow frustrated. They were fighters goddammit! Not cowards! Her and the others took out way worse than this, she- they could do this! So then why would her limbs not move an inch? Why was she still paralyzed with horror despite her frustration and rebellion against these intense feelings of fear?? She held her beemerang in a death grip, shaking intensely, which only grew worse when those footsteps began to approach once again. Move. MOVE! "VI! KABBU! CHOMPY! ON YOUR GUARD!" yelled out another voice. The familiar crack of Leifs magic smacking against the carapace of an enemy bug, as the large figure stumbled backwards with a grunt. Leif stood over his resting spot, glowing with that cold, blue magic. Kabbu and Chompy following suit. Chompy let out a horrendous roar, the chomper had grown in size since the teams first adventure, and while not as big as the mother she would eventually become, she was still quite formidable. Horrifyingly, the other "bug" let out an enormous and otherworldly sounding roar in response, as the appendages that came down its head flared up like black vines. Even Chompy recoiled at the sight. The creature leaped back, drawing a large sword and glaring with those bright blue eyes. "Vi!" Kabbu looked over to the trembling bee. "Come on, it's okay. Lets take care of this!" He held out his hand to help her up. Snapping out of her paralysis, she glared a serious look at Kabbu. "R-right!". The dark figure loomed over all four of them. Squinting at them as they readied for battle. "Four on one don't seem too fair.." it spoke.. it's voice, surprisingly normal sounding, though it had a sort of accent that struck the four as unfamiliar. "Yeah?! And NEITHER DOES SNEAKING UP ON A GROUP WHILE THEY'RE ASLEEP!!" Shouted Vi, anger and fear clear in her young voice. She threw the beemerang with all of her might, making a sharp CRACK as it made contact with the beast. It growled.. "I was doin no such thin' lil girl! I saw you gettin' a good look at me while I was lookin' through mah thin's!" Kabbus expression lightened a bit, "Wait- then maybe this was a misunderstanding?". The creature huffed, "S'fine. M' a big guy after all.. tend t'scare a few bugs out ere.. but since ya'll got up wantin' a fight then lets have one!" The creatures voice went from a gruff, tired and frustrated tone, to sounding as if it had all the energy in the world with the prospect of a battle. "BRING IT ON BIG GUY!! WE'LL WIPE THE FLOOR WITH YOU!!" Vi angrily shouted. Kabbu and Leif looked to one another, Vi's rage evident in her tone and posture. Kabbu and Leif knew there was no bringing her back from that, but they couldn't simply leave her to fight alone. They straightened themselves out once more. The creature turned out to be quite quick for its size, and it was able to take one hell of a beating. The Team would need to react quickly to block and chip away at its health. Saving Team Points primarily for healing and reviving, as well as low cost special attacks. Unlike The Everlasting King, it could heal but it could not steal health from them, and healing spent its entire turn. What sucked however was that his defense was high and his attacks hit hard. It was tough for sure, multiple times the team would go down, but they got right back up thanks to Kabbus pep talk and Vis shared stash. Eventually, for as long as the fight went on, it eventually ended with Team Snakemouth as the victors. As the beast finally fell, the light of dawn spilled over the land. Everyone was weary and very injured. The beast chuckled, "Good fight... hh..hhh.. ain't had one like that n' a while I gotta say. Good job.." "Who.. hhh. are you.?" "And more importantly WHAT are you..?" Kabbu asked before quickly being interrupted by Vi. With the light of dawn more of the beat became visible. Its horned head was an off-white shell, that looked almost like a mask, even the right side of it had a long crack that stretched from the top of its head to the base of its chin with some grass stains littering it in some places. It wore a black and grey patchwork cloak with a blue medal clipped to it and lastly, it's eyes. Not fully blue, in fact mostly black with blue pupils that looked like sapphire rings. What spilled down from its head however? None of the bugs could identify. It wasn't antennae, or fur, and while they somewhat looked like vines, they were smooth and black and even appeared to glimmer as if they were wet. "M'names Finnley. M' from a far away Kingdom ere.. betcha mighta heard uh Hallownest. But guessin yer not quite sure what I am thats- actually a toss up huehue!" Kabbu perked up a little bit. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn't help but be excited. "I have heard mentions of that place, yes! But its whereabouts and information I am unfortunately unaware of." It was hard to tell, but Finnleys face appeared.. vaguely happy.. despite lacking a mouth and appearing more like a mask. "Well. S'where me n all my kind 're from. We're vessels, n all of us 'r siblin's too! Ya might actually run intuh a few'uh us out ere!" Leif canted his head slightly, "Vessels. An odd name for a species of bug.." "Yeah and how are ALL of you siblings?" Vi interjected, skeptical of Finnleys claims. "Well it's a long ass story, one ion't think you'd wanna hear all of from me. But you stick round long enough you'll find out soon enough. S'pretty common knowledge ere." Finnley perks up a bit. "Oh! Shit I should probably heal yall up actually. Er, gunna need t' hold yalls hands t'do it though, if ya don' mind." Leif extended his hand, aware of what this could be. He's proven correct when white energy swirls around Finnley, moving over to Leif. Patching up his wounds. Soul focus. An ability utilized by only gods, higher beings and powerful mages. Kabbu and Vis eyes widened. "Woah what the hell?? How did you do that??" Asked Vi, amazed. "Soul Focus." spoke Leif. "But we believed only higher beings, gods and powerful mages could do something like that.. we did not take you to be any of those things." "S'a long story, again, like I said. But ey. S'th' least I can do after scarin yuhs." Finnley chuckles before healing Kabbu, Vi and Chompy as well. "Thank you kindly Finnley. We should likely introduce ourselves as well come to think.. My name is Kabbu. This is Leif, this is Vi, and this.." he lifts up the chomper plant. "Is Chompy!". Finnley giggles again, stroking Chompys head with his finger. "D'aw! Cutie pie! S'one hell of a murder machine but a cutie pie nontheless." "We agree wholeheartedly." Agreed Leif. After a while of speaking, Finnley gave the group a map of the Outlands, as well as what places to avoid, and a list of hotspots to rest up and stock up before actually making it to a kingdom. "If yer thinkin' uh goin up t'the mountains, ah'd suggest goin t' Xhalyun. Eroanne's nearby Xhalyun too n both 'r cold as hell, but Xhalyun shit is a helluva lot cheaper than Eroanne, closer too." Finishing that thought he handed Kabbu the map, to which he made a delighted squeak of excitement. "Thank you kindly, Finnley. Despite first impressions I am very glad to have run into you!" Leif nods in agreement as Finnley lifts up his bag. "Ain't no problem sir. I wish ya'll luck out there. N hey, maybe if we meet again ya'll can tell me shit bout Bugaria. Been wantin t'head over there myself someday." "Oh you'd love it there! It's a wonderful place.." Finnley nodded, before kneeling down to Vi. "Ay kid, sorry fer scarin' ya." He holds out his hand and Vi raises a brow. "Let's battle again sometime aight?" Vi hesitates for a second before her usual smirk returns to her, placing her hand in his for a handshake. "Abso-goddamn-lutely heheh!! Better be a bigger challenge next time though!!" Finnley gave a great laugh and stood back up again. "You too kiddo! If you ain't gettin better ain't no damn point in it! I'll catch ya'll later uh?" "For certain. Take care." remarked Leif with a smile, as both teams parted ways.

As the towering Vessel took his leave.. he chuckled to himself.. "..Seeker.. Wanderer.. I wish ya'll could come with me when I go t'Bugaria.. I know ya'll'd love diggin' intuh th' place.." "...Maybe one day we will.. I'd love that."

#bug fables #hollow knight #bug fables kabbu #bug fables leif #vi bug fables #hollow knight fancharacter #crossover #fanfiction #world building

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absynthe--minded · 3 years

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Could I beg something about your “Aragorn’s Upsetting Haircut” headcanon? No pressure of course!!

(this is going to be presented in more than one installment, but I couldn’t resist sharing! a few things: this fic is consistent with the rest of my personal canon, and it draws upon the headcanon that Aragorn and Arwen married by elvish standards upon Cerin Amroth but still consider themselves betrothed by Mannish standards.)

When Arwen came down into the Valley again, the Sun was low in the sky, hovering just above the tops of the Chithaeglir and casting long shadows across the trees and the river below. She could tell, immediately, when she crossed their borders, passing through the wards easily. There was Song here, bound into the rock and the roots of the mountains, curling about her and pulling the weariness from her body. Celeg seemed easier too, slowing from a trot to a walk; she knew he could feel the change just as surely as she did. Come home, the Song whispered, threads of melody pulling her along the path toward the gleaming lights of her home. Come home, and be healed of your pains.

It would be easy - too easy - to slip the bounds of her body and bone, to cast herself upon the shadows and ride the winds down to her own bedroom window. The thought was tempting, and even more tempting when she considered the ache in her hip that hadn’t ceased since the skirmishes three weeks past had left her with a deep and ugly wound.

Her lord father had sent her out in search of four hobbits and - perhaps - her betrothed, her secret husband, all wandering in the wilds while ulaer pursued them. She was not alone, though she had departed first, weeks before the others. It was foresight that had driven her father to speak with her, and foresight that pushed her to saddle Celeg and leave Imladris under cover of darkness. Glorfindel had been the next to leave, far later, keeping close to the Road, traveling westward and anticipating that the servants of Sauron would not have left it far behind. Last were her brothers, abandoning their errantry, making for what Men called the Angle where Mitheithel and Bruinen met and merged. It had been her lot to travel north, and north she had gone, albeit in a disjointed, somewhat defiant fashion, moving from the Ettenmoors to the North Downs and then at last down to Sarn Ford and the Dúnedain she knew would be there.

Her guess had been that her betrothed, if he was with the hobbits, had met them at that border of the Shire, and had accompanied them up the Greenway to Bree before striking out into the wilderness. None of her travels had given any sign of him, and so it was in frustration and defeat that she had come to the encampment, seeking some tidings that might guide her, and found it in disarray.

Aragorn had been there - days past, departing after a disastrous attack by the ulaer that had left three men dead and four wounded, with Halbarad trying valiantly to maintain order and hold the border. He had left in a great haste, as if fleeing from their enemies, saying only that he was making for Bree. He was followed shortly after by Mithrandir, who had come and gone from the Shire like a grey cloud blown back and forth by a storm. It had been her aim to seek them out, and offer her strength in song and sword against the darkness.

Fate had not been so kind.

Sarn Ford had been attacked a second time while she was there, the enemies assailing it now flesh and blood. There were still evil Men who dwelt in the North and recalled the name of Angmar, and their blades were as formidable now as they had been in centuries past. Her voice had been needed, the night and the river turning upon the would-be intruders and her ancestress’s blood sparking in her veins to claim the borders, but she was no true soldier for all her skill with a blade, and her body was ruled by the limits of the Incarnates. The fighting had reached her, while she stood thigh-deep in rushing water and twined her words through its echoes of long-ago music, and someone now-dead had plunged a dagger into her hip. The wound would have been fatal if not for Halbarad, who had pulled her back from the thick of the battle and seared it closed with the flat of a pan from the smoldering cooking-fire before she could bleed out. She had not ceased her singing, and her assailant found himself dragged beneath the surface of the Baranduin and drowned.

Two days were all she could spare, one to recover what strength she might and another to force her legs to obey her will. Halbarad had begged her to stay - what wrath their Chieftain might bring down upon them, he’d said, if his Lady died in the wilds when they might have saved her! But she was Lúthien’s heir, and would not be kept from his side, and no words would hold her in obligation. Celeg, for his part, was uninjured, having been kept from the fighting by his own good sense, and he gladly bore her northward a second time.

That had been twenty-one days ago, and each day had been fruitless and empty. She searched through the North Downs again, and the Weather Hills, and the Coldfells, growing more and more desperate with each setting Sun. She could feel the ulaer on the move, dreaming of their horses’ hooves thundering over the hard-packed ground of the Road even as she slept, and she could not ignore the fear rising in her like a spike that sought to pierce her heart. Her betrothed was a valiant man, and canny, and careful, but there were terrors that sought him out unlike any he had faced before, and the hobbits were almost certainly inexperienced travelers.

At last, she had been forced to admit defeat. The year was truly turning cold, and her food had been exhausted, and it had been nigh on two mortal months since her departure. She had hoped that whatever tenuous thread bound her to Aragorn would have led her to him, but the world was dark now, shielded by evil mists that clouded her thought and her heart, and the closed wound on her hip had begun to fester beneath its scar. So it was to home she had turned, leaving the fells behind her, coming back down into Imladris from the north. She had not slept in three days, blind almost to all beyond her body.

A fine daughter I am, she thought as Celeg made his way down the ridge, careful and steady. A fine wife, for that matter. But daughters of Lúthien did not pout, and they certainly did not cry from exhaustion.

The Valley was unusually quiet this afternoon. As always, the Bruinen sang, and the birds welcomed her, but her own folk were strangely absent on the pathways and in the trees. The wards still stood, so she knew there had not been some calamity, and there was no whisper of a siege on the air - it felt almost as if Tarnin Austa had arrived a second time in the same year, and all who dwelt within their borders had come into the house proper to celebrate.

Or to mourn, she thought, and made a face and refused to dwell on that fear.

The stables were just as quiet as the rest of Imladris, and she was able to dismount and lead Celeg back to his stall in peace. The great black gelding had borne her without complaint through the long weeks, and yet she could see in his ears and the swish of his tail that he was glad to be home.

“I know,” she murmured, opening the door and stepping inside, watching him look at her expectantly. “You’ll get a full grooming, I promise.” And then it’s a long bath for me, and a visit to my father regarding my hip.

“Allow me, my lady,” a second voice said, cutting through the silence. She flinched, shrinking back against her horse for half a heartbeat - it had been days on end since she’d heard another’s voice, and she was suddenly acutely aware of how detached from herself she had become. But she knew that voice, and shock and surprise were quick to take the place of fear.

“Glorfindel?” she asked, peering over the door to see her father’s captain leaning against a post. He was standing in another stall directly across from her, alongside Asfaloth, who was contentedly making short work of some hay. “You - !” Dismay stopped her, silencing her joy. There was only one reason he would have returned after so short a time away - he, too, had failed.

“I?” the ellon asked, raising an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“You didn’t find them,” she said. “You’ve the same tale to tell as I.”

His face grew serious and yet lost none of its joy, and he opened the door to Asfaloth’s stall and stepped out of it, closing the latch behind him.

“No, my lady,” he told her, eyes shining as he spoke. “I’ve a different tale.”

“What?” she asked, motionless, unable to look away from him. She could see now that he was dressed for merrymaking and revelry, clad in bright scarlet and deep blue, his tunic gleaming with passing thread and his hair braided through with well-placed gems. “But - I found nothing, and surely I would have known if - !” If he were slain, if he lay dead, if the ulaer claimed him for their number…

“My lady,” Glorfindel said, one hand reaching out and taking her gloved one carefully. “I found him in the hills, and I have brought him home.”

Tears filled her eyes, and she sat down hard, sinking to the floor of the stable as her hip protested and relief flooded every inch of her body.

#absynthe's fanfiction #lord of the rings #tolkien #aragorn #arwen #nikosheba

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k7l4d4 · 3 years

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Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 7 Part 1

Hello all, today I bring you my adaptation of Lost In Language, through the world of Midnight Striga! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!

“So then,” Luz casually stated, looking over the stacks before her. “You want me to return these books for you, eh?” She glanced over at King and Eda, the two doing their best to follow her instructions in gathering their mana. King was admittedly doing better, and it honestly had nothing to do with him having more experience with Human Style Magic (she should think about getting that name trademarked). Eda just so severely chafed against any and every attempt to define what she could or couldn’t do that whenever she tried to focus and meditate, she would squirm, and growl, and complain. If it weren’t so utterly Eda, Luz would’ve found it exhausting.

“Yup.” Eda tersely replied, forcing herself to keep her eyes closed and her mind centered; it wasn’t going too well. Feeling her will waiver, Eda cracked an eye open, and just barely kept her eyes from snapping open incredulously; King was absolutely focused, a visible aura of energy surrounding him, resembling grey-colored rings rippling off his form. Screwing her face up, Eda did her best to center herself, “Those have been sitting around enough that I’ll probably need to do some sweet talking the next time I go back, and it gets you out of the way while King and I practice.” It came out harsher than she intended, but Eda was dead set on figuring this out with as little help as possible. The fact that King was somehow rocking at this just made that determination stronger.

Luz snorted good-naturedly; she completely understood where Eda was coming from, and didn’t begrudge her for it. “Alright then. It gives me a chance to see what passes for quiet entertainment around this place, and maybe find something new to read. Heck, I might even get a chance to organize my collection of… ‘borrowed’ books and scrolls!” She casually detailed, slinging her pack over her shoulders, the stack of books swiftly stored within. She shook her head in amusement at Eda’s answering grunt, walking for the door. Opening it, she noticed Hooty’s odd smile; following his downward gaze, she instantly spotted what had caught his eye. While a bit confused as to why he hadn’t tried to eat it, Luz hunkered down, pulling the note placed on top of the basket left on their doorstep. “‘Take care of my child till morning. Yi yi.”

“Nope, not happening. Babies are awful, and I’m busy trying to figure this whole, *Shudders* meditation thing out.” Eda groaned, not wanting to deal with the new interruption.

Luz rolled her eyes, but continued reading, a smirk crossing her face as she did so. “‘You will be handsomely rewarded. X-O-X-O-X-O-X. Bat Queen.’” She knew there was no chance of Eda saying no now, her love of rewards was too strong. Plus, the canny witch had more of a soft-spot than she was willing to admit.

“The Bat Queen!? The most influential and wealthy demon on the Isles?!?” Eda demanded, twisting around to look in Luz’s direction. Glancing around briefly, she huffed, pulling herself to her feet, and strolled over. Taking the basket, she glanced inside, seeing a baby inside. “Ugh, now I can’t say no! If I do, BQ will have my head on a platter, and for once it won’t be while I’m alive. Aw well, at least kids are easy- Why are you speed walking away!?” She demanded, even as Luz booked it before the fireworks started, laughing her head off. Glancing down, Eda was caught off guard as the baby burst into screaming, startling the prematurely aged Witch. “Gah! How are you so loud!?” She demanded, completely unprepared to deal with the noise. Glancing back, her eyes widened in shock. “And how are you not affected by this!?” She shouted at King, still meditating away.

Luz chuckled to herself, a slight skip in her step as she wandered through town. Eda was definitely in for a rude awakening, though Luz herself had once made the same mistake when she had to babysit kids, and she could honestly look back at that moment and laugh at herself over it. Glancing around, she idly noted the whispered mutters surrounding her, the way that parents pulled their kids aside as she walked past, though this time they weren’t as blatantly fearful of her presence at least, just more… hesitant. Luz shrugged, unwilling to begrudge the mild shift in treatment, as even a slight improvement was still an improvement.

“Luz!” Gus’ voice called out. Glancing ahead, she was pleasantly surprised to see Gus and Willow waving her over. Cheering up slightly, she hurried her pace, closing the distance between them. Reaching out, she pulled the two into a one-armed hug, smirking at their embarrassment at the affection. “Ah, please let go!” Gus comically begged, feet dangling below him. With a smirk, Luz released her grip, Willow stumbling slightly while Gus plopped to the ground.

“Please don’t do that so suddenly.” Willow said flatly, a look of good-humored warning in her eyes, prompting a chuckling Luz to raise her hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay, just a little joke.” Luz said calmly, lowering her arms, idly noting the increased fervor of the whispers and mutters around them. Tuning them out, she asked, “So, what are you guys doing in town?”

“Eh, Principal Bump has been having teachers give out more combat-based homework, and we decided to find somewhere we could practice in peace.” Willow replied, giving a shrug.

“Cool. I’m looking for the library to return Eda’s overdue books.” Luz stated, patting the pack on her shoulder.

Gus beamed. “We can show you where it is!” He shouted exuberantly, prompting Luz and Willow to trade amused looks at their friend’s eager nature. Shaking their heads, Willow and Gus casually followed behind Gus as he ran up ahead. “Come on!” he called.

As they walked forward, Luz’s attention was drawn by a figure ranting to a small crowd nearby. She slowed, Gus and Willow pulling up next to her.

“And I’m saying that this is ridiculous!” The figure shouted, scaly head scrunched up in outrage. He glanced over his muttering audience. “How can we honestly say we trust the Emperor’s Coven when they let themselves get slaughtered by those damn humans!?” He shouted, a small smirk playing across his face at the sounds of agreement started cutting through the crowd.

“But they couldn’t have known the humans would’ve attacked!” One brave fellow called out, only to reel back at the glare the speaker up front sent his way.

“That shouldn’t matter! The Emperor’s Coven say they’re the best of the best, but they got butchered like Beast Demons!” The speaker rebuked, flames barking out of his throat. “They say they can protect us, but they can’t even protect themselves! They say they’re the strongest, the best, but they’re just a bunch of thugs and goons! Look at their leader, she had to cheat her way to where she got!! How can we trust them to keep us safe from those monsters!?” The rumbles of discontent and agreement at his words grew louder, the speaker basking in it all.

Gus and Willow exchanged nervous glances, while Luz just watched on, an inscrutable look on her face. “We should get moving.” Luz finally said, quickly walking away, the two Witches nodding in agreement, following after. None noticed as the speaker followed them with his eyes as the guards forcibly started breaking up the crowd, the audience noticeably less frightened about it as they normally would be, with a few even glaring at the guards openly. The speaker glanced at his nascent flock. It wasn’t much… but it was a start. He smirked.

King easily tuned out the shouts and screams around him. It wasn’t hard, seeing as he was screaming himself raw inside his own mind. In his mind’s eye, he glared hatefully at that damn pig who had dared to humiliate him. He was a King, no matter what anyone said, and a King protected their own. He had failed to protect his own; he had failed to help Eda. He growled internally, sinking into a stew of resentment. Luz had given him a gift, a way to regain his power and prestige as a fierce and powerful ruler, and he had been squandering it. He… felt small, weak, helpless like nothing else had managed.

Breathing deep, he felt the magic building, pooling in his throat, his lungs. He racked his brain, forcing it to recall more details from the book Luz had shown him, her words and lessons.

“So, what can I do with this?” He asked, glancing up at a smirking Luz.

Luz kicked back, leaning against the wall. ‘I honestly can’t say, really. At its most basic, that book will let you solidify sound and attack with it, but how far it can go is up to you.” She stated matter of factly, even as King squealed in rage.

“That tells me nothing!” He shouted, stomping his foot. He flipped through the book, eyes glazing at the words and odd depictions.

Luz shrugged, unconcerned. “Sorry, but magic is a personal journey. Education can give you a place to start, and a way to profit off of it traditionally, but to truly wield magic, you have to figure out what you want to do with it, and go from there.” She finished, clapping him lightly on his back, walking away.

“Hmph! What do I want? I want to be a powerful ruler, to make others bow before me!” He shouted, slamming the book down. “If I can use my magic to bring my enemies to my knees, I need nothing else!”

‘Making others bow didn’t work the way I wanted it to.’ He grunted internally, shaking off his reverie. Forcing himself to calm down, he recalled his fight, if you could call it that, with that annoying pig. He had left himself wide open, and nearly suffocated when the jerk bum rushed him. He could almost taste the idea on the tip of his tongue, could see the pictures from the book shifting into something new, something that would be able to wipe that smug little sneer off that pompous prick’s face.

He was a King, nothing would EVER change that. And he would not fail again. He forbid it.

“Late.” A librarian droned, passing Eda’s books through a magic circle. “Late.” He grabs the last one, quickly flipping through it. “Coffee, grass and bloodstains?” He glanced at Luz almost balefully. “These are Eda’s, aren’t they?”

“That was a wild night.” Luz sheepishly admitted. The librarian sighed, pulling out a scroll.

“I’ll just put it on her tab.” He muttered, quickly writing it down. “Just to let you know, we’ll be closing up early today for the Wailing Star meteor shower.”

Luz cocked an eyebrow, intrigued. “Wailing Star, eh? I’m gonna need to look that up. And speaking of Eda’s tab,” She pulled out a sack of assorted treasures she had… ‘borrowed’ over the year, “do you think I can pay some of it off with this?” She asked.

Blinking in surprise, the librarian quickly schooled his features, easily moving through the contents of the bag, sorting them with a clinical and considerate eye. Without missing a beat, he pulled the scroll with Eda’s tab listed on it, moving down and striking off bits and pieces as he scanned each jewel and bit of jewelry in the bag. Finishing, he sent the scroll away, giving Luz a grudging grin. “That should cover about four ninths of Eda’s tab. Thanks for that, not many people pay their tabs, and I can’t remember that last time anyone thought Eda would ever clear out part of hers. Keep your nose clean, kid.” And with that, he walked off, Luz heading into the library proper a second later.

She glanced about, and noted how similar, yet different, it was from the libraries back home. The kids were sitting at desks with crystal balls in front of them, which Luz had begun equating to Archive Terminals and Lacrima Receivers back home, scrolling through whatever mundane bit caught their eye, with a few seeming to actually be working on scholastic details.

Ducking quickly, Luz just barely avoided being brained by a flying book, grumbling at the unnecessarily dangerous methods the Isles used for almost everything. Spotting a nice table, she plopped herself down, sighing to herself. Without any form of prompting, she quickly pulled out the reference texts she would be using when she finally started her job, carefully monitoring each and every volume, eyes roaming the texts for damage.

“Man, I wish Gus and Willow didn’t have to head off.” She sighed. Technically, they said they didn’t want to spend their day in a den of nerdiness for fun. She just laughed, understanding not everyone would have similar interests as her. Carefully arranging her texts, she stood up, heading over to the stacks for anything that could be of use for explaining her subject matter to her students, and wasn’t THAT still a weird thought!

Casually leaning forward, she grasped a book, “Basics of Bile: A Studying Tool for Understanding Magic,” only for another hand to grab it at the same time.

“I believe my hand touched the book first.” A male voice said next to her. Turning, she shot the Witch boy an unimpressed look. A surly gaze stared back from tired looking red eyes, blond hair swept back, a small scar on his cheek. He cocked an eyebrow, a note of frustration entering his voice, “Are you just gonna stare, or are you gonna let go?” He challenged.

Luz blinked, stumbling back slightly. “Oh, I am so sorry.” She blustered, internally kicking herself. Normally, when she was analyzing someone, it was during a fight or from a distance. She had forgotten how off putting it was up close for others. “Just… looking into the basics, you know?” She shrugged.

The boy scoffed. “Yeah right. Considering what you did at the Covention, I doubt you need brushing up on the basics, particularly of magic you can’t use.” He marched off, throwing one last glare her way, an almost envious look in his eyes. “If you’re gonna lie, at least plan it out a little.”

“But I wasn’t-!” She started, only to trail off as he rounded a corner. “Lying. Ugh!” She groaned. Hopefully, she’d never see that guy again. He already got on her nerves.

#the owl house #fairy tail #owl house au #fairy tail au #owl house crossover #fairy tail crossover #luz noceda #eda clawthorne #bat queen #king the owl house #hunter the owl house #willow park #gus porter #magic

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ourimpavidheroine · 3 years

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You know who this is, don’t you?

Naoki

The oldest of the Hou-Ting babies, gold-eyed, our firebending prodigy. She’s smart and even more importantly, canny. If I ever wrote a Leo, it’s this baby. Daughter of the sun, everything she touches glows. She’s an OC but so much more.

Naoki embodies her element. She is passionate, willful, commanding, determined. She’s learned statecraft and playing the long game thanks to Wu; control and discipline thanks to Yumi, creativeness and quick thinking from Mako, boldness and decisiveness from Qi, compassion and generosity from LoLo, knowing how and when to pick her battles from Lin, sheer power from Korra. All of her mentors and teachers, who over the years groomed her into the Princess of the Fire Nation, the fire butterfly, the Dragon of the Court, the mother of the future Firelord.

When I first thought I would give a child to Wu and Mako - yes, something I was thinking of even when I wrote her into being, an orphaned newborn, in Penmanship - I debated over who she was going to be. (There was never any question in my head she was going to be a she.) As you might recall, when we meet her in person for the first time in Dear Diary she’s just a one year old with electrified hair who doesn’t like to sit down and is clearly overjoyed with Huan’s bending shenanigans.

I started really thinking about her, however, and I kept coming back to Azula. Azula is who she is at fourteen years old. FOURTEEN. Not just an incredibly powerful bender but a girl who understands the world, who understands people. It’s true she uses her unbelievable skills in her father’s service; it was a kids’ show, so it’s unspoken about what Ozai is doing to her behind closed doors but I was an adult with children myself when the show came out and I got it. She is profoundly abused and incredibly unstable. Azula needs years of therapy and probably some time spent in a quiet, caring onsite mental health facility.

I thought to myself, what if I took a girl who is every single bit as gifted as Azula - not just with firebending, but also with strategy - and raise her with love, with kindness, with compassion? In some instances, I think, her brilliance would dim, would simply fade out. But what if her father knew that there was a young Fire Nation prince her age and started, from the time she was a toddler, to surreptitiously groom her for that? He’s a former king, that sort of thinking for him is his normal. Naoki is groomed for leadership, for excellence, just as much as Azula was. But she was groomed differently, and that is what makes the difference.

Naoki is more than the sum of her mentors. She’s also graced with good humor, a heady sense of fun, more than a little thrill-seeking. Naoki’s the type of kid that if you tell her not to touch the hot stove she’ll immediately retreat to think of ways that she CAN and WILL touch that hot stove without getting burned. Oh, she’s gonna touch it. That’s going to happen, make no mistake. She’ll just be smart about it.

Her debacle with stringing along Sozui aside (and that was always about becoming the Crown Princess of the Fire Nation, not Sozui himself, whom she’s loved since she was about ten, even if she didn’t realize it for awhile) she’s loyal and will always have your back. You can take that to the bank. Being part of her inner circle is like basking in the eternal sun that is Naoki Hou-Ting.

There’s more to see about this girl if I ever get to the Royalist Fic. (Don’t you start typing at me, Peonie.) There are two bigass secrets I’ve been waiting to reveal that happen in that fic that I’ve had to avoid spoiling in all the future fics. (There are hints, if you look for them, and now we all know Marezelle is going to start cross-referencing, bless their amazing, detailed heart.) I’m not done with her, not by a long shot.

I’ll tell you this much, though. In a nation where canonically speaking a topknot of hair has a sacred, cultural meaning, where not having a topknot means dishonor? Naoki, the best firebender of her generation, keeps her hair cropped short. That tells you what you need to know about Naoki. 🖕 🖕

I don’t believe, however, that I need to tell you why this is her song.

She's just a girl and she's on fire Hotter than a fantasy, lonely like a highway She's living in a world and it's on fire Filled with catastrophe, but she knows she can fly away Ohhhh oh oh oh oh She got both feet on the ground And she's burning it down Ohhhh oh oh oh oh She got her head in the clouds And she's not backing down This girl is on fire... This girl is on fire... She's walking on fire... This girl is on fire... Looks like a girl, but she's a flame So bright, she can burn your eyes Better look the other way You can try but you'll never forget her name She's on top of the world Hottest of the hottest girls say Ohhhh oh oh oh We got our feet on the ground And we're burning it down Ohhhh oh oh oh oh Got our head in the clouds And we're not coming down This girl is on fire... This girl is on fire... She's walking on fire... This girl is on fire... Everybody stares, as she goes by 'Cause they can see the flame that's in her eyes Watch her as she's lighting up the night Nobody knows that she's a lonely girl And it's a lonely world But she gon' let it burn, baby, burn, baby This girl is on fire... This girl is on fire... She's walking on fire... This girl is on fire... Oh, oh, oh, oh ohhhhh oh oh oh ohhh oh oh oh ohhhh... She's just a girl and she's on fire

#character soundtrack #Naoki

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

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Gimme Sympathy

A/N One more fic in the Metric universe, and then I have to knuckle down and finish the second arc of Saorsa. This story takes place just after Lost Kitten, so after The Beginning and Breathing Underwater, but long before Lazy Dancer and Calculation Theme. Previous fics are available on my AO3 page.

Oh, and mild warning for foul language, if that’s not your thing.

The song by Metric that inspired the title and a few lines is here.

December 10, 2016, Bistrotheque, Bethnal Green, London

“Bloody feckin hell, this place is a madhouse!” Geillis yelled as she elbowed her way back to Claire’s side in the vestibule of the latest trendy East London eatery.

“Yes, well, this was all your idea. I was happy going out for pad thai and warm beer,” Claire retorted over the din. Truth be told, she was excited to be out past 8pm wearing something other than her scrubs and someone else’s bodily fluids. It had been a tough slog of a year.

“Are ye mad, woman? Bad enough ye wouldna let me throw ye a party fer gettin’ inta medical school. I wasna goin’ to settle for anything less than the hippest hipster joint in all o’ Bethnal Green tae celebrate yer success.”

They were eventually ushered into the cavernous main dining room, bedecked like a virginal bride with a long row of liquor bottles atop the massive central bar reflecting the pendant lights like gemstones. Claire felt conspicuous in her slim black skirt and tallest heels, the pressure of assessing eyes on her exposed back.

Ordering a bottle of ridiculously overpriced champagne, Geillis raised her flute in salute.

“Tae my hard-working, brilliant, an’ annoyingly beautiful friend, who will be the most kick-ass doctor the Royal London ‘as e’er seen. Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

“Thank you, Geil. Though, I’m a long way from a doctor yet,” she demurred, letting the crisp liquid bite her tongue before swallowing.

“Ach, ‘tis no’ but a formality. Ye could pick up a scalpel now and still be a right sight better than most o’ those auld wankers we work wi’!”

“You’re a true friend, Geil. And you have excellent taste in hipster joints. This menu is amazing.”

The two women drank and ate and laughed and drank some more. Geillis was a bottomless well of off-colour stories, most involving her constantly changing stable of male companions.

“So you’re saying he, err, handcuffed you to the bed frame and then... passed out cold?” Claire asked, eyes alight with mischief.

“Aye. An’ before he could serve me, the bugger. Anyway, tha’ was why I couldna reply tae yer texts when ye lost yer keys.”

“I thought you were speaking metaphorically, when you said you’d been tied up!” Claire dissolved into giggles, the empty champagne bottle having been replaced by some top flight Scottish whisky. This meal was going to cost Geillis a fortune.

“Nah. Ye ken I would come tae yer rescue, nae matter how well I was bein’ rogered, Claire. Thas’ wha’ friends are for,” Geillis Scots grew more broad as she plumbed the depths of intoxication, a fact that Claire had always found endearing. “Come tae think o’ it, where did ye bed down tha’ night? The on-call room?”

Claire blushed and stared into her half-empty glass. She’d been hoping to avoid this particular conversation, but now she’d stumbled straight into it.

“No, I ran into an... acquaintance, when I was bumbling about in the rain. And they offered to let me stay in their spare room. So, will you be seeing this Norwegian personal trainer again? It’s hardly his fault he passed out. Knowing you, he probably drank enough liquor to pickle an elephant.”

Geillis might have been drunk, but she was still canny, and she could tell when her friend was hiding something.

“What acquaintance of yours has a spare room? Tha’ Hawkins girl, from Pediatrics?”

“No. No, it was... um, well, it was James Fraser,” she mumbled, hoping Geillis had forgotten his family name, or had never known it in the first place. Either was a distinct possibility, but luck was not with her.

“Jamie Fraser! The big ginger firefighter?! Ye slept at Jamie Fraser’s, an’ ye failed tae inform me immediately? Feckin hell, Claire!”

Claire glanced nervously at the tables close by either side of their own, hoping the general clamour prevented them from overhearing their conversation.

“It’s precisely because I knew you’d react like this that I didn’t tell you, Geil. It’s not a big deal. He happened upon me, I told him about my keys, and he offered for me to sleep in his spare room. His flatmate had just moved out,” she explained rationally.

“Nae big deal, she says. Alright, then. If it twas nae big deal, tell me everythin’. Seein’ as we’re no’ keepin’ secrets.”

Knowing there was no way to pull Geillis off the scent a juicy tale, Claire matter-of-factly described meeting Jamie in Brick Lane, the inside of his flat, and the quiet breakfast they’d shared the next morning before they’d gone their separate ways. Something kept her from sharing the story of their middle-of-the-night encounter and Jamie’s PTSD episode. She told herself she was merely maintaining the privacy of an informal patient, but there was something more possessive lying beneath her motivation. Jamie had revealed himself to her in a way she knew, instinctively, he’d never shared with Geillis. The secret was his, and now it was hers as well.

“Interesting,” her friend opined, nodding her head as though a theory had been confirmed. “So, the wee fox cub likes his damsels in distress, does he?”

“It wasn’t like that at all, Geil. Don’t make this about sex.”

“Hen, everythin’ is about sex. Jus’ because ye’ve sworn off men doesna make it untrue.”

“You would say that,” Claire retorted. “Especially since you and he...” she gestured with her hand.

“Aye. Aye, we did. Twas the night before ye left fer Afghanistan, if I recall,” Geillis confirmed, unrepentant.

“Just the once?” Claire asked, curious despite herself.

“Aye. Well, twice, if ye count the time in the shower after ye puked on me.”

“Oh my god. Geillis! You fucked him in our shower while I lay intoxicated in my bed? I can’t believe you!”

“We made certain ye were alright, first,” Geillis defended herself, batting her eyelashes innocently.

“Bloody hell. Well, and? Don’t hold back now. How was he?”

Geillis looked abstracted and Claire knew she was reliving the night in question, four years past. A lump formed in her throat, and she regretted asking for details. Now the two streams had crossed in her mind, and she’d never again be able to think of Jamie without also remembering the look Geil had on her face in that moment.

Reading her friend’s glass face with ease, Geillis took pity on her.

“Ye dinna really want tae know, love. I will say this. He’s a good lad. Far too lovely for the likes o’ me.”

“That’s it? I have to listen to the minutae of every other sexual adventure you have, but Jamie Fraser is ‘lovely’?”

“Aye. Ye do, and he is. Come, le’s get out o’ here a’fore I canna walk.”

Stumbling out into the cloudy night, the two leaned against each other and started the long trek back to their flat. Claire was silent, trying to muddle through her conflicted feelings through the haze of drink. It really shouldn’t matter that Geillis and Jamie had a history, albeit a very short-lived one. And yet somehow, it did.

“I will tell ye one thing,” Geillis began as though their earlier conversation hadn’t ended twenty minutes previous. “The lad has the trapezius of an Olympic deity. Ye could do far worse.”

“I could... Geil, I told you, it isn’t like that. You more than anyone should know I’m not in the market for a man, Olympian musculature or not. Especially now, with medical school looming.”

Geillis stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing a couple to step around them, muttering angrily.

“Claire,” she said, trying to school her features into something approximating solemnity, “yer a brilliant lass, but ye’re also a damn fool. Just cause one man treated ye poorly doesna mean they all will. Ye’re gonna make mistakes, ye’re young. But dinna live in the dark because ye got too close tae the flame and got burned.”

Lecture over, Geillis steered them westward.

“Where are we going?”

“Tae the chippie. Hipster food is well an’ good, but it doesna soak up all the yummy alcohol like tatties an’ grease.”

#my writing #outlander

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fierceweebadger · 4 years

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While The Band Played On (Moodboard Challenge Oneshot)

This is my one shot for the Moodboard Challenge. Thanks again for organising, @iamnottrisha and @outlanderlush!

The gorgeous and highly inspiring moodboard is by @yogini_koo! I just hope I have done it justice.

And thanks also to my betas Danielle, Saba, Britt & Katie. (Yes, I need four, don't judge me!) If this story is any good at all, it's because of you.

This is the first piece of writing I have ever shared publicly, so I hope you enjoy it. *runs & hides*

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

The strains of a saxophone floated through the cool night air to where I waited in the rainswept alley behind the club. Waited for a man I wasn’t sure would come.

He was late.

Maybe he hadn’t found the note slipped discreetly in his pocket. Perhaps he thought the whole thing was a trap to be avoided. The death toll in the War on Booze was ever mounting, and Black Jack and his gang played the game more viciously than most; a Federal Agent couldn’t afford to be careless in times like these, or he’d soon find himself on the wrong end of a Tommy gun.

I lit another cigarette, foot tapping nervously on the wet pavement. While I normally eschewed smoking, it was a convenient excuse for my presence here, should I be missed. It was also a handy way to mark the passage of time; if he didn’t arrive by the time I finished this one, I would have to go back inside and think up another plan.

But one way or another, I was determined to escape.

My bruises were almost gone now — the last remnants of the black eye covered with an extra thick layer of foundation — and I swore they would be my last at the hands of Jonathan Randall. That monster might own my body, but my soul was still mine; a bit battered perhaps, hidden away deep down where no one could see, but whole for all that. And never accepting of the gilded cage in which I was currently trapped.

---

10 days earlier

“That smart mouth is going to get you killed one of these days, my dear.”

Those words were the last thing I could recall upon waking in the hospital bed, feeling the starched white linen of the sheets, uncomfortable against my skin.

I hadn’t even seen the first blow coming; had been insensible for those which followed.

For every cloud, a silver lining.

Laying there in the quiet, dawn light peeking through the cracks in the blinds, I wondered how I had gotten here. It must have been one of the other girls, I decided upon reflection; Jack would never have sought out medical help, unwanted attention from the establishment being high on his list of things to avoid.

A soft rap on the door snapped me back to the present.

“Come in,” I managed to croak out, my throat raw and painful — the ghost of his hand around my neck lingering still.

I had expected a nurse or a doctor — or even an orderly bringing around some terrible hospital food — but the man who entered was clearly none of those things. He was tall, handsome, clad in a well-tailored suit, and held himself with a confident bearing. His hair was a distinctive shade of auburn and his eyes shockingly blue when they met mine, making me forget to breathe for a moment.

When he spoke, it was yet another surprise; his warm Scottish brogue wrapped around me like a blanket on a cold day.

“Morning, Mrs. Randall,” he greeted me with a slight nod of the head. “My name is James Fraser and I’m an agent with the Prohibition Bureau. Sorry for bothering ye sae early. How are ye feeling this morning, lass?”

His eyes and tone seemed to hold a genuine kindness and concern, but I didn’t trust so easily as I used to. I had learned the importance of caution and compartmentalisation over the last three years — a hard and painful lesson, that — and my slip of the previous evening was obviously still fresh in my mind.

“And what possible interest could the Prohibition Bureau have in me, sir?” I replied, doing my best to compose my face into something resembling a brick wall. “I’m just a woman who slipped and fell down the stairs.”

I had thought that might get a rise out of him, but he maintained his composure. He obviously didn’t think the situation humorous in the slightest.

“Yer name is Randall, ma’am. And ye canna live long with a name like that unless ye’re a canny bird. How might ye be related to Jonathan Randall, may I ask?”

I averted my gaze, trying to keep my voice steady and neutral. “He was my late husband’s cousin. Frank died in a car accident several years ago.”

“Ah. I see. I’m sorry for yer loss, Mrs. Randall.”

A faint “ yes, well, me too” was all I could manage in reply. I turned my head away, pretending to look out the window, though the blinds were still drawn.

Damn you, Frank, I thought, wiping an angry tear from my eye. This is all your bloody fault!

I hadn’t heard him approach the bed, so I was startled when a large hand enveloped mine, offering a quick squeeze of reassurance that sent shivers down my spine. It was the first time in a very long time that I had been touched by a man with kindness — not with cruelty or desire — and the realisation shook me to the core.

“Ye dinna have to be scairt of him, Claire. Let me help ye.”

Before I could even contemplate a response, the door suddenly opened and Jamie jerked his hand away as if scalded. A nurse bustled in, clipboard and blood-pressure cuff in her hands.

“Oh, so sorry to interrupt, but I need to do a few checks on Mrs Randall now. If you wouldn’t mind waiting outside for a few minutes, sir.”

“Aye, I’ll be back in a bit,” he said with a nod, quietly closing the door behind him.

My mind was racing. This could be it, my chance to get out from under Black Jack’s control. Had I finally found an ally who would help me? Someone who wasn’t as terrified of the boss and his goons as everyone else in New York seemed to be?

There was only one way to find out. It was risky but, looking down at the bruises that covered my arms, I found I suddenly didn’t care anymore.

I was going to get out or die trying.

But as I still strongly preferred the option of not dying, I needed to be smart about this. Jack would have someone watching the hospital. I had to get the agent out of my room as quickly as possible or they’d suspect I told him something. I needed to arrange a meeting of my own choosing; one when I wouldn’t be watched.

“Do you have anything to write with, by any chance?” I turned to ask the nurse, the outline of a plan quickly forming in my mind.

“Of course, ma’am,” she said, handing me a piece of blank paper off the chart and a yellow pencil with teeth marks on it. As she went about her work, I scrawled a short note.

The alley behind Dragoon’s

10 days from now

1130pm sharp

Come alone

Please

I quickly folded the paper into a tiny square, tucking it under a fold of my hospital gown.

#moodboard challenge oneshot #jamie and claire #outlander fanfic

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galadrieljones · 4 years

Text

The Lily Farm - Chapter 43

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 43: Origin Story

There was an old fence that lived in Blackwater, a man who kept a room in a boarding house not far from the lumber yard. He had known Hosea and Dutch in their old days running booze in Kansas, a lot of years before, and he came down to Blackwater sometime in the late-eighties. Since then, he had served as a fence for many unsavory years, and now he was a cobbler and he owned a pawn shop. He was sixty-two with white hair, and he did not do much fencing anymore but for with those who he remembered from the past. He was just an old broker from the plains now, named Frum. He’d been away from home for a very long time.

That afternoon, when she came through his door in a crisp blue dress, he remembered Mary Beth, from the last time the van der Lindes had blown through town. She wore a handkerchief around her hair as if to conceal her identity, but she was such a pretty girl that he would always remember for her canny sensibility and her beautiful contraband, and her Kansas roots. There had been Pinkertons in Blackwater for a long time, it was true, but he had not seen them in some weeks. He did not know where they had gone to nor why, but even still, he was pretty sure they would not remember her. She was not a gunslinger. She was not the thing they wanted. She was, to the undiscerning, despite her mild beauty, forgettable. It was an aspect of her art.

“Mary Beth from Shawnee,” he said when she came to his counter. “You're a sight for sore eyes. It's been some time.”

She removed the handkerchief from her hair and approached demurely. She looked sad. She was alone. “Hello, Mr. Frum,” she said. “How are you?”

“Old, and older,” he said, adjusting his spectacles. “Are the boys back in town? Or just you.”

She smiled. “Just me.”

“How can I help you today, my dear?”

She reached into the pocket of her dress. On his counter then, she placed a time piece—a most lovely pocket watch of the highest and most elite design, made of gold, pieces dipped in silver, jewel-crusted from here to there. It looked Italian-made, with many embellishments. It was mighty elegant. He had rarely seen anything like it.

“My word,” he said. “What have we here?”

“Just a piece of jewelry,” she said, sighing, "that I need to sell. How much do you think I can get for it?"

Frum removed his monocular from a drawer. He held it up to his eye and examined the watch. “This is not just a piece of jewelry, Miss Gaskill. This is extraordinary,” he said. There were diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. The jewels were not massive, carat-wise, but there were so many. “It is worth quite a bit."

“More than you keep on hand?”

“No.”

“Can you hock it?” she said, sounding nervous. “It’s hot. I’m not sure what can be done.”

“I can hock anything, Miss Gaskill. I been in the game a long time.”

She blushed. “That’s a relief,” she said. “For a second, I was worried the effort had been fruitless. And it ain’t Miss Gaskill no more, for the record. It’s Mrs. Morgan now. I got married.”

He removed his monocular, looked at her and her many freckles. “Mrs. Arthur Morgan?” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

His heart warmed considerably. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

He took a deep breath. He put the monocular away in a drawer. The room was wide and warm and full of baubles. None of them shone as brightly as her that day. He remembered Arthur. Arthur was a good man. “I will give you $1800 for this watch, Mrs. Morgan,” he said. He set the piece back down on the heavy, polished wooden counter. He slid it toward her, and then he folded his hands together. “But I must inform you, I reckon you may be able to pull nigh on $2000 in a big city. Could be more if you get a sucker. Blackwater ain’t no cow town, but it ain’t much for glitz and glamour neither. It’s ranchers, land rich only. I’ll have to move this watch many miles. It will find sale in New York, or Boston. St. Denis, maybe.”

“This watch cannot find itself in St. Denis,” she said, serious. “I hear what you’re saying, but that can’t happen. I can’t fence it there, and it can’t be sold there. In fact I can’t fence this watch nowhere but here—well, maybe one other place but that place is a cow town and I am sure they don’t got the means for it. So I will take the $1800. Thank you, sir.”

He studied her, how she seemed a little wayward. They shook on it. It was a deal. “Where’d you come by this anyway?” he said. “You don’t have to say. I’m just curious.”

“A rich Italian,” she said, tucking the hair behind her ears. “Real dumbass, mind you. He ain’t none the wiser, Mr. Frum, but St. Denis is where he makes his home in the states, and so you catch my drift.”

“I do.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded then. He told her he would be right back. He went through the door behind the counter, which lead to a backroom where he kept his safe. He turned the combination and carefully counted and removed $1800, cash money, strapped it, and placed it in a leather envelope. He then closed the safe, came back to where she was leaning on her elbows, dreamily admiring the odds and ends of the store. When he returned to the counter, she smiled and knitted herself together. They completed their transaction. He wrapped the watch in a piece of suede and placed it in the drawer beside the monocular.

Mary Beth counted the bills. $1800. Truth be told, it was more than she had expected, but not by much. She pocketed the money. It was a heavy take, and she ultimately felt good about it. “Thank you, Mr. Frum,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

“Is everything okay?” he said, placing his hands in his pockets. “You seem different. Not like the spritely girl I knew when y’all moved through here some months ago.”

“I ain’t spritely no more,” she said, shrugging. “That’s for sure. But I’m okay, Mr. Frum. I am just different. I am doing my best.”

“That is all one can hope for,” he said. “Where is Arthur? Is he here with you, in Blackwater?”

“No,” she said. "He ain't." She swallowed some air, though her throat felt dry. She placed the scarf back over her hair, tied it under her chin, put on a happy face. She did not care to elaborate that day. “Thank you again, Mr. Frum. For I will see you again.”

“I hope so,” he said. He smiled warmly, his eyes sparkling like little shells. “Give Arthur my best. And Dutch, and Hosea.”

“I will.”

She left the pawn shop. Outside, Call was leaning against a lamp post, reading the newspaper. He had his wide-brimmed hat, his face cast in shadow. The local law were all sleeping, that is mostly what she noticed that day. Nobody cared about them. It was a ghost town. She wondered, all at once, what the hell they were all so afraid of? Coming back here. This place, it was meaningless. When Call saw her, he folded the paper and tucked it into his back pocket.

“How’d you do?” he said.

“Very well,” she said.

“Where to next,” he said. “We still have an hour before the train.”

But Mary Beth did not care much about the train. She said, “I would just like to take a walk. By the water. Do you mind?”

“Do I mind what.”

“I’d like to be alone.”

This seemed to give him pause. He took a very deep breath. He looked exhausted as he glanced around. “I suppose it is broad daylight,” he said. “Where you aiming to go?”

“Just along the water, then up the road and back. I’ll meet you at the station in thirty minutes time. I ain’t a child, Mr. Call. And I know this town.”

He gazed at her pensively and agreed. “Of course. Stay alert, though. You need anything, you just scream, and I will come a-running.”

“I don’t doubt that, Mr. Call,” she said. She curtsied to him and went on her way.

She walked down the block then, past a stagecoach and the bank, and she turned the corner until she was out of his sight. The city was quiet, and all the men tipped their hats to her respectfully. She walked with her hands cupped together, trying to appear both married and above her station. It was a skill she understood, sort of. The morning was sunny. Whatever storm was moving in the night before had blown by. The rooftops were wet from it, and gleaming. She walked by the penny store where it was she had gone with Sean MacGuire many months in the past. It was where he had purchased that book of poems by W.B. Yeats and then brought it to her in secret, asking if she would teach him how to read. He had been dead now for such a time. She wished it did not have to be so. How she wished. She recalled Arthur, and how he had sounded as he read one of those poems out loud, sitting in Hamish Sinclair’s loft under the pouring rain, the night of their first kiss. It had been their origin story. She took a big breath and said a prayer for him, and for Sean, and then she walked into the Blackwater stables.

“Hello,” she said to the big man in charge. He looked unfamiliar. He was almost as young as she was but he was missing a tooth. She thought he must be running this place for his father. “I am looking to buy a horse. Maybe two.”

He put down the paper he had been reading and looked at her somewhat condescendingly. “What kind of horse,” he said.

“I am interested in only your finest breeds.”

“Such as.”

“Such as an Arabian. Or perhaps a Foxtrotter. I like unusual coats. Of course, this is assuming you got anything at all. I don’t know what kind of circus you’re running here. Have you got taste in ponies?”

“Excuse me?” he said, taken by surprise.

“I said, have you got taste in ponies. I have money, I am in town for one day only, and I am looking to buy, but not from no cub.”

He regarded her anew, in this moment, exited from behind the counter with his hands behind his back. “You know your stuff?”

“Yes, sir, I know my stuff. My husband is a wrangler, and I know my stuff.”

“Well then. In that case, let’s take a look.”

Woodrow Call was standing by, leaning outside the train station with his arms folded across his chest, waiting for Mary Beth and thinking back upon all the mistakes he had made in his life. He was a steadfast man who had come to be so predictable, even he could understand what overcame him that day. He knew it had something to do with Mary Beth, with Arthur, how young they were, her especially. Pregnant, married, new. It was like he had been tasked with delivering them safely unto the ether and though he was proud, he was also terrified. He could not remember the last time he spoke to his own son. This is what he remembered now. Was it five, six months? It’s not that they weren’t friendly, just that their lives rarely touched anymore. He had gone with a cattle drive up to Wyoming the year before and taken a wife in Laramie. She was a butcher's daughter, and religious. Call sent letters every so often, and he received letters in return, but Call had been out of Texas for some time now, and who knows how many where there, waiting for him, unread? He knew he had a grandbaby on the way, or perhaps it had been born already? Most likely not, but still. He planned faithfully to take a train to Wyoming the moment his business east of the Mississippi had come to a close, to see for himself, the baby and the wife. He missed the notion of home. He wanted desperately to get it back, though the days seemed behind him now when he could make one new, and this was a rude awakening.

He took a couple steps off the station platform now and began to scan the streets for Mary Beth. There were many men in high fashion suits waiting for the train. He knew they must have been headed for St. Denis. After some minutes of fretting and glancing at his watch, he finally saw her, but it was a surprise, the thing he saw. She was coming up the thoroughfare on a horse, and yoked to it was another horse. She had two horses. She was a sight to see. He went up to her in the middle of the street, with his hands on his hips, feeling miffed and lost for words.

“What in god’s name?” he said. “Where’d you come by these ponies?”

“I bought them,” said Mary Beth happily. He took her hand as she hopped down, and then she dusted off her blue skirt. They were lovely girls, one of them a sizable Arabian in a rose champagne, the other a hale Foxtrotter in a Silver Dapple Pinto. “From the stable, just now.”

“You bought both of these?” he said. “With what means?”

“I sold Angelo Bronte’s pocket watch,” she said. “There's a fence here in town, an old friend of the gang's. That watch yielded me $1800. And I negotiated these to a good price. Don’t worry. I ain’t been had, Mr. Call. I even got some leftover.”

“Well, I am impressed,” he said, genuine. Though still confused. “I just—explain it to me though. I thought we was taking the train.”

“I know,” she said, “and I’m sorry. I know I should’ve said something. But it just—I wanted to keep it to myself. These isn’t just for the ride. One of them is a gift for Arthur.”

He shifted his weight, one foot to the other. He was smoking a cigarette. “A gift?”

“Yes sir," she said. "Arthur has lost a couple different horses this past year. They died by terrible means. Bloody. His last one, Sarah, she was a Foxtrotter with a champagne coat, and she died not a couple weeks ago. Caught a hail of bullets in a shoot-out with Lemoyne Raiders on the road, and Arthur had to put her down himself. Arthur is a hard man, Mr. Call, as you well know. He has lived a rough life, losing many things, but when it comes to animals, he is soft. He has been putting off getting another horse, though he needs one. Desperately. I don’t think he knows how to move on yet. Nothing is good enough. But I thought—maybe if I give him this gift, he’ll accept.”

Call watched her, closely. The sun was high in the sky now. It must have been approaching noon. “That sounds like a very loving gift, Mrs. Morgan.”

“Thank you.” She took a couple sugar cubes from her pocket. She seemed relieved as she gave one to Call. They fed them to the horses. It was so nice to have them there. They were so alive and big and full of movement.

“Which one will you give him?”

“I don’t know,” she said, gazing upon them, looking dreamy. “They’re both fine fillies. I’ll let him take his pick, and I will ride the other. In the meantime, we can break them in a little. Ride to Valentine, instead of taking the train. What do you think? I mean, I know it ain’t close, but we can do it.”

“I reckon we can,” said Call. Truth be told, he was relieved, but he didn’t tell her that. He wasn’t sure how recognizable she’d be in the Heartlands. He was worried that with Arthur’s name refreshed in the mind of the Pinkertons, hers might be, too.

They started walking those horses down the gravel road then. They were leaving the city, leaving the sorry plains of Blackwater behind. They passed the cemetery, passed the outskirts and weeds and the sleeping homeless man in his union kepi. Now, they headed for the grassy hills, and the prairie canyons. Call didn’t know the backroads, but he reckoned they would just follow the river for as long as they could. Ride up to Cumberland Falls, then trek east past Calaban’s Seat until they hit Valentine. It was gonna be a pretty ride, and he would be glad for the distraction. They mounted up and started riding when they got to the Montana, crossed the river, and then rode till they made it to the Dakota. There, they took a short break on the banks. Call shot a rabbit, which they cooked up on a spit and ate with their fingers. Mary Beth told him about Wisconsin. He thought that sounded real fine, though he did not ask many questions.

Mary Beth had been saving that pocket watch. She didn’t know what for, but she’d been saving. It was a nest egg. It had been a symbol of all the things good that were coming for her. But as she had walked through the dusty old sadness of Blackwater that day, she thought about Arthur, and escaping, and lily farms, and it all began to feel impossible. She wondered, truly, if they would ever leave the gang. Everything, everybody they loved, including each other, was in the gang. Dutch had made them that ultimatum, and how quickly had it dissolved, become nothing? Meaningless. Poof. The same as everything, every day, every score. What was right? If they left now, it would be the dead of winter when they got there, nowhere to live, nowhere to go, in a frozen tundra. If they waited until the baby was born, then would they travel with a newborn, risk the freeze? Or would they wait? How long then, and where? They’d have to leave Lemoyne, all of them, this she had surmised based on the renewed interest from the Pinkertons, but where would they go now? And how would they get there?

Mary Beth had suddenly lost her footing for the future, but it wasn't all bad. She just needed to regroup. She had never been one for anything but dreaming, and so she accepted it was only the now she could control. The here. The things she could touch and see. So she traded in that pocket watch, and she bought those horses. The horses were real, and they had a true practical function. Unlike daydreaming, they did a job. That night, she fed the horses. She did not give them names. She called them both "Pretty Girl." As she brushed their manes and braided their tails and pet their subtle heads, she tried looking forward to Valentine, where it was she was convinced she would see him again. Her handsome husband, safe and sound, who she loved so much. They camped deep in the wooded hills of Diablo Ridge where the trees could not guard them from the stars.

Meanwhile, Arthur and LaBoeuf were a half a day ahead. They had made their swift departure from Braithwaite Manor, left straight away in the morning, before the sun came up. Penelope gifted them each a respectable steed and a set of binoculars. They thanked her sincerely for her trouble, which she waved off in her flippant southern manner and said, “Set them nags free when you’ve done with them, boys. Or sell them. By any means, I don't care. Just don’t bring them back here, for the love of god. Here, they'll die!” She was full of foreboding and mocking scorn for her family, like some gothic horror novel given to him by Mary Beth. He thought it was a bad thing, but at least she had awareness. He hoped one day that she would find a way out of her stifling existence, much like he was trying to escape his own. LeBoeuf was healing already. The wound was not as deep as it had originally seemed, and though he was in some amount of pain, he managed it with whiskey and cocaine gum. Arthur changed his dressings once, and they were able to ride at a brisk pace the whole way to the Heartlands. They did not get held up at all. For they stayed off the beaten paths, as they had nothing for artillery and no means to protect themselves. Arthur knew this would have to change fast, as there was nothing but trouble lurking in this unlucky country—for him, LaBoeuf, everybody really.

They made it to Citadel Rock that evening. It was a fine night, clear and cool, the clouds gone off to the north. They hitched their horses to a tree and climbed the uneven rock formation, Arthur leading the way and hauling LaBoeuf where the ridge was too narrow. When they got to a safe spot with a good vantage point, they laid out, and with their binoculars, took to scoping out the city. It mostly looked empty at first but for a couple of rustlers moving through to the auction yard, stragglers and locals. The day was winding down.

But then they saw some suspicious characters camping in covered wagons outside of the town. Pinkertons, and by the true love in their hearts, they had not expected this.

“Goddam cockroaches," said Arthur. He could not believe his eyes. He was exasperated. "In Valentine? What the hell?"

LaBoeuf said nothing at first. He was staring through the binoculars, chewing gum, looking fed up. He shook his head. He was calculating something. Arthur wondered what was his origin story? Where was this man from.

But instead of asking, he just exhaled. It was a setback. Just that, he told himself. Maybe they would leave. Maybe they would be on their way by morning light. He momentarily feared that Mary Beth and Call may have already been through and been found out, but LaBoeuf promised Arthur that Call would not enter the town without conducting his own recon mission, much like this. So Arthur let all the air out of his lungs and flattened out on his stomach with his cheek pressed to the cold, hard rock, and he closed his eyes and thought about his childhood for some reason, the days before his mother had died, living up in Oregon, and how she used to wash their clothes with a special formula that she mixed herself with herbs from the yard. Mary Beth, she did something similar. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it brought him great comfort as he sought to avoid any and all thinking toward the coming days and nights of this goddam longwinded journey to the end.

"I just want to go home," he said, closing his eyes.

"Where's home?" said LaBoeuf, unknowing in the profundity of the question he asked.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #mary beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth #the lily farm #<3

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sciencenewsforstudents · 5 years

Link

The call came one morning in the spring of 2013. The cemetery was a mess.

Charlotte Watson remembers it clearly. She works in the courts in New York City. She also runs an organization that protects a historic cemetery in rural Texas, where she grew up. Named Willow Wild, this cemetery sits on 36 hectares (90 acres) in Bonham. The site is about 130 kilometers (80 miles) northeast of Dallas. Someone in Bonham who regularly visited the cemetery was the first on the scene.

“Something terrible had happened,” Watson recalls — wild pigs!

Overnight, wild pigs can destroy a lawn, garden or field of crops. CREDIT: USDA APHIS photo by Scott Woodruff/Flickr (CC BY 2.0)

They had barged in and uprooted wide patches of grass. It looked like someone had ripped out the grass and tilled the soil. No grave markers were knocked over, but “it looked really bad,” says Watson. “You couldn’t imagine [the grass] would grow back.”

For the next few weeks, wild pigs slept under the surrounding trees by day and slipped into the cemetery by night: They came to root in the soil for grubs. These thick white worms, which would grow up to become beetles, live several centimeters (a few inches) below the soil surface.

The invaders weren’t going to leave quickly on their own. Watson and her group had to face some tough questions about how to deal with these far-from-benign swine.

Texas is hardly alone in facing marauding pigs. These wild swine can be found in nearly every U.S. state. They've also been spotted in Canada, and many cross the border from Texas into Mexico. In the United States, they have become concentrated in southeastern states. They also wreak havoc in other countries, including the United Kingdom and Australia. In Germany, hordes of pigs dig up gardens in the suburbs of Berlin.

Wild pigs each year feast on crops and cause $1.5 billion in damage in the United States alone. CREDIT: USDA APHIS photo Craig Hicks/Flickr (CC BY 2.0)

Wild pigs cause some $1.5 billion in damage every year in the United States, mostly to crops, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA). They also pose a health hazard. Wild pigs carry at least 30 diseases and 37 parasites (organisms that live and feed on a living host). Some of these diseases and parasites can spread to other animals. They can also infect people who eat or breathe the germs. And when cornered, wild pigs can, though rarely, attack people. Last December, for instance, a feral pig attacked the German hunter who had shot it. The man would later die.

Wildlife biologists around the world want to understand these feral swine to halt the menace. They’re tracking the animals to understand their behavior and predict where they’ll go. Researchers are testing new traps, including some that send real-time video to smartphone apps.

Stopping the pigs is difficult, in part, because they’re canny. “They’re one of the smartest animals on the planet,” notes wildlife biologist Alan Leary. He works for the Missouri Department of Conservation in the state's capital, Jefferson City. “We have to continually come up with new techniques to stay ahead of them,” he says.

Right now, the pigs are winning.

#science #scied #sciblr #feral hog #feral hogs #wild pigs #agriculture #ecology #animals

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theawkwardterrier · 5 years

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things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 14

AO3 link here

He’s always taken by surprise when the memories come for him. It will be something small, usually: an article he goes to set aside because Bruce would be interested, or - even after all this time - a reach for his phone to check the weather before realizing the reflex won’t make sense for several more decades. The first Thanksgiving he spends with Peggy, he’s muddled through enough to have the turkey in the oven and the potatoes boiling on the stove and suddenly he remembers being on the run, holed up in an apartment in Sofia with Sam recounting stories of family holidays past as he taught Steve and Natasha to make “the best damn cornbread you’ll ever eat.” (Steve remembers the recipe and serves it at dinner, but can’t bring himself to taste it.)

There’s the time that Rose, independent minded as always, starts calling her new brother Natty, then Nat (over and over - “Nat, Nat, Nat”), until Steve, who does not yell at his children, finds himself barking at her to quit it before leaving the room. He apologizes to them all later, a mulish, wary-eyed Rosie in particular, but none of them ever uses the nickname again.

Once, he is waiting in line at the post office and recalls with a sudden and biting shudder that something of him is out there, frozen and insensate in the solitary ice while Steve lives this life. And then he realizes that Thor is somewhere now too, still young and princely, a warrior, already having lived a thousand years or more. Someone Steve could talk to, someone who would not know him, someone who can’t be reached. (The postal clerk offers condolences as he mails his package.)

The day Tony is born is particularly bad.

Steve knew that Maria was pregnant, knew it was going to happen soon. The date on the calendar triggered something familiar in the back of his mind when he went to write in the sleepover party Emma has scheduled for that evening. But he is still surprised when he gets the call.

It comes in the early hours. Peggy grumbles when the phone shrills into the dim morning quiet of their bedroom - she’d been on a late-night call and only got to sleep around 2 AM - so Steve rolls out of bed and over to the dresser to answer it.

“Steve!” It’s Howard, sounding entirely too awake. “Steve, he’s here!”

Steve massages his eyes for a moment, wondering if he has to rouse Peggy after all. Some diplomat, some dangerous figure he doesn’t know about…? But Howard is continuing, “—told me take her over to Mt. Sinai. Luckily I had Jarvis drive us because that woman really had her claws in my arm - hard to steer with that kind of grip on you. Figured the kid was ready to fall out of her, the way she was acting, but we were there all night.You know they let husbands come in for the main event these days? Crazy times. Thought Ana would be better at that sort of thing, though. Calming presence and all. She came out about an hour ago, brought me in to see him before they took him away. Ten fingers, ten toes and all, did great on that baby score test, and we’ve named him too! Anthony, for Maria’s father, but we’ll call him—”

“Tony,” Steve says softly, but it is lost under Howard’s joyful echo.

He had thought that it would be Jarvis calling, pride and delight masked beneath British propriety. He imagined it like being informed about a royal birth: “It has just been announced that Mrs. Maria Stark was safely delivered of a boy at 3:43 A.M. and that she and the child are both doing well.” He could have stood for that, offered suitable congratulations on behalf of himself and the rest of the family, and hung up. But now it is Howard, bursting with unexpected eagerness about his son over the telephone line, and the appropriate amount of corresponding happiness seems more than Steve has to give.

There’s a sick twist in his gut as he thinks of the disdain and hurt in Tony’s voice whenever he spoke about Howard, and it only gets worse when his mind recalls the vivid details of Tony slumped in his armor that final time - the smoke of it all, the everywhere wreckage. He remembers, too strongly for a memory so far past and so far future, the beautiful sun and silence of everyone at the funeral for this child who’s just been born.

He doesn’t even notice Peggy there until she has eased the phone from his ear. “I hear you’ve some good news for us, Howard,” she says, her tone cheerfully dry in a way Steve can’t manage just now. He leans against the bureau and places his thumb on the inside of her wrist, even though he knows that it means the pulse he’s feeling is most likely his own.

Once she’s had her turn to be exuberantly hollered at, the story told lovingly all over again with little additions (Jarvis’s hurried trip back to the house to find the pre-purchased cigars, the little tip Howard had dropped for the nurses to make sure they didn’t go running to the papers), she asks when they should plan to come up and see the baby.

“Come up next weekend, if you can manage it,” says Howard. “Bring the kids! Well, maybe don’t bring them, but park them with Dr. and Mr. Barnes and bring yourselves over.”

“And you’ve confirmed with Maria that she won’t mind?” Peggy asks. “It’s all likely a bit overwhelming between the birth and caring for a newborn, without adding the stress of entertaining.”

“I bet the Jarvises will be over the moon to see you,” Howard says, either not having heard or choosing to ignore her.

“I see I’ll be checking directly with your better half when she’s had an opportunity for some well-deserved rest,” Peggy says with a slight sigh, and then her voice softens. “And, truly, congratulations again, Howard.” She looks up at Steve’s still and somber face. “From all of us.”

Peggy covers it well, but she always needs a moment to settle in around babies when they’re this young. Steve doesn’t technically have much more practice than she does: he’d held Bucky’s kids at this age - mostly Libby; Davy wasn’t born until they’d moved back to DC - but even Emma was a toddler by the time she came into their lives, which means that he doesn’t have much day to day experience. Still, he knows without being asked that Peggy needs him to step up, so when Maria offers to let them hold the baby, he puts out his arms.

Tony is light and sleepy against him, with only a vague suggestion of dark hair. His mouth works at the air a little, dreamily, crusty suggestions of milk at the corners. Maria fed him just before they came. Steve rocks him a bit.

“He’s a sweet, sweet boy,” says Maria, fond and proud and fierce, even though Steve doubts the baby’s done anything to prove that, even though Maria looks tired through her natural elegance. There’s a bit of spit-up on the shoulder of the long, pale blue silk robe she’d greeted them in.

“You seem like you’re doing a great job,” Steve offers.

Maria, easing herself back to recline on the sofa, laughs. “Only because it’s four against one,” she says. “If I was doing this alone, I’d be crying along with him.”

Peggy stands from her settee and holds out graceful hands to take her turn. Steve passes the baby over gently, careful of his head. Tony makes a cranky little cry despite the precautions, but returns to sleep as Peggy begins to rock him rhythmically.

“He’s absolutely darling,” she tells Maria. “Or at least doing a very good impression at the moment.”

Maria says, “I’m glad you think so,” and Steve can see the sweet canniness to her smile that had once convinced him that she could handle Howard. “Because I—We—Howard and I have a request for the two of you.”

“What?” he asks warily, but just then the door opens, and Howard enters the sitting room. Peggy turns her back, holding the baby away from the sudden draft and the cloud of pollen Howard brings in with him clinging to his suit jacket.

“You didn’t start without me, did you?” he asks his wife, striding over to her.

She takes his hand and replies, “You’re only lucky that I didn’t - you promised to be home before they even arrived and I’ve been throwing the child at them as a distraction to cover for you.”

Howard bends to kiss her cheek. “You’re a very good woman,” he tells her, then goes to shake Steve’s hand and wrestle Peggy for a turn to hold the baby.

This turns out to be a poor idea: Tony makes his opinion of all of their antics very well known, and finally Maria takes the baby back herself and calls Ana to put him in the nursery.

“She means our room,” Howard says. “Spent months choosing the paint and just the right books, tracked down all the baby equipment in the world, but she can’t stand to have him on his own.”

“Volunteering to carry him back and forth a dozen times a night, then?” Peggy asks innocently. “How very helpful of you, Howard.” Maria and Steve snicker as Howard busies himself pouring coffee from the tray Jarvis had left on the side table for their refreshment. (No one bothers to tell him that it was put out when Steve and Peggy arrived and is now room-temperature at best.)

“Well,” says Maria, shifting over to let her husband sit beside her. “As I was saying before the interruption, we have something to ask you.”

“We’d like you to be Tony’s godparents,” Howard says, serious for once, although he ruins it immediately by pulling a horrible face after taking a sip of lukewarm coffee. He puts his cup on the table and tries to recover. “Be his guardians if there’s ever a need.”

Peggy glances over at Steve, who has settled himself to her right. She’d speculated that this was why the Starks had been so eager for them to visit in person, but Steve had insisted that they were simply new parents looking to show off their offspring and that there were surely other people who would be better suited to such a role.

There’s a reason he usually doesn’t argue with Peggy’s hunches.

“I’m honored. Truly,” says Peggy, striving to make clear the sincerity in her voice rather than the fact that she’s stalling. “I’m sure that we both are.”

“Of course we are. And I’m grateful that you would want to trust us with something like this.” Steve leans forward. “But are you sure we’re the right choice? We don’t live close, and things can get a little busy around our place. Maybe someone more local, someone who can offer him more time than we can really promise - plus, if you’re serious about the godparents business, someone who’s actually religious - maybe that would be better. Jarvis and Ana would probably be—”

“Too worn out for that sort of thing.” Maria reaches forward and covers his clasped hands with hers. “This is exactly why we wanted it to be you. You held him for two minutes and you’re already thinking of what’s best for him.”

“Bucky,” Steve tries, one last time. “Buck and Layla—”

But Howard interrupts now, bringing a triumphant hand down on the table. “Didn’t I tell you that he’d be modest about it?” he says to Maria, then turns to Steve and says, “It’s you, pal. The two of you - the smartest, most capable woman I know, who’s already proven she can handle a Stark, and the best thing I ever—The best father in the world - there’s no one better.”

“So?” asks Maria with quiet hope, and it is clear that at least some part of her has registered Steve’s hesitation in a way that Howard hasn’t. She lets go of Steve’s hands and sits back against the couch again, although her expression is still kind. “Will you do it?”

Steve knows without even looking at Peggy that it is his choice and she will have his back either way. He thinks of Tony as he knew him, lost and brilliant and bold, friend and adversary. He thinks of tiny, fragile Tony as he held him just now, unformed and entire. He thinks about Tony’s daughter who Steve never got to hold at that age, who never got to place a grandchild in her father’s arms.

Maybe this time around.

They excuse themselves soon after, Maria clearly worn out and hanging on by the barest threads of her hostess smile. Peggy goes to speak with the Jarvises about joining them in seeing Angie’s new show tonight (“Come now, Mr. Jarvis, there’s no Benny Goodman these days to stop you from enjoying an evening out”) while Howard walks Steve down to the foyer.

“Any chance—” Howard starts, and even though his tone isn’t wheedling or sly the way it usually is, Steve knows what he is going to ask. “Any chance you’ll give me a hint about the future of it all?”

“Howard, you know that I—”

“Sure, sure, I’ve heard it all before. But just this once, tell me if things turn out. For him.”

It’s a selfish bit of manipulation, but a parental one too: “How will my child grow up? How can I protect them from the harm that is in store?” Did such thoughts ever come to the other Howard, the one who was caught up in weapons and cold war and past victories, who seemed to have been gone even when there, cruel and disappointed in a way that led only to more disappointment? Had he showed this sort of wonder and worry in the beginning only to let it fade?

“I can’t tell you things like that,” he says, driving unyieldingly forward over Howard’s protest. “But as a father, I’ll tell you this: you need to take time with him.”

Howard laughs. “Steve, I’m sure I’ll have a few minutes to catch a ball once he actually starts being able to control his own hands.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not just that.” He doesn’t know where the idea comes from or if it will fix anything, but he says it anyway. “You should take a day off every week. One day, to give the rest of them a break and so you can spend time getting to know him.”

“I don’t think there’s much to know about him yet.” Howard laughs again, but there’s an edge to it now, the laugh of a man who isn’t accustomed to interventions into his business. Steve questions if there would be a laugh at all if it wasn’t him, or perhaps Peggy, saying it.

“If you don’t start now,” Steve predicts, “you never will. And, sure, at the beginning you’d be missing sleeping and diapers and crying - things I never got with my kids - but soon it’ll be first steps and first words and first day of college. The time goes fast, Howard, faster than you can believe. You asked for advice, and there’s mine: spend a day out of the office and taking care of your son.”

“Not exactly a convenient time,” Howard says brusquely. “You were the one who said I should throw those AGU characters a bone and give the keynote, and then the whole thing went off between the ones who are saying the planet’s going to explode if we don’t do something and the ones who say the planet’s going to explode even if we do something. Most of them say it’s getting too hot, but then there are the ones who say the problem is cold. And of course there are the ones who say it’s not a problem at all. I’m starting a whole new division to try to straighten things out, so I’m not sure that all those expert scientists I just hired are going to take too kindly to my kicking my feet up for a whole day.”

“You’re in charge. And you did just say that they’re the experts,” Steve reminds him, then tries a different tack. “And who knows? Your boy could be the next expert if you’re around to help him.”

That seems to strike something in Howard. “As if he’d ever be an egghead like that.” He looks irately Steve and adds, “And didn’t I tell you he’s already a genius? Aced everything the doctors threw at him. That’s genetics, pal.”

“So,” Peggy asks as they begin making their way back to Bucky’s. Jarvis had offered to drive them, but they’d declined. “Attempting to engineer fatherhood now, are we?”

“He didn’t do a very good job the first time around,” Steve says.

She looks at him, gentle but shrewd. “And do you expect he’ll actually make the time as you suggested? I believe Howard loves Maria, but since they were married he spends as much time in the office as ever. Perhaps more, now that he doesn’t need to excuse himself to charm the next starlet in the pack.”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know if he’ll listen, or if it will change things, or if it might make it all worse. But I know I had to try something.”

With a fond sigh but no surprise, she says, “Of course you did.” They continue walking even as are separated for a moment by a tour group taking up the sidewalk, Peggy moving in toward the wall and Steve stepping off the curb into the street. When they rejoin each other, she twines her fingers with his. “I’m sure you feel a particular responsibility too, now that we’ve been named godparents.”

Steve sighs himself. “Well, we’ll see how that goes.”

“What do you mean?” She looks up at him. “They sounded quite firm in their intentions, if you’ll recall.”

“I know that,” Steve replies. “But you might end up changing your mind and sabotaging the whole deal.”

She pulls away. “Steve Rogers, I would do no such thing!” He laughs; sometimes he likes to be reminded that beneath the spy and the director and the mother, there’s the boarding school girl who kept secrets on her word of honor and considered welching a criminal offense.

“You just wait,” he says. “I have the feeling that no matter what I try, some things can’t be avoided - and Tony Stark’s personality might be one of them.”

“That’s no reason to malign me,” she says, settling back against him though clearly still touchy. “I do have some fortitude. I did help bring up Rose, after all.”

They pause at a cross street to wait for the stoplight. Steve glances up at the clearing sky, a brilliant May blue emerging. “You’re right. And so did I. Maybe I’ll actually have the upper hand this time around.”

Peggy tells him airily, “Well, I perhaps wouldn’t go that far. When have you ever with the children?” and laughs when he glares down at her.

The light changes and, clasped hands still together, they step off the curb and cross onward.

More chapters here

#Steggy fic #Steggy #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #things left behind fic

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cero-tia · 4 years

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LFRP - A’panghur Tia

Please come meet the Cero of an alternate timeline--the cat he would have been if Dalamud hadn’t fallen down and conked him on the noggin.

Full Name: A'panghur Tia

Gender and Sex: Male and about an 82 on the 1-100 Femme/Masc scale

Pronouns: He, him, his

Ethnicity/Species: Ala Mhigan Seeker Miqo'te, of the A tribe

Birthplace and Birthdate: 5th day of the 4th Umbral moon, the month of Rhalgr

Guilty Pleasures: Curling up nearly anywhere with a good book. Dancing, especially at dawn. Oranges. Herbal sachets with scents that remind him of home. Pressing flowers from foreign lands that he sends back to his sisters in the Peaks. Using his carbuncle to help him cheat in street scuffles.

Phobias: After a time, Panghur’s letters home stopped making it through, and he stopped receiving any. His memories of home are muddled with time, as he was only 9 when he left to come to Eorzea, but he recalls the threatening armored faces of the soldiers who were already starting to occupy Ala Mhigo. He is hyper aware of Garlean influence, appearance, names, etc in the people around him, and it puts him on edge to even think about them. Other than this totally rational leeriness about the people who subdued his own, he is unfortunately without much fear (although some would argue he hasn’t got the good sense to be afraid when he should be).

What They Would Be Famous For: Probably for saving whole cities again and again? Panghur is a Warrior of Light, and was present for at least some of the campaigns that the Scions instigated to counter the threat of primal uprisings. After the Calamity, he became a prominent figure in the adventuring circles, specifically in those pertaining to the freeing of Ala Mhigo. He was at the fall of Baelsar’s Wall, and was at the battle to see his homeland freed from oppression.

I may find more depth to his story as I experience it fresh while I am leveling him–so far it is a bit vague, and I know a great deal more about how Cero managed the post-Calamity Eorzea than I know how Pangur did. Expect updates!

What Have They / Would They Gotten Arrested For: Inciting a riot, spray painting pro-Resistance propaganda, dumb mischief (that he always talks himself out of), espionage, being a rebel in a time of oppression. Either extremely light, slap-on-the-wrist stuff, or extremely serious, bag-over-your-head-in-the-middle-of-the-night stuff.

OC(s) You Ship Them With: No OCs yet! He’s still building connections to the RP community.

OC Most Likely To Murder them: No OCs hate him that much yet, but I would love to find him a Garlean antagonist.

Favorite Book Genre: Panghur devours tomes of magical theory and practical application. He has a large library in his Ul'dah apartment of books he’s collected over the years. Prize among them are his hard-to-find and definitely illegal-to-own books on the forbidden Black magics.

Least Favorite Book Cliche: He doesn’t hate any books, but he just rolls his eyes at romantic bodice-busters and other hyperbolic brain rot prose. It doesn’t stop him from reading them, now and then.

Talents and/or Powers: Panghur is a canon Warrior of Light, and his Echo manifests as a canny ability to read faces and the occasional fit of visions.

He is also a powerful Archmage, having studied at the three major schools of magic from the time he was but nine summers old. His powers of summoning and thaumaturgy are explosive and cleverly wielded, but also have the calm, controlled experience of the balance of conjury to hone them. He favors his emerald carbuncle, Emeraulde, and is not above throwing rocks when all else fails.

Panghur is also, and has always been, cocksure and precocious. As a young child he was full to the brim of magical talent, and though he has tempered his boastful confidence somewhat upon maturing, he is still very smart, and knows it, and uses it to his advantage when it comes to outsmarting Garlean patrols or haggling down a used-book vendor in the markets.

Why Someone Might Love Them: He fights fiercely for his homeland. He loves his family and wants to make Ala Mhigo safe for them, and for everyone else’s family. He is clever and delights in making people laugh. He isn’t afraid to get down and dirty in a fight, especially if someone needs defending. He’s got a beautiful face, and the most charming freckles you ever did see over his golden desert-cat tan. If he loves you, he’ll make sure you know it every day.

Why Someone Might Hate Them: He feels passionately about the freedom of his homeland, and can be aggressive about his feelings if he feels he’s not being listened to or taken seriously (imagine Alexander Hamilton standing on a table demanding to know ‘where the ammunition’s at’). His confidence can come off as arrogant or boastful. He likes to be at the center of the action, and can appear bossy if he gets wrapped up in what’s going on. He studies (in secret) forbidden magic. He has used his carbuncles to table top people he feels need to be taken down a peg, more than once.

How They Change: When he began his journey to Eorzea, Panghur was a precocious child of 9, spouting off bursts of magic because he could, with little thought to finesse or control. In Limsa Lominsa, he learned how to summon, and how to make friends with dock rats and street urchins, and how to run around behind adults backs to have fun and get in trouble and explore.

In Gridania, he learned conjury, and the importance of balance, and healing, and slowing down to appreciate the small things, the quiet things, the weak and soft things. He learned how to temper his exuberance with meditation and inner-contemplation, and how to strategize.

In Ul'dah, he learned how to blow shit up. He learned a lot more about thaumaturgy than just that, but that was the big part. He learned how to sweet talk high-class movers and shakers, how to navigate the behind-the-scenes powers of the upper crust and the lowest street scum. He learned about the Resistance.

He’s rediscovering himself after waking up post-Calamity, with the world five years older and the war that much further progressed in his homeland. Now he has thrown himself into the fight to free Ala Mhigo, even as he struggles to find old friends and connections and works cheerfully to make new ones.

Why You Love Them: I first came up with Cero years and years before I started playing FFXIV, and I had to play with his backstory a lot to fit him into the lore of the game. What I came up with was a smarter, cleverer version of Cero that had suffered a traumatic brain injury that lead to amnesia, and once I had that concept, A'panghur began simmering quietly in the back of my head.

I’m just very excited to flesh him out and see what he leads to, because he’s the part of Cero that never forgot his family, or his own strength. He’s a different personality than I often play, and I am very eager to see where his development leads!

#ffxiv rp #ff14 rp #ffxiv roleplay #balmung roleplay #ffxiv lfrp #I thought I put a Read More in here but I don't see it on mobile oh well

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grailfinders · 3 years

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Fate and Phantasms #160

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re making... wait a minute! Isn’t King Arthur supposed to be a girl?

Anyways, this faker is a Watcher Paladin and Monster Slayer Ranger to hunt down beasts wherever they may hide, as well as a Zealot Barbarian for his own Mana Burst skill and even bigger smites.

Check out his (god, it feels wrong using that pronoun) build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: He might not be allowed at pride, but I’m not waiting a month to do another build.

Race and Background

Arthur may be from a different reality, but he’s still a Human, and since we need those ability scores more than any feats, this gives him a +1 to all abilities. You’re a Pendragon, so you’re a lil bit basic by FGO standards.

He’s also a Knight, getting proficiency in History and Persuasion.

Ability Scores

Unfortunately your mana burst can’t do all the work, so make your Strength as high as possible to swing your sword sword. After that is Charisma; you have a whole skill named after it, and I mean have you heard his White Day voice lines? Dude’s sexy. If you want to set off on an interplanar hunting trip, Wisdom is also a must. Your Dexterity also has to be pretty good, mostly for multiclassing, but also because sometimes you fight in a tuxedo. Sadly, this means your Constitution isn’t as high as we’d like, and you’ll have to dump Intelligence. I honestly don’t know how smart Arthur’s supposed to be, but we’re juggling a lot of balls here. The only things we could dump are intelligence and constitution, and he definitely doesn’t have a negative con modifier. If you’re really worked up about this one, just remember all his historical knowledge comes from another dimension, so it probably isn’t that useful in this one.

Class Levels

1. Paladin 1: Starting off as a paladin gives you proficiency with Wisdom and Charisma saves, as well as proficiency with Religion and Athletics. You are still a Pendragon, and I’m pretty sure a holy grail fits into your backstory somewhere.

You also get a Divine Sense to help you hunt down extraplanar beasts, and you can use your Lay on Hands as an action to heal a creature you touch as an action, healing up to five times your paladin level per long rest.

2. Paladin 2: Second level paladins get their Fighting Style, and Great Weapon Fighting makes your attacks more consistent by re-rolling damage dice that land on 1s and 2s. This adds up, especially when you start factoring Divine Smites. Yes you too can use up spell slots to deal extra radiant damage to your Excalibur’s attacks!

Speaking of, you can use Spells, preparing and casting them with your Charisma. We’ll go into more detail about which ones to pick when we grab a subclass next level.

3. Paladin 3: Upon taking your sacred oath, you become a Watcher, this plane’s bulwark against extraplanar threats. (I mean, CotTT hangs out in his own demiplane, Tiamat spends most her time in Imaginary Number Space, and Kiara’s from the moon... most of the beasts we’ve seen so far count.)

Once per short rest, you can Channel Divinity in one of two ways. You can use your Watcher’s Will to give your allies advantage on Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma saves. You can also Abjure the Extraplanar, turning extraplanar creatures who fail their wisdom save, running away for a minute or until it takes damage.

You also get your freebie spells, Alarm and Detect Magic. The former will prevent your camp from getting ambushed, while the latter will be very useful to track down that beast you’re tailing.

Once you find them, use Compelled Duel to keep them in sword range, or Protection from Evil and Good to even the odds if they go on the offensive. Also, smites. Smites are good.

4. Paladin 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to round up your Constitution and Charisma for stronger saves and more health.

5. Paladin 5: Fifth level paladins get an Extra Attack each attack action, making Excalibur’s victory a bit more promised.

You also get 2nd level spells, like the freebies Moonbeam and See Invisibility. Beasts do come with the tendency to transform for the climactic battle... I wonder if forcing them back into their less intimidating forms will actually weaken them?

Beyond the free spells, you can use more Smites, as well as Magic Weapon to make Excalibur a truly legendary weapon, adding +1 to its attack and damage rolls.

6. Barbarian 1: Changing planes to barbarian gives you your Mana Burst in the form of Rage, giving you several benefits: you get advantage on strength saves and checks, as well as bonus damage on melee attacks, and you resist physical damage. The downsides are; you can’t cast or concentrate on spells, the rage only lasts 1 minute, as long as you take or deal damage each round Also, you can’t use heavy armor. Hope you like a breastplate, because that’s the most you can hold onto here.

You also unlock your tuxedo, thanks to your Unarmored Defense, giving you a minimum AC based on your dexterity and constitution. I never said it would be good, but it’s better than nothing.

7. Ranger 1: Switching over quickly now, first level rangers get a free skill proficiency! Grab Survival to track your quarries, then use Canny to double survival’s proficiency bonus so you can track them beyond planar boundaries.

You also gain a Favored Enemy, a kind of foe that you have advantage on checks to track or recall lore about. Most beasts probably qualify as Aberrations in D&D, so go with that one.

8. Ranger 2: Second level rangers get another Fighting Style. Fighting in a tuxedo is pretty unrealistic, so let’s double down on the armor with Protection, giving you +1 to your AC in any kind of protection.

You also get another set of Spells that use your Wisdom. Thankfully Hunter’s Mark and Zephyr Strike don’t really care about your modifier. The former adds extra damage to every attack and makes tracking even easier than it already is. The latter only adds damage to a single attack, but it makes you able to ignore attacks of opportunity and move faster the one turn you deal extra damage. DW might not have given you a wind-based spiritron dress, but you can still make them work for you.

9. Ranger 3: Third level rangers get Primeval Awareness, spending a spell slot to sense various kinds of extraplanar and otherworldly creatures around you to make tracking down beast four a little easier.

Once you find it, you can use your skills as a Monster Slayer to take it down. Your Monster Slayer Magic gives you Protection from Evil and Good as a freebie, and you also gain two actual features! Hunter’s Sense is an action to determine a creature’s weaknesses and strengths. You can use this a number of times per long rest equal to your wisdom modifier.

You can also turn one creature at a time into your Slayer’s Prey, spending a bonus action to deal an extra bit of damage once per turn with your weapon attacks. It sticks to that creature until you finish a short rest.

Finally for your normal spell this level grab Searing Smite. It’s a smite, it sears.

10. Ranger 4: Fourth level rangers get another ASI, so bring your Strength up for stronger sword swings. Wielding the breath of a planet doesn’t mean anything if you can’t hit people with it.

11. Paladin 6: Your Aura of Protection gives you and allies within 10 feet of you a bonus to all your saving throws equal to your charisma modifier. Honestly this is super useful, you might want to think about doing this earlier. Or don’t, I’m not a cop.

12. Barbarian 2: Second level barbarians can make Reckless Attacks, giving you advantage on attacks for a turn in exchange for your enemies having advantage on attacks against you for the round. The smart thing to do is to smite them out of existence before they get the chance.

You also get Danger Sense, giving you advantage on dexterity saves if you can see them coming. You probably wouldn’t last long against Beast 1 if you weren’t able to survive a fireball.

13. Barbarian 3: Third level barbarians get their path, and as a Zealot you can put the fear of god into anything you fight. Your Divine Fury deals 1d6+1 extra radiant damage with each attack while raging, and as a Warrior of the Gods, you can be revived with magic without needing material components.

You also get Primal Knowledge to figure out an Animal Handling proficiency. Riding skill, checked off the list.

14. Paladin 7: Seventh level Watchers exude the Aura of the Sentinel, adding your proficiency bonus to your initiative, as well as the initiative of any creature within 10′ of you. With most beasts, attacking slowly means you won’t be attacking at all.

15. Paladin 8: Use this ASI to bump up your charisma for stronger spells and better saves. I’m still not entirely sure how we’re building Kiara yet, but rest assured those saves will be necessary.

16. Ranger 5: Fifth level rangers get an extra attack, but that doesn’t stack with the one you already have, sorry.

It’s not all bad news, though! You also get Zone of Truth from your Slayer magic, and Enhance Ability as your usual spell. The former forces humanoids to tell the truth if they fail a charisma save, while the latter just makes whoever you cast it on better in one kind of ability check for the duration, giving them advantage for the duration.

17. Ranger 6: If a Beast isn’t an aberration, it’s probably a Monstrosity, so grab that as your second Favored Enemy. You also get another Deft Explorer perk, Roving, which gives you an extra 5′ of movement speed, as well as a climbing and swimming speed. Since you’re never getting a summer version, it’s important that you can keep up with your female counterpart as-is.

18. Paladin 9: Ninth level paladins get third level spells; Counterspell and Nondetection both work to put a damper into beasts’ plans, either shutting down their super form or making it harder for them to spy on you. You also get more smites, Dispel Magic to force them out of their super mode later, or Spirit Shroud for more damage. more damage is good.

19. Paladin 10: At tenth level, you and your allies can’t be frightened because you’ve got an Aura of Courage! It’s level nineteen so that’s not super useful, but it’s still one less thing to worry about.

20. Paladin 11: Your capstone level gives you an Improved Divine Smite, adding a bit of that radiant goodness to all your melee attacks, regardless of what spell slots you do or don’t spend on them.

Pros:

Arthur has a big sword, and he knows how to use it, dealing some heavy damage with each swing. While raging and preying, he deals 6d6+4d8+10 damage each round (assuming both attacks hit), all boosted by great weapon master, and that’s before any kind of smites get included.

Despite your low dexterity score, you’re still pretty quick when you need to be. You’ve got a faster walking speed than most people, your dexterity save is solid thanks to your aura and danger sense, and you’ve got another aura boosting your initiative! Basically you have a high dexterity in everything except ability checks and AC, with almost no direct investment needed!

Mixing your primeval awareness with your divine senses means you are a fine-tuned tracker when it comes to locating creatures from another plane. Just make sure you don’t mix up your quarry with MHX, I doubt she’d be happy to see you.

Cons:

While medium armor does a solid enough job of protecting you, your HP is pretty low for a front line fighter, with barely over 120 HP. You’re here for a good time, not a long time.

As always, mixing spells and rage is pretty bad, forcing you to choose one or the other. That’s especially painful because it means you can’t use your neat gish spells to add effects if you want to deal more damage. Kind of like your smites, when I think about it.

Your paladin, barbarian, and ranger features all want use of your bonus action, meaning it will take a while for you to get up to full speed in a fight anyway. I’d definitely rage first, it’d help with the squishiness.

#fgo #fate grand order #D&D #DND 5e #Arthur Pendragon #paladin #barbarian #ranger

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catgluue · 5 years

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The Price of Life: Chapter 2

Happy Royai week eve, everyone! I have an early offering because when I was trying to write my actual Royai Week Fic I just kept coming back to this one. HUGE thanks to @an-unexpected-trollogy for looking it over for me!

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It was late spring, but Central was beginning to get to be the kind of pervasive sticky-hot that Jean usually associated with late summer. The days were long but the nights were balmy. Rebecca had taken the first train out of Central to go visit family in the west (an escapade he'd narrowly avoided but only because he genuinely had a lot of work to get through) and that left him alone for the weekend. He'd thought about trying to get the guys together and hit the town like they hadn't done in -geez, way too long- but it had been a long week, there was a great Farmer's Market down K street, and the town could wait.

He was standing in one of the stalls debating the virtues of peaches over nectarines and trying to remember if Becca liked either when he turned to see a familiar head of blonde hair poring over the apricots.

"Hawkeye?" he said, and she turned, grinning when she saw who it was.

"I didn't know you liked the Farmer's Market," she said, sidling over, apricots forgotten."I'm here almost every week." She looked like it too; dressed in a casual long skirt and button up shirt, she had brought her own canvas bags, two of which were already full of produce.

"Friday's usually date night, but Rebecca's out of town," he explained. "Where's Mae?"

"The General's being kind enough to watch her for me," she said casually, picking up a peach, turning it over, and putting it back down. Havoc was sure it was a terrible hardship for him too, spending an evening goofing around with Mae and the elderly Hayate. By the sound of it though, this was a regular part of their weekly routine.

"What are your plans for the rest of the evening?" he asked impulsively, as they walked down the street. The sun was still out but starting to sink deeply towards the horizon, and lights were already going on at the stalls. Somewhere there were street musicians, filling the air with a kind of light, joyous music. She shrugged, rolling down the sleeves of her shirt as she walked.

"Nothing in particular, I've got a few more hours before I'll be expected home."

"Well then madam," he said with the flourish of a hat he didn't actually have, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to grab dinner with your humble subordinate?"

"That's bold of you, asking your fiance's best friend on a date," she said it almost like a challenge, mouth barely quirking upward. He grinned: he knew her well enough by now to know that Hawkeye's faint mouth tic was another man's full blown chuckle.

"Well I'm a bold guy," he replied, offering her his arm.

They walked around for a while, chatting, until they found themselves staring at the pub the all used to frequent, back when they frequented pubs. Hawkeye nudged Jean's shoulder with hers and gave him a grin when he looked over at her.

"For old times sake," she said when he raised his eyebrows.

"Well okay." Who was he to argue with a mom taking a well earned night off? They entered the pub shoulder to shoulder and the bartender took a second glance before calling out:

"I'll be damned – Jean Havoc!"

Havoc felt himself blush and ducked his head a little as he approached the bar. It had been too long since he and the guys had come here after work. Not that long in the grand scheme of things, but long compared to the four-times-a-week habit he and Breda used to have. Now he'd been saving for a wedding and couldn't afford that kind of regular expenditure. But the wedding was paid for and also it was Hawkeye, so he knew he was in for a fairly tame evening.

"Felix, how's it going," he replied. Riza surprised him for the second time – well third if you counted her appearance in the farmer's market – by sliding onto a barstool and ordering for them both. As with most administrative work in her life, she got it exactly right and Jean found a beer sitting in front of him in short order, while she had gotten herself a whiskey. He wondered sardonically who she'd picked that up from.

"Funny, I remember you being a red wine kind of gal," he told her. She shrugged.

"Tastes change. Are you getting nervous about the wedding?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject. "It's what, six weeks away now?"

"Five weeks tomorrow," he barked automatically. He wouldn't know off the top of his head normally but Becca had a giant countdown poster she'd made taped up in their living room and he had been left with strict instructions to cross off the days accordingly in her absence. Riza let out a low whistle and he noticed her glass was somehow empty already. "And uh, a little nervous, mostly because it's a lot of people." she nodded.

"Rebecca has a big family. I met them once – all of them, I mean. She brought me home for the winter solstice my last year in the academy, before I left for Ishval." Her gaze grew distant, but only for a moment before she locked eyes with Felix and he nodded and poured her another. "They're all like Rebecca; loud and friendly. You'll like them."

"I don't know if it's me liking them that matters," he muttered. There was a leaflet on the bar advertising that they did a meat pie special on Fridays, a fact he wasted no time making known to Riza. Their orders placed, they sat in a friendly silence for a time. It was early and the bar was just beginning to fill with the contented buzzing of patrons, the setting sun casting long shadows throughout the room. They'd had a lot of good nights in this bar, he recalled: Fuery's 21st birthday, a post Promised Day celebration that had almost landed Breda in the hospital, a nondescript night years past where he had been so sure the Colonel and Lieutenant would leave together but then at the last minute she had called Rebecca.

"Do you think you'll ever get married?" he asked her, as he finished off his second beer. He would never normally have asked otherwise, he told himself. Particularly since he thought he knew the answer already. She froze for a moment before shaking it off.

"I don't think so," was all she said, staring at the bottom of her glass.

"Well you never know," he said, immediately feeling terrible for asking the question in the first place. "Maybe someday-"

"No," she said flatly, gesturing to Felix, who immediately bustled over. "I don't think so."

It was after her self made curfew when Havoc found himself knocking on the Captain's door, a giggling Hawkeye next to him still looking in her purse for her keys. The door opened almost at once and Jean found himself staring at a bleary-eyed General Mustang, who had most likely been dozing on the couch if the amount of blankets and books were anything to go by.

"I – what happened?" he asked as Riza brushed by him, dropping her purse on the couch and kicking her shoes off as she made her way down the hall. He turned to watch her, eyes narrowed.

"If she wakes Mae up I swear-"

"We ran into each other in town and had dinner," Havoc admitted, shrugging. "And ah, a few drinks. More than a few for some of us. She drinks whiskey now, apparently."

"Yeah," Roy said tiredly, not bothering to make it sound like he didn't know that already. "I guess I'd better go too then."

"Uh, you should probably continue your babysitting duties," Havoc recommended, noting that Riza had emerged in a pair of pajamas and taken up residence on the couch, pulling one of the books off the coffee table and turning pages aimlessly. "I think she could use a cup of tea and maybe some aspirin. And maybe a bedtime story" Roy turned around and Jean caught the barest hint of a fond smile before the General huffed and rolled his eyes.

"She was supposed to be back by ten. I'm a very busy man."

"That's the brakes," Havoc replied, showing Hawkeye's bags of vegetables into Roy's arms before slipping away. Something oddly like guilt gnawed at him, seeing the way Mustang tenderly regarded his Captain. Riza Hawkeye would get married in an instant, he knew, if only it weren't completely illegal.

-x-

"I'm just saying, if you don't have a bachelor party I'm going to be forced to bring the strippers to the wedding, and I don't think Bex would like that," Breda was saying reasonably as they walked back to the office after their lunch break.

"Uncle Havoc, Uncle Breda!"

Jean reflexively bent down to seize the kid running at him as fast as her legs could carry her, and picked her up to swing her around. Mae laughed, clinging to his jacket as he settled her on his hip.

"Hey kiddo!" he said. "Are you here to help us work?"

"Yes," she retorted, as he passed her off to Breda. "Sir said I can be a Major."

A few different names had been tried out for Roy while Mae was still learning to talk. Mr. Mustang had been a possibility, and was Riza's preference, but Roy balked at that. Kain, sweet summer child he was, had suggested that they all be called Uncle but Breda, after a sidelong glance at Havoc, suggested that was ignoring Mustang's leadership role in their squad. Hawkeye's second choice was 'General', which was what they all decided sounded appropriate. Mae was nothing if not an observant child, however and picked the name she heard him called the most.

"A Major, huh?" Breda replied, looking back at the General, who quickly turned back to his paperwork. "That means technically you outrank me and your Uncle Havoc."

"Well she couldn't say Lieutenant, what was I supposed to do?" Mustang asked with a shrug.

"Lu-tent," Mae supplied helpfully. Havoc noted Mustang seemed to be wearing a piece of paper with a clumsily drawn heart pinned to the front of his uniform. The General had outed himself as a canny game-player on The Promised Day, but it was a well-known secret that he was a complete pushover for a certain Hawkeye. No one dared speak about his relationship to the other one, of course, for fear of invoking the wrath of Havoc, Breda, or Rebecca. She could be truly terrifying at times, Havoc thought fondly.

"Where's Hawkeye?" Havoc wanted to know. The Captain sometimes brought Mae up to the office from the military daycare during their lunch hour, but never longer than that. Mustang made it clear he didn't mind, but Riza said none of the other officers got to spend time with their children at work, so she wouldn't either.

"Taking a long lunch; she had an errand to run. I'm under strict orders to take Mae back to the daycare when our lunch hour is over." Jean checked his watch as Fuery walked in and was treated to the same running tackle as the other men.

"Ow, hey, when did you get so big?"

"And our lunch hour today ends at..." Breda began, checking his watch for show.

"The Captain should be back around one-thirty so probably twenty-five after," Mustang admitted. "But without my adjutant here I need someone to watch my back, don't I?" This was aimed at Mae, who giggled and wandered back over to the big desk, where Roy had placed a stack of books on a chair so she could reach.

They all settled in and got back to their work; even Mae busily colored while chatting to the General and occasionally reminding him to do his work. For all that she still looked startlingly, damningly like her father's side of the family, she very much took after Riza in terms of temperament. She was a child of course, and not a battle-hardened soldier, but she was more reserved than any of Havoc's nieces or nephews, and occasionally reports from the child care workers would complain of her being slightly bossy towards the other children.

The door flew open with a bang and Havoc looked up to see one of the last people he had ever expected to walk through the doors of Mustang's office.

"Hey Bastard Mustang, bet you didn't think I'd be gracing the halls of East City anytime soon," crowed Edward Elric: taller, older, but with no more tact than he'd possessed at sixteen. Jean did the math quickly and figured that Ed couldn't be much older that twenty-five, if at all. Edward scanned the office before realizing that the person at Mustang's side wasn't who he was expecting. "Hey when did you replace the Lieutenant?" he asked, walking to the front of the room and eyeing Mae curiously. Mustang shrugged casually but Havoc could see the tension in his jaw.

"Well you know, things have quieted down, so I thought I'd downgrade my security detail. She lets me pay her in crayons and the Captain preferred actual money. It was an easy decision."

"Yeah I'm sure," Ed replied, kneeling so he was on Mae's level, and Havoc remembered suddenly that Ed was a married man with three kids of his own. "Hi kiddo, what's your name?"

"Mae Hawkeye," she said quietly, and Ed glanced sharply up at the General, before looking back at the little girl.

"That's a pretty name. My name's Edward Elric. Do you know how to give a high-five, Mae?" She did, as it happened, and with a nod from Roy demonstrated her budding hand-eye coordination.

"EDWARD ELRIC!" The door burst open once more and what seemed like a horde of blondes entered the room. It took only a moment to recognize Winry Rockbell – Winry Elric, Havoc corrected himself. He hadn't actually seen her since the wedding. And he definitely hadn't seen the two hellions who took it among themselves to immediately lay waste to the office. He could guess at who they were from the letters he'd gotten over the years – the older one was Sam, and Trisha was a little younger than Mae. The baby in Winry's arms had to be Nina.

"Miss Rockbell, it's good to see-" Fuery began and found himself holding the baby in short order as Winry approached her husband, who seemed to be trying to hide behind Mae to Roy's obvious disdain.

"You know our rules," Winry chided tiredly, walking up to the desk. "If one of us is going to run ahead we have to take at least one child with us." Havoc started suddenly: there was a small tug at his sleeve and he looked down to find Trish handing him his own pen.

"Uh, thanks-" another tug and he was being slowly pulled over to the bookshelf.

"I'm sorry, you're right, I don't know what I was thinking-"

"I bet I do; let's see," Winry put her hands on her hips. "Bastard Mustang has no idea I'm even in town, I'd better get up there and surprise him before word travels that I'm back at headquarters!" It was a good impression Jean had to admit.

"I'm sorry, but who's the one who ran off and left me at the train station the second we stopped in Rush Valley?" Ed retorted.

"Well I don't know what you're talking about..." she trailed off, blue eyes meeting wide amber ones as she spotted the little girl staring up at her in wonder. She inhaled sharply and Havoc had a feeling in the pit of his stomach like the moment before something fragile falls and shatters. "General Mustang, is this-"

"Hawkeye's daughter, Mae" Ed cut in quickly, something unspoken passing between him and his wife and Winry pressed a hand to her mouth for a moment, before giving Mae a bright, if a touch watery, smile.

"Hello Mae, I'm Winry! These are Trish, and Nina and Sam... um, somewhere. Sam?"

"Here," came a voice from under Havoc's vacated desk.

"Clearly I've missed something," came a dry voice from the doorway. Riza was back, surveying the room. Spotting Sam under the desk she bent slightly and gave him a smile. "Hi Sam, do you remember me?"

"No," came the sullen voice again.

"Cute kid," Riza deadpanned at Ed, who shrugged. She deftly plucked Nina from Fuery's arms – for all that he was great with Mae he seemed relieved by this – and walked over to the big desk to give Winry a quick squeeze and direct a bemused glance at Mustang.

"Clearly not my fault," he said, and as usual Havoc felt like he'd missed about 80% of the conversation. Which, as usual, he probably had.

"Clearly," she replied, handing him baby Nina, who accepted her with the practiced ease of someone who had held babies too many times to count. "I'll trade you," she added, scooping Mae off the stack of books and pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Mom I'm busy," she complained. The Captain remained unmoved.

"I don't know," the General said. "I think I'm getting the better deal here, this one's fresher. Sorry Mae."

"Hey," the small voice protested.

"Come on, you'll get to see everyone later, okay?" Riza told her daughter firmly, heading towards the door. Mae only squirmed for a moment before accepting her fate and they could all hear a faint 'byeeee sirrrrrr!' echoing in the hall. They all ignored Mustang blinking very hard at the baby he held. Breda produced a candy from somewhere and went to work fishing Sam out from under the desk, and Winry went to make introductions.

With Riza and Mae gone, and the others preoccupied with Winry and the kids, Ed sauntered over to the General, who was still seated in his chair, bouncing the baby on his knee fondly.

"When did you get so good with kids?" Ed asked quietly. Mustang looked up in surprise, and handed the baby back somewhat reluctantly.

"They get big too fast," he said. "But you know that, huh Fullmetal?"

"That's what Winry always says, and then next thing I know we have another mouth to feed," Ed told him, leaning against the desk. "You seem really fond of Mae. Ever thought about having one of your own?" the General's shoulders went rigid under his uniform coat.

"Maybe someday," he said flippantly.

"Cut the shit, Mustang," Ed said, tone suddenly hard, barely loud enough for Havoc to hear from where he stood by the bookshelf with Trish, who was "reading" to him and Fuery from one of the books. "How do you think she's gonna feel about you when all this comes out?"

"I don't know what you're talking-"

"I said cut the shit, okay, that kid looks exactly like you."

"Look Fullmetal, you don't know what the hell you're talking about," Roy's furious whisper was so unexpected Havoc had to fight not to look over at them. "This isn't easy but it's better for her than having two ex-military parents whose careers and lives were ruined by a fraternization scandal. I know what you're thinking and I'm nothing like Hohenheim. I'm there for her." Havoc chanced a look and saw Ed's shoulders visibly relax.

"I know – I mean, I'm sorry. You clearly are. You were there for Al and me too, of course you'd be there for … for Hawkeye's kid." Mustang shuffled some papers around.

"I've been working with my adjutant for a long time," he said. "It's only natural I would help her out."

"Do you get to spend a lot of time with Mae?" Ed asked quietly, and Havoc had to strain to hear the soft reply.

"Not enough."

-x-

The bachelor party ended up not being so much a party as a standard Friday night. Well, a standard Friday night that they would have had several years ago, plus Fullmetal was there. Havoc was amused to see that Ed turned up his nose when Roy asked if he wanted a scotch, and opted for a beer like the other men.

It was nearing midnight when a peal of laughter made Jean look towards the door, to see a familiar head of bushy brown hair entering the bar. It was Rebecca, followed closely by Riza. Judging from their flushed faces and relaxed expressions, they'd been out for drinks and had decided to crash his bachelor party.

"There they are!" Rebecca crowed, and danced over to twine her arms around Havoc's neck.

"And that's my cue to go," Ed told the room at large, draining his glass and catching the bartender's attention. "It's getting late and Winry's expecting me. Hey, thanks, you can put those on his tab," this was directed at the bartender, with a jerk of his thumb towards Mustang to indicate whose tab he meant exactly.

"Hey wait a minute, I'm not-"

"Thanks again Colonel, see ya," and with that he was gone, Riza sliding in to take his seat between Roy and Breda.

"That's General to y- ah he's gone."

"I'm pretty sure the point of a Bachelor party is to celebrate, um, being apart?" Jean said to Rebecca, who was currently playing with his hair. Her own hair was wind-tousled and her cheeks were flushed prettily and he decided that time apart wasn't actually worth observing, anyway.

"Well after the last round of shots she decided that she missed you and the party was over," Riza said with a shrug, and Havoc noticed that the scotch that had been sitting in front of the General was now in Riza's hand. She at first glance seemed to be holding it together better than Rebecca but her eyes were a little too bright and her shoulder a little too close to Mustang's. He didn't seem to mind, actually pretending to stretch and setting his arm along the backs of both of their chairs. Havoc looked around the bar quickly but didn't see anyone but civilians. Most military preferred a slightly nicer bar that was closer to work. He caught Breda's eye and gave a small nod towards their superior officers. They weren't on Hawkeye and Mustang levels of nonverbal communication but they had the basics down. Breda raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his beer.

"Who's watching Mae, Riza?" Breda wanted to know, regarding the Captain and Brigadier General curiously.

"She's with Gracia," Riza said, taking another sip of scotch, before sitting up straight and deliberately setting the glass down as though she'd just remembered something. "Hayate is too, actually, since she hates going anywhere without him. So I guess I'm on my own tonight," she said, and Havoc made a mental note that Hawkeye was not, under any circumstances, ever allowed to drink while on an undercover mission. She got sloppy. Mustang seemed to be having a hard time catching on which made Jean more than a little annoyed– years of stealing Havoc's girlfriends and now he can't be bothered to pay attention-

"You'd better have one of us walk you home then," Havoc said casually.

"Guys, I think the Captain is way more able to take care of herself than any of us," Fuery said, rightly. Jean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. So now he had two clueless coworkers and one who was worse at acting than her four-year-old daughter.

"Safety in numbers," he intoned. "And Becca's sure not walking her home."

"My butt is a deadly weapon," Rebecca muttered into his shoulder, seemingly half-asleep despite the noise of the bar. Also an excellent point, he had to admit.

"Well I suppose," Roy began, "as her superior officer I can make sure the Captain gets home safe." Fucking finally, Havoc thought to himself.

"That seems unnecessary, sir, but if you insist," Riza told him, however her eyes were saying something else entirely. Havoc looked away, thinking that maybe that was a conversation he didn't actually want to be a part of.

"I'll go pay my tab then," he said as Riza gave a huge, fake yawn. Within minutes they were strolling out of the bar, Mustang's hand at the small of Hawkeye's back. Purely for balance, Havoc thought snidely. Breda took a large swig of his beer.

"Why did we facilitate that?" he asked, as Fuery stared out the door after them.

"Because we're optimists?" Jean replied, finishing his own drink.

"Philanthropists," Breda corrected him. "Trying to keep a little girl from growing up in a broken home." There was a sudden gasp from Fuery.

"They're together together, aren't they?"

It wasn't really his fault he couldn't hold his liquor but this still earned him groans from the other three. A beat, and then:

"I mean, of course not," Rebecca said, half-muffled by Jean's shirt, which felt distinctly warm, like she'd been talking directly into the fabric.

"Strictly professional," Breda agreed.

"Eh I don't know," Havoc said, looking out the open door where he could faintly see the two still walking down the street, now unmistakably hand in hand. "I think those two crazy kids will work it out someday."

"You're drunk," Rebecca slurred, tugging at his sleeve. "Come on, let's go home and I'll let you make me some toast."

-x-

As it happened, married life was so similar to unmarried life it was virtually impossible to tell the difference. It was nearing 11pm on a Tuesday and Jean's blushing bride was yawning widely next to him, hair akimbo and face shiny with something she kept in a small glass pot by the bathroom sink that was, in his opinion, exorbitantly expensive when one considered the amount that was actually in the container. The only real difference, he mused, was that the expensive face cream was now half his.

"Stop that," she instructed, and yawned again.

"What?' he asked, blinking. He just realized he'd been completely ignoring the book in front of him.

"Staring at me, it's creepy. I know I'm radiant but seriously, I can get you a picture so you stop bugging me while I'm trying to read."

"But the picture would lack your natural charm," he said, grinning, setting the open book down on his lap. They were propped up side by side in bed, him with a fairly dry history book he was trying to get through just to say he had, and her with a trashy periodical she was genuinely enjoying.

"True," she agreed.

"And a picture wouldn't smell as nice," he said, leaning in to plant a kiss on her jaw, careful to avoid the parts of her face coated in the excretions of some-bug-or-other, he tried not to think too much about it.

"Also very true," she purred, setting her magazine down on her lap and turning her face towards his. He brushed his lips lightly against hers, shifting to turn his body inwards, one hand running through her hair. God he loved her hair. Once a year she threatened to cut it all off because it was so unmanageable but that was precisely what he loved about it. He ducked his head to trail kisses along her shoulder as she tossed the magazine aside.

The doorbell rang.

"Is there even the smallest chance that's not incredibly important?" He asked, mouth still pressed to her skin. She sighed and it was a moment before she replied, sounding as though it was taking great force of will to get the words out.

"No, there isn't," she muttered, irritated. "Tell you what, if it's my best friend, I owe you a favor and if it's yours, you owe me one." And with that she slid out of bed, heading for the door, leaving Havoc dazed and blinking.

"Wait, who's my best friend?" he asked as she headed out of the room. In response she turned and cocked an eyebrow before turning back around and marching towards the door. He guessed she had a point; you didn't make a guy your best man for no reason. But if it was Roy at the door, he swore to himself, he'd make sure he paid for it in paperwork.

He meandered out to the front room after his wife, tugging on a t-shirt, to find the answer to their bet sitting in her arms. Mae was dressed for bed, in a bright purple onesie, a stuffed bear in her arms. She was also yawning and from the looks of it had been plucked out of her crib.

"I'm so sorry to do this," Riza was saying. She was in uniform, and Jean wondered for a moment why he hadn't gotten a call if they were on a case. But she was on a case; he wasn't. He'd actually been loaned out, in a sense, to a general currently without a sharpshooter, and while he was still technically under Mustang's command, he wasn't in the office this week. "Fuery just got the intel; it's probably going to be an all-night stakeout I'm afraid. If I'm not done in the morning you can drop her off at the military childcare; they have both your names." Becca's arms were full of toddler so Havoc relieved Riza of the massive duffel bag.

"Anytime," Becca said, stroking Mae's small black pigtails. "We love our niece don't we?"

"Yeah of course," Jean replied.

"Thank you so much, I'll call in the morning if I can," and like that she was gone, racing off into the night towards her parked car which, Havoc noted, didn't appear to be empty. He set the bag down and looked at his wife, who yawned hugely, seeming entirely unbothered.

"Well I'm going to bed, wake me if you set something on fire. Or don't, whatever."

"Wait, aren't you going to help-"

"Nu-uh, I'm calling in my favor early. Sweet dreams." She headed down the hall and he realized she was serious.

"What do you mean favor, it was your best friend! You lost!" His indignant squawking was causing Mae to wake up further, and he swayed slightly in place as a countermeasure.

"Nope," Rebecca said triumphantly, pointing at Mae, who was now gazing wide-eyed between the two of them. "It was yours." And with that she vanished, leaving Havoc holding the little girl, who was already squirming to get down. He adjusted his grip so he was holding her under one arm and she giggled.

"Uncle Havoc!"

"Guess it's just you and me, kid. Now, what story do you want to hear before bed?"

"The stabbing lady," she replied instantly, naming a very watered-down version of the time Havoc had been paralyzed by a homunculus in the Fifth Laboratory. Ironic because he had faced death again when Riza caught wind he'd told that story to her toddler. In his defense it had been very late and they were out of children's books.

"The stabbing lady it is."

#Royai #Roy Mustang #riza hawkeye #Jean Havoc #kidfic #Fullmetal Alchemist #FMAB

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fyeah-bangtan7 · 5 years

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The Greatest Showmen: An exclusive look inside the world of BTS

Maybe you saw them piled on the klieg-lit couches of Ellen DeGeneres and Jimmy Fallon, trading light bilingual banter with their starstruck hosts. Maybe it was when they spoke solemnly on mental health and self-love at the United Nations General Assembly last September, or when a wall of dolphin-like screams greeted them as they rolled into February’s Grammy Awards in trim matching tuxedos, their hair tinted various shades of pastel macaron.

Or maybe the cover of this magazine is the first time you’ve truly noticed BTS. (Stranger things have happened in 2019.) But it seems indisputable to say that sometime over the past two years, the septet have taken over the world: two No. 1 albums on the Billboard chart in the span of three months; more than 5 billion streams combined on Apple Music and Spotify; a string of sold-out concert dates from the Staples Center in Los Angeles to London’s famed Wembley Stadium.

That hardly makes them the first boy band to dominate a cultural moment, but the fact that they are all Korean-born and -raised, singing Korean-language songs only occasionally sprinkled with English, feels like something brand-new. And it speaks to an unprecedented kind of global currency — one where pop music moves without barriers or borders, even as geopolitics seem to retreat further behind hard lines and high walls.

On a blindingly bright March day in Seoul five weeks before the release of their upcoming sixth EP, Map of the Soul: Persona, the band is holed up at their record label Big Hit Entertainment, preparing. Buildings like this are where much of the magic of the phenomenon known as K-pop happens, though Big Hit’s headquarters on a quiet side street in the city’s Gangnam district (yes, the same one Psy sang about in his 2012 smash “Gangnam Style”) look a lot like any other tech office: sleek poured-cement corridors and glass-box conference rooms scattered with well-stocked mini-fridges, plush toys, and the occasional beanbag chair. Only a display case stacked with a truly staggering number of sales plaques and statuettes, and a glossy large-scale photo print of BTS at their sold-out concert at New York’s Citi Field last October, give away the business they do here.

Down a long hallway, all seven members lounge in various states of readiness as they gear up to pretape a thank-you video for an iHeartRadio award they won’t be able to accept in person. Jimin, bleached blond and pillow-lipped, is having his hair carefully flat-ironed in a wardrobe room filled with racks of coordinated denim and neon streetwear. Dozens of pairs of pristine Nikes and Converse are piled in a corner; a lone fun-fur jacket the color of strawberry ice cream slumps on a hanger behind him, like a neglected Fraggle.

Jung Kook, the baby of the band at 21, sits obediently in a folding chair in the dance studio, also having his hair tended to; J-Hope strides by in a white dress shirt emblazoned with an over-size silk-screen of Bart Simpson, then grins and disappears. Suga, V, and Jin huddle together on low sofas next door, scrolling through their phones and occasionally singing fragments of American R&B star Khalid’s “My Bad.” Twenty-four-year-old RM, the group’s de facto leader and lone fluent English speaker, is the last to arrive.

They run through their speech for a camera crew and do maybe four or five takes until the director is satisfied. Then they settle in for a conversation in an airy break room upstairs, accompanied by their longtime translator, a large, amiable bald man in a business suit named John. (Unless noted, the answers of all members other than RM come through him.) Several weeks after returning from their first Grammys, they’re still riding high off the experience: presenting the award to H.E.R. for Best R&B Album; chatting with Shawn Mendes in the men’s room — “I was like, ‘Do I need to tell him who I am?’ ” Jimin remembers, “but then he said hello first, which was really nice” — and being seated only a sequin’s throw from Dolly Parton. (“She was right there in front of us!” marvels Jung Kook. “Amazing.”)

As happily dazzled as they still seem to be by other celebrities, seeing BTS in the flesh triggers the same disorienting but not unpleasant sense of unreality. On screen, the band can look disconcertingly pretty; avatars of a sort of poreless, almost postgender beauty who seem to exist inside their own real-life Snapchat filters. In person they’re still ridiculously good-looking, but in a much more relatable, boyish way: bangs mussed, even the occasional chapped lip or small (okay, minuscule) blemish. Take away their Balenciaga high-tops and the discreet double Cs of Chanel jewelry, and they could almost be the cute college guy next to you at the coffee shop or on the train.

Except riding public transportation or casually dropping into a Starbucks stopped being an option for BTS a long time ago. In Seoul, their faces are plastered across makeup kiosks and street signs and the sides of buses — even on massive digital billboards that are bought and paid for by private citizens to acknowledge a beloved member’s birthday, or just because. In cities like São Paulo and Tokyo and Paris, fans camp out days in advance for concerts and public appearances, obsessively trading trivia and rumored sightings. When the band posted their takethis link opens in a new tab on Drake’s #InMyFeelingsChallenge, it became the most liked tweet of 2018; this summer, Mattel will release an official line of BTS dolls.

In the still center of this bizarre fame hurricane, the boys have managed to find a few pockets of normalcy. Jimin wistfully recalls a time in Chicago when they were able to slip out of their hotel rooms undetected “late at night, just to get some fresh air.” But most places, he admits, “that’s really out of the question” unless they split into smaller groups. “I mean, look at us,” RM adds with a laugh, running a hand through his own silver-nickel bangs. “Seven boys with dyed hair! It’s really too much.”

Instead, they focus on the things they can do, like sneaking out to the movies (“Always the latest or earliest show,” says RM, if they want to stay unseen), shopping online (V loves eBay, especially for clothes), going fishing, playing StarCraft at home. Group housing is actually common for K-pop stars, and BTS seem to appreciate the shared stability: “We’ve been living together for a while now, almost eight, nine years,” says Jimin. “So in the beginning we had a lot of arguments and conflicts. But we’ve reached the point where we can communicate wordlessly, basically just by watching each other and reading the expressions.”

Though they’re unfailingly polite and attentive in interviews, there’s a certain amount of contained chaos when they’re all together — a sort of tumbling-puppy cyclone of playful shoves, back slaps, and complicated handshakes — but also a surprising, endearing sweetness to the way they treat one another in quieter moments. When a question is posed to the group, they work hard to make sure each one of them is heard, and if someone is struggling to find a word, they’ll quickly reach out for a reassuring knee pat or side hug.

Even with the language barrier of speaking to an American reporter, though, their individual personalities quickly start to emerge: Asked to name their earliest pop memories, the answers land all over the map. “I loved Pussycat Dolls’ ‘Stickwitu,’ ’’ says J-Hope, the group’s most accomplished dancer, snapping his fingers and cooing the chorus. For RM, who started out in Seoul’s underground rap scene, it’s Eminem’s “Lose Yourself.” (“I think that’s, like, a life pick for so many people around the world,” he admits, “but I can’t forget when I first watched 8 Mile and heard the guitars. That was my turning point.”) For Jung Kook, who has released covers of Justin Bieber and Troye Sivan songs, it was Richard Marx’s deathless lite-FM ballad “Now and Forever.”

The soft-spoken Suga cites John Lennon’s “Imagine” as “the first song I fell in love with,” which feels like a fitting gateway to ask where BTS see themselves in the pantheon of musical heartthrobs that the Fab Four essentially invented. “Sometimes it feels really embarrassing when someone calls us a 21st-century Beatles or something like that,” RM concedes. “But if they want to call us a boy band, then we’re a boy band. If they want to call us a boy group, we’re a boy group. If they want to call us K-pop, then we’re cool with K-pop.”

Ah, K-pop. In South Korea, where the genre has become not just a prime cultural commodity but a multibillion-dollar export, the players, known as “idols,” go through rigorous Fame-style schooling in song and dance and media training that often goes on for years before they’re considered ready for the spotlight. And it’s paid off: Business has been booming since the early ’90s, with stars from Girls’ Generation to G-Dragoncrossing over to various markets across Asia, Europe, and the Americas. But while the sound has remained fairly consistent — a canny mix of club-ready beats, hyper-sweetened choruses, and the more urban inflections of Western hip-hop and R&B — it’s never before landed with the lightning-bolt impact of BTS.

Bang Si-Hyuk, the CEO and founder of Big Hit, began putting the band together in 2010, when all the members were in their tweens or teens: RM and Suga were coming up on the local rap scene; Jimin and J-Hope studied dance at performing-arts schools; V, who focused on singing early on, joined officially in 2013. Jin was an aspiring actor recruited off the street for his striking looks; Jung Kook, now the group’s main vocalist, joined while he was still in junior high.

Though fansites tend to lean on their extracurricular differences (Jung Kook is a Virgo who loves pizza! V collects ties and clenches his teeth in his sleep!), each member genuinely does hold a unique space in the group’s process, whether it’s leaning more toward production, lyrics, or the supersize hooks the songs rest on. “With seven members we have seven different tastes, of course,” says RM. “So when it comes to songwriting, it’s like a big competition.” Occasionally, adds J-Hope, “we’ll write a lyric and decide, ‘This sort of reflects me [more], who I am and my own color,’ so we’ll want to keep that for a solo song.”

Because Big Hit doesn’t restrict their right to funnel some ideas into side projects — and because the appetite for more BTS-sourced material online is seemingly unquenchable — members regularly release solo work through EPs, SoundCloud, and mixtapes. But the primary impact still comes through the official album releases, and the particularly weighty subjects those songs take on — a notable departure from the narrow, often strenuously upbeat topics other K-pop artists typically cover.

“I promised the members from the very beginning that BTS’ music must come from their own stories,” says Bang; their subsequent openness about their own struggles with depression, self-doubt, and the pressure to conform took them all the way to the U.N. last fall, where RM addressed the band’s Love Myself campaign and #ENDviolence youth partnership with UNICEF.

“They stand out,” says Japanese-American DJ and producer Steve Aoki, a top-selling global dance artist who has also collaborated with the band on several tracks. “And I’m not just talking about K-pop. They add so much of their personality to the music and into their stories and how they present themselves. And the world has fallen in love with them because they are showing that vulnerable side that everyone wants to see.”

It helps, too, that the group’s more pointed messages are often slipped into the sticky aural peanut butter of anthems like “No More Dream,” “Dope,” and “Am I Wrong.” But they always appreciate the chance, Suga says, to get “a little more raw, a little more open.” RM elaborates: “I think it’s an endless dilemma for every artist, how much we should be frank and honest. But we try to reveal ourselves as much as we can.”

Honesty has its limits, of course, when you’re the biggest band in the world. Asked to describe the new album, due April 12 (at press time, it had already hit over 2.5 million in preorders), members offer up cryptic but enthusiastic koans like “therapeutic” and “refreshing crispness.” To be fair, they can’t say much in part because the new album’s track list isn’t actually finalized yet — late decisions being a luxury of in-house production — though they do agree to play one song, a propulsive rap-heavy banger called “Intro: Persona.” (It was released as a teaser March 27; you can watch the video herethis link opens in a new tab.)

When it comes to more personal questions about the challenges of dating or the goals they might want to pursue post-BTS, they pivot so gracefully to evasive, nonspecific answers, you almost can’t help but be impressed; it’s like watching a diplomat ice-dance. They want you to know that they are incredibly grateful for the devotion of their fans, and so blessed to be exactly where they are; that they really don’t think in terms of five- or 10-year plans. But they turn reflective when the subject of American pop’s holy grail, the Hot 100 singles chart, is raised. They cracked the top 10 last year with “Fake Love” but have yet to reach a higher spot, largely because mainstream radio airplay—a huge component of Hot 100 domination—still eludes them Stateside.

“It will have to be a great song,” Suga acknowledges, “but also there’s a whole strategy that’s associated with getting all the way up. And then there has to be a measure of luck, obviously. So what’s important for us is just to make good music and good performances and have those elements come together.” Does a Spanish-language smash like 2017’s “Despacito” — which spent a record 16 weeks at No. 1 — make them more optimistic about their own odds? “You know, Latin pop has its own Grammys in America, and it’s quite different,” RM says thoughtfully. “I don’t want to compare, but I think it’s even harder as an Asian group. A Hot 100 and a Grammy nomination, these are our goals. But they’re just goals — we don’t want to change our identity or our genuineness to get the number one. Like if we sing suddenly in full English, and change all these other things, then that’s not BTS. We’ll do everything, we’ll try. But if we couldn’t get number one or number five, that’s okay.”

Aoki, for one, has faith they’ll get there. “I think it’s 100 percent possible that a song sung entirely in Korean could crack the top of the Hot 100. I firmly believe that, and I really firmly believe that BTS can be the group that can do that. It’s going to pave the way for a lot of other groups, which they’ve already been doing—and when that happens, we’re all gonna celebrate.”

Back at Big Hit, though, the band has more immediate work to do. RM offers a quick tour of his production room (each member has his own dedicated space on site). The door outside is guarded by a quirky assemblage of figurines by the renowned street artist Kaws, but inside feels, incongruously, like stepping into a tiny, luxurious Sundance lodge that also just happens to have a soundboard: There’s a beautiful coffee table made from a single piece of black walnut; Navajo-style rugs; tasteful art on the walls. RM talks easily about his admiration for producers like Zedd and the Neptunes (“Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo were my true idols in 2006, 2007. Pharrell’s voice! It’s so sexy, how he sings”), and plays down his own skills (“As a beatmaker, Suga is way better than me. I don’t even know how to play the piano — I just do the chords like this,” he insists, miming keyboard Muppet hands).

Then it’s back to the dance studio, where they’ve changed into track pants and T-shirts to run through new steps with a choreographer. It starts with a rough triangle formation, and an elaborate hip-swivel-into-pelvic-thrust/crotch-grab combo that actually plays much more innocently than it sounds, mostly because they keep stopping to crack each other up. Soon, though, they drill down — repeating the moves until they seem crisp but easy, almost an afterthought. It feels like time to leave them; the boys wave happily, shouting out a rowdy chorus of goodbyes. Then they turn back to the mirror, and keep dancing.

#bangtan #jimin #jungkook #v #suga #jhope #jin #rm #o:interview #190328

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