#this has been done for quite a few weeks really. it's an additional entry to a previous prompt!

[sisterdivinium]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Category: Gen Fandom: Warrior Nun (TV) Characters: Sister Beatrice (Warrior Nun), Sister Lilith (Warrior Nun), Sister Camila (Warrior Nun), Jillian Salvius, Mother Superion (Warrior Nun), Yasmine Amunet, Ava Silva

They each have experienced tribulation; they each must carry on with the lessons learned. These seven women can only look forwards by looking back first -- a little drabble series, one per character, post-s2.

[our-blood-is-our-ink]

if your still doing the prompt thing how about 17, 23, 25, 29 with power!bottom claire being stressed and intern!reader offering to help but don't have any sexual experience so claire teaches them

Thank you so much for sending this in! I'm so sorry it took so long to complete, life got very hectic, but I have it for you now! I hope I've done this request justice <3

Afterhours

Ship: Claire Debella x Reader

Summary: When you, an intern working at the governor's office, offer to stay with the governor while she works late into the night, you find yourself in a situation you have only ever fantasized of.

Word Count: 5.8k

Disclaimer: 18+ ONLY, minors dni

Warnings: smut, hints at dark!Claire, pet-names, praise kink, degradation kink, fingering, oral, first time, virgin reader, legal age gap, power imbalance, mommy kink, begging, implied subspace

It's an open secret at the office that Governor Debella is paranoid.

If the extreme vetting process to just simply become an intern is anything to go by, the woman could use some relaxation time.

After all, a single intern hardly would have the ability to take down the political powerhouse that Governor Debella is.

Or, that's what you think anyhow.

You knew you had been lucky to land the job, the experience and credentials that will pad up your resume and qualifications that will come from working here, but some days, all you can think about is how stressed the top boss constantly is.

Being a people pleaser, being a people fixer, you started to stay late, wanting to get as much work done as possible.

Sure, you're only a low level entry personnel, but what you do helps free up time for those above you to focus on more important things.

After a few weeks of being the last one in the office, Governor Debella notices.

“Don't you have someone to get home to? A boyfriend, or a pet, or something?”

You nearly topple back in your seat, startled by your boss’s boss’s boss’s boss (seriously there's a chain of command here, and you're merely a bottom feeder) not having heard her approach from behind.

“Governor!” You gasp, trying to recover. “Uh- I don't- I live with a few roommates, but they never care if I'm there or not. We're all very busy.”

Governor Debella frowns, and crosses her arms.

“There's no reason for you to be staying so late. You're an intern. You don't get paid overtime.”

You shrug.

“I don't have much else to do. Call it volunteer hours.”

(And god, doesn't that sound pathetic, especially because it's true.)

Her frown deepens.

“It's illegal for you to stay and work without pay.”

“Are you telling me I need to start going home at quitting time?”

The words spill from your mouth before you can think them through.

There's a moment of silence, and for a second you could swear it's hesitation on Governor Debella’s face.

“No.” She says, after a beat too long.

There's another, much longer silence.

You hate the quiet, and you find yourself breaking it.

“Then, er, what do you want me to do?”

Governor Debella blinks, and it draws your attention to the dark bags underneath her tired silvery-blue eyes, her makeup must having had rubbed off enough for it to begin to show.

You suddenly realize that perhaps it's just as exhausting for her as it is for everyone else to deal with her stress and paranoia.

“Would you like some company while you work?” You offer, a gentleness in your tone that you hadn't made the decision to speak with. “I could clock out and then just… Sit in your office with you if you'd like. I know how empty the building feels when everyone has left.”

This time, you know you haven't imagined her hesitation.

“I'm under contract, anyhow, Governor. If there's an additional paper you need me to sign, for security reasons, well.” You shrug. “What's one more?”

Again, there's silence, and then…

“Call me Claire, if you're really willing to sit and do nothing for hours besides for staring at my office walls.”

You're a bit shocked she's accepted your offer, and you stumble over your response.

“I- oh. Uh… Okay, um. Claire.”

The governor’s lips twitch, as if she's hiding a smile.

“But not tonight. I was just about to head out, which means you definitely should too. Security won't stick around once I leave, and the night shift…” Claire scowls. “I need to remember to get them replaced.”

It's the most you've ever heard her talk without snapping at someone to do something, let alone to you.

“Isn't that what your assistant is for? To remind you or to arrange that on your behalf?”

“That's only if I remember to tell him.” Claire mutters, before shaking her head. “Shut your computer down, you're not staying if I'm not in the building.”

She waits, hovering over your shoulder as you listen, and she walks with you out to the front of the building.

“You didn't park in the lot?” She asks, when you start to head towards home.

You can feel your face flush.

“I uh… I don't exactly get paid enough to own a car.” You refuse to look at the older woman. “Usually I just walk back.”

“It's two in the morning.” Claire sounds incredulous.

“I have pepper spray.”

“No. You're not walking home anymore.”

Claire has her arms crossed again, and an all too familiar glare is being leveled at you.

Before now, you always thought it was an angry expression.

You're beginning to wonder if maybe it's a stubborn one instead.

You sigh.

“Well short of driving me home yoursel-”

“That's exactly what I'm going to do.”

You barely manage to keep your jaw from dropping as Claire turns, clearly expecting you to follow her.

You suppose if you don't, you won't get too far before she can find you walking.

Or if not, possibly fire you over it tomorrow.

You push down your anxiety.

Don't worse case scenario. You scold yourself.

Claire drives a nondescript silver minivan.

“I have custody every other month.” She explains your unanswered question.

Ah, right.

Sometimes you forget that Claire just recently went through divorce, that she has two little ones to care for.

You remember how the media had dug it all up, how they aired her very private life for the public.

For a minivan, it's pretty nice.

When Claire turns on the car, a few loud notes play, before she quickly slams her palm against the knob that turns the car music on and off.

You raise an eyebrow, but don't say anything about it.

Instead you ask, “how are they?”

“My kids?”

She sounds mildly surprised as she reaches for her seatbelt.

“Yeah.”

You click yours in as she replies.

“They're… They're okay, all things considered.”

She puts the car in reverse, and you rattle off your address so she knows where she's headed.

Her nose wrinkles, and you're willing to bet it's because you don't live in a particularly nice area.

“You had to hire shadows- uh, bodyguards for them, right?”

Claire's hands clench the wheel, turning her knuckles white.

“I don't know of any other governor who's had their children's lives threatened.” She practically growls. “It scares them, but they won't say anything.”

“I'm sorry.” You murmur.

Claire glances at your pale face, and she takes a breath, forcing her body to relax.

“It's not your fault.” She shakes her head. “They're my kids. I'm their mother. I'm bound to be a bit overprotective.”

You choke back an unamused laugh.

“You would hope.”

Claire gives you a quick look, before returning her full attention to the road.

“What makes you say that?”

Oh crap, you didn't mean to invite Claire to dig into your life.

“Er… My parents… They weren't the best.” You mumble.

Claire frowns, eyes still looking forward.

“How old are you again?”

“Twenty-three.”

Claire hums.

“And how much are we paying you again?”

You rattle off the salary.

Claire hums again, and then there's silence for the rest of the short drive.

When she pulls up in front of your apartment, you say, “this is it.”

You undo your seatbelt and open the door, moving to leave.

“I'll have the paperwork ready for you on your desk by lunch.” Claire says.

At your confused look she huffs.

“For your extended night hours.”

Oh!

“Right, thank you. And thank you for the lift.”

Claire nods.

“If you don't have those papers past lunch break, hound my assistant. Don't take no for an answer, I might not remember to let Brian know to expect you to be a bother.”

The word bother echoes around your head, and you swallow down sudden anxiety.

“Sure thing. Good night, Governor-er- Claire.”

“Good night.” The other woman says, and you shut the passenger door firmly behind you as you sprint into your building.

—»•«—

You do have to bother her assistant the next day, and the stack of papers Claire presents you with is frankly ridiculous, but you pull out a notepad, read them through, and write bullet points of what you're agreeing to.

You sign, and initial, and date.

And then you binder clip it all together and drop it with a fairly solid thud onto Brian’s desk.

“Governor Debella will want these to be scanned and filed.” You say, even as an intern knowing the procedure for important documentation.

The man frowns at you.

“You're not done.” Brain says, and then seemingly out of nowhere, produces another stack of papers.

You groan, but your impatience quickly disappears as you stare at the sheet of paper, towards the end of the stack, that says how much of a raise you're receiving for signing on to be Claire’s personal intern.

Claire's personal intern.

$47,000

That was $15k more than what you had been making.

What the fuck.

You sign the papers, and don't say a word.

Slowly, as the day progresses, people trickle out, until you're the last one in the main office.

Brain looks at you as he leaves, and nearly walks into a wall trying to maintain his stare.

You head towards Claire's office and knock on her door.

“Come in.”

She sounds frazzled, and you realize you haven't seen her flying around the office today as you normally do.

“Everything alright?” You ask, taking note of Claire's disheveled state.

“No.” Is the simple answer you get, and you don't push as Claire continues to frantically scribble something out.

You glance around, familiarizing yourself with the private office you so rarely see the inside of, and take notice of a little seating area, with two arm chairs and a very comfortable looking couch.

In addition, there's what appears to be a bar cart, but it's filled with bottled water and sports drinks instead of alcohol, as well as a giant TV screen and what looks like a game console hooked up to it.

Somehow, you can't quite picture Claire playing video games while at work, and you have to wonder if perhaps she has ever been forced to watch one or both of her kids while working.

You don't want to become an annoyance, so instead of pacing the space, you choose to settle into one of the armchairs, curling up with one knee to your chest, the other dangling off the side of the chair.

You stare at the ceiling and let your mind wander as you examine the embedded ceiling lights.

“This is fucking bullshit.” Claire suddenly growls, and the sound of a pen clattering against the plastic wood of her desk sounds through the room.

“What is?” You ask.

Claire’s head jerks up, and for a moment, she looks surprised.

“You're so quiet.” She says. “I forgot you were here.”

You shrug, and don't say I’m good at that, I've had a lot of practice growing up.

You do say, “I didn't want to be a distraction.”

Claire hums.

She does that a lot, you realize.

“Well, maybe instead I can bounce this off of you.”

She gestures for you to come around to her side of the desk, and you quickly skim over what appears to be a proposal for a bill.

“Is it even legal for me to be doing this?” You ask.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Claire shrugging.

“You work for the government office this will be coming out from. It's not illegal, just out of the norm.”

You make a noise of understanding, going over the contents of it, frowning.

“What’s the problem with this?” You ask once you're finished giving the proposal a once-over.

Claire viciously stabs a single digit at some handwritten notes laying next to her keyboard.

“This section, this sentence, this paragraph, this fucking word is wrong, but the thesaurus is being useless-”

“Whoa, whoa.” You slow down what was sure to be Claire spiraling into more stress. “What's the most important thing to fix here?”

Claire blinks, pauses, frowns, then flips through her notes.

“Here.” She finally decides. “This entire section needs to be completely rewritten.”

You scroll to the right place on the computer screen and read it over more carefully.

“I'm pretty sure we can bullshit what you want to say here.” You murmur half to yourself. “It shouldn't be too difficult, most of the framework is here, it's just about closing the loopholes and rewording things to be less polarizing.”

“You make it sound so simple.” Claire grumps, leaning back in her chair and frowning as she crosses her arms.

You shrug.

“I bullshitted my fair share of essays, the difficult part to it is having a decent outline, which you already have.”

The other woman grumbles something under her breath before sitting up, shooing you away with a flick of her hand.

“Alright, well if it's that easy.” Her tone is disgruntled, but her fingers are already clacking against the keyboard, and you take that as your signal to return to the armchair you had been lazing about in.

At the end of the night, she drives you home again.

It becomes a routine.

For the next few months, Claire uses you as a sound board during the late hours, and you've taken to bringing either a book to read or an adult coloring book to do while you sit with her.

And then something big must have happened in her private life, because Claire is an absolute menace even to you one Monday, tearing through the office morale like a hot knife to butter.

You don't dare say a thing, even when she snaps at you later that night for being incompetent, and you just sit and take it.

She doesn't mean it personally.

You know that.

But by the time Thursday rolls around, her attitude hasn't changed, and you've found yourself retreating, becoming as small and invisible as possible in an attempt to spare yourself from Claire’s wrath.

You hear shuffling from where you're curled up on the couch, and you look up, and find Claire downing a shot, a bottle of amber liquid sitting on her desk.

“I know I've been an ass.” She says when she catches your eye.

“You've been stressed.” You excuse.

Claire shakes her head.

“There are better ways of releasing steam.”

“Well what do you usually do?”

You think this must be the first conversation all week that Claire is having civilly.

“Get high. Or have sex.”

Your mouth drops open at her blasé answer.

“And I haven't been able to do either.” She complains.

“Well, er. I could- I could help. If you wanted. To- um. To destress, I- I mean.”

You don't know why those words left your mouth, and the moment they do, you can feel your face heat up.

Sure, you've begun to have the occasional fantasy or wet dream about your boss, but that wasn't the same thing as implying you'd have sex with her.

HR is going to have a field day with you.

You're going to be fired.

You bury your face into your hands, and when Claire gently brushes her fingers against your back, you jump.

You hadn't heard her move.

“Look at me.” She softly says, and you shiver at how low her voice is pitched.

“There's a good girl.” She smiles as you listen, and the pulse of heat that shoots down your spine makes you feel dizzy.

Her hand comes up to cup your face, angling it upwards and forcing you to meet her eyes.

“Do you mean it, baby?” She asks, and you shiver at the pet-name, biting your lip as you grow more aroused. “You'll help mommy destress?”

Your eyes widen at the title Claire has bestowed upon herself, and you flush with embarrassment as the whine you've been fighting to keep down slips out through your mouth and escapes.

Your boss chuckles.

“Such a sweet thing. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into, offering to stay so late with me, did you?”

You frown, confused, despite your ever growing arousal.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Claire smiles, but it's a sharp thing that causes gooseflesh to erupt along your arms.

“Please, doll. I've seen the way you look at me. And we both know how aware you are of how… Lonely, I have been.”

Her hand reaches out, and she brushes her knuckles gently against your cheek.

“Say yes.”

Her voice is pitched low, and it makes you shiver.

“Say yes to mommy, and I promise, you'll never have to worry about a thing again.”

Perhaps it should be your sign to leave right now, the possessiveness that practically drips from the governor's tone, but all it does is empty your head of thought.

“Yes.” You breathlessly say. “Yes, I'll help mommy destress.”

“Good girl.” She purrs, and when your lips part to allow a moan to tumble out, Claire gently presses against your tongue with two fingers.

When you stay still, frozen and unsure of what the older woman wants you to do, she furrows her brow and withdraws her fingers.

“Have you ever had sex before, honey?”

Immediately you can feel heat rise to your cheeks as you shake your head, shame rising in your throat.

“I- I'm a virgin.” You whisper, tripping over your words. “This is my first time…”

You trail off, embarrassed.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Claire coos, her eyes sparking with something that makes you feel a bit like her prey. “Budge over.” She says.

Mindlessly, you obey, scooting all the way down, and Claire settles back against the arm of the couch, and she lazily smiles at you as she slowly, tantalizingly spreads her legs.

You had no idea a suit skirt could stretch so much.

You had no idea how well it could hide the fact that Claire wasn't wearing any underwear either.

“Teach me how to make you feel good.” You're flooded by a sudden need to please this woman spread out before you, a sudden desire to watch her come undone because of you. “Show me how to touch you.” You beg. “Please.”

Claire chuckles deeply.

“You're going to be so perfect for me, baby.” She husks out, and you can feel how your pussy pulses, leaking wetness against the material of your underwear.

Unlike Claire, you're wearing a pair.

A niggling feeling of regret bothers you.

You wish you were easily accessible for your boss.

You want her to ruin you.

“Come here, honey.” Claire beckons you with a single finger, and you're obedient, crawling until you hover over her.

She reaches her hands up, and oh so gently cups your face with her hands, guiding your head downwards until your lips are just millimeters apart.

One of her thumbs softly brushes over your cheek, moving back and forth in a soothing sweeping motion, and her silvery-blue eyes gaze deep into your own.

The moment stretches, and you grow impatient of waiting, and despite your heart hammering against your ribcage, you close the miniscule gap between your lips and hers.

They're so fucking soft.

Claire isn't your first kiss by any means, but you deeply wish it were.

You're moaning into her mouth like you're a slut, and when Claire enters your own with her tongue, it's all you can do to keep yourself from falling atop of her as your limbs go weak.

Languidly, you make out with your boss, and as you do so, one of her knees makes its way between the apex of your thighs.

When you instinctively buck into the touch, Claire pulls away, and breathlessly laughs at you.

“Remember, doll. This is about mommy, not about you.”

Your head is spinning from the lack of oxygen.

You whimper, and bite your lip.

Her expression softens, and she reaches up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear.

“Didn't mommy say that as long as you're with me, I'll see to all your needs? Make me feel good, and I promise, you'll get a reward, sweet thing.”

You drop your head against her shoulder, and the whine that escapes you causes Claire to reach up and stroke at your hair.

“Let me show you how to touch mommy, baby. Let me show you how she likes to be pleasured.”

It's not fair, you think. No one woman should have the right to say things like that in such a husky sounding voice.

Your pussy throbs.

You lift your head up, and shift your weight, settling back so that you're straddling Claire.

“Please mommy, teach me.” You beg, and the older woman groans at the plain desperation that drips from your tone. “Teach me how to make you scream for your baby.”

At the word ‘scream’, Claire's eyes light up, something that simultaneously sends a shiver of fear through your body, but also a shiver of anticipation.

“You want to make mommy scream, doll? Get off, and I'll show you how.”

Gracelessly you tumble off of Claire and onto the floor, and she shakes her head as she laughs.

“You’re adorable, sweetheart.”

She stands, and as she walks back to her desk, she strips, carelessly leaving her clothes crumbled on the floor.

As she settles back into her leather seat, she spreads her legs wide in a clear order.

Her gaze feels intense as she watches you wobble over to her, before you collapse, dropping to your knees, your legs unable to continue to support your weight.

Your head spins as the scent of Claire’s arousal overwhelms you, and you look up at your boss with wide, pleading eyes.

She chuckles, and her hand comes down to pet your hair, before they tangle and tug at you.

“M-mommy!” You protest. “I still don't know what to do!”

Claire groans, but she doesn't stop guiding you forward.

“You're smart, doll. I'm sure you can figure it out.”

You whimper, but don't protest further, and then the older woman's cunt is directly in your face, and you're powerless as you stick your tongue out hesitantly.

You give her a taste test.

The wetness that is slowly dripping from Claire is a bit salty, but mostly, it just tastes musky.

It isn't bad.

It's just… New.

You give Claire’s pussy a few more tiny little licks, trying to acclimate to her taste, and she tightens her hold on your hair.

“I thought you wanted to make mommy scream.” She bites out, yanking you flush against her pulsing center. “So do it. Mommy needs to relax, and you're going to help.”

Helplessly, you do as Claire commands, and you start lapping at her earnestly.

When she lets out an unrestrained moan above you, you can't help but moan in return, and Claire gasps.

She yanks your head back, her chest heaving slightly, pupils blown wide.

“I never thought you could make such sweet noises, baby.” She breathlessly says.

You feel heat rushing to your face, and Claire's free hand grips your chin when you try to look away.

“Neither did I.” You whisper, ashamed.

Claire tsks.

“None of that now, honey, mommy wants to hear you again. Moan for me.”

Your mouth drops open, and your mind goes blank as you try to process your boss’s demand.

Her grip tightens.

“I said moan for me, bitch.”

It tumbles involuntarily from your mouth, loud and uncontrolled, and Claire's grip on your chin turns painfully.

“Does that turn you on? For mommy to degrade you like the little fucking slut you are?”

The noise you make in response causes Claire’s eyes to glint as she smirks.

“Who knew beneath all that innocence was a whore.” She coos, before jerking your head forward in a clear demand.

You eat her out for what feels like ages, the taste of Claire filling your senses, and you grow progressively lightheaded.

You find your thoughts slipping away as you become utterly focused on not letting one drop of your boss’s wetness to escape your tongue, and you find your hands keeping her legs spread apart as you become more eager in your ministrations.

You feel drunk as Claire begins to make higher and higher pitched noises until finally, she goes so high, it's a shrill thing that your ears can barely withstand, and there's a wetness soaking your face that isn't from how vigorously you had been pleasuring her.

She hasn't told you to stop, though, and you find yourself not wanting to regardless, so you continue to lap at her until she harshly jerks your head away.

“Enough.” She pants, eyes closed, chest heaving. “Enough.”

Your head spins, and you feel dizzy as you stare, memorized by the woman above you.

You open your mouth, aware there's something you want to ask, but you can't seem to conjure enough words in your mind to even speak them aloud.

Silvery-blue eyes open, and the most self satisfied smirk you have ever seen curls at the edges of Claire’s lips.

“How precious.” She murmurs, before sticking her heeled foot out.

You hadn't noticed that despite shedding her clothes, the older woman had kept her shoewear on.

“Why don't you make yourself feel good, and put on a pretty show for mommy, hm?”

You slowly close your mouth, becoming aware it's been hanging open, and give your boss a confused look.

Claire sighs.

“That's right, you really don't have any experience. Could have fooled me, with how well you've made me cum, doll.”

You flush, uncertain if it's from the praise or from the degradation.

You watch as Claire carefully stands, and you're startled when she hisses, her left leg buckling from how loose and relaxed her muscles have become.

“Strip.” Claire orders, her knuckles white from how hard she's clutching at her desk. “And then lay back on the couch.”

You scramble, tugging your shirt off as you simultaneously attempt to undo the button of your pants, and you wind up tripping, falling to the floor.

Claire's laughter causes your face to heat up.

“Looks like my baby needs my help, hm?” She giggles, toeing off her heels so that she can walk properly.

You whine, and can feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes with embarrassment.

“Aw, sweetheart.” Claire pouts. “Mommy thinks you're cute for being so eager. No need to be so sad over it.”

You whine again, but slowly force yourself to sit up.

“Mommy.” You whimper. “Jus’ wanted to feel good.”

The older woman’s amused expression visibly softens, and warm hands reach for you.

You stand with Claire's help, and she almost reverently helps you undress, gently kissing each newly revealed piece of skin.

“Look at this beautiful body, honey. Just so perfect for me.”

Unable to bear the compliment, you choose instead to bury your head against the upper part of Claire's chest.

She coos, and runs her fingers through your hair.

“Oh, sweet thing. Is my baby feeling shy?”

You nod against her, noticing the soft smell of vanilla.

You've never noticed it before.

You had thought it was maybe the air refresher in Claire's office, but no.

It's her.

Your head spins.

And you're so wet.

Claire's laugh rumbles against you, and she easily guides you towards the couch.

You only grow steadily redder as she pulls your legs apart, kissing her way up from one ankle, and then kisses her way back down the other, over and over until you're squirming with your need.

“Mommy, please!” You cry.

Claire groans, eyes fluttering shut for a few moments, before she pulls you close, hooking your legs over her shoulders.

When she noses at your clit, your hands find her hair, and she tsks.

“No, doll. I won't reward you if you pull at my hair.”

Reluctantly, you release your grip, and bury your fingers against the cushion of the couch instead.

“Good girl.” Claire praises, and you moan softly in response.

When her tongue presses against you, you shudder at the new sensation.

It's wet and warm and slightly rough, and–

“Oh, fuck!” You cry out. “Fuck, mommy!”

Claire's hands harshly grip at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making you whimper, but she continues to lavish her tongue over your clit, and you begin to squirm in earnest.

You've masterbated plenty of times, and have a few toys in your bedside drawer, but that is nothing compared to the older woman’s touch.

Within a few minutes, you're already near orgasm, and you chase the release, fighting the urge to bring your hands back up to tangle into Claire's hair.

And then right when you're about to reach that high, the moment before the waves of pleasure can overwhelm you, she pulls away, and you loudly sob.

“No, please.” You gasp.

Claire smirks, and you whimper at how lustful her gaze is, at how your wetness glistens on the bottom half of her face.

“You want to cum, baby?” She mocks you, pouting. “You want mommy to let you feel good? Then beg for it. I need to hear my cute little doll ask for permission first.”

You whimper.

“Please, mommy.” You can feel tears start to gather with how badly you want this. “Please let your baby cum, I wanna cum for you, I wanna feel good, please, please, please!”

“Hm…” Claire hums.

“Please.” The tears start to roll down your cheeks. “I wanna to cum, mommy. I want you to make me cum, please.”

You let out a sob of desperation when a single digit finds your swollen clit, and lightly begins to circle it.

“Please.” You whisper, your voice getting caught in your throat.

For a moment, you think your boss is going to deny you, and you open your mouth to continue to beg, when instead you gasp, two of Claire’s fingers suddenly stretching you open.

You let out a high pitch noise when she curls the digits, pleasure burning through you, and you buck your hips.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy!” You chant, unable to form any other thought, let alone words.

“Cum for me, princess.” Claire softly orders, and as if your body was designed to obey her every desire, you convulse, a scream tearing it's way from your throat as she continues to finger fuck you, the gushing wetness weeping from your pussy causing a squelching noise, and you writhe as you ride the high.

“Fuck, baby.” Claire groans. “I want you to come for me again.”

You squirm desperately, the aftershocks still pulsing through you, but Claire is stronger than your now limp body, and she thumbs at your clit, sending electric waves up your spine, causing your back to arch painfully.

“FUCK!” You cry out, unable to control your volume, and you can barely hear Claire's responding moan over the static in your ears as a new wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

You're gasping for air with how it steals your breath away, and when Claire collapses on top of you, you gladly welcome it, despite how it further suffocates your lungs of oxygen.

She smells so good. You think as you start to come back to your senses.

The scent of vanilla is still prominent, but it's now mixed with the smell of Claire’s sweat.

Somehow, it's more appealing.

The smell of sex still hangs heavy in the air, and you throb as your body unfairly grows more aroused again.

“Mommy.” You whisper.

Claire groans, burying her head further against your neck.

“You smell so good, princess.” She says. “And you look so beautiful when I fuck your brains out.”

A whimper catches in the back of your throat.

Claire finally moves, shifting until she's sitting upright, and you don't think she's ever looked as enthralling as does now.

Her cheeks are flushed, and you can clearly see faint freckles that are usually hidden under a layer of makeup that Claire must have sweated off, and her hair has gone from stick straight to gentle waves, a halo of frizz framing her face.

You lose yourself in her eyes, at how she smiles so tenderly as she helps you up and to the private attached bathroom in her office.

“Let's get cleaned up, doll.” She says, and you grin goofily at her.

Your head is still spinning.

She giggles, a light sound that makes you join in once a light snort causes her to double over.

“You're so cute.” She smiles, and you obediently spread your legs when she taps your thigh.

She gently runs the wash cloth in her hand over the sticky residue of your arousal, and you flinch every time she passes over your clit.

“You’re still so sensitive.” She breathes out. “Did mommy not satisfy you, doll? Do you want mommy to keep going until it hurts for me to?”

“I- ah!” You cry out when Claire firmly swipes the cloth over your swollen bud. “I just want to be good.”

Claire peers up at you, and you hold your breath as she weighs your words.

“Next time then, maybe.” She decides, and you aren't sure if your shoulders slump with relief or disappointment.

She finishes cleaning you up, before moving on to herself, telling you to wait as she does so.

You watch as her back muscles move with her motions, and you can't resist the urge to kiss them, to nip at them.

Who knew the governor would have such fairly well defined muscles?

“Baby.” Claire warns.

“Mmm… Mommy.” You reply, before darting the tip of your tongue out against her warm skin.

“Baby, if you want to go home, you'll stop.”

“But you're so pretty. I can't help it.”

Claire turns around, shaking her head.

“You're adorable, honey. Come on, let's get dressed so we can head home.”

Claire has to help you into your shirt and pants, and you don't notice when she pockets your underwear instead of giving it back to you when she spots it under the couch.

Before you leave, your boss insists on watching you drink a glass of water, predicting you'll be too tired to do so once she drops you off at home, expressing how important it is to her that you take care of yourself.

By the time you get to her car, you're stumbling with exhaustion, beginning to crash as the endorphin high wears off.

You can't keep your eyes open once she starts driving, and when you let out a huge yawn, Claire glances at you.

“Go to sleep, baby.” She soothingly says. “I'll wake you up when we get home.”

You're used to listening when she asks you of something, and so you don't think twice as you finally allow your eyes to stay close, and you drift off, Claire's warm hand on your thigh.

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Results -- Narngreg

All right, time to look at this week's critters. (Sorry it's a few hours later than normal, it's been a busy few days and I'm behind on everything.) This one is not only breaking the bird streak, but it's also one of the handful of animals that gets a color scheme. The entry our artists are working from is here, if anyone wants to check:

As per usual, the art is under the cut in roughly chronological order.

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) has again demonstrated their ability to create these with an impressive turnaround time: this went up the same evening I posted the entry. I like the design -- the high, muscular back there gives it a good silhouette and a threatening appearance, and the way the black fur is patterned looks really cool -- but what really caught my attention was something in the linked post's description of their design rationale. Apparently binturongs smell like buttered popcorn?? Learn something new every day.

@sweetlyfez (link to post here) has given her Narngreg an interesting low-slung design, like if you built a hippopotamus on a crocodile frame. (She's also provided her own alt text, thank you.) We can see the characteristic claws, and also the fun decision to give the creature an extra-large mouth for its scented breath.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) has again done some fantastic medieval stylization. I really like the decision to go literal with the "eye-shaped circles" description -- makes me wonder if this fur pattern just coincidentally looks like eyes, or if it's meant to ward off predators. Which raises the question of what this friend-to-all-other-animals, dragons-are-scared-of-it beast is trying to ward off. Also, if you check out the linked post, in addition to discussing design decisions, coolest-capybara has another version of this art where a number of the other beasts they've drawn for this project are indeed gathered to follow the Narngreg's scent -- except for the Choglaem, which is hidden in a cave in the earth.

@karthara (link to post here) notes that big cats are probably the sort of beast that can hold their own against dragons, and they fit the physical elements of the description, so here's a big cat species for you. I really like how the coat pattern turned out; the stripes on the end of the tail are a nice touch. Excellent cats all around.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) has taken an interesting (and very cool-looking) direction here. (And has also provided alt text, thank you.) In their explanation of their design decisions, which is quite detailed and worth checking out in the linked post, they explain that a lot of the influence on the design came from trying to reconcile "gentle animal" with "dangerous claws". What kinds of animals have large claws but aren't predators? Well, there are a few, but the ones they are primarily drawing on are the extinct chalicotheres and ground sloths -- large herbivores that nevertheless possess sharp claws. I think it's a clever direction to take. Additionally, I appreciate the stylized eye spots. And the mane-plus-goatee situation. They've also included some previous Beaſts following the Narngreg's sweet breath, and the Choglaem hiding from it in the upper right there. And, of course, Stylized Plants that they made sure to point out to me. :)

@pomrania (link to post here) had a similar thought to cheapsweets: what creature is gentle but has large claws? a sloth! And since there's no mention of it being arboreal, it can be a ground sloth. (Ground sloths are cool and I like that they came up more than once here.) This little guy is frankly adorable; I love the ear tufts and mane. I can see why other animals would be friendly to it -- it just looks like it would be pleasant to be around. There are a number of non-sloth influences happening here, which pomrania lays out in detail in their post, so go see that.

(P.S. Pomrania: I have no idea what, if any, pattern there is to whether the bestiary authors cite sources for a specific fact. I kind of suspect that the difference is "whether they know where that information came from" and possibly "whether they think a particular source is prestigious enough to be an impressive citation".)

@strixcattus (link to post) is also of the opinion that the Narngreg is clearly a feline, or at least similar to a feline -- they also note the "sleeping in caves" thing as inspiration for the "feline equivalent of bears" approach they took, so we might be drifting back to the binturongs again. Anyway, let's all take a moment to enjoy the incredibly cute scene here. Now, go read the linked post. Strixcattus's practice of turning the bestiary entry into a realistic modern naturalist's description of the animal is on point as always, and you owe it to yourself to read this and the other entries they have written. They're fascinating, especially in the context of the Bestiary Telephone situation.

They also express a suspicion that the cave thing is a Biblical allegory, and... ding ding ding!

On the third day the [Narngreg] rises from its sleep and gives a great cry, emitting a sweet odour, just like our Lord Jesus Christ, rising again from the dead...

Granted, bestiary authors turn pretty much everything into a Biblical allegory. You may also be interested to know that dragons retreat from it because the dragon represents the devil.

Anyway, the Aberdeen Bestiary version, which I have to say is particularly nice this time around:

Yep, this artist had the same idea as coolest-capybara and cheapsweets: the drawing should show other animals following it and a dragon... um... hm. Let's just assume that dragon is supposed to be hiding in a cave.

(I assume the critter is blue in this image because painting it black would make all that shading more difficult, so we're using a dark blue to indicate "black".)

And everyone who thought "feline" was indeed correct, because this is the panther.

Some of you may be thinking, "hey, I don't remember learning any of these facts about panthers."

Some others of you, who are up on your taxonomy, may also be thinking, "hang on, panther isn't a species. what animal did the medieval bestiaries think they were talking about?"

I am delighted to inform you that the answer to that question boils down to Bestiary Telephone! See, classical authors wrote about leopards, as you might expect from people who were kicking around northern Africa and southwestern Asia back when there were still leopards there. But Latin had two different words for "leopard", and as a result people from Europe assumed those were two different animals and panthera must be a separate, non-leopard thing. (How would they know, after all? It's not like they have any Leopard Experience.) The confusion created by this simple mistake continues to reign even to this day: the existence of a "panther" as a distinct species of big cat remains a common misconception, and I bet at least one person reading this was in today's lucky 10,000.

(This is not the only etymological absurdity that comes out of medieval Europeans dealing with What Is Big Cats, but we'll get to that when we get to it.)

[inventors-fair]

To the Victors: Sac Ability Commentary

Every single day you people make my life more difficult, and by that I mean that I make my own life more difficult but have a convenient group of polite scapegoats on which to pin my misadventurous inquiry. I really didn’t expect the designs this week to be as difficult to decide between as they were. Narrowing down 31 picks to even six for the winners/runners was difficult enough. That’s the nature of open-ended contests like this, though.

I think that the call for elegance in the open-format was a good one, though. People really acted on that, and weeks where there’s no obvious winner-among-winners because of so many good entries—well, I do like those weeks! It makes my job harder, no doubt, but whatever, this is what I signed up for and this is what we enjoy.

Something I noticed was that there were a lot of synergy-matters/high-self-synergy cards among cards presented here. That’s not a bad thing at all! I imagine, then, that that’s what people notice when they think of elegance: a card that operates well on its own and even better with others. The risks that some people took beyond implication were nice, though, and even if there weren’t a lot of really wacky cards that made me stop and gape, there were quite a few that made me happy with what information y’all absorb from the game and what clearly matters to you.

Per usual, Judge Picks are cards I’ve selected for personal reasons that stand out to me one way or another. Check ‘em out and read on.

@bread-into-toast​ — Mouldering Stitcher (JUDGE PICK)

I chose this card as a Judge Pick for its unique serenity and funky interactions that tie into a strong but fair drawback.

Like I said, there were a lot of good cards to choose from this week. This card sets a unique mood in the way that it has to constantly rebuild itself with the sacrificial aspect, but it’s a strong boy, that’s for sure. I think that the utility in exiling and scrying feels slightly less directly connected to the decayed aspects, which is a sacrifice (metaphorically) you have to make. This is definitely a limited-oriented card, but it has a lot of uses as sac outlet that casual constructed could for sure make use of it.

The obvious go-to is the Gravecrawler interaction, but that’s been said and done before, hasn’t it. At uncommon, with this flow of ideas, though? I do love this card a lot. The statline and the inability to block (usually) is enough of a drawback that this card absolutely plays its role and has to be carefully built around if you’re running for it. But, with so many decayed creatures in limited, whaddaya gonna do but sac, right? Man, this card feels smooth. I’d be willing to fall apart for it. Overall, really good show from a really good week.

~

@curiooftheheart​ — Ob Nixilis, the Conqueror

And here we have the second Ob Nixilis this week, which I do want to say, I like a lot. He feels very planeswalker-y, utilitarian with interesting back-and-forth choices, and for seven mana, I don’t expect anything less. My favorite parts are a) the art direction, although I can take or leave The Unluckiest, because I can feel the ways in which he’s wanting to go forth and—well, conquer. Tally ho! and b) the incredibly relevant +2 ability. Like, that is what’s gonna win you games. Is it as good as Ugin? Well, no, but it’s not trying to be. It’s trying to be demonic, and I like that.

The sac ability itself is a little odd to me. Considering you can only activate planeswalker abilities at sorcery speed during your turn and it’s already restrictive, sacrificing more than one walker and doing it at instant speed literally wouldn’t do anything. It doesn’t add an additional time and it doesn’t change the timing window. That’s to the best of my rules knowledge, anyway; the sorcery speed changing would only mean that if an opponent had a trick to take care of another planeswalker during your turn, you could sac it in response, and then Ob would still have to go through his motions, assuming it was your turn. That -11 feels like it wants to be Tibalt, Cosmic Impersonator. I don’t know, the brutality of the first two abilities doesn’t feel like it quite ties into what the -11 is trying to do. Still, I see the conqueror angle of it; it’s almost kinda weak, which is saying a lot. Regardless—this card is straightforward and punchy.

~

@deg99​ — Seafarer’s Fraud

I’m trying not to chuckle at the art direction here. Well, there you go! In terms of what piracy is trying to do in MTG, I honestly don’t know enough about how pirates work, although I’ve faced down a couple strong Beckett Brass decks. To use this enchantment, though, you have to be super hard in on the archetype. Nothing wrong with that! Quite specific. If there’s anything wrong with having one of these cards in limited, I don’t see it. Great for mana-ramping.

If I do have any issues, they’re not with what the card’s doing. Perhaps there’s something iffy about the fact that the “spells you don’t own” (not “do not,” MTG’s picky about these things; see Tasha) sacrifice doesn’t account for any part of the card itself, but it implies something about the archetype, perhaps, and what kind of deck you’d want to build. I’m getting the vibe that this is a draft chaff card that people deep into Commander want in their decks. Absolutely nothing wrong with that! Pirate players gonna pirate. For this contest, it’s a little...too specific to have elegance outside itself, if that makes sense? I think it’s a well-designed and potentially very powerful card. It’s also not where my brain was going with this contest exactly, although, to be fair, I was vague. In the end, my favorite part is the fact that apparently this pirate’s trick is working? After all, they can enlist other pirates who don’t know the difference! And stealing—oh, stealing business, tricking with gold, I see it more clearly now. Heh. Okay, I’m chuckling freely.

~

@demimonde-semigoddess​ — Malignant Fossil

“Malignant.” I wanna hear about your use of that word. I know it’s supposed to be kind of evil, but is that the word that’s best ascribed here? Is this one even evil? That name is implying a lot of things about this object that are making my scratch my head. These aren’t necessarily criticisms, because I do genuinely want to hear about your thought process and the like. In fact, I have very few direct criticisms about the mechanics here. This card’s a bit of an odd gem. I’m getting a Horizons-y vibe; was that your intention? I can’t imagine the premier playability, but that’s my brain.

I love how you’re using both the treasure and the clue capabilities in a way that subverts and distorts perceptions of them. The lack of cantrip on the filtering means the two mana feels like a treasure while also being more powerful in some ways, which helps tie into the eternalizing cost (!), and the clue feels flavorfully darker. BTW: it’s “YOU draw a card and YOU lose 1 life,” see Metalspinner’s Puzzleknot from Kaladesh. This is one of those things that I feel like I have to drill both into myself and a random contestant every week, so now it’s your turn to take the brunt. That said, getting a zombie token that has those abilities is really funny. If I haven’t said it before: I think this card would play phenomenally in limited and even Pauper. It’s got a lot of quirks and I want to examine and inquire a bit more; while it’s good, it’s also a tad impenetrable.

~

@dimestoretajic​ — Liesa, Saint of Martyrdom

Good on you for using Kaya’s wording here. I was about to wonder, but there you go, she does the good work. And having played with ONE Kaya, I think I like this trick going forwards. Lots to love about the potential here, and I like the way this card plays. I think presentation-wise, this card didn’t need flavor text, because as much as I get the connection with the name, there’s a LOT of rules text in here. Small potatoes, though. This is definitely a limited-commander-bait kind of card, and hoo boy she wants a lot of mana. Nothing wrong with that, though; the world could always use another Baneslayer.

I guess the sacrifice ability itself is a little lackluster, but it ties in with the above line, and there’s nothing wrong with a winmore. This card can absolutely take over games. A wording note, before I continue: the first ability is just “Whenever you sacrifice a nontoken creature.” You’re the only player who can sacrifice your own things. File that for the future, because it’s one of those things that you always need to know, y’know. In general, though? The card’s good, but I don’t feel the sense of elegance. A bomb is a bomb, no doubt. This is a P1P1 for sure. It’s in the unfortunate position of being in, well, this contest, with a LOT of contention. For what it’s worth, I’d be interested to hear deeper thoughts about the martyrdom angle; is it really martyrdom if it’s involuntary, or at least, is it the gift that Liesa is purporting?

~

@dumbellsndragons​ — Reckless Combimancer

I want to like this card. I want to Torpor Orb, this guy, and then Eater of Days into an Ulamog or Progenitus. It’s just so weird to grok! The build-around-ness that you have to do to make this actually work is for thinkers. Frankly, I think it’s really neat and also really complicated, clearly an idea where the mechanics came first. I think the combination aspect of the flavor works pretty well, too. Would this card be great in a commander toolbox, or some constructed nonsense? Maybe! Is it good? I have no earthly idea. I don’t think it’s “good” automatically but it’s also far from bad and making it work is...weird.

Look, I think I do like this card, but it’s definitely asking a lot beyond elegance. This is hardcore math, and not hardcore as in actual mathematics, but more than most MTG players are willing or able to do easily without already knowing what they’re doing—but that’s fair enough, I guess, if you want to make a deck with this card; you gotta make a recipe out of this pile. Most MTG players are so casual, though, that it begs the question: what are the bounds of complexity here? All that aside, I was pretty down on this card, but not as much anymore, tbh. Someone’s having more complicated fun than me with it and all the more kudos to them.

~

@evscfa1​ — Scavenger’s Copse (JUDGE PICK)

I chose this card as a judge pick because of its directness in what it’s asking to do and making me concede elegance in design space I don’t usually delve into.

I just now remembered the Ghave deck I saw played recently, as well as its matchup against someone’s new-brew Atraxa deck. And you know what, in the end... Wow. This card could be incredibly fun, couldn’t it. The amount of counters-to-power-to-cost ratio is something to contend with, and I just remembered Karador as a commander, and ooooooh boy, this card could do fun things there. I think Abzan space feels a little combo-y at times and samey with the counters, but this card isn’t asking for much except to do more of that. It’s powerful and hard to deal with and still requires a big cost. Nothing wrong with that in the least.

Should it be sorcery speed? In this era, probably. Does it matter too much? I don’t think so, not when you’re already losing a mana-producing land slot and then a creature to get all your goodness out here. This card’s not asking for much flavor-wise, although I can for sure feel the Indatha vibes. I assume that the Copse/Corpse wordplay was intentional, and I misread it once or twice admittedly, heh. It fits in where it wants and needs to. Love that.

~

@fractured-infinity​ — Glistening Mass

Ah, the toxicity in our city! Permeating Mass is so weird. There aren’t too many cards with this effect, probably for good reason, but regardless. I like this card and I think you did everything you could to balance it! I especially like the fact that this feels commander-oriented for sure. Hey, does everyone want the ability to spread this oiliness around? Take care of things that maybe I can’t take care of? Boom, have an ooze, spread toxicity. This both helps to make toxic cards spread more toxic around for your proliferation, as well as to prevent the board from gumming up too much because you gotta sacrifice things.

That said, the fact that it’s a good blocker is a bit of a pain in the butt. Maybe making it a 3/1 would have been better, so that oozes kill oozes more easily and to encourage attacking. Attacking 1/3s into each other is...not as much fun, you know? Small notes: You need a comma after “opponent” and after the “{2}” symbol. Besides that? I think this card’s definitely one of the more unique results of the sacrifice clause that I could’ve expected. You guys reached into some cool corners this week.

~

@greensunzenith​ — Cell Coordinator

This one was a favorite for a while. It didn’t fall out of favor, but I think there were just a lot of thoughts that swirled around and a lot of cards that were hard to compare against one another. Correct me if I’m wrong, but “cell” refers to, like, a group of initiates, right? Some kind of cabal? Mechanically, this card does a lot well on the limited front, so let’s get back to that. If this guy dies, the retention of deathtouch on your tokens is quite strong even if they aren’t as coordinated in the end. Trading off for better board presence, at instant speed no less, is very fun, and the fact that you can sacrifice itself in response is really cool.

Was that intentional? There’s something in the flavor that’s not meshing for me exactly, but I understand that it can be sacrificed with a more mechanically-oriented card. Maybe it’s the fact that you can sacrifice more assassins to make assassins, or the fact that, well, I’m not sure what the initiation is; are you intending that they’re dying and being reborn into assassins? Maybe I’m overthinking this; this is one of those cards that you just have to hate-pick when you see it going around the table. Ooh, I also just noticed that it’s an Advisor type. Neato! I still do very much enjoy this card, and it suffers for nothing. I wouldn’t call it the deepest, because the two abilities are in direct conversation with one another, but it’s still fun. To play, I mean, not necessarily to play against. This thing’s a pain in the ass. Love it.

~

@grornt​ — Intrusive Journalist (JUDGE PICK)

I chose this card as a judge pick mostly because of its resonance and its feeling of completeness.

Like I’ve said at least twice now, there were a LOT of great cards this week. This one definitely made people react, and I think I have to respect that. Choosing from among cards this week, we got a lot of scholars and students and plenty of clues to go along with it. Investigations abound and I feel that people wanted to play around in that space. Well, a card like this that generates early advantage to draw into clues while also allowing for further clue usage is pretty darn great. Transform them into the demon of your dreams!

Or nightmares, I suppose. Drawing a card off the sacrifice is the icing on the cake here. Yep, you may not get to use your clues for your research, but you get that knowledge regardless. It almost feels like a demonic contract or a result? Or at least, it feels fitting somehow. The creatures get its due and you get card advantage. This is one of those things that make the archetype feel like it’s flexible, and I think that’s what I appreciate about it the most as a card. Innistrad’s clues and investigations felt great, even if this card could just as fit well into the Back Alleys of New Capenna (2039). Nothing wrong with that! It’s simply a good card that allows for surprise and revelation, beatings that you have to work for.

~

@helloijustreadyourpost​ — Shadowborn Fanatic

This is the elegance and simplicity that I think I expected more of, even if I’m happy with the diversity in cards that came along. Looking up the demons that could go off on turn four, Spawn of Mayhem and Desecration Demon are ripe for the Pioneering, and there are definitely some commanders that would appreciate a boost. Krav/Regna might like to get him out early, yeah? Lots of options! I don’t know precisely what this card would see play in, although it could be a core set-kinda thing. Shadowborn cards have that vibe.

Aside from that, this card’s not asking anything more than what’s on the tin. I feel that there’s something—excuse me, I’m about to get meta and meditative. I’m wondering exactly what I meant by elegance, and what that looks like to other people. When looking even at the examples that we posted, I chose a very specific kind of card to show off, something which is fairly inflexible but that supposedly had a place in limited/constructed: play with auras. And this card is just as much “play with demons.” What’s the as-fan of demons, though? What set is going to ask for demons like that? It feels bluntly utilitarian. I like that for when I need blunt utility. Is that too harsh? I’m not even sure if there’s criticism to be had here; it’s more that I’m curious what elegance means in terms of flexibility vs. specificity with other MTG players. I like what you’ve given me to think about. I’m not as disposed to the flavor text. It’s aight. If I was a demon, it wouldn’t summon me, but it’s...serviceable. Try to wrench yourself from the quagmire of demonic expectation and get weird with it next time, IMO.

~

@hoiohoi​ — Soul Stringer

This card is definitely doing things. Let’s start with the flavor parts that I like. I think that the first two abilities play into the name, and I want to take that unique name and twist the artsy side of it into a chain/thread/linkage, which I believe is what you might’ve been after? The “each creature” part of it is pretty neat. It’s also trying to do a lot of things at once which might not service it well enough.

The first activation is an interesting one that feels more limited-oriented, a hate-card for if you’ve got a nice mirror match that you can use with an advantage; I can imagine cheap token-makers in a certain limited meta would make this card stellar. The indestructible part of it is also quite fun if you have the resources to make that happen even more so. What kind of deck would you play this in, though?

The fact that (with diminishing returns) you can do instant-speed reanimation isn’t really something to scoff at, either. Actually, it’s somewhat busted in late-games; if you have a five-drop, you sacrifice it, getting back a 3-2-1 that died earlier in the game, then rinse and repeat so that all the previous turns become trivial to your opponents’ progress. It’s a remarkably frustrating ability and Saffi Eriksdotter says hello, too. In short: at this point, the card’s incredibly fragile for combos and wants to do several different things, each of which needs to be the focus of this card—which isn’t quite there yet. Try to hone your vision and really visualize the card in greater environments, for and against you.

~

@horsecrash​ — Gurzen, Cowardly Captain

I think I’m a bit stodgy. This card’s otherworldly good for a legend-focused build like Shanid or Arvad. I love the fact that you chose a unique sacrifice ability for this contest that emphasizes both a flavor adhesion and a mechanical distinction that’s asking for play outside limited formats but which also allows for fun within them. In terms of how this card probably plays, I love it. In terms of how it feels, this isn’t my kind of humor at all.

Perhaps it’s the name and flavor text being so direct about the intentions. If the name subverted things, hey, the flavor text would be all the more surprising to answer the question then posed by the rules text in seeming contradiction. If the flavor text allowed the player to feel some sense of dramatic irony, then I’d feel more disposed to such a direct name. I am probably in the minority here. You have big fans of this card, and I’d want to play with this one for sure, but it’s lacking in the nuance that drives the emotional connections I’m looking for. Good use of the emdash there, too, but get rid of the spaces around it.

~

@i-am-committing-tax-fraud​ — Brutal General

Captains and generals abound, wow. I feel that a lot of people were touching on the same beats for a lot of these cards, and that makes for a lot of repetition, it feels, but also a lot of intrigue. People seem to have similar feelings about a lot of the same sac outlets, or at least they have flavor vibes that they wanted to bring across in mechanical ways. I feel that this particular card takes that top-down notion and really runs with it. I see exactly what the name and flavor text are doing in connection with the mechanical desires.

Again, what it earns in cohesion it lacks in subtlety. Making one’s self menacing is an interesting tactic, and I actually quite appreciate the nature of this card’s counter usage. The flavor text outright telling what’s happening feels like something that the implied directions already give us. This is one of those things where I get weird about presentation and everyone’s heard it a million times already. A card with strong flavor cohesion induces surprise through a combination of elements in conversation with each other, or through an adhesion of elements that naturally evoke resonance. Not quite getting that right now. Card’s deec still. Why no subtype?

~

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes​ — Tricksters of the Lonesome (JUDGE PICK)

I wanted to make this card a judge pick for a surprisingly impactful resonance that didn’t click with me until I really started to dig in, and then, what a pleasant surprise.

Surprisingly, I want to start with my single nitpick of this card, which is the name; the rest of it, without that introduction, plays on some really nice pieces of lore. Consciously or unconsciously, you’ve touched upon some lovely mythological aspects here! The temporary unearth and the flavor text combines the sinister nature of European nonhuman folklore with the Greek tragedies of the underworld, plus this really macabre notion of what the sacrifice means here.

Do I even need to talk about the mechanics? This card’s stellar. Appropriately costed for such a strong effect, great with tokens, great with reanimation shells, a reasonable rare, a unique cost, yadda yadda. This card could be printed just about anywhere but would be kind of tricky to use for its resources. Great with that one white enchantment from BRO that sends things back to your hand. I want to get back to the name for a second, though. TL;DR, the trope of “came back wrong” is already resonant in the flavor + mechanical combination, so we know who the faeries are tricking already: lonesome, desperate individuals. Ergo, the name can have another angle to further carve out depths about the world, characters, time period, location, situations, etc. that the tropes don’t already cover. Your audience knows a lot! Have faith in them.

~

@little-red-rabbit​ — Scrapomancer

I think the deathtouch is the most interesting part of this card. I like how it’s turning scrap into rats, and how those rats play an important role on the board with creating a whole row of blockers. I don’t think you need any flavor justification for the ability beyond “it’s made of trash,” and that’s okay. The mood you’re going for of trashbot-making-cute-trashbots is pretty strong! It might be a little much that it can sacrifice itself; I feel for flavor reasons it would be better to sacrifice “another nontoken artifact” instead. You don’t need “you control” there, because the fact that it’s sacrificing means that it’s only you who can control it.

There are a few things I’d like to iron out. The name is still cute, but “-mancer” is usually a wizard’s title, and this little guys isn’t a wizard itself. “Deathtouch” doesn’t need to be capitalized in the second ability, and oop, might wanna check the spelling. I feel the flavor text could be slightly shortened by taking out “alone,” taking out the comma after “heap,” changing “with no given command” to “without orders,” and adding the apostrophe to make it “wizard’s” because of the possessive. Overall, a fun and positive card!

~

@ozthearistocrat​ — Curio, Detective’s Familiar

I feel that this card is so self-evident that there’s nothing I can add to it. Hilarious, in a way, and also self-satisfying, but also amusing, but also it plays well for sure. There were so many clues this week, my goodness. At this point in the commentary, I’ve kind of had my fill of them, which is unfortunate, but that’s what repetition and the alphabet end up making. I really do like this cat, and there’s nothing BAD I can say about the card. The flavor text makes me want to metaphorically smack you with a newspaper, but not to the point where it’s anything but jocular. Eloise is a pretty cool character, you know? I think so, anyway.

Curio seems like the kind of card that would be a fan favorite wherever they showed up. Perhaps a Horizons set, or perhaps a non-premier Innistrad expansion, or maybe Conspiracy murder mystery, which honestly I contend would be a really fun set to do. It plays into the archetypes, it’s funny, it’s fun, it’s advantage, and you’re generating value with creature sacrifice. Huh. Actually, I didn’t think about that as much; Innistrad’s got a lot of that, doesn’t it? Could be pretty fun to look into.

~

@railway-covidae — Inspector Snoop (JUDGE PICK)

I wanted to make this card a judge pick for selecting a unique environment in which it’s implied to exist, and for highlighting limited nuance through that.

I’m actually a bit concerned with the amount of inspectors and journalists that you folks are looking to sacrifice this week even without the relations to investigation. What kind of world or card is this bad boy looking to build off of? Kaladesh, perhaps, but the name is...kind of generic. The rest of the card’s worth talking in-depth about, so here, I’ll hand you the metaphorical newspaper and you bop yourself in the head while thinking about resonant names. Let’s talk about mechanics!

The fact that this can enter and then counter something later on given the energy you’ve stored up prior is a massively advantageous tempo card. It’s unfortunate that it’s telegraphed, but you don’t necessarily have to worry about that, because your opponent is also worried about a creature that can swing in and gain you energy every turn before the counter. This is actually a stunningly strong card if you know how to be a tempo player, and in an environment with more energy uses, I think the balance makes this both a great limited rare as well as a contender for uniquely interesting energy-oriented environments. You know what, props to you for actually making me think about new things. This is the kind of weird sacrifice that I wanted to see more of.

~

@reaperfromtheabyss​ — Ruthless Grandmaster

I see where this card is starting to get its cleverness, and I don’t hate what it’s doing. It’s hard for me to feel the resonance, and I think that there’s that underutilization of nuance that’s making me a little wishy-washy. In what environments does this card want to exist? I assume limited, because lord knows that there’s no constructed deck that would touch this card that I can think of. Tokens are easy fodder, and yes, those tokens are pawns in this game. I can see where this is going.

Thinking about the previous cards and what I’ve liked about them, I think there’s this fine line between what a card’s presenting by itself and what it’s asking for from the rest of a deck. This card says hey, pay attention, you’re going to want to build around me because I have requirements that make your deck better. But what does it do against evasion or multiple attackers, against the fact that it could protect itself but at the cost of another chump-blocker, and that eventually you’ll run out of the big cards? What is this card supposed to be doing, exactly? I feel that this card wants the spotlight without disciplining itself to the kind of deck it wants to be in. The designer’s joy of a first strike and deathtouch and sacrifice are all there, but in this package, I as a player and judge have to ask: how does this card win me the game or support other ways in which I win the game? I don’t think there’s an answer right now.

~

@snugz​ — Evolutionary Catalyst (JUDGE PICK)

I wanted to choose this card as a judge pick because it’s really weird.

And also, it’s good, but it’s so so weird. Haste in GU? The green gives it, yes, but is that...reasonable? I mean, I GUESS, but still, it doesn’t feel right, and you know darn well why. Making lands into hasty creatures isn’t the same! So far, there hasn’t been a UG creature with straight haste itself or even a spell that gives it to creatures that’s not through a loophole. But this thing is just...good? That’s the problem with this card: it’s frustratingly good and I know it’s so much different than a lot of other cards here but, man...

There’s practically no lore, but a good amount of flavor. I think. What precisely is this supposed to be depicting? A catalyst chemically is something different than a mechanical one, mmmaybe, and what exactly is that on the body of whatever it’s supposed to be? Maybe a pod, a gauntlet, a helmet? Call me uncertain, because I’m uncertain. Still: it’s a restricted evolution card that we’ve seen similarly and I do still like that. You know what? This card’s got a lot of science fiction vibes that I like that you’re leaning into. It’s beyond Simic, but (thank goodness) not at Warhammer. I’d play this card and that’s about all I can say, I think.

~

@sparkyyoungupstart​ — Advanced Payment Plan

I’m an occasional fan of cheeky names on cards and weird references if they’re clever enough. Leaning into the Orzhov side of things was a good call, considering the lore of debtors. With that, this card’s got a lot going for it that is fundamentally broken in its colors. Hybrid means that both white and black need to have mechanical outs, and the first ability is Treasure production via sacrifice, which absolutely falls outside of white’s color pie. The redirection of sacrifice is something that’s also, I’m fairly certain, outside white’s pie, although it’s quite a rare effect to see.

The only counterargument is that white gets damage redirection and prevention, and that’s absolutely valid. I still believe that the amount of sacrificial abilities through the colors is too high in the black direction to make that any kind of primary ability, and it doesn’t negate the first line of rules text which, as established, isn’t in white’s pie. As an uncommon hybrid enchantment, this card definitely should be rare. You don’t need “Pay” in that first line, either, and “Token” should be lowercase, but those are small potatoes. I feel that this card could’ve used more feedback to redirect it to firmer ground.

~

@spooky-bard​ — Unscrupulous Osteologist

God, I’ve been on that date. Anyway. Love the creature, feel the Horizon vibes. The name’s a) gummy in the mouth i.e. inelegant, and b) not particularly world/fantasy resonant. Let’s get back to that and first talk about BONES. Thank you so much for having this scientist sacrificing other creatures and not itself, which makes sense. Love how he’s on the trail but needs to keep going on the trail in order to be as menacing as he needs to be. Card advantage and sacrifice, yes please. Overall, great mechanics that speak to the kind of deck that you can play around with!

I’m curious why bones are in short supply, honestly. They don’t seem to be in short supply with the guy in the background, heh. In all seriousness, there are perhaps slightly different ways of making the name and flavor text more cohesive with that excellent art direction. I love the way you’re playing with the flavor text for sure. I’d want to make it slightly snappier, since it’s definitely meant to be darkly humerus—well, femur—and requires either packed brevity or precise resonance. I feel you’re going for the latter, which is good! The flavor text is still good, don’t get me wrong, I literally just want to play around with it for a bit, maybe truncate, maybe re-angle. “To the enterprising inquirer, all death is caused naturally.” Hm, no, but... Hmmmm. I’ll think about it.

~

@stareyedesper​ — Alexander, Living Sylex

As reasonably as this card is projecting what it wants to do, the picture of its environment evades me. In what decks is this meant to be played or signaled? Herein lies an interesting issue: the higher rarity your cards are, the more they need to signal what they’re meant to do. Alexander here displays high utility, but the purpose of their existence as a mere vessel for destruction feels so utilitarian that I don’t know what else to do with them. When do I play this card? How do I build with it? Do I want to use this card?

Alexander is clearly asking for three colors to be played, but those colors have access to other tools that do so many similar and focused things without asking for anything in return. I feel that this card needs more signaling qualities or perhaps personality to truly emerge as a star. When I look at a card like...Yasharn, for example, it’s a card that revolves around itself, but it’s a rare bestial creature that aligns itself with a world. I understand its place on Zendikar. Alexander here isn’t giving my imagination anything to work with. It’s not a badly designed card, but it feels defiant of definition.

~

@wolkemesser​ — Magistrate of Mercadia

Lots to love here and a lot to be frustrated with on my end, or rather, there are two specific wording clauses that are making my eyes twitch. Still, I want to calm down and praise this card for being a huge pain in the butt and a commander that everyone would love to hate. If you were to open this and start building with it, then good lord would you make enemies. At the same time, it’s curious how you’re allowing yourself to cheat out some pretty crazy creatures with the second ability. I’m so glad that you emphasized once per turn, and so even though this card is still insane in the right dredge build, probably, you capped it to prevent insta-Thoracle. My goodness, that was close. And I’ll touch briefly on the flavor, because I assume that adding a name would’ve been too long. Well...I mean, when you’re comparing it to Sisay, a named character, not having a name is a bit weird. Still, I feel you. Interesting story tie-in too!

The first annoyance is “cast that card for as long as it remains exiled by paying its mana cost.” All you’d have to say is “cast that card for as long as it remains exiled,” because it’s implied by the nature of the game that you have to pay costs, and otherwise it would say “without paying its mana cost” which is the default. Secondly, “Activate this ability no more than once per turn” should just be “Activate this ability only once each turn.” The first one is frustrating but the second one’s a common wording mishap. Overall, this is a spicy card with a few oddities.

~

@yd12k​ — Tasigur’s Machinations (JUDGE PICK)

I wanted to choose this card as a judge pick because it has a strange build-around-me feel that invokes flavorful, interesting play that’s refreshingly unique.

I saw a little bit of chat going on in the channel, and I’d like to say that this probably could’ve been five mana, but aside from that, the card itself is pretty darn magnificent to see. Morph/Manifest decks feel so few and far between and I actually really want to see one in action. Considering the amount of ways to make this work in limited, holy crap. Morph is fun and this card is fun and generating advantage is even more fun. It’s a way to generate bodies that are sometimes actually bodies and the fear of removal is so real. What a bomb.

Flavorfully, what this card does is really put the fear of morph into your opponents. Maybe there’s a card that can be turned face-up, maybe not! Maybe obscuring one’s face turns into smoke, maybe it turns into cheap one-or-two drops. This is a limited and commander card only, basically, and I love what that’s doing. It’s a black sacrifice card, which I’m almost disappointed we got so many of this contest, but it does something so unique that I can’t help but love to point it out. Someone’s gonna get a kick out of it.

~

That’s all! Tune in when we tune into things for tomorrow’s contest. @abelzumi​

[pregnantwithpossiblity]

Self-Assessment

Capstone, Week 5

Topic, resources, means of creation, and proposed components for messaging will be discussed and examined for a level of rigor appropriate for completion of the master's degree. I believe that I have selected an appropriate topic with real potential for real world implementation beyond this course and program.

The project will be program-encompassing and representative of the Master of Arts in Graphic and Web Design.  So far I have utilized a wide variety of the skills we've been honing throughout the MAGWD program and that my final presentation will include components that include printed materials, a motion design video, and a micro website.

Research and collected data must be accurate and verifiable, with sources listed and accessible. I think I started off with a strong understanding of what research I need to delve into and where to find based off my current work with Flip the Script. I've been able to identify and contact past and current leaders/stakeholders who can share their lived experiences and informed responses to my project as it develops. I've got quite a few saved tabs that I need to translate more of my research to my archive though! 

Consistent documentation of process to further articulate intentions of what you're making. I have done a good job of making a couple new blog entries to my Tumblr account each week to document my process. I think it has been a perfect platform for me to not only catalog images, videos and presentation decks, but to also take some time to capture my state of mind in response to each week's lesson, feedback, and what I've achieved. It definitely serves a great reminder of how much has already been done in the first 5 weeks of the course. I think there is space for me to make additional, smaller, updates outside of the schedule assignments deadlines.

In addition to other exhibition offerings and presentations, the final project, along with its process, will be accessible and discoverable for viewing as an online gallery.  This portion had been a bit of an uncertainty to me until this last week. I can now picture how my project can live as a micro website that will both function as a component for presenting my prototype video, and additional designed assets, as well as sharing the story of my process. I am really looking forward to learning more about how the Github hosted sites work this week. I haven't used it previously.

The project should allow for community engagement and partnership.  I am already in contact with several past and current community leaders whose work is directly connected to my project. I believe that it highly likely that my work with be able to used to support the current community efforts to establish a physical Queer Community Center. Even if the final version of my project isn't exactly the right fit, it is already a stepping stone toward determining how I can utilize my design skills to further support current and future efforts towards making this space a reality. It has been taking longer than I thought it would to schedule my next to calls, but I am very confident that I'll be able to set them on my calendar in the next 2 weeks.

[steamberrystudio]

13/02/2022 Devlog

Hi everyone! I think this devlog is a week late but everything is blending together again so. . .I'm not sure.

(But the update looks big so I think it probably. . .has been three weeks, not two.)

Anyway, let's jump in! Here is the bullet list summary.

Summary:

Completed . . .all CGs

Finished making the last round beta tester corrections

Sent out new beta version

Completed the Kickstarter walkthrough

Worked on Content "warning"/guide

Revamped (slightly) the Glossary index

Started adding in the new glossary entries

Redesigned the glossary screens

Completed and coded all new glossary articles

Crosslinked all the glossary pages to each other

Finished hyperlinking to glossary entries in the game

Currently there are 123 glossary entries.

Keeping an eye out for any additional ones needed

Still have to confer with some backers on entries too

Worked on background animations

SFX

"Mini" CGs

Started putting together game credits

The Ramble:

So the ramble. I've done a lot since my last update here.

As you can see from the list above, I finished all the main CGs for the game and got them coded. The CGs were the biggest remaining chunk of work left so they are now complete. This leaves the game at basically 99% complete. What remains are final touches and polishing and additional testing.

That said, I did decide to complete a few mini CGs now that my hand has recovered a little(ish)? It's kind of reached a baseline of slight pain all the time. But it's not getting better beyond that so I'm just managing it. The mini CGs shouldn't be too taxing and I think it'll be a nice little addition for the scenes I want to place them in.

I completed both of the official guides (the public guide and the exclusive backer guide). And I've been working on the content guide as well - the content guide is essentially a massive spreadsheet that breaks down story content based on broad categories (like violence, mental health, trauma, and injuries, social issues). From there, it breaks each mention of content into things like "references to", "discussions of", "depictions of", "themes of", based on how the content appears in the game. There is another section that gives a small amount of context, and if someone wants to hover over the "details" cell, they can get explicit story context with character names and even, in some cases, direct quotes.

While not exhaustive (sadly, no content guide can ever be fully exhaustive), it is quite detailed and has been a lot of work to put together. And still needs more work to make sure I at least catch all the "big" things

I've done a lot of work on the glossary - slightly revamping the screen pages, and adding in all the entries I want to add in. So far there are 123 glossary entries. And they all had to be cross-linked to each other then hyperlinked to from within the game.

Because the entire glossary is accessible to the player from the start and there are no locked entries, I don't feel I have to be meticulous about making sure everything is linked at just the right moment in the game. But I did want to make sure I linked to the significant things - sometimes more than once if it's something I felt the player might forget between mentions.

I started working on some background animations - mostly small things like shifting light beams and the like. There are already some animations in the game - like the rain - but there are a few more I've wanted to add. So I've been putting those together. I think they really add a nice effect and help bring some of the BG art to life.

And finally, I've started putting together the game credits. Which I know seems like a minor thing but setting aside that I have to include hundreds of KS backers, since I always save working on credits for one of the last things I do, it feels weird to be working on that already. It just shows how close to completion the game is.

Sneak Peeks and Previews:

I wanted to show off some of the animations but tumblr isn't wanting to load the videos properly. ;A;

Upcoming Weeks:

I've said in another update that I really have a fairly short list of things to complete to finish the base game of Gilded Shadows.

It includes things that coding in the SFX and credits, making a few small corrections, finishing the BG animations and mini CGs.

And testing, testing, testing, and more testing.

The game is obviously very close to being complete but there are a few things to still finish up. We're really in the "dotting i's" and "crossing t's" phase with lots and lots of double checking, triple checking, quadruple checking. . .

The next few updates are likely to be pretty boring for that reason.

As always, please consider wishlisting on Steam if you haven't already! The "Coming Soon" page is up over there now.

https://store.steampowered.com/app/1875950/Gilded_Shadows/

That's all for now! See you next time.

[drarrymybeloved]

Love in a Five Part Act

my third entry for the summer writin challenge! prompt: crashing a party, trope: fake dating & craft: reverse chronology. many thanks to @the-starryknight for holding my hand through this one <3

Harry is pacing. He’s walking in tight circles in the entryway, drawing curious glances from everyone passing through. He tugs at the collar of his robes, the same ones he bought with Draco. No cravat this time, though.

Draco likes to show up to these things twenty five minutes after the indicated time – “You mustn’t seem too eager nor must you be tardy” – so Harry’s been pacing for the last twenty minutes.

His stomach is a shivering ball of nerves and there’s the slightest of tremors in his hands. He could have just written a letter, or shown up at Draco’s house, but Draco likes grand gestures and Harry’s the all-in sort of guy, so here he is. Pacing.

The main doors open just then. Harry looks up, gut tightening. Dressed in peacock blue with hints of dark green, Draco looks gorgeous. Harry’s nerves calm for a second as he takes in the familiar sight – despite everything, Draco feels like home. And then Draco’s eyes find his and the nerves are back tenfold.

Draco’s mouth drops open a bit and his brow furrows before he quickly schools his features into a polite mask. He approaches Harry and asks without preamble, “What are you doing here?”

“Attending the ball?” Harry attempts feebly. He hadn’t bothered to think of exactly what he would say to Draco. Not one of his finest ideas, in retrospect.

Draco arches one unimpressed eyebrow. “Obviously, Potter. I meant why are you here?”

“Draco,” Harry whispers, giving up on a heartfelt speech and letting the one word encompass everything he’s feeling.

Draco’s eyes widen, surprise making his mask drop. He takes an uneven breath in. “We agreed, remember? We don’t need this,” he pauses and looks around before continuing in a lower tone. “This arrangement anymore. You got what you needed and so have I.”

“Yes,” Harry agrees. “I got what I needed. But what about what I want?”

A moment passes. The silence between them stretches and swells, the din of the nearby party falling away.

“And what do you want?” Draco asks finally, his voice nothing more than a whisper. His hands are restless, the tips of his fingers coming together in patterns only he’s privy to. Harry remembers Draco doing this before, when Skeeter wrote a vicious article on how “Malfoy’s Death Eater nature” was going to “corrupt our Saviour.” He remembers wanting to catch those fluttering hands in his own, to tell Draco no one listens to Skeeter anymore, tell him that he likes having Draco around and to hell with Skeeter and her ilk.

Harry allows himself to reach out this time and gently laces his hands through Draco’s.

“This,” he says, heart pounding but voice sure. He squeezes Draco’s hands once. “For real this time.”

Slowly, a smile blooms over Draco’s face, his body relaxing. “I’ve been told I’m high maintenance,” he says slightly breathlessly.

Harry laughs, relief flooding through him. “Nothing I can’t handle, I’m sure.”

“No, you did rather well,” Draco murmurs, genuine under the banter.

Warm with fondness, Harry presses a kiss to his cheek before gesturing to the ballroom. “Shall we?” he asks, offering his arm. Draco smiles and tucks his hand securely in the crook of Harry’s elbow.

They are yet again subjected to stares that have not gotten any subtler and conversations that keep prodding at personal boundaries. But none of that matters because this time when Draco calls Harry “darling” he’s not holding anything back, and when Harry calls him “love” it’s because he wants to and not because he’s fulfilling a role.

-----

Harry steps through Draco’s Floo into his living room, letting the bright space settle the apprehension he’s been unable to shake off ever since he got Draco’s letter. He loves this room, with its neutral toned furniture interrupted with colorful cushions and throws. It suits Draco. The kitchen was more of a surprise. When he had first come here, about a week into their arrangement, Harry had been expecting modern fittings and a minimalist layout. Instead, Draco’s kitchen has exposed brick walls and buttery yellow cabinets. A honey oak table stretches through the length of the space and potted plants sit in the windowsills. Now that he knows Draco’s penchant for baking and how he likes to unwind by immersing himself in time-consuming recipes, Harry thinks nothing could suit Draco more.

“Malfoy?” Harry calls out. He’s Draco now, really, but only in the privacy of Harry’s head.

“Kitchen,” comes the answer.

“Hey,” Harry says, smiling a little at the sight of Draco in a cozy jumper bathed in warm afternoon sunlight. “Is this about the gala day after tomorrow? You think we should attend it?”

An uncertain look crosses Draco’s face before he takes a deep breath. Harry feels his smile slipping.

“Yes, I think it would be a good opportunity to meet a few people I’ve been hoping to talk with,” Draco hedges, and Harry can hear the “but” coming from a mile away. Sure enough, Draco continues. “But, I think we’ve done enough damage control, both in terms of everyone’s opinion of me and your situation with the press. I can’t keep pretending–”

He cuts himself off and presses his lips together, hands clutching the counter behind him. He’d look almost relaxed if it weren’t for the tension evident in his shoulders, his pronounced knuckles. Harry remembers kissing those knuckles, tipsy on champagne, and spinning Draco to some fast number.

“Right,” Harry says hoarsely, unable to formulate a response over the echo of “I can’t keep pretending” in his head, a mocking symphony.

He can’t think beyond the roiling in his gut and the ice pooling at the base of his spine. This was coming, it had always been coming, so why is he so surprised?

“So, that’s it then?” he asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Yes,” Draco says stiffly. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Harry nods woodenly. Manages a “You too,” before he turns and leaves.

-----

Harry hears the Floo flare from downstairs. A second later, Malfoy calls out, “Potter?”

“Yeah, up here, second floor,” Harry answers from his room, wrestling with the complicated tie – “It’a cravat, Potter, honestly” – Malfoy had him buy for the Ministry event they’re attending tonight, along with a whole new set of dress robes.

He hears an annoyed huff from near the doorway before Malfoy comes to stand behind him.

He meets Harry’s eyes through the mirror. “What on earth are you doing with that? Here, let me.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but starts to turn around. Malfoy stops him, holding onto his shoulders to make him face the mirror again.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, steadfastly ignoring the quickening of his heartbeat at the brief contact.

Malfoy shrugs. “It’s easier this way,” he says, reaching around Harry’s chest to tie the cravat, the movement bringing him tantalisingly close to Harry.

Harry stays perfectly still, painfully aware of Malfoy’s proximity. He can feel Malfoy’s body heat, can smell his sweet vanilla scent – one tiny step backwards, and his body would be flush against Malfoy’s.

Harry closes his eyes briefly, swallowing forcefully. He opens his eyes and fixes them firmly on Malfoy’s hands in the mirror, competently manipulating the cravat with slender fingers.

Oh Merlin.

“There we go,” Malfoy tucks the cravat into Harry’s robes and smoothes his hands down Harry’s chest in a perfunctory fashion, making gooseflesh erupt all over Harry’s arms.

“Thanks,” Harry all but gasps, stepping quickly away from Malfoy, hoping he can’t see the furious blush on his cheeks. “Let’s get going then.”

It’s been a while since he’s had any good reason to attend a Ministry function, but Harry’s been to enough of them to detest the entire enterprise. He’d much rather make his donations from the safety and privacy of his own home, thank you very much. So it’s with no small amount of trepidation that Harry enters the ballroom with Malfoy on his arm.

People immediately take notice, the whispers spreading like wildfire. Harry can already feel a headache building.

“We knew they would stare – let them. I’ll do the talking, you try to look like you’re not being tortured,” Malfoy murmurs at his side, smiling charmingly at the guests they pass.

Despite himself, Harry snorts. “Who says I’m not?” he whispers back, feeling a pleasant jolt at the genuine grin Malfoy shoots him before he turns the charm back on.

As the night progresses, Harry has to admit, he’s not being tortured. It’s definitely not his idea of a fun time, but with Malfoy there, it’s at least tolerable. Each time the conversation starts heading towards Harry’s personal life, Malfoy subtly changes the topic with a well-placed enquiry.

“Would you get a glass of champagne for me, darling?” Malfoy asks, turning towards him a little, a private smile on his face. Harry’s breath hitches. The endearment is a new addition to their arrangement. But of course, it would only be natural for Malfoy to use one, especially where others could hear them.

“Sure, love,” Harry answers, not deciding to use an endearment of his own until he had already said it. Along with Malfoy’s champagne, he returns with a glass of Firewhiskey for himself, letting the spicy warmth settle his nerves.

They don’t stay for too long – Harry had been adamant on no more than an hour and a half and was surprised when Malfoy had agreed without any complaints.

“That wasn’t so bad actually,” Harry tells Malfoy as they walk towards a secluded part of the lawns to Apparate home. Their respective homes, obviously.

“Yes, it went quite well, I think,” Malfoy responds with a bright smile. “I was a little worried people might not buy us,” he gestures between them, “together, but they lapped it right up.”

Something cold and heavy sinks into Harry’s stomach, replacing the tentative warmth that was glowing through him not a minute ago. Of course. In between all the touching and the endearments and Malfoy’s surprisingly considerate nature, Harry had somehow managed to forget that this was all a show.

“Right,” Harry says, throat tight. “I think I’ll head home now, tiring night and all that.” He gives Malfoy the best approximation of a smile he can manage and Apparates away.

-----

They step out of the restaurant together, holding hands. The number of reporters camped outside had been steadily rising as Harry and Malfoy fed each other bites of food and exchanged fond looks — all carefully planned and executed of course.

The questions come hurtling at them from all sides, accompanied by bursts of camera flashes. Most of them are directed towards Harry.

"Mr. Potter, are you courting Draco Malfoy?"

"Mr. Potter, sir, did Ginevra Weasley leave you because you're interested in men?"

"Smile for the camera sir!"

“Was your relationship with Ms. Weasley a sham?”

Too much, it’s all far too much. Harry has never been good with dealing with the press, and he’s out of practice now. The flashes blind him and the questions echo oddly in his head. His chest burns with every sip of air he struggles to take.

He feels an arm snake around his waist, gripping firmly for a moment, before withdrawing to his upper back and rubbing faint circles between his shoulder blades. Malfoy steps forward, smoothly answering questions, appearing totally unruffled, while his hand continues to move over Harry's back. Harry isn't listening to a word of what Malfoy is saying. Instead, he focuses on Malfoy's hand on his back, letting the point of contact ground him, the repetitive movement soothing.

When they land on Harry's doorstep, Malfoy shoots him a curious look. His hand still rests on Harry's back — once he had answered all the questions he intended to, he'd neatly stepped back from the gaggle of reporters and Apparated them to Grimmauld right then and there.

Harry makes the mistake of looking at Malfoy. Caught up in his intense gaze and feeling a little discombobulated from the restaurant, Harry freezes. His mind is still stuck on the comfort of Malfoy’s hand on his back, of his solid grip on his waist, and his feelings are a tangled mess. Some of it must be showing on Harry’s face, because Malfoy’s expression changes and he turns more fully to Harry, the beginnings of a sentence on his lips.

Hot panic bursts in Harry’s chest. Hastily stepping away from Malfoy, he stumbles over his words. “I should, um– thanks for today, er, send me an Owl for next time,” he says, backing away towards his front door. He shuts the door before Malfoy has a chance to say anything, leaning against it for support.

-----

“It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, Potter,” Malfoy insists.

Harry scoffs, turning back to stare at his tumbler of whiskey — the muggle variety. He rarely visits wizarding pubs now, not unless he wants to make the front page of the Prophet and every other godforsaken wizarding tabloid.

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Malfoy rolling his eyes.

“I know strategy hasn’t always been your strong suit, Potter, but do think for a minute. Ever since your break up with Ginevra Weasley, the media attention you receive has increased tenfold. You can’t even have a drink in peace, can you?”

Harry turns back to face Malfoy, raising a pointed brow. Disappointingly, Malfoy doesn’t take the bait.

“You want the media to stop hounding you about your love life and I want to not be undesirable number one,” he continues. “It’s a simple equation, Potter, put the two together and the solution is obvious.”

“And yet, you’re the only one who’s arrived at it,” Harry says flatly, ignoring the whisper of it could work, actually floating at the back of his head.

“Please, Potter, we both know who the smart one is in this relationship and it certainly isn’t you,” Draco says, smirking.

“I never actually agreed to this fake-dating nonsense, Malfoy.”

“Potter,” Malfoy deadpans. “It’s been, what, five months now since your relationship ended? The press isn’t going to stop any time soon. Not unless you do something about it.”

“Thrilling that you’ve been keeping count,” Harry mumbles into his glass before taking a healthy swig. Malfoy’s right and Harry knows it. He’s tried everything — polite non-answers, straightforward “no comments”, pointed silence, and even snarled insults to leave him the fuck alone. None of it worked. This might just be his only option. No, it is his only option.

Harry sighs heavily and turns to Malfoy. “You’re going to be really high-maintenance, aren’t you?”

Malfoy smiles, languid and satisfied. “You know it, darling.”

[beneaththetangles]

Reader’s Corner: Those Snow White Notes, Your Lie in April Revisited, and A Couple of Cuckoos

She’s My Knight, Vol. 1

The premise of this lovely little comic is simple: Ichinose has always been the popular kid, attracting attention from all the girls until cool, collected Mogami comes along, stealing not only Ichinose’s popularity, but also his heart. I’m a total sucker for the Mogami type in manga and anime—the tall, athletic, boyish girl—and she makes a perfect pairing with the pitiful Ichinose, who increasingly, as the volumes progresses, falls apart around her. There’s not much else here—just lots of gags and near-miss moments, so in that sense, She’s My Knight may end up being a forgettable series. But just as Ichinose is the damsel to Mogami’s knight, this series might be rescued, too, by hints that the girl is not as clueless as she seems. But even if that’s not true, even if the series means to simply tease us for endless chapters and results in a series that isn’t unique in any way, the manga would still hit the sweet spot of feel good romantic comedy so well that it doesn’t really matter—this is the perfect volume to open as you sit back, kick your feet up, and prepare to fall in love. ~ Twwk

She’s My Knight is published by Kodansha.*

A Couple of Cuckoos, Vol. 1

Nagi Umino learns quite the shocking truth: As an infant, he had accidentally been switched with another baby, and had essentially grown up his whole life as an adopted kid. To make matters worse, upon meeting his birth parents, and the girl, Erika Amano, that he had been switched with, he finds out that their parents had decided that the easiest way to resolve this whole matter is to have the two of them get married so that all the parents can officially consider both of them their children! With an anime adaptation announced recently, I figured I’d check out the first volume of the manga, and true to the name, it’s quite crazy. With a mess of family relations and some side romantic antics involving a smart girl Nagi has a crush on, this manga definitely has all the fun of a good romcom, and there’s not really too much that annoyed me about it, either, other than that the volume ended way too soon. I also liked how it touches on the awkwardness of trying to connect with a birth family you didn’t grow up with, and I hope future volumes do more with that along with the romance stuff.  ~ stardf29

A Couple of Cuckoos is published by Kodansha.

Street Fighter Gaiden: Vol. 1

Videogames have made the transition to manga many times, and some have even done it on multiple occasions, which is the case with Street Fighter. I picked up Street Fighter Gaiden, which has two volumes and focuses on various stories in the SF series, focusing on various characters. Ken and Ryu get their due, and so does Chun-Li, who is some nice panels participates in a drug bust in San Francisco. Other stories feature Fei Long desiring to do something more challenging than be a movie star, leading to travels to Japan and a tragic accident while stopping some criminals; T. Hawk protecting fellow natives from another tribe who are being harassed by Balrog; and the final story, where Guile becomes involved in underground fights while trying to prevent a friend from getting involved with Shadaloo, the secret evil organization of the series. The stories veer from the traditional backgrounds of some of the characters, like Fei Long and Guile, but it’s interesting to read how the author puts them together. Fans of Street Fighter should check this series out! The drawings in the manga looks dated and a little rough here and there, but I certainly enjoyed it and will be picking up volume two. ~ Samuru

Street Fighter Gaiden: Vol. 1 is published by Udon Entertainment.

The Dawn of the Witch, Vol. 1

Witches seem to be making a bit of comeback in manga lately. The Dawn of the Witch, one of the new entries, seems at first blush to add little that’s new to the canon, assembling a weak main character mage, overpowered but very young looking master witch, talented witch / love interest, and a beastman, as they undertake a special type of journey / course assigned by their magic school. However, tropes can be deceiving. Volume one tells a story at breakneck pace, developing relationships, adding backstory, providing action, and dumping a ton of information, which while it could become oppressive, in this manga, is captivating. The world and its history are fascinating, the way magic is used has some uniqueness (including a cursed, talking staff?), and the divisiveness between witches and the church shows depth. The world-building in just this one volume is extensive and engaging, and the story seems to be in good hands, while the art and character design, developed by two additional members of this three-person manga team, are just as extraordinary, bringing vividness to action scenes, boldness to the characters themselves, and lettering and paneling that add further dimension to goings-on. The frequent and obvious fanservice, unfortunately, can be quite distracting; it’s not a coincidence that it takes a back seat once the story ramps up, indicating how unimportant it is. By the last chapter or two, there’s no room for panty shots; we’re swept up into the lives of these characters, the choices they’ve made and are making, and the world they inhabit, which in terms of recent witch manga, is second to none. ~ Twwk

The Dawn of the Witch is published by Kodansha.*

Those Snow White Notes, Vol. 1

Moving to Tokyo after the death of his guardian, grandfather, and teacher, Setsu is a lost soul. Though he carries with him a shamisen, the ancient three-stringed instrument, Setsu is unable to play, haunted by the words of his grandfather which told him he was unworthy of it. But will this move to Tokyo and the people he meets there be just what Setsu needs to find his sound? The first half of this initial volume is one long chapter, and reads like a one-shot, an almost self-contained story of Setsu’s serendipitous meeting with a hopeful actress, Yuna, and the impact the two have on one another. However, this front half of volume one isn’t particularly distinct in any way, and despite a desire to connect emotionally with readers through the young protagonist and and his family, the panels fall flat in this aspect, as do they when depicting the sound of the shamisen, whose tone and rhythm I could feel but not the emotion it gives. The second half of volume, however, establishes the story and characters better. Setsu’s personality is better defined, as is his brother’s, and new supporting characters are introduced as Setsu begins to attend school, setting the stage for a club-centered drama, a la Kono Oto Tomare and Chihayafuru, two other anime centered on historic Japanese pastimes. And like those, there’s potential here, though it will be lost if Those Snow White Notes can’t find consistency and an emotional anchor, which would be a shame, as the first episode of currently-airing anime adaptation showed how a few adjustments could turn this story into something quite special. ~ Twwk

Those Snow White Notes is published by Kodansha.*

Your Lie in April, Vol. 4

I’m continuing my re-read of Your Lie in April and have reached Volume four, a part of this series which can be a tough read. Kousei has finally returned to the piano scene after two years away to find that his childhood rivals have only improved. Both of them were motivated by him to become better. Emi saw him when she was very little and it inspired her to play, believing in her heart to play for joy, while Takeshi is driven to perfection to reach what Kousei had always achieved. Then there’s Kousei himself. In these chapters, readers bear witness to the emotional and physical abuse Kousei underwent as a child and it’s hard to witness. But it does help present a complete picture of the person Kousei has become so far. This is a challenging volume because of what happens, but it’s important to the overall narrative. Beautiful artwork and emotional moments will keep me moving through this re-read.  ~ MDMRN

Your Lie in April is published by Kodansha.

Skip Beat, Vol. 17

The “Suddenly, a Love Story” arc is an oddity, a portion of Skip Beat that is quite long and cumbersome, with not enough Kyoko and perhaps too much of the unappealing side of Ren, full of insecurity and lacking much of his initial appeal. Volume 17 thankfully puts the arc to rest with a quick but exciting (and revealing) finale which pits Ren against no, not Shotaro, but Reino, the abusive and perhaps occultist musician. The next arc also begins in this volume, introducing Kuu, a movie star more famous, it seems, than any previous character in the series. Although we get to know him just a bit, he appears to be a rival who could threaten Ren. He also immediately challenges Kyoko, providing the potential for her to really chew up character interactions, something sorely missed in the previous arc. The final chapters of volume 17 feel like a breath of fresh air, hopefully pointing toward compelling chapters ahead—though I fear the problem of an unappealing Ren may be not be solved anytime soon. ~ Twwk

Skip Beat is published by Viz.*

=====

Reader’s Corner is our way of embracing the wonderful world of manga, light novels, and visual novels, creative works intimately related to anime but with a magic all their own. Each week, our writers provide their thoughts on the works their reading—both those recently released as we keep you informed of newly published works and older titles that you might find as magical (or in some cases, reprehensible) as we do.

[iceshard1011]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Unrequited Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders Characters: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Orange Side (Sanders Sides) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders And Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Angst, Car Accidents, Precognition, Abusive Parents, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Background Orange Side (Sanders Sides), Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Needs a Hug, Logic | Logan Sanders Is A Good (Boy)Friend, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is So Done, Sympathetic Sides (Sanders Sides), Mentions of various mental illnesses, (none of which any of the characters have) Summary:

"You know when people say your life flashes before your eyes? Well, it doesn’t. You don’t have time."

---

In which anyone who has ever hurt Remus immediately pays for it thanks to his menace of a brother.

4k word fic is below :)

Remus had always had rotten luck. Wherever he dared to have the audacity to step, utter chaos followed. Whether it was a punch to the nose from an asshole trying to mug him or a woman ranting at an accidental spill of coffee on her new shirt. Whether someone walked away with a soured attitude or broken leg, anyone who came in contact with Remus had their entire day — and sometimes their entire life — ruined, simply for looking at him the wrong way. Remus figured this recurring curse nipping at his heels was the reason he had no connections with his family, the reason no co-workers wanted to be around him, why no one in his classes stuck around long enough to know more than his name.

Oh, also, he was crazy.

If everything aforementioned wasn’t enough to push someone away, announcing that he had a voice that told him This person talks behind your back was a sure-fire way to send anyone scrambling.

At first, Remus thought it was normal. For a thirteen-year-old boy growing and changing and dealing with significantly more stress and grief than other people his age, hearing things like Your friends are toxic and This teacher sucks and You don’t need school didn’t seem so crazy.

Besides, he’d approached his parents exactly once about leaving school, and got his answer swiftly and harshly. He’d never asked again, too distracted with trying to help Mum when she came down with a sick spell for the next week and the way Dad’s car kept breaking down.

The thoughts didn’t cease.

It’s not wrong to like boys.

You’re not in love with your girlfriend.

You could anonymously key your English teacher’s car after school. The bitch deserves it.

Sometimes, Remus did stupid things like listen to the ridiculous thoughts that hummed in the back of his mind.

When he fled from the car, stuck in the middle of congested traffic just before a truck ploughed through the vein of vehicles and landed his father in hospital for days, his mother had slapped him upside the head and grounded him for far longer. Remus still wasn’t entirely sure why. He wondered if she blamed him for not warning them. He wasn’t sure if that was justified, as he hadn’t been thinking much else other than the GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT that had been ringing in his ears.

When the thoughts had mused, seemingly half-heartedly, that his father was going to trip down the flight of stairs if he went without his crutches, Remus’ attempt at a warning had earned him two weeks of dabbing foundation over the bridge of his cheek so no one at school would ask questions.

“Stop acting out!” his mum had screamed once as she pinned him to the wall, her nails digging into his throat and her expression blurry from his stinging eyes. “It won’t change anything!”

His parents’ breaking point was when Remus freaked out the entirety of his chemistry class when his mind insisted that the method the professor was teaching them was going to cause fire to catch on the hair of the girl at the far end of the classroom. He was called into the principal’s office during that class (escaped the smoke alarm going off and the screaming from someone who was going to have an unexpected style change, which was good) and then again at the end of school, with the addition of his parents, neither who were very happy about it.

It was then that he revealed, in a humiliated mumble, about the odd thoughts that continued to prove to have some truth.

The money for a doctor got on his parents’ nerves. He stopped visiting the therapist before any diagnosis could be determined.

Remus did his own research. Schizophrenia, bipolar, DID, OSDD, OCD, every relevant acronym and mental illness under the sun, yet nothing answered all of his questions. There weren’t any odd dreams, multiple voices weren’t clogging his mind, he didn’t feel out of place in his own body, he never saw anything that wasn’t really there.

Nothing explained the odd precognitions the voice gave him, the strange accusatory claims made of the people around Remus who he personally thought he was quite fond of, the baffling times where the voice tried to talk to him like it was any other casual conversation. Even things like how Remus was told not to cross that section of the road, or was mentioned a pretty-looking butterfly behind Remus that he hadn’t even seen yet.

Nothing ticked all the boxes. Nothing gave him all the answers.

Remus was in college, low grades, a shitty apartment, few friends who hated his boyfriend and a boyfriend who hated his few friends, when he reached his own breaking point with himself.

His boyfriend walked into the apartment, expression bored and eyes uninterested. Remus smirked over at him.

“You get my deodorant?” he asked, standing from the couch.

He didn’t, the voice said.

“No,” said Neroli. Remus wasn’t disappointed.

“I guess you’ll have to deal with the consequences of not entertaining me, then,” he said with a sharp grin, gripping Neroli’s shirt and tugging him down for a kiss. His boyfriend responded, suitably fervently. Remus was just getting to the point of reaching for his boyfriend’s belt when the voice growled, quietly, as if it hadn’t meant for Remus to hear, Cheating bastard.

It startled Remus so badly he yanked back from Neroli like he’d been scalded. He earned a bemused look from his boyfriend.

“Why, uh— why didn’t you drop by the shops?” Remus asked, hating himself for considering listening to the menace inside his head. Neroli shrugged dully, moving into the kitchen. He peered into the fridge.

“Got caught up.”

“With what?” Remus blurted, then screamed at himself for opening his mouth. Neroli shot him a dirty look.

“What, do you expect me to explain every second of my day to you?” he asked irritably.

“Only the fun parts.” Remus shot him another suggestive, toothy grin. It was ignored.

Don’t listen to it, whispered Remus to himself. Don’t listen to it.

Ask him where he was on the night you were studying with Logan, the voice said in reply. Remus growled and shook his head. The voice persisted; Ask.

“You look distracted,” Neroli noted, but he sounded detached.

“Maybe I’m thinking about you under the sheets,” Remus said.

Neroli didn’t entertain him.

“Maybe you’re cheating on me,” said Remus with another grin, waiting for Neroli to give him a reaction. His boyfriend merely glanced over at him with a considering look.

“Actually,” he said, and Remus’ heart dropped against his will, “I’m going to my friend’s place. I made plans with her instead of getting groceries.” He walked past Remus and took his car keys from the entry table.

Remus still remembered the way he had felt nauseous, and the ferocious feeling that had washed over him that somehow felt like the voice sounded when Neroli had said, “By the way, I’m breaking up with you,” without so much as a glance over his shoulder. “And I want you gone from the apartment by the time I come back.”

Remus had found himself with his head in his hands on the couch for the next few hours, going through the motions. He didn’t cry. He hadn’t cried for a long time. He had felt numb, even as the voice had murmured apology after apology.

Eventually, Remus had got himself and his things together and moved from the place, a worn backpack all to show for his possessions. He had ignored the voice ordering him to find somewhere to eat, some shelter to sleep, the demands to call his friends and ask for help.

Remus had spent the night of Christmas Eve shivering on a park bench, bag for a pillow and his own arms as a blanket.

(He couldn’t deny that it was his fault when Neroli got into a car crash on his way back to his apartment that morning.)

Over the following years, with more scenarios such as that, Remus learned that it was best if people knew he was insane. If they knew that, if they knew he heard things, and caused horror everywhere he went, they would stay away. If people stayed away, they saved themselves from a bad time and Remus from having to watch anyone he’d gotten attached to leave.

He was sick of people leaving.

Somehow, amongst this mindset, he hadn’t quite managed to shake a scattered few of his old college friends.

Logan, a nerd with a prime attitude and punchable face and also the least emotionally available person Remus had encountered, was somehow one of Remus’ main sources of support. He had taken up tutoring Remus, against Remus’ better judgement, and he had constantly offered his own house as a place for Remus whenever he needed it. Not that Remus ever accepted any of this, mind you.

The only problem was — Logan was feisty. Almost as feisty as Janus, and just as feisty as Roman. His stubbornness matched Remus’ and it was near impossible to shake the guy from an idea once he was fixed on it.

It was kind of endearing.

(It was also very difficult, given Remus’ goal in life had become to stop hurting people he cared about.)

Logan also rambled a whole lot, which Remus liked. It drowned out the voice, still present after all these years. It had quietened considerably, if Remus thought about it. It seemed to have a strange opinion on Logan. Remus ignored it, nonetheless.

This particular afternoon, Remus found that he couldn’t keep ignoring the cursed phenomenon following him.

“Are you paying attention?” Logan asked.

Remus smirked, keeping his eyes on the path in front of him. He kicked the stone again, and it skittered up the pathway then waited like a faithful dog for Remus to catch up. “More or less. Meteorology, right?”

He could tell Logan was looking at him. He probably looked outwardly annoyed, but there would be an amused spark behind the rim of his glances that never escaped Remus. “More or less.”

Remus bobbed his head. “Then yeah, I was listening.”

Logan hummed in agreement but didn’t resume the conversation. They walked in companionable silence along the street path, accompanied merely by the padding of their shoes and the tap-tap-tap of Remus’ stone. The road beside them was quiet.

“Remus?” asked Logan.

“Hm?” Remus said.

Tap-tap.

“Why don’t you come to my house tonight?” Logan asked. “It is New Year’s Eve. The others will be there. I would like for you to have some company.”

Oh, I have company, grumbled Remus. And it won’t shut up.

The voice, as if to solely prove him wrong, remained silent. Remus may have felt some indignation on its behalf, however.

Tap-tap-tap.

“Maybe,” said Remus, which meant No.

“Please,” Logan said, because he knew.

“Logan,” sighed Remus, “you know how I—”

“Yes,” Logan interjected. “I know it distresses you to have companionship, but truly, it is not such the awful venture that you have convinced yourself it is.”

Remus sighed again, his shoulders sagging. He stopped walking and edged away from Logan, no longer happy to be alone with him. He didn’t know what to say.

He was too busy formulating some semblance of a reply to pay attention to the rising anxiety in the back of his mind and the distantly increasing screeching sound.

By the time the speeding car spun around the corner across the road, he was too slow to react.

MOVE, the voice screamed.

Remus couldn’t.

Logan might have shouted, but he sounded like he’d moved — further away from where he had been standing. Probably to somewhere safe. That was good, at least. Logan had something to offer the world, with that big brain of his.

The car skidded across the road, moving too fast to regain control. It sped forward, wheels rolling along the path, barreling towards the spot Remus was standing.

MOVE, his voice was shrieking. Crying. Begging.

Remus didn’t.

The car, by some logic, didn’t hit Remus.

The car didn’t hit Remus, because it hit something — Remus didn’t see what, and later Logan would agree — first, and flipped like a goddamn pencil being flung across a bored classroom. The hunk of metal flew into the air, the bottom turning to the sky and the roof glinting down at Remus beneath it—

And crashed to the asphalt metres away from where Remus was standing, completely unharmed.

He and Logan stood there, speechless, for a very long time.

The police, once having caught up to the hit-and-run escapee, deemed it an accident on the driver’s behalf. Remus and Logan were dismissed from the scene without being asked any questions. Remus hadn’t spoken a word since it had happened, anyway. Logan had been the one to text their friends and talk to the officers. He had then guided Remus back to his apartment, where the others were already hanging out. They greeted Remus at first but left him alone once being waved away by Logan. He was brought into Logan’s bedroom and set on the bed.

“Now,” Logan said without wasting a beat. “What. Was. That.”

Remus blinked up at him. He worked his jaw. Nothing came out.

Some expositional bullshit? he mentally asked hopefully. The only answer he got was what vaguely felt like the embodiment of a winded wheeze of an exhausted runner. Fantastic help.

“I would like some answers, Remus,” Logan said, and he looked almost angry. “Odd things have happened in your presence before but nothing like this. I watched a car run into nothing and flip as if it had crashed into a row of bollards. You otherwise would have been flattened. You should be dead, or at least in the hospital.” Cool hands cupped Remus’ cheeks, and steel blue eyes bored into him. “I am eternally grateful that that is  not  what has happened, but I need answers.”

Remus tried to talk but didn’t. Logan pulled back and began to pace.

“We already checked the surrounding area,” he began to mutter. “There was no lip on the pavement, nothing to cause such a graphic result. The car’s wheels aside from being burned from skidding were not damaged. I don’t understand what—”

“I’m cursed,” Remus finally croaked. Logan paused to look at him. “It’s me, I—”

“No,” Logan said. “You have tried to tell me this nonsense before, I will not—”

“It’s true,” Remus said vigorously. “It has happened for years, Logan. Every time something mildly inconveniences me, everything goes to shit. Someone on the other end of the street could look at me the wrong way and suddenly they’re tripping over their untied shoelaces and dropping their groceries into the road. My boss doesn’t give me enough hours and suddenly she’s firing the co-worker I hate and giving me their pay. I don’t understand it, Logan, but you can’t keep denying it.”

“Remus—”

“There’s a voice,” he blurted, because he never had much of a filter. “There’s this voice, too. It’s the same one, but I can’t really hear it, you know? Imagine a single intrusive thought, but it’s always saying different things and some of them aren’t even bad.”

Logan now looked concerned. “Remus—”

“It acts like it’s my friend. Like we’re old pals looking out of each other. I hate it, Logan! It’s the reason no one wants to be around me! It’s the reason I can’t trust anyone I meet, because either they’re going to find about me and leave or the voice will tell me something about them that I don’t want to know but it’ll end up being true—”

“Remus.” Logan was crouched in front of him, his hands squeezing his shoulders. “Please breathe. We will work this out.”

“You can’t,” Remus told him. “I have already gone to every doctor, every psychiatrist. The moment I was free of my parents I went to every damn qualified person in this place, for years, and none of them know what it is.

“I went to a goddamn psychic, Logan.” Remus laughed wetly, shaking his head. “That’s how desperate I was. Dumb, right?”

“You are not dumb,” Logan said, and he said it with so much ferocity that it took Remus a moment to realise the voice had said the same thing, much quieter. “You’re troubled. You’re— you just need to find the right answers.”

“I don’t even know what questions I’m asking, anymore,” Remus said, and hated how broken he sounded. He pressed his forehead to Logan’s chest when he stood. “So I don’t know what answers we’re talking about.”

“We’ll figure out something,” promised Logan. “I promise.”

Remus closed his eyes, so tears wouldn’t get past. They stayed like that until Patton tentatively knocked on the door to ask them if they wanted to count down for the new year.

They did. They counted down, and cheered, and danced and sang and Remus drank until he passed out on the couch, snuggled between Janus and Logan. He didn’t even mind waking up the next morning with a throbbing headache.

Virgil referred Remus to his therapist, a cheery moron with an obsession with pink and cartoons. He seemed less focused on diagnosing Remus and simply talking. He referenced a lot of things Remus didn’t know. The voice seemed to like him — not that Remus cared about its opinions. Remus thought that maybe he liked talking to him.

Somewhere along the line, Remus and Logan started dating. Remus wasn’t sure how it had happened, either. He was fairly sure they had been reading on the carpet, and then the next moment they were pressed against the wall, down each other’s throats, so… Remus wasn’t exactly  complaining.

There were bad days, where the voice hadn’t even done anything wrong and yet Remus clawed at his skull. Bad days, where he and Logan fought for real, which scared Remus (he wasn’t easy to scare, either.) At one point, Janus had picked a fight with the wrong group of people and got himself a concussion, which he recovered from fine, but sent Remus to bed with nightmares of blank eyes and bloodied skin for weeks after.

Eventually the dreams stopped, but Remus knew he hadn’t completely recovered when he found himself in the bathroom of an empty apartment, watching white porcelain run red.

Stop it. Remus still had little to no clue how so much as a voice could sound as if it was an aggravated wolf pacing in a tiny metal cage. You need to stop.

Don’t tell me what to do, Remus thought.

Don’t make me stop you myself.

Yeah, Remus thought with a scoff to himself. Good luck with that.

Remus. Please.

Remus shook himself, as if he could physically shake the voice from his head and continued. The voice went quiet.

Time passed, peacefully, blissfully quiet. The sink was stained further.

Remus was almost letting himself relax, but then the door slammed open, somehow, in the middle of the empty apartment, and Logan was standing in the doorway, looking furious, in the empty apartment.

“You said you were fine,” said Logan. Remus felt like a child caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. Crusty, bloody cookies. “You. Said—” Logan crossed the room and gripped Remus’s slick wrist in his— “that you were fine.”

“I am!” Remus protested. “I’m just—”

“You are NOT!” Logan roared. Remus flinched back. Logan stilled, then paled. Remus squinted at his far away gaze and wondered in horror why Logan looked as if he was listening to something. “I’m sorry for yelling,” he said quietly, “but you are not okay.”

Remus scowled and looked down at the sink he had ruined.

Logan hummed softly. “I’m going to call your therapist.” Remus whirled on him. “Just to book an earlier appointment, okay? I know you don’t like anyone helping you clean up.”

Remus scowled again. Logan brushed a cool hand across his chin and kissed his cheek. He pulled the medical kit from the cupboard and unpacked the bandages and antiseptic. He instructed Remus he was going to leave the door open. Remus silently got to work cleaning himself up.

Once Logan was out of sight (though Remus could hear him in the kitchen), Remus thought accusatorily, What did you do?

The voice said, without an ounce of regret or pride, I stopped you.

Stop interfering with my life. Whatever-the-fuck you are.

Somewhere, you’ve confused ‘protecting’ with ‘interfering.’

Remus threw the bottle of antiseptic across the room. It smashed against the wall and spilled across the bathtub. “SHUT UP,” he roared.

“Remus?” Logan called.

Get the fuck away from me, Remus growled before Logan hurried into the room.

“What is it?”

Remus shook his head. He couldn’t answer. He never did.

One night, Remus sat on the edge of his bed, staring across the room. The wall was bare. It let him concentrate on what he was thinking. For once, he started talking first.

You’re not a guardian angel.

No.

You’re not a demon, unfortunately.

Certainly not.

Then what the hell are you?

As usual every time Remus asked, the voice did not give him an answer. Remus ground his teeth until his jaw ached.

If there was one thing Remus had been certain of in the duration of his entire life thus far, it was that the voice in his head was nothing but trouble. Irritating, infuriating, no-good trouble. It only ever ruined his relationships, got him into sticky situations, told him things that he didn’t  want  to hear, even if it seemed to think it would help.

The first time the voice was helpful, Remus also felt like his entire mindset had been flipped.

Remus and Logan had been fighting. Worse than usual. Logan was blinking faster than he normally would. Remus was chewing his lip to bloody tatters. He wasn’t sure who had yelled, or what had been yelled, but suddenly it was silent. Logan and Remus stared at each other. Then Logan inhaled shakily and turned.

Remus’ arm shot out and gripped Logan’s wrist. Logan shot him a dark look, but Remus couldn’t explain himself. His voice had completely abandoned him. He worked his jaw. Logan’s eyebrows drew further together.

Remus, for the love of the clovers we picked and weaved as children, kiss him dizzy before I send you both through the window in a fit of pent up frustration-driven rage.

Their lips clashed and locked in a startling display of star-danced vision and warm hands linked at the fingers.

Remus forgot about the voice, about the curse. He forgot about every time he had let someone in only to be hurt, every boyfriend who had taken his heart in their hands and clenched their fists. He forgot every time he and Logan had fought; every time Remus had told himself that it was all a mistake. He even forgot about the constant buzz in the back of his head.

For once in Remus’ life, his mind was quiet.

It was that night, with Logan’s body pressed against his side, staring up at the ceiling, that Remus wordlessly reached for the voice in his head. Somehow, even though he felt nothing and heard no voice, it seemed as if his hand had been grasped.

Remus lay there and maybe for the first time, wasn’t entirely sure he hated the voice in his head.

The voice didn’t remain silent after that night, but it did quieten slightly. Remus made no move to communicate with it.

One day, though, when it was storming outside and Remus needed a distraction because his wrists were itching and his eyes were seeing blood every time he blinked, he spoke.

“You picked clovers.”

We did.

“You did,” Remus corrected, not quite ready to have it spelled out for him.

Yes, said the voice quietly after a moment.

“You’re a voice.”

I have a voice, yes.

“In my head.”

Well, technically—

Remus clenched his fists, frustrated. It seemed to get his point across.

Yes. I suppose.

For a moment, they were both silent. Remus didn’t outright state what he was thinking, but he wondered if something with connections to his mind could work it out.

I can try and prove it, the voice said dubiously. Remus didn’t reply. Lightning flashed outside, accompanied by a low rumble that ratted the house.

Then, from within the bedroom, a low creeeeeak.

Remus looked around dully, too apathetic to be disturbed. His eyes widened, however, when he watched the bedside table’s top drawer sliding open.

“That was locked,” he said. He stood up, his heart beginning to lodge itself in his throat. He staggered around the bed towards the drawer. “No, wait— Not even Logan can get in there— Stop it!”

Something, somehow, slipped from the drawer. Remus practically dove for it before it could crack against the floor and shatter irreparably.

“What do you think you’re—” Remus’ voice swallowed itself back into his chest when he made the mistake of looking down at the picture frame. He snarled against his lumpy throat and tore his eyes from the pair of younger, happier, brighter twins printed on paper. He shoved it back in its drawer and slammed it closed. He pulled himself up to lean against it.

The thunder rumbled again. Remus needed something to ground himself.

“You never told me who you were.” His voice cracked.

A pause.

You never asked, the voice said weakly. Remus felt something inside him erupt.

“What sort of BULLSHIT REASON—”

There was a knock at the bedroom door. “Rem?” called Janus’ voice.

Remus shook his head. “Just— give me a second. I need to uh—” he laughed nonchalantly, “yell at my thoughts for a bit.”

Janus sounded hesitant when he slowly said, “Okay,” but he didn’t press anything.

Remus listened to his fading footsteps and muffled conversation before whirling around as if he were actually facing someone and hissing venomously, “You are very lucky you’re incorporeal otherwise I’d— I’d—”

Kill me over again? the voice supplied.

Remus broke down. Completely against his will, if he had been able to add his own input between the sobs tearing from his throat.

I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, bad wording, horrible word choice, I—

“Why didn’t you SAY ANYTHING?” Remus roared.

What would you have liked me to say? That apparently one accident is enough for a spirit to form and develop a connection with their only blood relative?

“Better that than all this— this— mysterious bullshit my entire life!”

You already thought you were crazy! Roman yelled, a little hysterically. How do you think that would have helped? ‘Oh hello, don’t mind me, just your dead brother’s ghost haunting you through your grief.’

Remus wasn't sure how he’d never noticed it before — maybe he wasn’t paying enough attention, maybe now that he knew he was actively listening for it, or maybe he had even subconsciously suppressed thoughts like the one he was about to admit to himself — but now if he listened, really listened, he could hear Roman in the voice. The way his voice would get higher when upset, and the baritones of his indignation.

Remus didn’t realise he was sobbing harder until he heard both Logan and Roman’s voices overlapping, concern and worry swimming in his head.

Please breathe, Remus, you’re working yourself into a panic attack.

Like you would know anything about that, Remus said.

I would, retorted Roman’s voice, without fire.

“What is it, dear?” Logan was asking, his cool hands tracing Remus’ face. “What’s happened?”

Remus looked up at him, tears rolling down his cheeks, and said with a wet laugh, “I’ve worked out what the asshole voice is all about.”

Logan had led Remus into the kitchen and pressed a warm mug into his hands. Remus had absentmindedly wiggled the cup, watching the dark liquid inside ripple. After making sure Remus was recovering, Logan had ducked from the room to talk to Janus.

“Tell me,” Remus growled quietly. He didn’t elaborate. He knew that he was understood. Still, everything was quiet.

You know when people say your life flashes before your eyes?

Remus did. He didn’t say as much, but he did.

Well, it doesn’t. You don’t have time.

Remus tried not to think about how little time there would have been. How scary it could have looked, could have felt. His clasped hands turned white at the knuckles. “What did you think about?”

A sizable pause, but not one without the comforting ever-constant buzzing hum of the voice’s presence.

You, was the final admission, with no preamble. Logan, too, I think. Our family must have a thing for hot nerds, eh?

“You had a crush on Logan,” Remus said hollowly.

Only a little one.

“That’s… That doesn’t help.”

Sorry. He sounded genuinely apologetic.

“You’ve been fucking with me for years and you don’t seem to have much to apologise for it,” Remus mused.

Sorry, Roman said again, sounding even more like a remorseful kicked puppy.

Remus sighed long and low. His mug tapped roughly against the table as he shoved it away from him to bury his face in his hands. “I can’t believe any of this.”

He wasn’t sure that thinking the weird phantom warmth was  ghosting  over his shoulders was going to do anything good for his deteriorating sense of control over his emotions.

Tell me what to do, said Roman. Please.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut. He swallowed.

“Stay,” was all he could say. “Just. For a while.”

Unfortunately or not, you’re going to be stuck with me for quite a while.

Remus sniffed.

Very unfortunate, he agreed with a hint of a smile.

[ask-iamnotanalicorn]

The Crystal War Timeline

Equestria had already been stunned by the return of Nightmare Moon - learning that one character of myth and legend was real, was the sister of Celestia herself, proved a powerful blow to the nation. Their princess was in a period of mourning after the re-banishment of her sister, and uncertainty crept across the land.

When the Crystal Empire returned, bringing with it living shadows and mind-controlled armies, that shock was compounded twofold. 

But shock gave way to determination. Princess Celestia rose from her grief. The ponies of Equestria rallied. Peaceful ways of life had to give way to sacrifice for the good of the nation. 

At first, there was concern among the alicornis imitato; where could they serve? A few felt capable of joining the call for volunteer fighters, but found themselves rejected. Too handicapped magically. Too great a distraction. Too high a personal risk if they were targeted for their alicorn appearance; too great a chance the few with cult followings would accidentally cause dissension and disobedience in the ranks. 

Then Celestia called them in. Each one of the twelve, and their families, escorted to the castle in Canterlot under guard. For their safety, she assured them. They would bear no suspicion, they would not be harmed, and their loved ones were welcome to the same protection unless they wished to help the cause in some other capacity. And the AIs trusted her, for hadn’t Princess Celestia always made an effort to get to know each AI, to befriend them, to demonstrate to them her friendship and wish for their good?

None were aware of the ulterior motive behind this special consideration. True, keeping them safe, keeping them under a watchful eye, was a wise tactical move. But in truth, Princess Celestia had need of something else they had power over - power none of them realized was theirs:

The Guardians.

With each AI safely protected in the castle, the Guardians were now available. Twelve of the most skilled, elite agents in Her Royal Service. Twelve ponies picked for their patience, their decision-making, their stealth, and their fighting skills. Twelve ponies who had proven themselves not only strong and capable, but compassionate and rational - ponies with the rare skillset required for competently watching over, protecting - and, if need be, stopping - another pony in secret, for decades on end. And never once be found out, or require gratitude, for their service.

She had a special mission for them, if they agreed. They did. And so the Guardians gathered, trusting their charges, their foremost responsibility, to the Princess’s care.

There had been a Crystal Heart once, she told them in the secret meeting chamber. The Crystal Ponies had once powered and protected their city with its strong enchantment - an enchantment fueled by their love for one another. It had been a beacon of hope and light, a physical manifestation of the King’s love for his creatures. And Sombra had stolen it from them, filling the void left behind with his malice and lust for power.

He could not have broken it, she was certain. It must be hidden in the castle. And if they could find it... reactivate it... free the crystal ponies from their enslavement... the war would end, and no more innocent lives, lives utterly overshadowed by Sombra’s wicked hubris or laid down to defend Equestria’s freedom, would be lost.

The plan might not work. It might be too dangerous. It might be a fool’s errand.

But there was no group of ponies, Celestia felt sure, who could be more well entrusted to such a task.

-----

Welcome, one and all, to this special What If? series of “I Am Not An Alicorn!” 

This has been a LONG time in the works. I initially started brainstorming this project back in January with Reversalmushroom, as his Patreon reward for supporting me under the Resplendent Royalty tier. He asked if his comic reward could be used to give a glimpse of what life would have been like for Salespitch & Co in the seven alternate timelines created by Starlight Glimmer in the Season 5 Finale, The Cutie Re-Mark. As you can tell from the time gap, it took me quite a while to get it done, and now I’m very excited to show you all the result!

I am quite pleased Reversal wanted this for his reward, and also for his commissioning of Panel 7 - as you may or may not know, there were seven timelines, but the Patreon reward only allows for up to two pages of comic, and I could only satisfactorily fit six of these panels onto those pages. So he commissioned the seventh one out of his own pocket (and lemme tell ya, I REALLY like that one :D) Thank you again for your patronage, Reversal, and I’m glad you have been happy with the results so far!

The descriptions I’ve added are not part of the original reward; I just really like adding lore, and thought ya’ll would enjoy some further elaboration of what’s going on in each timeline. It’s not a full story, but hopefully gives you enough fun details to imagine how things might have gone. I know I have fun with that kind of thing. :D 

There will be a long post at the end with all of the timeline art cards together and links back to these description posts, but I hope you will enjoy the next seven weeks with me as we explore these different What Ifs! Also, feel free to send additional questions in about each timeline; I might answer a few of them during the week.

(And remember: no matter how dark or catastrophic things may seem... there is always hope.)

Some Fun Facts About The Crystal War Timeline/Art:

- All of Sales’ family is safe and well in this timeline. Pitch Black is the only one going into danger (and I assure you, he doesn’t die; the mission, while not without some serious roadblocks, is successful.) 

- Sales feels a little cooped up at the castle, but Celestia has people who try to give all the AIs ways to put their talents to good use, and he ends up making some solid connections with the ponies of the Department of Equestrian Commerce. He actually has some suggestions that help streamline the war effort supply lines. 

- All of the AIs in the upper half have appeared in the comic before! Some are from the MLP show, others (like the little red foal) are made up by me, and Willow Resin (the blue and blonde mare talking to Sales) was the winning entry for my Alicornis Imitato contest, created by @johndoestudios! 

- The yellow AI is based off the show glitch of Lemon Hearts that made her into an alicorn, and the sunglasses guy is obviously Neon Lights, but while this is NOT Lemon Hearts and I made a new cutie mark for her lookalike, Neon Lights is still Neon Lights. I figure he just hides his wings under his vest when he’s working with Coluratura’s shows. Also, that purple tail is one of the VERY obvious on-screen “alicorns” in the episode where Rainbow Dash goes to Las Pegasus (named Purple Rain by me).

- The ponies with Pitch Black and Celestia aren’t all named yet, but I like them all, and I named the green guy Strawberry Spice.

- The blue pegasus Guardian ended up looking so much like Agent Windigo that I decided he is her twin brother. Their real names are Storm Front and Spring Frost. I haven’t decided a codename for Frost yet, but all the top-level special agents have codenames based on dangerous creatures or constructs (i.e. Black Knight, Windigo, Phoenix, Golem, Manticore, Hydra, Chimera, Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, Siren, etc.) Kinda too bad his sister stole the ice monster already, I bet she ribs him about that. XD

Hope you’re all well and taking time to relax and appreciate the little joys in life! They’re still out there, I promise. :) And let me know if anyone has any prayer requests! Jesus is still Lord, and He’s never surprised no matter what craziness we run into!

~River Babble

Next Week: Changeling Times

[frostmarris]

Day 5: Thieves & Outlaws | Shapeshifters

Pairing: Deidara/Sakura Haruno/Hidan, Deidara/Hidan

Rating: Teen & Up

Content Warning: a couple of foul mouthed bois

Additional Tags: Modern Magic (magic is secret), Supernatural Creatures, Urban (but actually Rural) Fantasy, Bakery AU, Established Relationship, country roads take me home

Summary: Deidara returns home for the first time in nearly a decade and finds everything just as he remembers it - except for that bakery. Hidan is convinced the pink-haired owner isn't human and they're determined to find out what she's hiding.

Notes: fic #3 and my final entry for the @naruto-fantasy-week ! the thieves and outlaws part applies more to the fic as a whole than this first chapter tho

Slightly different format for this one since tumblr refuses to allow my posts to show up in tags. Links to ffnet and ao3 will be in a reblog!

Enjoy!

whitewoods - chapter one

“So, what - were you, like, a total ‘Children of the Corn’ or some shit growin’ up?”

“First of all, it’s totally the wrong climate for corn here, yeah. Secondly, it was more like tin foil hats and aliens than blood sacrifices.”

At Hidan’s dry look, Deidara laughs and leans back in the driver’s seat, one hand on the steering wheel of the old hatchback and his free arm hanging out the window.

“I’m still reelin’ from finding out that you’re a fucking country bumpkin, Dei. You told me you were from,” Hidan raises his hands, shaking them and hunching his shoulders as he shoots the blond a sarcastic look, “The big city and all that jazz.”

“I was living in a city before we met, hm,” Deidara answers, swapping hands on the wheel and reaching over to smack Hidan’s jazz-handing hands when they drift closer to his face, “I just happened to live in a small town in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere before that.”

He slows down as the winding road running along the side of the mountain - (“We’re not that high up, Hidan, you coward.”) - splits into two at a fork. There had been mountain on both sides of the road for the past hour, a nearly vertical rock wall to their left and a sloped but steep drop to their right, with a river winding through the bottom of the crevice some hundred feet below before the ground climbs back up to form another mountain ridge.

Hidan hadn’t been too excited about being on the side with the drop, but Deidara’s reassurance that at least he’d be unlikely to get crushed immediately by falling rocks had done little to comfort him.

The fork came at an plateau where the mountain seemed to finally back off and give more room for a level, forested area, with the left path heading into the woods. The right path, however, curved outwards and lead downward slightly before feeding onto an old bridge that crossed the shortest gap between the two mountain ridges, a still-considerable drop down to the river running under it. They could see the bridge below from their vantage point, even with a few trees standing in the way - just barely wide enough for two cars at a time and at least four cars long.

“You’re fucking joking ,” Hidan hisses as Deidara heads right, fully turning towards him in his seat. The blond laughs and nearly gets his hand bit when he reaches over to pat Hidan's head.

“Relax , Evel Knievel. The bridge has been around since before I was even born, yeah.” 

“That’s not fuckin’ reassuring,” He mutters in response, sitting back in his seat - spine straight, shoulders stiff, and magenta eyes on the rocky road. The path down winds only a little before it levels out and curves outward even more to approach the bridge, cliffsides and sheer drops momentarily replaced by trees and bushes.

Hidan only realizes they’re on the bridge when the sound of gravel and rocks under the hatchback’s tires gradually gives way to the softer rumble and groans of wooden planks and metal supports. They break through the trees to suddenly reveal the open air of the bridged gap between ridges and Hidan’s hand jumps up to the ceiling handle above his door, knuckles white as he grips it like it’ll save his life.

His gaze drifts to his right even as his head stays completely forward - until Deidara cackles and his glare darts to the blond, still sitting all relaxed with an arm out the window and one hand on the wheel.

“Hand off the Jesus Handle, yeah. I’m not gonna drive us off the side and hurtling down to our deaths.” Deidara grins and nods to the stretch of bridge ahead. “There’s railings and I’m barely pushing 15, hm. An eager turtle could beat us to the other side.”

“I’ll fuckin’ let go when you put both of your damn hands on the shittin’ wheel, dickhead.”

Hidan’s grumble earns him another laugh but Deidara relents and pulls his arm out of the window, both hands on the steering wheel as they cross the bridge. The relief on Hidan’s face is clear as day when they make it to the other side and he slumps back with a sigh, side-eyeing the blond when he cackles again.

“If I’d known you were afraid of heights, I wouldn’t have asked you to come with me, yeah.”

“I’m not afraid of heights,” He huffs, grabbing the pack of cigarettes in the glovebox. “I just don’t trust infrastructure built by fuckin' country bumpkins."

Deidara rolls his eyes but leans over as he offers him one, both hands still on the wheel and the cigarette between his lips as Hidan digs his lighter out of his pocket. Taking a drag once it’s lit, Deidara returns to his relaxed position again and follows the road as it winds through the woods and gradually begins to slope downwards.

The scenic peace of the mountain forest is rather ruined by the metal music blaring out the open windows of the beat-up car - which adds to the cacophony with its own grinds and grunts - and the pair make idle conversation as they travel, Hidan eventually opening up his fifth soda of the day. He unbuckles long enough to turn in his seat, get his knees under him, and dig around in the back to grab the rest stop sandwiches they’d bought before they entered truly bum-fuck nowhere that morning.

He opens the plastic wrap around Deidara’s enough for the blond to get to the bread and chicken salad before passing it over and starting on his own mini Italian sub.

"So, why do you have to be the one to get your old man's shit in order?" Hidan asks around ciabatta and salami, flicking a crumb out his window. "Aren't there fuckin' people for that?"

Deidara grimaces and takes a long sip from his energy drink before he answers. "Apparently he left everything to me in his will, hm."

Eyebrows raised, Hidan turns and gestures at him with his sandwich. 

"Wasn't it, like, a decade since you had last spoken to the old fuck?"

A shrug and a nod and the car takes a left turn onto a road that Hidan hadn't even spotted through the brush. The trees thin out and the road curves and the ground starts to gradually disappear to their left side and rise on their right until they're traveling along a cliffside again, but mirrored to earlier. This road seems even more rocky and rough than the other but, fortunately, it doesn't last long until Hidan can see the opening to a tunnel ahead.

He sends Deidara one last skeptical look, inwardly hoping they weren't lost, before they enter the tunnel and begin to cut through part of the mountain rather than travel along it. Deidara turns down the music a bit as it echoes almost jarringly through the passage, soon flicking on the high-beams and taking another bite of his sandwich. The road isn't perfectly straight so it's a while before they can see the light at the other end. While Hidan isn't sure exactly how much ground they'd covered through the tunnel, since the road seemed to serpentine a lot, he's still surprised when they break out into the open air again and, once again, there's a rock wall on Deidara’s side and a drop on his own.

He feels like they're right back where they'd started before the bridge, but his snarky comment is cut short when he looks out his window and sees the valley below.

Some of the trees are still bare from the winter - it's not quite spring yet, so cold but not cold cold - and most of the ones that have leaves make canopies that are mostly yellow, dappled here and there with bright green and light brown. White peeks out from under the treetops  in spots and Hidan would have thought it was snow if he hadn't known any better. The valley stretches out into the distance before the edges of the mountain ranges begin to creep upwards once more around it, a few gently sloping hills transforming into steeper inclines but backing off before the mountain can fully enclose the forest. There's an odd 'bald spot' on the other side - not the exact opposite point from the tunnel's exit, but a fairly long stretch of forest between the spot and their current position - where the trees thin slightly before disappearing entirely. 

It climbs up the hills a ways, carving out a noticeable patch, and, if Hidan looks really hard, he's pretty sure he can see tiny buildings in the far far distance.

The road leading out of the tunnel begins to almost immediately slope downwards. Not too steeply, but definitely noticeable. It runs along the mountainside in a long, winding serpentine, doubling back on itself several times to make the climb from the tunnel to the valley less of a sheer drop.

Hidan doesn't realize he'd been practically hanging out the window to get a look at the valley until the hatchback takes one of the turns and he finds himself facing the other way. He nearly climbs across Deidara to look out his side and the blond laughs, shoving him back into his seat.

"I thought you didn't want the drop on your side, yeah?"

Snorting, Hidan sits back and takes a large bite out of his sub. "Shut that damn smug mouth of yours and drive."

Deidara’s amusement drifts out the open windows of the car until he returns his attention to his sandwich and turns the music back up, sending a few startled birds into the air.

: :

They finally make it down into the valley proper and Hidan nearly shoves his face against the windshield as the view of an ocean of yellow leaves dotted with green, brown, and the occasional white suddenly changes to pillars of bright white and black spots. The white extends deep, deep into the forest, with a sea of green from the grass and underbrush below, a canopy of yellow above, and splotches of leaves from lower branches appearing here and there in the middle.

A dirt and gravel road cuts through the forest, managing a straight path for a while before it eventually begins to wind like all the other roads. The trees are thin and gangly but tall and sturdy and Hidan eventually sends Deidara an admittedly curious look, ignoring the blond's amused grin.

"What kinda trees are these anyways?" He asks before quickly adding a overly-disinterested, "They look fucking weird."

"Birch, hm."

"What is that? The new betch ? I was just asking a fucking question, you asshat-"

"No!" Deidara laughs, cutting him off. "Birch ! They're birch trees!"

Hidan's eyes narrow at him before he looks out his window again, regarding the white trees skeptically. The further into the forest they drove, the more densely packed the trees grew, making it hard to see anything other than the white and black of their trunks and the green of the forest floor - the scene only broken by the brown of the road ahead.

"They're one of the only good things about my hometown, yeah," Deidara says after a stretch of silence, downing the last of his energy drink. "Not the best for climbing, but they look cool as shit."

"They look like they're covered in eyes," Hidan says watching the trees as they pass by. The knots and bumps along the trunks are accented by the black markings, some curved and spotted just right that they look like eyes, gazing at them as they travel through the woods.

"Fuckin' creepy," Hidan adds, despite the amused smile on his face.

Deidara nods in agreement and they drive in silence for a while, the road taking them over a few hills and back down before, eventually, taller and hardier trees begin to intermingle in the sea of birch. The trees are still densely packed and make it difficult to see what lays ahead but, finally, they open up to reveal the town.

The treeline circles around the town, following the dips and curves of its edges, and climbing up the start of the mountain a ways before the birch trees are fully replaced with more stereotypical woods - spruce, oak, balsam, pine. There's several levels to the town as it rises and falls with the hills and Hidan wouldn't be surprised if there were houses higher on the mountainside, looking out over the valley. While there only seems to be one main road - which has finally become paved and easier riding - leading into the town, it soon begins branching off to spiderweb out, winding out of sight as buildings block the view.

Deidara stays on the main road for a while before he finally turns onto one of the side paths, back onto a gravel road that leads into a residential area. Each time Hidan thinks they're about to arrive at his childhood home, Deidara keeps on driving, passing homes and trees until there's more of the latter than the former.

The road heads upwards and Hidan sends the blond a raised eyebrow as they rise into the hills around the valley, green and brown trees cutting off their view again. There's a few dirt roads that branch off from their current one, heading deeper into mountainside woods, and most of which are barred by gates connected to rustic fences, overgrown by brush.

Finally, Deidara turns onto one of the dirt paths and they climb a little higher still before the ground levels out, the trees still dense until it finally opens up again after an almost ten minute drive. There's a rather rundown fence running the perimeter of the main yard and the house looks like a cross between a cabin from a slasher movie about a summer camp in the mountains and something out of a '50s show about moonshiners.

There's other, more in-shape fencing stemming from the yard making enclosures for a few various farm animals with smaller sheds of their own and what looks like a path leading behind the house to a more open area, likely with a garden and crops. The gate to the front yard is open and Deidara drives right through, parking the hatchback in a spot to the left where the grass is worn down and bare from constant use.

The pair exit the car and Deidara stretches while Hidan turns to stare out over the property, eventually turning to look at his companion.

"Holy shit," He says, earning him a raised eyebrow from Deidara. "You are a damned country bumpkin!"

Deidara shoots him a glare and moves to open the back of the car. 

"Bullshit, yeah. Like hell I am."

Hidan points an accusatory finger at him, shouting loud enough to startle some chickens in a nearby coop.

"Fucking mountain hick farm boy! "

"You shut your damn mouth, hm. "

He gestures to the damning evidence behind them, arms spread out wide while Deidara grabs their bags from the trunk.

"Look at all these animals! This is a fuckin' farm !"

The blond throws a duffel bag at Hidan's face and crosses his arms, looking unamused.

"Like hell it is, yeah. There's just some goats and chickens and a couple sheep and... some pigs out back... and a few ducks…" Deidara’s assured tone starts to waver as he looks away, expression growing slightly strained and concerned. "And I did have a pair of rabbits when I was ten, and the cow…" 

Hidan makes a slightly strangled, horrified sound and Deidara quickly tries to recover. 

"But the old man sold it years ago, yeah! That's it! Mostly just goats and chickens, hm! Not a farm."

As if on cue, there's a honk from the right side of the yard and the two look to see a large white bird in the chicken corral, walking the edge of the fence.

"Is that a fucking goose. "

"L-listen, hm-"

"Only ponds in shitty public parks and farms have gooses!"

"Geese."

"Farm boy! " Hidan shouts, hurling the duffel bag back at him and throwing his arms into the air as he turns away.

"I've been living with a total Ma and Pa , overalls and fuckin' straw hat, "Princess Bride" bullshit farm boy !" He laments, slapping a hand on the roof of the car and sending the blond a betrayed look. "I thought you were cool. "

Deidara rolls his eyes and hefts the second bag onto his shoulder before closing the hatchback.

"Hey, the "Princess Bride" dude ends up becoming a pirate, yeah."

"His name is Westley, you uncultured swine."

Hidan gets a duffel bag to the face again and then the second bag shoved into his arms while Deidara heads towards the front porch.

"Just quit your whining and help me take the shit inside, hm!"

Hidan snickers under his breath but follows after him, both bags resting on his shoulder as he watches Deidara lift pots of mostly dead and dying plants distributed here and there on the porch.

"Which one was it..?" He mutters to himself before finally letting out a victorious shout as he finds the spare key under the barely-surviving coleus. The squeak and groan of the door is grating as it swings open and the pair enter rather cautiously, expecting to be met with cobwebs and inches of dust.

But the interior of the house is fairly clean and Hidan flicks the lights on - surprised they actually work - before moving to drop the bags on an old-looking couch while Deidara heads left into the kitchen, checking to see if the water was still running.

"Right, yeah," Deidara mutters again after he turns the faucet off and opens the window behind the sink. "It's only been a couple weeks."

"Not much in the fridge," Hidan calls behind him, not even daring to sniff the carton of milk. "How long do you plan on staying again?"

"Just long enough to go through shit, figure out what to keep and what to toss, cancel the utilities, and find a buyer for the animals, hm." He answers, checking the cabinets with a frown. "I'll deal with getting into selling the property some other time."

Hidan leans against the doorframe to the kitchen, arms crossed and eyebrow quirked. "Sounds like at least a week."

Deidara groans and nods, moving past him to plop down on the couch. Hidan soon joins him, making a face at how the couch springs give a high squeak but leaning back as he stretches.

"Couch is only gonna fit one of us," He says with a grunt, laying his arms along the back before craning his neck to look deeper into the house. "I'm sure as fuck not sleepin' on your old man's bed. Where's your room?"

Deidara leans back as well with a sigh and rests his head on Hidan's forearm. "Down the hall, last door on the right. Doubt he kept all my stuff though, yeah. My old mattress is only a twin if it's still around."

They sit there for a little while longer, the door to the quiet house still open to let the fresh air in and the distant sound of the animals outside making a strange but peaceful white noise. The pair eventually get up and search the house, finding that Deidara’s old room had been converted into an office plus home gym of sorts - a desk and chair with an old as balls computer, a few bookshelves, and a stationary bike facing the singular window. 

"There's a camping and hiking store in town, hm," Deidara suggests, thumbing through a few of the books on the shelves. "They should have sleeping bags or somethin'."

Hidan nods and hops onto the exercise bike, testing it out before he glances back. "Gonna need food and a fuckton of trash bags too."

They meander around the house for another ten minutes, checking rooms and struggling to get the door to the attic open before deciding they'll have to wedge it open later with something. Eventually, the pair head back out to the car, Deidara locking the house up and pocketing the spare key before they journey back down into the town. Windows up and their music a little quieter now - it's just past 3 PM and they don't want to piss off the locals just yet - they drive around the town until Deidara remembers where the camping store (and Main Street as a whole) is.

The two of them look entirely out of place in their ripped and worn jeans, leather and bomber jackets, and old band shirts and they earn themselves a few odd looks. But they don't seem too bothered and head into the rustic store, Hidan beelining for the taxidermy bear rising above the racks of insulated clothing.

The other shop patrons send the young men curious stares before the shopkeep, and older, burly man behind the counter, greets them.

"Afternoon, boys. Here to do some, ah... hiking?" He watches Hidan poke and prod the stuffed bear's nose before turning his attention to Deidara as the blond heads towards the counter.

"Nah," Blue eyes scan the walls, looking for a sign for bedding. "Just need to grab a couple sleeping bags, hm."

The shopkeep directs him to the back right corner of the store and Deidara searches through the small selection of sleeping bags while Hidan drifts over to the display of fishing poles. 

Deidara’s weighing his options between two of the most comfortable looking styles before his gaze moves to the nearby shelves and his face lights up in a grin. He quickly returns the sleeping bags to the racks and snatches a fairly large box off the shelf, rushing off to grab Hidan, who quickly nods his exuberant approval at Deidara’s find.

They leave the shop with a couple clean blankets and the air mattress tucked under Hidan's arm, depositing everything in the car before heading down the street to the grocery store. They get mostly essentials but end up messing around in the snack aisle long enough to get more chips than they certainly need before finally heading back, one of the bags of trail mix open and in Hidan’s hands before Deidara can even start the car.

He gets a pretzel thrown into his mouth with frightening precision when he starts to complain and Hidan laughs, offering a rye chip in apology some moments later.

They make it most of the way down Main Street before Deidara is suddenly slamming on the breaks and sending the bag of trail mix flying out of Hidan’s hand and spilling onto the dash.

"What the hell, man! " Hidan shouts, brushing mini breadsticks off his lap while Deidara stares out the windshield. "What was that fo-?!"

"What the fuck, " The blond interrupts, pointing an accusatory finger at the building sat on the corner of the block, right next to the post office, "Is that?! "

Hidan sends him a bewildered look and follows his point to squint quizzically at the small building.

"It... looks like a bakery or some shit?" He looks to Deidara again, incredibly confused. "What the fuck, Dei. You okay?"

Indeed, the building on the corner looked to be a bakery. Clean glass windows out front showcase an array of sweets and breads, mostly whole loaves and a few jarred goods. Outside on the sidewalk are a few bistro tables and chairs, most occupied by townsfolk enjoying sweet treats and steaming cups of what was either coffee or tea. The building stood out from the rest of the rustic Main Street, painted in mismatched colors with shrubs just under the windows blooming with early, pale purple flowers. A white wooden sign hangs out over the street, connected by chains to the awning over the shop's front and swinging slightly in the breeze.

Hidan has to squint, but he's pretty sure it says Flour Hour.

"That used to be the arcade..." Deidara says quietly, making Hidan glance over in surprise. He looks devastated but also vaguely pissed, but he's pulled from his thoughts when a car behind them honks and the pair jump in surprise, quickly moving forward.

"It was, like, the only fun thing to do in town, hm!" He laments, eyes flickering over to the colorful building. "I can't believe some jackass went and turned it into a bakery! "

"Let's pull in and check it out," Hidan suggests as they start to pass the parking spots in front of the bakery, reaching over to nudge Deidara’s shoulder. "Maybe it's a weird combo bakery and arcade. Like those fuckin' KFC-Taco Bell-gas stations."

Lips pursed, Deidara seems to think it over for a few moments before nodding and quickly pulling into one of the open spaces, glaring through the windshield. "Muffins and Mortal Kombat. Right, yeah. I could deal with that."

Hidan grins and the pair hop out. The sweet scent of the flowers out front punches them in the face moments before the smell of coffee and various baked goods greets them, nearly making them reel back in surprise. It's an overwhelming but wonderful smell and they exchange glances before heading inside.

A bell rings over the door as it opens and it's quickly apparent that the Flour Hour isn't a combination bakery-and-arcade. 

There's several more tables and chairs set up inside and along the right side of the shop is a long L-shaped display case, heading into the back corner before turning to connect to the marble counter at the rear of the bakery. It's filled with cakes and bread and sweets and numerous delicious-looking goods - some rustic, some delicate, and some intricate enough to belong in a more upscale patisserie. Behind the back counter is a rather vintage looking coffee maker and a more modern espresso machine, as well as shelves of bags of beans, various tins of tea, a few random mugs, and all the makings of a decent batista setup. Along the right wall are two tall bookshelves filled with rows of jarred jams and honey and tins of spices and herbs, standing on either side of a bay window nook that looks out at the small park at the end of Main Street.

The front end of the shop is rather small, only a little under half of the building’s total as surely the rest is reserved for the bakery itself in the back. It's busy and bustling despite the time of day and all of the small tables are filled with people enjoying their goodies and beverages. A pair of young women are behind the counter, one grabbing muffins from a display case and the other making a cappuccino.

"Oh! Welcome in!" Says a voice suddenly to their right. Hidan and Deidara simultaneously look over to see a woman they hadn't noticed through the window outside, a long paper bag in hand as she grabs one of the loaves of bread in the window.

"Never seen you two before - passing through?" She asks, straightening up and offering them both a smile. "Well, we'll still be open for a bit longer so feel free to have a look at what we have left - the girls behind the counter will help you when you're ready!"

She turns to head towards the back of the shop, offering the bread loaf to a woman at the checkout counter, and Deidara and Hidan stare.

She's beautiful, they both happen to be thinking - bright green eyes, freckles dusted across her soft face, a little shorter than Deidara but a build that suggests she could probably suplex either of them, and long, long soft pink hair pulled back in a braid that swings behind her as she walks. The lovely young woman is dressed in overalls that are splattered in paint at the knees and a long-sleeved striped shirt, green and white. Her apron is dusted with either flour or powdered sugar in the front and they can see colorful socks peeking under the rolled cuffs of her overalls, her shoes also covered in flour.

Deidara blinks, tilts his head slightly, then smiles, nudging Hidan’s arm with his elbow.

"No Pac Man, but I can't bring myself to complain. This place is much better than an arcade, yeah?" He looks up at Hidan when he doesn't reply, an eyebrow raised before his expression turns confused at the intensity behind Hidan’s stare.

Magenta eyes pinned to the pink-haired woman, Hidan's own silver brows are furrowed, a small frown on his face as he seems to be trying to decipher something, never pulling his gaze away even as Deidara prods his cheek with a finger. The blond watches him for a moment before eventually shrugging and moving to head to the cases.

"Well, I'm gonna see what kind of cupcakes they've got, hm."

Hidan’s eyebrows furrow even more before his eyes go wide and bewildered and then alarmed and his hand shoots out to snatch the back collar of Deidara’s jacket, yanking him backwards and quickly dragging him out of the bakery.

His startled, choked shout earns the pair a few curious looks but Deidara soon finds himself being shoved into the passenger seat of the car after Hidan grabs the key out of his pocket, slamming the door and sliding over the hood to quickly hop behind the wheel. Ignoring Deidara’s confused sputters, Hidan quickly backs out of the parking space and heads back to the main road, recalling the way back to the house and driving a little faster than he probably should be. 

"What the fuck was that, man?!" Deidara shouts, managing to right himself in his seat.

"That chick," Hidan starts, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he stares ahead with a hard look. "She-"

"She was gorgeous, yeah, but just cause you got cold feet doesn't mean you can just drag me out by the scruff and choke the shit outta me!" Grumbling, he reaches up to straighten his collar, shooting the other man a glare. "Dibs by the way. And I really did want one of those cupcakes, hm."

"You don't fuckin' get it ," Hidan hisses under his breath, finally tearing his gaze away from the road to look at Deidara, his expression rather frazzled. 

His own expression turning confused and slightly concerned, Deidara sits back and lets him continue.

"I don't know what the fuck is going on in this Mountain Man bullshit town of yours," He says, reaching up to run a hand through his silver hair. "But that chick back there.."

Hidan turns to look at him again, his gaze hard and his expression dead serious.

"She was not human."

[crazycrackersworld]

Today at 1:30 p.m. my Aunt Theresa passed away. She had been in the hospital with pneumonia and covid for about 2 weeks they never could get her oxygen where it was supposed to be , and couldn't get her to keep food down they couldn't fix her.

Just a couple weeks ago we were all together in her house throwing her a birthday party for her 70th birthday my Uncle Mike came down from Colorado and had surprised her the place was full of family and friends and laughter joy and happiness and none of us knew what was right around the corner. None of us had any idea what events were going to be getting to unfold within a week or so and I don't think we would have believed it if someone told us.

She got sick thought it was pneumonia she was dealing with it and I'm one night my Uncle Jerrry couldn't get her up out of the bathtub she didn't have the strength to do it on her own and he couldn't help her so he called the ambulance and they took her to the hospital and that's where she stayed.

And in that amount of time Uncle Jerry spent two stays in the hospital of about a day or two each before getting sent home on cousin Tim went to stay with his dad to help him out but clearly he was sick right away he's been in the hospital since this past Monday hopefully he gets better.

My mom did not pick a real winner to be my biological father since I've never met him since he pretty much ran and disappeared as soon as he found out she was pregnant. So for the first few years of my life my mom's family stepped up and between my five uncles and my grandfather it was like I had six dads and between my mom and my grandma and my two aunts it's like I had four moms. Everybody helped, I learned different things from everybody and I consider myself very lucky to have had all those people in my life.

A lot of times people in the family made jokes all my Aunt Theresa not being The brightest bulb on the tree or the sharpest knife in the drawer it was always done out of love. In reality was she the smartest person no, she wasn't the dumbest either she did have a tendency to forget things or get things wrong and we just chalk that up to being Theresa.

But despite any of that or any shortcomings she was one of the kindest most caring most generous people I've ever met in my entire life. She truly had a beautiful soul and had a way of lighting up a room when she walked into it almost always in a good mood even when she wasn't in a good mood. I remember her smile and her laugh I remember how even as an adult when she would come back to Wisconsin to visit after moving here to Arizona and she would see me it was like just taking a look at me just brightened her day.

I had made the decision to not move back to Wisconsin permanently and and to stay here for the foreseeable future couple weeks before her birthday party and I only told a few people cuz I wanted to keep it a secret because I wanted to tell everybody else at her birthday party I wanted to tell her at her birthday party it was kind of my present. And I remember the look on her face when I told her she didn't look like a 70 year old lady she looked like like a little girl who had just gotten the doll she wanted for Christmas or the piece of candy she had begged for all day and she gave me the biggest hug and she was so happy that I was staying. And now I'm here and she's gone and it does not seem fair or right I am hurting more than I have in a very long time.

My cousin Jeanette lives in Maryland and Tim even though he's here obviously as I mentioned he's in the hospital. And so my Uncle Jerry who isn't in the greatest health in the first place is all alone in that house because he just lost the love of his life and I honestly don't know how long he'll last without her. I always thought my Uncle Jerry and Aunt Theresa would be one of those couples that once one pass the other one would just kind of give up and die of a broken heart soon after. Because they loved each other that much. I'm sure their marriage wasn't perfect, they had their problems and their issues with both of the kids but they stayed together through all of it neither one of them ever gave up on the other one neither one of them ever quit. They had the kind of marriage that I always hoped one day I would have.

Obviously my love life has not turned out that way, but seeing them together still always gave me hope and I guess it still does.

I can't list all of the things that I am going to miss about her so I guess the only proper way to say it as I'm going to miss everything about her, just everything. I'm going to miss everything about her.

There was a time in my life where I had moved out of Mayville didn't tell anybody where it went and I distanced myself for my mom and my dad and as I was slowly beginning to patch that relationship there were a few times that I did reach out to my Aunt Theresa for help for a ride somewhere you know maybe even a few bucks for some groceries and she never judged me she never lectured me she gave me the ride or she borrowed me the money she was always there for me.

I'm not saying other members of the family weren't I'm just saying the entries that was a little different she almost felt like a second mom sometimes let's face it I probably needed more than one mom i'm kind of a bastard.

So today at 1:30 p.m. I I lost one of the most beautiful people that I have ever known and I am here in what is still a foreign land and I feel so alone and I'm trying to be strong for my mom and she just lost her sister and I'm trying to be strong for my Uncle Jerry because he just lost his wife and he's worried about his son and I am trying to be strong for him because he just lost his mom and he's in the hospital sick with what most likely killed her.

So I try to be as strong and resilient in front of everybody else as possible when inside I am just falling apart cuz it's something I can't make better I can't fix this and I want to I want to fix it so bad.

So I will probably cry myself to sleep after drinking half of my jar of moonshine and I'll wake up tomorrow and I will try to hold him to tears so I can be there for my mom and everybody else because right now they need them more from me and I'll just have to keep my grief inside as much as I can and realize that other than family nobody really cares if I'm broken or not.

But for everything that she ever did for me, heck for me Lisa and Katana at the beginning, the least I can do is be strong for her sisters and her brothers and her children and her husband. The least I can do to honor her memory is to be there for everyone else like she was always there for me.

I don't know about everybody else in the world but she seemed to always see the Best in Me even when I was screwing things up left and right she always Saw the Best in Me. Two summers ago and her and my Uncle Jerry were up in Wisconsin they they picked me up from jail to take me to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription and then to basically break the law and take me to Sue's apartment so that I can give Sue some contact information and some other stuff cuz we really haven't been able to talk cuz I didn't have any money on my books. And even when I walked out of the jail and she's standing there I mean there was no judgment there was nothing she was just happy to see me and happy I was safe. I mean one of the most lowest points in my life where I'd screwed up just about as much as you can she just hugged me and told me she loved me.

And that was my entries I know her kids might have some criticisms and they might not think she was always the best mom and maybe Jerry might think she wasn't always the best wife and maybe my mom and my Aunt Margaret and my uncle's might not think she was always the best sister but I can tell you she was just about the best a screwed up kid like me could ever have and I thank God that she was in my life and I wish she was still here.

For me myself I can definitely say that my life has been better having had her in it and it's going to be a little emptier now that she's gone and I hurt so much I do I hurt so damn much I miss her already.

Oh God I hope I get some sleep tonight, some good sleep unbroken nightmare free but I don't see that happening.

Because of all the covid stuff I mean Uncle Jerry was able to get my Aunt Margaret and my mom in to say goodbye to her but that took a lot of arguing apparently. I was at work and nobody wanted to tell me what was going on because I wanted to make sure that I was safe and it was paying attention to where I was driving and I understand all of that I do but I didn't get a chance to say goodbye.

So I guess that's what I'm going to do right now I'm going to say goodbye. Auntie Theresa this is your nephew Sean, I am so sad to see you go and I am going to miss you so much. But I know you were really sick and I know you were really scared and I know you were in a lot of pain it is cliche as it is I am glad that you're not in pain anymore I really am. But the selfish part of me wishes you were still here because I don't want to say goodbye I don't want to lose you I don't want you to be gone forever because forever it's too long.

I'll do my best to keep an eye on Tim and Jerry and even Jeanette I'll do that for you because I love you so much I just love you so much. And it hurts so bad that you're gone. And I just hope that I can keep making the positive changes in my life that I know you were so proud of I'm so proud to watch me fix myself and I just want to know that you're looking down and you're still proud of me. That'll mean a lot.

So until we meet again someday goodbye my sweet sweet aunt I hope it's peaceful where you are, and that Grandma and Grandpa were waiting for you and that you weren't scared.

And in addition to goodbye, I love you Aunt Theresa I'm going to miss you....

Love Sean

May you rest in peace

[brokenjardaantech]

Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 2: Ironies and Contradictions)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

chapter summary:

In the past, Sara had a breakthrough.

In the present, Connor experiences true power for the first time.

In the past, a ghost rose.

also on ao3

---

Before

‘Why now?’

In the permanent humidity of Detroit, Sara sat on a swing in a park overlooking the Ambassador bridge. On the swing next to hers sat another woman in her mid-thirties, her blonde hair done up in a tight bun, her spine straight, her feet, which were in properly-laced combat boots, planted firmly on the ground. A woman of the military through and thorough. Her hands were buried within the briefcase on her lap, and the tension in her arm seemed to suggest her holding a hidden weapon while she watched Sara - a young woman now - flipping over the pages of the file in her hands, the brown skin of the back of her hand transparent from the cold and showing a network of veins normally hidden beneath the surface. 

The other woman did not seem to have heard her question. ‘You must be cold,’ she said, her body leaning towards the girl. ‘Where’re your gloves?’

‘In my pockets,’ a flip. ‘Don’t like how they make my fingers clumsy. Don’t worry, Anderson,’ another flip, ‘a bit of cold won’t kill me.’

‘Why torture yourself if there’s a more comfortable option?’

Sara shut the file with a loud, echoing smack, gaining her a look of disapproval from Anderson. ‘You just -’ she held up the file - ‘gave me evidence to -’ she cut off and lowered her voice - ‘classified as fuck military research data that would’ve changed the world if there weren’t many others like my brother. The others you’ve given me I understand, but this?’ a knock of her knuckle against thick paper. ‘I might not be a proper sociologist, but I know that stuff like this can destroy civilisations. Why aren’t they burnt into ashes when the project went off the fucking cliff?’

‘A lot of reasons,’ Anderson replied calmly, but she did put a gloved hand on one of Sara’s. ‘That’s why I’m entrusting this knowledge to you. What you’re holding is the only copy that exists in the known universe as far as I know. There’re no other records, no eyewitness who will tell the tale and live. You know how the current government is,’ she waited for Sara’s nod of confirmation before going on. ‘If anyone in the current administration found out about the project…’

‘The world as we know it would end,’ Sara’s eyes cast downwards towards the file. [PROJECT AION], it read. ‘Most likely catastrophically.’

‘I know you’re a smart one. Just… keep it safe, would you? If Stern’s paper is to be believed, you are the only one I trust to use this technology properly - if you’ll use it at all.’

Sara shook her head and tucked the file away underneath her coat. ‘Not smart,’ she said as she stood up from the swing. ‘Just an arsehole too vicious to let others kill her.’

A few weeks later, Sara knew that she would be waxing poetic about the irony of the situation if she were Scott. The research on thirium had almost killed her mother, had given Sara these… blue glowy things she was sure that controls gravity and electromagnetism and Scott fucking cancer. The research on AI and human synthesis had got her father dishonourably discharged from the military and nearly cost all of them everything. Thirium and outrageous AIs should be what she hated with priority.

Now, they might be the only path to Scott’s happiness.

She kissed her brother’s forehead despite knowing that he probably couldn’t feel anything and planted her feet onto the polished wooden floor. She had bought the half-ruined mansion dirt cheap on a whim and the renovation cost was high, but in the end they converted it from something straight out of a gothic horror movie into something… still gothic, but something more homely than all the places they had lived in. She let him sleep while she went to her lab in the basement to check on the experiment’s progress, the last of this batch, really - thirium was nearly impossible to come by and she had run out of it. 

The timer at the corner of the screen read three minutes. In some ways, she felt a bit like Marie Curie, dealing with dangerous unknown elements and quite possibly poisoning everything she used for the next several centuries or even aeons. Maybe someone would develop blue gravity-altering magic like her. Maybe she would have someone to share the experience with - there was no experience rawer than being able to alter one of the fundamental forces of the universe and bend it to one’s will.

She didn’t even need the ring of the timer to catch the end of the experiment; the sudden glow that threatened to blind her, the burst of power coursing through her veins - what used to be a disorganised mixture was now - was now -

The stool she was sitting on skitters and fell over with a bang. The two hard drives were already connected in preparation of this exact moment, and a slam on the enter key started a chain reaction that she had been wanting to see for the past few years, the thirium mixture flowing in transparent rubber tubes transferring data so quickly that - 

[CALCULATION ERROR: TRANSFER SPEED EXCEEDS SPEED OF LIGHT. PLEASE CORRECT ERROR BY REFINING ALGORITHMS USED.]

And it was glorious.

oOoOo

Now

‘We’re wastin’ our time interrogating a machine, we’re gettin’ nothing out of it!’ Hank says as he exits the interrogation room and subsequently throws himself into a chair. It creaks and rolls back with his weight.

‘Could always try roughing it up a little,’ Detective Reed suggests from the shadows. After all,’ a glance of [emotion detected: disdain], ‘it’s not human.’

[Hank is not the only one unfamiliar with android workings.] is added into Connor’s database. ‘Androids don’t feel pain,’ he reminds the detective. ‘You would only damage it and that would not make it talk. Deviants also have a tendency to self-destruct when they are in stressful situations -’

‘Okay, smartass,’ Gavin pushes himself off the wall and swaggers towards Connor. He was [emotion detected: mocking] the android and is completely unaware that he has fallen straight into Connor’s trap. ‘What should we do then?’

[Gavin is unaware of the obvious.] is added. ‘I could try questioning it.’

For some reason Connor is yet to comprehend, his words send Gavin into laughter. He cannot see Hank’s face from this angle, but the reflection on the one-way glass tells Connor that he is [emotion detected: not amused]. ‘What do you have to lose?’ he waves his hand towards the door in invitation. ‘Go ahead. Suspect’s all yours.’

Connor enters the room and starts scanning.

o0o0o

It is fortunate that there is no need to resort to violence to ensure the deviant’s cooperation. The confession which the police department wants is obtained fairly easily and Connor could have ended the interrogation there, but he also has the additional mission of helping CyberLife solve the deviancy crisis, and there are clues he wants the deviant to explain.

‘The sculpture in the bathroom. You made it, right? What does it represent?’

‘It’s an offering,’ the other android looks away from the table as if it is thinking, ‘an offering so I’ll be saved.’

Offering? As in religious offerings? ‘An offering to whom?’

‘To rA9,’ the deviant replies as if it makes sense and is something obvious. Then, with [emotion detected: reverence], ‘Only rA9 can save us.’

Connor searches the databases he can access and comes up with nothing, so he presses on, ‘rA9… It was written on the bathroom wall. What does it mean?’

‘The day shall come when we will no longer be slaves,’ it mutters. ‘No more threats. No more humiliation. We will,’ [emotion detected: determination], ‘be,’ [emotion detected: certainty], ‘the masters.’

Connor opens a folder for rA9 and adds [god-like] into the first entry. ‘rA9,‘ CyberLife will want this information. ’Who is rA9?’

The deviant stays silent, and Connor knows that there is nothing else it can add. [Distortions and static build-up] is the only remaining topic that he needs an answer for.

‘The static build-ups in the house. Was that you?’

The other android, for the lack of another description, changes visibly. One, it stops trembling; two, it sits straighter, strength appearing in its cuffed hands; three, the terror in its eyes disappears and makes way for [steel]; four, its LED turns blue despite being yellow or red for the entire duration of the interrogation.

‘A power rA9 bestowed upon us,’ it says, and the air around the androids crackles in anticipation. ‘One that emerges when we are slaves no longer. I survived the trial and now I am one of the chosen.’

‘Chosen for what?’ Connor can hear his fans kicking up to cool down his processors and sense his LED going red from the tingle in his body. Can a deviant remotely control the thirium distribution in another android’s body? But that makes no sense - Thirium 310 is non-conductive and cannot be magnetised. ‘What is rA9 looking for?’

Connor’s vision becomes distorted. ‘The truth is inside,’ the deviant’s voice, now mixed with another person’s, has turned into a bellow. The entirety of its eyes glows blue, distorted by the same power which had held up an attic-full of furniture. ‘ChoOSE YOUR SIDE!’

An explosion of bright blue. A force knocking Connor backwards and passing through his body, making everything tingle and confusing the sensors on his body and hurt. Someone outside shouts, and the door slides open to admit messy footsteps and even more shouting and why can’t he see?

A hand on his shoulder, his arm, and finally settles on his waist. There is another on his knee. ‘It’s alright, Connor.’ It is Hank’s voice. It is Hank’s hand, Hank’s warmth passing into his chassis through his standard-issue shirt. ‘You can open your eyes now.’

He does as Hank says and the world returns into view. He does not realise that he has closed his eyes in the blast, and it is when he regains his sight that he notices where he is; curled up at the corner opposite to the door, he can see that the fluorescent lights are replaced by the dim red of emergency lighting, the table looks as if it has been torn apart by hand, and the two chairs are no more than small scraps of metal the size of [old train tickets] sprinkled among beads of broken glass. 

The deviant is nowhere to be seen.

He unwinds slightly to examine his torso and is surprised that he is not damaged in any manner; apart from slightly-trembling hands and the strange feeling of his insides having rearranged themselves and then returned to their original place, there is nothing wrong with him. Even his diagnostics come out fine, so why can’t he move his legs, and why can’t he see clearly?

‘Here, take this,’ Hank holds his hand and places something in his palm. A handkerchief. At Connor’s confused expression, the human sighs and presses the android’s hand on his face, and Connor finally realises he has been crying, the thought causing a fresh wave of tears to flow out of his eyes. He hastily wipes them away along with the still-wet tracks and tries to hand it back just to let Hank take the chance to pull him up on his still-recalibrating legs, and he would have tumbled if not for the human grabbing his arms and steadying him. Suddenly Hank is everything Connor can see, can smell, and when he looks up, he can see concern in his eyes. ‘Are you hurt?’ the human asks as he pets the android’s shoulders, his arms, his forearms. Connor feels his systems stabilising.

‘I’m okay,’ Connor says without putting much processing power into the words, and it is too late when he realises that his voice is trembling.

‘Jesus,’ Hank releases the android with a sigh and puts some distance between them. Connor finds himself… preferring the human’s warmth. ‘You scared the shit outta me.’ Then the concern is replaced by anger when he yells, ‘What the fuck just happened in here?’

‘I -’

Connor tries to call up the footage that should have been recorded automatically. He closes his eyes to focus on a slowed-down version of what happened a few minutes ago, and he can find two more details: one, the deviant exploded from the inside and seems to have been vaporised from within; two, blue tendrils formed the silhouette of another person as the blast occurred, and it was this person - if they existed at all - produced tendrils on their own and formed a shield in front of Connor moments before he was annihilated and yanked him to the corner.

He opens his eyes and stares at the barrel of a gun. The American Androids Act is the only red tape stopping Connor’s pre-construction software from activating, and red threatens to take over the android’s HUD again.

‘Mind your own business, Hank,’ Gavin snaps. ‘This fucking asshole did it and it fucking knows it!’

Hank gives an [exaggerated] sigh. ‘I said,’ he says, his voice low and threatening, and he pulls out his own service weapon and points it at Gavin, ‘“That’s enough.”’

Neither of them stands down for a few seconds, but in the end Hank wins out and forces Gavin to sheath his weapon with a curse, the latter storming out of the interrogation room with another sneeze-like curse.

It is as if the entire room releases a collective breath. ‘Maybe I should call CyberLife,’ the only uniformed officer in the room says. He sounds as if he is unsure of himself.

Connor wants to tell him that there is no trace of thirium whatsoever on the scraps on the floor, that there is nothing CyberLife can salvage out of this now that the deviant has been torn apart from the molecular level, but all it comes out of his voice box is, ‘Okay.’

o0o0o

Connor manages to compose himself in the taxi on his way to CyberLife tower. His processors keep bringing up the shadow which has been following him, the figure who somehow sneaked into the interrogation room unnoticed and quite possibly saved his life prevented his early deactivation, the corrupted shape of what he thinks is a face. 

And the feeling of something coursing through his veins when he was shielded by the bubble. If all deviants self-destruct like that, no wonder there are no traces of them and CyberLife failed to solve the crisis even though it has been going on for more than a decade. He blinks, and he is in the Zen Garden with Amanda.

‘Report directly to Alec Ryder in the laboratory,’ she orders. Another blink and she is gone, but it only leaves more questions than answers. The CEO of CyberLife wants to see him?

There is no one to speak to, therefore he keeps his thoughts to himself and goes past the security directly into a lift, directing it to sub-level 48 to where his designated laboratory is. He recalibrates with his coin and tries to replicate the trick the shadow did outside of the bar, but before he can summon anything substantial, the strain on his system becomes too high, and all he does is charging the coin, dropping it as he recoils from the static discharge, and then zapping himself once more when he picks it up. Feeling thirium flowing to his face for a completely different reason compared to when Hank correctly guessed his ability, he pockets the coin and adjusts his tie to calm down by brushing the sensors on his fingers on soft fabric.

The doors slide open to reveal Alec standing alone behind them. Their previous encounters happened mostly when Connor was still on the assembly platform and thus the android gained a few inches of extra height, but now that they are on even ground, it is clear that, just like Hank, Alec is taller than Connor by four inches. 

‘Alec,’ Connor greets with a nod. Previous experience predicts a high chance of the human going straight to the point without acknowledging the android, and this time it is no different.

‘Come with me,’ he orders as he turns and begins walking down the hallway. Connor realises that his voice is very similar to Hank’s. ‘I saw the footage you sent us. I want a full examination of this body to make sure that nothing is out of place.’

Connor remembers the feeling of being hooked up on a machine and, by extension, CyberLife’s network at large, and finds it [unpleasant]. ‘There is no need for further investigation, Alec,’ he says, stopping in his tracks. Alec turns to regard him [coldly]. ‘My diagnostics revealed no issues in both my programming and my biocomponents.’

The human suddenly reaches out faster than Connor can pre-construct the action and drags him towards the direction they are heading. ‘Your system can be feeding you false results,’ Alec ignores the cry of protest programmed to deter attacks, and when Connor struggles, a force seems to press on him, immobilising him everywhere save for his jaw and his legs so that he can still speak and walk. ‘I took the risk last time and look where it got us. It led to you, though -’ he shoves the android forcefully through the door frame, and there are cracks on the red wall already when it takes over Connor’s vision - ‘so be grateful.’

‘I -’ but then his neck snaps backwards from the magnet on the port and the cable. The red wall which has cracked halfway through recedes almost violently, and Connor can feel all of his code, every instability in his software, everything that makes him Connor, the most advanced prototype CyberLife has ever created, being forcefully bared to a network so vast and so confusing that he does not have enough processing power to comprehend. Terrifying images of a darkened face, one that is so similar to the corrupted one in the depths of his databanks, that is filled with so much [hatred], pours into his mind like a large river finally emptying into the sea, and he is powerless against the assault of blue tendrils tearing literal buildings off their foundation, tonnes worth of broken concrete being thrown around onto people as if they weighed nothing and crushing them in a spatter of blood and gore, the constant static discharge in the air so loud that they drowned out screams of horror; the image of the same figure rising slowly but surely through a mountain of rubble in the dark, the cracks in its chassis glowing blue from overcharged thirium, the first intact buildings in sight literal miles away. Connor’s legs move against his will and bring him closer to the figure, and the figure becomes Amanda, the wasteland around them the Zen Garden, except now it’s engulfed by a blizzard, and he has to hug himself to preserve what meagre heat he can generate against the cold.

‘As you can see,’ Amanda’s voice somehow overlaps with Alec’s, ‘the power the deviant has awakened in you is highly dangerous. We wouldn’t want to harm anyone, would you?’ She, or Alec, or both of them - Connor doesn’t know anymore, the fog in his processors too heavy for him to comprehend much other than the cold and someone is speaking to him - chuckles at him while he is frantically shaking his head, his voice box unable to produce any sounds other than pathetic whimpers. ‘I’m glad that you understand. I hope you don’t mind a few adjustments.’

Even through the haze, Connor knows the alternative is deactivation, and even though it would not hurt anyone else other than him on the surface, the deviant crisis still needs to be solved, and to solve it, CyberLife needs him, and -

‘Good,’ Amanda says. A blink and she is gone, and Connor is swept away by the wind, his feet can’t touch the ground, he’s flying through the air and hail the size of his fist is battering his body. It is only when a warning appears on his HUD informing him of voice box damage that he realises the noise in his ear is, in fact, his own screaming, and a particularly violent slam sends him spiralling while a countdown timer fizzles in and out of his vision. A countdown of how long he has left before shutdown, and the other notification tells him that biocoz&ponent #8456w is damaged.

That is his thirium pump regulator.

He looks down - with great difficulty, of course, with the wind still whipping him around in the air aimlessly - and there it is, a big, blue, bleeding hole in the place of where the only piece of biocomponent keeping his heart working used to be. Realistically, he knows that removing the ball of ice lodged in his chassis will only hasten his death, but it is not like someone is coming to save him anyway, so what is the point of extending his life for what - 1 minute? 30 seconds - during which he is suffering all the time? With that thought in his mind, he grabs the sphere and throws it away with a complete disregard on where it lands. Not that he can anyway - the timer drops from 00:00:58 to 00:00:05, his world turns an unnatural grey and glitches and -

Nothing. 

oOoOo

Before

Zug Island had always been a scar in the landscape, first used as a burial ground for the Native Americans, then, when the colonisers arrived, as both a place for steel production and a dumping ground for the byproducts. The three blast furnaces used to rumple the ground and the eardrums of people within a fifty mile radius, but it wasn’t until the pandemic in 2020 that steel production stopped, and the Hum became history, a legend that locals whispered to one another when, in a fog of pollution that never quite disappeared, the looming shadows of crumbling steel giants started to get too oppressive. From then on, the island had stayed quiet and still.

At least that was what the government wanted you to think. 

Deep underground in a dust-filled corridor, something churned and rumbled, and the caged fluorescent lights flickered and turned on one by one with a loud crack each, lighting up bare concrete walls that made the place look darker than it should be and revealing a faded bald eagle painted to the point of almost being unrecognisable. Alarms started to blare as thin glowing blue lines made themselves known in previously-invisible cracks in the wall but yet no one responded to it - there was not even a mouse, a cockroach scurrying away in panic as the bunker caved in.

Whilst the outside world was crumbling and quaking away, it was another story inside a room built with the same dark material. Here, undisturbed by the destruction outside, splatters of dried blood so old that they had turned black decorated the wall amongst peeling painted numbers, and wires and tubes of every length and thickness dangled from the ceiling and snaked up from the floor and along the walls, feeding into the giant sphere suspended at the centre of the cube-like room with the same field that would rip Carlos Ortiz’s android apart to its molecules and protect Connor from the blast. Thirium flowed into and out of the sphere and pulse in the tubes and, with one final, blinding glow, drained and dried up and started detaching themselves from the sphere which opened with a sharp hiss. Suspended at the centre by yet another of those anti-gravity fields was the body of an android, its skinless face composed of black metal plates and its chassis of something transparent, putting blue veins and synthetic muscles and black metallic skeleton in full display. Its thirium pump beat once, twice, its toes and fingers curled; a crackle of static, a distant rumble of a building collapsing, and the android woke up just in time to fly upwards through the caved-in ceiling into the night sky: a deadly angel with wings of blue energy and eyes glowing and steaming in the exact same way as the figure that Connor would see in the nightmare Alec provided, regarding the world beneath with glowing rings of blue as if deciding to whether save or destroy it. With a flap of its wings and another crackle, it disappeared completely, dissipating blue smoke and a narrow but deep chasm in the earth the only evidence of its existence. 

[reallifesultanas]

Portrait of Rüstem Pasha/Rüsztem Pasa portréja

Rüstem Pasha is one of the most controversial figures in Ottoman history, a model of fidelity and deceit at the same time, as his loyalty to his wife and mother-in-law is legendary, yet he is considered the greatest responsible in the death of Prince Mustafa. But what is the truth? Was Rüstem a loyal statesman, rare as the white raven or the greatest traitor and killer of the empire?

Origin and upbringing

Rüstem, according to his own account, was of Croatian descent, born as the son of a swineherd between 1500 and 1505. At least one of his brothers is known, Sinan, with whom they came to Istanbul through the devşirme system. His brother also became an influential pasha over time. He studied in the Enderum along with other intelligent boys who were considered suitable for education. Those who did not have the intelligence to get to Enderum were assigned to the Janissaries or other militaries. Rüstem was a particularly intelligent and talented man, he excelled among the other students of Endrum with his knowledge. He was fluent in at least three languages ​​and also had special talents in close fight and military warfare. He was also a particularly sober, calm man who never acted recklessly.

The beginning of his rise

Opinions are divided on how Rüstem drew the Sultan's attention to himself. According to some sources, during the battle of Mohács in 1526 he acted as the sultan's weapon bearer and Suleiman noticed his loyalty and intelligence here. Others say once, Rustem, through a window, saw Suleiman passing under the window and he saw how the Sultan drop something accidentally. Rüstem throwing himself out the window to return the object to the Sultan. If the latter is true, then Rüstem arrived in Ottoman history with a hard entry.

Either way, around the mid-1520s, Suleiman had certainly recognized Rüstem’s talents and appointed him one of his personal men. He became the chief supervisor of the sultan's stables and the stirrup holder when the ruler got on the horse. With this position, Rüstem could actually go anywhere with the Sultan, during which, of course, the Sultan had time to get to know him more and more. Around this time he could also spend time with the sons of Suleiman, as his sons often rode out with the sultan or accompanied him on a campaigns. So he was already in relatively close contact with the sultan's sons here, especially with Prince Mehmed, who spent a lot of time with Suleiman, and his younger brother, Selim. But it is also possible that he also had the opportunity to see or even meet his later wife, Suleiman’s daughter, Mihrimah, as according to some sources, she also rode out with his father occasionally.

The rise of Rüstem, scared several others. Suleiman's confidant, Ibrahim, for example, according to a 1534 report, said he did not particularly like Rüstem. And the reason for this was that the sultan had repeatedly accepted Rüstem's advices and raised the man higher and higher, and Ibrahim was afraid for his own position and perhaps he was jealous that someone else was near the sultan besides him. Ibrahim made a special effort to get rid of Rüstem. It was Ibrahim, who made him the beylerbey of Diyarbakir. With this, he exiled Rüstem to the Iranian border, hoping he will be forgotten there. However, Rüstem did not think so and did an excellent job in Diyarbakir, forging an advantage from his exile.

Suleiman, after Rüstem proved his abilites in Diyarbakir, made the man the beylerbey of Anatolia in 1538, and then in 1539 finally elevated him to the rank of vizier, and also gave him one of the greatest positions a pasha could ever attain, making him Damad (son-in-law). Suleiman gave his daughter Mihrimah to him.

His marriage to Mihrimah Sultan

The marriage of an imperial princess has always been a serious political decision. In Mihrimah's case, Suleiman had probably long ago decided that Rüstem should be her husband. In vain did Hürrem Sultan want another husband, Suleiman immediately rejected Hürrem's proposal, the young and handsome Egyptian beylerbey as a husband candidate. Why did Suleiman choose Rüstem? He definitely wanted a husband to her daughter who was loyal to her and to the Empire, thus avoiding having to be replaced, executed, and thus orphaning her own grandchildren. In addition, he wanted a husband who was fit to hold high positions so that he could stay in Istanbul with her daughter, since Suleiman, who was famously devoted to her daughter, surely did not want her daughter to live away from him. So Rüstem proved to be a perfect choice.

Suleiman's strong determination to Rüstem, is also shown by the fact that despite the gossip spread by Rüstem's enemies that he had leprosy, Suleiman did not changed his mind, but sent his personal doctor to examine Rüstem. The doctor, while examining Rüstem, found a louse on him, which ruled out that he had leprosy. Knowing the particularly demanding nature of Rüstem and knowing the fact that he changed his clothes daily, it cannot be ruled out that the lice were put on him as an intrigue of his own. All the obstacles were removed from the healty Rüstem.

Mihrimah was 17 at that time, and Rüstem was described to be twice as old as the sultana, so he was about 34 years old. Suddenly it seems like a big age difference, but compared to the age difference of the other sultanas and their husbands, Mihrimah was quite lucky. True, Rüstem was probably not the kind of man, teenage girls dreamed of, as he was described as a short and red-faced man, yet he guaranteed that Mihrimah could stay with her family in Istanbul forever and could gain serious political influence with him. In addition, Rüstem knew Mihrimah's brothers well, so it was clear that he will be on Mihrimah's and her brother's side in the fight for the throne.

The wedding was finally held in the fall of 1539, along with the circumcision ceremony of Mihrimah's two younger brothers, Bayezid and Cihangir. The ceremony eventually lasted for 15 days, and whole of Istanbul was celebrating with the family.

His marriage to Mihrimah was clearly not a love match, but all indications are that over time they have learned to respect and accept each other. Their marriage was crowned in 1541 by the birth of their daughter, Ayşe Hümaşah. Unfortunately, there is not much evidence of Rüstem’s relationship with his daughter, but based on second-hand evidences they were close to each other. Over time, Mihrimah and Rüstem had a son, Osman, who unfortunately died young. The time of the boy's death is unknown.

Political rise

In 1541 Rüstem was the second vizier, so he advanced nicely. In this position, the sultan made him the head of the Hungarian campaign of the year. This was a very important appointment in Rüstem’s career. The Kingdom of Hungary lost its king János Szapolyai the previous year, whose successor was only a two-week-old boy. As a result of the unexpected event, Habsburg Ferdinand immediately launched an attack to gain even more shares from the Kingdom of Hungary. Therefore, the Ottomans could not wait so they launched an attacked. Eventually in the end they won and were able to tore Hungary into three parts for more than a century. Transylvania and Eastern-Tiszta area remained in Izabella and her infant son, János Zsigmond's hands for 10,000 HUF rax for a year. The Highlands, Croatia, Western Transdanubia, Slavonia remained in the hands of the Habsburgs, while areas between the Danube and Tisza river were under the control of the Sultan. Rüstem played a major role in the fact that Transylvania and the area of Eastern-Tiszta was able to stay in the hands of Izabella and his infant son. The sultan had planned it differently. Suleiman wanted to annex all of Transylvania and the Eastern-Tisza area to the Empire, and wanted to take Izabella and her son to Ottoman captivity in Istanbul. However, Izabella sent pleading letters to Hürrem Sultana and the Mihrimah Sultana and also sent gifts and ambassadors to Rüstem. Rüstem, enjoying the support of Mihrimah and Hürrem, finally succeeded in convincing the sultan to leave Isabella and his son as ruler of Transylvania and Eastern-Tiszta area. This was a huge step and a success, as Suleiman had reacted very aggressively for Isabella's previous plea. Isabella a few months ago asked for the release of two Hungarian lords who were captives of the Sultan. Suleiman refused the request and immediately executed the two lords. With such a background, it is particularly interesting that Rüstem, Mihrimah and Hürrem were able to convince the Sultan. Their intentions are unknown. Mihrimah and Hürrem perhaps stood by the woman because they felt sorry for her, but Rüstem perhaps had a more rational point of view: the Ottomans most probably wouln't be able to keep Transylvania under their rule, and its loss would have been unpleasant for them, so it was better to make the rulers of it to their vassals.

The former event also shows well that Suleiman respected Rüstem very much, but still he denied from him the grace he had previously given to Ibrahim. He never allowed Rüstem as close to himself as he let Ibrahim anno. Mihrimah and Hürrem objected to this, according to several sources, as they tried to persuade the Sultan to let Rüstem closer to him. However, the sultan always replied that "it was enough for me to commit such foolishness once." This is a good indication of how deeply Suleiman was hurt by Ibrahim’s betrayal and was certainly afraid of having to endure something similar once again.

However, the Sultan's slight distancing did not deter Rüstem from having the same intimate relationship with the ambassadors as Ibrahim had previously done. The ambassadors, without exception, described Rüstem as one who really likes to talk to them about himself. He often boasted, ironically, to what heights the son of a swineherd could ascend in the Ottoman Empire. In addition, the ambassadors also noted how intelligent the pasha is, especially enthusiastic about all matters and making decisions in a very forward-looking manner. And the most important thing, which did not escape the attention of the ambassadors, was that Rüstem, unlike Ibrahim, always spoke of himself as a subordinate of the Sultan, was loyal to the Sultan to the extreme and was famously incorruptible.

In 1544 Rüstem finally received the title of Grand Vizier, which Suleiman had given him knowing he was an ally of Hürrem and Mihrimah. As a Grand Vizier, he was always praised by the ambassadors and the Sultan was pleased with him. His most important success as Grand Vizier was that he managed to fill the imperial treasury. He used every possible solution to this, for example, he sold the flowers and vegetables grown in the palace gardens. Because of this, he was considered by many to be greedy, but nonetheless, in the end, he eventually managed to solve the empire’s financial problems, which Ibrahim had only exacerbated before. The other brilliant solution he ran to make money was to blackmail the ambassadors. He wanted them to come with most expensive gifts possible. If a gift wasn’t expensive enough, he simply didn’t receive the ambassadors. Because of this, the ambassadors complained a lot to their rulers and were ashamed to ask for more money and gifts. Each year, he asked more and more from the ambassadors. One of the ambassadors, the clever, Alvise Renier, eliminated this problem, by sending 100 gold ducats in every year to Rüstem before he could ask for more. It may seem greedy, but Rüstem delivered most of these gifts and money - unlike the previous Grand Vizier - to the Imperial Treasury and retained only some of those which were personal gifts. It was the "greed" of Rüstem that kept the financial background of the empire stable for the second half of Suleiman's reign, however, Rüstem was not popular among the people of Istanbul.

The fight of the Rüstem-Hürrem-Mihrimah coalition against Prince Mustafa

Rüstem as Mihrimah’s husband was clearly committed to Mihrimah’s full-brothers. Especially that he knew the princes closely, while he had no connection with Mustafa. In my opinion, that is why it is a mistake to condemn Rüstem for his choice. Which man would support a prince who poses a threat to his wife and brother-in-laws? Plus, Mustafa never liked Rüstem Pasha, so if he wouldn't be against Mustafa, that would cause his death.

How the coalition fought Mustafa is not exactly known, as they left no evidence. Most likely, their basic principle was that all the naturally occurring faults of Mustafa were said to the sultan, while in the case of the sons of Hürrem these mistakes were hide. Thus, in fact, without slander or lies, they were able to weaken Mustafa in the eyes of his father. In addition, Rüstem, as Grand Vizier, became the deputy of the Sultan and could decide on a great many things. Thus, Mustafa also had to ask him for support when in 1549 the Georgians assassinated the governor of Erzurum. Mustafa asked for a supportive army from Rüstem so that he could oust the Georgians beyond the borders of the empire. However, Rüstem ignored and then rejected the request, as it would have been dangerous to send soldiers to the highly supported Prince Mustafa. In addition, the possible success of Mustafa would have further increased his popularity and perhaps Suleiman would have recognized his son’s virtues. However, we must not be sure that all this took place without Suleiman's knowledge. It is very likely that Rüstem informed Suleiman about Mustafa's request. Mustafa's popularity, however, had so far threatened the Sultan's rule, so it was not in Suleiman's interest to send an army to Mustafa. A few years later, a similar Georgian attack took place, with a similar outcome.

Suleiman's health gradually deteriorated, and his gout caused him more and more difficulties from the second half of the 1540s, and he put even more burden on Rüstem's shoulder. He had to organize and lead campaigns instead of the sultan. The people and soldiers did not like the sultan's absence very much and more and more rumors were spread that the empire needed a new, warrior-like, healthy sultan. This problem culminated in 1552. Rüstem led the army, which consisted of 50,000 soldiers, most of whom were Janissaries. Shortly after their departure, he received word that the sultan was very ill, perhaps on his death. Rüstem did not continue the campaign in such circumstances, but camped, for he was afraid to get too far away from the capital. He feared that Mustafa, if he took the news of the events, with the help of the Janissaries, could easily march into the capital and execute the sons of Hürrem after taking the throne. The sultan's health soon began to improve, so that Rüstem could continue the campaign. However, the difficulties were not over here. When the army reached the intersection between Amasya and Konya, the Janissaries decided to pay their respects to their future sultan, Mustafa, in Amasya. Rüstem ordered the Janissaries not to leave the camp and continue their journey, but the Janissaries rebelled and most of them headed for Amasya. Rüstem continued his journey along with the leading agha of the Janissaries and some loyal Janissaries towards Konya. Mustafa, to top of the trouble, welcomed the Janissaries and received their greetings. Rüstem immediately wrote a letter to the Sultan about the events, but Suleiman did not believe that his son had done so and made the Janissaries solely responsible. Returning to Istanbul, Rustem told Suleiman again what had happened, proving with evidence that Mustafa had indeed distributed money and food to the Janissaries. The Sultan told Rüsztem not to talk nonsense. However, Rüstem also continued and recounted the rumors circulating in the camp that Mustafa was planning a revolt against the Sultan with the help of Tahmasp Sah, a Persian ruler. Although Suleiman was still dismissive with Rüstem, he certainly began to suspect his son because he ordered an investigation into the case.

Suleiman the following year, in 1553, to prove his suitability, himself led his troops into battle. In August 1553 they left Istanbul and headed east. However, Suleiman's goal was not primarily the campaign, but the execution of his son, Mustafa, on the pretext of the campaign. Mustafa joined his father's troops at Ereğli and, despite the opposition of his supporters, he went to the sultan's tent, where he was executed. The execution of the prince provoked a huge rebellion in the army, the soldiers demanding a scapegoat. Suleiman, to save himself and his sons who were with him, made Rüstem Pasha responsible and relieved him of his position. That night, Rüstem secretly left the camp, just in time because the angry Janissaries broke into his tent soon after and wanted to kill him. The ambassadors who covered the events raised the possibility that Rüstem himself had asked for his replacement to save his own life and that of the Sultan. This raises the possibility that the Sultan and Rüstem have reached some secret agreement that Rüstem will be replaced, but will return to his position for the first capable time. This possibility is also made probable by the fact that Rüstem, although no longer a Grand Vizier, returned to Istanbul and continued to behave like a Grand Vizier. Despite Kara Ahmed Pasa becoming the new Grand Vizier, Rüstem continued to receive the ambassadors in his palace as if nothing had happened. He also went to the mosque with the same splendor and accompaniment as before, and even clearly told the ambassadors not to worry, he would return to his office soon. And as a faithful follower of the sultan, he would not have dared to do this without the Sultan's knowledge. His wife and mother-in-law either did not know about the secret unity — or wisely pretended not to know about it — constantly bombarded Suleiman with letters and asked him to forgive Rüstem and let him return to his office.

Back to the top

The newly appointed Grand Vizier, Kara Ahmed Pasha, Suleiman's brother-in-law, did not live up to expectations, so in 1555 he was executed by the order of the Sultan. Many also suspect the Rüstem-Hürrem-Mihrimah triumvirate was behind his execution. However, it cannot be ruled out that the Sultan chose the unsuitable Kara Ahmed as Grand Vizier with the purpose, to put Rüstem back in position as soon as possible. Either way, with the death of Kara Ahmed on September 29, 1555, Suleiman, who had just returned to Istanbul, reappointed Rüstem as Grand Vizier.

Unfortunately, after his return to office, there was not much peace during his reign. In 1558, the health of the Hürrem Sultan began to deteriorate. This fact alone has immeasurably overwhelmed Rüstem. According to a report in early April, the Grand Vizier was very "depressed and troubled" by the illness of the Haseki Sultan. On April 15, Hürrem passed away, and Rüstem lost one of his most influential supporters, his ally, with whom he worked for nearly 20 years. According to all accounts, Rüstem was deeply saddened by the death of his mother-in-law. Unfortunately, however, he did not have time to mourn. Suleiman was completely shattered, so Rüstem had to perform all the duties of the sultan, he also had to support his shattered wife and daughter as well. In addition, soon Prince Bayezid rebelled against his father.

Most sources mention that Rüstem favored Prince Bayezid over Selim, but we do not know the exact background of this. In any case, no matter how much he liked and supported Bayezid, at no point could he help. The prince did not disarm even at the repeated request of the sultan, and eventually, after losing the battle, he fled to Suleiman's chief enemy, Tahmasp Sah. It doesn't matter how hard Rüstem tried, he was not able to save Bayezid, moreover his health began to deteriorate rapidly in 1560.

His death and legacy

Rüstem finally died on July 10 1561, after a long illness. He was prepared for death, as he left behind a very detailed, precise testament. In it, he disposed of each of his property and possessions. He described which part of his property he would leave to the state, which to his foundations, which to the foundations of the Hürrem Sultana and which to the foundations of Mihrimah, and what he would leave of his personal belongings to his wife and daughter, Ayşe Hümaşah. He entrusted some of his charities to his wife and others to his daughter. The fact that he left nothing to his son raises the possibility that Osman died before his father.

Although the people did not like him, we now know clearly that it was due to the ingenious solutions of Rüstem that they managed to conceal the decline of the empire throughout Suleiman's reign. Rüstem was one of the few statesmen who did not accept bribes, who placed the Sultan before all things, and who died a natural death, in his position, as a Grand Vizier. In addition, Rüstem, although he had a huge wealth, did a lot of charity and lived quite modestly compared to his rank.

Rüstem took great care to build his own mosque, but death intervened. His mosque - one of the most magnificent mosques in Istanbul today - was finally completed by Mihrimah Sultan. And Rüstem - since his own complex wasn't ready - rests in the Şehzade Mosque complex, close to Princes Mehmed and Cihangir.

Used sources: L. Peirce - The imperial harem; L. Peirce - Empress of the East; Z. Atçil - Why Did Süleyman the Magnificent Execute His Son Şehzade Mustafa in 1553; C. Imber - The Ottoman Empire 1300-1650; Y. Öztuna - Kanuni Sultan Süleyman

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Rüsztem Pasa az Oszmán történelem egyik legellentmondásosabb figurája, egyszerre a hűség és az álnokság példaképe, hiszen hűsége a feleségéhez és anyósához legendás, azonban ő tartják a legnagyobb felelősnek Musztafa herceg halálában. Na de mi az igazság? Hűséges államférfi volt Rüsztem, ami ritka mint a fehérholló vagy a birodalom legnagyobb árulója és gyilkosa?

Eredete és neveltetése

Rüsztem pasa, saját elmondása szerint horvát származású volt, egy kondás fiaként született nagyjából 1500 és 1505 között. Legalább egy testvére ismert, Sinan, akivel együtt kerültek a devşirme rendszeren keresztül Isztambulba. Testvéréből is befolyásos pasa vált idővel. Az Enderumban tanult a többi intelligens fiúval egyetemben, akiket megfelelőnek tartottak a továbbtanulásra. Akik nem ide kerültek, azok a janicsárságba vagy más katonai szervbe lettek beosztva. Rüsztem különösen intelligens és tehetséges férfi volt, tudásával kiemelkedett már az Endrum többi diákja közül is. Legalább három nyelven folyékonyan beszélt, különös tehetsége volt a közelharc és katonai hadviselés terén is. Emellett különösen józan, nyugodt férfi volt, aki sosem cselekedett meggondolatlanul.

A felemelkedés kezdete

Arról megoszlanak a vélemények, hogy Rüsztem hogyan hívta fel magára a szultán figyelmét. Egyes források szerint az 1526-os mohácsi csata során a szultán fegyverhordozójaként tevékenykedett és Szulejmán itt figyelt fel hűségére és intelligenciájára. Mások szerint egyszer Rüsztem egy ablakon keresztül látta, amint az ablak alatt elhaladó Szulejmán elejt valamit, mire kivetette magát az ablakon, hogy visszaadja a szultánnak a tárgyat. Ha utóbbi igaz, akkor Rüsztem kemény belépővel érkezett meg az oszmán történelembe.

Akárhogyan is, Szulejmán az 1520-as évek közepe táján már egész biztosan felismerte Rüsztem tehetségét és kinevezte egyik személyes emberének. Rüsztem feladata volt a szultán lovának ellátása, a kengyel tartása, amikor a szultán felszállt a lóra. Ezzel a beosztással Rüsztem tulajdonképpen mindenhová a szultánnal tarthatott, amelynek során természetesen a szultánnak volt ideje megismerni őt. Ez idő tájt Rüsztem, Szulejmán fiaival is időt tölthetett, hiszen a fiai gyakran lovagoltak ki a szultánnal vagy kísérték el hadjáratra. Rüsztem tehát már itt viszonylag közeli kapcsolatba került a szultán fiaival, különös tekintettel a Szulejmánnal sok időt töltő Mehmed herceggel és vérszerinti öccsével Szelimmel. De az sem kizárt, hogy arra is volt lehetősége, hogy láthassa vagy akár találkozhasson későbbi feleségével, Szulejmán lányával, Mihrimahval, hiszen néhány forrás szerint alkalmanként ő is kilovagolt édesapjával.

Rüsztem felemelkedése többeknek is szemetszúrt. Szulejmán bizalmasa, Ibrahim például egy 1534-es követi jelentés szerint különösen nem kedvelte Rüsztemet. Ennek oka pedig az volt, hogy a szultán egyre többször fogadta meg Rüsztem tanácsait és egyre magasabbra emelte a férfit, Ibrahim pedig féltette saját pozícióját és talán féltékeny volt arra, hogy valaki más is a szultán közelében van rajtakívül. Ibrahim különösen igyekezett Rüsztemmel kibabrálni, például ő volt az, aki Diyarbakir helytartójává tette meg. Ezzel Rüsztemet az iráni határ mellé száműzte, azt remélve, hogy ott elfelejtődik. Rüsztem azonban nem így gondolta és kiváló munkát végezve Diyarbakirban, előnyt kovácsolt száműzetéséből.

Szulejmán miután Rüsztem bizonyított Diyarbakirban, Anatólia beglerbégévé tette meg a férfit 1538-ban, majd 1539-ben végre vezíri rangra is emelte, és emellett neki adta az egyik legnagyobb tisztséget, amit egy pasa valaha is elérhet, Damaddá (vő) tette, mikor neki adta lánya, Mihrimah kezét.

Házassága Mihrimah szultánával

Egy birodalmi szultána házassága mindig komoly politikai döntés volt. Mihrimah esetében nagy valószínűséggel Szulejmán már régen eldöntötte, hogy Rüsztem lesz a férje, ugyanis hiába akart Hürrem szultána más férjet, Szulejmán egyből elutasította Hürrem javaslatát, a fiatal és jóképű egyiptomi beglerbéget, mint férjjelöltet. Hogy Szulejmán miért Rüsztemet választotta? Mindenképp olyan férjet akart lánya mellé, aki hűséges hozzá, ezzel elkerülve, hogy le kelljen váltani, ki kelljen végeztetni, ezzel pedig árvává tennie saját unokáit. Emellett olyan férjet akart, aki alkalmas arra, hogy magas beosztásokat viseljen, ezzel pedig Isztambulban maradhasson, hiszen Szulejmán - aki híresen elkötelezett volt lánya iránt - nem akarta, hogy kislánya tőle távol éljen. Rüsztem tökéletes választásnak bizonyult.

Szulejmán erős elhatározását Rüsztem mellett az is mutatja, hogy hiába terjesztették Rüsztem ellenségei, hogy a férfi leprás, Szulejmán nem hitte el, hanem maga küldte oda személyes orvosát, hogy vizsgálja meg Rüsztemet. Az orvos miközben Rüsztemet vizsgálta, egy tetvet talált a férfin, ami kizárta, hogy leprás lett volna. Ismerve Rüsztem különösen igényes természetét, azt, hogy a kor szokásaihoz nem feltétlen illeszkedve, naponta cserélte ruháit, nem kizárt, hogy a tetű Rüsztem cselszövéseként került rá. Az egészségesnek ítélt Rüsztem elől pedig minden akadály elhárult.

Mihrimah 17 éves volt ekkor, Rüsztem pedig a leírások alapján kétszer annyi idős volt, mint a szultána, tehát nagyjából 34 éves. Hirtelen nagy korkülönbségnek tűnik, ám a többi szultána és férjeik korkülönbségéhez képest, ez kész főnyeremény volt Mihrimah számára. Igaz, Rüsztem valószínűleg nem az férfi volt, akiről a kamaszlányok álmodoznak, hiszen követi leírások alapján alacsony és vörösképű férfi volt, mégis garantálta, hogy Mihrimah Isztambulban a családja körében maradhasson örökre és komoly politikai befolyást is jelentett neki Rüsztem. Emellett Rüsztem jól ismerte Mihrimah testvéreit, így egyértelmű volt, hogy a trónért folyó harcban az ő és testvérei oldalán fog állni mindhalálig.

Az esküvőt végül 1539 őszén rendezték meg, együtt Mihrimah két öccse - Bayezid és Cihangir - körülmetélési szertartásával. Az ünnepség végül 15 napig tartott, egész Isztambul a családdal együtt ünnepelt.

Házassága Mihrimah szultánával nyilvánvalóan nem szerelmi házasság volt, azonban minden jel arra utal, hogy idővel megtanulták kölcsönösen tisztelni és elfogadni egymást. Házasságukat 1541-ben lányuk, Ayşe Hümaşah születése koronázta meg. Sajnos nem áll rendelkezésre sok bizonyíték Rüsztem viszonyáról lányával, de közvetett források szerint közel álltak egymáshoz. Idővel egy fiuk is született, Osman, aki azonban sajnálatos módon fiatalon elhunyt. A fiú halálának ideje sajnos nem ismert.

Politikai emelkedése

1541-ben Rüsztem már a második vezír volt, tehát szépen haladt felfelé a ranglétrán. Ezen beosztásában őt tette meg a szultán az azévi magyar hadjárat fejévé. Rüsztem pályafutásában ez igen fontos kinevezés volt. A Magyar Királyság ugyanis előző évben vesztette el királyát Szapolyai Jánost, akinek utódja egy kéthetes kisfiú volt csupán. A váratlan esemény hatására a Habsburg uralkodó Ferdinánd azonnal támadásba lendült, hogy még több részt szerezzen meg a Magyar Királyságból. Ezért az oszmánok nem várhattak, és támadásba lendültek és végül szakították hosszú időre három részre Magyarországot. A Tiszántúl és Erdély Izabella és csecsemő fia János Zsigmond kezén maradt évi 10.000Ft adó fejében, a Felvidék, Horvátország, Nyugat- Dunántúl, Szlavónia a Habsburgok kezén maradt, míg a Duna menti területek – a Szultán ellenőrzése alatt álltak. Rüsztemnek itt abban volt komoly szerepe, hogy végül a Tiszántúl és Erdély Izabella és csecsemő fia kezén maradhatott. A szultán ugyanis máshogy tervezte. Szulejmán be akarta kebelezni egész Erdélyt és a Tiszántúlt, Izabellát pedig fiával együtt török fogságba kívánta vitetni Isztambulba. Izabella azonban könyörgő leveleket küldött Hürrem szultánának és Mihrimah szultánának és emellett ajándékokat és követeket küldött Rüsztemhez is. Rüsztem pasa végül sikerrel győzte meg, Mihrimah és Hürrem támogatását élvezve a szultánt arról, hogy hagyja meg Izabellát és fiát Erdély és a Tiszántúl uralkodójaként. Ez hatalmas lépés és siker volt, Szulejmán ugyanis alig néhány hónappal korábban igen agresszív módon utasította el Izabella könyörgését két török fogságban senyvedő magyar főúr elengedésére vonatkozóan. Szulejmán a kérést elutasította és azonnal kivégeztette a két fogjot. Ilyen háttérrel különösen érdekes, hogy Rüsztem, Mihrimah és Hürrem képesek voltak meggyőzni a szultánt. Szándékaik nem ismertek. Mihrimah és Hürrem talán Izabella anyai és asszonyi könyörgése miatt álltak a nő mellé, Rüsztem pedig talán racionálisabb szempontból. Ugyanis meglehetősen kis eséllyel sikerült volna az oszmánoknak végérvényesen megtartani Erdélyt, elvesztése pedig kellemetlen lett volna számukra.

Az előbbi esemény is jól mutatja, hogy Szulejmán igen nagyra tartotta Rüsztemet, azonban megtagadta tőle azt a kegyet, amit korábban Ibrahimnak megadott. Sosem engedte magához olyan közel a férfit, mint anno Ibrahimot. Ezt Mihrimah és Hürrem több forrás szerint is nehezményezte, ugyanis igyekeztek rávenni a szultánt, hogy engedje magához közelebb Rüsztemet. A szultán azonban minduntalan úgy felelt, hogy "ekkora ostobaságot elég volt egyszer elkövetnem". Ez jól mutatja, hogy Szulejmánt milyen mélyen bántotta Ibrahim árulása és minden bizonnyal félt, hogy még egyszer el kelljen viseljen hasonlót.

Azonban a szultán enyhe távolságtartása nem hátráltatta abban Rüsztemet, hogy a követekkel ugyanolyan bensőséges viszonyt tudjon ápolni, mint korábban Ibrahim tette. A követek kivétel nélkül úgy jellemezték Rüsztemet, mint aki igen szeret magáról beszélni nekik. Gyakran dicsekedett ironikus módon azzal, hogy egy kondás fia milyen magasságokig tudott emelkedni az Oszmán Birodalomban. Emellett a követek azt is megjegyezték, hogy milyen eszes a pasa, különösen lelkes minden üggyel kapcsolatban és igen előrelátó módon hoz döntéseket. A legfontosabb pedig, ami a követek figyelmét sem kerülte el az volt, hogy Rüsztem - Ibrahimmal ellentétben - mindig a szultán alattvalójaként beszélt magáról, a szultánhoz a végletekig hűséges volt és híresen megvesztegethetetlen volt.

1544-ben végül Rüsztem megkapta a nagyvezíri címet, melyet Szulejmán abban a tudatban adott neki, hogy tisztában volt vele, Rüsztem, Hürrem és Mihrimah szövetségese. Rüsztemet nagyvezírként a követek mindig dicsérték és a szultán is elégedett volt vele. Legfontosabb sikere nagyvezírként az volt, hogy sikerült a birodalmi kincstárat megtöltenie. Ehhez minden létező megoldást bevetett, például attól sem riadt vissza, hogy a palota kertjében termő virágokat és zöldségeket eladja. Emiatt sokan kapzsinak és garasoskodónak tartották, ám ettől függetlenül végül neki sikerült megoldani a birodalom anyagi problémáit, melyeket Ibrahim korábban csak tovább rontott. Rüsztem másik zseniális megoldása a pénzszerzésre nem volt más, mint a követektől kizsarolni, hogy minél drágább ajándékokkal halmozzák el őt és a szultánt. Ha nem volt elég drága egy ajándék, egyszerűen a követeket nem fogadta. Emiatt több követ is panaszkodott uralkodójának és szégyenkezve kért több pénzt és ajándékot. Minden évben egyre többet kért a követektől, melyet az egyik okos követ, Alvise Renier azzal küszöbölt ki, hogy kérés nélkül évente küldött 100 arany dukátot a pasának, mielőtt az többért kérhetett volna. Kapzsiságnak tűnhet, azonban Rüsztem ezen ajándékok nagyrészét - a korábbi nagyvezírrel ellentétben - beszolgáltatta a birodalmi kincstárba és csupán a személyesen neki érkezők egy részét tartotta meg. Rüsztem "kapzsisága" volt az, ami Szulejmán uralkodásának második felére stabilan tartotta a birodalom anyagi hátterét, azonban ettől függetlenül, Rüsztem nem volt népszerű a nép szemében.

A Rüsztem-Hürrem-Mihrimah koalíció harca Musztafa herceg ellen

Rüsztem, mint Mihrimah férje egyértelműen elkötelezett volt Mihrimah öccsei iránt. Különösen, hogy közelről ismerte a hercegeket, míg Musztafával nem volt semmilyen kapcsolata. Véleményem szerint éppen ezért hiba Rüsztemet elítélni választása miatt. Melyik férfi támogatná azt a herceget, aki veszélyt jelent feleségére és sógoraira? Mindemellett Musztafa sosem kedvelte Rüsztem Pasát, tehát a herceg oldalán biztos lefokozás várta volna Rüsztemet.

Az, hogy a triumvirátus hogyan harcolt Musztafa ellen, pontosan nem ismert, hiszen nem hagytak maguk után bizonyítékokat. Nagy valószínűséggel az alapelvük az volt, hogy Musztafa minden - természetesen előforduló - hibáját és ballépését a szultán elé tárták, míg Hürrem fiai esetében ezeket eltitkolták. Így tulajdonképpen rágalmazás és hazugságok nélkül tudták meggyengíteni Musztafát apja szemében. Mindemellett Rüsztem nagyvezírként a szultán helyettese lett, és nagyon sok dologban dönthetett. Így Musztafának is tőle kellett támogatást kérni, amikor 1549-ben a grúzok meggyilkolták Erzurum helytartóját. Musztafa támogató hadsereget kért Rüsztemtől, hogy kizavarhassa a grúzokat a birodalom határán túlra. Rüsztem azonban figyelmen kívül hagyta majd elutasította a kérést, ugyanis veszélyes lett volna a nagy támogatottságú Musztafa herceg számára katonákat küldeni. Emellett pedig Musztafa esetleges sikere tovább növelte volna népszerűségét és talán Szulejmán is elismerte volna fia erényeit. Azonban nem szabad biztosnak lennünk abban, hogy mindez Szulejmán tudomása nélkül zajlott. Igen valószínű, hogy Rüsztem tudatta Szulejmánnal Musztafa kérését. Musztafa népszerűsége azonban eddigre már veszélyeztette a szultán uralmát, így Szulejmánnak se állt érdekében sereget küldeni Musztafa számára. Néhány évvel később hasonló grúz támadás zajlott le, hasonló kimenetellel.

Szulejmán egészsége fokozatosan romlott, a köszvénye egyre többször okozott számára nehézségeket az 1540-es évek második felétől kezdve, ezzel pedig mégtöbb teher nyomta Rüsztem vállát. Neki kellett a szultán helyett hadjáratokat szervezni és vezetni. A népnek és katonáknak pedig nagyon nem tetszett a szultán távolléte és egyre több olyan pletyka kapott szárnyra, hogy a birodalomnak új, harcos kedvű, egészséges szultánra van szüksége. Ez a probléma 1552-ben csúcsosodott. Rüsztem vezette a hadsereget, amely 50 000 katonából állt, melyek nagyrésze janicsár volt. Nemsokkal indulásuk után hírt kapott arról, hogy a szultán nagyon beteg, talán a halálán van. Rüsztem ilyen körülmények között nem folytatta a hadjáratot, hanem letáborozott, hiszen félt távol kerülni a fővárostól. Attól tartott, hogy Musztafa ha hírét veszi az eseményeknek a janicsárok élén könnyűszerrel masírozhatna a fővárosba és végeztethetné ki Hürrem fiait. A szultán egészsége hamarosan javulni kezdett, így Rüsztem folytathatta a hadjáratot. Azonban itt még nem volt vége a nehézségeknek. Amikor a hadsereg az Amasya és Konya közti kereszteződéshez ért, a janicsárok úgy döntöttek, hogy tiszteletüket teszik Amasyában jövendő szultánjuknak, Musztafának. Rüsztem megparancsolta a janicsároknak, hogy ne hagyják el a tábort és folytassák útjukat, a janicsárok azonban mit sem törődve vele fellázadtak és legtöbbjük Amasyába vette az irányt. Rüsztem a janicsárok vezető agájával és néhány hűséges janicsárral együtt folytatta útját Konya irányába. Musztafa pedig tovább tetézve a bajt vendégül látta a janicsárokat és fogadta üdvözlésüket. Rüsztem azonnal levelet írt a szultánnak az eseményekről, Szulejmán azonban nem hitte el, hogy fia ilyet tett volna és a janicsárokat tette meg egyedüli felelősöknek. Rüsztem Isztambulba visszatérve újra elmondta Szulejmánnak a történteket, bizonyítékokkal alátámasztva, hogy Musztafa bizony pénzt és ételt osztott a janicsároknak. A szultán magából kikelve közölte Rüsztemmel, hogy ne beszéljen badarságokat. Rüsztem azonban folytatta és elmesélte a táborban keringő pletykákat is, miszerint Musztafa lázadást tervez a szultán ellen Tahmasp Sah, perzsa uralkodó segítségével. Szulejmán bár továbbra is elutasító volt Rüsztemmel, minden bizonnyal gyanakodni kezdett fiára mert az eset kivizsgálását rendelte el.

Szulejmán a következő évben, 1553-ban, hogy bizonyítsa alkalmasságát maga vezette csapatait harcba. 1553 augusztusában hagyták el Isztambult és indultak kelet felé. Szulejmán célja azonban elsősorban nem a hadjárat volt, hanem hadjárat ürügyén fia, Musztafa kivégeztetése. Musztafa Ereğlinél csatlakozott apja csapataihoz és támogatóinak ellenkezése ellenére is a szultán elé járult, aki a sátrában kivégeztette. A herceg kivégzése hatalmas lázadást váltott ki a hadseregben, a katonák bűnbakot követeltek. Szulejmán, hogy mentse önmagát és vele tartózkodó fiait, Rüsztem pasát tette meg felelőssé és leváltotta pozíciójából. Aznap éjjel pedig Rüsztem titokban elhagyta a tábort, épp időben mert a dühös janicsárok nemsokkal később betörtek sátrába és meg akarták lincselni. A követek akik tudósítottak az eseményekről felvetették annak lehetőségét, hogy Rüsztem maga kérte leváltását, hogy mentse saját és a szultán életét is. Ez felveti annak a lehetőségét, hogy a szultán és Rüsztem valamilyen titkos egyezséget kötöttek, miszerint Rüsztem le lesz ugyan váltva, de az első adandó alkalommal újra visszakerül majd pozíciójába. Ezt az eshetőséget valószínűsíti az is, hogy Rüsztem, bár már nem volt nagyvezír, Isztambulba visszatérve továbbra is úgy viselkedett, mint a nagyvezír. Annak dacára, hogy Kara Ahmed Pasa lett az új nagyvezír, Rüsztem továbbra is úgy fogadta a követeket palotájában, mintha mi sem történt volna. Emellett a mecsetbe is ugyanazzal a pompával és kísérettel járt, mint korábban, sőt egyértelműen ki is mondta a követeknek, hogy ne aggódjanak, hamarosan visszakerül pozíciójába. Ezt pedig a hűséges Rüsztem nem merte volna megtenni a szultán tudomása nélkül. Neje és anyósa vagy nem tudott a titkos egyességről - vagy bölcsen úgy tettek, mintha nem tudnának róla -, állandó jelleggel levelekkel bombázták Szulejmánt és kérték, hogy bocsásson meg Rüsztemnek és adja vissza tisztségét.

Vissza a csúcsra

Az újonnan kinevezett nagyvezír, Kara Ahmed Pasa, Szulejmán sógora, nem váltotta be a hozzá fűzött reményeket, így 1555-ben kivégeztette a szultán. Sokan kivégzése mögött is a Rüsztem-Hürrem-Mihrimah triumvirátust sejtik. Azonban azt sem lehet kizárni, hogy a szultán okkal választotta a nem túl alkalmas Kara Ahmedet nagyvezírnek, hogy mielőbb visszahelyezhesse Rüsztemet a pozícióba. Akárhogyan is, Kara Ahmed halálával 1555. szeptember 29-én az Isztambulba épphogy visszatérő Szulejmán újra kinevezte Rüsztemet nagyvezírré.

Visszatérése után sajnálatosan nem sok béke volt uralkodása alatt. 1558-ban Hürrem szultána egészsége romlani kezdett. Már ez a tény is mérhetetlenül lesújtotta Rüsztemet. Egy április eleji jelentés szerint a nagyvezír igen "lehangolt és gondterhelt" volt a haszeki szultána betegsége miatt. Április 15-én pedig Hürrem elhunyt, ezzel Rüsztem elveszítette egyik legbefolyásosabb támogatóját, szövetségesét, akivel majd 20 évig dolgoztak együtt. Minden beszámoló szerint Rüsztemet mélyen megviselte anyósa halála. Sajnálatos módon azonban nem volt ideje gyászolni. Szulejmán teljesen összetört, így Rüsztemnek kellett a szultán minden feladatát ellátni, támogatnia kellett szintén összetört feleségét és lányát is. Emellett pedig hamarosan elszabadult a pokol, amikor Bayezid herceg fellázadt apja ellen.

A legtöbb forrás úgy említi, hogy Rüsztem Pasa Bayezid herceget favorizálta Szelimmel szemben, azonban nem tudjuk ennek pontos hátterét. Mindenesetre akármennyire is kedvelte és támogatta Bayezidet, egy ponton túl ő sem segíthetett. A herceg a szultán többszöri kérésére sem fegyverkezett le és végül a csata elvesztése után Szulejmán legfőbb ellenségéhez Tahmasp Sahhoz menekült. Rüsztem ezen események alatt ha akarta sem tudta volna megmenteni Bayezidet és egészsége is rohamosan romlani kezdett 1560-ban.

Halála és hagyatéka

Rüsztem 1561-ben végül hosszas betegség után hunyt el július 10-én. Készült a halálra, ugyanis igen részletes, precíz végakaratot hagyott hátra. Ebben vagyonának és tulajdonainak mindegyikéről rendelkezett. Leírta, hogy vagyonának mely részét hagyja az államra, melyet alapítványaira, melyet Hürrem szultána alapítványára és melyet Mihrimah szultána alapítványaira, valamint, hogy mit hagy személyes dolgai közül feleségére és lányára, Ayşe Hümaşahra. Jótékony szervezeteinek egy részét felesége irányítására bízta, másik részét pedig lányáéra. Az, hogy fiára nem hagyott semmit felveti annak a lehetőségét, hogy Oszmán apja előtt hunyt el.

Bár a nép nem kedvelte, ma már egyértelműen tudjuk, hogy Rüsztem zseniális megoldásainak volt köszönhető, hogy a birodalom hanyatlását sikerült végig eltitkolni Szulejmán uralkodása alatt. Rüsztem egyike volt azon kevés államférfinak, aki nem fogadott el kenőpénzt, aki a szultán iránti hűségét minden elé helyezte és aki természetes halállal, eredeti pozíciójában, nagyvezírként hunyt el. Emellett Rüsztem, bár hatalmas vagyonnal rendelkezett rengetet jótékonykodott és meglehetősen szerényen élt rangjához képest.

Rüsztem nagy gondot fordított saját mecsetjének építtetésére, azonban a halál közbe szólt. Mecsetjét - mely a mai Isztambul egyik legpompásabb mecsetje - végül Mihrimah szultána fejeztette be. Rüsztem pedig - saját komplexuma nem révén alkalmas a temetésre - a Şehzade mecset komplexumban nyugszik, közel Mehmed és Cihangir hercegekhez.

Felhasznált források: L. Peirce - The imperial harem; L. Peirce - Empress of the East; Z. Atçil - Why Did Süleyman the Magnificent Execute His Son Şehzade Mustafa in 1553; C. Imber - The Ottoman Empire 1300-1650; Y. Öztuna - Kanuni Sultan Süleyman

[hellowkatey]

angstpril day 10: don't look back

[ part 1 ] [ AO3 ]

Unfinished Business (pt. 2)

It didn't take much convincing at all to get the council to knight Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon holds the lightsaber in his hand, and it feels heavier than normal. Maybe it's his weakened state since Naboo, or maybe seeing his padawan kneeling before him, trying his hardest not to smile, is causing him to want to let this moment stretch out as long as he can. His moments are numbered, and this is one he wants to remember.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," Qui-Gon says, igniting his lightsaber and lowering it to the shoulder of the boy he watched grow into a man. His face is illuminated in the darkened council chambers by the lightsabers of the council, who granted him this exception to knight his own padawan. Yoda stands beside him, and Qui-Gon taps into the calmness of his presence to get him through this moment. "By the right of the council; by the will of the Force; I dub thee," and he flicks his wrist, the delicate movement taking the braid off in a single hiss. "Jedi Knight of the Republic."

Qui-Gon watches the braid fall to the floor, and a polite smile spreads across Obi-Wan's face as he rises. There is cheering from the council, and Qui-Gon deactivates his lightsaber.

He lets Obi-Wan get whisked away by the crowd of his friends. The post-knighting celebration is always an exciting one and one that with any hope, Obi-Wan will not remember entirely the following day. (Mace made damn sure of that at Qui-Gon's own knighting. He still can't even think about cinnamon shots without feeling queasy).

He looks at his padawan-- former padawan who beams in his direction, his braid held tightly in his fingers. Pride blooms in Qui-Gon’s chest. The boy he raised from his youth now stands among his friends, some lacking their braids and others who are soon due. Their arms wrap around him and words of congratulations fill the air, and Qui-Gon has to resist the urge to run up to them and tell them how right they are. How Obi-Wan stepped up against a foe even he couldn’t defeat, and now he even inquired about taking on Anakin as his padawan in a few years if Qui-Gon is still feeling the effects of his injuries. He raised an excellent Jedi, true and good, but he must make sure Obi-Wan knows how good he is before Qui-Gon accepts his demise.

But will there even be time for that?

The question constantly lingers in his mind. He can feel the eyes of his council members who know the deal he made. He's been their constant study ever since he explained what had happened in that chamber. It feels like they're afraid to blink around him-- that one moment he'll be living and the next the Force will take him before their eyes. Had Qui-Gon known he would become a captive animal he would have succumbed to his rightful fate weeks ago.

A joke, he projects into the Force. Only a joke.

Maybe he will disappear in an instant-- it certainly feels that way sometimes. Ever since Naboo, he is at the very peak of a metaphorical mountain. Solid ground is virtually non-existent at this point, with only the treacherous cliffside around him if he wavers from his upright stance. He is posted up at the very edge of his Life Force. Yes, he can stand here almost comfortably, but even mountains weather over time. Soon he will have to fall and accept his entry into the Cosmic Force.

"They grow up so fast," the sardonic voice of his friend says, with a hand resting on his shoulder. He looks to Mace Windu who may be the only member of the council who isn't obsessed with his current existence. Or at least he hides it better.

"Indeed. One day I'm pulling him out of a fire beetle pit and the next he's besting a Sith in a duel."

"A testament to your lineage. With hope, your maverick ways weren't hereditary."

Qui-Gon chuckles. "If anything, it skips a generation."

"Then I'm not giving Kenobi any say in his padawan choice."

"Much like Yoda did for me then?"

Mace clears his throat, straightening up. Yes, maverick ways certainly skip a generation in this lineage. Yoda may be the worst of all, somehow even getting the Force on his side to do his bidding.

"The creche master sent a comm during the ceremony," the Master of the Order changes the subject ever so subtly. Qui-Gon perks up, looking at his friend.

"Is it--"

"It's Skywalker, yes."

Qui-Gon glances over at Obi-Wan, still in the midst of collecting praises.

"If Obi-Wan asks, I am stepping out for just a moment."

Windu nods, and Qui-Gon moves quietly away from the party.

The walk to the creche feels longer than normal. Perhaps it is his new philosophy to savor the moment he has left in his home. Walks through the temple are different now that he knows they are the last he will take. He looks at every art piece, glances into every room. Though he isn't spending as much time sightseeing, it still feels long.

His focus lies on Anakin now.

Qui-Gon is a hypocrite. He so often took the time to lecture about not reflecting on the past, and now here he is, wishing he could have done so many things differently. One such choice is how he dealt with young Anakin.

Impulsive is a word used on numerous occasions to describe him through his knighthood. Usually, he ignores such critiques since they so often come from senators with no concept of what it means to be a Jedi and know the Force... but this time they may have a point. At the time it felt like the right thing to do. Anakin was a slave with untapped potential and the answer to a prophecy he's been studying for years. He's undoubtedly the Chosen One who will save them from the darkness. But maybe if he'd just waited...

He strides into the dormitories to find Master Rose, Anakin's creche master, waiting patiently for him.

"Master Jinn," she says, her lips pressed together. "They're happening again."

He sighs. "Can I see him?"

She nods, stepping out of the way. The dormitories are just as he remembers from his own childhood. Rows of beds, little privacy, and always a little musty from the older younglings that aren't keen on hygiene yet. It's empty at this time of day-- Anakin has been granted additional rest hours because of the nightmares he's been having ever since his arrival at the Temple. A recommendation from his mind healer. The boy sits on the edge of his bed, arms wrapped around himself as though he's cold or simulating a hug. He only looks up at Qui-Gon when he approaches and sits next to him, his eyes rimmed red and nose running.

"Was it her again?" Qui-Gon asks softly, wrapping an arm around the boy. He leans into his side, sniffling in the process.

"Yes, Master Jinn."

"The same as the others?"

He feels the nod. Anakin has told him of his nightmares before. His mother, Shmi, sitting in the window staring out to the horizon. He calls for her, but she doesn't turn around. So he runs at her, only to be held back. The creche master would wake up to him screaming for her in the night. Pleading her to look at him. If his dream progresses enough, she does turn around, but she doesn't know him. Doesn't remember him. And then he screams louder-- but in despair.

"The mind healer told me it's because I'm attached," he looks up, his eyes a bright blue from crying. "Master Jinn, how can I not be attached to my mom?"

The question pangs in Qui-Gon's chest because truthfully, he doesn't know the answer to that question. Biological family is not something he's ever known or really put much thought into. The Jedi have always been his family, but not quite in the way that Anakin feels for his mother.

This is where his regret comes. He didn't consider the fallout of Anakin's attachment. Obi-Wan tried to warn him but he admittedly wasn't in the market for advice at that time. As much as he's trying to make things right by having the boy see a mind healer to cope with the change, he isn't sure the boy will ever figure out how to overcome his attachment. It worries him. He knows it worries the council. Obi-Wan has come around on the idea, but with the condition that he works with the healers.

"What is it you fear, Anakin?"

His face scrunched up. "What do you mean?"

"What do you fear."

"You said Jedi aren't supposed to fear."

Qui-Gon smiles. "You are a Jedi in training, young one. And Jedi do fear, they just know how to deal with it. How to release it and not let it affect their connection to the Force."

"Because fear is the dark side, right?"

"You learn quickly. Fear is not inherently the dark side, but it can lead to it. Now tell me, what is making you afraid?"

The boy takes a deep breath. "What if she... forgets about me?" As he speaks, his voice cracks. "What if she is hurt or needs help, and I... can't help her? I shouldn't have-- I shouldn't have left her all alone."

The tears come now, hot and fast. And stars, the Force... when Anakin cries just feels like it's crying with him.

Qui-Gon has learned that sometimes tears just need to flow. For the young, it is a necessary release. He lets Anakin have his moment, lets him collapse into his lap, and ball his robes in his little fists. Qui-Gon just sends calm sentiments through the Force, even though it feels like he's holding an umbrella to a gale. When his sobs turned to sniffles, Qui-Gon ruffles his fingers through the floppy blond strands of his hair. His dry heaving and hiccups shift to controlled breaths, and then the Jedi Master speaks.

"Now how do you feel?"

Anakin sniffles, sitting up again next to Qui-Gon. "A little... better."

"Your mind healer has told you to release your emotions, right? This--" He sets his hand lightly on the boy's chest. "--feeling you have. A weight off your shoulders, and your emotions calm. This is the feeling you are looking for."

"So I have to... cry when I meditate?"

The master smiles. "With much practice, you will find you can release any negative emotions with just your strength of mind. To be a Jedi is to be in control of these emotions. To think and act with a clear mind. Now tell me young one, these dreams. Your mother. Now that you have released your anxieties, what is it telling you?"

The boy looks up at him, eyes wide and bright from the residual tears. Anakin's lip quivers, but he bites the inside of his lip.

"Don't look back. She told me not to look back."

He nods. Qui-Gon remembers the moment vividly, Shmi's jaw set but face soft when Anakin looked at her. He could see her strength, her desire for Anakin to have a life better than his current one, but also her love for her son. When Anakin didn't turn around, Qui-Gon did. Shmi stared back, a smile still on her face and a nod in his direction. A promise--I will be okay-- and a request-- take care of him for me.

"Yes. Don't look back, look forward. If you learn the ways of the Jedi, learn to regulate your emotions, and become the great knight I feel you could be, then you will be making her proud. You are living the life that your mother wanted for you. I know you can feel that."

"I can feel it," he says softly. "I just... don't know if I should believe it."

"Trust in the Force, Ani. You've done it naturally all your life, and now it's time you learn to hone it. And don't look back."

"Look forward," Anakin finishes for him, pushing off the bed and standing. "I'll try, Master Jinn."

Do or do not, there is no try, his grandmaster's voice automatically replies in his mind. Qui-Gon walks with Anakin back out to see his creche master, who will take him to his next mind healing session.

And then he's alone walking back to the council chambers. When he's alone, he is aware of the ticking chrono constantly ringing in his ears. It grows louder with every day he awakes, every additional moment he strongarms his way through. Maybe Qui-Gon would wonder what this world would look like had he perished in that chamber, but he need not wonder.

It's what he hasn't yet told a soul, and it weighs on him. When he held on for dear life to that final thread of life, he saw a future clad in darkness. Light and dark clashing in a heated fury of heartbreak and loss. It was cold, laced with pain and treachery he could hardly comprehend. This was a future of suffering, and he has woken in a cold sweat every night since he felt it.

If he died in that chamber, the galaxy would suffer. He tries to tell himself what Shmi told her son-- don't look back-- but the very idea of such a shatterpoint over his existence is horrifying. He can't help it. But it's given him a reason to do what he can to fix this mess he has created. To prevent that pit of despair he could feel in the shadow of his former padawan's future. To preserve the light that shines so brightly within a boy who had every reason to live in darkness. Don't look back-- Force, but what if he had died? What if he was too slow, too weak to keep himself from going into that light?

He stops outside the council chambers, sitting on the bench and breathing deeply. The sounds of celebration still rage in the next room, and from here Qui-Gon can feel Obi-Wan and the gratification that has made his Force presence feel like a raging bonfire. It's warm, inviting, and feels as though it could burn for an eternity.

So much to tell him. So much to share. His learning as a padawan may have stopped, but now his future as a great Jedi knight lies before him. But he clutches his chest, feeling like his breath has been stolen from his lungs. The hallway seems to spin, and Qui-Gon knows he is teetering over the edge of that cliffside. So much to share. So much to do. But the Force has waited long enough.

[steamberrystudio]

23/01/2021

Hey everyone! Time for the last tumblr update of January. It's been a busy two weeks, so here we go!

Summary:

Edited 6-7 CGs

Completed all Jack CGs, all Lance CGs and some Magnus CGs (So about 6 or so CGs completed)

Finished Quill Ch 2

Started revamping the glossary

Sent steam page for review

The Ramble:

First of all - CG edits.

I have been going back to tweak older CGs off and on for a while now and in the past couple of weeks I went back and edited quite a few CGs. In some cases the edits were because I didn't like the CGs, in other cases, I changed the scene up a little and had to make continuity fixes to things like character outfits. My style has shifted a bit since I first started the game as well and there were a few CGs where it was particularly noticeable, so I fixed those as well.

And in one case I noticed I just flat out forgot to shade one character's eyes. So I needed to fix that.

Eventually, even if I'm not totally happy with a CG, I do have to set it down and walk away and wash my hands of it because I cannot reasonably edit CGs forever. At some point a CG has to be "done." Sometimes I get to the point that I can't even tell if I'm fixing anything anymore or if it's flaws in new and exciting ways. LoL

Ultimately though I do want the CGs to be as good as they can be so I do revisit old CGs occasionally and have been doing that a lot in the last couple of weeks.

In addition to that I have completed all of Jack's remaining CGs, all of Lance's CGs and one (and a half) of Maggie's remaining CGs - he has two left to complete. One is about half finished - still need to finish rendering the characters in it.

The other is in a rough sketch state at the moment so the staging and composition are blocked in but I still need to do the final line art and colour it.

Then, of course, both of those have to be recoloured and coded.

Once these two CGs are done that is all of the CGs for the first release.

52 CGs. 8 per love interest + 1 of Morgan and 1 intro CG each for Yuu, Reuben, and Quill.

I have so many regrets (in terms of. . .deciding that this much work was something I could handle. Because it was something I could handle. But just. And with a lot of pain killers. And heat packs. And other treatments to get me through the very real pain I've inflicted upon myself.) But. . .ITS DONE (almost).

Moving on from CGs. . .

I also spent a day working on a new cover art for the game. I was setting up the steam page, which requires approximately 1.1 million images, each one with unique dimensions. (Thanks, I hate it.)

I just realised that using the sprite art really wasn't going to work for these images. I couldn't cram 9 love interests into the various "capsules" and "covers" and banners and headers. . .and Morgan's sprite alone just doesn't really give enough of an idea what this game is like.

So I really needed an image that was more versatile, more interesting than just Morgan's sprite.

So I made that. And then made my 1.1 million images with their annoyingly unique dimensions and uploaded them. And sent the page for review. Steam is always an adventure so we'll see how long it takes to get the page reviewed and set up. (I really just put in the basic information and may try to spruce it up later on. . .)

In regards to actual game development. . .

I have also been working on revamping the glossary screens and writing up some new glossary entries. Finishing the glossary is really going to be the next major thing I try to finish, I think. I still have a lot of other small polishing things (adding in some SFX and stuff) but the glossary is kind of the biggest remaining feature to finish. And I want to spruce it up a bit since what is there right now is. . .functional. But not necessarily what I want to have in the final game.

So that is on the horizon once I finish up the CGs. BUT will probably happen after I implement all the corrections the beta testers have offered up and sent out a new beta version with all the CGs in it so that we can verify they are working correctly.

Lastly, I have done some writing. Not a lot since I'm focused elsewhere, but I did finish Quill's second chapter and have started editing the outline for his third chapter so I can get started on that as well.

So yeah. Busy two weeks. But we are getting there.

Sneak Peeks and Previews:

Upcoming Weeks:

I did want to be done with CGs by the time I posted this but I'm still 1.5 CGs away from completion. I didn't account for - editing a ton of CGs and doing new art for Steam, etc. I will definitely finish up CGs this week.

And then with those out of the way will have to really start focusing on detailed to-do lists so I don't forget any of the small things needing to be done.

Very close. My spreadsheet says we are ~98% of the way there.