#Very poorly disguised attempt to request while requests are closed :)

[richesthermit]

noticed u haven’t done cleo icons/lauout so there’s an idea if interested ^_^

No thank you :) you may request some when my requests are open though :)

[ekaterinatepes]

Nothing but the Best

Author’s note: hello my dears! Sorry for not updating the past few days. I travel a lot for work and the circumstances lately made it difficult for me to update as much as I wanted. Although I did get enough inspiration to write this chapter. I come back to you with some juicy lemony goodness ;)

Minors DNI

Warning: NSFW content, mildly non con at the beginning, emotional sex, hurt, comfort and angst.

X.

Blinding jealousy was the only thing that could describe how Satoru felt. Boiling in his blood, licking flames of rage through his body.

Betrayal… his best friend, holding his wife’s hand as he walked her back home. Not only that! Suguru went in with YOU! In your apartment! As if this was the most normal thing in the world!

Did you invite him to stay the night? Did you both plan this ahead of time?

Warping to the top of the building next to yours he continued to watch from his position as you turned on the lights in your apartment. Setting your bag on the counter, taking off your shoes and jacket. Suguru followed you in taking off his shoes and walking into the kitchen after you.

Gojo saw you both laughing and talking like you always did. You were at ease, immersed in your own world… completely forgetting about Satoru.

Did the kiss from last night mean nothing to you?

“What the fuck is going on?!” He groaned removing his blindfold; now fully observing and analyzing every single detail of what you two were doing using his six eyes.

Gojo didn’t want to miss a thing.

He focused on you, your reactions, the way you smiled, the way you acted, your heartbeat, the tone of your voice and… that bright and warm halo of happiness surrounding you while in Suguru’s presence; the same halo that last night was cold for Satoru. All of your smiles, all of your warmth and kindness were dedicated to Suguru.

Satoru’s frayed nerves and chaotic mind debated wether he should warp there and steal you away (… of course then proceed to fuck your into oblivion, fill you with his cum to the brim until you knew there was no other man for you other than your husband) OR keep watching and see how far you would go.

As angry as he was right then, he had to remind himself that Suguru and you had always been very close. It wasn’t uncommon for Geto fo visit you and have dinner with you to keep you company whenever Satoru wasn’t around due to his work or even have dinner together all three of you. This wasn’t ‘abnormal’ per say. The difference was that NOW you ‘thought’ you were not Satoru’s anymore (the operational word being ‘thought’)Geto’s presence never bothered him before… until now.

Taking a deep breath Satoru saw you walking towards your bedroom. His hands trembled in anticipation.

Were you going to sleep with Suguru?

He walked along the edge of his rooftop following your movements inside until you stopped in front of your room. Suguru moved closer to you and Satoru almost snapped. Lifting his hand to use his cursed technic against his best friend he saw how you both hugged and after you placed a kiss on his cheek you bid him goodnight. You pulled back and Satoru sighed in relieve but then Suguru was the one that leaned in and kissed your lips. Satoru was as shocked as you were but you managed to recover faster than he did since you returned Suguru’s embrace for what felt like an eternity. Finally when you separated, Geto and you exchanged a couple words and after another hug he walked out of your room closing the door behind him.

Satoru’s eyes had been open like saucers while the exchange took place, he released a breath he didn’t know have been holding. He saw you turn around and touch your lips with a blush on your cheeks.

He lost his fucking mind right then.

-

After coming back home Suguru and you talked about the latest shows you were watching and the movies you wanted to watch so you could catch up. A couple jokes about your gory tastes in movies and series after and you were both ready to turn in for the day.

“So! You wanna do a ‘The Walking Dead’ marathon?” You asked with a smirk “sure doll, we can do that tomorrow. You have the morning free right?” Asked Suguru. Sunday mornings were your ‘me’ time since your instructor didn’t work on Sundays “yes I do!” You answered with a big grin. You felt like a kid and the sensation filled you with happiness.

Now that Suguru was here you felt so different, as if you had been numb but now you could feel again.

A yawn cut your next sentence making Suguru chuckle “come on sleepy head, you and I are both whipped” you complied with a sleepy smile and walked down the hall.

Geto stopped in front of your room and gave you one of his characteristic big bear hugs. He was so tall and muscular, you felt surrounded by warmth and muscles everywhere. The fresh and crisp scent of his citrus cologne and detergent made your stomach do a little flip. The intimacy and trust you felt with him reminded you that you were not alone.

It had been easy to bury yourself physically and emotionally in your work but now that Suguru was with you, it reminded you that despite of how tough things got, you would always count on him.

Reluctantly you both pulled back, his Adam’s apple at eye level with you made you swallow. When you looked back into his eyes you found his trailing on your lips before they moved up to meet your e/c eyes.

There was a growing tension between the two of you, too strong and obvious to ignore.

Before, when you were with Satoru; Geto and you had ignored it but now there was nothing stopping either of you from acknowledging it. Sooner than anticipated your lips connected in a tender kiss. He was soft and kind, not demanding. He just wanted to comfort you but also let you know he wanted you, all in his sweet particular way.

You returned the kiss. It was inviting like a balm, it didn’t mean to mark and conquer but to soothe. His plump lips still tasted of wine. It made your mouth avid to taste more.

When you pulled away a blush covered your cheeks “good night Kitten” Suguru tells you with his deep baritone making a very pleasant tingling sensation run down your spine “good night Sugu” only then Geto leaves to go to his room across from yours.

The door closes behind you, all you can hear is your heart hammering away from within, you actually….enjoyed that kiss. It was so sweet, so tender… so soothing. Everything that Suguru was to you was poured in that single action. Touching your lips you start debating whether this was something good or something you should wait before pursuing.

Satoru didn’t sign your divorce, technically you were still married. Suguru didn’t deserve a half assed relationship with someone who doesn’t have her shit together.

You were still healing it was true, but… when Suguru kissed you, it made you feel safe…. Like you could let go and trust him.

Feeling guilty about it, you compared it to Satoru’s kiss from last night. It was impossible to deny there was still passion between you your husband and yourself. But then again physical intimacy was never the problem in your former relationship.

The thrill of the danger, of knowing nothing good would come out of it and despite it all your stubborn desire to immerse yourself in the ocean that was Gojo Satoru. Was what terrified you.

No… you couldn’t think about him that way. Not anymore.

With a sigh you decided it was time for bed. You turned around to head to the bathroom but your body connected with something hard and warm. Looking up you saw Satoru’s crystal blue eyes but before you could scream he covered your mouth with one hand while wrapping the other one around your waist. “Oh no no no no my love… none of that, we are not going to alert sweet Suguru about me, princess” the smirk that pulled at his lips made you shiver, it was predatory… maniac even.

Before your senses could register the change in the atmosphere you were warped away with Satoru. You screamed, but it was too late, you were not in your home anymore.

The lavish interiors of an elegant dim lit suite received you “what the fuck are you doing!?” You asked when he let you go, taking a step back breathing heavily “are you insane!?” You asked the white haired sorcerer who in answer only moved closer to you. The more you tried to get away the closer he got, until you were trapped between the wall and his towering 6’4 frame.

—

“Now princess…. Just what were you and Suguru doing?hmm?” He asked with a terrifying grin that poorly attempted to disguise his anger. Moving his hand to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Nothing of your concern!” You answered glaring at him, had he been spying on you? You tried to drop your body against the wall to escape from him but before you moved further than an inch down Satoru completely crushed your body with his “I am not done talking to you yet… my wife” he remarked making you ball your hands in fists. It annoyed and revolted you how he tried to use your ‘unfortunate’ marital status for leverage “I am your wife only on the paper… I don’t care what you think or say!” Satoru didn’t like your answer but his grin only broadened; grabbing your wrists and placing them on top of your head he held them with one of his large hands of dexterous fingers “you are right….” He started, giving you false hope “maybe it is time I remind you of your marital duties” your eyes opened wide but before you could attempt anything he kissed you. Fierce lips and teeth demanded your submission… this wasn’t a tender request… it was a display of dominance and possession.

You bit his lip trying to make him stop but Satoru took that as an invitation to grow bolder. His hand moved to your ‘V’ cut long sleeve top and ripped it right in the middle making you gasp; giving him the perfect opportunity to plunge his tongue in your mouth and intensify the kiss tenfold.

His free hand moved to your left breast squeezing the globe of warm flesh underneath. Groaning against your lips on approval, Satoru moved both his hands to your hips and using his inhuman strength he carried you across the room faster than you could tell and then threw you on the bed.

“Satoru… don’t do this! Are you mad?!” You asked in a trembling tone while scooting backwards on the bed in a miserable attempt at escaping him.

“Yes! I am! As a matter of fact… you are a good part of the reason why I am insane!” Grabbing one of your ankles he pulled you closer to him. Spreading your legs he laid on top of your body, giving you no chance to escape “SATORU STOP PLEASE!” You screamed but Satoru only focused on destroying the fabric of your jeans. He wanted all the obstacles between you to be gone! He wanted your clothes, your pain and Geto to be gone! So he could have you all to himself.

You tried to kick him but when you are struggling with the strongest jujutsu sorcerer of his generation there was absolutely nothing your body could accomplish without his approval.

A part of yourself hated the fact that you were just as revolted as aroused at the moment. Was that combination even possible? On one hand you felt dirty because your husband was trying to force himself on you out of jealousy…. But on the other part… the dark and twisted one… you were aroused by his display of pure male dominance, by his suffocating desire to have you and only you.

It was hard to fight so many years of habit, of fantastic chemistry… of love.

You would have to be blind or stupid not to see that your husband had been obsessing over you since you left but….

What good could come out of it?

If you both gave into your primal desires and fucked each other’s brains out. Would that change anything about your broken and unhealthy marriage?

His hot mouth moved to your neck to nibble and suck on that spot right bellow your earlobe that he loved to abuse. A big bruising mark was left in place, but he wasn’t content with just that. He wanted to leave the brand of his desire painted on your skin, like a beacon for him and a warning for others.

As the minutes went by his attentions became less frantic, instead they turned more purposeful and tender.

You stopped moving altogether, not fighting him nor corresponding his affections and careful treatment of your body.

https://youtu.be/qfFOzQVKuMs

Satoru pulled back for a moment to see you…. Only then it hit him like a train.

What the fuck was he doing? He looked at you and saw the tear trails that dried on your cheeks. Your top ripped in half displaying the soft skin of your breasts only covered by a bra.

“Y/N…” he whispered looking into your eyes. He caressed your cheek “I’m sorry… love” he mumbled trembling. “I’m so sorry…” a sob broke through his lips.

Did he…..? Did he…. almost forced you to have sex with him? How far had he gone in his endeavor to get you back by any means necessary? The notion that he almost…. Raped his wife made him sick.

He cried like a child. Wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face against your naked stomach; kneeling on the floor before the bed he crumbled to pieces. Repeating ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. He was horrified with himself; he had done many questionable things in his life but this… took the cake. It made him a piece of shit! He didn’t deserve you! You were too good for someone as tainted as him. The dread that revelation brought made him cry harder.

He realized his obsession had been a result of the fear he was unwilling to admit having. The terror that made his insides coil. The absolute horror of losing yet another person he loved.

The fear of loosing you.

He had always been alone since he was a child. Satoru didn’t share much of his past with you but the few things you knew was that he had become an orphan at a very young age. He had to mature rapidly to overcome the obstacles of being a kid with so much power in the middle of a corrupt and outdated world of magic and intrigue.

Gojo always felt lonely, despite of how much he liked to mess around with people and play pranks on everyone. But you… had been one of the very few who got to see through his perfectly built facade and tell him the truth.

The night he told you he loved you was after you decided to stay with him in his apartment. He didn’t say or do anything particularly obvious but you somehow knew he didn’t want to be alone. He kept trying to fill the space with playful banter but you shut him up by hugging him and holding him tightly saying he didn’t have to explain anything all. That you would always be there for him, no matter what. It had been on the anniversary of the death of his parents.

Somehow, your empathetic and loving nature blindly guided you to stay with him and allow THE Gojo Satoru to be just…. human in your arms.

-

As much as you wanted to hate him and resent him, seeing him in such a vulnerable state made your heart ache for him. Unable to stop yourself you caressed his platinum locks while he held onto you and cried begging for your forgiveness over and over again.

When Satoru calmed down he removed his head from your lap slowly, you have been crying along with him. Your fates leaded you both exactly where you were at. Every decision and mistake carved this painful path you walked now.

Looking into your eyes he moved closer as if he was afraid to scare you away, his face stopped just an inch away from yours, giving you the chance to reject his advances but instead of doing that you closed the distance that separated you both. You lips met and melted together in a desperate kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, making him moan recognizing the intimate and passionate gesture he had missed for so long. He laid you back down again, climbing on top of you. His hands moving down to your waist in an attempt to feel you as close as possible, as if you were going to disappear in any moment.

Your legs wrapped around his waist when your tongues laced together and caressed each other; moans and sighs left your lips, filling Satoru’s ears and making his hands wander over the expanse of exposed skin.

Making him stand before you and between your legs his long sleeved black shirt was removed quickly, your admired his perfectly sculpted pale torso, this man has always been so… perfect; as if the gods themselves had decided to carve every inch of his person. Although, he did look skinnier, you knew he had not been really taking care of himself. The sight send a pang of pain to your heart. “Toru….” A little painful whisper abandoned your lips when you pulled him closer. Your mouth left a small path of kisses from his neck to the center of his chest, he gasped at the sweet and soothing action. Once more, your tenderness reminded him that he did not deserve you and yet he couldn’t come to make himself stop you. He needed you more than air to live.

Avid hands moved south of his stomach to undo his jeans and pull them down; a very vague part of your brain registered that you were now willingly doing this. Should you stop? Next to go were his boxers. He was standing naked in front of you.

His hardened cock stood between his legs with a small dribble of precum rolling down the reddened head.

He was an Adonis.

Looking into his eyes you saw the loving gaze laced with guilt in his cerulean orbs. You couldn’t stop, you didn’t want to.

He then helped you lay down to return the favor. His mouth kissed its way to the center of your breasts while his right hand undid your bra behind. Taking off the remains of your destroyed top along with your bra, next were the flimsy black lace panties that he rolled down your legs until you were fully naked before his eyes.

He was left speechless “you are so beautiful…” a goddess laid naked on his bed, with her inviting lips, glorious s/c skin, a halo of darker h/c hair around your head, perfect breasts and a pair of delectably shaped legs that he wanted wrapped around him.

How did he ever dare cheat on you? Not only your body was beautiful to him but your heart, you knew no boundaries when it came down to loving someone. You had given him everything and then some.

Kneeling before you he grabbed one of your legs and left kisses from the calf to the inner thigh. Placing it carefully over his shoulder he stopped for a moment to look in your eyes before his mouth delved between your thighs. He found your sweet pussy already wet and waiting for him to lavish his attentions. Like a starved man he licked your pussy, consuming everything you had to offer him. Your flavor coating his tongue made his stomach tight in delight, he recognized the addictive sweetness of your scent. Parting your lips with his tongue he penetrated your entrance with his tongue, going straight to the source. You screamed and he had to hold your hips so you wouldn’t pull away. He couldn’t let you go! Not now! Not ever!

Once he was satisfied he replaced his tongue with his fingers, pumping two digits in and out of your soaking entrance. His tongue looked for your clit and swirled around it, sucking at times and flicking at others. His reward were your screams, moans and sighs of pleasure. They were only for him and no one else.

“T… Toru… I’m gonna come”

“Come for me princess, give me all of you my love” Satoru asked quickly before his mouth returned to your slit and his thumb took care of the bundle of nerves at the top.

You screamed, arching your back when your orgasm washed over your body and completely overwhelmed your senses. Taking his time to taste and swallow your juices Satoru finally emerged from between your legs. Your eyes darkened with a desired that matched his.

Your arms inviting him to come closer encouraged him to lay on top of you after wiping his chin with his hands. Long legs surrounded his waist while you looked in each other’s eyes. “I love you…” he said at the same time he slid his cock inside you, slowly until he was fully sheathed and his balls slapped your ass, making you scream his name.

Satoru was not a small man by any means, taking all of his impressive length at once would have been impossible had he not prepared you beforehand. He knew it, so he moved slowly at the beginning, allowing you some time to adjust while he whispered sweet nothings on your ear.

The moment your legs pulled him closer and deeper he knew you were ready. Without a word he rocked his hips, retracting all the way until only the tip was left inside before he went all the way back in making you body jolt.

The rhythm was slow and purposeful at the beginning but as the minutes went by, the both of you became hungrier, more demanding, more… needy. Your hips met his thrust by thrust. The slapping of your skins intensified as did the moans.

Your tight and hot walls squeezed his cock so deliciously the man was having a tough time not behaving like an animal and rutting you through the mattress like a beast in heat. He wanted to show you he loved you.

He held both your hands in his, pushing them against the bed at both sides of your head. Looking into your eyes he moved deeper “I love you…” he said again and you couldn’t help but feel how the tears escaped your eyes “I love you too…” you admitted in a tiny voice that could barely be considered a whisper.

Satoru eliminated the distance between you both and kissed you, pouring his heart in that action. Your climax was close, he knew this so he angled his hips to continue pummeling your sweet spot while he drove you over the edge.

You came around his thick cock, your walls tightening around his member as if they never wanted go let go “I’m gonna come princess” he moaned and then with a few hard thrusts he spilled himself inside you, painting your walls with his cum.

Your worn out, sweaty bodies stayed still. Trying to recover. Satoru refused to remove himself from inside you.. Not yet, he wanted to savor this moment, the intimacy and the love he felt.

You didn’t protest, instead you did what you used to do back when you both were still together. Cradling his head between your breasts you stroked his hair, lulling you both to sleep.

Your last coherent though before sleep claimed you being… That once again… you fell for it.

Guilt settled in.

————-> Chapter 11

-

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[shini--chan]

may i request yandere china & japan fighting over the same (slightly oblivious) reader? thanks!

Did I already say that I love writing love triangles? Well if I haven’t then I have now.

Yandere Love Triangle: China vs Japan

Since they would both be subtle about their rivalry, it actually comes as a given that you wouldn’t catch on. Unlike Russia and America, they wouldn’t be so open about their distaste for each other. On top of that, you would only find out they know one another by chance. For as long as they would be able to, they would avoid talking about the other altogether.

It was a good day for fish. That was already confirmed so Yao was happy that he had managed to get a piece of pricy tuna before it had sold away. It was currently situated in his shopping basket along with a few other choice vegetables.

He was hovering over an assortment of loose-leaf tee, pondering if he should stock up on ginseng or on white tea when he heard two very familiar voices behind him. First he thought that he was mistaking those two and their it was just two stranger, voices distorted by the din of the market.

It wouldn’t really make sense for you to be here anyway; not at this time when the sun had just started to rise.

Through, ,lo and behold, when he looked up you were passing by, hand in hand with Japan. The latter knew he was there, there was no denying that, especially by how those shoulders tensed and how he discreetly observed China about of the corners of his eyes.

Now that simply wouldn’t do. Straightening his spine to assume all the authority seniority gave him over the young whippersnapper. “Good morning to you too, Kiku”, he called out in a composed fashion.

You’re being a brat. Cut it out at once and give me my dues! was the unclarified undertone of the sentence, something you didn’t notice, not that you needed to.

The latter pivoted around with you, and while doing so switched from holding your hand to interlinking your arms. In the middle of the hasty movement it could be easily brushed off as him ensuring that you didn’t lose balance.

Upon seeing him, your eyes lit up. That action was balm on Yao’s soul and smoothed some of his ruffled feathers. You hadn’t forsaken him. He still had a chance with you.

“Yao, what a pleasure to see you again!”, you enthusiastically greeted him. Curious and impatient as always, you immediately went ahead to ask with questions: “You know each other? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

You sounded too cheerful to take any offense in secrets being kept from you.

“Oh yes”, China was quick to chatter, “we’ve known each other for a long time. You could say we have a quite history.” He smiled, shark teeth and the elegant movements of a dragon. “And shall we let history repeat itself? Have me take what is mine but you think is yours?”

“Quite a history?”, you repeated with poorly disguised curiosity, with the same keen interest of a high school girl hearing the latest gossip. Silly little rabbit, did you really think he could ever be enamoured with Japan if he only had eyes for you.

“Oh yes”, Kiku smoothly interjected, his diplomatic side showing itself, “he used to be quite a presence in my life, when I was a child, and he was figuring his place in the world. The rest came as it had too.

“Though I am surprised that you are here, Yao. This is quite unexpected, especially nowadays”, he commented, the slight drawl at the end of specific words high lightly a hidden meaning to the careful listener. Your glory days are over. Except it and take a back seat.

In an attempt to knock the rival out of the ring, they would resort to slander, blackmail and other heinous if discreet tactics. They would do their best to make the other look bad in your eyes, all formulated in manner that you wouldn’t expect that they would be besmirching each other.

Since they would both know that official jealously and open confrontation would just scare you, make they unattractive in your eyes, and be useless. They would resort to a whole manner of other tricks to make the other’s life difficult. Be verbal barbs or pulling strings to frame the other for a crime, the two of them would become exceptionally creative in their desire for obtaining you.

Further down the line, they might settle for a comprise and resort to searching you. Objections on your behalf would be seen as a sign of victory and loyalty that would rub in the other’s face. Should there be a comprise, then neither of them would be doing it out of altruism, rather with the ulterior motive of either convincing you to choose, or a snitch you later. Also because of keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer.

[phantom-le6]

Film Review - Mulan (2020)

As I noted in my previous film review for The New Mutants, I’ve temporarily postponed working through a backlog of TV show reviews to tackle a couple more film reviews.  With The New Mutants having been the first of those two films, I now give you my review for the second, which is the live-action remake of the Disney classic Mulan…

Plot (adapted from Wikipedia):

In Imperial China, Hua Mulan is an adventurous and active girl to the disappointment of her parents, who hope that one day she will be wed to a good husband. As a young woman, Mulan is forced to meet with a matchmaker to demonstrate her fitness as a future wife. Mulan, flustered, attempts to pour tea in front of the matchmaker, but a spider causes a panic from her little sister Xiu, accidentally causing a mishap that destroys the kettle, leading the matchmaker to call her a disgrace in front of her family.

To the north, an imperial outpost is invaded by Rouran warriors, under the leadership of Böri Khan. They are assisted by the witch Xianniang, who uses her magic to pose as a surviving soldier and report the attack to the Emperor of China; he then issues a conscription decree ordering every family to contribute one man to fight Khan's forces.

Imperial soldiers arrive in Mulan's village to enlist recruits and her father Hua Zhou is forced to pledge his service as he has no sons, immediately keeling over in front of the soldiers due to his bad leg. Realizing that her father has no chance of survival, Mulan flees with his armor, horse, and sword to join in his place. Mulan arrives at the training camp, which is run by Commander Tung, an old comrade of Hua Zhou. Alongside dozens of other inexperienced recruits, she ultimately becomes a trained soldier under his tutelage without exposing her true identity.

The Khan's army continues to advance, forcing Tung to end training early and send his battalion to fight. Mulan chases some troops on her own, but is confronted by Xianniang, who mocks her for pretending to be a man. She attempts to kill Mulan, but her attacks are stopped by the leather with which Mulan's chest had been bound to hide her identity. Mulan removes her male disguise, returning to the battle just as the Rourans begin attacking her fellow troops with a trebuchet. Mulan uses discarded helmets and her archery skills to maneuver the trebuchet into firing on a snowy mountain, triggering an avalanche that buries the Rourans.

Mulan rides back to camp and rescues Chen Honghui, a soldier she befriended in camp. Unable to hide her true gender any longer, she is expelled from the army and begins her return home. On her way, she is confronted by Xianniang, who reveals that she was also shunned by her people and fights for Böri Khan only because he treats her as an equal and that no one else does. Additionally, she reveals that the attacks on the outposts have been a diversion, as Khan's true plan is to capture and execute the Emperor for having his father killed. Risking execution, Mulan returns to her battalion to warn them of the impending capture. Tung decides to believe her, and allows her to lead a unit to the Emperor's palace. 

Xianniang uses her magic to assume the appearance of the Imperial Chancellor and persuades the Emperor to accept Böri Khan's challenge to single combat, while removing the city guards from their posts. The guards are murdered, and the Rourans prepare to burn the Emperor alive. Mulan's unit distracts the Rourans while Mulan goes to save the Emperor. Khan tries to snipe her with an arrow, but Xianniang, sympathetic to Mulan and disenchanted from Khan, transforms into a bird and sacrifices herself by intercepting the arrow. Mulan kills Khan, but not before he disarms her and destroys her father's sword. She frees the Emperor, who offers to let her join his personal guard. She declines the offer and returns to her village. 

Mulan is reunited with her family. An emissary from the Emperor, under the leadership of Commander Tung, arrives to present Mulan with a new sword, while making a personal request that she join the Emperor's Guard.

Review:

Apparently, this film got really slated by Chinese audiences for numerous historical and cultural mishandlings and errors, so before I get into looking at the film itself, I’d like to point out something about Disney films in general.  News flash, ladies and gentlemen, most of them are not original stories; the majority are based on historical legends, folk tales, fairy tales and story books, and not a single one will ever be spot on to what it was before.  Frozen?  A very loose adaptation of Hans Christian Anderson’s story The Snow Queen.  Snow White?  The original version of that story would read more like a horror film than children’s animation.  101 Dalmatians?  The Disney animated feature is very dumbed down and stream-lined compared to the novel. Given this, no one should expect any Disney film to be historically or culturally spot-on.  This is what Disney does, and always has done, and you have to keep that in mind every time you watch these films.  Plus, films are by their very nature made up, even when based on true stories.  Cultural and historical accuracy is what documentaries are for. 

Now, having said all this with regard to managing one’s expectations of Mulan in terms of its historical and cultural inaccuracies, I’d also like to point out that while the film is by and large a remake of the Disney animated classic, it’s not a remake like we’ve seen from Disney before now.  With the likes of Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin and the Lion King, the films have been adapted in a way that preserves the basic genre, plot and overall identity of the original film, simply adding to or adjusting as necessary to make the film effective in a photo-realistic format.  With Mulan, however, the remake focuses more on Mulan’s struggle in having to go off to war and become a solider, so this martial arts war film aspect ends up removing the musical aspect of the film, though fans of the original film will recognise variants on key songs within the score of the film. 

To my mind, taking out the musical elements and a degree of the cartoonish comedy through the elimination of Mushu was a very good move.  War is a brutal, bloody business that isn’t an appropriate environment for characters to be breaking into big musical numbers in.  Even the animated version of Mulan understood this by keeping its musical numbers confined to Mulan’s civilian life and time as a trainee conscript. Once the soldiers were confronted by the aftermath of war near the end of that film’s second act, we don’t get another song until we’re going into the end credits. 

That being said, I do feel that the film starts poorly, with the various scenes of social awkwardness around the film’s start and middle, ranging from the matchmaker debacle to Mulan’s various efforts at pretending to be a man all being scenes I didn’t enjoy.  These weren’t so bad in the animated version (well, the matchmaker was, but I digress), and I think that’s because animation is a medium that slightly diffuses that kind of awkwardness in a scene.  In live action, it’s a bit too close to real life, and as an autistic person I have enough moments of social awkwardness in my own life; I don’t need to see it in the things I watch for purposes of escapism and general entertainment. 

However, outside of archaic marital customs and the worst soldier’s drag act since Hugh Laurie in the Blackadder Goes Forth episode ‘Major Star’, the film still has good points.  The film’s other scenes are well-acted by all concerned, the fight scenes are well-down and the scoring is very good.  I also like the addition of the witch character of Xianniang, and linking her to Mulan through the idea that it is showing a mastery of chi energy for combat despite being woman that causes ostracism for both women.  This adds to the underlying moral of gender equality that is the core of the Mulan story, from original legend to animated film and on into this live action remake.  In addition, the actress who voiced Mulan in the original animated film has a cameo in this film introducing Mulan to the Emperor near the end of the film, so we also have a rare ‘passing of the baton’ moment not common to Disney remakes. 

Overall, Disney has created a decent remake of Mulan despite the loss of its musical genre in favour of more action and a greater focus on the war element of the story.  It’s just unfortunate that, for me at least, the awkwardness of some scenes makes the film an uncomfortable thing to sit through during parts of the first two-thirds, especially given their importance to the overall plot and concept of the film.  Frankly, I think the makers of this film needed to find a substitute for the animation medium in terms of diffusing some of that social awkwardness, and frankly retention of a talking dragon might have helped a bit.  Overall, I’d probably give this remake about 7 out of 10.

[dogcopter]

Rose is Lion Liveblog episode 45: Rose’s Scabbard Part One (long)

Rose is Liveblog 2020 Masterlist

(recap/summary: I’m liveblogging every Lion appearance in SU in order to emphasize that he is obviously the heinous, beautiful Rose Quartz in disguise. This episode in particular is a smoking gun like Escapism)

Lion takes center stage opposite Pearl in Rose’s Scabbard. Steven learns a bit about him, and about Rose. This episode, Lion’s revelatory behavior towards Pearl stands out.

Lion looks unhappy to be here. He is unhappy because he is Rose Quartz, and has thousands of years of regrets.

Pearl suggests Steven rob a grave and also that he get Lion obedience training. Lion appears to follow a magic butterfly through the strawberry patch. 

Steven says “We’re making progress. Now he looks at me when I say his name!” and calls to Lion, who ignores him.

Lion digs up Rose’s Scabbard.

Pearl’s jaw drops.

“That’s the scabbard to Rose’s sword!”

She tries to yank it from Lion’s mouth. He’s annoyed, because it was for Steven, not her.

Lore concept: In this episode, it’s made clear that Lion knows Pearl, likes her, and cares about her to some extent. These things are true of Rose Quartz, but new to Lion’s characterization.

Lion resists at first, but is defeated. Pearl shoos him away. 

One of Lion’s most consistent traits thus far is not giving a shit about what anyone around him is doing, but this episode, he’s attentive to Pearl. Why’s he making eye contact with Pearl and reacting personally? IMO that is super obviously Rose Quartz.

Look at this exchange. Lion often has ambiguous expressions, but that looks like a smile. Lol.

Although he “spoke” to Steven in Lion and Lion 2, at this point in the series he has only recently shown real affection toward Steven, in Lion 3. There’s also a whole running gag in almost all of his appearances that he doesn’t care what Steven wants or cares about because he’s a cat. He’s hardly ever attentive to Steven’s requests, with the exception of Rose lore. 

Amethyst hugged him once onscreen, in Ocean Gem, and he and Pearl watched Steven sleep and she spoke at him once. The only other character he’s interacted with at any length onscreen is Connie, and they will become close later in the series because Rose Quartz loves Imagination and Connie is an MG fantasy protagonist. At this point, Connie and Lion had a couple of moments: his interest in her in Lion 2 and cooperating to rescue Steven in Ocean Gem. But aside from how he acted in Lion 2 he really hasn’t been social like this.

Lion snorts in Pearl’s face when she shoos him, annoying her. 

“Mom fought here?” “That’s right! And I fought alongside her.” (said while alongside Lion)

A teary-eyed Pearl recounts the glory of Rose Quartz. 

Garnet tries to keep it real, but Pearl at this point in the series is still coping via Rose Quartz fanfiction, which has been her coping mechanism ever since a clown dressed up as her hot OC 6,000 years ago, so naturally, she associates telling epic RQ stories with inspiring her charge (Steven) in an effort to fill the void...

Anyway she says “Here we made our stand against our Homeworld!” and a half-truth, “We won!” Winning meaning the Earth not being colonized I suppose. 

We don’t get to see Lion’s reaction to this. Probably as he is Rose Quartz he is thinking things like, “At one point listening to a Rose Quartz story GMH but now the lies are too bitter” or “this is almost definitely where I betrayed my best friend and biggest fan, the #1 Crystal Gem, Bismuth. I am a bad person” or maybe “It sucks that approx. 5,300 years ago all these people believed in the cause and now they’re digimons in bubbles in the basement and I feel personally responsible” or maybe just “It’s sad to see Pearl like this.” there are layers. Or maybe he feels nothing at all because Rose is still working on empathy! It’s probably a mix of different things.

Steven is dazzled, ofc, which is what matters.

Next part of the ep lacks Lion but recap: Pearl wants to show Steven a SECRET SECRET Rose place, secret even to Amethyst and Garnet! They travel on foot and she carries him up a cliff without a belay. Steven has already been there via Lion, which breaks Pearl’s fragile hard-light projection heart in two. Then he smashes it to bits under his heel by knowing where Rose’s long-lost sword is.

Reiterating: Lion knew about the cave because he is Rose Quartz. This was a very secret home base for Pearl and Rose’s eyes only. 

Arguably, sure, Rose could have traveled around the world with Lion showing him places, especially places she’d rather forget, but Lion being Rose just fits better when you consider both information (lore) and behavior (personality). 

Steven Universe Future relevant characterization meta sidenote: This LB is about Lion, but by extension it’s also about Rose and Steven. Here’s another formative moment: Steven is really excited to show Pearl he knows where Rose’s sword is. This is an occasion where Steven is trying to be helpful, but everything goes poorly and he thinks it’s his fault. Pearl was overjoyed to bring him to a dangerous place full of secrets, both canonically core elements of Steven’s desire for bonding activities with the gems (For example, Secret Team, Serious Steven). He also loves learning more about his mom and yearns for lore on her (Story for Steven, Lion 3).

Steven’s dream came true today, he got a dangerous adventure and a bonding moment where he also learns about his mom. He doesn’t realize the glorious war stories are lies/coping mechanisms, he’s still a hundred episodes away from learning the terrible truth about Pink Diamond, and he has not a single clue this will upset Pearl or how badly. He’s just trying to show her something cool like she did for him. She falls apart and then he spends the rest of the episode “picking up the pieces”. 

Pearl: “Rose’s sword. How did it get in there?” 

(Lion: Oh boy.) Steven: “I don’t know! But there’s a ton of stuff in there!”

Steven:  “I keep stuff in him, too.” (Lion: STEVEN DON’T TELL HER THAT)

Lion’s face is doing this as Steven says this because he’s Rose Quartz. He just realized Steven might tell the Crystal Gems that Bismuth has unjustly imprisoned for over five millennia, or bring out that chest, and is bracing for impact. The childhood traumatized Rose Quartz has never been ready to face people.

Luckily Steven is an adorable fool.

Pearl: “But how?” 

Lion, who was downright chummy with Pearl earlier, doesn’t want her messing with the mane.

After all, Lion isn’t just a secret Rose kept from Pearl. He’s like a series of secrets within secrets Rose kept from Pearl. And he’s Rose, actively keeping herself secret from Pearl. And that is kind of a bummer.

See, he makes so much eye contact with her this ep. He’s not acting like he did in others; he’s probably spent more time onscreen caring about Pearl than about Steven at the moment. 

I’m so proud of Pearl for her growth and that she was able to talk secrets eventually, this was a rough period for her.

This is Pearl’s face as she realizes that Rose had secrets even from her, even though she is also a container of Rose’s secrets. (Episode title drop)  “But Rose didn’t have a lion.” “It seems like her stuff in there.”

Note that we don’t see Lion’s face again for this part. I wonder if when we get the reveal, we’ll see a new side of some of these past scenes where Lion’s back is to us.

 “Rose didn’t have a lion! Because if Rose had a lion, I would have known about it.”

“Rose kept many things secret. Even from us.”

Pearl is teary-eyed again, this time actually in tears. “But not from me! I was the one she told everything!”

This is untrue. Bismuth is right there, and as recently as Volleyball, Pearl was learning new things Rose never told her. But the secret Pearl had to keep for Rose, the secret of her identity and Pink Diamond’s shattering, is so significant that the alternative is unthinkable because it changes Pearl’s self-image as much as her image of Rose. Even though at the time (and probably still, certainly at the time of this episode) doing that was her proudest moment and with the intent to break free of the system once and for all, both the trauma of what followed and of Rose’s decision to refuse Pearl the ability to speak of it had completely shaped her life from that point forward.

Not to belabor the point but Rose as Lion in this scene is witnessing the effects of what she did and of losing her on Pearl, like how he was present for the gems responding to Steven’s “death” in So Many Birthdays, or the events of “Cry For Help”.

“Yo, you’re not the only one who misses her!” We glimpse some of what Amethyst is struggling with - and details on Amethyst and Rose’s relationship are few and far between. Garnet showing genuine surprise, too. Possibly she is future visioning that Pearl is about to knock down Rose’s portrait.

Remember Lion is sitting there seeing all this. So is Steven, who just wanted to surprise and delight Pearl with the sword.

“You can’t understand how I feel! None of you had what we had!”

This one really is true, but Steven won’t learn how true until the events of Now We’re Only Falling Apart. Still no visible reaction from Lion, but he does appear to be listening attentively.

Steven echoes Pearl’s own line from earlier in an attempt to reassure her like she reassured him. Great leaders have to keep secrets to protect people! “She probably just wanted to protect you, like everybody else.”

“What do you know?” Pearl’s hurtful words cut Steven, who is only trying to help. 

”You’ve never even met her!”

Now we see Lion looking at Pearl with everyone else. Steven has taken a step back in fear.

The portrait begins to fall from the wall,

Garnet activates Sapphire speed and catches it. Lion’s back is to us once again, as is the portrait’s.

Pearl glances at Steven’s face again, looking strung out on grief and presumably fresh guilt for what she just said,

And takes off. Amethyst says, “Fine! Go cry about it!” Steven says, “Where did she go?” and Amethyst replies, “Who cares? I hate it when she gets like this.” This isn’t the first time Pearl has been upset like this since losing Rose. These are their reactions to that. 

Amethyst frustrated, maybe because Rose was the most important relationship in her life too, and Pearl’s words about being the most important devalue that. Garnet is carrying on putting the portrait away.

“Garnet?”

Garnet doesn’t answer him. She probably doesn’t know what to say. This has been the family dynamic since at least losing Rose.

Steven pushes down his own hurt feelings. Asks about Pearl instead. “Is she okay?” Garnet still doesn’t respond. This kid needs a parent to rely on!

“Well, I’m gonna go find her.”

“Do you know where she went?”

The heartbreaker Rose Quartz growls an affirmative. Unlike Garnet and Amethyst, who are exhausted by the cycle of grief they’ve been trapped in since Rose gave up her physical form & who’ve probably given up trying to talk to Pearl when she won’t (or can’t) talk to them if they tried in the first place, Lion and Steven want to chase after Pearl and do something.

Lore: Lion knows where Pearl is (The battlefield) because he is Rose Quartz.

Rose knows where Pearl would go to be upset about this (Rose, the sword, lies). Just like the armory was a place known only to Pearl and Rose, the floating island Pearl is about to leave Steven to is an unmarked location with special significance to Pearl and Rose.

Sure, we were just there and they found the sword, as the audience we need a setting established before we can return to it and it bookends the episode – but Pearl’s first line introducing the setting in the episode is:

“This was a site of a historic battle. Every weapon here was left by a gem over 5,000 years ago. I don’t like to disturb it, but Garnet said we can’t just leave these lying around.”

She describes that it was an important place because of the battle that happened there, but a place that lay mostly undisturbed for over 5,000 years, and Pearl makes it sound like she’s rarely visited since. No personal connection or feelings, really, aside from respect for the dead. It paints a very different picture from the one she projects for Steven in just a few minutes.

“Let’s go find Pearl!” Pearl left via warp pad, but Lion and Steven take a lion warp. Lion was present to hear the war stories at the beginning. 

Pearl was excited by the scabbard, but Lion would only have reason to assume she’d return there and agree to follow her with Steven if a) he actually cares about her and b) he knows something about her we don’t. Another Lion behavior detail that is odd if just Lion, makes perfect sense if Rose. 

Rose’s Scabbard Part 2

[whatarubberchicken]

The Bodyguard’s Tale

Happy Holidays, @staymagical! I’m your Secret Santa for the @voltronsecretsanta2k19 exchange! I hope you like this! (I saw you were a Merlin fan, and I couldn’t resist! But don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten the rest of your request, it’s just a bit of a slow burn! (; )

Read on Ao3 or ff.net! Next chapter>>

......

The Bodyguard’s Tale

Chapter 1

Keith stared up at the tall, white towers of the Altean palace and tried not to wince. It was so different from what he was used to on Daibazaal! The colors, the shapes, the sounds! Back home, there had been noise and chaos, yes, but it seemed so much… more organized than this! There, it was orders being shouted and the ring of blade on blade. Here, people were calling out to each other eagerly, children laughing everywhere—he swore he even heard music coming from somewhere! (You never heard music on Daibazaal unless it was a feast day!)

“Well, this’ll be an adventure, huh?” Shiro said cheerfully, coming up beside him.

Keith rolled his eyes at the Champion. Shiro had been a prisoner in the arena before his fighting prowess had been recognized and he’d been granted his freedom as a prize. Above all, the Galra valued strength, and Takashi Shirogane had it in spades. Since then, he’d become an “ambassador” for his home planet, Earth, which Sendak had conquered on a whim a few years back. Shiro didn’t really have much to do as an ambassador, Earth was still conquered, but the title allowed him to sit in on meetings and not be forced back into the fighting pits.

He was probably elated to get away from Daibazaal for the foreseeable future.

Sure enough, he laughed at Keith’s droll expression and slapped the young prince on the back. “It could be worse,” he pointed out.

“Yes, my great choice,” Keith drawled, looking around this new world with poorly-disguised contempt. “Either become the servant to some jumped-up peacock with royal Altean blood, or become Sendak’s new chewtoy until he decides I need to have an ‘accident.’ Yay, me.”

“Hey, I’ve heard this Altean prince is pretty nice,” Shiro said, showing a bit more sympathy as they entered the palace. “At least he’s your age.” Keith shrugged. “And you won’t be his servant, you’ll be part of his personal guard.”

“Same difference,” Keith muttered.

“We both know he can’t possibly treat you worse than Sendak would’ve,” Shiro added.

That was for damn sure. Keith wasn’t sure why Emperor Zarkon hadn’t just signed his execution warrant. Instead, he’d offered his younger son a choice: become Commander Sendak’s new lieutenant or go to Altea with his half-brother Lotor, where he would become a young Altean prince’s new bodyguard while Lotor attempted to solidfy their alliance by marrying the Crown Princess Allura. And since Commander Sendak had gone through eight lieutenants in the past two years, it had been an easy decision to make. At least on Altea, Keith would live. Shiro’s appointment to the same planet had been a great relief, though. Keith had no idea how to relate to these people. Lotor was half-Altean, and he and Keith couldn’t stand each other.

Hopefully his half-brother would be busy paying court to the Altean princess. With any luck, their meetings would be few and far between.

“Game-faces time,” Shiro whispered as they entered the court. It was a huge room with lofty high ceilings and an overall feeling of light and magic. Big difference from anything he was used to on Daibazaal. Still, one thing was the same; people everywhere were looking at him expectantly. Keith carefully schooled his expression into the blank mask he’d been taught from childhood.

“Announcing Prince Keithyr of the Galra Empire and Champion Takashi Shirogane, Ambassador of Earth!”

Keith resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his formal title. Prince? Sure. Unwanted prince. At least they weren’t trying to call him Yorak anymore.

He was a bit surprised at the murmurs and side-long glances people gave to Shiro when his prosthesis came into view. Apparently, the Alteans didn’t value strength and fighting nearly as much as the Galra did. Shiro might not fit in here as much as he thought he would.

“Beloved baby brother!” Lotor greeted, coming down from the dais to embrace Keith. They both remained stiff, but avoided snarling or growling at each other in public. Keith gave him a fake smile and a nod as they pulled apart.

“Allow me to introduce my intended, Princess Allura.” Lotor said gaily, indicating the Altean royal family. A young woman with long, flowing, curly white hair descended, smiling at them. Keith and Shiro quickly bowed.

“It’s so good to finally meet you, Keithyr,” she said, holding out her hand for Keith to kiss. “Lotor’s told me so much about you!”

Yeah, I can very well imagine what Lotor has told you…. Keith performed a perfunctory salute on her hand and gave her a smile.

“I’ve heard many good things about you too, princess,” he said politely.

She beamed at him. “And this, of course, is my brother Lanceon,” she said, waving him forward.

Keith studied his new charge carefully. He’d seen pictures, of course, but it was always best to get the measure of a man in person. He did a quick inventory. Short brown hair, glowing blue cheek markings (those might make it hard to hide in the dark if they had to make a quick getaway sometime) tall, lanky, a casual air about him that said he didn’t really care to be here—

“He’s shorter than I thought he’d be!” the prince’s aloof air suddenly melted away as soon as he saw Keith, and he bounded forward to get a better look. Keith shied back instinctively as piercing blue eyes roamed all over him. “Aww, I thought he’d be blue! Or at least, ya know, purple,” Lanceon whined. “He’s not even fluffy!”

Keith felt his eye twitch. “Sorry I’m not fluffy enough for his highness,” he growled under his breath. Beside him, Shiro covered up a laugh with a cough.

“My apologies, Prince Lance,” Lotor also appeared to be hiding his mirth at Keith’s discomfort. “Keithyr is only half Galra and doesn’t share all of the traits—”

“Like you?” Lanceon interrupted, looking over at Lotor with a sweet smile. “You’re only half Galra too.”

“Indeed,” Lotor said, his eye barely twitching. Keith noted it down. Aha! It seemed there was some tension between his brother and the resident prince. “But Keithyr is half human,” Lotor said, recovering quickly, “the species of Ambassador Shirogane there.” He indicated where Shiro stood. Lance latched onto him immediately.

“Hi! I’m Lance!” he said cheerfully, shaking Shiro’s hand.

“Shiro,” the man said, amused.

“Man, he wasn’t kidding,” Lance said looking between Shiro and Keith. “Are you sure you two aren’t the real brothers instead of Lotor there?”

Don’t I wish, Keith thought silently, as Shiro and Lance chatted amicably. I would gladly take Shiro for a brother over Lotor any day! He tried to stomp down his growing resentment of the prince. I didn’t get a handshake, or an introduction….

“Lance, why don’t we let Ambassador Shirogane introduce himself to the court,” Princess Allura finally interjected. “You can go acquaint yourself with your new guard.”

“Fine, fine,” Lance said carelessly, leaving the court and obviously expecting to be followed.

Keith gave one last bow to the royal family (guess he wasn’t important enough to be introduced to the king or queen, but that was just fine with him, he already knew his duties), exchanged an eye-roll with Shiro, and hurried after him.

He wasn’t surprised to see Lance whirl on him as soon as they reached a bedroom that obviously belonged to him, and Keith carefully closed the door behind him before the other prince could explode.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Lance snapped, “I don’t need a babysitter!”

“No, you need a cleaning lady,” Keith said, looking around. There were clothes and bottles of various liquids thrown haphazardly around the room. He even caught sight of a boot on a lamp. What a mess! He’d have been whipped if Dayak ever caught his quarters in this state!

“It’s fine, you can walk through it!” Lance said, dismissing it as easily as everything else.

“It’s a health hazard,” Keith argued, noting all the places where ingenious spies or assassins could be hiding in plain sight. “And it’s my job to keep you safe.” Lance opened his mouth, but Keith beat him to it. “But it’s NOT my job to clean up after you.”

Lance scowled. “Fine, I’ll clean it later. The point is,” he said, launching into another rant, “I don’t like Lotor or his heavy-handed ways, giving me a bodyguard who I’ve never even met!”

“What, you think I want to be here?!” Keith asked incredulously. “You think I like the idea of following you around for the foreseeable future?! It was either this or be stuck as Sendak’s punching bag until enough people forgot about me for me to ‘disappear.’” He stepped closer, daring to get in Lance’s face. “Whether you like it or not, we’re stuck with each other. So, let’s just hope my stupid brother charms your sister enough so we can make this alliance official already, and maybe they’ll let us go back to our regular lives!”

Lance blinked and took a step back, studying Keith in a new light.

“You don’t like Lotor, do you?”

Keith stared at the young prince. “Are you actually this stupid, or are you just pretending?”

“I—I am not stupid!” Lance sputtered. “At least I don’t have a stupid mullet!”

“Really?” Keith said dryly. “You’re comparing intelligence to hairstyles?”

“It looks stupid! You’re stupid!”

Keith felt the beginning of a headache come on. “Oh, this is gonna be a long mission….”

[agent-styles]

meet me in the hallway | steve rogers

pairing: steve rogers x reader

summary: you punch a sexist guy at a bar and end up with few cuts and scrapes of you own. steve offers to clean you up and that’s when poorly hidden feelings surface.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: i had a lot of fun writing this! i hope you like it (: sorry it’s a little long

warning(s): sexism, a little violence, major fluff, and a bit steamy????

“What did you just say to us?”

As you ask the very drunk man that question, your best friend pulls you towards her because she can tell your frustration is growing. You successfully shake her hand off of your arm. You step closer to the man as he takes another sip of his beer. He has a smile plastered on his drunk face while he looks you up and down. You could not be more infuriated and disgusted with this sorry excuse for a man.

“Come on, y/n. Don’t let him get to you,” your best friend calls out to you over the loud techno music.

“Too late.”

The man sets down his beer and stands tall, “It’s not my fault you and your friend are dressed like sluts.”

“So you think the way we dress gives you the right to catcall us, as if catcalling is okay in any situation?” you challenged.

“Calm down, woman. You’re the one who asked for it, wearing those skin tight pants and all.”

You turn to your best friend, jaw dropped, and scoff. You friend starts to plead with you to do what she knows your mind is already set on. You whip around and punch the man in the face before she can even get a word out.

“Damn, y/n,” you hear your best friend congratulate you as she steps around to look at your hand. You shake your wrist before pulling it close to your chest. A friend of the man appears and hypes the other man up, spewing sexist slurs and shoving your friend back behind you.

“You’re such bitches.”

Somehow you manage to step in front so that the man shoves you instead. You slip on a spilled drink and knock your head against the bar, busting your lip. You spring back up and take on the man and his friend with your best friend close behind.

The bartender escorts you, your friend, and the terrible men to the exit. The men continue to grumble and curse under their breath at you as they stumble down the sidewalk. You hold your middle finger up as high as you can at them, a smirk on your face. Then you quickly but gently pull your right hand back to your chest and hiss between gritted teeth due to the pain.

In no time you are back at your apartment building. You push your weight through your left shoulder to move yourself away from the wall in the elevator you were using for support, not because you’re wasted but because you can feel your heartbeat in your right hand and your head is pounding. You step out to see your neighbor Steve Rogers leaving his apartment. He fiddles with his keys before finding the right one. You quickly glance up at him with tight-lipped smile before looking down again. You can see his hesitation out of the corner of your eye. His body turns towards you when he asks, “Y/n, are you okay?”

You sigh and look up at him and see that he winces when he notices your injuries.

“What the hell happened?”

He’s closer to you now, a gentle hand on your shoulder. He guides you to his apartment door before you can protest with some lie about how you’re fine. He unlocks his door, places a gentle hand on your back to welcome you inside. You can’t help but to lean into his touch a bit. It’s almost as if there is a heat radiating from his hand that warms your entire body, even through your leather jacket. It feels safe, maybe the safest you’ve felt all night.

Before you can answer Steve’s question, he asks so many more that you can barely keep up.

“Was anyone with you? How long ago did this happen? What did they look like? Did they say why they did this to you? Did you see what mode of transportation they used?”

“Steve, calm down,” you plead. “I’ll explain everything. It wasn’t some man in a suit, using me to get to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Steve has always been concerned that some enemy of his will use your friendship as leverage, like they do with nearly all of his friends and loved ones. On the rare occasion that we’ll grab a coffee together, he’ll be sure to wear a cap and sunglasses, as if that disguises Captain America from his mostly adoring public.

His hand makes its way around your waist as he guides you to his bathroom. You lean into his side, craving the warmth. You can see his furrowed brows and worried, blue eyes looking you over when he’s not making sure the two of you aren’t bumping into anything.

His bathroom is much cleaner than you assumed it would be. The only thing out of place seems to be a dirty towel bunched up in the corner by the shower. Steve leans around you to toss it into the laundry basket. You place your good hand on his sink and push yourself up to sit on it. You shimmy your leather jacket off, careful not to bump your right hand. Steve kneels in front of you to get into the cabinet below the sink. He carefully slides your legs to the left to open the door and grab a substantially large first aid kit. Steve stands back up and places the kit next to you. Then he jogs out of the room to grab a bag of frozen peas. You watch him spin around, frantically looking for a kitchen towel to wrap them in.

You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes when he returns and stands between your legs. He grabs some gauze and wraps it around the peas and your right hand. It’s weird for him to see you like this, so vulnerable. You usually only pass each other in the hallway. That’s the safest place for small talk, smiles, and nods. There’s a distance in the hallway that allows you to see Steve as Steve instead of Captain America.

This is much different. The safety net of the hallway has been replaced with the intimate details of Captain America’s bathroom. There’s a great chance that the feelings you’ve been trying to hide from Steve are written all over your face at the moment. Your calves just barely brush his thighs, but enough that you can’t stop thinking about it and looking down at them, wondering if you moved a little closer that you would feel the same comforting warmth you felt when his hand was on your back. You shake the idea from your mind as Steve presses you, once again, to tell him what happened.

“I punched a man. He was a sexist jerk and he needed to be put in his place…” Steve’s eyes finally meet yours. “So I relocated his jaw.”

A look of relief and pride washes over Steve’s face until he glances down at your hand and then up at your lip. “Then what happened to you?”

“He and his friends tried to fight back and I slipped and hit my head on the bar.” Steve’s hand gently finds your chin, holding it between his thumb and index finger. He tilts your chin up to look at the severity of the cut on your lip. He wets a washcloth before handing it you to press to your lip.

“You know, you didn’t have to resort to violence.”

“Says the man who fought literal Nazis.”

“I’m not saying this man was in the right because he is clearly ignorant and needed to be stopped. I do wish that you hadn’t given him the attention he most definitely did not deserve.”

“Oh, like you’re some pacifist, Steve. You have no room to talk about turning the other cheek,” your eyes gaze over his shoulder at his shield propped up against the kitchen island.

Steve turns slightly to see what you are looking at and then smiles to himself.

“You’re right, y/n, I would have probably done the same thing if I were with you. But it’s clear you don’t need me when it comes to a fight.”

You tilt your head and narrow your eyes at him. He tinkers with the first aid kit, still standing between your legs. “Why do you say that?” you ask him, removing the washcloth from your lip.

“It’s clear you’ve got a mean right hook,” Steve replied.

This is when you allow your legs to move ever so slightly closer to his. “Are you flirting with me, Rogers?”

He runs a hand through his blond hair before meeting your gaze. He quietly chuckles and says, “You finally noticed?”

You lean back against the mirror and think of all the times you’ve met Steve in the hallway. He’s always complimented you and asked you to coffee, but you thought those were just casual, friendly acts, not flirting. That’s why you never attempted to flirt with him. Oh, if you had known…

Steve places his hands on either side of your thighs, wrapping his hand around the counter top. His hands brush your legs, causing that warmth to return except this time it’s more like heat. You could stay just like that, taking in every detail of his face, for hours. Against your better judgment, you decide to break the silence.

“Well now that I’ve finally caught on, soldier, what are you going to do about it?”

Steve eases his hands behind your knees and gently pulls you off the sink. You’re too close now. This is so much more than a comforting hand or a brush of the leg. You feel like your whole body is on fire as you look up at Steve.

“I’m going to get you some Tylenol and get you to bed.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, knowing he doesn’t mean what you think. He laughs and rolls his eyes at your assumption.

“I’m taking the couch, y/n. I’m saving you from the interrogation seat with your roommate by having you stay here.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason why you want me to stay the night?”

“I also think you deserve to have someone take care of you for at least one night. After all, you did take on a sexist son of a bitch.”

There’s a twinkle in Steve’s eye when he says that last bit. It’s like he finds it attractive that you stood up to the  man at the bar, even if he’d rather it had not gotten violent. You take advantage of the moment, the adrenaline, and your newfound confidence and lean up on your toes to reach his left ear.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Rogers.”

(send me requests!)

[sapphicscholar]

I know you've kind of done this already in Tabula Rasa, but could you maybe write a fic where some of the Superfriends end up in a parallel Earth where all of the Superfriends (or at least most, I'd love to see another version of evil Alex for sure. Maybe a version of her who became evil even without working for a xenophobic DEO? IDK) are evil? (This prompt may or may not be inspired by my annoyance at the plot of the crossover...)

I just posted it to AO3! 

A/N:Ugh yes, we can all be annoyed at the crossover… Since I already did an actual evil alternate universe in Tabula Rasa, I went full on campy evil for this one (think Lucy Diamond in DEBS) that’s largely inspired by my earlier musings here. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy and sorry it took me a while to get to it! I’m finally going through some old prompt requests now that I’ve got a bit of time in these quiet few days at work.

Chapter Text

“Not again,” Alex hissed as the monitors flickered to black before flashing back up now covered in full color, high resolution photos of her from high school: black choker around her neck, black vest on, striped tie looped around the waist of her low-rise jeans, and some heavy black eyeliner to top off the whole punk rock aesthetic.

“You’ve got company headed up in 5,” James informed her, ignoring the litany of increasingly obscene threats crackling through his earpiece.

“Then get your little boyfriend on the phone and tell him to knock it the fuck off,” Alex growled, waiting for the inevitable refutation of their relationship, the insistence that they “don’t do labels.”

Even as he protested, James dialed Winn.

“Hello?” Winn answered, the poorly disguised snicker proof enough that he was behind the hack.

“C’mon man, we let Lucy have her heist last night without issue. Let Alex back into the system.”

“You’re getting off too easily,” Winn huffed.

“And I can guarantee you won’t get off at all tonight if you don’t call this off,” James threatened.

“You’re the worst.”

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

“You know how much shit I’m gonna get from Vasquez if I give in this quickly?”

“What if we promise not to ruin their date night with Lucy this week?”

Winn paused, deliberating for a few minutes. “That I can work with.”

“Thanks, man.”

“See you tonight?”

“My place or yours?”

“James!” Alex growled, her voice startling him.

“Mine,” he quickly answered Winn, hanging up to refocus his attention on Alex. “You should be back in any second now.”

“Not dating my ass.” Alex continued trying to circumvent the active hack until suddenly it disappeared, the screens flashing back to the museum security feed she’d been trying to overwrite when Winn and Vasquez decided to play their little prank. “I’m back.”

“Good. You’ve got about two minutes.”

“Only need one.”

“That’s my girl,” Maggie chimed in, her voice barely audible over the sound of her motorcycle roaring to life.

“Always.”

“Now who’s being gross?” James teased, following Maggie’s location through her motorcycle’s GPS tracker.

“Still you,” came Alex and Maggie’s voices in unison.

“And we’re…clear!” Alex cheered, slinging the long cardboard tube over her back, wiping the keyboard even though she was wearing gloves, and bolting for the back exit where the security cameras were still under repair.

“Three, two, one,” James counted down, watching as Alex and Maggie’s blinking red GPS lights got closer and closer together.

“Hey babe,” Alex rasped, throwing on the spare helmet and straddling the back of Maggie’s bike. “Take me home. You know how I get after a good heist.”

“You still have to come here first!” James yelled, hoping he wouldn’t have to go over in the middle of the night to interrupt them…again.

“I’m thinking diamonds,” Lucy mused, her teeth nipping at Vasquez’s earlobes and her hips grinding down into their lap.

“Mm, yeah?” Vasquez asked, not trying particularly hard to pay much attention to their girlfriend’s words. At this stage, they were always just ideas, liable to change with a moment’s notice—often to thwart Alex’s latest ploy. They were just grateful that the rivalry had turned (mainly) friendly over the years. Back before Alex started dating Maggie, the two had been at each other’s throats,  more often focused on ruining the other’s heists than on actually accomplishing anything themselves. But now that Alex had a “mission statement,” which Lucy loved to scoff at, even though she liked to boast about how she operated within her own code of honor, they’d come to an uneasy truce that involved more playful attempts at sabotage that rarely turned violent these days.

“Can you two not do that in the van?” Winn whined. “This is my space—my sacred space.”

“You said that about your lab too,” Vasquez pointed out.

“Yeah, Schott, you only get one. Pick wisely.”

“Just don’t—keep your clothes on, alright?”

“No promises.”

“Why do I tolerate you two?”

“Because otherwise you’d be sitting in a lab full of perfect inventions without the daring to go use them yourself?” Vasquez offered.

“You’d have this van all rigged for surveillance with no one to watch for?” Lucy chimed in.

“You’d know how to make targeted explosions and decoys and holograms but never see them put to their best uses?”

“You’d—”

“Okay! Okay, I get it. You two are the muscle.”

“And the looks.”

“And the courage.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Vasquez said, shaking their head. “C’mon, who would actually know enough about computers to hack me if you left?”

“I guess,” Winn sighed melodramatically. “So you said diamonds…want me to start looking up possible targets?”

“I know just the one.”

“That so?”

Lucy nodded. “Oh yeah. She has more money than anyone in National City—just enough for some forcible sharing, I think.”

“Love the way you think,” Vasquez said, placing a kiss on Lucy’s cheek.

“Wait. You’re gonna try to rob Cat and Astra?” Winn asked, his mouth gaping.

“What? No, I don’t have a death wish,” Lucy laughed. “Besides, they’re already fighting the good fight.”

“Ah yes, that Lucy Lane patented code of honor.”

Holding two fingers up, Vasquez repeated in a military-esque monotone: “Criminals with honor do not harm or steal from other criminals with honor.”

“Damn straight.”

“And so how do you justify messing with Alex?” Winn asked.

“That sense of honor is still new. And these days I don’t harm her—just inconvenience her.”

“Fine,” Winn gave in. “But who’s richer than Cat and Astra?”

“Lena Luthor.”

—

The next morning, Alex carefully brushed away a speck of almost imperceptible dust from the broad shoulders of James’ suit jacket, watching in the mirror as he straightened his jacket and tightened the knot of his tie just a hair. Maggie handed him his phone and gun once Alex got his cufflinks fastened.

With a charming (and perfectly disarming) smile and wink, James slung the tube over his shoulder. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck when you look like that,” Maggie teased, swatting at James as he walked toward the front door, putting an extra swing in his step and letting out a deep laugh at the teasing wolf whistles and catcalls Alex and Maggie sent his way.

“We’ll be in the area if you need us, alright?” Alex added, her expression morphing into a more serious one.

“I know you’ve got my back, Alex.”

“Always.”

Within half an hour, James’ town car pulled up in front of the buyer’s restored nineteenth-century brownstone where he’d agreed to meet them—the hominess of it all somehow helping their genteel clientele to assuage their guilt over purchasing stolen artwork.

“Mr. Kent?” a middle-aged woman answered the door.

“At your service,” James replied with a small dip of his head and an easy smile that had her cheeks flushing a faint pink. “Can I ask your name?”

“Oh, I’m not the one you want to see.”

“On the contrary. You’re the very first one I’ve seen, which must make you someone worth knowing.” James smiled as any sense of wariness dissipated, the woman clearly charmed by him.

“I’m Katarina. I work for Morgan Edge.”

“Well it is my deepest pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Yes, I, uh, yes,” she stammered, mumbling her way through a few pleasantries before finally guiding him out of the entrance room. “Come right this way.” He followed her through a long hallway until they reached the home office in the back.

“Mr. Edge, it’s so nice to meet in person,” James greeted the man.

“I see you brought my newest acquisition.”

Right to business apparently, James thought. “I did. I assume you’ll want to see it first.”

As he pulled the tube over his shoulders, Katarina returned, a small mug clutched in her hands. “I brought your espresso.”

“Thank you,” James said, his deep voice rumbling over the disgruntled huff of Morgan’s complaints about her always interrupting his meetings. He paused for a moment to sip at it. “Always better to enjoy while it’s hot,” he added by way of explanation. “And it is excellent, Katarina.”

“Well, if you ever find yourself in need of a fix…”

“You’ll be the first person I call.” Sensing Morgan’s growing frustration, he turned back to the tube, slipping on a pair of gloves to pull out the painting.

Morgan leaned in closely, magnifying glass in hand as he inspected a few areas—always the same ones, James thought to himself, almost disappointed by the predictability of it all. After several long minutes, Morgan nodded. “It will be the perfect piece for my study.”

“And now it’s my turn to inspect.” James carefully rolled the painting up once more and stuck it back in the tube.

“Of course.” Morgan handed over a briefcase full to the rim with stacks of bills before turning back to his desk. With the painting strapped to his back for safekeeping, James checked the totals, then ran the special detecting pen Alex had invented to find fake money by scanning the chemical makeup of the ink and paper over the edges of the bills.

When Morgan turned again, already demanding to know what the holdup was, he found a gun pointed between his eyes. “And what do you think you’re doing?” he growled. “In my own home? I’ll have the police here before you can even think of pulling that trigger.”

“Oh, I don’t think you will. At least not when you’re buying stolen art and trying to pay me with counterfeit bills.”

“They’re perfectly real,” Morgan scoffed, pulling out one of top stacks.

“No, no.” Shaking his head, James pulled out the stacks beneath it. “The rest of it.”

Looking slightly inconvenienced but not at all abashed about having been caught, Morgan unlocked his safe and pulled out another briefcase, which James inspected thoroughly. Finally convinced that they were real, James added the top layer of real bills from the other briefcase to the new one—“for the trouble you put me through”—and handed off the painting, slowly backing out of the room, gun still pointed at the man until he was out of sight.

—

“Deal’s done,” came James’ voice through the intercom once he was safe in the town car again. “You need backup?”

“Nah, this part is the easiest,” Maggie answered, grinning over at Alex, who was leaning heavily against the wall of the warehouse, barely stifling her tired yawns. “Looks like I wore you out last night, babe.”

“More like Lucy did,” Alex huffed. “I’m so sick of having to deal with the added stress of her shit.”

“Oh please, you two keep each other sharp.”

Before their bickering could escalate—or turn into the heated makeup sex they favored—they heard the door creak open, and Alex smiled as Maggie greeted the first man through the door in perfect Spanish. They never used names, but she still felt close to him, a level of loyalty she afforded to very few of her other clients.

“I believe we have something that belongs to you,” she said, switching back to English when the rest of the group joined them.

“Already?”

“We’re nothing if not efficient,” Alex chimed in.

“Why?” one of the women in the group asked. She was new, Maggie noted, and rightfully suspicious of a gift that seemed to come with no strings attached.

“I don’t take kindly to my country profiting off of stolen artwork. I’m simply…expediting the process of repatriation.”

The woman scoffed. “And your country is okay with this?”

“Was yours when we stole the art in the first place?”

“And there are no strings attached?”

“Ah, well, I do like a nice bottle of wine—I’m partial to reds, and my partner here likes a dry wine.”

“Anything for you,” the man from before added, tipping his head to Maggie before taking the tube from her. “As always, thank you.”

“Anytime.”

—

“Have I mentioned lately how much I love having shapeshifters for friends?” Kara asked, throwing an arm around J’onn’s shoulders and reaching a hand out to M’gann. “Because I really, really do.”

“Whatever we can do to help Lena’s shelter—just say the word,” J’onn said.

“As long as you never say a word, then we’ll be just fine.”

“I still don’t see why the girl won’t let her good deeds be known,” M’gann mused, letting go of Kara’s hand to settle back in behind the bar.

“It’s harder to blackmail rich bad guys when you’re not invited around anymore because the Luthor last name has lost all meaning.”

“You’re the one that collects half the dirt with your powers, though.”

“But I wouldn’t know where to go digging if it weren’t for Lena’s first steps. Plus, you know how she enjoys siphoning off Luthor Corp funds. It’d be less fun if she had to spend her own money.”

“You know we’re mindreaders, right?” J’onn asked, arching an eyebrow at Kara.

“You can’t read mine,” Kara countered.

“No,” M’gann admitted, “but we know that your little girlfriend donates half of her personal income to charities every year.”

Kara groaned. “Don’t tell her you know, okay? She doesn’t want people knowing about it—once people know, it ruins it for her.”

“Whatever you say…”

“It’s not like you want people to know you’ve been volunteering to keep her refugee center running either.”

“No one would willingly enter a center run in part by a White Martian, especially one who shapeshifts to steal and infiltrate the local police units.”

“And you think that they’d send their kids off to play with a Luthor?”

“Point taken.”

“Anyway, are you two coming over for dinner tonight?”

“Not tonight, sorry,” J’onn apologized. “We’re a little short-staffed at the bar, and you know how Friday nights can get.”

“But next time, we promise,” M’gann added, reaching over to give Kara a hug before she left.

—

“We should really get going,” Astra sighed, even as she lifted her arms to allow her shirt to be removed. “Wouldn’t want to be late.” Her breath hitched at the feeling of teeth nipping at her neck and nimble fingers deftly undoing the button and zipper of her black pants.

“She’s not my niece,” Cat shrugged. “Besides, I’ve always preferred to be fashionably late.”

“And yet if I’m just a minute late for dinner…”

“I. Do. Not. Wait.” Cat declared, punctuating her words with harder bites, wishing she could leave some kind of mark on that flawless skin.

“I always make it worth your while, though,” Astra drawled, easily flipping them so that Cat was on her back, her breathing ragged and her chest flushed a faint pink.

“Last night you didn’t.”

“Last night I had the chance to sabotage the newest oil pipeline, darling. I don’t complain when your work comes first.” Astra’s fingers trailed up Cat’s thighs, gently pushing up the hem of her dress.

“I know, I know. It’s just a shame—you know my fingers, talented as they might be, just don’t compare to your tongue.”

“Well, why don’t we get dressed for dinner with Kara, and when we get back, I’ll make it up to you threefold.”

“I suppose I could be amenable to those terms if you let us take the car to dinner tonight.”

“But flying is so environmentally friendly.”

“It’s windy.”

“I’ll shield you.”

“We drive a hybrid.”

“Fine,” Astra finally relented.

—

Looking around the table, Kara couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her friends and family all gathered together, laughing as Maggie regaled them with tales of Alex’s latest misadventures with Lucy, Vasquez, and Winn. As much as Alex complained about the lot of them, she knew better than to believe that she truly hated them. After all, it had been Lucy and Alex who’d willingly put aside their differences to bring down Non when Astra’s life was in jeopardy, then again when Max Lord came for Kara herself. Plus, she doubted that Alex would voluntarily spend hours sifting through childhood photos of someone she truly despised, even if she was looking only for the most embarrassing ones.

“What matters,” Alex finally cut in when it seemed like Maggie was just one step away from pulling out the photos for a show and tell, “is that we made it out just fine.”

“Which is why we’re letting Lucy have her little date night tonight without any interruptions from us.”

The laughter that filled the room was soon cut off as both Kara and Astra sprung to their feet.

“We have company,” Astra hissed. Within moments, everyone in the room had at least one weapon drawn, all of which were pointed at the intruder that Astra whisked in through the balcony window and unceremoniously threw to the floor.

“Lucy?” Alex gasped, seeing the telltale full body black leather suit she wore when she went out on her little cat burglary missions.

“The hell, Danvers? I thought you were gonna let me have my date night.”

“Since when is your date night crashing my family dinner?”

“Since when is Luthor family?”

“Since she started dating me,” Kara just about growled, crossing her arms and stepping protectively in front of Lena. “And if you’re here to hurt her, you’re gonna have to fight your way through each and every one of us first.”

“And you know better than to touch my sister,” Alex added, her tone sharp as she let her gaze flick pointedly to the gun in her hand.

“Since when do you protect the rich?” Lucy asked, turning her attention to Maggie, figuring she was the best bet for an ally—she had the whole Robin Hood schtick down to an art.

“When the rich are giving more money away than I could even if I managed a heist every day.” Lena began to object, but Maggie waved off her protests. “Alex hacked into your accounts the first time she found you and her sister in bed together. Be lucky that’s all we found.”

“If you’re so charitable, why have you been ordering millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds?” Lucy demanded.

“Most of them will be sent back to the communities they were stolen from,” Lena huffed. “I might be a villain—”

“Hardly,” Maggie scoffed. “Blackmailing the worst of your one-percenter pals with your girlfriend, stealing from your family’s evil company—they hardly make you a villain.”

Lena just rolled her eyes. “Fine. But, since the surprise is sort of ruined now…” Turning to face Kara, Lena dropped down to one knee. “Kara Danvers, the months I’ve spent with you have been some of the best ones of my life. There’s no one I’d rather extort and blackmail with than you. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Yes!” Kara gasped, dropping down to her knees as well and pulling Lena into a passionate kiss that may well have gone on much too long to be appropriate in front of family, friends, and intruders were it not for the loud whooshing sound and the way the whole floor seemed to shake.

“The hell did you bring with you, Lane?” Alex growled.

“It wasn’t—” But Lucy didn’t have time to finish her thoughts before a large silvery portal opened up, and doppelgangers of Kara, Alex, Maggie, and Winn thumped to the floor, looking more than a little taken aback at the sight of so many people and weapons surrounding them.

“Who are you?” Kara finally demanded, glaring at the intruders, letting her eyes burn red.

“Um, I think we’re you…from another Earth—Earth-38 to be specific,” the new Kara volunteered. “We were over on Earth-1 helping out some friends, but we had to leave in a hurry, and I think maybe we set up the breech incorrectly…”

“No shit,” Alex growled, looking closely at her Earth-38 counterpart and refusing to lower her weapon.

At that moment, Lucy’s earpiece crackled to life with Vasquez and Winn’s worried questions. “I’m up in the apartment…whole story there. But, uh, we’ve got company, and I think you’re gonna want to see this.”

—

Earth-38 Winn scoffed at his doppelganger, having found himself increasingly disgusted as he heard him joking about heists and devious inventions. “How could you? After everything that happened with our dad?”

“After everything that happened, how could you not?” his evil counterpart shot back. “You watched him lose everything—his career, his money, his inventions, his wife, his love for life, his desire to live. How can you justify sitting back and doing nothing to avenge him?”

“Somehow I don’t think a murderer losing his love of life while he rots in prison really rises to the level of vengeance-worthy crimes against humanity.”

“Prison?”

“For murder.”

“What do you mean? He didn’t do anything. He let his boss take credit for his inventions, rolled over each and every time until he had nothing worth fighting for, nothing worth living for.”

Winn stood there blinking. “I…that—that’s not what happened on my Earth.”

—

Across the room, Maggie and Alex sat together, watching as their Kara and Winn worked with the other Earth’s more tech-oriented folks to try to make sure that any new breeches wouldn’t send them to yet another Earth that might be even less friendly toward them.

“You didn’t seem surprised that your doppelganger isn’t the paragon of virtue,” Maggie noted.

“I’m not.”

“Why’s that?”

Alex shrugged. “I’m not Kara. I’ve killed before, and I likely will again. I do the things that need to be done. I’ve never been a saint.”

“But you’re no villain.”

“But to have lost things like that…this Alex had both of her parents taken away and was left with another girl who had lost her whole world, who didn’t get a loving, supportive family to raise her. Instead she was left with me—some bitter teenage rebel who wanted nothing more than to see this world pay for its crimes.” Alex shook her head; it was impressive that they���d ended up as decent as they had. Sure, her counterpart had stolen and lied, but she’d never descended to murder or kidnapping or anything of that nature. She suspected Kara had something to do with it; even if this version of Supergirl was willing to claim power in a way hers never had, was willing to kill when it came down to it in a fight, she still fought for justice, still fought for good.

Regarding Maggie, Alex added, “You’re not exactly stunned yourself.”

“If I didn’t have an aunt to take me in, of course I’d have turned to petty theft. Plus, Robin Hood was my favorite Disney movie…”

Alex laughed. “I guess even here you’ve got a pretty deep-rooted sense of justice.”

“Yeah. And here you’ve got an undercut,” Maggie added, veering them toward lighter topics. “It’s pretty hot.”

“I really hope you’re not suggesting some threesome.”

With a loud bark of a laugh, Maggie shook her head. “Not in the slightest. Just, you know, if you ever wanted to change up your look…”

[sangworst]

Chapter 28: A Restroom Exploit

Chapter 28 treated its readers to something we have yet to have – all three main characters in the same location at the same time. Seungbae is more convinced than ever that Sangwoo is a killer and that he has at least one victim (Bum) in his house. Upon seeing Sangwoo take this said victim outside(for what Seungbae assumes is his first time in a while), Seungbae decides to make his move. So our officer poorly disguises himself in order to enter the bar Bar where Sangwoo works and has taken Bum for the day.

Until this point Seungbae has been following Sangwoo from a distance (pointed out as he doesn’t know Sangwoo is a waiter meaning he must have not been inside Bar before) but now has to act more boldly in order to get a chance to talk with Bum. He accomplishes this by cornering the man in the staff restroom, where he makes several incredibly poor decisions in how to approach someone he himself has labeled as potential victim of Sangwoo. He trips Bum and grabs him, forcing him into a stall quite aggressively.

Upon confirming that Bum’s legs are injured, Seungbae is visibly relieved. It seems like a gut reaction possibly stemming from him being nervous that he was approaching an accomplice of Sangwoo’s – keeping in mind that Seungbae first met Bum willingly entering Sangwoo’s house and claiming to be his cousin. The broken legs tell him that this is indeed a victim. He could also be relieved that so far it would mean that there are only two confirmed victims, as the legs he saw before could have belonged to Bum or the CEO’s daughter.

Seungbae requests to know Bum’s relationship with Sangwoo and asks if he knows about the CEO’s daughter, importantly drawing a connection to her from Bum. He wants to know if the killer Sangwoo did this to Bum, alluding to the idea that Bum will end up like the daughter. He has no time to get a single answer as Sangwoo has already taken notice of Bum’s absence and arrives to investigate.

Sangwoo doesn’t call out for Bum, he simply knocks on the stall doors. Bum instinctively attempts to open the door for him and is stopped by Seungbae. When he doesn’t receive an answer, Sangwoo supposedly leaves the restroom and Seungbae releases Bum, who dashes out of the stall immediately. It is revealed that Sangwoo had only faked leaving and was waiting for Bum to come out. This finally brings me to the topic I wanted to address:

Did Sangwoo know Seungbae was there?

In short: Yes, I believe he absolutely did know.

At this point Sangwoo has met Seungbae three times and it does not seem likely that he would have just forgotten about an officer who was peeking through his front door with less than convincing reasons. Back in Chapter 13 Sangwoo allowed Seungbae to search his house, expecting Bum to have hidden himself before the officer was able to enter. He let Seungbae search but it was only after his fake phone call that Sangwoo directed Seungbae to check the closet where (they both) believed that Bum was hiding. What Sangwoo had learned from that phone call was that Seungbae definitely was not searching the house under orders from a superior, thus making him free range to be killed without anyone immediately making a connection to Sangwoo.

Sangwoo knows Seungbae has no evidence against him but that he is suspicious nonetheless. I personally believe that Sangwoo is aware that Seungbae is following him, if for no other reason then just because Seungbae is terrible at being inconspicuous while Sangwoo has proved himself to be highly observant of his surroundings. It is a possibility that he knew the times when Seungbae was tailing him and kept his routine as normal as possible during that time, since Seungbae seems to not have witnessed Sangwoo going out for fun; Seungbae doesn’t even seem aware that Sangwoo took a suspicious overnight trip recently!

There are some subtle panel choices in Chapter 28 that could indicate that Sangwoo knows, starting from him glancing around as he escorts Bum to the car. Seungbae takes this as a sign of him being nervous, which seems like an unlikely explanation for couple reasons. This isn’t the first time Sangwoo has taken Bum out and in the present state of things he has less reason to expect Bum to escape than before. More importantly, Sangwoo has no reason to worry about anyone seeing them in his neighborhood. It was well established back in Chapter 8 that Sangwoo is comfortable enough to let Bum scream for help while lying in the middle of the street without a care that anyone would take notice. This is why it is my belief that Sangwoo was pulling an act just for Seungbae to see and lull him into being more courageous if he believed that Sangwoo was nervous.

Despite what he might think himself, Seungbae’s disguise is absolutely rotten and it again seems highly unlikely that Sangwoo wouldn’t recognize him. At the Bar we get three panels of Sangwoo: one after he has noticed Bum is gone, the second of him passing the staff restroom, and third of him looking at Seungbae’s empty table. The order of the panel specifically highlights that Sangwoo does not immediately go check on Bum but first sees if Seungbae is at his table, when he isn’t, that’s when Sangwoo arrives to the restroom.

The fact that he doesn’t say anything is very telling, but I’d argue that even without expecting Seungbae to be there Sangwoo still would have faked leaving the restroom; it’s very much his style and not like he hasn’t done it before to Bum. When Bum emerges, Sangwoo surely notices that he comes from the stall that is marked “closed.” To me it’s 50-50 if I’d count this as a sign of Seungbae being there that Sangwoo would have noticed, as it is not entirely unreasonable to expect Bum to withdraw in a stall where he is least likely to be disturbed – specially if he was nursing a wound.

“I was … worried”

After Bum emerges, the following panels seem to show Sangwoo watching the stalls while talking to Bum. He tells Bum he was worried, pausing mid sentence to soften his tone and look at Bum. He states he understands why Bum was taking so long and does not ask why he wasn’t answering to a knock. Then he checks the stalls again (side note: this staff restroom is incredibly poorly located since a drunken customer is just able to wander in and out) and finds no one before he is called off to work. He departs the restroom while affectionately calling for Bum.

Now, I’m not going to dwell on if Sangwoo knew where Seungbae was hiding or if he could have believed that the man had slipped out, but I am going to point out that during his time in the restroom Sangwoo’s expression does not change once. He has that sort of glazed over stare that he gets whenever he is dangerously annoyed, which is in direct contrast with his lighter tone of voice. I believe this is because Sangwoo was putting on another act – not for Bum but for Seungbae. Even without seeing him, he assumes the officer can hear him so he makes sure to address Bum friendly and not come off as intimidating. He makes an effort to sound like they are friendly, which is something an attacker would not do with his victim, is it?

Sangwoo has been conditioning Bum for several chapters into accepting the idea that he is just as much a murderer as Sangwoo is, starting with their shared kill to the murder Sangwoo successfully coaxed Bum into committing. This has been effective as evident by Bum immediately wondering if Seungbae knows he (Bum) too is a murderer instead of viewing him as a potential escape. Bum is more concerned about being found out than he is with escape, which is what Sangwoo wanted.

[spiderparkerboy]

There For You

Requested by an anon. ‘okay hey! I was wondering if I could request something?? Could you do an imagine when the reader is really stressed from schoolwork and she asks Peter to come over to comfort her??’  I hope I did your idea justice!

{1569 words}

You really were not a fan of studying, especially when it came to biology. The course sounded great in the beginning but now that exams were looming, you were regretting your decision to take the class. Peter spent a lot of his free time trying to help you study, but when your mind wasn’t in it, there was little to no hope. So there the two of you were, sitting at a table in the school's library. Books spread out in front of you, as Peter began with the notes he had taken from the last class. He asked if you had understood any of it from class. The answer was no. He didn’t sigh, he didn’t judge. He just pulled out his textbook, some highlighters and started to recite his notes to you. And to be fair, when the coursework was coming from him it made it a bit more bearable to listen to. He repeated things that you didn’t understand. He would smile when you told him you finally understood something. He was incredibly patient for you and would sit with you for hours on end if it meant you gained more understanding than what you had before the studying began.

It was the night before your biology exam, and you were feeling exhausted. You were trying to study in your bedroom, away from all the distractions of your family but it seemed the longer you were left alone with all your notes the more stress and anxiety fell over you. You had a burning headache and your eyes were beginning to sting from looking at your notes for far longer then you ever would have desired. You wouldn’t let yourself drain yourself any longer, so you moved from your desk to your bed. You leaned your back up against the wall and brought your knees to your chest, resting you chin on top on them. You let your eyes close for a moment, giving them a much earned rest. As you sit there, your mind began to race in a million different directions. Every possible negative thought about the exam tomorrow was flooding your subconscious. You tried your best to ignore them and block them out, but that resulted in one teardrop escaping from your eye. As it slid down your cheek your chest began to shake, the emotional exhaustion taking over your body. And you let it. That one tear became a one of many that could form an ocean. But you had to let it all out, you told yourself. Better to do this now then tomorrow during the exam. Although this had been a result of studying and stress, it then become that of much more. Your mind throwing everything bad at you it could think of now that you were so vulnerable. You didn’t know how to stop it, over even how to control it from hurting you like this. After several minutes of this internal torture the only relief and comfort you could think of was Peter Parker. You needed him here with you. You knew he would sooth you, bring you back up from this horrible down. You sent him a quick text, trying your best not to come across upset or needy. Just casual. You needed some help studying, that was all.

As you waited for Peter to arrive, you attempted to get rid of the blotchiness surrounding your eyes but failed miserably. Peter noticed this when he first saw you, but didn't want to upset you by bringing it up. After he arrived you lasted about an hour and a half before you felt weak again. You tried your best to ignore it, to hide it from Peter but he’d been aware of your fragile state as soon as he walked in to the apartment. As you gently rolled your head back in exhaustion Peter watched, he could see your eyes glossing over while you tried to disguise it. When your eyes caught his again you tried to reassure him that you were okay, offering him a small but tired smile. He didn’t believe your attempt to deter him, so he did you a favour by closing all the notebooks and moving them away from the both of you.

“I think that’ll do it.” Peter said while gently taking the pen from your grasp. You nodded silently in response.

The two of you sat quietly for a moment. You stared blankly down at your hands while Peter darted his eyes between yours, your hands and the window. He knew you needed some sort of reassurance or comfort but he just didn’t know how to give that to you. He was afraid that his actions would come across as weird or awkward. So, he settled for a joke.

“Knock knock.” Peter said. You looked over at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Who’s there?” You asked cautiously.

“An interrupting cow.” He replied as he tried his hardest not to smile.

“An interrupt-“,

“Moo!” Peter laughed. Did he really just tell you that joke? Your dad wasn't even that horrible at dad jokes. You watched Peter chuckle, which made you happy to see. All your worries forgotten for that little while. You weren’t laughing like he was but as you kept your eyes on him you couldn't help but give in to the horrible joke. When you did Peter felt relieved to see you feeling that little bit better.

“It’s a good one, hey.” Peter smiled, nudging you slightly in your side. He waited for your eyes to meet his. You didn't want to tell him it was awful and that you only laughed because it was so bad, so you gave him a nod of the head, a light laugh falling from your lips. Looking into his brown eyes you couldn't help but feel at ease. As your bedroom fell silent the two bodies didn’t know how to act. “Um, you know.. You know what? You’ll do fine tomorrow (Y/N). Don’t worry, okay?” Peter spoke, breaking the comfortable silence. You looked between his reassuring eyes. You nodded in response. Stray pieces of hair falling in front of your eyes, you pushed them back behind your ears as you looked away from Peter. You were grateful that he had picked up on your poorly hidden anxiety without you having the verbally tell him. He was great at reading you. 

He slowly nodded as well. Not sure what to do with himself next but before he knew it he was collecting all his notes and books. You rushed to help him, feeling bad that you weren’t, because half this mess was yours as well. You handed him a small pile of papers, your cold fingers brushing his warm ones briefly. You watched as Peter stuffed everything into his backpack, then swinging it onto his back. You saw a stray pen laying on the floor so you picked it up, giving your fingers something to fidget with as you lead Peter to the front door. You had to say something to him. To say thank you for helping you study for the exam. Thank you for reassuring you that everything was going to be okay. But no words formed. As you opened the door and stepped to the side slightly as Peter stepped around you before coming to a stop once he was in the middle of the door frame. He turned around, his hands slapping his jeans.

“Get a good night's sleep, yeah?” Peter said smoothly.

“I’ll try.” You replied. Your heart warming at his kind words. “And thanks Pete,” you continued just before he went to turn around again. “For everything.” You smiled shyly, shrugging your shoulders softly. He returned your smile, his eyes glistening with happiness. Peter shuffled on his feet unsure what to say next. And before you knew it he pulled you into a tight hug. His arms squeezing your shoulders in both comfort and reassurance. Your mind was shocked that he had did this, as was his. But your body knew how to respond almost immediately. Moulding your body to Peter’s, welcoming the warmth. Your hands holding on to him tightly, as your head rested in the crevice near his shoulder. You felt his fingers tracing over your upper back softly, as he readjusted his chin to rest on top of your hair. You’d hugged Peter before, but never like this. Smiles formed on both of your faces, but the other unaware. Neither of you wanted to let go, but it had to come to an end at some time. You slid your hands down his back just before letting go. You both stepped back, shyly avoiding the others eyes. Peter raised his hand to scratch the back of his neck as he found your eyes again. Your cheeks turned a shade of light pink, when you saw that Peter’s were also burning up.

“I’ll see you tomorrow (Y/N), night.” Peter said, slightly chuckling as he turned on his heal to walk out the door.

“Goodnight Pete.” You returned, watching him as he slowly made his way down the corridor. You shut the door quietly, pressing your back against it as a smile grew on your lips. Little did you know Peter’s would be doing the same as he made his way out of the building. Running off into the city with a very happy heart.

Masterlist    

[spicynbachili1]

Outlast 2’s moon and the end of time

RPS is having an Apocalypse Day! We’re celebrating the top of the world and video games about it. Test again tomorrow, if we’re nonetheless all right here.

What’s your favorite moon in a sport? The lipless satellite tv for pc of The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Masks, maybe? Overwatch’s slightly cosy lunar map? Any person requested me this a number of weeks in the past — genuinely, we’d been speaking about First Man — and to my shock I discovered myself considering of Outlast 2.

There may be little about Pink Barrels’ schlocky, prurient first-person horror outing that deserves actual admiration, however you possibly can’t deny the ability of its moon. It’s a beautiful ambient machine in a sport that’s in any other case one gigantic charnelpile, a glowing cavemouth amid the clouds which ices the surfaces of barren lakes and raises the skeletons of farmyards from foetid darkness. It’s additionally one thing of a timekeeper, waning and waxing because the story proceeds in the direction of a probably Biblical, probably scientific apocalypse.

The moon has at all times performed a job in how we inform time, in fact. Its place and look are the premise for innumerable timekeeping and navigational techniques, from Mayan calendars to the astronomical procedures nonetheless relied upon by present-day sailors. Extra particularly, the moon is commonly related to the timeframes of human replica: the size of a lunar cycle, 29.5 days, is roughly that of the menstrual cycle, although there isn’t a direct relationship between the 2 any greater than the angle of Saturn’s rings determines the severity of erectile dysfunction. Outlast 2 builds on this affiliation in utilizing the moon’s behaviour to mark chapter transitions in a narrative about misogyny. Like many a horror sport earlier than it, it explores the makes use of and ever-so-many abuses of the feminine physique, and within the course of, it manages to place time by way of the wringer, too.

The sport’s plot sees your character’s spouse, Lynn, changing into miraculously pregnant as you flee a neighborhood of scabby, pseudo-Christian cultists, deep within the wilds of Arizona. The cult’s chief Sullivan Knoth is satisfied that Lynn’s youngster is the Anti-Christ, having spent a few years bedding his followers with the categorical objective of spawning mentioned Anti-Christ and murdering it within the cradle (a self-deluding sadist whose writings are awash with discuss of the “girth” of god’s message, Knoth doesn’t have a lot truck with the thought of contraception). There’s additionally a rival faction of Devil worshippers who’re hell-bent on abducting Lynn to make sure that the Anti-Christ lives out an extended and unholy life. Both manner, Lynn will get a fairly uncooked deal. Presiding over all this and rising steadily bloodier of side because the finale approaches, the moon serves as marketing campaign clock and physique clock, reflecting the story’s fixation with the flesh of struggling ladies.

The difficulty with the moon’s position as timepiece, nevertheless, is that point in Outlast 2 is all flawed. The sport seems to happen in the middle of a single night time – an evening throughout which the moon passes by way of a full cycle and Lynn someway carries her child to time period. Your character Blake additionally has a really slippery grip on the current. At intervals, the sounding of a baleful horn plunges him into flashbacks of his old skool, the place you’ll pursue the spectre of his long-dead childhood buddy Jessica. Throughout these flashbacks, Blake’s physique strays by way of the city of Temple’s Gate of its personal accord: while you lastly tear free, you’ll end up someplace unrecognisable with no concept of how a lot time has handed. Including insult to damage, the flashbacks are performed in reverse chronological order as you advance by way of the present-day story. The impact of all this toing and froing is a way of dislocation extra upsetting than any heap of butchered limbs.

Time, certainly, is the true sufferer of Outlast 2’s apocalypse. Many apocalypse video games current the top of all issues as a query of, effectively, issues. Fallout, as an example, treats us to panoramas of classic trash, flash-frozen in decrepitude by the nuclear blast for the benefit of subsequent wasteland wanderers. Outlast 2 offers, maybe not all that deliberately, in one thing far stranger. With consideration to the way in which its narrative parts break up, wrench sideways, and usually fail so as to add up, it’s attainable to learn the sport not as just a few leaden fantasy about poorly disguised sexual hang-ups however a response to one thing much less tangible – the displacing of Newtonian by Einsteinian physics, and the related crumbling of the notion of time as a linear absolute.

If the apocalypse is the top of time, then time falls aside on reflection inasmuch because the very concept of “retrospect” holds no that means. The results of this calamity are felt all through Outlast 2’s incapability to self-synchronise and assume a coherent order. I’m very a lot reaching with this interpretation, however there’s some foundation for it in Sullivan Knoth’s blighted Gospel, which is closely impressed by the Ebook of Ezekiel and which you’ll gather chapter by chapter as you discover. In a single passage, Knoth describes a visitation by creatures “as prefer to a person as a circle is to a sphere”, an allusion to the otherworldly geometry of cosmic horror which additionally speaks, extra mundanely, to the absurdity of making an attempt to clarify an idea like “spacetime” by way of 3D shapes.

The place within the Ebook of Ezekiel these creatures are terrifying however static chimeras, Knoth’s pastiche sees them shuffling between states a lot to the watcher’s derangement. “And within the second that adopted their faces had been the intercourse organs of angels, and within the second that adopted a bonfire of flame with voices singing in magnificence to rend the thoughts, and within the second that adopted a mirrored image in silvered glass,” he writes. “For his or her faces had been all of these items directly, and their wings had been joined one to a different and as they flapped wove to arrest time and I couldn’t take air into my physique.” Time is entangled and rewound by angelic wingbeats and all occasions turn out to be simultaneous, transferring past description.

The passage doesn’t merely level to scripture, nevertheless: the point out of “silvered glass” additionally implies a display. Studying the doc, I used to be struck by the passage’s resemblance to a “set off” video you could find within the unique Outlast, performed by the villainous Murkoff Company to in-mates at Mount Huge Asylum. A fast montage of distorted sacred and bodily imagery, the video is a part of a sequence of psychosomatic experiments which had been designed to show topics into hosts for swarms of weaponised nanites.

The second sport’s secret is that it could be one other Murkoff experiment. Its playable space is surrounded by towers which might be mentioned to emit peculiar alerts, and it’s recommended that these alerts are the reason for every character’s apocalyptic visions and hallucinations. Advised, that’s, however by no means acknowledged outright within the sport itself. Outlast 2’s refusal to determine whether or not its apocalypse is a remotely-induced mass delusion or an precise scriptural reckoning displays how anxiousness about unchecked technological analysis has turn out to be irreversibly contaminated by spiritual language and imagery. Take into account Robert Oppenheimer’s notorious line, on the detonation of the primary atomic weapon, “Now I’m turn out to be Demise, the destroyer of worlds”, an obvious citation from Hindu scripture. The thought of contemporary and historic apocalypses coinciding additionally, or course, helps the theme of an finish to time and so, the collapse of chronological historical past.

The sport’s irresolution is made flesh as Lynn’s child, which can or might not itself be a hallucination created by Murkoff’s weapon know-how (one in every of Outlast: Whistleblower’s backstory paperwork factors to an outbreak of phantom pregnancies amongst workers throughout testing of the notorious “morphogenic engine”, grimly suggesting that this might be a further supply of revenue). As you gaze into the new child’s bawling face and the moon dissolves into dawn, the dying Lynn whispers that there’s nothing there. The newborn is an absence situated someplace between a demon and the product of diabolical equipment, an vacancy symbolic of the cosmic ruptures this chronically muddled sport strains, however is unable to precise.

from SpicyNBAChili.com http://spicymoviechili.spicynbachili.com/outlast-2s-moon-and-the-end-of-time/

[pocket-anon]

A Fairytale Beginning (6/9)

OMG, you guys, I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I took this long to get this chapter out.  This 8k monster gave me serious grief with the writing and re-writing and overthinking and gnashing of teeth it took to get it to this point.  Fair warning, I’m going on my 4th day of sleeping less than 5 hours a night, so there may be a little clean-up of typos and wording going on later.  A million thanks to @katie-dub for being my sounding board for the diner scene, to @i-know-how-you-kiss for letting me whine to her repeatedly about how badly this chapter was kicking my butt, and to the rest of you for waiting so very patiently with nothing but supportive words.  XOXO

Find it on AO3 and FFN.  Missed a chapter?  Get caught up here.

Summary:  Killian Jones, the notorious Captain Hook, has been on a quest to kill the Dark One and avenge the death of his first love for over one hundred fifty years. But when he crosses the Evil Queen, he’s magically transported to New York City, a strange land full of fascinating wonders, the foremost of which is Emma Swan, a cynical single mother with no time for fairy tales, real or imagined. A Captain Swan Enchanted AU.   (Captain Swan modern AU, Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU.  Romance & Adventure.  Rated T.)

Tags as requested: @timetravelingpotatoast, @piratesails, @storybrookeswans, @optomisticgirl

Emma waits until Granny returns with matching plates brimming with grilled cheese cut into triangles and piles of golden onion rings.  She flashes a muted smile of thanks at the older woman, and Granny gives them a subtle smirk as she sets a glass ketchup bottle directly between their plates and disappears.

Emma snatches the bottle up by the neck and twists off the cap while she gathers her thoughts, unsure how much she wants to reveal.  Killian watches her shake out a dollop onto her plate and then accepts the bottle when she hands it to him, studying it before proceeding to mimic her with an adorable amount of caution.

A tiny smile tugs at Emma’s mouth, but she briskly turns back to the matter at hand and clears her throat.  As always, the first onion ring she touches is just shy of too hot to touch and just greasy enough to be tempting, and she dips it with a little sigh.  “Walsh proposed,” she says quietly, taking a bite to give herself an excuse not to say anything else immediately.

The ketchup bottle pauses in midair, and she doesn’t need to see Killian’s face to know that he’s frowning when he sets it down with a soft thunk.  “I see,” he says, sounding politely interested.

Emma keeps her eyes fixed on her plate as she eats.  “Yesterday.  Just before I met you and Henry at the library.”

Killian hesitates, as though trying to read her.  “And you didn’t say yes?” he risks casually.

She glances up for a second at the tempting cakes and pies on display in a Plexiglas case sitting across from them before her gaze falls back to her food, her lashes brushing her cheeks.  “I didn’t say no.”

He waits for her to continue, forearms braced on either side of his plate, his food yet untouched.

Emma heaves a deep sigh and tucks a loose lock of hair over her ear.  “I don’t have a great track record with men,” she admits, her gaze rotating toward the ceiling, “But…”  She closes her eyes and scrunches up her face as she tries to figure out how to explain herself without showing too much of her hand. “Things were… rough… back when I had Henry, and I’ve worked really hard to be able to give him a normal, stable life with a home and a family,” she says haltingly, playing in the ketchup with her half-eaten onion ring.  “And now I have Walsh, and he’s great, and this is supposed to be the dream, right? “ she asks, her voice growing earnest, "To have a nice guy want to marry you and be a dad to your kid?”  She chuckles bitterly.  “Only a crazy person would hesitate.”

Killian processes her words, his brow furrowed, a finger poking at one of his onion rings before picking it up to examine it.  “He didn’t seem displeased this morning,” he points out, taking an experimental bite and then going back for more.

She laughs dryly.  “Of course he didn’t,” she replies, rolling her eyes.  “Because he’s perfect like that.”  The annoyance in her tone is poorly disguised.

Killian dares to grin. “You don’t like that he’s perfect?”

“I just said I was crazy.” She shoves the remainder of her onion ring vindictively into her cheek, chews, and swallows.  “And the worst part is that Walsh knows that.  He knows what a train wreck I am in relationships.  But he’s just so patient.  He never gets mad or worked up over anything.”

Killian hums.  “And that bothers you?”

Emma pauses.  “A little,” she decides, her brow wrinkling.

“Why?”

She bites her lip and blinks down at her plate, deep in thought.  “I… I don’t know.”  She toys with another onion ring and sighs.  “Maybe because it proves he deserves better than me.”

Killian snorts, and she looks up at him sharply.  “I realize we haven’t known each other long, Swan, but I seriously doubt that,” he says. “You may have been abandoned and suffer from a serious lack of trust, but you’re still a bloody brilliant woman.” He smiles quietly before looking away. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Emma flushes only a little at the compliment, instead shifting on her stool so she’s angled to face him, one elbow braced on the counter.  “Who said anything about being abandoned?” she asks coolly, suspicion creeping into her voice.

He shrugs.  “You’re something of an open book,” he tells her, popping another onion ring into his mouth.

“Am I?” she challenges.

He hums low in affirmation.  “I’m spent many years in Neverland, home of the Lost Boys. They all share the same look in their eyes,” he says, tipping his head toward her and meeting her gaze shrewdly.  “The look you get when you’ve been left alone.”

Emma scrutinizes him back, desperately seeking a hint of dishonesty and, as always, finding none.  Her heart pounds.  Who the hell is this guy?  And, weird fantasies aside, how is it that he seems to get inside her head so effortlessly?  She’s worked hard to maintain her emotional armor, to build up her protective façade, and he just waltzes in and looks straight through it like it’s not there. “Yeah, well,” she turns away, perturbed, “My world ain’t Neverland.”  She seizes a half-sandwich and tucks in, grateful when he doesn’t push the topic further and allows her to at least make a lame attempt to hide behind her grilled cheese.

Killian follows suit, sounding an indecent groan of approval as he contemplates the taste of the buttery, toasted bread and warm, gooey cheese.  He makes quick work of it, boyishly wolfing his sandwich down with the enthusiasm of a starving prisoner of war.

Emma watches him eat, helpless to suppress a small, amused grin as he swallows his last bite and sweeps his thumb along the corner of his mouth to brush away a few errant crumbs that linger there in his scruff.  “Good?” she asks.

“Mm.”  He wipes his fingers on a paper napkin.  “This realm does some excellent things with food.” He reaches for his coffee, his face splitting into a smile as the mug nears his lips.  “Between that and the company, it’s quite the best meal I’ve had in a long time,” he remarks with a wink.

There it is again – his uncanny ability to make her feel both gratified and self-conscious as a school girl.  She chuffs, her cheeks pinking as she bemoans his stupidly attractive face and her stomach flips for the hundredth time.  Truthfully, she’d spent as much time last night trying to banish her unwanted thoughts about Killian as she had freaking out about Walsh.  Not that she’d mention that.  To anyone.  Ever.

Emma coughs weakly.  “So. Fair is fair,” she announces, raising what remains of her grilled cheese to her mouth.  “Now you know why I was up.  It’s your turn.”

A tiny wrinkle mars the spot between his eyes, his jovial demeanor fading.  “As you wish, love.”  He dips his head in acknowledgement.  “But allow me one more question.”

“That wasn’t the deal,” she chuckles with a little shake of her head, taking a bite.

“You don’t have to answer it.”

Emma pauses mid-chew and gives him a perplexed glance.  He stares back at her calmly, and she swallows.  “Fine.”

He taps a finger thoughtfully on the counter.  “Could it be that the fact your man never gets upset bothers you because you want to know that he thinks your relationship is worth fighting for?”

That’s… that’s…  Emma slowly crumples up her napkin and drops it on her plate.  That’s… not crazy.  She frowns, actually taken by how not-crazy it sounds.  How could a man who knows so little of her have come up with such a plausible explanation so quickly?  Walsh sometimes jokes that she’s his great enigma, but Killian… nothing about her seems to confuse him.  Or deter him from saying things that make her heart flutter.   “I… I think we’ve established that I’m terrible at knowing what I want,” she reminds him with a nervous laugh.

“Well, I know what you want,” Granny volunteers, walking up and pulling the apple pie out of the display case without waiting for an answer. “You want pie.”  She shuttles their empty plates away and reaches for clean plates and silverware.

Emma gives a relieved chuckle, grateful for the distraction.  There’s no doubt that Granny has been eavesdropping on their entire conversation – the woman’s ability to hear every word spoken in her diner is almost preternatural.  “How do you know?”

“Because you, my dear, love my pie,” Granny points out matter-of-factly, not bothering to look up as she dishes up two pieces.

“You’ve also looked at that pie no less than five times since we sat down, Swan,” Killian adds with a knowing smile.

Emma swivels her head toward him incredulously.

Granny grins and hands them both plates, catching Emma’s eye and then shooting a pointed look at Killian with an expression that screams, “I told you so.”  

Is the whole world conspiring to make her life more complicated?  “Thanks, Yenta,” Emma says flatly, arcing an eyebrow at her traitorous old friend.

“Mm-hmm.”  Granny hums triumphantly and walks away, completely unrepentant.

Emma gives a long-suffering sigh and shakes her head, reaching for her fork.  “Anyway,” she says, “I believe it was your turn.” She glances down at the sleeve that hides Killian’s tattoo and then back up at him as she puts the first piece of dessert in her mouth.

Killian’s grin dissipates like smoke, the laughter leaving his eyes.  He nods.  “Very well.”  He taps the golden, flaky, sugar-crusted surface of his pie with the tines of his fork.  “Milah,” he says grimly, “Was the woman I loved.”  A small, sad smile pulls at his lips.  “She was beautiful and passionate and curious…” his voice grows nostalgic, “And I invited her to come see the world with me the first time we met.” He pauses a beat, lost in his thoughts, before he sucks in a breath and his thick eyebrows lift with regret.  “But she had a husband,” he continues, his back straightening, “and a son, and she did the honorable thing and stayed with them.”  

There’s the clink of metal on ceramic as he stabs the pie with his fork.  “Her marriage, however, was not a happy one, and in the end, she was so miserable that she begged me to take her away.”  He shrugs helplessly. “I was in love with her.  How could I refuse?”  He hazards a glance at Emma, his eyes shining with bittersweet memories.  “I taught her how to survive out at sea, made her my first in command, and we sailed the world as I had promised.  We had nearly ten years together aboard my ship, and they passed like a dream.”  

After his first bite of pie, he clears his throat.  "And then her husband found us,“ he says, his countenance darkening like a thunderhead. “But by then he was no longer a man.  He’d been transformed into a being we call the Dark One, an immortal of immense magical power.”  Deep creases appear on Killian’s brow.  “I tried to protect her.  I asked her to hide when I went to face him, but it was easy for him to overwhelm me, and when he threatened my life, Milah tried to strike a deal with him to spare it. In the end, he killed her – ripped her heart out and crushed it right in front of my eyes.  And then he took my hand.”  His voice is dangerously low now.  He inhales slowly, steadying himself, his expression stony when he looks back up at Emma’s horrified face.  “Pain is terrible, Swan, but sometimes it gives us purpose.  I’ve spent a century and a half seeking revenge on the demon.  I made my deal with the Evil Queen for the magic compass so that I’d have a way to locate the one weapon that can kill him.”

Emma’s eyes pinch warily.  “Did you say ‘a century and a half’?”

“The magic of Neverland keeps its inhabitants from growing old,” he says with a grave smile.  “And I was there at Pan’s mercy for a very, very long time.”

She fidgets in her seat. Convinced as she should be that the world Killian describes does not exist, none of this new information ought to give her any pause, really.  But there’s still something incredibly unnerving about how easily he talks about his imaginary life - something about having this young, handsome, intelligent, charming man tell her that he’s over one hundred and fifty years old in the same tone he’d use to casually inform her of the time of day - that she finds increasingly sad.  A little part of her has wondered from the start whether it could all be true, but the more time she spends with Killian, the more she wishes she could believe him and the more disappointed she is that she can’t.

Emma gives herself a mental shake and forces herself back to reality.  She’s well-versed in disappointment.  There’s nothing to do but move on.  She wonders if she can get Killian to share something useful that will help her search for Milah’s obituary or death certificate, help her find the real woman behind his story. “Did Milah have a last name?” she asks.  

He shakes his head. “No.  Last names are not common in the region she was from.”

She tries again.  “And her husband?” she asks.  "What was his name?  You know…“ she hesitates awkwardly, "Before.”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” he growls, the word a quiet curse on his tongue.

Seriously?  “Seriously?”  She blanches.  “The little guy who turns straw into gold and steals babies?”

Killian laughs so harshly that, for a moment, she has no trouble imagining him as a dreaded pirate captain, as Hook. “That barely scratches the surface, love.  Whatever your stories say about Rumpelstiltskin, I seriously doubt they chronicle the extent of his dark deeds.”

Emma falls quiet for a bit, chasing the last few pie crumbs around the plate with her fork.  Her mind is a muddle of confused thoughts, but one in particular begins to eat at her. “So, you’re telling me you’ve spent… all this time… wanting nothing but vengeance?” she asks at last.

Killian answers with a bereaved smile.  “Everyone needs a dream, Swan.  And Milah’s gone.  What other dream do have I left?”

The way his blue eyes swim with mournful acceptance pulls at her heart, and he looks very different without the swagger and confident cheerfulness he normally exudes.  Maybe she’s not the only one to wear armor.  “That sounds like a lonely way to live,” she says quietly.

He seems surprised by her insight, the last vestiges of anger melting out of his expression as he blinks and licks his lips.  “Aye.”

The vulnerability in his voice chips away at her self-control.  Against her better judgment, she tentatively reaches out and gives his forearm a small squeeze.  She hears his breath hitch ever so slightly at her touch, sees his eyebrows skyrocket, and for a moment she panics that she’s gone too far.  Then his muscles relax beneath her fingers, and a look of solemn gratitude creeps over his face.  Emma’s mouth crooks upward in return, and, his delusions aside, she starts to wonder if his miraculous ability to read her is simply a matter of one lost soul recognizing another.

*                             *                             *

The gemologist’s laboratory is a fifteen minute walk from Granny’s.  Killian strides eagerly beside her as she leads him to 5th Avenue, passing half a dozen storefronts filled with jewels.  Emma notices his awe as they pass each brightly-lit display full of sparkling stones.  “They call this the Diamond District,” she informs him.

“No doubt why.”  He imagines what his crew would do if confronted with so much temptation and shakes his head.  “How do they protect themselves from thieves?”

Emma arches an eyebrow at him.  “Getting ideas?”

He chuckles. “Hardly, Swan.  Merely professional interest.  When you work with other pirates, protecting one’s loot is as important as being able to acquire it in the first place.”

She rolls her eyes. “They have detailed security systems – motion detectors, advanced safes, surveillance cameras, you name it,” she explains.  “Successful robberies from stores like these are few and far between.”  Emma snorts.  “Honestly, the biggest thefts that happen in this city are committed by bankers on Wall Street.  Power and corruption is kind of a classic combo.”

Killian hums resentfully. “Now that is a concept I understand all too well.”

Though the building Emma takes him to is ornamented and grand and towers above most of the others on the block, inside, the office of the appraiser is a relatively small, much more modest-looking space characterized by utilitarian surfaces in white and gray.  They enter a small waiting area, and Emma points Killian toward a handful of cushioned chairs along one wall.  He obliges and watches her approach the woman seated behind the tall counter opposite him.  

“Hi,” she says, “We have an appointment?  Emma Swan.”

The woman gives a courteous nod and murmurs that someone will be right with them.  Emma retreats to the chair next to him, unzipping her jacket and crossing her legs restlessly. Glancing sideways, she plucks a glossy booklet off the small table next to her and begins to leaf through it, only to come across an article about engagement rings that prompts her to toss the booklet back down and shift uncomfortably in her seat.

As though her discomfort is catching, Killian’s knee begins to bob.  He swallows and forces it to still.  He’s being ridiculous.  He shouldn’t care about Emma’s relationship.  It’s none of his bloody business, after all.  No matter how high his regard for her, she’s only a friend, a passing acquaintance.  Her past, whatever the details, has clearly left her world-weary and skittish, and he sees nothing surprising about her hesitation to accept Walsh’s proposal.  He sighs inwardly.  There’s no doubt in his mind that Walsh is getting the better end of the deal, but Emma’s boyfriend seems a decent man nevertheless, and Killian cannot fault her desire for a stable father figure in Henry’s life.  She’s trying to do right by her son, and he deeply respects that.  Gods help him, it’s more than his father ever did for him and more than he and Milah ever managed to accomplish for Baelfire.

Milah.  His gut twists with guilt.  He’s thought of her infrequently since his arrival in New York, preoccupied as he’s been with Emma and Henry and the marvels of this place.  After countless nights staring out across the waves or up at the beams above his berth wondering if he’ll ever be able to truly let her go, if there will ever be a time in his life when her face won’t haunt him, this, this feels like the closest he’s ever gotten.   But as much as he’s resented being held captive so long by her memory and the ache of missing her, it occurs to him now that gaining his freedom probably means allowing the last piece of her (and a big piece of himself) to die.  Apprehension floods his chest.  He wonders what moving on would do to his thirst for vengeance.  After everything he’s done to pursue the bloody Dark One, could he find it in himself to simply give up his mission?  What would be his purpose then?  He glances sadly at Emma.  What other dream does he have left, indeed?

A weighty-looking gray door hung with the seal of the Gemological Appraisal Laboratory of America swings open at one end of the waiting area, and short, stout man appears. He has a mop of wiry silver hair that sticks up in places, a bulbous nose, and large ears, and he wears a mossy green sweatervest.  “Emma Swan?”

Emma pops out of her seat, and Killian follows.

The little man smiles up at her and shakes her hand.  “Hal Johanson.  Come on back.”

He leads them to an office with a wide desk laden with devices.  Killian recognizes a computer similar to Emma’s sitting next to a tall, odd-looking contraption with dual eyepieces.  A giant lamp on a long, jointed metal arm is also present next to the computer, and officious documents line the walls.  The nearest to him is emblazoned with the words “New York University” and confers Halstein Johanson with a Doctorate in Mineralogy (whatever that means).  

Emma, too glances, at the wall hangings.  “That’s a lot of diplomas and certificates,” she chuckles. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were over-qualified.”

Hal smiles, settling himself into the seat behind his desk and motioning for them to assume the chairs opposite him.  “I’m a retired mineralogy professor, but retirement was boring, so I do this part-time now.” He shrugs cheerfully, taking an audible sip from a coffee mug that features a photo of him and a little copper-haired girl making silly faces and labels him “World’s Best Grand-Pabbie.”  “What can I say?  I love rocks.”

Emma’s mouth quirks into a charmed smile.

“Speaking of which,” he continues, “I believe you have one for me to look at?”

“Aye.”  Killian pulls the Sea Star out and passes it across the desk.

Hal’s dark eyes grow round as dinner plates.  “Holy…” His lips part in bewilderment, bushy eyebrows knitting together as he stares down at the gem in his hand and then up at them.  

Emma tenses and sits forward in her seat.  “Do you think it’s real?” she asks.

The old man holds the jewel so close to his nose that his eyes nearly cross and turns it slowly around, examining it from every angle.  “Very,” he mutters at length, nodding eagerly.  “Where did you get this?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Killian can see Emma pale, and he takes her look of misgiving as a hint that he should avoid telling the tale of his battle with the sea hag.  He offers Hal an easy smile.  “It was in an underwater cave,” he replies lightly.

“Where?  Australia?”  Hal scoots his chair over to the device with dual eyepieces and presses a switch on one side.  A small but very intense light shines to life in the center of the machine, bathing a square black platform below in its glow.  The professor glances at Killian questioningly before setting the opal down on the platform and leaning forward to peer down through the lenses.

Killian turns his head to Emma, who manages a subtle nod.  “Uh, indeed.”

Hal adjusts a few knobs and whistles low.  “This is the most amazing opal I’ve ever seen in person,” he breathes.  “I can see why you’d think it might be synthetic, as big as it is,” he continues without lifting his gaze, “But this is most certainly the real thing.”  The corners of his eyes pinch with joy.  “Just gorgeous.  Look at this play of color…  And the brilliance…  Lovely floral pattern…”  He sighs elatedly.  “I need a few more minutes to be sure, but there don’t even appear to be any faults in it.”

“Faults?” Emma echoes.

“Em, imperfections,” he clarifies, shifting the stone slightly on the platform to examine another section.  “Cracks, patches where the color is missing, gray or brown lines running across the surface, that sort of thing.”

Killian leans forward. “It can crack?” he asks, his face growing intent.

“Oh, yes.”  Hal’s head bobs.  “Opals are more fragile than most gemstones,” he explains, shifting the jewel again.  “They have about the same hardness as glass.  It doesn’t take much to scratch or damage them.  You have to take some care.”  He pauses his evaluation long enough to fix them with a stern look.  “You must avoid abrasive cleaners or chemicals.  And you must never, ever put this in one of those ultrasonic jewelry cleaners.  A crack in a stone such as this wouldn’t just dramatically decrease its value, it’d be a travesty,” he shudders.  

Killian nods slowly, not understanding all of the words the man is using, but getting the general idea. He swallows, a wisp of hope rising within him.  The stone is prone to scratching and cracking, just like glass, and while scratching or cracking the stone is a far cry from destroying it, the news still bodes well.

“Now,” Hal says, pushing his chair back from the desk.  “I suppose we should get to the information you really want.”  He smiles knowingly and pulls the Sea Star out from his machine.  “Let’s figure out what this beauty is worth, shall we?”  He hefts it in his hand, his face shining with excitement.  “I wager this stone weighs…” his eyes narrow, “250 carats.  Give or take.”  He sets the Star atop a small machine with a round metallic surface and presses a button, crowing triumphantly as a number appears in a small window.  “257.8!  My stars!” The little man cackles with delight, reaching for a pen and scratching out a calculation on a piece of paper.

Killian forces a wooden smile. As a pirate, the monetary value of the stone would ordinarily be the only thing he’d care about.  But he already knows what the Sea Star is truly worth – thousands of innocent lives – and even he is willing to recognize that no amount of treasure is worth that cost.  

Hal completes his scribbles and taps the tip of his pen to the paper resolutely, his expression euphoric. He retrieves the opal from the scale and stares at it dreamily, a happy sigh escaping his lips as he holds the paper out to Killian between the fingers of his other hand.  “If you’re feeling generous, a piece like this really belongs in a museum.  You could consider loaning it out,” he tells them, climbing to his feet. “Allow me to take some pictures and type up the official appraisal, and you two will be ready to go.”

Killian voices his thanks as he grasps the slip.  Hal turns and gets to work while Emma leans over to get a look at the paper.  Killian can hear her sharp intake of air, and her wide green eyes stare in disbelief at the large figure underlined at the bottom.

$39,500

*                             *                             *

It’s real.  It’s really real.  Emma’s mouth goes dry when the gemologist proclaims Killian’s stone to be the genuine article.  Not since he produced the little satchel of gold last night has she felt so confused about who this man claims to be.  A handsome man with oddly detailed delusions and a pirate costume is one thing, but a man with those things who also rides a horse, fights like a bar room brawler, and carries tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of gold and precious stones in his pockets?  Henry’s voice rings in her ears:

You know there’s something to this.  

As she and Killian ride the elevator back down to street level, Emma takes one last look at the official appraisal document before folding it up and stuffing it back into the envelope.

Killian eyes her with concern.  “Are you alright, love?  You seem vexed.”

“Hmm?”  She does her best to wipe the dazed look off her face. “Oh.  No.  I’m fine.” She hopes the small smile she offers him is convincing.  She can tell by the doubt in his eyes that it’s not, but he doesn’t press her.

For once, she’s relieved when her cell phone rings, though her stomach drops when she sees Walsh’s name on the display.  The elevator doors part, and she leads the way through the lobby toward the main entrance, trying to camouflage her impatience as she puts the phone to her ear.  “Hi.”

“Hi, honey.  I’m glad I caught you.  Is this a bad time?”

As stressed out as she is, she manages a tiny smile for Killian when he strides ahead to pull the door open for her.  “No, it’s fine.  What’s up?”

“Okay, so, I’m an idiot, and I locked my keys in the car,” Walsh says, sounding chagrined.  “You’re, um, you’re good with locks, and I thought you might know what to do.”

Emma’s heart stutters. Walsh knows she can pick locks, but she’s successfully kept her ability to break into cars (and her history of stealing a certain yellow bug way back when) under wraps.  “Uh…”  Her face contorts into a conflicted mask and she winces, biting the bullet as she and Killian cross the street to the parking garage where they left her car this morning. “Yeah.  Yeah, I can get it open for you.”

“You can?  You’re the best.”  Her boyfriend’s voice rings with relief.  “Sorry.  I would call Triple A, but I don’t know how long they’d keep me waiting, and I left a catalog in the back seat that I really need for a client meeting at four-thirty.”

“No, no,” she says, frowning as she dismisses his apology, “Um, it’s fine.”  She glances with uncertainty at Killian, chewing on her lip at the prospect of another possible Killian/Walsh encounter before pulling the phone away from her ear for a split second to check the time on the screen. “Is half an hour okay?  We’re just finishing up downtown.”

“We?”

Emma mentally recoils. “Uh, yeah,” she replies, doing her best to affect nonchalance.  “I had to look into something for Killian, so we’re in Midtown.”

“Oh.”  He sounds slightly put-out.  “Well, yeah, half an hour is fine.  I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Sure.  Bye.”

“Bye.”

Emma disconnects and stares at her phone with a huff. “Guess we’re making a detour,” she mutters.

“What’s the trouble?” Killian asks, reading her reluctance.  He reaches toward the call buttons for the parking garage elevator with his outstretched index finger and looks to her for confirmation before jabbing the “up” arrow and grinning at the way it lights.  The weight of Emma’s anxiety momentarily lifts as she tries to suppress an entertained smile.  The man talks about hunting demons and has a hook for a hand, but he gets the same amount of enjoyment from pressing an elevator button as a three year-old.

Her reaction only causes his grin to widen, and it’s obvious he knows how charming he is as he stands there and beams, looking proud of himself for having made her smile.  Emma feels a flush rising in her cheeks, and she ducks her head hurriedly to try to hide the beginnings of a dopey grin.  “Um, Walsh accidentally locked himself out of his car, and he needs help getting the door open.”  

The elevator arrives with a ding, and he motions for her to go first, as always.  “You keep a key to his car?”

She trods inside and turns around, thrusting her hands into her pockets while he moves to stand beside her. “Not exactly.”  

Killian indicates the correct floor button with a questioning glance, and she nods and watches him press it with a flourish, his look of satisfaction only slightly more restrained this time.  The elevator whirs into action, and he turns to her, awaiting further explanation.  

“I’m… good with locks,” she admits.  

A scandalous smile spreads across his face, and she forces herself to look away before she mirrors his expression or begins to contemplate how well he pulls off the sexy bad-boy vibe.

“I knew there was a little pirate in you, Swan,” he announces proudly.

She chuffs, gaze falling to the toes of her boots while she tries to ignore the entirely inappropriate flutter of pride in her chest.  “Yeah, well, seeing as how breaking into places is generally frowned upon by the authorities, it’s not something I like to advertise,” she says, “even if it does come in handy for work sometimes.”  

He chuckles knowingly, and she doesn’t miss the admiration in his eye as she exits the elevator and hastens toward the Bug.  

Emma gives an exaggerated sigh and rolls her eyes, the side of her mouth twitching.  “Come on.”

*                             *                             *

Emma’s beau, it turns out, owns a furniture store.  Killian is unsure whether to be amused or disgusted that such an exciting woman is paired with a man with such a mundane livelihood.

Emma guides the Bug into a parking lot at the rear of the shop and pulls into an empty space.  She gives him the side-eye as she cuts the engine. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to stay here while I take care of this, can I?”

“And miss the chance to watch you work, Swan?” he scoffs, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the door handle.  “Never. Besides, I should think that our little adventure this morning would have earned me some credit.”

She huffs.  “Fine.  Just… behave.”

They climb out of the Bug, and Killian throws her a wink over the top of the car.  “No need to worry about me.  I’m always a gentleman.”  

“Except for the whole pirate thing.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive, darling.”

He waggles his eyebrows and grins at the little chuckle that escapes her as she slips around to the front of her vehicle and pops open the boot.  Instead of her first aid kid, this time she retrieves a long flat strip of metal with two small cutouts on one end that make it bear some resemblance to a key.

Killian cranes his neck to get a better look.  “What’s that then?”

“A tool of the trade,” she answers, her eyes flashing cool admonishment in a way he shouldn’t find beguiling, but does.  “Don’t get any ideas.”  

Emma marches over to a dark green car parked in a spot labeled “Employees Only” and, using both hands, guides the metal down along the driver’s window and into the door. Her brow furrows in concentration, and he watches, fascinated, as she positions her tool by feel.  A few seconds later, she jerks up on it with a satisfied grunt, and the metal pulls free.  The car door opens easily when she tugs on the handle, and Killian chuckles.  

“Brilliant,” he declares with approval.

Despite Emma’s clear effort to ignore his compliment, he catches the subtle look of gratification that ghosts across her face while she runs her tool back over to the Bug.  When she returns, she braces one knee on Walsh’s driver’s seat and ducks into the car with a little sigh in order to fish out a set of keys laying haphazardly on the passenger side.  The move leaves him blinking rapidly at her shapely backside for a second, and as impure thoughts of Emma Swan being bent over for other reasons flare to life in his imagination, Killian chastises himself by clenching his fist until his wound screams in protest.

Thankfully, Emma appears oblivious to his torment as she withdraws from the car and pushes a button on the inside of the driver’s door.  The whole vehicle resonates with a dull mechanical click, and she hauls open the door to the back seat to pull out a thick book with the picture of a sitting room on the cover.  “Mission accomplished,” she sighs, giving it a little wave.  

Like its owner, the inside of the store is completely agreeable, with furniture pieces arranged in tidy vignettes throughout.  Soft instrumental music plays from somewhere overhead to help create a tranquil ambience that Killian supposes must put customers in the mood to buy beds and sofas and other creature comforts.  It strikes him as a terribly dull vocation, working in a place like this, but he supposes that regardless of his thoughts on the matter, if Emma really wants someone who embodies the quiet, stable life, she’s hit the nail on the head with Oscar Walsh.

“Emma!”

They look up to see the man himself coming toward them and grinning ear to ear.  Emma smiles and holds the book out to him, her eyes widening a bit with surprise when he pulls her close and steals a quick kiss.

Walsh beams.  “You’re a life-saver.”

Killian glances away, trying to ignore the way his gut twists at the sight of Emma kissing her boyfriend and inwardly snorting at the idea that this bloody amazing woman who spent her morning capturing a dangerous criminal instead finds praise for her ability to retrieve a furniture catalog.  

Emma chuffs.  “It’s nothing,” she says, handing over the car keys.

Walsh glances over at Killian and does a double-take, his mouth falling open and his eyes lingering on the hook.  “Wow. That’s quite the, um…” he gestures up and down, “outfit.”  

Killian straightens and cocks his head back, hand on his belt while he considers whether to take offense.  His thoughts are interrupted by a female voice that comes from behind him.

“Ozzie?  There’s a call for you from the warehouse.  They need clarification on tomorrow’s shipment.”

Killian and Emma turn to see a pretty woman with blonde hair pinned elegantly atop her head and a sweet smile gracefully threading a path through a cluster of settees as she hastens toward them in a sleek white dress.  Killian blinks.  Though she carries herself with a very different air – demure and understated where Emma is straightforward and biting – the physical resemblance between the two women is striking.

Walsh flashes the woman a warm smile.  “Okay.” He looks between the woman and Emma and gives a small start, as if remembering his manners.  “Oh, Linda, this is Emma.  Emma, this is Linda, my assistant manager.”

Linda’s dark blue eyes light with recognition.  “Oh, you’re Emma!”  She shifts the clipboard she carries to her left hand and reaches forward to shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Emma returns her smile, looking slightly embarrassed.  “You too.”

“I’ve got to take this,” Walsh says apologetically, giving Emma’s shoulder a quick squeeze as he heads off.  “Back in a sec.”

Linda turns her attention to Killian, sizing him up with great interest.  “Hi.”

He grins back. “Hello, lass.”

Emma clears her throat. “This is Killian,” she says hastily. “He’s a friend.”

“On your way to a Halloween party?”  Linda studies his black leather enthusiastically.  “You make an amazing pirate.”

Killian executes a courtly bow at the waist.  “Why thank you,” he chuckles, meeting Emma’s slightly strained expression with a wink. “I do try.”

Linda turns to Emma. “I hear Ozzie talked you into the costume ball tomorrow.”

Killian’s ears perk up, and he tilts his head, one eyebrow inching upward as Emma buries her hands into her back pockets and gives a polite little laugh.  

“Uh, yeah.”

“Are you going?” Linda asks Killian.

“I must admit this is the first I’ve heard of it, lass,” he says modestly.

She hugs her clipboard to her chest.  “Oh, it’s really lovely.  It’s the Storybook Costume Ball down at the Woolworth Building.  All the proceeds go to a charity that buys books for hospitalized kids,” she gushes.  “Do you dance?”

Killian chuckles modestly and scratches the back of his head.  “On rare occasion.”  He shrugs lightly at Emma in response to the way she narrows one eye at him in surprise.

“Would you care to go with me?”  Linda’s eyebrows angle upward.  “I mean, not to be forward or anything.  Just as dance partners.  I was supposed to go with a friend, but he’s come down with the flu and can’t now, and I’ve been looking forward to it all year, and you,” she waves her hand in his direction appreciatively, “you’ve already got the perfect costume and everything.”

Killian hesitates. The thought of spending an evening watching Emma and Walsh arm-in-arm at a ball makes his insides churn, but Linda’s lovely face begins to falter at his lack of an immediate answer, and he finds he hasn’t the heart to say no.  Liam always did tease him about having a soft spot for damsels in distress.  He gives her a reassuring nod and a gentlemanly smile. “I would be happy to.”

Her face brightens immediately.  “Really? Oh that’s wonderful!”  She turns to Emma.  “Perhaps the four of us could go together.”

“Uh…”  The grin on Emma’s face is at odds with the tension Killian sees in her shoulders.  “Sure.”

Walsh returns, striding up to Emma’s side and wrapping an arm around her waist.  “Sorry about that,” he says breathlessly.  “What’d I miss?”

“Killian’s agreed to stand in as my date for the ball,” Linda reports excitedly.  “And we were thinking perhaps the four of us could ride together.”

“Oh!”  Walsh’s expression is momentarily unreadable. “Um, that’d be fine, honey, right?” He glances at Killian before gazing down at Emma.

“Yeah.”  Emma flashes her boyfriend a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes but which seems to placate him nonetheless.  “Sounds good.”

*                             *                             *

The car doors slam in quick succession as Emma and Killian settle themselves back in the Bug, and she heaves a small sigh, inserting the key into the ignition and turning over the engine.

“Swan?”  Killian eyes her from the passenger seat.  “Are you alright?”

She preoccupies herself with backing the Bug out of the space, craning her head over her shoulder. “Sure.  Fine,” she replies brusquely.

A line appears across his forehead.  “Should I not have said yes?” he asks, peering at her curiously.  “Do you not want me to attend?”

“No!  No.”  She shakes her head, desperately wishing the brew of unidentified emotions roiling inside her would disappear so she would know she was telling the truth.  She makes a show of checking her surroundings while putting the Bug through a three-point turn, twisting in her seat to avoid the intensity of his gaze.  “It’s fine. It was nice of you to agree to go with her.”  

She can see him nod slowly in the corner of her eye as she pulls up to the street and checks for oncoming traffic.  

“Do you not want to go?” he guesses.

“I…” she merges on to the street and points them toward home, “I just don’t understand the big deal with these things,” she says.  It feels like a safe confession.  “I mean, I know it’s supposed to be fun and romantic and whatever, but it’s just a night out in a poofy, ridiculous dress and shoes that are going to kill my feet while I try not to step on Walsh’s toes.”

Killian chuckles as she slows to a stop at a red light.  “That’s one way of looking at it,” he concedes.  “Why agree to it in the first place then?”

Emma tips her head back a bit against her headrest and sighs.  “Walsh thought it sounded like fun, and I felt guilty about saying no,” she explains wearily, giving him a rueful sideways glance.  “He shouldn’t have to miss out just because I’m not into romance.”

Killian hums, and she tries to ignore the slight tingle the sound sends down her spine.  “Or maybe you just haven’t figured out what you find romantic,” he muses.  “Romance isn’t about fancy balls and pretty gowns, Swan.”

Her brow wrinkles as she shoots him a dubious look.  “First the true love thing, and now you’re schooling me on romance?” she observes wryly.

He shrugs, dimples showing.

The light turns green, and she focuses back on the road, lip between her teeth.  “Fine,” she says at last, the word wrenching free from her. “I’ll bite.  What’s it about?” 

She hears him take a deep breath.  “I think,” he says slowly, “it’s about feeling special.”  His tone turns almost shy.  “It’s about letting someone convince you that your happiness matters.”

Emma tries to tamp down the warm flush that blooms in her cheeks while his words sink in.  “That’s all?”

“That can be everything,” he murmurs.  He shifts a little in his seat and clears his throat, his tone normalizing.  “Don’t aspire to be like every other woman in the room, Swan.  The things that make you different,” he says, turning his head away to stare out the passenger window, “are the things that make you exceptional.”

Emma glances over at him with wide eyes and looks back at the road ahead of her, glad that he doesn’t see how she swallows her heart back down and hastily blinks away her reaction to his sentiment.

Henry is camped out on the sofa playing video games when they arrive home.  He perks up at the sound of the door and whips his head around, Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader freezing mid-battle on the TV.  “Hi!  Where’d you go?”

“To catch a villain, lad,” Killian calls cheerfully, following Emma over the threshold and pressing the door shut behind them.  He holds his hook aloft to her.  “Shall I take this downstairs?”

She pauses as she shrugs out of her jacket, her gaze flitting between the steel and his face. There’s almost no contemplation before she rolls her eyes. “No, I guess it’s fine.”  She finishes tugging her arm out of the sleeve and thrusts her jacket over a coat hook, trying to ignore the way a genuine smile brightens his face.  Emma hastily dips her head and hides the tiny grin tugging at her lips behind the veil of her hair as she leans forward to draw her gun from her waistband and goes to secure it in the safe.  “Just try not to scratch the furniture, okay?”

“Did you get the bad guy?” Henry asks eagerly.

“Indeed we did.”  Killian comes over and settles himself on the sofa with a satisfied sigh.  He gestures toward the frozen image on the flat screen.  “What are you doing?”

Henry unpauses the game and resumes his fight to the death.  “Getting the bad guy,” he smirks.

Killian stares, fascinated by the animated carnage as the two characters on screen slash and parry with their brightly colored weapons.

“It’s a game,” Henry elaborates, his eyes fixed and hands jerking the controller back and forth.

Killian arches an eyebrow and as he watches Henry’s fingers unleash an onslaught on the little plastic buttons.  “You call this swordplay?” he asks, nodding toward the controller.

“Not swords.  Light sabers,” Henry corrects.  “But basically the same thing.”

Killian shakes his head, bemused.  “You do realize real sword fighting requires actual skills, don’t you?”

Emma swings the picture back over the safe and turns to see Henry finally triumph over the Dark Side with a little whoop.  He sets the controller next to him and turns to Killian.  “Hey, it took me two weeks to beat that level,” he points out with a sniff.  “Trust me, there were serious skills involved.”  He ignores Killian’s snort and cranes his neck toward Emma.  “Can we go now?”

Furrows crease Emma’s forehead.  “Go where?”

“Uh, pizza at Marco’s? It’s Friday?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows and clearly indulging her lapse in memory.

“Oh.” Emma feels sheepish at having completely forgotten.  “Right.”

Friday nights out at the neighborhood pizzeria have become a thing for them over the last year, a kind of mother-son date night.  Henry loves the chance to stuff himself with a quality Brooklyn pie and play the “super retro” arcade-style games Marco keeps in the back, and Emma likes the idea of carving out some time each week to make sure she’s staying in tune with her kid as he plunges headfirst into adolescence.

Henry saves his game, switches off the TV, and hops up from the sofa.  “Great.  Come on, Killian.”

Killian straightens in his seat and throws a questioning look first at Henry and then at Emma.

Emma briefly considers the alternatives – canceling Friday pizza or leaving a hungry Killian to his own devices in her kitchen – before sighing and consenting with a weak smile and a tip of her head toward the door.  “Wanna go?”

He beams and climbs to his feet.  “Indeed. I go where you lead, Swan,” he says amiably, his smile growing brighter when she colors a little.  “Just one thing.  What’s pizza?”

Thanks for reading!  Ready for more?  Click here for the next chapter!

[gwythaint]

For several years, I have been running a Wuxia pastiche campaign within my Northport setting.  The population of Northport is quite mixed,  having a large number of goblin artisans (the goblins have lived in the city since its founding a few thousand years ago), humans, orcs, and a fair amount of mixed folk, given the situation to the east, where the nation of Shevnia lost a war with orcs because of a lost paytrain for their army, sort of like the post goblin war of Lesserton & Mor.  There are nations with different cultures to either side of Northport, which is set in an area inspired by Banestorm, in the old empire of Aral, with Valdassya to the west, and Shevnia to the east.  In addition to the Aralaise speaking Orcs, Goblins, and humans, there are two other communities: Little Shevnia to the east, and Little Sahud to the west.  I was sort of looking at Tredroy as an inspiration for part of this.  (Of course my city was also informed by the advenure Banrnacus, City in Peril. from Dragon Magazine # 80, as mentioned on my last podcast, along with my frequently recommended Ruins of the Undercity)

I know that using a pan-Asian pastiche like Sahud in my campaign is pretty crassly not PC, but I had a request by several players armed with google translate and wikipedia articles and a general knowledge base of cheesy kung fu films that wanted to play in that kind of setting. With apologies to the large number of people who may be offended by this kind of colonial cultural appropriation, this is how the long running conflict between Sakemoko , the patron of these characters, roughly 450 points:

Sakemoko is a squire+treasure hunter+ 50pt genin lens with born warleader 3 ,charisma +2, social regard 2: respected, (Social stigma minority, code of honor: bushido, sense of duty to Sahudese,) guild rank 4, status 2 filthy rich Large ally group of catfolk ninja office:master of funerals, He also has several points in independent income based on His involvement in numerous side businesses

and Akira Aku No, his enemy, roughly 500 points

half oni boss, head of rival ninja clan Brute +treasure hunter+ 50pt wizard lens+ 50pt ninja lens+ infernal + half ogre, has bloodlust, berserk

Both of these figures had extensive ally groups, each having at their service numerous ashigaru, and rival ninja clans.

The Team consisting of Chye Isuel, an ashigaru with some distant dragonman heritage, Chou-Zen Mou, an elder infused wizard specialized in lightning spells, Ales Konstantin, a Shevnian Squire+Adept, Iskander, a Valdassian martial artist (the player was using mostly 3e to build him), Tanaka Kojimaru, a Samurai warrior poet. Jin the Yak and Airis Moonshadow were no longer with the group.

Along with them were Di San Ge Er Zi the one eyed Ashigaru, and a number of mercenaries they hired away from Akira Aku No’s mercenary recruitment drive  for promises of better pay, the swordsman Xu, and his partner Chung Wang (Thank you Jackie Chan) as with most of my npc’s, I give a super brief stat block pulled usually from DF15 until more details are needed.

Chung Wang is a Brute St 15 DX 12 IQ 10 Ht 12 Hp 15 per 10 will 10 fp 12 T/s 1d+1/2d+2 Bs 6 mv 6 dodge 9 parry 10 DR 3 torso 5 Skills brawl 13 Two handed sword 14 tetsubo, 2d+4 crushing Gluttony, overconfident, compulsive carousing, greedy

  Xu is a Skirmisher St 11 dx 14 iq 10 ht 11 Hp 11 per 10 will 10 fp 11 T/s 1d-1/1d+1 Bs 7.5 mv 7 dodge 11 parry 12 Dr 3 Combat reflexes, ambidexterous Extravagant, impulsive, compulsive carousing Ambitious, suspicious, jealous Broadsword 16 1d+2 cut Shortsword 12 1d cut Karate 12 Fastdraw katana 15 Fastdraw shortsword 15 Light lamelar and helmet with ear and neck protection, Cheap ornate katana and wakizashi

Having decimated the forces of Akira Aku No on the initial raid to recover the tea set containing a divine being or two, and then by robbing his casino, the oni blooded boss had to resort to hiring mercenaries, including, initially Xu, and Chung Wang and a couple of naginata wielding ashigaru, along with Ale’s enemy, Bresnark, a magic user equipped with Rain of Stones and also accompanied by a Created Brute Warrior, who was defeated and robbed of his mundane gear by Iskander and Tanaka. Bresnark could probably have been taken out, except that he has plot protection as an enemy, and has to be defeated by Ales.

During the assault on Sakemoko’s compound, with rooftop ninja archers and assorted poorly armored mooks attacking the gate, a couple of ninja’s got in ( one disguised as a new ashigaru hireling, who was spotted as odd by Di San Ge er Zi,) and  poisoned the food stores in the kitchen  and then through poison shuriken at the two ashigaru it was hired with. They then led a chase through the complex, cutting holes in shoji paper walls and hiding in the rafters before being cornered in the library, where they were cornered and threatened to burn the place down (Ales stepped in and used Extinguish Fire) They were locked in irons, from which they made an escape, and were eventually hunted down.  Chou-Zen had eliminated another ninja who had been on the roof, by casting grease and causing them to fall into the koi pond in the courtyard. Another one was dispatched after the shoji walls were all collapsed and it had no place to hide. The poisoned Ashigaru were treated by the house physician, Yodoko no Hana, who is based on Ehi Shiina from Audition

Yodoku no Hana (poisonous flower) 125pt sage, with Alchemy, poison, physiology first aid, physician, herbary and esoteric medicine, Psychology diagnosis and surgery and detect lies, but no modular book learned wisdom. (Instead, she has the ninja lens) She has callousness, sadist and curious and has torture, pressure secrets and massage? She is attractive and immune to poison and has high pain tolerance. She makes poisons and potions That cause sensitivity and reduce will

In the end, Sakemoko siezed a coveted office, MAster of Funerary Services, from Akira Aku No, who had botched things when his barrels of salt packed dead waiting shipping to the homeland were animated by a toxifier demon, and arranged for all of the funerals of the people who had attacked him, and even gave stipends to the families, building him more Social regard.

Akira Aku No appeared a day later with a full procession including dragonmen and musicians, and sued for peace, saying that he was relocating to Little Shevnia for a beaurocratic job, and sold off his remaining interests in Little Sahud to Sakemoko.

From here, the crew will be heading to Veroigne, a region south of Northport where rice is grown for the Sahudese of Northport.

Veroigne developed in the campaign because a new player wanted to play a member of royalty and his husband, captain of his guard. I had little trouble building them, except for the general absence of Social Status in DF, and settled on giving him a couple of levels of Courtesy Rank. The two, both handsome  Chivalrous knights, had a backstory that created some campaign setting. By not accepting an arranged marriage, Baronet James forfeited the barony to his sister Loraine, who had married Marcel Pequenaud, the baron from a neighboring comunity that had serfs, while most of the Veroignese had died during the plague forty years ago, leaving the small barony struggling.  Pequenaud is a horrible ruler, and most of the family retainers loyal to Sir Percival and James have become Robin-Hood like bandits dedicated to protecting the peasantry from the Barons predations. As his soldiers are largely collecting taxes, Several other PC’s from Northport (Kirpich Rockson the Priest of Grom, Syvanus the elven archer/thief/wizard,  Marlena the Seasoned Apprentice and Snorry Rosslovich the Seasoned Guard, all of whom searched for the lost paytrain in the Shevnian Hexcrawl, along with Dionysus the faun swashbuckler, Aethul the ranger, and Balir Ironhide the Dwarf are on their way to hunt the Terrible Beast of Veroigne, which is terrorizing the peasantry.  Along the way they have met a party of Dolmenwood creatures,  a moss dwarf, a woodgrue, a frost elf and a grimalkin, and had little issue with them except for the compulsive playing of the woodgrue, that affected a party member or two, and a fantastic creature, the Stag of Veroigne, which gave Aethul a blessing when he approached it nicely. Killing it would have brought on a curse, which would have intensified if they had eaten it. It would have resurrected itself like Frey’s Goats the next day had they done so.

As to what James and Percival were up to in Northport? Thjey joined up with a pair of warrior /wizards, Sederic and Grimaldi to hunt down the racketeering Connard DuMenteur (Asshole the Liar) who had informed the Guard of Vilgar’s underground fighting operation at the very start of the campaign, back in August of 2013.  Connard had a fortified building with all access to the undercity cut off, so as to prevent an attack from below.  Among his personal crew of kneecappers and fingertakers who collected money for him were five brutes (including Lourdad and Chienne LaChatte, a gigantic elder infused brute that collected fingers as trophies.

After bashing through the brutes, one surrendered (Lourdad) and they went after DuMenteur. He had holed up in his Magelocked lower appartment, and had time to load up on paut, and  set up a trap. He opened a secret door that lead into an L-shaped closet, and hid in an alcove behind an arras, and waited for them to break in the door. They had been using sense foes earlier, but they all blindly ran into the close, and had it Magelocked behind them, and were stuck for an hour. when they got out ( the door was stone, and the knights were in front, unable to squeeze past to attempt to break down the door), Both DuMenteur and Vilgar were waiting for them, having come to a financial arrangement. ( I have a lot of bosses parlaying).  Grimaldi and Sederic of the cursed, dancing sword went on to do some advertising work for the underground tavern, standing watch while some laborers nailed signs.

  Another group, the one that had negotiated a truce with the ogres in the winecellars and are travelling with a four-armed demon hunting celestial descended from a servitor of Kali had tracked down a couple of cultists who were on their way to buy cuttlefish. The cultists of Saturnos the Devourerer have an initiation rite in which the supplicant dyes theyr robes in cuttlefish ink by placing it in a barrel with them and agitating the squiddos by drowning a cat. This leads to the typical markings of the cultists, blackened hands and scratches all over their faces.  Typically, they are led into what they think is a sex cult with offers of carnal relations with succubi and incubi, and up until now, the assorted groups of PC’s had thought they were dealing with a demon cult, especially due to all of the petty demons and Demons of Old that they had faced. They were forgetting about the Demons from Between the Stars… As it was discovered by this group, which included Oly the thief, who had funded the paytrain Hexcrawl with loot from fighting the cult when Ludlow the Munificent  accidentally blocked their ceremony and created a gate to Hell, Mancini the Guild agent (Agent+Treasure Hunter) and his guard ally Norman, Aoife the Leprechaun Druid who was on the mission to negotiate with the Trolls and entered the Library of Flax, Ardenas Barehand, who had been involved with Oly  in stealing the Jugga Trophy from the Orcish Dojo, along with Kalima, they discovered what the cultists were really about.

Kalima - 250 pt celestial avatar of Kali Att 80 Adv 149 Dis -50 Q-5 Sk 44 Sp 32 Total: 250 Attributes: ST 15 [0]; DX 12 [20]; IQ 13 [60]; HT 13 [10]. Damage 1d+1/2d+1; BL 39 lbs.; HP 15 [0]; Will 14 [0]; Per 13 [0]; FP 14 [0]; Basic Speed 7.00 [-10]; Basic Move 7 [0]. Advantages: Celestial [75] (ST+1, dx+1,iq+1, ht+1, will+1, fp+1, bs +.5, attractive , fit, spirit empathy, celestal nimbus,divine gifts, Divine curse (preferred enemy of demons) weakness to evil areas) Half Ogre [20] ST+4 [40]; IQ-1 [-20]; HT+1 [10]. Advantages: Damage Resistance 1 (Tough Skin, -40%) [3]; Fearlessness 1 [2]; Night Vision 3 [3]. Disadvantages:Appearance (Ugly) [-8]; Social Stigma (Savage) 2 extra arms [20] Higher Purpose, Slay Demons [5] Sharp Teeth [5] power Investiture 2 [20] signature gear, spear [3] Charms [6] Dis: Unattractive [0] Honesty [-10] Pacifism, Cannot harm Innocents [-10] Sense of Duty [-5 ](Adventuring Companions) selfless [-5] Bloodlust [-10] Bad Temper [-10] Unnatural Features 3, (3rd eye, Black glossy skin, flame red hair) Q usually wears only silk loincloth, coral bracelets and anklets, marigold wreath, likes to dance Charms Aura Invisibility Turn Spirit Final Rest Steal HT Eviscerate Skills: Brawling 8 15 Wrestling 4 13+2 Spear 12 15 Garrotte 4 13 Theology 2 12 Thanatology 2 12 Hidden Lore, Demons 4 14 Meditation 2 12 Intimidation 1 15 Detect Lies 1 11 Diplomacy 1 11 Stealth 1 12 Observation 1 12 Dance 1 12 Spells: Protection from Evil 4 15 Invisibility 4 15 Final Rest 4 15 Aura 4 15 Steal HT 4 15 Turn Spirit 4 15 Eviscerate VH 8 15 Equipment: Spear Pussiant +1 vs Demons Currently wearing a bolt of reddish linen as a sari.

When they followed the cuttlefish seekers back to their lair, finding their signature trap, Evil Runes that drain FP,  and stealthily took them and a couple petty demons out, they found a large crowd of cultists about to sacrifice a demon of old! the demon, along with some petty demons participating in the ceremony, immediately attacked Kalima, a favored enemy. The feeling was mutual, and she drained health on a couple, like her ancestor, and the demon ripped free of his silvered chains and flew up to attack her (he had berserk). She killed him by eviscerating him and eating his heart.  Unfortunately for the PC’s all of the deaths (and there were many) enhanced the ceremony in progress, the summoning of an Elder Servitor.  It took a lot, including Ardenas using Winged Knife on the cult champion’s silvered greatsword to kill the servitor but they did. The cultists of the Devourerer, who started the campaign by killing everyone who had the spell divination or any kind of oracular ability, are Cultists of the Elder Gods!

This was noticed by the Ymid, with his Sense Weird ability, but he was two bothered by the destruction of his skiff ( a nifty little contragravity craft he had parked on the other side of the Bone Gate) by a Bhole passing through the gate. Yaay there is now a super Dire Rot worm  somewhere in the dungeon (pencilling in a purple worm encounter). The Juniors group will be fetching alchemical components for the repair of the skiff. Additionally, they have just acquired some cultists of their own; some serfs fleeing Veroigne who were met on the road by thatr gorup, who are all worshipers of Vejovis, the roman defender of injustice, worshiped by Nodwin, the Initiate travelling with the Juniors group.

Now for some art updates:

These two are going to be in Gabor Lux‘s Echoes from Fomalhaut 5.

I am also working on a bundle of Dungeon entrances:

Links coming soon when I get a few more drawn.

In the meantime: Support my Patreon!

Buy my Stuff!

I am an affiliate of Drivethru, all of those links are affiliate links, except for the SJ Games stuff that goes to their website.

A resolution to part of a campaign, and some play reports For several years, I have been running a Wuxia pastiche campaign within my Northport setting.  The population of Northport is quite mixed,  having a large number of goblin artisans (the goblins have lived in the city since its founding a few thousand years ago), humans, orcs, and a fair amount of mixed folk, given the situation to the east, where the nation of Shevnia lost a war with orcs because of a lost…

[aheliotech]

The 10 most ridiculous ransomware we’ve ever seen

New Post has been published on https://www.aheliotech.com/blog/the-10-most-ridiculous-ransomware-weve-ever-seen/

The 10 most ridiculous ransomware we’ve ever seen

Ransomware is no laughing matter; just ask the thousands of victims that have had their personal or business files locked away. Yet every once in awhile, there are definitely moments in the lab when we can’t help but smile, scratch our heads and wonder “what on earth were the hackers thinking?”.

We want to share some of those moments with you. Here are 10 of the weirdest, strangest and most ridiculous ransomware samples we’ve encountered over the last few years.

1. Popcorn Time

Popcorn Time (unrelated to the streaming application) looks like something the Joker might have concocted if he were a little more tech savvy. Divisive and dastardly, Popcorn time is one of few strains of ransomware that actively turns regular users against each other.

After infecting your machine and encrypting your files, Popcorn Time generously offers to decrypt your files on one condition: you infect two other people and they pay the ransom. This provides a pretty strong incentive for victims to voluntarily turn into cybercriminals themselves in a desperate attempt to regain access to their files. To complicate matters even further, Popcorn Time starts randomly deleting files if you enter the incorrect decryption key four times.

2. Hitler Ransomware

The bizarrely named Hitler ransomware surfaced in August 2016. After successfully infecting a machine, the ransomware displays a lock screen featuring Hitler himself and announces that your files have been encrypted and can only be retrieved if you fork over a very specific ransom – a €25 Vodafone cash code.

However, despite what the ransomware insists, no encryption actually takes place. Instead, the ransomware simply removes the extensions of a number of files and then displays the ransom note lock screen, which features a 60 minute countdown timer. When the timer reaches zero, the ransomware crashes the computer and, upon reboot, deletes all the files on the victim’s user profile.

3. Nudes Ransomware

Some hackers are out to make money. Some want the infamy. Others simply want to see you naked.

September 2017 saw the arrival of nRansom, a hilarious piece of ransomware featuring images of Thomas the Tank Engine and the Curb Your Enthusiasm soundtrack. nRansom locks your computer and proclaims it will only unlock the device if you send 10 nude pictures of yourself to a certain email address, after which the criminals will sell your nudes on the deep web.

While this might sound fairly menacing, in all probability nRansom is little more than a gag application intended to be sent to ‘friends’. The locker is incredibly basic, full of bugs and easy to remove.

If you somehow manage to get infected with nRansom, simply:

Enter the unlock code 12345.

Click the unlock button.

Realize the unlock button isn’t actually functional.

Press Ctrl + Alt + Del to open the Task Manager.

Select nRansom.

Click End task.

Done. No nudity required.

4. Fabiansomware

Click at your own risk 😉

After months of being repeatedly thwarted by Emsisoft CTO Fabian Wosar, the criminals behind Apocalypse ransomware decided to pay their adversary the highest level of respect: they renamed their ransomware after him.

Over the course of a few months, Fabian and his team released a number of free decrypter tools to help victims of the poorly coded Apocalypse ransomware.

In frustration, the criminals attempted a smear campaign, rebranding their ransomware to Fabiansomware, delivering ransom notes in his name and using the email address fabiansomware(Replace this parenthesis with the @ sign)mail.ru to request payments.

Check out our previous blog post to read about the saga in full.

5. RensenWare

ResenWare puts your gaming abilities to the test. After encrypting your computer, the ransomware threatens that your files will be lost forever unless you manage to score more than 200 million points in the LUNATIC level of shooting game TH12 – Undefined Fantastic Object.

As you might have guessed, RensenWare turned out to be a joke and was never intended for distribution. The author quickly released a tool that causes the game to believe the user achieved the points necessary for decryption. While there’s no real malice behind RensenWare (although its encryption really does work), it does highlight the potential for creative malware.

6. Educational Ransomware

There’s a very strange, niche breed of ransomware that attempts to – quite literally – teach its victims a lesson about internet security. Koolova is one such example.

After encrypting your files, the ransomware scolds you for downloading dodgy applications and informs you that the only way to retrieve your data is to read two online articles: one from the Google Security Blog; the other from BleepingComputer.

Peruse the content before the countdown reaches zero, and Koolova will give you the decryption key to get you files back. Fail to read the articles, and Koolova deletes the encrypted files. Tough love, indeed.

Our tip: just subscribe to the Emsisoft newsletter and get all the internet security lessons you need 😉

7. Trump Locker ransomware

Right as the 2016 US election was approaching fever pitch, we caught wind of the Donald Trump ransomware, a locker closely related to the VenusLocker ransomware family.

After successfully encrypting your files, the ransomware briefly displays an image of Donald Trump’s face, along with the message “YOU ARE HACKED!” before presenting the ransom window with payment information.

Sad!

8. Merry Christmas

Unfortunately, holiday-themed malware is often very effective and 2016’s Merry Christmas ransomware was no exception. Distributed via emails that appear to be from the Federal Trade Commission, the ransomware installer comes disguised as an innocuous PDF file.

When executed, it encrypts your files and displays a festive ransom note that includes payment details, a countdown showing time remaining until your files are deleted and cheery MERRY CHRISTMAS text.

9. VindowsLocker

Toward the end of 2016 VindowsLocker emerged, a piece of ransomware that, instead of communicating via shadowy parts of the deep web, directs victims to contact a call center. It was a bizarre case of ransomware posing as tech support, the polar opposite of the usual scam in which tech support fraudsters use scare tactics to convince victims to pay a fee to bypass a lock screen.

Things got even stranger when, in a weird twist, it was later revealed that the ransomware had actually been developed by a group of people who had made VindowsLocker to get revenge on tech support scammers.

10. Pop Culture Ransomware

Finally, there’s a healthy cross section of ransomware that pays tribute to various pop culture icons.

Jigsaw: Inspired by the Saw movie antagonist of the same name, Jigsaw Ransomware deletes files from your computer every hour until you pay the ransom.

Nagini: Named after Voldemort’s pet snake, Nagini bucks the bitcoin payment method trend and instead asks for credit card information.

Kirk: Following a long line of Star Trek-themed malware, Kirk is one of the first ransomware samples to demand ransoms in the Monero cryptocurrency.

While it’s fun to look back at some of the odd ransomware we’ve encountered, it’s important to keep in mind that being infected with ransomware is rarely amusing for the victim, so keeping your computer safe before ransomware can infect your files is paramount.

What’s the weirdest, funniest or most random malware that you’ve come across? Let us know in the comment section below!

Have a brilliant (ransomware-free) day!

[dixonspeaker-blog]

Leaving in 20

A younger version of myself would have told you it was my mother who caused it. She texted early on Monday asking me to call her. I thought she wanted to recap the weekend. Liz came with me to my parents’ house for the first time. My mom did get in a few brief words about the weekend but those were poorly disguised softeners to the true intent behind her call, and she is a damn fool if she thought I would be tricked by this attempt. I’ve known her my whole life. The real reason for her call was predicated upon what almost all of our calls are predicated upon. The insatiable need to harp on me. This call was dedicated to my health. A recent biometric screening, my first ever actually, had delivered empirical results stating that my cholesterol was “a bit high,” and I was foolish enough to let this information slip over pre-dinner drinks on Friday night. I imagine my mother hearing this news while watching my body transform into my father’s body right before her eyes. In her text that morning she did ask me to call her, but when I did, it began with her incredulous to the fact that I had called so early. I figured you would still be asleep she told me. You need to make sure you are getting enough sleep, she said. She had noticed bags under my eyes that weekend. I needed to make sure I was taking care of myself while I was on the road. My efficient, young-man genetics weren’t going to be around my whole life to bail me out. Look at my father. Could I receive packages at my house? Yes, I lived in a city not a conflict-zone. Good. She was going to be sending some type of pill for me to take. They are a natural substance that will help with my cholesterol. I told her okay and if she sent them I would take them. The conversation was ending. She said text me where you are staying when you’re in Chile so I know where to send the cadaver dogs. This is an absolute favorite saying of hers. That’s three weeks away, I said, I’ll talk to you before that. I love you too. Bye bye. When we got off the phone she had accomplished her mission objective, and I thought way more about all of my meals for the rest of the day than I would have liked. And then, and for this I have no one but myself to blame, I let this sensation of feeling awkward, of feeling slightly off track, to linger inside of me and carry over into the following day. And that is where we are now. . . . Due to an aggressive travel schedule, I had not traveled out to my office in weeks. By this point any semblance of routine was completely decimated, sailing off somewhere beyond the rings of Saturn. I am, if anything, someone who travels from A to B to C by relying on a series of routines. I like systems, I like logical organizations, and I certainly like my carefully thought out routines. In the absence of these things I trend towards forgetfulness. I woke up feeling like my mom said I looked. I felt the bags under my eyes as well. I don’t know what they felt like exactly but I felt them nonetheless. While still in bed I took my phone and looked at a picture of myself from the weekend and saw the bags there too. I pondered the possibility that they would remain there for the rest of my life. I closed my phone and got out of bed. These were all of the things that happened after that: I went into the bathroom and had an unsatisfying bowel movement. I got into the shower and found my bottle of body wash empty, so I tossed it into the wastebasket that still had no bag lining it because both my roommate and myself are lazy. It added to the growing pile of Q-tips, tissues, and dental floss that one of us would eventually have to fish out by hand. I grabbed another bottle of wash from the bottom drawer, which I only found after opening every other drawer. This extended search caused tremendous amounts of water to drip onto the floor. I left the bathroom without combing my hair, giving me the sensation of being clean and finely groomed only to find out this was not the case, adding to the sense of foolishness and discomfort that I was already feeling. I chose a shirt that was too small making it difficult to tie my shoes. This difficulty lead to not leaving enough lace on my left shoe to double knot them, something I have to do or else the whole thing will come undone right as I’m about to enter or exit the subway. It was as I bent over this shoe that I noticed something that would throw the rest of my day off its axis entirely. Before each business trip I always do two things. I pack my suitcase the night before, and I plan my wardrobe around my shoes. For this trip I decided to wear my new camel-shaded light brown shoes. I bought them in December.  They’re the type of shoe hip, young, business professionals were wearing and they were the first pair I’ve purchased in this style. I bent over and noticed that the rubber sole of the shoe was beginning to peel off by the toe. Despite knowing next to nothing about shoes, I was certain this peel would be impossible to repair. The only solution was to promptly slam dunk them into the garbage. This discovery caused the universe to rearrange itself around me in such a way that I seriously considered choosing a new set of shoes for the trip, even if this meant having to up end and repack my entire suitcase on the spot. In the end I decided to do my best to ignore the deformity and wear them anyway. Part of me hoped it would become worse throughout my travels, adding punctuation to my growing misery. I grabbed my wallet, watch, keys, left the room, realized I had forgotten my phone and water bottle, went back to get them, grabbed my coat, and headed downstairs. My roommate was standing in the living room so we left together. I took the subway to Suburban, became impossibly thirsty, and reached for my Hydro Flask water bottle that I kept with me at all times and was absolutely essential for any business trip where I would be presenting. I discovered that I had left it at counter. F--k. I made the train just in time, but that meant not being able to get a coffee. I spent the train ride tired, thirsty, and confused. . . . Once in the office I was able to re-center myself. Things were back in order. I was able to make sense of what was in front of me. Accomplishing work, no matter how mundane, always has that effect. I like to check off boxes. I ate some breakfast, booked a shuttle to take me from the office back to the regional rail station later that day, and settled into a nice flow of creating presentations and firing off emails. Exactly what I wanted to do. At noon I had lunch with my boss. At 1:50 I began packing up my things and at 2:00 I was standing on the curb ready to be picked up. Five minutes passed and the shuttle still had not arrived. They were typically very prompt. I turned to go inside and as I was turning I remembered something, and this act of remembering came upon me like a large dark cloud moving quickly across the sky to block out the sun. Shuttles from my office to the train station could only be booked at 10 minutes to the hour or 20 minutes after the hour. These are the increments, odd as they are. The shuttle booker was explicit about this, repeating herself several times as I undoubtedly half-listened while performing other tasks. I knew at this moment the shuttle had passed and was not coming back. I asked the man at the security desk what I should do, and immediately regretted doing so because I knew I wasn’t going to like the answer. And I didn’t. He told me to call the shuttles again, which I did, and they told me they couldn’t send any over. They couldn’t have said this with less care. My options were now to either march upstairs and ask my boss’s boss for a ride, or call for a Lyft and hope they could get through security, pick me up, and get me to the train station all within the next 20 minutes. I called the Lyft. A serious fear was beginning to crawl over me. My phone vibrated and showed me that the driver was 10 minutes away and driving in the opposite direction on the nearby highway. Nice. He kept going, making it clear that he was pulling the trick where you simply drive farther and farther away from the pick up point and wait for the requester to cancel, which I did. Precious time was lost. My throat tightened even more.  I called another Lyft, which I knew at this point had no shot of getting me there on time. He was 6 minutes away, but got to me even quicker. Remarkable. I directed him through campus and expressed to him the urgency of speed.  He was certain we would get there on time and chatted with me calmly as drivers will often do. He was right, and we got to the station with minutes to spare. On the train I threw my suitcase onto the overhead rack and pulled out my Borges. I began to fall asleep. I had been riding the regional rail to and from my office for well over a year now, and there was a time when half-sleeping during the journey and waking up just as the train pulled into my station was a daily habit. Then, about a month ago, I was tired enough to fall into a very deep sleep and missed my stop. I haven’t let myself sleep on a train since. So I tried my best to stay awake, reading the same sentence of my Borges over and over again, taking breaks to look at the trees quickly moving by. The landscape between the last stop on the R5 and 30th Street Station is extremely barren. There are a few homes but mostly dirt and waste. I had only read a page or two of my Borges because of how tired I was. This always left me annoyed. I occupied my mind by thinking about the large Dunkin Donuts coffee I was going to get at the station. When the train reached the platform I gathered my backpack and coat and rushed off. I had only 25 minutes until my Amtrak to Connecticut. The platform was busy so I had to weave around people to get to the stairs. And it was as I reached the stairs that that black cloud rushed back in from what seemed like out of nowhere but I now realize was just off in the distance.

…I left my suitcase in the overhead rack…

I whipped around and sprinted back towards the train, but the doors were already closed. I saw the dead eyes of the ticket-taker through the window. He shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly and turned away from me as the train pulled out. I allowed myself 5 seconds of internal rage, a napalm flash setting fire across my brain. I had no choice but to think quickly. I scanned the moving train for identifying markers. The sign said Doylestown. I turned and raced down the stairs. Near the trains at 30th there is an information desk that I had never taken advantage of before. The man sitting there had a beard and there was no one else around. I LEFT MY LUGGAGE ON THE TRAIN TO DOYLESTOWN! I shouted this at him. He spun around in his chair, swift as a ninja, and snatched a brown phone off the wall. He mashed several buttons and handed the phone over. Tell them what happened he said and immediately turned back to his computer. A woman on the phone said hello. I left my suitcase on the train that just left 30th street and it was the R5 from Paoli but now it’s going to Doylestown and the bag is black and it’s in the rack on the first car. I was leaking confidence that I had made myself understood. The man looked at me again and shouted train 655. Train 655! I said. First train! The woman on the other line immediately hung up. I stared at the man in front of me and handed him the phone. She hung up I said. He put the phone to his ear and said hello, listened for a second, and then hung up. Did she hear you he asked? I think so, I don’t know. Let me try the next station, he said, they will definitely catch it there. The next station after the next was Jefferson, a good 15 minutes away. My Amtrak was leaving in 20. This now meant that my bags weren’t going to Doylestown, which would have been catastrophic, but I was probably going to miss my train and end up having to rent a car and drive 4 hours to Connecticut. A woman approached the counter while the man was on the phone with the other station. Without pause, she asked him for directions to Market street, and she did this, mind you, while it was fully visible that this man was on the phone, which enraged me, especially because this phone call carried life and death ramifications for me. Again I was forced to act quickly. I stepped in between this woman and my man, blocking him from view. I told her to head all the way down the ramp behind her, turn left, and go out of the station. She left at once. This was technically correct, but it also would have been correct if I told her to turn right, because 30th Street Station sits ON Market Street, which continues on either side. I didn’t ask for specifics, I just wanted her out of my sight. The man hung up the phone. He told me he spoke with Jefferson and they would get the bag there. All we could do now was wait. A moment later the phone rang. Suburban! Black suitcase with a green Samsonite tag. Yes! I hung up the phone. The man shouted at me, Take the train to Temple! It leaves in two minutes, track 3! I sprinted up the stairs. On the train I stood next to the door. In 15 minutes my Amtrak would leave the station I was now leaving. There was hope, but even the slightest error would ruin it. It needed to be perfect. I was the first one off. I knew where the lost and found area was because I left my keys on a train the summer before, so I tore-ass across the platform and bounded up the stairs, across the station, and through another set of doors into the customer service room. No one looked at me as I entered. I interpreted this as a bad sign. I tried to look frantic and hurried. Eventually I spoke up. I’m the one who lost the bad I said to no one. The woman at the desk looked all around her and then at me. He eyes were blank with indifference. Just as I braced myself for the bad news another woman appeared from around the corner with my bag in her hands and a little slip to sign! I already had my ID out so I showed it to her and scribbled my initials on the slip. I looked at the woman at the desk who must have read my face and she said plainly to take any train on track three of four, and I banged out of there and back down the steps to the platform and hopped on the train just as the doors were about to close! The whole trip took me less than 10 minutes, which left me enough time to buy that coffee I wanted before getting on my train, where I grabbed a strong beer from the dining car and kept all of my luggage directly in my line of sight.