#Instead of - what you would initially guess perhaps - a sphere

[capybaraonabicycle]

How many holes does a straw have?

@i-send-you-random-asks

(asking you specifically cause i think you'd have an interesting answer)

Ohhh, yes, this is my question! Thank you, dear!

Short answer:

That depends on your definition of 'hole'. Topology says 1.

Long answer:

Since this depends on your definition of hole, I can think of 5 answers that can be rationalised and make some flavour of sense:

(@marvellouspinecone helped me with some of these a while back and might have additional info, so I am going to credit her here.)

0 holes

You can define a hole as something that makes an object broken, or at least as something you have to put into a finished object AFTER construction. This could be something like a tear in the fabric or a hole you have drilled into the 'wall' of the straw. Ergo, a functioning straw does not have any holes. It looks exactly as it was designed to be.

1 hole

This is the math answer. As said in the infamous post, a straw is 'topologically equivalent' to a torus. To be precise, it is homotopic to a torus.

First question: What is a torus?

Answer: Basically a donut. It looks like this:

[ID: image of a torus. It looks like a donut with a checkered surface. end ID]

Second question: What does 'homotopic' mean?

Answer: This is where it gets math-y technical, but in a way it means that we can continuously transform either of the objects into the other - in a nice way.

Imagine, our straw was made of super-clay: we can't rip it or glue it together at any point, but we can pull and push it together however we like, even changing its density. So we could stretch some parts to become very big and shrink others a lot. We can also bend and twist it a little.

So, we take our straw and we push it together in the direction of its length until the very long straw becomes short like a ring. And then we pull on the 'walls' to make them nice and fat and round. Tada! We have made a donut!

(We can do this in the other direction, too, pull the torus (donut) out long and then make the walls thin - then we get a straw.)

The thing about such homotopies is, they preserve the number of holes an object has. Hence, the straw has exactly as many holes as the torus (donut)!

Third question: How many holes does a torus have?

Answer: In topology, we have something called the Euler characteristic. It is a number that gets assigned to surfaces based on their properties (you can calculate it via triangulation but let's not go there.) A sphere (ball) has Euler characteristic 2. Each hole in a surface lowers the Euler characteristic by 2. The torus (is an orientable surface and) has Euler characteristic 0, so it has one hole.

(If you'd like to have the more exact explanation, it is attaching handles to a surface that reduce the Euler characteristic by 2 and add a hole. And a torus is homotopic to a sphere with one handle attached.)

Thus, a straw has one hole.

2 holes

If we define a hole as an indentation in an object that allows us (or something else) to enter a certain distance into the object, a straw has two holes. One on the top and one on the bottom.

This definition actually makes sense, since we call holes we dig into the Earth 'holes'. In the mathematic sense, they aren't, they're indentations that can (with the super clay idea) be flattened out. But with these holes we don't care about whether it will lead somewhere or just have a floor somewhere at the bottom, you can go in, so it's a hole.

If we forget about the fact that the straw leads 'one hole into the other', so like, if we were very small (or the straw very big) and we would merely walk across the outside and look into the holes, we would find two holes on the straw, one on the bottom, one on the top. If we don't enter, we wouldn't even know they were connected.

With this definition you have to be a little bit careful about when you start calling something a hole. I would reckon there needs to be a certain percentage-relation between depth of hole vs circumference of entrance to hole before you call it such. And maybe also something about size and shape and sharpness of edge - like, you wouldn't call a valley a hole, probably? But like, the straw fulfils the requirements of this hole easily, and twice.

3 holes

Okay, this one is merely for fun and play, don't get mad at me. But, say we define a hole kinda like above, as an entrance to the inside of an object. And we further define hole as any way through an object. Then we end up with something I like to call a 'hole-interval' through the straw.

So, we have one hole (rim at the top) to get into the straw, one hole (the straw, basically) to get through the straw and a third whole (rim at the bottom) to get out of the straw.

This is nonsense, obviously, but I like it, because there is a very nice mathematical feeling to it, resembling a closed interval. A closed interval [a, b] is just one object, but it has three parts that are often regarded independently of the others: the open interval (a, b) in the middle and the edge points {a} and {b}. For example, if you were to test the continuity of a function, you would often regard these three cases separately. So, in a way, there is beauty in regarding the 'three holes' of the straw as separate as well.

Infinitely many holes

This one is kinda nonsense as well, but I like the implications. If we define a hole as any instance of an object that is part of a tunnel through the object - I am using the word 'tunnel' here because actually, that tunnel would be the one hole in this case but for the sake of the definition, it can't be - then a straw is an infinite number of holes, stacked on top of each other. It is important to notice here that a hole cannot possibly have any depth in this case, just like the top and bottom holes in the last case.

This leads to two likely interpretations:

A) We have a hole at any real number (if we consider the straw as an interval along its length again). Then the straw would be made from uncountably infinitely many holes - which I think is an awesome concept.

B) We have a hole at any rational number. This would only give us a countably infinite number of holes in the straw and since Q is dense in R (don't worry about what that means), it would LOOK like the whole straw is made of holes, when in reality most of the straw would actually NOT HAVE ANY holes in it. Now isn't that the best thing you have heard all day?

And the best part : By this definition, not only would any straw be made of infinitely many holes, but any object with a hole in it would have infinitely many holes in it. Remember, for this to make sense, we needed to have holes with 0 depth. But any hole in reality has some depth. Punch a hole into a piece of paper: BAM infinitely many holes stacked on top of each other! :D

What have we learnt?

The most likely answers are 1 hole or 2 holes, depending on whether you take a more mathematical or more language-oriented approach. I think those were the two opinions most vocal in the original post as well.

But if you want to have fun, you can come up with very nice concepts and definitions to count holes by that give you a range of correct answers. Just make sure to think of the implications :)

[eternalstarlitwonderland]

Wrestling With Lust In Mind

Chapter Two

After a month of that intense encounter, Luke and Jamie are setting their living arrangements as boyfriends at Metro City. 

Luke is doing his usual pastime by leisurely playing video games. 

Jamie is doing his daily pastime of pestering him playfully by softly whispering sweet nothings. 

He silently observes his rival and lover, Luke Sullivan, the man who defeated him and took the title away from him. 

As Luke plays the game without any interruption until Jamie softly whispered in his ear

"Hey, Can you pause the game for a moment"

"Sure, What is it? "

Luke did what he was told, and looked at Jamie's deep chocolate orbs, and he asked him what was going on but Jamie didn't answer Luke's question, instead, Jamie turned his body toward Luke and used his right hand to playfully push him over the edge of the sofa. 

"Whoa! Jamie!"

{Giggles}

"Luke, You are so cute when you are about to blush"

Looking at Luke's ocean-blue orbs, he set each hand on Luke's chest and proceeded to softly fondle him. 

Jamie began to frottage Luke's clothed lower body while he was fondling his breasts.

Luke softly moaned with each sneeze by Jamie's talented hands, and getting turned on by the fondling and frottage, his face gets redder and redder whenever Jamie softly sneezes them.

"Jamie… Please…." {Softly Moaned} "Fuck…"

He couldn't bear Jamie's teasing and he seriously wanted him to stop but his body was telling him that it feels so good, he couldn't fight it any longer. 

Jamie stopped for a moment and looked at his ocean-blue orbs, Luke began to caress Jamie's face and softly stroked his dark tresses. 

The soft glow illuminated the room, providing the room with enough lighting for the couple. 

The deafening silence throughout the room is so thick, they could cut it with a knife. 

Luke tries to break the silence but Jamie stops him with a kiss, he breaks away from Luke and looks lovingly at him, and resumes his playful assault. 

Jamie fondles him until Luke suddenly turns the tables on him and looks at Jamie's deep chocolate-brown orbs, and kisses him but this time it was passionate and intense.

Jamie wrapped his arms and legs around Luke, they are passionately making out and furiously frottage. 

The pair take the initiative to take each other's clothes off, Jamie took Luke's black tank top off, and Luke took Jamie's baby blue t-shirt off. 

Jamie's fingertips explore Luke's pale skin and patting the back of his neck softly, he tightens his hold on him as Luke kisses his neck and leaves tiny love bite marks. 

Luke takes off Jamie's light gray sweatpants and throws them to the floor, Jamie takes off Luke's light gray basketball shorts and throws them to the floor as well. 

Lastly, they took each other's underwear and threw it on the floor with the rest of their clothes. 

The pair looked at each other's near-naked bodies and they commenced to lovingly marvel at one another. 

"Gosh, You are so beautiful, Jamie"

"You are not bad either, Luke"

"Wow, Jamie I definitely to eat you"

"Hahaha, I guess you are surely hungry, huh?"

"Perhaps"

Jamie wrapped his arms around Luke's neck and Luke wrapped his arms around Jamie's narrow waist, looking at each other's spheres and lovingly gazing at one another. 

"Jamie, Would you be my first?"

"Yes, Would I be your first"

"You are my moon and I am your sun,

I am your sunshine and you are my sunset, 

You are my moonlight and I am your sunlight, 

We are so different and opposite from one another 

Yet we are the same 

We complement one another in so many ways

I'm your sun, You are my moon"

"It's that your attempt to make it a poem"

"Yeah but it comes out as cringe"

"Not really, it's a quote beautifully"

They nozzle and kiss a little before the steamy night has concluded, without any warning they move from the couch to the bed.

Luke carried Jamie to the bed like a bride and gently laid him on the mattress, Jamie went lower to Luke's crotch and proceeded to perform a blowjob on him. Luke began to softly moan and grabbed a fistful of Jamie's hair. 

Luke licks his two fingers and puts them inside Jamie and proceeds to finger and scissor him, preparing him for the penetration. 

Luke is fingering him, and Jamie stops for a moment and looks at him, and then resumes. 

Luke couldn't believe it, seeing Jamie bending down on his knees and blowing his erect cock, Luke just licks his lips and quietly whispers to himself why he is so lucky to have a guy like Jamie in his life, after receiving his blowjob Luke being gently laid down on the center of the mattress. 

"Wow, He's so beautiful… How did I attract him? He's way out of my league but he's here with me"

Jamie climbs on top of him and straddles him, without a second thought, he proceeds to kiss him. 

Luke feels his erect cock being sensually stroked by Jamie's constant frottage, feeling Jamie's soft lips pressing against his and his tongue going down to his throat. 

As they are enthralled and engrossed with one another, Luke flips Jamie on his back and puts on a condom, opens a lid of lubrication, puts some of it on his condom-covered penis, and rubs it and coated it.

Luke slowly and carefully inserts himself inside Jamie, and he begins to slowly thrust into him, Jamie winced at the intrusion at first but he got used to Luke's large intrusion. 

They entwine their bodies together, glistening with sweat, the sounds of their lovemaking, and their moans, and then add the mixture of their phones constantly ringing, creating a distinctive symphony. 

Their fiery passion and the passionate rivalry between them are unrivaled since Ryu Hoshi and Ken Masters, Jamie's fingernails dug into Luke's sweat-trenched skin, causing him to wince in pain. 

As Luke thrust into him at a furious pace, each time he thrust into Jamie's prostate to the point where he loudly moaned and his eyes rolled back. 

{Moans}

They reached the point of no return, entering a state of bliss, and they began to get exhausted and yet remain more passionate than ever before. 

Luke loudly exclaimed and said that he was going to cum and Jamie loudly cried out in pleasure, He quickly pulled out of Jamie and blew his load all over his body and face. 

"Oh fuck I'm going to cum!" 

"FUCK!"

"FUUUCCCKKK!!!"

"AHHH!"

Seeing his gooey and sticky masterpiece before him, seeing Jamie, his rival and lover covered by his cum, leaning over to him and passionately kissing him, he stopped for a brief second and lovingly looked at him. 

"Umm, Jamie you looked so beautiful"

"Thank you"

"You're so beautiful, You're so beautiful, You're so beautiful

"Shut up and kiss me"

Once again they passionately kiss until they can't kiss anymore. 

https://docs.google.com/document/d/17La7wBO-c29VDY-GCl3nHvd9t93szkirwQgQpfmy9SM/edit?usp=drivesdk

[revunant]

TELL US ABOUT THE DEATH CULT

𝐀 𝐑𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤.

Hrana T'sarat [literally Road Unreturning] were a group that believed, as many others in their society did, that God lay sleeping under the Earth's crust. Not much is known about them, owed to the fact that they were active over six thousand years ago - and to the fact that they were either exiled from their communities, or incredibly secretive (or perhaps both).

What differed between the uninitiated and members of the cult (not that they called themselves that) was that Hrana T'sarat not only believed their God to be the centre of the world, but also that She should be woken.

It was pretty much universally agreed that doing this would shatter the planet into pieces (they had stumbled upon the idea that the Earth is not flat almost by complete accident as part of their belief system long before the ancient Greeks did, but imagined it more of an egg shape than a sphere). Hrana T'sarat knew this, but believed it was the right thing to do; that humanity had yet to hatch, and those who assisted in the process would be greatly rewarded in the next life.

Turns out they were wrong about that, but sort of right about other things. Hrana T'sarat never succeeded in their endeavours, likely because they never found a worthy sacrifice to aid the process - or maybe because a sacrifice wasn't needed. There is evidence of Hrana T'sarat having multiple champions, but the role of these champions is not clear; whether they're high servants to the Goddess, or prophets, or even a mortal vessel possessed by her.

Their Goddess, Ekt [literally Silent Land, could also just mean Void; nowadays referred to as The Chasm] does sleep, but not inside the Earth. She is instead her own plane of existence, a limbo between this world and the next, and the dead pass along her spine on their way to their next destination.

Hrana T'sarat remained dormant for millennia, but were resurrected in the 1990's in Northern Europe (of all places, when their predecessors lived and died in Ancient Mesopotamia). Even more reclusive, they only really became known to the world when they just...started kidnapping archaeologists and anthropologists because how else are you going to get your information I guess. (Ironically, this sparks the series of events that will eventually bring about their downfall; Pieter would have had no interest in them if it hadn't been for his tutor's disappearance).

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫.

Sarat Ilqum [literally Return - Nothing Else] referred to in some texts as Cihenim Lis'ekt [literally One Who Walks The Voidspine] was made to be partially divine, Ekt's blood running through their veins. They were said to be chosen either by Ekt Herself or one of Her children, and there are mentions of them being undying, but not immortal.

The cult only had one person in this role at once, sometimes leaving it vacant for years at a time - and not only was the process of becoming Sarat Ilqum a terrible one, they were thought to be kept in small prison chambers, deprived and frequently tortured. This was how Hrana T'sarat sought to wake their deity, by causing such a state of suffering in Her champion that she would no longer be able to sleep.

In wider society, there were two groups. Those who believed the initiation of Sarat Ilqum to be an act of heresy, and those who didn't; but who believed that subjecting what amounted to an extension of their Goddess' body to this kind of torment was the greatest sin a person could commit. It is due to this dissent that Hrana T'sarat was eventually overwhelmed and dispersed, likely by force.

In 1999, archaeologists discovered what they thought to be a sealed tomb, but what eventually transpired to be some kind of ritual chamber. At the centre, a stone font, with evidence of having been immaculately embellished with gems and bones and painted tiles - but more notably, with traces of having once held a substance that science has still been unable to identify.

Only two years following their discovery, all samples of this substance went missing from the biorepository in which they had been stored, and have yet to be found.

[sepublic]

Construction Relic Theory

           In the Relic Room, we see magical relics representing each of the nine covens, such as the Green Thumb Gauntlet for the Plant Coven, Oracle Sphere for Oracles, Healing Hat for the Healing Coven, etc. The only exception is, curiously, the Construction Relic; There is no artifact for the Construction Coven! Now, speaking from a meta animators’ perspective… Perhaps there is no Construction Relic, because this could imbalance the otherwise symmetrical layout of the relics, four on each side from one another… Or, maybe the crew forgot to include the Construction Relic, and decided it wasn’t necessary alongside most of the Relics anyway, as it’d just be another static background detail.

           But what if the Construction Relic is intentionally missing- What if it was Belos’ castle?

           I mean, think about it- What we know of Construction magic, and how we’re specifically introduced to it, is the creation of buildings. And Belos’ castle is obviously an incredibly important location for him, pragmatically and thematically, and I’ve speculated in the past that it might serve an additional function as well; Perhaps something to do with the Titan’s heart? It’s also chock-full of pipes and technology, the likes of which we’ve never seen before…

           So what if the Construction Relic was used to create Belos’ castle… Or even, it took the form of it? And that’s why it’s not present with the other artifacts; Either it’s in another location, serving as the core and foundation for the castle itself… Or it just straight-up turned into it, as the culmination of Construction magic, devising and transforming into a massive fortress!

           Alternatively- What if it was Belos’ staff, instead? We’ve all talked about how technological it looks… Perhaps Belos built and upgraded the Construction Relic into the staff we see today, in order to better enhance his magical abilities? Again, he’s associated with the creation of technology, machines, and automatons- Construction magic fits well with engineering, so it makes sense that this would be the artifact most important to Belos, and the only one he keeps on his person… And it’s potentially how he managed to create so many things such as the portal, and even the castle itself!

           Furthermore, we see how Belos can essentially ‘create’ fleshy monsters, like the Intro Worm, and those stone and meat constructs when fighting Luz. This could also fit into the speculation of Belos shaping people, such as members of the Emperor’s Coven and Guard, into uniform bodies… His power could be related to that of reconstruction, of transmutation; But he does so with living bodies, and not just buildings or technology! Maybe it could play into how Belos is able to reconstruct his body, how he’s able to create his own version of the portal…

           In fact, maybe that’s how Belos would’ve been able to heal Eda; Not with the Healing Hat, but by using his Construction Relic to literally reconstruct her body, back into its original, normal self! Maybe that’s even how the Curse works in the first place; Maybe it’s actually Construction Magic, and it reconstructs the victim’s body into an Owl Beast! Construction magic, but the building materials are the parts of a person’s body… And so all this time, Luz and Lilith were looking for the wrong artifact; The Healing Hat was not the solution, it was the Construction Relic- Because the Curse is Construction-based, and unlike Belos, they never realized this!

           In fact, whether or not it’s Belos’ staff, maybe that’s why the Construction Relic is unseen- It’s deliberately hidden so Lilith can’t just steal and use it for herself on Eda, and then be done! Maybe Belos even intentionally put away the Construction Relic, to manipulate Lilith for this reason! Getting into a meta perspective, Dana Terrace says that her choice of Magic track would be Construction, given how artsy it is… And Belos is possibly that favorited masked character of hers she alluded to, in the Reddit AMA; Although it could just as easily be Owl Mask. Additionally, Belos has a bit of brown in his color scheme himself, in the form of his cowl-mask… Maybe THAT’s the Construction Relic, even! And Construction magic fits Belos as someone with a machine motif, who wants to build an entire empire and Coven System.

           Construction Relic is unusually underrepresented, despite it being Dana’s choice- Aside from Mattholomule, we barely see any practitioners. Perhaps Belos could help to fill that role in the story, even if he’s also capable of other forms of magic; Coven Leaders notwithstanding, it’d be neat to see each form of magic get fleshed out with a witch tied to it, with Construction being Belos’ favored manner of magic. If the Curse is Construction Magic, maybe it was made by Belos, given the red coloration it gives off; Though whether Belos intended for Lilith to use it on Eda, or if he just lost it and it passed through hands on the black market, until Lily bought it… And then Belos was able to recognize his own work and thus reverse it- I can’t say.

          And once again, I’m going to bring up Fullmetal Alchemist; Because if I AM right and Belos and Father have parallels, and transmutation and alchemy from that series helped to inspire the Glyphs… Then given how Fullmetal Alchemist places emphasis on the terms construction, deconstruction, and reconstruction as a central part of alchemy; Perhaps this could factor into Belos, who’s essentially doing this show’s equivalent to Chimeras and Human Transmutation… Possibly on himself, even! 

          If we got by his ability to create living constructs AND buildings with this theory, then suddenly this could recontextualize all of those buildings in the Boiling Isles that have body parts in them… With Belos either having a hand in their creation, or Construction Magic being foreshadowed as including some meaty bits as well! This could even tie into Hooty, who himself is a meaty part of a building, and is even brown himself! Maybe House Demons are a variety of demon created by Construction Witches, who incorporate body parts into buildings (possibly supplied by Beastkeepers) and bring them to life- And Belos is using the same principle with the Construction Relic, just with more emphasis on flesh!

          Buildings probably require a lot of stone and other earthen materials, and Belos can create rock formations and even move statues, or make them out of people... Suddenly I’m wondering if the Petrification Machine is connected to this relic? And if we go by the idea of construction magic assembling and fusing parts together, perhaps House Demons are regular demons who have been disassembled, and put back together with building materials to create a living house! Beastkeepers could supply body parts and demons, and maybe even help tame/subdue the resulting House Demons for usage afterwards- Working with the Construction Coven to create things like living alarm bells, watches, etc.!

           And if you even want to get REALLY meta, Construction Magic being underrepresented could be as part of a twist to get the audience to not think about and notice it… Before it REALLY comes into play! I guess amidst the comparisons to Hooty and Construction magic, that’s another similarity, based on @fermented-writers-block and their speculation on Hooty being intentionally played off as a joke for distraction…

           Granted, part of the problem with this theory is that the Relics are revealed to actually be pretty weak; Or at the very least, not particularly legendary- Anything they can do, a decent Witch trained in that magic could also do as well, I imagine. It’s why Lilith has no qualms with destroying the Healing Hat… But then again, if the Healing Hat didn’t work because it had no effect on a Construction-based Curse, then maybe it WAS powerful, but Lilith dismissed it as weak, because it couldn’t fix the curse like she needed it to?

          Perhaps the Relics are indeed what they’re hyped up to be, but because Lilith misunderstood the Curse’s nature, she thought the Healing Hat was much weaker than it actually was for not being able to fix it… If so, RIP- Lilith DID destroy a powerful artifact, then! Maybe Belos drained the Relics of most of their power, but saved the Construction Relic because of how important it was. Or, the Relics aren’t normally powerful, as Lilith claimed- But Belos was able to perform modifications to the Construction Relic, turning it into the mechanical staff we see today! Maybe the Construction Relic even created machinery that could enhance the original relic’s own magic; Potentially making it the most dangerous Relic, for its powers of Creation that enable it to bypass its own limits, unlike the other Relics!

          So of course Belos would want to keep it… And we’ve seen him capable of adding technology to supplement magical artifacts, like with the portal in the Season Finale. And with how Construction Witches from the Emperor’s Coven are clearly vital to Belos’ creation… Then it’s possible that Construction magic will be the hidden, overlooked, but ultimately invaluable ace up Belos’ sleeve, that everyone has been dismissing and underestimating this entire time! Construction magic being overlooked yet so important would be an interesting theme- Especially since out of the Coven Leaders, the Construction Head is the first and only one we’ve seen, and yet HIS appearance was played off so normally, that the viewers wouldn’t have recognized his relevance until The First Day!

          Just a normal part of the background, just another witch… But like the magic of his that is underestimated, the Construction Head turns out to be far more important than we could’ve imagined; And initially, we dismissed him as just an extra, as part of some minor world-building and even a brief joke! Suddenly, the Construction Head empowering Tiny Nose, Dana’s self-insert, with a Power Glyph derived from her magic of choice, takes on a WHOLE new meaning…!

[memes-in-a-half-shell]

@purplesangel​, @kokokatsworld​, +anons

Decided to do a Turtle of Choice x Fem!Reader thing, since I got that “wanna fuck you against the window” thing for ALL OF THE BOYS. Gonna write it as an AU where the turtle of your choice is the boss/CEO of a prestigious and fancy-pantsy place you work at. So, myeah, nice turts in suits 😏👌 (also mutants are a known thing in that AU)

13: Look what you do to me 26: I wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it 57: We’re in public you know 59: Are you sure? Once I start I don’t think I’m able to stop 64: I love the way you look with my fingers inside you 75: If you interrupt me one more time— so help me god 107: Guess I’ll have to cum inside you then

You had started that assistant job out of pure luck after finding an add for it online. That Hamato company had a good reputation regarding advancements of any kinds; techonogical, financial, you name it. The four turtles who oversaw it were seen as the undeclared rulers of Manhattan, their power and influence overseeing many spheres of New York’s scene. They equally shared the role of CEO amongst them, being brothers and their trust infallible. You had been teamed up with one of them, the three others already with an assistant of their own. And you instantly bonded with your boss. He had that charm and appeal that could only bring you closer to him. His reptilian features sure enhanced his beauty, as well as his power - both physical and financial - only enticed you more.

As the days passed, soon they became weeks, and before you knew it it had already been a couple of months since you were working for him. By that time, you two had that inseparable bond that you had to keep secret when at work, for the sole sake of professionalism. But you sure both had that little game going on that had you on edge at times. It would mostly lead to incredible sex when back at his place, but sometimes the tension rose so much at work, you were both tempted to just hide in a broom closet and go at it...

That one time, you had decided to wear that new business suit which its pencil skirt hugged your bottom half so well. You felt powerful, incredibly beautiful and in control. It’s when you were at that top of the world in your esteem that you truly realized that your mutant boss was truly in the palm of your hand - devoted and enamored to you. From the very start of the day you could feel his gaze following you whenever you’d pass in front of his office door, and you frankly wanted to push it further. After collecting some paperwork meant for him, you made a beeline to his office and gently knocked at the doorframe. You knew he was aware of your presence, but you so definitely wanted to play the game...

“Yes?” he said, his eyes slowly going over you.

“I have some documents that are in need of your signature.... But if you’re too busy, I can come by later. I’ll make sure you’ll get a reminder as I’ll walk across this entry many times.”

He leaned back in his chair a little, some amusement showing on his features.

“I don’t think you’d be able to keep walking around all day with those heels and that nice skirt of yours.”

“Are you sure? Once I start, I don’t think I’m able to stop.”

He gulped. You being so assertive all of sudden just made the gears turn so perfectly...

“Alright. Come in. Close the door,” he said, gesturing you to come forward. “I’ll sign those damn paperwork so I can spare you walking a hundred miles in a thight skirt.”

After closing the door, you placed the pile on his desk, sitting across him - only the furniture separating you both. He took out a pen, shuffling through some pages.

“Okay then where do I si-”

“Pages fourteen, twenty-six, forty, and fifty-two,” you cut.

He paused, only his gaze moving up to you with a small frown. Your smirk brought a small sigh out of him, then proceeding to turn to the first page mentionned. After a quick glance at it, he was starting to grow annoyed.

“Oh I hate it when there’s a billion lines. Which one do I-”

You had already sprung to your feet, coming next to him - real close - and pointing to a couple of lines.

“Here, here, annnnd here.”

At your last ‘here’, you had next moved your hand to gently trail along his forearm, your nails softly going against his scales.

“If you interrupt me one more time- so help me god,” he then said.

“I’m just trying to help, sir,” you added, feigning innocence, your hand still on him.

Good lord, he could smell you and it was amazing. He turned his chair to face you, now making you stand in-between his opened legs.

“Help me? Look what you do to me,” his hand slightly motioned downward.

You noticed the starting buldge in his pants, now feeling pleased.

“We’re in public, you know?” he added.

“The door is closed, sir. Unless someone really wants to bother you, this doesn’t count as public...”

It’s as if you had said the exact magic words he needed to hear. One hand at the small of your back, he brought you closer and you were both instantly locked in a kiss. A part of him wanted to throw everything on his desk off to the ground, but he knew in the end that’d he regret trying to put everything back in order (especially the damn paperwork...). Instead his hands started to venture on your form, a part of his touch getting lower and lower to your core.

“That skirt looks good on you,” he purred inbetween kisses.”But I do wonder how it’d look if I lift it up a little...”

As it was thight around your form, that was no easy task, but the mutant let it seem like it was no big deal as he got to the deed.

“Wanna interrupt me again?” he said. “Wanna tell me what to do next?”

“Will I lose my job if I do so?” you answered with a smirk.

“I’ll give you a promotion,” he smiled too.

You stopped talking, prefering to guide him with actions instead. Moving his hand, you drove him to your underwear only so he could start to tease you. He caught on your need, following suit on his own.  Both your neediness kept translating through your kisses and touches, every steps in your actions gradually - yet rapidly - evolving to a state that had the two of you repeating the same thought over and over again: I need you right now. He slid his hand into your underwear, aiming for your core. His caress was languid and it just felt so right when he slipped a finger in. You were breathing roughly against his scales, your hands taking support against the upper ridge of his shell. You noticed his renewed smile as he gazed down at this initial connection.

“I love the way you look with my finger inside you...”

“Don’t you want more? I want more,” you mewled, your hips instinctively following his rhythm in small circle motions.

He looked back up to you, his lips aiming for one side of your throath and eagerly traveling to your jaw and cheek.

“More... I do,” he murmured against your skin. “I wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it.”

That took you slightly by surprise, although your quick fear died as you remembered that the windows of this building were tinted on the outside - making it impossible for any crowd to see anything. But perhaps he simply wanted to leave a trace of yourself on his side, a phantom trophy for anyone to see, if they had a keen eye. You gasped as he grabbed you easily by your waist, lifting you only to place you against a nearby window. Your arms were quick to wrap around his neck, kissing him again and again as you could feel him struggle a little to set himself free.

“You better not leave any marks on my new suit,” you warned, breathing hard from all that action rushing through your veins.

He smiled, amused and delighted: “Guess I’ll have to cum inside you then.”

A loud gasp left you as you felt his cock enter. His churr invaded your ears as he started with a slow pace, nuzzling you. His large hands were holding you up from the bottom of your ass to a part behind your thighs; perfectly in control. You weighed nothing to this mutant, and that was an incredible turn on... As the seconds passed, the need only grew stronger and stronger. Your skin ached to be mostly covered in clothing, but the spontaneity of it all threw your desire through the roof. You could feel your lover going deeper and stronger, the growl in his throath entertwined with his panting, only for you to hear. Your nails were starting to scrape his scales, unable to contain your excitement - unless you’d allow yourself to scream and moan, which was not particularly ideal.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful.... and you’re all mine...,” you heard him say.

“Oh, sir,” you mewled, playful and wanting more.

The warmth of him, mixed with the window’s cold, could only bring you on such a high. You almost forgot how to breathe as you could feel him nibble at your skin and your core rubbing oh so great against him.

“Oh baby, I’m gonna- ... Fuck! I’m gonna-”

You had a hard time speaking, everything a blur.

“Do it, love, I wanna feel you tight around my dick.”

That request had you cumming in no time, the turtle slightly slowing his pace only so he could savor each squeeze of your walls around him. But as soon as you began to calm down, he regained his vigor, already so close.

“Cum with me again, I know you can,” he asked lovingly, followed by kisses.

Without hesitation you brought a hand to your clitoris, rubbing to match his pace. As his name escaped your lips over and over again in silent pleas, you felt your second rush wave in, this time accompanied by the familiar sensation of his release. Both your arms were now again resting around his neck, humming in delight as you kept smiling and nuzzling his cheek.

“... I promote you to employee of the month. Goddamn, even employee of the year,” softly laughed the terrapin.

“If that title comes with benefits such as this, I’ll gladly accept,” you added.

As he removed himself and put you back to the ground, you wobbled slightly as you brought your panties back up, then lowering your skirt to its rightful position. .... Walking in high heels today would prove to be quite the challenge. “You good?” quietly asked the mutant, leaving a hand to your elbow in order to sustain you a little.

“Never been better,” you smirked.

As you took some time to properly arrange your hair, the other proceeded to sign the papers still on his desk, after making sure that his attire was rightfully in place. Once everything was done, you crossed eachother’s gaze and couldn’t help the quiet laughter and snickers from leaving you both, knowing you had lost enough time as it is. Opening the door, the terrapin was also at the frame, handing you the documents.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, miss. You are most certainly a valuable asset in this company as your efficacity brings projects to a fast and most optimal motion.”

“Thank you, sir,” you replied, taking the papers and then professionally shaking his hand. “I only aim to bring the best of me in this workplace.”

“And that is always appreciated.”

You could only strut back to your desk afterward, definitely floating high on a cloud.

[shypotato-translations]

QTVW Chapter 7

Future* President's Fiancee (VII)

----

When An Mu Lan woke up, she found herself in an unfamiliar environment.

She sat up, squinting around.

It is dimly lit, but by the vague light it is possible to make out the layout of this room.

This is a bedroom, and where the light is brighter, there is a window covered by heavy curtains, but a few rays of light still shine through. It is also the curtains that obscure the light that makes this room extraordinarily gloomy.

Still feeling dizzy, An Mu Lan rubbed her forehead vigorously as memories from earlier came flooding back like a tidal wave.

She narrowed her eyes and clapped her hands together, a sounding crisp clap, causing the room's sound-activated lights to come on immediately. The layout of this room was also fully presented to An Mu Lan's eyes.

The tone of this room was cold and the furniture was arranged in a simple and monotonous way, a very familiar style of home decoration, which An Mu Lan found to be very similar to the style of Ling Xihan's villa and her office.

If she guessed correctly, this should be Ling Xihan's bedroom, and it was Ling Xihan she had vaguely seen when she was unconscious earlier.

An Mu Lan's eyes flickered and there was a hint of joy in her heart, so to speak, she was now within Ling Xihan's sphere of influence, so that card there, she was finally making initial progress in this matter of raiding the villain.

An Mu Lan smiled and felt another throbbing pain in her forehead, she frowned and stroked the spot on her brow, remembering the Li family's birthday party earlier.

At the time she planned and arranged everything, then passed out under the influence of drugs and wondered how subsequent events had developed after all this time.

She clicked on the invisible electronic terminal on her wrist, a blue screen popped up and a large list of web information appeared, An Mu Lan clicked on the search field and said to the screen,

"I need to know what happened after Miss Li's birthday party."

Within three seconds, a dozen blue screens were scattered in front of An Mu Lan's eyes, who looked over them one by one.

The big headline above, in dark font, reads,

"Is the broken marriage of Zhang and Li a case of someone doing evil, or a joke of fate,"

This is the title of the literary version; another writes,

"The Zhang family's youngest prefers Nanfeng and plays group P on the second day of engagement,"

This is the bold version; there are many more titles that broadly depict this event.

An Mu Lan's mouth opened wide in surprise when she saw the news that the Zhang family's youngest was good for Nan Feng, which was not mentioned at all in the novel's plot, ah.

What's going on? Is this also an auto-completion of the virtual space-time rules?

Puzzled by the thought, An Mu Lan pulled the screen of this page in front of her eyes, then line by line, read it carefully, and after about ten minutes of reading it, An Mu Lan snorted a laugh.

The news story says that after the announcement of the marriage between Zhang and Li, the banquet continued and many of the guests did not leave immediately. This is because such an occasion is where information is passed between the families, and where deals are most likely to be negotiated in the business world.

At around three in the morning that night, Li Jiarou suddenly had to find the young master of the Zhang family in a hurry because of some matters.

The Li family had quite a few bodyguards who launched a search at that time, and there was quite a lot of commotion, so all the guests present knew about it and started to pay attention to it, and some of them even took the initiative to find him.

The guests also noticed that something was wrong when Li Jiarou's face started to turn pale and lifeless, her body was shaking and she looked miserable.

And at that moment, the young master's sister, Zhang Yao, suddenly said,

"Is there a search within the Li family residence? Perhaps brother is there?"

When the crowd thought about it, it made sense, so they recruited the bodyguard to ask again, who said with certainty,

"I've searched all over the Li family residence, but I just can't find him. But ......"

As the bodyguard said this, his face went green and red for a while as he said,

"In the Li family residence, the first floor guest lounge which was locked, has not been searched because the key could not be found."

Zhang Yao immediately smiled and offered to go to that lounge to have a look, so the crowd all followed. Ten metres closer to that room, the extremely loud sound of water stains and the moans and groans of lust could be heard inside.

Zhang Yao took the initiative to walk up and pick up the key to open the door, only to see seven or eight tall, fit men toying with a fair, tall young man, a group P scene that was so unbearable to watch that many people instantly blushed until a female voice screamed shrilly, saying,

"It's the young master of the Zhang family!"

This roar immediately drew everyone's attention to the fact that the man being pressed in the very centre was none other than the missing young master of the Zhang family, who was now, in full view of everyone, gathered around to watch a thrilling spring, palace scene.

The news reported that Li Jiarou burst into tears and the patriarch of the Li family threw the "rubbish" out with a grimace, along with an unconscious half-*** on the sofa.

As things had come to this point, the Li family naturally had to withdraw from the marriage, and so this marriage between Zhang and Li came to an end in such a joking manner.

Although the Zhang family is a triad family and is very powerful in this future world, the Li family's power should not be underestimated as well, not to mention the fact that the Li family is also a political family and there is still some truth to the proverb that the people do not fight against the officials. So the Zhang family took it upon themselves to apologise and withdraw from the marriage after the first hour of this incident, and promised to take good care of the Zhang young master.

After reading the news, An Mu Lan's whole body went Spartan. Although she played a role in pushing this matter, she did not expect the subsequent development of this matter to turn out this way, which was too unexpected.

However, all in all, the person who profited from this matter was herself, so she smiled back and continued to browse up the news, and just then, the door of the room opened and a tall woman in a slim suit looked at her with an expressionless face and a dark gaze.

The smile on An Mu Lan's lips stiffened, and she immediately straightened her spine and said joyfully,

"Xihan, you're back."

Ling Xihan walked into the room, her steps slow and with a bit of carelessness, she walked up to An Mu Lan's side, leaned over and touched her forehead and asked,

"How do you feel now, is the headache better?"

An Mu Lan's wariness immediately rose in her heart, she felt that Ling Xihan was giving off a very wrong feeling at the moment, she tilted her head and looked at Ling Xihan's chin, smiled weakly at her and said,

"Much better already, thanks."

Ling Xihan curled her lips, her narrow eyes glancing at the translucent screens popping up in mid-air as she suddenly spoke,

"How's that? Happy with the result?"

Hearing these words, An Mu Lan's heart tightened and she was quick to smile and say,

"This news is really sudden ah, the young master of the Zhang family doesn't seem like this kind of person then, isn't sister Li Jiarou very pitiful?"

Ling Xihan moved closer to An Mu Lan and leaned in slightly to look at her, a deep and unpredictable look in her eyes as she sat on the edge of the bed, her right hand stroking An Mu Lan's still somewhat messy long hair before wrapping her whole body tightly in her arms.

An Mu Lan felt her closeness, but she didn't feel happy at all, instead she was in cold sweat, because Ling Xihan's right hand was on her heart, and her palm was in the shape of a claw, as if she was playing with the softness of her chest, but then the force was heavy and light, which made An Mu Lan's heart alarmed.

An Mu Lan shivered involuntarily, she cautiously turned her head to look at her, and saw that she was very different from her usual cold and detached appearance, at this time, Ling Xihan looked at her with dark and deep eyes, with a clear understanding and realization, which made An Mu Lan feel like she was covered in □□□□□, standing in the eyes of Ling Xihan, allowing all her secrets to go unnoticed.

An Mu Lan smiled hard and asked with a tilted head,

"What's wrong with you today? Did something bad happen at work?"

Ling Xihan looked at the blue screen in front of her, pressing her lips close to An Mu Lan's ear and asking into her cochlea,

"Are you concerned about what happened yesterday?"

An Mu Lan immediately shook her head and said,

"Not really ...... concerned, I ...... I just ...... wanted to see what news…..."

Her voice weakened and her words stumbled, for the way Ling Xihan looked at her made her whole body shudder.

Ling Xihan just looked at her, with a gaze that saw through everything, and she suddenly raised her hand to caress An Mu Lan's cheek, from her still baby-fat cheek, to her soft chin.

Then she lifted her chin and looked deeply into An Mu Lan's eyes, not missing a single detail in her eyes, and she said in an unhurried tone,

"You arranged it very well the other day, the marriage between Zhang and Li was something I didn't want to see, and I'm really, really happy that you did that for the sake of it."

With that, she clicked on a blue screen and looked at the news item "The collapse of the Zhang-Li coalition" and said,

"The Li family abandoned the Zhang family in favour of another partner, and as a helper in pushing the issue, the Li family naturally chose me as a subordinate, which would allow me to step into the political world more quickly;

And the Zhang family has so disgraced the Li family and dared to lay hands on the daughter of the Li family patriarch, the Li family will naturally not let the Zhang family go, and then down the road, the Zhang family's power in the underworld will naturally fall into my hands, and I, in turn, will become the new boss;

The Li and Zhang families are equally powerful, and the young master of the Zhang family has been ruined after this night, so the two families are battling each other, and the one who will benefit the most in the end is, of course, me;

The most important thing is that the young master of the Zhang family knows part of the truth of the matter, he is a vengeful man, think about it, that maid you bothered to deal with, and Zhang Yao who made you afraid and uneasy, are the targets of his revenge. One less morbid suitor for me, and you can continue to be my good fiancée in peace.”

Ling Xihan finished these words in a flat, unemotional tone, then licked the cold sweat off An Mu Lan's cheeks and said to her,

"What's wrong? Making so much sweat?"

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Of Monsters and Moose || Arthur and Kaden

TIMING: 2 months ago, during Sand and Glass POTW LOCATION: Moose Caboose  PARTIES: @arthurjdrake and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Bloody Mary decides to pay Kaden and Arthur a visit. AKA Sometimes your pixie roommate sets you up for a really bad blind date

The message on his phone was a surprise. Arthur wanted to meet him at Moose Caboose of all places for lunch. Kaden wasn’t certain why, especially there of all places, but he figured he’d find out. He had to figure if he was reaching out, there was a decent reason. It’s not like they were close but he had proven to be trustworthy. Enough. Kaden was thoroughly certain that Arthur was not just a man but a phoenix despite his denial. Maybe he’d have a chance to prove it. Subtly, of course. It’s not like he really made it a point to hunt phonexies. For one, they were rare as shit. And two, they weren’t usually the type to harm humans. And three, they weren’t exactly easy to kill if what he’d read in books were true. He wasn’t sure if they just sprung back to life from the ashes like a flaming zombie but he didn’t particularly want to find out and get on the bad side of a fire wielding bird, fragile as they were supposed to be. He took a seat at the restaurant and waited and wondered. Ever so often he noticed a flash or two of something out of the corner of his eye. Likely just people moving back and forth. “Hey,” he said, spotting Arthur as he took a seat. “What was it you wanted to discuss? It sounded sort of urgent. But uh, I guess only so urgent if we’re meeting, well, here.”

The moment Arthur’s phone had pinged with a message from Kaden Langley suggesting they meet at Moose Caboose two thoughts initially crossed his mind. The first: suspicion. After all, the last time they’d spoken Kaden had been rather accusatory regarding his own theory that Arthur wasn’t as human as he appeared to be. He was right of course, but that certainly wasn’t something that he particularly wanted to confirm. The second: surprise considering he really didn’t get the impression Langley liked him enough to even be interested in meeting up to discuss pie. But as ever, curiosity would kill the cat - or bird. Arthur glanced at his phone re-reading the message he’d received from Kaden while walking towards the booth Kaden was seated in, framed by a stuffed moose surrounded by pickled pumpkins with varying degrees of scarily carved faces. Grey eyes lifted as Kaden arrived accompanied by a look of puzzled interest. “Sorry? I wanted to discuss? I’m not sure--” he paused looking back at his phone and turning the screen towards Kaden to show their last conversation several months back followed by a more recent conversation initiated by an obscure message from Kaden earlier in the afternoon. “But I guess I was wondering the same thing.”

“Yes, you. You’re the one who invited me here.” Kaden thought the other mean was supposed to be smart, what had happened? Did he really not remember? He showed up, he had to know something. Kaden’s brows furrowed as he looked at the phone. ‘Meet me at Moose Caboose, pie man. We need to talk.’ The fuck? That was his name and information. But he had never seen that message before. “I didn’t send that,” he said, shaking his head. Part of him wanted to grab the phone and scroll through, check it closer, make sure it wasn’t a lie or a trick or magic but that seemed like a bad move. What if he just grabbed it and shook it? No, still bad. He sighed. “Well I got a very similar message from you so I don’t know what to make of that.” Kaden pulled out his phone and went to show him the message only… It wasn’t there. “Putain?” He scrolled through it furiously and there was nothing, just the conversation from months ago. “Ah, putain,” he repeated when it sunk in what probably happened. The pie comment. “Rumpleskuffs,” he said, grumbling. “Pretty sure my p-- my roommate sent that. As a joke.” He sighed before noticing another strange glint in something nearby. Odd. “Guess you might as well stay,” he said gesturing to the seat in front of him. “I’ve had worse company. How’s the girl? Was it Kat? She alright?”

“You didn’t? Weird…” but Kaden seemed genuine in that statement and his apparent confusion. He stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other wondering just what Kaden was playing at here scrolling through his phone for some kind of evidence? Arthur blinked twice, “I’m sorry Rumpleskuffs?” Kaden had a room-mate called Rumpleskuffs? “Uh… Oh. So you didn’t want to talk about pie.” Well, that made this an interesting situation then, glancing between Kaden and the empty seat there was a half-a-second pause uncertain which way that remark should be taken. Folding his hands on the table, Arthur gave a small nod in confirmation. “Katherine? Yes. Fine, still suffers with some nightmares but talks a lot about the brave prince charming that came to destroy the evil monster. Kids… Pretty resilient huh?”

“We can talk about pie if you want, I guess. I’ve been making a lot but I’m not sure why you’d care.” Kaden was fairly sure that Arthur didn’t need to know why he was making so many, either. He didn’t love talking about feelings and bullshit with people he was close to let alone with near strangers. “Yeah, Rumpleskuffs, he’s a-- it’s a nickname. Weird guy. Likes pie a lot and messing with me.” He wasn't sure why he was worried about the likely phoenix knowing about his pixie roommate but he was. Maybe he just didn’t want to explain it or be judged for it. Wasn’t sure. Also felt like a bad thing to announce in public. “I don’t know how possible it is to grow up in this town without nightmares,” he said. “Glad to hear she’s otherwise okay.” He gave a small smile. “Not sure I should be anyone’s prince charming, though. Warn her about that one.” His brow furrowed as he noticed something moving in his glass of water. Odd.

A part of Arthur wanted to point out that really he didn’t care all that much but the rational part of his brain recognised that antagonising a hunter probably wasn’t the smartest of moves to make. So opted instead to say, “oh really? Is there another pie contest or something?” Rumpleskuffs? He rolled the name around in his head a little bit, “weird name that… How’d he get the nickname Rumpleskuffs? He isn’t a fae or something is he? I don’t know what their obsession with pie is… Or maybe it’s just the ones I’ve met but they all seem to share it.” His fingers curled a little under his chin in thought. “I dunno, I think if you’re stubborn enough it’s possible either that or you’re just lucky. One or the other.” Despite everything a smile edged its way onto his features, “she’s hardly going to pay any attention to me on that one plus you kind of look like that Flynn dude from that cartoon so I doubt much of anything will change that.” But Kaden was looking over his shoulder and naturally Arthur turned to glance behind him, finding only his own reflection. Weird. “Everything okay? You seem a bit- I dunno, distracted?”

“Not that I know of,” Kaden said with a shrug. Even if there were a contest, he didn’t have time to give a shit. The excess baking wasn’t for anyone else but him, not really. He froze when Arthur instantly pegged Rumple as fae. Putain. “I’m, uh, not sure. Just, it, yeah he’s a little fae. Mostly.” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to hide it. Shame mostly, to be honest. Alright, sure, he was dating Regan who was fae but that was partially because he hadn’t known initially. This was worse. Stupider, even. Maybe he should just accept his fate and get over it. Or rather is fae-te. He was a magnet for fae and fae bullshit. “Maybe so. But they’d be pretty hard pressed,” he said. This town was so full of living nightmares he couldn’t imagine skipping over all of it and coming out of this place without any scars of any sort. “Like Flynn who?” His forehead creased as he tried to imagine it. A cartoon prince who looked like him and fought monsters? He couldn’t imagine it. “Huh. Odd. Can’t picture it. I’m pretty sure no one would call me a prince either way.” He sighed and took a sip of the water the waitress left at the table. As soon as he went to take a sip, he swore he saw a figure in it, something dark and moving. “Merde!” he shouted as he dropped the glass from his hands, water spilling everywhere across the table. “Shit, shit, I’m sorry I thought I saw something in the wa--” He caught a peek at the glass and saw another flash of something and stumbled back out of his seat, catching himself on the edge of the chair before he tumbled to the floor. What the fuck was that?

For a hunter it seemed to strike Arthur that Kaden wasn’t the most apt at concealing his discomfort in a situation such as being caught in a lie or an omission of fact. “Not sure?” there were several ways to test whether Kaden’s apparent flatmate was a fae, but Arthur didn’t feel that right now was the best time to comment on it. “Perhaps, either that or find a decent enough spellcaster versed in the whole sphere of memory magic. That would usually clear up any issues considering if you can’t remember an event it can hardly give you nightmares hm?” But if the kid was happy enough and relatively untroubled then who was Arthur to interfere with how her parents - his great great times seven or something of the sort grandson chose to raise her. “Flynn Rider- Rapunzel- The- You don’t know? Oh huh…” he trailed off shaking his head “yeah okay probably better you don’t then.” Yet his attention was promptly diverted by the sudden commotion of water being spilled that had Arthur jumping to his feet in a flash at the same moment Kaden almost tumbled onto the floor. He peered at Kaden’s line of sight fixed on the glass and blinked as something seemed to shimmer and shift in the reflection “Oh bloody hell- Not again.”

Kaden did his best to act like nothing strange had happened, that he hadn’t just nearly fell from his seat, startled by a fucking glass of water of all things. “Sorry that was, I thought I--” It was then that he noticed Arthur was standing. He’d jumped away from the water like it was acid. If he was what Kaden suspected he was, it was likely that it was similar. Kaden didn’t get a chance to narrow his eyes or even question it further. “Not again? What do you mean not again?” he asked, brow furrowing. The reflection in the glass seemed to answer for him. As he looked into it, he saw a woman with a knife. Then felt a sting of pain across his cheek. “Putain!” he shouted, and clutched his face. He felt the blood running along his palm. What the hell? He pulled it away to examine his hand. Yeah, that was real alright. Real and red and painful. Kaden dared to lean in, get a closer look. “Murderer,” the spirit growled. The creases in Kaden’s forehead deepened and he saw a knife push forward towards him out of the reflection towards him. “Shit!” he shouted as he dived out of his chair, finally hitting the floor. “What the fuck is she talking about?! What’s going on?!” he asked Arthur. By now the whole restaurant had their eyes on them, there were whispers all around and lots of confusion. Kaden didn’t exactly care. But he did wonder if now was the time to tell people to leave.

Too many things happened at once, the accusatory glare and the sign of something strange lashing out of the upturned glass of water. A twisted ghostly visage one Arthur had seen not several weeks back in his very own kitchen attempting to drag Freyja down the stairs by her hair. “Oh shit” the panic was clear, though now really wasn’t the time to explain. “NO DON’T!” he yelled out instinctively as Kaden leaned in to inspect the glass right as another swipe of the knife followed one that could’ve certainly taken an eye if not for Kaden’s speedy reaction. “The reflections, she’s in the reflections” it was right as the words left his mouth that he saw the same figure manifesting in the glass panelled window, immediately, Arthur shot in Kaden’s direction, moving to backhand the glass off the table into the very panel the ghost had started to appear in. The whispers were silenced by the shattering of glass, glistening fragments spilling left right and center. A baleful shriek followed the sound and Arthur moved back over to Kaden extending a hand out to where he’d fallen “I know you have fuck all reason to trust me, but I need you to listen to me now - we need to get you out of here because she won’t stop until your head’s on a platter.”

“What?” Kaden sputtered as he worked to right himself onto his hands on knees, avoiding the glass shattered around him. “Me? What about me? How--” He was struggling to piece together all of the disparate pieces of the puzzle together in his panicked state. Ghost. This was definitely some sort of ghost or spirit. Reflections. Was this-- There was no way. “Don’t tell me this is Bloody fucking Mary,” he said in a hushed tone to the professor as he took his hand, letting him help him pull him off the floor. “Murderer,” rang out again, from over his left shoulder. Kaden looked back and saw the same woman in the mirror, ragged and dark and angry. Her knife reached out and this time Kaden ducked, putting his hand over his head. “What the fuck does she want with me? She’s got to be really fucking mistaken because I’m not a goddamn murderer.” There was chaos in the restaurant now, customers watching them and looking around them for the source of the commotion. A few of them had seen the reflection and pointed towards the mirror. Some of them seemed to think it was a show. Most of them were annoyed for the interruption. “Excuse me, we’re going to have to ask you to l--” the waiter started. “Way ahead of you,” Kaden said before ducking out. “How the fuck do I avoid all reflections? It’s nearly goddamn impossible.”

“Not now,” Arthur answered with a shake of his head as Kaden righted himself glancing at the hunter. For a moment there was a strange and sudden urge to laugh but no sound escaped him, only a grimace of acknowledgement and mild determination while backing up. “Would it make it momentarily better if I lied and said no?” But further words were cut short as the ghost swiped out from the window seemingly keen to totally ignore Arthur’s presence in the room next to Kaden. It sparked an idea, and Arthur shifted between Kaden and the next window using himself to block the ghost��s reach for Kaden. The waiter that had served them but moments prior looked as though he were about to have an aneurysm on the spot at the shattered window panel and it was the least Arthur could do to offer an apologetic look and passing remark of “sorry, I’ll pay for that later yeah? Claustrophobia, my friend doesn’t do well inside.” Eventually they made it outside but the parking lot posed an entirely separate issue and Arthur had to run through through options. “The park, open field right? Just round the block… If we get there we can probably wait her out… I don’t think you’ll be able to do anything to her… She’s not a normal ghost.”

Kaden wanted to be annoyed at the bullshit explanation to the waiter, but he didn’t have much of a chance. It’d have to fucking do because they had to get the hell out of there. “A park?” It made sense, he had to admit. There shouldn’t be a whole lot of reflective surfaces surrounding him there. He’d just have to avoid any water nearby. And if his suspicions on Arthur were correct, he’d be just as keen to avoid that as well. “Okay, park. That’s-- Go, let’s go.” He reached into his wallet and shoved a twenty dollar bill on the table before running out, ducking and dodging like it might help. “I know who the fuck Bloody Mary is! I’m a--” He stopped short, didn’t want to scream it out in the middle of the street that he was a hunter. Seemed like a bad fucking plan. “Just trust me, I know.” He started running in the direction he indicated, past the cars and show windows. Shit, fucking shit. He tried not to look but he had a feeling it didn’t matter one way or another if he checked his reflection. “Let’s get to the fucking pa--” His words were cut off by something grabbing at his ankles and dragging him back along the concrete. Kaden screamed and tried futilely to fight off the invisible, intangible object pulling him and scraping him along the sidewalk. He tried to grip the edge, keep from going any farther, but it wasn’t doing much good. Putain.

Arthur’s mind in a spur of the moment decision making process felt that a rather bullshit explanation seemed perfectly reasonable in comparison to telling their rather human waiter from what he could see that bloody goddamn Mary was here to try and kill them. Not them. Kaden. What was it about almost every instance they ran into one another that ended up in something going absolutely sideways? Breaking outside Arthur took off down the street high-tailing it after Kaden with half a mind to smash the windows of the cars they passed. After all, what was a bit of public property damage compared to sparing someone from meeting a rather bloody end at the hand of an equally murder orientated spirit? “Okay! Okay right-” and so they set off, Arthur mainly focussed on running; moving his feet one after the other even as the beginnings of a stitch started to cramp his side. Who knew that a lifetime of office work and preference for milk chocolate brazil nuts during a marathon of Clone Wars did not an athlete make. It was such complainant thoughts and panicked interspersed contemplation regarding what the hell they were going to do next that almost caused him to trip over Kaden as the man crashed to the sidewalk being dragged in the complete opposite direction.

“Oh shit- shit! Hold on!” Park. Right. Grass, bushes… Rocks. Rocks! With little other thought Arthur dove to a nearby bush rummaging around in the vain hope of finding- There his fingers curled around the rough texture of a rock about the size of his fist before scrambling back to the street and hauling his arm back to lob the rock straight through the nearest window of a smart looking mercedes. The glass shattered and its alarm blared but Arthur was already grabbing a piece of glass, little care for the jagged edge cutting into his palm as he brandished it towards the spirit speaking with a courage he didn’t admittedly feel right there and then. “Let him go Mary. He isn’t deserving of your wrath.”

White glass like eyes belonging to a gaunt face framed by stringing black hair snapped away from their intense focus on Kaden for but a moment before returning to the hunter with a snarled hiss, the shrill sound akin to nails scraping down a chalkboard “murderer.”

Kaden could feel skin scraping off his palm as he tried to wrap his fingers around any piece of concrete he could grab onto. He felt some release, the dragging stopped, but it was in exchange for the familiar sounds of glass shattering, the sharp pain of car alarms blaring in his ears. Still, he wasn’t going to complain too much about having a chance to scramble up from the ground. “Why does she keep saying that?” he said, voice laced with panic and confusion. Of course he wasn’t deserving of her wrath. Did she really think all killing made him a murderer? He wasn’t. That wasn’t how this worked. He’d never killed a human. Not once. Fucking spirit had to be mistaken. Even then, he felt like he should cover himself with his jacket, just hide. Like it might eliminate his reflection, make this go away. “We have to get out of here,” he said, grabbing Arthur’s arm and leading him towards the direction of the park, crouching behind the other man as best he could, hoping it might shield him from the spirit’s wrath. They had to leave. If not just because of the spirit but because he wasn’t looking to pay for this fucking broken car window. Somehow he didn’t think Alain was up for doing him any favors as of late. A wail rang through the night as black hair and a glint of silver flashed in the reflection of a shop window followed by a flash of pain along his arm. “Repent,” it bellowed. Putain de merde. “Repent for what? I’m not a murderer. You have the wrong person. Leave me alone!” That park had to be close. It had to be.

“Because that’s what she thinks you are and she’s not-” Arthur didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence as the spectre wailed; seeming to grow frustrated with the constant interruptions of this interloper. The frustration grew even more apparent as Kaden moved behind Arthur out from its line of sight and reach.

“You protect the guilty,” the accusation was harsh and grating and punctuated by a wild advancing slash that Arthur tried to block, but instead slid off and caught his shoulder clean, rending flesh and causing him to cry out in pain.

Stumbling back a step but keeping Kaden behind him he caught himself trying to ignore the stinging ache of his shoulder and where it was fast staining his jumper crimson. Arthur stared back at the spirit with a mixture of defiance and pain but also using the time to keep walking backwards. Just keep it talking. Use the time until they got to the point they could make a final run for it. “So what if I do? Bit hypocritical wouldn’t you say? You’re no better than them in the end.” The ghost lunged again but he was more prepared this time; dodging to one side and glancing behind him in the process towards the gate that was about ten metres away. Just a little further and they could run.

Shit, she was attacking Arthur now, too? That-- He wasn’t a murderer, then, was he? Kaden would have to figure that one out later. Honestly, she was clearly fucking confused so he wasn’t sure it was worth conjecturing one way or another. “Come on,” he said as the two of them backed towards the gate. “Any day now.” He didn’t like the idea of giving this bitch of a spirit any more opportunity than they had to. They were close, almost there, when she lashed out one more time. Arthur dodged and Kaden tried to duck, too, but he caught another edge of the blade slicing into his back. He screamed out but he turned on his heel towards the gate anyway, pushing past the pain. He wanted to make sure that was the last of it. He could manage it once he was something closer to safe. At the sight of the gate, Kaden practically slammed into it with his shoulder. It gave way without much protest and he kept sprinting into the middle of the field. Once he was pretty damn sure there was no shot of his reflection betraying him, Kaden collapsed to the ground and winced at the pain across his cheek, along his back, the various cuts from the various shattered glass. It took him a moment to catch his breath, collect himself enough to form words. “Thanks,” he managed to say, looking up at Arthur as he pulled himself up off the ground. “Your shoulder. You need first aid.”

There was no putting it off now and as the gate hinges squealed and grated open, Arthur legged it after Kaden into the middle of the grassy expanse of the field breathing heavy when they both finally came to a stop and took stock of their situation. Finding nothing malicious stalking them Arthur turned and sank down onto a nearby bench grimacing a little as he picked at where the fabric stuck to the slash; roughly several inches long but not too deep, “it’s not too bad.” And in all honesty it wasn’t, certainly wouldn’t kill him. Instead, Arthur looked back to Kaden assessing the damage the spirit had managed to do in their escape down the street. “Are you okay? That spirit seemed… Kinda intense in wanting to get her hands on you.”

“I’m fine,” Kaden said with a grunt as he pushed himself up off the ground and onto the bench next to Arthur. “That spirit seemed fucking confused is what she seemed like.” He winced a little as he felt the cut on his face. It stung, but it might not even scar, more surface level than anything. Which was nice. “Going after me. Going after you. Isn’t she meant to target murderers? Putain de merde. Someone fucking lied, I guess.” He shook his head and looked back to his companion. “You sure you’re alight, though?”

“Confused?” Arthur echoed side-eyeing Kaden for a moment trying to process the logic behind where the other man was coming from considering what they both knew Kaden was. A hunter. Someone that rather literally existed to balance the scales of existence of supernatural beings. “I mean there’s a fair justification in her going after you... Not that I’m saying she should” he added quickly “just… like you do mur- uh- kill people that aren’t human. Which is murder...” Leaning forwards Arthur rubbed his hands together. “I think she also goes after people that just get in the way of her target ‘cause I’ve never killed anyone in my life.” Or more correctly, in this life. “Uh yeah, though I’m not sure how we’re meant to get back home unless we just… Wait and hope she goes to chase someone else or something.”

“Killing monsters isn’t murder.” The words left his mouth like a mantra, without thought. Kaden wasn’t sure he believed it or not. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to think about what those words even meant anymore or if they held any weight in any shape or form. Either way, he had to hold onto them. If he didn’t-- He just had to. “Guess so.” Must have meant Kaden got in the way of someone else. Right? It had to. There was no other option. He couldn’t be a murderer. That wasn’t something he could live with. And so he wouldn’t. “Seems like that’s the. Guess I owe you dinner, huh?”

“Even werewolves or people that just so happen to have less normal aspects of themselves? Not all supernaturals are monsters - Regan’s a good example of that no?” How many times had Arthur had this conversation with hunters or slayers over his lifetimes? Too many to count but it always boiled down to the same gritted determination of belief that monsters of all shape and size were evil and that somehow their deaths was justified lighting it under the simple guise of monstrosity. It was interesting in a way, seeing how some people tried to justify their actions in their own mind to help them live with the actions and decisions they made on a daily basis. “If an evening out with you is always gonna end up with one of us almost dead or mauled by some beast… I think maybe next time we stick with an afternoon drink - lessens the chances a fraction hey?”

“We’re not talking about Regan right now.” Hell, Kaden was barely talking to Regan right now. And the less he thought about whatever was happening in those woods with Deirdre, the better. And he wasn’t going to try and sort out his feelings on the matter or the growing list of exceptions he was making while sitting on a park bench nursing his wounds after running from a fucking spirit that was trying to kill him through a goddman mirror. Not going to happen. It was bad enough he broke down with Morgan in the woods after that shit with Alain and the bugbear. He was not going to have another fucking moment like that on a park bench. No, thanks. “Spirit must have been mistaken,” he said flatly, with a tone that indicated he wasn’t debating this. Kaden sighed, trying to let go of some of the tension he was harboring. “Worth shot. Even if I’m not sure that all the monsters of White Crest take a break while the sun is out.”

[scarlet-it-was]

folklore for evermore: the ruby x christina edition

combining two of my favorite things: taylor swift and fandom. here are the lyrics and headcanons that are giving me life from the summer/autumn sister albums; reylo & msr editions to follow

cardigan

you drew scars around my stars

but now i’m bleeding

but i knew you

stepping on the last train

marked me like a bloodstain

i knew you

tried to change the ending

peter losing wendy

...you put me on and said I was your favorite

I’d be remiss not to include this as the first in the list considering I’m writing a fic and using specific lyrics as the fic name and chapter titles. If you’re interested, you can find it here: You Drew Stars Around My Scars

my tears ricochet

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

You turned into your worst fears

When I think of the...distinctly disappointing end of the series, these last lines come to mind. Even though I don’t really believe that Christina killed Ruby—but if she had, she definitely turned into her worst fears, which was ultimately being as much of a failure as her father.

this is me trying

I've been having a hard time adjusting

I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting

I didn't know if you'd care if I came back

I have a lot of regrets about that

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout

Could've followed my fears all the way down

And maybe I don't quite know what to say

But I'm here in your doorway

Headcanon: Christina has been resurrected in some fashion, perhaps by the Mark of Cain, or a secondary magic trap she set just in case things went to hell. This finds her regretting her choices, contemplating her next steps, if she even wants to take them, but ultimately, ends up finding Ruby.

And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad I have a lot of regrets about that I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here Pouring out my heart to a stranger But I didn't pour the whiskey

Headcanon (cont): Ruby proved time and time again in the show that she knows exactly how to cut right to the center of a person with her words, and I’m sure over the years, she’s said some regrettable things to her sister (not that they were undeserved). Ruby also put in the effort to take the classes and make herself as an attractive candidate as possible for her ‘dream job’ and when she finally is ready—she finds a thin, light-skinned Tamara has been hired. And the rest of the story in the little bar scene—she and William didn’t stay strangers for long.

mad woman

And there's nothing like a mad woman

What a shame she went mad

No one likes a mad woman

You made her like that

And you'll poke that bear 'til her claws come out

And you find something to wrap your ***** around

And there's nothing like a mad woman

Really applicable to both parties who were both oppressed by patriarchy (both) and whiteness (Ruby). I censored one of the words because I’m not comfortable using that word in reference to a POC, but the Swifties know what it is. Anyway, you end up with two women who are willing to ‘go the distance’ so to speak to get what they want and not be interrupted because of the bodies and skin they were born in.

peace

But I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade, ocean wave blues come

All these people think love's for show

But I would die for you in secret

The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Headcanon: In spite of her money and magic, there’s a certain amount of peace that she’ll never be able to give Ruby in part because she can’t (and doesn’t want, nor does Ruby want) for her to take away her blackness. The flip side is that Christina’s ambition will likely always put them in harm’s way to an extent. But at the end of the day, in spite of Leti’s accusations that Ruby is being used, Christina is the only one who is up front with her 100% of the time regardless of how it comes out. She always comes through for Ruby.

Hoax

My best laid plan

Your sleight of hand

My barren land

I am ash from your fire

Stood on the cliffside screaming, "Give me a reason"

Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in

Headcanon: a sadder and more cynical take on if Ruby had betrayed Christina in the finale (which I still don’t think she would have, but it wasn’t my show and I didn’t write that ending) which did in fact wreck her best laid plans with Ruby’s bait and switch of seducing Christina in her natural body instead of William’s—leaving Christina dead at the end of the series.

willow

Life was a willow, and it bent right to your wind

They count me out time and time again

Life was a willow, and it bent right to your wind

But I come back stronger than a '90s trend

Including this lyrics specifically because it reminds me of one of my favorite AU fics, Leave It To The Davenports – if you haven’t checked out this WIP, it is a ride you don’t want to miss.

gold rush

Gleaming, twinkling

Eyes like sinking ships on waters

So inviting, I almost jump in

I don't like a gold rush, gold rush

I don't like anticipatin' my face in a red flush

Walk past, quick brush

I don't like slow motion, double vision in rose blush

I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush

Everybody wants you

But I don't like a gold rush

What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?

With your hair falling into place like dominoes

I see me padding across your wooden floors

With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door

At dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit

Headcanon: The last line specifically reminds me of Ruby snarking at Christina about being late and in return being called demanding. But also, overall, it captures the feeling of Ruby initially being distrustful of William’s affections towards her specifically when there are any number of women he could be with.

no body no crime

Headcanon: The whole damn song is my murder wives anthem.

happiness

Past the blood and bruise Past the curses and cries Beyond the terror in the nightfall Haunted by the look in my eyes That would've loved you for a lifetime Leave it all behind And there is happiness

I can't make it go away by making you a villain

I guess it's the price I paid And I pulled your body into mine Every goddamn night

There'll be happiness after you

But there was happiness because of you Both of these things can be true There is happiness

In our history, across our great divide

There is a glorious sunrise

Dappled with the flickers of light

Headcanon: Misleading song title in a way. This is what I’m dealing with in chapter 3 of my fic in the wake of Christina’s death and the process of Ruby moving on and finding happiness on her own. The writers Lovecraft Country tried really hard to make Christina a hateable villain, and I suppose through the lens of straight up hating white people, they may have done that for some viewers. They failed to give her any real Big Bad qualities though outside of manipulation and apathy—which while those aren’t shining character traits for her, it doesn’t make her the best (worst?) option for being the overarching antagonist. We had villains literally chopping people up and sewing them together, but Christina was the bad guy? Nah, I think not

long story short

Fatefully

I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me

Misery

Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

And you passed right by

I was in the alley, surrounded on all sides

The knife cuts both ways

If the shoe fits, walk in it 'til your high heels break And I fell from the pedestal

Right down the rabbit hole

Long story short, it was a bad time

Pushed from the precipice

No more keepin' score

Now I just keep you warm 

No more tug of war

Now I just know there's more 

And my waves meet your shore

Ever and evermore When I dropped my sword

I threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door

And we live in peace

But if someone comes at us, this time, I'm ready Long story short, I survived

Headcanon: based on the idea that Christina survives, but does in fact have her magic stripped from her and is reflecting on the time period and going forward how she will protect her and Ruby’s relationship going forward by critics (like Leti) who would make Ruby choose between them.

Evermore

Hey December

Guess I'm feeling unmoored

Can't remember

What I used to fight for

I rewind thе tape but all it does is pause

On thе very moment, all was lost

Sending signals

To be double-crossed

And I was catching my breath

Barefoot in the wildest winter

Catching my death

And I couldn't be sure

I had a feeling so peculiar

That this pain would be for

Evermore

And when I was shipwrecked (Can't think of all the cost)

I thought of you (All the things that will be lost now)

In the cracks of light (Can we just get a pause?)

I dreamed of you (To be certain we'll be tall again, if you think of all the costs)

It was real enough (Whether weather be the frost)

To get me through (Or the violence of the dog days) (Or the violence of the dog days)

(Out on waves, being tossed)

(I'm on waves, out being tossed)

I swear (Is there a line that we can just go cross?)

You were there

And I was catching my breath

Floors of a cabin creaking under my step

And I couldn't be sure

I had a feeling so peculiar

This pain wouldn't be for

Evermore

Headcanon: Specific to You Drew Stars Around My Scars and Ruby’s grief in the early chapters and how she feels that the grief is impossible to move past when she thinks back about the months that the two of them spent getting to know each other as friends and lovers. She uses magic to connect with Christina even when she’s not there.

[box-bunny-grey]

Hey remember when I talked about a video game and didn’t edit what I wrote? Guess what I’m doing again

So decided to see if I can’t make a habit of talking about games I finish here and there.

So here’s me talking about 13 Sentinels.

Gonna do my best to be non-spoiler too.

So 13 Sentinels is the latest game from Vanillaware, a company I’ve enjoyed a lot of games from (Muramasa: Rebirth, Odin Sphere, Dragon’s Crown) and is pretty heavy divergence from the ones I’ve played. I’m straight up just going to ramble on here in an order of events that makes sense to me. Also this is like just right after finishing the game so I might be general about some things/completely wrong.

Once you get past the prologue, you’ll have access to two gameplay modes, which you can choose at your leisure, provided you’ve met the requirements to unlock them (explained later in the story section).

Gameplay

13 Sentinels is, at its core, a tower defense game. You have a terminal you have to defend and, depending on the map, in addition to a city, whereyou either have the option of holding out for two minutes or taking out your enemies, the kaiju. The exception is generally boss levels, whose only goal is do defeat the boss enemy.

Your tools in defending your Terminal are the afformentioned 13 Sentinels, where you pause the game to make commands but otherwise the rest of the game functions in real time.  Sentinels are divided into 4 generations and their pilots.

Generation 1 sentinels are your melee fighters. They get up close to the enemy and clobber them for big damage, and these are usually what you’ll be bringing in to deal with bigger, more armored kaiju. Their toolkit can lead to some interesting combinations. For instance, they have access to a buff that can massively increase their attack and movement speed but also massively increase damage taken, or massively increase defense but take a hit to their movement speed. They also have the ability to jump around the arena to smash smaller enemies while moving up to their targets. Finally, they have access to anti-air flares and EMPs to ground aerial units (which they generally have no was to attack unless they do so). A quirk of their EMPs is that they also function as a taunt, if a Gen 1 uses their EMP the kaiju will focus target them.

Generation 3 (we’ll get 2 for a reason later) are the opposite of Gen 1. Generation 3 are your long range units, able to use EMPs in a wide range with no taunt attached, along with rail cannons and a variety of missiles. Initially the Gen 3s might seem like the most powerful units, as in early game their ability to clear massive swaths of early kaiju seems overpowered. But as the game goes on you’ll find that while they’re excellent support fighters and crowd clearing units, some high level enemies will either have so much health or anti-missile tactics that you’ll realize the strength of your other generations for dealing with these situations. But as said, these units are great for clearing out massive swaths, and while not as powerful as the other generations in dealing with certain massive enemies can hold their own regardless.

Generation 4 are most support units. While able to stand on their to some extent, their primary focus will usually be applying shields and spawning interceptor drones, and dropping mines to impede kaiju advance. In addition, some can even draw enemies into a gravity pool to set up other sentinels to take them out in one fell swoop. Though depending on how you build you can also use them for some melee abilities, especially with one pilot’s passives, both mech and otherwise. Gen 4 are also the only flying sentinel, so if they have to be somewhere they can get faster and more directly than other sentinels.

I saved Gen 2 for last because they are all rounders, and thus have access to melee, ranged, and support abilities. Though they do not excel as any of the others do, and thus their abilities may incur higher cost, sacrifice range, or have a longer cooldown. Gen 2 however is not simply a lesser version, and that difference comes in their support. All Gen 2 support comes in the form of various stationary summons. Including a shield generator, healing generator, sentry turrets, and perhaps most valuable guardians. Guardians are the only way other than Gen 1 EMP to force kaiju to target something, but instead of one of your sentinels it is instead a dummy, thus allowing your melee units to sneak in a back attack or simply take the heat away from other units.

You have access to 3 of each generation, with the exception of generation 4 which was 4 sentinels. Each sentinel as said has a different pilot, and this allows you to build their arsenal differently to suit their strengths. For instance, as above I stated a Generation 4 can be melee built. This is due to some of the pilots skills (for instance, one where their stats get higher as more kaiju surround them) and passives for their mech which means low damage attacks of smaller kaiju can’t hurt them, and they can even counter those moves against them. Combine that with an armor piercing melee attack and point blank aoe missile attack and this support unit might wind up patrolling around the battlefield as much as your Generation 1s.

Other abilities of note could be that certain pilots get a stat increase if they’re far away from allies, or nearby other ones of note, or using the defensive action leading to a buff for the active team. While it all seems overwhelming at first the game eases you into different generations and kaiju types, that by the time you have access to the game proper post-prologue you’ll at least have an idea of what each unit can do, and even if you don’t chatter in between battles will suggest you give some thought to other systems.

In addition, how the game does ranking is interesting. Rather than having ranking and score intertwined, the ranking system is determined by how much damage sentinels, the city, and the terminal took. In addition, there are separate bonus objectives which are usually using certain characters or generations of sentinel, and/or either clearing the map in a set amount of time or without something taking a particular amount of damage (sentinels, city, or terminal). Getting maximum rank (S) and completing bonus objectives unlocks extra lore in the archives, while score is simply bragging rights to comboing together a lot of attacks.

Another feature exists in which once you get past the tutorials, pilots can only fight a certain number of times on the active party before needing to take a break. Thankfully the game gives the ability to recover all exhaustion of pilots if a bonus objective calls for it, and the only advantage to paying attention to this feature is a score bonus multiplier.

In short, the game does a great job of separating the meta version of the game (racking up maximum score) from fun challenge intended to be done for lore.

Story

Like I said trying to avoid spoilers so this might be short.

While the battles are their own part of the story, the general story portion of 13 Sentinels is its own, visual novel style section. After the prologue you’ll have unlocked about eight of the thirteen stories, and gotten an idea of each of these character’s goals. As you move on you’ll unlock the remaining 13, and play an interesting balancing act.

See, the stories have a point where you’ll be cut off from it, and either will have to do other stories or the Sentinel gameplay sections (Sentinel gameplay areas also function like this). It helps keep a good balance in the non-linear narrative, so reveals tend to come naturally as getting farther in certain stories will elaborate on revelations of the story that unlocks them.

It’s a fun ride and the stories have neat variety both in protagonists and structure. Unfortunately in the interest of keeping away from spoilers is why this section isn’t very big. I’d say if you even have a passing interest in sci-fi or mecha I think you’ll enjoy it.

Oh yeah also don’t worry about missing things in the story. The game does a good job of making sure you get everything, so if you see stories you think you missed it’s either something you’ll be able to do later OR an event that can be summed up as “well we accomplished nothing that sucks.”

Nitpicks

Really, I only have two issues with the game, and I can honestly say both are nitpicks.

The only gameplay problem I have is that the game doesn’t really tell you the difference between maxed out systems (your moves) and maxed out sentinel upgrades (your stats). The best way I can put it is this: systems level up to level 8 maximum. Sentinel upgrades level up to 999.  So would have liked an indicator to that.

The other is a story problem and the best way I can think to put it is this: early on these are more that one character has discovered a truth of the world and the reason you’re cut off is you need to understand what’s happening with the other character’s story, or to have a good momentum of reveals. But as the story goes on, probably at about the 75% mark, stories start interrupting each other and the ping ponging is less teasing out hints and more because the character you were just playing as isn’t technically the protagonist of that plot point. I say this because some sections were light on this overlap as what was going on in the main story of one character was background for another, so they sometimes get a little messy as they overlap properly. It doesn’t hurt the game’s story tremendously and  only happens a few times, but it did take me out of it when it did happen.

Really that’s it for negatives.

Is good game would recommend.

[danetobelieve]

Toss A Coin To Your Friendapist || Nell and Winston

Winston and Nell had more than enough time hanging out to fill a life time of memories. Yet despite that, when they got to spend quality time together it was a true blessing. Apparently this was something that magicians could do, Morgan’s PDFs had explained a technique of literally throwing energy to one another and as they stood in the backyard of Nell’s apartment, Winston pulled back and threw a glowing sphere of energy spiralling through the air and watched it drop towards their friend. “I can’t believe that we’re here and that we are doing this and that I am actually casting magic with you and you’re here doing it right back to me and it is all really amazing and wow.” 

Truly, Nell had been reveling in the fact that not only one, but both of her best friends had been showing magical abilities in the past month. She loved that she could share this literal magical bond with Winston nowadays, that she didn’t have to hide it from them anymore. And this game reminded her of something she and her sisters had played when they were younger, and learning to harness their powers. Mindlessly, she caught the ball in hand, letting it’s momentum carry it around her back before shooting it back towards Winston. “You’re making killer progress like- soon you’re gonna be busting down doors and creating little hurricanes or like- whatever the hell you magically want to do!”

Winston concentrated hard for a moment, watching the path of the ball of energy as it arched across the back garden and through the air towards them. Focusing on it’s momentum, they reshaped it’s path and managed to mimic the trick that Nell had just demonstrated. Surprised at their initial success however they dropped the ball and had to quickly whip it up before it singed the grass too much. “It’s going okay I guess,” Winston found the theory and lore surrounding the magic was much easier to get to grips with then the actual practical applications of it. That was where they had experienced the majority of their problems. “I’m not sure how good my progress actually is, it is difficult to know what to gauge it against.”

Nell watched the ball carefully as it traveled, knowing that Winston had certainly come a long way, but also knowing that magic could be...fickle. The last thing they needed was to start a little grass fire. Or even worse…a Winston fire. Nevertheless, a wide grin spilt her lips as she saw Winston get the trick fairly easily. The fumble afterwards was easily forgiven as Winston quickly recovered. “Well a month ago you couldn’t even do magically willfully so- it’s a big step.” But just as the ball was tossed her way once more, a flash caught the corner of her eye in a separate part of the yard, somewhere behind Winston.The game was forgotten, and the ball quickly catapulted into the ground, leaving a scorched trail behind it. “Shit,” Nell cursed before blipping the magic ball out of existence, leaving her and Winston in the darkness of the recently set sun. “Sorry I- thought I saw something.”

“I know, I know, everyone tells me that I should be happy with my progress but the truth is that I’m not.” Honestly, they hadn’t really been expecting any of this to be anything but a fun game and sometimes things went wrong. Winston looked around them and was not surprised to find that they were in the same place, with the same things going on. Maybe Nell was just having a tough day. “Something?” They had began to learn to question everything, after all if there was something that could potentially go wrong then in White Crest it really would go wrong. “Do you have something a bit clearer and much … much less vague then something?” Winston didn’t want to risk … something. 

Nell nodded, knowing her friend well enough to not be surprised by their frustration. Winston had always been like that. But sometimes it was difficult to relate to it. After all, she’d been raised in magic. The fundamentals that Winston was learning now were ones she barely remembered learning at all. Her and her sisters had been so young when they started, it was just as much a part of them as her arm or her leg might be. “You’ll get there. I know you will.” The promise of ‘something’ had her distracted, though, no longer able to focus on what they’d been talking about. “Yeah….something…” Just then- another something cracked in the night behind Winston, startling Nell in a way that had her lashing out blindly with magic in their direction, though it skimmed around them and went for whatever might be lurking behind them, summoning it out of the darkness towards them.

One moment Nell was encouraging them that they would be able to do this, it would just take time. A moment later and Winston was seeing a flash of what was definitely offensive magic. They trusted Nell implicitly. It didn’t occur to them that this was perhaps a mistake, so they decided that maybe this was time to practice. One of the texts that they had located had a few techniques about redirecting and repurposing offensive magic and so as the flash of energy lanced through the air towards them, Winston focussed. “Woah,” they muttered to themselves as they did their best to center themselves, they did their best to locate their serenity and similarly to how Nell had with the ball, they focussed on wrapping the energy around them and sending it spiralling back towards Nell before adding a little something of their own to it. 

For a moment, Nell didn’t entirely register Winston’s magic coming towards her, and her reaction took a moment longer than it usually would as she stepped out of the way of the magic. After all, she’d been too busy staring at the spot behind Winston. “What?!” she exclaimed in surprise after her dodge. “No! I wasn’t going for you! I thought it was the...thing! Behind you!” As if her words had summoned it, the ghost of Evan stepped from the edge of the forest, and Nell’s face went white as a sheet. At least by now, she knew Winston wouldn’t be able to see them. No one had been able to see him so far. Not even Blanche, strangely enough. “I- nevermind. I was wrong. Nothing’s there,” she said quickly with a tinge of nerves.

Frowning gently, Winston looked left and right at the scene in front of them. They were honestly confused. What was Nell talking about and why were they so taken aback by everything that was happening. “Oh, shit, sorry…” they fell silent and frowned gently, “I didn’t mean to hurt you or anything are you … are you sure that you’re okay?” they didn’t just mean because they had cast an offensive magical spell at their friend. There was clearly something going on with Penelope and as Winston felt their body grow tired from the magic use they stepped forward. “Nell, what’s going on?” 

Nell was never a person to really show nerves or fear, and the fact that she seemed even relatively shaken at the moment was drastically out of the norm. “It’s fine. It wasn’t clear.” Gone was the lighter Nell that generally inhabited her body, leaving a focused and somewhat shaken self in its wake. “And yeah- I’m good,” she said forcefully, as if trying to convince herself of it as well. She’d chosen to keep Evan’s ghost around by not getting rid of her coin, she had to deal with this. “It’s- nothing. I’m just….always ready to launch magic into dark forest, is all.“ She knew she wouldn’t be able to tell Winston about Evan’s ghost, not when she was the reason he was a ghost in the first place, and Winston had judged her so harshly for talking about murder before. Trying to get back to the sense of regularity, she offered, “Did you wanna keep playing catch?”

Winston and Nell had been best friends since before Winston could remember. They were roughly the same age and they’d been at school together. They were close and Winston knew when she was lying. There was something going on and she was not being honest. “Nell, it’s me,” Winston replied with a shake of their head, “I know that you’re not fine or good or however you want to put it. Just tell me the truth. Please.” They bit their lip, hoping that Nell would be honest with them. “Not till you tell me what’s going on…”

Nell couldn’t hide the little flash of guilt that crossed over her features as she looked at Winston, not wanting to lie to them. She’d spent so many years not telling them the truth about the supernatural and magic, and starting up the cycle anew wasn’t something she was interested in. But wasn’t this different? She shifted uncertainty on her feet for a few moments, gaze flicking towards Evan where he stood on the edge of the forest before simply saying, “It’s just a ghost. It doesn’t matter. I thought it was something else.” She didn’t have to tell the whole truth, right?

Raising an eyebrow immediately, Winston didn’t have to be Nell’s best friend to know that some shit was going on. She was still, well maybe not lying but not telling them the whole truth. “You’re seeing ghosts?” they asked with a frown wondering what the hell was actually going on because Nell was a spellcaster and not a medium, so unless she knew something that they didn’t there was something most definitely not right about this. “You shouldn’t be able to see ghosts unless your name is Blanche Harlow or some other medium or exorcist that I didn’t know that you were, what’s going on?”

“Not ghosts plural,” Nell mumbled, still reluctant to be having this conversation. “Just the one.” A wan smile came with her words, as if having less ghosts somehow made it better. “It’s the coin,” she sighed. The coin she was meant to be rid of by flinging it in the ocean along with everyone else. But instead, she’d hung onto her’s. “So that’s what’s going on- that’s all.” She knew it was pretty much futile to pray that Winston might stop asking questions, as curiosity tended to be just as big a part of their nature as it was her’s, but she could hope, right?

“Just the one?” Winston replied with a frown, “okay well that doesn’t sound like something Blanche related.” Winston frowned as she showed them the coin. “Did Blanche forget to tell you how to get rid of yours too?” Winston really hoped that they weren’t about to find out that Nell had kept this deliberately. She always had these noble ideas of self sacrifice but this seemed dumb even for her. “Who’s the ghost of?” Winston asked curiously, worried about their friend. “Is it someone I knew?”

“It’s not Blanche related. She knows about the ghost because I asked her about it when he first showed up, and I didn’t know it was because of the coin. But- I don’t know- she probably thinks I got rid of him already.” Then Nell was shaking her head, still wishing this conversation hadn’t been sparked in the first place as a rock seemed to begin forming in the pit of her stomach. “No, she told me! Did she- forget to tell you?” Nell asked, a little frown on her lips. “It’s- does it matter?” Dread began to join the lump in her throat, an almost choking feeling beginning to manifest as she looked nervously at Evan’s ghost, as if to reassure herself that Winston couldn’t see him. “No, you don’t know him. I met him when I was...travelling.” With a flicker of surprise, she remembered she still hadn’t told Winston exactly what she’d actually been doing while travelling. 

“Cool, I’ll keep it on the downlow until told otherwise,” Winston replied with a shrug and laughed, “Only for like a few days and she apologised and Ricky had been locking me in my room at that point anyway because I was ending up in some really compromising positions and it was starting to become a safety risk. But I threw it in the ocean already, so the sleep walking has stopped.” They paused and looked at her, she seemed like she was in a lot of pain about this and Winston shook their head in response before dropping their hands. “No, it doesn’t matter, but you know, you’re my bud and I have your back, so whatever you need, we can talk or we can not talk about it, but, I don’t know, you seem like you’re holding a lot of emotion related to this.” 

Nell didn’t want to confirm nor deny Winston’s offer of hiding the ghost, not wanting to keep things from Blanche either, but the less questions she had about the thing, the better. Let Winston decide what they did or didn’t wish to do when it came to telling. “Well- that’s better than nothing, I guess. I’m glad you got rid of your’s, though. Especially with Miriam around.” Her shoulders relaxed a bit as Winston spoke, unsure how to handle the situation at hand, but appreciating their offer of emotional support. “I just- I don’t know how you’d react or- how it might change your view of me. And- well- things have been changing so much recently with us- with all the magic and stuff-” What if they didn’t like the parts of her she'd been hiding?

Winston wasn’t going to lie to any of their friends unless it concerned their safety, they’d made that mistake already and they didn’t want to make it again. But Nell was entitled to some degree of privacy with her personal life, irrespective of Winston’s opinion on the matter. Winston swallowed at the thought of the vampire that hunted spellcasters. “Yeah, plus waking up in strange places was really not great.” They hadn’t loved some of the places they’d found themselves in. “I obviously -” Winston bit their tongue, “I’m new to this …” they paused trying to think of the best words for this particular situation, “I want to learn more and I’m starting to realise that my world view doesn’t work anymore … not in this world. The more I consider Miriam, the more I struggle. Despite the fact that she’s a ruthless murderer apparently, she is also charming and generous. We have no way of putting her through any form of a justice system effectively, she’d just kill everyone and disappear. But killing her seems wrong.” Winston frowned, realising their tangent. “My point is, I’ve got so much to learn and I’m not going to judge you for choices you’ve made in this batshit crazy world, whatever you did or whatever you think is so bad, I’m still just me. You’re still just you.” 

“The supernatural it...adds some complications.” It was hard for her to speak to when it had always been a part of her existence, but she did her best to understand Winston’s point of view. Nell waited patiently as they spoke, trying her best to ignore the form of Evan as they did. She wanted to focus only on the person in front of her, the one that was tangible, the one that had been a staple in her life since before she could remember. Winston was as much a pillar of Nell’s life as Bea and Luce might be, having been there since the beginning. And she’d been excited to share this supernatural world with Winston, so that they might both co-exist in it together, no more magical secrets between them. But perhaps what she hadn’t realized was that you couldn’t select what secrets came through or not, you couldn’t pick and choose. If she truly wanted to welcome Winston into the world, she had to give all of it to them. “Don’t tell anyone...if I tell you. Please. I don’t- I don’t like thinking about it in general and- I don’t want people asking about it.” And she didn’t want people to think she was some sort of monster because of it. “It was a few years ago. His name is Evan. The one that I’m seeing. I’m- well I’m the one that-” she choked over the words for the moment, her fear of abandonment trying to drag her back down and hide the truth. “I killed him.”

Honestly, of all of the things that Winston had been expecting to hear from Nell, this was not the worst thing that it could’ve been. Still not great, but after everything that had happened with the vampire Winston wasn’t about to judge someone else for any life taking mistakes that they may have made. “Nell, you know that I wouldn’t ever tell people something that you told me, I’ve never told anyone about the time that you accidentally broke that vase and we blamed it on the pets,” Winston replied with a sigh, “this is obviously worse then that but you know that it is the same principle. This lip is zipped.” Winston mimed the movement of turning a key at the corner of their lip and throwing it away before swallowing and nodding. “Okay, that, won’t lie is not the great start that we would’ve liked, why did you … you know….”

The smallest hint of a smile quirked the edge of Nell’s lips, glad that Winston seemed to at least be trying to lighten the mood. “Well...it was the pets. We were perfectly innocent.” They’d neve been innocent a day in their life. At least- not if it was something Nell had pulled Winston into. “But thanks, Winston.” She knew asking them to keep this a secret could potentially be...a lot, though. Especially considering his work with the WCPD. The small grin he’d managed to tug from her was quickly gone as she once again became immersed in the feelings that came with thinking of the past. Winston couldn’t even say the words killed when it came to her. Nell’s mind went a little haywire as she tried to keep it from spiraling, worrying if he was already beginning to hate her. “So- you know when I was travelling? Part of what I was doing was going around helping people deal with supernatural stuff. And- well- I came to this town, and someone was using him as a cover. Blaming him for all the shitty stuff they were doing. It was some Hunter that had gotten bored and decided to just- start shit. Like- murdery shit.” Her hands fiddled with one another, nerves at the forefront of her demeanor as she explained. “The guy I’m seeing as a ghost- Evan- he’s the one they were blaming, and a new vampire. He didn’t- he didn’t really know what he was yet, though. So I told him. He didn’t like it. Didn’t want to be it.” This was where it became harder for Nell to tell the story, her words halting more often. “I told him about how he needed to feed to keep himself safe, so he wouldn't jump anyone that so much as bled. But he- he decided- if he was going to be this thing that stole blood from people- that could kill- he didn’t- that wasn’t something he wanted to be. So he starved himself. Purposefully. Made sure I was there when he snapped- when he was about to attack an innocent because of how hungry he was. I had to help them! And in the process…” Her hands spread wide, bottom lip jutting out as she was unwilling to say the words aloud. “He was my friend.” 

Winston knew better then to believe Nell’s proclaimed innocence. “You know that i’ll always be here for you no matter what....” It was true. Nell could’ve killed someone and Winston would be by her side. Listening carefully to her explanation, Winston bobbed their head in agreement. “That sounds gross,” Winston replied truthfully, though a good part of them wasn’t even remotely shocked by it. They didn’t speak again. The tear balancing in her eyes. The bottom lip. It was all tell tale. Winston didn’t need to say anything, they simply stepped forward for the embrace. Just in the same way that they had done a thousand times before and would do a thousand times again. Just in the same way that Nell had done for them anytime they had scraped a knee, anytime anyone had fucked with them in high school. They would hug it out and things would be okay. Taking a step back, they tucked her hair behind her ear and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I’m so sorry Nell,” Winston looked at her and knew that they would never be able understand her pain, “I can’t imagine the pain and sacrifice that must have taken.” It was cruel of Evan to do that. Very cruel. 

In a life that had been perhaps too full of friends coming and going, Winston was one of the few constants. It was the reason she’d do quite literally anything for them, why they had such a strong hold on her. “Thanks…” was all Nell could begin to say, never knowing just how she could tell Winston that they were one of the most important people in her life in a way that would actually convey the depth of just how strongly she felt bonded to them. “You know you’ve got me, too.” For a long moment, she simply relaxed into their hug, letting the world go quiet as she felt safe in their arms, and then as they pressed the kiss to her head. But the feeling of serenity couldn’t last, not when she could still see Evan lurking over Winston’s shoulder. “It was shitty,” she managed to get out, voice strained with the effort of trying to keep it together. “But- I should have found another way. Or stopped it. Or seen it coming. Either way-” It was why she had kept the ghost around. To remind herself to do better for her friends, the ones she loved. 

Quietly, Winston squeezed her shoulder affectionately and nodded as best they could in the midst of an embrace. “Anytime, always here for you.” They didn’t have to say that. They knew that Nell knew it. But this was still … important to them. It was important that Nell understood just how much she meant to Winston. She was their oldest friend after all. “I mean, that’s one of the reasons I say anytime, because I have never fucked up and so when I eventually do it it is going to have to be way more spectacular then your fuck ups, and you’ll have no choice because you owe me.” They winked and gave her a bright smile. Winston looked down at her and tried to consider the impossible situation that she had found herself in. “You were put into a situation that I cannot even begin to understand and yet your reaction was to try and help in whatever way you could, I know that what you did doesn’t feel right and I could never imagine whether or not you feel a specific way, but you have to forgive yourself eventually. Maybe part of that is letting the coin go.”

Nell was beginning to return to her usual state, trying to brush away the unwelcome memories and thoughts as Winston joked and smiled. She didn’t want to dwell on this, didn’t like the way it felt when she did. “Yeah, you’d never done anything wrong it your entire life. Such a perfect little person,” she teased, reaching out to pinch his cheek between her fingers. The smile fell as the got back to the more morose subject of Evan, and Nell simply shook her head, not ready to agree with him on that front at the moment, but tired of baring her emotions when they’d come here to play something fun. “Maybe,” was all she offered, knowing full well that she had currently had no plans to throw the coin back to the ocean. “Let’s see how long you can actually keep our little orb going though.” And with that, she’d brought the magic ball back to life from her fingertips, ready to carry on.

[saucylittlesmile]

Scott's comment that people didn't know Tessa if they didn't think she could do Carmen always intrigued me! What do you think he meant and what are the best examples of T being edgy and Carmen like in your recollection? And on the other hand, what character has Scott played on ice do you think ppl might have thought he couldn't do well but he actually could?

Best guess?  

Off ice, Tessa is generally a polite, restrained, pleasant person in the public sphere.  Especially back then, she was also the quieter partner, and compared to Scott, relatively subdued.  She was going to give the ‘right’ answers, the articulated answers, the public-relations-trained answers.  And so, there was nothing to contradict her on-ice reputation in the media - she wasn’t a drama-queen skater, throwing temper tantrums or tossing blame around at other people when they didn’t win.  

On ice, you have to remember that at the time Carmen debuted, Tessa’s best known role was that of Mahler.  The white-clad, innocent, pure love version of Tessa.  Sure, there had been things like Farrucas, but nothing quite left the impact that Mahler did.  The following season, they deliberately went with an FD to contrast that image, but the Latin FD, as awesome as it was, was seen only 1.5 times, and not up to its best potential.  And then they did Funny Face, a light-hearted character-driven piece with a 1950′s charm.  

Farrucas was sexy, but generically, and based more on a fiery dance interpretation.  Latin was sexy, but playful and again, dance based.  (And the other SDs since Vancouver had been the Golden Waltz and the Polka, so there was nothing there to show another side, either.)

When they debuted Carmen, it was the first time that Tessa was cast in the role of a strong willed, sexually-secure, manipulative character.  It wasn’t just doing sexy moves because the dance called for it; it was doing sexy moves because Carmen was seducing Don Juan for her own gains, playing a games with him and his heart.  It was a complete departure from the expectations people had of Tessa’s characterization and the initial articles on the new skating season reflected that.  (x)  (x)  (x)

Now, we know Tessa kicked ass playing Carmen, but perception means a lot in ice dance, so it was always good for people to know that this wouldn’t be a… shallow version of Carmen, in which we all ‘see’ the character because it doesn’t quite fit the person skating it.  (Like how so many of us complain when a young teenager skates to music that they just don’t have the maturity for; you know they’re skating to it but without the emotional range that it requires to have that aura of authenticity.)  

And I’m sure Tessa was good with people perhaps broadening their personal views about her, too, LOL.  After all, at the time she was… 23?  She wasn’t a child, she wasn’t innocent, and she was capable of performing moves in front of a world-wide audience that would include her parents and Scott’s parents that simulated oral sex, LOL.  Talk about commitment to a role and setting any possible embarrassment aside.  (Believe it or not folks, “good girls” have sex too.  ;) )  

So I don’t think it was about Tessa being edgy - though perhaps that is a side to her we don’t really see, because we see public Tessa, not personal Tessa - but more about allowing her to have a full personality, a well-rounded personality, rather than just the little box she’d been put into by the media and fans over the years.  

***

Scott – I think my biggest surprise from him was his full-on embodiment of Astaire in Funny Face.  It wasn’t so much that he couldn’t do it, as it was obviously Tessa’s choice for an FD that in theory, he might not have embraced.  Instead, he was wholly committed, and that was a delight.  

[pendragonfics]

Down Under

Paring: Mycroft Holmes/Reader

Tags: female reader, long-distance relationships, romance, cutesy, tooth-rotting fluff, Australian politics, Australian slang, swearing,  

Summary: Reader, a London-native, is working away from home for the first time, in a whole new country. It's all very new, especially since today, there's a surprise in her room, according to her roommate.

Word Count: 2,614

Current Date: 2018-09-26

Sydney is nothing like London. Well, there’s still cabs, but they’re white, not black. There’re crosswalks linking pedestrians from one sidewalk to the other. But here the drivers more often than not don’t slow for those on them. There’re people here, but there isn’t Myc. You thought the move from home to the land Down Under would be easy - it was another continent. Australians spoke English. Most of the nuances were understood between the cultural differences. 

But for once, you were on your own.

No Mum and her odd assortment of cats crammed into her country house on the outskirts of the city limits. No Sherlock and his antics every other afternoon. It was only you and your thoughts, and FaceTime every afternoon at five o’clock, and lots of paperwork. 

The move to Sydney was to advance your career. A bold move, for a girl who came from nothing. A girl who had nothing before graduating with scholarships and better marks than ever seen before. That’s where you met him; the last year of studies at university, at a small party. You were in a dress salvaged from a friend of a friend, a nice afternoon tea dress from three seasons ago, he in a two-piece suit, holding the jacket over his arm, a plastic cup of warm beer in his hand. 

Your mutual friend introduced you to one another. He was bored of everything already, and you, well, tried your best to not make a fool of yourself around the other people who smelt of old money and perfume from Côte d'Azur. You cracked a joke, and his façade broke, or, was it the beer that broke it? It didn’t matter. By graduation, you were inseparable, and while he climbed the ladder of government, you worked on your connections in the ecopolitical sphere.

Working in the British embassy was nice. But it wasn’t exactly what you wanted. It was…like a resume builder. Except, instead of working at Burger King for three years to get customer service as a tag on it, it was a whole new country. But it was fine. Good. Great, even. You wore a nice uniform, worked through people’s problems, and found solutions for your own. When you ran out of milk in your shared flat, you spent half an hour wandering on foot around Ultimo looking for a Tesco, but it wasn’t until you heard someone’s unmissable Aussie accent when it clicked that you needed a Coles. Or a 7-11 corner store. It felt strange to hear Australian voices on the radio stations in the break room, and the bus ride from the flat to work. The money was weird, too. Everything was cheaper than British pounds, but it would be hard to scrape enough of it by to buy necessities.

Five o’clock in the evening never came fast enough, especially today. You checked out of work, and on the walk to the train station – sometimes catching the train from the Quay was nicer than the buses that were engraved with everyone’s five-minute romance initials – you’d boot up your phone and hit call on Myc’s profile, and thread your earbuds into your ears in muted excitement. Just like now. 

But when he’d usually pick up after three dials, it rang out. You frown, but you think nothing of it. 

The robot recording of a woman reading the train times overhead haled the next train as if from thin air, and boarding, you sat amidst the rest of the sweaty bodies. Springtime here was nothing like home, and your stay in Sydney was for six months on probation, and up to two years if you worked well. But that meant two summertime’s, and if spring was anything to go by, you dreaded the oncoming heat. The one summer you spent with Mycroft in Barcelona – he was at a conference with the local Catalonian and Spanish officials – oh, that made you feel so warm, your skin felt heated as if from the bones out, your hair and clothes too heavy and hot. 

When the doors opened at Central station, the people around you left the carriage like blood from an open wound. You followed suit, pocketing your phone. It was a little walk from the station, but, you took this time to clear your head. A whole day of talking to people, sorting problems out often left you with a head that felt like a fruit blender. 

When you pass by the McDonalds, you take five minutes to order a coffee.  When you walk by the university, you crane your neck up to see the ugly tower that looms over the city skyline. When your phone finishes its shuffled playlist, you realise you’d been using your roaming data the whole time and turn the phone to airplane mode in panic. Even though your apartment had a shoddy version of the National Broadband Network (“Not to be confused with the TV channel”, your roommate Blue would laugh, or, when she was in a bad mood, it was known as “the fuckin’ NBN”), mobile data was like a prized possession. You practically lived off public Wi-Fi. 

Someone on the street corner of Broadway and Mountain is hustling flyers at unsuspecting pedestrians, shouting about the end of the world. You chuckle to yourself, evading the paper held to you that reads The End Is Near!; at least there were still fundamentalists over the globe. By the time you make it into your street, your feet are aching more than ever, and your shoulder weighed down by your handbag and all its contents. 

Blue is in the main room when you unlock the front door; the kettle is boiling along to the sound of her meditation CD that’s playing from the machine beside the tiny TV. She’s in her yoga pants and a giant t-shirt that says RIDE FOR PRIDE with a motorcycle underneath surrounded by rainbow fire. Blue looks up from her Downward Dog when you place your keys in the bowl, a grin on her freckled face. 

“You look too happy to be a pretzel.” You comment, kicking off your heels into the shoe rack by the door. You blink, noticing a pair of shoes that you hadn’t seen in the rack before; brown brogue-laced leather. “Blue…”

“There’s a surprise in your room, _________.” She winked, and, along with the sultry sounds of the meditation track, went up, and twisted into Monkey pose. 

You make it to the stairs, and with every step, you’re not sure what you’re to expect. Has Blue’s nephew come over again for homework help with his mathematics? He never came over on weekdays, and today was a Thursday! And that didn’t explain the brogues at all! The door to your room is ajar, and pushing it all the way, your mouth goes dry. Eyes blink, unsure if this is just another of your vivid fantasies. Mind racing. 

“_________! Love –,” Mycroft comes to you, steadying you on your feet. It’s then you know it’s real, because his hands are cool, and they stick to your warm skin. You’re speechless, but perhaps that is for the better, because at once, you drop your handbag to the floor, and push Mycroft further into your room, hands up, cradling his face. 

“Oh my God, you’re real,” you whisper, words finally found. “I’ve missed you so, so, so much.” You sniffle, laying your head against his chest. 

“_________, don’t cry,” he says, holding you close. His lips brush over your forehead, slow kisses, soft, like the wings of a butterfly on your skin. He’s wearing a suit, like always – it’s a blue which brings out his eyes, and the jacket is stitched with a tiny pattern of diamonds. And now its covered with splattering of your tears. “I didn’t come all the way over here to make my girlfriend cry.” 

You chuckle at that. “But you did, Mr. Holmes.” You take a breath, and a seat on the side of your bed. “How did you get here – and I mean in my room.” Mycroft licks his lips, holding back a smile. He unbuttons his jacket, and sits beside you, leaving some space between you both. 

“Your roommate Harleen found me loitering around near your verandah, and let me in. I assume it’s because she recognised me from your photos.” He frowned. “Does she always let in men she doesn’t know?” 

You shake your head. “Harley – I mean, Blue – she’s more interested in Terry.” You blink, and remember Mycroft doesn’t know her as well as you do, “Uh, they’re a couple.” You feel a blush cover your face and place it in your hands. When you look up, you turn to your boyfriend, and address him. “So, why are you here, Myc?”

He blinks, perhaps disarmed by the wording of your question. But Mycroft is not the sort of man to be disarmed, and if so, not for long. “I heard your desperation in our last video chat,” he says, looking at his hands. They sit in his lap, empty.

“So, you took time out from your position in England, caught a plane –,” you stop yourself, and sigh. “I really should be grateful you’re here…it’s just that there’s never such a thing as a free lunch. Especially with you, Myc.”

“I –,” he stops himself, perhaps hearing the words he was to say in his head.

“Is it Sherlock? Or your position, do you need any help?” your voice rises with every question, “Your mother –,”

“It was me,” he replies, voice so very small. You’re suddenly aware that the both of you are not alone in the house, because it’s then when Blue’s meditation music plays a loud gong noise. “_________, I missed you.” He wipes a hand over his face, and you notice the slight hint of stubble threatening to appear. His eyes have bags that look heavier than your handbag. And they look sad. “I can’t believe that now, of all times, I realise how you feel all the times when I’m away for work, wherever it be. I took time from work, bought a ticket here – _________, you have no idea how much I missed you.”

“I think I can guess,” you whisper. 

You lean over the bed to the fan that’s plugged into the wall. As soon as it is whirring to life, your skin begins to prickle with the welcomed sensation of goosebumps. Mycroft sheds his jacket, and moving toward him, you take hold of his tie. Under your fingers, it loosens. 

It’s just like all the times in London when Myc would come to your place above the green grocer in Russel Square. You’d kick off your shoes, and he his, you’d ruffle his hair – to his dismay, but, you knew he liked it when you did it – and before you shut the curtains in your room, you’d loosen his tie. It was a ritual. A spell. And always, like always, the Mycroft who walked from the street would transform into the Mycroft who walked into your heart.  

But this time, it’s too warm to do what you’d usually do after the tie comes off, and like two lovesick children, you lay beside him in the bed, wearing nothing but your underclothes. Mycroft looks so at home in your quaint bedroom, and it makes your heart swell. 

It isn’t until your phone chimes – a message from your co-worker – that the fantasy of the situation breaks, and you’re back to everyday life. And you’re once again a bidding political advisor, and a lucrative socialite. 

“When do you go back?” you whisper. Your breath is warm, and opening his eyes, Mycroft sighs. 

“I have to fly back this Sunday.” He replies. “It’s a twenty-hour flight. I managed to pull some strings with the airplane, so I can try to stay longer than I would if I went commercially…”

You feel that melancholy return to you. It’d be only four – no, three days that you see him. 

And then how long? 

You’re not a needy person; Blue knew that. When she’d be watching Netflix as she wrote her column, you’d quietly drink your tea, when she’d have Terry and her friends from Darlinghurst over, you’d chat politely within their circle, complain about the ongoing strawberry scandal, try to understand the current situation of national politics (“I’m the Prime Minister, all I had to do to get the job was stab two other people in the back to get here!” one would say, and watching silently, you’d hear another two friends shout, just like Monty Python, “I am your Prime Minster!” – “Well I didn’t vote for him!”)

“I suppose that’s how it’s going to be, now,” you reply. “We’re like two kangaroos passing in the night on the highway.” 

Mycroft frowns. “Is that a local expression…?” 

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I just made it up. But if anything, what I know of Australian culture is that in making things up and going with them, it’s commonplace.” You laugh at that. “As much as I want to be happy you’re here, Myc, I can’t help but wonder if a shoe’s about to drop.” 

He gathers you closer. If it weren’t for your fan, it would be too hot to be this near to one another. Mycroft plants a kiss on your forehead, and you kiss him back, but he moves at the last minute, and it lands upon his nose.

“I’m not here to break up with you, if that’s what you’re thinking, _________.” He murmurs. 

It’s then when you’re startled away from Mycroft’s embrace, because Blue’s shouting up the stairs, “I’m making chili con carne for tea, _________!” You chuckle to yourself, as she goes on, “Is your hot businessman friend staying for dinner?”

You feel your cheeks heat up at that. But Mycroft’s the one who remedies it and grasping the railing that looks over the hallway – it felt so strange to have a loft bedroom – he calls out below, his British accent so different to Blue’s native Aussie twang, “Yes, the hot businessman is staying for dinner,” he says, a cheeky look on his face. He’s never been this relaxed in so long, and you let out a laugh at his wording. “But you can call me _________’s boyfriend.”

When he returns to the bed, you’re sitting up, pulling on your around-the-house shorts and Myc’s old sleepshirt he let you keep, shaking your head to yourself.

“What is it, love?” he asks, pulling his trousers back on. 

You chuckle. “I’m always your girlfriend. You know, everywhere we go in London, to whomever we’re introduced to. Sherlock knows my name, but simply calls me ‘The Girlfriend’. But here…” you smile. “Oh-ho, the tables have turned, Myc! My boyfriend!”

He kisses your temple, and gathers your hand in his, and walks with you downstairs to where the smell of chili is wafting from. ��Yes,” he admits, “I guess I am.” 

Sydney is somewhat like London. There’re tourists everywhere, and the people who walk the streets who are locals don’t think twice about the knowledge they know. There are people here, like Blue and her friends and when you’re not working at the British Consulate, Blue and her friends take you to the most fantastic shows and places you wouldn’t find on your own. The beach is around the corner, and the ice-creams on Manley Island drip down your hands before they’re even scooped in their cones. Mycroft leaves every time he comes, but comes every four weeks or so, bringing his laptop, and plenty of free time to be with you. 

Perhaps Sydney wasn’t so bad after all. 

[norbah]

The Plover and the Crocodile

A continuation of this other story: 

http:// norbah. tumblr. com/ post / 182333442252/ another-grima-piece-fgrima-msummoner

Just something that came to mind while thinking about Grima. Didn’t mean for it to get this broody and philosophical. Hope you like it anyway. Any thoughts would be INCREDIBLY appreciated. Thank you!

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

Lucina's eyes were trained on the sprawled form of the Fell Dragon as she approached it, but her eyes flickered upwards to its horns, one of which was currently serving as a perch for a lone human. He was kneeling dangerously close to its edge, hands busy wringing a mop's head over a bucket. He was either extremely confident in his own balance, or trusted the horrid beast beneath him not to move too brusquely. A distressing idea, in Lucina's head. That anyone could trust that treacherous snake... how ridiculous. Her grip tightened over her blade's hilt, bolstering her confidence by its presence alone.

"Move aside, Summoner," Lucina said as she stepped forward, Falchion in hand. "I would not want you caught in battle."

The Summoner blinked in surprise and looked up from where he had been working, already mopping the horn's surface in the time Lucina had been musing. He looked down at her, confusion in his eyes, before panic bloomed in his expression and he twisted around, as if looking for someone.

"What are you doing?" Lucina asked, not expecting this particular reaction. It was with no small amount of dread that she noticed Grima's eyes had opened, and now regarded her, unreadable and cold.

"You said a fight was coming," the Summoner called back down, unaware of the staredown that had been initiated. "I assumed the Emblian army had broken through!"

"Wh-What?" Lucina broke eye contact with the Fell Dragon, stunned. "No! I meant Grima! Move aside so I may slay Grima!"

"Oh. I guess that makes sense." The Summoner seemed calm now. He turned to face Lucina, but instead of hopping down from the horn, he sat down on its edge, legs dangling off, and looking down at her with a calm expression on his face. 

"No. No, I don't think I will."

"What?" Lucina was genuinely bewildered. "But can't you see?! This must be done, Summ-!"

"Plover, please!" He called down before she could finish. "Call me Plover!"

Lucina couldn't help but flush. The Plegians (Tharja, Henry, and Aversa) had taken to affectionately calling him "the plover" once they'd noticed his devotion to the Fell Dragon's hygiene. Henry had explained to the more curious Heroes that they were referencing a small bird from Plegia, which seemed to enjoy a unique relationship with the vicious crocodiles in their rivers. It would clean the reptiles' teeth, pecking away at anything caught in them, and the normally voracious crocodile refrained from closing its jaws around them. Over time, "the plover" had simply become a nickname, "Plover". It didn't help that very few Heroes had actually bothered to ask his name. Or that the nickname seemed to fit him better than any name could. It was a bit embarrassing that he had found out.

"So where's this coming from?" The Summ- no, Plover, asked Lucina from all the way atop Grima's horn. It spoke to how much time he spent on the dragon that he seemed to know which volume would carry best to the ground. He didn't sound like he was shouting.

"It has killed hundreds! Thousands! It needs to be stopped! To be killed before it can unleash destruction here in Askr! Please, P-Plover," she cursed internally as she stumbled over the informal form of address for the tactician of the Order of Heroes, "let me fulfill my purpose!"

He seemed to think for a moment. Lucina caught Grima's eyes again, and started shaking as they fixed on her again. The beast hadn't moved once, and its eyes held no aggression, but... was Lucina imagining it, or was there mockery in those three hellish red spheres?

"She," Plover suddenly called out, breaking the spell over Lucina.

"Wh-What?" the future Exalt could only ask. And it was frustrating to realize that this whole time, that had been her biggest reaction. Surprise. Not decisive action.

"She," Plover repeated. "You keep calling Grima 'it', but she's, well, a she."

"I... How is that relevant?!" Lucina felt so, so frustrated. Even dealing with the other versions of herself didn't vex her like this.

"It's not," the Summoner admitted. "But I felt it was important."  For the first time, Grima's eyes looked away from Lucina and fixed on the Summoner, and Lucina could never have imagined they could look so soft, so gentle. The great dragon rumbled loudly, shaking the earth around them moderately. The Summoner held to Grima's horn with almost casual ease, not minding the razor-sharp edge of the bony appendage. Lucina stumbled a little, but kept her balance, ready to dodge an attack, until she realized...

"Wait," she thought. "Is Grima purring?!"

"In any case, I'm sorry, but I have to deny your request, Lucina," Plover went on, and to his credit, he did look apologetic. "Unless you can answer one simple question."

"Ask your question, then," Lucina declared, confident once again. If this was all that stood between her and Grima's defeat, then she would answer any question unfalteringly. Whatever was required of her. 

"Here goes, then," he said, and leaned forward, as if to look at Lucina even more closely. Grima was quiet once more, and its- her eyes, Lucina grudgingly granted, once more only on her. 

"How many Plegians?"

"I-I'm sorry?" Lucina asked, her confidence wavering only a little. What kind of question was this? The Summoner's idea of a joke?

"I should have elaborated," Plover murmured, but the silence was such after Grima's minor earthquake that Lucina heard him, even if vaguely. "Here it goes again: 

"How many Plegians have died to that sword?" he asked, pointing at Falchion. 

"I haven't-" Lucina began, not quite liking where this was going.

"And just to be clear," he went on, "I don't just mean at your hands. At your father's too. And his father's. And that one's important," he said with a rather pointed look. "I have heard he waged a rather bloody war on Plegia in his time. How many dead, do you think?"

"That was different!" Lucina called up, but a pit in her stomach had opened up at the mention of her grandfather. There was no denying that his actions had led in the long term to Validar's possession of the Plegian throne. Emmeryn had spent her life trying to undo the hatred and resentment born from his brutal actions. 

"It was?" Plover seemed surprised. "I don't see a lot of ways how that could be."

"Of course you don't!" Lucina yelled, getting angry now at his flippancy. "You tend to Grima! You serve it-"

"Her."

"-almost like you worship it!" She went on, not hearing his firm correction. "Almost like you're-" and a thought occurred to her now. A sobering thought that horrified her, but one she chastised herself for not thinking before.

"Like you're Grimleal..." Lucina whispered, horror-struck. It made sense, she realized. His slavish devotion to Grima's comfort and appearance. His claims of Grima's innocence, his insinuations that the Ylissean royal family were as bad... It all pointed to-

"Okay, now I know you've been hitting Gray's Duma Moss a little too hard," Plover called down, snapping her out of her spiral. 

"... What?!" She spluttered out after a few seconds of shocked silence, mortified. Was he implying that she used substances?! 

"Word to the wise," he kept going, oblivious to her distress, "don't keep going after the third toke! It builds up!"

"Stop shouting that!" She hissed, red in the face and glancing behind her to make sure nobody was hearing this. If this rumor ever got back to her father...!

Grima's throat rumbled again, this time in quick succession and with higher intensity, and Lucina went scarlet in the face, in both rage and mortification, when she realized the Fell Dragon was laughing at her embarrasment. 

That brought her back to the present situation, and seemed to do the same for the Summoner, even if he still had a smile on his face.

"No, I'm not Grimleal," he said gently. "I don't worship her, any more than you worship..." his brow furrowed.

"Gerome?" He asked. She blinked, confused. "Inigo?" He tried again. "Severa? Brady? Laurent? Robin? Kje-" he stopped when he saw her go red one earlier, and blinked in honest surprise. "Robin, huh? Way to break the bro code on that one..." he murmured. Grima snorted as well, amused in some way by this knowledge. Lucina could only growl at the two of them.

"Well, I don't worship her. Same way you don't worship Robin, and he doesn't worship you. Not literally, anyway," he finished. Now it was Lucina's turn to snort in derision. How ridiculous.

"How can what Robin and I share be anything like what you and Grima have? They are different bonds in every way, are they not?" She asked, mentally comparing the two in front of her to a twisted version of what Robin and her father shared. Trust and camaraderie beyond what regular people shared. That, at least, she could respect. Perhaps she could understand now why he seemed so hellbent on-

Aaaaaaand he was blushing bright scarlet now. And avoiding eye contact with her. Things certainly couldn't get more awkward, Lucina thought. 

Until she noticed Grima staring directly at her. And as soon as Lucina made eye contact, its massive, bony, scaly eyebrows rose, then fell. Once. And again. And again. 

Desperately trying to ignore the fact that Grima had just waggled its eyebrows at her (and hoo boy, would that one require some therapy to get past), Lucina latched on to the last piece of rational discussion she could remember hearing, and tried to bring this whole thing back to Ylisse. Zenith. Wherever!

"But why compare Falchion to i- to her?" She amended, seeing the testy look on Plover's face. Once that faded, however, he looked relieved to be back on track. He shrugged again.

"Just wanted to point out that if we were to measure something's malice by how many it has slain, then your blade is pretty evil in its own right."

"That was a war. It was different," Lucina argued. 

"Does that make their deaths any more just? I'm fairly sure many of those soldiers also thought they were doing the right thing. I doubt that even half of them were zealots at all, either."

"And what of her?" Lucina asked, anger creeping back into her voice as she pointed at Grima. "What of the many slain by her? The deaths to come if she were to be left unchecked?!" 

"Just as terrible and unjust," Plover said agreeably. Lucina paused. She'd expected him to argue against this. To claim Grima was innocent of any wrongdoing. The dragon herself held Lucina's gaze, almost defiantly. 

"Everybody she killed," he kept going slowly, picking his words with care, "was a life taken. And it was as unfair as the ones taken by Ylisse. The ones taken by Falchion. But it is as you said. It was war. You can't win a war without enemy casualties. The world isn't so nice. Hell, we're at war right now." 

"But just as Ylisse fought their war against Plegia and against Valm, and as you fought yours against fate," he went on, "she was fighting her own war." 

"Against who?" Lucina demanded. Plover grimaced and scratched the back of his head. He seemed almost unsure of his next words.

"Against humanity," he said, glancing away. "Against people who might seek to use her, to hurt her."

"I chose," Grima's voice hissed out from between her jaws, vast and grotesque, sibilant as the wind in a seaside cave. Lucina could feel every bone in her body vibrate as the gravelly sound washed over her, and only through great force of will did she resist the urge to lift Falchion before her, "to wage my war on all of mankind. Let none who might have sought my pain or my service survive. If leaving naught but the bones and ash of the human race was what it took for my survival... then so be it."

"But... But that's insane!" Lucina argued, her voice shaking after Grima's first words in the discussion. "To eliminate all humans over the potential of one seeking to use or destroy you..." 

Plover drew in a deep breath, and Lucina knew from the pain in his eyes that he did not like saying what came next.

"As insane as trying to kill your husband over the chance he might be an unwitting enemy agent."

Lucina's breath caught in her throat, and for an instant she saw red. This man, this non-combatant, this traitorous filth who knew nothing of war was daring to compare her to Grima?!

But... he wasn't entirely wrong, was he? She had turned on Robin. She wasn't able to go through with it, even after he spread his arms wide with a smile and said to go ahead, that his life was hers. But she had turned on him nonetheless.

And she thought of her original timeline. Of Grima's future. When everything in Ylisse, Plegia, and Regna Ferox seemed to be out for her blood. When only her friends and family remained at her side. When the whole world was hellbent on her destruction. How close had she come to despairing then? 

She'd been willing to do anything to fix that, hadn't she? To destroy her enemy And save those she loved, she'd been willing to bypass time in its entirety. But if she'd had world-ending power at her disposal and no loved ones to save... could she really say with any certainty she'd have been that much different?

With a heavy, heavy sigh, Lucina sheathed Falchion. She turned to leave, but Plover's voice stopped her.

"You never did answer the question, you know," he said. But it was quiet, almost gentle. Lucina's fingers found Falchion's hilt again. But instead of the usual comfort and strength its presence brought her, the sword felt heavy with questions she'd never have posed before. To herself or to others. 

How many Plegians? No. That wasn’t the true question. How many people? Plegians, Valmese, Alteans and people of Gra. Humans, Manaketes, and Beastfolk. How many had met their end on its blade?

"Far too many," she finally said, her voice and heart as heavy as the sword at her side. "And yet... as many as were needed," she finished her thought, and felt both revulsion and disgust with herself for even saying it. Because even among the heroes who had killed because they had to, because it was the only way to stop disaster from ending even more lives, death stained the blade. Of innocents in their own way. Her father had told her of the Plegian general Mustafa, for one. And more than that, the shadow of her grandfather darkened the grim duty and noble resolve that the Sword of Seals should embody into something much worse. There? There lay no justification. Only cruelty.

"We do what we must, don't we?" Plover asked her softly. She turned her head to look at him, and found him looking at her with a sad smile. 

But it was Grima she was looking at when Lucina answered.

"Yes," Lucina said. "We do." 

And for the briefest of moments, Lucina thought some understanding passed between the two of them. But it was only an instant. Lucina turned back again, looking at the castle.

"It's not over yet," she called out loudly, knowing they could hear her. "I'm still not entirely convinced. And I have earned a fight with her."

It was a few seconds before she got her answer.

"You have."

Lucina nodded in acknowledgement, and walked away. Maybe it was her imagination, but Falchion felt lighter now than a minute ago. She would have to talk with her father... and with King Marth, if she could find him. Maybe they could help her make sense of this.

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

They watched her go, curious and apprehensive at the same time. Then Grima's eyes turned to Plover. The question was not voiced, but he knew it anyway. 

"I think we gave her a lot to mull over," he said softly. Grima rumbled in response, her eyes sliding towards Lucina and following her as she left. 

"Gave you something to think about too, huh?" He asked with a smile. Grima didn't answer. But with the two of them, that was an answer in itself. He simply laughed and decided to put the words away for today. He still had a job to do, after all. He hoisted himself back onto her horn, careful not to shear his calves off as he did, and picked up the mop. Grima's eyes soon drifted shut, as she fell gently asleep.

As the afternoon wore on, the plover continued to clean its beloved crocodile. Not out of hunger, as other birds had done in the past. It cleaned because it wanted the crocodile to be happy. And the crocodile knew this.

[gamerdamemedia]

Rise of the Banshee: Request

Despite the cold and lingering uncertainty, Syn slept better than she ever remembered.  In the past, she normally just... passed out.  No real conscious effort needed.  But lying under a pile of pelt blankets, with a fire slowly crackling down and the sounds of the sea gently crashing along the hull of the ship, making the wood groan, Syn had her first taste of true peace.  Not the empty quiet she used to feel in her mind, but gentle satisfaction.  It was nice.  So when morning dawned, and she'd broke her fast with some dried salted meat the bandits had stored, she decided to travel north along the shore.  Part of her mind told her to remain in the area where her Master could find her, but that urge was slowly dissipating as surely as the last day's headache.  Still, having had very little interaction with people outside her Master and the necromancers, who typically viewed her as little more than a living statue, the thought of visiting one of the local villages caused a well of anxiety to build in her gut.

A thought occurred to Syn as she trailing north along the coast-- that in itself a slowly increasing occurrence.  Could she speak?  Syn wracked her brain to recall if she'd ever spoken before, but she couldn't remember ever having done so.  She knew she was at least capable of making noise.  She wasn't mute, she didn't think.  She had been known to produce involuntary vocalizations in the past, like when a necromancer's raised dog jumped on her stomach.  But her Master seemed to prefer her silence.  Tools didn't speak.  Even their first meeting, when Syn had crawled from beneath a pile of corpses, had consisted of her Master asking questions and Syn merely staring back.  Speaking wasn't necessary.  Syn knew how to read and could follow instructions competently.  That had been all that mattered.

But normal people spoke to each other.  Even Syn knew that.  And most people got uncomfortable with Syn's staring.  Syn shrugged to herself, another new but not unpleasant occurrence.  For now, she'd avoid people and stick to the wilderness.  Syn was eager to continue honing her skills.  What all was she capable of?

Speaking wasn't much of an issue as she meandered up the coastline.  Wolves weren't exactly interested in conversation.  Though Syn did wonder why there were so many black wolves along the icecaps.  Weren't snowy predators normally white?  At least they made for good target practice.

Reaching the northernmost edge of Skyrim, Syn spied a large castle nestled atop a cliff.  The angular stone structure sat atop a glacier, as if resting in the palm of some ice giant's hand.  A stone bridge connected the main structure to a small but similarly styled one on the mainland.  The bridge had to be the sketchiest thing Syn had ever seen, as it lacked any supports.  Just a stone slab suspended in midair between two points.  It honestly looked like the slightest shift in the earth would send it crumbling.

Syn might not have much working knowledge of the outside world, but she knew what this place was.  The College of Winterhold.  The seat of the mages in Skyrim.  Syn knew this because her Master had expressly told her (and the rest of the expedition) to avoid the College at all costs.  After all, it was the Mage's College that made necromancy illegal.  Whether it was actually out of a belief that experimenting on the dead was immoral, or just to garner a better reputation among the masses, most mages wouldn't hesitate to eliminate any necromancer on sight.  Granted, Syn wasn't technically a necromancer.  As if her Master would allow her to learn such skills.  But it would likely be guilt by association.  She supposed technically she would've been considered a thrall, fine details of no one actually summoning her notwithstanding.

She may be alone now, but Syn didn't feel like risking running into one of the College Mages right now.  Maybe they'd sense she was... whatever she was.  So for now, she ignored it and continued north.

There wasn't much farther north from there.  Just some iceflows dotting the Sea of Ghosts.  Further away, though likely too close for the mages' liking, sat Olenveld.  Strange... she'd thought she might see the island from here.  No islands, but she did come across something worse: an ice roc.  Not rock, r-o-c-k, though she did initially mistake it for such when she first walked upon it.  No, roc, as in a giant bird monster that spews out freezing winds.  The thing had been napping (or lying in wait) atop an iceflow, but snapped into the sky as soon as Syn neared it.  Her furs were no match for the biting arctic wind it blew at her, and nor could she fight the beast as it hovered just out of reach of her sword, as if taunting her.  Compared to the alternative, the frigid waters felt like a sauna as Syn dived beneath the ice to escape the roc's relentless pursuit.  Frost crackled along the waterline above, obscuring her view as she swam as quickly as she could, ducking up for air only.

Sadly, the roc was unrelenting.  No matter how far Syn swam, the monster would not call off its chase.  And as undaunted by the cold as Syn usually was, it was beginning to make her limbs stiffen.  Soon she'd be too physically frozen to stay afloat.  Luckily, hope was just on the horizon, as Syn spotted an opening in between some glaciers ahead.  A cave!  Blessedly too small for the massive roc to fit through.  Scrambling up the icy embankment, Syn made a mad dash for the cave, the chilling breath of death literally on her heels.  Syn heard the beast's wings beat against the glaciers as she ducked inside, followed by a cry of anger that she'd escaped.

She didn't notice right away, but the cave was far bigger than she'd expected.  Once she felt assured of her safety within the ice walls, Syn realized that the cave lead down further.  A light shone from within, though not due to the sunlight refracting through the crystalline walls.  And was that mumbling?  Curious, and with nothing but time to kill until the roc hopefully lost interest and sought easier prey, Syn followed the path down.

Syn had heard that the folks living in Skyrim were hardy, but she didn't expect them to have carved living quarters from the very ice.  Actually, based on the odd metallic contraption wedged in one side of the wall, Syn guessed it was more accurate to say the cavern had existed for a while, and the current inhabitant had merely made himself at home.  Very at home.  How exactly did one get a bookshelf inside an icy cavern on the edge of the world, out in the sea?  The sight of another man made Syn feel a little anxious, and not just because he looked like a mage.  Or at least a scholar.  He wore simple robes, the dark color contrasting with his white beard.

At first, Syn stood awkwardly halfway down the slope leading into the heart of the cavern, but the man paid her no mind.  He didn't even acknowledge her, instead standing before the metal contraption, mumbling to himself.  The contraption made Syn feel ill at ease.  It was obviously old, judging by the tarnished bronze metal.  Though it was probably even older that it appeared, as the ice likely protected it from most of Skyrim's harsh elements.  Turquoise spheres protruded from the front, like the eyes of some great insect.  When she cautiously approached, the man began to speak, presumably at her.  Then again, it quickly became apparent to Syn that the man was half-mad.  He spoke cryptically, yet poetically, in the manner of all men driven mad by some knowledge.  His ramblings, for all their vagueness, were quite lucid and easy to follow -- even if the leaps of logic were not.

He introduced himself as Septimus Signus, a scholar of some repute, and he was there to study the dwarven artifact, the strange door.  Through his ramblings, Syn gathered that he believed the Heart of Lorkhan had been sealed inside.  As the man blathered on, Syn wracked her brain.  Lorkhan was the god who tricked the other deities into creating Nirn, the planet they lived on.  As punishment, they stole his heart, but unable to destroy the heart of a god, they sealed it away somewhere.  The dwarves, apparently, were obsessed with obtaining godhood through use of the Heart.  Syn could definitively state that many believed the dwarves tampering with the heart was what resulted in their unexplained disappearance.  Short of going back in time, no one could say.  Though the belief explained why Septimus might think it was here... somewhat.

Coming back to the present, Syn realized she'd zoned out for a minute while the man continued his story.  But he either didn't notice or was accustomed to people staring blankly at him, because he gave not a single pause.  His lack of need for her input to continue this one-sided conversation was both familiar and a little annoying.  It wasn't until he mentioned needing an Elder Scroll to open the box that Syn's attention settled fully on his ramblings.  That was a title that needed little thought to remember.  Elder Scrolls were the rarest, most coveted, and most mysterious artifacts known to man and mer.  These relics existed outside of creation, and even the gods couldn't tamper with the events hidden within.  They showed the future, or the past, or multiples of both.  Finally, Septimus faced Syn fully.  "But perhaps you can go where Septimus cannot."

Septimus blathered on about how he thought a Scroll existed in Skyrim, and that this one in particular revealed the secret to opening the chamber to the Heart.  Why the Scroll would have such information, Syn couldn't guess.  Though if the dwarves had been storing it, and the Heart, it made some sense.  The madman's eyes suddenly clearly focused on Syn for the first time since this strange conversation began.  "You will find it for Septimus."

Syn could only stare back, surprised not only by her apparent trustworthiness but viability to retrieve such an important artifact from a dangerous ruin.  Perhaps solitude had made him long for companionship.  Or perhaps it was because Syn hadn't outrighted attacked him.  Either way, the next thing Syn knew, Septimus was shoving two metallic objects at her.  The first, a heavy metal sphere.  Septimus called it an Attunement Sphere, and said she'd need it to activate the machine housing the Elder Scroll.  The dwarves had imagined themselves as gods of logic, but Syn recognized the weighty ball as just a glorified key.  The second, much more interesting object, Septimus called a Lexicon.  A metallic box, a little bigger than a handful, of dark metal with indecipherable markings.  It looked like it was made of panels that could open.  A box?  According to Septimus, the Lexicons had been used to store information for the dwarves.  Rather than bringing the Scroll to him, Septimus wanted Syn to transcribe the information within the Scroll into the Lexicon so he could safely read it.  Reading an Elder Scroll had some nasty side effects, including blindness and madness.  Syn gazed knowingly at the old man, his madness and interest in the dwarves suddenly making more sense.  He wanted to read Scrolls, and the dwarves had apparently found a way to do it safely.

Syn could've refused.  She was hardly equipped to take on a ruin, likely filled with all manner of traps and automatons.  She'd overheard more than a few stories from necromancers of losing expedition teams in such ruins.  The dwarves may be gone, but their defenses certainly were not.  And yet, perhaps because she could refuse, Syn found herself rasping out, "Where...?"  The sound of her own voice startled her, barely a croak.  Was that what she sounded like?  It matched the growing voice in her head, just as rough from disuse.  She wasn't even entirely sure it was coherent enough to be understood.  But it must have been, because the next thing she knew, Septimus was handing her a map of the country.  It was old, but probably accurate enough.  Places like Skyrim didn't change much.  Syn was familiar enough with their expedition to give a rough estimate of their current location northeast of Winterhold.  Septimus helpfully marked the location of the ruin in question, Alftand.  It wasn't terribly far away, maybe a day or so journey southwest toward the center of the country.  And without another word, Septimus ushered her off.

Still unsure if she should even attempt to assist this madman, Syn decided to head back to her camp to think things over.

And for the record, the roc had not lost interest.

[shdwgambit]

Core of the Shadow Beast

Arriving at the room that had been allocated to him upon his re-arrival, he slipped inside and shut the door behind him. It was a small blessing to have a door this time, though the exchange was for a much smaller room in comparison. It was a fair trade, though he couldn't say he preferred one room over the other. It was convenient that he could secure his room and not worry about the world looking in on him, especially here in this moment. Rook retrieved the faceted crystal from his right pocket and placed on the table. After watching it for a moment as if to make sure it wouldn't get up and cause havoc, he turned his back on it and began digging through his traveler's pack. From somewhere close to the bottom he pulled out a small black leather case shaped like a book with a zipper along the edges. He returned to the room's table and sat with the case to the left of the crystal he was intent on investigating.

The unzipped case opened to a small array of tools and instruments. Files, hammers, picks, and pliers all sized, it looked like, for a race smaller than his own. Rook settled into the seat and plucked a circular glass with a tarnished gold rim from the assortment. His fingers settled on the two smooth areas where the gold was untarnished, the instrument was loved at one point. The metallic edge also noticeably glinted, free from the stain of time. Rook relaxed in the seat and raised the monocular to his right eye where it rested between his cheek and his brow. With no distractions and no pretense to uphold he let his full interest settle over the crystal removed from the once mobile entity. He had yet to run into any of these creatures himself, but then he'd been removed from Argus for some time on his errand for the Aldor. Though he'd witnessed one last night it wasn't in a natural habitat and he hadn't taken a close interest in the creature. He had been more concerned with the group's draenei, their opinions and how they treated such dangerous magic. After all, he did have a duty to observe them and their interactions with the shadows as well as, if necessary, report their actions to the proper individuals. There were standards they held as a society and minds wouldn't be changed overnight about this kind of magic, nor how those that treatied with it would be dealt with, new allies aside. His gaze followed the edge of the crystal structure's facets, it was a point cut, or that's what a jeweler would classify it as. It was difficult to tell whether it was man-made or not, at least with his level of understanding. Rook continued with the physical investigation, noting that though the creature had ‘bled’ mere hours ago--and in the end had sloughed down into a puddle--there were no remnants of the physical essence on the crystalline core. He hadn't been the first to handle it so he was unsure whether it had all fallen away cleanly or if the Exarch had removed any as she touched it. Next, he squeezed the dark crystal along opposing sides only proving what he already thought, it was hard and sturdy along each surface. Rook reached across and pulled from the tool case a pointed utensil with a fat pear-shaped handle. Holding it over the crystal at a shallow angle, he used the thin metal portion to tap against the crystal's side. After a few taps of the metal etching tool, he perked a brow and lifted the crystal to his ear before he struck the gem-like core again while holding it at its two furthest points. With a satisfied hum, he set the tool aside and the magnifying monocle to the side. "Hollow." He said aloud to himself and then began placing the tools back in their proper place. He was meticulous in putting things back as they had been and even returned the case to the bottom of his pack before returning to the table and the Akata'sha crystal. Rook settled into the chair once more and sat resting his arms on the table. His hands were positioned to either side of the crystal as he focused on the magic surrounding the object of his attention. It was no longer radiating shadow magic or void energies like it had been when it was originally retrieved, but he didn't think it was docile. He focused deeper on the area surrounding the crystal, tightening the feelers he cast in an effort to sense the movement of any energies. The first hints of magic came to Rook as though they were barely visible hints in his peripheral vision. It was faint enough that he felt the need to focus, felt that perhaps the first inklings might’ve been delusions. The magic that had been surrounding the crystal when it was first freed from the creature's chest seemed to be condensing itself tightly inside the crystal and siphoning itself away. Into the void? Into the nether? Rook couldn't tell off-hand where it was going, but a faint trail could be followed if he focused, he thought. The magical strands, though thin as spider silk on the wind, were legible when you knew what you were looking for. But, whether it ended nowhere or lead to some ancient void puppet master wasn't for him to discover this evening. He noted this and moved on to his next curiosities. Exarch Orynthia had stated it was safest to work with the creature under the shroud of shadows as the Light seemed to strengthen and excite the creature's ferocity. So why not start there? With one long pleasant exhale through his nose, the shadows settled around him, a comfortable mantle wrapping him in wispy darkness. A steadying sigh escaped him as he rolled his shoulders back and began tracing his left pointer finger in a circle on the table in front of him. After a few moments and several more revolutions of his finger, a small sphere of shadowy energy had formed solid enough to become visible to the eye. It was about the size of a marble and with a flick of his wrist the spinning orb began approaching the flat edge of the crystal only to meet under the priest's observation. To begin with, resistance along the side of the crystal kept the orb at bay but as soon as he began to reach a conclusion regarding what that may have meant, the crystal's resistance gave way and like a mana fiend absorbed the orb of dark magic. Rook focused on the long strands he'd discovered trailing off into the ether on his initial inspection. He wanted to monitor their reaction as well. There was definitely a change in the concentration of these lines as his offering was consumed and dispersed. A duplicate attempt yielded the same results--as expected--though this time there was less of a pause before it absorbed the tight sphere of amassed shadow essence. Rook dropped the facade. Shadows fleed his face, then chest, leaving last his hooves and the tips of his fingers until he was sitting again--just himself--a humble priest of the Light. Rook repeated the experiment again, though this time with a dose of the Light. Rather than serve up the same gentle offering of magic, he thought he'd see how it responded to what would amount to an attack under normal circumstances. A quick left to right movement of his pointer and middle finger sent a slice of holy energy toward the crystal structure. As his magic touches the deep purple edge there was a quick reaction, the holy energy was nullified and absorbed. Though expected to a degree he hadn't expected the reaction to be so quick. Perhaps it was in the nature of the spell he had cast, one that would strike and disperse. He repeated this again, more prepared for what would happen. He scrutinized the way the energy was negated and drawn in. Still, he had thought there would be more resistance as there had been with the first shadow orb. Perhaps if he chose a different spell, he thought. He repeated this process several more times making use of different spells to see if the way they were absorbed differed. He had noticed the line of energy that stemmed outward didn't swell in the same manner to transfer this energy as efficiently, and the essence pooled in the crystal's hollow core. After what he'd decided to be his last test on the crystal, a strike of holy fire, he finally got a reaction. The core shuddered on the table, rattling as the sharp edges chittered back and forth on the smooth stone. A dark opaque mass seeped from the back of the point cut crystal and writhed like a living pool of shadow. It slowly began to grow and took on a putty-like form prompting the priest to stand. In a snap decision he grabbed a navy cloak off the back of the chair and whirling it around covered the crystal. He gritted his teeth, hoping the imbued arcane magic would smother the creature's formation. At least, that's what he assumed was happening, based on what he'd heard from the Exarch. With a growing sneer, he watched the cloak shudder and tremble, only able to guess what it was doing. He watched it contort, both bulging and shrinking over and over again until the cloth of the cloak finally stopped moving entirely. Time seemed to slow around Rook, his attention fixated on the unmoving rumple of cloth now. Rook cloaked himself in shadows again, preparing himself for the unexpected. Taking the edge of the cloak in both hands, and with a mental count of three, he pulled the cloak back expecting to see the small, yet formidable, creature pressed against the table ready to strike. Instead, the crystal laid alone. From inside the hollowed core, it pulsed with the absorbed Light as the magic was 'digested' and siphoned off. He returned the cloak to the back of his chair and released it tentatively while monitoring the crystal and its collection of energy. Rook stood by for an hour as the crystal's magical build up slowly siphoned off into the ether, decreasing the chance that the creature would reemerge. Rook's curiosity as to where the siphon lines lead was ever-growing throughout the wait. He needed to return the crystal to the Order's Exarch along with a brief description of his findings. But first, he needed to find it a container.

[olivieblake]

I've been reading a fair amount of your work lately, and I see a decided lack of ConCrit offered to you on any on your published works. I'm just curious as to how you gauge your improvements as an author without the help of other authors, and also if you're open to receiving it OR if you feel as though you're at a point that you don't need it. Would you be offended if your readers were to offer suggestions about how you could improve further?

hm well this is tricky, Anon. Do you mind if I give you a bit of constructive criticism to begin? 

Firstly, I think the primary point I’d like to make is that unfortunately, the subtext of this ask reads rather passive-aggressively, which is a mode that I personally avoid. Everyone has their preferences, but I think directness is more conducive to a healthy working relationship (and I say ‘working relationship’ because that, presumably, is the thought here; I’m guessing you mean to imply that you personally wish to gift me some criticism, which is something I consider within the ‘work’ sphere as far as relationships go). Unfortunately, the phrasing of this ask leaves me with v little room to respond. If I answer in any way that suggests that I am insulted/indignant/stubbornly refusing your offer, then it reflects badly on me; on the other hand, if I reply ‘yes, of course, I am always trying to improve!’ or something of that ilk, I may come off disingenuous, because the phrasing here (specifically, the suggestion that I, in some episode of truly horrifying hubris, might actually believe I have reached Peak Author and no longer have room to improve) suggests that I should, essentially, demean myself in order to agree with you, which is … something I’ll come back to.

Secondly, this ask is on Anon, which means I lack the ability to communicate with you privately and directly, which is the method by which I find concrit is most meaningful. I rely heavily on the input of other writers and readers whose skill and perception I trust (@drsallysparrow, @wl-erkling, and @captainunicornshenanigans, for example) because our working relationships began with private, in-depth conversations reflecting their extremely poignant reads on my work. They expressed a great amount of thoughtfulness and depth, and constructive criticism was (and is, on a continuing basis) delivered quite organically. I v rarely write anything that doesn’t have someone’s eye on it with regard to content, characterization, pacing, etc., though I’ll come back to that point later.

Thirdly, I specify private communication because in my experience (as I have previously mentioned), I find that reviews are really not the appropriate place to share criticism. For one thing, such things can v often convey spoilers, or rely on questions that the reader may not have the answer to (for WIPs) that I can’t actually answer. For completed works, on the other hand, I am most likely not going back to re-write or re-edit, so by that point criticism can often be moot, and instead serves only to direct people away from my work, which I find most people are polite enough not to do. In contrast, I have had some v engaging private conversations with people who have thoughts on my work, and I have gleaned a lot from them. Not to say I necessarily agree with everyone who expresses an opinion on a story, but I certainly listen.

Fourthly, unless you have read every review and message I’ve ever received, I’m truly and genuinely not sure why you feel I’ve not received concrit. Do you mean that you don’t believe I receive enough negativity in reviews? Because yes, by and large my reviews are positive and/or flattering. I won’t deny that. I will, however, provide the caveat that I am quite lucky to have found readers who appreciate my style of work (which I admit is, like any other creative pursuit, not for everyone). My readers are v kind and wonderful and generally they like my work, and so they continue to read it. Does that mean I don’t receive concrit? Absolutely not. I interact quite a lot with people, and perhaps that’s not reflected in public reviews, but in fairness I believe fanfic etiquette indicates that such things are not meant for public consumption. For example, if I felt a work had issues, I would certainly not say so in a publicly viewable review, and I think most fic authors would agree with me on that.

Lastly, this comment seems to indicate that you have a problem with my work, which leads me to wonder if maybe you should simply choose not to read it? It is phrased as though you care about my improvement as an author, but based on the things I mentioned above, I’m not sure that’s your intent. Of course, were you to engage me in some sort of mutual conversation, perhaps you could explain your intent, and maybe I’m wrong; but as it is, I find the motive behind this ask questionable, and so in all honesty, it’s hard for me to be anything other than wary.

In general, if you have something you’d like to suggest (ideally that you think would help me, and not simply ‘I didn’t like this’), I would ask that you do it with your username. FFN, AO3, Tumblr, however you do it, I find it generally more respectful to me to do so as yourself; it shows me that you stand by what you think, and I, a person who values such things, respect that greatly. If you’re willing to initiate a conversation with me where we can both equally engage, then I promise I am willing to listen to whatever you have to say.