#this raid tier did something to my brain

[mimicsveil]

Leave naught but ash in your wake...

Took inspiration from @feifeixiv's Lightwarden photoset here!

[usagi-mitsu]

Werlyt & Gaius - a bunch of thoughts.

I am a little late to the party. I know. But I just finished the Emerald weapon and before I go to try out the „not Zenos“ weapon as in „Diamond“, I need to get my thoughts on the story straight.

Perhaps I have been spoiled by 5.0s brilliant MSQ and cannot appreciate the inherent beauty of at least decent writing any longer. But this felt so wrong and out of tune with the rest of the game. I started writing this 2 hours ago! I wanted to one in bed by now! XD But I had to get it out of my system… so….

Spoilers for the MSQ and Werlyt incoming??? And no I did not re-read this so not just spoilers but also writing errors incoming. -.-

The good

These fights are epic! I have only ever cleared the normal versions, but I loved those. They are amazing. The callbacks to Eula (her being a woman here! When did they discover that???), Regula (may he rest in peace) and Gaius himself in his prime were delightful. But I could do with a little less rotating, ok? A dragoon has positional, you know? And being allowed to pilot my very own mecha was like *chefs kiss*. On that front? Well done Square Enix!

I am also glad they were able to get another use out of Porta Praetora! That place looks amazing with the wide open field and the lake – and Ala Mhigo across it. It was one of my favourite Stormblood areas and I am always glad to return there. And of course… being able to visit the allied camp again… And Werlyt itself. It’s simply a beautiful place. It reminds me very much of southern Greece. If you’ve watched the movie Mamma Mia you know what I mean.

The music too was really nice. But I don’t think I’ll… you know… listen to it on repeat as I am doing with other parts of the soundtrack.

I’ve also loved how much amazing lore we got about Garlemald and especially the garlean military. And the military abroad. The way soldiers not from the mainland get treated. I love learning about these things.

Gaius

The man. The legend. The guy yelling in Prae.

He’s so very boring here. He has so much potential as a character and maybe I’m missing something, but all throughout this story he has been nothing but passive. He’s a reactive character in this storyline. You know. The guy who made deals with Lahabread (the d is intended), tried to take over Eorzea, lead a whole army, stood idly by as the moon dropped, almost died but then decided just not to die and then though „hm… I’ve got so much freetime now. How about I go and hunt some ascians?“ That guy is NOT a reactive character. He is active. He goes out of his way to make shit he wants happen. And in here? He seems too starstruck and devastated by his adopted kids actions to actually have one clear thought.

The only explanation I have is that he might have gotten hit in the head by something on his way to the ruby weapon. I get why he would rely on Cid for help, but the WoL??? The alliance? If you wish to be an ally and help or something, fucking act like it. You were a former legatus and I expect you to live up to your name – even after retiring.

And yeah.. I guess it’s hard having to watch your kids willingly, knowingly dying. But you fucking raised them. You are a big part of the reason to why they are in that predicament. So like… Aside from that I don’t even get why you are in this story at all.

And for the record: I’m not sorry for him. I’m just flabbergasted by all the bullshit we’ve been learning about him.

To be quite honest, I think this story could have worked just as well or maybe even better, if we got another man as the „hero“ of the story. I am talking about none other than our engineering, hammer-swinging, ex-enemy - of course talking about Nero!

The MSQ has long established that his research into the Ultimate Weapon had been taken, twisted and turned – Estinien had to experience this first-hand. I’m not saying that Nero was in need of a redemption arc and I cannot remember if these weapons were of his creation or even stem from anything he did, but it would make so much more sense for me, to have him confront his past in the garlean military like this and be responsible for the death of his former colleagues. Soldiers that he served with, whom he faught with. Give me Nero and them working together to get the weapons going and him bonding with them as his pilots to a degree. Comrades. Not that strange familiar bond that Gaius appareantly has with them. … Scratch that: Let Gaius be the father figure. Him being that wouldn’t change Nero’s relationship with them, but maybe his with Gaius as his superior.

The story wouldn’t even need to try and redeem Nero: He has already gone through major character development with the MSQ and the Omega raid tier. It would simply be Nero, confronted with the things he created, hopefully instilling more morals and a sense of responsibility for his creations. Heck: Let Cid yell at the guy! Seriously! Cid sticking around to help out would make so much more sense if it was Nero instead of freaking Gaius! Cid hated the guy! He might be a professional, but he is not one to torture himself by staying around a guy he (as far as I know) detests.

Make Nero the central figure and give Cid and Gaius the roles of „angel and demon“: One desperately trying to reach out to his old friend, reminding him why they became engineers and trying to make him realise that he can’t just run around designing weapons and leaving the scematics for everyone to read; while the other has trouble letting go of his imperial past and is struggling to see the errors of his ways – if Nero was wrong, than he (Gaius) was wrong too -and of course they did all of this for their home, to further their cause, and to bring peace to the savage lands of Eorzea, who had been fighting amongst themselves for so long… You get the point.

And you could still have these gundam themed fights. But I think everything would make so much more sense in general.

But speaking of which-

The children

I do not truly care for any of them. And that is a shame: I do think there are great characters and dynamics hidden behind these very few cutscenes. When they were first introduced I was wondering why I was suddenly watching „heartwarming“ cutscenes of my foes as children – until I realised that I was supposed to care and that they were supposed to make me feel pity for Gaius. I was supposed to feel bad for him, because they died and he blames himself. But while their fates so far have been gruesome, I cannot say that I am sad they died. They chose to die as they did. There were a myriad more options. And they chose that.

Actually. Their whole story makes me feel like they were huge masochist from the very beginning. They could have just run away and gotten help from someone more competent than them, but they stayed in an abusive military arrangement just so nobody else got hurt?? Please. Use your brains next time. And for the Berserk-like torture scene? I mean. I get what was implied here. But was it necessary? As a writer myself I follow the rule that torture and sexual violence should never be used in a story, unless it must be in there for the story to work or to bring across a vital point important to the story or it’s moral (or if you are writing porn and you are into it – but we are talking official in-game content here). But the violence towards these „children“ seems unnecessary for the plot and the violence of their deaths by piloting the weapons is already gruesome enough. Sometimes it’s better to leave things like this out – the emotional torture of feeling stuck and having a martyrs complex would have been enough here, I think. If the rest of the story had been well written at least.

(I believe my utter lack of sympathy shows how little character developement they had. I love tragic characters, who choose to suffer for the good of other people – even better if those people don’t even like them. It’s just my thing. And those kids are just… well.)

Their reasons and especially why they were making Allie out as the one who would need to survive was also just… weird. Like. I feel like 75% of what happened would not have happened, if they actually talked to each other, used their brains and had done something about their problems. But no…

These characters are also so exchangeable with basic anime/j-RPG character tropes… I only remember Alfonse, Rex and Allie – because I just did the Emerald weapon. And right afterwards I thought, „huh. So… Fullmetal Alchemist?“ Which brings me to my third point …

…the story at large.

„Pacing is a virtue“ or was it patience..? Anyhow: The author of this story should have had more patience with his story and characters and taken a bloody break! And I am not talking about the obvious blunder of „How is Allie feeling?“, „she is in shock and you cannot talk to her“ turning to „oh yeah if you are careful you can talk to her now“. I mean. WTF. That was MAYBE 10-20 in-game minutes of dialogue.

But everything was moving so very fast – and not even in a good way. There are few things better than a fast paced, action rich story about a group of young people trying to safe (their) world. But if you try to cram in two expansions worth of character development and story telling into about two hours of content each patch.. Well, then you get whatever the hell this is.

Gaius is a very interesting character and while I did not understand why they needed to bring him back in 4.4 (?), I do see how he could be a good asset for endwalker. And his involvement in 5.0 with Estinien was just a dear delight. So I am not opposed to learning more about him, to watching his character grow and changed with time. But I am not ready for badly written content of which 50% get told by suddenly induced echo-sequences. I mean – weren’t there rules for the echo at some point???

I’m not sure which one of the devs said it, but the feature that let’s you play an NPC is super convenient for them to tell the story, because before they could only show what happened where the WoL was.

And that’s just it. Rule number 1 in writing anything is „Show don’t tell“. It feels like they literally turned this one around for these cutscenes. While Valens torture and diet-Fandaniel-routine were very much „show“, the rest of the story was one long cutscene of exposition: We get exposition by Cid, by Gaius, by echo, by Gaius and his crew again, then by Allie. Before having to watch scenes we are not there for.

BTW. Dear square Enix: Your writers are capable of writing amazing villains, antagonist and despicable assholes. You don’t have to write „asshole, must die“ on Valens name card. And I also think the „WoL, strike here“ sign above his head was a tad bit too much. Nuance, dear writers. Nuance. Or perhaps I just got spoiled by these last few foes in the MSQ.

When I said I wanted to just be able to punch a bad guy for once and not feel bad about it, I did not mean this! I meant that I just wanted to play training dummy with Danny-Boy.

(Oh! And as far as I’m concerned you can just… sideline Gaius … „would be killer“ and the lady? Make them targetable NPCs with Dialoge to read. Let them stand somewhere accessible and comment on the latest developement. But ffs don’t give me hour long speeches about how you are going to kill Gaius if he does something you don’t like. The guy could and would wipe the floor with you if he felt like it. -.- So. Please. Shut up.)

Conclusion

Basically. I have to finish the Diamond weapon. But I doubt it will change my perception of this story line even in the slightest.

To be perfectly honest though … bringing Gaius back, having this story with and about him, forcing a sort of redemption ark here. It feels like they are really „grooming“ him to be a morally grey ally in Endwalker, with perhaps a big part to play in the endgame. At this point I wouldn’t even be surprised if they pulled a GoT and made him „King in the North“. Or if they had him die a heroic death to save the world, but especially his country. And to do so they need us to think his sacrifice means something. Or that he is the right person to lead Garlemald into a new future (I don’t think he is). But: For one, neither we (the players) nor the characters need to find him worthy of throne or death by heroism for his sacrifice/ascension to work. To be a useful tool for the story, only the other garleans who might oppose the alliance and scions need to deem him or his sacrifice „worthy“. And only they. And Ishikawa-san has all of 6.0 to accomplish whatever the hell she needs him for. He did not need to be the center of his own botched redemption ark. If that’s what they wanted to do. Or maybe I’m looking at this all wrong and all they wanted was to give the writes in training some literal training grounds to test their abilities.

But! On a positive note: I have yet to be told that raids and other side content are canon to any degree. So when playing the next story quests I’ll blissfully ignore all that happened in Werlyt and if it get’s mentioned (because they do that sometimes when you’ve done certain content) I’ll just ignore it.

Happy ignoring! Also: GIVE ME MORE NERO CONTENT!

[autumnslance]

What was it like going from World of Warcraft to FFXIV? As someone who has never played an online RPG before FFXIV I am often :0 ?! when I hear that some people found getting into FFXIV hard because of the mandatory main quest when they just want to go to endgame content as soon as possible. Is going endgame ASAP a regular thing in most online RPGs?

Have a header image of a FFXIV version of my original WoW Main, Discipline Priest Lirriel F’sharri.

Me, a concise answer? Hahaha! Sorry. This got long, so behind a cut it goes and hopefully I answer to Nonny’s satisfaction, taking the questions and breaking them down:

Is going endgame ASAP a regular thing in most online RPGs?

In a lot of games it can be, yes. WoW doesn’t really have a linear overall storyline; each zone has its own story, and each expansion has its own story arc. Nowadays, with how long it’s been running and how big it’s gotten, WoW has revamped their questing so that you decide if you want to go through 1-50 in a specific expac (Burning Crusade, Cataclysm, Wrath of the Lich King, etc), and then catch up to the newest expac for the newest levels, since they also recently did a “level squish” as well as a stats squish, as they had gotten well over 100+ levels in the last couple expansions. Numbers are a problem for long running games (which is why experienced MMO players nodded and some even sighed in relief when the stat squish for Endwalker was announced).

I don’t think FFXIV will be able to do anything similar since their overarching story is so linear; it’s more like playing a single player traditional JRPG with some MMO features attached. I can see them perhaps scaling experience point gain with quests the way they have with the side quests in Shadowbringers, or with Beast Tribe dailies; that would work going forward I think. Unless we get the option to start with the new storyarc starting in 6.1; that could be interesting!

The only other time I had a linear story to go through similarly to FFXIV was early days of Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, which I played briefly at launch. Even then, each planet had its own storyline, the overall storyline was the individual class questlines. There was, I think, an overarching plot, but it didn’t really come into play until level cap? I don’t even remember and never got to cap because the grind in that game at launch was awful.

And that’s a thing about many MMOs; the leveling experience is learning about the world, introducing characters and setting, but it’s mostly filler until you get to the endgame where the raiding is--and in WoW, the story is only completed via seeing it in raids (thank goodness for Looking for Raid) and was the main focus mechanically as well. WoW didn’t really have an overarching story in Classic, it was a lot of disparate elements setting up and holdovers from the original RTS games and led to random raid content. Burning Crusade gave us an overarching plot with going to Outland to face Illidan--which honestly wasn’t all that well done storywise. BC is remembered fondly for the quality of life changes and allowing smaller groups to raid, rather than requiring wrangling 40 people. And the raids were challenging and fun--or frustrating, but mileage varies there. But the impetus for “the Dark Portal opened and Illidan’s in Outland being bad” was...pretty much it? Later expacs like Wrath had much better story setup and throughlines as they went, and my one friend described Shadowlands as having something like an MSQ. There are, however, a lot of retcons and putting necessary plot information in supplemental material, which was always frustrating. I’ve likened it before to “imagine going from defeating Tsukuyomi at the end of 4.3 and all the separations and set up there...and then the next patch picking up with getting warped to the First because everything that happened in 4.4 and 4.5 occurs in a novel.��� That’s too often been WoW’s method of connecting expansion stories while players languish for a year or more in the last raid content.

I wish I was kidding. FFXIV having a set, quick release schedule, that they keep to so consistently with such good quality--and cosmetic and RP stuff added too!--is astounding to me. I worry for the devs’ health at times--then I hear things like Yoshida turning down requests for crunchy overtime to keep said devs from burning out, hence why the next Ultimate is pushed to 6.1. I appreciate that greatly. Getting anything not pertaining to endgame raid and PvP content in WoW was often impossible, coming with complaints from the raiding community that frivolous additions for sheer fun cost them whole tiers, and seriously 18 months between patches was not unheard of.

What was it like going from World of Warcraft to FFXIV?

I started FFXIV at the beginning of Heavensward...but I was still playing WoW. FFXIV was my side game, as I was still invested in roleplay and raiding with my WoW friends. So I mostly enjoyed playing through the story at a leisurely pace, but I didn’t finish ARR for like 2 years. When Stormblood came out I was hitting burnout in WoW despite mostly enjoying Legion, and the quality of life changes for StB really invigorated my interest and ability to play. The longer GCD for FFXIV was actually one of the biggest challenges for me, especially since I had primarily tanked and healed in WoW. I am not an aggressive or competitive player, nor very manually coordinated, so DPS has always been a challenge for me. I find DPS easier in FFXIV thanks to the longer GCD--I’m still not great, but I don’t feel overwhelmed by trying to hit my rotation buttons instantly. It’s taken me a while to get used to tanking, and I still don’t do it in 8man content, except once or twice with my friends. Mostly cuz I’m just enjoying my DPS jobs, really, so haven’t invested in learning.

...And some of my old fear of random roulettes as a lone tank/healer; WoW’s LFG was a toxic pit for various reasons FFXIV has mostly avoided and even my worst day in FFXIV’s roulette is better than a good day in WoW’s, which gave me anxiety and I stopped doing without friends. FFXIV has no Public Test Realm that people expect you to get on pre-patch to not only spoil story moments, but also learn all the fight mechanics ahead of time and if you don’t know them Hour 1 Day 1 of a new patch release you’re deserving of abuse.

I won’t say never, but I just haven’t found myself interested in going back to WoW or feeling invested in that story, though I do sometimes miss my RP characters (and may write more stories for them sometime). I do keep track of certain beloved NPCs and events--a friend streamed a beautiful moment in Ardenweald for me because I did play through what happened to that character in Legion, sobbing the whole time. I’m tracking what’s happening to Anduin Wrynn closely; we’ve literally watched that character grow up in real time over the years from boy prince to king of Stormwind and I’m still a bit heartbroken about his father. But I play for story and characters, and Blizzard’s way of telling those stories and handling those characters lost me, and with how the Acti-Blizz execs and higher level devs act lately (Hazzikostas keeps striking me as out of touch), they don’t give me much incentive to go back. I may not even pick up Diablo 4 at this rate.

So FFXIV’s story hits the right narrative and character focus for me, especially when I buckled in and replayed...and then replayed again...and now have NG+...Anyway, I like how they build the lore and characters and while it’s far from perfect and they have their own flaws, coming from WoW, it’s a lovely change of pace. Not to mention just how Yoshida and his team interact and communicate with the player base, and see the players’ trust as paramount post-1.x.

...I hear that some people found getting into FFXIV hard because of the mandatory main quest when they just want to go to endgame content as soon as possible.

Some people play only to raid; they like mechanics, and challenges, and feeling powerful at max level with the best gear. They don’t care about the overall story--in some cases because they don’t realize it’s so in depth and linear and sensible after/compared to the constant retcons and revamps in games like WoW!--and are just here to play with friends. Cool for them, if that’s what makes them happy! If that’s how they relax and have fun, power to ‘em so long as they aren’t being nasty to others less advanced/able/willing to put in the time and effort for gameplay. But for me, story and characters are far more important, and I raided quite a lot in WoW at various levels of difficulty and raid size. I am old and tired and want to relax and have fun with friends and write stories that get away with me when my characters get a mind of their own. So I rarely do more than Normals, avoiding Savage and Extreme cuz that grind doesn’t interest me. I’ll do stuff I can do on my own to get my progress fix for my brain (like leveling jobs).

The trouble we’re running into now is FFXIV’s linear story is well over 100 hours long. Even with the ARR revamp cutting a lot of chafe, there’s a LOT to get through to reach HW, and then a lot to get to StB, and then to ShB. And there will be a bunch to get through to EW. That’s JUST MSQ, not counting all the side content a new player may also want to catch up on, like the Alliance and Normal raids, PvP, Relics, Hildibrand, side quest stories like Mail Moogle, Beast Tribes, Crafting...the list goes on and on!

Content in a successful MMO must be varied for multiple styles and preferences for the long term health of the game. Roleplayers and story-focused folks tend to be the ones who stick between patches, farming content at a slower pace to get rewards they want for RP or to see story info, as opposed to raid-focused folks who push new content at release for the challenge and glory. Some of those folks also RP or like story though, so go back to farm between blowing up new content. There’s room for all kinds, and there has to be, and while I am sometimes annoyed by people who skip story (or outright dislike it!) while demanding to know how X works or why a character did A thing, they play their way and pay their sub to keep things running same as me and my obsessive need to know the lore and see it for myself. I can certainly understand those players who story skip that much content to get to where their friends are, if that’s the primary reason they play is to raid with pals, and with New Game+ it’s easier than ever for someone to go back and catch up the story later anyway.

[secondhoekage]

Ignore this long rant I’m high as shit but I... can’t take the hero commission oR HONESTLY THE HEROES THEMSELVES, seriously anymore

They’re BRAINLESS they all share one (1) brain cell and it belonged to Crust. THESE GUYS had MONTHS to strategize this attack and what did they do? They fucked it up. They want me to believe this was planned and not written on a chalk board the night before? Sent out to all heroes the next morning at 8am in a CHAIN EMAIL?

Unpopular opinion(?): they sent the worst possible, ill-suited heroes to each location for this PLF raid and I’m mad at them for it and I’m mad at Hori for making me be mad at it even tho he had to do it beCauSe oF pLot but I’m mad.

The MLA’s plans to take on The League of Villains? Spotless. Chef’s kiss. The detail. The one-on-one counters they planned out. Accounting for each enemy’s quirk. Yeah there were like 6 of them to account for but?? Heroes, yall had enough info and enough time to think of ways to go about this raid and I’m supposed to believe that you did, BUT DID YOU REALLY? MONTHS TO PLAN, and saw one electric Sir Crocodile rip-off and immediately threw Kaminari on his ass. Good move. Kinda. But the rest of the PLF? Heroes just gonna make shit up as they go I guess?? 

To make myself feel better here’s a long ass useless rant on what could’ve damn happened and which heroes should’ve gone where and to make this an epic ass rumble. ugh. Even just doing some of these things would’ve made this arc (imo) feel more... convincing and delicious

under the cut tho bc damn this is too long

In this essay I will—

Edgeshot??? EDGESHOT??    EDGESHOT?? i’M GOING TO GO OFF. 

I swear to shit Edgeshot could’ve soloed the hospital but they had him at the PLF mansion for Some Reason like... like they didn’t make him run up on the League’s bar instead of the Nomu factory bc they knew he would take care of shit immediately. Make it make sense. If he was at the hospital eye just—Nomu in the way?? Doctor running off? Say less. Electric slide all the way in there Shinya. DID NO ONE SEE HOW EASILY HE HANDLED KUROGIRI? Did everyone just forget this man can pull a K.O in .3 seconds flat? Heroes didn’t think it might be a good idea to have him there, ready to give Shigaraki the paper cut of his life the second he woke up (if he even did bc my mans likely could’ve prevented the ‘doctor getting away>high-end awaken>rush to get shiggy out of the tank>shiggy wakes up’ chain of events)? Didn’t think to send him instead of this guy X Less just sitting there with That Look on his face? 

I get they needed heroes like Edgeshot at the mansion to take out a handful of enemies in one go but COME ON NOW. There were more than enough long-range AOE heroes there. And even if you don’t wanna believe he could solo then STILL, EDGESHOT DUOING WITH MIRUKO, ANYBODY? If anyone was gonna keep up with her happy ass zooming into the lab it could’ve been him. We were robbed of an Edgeshot/Miruko teamup and I’m not okay. Could’ve had a sexy ass panel of the hospital-team hyping up Miruko and Edgeshot as they dashed to Ujiko’s lab, two fast as shit bad bitches, zooming through these Nomu, absolutely obliterating them at lightning speed, watching each other’s backs too, PROBABLY SAVING MIRUKO FROM BECOMING THE PRE-DEATH ORGAN DONOR THAT SHE IS NOW. I know it was hot watching Miruko take on these high-ends but I’d have rather Edgeshot share the spotlight if it meant Miruko was in one piece rn. Hori played her

Anyways the literal dumb bitch energy that went into not sending Edgeshot to the hospital is sending me. Could’ve at least let him just be on the team and on standby while Shigaraki was waking up. With those sharp as shit reflexes of his we’ve seen? Shigaraki would’ve been out like a fucking light the second Edgeshot saw him sit up. X-Less you had a nice thicc upper lip that lip was too shaded for you to die, but F in the chat bitch. Useless plot fodder I’m sorry X-Less. There isn’t a hero there right now (besides Aizawa but like... idk, plot is nerfing him) that could’ve incapacitated Shiggy so quickly and prevented the mess they’re in now like my guy Edgeshot could’ve. Feels like a cop out

In conclusion: Edgeshot sweety I’m sorry they did this. I’m sorry you were nerfed. I’m sorry they didn’t let you deliver Kamino Pizza to this hospital. I’m sorry they ignored you and now everyone’s gonna die bc they didn’t they respect your Ninpo rights

CEMENTOSS??? y’all sent him to fuck up the mansion FOR WHAT??? If I were the hero commission and thought :

“Dang we need to completely ass blast this huge PLF resort to make room for our heroes to run in... but it would also be good if we had someone to do that at the hospital too just in case things get tricky and we need to pave a quick way to Ujiko’s secret hideout... but I’m single-celled and can’t weigh my options logically so ok. Cementoss, to the mansion.”

...................... Ok but can I in interest you in PIXIE BOB? I get the mansion is huge but going by the shit we’ve seen her do?? I’m not about to underestimate ol’ girl. I know she could’ve fucked that place up if they let her, switched her out for Cementoss, who could’ve made THE EASIEST route for the hospital team to get into the secret lab, trapped Ujiko, also trapped a couple nomu/high-ends in cement while he was at it, rearranged some tunnels for optimal tactical movement, probably could’ve done a decent-fucking-job at slowing the onslaught of Decay too if it got to that point (AND IT MIGHT NOT HAVE BC THE WHOLE POINT OF THIS RANT IS TO INSIST THAT A BETTER SELECTION OF HEROES WOULDN’T HAVE RESULTED IN SHIGGY’S CURRENT THANOS SNAP ORdEAL)

I know Pixie’s mostly on rescue operations and that’s what she’s doing at the hospital/surrounding city but WHY?? EVEN IF THEY REALLY NEEDED CEMENTOSS AT THE MANSION—WHY NOT HAVE PIXIE BOB DOING SOMETHING IN THE ACTUAL HOSPITAL BATTLE? JUST A LITTLE? The hospital is built on uh.. oh yeah... EARTH? And considering in the Forest Training arc she was using her quirk from a remote location (to make that Earth golem, or whatever) she wouldn’t even HAVE to be IN Ujiko’s lab to be useful

Can y’all PLEASE put at least ONE of your terraforming heroes at the place where y’all REALLY need them?? And not after-the-fact like y’all just did with Pixie Bob? Because clearly she didn’t do shit this last chapter trying to stop Decay. I’m sorry girl. You may be dead. Terrible.

I would have legitimately sent Snipe to get Ujiko before I sent Miruko and that’s that on that. Where is he even? He was there during the briefing but he’s gone? MIA? Idk. No way Ujiko is getting away from those bullets. Target locked: Ujiko’s hand. Fire. High-end Nomu remote goes bye bye. Then another bullet in the leg. No need to worry about him escaping and waking up high-ends/Shiggy when he doesn’t have kneecaps. Problem solved. No way it would’ve taken that long to break Shiggy’s tank either with a few well-placed pew pews zigging around some Nomu (not that we really wanna break him outta his tank bc look what happened). Snipe’s 6/5 technique stat deserves better!!!!!

Gang Orca did not go off and give a bunch of kids brain damage during the License arc to be so thoroughly ignored here. He’s clearly about to get his shit rocked by some gauged-out ex-Hot Topic employee in the next few chapters and ugh you’re TOO GOOD FOR THAT ORCA. COULD’VE BEEN OF USE AT THE HOSPITAL. PARALYZING SONIC WAVES? WE’LL TAKE IT. Who knows if any of the high-end Nomu would’ve been affected by paralysis but the small fry? Probably. Shiggy’s little twink ass? I would bet on it. Not that it would really stop him from using Decay but still

At the risk of sounding like someone I know who endorses child labor (the hero commission) here me out: CAN I GET A UHHH JUZO HONENUKI??? AGAIN YEAH good that he was at the mansion to do some long-range AOE action but if y’all are gonna force kids to join in on this war anyways, put your strongest and most useful ones at the place you need them. Shit it would’ve been real nice if Honenuki was there to trap some Nomu—uncertain if it would work against the high-ends that show some pretty flexible quirks but who knows—and even at the risk of reaching, maybe in some universe where Shiggy and Honenuki face off, it would be interesting to see Decay against Softening, since Decay’s one big weakness is that it can only work on solid objects sooOooOo? Idk. Would’ve been a cool match up but I hate that the kids are fighting anyways so we’re gonna ignore this Juzo rant. Just know it would’ve been cool

And as for the mess that’s going to be this fucking mansion soon... .. We’re just gonna ignore a whole ass Geten, big destructive power, big fucking threat, and not gonna throw Endeavor’s ass in there? Makes sense. They’re leaving it to Shoto I guess. They said time for you to fucking shine kid. Get in there. I mean really trading Endeavor for Edgeshot would’ve been top tier strategy but...

I MEAN THEY?? Made up a whole ass plan to counter ONE greasy-looking PLF guy by throwing Kaminari in there, but they couldn’t make up a plan to counter Geten? Are they just?? Pulling names out of a hat to see who gets to fight who? Did they spin a bottle to see who it landed on? Did Mt. Lady pull the short stick? I swear on shit when Geten starts going feral soon I’m not gonna feel sorry about it. Unless heroes got a plan and someone’s gonna make a sexy ass top 10 anime entrances to counter his ice then I’m disappointed. We went ape shit over Kaminari countering one of the commanders but are we not gonna get anymore ‘I’m your perfect counter and I’m here to stop you’ moments? No? I’M PISSED. 

I would have also settled for my kween Nejire being there to blast away some ice because who tf else is gonna do it? But eh. 

Dabi will also be trouble depending on what he decides to do. He only has about 3 good ideas a month and he’s used them all up by now so he’s in dumb slut territory as we speak. But you’d think that a villain as widely recognized as Dabi with such a destructive quirk would urge the heroes to have some plan to take him on but?? So far I don’t really see anyone quick to take on the role. Not that it’d be that hard bc he’s dangerous but also dangerously dumb. Where is Inasa. Maybe he can just blast the flames back in Dabi’s face. I love him but at this point he deserves to have some of his rights taken away

Don’t even get me start on Gigantomachia. I get the heroes had little choice except to attack before Shiggy was full-power but just?? NOT having a plan in case by some little chance Gigantomachia DID wake up? You stupid bastards. You absolute fools. I guess there’s not much you CAN do but FUCK y’all just gonna let him SIT THERE? No counter measures? No ‘Let’s execute this incredibly thorough and thought-out plan we’ve spent months formulating to restrain Gigantomachia in case he does end up waking up, because better safe than sorry’? When he tramples like 50 students I bet that shit gonna hurt

I hate it all. I was really happy about seeing Shiggy go off 272 bc he’s a king but after rereading from like, 258 I feel... weird. Maybe this will be resolved with more chapters but. eh. Now that I’ve thought of this, I can’t go back. I miss the brain power that was behind the MLA fight

[freetimesketchbook]

I hate angel dust from hazbin hotel so much, I hate his shitty character design, I hate the fact he's a shitass excuse for positive LGBT rep, I hate his stupid almond-shaped-no-room-for-a-brain lookin dumbfuck ass head,I hate his dumb fuck smug smile, I hate his design so much, mf doesn't even look like a spider but some weird Tim Burton character humanization gone wrong I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM, why does he have eyes that look like freckles under his eyes??? Why the fuck are his eyes 2 different colors, his color palette is so horrendous I can feel my eyes in pain when I look at him, Everytime they try to make him look sexy I'm filled with anger and disgust, everytime I see his stupid smug face I want to grab his skinny ass waist like a cup and throw his ass into the sun, I hate his personality "dur hur I'm angel dust and I'm gay and sex obsessed" sex and being an asshole are his only personality traits, "but it's in hell" AT LEAST GIVE ME SOMETHING TO LIKE, I'm not asking him do be pure but at least give me something to make me less livid whenever I see him, I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM, Everytime I see angel dust ESPECIALLY IF it's sexy fanart I go into a primal rage where I have the need to pull out my raid like when I see a cockroach, I hate his design so fucking much, where the fuck does his shitty ass hair end and begin???? Why does he has spiddies, honestly he looks like was drawn by fucking rcdart, Stewie Griffin lookin ass, nothing he says is memorable or funny, Everytime I see angel dust I'm like a bull when I see red, you look like a stupid fucking soft serve onceler abomination with pink sprinkles, you look like a rejected villainous character who was inspired by that dumbass from rocky horror picture show, FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU, and you may be thinking that's alot of hate for a single cartoon character and that I'm overreacting right???? And you have a point, but where else will I direct that internalized rage that has been spewing inside me for years, where else will I put my anger I've been forced to keep inside for years because of past people in my life, my life is perfectly fine right now, what is there to be mad at???? Angel dust is like a jar where I keep all of my toxic rage directed at, he's like a dam protecting an innocent city from flooding with my pure boiling anger, everytime I see him I'm so livid and for no reason, I hate hazbin hotel but for some unexplainable reason the spirit of my rage has chosen him as my vessel which I have no choice but to submit to, angel dust is such a shitty character and garbage representation he's literally the shittiest tier LGBT rep, he's what every yaoi fangirl think good gay rep is like, they really didn't have to be out here and make him sexually harass every man he sees but they really did, angel dust encapsulates everything wrong when cishet yaoi fangirls try to write gay men and refuse to listen who they're writing for, I am entirely motivated to be better than that out of spite and anger, Everytime I see fanart of angel dust as Thicc or in sexy lingerie I get to much bad energy from it I feel as if I was send by some greater force to rid the world of evil angel dust is like everything unfunny about shows like family Guy or South Park shoved into a stupid Tumblr bait package I hate him FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUVK YOU

[rosesisupposes]

Moodboard: Remy Dormions & Damon McLeggan

Part of Another Goddamn Hero Story

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337397 Classification: Z.2.ii [Secondary tier, foreseeable threat, acquired powers] Name: Moonshadow Status: ACTIVE Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: CONFIDENTIAL] Remy Dormions Threat Status: Foreseeable threat Partners/Sidekicks: DI#337500 - The Viper Primary Foes:  DI#A-4894 - Team Left Brain; Powers: Short-term memory manipulation;  //It appears to be entirely within their control, with no reported incidences of inadvertent ‘blinking’; Short-term covers on average 10 minutes, and any memories past that don’t disappear unless they concentrate particularly hard Costume: Leather jacket, sunglasses Age: 26 Height: 6′5″ Pronouns: They/Them H.E.A.R.T.S. Class of ‘15 Notes: They actually objected strongly to be called not a threat. And despite DI#337500′s best efforts, they keep sneaking off to steal things they think are pretty.

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337500 Classification: M.3.ii [Tertiary tier, no foreseeable threat, acquired powers] Name: The Viper Status: ACTIVE Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Damon McLeggan Threat Status: Not a foreseeable threat Partners/Sidekicks: DI#337397 - Moonshadow Primary Foes: N/A Powers: Shape-shifting [reptile forms only]; Poison secretion //While shifting to animalian forms can happen almost instantly, some quirk of the mutation means the shift back takes much more time. He’s experienced a lag of over 24 hours after a shift, depending on how long he was in the form. Costume: Black and yellow suit, bowler hat with attached mask Age: 24 Height: 5′7″ Pronouns: He/him H.E.A.R.T.S. Class of ‘12 Notes: He’s technically on call, but only in the sense that he usually finds Remy before anyone else does. Inciting incident: bitten by a snake that had been genetically manipulated by DI#265333 - The Mystic Magician; Rescued in the raid on MM’s lab, but sustained severe burn scars from MM’s attempt to blow the lab as the heroes invaded.

How they met? Well, there’s the versions they’ve told people - Damon makes fun of his partner by telling people they tried to ask him out multiple times but kept feeling like it was dramatic enough, so they blinked him and tried again and again. 

Remy tells people that Damon sought them out after forgetting them once but remembering an impression of a “devilishly handsome person winking at him.”

But the actual story was much more than that.

Damon had a rough transition into HEARTS after the disaster at the Mystic Magician’s lab. He and Valerie were in an intensive care unit along with the other survivors of MM’s terrible experiments - and they were the lucky ones, in that they recovered enough to leave. Something in Valerie cracked, but didn’t make itself known until her school years when she kept disappearing from the premises and reappearing with new scars. Damon followed her, at first, still trying to take care of her. They fell in with a gang of young people causing mischief around the city. He didn’t care too much for the petty crimes, but he did pick up some skills, becoming a very talented pickpocket. He mostly used it to take away weapons that Valerie acquired, to keep her from using them on others or herself. But, he was still a young teen. As her condition deteriorated and her bouts of paranoia grew more intense, he followed her less and less, feeling useless to help and scared of her turning on him. She left school completely at 11 years old, when he was only 13, and they drifted further apart, though never lost contact completely.

Remy and Damon overlapped in their time at HEARTS, but it’s unclear if Remy ever actually attended classes, or if they just convinced teachers they’d just forgotten seeing them. Damon certainly doesn’t remember meeting them at school if they ever did.

After Damon graduated, he dropped off the radar for the most part. He was sighted with Valerie several times but never implicated in any of her attacks or crimes. But apparently, Remy remembered him as a face they’d seen in school. They robbed him and blinked him one summer night. Unnoticed, Damon picked their pocket and took his wallet back, and took a pocket watch they’d swiped from a pawn shop while he was at it.

When they next encountered each other, though, Damon remembered Remy. He offered to buy him a coffee, and they accepted automatically. While walking through the park, Damon said, “Oh, by the way, I think this is yours,” and flashed the pocket watch. Remy hadn’t even noticed they’d lost it, and was both impressed and touched that Damon remembered them.

Damon’s worst fear is that he’ll get stuck in reptilian form someday, and won’t be able to transition back at all.

Remy’s worst fear is that they’ll blink Damon by accident and he’ll forget everything about them.

Appearance notes: Remy is a incredibly tall and lanky. If they weren’t so smooth and flirtatious, they’d seem angular and gawky. They’re mixed, but won’t talk about their family, so it’s unclear what they are besides self-proclaimed “brown.” Their eyes are pure white, with no visible iris or pupil, but they can see without any trouble. They are aware, however, the effect their eyes have on people, thus the sunglasses, even if it’s dark or inside.

Damon is of East Asian descent, but that’s all he knows. He was adopted by an Irish widow, which is where he got his last name, but she died when he was too young to remember her as anything more than a fuzzy smile, and was sent to the foster home. He jokes that he solved any self-consciousness about his height by dating the tallest person alive so that everyone feels short in comparison, not just him. He has burn scars along a lot of his left side, and those parts are the slowest to transition back from reptilian form. He usually tells people who ask that the scales are tattoos if they ask.

Moodboard photo credits, via unsplash: green and gold throne || man in dark glasses || asian cobra || back portrait || stockholm moma statue || moon in my hand || black-headed python || lit hallway || circlet || barbed wire || yellow and white scales || gold glitter || buchenwald gate || chameleon || bonfire night

and of course, Remy on their throne is unforgettable by @blinksinbewilderment

[ikesenlemonadestandstories]

Level 7

Is anyone still on winter break? Everyone I know that’s in school starts next week. I don’t miss those days. 

Tagging: @loudartanimeeclipse​

Master List here or search the tag Ikesen AFK

Warnings: None

Happy Reading, T~

Level 7

“Oh my gods, really?!?” You shrieked into your microphone. “How did none of you see the ad?”

“Are you sure you weren’t hallucinating or something after work?” Yukimura responded. 

“I’m more worried (YN) may have been hacked.” Sasuke replied over Yuki’s howling. “Did you give them any personal information.”

“No!” You yelled with a little more defiance. “I’m one hundred percent certain that the banner was legit. I’ll prove you both wrong when I win some money.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.” Yukimura’s voice shook with laughter as the three of you kept working through the hidden bounty map you were on. 

You had been honing your skills with the help of Yoshimoto, steadily working your way towards that coveted Pegasus Knight class. Your lance skill was high enough now that the potential to pass the upgrade was over sixty percent, and your speed stat was something to be feared, but your flying ability was lacking. Seeing as you couldn’t get the pegasus without at least a “C” rank in the skill, it was hard to build. Fortunately, a few of the items you had been awarded in battles, on top of picking flying for your targeted growth skill in the story mode seemed to help you towards your goal. 

“I still don’t understand how nothing seems to hit you.” Yukimura griped as he took another blow from one of the monster’s on the field.

“Speed stat.” Was all you responded with as you advanced forward out of the cover of trees. 

“Are you sure it’s not some crazy high luck stat?” Yuki asked.

“Very sure. You ever noticed that even if I’m the one being attacked, I still get the first blow.” You tried not to sound irritated as you were quickly surrounded. 

“Huh, I’d never realized that before.” he sounded impressed as he healed his unit and moved it in your direction. 

“Really?” Sasuke asked, a little bewilderment evident in his voice. “Have you not been paying attention during our training sessions?” 

“I thought I was. I’ve just never noticed that before.” Yukimura groaned as half the enemies originally surrounding you, made their way towards him. 

“Hey Sasuke, how’s that loot coming?” You asked, trying to fend off as many baddies as you could. “At this rate, we’re gonna lose Yukimura.”

“You are not!” He yelled into the mic, startling you as he quickly drew his character away from the front line.

“All the chest have been successfully raided. Please feel free to dismantle the remaining enemies.”

“You got it!” The two of you said in unison, placing both of your characters well within enemy range. 

You laughed. This should be quick, and it was. With only a single remaining monster after the enemy attack window, it was rapidly brought down with a swing of your lance. There was a jingle followed quickly by a buzz as a new text window popped up congratulating you on your stat growth, awarding Sasuke the title of MVP shortly after the growths disappeared. 

After rearranging your convoy and placing the Blessed Lance you had been gifted from the map into your item list you bid Yukimura and Sasuke farewell, heading off towards the town center where you were supposed to meet for the single-player tournament. 

“Hope you don’t get hacked!” Yukimura called to you through the mic before logging off his system.

“Seconded. Do have fun, though, if it’s legit.” Sasuke spoke up, giving you a moment to thank him before logging of himself. 

*ATTENTION: Tournament start, please head to the standby portal to be ranked and matched.*

Following the instructions provided to you by the game, you accepted the challenge again, holding your breath as your friends’ warnings ran through your brain. You really hoped this didn’t fry your system. Please don’t be a hack. The game went through a brief buffering period before the screen loaded, and a colossal bracket was presented, your own username and character highlighted on the screen. 

Whoa! There were so many people playing. Maybe that’s why Sasuke and Yukimura couldn’t find it? They hardly ever played single player, and this tournament was clearly at server capacity. From the looks of it, each region had two hundred and fifty entries, meaning one thousand total players were involved in this thing. It appeared to be tiered, which means you wouldn’t get creamed by a high-level player right off the bat. Though, it looked like the highest-ranked players got to sit out the first few rounds to give everyone else a fighting chance. 

You scanned the list of names as quickly as you could and realized that you didn’t recognize anyone, which could be a good or a bad thing, you really weren’t sure yet. The game prompted you to organize your item bag, turning it into a timed event. Which you assumed was to keep people from holding the system up. In a minute flat, you were closed out of your bag, items equipped, and dropped into a colosseum.  

You wondered if people were actually able to watch this or if the stands were filled with colorful NPCs. Vaguely aware of the countdown, you were pulled out of your idle thoughts when your controller buzzed, and you were given the first strike. After one and a half turns, the damage had been done. You were victorious. They had never seen it coming, what with your speed and dexterity so high. Not only did you get multiple blows in a single turn, they only had a thirty-five percent chance of landing their own hit. A combination you rather enjoyed. 

With a smile on your face, you hunkered down in the corner of your couch. This was going to be fun. 

[allaboutshouto]

Title: Sky Thief

Day 3 (I know, I’m late af): One was a Book Thief. The Other Stole the Sky.

Summary: 

"How are things up in the sky?" Shouto murmured.

Izuku peeked open one eye, leaning to the left to avoid the sun in his eyes.

"Blue. The truest of blue. And fluffy large clouds like cotton candy."

A beat of silence before Shouto asked, hesitantly.

"What does cotton candy taste like?"

(Or an AU in which Izuku becomes a nurse and Shouto is a patient at the hospital he is working at. Tasting cotton candy sounds like a good idea for a first date.)

Tags: Quirkless Izuku, Pro Hero Shouto, Shouto is suffering visual injury and cannot see, so Izuku is currently being his eyes, First Date, Fluff, Deadpan Humor courtesy of Shouto

The first time Izuku saw Hero Shouto wander along the hall of the hospital, he promptly blacked out and was kindly dragged by the feet back to the employee room by his mentor. 

He had his reasons for fainting of course. It wasn’t everyday that he got to see one of the top heroes in the world in person. And certainly not Hero Shouto: the second strongest in the world of the next generation and everyone's heartthrob. He played a pivotal role in the downfall of the League of Villains. Hero Shouto was also Izuku's age and already, he had accomplished so many admirable feats. A hero seemingly unfailable, strong and capable; and yet here he was, padding along the deserted hospital hallway with slow careful steps and jumping at the slightest of sounds, white gauze wounding tightly around his eyes. Izuku knew the reason for Hero Shouto’s visual injury. He had followed the news of the Battle of Fushimi Inari — raid of the Villain Syndicate — very closely. With over 300 Pro-Heroes mobilized and all civilians evacuated, this raid had been even bigger than the raid of the League of Villains six years ago.

This raid lasted for two days and nearly grazed Kyoto to the ground. But the heroes emerged victorious with no casualties. Izuku had burst into tears when he’d read the news that day. This was the generation of heroes he grew up with, he didn't want to hear in the news that one of them had died in battle. All Might would forever be his idol but the heroes from his generation were the ones that he paid a lot attention to right now.

There were numerous injuries, both grievous and life threatening. The out of town hospital Izuku was employed at had deployed nearly all its personnel in aid. Izuku, only in his first month of employment, was asked to stay at the hospital. His mentor feared that he couldn't handle the rush and stress of on field healing. He didn't disagree but that didn't mean he hid his disappointment when he was told to stay put. He knew he could do more. He knew he was capable. If only he was given a chance.

Everything boiled down to the fact that all the heroes were in highly-facilitated hospitals, with the best and most capable medical teams aiding their recovery. Yet, here Hero Shouto was, in Izuku’s rural hospital, all while he was among the grievously injured heroes; his sight damaged due to a villain with a dust manipulating quirk. Hence, Izuku had every reason to believe that Hero Shouto was located in one of the fancy hospitals with newest equipments and top-tiered doctors,  which Izuku’s small town hospital was in no possession of. Then again, Izuku had full trust in his eyesight and brain capacity to process images. Because that was definitely Hero Shouto. Half white half red hair, the burn over his left eyes peeking beyond the bandage. That was definitely Hero Shouto. But he wasn't informed of Hero Shouto being here. At all... Did his mentor somehow forget this one bit of important information? This was unlike her, but Izuku sent the message on his phone anyway. He needed to know the extent of Hero Shouto's injuries and where his medical records were. 

The second time he met Hero Shouto, it was for a check up. His mentor had explained that she did indeed forget to inform him. Hero Shouto had requested to be moved to a quieter hospital, without letting the press and nosy paparazzi know, so he was moved in during the night. His mentor had been too tired to think about informing him. Not that Izuku blamed her, she had been on the field for a full three days with hardly any sleep. 

Izuku quickly flipped through Hero Shouto's medical report. Just like what the news had said, Hero Shouto was temporarily blinded and was waiting for a corneal transplant. His hearing was reduced and injured due to blastwave, luckily not too severe to require a cochlear implant, but he needed quietude for the middle ear fluid to settle down. Besides the injuries from the battle, he didn't have any chronic conditions. There were notes about his burn and the condition of his left eye, but Izuku didn't read through them. Somehow it seemed private, even though he had the right to go through the medical history. But something in him told him no, that that really was not for him and he could do just fine with the information he had now. Izuku flew up the stairs to the top floor, greeting in-patients and colleagues he encountered on the way with a polite nod. He had forgone the chirpy greetings. His voice wasn't working properly at the moment. If he opened his mouth, the chance of him screeching and squealing in anticipation was high. Room 453 was located at the very end of the hallway, overlooking the dense woods and glistening sea beyond. Izuku sprinted the last few steps, heart hammering wildly in his chest, until he stood in front of the door, breathless and suddenly questioning himself.

He couldn't believe this. He was actually meeting one of the best heroes of this age. Did he really have the skill to treat heroes with top priority as Hero Shouto? Had he learnt enough to treat a human? Unbiddenly, doubt flooded his mind. Suddenly it was hard to breathe, and his vision swayed, a mini panic attack. Izuku forced himself to lift his lips up. A smile, even fake and unreal, was enough to trick his brain into thinking everything was fine. All Might smiled through everything, even in the direst of situations. If All Might could do that, then Izuku definitely could too. Behind this door, there was a human needing his help and assistance. He would damn well smile his worry away and help him to the best of his ability. He raised his hand and knocked his knuckles on the door. In the empty corridor, the sound carried. "This is—" Izuku swallowed hard, cursing himself, and tried again. "Midoriya Izuku. May I come in for the morning check-up?" He did it, he managed to say it! In second try but he did it. He gave himself a pat on his back. Being proud of all the little accomplishments was how he got to this point today. From inside the room, a voice floated out, rusty and gravel like leaves running across pebbles, unlike the smooth tonal Izuku heard on the off chance Hero Shouto spoke in an interview. "Come in." With one final intake, Izuku pulled the door to the side. "Please excuse my intru —" Only to see Hero Shouto sitting on the ledge of the window, with his back to the door and his legs dangling over the edge, eyes still bandaged. The file in his arms clattered to the ground as Izuku raced over, hugging the midsection of Hero Shouto and bodily pulled him inside with ease. Izuku didn't know if Hero Shouto was really weakened or he was just humoring Izuku. Hero Shouto obediently sat on the sofa, turning his head in Izuku's direction, head tilting to the side in an apparent question. "What," Izuku wheezed, "do you think," he took another breath, swallowed and punched his chest repeatedly to calm his heart, "you are doing? You could have fallen to your death!" Hero Shouto had the gale to smile lightly, filled of interest, along with humor and something else Izuku could not decipher. But right this moment, he just wanted to shake some sense into this crazy hero. "I just can't see. My quirk still works. I can catch myself if I fall. I'm not helpless." "I do not care.You are my patient. And I put my patient's safety first even if they don't put their own first." Izuku balled his fists by his sides. This was just typical Hero's thinking, believing they could help themselves without ever thinking about others who cared about them. Izuku shook his head outwardly. He was the biggest hypocrite. Had life turned out differently, had he had a quirk, he wouldn't give two cents about his own safety and health. But that wasn't his life at the moment, his life now was to make sure everyone was up to their health. "So please don't put your life in danger. You worry me." He tacked on when Hero Shouto still donned that unreadable half smirk. He didn’t notice that smile falling into one of confusion, already busying himself with reading the vitals and measuring Hero Shouto's blood pressure. Izuku quickly fell into the spectrum of focus. This was what he was trained to do and he would do his job well. He was in the middle of taking out new role of gauze to redress the wound when Hero Shouto spoke. "I just wanted to watch the sunrise." "I see," was what Izuku replied, not really paying attention to what Hero Shouto said. He was busy applying antibiotic ointment on the gauze. An unnecessary step since they were medical class gauzes, but he was nothing if not double careful. "I can't." "Hmm?" "I can't see." Izuku finally looked at Hero Shouto, who wore a blank face. It took him a moment to run the conversation through his head. Once it made sense, he snorted and dropped the gauze on the tray. "Your sense of humor needs to be admitted to the hospital for being bone dry." "But you laughed." Hero Shouto smiled crookedly, as if he wasn't used to smiling. "Todoroki Shouto." He extended his arm toward Izuku. He didn't introduce himself as a Hero, Izuku noted and took the offered hand, blisters littering it. "Midoriya Izuku, nurse in training." "Happy to be under your supervision." "You can make me happy by not putting your life in danger and save my heart from early constriction," Izuku smoothly snapped back, stern and full of disapproval. In the back of his mind, he noticed how snarky he was being and shook his head. Kacchan was rubbing off on him. "Duly noted," Hero Shouto — or maybe just Shouto for now since he’d introduced himself that way — agreed with ease and leant back against the armchair. Izuku huffed but got to work untying the old gauze around his eyes. "I hope I don't need to have you sign an actual written agreement." Shouto chuckled but didn’t say anything else. They lapsed into silence, filled with comfort and ease. Izuku unwound the last layer of gauze and removed the cotton padding, wincing at the sight before him. Shouto's eyes were swollen red. It must have been painful, and yet he hadn't heard Shouto making any noise of discomfort. The corneas were braised with dust into permanent damage. A transplant needed to be carried out as soon as possible.This also begged the question as to why there hadn't been a corneal transplant carried out already at the moment of injury. Shouto was of enough importance to warrant first priority on the waitlist for a transplant the moment a donor for a cornea appeared. Izuku filed that question away to hound his mentor with later; he also was nothing if not nosy and refocused. He took out the anti bacterial solution and cotton balls, and hesitated. He hated that he had to hurt people so they could get better. "Please bear with me. I need to clean the wounds." He bit down on his lips. He knew Shouto wouldn't care, but he felt the need to warn him anyway. It was always a part of his procedure. "Don't worry. I'm used to pain," Shouto replied airily. That really didn't ease Izuku's nerves, but he took what he could get. Then, as gently as possible, he pressed the cotton ball around Shouto's inflamed eyelids. Shouto twitched but didn't jerk away. He sat perfectly still. Izuku cleaned the right eye quickly and moved onto the left, extra careful with his scar.. "What color is the sunrise?" Shouto suddenly asked, completely out of the blue. Izuku understood this as a distraction from pain and willingly went along with. He glanced out of the window. "Peach color. With smokey clouds. It is very blue too. Blue like the color of your ice, Shouto. You can actually hear the blue riding along the waves crashing against shore.” Izuku gently tucked stray strands of hair behind Shouto’s ears so he could clean the wound. “And lots of yellow, the yellow of a slice of lemon when you put it in honey tea." Shouto made an appreciative noise in his throat. "What about the trees?" "Very fresh. And green. Green like cucumber floating in sparkling water." "I hate sparking water, Izuku." "Me too." Izuku laughed, carefully placing two new pads over Shouto's eyes. "There's a gingko right next to your window. It looks ancient and supernatural." "You have horrible description skills," Shouto remarked, sitting straighter so Izuku could wound the gauze around the back of his head. Izuku barked out a laugh. Shouto was very straightforward. "Literature was never my strong suit. Should I continue or leave your imagination to do the rest?" "You're doing better than I ever could. Please continue.” Shouto made a vague ‘go-ahead’ gesture. “Tell me more about the gingko." "Tall, regal, beautiful and absolutely ancient." Izuku racked his brain for all the adjectives but there was only so many he could find that fit the description he was going for. "There's a small shrine at the base of it. Painted red. You can feel the oldness coming from this tree. We have a tale here. That every moonless night, the spirit of Inari appears and runs around the temple four times before disappearing. And in the morning after, a sprig of wheat, golden and blessed can always be seen from afar. But when someone comes closer to pick it up, it disappears. My mentor says that means that this land is protected." Izuku ended his story by clipping off the excess gauze and securing the end to another part of the wrap with a strip of tape. Shouto's breathing had slowed down, rhythmic. He was fast asleep. As quietly as possible, Izuku gathered his equipment and walked over to the door. He should have woken Shouto up so that he moved to the bed and could have a better sleep position, but he didn't want to disturb him. However, apparently Shouto wasn't as fast asleep as Izuku thought he was, for he suddenly spoke when Izuku was sliding the door open, badly startled him. "You will come — " the tray and scissors clattered to the ground with resounding clang, " —  back later?" There was a note of something there, a tinge of hopefulness shrouded under a curtain of nonchalance. Izuku bent over to gather his stuff. "Yes, of course I will." His cheeks felt incredibly hot the moment he said that and Shouto’s happy smile didn’t help cooling them down. 

Lunch was a slow and careful business for Shouto, but he managed without making a huge mess.

They were outside in the courtyard, under the shade of clustered bamboos "I like this sound." Shouto lifted his head to the sky, placing his chopsticks down on the table. Izuku guided his hand to where the chopsticks rest was. "Easy to fall asleep to." "That, it is," Izuku agreed, closing his eyes. The wind picked up, carrying with it a briny smell from the sea and running through the tightly packed leaves. High and low notes echoed against the rumbling background of waves crashing onto the shore, a natural orchestra. "How are things up in the sky?" Shouto murmured. Izuku peeked open one eye, leaning to the left to avoid the sun in his eyes. "Blue. The truest of blue. And fluffy large clouds like cotton candy." "Clouds can be pink?" Izuku shook his head and realized Shouto couldn't see him. "No," he said. "White. Like rice." "There are white cotton candies," Shouto breathed softly. And if Izuku allowed himself to be truthful, the statement was one of wonder too. Izuku made an affirmative voice at the back of his throat. And there was silence between them. But only for a minute before Shouto broke it tentatively. "What does cotton candy taste like?" The hesitation in his question was as clear as day. It was a strange question to ask. Izuku glanced at Shouto from the corner of his eye. He was biting his lips and circling his thumb on the table. A nervous move. Even though Shouto couldn't see, Izuku turned away, thinking hard to the last time he had cotton candy. "Sweeter than sugar and very sticky." The last time he had cotton candy was at a festival, years and years ago. "It melts in your mouth. If you could eat cloud, the texture would be just like cotton candy." "Fascinating," Shouto said appreciatively, then sighed. "I would love to try cotton candy one day." The feather of strangeness tickled the back of his mind at Shouto's simple wish. As far as Izuku knew, cotton candy was a part of everyone's childhood. Shouto’s statement strummed his curiosity fibers. He filed it away for later study and focused back on the conversation. He could potentially help Shouto fulfill that wish if the festival he was thinking about was happening tonight. He pulled out his phone and pulled up the calendar. Strike! "The midsummer festival is happening tonight downtown." He smiled to himself, scrolling through the event agenda. The stalls would be open until late at night. They would have plenty of time to stroll around looking for cotton candy. "I guess it's high time you tried cotton candy." The happy grin Shouto shot in his direction set Izuku's brain on fire. "Sounds like the date."

Izuku should have thought twice about taking Shouto, a public figure loved and admired by everyone, out onto the street. Then again, the past few hours he’d spent with Shouto just somehow made him more human, more real than the figure Izuku read and admired through press and interview. And somehow Izuku forgot that the rest of the world didn’t get to know Shouto the way that he did.

The moment they set foot inside the premise of the festival filled with bustling people and noise, Izuku realized his mistake. Shouto stood out in the self assured way he hold himself, the air he surrounded himself with, and the most important thing, his glaring telltale half-white-half-red hair. Before anyone could look twice at them and make the connection between Shouto and the Hero Shouto, Izuku thrown his jacket over Shouto’s head and led them away.

“Izuku?” Shouto questioned, startled, but didn’t fight against Izuku’s pull. “What’s going on? Where are we going?”

“Just some minor issues.” Izuku made a sharp left into a darkened alleyway when he spotted a group of girls heading their way from afar. He managed a smile when Shouto looked at him with lips turning downward in a frown. “Don’t worry, we will get the cotton candies in no time. I just need to figure out a, uhm, disguise.”

Shouto’s mouth parted opened. “Is it my hair?” He removed Izuku’s jacket from his head and subconsciously smoothed a hand over his hair.

"Sorry," Izuku apologized immediately. He hated seeing uncertainty on Shouto. "I forgot to think up disguises before."

"Don’t be. The fault is mine," Shouto said, draping Izuku’s jacket over his forearm. "I should have thought about this too."

A part of Izuku wanted to take all the fault onto himself, but he knew if he did just that, Shouto would get the fault back and they would end up in a never-ending tennis match of taking blame.

"We're both at fault." Izuku compromised, tapping a finger on his chin.

This didn't start off as well as Izuku had imagined, but he couldn't let that ruin the night. He was on a mission here. Shouto would need a something to cover his hair, the most distinct feature on him. A hat, maybe? Izuku couldn’t remember if he had a cap somewhere in the employee room in the hospital. And the hospital was close enough that he could make a round trip in 20 minutes if he ran.   

"You still there, Izuku?" Shouto's inquiry interrupted his train of thought, a note of uncertainty and fragility. He sounded... afraid.

Izuku cursed himself in his head. Shouto couldn't very well see right now.

"Yes, I'm still here." He took Shouto's hand in his and intertwined their fingers together. "I'm right here."

Shouto nodded tersely, but didn't say anything. He merely tightened his hold on Izuku's fingers. Izuku looked out into the street. A merchant was pushing her cart of handcrafted masks nearby. Then suddenly, an idea sparked itself into existence. A traditional mask would do the trick better than a hat could. Masks would blend right in with the festive crowd.

"Shouto," Izuku said, wrapping his other hand around Shouto's, "I'll go get a disguise. Count backwards from 25 to 1, I'll be back before you know it. I'll never abandon you."

He didn't think Shouto would agree, with how hard he was biting down on his lips. Having a sense robbed was not a pleasant experience. Izuku was all for Shouto to disagree and they would walk back to the hospital and have tea under the starry sky while Izuku practiced his poetic skills and wax heartfelt lines about the beauty of the moon. But Shouto nodded, hesitantly and fearfully, and started counting down.

"25, 24—”

"I'll be back before you know it."

Izuku unlatched his hand from Shouto's loosened hold and took off. He had never run so fast in his life. He caught up to the merchant, picked the two closest masks, and paid. He didn't even bother counting his change before he was sprinting back into the dark alleyway where Shouto was waiting, counting.

"7, 6, 5—"

"Back." Izuku bent down, hands on his knees, and breathed harshly. His heart was beating to the point his chest hurt. He looked up at Shouto, who was already smiling softly. In a corner of his mind, he noted that Shouto had smiled more during his short hours with Izuku than all the time he saw Shouto appear on interviews. "Told you I would be back in no time."

"I had full trust in you." Shouto whispered, completely at ease and peacefully.

It was ironic that both the masks Izuku picked were fox masks with a red and white color scheme. But as long as they did the job of concealing Shouto’s presence to the crowd, Izuku was not going to complain. With at most care, he slid one mask over Shouto's face and tied the bow at the back of his head to secure it. While Shouto was busy adjusting his to his preference, Izuku slid the other one on the side of his head. He rationed that if they went as a pair, less people would think of Shouto as Hero Shouto. He silently took hold of Shouto's hanging hand, again locking their fingers together.

“Are we good for cotton candy now?” Shouto’s voice, muffled through the mask, was filled with child-like excitement.

Izuku laughed, leading them out of the dark alleyway and into the bubbly crowd heading towards the night festival.

“Yes, we are very ready for cotton candy.”

[duckbeater]

Duck Beater at Ten; or, The Orphans

[Editor’s Note: I started this blog a decade ago—occasion enough, I thought, for me to reflect on what it’s meant to contribute (in my extraordinarily untimely and narrow way) to a log that has tried (and more often failed) at recording where I’m at and how I’m doing and what I’m thinking and where I’m going. Having this space has not unreasonably kept me in it—I mean, its persistence has kept me reflecting more or less on the period of its inception. I think a lot about who I was at 23, which is idiotic and costly. I read more books back then. I had no money. My best friend was my brother. I thought I would write a novel.] 

Years ago, my brother’s friend offended him when she asked me why I didn’t prefer one brand of paint over another. I was probably in my apartment's kitchen, working on a canvas, and they were probably behind me, eating my boyfriend's food.

I painted then because I was very poor. One way of thinking through your poverty—if you haven't drugs or sex or a brain injury—is to create pointless tasks for yourself, which is what art-making very often is. It's like Vicodin. It's very lovely, costly, addicting, transporting and makes your stomach hurt if you're not full-up already on something else (say, mashed potatoes). I was painting a truly hideous “family portrait”—globs of white and green paint shaped like cast-off “Sesame Street” creatures—and I was painting, besides, for myself. To hold the brush and to fold the colors and to smell the Turpenoid. A.J. had the money for food (our dying grandfather had cosigned on a student loan) and yet there he was with Victoria, in my apartment, peeling back the silvery foil of a Pop-Tart, making crinkling sounds.

I shouldn't say “my apartment” because it was really Cole’s: I had decamped there when we fell hard in love. This was on the corner of Union and Greenwich, across from an intramural field, and beyond that the law school. It was low-income housing: most has been destroyed; and now that I'm on Google I find the places I walked by, the porch I painted bright blue, the rooms I cherished (orange, annoyingly), they've all disappeared. There's odd grassy lots where there were once old, three-apartment houses, their interiors mangled to accommodate the crying fits of off-campus seniors. In the decade since their vanishment, even the indentations of walkways, of their foundations are invisible, and the lawns are as serene and flat and verdant as well-maintained graves. I recall coming off work one night that October, and finding Cole in the stairwell to the second-floor flat. He was crumpled in a ball, on the phone, arguing with his father: I should visit for Thanksgiving; I should be considered family. He was so angry he was bawling, and he hated me to touch him, and I left him in a daze which is also how I finally left him—in a daze, hating me to touch him. (But on better terms with his father.) Well, that stairwell is gone.

A.J. and Victoria, and in fact many of A.J.’s other law school friends, they regularly came into this apartment. (I have written about them before and realized only in editing this piece that the following brief description is a paraphrase of that missive.) They played Mario Kart on the GameCube, recited Moot Court speeches and ate take-out on the sofas. They gossiped incessantly because a small law school is a high school (it even had lockers), and the attendees are as reckless and dispirited and status-hungry as freshmen in a high school. He was a first year then and I was a fifth year finishing my undergrad, and so I saw all of A.J.'s new friends more than I ever saw my old ones because my old friends had moved on. (They went to Austin, Texas. They stayed at most three years and then relocated to either Los Angeles or the Pacific Northwest.)

I want to try to remember Victoria without resorting to her Instagram account. Back then, she took great pains to distinguish herself as a sophisticated New Englander. I see: high socks, long “piecey” hair, a face white-powdered to pore-less perfection. Perhaps because she was changing her life at twenty-eight and not at twenty-three, as other law students were, her look inclined toward the transformative, toward the gothic and the chic-severe. (Why am I describing her as a later-day Wednesday Addams? She was not a Wednesday Addams. She wore colors. She drank Pimm’s with grape fruit slices and soda water. We took day trips to places like Gary, Indiana, listening to Sam Amidon on the Camry’s stereo.) What I think is, she was alarmed and depressed to be at a “fourth-tier law school in the middle of an ugly corner in uglier Indiana,” and so rebelled against the smallness of her new life by having outsized opinions on luxury goods and fine foods and exotic locales. The worst was that no one knew what she was talking about. She felt this and compensated by hosting foreign film nights. She preferred “the scene,” knew of a scene (there was a music one close by, apparently, in Chicago), and she called herself, sometimes guffawing, a “scenester,” but also wanted us to know she was down with whatever. Just, whatever. She nettled everyone but mostly everyone pitied her, so on balance, her gloom and her snobbery were tolerated.

Victoria made mysterious, indelible gestures. Their performances were somehow less memorable than their obscure resonances, and those resonances affected us obscurely, too. An example. She once loaned A.J. a copy of A Wild Sheep Chase, wanting to hook him on Murakami. When he gave it back unread at the end of term, she insisted it was a replacement copy, that he had lost her original. “If I lost your book,” he told her flatly (and not at all to his credit), “I would not have bothered replacing it.” She said, “No, no—you would. And this is proof.” She told exasperated classmates that A.J. had lost her beloved Murakami paperback and tried to replace it with an exact copy, a conviction seemingly borrowed from the phantasmagorical worlds of Murakami. She used this as a wedge issue about trust, about fidelity. “You’re a coward who couldn’t tell me the truth,” she said, slipping comfortably into a Whit Stillman role. “You’re a deceiver.” To this day, A.J. accepts loaned books graciously while maintaining (not, I think, aloud), “If I lose this, I won’t replace it.” He has never replaced a book I loaned and then he re-loaned again, and there have been more than a dozen. Victoria gave him that.

Another example. When A.J. proposed to his wife, Victoria emailed soon after, advising against the marriage. Incredibly, she sent an email to A.J.’s fiancée too, her reasons for either party diametrically proposed. She was not certain A.J. harbored a strong enough attachment to commit to what she thought would be a lifelong and life-destroying folly. And to Tayler, she said that the two did not know each other enough; that, although they met and dated in high school, and all through college, had not found themselves as adults and might try living longer, in other relationships, before settling down. The emails were cruel, stupid, and strange. Their audience did the generous thing: blamed them on the performer's romantic illusions and then dismissed them as curiosities. Yet sometimes A.J. wishes he had kept his “receipts”—that he’d printed out Victoria’s appeals to him and Tayler, to have at hand such shining examples of sincerity. I’ve heard him rueful about it. “I’m not trying to be an asshole,” he’s said, “but I wish I had these things to point to and say, ‘Here is someone who believes she is doing the right thing.’” But all those emails are gone. The law school closed last year—rather spectacularly, given the coverage in the Times. He doesn’t even have an alumni vanity mailing address.

Victoria adopted this business about oil paints from someone else, her “friend who shows in Chelsea,” a factor that compounded  A.J.'s ire. “He uses exclusively, I think, Windsor and Newton,” she said. “Mixing from other labels creates inconsistencies, sometimes chemical clashes?” She opened the fridge and A.J., after scrubbing it with a towel, sat atop the counter. Bluish light came in through bay windows. The law students appeared not only chronically under-slept (they were) but also ethereal, and perhaps very ill. Victoria helped herself to milk. The cords in A.J.'s neck strained as he gazed at the ceiling, lips pursed, white-knuckling the countertop. Some of this was histrionics and some of this was my brother holding onto his sanity.

I said I didn’t I have a preference—or rather, I just didn’t think about it. I had inherited some desiccated oils from my grandma, raided other buttery leftovers from the art building, had bought cheap, thin student sets in the last full years of school—and I got by on what I had. I got by beautifully, actually, elbow-deep in half-tubes and tubes splayed open at the ends, and tubes coaxed open with needle-nose pliers. The mineral reek and vegetal reek from these paints necessitated full days of airing out the apartment. The solvents and extenders smelled of clove cigarettes smoked indoors. I left canvases to dry outside, where they collected tree fluff and tiny, delicate dead bugs. My images were neither hurt nor helped by these environmental additions. I said I was paying down student loan debt, and would practice brand loyalty when I was solvent again. Victoria said, “Oh, but you really should.” I thought to myself, perhaps for the first time, Why did my brother befriend this orphan?

“I really should,” I say to myself, most days on my drive. Wasn't there a performance art piece—a woman, saying 1,000 things she should do, into a tape-recorder? “I really should recycle. I really should call my mother. I really should pay my parking tickets.” I really should honor ritual and superstition, and my gut instincts. I really should read what I buy or at least attend more assiduously to reviews, so as to refrain from buying disappointments. I really should do my part to cut back on carbon emissions, clean the seas, and vote. Everything is in reach. The way Victoria said it—breezy, condescending, hopeful—is the way I hear most advice, particularly the advice I give myself: spoken in the tones of unconvincing conviction. I drank much less then (somehow), still I had a bottle of Bombay Sapphire at hand (somehow), and peered at Victoria and A.J. through its blue glass, tripling their blue-hued bodies. 

Much later I wrote a play where a character unhappy in love does the same thing. In the stage directions, the young man “goes to the wine cooler, pulls out a beautiful champagne magnum, studies it, puts it back and takes out another. Every bottle dazzles his countenance with jewel-like light—emerald and sapphire; amethyst and ruby; garnet and topaz lights, they sparkle across his bare chest and face as he inspects the bottles. He decides on a blue bottle of Prosecco, lavishly foiled, and brings it to his eyes like binoculars and for a moment considers his open hand, his surroundings, even his audience through the dark blue glass, and the stage glows beautifully blue, too. With great delicacy he unwraps and unwires the Prosecco, and uncorks it in a kitchen towel, and pours himself a glass. He drinks alone, picking at his phone, while the stage goes dark.” It was well past midnight in the second act. The kitchen was empty.

[squirrelacorngliterfarts]

“you. are. everything”. requested part 1.

the mornings in kattegat were ivars favorites. so bright, so sunny, so peaceful.

every morning at sunrise, ivar would crawl up to his favorite spot up on that cliff ledge, just overlooking the sea, and watch as the sun peeked over the mountains.

the air was so fresh and crisp, the sun so warm upon his skin. here on this ledge, no one was here to bother him, to tease him, to anger him. here, it was just he, himself, and his thoughts.

ivar had been doing a lot of thinking lately, so much so, he’d go to bed everynight with a splitting head-ache.

even though ivar came up here to rid himself of the stressesof everyday life, there was one troubling thing that never ever left his mind.

you.

damn you, damn you to hell. damn you and that smile, damn you and that body, that touch, those hands, those looks, those eyes.

ivar huffed and flew back on to the ground, his head landing in a soft patch of moss. why did you have to plague his every thought? his every memory?

why?

no matter how hard ivar tried not to think of you, no matter how tight he closed his eyes, or clenched his fists, you never went away.

his mother would often say: “these thoughts are normal, ivar. she is a pretty girl, and a good soul. every man has thoughts of a woman such as herself”. his mother thought it was a faze. but could a faze really last for over thirteen years?

ivar could remember the first time he had seen you.

a scared little girl, clutching her mothers hand tightly, fearfully watching the large men crowd around her.

his father, ragnar lothbrok, had brought both you and your mother home from a raid.

ivar remembered being very confused, and very curious when he seen a small rope around your neck, holding two metal bars crossing over one another.

something his father explained to him when he got older.

you were catholic.

the word didn’t really hit ivar the way it did his mother. his mother was quite mad at his father for bringing two catholics into her home.

but over time, when a local man had bought the two of you, she settled down a bit.

when ivar was a child, he never wanted to be around the other children (mostly because they never wanted to play with him because of his condition).

ivar always wanted a friend that would be just like him. quiet, kept to himself, loved his weapons and training, loved the stories of the gods.

but instead, he got something a little..... different.

                                                ~~~~~

the day was everything ivar hated. cheerful and loud.

eight year old ivar was currently sitting on a log, messing with the straps on his hands and legs. the stupid, heavy things his mother made him wear.

he watched scornfully at the children who were running and playing and laughing with each other.

he didn’t want to admit it, but he really did want a friend. he huffed loudly and turned to lay his body down the on the log.

why did the gods curse him with non working legs? why did that have to put him through this horrible pain and humiliation?-

“hello”.

ivar jumped at the sound of a squeeky high pitched voice.

he looked over and found the little slave girl his father had brought back from his recent raid.

her hair pulled into a tight braid that casscaded down her back. she had a bright smile upon her face.

when ivar didn’t say anything, she repeated her greeting.

“hello!”.

ivar cringed at the annoying sound.

“hello” ivar replied, his voice clearly showing his annoyence. but the girl didn’t really seem to notice.

she leaned over him, her smile still present on her face.

“what are you doing?” she questioned, her head turned to the side like a confused child.

ivar huffed, and went to speak, but was cut off as his annoying brother, sigurd, yelled out from the crowd of playing children.

“do not waste your time, slave girl. he is a cripple, he cannot play”.

the girl looked at the other boy with a strange look, almost like she couldn’t understand him. she then turned her head back to ivar. her eyes going to his legs.

“come play with us! leave him!” sigurd called out once more. but the girl shook her head to him, this surprised ivar, yet made him even more annoyed that she was not leaving.

sigurd shrugged and went back to playing with the other children. the girl turned back to ivar and started playing with the hem of her dress, her other hand was holding something round.

a ball.

ivar’d never played ball with anyone other than himself and his mother, sometimes his eldest brothers, ubbe and bjorn would play as well, but they were always busy.

when the little girl seen him eyeing her favorite toy, she smiled even wider and nodded towards the ball.

“do you wanna play?-”.

“what makes you think i wanna play with that?” ivar asked, rudely cutting her off.

“or you?” ivar said, wanting to hurt her and make her go away.

but she laughed, she actually laughed. ivar didn’t know which was more annoying, her voice or her laugh.

“i don’t know, you were looking at it like you wanted to. i don’t know anyone here, and i saw you alone over here and i thought you could use a friend” she said innocently, her wide eyes shining with happiness.

ivar scoffed and shook his head.

“i don’t need a friend, and i do not want to play”. but deep down, ivar really wanted one, just not her. not some stupid little slave girl.

she sighed and messed around with the ball.

“please?” she looked up at him, a pout on her lips. ivar looked away from her and rolled his eyes.

when ivar didn’t respond, she got louder.

“pleeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaassssse!?”.

ivar still remained silent.

“PLEASE!!”.

“FINE!” ivar shouted back, really wanting nothing more than to have this girl get away from him.

she smiled triumphantly and smoothed out her skirts. she held the ball in her hands, waiting for ivar to situate himself. he sat up and moved his legs in front of him.

he nodded and sighed.

“ready?” she asked, her voice shaking with excitement.

“yes” ivar replied, his voice tight with anger and embarresment.

the two played ball for hours. ivar didn’t know how one littl girl could be so full of energy. he tried everything to get her away and tiered out.

he threw the ball over her head, farther and farther with each throw, making her run faster and longer away from him.

but she’d always run back, smiling and laughing. he thought maybe, just maybe he could bear the stupid gam, if she weren’t talking, but, she would not shut her mouth.

she talked about everything. what she likes, what she hated. he learned not only her name (y/n), but her favorite food, her favorite color, her favorite game. she just would not shut. up.

when the sun had finally set, his mother came to his rescue. calling him in for the night.

he was the happiest he’d been in a long time. his mother came to him and  grabbed him, the little girl waved and gave ivar one more smile before running home herself.

                                              ~~~~~~~~~

ivar smiled and shook his head, remembering that half toothed smile of yours. he could remember your hair blowing behind you as you ran home.

he also remembered thinking that would be the last of you, the last time you would annoy him. oh how wrong he was.

                                                ~~~~~~~~~

ivar awoke to someone shaking his shoulder. he growled angrily and turned over, sleep still fogging his brain.

his fathers bright smiling face peering down on him.

“father?, what is it?”. ragnar was chuckling, his body practically shaking with giddyness.

“a girl, there is a girl outside, ivar. looking. (poke) for (poke). you. (poke)”.

ivar groaned. maybe it wasn’t her, maybe it was someone else.

ivar crawled away from his father and half fell to the floor, his body colliding iwth the cold wood flooring.

he crawled to the main hall and seen the entrance doors wide open.

and his mother? she was talking to that stupid girl.

she was smiling widely up at his mother, her hands clutching that ugly ball close to her side.

when her eyes landed on ivar, they instantly brightened up.

“hello, ivar!” she exclaimed giving ivar a wave. 

his mother turned towards him and smiled.”say hello, ivar”.

ivar grumbled his greeting under his breath, not meeting the two’s eyes.

(y/n) stepped closer in the hall.

“you want to play again today?”. ivar opened his mouth to decline. all he wanted to do was go back into his room and sleep in his bed.

but the look his mother gave him told him he wasn’t going to get to go back to sleep.

ivar closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to snap. he opened them slowly and gave (y/n) a very sarcastic smile and reply.

“yes, of course. seeing as yesterday was so much fun”.

this made her smile and start jumping up and down.

“i’ll be outside waiting!���. she then scampered out of the hall. his mother smiled at her, but frowned when her eyes landed on his.

“ivar, i want you to be nice to her-”.

“why should i!? she’s just some stupid, annoying slave girl! you hated her when she got here!”.

“i never hated her, ivar. i didn’t like the idea of them being here, under my rule. but i got to know them and i really think you should be nice to her. and her mother”.

ivar growled and slammed his fist against the wooden floor. he angrily crawled past his mother and went out the door ignoring her words.

hours went by of passing that ball back and forth. but ivar had gotten tiered of doing that, so he had suggested to going into the woods. he honestly wanted to lose her, but she kept up with him easily seeing as he couldn’t walk away from her.

they had sat down in a small clearing. and of course, she wouldn’t be quiet. even after the day before, she still had something to talk about. ivar was laying on his back, staring up at the sky, trying his best to ignore her, but nod and hum at the right moments.

but she didn’t seem to mind. she knew he was ignoring her, but she could have cared less. she was just so happy she found a friend. 

later, she had picked these large, blue flowers for ivar. ivar took them, grabbed them by each end, and snapped them, ripping them to shreds.

ivar smirked at the girl, waiting for her to cry and run home, leaving him in peace. 

but that didn’t happen. she looked between him and the flowers, and simply, shrugged.

ivars eyes widened and his mouth fell open. what was wrong with this girl!? why wasn’t she crying?!.

when she looked back at ivar and seen his expression, she smiled and asked “what? what’s wrong?”.

ivar scoffed and threw his hands up.

“why aren’t you upset!? i just ripped the flowers you gave me, i taunted you about your hair, your nose, your face-EVERYTHING! and you still stay!”.

his words didn’t really seem to hurt her or bother her. she moved closer to him, which resulted in him moving away. she sighed and clicked her tongue. still silent.

when she didn’t say anything, ivar continued.

“why?, why do you stay? why did you even want to talk to me, or play? why?”.

she looked over at him and smiled a small almost sad looking smile.

“i’ve never had a friend before. you looked lonely all by yourself. i’ve seen the other children picking on you, teasing you. and i didn’t like that. i wanted to make you feel happy. i wanted to be your friend”.

ivar didn’t want to admit it, but her words made him feel warmer than usual. feel different than he was used to.

he didn’t know whether he liked it, or hated it.

he looked at her, really looked at her. taking in every feature. for a moment, he felt the urge to smile.

but instead, he frowned, scowled actually. and growled in her direction.

“i don’t need a friend. i don’t need you”.

and with those venomous words said, he crawled away from her, leaving her behind all alone.

alright! this is part one of this request, because it’s too damn long lol. let me know whatcha think! lots of love and thanks from me! <3

@anzoh

[inthepantheon]

The Call

The dice bounce across the table. I stare out across the casino floor, savoring the expressions of fear and anticipation. I take notice of a few mortals. I smile to myself and lightly wave my hand as the dice hit the wall of the table.  I love addicts.  As the dice settle, a cry of disgust rises from the players crowded around the craps table. “Seven again?! Come on, man!” “I have to go make a call,” another player says as she runs out of the building in tears. My little back alley casino is thick with the smell of cigar smoke, bourbon, and shattered hopes. To me, there is no better scent in the world. I am Caerus, God of Opportunity, Luck, and Favor. I run a ten table joint on the upper east side that caters to the wealthy elite. No celebrities here, they prefer to play at cushy hotel games in the Plaza like the one Molly Bloom ran. Not that I mind losing potential patrons to games like that, in fact, I prefer that the attention whores and paparazzi bait don’t come here. I run a quiet place that luckily never gets raided, and that’s what people in the know come for. I may have even had a slight hand in helping Ms. Bloom get off with a light sentence so that her story could be told, and people would look for those games instead of searching for mine.  I smile as the dealer at table 4 shuffles for another round of Hold ‘Em. A slight wave of the hand, and I’ve assured that player two will go all-in on pocket rockets, which will eventually turn up nothing. Some people may call it cheating, but as a god with no need for money, and no control over my own life, that feeling of power is all I’m willing to settle for. I turn to my assistant and summon her over. “Anita, go fetch the Ukrainian for me. Make sure Victor searches him thoroughly, and if he finds anything, tell Victor to break his fingers for disrespecting the rules of my house.”  She nods politely and walks out the double walnut doors.  “I hate to see her leave, but I love to watch her go.” I curse myself for speaking like that out loud. Knock that off, it’s how you lost the last one, Caerus. The mortals who don’t know what you are, get creeped out by it, and the immortals that do, never leave you alone if they see you’re interested. I turn away from the one-way mirror and sit in the large, high-backed, dark brown leather chair at my desk. I open the middle drawer and grab the velvet bag inside. I stick my fingers inside and take out the pair of transparent green dice, rolling them around my palm before tossing them onto the table.  Six. Could go either way. I pick them up and place them back inside the velvet pack and gently set it into the drawer as I hear a knock on the door.  “Come in and set the case on the table, please.” As the light spills into the office, I take one look at the silhouette of the colossus who enters, and sigh out loud.  Why do they always send a brute instead of someone with more than two brain cells to rub together?  “Care for some ice with your whiskey?” I say as I walk over and uncap a bottle of Hedonism.  “No.” The singular word comes out short and staccato. The steel case slides across the table, and its owner slumps into the lone, stiff wooden chair I’d had Anita place in front of the large mahogany desk. Maybe he only has a single brain cell. Just once can new partners respect me enough to have at least someone from mid-tier management come to a first meeting? I set the glass down and take a closer look at the brute. He’s another stereotypical meathead, a bit of stubble, a shaved head, and an accompanying long scar across his cheek. This is new, they’ve sent me the ugliest one of the lot.  “Mr. Kravchenko, it is my pleasure to do business with you.” The thug scowls. “My last name is reserved for family members and fellow members of my nation. As you are neither, you will call me Denys.”  I roll my eyes so hard I can almost see the back of my skull. Will you ever stop following me, Dion? “I’m curious, son of a tailor, a product of Dionysos, why did they send you to deal with me?” I walk back to my side of the desk, glancing at the bookshelf. Every item meticulously curated, something to remind me of where I come from.  He grimaces again. “I do not know what you mean. I was simply told by a man in my organization to bring you the product and pick up the money. This whole affair with disarming me, bringing me here to this tiny office filled with lavish ornaments, and pestering me with questions was not what I was told would happen. Normally, new players have a bag man make the exchange, they are too busy for the minutiae of such a transaction. However, you are here in person, offering me expensive drinks, explaining to me the meaning of my own name, and asking strange questions. Can we please just make the exchange, so that I may go on with my other business?” He shoves the case across the table towards me. Such arrogance. This is why most mortals will never rise above their station. I place my hand on the only other item on the desk, my black and gold deck of cards, and shuffle it a few times.  “Did you know that the odds of shuffling a deck of cards the same way twice, is smaller than the odds of being able to pick a specific atom randomly out of all the atoms in the universe?” I savor the puzzled look on his face for a moment before I toss the cards at him and leap over the desk. My hands wrap around his throat as a wicked grin spreads across my face. “Who sent you? Was it that bitch Morrigan? It’s been a while since I’ve seen her, she does love keeping tabs on me.” I realise that my prey cannot breathe, let alone speak. I loosen my grip and wipe the foam that had frothed at corners of my mouth.  He gasps for breath and scuttles out from under me. “What are you? Some kind of devil with all that strength in that body?” His voice comes out raspy, as if I broke his airway. I tip the scales back into balance and stand up, letting him breathe once again. “Not a devil, just lucky.” He stares at me in bewilderment. “I apologise for my outburst, let us resume negotiations.” I help him to his feet and set the chair upright once more.  His eyes are wide with fear and confusion. “I know not what you are, but please, do not kill me, I… I can help you!” His pupils are wider than any man’s I have ever seen before.  You’re losing your touch, Caerus, reel it in. “Mr. Kravchenko, I accept your plea. You will take the money from Anita and go back to your bosses. You will pretend that nothing out of the ordinary happened here, and you will begin reporting anything unusual about your organization to me.” He slowly lowers himself back into the chair and wordlessly nods his head in agreement.  I suppose I have to work with what I am given. “Tell me, what is the name of your direct superior?”  He thought for a moment before answering, “Vladisnoff. His name is Vladisnoff.” I walk back around the desk and open the case. I survey its contents before closing it. “Very good. Go home, Mr. Kravchenko. Tomorrow, Mr. Vladisnoff will have an unfortunate accident on his way home. You will be promoted, and you will follow the terms of our agreement. If you do not…well, I will leave that to your imagination. Pick up a business card from Victor on your way out. I will be in touch soon.” He took the cue and practically ran from the room, slamming the doors behind him.  “Maybe not worthless after all. The pawns are in place among the Ukrainians, the Irish, and the Italians. Once I lock the Germans down, I can strike.” I walk over to the cards and stretch my hand out over them. They slowly float back to my palm and assemble themselves in order. I clasp my fingers around them and place them back on the desk, before pressing the button underneath the overhang on the side. The middle of the desktop shimmers away, revealing the safe underneath. I quickly spin the wheel and unlock it, revealing the single letter inside.  Caerus, the Petulant Always a flair for the dramatic with that one. I trace the wax seal on the back, and debate opening it. It’s been three weeks, and no one has come to fetch me yet. It can wait. I place the envelope back in the safe, and wave it shut. I press the button once more, and the desktop shimmers back into existence. On to more pressing matters. I open the case again and stare at the deep red vials inside.  “They’re calling it ‘Ichor’” I say to no one in particular, “which if you ask me is fitting.” I pull out a UV light and shine it over the tubes. They glow ever so slightly. “Curious indeed.”  I pick up the phone and call my most trusted friend in the world. “Get over here as soon as you can. I’ve discovered something more about Ichor.” Read the full article

[mechagalaxy]

John T Mainer 28840 and Don Lindley 876604 Interview

ANN-Joining us in the ANN studios is Don Lindley 876604 of the Spirit of Bunny, thank you for joining us Don. Can we pick your brain for a few thoughts about the back to back Clan Wars in 3357?

Don-Well , you gonna need a small pick , not much brains left after back to back wars , Dragons did some mighty heavy pounding , but medics say the triple vison should clear up in a few weeks

ANN-So Don, Spirit of Bunny fights in Division 2, how did you do in each war?

Don-There was a lot of speculation about the first war , with all the new adjustments, lots of scrabbling for position and such , but at least in the upper div's , didn't seem to change the outcome much - I ran a 55 ton spec so i didn't really engage in the heavy actions.

The second war- well every body brought the big iron to play - good test of new mechs and lines.

ANN-So the first war, adjusted, with specialists, you faced Northwind Dragons, Black Star Lycan Rangers, and Myth and Legends Team Banzai.

The only difference in the second war is you faced Northwind Dragons, Death Dealers AFF, and Myth and Legends Team Banzai.

Gold in both goes to Northwind Dragons, Silver to the Spirit of Bunny, Wood to Myth and Legends Team Banzai, the only difference seems to be Black Star Lycan Rangers went from gold in 3 to bronze in 2, in the adjusted war, swapping places with the Death Collectors AFF.

Not a lot of change in outcome, how about fighting? Did you do the same amount of attacking in each style?

Don-Harder to attack in the first war - numbers were close in round 2 , thankfully we had the Cyborg , didn't want to get caught out of formation , but I did manage a few , second war , no change ups , just good scouting (good intel never survives long) , and alot of bare knuckle brawling , skill vs heavy guns , lots of running also - sometimes the battle doesn't go as planned.

ANN-That is true, specialist involvement make scouting harder. A person who feared to hit your specialist may kick you unlimited. In a no specialist war, the first attack gives equal intel to both sides.

How many levels did the fighting cost you, both wars combined?

Don-Start to finish 5 levels , really hoping to find some real loot in the raid , gonna take a long hard road to catch up that many levels , and a lottery win is eluding me like the plague

ANN-That is true, not a sniff of a lottery win this series of wars. Five levels is a lot to support, even if you just look at your main lineup.

You are in the three hundreds, where the KOTM XP starts getting bad, the space between levels starts to get small, how are you keeping up in terms of resources to level up, and guns to equip?

Don-Ever been so broke , you sold old guns just so you could enter the lottery for a slim chance ? thats how it has been since I broke the dreaded 300 bench. seriously looking at clearing a bunch of mechs from the hanger right now

ANN-I hear you! In order to get the resources I need even to get my crystal beasts to level, I end up almost at the next, without even being able to do more than my front line niode beasts.

How big is the gap right now between your front rank mecha and your rear niode machines in level? Are you up on all, or rationing starting to open a gap?

Don-The gap is widening - at the start of the war I had all but my penner up to level (weird feeling that) but now 2-3 levels and widening. the xp to resource ration is a bit out of sinc at the moment , and not looking to improve. I could have a bigger base , that would add more mechs to the field , but the cost to keep that many mechs adjusted is just too steep.

Besides the fact I can't afford to upgrade my base.

ANN-Have the prizes from Clan War increased to balance the cost of fighting for them? Or are you basically getting the same return, at higher cost?

Don-Bigger mechs mean bigger bills to upgrade and outfit , the raids are where the real payoff used to be , in the lower levels , raid caches meant all the difference , now they barely pay the cost of wat, let alone making any real gains on advancing actual abilities.

ANN-I note that Gold gets you five good pieces of Niode Equipment for the big machines, Silver two good ones, two jokes, bronze two good ones and a single joke.

Gold should obviously get the prize mecha, but would you consider it fair to get less mecha and more equipment for the BFM mecha that none of us could otherwise afford?

Cool to have a Penner, but if you can't equip it, you can't hope to do better against guys winning more and better mecha AND the gear to put on them.

Don-I can't speak for the rest , but getting moar and better gear to outfit the mechs I can't afford to buy, let alone outfit would sure make silver and bronze fighters give the gold tier a bit more of a fight, not sure we could catch them , but at least we could make it a fight instead of a sacrafice to the craftsmen.

ANN-True that.

Any guesses on what kind of raid is going to follow a double whammy war? Faction War XP orgasm of doom, regular Clan War slaughterfest, or something in between?

Don-Hoping for faction war type caches with regular clan war action , but with all the new involved in the double wammie ? Who can really say. I figure on reloading for big war.

ANN-Luck in the hunt, I hope the random number gods shower you with something better than Wrecker Shots and Death's Head this time.

Thanks for joining us here in the ANN studios Don.

Don-Thanks for the drinks

John T Mainer 28840 and Don Lindley 876604

[ask-the-phan-site]

The Shell Shocker of Wrath

WARNING: This may contain spoilers for Persona 5: The Royal.

>It’s time.

Let’s get him out of his shell.

(laughs a bit) That’s a good one, Joker!

All set to go?

I’m all ready.

Mona: Then let’s get going!

>Mona becomes our van and we drive off to take Hun’s heart.

>Hun’s Palace takes the form of a medieval castle, something more like out of an RPG. Mikey says this game is called SuperQuest. In the center of the castle that is the throne room, we find Hun’s Shadow that has taken human form for now.

Took you long enough.

Well, going through all those traps you set up wasn’t going to get us to you any faster.

Shadow Hun: It’s your own fault for not being competent enough. I swear, you’re just like turtles. So slow.

Excuse me?

He must really hate them.

Well he does blame them for his mutation.

Shadow Hun: (getting upset) I don’t just hate turtles! They make me SICK! Because of them, whenever I look in the mirror, that’s all I see! Turtles! Turtles! TURTLES! For a long time, they have been a thorn in my side! And now they’re everywhere I look!

It’s your own fault! You chose to go down a dark path and that lead you to your just reward.

Shadow Hun: I was merely trying to make a living. I can’t help it if a bunch of reptiles decided to meddle in my affairs.

Queen: If by ‘affairs’, you mean threatening innocent people for money to the point where they can’t defend themselves?

Shadow Hun: You know nothing. I’m just offering a little protection.

Mona: From who? You?

Shadow Hun: And what of you? Aren’t you just as guilty of using force to change people’s hearts?

Don’t say we’re alike! We take the hearts of criminals and make them see what shit bags they are! Shit bags like you!

>Darkness begins to surround Hun’s Shadow.

Shadow Hun: I have already told all that you need to know of the world, and you choose to take it as just pure nonsense. Very well. I’ll just have to make you listen... Even if it kills you.

>Then, the Shadow changes his shape.

Oracle: It looks like I’m going to have to go Ultimate for this.

>Oracle goes Ultimate.

Oracle: PERSONA!

>Prometheus scans Shadow Hun. But suddenly, something happened... Prometheus retreats to Oracle’s mask.

What!? You mean this is even beyond Prometheus!?

Queen: It must be his cognition. His anger and hatred must be too strong.

Oracle: Okay then, I see I have no choice.

Mona: You mean...

That’s right, Mona chan. I’m going to have to go... Beyond!

>With that, Oracle goes Third Tier.

Oracle: PERSONA!

>Al Azif scans Shadow Hun.

Oracle: Success! He’s weak to Ice and Wind. Inari, Mona, you two are going on.

Fox: If your strongest Persona is the only one that can scan that monstrosity, it’s safe to assume the same is for us.

Mona: (smirking) Heh heh! Time to show Panther just how strong I can be.

I can be super strong, too! Fine, I’m fighting, too.

Joker: If that’s what you want, go for it. Just don’t push yourselves too much.

We know, Joker. I trust you.

I know, Fox. I trust you, too... Especially with my heart.

WARNING: Usually, Third Tier Personas gain a new Skill when awaken. But since ATLUS has yet to name them, only show them, they won’t be used.

>Fox, Mona, and Panther go Third Tier.

Fox, Mona, and Panther: PERSONA!

>I change Personas.

Joker: Persona!

(Insert song: Nothing is Promised)

>Shadow Hun just hesitates. Earlier, I used a Skill Card on King Frost which gave him the Skill, Marakukaja, which he uses. He already has Auto-Mataru. Gorokichi uses Masukukaja. Diego uses Garudyne. However, Shadow Hun dodges it. Celestine uses Tarunda. Shadow Hun uses Charge. King Frost uses Bufudyne. It knocks him down.

Joker: Let’s do this!

>After the attack, Shadow Hun was still up. Gorokichi also uses Bufudyne. He is knocked down again.

Fox: Everyone, with me!

>After the attack, Shadow Hun was still up. Diego uses Garudyne. He was knocked down yet again. We don’t do an All-Out-Attack this time. Diego uses Garudyne again. Celestine uses Concentrate. Shadow Hun uses Heat Wave. It was a critical hit on me and Mona. Shadow Hun uses Megaton Raid on Panther. Luckily, she dodged it. I get back up and King Frost uses Megaton Raid as well. However, Shadow Hun resists it. Gorokichi uses Bufudyne again. Shadow Hun dodges it. Mona gets back up and Diego uses Garudyne. He is knocked down.

Mona: Time for some bloodshed!

>After the attack, Shadow Hun was still up. Celestine uses Agidyne. Shadow Hun is Burned. Shadow Hun uses Terror Claw on Fox. He is afflicted with Fear. The Burn eats away at Shadow Hun’s health. I use Relax Gel on him. Gorokichi uses Masukukaja. Diego uses Salvation. Celestine uses Tarunda. Shadow Hun uses Charge. King Frost uses Bufudyne. He is knocked down. No All-Out-Attack this time. I pass the baton to Mona and Diego uses Garudyne. It’s a technical hit because of the Burn. Gorokichi uses Bufudyne as well. Diego uses Garudyne again. Another technical hit. Celestine uses Agidyne again. Shadow Hun gets back up and the Burn wears off. Then, Shadow Hun uses Memory Blow. Me, Mona, and Panther Forget. I am unable to use my Persona.

Fox: Joker, snap out of it!

>I snap out of it. Then, Fox uses Mental Floss on Panther. Mona does nothing. Panther uses Harisen Recovery on Mona and Celestine uses Concentrate. Shadow Hun just scowls at me. King Frost uses Bufudyne. Shadow Hun is knocked down.

Joker: Let’s go!

>After the attack, Shadow Hun is still up.

Joker: Damn! We’re not putting a dent in him.

Mona: Actually, I think I might know what to do about this. Panther, I know I said I wanted to show you just how strong I can be, but I might need your help with this.

Panther: Right, I’ll help.

Shadow Hun: I’d like to see you try it!

>Gorokichi uses Masukukaja. Diego uses Garudyne. However, Shadow Hun dodges it. Celestine uses Agidyne.

Shadow Hun: I may look like a brute to you, but I know your plan. Let’s see you get past this!

>Shadow Hun uses Wind Wall.

Mona: This could be bad. We’ll just have to hold on until it wears off.

Oracle: But until then, I’ll do something about this!

>Al Azif recovers our SP. King Frost uses Bufudyne. Shadow Hun is knocked down.

Joker: Let’s do it!

>After the attack, Shadow Hun is still up, but now slightly weaker. But we still hope Mona and Panther can do their thing. Gorokichi uses Bufudyne, too. He is knocked down again.

Fox: Now! Let us strike!

>After the attack, Shadow Hun is still standing. Diego uses Salvation. Celestine uses Agidyne. Shadow Hun is Burned. Shadow Hun uses God’s Hand on me. Luckily, I dodged it. The Burn eats at his health. King Frost uses Bufudyne. Shadow Hun is knocked down.

Joker: Let’s go for it!

>After the attack, Shadow Hun is still up. Gorokichi uses Masukukaja. Mona defends himself. Celestine uses Tarunda. Shadow Hun, after the Burn wears off, uses Assault Dive on Mona. It looks like Shadow Hun is getting weaker from using too many Physical Skills. King Frost uses Marakukaja. Gorokichi uses Bufudyne. Shadow Hun is knocked down.

Fox: Everyone, with me!

>After the attack, Shadow Hun is still up. Just one more move until the Wind Wall wears off. Mona defends himself. As does Panther. Shadow Hun, not knowing the Wind Wall wears off, uses Charge. King Frost uses Bufudyne. Shadow Hun dodges it. Gorokichi also uses Bufudyne. Shadow Hun is knocked down.

Fox: I will slice you to pieces!

>After the attack, Shadow Hun is still up... But not for long.

Mona: It’s time! Panther?

Panther: I’m ready to go anytime!

Mona: Then let’s go for it. Show your might, Diego!

>Diego uses Garudyne. Shadow Hun is knocked down.

Mona: Too late for apologies!

>After the attack, Shadow Hun is still up.

(so excited that he changed back to cat form) NOW WE DO IT! TOGETHER!

Panther: (also excited) THEN LET’S BEGIN!

>With that, the battle is over. The Shadow resumes his human form and a light comes out of him.

Mona: (returning to human form) Joker, the Treasure!

>I take the Treasure.

(please ignore the fingers)

Shadow Hun: My Purple Dragon Cane. It was a gift from the last leader when I took over.

Queen: Now will you let go of your hatred of the Turtles for just a while so you can be cured and return to human form?

Shadow Hun: ... I know. I will do so if it would at least give me some peace.

Queen: Good.

Noir: And there’s something else.

Shadow Hun: Let me guess, you want me to turn over a new leaf and disband the Purple Dragons, or at least, lead them to be good people?

Royal: Maybe?

Shadow Hun: ... I’ll think about it. But know this: The Purple Dragons will never be gone. We have friends. The Foot Clan. Their leader, the Shredder... Even the Kingpin.

The Kingpin!? Who is he?

Shadow Hun: (laughing) How should I know? Ask Sid.

>With that, the Shadow returns to his true self. We leave the vanishing Palace as well.

>The next day at Horizon High, Peter, Harry, Miles, Gwen, Anya, Aleksei, Max, Rena Rouge, Carapace, Flint, the Living Brain, Carolyn, and even Casey and April were in the lab in front of the glass cell were the mutated Hun is. They saw that Hun’s endless rage and been replaced with tearful remorse.

It looks like the Phantom Thieves came though.

Alright!

Was there ever any doubt?

They actually did it. They changed his cognition.

No kiddin’. They’re amazin’.

If only you knew.

April: What do you mean?

Gwen: Oh, nothing.

So, Hun, Hunter, are you ready to take your medicine? I promise that you’ll soon be fully human again.

Hun: ... Okay.

Right. Better let me do it. Just in case.

>Peter enters the cell and puts a headset on Hun.

Is this going to hurt him?

The pain will only last for a minute. Soon, it will be over.

Max: Are you ready?

>Hun nods.

Living Brain: Then let us begin. Ms. Trainer, if you will.

Will do.

>Carolyn activates the headset. After a few minutes of pain, spark, and tears, it was over. They watch as Hun changes back into a human.

Max: It’s done.

How do you feel?

Hun: I feel... Smaller.

Not really, more like you’re just you.

Hun: Thanks... I think.

Casey: So, what’s gonna happen to Hun now?

???????: We can take it from here.

>They turned to see the three Avenges that just came in. Casey and Peter were not happy because they recognized one of them.

Casey: Oh, it’s you again.

Now that’s a little harsh, Jones. We haven’t seen each other in sometime and that’s how you greet me?

Peter: Actually, I’m with him.

Back on subject, we’re here to take Hunter Mason.

Hun: Where?

We were originally going to take you to The Vault. But when we learned that the Phantom Thieves may have given you a change of heart, we thought a simple S.H.I.E.L.D. facility would do it... For now.

Hun: ... Fine. Just get me out of here. Especially from Jones, O’Neil, and... Those friends of theirs.

Black Widow: Alright then.

Max: (puzzled) What friends?

April: Let’s just say, they’re one shell of a group.

>Max was still confused.

Now that we’ve cured Hun, does that mean I’m next? 

Living Brain: It might take some time. Unlike Mr. Sytsevich and Hunter Mason, they were mutated into animals. You, however, were mutated into mineral.

Max: It’s alright, Flint. We’ll make sure things will work out... For you and your daughter.

Flint: (happy) Thank you.

>With that, the three Avengers take Hun away.

Hawkeye: You think it’s a good idea to leave Sandman here?

Falcon: Max Modell said he the students will try their best to cure him.

Hawkeye: I know. It’s just... That Living Brain gives me the creeps.

Black Widow: Yeah... I feel the same way.

>Back inside, we came in.

It looks like things have worked out.

Peter: It wasn’t easy, but we did it. Just a shame Akechi isn’t here. But we’ll see him soon.

I’m sure you will.

April: Oh, are you students here, too?

>Keep in mind, April, Casey, the Turtles, Master Splinter, Rena Rouge, and Carapace don’t know we’re the Phantom Thieves.

No, we’re visitors. We just wanted to see if that man is human again.

April: He is. I think this turned out a happy ending... I think.

Rena Rouge: Anyway, we’ve done what we could. Now to return to Paris. Those two kids we brought with us already left after one of them interviewed Mr. Parker here.

Peter: And I’m very happy for it. Hopefully, Jameson will get off my back for at least a little while.

Carapace: I hope so, too, dude.

>So, with a wink, Rena Rouge and Carapace leave... I’m sure it’s not the last we’ve seen of them.

Now that that’s done, it’s about time we left as well.

Gwen: Do you have to? It feels like you only just got here.

I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other real soon. Why not come to the End of Summer Stride Tournament? We can support my friend together.

Gwen: Thanks, but that’s on the last week of August and we’ve got plans. But I’m sure they’ll live stream it.

Then what about Dream FES? That’s a week before the End of Summer.

Gwen: I guess we can do that.

Harry: I can’t wait. I won’t get to do much after I become CEO of Oscorp, so I’ll enjoy it.

And I’ll make sure you do.

Very well, until we meet again?

>We nod in agreement.

>Another successful heist.

[swooncraft]

Write Weds - Cordate Pt 1

Cordate Of Royal We

A Novel of Everyday Combat

By Juliet Riddle

[Ch. 01]

The smell of wet concrete was everywhere. Something about it brought up memories of a hot spring. Of a beach. Of Vizy and Ani. They were more than images. Feelings, smells and sounds were coupled with the memories triggered by the scent. It was oppressing. It was depressing. But I was remembering. That was a feat in itself. A simple thing that brought a weak smile to my lips. My eyes opened and I recalled instantly what struck me down. The streaking shine of the crowbar before impacting my head made me twitch.

Half of my face was covered in a crusted coagulated crimson, making a sick sucking sound as I lifted off the street floor. The instant throbbing in my skull made me want to lay back down. I fought it and looked to my objective. There was a note on the door.

Before standing I waited to regain some of my senses while wiping my face off with my handkerchief. The dawn was perfect, the sun was still low enough that there wasn't too much light to sear the back of my eyes, and not too early where I couldn't see. The lone lamp in the lot fought against the dawn to provide more light, but it was loosing. Similar to my small weak attempts to make a difference for my team against all of the best players. There was something more I had to be able to do.

The elite call it the Game. The insane call it War. The regulars call it Sand. It was an idea shared by wealthy and powerful people. In secret they collaborated, and piece by piece took over a metropolis as the foundation of the entertainment they were seeking. Implementing a structure that resembled several video games was the next step. The Investors placed the Scorekeepers in and rounded up the first teams a few years ago. Since it's first match, Sand has grown to have over 100 players each in teams of seven. Half were integrated into the justice system, as vigilantes. The other half of us are burglars.

Lawless, uncoordinated criminals. The evidence was on the door I was trying to break into a few hours earlier. On the note was scrawled: “Thx for the ez win again! -9” That's right. 9 was the one who attacked me. The Nippon had more skill than me, enough that she didn't bother drawing her wooden sword. Instead, she disarmed me and knocked me out with my own weapon.

A bitter taste filled my pallet. Which I responded to by ripping the paper from the door. That instant the damn thing fell from it's hinges making me flinch as it crashed inward. I crumpled up the note and threw it at the entryway for good measure.

It was time to get back home. I checked the pocket my phone should have been it. It was missing, meaning I couldn't immediately contact my team or look at the outcome of the match. I couldn't remember anything about the match. I rationalized that it must have been a three objective pickup. The unfortunate thing about my team, Royal We, was our handicap. There was four of us left. I had obviously gone solo to one of the objectives. What else could have happened was beyond me.

My Tag is Cordate. My dead ex, Visitor, gave it to me, because it means heart shaped, and as he said, it fits me because of my ass. That was him in a nutshell, a pig and an asshole. But he was damn good at what he did in this lifestyle before he was Banned. His Ban was one link in the chain of events that crippled Royal We down from a full top tier team to the four of us that were left.

When I had first joined several months prior I was still learning how to defend myself. How to be useful on the field. My ability didn't come quick enough and I suffered a concussion that put me in the hospital for a week. Something in Vizy and our best strategist, Anemone, broke. They retaliated, and Ani went too far, breaking the only real rule Sand has. My attacker died by her hands. Ani's Ban, sent Vizy over the edge, he pulled strings, called in favors and convinced several burglar teams to raid a facility. The Scorekeeper building showed a few dozen players secrets that no one was prepared for.

The raid barely made it into the first floor before teams turned on Royal We for misleading them. Moments later, the Scorekeepers agents, known as Peers, retrained the players. And Banned the leader.

With Vizy and Ani out, that left us with five. It wasn't long after I left the hospital that our tech guy, Crunch, was sent in from a coma. With a third of the players holding a grudge against us it was no surprise.

Since then, we've been hanging on. I'm not sure how, but similar to the luck of me finding my discarded crowbar in an alley a few blocks away, Royal We still had some strange luck left. Unfortunately the steel was bent.

The rest of the walk home included me trying to bend my crowbar back and a few stops as my head spun. I had no doubt that 9's attack damaged me again, I just hoped it wasn't as bad as the first concussion.

The sun had fully risen by the time I meandered back to Royal We's headquarters. When burglar teams are formed their first mission is to claim somewhere to live. I've been told there are different teirs the team can choose from that give you different living spaces. Before I joined, Visitor, Ani, and our hulk of a Russian, Elbo, shot for the gold. Their work put Royal We on the map from day one. The manor was a sight for sore eyes. In it I knew there were painkillers and soft things to lay my head on. My disappointed team would be inside as well.

Thankfully as I opened the one double door Elbo was the only one around to greet me.

“Quarda! I thought you had gone to hospital again! Good to see you back!” Elbo is 250 pounds of pure muscle accented with milky blue eyes and a dishwater buzz-cut. He's a head taller than me, and the friendliest team member left.

Some slur of a grin and grimace crossed my face as I pointed to the side of my head. My fading purple hair was cow-licked by the dried bronze that spilled on the asphalt.

I must have looked as bad as I felt because Russian words spat out of his mouth before asking, “Do you need doctor?”

Before I could tell Elbo 'no' Regency paused in a door frame to the foyer. Before words came out of his mouth my headache doubled. His British snobbishness is a force all it's own, “Tourn was ready to pull the plug if we found you in the ER, Cord.” Regency's hazel-green eyes meet the top of my head. His birdlike features are perfectly accompanied with a medium feathered hairstyle. He's a regal stubborn person who among our team has his eyes on the points closer than any of the rest of us.

I waved off Regency's words, “Where's th' fall'n doc?” My words were a mush of croaking syllables.

Elbo began to suggest a location before Tourniquet entered the foyer. Just the thought or smell of me had him ranting already, “-like this just can't happen anymore! How can we progress if this shit keeps happening? I swear to God-oh. Amazing, Cord. Look at your fucking head!” He tossed a hand out to reinforce his agitation. Tourniquet is Elbo's height; lean with enough tone to make a difference in fights. His verdant eyes glared as he ran a hand through his mess of straw colored hair, “So, who beat the damn points out of you? All of our hard fucking work down the drain-”

While Tourn blew his whistle I showed my bent crowbar to Elbo. Without a word, he took it and bent it back to almost straight. I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. I smiled looking it over. The steel felt personalized to me, the small crook gave it a different feel. Then Tourn's words reached my scrambled brains, “Wai'. We won the roun'?” The words out of my mouth felt so heavy I almost couldn’t pronounce them.

“Fuck yes we did. And by the skin of our fucking teeth,” Tourniquet was so eloquent.

Elbo crossed his arms and nodded, “Quarda asked Elbo to give his all. So. Is just what I did.”

Regency just scoffed and wandered off to do something with crumpets or whatever it is British people do in the morning.

“Good,” I paused, “Wuh.. Any Oxy? Beyon' throbbin' I.. Uh..” I'd been lucid on my way home, but with all the dizzy spells I felt like I was fighting to keep away from the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Yeah, yes... Come to the damned study,” Tourn grumbled as he paced off.

“Is good you are back, Quarda. Viz would be happy. So I am also.”

“Thax big'uy,” I smiled.

I watched Elbo strut off toward the den that was converted into our fitness center.

The manor is a beautiful place. All earth tiles covered with red carpets. Sepia adornments frame the parchment colored walls and banisters. Upkeep of this place costs a lot, but even at the bottom of the ranks, Royal We was thriving. Sand is generous to it's players at the bottom line.

The Study had been converted into an amalgamation of a resting therapy room and an operating room. Generally it's where Tourn and Regency play cards or have heated debates. Other times it's where Elbo and I get patched up.

“Fuck's sake, it took you long enough,” Tourn replied to the Study door's low cry.

My tongue wouldn't lift to even grunt. So I slumped onto the plush leather sofa. Ensured I was comfortable while Tourn could still look at the lump on my head, I closed my eyes.

“I wish you would use the bed we had installed. You're the reason that beautiful couch is stained.”

I wished there was an off switch to his mouth. But he shoved a cup and a pill into my hands, so I should have been a little grateful.

“Even Elbo uses the damn bed. If a neanderthal can respect Italian leather I can't imagine why you can't.”

His ranting moved away and circled back as I took the pill. I couldn't remember the last time water had been so wonderful. My stomach reacted by informing me I was famished, something I didn't notice over my splitting headache. It would have to wait. Fatigue had made sleep top the to do list.

I drifted off, vaguely remembering Tourn cleaning my skull, mumbling remarks about brain damage and 9 while shining a goddamn flashlight in my eyes.

[adapted-batteries]

You Sultry Land Pirates Ruined My Dig! Chapter 3

Fandom: The Librarians

Rating: General Audiences/sfw

Ships: a little bit Jazekiel, little bit Jassandra, and some Cassekiel in a bit

In a world where Cassandra and Ezekiel are top tier land pirates, and Stone is an expert in archeology and history but new to being out in the field, there is a weird, impenetrable tomb in some Sumerian ruins, with things that don’t quite make sense.

Inspired by the lovely story line (and outfits) in episode 3x09 “And the Fatal Separation” where Cassandra and Ezekiel smuggle Stone, Baird, and Flynn in while they pose as land pirates.

Posted on my Ao3 here.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

---

After a break (which turned into a mini nap, a common way she recovered), Cassandra went back to work, with Ezekiel’s watchful eye on her every move. With the start she made for herself, she was able to construct a few phrases using the Sumerian letters and the Hebrew YHWH.

“We have no clue of knowing those people’s attitude to the Hebrew god, and throughout the time later it fluctuated from indifference to hatred. With that in mind I’ve gotten some not so nice phrases, and some better phrases we can try,” Cassandra concluded, zipping up her boots. They decided their darkest outfits would be best for sneaking, which also happened to be their sexy land pirate outfits at the moment as their last job ruined their full on black outfits (they both learned fire is not fun when it is on your body).

“Great. I don’t know what type of reset the door has, but that won’t be too hard to figure out,” Ezekiel said as he sorted tools into a small bag. Not knowing what they’d encounter tonight, he was bringing everything he had. “When you read the sentences, read it in map grid style ‘cos I don’t know the letters like you do.”

“Can do. You got all you need?” she asked picking up her own bag, with a couple things in it.

“Yeah, I hope.” He put his bag on his back and looked at her, grinning. “Let’s go rob a tomb.”

They arrived at the dig an hour after midnight, to ensure everyone was either gone or asleep. It was quiet, only the rustling of some canvas as a light wind blew through, carrying chill night air. There were no lights on in any of the tents, nor anyone about at 1 am. For the most part they skirted the tents to prevent as much chance of being seen as possible.

Cassandra led them through the dig by memory, trying to avoid any flashlight use until they were well below the surface. Thankfully they hadn’t done any major excavations after the two had left; within a couple minutes they arrived at the bottom of the mansion, squinting through the dark at the door.

“Hold a light up for me,” Ezekiel whispered, getting a closer look at the door. She did as requested, shining the modified flashlight at him, providing dim but useable light.

“Ok, I’ll give you coordinates, you press. Let me know if anything happens,” Cassandra said, remembering the phrases she had picked. “Ready?”

“Go for it,” he answered, standing beside the door so he didn’t block the light.

“Let’s see how well they stuck to Southern Sumerian syntax,” she breathed. “Ok, B  two, B four, A two-”

“Hold it, after A two, something clicked on the other side differently from when I pressed the first two, probably a reset. So the first two symbols must have been right,” Ezekiel hissed, lifting his head from where he was pressed against the wall to listen.

Cassandra swiped one hand in the air, carefully controlling her movements as if it would keep her from overloading. “Ok, hmm...I can modify the phrase I think...yeah that may work. Ok so B two, B four, D one-”

Ezekiel cut her off again. “Same thing. Next.”

“Um...ah ok, B two, B four, C one,” she paused, assuming he’d cut her off again.

“Didn’t reset. Keep going,” he whispered.

“D three, D five, E one-”

“That reset,” Ezekiel cut in again.

“That’s ok, The besides the E one symbol, that was a whole word. Now I can get rid of those phrases,” she thought out loud, swiping at the air more. “Ok it has to be one of these three phrases, because the others wouldn’t make sense.”

“Three’s a nice number from four hundred fifty,” he chimed, trying to encourage her.

“Well I still don’t know how long this code is. I’m hoping they stick to what I’ve compiled,” she responded.

Apparently the third phrase was the key. Something behind the stone ground and shifted, allowing Ezekiel to push the door into the chamber before it slid to the side on a track. They picked an odd phrase, Cassandra thought, even for the weird stuff they had encountered over the years. “Why would they guard a door with the phrase ‘Do not let God enter’?” She asked the musty air that poured out of the chamber.

“Who knows, maybe it was an inside joke for all we know,” Ezekiel said as he flicked on his own flashlight and looked in the room. It sloped down into the earth, steep enough they would need to watch their steps. It must have went down over twenty feet because the angled ceiling cut off his view from the bottom. “I don’t see anything so far. It’s steep, so hold on to me.”

Giving one last glance up to the lip of the pit, and thankfully seeing no one, Cassandra linked her right arm with his left. “Ok, let’s go. I don’t want to spend too long down here,” she whispered into his ear before looking down the slope.

Ezekiel led them down in a slow shuffle, stopping every few feet to examine the bricked walls and floor for any traps. However, nothing happened as they reached the bottom. The floor leveled out but there was only a few feet until another stone wall and door stopped them. Pulling away from Cassandra, he checked the door, seeing no symbols or anything suggesting it was locked. He pushed the slab to the side, with some strain, until they could both slip through the space.

The air in this narrow room was not pleasant. Something had died in here a long time ago and no air had gotten out. Both put their sleeves over their noses while Ezekiel checked for more traps. This time he found something. The ground had six-inch square tiles two feet from the doorway, different from the slope they had just descended. All of the tiles had things on them, some were symbols like the ones on the entrance, but others were shapes, hieroglyphs. “You see the floor, Cass?” he asked, flicking his flashlight from tile to tile. They didn’t have too many options per row, since there were only three tiles, but there were probably twenty rows that stretched into the room.

“Yeah, that’s a mix of stuff there. I know the symbols that match those above, but the others are images. It could be a long shot, but I think this may be a type of brain teaser. You know those pictures where if you read the drawings and words right, it says a phrase? Like the number 4 in the middle of the word ‘stance’ would be ‘for instance.’ I think it’s one of those,” she suggested, studying the floor intently. “Only problem is I don’t know for sure what those hieroglyphs mean as the people who made this thought of them.”

“There are several ways to work around a floor puzzle,” Ezekiel added. “I can try the first row and see what happens, or better yet, what doesn’t do anything, and you can go from there. It just depends on how sensitive these tiles are.” He always brought a couple heavy stones with him when he knew there was a chance for a possibly trapped tomb raid like this. He took one out of his bag and unwrapped the cloth he had it in to keep it from clanking against other metal things, looking at the tiles to pick one. “Any suggestions for a first try?”

“Um, well there’s one neo-Hebrew symbol in the first row, on the left, maybe try that?” She suggested, backing up against the wall just in case.

“Why not,” he said, gently tossing the stone onto the tile which then indented into the ground. They both froze, holding their breath for any noise, but nothing happened. “Cool, got it first try. Ok so next row,” he said, replacing the stone with his left foot, “is there anything that makes sense?”

“Well, all three could go next, but the row after has a picture which makes things different. Once I know the next, it will limit what sentences or phrases I can make,” she said.

“Ok, going for the middle then,” he decided, tossing his rock diagonally from his foot. The tile pressed down, but this time there was the sound of shifting stone in the wall on the right. A short spear whizzed in front of Ezekiel at high speed, going into a hole on the other side. Another grinding sound happened, and another spear flew by, this time from the left wall. He crouched and grabbed the rock, halting the spear trap. “Ok, not the middle.”

“Try the left one then,” she suggested, calculating what phrases could come from that path. He complied, dropping the stone in front of him. The tile depressed, triggering nothing. “Ok good. Now there’s two main ways this could go. It could have the hieroglyph, though I’m not sure if it’s supposed to represent a man running from a snakes or running into water...neither really make sense.”

“I can always work through with the rock method,” he suggested.

“It could be a metaphorical meaning, or partial, like the emphasis of running to something-”

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” a voice boomed behind Cassandra. She squeaked and jumped instinctively to her right, away from the voice without knocking Ezekiel over. Ezekiel aimed his flashlight at the intruder, revealing Dr. Stone. He was furious, face going red. “You sultry land pirates ruined my dig! In the middle of the night no less! Of course you weren’t antiques dealers, not the legit ones anyway.” He mumbled the last part to himself, but not low enough they couldn’t hear it.

“Hey! We happen to be very good at what we do,” Ezekiel retorted, failing to restrain himself.

With the element of surprise, Dr. Stone leaped at Ezekiel, locking an arm around his neck to drag him off the tiles. He quickly put Ezekiel in between himself and Cassandra, preventing her from firing the taser she was about to use. “Now, before you try anything, I can and will knock your buddy out,” he growled. Ezekiel sputtered and squirmed as Dr. Stone’s grip was none too delicate, which apparently amused the archaeologist. “I’ve been in too many bar fights to let your little scrawny ass get away, son.”

“Let him go, or I’ll-” Cassandra started, but Dr. Stone wasn’t the least bit intimidated.

“Or you’ll what? Hmm?” he pressed, trying to overpower her. When she didn’t respond, he chuckled bitterly. “That’s what I thought. You know, I’ve got no reason to keep your friend awake,” he decided, tightening his headlock. Ezekiel coughed, trying to kick out against the wall to unbalance Dr. Stone, but he was planted.

“No! Don’t-” Cassandra reached towards them, but somehow Dr. Stone managed to knock out Ezekiel in seconds before she could do anything. She tried to math her way out, try to see if she could get both herself and Ezekiel out of this, but her brain grape decided it had enough use for one day, making her head hurt and the ground suddenly wobble.

Instinctively, Dr. Stone dropped Ezekiel to the side and caught her before she tumbled onto the tiles. “You could’ve made a mess there,” he said, pulling her arms behind her back to restrain her, but not as rough as he could’ve.

“No...spears, would’ve missed me, ow,” she sucked in a breath in pain, squinting her eyes shut until it passed.

“Normally I’d not help the folks breaking into my site, but I’m feeling a little generous,” he mumbled, setting her down on the ground. He then went back over to Ezekiel and rummaged through his bag, finding what he wanted: rope. He bound Ezekiel first, then used the rest to tie her arms and legs to restrict most of her movement so she couldn’t run. “I can carry him, but I can’t carry you both, and I’d rather keep him unconscious.”

Cassandra figured her best bet was to comply until Ezekiel was awake; it’d be hard to somehow drag him out of camp once she managed to untie herself. So she followed behind him, attached to Ezekiel who he was fireman-carrying back to camp. No one else was up in the camp; she thought about making a ruckus but there wouldn’t be any point.

Dr. Stone’s tent was half the size of the artifact tent, enough room for a cot, a chair, a foldable table with papers and books on it, and space to walk between them. For lack of space, he put Ezekiel on the cot, and motioned for Cassandra to sit in the chair, leaving them tethered together. He had turned on a small lamp so they could see.

“Now, I should be furious with you both, but we’ve been stuck on that door for a week, and you cracked it within a day. How?” He asked, anger still in his voice, but less than it had been before.

“I’m sure if you had the resources we did, you would have had it open just as quickly,” she responded, not making eye contact with him. Thankfully she could concern herself with watching Ezekiel breathe slowly.

He noticed her concern, it painted her face. “He’ll be fine. Maybe a sour headache in the morning, but he’ll live. Cutting off the artery knocks someone out quicker than the airway,” he explained. She looked at him like she wanted to take his head off, but he kept going. “Why this life? With skills like that you be the top of your specialty in academia.”

“I didn’t get a choice. And he’s not cut out for the academic life, too stationary for him,” she responded, glancing at Ezekiel again before looking back to Dr. Stone. He stared at her for a few moments, thinking about something.

“What if I don’t turn you two in, if you help me get to the end of that tomb?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously. “And you can’t take whatever ends up being in there either, obviously it’s going to a museum for further study.”

At the mention of museum, Ezekiel moaned, mumbling incoherently, before going quiet again. Dr. Stone looked over at the still-unconscious thief on his bed, confused, before looking back to her. She shrugged, as if it was something he did often.

“How do I know you won’t turn us in?” Cassandra asked, already planning away in her head.

“Once I get to whatever’s at the end of all that, I could care less where you two end up running off to. It could very well be the find of the decade,” he clarified, quite obviously thinking about the fame he was going to get in the archeology world.

She looked back over to Ezekiel, knowing he’d hate her in the morning, but love her again when they got to the end of this mess. “We’ll do it. And I’ll keep him in line, don’t worry,” she said. He watched her for a few moments, studying her face.

“Much appreciated,” he responded, dripping with sarcasm.

Though she was tired, she was still curious why Dr. Stone suddenly surprised them. “How did you know we were down there?”

“Actually, I didn’t know until I saw the door was open, and didn’t know it was you two until I found you,” he chuckled at himself before continuing. “I couldn’t sleep, too busy thinking about the door, and then I had an idea so I was going to go try it out. Did the code have to do with Yahweh?”

She looked at him wide-eyed, silently thanking Ezekiel for their ability to research so quickly. “Uh, actually, yes. They guarded the door with ‘Do not let God enter.’’

Dr. Stone looked confused, gears going in his head with that information. He then looked at the watch on his wrist, pushing a button that made the display glow for a few seconds. “Well there’s still four hours till sunrise, and I don’t intend on doing a dungeon crawl on no sleep. I suggest you mimic your friend there and get some rest too. Don’t want you goin’ down on a trap like you about did tonight.” He sat down on the ground at the foot of the cot, leaning against the frame and the blanket that had been bunched up from putting Ezekiel down. The folding chair wasn’t going to be comfortable, but Cassandra had been in worse situations than this. A poor night’s sleep was a worthy sacrifice for whatever was in that tomb.

---

Ch 3 post notes

Some good old Librarians puzzle action for ya’ll. On the puzzles, I don’t really know what is time-appropriate as I just wrote without consulting google on it, but I think it doesn’t feel too advanced or anything.

Writing that last scene was kind of weird because I had to get Stone to not freak out so much that he’d automatically turn them in, but not seem so lax with them like they were the librarians together. Not an easy balance, but I think I managed.

One more chapter left guys, which I need to finish tonight. Tuesday is my busiest day so I will try to upload it sometime, but it may happen Wednesday.

[abelaire-cygnnoire-blog]

Why did my a9 normal group just get voted abandon? We had the dps to push Faust. But the dps kept dying because Faust kept hitting the group. The OT was told to face him away. But they were adamant about doing it the way they do it in a9s. Now, here’s something folks might not realize...

A9 normal and A9 savage are two different fights. In savage, you have a fully (or at least mostly) coordinated group that is GEARED somewhat fully in order to push the phases. While true, I haven’t done any savage clears in XIV, I was a Mythic-tier raider in WoW during Warlords of Draenor. I cleared Heroic content in Mists, Cata, and Wrath. The whole “this is how we do it in [higher tier]” thing did exist, yes, but was only practiced by people with that level of gear. When we cleared lower-tier content, it was for alts or friends and we knew we had to adjust our strategies because the majority of the group wasn’t geared out the ass in end-game loot. Sure, if we had a Mythic tank they would solo-tank all the fights that mechanics allowed for it, and sometimes that was a requirement just to make the dps pushes for our not-quite-up-to-snuff alts.

And WoW raiding wasn’t very forgiving of people with disabilities. I had a friend that suffered brain damage from a mugging -- he went from a top-end raider to only able to raid while being carried by the guild, because his mental faculties didn’t allow him the proper reaction time needed for certain mechanics. He would constantly get ridiculed in randoms or kicked out because he wasn’t bringing enough dps to the fight. It was cruel. And even my reaction times have suffered from my own mental problems, but here’s the thing: the way XIV is built, we can still manage to do just fine. My playstyle, while it held me back in WoW, fits comfortably in XIV.

I got off on a tangent. My point is: just because you and your geared buddies who know the ins-and-outs of the fights and have proper channels of communication can do things one way, does not mean that’s how you need to do normal content. ESPECIALLY when it’s clear that not everyone in that group is fully geared, or knows the fight.