#double bolster knife

[swampstew]

KIᒪᒪEᖇᑕOOK - ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ 8

Welcome to Raven’s Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Join us in the family room as we sit around and browse our phones, and eat some Girl Scout cookies as we begin tonight’s story. Rated Mature for language. Minors DNI.

Summary: Inspired by this youtube short sent by @basilisa-scorpii <3

*Phone app notification goes ping*

TikTok – KillerCook has uploaded a new video. Check it out!

Title: Constructing Manwiches Description: Making the boys some lunch in an unorthodox way. What’s your favorite tool? 5 minute video. The thumbnail is Killer wearing his trademark blue and white striped helmed topped by a yellow hard hat.

*Press Play*

“Hey everyone! KillerCook here for a short one today. Between the four of us, we manage a repair shop that’s attached to a car garage that we also own for our day jobs. We’ve had some big projects recently and we’re all pulling double shifts to get our orders done in time. So, apologies that I haven’t been making content lately during this lull period! Today, I’m going to prep some sandwiches for the guys so we can keep on working. Recipe is in the caption, let’s get to constructing these bad boys.”

The head chef was wearing a half-unbuttoned, navy-blue jumpsuit with a beat up white tank top underneath. Perfectly chiseled muscles unfairly hidden under the tight-fitting uniform. He tied his apron over his outfit and then pulled out a yellow safety hat from off-camera and placed it on his covered head.

“Presenting: the ingredients—”

The camera panned to the countertop that had a line of uncut deli meats, veggies, cheeses, spices, and seasonings spread out in an organized fashion. At the end of the row sat a pile of long bread loafs.

“—And the tools to make our lunch.”

The camera panned to the kitchen table. Lined across the wood were literal construction tools. A circular saw, a smaller handsaw, a chisel, a bolster, a hammer, a wide head pan, measuring tape, a putty knife, a trowel, a disc grinder, a small torch, and of course, toothpicks.

The next few seconds showed Killer dramatically sliding on construction gloves, snapping safety glasses over the face of his helmet, and tying his hair back in a messy, low bun. The synth-pop beat of a song playing in the background accompanied his video.

As was common with TikTok videos, the next few minutes were short clips of Killer preparing the food using the tools to make the titular ‘Manwiches.’

Using the circular saw, Killer sliced the bread loaves apart. With the ruler he measured the length of each loaf half and then measured the meats, cheese, and vegetables. He utilized the smaller handsaw and bolster to chop the produce and deli ingredients to size. Killer picked up the head pan and began adding spices, seasonings, and wet ingredients, mixing them together with the chisel to create the signature sauce.

Stepping back to grab the torch, Killer used it to lightly toast the bread. Starting with the most cooled half, Killer reached for the putty knife and dipped it into the head pan, spreading the sauce over the bread.

Killer used the trowel to place layers of meat, cheese, and vegetables down one after another, each layer separated with a thin layer of oil, mayonnaise, and Dijon mustard, respectively. Before he placed the top half of the bread over the nearly complete sandwiches, he sprinkled salt and pepper from his fingertips like a diva chef. A certified meme.

With the sandwich constructed, Killer picked up the ruler again and began placing the toothpicks 5 inches apart from each other, using the hammer to lightly tap them through the thick sandwiches. Grabbing the disc grinder, he gave the sides of the loaves a once-over to trim the fallout. Wiping down the handsaw, Killer used it to cut the loaves into handheld sandwiches, the toothpicks helped keep the stuffed ingredients stabilized as he cut them into shareable sizes. A cute spinning logo led the transition to the next scene, the logo flying far too fast to make out.

For a moment, the camera was blurred and unfocused due to four sandwiches being pressed right up to the lens, only to be pulled back by the four hands of the housemates. As the sandwiches cleared the focal point, Wire, Heat, and Kid came into view as they brought their sandwiches to their mouths, taking large bites out of them. The camera zoomed in on their faces as each man’s face reacted to the food.

Each hunk was wearing a one piece outfit – Heat and Kid wore similar jumpsuits to Killer, though Heat was the only one who wore his formally. Kid had taken the top half of his off, hanging over his hips with no undershirt on as his sweaty skin glistened against his sculpted, muscles on camera. Wire wore a short, striped romper, choosing fashion over work safety.

Kid’s dimples were smeared with sauce, a bit of lettuce stuck to his lip as he chewed with bulging cheeks. How the food wasn’t oozing through his wide smile was a mystery. Heat’s eyes were closed as he took bite after bite of his sandwich, flashing a thumbs up at the camera.

Wire had one eye screwed shut and was pushing down the bridge of his nose as he ate his, “It’s got a bit of a kick!”

Instead of verbal reviews, the three taste-testers/lunch recipients held up pieces of paper with hand drawn ratings of the food. Kid and Heat both held up two scythes crossed at the center, while Wire held up one scythe. The redhead and bluette glared at their tall friend who responded with a shrug.

Wire was not expecting to be hit by a sandwich but that’s exactly what happened. From behind the camera, Killer threw his with such speed it appeared as a blur on camera, exploding on impact and showering Wire with sauce, meat, cheese, and veggies. Kid and Heat roared with laughter as Wire frowned at his stained short-sleeve romper, throwing a middle finger at the camera.

The video ended with the frame of Wire going through a glitch effect as the hue turned blue. At the end, KillerCook’s logo floated to the center of the screen before the final video effect turned the show off.

Bonus: The comment section

Bolt.N.Nuts: I’m just a lost lil’ bit looking for my power drill🥺 KillerCook: …I don’t even have words. Are you calling ME a tool? PunkNeverDied69: Your 🍆 dude KillerCook: Don’t bring eggplants into this!

Merry1589: I’m a ground stake looking for the right sledgehammer. PunkNeverDied69: Jesus Christ – Killer what did you start

Seri0usP3rson: My favorite tool is handsome and dumb as bricks FlamingHot420:  Now that’s just mean.

Read on Wattpad | Read on AO3

[theoutcastrogue]

Folding bowie knives and dirks, 19th century

The terms “folding dirk” and “folding bowie knife” are used, often interchangeably, to refer to large, well-made, usually ornate jack knives of the mid-19th century that were designed primarily as weapons. Strictly speaking, “folding dirk” refers only to such knives that have double-edged “dirk” or dagger blades. “Folding bowie,” the more general term, encompasses larger folding dirks, as well as big folding combat knives with clip-point or spear-point blades.

Folding dirks and bowies were the pocket-carry counterparts of the better-known fixed-blade bowie knives. Bowie knives leapt to national attention in 1827 with the notorious Sandbar Fight involving James Bowie and remained in vogue for about half a century. The folding bowie may have been just as popular as the less costly fixed blade in the 1830s, the enthusiastic early years of the bowie trend. By the 1850s, the big folders were in eclipse. After the Civil War, only small folding dirks were still available.

Almost all folding dirks and bowie knives were made in Sheffield and are over 4 1/2 inches long closed. They are generally slender, and most have a cross-guard integral with the front bolsters. Ornamental appearance was an important consideration in the design of folding dirks and bowies. Consequently, they were made in a wide variety of shapes. Another factor in their diversity of shape is that most were made from circa 1830 to 1860, before mass production and pattern standardization had taken hold in the cutlery industry. Not only are the shapes of the big knives varied but so, too, are their decorations. Their bolsters are almost always ornately embossed.

Though the knives were handmade, their fancy nickel-silver bolsters were mass-produced. Standard designs were stamped out by specialist companies and sold to the makers. Some of the original dies used to stamp these fancy mounts still exist, which helps account for a certain amount of counterfeiting—most of which is inept—and questionable repair work.

Handle materials on folding dirks and bowies are generally of high quality. Stag, ivory and mother-of-pearl are the most often encountered. Horn and tortoise shell are more unusual. We have not observed bone or wood handles on them, but some may exist.

The principal makers of folding dirks and bowies seem to have been Samuel C. Wragg, William and Samuel Butcher, George Wostenholm & Sons, and Robert and Joseph Lingard. Many other Sheffield names are found on the knives as well.

— Roger Baker and Bernard Levine, Blade's Guide to Knives & Their Values (Krause Publications, 2009) (abridged)

Descriptions:

A FOLDING BOWIE KNIFE FOR THE AMERICAN MARKET, JOSEPH HOLMES, CIRCA 1870, with robust folding locking blade formed with a clipped-back point, signed ‘Jph Holmes Warranted Cutlery’ at the ricasso, German silver cross-piece (one quillon face missing), German silver pommel cast with foliage and a horse on each face, milled copper alloy fillets, mother-of-pearl scales and vacant German silver escutcheon, 15.3 cm (closed)

A LINGARD PATENT SPRING-KNIFE, CIRCA 1860, with tapering blade retaining some stamped inscription including ‘February 9th 1850’, ricasso stamped ‘Lingard, Peacroft Sheffield, secondary blade stamped en suite, German silver fillets, mother-of-pearl scales each retained by five rivets, and embossed German silver cross-guard and pommel each decorated with scrolls and foliage, in its leather scabbard with belt loop, 13.5 cm (closed)

A FOLDING LOCK KNIFE FOR THE AMERICAN MARKET, SIMPSON, CIRCA 1860-70, with double-edged folding sprung locking blade struck ‘Simpson’ at the forte, German silver cross-piece cast with scrolls in low relief, German silver horsehead pommel seated on a cannon, milled copper allot fillets, and natural staghorn scales with German silver release stud locked by a small sliding bolt, 15.5 cm closed

A FOLDING DIRK FOR THE AMERICAN MARKET, SHEFFIELD, LATE 19TH CENTURY, with folding locking blade stamped ‘S*H Sheffield’ at the ricasso, German silver pivoting cross-piece, hardwood scales inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and German silver pommel with Federal eagle and shield, 11.0 cm, blade

A HORSEHEAD LOCKBACK SHEFFIELD FOLDING DIRK, 9" Overall open, 4" blade “HANCOCK / & / SONS / SHEFFIELD”, blade has stamped cipher ”BEST QUALITY” horn slab grips, vacant German silver escutcheon. CONDITION: good to very good overall, blade is gray w/ sharpening, 1.5" German silver floral cross guard, horse head pommel worn through at snout w/ solder exposed. (02-15586/JS).

A LOCK KNIFE, MOORE, PROBABLY SHEFFIELD, LATE 19TH CENTURY AND TWO FURTHER LOCK KNIVES, the first with folding locking blade, signed rectangular ricasso, two-piece German silver guard, natural staghorn scales over brass fillets, and vacant German silver escutcheon; the second and third of similar form, with German silver guards and pommels each cast with scrolling foliage in low relief, and polished horn scales, the first: 13.2 cm (closed) (3)

James Rodgers & Sons Folding Dirk with Pearl Grip Panels and Relief German Silver Mountings 4 3/8-inch spearpoint locking blade, with "V[crown]R/James/Rodgers/Sheffield" on ricasso. Overall length when opened, 9 3/8-inches. Relief acanthus leaf and shell German silver mountings, the mother-of-pearl grip panels with oval escutcheon inlay on one side. Late 19th century. Very good to fine. Scattered pitting on steel and sharpening marks, gray patina to tang. Pearl with minor chipping. 4/20/07 RLW #297E

A 19th century folding Bowie type knife, 9¾” open, the 4½” clipped back blade etched on one side with panel of scrolling foliage, and on the other side with a bunch of grapes and vines (evidently added later), the base of the blade stamped “John B. Hobson” (has been pitted and cleaned); with German silver crosspiece and pommel, the crosspiece embossed with foliate scrolls, pommel with flutes, vines and bunches of grapes; bone sideplates, one side inset with openwork white metal panel, the other side scratched “1859 Tesmaker” (or Tes Maker?). Good Condition (small crack in one sideplate). Plate 5

A MID-VICTORIAN FOLDING DIRK OR BOWIE KNIFE BY W RODGERS, CIRCA 1850, 11cm flattened diamond section blade stamped W RODGERS CELEBRATED CUTLERY, foliate embossed white metal crossguard, riveted two-piece natural stag horn grips, the white metal pommel decorated with flowers and foliage. This is an earlier and rarer W Rodgers and not to be confused with the later William Rodgers

[rockislandadultreads]

New Mystery Recommendations

Board to Death by C.J. Connor

Back in his hometown of Sugar House running his family's board game shop and cafe, Ben Rosencrantz just can't seem to get his life to pass go, much less collect $200. Once he was a happily married English professor in Seattle. Now he's a divorced caregiver, looking after his ill father and a chihuahua named Beans while still figuring out the rules of retail management. At least the town has become more LGBTQ+ friendly than when Ben was a teenager - and that flower shop owner Ezra McCaslin enjoys flirting with him.

But despite his usual clientele of gamers, Ben is barely earning enough to keep the store running and stay on top of his father's medical bills. Then a local toy and game collector named Clive offers him a winning strategy - to purchase a turn-of-the-twentieth-century edition of The Landlord's Game, the realty and taxation game that inspired Monopoly, at a tenth of the rare edition's true value. Suspicious of Clive's shady, low-priced deal, Ben turns the offer down.

Then Clive turns up dead in the dumpster behind Ben's shop and a backpack full of $100 bills appears on his doorstep. Now Ben is the #1 suspect in Clive's death, and unless he and Ezra can prove his innocence and find the real killer, he'll go to jail for murder - and no amount of double dice rolls will set him free.

This is the first volume of the "Board Game Shop" series.

Death and the Sisters by Heather Redmond

London, 1814: Mary Godwin and her stepsister Jane Clairmont, both sixteen, possess quick minds bolstered by an unconventional upbringing, and have little regard for the rules that other young ladies follow. Mary, whose mother famously advocated for women’s rights, rejects the two paths that seem open to her - that of an assistant in her father’s bookshop, or an ordinary wife. Though quieter and more reserved than the boisterous Jane, Mary’s imagination is keen, and she longs for real-world adventures.

One evening, an opportunity arrives in the form of a dinner guest, Percy Bysshe Shelley. At twenty-one, Shelley is already a renowned poet and radical. Mary finds their visitor handsome and compelling, but it is later that evening, after the party has broken up, that events take a truly intriguing turn. When Mary comes downstairs in search of a book, she finds instead a man face down on the floor - with a knife in his back.

The dead man, it seems, was a former classmate of Shelley’s, and had lately become a personal and professional rival. What was he doing in the Godwins’ home? Mary, Jane, and Shelley are all drawn to learn the truth behind the tragedy, especially as each discovery seems to hint at a tangled web that includes many in Shelley’s closest circle. But as the attraction between Mary and the married poet intensifies, it sparks a rivalry between the sisters, even as it kindles the creative fire within.

This is the first volume of the "Mary Shelley Mystery" series.

Dig Two Graves by Mickey Spillane & Max Allan Collins

Winter 1964. After a hit-and-run accident nearly kills her mother, Mike Hammer’s partner (both in life and the PI business), Velda Sterling, learns her father is not who she thought he is. Seeking to uncover her true, troubling heritage, Velda and Mike travel to Phoenix, Arizona - and sunny Dreamland Park, where retired law enforcement officers protect and corral notorious criminals held under Witness Protection.

Mike and Velda find themselves swept up in escalating violence, fueled by the missing millions from an armored-car robbery, which leads them to a deadly midnight confrontation in a cemetery - where secrets are buried and open graves await.

Harlem After Midnight by Louise Hare

Harlem, 1936: Lena Aldridge grew up in a cramped corner of London, hearing stories of the bright lights of Broadway. She always imagined that when she finally went to New York City, she’d be there with her father. But now he’s dead, and she’s newly arrived and alone, chasing a dream that has quickly dried up. When Will Goodman - the handsome musician she met on the crossing from England - offers for her to stay with his friends in Harlem, she agrees. She has nowhere else to go, and this will give her a chance to get to know Will better and see if she can find any trace of the family she might have remaining.

Will’s friends welcome her with open arms, but just as Lena discovers the stories her father once told her were missing giant pieces of information, she also starts to realize the man she’s falling too fast and too hard for has secrets of his own. And they might just place a target on her back. Especially when she is drawn to the brightest stage in town.

This is the second volume in the "Canary Club Mystery" series.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

Prompt(s): 1) "Have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?" 2) "Oh, what a beautiful bloodbath." "Don't forget the glitter!" 3) "Patience is a virtue." "Not right now, it isn’t!"

Characters: Sam Winchester x Rowena Macleod (implied), Dean Winchester, Castiel

Warnings/Tags: couple of f-bombs, weechesters

Words: 970

+++

“Ever lick a lamppost in winter?”

The air is cold and damp, and every word uttered from Dean’s lips is escorted by breath turned to icy mist.

“I saw the movie, butt head,” Sam answers, shoving his hands deeper in his Carhartt pockets.

“What movie?” Dean asks.

“The Christmas one where the kid gets double-dog dared to lick a lamppost, and they have to call the fire department, and then he goes back to class with his tongue wrapped in a bandage?” Little Sammy rolls his eyes as he and his big brother walk to the school they’re attending this month.

Dean laughs, tossing his closed pocket knife up in the air and catching it repeatedly. “A Christmas Story,” he says with a laugh. “What a classic. ‘Fra-gee-lay! It’s Italian!’” He laughs again, and Sam echoes.

“So, no, I’ve never done it,” Sam answers as they round the corner into the schoolyard. “And I’m not gonna either.”

Across the yard, they see the school bully pushing some skinny little kid who's wearing thick glasses. Sam and Dean were just talking about the skinny kid last night on their walk back to the hotel. Not like they identify with him or anything.

They look at each other; Dean smirks, and Sam arches a brow before they continue toward the ruckus.

“Hey, shithead,” Dean calls out, dropping his bag to the ground between himself and Sam as they near the bully and his sphere of sycophants.

The bully straightens up as he shoves the skinny kid one more time before squaring his shoulders and stalking toward Dean. “Who the hell are you?” the bully asks, looking Dean up and down with a sneer.

“Oh, I’m Dean,” he answers with a grin as he looks around at the suddenly baffled crowd, bolstering his hungry ego.

Before Sam can intervene, Dean’s projected (to Sam only since he’s seen it so many times) right hook knocks the bully flat on his ass before connecting his steel toe with the kid’s jaw.

+++

Blood spills, and the fires of Hell begin to pour into the space like lava. It’s hot and putrid smelling, and Dean is just really fucking sick of all this gross shit day in and day out.

This witch is one more in a long line of idiots who think opening the gates of Hell as widely and as permanently as possible is a super awesome idea.

“Just hold on, Dean,” Sam says. “It has to be at the exact moment.”

Sam and Rowena are back at the bunker, ready to pull Dean out of there as soon as he administers the potion.

“It has to be released by the first-born son,” Rowena uttered with mock sympathy as she handed the bottle to Dean.

“Sure,” Dean said. “Just make sure ya got a firm hold on that lifeline back here to drag me out.” He turns toward the glowing portal. “Don’t get distracted with the tonsil hockey.”

Dean grinned when he heard Rowena scoff behind him as he jumped into the rift.

Someone's speaking Latin and another language that Dean’s heard but doesn’t care to understand. He rolls his eyes and waits for the correct phrase. The one he was told to wait for.

And then she says it: “Oh, what a beautiful bloodbath!” the witch sing-songs and twirls, her skirts, rising and flowing in waves.

Dean jumps into action. “Don’t forget the glitter, bitch,” he says, unleashing the potion sent with him by Rowena.

He can almost see Rowena’s glossy lips purse and that dimple deepen in disapproval of his language and general disdain for her kind from where she sits safely in the library back at the bunker.

“No offense,” he mutters under his breath.

“None taken, you uncultured little swine,” Rowena answers, miles separating them, but communication is clear as a blue-bird day, thanks to Rowena’s magic.

“Guys,” Sam says with a sigh. “Dean? Did it work?”

“Yeah,” Dean grunts as the blood and fires roll back to Hell, and the witch disintegrates before his eyes. “Now, pull me back. I need a beer. Fuck.”

+++

“Patience is a virtue,” Castiel says, placing a palm on Sam’s forehead. “Or so I’ve heard.” He mutters, seemingly concentrating on his task of healing Sam or trying to show off his newly obtained human references, Dean isn’t sure.

“Not right now, it isn’t,” Dean whispers, scanning their surroundings as their attackers — vampires to be specific — begin to close in. “Can you speed it up a little, Cas?!”

“I’m trying,” Cas seethes, and then Sam blinks his eyes open, wild and awake. His face is clear of blood and wounds.

Sam pops up to sit and then shouts. “Dean! Behind you!”

Dean stands tall and spins, swings his hatchet at just the right height to take the vamps head off, and the three of them are back in action.

They clear out the nest, trudge back to the Impala, and then drive to their hotel room. Sam and Dean each shower, each employing Dean’s new favorite travel toy, the “Happy Hour In The Shower” beer holder. (When he bought it, Sam rolled his eyes, but even he has since found the simple joy and usefulness in it just as Dean said it would be, especially for the “low, low price of $12.97!”)

As they settle back with their individual comforts, TV on some banal procedural drama, volume low, Dean recalls Cas’s sentiment from earlier in the evening.

Patience is a virtue – just... sometimes he forgets, and sometimes he can’t find it. Sometimes, his little brother is dying before his eyes, and all he can think to do is scream and rage.

Even if Cas doesn’t understand the concepts of patience, time, and space — not how humans do, anyway — Cas understands that Dean needs it and needs him.

And that’s the real virtue.

MJ's SPN Fanfiction

[myshipshipsitself]

Between Us Fanfic: Where You Belong

Title: Where You Belong Ship(s): WinTeam Character(s): Win, Team, Pharm, Manow, Dean POV: Win Word Count: 3480 Inspired by: @thebroccolination ‘s post here Summary: In which Win giving Team the key to his room wasn't exactly planned, but wasn't completely impulsive either.

Ao3 Link

”Hia. Where have you been?”

Win never thought a single question could break something in him so completely as that one did. Never thought a smile could feel like a knife through his chest the way it did when he pulled away, and Team told him that he was fine, just waiting for him.

The smile didn’t reach Team’s eyes, and the way he’d been shaking on the floor, eyes closed against a nightmare Win still had no idea how to protect him from—He never wanted to see Team like that again. He couldn’t bear it.

The solution seemed obvious. It was obvious, when he sat on the edge of the bed with Team curled into his side, warm, comfortable and safe.

”It never happened when I’m with you.”

Team was safe with him. Safe in his room, protected from nightmares Win couldn’t imagine that haunted him even when he nodded off in class.

So yes, the solution had been obvious. So obvious that the next morning, when Team went to take a shower, Win left breakfast for him on the table with a note saying that he had an early study session, and he would see Team later.

An extra key card was easy to pick up, and a copy of the room key didn’t take much more effort.

Returning to his empty room half an hour before he was supposed to meet the rest of the club for the open day, though, he started to question his obvious solution.

Win slid the Winnie the Pooh keycard cover on, and turned it over in his hands, the key to his room hanging from the keychain on the end.

It had been a good idea last night, when Team had been locked outside of his room while Win was out. When even just the comfort of knowing he wasn’t locked out, that he would have access to Win’s room no matter what, had seemed like a good idea. Like it would be a gift. A comforting thing.

But now Win was thinking it was a stupid idea. Why would Team want to be in his room if he wasn’t there? It would be just as empty as his own room.

What if Team stayed in his room one night when Win was at home with his brothers? Would he have nightmares?

Would Win’s room no longer be safe to him if he did have a nightmare there?

Instead of putting it in his bag to give to Team at the open day like he’d intended, Win opened the desk drawer and dropped it inside.

It was a problem, and potential solution, for another day.

—————

There wasn’t even any pretense of Team sleeping in his own room when they got back from the bar. He didn’t press the button for his floor, and led the way down the hall towards Win’s room once the elevator doors opened.

Win’s eyes fell on the desk drawer when they stepped inside. He started to open his mouth, to say something, but a lump formed in his throat.

What was he going to say? Was there a casual way to give someone the key to his room right after they’d had sex in a bathroom stall with half the swim club getting drunk less than fifty feet away?

No. No, there wasn’t.

“Are you at least going to brush your teeth?” Win asked, but Team was already asleep. He huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head as he went to the bathroom. He reached for his toothbrush, then did a double take in the mirror.

Win raised a hand to card his fingers through his hair. His loose hair. Win frowned at his reflection, then looked around, checking his wrists and pockets. Nothing.

A flash of a memory in a bathroom stall came back to him, and he poked his head back out of the bathroom, searching until he found it. Around Team’s wrist, hugging his bolster pillow tight to his chest, was Win’s hair tie.

Well, he could take comfort in that at least if the ABC kids noticed, they wouldn’t dare say anything to his face. Team though? He might get some teasing for it, provided the trio weren’t too drunk to have noticed anything strange.

Once he’d changed and turned the lights out, Win climbed into bed, smiling a little as Team turned in his sleep, instinctively abandoning the pillow in favor of the warm body beside him.

Win glanced over his shoulder at the desk drawer briefly. Later. He would give it to Team later.

—————

Later, as it turned out, was a difficult time frame to pinpoint. The next morning seemed good. Team was cute and sluggish and not wanting to get out of bed, and making excuses.

”Come on, get up and come have breakfast. I have a surprise for you,” Win would say.

Team’s eyes would brighten and he would sit up. “What is it?” His eyes would focus on the table, trying to pick out any snacks or other unhealthy foods he craved. He would scramble over to the table, then frown as he recognized only eggs and bacon on the plate. “Hiaaaaa,” he would draw out in the voice he used when he tried to get Win to do what he wanted. Win almost always gave in.

He would this time as well. With a bright grin, Win would hold out the key card. “Here, so you can come in whenever you want,” he would say. Team would take it, surprise written over his features.

“Why?” Team would ask.

“So if I’m not here, you won’t get stuck in the hallway, sleeping outside my door.”

Team would frown, and put the key on the table, shoving it across towards him. “If you’re mad I fell asleep outside your room, I didn’t—“

“That’s not it,” Win would cut in immediately.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep, I didn’t mean to,” Team would say, his knees pulled up to his chest, as if hiding from Win. “I was tired, and I should’ve just gone back to my room. Next time I’ll just go back to my room.”

No. That was no good.

“I made breakfast,” Win said instead. “Get up, you have class in half an hour.”

—————

The next time Win considered giving him the key was when he heard the shower turn on. His eyes fell on Team’s backpack. It would be easy to just slip it into his bag.

”Hia, did you put this in my bag?” Team would ask him later, probably at lunch. He’d have likely found it by then, and today was one of the days that their schedules lines up, and they would meet up for lunch with Dean, Pharm and Manow.

Win would only hum a quiet acknowledgement at Team’s question.

“Is that Winnie the Pooh?” Manow would say, in a sweet, teasing voice. “That’s so cute!”

“What is it?” Team would ask.

“It’s a key to my room,” Win would say offhandedly, as though it wasn’t a big deal. He would ignore everyone’s eyes widening comically at him, as he focused instead on his food. Not even good food, Thursdays’ cafeteria food was never good.

“Did you. Mean to. Put this in my bag?” Team would ask slowly, each syllable drawn out like he was having trouble making sense of it as he said it.

“Of course,” Win would say, finally looking up at him. He would see Dean trying to catch his eye and would ignore him.

Manow would make a high-pitched sound from the other side of the table, then Pharm probably following her lead. Team’s head would duck down, his hair falling to not quite cover the scarlet stain across his cheeks.

“Manow, Pharm, shut up,” Team would hiss across the table at them. Win would see the panic set in, the wide eyes, the quickened breathing. Then Team would shove the key into Win’s hand, muttering variations of, “Why would you do that? I don’t need a key to your room. Why would I want a key to your room? Pharm, Manow, just stop!”

Team would get up, and Win would stare dumbfounded after him, until Dean swatted at his arm, drawing his attention. “What was that?” Dean would demand, and Win wouldn’t have an answer.

The key stayed in Win’s desk drawer, and when Team came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, Win just watched as he went with a familiar comfort to Win’s closet to find a uniform. A smile pulled at his lips at the familiar sight.

There was no need to disrupt the easy rhythm they had just yet.

—————

Team’s eyes fell shut as Win leaned over him. Waiting for a kiss, expecting it. Win leaned up to kiss his forehead instead. Still Team didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes immediately. Win took advantage of the moment to watch him. To admire the soft blush across his cheeks. The curl of his lips. The fan of his eyelashes against his skin as his eyes fluttered open.

“That’s all I want in return,” Win said. “Per one tutoring session.”

It was a simple request, he thought as he sat back on the bed. He never wanted to push, never wanted to expect or demand. It was important to him that Team felt safe with him, and part of that was making sure Team knew that this—them together, whatever that meant—it wasn’t transactional. If Team said the word, even the mild demand of a forehead kiss would be gone in a second. He would always tease, that wouldn’t change. But he would never push intimacy. He hoped Team could see that.

“Do you normally ask people to pay you like that?” Team asked. Win hadn’t expected the question, but it also wasn’t surprising, from what he knew about Team. What Team thought of him, assumed about him—He’d gotten the impression that his reputation around campus, the one spread by unfounded rumors he’d never found the desire to squash, was more a burden to Team than it had ever been to Win. The questions in the locker room, and if Win had ever hooked up with any other juniors from the club, and now this.

“Normally, I teach others for free,” Win said patiently. “It’s only you that I charge with a kiss.”

Team didn’t move, though his eyes drifted, and Win could feel a charge in the room as Team seemed to gather his thoughts before meeting Win’s gaze again.

“Let me ask you for real,” Team said. His next words were spoken mostly into the pillow, but Win could hear them clearly enough. “Why is it only me?”

Win’s lips quirked up a little at the question. Wasn’t it obvious yet?

“Because it’s you,” Win said.

He shouldn’t have left the key in his room. This was the moment, right?

This was a moment, and he didn’t have the damn key to give to Team. If he just had the key, this would be the perfect moment. It could be whatever bullshit the ABC kids had been talking about. What Dean had been telling him.

Making his feelings clear. Making sure that Team knew how he felt, how he cared.

Maybe he could still salvage the moment. Maybe he could suggest getting a spare key for Team, and see how he felt about the idea. Then in a couple days, he could produce the key, and act like it hadn’t been sitting in his desk drawer for a week.

“You’re the only one that I want to steal forehead kisses from,” Win would say. “You’re the only one that I’m constantly thinking about, worried about. And you’re the only one that I want sleeping in my room.”

Team would frown in confusion, lowering the pillow slightly, but still holding it like a shield between them. “What are you saying?” He would ask.

“I want you to know I always want you with me, in my room, around me, no matter what,” Win would say. “And I don’t want you to be locked out again. I’ll never lock you out. I was thinking about getting a spare key made for my room, for you. So you don’t ever have to worry about me not being in my room, or being asleep, or anything. What do you think?”

Team would clutch the pillow tighter to his chest again, pressing his chin against it and looking up at Win through his eyelashes. “I don’t want to invade in your space, Hia,” Team would say, a quiet, broken voice.

Win would push the study papers aside, shuffling closer on the bed to grasp at Team’s arm. “You’re never invading in my space,” Win would say. “I always want you around.”

Team would shake his head so hard Win would worry he’d give himself a concussion. “You might not always, though,” Team would say. “You already have so much to worry about, Hia. I don’t want you to worry about me too.”

“I worry about the people I care about,” Win would say. He would offer a warm smile, a hand coming up to card through Team’s hair to try and ease his anxieties. “And I care about you.”

Team’s eyes would shine with unshed tears, and he would close them tightly as soon as he realized, burying his face in the pillow. He would say something muffled against the pillow that Win would have to ask him to repeat.

“I don’t want to be another thing that you worry about,” Team would finally say. Tears would be staining his cheeks, and his eyes would be red. “You worry about your brothers, and have to deal with your parents, and you worry about P’Dean—I’m too much trouble to worry about. And you’ll realize that eventually, or you’ll want to be with someone else, and then you have to tell me that and take the key back, or you won’t tell me and I’ll just be a nuisance showing up in your bed all the time.”

“Team, that won’t happen,” Win would insist. He would try to wrap his arms around Team, but he would squirm and Win wouldn’t push.

“You don’t know that,” Team would say. Before Win could answer, Team would put on that fake smile again that he did in the hallway when Win found him having a nightmare. “I need a good grade on this exam, though. Help me study, please?” He beg for a change of topic, for Win to drop the suggestion of the key. And Win couldn’t ever say no to him.

“Here,” Win said instead, passing one of the study sheets over to Team. He moved to sit beside Team against the headboard, smiling as Team finally released his death grip on the pillow. Maybe the suggestion of the idea wouldn’t be a good place to start. Win could already imagine the anxiety that would radiate off of Team if given the option instead of the outright offer. Later. He would figure it out later.

—————

When Win went back to his room to grab his books for class, he also tucked the key into his pocket. He wouldn’t be caught unaware again if the perfect moment presented itself.

As it turned out though, the perfect moment wasn’t going to present itself. At least not on campus. He’d forgotten that their schedules didn’t line up at all until swim club that day, the locker room was crowded, and Pruek insisted on staying back to finish the paperwork, so there was no perfect moment when it was only Win and Team in the locker room either.

Win pulled his bike up in front of their building, missing the warmth against his back as soon as Team got off the bike.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?” Win asked. He’d meant it as a casual question, but wasn’t sure if it came off that way. Team had previously only had nightmares before competition or exams, but he’d said he was having them more frequently now.

Win tried not to give anything away in his expression as Team visibly debated over the question. “Your room,” Team finally said, and Win felt himself relax, smile stretching across his lips.

What if giving Team the key wasn’t a perfect moment kind of thing? What if it was casual?

“Here, you can go on up, I’ll meet you upstairs,” Win would say, holding out the key.

“I can just wait for you,” Team would say, shaking his head at the key.

“I need to park the bike,” Win would say. In a last ditch effort to get Team to take the key, he would add, “Also, I may have left you some chips in my room as a surprise for you.” Team’s eyes would brighten and he would snatch the key from Win’s hand.

Win would smile, shaking his head as he watched Team practically sprint for the door. “I’m starting to think you only keep me around for the snacks,” he would call after Team, who would turn around, sticking his tongue out childishly before disappearing into the building.

By the time Win made it upstairs, Team would have discarded his backpack and tie, and would be sprawled out on his back like a starfish on the bed, empty chips bag beside him.

“I put your key on the desk,” Team would say, and before Win could say anything else, Team would bounce up from the bed. “I need a shower, I feel gross.” He would disappear into the bathroom, and Win would be left staring at the key on the desk, back to square one.

Instead, Win left his bike and accompanied Team inside.

Win put the key back in the desk drawer while Team was curled up on his bed, distracted on his phone. He resolved to stop stressing about it. The right time would come, and he would give it to Team then.

—————

It admittedly was less stressful, to stop looking for the perfect moment. He was able to tease and joke around with Team without wondering if any moment was the right time to give him the key. It wasn’t, and that was okay.

Win did wish he’d given Team the key before they went to his parents’ home, though. It didn’t hit him until Wiew told him that Team had left. As long as Team was with him, it didn’t matter that he didn’t have the key. But what if he tried to go back to Win’s room, and he wasn’t there?

Sure, Team wouldn’t expect him there. He knew Win was with his family. Still, he would’ve felt a lot better about Team leaving if he’d already given him the key.

As it turned out, Team gave him the perfect opportunity to give him the key anyway.

Hand outstretched, demanding a prize for the grade he’d gotten mainly because of Win’s tutoring. And studying bribery with snack foods.

Win couldn’t say no to him though. Ever, it seemed. And the only thing that Win could think to do, the only thing that he wanted to do, was to give Team the key. To give him a promise of safety, of refuge, whenever he needed it.

Team’s smile lit up the room, as well as something warm and solid in Win’s chest. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d been so worried about giving Team the key.

It was Team. It had always been Team, since the first time Win had seen him.

As he clutched onto the key, and demanded to be taken out to see the Christmas lights, Win could only smile and give in. There wasn’t really any other choice when Team was looking at him like that.

Tomorrow Win would go back to waiting for the other shoe to drop, but for the moment, even that worry was far from his mind.

—————

Win had wondered if Team would be hesitant about using the key at first. If he would still knock, and only use the key if Win didn’t answer.

The next night after he gave Team the key, he learned that wasn’t much of a concern. He hadn’t really expected Team to sleep in his room that night, as he’d said he was going out with Pharm.

It was sometime around midnight that Win distantly heard the door open. He peeled his eyes open when Team’s side of the bed dipped. Team moved carefully and as quietly as he was capable, which was not very, in an apparent attempt to not wake Win.

Win only shuffled closer, wrapping an arm around Team’s waist. Team gave in and curled against his chest, tugging the blankets up over both of them. Where Win hoped he would always stay. Right where he belonged.

[waitingforwinterwinds]

Game of Thrones - 31 TYRION IV (pages 314-327)

Tyrion, Catelyn and their slap-dash party head into the Vale to see Tyrion face justice for a crime he didn't commit. Bad times are had by all.

-

All his life, Tyrion had prided himself on his cunning, the only gift the gods had seen fit to give him, and yet this seven-times-damned she-wolf Catelyn Stark had outwitted him at every turn. The knowledge was more galling than the bare fact of his abduction.

>:3 ehehehehe Ah, Catelyn, the old 'publicly announce we're going one way and then actually go the other way' trick. Nice. I just really wish we hadn't gotten to this point.

"How many times must I swear to that? Lady Stark, whatever you may believe of me, I am not a stupid man. Only a fool would arm common padfoot with his own blade."

And we all know Tyrion is hording the majority of the Lannister Brain allowance. Unlike Joffrey who said 'no thanks' to his portion. Another point in Tyrions favour? He's a dwarf, he constantly mentions his physical pains that result from activities many people accept as typical tasks, he's basically got chronic pain and mobility issues. Of all the Lannisters, he's the least likely to off someone for perceived illness and/or disabilities.

"Why would Petyr lie to me?" "Why does a bear shit in the woods?" he demanded. "Because it is his nature. Lying comes as easily to breathing to a man like Littlefinger. You ought to know that, you of all people." She took a step toward him, her face tight. "And what does that mean, Lannister?" Tyrion cocked his head. "Why, every man at court had heard him tell how he took your maidenhead, my lady."

Petyr is a despicable little creep. I know (from meta) that he genuinely believes it, that it was Catelyn and not Lysa that time, but damn. Don't go telling people you de-virgined her. Though I suppose we all know he doesn't love or respect her, he's just obsessed with her, so of course he doesn't care about any damage to her reputation. Only the bolster to his own, and his ego.

Ser Rodrik shouted "Winterfell!" and rode to meet him, with Bronn and Chiggen beside him, screaming some wordless battle cry. Ser Willis Wode followed, swinging a spike morningstar around his head. "Harrenhal! Harrenhal!" he sang. Tyrion felt the sudden urge to leap up, brandishing his axe, and boom out "Casterly Rock!" but the insanity passed quickly and he crouched down lower.

ah, the part where everyone channels their inner Pokémon. Good on Tyrion for knowing his own abilities and when to not do the thing.

Tyrion put the heel on the grasping fingers and felt a satisfying crunch. "Close your eyes and pretend you're dead," he advised the singer before he hefted the axe and turned away.

On the one hand: HA! Karma bitch! On the other hand: Ohhhhh, Tyrion has a mean streak, and it is scary vicious.

She had a dagger clutched awkwardly in her maimed hands, but her back was to the rock now and they had her penned on three sides. Let them have the bitch, Tyrion thought, and welcome to her, yet somehow he was moving.

Because despite your best efforts, you're a good man at heart.

"As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted," Tyrion began, "there is a serious flaw in Littlefinger's fable. Whatever you may believe of me, Lady Stark, I promise you this - I never bet against my family."

I love how that says so much about him, but how it also sounds so ominous.

This whole arc just pisses me off so much, because Catelyn is acting emotionally yes, but she's also acting with the information she has, which unfortunately for her, is about as real as hair on a Hutt.

I really feel like after Littlefinger told her the knife's origin she didn't double check with Santagar or whatever his name was. it doesn't even matter if you trust your source in a murder investigation: verify

Maybe your source thinks they're telling you the truth but has bad information, maybe they're actually a lying sack of shit who want to cause a civil war so he can off your husband and free you up for a second marriage.

[actualtirefire]

dinosaurgreasestain​:

[ She still fucking- wanted to be “with” him? In that capacity???

That was absolutely not what he expected, his three eyes drifting to stare openly at the flesh of her neck that she was exposing for him. He HAD noticed the other area that was bandaged but.. hasn’t assumed that that’s what that was.

But he did mean what he said. And though he was skeptical about this offer and even more nervous that she was just going to pull out that fucking knife again and shove it into him the second they were close, something about the offer was pulling him just a bit closer.

He studied her carefully. Looking for signs of deception. Trying to find that knife. But he didn’t see it. Still nervous as he reached to take her steady her by the shoulders. Or at least one shoulder. Doubled the nerves when he realized he was out of Host and not exactly the most pleasant to look at. ]

I don’t understand you. [ He muttered. Not in the fucking least. But he didn’t wait for a response, leaning down to bury those teeth into her, biting down hard and keeping her close while he did.

Asserting himself in another way by making sure that the bite would last for a fucking while. ]

No less than you deserve. [Again, not a single bit of pity for him. He was some uber-demon nonsense man and he’d just have to suffer with the beds he made.

The knife was one of a few on her person at any given time, anymore. And her coat was tailored with magic she didn’t make, but had specified custom. It was in her sleeve, like the others, but it was also in a limbo type of storage.

She wasn’t about to pull it on him. Sort of understood his hesitance and caution. She did threaten the shit out of him today. And hit him more than a few times, a couple times with objects. So she didn’t rush him or point out he was being a skittish bastard of some overpowered hell spawn creature.

Roka was not here for his physical appearance. That’s not how her affection and libido even worked. Might take her some getting used to on the goop-texture front, but he was still--him. She didn’t think, what she bleated realized just then was his host, his human faced nose was cute because it was aesthetically cute. He was hot because her emotions and mind had Pavlov-ed her libido into finding him hot. She only had a few icks and he was not presently one of them.

The usual itch came to her teeth while she was being bit, but had enough sense to know he wasn’t in a form she could return a mark to. She’d have to save that for when she could. Ended up grinding her teeth through it. Few white pinpricks danced in her vision. That was all familiar. Everyone had been giving her maul-bites the last few days.

She didn’t make a sound of pain, officially,  but did exhale sharply when he inevitably had to let go of her.]

Okay. [Mumbled to him, while supporting the matching arm to keep strain off the new flesh wound on her shoulder.] I can’t make promises. [Told him a little less cryptically.] I have to talk to ‘im. I can’t hide you or lie about you. Wouldn’ be right. I’m scared how things’ll go. [Added a little less...confidently. Despite the whole point of the bites she had being something of a bolster.] But we’re straight now, alright? Might still beat you up some more over Charlie, but...we’re straight.

Don’t fucking lie to me again or it’s done. Full stop. No one gets to fuck around with my worth and emotions. Not anymore. I’m Röka Drochàrd. Okay? Not a toy to people who think they’re better than me.

[clotpolesonly]

CHAPTER 25

- i wonder how old the Elder Steward truly is, and how much longer than average she’s managed to hold the shadow back.

- “i told you that there was more than one way to fight.”   i maintain my theory that the Elder Steward knows the truth about Will and is trying to foster in him the strength and conviction to fight, internally, to not let the Dark King take him over or corrupt him. it’s not swords or magic that he needs to fight with.

- i’d love to know what else the Elder Steward knew about Violet’s background. is it just something that she senses, or infers from Violet’s strength? or did she actually know something about Violet’s mother? is that double lion lineage going to be relevant later on?

- “i have no shieldmate. my vow is to your father, and he is dead.”   i think, the first time i read this, i interpreted that as Jannick. but now that i think about it, it would’ve had to have been Cyprian’s biological father. janissaries obviously wouldn’t be anyone’s shieldmate 😅 that’s only a Steward thing. we don’t know when they lost him, but it was presumably at least 6 years ago for his children to have been taken in by another man. i wonder how many shieldmates Euphemia had over the course of her unusually long life. Justice said you can’t form a new bond while your old one is active. how many shieldmates has Euphemia killed or watched die before her? how many times has she taken the vow with someone new, knowing that she would likely outlive them as well?

- the thought of them gathering up all those bodies. i think they said earlier that there were hundreds of people living in the hall. all brutally murdered and left where they fell. god.

- Will admits that he doesn’t trust himself, but that the Elder Steward’s faith in him helped him bolster him. my theory holds.

- “‘you didn’t do this. you don’t carry the blame.’ the words were a knife in Will’s gut.”   because, in a way, he did. both because his past life was responsible for the bargain struck in the first place, and because he in this life wasn’t the hero they needed to stop it, like they thought he was.

- but he still shows empathy to Cyprian. shows him the kindness and support that he wishes someone had shown to him. he can’t be bad at heart, i swear. 😭

- ps, this may be a bad time to acknowledge it, but Cyprian isn’t truly the last of his kind. “he carried a history inside him that was shared with no one else” but.....he shares it with James. and the potential of that fascinates and intrigues me.

- everything about Cyprian in this scene wounds be deeply. his insistence that he shouldn’t be the last of them. like, if it was going to be anyone, it should’ve been Marcus, or Justice, or Leda, or the Elder Steward. someone worthy of representing their entire culture, their history. an embodiment of their purpose. anyone but him.

- Grace comparing Euphemia to Will’s mother. how much that must sting.

- there’s something poetic about the new Final Flame being lit from the funeral pyre of the Stewards. phoenix-like, almost. new hope rising from the ashes of defeat.

- Cyprian making this vow, to guard against the dark alone, to be the light when there is none. this is the only scene in the book that brought real tears to my eyes.

CHAPTER 26

- Justice as Violet’s surrogate big brother, and now she’s lost him too 😭

- with the composure Grace displays, i’m sure she would’ve made a hell of a Steward if her blood was stronger.

- god i wonder what their darkest hour is going to be, if this doesn’t qualify. what will it take for it to be time to call for the lost King? whatever that means, however it’s going to manifest.

- Devon sounds like he has the same resentment towards the Stewards that James does. they both describe them as self-righteous. makes sense, having both been the victim of that righteousness. James ousted for a past life he has no control over and doesn’t even remember, merely tainted by association, and Devon hunted down and mutilated, robbed of his horn so it could be a tool in their noble crusade. at least the dark side is honest about their darkness.

- what a fucking plot twist this is alkdfjgh

- again i wonder, if Devon the Unicorn once had an animal form alongside his human one, what about the Lions? “you’re more like me than you are like them.”

- will Devon get a more prominent role in the next book? i feel like, for him to get any POV time at all, he’ll have to be more important than he’s been so far. this section doesn’t tell us all that much and it’s not really relevant to the plot that happens in this book. it showcases an interesting dynamic though and sets Devon up a little more as a character.

- who did he think might’ve come to see him, if not Robert? “a figure impossible and long dead.” Sarcean? Will? someone else?

- this is such an interesting dynamic, and for all that we only see it for a moment, it really tugs on the heartstrings. Robert sounds like his surrogate father, and a really good one at that.

- another character who heals quickly (though not, i notice, as quickly as James does).

- this shocked me so deeply upon my first read. it still shocks me, but i suppose that quote explains it. the fear of being hunted. the fear that kindness only masks a long game. the horn itself both a gift and a reminder of what humans are capable of and how little they can be trusted. it’s safer, i’m sure he feels, to have no connections, to not let himself fall prey to a weakness like this. he’s already let himself invest far too much, if he felt so safe in this man’s presence, even fully bared and known.

CHAPTER 27

- how does Violet get back through the door without Cyprian with her 😅 he opened the gate from inside, but i feel like that’s not how it was established to work, lol.

- “did you kill anyone? no judgment if you did, dude, i just gotta know”

- “he found himself instead looking into the blank faces of a novitiate and two janissaries who knew everything about morning chants and ancient swords and nothing about the basic geography of london.”   idk why this is so funny to me 😂😂😂 Will like “wow you people are useless thanks”

- James James James James James

- “do you want it the way it wants you?”   this whole concept is deliciously fucked up, that it has a lure to it, even for its victim. 

- it really is funny that their grand plan is always to sneak up on James and whack him over the head, and it’s even funnier than it works, TWICE.

- the mental image of James “satisfyingly roughed up” is just -chef’s kiss-

- (do i get similar vibes from the Collar and Laurent’s sapphire pet earring? opulent and seductive, a temptation and an invitation, turning the wearer into an object one might possess? perhaps. only this one comes with the tantalizingly badwrong magical coercion aspect alkdfjgh)

- James, god. the indignity of having his victimization exposed against his will. his first plea that they not let his father have control over him. what does that MEAN? what are the implications there?? i have no idea how to unpack that.

- “you served Simon of your own free will.”   i wonder how much of that is true. it’s true that James has done horrific things in this life, collar-free, but i wonder about the difference between non-consent and unwilling consent in this circumstance. we learn shortly that the threat of the Collar has been present for James since he was 12. he’s known what it was and that Simon intended to use it on him when the opportunity arose. i wonder how much of the actions he takes are in the hopes that, if he lives up to Simon’s expectations and does what Simon wants freely, he won’t be forced into complete subjugation. he’ll be doing the same thing either way, the resulting carnage will be the same, but at least this way he retains some semblance of agency and, eventually, a chance to escape. i have thoughts. and questions.

- the Emery thing comes so out of nowhere 😂 esp cuz 1) Emery’s already dead by this point, 2) James says since they were 11, but 11 is also the age that he left the Hall. but Cyprian doesn’t argue that point so apparently he did know that Emery was in love with James before it all went to hell.

- yeah, “dangerously provocative” sums James up pretty well

- ok it is past midnight, i am CLOSING the book. i am going to be responsible and not continue to the next chapter immediately. i am suffering but i am being so brave about it.

[caretaker-au]

Chapter 06

Chara stirred, their bleary eyes cracking open. The windowless bedroom provided no clues as to the time, so they clicked on their phone, squinting at the harsh blue light.

4:51 AM. They had only been asleep for a couple of hours.

Chara sighed and flipped the phone face down on the nightstand. They rolled over and reached towards Asriel’s side of the bed, but their hand splayed across empty sheets. Distant laughter twittered from somewhere outside the door.

They bolted up, their senses surging with adrenaline. The murmur of familiar voices could be heard down the hall, something that would be normal if not for the bizarre time of day.

Chara slipped into suitable clothes and stole to the bedroom door. They doubled back for their knife, hiding it in the waistband of their pants with their oversized shirt on top. Just in case.

The moment they stepped outside their door, Chara felt their chest tighten. On the other side of the house-- down the hall and past two entryways-- Asgore, Toriel, and Asriel were seated at the dining table. They were fully dressed and chatting softly but excitedly over tea and the leftovers of a cake Chara had baked two days ago. At the head of the table was Frisk, a small smile on their lips while they listened to Toriel and Asgore argue over the best way to make hot cocoa.

Frisk’s eye caught Chara’s movement and the child froze, their eyes widening. Toriel trailed off mid sentence, and leaned over the table to follow Frisk’s stare down the hall. Asriel and Asgore followed suit.

“Oh, Chara! I’m sorry, we didn't mean to wake you,” Asgore said with an apologetic smile.

Chara swallowed, willing themselves to approach. “What… is this.”

“You have met Frisk already, yes?” Toriel gestured to the child, oblivious to how the color had drained from their face, “When we heard a human was imprisoned here, we decided to check on them right away. Did you know they were never given supper? Captive or no, a child needs to be cared for.”

“After having a little chat, we brought them here,” Asgore continued, “And don't worry, we have things completely under control.”

Chara came to a stop just within the entryway of the living room. Their neck felt stiff as they turned their head to look at Asriel. Their voice shook, “You told them.”

“No, it was an accident--” Asriel floundered, “I didn’t mean to. After you went to bed, Mom caught me pacing out here. She-- you know how she is-- she got it out of me and woke up Dad. I wanted to bring you along too, but you were so sick before and I didn't want to disturb you.” Asriel took a breath, “And… and… I mean, we were gonna tell them soon anyway, right?”

“Frankly, I'm a little disappointed you thought you couldn't trust us.” Toriel added, “You know you can depend on us.”

Unable to meet their eyes, Chara looked down at the floor in an attempt to regain composure. “I cannot believe I didn't expect this,” they muttered, “You always fail me the first time around, Asriel.”

Frisk and Asriel shared a quick glance.

“What?” Asriel couldn’t hide the offense in his voice, “Chara, listen: I'm sorry for telling Mom and Dad so soon. But it ended up okay! Frisk explained that this was all a massive misunderstanding.”

“No. You listen.” Chara cut in, their eyes laced with intensity. They pointed at Frisk, “The human is manipulating you. I cannot stress enough the danger it poses. Is it not enough that it assaulted me upon our first meeting? Or need I remind you what one of its kind did to your arm, Asriel?”

Asriel touched his scarred arm. If anyone had a reply, no one said it out loud.

“Right,” Chara nodded, “Now step aside and I will escort the human back to its cell.” Chara began to approach the head of the table and Frisk shrunk back in their seat with a quiet, “No, please--”

“Chara, wait.” Asriel stood and held up their hand, bringing Chara to a halt. “Frisk is different. I think they are one of the good ones. Like you.”

“We are nothing alike.” Chara spat.

“I would not be so quick to say that!” Toriel jumped in, “Frisk was telling us how they came here. This child has no family, no home, but they have a good heart and deserve a second chance.” She set her large hand over the top of Frisk’s hand, and Frisk clutched it back.

“And I know we agreed that the Underground has no room for dangerous humans,” Asgore rose from his seat to stand behind Frisk’s chair, “But Frisk explained they thought you were going to… well, hurt them. I’m sure that wasn’t your intent, but that explains why you two didn’t get along. Frisk was just scared.”

“Hey, I know! Why don’t we start over from the beginning? Chara, Frisk, you two should introduce yourself to each other again,” Asriel said. Undaunted by Chara’s glare, he walked behind Chara and rested a hand on each shoulder, giving them a slight push forward.

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Toriel beamed. Frisk gave Toriel a frantic look, shaking their head. The resistance seemed to only bolster Toriel’s confidence. She stood from her chair and reached a hand out to help Frisk down, “It is all right, my child. You are safe with us.”

Frisk weighed the encouraging looks of the Dreemurrs against Chara’s glower. Tentatively, they took Toriel’s hand and climbed down from the tall chair.

Now unblocked by the table, Chara noted Frisk was no longer dressed as they were before: they wore only the leggings they had beneath their shorts and a faded green striped shirt. Chara’s old shirt from when they were thirteen.The wretched thing had managed to infiltrate the royal family in less than one night.

Frisk stepped forward with hesitant optimism and Chara closed the gap in turn.

“Hello,” Frisk began, forcing a smile, “My name is Frisk.” They raised their hand, but Chara didn’t take it. Frisk kept it suspended and closed their hand into a thumbs up. “I hope we can get along.”

Chara looked from Frisk’s hand to the delighted, traitorous smiles of Dreemurrs. The caretaker sighed, running a hand through their bedraggled hair before leveling their gaze back at Frisk.

Chara spoke in a soft voice. “Erase this.”

“Huh?” Frisk raised an eyebrow, but Chara had already changed their stance. In one decisive motion, they drew their blade from hiding, and slashed across Frisk’s throat.

Pandemonium followed the spill of blood.

Toriel shrieked, grabbing Frisk as they crumpled to the ground. Chara tossed the knife to the side moments before being charged by Asgore, who thrusted them up and against the wall. The impact was jarring, stars briefly manifesting in Chara’s vision while they tried to take in the chaotic aftermath.

Asriel was frozen in abject horror, fixated on the blood pooling on the hardwood floor. Toriel called his name three times before he broke from his trance, looking over to his mother.

“Asriel, help me!” she shrieked. Still shell-shocked, Asriel stumbled forward and dropped to his knees, lending his healing magic to the dying child.

“You are wasting your time.” Chara muttered, but their voice was drowned out by unintelligible threats from Asgore.

“Mom…” Frisk rasped, blood gurgling from the cut in their throat.

“I am here, child,” Toriel choked, “You’re going to be alright. Stay determined…” Frisk’s vision swam with delirium, and their eyes listed towards Chara. For a moment, they met the eyes of their killer. Then, they were gone.

Frisk’s soul manifested above their body, casting the room in harsh red light. But before the Dreemurrs could comprehend what they were seeing, it shattered in a flash, a breathless silence following in its wake.

“Finally,” Chara sighed. All eyes locked onto them, and Chara responded with a sly smile, “Everyone, I’ll see you earlier.”

“You killed them!” Asgore roared, slamming Chara against the wall again for emphasis, “You killed them!”

“Yes. I know.” Chara said, scowling in pain and irritation. They looked back at Frisk’s body, “I am getting pretty good at it.”

“I should tear you apart, Chara!”

“Then do so, Asgore,” Chara replied, “It does not matter. All of this will end soon.”

“Asriel!” Toriel sobbed, still trying to heal Frisk, “You need to get help!” Asriel was trembling, his breath reduced to short, tight bursts. Toriel grabbed her son by the shoulder, shaking him, “Asriel, go get help!”

“I’m sorry,” Asriel whimpered, tears running down his face, “This is all my fault.”

Toriel let go of Asriel, and turned to her husband, “Asgore! Call for help now!”

Asgore released Chara, who stumbled to the floor. They had barely regained their balance when Asgore grasped them by the arm, hauling them towards the landline phone. “What should we do with Chara?”

Toriel’s eyes were dark with grief and rage. “Get them out of my sight. That is not my Chara.”

chapter 06 // end

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[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #92: Ryougi Shiki (Assassin)

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making Ryougi Shiki again! Well, kind of. This is the other Ryougi Shiki, a human who wields the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception to cut down anything that gets in her way.

Check out this Shiki’s build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: Santa Island Mask?!

Race and Background

Shiki’s a human, of course, but you share a body with the other Shiki, and we already made her a Kalashtar, so.... If it’s any consolation, you get +2 Wisdom, +1 Charisma, advantage on Wisdom Saves, resistance to Psychic damage, immunity to dreams, and the ability to Mind Link with creatures within  a number of feet equal to ten times your level. You can speak telepathically without an action, or use an action to let them speak back to you for up to an hour. You probably don’t have this power in canon, but you’d be getting this either way thanks to your later class levels. Consider it a gift from Shiki.

You work for the Garan no Dou Agency as a House Agent, giving you proficiency in Investigation and Persuasion. You also get one of a set of tool proficiencies depending on the house you choose, but I’ll leave that decision to you.

Ability Scores

Make Intelligence your highest score- you fight through paranormal activity with a kitchen knife- you have to be pretty good at improvising. Second is Dexterity, your armor could charitably be called leather at best and your weapon of choice is even smaller than a dagger. Wisdom’s next; you need to be able to track down whatever you’re dealing with if you want to stab it. After that is Charisma- seeing the death of all things gives you a certain je ne sais quoi that makes you pretty scary. Your Constitution is a bit low, but you spent a lot of time bedridden in a hospital, so that’s not too surprising. Finally, dump Strength for the same reason, and because we don’t really need it for this build.

Class Levels

1. Blood Hunter 1: That’s right, you’re so far outside our normal servant builds you’re not even an official class! First level blood hunters get proficiency in Dexterity and Intelligence saves, as well as three skills. Acrobatics will help you get your knife where you need to go, Arcana will keep all the magical nonsense you deal with on a daily basis straight, and Insight will help greatly on your investigations.

You’ve also been subjected to the Hunter’s Bane, giving you advantage on survival and intelligence checks related to Fey, Fiends, and Undead. You also start learning Hemocraft magic, using your life force for extra magical effects. You can use your Blood Maledict to invoke or amplify a Blood Curse once per short rest. Pick up the Blood Curse of Exposure. When you react to invoke the spell, a creature loses its resistance to whatever damage types are hitting it until the end of the turn. If you invoke the curse instead, you take damage equal to your hemocraft die, and its invulnerability is reduced to resistance instead. Also, you can only use blood curses on creatures with blood unless you amplify it. Dread it, run from it, your knife still arrives.

2. Rogue 1: We’ll get back to the fancy magic in a second, but let’s jump over to rogue for some stabbing skills. When you multiclass you get proficiency with one skill; Intimidation’s a good pick, you’re pretty scary. You also get Expertise in two skills, doubling your proficiency bonus in Investigation and Acrobatics. You also get a Sneak Attack, adding 1d6 to damage done with a finesse or ranged weapon when you have advantage or another party member nearby. You also get Thieves’ Cant. It’s a language.

3. Rogue 2: Second level rogues can take Cunning Actions, using their bonus action to disengage, dash, or hide. You’re pretty mobile, even when you’re not part god.

4. Rogue 3: At third level, you get your rogue subclass. Soulknives use their funky mind powers to be very good at stabbing, which fits you perfectly. When you pick this subclass, you get some Pisonic Powers that use psionic dice. Each long rest, you get a number of d6s equal to double your proficiency bonus that you can spend on two features. Your Psi-Bolstered Knack adds the dice to a failed check, expending it if the check succeeds. You’re the main character in an anime, your skillset should be “whatever the plot needs”. Your Psychic Whispers lets you talk to another creatures equal to your proficiency bonus telepathically as long as they’re within a mile of you for 1PsiDie hours. The first time you use this feature per long rest is free, each extra use uses a psionic die. Again, you’re probably not telepathic in canon, but every other part of this class is a good fit, so just enjoy the extra gift.

You also learn how to make Psychic Blades as a part of your attack action, with the option to make another, smaller blade as a bonus action afterwards. These are thrown finesse weapons that deal psychic damage, because you’re not really cutting the person, but their death lines. The weapon vanishes after the attack, and leaves no trace on the victim. That last bit is probably more a graphical limitation of FGO than one of your abilities, but it makes your life easier so why complain?

5. Rogue 4: We’re using our first Ability Score Improvement to grab the Telekinetic feat instead. I’m pretty sure you don’t have your magical prosthetic in FGO either, but it’s still a canon power you have so let’s throw it in anyway. The feat increases your Intelligence by one, and allows you to cast Mage Hand without any verbal or somatic components. You can also make it invisible, and it can shove creatures, forcing a strength save with a DC of 8 + your proficiency + your Intelligence modifier, pushing creatures who fail 5′ towards or away from you.

6. Rogue 5: Fifth level rogues get an Uncanny Dodge, using your reaction to halve damage from an attack. That’s a nice kimono, it’d be a shame if something happened to it. Your psionic dice also grow to d8s at this level for higher skill checks and longer conversations. Your sneak attack also grows to 3d6 extra damage.

7. Rogue 6: Sixth level rogues get another round of expertise. Insight and Arcana should help out on your next investigation almost as much as your cool mind knife.

8. Rogue 7: At this level you’re so nimble you can perform Evasion; when you make a dexterity save to avoid taking damage, you take half damage on a failed save, and no damage on a success. It’s almost like you killed that fireball before it could even hit you or something. Your sneak attack also gets as high as we’re going to make it at 4d6.

9. Blood Hunter 2: We’re fast and have cool mind-stabbing powers, let’s bounce back to blood hunter for more mystic-slaying skills. Second level blood hunters get a Fighting Style, and the Dueling style will help improve the damage of your one-handed weapons just a little bit. You also learn how to activate a Crimson Rite, empowering one weapon with a bit of elemental juice. Doing this costs hp equal to one roll of your hemocraft die, currently a d4. We’re picking the Rite of the Frozen; cold damage is pretty close to necrotic, and that the other kind of damage I’d pick for MEoDP. Worth noting though; you can’t use rites on your mind knives, because those don’t exist between attacks.

10. Blood Hunter 3: Third level blood hunters enter their order for extra benefits. The Order of the Ghostslayer will make your powers strong enough to even kill things that are already dead, giving you the Rite of the Dawn immediately. This gives you another crimson rite, this one causing your weapon to shine bright light for 20′, grant you resistance to necrotic damage, and you deal an extra die of rite damage when hitting an undead. You also become a Curse Specialist, giving you an extra Blood Maledict use per short rest, and the ability to use unamplified curses on bloodless creatures. Very few things resist psychic damage, and even fewer of those things don’t have blood, but now I’m pretty confident in saying that nothing can escape your Mystic Eyes. 

11. Blood Hunter 4: Those eyes of yours are cool, but they don’t mean much if you can’t hit anything in the first place. Use this ASI to bump up your Dexterity so you can hit things more often, and harder.

12. Blood Hunter 5: Fifth level blood hunters get an Extra Attack, letting you make two attacks in an action.

13. Blood Hunter 6: At this level, you can carve a Brand of Castigation on a creature when you hit them with your Crimson Rite. This means you’ll always know which way they are, and each time they hit you or a creature within 5′ of you, they take psychic damage equal to your intelligence modifier. The brand lasts until you dismiss it or make a new one, and can be used once per short rest. Even if you flub your first attack and don’t kill them in a single blow, getting stabbed in the soul is going to have some side effects.

You can also use your blood curses three times per short rest now, and you learn a new one as well; the Blood Curse of the Marked marks a creature for a turn, letting you deal an extra die of rite damage to that creature. If you amplify the curse, the next attack you make against them is done with advantage. They’re the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, not the Mystic Eyes of Injury Perception. If they’re not dead turn one, are you really doing it right?

14. Blood Hunter 7: Pick up another primal crimson rite this level; the Rite of the Storm will let you deal lightning damage; you can probably get away with this by just calling it a taser. You also get an Ethereal Step, letting you step between dimensions, moving through objects and creatures as difficult terrain. You take damage if you end your turn inside something, and your step lasts a number of rounds equal to your intelligence modifier. and can be used once per short rest. If anyone asks, you’re just moving really fast.

15. Blood Hunter 8: Use this ASI to bump your Dexterity up even further, for a higher AC and a better stabbing experience.

16. Blood Hunter 9: Ninth level blood hunters have a Grim Psychometry, giving you advantage on History checks to recall information about dark pasts, possibly even getting visions if you roll high enough. Retrocognition is more Tohno Shiki’s wheelhouse, but you’re already here, so there’s no reason to let it go to waste.

17. Blood Hunter 10: Your Dark Augmentation increases your speed by 5′, and you can add your intelligence modifier to all your Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution saving throws. You’re fast, and clever enough to not die easily. You also get a new blood curse, the Blood Curse of the Muddled Mind, using a bonus action to impose disadvantage on a creature’s next concentration save it makes until the end of your next turn. Amplifying this curse gives them disadvantage on all concentration saves made in the same amount of time. Your knife can cut anything, including magic. Bar a five level dip into wizard, this is the best you’re going to get.

18. Blood Hunter 11: Our last goody from the ghostslayer order turns your Brand of Castigation into a Brand of Sundering, causing the branded creature to take an extra die of rite damage on hits, and the creature can’t move through creatures or objects. That last bit is clearly meant for ghosts and the like, but that extra damage works on everything.

19. Blood Hunter 12: Since that augmentation fixed up all your physical saves, we can just focus on your HP for this last ASI. Grab the Tough feat for an extra 38 HP now, plus another 2 at level 20.

20. Blood Hunter 13: Your capstone level gives you a fourth Blood Curse use per short rest, and your Brand of Castigation/Sundering also becomes a Brand of Tethering, doubling the damage caused by the branded creature attacking you, and preventing the creature from dashing. Also, attempting to teleport or leave the plane while branded causes them to take psychic damage, and they have to make a wisdom save. Failing the save nullifies the teleport or plane shift. Portals are annoying, so you should cut down any that pop up.

Pros:

Between your Psychic Blades and Crimson Rites, you have plenty of options to turn a knife into a magical damage machine, in a variety of flavors to boot! This means you can deal tons of damage and avoid resistances at the same time.

Slapping sneak attack and rite damage onto a single strike means you’re very good at dealing critical hits. Plus you can just give yourself advantage in a pinch if you really have to, enabling big turns against key enemies.

You have proficiency in dexterity saves, evasion, and your two highest scores help out as well. Basically, you’re really hard to hit if they’re not aiming exclusively for you, and your AC means that you’re still pretty hard to hit even then.

Cons:

A lot of your damage comes from your Brand of Castigation combined with your Rites. This makes your psychic blades the most flavorful damage option, but least powerful one too, since they can’t have rites attached to them. It also means you’re only hitting your hardest against one enemy per short rest, but you’re a single target assassin, you’re probably used to being called in only for one boss.

Your HP isn’t that high until level 19, and even then you’re still eating away at your health to use your rites and curses. It’s not that weird to think that you’ll be the one doing the most damage to yourself if you’re not careful.

You didn’t invest much in Strength, meaning it’ll be easy for you to get pushed around by beefier opponents, especially before your Dark Augmentation.

[toysoldiers-rwby]

[CS] 9. Team APCX

Cutting Strings

Characters: Aurora Glade, Penny Polendina, Ciel Soliel, Ashley Xanthic, Winter Schnee, May Marigold Word Count: 4k

Apex. The edge or outcrop of a vein. The highest point of interest, excitement; the climax. The highest point; peak; vertex. The pinnacle of an achievement. The predator surprasing all others, without equal.

Team APCX. Specialization: Search and Destroy.

Read on Ao3

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  Combat Performance at 78%  

The training today was a little different. Or At least it felt a little different. For one, Ciel and Aro was early. Second, May and Fiona was sparing Aro and Xanthic, instead of the usual one on one with their unofficial mentors.  

“Will you Happy fucking Huntresses stop giggling!?” Xanthic yelled. Winter and Penny briefly glanced at the doubles fight. Fiona only laughed harder, her Deep Pockets swallowed every hard-light knife Xanthic would create and throw. As an excessive display of skill Fiona even summoned the push knives, throwing it back and colliding with another aimed at her head. “Aaagh! Are you serious Thyme?!”  

Penny couldn’t help but to giggle behind her hand. May’s experience and history with Aro put the mechanic at a sever disadvantage. Fiona was already able to cloud Xanthic’s high cognitive functions with both verbal and nonverbal taunts. The pair was hopeless out matched on nearly all levels but awareness, thanks to their cybernetics, and Dust manipulation.  

“Aaagh!” Aro’s feet slammed the ground, the immediate area glowing bright with purple Dust. May and Fiona floated off a few feet before vanishing. Arrows lodged out of the ground floating several feet above her. Then it pulsed, arrows shooting down with so much weight it either snapped or logged deep into the metal tiles.  

They didn’t hear the sound of flesh and bones slamming onto the floor. Xanthic fired and threw knives into the Field. It disappeared and reappeared to hit the wall. Sometimes there would be a surprised gasp or a taunt, “Oh! That was close.” Fiona would sing. The geniuses was separated and had no intentions of regrouping. In fact… perhaps Xanthic was trying to distance herself from Aro?  

“Marigold!!” Aro roared, “I promise I won’t burn ya’ too bad, doll!” Penny’s processors nearly caught on fire as she tried to analyze the sound. It had a deep distorted rumble and an echo. Where did it come from? According to her databanks, feline Faunus could roar but Aurora Glade was a goat.  

Aro spun around, embers of smoke and fire slipping past her lips. Penny leaned in, but was held back by Winter. Focus completely engulfed Aro’s eyes. They glowed a bright blue, the pupils a devouring white. There was also a red glow on her face. From the Dust infused jewelry that pierced the bridge of her nose.  

May was suddenly behind her. She glanced at Winter then at Penny. Her grin grew larger. Hands reached for those golden cybernetic horns. She winked. Then pulled. Aro gasped, head jerked back and back crashing to the floor. A cloud of fire plumed out of her lips, harmless against May’s Aura. The Huntress laughed. She pinned Aro with a boot to the mechanic’s sternum. The bayonet and notched arrow of her crossbow pointed at Aro.  

"You lose, doll." May drawled back. With no signs of exhaustion.  

Aro took several deep breaths, embers fluttering from her lips. She eventually relaxed, hands held up in surrender. Focus fluttered off. The glow from the Dust jewelry faded but Aro’s face was still very rosy and red. Without her semblance, Aro didn’t trust the words on her tongue. Penny could see the mechanic work her jaw but it eventually slipped out, “I… disagree…”  

“Of course you would,” May grinned. She offered a hand and effortlessly pulled her up- “Duck!” Just to shove her back down.  

Across the room Xanthic and Fiona was still fighting. A hard-light arcing off a saber and soaring further into the training room. Penny gasped hands up and Aura bolstering. Instead she was swept off her feet and tackled to the ground, Winter pressing her body tight to the floor.  

The arc of hard-light energy was larger than anticipated, that or it was growing as it moved. The wind it dragged behind it nearly lifted Winter off her, but Penny wrapped her arms around the Specialist until it passed.  

Winter got to her feet, “Marrow! Ciel!”  

The arc of light was definitely growing. By now it was nearly a tidal wave or a wall.  

“Shit!” Marrow growled.  

“Slow!” Ciel’s Clockwork hit the hard-light attack. It nearly paused in the air, moving inch by inch instead of yards. Without movement it seemed to slowly fade and flicker out, as if a fire was burning through its oxygen. Ciel groaned, Clockwork collapsing just as the hard-light wave completely flickered out.  

“Sorry! Sorry about that!” Fiona yelled.  

Everyone grumbled and Winter stood. Her hand offered to Penny. She didn’t need the help but showed appreciation for the gesture with a smile. It was a little tricky to control how much weight Winter pulled. When they looked back at the duo Xanthic was a little dazed on the floor with Fiona sitting on her abdomen.  

During all the panic, the Aura buzzer went off. Xanthic was at five percent while Aro’s technically good enough to continue with her Aura at fifteen percent. Fiona and May helped their defeated opponents out of the training room.  

Winter cleared her throat. She was now a few paces away, sword pointed at Penny with her free hand behind her back. Penny frowned at it. She knew from pre-installed recordings and live observation that the second blade only came out when Winter was challenged. The Specialist had yet to wield the second blade at Penny.  

“Shall we continue? Or would you like to forfeit, Ms. Polendina?” Winter taunted. Her smirk wasn’t as guarded.  

"I’d prefer it if we continued, Opponent Winter," Penny said. Behind her Floating Array flourished all fourteen components.  

Every sparing match with Winter was frustrating and intense but it was the little things that made this different. Winter moved more like Aro, fluid and loose. Almost like water but still not completely free of the stiffness the military had beaten into her. She smiled, taunted, sneered and goateed Penny into several mistakes. The Specialist always commentating on the opening but never actually taking the chance to strike.  

Penny huffed, synthetic voice trying to restrain a noise of frustration but only vibrated in her chest. The elite graduates were toying with them. No matter what variable Penny adjusted, her calculations and assessments about Winter and her summons were wrong.  

She couldn’t calculate how many creatures Winter could summon. They ranged from a tiny flock of Nevermores to the current pack of towering Alpha Beowolves. They lunged straight forward. All five pierced straight with one sword each in its skull. Five more appearing above her. Penny was forced to doge backwards, her visual sensors barely catching a glimpse of white as Winter entered striking distance.  

Her processors were nearly overheating. Multiple swords and guns yet she could not find an opening to strike Winter directly. With simple gestures, summoning Glyphs appeared around Penny. Sometimes close enough that a claw would emerge first, a solid hit chipping away at her Aura levels.  

“Stop reacting and force me on the defensive!” Winter yelled.  

Penny paused and frowned at Winter. Whatever expression she had stunned the women and her Beowolves for a moment. Theoretically P.E.N.N.Y could take initiative but without any kind of input to create a solution or to even analysis a problem-  

“Penny? Penny!” Several voices yelled for her.  

Her vision went black for a moment. Under her eyelids Penny could see lines of code and a list of errors. For a moment Penny thought she overheated, forgetting to breath and exhale all the hot air her power unit and Aura generated. The errors did list some heating problem in her processors but the main source of the errors the logical contradiction.  

Penny took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Her head still felt hot, and the light seemed too much for her systems so she shut them again and waited a few moments. She did sit up, which was effortless, much to the relief of Winter.  

“What happen? You’re Aura level was fine then…” the Specialist paused. She didn’t mutter or mumble, but the soft tone was definitely close to it.  

“Cutie dot exe stopped working,” Aro blurted out. Penny frowned, squinting open her eyes to glare at the mechanic. She blushed, ears flickering around in embarrassment. Aro tried to hide behind Focus but that just caused her eyes to flicker. It reminded Penny of the little robotic goat she was still working on, how it processed knew information with blinking lights and tilting it head.  

“Please stop being adorable so I can stay made at your for that horrible comment,” Penny grumbled. That had the opposite effect. Aro scoffed, trying to rebuff the statement by crossing her arms and straightening out. The act wasn’t complete due to her red cheeks and nervous twitch of her ears. Thing she couldn’t hide without Focus.  

Winter and May sneered and chuckled. Winter handed Penny some water and she gulped it down. Her systems instantly improved, transferring the liquid to her cooling systems and lowering the temperatures in her head.  

Fiona and Xanthic didn’t pay them much attention. They were too busy watching the last bout. Marrow and Ciel were tied with both their Aura levels around 50 percent. The Ace Oprative looked nervous and surprised. During all these practices… they haven’t sceen Ciel fight.  

Ciel’s weapon of choice was Dust infused chakrams which would let out a powerful explosion on contact with about a minute charge between. Penny’s data was inconclusive. Penny was sure Clockwork was effecting the charging rates and force of the explosion as they rewind through the air to return to her hands.  

“Stay!” Marrow’s voice rang out. His semblance stopped one chakram in midair. He turned quickly throwing Fetch to counter the second. Too close. Marrow grunted as the explosion nearly threw him off his feet. He reach out as Fetch made its return to his hands-  

“Fast forward” Ciel yelled. Fetch’s speed suddenly increased to a near blur! Penny’s software correctly updated, predating Ciel the winner. Marrow gasped, taking a solid hit to his chest. With his concentration broken the first chakram collided with his back.  

Marrow’s aura level was finally below Ciel’s.  

One more hit-  

“Slow!” Clockwork hit Marrow. The chakram that was deflected by Fetch was in her hands, charging bright with red and yellow Dust. Marrow tried to turn, to face her or to dodge but his speed was nearly halved. He didn’t even see the circular blade collide into his back. Clockwork turned off, sending Marrow flying to the ground.  

The buzzer rang with Marrow’s Aura levels at 2 percent.  

“Congratulations!” Penny yelled to her teammate. May and Fiona cheered with her. Winter wouldn’t but there were still two more voices missing. Penny frowned and looked at her teammates. Both genius look put out and unhappy for APCX’s only victory.  

Xanthic let out an annoyed sigh. “Out of all of us… It was her that won against the graduates,” She grumbled, lightly glaring as Marrow and Ciel walked towards them.  

“Perseverance triumphs natural talent,” Winter said. Eyes paused on Aro who signed something at her, "And no effort." Her eyes shifted to Xanthic who did a universal insult gesture with her fist.  

Aro sighed, handing Ciel a water bottle. “Congrats…” Aro said. Ciel sneered before taking small sips between heavy breaths.  

“I’d like to think she had a good teacher!” Marrow mumbled. His arms were crossed and jaw jutted out in a pout.  

“You were brilliant,” May said patting his shoulder. The praise felt more like condolences even to Penny. Marrow only grumbled a little more. “But we got good news for APCX!”  

“Oh?” Penny asked tilting her head. It must have been really good if it kept slipping past Winter’s stoic professionalism.  

“We might be able to start Team APCX as second or even third years on the Accelerated Program.” Winter said.  

“How exactly?” Ciel asked.  

“A field test!” May said with a grin. She looked at Aro who was already smiling, “Seems like I finally dragged you on a mission.”  

“Only took five years,” Aro rolled her sea-green eyes. “When? My remaining customers are Atlas students so I might be able to hold it off.”  

“I’m free.” Ciel said with a shrug. There was a long expectant pause from everyone but Xanthic who nearly seemed amused. Ciel glared at the younger Spymaster, even elbowing her. Xanthic’s broken blue Aura flared cross her body. “You didn’t tell them?”  

“Ow! It’s public information!” The hacker said, “Not my fault if the military over looks shit.”  

Ciel sighed, rubbing her temples. “I graduated yesterday.”  

An awkward silence fell over the graduates. They looked immensely guilty though Penny failed to reason why. Ciel hadn’t requested any special accommodations, just a reasonable request not to be disturbed during class. Aro tapped her chin a little in confusion as well.  

“Congratulations? We don’t really have formal schooling in Menagrie.”  

“I graduated when I was 14.”  

“I think my education would be similar to homeschooling,” Penny finished.  

Ciel scowled at her teammates, “And I was the only one that won, so stop showing off.”  

Despite May’s reasoning, Ciel refused to celebrate and insisted on continuing to the field test. Upon hearing it was immediate, Xanthic tried persuading Ciel into a small celebration or even small lunch out. With a wicked smirk Ciel refused. Winter and May took some pity and took Team APCX around to buy clothes appropriate for combat outside of the protective walls and heating grid. Fiona and Marrow didn’t accompany them but left for other errands. Ciel didn’t look happy that Winter payed for it but relaxed a little seeing the Atlas Military logo on the credit card.  

Xanthic continued to stall, arguing with Aro and Winter about who’s transport to take. Xanthic’s was airship may be the fastest but it was also not equiped for combat. Winter’s was the most durable in the odd chance they ran into flying Grimm but not suited for sustained nights out. Aro was a non-military but due to business trips was equipped with defensive turrets and comfortable living space.  

"Tsunami has made it out of several fights with the White Fang, Bandits, and Grimm," Aro argued. “Besides we have two of the best huntresses in Atlas!” Penny tuned the elite’s arguing and antic for while now.  

Instead enjoying a calm conversation with May and Ciel.  

“Honestly I’m just lucky it was Marrow,” Ciel admitted softly. “He’s a rookie and underestimated me. I think Aro and Xan have it the hardest. You and Fiona was just playing mind games the entire time.”  

May huffed playfully, arms crossed over a her chest, “They deserve it!”  

“I still think you could have won if you didn’t feint,” Ciel said looking at Penny. Penny heated up, and played with her hands. She was confident in that assessment but so far the statistics were proving her wrong. “You and Winter don’t have years of history, she’s just better and smarter than Marrow.” Penny nodded but couldn’t particularly voice anything.  

“Winter right though,” May said. “You need to stop waiting for the first move.”  

“It’s difficult,” Penny protested weakly. If there was a pattern Penny could easily plan ahead but Winter had to many variables. And that was without adding the Glyphs.  

“You have good instincts,” May ruffled her hair. “List to 'em.” Penny grumbled and pouted.  

The arguing trio finally settled for Aro’s airship. The AI was advance enough auto-pilot a course and take off so even Aro could be present during the mission debrief. Though when Penny glanced over to her she wasn’t really paying attention. She frowned, elbowing the mechanic to focus.  

Their mission was a simple Search and Destroy. There was a few packs of Sabyrs and Nevermore wandering closer to Mantle and growing in numbers. Team APCX would be clearing them out.  

The first Sabyr pack was killed before they had a chance to leave the transport. While May was trying to convince the newly graduated Police Officer to jump out of an airship, hundreds of feet off ground and into a pack of Grimm, Xanthic had created a hard-light sniper canon. Practically a cannon or a railgun. Each shot was powerful enough too jerked the transport a little.  

One shot split into three and within a few minutes the pack of Sabyrs fell.  

By the end of it Penny’s audio system was on a horrible feedback loop. Her processors frying until she had to reset them. She could only imagine the physical pain everyone else must be in. With the exception of Deaf Aro who was laughing. She weakly seperated May and Xanthic, her head tucked into May’s shoulder as the Huntress made grabs for Xan’s neck.  

The hacker grin’s smug grin briefly disappeared and reappeared as she signed, expressions melding into shock that was still sarcastic without words. May tried shouting back but it was garbled and crackling to Penny’s ears. She restarted her audio systems again as May shoved Aro to the side, hands furiously signing insults and other comments. By the time Penny’s hearing was functioning, Winter had walked back into the main cabin.  

“Enough,” She sighed. Winter looked slightly in pain. Penny wasn’t sure if the cockpit would have amplified the gunfire or not. “Can you two please play along?” She asked Aro and Xanthic.  

“Fight to the best of your abilities but somehow limit yourself so we can conveniently judge you into arbitrary categories!” Xanthic said. Her lively sarcasm and faux cheerful tone making everyone chuckle or giggle. Even Winter.  

“I’m trying my best to appease both parties,” Winter explained rubbing her temples again.  

“Fine,” Xanthic drawled. “I’ll pretend to be a hopeless damsel.”  

The next pack of Sabyr wasn’t much of a challenge. The hardest part was getting Ciel out of the transport.  

“Just land near me!” Aro yelled up as she fell.  

Penny stood at the edge of the airship, grinning at Ciel’s unease expression. “Aro has masterful control over gravity Dust and your Aura should protect you from further damage.” She said before stepping off. Ciel could soften her landing with her Clockwork, though that would be better tested in a nonlethal scenario.  

Far below Aro’s cybernetic legs fired a powerful burst of fire. It cleared the area of Grimm, the Sabyr directly under her now faded into ash. Penny unfolded Floating Array from her pack. She charged it at her leisure, the cold of Solitas allowing for increased power without overheating. All fourteen guns fired at the ground, softening her landing until she angled them forward. Penny intercepted a Sabyr lunging for Aro’s back, two blades slicing it open with a flick of her wrist. Aro hummed. Or purred? Penny would probably need to have a hand on her chest to feel if it vibrated or not.  

“I’ll be sure to return the favor, doll.” Her glowing blue eyes winked at her. Above them, Ciel’s scream was increasing in volume while Xanthic’s laugh was much fainter. “Xan probably had to push her out… or May.”  

“Or Winter,” Penny mused beside her. Penny sent her blades out again, piercing two creeping Sabyrs and causing the rest to hesitate. Aro stomped on the ground, her metal legs humming loudly as a pulse of gravity Dust engulfed the area. Ciel’s fall slowed when she finally entered the gravity field. She took deep breath’s clutching her chest and flailing to get her feet under her.  

Penny helped the official officer land. Then the field shut off and Xanthic slammed deep into the snowy ground, “Ow…” Penny stared at her a little skeptical. It was still at a mildly unsafe height but snow is supposedly soft.  

“See! It wasn’t so bad.” Penny smiled at Ciel.  

“Yeah, no one of important social value got hurt,” Aro with a Xanthic-eque bored tone. Ciel sneered, it turned into chuckling when Aro lightly kicked the hacker. “Come on. The faster you quit dragging your feet the sooner we can go back to the stuffy kingdom and the nice warm smog and shitty walls.”  

“Ugh. Fine.” Xanthic huffed. The hacker finally got to her feet and brushed the snow off her new thick coat. “You’re paying for Ciel’s celebration dinner.”  

“We are not celebrating.”  

They naturally drifted into pairs of twos. Penny and Aro naturally dashed into the growing horde of Grimm. Penny was the only person able to keep up with Aro and had the close range abilities to defend them both. With hard-light blades being propelled at explosive force, the Sabyrs fell in one hit. Any that tried flanking was pierced, sliced, or shot down by Penny.  

Ciel and Xanthic almost seemed bored, taking care of the Grimm from a distance. Whenever Penny was jumped high in the air she could see an undisturbed radius of snow around the pair. Even without Xanthic’s ridiculously overpowered sniper rifle, Team APCX finished the pack faster than expected. Winter landed the airship looking a little flustered and frustrated. May laughed trying to rub her shoulders to calm the women down.  

“Maybe we should just drop you on a pack of Sphinx and Manticores,” Winter said under her breath.  

“Let’s start with the Nevermores,” May suggested.  

The Nevermores was much more challenging. Penny and Xanthic were the only ones with weapons able to reach them. The cold of Solitas made their hides thicker than the average Grimm. If one managed to through the thick layer of ice. Every time Penny would charge Floating Array or Xanthic would fire up Alter Ego, feathers tripled their size would sail at them, interrupting their focus and causing the ground to shake a little at the impact.  

“Rewind!” Ciel tried firing those feather back but only managed one hit. The bone of the feather pierced into its wing, crippling its altitude. It screeched loud, causing everyone but Aro to wince.  

The mechanic launched herself into the air. Several explosions pushing closer and closer until the injured Nevermore beat its good wing. The gust of air sent Aro flying back towards them but the gravity manipulator righted herself and skid to a stop.  

The second Nevermore cried out louder, it’s attacks growing more frantic. A hail of razer sharp and incredibly dense feathers was shot at them. Penny frowned. It had created a clear divide from Aro and her team. Penny tried closing the gap as much as possible. Then the uninjured Nevermore started it’s dive. The snow made it a little difficult, even with it melting against her heated body it was still up to her thighs.  

Aro’s passive gravity didn’t cause her to sink into the snow. She stood atop of it, lowering herself to a crouch. Aro flashed a few signs at Penny without glancing in her direction. Then she suddenly moved, jumping onto the talons.  

“Aro!” Penny fired Floating Array quickly closing the distance. Aurora held out her hand and just managed to pull Penny onto the Grimm’s feet before it took off into the air again. The metal women took a deep breath, venting all the heat her Aura was generating.  

“Sorry, I forgot you don’t know sign language,” Aro said with a guilty smile. They briefly glanced down. The injured Nevermore was grounded, the large feather that Ciel shot back at it made it impossible to fly but it’s ridiculous size made it hard to approach or even damage. “Plans?”  

Penny watched the Nevermore screeched, mouth wide open. “Insides are always soft and unarmored.”  

“And… red,” Aro said with a blanch. Red was commonly associated with blood. Was Fiona and Robyn’s story about her hemophobia accurate? Penny shelved the question for later.  

They made their way to the top of the Grimm. Aro simply ran up it’s curved body, the gravity core in her legs roaring over the hard winds and heavy wingbeats. Penny slowly pulled herself to the head with Floating Array and the near invisible strings.  

Once it noticed the two huntress-in-training, the Nevermore screeched and thrashed in the air. It had little to no effect on Aro. Holding onto a Grimm the size of a building was the easiest accomplishment Penny had in months. The mechanic continued up until it reached is jaw. She stomped one foot into the hinge of its jaw and looked at Penny.  

“Ready? This might blow me off!” She yelled and signed over the wind.  

“Combat Ready!” Penny yelled back.  

She heard the cartridge in Aro’s legs change. Then a loud explosion. Penny could even feel the heat from the shoulders of the Grimm. Once the bright flash had died Aro was nowhere to be seem and the mouth was hanging open. Penny winced, happy that Grimm were mysterious creatures void of proper biological functions. The blood would have been horrific. The Grimm screeched and thrashed much more. Instead of charging all fourteen guns of Floating Array she kept four embedded into the bone like-texture, keeping her grounded as the rest of the guns charged.  

This blast completely pierced the Nevermore. The sudden silence confused her audio sensors. It fell from the sky and Penny rode the disintegrating corpse down as long as possible. She regrouped with her team, easy to find with a cloud of steam rising from Aro’s heated augments. Ciel and Xanthic had easily finished off the downed Nevermore and seemed to be helping Aro cool off by burying her legs in the snow.  

Combat Performance at 95%

[holyguardian]

@loqis​ | X

His movements had been suspicious. Scouting around the royal campsite would have been easier in the midst of an army, but they were traveling lightly, the bulk of the Prince’s forces bolstering the defenses of an embattled farming community. The soldiers were trusted with the task of building more permanent structures while their smaller, more mobile group sought out any outliers, though they found the same disheartening scene again and again. Those who lived isolated weren’t surviving the plague.

... Then there was this man. Aerith’s frown deepened as she doubled-down on her position, securing him in place with her shield weighing down on him. He was displaying a few signs of being infected, which unfortunately went hand-in-hand with someone being incredibly angry. That he had been spying on them and caught out made her lean a little more to him being naturally agitated but she couldn’t take chances.

“Are you alone?” she asked, ignoring his hissed insult.

Though he didn’t answer her directly, his slip of ‘we’ had been answer enough. Perfect. There were more heathens prepared to be thorns in her side... nothing comparable to Bahamut attempting to split her brain open, but it was an inconvenience nevertheless.

“Watch your tongue!” Aerith lost her calm when he insulted Somnus. That was the quickest way to shorten her temper, like a knife slicing through thread he cut short her patience. “I’m the one asking the questions!” She had the thought to draw her dagger and hold it to him... she thought, but she didn’t act, not quite yet. He was only being mouthy. “So, you’re not alone. Who are you with?” she paused a beat. “You’re lucky I’m the one who found you lurking in the shadows. Planning an attack against royalty? You don’t deserve to be questioned. I am giving you a courtesy, if you aren’t going to return a modicum of respect I’ll have you tried by the Gods. You know they won’t listen to a word from a non-believer.” another pause. “I’m more open-minded than that. Talk to me and perhaps your situation won’t be so hopeless.”

[laythornmuse]

Old as Time - Part 4

The snow was deep on the forest path, deep enough to give her horse trouble when they were little more than a few miles from the estate. Her tears had frozen to her lashes, and her face stung from her oozing nose and the bitter wind that pushed against their progress.

Claire led her horse off the main road where the wind was less fierce with the thicker tree coverage.  Even with less wind, however, her path disappeared before her as the snow blinded her from anything more than a few feet away. She dismounted as she tried to decide what direction to continue when she heard a growl.

A howl sounded, and Claire felt her blood turn to ice.  She turned frantically, trying to place the direction of the sound, but didn’t see the wolf until it was within striking distance. Her horse bucked, throwing Claire forward into a tree before it bolted into the night with two shadows in hot pursuit. She pressed a hand to her mouth and she strained to hear.  A soft huffed breath sounded, and Claire darted into a thick copse of trees. She ran with renewed purpose, darting between trees and weaving her path, knowing she could not outrun the wolf.  

When a heavy object knocked her to the ground, Claire’s head snapped around to see the beast.  She fixed her eyes on the lofty creature,  it’s red eyes dilated and fully focused on her.  She let out a scream for help, knowing it was useless, but hoping it might scare the wolf off.  

It did not.  

She  pressed her back into the tree and steeled herself for the animal’s lunge,  when another animal attacked it from behind with a vicious roar.  No, not an animal.  A man.

“Run, Claire!” The bearded man called to her, as he slashed at the creature with a long hunting knife.

Claire ran a few paces, but stopped at the sound of teeth mashing with metal.  The man howled and Claire saw red stain the ground.  The man and beast circled one another, dodging and dealing blows until both were wounded and weak.  The man finally wrestled a grip around the creature’s body and slashed its neck, holding it down until its body went limp in the snow.

The man did not move.  

Claire felt a twinge of conflict for approximately 10 seconds before she decided leaving a man to die was not something she could live with.  She quickly ran to his side and turned him on his back, looking for life threatening wounds.

She heard a moan when she applied pressure to a deep scratch on his torso, and was relieved to see his eyes open, staring at her in disbelief.

“You came back,” he whispered.  

“Lot of good it will do us if another wolf arrives.  Can you stand?” Claire helped him to his feet, bolstering him up as the walked steadily back to the road.  

Claire pressed the reins into his hands,  more than a bit surprised when he mounted the horse without aid.  Her own horse whinnied nearby. The sight of a familiar horse must have steeled it from its escape, she realized.

Once convinced the man would not fall,  she mounted her own horse, relieved when the other followed her without further instruction.

***

“Fergus, I’m f-f-fine.” The man said,  as his body shook with the cold.

“So you keep saying, Milord.”

“You d-d-don’t need to...t-t-double...”

A smile threatened to lift Claire’s lip, or at least it would if she wasn’t shivering herself. Now before the hearth,  steam lifted from their damp clothing.  Upon Claire’s request, Fergus conjured a suture kit,  and she now busied herself with the needle and thread. Whiskey filled two glasses on the sideboard, one already drained and refilled twice as the man eyed her warily.

Fergus helped “milord” strip to his trousers, revealing the man’s fine figure to her eyes for a second time. She’d never seen a man as cut as a mountain: tall, steep, beautiful.  She dropped her eyes to discourage the blush seeping into her cheeks and bit the corner of her mouth.  

“When you’re ready, sir.” She was glad her voice sounded more stately than she felt.

With a few mumbled words  and a surprisingly affectionate exchange between then two,  Fergus left the room. The man leaned back against the sideboard and motioned for her to come forward.  He settled into his third glass as she settled to work on his wound.

A minute passed in silence, before a gentle quake of his belly made her pause.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to be quick.”

“I know, lass. I’ve never heard you so silent.”

Claire looked up. “What do you mean?”

The man looked away, his hand coming up to scratch his beard.  “Nothing...only, you usually hum and sing and laugh with Fergus all the day.  I hear you in my study.”

“I hope you’re not implying something improper...”

“No! Not at all...”

“Fergus has been a friend to me, but...”

“Lass!  Fergus has a miss in town. I know that is not the nature of your friendship.”  The man halted and sighed.  “What I meant to say is,  he is glad of you. He is as a son to me,  having grown in this house, and loyal to a fault.  He...”. The man swallowed hard. “He probably should have left me ages ago, to start his own life.   But....but he would not leave me here as I was...as I am.”

Claire looked down at her work,  chewing the inside of her lip,  wondering what to say.  

“I know you told me the truth.”

Claire’s hand stilled.

“I know you did not purposely disobey me.  I—“

Claire looked up as he visibly shook, with emotion this time. She stood,  holding her hands in front of her and looked deep into the face of the man before her.  His face, though shrouded, was earnest, and a single tear trailed his cheek before it disappeared into his beard.

“I’m sorry for it, Claire.  I swear upon my life to never strike you in anger again...if you give me the opportunity to regain your trust...if my word is enough...”

“It shouldn’t be enough,” Claire said softly. “I should hate you.  But how can I hate a man who so willingly throws himself in harms way to protect another, to protect me?”  Her hand wiped at her eyes.  “You’ve done so much for me and my uncle,  silently, delivering us whatever we need through Fergus and yet...”

“And yet?” The man’s voice was on edge, but one look from Claire put his temper in check.

“You’re haunted.  You wish to do good but hide from that side of you as if you fear seeing it will turn it to dust.”

“Perhaps because I repent for past transgressions. Perhaps my actions did once turn people I cared for to dust.  What say you to that?” His voice was gruff,  but Claire heard the small hitch as slammed his cup to the table.  

“Even if that is true,  do you think you were alone in causing it?  Is it not God’s plan who lives and who dies? Unless you claim to have murdered...”

“Nay,  I may be a beast, but I am no monster.”  

“Then...I think perhaps you put too much blame upon yourself,  but I cannot know for sure unless you share the story?”  

His eyes,  blue as a summer morning, looked pained.  “You...would hear the tale?”

“I would.”

He nodded.  “Tomorrow evening then.  I think we both need rest tonight,  if you’re done with me?”  

Claire nodded, stepping back so he could take his shirt.  With a tilt of his head, he moved to the door.

“Wait!”

He turned slowly,  a question on his lips,  but Claire had closed the distance between them.  

“Thank you...for saving my life.”  She brushed her lips over his jaw, and before she could stop herself,  ran from the study all the way to her room.

[ask-de-writer]

CRAWFEATHER! : MLP Fan Fiction

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CRAWFEATHER!

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

1382 words

© 2019 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 10/16/19

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Cory grinned meanly as he bounced the heavy bag from hoof to hoof while he offered, “Yah, I got the money that I owes you, Canter.  It's right here.  Not gonna pay you, though.  Not yet.  I means, it is Nightmare Night.  I will give you the money first thing in the morning.  Just spend the night in the old Crawfeather place.  Should be a piece of cake, after all, you don't believe in ghosts, so you says.”

“You are on, Cory.  But make it 300, if you make me stay in there for the night!”

“You got it, Canter, if you stay the night, I'll make it 300 when you come out at dawn.”

Now he was creeping down one of the empty hallways of the long abandoned mansion of Crawfeather.  The darkness relieved only by the single candle held in Canter's magic.  Old furniture mostly covered by aged dust covers dotted the passage.  He shivered, and it was not from the cold.  He was wishing that he had not taken the dare to spend this Nightmare Night in the reputedly haunted Crawfeather mansion.  Still, 300 golden bits was 300 golden bits.

Canter remembered all too vividly the ghastly past of this place.  The land that the mansion was built on was originally owned by the Bordens, back in the very earliest days of Ponyville, before there was any sort of formal town.

After the Apple Clan had demonstrated the value of the land in the area for farming by creating one of the most productive apple orchards in Equestria, the land rush was on!  The Bordens had claimed a big area and invested all that they had into clearing the land.  It proved to be too stony for any sort of farm.  It wasn't just loose surface stone either.  Rough upthrust sedimentary rock made up most of it. Clyde's attempts to sell it to newcomers became a local joke.

Clyde Borden put the land up in a card game and lost it to Jason Crawfeather.  For weeks afterwards, Clyde crowed about how bad Jason was taken in by winning that worthless land.  Jason and his family quietly ignored him and set industriously to work.  It was not too long before the Crawfeather Quarry was supplying the good building stone for foundations and nicely split slates for stout, weatherproof roofs that the rapidly growing community of Ponyville needed.

The fortune earned by the Crawfeathers and the resentment of the Bordens stoked the flames of the feud that followed.  The orgy of murder was started by Poxy, one of Clyde's grown colts.  

Swinging an ax, he charged into the Crawfeathers and some guests, who were dining on their plaza!  By the time that it was over, Chance Crawfeather was carried up to his room, his life blood soaking the sheets and bolster of his bed as he died.

Sweetbriar Crawfeather, Jason's wife was laid out in the great room.  One of the guests was a doctor who managed to stanch her wounds and saved her life.  She would carry those scars to her grave.

Poxy was caught before he could escape.  Three strong unicorns from the quarry held him down while Jason brained him with his own ax.

Pretending serious remorse for the actions of her brother, Lisset Borden came to serve the remaining Crawfeathers as a maid.  She soon learned that all three of them, Jason, Sweetbriar, and their remaining filly, Sunblossom had a fondness for tomato soup.  She served the unsuspecting family a tasty soup of tomatoes, basil, and a strong portion of poison hemlock.

Sunblossom collapsed at the table.  In spite of the pangs from her own stomach, Sweetbriar assisted Sunblossom up to her room.  In her attempt to appear innocent, Lisset helped her too.

Jason, in spite of the agony in his own innards, called for help from the house staff.  It took them only moments to find the bottle that had contained the deadly concoction.  They captured Lisset as she was coming down the stairs.  Lisset was made to drink the soup that remained.  She was dead before the ghastly wails of Sweetbriar announced the passing of Sunblossom.

Both Jason and Sweetbriar were ill for weeks before they recovered from the effects of the hemlock.  In one regard Sweetbriar never recovered.  Seeing both of her foals murdered by ax and poison drove her into madness.

She was known to haunt the rooms where they died and sought them about the mansion and their play yard.  She even went down into the quarry seeking her “lost” foals.  Most watched her with pity.

Searching the play yard again, as the year was passing into autumn, Sweetbriar stumbled on something concealed from her sight by her madness.  The headstones of her missing foals, Chance and Sunblossom could no longer be denied.  She avidly read what was on each stone.  Instead of wailing her loss, her heart became harder than the stones of the Crawfeather Quarry.

On a late autumn night with no moon to betray her, Sweetbriar sneaked down into the developing town of Ponyville.  Unseen by any, she poured lamp oil over the front porch and back stoop of the Borden house and set it ablaze.  Cunningly, she did not stay to see how her plot played out but repaired back to Crawfeather, avoiding the many foals out in fanciful costumes.

Entering the house, she beheld the horrid sight of Clyde Borden hacking at the dead body of her beloved Jason with a double bit ax!  She seized the weapon from his grasp as he pulled back for another stroke!  With the power of her rage and madness, she took Clyde's head from his body in a single stroke!

She dropped the ax, which stuck upright in the floor boards.  In her struggles to drag the corpse of the assassin off of her husband's body, her feet slipped in the spilled gore and she lost her footing! She fell on the ax and the razor sharp blade cut her throat!

The house staff and their foals returned from their Nightmare Night, which had been made more exciting by the deadly house fire that had destroyed the Borden house and, apparently all the remaining Bordens!

The town's newly appointed constables had far more to deal with than the usual Nightmare Night pranks.  At least the feud would go no further. Neither Borden nor Crawfeather remained alive to carry it on.

Canter's reverie was broken by the creaking of hinges.  His ears straining to hear more failed to spot any further sound.  This was not the first such sound that he'd heard, either.  He had traced the first ones to open windows upstairs and drafts making old doors swing.

There was a creaking floorboard behind him!  Whirling about in startlement he saw . . . Cory!

“Just checking up on you, Canter.  Realized that you are missing out on Nightmare Night partying.  Brought you a little to make up for it. Here.  Got you something to drink in the bottle and a bunch of candies.”

“Nice of you, Cory.”

As Canter took the bag, the knife that Cory was hiding behind it plunged up, through the bottom of his jaw and into his brain through the weak area of skull on the underside!

Canter collapsed, dead before he hit the floor.

Cory's gloat of, “Looks like that money stays mine!  You ain't going to see the dawn . . .” was interrupted!

Screaming foals in Nightmare Night costumes ran from the old parlor and out into the night!  The last one bucked the doors shut!  The locking click of the latch was like a trump of doom!  Cory was panting frantically and pounding on the door when the old handle turned.  The opened door showed a brace of constables waiting to take him to jail.

Canter looked about, sort of puzzled.  Everything was sort of gray, in spite of which, he could see clearly.  There was a pony before him, also gone gray, and a good thing. He had several huge wounds.  At least he was not bleeding from them.  Canter could see furniture through him.

He invited, “Canter, right?  I am Jason.  Why don't you come with me and meet the rest of the family?”

~THE END~

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[cutlerylyreviees]

Best kitchen knife set 2020

Blade Type

The blade of   https://cutleryly.com/  a Chef knife ranges from 6 to 12 inches lengthy. In not unusual a blade period of eight inches is desired via the cooks and homemakers. But in come cases together with chef’s running in a eating place uses 10 inches blade as well.

 Here are the materials from which the blade of the chef knife are made.

 Stainless metallic

Ceramics

Carbon metal/Titanium

From all of the above blade substances stainless steel blade are the high-quality. The chrome steel blades are long lasting, corrosion resistant houses, smooth washer-friendly and greater part retention. One of the nice kitchen chef knife is Dalstrong Gladiator Series which contains Japanese awesome metallic and Military Grade take care of. 8-12 tiers knife sharpening perspective half of bolster.

 The uses of the chef knife similars to the Santoku however one element you may do rocking motion without difficulty which you cannot do in Santoku knife. Also you could cut meat easily with the chef which you cannot do with Santoku.

 Santoku vs Chef knife

Under this you'll be in a position to differentiate nicely between the Santoku and Chef knife. First we can communicate about the variations after which similarities. This will help you in selecting which one is higher to your kitchen.

 Similarities

Santoku Knife    Chef Knife

Not good for slicing frozen meat or bones            Not suitable for reducing large frozen meat may damage the knife edges.

Slicing, Dicing and Mincing can be completed effortlessly              Slicing, Dicing and Mincing can be completed without difficulty

Differences

Santoku Knife    Chef Knife

Length of blade varies from five to 7.Nine inches              Length of blade varies from 6 to 12 inches

Does no longer incorporate any bolster May or might not contain bolster

Light in weight   Relatively heavier than Santoku knife

Scalloped blade to save you the food from sticking          There are chances that food ingredients will keep on with the blade

No pointed tip   Pointed tip at the give up of the blade.

Holds perfectly for the smaller hands     All kind of palms whether small or big can work without problems with this knife

Many professional chefs use single bevel knife  Double bevel knife offers better overall performance

You can create very thin slices without difficulty with this knife  You can try this process with this knife

Good for the ones ingredients which require thin sliced and perfectly uniform ingredients           Better manner to apply this knife is to cut thru the dense substances together with melon squashes & greens

How to sharpen Santoku and Chef knife?

This is any other thing for a home maker or a chef to pick the knife. Ease of polishing is depend an important method for ultimate sharpness. There are four methods via which you may sharpen your knife.

 Electric Knife Sharpener

Honing Steel

Manual Knife Sharpener

Whetstone

Above the 4 knife sharpening methods the Whetstone is one of the exceptional method to sharpen your knife. The high-quality a part of this technique is that you may get greatest knife sprucing attitude, better precision and accuracy. Here’s how you could use Whetstone at your private home.