#this was much easier to do than having it expand back to its full height (if the post was originally tall)

[glenthemes]

spoilerTags – bonusᵇᵒⁿᵘˢ look & animation when the post content is much shorter than the warning message!

[jkknight98]

Friends in the Walls pt.1

What happens when the Bee Duo ends up in the same house that the SBI moves into? Utter shenanigans. I hope to be able to expand on this AU with the rest of the smp, but I’ve got start the story somewhere. hope you guys enjoy and remember to drink some water and eat something today.

Warnings: character injury, vore implications.

 Borrowing was always a dangerous way to live when one was born into this life, double when you were trying to find food for another borrower, and triple when said ally was injured and unable to join you. Ranboo knew this very well, things had gotten very difficult the day that Tubbo got his leg caught in a mousetrap back in the last house they lived in. The smaller borrower had cried until his throat was raw as Ranboo forced the bone back into place, and he was for once glad for his larger size as he carried the smaller on his back as the two escaped.

It had been a few weeks since the two moved into an abandoned giant house, it would make things a bit more difficult to find food since there won’t be any in the home, but it was safer for tubbo to rest on one of the beds and recover faster than if he was curled up behind the really dusty walls that haven’t been traveled in ages. It was also nice when he too could spread out on the cushioning material while his tiny platonic husband snored beside him, it made their normally stressful life a bit more calm.

“Do you really have to go out now, it's too early,” the ram hybrid yawned loudly and stretched his arms above his head, the little ear twitch made Ranboo smile with fondness, and looked up sadly,” I want to be able to go with you soon, my leg is almost better.” The hybrid moved to stand and actually got into a full stand before he stumbled with a light bleat of pain when he put the full weight on his leg, but was grateful when Ranboo shot forward to catch him before he fell. The boy gave a shy smile as he was lowered back down to lay down on the bed,” Ok, maybe not yet.”

Ranboo just shook his head as he stood back up to his full height, checking his gear quickly before moving to the edge of the bed,” I'll be back as quickly as I can, thankfully the berry bushes in front of the house are fruiting so we can have some sweets for once, don’t do anything stupid while i’m gone.” Ranboo jumped off the bed with those words, scrambling down the side before making the small leap to the floor, letting out a soft grunt before taking off in a light sprint for the front entrance, he was glad he talked Tubbo into staying in the front bedroom rather than one of the upstairs rooms. He ducked into the small hole hidden under a dusty cabinet and smiled slightly at the warmth of the sun. He loved the summer months as it made foraging much easier, and he also didn’t have to worry about finding ways to keep himself and Tubbo warm. He gently jumped from the hole and after taking time to glance around for any danger, made a break for the bushes that grew along what the giants called a driveway.

Ranboo had only managed to collect a few of the red berries in his pouch and was currently eating one when a loud sound caused him to freeze, he recognized it as the giant metal things that giants rode around in….kars maybe? He watched as a large white kar with weird coloring moved its way up the driveway before stopping in front of the house and three giants stepped out of it. Ranboo slowly crept through the bushes to get a closer look and try to find out why they were here, keeping his stance low to not be spotted. The giants were all males with the first being older with blond hair and had black wings sprouting from his back, the second was slightly terrifying with the large tusks jutting from his lower lip and red eyes that were framed by flowing pink hair, and the final giant was the tallest and most human looking of the three with curly brown hair with a large white streak through it.

The blond was the first to speak after stretching his arms and wings widely,” man, i’m glad to be out of that van, what about you boys, the eight hours just as rough for you?” The pink haired giant just nodded as he crossed his arms while the brown haired one moved to lean on his shoulder.

“Rough on your old joints dad, I'm just envious of Techno and Tommy, the brat got to sleep the whole way and he was the one to keep them for the whole ride.” The brown haired one gently shoved the now ‘Techno’ and the two giants started to play fight while the winged one just sighed.

“Boys….. Boys, you're no doubt jostling Tommy around so quit it. We need to start getting things set out before the other moving truck gets here, or do you want our new house to look like a jumbled mess?”

Ranboo turned out the rest of the giant's words after that, they were moving into the house, it wasn’t safe anymore. He and Tubbo needed to move out before-

He paused at that line of thought as the blond giant pulled out a key and began walking for the front door, he needed to get Tubbo, he didn’t know the danger that was about to walk through the door. He dropped the berry that was still grasped in his hands this entire time and sprinted for his hidden entrance, stopping only once he got inside as the door opened and the giants stepped inside. He tried to keep his frantic breathing quiet as he watched the three pause and looked about the entryway, silently begging them to keep walking and not go towards the bedroom to their left.

His luck never was that great.

The blond told the other two to explore while he went to turn on the electricity and water systems, the pink went towards the stairs as he started to drum his fingers against his chest, but the brown haired one went right towards the bedroom.

Ranboo didn’t know what to do as the giant neared the cracked doorway, he could only follow quietly in the shadows and try to think of a plan to distract them. He was almost hyping himself up enough to yell when the giant opened the door slowly, peaking around the entrance as it looked around the room, but it seemed like it didn’t see Tubbo. He gave a low breath as it seemed like the giant got bored looking in the room and was turning away before both him and the giant froze at the tiny voice that echoed from the room.

“Ranboo, is that you, can’t I take off this stupid leg brace yet?”

Ranboo paled as he watched the giant's face split into a wide smile as it fully opened the door and stepped into the room,” Sorry tiny, the name Wilbur, but I'm sure I can help you.”

The loud screech that came from the room as the giant bent over nearly broke Ranboo, he could see Tubbo squirming around in the tight hold as the giant lifted him to his face, gently using its fingers to look at his legs,” You didn’t do this on your own, I'm guessing your ‘Ranboo’ did this for you.” The Giant began to look around the room again but didn’t manage to see him, shrugging before turning around and walking out of the room, calling to the other giants about how he ‘finally found a friend for Tommy.’

Ranboo just slid slowly to the ground in the shadows until he was sitting in the fetal position, wondering what he was going to do.

Tbc~~

[sahmandbean]

How to Build a Cape Cod Colonial in The Sims 4 Like a Nerd

She smol, she sweet, she can't be beat - it's the classic Cape Cod. Of course, Americans have supersized everything, but this Colonial home started quite small. Sometimes as tight as only two rooms on the first floor and an open space upstairs for sleeping, this home was first built in the 1690s in the Cape Cod area of Massachusetts. It has maintained its popularity over the centuries and you can still find new constructions borrowing heavily from this style. Let's build!

Like all the homes in this series, there is a full video tutorial available here. It is base game only and beginner friendly!

What makes the Cape Cod such an icon? The small stature, narrow gables, white-and-black theme, and cozy inside probably. I have never had the pleasure of visiting one in person but even scrolling through the floorplans made me smile. They're just so cute! Plus the incredibly simple design makes this a great homes for beginners to practice building with.

Floorplan

Like most Colonial era homes, you are going to start with a rectangle. If you want the upper floor useable, you'll want your main floor to be at least nine tiles deep, and not more than about 12-14. Same goes for width, as these are generally small homes. You will want to stick with short walls for both stories. You can expand by adding on rooms on the side and back, or really however you want. It is a video game. But for accuracy, if you like the Cape Cod but want something a bit bigger, I would recommend checking out the Georgian Colonial or even the Dutch Colonial. The first floor will at the very least be split in two with a kitchen and dining area on one side and the entry and living space on the other. Larger homes will have space to separate the dining and kitchen, as well as add a bathroom and bedroom or office space. You will want a back door, and placing a hallway straight down the middle front door to back door is one of the easier ways to split this home up.

Once you have settled on the size of your first floor, you will draw the second floor matching up with the main floor on the ends but three tiles in from the front and back. You will add evenly spaced one-tile-wide dormers along each side. I placed the stairs pretty strategically here to take up one of the dormers. You can use stairs or a ladder, and split up the rooms or not.

Exterior

By using short height walls and keeping the second floor in three tiles from the front and back, you have made roofing incredibly easy for yourself as you can simply place a half gable along each side. The top will have a large gable and some small ones for the dormers, again just left at the default pitch, and after you add a chimney you're done. For extra points you can add a small gable over the front door. Of course you can do custom dimensions and pitches, but this keeps things simple.

For siding you are pretty much using white, windows will be double hung and have black shutters, and keep the front symmetrical. You might have a small foundation, but often there will be none.

Like the rest of the build, landscaping will be pretty simple. Stick with small organic layouts with local plants close to the house. Brick paths are most common. If you want to add a small cover over the front door, you can use a gable or half gable and simple squared columns.

Interior

Inside colors are pretty much white and wood. Rooms can be connected via arches or doors, and the fireplace will go on an interior wall toward the center of the build. (You can tell a Cape Cod from a Cape Cod Revival often by chimney placement, as newer homes have them on the sides.) The kitchen can end up being a pretty decent size, and this dining room will be adjacent.

Since bathrooms are often retrofitted in these homes, unless you're going for new construction vibes, stick it where it fits. It will be light and basic.

If you want your home to feel like it has been built recently or just renovated, consider these tips:

Keep the silhouette, but update the siding, columns, and windows

Add color inside, but keep it soft and bright

Raise the house up (because that's easy in a game) and add a deck, breaking up the roofline and silhouette a bit, but not too much

If you like my version, it is available on the gallery! My ID is sahmandbean and the lot title is Cape Cod Shell.

If you want more information, reference images, or floorplans, I have a great starting point here in my Pinterest board.

You can also check out the whole video here.

Thanks for building with me today! Can't wait to build together again soon :)

[fantasia-monogram]

As the clock strikes midnight, part 1

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / epilogue

♥️ Taeyang x reader (nonbinary, female anatomy) x Jaeyoon; mentions of other SF9 members

♥️ Suggestive (~2k words); smoking, mentions of alcohol, (lightly) implied BDSM. Mutual pining. Next part is going to be NSFW (and reveal more about the characters’ history).

♥️ You’re a beast at work, having to be tough to climb up the corporate ladder, but what you never thought of is that your attitude might be intimidating to your long time crush. Luckily, your much more laid back friend is here to help... both of you.

♥️ Disclaimer: this is just for fun! I’m not claiming that’s how they are in real life, it’s just my imagination doing whatever it wants. Read at your own discretion.

“Ah, the exciting world of corporate banking.”

You were too tired to check the time, but one look over the room gave you a clear idea of what kind of stage the party has reached: vast office space, with all the desks pushed against the wall and a long table situated in the middle, was littered with barely-sober people, most of them in groups of two or three. The goal was to let coworkers of various titles and positions mingle in a casual manner, as the fairly young company’s hierarchy and employer count was expanding proportionately to its growth - friendly office culture was a staple in this place. Truth was, after a couple drinks (or, in case of some tougher individuals, whole bottles of soju), everyone would group into their regular lunch break cliques, usually within the same department.

Long gone were the days when the business was much smaller, and it was easier for people from different departments to form close bonds.

Luckily, you remembered them very well, and that’s why, as the party was dying down, you shared a (small and not very comfortable) couch with your two best colleagues: Lee Jaeyoon and Yoo Taeyang.

“Look at him. What a fighter,” Jaeyoon said with a hushed voice, pointing his almost full glass of whisky towards another corner of the spacious room. There, behind one of the squished-together desks, Quality Department leader Kim Inseong was still angrily babbling about work-related statistics to the nearly-wasted Training Supervisor, Baek Juho. The latter, with his forehead propped on his hand, kept waving at his superior to stop, as coherent words would not come out of his mouth at this point no matter how hard he tried. Inseong, incredibly professional yet warm and welcoming when sober, would do a total 180° after a single bottle of soju and turn into a snarky bastard ranting at everything going on in the company.

“Supervisor Baek is holding on strong, though,” Taeyang added in a matter-of-fact tone before taking a sip from his glass.

You couldn’t help but cover your mouth and snort with amusement.

The three of you were an unusual group. 

You all joined the company on the same day, and underwent basic training for a couple weeks. Even though Jaeyoon was close to your age, the gap between you and Taeyang was much bigger. Add their impressive height and you had to admit, it was awkward to sit between these two guys every single day. Soon enough though, your small talk during short breaks would turn more and more enjoyable, and when the last week rolled in, as the oldest one, you mustered up the courage to invite them to a nearby coffee shop. Formally, you just wanted to celebrate the end of your training stage, but honestly… You grew fond of them, so there was no harm in getting to know them better away from the workplace.

Who knew the three of you would find common ground during that fateful meeting?

“Hey… Y/n… You there?” Jaeyoon’s voice snapped you out of a trip down the memory lane.

“Yeah. What were you saying?” you asked, a bit embarrassed.

“You don’t seem to be having fun at all. I haven’t seen you around the bar even once,” Jaeyoon ranted, haphazardly shaking his glass.

“You know I don’t drink.”, you stated calmly.

“Aish… It’s a party! No need to be so strict. Am I right?”

For some reason, Jaeyoon looked towards Taeyang with a wicked grin, and you followed. The youngest one, sitting by your right side, cleared his throat theatrically.

“I’ll go get myself another one.” he mumbled, already leaving the couch.

“Don’t overdo it!” Jaeyoon yelled, then turned back to you. “You could really use some percents, though. Just saying.”

“I have an image to maintain,” you said quietly, crossing your arms against your chest.

“You dressed like it’s every other day at work, too,” your friend pointed out, “It’s just a different colour.”

You looked at him resentfully. That’s true, tailored suits were your usual look, not just because you simply didn’t like dresses or skirts. It was the easiest way to elongate your silhouette, and you were already lacking in height compared to all the higher-ups attending company meetings with you.

A powerful look was expected from the Compliance Supervisor who rose to that position in a record-breaking time and was nowhere near done career-wise. 

Besides, you had to admit, your neat suits in a whole variety of colors boosted your confidence every single day. You had all of them adjusted, so they would accentuate your figure in all the right places. Oh, all the times you and Jaeyoon would shamelessly ask poor Taeyang who’s got the best ass out of you two (“Okay, forget it. Taeyangie does,” Jaeyoon would end the competition each time, making Taeyang cringe).

"You're just jealous because I look better in red than you do," you barked, although lacking any real bite. 

"Listen, what I'm trying to say is…" Jaeyoon leaned dangerously close to your ear. "...I don't mind your uniforms, but someone over there is on the brink of losing his mind right now." 

You backed off, wide-eyed. Your friend discreetly threw a glance towards Taeyang, who just came back with his glass refilled. 

Still dumbfounded, you kept looking back and forth at each of your friends, not realizing how silly it must have looked.

"Did I miss anything?" Taeyang asked, clearly feeling something went down during his absence. 

"Yeah, I just said that maybe we should leave this remnant of a party and move somewhere else," Jaeyoon replied, looking over your shoulder at the youngest. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, but ultimately decided his idea wasn't that bad after all. 

"I don't know… Wouldn't it be rude to leave so early?" Taeyang mused. 

"Seokwoo left, like, at 9," Jaeyoon pointed out. "Way before anybody had a chance to get drunk." 

"Ah, our lovely Escalation Specialist," you sighed, talking about Kim Seokwoo, your right hand man at the Compliance Department. "You could say the party escalated too much for him."

"At nine!", the older of your friends laughed. 

“What time is it anyway?” you asked. It didn’t matter that you could just check it yourself. You were used to people doing things like this for you around this place.

Jaeyoon, who knew it very well, fished his phone out of his shirt pocket.

“Uh… Fifteen to twelve,” he announced.

Taeyang tapped your shoulder. 

"Happy early birthday," he threw casually. 

Pleasant warmth rose to your cheeks. You were just starting to smile, your eyes crinkling already, when Jaeyoon jumped in his seat, startling both of you. 

"Wait, what?!" he yelled, making a few heads turn for a second or two. 

"What kind of a friend are you, really?" Taeyang snorted dryly, "It's y/n's birthday tomorrow." 

Jaeyoon let out a sound that could best be described as a happy roar and pounced forward in an attempt to give you a bear hug. You dodged it by moving backwards, thus colliding into Taeyang's side. 

You briefly glanced at each other, awkwardly nodding as an apology, before he uttered a quick it's fine and slid further into the couch. 

"Hey, that hug was supposed to be a present!" Jaeyoon whined, recovering his dignity after the failure. 

"Thanks, but no, thanks." you retorted, staying at a safe distance.

"Okay, but now we really have to go somewhere else. This calls for a celebration!" Your overly enthusiastic companion wasn't giving up that easily.

You turned to your other friend. 

"Taeyang?"

"That's enough social interaction for today," the boy in question replied, "One more crowded place and I'll pass out on the spot." 

He was known for his introverted tendencies; even at work, he occupied a desk that was a bit further from everyone else, guaranteeing him all the peace he needed, and had only one coworker he was somewhat close to apart from you two. 

"What about we go to my place instead? I've got no alcohol, but there are plenty of leftovers for a late dinner if you're hungry," you offered instead. 

"Sounds like a plan!" Jaeyoon clasped his hands. "I'll pay for the cab." 

Taeyang bottomed out his glass. 

"Wanna go for a smoke while we wait?"

As soon as you put a cigarette in your mouth, Taeyang was there to light it. You could swear his eyes lingered on your lips, but maybe it was so late that your eyes started pulling tricks on you. 

A good five minutes passed of the three of you smoking in silence, enjoying the cool summer breeze and the sight of a nearly full moon above you. Taeyang was the first to finish, with you following. Jaeyoon was the last to end his cigarette, throwing it into the trash can nearby in a somewhat angry manner. 

"Taeyang, I can't possibly imagine a better time to tell them than now."

Both you and Taeyang turned your heads towards Jaeyoon.

"Tell what?" you posed a question, confused. 

The guys exchanged looks. After that, Taeyang averted his eyes, while Jaeyoon locked his with yours. 

"I think he should be the one to explain." Jaeyoon stated firmly. 

"It's fine," Taeyang's voice was unexpectedly weak, "I'm fine with you telling them." 

You felt your heartbeat quicken all of sudden. 

"He's head over heels for you." 

And then, it was as if your heart just stopped. No, that couldn't be. Your pretty, soft spoken dongsaeng you always had your eyes on? In love with you?

"No way." you muttered, turning to face Taeyang. He still couldn't bear to look at you. "Is that true?" 

Internally, you were screaming for him to say yes. 

Poor guy seemed like he was about to get a panic attack, breathing in and out loudly, hands balled into fists. You could see him biting his lips.

"Come on." Jaeyoon ushered, "I did the hard part for you. Now it's your turn." 

Taeyang slowly raised his gaze. His doll-like eyes were glazed over with tears - a sight so stunning it almost made you gasp. 

"It's true. It's been going on for more than two years now." His voice was quiet, but steady.

You kept staring at his gorgeous, flushed face, unable to say a word. It was a clue for him to continue. 

"I knew I had a chance. I'm not stupid. I noticed you treated me differently than Jaeyoon or any other friend at work. But I also knew your no relationships at the workplace policy and your attitude towards age gaps, and decided to keep it to myself." 

Your heart was about to burst. 

"I'm just as demanding in love as I am at work," you explained, "I'd ruin you."

Jaeyoon circled you. As soon as he stopped, he put his left hand on Taeyang's shoulder, while his right on yours. 

"Tell them," he encouraged the younger guy again. 

As if on command, there was fire burning in Taeyang's gaze. You felt it consume you as a whole.

"I'm not fragile," the boy declared, “I want to be ruined.”

You thought you were dreaming, but a squeeze of Jaeyoon’s hand on your shoulder anchored you back to reality, this reality being your crush at first sight confessing to you.

“Your confidence… How strict and relentless you are…” Taeyang went on, his voice breaking, “The tone of your voice… And your suits. Oh, your suits. It all turns me on so much.”

“What a guy,” Jaeyoon chuckled, shaking his head.

Both you and Taeyang decided to ignore him for now.

“I repeat,” Taeyang insisted, “I want to be ruined.”

Despite Jaeyoon’s continuous hold on both of you, you reached towards Taeyang’s face to caress his smooth cheeks with the back of your fingers. That was all he needed to surge forward and plant a brief, fluttering kiss on your lips that still managed to leave you with your head spinning, needing more.

“Happy birthday, y/n,” Taeyang whispered, holding his forehead against yours.

It was only then when you realized you were both breathing heavily, even though nothing had happened yet.

The moment was interrupted by the ringtone of Jaeyoon’s phone. At last, the guy ceased his hold on you to check the device.

“Okay, lovebirds, the cab is here. It’s gonna be a fun night.”

You glanced at Jaeyoon, then locked your eyes with Taeyang’s again. He reciprocated your devious smile.

(to be continued)

[chaosworthyarchive]

                                                             8.26.3227                                                                                                                                Location ¦ Starlight

                                                       ---------------------

     How much time had passed, even Sonic didn't know. Turns out it really was easy to lose track of time, not only in the throes of fun but in a place that had no clock, or windows for that matter. He had no idea what time it was when last call was announced, nor when the music started to die down and people filed out of the building in droves. All he knew was that it was late and he, like the rest of his team it seemed, was exhausted. In good spirits, but drained. 

     Which made the next notable event of the night a tad troublesome. 

     Stepping out into the dark streets of the city, the first thing the hero noticed was the quiet. Being some of the last to leave, The Freedom Fighters were met with nearly empty streets, minus a few groups chatting along the sidewalk. Perhaps it was for the best. It made it easier to spot the small group who had been on their tails all evening as they walked along the deserted street, Sonic and Johnny exchanging a glance before ducking into an alleyway, goading the rest of the team along. It didn't take long for questions to come, but one look from the hedgehog seemed to be enough for the others to realize something was up. 

     And, sure enough, once they had gotten mostly down the dead-end alley, the hero turned to face the four almost silhouetted figures who had followed them inside. And they were...an odd bunch, to say the least. A female wolverine with long orange hair covering half of her face and donning a masquerade style mask, a grey bat with half their face obscured by another style of mask, a skink with a black full bodysuit and...well, Sonic couldn't place the last one but he didn't need to in order to know that the last member had them all beat when it came to height and sheer size. They were colossal. 

     Moreover none of them looked familiar, not in the slightest, and yet there was a heavy feeling in the hero's stomach. One he couldn't place but spoke of ill tidings as the two groups stood there for a few moments, staring at one another. By this point the rest of The Freedom Fighters seemed alert, cautious. Tense. 

     It was Sonic who broke the silence, eyes shifting between the four strangers, unsure whose idea he had to blame for this meeting but clearly unimpressed. “I don’t suppose you want t' do this the easy way, do you? It would save us all a lot of trouble.”

     It had been a test, an attempt to see what the foursome wanted and the hero did not like the way they all seemed to sneer in perfect unison. It was the female who replied, her boots clicking on the pavement as she stepped forward, ruby eyes boring into the hedgehog. There was confidence in her stance, a self-assuredness that was as telling as it was troublesome. 

     “Your wish is my command, handsome.” The last word was sickeningly sweet (and Sonic was pretty sure he heard the faintest growl from Mina at his side) and came with a narrowing of her one visible eye. Her entire demeanor spoke of trouble. “I’d say it’s an honor to meet you all, but I wasn’t raised to be a liar.”

     “Who are you?” Johnny was far less polite with the matter, and no one blamed him for it. 

     It was the bat who scoffed, wings twitching almost anxiously behind them. “We're the Fundamental Four, and unless you give us what we want we’re going to be the worst people you’ve ever met.”

     The Freedom Fighters exchanged looks, each as clueless as the next. None of them had heard of the foursome, much less what they wanted, and Amy was the next to respond in less than friendly tones. “At the risk of sounding cliche, what do you want?”

     The female, again, smiled, her tone deep and with purpose. “The Chaos Emeralds.”

     This time, Sonic was certain he heard his partner growl and it was a frightening sound indeed. “How...?”

     There was a shift in the air as it grew heavy with strain, one side agitated and the other giving off a boldness that seemed far too certain. Sonic could see his team bracing, ready for what had to be an inevitable confrontation. Johnny was already subtly reaching for his pocket, Amy had tensed with Tekno right beside her. Mina had shifted her stance ever so slightly and Porker...had actually taken a step back towards the rabbit. Along with everything else, the pig had never been a fighter either.

     The skink scoffing only made those actions stick out tenfold to the hero, and emerald eyes would meet beady black ones with a dangerous spark. “It doesn’t matter. Give them to us, or else.”

    “Fat chance. You don’t know who you’re messin’ with, do you?” Johnny’s words were punctuated by an all too familiar metal rod making a very public appearance, one click of a button bringing the rod to its full length and already sparks danced along its ends. The first die was cast, and the foursome looked pleased.

     “Oh, we have a pretty good idea,” the female seemed unimpressed, but eager. Her eyes were dead set on the blue hedgehog and him alone as her teammates stirred behind her with hostile intentions. “Too bad it won’t help you.”

     The next few seconds were nothing but chaos, in the most literal sense. Had things not turned so dire in the blink of an eye Sonic would have reprimanded the rabbit for forcing open that door, though he had to wonder if it even mattered. Nonetheless, it didn’t change that they were vastly unprepared for what they were met with. The female had rushed forward so fast that even the hedgehog was startled, which meant there was little to no time for Mina to react to the very solid ball of fire that had been launched in her direction thanks to the wolverine. 

     Fire teeming with an all too familiar energy, a tainted power.

     Whatmore, her teammates offered more of the same. Too preoccupied with not meeting a wall of flames head-on, Sonic wasn’t entirely sure what was happening beyond that. He saw smoke, stones and water all making a straightaway for his team out of the corner of his eye, all originating from the mysterious trio and all with lethal intent. The only relief came when he saw his partner, singed but otherwise looking unharmed, joining the fight. Which left him alone with the female and the fire surrounding the two of them like a menacing snake. 

     Ignoring the swelling nausea in his stomach, the hero turned his attention to his opponent for the time being, his eyes sharp and tone even colder. His team would be fine, he knew. She had gotten him alone for a reason, and he wanted answers. 

     “Who are you?”

     “We’re the new kids in town, so you better get used to us, Blue.”

     It was all she offered, moving again with a speed that betrayed her appearance. Unfortunately for her, the hero had already seen her trick and met her head-on. She was easy to read, he could tell her speed wasn’t natural that it came from her apparent ability to manipulate fire. It was sluggish, but still dangerous because of those flames that served as an offense and defense. It was a problem, took away the possibility of a real physical attack. Luckily, the hero had the wind on his side.

     It was obvious she hadn’t expected the burst of air that erupted between them, giving a much-needed distance to the hero. The shock was only temporary, her composure regained as her hands lit with bright red flames. Sonic didn’t know whether to count himself lucky that the next few fireballs aimed in his direction were smaller than the initial one, smaller even than the ones he was used to dodging from his brother, but they were rapid. Where he dodged one, he had to slice through another with razor-sharp wind or risk getting burned and then repeat the process, all in a matter of seconds. It would have been an easy task any other day but the excess of negative energy was making the hero dizzy, causing his body to shake, and he mentally cursed. 

     He was vaguely aware that things seemed better for his team on the other side of the walls of fire, but how much was something he wasn’t certain of. Nor did he have time to even think of breaching the wall to regroup. The fire-wielder was determined, not letting up for a moment before rushing him again, covered from head to toe in flames that never seemed to hurt her. A Mobian torch.

     It was a mistake. 

     There was a common rule in science that fire, when exposed to air, had a habit of expanding, growing uncontrollably, and that was what the hedgehog had been banking on. 

     Fire met wind with a timely explosion, though the hero had easily gotten a good portion of it all. Momentarily blinded by embers and smoke, eyes and lungs burning, he coughed as he wisped the grey fog away. It was just in time to see the female, clothes burned and expression outraged, mere inches from his face. It wasn’t enough to stop the oncoming, flame-covered kick, nor the white-hot pain that erupted in his side. In spite of himself, the hero cried out. 

     Be it the blinding pain or a sense of urgency, even as he fell to his knees, the hero raised glowing green eyes to the wolverine. The rage in them seemed to jar her, more so than the shift in the air. In one fell blast, a wave of energy and wind washed over the alleyway. It was violent, a galeforce, that sent the elemental foursome slamming into the nearest walls with audible cracks. Yet, it never touched The Freedom Fighters, all of whom had paused at the sudden show of intensity, only to turn towards the source a second later. 

     “Sonic!” Seeing their leader on the ground was enough to kick them into gear and they all rushed over. Again, there was relief felt on Sonic's part seeing that they all seemed okay, battered and a little bruised (and damp, oddly enough) but alright. The same couldn't be said for himself, or the Four. 

     Yet the bat on the opposite end of the alley had gotten to their feet, dazed but not as wounded as the rest of his team, unfortunately. One look at The Freedom Fighters, one look at the blue hedgehog nearly baring his teeth in pain, and they were quick to gather their teammates and pull out a golden ring. A warp ring, and one that was soon activated where the bat stood, where he gave the heroes one last, seething look. 

     “We'll be seeing you all again real soon.” And with that, the other prostrate three were unceremoniously dragged through the ring, and they were gone. Like a bad nightmare; and no one went after them. Had it not been for the state of the alley, fractured, burned and soaked, it almost would have been easy to believe it was just a dream. Almost, if not for the sound of discomfort that came from Sonic just a moment later. 

     Mina wasted no time kneeling at his side, her expression just as worried as his own as he looked her and the other’s over. “Are you okay?”

     It was a dumb question, everyone there could see as much, but the hero still held up a hand to signify that was the case. It wasn't fooling anyone, not between the blue one's heavy breathing and pained expression, not to mention the coughing that came every few seconds, but there was another pressing question. 

     “Who were those guys? And what the hell did they do to you?”

     A slightly better question by Johnny, and one Sonic would have loved to have the answer to. He had undoubtedly gotten hit, his side was in too much pain to suggest otherwise, but that was the problem. It was in too much pain. The hero had been burned before, had been shot, stabbed and a great number of other things, but this? It didn't feel...right, and he didn't know how else to explain it. And maybe that was why he felt the compulsion to move his hand and look at the damage. 

     He regretted it the moment he did.

     He had expected the charred fur and skin, expected the black and red dots that came with it. What he hadn't been prepared for was the sickly ashen color around it all, nor the unnatural black spider-like veins that clashed terribly against the parlor, creeping up his side a few more inches until they were obstructed by kempt blue fur and the remains of his shirt. It all hurt, burned, terribly so. It almost looked dead.

     Looking between his teammates, the hero could see the same confusion and wariness in their eyes as they looked from it back to him. With the question hanging in the air, he could only think of two words. 

      “Nothing good."

[hydrus]

Version 450

windows

zip

exe

macOS

app

linux

tar.gz

🎉🎉 MERRY 450! 🎉🎉

I had an ok week. Last week's experimental release went well, so I have polished that, and I otherwise caught up with a variety of small work.

If you sync with the PTR, update will take a couple of minutes.

all misc this week

So, the update storage change went ok! There were a couple of little sync bugs to clear up, but overall it works--tag repositories now track their processing progress by mappings, siblings and parents separately. You don't have to do anything, and this doesn't matter much for day to day work, but it allows for individualised reset and reprocessing. All 448 users will have their siblings and parents reset and reprocessed, which will take a couple of minutes to do on update, and about fifteen minutes on your next processing job to fill back in, and which should eliminate some bad siblings and parents due to years-old processing bugs that long term users have been dealing with (leaving only current bugs, which I am also working on). The reset will not delete any pending siblings or parents you have, so no worries if you have a bunch waiting to be uploaded.

Advanced Users: The PTR sibling and parent reset will however remove any siblings and parents you uploaded that were then denied by jannies (which your client would have added to itself anyway). Everyone is reset to a 'clean' sync with this change, so if you know you have a ton of surplus denied siblings you rely on, perhaps from years ago that we agreed I would deny on the PTR to help you hack in an overwrite in the old system, you might like to hold off updating and first figure out a PTR sibling/parent backup to a local service using tag migration.

I fixed some things with Mr Bones. His numbers are accurate to your 'my files' again, and he now talks about your total deleted files and also your earliest file import time. I divided the ugly growing stack of numbers into tabs, which I am sort of happy with, sort of not. People like to take screens of Mr Bones, but they have different preferences on what to show, so I may replace this with expand/collapse buttons or similar, so you can show everything if you want.

If you use the export files window to get a lot of files out, it now makes a progress popup. You can close the window while it is exporting and still see and cancel the job.

The Client API file search now supports file and tag domain selection (like the 'my files' and 'all known tags' buttons on a normal search page), and also file sort for searches. I know the Client API guys have been waiting on this, so with luck we should see some neat new search options in the Client API programs in the near future.

full list

misc:

when exporting files from the file export window, a cancellable popup job with progress updates is also created. if you close the window, you can still cancel the job from the popup

fixed a crash bug in file export window

system:num file relationships (duplicates) now correctly only returns files in the current file search domain (previously, it returned all files, including those previously deleted etc...)

I rearranged some of the thumbnail menu file relationships actions menu. I'm not really happy with this, but a shuffle is easier than a full rework

fixed the '4k' resolution label replacer, which was looking at 2060 height not 2160 by mistake

the phash generation routine (part of the duplicates system, happens on image imports) now uses less memory and CPU for images with an alpha channel (pngs and still gifs), and if those images are taller or wider than 1:30 or 30:1, the phashes are also better quality

the 'fill in subscription gap' popup button now correctly boots its created downloader when the action also opens a new downloader page. previously, due to overactive safety code, it would hang on 'pending' until a client restart. related similar 'start downloader after creating page' actions off drag and drop or client api should also be more reliable

.

repositories (also the various improvements in 449-experimental are folded in):

fixed an issue with some 'force repository account refresh' code not kicking in immediately

when a client sees repository update period change, it now recalculates the metadata next check time

fixed a bug with the new repo sync where updates just added from additive sync were not being processed until client restart. related long-term buggy 'do we have this hash in updates?' and 'how many updates are there?' tests for update metadata are also fixed

the experimental by-content-type repository reset from last week now leaves pending content in place

the reset also now clears cached service info counts for files, tags, and mappings

.

client api:

the /get_files/search_files command now takes six new parameters for file/tag domain selection and file sort type and order

I wrote out some simple help and added some hacky unit tests for these new parameters. it needs another pass for potential bug fixes and readability/specificity (e.g. what does 'asc' for 'sort by ratio' mean?), but let me know how you get on anyway

fixed the new system predicate parsing for system:hash with only one hash

improved the url system predicate examples in client api documentation

client api version is now 19

.

mr bones:

mr bones now reports the correct numbers for your 'my files' again (and will continue to do so as multiple local file services are added)

mr bones now reports total files deleted and their total size

mr bones now reports your earliest recorded file import time

mr bones now has separate tabs for different stats types. this neatly ditches the giant stack of numbers this was becoming, but I may revisit it. some people who take mr bones screens will prefer all the info in one easy shot, while I others I know would rather the 'viewing habits' stuff were not immediately there. maybe expanding boxes?

fixed some mr bones layout

.

boring code cleanup:

made a new base class for the different database modules to hold cursor and collect common administrative functions

all database queries (about 1,200 of them) now go through a single location in the new class

a new profile mode, 'query planner' mode, now prints query text and EXPLAIN QUERY PLAN lines to a new profile log. this is a new experimental thing, extremely spammy, but will help with diagnosing very unusually slow queries on individual clients (it'll most likely show up odd sqlite versions, weird data distributions, or un-analysed tables)

updated a core function in 'all known files' mappings change autocomplete count adjustment. this seemed to have extremely bad worst case time, and I think it might have been giving some bad counts in unusual situations

next week

Next week is cleanup. The long term database breakup job has been going well, making code simpler and easier to expand, so I think more of that. I also started a new database profiling system this week, and I want to experiment with it a bit.

[shadowphoenixrider]

(Wrote this on a bit of whim. It’s some Katla/Nanu stuff as part of the OT4, and canon to their story. I’ve been more laissez faire with the games. Hope you enjoy!)

No secrets between us, Katla thought as she lingered at the doorway, watching the scene before her.

Kahuna Nanu had stretched his long body out along his blue couch, focused entirely on the tricks he was performing on his kendama, and not on the Alolan Meowth scattered about him - such as the three staring at the red ball, one slightly crouched as if debating whether to swat it.

It was a peaceful scene, and not one the trainer wanted to disturb, especially not with the topic she needed to discuss. It was easier to copy the Meowth and watch her lover’s skill instead.

That was until a soft ‘thump’ and the click of claws across a wooden floor drew Katla’s attention to the large Persian padding her way over, her curled tail lifting as she approached.

“Perr~” The Classy Cat announced softly, her headbutt knocking Katla back a step, a guttural purr rumbling out almost as soon as the trainer’s hand sunk into her thick grey coat.

“Hi Perla.” Katla murmured softly, stroking down her muscled back as the feline rubbed past her.

“There a reason you’re hiding back there, Kat?” Nanu asked, the sound of his kendama slowing.

Katla took a breath. You gotta do it. You can’t leave him out of the loop. Perla chirruped, looking up at her expectantly.

“No, not really.” The trainer said, stepping out of the doorway. “Just thinking.”

The kahuna’s red gaze shifted to her as soon as she came into view, Perla padding past her. He said nothing, the only sound being the clack of ball and cup.

“I need to tell you something. From my past.”

Clack.

The silence ticked on for a couple of seconds, his face inscrutable as ever. She would never challenge him to a game of poker.

“You don’t have to listen right now if you don’t want,” she said eventually. “I-I didn’t want to disturb you-”

Nanu sat up, scattering his small feline audience as he swung his legs down and causing a loaf-Meowth further down the couch to glare at him.

“Sit with me, Kat,” he said, although it was more an order than a suggestion.

She felt his stare follow her as she settled next to him. It made her slightly uneasy, and yet it also didn’t. Perhaps it was just a by-product of him being a police officer.

The trainer took a breath. Here we go.

“You know I started out with my Pokemon in Hoenn, right?”

“Yeah. Born in Galar, registered in Hoenn,” he said, winding the string around the kendama’s handle. “I remember.”

Katla smiled briefly - of course he did.

“Great. Uh, I know this is kinda out of left field, but do you remember there being a big storm in Hoenn about ten years ago or so? Had something to do with a Team Aqua?”

Nanu's steady gaze didn’t shift from her, but she did notice a crease appear between his thick eyebrows.

“I remember that name,” he began, sentence hanging for a moment before he looked away. “Some gang of pirates?”

“I guess?” Katla scratched her head. “They certainly dressed the part. But they’d graduated into eco-terrorists when I met them.”

The kahuna’s eyes slid back to her, his eyebrow arching.

“What is it with you kids and taking on criminal gangs that would make most adults think twice? Although,” a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, “you don’t seem to know what danger is.”

Katla rolled her eyes.

“Ha ha, very funny, Officer.” She blew out a sigh through her nose. “If I’m honest, I would have preferred to avoid them. I was just a little kid on her first adventure with Pokemon, I didn’t need...I didn’t need what came next.”

Her gaze drifted to Perla, now lying on the window sill, oblivious to the two smaller Meowth playfully batting at her hanging tail as it swayed back and forth.

“They said they wanted to expand the oceans to make more homes for water-type Pokemon,” Katla continued, interrupted by an amused snort. “Yeah, that was my reaction too. The oceans are big enough without help. Anyway, in order to do that, they decided to find and awaken Kyogre.”

“It’s been a long time since I last went to Hoenn, but isn’t Kyogre one of the Pokemon deities there?” The kahuna asked, one eyebrow arched.

“Yeah, Kyogre is the God of the Sea.” The trainer sighed. “They thought they could control it. You can imagine how well that went.”

"Hmm.” She felt Nanu’s gaze linger on her. “So, where did you come in?”

Katla managed to suck in a breath, her heart beginning to beat a fast tattoo.

“There is a place called the Cave of Origins, said to be where life began. It contains a power that could cause something called Primal Reversion. Basically, Kyogre went to claim that power and become every bit as much as of a God as the legends make it out to be.” She explained. “The plan was for someone to intercept and defeat it whilst it was still just a powerful Pokemon and not ‘the Almighty’.”

She finally turned to meet Nanu’s eyes. “That someone was me.”

There was a long, long pause.

“An eleven year old girl.” The kahuna spoke slowly. “Hoenn had a Champion back then, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, Steven...Stone? He was there, he helped me get permission to enter the Cave. But I went in alone.”

Nanu said nothing, but she sensed his mood turn in an instant, his jaw tightening and the crease reappearing between his brows. She realized then that she’d never seen Ula’Ula’s kahuna truly angry. Annoyed, irritated and sometimes upset - nothing that held a candle to this. Even the Meowth were now eyeing their patron warily, ears twitching.

She felt uneasy about continuing her story, but they’d gotten this far:

“I...I didn’t make it in time, either. I had front row seats to see Kyogre attain its Primal form.”

Suddenly Nanu was on his feet, striding away with his back straight, sending Meowth skittering away in his wake. Perla lifted her head, her ears folding backwards as she watched her trainer.

The kahuna stared at a point outside, letting the uneasy silence drag on until a single, cold word passed his lips:

“Alone?”

Katla swallowed.

“Yeah. I just had my Pokemon with me. No-one could get to where I was anyway-”

“You shouldn’t have even been there.”

Nanu’s words were fiercely sharp - she had been subject to his taunting barbs during his Grand Trial, but these threatened to draw blood.

He kept his back to her, the only indicators of his expression being his clenched fists and every inch of his full height.

“The Champion - the strongest trainer in Hoenn. But won’t take on a deity Pokemon - instead palms it off on a child. A child that he didn’t even back up.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, his shoulders lifting. One second, two, three, and his breath hissed out again, relaxing. His fists uncurled, fingers flexing. It took another couple of seconds before Nanu could speak again.

“I guess you must’ve won, since you’re here to tell the tale.”

“Yeah.” Katla glanced away, forcing her voice not to peter out into a mumble. “I almost didn’t, though. Primal Kyogre was so powerful, the only reason I managed it is because of Latias. I befriended her when I rescued her from being harassed by Team Aqua thugs, and she joined my team in thanks.”

The trainer took a breath. “When she was Mega Evolved, she was strong enough to at least take a few hits from it. More than what could be said about me.”

Katla shrugged off her black and red jersey, revealing the whorls and stretched scars that patterned her forearms. Time had faded them, but they were still as clear as the day they’d healed.

“Kyogre’s Origin Pulse attack was so powerful that its energy scorched my skin. Most people mistake them for fire burns, but those who specialise in Fire types can tell the difference.”

“I did wonder about them, our first night.” She glanced up to see Nanu standing over her, his expression back to its apathetic default. But his crimson eyes were soft, almost hurt. “Knew better than to ask, though.”

“Thank you.” She ran her hands up her arms, the skin crawling under his gaze. “I would have lied to you anyway.”

“Figured as much.” He dropped to a crouch, studying the marked flesh. “Same as Kabu and his undershirt, then.”

“Kinda. I think that’s more because his scars aren’t pretty, though.” A wry smile pulled at Katla’s lips as the kahuna snorted derisively. “I just...don’t want to answer the awkward questions.”

“Hmm.” His eyes met hers, and it seemed like he wanted to say something, his jaw working. Then he looked back down at her arm. “Uh, they don’t look great - must’ve hurt like hell. You get any pain from them now?”

“Sometimes.” The trainer nodded. “They usually react to powerful or legendary Pokemon.”

“Hm?” Nanu’s eyebrow arched.

“Yeah. When Tapu Bulu appeared in our Grand Trial, I felt my scars tingle. When they use their powers, they tend to hurt.”

The kahuna pulled back slightly.

“Wait. If that’s the case with the Tapu, then the same must have happened with Eternatus.”

“Mmhmm.” Katla nodded. “And the legendary dogs. But Eternatus was the worst. Especially whatever unholy Dynamax it turned into - as soon it started attacking, it was agony.” Her arms prickled at the memory. “I managed to hide it from Hop, but it hurt so much-”

“Hey hey, enough of that.” Nanu rumbled softly, shifting closer, hand hesitantly moving to rest on her shoulder. There was a moment or two of silence before he spoke again: “So. You defeated the God of the Sea with the help of an Eon Pokemon. Now I understand what Kabu meant when he said it wasn’t your first rodeo.”

“He told you?” She looked up at him with alarm.

“No. He let it slip that Eternatus and Zacian weren’t the first legendaries you’d encountered.” The kahuna smirked, rising back up to his relaxed stoop. “Clammed up tighter than a Cloyster and told me it was something I’d have to ask you about.” He tilted his head, smirk becoming a smile. “Figured it was better to let you open up about it on your own time.”

She couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thanks, Nanu. I’ve told him and Stela about what happened, and I couldn’t leave you out of the loop.”

“That’s kind of you, but you didn’t have to,” he said, sitting back down beside her. A Meowth cautiously approached him, sniffing his hand.

“I didn’t want there to be any secrets between us.” The trainer explained. “And mine is...kinda important.”

The small feline purred loudly as Nanu scratched its cheek, its other fellows beginning to cluster around them again.

“I see...” His murmur was so quiet Katla almost missed it. After a long silence, she spoke again:

“So yeah. Eleven years old and I’d fought and beaten a deity Pokemon at full power. And all I got were these lousy scars and nightmares for the rest of my life.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Nanu’s expression get decidedly sour. The Meowth hopped down from his lap. “Then I went and became the Champion.”

His gaze snapped to hers, eyebrows arching up almost to his hairline.

“Say again.”

“Several weeks after the Kyogre incident, I challenged the Elite 4 and Steven. And won.”

The kahuna just stared at her, surprise clearly written over his face, yet the trainer had a feeling he was turning things over in his head - he was looking through her, not at her.

“Before you ask, no. I’m not Hoenn’s Champion any more. I gave it up after a while.” She sighed, resting her arms on her knees and staring at her boots. “It was all...all so quick. First Kyogre, then somehow I was the Champ, then the meteor, and it was all so much, too much-”

“Hey. Take it easy.” Nanu spoke, his voice quiet and steady. There was soft ‘shff’ of fabric as he scooted closer. “You weren’t much older, were you?”

“No, still eleven.”

Another breath hissed out of his nose.

“Guessing no-one helped you for those, either.”

“Not... not really.” Katla met the eyes of a particularly petite Meowth that came to sit between her feet. “I mean, Steven was there, but he was more directing me where to go, leaving a list of things I had to do. Not really...doing anything to help.” The Meowth made a sound almost akin to a beep, reaching up to her. The trainer reached down to pet it, making sure to avoid its charm. “The only ‘people’ that helped me were my Pokemon...”

A quietness fell between them, filled only with soft purring and the beginnings of rain on the Police Station roof.

“Kat,” Nanu’s voice was softer than she’d ever heard it, and she glanced up to him. There was a naked vulnerability to his face that made her heart skip in surprise. “You do have parents, right?”

Her brows furrowed for a moment.

“Yeah, I do, I thought I...told you...” She trailed off, hearing the real question underneath it. It took her aback for a moment, taking the Meowth’s insistent headbutt to bring her back.

“I do, I do - they do care for me, a-and they did their best. This- this isn’t one of those stories.” A quick glance at Nanu and the creases deepening in his forehead showed he disagreed. “They love me, they do. They just...I mean, what’s the manual for helping your kid deal with all...all of that?”

He grunted.

“Take your word for it.”

A part of Katla bristled, yet she let the anger ebb. No point quibbling now, after the wounds had been made and healed. Mostly.

“What’s this about a meteor?” He asked, mercifully pivoting away from the previous subject.

“The giant meteor over ten years ago? Was gonna smack into the planet and ruin everyone’s day?” She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, that one.” Nanu leaned back, crossing his legs. His own eyebrow raised in a mirror to hers. “Didn’t know you were involved in that too.”

“Yeah, well.” Katla snorted. “I thought saving the world was kinda a Champion’s job.”

“Can hardly you blame you for thinking otherwise, considering your predecessor.” Nanu drawled. His gaze lingered on her, his eyes twitching slightly back and forth. “Better or worse than Kyogre?”

“Better. I mean, this time the Pokemon wasn’t actively trying to kill me. But it still wanted a Pokemon battle.” She crossed her arms over her knees, watching the Meowth curl around her feet.

“Long story short, apparently this meteor had been foretold by an ancient group of people called the Draconids. They said the only way to stop it was to summon Rayquaza - the Hoenn deity of the Sky - and petition it to destroy it.”

“Wait, how is this different from Team Aqua summoning Kyogre?” Nanu asked. “Maybe they’re asking more politely, but you’re still asking a god to do your bidding.”

“I think the difference is in what was asked of them.” She explained. “That, and Kyogre was asleep.” She arched an eyebrow at the older man. “Sure you can relate to that - woken up in the middle of deep sleep and then just ordered to do something, no ‘please’ or ‘thank you’."

“Yeah. No wonder it acted out.” The older man grumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “Still, what made them so sure Rayquaza would listen to them anyway?”

”According to the legends, it has form - if a prayer to it can be amplified by some powerful artifact or location, it tends to respond. Unlike the other two Hoenn deities, Rayquaza has a closer connection to humanity. Mostly because it seems to be the only Pokemon than can get Groudon and Kyogre to stop fighting each other.”

“Huh.” Nanu leaned back. “Well, considering we’re still here, I’m guessing you succeeded?”

“Pretty much.” Katla nodded. “Got to Sky Pillar, called Rayquaza. It answered, I somehow beat it in a battle and it went and destroyed the meteor. World saved. Again.” She sighed, gaze drifting to where Perla was dozing on the window sill.

“I quit not long after that. People were insisting I stay on, or that they couldn’t believe I wanted to walk away, but...I was a mess. The nightmares, flashbacks, I-I couldn’t even look at dark water without-”

“Hey hey hey.” Nanu murmured, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “You did the right thing. Lot of people talk as if they know your mind better than you do.”

“Yeah. It was as if everything that happened to me wasn’t a big deal or anything.” She leant into him, resting her head against his chest. The slow, comforting boom of his heart was soothing, as was the kahuna’s gentle, almost furtive petting of her hair.

He hummed his agreement, the sound rumbling through his body. A couple of seconds of silence ticked by, the Meowth settling around them before he spoke again.

“I appreciate you opening up about this, Kat. Lot of things make much more sense now.”

A wan smile pulled at her lips.

“Suppose they do.” She looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat when she noticed he was watching her. “Thanks for listening to me vent, too.”

“I meant what I said last time. I’m here for you, just as much as Stela or Kabu.” His gaze was intense, not shifting even for a second. “I like a heads-up when you can give it, but don’t feel like you can’t come to me with things.” He gently brushed a lock of curly hair off her cheek. “I know I’m not the most...easy to get along with. But I care for you, Kat.” He opened his mouth to say more, but closed it again, shaking his head. “Wish you didn’t go through what you did.”

“Thanks.” She replied. “Could have done without the reprise in Galar, but here we are.”

“Mmm.” Nanu hummed, frowning for a moment. “You’ve got some nerve, though, going straight into the fray after all that. I thought you trying to scale Po Town’s walls was reckless enough.”

Katla lifted a shoulder.

“Had to be me. Didn’t want someone else to suffer the same things I went through. Besides,” a smile pulled at her lips, “this time I wasn’t alone. I had Hop with me.”

"And Kabu.” The kahuna murmured.

“Yeah...” She nodded, letting her mind wander back to a different time, a different place. Yet she’d been in much the same position, nestled against the chest of a man she loved as she’d tried to come to terms with what just happened.

“You’re not alone any more.” Nanu spoke, voice rumbling against her. “We won’t let that happen to you again.” His arm tightened around her for just a second.

The sound of the rainstorm filled the silence between them, before a Meowth yowled impatiently.

“Cripes, you can’t be hungry already?” Nanu groaned, answered by chorus of meows and one elegant ‘Perr~’. “Alright, alright. I’m coming, you bottomless pits.” He flashed Katla a weak smile before he got up, somehow managing to summon every Meowth in the station to cluster around his ankles within two steps. Perla joined them, albeit at a more sedate pace, taking the time to stretch luxuriously after descending from her perch.

Left alone for the moment, the trainer leaned back against the couch, letting out a deep breath. Thank Arceus. That went better than I expected.

[icecoldflames]

Chapter 5 - The Mystery of Sanders Castle

Masterlist

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***

1820, England

The rest of that day seemed to fly by and, too soon, it was the next morning. Logan felt slightly disappointed that Virgil and Philomena would be going back home to Betrug that evening. At least at supper time yesterday his mother had told them that she had made plans with Queen Isolde (Philomena and Virgil’s mother) for Logan to visit their castle sometime in the coming weeks.

It seemed that now Virgil and Logan were on good terms, Virgil and Philomena’s visit was now almost enjoyable. In fact, when the three of them had gone horseback riding last evening and watched the sunset, he had forgotten that he was expected to marry Philomena.

It was rather dangerous, to be honest. How easily he could forget about all his issues when he had to be on top of everything and be the perfect prince. It was irresponsible to forget everything when everything was so important.

Virgil hit his shoulder with his own as he passed by. “Stop thinking so much,” he said, dropping the bag of flour on the table. “Just knead.”

Logan rolled his eyes and began kneading the dough again.

Once Philomena had seen the little kitchen on the top floor she had insisted on teaching Virgil and Logan how to make bread.

“It’s not like I can stop,” Logan said. Thinking was a part of him. It wasn’t like he could shut it off just like that. It was a blessing and a curse all in one because, while he loved solving problems and thinking intricate ideas, he also enjoyed sleeping.

“Make sure your hands are well floured,” Philomena told them, “or the dough will stick to your hands even more.” She then turned to Logan. “You just need a break from daily life. Where you don’t need to worry.”

“Easy for you to say,” Virgil said. “You don’t have to worry about becoming a king.”

“I’d much rather be a king. At least it would be more acceptable to not marry,” Philomena shot back at her brother before glancing at Logan once again.

“I’m just saying,” Philomena continued on, still kneading her bread. “Logan just needs to forget about his problems for a bit. Have some fun.” She paused. “Like baking bread! That’s what me and mother always do when we need some good fun. It also helps out the cooks.”

Logan couldn’t help the small smile from forming on his lips. He didn’t want to admit to her that these past couple of days had been the best break he’d ever had in a long time.

“Oh my gosh, he’s smiling!” Virgil exclaimed, pointing at Logan and covering his eyes. He pretended to faint and, in the process, tripped on the flour that Virgil had spilled earlier and landed flat on his butt. “Oof.”

Philomena sighed and crossed her arms. “I thought I told you to bring a broom with the extra flour.”

Virgil shrugged and chuckled a bit. “I guess I forgot.”

Philomena walked over to Virgil and began rubbing her floury hands over his head. It fell like snow onto Virgil’s hair, little bits of dough rubbing off as well. “That’s your punishment.”

“Hey,” Virgil exclaimed but he was grinning. He pulled himself up and shook himself off like a dog. He scooped up a bit of flour off the counter and began flicking it at Philomena.

Philomena shrieked with glee and ran back to her space on the other side of the counter, beginning to collect her own handful of flour off the counter.

Virgil began throwing little bits of flour over the counter and Philomena retaliated by throwing her own. Soon, above the counter was a massive flour cloud and the three of them were all coughing.

It was like seeing a snowball fight in his own kitchen. Logan began inching away, he didn’t really want to get flour on his clothes. Besides, what would his mother think if she saw him engaging in a flour-snowball fight? Her perfect prince. Soon to be wed.

But then a flour-ball hit him square in the chest. His head shot up. Logan wasn’t sure who threw it but he didn’t care. His competitiveness had been provoked and had snapped free from its chains. “Oh, it is on,” Logan said, a slow grin beginning to spread onto his face. He ran to take cover at a free end of the counter and began piling excess flour off of the counter into his cupped hands.

Seven minutes later, Logan had flour down the inside of his shirt, Virgil’s hair was covered in flour, and Philomena’s face was full of flour that made her look like a crazy ghost.

All three of them decided to stop the game before someone walked in on them. They were playing a dangerous game and, the longer it lasted, the higher the probability one of Logan’s parents would just so happen to walk down this hall.

They decided to clean up the kitchen before taking a secret passageway only Logan (and Irwin) knew to get to his bedroom so it would be easier for Philomena and Virgil to get to their own.

They all voted for Philomena to go find a broom as she was the least dirty. All she had to do was clean her face with some water whereas Virgil needed a deep hair-clean and Logan needed a new outfit. She wasn’t perfectly clean, but she was definitely better than them.

Virgil and Logan watched as Philomena went off down the hallway, following Logan’s instructions as to where the nearest broom would be (in a guest room a couple of turns away and in the closet).

Logan was amazed at how his and Virgil’s relationship had changed in just a day. If Philomena hadn’t intervened yesterday, Logan would’ve dreaded being alone with Virgil. In fact, Philomena probably wouldn’t have left them alone in the first place.

Logan glanced over at Virgil who was beginning to kick some of the flour on the floor into piles so it would be easier to sweep up.

A long, stretched out, piece of dough hung to one of Virgil’s hairs and dangled down, just out of Virgil’s view.

It bothered Logan and he swiftly walked over to him. “You’ve got something in your hair,” he stated. Virgil grinned like a cat and bent down very dramatically so they were the same height.

Logan scowled and rolled his eyes. “You aren’t that much taller than me,” Logan insisted as he began pulling the dough string out of Virgil’s hair.

Virgil chuckled. “Sure. Whatever you say, my infinitesimal professional.”

Logan didn’t know why the blood began to run to his cheeks or how, for a second, he stopped thinking. But then his thoughts began again, whirling like a steam-powered machine. “Doesn’t infinitesimal mean very large?” His eyebrows drew down in confusion, still trying to pick out the dough. He hadn’t known how sticky dough could be.

“Are you joking with me?” Virgil laughed a bit. “Infinitesimal means small. Have you ever read a dictionary?”

“Obviously,” Logan said, genuinely serious. “I used to read it before bed every night when I was younger.” He had wanted to expand his vocabulary when he was around nine and even wrote down words onto paper and cut them out, pocket-sized, so he could carry them around.

Virgil barked out a laugh. “Of course you did,” he said and Logan loved how he laughed. It was somewhere between a scoff, snort, and chuckle and he wanted to make him laugh again. “But I’m positive that it means small, not large.”

Finally, Logan pulled the string of dough out. “There,” he said, placing it on the counter. “It’s out.”

Virgil began to straighten up and Logan was aware of how very close he was to Virgil. While trying to get that piece of dough out, he had subconsciously moved closer. Logan took a quick step backwards to let the usual amount of space go between them.

However, he must have stepped onto the pile of flour Virgil had been creating because his foot slipped out from underneath him and suddenly gravity was doing its job and he was plummeting down, down, down. He shut his eyes, waiting for impact.

Before Logan landed on the pile of flour, arms swooped underneath him and began to pull him up.

Logan opened his eyes and came face to face with Virgil’s unblinking eyes. They were stunning to look at, like a cat’s. They were brown with little flecks of gold. Logan could feel his whole body heat up and his heart begin to race.

“Are you alright?” Virgil asked. He began lifting Logan's torso up but seemed to think for a second before stopping.

Logan’s legs were dangling and, while he felt safe in Virgil’s arms, he was acutely aware that he was inches off the ground.

Virgil’s face was incredibly close to Logan’s own and he noted that this was the second time in a 24 hour timespan that they were very close to kissing. But it was soon gone again and, surprisingly, no other thoughts replaced it.

His mind was absolutely silenced. So peaceful and uncommonly still that Logan wondered if he had actually hit his head on something.

Logan didn’t remember what the question was and didn’t know exactly what to say. His brain was trying to recover and he attempted to recall if he had said anything or if Virgil had said something. His brain drew a blank for the first time in his life.

But then there were footsteps and Virgil almost dropped Logan back on the floor at the sudden sound. They both blinked, as if waking up from some stupor, and Virgil yanked Logan up so suddenly that Logan lost his balance and slid down Virgil’s arms. Virgil tried to make up for this and moved his arms down and bent forward, still trying to heave Logan up. But, with everything happening all at once, Virgil fell forward and Logan fell backwards into the pile of flour so that everything went up in a puff of white.

The footsteps drew closer and Logan could see Philomena in the doorway, holding a broom. Her eyebrows drew down and she instantly dropped the broom. “Oh my goodness. What happened here? I leave for five minutes and look at what’s happened!”

Logan was under Virgil and he could feel Virgil’s racing heart like a fast drumbeat. He assumed his own was similar.

“Don’t ask,” Virgil muttered, beginning to climb off of Logan, lending a hand down which Logan took graciously.

Philomena looked at the two suspiciously for a couple of seconds before bending down to pick up the broom. She shoved it into her brother’s chest. “You sweep. Me and Logan will form the dough and put it in the oven.”

Virgil took the broom and immediately began sweeping. “Let’s catch them on fire,” he said, nonchalantly. Philomena glared over at her brother. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

Logan's cheeks were so hot that he was sure they could have cooked the dough on his cheeks instead.

***

“So you’re telling me you never go for walks around your kingdom?” Philomena asked, aghast. “Even with guards around you?”

The idea was so unbelievable to Logan who only took walks in his own garden or into the woods far away from his own kingdom. “No. Of course not. My kingdom isn’t safe for royalty to take walks into the kingdom. I could be killed or kidnapped.”

All three of them, freshly cleaned and changed, were out in the garden, under Logan’s favourite gazebo.

When he had turned 19, his parents had insisted on a portrait being done. He had only agreed if he could choose where he was placed. He didn’t want to be in some stuffy room in the castle. If he was going to be sitting anywhere for long periods of time, it would be under his favourite gazebo.

“Your kingdom would try to kill you?” Philomena asked. “I mean,” she amended, “I knew there was unrest in kingdoms but I didn’t think here. What do the townsfolk have against your family?”

Logan really hated talking about his own kingdom. Especially to Virgil and Philomena who’s kingdom sounded so drastically different from his own. But it was necessary. Philomena had to understand what kind of kingdom she was marrying into.

“Oh, plenty of things,” Logan said with a roll of his eyes. “To name a few: tax is too high, my parents are too lenient with the criminals and too severe on everyday citizens who commit small criminal offences, they hoard the money and food, they don’t import enough goods, they don’t care about the citizens, they aren’t expanding the kingdom yet the population is steadily demanding it.” He listed these off on his fingers and watched as Philomena and Virgil gaped at him.

“Do you think it’s factual? That your parents are actually doing those things?” Virgil questioned. Logan still couldn’t get the scene of him and Virgil in the kitchen, faces so close to one another, out of his head.

Logan bit his lip in thought. He had always wondered this, alone in his bedroom when he probably should have been asleep. Which side was he on? Did he agree with the people or did he agree with his parents who claimed to be unaware of half of the things the citizens alleged?

To be honest, he always fell asleep before he came to a conclusion or he just came to the conclusion that that decision would be for another time. Another night. Another year.

And now two people were curious to know his opinion on something he had been putting off for years.

Virgil and Philomena looked expectantly at Logan.

Logan chose his next words very carefully. “I’m not quite sure…” he trailed off slowly.

“What do you mean?” Virgil asked.

Logan let out a little breath of air before responding. “Some of the things my parents do definitely aren’t the people’s choice but I see how they are helpful and I understand both sides. Like the higher taxes. People are paying more but everyone’s houses are pretty much stable and won’t crumble at the first signs of a storm or a hard winter. But other things just don’t add up. They just don’t make sense.” He ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his glasses. “Like the import thing—I don’t understand it. We import around the same amount of goods as any other kingdom near us yet the people are adamant that we import less than them.”

“Has anyone looked into it?” Virgil asked worriedly. “Maybe people stole it.”

Logan pursed his lips. “They did look into it, a couple of years ago.”

“And?” Philomena prompted.

Logan rubbed his face. “They found the missing goods in one of the castle’s personal food storage buildings. We interviewed all of our staff and they swore that they didn’t know how it got there. The people were furious.” He paused. “After that, we stopped trying to find the missing imports. And we don’t use that storage building anymore.”

Philomena was playing with her skirt and she looked deep in thought. “Could your parents have put it there, not the staff?”

“Philomena!” Virgil exclaimed.

“No,” Logan said, shaking his head. “My parents may be cold and calculating but they aren’t thieves. Especially taking things from their own kingdom.”

“Sorry, but you’re right. It doesn’t make sense,” Philomena said thoughtfully.

“Could your people be doing it, trying to overthrow your parents?” Virgil suggested.

All of these ideas Logan had thought of before. And every single time they came through his mind, he always hit a brick wall. “No. Our people wouldn’t do that. They’ve been unhappy for some time now. I doubt they would keep up the hoax for over ten years. They would probably try to assassinate one of us before planning something in the long run.”

“Has someone tried to reason with your people?” Virgil asked.

“Yes. A while ago, perhaps three years into the missing goods we showed a couple of the lords proof that we had imported these things but they didn’t believe us and thought we had created the proof just to silence them.”

“That’s horrible,” Virgil said.

“It’s going to be so different travelling to Betrug,” Logan said honestly. “It’ll be a nice change of scenery.”

“I can’t wait for you to meet our parents and siblings,” Philomena gushed.

“Oh right, you have three other siblings, right?” Logan asked. “Exactly how young are they?” Being an only child and not ever interacting with other children around his own age (except maybe the odd royal who visited) meant that he wasn’t exactly the best with children or with meeting new people. Which worried him since he was expected to have an heir and raise them.

“Well, there’s Philomena, obviously, then me, then Mabel at 17, then Lillian who’s 14, and then Peter at 9,” Virgil explained, listing each sibling off on his fingers.

“Wow, I can’t imagine having that many siblings,” Logan said. He would probably be fine with maybe one sibling although he wasn’t sure which he preferred—a sister or brother.

“It definitely gets rambunctious at times. Especially Peter. He’s a little rascal,” Philomena said, wrinkling up her nose.

“Yeah but Lillian taught him everything. She’s worse than Peter because Lillian is actually smart,” Virgil argued.

“I’m sure that when Peter grows up, he’ll be plenty smart. He’s nine. Of course he isn’t as smart as Lillian. Just like Lillian isn’t as smart as Mabel and so on and so forth.”

Virgil rolled his eyes playfully. “You’re just saying that because you think you’re smarter than me.”

Philomena opened her mouth, “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that, as people get older, people get smarter and wiser.”

Virgil pointed to Logan. “So you think you’re smarter than Logan?”

Logan intervened before the lighthearted argument could take a plummet. “I think everyone’s smart in their own way.”

Philomena laughed. “Good point.”

***

Lunch passed way too quickly and soon Virgil and Philomena’s carriage was on its way to take them home. Logan would have to wait another month before seeing them again.

He didn’t want them to go. Logan knew the castle would be too quiet. Too lonely. There was no Irwin and now Philomena and Virgil would be going home.

Logan put those thoughts away for now, they weren’t gone yet. Currently, they were in the guest room that he had directed Philomena to in order to find the broom earlier that morning. It had a view of the road to the castle so all three of them would know when the carriage would be arriving.

All three of them were oddly silent.

Everything just seemed to be sinking in. What this whole meeting was supposed to be about. It was just supposed to be a couple of days for Logan and Philomena to get to know each other.

But Logan felt like it had been much more than that. He didn’t know what his feelings were. They were like a massive knot and he didn’t know how to unravel and make sense of them.

He felt guilty that he wasn’t thinking about Irwin. Shouldn’t he be thinking more about him? Shouldn’t he be thinking more about his fast approaching wedding? But, instead of this, all he could discern from his knot of feelings was that he didn’t want Virgil to leave.

Philomena broke the silence. “This isn’t the last time we’re going to see each other.” She tried to put on a smile but it wavered. “We’ll see each other in a month.”

Logan and Virgil didn’t say anything.

Philomena rolled her eyes. “You two are acting like it’s a funeral.”

Logan awkwardly scratched the back of his neck while Virgil slipped his hands underneath him and stared down at his feet.

Philomena sighed and finally stood up from the rocking chair she had been sitting on. “I can’t just sit here anymore. I’m going to do a sweep of our rooms in case we forgot anything. Virgil, just come get me when the carriage arrives.”

Virgil nodded absentmindedly as Philomena walked out the door.

Once Logan could no longer hear her footsteps, his mind wandered to earlier that morning, when he had been in Virgil’s arms. And the two almost kisses.

He didn’t know what he was feeling about the other prince. It felt so similar yet incredibly different than his feelings towards Irwin. Perhaps if he could figure out the differences, he could understand himself better. It felt like such a massive task that seemed so impossible that Logan wasn’t sure if he was up for it.

The galloping of horses made Logan snap his gaze up. His heart fell and thoughts of Irwin disappeared as he stared over at Virgil who stared back at him. Neither of them moved from their places in the bedroom.

It was only when Logan thought that maybe the carriage was halfway down the road that finally Logan stood up, feeling like weights were tied to his feet. He could hear Virgil slowly follow.

Logan thought back to his conversations with Irwin and, with a start, realized that almost 98% of their conversations was Irwin advising Logan. Whether on feelings or just regular advisory. And then Logan tried to think if it had ever been the other way around. He thought long and hard, making his way to the wing where Philomena and Virgil’s rooms were, but drew a blank.

Looking back at their relationship, objectively, it had been rather one-sided. Logan’s palms were beginning to sweat. What did this mean? Was their whole friendship a lie? What did his feelings mean? Did Irwin feel the same? Their whole friendship was based around the fact that Irwin helped him get through life. Did Logan know the intricacies of Irwin’s feelings and opinions like Irwin did him? Did he do that on purpose or was it more of a subconscious thing?

And what about Virgil? Whatever was happening between him and Virgil was definitely not the same as him and Irwin. He barely knew Virgil yet Logan felt a similar warm, fuzzy, feeling that he did with Irwin.

Did Logan even like Irwin? Of course, his feelings seemed to argue. But his mind wasn’t so sure. Was Irwin just a person he depended on to unknot his feelings? It made him uncomfortable admitting it to himself but he couldn’t deny the facts.

Then Logan’s mind went to Virgil and how he didn’t want him to leave. Was that because he depended on him like Irwin or was it because he genuinely liked him?

His heart rate quickened and he could feel his cheeks go hot. Maybe he didn’t have to decipher his feelings in order to answer that question. All he had to do was watch for the signs.

Maybe a part of him still liked Irwin—he was his very first friend, after all—but Virgil was nothing like Irwin. And he seemed to really like him whereas he might have just depended on Irwin because he was more of an advisor.

They were almost to Philomena’s bedroom when Logan barely registered the sound of Virgil’s pace quickening. And Logan’s wrist flamed and tingled when Virgil grabbed it and pulled him around to face him.

“Logan…” Virgil’s eyes were wide and Logan’s brain malfunctioned again and went quiet like earlier that morning in the kitchen. But this time his brain didn’t immediately recover because suddenly they were kissing.

Had he been the first to initiate it or had Virgil? Logan didn’t know, he couldn’t remember. All he knew was that he was kissing Virgil and it was definitely wrong because he was supposed to be marrying his sister but he couldn’t help but feel that this was it. This was how it was supposed to be.

Virgil pulled away after a moment, looking frightened. Logan worriedly wondered if he had initiated the kiss and Virgil didn’t feel the same way about him. But, if that was the case, Virgil would have pulled away as soon as their lips touched.

Virgil blinked and Logan was close to running away and never showing his face again. “Are you…alright?” Virgil asked hesitantly, his eyes searching Logan’s face for something.

Logan held Virgil’s forearms, still slightly in shock—his heart was beating rapidly and his face felt like it was on fire.

“Yes,” Logan finally said, pulling Virgil into a hug. And, after a long moment, Virgil settled his head atop Logan’s.

[matildainmotion]

My Cure for the Blues, thanks to my Daughter who Loves Pink: What Might Yours Be?

I am blue. I don’t know why. There are many blatant reasons for blueness in the world right now - more than there have ever been in my lifetime - yet still I don’t know why. If I did I wouldn’t be blue. I would be sad with purpose. Or angry. Or upset. But what I have is a slightly pointless feeling. Being blue is vague. Vaguely low. A big wash of a dark colour, devoid of detail.

Meanwhile my four year old daughter is definitely not blue - she’s pink. “What’s your favourite colour today?” She asks, everyday. I find it a hard question to answer with accuracy, perhaps because of my vague blue feeling. She does not: “What’s yours?” I say. “Pink,” she replies with absolute certainty, “And gold.” Another favourite question of hers, that she poses most evenings at supper: “What are you the fairy of?” The grown-ups round the table come up with various quips in answer: Daddy is the fairy of mashed potato; Granny is the fairy of hearing aids; Mummy is the fairy of tiredness. 

“And you, Tenar?” 

“I’m the fairy of beauty, sparkly things and everything I like,” she replies, while skipping up and down beside the dinner table, because the fairy of beauty is much too busy to pay any heed to the fairy of meal time manners. Her favourite Christmas present was a gold princess gown, which she dons daily, and Snow White-like, checks in the mirror to see if she looks suitably fair. She wants to grow her hair down to just above her bottom. 

This all comes as rather a shock to me because I was not a pink girl - my favourite colour as a child was navy blue, no pastels please. I refused to wear dresses. I had a party boiler suit- dark blue - for birthdays. I climbed trees, ran along garden walls and lived in trousers. I was inconsolable when my father once brought me back a kilt as a present from a trip to Scotland - imagine being given a skirt! Despite being told this was a skirt meant for men, despite the photos in the family photo drawer of my father, a proud soldier in a Black Watch regiment kilt, I remained unconvinced. I have stayed relatively consistent in my tom-boyness into adult life. As a mother my children rarely see me in dresses, hardly ever in make up. Mummy has long hair under her armpits and on her legs but often shaves her head.

Given the version of womanhood I have presented to my daughter, I assumed  her predilection for pink princesses was a result of the vicious marketing to which children, especially girls, are subjected - the bright pink magazines with plastic toy lipsticks and hair curlers sellotaped onto the front, placed at just her height on the wracks near the supermarket check out. This is just one example of the many things about the world that make me blue so, when her pink princess phase began, I set to work. 

I had already consistently switched pronouns around in books - mostly from he to she - or had discussions with my daughter about the absence of active female heroines.  More recently, her questions such as “Why is it girls that have long hair?” Or, “Which one of these princesses is the most beautiful?” lead to long discussions about the history of fashion, gender as a colourful spectrum, and how peacocks are just one example of a species in which it is the boy that gets to wear the gorgeous feathers. None of this seems to make the slightest difference to my daughter’s commitment to pink, but two developments recently have eased my concerns and made me think that there is more than 21st Century patriarchal capitalism at work in her choices, and that the pink thing - or the thing for pink -that is sustaining her spirits through this hard time might actually contain within it a clue to the medicine I need for my blues.  

Firstly, last weekend, after a day on which I had had to work and so had resorted to letting Tenar watch Disney’s Cinderella (the 1950 animation) she ran back and forth during supper and told us her version of the story. In her rendition, she played the part of the fairy godmother, and having magically rustled up a stunning dress for Cinderella, she thought she should be the one who got to enjoy it. So it was she, the fairy godmother, who danced the night away with Cinders. And what of the prince? No princess for him - he was left with a slice of pizza. After three nights of dancing together, Cinderella married Tenar, the fairy godmother, and they lived together happily ever after, with an ever-expanding wardrobe of fabulous dresses. The prince married the pizza, and was, apparently, content with his lot. 

I was reassured by this that my daughter is in no way either a passive consumer of pink-ness or likely to become an easy victim of social norms. Soon after marrying Cinderella, she came up with the second thing which allayed my concerns, and made me question my fast feminist assumptions as to what is at work in her psyche. She announced, seemingly out of the blue (that colour again), that one day she wants to acquire a white, calm, mare.  

We have some chickens, but on the whole we are not an animal-focussed family. No cats. No dogs. Certainly nothing as large and demanding as a horse. My daughter accepts the fact that owning a horse is a big deal - you need a stable, a meadow, and various other bits of kit, so she is going to be patient - not a quality that comes to her easily - and wait, but it is important that she gets the mare when she is still young, she says, by the time she is twelve. By then her hair should have grown to her full desired length and both she and the white mare can ride over the fields with their locks streaming behind them. She is also keen on a cart to go with it, which will, she says, make shopping much easier and less boring. She will look after it very well: she will dress it in garlands of flowers, feed it hay and apples and exercise it daily. Its stable will be right beside the pink, gold and violet-painted bedroom of her own, into which she will also have moved by the time she turns twelve.  

I am not entirely sure from where this horse has ridden into her mind. She has a sticker book of white unicorns, but much of the dream seems to be of her own invention. I am not about to surrender to an essentialist narrative and suggest that all little girls harbour a horsey dream - how could I when I myself never have?- but it has touched me, this sudden passion for a white horse, the oddly mature way in which she discusses the details of it, and it makes me think there is more than magazine marketing at work in her.  

My husband plays Tenar the theme tune to White Horses, the 1960s TV series, whilst I remember all the stories I know that feature a woman and a horse. One of my favourite Ted Hughes’ tales concerns the first woman complaining to God that she is bored - she wants a playmate. After trying out various creations and getting it horribly wrong, God finally gets it right when, out of the crests of the waves, he conjures a horse, who rides ashore to greet the waiting woman. Going further back in time, there are the tales of Epona and Rhiannon, Celtic horse goddesses which I know of thanks to mother-maker, Jackie Singer, who made a brilliant show about them that explored women’s power and sexuality - both its repression and liberation. Rhiannon in particular, who can outride any man with ease, is no passive princess. Whilst the image of a girl dressed in pink is no more than eighty years old, the image of a woman riding a horse is clearly a good deal older. However, irrespective of age (simply using the fact that something has been around for a long time is a highly dubious reason for justifying it - patriarchy, for example, is ancient!) it seems to me, listening to Tenar, that she has somehow tapped into an image-geyser - it has sprung up mysteriously, and with tremendous energy. It feeds her.  Life is tough, we are confined in a tiny house, while we try to stay well, stay sane, shield Granny, but my daughter is buoyant, not blue, because she is dreaming of horses- I need some of what she’s got.  

But I never dreamt of horses. They don’t do it for me. I think back to when I loved navy blue and try to recall what else I was dreaming of then. What made me run around the kitchen table with delight like my daughter does? And then the answer comes: I wanted a meadow too, but not for a horse. I wanted a cabin in one corner - I was going to run across the meadow, barefoot, marvel at the wonder of the world and then head into my cabin and write. I didn’t want to be a princess, I wanted to be a poet. With the same passion, the same weird mix of realism and fantasy as I see in my daughter and her horse ambitions, I made plans for my poetry cabin. I remembered this when I watched the amazing Amanda Gorman, not dressed in pink or blue but brightest yellow, reciting at Biden’s inauguration - a young poet woman warrior. I can feel it does me good to summon up this archetype, this image. It starts, slowly, to dispel the blue. It’s a dose of a meaning-of-life medicine, the first iteration of it that I ever brewed for myself and so, because of this, it still holds a certain potency. As Victor Frankl argues in his classic Man’s Search for Meaning a sense of purpose, of meaning, is what we (man, woman, or betwixt and between) need to survive the hardest times - a holocaust, a global pandemic, or, closer to home, just a tough day of schooling with the kids. 

So, here are your questions for the month - actually a mix of my daughter’s questions and mine:

What is your favourite colour today? What are you the fairy of? What do or did your children, if you have them, dream of? And what were your own childhood dreams? And can your answers to these questions change the colour of your days?

As I type this, Tenar is sitting on my lap, and she has asked for the last word. I have said she can dictate and I will type. Over to Tenar, then, to finish this off:

“I ask my mum so many questions that I feel in my body and I say my heart is the thing that controls my feelings. I ask every night to my mum, why she was a tom boy? And I say that I love you as much as I am going to love everything around me, and I love my heart, and my horse. And I am a girlie girl, not like my mummy.  I love princesses, I say, every night.”

[veridium]

fake happy

Well, whaddya know! The College AU is back, baby! Unfortunately June was pretty much hell in a handbasket, so writing took a backseat. But, we are far from done. Thank you to everyone for sighting tight, and to @bitchesofostwick for being a very patient co-author. 

So, where were we? Ah, yes, the holiday weekend from hell. On with the show! Title bought to you by a great Paramore song.

masterpost // last chapter

--

“Hey baby cakes!”

The moment she hears the shrill greeting whilst getting out of her car in the sandstone-colored driveway, Olivia knows she’s in a chapter of Dante’s Inferno. All the calmness she had with Ellinor earlier that day is gone; it is easier said than done enduring four days in the house of Paula Sinclair.

“Hey,” she rushes over her shoulder, pulling the side lever to release the trunk where her bags are kept. Just two, one of clothes and toiletries and the other books and supplies to do assignments. She’ll need the preoccupation as an excuse for the gauntlet of trials her Mom will invite her to.

As she’s filing her luggage out onto the driveway, she sees her Mom’s shadow approaching. She glances and sees her in all her glory: an olive green sundress with one of those straw pool hats. She was probably out basking in the sun all afternoon before this. Olivia is surprised she thought to put down whatever spiked beverage she must have had with her to come outside and greet her only child. 

“Did you have a safe drive? You certainly did not rush to get home safe,” Paula says, halting and crossing her arms. 

Olivia slams the trunk closed and huffs, slinging one bag’s strap over her shoulder and the other on her opposite forearm. “I woke up late, and had to help Ellinor pack.” Sorry, Ellinor. 

“Ellinor! I will miss her this year.” A lie said out of convenience. The whole time Ellinor stays with them, Paula shoots her peculiar questions about her personal life or her political views. Ellinor knows better now after these last couple of years how to play them off, but Paula can’t help but size people up. It’s how she cultivates all her complaints.

“I will, too,” Olivia lets out as she makes her way to the front door, past the splendorous potted plants and fake green grass turf. Her Mother saunters behind her through the open door. 

Once inside Olivia notices what’s missing, and sets her smaller bag down. 

“Wh--”

“No no, do not just leave that there! Take it to the mud room or your bedroom.”

Olivia bites back a groan and turns around to face Paula as she shuts and locks the large-ass, gaudy-ass front door. “Fine. Where is Nemo?”

“Nemo?”

“...the dog, Mother.”

“Nemo! Oh, psh,” she waves her acrylics. “He is off in the yard. I kept him outside because the carpet steamers came this morning. You know how his muddy little paws are! Now, do I not get a hug?”

Olivia tenses up from head to toe, seeing her Mother coming in for the hug she didn’t wait for permission for. At least Nemo isn’t mysteriously gone -- she’s read too many horror stories online of people’s parents being complete monsters about their old family pets dying, and not telling the children who live elsewhere -- but Paula keeps Nemo out in the yard for days at a time when she gets the carpets cleaned. He will need company, and not just the husband going out and practicing his golf swing adjacent to him. 

Oh, right, there’s a husband around here.

Paula hugs her with her arms draped over Olivia’s shoulders, rather than around her waist like a good bear hug. Something Dad would know how to do.

“I imagine Fred is off shooting, stuffing, or smoking something,” she mutters over her Mother’s shoulder, to which Paula gently swats at her shoulder and guffaws. 

“No, silly! He’s in the yard with Nemo, your fellow prisoner,” she teases, picking up on Olivia’s dread with her trademark passive aggression. Only three minutes in the door, a new record. 

“I didn’t say he couldn’t do those things out in the yard.” Lord knows he has before. 

“Where do you think our holiday meal comes from every year?” 

“COSTCO, like God and Uncle Sam intended, right?”

“Ugh, Olivia, your humor changes every year you’re at that College. Don’t be so morose.”

She takes a breath and picks up her eyesore of a bag so that it does not further desecrate the sanctity of the foyer, and makes for the curved staircase just across the pristine hardwood. “I’m just tired from the drive, Mom. I’m going to go upstairs and get settled.”

“Okay, and come downstairs soon! I wanna catch up, okay?”

“Yeah, okay!”

She glances behind her but her Mother is already vanished. Sure, catch up, but not too quick! Releasing her bated breath she lurches up the rest of the stairs. The place is heavily renovated from the home it originally was when her parents bought it. In the beginning they didn’t have much -- well, much compared to what Paula has now -- and so their first nest was a fixer upper. Year after year, corny wallpaper became fresh painted walls, and thick upholstered couches handed down from in-laws became brand new installations from the boutiques downtown. Two additions to the place upgraded it from a modest family home to a wannabe mansion. Olivia grew up in this ever-changing little kingdom of improvements, but only when she was a newly-minted adult did she realize she was one of its fixtures.

The one comfort had always been that her Father dwelled there with her. He brought heart and humanity to the kingdom of objects: his muddy shoes by the front door, not the “mud room.” His fishing rods hung up on the garage rack. His barbeque out in the yard. They weren’t all state-of-the-art, but they were his. But, by now, they, too, were all gone. ‘Improvements’ in every stead, including his.  

Olivia had one sacrosanct place left, and that was her childhood room. Walking down the hall decorated with big, framed portraits of the family -- none of her Father, though, to be sure -- she found her door, the second one to the right in the west hallway. “West” being the original upstairs hallway, the only hallway, before construction added the one referred to as the “East.” She pushed the ajar door open and slid in to see it as she remembered: the bright lavender purple walls strewn with posters, pictures, and a tapestry up behind her bed. The pearly purple carpet smelled of the carpet cleaner, but it did not mask the smell of vanilla she expected. On the opposite wall from the door, her princess bed complete with ivory white canopy was freshly made. Her bedspread was white, with pillows in alternating shades of green and lilac. Years ago she fought endlessly for her Mother to let her paint her room a darker color than the baby pink it was first. Thanks to her Dad, they “compromised” with purple. Sadly, Paula took that as “the lightest shades of purple” and so it was.

In the details, though, there was Olivia’s rebellion. The posters, Paramore, My Chemical Romance, and an old one from a Sheryl Crow concert she found on Amazon, contrasted the brightness with a grit. To the left by her small balcony doors, her vanity mirror and stool were covered with polaroid pictures, concert tickets, movie ticket stubs, and bracelets. She had taken all of her incriminating, “immodest” makeup with her to college, so all that remained were an old bottle of sunscreen, some pastel eyeshadow palettes, and lip glosses. So many lip glosses. 

Olivia dropped her shit in the middle of the floor and made for the reading chair in the far corner, where she collapsed into a curled, reticent ball of conflicted emotions. She predicted this -- she dreaded this -- and now, here she is. The first day is always a test of anxiety, more so than enduring mistreatment. Paula is always good on the first day -- great, sometimes. She is generous, and outgoing, and doesn’t sweat the small stuff. The grueling part comes after the first night ends and she realizes she has to do something with her daughter who isn’t just in for dinner and giggling. That’s when she remembers how she actually feels, and who she actually is. And with no one like Ellinor to buffer and provide excuses for her not standing in one place for too long, it’ll be particularly concentrated. 

She slides limply against the plush chair and closes her eyes. It was a stressful drive full of hasty college kids getting home to their more harmonious families. Olivia was in no rush, though. Three trips through various drive thrus surely added time.

Her phone goes off, and she slips her phone out of her back jean pocket. 

Ellinor: You ready to walk the plank yet?

Smirking, Olivia replies: 

-- I am already keeling over the edge. How is your family?

Ellinor: I nearly did a drop and roll out of Lyssa’s car on the way here, but they’re bearable. They are who they usually are. No surprises, this holiday season! 

-- One of these years we’ll be successful enough to buy everyone therapy for Christmas. 

Ellinor: No shit, I’m making them pay for mine first. 

Olivia is replying when another notification comes up, an instagram like this time, from Maryden. Grinning she taps on it. Maryden finally saw the group pic they all took at the fair: her, Ellinor, Cullen, and then Olivia and Cass in the bottom corner. Olivia had made Cass hold the phone due to height advantage. Her grin expands before it sinks fast. 

Ah, fuck. 

She pulls up her messages again and sees the one Cassandra sent her while she was driving and unable to check. 

Cassandra: Text me when you arrive safe. ❤️

The heart emoji. Olivia’s cheeks turn hot, and she hastily types. 

-- Here in purgatory! 

The sound of a man shouting something, and then laughing, rings from the balcony windows. Fred must be huffing and puffing about something amusing, like meat or guns. She can’t wait for all his odd comments and attempts to “relate” that almost always devolve into him talking about whatever season of sport he’s onto and her nodding along. Poor man. He makes sea sponges seem like sophists. 

Soon after sending, Cassandra replies, an opportunity Olivia doesn’t predict: 

Cassandra: Awesome. my Uncle has stopped us for gas, still about 40 minutes out. 

-- That’s good. Hopefully you won’t get stuck in rush hour. 

Cassandra: My Uncle sucks at navigating traffic, so I wouldn’t bet on it. 

-- Lol

Cassandra: You alright? 

Olivia is sort of surprised by the question and its sensitivity, albeit direct. 

-- Just tired from the drive, that’s all 

Cassandra: You love driving. You would drive the entire stretch of the coast highway without blinking once.

Damn, Cassandra. A bold insight. A correct one, too. 

-- 🤷🏼‍♀️

Five seconds after she hits send, Cassandra calls her. She nearly drops the phone on the floor, and her slack posture goes full vertical. She checks that the door is closed, only to decide to leap, rush, and lock it just in case. Then she hurries to the farthest corner of the room and hits answer right on the last ring. 

“No, Detective, I will not submit to the polygraph.”

Cassandra’s voice rings almost playfully. “Very well, we have other ways of making you talk.”

There’s the hot blush again. “Uh, a-alright, who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?” She hushes a bit, and hopes Cassandra doesn’t notice. 

“Nothing! My Uncle is in the gas station doing who-knows-what, so I’m stuck in here, boot and all.”

“I’m not kidding, I saw that Liam Neeson movie, I know how this goes. I have a special set of skills--”

“What do I have to do? Express my distaste for something? Quote Plato?”

“...It would be reassuring.”

Cassandra laughs coyly, and despite everything, it livens her spirit. She didn’t expect Cassandra to be in so playful a mood traveling back home. She was cool but unhappy about it that morning when they parted ways, entertained only by Olivia’s presence and a strong cup of coffee. Without the ability to drive due to her ankle, her illustrious but mysterious Uncle had to be the one to pick her up and take her back to her family. 

“I was just calling to check in on you.”

“I thought that was what the texting was for,” Olivia replies more curtly than she intends. She gnaws at her bottom lip.

“Sometimes it is worth the extra effort to call.”

“That is very un-millenial of you, you know. Horrifying.”

“Maybe so. Ugh, what is that man doing?” there’s sounds of Cassandra rustling against the leather seat, probably checking in through the window. “Probably searching for that expensive jerky he gets at Trader Joe’s like it will just magically turn up at an ARCO.”

“Who’s to say it won’t? People of all walks of life can enjoy finer things.”

“Yes, but not just the ‘finer’ things,” she then huffs. “Look, I don’t have much time, so if you aren’t in the mood to talk about what is bothering you, I can let you go and we can talk later.”

“I don’t know if I will be able to. My Mom wants to ‘catch up,’ which in her language means I get a hundred questions and the occasional asinine one from Fred.”

“Fred’s your stepfather, right?”

“He’s...my Mother’s husband.”

“I see.”

She mulls her teeth and looks around aimlessly. Cassandra goes ‘hm’ but nothing else. 

“How are you able to talk so much?” Olivia asks, diverting the subject. “Aren’t you worried your family will pry?”

“The good thing about holidays in my family is there are so many people around, you can get a great deal of private time if you are smart enough. Which is exactly what I intend to do. Ugh...he...oh, sorry. I thought my Uncle was coming back, but it was just another man.”

“Yeah, but you said they have superhuman abilities for nosiness.”

“They do. And I have superhuman talents of evasion. They’ll peck and prod about the ankle boot, though. Usually I can slip away to the gym or for a run to get away from them but...of course...can’t do that. Doctors don’t trust me to set foot in a weight room and it’s been weeks since my injury.”

“Cass, it’s been two weeks, almost precisely.”

“I said weeks, didn’t I? Look, overextending is not the same as knowing my limits. They’re the medical professionals, but they don’t live in this body 24/7.”

Olivia grimaces with sympathy, though she can’t say she agrees given how easy it is for Cassandra to throw herself into things without caution. “Uh huh.”

“Ugh, forgive me. I won’t be able to talk everyday, but I would like to try sometimes, okay? I promise it won’t all be about my messed up ankle.”

Olivia smirks. “You’re being very…”

“Very…what?”

Olivia stalls. Is it an asshole thing to do, saying your girlfriend is being more sensitive and caring than usual? Maybe not “more,” but in a different way. An unusual way. She could have really taken Olivia’s hurt feelings over how she acted about her injury. She could be really trying. But now, in the lion’s den, Olivia’s unsure about whether the timing of it is...well, ideal. 

“Nevermind, I lost my train of thought,” she excuses. “I appreciate you.”

“It’s no trouble. Now, I think my Uncle is coming back. Ugh, he got a whole bag of things...probably for me. Seeing me with my boot triggered his overprotective nerve extra hard.”

“Oh, no, sour patch kids! The torture!” Olivia teases. An ounce of her regular self bleeds through. 

“Very funny. I will text you later. Be safe, alright?”

“Alright. You, too.” She then remembers and slips it in before they hang up: “L-let me know when you get home, too, okay?”

“...O-okay.” There’s a pause, the kind of awkward pause when the thing you say -- the particular thing -- happens. But since they aren’t there yet, it’s full of pause and anxiety. 

“Okay,” Olivia takes her turn to smooth it over. “Bye!”

“Bye.”

Hanging up kills the feeling of safety. She looks into the big oval mirror at her dresser vanity and watches her grin crack, then disappear all-together. The scene in her reflected surroundings loses its luster. Even with all the impossibilities, she kind of wishes Cassandra was with her. It almost makes her laugh at herself: what, would she have driven up with her in the passenger’s seat, hear “hey baby cakes!” and smile, saying “hey Mom, here’s my girlfriend! You’re suddenly not biphobic, right? Oh and by the way she’s a Pentaghast, so, there’s that!” and they all retire to the sitting room for tea and introductions. Right. 

She turns and sees her unpacked bags, her only company. She rubs her forehead slowly with the back of her hand. She has experience being left to her own devices with her Mother. Hell, she has a lifetime of it with her. A long weekend won’t be anything particularly gruesome, and if it is, well, she’s survived them before.  

Fifteen minutes later she has everything organized and put away -- she won’t unpack much, anyway. A quick change into some leggings and a t-shirt, a toss of her hair into a ponytail, and she’s ready to face the music. She’s careful to shut her bedroom door before she descends down the hall and the stairs, betting that her Mother is out in the yard on one of the lounge chairs. She finds her there, indeed lounging, with that missing cocktail restored to her.

Unmoved but always observant, her Mother inquires: “Settled in?” 

Olivia puts on her best polite grin and sits down on the lounge chair five feet away. On the grass, Fred is dressed in pastel blue polo and cargo shorts like the overgrown fraternity pledge he is, throwing a frisbee for Nemo. Nemo, the 10 year old yellow lab, who can scarcely go up the stairs without being winded these days. Too bad for Fred the minute Olivia shows herself, the grey-faced dog bounds in his own way over to the long last playmate.

“Nemo! You little prince!” she smiles, crouching down to embrace him. His tail is wagging a million miles per hour, and he fills her face with old dog breath. His tickling gets her to finally laugh. 

“Good grief,” she hears her Mom say, “Olivia, don’t let him lick your mouth!”

“I’m fine!” she says through her giggles, rubbing his chest and back as she stands upright. “It won’t kill me.”

“Ugh.”

That joy was short lived. She returns to the chair she chose and does her best to make as little eye contact as possible as she sits and sprawls her legs out. Nemo follows circles around her, tail still going.

“Do we know what the plans are for Thanksgiving?” Olivia asks, expecting the same answer as always. Dinner at home with Fred’s relatives and those in Mom’s family who she isn’t on the outs with, all above the age of 35 for the most part, and vote like it. Another dinner she’ll have to dress way too modestly and matronly for her age in order to fit in for the group photo.

“Well, that is what I wanted to surprise you with,” Paula answers. 

Olivia side-eyes her Mom, and delays opening up her phone to scroll through Twitter. “What?”

“We will be having dinner with the family as always, but earlier this week we received a surprise invitation for us to attend a holiday party later on this weekend.”

“You aren’t going to spend the holiday campaigning, are you?” 

“‘Campaigning’ has a broad definition, Olivia, and it is never a bad idea to become more familiar with one’s community constituents.”

Olivia frowns and resumes scrolling. Great, likely another fundraiser or gala, not something substantially humble like volunteering time with those genuinely in need, who are also her “constituents.” She saved the label for those she could depend on to write a donation check -- the other 80% of society barely existed. 

“I assume then you are expecting me to go?”

There’s a sound of Paula’s magazine of choice turning a page. “What do you think the surprise was?”

“That as much as you would like me to come, that you respect my choice not to so that I can have a quiet, restful weekend at home before Finals are in full swing?”

No response for going out on that limb. The proverbial crickets chirp, and Olivia knows her point was deliberately missed. 

“Or,” she corrects herself, “that you want me to go.”

“Yes, silly girl. And for your information, even if I didn’t want you to come, the invitation specifically noted you.”

“P-pardon me?” She looks up.

Paula shakes her head and smiles. “When were you going to tell me you were making friends with the Pentaghast family?”

“I...I-I’m not!”

“You must be, there was a handwritten note in the card, your name and all.”

Olivia can feel a stroke coming on. The heat of the day now feels like a vise around her throat, a semi-truck on her chest. She jerks up and turns to look at her Mother dead on, who is still flipping through her latest issue of Vogue, sunglasses and sunhat and all. 

“So...so they wrote me in? Me, specifically?”

“Yes, that is what I said! Goodness, calm down, you’ll give yourself a heat stroke.” 

Too late. “Why? Aren’t they one of the big blue families? Why would they want to invite y--”

“Are you insinuating that I do not belong in a bipartisan space? Olivia, I work in one for a living. This whole business of networking is par for the course. In fact, it is a long time coming. The Pentaghasts should be taking the ‘other side’ more seriously. I have been in this town’s political realm for seven years, now. They cannot always hide behind their old money and liberal hypocrisy of “inclusion.””

There is that rhetorical savvy and venom. Quintessentially Paula. Olivia falls back on the lounge chair and stares out into the lawn, mouth open and words lost. Where to begin? Hey, Mom, don’t think so highly of yourself, they’re only inviting you to get to me! Because they want to sniff me out as one of their many daughters’ lovers! You’re full of shit!

“Do I have to go? I am serious about wanting rest. This semester has been a lot, an--”

“A semester that I paid for,” Paula cut in, turning yet another page. “It is restful to be with your family. You should consider yourself lucky, Olivia, that spending time with us is so comfortable. You have this nice home to come back to, and good people to spend time with, and beautiful parties to go to. A girl your age in a lesser position would claw someone’s eyes out for the chance to live the life you get to. Is it so really so demanding?”

The shots to the gut have started early. So much for the easy first day. She wishes even more she could pop her Mother’s balloon, but it would mean ultimate disaster for her in the end. Out in the open Fred is still trying to get Nemo to chase the damn frisbee, clearly aware that he should stay away from the two debating blondes. Olivia rolls her lips shut and tries her hardest to swallow the hunk of pride at the back of her throat, but there’s no room in her stomach. It’s completely filled to the top with anxiety about what it means to be going to this party. 

Then it hits her: Cassandra is going to shoot through the roof. 

“Fine, Mom. I’ll go.” The clock then starts ticking for her to find a covert way out of it beforehand. She’s dove deep into her head, and only catches half of her Mother’s pleased response. 

“--something classy, the party is black tie optional.”

“Okay.”

“I also have an appointment for us to get our nails done tomorrow at 11, so do not sleep in too much.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. She does another fake smile as she pulls up her messages on her phone in order to deploy the distress signal: 

-- Change of plan, I need you to call me as soon as you are able. Your family sent an invitation to mine for their big party this weekend. My Mom is insisting we go. Code red. 

[fire-the-headcanons]

Follow the Beacon Qrow—Now Your Real Training Begins

[Link to Masterpost]

[What’s this? Fluff?? In MY fic???]

The next few days passed in a haze of exhaustion—the process of forging was just as demanding as combat training, but in ways Qrow wasn't used to. Raven continued to hunt with Professor Mesánychta and Port, apparently lacking success in finding the one Grimm they were trying to study.

The two of them weren't speaking much.

But tiring as it was, it was thrilling to see the scythe take shape—intricate, elegant, the weapon of a Huntsman. And then it was finished, and he could hold it in his hands, feel the weight and reality of it. It wasn't much like the Grimm Reaper's kamas, but it was his, and that was so much cooler.

"What do you think?" Carmine asked as he took a few awkward swings.

"It's amazing," he said, sweeping it down in a huge arc before letting the head rest on the ground. Similar enough to a halberd if you ignored the bizarre balance. And shape. And weight.

"Now you just gotta figure out how to use it," she said, flicking the trigger so it shrank back down to the familiar broadsword shape. "The weight distribution isn't too different from a polearm warhammer, so I'd start there for the basics."

"Professor Mesánychta uses a hammer like that, right?" he asked, clipping it behind his back.

"Yes, and she'd probably be willing to help. Miss Rose might be able to teach you a thing or two, having had that spear of hers for so long, but not all of it will translate. You'll need to be observant and pull from many different disciplines."

Well, if there was one thing Bones had taught him...

She turned back to the workbench, starting to tidy up, and he hurried to help. Tossing the extra leather from the handle back into the bin, she continued, "Hopefully we won't have to do any major redesigns before the next break, but keep me posted on any new developments."

"Redesign?"

"Oh, you'll think of something, I'm sure," she laughed. "Hold on to the Mk. I for now, at least until you're used to doing the Mk. II's maintenance. The last thing you want to do is sit out of Grimm Studies because it's broken down."

"Right." He hung a pair of pliers back on the rack.

"Have you thought of a name yet?"

"Uh…not really."

"I'm sure you'll dream up something suitably imposing." She dragged out one of the metal stools and jumped up on it, stretching gratefully. "Make sure you take tomorrow off, all right? It's good to have another set of hands over in casting, but tired brains make more mistakes. I don't want any accidents."

Plenty of students complained about Carmine's almost pathological safety rules, but Qrow was just amazed at how effective they were in the face of his Semblance. "Raven and I are meeting Summer and Tai in Vale."

"Ah! Excellent. You can come back on Monday." She grinned up at him, and then the smile slid into a faint scowl as her eyes focused past his shoulder. A woman stood in the doorway, wearing a Mistrali robe in white and gold silk—she could easily have been from Anima, but did she know she was dressed for a funeral?

"Carmine," the newcomer cooed, light and soft as silk, "that may be the most magnificent weapon I've ever seen."

"Professor Eitri," she corrected flatly. Qrow blinked in surprise— nobody called her by last name.

The stranger held out her hand. "May I?"

Unsure what else to do, he offered out the hilt. She took it smoothly and tested the balance with a few confident strokes before shifting it to scythe form. "...Breathtaking."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Blanc. What do you need this time?"

Blanc—like the company building Mountain Glenn? So that's why Carmine didn't like her.

"I came to pick up the custom ammunition," she folded the weapon back down, staring at the gears, and then handed it back to Qrow, "and see if you had considered my offer."

"Not since the last time I turned you down, no."

"Carmine, how can you believe that this is all you're meant to do? You have a gift. You have a higher calling. " It was kind of weird to hear someone half the professor's age speak to her the same way Professor Mesánychta spoke to Tai after he covered her chalk with glue, and Carmine seemed to agree.

"I happen to think what I do is a higher calling than spit-polishing turrets for engineers with more money than sense."

She laughed, charmingly, and Carmine's eyes narrowed further. "But that's why I need you, Forgemaster. All I have is funding. You have the gif—"

"Oh, get your ammo and get out." The professor turned back to the workbench and continued tidying up. Qrow glanced between the two of them. Was he supposed to leave now?

"...I can see my offer has undervalued your skill. I meant no offense—I am prepared to double it."

Carmine swore, viciously, rounding on the woman and hissing up at her like a small red cat threatening a thoroughbred white horse. Blanc backed off the same way too.

"I'M ALREADY WORKING FOR YOU FULL TIME ON TOP OF MY ACTUAL DUTIES AS A TEACHER AND FORGEMASTER. AND SO FAR, I MUST SAY, I AM INCREDIBLY DISSATISFIED WITH THE COMPENSATION! YOU ARE GOING TO GET PEOPLE KILLED THE WAY YOU'RE RUNNING THIS LITTLE PR STUNT, AND YOU HAVE VALE FOOTING THE BILL!"

The woman's serene expression darkened. "I see Ozpin has swayed you."

"You never had a chance."

"Loyal to a fault… Remnant's population has expanded at an unprecedented rate since the end of the Great War—"

"Expanded , not has expanded, it's leveling off—"

"If we don't act there will be overcrowding, starvatio—"

"Oh my gods get out or I'm calling campus security."

Blanc squared her shoulders, drawing herself to her full height, staring down at the Forgemaster. "We cannot survive if we only fight to defend ourselves," she declared passionately. "Humanity must take the offensive, or one day we will be wiped out."

Carmine leaned forward with a sly smile exactly like Summer's. "...Or, we could end up in stuck in the desert and getting beaten around the head by a child with a stick. "

Blanc turned a grayish-purple, turned on her heel, and stormed from the room. The door rattled as she slammed it closed behind her.

"...Huh?" Qrow asked, turning his attention back to the professor.

"Lady Blanc's mother was from Vale, hence her name. Her father, on the other hand, was Emperor of Mistral during the Great War. The King of Vale was half his age during his defeat at Vacuo." She set the last hammer on the rack before leaning toward him with that same conspiratorial grin. "It's a bit of a sore spot for the family."

He nodded, stomach twisting. Thank the gods she didn't notice my wrist. Even going back to Vanta would be safer than getting spotted by an Imperial.

* * *

Qrow reached the docks while the hunting party were unloading their specimens, and quickly fell in with Raven and a third-year pushing a crate up toward the Grimm studies building. "Find anything good?"

"Just Beowolves." she grunted. The thing in the crate snarled, and the whole thing rattled as it slammed into one of the walls. "Did you finish your little project? That sword looks just like your old one."

"It's new."

The crate rattled again, and the cart's handle wrenched from their hands as it toppled to the side. Everyone sprang back at the noise, drawing weapons, but by some miracle the crate didn't bust open. Misfortune was in a forgiving mood today.

"Why don't you just go back to the dorms?" Raven snapped, shoving past him as she sheathed her sword.

"Miss Taupe!" Port chided. "Your brother was trying to help."

Raven glared at him. The crate hissed, scooting an inch closer to her as the thing inside lunged at the closest source of negativity.

"…You, er, seem to have some difficulty handling live Grimm," Port continued. "I would recommend taking up meditation." Another snarl, and the crate lurched again. "Perhaps knitting."

Qrow shrank back. They were attracting a lot of attention from the rest of the party, Professor Mesánychta included. Raven either didn't notice or care, just turned heel and headed for the dorms.

"That's your sister?" the third-year asked somewhat pityingly, bracing his shoulder against the fallen crate. Qrow just nodded, mirroring him, and together they shoved it back onto its wheels. He seemed to regret his question, hastily adding "She's, uh, great in a fight."

"Is she all right?" Port demanded, resting his fists on his hips. "She's been quite the Grimm magnet this week. Er, more than usual. While it did make the enemy easier to locate, it can't be good for her health."

"She's fine," he said quickly, returning to the handle. Port's moustache twitched, but he didn't push the issue, just the cart.

It only took them a few minutes to get the specimens wheeled into lockdown, and then Qrow hung back as the other students dispersed, waiting for the professor to finish whatever paperwork she was doing on her scroll.

"Professor Mesánychta?"

"Yes, Mister Taupe? I'm afraid there's not going to be an expedition tomorrow, if that's what you came to ask."

"No, that's not—I, uh, built—I'm trying to learn to use a scythe, and its weight distribution is kind of like a polearm warhammer—would you be willing to give me some pointers?"

She smiled, collapsing her scroll and tucking it into her pocket. "I'm certainly willing to try. Do you have it with you?"

He nodded, stepping back so he could draw his sword and trigger its transformation. Carefully setting the blade on the floor, he offered the handle to her.

"Goodness. Carmine's outdone herself on this one," she muttered, rotating the blade and shotguns experimentally. "I've only seen a few transforming weapons that are more complex. The free range of motion on the barrels is a nice touch."

Qrow beamed. "That was my idea."

Mesánychta's eyebrows shot up. "Was it? Well, it's perfectly suited for this. Most hammers and axes have the guns mounted opposing the head, so the recoil feeds into the swing," she said, swinging the scythe's head around so it curved behind a metal stool. "But the way the blade is turned on this, you'll also want to be able to fire in line with the handle, to draw it toward yourself quickly."

She jerked back on the handle, pulling it in toward the stool, and her finger brushed the trigger by mistake. The shotguns fired with a roar of thunder, cleaving the stool in two and vaporizing the Beowolf in the cage next to them. "Oh. Goodness. Are you all right?"

"Y-yeah." Well, third time's the harm. Good luck never lasted long.

"You're right, the weight distribution is more like a hammer than an axe," she continued, giving it a few careful, experimental swings. Her movements were far more fluid than his own, easily switching from hand to hand and almost weaving the blade around herself like a protective cage. "What an interesting project. I'd be happy to help."

He accepted it back, still grinning broadly. "Thanks, Professor."

"Although…" she frowned, glancing at her bow and quiver leaning against the little desk, "I don't think I've ever used Spring Tide's hammer form in class."

Qrow froze, smile instantly strained. She was right—he only knew from Queen of the Hunt. But she'd taught at Signal, right? "Uh, Summer mentioned it," he blurted.

"Hmm, yes. Well, I'd be happy to meet with you the week after next. You'll still be on campus?"

He nodded, grinning. "Thanks, Professor."

Next Chapter: Taiyang—Herbicide

[thebrideofthewizardhowl]

         The origins of synchronized swimming came about from life-saving and swimming techniques. It expanded as a sport when ornamental swimming and theatrical water ballets were popularized at the end of the 19th century. The first synchronized swimming competitions took place in Berlin in 1891 and London in 1892. 

          Contests were originally solely for men but it was soon recognized that artistic swimming was better fitted to women who were overall more buoyant, in particular in the legs. The major influence on pushing synchronized swimming to be recognized as a sport came from Canada. In 1934, the Quebec provincial championship for figure and stroke competition was held in Montreal and leading Canadian diver Margaret Sellers won the first official national championship in performing figures and strokes.

         Synchronized swimming also gained popularity as a sport in American colleges. For example, Katherine Curtis set up a water ballet club at the University of Chicago in 1923 where she took a group of 60 swimmers, labelled “The Modern Mermaids”, to participate at the 1934 World Fair in Chicago. This is when the term “synchronized swimming” was first addressed to a wide audience and the phrase caught on.

            Synchronized swimming became increasingly technical and athletic throughout the 20th century as music began to support acts. Synchronized swimming was introduced into the Olympics as a demonstration sport from 1952 and 1968. Its first official global scale competition was undertaken in the Pan-American Games in Mexico in 1955 where there were, solo, duel and team events in which the US triumphed in all. Synchronized swimming has been featuring in the FINA World Championships from the very first one in Belgrade in 1973 and it finally made its debut as an Olympic sport in the 1984 Los Angeles Olympic Games.

           The pool must be at least 20m wide x 30m long, and at least 2.5m deep. One area, 12x12m or larger, must be at least 3m deep and the slope between the change in depths has to be completed over a distance of 8m or less.

Playing Environment

          Synchronized swimming is played in a specially designed pool. The water in the pool must be clean and the temperature of the water must be around 25 degree Celsius. The size of the pool must be a minimum of 20m by 30m, and within that a 12m by 12m area must be at least 3 m deep.

 Let us now discuss the equipment used in synchronized swimming.

 Nose clip

         In synchronized swimming, the athletes have to perform a lot of underwater movements. There are chances of water entering into the nose of the players. In order to avoid that, the athletes use a small clip of hard plastic or wire. It also has a thin rubber coating.

 Goggles

          Goggles provide safety to the eyes. Due to underwater movement, water may enter in the eyes. It is important to note that the goggles are not allowed for routine competitions.

           Athletes can use goggles only for trainings. This is only used for figure test. Like goggles, athletes also cannot use the bathing caps during routine competitions. During figure test, only a white or black bathing cap is worn by athletes.

 Underwater Speakers

          The most important equipment for synchronized swimming is the underwater speakers. Swimmers cannot perform under water if the music is not audible. Music plays an important role in synchronized swimming because it is a rhythmic sport.

 We know that impedance of water is 3600 times more than that of air. There is also a 62 dB (decibel) offset between the sound that travels in air and that in water. To overcome this problem, the underwater speakers used in synchronized swimming depend on Piezoelectric Technology.

 Swimsuit

Swimsuit

           One of the most important aspects of the swimsuit is that it must be comfortable for the athletes and it must be non-transparent. During the figure test, a black swimsuit is recommended for the athletes and during routine competition, a routine suit for each athlete that suits the music is recommended.

          It may also happen that athletes perform in two events like duet and team event. In such a situation, the athletes will be provided with two different swimsuits.

         The basic skills you will need in synchronized swimming is sculling and treading water with a kick called the "eggbeater". There are also many positions that you can learn to combine into a routine. Additionally, there is an element known as “lifts” in synchronized swimming, where swimmers create a structure of sorts with their bodies and lift themselves from the water in the same form they created underwater.

 Sculls

Sculls are hand movements used to propel the body and are essential to synchronized swimming. Some commonly used sculls are support, standard, torpedo, split-arm, barrel and paddle scull. The support scull is most often used and is made up of two repeated movements. You need to hold your upper arms against your body and your forearms at 90-degree angles. Then, you move your forearms back and forth to create enough water pressure to hold your legs above the water.

 Eggbeater

This move is much like how a manual eggbeater works, with one leg rotating in a clockwise manner and rotating the other leg in an anti-clockwise manner. Synchronized swimmers use this kick because it leaves their hands free to perform strokes. Due to the opposite motion of the kick, it is a stable and efficient way for swimmers to attain the necessary height to perform moves above the water.

 Positions

 There are hundreds of positions that can be used to create infinite combinations. The six most common positions are illustrated below.

 Crane Position - Hold your body in a vertical position with one leg held vertically above the water surface, while the other leg is held parallel under the surface in a 90-degree angle or "L" shape.

 Ballet Leg Double Position - From lying flat on the water surface, draw your knees towards your chest with shins parallel to the water surface. Straighten your legs above the water surface to assume a Surface Ballet Leg Double position.

 Side Fishtail Position - This is a position similar to the crane. One leg remains vertical, while the other is extended to the side parallel to the water, creating a side "Y" position.

 Knight Position -The body is held vertically with your head in line with the hips and pointed to the bottom of the pool. One leg is lowered to create a vertical line perpendicular to the surface.

 Flamingo Position - Similar to the ballet leg position where the bottom leg is pulled into the chest so that the shin of the bottom leg is touching the knee of the vertical leg.

 Split Position - With the body vertical, one leg is stretched forward along the surface and the other leg is extended back along the surface.

 Lifts

 Lifts are formations that are formed underwater and as swimmers propel themselves towards the surface, they stay in formation and add more elements like acrobatics. There are three parts to a lift in synchronized swimming: The Flyer, the Base and the Pushers.

 The Flyer - Flyers are agile and flexible and are usually the smallest member of the team. It is preferable that they have a gymnastics background as they need to perform complicated moves while on the top of the formation.

 The Base - Base swimmers tends to be small in size, but should have good leg strength and a solid core as they make up the structure of the formation.

 The Pushers - Pushers are the bigger and stronger swimmers because they need the strength to propel the formation to the water surface.

 Types of Lifts

 The Platform Lift - The base lays out in a back layout position underwater, where they lie on their back to form a platform of interlinked bodies. The Flyer sets in a squatting position and stands once the lift reaches the surface. The remaining teammates use the eggbeater kicks to hold the platform and the flyer out of the water.

 The Stack Lift - Considered to be an updated version of the Platform, the Stack Lift begins with the base squatting while underwater, supported by the pushers. The flyer then stands on the shoulders of the base. The pushers and base gradually stretch out their limbs, elevating the flyer. A rotating descent is usually added to this lift.

While there are a range of rules and penalties for specific routines, the basic rules of artistic swimming are displayed below.

RULES:

No Touching The Bottom

One of the things which makes the lifts all the more impressive is that artistic swimmers are not allowed to touch the bottom of the pool at any point during their routines.

No Bling

Presentation is a unique and important part of artistic swimming but there are certain restrictions on what swimmers can wear. For example, artistic swimmers are not permitted jewelry, theatrical make-up, or inappropriate costumes.

No Goggles

Another restriction during artistic swimming routines is goggles. However, swimmers in figures competitions are permitted to wear them.

Team Means Team

Teams normally contain eight swimmers, but the minimum number for a team is four. Teams lose marks for every swimmer they have under the full complement because it is easier to synchronize the fewer people there are in a routine.

Stick To The Schedule

Routines can be anything from two and a half minutes to five minutes long, depending on whether they are performed alone or as part of a team. However, swimmers are penalized if they take 15 seconds fewer or longer than the specified time.

Officials

Officials play a critical role in the sport of artistic swimming. Not only do they facilitate the scoring during competitions, they support athlete selection activities in high performance programs and lend support to clubs in their athlete development programs and routine preparation.

 Artistic Swimming judges - are essential for running artistic swimming competitions as they provide scores based on the performance of each routine. They are also responsible for marking grade level assessments. To reduce the level of subjectivity in scoring, all Artistic Swimming judges must be expertly-trained. They require a full understanding of FINA and Swim England’s rules and regulations for artistic swimming competitions. To maintain their qualification or progress, all judges must officiate at a certain number of grade assessments and competitions.

 3 levels of Artistic Swimming judge in England

Level 1

Candidates must be 16 years old to take the level 1 judge course. They will be qualified to judge at level 1 and 2 competitions.

 Course content will include:

 ·       Use of marking scales

·       Develop understanding of basic movements and positions

·       Able to identify Figures in current age groups (12U and 13/14/15)

·       Ethics

·       Develop knowledge and understanding of Free Routines

·       Knowledge of Grade 1 and 2 criteria and assessment criteria

Level 2

Candidates must have been a level 1 judge for at least a year. They will be qualified to judge at regional competitions at the National Age Group Championships.

 ·       In-depth knowledge of Junior Figures (15-18 years)

·       Develop knowledge of rules and penalties

·       Develop knowledge of NVT, difficulty values and application to figures. Application of deductions to figures

·       Exposure to variety of level of figures and scores

·       Knowledge and awareness of Grade 3/4/5 criteria

·       Further analysis of Free Routines – range of level of routines, recognition of difficulty

Level 3

Candidates must have been a level 2 judge for at least a year. They will be qualified to judge at the National Championships.

·       Further knowledge about rules, penalties and organization

·       In-depth knowledge about judging Figures and component parts

·       Further develop knowledge and aptitude regarding judging Free Routines

·       Awareness of Grade 6 criteria (once established)

·       In-depth knowledge of technical elements across solos, duets and team

Citations: 

https://www.swimming.org/artistic-swimming/artistic-swimming-judge-training/#:~:text=Artistic%20Swimming%20judges%20are%20essential,judges%20must%20be%20expertly%2Dtrained.

https://resources.fina.org/fina/document/2021/02/03/4d9cd6d0-5146-44ae-bf94-4ac757eaf34b/fina_as_manual_-_updated_august_2018_0.pdf

https://www.bcartisticswimming.ca/programs/officials.htm

https://www.swimming.org/artistic-swimming/artistic-swimming-moves/

https://www.swimming.org/artistic-swimming/introduction-to-artistic-swimming/

https://tokyo2020.org/en/sports/artistic-swimming/

https://www.myactivesg.com/Sports/Aquatics/How-To-Play/Synchronised-Swimming/Basic-skills-and-positions-in-Synchronised-Swimming#:~:text=The%20basic%20skills%20you%20will,to%20combine%20into%20a%20routine.

https://www.swimoutlet.com/guides/synchronized-swimming-pool-dimensions#:~:text=The%20pool%20must%20be%20at%20least%2020m%20wide%20x%2030m,distance%20of%208m%20or%20less.

https://www.tutorialspoint.com/synchronized_swimming/synchronized_swimming_equipment.htm

https://www.swimming.org/artistic-swimming/artistic-swimming-moves/

[greyias]

FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 11

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter Index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | Crossposted to AO3

All-in-all, Darok was not gone at all that long. Just a few minutes if that.

Maybe he went to the refresher, Theron thought to himself sarcastically. Just couldn’t hold it another minute.

By the time the colonel returned, Theron had busied himself back at the terminal. He caught the movement in the reflection of the monitor and made a mental note of the time. It hadn’t been enough to make more than a quick call, although the question of to who remained. Most of the comm traffic going in and out of Carrick Station was either monitored or secured. If it had been on official channels, there would be a log of it somewhere. Another item for Theron’s ever expanding to-do list once he had the freedom to begin his investigation.

That would be soon.

Not long after Darok had made his reappearance, they’d gotten word from the team on the ground that the battle had been won. Tython was theirs again, but it had come at a high cost. There was cleanup work to be done — major cleanup work. It would take months to repair or rebuild what the bombings had destroyed. To say nothing of the fatalities they were currently tallying. 

That uncomfortable feeling in Theron’s chest was trying to settle back in, and he still didn’t have the time nor energy to spend on it. Part of Theron wished he had an unobstructed view of the temple from the armorcams of Darok’s men, but he still wanted to keep a low profile. From his position, he could only catch glimpses of what was mostly wreckage. Unless he went and joined Darok at the holotable, there was no chance he could look at any of the faces of the dead. Perhaps that was for the best. Outside of Hashimuut, Theron hadn’t spent much time among large groups of Jedi. It had mostly just Master Zho and him. Easier to focus on the larger picture if he didn’t try to individual faces. Or maybe just one face in particular. But he wasn’t thinking about that right now.

Instead he busied himself with sorting through the data that Teeseven fed him. The rest of Highwind’s team had been put to work with the rescue crews, and the little faithful astromech had begun the long arduous process of sifting through the wreckage to try and salvage what was left of the temple’s security footage and data.

If there was anything to salvage at all. Theron pursed his lips, seeing the fragments of code he would have to sort through later. Piecing together exactly what had happened was going to be a massive undertaking. 

That left one last wildcard in this situation: Highwind herself.

Apparently she had ordered Bickell and his men to keep all of the prisoners secured until a team of SIS agents could begin questioning them. Theron found it interesting that she was attempting to direct the investigation work over to his branch rather than leave any interrogation to SpecOps. Perhaps that meant she trusted Theron more than Darok with this. The colonel himself had only grunted with just the barest amount of disgruntlement at the announcement, as if the fate of the prisoners on the ground didn’t matter to him at all. Like he’d already gotten what he wanted.

Theron was still musing on that, and the other little mysteries surrounding his asset when she strode in with all of the force (and Force) of a Jedi to be reckoned with. Her strides were measured and deliberate, setting a quick pace that made her cape billow behind her as she once again commanded the attention of the entire room. Perhaps it was in the stern set of her jaw, or the way her attention zeroed in on Darok. Maybe it was just something in her eyes, a dangerous glint that a less observant person might pick up on. Whatever it was, Theron was almost glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of her attention at the moment. Maybe that was the look that Doc had kept mentioning.

“Master Jedi, good to see you,” Darok said smoothly, standing up to his full height. “Our forces are sweeping the rest of the muck off of Tython as we speak.”

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently, as her brows drew down into an unhappy expression. Yeah, no. Theron wasn’t saving Darok from whatever storm was brewing in the Jedi’s intense gaze. In fact, he would’ve broken out the bangcorn if he’d had any on hand.

“Tell me, Colonel, this muck you speak of. Are you referring to the devastation wrought upon my temple? Or perhaps the people we’ve taken prisoner?”

Darok’s lips pressed into a thin line as his wide shoulders raised up in indignation. He apparently did not like being called out on his behavior. Not that it was the first time that Theron had heard that sort of comment from the military. He was pretty sure that not even the Jedi were so perfect as to keep that sort of sentiment tamped down completely.

For all his bluster, the colonel seemed smart enough to not fall into the trap of clarifying his comment, and instead just snorted out a breath before forcing a grim smile onto his face. “You will be glad to hear that reconstruction crews are already being prepped.”

“That is good news,” she said evenly. “It sounds like you have been busy over here.”

“The Jedi homeworld coming under attack tends to garner a lot of attention from Republic command,” he agreed. “The Imps caught us by surprise, but it could have been a lot worse. Thanks in no small part to your leadership.”

The flattery seemed to fall on deaf ears as Highwind just crossed her arms, fixing the larger man with that same intense stare. “I have been meditating as you suggested, Colonel.”

Confusion stole across Darok’s face, as he tried to recall whenever he’d made that sort of suggestion. “I don’t—”

“You said that after we recovered Tython that I should meditate on the coincidences of today. I spent my time on the journey here doing just that.”

“Have you now?” 

“Yes, on the timing of our attack and the Empire’s. They must have happened almost simultaneously. That is a remarkable coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Maybe you’re right,” Darok rumbled. “For them to launch an assault of this magnitude speaks of a robust intelligence network. Perhaps Imperial Intelligence isn’t quite as devastated as we have been led to believe. I am sure the SIS will determine how we managed to miss so many red flags.”

It was a comment designed to rile Theron. Another mark of a con. Keep the targets off balance. Keep them emotional. Nice try, but he wasn’t falling for it. That said, it didn’t take much to lace a good amount of anger and indignation into his tone. “Yes. We’ll get right on that.”

Highwind’s gaze briefly flicked away from Darok to study Theron, but the action was too quick for him to decipher it.

“All the same,” Darok continued on, “your work has been exemplary — gaining us two back-to-back victories. You are a hero and that deserves recognition.”

“A Jedi does not need to seek recognition. The act of doing what is right is enough.” Stars, she sounded like a recruitment pamphlet. Well. If the Jedi had recruitment pamphlets.

The colonel didn’t seem to hear her, as he pulled out a box that had been delivered during her return flight and held it out as if for inspection. She eyed the box with the same amount of skepticism that Theron had on its arrival, but her lack of enthusiasm didn’t make an impact on the show that Darok was putting on. Without another word, he opened it up to reveal a glinting, ornate medal.

The medal was just shiny and distracting enough that neither of them were paying close enough attention to see Theron’s startled reaction at its appearance. Had that been what Darok had disappeared off to take care of? No. It couldn’t have been. That had happened before Tython had been successfully recovered. That would have meant Darok would have had to arrange for the medal before there was a victory to award it for. Or… or perhaps that was Darok’s cover story. Come to think of it, there hadn’t been any mention of the teams that had remained behind on Korriban. Had they made it out safely? And if they hadn’t, why hadn’t Darok brought it up? Why was he so focused on branding today as a day of victory?

If Theron voiced his thoughts aloud they would sound utterly paranoid. This whole thing would sound paranoid. But no… there was something here. Theron would need to comb through whatever communication logs he could get his hands on to verify.

“This is the medal of valor. One of the Republic’s most prestigious commendations.” Perfect. She could hang it up next her Cross of Glory and whatever other trinkets she’d collected over the course of her overly heroic career. “The Chancellor herself wanted me to present this to you. She was truly impressed with your heroic actions today, just as I am. Congratulations.”

One dark blonde brow arched high as she glanced between Darok and his offering. The colonel continued to hold out the medal and its rather ornate box, and as the moment began to stretch out, the more awkwardness and tension built. Finally, she blew out a breath and accepted the box, shutting the lid without giving its contents a second look.

“My crew, Bickell, and the rest of your men deserve just as much recognition for their work on Tython,” she said, managing to sound almost diplomatic. “Perhaps more.”

“They do,” Darok agreed, “but your name is the one that lights up the HoloNet. Especially considering this particular commendation has never been awarded as quick before.”

A flicker of that shadow appeared in her eyes again, before she successfully smoothed her expression back into that Jedi placidity. “I am more interested in speaking of what happened today than the headline that will lead on RNN tonight.”

“It’s hard to leave an operation,” he rumbled, “we’ve all been there. But your part in this is done now. You should focus on your victory and all the rewards that come with it.”

“I do not need a medal,” she said firmly, “what I need are answers. We need to find the person responsible for what happened today and bring them to justice.”

“We have all of the information you gathered,” Darok’s smooth, complimentary tone began to harden. “I’m sure we’ll be able to identify them soon enough.”

“There’s also the matter of a Sith lord that I spoke to on the holo in the Council’s chambers. I told Bickell about it,” she continued on, as if she hadn’t heard the shift in tone. “Before the Sith realized I was not his compatriot he was talking about a package that had been secured.”

“Maybe they just took the opportunity to grab a few things,” the colonel, his words coming out in a tight clip.

“We need to identify who this Sith is and what he wants. He said something about—”

Now that she was on a roll, Highwind kept going as if she needed to be heard. As she did so, Darok’s frown settled in deeper and deeper. The large man’s shoulders bunched up, big meaty fists settling on his hips while his lips pressed together in a line.

For all of her keen observations and quick thinking in the field, right now Highwind was like a Sibian hound that had caught a scent. So fixated on her goal, the Jedi wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings and appeared to be almost oblivious to the danger practically tingling in the air. Nor did she seem to notice that with each protest she uttered the more predatory the colonel’s expression became. He didn’t seem to like questions. 

Theron took several steps back so that he was out of Darok’s line of sight, before he keyed his subvocal mic. “Stop.”

That seemed to take her off guard, and for a moment she looked like she was about to bring attention to the subterfuge. Her protest ended in a lurch as he gaze strayed over Darok’s shoulder to Theron. He didn’t say anything else, just caught her eye and shook his head ever so slowly. They couldn’t talk here. 

She pursed her lips together, that Jedi calm driven away as her temper flared in a way that Theron had not expected at all. Then again, she kept finding new ways to surprise him. This was just one more to the tally. Thankfully, though, she relented in pressing on in her line of questioning. Frustration evident, she let out an annoyed sigh before turning her attention back to Darok. He was still eyeing her with a sharp intensity that made Theron’s skin crawl.

“I apologize, Colonel, perhaps you are right,” she said tersely, as if it cost her something to say it. “I suppose that there might be some good to be found in today. I should meditate on that further.”

“That is most wise, Master Highwind,” Darok rumbled, continuing to eye her for several long moments. “I have my own work to do. I’ve been tasked with organizing the Tython cleanup.”

She tipped her head to him in acknowledgement. “I see, that is quite the task. I should not keep you from it.”

“I need to let the Jedi Council know the Republic is behind them. Let them know this is not like Coruscant. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned back to the holotable, completely dismissing the remaining two people in the room as if they weren’t even there.

The tension that had filled the room seemed to dissipate with the action, and Theron quietly let out a breath. He would definitely be adding “stubborn and bullheaded” as a note to Highwind’s file, just as a warning to any future handler. Maybe put in a warning or two about her propensity to take dangerous risks. She was still glaring at the colonel’s back with undisguised suspicion at this point.

“I don’t know about you,” he said, managing to pulling her attention away, “but I need that drink.”

He was eager to leave this damn room and put some distance between them and Darok, so Theron didn’t even wait to see if she followed. He just made a beeline for the bar. If she was as quick on the uptake as she seemed, she’d get the hint. 

[jaisaisachingawade]

Info of King of masala..MDH

Mahashay Dharampal Gulati, the chairman and subject of many of MDH's marketing campaigns, died on Thursday at 97, from a cardiac arrest.Photo courtesy: MDHIndia’s spice king is no more.Mahashay Dharampal Gulati, the nonagenarian chairman of spice maker MDH Spices, who for long enthralled millions of Indians with his rather unique marketing campaigns, and even became the subject of many memes, passed away after a cardiac arrest on Thursday. He was 97. Gulati, often sporting a turban, hook moustache and spectacles, had been the group’s brand ambassador, appearing on every pack of masala sold by the company, and on television commercials for long. His smiling face, perhaps was also key in giving millions of Indians a much-needed assurance to buy the company’s range of products, making it the country’s second biggest company in the packaged spice market, after the Everest Group.Today, MDH sells through some 1,000 stockists and over four lakh retailers across the world.“He was three things rolled into one: Brand mascot, brand icon and brand ambassador,” says Harish Bijoor, who runs his eponymous brand consulting firm. “An icon who led from the front through every age. He stepped into the shoes of being a brand ambassador in an era when the phrase was yet to be coined and minted.”MDH, short for Mahashian Di Hatti, offers 62 different spice products, ranging from turmeric powder to black pepper and biryani masalas, according to the company, and exports to countries, including the US, Canada, the UK, and regions like Europe among others. In 2017, with Rs21 crore as salary, he was also the country’s highest-paid CEO in the FMCG sector.“He ended up being one of the most endearing and likeable brand ambassadors,” Jagdeep Kapoor, founder of Samsika Marketing Consultants says. “What worked for him? His ethnic wear, welcoming smile, family feeling and serving style as an excellent host. His face spiced up the life of the joint Indian families then, and later on lingered when the concept of nuclear families started gaining steam. He worked on one priceless insight about the Indian tradition: Grandfatherly figures are respected and loved by seniors, adults and children. This helped build the MDH brand strongly, and turned out to be a unique differentiator among other competing brands. One keeps remembering his face every time you see the ad and feel like saying MDH, MDH.”But long before he became an icon, particularly in kitchens across the world, Gulati was also a victim of the bloodied Partition in 1947.

From Pakistan to IndiaGulati was born in 1923 in Sialkot, then part of undivided India.His father, Mahashay Chunnilal, ran a small spice shop in the city, named Mahashian Di Hatti, popularly known as Deggi Mirch Wale. By 1933, aged 10, Gulati dropped out of school to try his luck in business that included selling mirrors, manufacturing soaps, and doing odd jobs, including carpentry, cloth merchant, hardware business and rice trading before finally deciding to join his father’s business.“I expanded the business to Lahore,” Gulati says in the book, Divided by Partition: United by Resilience, written by Mallika Ahluwalia and published by Rupa publications. “From Lahore, we expanded to Sheikhupura and after that to Nankana Sahib, then to Lyallpur and then till Multan.” Over time, business grew rapidly with the Gulatis clocking between Rs 500 and Rs 800 per day.By 1947, as business thrived, India was to be divided and the family had to leave Sialkot to take refuge in India. With Rs1,500 in his pocket, the 24-year-old Gulati landed in Delhi, despite numerous hardship along the way, that even included his uncle being hit by a truck as the family slept near railway tracks in Amritsar. In Delhi, Gulati joined his sister, whose husband was a government employee and registered himself as a refugee before moving into an abandoned house.  Soon enough, he bought a Tonga, a horse-driven carriage for Rs650 and drove it from New Delhi Railway Station to Qutab Road and Karol Bagh for two annas.“I was wondering what I should do… One day, while roaming around, I reached Chandni Chowk. People were selling tangas (horse carriages) there,” Gulati told Rupa publication. “I asked them how much they were selling for. I bargained a little bit and finally got a tanga for Rs 650. I used to wait near the railway station and say “two annas sawari, two annas”. I would observe the other tangawallahs and then shout out neighbourhood names, like “Karol Bagh, two annas, Karol Bagh, two annas”.But, Gulati wanted more.With his reserves, Gulati bought a small wooden shop in the Karol Bagh area of New Delhi in 1948 to restart his family’s business, and set up Mahashian Di Hatti of Sialkot.He also put out an advertisement in the popular Hindi newspaper, Pratap, which helped rake in customers.By 1953, he also set up another shop in the Chandni Chowk area of New Delhi, before deciding to start large-scale manufacturing in 1959.“Several decades ago housewives used to grind their spices manually at home and made their own blends for use in their cooking,” the company said in its annual report for 2018. “To make this process easier to the housewives, Mahashian Di Hatti (MDH) visualized the concept of ready to use ground spices. It has set up state-of-the-art plants for meeting the ever growing demand. The company procures the raw material directly from the centres of produce to maintain uniform taste and quality. The raw material is first cleaned, dried and tested with the help of special machines.”MDH was formally incorporated in 1965. “With his vision, perseverance and devoted honesty in business, Mahashayji led the venture to the heights, which have inspired others to follow,” a profile of Gulati reads on his company’s website. “Very few people know the success and hard work of Mahashayji behind the success of the super brand MDH. Mahashayji doesn’t have any secret formula behind his grand success. He just follows a traditionally established principle of honouring the commitments and serving his customers through pure and quality products.”  Today, the company has 18 manufacturing facilities, the first of which was set up in 1959 in Kirti Nagar, an area known for its furniture market. In 2018, for which the company has filed its returns with India’s ministry of corporate affairs, the company’s revenue’s stood at Rs 1095 crore, as against Rs 978 crore in the year ago period. Profits meanwhile, stood at Rs 315 crore, compared to Rs 247 crore in the year ago period.“Now cement is a brand, so is wire, and switches and whatever you can think of,” says Ashita Aggarwal, marketing professor at SP Jain Institute of Management and Research. “But decades back, who would have thought of making a brand out of masala? He did it. He was one of the first to realise the importance of a brand. People buy commodities but they love brands. People shift commodities but they stick to loved brands. One doesn’t need to have a marketing degree to come up with such insight. The MDH man had the foresight as well as audacity to think way ahead of times.”   Meanwhile, despite being a school dropout, Gulati set up some 20 schools, including the MDH International School, Mahashay Chunnilal Saraswati Shishu Mandir, Mata Leela Wati Kanya Vidhayala, Mahashay Dharmpal Vidhya Mandir and a 200-bed hospital that treats the poor for free. Last year, the government bestowed upon him, India’s third highest civilian award, the Padma Bhushan.“Dharampal Gulatiji represented an idea,” adds Bijoor. “An idea whose time had come well before brand-ambassadorship as an idea in itself was recognised. In many ways he was the brand himself. The category of spices was a commodity in itself and the company actually made a commodity and packaged it for the masses. Gulatiji recognised there was something missing, and he added the brand zing with his persona. Gulatiji in many ways was the brand masala in the generic commodity. A man much before his time for sure.”Today, Gulati’s son and six daughters look after his empire, worth some Rs 2,000 crore.  “We ourselves are responsible for our victory or defeat, so rather than blaming fate, we should focus on cultivating our strengths and reducing our weaknesses so that this God-given mind and body can be put to full use, so that we know that all our talents and energies are doing some good in the world,” Gulati wrote his in autobiography.Clearly, he lived his life to the fullest.(With inputs from Rajiv Singh)

https://youtu.be/yg_Xq8utLIc

[counterror]

—    BASICS :      FARAH KARIM.

DO NOT REBLOG.

IS    YOUR    MUSE    TALL    /    SHORT    /    AVERAGE ? :    she’s 5′5, so her height is between short and average.

ARE    THEY    OKAY    WITH    THEIR    HEIGHT ? :    her height allows her to be extremely stealthy and tactical.  it’s only ever an advantage to her, so yes, she’s okay with it.

WHAT’S    THEIR    HAIR    LIKE ? :    black, rough and wavy, coming down to the middle of her back if not slightly above. it’s often neatly tied back and plaited very specifically, accompanied by a striped headwrap as well as a green headwrap which is headcanoned to be material from the green jumpsuit we see her in, which she wore while imprisoned by barkov  -  it is a physical memory of what she’s been through and survived.  

DO    THEY    SPEND    A    LOT    OF    TIME    ON    THEIR    HAIR     /    GROOMING ? :    farah’s hair rarely comes down, unless it’s being neatened / washed only to be tied up again.  she grew it out once free ( shaved as a pow ) and has maintained one length since.�� however, she spends as much time as she’s able to on her hair.  after having it forcefully removed by barkov, it’s something she treasures and enjoys styling, considering from approx. 8 years old to 18 / 19 she wasn’t able to.  barkov tried to take everything from her, so everything she gained back she holds onto as a big fuck you to him.

DOES   YOUR   MUSE   CARE   ABOUT   THEIR   APPEARANCE   /   WHAT    OTHERS    THINK ? :   yes, in the sense that she is founder and leader of the urzikstan liberation force.  it is important that she’s seen as well-presented and prepared.  something as simple as a lack of effort in her appearance could lower moral.  she cares what others think because she wants the ulf to be successful and wants to inspire her followers to have pride and confidence in themselves  -  something barkov tried desperately to rinse from them.  to expel significance and purpose.  it is extremely important to her that she sends waves of encouragement and dignity through her people.  it has nothing to do with self-confidence, showing off or compliments.

—    PREFERENCES.

INDOORS    OR    OUTDOORS ? :    outdoors. she experiences claustrophobia when indoors, especially small spaces. she spent ten years in imprisonment and was regularly punished and / or tortured.  indoors can be a struggle. RAIN    OR    SUNSHINE ? :    sunshine. she loves rain, however, it’s extremely hot in urzikstan and sunshine is what they have most of the time so she has to work with it. FOREST    OR    BEACH ? :    forest.  spaces with many exits / escape routes and hiding locations.  they’re also full of survival potential and rich in wildlife. PRECIOUS    METALS     OR    GEMS ? :   precious metals make for better weapons / survival tools. FLOWERS   OR   PERFUMES ? :  flowers.  they are beautiful, and inspire hope in many.  a sign of life, of prosperity.  her mother loved flowers. PERSONALITY    OR    APPEARANCE ? :   personality.  while farah enjoys her alone time, she equally loves company and would never choose it based on appearance.  every good person deserves love and friendship.  if you will fight for her country and her people, you are enough. BEING    ALONE    OR    BEING    IN    A    CROWD ? :   being in a crowd.  as previously mentioned, she enjoys her alone time but struggles to be left alone with her demons.  her people bring her purpose and drive, she doesn’t view herself as above them which is why she thoroughly treasures spending time with them.  hadir is her only blood relative left, so she is accepting of anyone that wishes to help and spend time with her. ORDER   OR    ANARCHY ? :    both.  order is important in order to get the work done, but when it comes to barkov’s order, anarchy is the only appropriate response.  her rebellion is built on the foundation of anarchy, but in an orderly manner. PAINFUL    TRUTHS    OR     WHITE    LIES ? :   painful truths.  there are no white lies in her war.  you lie, you potentially die or risk getting those you love killed. SCIENCE   OR    MAGIC ? :   science.  she’s never had time for fairy tales or anything that isn’t realism / realistic. PEACE    OR    CONFLICT ? :   peace.  she longs and fights for the freedom of her country.  unfortunately, peace can only be gained by conflict in this case. NIGHT    OR    DAY ? :    night.  there’s no less work to be done, but it’s cooler and she’s able to think clearer. DUSK    OR    DAWN ? :   dawn. WARMTH    OR    COLD ? :    warmth.  she’s grown up in a hot country and is used to the heat.  to experience constant cold that lasts longer than a month or two would be strange. MANY   ACQUAINTANCES    OR    A    FEW   CLOSE   FRIENDS ? :    many friends. believe it or not, she takes the time to get to know everyone following her.  she knows everyone’s names, and those she doesn’t she pushes to learn.  they are not expendable to her, and every death is mourned. READING    OR    PLAYING    A    GAME ? :    reading.  there are no games in urzikstan, and if there are there isn’t time for them.  however, when she can, she reads to improve her english and tries to expand others.  it’ll either be non-fictional or factual books she reads.

—    QUESTIONNAIRE.

WHAT    ARE    SOME    OF    YOUR    MUSE’S    BAD    HABITS ? :    smoking.  it’s to calm her, to clear her head space as well as a social habit  -  which is seen when she shares her cigarette in game with alex.  another bad habit is forgetting to eat and / or drink.   while she’s getting better at it, farah still forgets from time to time.  it was worse when she first escaped imprisonment  -  having someone else control when she ate and drank for ten years meant it wasn’t on her immediate agenda when eventually caring for herself.

HAS    YOUR    MUSE    LOST    ANYONE    CLOSE    TO    THEM ?    HOW    HAS    IT    AFFECTED THEM ? :    her mother was crushed and killed beneath rubble after the building she and farah were in was bombed by the russians.  she was buried alongside her mother, discovering the body before being freed and reunited with her father.  she then witnessed her father’s friend and his daughter ( who farah was friends with ) get gunned down by russians, and ended losing many of her other friends too.  her father led her home to her brother, hadir, before a russian broke into their house and gunned her father down too.  with both their parents dead, farah and hadir escaped only to be caught by barkov, captured and imprisoned.  it is likely she witnessed the deaths of many friends, as well as heard of them throughout her years as a prisoner.  over ten years later, after being freed, her own brother, hadir, then betrays her and her people by stealing the russians deadly gas and using it against the russians.  despite it being to help farah, she disowns him.  hadir is eventually captured and handed over to russia, meaning farah also loses her brother too.   despite this, farah still holds a deep trust in her people and does not take their loyalty for granted.  the loss she has experienced has taught her to only love more, because once things are gone they’re gone forever.

WHAT    ARE    SOME    FOND    MEMORIES    YOUR    MUSE    HAS ? :    memories of her parents and the joys of being around them.  she misses them, but tries to remain positive and hopeful that they’re proud of her.  they did not die in vain.  she also recalls memories of her childhood with friends who she was reunited with during imprisonment.  when hadir’s around, she exchanges memories with him.

IS    IT    EASY    FOR    YOUR    MUSE    TO    KILL ? :    farah was raised on death.  eventually, the cold hard fact became apparent that in order to survive, she had to kill.  ten years of boiling anger and hatred helped ease her into this.  killing is easy for her because the lives she takes are plaguing her country and harming her people.  both the russian army and al-qatala are viewed as terrorists by her  if exterminating said terror brings eventual peace, every life taken from the enemy is worth it.

WHAT’S    IT    LIKE    WHEN    YOUR    MUSE    BREAKS    DOWN ? :    no one except hadir has witnessed farah break down.  she crumbles, but it’s never loud or dramatic.  a few tears, soft sniffling and very occasionally some sobbing.  when she’s overwhelmed or has been pushed beyond breaking point.  she will have times where she questions her abilities as a leader, whether the fight is worth it and whether the lives lost have been lost in vain.  but she always finds her footing and regains her strength. IS    YOUR    MUSE    CAPABLE    OF    TRUSTING    SOMEONE    WITH    THEIR    LIFE ? :   she trusts every one of her followers with her life, and vice versa.  among the ulf, there is an unmatchable level of loyalty and reliability.  farah knows that, upon making an effort to reach out to her people and develop bonds  -  rather than them merely addressing her as commander and never speaking to her, trust is easier to come by.  the desire to free their country brings them together.  

WHAT’S    YOUR    MUSE    LIKE    WHEN    THEY’RE    IN    LOVE ? :   farah has never been in love.  she does not, and never has had time for relationships.  the urzikstan liberation force is her first love and passion.  she puts every ounce of time and energy into it and its people.  this is why she’d likely struggle to maintain a relationship, regardless of her feelings for someone.  the ulf always comes first.  perhaps if it was someone as equally driven and determined as her, who was willing to spend their time alongside her, devoted to the force then there’d possibly be a chance.  that love would likely be expressed with the occasional passing touch or kiss, but her dedication wouldn’t falter and if someone tried to invade on this she would grow to be withdrawn.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird “One and the Same”

Ok, I am super excited for what this one leads up to. I hope you find it interesting to learn a little more about the Drev. As always feel free to question critique comment, message, give an idea or a prompt :)

“Alright Sunny, you ready?”

Sunny shrugged her shoulders and flexed her hands. The metallic frame on her back was actually pretty light, and she could still move her arms. On the Captain’s urging, she backed up under the cargo lift.

“Damn.” Someone said, “You guys really do this to yourselves for war?” Sunny craned her neck up at the human standing above her.

“Of course, wouldn’t you?” The human shook his head in astonishment but kept working.

The humans were speaking of the body modifications the Drev underwent to be better for war. Sunny had undergone two such procedures. One hand modified her upper right forearm carapace specifically to attach a modified weapon, so she wouldn’t have to worry about dropping it during battle. Her second procedure had cut two rails down her posterior shell on either side of her spine; they had originally been used to carry containers for extra ammunition. Yes, the procedures had both been very painful. Once the humans had asked about them, she had been pleased to explain, and even more pleased when the humans had come up with an idea.

Behind her there was the soft slither of steel on carapace, and then the mount clicked into place.

Captain Vir put a hand on her arm and looked up, “You ok Sunny, that’s about half weight.”

“I’m good.”

The captain gave a go to the team, and the full weight bore down on her shoulders. It wasn’t too bad. The humans came forward and began strapping her into place.

Captain Vir stepped back and looked up, “That’s what I’m talking about, now Sunny, you’ll have an extra 200 + pounds if someone is going to operate that thing, do you think you’re ready?” Sunny nodded her head vigorously excited.

“Alright,” The Captain said, “hopping up on the box behind Sunny, “Get ready.” She braced herself against the floor with a wide triangle stance, as one foot, and then the other came down on the metal frame strapped over her back. The weight grew and then evened out.

“Still good Sunny.” When she nodded, the Captain seemed pleased, “Try to walk around.”

It took her a moment to gain momentum, but once she was walking it wasn’t that bad. The rest of the crew oohed and ahhed as she trotted around the room. It was just then that Krill came around the corner paused and then let off an exasperated sigh, “Hi Krill, do you like it?” The captain teased

The look on Krill’s face almost reached reproachful, “Is that a machine gun?”

“Yes my friend, that’s exactly what it is.”

“So you mounted a machine gun on the back of a Drev, and now you are riding her like a war pony of death.”

He patted Sunny on the shoulder and grinned moving the mounted weapon so it was pointing up at the ceiling. “Hell yeah, Alright Sunny, you can back it up.” She did as told returning to the cargo lift. Vir Stepped off the “Buddy pegs.” He hopped down to where Krill waited, “So my four legged friend, what’s up?”

The little creature scrolled down on his holographic clipboard, “You received a transmission, from your brother. He’s engaged, and they are setting a date for six months from now.”

Vir broke out in a wide grin, “David? Yeah, thought so. It’s about damn time!”

“Engaged?” Sunny wondered as the battle reference for the word didn’t seem to fit in context.

Vir glanced at her, “It’s when two humans become a ‘mating pair’ as you aliens would say. Usually involves a lot of that sort of ritualistic stuff, a big party and what not.” He grinned some more, “Getting married, well good for them. They’ve been dancing around each other for almost four years now. Was almost worried they wouldn’t make it.”

Sunny watched in interest, she didn’t really know anything about human mating rituals. She didn’t even know that humans paired off. From what she understood they sort of just…. Went for it, but apparently there was a difference between a fling and actual mating, which had totally never occurred to her.

As a Drev things were a little different. Since their species culture was based entirely around war, it had become customary to include a ritual that showed your prowess in battle. It was imperative that a Drev pair off with someone equally as accomplished in battle as they were, and the only way to figure that out was to fight each other. Once an attachment was established, and those involved wished to act upon it, a day was set aside for the big fight. The terms of the fight could be set differently depending on how high status or how high profile the pairing was. You could fight, to the death, or to surrender. However, if you were to pick to the death but then surrender, you were immediately shunned and shamed; if you agreed to die, than you were expected to do it without complaining. The mating ritual was successful if both of you survived without surrender, or neither of you could gain the upper hand leading to a stalemate that lasted over a 1/25 cycle. The fight could occur at any time, and after that you were open to become a pair at any time, or, deciding otherwise, to pair with someone else. Generally, those who did successfully complete the ritual and then decide to be together often fought side by side in, what Sunny considered, the greatest example of trust and romance that one could hope for.

She sighed longingly thinking about it, at this point in her life, she had no real hope for something like that.  Though she was still young, she hadn’t seen any of her own kind for some time, and even considering that, no one had ever shown interest in her beforehand.

Kind of heartbreaking…. Watching everyone else fighting alongside a companion when no one had ever even looked at her in that way. She doubted anyone here understood that. The only other nonhuman on the ship, Krill, wouldn’t understand these feelings. His species had no need for romance, everyone was just so logical that they simply mated to keep the population stable.

Meal slid away from carapace, and she rolled her shoulders, the captain stepped down from the box, his metal leg whirring slightly. He looked up at her, “Hey, why the long face?”

Sunny was always surprised to find the human understood her facial expressions. Humans were very good at that sort of thing, krill told her that the humans had a special place in their brain for that, it was called the Fusiform Face area in the temporal lobe, and apparently its knowledge could be expanded to include alien facial expressions.

“Come on, lighten up Sunny, you and I reining death and destruction, a killing machine, come on you like that sort of thing.”

She shook off her blues and nodded. She did enjoy war, and she very much like it when they could make her more deadly than she already was, so that was something. Captain Vir motioned Krill over, and too the clipboard from him looking over the message as he did. He was wearing only one boot today, just for his real leg, the prosthetic foot was clear from under his pants. He said it was easier to move when the foot was bare.

That was the first and only time Sunny had ever felt a twinge of guilt for something she had done during war. To her war was war it was impersonal, it was distant, but to the humans it was very personal, and from what she knew, though humans could survive great physical stress, and come out completely fine, they often received mental damage from war. The mental damage often being worse than the physical damage.

What she had done to Vir had likely left him mentally crippled for much longer than it had taken his leg to heal. She knew that, depending on lighting, or their interaction, or if she accidentally caught him off guard, she could still trigger old wounds. She had done that to him, after all. Yet even despite all of that he had made the decision to accept her aboard his ship, and even manage to enjoy her company, at least she thought so.

“You have siblings.” She wondered.

The captain nodded, “Yep, three older brothers and one older sister.”

Sunny tapped her foot on the floor, “So, you are not born in litters?”

He barked a laugh handing the clipboard back to krill, “Not generally. It is possible for a human mother to have up to eight at once, but that is super rare. It’s more likely to have one to two at the same time, more often one though.”

This was all very interesting, “And how far are you through your lifespan?”

He shrugged, “About a quarter, or less than if I’m lucky.”

“And how many offspring do you have?” She wondered

He barked a laugh, and nearby crew laughed with him as they walked past.

He looked up at her, “None Sunny, not a single one. I’d have to get a date first, and I’m kind of inexperienced in that department. I try not to let it bother me though, otherwise I wouldn’t go back home. My sister has been married for a while, David is getting married, Jeremy has a steady girlfriend and I think Thomas is single right now, but he tends to jump around, so I sort of expected that. How about you?”

She shook her head, “I have one brother, he is much older than me, and was paired when I was born. I just reached adulthood when the war began, and I have many years left, but I have no children. Drev consider a few things in mating, the color of your armor, your fighting prowess, and, I think this is shallow but it’s true, height. I am very short.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, “Sunny, you’re like seven and a half feet tall.”

She nodded, “Yes, and my brother is nine and a half feet tall. No one pays much attention to someone who still looks like a child.”

He shook his head, “Well Sunny, I promise your battle prowess is more than acceptable, and if blinding metallic blue isn’t attractive to your species, than I don’t know what would be.”

She nodded to him thankful for the complement.

Captain Vir turned to Krill, “Set a course for earth so we can be there a week before six months from now. I should probably set up something with the admiral to get the crew shore leave. We’d have been out long enough by then.” He looked down at Krill, “What do you think, ready to go back to earth?”

The little alien looked a little hesitant, “During winter?’

The captain waved a hand, “No, who the hell would want their wedding in winter where I live? You’d have at least a fifty percent chance of having to cancel the wedding because all the guests got snowed in.”

Krill sighed, “If I must, Captain.”

“Oh come on, you had fun the last time we were there.”

He gave the Captain an incredulous look, “ok, yes maybe, but I was also stressed and terrified the entire time. If I do that to much, I will die of a stroke. I might just go ahead and die of a stroke while we are there because I am sure you will all come up with something horrifying to do while we are there.”

The Captain rolled his eyes and crossed his arms turning to look at sunny, “What do you think Sunny, what to come with us to a death world, and then maybe then I won’t be stuck with the party-pooper.”

Earth? Wow… now that was something she wanted to see.

Sunny was ready to go to Earth.