#Because it's His Sword marked with his trademark fire

[completeoveranalysis]

[1]

OH OK THE COVER IS FULL OF BLOOD

Let's put it under a read more, just in case:

Splash text:

These days smeared with regret and shame Believe only in that time That will one day come

In which we have a soft, gentle, thoughtful Syaoran posing like he’s on the cover of a photo shoot; head gently resting on his hands, which are folded on top of the hilt of his sword; lips almost frowning thoughtfully as he gazes at the camera. 

And then there’s the blood. 

Which is just SO much worse now that he (probably?) has his soul back now. He’s committed untold horrors and will never be free of the shed blood that taints him wherever he goes. But he’s also back! Ish? Maybe? 

We have him back and he’s gone after Sakura, but he’s still here wearing an (absolutely incredible) outfit still marked with the bat wings of Evil Wolverine’s dominion. The splash text at least seems to hint that he might be just getting through this, holding out for the hopeful pivotal moment where it all becomes ok again.

Which is wild to say the least.

Would love to know more about what’s going on with him!

#I LOVE the sword in ALMOST centreframe #Because it's His Sword marked with his trademark fire #But the real centreframe is his face #Drawing you back to his mismatched eyes #And everything he’s DONE - or been forced to do #And how it might not be his fault - but it still happened #And is he still doing more? Willingly? #We just dont know yet! #Liveblogging the reservoir chronicle #Tsubasa #Vol 203 #Syaoran #Oh I have missed using his tag #Will we see him soon? #Oh then again #There are only 31 chapters to go #OF COURSE we will see him again soon #There is only ‘soon’ left

[faces-ofvenus]

hi :) i saw this post https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/faces-ofvenus/698378142804557824 and was wondering how do you think they would react to their children with reader (if she was aegon's wife and aemond's "lover" or aemond's wife and aegon's "lover" but in reality she is with both of them (basically the last option of your publication where she ends up dating both) and how do you think they would react if someone pointed out the fact of his dubious paternity *ahem bastard ahem *?

thanks for your time, your blog is the best thing I've ever read <3 I'm obsessed with your beautiful posts 😫

You could try to hide it and indeed you did, but none of the princes really wanted that, it was strange, when Aemond your husband was away for some political reason, on the nights you would show up with various marks all over your body, scratches, bites and even hickeys, all caused by Aegon, you were in an open love triangle, absolutely no one knew about it, Alicent had her suspicions of course, already confronting her children and yourself, but nothing was going forward, whispers roamed the halls, the princess is having extramarital affairs, look at her neck, have you looked at her arm? The prince doesn't seem to care!

Everything got worse with her pregnancy, honestly one would think that her child would be born, a boy or girl with some different shade of hair, not the most beautiful white like her husband's (and in the case of her beloved king) but no, beautiful violet eyes, strands as soft and white as snow, that's how one could describe her children, but whose children were they? They could not be Aemond's, he was not there at the time, but was he?

With the second son almost the same thing, the same whispers, the same voices, they got louder, but they had no way to prove it, they couldn't really, the sons were the same as Aegon, not pera Aemond... It was hard to tell, and it seemed that none of the princes cared, Aemond loved his sons like everything else in his life, and Aegon also seemed to feel deep affection for them, almost like a father. You loved them because of this.

You didn't know the context of the conversation, you were more distracted, tending to your offspring and honestly didn't want to know, something about your eldest son inheriting land, but you could exactly hear the word coming out of his mouth.

— These children should have no right to anything, my son a true Hightower who should inherit everything, for these children with Velaryon blood running in them, cannot be Aemond's, not when this harlot lays with others when my poor nephew is away.

His tone was angry, contemptuous to say the least, the lord was furious about the whole thing, he knew in his mind at least that they were bastards, silence may have been the trademark on his face, but it didn't last long, the fright was enormous when Aegon hit his desk hard, his purple eyes seemed to glow like fire at the same time that Aemond had the same look, it was rare for the two princes to agree on something, but at that moment they knew, heads would roll, Aemond came very close to the lord, grabbed him by the shirt, and looked at him with perhaps the coldest eyes you would ever have the displeasure to witness.

— How dare you accuse my children of being bastards, my children, my blood, my wife, you know I won't care if you are my uncle, when my sword is around your neck, and then I hand you over like dragon food.

His voice could be heard all over the room, he wasn't trying to hide it, no, he wouldn't hide any of it, you glanced at King Aegon, he just had a malicious, maybe bloodthirsty look, he wouldn't forget, sometimes he scared you more than Aemond himself, the council followed almost normally except for the fact that his uncle was no longer there, the king dismissed him, and even spoke in a sickly sweet voice, that he would think about the case, take the land from his nephew, to give to his cousin, may the gods have and protect him from everything, because he will need it.

The next day you slept in your shared quarters normally, except for the fact that you saw neither Aegon nor Aemond all night, which was strange, the two were always with her, if not only one, she was afraid, maybe a little, afraid of the previous day, but this was all ceased with the news, poor thieves murdered in cold blood the lord Hightower, some people passing by the dark street saw two men entering the castle of your husband's uncle, and all you knew is of his painful death, how he had been tortured, thieves, bloodthirsty, monsters was what they said, after that the thieves took him outside and his body was almost completely charred, who were the people, it was hard to know, it could be "anyone", but y/n knew well, knew that they could not be just anyone. ..

Going to the family cafe you saw everyone at the table, Aegon and Aemond seemed to have a pleasant conversation which was rare, when they saw you passing by their children, they opened perhaps the most beautiful of smiles, smiles that took beats from your heart, it was as if the painful news in the morning had not even shaken them, not even Otto showed anything, but it was hard to read the same, and maybe he knew, not for sure he knew, but no one saw the men, at least not their faces, you sat between the two, Aemond gave you a chaste kiss on your cheek,while you felt Aegon's hands running up and down your thigh.

I really hope it turned out the way you wanted it to, thank you for liking what I write.

#hotd #hotd x reader #reader insert #reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon x reader

[grigori77]

2020 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 2)

20.  ONWARD – Disney and Pixar’s best digitally animated family feature of 2020 (beating the admittedly impressive Soul to the punch) clearly has a love of fantasy roleplay games like Dungeons & Dragons, its quirky modern-day AU take populated by fantastical races and creatures seemingly tailor-made for the geek crowd … needless to say, me and many of my friends absolutely loved it.  That doesn’t mean that the classic Disney ideals of love, family and believing in yourself have been side-lined in favour of fan-service – this is as heartfelt, affecting and tearful as their previous standouts, albeit with plenty of literal magic added to the metaphorical kind.  The central premise is a clever one – once upon a time, magic was commonplace, but over the years technology came along to make life easier, so that in the present day the various races (elves, centaurs, fauns, pixies, goblins and trolls among others) get along fine without it. Then timid elf Ian Lightfoot (Tom Holland) receives a wizard’s staff for his sixteenth birthday, a bequeathed gift from his father, who died before he was born, with instructions for a spell that could bring him back to life for one whole day.  Encouraged by his brash, over-confident wannabe adventurer elder brother Barley (Chris Pratt), Ian tries it out, only for the spell to backfire, leaving them with the animated bottom half of their father and just 24 hours to find a means to restore the rest of him before time runs out.  Cue an “epic quest” … needless to say, this is another top-notch offering from the original masters of the craft, a fun, affecting and thoroughly infectious family-friendly romp with a winning sense of humour and inspired, flawless world-building.  Holland and Pratt are both fantastic, their instantly believable, ill-at-ease little/big brother chemistry effortlessly driving the story through its ingenious paces, and the ensuing emotional fireworks are hilarious and heart-breaking in equal measure, while there’s typically excellent support from Julia Louis-Dreyfus (Elaine from Seinfeld) as Ian and Barley’s put-upon but supportive mum, Laurel, Octavia Spencer as once-mighty adventurer-turned-restaurateur “Corey” the Manticore and Mel Rodriguez (Getting On, The Last Man On Earth) as overbearing centaur cop (and Laurel’s new boyfriend) Colt Bronco.  The film marks the sophomore feature gig for Dan Scanlon, who debuted with 2013’s sequel Monsters University, and while that was enjoyable enough I ultimately found it non-essential – no such verdict can be levelled against THIS film, the writer-director delivering magnificently in all categories, while the animation team have outdone themselves in every scene, from the exquisite environments and character/creature designs to some fantastic (and frequently delightfully bonkers) set-pieces, while there’s a veritable riot of brilliant RPG in-jokes to delight geekier viewers (gelatinous cube! XD).  Massive, unadulterated fun, frequently hilarious and absolutely BURSTING with Disney’s trademark heart, this was ALMOST my animated feature of the year.  More on that later …

19.  THE GENTLEMEN – Guy Ritchie’s been having a rough time with his last few movies (The Man From UNCLE didn’t do too bad but it wasn’t exactly a hit and was largely overlooked or simply ignored, while intended franchise-starter King Arthur: Legend of the Sword was largely derided and suffered badly on release, dying a quick death financially – it’s a shame on both counts, because I really liked them), so it’s nice to see him having some proper success with his latest, even if he has basically reverted to type to do it.  Still, when his newest London gangster flick is THIS GOOD it seems churlish to quibble – this really is what he does best, bringing together a collection of colourful geezers and shaking up their status quo, then standing back and letting us enjoy the bloody, expletive-riddled results. This particularly motley crew is another winning selection, led by Matthew McConaughey as ruthlessly successful cannabis baron Mickey Pearson, who’s looking to retire from the game by selling off his massive and highly lucrative enterprise for a most tidy sum (some $400,000,000 to be precise) to up-and-coming fellow American ex-pat Matthew Berger (Succession’s Jeremy Strong, oozing sleazy charm), only for local Chinese triad Dry Eye (Crazy Rich Asians’ Henry Golding, chewing the scenery with enthusiasm) to start throwing spanners into the works with the intention of nabbing the deal for himself for a significant discount.  Needless to say Mickey’s not about to let that happen … McConaughey is ON FIRE here, the best he’s been since Dallas Buyers Club in my opinion, clearly having great fun sinking his teeth into this rich character and Ritchie’s typically sparkling, razor-witted dialogue, and he’s ably supported by a quality ensemble cast, particularly co-star Charlie Hunnam as Mickey’s ice-cold, steel-nerved right-hand-man Raymond Smith, Downton Abbey’s Michelle Dockery as his classy, strong-willed wife Rosalind, Colin Farrell as a wise-cracking, quietly exasperated MMA trainer and small-time hood simply known as the Coach (who gets many of the film’s best lines), and, most notably, Hugh Grant as the film’s nominal narrator, thoroughly morally bankrupt private investigator Fletcher, who consistently steals the film.  This is Guy Ritchie at his very best – a twisty rug-puller of a plot that constantly leaves you guessing, brilliantly observed and richly drawn characters you can’t help loving in spite of the fact there’s not a single hero among them, a deliciously unapologetic, politically incorrect sense of humour and a killer soundtrack.  Getting the cinematic year off to a phenomenal start, it’s EASILY Ritchie’s best film since Sherlock Holmes, and a strong call-back to the heady days of Snatch (STILL my favourite) and Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels.  Here’s hoping he’s on a roll again, eh?

18.  SPONTANEOUS – one of the year’s biggest under-the-radar surprise hits for me was one which I actually might not have caught if things had been a little more normal and ordered.  Thankfully with all the lockdown and cinematic shutdown bollocks going on, this fantastically subversive and deeply satirical indie teen comedy horror came along at the perfect time, and I completely flipped out over it.  Now those who know me know I don’t tend to gravitate towards teen cinema, but like all those other exceptions I’ve loved over the years, this one had a brilliantly compulsive hook I just couldn’t turn down – small-town high-schooler Mara (Knives Out and Netflix’ Cursed’s Katherine Langford) is your typical cool outsider kid, smart, snarky and just putting up with the scene until she can graduate and get as far away as possible … until one day in her senior year one of her classmates just inexplicably explodes. Like her peers, she’s shocked and she mourns, then starts to move on … until it happens again.  As the death toll among the senior class begins to mount, it becomes clear something weird is going on, but Mara has other things on her mind because the crisis has, for her, had an unexpected benefit – without it she wouldn’t have fallen in love with like-minded oddball new kid Dylan (Lean On Pete and Words On Bathroom Walls’ Charlie Plummer). The future’s looking bright, but only if they can both live to see it … this is a wickedly intelligent film, powered by a skilfully executed script and a wonderfully likeable young cast who consistently steer their characters around the potential cliched pitfalls of this kind of cinema, while debuting writer-director Brian Duffield (already a rising star thanks to scripts for Underwater, The Babysitter and blacklist darling Jane Got a Gun among others) show he’s got as much talent and flair for crafting truly inspired cinema as he has for thinking it up in the first place, delivering some impressively offbeat set-pieces and several neat twists you frequently don’t see coming ahead of time.  Langford and Plummer as a sassy, spicy pair who are easy to root for without ever getting cloying or sweet, while there’s glowing support from the likes of Hayley Law (Rioverdale, Altered Carbon, The New Romantic) as Mara’s best friend Tess, Piper Perabo and Transparent’s Rob Huebel as her increasingly concerned parents, and Insecure’s Yvonne Orji as Agent Rosetti, the beleaguered government employee sent to spearhead the investigation into exactly what’s happening to these kids.  Quirky, offbeat and endlessly inventive, this is one of those interesting instances where I’m glad they pushed the horror elements into the background so we could concentrate on the comedy, but more importantly these wonderfully well-realised and vital characters – there are some skilfully executed shocks, but far more deep belly laughs, and there’s bucketloads of heart to eclipse the gore.  Another winning debut from a talent I intend to watch with great interest in the future.

17.  HAMILTON – arriving just as Black Lives Matter reached fever-pitch levels, this feature presentation of the runaway Broadway musical smash-hit could not have been better timed. Shot over three nights during the show’s 2016 run with the original cast and cut together with specially created “setup shots”, it’s an immersive experience that at once puts you right in amongst the audience (at times almost a character themselves, never seen but DEFINITELY heard) but also lets you experience the action up close.  And what action – it’s an incredible show, a thoroughly fascinating piece of work that reads like something very staid and proper on paper (an all-encompassing biographical account of the life and times of American Founding Father Alexander Hamilton) but, in execution, becomes something very different and EXTREMELY vital.  The execution certainly couldn’t be further from the usual period biopic fare this kind of historical subject matter usually gets (although in the face of recent high quality revisionist takes like Marie Antoinette, The Great and Tesla it’s not SO surprising), while the cast is not at all what you’d expect – with very few notable exceptions the cast is almost entirely people of colour, despite the fact that the real life individuals they’re playing were all very white indeed.  Every single one of them is also an absolute revelation – the show’s writer-composer Lin-Manuel Miranda (already riding high on the success of In the Heights) carries the central role of Hamilton with effortless charm and raw star power, Leslie Odom Jr. (Smash, Murder On the Orient Express) is duplicitously complex as his constant nemesis Aaron Burr, Christopher Jackson (In the Heights, Moana, Bull) oozes integrity and nobility as his mentor and friend George Washington, Phillipa Soo is sweet and classy as his wife Eliza while Renée Elise Goldsberry (The Immortal Life of Henrietta Jacks, Altered Carbon) is fiery and statuesque as her sister Angelica Schuyler (the one who got away), and Jonathan Groff (Mindhunter) consistently steals every scene he’s in as fiendish yet childish fan favourite King George III, but the show (and the film) ultimately belongs to veritable powerhouse Daveed Diggs (Blindspotting, The Good Lord Bird) in a spectacular duel role, starting subtly but gaining scene-stealing momentum as French Revolutionary Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de Lafayette, before EXPLODING onto the stage in the second half as indomitable third American President Thomas Jefferson.  Not having seen the stage show, I was taken completely by surprise by this, revelling in its revisionist genius and offbeat, quirky hip-hop charm, spellbound by the skilful ease with which is takes the sometimes quite dull historical fact and skews it into something consistently entertaining and absorbing, transported by the catchy earworm musical numbers and thoroughly tickled by the delightfully cheeky sense of humour strung throughout (at least when I wasn’t having my heart broken by moments of raw dramatic power). Altogether it’s a pretty unique cinematic experience I wish I could have actually gotten to see on the big screen, and one I’ve consistently recommended to all my friends, even the ones who don’t usually like musicals.  As far as I’m concerned it doesn’t need a proper Les Misérables style screen adaptation – this is about as perfect a presentation as the show could possibly hope for.

16.  SPUTNIK – summer’s horror highlight (despite SERIOUSLY tough competition) was a guaranteed sleeper hit that I almost missed entirely, stumbling across the trailer one day on YouTube and getting bowled over by its potential, prompting me to hunt it down by any means necessary.  The feature debut of Russian director Egor Abramenko, this first contact sci-fi chiller is about as far from E.T. as it’s possible to get, sharing some of the same DNA as Carpenter’s The Thing but proudly carving its own path with consummate skill and definitely signalling great things to come from its brand new helmer and relative unknown screenwriters Oleg Malovichko and Andrei Zolotarev.  Oksana Akinshina (probably best known in the West for her powerful climactic cameo in The Bourne Supremacy) is the beating heart of the film as neurophysiologist Tatyana Yuryevna Klimova, brought in to aid in the investigation in the Russian wilderness circa 1983 after an orbital research mission goes horribly wrong.  One of the cosmonauts dies horribly, while the other, Konstantin (The Duelist’s Pyotr Fyodorov) seems unharmed, but it quickly becomes clear that he’s now the host for something decidedly extraterrestrial and potentially terrifying, and as Tatyana becomes more deeply embroiled in her assignment she comes to realise that her superiors, particularly mysterious Red Army project leader Colonel Semiradov (The PyraMMMid’s Fyodor Bondarchuk), have far more insidious plans for Konstantin and his new “friend” than she could ever imagine. This is about as dark, intense and nightmarish as this particular sub-genre gets, a magnificently icky body horror that slowly builds its tension as we’re gradually exposed to the various truths and the awful gravity of the situation slowly reveals itself, punctuated by skilfully executed shocks and some particularly horrifying moments when the evils inflicted by the humans in charge prove far worse than anything the alien can do, while the ridiculously talented writers have a field day pulling the rug out from under us again and again, never going for the obvious twist and keeping us guessing right to the devastating ending, while the beautifully crafted digital creature effects are nothing short of astonishing and thoroughly creepy.  Akinshina dominates the film with her unbridled grace, vulnerability and integrity, the relationship that develops between Tatyana and Konstantin (Fyodorov delivering a beautifully understated turn belying deep inner turmoil) feeling realistically earned as it goes from tentatively wary to tragically bittersweet, while Bondarchuk invests the Colonel with a nuanced air of tarnished authority and restrained brutality that made him one of my top screen villains for the year.  One of 2020’s great sleeper hits, I can’t speak of this film highly enough – it’s a genuine revelation, an instant classic for whom I’ll sing its praises for years to come, and I wish enormous future success to all the creative talents involved.

15.  THE INVISIBLE MAN – looks like third time’s a charm for Leigh Whannell, writer-director of my ALMOST horror movie of the year (more on that later) – while he’s had immense success as a horror writer over the years (co-creator of both the Saw and Insidious franchises), as a director his first two features haven’t exactly set the world alight, with debut Insidious: Chapter III garnering similar takes to the rest of the series but ultimately turning out to be a bit of a damp squib quality-wise, while his second feature Upgrade was a stone-cold masterpiece that was (rightly) EXTREMELY well received critically, but ultimately snuck in under the radar and has remained a stubbornly hidden gem since. No such problems with his third feature, though – his latest collaboration with producer Jason Blum and the insanely lucrative Blumhouse Pictures has proven a massive hit both financially AND with reviewers, and deservedly so.  Having given up on trying to create a shared cinematic universe inhabited by their classic monsters, Universal resolved to concentrate on standalones to showcase their elite properties, and their first try is a rousing success, Whannell bringing HG Wells’ dark and devious human monster smack into the 21st Century as only he can.  The result is a surprisingly subtle piece of work, much more a lethally precise exercise in cinematic sleight of hand and extraordinary acting than flashy visual effects, strictly adhering to the Blumhouse credo of maximum returns for minimum bucks as the story is stripped down to its bare essentials and allowed to play out without any unnecessary weight.  The Handmaid’s Tale’s Elizabeth Moss once again confirms what a masterful actress she is as she brings all her performing weapons to bear in the role of Cecelia “Cee” Kass, the cloistered wife of affluent but monstrously abusive optics pioneer Aidan Griffin (Netflix’ The Haunting of Hill House’s Oliver Jackson-Cohen), who escapes his clutches in the furiously tense opening sequence and goes to ground with the help of her closest childhood friend, San Francisco cop James Lanier (Leverage’s Aldis Hodge) and his teenage daughter Sydney (A Wrinkle in Time’s Storm Reid).  Two weeks later, Aidan commits suicide, leaving Cee with a fortune to start her life over (with the proviso that she’s never ruled mentally incompetent), but as she tries to find her way in the world again little things start going wrong for her, and she begins to question if there might be something insidious going on.  As her nerves start to unravel, she begins to suspect that Aidan is still alive, still very much in her life, fiendishly toying with her and her friends, but no-one can see him.  Whannell plays her paranoia up for all it’s worth, skilfully teasing out the scares so that, just like her friends, we begin to wonder if it might all be in her head after all, before a spectacular mid-movie reveal throws the switch into high gear and the true threat becomes clear.  The lion’s share of the film’s immense success must of course go to Moss – her performance is BEYOND a revelation, a blistering career best that totally powers the whole enterprise, and it goes without saying that she’s the best thing in this.  Even so, she has sterling support from Hodge and Reid, as well as Love Child’s Harriet Dyer as Cee’s estranged big sister Emily and Wonderland’s Michael Dorman as Adrian’s slimy, spineless lawyer brother Tom, and, while he doesn’t have much actual (ahem) “screen time”, Jackson-Cohen delivers a fantastically icy, subtly malevolent turn which casts a large “shadow” over the film.  This is one of my very favourite Blumhouse films, a pitch-perfect psychological chiller that keeps the tension cranked up unbearably tight and never lets go, Whannell once again displaying uncanny skill with expert jump-scares, knuckle-whitening chills and a truly astounding standout set-piece that easily goes down as one of the top action sequences of 2020. Undoubtedly the best version of Wells’ story to date, this goes a long way in repairing the damage of Universal’s abortive “Dark Universe” efforts, as well as showcasing a filmmaking master at the very height of his talents.

14.  EXTRACTION – the Coronavirus certainly has threw a massive spanner in the works of the year’s cinematic calendar – among many other casualties to the blockbuster shunt, the latest (and most long-awaited) MCU movie, Black Widow, should have opened to further record-breaking box office success at the end of spring, but instead the theatres were all closed and virtually all the heavyweights were pushed back or shelved indefinitely.  Thank God, then, for the streaming services, particularly Hulu, Amazon and Netflix, the latter of which provided a perfect movie for us to see through the key transition into the summer blockbuster season, an explosively flashy big budget action thriller ushered in by MCU alumni the Russo Brothers (who produced and co-wrote this adaptation of Ciudad, a graphic novel that Joe Russo co-created with Ande Parks and Fernando Leon Gonzalez) and barely able to contain the sheer star-power wattage of its lead, Thor himself.  Chris Hemsworth plays Tyler Rake, a former Australian SAS operative who hires out his services to an extraction operation under the command of mercenary Nik Khan (The Patience Stone’s Golshifteh Farahani), brought in to liberate Ovi Mahajan (Rudhraksh Jaiswal in his first major role), the pre-teen son of incarcerated Indian crime lord Ovi Sr. (Pankaj Tripathi), who has been abducted by Bangladeshi rival Amir Asif (Priyanshu Painyuli).  The rescue itself goes perfectly, but when the time comes for the hand-off the team is double-crossed and Tyler is left stranded in the middle of Dhaka with no choice but to keep Ovi alive as every corrupt cop and street gang in the city closes in around them.  This is the feature debut of Sam Hargrave, the latest stuntman to try his hand at directing, so he certainly knows his way around an action set-piece, and the result is a thoroughly breathless adrenaline rush of a film, bursting at the seams with spectacular fights, gun battles and car chases, dominated by a stunning sustained sequence that plays out in one long shot, guaranteed to leave jaws lying on the floor.  Not that there should be any surprise – Hargrave cut his teeth as a stunt coordinator for the Russos on Captain America: Civil War and their Avengers films.  That said, he displays strong talent for the quieter disciplines of filmmaking too, delivering quality character development and drawing out consistently noteworthy performances from his cast.  Of course, Hemsworth can do the action stuff in his sleep, but there’s a lot more to Tyler than just his muscle, the MCU veteran investing him with real wounded vulnerability and a tragic fatalism which colours every scene, while Jaiswal is exceptional throughout, showing plenty of promise for the future, and there’s strong support from Farahani and Painyuli, as well as Stranger Things’ David Harbour as world-weary retired merc Gaspard, and a particularly impressive, muscular turn from Randeep Hooda (Once Upon a Time in Mumbai) as Saju, a former Para and Ovi’s bodyguard, who’s determined to take possession of the boy himself, even if he has to go through Tyler to get him.  This is action cinema that really deserves to be seen on the big screen – I watched it twice in a week and would happily have paid for two trips to the cinema for it if I could have.  As we looked down the barrel of a summer season largely devoid of blockbuster fare, I couldn’t recommend this enough.  Thank the gods for Netflix …

13.  THE TRIAL OF THE CHICAGO 7 – although it’s definitely a film that really benefitted enormously from releasing on Netflix during the various lockdowns, this was one of the blessed few I actually got to see during one of the UK’s frustratingly rare lulls when cinemas were actually OPEN.  Rather perversely it therefore became one of my favourite cinematic experiences of 2020, but then I’m just as much a fan of well-made cerebral films as I am of the big, immersive blockbuster EXPERIENCES, so this probably still would have been a standout in a normal year. Certainly if this was a purely CRITICAL list for the year this probably would have placed high in the Top Ten … Aaron Sorkin is a writer whose work I have ardently admired ever since he went from esteemed playwright to in-demand talent for both the big screen AND the small with A Few Good Men, and TTOTC7 is just another in a long line of consistently impressive, flawlessly written works rife with addictive quickfire dialogue, beautifully observed characters and rewardingly propulsive narrative storytelling (therefore resting comfortably amongst the well-respected likes of The West Wing, Charlie Wilson’s War, Moneyball and The Social Network).  It also marks his second feature as a director (after fascinating and incendiary debut Molly’s Game), and once again he’s gone for true story over fiction, tackling the still controversial subject of the infamous 1968 trial of the “ringleaders” of the infamous riots which marred Chicago’s Diplomatic National Convention five months earlier, in which thousands of hippies and college students protesting the Vietnam War clashed with police.  Spurred on by the newly-instated Presidential Administration of Richard Nixon to make some examples, hungry up-and-coming prosecutor Richard Schultz (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is confident in his case, while the Seven – who include respected and astute student activist Tom Hayden (Eddie Redmayne) and confrontational counterculture firebrands Abbie Hoffman (Sacha Baron Cohen) and Jerry Rubin (Succession’s Jeremy Strong) – are the clear underdogs.  They’re a divided bunch (particularly Hayden and Hoffman, who never mince their words about what little regard they hold for each other), and they’re up against the combined might of the U.S. Government, while all they have on their side is pro-bono lawyer and civil rights activist William Kunstler (Mark Rylance), who’s sharp, driven and thoroughly committed to the cause but clearly massively outmatched … not to mention the fact that the judge presiding over the case is Julius Hoffman (Frank Langella), a fierce and uncompromising conservative who’s clearly 100% on the Administration’s side, and who might in fact be stark raving mad (he also frequently goes to great lengths to make it clear to all concerned that he is NOT related to Abbie).  Much as we’ve come to expect from Sorkin, this is cinema of grand ideals and strong characters, not big spectacle and hard action, and all the better for it – he’s proved time and again that he’s one of the very best creative minds in Hollywood when it comes to intelligent, thought-provoking and engrossing thinking-man’s entertainment, and this is pure par for the course, keeping us glued to the screen from the skilfully-executed whirlwind introductory montage to the powerfully cathartic climax, and every varied and brilliant scene in-between.  This is heady stuff, focusing on what’s still an extremely thorny issue made all the more urgently relevant and timely given what was (and still is) going on in American politics at the time, and everyone involved here was clearly fully committed to making the film as palpable, powerful and resonant as possible for the viewer, no matter their nationality or political inclination.  Also typical for a Sorkin film, the cast are exceptional, everyone clearly having the wildest time getting their teeth into their finely-drawn characters and that magnificent dialogue – Redmayne and Baron Cohen are compellingly complimentary intellectual antagonists given their radically different approaches and their roles’ polar opposite energies, while Rylance delivers another pitch-perfect, simply ASTOUNDING performance that once again marks him as one of the very best actors of his generation, and there are particularly meaty turns from Strong, Langella, Aquaman’s Yahya Abdul-Mateen II (as besieged Black Panther Bobby Seale) and a potent late appearance from Michael Keaton that sear themselves into the memory long after viewing. Altogether then, this is a phenomenal film which deserves to be seen no matter the format, a thought-provoking and undeniably IMPORTANT masterwork from a master cinematic storyteller that says as much about the world we live in now as the decidedly turbulent times it portrays …

12.  GREYHOUND – when the cinemas closed back in March, the fate of many of the major summer blockbusters we’d been looking forward to was thrown into terrible doubt. Some were pushed back to more amenable dates in the autumn or winter (which even then ultimately proved frustratingly ambitious), others knocked back a whole year to fill summer slots for 2021, but more than a few simply dropped off the radar entirely with the terrible words “postponed until further notice” stamped on them, and I lamented them all, this one in particular.  It hung in there longer than some, stubbornly holding onto its June release slot for as long as possible, but eventually it gave up the ghost too … but thanks to Apple TV+, not for long, ultimately releasing less than a month later than intended.  Thankfully the film itself was worth the fuss, a taut World War II suspense thriller that’s all killer, no filler – set during the infamous Battle of the Atlantic, it portrays the constant life-or-death struggle faced by the Allied warships assigned to escort the transport convoys as they crossed the ocean, defending their charges from German U-boats.  Adapted from C.S. Forester’s famous 1955 novel The Good Shepherd by Tom Hanks and directed by Aaron Schneider (Get Low), the narrative focuses on the crew of the escort leader, American destroyer USS Fletcher, codenamed “Greyhound”, and in particular its captain, Commander Ernest Krause (Hanks), a career sailor serving his first command.  As they cross “the Pit”, the most dangerous middle stretch of the journey where they spend days without air-cover, they find themselves shadowed by “the Wolf Pack”, a particularly cunning group of German submarines that begin to pick away at the convoy’s stragglers.  Faced with daunting odds, a dwindling supply of vital depth-charges and a ruthless, persistent enemy, Krause must make hard choices to bring his ships home safe … jumping into the thick of the action within the first ten minutes and maintaining its tension for the remainder of the trim 90-minute run, this is screen suspense par excellence, a sleek textbook example of how to craft a compelling big screen knuckle-whitener with zero fat and maximum reward, delivering a series of desperate naval scraps packed with hide-and-seek intensity, heart-in-mouth near-misses and fist-in-air cathartic payoffs by the bucket-load.  Hanks is subtly magnificent, the calm centre of the narrative storm as a supposed newcomer to this battle arena who could have been BORN for it, bringing to mind his similarly unflappable in Captain Phillips and certainly not suffering by comparison; by and large he’s the focus point, but other crew members make strong (if sometimes quite brief) impressions, particularly Stephen Graham as Krause’s reliably seasoned XO, Lt. Commander Charlie Cole, The Magnificent Seven’s Manuel Garcia-Rulfo and Just Mercy’s Rob Morgan, while Elisabeth Shue does a lot with a very small part in brief flashbacks as Krause’s fiancée Evelyn. Relentless, exhilarating and thoroughly unforgettable, this was one of the true action highlights of the summer, and one hell of a war flick.  I’m so glad it made the cut for the summer …

11.  PROJECT POWER – with Marvel and DC pushing their tent-pole titles back in the face of COVID, the usual superhero antics we’ve come to expect for the summer were pretty thin on the ground in 2020, leading us to find our geeky fan thrills elsewhere. Unfortunately, pickings were frustratingly slim – Korean comic book actioner Gundala was entertaining but workmanlike, while Thor AU Mortal was underwhelming despite strong direction from Troll Hunter’s André Øvredal, and The New Mutants just got shat on by the studio and its distributors and no mistake – thank the Gods, then, for Netflix, once again riding to the rescue with this enjoyably offbeat super-thriller, which takes an intriguing central premise and really runs with it.  New designer drug Power has hit the streets of New Orleans, able to give anyone who takes it a superpower for five minutes … the only problem is, until you try it, you don’t know what your own unique talent is – for some, it could mean five minutes of invisibility, or insane levels of super-strength, but other powers can be potentially lethal, the really unlucky buggers just blowing up on the spot.  Robin (The Hate U Give’s Dominique Fishback) is a teenage Power-pusher with dreams of becoming a rap star, dealing the pills so she can help her diabetic mum; Frank Shaver (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is one of her customers, a police detective who uses his power of near invulnerability to even the playing field when supercharged crims cause a disturbance.  Their lives are turned upside down when Art (Jamie Foxx) arrives in town – he’s a seriously badass ex-soldier determined to hunt down the source of Power by any means necessary, and he’s not above tearing the Big Easy apart to do it. This is a fun, gleefully infectious rollercoaster that doesn’t take itself too seriously, revelling in the anarchic potential of its premise and crafting some suitably OTT effects-driven chaos brought to pleasingly visceral fruition by its skilfully inventive director, Ariel Schulman (Catfish, Nerve, Viral), while Mattson Tomlin (the screenwriter of the DCEU’s oft-delayed, incendiary headline act The Batman) takes the story in some very interesting directions and poses fascinating questions about what Power’s TRULY capable of.  Gordon-Levitt and Fishback are both brilliant, the latter particularly impressing in what’s sure to be a major breakthrough role for her, and the friendship their characters share is pretty adorable, while Foxx really is a force to be reckoned with, pretty chill even when he’s in deep shit but fully capable of turning into a bona fide killing machine at the flip of a switch, and there’s strong support from Westworld’s Rodrigo Santoro as Biggie, Power’s delightfully oily kingpin, Courtney B. Vance as Frank’s by-the-book superior, Captain Crane, Amy Landecker as Gardner, the morally bankrupt CIA spook responsible for the drug’s production, and Machine Gun Kelly as Newt, a Power dealer whose pyrotechnic “gift” really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  Exciting, inventive, frequently amusing and infectiously likeable, this was some of the most uncomplicated cinematic fun I had all summer.  Not bad for something which I’m sure was originally destined to become one of the season’s B-list features …

#onward #onward movie #The Gentlemen #spontaneous #spontaneous movie #hamilton #hamilton movie #sputnik #sputnik movie #The Invisible Man #Extraction #extraction movie #the trial of the chicago 7 #greyhound #greyhound movie #project power #2020 in movies

[longsightmyth]

Myth Reads The Naming, Chapter 19

This chapter is, at fourteen pages, technically the fourth shortest chapter in The Naming, but only because two chapters have thirteen pages. This means fewer Throne of Glass chapters, for which I am thankful.

PELLINOR

So Hem has had a pretty grim life, starting, as far as he knows, with his delivery to a really terrible orphanage by a hull. One day he was called up and told that his uncle had finally gotten back from wherever and was taking him home. His ‘uncle’ wasn’t great but he wasn’t awful either unless one takes into account the fact that there were five hulls around at all times.

Said hulls eventually tried to get him to commit human sacrifice but Hem wouldn’t do it, so they locked him in a room and starved him, which was when Sharn broke into the house to steal stuff and found a Pilanel boy locked in a room. Obviously, he busted him out. I’ll talk about that in the comparison.

So they ran, and eventually the hulls caught up to them. Hem told Sharn he heard them coming earlier, but Sharn didn’t believe him, so Hem hid. The hulls tortured Sharn, who for a while said they’d sold Hem but eventually broke down and admitted that he’d run away recently, and the hulls killed everybody anyway.

Which is, of course, when Maerad and Cadvan found Hem. Since Hem mentioned that Sharn also stole some stones, Cadvan asks to see them. Hem is curiously possessive of the medallion he wears, but when Cadvan has no interest in that he forks over the stones.

They are basically mini-palantir, I guess? They let people with the corresponding partner stone hear and sometimes see what’s going on. Thankfully Maerad’s magic fire blasts blanked them out, but we know why our heroes were so easy to find earlier. Cadvan tosses the stones away and jokingly forgives Hem for almost getting them killed.

Sometimes Cadvan has a questionable sense of humor, honestly.

Anyway, then he asks to see the medallion, and Hem reluctantly lets him, at which point Cadvan goes very quiet.

“What?” demanded Maerad, after the silence had lengthened unbearably. Hem was watching them both with a mixture of bafflement and despair.

Cadvan didn’t respond at first. “Maerad,” he said at last. “Do you remember your father very well?”

Oh yeah, folks. We’re going there. Cadvan further presses, asking if Maerad remembers what Dorn looked like, whether she actually saw her brother Cai killed or not, etc. The medallion has the symbol of Pellinor on it, and it says on the back in the speech, “The House of Karn. Minelm made me.”

Cadvan starts considering both of them and their physical similarities, and he and he concludes that they could be brother and sister. Hem is the right age, and the hulls kept him around for a reason, after all.

Maerad is less cautious, declaring that Hem is definitely her brother, she can feel it, that’s why she had to go find him, etc.

“...I remember Dorn, Maerad; and Hem is unmistakably Pilanel. It would explain why the hulls were interested in him. But I might be wrong.”

“You’re not often wrong,” said Maerad with a wry smile, echoing something he had said to her long ago in Innail.

“No.” Cadvan smiled very slightly. “I am not often wrong. Mind you, when I have been wrong, I’ve been very wrong indeed.”

Sometimes Cadvan’s humor is spot on, though.

Anyway, Cadvan surmises that the hulls knew about the prophecy but grabbed the wrong kid. He tells ‘you Pellinor folk’ to nap and he’ll keep watch, since he couldn’t sleep with his headache anyway. Maerad tries and can’t, remembering Cadvan on the ground and how she’d felt about killing things after.

Darsor returns about an hour after that, Imi in tow. After Darsor imparts some encouraging words for Maerad and Cadvan, Imi comes up and apologizes for running, and Maerad tells her it was good that she did. Cadvan further assures her that there is no shame in running from what are essentially demons.

They ride some more. I know you’re shocked.

The chapter ends when they crest a hill and can see Norloch.

THRONE OF GLASS

Thirteen pages in two chapters y’all I can do this.

Apparently Cain has been getting better not because he trains every day but because he summons dark powers. He calls out a ridderak. I’m sure the ridderak has actually been mentioned before but honestly I can’t be bothered to check right now.

It was something out of an ancient god’s nightmares. Its hairless gray skin was stretched tightly across its misshapen head, displaying a gaping mouth full of black fangs.

Fangs that had ripped out and eaten Verin and Xavier’s internal organs; fangs that had feasted on their brains. Its vaguely human body sank onto its haunches, and it sl;id its long front arms across the stone floor. The stones whined under the claws. Cain raised his head and stood slowly ad the creature knelt before him and lowered its dark eyes. Submission.

I’m not saying that there was a perfectly good place to use Sarah Janet’s trademark ‘those’ instead of ‘the’ in there, but I’m not not saying it either. Also, I still don’t remember which serial killer was which in regards to Verin and Xavier. I forgot Xavier existed, so.

Anyway, Cain says it wasn’t supposed to be Celaena tonight but she’s who he’s got, so Celaena whimpers at him and draws her absolutely useless knife monstrosity, which Cain promptly relieves her of on his way out the door. Honestly, good riddance.

Celaena screams a lot and eventually runs through the secret passages, eventually making it to Elena and Gavin’s tomb, where she snags Damaris, which is a sword that becomes sort of important later. I mean, kinda. Look, I don’t know, sometimes in Kingdom of Ash Dorian uses it to find out if people are telling really obvious lies because Sarah Janet decided she needed a sword of truth up in here in the last book.

Anyway, she kills the ridderak, marking the first time Celaena has won a fight on-page and unassisted, I think, but it bit her along the way. She walks back to her rooms and then collapses, suddenly overcome by the venom. Nehemia finds her and does something and Celaena falls fully unconcious while being rocked gently by Nehemia in a bathtub.

I’m not saying you should ship it, but like. **makes Will Smith present-y hands**

Anyway, that’s the end of chapter 42. Next chapter.

Celaena wakes up to see Nehemia waiting in a chair by her bedside. It has only been three hours, but Celaena feels entirely healed. After some prodding from Nehemia, Celaena confesses her true identity (of course we (and actually Nehemia, come to think of it) are, per later book retcons, aware that it isn’t actually her true identity. More on that in the discussion). Nehemia is upset that Celaena didn’t tell her, but eventually says that Celaena is impressive because,

“...you did not let the mines harden you; you did not let it shame your soul into cruelty.”

Methinks Nehemia speaks more out of hope than actual evidence, because Celaena is a petty, cruel brat who thinks only of murder and her own self-interest at the moment who upgrades to thinking of conquering other nations ‘to spread culture’ later. Nehemia also names her ‘Elentiya’, which means ‘spirit that could not be broken.’ We all loved Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron, Sarah Janet, I get it. Possibly Nehemia is operating on the assumption that naming a thing determines the character of the thing. Sorry, Nehemia, I know you tried.

Celaena decides to tell Nehemia how she ended up as Adarlan’s Assassin when Nehemia asks, and that’s how we end the section but not the chapter.

Celaena admits next section that she didn’t tell Nehemia everything, because we must still Not Know that Celaena is actually a princess. We have to Not Know very hard at this point, because that’s just the kind of book Throne of Glass is. Also Celaena refused to tell Nehemia about what bit her, so basically everything is pointless.

Chaol needles her about dancing with Dorian, Celaena reflects that she killed the ridderak so the darkness is lifted from the castle, I despair.

Later they spar, and Chaol says he saw her reading poetry, which he thought she didn’t like. She says epic poetry is different because it’s not pretentious. As a fellow hater of poetry, I have to say that I agree, re: enjoyment but must note that it is Celaena who comes off as pretentious here. Anyway they round a corner and she sees the unnamed King of Adarlan and it’s presented as a dramatic reveal but like. You live in his castle, Celaena. He’s a public figure. He’s going to be around.

COMPARISON

Celaena remains a bratty twelve-year old confident in her abilities until faced with anything that might make her prove them. What else is new.

Well. I guess the idiot ball got bigger. The dude who summoned the monster is still out and about but sure the darkness in the castle has been defeated. That makes sense. (Celaena does nothing without being shoved into it, by the way: she has to be sent places by Elena, who she doesn’t ask for help, she has to be shown with actual glowing neon signs the monster that eats things, and then she has to be locked in the catacombs with it to fight it? Y’all. If she wants to rule a country later she should really display some initiative.)

Meanwhile Maerad and Hem/Cai get to be brother and sister, and since names are inherently tied into the narrative by way of bardic names already being important to the story, the fact that Hem will continue throughout the series to prefer being called Hem over Cai is an interesting twist on the later Celaena, who thinks that because she tells everybody to call her Aelin she’s an entirely different person.

Also of note is that both chapters contain human sacrifice, though Hem says that he wouldn’t kill the other boy with so little fanfare that it rounds the corner into having us go duh. I mean that in a good way: it is presented as so much the common-sense choice that it lets us the readers understand a core component of Hem. He can’t be evil. He refuses to be evil. As a child who grew up hungry and starved, he still refused to kill somebody despite the threat and implementation of starvation. The narrative doesn’t wax rhapsodic about it, either. It’s just who Hem is.

Similarly, no one waxes rhapsodic about Sharn, though I might here for a moment. Here’s a guy who broke into a lord’s house to steal valuables, found a starved little boy in a room, and said, ‘okay there is no way I’m leaving this kid here’ and stole him from evil magicians. Pellinor has a mindset and purpose of execution similar to Lord of the Rings: small, kind actions eventually cascade into larger, world-saving actions. Sometimes small good deeds are all you can do, but that’s okay. Small good deeds lead to more small good deeds and eventually the scales tip.

That only works, though, when small good deeds are the only good deeds available to you. Celaena giving Kaltain a cloak in Crown of Midnight, for instance, doesn’t tip the scales much, because Celaena is capable of so much more, and has shown it by faking the deaths of all of the (male, for the record) targets given to her by the king and helping them make their escape. That she chooses to only give Kaltain a cloak, when she is completely aware that Kaltain is regularly raped by both the guards and Perrington, when Kaltain has been consistently wronged by the same people as Celaena, is more of an example of performative compassion instead of, like, actual help. I’m just saying. Further, the whole reverent ‘she gave Ansel one extra minute before shooting at her’ is nonsense. She should have just not shot at Ansel. That would have been an act of compassion. Nobody was holding her to it. There wasn’t any sort of magical compulsion. Celaena performs the most tepid of merciful acts, and the book portrays them as Glorious Acts of Defiance and everyone is in awe over her forgiving nature. She says she doesn’t believe in slavery but never bothers to condemn it in any stronger language. I’m tired of it. I’ve been tired of it. Comparing it to The Books of Pellinor just makes me more tired of it.

In short, I despair.

STATS

Throne of Glass:

Pages: 13

Fragments: 14

Em-Dashes: 34

Ellipses: 7

Pellinor:

Pages: 14

Fragments: 6

Em-Dashes: 4

Ellipses: 12

#myth reads the naming #myth reads the books of Pellinor #myth rags on throne of glass #myth talks

[notwhelmedyet]

assigning lost light crew members mountain goats songs

bc i’m precisely that kind of nerd. thank you to @choomchoom for helping me make this monstrosity.

you can listen to this as a playlist here

Ambulon : Birth of Serpents

Crawl through the tunnel and follow, follow the light northwest See that young man who dwells inside his body like an uninvited guest

Anode : Heretic Pride

And there's honeysuckle on the faint breeze today With every breath i'm drawing in I want to cry out But I don't scream and I don't shout And I feel so proud to be alive And I feel so proud when the reckoning arrives

Brainstorm : This Year

The motor screaming out Stuck in second gear The scene ends badly As you might imagine In a cavalcade of anger and fear There will be feasting and dancing In Jerusalem next year

I am going to make it through this year If it kills me

Chromedome : Prowl Great Cain

Feel the prickings of my conscience in my chest Every now and then Sometimes a great wave of forgetfulness Rises up and blesses me And other times the sickness howls And I despair of any remedy

Cyclonus : Genesis 3:23

When I get home after dark Sit looking up at the stars outside Like teeth in the mouth of a shark I used to live here I used to live here I used to live here

Drift

1. White Cedar

My visions won't ever learn But I see the light that much clearer Every time I return Forge my armor in the old fire My spirit sings loud and clear Even in here

2. Hebrews 11:40

Fight my way back down, don't want to hurt anyone Probably gonna have to before it's all done

Take to the hills, run away I'm gonna get my perfect body back someday If not by faith then by the sword I'm going to be restored

First Aid : Lion’s Teeth

Nobody in this house Wants to own up to the truth I crawl in shotgun and reach into his mouth And grab hold of one long, sharp tooth And hold on For dear life, I hold on

Fortress Maximus aka Fort Max : Never Quite Free

And you'll breathe easier just knowing That the worst is all behind you And the waves that tossed the raft all night Have set you on dry land It gets okay to praise the day Believe in sheltering skies and stable earth beneath But hear his breath come through his teeth Walk by faith Tell no one what you've seen

Getaway : Heel Turn 2

Spend too much of my life Now trying to play fair Throw my better self overboard Shoot at him when he comes up for air

Lug : Jenny

Lit up your magnificent silhouette How much better, how much better can my life get? 900 cubic centimeters of raw, whining power No outstanding warrants for my arrest Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa The pirate's life for me

Nautica : Cotton

Let them all go Let 'em all go This song is for the people Who tell their families that they're sorry For things they can't and won't feel sorry for

Nightbeat : Beautiful Gas Mask

Never sleep, remember to breathe deep Never sleep, remember to breathe Breathe deep Crash in from deep space Shot birds falling fast Who will be there to catch us in his jaw When we arrive, alive, at last?

Perceptor : Autoclave

When I try to open up to you I get completely lost Houses swallowed by the earth, windows thick with frost And I reach deep down within, but the pathways twist and turn And there's no light anywhere, and nothing left to burn

Pipes : Sourdoire Valley Song

Keep to ourselves mostly Few friends and fewer closer friends Lead a long life if you're lucky Hope it never ends

Ratchet : Genesis 30:3

Talked about the days they’d said were sure to come Had a hard time believing I remember seeing you, my tongue struck dumb When you first came here from wherever it was you came from

Red Alert : Night Light

Plug a night light in Leave the porch light on Because the small dark corners have designs on me

Rewind : Distant Stations

I waited for you But I never told you where I was It was you who taught me how To write these kinds of equations I waited on the steps for you And I hid in the bushes whenever a car pulled into the parking lot You taught me how To listen to these Distant stations Distant stations

Rodimus : Choked Out

No brakes down An endless dark incline Most of the boys Won't ever cross this line If they all want to die dead broke that's fine, that's fine Everybody's got their limits Nobody's found mine

Rung : Unmasked!

And you don't care, you look almost relieved down there Like you're free, like you can breathe now Like they've sawn off your cast Just one more sleeper to see through And by way of honoring The things we once both held dear I will reveal you I will reveal you

Skids : Luna

Trace names in ash Big names, old friends And dead ends Those last few frames Go down so fast Rise through the flames and end again in flames at last

Swerve : Craters on the Moon

If the strain proves too much Give up right away If the light hurts your eyes Stay in your room all day

Tailgate : The Grey King and the Silver Flame Attunement

And I'm hardcore but I'm not that hardcore I'm hardcore but I'm not that hardcore I'm hardcore but I'm not that hardcore I'm pretty hardcore but I'm not that hardcore

Ten : Color in Your Cheeks

And we all knew he was broken pretty bad So we gave him what we had We cleared a space for him to sleep in And we let the silence that's our trademark make its presence felt Come on in We haven't slept for weeks Drink some of this This'll put color in your cheeks

Trailbreaker/Trailcutter : Damn These Vampires

And when the sun comes Try not to hate the light Someday we'll try To walk upright Crawl 'til dawn On my hands and knees God damn these bite marks Deep in my arteries

Ultra Magnus : Liza Forever Minnelli

Never get away, never get away I am never, ever gonna get away from this place Laid out on the street, my eyes toward the sun Your star next to my face

The compasses I came into this world with Never really worked so good

Velocity : Love, Love, Love

But the things you do for love are going to come back to you one by one Love love is going to lead you by the hand Into a white and soundless place

Whirl : Foreign Object

Gonna jab you in the eye with a foreign object I personally will stab you in the eye with a foreign object

#overthinking it #long post #maccadam #The Mountain Goats #there were many more possibilities for some of these robots #especially DRIFT the most mountain goats robot #i made this instead of writing #gay space car robots: IN SPACE

[silent-of-spirit]

First off, love the Roman Au you're writing! Second (for drunk DA), how do you think the romance between Cassandra and Varric happened?

@dadrunkwriting

Ohhhh my godddd this prompt was from 8 months ago and I am SO SORRY.

Okay, story time! So I have shipped Varric and Cassandra super hard since the first time I ever decided to put them in a party together even after getting new companions. I was just HOOKED. But I have never written them despite loving them so much because I felt like I could just never get their voices right.

Well, I am now here to say that I wrote a thing that I am so utterly, hopelessly, RIDICULOUSLY pleased with, and I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

It ended up pretty long, so most of it will be under the cut. Thank you for the prompt!!!

Varric x Cassandra

He hadn’t meant to. Shit, he didn’teven want to, but it was oneof those things that just kind of sneaks up on a man, and he triednot to think about how many times he had written that exact scenario.He couldn’t even really tell when it started.

Itwasn’t some kind of burning revelation, either. There wasn’t aparting of the clouds in his mind and heart - damn poeticbullshit – and there surewasn’t some big momentwhere it just hits you and WHAMyour heart bursts open and there it is. There wasn’t rain or pininglooks or grand declarations. It just kind of… happened.

Hedidn’t realize how unprepared he was until it did.

It wasdifferent from Bianca – not less,just… different. He sat back in his chair, scratching his head ashe tried to figure out the when and how of the whole damn thing.Maker knows they hatedeach other at first. Well, she hatedhim. He didn’t reallyhate anyone, not truly. It was just such a nastyemotion, and he’d seen how it consumed people. Shit, he’d written afew books on that too.

It wasone such book that had her pounding on his door, dragging him fromthe Hanged Man in chains for no reason at all. That book which shethen tossed in his face in that dingy cell, demandingto know where the Champion – where Hawke – had gone. Of coursehe said he didn’t know. As if he would do anything else. It wasn’this fault that his book hadn’t been enough to make her see howdesperately Hawkeneeded to not be found. But – damn it– the woman hadn’t seemed entirelyunreasonable, and he found himself telling her the real story…because maybe – maybe– it would be enough to change her mind. To leave Hawke be and lether heal from all of the hate.

Itwasn’t enough, and so of course she had to drag him to the Divine’sdoorstep so he could tell her too.

“Youwill stand trial,” was what she’d said, even the gentle lilt of heraccent unable to mask how hard the words were.

“Forwhat?” he’d laughed in disbelief, “For telling you I don’tknow where she is? The truth?”

“Aftereverything you’ve just told me, you really expect me to believethat?”

Well, she wasn’t wrong.

Butsomewhere down the line she didstart to believe him, and despite their arguments and his jests thatseemed only to further rouse her, when she found out he lied it hurt.Not in the physical way, though that was also the case. Damn,she had an arm on her. That chair didn’t stand a chance– but it tugged at him. He was angry – for Hawke, for Liahra –at the way Cassandra reacted.Yeah, she could be violent, but she snappedand he had no idea why. People lie. It’s a thing they do, especiallywhen trying to protect someone they love. They had been gettingcloser – a sort of uneasy camaraderie – and he had been so sure that she would – well, notunderstand, but notget so damn pissed either.

Itbothered him.

Itbothered him for a long time. He was his usual self with everyoneelse, cracking jokes and telling wild stories about the Hawkes andtheir friends – but with Cassandra he was… cold. Abrupt, even. Itfelt like some kind of perverse justice, but it had gotten to thepoint that even Liahrahad to pull him aside and tell him to knock it off. Liahra. Sunshine.It was enough to make him feel ashamed, but he still didn’t seek herout. So of course Sunshine being, well, Sunshine– sweet, meddling thing that she was – she dragged them both outon missions. Together. At the same time. Together.And then she’d give them that look,the really sweet one that had that brutaledge beneath it. Varric called it her ’You’d better getalong or Creators help me, I am going to chain you together until youdo’ look.

Forall her kindness and patience, she could really be scary if shetried.

And,well, they tried… kind of. The tension was undeniable, but at leastthey were talking again… kind of. And damnwas it uncomfortable, but at least it was enough for Liahra. Somehow,the tiny elf scared both of them more than the prospect of beingfriendly did. They could agree on thatmuch.

“Wheredoes such a small woman find all of this ferocity?” Cassandra askedover the fire one night, looking at the dreaming Inquisitor with afond smile. Varric had looked around, sure she was talking to Dorian,but the mage was fast asleep – silky mask and all. He made a smallnote to remember that for later – oh, Sparkler would hatethat – before clearing his throat and poking at the fireabsentmindedly.

“Idon’t think she really findsit, Seeker. It’s always been there, we just don’t get to see it much.She’s good at hiding,” he said, waving smoke out of his face as thewind picked up. Cassandra was silent for a long moment, and heshuffled uncomfortably on his bedroll as he wondered what he said.

“Youcalled me Seeker,” her voice finally came, softer than he’d everheard it. He briefly met her eyes over the fire. “That is the firsttime since… since we fought.”

Varricsnorted, “Since you threw a chair at me, you mean?”

Sheopened her mouth, that look of outrage on her face that she wore sooften, and he sworeshe was going to yell at him – and then she didn’t. His brows shotinto his hairline at the way she snapped her mouth shut with adisgruntled noise, cheeks coloring as she looked away.

“Y-youlied to me,” she said, the words sounding forced.

“Peoplelie, Seeker, especially to protect the ones they care about,” hegrunted, half-tempted to lay back and fall asleep just to escape theconversation.

Shewas silent for another long moment. “I-I know. I understand why youdid, even if it made me angry. And-” she paused, as if each wordwas just hanging on the edge of toohard to say, “Liahra is a good Inquisitor… better than we couldhave hoped for. She was what we needed, when we needed it.”

Hehuffed in amusement, tugging his blanket up as he laid back. “Well,she’s right over there. Don’t know what you’re telling me for.”

“Iam trying to-” she began, voice rising in frustration. His back wasto her, but he was latched onto every word, brow furrowing. “I am..I… I’m sorry,” she finally managed. “You were right to protectthe Champion. I probably would have done the same.”

Varricrolled over, squinting as if he couldn’t believe she was reallyserious. If theembarrassment flaming on her cheeks was any indication… she was.“Shit,” he saidwith a breathless laugh, dragging out the word, “You’re not justputting on a face for our fearless leader. You really mean it, don’tyou?”

“Youdon’t have to make it sound so shocking,”she said with an insulted huff, crossing her arms. He laughed.

“W-well,Seeker, do you blame me?” he asked between chuckles. Her cheeksflamed brighter, and he struggled to contain his amusement.

“I-Ihave learned it is important to acknowledge your shortcomings andadmit when you are wrong, especially to… to friends,”

Hiseyes widened slightly. She didn’t seem to be a woman of sentiment –or a woman with friendshonestly, not until the Inquisition – and some niggling somethingwas telling him that it had to have been hard for her to admit. Well,especially given her pride?He had the good sense to be flattered.

“Aww,Seeker. I’ve grown on you,” he said with a soft laugh. She wrinkledher nose in distaste, that trademark disgusted noise forcing its wayfrom her lips. But it didn’t sound quite asdisgusted, and he swore there was the shadow of a smile on her face.

“Likefungus,” she huffedwith such utter disdain that it made him laugh all over again as shedropped onto her bedroll and turned over.

Liahradidn’t mention it if she noticed the way things suddenly seemed backto normal. Of course she didnotice, but she noticed everything and Varric was just glad that shedecided to go with it. The second-hand embarrassment he would havegotten for Cassandra would have been too much otherwise. He couldalmost see the way shewould stammer for an explanation, cheeks scarlet. The thought madehim chuckle.

“Andwhat is so funny, dwarf?” the very woman asked with an impressivelyarched eyebrow.

“Nothing,nothing,” he said, though the amusement coloring his words gave himaway in a heartbeat. He held his hands up in mock surrender as shepinned him with a withering glare.

But itwasn’t as witheringand, well, that was something.

Sunshinedidn’t force them to come out with her after that. She never had tosay it, but he knewshe was glad. She cared too damn much about all of them, and itactually pained her when her companions – her friends– wouldn’t get along. It stirred a strange sense of satisfaction inhim, knowing she was pleased. But in honesty, he was glad of it too.

“Youhave a fan,” Liahra said one day, plopping into the chair sheusually took beside him in the hall. Varric huffed in amusement as hecontinued marking some correspondences.

“Ihave a lot of those, apparently.” But when he glanced up, there wasa smirk on the Inquisitor’s face – almost pained in the way itseemed to be holding her amusement back. He straightened in hischair, plucking his spectacles from his nose and placing them on thetable as he prompted her to continue with a cocked brow.

“Cassis quite taken with Swords and Shields.” That smirk tugged harder,and he squinted.

“Youmust have knocked your head, Sunshine,” he dismissed with achuckle, pausing as her face contorted with the effort of holdingback a laugh. He peered at her with disbelief. “You- we’re nottalking about the same Cassandra,are we? Tall, grumpy seeker…” he trailed off as she ducked herhead with a snort, silent laughter shaking her shoulders. His eyeswidened for a moment and then he broke,his laughter booming in the hall enough to prompt strange looks fromthe nobles that always seemed to congregate there. That- it was toogood. “No,”he managed to wheeze, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Mm,”she confirmed with a thoroughlyamused grin. “She is quite sore that there isn’t another additionyet.”

“Andraste’sass,” he said as hecollapsed into laughter all over again. “Don’t you worry, Sunshine.I’ll take care of it.”

“I’mglad that was so easy,” she tossed back as she pushed herself up.“I was afraid I was going to have to order you to do it.” Heshook his head, trying to quell the chuckles.

“Onecondition. I want to be there when you give it to her.”

Shewinked as she walked away.

It wasstrange the way the words just flowedfor a series he had abandoned, but he wasn’t going to question it.The entire situation was just… too muchin the best way. To be able to see the seeker’s reaction was spurringhim on. He had to seeit. Despite needing to frequently leave the pages to laugh at theabsurdity of it all, he finished the book in record time. Hispublisher would have been pleased. He couldn’t even lookat Cassandra during the process for fear of cracking up and ruiningthe surprise.

Heheld the book aloft when the Inquisitor walked by, looking at herover the rims of his spectacles with a smirk. Her eyes lit up and shemade a beeline for him, nearly yanking him out of his seat when shegrabbed his arm. He laughed.

“I’mcoming, Sunshine. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Mortifiedwas never a word he would have thought to use for Cassandra - butthere she stood, the very picture of it all over her face. She shot alook of betrayal at their smirking Inquisitor, seemingly at a lossfor words. Oh, this was soworth it. Who would have thought their stoic, grumpy seeker wouldhave a soft spot? And for romance– badly written, smuttyromance – of all things? The way she snatched the book from him,only to flatten her palm over the cover and gaze at it reverentlywith a rare smile was strangely satisfying.

Butstill, he didn’t expect her to just dropinto a chair next to him in the hall. He cursed softly at the way hisquill dragged across the page in his surprise, leaving a messy lineof ink in its wake. “Seeker,” he greeted with an amused – ifstartled – look. She blushed and looked to speak, but apparentlydecided against it as she flipped open a book and rested the spineagainst the table instead. He chuckled, but returned to his papers.

Thesecond time didn’t surprise him as much, the third even less, andafter a while he had come to expect her presence dropping in out ofnowhere. Somewhere – somehow - they had formed an easy sort offriendship. She would sit with him and read, always trying to hidethe covers of her books from him as if he didn’t know theywere sappy romance. He would write, smirking as he occasionallycaught her trying to peek over the edge of her books at the words onhis pages. And occasionally… they would talk. It was never reallyanything of much substance, but it was… well, it was nice.One day he glanced over at her as he leaned back to stretch and hejust kind of… knew.

He hadn’t meant to. Shit, he didn’teven want to, but it was one of those things that just kind of sneaksup on a man, and he tried not to think about how many times he hadwritten that exact scenario. He couldn’t even really tell when itstarted.

It wasn’t some kind of burningrevelation, either. There wasn’t a parting of the clouds in his mindand heart - damn poetic bullshit – and there sure wasn’t some bigmoment where it just hits you and WHAM your heart bursts open andthere it is. There wasn’t rain or pining looks or grand declarations.It just kind of… happened.

And damn if hehadn’t fallen in love with her without even realizing it.

He leaned back witha groan as he pulled his spectacles off, rubbing his eyes. He hadgotten caught up in his writing, and he realized it had been hourssince he moved if the cracking in his back was any indication. Heguessed the hour was late by how dim and empty the hall was, and hewondered how he never noticed everyone leave. His eyes roved over thehall, the doors to the courtyard that hung slightly ajar, over themosaics and the table and – he started violently.

“Maker,Cassandra,” he wheezed, heart pounding behind his breast. Shelooked up from her book with surprise, eyebrows almost at herhairline. She wasn’t in her usual seat, but tucked into one closer bythe fire – for the light, he supposed – and he hadn’t expectedanyone to still be there.

“What?” sheasked flatly, pursing her lips as if she expected him to tease her.Her features softened a bit at his breathless laugh.

“You scared me,”

“I did not expectyou to be so easily startled,” she said with mild amusement,briefly marking her page as she set the book aside. “I had notnoticed the hour grow so late.”

“Yeah,” hemumbled, rubbing his eyes again. He was tired. He moved hishands as he heard a shuffle of movement, and she appeared to begetting ready to leave. He glanced from her to the pages near hiselbow. “Hey, Seeker,” he began, pausing only until she gave him aquestioning look, “want to see what I have for the next installmentof Swords and Shields so far?” Her eyes widened.

“May I?” sheasked, even as she was already moving to stand with an almost girlishenthusiasm gleaming in her eyes. He laughed and pushed the pages tothe corner of the table she was already waiting at. It was… closerthan he remembered it being. She hovered there as she looked over thewords with greedy eyes, damn near close to being on topof him. She smelled… nice. Not that he expected her to smellbad, really, but he was surprised at how feminine her scentwas.

He cleared histhroat and adjusted slightly in his chair while he waited for her todevour the pages. She was doing a damn good job of it. He wasn’t surehe had ever seen anyone flip through something that fast.

“Varric,”she breathed, startling him from his light dozing. He took a breathand sat up, blinking heavily. Her eyes were wide and fixed on thefinal page in wonder, even with it lying there incomplete. He raiseda brow and waited. “This- this is good,” she said, turningto him with excitement.

They both froze.

Was it warm? Itfelt warm, he decided as her nose almost brushed his when sheturned. Neither of them seemed to know what to do, but they alsodidn’t move away, both with wide eyes and slightly stunnedexpressions. There was a flush creeping up her neck and cheeks, andhe’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel any creeping up his own. Hewas good at many things and he knew it, but this? This was out of hiswheelhouse and he didn’t quite know how to handle it. For probablythe first time in his life, he was drawing a complete blank.

“I-” she beganto say, and he didn’t know why – but he leaned forward andtook her lips with gentle fascination. She kissed him back-

and, well, that wassomething.

#varric #cassandra pentaghast #canon verse #dadrunkwriting #EEP #so super proud of this and I hope you guys like it too! #christophertherobin #Asks #sarah writes

[writesandramblings]

The Captain’s Secret - p.94

“Let Me Give You My Life”

Full Chapter List Part 1 - Objects in Motion << 93 - Smoke and Mirrors 95 - Maybe I’m Amazed >>

Lorca and O'Malley returned to the resplendent glory of the throne room, the shimmer of its golden-hued lights still conjuring the memory of its former master and her affection for the garish tones. Landry was standing at the command console, flanked by guards and technicians working to secure the Charon's systems. Control of the ship, while hardly definitive, was symbolic of control of the Empire. Symbols had power, Lorca knew, and this was a symbol he could ill afford to give up in his present circumstance.

Larsson's body remained a grim centerpiece in the middle of the room. The ugly burn of phaser fire on the side of his head was a harsh reminder as to the realities of this universe. O'Malley stopped and stared at Larsson, transfixed, unable to move past the corpse literally and figuratively.

Lorca had no such compunctions and stepped over Larsson's outstretched arm, joining Landry at the console. Landry glared dimly at Lorca and O'Malley in appraisal and said, "That was quick."

Lorca responded in kind, his half-amused glare equally judgmental. "This is hardly the time for sarcasm," he retorted. "Where's Burnham?"

Landry squinted in confusion—sarcasm?—but she gave him the report. "Internal sensors are still offline. We have teams sweeping the halls."

There seemed to have been very little progress during Lorca and O'Malley's detour. Lorca was momentarily reminded of the other Landry's shortcomings and grimaced with displeasure. "I didn't pull you out of that booth because I like you, commander," he said wryly. "Get me those sensors."

A smirk tugged at Landry's mouth. As much as it was a rebuke, there was a joke in there, too, and Lorca's trademark dark humor never ceased to amuse, even when it was at her expense. "Yes, sir. If you liked me, you wouldn't have left that eyesore there." She jerked her chin in the direction of Larsson's body.

Lorca raised an eyebrow. "Dead body bothering you?" He was reminded again of the other Landry and it soured his humor somewhat.

Landry casually ignored the taunt and said, "I don't understand why you didn't just vaporize him."

From the other side of Larsson's body, O'Malley looked up, alarmed. "You vaporize people?"

"Enemies," clarified Lorca. "We vaporize enemies."

"And allies when we don't want to clean up the mess," said Landry. The enduring curl of her lip suggested she thought this was such an occasion.

It was amusing, really, how O'Malley could still be horrified by the simplest, most everyday practices in the Terran Empire. "Sometimes it's a kindness," Lorca offered.

Landry snorted in laughter, but there was truth to it. Lorca had administered that truth several times in the past, most recently in the weeks leading up to the transporter accident. Then, Lorca had found himself saddled with a pair of rebel spies. Had their capture not been so embarrassingly public, he could have quietly released them to return to Sarek with their intel. Instead, he had been forced to throw around the clout of his position to ensure that the spies were remanded to his custody rather than Captain Tilly's. He spared them the experience of Georgiou's tender, drawn-out mercies and turned both operatives into flickers of dust.

Georgiou's ire had been total and immediate when she arrived. "You didn't leave me anything to play with," she chided him, but of course he had, and she made sure he knew it. Always the agonizer in her hand ended up in the same spot, the location frustratingly unreachable to compound the shame because it forced him to reveal the mark in order to be rid of it. Dozens of times the scar had been erased and recreated over the years. Each time Lorca told himself it was the last. This time, it finally would be.

The important thing was the intel had reached Sarek in the end and neither spy had survived to tell Georgiou the truth about Lorca's loyalties. That their deaths had kept his secret a few more weeks in no way diminished the kindness of sparing them months of agony at Georgiou's hands. The spies themselves surely preferred dying to protect the identity of one of Sarek's most valuable assets to being tortured. A coin could be polished on both sides.

The memory was fleeting. Lorca shifted his attention back to Landry and pointed out, "I didn't say you had to leave him there. You could've dragged him off somewhere."

There was a moment of confusion as Landry wondered when she was supposed to have found the time to do that, but since she now had the go-ahead to dispose of the body as she saw fit, she barked at a nearby guard, "Park! Take out the trash." The guard stepped forward with his phaser rifle at the ready.

"No!" said O'Malley. "He's my officer. He's my responsibility."

While O'Malley struggled to drag Larsson's body off to the side (no one moved to help him and he did not ask), Landry remarked, "He really isn't the same O'Malley, is he."

"He's loyal," said Lorca.

Landry looked at O'Malley with approval for the first time. "Then he's one of us."

With his attention on the task of moving Larsson, O'Malley did not see the wistfully appreciative smile on Lorca's face. Larsson was probably a hundred pounds heavier than O'Malley and watching O'Malley grunt and strain was like watching a live comedy routine being performed for a private audience. Lorca shook his head in amusement.

A message came in over the comms. The bulk of Georgiou's remaining followers had been located holed up at the far end of the palatial complex. Landry could scarcely contain her excitement as she looked to Lorca for permission.

"Go," said Lorca. Landry signaled some guards to join her and ran off with an expression of unbridled glee.

O'Malley finally managed to get Larsson over to the wall where the EV suits were. Lorca's mirth was replaced by confusion as O'Malley began to fiddle with the EV suits. He walked over, curious. "What are you doing, Mac?"

Each of the EV suits was equipped with an emergency transponder. O'Malley was stripping the transponders off and syncing them. "Making sure he gets home."

Lorca sighed. "He's dead. It doesn't matter."

"Maybe not to him. But to the people around him it does." O'Malley secured one of the transponders to Larsson's body and strapped the other around his own wrist.

Lorca gestured to two guards nearby. "Stash him in there," he ordered. The two guards dragged Larsson's corpse over to the little tea room where it would not be in anyone's way.

"What next?" asked O'Malley.

There was one important thing Petrellovitz had gotten wrong: Lalana wasn't the pet, it was the freckled colonel whose bleeding heart made him bend over backwards to please the people around him. "Now you help me flush out Burnham," said Lorca.

The message O'Malley broadcast was simple. "Specialist Burnham, this is Colonel O'Malley. Discovery sent me to collect you. If you turn yourself over to Lorca's forces, I've been assured that you won't be harmed."

Amazingly, it worked. Burnham answered. "How do I know you are who you say you are?"

O'Malley thought a moment. "Ship's a big circle."

While that snippet from Burnham and O'Malley's only previous conversation was something Lorca could have known from watching Discovery's security feeds, the thought process that played out across O'Malley's face seemed to indicate it was a genuine memory. Burnham kept her face impassive. "I'm sending coordinates to meet, and I have something with me I think you'll like." On that mysterious note, she cut the feed.

"What d'you suppose that means?" asked O'Malley.

"Guess we'll find out," said Lorca, running his fingers across the glowing pipes of Georgiou's throne. His throne now. There were a number of features on the Charon he intended to change, but the throne was not one of them. His eyes landed on the hilt of Georgiou's sword in its scabbard. The sword he would replace. Though he had not been present for the deed, he knew this was the same blade that had cleaved the nameless slave's head from her shoulders all those years ago. He had pictured that grim moment so many times, wondering what the green-eyed woman's last moments had been like. Did she fight, did she struggle? Or did she go quietly to her fate, accepting the inevitable price of his affections?

While Lorca frowned at the sword, O'Malley turned away and glanced around the throne room, wondering what the hell he was going to do once Burnham showed up and how in the hell he had gotten himself into this mess in the first place.

"You don't really have any skills, do you?" asked Lorca, beginning to wonder what exactly he was going to do with O'Malley himself.

O'Malley winced. "I can cook a mean frittata," he managed.

Lorca barked in laughter. "Useful skills!"

"A frittata is entirely useful when you're hungry," countered O'Malley. "But if you mean in the context of the Terran Empire, then probably not so much. Your lot don't seem to have much use for negotiators." O'Malley sighed, crossed his arms, and glared at the floor. The massive orb of the mycelial reactor pulsed unseen beneath their feet, a silent reminder of his supposed mission objective to disable the reactor's shield so Discovery could save the mycelial network and kill them all. Up until now, he had been using his promise to Saru as the reason why he was not completing that objective, but once Burnham turned up he was going to need a new excuse.

Lorca drew the sword from its scabbard again, spotting his reflection in the blade. At some point, the cut on his forehead had reopened and the dark smear of dried blood down the side of his face had been joined by a line of fresher red. "You could polish my sword."

O'Malley squeaked in surprise as his head shot up, then he realized Lorca was being literal.

"Wait," said Lorca, lighting up with delight, "you didn't think I meant..." His grin made it all too clear he had chosen the words intentionally.

O'Malley clapped a hand over his eyes. "I hate you!" he whimpered unconvincingly.

"What the hell would your wife think!" laughed Lorca, finding the punchline even funnier the second time around. He was still snickering when the throne room doors opened and Burnham came striding in, flanked by several of Lorca's guards and holding a phaser on a prisoner of her own: Philippa Georgiou. The laughter died abruptly as Lorca's breath caught in his throat at the sight of them both. Georgiou was glowering darkly and Burnham looked determined, confident, and strong, like his Michael.

Lorca stepped down from the dais, unable to repress the smile on his face at the sight of her. "Michael," he greeted. "What's this about?"

"I won't let another crew die on my watch, Gabriel," Burnham answered, spitting Lorca's given name as if it were an invective. She grabbed Georgiou's shoulder and pushed the former emperor forward. Georgiou stumbled to her knees. "I've been here long enough to know that if you want your claim to the throne to be legitimate, you have to execute the emperor."

A thrill of excitement pulsed down Lorca's spine and he jerked his head to the side. "And you're prepared to condemn Philippa here to death?" Behind Lorca, O'Malley stared, shocked.

Burnham remained the very picture of intense determination. "What you said on the shuttle yesterday was right. She's not my Philippa."

Lorca decided he and Sarek might have been wrong about this Burnham. She might have what it took to rule in this universe after all. "That's very Terran of you. But you and I both know that I have her now. What are you really bargaining with?"

"I think you know," said Burnham, and her voice suddenly sounded softer and warmer when she said it. Lorca's face was a question; he had no idea what she meant, so she clarified: "In exchange for my crew, I offer you me. Let them leave safely and I'm yours."

Lorca's heart skipped a beat, or maybe stopped entirely. He could scarcely believe his ears. She was offering him the thing he wanted most in the universe. There were no words equal to what he was feeling. The sense of elation made him feel weightless, the joy threatened to overwhelm, and he understood suddenly how people could cry from happiness because he almost felt like crying except there were too many people around to witness it if he did.

An edge of desperation slipped in to Burnham's voice. "Like you said, my future is here. But know this: I'm offering you my mind, nothing more."

Lorca took a breath and nodded. There was something a little too confident in it because in the back of his head he was thinking that, given enough time, Burnham might just come to see in him the same things Michael had. He was finally going to get the chance to explain everything he had done and show her Michael's vision for the empire. A vision she might find she shared once she understood it.

"Hold on," said O'Malley from the back of the room, "what? Are you—are you talking about Discovery's crew?"

Burnham fixed O'Malley with a glare that was equal parts solemn and desperate. "I am. And I'm prepared to trade myself to guarantee their safety. Yours included."

O'Malley realized Burnham thought Lorca was a threat to the people aboard Discovery. "That's not—"

Lorca raised a hand to silence O'Malley. "For you, Michael, I'll spare them. You have my word."

O'Malley realized what Lorca was doing. Now that he understood the depths of Lorca's connection to Burnham, he saw it mirrored perfectly Lalana's connection to Lorca. As Lalana was prepared to do anything to keep Lorca's face at her side, so Lorca was willing to do anything to keep Burnham's, including play into her preconceptions of him.

"Thank you, Gabriel," said Burnham, struggling slightly over his given name.

Lorca motioned the guards to take Burnham's phaser. "Until you've settled in. I'm sure you understand." Burnham handed over the weapon without complaint. Lorca stepped towards Georgiou, feeling the weight of the sword in his hand. "Well. It looks like you are destined to be betrayed by Burnhams in every universe!"

"No," said Georgiou, as darkly vitriolic as ever as she glared up at him. "I'm destined to kill you."

"Wow. That would certainly be an impressive trick," said Lorca. It wasn't much of a joke, really, but it elicited a few chuckles from the assembled crew in the room. (O'Malley did not laugh. He looked pale as a sheet.) Lorca's gaze drifted back up to Burnham. "Welcome home, Michael."

The throne room doors opened again and Landry entered, surprised to find Lorca already with an audience. "We've executed her lords and senior officers, sir," Landry reported as she joined Lorca's side. "The rest of the crew are swearing allegiance to you."

"Good." Lorca hefted the sword up and balanced the blade on his fingers. His words were slow, the exhaustion audible as he said, "I was just thinking about everyone who's ever said that victory felt empty when it was attained." He paused. "What a bunch of idiots they were."

Landry grinned in amused delight. All those months in agony booths and all Lorca had to do was come back, crack a few jokes, and suddenly everything was all better. She turned her impish grin towards Georgiou. "Did I make it in time for the execution?"

"You should broadcast it," said Burnham quickly. "Display your victory to the whole of the Empire. But first, I'd like to contact Discovery. Let them know I'm staying."

"Sure," said Lorca, motioning for the technician at the command console to comply.

While Landry briefed Lorca on the Charon's tactical situation and Burnham gave the technician her security code to contact Discovery, O'Malley took the opportunity to approach Burnham and said, "You didn't have to do that."

Burnham spoke in a low voice so the guards nearest her would not hear. "I'm doing exactly what I have to, colonel. He was never going to let me leave."

It was hard for O'Malley to argue with that, but there were things Burnham didn't know. "Look, Burnham, you don't understand, Gabriel's—"

"Discovery has dropped out of warp, sir," reported the technician, cutting O'Malley off. The ship appeared on the viewscreen behind the throne.

For most of the Terrans in the throne room, the sight of Discovery was meaningless, but not Lorca. Seeing the ship again, he felt the same sense of elation and pride as he had the first time he set eyes on its sleek nacelles and the rings of its saucer. The ship was so beautiful, but his enjoyment of it was bittersweet. The ship had given him so many incredible gifts and now he was trading it for one final gift: keeping Burnham at his side.

Lalana would be disappointed, but she was safer on Discovery than among Terrans. At least he could get Petrellovitz back now.

"Hail them," he ordered.

It took Discovery a moment to answer. Saru's face appeared on the viewscreen.

"Mister Saru," said Lorca. "It's good to see you. I'm glad I got a chance to say goodbye to you and the rest of the crew. I want you to know that my admiration for you was and is sincere. When I look at you, I see the formidable unit of soldiers that I sculpted. If I thought for a second that any of you were capable of relinquishing this cult-like devotion to the Federation, I'd enlist your skills today."

"We are not interested in your sentiments," said Saru sharply. "Where are Specialist Burnham, Colonel O'Malley, and Lieutenant Larsson?"

"Larsson didn't make it," said Lorca, "but O'Malley and Burnham are fine. You don't die today because she chose to stay by my side." It was important to make that public, to make sure Burnham thought she needed to stay with Lorca.

"I would like to hear that from her," said Saru. "You are not a reliable source."

That stung a little, even if it was the honest culmination of every lie Lorca had told in the other universe. He stepped aside so Saru could see Burnham and O'Malley.

"I'm where I need to be, Saru," Burnham said. "This is my place."

O'Malley visibly swallowed. "I'm sorry, this hasn't gone according to plan."

Saru had the unsettling feeling O'Malley's apology had nothing to do with Larsson. "That is all I needed to see," Saru said. There was a tone of finality in his words that struck Lorca as slightly odd. His brain sluggishly attempted to parse this incongruity.

Not quickly enough. Burnham whirled towards the guard nearest her, tore the weapon from his hands, and kicked him to the ground at the same time as Georgiou, still kneeling on the ground, spun and swept the legs out from under the guard next to her and took his weapon.

Lorca turned away from the transmission, drawing his phaser, and Landry began firing her rifle, but Burnham and Georgiou managed to dodge, Burnham spinning backwards to safety. O'Malley dove towards the command console for cover.

Burnham was badly outnumbered. Saru did the only thing he could do to help her from Discovery's bridge and shouted an order to fire.

Discovery's phasers struck the Charon right above the throne room. The blast shook the room down to the supports. Debris rained down from above and flames erupted across the floor and walls. Lorca was thrown to the ground, not by the debris, but by the nearest guard covering him to protect him. He could feel the impact of heavy rubble through the guard's body and heard a crack as something broke the guard's back and turned him into dead weight. Lorca crawled out from under the guard's body and staggered to his feet.

Georgiou and Burnham were on the other side of the room, cutting through Lorca's forces with ease. After so many months spent in agonizer booths, the guards were simply no match for a pair of well-fed, well-rested opponents.

Georgiou had found a small dagger and came menacingly towards Lorca through the smoke and flickering flames. She lunged at Lorca, but he managed to grab hold of the hand with the dagger and tried to wrench the weapon away from her. When that failed, he smashed his head against Georgiou's face. The force of the blow knocked her free from Lorca's grasp and he was forced to dance away from her in steps that mimicked the dance he had done over the years to escape her mercurial bloodthirst in a disturbingly literal sense.

He knew that dance well, and as the adrenaline washed away every iota of exhaustion, he managed to get hold of Georgiou's arm again, this time spinning her around into his grasp entirely, hugging her to his chest to use the full advantage of his strength to immobilize her. He turned the knife in Georgiou's hands towards her and tried to force it in the direction of her chest.

In an incredible feat of flexibility, Georgiou kicked her leg up and around, hitting Lorca in the face and staggering him back. She followed up with a kick that sent Lorca back to the ground and he rolled to the side, reeling.

Two guards arrived, charging Georgiou. The first fell as Georgiou's knife sliced across his neck, the second dropping to a devastating assault of blows to the head from Georgiou's fists.

As Lorca regained his footing, he saw Burnham pressed up against the wall and the glint of a blade near her throat. He grabbed the first thing he saw—Georgiou's gaudy sword—and swung it, slicing Burnham's assailant across the torso.

Too late he realized it was Landry. She fell to the side, winded by the blow and unable to catch her breath from the gash to the lungs.

Burnham seemed not to care that Lorca had just saved her at the expense of his own second in command. Her hand closed around a strip of dislodged metal and she swung at Lorca. He stepped back, eyes widening. Then he felt a sharp sting in his shoulder as something struck him from behind. Georgiou, sticking him with her little knife from across the room.

Before Burnham could take advantage of Lorca's shock and distraction, another of Lorca's guards charged, trying to tackle Burnham and managing at least to keep Burnham occupied while Lorca reached around to try and dig the knife out of his shoulder. He managed to get his fingers on the blade and pull it free. (For once, Georgiou had not hit her favorite, unreachable spot.) He saw Georgiou coming at him again and he threw the knife at her but it clattered to the side, deflected by her armor.

Lorca still had Georgiou's sword in hand. He forced her back with it, movements slow but strong, and managed to drive her towards the stairs leading up to the dais. Georgiou tripped back onto the ground as her foot caught the edge of the steps.

Lorca swung the sword again, but Georgiou's hands found a piece of piping and she swung back at his legs, knocking his feet out from under him. Lorca fell with an angry yell. He swung the sword again as he staggered back up, but the blade struck the metal pipes of the throne, sending a painful shock up his arm. He struck out at Georgiou with his boot, kicking her back, but she managed again to dart away from the wild swings of the sword, and as the sword struck the throne again, it fell from his hand.

The sword's loss seemed to be for the best. Lorca had always preferred manual combat to blades. He punched at Georgiou, pressing her back into the ring of glowing pipes and using the advantage of his reach and strength. As they traded blows, he finally came out ahead, his fist striking Georgiou's face hard enough to drop her.

He turned to assess the tactical situation. O'Malley was at Landry's side, applying pressure to her wound, and Landry had pulled O'Malley's head down towards her so she could say something to him, spraying bloodied spittle onto O'Malley's cheek in the process. Burnham was finishing up with the last of the guards.

There were no guards left. Burnham and Lorca were the only ones still standing. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments and then Burnham was charging across the room at Lorca. She struck at him with quick jabs. He only blocked, refusing to initiate any attack on her. He grabbed her arm, pulling her close. "Wait!"

She ignored the request. She twisted and punched, her attacks relentless. Lorca tried to pin her arm behind her and tried again: "Stop!" Again she twisted again and struck at him. He managed to grab her arm and pull her in close again. "Don't make me have to kill you," he begged her through gritted teeth.

"You won't," she snarled at him.

She kept attacking. He blocked and blocked and then she kicked him, hard, and he let out a wet groan of pain. This time, as he staggered back, there was no one to come to his aid. Burnham lunged forward and pulled Lorca, flipping him over her shoulder.

Lorca rolled back towards the throne and found his feet only to discover Burnham pointing a phaser at him. He stared at her, hurt and confused. He was doing everything he could to try to get her to see he was not her enemy. He never had been.

The anger in her face was familiar. It was the same anger he had seen in his Michael so many times, but hers had always been directed at Georgiou, never at him. He realized she hated him the way Michael hated Georgiou. That hurt more than all the bruises and cuts and pain he felt across every inch of his body at this point.

"We would have helped you get home!" Burnham shouted. "If you had asked." Her breaths were heavy from exertion, each sentence a staccato declaration. "That's who Starfleet is. That's who I am."

Lorca swallowed. As if it had ever been that easy. As if anything was that easy. Even Starfleet was not that generous and kind. They had proven as much at Pahvo when they deserted the Pahvans to the oncoming Klingon onslaught. That's who she thought would have helped him? Disloyal, pretend explorers who lacked even the strength to help themselves or the integrity to stand by their ideals when it really counted? Did she know how ridiculous her assertion sounded?

Then the hatred faded from Burnham's face. She lowered the phaser. "That's why I won't kill you now."

Lorca exhaled in relief.

"But I will!" came an angry shout from behind as this time Georgiou hit her favorite spot, but not with an agonizer, with the sword. It pierced Lorca's back near his spine, went straight through his armor and his ribs until the tip of the blade was jutting out eight inches from his chest.

Lorca's breath was an anguished whine through his throat. Georgiou wrenched the blade back and he stood there, feeling a wetness trickle down his back and a tremendous pressure in his chest unlike anything he had ever experienced. His impossibly bright blue eyes stared desperately at Michael.

At Michael. In the moment, he saw his Michael. He slid forward, managing a step towards her, reaching his hands out towards her. "We—we could've—"

Burnham looked at him, shocked, apology written over her features as obviously as anything had ever been written on his, but she did not reciprocate his desperate attempt for human contact. She stepped aside, unwilling to offer him even a moment's comfort, unwilling to even pretend it. As much as there was an apology on her face, there was no compassion, only revulsion.

He fell sideways, onto his knees at the top of the stairs. Georgiou opened the hatch in the floor that led to the mycelial reactor and kicked Lorca forward, sending him rolling down the stairs towards the waiting void.

Something crashed into Lorca from the side, pushing him away from the opening, and he was enveloped in a blinding white light.

Part 95

#Star Trek Discovery #fanfic #fanfiction #Mirror Lorca #Gabriel Lorca #Michael Burnham #Emperor Georgiou

[team-mtal]

For Cassandra55/AskTeamSHRD

RWBY & All associated trademarks are property of Rooster Teeth (RIP Monty Oum)

I claim no ownership of anything except my own original characters.

I am making no money from this.

This story was written as part of the RWBY OC Secret Santa project started by AmericanAnime26 on Tumblr, because the idea of using someone else’s OCs sounded like a fun challenge and honestly because OCs need some more love in the Fandom.

Team SHRD is the property of @cassandra55/@askteamshrd on Tumblr.

Team SHRD – Counter Attack

It had been several long months, a continuous cycle of battles that took every ounce of the young Hunters strength, cunning and willpower just to survive to see another day where they would proceed to launch themselves into the fray once more.

Team SHRD had no regrets, they’d chosen this for themselves. Ever since the fall of Beacon Academy the second year Haven students had been at the forefront of the battle against the Creatures of Grimm, the monsters emboldened by the dread and anger permeating seemingly every town and village.

The first stop of their mission was a brief stay at their leader, Sylvane Hamelin’s, home on one of the small island settlements just of the coast of Vale where the members of Team SHRD who still had families to write to did so, ensuring that their relatives knew that they were alive and as safe as they could be considering their trade. From then the four teens had made their way onto the continent of Anima, several of the port cities scattered around the expansive Kingdoms’ coast were accepting refugees from Vale and the ships carrying them needed as many capable fighters as they could find, the horrors that lurked in the ocean were inevitably drawn to the beleaguered souls within the vessels and Team SHRD had faced off against nightmares made of teeth and tentacles alongside older Hunters and sell-swords until they mercifully spotted land on the horizon.

From there things had been no easier, Team SHRD had continued onwards, trekking through the wilderness of Anima and lending their prowess to those villages and convoys in need of them along the way.

Which brought them to their current predicament.

“MOVE!” Sylvane’s order came out in a frightened scream as their quarry dove. The lean and petite girls’ hands flying to her mouth as two of her team-mates narrowly avoided harm. Demian, the sombre crow Faunus perpetually clad in dark clothing leapt backwards, wings unfurling and carrying him to safety; his twin shotguns Life and Death firing relentlessly. Hunter Woods, the tanned Vaccuan whose Faunus Heritage most people never suspected until he removed his sunglasses was pulled to safety by the final member of Team SHRD; Rosalya Crystallite

“Thanks for that Rosa” Hunter drawled out, his accent becoming more prominent as he nodded to his team-mate; the tall and athletic Cat Faunus retracting almost invisibly thin wires back beneath her gloves.

“Regrouping may be the most sensible option available to us at present” she noted, glowering at the Grimm which was now circling above them with distaste

“Sylvane, call it!” Hunter demanded, their leader didn’t hesitate

“Everyone group up, watch each others backs” her team hurried to act on her orders, Demian reaching her first and giving the girl he saw as his sister a little gentle teasing as they stood back to back

“And you though I was exaggerating when I said Anima was a hellhole”

“Kinda” she admitted with a scowl, her time in Mistral had been brief as she’d been a student of Haven only a few months before Team SHRD made their way to her native Vale for the Vytal Tournament.

“This is some bullshit” Hunter growled, swiftly changing his weapon from its’ double ended spear form into a longbow and triggering his Semblance ‘Far-sight' every feather of his targets’ underbelly became visible in perfect detail to him and he seemed to instinctively know which way the Grimm would turn next; he let loose a single arrow and the Grimm shrieked as it found its’ mark, joining dozens of other such injuries that had failed to bring it down

“This is absurd” Rosalya huffed indignantly as she drew her daggers, known as the Ethereal Dance; feline eyes narrowed “I thought the Beringrel were offensively resilient but this beast simply refuses to be beaten”

“Oh it’s gonna get beaten” Hunter snapped “Cos I did not, I repeat did NOT leave Vaccuo just so I could get killed by an Oum damned Hummingbird Grimm!”

“We need a plan” Demian turned to Sylvane, both hopeful and reassuring; seeing her uncertain glances he added “We’re miles from any civilians, don’t worry about collateral or anything else. Give the order and we’ll follow”

“It’s preparing to dive!” Rosalya interrupted, having been keeping watch over their target

“It’s gonna do that thing with it’s voice!” Hunter added

“Take cover!” Sylvane’s instruction was quickly followed; the woodlands they were fighting in were far from dense, something that allowed the Grimm far more manoeuvrability but there were enough trees for each of the four Hunters to scatter and duck behind one as the Grimm swooped down to attack.

They’d been told by the settlement that had hired them that this particular monster was called a Distorter due to some of its’ particular capabilities. It was smaller than the average Nevermore, though larger than the Hunters locked in battle against it; its’ wingspan however was easily a dozen feet, atrophied limbs lay flat along its’ belly while its’ talons had adapted into curving scythe like blades that raked the ground as it dove while its’ beak was a narrow point, almost as long its’ body and covered in small ridges and hook like protrusions. Its’ underside was unprotected while its’ back was covered in the bone coloured carapace common to the creatures of Grimm.

“Cover your ears!” Hunter warned, a moment later the Distorter let loose a terrible sound, its’ entire body vibrating as it dove towards where Team SHRD had been, the noise was deafening and seemed to attack several octaves at once. Both painfully high pitched and low enough to be felt in ones chest; as it reached the ground the Distorter lowered its’ beak, the protrusion still subject to ultrasonic vibrations as it tore another long gouge into the ground.

“Okay I think I have an idea” Sylvane called out from behind the tree she was using as cover “Demian can you get me airborne?”

“With my wings no, with my Semblance….give me a minute”

“We may not have a minute” Rosalya interjected as the Distorter wheeled around again. Sylvane chewed her lip nervously, this was going to require some daring.

“Demian, use your Semblance get me up there. Hunter, cover Demian until I give you an opening-”

“You got it”

“Rosalya. I need a distraction”

“Understood” the feline nodded, a small smirk twisting the corners of her mouth as she prepared to leap from cover “Permission to wreak havoc?”

“Granted” with that single word the plan flew into motion. Demian crouched and focused, his Semblance was known as Arcane Runes. The abilities had been described by his former associates in the White Fang as 'Our own Schnee Glyphs’ though this was never done directly to the Crow Faunus’s face. A series of geometric shapes formed from pure Aura flickered around him, gradually taking shape and becoming more solid while Demian desperately tried to block out the sounds of Rosalya taunting the Grimm with her particularly expansive vocabulary.

“Demian, I don’t want to rush you but she can only use her Semblance for so long-”

“Ready” Sylvane was cut off, Demian wiped sweat from his brow and turned to his team leader “Your chariot awaits” Sylvane couldn’t hide an excited grin as she took in the construct Demian had produced; a Nevermore made of pulsating obsidian; the edges of its’ form tinged with the deepest purple. As she clambered on Hunter lowered his sunglasses, letting the concern in his vibrant green and distinctly inhuman eyes show

“Be careful”

“I’ll try” she used one arm to hold herself in position while her free hand rested on ’Ratten Choir’, her weapon was currently in its’ flute form at her hip “Demian, I’m ready when you are” with a silent nod Demian urged his construct into motion and with a flap of its’ mighty yet intangible wings the Nevermore took to the sky

“Oh wow” Sylvane gasped as she looked down on their impromptu battlefield from above “Rosalya really did mean havoc” her Atlesian born team-mate had sheathed her daggers and was relying on the wires hidden within her cybernetic hands which were in turn masked by her gloves, the prosthetics had been a secret that not even her team had known about for their first few months together. She was also making use of her Semblance 'Nova' simultaneously demanding the Grimm’s attention yet making herself nearly impossible to hit as she became the epicentre of a sphere of golden light, a precursor to her teleportation. Each time the Distorter swooped low Rosalya vanished, though not before pulling the Dust infused wires taut and severing the trunks of the trees they were wrapped around at the time, causing them to fall directly into the Grimm’s path.

“A little closer, a little closer” Sylvane urged the construct despite knowing that it had no will of its’ own and was controlled solely by Demian. Eventually however she drew near enough to leap from the back of the conjured Grimm onto the genuine monster and hold on for dear life as it thrashed in mid air to dislodge her. After what seemed like a terrified eternity of struggling she managed to withdraw her flute and bring it to her lips and use it as an amplifier for her Semblance, known as 'Choir' which granted her the ability to hypnotise through music. As the first few notes of a haunting melody from her childhood sounded the Distorter fell silent, bent to her will though it struggled against her and Sylvane knew she had mere moments, even with her weapon boosting her natural abilities

“HUNTER!” she dared to lower Ratten Choir from her lips for long enough to give the signal, immediately returning to the instrument and forcing the Grimm to dive directly downwards. The ground rushed up to meet her and the thought that this wasn’t going to work filled her with dread despite the adrenalin high coursing through her veins. She was proven wrong however as her friend came into view, leaping from branch to branch of the remaining trees, spear at the ready

“DO IT!” she released her control over the Grimm and shifted Ratten Choir into its’ weapon form, a whip. The Distorter had a brief moment of control over its’ own body, enough to widen its’ eyes in fright before its’ skull was skewered by Hunter’s spear. The Grimm’s body instantly began to fade away into wisps of insubstantial darkness; thankfully Sylvane’s whip had already ensnared a tree branch and she caught hold of Hunter as they both fell, allowing them to make a return to the ground that would later be described as needlessly dramatic.

“That” Rosalya noted pointedly as she made her way over to them “Probably counted as an egregious violation of several dozen Atlesian Military codes and could at the most generous be described as foolhardy….It was also quite frankly the most fun I’ve had in months” there was a collection of soft chuckles from the team, even Demian joining in as he drew close

“I’ve got you” Rosalya took his arm and draped it over her shoulders, seeing that he was evidently drained by maintaining a construct of such size and complexity

“That tune you were playing?” Hunter raised an eyebrow, Sylvane squired with embarrassment as she realised that her inner child had been on display for a few moments “Wasn’t that the Dragon Zord theme?”

“Be quiet” Sylvane hid behind her hands amidst a chorus of laughter. As it died down she drew her Scroll and began typing out a text message. Thankfully the CCT had been restored to an extent that allowed communication within the Kingdoms if not between them; a reply came soon

“They know the Grimm is gone?” Demian asked quietly, Sylvane nodded, tilting her Scroll so that the message from the governor who had tasked them with the mission was visible

“Yeah, they have payment in full and we have a ride to Mistral. We should be there by tonight” there were smiled all round, though there was a trace of concern in Demian’s obsidian eyes and his next words seemed forced

“Home sweet home”

The innkeeper, who honestly only though of himself as a barkeep due to the simple fact that very few people who actually had enough money to purchase a room for the night would choose to do so in this particular part of Mistral was having a strange week. It had started with a stranger whose name he never learned first enquiring about of his regular patrons, then returning later to inform him of the mans’ untimely demise in the line of duty and pay off his not insubstantial tab. Things apparently were going to continue to be strange if the trio of people he guessed to be in their late teens was anything to go by.

The one doing the talking was a young man wearing sunglasses despite the setting sun and iron-grey clouds holding the threat of rain overhead, clad in a brown trench-coat and fedora, his voice having a noticeable accent to it. Of the two girls with him he surprisingly to the innkeeper deferred to the smaller Huntress, barely more than five feet tall and wearing a frilly outfit of teal and white matching the flowers in her flowing silvery hair while a black corset accentuated her figure. The final member of the group stood behind them and a little off to the side, tall and frankly a little imposing, her bearing that of a highly disciplined soldier; this Huntress wore a white coat over a golden outfit, matching her ivory locks which seemed to fade to a pale champagne colour at their tips while her hands were completely covered by a pair of gloves

“You’re looking for a room?” the innkeeper asked with a confused stare and a raised eyebrow after sizing up the newcomers “Here?”

“Yeah, here” the young man nodded “You’ve got rooms right?”

“I’ve got rooms if you’ve got money” the bald man grunted

“Show him what we just got paid for that job” the Hunter laughed, the shorter of the two Huntresses stepped forwards and displayed her Scroll, the innkeepers eyes widened more than a little at the almost endless stream of payments this group seemed to be receiving; none of them especially large bounties but the sheer volume of them spoke to their skill and drive

“Okay, I’ll get some keys now. Just the three of you?”

“Four” the Huntress corrected “We weren’t sure what your policy on weapons was so our friend is outside holding ours” the innkeeper gave a deep rumbling laugh

“Oh you kids are funny, polite but funny. In this part of town everyone’s carrying. Tell your friend to come in” the taller Huntress made her way to the door and called in her team-mate, apparently named Demian. When he entered the innkeeper’s blood ran cold, the teen was pale with unruly black hair and dark clothing carrying a plethora of weapons but what drew his attention were the ebony feathered wings wrapped around his shoulders seemingly for warmth

“FUCK NO!” he spat, suddenly furious “NOT A FUCKING CHANCE, NO FAUNUS!”

“Really now” the Hunter with the Vaccuan accent drawled out, tone suddenly icy as he lowered his glasses. The innkeeper gulped as he realised that he was not staring into the eyes of a human “Cos I count three Faunus and only one racist” the taller Huntress was stalking towards him and the innkeeper glanced at her eyes, gulping as he caught sight of vertical slitted pupils

“Hunter this vile bigoted reprobate isn’t worth our time. He certainly isn’t worth our Lien”

“I don’t have to take this in Vaccuo and I don’t have to take it here either” the man, now known as Hunter insisted “Demian, pass me-”

“No” the smaller Huntress cut him off “We’ll find another hotel….one that doesn’t smell like vomit and wet dog” Hunter glowered at the man for a few more seconds

“Fine, whatever” as he turned and stalked away his team-mates followed, Sylvane throwing one last barb

“I get why the place is empty now, the owner’s a jerk” the innkeeper wisely chose to keep his mouth shut.

The four of them were still wandering through Mistral’s streets half an hour later when the heavens began to open, a fine drizzle that soaked them to the bone as a warning for the deluge to come. Hunter was still fuming

“But seriously though? No Faunus?….The fuck does this guy think he is. Demian come on man surely you wanted to break his nose? I mean me and Rosa can pass for human….You must have gotten that all the time living here”

“I did” Demian admitted with a shrug “But I’ve broken more noses, jaws and limbs than I can count. Hasn’t made the world any less cruel” there were a few moments of awkward silence as the Crow Faunus’s friends were reminded that he had been party to what some would consider atrocities before Rosalya stepped in, with her usual pragmatism

“We can debate the benefits of fracturing the bones of cretinous racists later. Right now we need somewhere to sleep, Demian you’re from Mistral. Do you know anywhere?”

“I can think of a few places we could go….Not sure that they’d be safe for Sylvane though”

“Why wouldn’t they….oh” his friends eyes widened as the realisation hit her “White Fang?”

“Mostly just sympathisers” Demian answered before a thought occurred to him “Although….there is a place not too far from here. It won’t be cheap and it will be filled with criminals. It’s actually a place that’s considered neutral ground by the different gangs in the city”

“Oh we have a few places like that back home, cool” Hunter noted cheerfully

“This has the potential to become….Volatile” Rosalya noted “Hunters tend to be fairly easy to identify and it’s very unlikely that members of the criminal underworld would appreciate our presence”

“We probably wouldn’t be the first Hunters to turn up looking for work” Hunter shrugged; Sylvane let out a scandalised gasp and Demian playfully covered her ears and retorted in an affronted whisper

“Don’t say things like that….let her keep her innocence for the love of Oum” Hunter was doubled over laughing at his partners’ overly theatrical display while Sylvane herself merely pouted before taking charge

“Okay, let’s go”

It took them a little longer to find the hotel than expected. By the time they arrived the sky had darkened completely and they were thoroughly drenched, wiping rain slicked hair from their eyes and hoping that they didn’t track too much mud into the reception area with them

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Sylvane chirped excitedly “It looks so fancy”

“You don’t become a mob boss just to sleep in a motel” Hunter murmured with a shrug while Demian and Rosalya took stock of their surroundings, the feline Faunus feeling quite at ease amidst the luxurious red carpeting and mahogany and golden décor, it was the other patrons of this establishment that could be seen milling about at the bar visible from the receptionists desk that concerned her. Demian was quite the inverse, he’d very rarely spent time in such comfortable accommodations and when he had it had been a prelude to something that he now looked back on in disgust. Criminals of any variety however, were honestly a source of comfort, a sign that no matter how desperate Remnant became some things would never change. He was disturbed from his musings by a gentle nudge from Hunter

“Couple of Faunus staring at us near the back left corner of the bar, they’ve been pointing at you” Demian discretely turned, making it appear as if he were preening his wings as he peered over his shoulder in the direction his partner had specified. His stomach lurched when he realised that one of the group was wearing a jacket with a symbol depicting three claw marks over the right breast; displaying their allegiance to the White Fang with pride.

“So it’s bad then?” Hunter muttered, seeing what little colour Demian’s face had drain away “Wanna start shooting”

“We shoot anyone in here we’ll have Mistral’s entire underworld looking for us within the hour”

“Figured as much” Hunter snorted “Ah well”

“But they’re in the same position” Demian mused, quickly glancing to where Sylvane and Rosalya were in the process of booking a room for the four of them he made a decision “Wait here” without waiting for a reply he made his way into the bar, through the glass doors separating it from the reception that he noticed were bulletproof. As he drew close to the group of half a dozen Faunus he realised that they were all young, barely any of them older than himself and each of them was painfully green, lacking the composure that came from fighting the White Fang’s bloody campaigns for years. They were also whispering nervously amongst themselves while casting glances his way

“Told you it was him” the one Demian guessed to be the oldest, an insect Faunus of some variety whose antennae twitched nervously breathed out

“You told them I am whom?” Demian demanded, voice a low whisper; pouring every ounce of menace he could muster into his facade

“The harbinger of death” a moose Faunus with the physique that could probably flip a truck by hand answered, though she seemed unwilling or unable to meet his gaze

“Dude….you’re like the bogeyman but cool, they say you and Adam Taurus tore an entire Atlesian robot factory apart one time” another clearly new recruit added

“I have never been on a mission with Adam Taurus in my life” Demian managed to pass off his surprise as merely disgruntled. Was it possible that they didn’t know that he’d defected from the White Fang

“Really?” the insect Faunus seemed shocked “I thought you were both in Vale together, that’s why you were deep cover as a Haven student right?” Demian fought the urge to curse, this could either be a blessing or catastrophic depending on his next words

“We both had our own jobs to do. We both succeeded” he was rewarded by a chorus of cheers from the White Fang initiates who all seemed eager to shake his hand; amidst all the half drunken babble one of them said something that made his heart stop

“You’re here for Sienna Khan’s funeral tomorrow night right?”

“Still can’t believe that a fucking Hunter got her….right there in her chamber” another added

“At the usual place?” Demian enquired, hoping his tone came across as merely conversational. There was a clearing outside of the Kingdoms’ walls where the White Fang would honour their dead with a greatly reduced risk of being raided by the authorities. He received several confirmations that this was indeed the case before silencing them with a wave of the hand.

“I’ll be paying my respects….But I need to borrow one of your masks” he forced a wry smile onto his face “Mine is still in a Beacon Academy dormitory and it would be rude of me to appear before High Leader Khan without one” the table became a hive of frantic scrabbling as each of the initiates struggled to be the first to give their mask to one of the White Fangs’ most prominent fighters, even more feared than the dreaded Bane-Saw. Taking a mask from a canine Faunus whose tail wagged so fast Demian feared it may come loose, the Crow Faunus pocketed it and rose to his feet

“Tomorrow then” he struggled to keep the stoic demeanour he’d been known for as an enforcer in place as he turned to leave, hoping the whole time he walked back to the rest of Team SHRD that the White Fang grunts couldn’t see his knees shaking.

It had taken Demian most of the following day to convince his team-mates that the solo mission he was currently embarking on wasn’t as suicidally risky as it sounded, longer still to convince them not to covertly follow him and even now as he made his way towards the hidden clearing which would hold Sienna Khan’s funeral pyre he was not entirely convinced that he would be able to enter, take stock of the condition of the White Fang and leave without incident. Nervously he ran his hands through his hair and his eyes darted around searching for any sign of movement between the trees from behind the unadorned gunmetal mask of an initiate; Demian allowed himself a moment to idly wonder how long it had been since he’d last worn one of these until sounds reached his ears, cheering in the distance. He was close.

After several more minutes of walking, heart pounding in his chest at a rate that seemed to increase with every step the crowd finally came into view and Demian realised he wouldn’t be able to see a thing from the ground. Thankfully the idea of someone wanting a better vantage point would raise no suspicions here and with a single flap of his wings and a powerful leap he managed to perch himself on a low hanging tree branch, eyes widening as he took in the sheer scale of Sienna Khan’s funeral. Faunus wearing the colours of every chapter of the White Fang could be seen below filling the entire clearing with a bustling mass of bodies around the as yet unlit pyre and the platform beside it from which eulogies would be given; the crowd stretched out into the trees and Demian fought against the urge to shudder as he saw the people responsible for keeping order at the event; the Praetor Cohort, clad in crimson and wielding monstrous Dust powered halberds these were Sienna Khan’s elite guard; each of them had probably done things that even Demian with his moniker of 'Harbinger of death’ would have balked at and each of them were more than capable of mowing down an entire team of Hunters, or an entire paladin of the machines Atlas insisted were fit to fight wars. And there was the crux of Demian’s suspicions and misgivings, Sienna Khan had been assassinated and the Praetor Cohort hadn’t paraded the body of the Hunter responsible through the streets in retaliation, Mistral’s news outlets from what Team SHRD had managed to learn from spending their day at a library had said nothing, combined with the sheer volume of White Fang members gathered on short notice at a time when communication between Kingdoms was still reduced to written letters it was clear that something was going on.

Demian’s thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt as he suddenly became aware of the deafening silence. The air itself seemed to become still as upwards of a thousand Faunus waited with baited breath; a procession made their way into the clearing, a dozen Praetors flanking a single figure clad in black

“Here we are” Demian whispered to himself, this was what he was here for. The identity of Sienna Khan’s successor would heavily dictate the direction the organisation moved forwards in and he was determined to find that information first hand. As the crowds parted around the guards Demian caught sight of a flash of swept back and spiked crimson hair and everything seemed to stop, blood ran cold in his veins and his ears were filled buzzing as the entirety of his consciousness was devoted to processing the fact that he was looking at the worst thing in the world.

Adam Taurus was the new High Leader of the White Fang.

The Bull Faunus made his way onto the platform, still flanked by guards and when he spoke his low, silky voice carried so that every Faunus present could here it

“BROTHERS AND SISTERS OF THE WHITE FANG. HERE LAYS OUR GREAT LEADER SIENNA KHAN! HERE LAYS ONE OF THE GREATEST WOMEN I HAVE EVER KNOWN! KILLED BY THE HUMANS AND I WILL NOT FEEL FIT TO TAKE UP THE TITLE LEFT TO ME UNTIL I ENSURE IT CAN NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN!” Adam paused, allowing a moment of anticipation from his now captivated crowd before delivering the words that sent them into a crescendo of bloodlust “BY MARCHING ON MISTRAL AND LAYING WASTE TO HAVEN! THERE WILL BE NO MORE HUNTERS ON ANIMA!”

“I am so sorry” Demian whispered out to team-mates that weren’t there to here it as he drew his shotguns “I’m sorry I’m not coming home” he combined the weapons, with a series of mechanical whirs and clicks which were lost in the cacophony coming from below and a moment later he was bringing the scope of a high powered sniper rifle to his eye. He could kill Adam Taurus here and now, but he knew he’d never make it out alive. It was a sacrifice that he was more than willing to make, he just hoped his friends would understand.

“Lower the weapon” a gruff rumbling voice demanded as a gargantuan paw like hand settled on the back of his neck, Demian struggled not to whimper as he felt claws digging into his flesh, reaching for his pulse

“I said lower the weapon” the voice was more insistent and Demian complied, loathing himself as he separated the rifle into its’ twin components and holstering them, daring to turn his head a fraction he was perhaps more surprised than he should have been to see the hooded and masked face of a Praetor staring back at him, what he was right to be stunned by however was the mans’ next actions; namely lowering his Dust halberd and pushing his mask up so that rested atop his head beneath the hood that was still pulled low

“So it true then, you defected. Long time no see Demi”

“Blue?” Demian gasped out at the familiar face of the bear Faunus he’d begun his own meteoric rise through the ranks of the White Fang alongside “You're….You’re a Praetor?”

“A recent promotion” the words sounded as though they left an unpleasant taste in his old friends’ mouth “After the purge”

“Purge?” Demian’s eyebrows raised enough to be visible above his mask “After Sienna?” he nodded downwards to wear Adam was now holding the torch that would light the pyre

“Who’re you here with?” Blue demanded quickly, seemingly just as nervous as the Crow Faunus he’d caught about to commit murder “You doing this for the council?”

“No” Demian shook his head vehemently, he may have left the Fang but he still had some very specific opinions on the Kingdoms’ ruling body “My team just got back, we’ve been helping refugees from Vale. I just came to scout” there were a few seconds that seemed to stretch for an eternity while Blue weighed up his options, when the Praetor spoke it was in a hushed tone that conveyed indescribable fear

“There was never a Hunter. Adam purged the Praetor Cohort of anybody who wouldn’t swear loyalty to him….the day before he killed Sienna”

“What” Demian breathed out as his mind raced at a mile a minute, connecting the several disparate pieces of information he had at his disposal into a truly horrifying greater picture. Adam had orchestrated the fall of Beacon, Adam Taurus was notoriously heavy handed even amongst the White Fang, having seemingly no issue with dispensing collective punishment on entire families, if Adam had managed to seize control of the entirety of the organisation by force then the amount of different chapters accounted for suddenly made sense, they already knew to be on the move before Sienna’s death had even occurred. Demian fought the urge to vomit as the realisation washed over him like a tidal wave of icy dread

“He planned this all along. Attacking Haven isn’t just him giving the troops something to rally behind-”

“No” Blue confirmed “He killed Sienna because she wouldn’t give him the go ahead, then used her as a martyr for his cause….and it gets worse”

“How?” Demian demanded “How can it get worse”

“It’s not even about equality any more” Blue gave a bitter laugh “He’s found his old partner after she escaped Beacon. She’s gone home to Menagerie….Adam has ordered Ghira and Kali Belladonna dead and Blake brought in alive”

“He can’t be serious” Demian’s wings fluttered in agitation “Kali Belladonna was a Praetor, one of the first” the idea of sending an assassin against someone who had spent a large portion of their life preparing for just such an eventuality seemed ludicrous, that was saying nothing of the fact her husband was the chieftain of the island

“He sent Brother Yuma” if it were possible Demian’s blood ran even colder. Adam Taurus was an amoral fanatic, Demian himself had once been considered a cold and detached enforcer, Brother Yuma was something else entirely. Brother Yuma was a monster

“Oh my Oum”

“I know” Blue shuddered, shaking his head as he lowered it; unable to meet his old friends’ eyes as they discussed what he’d been party to

“There’s a raid on a Dust mine tomorrow” Demian’s eyes narrowed at the information

“Blue swear to me this isn’t a trap”

“I swear” the Bear Faunus promised, voice wavering “Everything’s gone crazy and I don’t think we can stop it. But we can at least slow things down until the people who can show up”

“If anyone can” Demian sighed, allowing himself to feel a little of the soul crushing weight seemingly settling on the shoulders of every Hunter on Remnant “What do you know?”

“Just the bear necessities” Blue grinned “Atlas closing it’s borders wasn’t accounted for, Nobody thought they’d actually do it. Have you got a map on your Scroll, I’ll show you what you need to know”

Hunter Woods returned to the hotel room still wearing a mischievous grin caused by the reactions of the hotel staff to the several bags of what was clearly fast food of the exceptionally cheap and greasy variety. Hunter found the staff here to be far too uppity considering that this hotel was a den of thieves, killers and mobsters; even if it was a very comfortable room.

“Honeys I’m home” he called out over the sound of Sylvane’s flute, his leader often played to herself to calm down after a mission while her two pet mice did something that could best be described as dancing. Hunter was never quite sure if was of the animals own accord of Sylvane’s Semblance compelling them, at this point he was a little afraid to ask.

“Hey Hunter” Sylvane chirped happily, ending the melody abruptly as he entered “Ooh you got it, smells nice, thanks” Hunter handed the bag over, knowing better than to get between Sylvane and the absurd amount of food she could put away, she was already loosening her corset in anticipation. The Vaccuan turned his attention to the other occupant of the room

“You want food? If you don’t get it soon she’ll have inhaled it all” Rosalya didn’t turn to to face him, she was currently sat at the room’s dresser with her gloves removed, something that would never occur in the presence of people she didn’t trust implicitly

“I’m not hungry” she stated bluntly, brow furrowed as she examined the inner workings of her prosthetic hands in excruciating detail. As she removed an almost microscopic mote of dust marring some of the impossibly sensitive workings with a pair of tweezers, Hunter almost managed to break her focus with his next words

“He’s gonna be fine. Worrying about him so much it puts you off your food won’t help none”

“I’m concerned about a team-mate doing something potentially reckless, nothing more” the ivory haired Huntress answered, perhaps a little too suddenly. Hunter and Sylvane gave each other knowing looks which Rosalya pretended not to notice, in her team-mates minds the fact that she’d felt a need to object at all spoke volumes.

“So we didn’t find anything in the recent newspapers at the library” Hunter drawled with a yawn as he stretched himself out on his bed, thoroughly unused to such comfortable surroundings “What do we do if Demian doesn’t find anything?”

“We could always check in at Haven” Sylvane suggested “I know classes aren’t in session but we’ve gone for a while, we should probably let Professor Lionheart know we made it back to Mistral”

“We should check the assignments in the city square” Rosalya countered “As pleasant as being back at the Academy would be the fact remains we’re Hunters. If there are people in need then we have a duty”

“True, true” Sylvane nodded through a mouthful of ludicrously unhealthy food “It’d be nice to catch out breath for a little before we head back out though….What about you Hunter?”

“I’m not too sure” he shrugged “But the guy at the take out did mention that there were some other students Hunters in town recently….Ya think it might be worth seeing if it’s anyone we know?”

“Maybe” Sylvane gave her own shrug, before she could add anything the door to the hotel room flew open; the trio of Hunters instinctively diving for the weapons only to pause when they saw the identity of the newcomer “Holy Oum don’t scare us like that” Sylvane chided with a laugh, her cheeriness fizzled out as she took in her winged team-mates appearance; paler than even his normal pallid complexion, sweating and his hands and wings shook as he tried to steady himself with deep breaths

“What’s wrong?” Rosalya was naturally the first to ask “Are you okay?” feline eyes were wide in shock as she watched the normally somewhat detached teen struggle to regain his composure

“Adam Taurus. The Adam Taurus who led the White Fang in Vale is now the leader of the organisation as a whole” the words took a few moments to sink in, all of them had been present at the battle of Beacon though only Rosalya seemed to grasp the severity of Demian’s news

“The one with a vendetta against the Schnee Dust Company….That is….Unfortunate” Demian gave a bitter laugh

“Unfortunate, yeah let’s go with that” the crow Faunus finally managed to appear something approaching calm “There’s a mining facility not far from Mistral’s borders. The White Fang are planning to hit tomorrow evening as the sun sets; if we can’t stop them then they’ll have everything they need to launch an attack”

“Oh shit” Hunter’s eyebrows rose “They’re out for blood after Sienna-”

“Exactly” Demian nodded “So we need to either make a plan to fight them or make a plan to get people as far away from Haven as possible; that’s the target”

“You think we’d run?” Hunter demanded, frankly more than a little affronted

“I think you’d be an idiot if you didn’t at least consider a retreat”

“He’s right” Rosalya added “Adam Taurus with a larger and more capable force at his disposal is a prospect to be feared. There’s a reasonable chance that we might fail to slow down the White Fang’s preparations-”

“We’re not running” Sylvane asserted bluntly, rising to her less than impressive full height with all the authority she could muster “We’re going to stop them tomorrow. We might not be able to win a war against the White Fang but we don’t have to, we just have to keep winning individual battles and forcing them to pull back”

“I’m with the little lady” Hunter beamed, eagle eyes positively shining with anticipation; as a Vaccuan born Faunus he had a special brand of distaste for the terrorists than presumed to speak for his people

“Please don’t call me that” Sylvane whined, the image of a battle hardened commander crumpling instantly. Attempting to maintain it she turned back to Demian, the crow Faunus’s wings had wrapped around him in a display of nerves “How did you find out about this?”

“Adam used Sienna Khan’s funeral as a rallying cry, everyone knows about the attack on Haven” he answered with a grimace “The attack on the Dust mine is being kept quiet though, I heard about it through an old contact pretty high up”

“Will Adam Taurus be there in person?”

“No” Demian allowed himself a small smile as he delivered possibly the only titbit of good news he had

“Then we can do this” Sylvane gazed at her team, filling with determination and hope “We will do this”

“We need information” Rosalya cautioned as she slid her gloves back over her hands, having discretely reattached the outer casings over the course of the conversation

“I know the exact location, who’s leading, how many people and their overall plan” Demian managed to reflect some of his leaders’ optimism, he may view her as a younger sibling but he would openly admit that Sylvane was a constant source of inspiration to him

“Good work” Rosalya beamed, pretending not to notice the slight blush that crept across his face, the two shared a look that lingered for a few moments until Sylvane spoke again

“Okay, Demian you know the White Fang better than anyone else. Rosalya you’re the brains, I can think of the fly but you know how to sit down and plan. Hunter-”

“Yes Ma'am” he chuckled

“You know how to get down and dirty”

“Damn right I do”

“So” Sylvane’s face split into a comically wide and childlike grin “Let’s figure out how we’re gonna save a Dust mine and save Haven”

It was almost upon them. Team SHRD had spent the majority of the evening plotting out their strategy to counter the White Fang raid followed by getting more sleep than any of them would have believed before the fall of Beacon, the idea of such peaceful rest before what was to come would have been unthinkable to them less than year ago. It had taken them hours to successfully infiltrate the premises, Demian had stated that his contact didn’t know of any White Fang operatives inside the mine, in fact it seemed that every Faunus working there had been laid off soon after the attack in Vale under a number of flimsy pretexts; though Team SHRD contained two Faunus who were more than capable of passing as human and were as such unwilling to take the risk of informing the manager of the facility, knowing that there could still be spies inside.

“Anything guys?” Sylvane asked as the four of them lay flat against the roof of an office building situated to the side of the mine itself. The mine was hidden within a towering mountain, the majority of the Dust situated below ground and the waterfall which had once cascaded down its’ side had been frozen solid by the Ice Dust, were it not been stripped for its’ resources it would have been breathtakingly beautiful. In front of the office was a wall easily twenty feet tall, tipped with razor wire and made of reinforced Atlesian steel, the checkpoint being the only entrance into the facility; less than a quarter of a mile in the distance a fence made of several lays of interwoven chains formed another barrier against intruders. The sun setting on the horizon bathed everything in a golden glow

“Not yet” Demian murmured tonelessly, his shotguns combined into their sniper rifle form allowing him to peer down the scope and augment his already greater than human vision.

“I can get a better look” Hunter offered, green eyes glowing as he activated his Semblance and stared intently in the direction that the White Fang would be arriving from. Eventually his expression darkened into a determined scowl. Withdrawing his weapon and deploying it in longbow form he nocked an arrow tipped with a black crystal that glistened and shimmered in the failing light; a Gravity Dust tip, a common addition to Hunters’ arsenal when armour piercing rounds were a necessity.

“They’re coming?” Sylvane breathed out, tone finally betraying the nerves creeping up on her

“Half a dozen trucks” Hunter confirmed “I can see the driver at the front, definitely Fang….I can feel the bad vibes coming off 'em” a little known fact of Hunter’s Semblance was that it did more than magnify his vision, it allowed him to see the unseen; to a limited extent he could read the strongest emotions of those he saw"

“We’re prepared, we’re determined, we’re ready” Rosalya affirmed, though her fingers drumming against the roof with a metallic clang gave away her apprehension.

“She’s right” Demian, surprisingly was the one to offer support “Either way, it’s time” his ebony wings tensed as the trucks came into view. With a slow exhale her disconnected Life and Death before recombining the Shotguns in a new configuration, their much less frequently used grenade launcher mode.

“Wait for it” Sylvane whispered as she drew Ratten Choir in its’ flute form, watching intently as the first of the trucks made their way through the first checkpoint “Wait for it….NOW!”

In a single moment the world seemed to be torn apart in a cacophony of sound and explosions. The moment the last truck had made its’ way beyond the chain fence Demian launched a grenade into the cab of the first truck, Hunter sending an arrow sailing into the wheel of the rear truck. The thunderous blast had the intended result, alarms began to blare and the gates at both checkpoints began to slide closed even as White Fang fighters poured from the trucks desperately searching for the source of the attack. The leader of the group was evident, they were the Faunus flanked by a trio of the Praetor Cohort.

“Oh my Oum what’s happening?” a frightened voice from below shrieked, Sylvane’s cue to act. She brought her flute to her lips and focused on the terrified office worker struggling to comprehend the scene from her window. The first few notes of the melody which carried her Semblance brought the young woman under Sylvane’s control and compelled her to follow a single imperative; raise more alarms and get to safety.

“UP THERE!” the White Fang had spotted them, if the shout didn’t confirm it the incoming maelstrom of bullets did

“Everyone knows what to do!” Sylvane yelled as she leapt from the roof, the rest of Team SHRD launching into action after her. Hunter stayed in position on the roof, bow sending arrows that burned, froze, electrocuted and exploded into the roughly two dozen attacks and their vehicles as his friends made their landings.

“Kill the traitor!” the leader of the attack bellowed as Demian landed, wings tucking flat against his back. From this angle it was clear to see that the leader of the group was a Crocodile Faunus with a countless teeth intended to tear flesh from bones “Bring his head back to-” he was silenced by the blinding flash of light caused by Rosalya teleporting beside him and launching a devastating offensive with her daggers. The first wave of grunts to try and act on the commanders’ final order found themselves halted by a barrage of arrows then swiftly countered by Sylvane whose whips wrapped around the chest of an emperor penguin Faunus, the weapon retracted allowing the minute Huntress to deliver a brutal drop kick and begin the task of taking down any fighters that weren’t picked off by Hunter’s marksmanship.

All that was left for Demian was the task of fighting a trio of Praetors alone, a herculean task that more experienced fighters would have paled at.

“Come” the crow Faunus’s voice came out in a dull monotone as the trio charged, halberds raised “I am death. Death can’t be killed” he found himself fighting a shudder at the ease with which he slipped back into the cold and merciless of persona of 'The Harbinger of Death’ the first of the elite fighters to reach him, a tusked Walrus Faunus found Death levelled at his face and discharged at near point blank range; the blast fuelled by Fire Dust engulfing his skull ensuring that even if his Aura held he would be blinded and deafened for a few moments. Demian followed up by throwing Life into the air and activating his Semblance, a single rune made of flickering darkness conjuring a small knife in his palm which was buried in the Praetors’ thigh as he crouched under the wide slash of the second attacker. Firing Death into the Mantis Faunus’s gut he charged forwards and caught Life as it fell, firing over her shoulder at the third Praetor. The Mantis Faunus tried to stab at his stomach, a pair of hastily conjured runes caused a pulsating wall of obsidian darkness to appear between them, slanted at an angle that caused it to catch Demian’s aggressor squarely in the throat when he sent it flying forwards. As the Mantis struggled to rise, her mandibles clicking angrily, Demian aimed Life and Death and let the shotguns roar; explosive and incendiary rounds laying waste to the asphalt. His tactics were dirty, disorienting and intended to stun before delivering a finishing blow. The terror tactics of the White Fang enforcer he’d been a lifetime ago, old habits it seemed, died hard.

A bellow of rage behind him alerted Demian to the Walrus Faunus returning to his feet and charging, despite blood flowing freely from a gash in his right leg that was clearly hindering his movement. Demian threw his left arm out in a wild swipe, the barrel of Life striking the man across the cheek and sending a web of cracks along his mask. The Crow Faunus felt his heart stop in his chest when he pulled the trigger and heard nothing but an empty click. There was no time to reload

“Y'know what’s really fun about bird Faunus?” his attacker bellowed as he tackled Demian to the ground, a vicious kick to the skull ensuring that he stayed down “Hollow, easy to break bones. I’m gonna crush your skull you son of a-” the sentence was cut short as the Praetor was sent hurtling back by a blast of red light, an effect most commonly associated with the Cohort’s own weapons.

“Get up” Demian’s eyes widened at the familiar voice “Get up Demi!”

“Blue!” Demian demanded as he scrambled to his feet and retrieved his weapons, holstering them “You didn’t say you’d be part of the attack!”

“Yeah well, all part of the plan” the Bear Faunus’s smile could be seen faltering beneath his mask

“So that’s how it’s going to be” Demian hissed, hands becoming wreathed in the darkness of his Semblance “You’re gonna bring me back to Adam?”

“No” Blue paused, seemingly checking that the other two members of the Praetor Cohort were indeed unconscious before removing his mask and holding his weapon out to his old friend “You’re gonna bring me in”

“What?”

“I can’t do this any more!” Blue spat “I can’t do all this grand conspiracy shit and I can’t just run away like you did! I still have a family Demi, Adam’s already proved he’ll kill people’s families if they run….I need to get captured, it’s the only way” Demian stood in silence for a seconds that felt like hours. Being the one to take away his friends’ freedom was a burden he wasn’t sure he could carry until he realised that Blue spoke the truth. There was no other way

“I’m sorry it has to be like this” he sighed as he took the Halberd and aimed

“Me too” Blue gave a nervous chuckle before the crimson burst of energy from the weapon sent him hurtling backwards, limp and unmoving. Casting the weapon aside Demian reloaded Life and Death in record time and turned his attention to the battle that had been going on around him. The trucks were utterly demolished, the smell of smoke assaulting his nostrils as several of them burned while laid on their sides. Hunter had joined the fray on the ground, assisting Sylvane in combating the clearly inexperienced grunts. His eyes widened when he saw Rosalya, the Crocodile Faunus she fought had lost his mask and several teeth while she sported a bloody nose, a gash above her right eye and her left glove was missing leaving her prosthetic hand on display; the knuckles stained with her opponents’ blood.

“Rosa get down!” Demian bellowed, using as much of his Aura as he could feasibly spare he cast a series of runes in rapid succession, the end result of which was a glowing Ursa rampaging towards the White Fang commander, with a single swing of his axe the reptilian Faunus removed its’ head and cackled

“Well looks like the canaries won’t be the only bird to die in this-” the air left his lungs as the head of an arrow burst through his chest in a spray of blood

“Their commander is down!” Rosalya called out to Sylvane “Push the advan-” her words were cut short as one of the few remaining grunts who’d watched their leader fall took the opportunity to hurl a makeshift grenade in Demian’s direction. It took the Crow Faunus an inordinate amount of time to realise he hadn’t died and the flash of light he’d seen was in fact Rosalya teleporting him to safety, swaying a little and leaning against him in exhaustion.

“They’re getting away damn it!” Hunter barked, it was true the Crocodile Faunus still lived despite the heavily bleeding hole in his chest and the White Fang still capable of doing so were fleeing from Team SHRD on foot.

“Let 'em go” Sylvane ordered, seemingly struggling to stand; coated in dust, sweat and blood “We can’t catch 'em all”

“We’re going to struggle to detain the criminals we’ve already apprehended” Rosalya noted with an uncharacteristic smile. As if in answer to her statement the reinforced gate of the second checkpoint began to open and a dozen armed guards poured into the area; an upwards glance revealed just as many taking up sniping positions on the wall itself. A middle aged woman whose uniform marked her out as some form of authority tipped her cap in the teens’ direction as she strode over

“Sorry about the response time. That was some impressive fighting, when did you kids graduate Haven?”

“We didn’t” Hunter snorted, earning himself a wide eyed stare of disbelief

“Ma'am” Rosalya saluted “Will you need our assistance in tracking down the White Fang that escaped”

“That won’t be necessary” the head of security returned the salute and gave a confident smirk “When I heard the alarm go off I got in contact with an old friend, he said he’s gonna send some people over. They should be here right about-”

“LET’S START THIS PARTY WITH A YANG!”

“Nora! SMASH!” Team SHRD turned, their expressions united in comical disbelief as they watched the almost cartoonish display of over the top showmanship that the newcomers dispatched the escaping raiders with

“Wait….” Sylvane struggled to contain her disbelief as comprehension dawned on her “Don’t we know those guys?”

“I believe the one using the hammer to….oh my, can a spine do that?” Rosalya gasped “I believe she was one of Pyrrha Nikos’s team-mates”

“Huh” Hunter shrugged “The chick on the bike, didn’t she shoot Mercury Black in the leg….sweet, that guy gave me the creeps” Demian had been too absorbed by the novelty of watching a small Huntress with a red cape, Ruby if he remembered rightly, perform something that resembled a slide tackle at roughly the speed of sound. The mention of Yang Xiao Long brought him to his senses

“We have to talk to them” he sighed “Yang is partnered with Blake Belladonna. She has to know how much trouble Blake is in….I think we’re going to need each others’ help before too long” Team SHRD shared a glance before Sylvane stepped forwards

“Agreed. Let’s go give 'em a warm Haven welcome”

Authors Notes:

let’s summarise:

Team SHRD are doing what I imagine a lot of student teams are doing while the Academies are closed, fighting the good fight in any way they can. Also who wants a Team CFVY spin off series where they’re trying to rebuild Vale after the battle of Beacon? I don’t know if Cass agrees with me but I can’t look at Hunter’s design and not hear a southern drawl. I have no regrets for making a Hummingbird Grimm, none at all. I think that was a pretty nice take down, a good introduction to the teams’ abilities for people who are meeting Team SHRD for the first time. Yes the Dragon Zord theme….It’s a weaponised flute, there’s so many references I could have made; I was tempted to have her player “Lugia’s theme” from Pokemon 2000. Yes it’s the bartender from Vol.5 with the 'No Faunus’ sign outside. Vaccuo is canonically not as racist as the other Kingdom’s a Vaccuan Faunus in Mistral would be in for a culture shock….Which makes me want Sun Wukong’s back story, why did he move to Mistral. The idea for the hotel as neutral ground is from John Wick 2. The 'Praetor Cohort’ are my own invention for this story, I headcanon that those guards around Sienna in Vol.5 are her own personal elite guard; she was the one who made the White Fang more militant, it makes sense that she’d have something like that. I think most Hunters that knew what Adam Taurus was capable off would happily trade their lives for the lives they’d save by assassinating him. Blue the Bear Faunus; yes he’s a jungle book reference….So I had to find a way to work the words “Bear necessities” in somewhere. I have a headcanon that Kali is stupidly bad-ass, so she was a Praetor in this. Anyone else utterly let down by Brother Yuma? Okay, so Cass mentioned she was originally going to ship Rosalya and Demian and reading the bios available for them it just seemed natural to tease and hint a little by having Rosalya be just a little bit Tsundere. I think my frozen waterfall Ice Dust mine is cool, but still not as cool as the floating islands….Seriously RT were holding back waiting til Vol.5 to drop geography like that on us.

#rwby #rwby oc #secret santa #rwby oc secret santa #rwby secret santa #submission

[my-dear-hammy]

The Ship Wars: Pirate Au

MasterPost

Chapter Index

Chapter Twenty-Five

Reeemergence

----

Warnings: Nothing

----

Maybe, in John's language, evidently meant not that interested. It only made Hamilton more frustrated. Some would say sexually frustrated since he'd probably broken a personal record for longest amount of time without a fuck. He'd probably relieve himself later that night when he was alone and left to his work. All John ever did now was stare out at sea, looking for something. Whenever he wasn't working that is.

They'd been spending their days training the new crew. But Hamilton was waiting for the day Jefferson tracked him down again. His name hadn't been on the casualty report John had managed to get his hands on all that time ago. It was only a matter of time before he showed up on the horizon. The thought filled Hamilton's body with hot anticipation. The thrill of the chase thrumming through his veins, an opponent actually worth Hamilton's time.

No one else seemed that thrilled by the idea.

Hamilton leaned against the helm, watching with interest as wood got scrubbed an polished. Ropes and knots and bindings checked and rechecked. Water and food storage accounted for. Daily grind of life between battles. It's been far too long. A heavy sigh and his arms slipped from the helm and his feet swiftly descended the stairs, thudding across the deck all the way to the bow. A spyglass was whipped out from his coat and scanned the horizon. For anything. The crew was getting impatient. Hamilton even more so.

His eye finally caught on the hazy, distant blur of a ship on the horizon. Orders were immediately being shouted to readjust their direction and pick up speed. Slowly, the distant ship cleared. "Run up the flag boys."

Tall red sails drew nearer. Shit. Pirate Hunter. Alright then.

Pirate hunters were tricky. Specifically trained to hunt down pirates and end them. Of course, they'd never been a problem for Hamilton before. But his confidence had recently taken a major blow. He grit his teeth and spun on his heel, a brisk pace back to the helm. Orders were being shouted and the ship was suddenly a flurry of activity.

Distance was closing and it wouldn't be long before they were in range. Hamilton presented their broadside, ready to fire, waiting. Almost there. He lifted his spyglass again. The other ship was flying up signals.

"A request to board?" Hamilton questioned out loud. "They must think I'm insane to allow them to board my ship."

"Alex," Laurens rolled his eyes. "You are insane."

"Good point."

"It's under a flag of truce. Evidently, they want to talk," Laurens said. "Just sink them and be done with it."

Hamilton watched considering. "No. I think I'll see what they want."

"It's going to be the usual, surrender in the name of the king bullshit. Just skip the middle step and fire. They're within range now."

Hamilton watched the ship approach for a moment longer before turning to the crew. "Prepare to be boarded!"

Laurens scowled. "You never listen to me."

"I do, my dear Laurens, but this is one of those moments when I am right and you are wrong. There is a reason I am captain and not you."

"Yeah. Because I didn't bother trying for captain. And just when I thought your ego wasn't over inflated."

The conversation cut off as the other ship pulled right alongside of theirs. "Well I'll be damned," Hamilton grinned, descending stairs and approaching the boarding planks. "Maria! What are you doing out of the water and on a ship?" he called.

"Saving your worthless ass again," she said.

"Oh? From what, pray tell?"

"A slow and fiery death," she answered. "I've been teaching someone how to sail," she hummed, picking her nails."

"Yes, and I see they've been teaching you how to dress, now that you're out of the water." The white silken dress was now the trademark, white billowy shirt and gray breeches disappearing into the knee-high supple, leather boots. She wore a black tailcoat that fit her frame beautifully. The red coral that used to rest upon her head and mark his clearly as a nereid was now a deep red feathered hat, shielding her eyes from the blinding sun. Hamilton decided women dressed as men was a huge turn on. "Who're you training?"

"Me," said a soft voice. That voice would always be soft, but now it was laced with something. Burning passion. A bit of hardness from seeing the cruelness of the world.

Hamilton straightened automatically, his eyes landing on the woman who had stepped up next to Maria. She was dressed in a very similar fashion. Only, white breeches, a soft blue coat, and nothing atop her head except the soft hair that was currently tied back. "Elizabeth," Hamilton said. "What is a nice girl like you doing on such rough seas?"

"Sinking horrible men like you," she answered.

"And doing a wonderful job of it," Maria hummed with pride, pleased with how well her teachings were going.

Hamilton smiled sheepishly. "What started you on this path? Last I met you, the most you wanted was a domestic family life." Which Hamilton had been unable, or unwilling, to provide.

"Some asshole sunk my ship on my way to England. There was almost no reason for it and lots of innocent people died."

"That's horrible," Hamilton said with false sincerity.

"You know who it was?" Eliza asked.

"No, who?"

"You."

Oh. Oh. Hamilton blinked in response and was fairly certain he could faintly hear chortling and muttering something about karma from Laurens.

"I should sink your ass to the bottom of the sea," she went one, picking her nails.

"Ah, you would not be the first to do that," Hamilton replied with a small grin.

"No, but I'd be the last," she said, meeting his gaze. "I vowed to sink your worthless ass and it's been my mission all these long and brutal months. A woman captain is frowned upon."

"I'm aware. What makes you think you could kill me, Eliza? You're a gentle soul. You don't belong on these seas."

"No, I'm just going to throw you in the brig and deliver you home to hang. For a fair trial as well. See, Maria here had been coming to your defense. She does represent everything good about the sea after all, but even she agrees you're not one of them."

Hamilton had no response. Scorned women were not his strong suit. Especially the ones that wanted to kill him. He knew that he had no chance against Eliza. Even though he couldn't provide the life she wanted, a part of him still cared for her and he certainly didn't want to see her harmed. Eliza slowly drew her sword and rested the tip at Hamilton's throat. "You're coming with me. If you do so willingly, I'll spare the rest of your crew and perhaps provide you with better quarters on the trip back."

A grin split Hamilton's face. "I didn't mention something and I feel it's very important." His gaze fully took in Eliza. "You look delectable dressed as a man. It's...arousing."

"You're disgusting," she scoffed. Hamilton shrugged and did something he'd never seen himself doing. Surrendered his sword and with a backward salute to John, who's been standing, sword drawn, ready to leap to his defense, and went with Eliza to return home and hang.

Surely his skill would get him out of this situation like it did all the others.

----

[jouissezduprintemps]

Masquerade

Rating: T Words: 3380 Fandom: Naruto Summary: Another incredibly self-indulgent fic with Halloween themes, just to cover all the cliche fanfiction bases. The gang puts on a Halloween bonfire on top of Hokage mountain. Tenzo is disappointed when Kakashi doesn’t attend. Kakashi ANBU era. KakaYama.

It was a longstanding tradition for the young ninja of Konoha to spend Halloween on top of Hokage mountain. For the most part, the distance from the village proper kept them out of trouble and, more importantly, away from any impressionable children. It was a fair compromise; the older adults had them out of their hair, and they could do pretty much whatever they wanted without getting into trouble. So long as the Uchiha police force was left out of it, no one bothered them. Naturally, it became a cherished event that required a community effort each year on the part of its participants.

As the son of the hokage, Asuma put on a show of organizing the event. He did it to try to build up some good standing with his father in case things went sideways, but Lord Hiruzen didn’t need to know that. It was dusk on Halloween when he and Kurenai arrived to set up. Wood needed to be gathered for the bonfire, tables set up for food and drink, and a general eye kept on the situation.

Asuma was a sight, bare-chested and wearing a leather skirt, which he insisted on (incorrectly) calling a tunic, piling firewood in the middle of a well-used pit. His cape, shield, and gladiator mask sat out of the way where Kurenai busied herself setting up the sparse furniture.

Like her companion, she also wore a cape tied around her shoulders, black overtop a ruby red gown. Her eyes were heavily lined and her lips were painted dark, while her fangs made her the perfect vampire. Asuma only stopped making terrible innuendos at her choice of costume when she threatened to leave him alone with the set-up, and a temporary truce had been called for his sake.

Iruka, ever-helpful, arrived just as the sun set, bringing several bags of snacks along with him. At sixteen, he was one of the youngest members of their little group, and he had almost been forgotten in the preparations. With less time to come up with a costume than he would have liked, he settled on a makeshift werewolf outfit. Without a mask, he’d painted the tip of his nose and wore a pair of ears he’d found at one of the stores that were still open. He’d taken an old pair of gloves and added fur to the backs, creating ‘paws,’ and his hair was down and purposefully disheveled. He hurried to Kurenai and helped her get the food he’d brought out into bowls.  

It was painfully obvious that Izumo and Kotetsu had just finished their shift at the gate. What little forethought they put into the event had them trade clothing and accessories, which they proudly declared as a stroke of genius to go as one-another. Asuma was going to berate them, but the cases of alcohol they’d procured quieted him before he could. At least they put a little effort into something.

Anko arrived with Genma in tow just as Kurenai threw a match onto the bonfire. Genma was wrapped from head to toe in medical bandages, clearly attempting to dress as a mummy. Anko apologized for taking so long; Genma had gotten halfway through when he decided that wrapping himself was too much trouble. Genma blamed Anko, who wouldn’t let him go ‘as a mummy-human hybrid,’ for their tardiness. She made a sound too much like a hiss for comfort, and he couldn’t be sure if she did so because she was dressed as a cat or if he was about to be on the wrong end of her serpentine jutsu.

Bickering broke out between Anko and Izumo when they realized they’d both brought alcohol, insisting that the other had agreed to bring food. Iruka attempted to step in, informing them that he’d brought snacks of his own accord, but he retreated before they could turn on him. He received a pat on the shoulder from Kurenai for his valiant effort.

The fight came to a sudden halt when Tenzo appeared, walking backwards as he guided Guy down the path. Guy was wearing an inflatable sumo wrestler costume, much to his own delight and Tenzo’s inconvenience. Unable to see his own feet, Guy had required his assistance getting up the uneven mountain terrain, and Tenzo had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course, Guy could have waited to inflate his costume until he reached the top, but that would have been far too easy.

Tenzo was dressed like a knight in shining armor, only missing a horse to ride in on. He was fighting with the faceplate of his helmet as he continued to motion Guy forward, stopping him when the ground became even. “There. Just… try to watch where you’re going?” he requested, large eyes filled with worry that his friend might just fall off the mountainside.

“Thanks for your help, friend!” Guy beamed his trademark smile and slapped Tenzo on the back hard enough to make his faceplate fall. With a huff of exasperation, Tenzo removed the helmet altogether, earning a gasp from Kurenai.

“Your hair!” she exclaimed, drawing attention to the newest arrival.

Tenzo smiled awkwardly and scratched the back of his head, where his now-short hair stuck out at odd angles. “Yeah, I cut it,” he admitted, as though it wasn’t obvious. “Is it that bad?” He’d hoped that cutting his hair would make him a little less androgynous, as his frame had started to fill out in his shoulders and chest. To him, it just didn’t look right anymore.

“It’s not bad at all,” Asuma assured him. “Hell, you could pass for my age, now!”

“You look hot,” Anko added her support. “I mean, you were cute, but now you’re hot.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Tenzo chuckled. He brought the bags he was carrying over to Kurenai, who was relieved that he’d brought more food. They’d probably have people coming and going most of the night; their small group would ride it out, of course, but not everyone wanted to spend their night drinking around a bonfire.

The moon began to rise as familiar faces came and went from the gathering. Hayate stayed for just a few minutes before leaving for guard duty, unable to stay. Those who had the night off were making the most of it. Someone brought along music and a stereo, which livened the crowd considerably. The space between the bonfire and tables became a makeshift dance floor that Anko didn't hesitate to join.

Tenzo sat by the fire, bottle in his hand as he scanned the crowd. He'd assumed that Kakashi would be here; if his friends extended the invitation to Tenzo, he almost always made sure to show up. As of yet, his senpai hadn't shown his face. Despite his best efforts not to look depressed, Iruka noticed his aura and sat down beside him. The werewolf bumped him lightly with his shoulder, inquiring "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Tenzo lied. "I'm just not good at parties." To his relief, his companion seemed to buy it.

“Me, either.” Iruka spared a glance over his shoulder at their companions, most of whom were thoroughly enjoying themselves. “Kurenai invited me when we ran into each other at the store. I felt like I couldn’t say no. And, well, she and Asuma disappeared almost a half hour ago.”

“Yeah, sounds about right,” Tenzo chuckled, setting his empty bottle down by his side. He extended a gauntleted hand to his companion. “Tenzo,” he introduced himself.

Iruka shook his hand, responding in kind. “Iruka. So, don’t know anyone here, either?”

Tenzo shook his head. “No, but look.” He used his index finger to indicate his friends in the crowd. “Like you said, Kurenai and Asuma are just gone. Izumo and Kotetsu,” he pointed to the pair, who were engaged in a drinking contest, to the amusement of those around them, “no way I’m getting in the middle of that. Then there’s Anko and Genma,” he gestured to the group dancing nearby, “who definitely don’t want a third wheel, the way it’s going.” He shook his head in amusement. “And then, there’s Guy.” His flamboyant friend was dancing erratically in the way only he could, as others gave him a wide berth due to his costume. “I’m pretty sure Kakashi stayed home, so here I am.” He shrugged.

Iruka snickered in amusement. “I’d toast to that.”

“One sec.” Tenzo pushed himself up from the ground and skirted the edge of the dance floor, slipping past to the tables of food and drink. He grabbed an unopened bag of chips and two drinks to bring back to his new friend, in a much better mood now that he had someone to talk to. Rations in hand, he turned around and ran headlong into another partygoer. “Shit, I’m sorry,” Tenzo apologized, dropping his cargo to catch the man’s forearm, keeping him from stumbling at the impact.

“No, it’s my fault.” The man steadied himself, clearly trying to save face. He was clad from head to toe in black, his eyes covered by a mask and his hair hidden by a black bandanna. A sword hung from a belt around his hips, and the apologetic smile he gave made Tenzo forget to breathe. For a fleeting moment, the beauty mark on the left corner of his chin and his dark eyes gave Tenzo a feeling of déjà vu; his thoughts were interrupted when he was handed the provisions he had dropped.

“I believe these are yours, Sir Knight.”

The man’s eyes glinted in a way that Tenzo couldn’t read. He felt frozen in place, somehow managing to ask, “I’m sorry, who are you?”

The man held his arms out to either side of him in a vibrant gesture. “I’m a pirate. I guess it’s not as obvious as I thought.” He drew his sword for emphasis, twirling it in his hand once before sliding it back into his scabbard.

“No,” Tenzo shook his head. “I mean, what’s your name?” To prompt his acquaintance to answer, he added “Mine’s Tenzo.”

A smirk pulled at the corner of the man’s lips. “Ah, but, see, you’ve ruined it. There’s no mystery left to the knight in shining armor.” He made a tutting sound as he took a step closer. Leather made contact with Tenzo’s skin as the man ran his index finger just below his jawline, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “I’m disappointed.” The man broke his gaze away from Tenzo to look past his shoulder. His eyes darkened in a way that made Tenzo’s pulse rise. “It seems you’re wanted elsewhere, Sir Tenzo.”

He’d completely forgotten about Iruka. The poor guy probably thought Tenzo had abandoned him. Although, if he was honest with himself, he was incredibly tempted to do so. He turned around and saw Iruka standing, looking through the crowd from beside the bonfire. When Tenzo looked back, the man was gone. Heart pounding, he purposefully made his way back to the fire, conscious of every step he took. Apparently, he appeared as shaken externally as he was internally.

“You okay?” Iruka asked, voice filled with genuine concern.

“Yeah,” Tenzo murmured unconvincingly. He sat back down and opened his bottle, draining half in one go. The last few minutes were best kept to himself. Who would believe him if he told the story? He stared into the flames, trying to forget what was almost certainly a drunken daydream. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn he saw jealousy in those eyes.

Iruka decided not to press him. Trying to regain the cynical merriment they felt earlier, he lifted his bottle to Tenzo, asking, “To shitty friends?”

Tenzo chuckled. “You know it.” He clinked his bottle against Iruka’s, and they both drank to their toast. Iruka launched into a story about his latest mission, and Tenzo paid him half of his attention, just enough to nod and respond at the appropriate times. His eyes searched for the man dressed in black, and he used his sensory perception to probe for unusual chakra. There were too many foreign chakra signatures for him to sift through, and he didn’t think to get a reading when the man was in front of him. Remorsefully, he decided that the man in black had probably left.

Two drinks later, and Tenzo was able to give Iruka his full attention once more. Both men had forgotten their disappointment at being left by their friends, and they thoroughly enjoyed one-another’s company. Iruka finished the last of his drink and sighed, looking up at the sky. He studied the crescent moon before declaring, “I think I’m gonna head out. It’s getting late, and I was asked to substitute at the academy tomorrow.”

Tenzo snorted his amusement. “You’re going to be hungover around a bunch of kids?”

Iruka laughed, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, maybe I didn’t have the best judgement tonight.” He smiled at his companion. “But I had a really good time.”

“Same,” Tenzo agreed, sitting up straight. “Think you’ll be hanging out with us now?”

Iruka smiled to himself. “I’d like that.”

“Hey,” Tenzo spoke as Iruka got to his feet, “Study hall. Keep the kids quiet, and you can take a nap.”

“That’s a good one. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks. It was really nice to meet you, Tenzo.”

“You, too. See you around, Iruka.”

The werewolf gave a friendly wave as he left the light of the fire, and Tenzo felt content. He’d managed to become friendly with Iruka on his own, without any forced interaction. He made a point of planning to invite him to the next get-together, if Kurenai didn’t beat him to it. It would be nice to have someone his age and a little more his speed to spend time with, more so if Kakashi arbitrarily decided not to attend.

With nothing left to entertain him, Tenzo got to his feet and collected the trash he and Iruka had accumulated over the last several hours. The bonfire had begun to die, but the stragglers that remained didn’t seem to have any intention of going home soon. He disposed of their garbage and went in search of firewood; his jutsu wouldn’t be any good in this situation. The wood needed to be dry, and any he produced was still alive enough not to burn.

He did his best to skirt the edge of the party, avoiding getting in the way of any of the various pairs that had formed through mutual attraction, alcohol, or both. Once he lent Asuma and Kurenai a hand by rekindling the bonfire, he intended to head home, where he could get a much-needed shower and sleep off his drinks. Absentmindedly, he wondered if Kakashi bothered to call or send a message with today’s flimsy excuse. Doing so would be an acknowledgement of wrongdoing on his senpai’s part, so it would depend on Kakashi’s mood.

Tenzo rounded the back of the building in the direction of the nearby forest. Before he could react, his back thudded against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. He began a series of handsigns to protect himself, but he halted midway when he could assess his situation. The man in black stood in front of him, gloved hands against the wall on either side of Tenzo’s shoulders. His smile was playfully predatory. He made no move to force Tenzo to remain, but Tenzo didn’t try to escape. He felt like he couldn’t move his body even if he wanted to.

“I thought you’d left,” Tenzo stammered, inwardly cursing that the wall was made of stone that he couldn’t phase through.

“I was waiting for you to get bored of that puppy.” His eyes held the same dark look as before. “It took longer than I thought.”

“Sorry,” Tenzo apologized out of habit before realizing with a start what he’d said. What surprised him more was that he meant it. Cautiously, he lifted his hand, extending his fingers to the edge of the man’s mask. His fingertips barely brushed the cloth when his wrist was forced back, ruining his effort.

“If you keep doing that, I’ll have to leave.” The smile that followed felt like an electric shock. Slowly, the fingers around Tenzo’s wrist unfurled, releasing him.

His brain had stopped working, and Tenzo’s signals were crossed; he could blame the alcohol or the hour, or even this man in front of him. Before he knew exactly what he was doing, he had closed the distance between them, one hand on the back of the man’s neck as he kissed him hungrily. The only thought that crossed his mind was Fuck it.

Taking this as permission, gloved hands tightened around Tenzo’s hips as he fell back against the wall, pinning him in place. When teeth captured his lower lip, Tenzo moaned before he could stop himself, making way for the other’s tongue to slip inside. Tenzo’s arms moved his face to his shoulders, where a hand on the back of his head kept them together. His fingers twisted in the black fabric, unable to get ahold of the hair underneath.

They broke apart for air, and Tenzo was left panting as lips and teeth caressed and worried the skin below his jaw, trailing down to his collarbone. The temptation to give in was powerful, but the one part of his mind that remained lucid kept throwing thoughts such as ‘You’re in public,’ ‘You’re drunk,” and ‘You don’t even know this man.’ His body screamed that none of these things mattered, and when the hands on his hips moved down to roughly grab his ass, the first two were forgotten.

In desperation, Tenzo’s fingers worked against the knot of fabric that stood between him and the chance to wrap his fingers in the hair of the man dragging his tongue across his pulse point. Once he succeeded in loosening it, he tugged it away with a single, swift motion, regrettably removing the lips from his neck as he took more than the cloth back.

From beneath unruly silver hair, a now-familiar set of dark eyes looked at him in betrayal. Half-lidded as they were, they still shone in disappointment, compounded by the downward turn of the corners of his mouth. “Maa,” Kakashi groaned in frustration, “Tenzo, why do you have to ruin all the fun?”

“S-senpai?!” Tenzo was going to have a heart attack. This is how he would die, horny and surprised. It had been almost two good decades, he supposed.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” The pout in Kakashi’s eyes was reflected in a slight pursing of his lips, which Tenzo found overwhelming. His puppy-dog eyes were hard enough to resist when he didn’t have to see the rest of his face. “My kouhai is supposed to be one of the best sensory ninja we have.”

Flustered, Tenzo shook his head, trying to hide the color in his cheeks. “You were suppressing your chakra! Don’t try to make me feel bad!”

Kakashi leaned in to nuzzle the crook of his neck, speaking with his lips against skin. “So, I was just some ruffian with a bunch of lucky guesses? You wound me.”

“Kakashi-senpai...” Tenzo tried his hardest to sound exasperated.

“Mm?” He clicked his tongue when he didn’t get a response. “Maa,” he repeated, “at least now I know why you spent so long with the puppy. I didn’t think you wanted to find me.” Kakashi pulled back, his fingers brushing through Tenzo’s short hair. “You cut it.” He wrinkled his nose. “My Tenzo has long hair and would have recognized me. Who is this imposter?” His tone was playful, but he did his best to look disapproving.

“You’re dramatic.” Tenzo rolled his eyes, doing his best not to focus on the possessive Kakashi used.

Growing impatient, Kakashi pressed his body into Tenzo’s, letting his hand slip underneath his shirt. “How long are you going to complain?” he demanded, nipping at his ear. “We were having such a good time. I can put the mask back on, if it’d help.”

“Pervert.”

Kakashi hummed in dismissal, choosing to focus on something much more pleasant.

#kakayama #kakatenzo #naruto shippuden #naruto #naruto fanfiction #fanfiction #kakashi hatake #yamato tenzo #anbu kakashi #anbu tenzo #halloween fanfiction

[hunnybadgerv]

Pyrrhic Victory | Dragon Age: Inquisition

August 26: A Crossover 

(Though I know crossing over two games in the same series is kind of cheating, but that’s what I’m going with. Even though it is kind of canon.)

Summary: The return from the Fade is not the celebration Rhys would have liked.

a/n: This is a partner piece to Waking Nightmare. It kind of fits in the center of the first section of that fic.

Links: AO3 | FFnet

Pyrrhic Victory

-1-

Rhys’ knees crashed against stone, sending a jolt through his legs and a shudder through his body. The crash of shields and clang of swords rang around him, but he paid it no heed, turning back to the rift he stared at the vibrant green. He waited.

One heartbeat. Two. Five.

Finally, he swallowed the acrid lump in his throat and raised his hand. The effort was half-hearted. He hoped, somehow, he’d hear her call out, hear her ask him to wait just one more moment. There was nothing beyond the crackle of the rift, the cold pain in his hand, and the sound of battle around him. With a clap like thunder the rift closed.

The crackling quieted and the lightning faded. A sea of demons fell and dissipated like steam in the breeze; their screeches gave way to the victorious cheers of Wardens.

Despite the rush of victory, a deep hole bored through his chest. He’d left Hawke in the Fade. Guilt hollowed him into a thin shell. She’d come to help and he left her. Still staring at the site where the rift had been, a part of him hoped she would just suddenly appear.

A voice pulled his attention away from the scorched stone; his head snapped to the left. The carnage around them seared into his memory. The ranks of the wardens had been decimated by Corypheus’ ruse and his demons.

“No demon army for Corypheus,” Alistair called out to cheers from the survivors. He hobbled toward the inquisitor with a limp Rhys could not recall having noticed before.

Rhys struggled to find his voice. Eventually, he replied in a quiet tone that only the two of them could hear over the raucousness. “It appears the Divine—or her spirit—was right.”

Alistair nodded. “You know that’s not how they see it, though. They just saw their inquisitor work another miracle.”

“They came out of this alive. As far as I’m concerned, they can tell whatever stories they like,” Rhys spat. He wasn’t a miracle worker. As far as he saw it at that moment, he was a murderer. He’d traded Hawke’s life for his own. He felt like a failure, despite the blow they’d managed to deal.

“I suppose ‘the inquisitor and his warden friend escaped by skin of their teeth’ wouldn’t be as good for morale.”

Light footsteps slapped against the stone as a scout approached them. Rhys sealed his lips into a tight thin line. “Inquisitor, the archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori magister is unconscious but alive. Cullen thought you might wish to deal with him yourself. As for the wardens, those who weren’t corrupted helped us fight the demons.”

Cullen. Oh, Maker. Rhys couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about him. How could he tell his commander that he left the love of his life in the Fade to deal with a demon that surely spelled her doom? Every muscle in his body tensed up to keep him upright and his face implacable. What can I say to him?

Just days earlier Cullen had told Rhys how joining the Inquisition changed his life. He’d said that the good far outweighed the inconveniences. When the inquisitor asked what prompted his opinions, Cullen had said that it was the first time he and Hawke had been allowed to share a life rather than having to deal with quick moments of intersection. And I’ve taken that from him, Rhys thought.

Certainly, Cullen could never find it in his heart to forgive him. Rhys was certain, but he had to know the truth.

“We’ve seen no sign of Hawke since you disappeared over the ledge. We assumed she was with you,” Solas asked, stepping forward from the fray and leaning on his staff. Blood streaked across his tunic in places. Rhys couldn’t recall ever having seen Solas marred by the gore of combat before. One sleeve slit open suggested he hadn’t managed to keep his usual distance from the fighting.

A warden stepped forward holding his side. “We stand ready to help make up for Clarel’s … tragic mistake.”

“Where is the Champion? She is not with us,” Cassandra parroted.

Even she would despise him, Rhys worried. She’d sought Hawke out first to lead the Inquisition, before he stumbled into the wrong room at the wrong moment, like some lost child. And, now, he was only be the man who sacrificed the Champion of Kirkwall.

Rhys’ good eye scanned the faces. They were all staring at him. Wanted answers from him, but he didn’t feel like he had any.

“Where’s Hawke?” Varric asked, pushing his way through the crowd.

Everyone who had accompanied Rhys into the Fade looked away, leaving it to Rhys.

“Where is she?” Varric’s voice bore the same tightness Rhys felt in every fiber of his being.

He chewed on his words a moment and tore his eyes away from Varric. His voice carried through the still crowd reverberating off the stonework. “Hawke sacrificed her life to save us and strike a decisive blow against Corypheus.”

“The Champion is gone.” Cassandra said, her voice somewhere between a question and a statement.

“She gave her life not because she’d sworn an oath or been marked as special, but because someone had to do it,” Rhys told the crowd again.

Varric said nothing, but Rhys noticed him push his way back through the crowd. His heart ached for his friend. Hell, he’d only known Aderyn for a handful of months and came to care for her and call her friend.

The warden stepped forward again. “Alistair, you’re the senior surviving Grey Warden. What do we do now?”

Alistair’s gaze turned to Rhys. The inquisitor was almost grateful for the change of topic.

“You stay and do whatever you can to help. Alistair believes that the wardens are worth saving … and I trust him. You’re still vulnerable to Corypheus, and possibly his Venatori, but there are plenty of demons that need killing.”

Solas sighed and shook his head.

“After all that, you give them yet another chance?” Cole questioned more harshly than Rhys could ever recall hearing from the spirit before. “But they hurt people.”

Alistair ignored the outbursts. “While they do that, I’ll report to the wardens at Weisshaupt. Corypheus won’t catch us with our trousers down again.”

The warden looked up at Rhys then bowed. “Thank you, Your Worship. We will not fail you.”

“Good luck, Inquisitor,” Alistair said, stepping forward and clapping Rhys on the shoulder. “Tell Morrigan … ah, just tell here I stood there looking foolish.” He flashed a wry smile at Rhys, who couldn’t find enough joy in his being at the moment to return it in any way.

Cassandra’s hand replaced Alistair’s once the warden walked away to gather his men.

Rhys looked over at her. She didn’t need to say it. He knew what hollow look in her eyes meant. Rhys shook his head, then changed his mind and nodded. “Please. He likely won’t want speak to me again once I tell him this.”

  -2-

The magister despite his unconscious state had been bound and gagged at Cullen’s insistence and Dorian’s instruction. His men had done good work given how little they had to work with—the makeshift arm spreader and leather gag hadn’t been a challenge, but the silk to bind his hands into fists. Dorian had been forced to sacrifice his own sash for the purpose and did so more than happily, to Cullen’s surprise.

“Some causes are greater than fashion,” the mage had joked with the commander.

The former templar watched over both his men and their charges. His attention turned for a moment when he heard the clamor of cheers behind him.

But there was something about the thin lips and the tight trudging walk of the inquisitor that struck Cullen deeply. His eyes moved past Rhys to Cassandra, then sought any trace of wispy red waves that he should find at their sides.

“Cullen,” Rhys said when he reached him.

There was something laced into that single word that confirmed every latent fear Cullen Rutherford had carried since that bright day near the stream when he first fell into those pale blue eyes and drown.

He tried to speak, but no sound issued from his voice. Cullen just shook his head. Then took a step back, shaking his head. “No.”

“Aderyn sacrificed—”

“No!” the commander yelled in an uncharacteristically undignified way.

He could hear her voice. Just days earlier she’d promised she’d always be there with him. This could not have been what she meant.

“She saved us all.”

Cullen glared at Rhys. Fire burned beneath his skin and threatened to consume him. “Not all,” he growled. With that he turned his back on the inquisitor and walked away. He couldn’t bring himself to speak to the man, not now. If he did, he would regret every word.

Cassandra’s voice and orders to his men barely crested above the sound of his pulse. He stared out over the gulf beyond the walls that the inquisitor, Aderyn, and the others had fallen into when the dragon attacked.

At that moment, he’d thought he lost her. Then they heard the thunderclap of the rift closing and the cheering. He’d let himself hope, which just made it worse.

She’d never broken a promise to him, even the foolish impossible ones. Of course, even he knew that for all her power, she was human. And death didn’t play favorites.

Cullen fought quake in his bones. He could not falter before his men. Taking in a slow, deep breath of the chilled desert night air, he gathered some semblance of his trademark calm and turned to find himself alone on the wall. Cassandra leaned near the top of the stairs. Varric stood opposite her, looking much as shattered as Cullen felt.

The commander felt his eyes sting and his tongue tasted metallic, but with a blink and an exhale. He exerted every ounce of control he could muster over himself and walked toward them. “We should gather the troops and head back to Skyhold before daybreak,” he suggested.

Cassandra nodded and started down the stairs.

“Hey, Curly.”

Cullen stopped, swallowed, and looked at Varric.

“I’m sorry.”

With a tight throat, the commander just nodded at the dwarf and set off in Cassandra’s wake. He could grieve later.

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Fanfiction #Rhys Trevelyan #Cullen Rutherford #Cassandra Pentaghast #Varric Tethras #Badger Scribbles #A Templar's Promise #Canticle of Trials #Pyrric Victory

[hermanwatts]

Sensor Sweep: Sword and the Sorcerer, Henry Kuttner & C. L. Moore, Ian Fleming, Appendix N

Cinema (1000 Misspent Hours): Albert Pyun is another one of my great cinematic nemeses; if you watch anywhere near as many low-budget movies as I do, he’s probably one of yours, too. Pyun’s big claim to fame is his nearly sure-fire touch with what ought to be a categorically impossible subgenre, the action-less action movie. No filmmaker I know of, living or dead, can match Pyun’s ability to drag out a fight scene until the audience loses all interest, or to craft a maddeningly convoluted story that never develops even the faintest hint of forward momentum.

              Pulp Science Fiction (SF Magazines): I suspect that this was a fragment that Moore started and abandoned, and which Kuttner largely or entirely completed (compare the amount of description versus incident in the first quarter against that in the remainder, and you will see what I mean). Whatever, it is the worst thing of theirs I’ve read, and certainly not up to the quality of their other 1943 work. To that latter point—how on Earth did this become a Hugo finalist when Moore’s Judgement Night was overlooked? What on Earth were the Retro Hugo nominators thinking?

  Paperback Science Fiction (Rich Horton): On to Beyond Earth’s Gates. This is bylined “Lewis Padgett and C. L. Moore”, which is curious because “Lewis Padgett” is generally regarded as a collaborative pseudonym for Moore and her husband Henry Kuttner. I do suspect, though, that the Padgett pseudonym was probably more often used for stories in which Kuttner was the primary author (while I suspect “Lawrence O’Donnell” stories were more often primarily by Moore.)

Art (DMR Books): Over the years, Finlay illustrated stories by most of the top writers in the field, including H. P. Lovecraft, Clark Ashton Smith, Robert Bloch, Edmond Hamilton, Henry Kuttner, C. L. Moore, Seabury Quinn, Jack Williamson, Carl Jacobi, Robert E. Howard, August Derleth, A. Merritt, George Allan England, John Taine, H. Rider Haggard, H. G. Wells, Talbot Mundy, Arthur Conan Doyle, Murray Leinster, Edgar Rice Burroughs, John Collier, E.F. Benson, Manly Wade Wellman, Stanley G. Weinbaum, James Blish, Frank Belknap Long. The list is almost endless.

  Robert E. Howard (John C. Wright): This yarn truly merits the nickname later invented by Fritz Leiber for the genre of Sword and Sorcery. There is a more sword and a lot more sorcery than any Conan story to date.

The energy and action, the clash of steel on steel, so evident in his shorter works, here loose no tension on the larger canvass. Some authors who show admirable economy in the short story betray a lack of discipline in their novels, indulging in digression and needless ornament. Not so here. The rapidfire pace the Conan reader has come to expect is maintained.

        Pulp Adventure (DMR Books): The fifth installment in the serialized version of Tros of Samothrace is titled “Admiral of Caesar’s Fleet” and consists of what would become chapters 52 – 66 of the novel published in 1934. Set in the spring of the year 54 B.C., this story tells of the aftermath of Julius Caesar’s first invasion of Britain and was first published in the October 10th 1925 issue of Adventure magazine.  It is available in a number of editions in book form or you can read it here at the invaluable library of Roy Glashan.

Culture Wars (Jon del Arroz): What it comes down to is Wikipedia trying to erase mention of any of its political opponents because of its extreme left-biased agenda. It’s not enough for them to just hate and try to attack us anymore, they’re trying to erase everyone from existing — complete dehumanization — because they’ve lost all semblance of argument for their horrific behavior they’ve foisted upon us for daring disagree with their politics.

  Weird Tales and History (Tellers of Weird Tales): This week, I finished reading D-Day June 6, 1944: The Climactic Battle of World War II by Stephen E. Ambrose (Simon & Schuster, 1994). While reading, I ran across the name of a teller of weird tales, R. Ernest Dupuy (1887-1975), who, as General Eisenhower’s press aide, was first to confirm to the press that the invasion had commenced by reading the following communiqué at about 9:30 a.m. London time: “Under the command of General Eisenhower, Allied naval forces, supported by strong air forces, began landing Allied armies this morning on the northern coast of France.”

  Reading (Black Gate): It may seem a bit peculiar to write an article about the decline in reading for a site that has done so much to promote the works of writers past and present. Most assuredly, regular visitors to this site are readers. Unfortunately, they are the exception and not the rule in the present day.

During the pulp era, writers were sometimes referred to disparagingly as the Penny-a-Word Brigade. Flash forward to the end of the second decade of the 21st Century and you’ll find far too many pulp writers who would salivate at the thought of earning a penny a word for their efforts. Far too many receive no financial compensation at all, some do not even receive comp copies of their own titles.

  Robert E. Howard (National Review): Cross Plains, Texas — We start where it ended. “The car would have been sitting just about here,” says Jack Baum, a few feet behind the Robert E. Howard Museum. A small group of us take it in. Several of us squirm. This is the spot where the pulp writer put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. When he killed himself in his car in 1936, the creator of Conan the Barbarian — one of the most iconic characters to spring from American fiction — was 30 years old.

  Edgar Rice Burroughs (Erbzine): Of the several books Edgar Rice Burroughs consulted in his research on Apaches, one bore the rather cumbersome and dry sounding title: Ninth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology to the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution 1887-’88.  This five-pound plus tome (first published in 1892) was part of an ongoing set of matched volumes bound in dark brown cloth, with gilt spine lettering, bearing the imprint of the Government Printing Office, Washington, D.C.

  RPG (Bloomberg): On a recent Friday evening, Devon Chulick stood in the kitchen of his San Francisco apartment brewing potions. A dry-erase game board with a grid of black squares to assist in drawing maps was laid neatly across the coffee table in the living room, along with a dozen or so miniature elves, wizards, and drow rogues, which had been released from their Tupperware prisons.

  Ian Fleming (Elgin Bleeker): A lot of years have gone by since I last read anything by Ian Fleming. The last was Thrilling Cities, a non-fiction collection of travel essays. I found a paperback copy in a used-book store in the 1990s. But I could not tell you the last time or title of one of Fleming’s James Bond stories.

Something on-line triggered an urge to dig out my paperback copy of From Russia With Love.

  Michael Crichton (Western Genre Musings): Here we have Michael Crichton’s only Western novel published posthumously. The timeline has it written perhaps in the 1970’s and it still has the mark of his trademark blending of science and narrative, here in the form of the Dinosaur Bone Wars of Professors Cope and Marsh, actual feuding personages.

Will follow our naïve young protagonist Westward and watch him mature and learn more than a good deal along the way.

  Appendix N (Ken Lizzi): With few reservations, I applaud the list and recommend at least some of the works by the included authors. Notably excluded is Margaret St. Clair. Others (Gary Gygax, obviously) enjoy her writing. But otherwise, Appendix N gets the Ken Lizzi seal of approval. The material is primarily pulp; a good thing from my perspective. It runs the gamut from rather disposable, light entertainment to quality work of rather high literary value. Let’s call it a Fox to Vance scale, but don’t let that lead you to believe I am disparaging Gardner Fox. I like disposable, light entertainment.

    Sensor Sweep: Sword and the Sorcerer, Henry Kuttner & C. L. Moore, Ian Fleming, Appendix N published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

[wopcalmetacritic]

Flicker Review by Rolling Stone

Score: 68

Nothing can stop Niall Horan! This album had a rough life, but it's here and it stands on it's own two feet. What Niall does remarkably well is not let outside influence tackle the work that he does. For better or for worse, this album feels very true to the Irish heartthrob's ambitions. "Flicker" gives a lot and doesn't ask for much in return which makes one of the easier albums to unpack this year.

1. On the Loose 8/10

We start with a song that sounds like a passionate love letter to the dance floor filling 70's disco hits. This is a totally unexpected direction for Niall, but he comes by this style naturally and doesn't break a sweat through it's run time. Niall put himself out there early on in the album but his reach doesn't exceed his grasp. This sets up the album of a very positive note and plays very well to Horan's trademark energy.

2. This Town 9/10

One of the best ballads of the year endears the listener immediately to Niall. He sounds so honest and true in this song. The production isn't at all gaudy and let's Niall's smooth voice carry the song without distraction. What this track does well is that it allows itself to be a sentimental breakup/love song, but it doesn't allow itself to become a cliche. Horan obviously set out to do something simple and enjoyable with this track and he the mark without even trying!

3. Seeing Blind 5/10

2017 seems to be the year of highly unnecessary features and it seems like Niall fell into this trap. Maren Morris has a nice enough voice, but this track really didn't need her. What this track did need was a little lyrical fine tuning. It isn't by any means a bad song, but Niall has proven that he's better than doing basic "I love you" duets. This song is easily one of the biggest disappointments of the album.

4. Slow Hands 7/10

 This song introduced us to Niall, and for that it at least deserves recognition. Musically, this song is pretty good. The distant electric violin is something interesting (when you can you say you've heard a song utilize one as such an integral part of the melody?) and a pretty great idea. However, Niall really didn't do much impressive in the way of lyrics. In fact, the lyrics to this song are rather bland and don't make much sense. It almost feels like it was supposed to be a sexier style, but the lyrics conjure all the wrong images. But the music really saves this one and keeps it from being forgettable.

5. Too Much to Ask 10/10

Far and above the best track on the album, Niall delivers one of the most interesting pieces that we've gotten this year. This song reminds the listener of the sentiment Niall's best friend Shawn Mendes brought with his album and that is high praise. However, Niall does makes this his own. It doesn't feel derivative of anything, in fact it sounds very original and fresh. Niall really digs into his heart on this song and we can hear the melancholy in his voice. This not beeing the first single is a completely missed opportunity.

6. Paper Houses 6/10

Vocal. Delivery. Is. Key. In. Making. A. Song. Was that choppy to read? Well, that is the written equivalent of the verses of this song. The vocal delivery in the verses is all wrong, especially when Niall let's his voice soar over the chorus. This song holds a lot of elements that made previous songs great, but it doesn't really put them to much use. Niall missed an opportunity to make this one of the soaring tracks, but he missed it by a hair.

7. Since We're Alone 8/10

Niall revisits the soaring 70's sound on this song and it's all the better for it. This element doesn't pop up as much in the verses, but we hear it in the very eventful chorus. However, the 70's he's evoking his early 70's rock and not disco and that's a revival many music fans have been waiting on. Niall proves that he knows his way around a guitar and a melody. This song doesn't sound anything like other tracks out there right now and it seems Niall might have discovered and begun paving the new direction for guitar singers moving forward!

8. Flicker 7/10

This song is quite the curious one. It all feels like it's building toward something really big but it never gets there. That's a double edged sword: on the positive side of things, it shows Niall knows how work anticipation into his music, a skill very valuable in music. On the negative side, by the end of the song, we feel a little short changed. But it's not something to be angry about. Niall puts on quite the vocal performance here, reminding the listener of Noel Gallagher's iconic delivery. Had this song had an explosion of sound in the end like it hinted toward, it would easily be in the top tier of the album.

9. Fire Away 5/10

This song isn't offensive. It isn't controversial. It isn't sappy. It isn't...much of anything other than boring. The song goes nowhere and Niall sounds faintly bored with it by the time it's over. Niall is a very, very good musician but even he can't resist filler and that's what this is, but it's thankfully the only filler on the album. This is a song that could have been removed or even just used a little juicing up. Overall, it's not one you're going to remember when it's all said and done. .

10. You And Me 8/10

As if Niall was listening to all of my criticisms while making the album, he implements all of the needed change to end this thing on a high note. It has that anticipation element and it actually builds into something bigger and more bombastic. He keeps it interesting by changing up his vocal style. He avoids simple lyrics and cliches. An album needs a song that's going to stick with the listener at the end and this song rises to the occasion. This song is interesting, dynamic, and a perfect closer.

Expectation is this albums biggest downfall. In truth, it was never going to be what all of the fangirls around the world wanted it to be. But that isn't exactly a bad thing. Niall took expectations and he turned them around. This album is honest and it doesn't try to be anything it isn't. Niall knows what he can do and he did it well here. Niall proved that he's smarter than your average pop boy and he made it clear that he's different. And this is the best kind of different: subverting expectation. For a first album, this is much better than the majority of what his competitors are pushing out. Niall has room to grow, but he's plenty capable of learning. I look forward to N2 because Niall is sure to improve and, the most primary reason, he makes music that makes you feel good. And for that Niall, I think we all owe you one!  

[fireandgloryrpg]

Congratulations Micah and welcome! We’re so happy to accept your application to play Percy Jackson with the faceclaim of Tyler Posey in Fire & Glory RPG! We can’t wait to begin roleplaying with you so please remember to look over our checklist!

Out of Character Information:

Name: Micah

Age: 20

Timezone: GMT

Triggers: redacted

Activity: while I’m at uni I work evenings a few times a week, otherwise I am pretty much all the time!

Skeleton Character Application:

Desired Character: Percy Jackson

Reason you want to play this character: Percy is definitely my favourite fictional character. I find it super easy to slip into the Percy muse and he is someone that I consistently enjoy writing, I played Percy in the original fire and glory and I’ve played him several times since then. I really look forward to developing him further and discovering the new avenues of development that I can take with him!

Are there any changes you wish to make (faceclaim, age, affiliation etc)? Please explain and provide alternatives: nope! Considering I wrote his skeleton there’s no reason to :)

Biography:

Perseus Jackson - or Percy as he preferred to be called - was definitely not hero material straight away, in his younger years he was a scrawny young man with bright eyes and dark hair that never stayed neat no matter how many times he or his mother tried to comb it into order. But never let that fool you, because Percy would later go on to be one of the most powerful, skilled and courageous heroes of all time. But the thing that made Percy a hero was the fact that he was always humble. Except when it came to skateboarding, he knew he was the best at that.

The first twelve years of Percy’s life were far from normal, he lived in New York, growing up with a mother who was kind, loving and together they had a little bit of a strange love for the color blue. You might think that his early childhood and life was ideal, perfect and amazing. You’d be wrong. Sadly. An ugly man named Gabe Ugliano ruined all of that, with his pot belly and the stench of beer on his breath. He was always mean to Percy, and Percy was sure it was more than just that with his mom.

But at twelve years old that all changed when he discovered that he was actually a son of Poseidon, a demigod hero who would eventually save the world. It wouldn’t be easy, neither would it be free of pain, but Percy would do great things. He would fight monsters and slay them, the Minotaur, Medusa, the Chimera and Nemean Lion, Hydras and Cyclopes all within the first few years of his time as a hero. But that never stopped him for one second. He simply kept going. He even fought some gods, now that was interesting to say the least.

His list of achievements include taking Zeus’ nuclear powered lightning bolt back to him, even thought it had been in his back pack the whole time. He grabbed the golden fleece from a cyclopes that barely had one eye. He duelled Atlas the Titan one christmas and he held the sky on his shoulders. He navigated his way through the Labyrinth and fought in the battle of Camp Half Blood, he even duelled Kronos multiple times and eventually saved the world. That was all before he was sixteen.

After he was sixteen however his life didn’t get any easier, he was kidnapped, had his memory wiped and got dumped in a house full of wolves, from there he made his way up to Alaska and fought giants and monsters he’d never dreamed existed. From there he watched his friend bomb New Rome and start a war, then they fled to Greece, stopping off for some interesting detours.

Yet through and through Percy stayed a good guy, with his trusty pen sword thingy Riptide he fought monsters, gods and even other heroes (when they were being particularly stupid). But with his best friends Annabeth, Grover, Nico, Thalia and Tyson having his back he was never alone. Later he’d made friends in Jason, Hazel, Frank, Reyna, Leo and Piper. Whatever the case Percy was never alone to face the world.

It has been a few years since he saved the world with the rest of the crew of the Argo II, since then he has received a bachelor’s degree in Marine Biology from New Rome and is currently studying for a masters degree in Marine Biology. Life is a mad flurry of books and trying to live a normal life, but it is never that easy when you’re a demigod. Right?

Para sample:

If there was one thing that you had to give a therapist, it was that they definitely had the money to buy nice sofas. You could literally feel how much it had cost, just from running your fingers over the leather. He could feel the expensive leather as he nervously ran his fingers up and down the arms of the chair he was sat in.

It was funny, normally he wouldn’t be nervous. He had fought people who were literally twice his size. He could leap off of a hundred-foot-high cliff into a pool of water without his heart skipping a beat. Yet usually the only thing that made him nervous was Annabeth. When he had done something to piss her off, she would give him one of her trademarked glares that made you think she could see right into your soul, with those stormy grey eyes of hers. Well it was enough to make anyone’s stomach turn. But for Percy it was enough to send him running for the hills.

The key to avoiding the glare was to avoid fucking up too royally. Usually he could manage it. But sometimes he had to hide at the bottom of the lake.

Yet today, he wasn’t nervous about the stare of Annabeth, it was the stare of his therapist. She was an incredibly thin lady. Percy couldn’t help but notice every single bone in her face. Prominent cheekbones, a jawline that supermodels would envy and slightly sunken eyes. She seemed to be a stern individual, however the way she looked at him, staring at him over the rim of her golden wire glasses, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was reading him like a book.

Dr. Arkwright had been suggested to him by Rachel Dare, a good friend of his, apparently she had helped her through a number of issues and was uniquely talented at her job in her own special way. If Rachel swore by her then that was enough for Percy.

“Percy,” she said in a quiet voice, “I know this is our first session, so there is on no pressure for you to open up right away…” she trailed off, her eyes never wavering from him.

He had been to other therapists before, but they had been mortal, unable to see through the mist or understand what it was that he had been through. They had tried to help him, but with everything he had been through, he hadn’t been able to be helped. Not until now, at least, that was what he hoped. The trick to this was that his therapist was a demigod. A daughter of Apollo, cabin counsellor in her day, though that was a long while ago. She had started out working in New York, but after the recall she’d moved her office to New Athens. Percy guessed that Demigods seemed to need therapy too

“… but this will only work if we can develop a relationship of trust, I can’t help you if you don’t let me help you.”

He took a deep shuddering breath and looked away from his hand, meeting people was an easy task, he could deal with that, but it was different when it came to this woman.

Meeting her eyes wasn’t easy, but he forced himself to do so.

“I don’t even really know where to start,” he admitted, biting his lip gently as his sentence ended.

“Just from the beginning perhaps,” she replied. “The beginning of what?” he replied, perhaps a little too sharply, “My life? Or just specifically falling into Tartarus, or the fact that I’ve been all but a child soldier since I was twelve, gods that is ten years…” he said, more to himself than to her. “Wherever you feel comfortable,” she said quietly, she didn’t seem startled by his revelation or his little outburst.

Falling silent again he sat there and shifted in his seat, that was a problem with his ADHD, sitting still drove him insane. He had never been good at it, maybe that was one of the reason he’d always done so badly in class. He couldn’t sit still. So he stood up, and walked to the window. Staring out into the city of New York he thought about what it would be like to be stood out there, rather than in here. He stared at the cabs and the pedestrians on the streets.

Sighing he ran his fingers over the curtains that were at the edge of the window, even this material felt expensive.

“I guess,” he sighed and tapped his fingers against the glass, leaving little finger marks on it, “I guess the best place to start would be with my childhood…”

There was a sudden binging that interrupted his line of thought, reaching into his pocket he pulled out his phone and stared at it.

“Monster attack, need your help, Annabeth.”

“I’m really sorry,” he said, turning to the therapist, “but I’ve got to go, duty calls.” He said wiggling his phone and grabbing Riptide from his pocket. He turned and strode from the room, his heart thumping in his chest. This therapy thing was hard.

#accepted #percy jackson

[daydream-gaming]

Character Template For Chester White “The Watchman” -Using Flint Dille & John Zuur Platten - The Ultimate Guide to Video Game Writing and Design  + Concept ART

Name

Chester  White “The Watchman”

Story Purpose

Main Character

Gameplay Purpose

Main character

Persona

He’s lost his family and friends when his village  was destroyed 10 years ago from ancient beast known as “The Watcher”. He’s  spent the last 10 years training and adapting his skills to slay the ancient  beast, he’s learnt numerous skills along the way.

Special  Abilities

Using Fire Essence to create fire balls.

Education/ Intelligence

Was head’s watchmen, and head of the training for  the village’s swordsmanship and hunting survival skills in a forest.  

Family

A young son (age 5 when died) and a Wife (Age 25  when died).

Aspirations

Slaying the beast and restoring his village to make  peace with the past. He also wants to restore life to cities such as Aniopia.

Addictions

To Mushmen caps, these are rare highs you gain from  eating Mushmen’s hats, this will also kill the Mushmen in process, or can be  obtained when they die. The Cap is a drug used among many and is usually used  as a pain killer or anti-depressant. The drug is hard to obtain due to  Mushmen’s lethal attacks and rarity. Mushmen hide in dark locations, normally  near caves or huge shadows. Weakened by light.

Occupation and attitude towards it (good or bad)

Former Watchmen, hunter and trainer, it was his  dream Jobs. Now he is a Beast Hunter.

Objective(s)

Killing The ancient beast and uncovering the truth.

What does this character want?

Redemption for his “sins”. He sees his village  getting destroyed, his family and friends getting killed as his fault this is  why he seeks redemption from his mistakes.

Who or what do they love?

His family, his wife and son.

What are they afraid of?

Failing, not being strong enough to beat the beast.  He is also afraid of moving on with his life, he is afraid of finding a new  settlement and it all happening again. He’s afraid  finding new love, and having his family be  disappointed by him in the afterlife therefore being cast away to the  underworld.

Why are they involved in this situation?

The ancient beast attacked the night Chester was out  on a hunting trip on a nearby mountain by himself. The beast is quite and has  unbelievable power, thus killing the village.

Other  roles and identities?

A good drinking buddy with a light-hearted sense of  humour.

Single adjective to describe this character

Robust.

Skills

Survival skills, his swordsmanship and his use of  Fire Essence.

Reports/ Answers to?

Himself, Sprits of the dead he sometimes sees.

Who reports to this character?

Nothing. Not even monsters dare to talk to him

Trademark Object

He has nothing but the blade that forges he forged  long ago, the blade he forged now forges his way into the future.

Common emotions

Chester fights his past in everyday life and doesn’t  want to move into the future leaving him conflicted between leaving in the  past and wanting to kill the beast.  Chester is a courageous man due to him being  the only one ever in history challenging the beast to a fight.

Chester  is also intelligent, a quick learner that makes him good against new  opponents. Lastly, he is demoralized because he pulls through with his plan  of killing the beast he fears judgement day, the day he dies, when it’s time  to face his sins and atone for what he has done.

Signature  move or Tic

Fire  Essence weaver

Nationality

Ellikian  

Ethnicity

White male

Religion  

Vakian (Va-kian)Vakian is an ancient religion  followed by many, however numbers of worshipers have dropped after “Insight  Day” where a portal was opened to another world (Earth) 2 years ago.  

Favourite Food

Rabbit

How does this character dress? 

Leather armour, likes to wear light clothes, due to  his old age his speed has dwindled therefore wearing light clothes make him  able to move around the way he used to in heavier armour.

Locations where this character is mostly likely to  ‘blend in’

In a village.

Where was the character born?

In the Ellikan continent called Jokoro, country  Herrika. Five thousand miles away from the “Insight” portal.

Where has the character been?

He was originally trained by mountain monks at a  young age but later on left to live in a village and became head trainer due  to his unique style of fighting and impeccable swordsmanship

Where does the  character live?

He is Nomadic as for now.

Where will (did) he or she die? And how?

He will die after defeating the beats.

Objects the character wears on his or her body   

He believes his skin is a temple due to his religion  (Vakian) so therefore has no intentional marks on it. He also doesn’t wear  any Jewellery due it being lost when the village getting destroyed.

Dichotomy of character (inner conflict in the  character)

He doesn’t want to move on, yet he still does, this  creates conflict in his mental mind.

Character reaction to different events in the game  (walk through a few beats)

He is clever but yet still attacks stupid in moments  due to his over confidence, this leads to him getting injured. He also picks  his prey carefully, he waits till the right moment to attack at times.

What would you think if you saw this character on  the street?

I would think the man is part of the old huntsman of  that was founded in Aniopia's temples, which are now ruins.

What was your character doing 3 days before the  start of the narrative?

Preparing for the fight, training and resting up,  collecting resources.

How did your character lose his or her virginity? 

He had sex with his wife and thus had a son.

Morality: Moral choices the character makes in the  game. Does this affect how the player should play him/her?

The  character makes quite moral choices, however also quite bad choices at times,  this is shown on how he approaches the monster. This does not affect the  player so they shouldn’t worry on playing the character differently.

Emotional  Stability

The character sometimes sees “beings” the beings do  no attack, or interact with the player, the player can slay theses “beings”  but nothing happens. The main character also constantly reminds himself of  the past therefore always being upset with himself making him unable in cope  with simple emotions such as joy.

What do they do to comfort themselves?

Eat Mushmen Caps, this helps him calm down due to  the drug being an anti-depressant.

Phobias

Monophobia, fear  of not being accepted into Vahallen (Heaven) due to not being able to safe his family, and the fear of moving on and meeting a new lover.

Vanity

His sword skills and his blade, the way he was able  to survive by himself so long and finally being able to face the monster.  That he has made it so far.

Epitaph: what will go on the characters tomb stone?

Nothing because he wont be getting one as no one  will know that he died.

Age and health

He is 46 years old, his old age slowing him down a  bit, this is also due to all the battle injuries he has acquired over the  years, but otherwise healthy.

Height

5“9

Weight

14  stone

Body Type

Wide shoulders muscles with a heavily trained body  and massive muscles on arms and legs.

Hairline/Colour

long grey hair as it represents the character's  maturity, indifference, immoral personality and his old age.

Eye Colour

He has white eyes due to his heavy intake of Mushmen  Caps, this is a side effect they give out, however do not blind the person in  anyway

Facial  Hair

He has a beard to represent that he hasn’t lived  within a civilization in a long time and not needing to shave. This also  shows of his old age.

Why Did I use this?

I used this character Template because I am familiar with it and the content is easy to lay out with the questions. It goes into detail without making you, it also makes you think about the questions, creating lore easier and making the character seem more alive. I also like how you can skip questions if you do not need them, there is more than necessary questions meaning that I do not need to fill them all out and then later cut them out as I have done. 

This Template also made me think about how I can make the world seem more real, how I can make a magical fantasy world have issues that we have in a modern world into a medieval world. This made me think of drug abuse and alcoholics. I put these problems in with the Mushmen, although they’re dangerous people are still craving the anti depressants they get from them. The main character is using these to stay “Sane” in a way however he won’T be needing them in game, or eating them. 

The template was really useful and I am glad I used it. It really allowed me to progress the world of Ellika and make it seem just ta little more real with more continent and countries, background stories and tales.

Concept Art

This is my concept art for the main character, This is how I would like him to look, rather casual I know and not really a “Warrior Look” but he is in leather armor and I am not that great of a drawer. This is why I made him like this. I used “FireAlpaca” to make this drawing. I have also drawn him in a sketch book to get a different version of him and explore the possibilities of what he could look like. I have drawn him without a berard in this because I wanted to see how he looked without one.

This is my concept of him with an axe and a eye patch, this is more leaning to my final concept that I had of him and made him look a lot more badass, I didnt really like the eye patch so I got rid of it. The necklace was going to be a theme of the game series because in the game “Ellika Flyers” (my previous game) the main character wore a necklace too. However I decided not to have that. I wanted the theme to be “overcoming your fears” this goes into both games and will continue in the games. 

This is the main character’s final concept as you see I have made the pixel art for it, I used a  template character from Heartbeast who has given me it in one of his videos. I like the way the sprite turned out, the process of taking ideas from 2 different concepts really helped me for it allowed me to use more of a variant ideas. I also will try to continue to do this in the future.

Dille, F. (2007). The ultimate guide to video game writing and design. 1st ed. New York: Watson-Guptill Publications, pp.128-169. 

  [Beginner Tutorial] Make an RPG in GameMaker [P3] Variables and Character Sprites. (2015). [video] HeartBeast.

Dropbox. (2017). RPG Sprites.zip. [online] Available at: https://www.dropbox.com/s/s4gky4st9biym5m/RPG%20Sprites.zip?dl=0 [Accessed 18 Apr. 2017].

[babaionline-blog]

Fire Emblem Heroes Hack & Cheats To Get Loads Of Free Orbs

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The game has a really stipendiums battle system, because they made all this move from significant screen such as computers and consoles, to the mobile devices, they had to jeopardize everything they reached come across with their remain at the video game thus far, so each map has this gridding system, even more like squares to be able to transfer to or establish your personal defending area utilizing the heroes. Each side has his own look to make the appropriate moves or execute the wanted assaults, and certainly you shall be coming to be much stronger in less time utilizing the Fire Emblem Heroes Hack,

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