#it might not be AS prominent or deadly as magic - perhaps still very much in its early stages & easily disrupted by said magic

[farshores]

i'm behind on all the new paid mod things but man it's interesting to see the gun/arm cannon one as a Lore Friendly Guns of Skyrim user

[littlefreya]

Penny Dreadful

Summary: Sherlock is cold, troubled and upset, his mind is fixed on cracking an unsolved murder. It’s the worst time to disturb him. But his hot-blooded little succubus wants to drag him into sin.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x OFC (First-person POV)

Word count: 2.5K

Warning: 18+, smut, teasing, bratty behaviour, ass-smacking with a cane, slight cane play, primal play, unprotected rough sex, biting, slight size kink, MaleDom, drug use. Lots of curly hair descriptions.

A/N: Not canon to books Sherlock, obviously, but seeing the photos and teaser Henry as Sherlock just sets up the vibe. So I had to. Many thanks to my beta @agniavateira​ !! Sorry for the ugly cover art :D.

Title: Penny Dreadful

Sherlock’s study was a bleak, musky chamber deprived of heat, notwithstanding the many candles that burnt at every corner. Perhaps it was the pristine heaps of snow that piled on the ledge of the window, or maybe it was his sullen mood that gave the room a sense of icy wilderness. 

Fumes rose from his mouth, vaping into the air. The tawny light kissed his thick mane of luscious, chocolate curls while he stood at the fore of his desk and leered at some parchments that troubled his brilliant mind for whatever reason. 

Fist seizing the golden tip of his cane, his thumb stroked the engravings that embellished the metal. Cases that he couldn’t crack often left him frustrated to the point of madness. Those wicked, sly obsessions made him even more irresistible.  

My nails bit into the wooden doorframe. Consumed by yearning, a blaze licked up my soul with its monstrous tongue. I often wondered how something so pure as love could be dangerous, to which Sherlock would reply, 

“Love is the greatest villain of them all.”

Unlike him, I didn’t care for evil. 

The detective unclipped the small chain he kept fastened to his vest and opened the silver locket, gathering a wisp of white powder on the tip of his pinky finger and pressed it to his nostrils. A small grunt escaped him, his eyes turning glassy. The “fairy dust” tended to sharpen his perception and elevate his stamina.  

I dropped to my knees at his sight, crawling on the floor. The black silks of my dress made a brushing noise as it dragged on the Persian carpet; my breasts peeked as my corset shifted with every move. Sherlock often said we must imagine ourselves as animals once we let desire play our strings. 

Accepting my inner wildness, tonight I was a cougar stalking her prey. 

By nature, his senses were sharp as blades, though the substance that streamed through his veins made a more heightened grip of the reality that surrounded him. He noticed and yet ignored me, letting his hot-blooded harlot crave for his attention.

If I was to be the feline predator, Sherlock was the hunter who pursued me for sport. An unfair game, yet nevertheless my favourite. 

Bathing in my own little fountain of mischief, I allowed my fingers to sneak toward his cane, brushing up and down the mahogany in slow, languid motion. My slender digits licked along the shaft and my bosom followed, pressing against the hardwood. I dragged myself up slightly to glimpse at my master from below: my Sherlock, always a sight for a famished girl; a colossus, intimidating, and breathtaking. Like a moth to a flame, I inched closer dazed by the light, wanting to bask in its radiance. 

The muscle in his cheek tensed, thick brows furrowing. A little squared wrinkle appeared above the bridge of his nose as he brushed through his dark locks with agitation.

“What ills that glorious mind of yours?” I hummed, playful fingertips climbing further up at the length of his cane.

“Something I can’t grasp,” he spat, not giving me the time of day. But I knew he noticed every detail of my wanton behaviour, it was evident by the way his breath swiftly became heavier. Sherlock might have solved crimes by profession, but all women were natural detectives; evolution granted us with a definite survival instinct, learning to read men between the shadows.  

“You can possess me,” I offered, fingers scraping over his thumb as it pressed onto the cane’s golden tip. My voice dropped to a whisper while my hand left the cane in favour of his thigh. The muscle flexed and twitched under my sinful touch, the fabric of his breeches stretched as his cock grew with its natural need to fulfil the wet, convulsing void in me.

“You’re distracting me,” he warned, voice low and stern. His lashes hardly even fluttered to my direction. 

Every delicate little hair stood up at the sound of alarm yet instead, I inhaled the soot of peril, allowing my hand to travel further and meet his hungry girth. It rose to my touch with gratitude, flinching even harder at the clutch of my claws. The flavour of desire was honey and salt on the tip of my tongue.

The low animalistic vibration of his voice wavered through his solid form. I felt it shudder all the way down to his swelling cock. A cautious man, Sherlock was measured and forbearing to a point that made me wonder if he even liked women at all before we fell into the vicious pit of decadence and violent delights. 

It was the contrary that was true: Sherlock loved women very much, his desires were simply… of a certain quality. 

His groin was warm and firm against my cheek. The crystalline-blue glare finally graced me with a sight so brooding my bones clattered.  

“Later, I need to work.” By the drop of his voice, I knew there won’t be a third warning. 

“Later, Later…” I taunted, rolling my chin over his aching need. “All work and no play…”

The gasp that pushed out of my lungs nearly whisked the candles off as Sherlock hauled me up by his hand and bent me over the desk.  

“Should I teach you how to respect my time?” He snarled, throwing the skirts of my dress over my head like a cape of the midnight sky. Stars collapsed under my skin at the sensation of his touch exploring the curve of my bare ass. Talons ruptured the tiny blood vessels, squeezing with the affirmation of his ownership. 

“No undergarments?” Sherlock growled dangerously while his thumb brushed over my silken entrance, toying with the rich elixir and smearing it further down my anticipating petals. I answered with a deep moan, stretching on this desk with a succumbing plea. 

“You came here aimed at disturbing me while I work.”

Settling onto the surface of the desk, I reached forth one arm lazily and chuckled. “You are a great detective, I… oh!” 

Something cold and solid caressed my dripping lips, driving between them in slow, calculated strokes. Throwing my head over my shoulder, I noticed Sherlock holding his cane against my sacred cove, staring at it as if I was yet another piece of evidence to be explored. The golden arched-tip pushed-slightly between my petals and entered just enough to make me hiss. For a mere second I wondered if he was going to fuck me using nothing but his cane.

“Look away; this is going to hurt.” 

I hardly had time to protest when the first smack hit the pillow of my cheek. A wheeze of disgrace shot from my throat, husky and embarrassing, but not as degrading as the sting the metal left at my burning backside.

“Bad girl,” Sherlock ticked his tongue and lifted the cane midway in the air, a flare of noxious desire bursting in his pale-blue orbs. This time I turned away and shut my eyes, gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned dead-white. If only it did anything to dull the pain, the sting was even more prominent, shooting all the way up to my spine where it coiled and forced a strident yip from my clamped lips. 

Yet the throb in my cunt was unmissable.

Sherlock knew very well that the hurt allied with pleasure, enhancing it even, like his powdery magic dust. 

Another smack and my nails scratched at the wood. Like a sinner nun indulging her own beating, I rode the waves of pain as they broke onto shores abundant with pleasure. There were hidden cracks in our public figure, the place where I burnt and Sherlock ascended as we pried our claws into mortal deadly sins. My senses rose to conflict with every smack and Sherlock took joy in every involuntary squirm of my body. 

Tongue pressed between his lips, he hummed as he admired his handiwork, painting my ass in obscene hues of violence. “Had enough? Or want to see which will break first, the rod or your arrogance?” Sherlock chided and pinched my sore cheek to further increase the pain. 

Embers whispered beneath my flesh, my legs jolted from the intense beating and by god, the trickle of my juices rolling down the back of my thighs made even a sultry woman such as myself drown in white shame.

Sherlock’s breath was a heavy guttural waft. His cane dropped to the floor and I heard the sound of metal clicking as he fumbled with his belt. I would be damned if I let him fuck me from behind. To have those eyes look away as he entered me was a vice I wouldn’t stand. 

“No!” I yelled, bracing on my wobbly elbows as much as I could and turned to face him. 

Sherlock’s glare widened, a chill of ice blew through his eyes and his pupils dilated like a crazed feline. “You’re saying no to me?”

“Yes!” I heaved and reached my hands to cradle his skull, pushing myself against the hardness of his body and forcing my lips on his. My kiss was feral, bruising the plush skin on and around his mouth, nibbling and biting until we tasted iron on our tongues. It was not long before I was shoved against the wall, our mouths still united, sharing one breath.

Or rather stealing it from one another.

We were pleasingly unequal. Sherlock was all iron and stone; a bulky, tall man who could tear me apart with his bare hands. I was a little lush thing, so tender, so easily bruised. Despite his power, the desire to claim the tiny wet hole between my legs was unquenchable, reducing him to a savage thing that spoke in raw inarticulate sounds.

He tore his mouth from mine and swept me up from the ground, hiking the skirts of my dress urgently to expose what he coveted the most. I felt the supple velvety texture of his hardness grind against my thigh, smearing the pearly drops of his arousal onto my skin. We both moaned at the sensation and moved to the rhythm dictated by our most primal instincts.  

“You want my cock?” He growled and gnawed his teeth at my neck, biting deep enough to break through the skin. I whined in pain, my voice rising a pitch as I writhed against him to ignite the smallest of frictions and serve the demon of desire in me. 

“Fuck me!” I begged, sliding my fingers through the mass of soft curls and tugging them with need.

Answering my plea, Sherlock speared into my unruly cunt, brutally spreading me open like he would tear the petals from a flower. I yipped into his luscious hair, my nails tearing into his nape as his intrusion claimed everything my body had to offer. I always found it odd how my flesh would resist and beg for him at the same time, my succulent canal fighting to push him by instinct yet he only further rutted into me. He reached his hands to my sore ass to squeeze my cheeks apart.

“Such a tight little harlot,” he groaned, engulfed by my garden of mysteries. Moaning so loudly, our duet reverberated through the corridors of the house. His lashes fluttered with ecstasy as he pulled back only to force me down on his imposing cock, attempting to rip through my denial. Or it was to tame me as I clenched around his girth, accepting and resisting him at the same time. I was nothing but a vessel for him to fill, and he did so with a fiery passion, glaring straight to my eyes while thrusting deep and hard into me.  

Books fell from the shelves nearby as we battled against the wall, my legs sliding up and down his waist, spreading helplessly in the air until my boots pressed into his arse. One of his hands reached for my corset, tugging on the ludicrous outfit to expose my breast. Ravenous, he licked his bloodstained lips, giving me a stare that made my cunt clutch him harder before he sank his fangs to pierce cavities in my tit.

“No!!!” I cried out and gasped as he thrust deeper to punish me for my protest. His heavy cock hit a spot so deep inside me that tears instantly emerged and fell down my cheeks, the pang bringing through a spasm of odd relief. 

Blood and saliva smeared along my cleavage as he dragged his lips further, licking and then kissing every patch he bruised. I moaned breathlessly, throwing my head back against the wall as his nimble fingers surveyed my neck, laying small threats to show me how easy he could simply suspend my very basic need. 

But my survival instincts already flew out the window the moment he penetrated me.

His lips hovered above mine as he fucked deep into my body, our cries creating an obscure symphony as he continuously slammed into my hilt, harder and more urgent with every plunge. The tears that fell down my cheeks were tainted with the conflicting aphrodisiac that pain brought through. In that instant I was whole, gratified by the friction created of the collision of our wet organs.

“Do it!” I gasped and nodded through glossy stares, swallowing hard to gesture what he already knew. With a swift snap of his hands, his fingers were bruising on my neck and he slammed into me at a furious pace, giving no care for my broken screams. 

Euphoria tore through my soul, crashing like hot waves of eternal fire. I came apart around his thick rod crying for God and Satan at once. Sherlock never slowed down, not even as he felt the tightening of my ring around him. It only made him fuck me harder, burying his face at my collarbone, chasing his own rapture at a punishing speed, grunting like a beast. Finally, he shuddered and pumped me full of his thick, silky milk. The muscles of his behind flexed and he ground his hot load into my warm cavern, making sure I received every drop. My hands reached to squeeze his taut ass as my legs clutched him still, wanting to keep him inside me. 

As if he had any intentions of leaving as he moaned and spasmed inside me. 

Smoke filled the room as few of the candles died; the scent of ash and the musk of our sex seeped through our noses while we remained entwined, shaking in each other’s grasp. Breathless and damp with sweat, Sherlock lifted his face from my neck and glanced at me looking so vulnerable, almost appearing lost. I moved my trembling hands back to his face, my thumbs caressing his sharp cheeks. 

“I know I am harsh…” he murmured, his eyes digging into my heart with nothing but a gaze of despair, “but please don’t ever leave me.”

My face fell at the sound of his words, my lips parting with awe. My detective could solve the most outrageous crimes, and yet he couldn’t realise I was shackled to him for all eternity.  

[hnybnny]

properly introducing my main fanservants!!!

LOTS OF PHOTOS/ART AND SUCH UNDER THE CUT BUT LIKE,,,, THIS IS JUST. A QUICK INTRODUCTION. TO MY PRIMARY SERVANT BASTARD CHILDREN- (in order of appearance; Sebastian Moran, John Watson, Enola Holmes, Columbia, Thomas Edison (True), Nicolas Flamel, Captain Stormalong, Edgar Allan Poe)

Feel free to hop in my ask box if you wanna talk about them or have any questions!!! Thank you for reading ily- 

Colonel Sebastian Moran (Assassin)

My primary servant OC by far! Professor James Moriarty’s chief-of-staff and right hand man- the second most dangerous man in London, after the Napoleon of Crime himself. Nicknamed ‘Basher’ or ‘Tiger Jack’, among others..

Moran is- or was- the most skilled marksman in the British Army, before he was dishonorably discharged. There are only a handful of men on the face of the continent able to shoot as well as he. As well as being an unnaturally skilled shot, he is a devoted sportsman and big-game hunter, and has notoriously tangled with tigers by himself in India- a predator that rather aptly describes the man himself. He authored two books, and his feats are still legendary in India, where his record 'bag of tigers' still goes unmatched. Although his outwards appearance was that of a respectable London gentleman and honorable military veteran, he gained a reputation in the evil underworld and was recruited by James Moriarty, serving as his 'chief of staff' of his criminal empire as well as his personal assassin for jobs that required his peculiar skill with a rifle.

The man is, as one Chaldean staff member puts it, a 'stone-cold badass'. He has a nerve of iron, and is vehemently loyal to both Professor Moriarty and his Master. He lives for danger, and the thrill that comes with 'kill or be killed' situations. Moran is also extremely easy and obvious to read- smiling 'like an idiot' when happy, and 'frowning like thunder' when angry. He does rather enjoy killing people, and is overall a man of few morals (although still having more than the Professor)- which, paired together, is what led to his leave from the military as he's practically a walking example of the 'Colonel Kilgore' trope. The more challenging the kill, the more enjoyment he gets out of it. As a strange upside, Moran has no illusions of how he's a right bastard.

"Ask anyone who knew me in the army, and you'll hear the same things about Basher: tiger in the field, bounder in the mess; a good man to have your back, but a bad man to show your back to; trust him with a fight, but not your sister, your wallet, or a deck of cards."

His Noble Phantasm, which represents his unmatched skill with a rifle, is called  BEBR DER KHANH KHALI - Persian for ‘the tiger in the empty house’. 

The bullet shot is, unlike others, a specially-made expanding revolver bullet which makes Moran unable to be likely linked to the kill. Much like a ghost or a tiger stalking its prey, he is completely silent in his attack, and the target can never see him coming before they're already dead- and just as quickly he is gone, seemingly disappearing into thin air without a trace.

No matter the conditions or distance, as long as Moran can see his target in some way- whether by the naked eye or through his scope, or perhaps in some other manner- his shot is guaranteed to hit its mark with deadly accuracy.

Also, if you find him not wearing his coat, it’s probably because he gave it to Jack. He loves knife child. They deserve proper clothes.

(source: amon-sheep on twitter)

(source: manalmmune on twitter)

[[LINK TO HIS CHAPTER IN MY FANSERVANT FIC]]

--

Doctor John Watson (Caster)

The famed Boswell and best friend of the great detective himself. Aman who is most like his traditional origin, as opposed to the heavyset comedic figure modern media tends to make him out to be- aka the Watson that is described by Doyle as a former rugby player, an army man, and popular among the fairer sex due to his handsomeness, intelligence, and charm. 

He quickly becomes a proper ‘fatherly’ figure in Chaldea and especially to Master, due to his big dad energies, despite never having the chance to be a father in his life. Chaldea also appreciates finally having a proper doctor that isn’t a Berserker or... whatever’s going on with Ascelpius. Watson is Holmes’s life compass, the loyal companion always by his side who balances the detective out. 

Although he’s a caster, he also wields his trusty wartime revolver, and is curious in that, unlike most casters, he has one offensive Noble Phantasm- it’s his secondary, and his primary ‘Conductor of Light’ crystallizes Watson's role as a 'whetstone' for Sherlock Holmes's mind and unmatched stimulator of his famous flatmate's genius. As Holmes himself summarizes, “It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but that you are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius have a remarkable power of stimulating it.” This Noble Phantasm is purely supportive, serving to bring out the absolute best in an ally- whether it be manifested in power, magic, or inspiration- and temporarily unlocking a vast wealth of potential that they might not have even known they had. The exact limitations or bounds of it is not known, as it can seemingly extend in purpose as far as Watson or his Master might need it to in a given situation- able to provide buffs, grant moments of unmatched mental clarity or courage, and even unlock hidden abilities and Noble Phantasms if the moment is dire enough. His secondary NP is one he rarely uses, and hates to do so, because of the bad memories it dredges up- called ‘The Reichenbach Solution’, it creates a reality marble recreation of Reichenbach, with the roaring waters and a single shot from Watson himself sending the enemy tumbling off the falls to their demise. 

Watson was old friends with Moran in the army, and reconnect during their time in Chaldea (despite Holmes and Moriarty’s protests), and he also joins the ‘author squad’ and spends much time with them. He is a rational man and sturdy as they come, always there when needed; whether it be to patch up wounds, help solve mysteries, or to help Master deal with all the mental trauma from their adventures (because holy shit they need HELP-). Also Also he probably just straight up adopts Mash, he and Holmes are her new gay dads.

(source: gomooink on twitter)

--

Enola Holmes (Ruler)

If Sherlock is the representation of all great detectives, then the teenage Enola Holmes is the representation of all female sleuths. Originally far too weak to be a servant- her source material being extremely modern (Enola Holmes series by Nancy Springer), she contains the essence of the great detectives of the fairer sex, but most importantly of two Divine spirits- Athena and Persephone (not Ma’at, despite what the image says-), both Greek goddesses. Athena is the dominant of the two, and a maternal figure to Enola, while Persephone is content just to sit back and enjoy the ride.

The younger sister of Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes (and sometimes, the mysterious elder sibling Sherrinford), Enola is much like her more famous brother- similar in lanky stature and physical features, including the prominent hawk-like nose. She is plain in appearance but behind bright eyes hides an intelligent, clever mind, albeit a stubborn and hard-headed one. She is a rebel at heart, resisting the efforts of society to shove her into the mold of a perfect subservient Victorian woman. Enola often uses being underestimated due to her sex and age to her advantage, and, like Sherlock, is quite adept at the art of disguise. With her Spirit Origin also containing figures like Nancy Drew and Miss Marple, Enola is a talented private investigator with a knack for seeing things from angles that other’s can’t- like that of a woman.

Also yeah, she gay. Keep scrolling. She would like to hold hands with Mash very much. 

(enola w/ her brother mycroft; source, dewa-chan)

(concepts for her ascensions, mostly cemented, again courtesy of dewa-chan who i owe my life to always and forever-)

--

Columbia (Ruler)

The Divine Servant calling herself Columbia is a complex individual. At face value, she is the personification of the United States of America, often visualized as a goddess; a quasi-mythical figure first written about by the enslaved poet Phillis Wheatley during the Revolutionary War in her work To His Excellency, George Washington. Columbia is, in fact, an amalgamation of two lesser Divine Spirits. One of them is the Roman goddess of liberty, Libertas. The majority of personifications of liberty are merely aspects and appearances of her, including the Statue of Liberty and the unidentified woman in the painting Liberty Leading the People, leading to Libertas having a more powerful- if rather confusing- Spirit Origin compared to most other minor Roman deities. The other is Columbia herself; a goddess first encountered by Chaldea during the odd adventures with Paul Bunyan. She is the symbol of America, and although she is technically a goddess, she is not worshiped- instead existing as an anthropomorphic personification akin to Uncle Sam. She is a goddess crafted by humankind, a manifestation of the thirst for freedom and equality that resides in the heart of man.

However, her existence is still closely intertwined with Libertas, having come from her 'lineage'; Columbia explains that if other personifications of liberty were to manifest, such as Marianne- the French icon of liberty, they would have to have Libertas accompanying their own Spirit Origin to be anything more than a Phantom. Columbia is not only linked to the nation carrying the name America, but to the land itself- in her earliest incarnations she served as a representation of the Americas- both South and North- to those across the Atlantic. She protects all who walk across the great frontier, and all those who have walked it before. Geronimo often voices his hopes that she is the same goddess that brought the first peoples of the yet-unnamed land delicious maize in abundance; Columbia only ever gives a knowing wink, always keeping the answer to herself.

Columbia tries to speak like a newscaster- that is, without an accent- to hide that fact that her true accent as a Servant is the thickest fucking New York brogue you can imagine. AYYYY, SHE’S WALKIN’ ‘EEEEERE!!!!

She has two Noble Phantasms- a support one, her main, called ‘ TORCH OF THE NEW COLOSSUS: THE DREAM OF A NATION ‘, and an offensive albeit rarely used NP called ‘ STRIKE FOR FREEDOM: DO NOT WEEP, FOR WAR IS KIND ‘ that has anti-Country parameters /because it straight up fuckin’ manifests the american military from all across its history-/

Columbia is just... a big country mom. who can grow to the size of the statue of liberty. whoops. 

[[LINK TO HER INTRO CHAPTER IN MY FANSERVANT FIC]]

--

Thomas Edison (True) (Caster(?))

BASTARD MAN. BASTARD. This Thomas Edison, though being initially called an Alter, is actually the True manifestation of the ‘Wizard of Menlo Park’ without the influence of so many presidential heroic spirits. To match Tesla, he’s a 5*. I have him as Caster but... that’s still up in the air, tbh. 

He will steal your Noble Phantasm and claim it as his own. It’s actually one of his Skills- ‘Intellectual Copyright’. It blocks an enemy's ability to use their Noble Phantasm, sealing it for a length of time, while also buffing Edison in return- the strength of the buff received is proportionate to the strength of the sealed Noble Phantasm. This embodies Edison's habit of taking other people's ideas for his own, and while he often improved upon them, he still claimed them as solely his creations. He can copy the abilities of others and shape them to his own needs, always at the ready with a lawsuit in hand if anyone dare complain!

He is not allowed around Ivan or Ganesha due to his history with elephants and electrocution.

His Noble Phantasm (he may have more than one, he gets VERY shifty when asked) is a manifestation of his most terrible and deadly creation- the electric chair. He can also create a reality marble of a fantastical Menlo Park, a thriving center of innovation and invention, using his Territory Creation. 

Did I mention he’s a bastard? God, he’s a bastard. He’s incredibly intelligent BUT HE IS A BASTARD. He’s Evil alignment (arguably, may be Chaotic Netural-). It pains Tesla to admit that he actually likes normal Edison (furry man) much more. 

Ask him what he did to Louie Le Prince and he’ll sock you in the jaw and take off running (and also not answer). 

--

Nicolas Flamel (Caster)

The Alchemist, the great and immortal Nicolas Flamel himself. He’s a sad old lanky Frenchman DILF dad who misses his wife a lot, and is always ready to throw hands with Merlin and/or Paracelsus. He’s a potential candidate for the Grand Caster class, but is behind Solomon and Merlin in ‘line’.  Flamel was a successful French scribe who would gain a reputation as an alchemist after his death in 1418- or at least, his presumed death. He was rumored to have been successful in his creation of the Philosopher's Stone, an artifact with the ability to transmute base metals, and with it was able to create a way to achieve immortality. This Stone was his magnum opus, and he was the first to successfully create it- a fact he makes sure that Paracelsus is aware of at all times.

Also, much like Merlin, he’s not a true Servant. This is THE Nicolas Flamel. But... what happened to Perenelle, his wife? He does not like to talk about it.

He enjoys peace and quiet, educated debate, and reading. Flamel gets on quite well with his fellow Frenchman Dantes, as well as with Waver/El Meloi. 

THE DRAGONS OF FLAMEL (Skill): Flamel summons a staff of Cadeceus. Carried by the Greek god Hermes in mythology, it is said "...wake the sleeping and send the awake to sleep. If applied to the dying, their death was gentle; if applied to the dead, they returned to life". In the hands of Flamel, it can stun an enemy or counteract the effects of a stun-inducing skill upon an ally. As well as that, it can channel the effects of its corresponding god-named element mercury, able to dissolve many metals like silver and gold at will. However, like mercury, this skill is extremely volatile and prone to backfiring violently on Flamel if overused.

ELIXER OF LIFE (Skill): The ultimate alchemical creation- the solution, part of Flamel's legend, that granted he and his wife immortality. He keeps a small flask of the elixer on him at all times, and can be used in a pinch to heal all of Flamel's physical wounds, or that of a singular ally. However, it is not enough to grant an ally immortality, nor is it enough to heal multiple mortal wounds. The substance takes exactly one week, given the right materials, for Flamel to remake and refill his flask with some of the elixer.

He has two Noble Phantasms, one being ‘The Stone of the Philosphers’, and the other being ‘The Book of Abra-Melin the Mage’.

[[LINK TO HIS INTRO CHAPTER IN MY FANSERVANT FIC ALSO THERES A LATER CHAPTER WHERE HE ATTEMPTS TO THROW HANDS W/ PARACELSUS]]

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Captain Alfred Bulltop Stormalong (Rider)

Captain Alfred Bulltop Stormalong is, plainly put, pretty much a nautical version of Paul Bunyan. Like Bunyan, he can change his size at will, growing to huge proportions. His giant ship was said to have hinged masts so as not to catch them on the moon, and had a stable of Arabian horses on board for his crew to get from one end of the ship to the other! Stormalong is said to have had a lifelong rivalry with the fabled Kraken- but unfortunately for the legendary sea beast, it got summoned alongside Stormalong and has begrudgingly taken up residence in his hat in a somewhat smaller form.

His main weapon (not drawn) is a ship's anchor he wields like a flail. His pipe is really just for the aesthetic as he can't use it to smoke, but it does blow bubbles! His Noble Phantasm is The Courser and the Kraken (Massive all-enemy damage + stun).

He’s a good boy who loves boats, the water, and clam chowder. 

--

Edgar Allan Poe (Foreigner)

The alcoholic author himself, Edgar Allan Poe is a Foreigner-class servant, being linked with the King in Yellow- Hastur the Unspeakable.

Sometimes you can find him locked in a tiny pitch-black closet with Dantes and Sherlock, all three of them puffing away in utter silence on their tobacco. Hastur most often takes the form of a multi-eyed raven chillin’ on his shoulder, and is capable of speech- if prodded, he will shit-talk the patrons of Poe’s fellow foreigners. He really doesn’t like Cthulhu and Yog, even if Poe has psuedo-adopted Abby, WHOOPS. Hastur, to his credit, is the least malevolent Elder God/patron in Chaldea- though if he is seen chatting with Moriarty by any servants or staff, Master must be alerted immediately.

True to form, he’s very macabre, with a unique dramatic way of speaking much like his writings. He’s unsettling and creepy, but has impeccable manners and likes to chat (he’s very lonely-). He enjoys a good mystery, and is prepared to find Arthur Conan Doyle if he be a heroic spirit and beating the snot out of him for treating Holmes so poorly- Poe was the inventor of the detective fiction genre, after all. Most of skills manifest visually as references to his most famous works. His NP is ‘ A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM : THE CRY OF THE YELLOW RAVEN, NEVERMORE ‘ 

He doesn’t know what a ‘Hot Topic’ is, but it sounds intriguing!

And no, he doesn’t know what the hell was up with his death either. Weird shit happens in Boston.

[scope-dogg]

Aura Battler Dunbine: Final Thoughts

This is a series that’s quite well known, both for being the very first fantasy mecha show and for the fact that it’s one of the creations of Yoshikyuki Tomino, the godfather of Gundam and many other famous mecha series besides, with this one being one of the more prominent of those. That said, besides its basic premise I didn’t know a whole lot about it, plus the word of mouth that made its way to me was kind of mixed at best, with some people saying it was slow and poorly written. I went into this not really knowing what to expect, and it subsequently took me by surprise by quite a bit - despite this being the first mecha series to take place in a fantasy world I actually think its take on the concept is by far the most interesting compared to every other series in the same vein, with complex worldbuilding, a lot of unique takes on the concept of magic meeting technology, and the same kind of character-centric war drama that makes Zeta Gundam such a popular series amongst Gundam fans - only this series came out two years before it. In the end I didn’t think it was perfect - the criticisms about writing do partially apply in places. More specifically I feel like the narrative is a bit much to take on at times, as it dumps a lot of characters, concepts, places and so on and so forth without giving you much time to digest, and at the same time it has a poor habit of letting certain plot arcs drag on for too long - I reckon it’s probably a good few episodes too long. With that said though, those flaws, despite being somewhat serious, were something I was prepared to look past because ultimately I admired this series for what it did right - on the whole, this might even be my favourite Tomino show that I’ve seen so far, second only to the original Mobile Suit Gundam.

The plot setup seems like a familiar isekai setup at first, with Shoh Zama being suddenly plucked out of reality and flung to the fantastic world of Byston Well - however, while he has been summoned to fight as in Rayearth and most other isekais you could name, he’s not a noble chosen one brought to deliver the world from evil - in fact, the one that summoned him is Drake Luft, a man with ambitions to take over Byston Well and rule as a tyrant. He aims to do this by way of Aura Battlers, an invention of another interloper from Earth called Shot Weapon. They’re an unholy union between Earth technology and magical material native to Byston Well, and run on Aura Power, which is pure lifeforce. As it turns out, those from Earth have the strongest Aura Power around and thus make the best soldiers for Drake’s army. Shoh and others abducted from Earth alongside him are thus pressed into duty as pilots of the Dunbine, a new model Aura Battler, promised glory and riches if they comply. Eventually, Shoh is convinced to defect from Drake by Marvel Frozen, another Earthling aligned with a faction that opposes Drake, and joins with them to prevent Drake from taking over Byston Well, taking part in a conflict that only keeps gradually escalating.

The fact that this was one of the earlier anime series to use this kind of plot yet still manages to sidestep a lot of the aspects of it that would go on to become cliche is kind of impressive. While, like I said, the story can drag in parts, it still changes in unexpected ways in several points, especially towards the end. Things keep escalating, up to the point where the finale wouldn’t be out of place in the Gundam series that Tomino would go on to direct. That was another thing that took me by surprise - all the other fantasy mecha shows out there are more super robot-like, but this felt very real-robot esque, both in the sense that the story was fundamentally a war drama, but also in the sense that despite the strange appearance of the Aura Battlers, a lot of time is given to showing how they work and their continued evolution as a piece of technology rather than a product of magic. In fact, one thing that’s made very clear is that they’re a dangerous invention - their invention is the tipping point that puts the world into a state of turmoil. Imagine giving two warring tribes of cavemen tanks and fighter jets all of a sudden, except if anything even more extreme. It seems like a strong allegory for the creation of more powerful and deadly weapons in the real world, with the way these machines tap into Aura Power more specifically being a likely analogue to nuclear weaponry in the real world. If anything, this series is even more anti-war than Mobile Suit Gundam, which also took me by surprise - I wasn’t expecting a series using such an experimental world and plot setup to carry such heavy thematic overtones.

I do think those aspects are what carry the plot, because I thought the characters were just okay. They’re not bad or anything, but there weren’t too many real standouts. Perhaps that was deliberate, because the cast feels a lot like they were meant to feel like real people and thus were kept quite grounded. Even a lot of the good guys in this series can be quite flawed and make mistakes, including Shoh, the protagonist, and many of his closest allies - whenever plans are made by anyone, they’re almost guaranteed to go awry in one way or another. I actually think the bad guys are probably the most interesting part of the puzzle - they’re all very schemy and manipulative, although even they feel pretty well fleshed out as characters. Even Drake, the arch-bastard of the story, is shown to have something of a soft side with his daughter, even though she hates his guts for being a tyrant.

In terms of presentation, I think it’s overall about par for the course for its time. It shows its age, with the animation not being particularly great, but it’s not ugly either. That’s largely because of the show’s art direction, which I thought was brilliant. I think Byston Well holds up as the most strange and ethereal setting for any fantasy mecha show I’ve seen to date, comfortably surpassing Escaflowne’s Gaea and Rayearth’s Cephiro, with utterly strange geography and fantastical wildlife - in addition to the standard unicorns and pixies it’s further inhabited by strange, buglike beasts that mostly defy description. These beasts are actually used for parts for Aura Battlers, which explains the distinctive appearance of the mecha in this series - that’s probably the series’ most recognisable aspects. In this particular series they were actually toned down a little to make them easier to animate, but some of the designs here are still unforgettable regardless - there’s nothing else quite like them out there.

On the whole, I would personally recommend this series quite strongly. However, if you were a fan of Escaflowne or Rayearth and are looking for another mecha isekai to watch, you might not necessarily enjoy this, because ultimately it is kind of dry and long-winded in comparison to both of those. On the other hand, if you happen to be a fan of early Gundam series like 0079 or Zeta I’d recommend this extremely strongly, amongst the rest of Tomino’s work along these lines I’d say this is up there with the best of them.

Of course, the entire reason I got around to seeing this is because it’s going to be in SRW T. It’s a little hard to say how that might pan out - Dunbine’s no stranger to these games and was in SRW X, the last mainline game - but in that game we basically got an acanonical post-season plot, whereas this time early signs show that we’ll be getting more of its actual plot this time. However, how that might pan out this time has a lot to do with how it interacts with other series, especially in regards to how much time is spent on Earth and what Byston Well and Rayearth’s Cephiro have to do with one another amongst other things. There was a lot going on in this series and much of it will likely have to be written out, and what that might be is hard to say.

With all that said, there’s one last piece of the SRW T puzzle I have to account for, one that’ll also likely have a huge impact on how Dunbine’s story plays out. I’m not quite finished with Byston Well yet.

[thinkingagain]

“Remember: we are Magic Animals, and we have many ways to resist Beast power. But Beasts are still the most effective creature at murder in the world.”

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book Two: Empire Chapter 9

Everyone at the Demesne spent the day talking about the news that a Beast had made purposeful contact with the Demesne wall.

The Commandant’s organization likely had been responsible, the Madam told everyone. Ling Ling alerted many Magic Animals around the world and asked them to provide what information they had. In the days that followed, many past stories regarding the Commandant rolled in. Not much was known about that infamous Beast’s current whereabouts.

The Commandant’s name and organization, The Commandant Foundation Inc., were well known in the Animal Magic world. Still, The Commandant did an excellent job of keeping its own personal movements mysterious. Its activities were often rumor more than fact.

Only a few animals had met The Commandant face to face. They told stories of its surface friendliness and charm and the power of its smile and eyes, which promised benevolent and wonderful things that often later turned deadly even to Magic Animals.

The Commandant had won the trust of small Magic Animal groups and led them into disastrous attacks on Beast strongholds. El Tigre and the Rattler knew of a magic white tiger who had been killed attempting to break open the gates of a so-called tiger “park” in Harbin, China where tigers were imprisoned. Similar stories emerged of misguided assaults on Beast military posts, hydraulic dams and high pollution mines.

The information suggested that The Commandant knew how to win the trust of less experienced Magic Animals with big dreams, encouraging them into overambitious plots. Even the few living animals who had encountered that infamous Beast could only speculate about why it did what it did.

The Madam understood it best, although even to her, some of The Commandant’s emotions seemed inexplicable. “When a person, or a Magic Animal, dies for him,” she explained many times, “he believes he has absorbed their power and has become greater and more magic than before. And I do mean dies for him, not just dies. Anyone, Beast or other animal, killed in a mission which The Commandant has talked them into becomes for him a sign of his own greatness. He collects the death of others like the medals he wears on his shirt.”

Growing concern about the nature and goals of The Commandant’s organization led to a morning when all the animals went to the Meeting Ground for a lecture by Leo about Beast organizational systems and the Commandant’s relation to them. The lecture was called “The Commandant in Context.”

“Early Beast groups were mainly small wandering clans,” Leo told the gathered members of the Demesne, “much like those that survive to this day in a few isolated areas.” The animals, sitting in the meadow or on the rocks and raised ground on the meadow’s edge, listened intently. Their usual exuberance had turned grimly serious. “At that stage, Beast organization was at its least harmful, and most resembled a pattern common to all animals who live in groups.”

Leo paced as he spoke, his large rabbit voice booming across the field. “They ate only the food they needed to survive, whether other animals or available plant life. They made no claims about land ownership. Clans were often led by strong individuals and often clashed with other clans or tried to get along with them.

“In clans that tried to get along, we see the beginning of the behavior that Beasts call diplomacy. In diplomacy, through repeated patterns of greeting, gift exchange, and temporary verbal agreement, Beasts obtain their own ends from other Beasts non-violently. When diplomacy breaks down, which, since it’s full of manipulation, it often does, Beast violence follows.”

Murmurs of approval for Leo’s points, and anger at Beasts, moved through the gathered Magic Animals. They had all seen firsthand how Beast behavior led relentlessly to violence.

Leo went on. “Beast group behavior in many places eventually outgrew the wandering clan stage. Beasts rapidly developed larger social arrangements in which individual Beasts often didn’t know each other. They began to claim land, plant food, and build Beastly abodes where they stayed permanently, although some Beasts continued wandering.

“The fundamental Beast desire to control land and objects which they then will defend from other Beasts emerges more fully in this period. Remember though: Beasts do not wish to claim ownership only of that which they see. A fundamental characteristic of Beasts is their urge for abstract acquisitive longing. They imagine things they have never seen and imagine themselves owning those things. Just as importantly, they imagine controlling and owning other Beasts and animals.”

All the animals were listening closely, many leaning towards Leo at attentive angles.

“Through these longings for what is not immediately visible, an early Beast form of large scale organization began: the monarchy. In monarchy, in a defined Beast territory one Beast is treated as in charge of all other Beasts. The territory is often so large that a given monarch is unlikely to see all of it, although his conquering ancestors wandered most of it at some point. The Beast monarch, often called a ‘King,’ was considered more important than all other Beasts and gave orders that other Beasts had to take, although they often resented those orders and sometimes tried to get rid of the king.

“Beast monarchies often grew very large. Over time they began to be challenged by new types of Beast organization and eventually all the largest Beast monarchies crumbled and changed into other forms of Beast government. Since each individual Beast wants to be a monarch over all other Beasts—though some Beasts want this more than others—Beast monarchies were filled with constant fighting between and against monarchs.

“Out of this fighting grew two opposing Beast government principles, though at times these principles were united: Capitalism and Democracy.

“Capitalism relies on the belief that every Beast has the right to seize as much as it can of anything. In Capitalism, no Beast has a special monopoly on this right. Each Beast can then fight all other Beasts to acquire as much as it can.

“Of course, Beasts have always behaved that way. But Capitalism states directly that a Beast’s right to seize as much as it can from other Beasts is what makes Beast life virtuous. In principle, according to Capitalism, any laws placed on the right of Beasts to seize resources from other Beasts are wrong. In practice, Beast diplomacy sometimes leads to compromise. Capitalism also includes the belief that there is no reason why Beast fights over ownership should be fair. Any advantages a Beast already has over another going into a fight are not only allowable, but a sign of virtue.

“Democracy, on the other hand, appears at first as the idea that all Beasts should have an equal say in how any given group of Beasts governs its life. In theory, in Democracy no Beast has more power than any other. Ideas about Democracy have existed in many eras. Here and there, one Beast society might be more democratic than another.

“Democracy and Capitalism are linked, historically. Both became more prominent at the same time, and both rejected the concept of monarchy. Practically though, the idea that a Beast can seize anything it can, and the idea that all Beasts should have an equal say in Beastly government, are opposites. If a Beast has more things and more power, than it has more than an equal say.

“The result in Beast societies that try to be both capitalist and democratic is usually that a minority of powerful Beasts runs most things. This organizational pattern is called Oligarchy. Its basic system of power is a combination of public government and private organizations called corporations. In Oligarchy, corporations and the government work together to make sure that powerful Beasts maintain their power.”

Anger about Beast organizational lies was now moving energetically among the gathered animals. Leo, noting it, said, “Yes, it is certainly appalling. But it has its fascinations. In any case, however much we may disapprove, understanding these things is crucial to the success of the Demesne.”

The animals signaled assent, and Leo continued. “The idea of Democracy led to other ideas about government systems in which less powerful Beasts could be protected from more powerful ones. These ideas are interesting, and attempts have been made to put them into practice.

“One thing needs to be kept always in view: the capacity that Beasts have to lie to themselves, to think they are doing good things to and for others when in fact they are doing harm. Perhaps just as importantly, one of the basic patterns of Beast life is that when Beasts turn especially cruel, other Beasts will sometimes, for a while, try to make Beast life less cruel.

“Ultimately, although Beast cruelty may be less prominent in one moment than another, it always returns. Beast kindness is usually no more than a reaction against Beast cruelty. Almost never in the history of Beasts has kindness been in charge for more than brief moments.

“Communism is one of the extensions of the idea of Democracy. Communism rejects the Capitalist idea that a Beast has the right to seize as much as it can. Instead, in Communism, in theory there is only one Beast organization allowed, the government. All Beasts are in theory equal owners of the government, contributing what they can to its work, and receiving the goods and services they need from it.

“The failure of Communism is that it becomes Capitalist Oligarchy pretending not to be. It says all Beasts have an equal say, like Democracy, but in fact more powerful Beasts still run everything for their own benefit, and Beasts still fight each other relentlessly over government power. It’s similar to the way Capitalism sometimes pretends to be Democracy. However, Communism says competition between Beasts is bad rather than good. Beast fighting takes place, in theory, within a single organization, instead of multiple organizations fighting each other.

“Anarchy is a development related both to Communism and Democracy in terms of claiming equal rights for every Beast. Its central idea is that the basic problem of Beast government is any organization with too much power. Through ideas of Anarchy, Beasts imagine that they can split themselves into smaller Beast groups uncontrolled by larger ones. Those smaller groups will then govern themselves more democratically.

“In some ways, Anarchy indulges the fantasy that Beasts often have of returning to their early days of small clan units. Those clans would now not be organized as early versions of monarchy but as democracies in which members of the Beast group share power.

“The problem with Anarchy is that Beasts living in small groups, isolated from others, are no less likely to seek control over other Beasts. Anarchic groups often become groups in which individuals struggle for control over each other by insisting that their ideas are more beneficial for the group.

“Another common idea about Anarchy is that in a Beast Anarchy, every Beast has the right to do what it likes. Anarchy based on the idea that individual Beasts can do what they like often quickly becomes Capitalism. Other Anarchic groups want to limit what a Beast can and can’t do. That version of Anarchy becomes more like Communism, with Communism’s same problems.”

Leo took a moment to breathe and looked around as if remembering that he too was still a Magic Animal in a field, not a brutal Beast. Then he drew himself up, focusing his energy. “There’s a lot we still don’t know about The Commandant. Based on what we do know, I believe it likely that The Commandant controls an organization that operates with high effectiveness through its combination of Capitalist and Anarchic elements.

“The Commandant Foundation does not have one easily identified center of operations. Instead it has a false front headquarters to distract attention. The Commandant works from small, bland, anonymous buildings in any number of locations in the world. These locations change, and The Commandant moves between them rapidly. Sometimes The Commandant may use no buildings at all. The organization then consists mainly of Beasts in motion.

“The Commandant also has massive computing and financial resources that it can access from anywhere. Its financial power consists of numbers calculated on computers and stored in temporary, well protected data files. The fact that this financial power is no more than a concept does not prevent it from being changed quickly into weapons and other physical resources when necessary.

“The Commandant wields all three main kinds of Beast power: money, weapons, and dreams. It employs the most contemporary techniques available on how to use those powers to manipulate other Beasts. It is capable of moving those powers, and itself, quickly, to anywhere in the world. It can attack quickly. It has significant ability to prevent others even from learning that an attack has taken place or who has done it.

“We do not know how many devoted personnel The Commandant has. Some, most likely, but a large number of Beasts who work for The Commandant Foundation probably do so temporarily and know more about small, temporary goals than overarching ones. In fact, we need to be honest and admit that we ourselves don’t know much about The Commandant’s goals. Still, sources of information like the Madam have made us more informed about its activities than most Beasts are likely to be.

“All told, I believe we can say this much. Given that the Commandant is a Beast, its goals are likely crude, although they will be wrapped in complex layers of Beast perversity. The Commandant’s methods, however, are sophisticated, efficient, and brutal.

“Remember: we are Magic Animals, and we have many ways to resist Beast power. But Beasts are still the most effective creature at murder in the world. And The Commandant, if even some of the stories about it are true, is the most effective Beast murderer of Magic Animals that has ever existed.”

The animals gathered for Leo’s speech talked about it all day, and a long time after. No one who was there for the speech ever forgot it.

[miraculouspaon]

how do you think A Wolf By the Ear would play out if Nathalie was Hawkmoth , and Gabriel didn't check for a soulmark anymore due to heartbreak ;;

whoops my hand slipped

Nathalie listened to the small purple fairy explain everything. Then she calmly stood up, went to her kitchenette, poured herself a glass of red wine, and downed it as fast as possible. She glanced across her apartment. Nooroo was still waiting for her on the other side of it, a polite but quizzical look on his face. Nathalie started to go back, then thought better of it and poured a second glass.

“Alright,” she said, sitting back down three glasses later, “explain everything again. In detail, from the beginning.”

Kwami. Miraculous. Temple. Grimoire. Destiny. Magic.

“Do you have any questions, Master?” Nooroo asked.

Master. Hmm. Nathalie was surprised to find she liked the sound of that, actually.

“Do you know Emilie Agreste?” Nathalie asked. Nooroo shook his head. “Are you sure? She’s an incredibly powerful sorceress. She held one of these things, a peacock one, you don’t know it?”

“That’s Duusu’s,” Nooroo said. “I know Duusu, but I haven’t been activated in over a hundred years. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the whereabouts of the Miraculouses or their current holders.”

Nathalie let out an irritated huff. “The entire point of tracking you down was so I could find Emilie. She’s my employer’s wife, and he’s been completely useless ever since she walked out. I’ve hired every magical investigator in the country, and none of them could help at all. I can’t believe this is another dead end.”

“Don’t lose hope, Master,” Nooroo said cheerfully. “The Miraculouses always find their way to their holders for a reason. Perhaps with my powers, you can find a way to help your boss.”

Nathalie studied the brooch in her hand for a moment. “Could I give Gabriel the power to find her?” she asked.

“Oh, I doubt it,” Nooroo said. “If she’s as powerful as you say, I doubt anything short of the combined powers of Creation and Destruction could do it.”

Nathalie looked up. “Explain that, please.”

“Oh, it’s the major Miraculouses, you see,” Nooroo said helpfully. “The Ladybug Miraculous, powered by the kwami of Creation, and the Black Cat Miraculous, powered by the kwami of Destruction. Nothing in the world is more powerful that those two Miraculouses wielded by a single holder.”

“And how do I get those?” Nathalie asked.

Nooroo laughed. “Oh, you couldn’t,” he said. “The Guardian will keep them protected and only give them to worthy holders in times of great crisis. He won’t activate them for something like finding a runaway sorceress.”

“Great crisis?” Nathalie said. “Like, for example, a lost Miraculous being used to create dozens of supervillains run amok?”

“Oh, yes, that would-oh. Oh.” Nooroo’s face fell. “Oh, no, Master, please, you can’t-”

“Congratulations, Nooroo,” Nathalie said, pinning the brooch to her shirt just under the lapel of her blazer, “you’re not a dead end after all.”

~~~

Gabriel Agreste

Nathalie had been staring at the reflection of her boss’ signature in her bathroom mirror for about ten minutes now, but it stubbornly refused to disappear.

At the very edge of her field of vision, Nathalie could see Nooroo floating timidly. She sighed. “Just say it.”

“Aren’t you happy?” Nooroo asked her nervously. “This means… this means…”

“What?” Nathalie snapped. “That I can stop being Luna, is that what you’re thinking?”

“Well, it… it doesn’t really make sense anymore, does it? You were trying to get Gabriel his wife back, but now… now he’ll have you, right?”

Nathalie pursed her lips and turned away from her reflection. “We’re not…” she shook her head. “This makes absolutely no sense. Our relationship is purely professional.”

“Is it?” Nooroo hovered in front of Nathalie’s face. “Would you have gone to all the trouble of being Luna Moth if you didn’t care a great deal about him?”

“For the final time, it has nothing to do with how I feel about him. Gabriel Agreste has been a useless shell of himself since Emilie disappeared. I just want things back the way they were before she left.” Nathalie exited her bathroom and began pacing around her bedroom anxiously. “He’s… God, he’s already so fragile, Nooroo, this might kill the last shred of hope he has for getting Emilie back.”

“Why would he want Emilie back now? Now that you’re-”

“It’s not going to matter to him! He-” Nathalie shook her head and sank onto her mattress. “I’ve been feeling his emotions directly for over a year now, Nooroo. He has no interest in moving on from Emilie, none.”

“This may finally open his eyes, Nathalie.”

Nathalie was tempted to transform so she could feel Gabriel’s emotions more easily, more directly. She could sense them now, but outside of transformation her powers were hazy, and she didn’t sense anything particularly noteworthy from the Agreste manor. She sighed. “I’ll see how he feels at work tomorrow. Maybe you’re right.”

~~~

Feeling nothing from Gabriel Agreste hurt more than Nathalie expected.

He should have felt something, anything. Nathalie didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but she would have taken disappointment, disgust, fear, desolation, Nathalie would have taken anything over his usual cool detachment. Nathalie had long been a skeptic of soulmarks, but they meant something, even to her.

“Just talk to him, Master,” Nooroo said.

Nathalie’s cheeks burned in embarrassment at the mere thought of bringing it up to Gabriel, after all that. “If he doesn’t want to do anything about the marks, neither do I. We’ll just continue on as usual.”

Every day at work was a fresh nightmare, every day Nathalie told herself she’d accepted Gabriel’s indifference and every day she was shown just how painfully wrong she was. It hurt every time. Nathalie held out one week, then two. In the meantime, akumatizations nearly doubled.

“You can’t keep going on like this, Master,” Nooroo finally said one day. “You’re becoming… unstable. You’re not like yourself.”

Nathalie glared at her kwami. “Maybe I’m becoming more like myself than ever,” she muttered. “I feel more like myself as Luna Moth than I ever do as Nathalie.”

“Oh, Master, don’t say that, of course you’re not-”

Suddenly, Nathalie sat up. “Nooroo. Nooroo, what if that’s it?”

“If what’s what, Master?”

“What if…” the thought was still forming in her mind, but Nathalie suddenly felt deadly certain she’d stumbled upon the answer. “What if it’s Luna who’s Gabriel’s soulmate, not Nathalie?”

Nooroo tilted his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Luna! Luna, the supervillainess with the Miraculous, it makes sense, doesn’t it? He’s in love with Emilie, after all, another powerful woman with a Miraculous. And Emilie was no hero, I assure you. Maybe that’s the name that’s on Gabriel’s back. Luna Moth.” Nathalie looked at Nooroo. “It’s not impossible, is it?”

“No,” Nooroo said. “I’ve never heard of such a thing, but soulmarks are strange things. So are Miraculouses. It might explain Gabriel’s attitude, I suppose. But how on earth will you find out?”

Nathalie stood up from her desk. She was supposed to be arranging the modeling schedules for next quarter, while Gabriel reviewed the concept drawings the department heads had submitted to him for the Winter line. “Nooroo,” Nathalie said, a slight grin forming, “dark wings rise.”

~~~

Luna appeared behind Gabriel, and she took a moment to appreciate the sight. There was something oddly relaxing about Gabriel when he was caught up in his work. Everyone else was such a jumble of exhausting, irritating emotions, but Gabriel could suppress his to an incredible degree.

Luna shifted her weight, and felt a spike of panic from Gabriel as he realized he wasn’t alone in the room and whirled around to face her. “Hello, Gabriel Agreste,” she said smoothly.

Fear was the most prominent emotion, but Luna had been expecting that either way. She was a supervillain, after all, and for all his flaws Gabriel at least had healthy self-preservation instincts. But there were other emotions, too. Curiosity. Arousal. Hope. Relief. He’d been expecting her-he’d been wanting her. Luna grinned and offered Gabriel her gloved hand. Wordlessly, he accepted it, and the room around them melted away. Gabriel pulled back, but they were already transported to Luna’s lair, a mostly empty attic she’d secured after finding the Miraculous that could only be reached via teleportation. “You-” Gabriel frowned, looking around. His fear was stronger, and now he was uncertain, confused. “Why did you bring me here?”

“We have much to discuss, Gabriel,” Luna purred. She took a step closer, then another, and ran a finger down Gabriel’s ascot tie. “Don’t you agree?”

Gabriel swallowed nervously. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, we do.”

Luna leaned in. “Good,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

“It-it’s fine,” Gabriel stuttered. “You’re here now.”

“Yes,” Luna agreed. God, it was intoxicating almost, finally being able to act after weeks of slowly going mad. “Tell me, soulmate,” she said, “what your first thought was, when you saw my name on your back?”

Almost immediately, Luna knew she’d made a horrible mistake. Gabriel froze, then pulled away. “What?” he hissed. “What are-what are you talking about?”

“I-” Luna frowned. “You were expecting me. You were expecting me! I could feel it, you were downright hopeful when I appeared! You agreed we-what did you think I wanted to talk about, if not the marks?”

In the face of her anger, Gabriel grew defiant. He straightened his back and actually looked down at her before nodding to her brooch. “My wife had one of those,” he said. “I thought-I hoped you wanted to discuss her. That you might know something about where she is, how to get her back.”

Luna’s blood ran hot. Of course. Of fucking course, it all came back to Emilie, didn’t it? “I see,” she said cooly. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t have the slightest clue where your miserable excuse for a wife is.”

Rage flashed across Gabriel’s face, and Luna could feel him fighting to keep from expressing it to her face. “Am I to understand,” he said slowly, “that my name has appeared on your back?”

“Am I to understand,” Luna repeated mockingly, “that mine hasn’t appeared on yours?”

“I couldn’t say,” Gabriel replied stiffly. “I haven’t checked for a mark in a very long time.”

“You-are you kidding me?” Luna said incredulously. “Have you just given up entirely, is that it? Just because some woman leaves you who-”

“Stop talking about my wife,” Gabriel snapped. Luna glared, but Gabriel held his ground. “If you’re just going to insult me, you can take me back to my office, thank you.”

Luna started to reach for Gabriel’s hand, more than ready to end this godawful afternoon, but pulled her hand away suddenly. “I can’t,” she said. “I don’t know what name’s on your back.”

Luna could feel Gabriel’s understanding slowly dawn, and the healthy fear that his anger had temporarily drowned out was back. “You… you want to look at the mark?”

“I have to,” she said. “Soulmate or not, I can hardly let you back into the world with my real name on your back, can I?”

Gabriel paled. “Please,” he said softly. “I… I have a son.”

A son you ignore and pass off to your personal assistant at every given opportunity, Luna thought to herself, annoyed. But Gabriel wasn’t lying, and there was genuine fear there, fear that he’d never see Adrien again. Luna softened. “Take off your shirt,” she said. “Maybe it says Luna Moth after all, and there’s nothing to worry about.”

Gabriel hesitated for a moment, then reached up and began to loosen his tie. Luna watched as he pulled it off, then shrugged off his jacket and vest, then slowly began to unbutton his shirt. Luna found she liked the sight more than she’d expected to. Gabriel dropped his shirt to the floor and looked at Luna defiantly. She circled around him slowly.

Nathalie Sancoeur. Fuck.

Luna took a breath. “It’s my-”

Luna caught Gabriel’s elbow before she even realized he’d jabbed it up towards her throat. She easily twisted his arm against his back, rendering him defenseless. She wound her other hand around his waist and trailed a few fingers over his bare chest, enjoying the warring feelings of indignation and excitement she was sensing in response. “My, my, my,” she purred. “Can it be there’s some life in you after all?”

Gabriel bristled. “I can’t allow you to keep me trapped here,” he said.

“And I can’t allow you back into the world knowing who I am,” Luna replied. “Seems we’re at an impasse.” Luna released Gabriel, and he turned to face her. “I’m sure you’ll get used to it. I’m really not such bad company as all that.”

“I won’t look,” Gabriel said. “If it’s a choice between freedom and looking, I won’t look.”

Luna laughed. “You really think I believe that? Curiosity will get the better of you ten minutes after I take you back home.”

Gabriel shook his head. “What do I have to do to convince you?”

“Nothing,” Luna said. “You…” A thought came to her. “Hmm. Well. Perhaps…”

“What?”

“You want your wife back, don’t you?”

“I do,” Gabriel said.

“Even now, even after getting someone else as soulmate?”

“It means nothing to me,” Gabriel said.

Luna pouted. “There’s no call to be rude, Gabriel,” she said, and was pleased to see a faint blush appear on his face. “I am doing you a great favor, after all.”

“What favor?”

“Don’t look,” Luna said, “and I’ll be able to sense if you do, you can be sure. If you look, I swear you’ll never see your wife again as long as you live. But if you don’t look, then when I finally get Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculouses, I’ll use their power to get you your wife back, how does that sound?”

That hope was back, stronger than ever. “That sounds very fair,” Gabriel said, and Luna knew no power in the universe would make Gabriel look at his back now.

“Good.” Luna held out her hand, and Gabriel shook it.

[dmsden]

Worldbuilding 3 – What’s in a Name?

Ah, Gentle Readers, it’s time to return to the world I’m creating specifically for D&D 5E. In my previous articles, I began my work by coming up with a feel for the game (a points of light model, based loosely on Medieval Europe influenced by the Interregnum period of the Holy Roman Empire) and deciding to use an old blank, pre-made map as the beginnings of my campaign’s geography. 

I’m lacking some things I normally like to have in place, like a name for the campaign or an overarching theme. I suspect a name will come more easily when I know what the setting is all about, so I begin by examining a theme. 

In choosing a theme, I’m hampered a bit by my lack of knowledge of the kinds of campaign I want to run in this setting, but I already have some ideas…some of which I don’t want to do. 

My current campaign, Shards of the Shattered Pact, revolves around the idea that there were once seven kingdoms that banded together to create a vast, continent spanning alliance. Together, they vanquished many evils and brought a real civilization to the world. Unfortunately, one kingdom ultimately betrayed the others, and now the world has fallen back into darkness. Part of my campaign is centered around the idea of restoring some of that ancient glory, and I hate repeating myself, so I want to avoid a storyline that involves similar themes. 

One thing that immediately leaps to mind is the idea of wilderness. The world of SotSP is an old one, where most of the Known World has been mapped and is well understood. Central to the new campaign will be the idea of the Borderlands (and the Keeps thereon). If these Borderlands are literally lands that the PC races have never explored, then I can offer the possibility of a campaign based on exploration. Maybe the Borderlands are home to orcs, goblins, and the like, but humans, elves, dwarves, and others have no idea what lies much beyond the line of their Keeps. So I’m pondering a theme of “Exploration of the Wilderness”.  

Another theme I’d like to explore is that of “Ruins of Empire”. I’m thinking that various non-human cultures may have once lived in the Borderlands. Perhaps some of the explorations will bring the PCs to these ruins, so that, as they explore, they’ll be rediscovering signs of ancient civilizations, now overrun with monsters. In such a setting, information can be as important as treasure, and they may be slowly filling in the history of the world, discovering who these ancient peoples were, and why they abandoned their great kingdoms. Like, I’m imagining the players finding the equivalent of Moria, but a Moria that the dwarves don’t even remember existed. Why was it abandoned, and why don’t they remember it? 

I’m also thinking about the roles of the PCs. One theme I explored in my 3E campaign is that of “Adventurers as Rock Stars”. The role of adventurer is one that carries the possibility of fame, fortune, and social mobility. In that setting, Adventurers are the celebrities of the day. Their tendency to be colorful, larger-than-life personalities made it easy to have people recognize them as they traveled. In my 4E/5E campaign, it’s more of “Adventurers as Superheroes” – similar in feel, but acknowledging the almost super-natural elements of things like healing to full health overnight, attuning magic-items, and so on as being things that largely only Heroes can do. In earlier campaigns, adventurers just seemed to be mostly normal people who went out and did extraordinary things. I’m inclined to slide back towards that feeling. So maybe the theme for that this time out is that of “Adventurers as Extraordinary Ordinary People”. The Backgrounds system of 5E lends itself to that, as it gives you some idea of who your character was prior to setting forth to adventure.

With all this in mind, I reflect on what I know about the campaign so far. I want it to be a traditional Medieval European type setting, specifically concentrating on periods like the Interregnum of the Holy Roman Empire and the Anarchy of Britain. I want it to prominently feature the concept of the Borderlands in a “points of light” style setting. I can imagine that the inhabitants of Civilization mostly stay to a central area of rolling fields, forests, and the like, leaving a no-mans-land of dangerous barrens between them and the monster-infested wilderness: a true Borderlands.  

In ancient times, the Borderlands were watched over by powerful Keeps, ruled by lords who were sworn to protect Civilization from what lay beyond. These days, however, many of these Keeps no longer hold to their ancient oaths. Maybe some have fallen to monsters or brigands, some are now ruled by lesser lords who shut themselves up inside and do not sally forth to fight the evils that surround them, and some are now ruled by lords who’ve become robber-barons who use their strength and position to tax their people, rob passerby (collecting tolls, of course), and otherwise make gains for themselves. 

What’s more, beyond the Borderlands is a Wilderness that’s prowled by deadly monsters. Here and there in the Wilderness, ancient ruins of civilizations unknown can be found. Within these ruins, great treasures can be found, but great dangers must be faced as well. 

All of this suggests the idea to me that, while the PCs may well take up operations in a “Keep on the Borderlands” style setting, a lot of the adventure will involve going past the Keep into the Wilderness. From all of this, a few title ideas begin to gel, and I know I want to give my story a title that will recall an old school module, because I want it to have an old school feel. I ponder titles like Beyond the Borderlands (for The Keep on the Borderlands, of course), Into the Unknown (which calls to mind “In Search of the Unknown”, the very first module I ever owned), and Against the Unknown Dread (to suggest Against the Giants, In Search of the Unknown, and Isle of Dread). Ultimately, however, I still don’t feel like I know enough about my campaign to truly name it, but Beyond the Borderlands speaks to me, so I decide to use that as my working title. It may end up modified, but it’ll do for now, and I’ll refer to the campaign as that in future articles. 

It looks like Keep on the Borderlands will be a major inspiration in this campaign, so I’ll likely sit down and re-read the module for inspiration. It might be nice to take an old module and fully develop it out, giving names and personality to everyone in the Keep, giving the players a place to really belong and people to care about. I may also look at some old AD&D modules for updating and use in the campaign. A module like The Lost City could really fit into this setting. 

Now that I have some themes and a tentative name, I want to begin work on the history of the world. I will likely sit down with the D&D 5E rules, looking at the various races therein and seeing how I see them fitting in. The classes will also likely provide inspiration for my world, as will the backgrounds. I have work to do, but I have a direction to go in. 

[snakehorses-moved-blog]

[drabble]Almas’ History: after Gemini’s death

{{ Trigger warning for some heavy gore at the end. Otherwise the usual crime references.This one’s about Almas in the Crystal Empire, post-Anagryos, pre-Sombra’s reign. So it’s right after Gemini died. Also we get to meet a good friend of his named Tippy. I’m pretty fond of how this turned out. Hope you enjoy!}}

1

A year or so after the news of a shahdavar foal being found beaten to death by an angry mob of ponies spread through the Crystal Empire, the black market was still thriving. This time under a crime lord called Cross Fire. A vampire stallion who had already been a prominent figure during Anagryos’ rule, a close rival of his. Following Anagyros’ demise and the slaughter of all of his closest connections, the vampire seized opportunity to become the alpha of the crime rings. Drug rings, sex rings, thieves guilds, illegal magics, smuggled goods and slavery began to fall neatly under the control of his clan, which consisted neatly of elder vampires and their covens. This brought the Empire into a dark of terror under the shadow of supernatural, blood-draining threat.

But compared to Anaygyros’ rule, Cross’ rule had not been long before threat of a fracture began to show. It happened one night that part of his clan arrived on the scene of a scheduled “negotiation” with a rival. But what the vampires found had them backing from the scene.

Their rivals’ numbers strewn across their would-be battlefield already disposed of. The usual weapons were not evidenced. Rather these creatures seemed to have been torn into by a vicious animal with magical abilities.

One of the vampires, perhaps senior to the others present, mumbled something “Anagyros’ monster…”

“What?” the leader called back to her.

“I said… this looks like something Anagyros’ attack animal would do…But…”

It had been years. The creature had not been seen or heard from in so long that the rest of the crime society had decided he was no longer a threat. Still, the vampires backed away from the carnage. The chance the rabid beast was still around was not a good gamble to make…

 2

The report of this incident made its way to Cross Fire. The hallmarks of one of the shadhavar’s attacks were obvious and the vampire crime lord was not naïve enough to just dismiss something like this. So he had his stallions and mares keep a look out for any abnormally large stallions with hollow horns and fangs. If the beast was seen he was to be attacked until dead. The fact that he had slaughtered Anagyros’ last black market alone was enough to make him a threat. If he could not be killed, then he was to be restrained.

What Cross Fire did not expect, however was to find the large stallion seated in his chair one evening. He waited in the vampire’s office, seeming to examine the desk with interest. There was fear, of course. It was the same monster who had brought down his rival. But he also knew this was a rabid animal. Animals could be controlled if one knew what they were doing.

“Off the furniture,” Cross Fire did his best imitation of the tone he had seen Anaygros use with the shadhavar.

The shadhavar merely cocked a brow.

Interesting. He was wearing glasses these days too. It made him look almost like a pony.

“I think I’ll sit, thank you,” the shadhavar replied.

So, he could speak? A deep voice, oddly confident.

“It was quite a journey to get in past your security. It’s tight here. Better than Anagyros’ was.”

“Most things here are better than Anagyros had,” the purple vampire assured.  “Including our restraining devices and muzzles. Are we going to get to the point here?”

“It’s Almas, by the way,” the shadhavar told Cross. “I’ll have you address me by that just as I address you as Cross Fire.”

“He gave you a name?”

The shadhavar’s ear twitched but he made no reply to that.

“To the point, I’m sure you saw the mess I made the other day.”

Cross Fire was left with a few options. Call security in and engage the animal in a fight right here. It would possibly lead to his and his forces’ demise. Or he could humor the beast for now and get him out of his mane. Even leading him to a trap, possibly. He couldn’t be at all that smart with all the drugging that Anagyros had subjected to and the constant torture that surely shrank his brain.

“I did. You did us a favor. They were going to engage us in combat.”

The shadhavar smiled. “I am good for that. Disposal of threats. I can continue to insure that such problems don’t bother you.”

“What problems?” Cross asked.

Surely the serpentine equine had no idea the inside workings of the black market.

“Me, of course,” the shadhavar leaned back and crossed his legs again. The clear as day threat almost caught Cross Fire by surprise.

He was being threatened.

“And we pay you to not attack us? To not destroy us as you did Anagyros?”

“You’ve caught on,” the stallion replied. “Though it isn’t money I want per se. I want in. I want to work my way into the business.”

Now this… This was laughable. Frightening and laughable all at once. On the one hand, his life and livelihood were being threatened by a deadly force. But on the other, that force was a slobbering animal. He still recalled this brute being dragged around in a crate and beaten to madness so he would kill anything in his path.

“Business?” Cross Fire did his best not to laugh. “You honestly think…” he trailed off.

He was wise enough to know not to kick the hornet’s nest.

“Very well then…” the vampire straightened up. “Let’s have a deal then. I’ll talk negotiations with you. You arrive at the time and place I write down for you.”

He circled over to his desk and reached over to take a piece of parchment. The shadhavar’s slit eyes watched the other stallion go for the paper but made no move. He watched as the crime lord wrote down the address and time.

“But I have to wonder… why haven’t you just run off to a master who will take care of you? Skirtos maybe? That dealer. You seemed fond of him.”

With that the shadhavar’s teeth bore and a low growl began to rise from his throat.

“This time. This place.” He scooted out of the seat, his prehensile tail grabbing the paper. “I will be there. You be there too, Cross Fire.”

He sauntered towards the door of the room and disappeared in a smoky display.

Cross Fire froze for a moment to take in what had just occurred.

 3

Tip Top watered her plants in her living room when she heard Almas reappear in the flurry of smoke. He had parchment in his hoof, which he examined closely. The mare put the water pail down and trotted over to him.

“Was he an ass?”

“Of course, he was. But he gave me a time and place. Where they plan to kill me, I’m sure.”

“What’s the plan?” the chemist asked.

She was a small blue mare with a mad mop of hair for a mane. Her cutie mark was the atom model and she had dark circles around her eyes from lack of sleep.

“Formulating it now,” he told her. “What I’ve thought of so far seems too easy so far. I might need to fine-tune it.”

“So, you think it’s definitely a no. That he definitely isn’t willing to work with you?”

“He’s a purist. Only works with vampires,” Almas told her. “Also, he still sees me slobbering in chains.”

“That seems a little hypocritical for someone who sucks. Blood, I mean.”

Almas snorted and went into her greenhouse where he looked at the plants and thought quietly.  Some of what the vampire had said ran through his head. Though he could not claim to be glad of hearing it, he would say it was useful.

 4

The place Almas was instructed to go was a large, crystal dome where much of Cross’ clan could be found inside. The time was night. A masquerade unfolded at midnight. When the small blue mare arrived in a gown uninvited, at first the guards did not let her in.

Tippy told them there must be a misunderstanding. She had been invited, she insisted.

A few of the clan came out to look at her and seemed to decide she would be a fun addition to the party—the kind who would not leave—and she was allowed inside.

Inside Tippy looked through the sea of beautiful gowns and suits and many colorful masks. She had never met Cross Fire in person before, so she only knew to look for a tallish purple vampire with two beams of magic intercepting in an explosion as a cutie mark.

But he found her first.

“You smell familiar,” he told her. “Where have we met?”

“Oh, um…” she took his hoof when he took hers. “Maybe…at a charity,” she mumbled dumbly. “Where’s your mask?”

“Where’s yours?”

“Ha, you got me. I couldn’t afford one.”

Chatter like this went on for some time as the earth pony became more nervous while the vampire waltzed with her. Perhaps she should not have been surprised when he placed that smell.

“That shadhavar?” he guessed correctly. “He a friend of yours?” “Shadhavar?”

“I forget the name. Almester. Almera. Something like that. He must be a charity case for you.”

“…that’s. Well, it’s just not true,” she broke character. It offended her too much. Her job here was to distract him with bloodlust. Which she seemed to be doing fairly well. But listening to him berate Almas was difficult.

“I remember when Anagryos had him on a leash. Did he tell you about those times?”

“That’s enough,” she told him.

Before she got to hear much more abuse from Cross, the dance floor cleared as several vampire ponies led the shadhavar in on a leash and collar, a magic restraint on his horn. He held his head high though and looked to Tippy. She steadied her breathing.

“Your boyfriend?” Cross Fire asked Tippy.

She let go of the vampire and went to Almas. By now the masquerade had stopped to look on at the spectacle of the shadhavar who had turned himself over peacefully.

“So, you came to speak? Good boy.” Cross told him.

Almas looked to Tippy and then to Cross.

“Yes, I’m willing to hear your terms. And if all this,” he gestured to the leash and restraint “is needed to make you feel more secure here. I’m willing for that too. I’m aware you were planning on killing me here tonight. But I think I could talk you out of that.”

“Is that so?” Cross asked.

The vampires had begun to circle the shadhavar. He was now outnumbered substantially and magically restrained.

“Yes,” Almas told him. “Working for you much as I worked for Anagyros. But with several details changed.”

“What would those be?”

“You can still have me magically restrained at most times and kept in holding. But I am to be paid for my services. I am also not be used for sexual pleasure on the side or for feeding or magical draining. Half of my earnings are to go to a person of my choice,” he gestured to Tippy, “and I will have potential for upward movement in the company as I prove myself.”

The vampire finally met Almas’ eyes. It was the first time they had made direct eye contact.

“And to ensure your honesty, your girlfriend’s life will be under watch by us.”

Almas looked at Tippy quietly and she nodded shakily. They had spoken this over, after all.

“Yes.”

Cross circled him, seeming to consider for the first time that he might have a brain in his head.

Almas added, “We’ve also brought a peace offering. To make sure you knew I was serious. I called in a favor.”

Cross gave him a quizzical look.

Tippy straightened up and reached into her gown, pulling out a large container and setting it on the nearest table. When she opened it within was a fine black powder. Black crystal. The same kind of drug used to keep Almas in a berserk state during his slavery.

“From an old friend,” Almas implied he had called Skirtos. Not a lie. The satyr supplied if he asked.

Cross looked at the drug and then to the shadhavar.

“You go first…” he gestured at the drug. “For old time’s sake.”

One of Almas’ large ears fell but he kept his head high. He sauntered over to the table, still on his chain. He lowered his snout to the black powder and inhaled. The familiar bright spots that followed whenever he took the stuff popped up and he backed up, shaking his head.

The vampires laughed but calmed when they saw the shadhavar was fine, if not for having bloodshot eyes.

With that the vampires nodded to one another and moved in to try the drug. It seemed the deal was struck. Tippy stepped up to Almas and stroked his mane, hugging him. He had trouble seeing her at first through the haze of the drug but her hugged her back.

When she was ripped away from him and bitten by one of the vampires he growled. He turned to Cross, saying nothing but shooting daggers with his gaze.

“What?” Cross shrugged. “They won’t kill her. They’re only drinking. We said nothing about not feeding on her.”

Almas maintained eye contact for a moment and tilted his head up. He then sat on his haunches calmly while Tippy struggled with the vampire. Cross seemed impressed with Almas’ obedience then. Doing nothing despite Tippy’s dilemma.

“Wow, you really are well-trained, aren’t—”

Next to Cross, a vampire fell in a heap and began to seize, blood flowing from her eyes. Soon another followed. Then another. The one attacking Tippy dropped her as his eyes began to hemorrhage and he crumpled to his knees. Almas stood and rushed to her, helping her to her hooves. All around them, every vampire who had tampered with the black crystal that Tippy had tampered with in the lab was falling victim to it. Almas himself felt the effects, blood beginning to seep from his eyes but years of being drugged by the hardest versions of the stuff had made him strong to this version’s effects.

Even Cross began to fall weak to its effects, staring at the pair of ponies who had duped him.

Almas lowered his horn to Tippy’s grasp so she could take the magic restraint off. When it was off he immediately set to plowing through the disabled masqueraders. He let those who escaped go. Someone had to tell the story. Those who were knocked down by the drug were impaled, their throats torn out, their skills bashed in.

Cross was the last left. For his part, he managed to remain standing for longer than the others, though his strength was diminished. He sunk his teeth into Almas’ neck and gripped as hard as he could, kicking with his hind legs against the giant shadhavar. A good kick knocked the stallion down but he was back up in no time and used his magic to slam Cross Fire against the wall.

At the end of it all, the vampire found and roped the discarded chain around Almas’ neck in a futile attempt to strangle him.

“Filthy animal—"

Almas’ large back hoof fell hard on the stallion’s groin, crushing his testicles and causing the chain to lose its hold. The testicles popped, and the cock began to break under the hoof’s great pressure.

How Almas had known Cross would lie. He had known he would not take him seriously. He knew he had to do this. Because he knew him. He knew these ponies. He knew the black market. He knew them all. But they did not know him…

“I have a name!”

He pressed a hoof hard on the other stallion’s head, still destroying his groin. An audible, sickening noise could be heard all the way from way Tippy was recovering as Cross’ cock was mashed to a pulp.

“Say my name!” Almas roard.

But Cross had by now lost his voice, given way to agonizing screaming.

Almas lifted his hoof and brought it down on the vampire’s face repeatedly until features were pulverized and the form left writhing with no face. Snout smashed in, one eye dangling out, fangs broken.

“I have a name!” he repeated. “Remember my name!”

When he saw that there was nothing left of the vampire to beat, only a struggling mass, he stood and snorted. Both eyes were gone, the snout caved in, teeth hanging out by strings. The stallion could no longer stand from the blood that pooled at his groin.

Tippy made her way over to Cross with a stake. She rolled him over and put it to the stallion’s heart. She winced and pushed down hard, driving out his life force. The crime lord crumbled to dust as Almas walked away.

“Almas…” Tippy trotted after him.

Almas looked around the masquerade hall at the survivors.

“You’re under new management soon…Be ready.” he spoke. He made sure Tippy was at his side and exited.

[kindabraveandlittlestupid]

Its been almost two years and I am still a bit bewildered by the outcome of the 2016 election. Not the fact that Trump has taken over the Conservative Party (that was a long downhill trend that's existed for years) but rather the fact that so many Christian voters not only endorsed his candidacy but continue to support it despite all the evidence to show he is as far from the Christian Faith as he could possibly be.

I know some might want to disqualify me from this conversation most because I have stepped away from the Church. I was a Christian years ago and a part of me still carries that aspect of Jesus where Compassion, Love, and Sacrifice were the cornerstones of being a good person. I still very much apply that to my philosophy and lifestyle but the element of organized religion has left a sour taste in my mouth. Consistently seeing churches align themselves with nationalistic beliefs, avarice and populist anger worries me. There was in fact too many inconsistencies with the faith where we were told to love everyone without condition but more often than not the religious leaders would have their admonitions against women seeking health services, people practicing safe sex, the LGBTQ community and people of other faiths. So, in other words, it wasn't Christianity the faith that pushed me away and made me no longer believe, it was the Christians themselves who seemed to comfortably wade into these dark emotions and make it part of their politics.

So this article we will be exploring the Catholic concept of the Seven Deadly Sins and how they apply to Donald Trump (I am sure some of you are making some distinct connections already). I will talk about the concept of sin towards the end and how we are all subject to it (if you believe in sins, to begin with), the concept of forgiveness (which I spoke of before) and lastly a nod to the few churches in America that do believe in those values of Love, Compassion and Sacrifice and how they should be celebrated for being the outliers that still carry some semblance of decency.

“I like money. I’m very greedy. I’m a greedy person. I shouldn’t tell you that, I’m a greedy – I’ve always been greedy. I love money, right? “ - DT

I was undecided which of the sins he dwelled in the most, the truth is he seemed comfortable in all 7 but the 2 that seemed to define his character the most was Greed or Pride. I feel as though Trump could never happy without being remembered nor do I think he would care to be remembered without being rich. I suspect between the two it was Greed that started to push him down the darker path so we will focus on his wealth first.

The concept of Greed never really fit well into Christian beliefs, in fact, Jesus detested the wealthy believe those who kept wealth to themselves would find no easy entry to heaven. They coveted their possessions and tethered themselves to their riches and refused to give those up to be closer to god. Jesus himself says “Dear children, it is very hard to enter the Kingdom of God. In fact, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of God!”

Despite this message being so clear in the bible Donald Trump with his estimated worth of 400 million is still considered a godly man by the Christian community, in fact, he plays well the audience of the Prosperity Gospel who believes that wealthy men are endowed directly by God for their wealth. These are the same churches and preachers who ask their congregation to buy them multiple private jets and large personal properties to eventually receive their own personal wealth after giving to the ‘church’. What is disturbing the most is how many people seem to believe that this would be true despite Christ's literal words contradicting that message and how many devout followers fall into financial ruin while attempt to obtain this magical nirvana of wealth for Christians.

The fact is Trump has consistently put wealth before anything declaring bankruptcies multiple times and making financial withdraw from Russian banks to continue his ‘golden’ lifestyle he becomes accustomed too. This is the first and most prominent sin but don’t worry he makes strong cases for the others.

“Nobody’s ever been more successful than me.” - DT

Pride is nothing new for Donald Trump but it is most certainly his second (or perhaps first) deepest sin. The man literally brands his names to dozens of products and splashes it across his buildings in big gold letters. Some might claim this is brand recognition which are the same poor fools who associate Trumps name with success despite the evidence that most of his products fail (save golf courses) and once again the multiple bankruptcies that followed the man around.

I suppose we can give him some credit for managing to weather all the failures so well. I am sure people find that endearing quality and if he remained a businessman I might have been happy to let him dwell merrily in his field but stepping into the realm of politics when he fails in office we all suffer the consequences of his pride.

“Nobody is better on humility than me.” - DT

“If he says great things about me, I’m going to say great things about him.” - DT on Putin

Perhaps the third reason Trump entered the political realm is not that of Pride alone but also because of Envy as well. This trend started with a younger man who seemed to have come out of nowhere and not only caught the admiration of the nation but seemed to install a spirit of hope among the people, Barak Obama. Trump has since had a vendetta against the former President to try to remove any policy, regulation, or law that Obama put forward in his two terms. While Trump in the past seemed to have some liberal views any essence of progressive policies he might have moderately displayed in the 80′s and 90′s has been replaced with vitriol and hate for our first Black President and Liberals in general.

It shouldn't surprise anyone that he would hate Obama, Trump has been trying to get in the public good graces for years hanging out with celebrities, throwing parties, appearing in movies and making commercials but a lifetime of panhandling for Trump was achieved by Obama in just a few short years. Donny was the odd man out and he took his anger out on Obama leading the charge of the birther movement and sending ‘investigators’ to Hawaii to undermine the former Presidents credibility.  

I suppose the second element of Envy that we should talk about isn't how he was jealous in a negative way (Obama) but how he is jealous of dictators around the world who can simply do what they want. This is probably even more concerning than his Pride or Greed or other sins (save Wrath). He has turned coldly against long-standing allies and now openly praises China, North Korea, Russia, the Philipines, Turkey and Egypt where men have seized power and transcended the rule of law becoming literal Dictators. The admiration and envy the President has shown for these men and expressing how he wishes he could be President for life, thinking about suspending elections like them, attacking the Press and the Courts all scream budding fascist but still free American Christians remain loyal to his doctrine.

 “Knock the crap out of him, would you? I promise you, I will pay your legal fees.” - DT

The first thing that should be said is no one should ever be afraid of Donald Trump in a fight. Small hands and a sluggish body, a single strike to the chest would likely dislodge a piece of plaque in his heart causing him to die right there. We already saw him run from military service with ‘bone spurs’ and whenever he advocates violence is when no one can reach him and having someone else doing the fighting for him. So, in other words, the man is a huge coward.

On the other hand, Trump has influence, influence over his constituents and they are often willing to do as he asks. This is where cowardice hides best, letting other people fight his battles for him. Within his staff he lets other explain his mistakes for him. In regards to the police, he openly encouraged them to rough up suspects. In regards to the military, he is inclined to provide them with more and more funds as the state department remains depleted of diplomats. 

The fact is Trump does tap into wrath lashing out at anyone who does not fall into line with his doctrine. We have seen the high turnover rate of the White House of people who tried to influence him or advice him but his Pride won't allow it and so out the door, they go. This sin scares me the most because I think one day he might actually greenlight a real conflict with someone... calling soldiers to the borders to keep Central/South Americans out, attacking North Korea first (despite their budding romance) or attack someone else sending young men and women to die not because of National Security or some moral high ideal but because his pride was damaged and the armed forces to him is a tool to swing when he doesn't get respect.

“You know I’m automatically attracted to beautiful—I just start kissing them. It’s like a magnet. Just kiss. I don’t even wait. And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab them by the pussy." - DT

Probably the most well-accounted issue with Donald Trump is blatant disregard for women. While Greed and Pride are the primary motivators that drive him, this is where he often reaps his rewards with a fair amount of collateral damage for his Lust. He has referred to females as pieces of ass, suggested women manipulative, said he would eventually marry a 12-year-old girl and would walk into changing rooms at beauty pageants because no one could stop him.

This is the same man who left two wives before moving onto his third and cheating on her too. He also joked about how he would love to date his daughter only we all know really he isn't joking, he would totally fuck Ivanka if he could get away with it. The fact is he is in a position where he can deny any wrongdoing and can use his ample wealth to pay them (the women) off or bury cases in the courtroom. There is no justice to stop him from molesting or assaulting women where ever he goes and to be frank I would not be surprised if he does it in the oval office with some poor intern.

“Can you believe that, with all of the problems and difficulties facing the U.S., President Obama spent the day playing golf. Worse than Carter.” - DT

Trump has hit a unique milestone having spent 22% of his time in office at his golf courses and single-handedly beat the number of times Obama was on the course in 8 years (36 times), just in 2 years with over 60 trips to the green. This is a low hanging fruit though as we all seen the pictures of the President's giant white ass golfing while we pay his expenses with our collective taxes. 

The real Sloth kicks in at the Whitehouse with his work day. He spends the early morning (9 AM to 11AM) with what he calls Executive Time where watches TV, Eats, Tweets, and Shits before he reaches his first intelligence briefing which he heard hardly holds his attention unless there are pictures, bullet points and his name inserted into the briefings. Just about 12pm he has an hour-long lunch (usually McDonald's) and proceeds into another hour and half of executive time IE Tweeting, TV, Shitting and probably eating some more. Before doing some light work and then retiring to his room and watching more Fox News where he live tweets policies as he watches the shows. 

Now, this is an account of his average day at the White House when he ISNT at his golf course and doesn't have some truck parked by the White House for him to sit in and act like he is driving. This is the 6th major sin and somehow Christians are not running for the hills and seeking better conservative candidates to support their values.

“I think the food is good. I think all of those places, Burger King, McDonald’s, I can live with it” - DT

We end off on Gluttony, I leave this one at the bottom because of the 7 sins its the only one that really doesn't affect us, it just his slow self-destruction from the inside of his gut (or heart) out. I imagine of all the things he has done this one simply makes him look the most relatable, he eats like most Americans do. Hell, even I make a late night stop at Jack in the Box or McDonald's even though I shouldn't. I guess what is most unsettling is how often he seems to be consuming McDonald's and the other fast food chains. On the road he ate KFC, Mickey D's, Pizza and Diet Coke ALL THE TIME, I don't think I can humanly do that. I don't think any of us can possibly do that without saying “Maybe today a Jamba Juice or Salad or just fucking water” but not Donald Trump.

So let's give him the benefit of the doubt and say the campaign trail is a hard place to make a proper meal but it didn't stop at the end of the election. He has a special button now for a coke being delivered to the Oval Office, he now has a cheeseburger before bedtime, he regularly orders chocolate cake from the White Houses kitchen and of course his Envy/Greed/Pride kicks in and whenever he has guests he has three scoops of ice cream while they are served one. I am not even sure why that pisses me off so much but it just shows how much of a douchebag he is that he makes sure he has more than everyone else in the fucking room.

“He knew what he signed up for.” - DT on LaDavid T. Johnson  

So Trump seems to embody literally all the sins in one human being, another achievement for the current President to put on his gravestone. “Sin. No one was better than me at doing them all.” I suspect if I was saying this to Trump supporter they would say something along the lines “We are all sinners, we all give into one of these at one time or another.” Which I would say yes, absolutely which is why we believe in the concept of forgiveness but forgiveness is a two-part exercise, on one hand, we need to be open and willing to forgive people as good human beings, while on the other side a person needs to seek forgiveness and express remorse for those sins. This is where Donald Trump fails and so do his Christian supporters who suggest we should forgive him for his past/current/future transgressions but I don’t think we should. No, not without remorse, reflection, and change coming from him for indulging in those sins. Trump is happy living in sin, he exercises them all daily with his lifestyle and these religious organizations seem to overlook this major character flaws in his morality for short-term political goals. This is where the moral fabric is tearing in society the most, where good people lend themselves to a man who sees’s them as a stepping stone for his own glory and they worship him for it.

I would feel remiss if I didn’t mention that no all churches follow Trump. There are a fair amount of churches that do not see him as someone noble or ethical and choose not to follow him. These churches, however, are the minority and outliers in the Christian Community and we should ask them to be the voices of descent to cripple the choke hold Trump has not only on the GOP but the religion of Christ itself. They should be denouncing him daily for his actions and if you know a church that doesn't support Trump then support them to raise their voice and make them sound like thunder so that those who have sold their souls or lost their way know they have fallen. Lord knows I am sounding preachy here at the end but I wanted to make it clear that there are good churches still and we should not bully them into acting because they have been meek in their response but rather support them and uplifting them higher than the mega-churches that have sold their souls to the Doctrine of Trump.

With Regards, Michael California

[jenmedsbookreviews]

Yes … believe it or not, it is getting to that point in the year that we both welcome and dread. Christmas. You may have missed it, but I’ve started posting a few festive reads on the blog over the past few days, just something Mandie and I thought (back in July/August) was a really good idea. Possibly not as we’re about as enthusiastic about Christmas as the Grinch, but hey ho (ho ho), it’s not all bad. I think. Do stop by for a few festive reading tips won’t you? Hopefully there’s a little something for everyone from the cosy and the kiddie, right through to the dark and the deadly. Always room for a little festive crime right?

Well, I had a busy old week last week achieving not a lot whilst seemingly doing loads. The week started perfectly – I was only at work for half a day before I was heading off down to London for November’s First Monday Crime panel. This month saw Barry Forshaw interview Stuart MacBride, Elodie Harper, Vaseem Khan and Simon Booker. An interesting debate was had by all regarding the idea of crime fiction v ‘literary fiction’, biggest mistakes made by newbie writers and whether there should be limits on how far you take your crime fiction.

A fantastic panel and I can heartily recommend both their books and First Monday Crime and if you want to find out more about next months panel, you can do so at their website here. December’s panel promises to be a doozy with Chris Whitaker, Louise Jensen, Mel McGrath and Susi Holliday alongside chair Claire McGowan. On top of that you’ll get to witness ‘Pitch the Audience’ where MC Howard Linskey will try to corral Rod Reynolds, Abir Mukherjee, Cass Green, Leye Adenle, Susi Holliday, Derek Farrell, Lisa Cutts, Chris Whitaker, Mason Cross, and James Carol as they bid to become ‘Pitch the Audience’ Champions for 2017. And books and pub visits. What more could you want? I’m booked. Maybe see you there?

And speaking of books, couldn’t resist the opportunity of getting a couple of signed books while I was there. Well … I went all that way. 😉

Book post wise, it’s been quite a quiet week for me. Nowt new there then lol. Just the one, a copy of Sai-Ko from author Gabriela Harding. Can’t wait to take a trip to the dark side with these short stories.

Other purchase wise, I’ve been good. At least if you own Amazon lol. I purchased the Killer Women Crime Club Book 2, Give Me The Child by Mel McGrath (also on audio); Little Liar by Clare Boyd and The Death Knock by Elodie Harper. From Netgalley, just the one, Know Me Now by CJ Carver. Also on audible was WhiteOut by Ragnar Jonasson. Well a girl needs to have the whole set.

Reading wise it’s been a bit of a mixed bag as my head is all over the place with work. I have managed 3.4 books though – one of them being a collection of short stories.

Books I have read

A Christmas Wish by Erin Green

Flora Phillips has an excuse for every disaster in her life; she was abandoned as a new-born on a doorstep one cold autumn night, wrapped in nothing but a towel. Her philosophy is simple: if your mother doesn’t want you – who will?

Now a thirty-year-old, without a boyfriend, a career or home she figures she might as well tackle the biggest question of them all – who is she? So, whilst everyone else enjoys their Christmas Eve traditions, Flora escapes the masses and drives to the village of Pooley to seek a specific doorstep. Her doorstep.

But in Pooley she finds more than her life story. She finds friends, laughter, and perhaps even a love to last a lifetime. Because once you know where you come from, it’s so much easier to know where you’re going.

A story of redemption and love, romance and Christmas dreams-come-true, the perfect novel to snuggle up with this festive season.

A wonderfully uplifting and heart warming tale of Flora, a woman who is in search of her birth mother having been left on a doorstep as a baby. Great for Christmas, my review of this book will be on the blog this week. In the meantime you can buy a copy of the book here.

…

The Advent Killer by Alastair Gunn

Christmas is coming. One body at a time. 

Three weeks before Christmas: Sunday, one a.m. A woman is drowned in her bathtub.

One week later: Sunday, one a.m. A woman is beaten savagely to death, every bone in her body broken.

Another week brings another victim.

As panic spreads across London, DCI Antonia Hawkins, leading her first murder investigation, must stop a cold, careful killer whose twisted motives can only be guessed at, before the next body is found. On Sunday.

When the clock strikes one . . .

A terrifying British debut thriller, The Advent Killer introduces DCI Antonia Hawkins, with the second in the series coming from Penguin in 2014. Fans of Chris Carter and Richard Montanari should be paying attention.

Now Christmas and murder … finally something I can identify with. Not literally of course and not in quite so gruesome a fashion as is presented in Alastair Gunn’s debut novel  I’ll be sharing my thoughts on this one very soon as one of my ‘festive reads’. You can buy a copy of the book here.

…

Twelve Slays of Christmas by Jacqueline Frost

When Holly White’s fiancé cancels their Christmas Eve wedding with less than two weeks to go, Holly heads home with a broken heart. Lucky for her, home in historic Mistletoe, Maine is magical during Christmastime—exactly what the doctor prescribed. Except her plan to drown her troubles in peppermints and snickerdoodles is upended when local grouch and president of the Mistletoe Historical Society Margaret Fenwick is bludgeoned and left in the sleigh display at Reindeer Games, Holly’s family tree farm.

When the murder weapon is revealed as one of the wooden stakes used to identify trees on the farm, Sheriff Evan Grey turns to Holly’s father, Bud, and the Reindeer Games staff. And it doesn’t help that Bud and the reindeer keeper were each seen arguing with Margaret just before her death. But Holly knows her father, and is determined to exonerate him.The jingle bells are ringing, the clock is ticking, and if Holly doesn’t watch out, she’ll end up on Santa’s naughty list in Twelve Slays of Christmas, Jacqueline Frost’s jolly series debut.

After a bit of a gruesome murder, it was time to go all cosy. This is a beautiful book, full of all the festive spirit a lover of the season could want. Give or take the odd murder … I’ll be reviewing this very soon but you can buy yourself a copy right here.

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CWA Anthology of Short Stories: Mystery Tour

Crime spreads across the globe in this new collection of short stories from the Crime Writer’s Association, as a conspiracy of prominent crime authors take you on a world mystery tour. Highlights of the trip include a treacherous cruise to French Polynesia, a horrifying trek in South Africa, a murderous train-ride across Ukraine and a vengeful killing in Mumbai. But back home in the UK, life isn’t so easy either. Dead bodies turn up on the backstreets of Glasgow, crime writers turn words into deeds at literary events, and Lady Luck seems to guide the fate of a Twickenham hood. Showcasing the range, breadth and vitality of the contemporary crime-fiction genre, these twenty-eight chilling and unputdownable stories will take you on a trip you’ll never forget.

Contributions from: Ann Cleeves, C.L. Taylor, Susi Holliday, Martin Edwards, Anna Mazzola, Carol Anne Davis, Cath Staincliffe, Chris Simms, Christine Poulson, Ed James, Gordon Brown, J.M. Hewitt, Judith Cutler, Julia Crouch, Kate Ellis, Kate Rhodes, Martine Bailey, Michael Stanley, Maxim Jakubowski, Paul Charles, Paul Gitsham, Peter Lovesey, Ragnar Jónasson, Sarah Rayne, Shawn Reilly Simmons, Vaseem Khan, William Ryan and William Burton McCormick

A brilliant collection of short stories and perfect for dipping in and out of, which is exactly what I’m doing ahead of my stop on the blog tour next week. Featuring some of the best crime writers around, you’d be mad to miss it. I’ve already powered through 34% of the book without even realising it. You can preorder a copy here.

…

Blogging wise, not quite as traumatic as last week, i.e. you haven’t had to suffer any more videos of me, but still busy none-the-less.

#BlogTour: Whiteout by Ragnar Jonasson

#Review: Zenka by Alison Brodie

Festive Reads: Mr Men & Little Miss at Christmas

Festive Reads: This Way To Christmas by Anita Bijsterbosh and Christmas Stories for Kids by Uncle Amon

Festive Reads: Enid Blyton’s Christmas Tales

Festive Reads: Santa, Please Bring Me A Gnome by An Swerts

#BlogTour: #IntoTheValley by Chris Clement-Green

#BookLove: Tracy Fenton

Review: Mr Men & Little Miss for Grown UpsFestive Reads: A Christmas Flower by Bryan Mooneyffiths163

#BlogTour: Bad Sister by Sam Carrington

Review: Elephant and Sheep and other stories by Patricia Furstenberg

The week ahead is another full one – are there any other kind. Personally, I am off to the UK launch of The Man Who Died by Antti Tuomainen on Wednesday and I can’t wait. It’s in the running to be my book of the year! Then the weekend sees the long awaited arrival of Hull Noir. Looking forward to lots of brilliant panels and getting to catch up with some amazing blogger friends.

In the meantime, I’ve a mixture of the usual reviews and blog tours to keep you all amused, starting today when I’ll be reviewing The Puppet Master by Abigail Osborne. Wednesday is the tour for The Future Can’t Wait by Angelena Boden and Saturday it’s Dying Day by Stephen Edger. And there will be some sharing of the #booklove with blogger Victoria Goldman.

And in other news – with the notable and excusable exception of Christmas Day and Boxing Day, today marks a whole year of posting every day, at least once, sometimes more. I set myself the challenge to see how long I could keep it up and I have to admit I am fluffing knackered now, but hey. Quite an achievement for a moderately busy gal like me I think. Go me. May have to celebrate.

Have a brilliant week all. See you on the other side

Jen

Rewind, recap: Weekly update w/e 12/11/17 Yes ... believe it or not, it is getting to that point in the year that we both welcome and dread.