#namely overload shields

[quixot1sm]

hilbert and hilda's baby brother, colress's naive apprentice, interpol's little tool, what can't this guy be! well-adjusted, apparently.

[husband-steve-cortez]

#with Kaidan. Reave is canonically a new thing he can do#but I'd say realistically he can still pull and throw enemies around#much better than Miles can#but warp+throw is all you need to tear through an atlas mech#and I like the idea that in *that* regard Kaidan may actually be weaker

I generally like the idea that "biotic power" is more a matter of how much you can do without wearing yourself out than like, any kind of brute power thing.

So I like the concept that really, even despite the migraines, Kaidan can rely on his biotics more heavily than Miles can, and Miles has to be much more controlled and precise about when and how he uses his biotics because he can't go all day, but he can really tear through certain targets quickly when pressed and that's really what he's gotten good at using his biotics for, while tech shores up his other weakness.

I also like that as a possible reason that in me1 he uses barriers but switches to tech armor in me2; he has better implants (because why not with everything else we're giving him) so he can use his biotics more offensively rather than mostly sticking to passive; a bastion sentinel "uses biotics for defense or opponent immobilization", and really I mostly imagine Miles in me1 fighting similarly to a Vanguard, mostly using biotics to barrier himself and tank while only occasionally lifting or throwing, and not doing so as well as Kaidan.

(and I kind of pretend stasis isn't there despite definitely using it a lot)

Doesn't help that I feel like sentinel's role kind of changes a lot over the course of the games…mostly that a tanky sentinel in me1 is going to be more biotics focused while 2 and 3 have more of a tech focus with tech armor. You also lose your biotic crowd control options in favor of cryo blast; I guess throw is kind of crowd control, but not really.

I can never decide whether Miles canonically still has these talents or if he never had them. I love the concept that Miles/sentinel Shep only has *so* much biotic potential but he's able to apply it in an effective way. But then cool biotic stuff...

[the-jordas-trials]

teehee. More earthmovers. Reference time aswell YIPPEE!!! This is by all means not all of my stupid war horses, theres like so many more still in the back of my brain who i gotta design, that atop doing designs for each ones final moments/ Whalefall just vibing on the surface.

more info about each under the cut (poke me about any of these guys i WILL ramble more bout them)

Benjamin: here just for a height reference. Standard Civilian class earthmover. Just a littol man (bonus points if you manage to find V1 hidden on his ref. Carefull. V1 is like five pixels tall but it IS there)

Pyroclastic: Supreme Escalation Class. Ruthless and violent, known to stop at nothing untill his targets have been eliminated. Pyro's name sake was drawn due to his size causing extensive overheat, as a result, vents were built and installed post creation, allowing him to turn the tide of most fights by dumping superheated steam/blood and vapour directly onto the field, often melting or overheating rivals. Pyro is considered a 'failed' EM, having he failed the second 'hurdle' of an earthmover's coming of age. Winning a fight against the last made, Whalefall. Disgraced, he was often chased away from his kills and only gained respect after wiping out several Supreme class herds, earning the nickname Burning Devil. Starshine: early Greater Escalation class. SS is old for an earthmover, but by far not the eldest, old enough before the design was fully nailed down. She supports a prototype canon, opposed to the usual javelin, she was designed to get up close and personal before overloading a rivals shield with a canon shot, allowing a fellow herd member to later take them down. SS pingponged between herds, and was later wounded and found by Whalefall. She's rather squeamish, shockingly kind and was known to go without refueling and resting form months on end. Both she and Whalefall survived the long night and new peace, untill the machine uprising, where Pyroclastic cut her down. Whalefall: Supreme Scavenger/Civilian class later repurposed for escalation. Whalefall is an oddity, having being a dual class earthmover, and was later upgraded before the long night set in. She's deceptively fast, known to sprint down her rivals and body slam them. She's also one of the few earthmovers known to weaponize an old targeting glitch, rearing up onto her hind legs and using the sun as cover, forcing her foe's to loose agro and lo longer class her as a 'threat' due to the sudden lack of javelin. Whalefall is also one of the few earthmovers post Hell Invasion that're still alive and is somewhat able to move, she now rests overgrown awaiting for her last maintenance machine to return from its hell dive.

Cyclone: Lesser plateau class. Cyclone is apart of the last round of earthmover's before the refineries and factories were razed to the ground. Apart of the 'colt/filly' round, small due to the lack of resources to make a herd of full sized earthmovers. Typical for his herd, Cyclone sports massive electric generators along his flanks, allowing him to electrify rivals. His herd splintered early on, joining up with existing herds, he found himself in the care of Whalefall fairly early on. Perished during the long night after tripping and unable to follow Whalefall and Starshine. Divergent: Standard civilian class. She's nothing to write home about. Born, killed, earned respect, then left alone. She's bog standard. Often living a peaceful life protected by her two sisters. Converse often with other herds, including Whalefalls, her large antenna array allowing her to do so. She's a known peace keeper, and was able to talk sever herds out of fighting multiple times. Convergent: Greater escalation class. By far one of the most hyperactive earthmovers. Known sprinter, known escalator. She was violent and hot headed, often shot first, hailed for peace second. Horridly protective over her sisters. She was wounded early on in her life, having taken an unlucky hit to her neck and surviving by the skin of her teeth. As a result she cant look down nor does she have full range of movement within her neck. Transform: Supreme civilian class. Form had by far the largest population atop her back, and as a result could hardly move faster than a shamble. Before the long night set in, she had been gravely wounded on her hind right leg, resulting in an extensive limp. Despite that Form is one of the few Civilian class movers that're willing to fight, and fight often. References still to draw are: Tsunami, Geyser, Eruption, Habitat, Freeze, Solarflair, Pompey, Hurricane, Typhoon and Tropical. yeah... theres alot of these fuckers lmao.

[xortstories]

Contrary Writing Advice: Tell, Don't Show

Wherein I give advice that runs contrary to commonly shared writing tips, because some short bits of advice get repeated without context until they become actively detrimental to the process.

Today, we're looking at a common adage: "Show, don't tell."

On the surface, this seems to be (and often can be) good advice. "Showing," in the context of writing, is all about description. Don't say "He was sad because he had to go to work", say "His shoulders were slumped and he walked with slow, trudging steps to his cubicle."

It paints a picture with words. It implies the sadness, allowing the reader to interpret it by picking up on the cues in the writing, thus increasing engagement in the story.

It's not always that simple, though. For the most basic problem, let's compare word counts. In the example given it's not that egregious—10 words for "telling" vs 14 words for "showing," but that's still a 1.4x increase to the word count of your book, and it could get much more than that. There is value in shorter, telling sentences. For starters, they break things up and can be used to punctuate the end of a sequence. Let's have an example paragraph, which we'll then try two final sentences for.

He desperately raised his shield as his foe rained down a series of heavy blows on him. Once, twice, three times the knight's mace collided with the shield, splintering the wood and driving him to his knees. His shoulder ached, and the shield began to fall low enough that his head would soon be exposed. Then, out of nowhere, another soldier—one of the many allies whose names and faces now bled from his mind as adrenaline washed away all conscious thought—appeared as if from nowhere, colliding with the knight and thrusting his dagger frantically at the weaker parts of his foe's otherwise impenetrable armor.

Probably not the best fight scene I've ever written, but it does the job of being a very strong example of "showing." Now let's look at two ways to follow up this paragraph.

#1: Showing

He turned, heedless of his ally's struggle, and dashed away. His heart pounded in his chest and he struggled to keep his shaking limbs steady, stumbling and faltering every few steps. The sounds of battle surrounded him, overloading his senses, and he narrowly avoided several errant strikes from others embroiled in conflict as he raced through the battlefield.

Again, not the best, but a pretty good paragraph. We'll talk more about it in a moment though, as now we're gonna look at a second followup:

#2: Telling

He ran for it, leaving the battlefield far behind him.

So, let's examine what each of these followups actually does for the story.

For starters, we need to consider what we want this scene to accomplish and how important it is. If this is meant to be a defining moment for the character, the culmination of several chapters of buildup where he trained for the upcoming battle, grew close to his allies, struggled with his fears and insecurities, and now in the heat of the moment loses his nerve?

Yeah, it might be worth it to drag things out and continue "showing" what he does.

But let's say instead that this, instead, is meant to be an establishing moment for an already-true fact about the character. Let's imagine that this is from the opening scene in a story that, we will soon learn, is about a cowardly soldier. The buildup of the main paragraph above sets up a suitably intense, epic fight scene. It paints the main character ambiguously, as someone who is fighting but unable to hold his own, but it leaves open the possibility that he'll join his ally and finish off the knight that was hammering him down.

And then comes the rug pull. Just when the reader expects the intense fight scene to continue, nope! He's running away. The short and to-the-point nature of "telling" what the character does there leaves things unambiguous and drives the idea home immediately. We see that the character is a coward, and that sudden rug-pull creates a great moment where the reader goes "Oh, I see. He's a coward."

Basically, it's a punchline. And a punchline has to be... punchy. You can't draw it out with sentences and sentences of "showing." You just "tell."

Let's also consider the fact that ending a long series of "showing" paragraphs with a short, simple "tell" can be a great way to transition out of a scene. It signals that that sensory feast is over, wraps it up and puts a bow on it, and lets the author move into another discrete chunk of writing.

"Telling" is also great to summarize boring, inconsequential parts of the story. If your book is about political machinations, where the draw is the characters going toe-to-toe with clever enemies in social scenarios, then it's totally fine—sometimes imperative, even—to just say "After three weeks of travel, where x, y, and z, happened, Bobson finally reached his destination."

I could go on, but this post is long enough already. Remember, the point isn't that "showing" is always bad, just that you need to understand the benefits of telling and know when it's best to do one or the other, because 100% of either does not make for a very good story.

Also I'll probably write more of these in the future. I've got plenty of beef with common writing tips.

If you like my posts, feel free to buy me a coffee!

And if you're interested in seeing what I'm working on, check out my Blood of Dragons master post!

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to Chaos Creator's Chapters 272-273

Short Summary: Beastkin prisoners rescue operation.

Last chapter, I was expecting a battle scene between two dragons. Unfortunately... we did not get that. 😭 Ryan blocked Eruhaben's attack with a magic shield, and that was it. Even having 2 chapters today did not help because it all focused on Cale's rescue operation.

Chapter 272 was mostly focused on the beastkin prisoners rebelling against Ryan. Chapter 273 was about Cale's allies leading the rescue operation. And Archie being his chaotic self. 😂

Wisha managed to recruit other Aipotu beastkin elders in joining the operation. The rat and mole beastkin dug underground tunnels which were used as escape routes.

Meanwhile, Lock's berserk form awed the wolf beastkin prisoners, making them think he was the Blue Wolf. It did not help that the author became poetic when describing his berserk form. So... Lock would have his own version of Caleism in this world? 🤣🤣🤣

Archie was the funniest this chapter. There was a magic circle that detected anyone mentioning Ryan's name. That magic circle was linked to the magic circle that restricted the use of magic in the lair. So the solution proposed by Cale's group was... to launch the fantasy version of a DDoS attack! 😂

And Archie led that attack. He was the first to shout the name "Ryan" and the others followed his shouting. Even though he was joining the fight, he repeatedly shouted the name Ryan. 😂 Funny thing was, even Gashan's crows were shouting Ryan's name. 🤣🤣🤣

The numerous people shouting Ryan's name then overloaded the magic circle detecting mention of Ryan's name, causing it to be destroyed along with the magic circle restricting the use of magic. Oh yeah, truly a DDoS attack. 😂

Ending Remarks I was disappointed that the 2 chapters did not focus on the dragon fight. Fortunately, the scene changed to Cale and the 3 kids at the end of chapter 273, so expect some chaos on Tuesday next week.

Yes, Tuesday next week. The author posted a note, saying that she would not be able to release the chapter on Monday (April 1) because of a sudden family matter. Thus, the chapter for Monday would be posted on Tuesday, April 2, instead. And that was also the reason why we got 2 chapters today.

Lastly, if you still have not heard, we finally have an official English translation. Seven Seas Entertainment recently released an announcement of their license acquisition for the LCF novel. The 1st volume would be released on September of 2024 for $19.99, with it available in large-trim editions with new covers.

I suspect this was because of RIDI releasing ebooks for TCF recently. My problem would be how many chapters would one volume have. Would it follow RIDI's format of 20-25 chapters per volume? Or would it include more? And that price... yikes. Hopefully, the price of the English ebook version would be lower than the printed version.

[grantofalltrades]

On rewatch of EXU Downfall tonight, bouncing around theories and headcanons with my wife. We're weaving a couple threads together - dropping under readmore for possible spoilers for Downfall & the rest of CR3

So starting at the end. What's going to bring down Aeor? What's the grand importance of The Emissary, and why was he sent rather than his patron?

My wife's theory is that - once the ground team has opened the shield which keeps Aeor out of sight and reach of the gods - The Emissary is going to take a nuclear enlarge spell or something and entirely encase Aeor to sunder it from the sky.

My theory is that hell yeah. That. The Emissary's job is to send a messsge. Wards scattered across - and beneath - an ever-frozen, barren and stony hellscape of jagged spires jutting at every angle? We gotta see that happen.

Outside of that, lemme see what else...

We're thinking that Aeor is not just containing & draining demons. We're going to find celestial entities strapped down and deconstructed. That level of Barbarian that Ayden took is going to show when he rages.

I'm hoping that Trist's children, Haylie and Topher, find themselves guided to the Blooming Grove to join with Caduceus's ancestry.

Also thinking S.I.L.A.H.A. is the progenitor of the blue stasis bubbles. He would have the mental capacity to track perhaps the ones worth saving - those of faith perhaps - and with the energy that would have been purposed towards a massive explosive overload - ala F.C.G. - I think that would be a great subversion of expectation.

Further on, perhaps to CR4 or beyond... if all the deities are wiped out, I think Caduceus is guarding a shard of something. That "hero of the war" who needed his head, body and limbs separated for some reason right after the Raven Queen's ascension to replace the god of death... hmm... could it be that old god himself? Would he come back to rule solo if the fate of existence itself was in balance? Could he, given the dwarves went and smelted half his corpse? This is the sort of hypothetical logic that drives me nuts (and makes for the average Ancient Aliens plot)

Calamity-related, something I mused on earlier, still not at all dissuaded that Emhira is Patia Por'Co's forgotten mother. She'd be the daughter of Imyr, perhaps that's actually her old name. We know Patia at least remembers her teaching her, if nothing else.

All frayed threads I'm trying to weave into a tapestry, but it's been fun speculating

OH! Also hoping that when the Hells come out of the machine one of them goes "Hey I saw F.R.I.D.A.!"

[sga-mcshep-4ever]

"Ow. "He speaks Czech. 🙄" "Dr. Zelenka to control room… I think I have something." "Jumper One, this is Weir. Dr. Zelenka's come up with something." "Zelenka. Why can I never remember that name?" "He's positively identified the control systems in the port side of the jumper that retract the drive pod. I'm relaying the schematics to your data-pad." Thank you. Now we're getting somewhere. "Zelenka's identified the control pathways to the engine pod, which means that's increasing my chances of fixing this from one in a million to one in a thousand but, uh… it's something. Elizabeth? I'll only have seven to nine seconds to warn you if I accidentally trigger a catastrophic overload, so if I tell you to raise the shields…don't hesitate."

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Reworked Character #14: Doctor Amadeus

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, crime, unethical experiments, self-harm, and SA.

Real name: Ghyslaine Laëtitia Comtois (she legally changed her name to Manfrida Amadeus)

Alias: Angel in Carnage

Nicknames: Ghys and Hakase

Occupation: Leading scientist and founder of the Amadeus Syndicate

Special skills: Proficiency in AI development, manufacturing technological and biological weapons, sampling bodily fluids and DNA, and handling alien technology, knowledge of all 25 branches of biology, forming alliances with other groups, blackmailing, and robotics

Goddess abilities: She can influence mental states, inducing insanity and sensory overload through manipulating self-perception by creating distortions of bodily transformation and vivid visions of personal and loved ones' demise. With a single, hyper-detailed thought, she can materialise advanced weapons and complex mechanical contraptions. Additionally, she can access her Tuatha Dé Danann monolithic computer module, simulating torture chambers with infinite variations of physical and psychological torment. Escape is only possible through self-sacrifice when she is distracted.

She can interact, communicate, and manipulate technology through electrical pulse sensing, physical contact, and sheer mental force. Her teleportation capabilities allow her to instantly transport herself to any location on Earth, while also enabling her to transport others within a specific radius of 50-90 ft (1524 cm-2743.2 cm) from her position. She possesses telepathic abilities, enabling her to communicate silently with sentient beings capable of speech. Additionally, she can exert total control over the minds of others, transforming them into unwitting instruments, by releasing spores from microscopic orifices on her neck. These spores, once inhaled, infect the brain's motor control, cognitive processing, and communication centres, granting her dominion over their thoughts and actions.

She can conjure an impenetrable barrier, comprising three layers: an illusion-causing smoke screen that disorients foes, parasitic vines that infect and transform victims into twisted mutants, and a core of solid adamant. This self-sustaining shield continually regenerates until she chooses to dissipate it. She has hyper-cognitive processing, allowing her to execute multiple calculations and thought processes simultaneously. Due to her superior photographic memory, she can retain and recall every thought, emotion, encounter, and experience with perfect clarity. Despite her incredible durability, a collective effort from powerful espers can inflict minute, albeit negligible, physical harm. However, full-blooded deities possess the capacity to effortlessly overwhelm and defeat her.

Hobbies: Spending time delving into scientific research and the maintenance of the White Baby computer virus, developing artificial intelligence, computer viruses, and virtual reality torture simulations, collecting fossils and rare plant specimens, preserving and posing animals in unsettling poses, and pseudoscientific theorising

Likes: The satisfaction she feels after successfully conducting an experiment, reading books on various subjects such as geopolitics, neuroscience, sociology, philosophy, and the occult, challenging the limits of the mortal body and the moral boundaries of scientific research, classical and industrial music, and genetic engineering

Dislikes: The constraints of mortal physiology and current scientific understanding, running low on smoking essentials (cigars and cigarettes) and sweet treats to snack on, her subordinates doubting her intellect and plans, losing valuable research data, and bright sunlight

Favourite food: Croque monsieur, beschuit with hagelslag, and homemade sweet snacks

Favourite drink: Pinot gris

Sexuality: Sex-indifferent, heteroflexible sapiosexual

Gender: Demigirl

Age: 54 (in 2022), 60 (in 2028), 62 (in 2030), 64 (in 2032), 66 (in 2034), 73 (in 2041), 75 (in 2043), 76 (in 2044), and 79 (in 2047)

Blood type: O-

Weight: 153 lbs. (69 kg)

Human design: She’s a 5’ 11” (180.34 cm) French ectomorph with a slender yet athletic build, sloping shoulders, small breasts, a well-defined waist, and curvaceous hips. She has limestone skin and heterochromatic eyes with visible bags underneath them: her right eye, a glass prosthetic replacement, is a light amber, while her left eye is grey-green with brown flecks. Ghyslaine has a few moles: one on the left side of her chin; one near the corner of her right eye; two above her right breast; one on the back of her left hand; and three slightly below her left knee. She has a silvery-pink birthmark on her left shoulder, almost shaped like a waning moon with five protruding spikes. Her waist-length raspberry red hair has messy, voluminous curls streaked with silver-grey, often pulled back into a low ponytail.

Thanks to experimental anti-aging drugs, she looks remarkably youthful, with her face showing subtle signs of aging limited to bunny lines, crow's feet, and faint tear troughs. Her right thigh features a tattoo of a statue of Prudentia made from griotte marble, depicted with a glass serpent wrapped around her neck. She cradles a Gallic rooster in her right arm, while her left arm holds a bouquet of red and blue poppies with a small purple mirror nestled at its centre. In contrast, her left hand and forearm are heavily scarred, evidence of severe burns and self-inflicted lacerations. Her upper right arm shows multiple injection sites, evidence of her experimentation with various substances. A healed scar on the centre of her forehead marks the site of her self-performed trepanation using a dental drill.

She wears a white lab coat, a silver ring with a red pearl on her right index finger, and a gold-plated monocle over her left eye. Her right lab coat pocket held a variety of items: a pack of cigarettes, her sweet snack of the day, Argentine blue neoprene gloves, a well-worn leather lilac journal full of scribbled notes, diagrams, and radical scientific hypotheses, six experimental serum vials (mutant, zombie, mummy, simian creature, and mantis monster), and a black gas mask with red-tinted lenses. Ghylaine’s left lab coat pocket contains the following: a box of cigars, two syringes (one for drawing blood and another for collecting sperm samples), a container filled with sterile swabs, a versatile multitool featuring pliers, wire cutters, a screwdriver, a knife, and a stun gun, and a red crystal from Sol Dae Rokker that radiates a yellow glow when exposed to sunlight. Her left hand wears a greenish-black glove with a Black Sun emblem on the palm, boasting a black centre and a metallic purple-to-gold gradient.

She wears a square-shaped silvery watch on her right wrist with a timepiece that boasts a gilt-brass dial, adorned with amethyst-coloured hands and white numbers from 1 to 12, interspersed with five delicate etchings. Additional features include a secondary display bar indicating AM/PM, while a reddish-black strap is securely fastened with a silver snap-on buckle. Ghyslaine wears circular nazar charm earrings, outlined in gold, suspended from medium-sized silver hoop rings. She wears a drop leg holster for a .44 Remington Magnum Colt Anaconda with a 6-inch barrel, accompanied by four greenish-black pouches on the left side of her belt that hold cartridges for her revolver. She wears teal trousers secured by a sage green belt with a silver buckle, paired with red-laced Prussian blue dress boots.

She wears a long-sleeved teal shirt with eight golden buttons running down the front and two breast pockets. The shirt features a turned collar that frames a velvet fern green cravat, patterned with horizontal goldenrod stripes and cardinal red triangles. It’s adorned with a 2x6 white-and-red chequered patch of 12 squares (six above, six below) above the left breast pocket. Her breast pockets carry a metallic red-green lighter, a black ink pen, and three highlighters in yellow, green, and pink. Underneath her dress shirt, she wears the bulletproof vest of the E-Armour.

Goddess design: Upon achieving apotheosis, her soul, consciousness, and DNA merged with a Tuatha Dé Danann monolithic computer module. Kaleidoscopic, serpentine wires—tipped with razor-sharp needles of adamant—emanate from beneath its base, enveloping the entirety of what lies underneath the earth’s surface. The computer module she found resembles a 143 ft (4358.64 cm) obelisk, tapering into a pyramidion at the top. The structure appears to be made of a material that resembles a combination of marble, quartz, and red granite.

The obelisk stands on a gilt-brass base, adorned with a tri-color keypad (green, crimson, and cobalt) alongside four ergonomic control levers and a high-resolution facial recognition panel. It has four rectangular computer screens that cast a gentle lavender glow and quadraphonic speakers embedded within the structure emit a subtle hum. It also possesses integrated biometric modules that include dual DNA sequencing pods and a respiratory analysis unit, capable of detecting even the subtlest biochemical signatures. At the centre of the obelisk is a large cardinal-red eye that glows in darkened places and it blinks shut through a camera shutter-like mechanism.

In her godly manifestation, she’s a 13’ 6” (411.48 cm) nude entity with a flat chest, incredibly smooth malachite-hued skin, elfin ears, three pointed tongues, and two rows of carnivorous gold teeth. She retains her original hairstyle, now lengthened to reach down to her ankles, woven with streaks of dark brown, and adorned with red and blue poppies. Her face features six silver-outlined eyes with cardinal red slit pupils: the left three eyes in a dull amber and the right three in light cyan. Her chest bears the same Black Sun symbol on the palm of her greenish-black glove, placed directly in the centre. Her back is heavily scarred from severe burns, brutal cuts, and hacked-away flesh, revealing bronze-hued muscles. She has an identical tail to Schwarz Metzelei from Metal Slug Attack, but the tip is always open and it features a notable colour variation: the red accents are replaced with teal and the grey is substituted with a shimmering goldenrod hue.

She has horns similar to those of Drache Goldenes from Metal Slug Attack, but they appear to be made from a material resembling griotte marble. She possesses the lower half of Awakened Blume Metzelei from Metal Slug Attack, combined with the birthmark of her original self. Emerging from her upper back, she has two large bat wings with an amethyst-hued membrane, Prussian blue-colored forearms, wrists, thumbs, and fingers, and a reddish-black claw protrudes from each thumb. She has a partially exposed sapphire ribcage, revealing a rhythmic, tide-like pulse that synchronises with each heartbeat.

She has six arms protruding from her lower back and two more where her malformed kidneys are supposedly located. Each hand has pointed, clawless fingers and a Greek letter in the middle of their palm: for the lower torso arms, her right has β (beta) and her left has Ω (omega); for the first lower back arms, her right has ζ (zeta) and her left has Δ (delta); for the second pair, her right has λ (lambda) and her left has ξ (xi); and for the third pair, her right has φ (phi) and her left has Ψ (psi).

Character summary: She’s a composed and wise leader, boasting a genius-level intellect, who derives great satisfaction from pioneering new discoveries and pushing the boundaries of human potential, scientific innovation, and ethical standards. Driven by her insatiable curiosity, Ghyslaine fearlessly conducts self-experiments and utilises human and animal subjects in her controlled, scientific research. While she's a visionary thinker with grand ambitions and an obsessive attention to detail, she tempers her perfectionism with pragmatic decision-making when circumstances dictate it. She's a sadomasochist with a strong aversion to willful ignorance, disregard for knowledge, experimental setbacks, and opposition that thwarts her plans.

She presents herself as polite, open-minded, and willingly generous, but beneath that facade is a ruthless manipulator, driven by arrogance and stubbornness to get her way, no matter the cost. She consistently prioritises her own self-interest, forming alliances and collaborating with others only when it advances her own agenda. To achieve her objectives, she employs manipulative tactics, such as exploiting others' vulnerabilities and showering them with insincere praise. She tends to delegate manual tasks to others whenever possible, but is willing to get involved and take charge when circumstances require it.

She's a cunning and calculating strategist, consistently outmaneuvering her competitors and adversaries. She’s a highly analytical and emotionally detached megalomaniac, adept at keeping secrets through her tight-lipped nature, strategic evasion, and expert use of vagueness and deflection. She's an optimistic nihilist who revels in her vast wealth, technological prowess, and recognition as the world's most brilliant scientist. Ghyslaine is a hypervigilant and seductive individual who believes in a collective consciousness and exhibits traits of psychopathy, including an uncaring temperament, boldness, and a strong desire for social dominance. She prioritises satisfying her scientific curiosity and rigorous work ethic over others' needs, and has no qualms about deliberately harming people to advance her own ambitions. She has zero tolerance for betrayal and is particularly sensitive to skepticism about her intellectual abilities. She finds it infuriating when others suggest she might be senile or ignorant, or question the validity of her ambitious plans.

She's surprisingly cynical and misanthropic towards humanity, viewing them as worthless, filthy parasites who don't appreciate knowledge or the beauty of reality. She believes that people are more inclined to prioritise basic survival, gratuitous violence, sexual gratification, the glorification of disturbing topics, and self-destruction over everything else. She's a staunch believer in the existence of unseen, authentic deities beyond mainstream human religions and mythologies, such as Sol Dae Rokker and the Avatar of Evil. In Ghyslaine’s view, the God revered in Western religions is a malevolent impostor, and she holds that a genuinely benevolent deity worthy of the name—transcending human understanding—lies beyond the cosmos. Her vision for the New World involves achieving apotheosis, triggering the Alator, merging with the Avatar of Evil, and ultimately becoming the omnipotent goddess of a rebooted timeline.

Ghyslaine maintains a positive relationship with General Morden, admiring his charisma, leadership, use of manipulation tactics, and commitment to his soldiers' well-being. She strongly supports his efforts to combat government and military corruption, believing it will bring about positive change and overcome entrenched systemic injustices. In exchange for the Rebel Army's assistance in securing resources and protecting Amadeus Syndicate assets—including mines, worksites, weapon and medical facilities, underground laboratories, and the Amadeus Mainframe Base—she offers to aid the his army’s technological advancement and provide essential supplies, such as medical equipment and financial resources. Their dynamic is underscored by subtle sexual tension, fueled by Ghyslaine’s alluring nature and strategic flirtation, which she employs to maintain a facade of innocence and avoid arousing suspicion.

She’s also on good terms with Rootmars, deeply respecting her mission to safeguard Earth's valuable resources. This alignment stems from her conviction that humans are wasteful and fail to utilise natural resources to their full potential. Additionally, she holds Martians and Invaders in high esteem, acknowledging their technological superiority over humanity. She finds Ptolemaios to be a captivating figure, intrigued by rumours suggesting he may be the first esper in all of human history, predating even Hyakutaro. Ghyslaine holds him in high esteem, respecting his vast experience, unwavering faith in the authentic deities, unrelenting dedication to the Ptolemaic Army's advancement, and calculating mindset.

She deeply appreciates Oguma's loyalty and willingness to support her as he demonstrates a clear understanding of her ambitions and genuine respect for her intellectual pursuits. She enjoys sharing a few drinks with him, engaging in lively conversations, and playfully teasing him about his serious demeanour and flustered reactions to her compliments.

She previously shared a cordial connection with Marco, largely due to her admiration for his exceptional intellect and vast expertise in computer science, which surpassed that of most Regular Army soldiers. Despite severing their relationship after exploiting his vulnerability, she remains drawn to Marco's physical beauty, stoic demeanour, and impressive intellectual prowess. She finds Clark's melancholic nature exhausting, while Nadia's playful antics, sporadic laziness, and love of shopping sprees are thoroughly irritating and disruptive. To her, Nadia represents a profound disappointment—a willfully defiant and uncooperative individual who has failed to live up to expectations as the intended successor to the Amadeus Syndicate.

Backstory: Ghyslaine Laëtitia Comtois was born on October 5, 1968 in Annecy, France. She comes from a family with a notorious history of clandestine partnerships with corrupt government agencies, inhumane wildlife experimentation, and the development of devastating bioweapons and malicious computer viruses. Two of her most prominent ancestors, Duke Koudou and Parker Eugene von Wittenberg, have particularly troubling legacies.

Marmaduke Koudou was infamous for brokering shady business deals that advanced the political interests and technological capabilities of his government allies and his own company, which specialised in military technology and biochemistry research. Following his death from septic shock, his company was dismantled. In collaboration with renowned biologists, Duke Koudou conducted extensive research on the Elder Centipede, which he referred to as the "Sea Worm”. His studies revealed that this sea creature, boasting biomechanical properties and sclerotized scales, has existed since antiquity, coinciding with the Hadean Eon. Notably, his research identified the Elder Centipede as an antediluvian arthropod due to the presence of unknown microorganisms attached to it. Marmaduke proposed exploiting the Elder Centipede's unique characteristics—its ability to automatically attack moving objects and inject lethal microorganisms in the form of purple acid—as a potential bioweapon for space applications.

Parker Eugene von Wittenberg was a notorious hacker who worked secretly with government agencies across Southern Europe and North America, crafting malicious computer viruses for use against enemies during times of war. His most infamous creation was the highly classified "First Baby" virus, designed to infiltrate and extract sensitive data from adversary systems. Outside of cyber exploits, his research was deeply problematic, focusing on eugenic experiments that sought to control and manipulate wildlife populations, while also studying their social behaviours. He used his cybersecurity firm as a front to conceal his illicit experiments, but his life was cut short when an unknown assailant spiked his glass of cider with a lethal dose of tramadol. The assassination not only claimed his life but also marked the loss of the First Baby computer virus, which vanished without a trace, never to resurface again. Rumours suggest that the First Baby virus was either acquired by the Earth Federation or destroyed by the unknown assassin.

She grew up in a middle-class family. Her biological father left her mother, Jacqueline Comtois, 4 months before she was born for reasons unknown. 2 months after giving birth to Ghyslaine, a sole survivor of triplets whose siblings were stillborn, Jacqueline married Yoshihiko. Yoshihiko was the president of a Japanese video game development company. As part of his role, he travelled the world promoting the company's games, always carrying AES cartridges, a catalogue of new products, and a set of memory cards in his briefcase. However, he had a tendency to get distracted, and his briefcase often went missing. Invariably, he would blame the person he was with at the time. On every birthday, her parents would take her to visit a local museum featuring regional artifacts, including Alpine furniture and religious art, as well as a natural history exhibit.

At just 6-years-old, she demonstrated exceptional intellectual prowess by articulately outlining Sigmund Freud's psychosexual theory and reciting the entire periodic table with flawless accuracy. However, by age 7, having discovered her family's troubled legacy of unethical research and shady business dealings, she resolved to forge a different path. Ghyslaine’s insatiable curiosity drove her to explore diverse interests: science, medicine, computer science, occultism, mythology, religion, philosophy, politics, and human and animal psychology and sociology. With these passions in mind, she aspired to become a psychologist, humanistic philosopher, and biomedical scientist, determined to make a positive impact.

In 1976, a conflict erupted, spanning Western, Northern, and Southern Europe as France, Luxembourg, Austria, Denmark, the United Kingdom, Greece, Portugal, and Montenegro engaged in battle. The conflict erupted from a skirmish during a joint military and archaeological expedition on Ultima Thule, commonly known as Scrap Island, between Austria and Portugal. The dispute centred on two key issues: the exploitation of Ultima Thule’s resources and the fate of the ancient deity believed to be buried on the island, pending its discovery. The situation escalated into full-scale war with the involvement of France, Luxembourg, Denmark, the United Kingdom, Greece, and Montenegro.

Two rival alliances emerged, each with distinct objectives. France, the United Kingdom, and Austria formed an alliance to harness the island's resources for military advancements and construction materials. Their primary goal was to excavate the deity, seeking insight into ancient history and the divine realm. This coalition received significant support from the Regular Army, Germi family, and Morden family, who shared their vision. Luxembourg, Denmark, Greece, Portugal, and Montenegro joined forces to exploit the resources for medical breakthroughs and jewellery production. Their ultimate aim was to excavate the deity to develop a bioweapon for collective use. The Gutenschiff and Armitage families provided limited support, aligning with the coalition's goals but refraining from full commitment.

To mobilise support, each country leveraged patriotism and nationalism, appealing to the sense of duty and loyalty among its citizens. The ultimate objective was to assemble a formidable army and emerge victorious on behalf of their aligned faction. However, not all citizens were driven by ideological conviction; some joined the fight solely out of concern for the safety of their loved ones, coerced by fear of the consequences of inaction. The conflict would become etched in history as the Thule Expeditionary Conquest and would culminate in 1988 with the signing of a landmark peace treaty among all involved nations and the Earth Federation, aimed at preventing similar events from occurring in the future.

At age 9, Ghyslaine's life took a drastic turn when her family was tragically killed in an airstrike during a battle in France. Annecy found itself at the crossroads of a multifaceted struggle as France, Austria, and the wealthy, superstitious, and battle-hardened Germi family clashed with Portugal, Montenegro, and the bloodthirsty and fearsome Gutenschiff clan. She was initially consumed by deep fear as the war brought chaos to the streets. Crime ran rampant as opportunistic individuals exploited the conflict for personal gain. Mass hysteria gripped the city as many people either hid in fear or panicked and acted out of desperation.

With no one else to turn to, she was forced to rely on herself for survival. She gradually became acquainted with the harsh realities of the streets, navigating the underworld of petty crime and vulnerable individuals fighting to get by. As time passed, she became more skilled at manipulating others to get what she needed. She used her words to exploit their vulnerabilities and influence their actions. Ghyslaine also developed expertise in shoplifting and pickpocketing, and sold illicit goods and bootlegged liquor, often acquiring these items through theft or chance discovery. Underneath, she would cultivate a cynical and misanthropic outlook on humanity, veering towards nihilism. Despite this, she remained optimistic, holding out hope for a brighter future. However, the rampant poverty, crime, and violence surrounding her increased her risk of developing psychopathic tendencies.

After being severely burned on her left hand and forearm while fighting off a sexual assailant, she retaliated against her attacker, ultimately killing them. She embarked on a path of vengeance against those who had wronged her, using her knowledge of psychology and chemistry to inflict unhappiness on others. In an attempt to cope with the emotional turmoil of the war and the harm she caused, she briefly resorted to self-harm, which left scars on her left hand and forearm.

At 14, Ghyslaine was among the teenagers from Annecy taken into the Regular Army's orphan program by urban troops. The program relocated her to Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada, providing refuge from the war. There, she received shelter and education, including English language instruction, which sparked her fascination with foreign languages, particularly Chinese, Spanish, and Afrikaans. However, her time in the orphan program was short-lived. A wealthy Canadian couple from Victoria, British Columbia, discovered her connection to Marmaduke Koudou and Parker Eugene von Wittenberg and promptly adopted her.

They lavished her with every comfort, introducing her to an opulent lifestyle that she secretly adored. Her adoptive parents, while strict and occasionally dismissive of her emotions, encouraged her to prioritise academic and professional excellence. They rarely disciplined her, convinced that her exceptional intelligence and self-regulation made her inherently responsible and incapable of wrongdoing. Ghyslaine didn't mind, as she was driven to excel and immersed herself in intellectual pursuits, such as political theory and scientific philosophy.

Upon graduating from high school, she received 8 prestigious awards and 6 scholarships in recognition of her outstanding achievements in calculus and STEM fields, biology, chemistry, computer programming and software development, geopolitics and international relations, religious studies, philosophical debates and ethics, and psychological and sociological research. She proceeded to university, driven by her ambition to become a leading scientist. Ghyslaine’s unconventional research and theories sparked controversy, exploring topics such as the potential therapeutic applications of controlled substances, ethical population management strategies, the interconnectedness of human consciousness through shared ancestry, neural electrical pulses, and subconscious processes, and the concept of digital immortality through consciousness uploading and cybernetic bodies.

She would also cultivate an obsessive fascination with pushing the boundaries of science, marked by a penchant for conducting self-experiments. These experiments included learning how to self-sterilise without medical aid, creating and taking anti-aging drugs, removing her own eye to study the ocular microbiome, and exhuming freshly buried corpses to explore ways to make a severed body part function without a host. Ghyslaine also performed self-trepanation, hoping to reduce bodily stress by improving cerebral circulation and alleviating neurosis. Additionally, she injected herself with various psychoactive substances, narcotic analgesics, and central nervous system stimulants to document their potential therapeutic benefits and explore possibilities for legal medications with less addictive side effects.

After graduating from university, she mysteriously got in touch with a hitman named Oguma, who possessed Tuatha Dé Danann DNA. At her command, Oguma ambushed her adoptive parents, disposing of their bodies and erasing evidence of the crime. She was driven to secure her inheritance, the substantial sum her parents had set aside for her. After accessing the funds, she relocated to Britain, where she went on to become a renowned scientist for the British government. Her breakthrough achievement came when she genetically modified active cancer cells into dormant ones, significantly reducing the likelihood of reactivation in children. After Oguma shared information about the ancient lore of the Tuatha Dé Danann and apotheosis, this newfound interest sparked a grand vision for her New World. 

Ghyslaine secretly masterminded a human and animal trafficking ring, as well as a theft operation targeting precious British artifacts. By exploiting these illicit resources, Ghyslaine furthered her research by developing simian and mantis serums, collecting DNA and bodily fluid samples, crafting pharmaceuticals from biological materials, designing cybernetic prosthetics, and conducting eugenic experiments. However, British authorities soon uncovered her clandestine activities and issued a warrant for her arrest, forcing Ghyslaine and Oguma to flee. They escaped to the Republic of Bashkortostan, where Ghyslaine assumed a new identity: Manfrida Amadeus. To maintain their empire, they resorted to peddling illicit substances and stolen artifacts, while also sharing sensitive government secrets. Bounty hunters from the British authorities and mercenaries from the Ikari Warriors who pursued her would vanish, leading to a collapse in the pursuit. As fear spread, the remaining hunters and mercenaries backed down, and the bounty on her head was quietly dropped.

After maintaining a low profile for five months, Oguma introduced her to President Marx, who was eager to collaborate with such a talented scientist. This meeting proved pivotal, as President Marx successfully persuaded the Chief of the Regular Army to partner with her. Contrary to expectations, the Chief readily agreed. With the Regular Army and President Marx providing substantial funding, she established the Amadeus Syndicate and constructed the Amadeus Mainframe Base in the Arctic. In exchange for their support, she agreed to develop cutting-edge weapons and war machines, and conduct experiments utilising psionic energy and involving living subjects. She pioneered numerous innovations, including the development of the E-Armour, Slugnoids, laser guns, the Thunder Cloud, the Mobile Satellite, the special suits that high-ranking peacekeeping troops wear, Walking Machines, cyborgs, and a mandatory hospital protocol for uploading human consciousness into cyberspace.

Following a meeting with high-ranking Regular officials at the Joint Military Operations Headquarters to discuss the SV-001 prototype, Protogunner, and esper super soldier program, she crossed paths with Donald Morden. The two forged a cordial bond over dinner at an upscale Genoa restaurant, sharing stories about their lives and future aspirations. Later, while treating Tequila's battle injuries sustained during a skirmish against pirates in Riyadh, she met the seasoned mercenary. Her path would again cross with skilled operatives Gimlet and Red Eye during a visit to the Amadeus Mainframe Base, where they were restocking medical supplies, laser guns, and AR-10 Autorifles.

Impressed by Tequila, Gimlet, and Red Eye's exceptional combat skills and accomplishments, she conceived an idea: transforming them into super soldiers. However, recognizing the untimeliness of such a proposal, she opted to put the notion on hold, biding her time. She decided to befriend them in order to appear friendly and trustworthy. Gimlet welcomed her with open arms, while Red Eye warmed up to her gradually. However, it took a lot more effort to win Tequila over.

In 2010, utilising advanced Martian cloning technology, she created Nadia through a test tube in an underground laboratory owned by the Amadeus Syndicate in Quimper, France. Her goal was twofold: to produce the perfect heir to the Syndicate and to experiment with clone physiology and psychology. To foster an independent sense of identity, she kept Nadia's true status as an imperfect clone a secret, allowing her to believe she was her own person. Additionally, she withheld information about Nadia's family legacy to prevent her from questioning the Syndicate's motives or abandoning Doctor Amadeus’ research, which was crucial to realising her vision of the New World.

During her time working with the Regular Army and involvement in President Marx's defence contract endeavours, she developed an artificial intelligence capable of simulating the psychological and sociological behaviours of children as they mature. This AI primarily drew upon research conducted on Nadia, utilising data from the Amadeus Syndicate's files, to which it had authorised access to. Initially dubbed Young Deus, a nod to her legally changed name, the AI's language use and responses to commands resembled those of a child, but its programming quickly evolved to mimic the characteristics of a mature adolescent.

Upon learning of her advanced artificial intelligence, the Chief of the Regular Army and President Marx urged her to adapt it for military applications. She subsequently transformed Young Deus into Iron Fortress, reprogramming it to commandeer enemy tanks and utilise them to safeguard Amadeus Syndicate members and registered affiliates, thereby promoting global peace and security.

However, Iron Fortress's flaws became catastrophically apparent during a guerrilla warfare incident in the southern United States. The AI mistakenly identified Regular Army urban troops as hostile forces and attempted to neutralise them, prioritising the protection of perceived innocent civilians who were, in reality, criminal insurgents. Recognizing the devastating potential of Iron Fortress, she swiftly shut it down and sequestered the virus in a secure, isolated compartment within her files. This decision brought relief to the Chief of the Regular Army but dismayed President Marx. Unbeknownst to them, she secretly redeveloped Iron Fortress into the White Baby computer virus. This revamped iteration could bypass the primary military systems of nations worldwide via the internet.

Three months before the Great Morden War, the alliance between the Amadeus Syndicate and the Regular Army shattered. The relationship imploded due to the Amadeus Syndicate's secretive creation of a bioweapon designed to further their plans for global domination, utilising the excavated extraterrestrial entity on Ultima Thule for experimentation. Additionally, Doctor Amadeus was involved in the sexual assault of Marco Rossi to harvest his DNA and semen samples. The Syndicate also transformed Regular Army soldiers into Mutated Soldiers and created terrifying creatures, including the Chowmein-Conga and Enormous Morays, on Pallas Island and in the Oro Sol Ruins. The final blow was the illicit plundering of advanced Tuatha Dé Danann technology, aided by pirates and the Ptolemaic Army.

Ptolemaios offered refuge to Doctor Amadeus, Oguma, and their team of scientists and soldiers, fleeing the impending Great Morden War. Furthermore, Ptolemaios deployed his troops to support the Syndicate Infantry, repelling the Regular Army's assault on the Amadeus Mainframe Base, securing a decisive victory. During the war, she seized the opportunity to finalise her groundbreaking bioweapon, known colloquially as Wysteria. In addition to this, she designed cutting-edge weaponry and advanced gas masks for the Ptolemaic Army. Meanwhile, she chose to keep Ptolemaios company, having observed his loneliness, and used this chance to forge a deeper connection with him. Through their interactions, she discreetly laid the groundwork for a potential future alliance.

Following the Great Morden War, General Morden forged an alliance with her, entrusting her with the bodies of Tequila, Gimlet, and Red Eye. United by a shared vision, they aimed to revolutionise these individuals into super soldiers, resulting in the creation of semi-clones. She integrated their recently updated digital consciousness into a biomechanical brain and nervous system. The experiments she conducted would heavily alter the three individuals: Gimlet and Tequila were imbued with psionic energy, while Red Eye received a new ability. She ensured that they couldn’t recall the circumstances of their death, aware that such memories would pose significant risks to their loyalty and effectiveness within the Rebel Army and Amadeus Syndicate. In the heavily fortified basement of the Amadeus Mainframe Base, she maintained Tequila, Gimlet, and Red Eye in cryogenic stasis, alongside Wysteria, ensuring their secure containment.

[secretkittywolf]

Quirk ideas

Marshmallow:

You can shoot marshmallows out of your body and trap your opponent in it. Because marshmallows are sticky inside, it'll be a while for them to get free. Yes, they can eat their way out but these are GIANT marshmallows and they'll probably end up sick afterwards. Downside to this quirk is you can also get sick because in order to make them, you must eat marshmallows on the daily. At least 3 bags full so your body can use it to make jumbo marshmallows.

Analysis:

If you see someone use their quirk, every time you look at them, you can see how their quirk works and their weaknesses. Downsides to it is, you can only focus on 4 people at a time otherwise you become overloaded with information. You need to wear special glasses that blur out people if you're in a busy area.

Nighttime:

You have the ability to make people fall asleep by humming a tune. The longer you hum, the longer they stay asleep. A big downside to using your quirk is you're slowly draining your energy. You use your own energy to make people fall asleep.

Berserk:

Kind of inspired by the comic book Hulk's powers: the angrier you get, the stronger you get. You're just an angry, fighting machine. The more people fight you, the more rage you have. A downside to this, it takes you ages to calm down since once you're angry, everything ticks you off.

Guilt trip:

It's in its name: You can make people feel guilty. Anything you say, you can make people feel guilty of what they've said or done. As an example in a fight, you can emotionally manipulate them. "Why are you trying to kill me! What have I done to you?" It fills your opponent with sadness and guilt and they'll start apologising and feeling bad, giving you the upper hand. A downside do your quirk is, you're stuck guilt tripping people for a couple of hours, which you don't mean to.

Ice Mint:

Toothpaste. You can shoot toothpaste out of your hands and when striking an opponent, it hardens and becomes cement-like, trapping them entirely. It really throws off anyone you use it on since at first you hit them with toothpaste but it becoming like cement takes them by surprise. After an hour of using it, you will run out of toothpaste and any you've thrown, will start to break, setting whoever you captured free.

Crystal: You can shoot daggers made of crystals from your hands and can create shields from them too. A downside to it is, the when you fire or hold up your shield for a long period of time, you slowly turn into a crystal statue that is irreversible for 24 hours.

[sinners-respite]

Made a “The Knight’s Handbook” OC…hi @elmushterri you’re concepts are cool i have stuff I wanna say about my little guy…but I just woke up so. Don’t got much. She likes to work with other Knights in groups, usually acting as a lookout or as bait. The lantern shield doesn’t have an actual lantern in it, it lights up through magic. It can get brighter but that takes more magical energy or whatever. She can stun enemies with it, and can also stun enemies by screaming real loud. Sometimes she does both to give the opponent a sensory overload.

Also I found out about the lantern shield after trying to get good references for the gun shield, which was what she originally was going to have. Lantern shields are cooler. They’re made for night dueling and patrolling. Her dad had one. She sacrificed herself to save him 👍

she doesn’t communicate a lot, not even with her book. She’s shy and a bit traumatized. Most people don’t even know her actual name, and she doesn’t communicate enough to want to share it. So she’s either called “The Lantern Knight” or just “Lantern” by most Knights. Also some of the younger Knights call her a vampire lol

[apoemaday]

The Hurting Kind

by Ada Limón

1.

On the plane I have a dream I’ve left half my torso on the back porch with my beloved. I have to go

back for it, but it’s too late, I’m flying and there’s only half of me.

Back in Texas, the flowers I’ve left on the counter have wilted and knocked over the glass— I stay alone there so the flowers are more than flowers.

At the funeral parlor with my mother, we are holding her father’s suit, and she says, He’ll swim in these.

For a moment, I’m not sure what she means, until I realize she means the clothes are too big.

I go with her like a shield in case they try to up-sell her— the ornate urn, the elaborate body box.

It is a nice bathroom in the funeral parlor, so I take the opportunity to change my tampon.

When I come out my mother says, Did you have to change your tampon?

And it seems a vulgar life all at once. Or not vulgar, but not simple.

I’m driving her now to the Hillside Cemetery where we meet with Rosie who is so nice we want her to work everywhere. Rosie as my dentist. Rosie as my president.

My shards are showing, I think. But I do not know what I mean so I fix my face in the rearview, a face with thousands of headstones behind it. Minuscule flags, plastic flowers.

You can’t sum it up, my mother says as we are driving and the electronic voice repeats, Turn Left onto Wildwood Canyon Road,

so I turn left, happy for the mundane instructions. Let us robot at once.

Tell me where to go. Tell me how to get there.

She means a life, of course. You cannot sum it up.

2.

A famous poet said he never wanted to hear another poem about a grandmother or a grandfather.

I imagine him with piles of faded yolk-colored paper, overloaded with loops of swooping cursive, anemic lyrics

misspelling mourning and morning. But also, before they arrive, there’s a desperate hand scribbling a memory, following

the cat of imagination into each room. What is lineage, if not a gold thread of pride and guilt. She did what?

Once, when I thought I had decided not to have children, a woman said, But who are you to kill your own bloodline?

I told my friend D that and she said, What if you want to kill your own bloodline, kill like it’s your job?

In the myth of La Llorona, she drowns her children to destroy her cheating husband. But maybe she was just tired.

After her husband of 76 years has died, my grandmother, (yes, I said it, grandmother, grandmother) leans to me and says,

Now teach me poetry.

3.

Sticky packs of photographs heteromaniacal postcards.

The war.      The war.        The war. Bikini girls, tight curls, the word gams.

Land boom. Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe. Southern Pacific.

We ask my Grandma Allamay about her mother for a form.

Records and wills. Evidence of life. For a moment she can’t remember her mother’s maiden name.

She says, Just tell them she never wanted me. That should be enough.

“Red sadness is the secret one,” writes Ruefle. Redlands

was named after the soil. Allamay can still hold a peach in her hand

and judge its number by its size. Tell you where it would go in the box

if you’re packing peaches for a living. Which she did,

though she hated the way the hairs hurt her hands.

4.

Why do we quickly dismiss our ancient ones? Before our phones stole the light of our faces, shiny and blue in the televised night,

our elders worked farms and butchered and trapped animals and swept houses and returned to each other after long hours and told stories.

In order for someone to be “good” do they have to have seen the full tilt world? Must they believe what we believe?

My grandmother keeps a picture of her president in the top drawer of her dresser, and once when she was delusional she dreamt

he had sent her and my grandfather on a trip to Italy.  He paid for it all, she kept repeating.

That same night on her ride to the hospital, she talks to the medical technician and says,

All my grandchildren are Mexican.

She says it proudly. She repeats it to me on the phone

5.

Once, a long time ago, we sat in the carport of my grandparents’ house in Redlands, now stolen for eminent  domain,

now the hospital parking lot, no more coyotes or caves where the coyotes would live. Or the grandfather clock

in the house my grandfather built. The porch above the orchard. All gone.

We sat in the carport and watched the longest snake I’d ever seen undulate between the hanging succulents.

They told me not to worry, that the snake had a name,

the snake was called a California King,

glossy black with yellow stripes like wonders wrapping around him.

My grandparents, my ancestors, told me never to kill a California King, benevolent

as they were, equanimous like earth or sky, not

toothy like the dog Chacho who barked at nearly every train whistle or roadrunner.

Before my grandfather died, I asked him what sort of horse he had growing up. He said,

Just a horse. My horse, with such a tenderness it rubbed the bones in the ribs all wrong.

I have always been too sensitive, a weeper from a long line of weepers.

I am the hurting kind. I keep searching for proof.

My grandfather carried that snake to the cactus, where all sharp things could stay safe.

6.

You can’t sum it up. A life.

I feel it moving through me, that snake, his horse Midge sturdy and nothing special,

traveling the canyons and the tumbleweeds hunting for rabbits before the war.

My grandmother picking peaches. Stealing the fruit from the orchards as she walked

home. No one said it was my job to remember.

I took no notes though I’ve stared too long. My grandfather, before he died, would have told

anyone that would listen, that he was ordinary,

that his life was a good one, simple, he could never understand why anyone would want to write

it down. He would tell you straight up he wasn’t brave. And my grandmother would tell you right now

that he is busy getting the house ready for her. Visiting now each night and even doing the vacuuming.

I imagine she’s right. It goes on and on, their story. They met in first grade in a one room school house,

I could have started there, but their story, their story is endless and ongoing. All of this

is a conjuring. I will not stop this reporting of attachments. There is evidence everywhere.

There’s a tree over his grave now, and soon her grave too

though she is tough and says, If I ever die,

which is marvelous and maybe why she’s still alive.

I see the tree above the grave and think, I’m wearing

my heart on my leaves. My heart on my leaves.

Love ends. But what if it doesn’t?

[duckapus]

[a few days after the CCC Avatars and their games are taken, most of the characters relevant to the situation (notably all the Avatars except for the missing ones (obviously) and all the SMGs except 7 and 10 (for spoiler reasons)) are called to a meeting at 4's Meme Factory (since it's one of the few places that many people can meet comfortably) by Susie]

SMG3: Alright, why'd you call us all here?

Susie: I'm glad you asked *starts rummaging through a storage device* As you know, I've been studying code samples from the missing Avatars in the hopes of finding out the reason behind their memory suppression-and hopefully a cure for it-since before they were taken. And as it happens, a bit before I was informed of their capture I managed to synthesize this! *pulls out a large beaker of faintly glowing green liquid with lines of binary occasionally scrolling through it*

Several audience members: Oooooooooooo...

Mario: ...What is it?

Susie: This is a replica of the trojan program used to lock their memories, written is such a way that it can be represented as a liquid for ease of analysis. *she sets it on a table behind her* Most likely a similar method was used to administer their doses in the first place, possibly as some form of penetrating projectile designed to dissolve into their bloodstreams upon entry. AND, it just so happens to be completely identical to the code that made up the energy field generated by Lawyer Kong's so-called "firewall." Thus, the cure is obvious; Memes.

SMG6: But...we tried that already. It only worked for a few minutes, and only once.

Susie: That would be because of the one way the two afflictions differ; the firewall was an external source that people could be shielded from, while the trojan program is internal and needs to be overwhelmed and purged, and the latter will require a far more potent Meme than the former.

Which, unfortunately, is my current roadblock. See, if we make the memes too potent, they'll trigger a Meme Overload. That wouldn't have been a problem before they were captured-well, apart from Juliano given his condition, but still- but now they have to be administered while we're rescuing them from wherever they ended up, and we most likely won't have the time to bring them back down to manageable levels of insanity in the middle of that. So, we need to figure out the exact right dosage of Meme Energy that will cure them without making them go crazy.

Bob: ...Which means you need a test subject.

Susie: *nods* Now, in the interest of fairness I've put the names of everyone here who isn't an OC into a random number generator so-

???: *minecraft potion drinking sound* Mmm, kiwi flavor.

*everyone slowly turns with a comical creaking sound effect to see Franky holding the now-empty beaker*

Lily: We probably should've seen that coming.

Franky: *after a second or so there's the same audio and visual effect as when Mario got firewalled in the Lawsuit Arc, causing Franky to fall to his hands and lack-of-knees as the energy takes hold. His model slowly reverts to his old look as a generic Toad with glasses, and when the transformation is over he falls onto his face*

Desmond: FRANKY! *runs up to him and picks him up so he can see his face* Are you okay?

Franky: ...Who's Franky?

Everyone: *stares very intensely at Susie*

Susie: *weakly* ...Well...that's one way to choose I guess. *feels Peach, Toadsworth, Sage and Desmond suddenly looming ominously behind her* Right, let's go see about cooking up that cure, shall we? *grabs all the SMGs, Franky and Luigi and Books It deeper into the factory* Alright team, to the Meme Kitchen on the double!

[soraka-in-warhammer40k]

Looks like things are getting weird in the recent teasers regarding the "Alpha Asset". From the previous teaser we learned that the imperium would risk several other worlds starving by drawing forces from agri-worlds ("let those it fed subsist on faith") because it is that important.

That did not tell us anything about it really. But today we have been given some information. First of all the planet's name is "Volkus". Going by the amount of "Vokite Weaponry" we got, this is very likely to be a Mechanicus Forgeworld. So whatever that asset is, it is most likely tech.

Tech that can wipe out T'au ships - which is a big deal, as T'au vessels are nothing to sneeze at with all those shields and railguns. Ever looked up the araments and statline of the average Manta? Fearing that a single thing can reliably and without a struggle delete a whole fleet of those is quite an indiciator to how insane this "Alpha Asset" is.

What is curious is how the T'au are talking about it:

This pause before "weapon" somehow reads like while it can function like one, it most likely is something else entirely that has just been weaponized by the imperium because they are literally too stupid and/or technologically inept to use the actual functions of the thing.

"Evade notice of the human superweapon" also is... weird specific? They do not evade notice of "planetary defenses" or "imperial forces", they are evading the "Alpha Asset" itself. So not only is it a machine that handles some insane levels of energy that it can endanger a whole fleet, the weapon ITSELF can also notice things, implying at least sensor capabilities.

Perhaps a DaoT-era space station? Perhaps a thing that was originally used by humanity to terrform the system 20,000 years prior and that has now been reduced to "idk just overload it and point the exhaust at the enemy?". Of course it might also be an imperial-controlled Blackstone fortress, but I do not remember them having fleet-wiping capabilities unless you pull an Abby and use it as a battering ram. Perhaps it is an STC? Those can get pretty insane, especially if it is one focussed on military tech. If it was the STC for making warpships then it would expain why the imperium would let billions die before they risk losing it.

Whatever it is, all we know for sure is that it flies - theme for the killteam release seems to be jetpack-guard vs Vespids if the rumors can be believed.

[crunchyfield]

How tall is Link in Zelda Tears Of The Kingdom ?

This topic is always what most players wonder when playing a (new) Zelda game especially when Link looks shorter than almost every NPCs and entities.

But what surprises me the most is that many people in the community assume he is the same height as in ZBOTW or claim to have figured out his height based off of ZBOTW without elaborating much somehow which isn't satisfying at all.

We want to know Link's height in ZTOTK based off of ZTOTK information and tools.

What we want to be looking into at first is Link's canon height.Unfortunately, speaking to NPCs/reading diaries/looking for something's or someone's canon height didn't provide any type of canon reference to figure out Link's canon height (unlike in Breath of the Wild where a gerudo named Deltan stated she was 8 feet tall).

As a result we are going to work out Link's height using in-game measurements, to do so we'll manipulate the in-game coordinates :

These are important to calculate distances as well as measuring Link in those distance units.

It has been established for a while now that one distance unit displayed in the coordinates is equivalent to one meter.It is quite difficult to back up this statement but when talking to NPCs, those who quantify distances generally come up with the metric unit (I don't have a screenshot for proving it but if you talk to a brown skin traveler with an afro haircut and a rabbit shield in the French version of the game, he comes up with the metric unit at some point).

With that assumption in mind let's start off by looking for a reference (i.e: an object or something which will be used to determine Link's height), a wooden crate seems to be good one as we can approach its model with a cube on top of being experimentable on flat surfaces.

Now the idea is to approximate a wooden crate's height and to do it we have to measure many crates on top of each other with the altitude coordinate :

We could've measured 100 crates merged all together but the game reFUSEs to fuse more than 21 items together (I learnt it the hard way after spending around 600-ish zonaites to make sure the tests go right in any case) :

Ultimately 20 blocks were measured successfully on a flat surface in a maze so here are the altitude coordinate values at the surface level and at the 20th wooden crate level respectively :

Subtracting both coordinate values (111-71) we find out 20 crates are about 40 meters tall meaning that a crate is about 2 meters tall.

Then we can figure out Link's height by measuring him next to a crate.However in order to avoid any parallax issue we are going to locate a specific part of the wooden crate the top of Link's head reaches with a sample of screenshots from different angles :

(I took many more angles but to not overload this post we'll keep these 6 photos as a simple sample)

Thereafter, we can figure out the specific crate's portion the top of Link's head reaches (blue line) :

Finally we can calculate Link's height using some proportionality and pixel measurements :

Therefore Link is roughly 1.73 (5'8")meters tall, he is actually taller than 5'2" (1.58 m), still not surprising.

I smell sussy bakas coming up with Bread pirate's video from miles away so let me explain why the 5'2" is sort of wrong when it comes to Link's height in BOTW :

If we take a close look at where link is placed next to the metal box, we can see there is a parallax issue (i.e: the change in the apparent position of the metal box relative to Link being more distant, caused by the change in the picture's line of sight towards both Link and the metal box) which means Link is taller than what he was measured previously in BOTW :

Hereafter seem to be the specific part of the metal box the top of Link's head reaches in BOTW :

Thus recalculating Link's height in BOTW following Bread Pirate's method without the parallax issue suggests that Link is around 1.78 meters (5'10") :

Basically BOTW Link & TOTK Link are practically about the same height (5 centimeters are a little negligible in the game) empirically which in some way confirm "the not changed height" and why we could feel like Link is as tall in TOTK as in BOTW.

Now for more interpretations regarding other entities/NPCs in comparison to Link, I advice you to see this post :

Sidenote: Furthermore, taking errors and uncertainties into account we can find a range in which Link's true height in Tears of the Kingdom is included.

About the altitude coordinates we measured, those values are rounded up without shown decimal places which means that the first 71 altitude coordinate value actually ranges from 70.5 to 71.4 and that the second 111 altitude coordinate value ranges from 110.5 to 111.4 :

Besides, to find the uncertainty related to a wooden crate's height we determine the difference between the minimum gap/maximum gap and the rounded value found.Knowing that rounded value was 40 m then we get a 0.9 m variation from that value for the height of 20 crates implying the uncertainty of a single wooden crate's height would be 2 m ± 0.045 m.

As for the pixel measurements, it is generally one pixel variation for a numerical measurement tool such as in image editors.

So calculating the overall uncertainty for TOTK Link's height gives a height value ranging from 1.67 m (5'6") to 1.78 m (5'10"):

Link's height = 1.73 m ± 0.06 m

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Chapter 7 "The Altar of Spirits"  

Word count: 5,794

Harry x Anastasia || Fanfic series

Master Link || Chat with me

•••

A sudden, urgent knocking jerks me awake. I sit bolt upright, the blankets sliding down to my waist as Matthew storms into the room, flicking on the harsh lights. "Christ," I groan, shielding my eyes from the glaring brightness. "What's going on?" My voice is thick with sleep, puzzled at his intrusion at this ungodly hour.

"Where's Anastasia?" he asks directly.

"In bed?" I reply, my voice muffled as I reach out to feel her side of the bed. "Anna?" Her name slips out as I encounter nothing but cold, empty sheets. Alarm prickles up my spine as I quickly throw off the covers and swing my legs out of bed, facing Matthew with a growing sense of unease. "Anastasia?" I call out again, pushing open the bathroom door and flicking on the light. The room is empty.

I spin around to face Matthew, my confusion turning into worry. "Where is she? What's happening?"

"That's why I'm here. She's supposed to be with you."

"But she was," I insist, memories of her sleeping peacefully next to me an hour ago still vivid in my mind. "Could she have gone to her mother's room?"

Matthew shakes his head. "No, the Queen is asleep, and Oliver has been guarding her door."

Frantically, I grab my phone from the nightstand, dialling Anastasia’s number as panic sets in. One, two, three rings... then straight to voicemail. Damn it.

"Get someone to check the cameras. Monitor every room," I command, quickly pulling on a jacket and shoes. I toss my phone to Matthew. "Use the tracking app; it should show her last known location. Might help us find her in this damn palace."

"Harry, she left the palace."

"What?" I stare at him, my heart skipping a beat.

"She left. Her phone has her at a club."

"A club?" I repeat, incredulity mixing with a surge of adrenaline. I shake my head, trying to process this. "What do we do now?"

"You're the head of security," I remind him pointedly. "Why are you asking me?"

"She is your girlfriend—" he starts, and I cut him off with an impatient gesture.

"I want the palace on lockdown. No one in or out without our say-so. You handle the protocols; I'm going to find her," I declare, grabbing my keys, wallet, and pistol from the bedside drawer. "Keep the press out of this, and have half the security team ready to move out. We need to secure the area and find her."

"Should we keep calling her?"

I shake my head. "No. She won't answer."

"Do you think she's spiralling?"

"Possibly," I admit, the thought tightening my chest. "You would be too if you were being handed straight jackets."

It’s unlike Anastasia to sneak off like this, especially not through the palace tunnels at night. She’s clever and knows them well—well enough to navigate them unseen. The question now is why she left, and what happened to make her take such a drastic step. My worry for her safety grows as we prepare to step out into the night, uncertain of what we might find.

** ** **

The club is a cacophony of flashing neon lights and pulsating beats, a sensory overload assaulting my every sense. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and alcohol, and the crowd moves like a single organism, bodies undulating rhythmically to the thumping bass that seems to echo through the very walls. It’s the kind of place that feels alive, each pulse of the strobe lights casting everyone in sharp, surreal relief before plunging them back into shadow. People shout to be heard over the music, their laughter and screams mingling with the sounds of clinking glasses and the occasional clatter of a dropped bottle.

My phone vibrates against my hip, pulling me out of my reverie. I fish it out, hoping it’s Anastasia, but it's Matthew instead.

"Go to the bartender and tell him you want a shot of Lavender."

Curious but too tired to question it, I push my way through the throng of club-goers. The heat from their bodies is oppressive, a stark contrast to the cool air that blasts intermittently from somewhere above. Making my way to the bar is a battle, each step forward hard-earned as I dodge elbows and avoid spilling drinks.

Finally, I reach the bar, its surface sticky under my fingers as I signal the bartender. "A shot of Lavender," I tell him over the din.

He nods, understanding immediately, and motions for me to follow him to a quieter part of the bar. He opens a hidden door beside the stacks of glasses and bottles, ushering me into a small, dimly lit room. It's like stepping into another world, the music muffled and distant, the air cooler and less stifling.

"I tried to keep her out of the public eye," he explains as he closes the door behind us. "A few people saw her, but I just told them it was my sister from Manchester."

"Thank you for not publicizing her," I express my gratitude with a nod.

Inside, Anastasia is slumped against the wooden panelling of the room, her heels discarded and her stockings torn. It’s a stark image, one that underlines her vulnerability. Despite my rising irritation and concern, I crouch beside her, my anger diffusing at the sight of her distress. "Hey, baby," I whisper, gently pushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "You ready to go home?"

Anastasia shakes her head, a lost look in her eyes. "Where's home? The palace isn't home."

"Sweetheart..." I begin, my heart aching at her tone. She looks at her hands, twisted together in her lap, her voice filled with sorrow. "Home is wherever you make it, sweetheart. Home isn't just four walls. Home is where you are. Let's get you back to the palace and in bed."

"Home is with you," she murmurs, her voice weary. “So many rules and regulations for the new Queen, and nobody stopped to ask how I feel about this.” She looks up at me, her eyes sad yet defiant. “For once, I was normal,” she adds softly. “Just another drunk girl at the bar chasing tequila with a lime.”

I can't help but give a small, knowing smile. "Can you stand up and walk?" I ask.

She nods, and I wrap an arm around her waist, helping her to her feet. She stumbles slightly, gripping me tightly. "Fuckin' hell," I mutter under my breath, holding her close to stabilize her. "How much have you drank?" I ask, concerned by how much she's leaning on me for support

Anna lifts her shoulders into a nonchalant shrug, "Until the card stopped."

"What card?" I curiously ask.

"Yours," Anastasia responds honestly, "Can't use mine, it'll track me."

“Good to know you used my funds instead of the royal funds,” I sigh, shaking my head as I guide her away from behind the bar and we use a back exit to avoid the public.

I get Anastasia out the door and we stumble across the stone pavements of a rear alley. I let out a heavy breath as we have a moment to stop. I shrug my jacket off my shoulders and I slide it up her arms, the windchill dancing between us. If she contrived to find a manner to sneak out and go to a bar, I would have thought she had enough sense to at least clasp a jacket of some sort.

I fumble with my phone, managing to dial Matthew with one hand while my other arm securely wraps around Anastasia, who's swaying unsteadily beside me. "She's hammered, can barely keep her feet," I murmur into the phone, asking, "Where's the nearest exit with a car?"

"I am not hammered," Anastasia retorts, her words slurring slightly. She makes a half-hearted attempt to pull away from my grasp. "I want another drink," she declares, eyeing the bar longingly through the dim light of the hidden room.

I tighten my grip on her jacket to keep her close. "Not tonight, love," I tell her gently but firmly.

She huffs, a mix of frustration and disappointment crossing her flushed face. “You're such a bore,” she complains, her attempt at indignation falling slightly flat due to her inebriated state.

“You’re not the first to tell me that,” I reply, managing a chuckle despite the situation. “Probably won't be the last, dear.”

"Look, I just want to feel normal for a bit longer," Anastasia pleads, her eyes meeting mine with a desperate glint. "Just one more hour, Harry. Let me have this."

The raw honesty in her voice tugs at my heart. I glance back at the bustling club through the ally doorway—its chaotic allure starkly evident. The pulsating lights, the laughter, and the clinking of glasses all paint a picture of escapism, a temporary sanctuary from the pressures that weigh her down.

I pull the phone away from my ear for a moment, covering the receiver. “Matthew, give us a moment,” I say quietly, then focus back on Anastasia. “Anna, this isn’t a good idea.”

“Neither is our relationship but here we are.”

"Alright, thirty minutes," I relent, my words drawing a surprised but pleased smile from her. "But we stick together. Deal?"

"Deal!" she agrees eagerly, her earlier frustration melting into a relieved grin.

"Let’s find a quieter spot, though. Somewhere you can still enjoy the night without it spinning out of control," I suggest, leading her back toward the bar but choosing a less crowded corner where we can keep to ourselves and I can keep an eye on her.

Matthew's voice buzzes through the phone again, and I assure him, "We’re staying a bit longer. Have a car ready in thirty minutes."

I settle Anastasia into a more secluded booth, ordering her water and a mild cocktail to sate her desire to keep the night going without adding fuel to the fire. I stay close, my presence hopefully enough to remind her of the limits we agreed on, all while allowing her this small escape she seems to need so desperately tonight.

Anastasia’s words hang between us, laced with a poignant mix of freedom and resignation. “It’s nice not to be a caged bird,” she begins, her gaze lost somewhere in the middle distance, a reflective note in her voice. “How bittersweet this will never happen again.”

She picks up the lime wedge delicately, her attention briefly caught by the gleam of the tequila shot in front of her. “Oh, God save the queen,” she mutters almost humorously, yet the undertone is tinged with sadness. With practised ease, she licks the salt from the rim of the glass, downs the tequila in one smooth motion, and bites into the lime, not even flinching at the sharpness of the flavours.

Anastasia's eyes twinkle with a blend of challenge and playfulness as she holds up another shot of tequila, urging me to join her. I hesitate, shaking my head initially. "I'm working," I remind her, trying to maintain some semblance of responsibility amid the night's abandon.

"No, you're my boyfriend right now, take the shot," she counters firmly, pushing the small glass towards me with a determined nod.

Seeing the determination on her face and feeling the weight of the moment—how important this small act of rebellion is to her—I relent. A shared experience, a mutual stepping away from roles and duties, if only for a second.

I take the shot from her, our fingers brushing briefly. "Just this one," I concede with a small smile, echoing her earlier movements by taking the salt, downing the tequila smoothly, and biting into the lime wedge provided. The sharpness of the liquor cuts through the tension, a brief escape encapsulated in the burn and zest.

Anastasia laughs a genuine sound that fills the air around us with warmth. For a moment, it’s just the two of us, not the future queen and her consort, but two people sharing a moment of genuine connection amid the chaos of life that awaits outside the club's pulsating walls. Maybe this is exactly what she needed—to feel seen and joined in her moment of normalcy, no matter how fleeting

Anna looks at me with a mix of curiosity and amusement, her words laced with gentle teasing. "You know, you always seem so stiff and guarded, like you're permanently on security duty. Don't you ever loosen up and have some fun?"

I pause for a moment, considering her point. "I do have fun," I reply defensively. "I play golf."

"And how often does that happen?" she probes further, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

I shrug slightly, acknowledging the rarity of such moments. "Whenever I get some free time. Sometimes a few pals and I manage to catch an early morning tee time."

"Hmm, sounds like it doesn't happen often enough," Anna remarks, her tone light but her eyes conveying a deeper concern for my well-being amidst my responsibilities. "You should play more," Anna says casually, lining up another shot of tequila. Her words are easy, but her actions suggest she's far from done with the night.

"And who would sit and watch you while you do everything a queen isn't supposed to do?" I ask, half-joking, half-serious. It's my job to look out for her, after all.

Anna chuckles, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. "Hopefully nobody, that way I'd be left to my own devices."

"Yeah, that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen," I retort, shaking my head slightly. "And I think you've had enough," I add, more firmly this time.

I catch the attention of a waitress passing by and subtly gesture for her to stop serving Anna any more alcohol. “And there we go with you being a bore.” 

“You are drunk my love,” I respond. 

“I want to do fun things,” Anna sighs.

“Such as?” I curiously question. 

“Normal fun things. Like playing golf, going to Coachella, and the Met Gala.” 

I chuckle, “Only one of those things is normal.” I point out, shaking my head humorously. 

“The golfing?” Anna cocks her head to the side. 

“Well, your everyday normal folk don’t go to the Met Gala or Coachella.”

Anastasia shrugs her shoulders, “You get my point.”

“We need to leave.”

“I disagree,” Anna shakes her head, mischievously moving closer to me and placing her hand on my thigh, "There are many other things we could do instead of leaving." 

Anna's playful defiance brings a brief smile to my face, even as I remain aware of our surroundings and her state. Her hand rests lightly on my thigh, her touch teasing and her tone suggestive.

"I'm sure there are," I acknowledge, my voice low, matching her playful mood but still threaded with concern. "But you're not exactly in the best state to make those decisions right now."

She pouts slightly, a hint of challenge still sparkling in her eyes. "Maybe not," she concedes with a sigh, "but it's not often I get to forget all the rules." Anna shrugs dismissively, a flash of defiance in her eyes. “Eh, Fuck ‘em. It's probably better they see me like this than how they're trying to portray me anyway. I overheard Syrus the other day, muttering about how I'm unfit for the crown, questioning my mental capacity for it. And then they hand me the straight jacket in France.”

Her words are flippant, but there’s an underlying edge of bitterness that tells me how deeply those comments have cut. Anna's laugh has a hollow ring to it as she continues, "Before I know it, he'll be saying I'm insane." She shakes her head slightly, her voice tinged with sarcasm and weariness. "And maybe I am, for thinking that getting drunk is more fun than living another hour of royalty."

The playful facade briefly cracks, revealing the weight of the pressures she's under. I reach out, gently taking her hand, and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You're not insane," I say firmly. "You're just human. Everyone needs an escape now and then. It doesn't make you any less capable or deserving of your future role."

Anna throws her head back with a cackle, “You’re insane if you believe the monarchy cares that I am only human,” she rolls her eyes, leaning in closer and kissing my cheek— in public— oh, no. 

“Anna,” I swallow hard as she moves to kiss my neck. “You’re in public.” 

“Thank you for stating the obvious,” Anna responds, her breath tapping my skin delicately. 

I clear my throat and subtly move away from her warm body, standing to my feet and offering her my hand, “It’s time we leave.” 

Anna cocks her head to the side, refusing to give me her hand, “And where are we going? Because I only have one destination.” She winks, giving me her ‘Come hither’ eyes. 

“To the Palace where—“ 

“Where do I belong?” Anna instantly cuts me off with a heavy huff. Fuck— wrong words. “I want you.” 

“Right here? Right now?” I question, “That would be indecent exposure.” Anna again rolls her eyes, not seeming to care. “Anna, you’re drunk and we need to leave.” 

Anastasia stands abruptly, ignoring my outstretched hand, her voice thick with intoxication. “Doesn’t change that I want you—all to myself.”

“You have me,” I assure her, coaxing a small smile as I guide her toward the club exit.

She shakes her head, stepping into the cool night air. “But I don’t have you, not really.”

“It’s starting to rain,” I note, just as the first drops begin to fall, but she barely hears me. “You do,” I insist, trying to reassure her, but she’s spiralling, lost in a sea of drunken doubts as she turns around from me. I don’t blame her— I sometimes find myself swirling around those thoughts, finding them at the bottom of a whiskey glass. 

As the rain intensifies, soaking through our clothes, I spin her around to face me. She slams into my chest, her hair plastered to her face, my shirt clinging to my skin. “I don’t have you, and if I do it’s only in secret,” she says, pushing against me with unsteady hands.

I catch her wrists gently, looking into her eyes. “You have me, whether in private or public, in secret or not. I’m at your mercy!” I declare, my voice raised over the sound of the rain pelting around us. I’ll do anything for this woman and she just won’t see it. She’s blind to the love and devotion I truly have for her. I’ll do anything for the woman who stands in front of me. Anything. 

Anastasia breaks away suddenly, staggering into the downpour. "I don't have you!" she cries out, her voice nearly lost to the sound of the heavy rain.

I chase after her, my heart pounding as I watch her blurred figure moving hazily through the thick sheets of water. "Anastasia, wait!" I call out, but the storm swallows my words.

She's a few feet ahead, and I push harder, the rain pelting me, soaking through my clothes, chilling me to my core. I hate being cold and wet. I finally catch up, grabbing her arm and spinning her around to face me. She collides into my chest with a soft thud, her breath erratic, her eyes wild with emotion.

“Don’t force me back to that hell!” Anastasia pleads, her voice cracking as tears mingle with the relentless rain washing over her face.

Pausing to catch my breath, I hold her closer, the urgency in her eyes cutting through the storm's chaos. “Anna, where do you want me to take you?” I ask, my words almost swallowed by the rumble of thunder.

“Home is where you are. I want to be with you,” she whispers, her voice desperate, clinging to the moment between us as if it were a lifeline.

“You are with me,” I reassure her, my grip tightening, determined to protect her from any more pain.

But she shakes her head, disbelief etched across her features, just as the headlights of an approaching car break through the darkness, casting long shadows on the wet pavement. The light illuminates her face, highlighting her turmoil and the raw emotion in her eyes. 

Anastasia’s eyes are tormented pools reflecting the storm above us as she wrestles with the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. The rain is relentless, soaking us, and her trembling hands clutch at my shirt as if trying to anchor herself in the tempest.

"I can't," she sobs, her voice breaking over the roar of the rain. "You say I have you, but every moment hides a shadow, every whisper a doubt! How can this be real when everything feels like a secret?"

Who’d have thought: that drunk Anastasia could be poetic? 

Her plea cuts deep, her desperation manifesting in the raw edge of her voice and the frantic grip of her fingers. I pull her closer. 

"Listen to me, Anastasia," I implore, my words fierce with my own raw emotion. "This—us—it’s the realest thing I've ever known. You’re not just a part of my life; you are my life. So listen carefully when I tell you: You have me without any doubts, this is real and it’s okay to allow it.” 

Tears mix with the rain on her cheeks, her gaze searching mine for the assurance her heart desperately needs. “But if it’s real, why does it hurt so much?” she whispers, her voice barely audible against the clamour of the storm.

"Because the most real things do hurt," I admit, pressing my forehead against hers, sharing in the storm's assault, in the vulnerability of this moment. "They hurt because they matter, Anastasia. And you matter more to me than anything..." … “I told you I’d burn the monarchy down for you— I’ll do anything for you.” 

Finally, she nods, her body yielding against mine as the barriers between us wash away with the rain. A black car stops beside us, Matthew stepping out holding an umbrella as he ushers us both into the warmth of the car. 

I slump in the back seat of the car, my clothes clinging to my skin, soaked from the rain. The pattering of the rain against the car windows mirrors the turmoil inside me. Sometimes, I feel like I'm falling—plunging into a deep abyss of emotions and troubled waters I'm not sure how to navigate. I love this woman with every fibre of my being, and although I told Anna that it hurts because it matters, a part of me wonders—am I wrong? Should love hurt this much?

I can't deny the pain—it's there, deep and gnawing. It hurts knowing I might never fully fit into the world she wants me in, that our love must hide in the shadows even though we guard it so tenderly. It hurts to see Anna, so full of life, break down over a situation that promises so much yet offers so little to those who hold it closest. 

I envisioned love as a gentle, seamless current, akin to a warm summer breeze caressing the ocean shore. It should feel comforting, imbued with peace and surrounded by the serenity of crystal-clear waters lapping at your feet. Love ought to be like seagulls soaring high with wings outstretched, and like jubilant children sculpting sandcastles with gleeful abandon. Yet, sometimes, love morphs into something more tumultuous; the waters turn fierce, the seagulls find their wings clipped—not caged but restricted—and the sandcastles crumble to mere piles of sand, remnants of what was once a splendid creation now washed away. What starts as something beautiful can, at times, crumble and fall into nothing. 

*** ***

The security chambers have taken most of my attention, in a way, it has been a way to escape and take a minute to breathe and compose my thoughts and feelings. The raging storm outside seems to mimic the raging storm inside the palace. 

I glance over towards the cameras, making sure nothing strange is happening. The workers are doing their duties and bustling around the palace and from what I can see, Anastasia is still in her room. 

I tap my fingers against the desk and cock my head to the side, the sudden realization of things jostling me. 

The door to the chambers opens and I glare towards the door but I instantly adjust my stare as Matthew walks in with a well-dressed woman who walks with power and authority.

"You're busy, I see," the woman smiles and I close my laptop before standing to my feet to greet her.

"I am, Prime Minister, and what do I owe this visit?" I offer her my hand to shake. This woman gets on my nerves. 

"We need to talk, it is the protocol, considering the events of things." She trails off, referencing only God knows what.

Matthew clears his throat and looks at me, "Harry, I will be heading to Anna's room if you need me," Matthew informs me, his eyes glancing down to his left wrist at his watch, a small indication for me to make this a prompt visit and conversation.

I nod my head, "Please, get her to eat something, it is noon and she hasn't gotten out of bed."

"I will do my best," Matthew responds before exiting the chambers, leaving me with the Prime Minister who I don’t desire to be left alone with.

"Before I have to talk to you about your protocol, I have a question, if I may?" I softly ask, doing my best not to sound like a dick.

She nods her head, permitting me to continue, "Why do you always show up at the most inconvenient time?” I question. 

Pippa chuckles and shrugs her shoulders, “Same reason you act like we have never seen each other outside of these walls.” 

“I mean,” I begin, “I was drunk, so I don’t consider it a night to remember.” 

I bend my head, deciding now isn't the time to ask more questions, I need to get back to working and figuring things out. "What are you here for?" I challenge.

"We need to discuss the King."

I immediately shake my head, not desiring to discuss the King. I don’t trust Pippa. "All due respect, but no." My words are straight to the point and blunt.

“Okay, don’t say I didn’t try to warn you,” she hums, beginning to walk away. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Oh, no.” Pippa shakes her head, “You are busy.”

“Pippa,” I sigh, “Don’t play games.”

Pippa wearily sighs, almost as if I am inconveniencing her. "Do you think she's fit to be Queen? Have you seen the papers?" Pippa reveals to me her phone that has the headlines of Anastasia's drunken night out at the bar.

I stare at the screen and mentally roll my eyes. Once Pippa leaves, I'll be making sure to communicate with my sister before calculating a means to shine things in a better light. Perhaps I'll release to the journalists that Anastasia has a doppelgänger, I don't know, I will have to get creative to hide Anna's drunken antics. 

I have seen the headlines and the papers, but that doesn't define Anastasia. Anastasia is not what the media writes about her, Anastasia isn't defined by what the people think or say.

"She is the best one for the throne. You know this."

"Do I?” 

“Would you get to the point?” 

“When her father abdicates, Syrus is going to have a field day with Anna.” … “Harry, she doesn't want to be Queen. She never has wanted this. She wants to abolish the monarchy, she isn't fit to be Queen at the moment. Syrus will play on that."

“Why are you telling me this?” 

Pippa gives a nonchalant shrug, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "I see what's on the horizon," she says coyly. "Consider yourself forewarned."

"That's cryptic," I remark, unamused by her vagueness.

"Oh, a little charm might loosen my lips," she suggests with a playful wink. "Perhaps we could continue this conversation in a more private setting?"

I narrow my eyes, uninterested in her game. "Or, you could show yourself out and leave me in peace," I retort firmly.

Pippa's smile widens as she steps closer, her red nails tracing a line down my white button-down shirt. "Oh, but baby, what fun would that be?" she purrs, her fingers deftly flicking open one of my buttons. "Nobody’s down here, we could..." Her voice trails off, replaced by a mischievous grin.

I meet her advance with a sarcastic smile, nodding. "We could continue your little game," I say, my hands gently grasping her wrist and guiding it away from my shirt, "But I’m not interested."

"Oh, why?" She teases, her voice a playful taunt. "The palace staff all say you’re single."

I chuckle lightly, shaking my head. "The staff also place bets on who can eat the most scones at tea time, so I wouldn’t put much stock in what they say."

"So, you’re not single?" She raises an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

"That’s none of your business," I reply firmly, setting clear boundaries in our interaction.

"I will be in touch soon, will you be escorting me out?" Pippa asks and I shake my head.

"I cannot, Oliver will escort you out, he is at the door, I will let you out," I inform her, walking towards the steel door and swiping my card through the system to open it. 

"Oliver," I seize his attention and he walks closer to me, "Please escort the Prime Minister safely to the car in waiting, when you are done, you will come back," I command Oliver intently before descending back into the security room and closing the door, more than delighted to have a few more minutes to myself to recompose the thoughts that are racing through me.

Later That Night.

I unlock the door to Anastasia's bedroom and am taken aback to find her propped up in bed, her back against the headboard, completely absorbed in a book.

Quietly closing the door behind me, I proceed into the room, busying myself with removing my watch and emptying my pockets. Anastasia doesn’t look up, her gaze fixed firmly on her reading.

“You know, most people say hello when someone walks into the room,” I chuckle, drawing her attention away from the pages.

“I’m sorry, I was—” she begins.

“In another world,” I interject with a laugh, “It’s all good,” I reassure her. “Haven’t heard much from you today, how are you doing? Besides recovering from last night's tequila.”

“It feels like I’m living The Life of Saint Barbara,” Anastasia says, gesturing broadly before tossing her book aside.

I pause, puzzled by her reference, “I’m not following. Who’s Barbara?”

Rolling her eyes, Anastasia explains, “Her father locked her in a tower to keep her isolated and away from any suitors, and she was eventually executed for her faith.”

“Oh,” I exhale, “Feeling a bit like Rapunzel, are you?” I attempt to keep a straight face; the comparison seems a bit much.

She shrugs nonchalantly, “Something like that.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Lucky for you, you can’t just let down your hair for men to climb up here.” I glance around the room. “Besides, you know you’re free to leave your room.”

“And do what? Wander the palace grounds?” she retorts. “You’ve got the place on lockdown.”

“Well,” I admit, “you disappearing didn’t exactly help.”

“You’re making it sound like I should keep drinking,” she half-jokes. “You also gave me permission.”

“Only after I found you and could keep an eye on things,” I point out. “You wanted a bit of normalcy, so I relaxed the rules to give you a few more moments to enjoy.” I pause for a moment. “Comparing yourself to a beheaded saint might be stretching it a bit,” I comment.

She shrugs again, “Maybe I am a bit dramatic.”

My gaze drifts to where the tea cart usually stands, equipped with coffee, tea, and sometimes a little something stronger. “Where’s the tea... and the alcohol?”

“They were removed—just in case I tried to escape. No alcohol is allowed in here anymore. The lady's maids took everything away.”

I raise a brow and take my phone out of my pants pocket, my fingers swift to unlock my phone but I look towards Anna, "How do I signal for your lady's maid at this hour?" I question, unsure of how to contact them without physically walking to find one.

Anastasia points to a button on the wall next to her bed, and I raise an eyebrow, "Isn't that supposed to be for emergencies?"

"No, that one summons the staff; the red button is for emergencies."

"I'm aware of the red one," I reply curtly. "Go ahead and press it, call your staff up here," I suggest, shifting my attention back to my phone.

She presses the button and then looks at me quietly. "I've talked to Pippa."

"I'm aware," she acknowledges.

Before she can continue, there are two soft knocks at the door, and a lady-in-waiting enters with a polite smile. "Your majesty," she says, positioning her hands in front of her, ready for instructions.

"Hello," Anna greets her. "He asked for you, not me." She gestures toward me.

"I'd appreciate it if you could bring back the tea and whiskey that were previously here, along with any other items that have been removed," I request with a friendly smile.

"Sir, I'm not permitted to serve alcohol to the Princess."

"It's not for her," I clarify, "It's for me. I've had a rather taxing day and could use a strong drink. She isn’t too be treated like a caged animal, bring her what was taken."

"Of course, sir, I'll bring it right up," the lady responds promptly, exiting the room.

Turning back to Anna, I ask, "What prompted you to go to a bar and drink?"

Anna falls silent for a moment, her shoulders lifting in a hesitant shrug—a behaviour uncharacteristic of her usual openness. "Anna? What happened?"

"Pippa threatened to expose our relationship if I didn't comply."

"She set you up?"

Anna nods. "I think someone is pressuring her to push me into acting out of character."

"What leads you to believe that?"

After a moment of silence, Anna exhales deeply. "I overheard Syrus berating her earlier in the tunnels." … “Can we just go to bed?” Anna dismisses the conversion, not giving me much of an option when it comes to discussing things further 

I take a breath as a woman knocks on the door, stepping in and handing me a glass of whiskey, “As you like it,” she smiles before placing a bottle of whiskey on the cart. 

I nod, “Thank you,” I watch as she walks out of the quarters, and I take a sip of my drink. “Anna,” I grapes her attention as she pulls at the covers and wiggles amongst the sheets of the bed. “We can’t just ignore everything.” 

“I’m not.” She responds,  “I don’t want to be apart of this world anymore, but I have no choice and it’s only going to drag you down. So, I don’t want to talk about any of this at the moment. Can we pick it up in the morning?” Anna offers, another sip of whiskey gracing my lips and I nod. 

All I can do in the moment is nod— I’m going to be dragged down but I am not going to give up without a fight.

[carewyncromwell]

💐 for Jacob and Desiree? P.S. I'll be traveling to South Korea for vacation for the 1st half of October, specifically Seoul and Busan. Wish me luck. If they need a recommendation to visit a new country, I want to suggest Korea to Jacob and Desiree. And you as well.

Ahhh, that should be a most wonderful trip!! I'm so envious! Have so much fun!! xoxo

💐- Where is this oc's favorite place to relax?

Prior to attending Hogwarts, Jacob's place to relax after school was actually more a person: namely, his baby sister, Carewyn. He would always find it easier to let go of his anger and resentment toward his life and the people around him whenever he had time to be a good big brother to his little Pippa, so going up to her nursery after school to go see and talk to her (even before she understood anything he said) was a highlight of his day. Once he started attending school, Jacob, Olivia, and Duncan used to use the Hogwarts boathouse as a "hideaway" spot, both for the three of them and individually -- in fact, after Jacob got out of the Portrait Vault, this was where the ghost of Duncan Ashe found Jacob hiding out. Post-Hogwarts, when Jacob becomes a traveling vagabond wizard, he finds it easiest to relax when he finds a place suitably isolated and high in elevation, like the top of a mountain -- every year on his birthday, wherever he is, he actually goes out of his way to find the highest and most isolated location he can so he can take some time to himself and send gold sparks up toward the sky, as a tribute to his first love, Duncan.

Prior to joining the crew of the Empyrean, Desiree honestly had little opportunity to take time for herself and relax. Her life was so overloaded with work, suitors, cleaning up her younger brother Marius's messes, and catering to her parents' selfish desires that there really was no time or place that Desiree could ever claim as her own. Even at Beauxbatons, her whole life was defined by her family's overbearing expectations. Once she left France and took to the skies, though, Desiree found her cabin on board a wonderful hideaway where she could take time to herself, solving puzzles, looking over artifacts, and of course reading. It was the first time she'd really had true privacy in her life and although it felt strange at first, it was also so, so welcoming. It actually took a while before Desiree would even let anyone else spend any time in her cabin, solely because she was so overwhelmed by how special it felt to have this little space all for herself that she was afraid of sharing it. The first person Desiree did invite into her room was -- predictably -- her first true friend and soulmate, Jules Aquila @kathrynalicemc. (They sat on her bed together while Desiree translated the runes on this super cool old shield they'd found on one of their adventures.)

Emoji Ask!