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palbabor-writes · 3 years

Text

Yōkai

Hawks Week 2020 - Prompt: Horror Tales

Warnings: Ghosts, spirits, blood, gore, adult language, death, mentions of violent crime

Word Count: 9403

The people here are strange. They’re a superstitious bunch for sure. Everything has an underlying reason. Don’t forget to toss salt over your shoulder when you walk into that crime scene, Hawks. It’s bad luck if you don’t.

Despite the strange mannerisms that surround him, they are right about one thing: there’s more to these killings than meets the eye.

Notes: I went with a whodunit theme for this fic with some healthy ghosts and haunts thrown in. As this is pre-All Might’s retirement, Hawks is the #3 Hero.

Yōkai

Yōkai are a class of supernatural monsters and spirits in Japanese folklore. The word 'yōkai' is made up of the kanji for "bewitching; attractive; calamity" and "spectre; apparition; mystery; suspicious."

The small island of Miyako is renowned for its turquoise waters, pristine coral sanctuaries, amusement parks, and sprawling mansions. All in all, it’s a trust fund tourist trap. Still, like most pristine and shiny things, there’s a seedier underbelly that’s scrapes against the rough, sandy bottom. Come at low tide and you’ll catch a whiff of decay and rot.

Miyako Island is another example of that duality that exists within everything. No matter how pretty the water, there are always dark creatures that lurk in the shallow shoals and coves.

Hawks isn’t looking forward to his new assignment on the island. He’s been called in by the HPSC and Miyako’s police force. There’s been a string of unsolved murders and, with the onset of August, tourist season is in full swing. Homicide is bad publicity during the best of times. But, combine the discovery of freshly charred corpses popping up in various buildings, piers, and alleyways, with mass hysteria and you’re going to have a big problem on your hands.

For eight open murder cases, there’s not much for Hawks to go on, and the data he does have is spotty.

Hawks poured over the notes as soon as he got off the phone with the HSPC, the luster of the new assignment fresh in his mind. He swiped through the briefings and crime scene photos that were attached in the long email from Miyako’s chief of police.

It looks like the trouble started in the poorer areas of town. No matter how bright the city lights shine, there’s always the common shadow of a downtrodden, overworked, and underpaid populous straining under the weight of “keeping up appearances.”

Who else would do the nitty gritty jobs that ensured that the tourist season stayed afloat, and, most important of all, profitable?

Sadly, it’s the blue collar areas that first experienced the horrors. The notes on these cases are borderline elitist, skirting close to xenophobic. The usual: ‘it was just something that happened when you crammed people in that close’. ‘What else did you expect’? ‘Most of the victims aren’t even from the island’. ‘They’re strangers, they’re not locals.’ ‘They’re not one of us’.

The word immigrant pops up in the documentation frequently and it feels like a slur each time it appears. There’s a slinking, cloying animosity curling behind the looping words.

It pisses Hawks off.

The only reason he’s been called is because the crimes have jumped over the poverty line. Now, two prominent members of Miyako society have been murdered. So, what’s the connection you ask?

It’s the state of the bodies.

All of the victims, rich or poor, have been mutilated. Something sharp was drawn across their skin, cutting and splicing, marring them, marking them. Then, as if to add insult to injury, they’d been set aflame. It must have been a scorching blaze. Something that leaves them so crisped and blackened that they’re more husk than human. In each case, it’s taken dental records to identify the deceased.

The Miyako chief of police is doing a review of the known peculiars with Hawks.

“They mirror the, uh, earlier crime scenes. As you can see, this one, she is, er, was a woman in her late 30’s-”

“She was 37,” Hawks supplies, his golden eyes running over the chart that the chief of police is showing him. He’s trying his best to hide his agitation, but his feathers still bristle, the red plumage flaring, refusing to lay against his back.

“Uh, yeah, a bad age they say.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just, it’s supposed to be bad luck. You know?”

“I don’t. Can we get back to the matter at hand, please?”

Hawks has to grit his teeth to keep his tone even. He’s really not liking the way these crime scenes are processed and he’s made his opinion known to the police chief and investigative team. Why now, he’d pressed, hours after flying in, sweat still clinging to his brow. Why didn’t the bodies matter when it was relegated to the lower socio-economic citizens?

He’s also critical and skeptical of the motives of this police chief. There’s something about the whole thing that feels...off.

But, now’s not the time to project that suspicion. He’s only just arrived, besides, he needs more information, more data. Despite his agitation, he gets why the HPSC sent him on this assignment. He’s known for doing things quickly. Plus, he’s usually calm, collected, and he’s got the clout to get things moving again.

He’s also observant. The HPSC both loves and hates this particular skill of his, but it’s to their benefit in this instance. His sharp eyes might spot something that’s been missed, they’d said on the phone with him as they handed off his assignment. If he played his cards right, they said, he could pull these murders from unsolved to solved. Oh, and the commission is thinking these murders might involve some agents from the League of Villains.

It’s not a confirmed connection.

There’s nothing solid about it, besides the body mutilation and burned corpses. But both are known habits of two members of the League. They’re shadowy leads, more steeped in hearsay than fact. All the same, one is rumored to have a fascination with blood, and the other, has a proclivity for using a bright, blue flame. It’s a hot heat, perfect for cremation and these bodies have all been practically, well, cremated.

“Have you met the other heroes that will be assigned to work with you?”

Hawks snaps out of his head and nods at the tall, balding police chief. “Amano and Matsuura? Yeah, we’re supposed to take a look at the first locations as soon as this...meeting...is concluded.” Hawks hopes the police chief can hear the air quotes he just put the word meeting in.

“Good, good. I saw your additions on the later cases. I really feel that we should look a little harder into those. One was a member of the city council. He was beloved by the city and-”

“If I’m looking for a pattern, there’s a higher probability that the killer was sloppier in the earlier cases. New habits and all. I’ll get to the councilman when I get to the councilman. Again, this string of murders started in the lowlands. While I realize that doesn’t get you the most publicity, and I hear a re-election is coming up for your position as chief of police this fall, I’m not going to pick at certain elements of this and leave others by the wayside.

You gotta’ problem with that, take it up the HPSC. But, listen, they’re a lot meaner than me and they’re not going to like that you’re obstructing my investigation. You asked the commission to send someone down, and, lucky you, you’ve gotten yourself stuck with me.”

Hawks flashes the police chief a bright grin, his teeth gleaming as his eyes crinkle to crescents. The man stammers for a moment, his face flushing under Hawks’ false joviality, then he tosses a bulky manilla folder on the desk.

“Why you...I heard you were an arrogant son of a...no, no.” The chief sputters, his teeth clenched, anger bared behind the grinding of his jaw. “You’re right, we’re so very grateful to the number three hero taking time out of his busy modeling schedule to lend us a hand with these murders.”

“Ooh, you saw that spread in the sports magazine? Nice use of color right? Loved that new set of watches I’m sponsoring.”

Fucking prick. Hawks is used to this kind of irate reaction, hell, it’s pretty expected now. He’d heard it so many times he has it memorized. Yeah, yeah, he’s twenty one, a kid who’s too big for his boots. He has no idea, no real world experience. Did you hear how he talked to me? The audacity.

Let this guy try to report his snarky attitude, it’s not going to get his low level wannabe bureaucratic ass anywhere.

“I’ll get my agency to send you a signed copy. I had no idea you were such a fan! Lemme grab these files, got some work to do. Catch you around, sir!” Hawks pantomimes a salute, a serious expression making his eyes narrow. Fuck this dude. He’s got bigger fish to fry.

Closing the door on the police chief’s mottled expression, he meanders down the stairs of the police precinct, his wings still arching and rustling his temper. You’d think this case didn’t matter to these buffoons. The sheer implication of Hawks’ presence should clue them in. The HPSC doesn’t do anything lightly. Nah, these killings could be related to the League. Plus, his background checks on the victims had revealed some startling discoveries.

All of them, down to the nineteen year old restaurant hostess, were involved in minor villain activities. Some had smuggled drugs, some laundered money on the side, one was a known broker. They kept climbing the ladder of severity. It was worrisome.

While the chances of the LOV’s involvement was low, the commission was still searching for their hideout. He’d caught wind of some of the activity revolving around that ongoing mission. He wasn’t assigned to it, but he liked to keep an ear to the ground.

Association with the LOV or not, these homicides kept bothering him. There’s something he’s not seeing. He dislikes the sensation. It makes him tense, ill at ease. Once he steps outside the police headquarters he launches himself into the sleet grey skies.

It looks like rain.

If he’s wanting to glean as much as he can from those early crime scenes, he better hurry. Hawks doesn’t like rain. It makes his feathers feel bogged down and dampened. Unfortunately, it has the same effect on evidence. Rain can whisk the little details away, slicking and drifting as it washes down to the vast sea. It can easily snag vital clues on its meandering path, erasing as it goes.

******

The first murder took place on the fourth floor of a shabby apartment. The victim lived in the 19th unit and was a 43 year old male. He was a well known loner. So, it was a shock to discover that he ran a pilfering ring. The ring wasn’t a small scale enterprise either. No, this went deep. It connected to three other islands and the Japanese mainland. There’s no way this guy was a simple recluse. If anything, he was nothing short of a criminal mastermind.

His body had been left in an odd position. It was likely staged, purposeful.

He was discovered by his landlord. Rent was due and it was unusual for him to be late with the payment. So, the landlord let himself into the 19th unit. It’s a small wonder no one reported the smell earlier. Apparently, it was putrid, acidic, gut churning. A mix of tarnished copper and old, rotten meat.

In all likelihood, he was murdered elsewhere and dragged back to the unit. Nothing in the room, besides his corpse, was scorched. The victim was splayed on his small bed, but the placement was strange. His feet were resting on his ashen pillow, shoes still on his feet. Meanwhile, his head was at the foot of his bed, pointing northward.

Hawks and one of the assigned heroes, a friendly guy named Amano, are going over the case file with two members of the forensic team. Apparently, one of the team members hadn’t been part of the original investigation clean up and bagging. As Hawks and Amano are sharing the crime scene photos, asking the forensic team questions, the taller of the two, gasps, clapping a hand over his lips.

Hawks tilts his head at the man’s reaction, his feathers automatically feeling for his pulse. It’s elevated and the guy appears to be truly bothered. It’s an upsetting picture, to be sure, but this is his job. He cleans up blood and guts for a living. Surely, he’s seen worse.

“You ok?” Hawks’ asks, his amber eyes shifting over the man’s face.

“F-fine. It’s just, well, look at him.”

Hawks takes the photo back. Did he miss something?

“What about him?”

“Look at the direction his head’s facing.”

“Uh,” Hawks examines the position of the hazy sun that peeks through the rain clouds outside the window. “North?”

Now the other forensic team member gasps. What the hell? What does facing north have to do with anything? It’s a cardinal direction. What would they say if he was facing the West? Again, are these people deliberately trying to bog his investigation down?

“I don’t see what, uh, relevance that has.” Hawks tells the two, looking over to Amano. The hero doesn’t seem to be bothered by their outburst. He just shrugs at Hawks’ frank stare.

“It’s supposed to be bad luck, but yeah, there’s not-” Amano begins, finally placing some clarity on the forensic team's outburst of paranoia, but he’s interrupted by the taller, jumpier man.

“Not just that. You collect iron in your blood if you sleep facing north. It brings death.”

The guy said death like it might summon the fearsome spector down on them at any moment. Amano coughs, his hand covering a badly concealed smile. “Yeah, sure. Facing north is bad luck, and, I guess it can bring death, too. Learn something new everyday...”

“Worked pretty well in this guys case,” Hawks muses, arching an eyebrow at the jittery forensic team. “You guys see anything else? Something a little more, I don’t know, pertinent?”

They don’t get much further with that crime scene.

Amano tags along for Hawks’ review of the other two cases. His agency runs out of this area and he was one of the first responders. He’s not got a lot of extra information, but he knows the people and they know him. It takes the edge off, lets the locals open up a little more.

The next case is in a home. Well, home feels generous, it’s more like a shack. Apparently, the victim liked to collect cat figurines. Like, really, really liked to collect cat figurines. There’s over sixty of them, they’re scattered around the place, tucked into nooks and crannies. It feels like a thousand little eyes are watching the two heroes as they canvas the space. It’s creepy. Hawks dislikes the sensation. His feathers keep lifting, feeling, spreading out.

The woman had been found at her kitchen table. She was propped into a chair, sitting, like nothing in the world, save her crisp remains, was amiss. The only way you could achieve a staging of that caliber was to wait for the body to enter rigor mortis.

That takes time.

Full rigor sets in around 5 to 12 hours after death has occured. Whomever did this must have had time to spare. And they weren’t worried about being caught during that time. No, they were too busy planning out the dramatic effect of their crimes.

Once again, he feels like he’s missing something.

One body was left pushing a garden cart. Literally, the man was found, early in the morning with his hands tied to a wheelbarrow. He was posed mid task, his arm lifted, reaching for someone, or something. Trouble was, the guy didn’t work as a gardener. No, he was a low level broker. Someone darting under the criminal radar. He’d eluded the police and heroes for months. Looks like his luck ran out.

The eighth body, the congressman, was discovered at a popular wharf. This crime scene is still in the process of being cleaned up, so there’s a flurry of people bustling around. Amano, and the other hero, Matsuura, who’s also been assigned to Hawks’ investigation, are talking with witnesses, gathering information and scheduling interviews. This kind of hero work is never ending. Hawks is grateful they’re willing to take on the grunt work.

As Hawks is kneeling, peering over the ledge of the pier, looking down on the blackened wood and debris, a loud cawing breaks out. It echoes on the wind, coiling and lifting. It’s a funny sound. Like it’s far away and dulled. It makes Hawks’ wings fan out, overstimulated and brittle. The heroes and crime scene investigators debate on the origin of the noise. It doesn’t help that there’s no bird that’s wheeling above them. No, the skies are dark and empty, with a light misting of rain starting to drip onto the lashing sea.

“What is that?”

“Is it a gull?”

“It’s creepy. There’s nothing even flying around. But, it sounds so close.”

“I think it’s a seabird. It’s gotta be, sometimes they fly out here looking for fish.”

“I’ve never heard a seagull sound like that.”

“There are other birds besides seagulls, idiot. It could be a pelican-”

“It’s a crow,” Hawks’ supplies, standing and turning back to the clutch of people who are quickly gathering up their supplies, doing their best to get the important pieces of evidence protected from the rain.

“Huh? Did he say a crow?”

“Oh, damn, that’s a sign of death.”

“No...I think it’s illness, not death.”

Hawks’ walks to Amano and Matsuura, he tells them he’ll meet them back at the police headquarters. He needs to start his interviews if he wants to even have a prayer of snagging a bite to eat. He’s been subsisting off coffee since he flew in and his stomach is rumbling, loudly.

The investigators are still debating the meaning of the crow caws when he takes off. His wings beat powerfully beside his head and he lifts above the grey storm clouds, coasting high, past the skyline.

Despite the strange mannerisms that surround him, they are right about one thing: there’s more to these killings than meets the eye.

Things feel off in every crime scene. Were their belongings really left that way? Or, have the details been staged? Plus, the murders keep escalating. The particulars are spreading out and deepening as they interweave. The major connecting thread is still the state of the bodies, but even that is starting to feel vague. Hawks shudders a bit of excess moisture from the tips of his wings. Fingers crossed, some of these witnesses and relatives of the victims will have a little more substance for him to chew on.

******

Oh, they have something alright.

It’s more hushed rumors and strange folk tales. God, the sheer frightened gullibility of these islanders is wild. The whole place feels so backwoodsey, lost in a bygone era. There’s always a prayer or blessing that needs to be uttered. Or, some supernatural logic that he needs to look into. Did you consider the devil, Hawks? He hides in the details, you know?

It’s fucking weird.

Hawks is treading in unfamiliar waters with this tripe. He didn’t grow up with any of this. The HPSC certainly hadn't offered him a course on Japanese islander folk traditions during his childhood. Still, these people, for the most part, seem well off, educated, cultured even. Some aren’t even from this island. But, they seem to be infected with the same disease: ghosts, oni spirits, and bad omens. It’s a whirling circle of nonsense and Hawks’ wants off this ride.

“I got a call from her.”

“From the victim, your sister?”

“Yeah, it came in at 4:49 am.”

“Ma’m, that’s not possible. The coroner noted that rigor mortis had set in by 2 am”

“She sounded faint. It was like she was underwater, but it was her. She screamed at me.”

“She screamed at you?”

“Yeah, it was this low scream. Kinda, like a gasp? Like she couldn’t breathe. It kept getting louder and louder and louder. It hurt my ears. They felt like they were ringing, pounding. Then, the line just went dead. I can still hear it, that scream. Every time I close my eyes, or whenever I least...I-I can still hear her.”

“Do you have your phone records?”

Hawks is trying to make sense of it all, but it’s like they’re talking to each other before they come into the interview room, telling each new interviewee to up the ante.

See if you can spook the number three hero. Go on, it’ll be fun.

There’s a slew of strange occurrences. Disembodied voices, knocking on windows, doors opening on their own, quiet voids of cold that they step into. Ghosts keep popping up.

Then, there’s the oni spirits. They have red faces and they lean in close, their fangs reaching, gnashing, grinding. One woman, who was married to one of the victims, burst into tears, her terrified sobbing turning into a frantic wail.

She had seen an ogre in her back garden. It was pushing a cart and the cart was on fire. Hawks’ checked his notes as he patted the woman’s back, trying to help her move through a few breathing exercises. One of the victims was found propped, pushing a wheelbarrow, could it be…

No. It’s another dead end.

This woman didn’t know that dead man, the one who was pushing the cart. She didn’t even live on the same side of town. Ugh, this is endless. It might be easier if he did apply these delusions to his investigation. At least that way he’ll feel sane.

Some of the victims had been acting suspicious, paranoid, on edge before their deaths. One of them had gotten a phone call in the middle of the night and ran off. The next day she was found dead in her home, burnt and drifting into ash.

“So, she got the call and just ran out the door?”

“Yes. But, she let it ring four times.”

“You said that already. I’m not sure-”

“She picked it up after the fourth ring.” The aunt of the victim is looking at Hawks expectantly, her blue eyes wide, starting.

“I don’t-”

“You know what that means...don’t you?”

“The hidden significance of picking up a phone on the fourth ring? No, no I don’t.”

They never fully expand on their weird theories. They’re normal comments to them. He debates looking up the meaning of the number four on his phone, but he tamps down the urge. It doesn’t pertain to the case. It’s useless drivel, a waste of time.

An adult man shows him this ugly, ugly drawing of a cat. It’s pulling a flaming cart. Hawks doesn’t even want to touch the paper. The man keeps pointing back at it as he goes over his neighbor’s timeline.

This particular witness is connected to the city councilman. The one that was oh, so important to the police chief. It’s a high profile case and it’s being taken seriously. Yet, here’s this supposedly credible witness, flashing a childish scrawl up to his nose, asking him to look for the phenomena, like it’s a normal request to ask the number three hero to look for nonexistent demons.

‘There’s gotta be more to this’, he tells Hawks, his voice broken, fervid. ‘Something, something has to be there, after all, the councilman was murdered for a reason’.

The man with the drawing is right about that, at least.

These are not random crimes. The MO is too similar. Every single victim was involved in some sort of villainous activity. Yeah, the guys correct on that one sane theory of his: ‘There’s gotta be something there’. But, whatever it is, it’s not this cat thing.

Hawks calls a halt to their interview and glumly munches on his cold chicken sandwich as he waits for the next witness to be called in. His head is pounding and he’s praying for some new development to fall into his lap, at least that way he can conclude things and get the hell off this island.

******

The 9th victim is an outlier.

He’s high up in social circles and he was a popular man. He’s also been accused of money laundering, tax evasion and fraud. He was acquitted on all charges, but his past never did stop nipping at his heels. However, that’s not what makes him an outlier.

No, that’s reserved for the state of his body.

Most of the victims have been burned to a crisp, leaving nothing behind, save bone and gristle. You can still see this guy's face and defining features. He’s a little charred, but it’s almost like the flames stopped right before they got past his chin.

They transport his body to the morgue and Hawks finishes the combing of the crime scene, setting up a new batch of interview times and creating witness reports. He leaves just as the sun is dipping under the horizon.

******

It’s late now, and the cool sea breeze blows in through his open hotel windows, soothing across his crimson plumage. It’s his first evening off in over a week. He’s still working though, typing his reports into his laptop.

He’s forgone his usual coffee this evening. He wants to try and see if he can catch a full eight hours tonight. God, what a fucking delicious treat that would be. Eight hours? That’s the real ghost here.

He shuts off his laptop and flops himself across his bed, his wings tucking into his side, burrowing his shoulders into their reassuring warmth.

He slips into the lull between realities, his mind whirring, the case resting heavily against the forefront of his thoughts. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that he can’t distinguish between dream and actuality as he drifts off.

There’s something there.

It keeps to the edge of his vision, a dark shadow that leeches the color from whatever it touches. He can feel it watching him. It shifts quickly when he cocks his head to get a better look, sliding across the blank expanse like quicksilver, fluid and slick.

He looks away from the edges of his dreamscape and turns. He blinks in surprise. He’s at one of the crime scenes. It’s the one with the man in the wheelbarrow. There’s a crowd pressing around him and that dark figure is blotted toward the back, lurking, watching. The people around him murmur and whisper, too soft to hear. They don’t seem to notice him. They also don’t appear to have faces. They’re just blank voids, with soft notches where eyes, noses, and mouths should be. Unthinking, Hawks reaches for one of them and his hand slips through the air, weightless and heavy in the same motion.

When he blinks again he’s in that lady’s shack, the one with all the cat figurines. That wraith is sitting at her kitchen table. It’s not moving and he doesn’t feel particularly threatened by its proximity. Still, he dislikes this whole thing. If he can touch it, maybe he’ll wake up.

He’s stepping forward when he hears a soft mewl. There’s a black cat on a shelf. It’s tiny and lithe. It jumps in front of him, a low purr rumbling from its chest. It looks up at him, orange eyes fastening on his amber ones. Odd, he thinks, that woman only had figures. No living cats were evident in the house.

The cat chirps four times. It’s a light, high pitched sound that makes his ears ache. It almost sounds like a phone. The cat lifts its tail and turns, padding soundlessly into the next room. Intrigued, Hawks follows.

Now, he’s walking down a street. The cat is still in front of him, weaving in and out. That purr of it is loud and sharp as it vibrates around his ears. He keeps trying to get the feline’s attention. He pspsp’s at the dark cat, clicking his tongue, but it doesn’t respond. Hawks is distracted, not paying any mind to his surroundings, wholly focused on the feline.

The voice startles him.

It’s rasping and deep and it’s calling his name. Not his hero name, no, it’s saying his real name, over and over.

KEIGO TAKAMI.

Keigo Takami, he thinks, stumbling over words that make him, him. It sounds strange now, foreign. He hasn’t heard that name in such a long time. How did…

The voice is coming from behind him now. He whirls around and is face to face with that man. The 9th victim, the one whose face you could still see. He’s charred and battered, and blood is dripping in long rivulets from his gaping skin, pooling onto the ashen sidewalk.

His eyes are wide, searching but not seeing. The pupil and iris are both milky white, rolling around in the cavities of his sockets. Then, his mouth pops open. It’s horrifically wide, like it’s caught in a scream. His teeth are crumbling before Hawks’ eyes, black pearls that slide from the man’s lips and clatter around his feet.

Hawks is stunned, unsure, but, fuck, he can’t move. He tries to flap his wings, knowing that they’ll tug him away from this horror that’s in front of him. Except, there’s no whoosh of air, no lift. There’s nothing. What? How...

His hands bat at the emptiness along his back. Where are they? What is this? His fingertips press along his shoulders, searching, desperate. His quirk, it’s...it’s just gone. He’s frantic now and that makes him clumsy. His feet tangle under him and he falls. Grounded, his legs instinctively begin to push away from the shell of a man in front of him.

The figure moves with him. Hawks keeps scrabbling away, but the man is even closer now and his bare feet are disintegrating with each shuffling pad forward. Still, he keeps on. Hawks tries to move again, tries to shift, but he’s been cast in stone. He can’t look away...he can’t…

The man is almost upon him now. His fingers are crumbling, the ash they create is making him choke. He can’t breath, he’s wheezing, unable to pull oxygen through his trembling lips. Hawks’ lungs are burning...

Then, Hawks’ wakes up.

He’s sweating. His skin feels hot and his wings are flared. The feathers are quivering, searching. They bring him back bits and pieces. There’s someone sobbing two rooms over, someone is sleeping below him, their breath warm, he can almost feel it, pushing in and out, in and out. There’s a phone ringing. How many rings? What if it’s four...

Stop, stop.

Hawks tucks his wings back, ignoring the sounds, the sensations. The plumage wraps around him and he ducks his head into the darkness that they blanket him in. He’s comforted by the reassuring, solid presence of his quirk. He thought he’d lost it. His shoulders still hurt from his flailing motions. What is going on? He’s never had a dream like that. It felt so...so real.

No. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He doesn't believe in this stuff. It’s not real. There’s no such thing as ghosts.

He tries to lay back down.

He’s cooled off some, but his wings keep flapping, he’s stopped trying to fight them. His quirk is going into overdrive. This hasn’t happened to him in years, not since he was a kid. He tosses his pillow over his head, trying to stifle out the noise his quirk keeps drowning him in. He’s tired and overstimulated. Each breath stings and he tries to count, to walk through the steps that have been with him since childhood. Just be still, Hawks. It doesn’t matter.

The sun is peeking over the horizon when he finally dozes off, his head heavy, fogged with exhaustion.

******

Hawks grabs two nitro coffees the next morning.

He practically inhales the dark liquid, hoping it will let him evade the haze of tiredness that thrums through his veins. It’s a slow day, thank God. There’s nothing of note that occurred the night before. Everything is pacing along its planned trajectory. There are no new bodies and the last interviews go by without any mention of spirits or the paranormal.

Matsuura offers to take him for some lunch. Hawks, always eager to expand his palette, eagerly agrees and the two men head into the city. It’s a weekend, so the streets are crowded. People recognize Hawks and he chats with them, grateful for the welling of normalcy that the interactions bring. He’s signing an autograph when he catches sight of movement in a darkened alleyway.

It’s not a particularly noticeable shift, but something about it feels strange. Hawks hands the freshly signed soccer ball back to the gang of kids around him and tilts his head toward the motion. He blinks. What the fuck? That’s not possible.

It’s the man from his dream. He’s walking, steps heavy, sluggish and he’s moving into the alley. The 9th victim? But, but how? What?

His wings react to his agitation and he hones in on the spot, reaching, snatching at anything he can sense. His fierce wings never let him down. They’re versatile, practiced and perfected. Feathers detach and shimmer into the midday sun, ducking around corners and onto rooftops, feeling.

There’s nothing.

No heartbeat, no footsteps, no voices. Hawks’ eyes had slipped closed as he felt for the man and he snaps them open again, his avian pupils dilating, constricting to a fine point. He turns to Matsuura and tells the hero he’s going to check something out. His wings lift before Matsuura can answer and he flaps into the air, the sea breeze assisting his ascension.

The rooftops are empty and Hawks scans the streets below, his wings rustling as he pulls himself along. Maybe it was a trick of his mind? Did he really see that guy? That’s a stupid question, how could he have? That man is dead. It’s gotta be his tired psyche. He didn’t sleep well, plus this case has been on his brain so much that he’s even dreaming about it.

He lands on a nearby roof, his boots hitting the tiles roughly. Hawks closes his eyes again, sending a few more feathers out. The man, if he is real, will take this path if he is using the alleyway as an escape. There are no other routes available to him.

He’s still attuned to his scattered feathers when he hears the cat hiss at him. His eyes open and he sees the animal. It’s a black cat.

It’s across the street, lingering in an open window, its back arched and its fur standing on end. Hawks narrows his eyes at the aggressive display. There are way too many cats on this island.

As he and the cat continue to engage in their silent staring contest, he hears a scritching sound coming from the street below. Hawks follows the noise, leaning over the edge of the rooftop. A child is playing below. She is sketching something into the concrete with bits of multicolored chalk.

It looks like...huh?

It looks like some kind of cart, but, why...why is it on fire? She is busy tracing the licking flames, a yellow piece of chalk clutched in her small fist. She’s humming a mindless song. It sounds like some kind of dirge. It’s soft and melancholic, following a minor tune. A shiver creeps up Hawks’ spine, but he ignores the pebbling of his skin, shaking his head.

Curious, Hawks wheels down, tapping along the street. He keeps a little ways away from the girl, he’s not wanting to startle her. His long fingers reach behind him, into his utility pocket that sits on his belt. He tugs out a small sticker sheet. He always keeps little trinkets in his pockets. It takes real effort to put people at ease and Hawks prides himself on his ability to steadfastly maintain that part of his image. He kneels on his haunches, dropping himself to a friendlier level before calling out to the little girl.

“Hey! That’s a pretty picture.” His voice is all light and honey and he has a bright smile on his face.

“Oh!” the little girl chirps, beaming her own grin back at him. “Thank you!”

“Tell me about your drawing.”

“It’s a Kasha.”

“Hmm, I don’t know what a Kasha is. Can you tell me about the Kasha?”

“They come to take away bad people.” The little girl replies, going back to her sketch, perfecting her lines and colors.

“Oh! There’s a kitty in your drawing. Is the kitty a Kasha too?” Hawks asks, noticing the calico cat that’s attached to the handles on the front of the cart. It looks angry, vengeful. Strange for a kiddo to draw something so eerie.

“That’s the spirit of the nekomata, silly. Don’t you know anything?”

“Haha,” Hawks laughs, a genuine sound that makes him throw his head back, his hand bashfully scratching the back of his head. “Guess I don’t, huh? Do you like to draw...ghosts?”

“Not really. If I draw them they won’t-”

A distant voice is calling out a name. It’s female and coming from a house a few feet away, no doubt the girl’s mother or sister. The little girl calls back.

“Coming mama! I gotta go, mister.”

“Here,” Hawks begins, detaching a smaller feather and drifting the little set of stickers over to the girl’s chubby hands. “Thank you for answering my questions,” he smiles. She coos and snatches the sparkly sheet, the sunlight catches the glitter that adorns the stickers. He tickles her cheek with his detached feather and she laughs.

Her mother calls again and she starts to run off, her yellow shoes pounding on the street. Belatedly, she pauses before rounding the corner and bows low, a quick thank you slipping from her mouth. He waves back and smiles as she walks into her home, the door clicking behind her. Once he’s alone in the alleyway his grin drops and he stands, looking down at her drawing.

It’s so freaking odd. Sure, sure, these cases are in the news. But the drawing looks...familiar somehow.

Oh, that’s why.

That man he interviewed, the one connected to the congressmen, had drawn something similar. Even then, back in that dark interrogation room, the strange figures looked like something he’d seen before, but where?

That nagging feeling is back. It pulls at the back of his mind. What is going on?

Hawks pulls out a small notepad and replicates the girl’s drawing, noting the colors and positions of the nekomata. As he sketches, his wings arc above his head, lifting and lowering meditatively.

******

He comes back to the police precinct, his hands tucked deeply into his pockets. As he walks toward the chief’s office he runs into Amano. He’s the elder of his two assigned heroes and a font of knowledge about the island and its inhabitants. Maybe he’ll know something more about this doodle that keeps cropping up.

“Hey, Amano, you seen any weird drawings around town? Or, at the crime scenes maybe?”

“Weird? Like how?”

Hawks pulls out his notepad, flipping to the page with his sketch of the cat pushing the burning cart. Amano chortles, one gloved hand coming to cover his mirth.

“What is that? It looks terrible.”

“I’m not much of an artist, I'll give you that one. In my defense, it’s based on a kid's drawing, so cut me some slack here, man. She said it was supposed to be a kasha and a nekomata?”

“Oh! Yeah, I can kinda see that now. I know what those are. According to legend, kasha appear during rainstorms. They steal corpses out of their coffins. Some of the older folks say they collect the souls of the damned. You can’t get the souls back if the kasha get them, they’re taken to hell, or eaten, depending on what version of the story you’re listening to.

I mean, they’re all just old wives tales. We used to tell them on camping trips. They’re bedtime stories, something to scare kids into being good. Ooo, misbehave and you’ll get taken to hell.

Eh, that feels kinda strong when I say it outloud, hopefully people don’t tell their kids stuff like that. Anyway, it’s not real.” Amano pauses, his head tilting at Hawks’ serious expression. “Isn’t it a little early to be getting into ghost stories? It’s summertime. Besides...”

Hawks tugs his phone out of his jacket pocket, flicking through the crime scene photos as Amano elaborates on how ridiculous this ghoulish conversation is. Normally, Hawks would agree, but there’s got to be...oh...OH.

There it is.

His finger stills over the glass of his phone. It’s tiny, basically a scrawl, but it’s there. He flicks through some of the other photos, swiping through the different locations, searching. Ah-ha! Again, there’s that scrawl. This time, it’s almost cropped out of the photo. Still, there are two crime scenes with the scrawling of chalk.

It’s a tiny drawing, so tiny he looked right over it originally, but now that he knows what he’s looking for, it’s there, plain as day. It’s a drawing of a tiny cart with a cat pulling the handles, lugging the wheels forward.

Amano is still talking when Hawks looks back up. Hawks butts into his elaborations, not caring that he’s interrupting the man.

“Ok, so they take evil doers away? Spooky. Question for you. You got any theories on why it’s cropping up all over town?” Hawks lifts the phone to Amano’s face. Amano takes the device and examines the strange markings, his brow creases, but he hands Hawks his phone back with a small smirk on his lips.

“It’s just talk, man. People do all sorts of superstitious things around here. Don’t look too hard into it. You believe what you want to, I don’t know. If that makes sense. Like those old sayings: ‘Don’t clip your nails before bed’. ‘No whistling at night’. It’s just something to say.

Superstitions are weird like that. Kinda like why you don’t have a fourth floor in a hospital. The number four looks like the word for death when you write it out. It’s bad form. It’s asking for trouble. So, don’t put a fourth floor, and boom, no problems with death.”

Hawks hums at Amano’s explanation. Ok, that superstition about the fourth floor, yeah, that one he had heard about. Amano claps a hand on Hawks shoulder and tells him he’s going to call a few more witnesses in. Hawks nods distantly, his mind whirring, processing. Despite Amano’s assurances, something still feels off.

******

He’s got a night shift.

It’s only for one evening, so it shouldn't fuck up his sleep schedule too much. Hawks has already decided that he’s going to circle back to all of the crime scenes. He’s not used to being out of the loop, or being the one that people are looking at quizzically.

He’d shown the drawings to the head investigator and the man had given him a blank look before asking Hawks if he needed some time off from the case. If he’d been asked that question a few days later, Hawks might have taken him up on the offer.

It’s been five days since he had that dream, but he’s still seeing that man. He’s determined to haunt him, to flit on the side of Hawks’ vision, drifting around like a dead leaf in a breeze.

He saw him at a bus stop the other evening. His dark hair was plastered to his face, burnt skin sloughing off his shoulders. He looked like a walking horror and Hawks had brought himself to an abrupt stop, staring at the figure below. The bus pulled up to the stop seconds after, the sleek metal shielding the man from view. By the time Hawks lifted himself higher, the man was gone.

He saw him in windows, peering sightlessly out of the glass. He spied the man walking home from the train, trailing long streams of ash and smoke behind him. He never makes any sound. He’s not alive, so why would he? He had spoken to him in his dream, called his name, but after that? There was nothing.

The vacancy of his presence is what startles Hawks the most.

There’s nothing to feel, nothing to sense. It’s just this vast, blank, emptiness. For someone with a quirk like his, it’s deeply unsettling. Hawks’ life revolves around his ability to sense, to feel. The plight of the dead man makes his chest hurt with its loneliness and abject barrenness. Is that what it’s like to die? You drift into this void, alone? He doesn’t seem to have anywhere to go. Is this his routine? Is he trapped in an endless loop, playing out his final movements? How long does he have to participate in this charade? Is this some kind of purgatory for him?

Distracted by his thoughts, Hawks spots a different man down a dark street as he flies overhead. It looks like he’s pushing a creaking wheelbarrow. Wait. A wheelbarrow? He looks again, wheeling back through the night sky, but there’s no one there now. No, the street is desolate, not even the gleam of the moon can brighten the winding sidewalks.

Is this really a ghost? Do these visions even exist? Hawks has never given the topic of the paranormal much thought. It’s always been an outlier, untrue, and untested. A pseudoscience. Well, ghosts or not, whatever is going on, Hawks needs some rest.

The rest of the night passes uneventfully and Hawks collapses onto his bed, drifting to sleep as soon as his golden head hits the pillows.

******

After a goodnight’s sleep, it does get a little easier.

He feels like his mind has cleared, the cobwebs brushed to one side, for now. Despite the clarity, he’s still seeing something. The man hasn’t gone away. No, even the daylight sun isn’t able to banish him. He saw him in his hotel lobby this morning, waiting for an elevator. By the time Hawks zoomed over, he was gone, the only evidence of his presence is the rising numbers on the illuminated floor panel, clicking up, toward the 4th floor.

That night, while getting a late night coffee, Hawks, long since given up his avoidance of caffeine in the evenings, spies something a little more sinister. As he’s paying the friendly barista, he notices someone lugging something across the road. It looks like it’s heavy, dragging against the street. They’re struggling to hoist it and it’s looking more and more like a body to Hawks’ frazzled nerves. He can’t be sure if it’s the specter that’s been lurking after him, but he’s not taking any chances. Again, Hawks is fast, but it’s not his speed that’s letting him down here.

Each and every time, there’s just nothing there.

Is he freaking haunted now? Is that a thing? That crazy dream hasn’t returned, so that’s one, fleeting, plus. Wait. Does thinking about the paranormal bring it into existence? Is that how ghosts work? Ugh, if he’s going to be plagued, he might as well read up on this shit. What the fuck is going on? Is it the town? Is it the pressure of this case? Is it him?

As he takes himself, and his coffee, up to his hotel room, he ponders the strange predicament he’s landed himself in. He can’t fit all the pieces together. It’s too strange, too abnormal. He wants to lay down, try to get a little sleep. But, a hero's work is never done. He’s got another report to type up and another set of interviews to schedule.

As he sits at the small desk that faces the window, he hears a strange cawing. It sounds close, almost like it’s right outside the glass. It’s not the call of a seagull, no, it’s that crow again. But, crows aren’t indigenous to the island. He’d looked them up after that discussion on the wharf. No crows have been spotted on the island in over 50 years. The last known specimen was an old bird, living in the Miyako zoo. It died over 3 years ago.

Hawks pulls himself to his feet, scraping the chair legs against the floor. He opens the window and pokes his head outside. He can smell the salty aroma of the sea. It tickles his nose and makes him take a big inhale of air, filling his lungs with the crisp aroma. The crow can still be heard, shrieking into the night. There’s a soft, familiar, beating of wings, too. He cranes his head, scanning the blackness, his wings are lifted as well, but there’s no bird. Per usual, there’s no movement, and no creature is flapping its way into the night sky.

He closes the window and the cawing echoes to the other side of the room before fading away. Annoyed, he takes a sip of his coffee. Hopefully that’s the last he’ll hear of it. He’s got enough ghosts fucking with him, thank you very much, he’s not wanting to add a disembodied crow to the role call.

******

The next morning Hawks is on a patrol.

The murder cases have stagnated again. While this, on the whole, is good news, simply because there are no new bodies, he still can’t get that damned drawing off his mind. It feels like things are slipping away from him, pulling out with the tide and into the vast realm of the dreaded: unsolved cold case.

He’s frustrated, no, he’s not frustrated, he’s pissed.

He feels like he’s letting the whole town down. He’d been called out here to do a job, but what good has he really been? Sure, the townsfolk are weird, the police chief is an ass and the lead detective pretty much has Hawks written off as a conspiracy theorist nut, but he was sent here to do a job. He’s good at sniffing things out. He’s good at being a hero. He’s not good at waiting, and that’s all this case has turned into, one long stint of stagnation and thumb twiddling.

Hawks glides across the bright sky, the sun reflecting warmly on his ruby red feathers. His eyes and wings are alert, feeling for any disturbances. He’s rounding onto the main street when he sees him.

It’s a living, breathing man. Hawks can feel his heartbeat, it’s pounding against the man’s breastbone. Only problem is, he shouldn’t be in the realm of the living.

The 9th victim ducks into a large bank, his familiar dark hair gleaming in the sun.

Hawks maneuvers to land immediately, his wings tucking against his back and dropping him to the earth at an alarming speed. He startles the small huddle of pedestrians on the sidewalk, but he’s too intent on catching his quarry to smooth any ruffled feathers. He races up the steps of the bank, one broad, gloved hand yanking the glass door open.

There he is. He’s talking with someone. Hawks can almost hear what he’s saying, he just needs to get closer…

“Sir? Can I help you?”

It’s a bank employee. He’s wearing a crisp blue suit and his eyes are wide behind his horn-rimmed glasses. Hawks pauses at his question, then slides past him, but it looks like it was just enough time for the 9th victim to evade him. He’s walking now, disappearing from view, stepping down a back hallway. It looks like he’s following someone…

Hawks turns back to the bank employee, his wings vibrating with annoyance and impatience. “I need to talk with that man, he’s wanted in a murder investigation. My name is Hawks, my hero number is-”

“Oh, I know who you are. O-of course, please, do what you need to d-”

The bank employee’s voice fades as Hawks lifts himself, pulling over the heads of the people waiting in the lobby. A few feathers dash out, feeling, searching.

Where did he go?

Hawks reaches the hallway in record time, his wings folding as he paces over the marble flooring. There’s not much back here, but it does lead to a large, closed vault. Damn it all.

“Sir, sir, SIR! Can we help you? I am the bank manager. You’re not permitted to be back-”

“Sure, you can help me. I need access to this vault. There’s a man, you can check your security cameras, he just walked-”

“I do not have access to the vault. You will need to make a formal-”

“Whaddya’ mean, “you don’t have access”? Then find someone who does. Two men just...Damn it…”

Hawks phone is ringing, he tries to ignore it, but it persists, vibrating and chiming against his leg. The bank manager is bristling, his mustache quivering as he babbles on about warrants, and how heroes can’t act like cops. It doesn’t matter if Hawks is the number three, he can’t ignore protocol. He needs to come back with a warrant, or get out…

His phone’s ringtone continues to slice through the tense air and Hawks, after the 9th, exasperating, ring, lifts it out of his pocket, glancing at the caller ID: it’s the HPSC. Fuck. He accepts the call on a final, shrill note.

“Hawks, here.”

“You need to come back...there’s been...All Might...Kamino...attack…”

An intermittent static keeps breaking over the phone line. It’s a crackling sound, snapping and rustling, it makes his skin crawl. It almost sounds like someone is whispering something, just below the faint hissing. “What? The line is breaking up-” Hawks lifts the phone, ah, there’s no bars in here.

The bank manager is still carrying on, heedless of Hawks’ inattention. “And so, I am within my rights to ask you to-”

“I’m going to need you to wait here and don’t move. Yeah, yeah, sure thing buddy, I don’t have a warrant, but I can make things pretty rough for you if you don’t do as I say. You don’t want to be involved in this case, believe me. Now, do what I asked and stay here.”

Lifting his wings, he flies across the lobby again, swiping a quick text to the police chief, if they hurry they might be able to catch this un-dead, dead guy. He jets himself onto the sidewalk, scattering a gaggle of beach goers.

As he re-dials the HPSC’s number he hears it again. It’s the call of that crow. It startles him and he almost doesn’t lift the dialing phone to his ear. God, this has gotta stop. He scans the sky for any physical sign of the screeching bird. It’s close, cawing and shrieking into the wind. It’s different from the other calls it’s made. It sounds angry, desperate, trying to reach him...trying to tell him something...

The line picks up and a voice repeats the familiar greeting of the HPSC.

“HAWKS, here,” he says, vexed, eyes scanning, looking for the disembodied crow.

The person on the other end asks for him to hold, and a few seconds later the head of the HPSC is answering, her soft voice both grating and reassuring to Hawks.

“Hawks. You need to return to Tokyo, immediately. All Might has been attacked by All for One. There are developments that we cannot discuss over the phone. Leave whatever intel you’ve gathered for the Miyako police chief and get back here. This is a national emergency. We need all hands. I don’t need to tell you, but the implications of this are dire. Hero society as we know it will be forever changed. I repeat, drop whatever you’re doing and get back to headquarters.”

The line clicks and that static sound rises again. There’s a garbling, muttering sound that’s rising from the hiss. It’s saying his name. KeigoTakamiKeigoTakamiKeigoTakami.

Then, all is silent. The voice is gone, the cawing is gone. A deep feeling of dread washes over him. It makes his feathers flair, plumage spreading and flexing. All around him, voices are chatting, laughing, living. They have no idea, blissful in their ignorance. Everything is, no, nothing is ever going to be the same again. God, All Might. If he can’t recover, if he dies...

Hawks lowers the phone, his eyes wide. Suddenly, all these ghosts of his don’t feel so important now.

Notes: @hawksweek2020

Beta edited by @albinoburrito

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wearesorcerer · 4 years

Text

[5e] 9th-Level Spells

You may be wondering why I’m starting my review of 5e spells with the highest level spells available. That’s simple: you only get one.

The 5e Sorcerer table isn’t quite like the 3.x one, but it is like the 3.5 Warlock and Psion: at any given level, you can known X spells and have Y spell level as your maximum. The table is elegant, but you have to know to level your character from first level rather than reading the table straight across if you’re making a higher level character. (I’ve made this mistake many a time. It’s why I dislike this sort of table: it looks nice but isn’t actually helpful.)

If you’re trying to have as many spells of the highest available spell level as possible, you would have from 0th to 9th 6/3/2/2/2/2/1/1/1/1. I find it easier to work backwards in this case, as you can say “I want to reserve X spells known for higher-level spells” and then figure out how many low-level ones you can have instead of getting to a higher level and running into a corner.

The question with 9th-level spells is not “what’s good?” because they’re all good. Rather, it’s “what’s worth taking as my single most powerful class feature?” That should narrow things down a lot.

Primary List

gate · mass polymorph · meteor swarm · power word kill · psychic scream · time stop · wish

I’ve written about wish and time stop ZA WARUDO! (time crunchy noises), but not in the context of 5e. Wish has changed substantially; time stop hasn’t. You have a few options, but the majority of them are boom-boom.

Gate: you can hold open an interplanar portal for as long as you concentrate (up to a minute) at the cost of a 5,000 gp diamond; if you know the name of a specific creature, you can use the spell to summon that creature. For some odd reason, gate is both the most Warlock spell in the game besides planar binding, yet is only a Warlock spell through a UA variant. For a Sorcerer, this could be useful, but you’re making your best spell cost you money every time you cast it. Strategically speaking, this spell is situational enough (read: a Wizard spell) that if you wanted it in the first place you should take it with the Ritual Caster feat, but for some reason this most obviously ritualistic spell isn’t a ritual. There are better uses for your spell known, but this is by no means a bad spell. Save for a scroll or something.

Mass Polymorph: you polymorph (Wis negates) up to ten creatures you can see within 120 ft. for as long as you concentrate (up to one hour), just like with polymorph. It incorporates animal shapes into it. If you want animal shapes, you should find a way of getting it instead: you don’t need a 9th-level spell slot for it (so can cast it more often -- 8th + 9th level spell slots), it lasts for 24 hours, and you can affect more creatures (30 ft. area = radius = 96 squares - the one you’re in = 95 Medium creatures [more if they’re smaller and squeezing together]). I don’t care for the concentration aspect of the 5e polymorph spells. I mean, I get the rationale, I just find it odd for this particular spell -- and I’d rather not give my opponent a tactical reason to target me. Pass.

Meteor Swarm: four fireballs fall from the sky and each deal 20d6 fire + 20d6 bludgeoning (Dex half; average 140 damage), setting everything they touch ablaze. Beautiful. I love meteor-style spells, so this is high on my list even though it’s a boom-boom spell and I’m not particularly boom-boom oriented. The best part of this is that it has a range of one mile, so you can destroy enemy armies without risking getting killed! Yay! Yes.

Power Word Kill: one creature within 60 ft. of 100 HP or less drops dead (no save). 100 HP is more than the average of many high-level characters, so unless the DM gave a boss max HP you can use this to kill even major opponents reliably. An optimizer will tell you that a spell without a save is something you should always take -- and would be correct insofar as it makes you more difficult to stop. I, however, dislike that mechanic: there’s almost no reason a spell shouldn’t have a save. This one should have the choice of Wis (resisting the mental influence) and Con (staying alive despite the heart attack/stroke/whatever). A very good spell, but I’d call it OP.

Psychic Scream: 10 creatures of Int 3+ within 90 ft. take 14d6 psychic damage and are stunned (Int half [damage]/negates [stunning]); their heads explode if they die. The beauty of this one is that it goes off of Int rather than Wis (meaning Wizards are the only targets you really need to worry about) and it automatically avoids friendly fire. Yes.

Time Stop ZA WARUDO!: you get 1d4 + 1 rounds to act, but the spell ends if anything you do (including effects you create) affect other creatures or objects someone else is wearing or carrying or you move more than 1,000 ft. from where you cast the spell. The main purpose of this spell is to buff yourself a lot, run the fuck away, or stack delayed blast fireballs to deal a buttload of damage. That’s all very nice, but it’s a continuation of the 3.0 nerf to the spell: in 2nd ed, you could pull a DIO and attack people or an Over the Hedge and steal things. Now for my main quibble. 3.5′s Player’s Handbook II had the celerity line of spells, which you could cast as an immediate action (choice of reaction or bonus action). Each one dazed (incapacitated) you afterward, but gave you an extra move (lesser), action (no prefix), or round (greater) to do with as you pleased. I’m willing to guess that there are similar spells in 5e. In 3.5, there were ways of becoming immune to dazing; maybe there’s a 5e-compatible build for that. Either way, as a 9th-level spell, I should get to throw knives at people to my heart’s content before dropping heavy objects (like steam road rollers) on them. Good, but I’m going to go to my grave complaining about the restrictions.

Wish: you can do practically anything, but you have a one in three chance of losing your ability to cast your highest-level spell. IT’S A TRAP!

For very personal reasons, I’m torn between meteor swarm and time stop, but psychic scream is also up there. I think power word kill is unfair, but I cannot say that it’s a bad spell. I don’t like mass polymorph, but I think that’s more me not liking how 5e deals with durations. Wish is too big of a risk for a Sorcerer: you have the chance of losing the most powerful class feature you get and have nothing else that can compensate for that loss (unlike a Wizard); it’s better as a scroll. Gate really should be a ritual, but it isn’t, and it’s expensive, so it really depends on how badly you need to move lots and lots of creatures or summon forth an Elder God.

Divine Soul (Cleric) List

astral projection · gate · mass heal · true resurrection

I’ve already covered gate, thankfully.

Astral Projection: exactly what it says on the tin for you and eight willing creatures. I have never understood why this spell is so high-level. Mechanically, it’s riskier and more expensive than casting plane shift, which is two levels lower. Thematically, it’s a mass version of an effect which in folklore is almost always caster-only, which makes no sense, and it’s at max-level when this is fairly standard practice for shaman and shaman-like figures. (Heck, that’s what a bunch of the associated drug culture is about!) Maybe someone can explain to me why you would want to use this spell. Pass.

Mass Heal: heal 700 HP divided as you choose among any number of creatures (except constructs and undead) you can see within 60 ft.; also cures them of all diseases, blindness, and deafness. On the one hand, this seems like a great spell with a raid or during a cataclysm. On the other, you can accomplish everything this does with lower-level spells. Pretty good, but maybe hold out for...

True Resurrection: a creature you touch (or whose name you speak) is restored to life and perfect health (no wounds, no missing limbs, cured of all diseases and poisons, freed from any curses), even if there are no remains, provided the creature has been dead for no longer than 200 years and is free/willing to return. PICK THIS ONE!

Variant List (UA)

Foresight: for eight hours, a creature you touch can’t be surprised, gets advantage on most d20 checks, and causes all creatures attacking it to roll with disadvantage. This is better than the 3.5 version, which was already very good. Yes, this. Very.

Really Cool Spells It’d Be Great to Take If You Could

Or me lamenting about the limitations of the Sorcerer list

imprisonment · invulnerability · power word heal · prismatic wall · ravenous void · shapechange · storm of vengeance · time ravage · true polymorph · weird

Imprisonment: you know any of those fairy tale/folklore/mythology spells that trap someone for, like, ever? This is it. (Combines the spell of the same name, maze, and binding from 3.5.) You’ve got options if you want to seal someone away -- and it lasts until you say otherwise. Sure, it’d be nice if it were a ritual, but it ain’t; you just gotta take a minute to cast it (and throw in 500 gp. of material per HD of the target).

Invulnerability: you are immune to damage for up to 10 minutes (at the cost of “a piece of adamantine” [in D&D, that’s closer to depleted uranium than it is to diamond] of 500+ gp.). Maybe you don’t like the cost for a spell of that level, but hey, invulnerability.

Power Word Heal: target (non-construct, non-undead) regains all HP; has the charmed, frightened, paralyzed, and stunned conditions removed; and can stand up as a reaction if prone. This is a Bard spell, but it’s on the Cleric and Druid variant lists, so probably is an option for Divine Souls. I can see it being handy, but you’d think mass heal would be a better choice.

Prismatic Wall: you conjure up a rainbow wall/sphere (as prismatic spray) that’s a bitch to get rid of. You want an abjuration? This is it.

Ravenous Void: a miniature black hole that needs some errata (how many spaces do creatures and objects getting sucked in move each round?). It’s ludicrously awesome, though.

Shapechange: other than true polymorph, this is what you want out of polymorphing magic.

Storm of Vengeance: let’s say you want all of the boom-boom of meteor swarm but are more meteorologically focused. Here’s your answer. You end up dealing an average of 49 damage (of three elemental types and bludgeoning) to each creature below a storm cloud (360 ft. radius) you conjure within sight. There’s an arbitrary distance beneath the cloud included, as it doesn’t say how far up the cloud has to be.

Time Ravage: you decrepify someone with timey-wimey magic -- but it’s somehow necromancy!

True Polymorph: you can transform almost anything into almost anything else. The limits on this spell are basically to keep you from thinking you’re a literal god and overall I’d think this would work better in a skill-based magic system, but nonetheless it’s quite clearly the best polymorphing spell in the game.

Weird: this is mass phantasmal killer. It’s directly comparable to psychic scream -- Illusion rather than Enchantment, fear rather than stunning, and more potential targets in a smaller burst instead of headsplosions.

#5e #spells

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years

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I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 6 - In Which Anne Has a Lovely Night In And Jack Has a Terrible (But Productive) Night Out

Anne glares the last of the workmen out the door, grinning to herself at his wary backward glances even when he's halfway down the block.

It's not that she doesn't appreciate the work they've done – the house looks nice, all fixed up. Jack's own taste in décor is a lot better than the previous owners's, even in Anne's barely invested opinion. No one deserves to be subjected to a carpeted bathroom, no matter how posh they are.

Though even with all the stupid frippery ripped out there's still plenty of shit to be done around the place. Half the rooms are completely empty, even with how much furniture buying Jack's been doing. But Anne's slept a lot worse places than a double bed in an otherwise unfurnished bedroom, so she sure ain't fucking complaining about the lack of amenities. It's practically palatial compared to their previous squat. And a hell of a lot less rat infested.

Though she's looking forward to having some peace and fucking quiet around the place, even if it's just for a night. Jack and Charles are out at some rich bitch's bachelorette party of all things, so it's just her and Mary and Max sitting in the cavernous “informal parlor” eating shitty pizza and watching bad TV. But it's kinda exactly the thing she's needed after the whirlwind bullshit insanity of the past two months.

Cuz it ain't that she don't love Jack with all her heart. The two of them are partners till they're put in the fucking ground. But he's kinda high strung. A perfectionist in everything he does, including the whole redecorating scheme.

Frankly, Anne can't be arsed to form an opinion on shit like curtain fabric or sofa style or whatever the fuck else Jack is losing his shit over. So she and Chaz have mostly been relegated to demolition and then repainting and cleaning, along with Mary, when Charles ain't out pretending to be Jack's boytoy.

But Jack cares about all that shit, more than seems reasonable to Anne. And he and Mary and Max have had all too fucking many ideas about how to make sure the house looks like it needs to so that they're seen as respectable – but not too respectable – in their roles as rich idiots. Idiots with money power and no idea how to use it. Manipulable, so that they can manipulate their chosen marks.

Which she knows is important. They can't be low-class street toughs anymore, not and expect to work in the circles Max wants them to join. Which is why Anne had agreed to pose as Jack's personal assistant. She gets to watch his back while appearing semi-respectable.

But with Max giving Jack the job of conning the counselor – the first stage in them taking over the London criminal empire Lord Hamilton had worked so long to build before Flint had torn it down in a single week - Jack's been running himself ragged at that and at making sure the house turns out just right. And him being anxious has made him snappish and frazzled. And frankly, it's been doing Anne's fucking head in. So she's looking forward to a night of just not fucking dealing with that shit.

And so she'd talked Mary and Max into this little party – not that it had taken much convincing. And she'd stolen Charles's weed – not that it was all that well hidden, not from someone like her. And when whatever stupid action movie they'd been half watching is over, Anne chivies them all out onto the balcony to smoke up.

It's pretty fun, looking out at all the other posh houses, laughing at all the posh people weaving drunkenly along the street. Not that they're in much better shape themselves. But at least they're sitting down for their bouts of crossfaded giggling.

Though eventually it gets too cold to keep sitting outside. And the crowds of drunk partiers have slowed to a trickle and then disappeared completely. There'll probably be another round near dawn, but Anne ain't staying out in the cold to wait for that.

So they all head back inside and Mary wants to try out the fancy new bathtub that's big enough for a whole orgy of people, cuz apparently that's what rich people have in their bathrooms. And Max says she wants to take a bath too. And Anne's half asleep and doesn't particularly fucking care what they do as long as she can keep this floaty, relaxed feeling.

And it is nice, sinking into the hot water that's been filled with some kind of perfumey, glittery foam courtesy of one of Jack's myriad bath supplies. It's even nicer sinking back against Max's body, completely relaxed. Held by her as she pets Anne's hair with her soft hands, scratching at Anne's scalp with her short, manicured nails. So different from Anne's own hands, rough and paint stained and a little cut up from demolishing a house.

And then Anne feels the soft pad of Max's thumb press against her clit. She grinds lazily against the pressure.

“That feel good, mon cheri?” Max whispers into her ear.

Anne tilts her chin and looks dazedly up at her. Hums in pleasure and sinks deeper into Max's arms.

Across the bath, Mary's own hand has disappeared beneath the water. Anne grins at her, sly and contented, and spreads her legs wider.

She hadn't really thought about having sex tonight, or with Mary involved. But she ain't opposed to the idea - Anne ain't exactly one to be shy or anything, not anymore. And it feels right to do this. An extension of the rest of the slow, lazy, relaxed feeling that suffuses her. An extension of the camaraderie – the sense of family - she feels with Jack and Charles and now Mary.

After the bath, they all hose the glitter off in the equally large and ostentatious shower Jack's character of a nouveau rich fop had insisted on. And then they all brush their teeth at the ridiculous his and hers vanity and Anne drinks a big glass of water because this is too nice to spoil with a hangover tomorrow. And then they all put on pajamas – Max borrowing one of Anne's t-shirts, which is real fucking nice, even if she's gonna stretch out the fabric with her tits – and they go to sleep in Anne's bed, with its clean, cool sheets and warm quilt and new pillows. And that all feels right too.

The bachelorette party is going about as Jack had expected, which is to say pretty fucking terribly. What Claudette apparently meant by a rager is that they're going to every too-expensive only slightly seedy nightclub in London to drink luridly colored cocktails and do lines of expensive blow. Which has the upside of allowing Jack to inform some of his higher-class pushers of the event and position them strategically along the party limo's route and they make a considerable pile of cash that way, even with himself and Charles abstaining.

In fact, since he and Chaz are technically on the job, they aren't drinking much either. Their brightly colored drinks little more than seltzer water and fruit juice after a quick word to the bartender when they buy the girls the first round. Because nothing makes pumping people for information easier than being the only sober person in the group. And they do get some useful intel in terms of who's fucking who and who's doing shady backroom deals with who and who's doing both. Invaluable in terms of both blackmail material and understanding the complex web of high-society relationships they're trying to enter into.

And, even more fortuitously, one of the gaggle of bridesmaids owns a monstrously upscale and “avant garde” art gallery and she'd drunkenly bragged about how much good press Jack could get by hosting a fashion show there. Which means that she thinks she could get good press through that little arrangement. But if Jack is to actually make a half believable pretense at being a fashion designer – a career chosen for him since it would allow him to travel all over the world with little fuss, but one less well regulated than a more traditional profession – he's got to start somewhere. And some rich “artiste” want-to-be's trendy rich-person art gallary isn't a bad place to start.

But that's something to be discussed with Max at a later date - and a more conducive time than three in the fucking morning from the back of a limo speeding towards, he's not sure actually. Somewhere expensive and tawdry, presumably.

They are, in fact, heading to a strip club. An all male one, of course. Which fair enough, the blushing bride-to-be's fiance is presumably doing a very similar thing tonight. And it's not that Jack can't appreciate oiled up, scantily clad men gyrating to heavy club pop.

And he's certainly worked enough corners as a pusher to have lost any sort of judgment or, or snootiness about sex workers. It's just that all the girls with them are treating it like some sort of exotic safari or something. Ogling the dancers in a way that's titillated, scandalized.

And if Jack is noticing, then surely all the dancers are as well. It's uncomfortable to be associated with them, to be painted with that same brush. He wants to leave, or at least move to a different table. Divorce himself from the group – and from his sudden, terrible understanding that this is what he is to them, too.

The understanding that he and Charles – who's currently getting a lap dance from a grinning young man, completely unaware of Jack's own inner turmoil – they're exotic things to be ogled at as well.

Understood to be foreign, rightfully understood to be lower class. They don't fit into the effortlessly glamorous lifestyle of the wealthy and titled. Outsiders, chosen to attend this little party because of their perceived danger and lack of refinement.

Which is fine. All of this is exactly what Jack had been gunning for, in terms of outside perception. He doesn't want to actually pass as a member of the upper crust. Just someone they'll deign to let walk among them.

Someone they will underestimate – and to their detriment.

But it doesn't exactly make it any easier to take, is the thing. Jack wants recognition for his achievements. For people to look at him and see what he's accomplished, despite the way the deck has been stacked against him since birth. Jack burns with the desire to be seen for – to be judged by - his merits and his merits alone.

And apparently Charles has noticed something is up, because he's leering in Jack's direction. And when he sees he's caught Jack's eye, he says, “Jealous that someone other than you is sitting on my dick, Jack?” And he voices it as a challenge.

But what he's really doing is giving Jack an out. A way to get them both out of there without it looking like anything is wrong. Without them losing their stupid, sex-obsessed, party boy facade.

It's masterful. And ultimately unnecessary, because Jack is a professional con and more than able to put his feelings on the back burner for a job.

But he will take the support that Charles is offering him another way.

“Never, darling. I know there's always room for me right... here.” He perches on Charles's broad thigh and leans into the hand that curls protectively around his hip.

If he can't have Anne here to watch his back, Charles is the next best thing.

#black sails #charles vane/jack rackham #max/anne #i travel troubled oceans #chapter 6

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foamtent4 · 3 years

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Growing To The Top: Computer Game Guidance For Many Skill Levels

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This short article needs to have provided you some guidelines on how to purchase online games at a lower price and enjoy those to their highest potential.

#data sidney #data sdy #data sydney #togel sidney #togel sydney #togel sdy #penyeluaran sidney #pengeluaran sydney #pengeluaran sdy

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theliberaltony · 4 years

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via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

The 2020 election will be the COVID-19 election. Voters will almost certainly be asked to condemn or endorse President Trump’s handling of the pandemic — and quite possibly while the virus is in the midst of a fall relapse.

Any year would have been a bad year for a pandemic. But a presidential election year makes it even worse. As elected officials at all levels of government scramble for resources and weigh complex decisions on how to respond, the electoral implications introduce a thorny calculus: How will it all play in November?

Here is the crudest of calculations: If Democrats can successfully associate the substantial harm wreaked by COVID-19 with Trump, they win in November. But if Trump and the Republicans can deflect enough blame elsewhere and Trump gets credit for making things less bad than they could have been, Trump will win.

Democrats have done the obvious so far: Pin all the blame on Trump by highlighting how he initially downplayed the virus and blasting his subsequent stumbles. They’ve also tried to position themselves as the party of good governance. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, for instance, announced the formation of a new select committee that will oversee how the Trump administration manages the $2 trillion economic stimulus package, with a focus on waste, fraud and abuse.

It’s also possible that some traditional Democratic constituencies will be simply hit harder by the virus, too, which could make the fallout of the virus more personal and a stronger point to campaign on. For instance, in blue states and cities like New York City, the virus has hit especially hard, including in poorer and less white neighborhoods. And as the harm becomes clearer, we will almost certainly see echoes of Hurricane Katrina, with its disparate racial and class impacts, but on a much larger scale. These inequalities might reverberate with Democrats’ long-standing criticisms that Trump is a racist — and could yield record turnout along with a persuasive fundraising message.

And don’t underestimate the power of negative partisanship. In 2016, many Republicans held their noses and voted for Trump because they wanted to keep Hillary Clinton out of the White House. That same logic could apply in 2020. If Democrats hit Trump hard enough, unified disdain for Trump might matter more than anything former Vice President Joe Biden promises, bringing Democratic voters together after another fractious primary. Though negative partisanship has been building up now for several election cycles, it thrives on frustration and anger, and 2020 will likely offer plenty.

For Trump and Republicans, much of their 2020 strategy seems to be focused on putting the blame elsewhere — Democrats, the “mainstream media,” China and even some of America’s governors.

Let’s start with one of Trump’s favorite punching bags: the media. In what may be a preview of a Republican electoral strategy to come, Sen. Marco Rubio recently tweeted that “Some in our media can’t contain their glee & delight in reporting that the U.S. has more #CoronaVirus cases than #China.” This argument probably sounds familiar, as many conservative pundits have pushed it since the beginning of the outbreak in the U.S. It’s still possible that the ultimate death toll undershoots the current worst-case scenarios. If so, Republicans could eventually point to the high predictions as fearmongering. But many experts still think the situation could grow much worse, so it’s also a very risky strategy at this point. (Ironically, if the death toll is lower than predicted, it may be because the higher projections themselves scared politicians and citizens into following social-distancing guidelines.)

As for pinning the blame on Democrats, Trump and Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell have argued that impeachment was a major distraction during a critical time in February. (Never mind that he was reportedly first briefed on the spread of a deadly virus in China in November or that, after his acquittal in the Senate on Feb. 5, Trump spent much of February downplaying the threat of a pandemic.)

Trump and his allies have also found a scapegoat in China, arguing the Chinese government engaged in a massive cover-up that allowed the virus to spread, which blindsided the Trump administration. The U.S. intelligence community has found evidence that China underreported its outbreak, so this could resonate with voters, especially considering both Democrats and Republicans agree that the Chinese government bears some responsibility for the spread of the pandemic. And if Republicans do pursue this strategy, it builds on a persistent theme of Trump-era Republican campaigns: Blame the outsider. After all, in 2018 Republican campaign strategists ran an aggressive anti-immigration campaign because they believed it was an issue that would help them win. So expect a possible replay of this in 2020, with China replacing the “migrant caravan.”

Trump has also pointed his finger at Democratic governors for failing to stockpile their own supplies. The political gambit appears to boil down to this: Trump thinks he could benefit electorally if he pushes governors — particularly Democratic governors — to say what a great job he’s doing.

Consider Trump’s tussle with Democratic Gov. Gretchen Whitmer of Michigan, who complained her state wasn’t getting the medical supplies she needed from the federal government. Trump responded, “I don’t know if she knows what’s going on, but all she does is sit there and blame the federal government … We don’t like to see complaints.” Michigan, after all, is likely to be a key swing state in 2020. This could certainly backfire, but this is the kind of high-stakes political gamesmanship that a pandemic in a presidential election year engenders.

Then finally, we come to the most dangerous hot potato of all: the administration of the election itself. In order to ensure a safe and fair election, jurisdictions across the country will have to rapidly transition to voting by mail and/or expand early voting.

But Trump and Republicans have already indicated they will be loath to support such measures, as they argue it would hurt Republicans at the ballot box. Democrats, meanwhile, have said that expanding vote-by-mail efforts is the only way to mitigate risks from in-person voting. Political scientists haven’t found any clear partisan advantage to voting by mail (if anything, it seems to encourage participation among more habitual voters). But Wisconsin’s beleaguered primary — which saw partisan fighting over whether to delay the election — could be a harbinger of the difficulties to come.

And if that is the case, November will be a mess in states that don’t get their act together soon — especially in battleground states with divided governments, like Wisconsin.1 (Other likely swing states have divided governments, including Michigan, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Minnesota and New Hampshire.) It’s unclear where this fight is headed, but it is likely to be a high-stakes battle that echoes long-standing partisan grievances over how best to ensure access to voting. And given the logistical difficulties of implementing electoral changes, delays could actually be an effective tactic.

If it’s relatively clear how ugly the tone of the 2020 COVID-19 blame campaign will be, it’s much harder to say how all this will impact the actual outcome of the 2020 election. Trump’s approval rating has remained remarkably flat over the last three years despite the ups and downs of his presidency, largely because of how polarized American politics has become. In other words, very few events move the needle on public opinion anymore. Even the coronavirus crisis has given Trump only a relatively small boost, compared to those of other world leaders and most governors.

Ultimately, the blame games might offset. In our highly polarized era, most voters made up their mind long ago — hence Trump’s consistent approval numbers. But in an escalating arms race of blame, one-sided disarmament would be folly. So brace yourself.

In another world, or at another time in our history, a common threat like a pandemic might have brought Americans together. However, in this hyper-partisan presidential election year with so much blame to go around and so much pre-existing animosity to draw on, that might not be the case.

Instead, the months to come will test not only our health care system and our economy, but also our democracy and our ability to cooperate across party lines to win a novel kind of war against a novel kind of virus. If the road feels bumpy now, the path ahead looks like nothing but an obstacle course. Buckle up.

#IFTTT #Politics – FiveThirtyEight #politics #538 #Lee Drutman

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bae-leth · 5 years

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AU of The Other Dimitri AU Part 1 of 2

Me again! It’s funny, I know what I wanna do with the Ivan oneshot but planning it and then getting to writing it is being far more difficult than expected. Maybe because I’m dealing with a character who is an OC but also somewhat canon in the sense of taking canon Dimitri’s role? Anyways, I’ll get that fic out eventually, I’m actually having fun with the challenge of getting it to work. So I decided, in the meanwhile, to make some notes about the previous post I submitted regarding Ivan (the unit overview) and doing something fun as a bonus. Writing down Ivan as a unit if he existed in the canon game! An AU of an AU. Ah well, it’s fun and it helps me figure out his character. *NOTE*: As I was writing this thing, I realized this was getting ridiculously long for a submission, even from me. So this is gonna be part 1 of 2. I’ll get part 2 to you in a few days with the rest of the info, mostly related to timeskip stuff, battle quotes, paralogues, and RECRUITMENT (*gasp*). Part 2 is gonna have PLENTY of delicious angst! And I hope this part has gotten you interested in what happened to Ivan during the timeskip, especially with the few little hints I’ve dropped here and there. **WARNING**: There will be slight spoilers about the Blue Lions route. I will avoid as many major spoilers as possible or otherwise be vague where I can, but there is some stuff. Just wanted to give a head up! Anyways, I hope you too enjoy this! And, once again, sorry for submitting these absurdly long posts to your inbox.

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Notes

*The following notes are some fun facts regarding stuff I put down in the Unit Overview post*

Childhood Picture: It’s a portrait of Ivan, Dimitri, Felix, Ingrid, Sylvain, and Glenn. It shows them as they were about five years before the Tragedy of Duscur. In the first few months of the charade, when Ivan saw this picture he freaked out and tore the part that had him in it off, burning it in the fireplace. He carries the picture with him constantly. By the point in the timeskip where he starts to go as “Ivan” again, he regrets tearing the picture, especially since it’s the only picture he had that had all of them together. But perhaps the other members of their friendship group have other pictures?

Collection of Fairytales: Ivan loves fiction books, and fairytales are no exception. When the charade begins, Ivan is so focused on training his body and mind to become more and more like Dimitri that he doesn’t check out his books anymore. It isn’t until a couple years later that he sees this book. He smiles and starts to open it, only to see his real name on the inside cover. Ivan has a habit of writing his name on the inside cover of all his books. What followed was Ivan grabbing a quill and large bottle of ink and proceeding to furiously cross out his name from every single one of his books.

Jeweled Dagger: Considering it has the letter D on the hilt, you would think it was Dimitri’s dagger. And…technically you’re right. But Dimitri never got to see the dagger. Ivan wanted to give Dimitri a surprise present for their 14th birthday. So he secretly commissioned the dagger from a blacksmith, asking that it be delivered on Dimitri and Ivan’s birthday. The Tragedy of Duscur happened a short time later and Ivan forgot all about the dagger, between his trauma and having to train for the charade. That is, until a package arrived on his 14th birthday, addressed to “him”.

I actually forgot to put down Ivan’s favorite type of tea but then I remembered Dimitri’s favorite tea is chamomile. So I looked it up and chamomile tea is known to help with stress and anxiety, as well as act as a decent sleep aid. Perfectly fitting for Dimitri and just as fitting for Ivan. So yeah, Ivan’s favorite type of tea is chamomile!

Ivan very much did learn the edible weeds thing from Dimitri! The story is that when they were around eight and hanging out outside, Dimitri chomped on a dandelion with zero warning. When Ivan stared at him in horror, Dimitri proceeded to happily explain all about edible weeds. Ivan decided to just accept it and move on (screaming internally the whole time) …Though he did keep it in mind and has always been kind of curious…

Why is Ivan terrified of horses? When he was four, a particularly bad-tempered horse bit Ivan’s cloak and wouldn’t let go, tugging it and tossing poor tiny Ivan with every shake. Ivan may no longer remember the incident, but he’s been terrified of horses and Pegasi ever since.

Ivan’s Music: He has a habit of humming, especially when doing monotonous tasks or when he’s in an especially good mood. He practiced hard to stop doing it once he had to become Dimitri, but once he goes by Ivan again, he’s slowly bringing the habit back. He has a lovely singing voice, though he’s very out of practice since he hasn’t sung since he was 13. But it’s a strong voice and he has impressive range. A little practice and he’ll probably be as good as he was when he was younger. His instruments of choice are the piano and violin, once again having not touched either since he was 13. After he officially becomes king (particularly after the ceremony that names him king which was held three years after the war) he starts taking lessons again, though doesn’t have much time for it since he’s busy with so many other things. He only started composing his own music when he was 11. He starts making little compositions again during rare free time in the war. He still makes compositions after he becomes king but, once again, he’s so busy he really doesn’t have time to nurture his talent.

Sometimes he’s bitter towards Dimitri for how disinterested the guy was in music, which made Ivan give up so much to perfect the act. But Ivan also remembers Dimitri patiently and happily listening to him play and sing, always saying Ivan was a “god of music”. A silly exaggeration as far as Ivan was concerned, but he doesn’t think he would’ve kept up with music if it wasn’t for Dimitri’s wholehearted encouragement.

Ivan and Ingrid share so many favorite foods. This is largely because when Ingrid was the one who comforted Ivan, she would often share some food with him when she did so. So Ivan associates those foods with happy memories. Ivan’s interest in food with interesting textures is a thing that started a little before arriving at the academy. The reason of which I won’t say (is it a spoiler? I don’t know, better safe than sorry. It has to do with something mentioned at some point in Dimitri and Flayn’s supports if you’re curious, I don’t remember if it’s said elsewhere).

Ivan and Felix were the baby brothers of the friendship group. Even Ingrid treated him as a baby brother like she did with Felix, even though Ivan was older than her. Ivan and Felix had a strong bond due to being meek crybabies. Ivan also had a habit of often hiding behind Sylvain when something spooked him. Of course, Felix often had the same idea, leading to the pair sometimes competing to cower behind Sylvain, while Sylvain laughed at them the whole time, while also doting on them.

So yeah, Ivan did forget his real name over the five-year timeskip. Between all the trauma he faced and the visions of the dead, he could only recognize himself as “Dimitri”, even though he saw hallucinations of the real Dimitri often. He doesn’t remember his own name until Byleth says it to him after Byleth learns that “Dimitri” was really Ivan this whole time.

I saw an anon noticed my stat joke about Ivan’s high Luck compared to Dimitri. One of my favorite things is when Fire Emblem games do something with a character’s stats or classing options (something other than personal skills) that reflect on some story element. Like having a character who is stated in story to be super lucky have naturally high Luck. Or that thing in Awakening with Kellam’s whole shtick of being practically invisible, so he can be reclassed into the Thief class. So yeah I purposefully lowered several of his stats and growths and just cranked up that Luck to match his backstory. Also, I’m pleasantly surprised an anon noticed that Ivan having higher Mag and E+ in Faith implies he was meant to be a healer. Because yes, that’s true! The idea is that if Dimitri hadn’t died, Ivan was gonna be on the path to be a healer/mage character. But because he had to become Dimitri, that greatly stunted his growth and shifted the rest of it to match more with Dimitri’s stats and growth.

Those are the big notes I thought of. Now, let’s get into the AU of this AU, involving what if Ivan was a character alongside Dimitri! Just a thing I made for fun, and like I said before it helps get those creative juices flowing!

AU of The Other Dimitri AU – Ivan Alexis Blaiddyd Unit Overview

Backstory

An overview of the backstory, at least where it differs from how Ivan is in the main AU. Ivan is still Dimitri’s younger identical twin brother, still has the minor Crest of Blaiddyd too. One difference is that while in the main AU Ivan is the one who interacted with the girl with the dagger, in this AU it’s Dimitri who did so, just like canon. The idea being that both of them met her and Ivan tried his best, but she and Dimitri hit it off while Ivan couldn’t get far, so he stopped coming along to visit her. He’s bitter about the idea of once again being passed up for his brother but he’s also jealous of having his brother stolen away from him for that time Dimitri and the girl knew each other. The other big difference is that Ivan didn’t go with his family on the day of the Tragedy of Duscur. Ivan was a sickly child growing up, and he hadn’t been feeling well during the week of the trip. Therefore, Lambert had him stay behind out of concern his condition would get worse during the long trip. Ivan was heartbroken at being left behind (and while he understood why, there was still a twinge of terror deep in his heart over not being good enough, being a burden). The Tragedy of Duscur goes down, Dimitri comes back as the only survivor. Things on Dimitri’s end go down basically the same as canon: meeting with Dedue, his trauma, the falling out with Felix, etc. On Ivan’s end, things end up changing quite a bit. Since Dimitri’s alive, there’s no act, so Ivan’s skills grow as they were intended, being more magic and healing based. Although he ends up picking up the lance too, because sparring was sometimes the only way to get his brother out of his room during those first few months following the tragedy. Ivan finds himself puzzled by his own emotions, particularly how he isn’t devastated to the same extent Dimitri is. Of course he’s in pain and mourning the loss of his father, stepmother, and Glenn. And he’s horrified by the deaths of all the knights, by the deaths of the people of Duscur (he remembers the furious tears streaming down Dimitri’s face as he told him the people of Duscur were innocent). But unlike Dimitri, who’s half dead and only making it to the next day thanks to Ivan, Dedue, and Rodrigue, Ivan still moves about. Eats just fine (Dimitri acts weird towards food now), doesn’t cry the night away (Dimitri sometimes slips into his room or Dedue’s and just sobs as he clings on desperately). Probably the one thing Ivan has in common with Dimitri in grief is the onslaught of nightmares (Dimitri never says what his are about, but Ivan’s are visions of his loved ones and so many faceless others covered in blood and gore, cursing him for his dumb luck that kept him away from the horrors of that day). And maybe that is what’s wrong, that he wasn’t there and didn’t see any of it. But…he doesn’t know. He’s so confused. And he hears the whispers from nosy nobles who know nothing, thinking he doesn’t care about the deaths. Ah well, he supposes he’s used to being the subject of mockery and rumors, as the worthless second-born, never as good as his brother. Never good enough for anyone…His relationship with Sylvain and Ingrid remains close over the years. However, he too ends up coming into conflict with Felix, although nowhere near what happened between Felix and Dimitri. Felix’s issue with Ivan, much like with Dimitri, stems from the rebellion when they’re 15. Except Ivan wasn’t part of the assault against the rebels (“Let me go too, Brother!” he had yelled while Dimitri refused and even ordered guards to make sure he didn’t come. As if years separated the pair instead of mere minutes). When Felix had told him what Dimitri had done, yes, Ivan had been thrown off by it, even horrified of the image of the warm and loving brother he knew being such a beast (“But the rebels were a threat to innocent people. Dimitri did what he had to, in order to protect others.” “You wouldn’t say that if you saw him, Ivan!”) Naïve and black and white in his view of “right”, almost disturbingly so, that’s what Felix had spat at him before storming off. But perhaps because Ivan wasn’t part of the battle, perhaps because Ivan’s fear of fighting and the way he shakes at the idea of it is so genuine, Felix doesn’t sever their friendship like he does with Dimitri. But Ivan can see they’re no longer “two peas in a pod”, that with Felix’s changing feelings towards the concept of “chivalry”, things can’t be as they once were. And maybe Dimitri is somewhat bitter about Ivan being able to maintain those bonds that he himself can’t find a way to. Another big shift shows up that adds more fuel to the fire of Ivan’s jealousy and bitterness towards Dimitri. The way his uncle, the court advisors, and noble after noble feel the need to tell him to help his brother, to look out for him and support him. The comments alone aren’t an issue, it’s what Ivan was doing anyways, because his brother is his idol and best friend. He loves him, truly. But the way they keep talking gives off warning signs. Before the tragedy he was shoved to the side and considered an afterthought, not worth a second glance and having nothing of value compared to the golden heir and crown prince. But now, with the way they’re telling him to support his brother and stay with him, it becomes more and more clear that they’re telling him to live only for his brother. Live for him, die for him. Ivan’s life is no longer his own, his dreams and wishes are no longer his own. He exists only for Dimitri now. He’s not good enough to actually help or provide any meaningful assistance, such as in battles or in politics, he’s only the spare after all, a weak and timid crybaby. But he still must do everything and anything for Dimitri (“You’re brothers, of course you would do anything for him, right? Anything at all?” “…Yes…” As if he can say no to them. As if he can convince himself he’d ever say no). Because it would be a tragedy to lose the crown prince, but not nearly as much if it was the second son. It’s suffocating. This varies from the main AU, where Ivan is still very jealous and bitter, but Dimitri’s death makes Ivan glorify him. His love towards his brother is very real there, but he goes overboard, which is a major factor behind his issues figuring out who he really is and how he truly feels once he goes by Ivan again in the main AU.

Character Description

The second prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and Dimitri’s twin. He is a timid and gentle young man who claims he’s not made for battle. And yet there may be something far more complicated to his nature, especially his feelings towards his brother.

Preferences

Likes: Writing and performing music, live musical performances, fiction books, board games, sparring, well-deserved appreciation, spending time with Dimitri

Dislikes: Himself, battles, darkness, horses and Pegasi, scorching heat, people who talk behind others’ backs

Stats and Growths

Base Stats - HP: 24 Strength: 7 Magic: 10 Dexterity: 6 Speed: 7 Luck: 8 Defense: 5 Resistance: 5 Charm: 8

Max Stats - HP: 65 Strength: 56 Magic: 71 Dexterity: 65 Speed: 69 Luck: 67 Defense: 42 Resistance: 44 Charm: 73

Stat Growths - HP: 35% Strength: 40% Magic: 50% Dexterity: 45% Speed: 45% Luck: 50% Defense: 30% Resistance: 30% Charm: 45%

Skills and Proficiencies

Skill Levels – Sword: E Lance: E+ Axe: E Bow: E Brawl: E Reason: D Faith: D Authority: E Heavy Armor: E Riding: E Flying: E

Strengths: Reason, Faith

Weaknesses: Axe, Brawl, Heavy Armor, Riding

Budding Talent: Lance

Faith Magic Learned: Heal, Recover, Physic, Nosferatu, Aura

Reason Magic Learned: Blizzard, Thoron, Sagittae, Meteor

Starting Skills/Inventory

Starting Class: Noble

Personal Skill – Second-born’s Struggle: If unit’s HP drops below 50%, grants unit +20 to Hit Rate, +10 to Critical Rate, and +5 to Damage dealt.

Crest – Minor Crest of Blaiddyd: The Faerghus royal family’s Crest, inherited from Blaiddyd of the 10 Elites. Occasionally doubles Attack and weapon uses for combat arts.

Other Skills: Lance Prowess Level 1, Reason Prowess Level 1, Faith Prowess Level 1

Magic: Blizzard, Heal

Combat Arts: None

Starting Equipment: Training Lance, Vulnerary

Academy Appearance

Ivan and Dimitri are identical twins, so physically there’s not much difference between him and Dimitri. The only real difference would be that Ivan’s hair is subtly softer looking and messier, a few more bangs, a couple strands out of place, that sort of thing. Their differences come more from non-physical things, like how Ivan’s voice is softer, or how he holds himself differently, always fiddling with his clothes or having a hard time keeping eye contact, shy and introverted. As far as clothes go, Ivan wears the standard male Academy uniform, the only personal touches he wears being white gloves and a blue cape that wraps across the front of the shoulders and clasps on his left shoulder with a golden fastener that looks like the lion representing the Blue Lions (and Faerghus as a whole).

Relationship with Blue Lions at Academy

Dimitri: Dimitri is rather doting and protective of his brother, which Ivan is sometimes annoyed by since he’s only a few minutes younger than Dimitri. They have a close relationship, although there are several obvious signs that they are at odds with each other, especially considering Ivan’s darker feelings of jealousy and bitterness competing with his genuine love for his brother.

Dedue: While Dedue’s devotion is for Dimitri, he and Ivan have a comfortable relationship. Ivan sometimes sits in the garden with him, Dedue taking care of the plants while Ivan reads or composes.

Felix: Felix finds Ivan’s rather cold, black and white view towards justice aggravating but doesn’t always push him away like he does with Dimitri. Ivan is the one who puts more effort into trying to spend time with him though.

Sylvain: Sylvain enjoys teasing Ivan considering how timid he is and how he still has a habit of hiding behind Sylvain when spooked. But they have a fun and easygoing relationship. And they like talking about music.

Ingrid: They have many favorite foods in common thanks to how Ingrid comforted him all the time when they were young. Ivan gets frustrated with how Ingrid sometimes still treats him like a child who needs to be protected.

Mercedes: Ivan has a friendly rivalry with her, since she’s a fellow healer and mage. He often goes to her for advice and lessons to improve his own techniques. He closest to her after his brother and friends. Dimitri likes to joke that Mercedes is trying to steal his brother for herself. Ivan sometimes notices a brief odd look on Mercedes’ face when Dimitri says that though.

Annette: Since they both love music and have skills with magic, they get along well. But Annette is often embarrassed singing or writing songs in front of Ivan since she finds him far more skilled, while Ivan enjoys her work and wants to work with her if she’d let him.

Ashe: Bookworm babies! They have a little book club (made of the two of them) where they love exchanging notes on books they read. Ashe also enjoys getting to know Ivan since he’s been curious about Ivan ever since hearing all the rumors and jokes about “the pathetic second prince” growing up.

First Meeting with Ivan

“A-are you the one who helped Dimitri? I can’t thank you enough! O-oh, is my appearance throwing you off? I’m Dimitri’s twin, Ivan Alexis Blaiddyd. Although, other than my face, I’m not much like him…”

First Kill

“Stop shaking! I had to do it! …Yes, I had to. It’s what they deserve for all they’ve done.”

Cooking (Pre-Timeskip)

“I apologize in advance, Professor. Cooking was never my strong suit.”

“This isn’t going as badly as I’d feared…Wait, did I just curse us? Oh no.”

Cooking (Post-Timeskip)

“I’m still terrible at cooking, Professor. I’m sorry about that…”

“Okay, this isn’t too bad. Oh, I better stop speaking before I curse us.”

Choir Practice

(Pre-Timeskip) “I’ve loved music since I was a child. But I…I still don’t have the courage to perform in front of a lot of people…This should be good practice for that, right?”

(Post-Timeskip) “No matter how harsh this war gets, no matter how much it tries to break me, I won’t abandon my music. It’s something that’s mine. No one will steal it from me.”

Counselor Note

“I’ve been hearing people say some cruel things about me when they think I’m not around. I’m used to such comments, but it still affects me. And I don’t have the courage to say anything. What should I do?”

(Bad Answer): You should grow a spine and confront them!

(Bad Answer): If you point them out, I can say something to them on your behalf.

(Good Answer): Talk to someone you trust. They can give you the support you need to make a decision.

Lost Item

Items

Collection of Fairytales (A thick book of many tales of fantasy and adventure. Something is written on the inside of the front cover, but the writing is smudged. Probably belongs to someone who loves stories.)

Book of Scores (A book filled with pages upon pages of musical compositions. Each sheet is covered in detailed notes. Probably belongs to someone who loves music.)

Childhood Picture (A portrait, worn with age, of a group of smiling children. Some of the children look familiar. Probably belongs to someone with several friends.)

(If item belongs to him): “Thank you! I…I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost this.”

(If item doesn’t belong to him): “I’m sorry, Professor, you have the wrong person…”

Gift

Liked Gifts: Forget-me-nots, Book of Sheet Music, Board Game, Ceremonial Sword, Legends of Chivalry

Disliked Gifts: Training Weight, Riding Boots, Hunting Dagger

(Received gift he likes): “For me? Truly? I don’t know what to say…”

(Received gift that’s neutral): “I’m glad that you’re thinking of me.”

(Received gift he dislikes): “Umm…Thank you…? Please don’t give me that look, Professor.”

Tea Party (Pre-Timeskip)

Greeting: “Thank you for the invitation.”

Liked Topics: Tell me about yourself, You seem well, Evaluating allies, The ideal Professor, Working together, Thanks for everything…, Favorite sweets, Shareable snacks, The library’s collection, Our first meeting…, Children at the market, Fodlan’s future, Books you’ve read recently, A word of advice, Someone you look up to…, A place you’d like to visit…, Overcoming weaknesses, The view from the bridge, Cats…, I’m counting on you, Past laughs, The Opera…

Disliked Topics: Reliable allies, Being the perfect knight, You seem different…, Dining partners…, Hopes for your future, Things you find romantic, Food for life, Capable comrades, The existence of Crests, Classes you might enjoy, School uniforms, You’re doing great work, Close calls, Mighty weapons, Sturdy weapons, School days, Cooking mishaps, Equipment upkeep, Monastery rules, The last battle…, A new Gambit…, Working hours for guards

Comments

“Umm, I’m sorry if I’m a boring conversationalist. I was never a social person growing up.”

“I thought you accidentally invited me instead of my brother. It wouldn’t be the first time-Oh! I-I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Thank you for all the support you’ve given me. It means more to me than you realize.”

“I…I’ve been composing some songs recently. But no matter how hard I try, I’m not satisfied with them. But I suppose if it was easy then everyone would become musicians.”

“I’ve always hated battles, but I knew I would have to face them eventually. So I chose to study healing. I wanted, at the very least, to make sure I could keep the people I hold dear safe.”

Extended Time Comments

“This is for me? You’re too kind.”

“Umm, are you trying to spot differences between my face and Dimitri’s? There really isn’t much. Trust me, I’ve looked.”

“My hands shake after battles. I don’t know if they’ll ever stop…”

“Sorry, if I’m being too quiet for you, Professor. I’m not really used to all this.”

End of Tea Party: “Thank you, I had a great time! …Could we do this again?”

Tea Party (Post-Timeskip)

Greeting: “I’m sorry for the wait.”

Comments

“I think I’ve gotten a little better at conversation over the past five years. At least, I hope I have…”

“I appreciate you, Professor. I apologize if that sounds too blunt, but I wanted you to know how grateful I am for all you’ve done.”

“I still compose sometimes, during the few lulls between battles. Some soldiers once asked me to compose some songs for battles, but I refused. I can never do that…”

“People call me childish for still cherishing my books of adventures and wonder. But why is it wrong to hold them dear? Is it really a sin to want to escape from all of this, for just a moment?”

“I often dream of when I was younger. Before this war, before the Tragedy of Duscur. I…I wish life could be so simple again. I’m sorry, please ignore me…”

Extended Time Comments

“A gift? You’re truly a kind one, aren’t you?”

“My hands still shake after all these years. Is that a sign of weakness? Or a blessing that I’m not desensitized to killing…”

“My scar? Please, don’t worry. It aches when it’s particularly cold, but otherwise it doesn’t hurt me anymore.”

“Thank you, Professor, for all the faith you’ve shown in me. I’ll work hard so that I won’t let you down.”

End of Tea Party: “Thank you for inviting me. Peaceful moments like this are a blessing amidst all this chaos.”

Dining Hall (Pre-Timeskip)

Favorite Food: Shares many favorites with Ingrid, so if a food is her favorite it will most likely be his as well. Also loves sweets.

“This smells delicious! I can’t wait!”

“Oh, m-my favorite. Professor, thank you so much!”

With Dimitri (Before the fight in their support)

Ivan: “What do you think, Dimitri? This dish makes you feel good, doesn’t it?”

Dimitri: “Yes, I agree. It feels comforting, odd as that may sound.”

Ivan: “You better have seconds, then!”

With Dimitri (After the fight in their support)

Dimitri: “What do you think of the food, Ivan?”

Ivan: “It’s good.”

Dimitri: “Oh, that’s good…I’m glad…”

With Felix

Felix: “Why do I have to eat with you?”

Ivan: “Felix, don’t act like such a stranger! We always did so much together as children. Eating, playing, crying-”

Felix: “You better stop while you’re ahead.”

With Ingrid

Ivan: “Look, Ingrid, it’s another one of our favorites!”

Ingrid: “I know! I don’t think I ever realized how many favorite dishes we shared.”

Ivan: “And whose fault is that?”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “Good food, good atmosphere. Now if only it was a lovely lady by my side.”

Ivan: “Am…Am I bad company, Sylvain?”

Sylvain: “What? Oh, no, no! I was just kidding, Ivan, I swear!”

With Mercedes

Mercedes: “Oh, Ivan, did the advice I give you before work out?”

Ivan: “Yes, thank you, Mercedes! I hope my healing will be more effective now. And I apologize for the trouble.”

Mercedes: “No trouble at all! I’m happy to see you grow! We’ll be quite the healing duo, won’t we?”

Dining Hall (Post-Timeskip)

“It smells so good. I’m more than ready for this.”

“…Did you pick my favorite on purpose, Professor? If so, thank you.”

With Dimitri

Ivan: “…I…I’ve missed eating with you, Brother.”

Dimitri: “…I’ve missed it too. Let’s try to eat together more, alright?”

Ivan: “Yes! We have several years to make up for, after all!”

With Felix

Felix: “Do you really have to sit with me so much during meals?”

Ivan: “If you hate it so much, why don’t you find another spot?”

Felix: “Hmph. Cheeky fool…”

With Ingrid

Ingrid: “I’m glad we can share meals together again, Ivan. I’ve missed it more than you realize!”

Ivan: “I’ve missed it too. Who else is going to be meal buddies with me?”

Ingrid: “Umm, please tell that’s not what you’re going to call us…”

With Sylvain

Ivan: “Sylvain? You’ve been staring for a while. You’re going to make me blush if you keep this up.”

Sylvain: “Will I? Ooh, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you go red! …Seriously though, don’t mind me. It’s just…been a while, Ivan.”

Ivan: “…I’ve missed eating with you too, Sylvain.”

With Mercedes

Mercedes: “It’s so lively eating with everyone else again, isn’t it, Ivan?”

Ivan: “I agree. Lots of noise and laughing. And I’ve missed discussing healing techniques with you, Mercedes.”

Mercedes: “Oh, I’ve missed that too! Let’s exchange notes after this, alright?”

Instruction (Pre-Timeskip)

Bad: “Ahh, I…I’m sorry…”

Good: “That wasn’t so bad.”

Great: “I understand…Let me review it once more.”

Perfect: “It’s all coming to me!”

(Praise): “Y-You’re too kind to me.”

(Console): “Th-thank you for your concern.”

(Scold): “…I’m sorry…”

Instruction (Post-Timeskip)

Bad: “I’m sorry about that…”

Good: “Alright, I’m doing better.”

Great: “I starting to understand. Let me review it.”

Perfect: “I get it now!”

(Praise): “Oh, umm, th-thank you.”

(Console): “Heh, come now, I’m no longer a child.”

(Scold): “…Sorry.”

Certification Exam

Pass: “Will I be of more use to everyone now?”

Fail (Pre-Timeskip): “Even after all that studying? I, ah…I’m sorry…”

Fail (Post-Timeskip): “Some things never change, I suppose…”

Class Mastery

“I’ll put this strength to good use. I promise.”

Group Tasks (Pre-Timeskip)

“I-I’ll do my best!”

(Perfect) “We did great, Professor! Ah, I mean, I didn’t mean to sound so shocked about that!”

(Good) “We finished the task. Though I fear I may have dragged us down…”

Weeding

With Dimitri (Before the fight in their support)

Ivan: “Umm, Brother? You…You were joking when you once told me about those edible weeds, right?”

Dimitri: “What? No, of course not! Here, come with me, I’ll point them out to you!

Ivan: “Dimitri…”

With Dimitri (After the fight in their support)

Dimitri: “There sure are a lot of weeds, aren’t there?”

Ivan: “Uh-huh.”

Dimitri: “…Ivan…”

With Felix

Ivan: “Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm~”

Felix: “How are you enjoying this?”

Ivan: “I’m not. I’m distracting myself.”

With Ingrid

Ingrid: “Ivan, I don’t mean to push, but could you hum for us? This task is dreadfully boring.”

Ivan: “You read my mind, Ingrid! One song, coming up.”

Ingrid: “Thank you!”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “Ugh, weeding. I can think of at least a dozen things I’d rather do than weeding.”

Ivan: “Keep at it, Sylvain. So long as you concentrate, we’ll be done soon enough.”

Sylvain: “I know, I know…”

With Mercedes

Ivan: “Say, Mercedes. I have a question about the weeds around here.”

Mercedes: “Do you? Well, I’ll do my best to answer, if I can! What is it?”

Ivan: “Are they…? Actually, never mind. I think I would prefer to live in blissful ignorance.”

Stable Duty

With Dimitri (Before the fight in their support)

Dimitri: “Are you okay, Ivan? You can stay over there if you want, I can take care of this.”

Ivan: “No, I appreciate the thought. But…I must be brave. I must!”

Dimitri: “So long as you don’t push yourself.”

With Dimitri (After the fight in their support)

Dimitri: “Ivan. Are you-?”

Ivan: “I’m fine, Dimitri.”

Dimitri: “The way you’re shaking says otherwise.”

With Felix

Felix: “You’re still afraid of horses? After all this time?”

Ivan: “I-I’m working on getting over it, I swear!”

Felix: “You’ve been saying that for years…”

With Ingrid

Ingrid: “When we were younger, whenever I asked if you wanted to help me take care of my horse, you’d freeze in place. What made you so scared of them in the first place?”

Ivan: “Honestly, it’s been so long, I can’t remember anymore.”

Ingrid: “Hmm, how sad…Horses aren’t as bad as you think, you know.”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “Alright, Ivan, my back is ready and here for you to hide behind!”

Ivan: “Sylvain…”

Sylvain: “Haha, sorry! But seriously, if you need a break, I’m right here, okay?”

With Mercedes

Mercedes: “Are you alright? You’ve been trembling for a while now.”

Ivan: “It’s pathetic…No matter how hard I try, I can never feel at ease around horses.”

Mercedes: “Oh my, I see. But please, don’t call yourself pathetic! We all have our fears.”

Sky Watch

With Dimitri (Before the fight in their support)

Ivan: “Brother…”

Dimitri: “Deep breaths, Ivan. The Pegasi at the monastery are tame and gentle, they won’t hurt you.”

Ivan: “My head knows that, but my heart doesn’t agree.”

With Dimitri (After the fight in their support)

Dimitri: “Ivan?”

Ivan: “I don’t want to talk right now.”

Dimitri: “I-I see.”

With Felix

Felix: “How long do you plan on staring at the ground? You have to keep your eyes ahead if you want to keep watch.”

Ivan: “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Felix, but can we not speak right now?”

Felix: “You’re ridiculous…”

With Ingrid

Ingrid: “You’ve been looking pale since we set off. Are you really that bad with Pegasi too?”

Ivan: “I know it’s pathetic, you don’t have to say anything.”

Ingrid: “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that.”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “Hmm, I guess I can see why Pegasi freak you out as much as horses do. I mean, Pegasi are basically horses with wings.”

Ivan: “Sylvain, please…”

Sylvain: “Hey, no need to glare like that! I’m shutting up now.”

With Mercedes

Ivan: “Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm~”

Mercedes: “Ivan, are you okay? Your humming sounds rather distressed.”

Ivan: “I’m okay! I swear, I’m okay!”

Perfect Result

With Dimitri (Before the fight in their support)

Dimitri: “We did well! Great work today, Ivan.”

Ivan: “Please, the credit should be all yours.”

With Dimitri (After the fight in their support)

Dimitri: “We did a great job together, didn’t we?”

Ivan: “…We did well, I suppose.”

With Felix

Felix: “Well, I guess that wasn’t so bad.”

Ivan: “You worked especially hard, Felix!”

With Ingrid

Ingrid: “The job’s done, Professor! You did a good job, Ivan.”

Ivan: “Not as good a job as you did, Ingrid.”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “A perfect job! C’mon, Ivan, where’s my praise?

Ivan: “Yes, yes, you did a good job, my friend.”

With Mercedes

Mercedes: “It was a lot of hard work, but we’re done now!”

Ivan: “Thanks for all your help, Mercedes!”

Good Result

With Dimitri (Before the fight in their support)

Dimitri: “My, that was hard work. Are you alright, Ivan?”

Ivan: “I’m fine. Sorry if I was going too slow.”

With Dimitri (After the fight in their support)

Ivan: “The job’s done, Professor.”

Dimitri: “Yes, we…we worked hard.”

With Felix

Ivan: “That was a lot of work. I’m sorry if I dragged us down, Felix.”

Felix: “Always looking to blame yourself for something, aren’t you?”

With Ingrid

Ivan: “Thank you for all your help, Ingrid.”

Ingrid: “My thanks to you as well, Ivan!”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “Finally! I thought we’d never be done!”

Ivan: “I hope it wasn’t my fault we took so long…”

With Mercedes

Mercedes: “I’m exhausted, but we did well, didn’t we, Ivan?”

Ivan: “I agree. Thank you, Mercedes.”

Group Tasks (Post-Timeskip)

“My, this brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

(Perfect) “I hope we met your expectations, Professor!”

(Good) “I hope we didn’t cause extra work for someone else.”

Clearing Rubble

With Dimitri

Dimitri: “There’s so much rubble around here. Forgive me for letting all of you deal with it by yourselves for so long.”

Ivan: “It’s alright, Brother…Just make sure to pull your weight from now on, alright?”

Dimitri: “I promise, I will.”

With Felix

Ivan: “Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm~”

Felix: “…Never thought I’d actually miss that.”

Ivan: “Huh? What did you say, Felix?”

With Ingrid

Ingrid: “So much rubble! It truly is a disaster.”

Ivan: “Hmm, hmm, hmm~”

Ingrid: “…Heh, well, at least one of us seems to be having fun.”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “Good grief, every time we clear this area it’s like someone dumps another load of rubble just to spite us!”

Ivan: “The monastery did take a lot of damage over these past five years. Let’s work hard, okay?”

Sylvain: “I know…”

With Mercedes

Ivan: “Are you doing alright, Mercedes? If you need to take a break, feel free.”

Mercedes: “No, don’t mind me! It’s hard work but I’ve been training a lot these past five years!”

Ivan: “Haha, I see!”

Stable Duty

With Dimitri

Ivan: “…It’s not by much, but I think I’ve gotten a little more used to horses.”

Dimitri: “That’s wonderful, Ivan! You’ve grown so much while I wasn’t around. I’m proud of you.”

Ivan: “Th-that’s a little too much, don’t you think?”

With Felix

Felix: “Well, looks who’s not shaking like a newborn fawn.”

Ivan: “I’ve grown since you last saw me, Felix! I-Ah! S-stay away!”

Felix: “Hah…Well, at least he isn’t running away.”

With Ingrid

Ingrid: “I’m glad to see you’re a little calmer around horses now.”

Ivan: “Well, I can’t be a cowardly child forever, can I?”

Ingrid: “…You’ve worked hard, haven’t you?”

With Sylvain

Ivan: “I must tell you, Sylvain, you won’t see me cowering behind you anymore! I’ve gotten a little more used to horses now, so I-Ahh!”

Sylvain: “You sure you don’t wanna cower behind me?”

Ivan: “…P-please don’t tell anyone.”

With Mercedes

Mercedes: “Aww, these horses are rather sweet, aren’t they, Ivan?”

Ivan: “…Yes, I-I suppose they’re not so bad.”

Mercedes: “So long as you’re patient and gentle, I’m sure the day will come when they won’t scare you anymore.”

Sky Watch

With Dimitri

Ivan: “Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm~ Dimitri, you’ve been quiet for a while. Are you surprised to hear me humming?”

Dimitri: “I admit, seeing you at ease enough to hum atop a Pegasus is surprising. But…I was just focused on your voice. I’ve missed your music…”

Ivan: “…Then, what’s your request? I’ll perform for you later, like when we were children.”

With Felix

Felix: “You’ve finally calmed down around Pegasi, have you?”

Ivan: “Well, yes and no. I still feel terrible around them, but I’ve gotten better at pushing through regardless of my fear.”

Felix: “Hmm…Not bad, I guess.”

With Ingrid

Ivan: “Ingrid, what is it about Pegasi that make you like them so much?”

Ingrid: “Well, I’ve always adored horses, so I suppose loving Pegasi was just natural. I adore the feeling of flying beneath the blue skies, the wind whipping past. It’s exhilarating!”

Ivan: “I see…I guess that does sound interesting.”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “Hey, Ivan, how’re you doing over there? Don’t panic now.”

Ivan: “Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm~”

Sylvain: “Heh, he’s in his own little world.”

With Mercedes

Mercedes: “Hmm, hmm, hmm~”

Ivan: “Your humming sounds nice, Mercedes.”

Mercedes: “Why, thank you! I can see why you enjoy humming so much. It’s so relaxing!”

Perfect Result

With Dimitri

Ivan: “Well done, Dimitri! We never would’ve finished as fast as we did without you.”

Dimitri: “You’re the one who deserves most of the credit, Ivan.”

With Felix

Felix: “I suppose there are worse partner to work beside.”

Ivan: “Why, that just may be the nicest thing you’ve said to me since we reunited.”

With Ingrid

Ingrid: “We managed to take care of everything. Thank you for all the help, Ivan!”

Ivan: “I’m glad to have been of service. Thank you as well, Ingrid!”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “Whew! All in a day’s work, huh, Ivan?”

Ivan: “You worked hard, Sylvain. Good job.”

With Mercedes

Mercedes: “We did well today! It’s all thanks to you, Ivan!”

Ivan: “Oh please, you’re the one who deserves the praise, Mercedes.”

Good Result

With Dimitri

Ivan: “Alright, the job’s done. I didn’t hold you back, did I?”

Dimitri: “You could never hold me back.”

With Felix

Ivan: “Good work today, Felix! We had fun, didn’t we?”

Felix: “Are you honestly saying that with a straight face?”

With Ingrid

Ingrid: “That was exhausting, but we finished up, Professor.”

Ivan: “Thanks for all the help, Ingrid!”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “We’re done! Man, that was such a pain!”

Ivan: “Was it really that bad? I thought we were doing well.”

With Mercedes

Ivan: “We’ve finished the job, Professor. I’m sorry it took so long.”

Mercedes: “My, I’m exhausted! I’m glad you were there to help out, Ivan.”

#submission #willow #other dimitri au #bae's tags: I LOVE THIS AND I NEED TO REREAD IT!!#i NEED to know what went down in ivan and dima's support..... a fight?? wHAT FIGHT... what fight that went off and changed their groupwork #quotes....#ALSO i love love ivan's relationship with mercie!!#actually i love this au of the original au in the first place #you know what breaks my heart the most in the og au?#the DAGGER #god #imagining ivan getting it for dima and then just getting it delivered to himself is heartbreaking #sylvain and ivan's relationship in the au au is so cute too.... ivan doesnt want to hide behind him but...#i cant wait for part 2 angst!!!!#bc i need to see what happens to the boy in the timeskip!!!#also a 50% mag growth... whew

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atimefordragons · 4 years

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[ T S E S A R E V N A ... ]

My incomplete audition for Gem Quest, didn’t have the time to participate properly, let alone finish my audition from all the other groups (yeah, I don’t know what time management is and have no idea how to pace myself).

“В небе далеком горит звезда, | In distant heaven star shines Не одинока и не одна | It's not alone and not the one Каждый себе выбирает путь | Everyone choose their own way И она не даст свернуть | And star won't allow them to turn Не закрывай глаза | Don't close your eyes Смотри она ведет тебя.. | Look, it leads you...”

- Звезда (Dima Bilan ft Anna Belan)

Real Name: Yekatrina “Katya/Rina” Anatolyevna Raevskaya

Age: 26

FC: Alia Bhatt

Species & Class: Dragonborn & Mage-Knight

Guild: Moonstone

Description of In-Game Powers: (what their fantasy species lets them do, basically, and all the associated drawbacks)

A dragonborn is a cross-bred species, born from the bloodline of either a human or an elf, and a Great Dragon (highly evolved, ancient dragons that can cast spells, and shit, and even speak the human tongue). Because great dragons are rare, most dragonborn are second generation or later. In the case of Tsesarevna, an ice dragon and a human (not a first gen).

Dragonborns have a natural affinity for magic, particularly elemental, even more specifically for the element of the dragon type whose blood they inherited, in the case of Tsesarevna, frozen water related magic, ice, frost, snow.

Place of Birth: Saint Petersburg, Russian Federation

Appearance: (optional textual description/notes of wardrobe, features not represented by fc, etc)

Places Most Likely to be Found In-Game: Level 20 - A Midwinter Night’s Dream (I see what you did there Ayz) and Level 38 - Murias Pass (the snow reminds her of home, ya know. The cold never bothered me anyway), also sometimes Level 39 - The Dragon, but she’s technically stuck on that level because she refuses to kill the Dragon, issa zaldrīzo ānogar.

Current Inventory:

History Book: The Dragon King Festival

Strongest character trait: eurovision knowledge Confidence (in herself and some others)

Strengths: Katya is almost surprisingly determined, it contradicts with the rest of her “I’ve never had to work hard to get what I want in my life” type personality, but she is persevering and stubborn, when she wants something, she won’t stop until she gets it. Which in her real life was never very difficult getting.

Weaknesses: Where to even start? Spoiled Princess Brat (she has never not gotten what she wants in her life, and it shows), impatient, impulsive, not exactly a team player (I mean, she is now, but that shady shit she pulled back when she first started playing kinda got her a rep), arrogant, prideful, kind of a bitch (doesn’t really think of it as a weakness, but ya know, it’s hard to make friends), dragon obsession (refuses to kill dragons, even in order to advance the game, got herself and party members killed early on in the game ‘cause of it), kind of an adrenaline junkie, and reckless af. She doesn’t really consider the consequences of the game, wholeheartedly believes her dad, fam and connections in the real world will get her out soon enough, so has no problem running head first into fire (”I’m too hot to die in a video game”).

Player Stats: (on a scale of 1-10, 1 being the weakest, 10 being the strongest. try to balance it out!)

STRENGTH: 9

DEFENSE: 7

CHARISMA: 3

PSYCHE: 5

WILLPOWER: 9

CAUTIOUSNESS: 2

AGILITY: 5

ENDURANCE: 7

INTELLIGENCE: 8

LUCK: 4

Personality: “Haven’t you ever seen a princess be a bad bitch before?”

Haha, yeah, but mostly, she’s just a massive nerd. She’s such a fucking nerd. Bitch learned Quenya and Sindarin just for kicks, and her own amusement. Literally no one else in her irl circle even fucking knows what those two things are (Elvish tongues in Tolkien).

As the baby of a two large families, and the only daughter of a Russian oligarch, Katya is incredibly spoiled, and very much self-centered. Something of a downplayed celebutante, she is not quite as present at every single high society, high fashion event in Russia, or elsewhere in Europe, she only goes to a handful. And really only for the free stuff, she loves stuff. Katya maintains a somewhat disinterested high social status, as she is the daughter of a major industrialist, and friends with other, higher profile wealthy Russian heirs and heiresses, and there are benefits (so many), but she isn't quite interested in attaining spotlight or attention. However, she also perceives it as something that is just naturally part of her life. She uses a lot of hand gestures when speaking, and tends to give off a naive-princessy vibe who seems to think the world revolves around her. Which, to be fair, it does in her house -she does know that it doesn’t actually, but ya know, can’t quite turn off that bitch, I’m a princess mindset.

“I don’t skate through life... I walk through life. In really nice shoes.” - Alexis Rose (Schitts’ Creek 3.04)

Notably, she speaks with a vocal fry when speaking English. She says “like” a lot, has a bit of a condescending tone, but, she like, does care. About a lot of stuff, but also humanity in general. Spoiled baby she may be, she does have a moral compass, and was amongst the public figures who signed an open letter against the Saint Petersburg Anti-”Gay Propaganda” bill (it’s some bullshit about “protecting” minors from “non-traditional sexual relationships”). She believes in doing the right thing, that the goal of any organization or even person should just be to decrease the net suffering of humanity, but also, she is a super proud Russian. Very anti-american, thinks they’re all stupid, always says shady shit in Russian whenever she runs into americans online. However, it’s not like she’s a fan of United Russia (Putin’s party), they’re right-wing nutjobs, she does not like them. Her main political party is A Just Russia, who are much less then left than her (officially, they be centre-left), but they’re the only ones (of her favoured parties) who have seats in the State Duma (the lower house of the Federal Assembly, Russia’s legislative body - the Duma is like parliament, or congress, I think, I don’t really know what congress is tbh, house of representatives maybe? Idk, the place where Nancy Pelosi is charge, equivalent to that). Katya also supports Patriots of Russia, a socialist, left-wing party, but they only have seats in regional parliaments, and only one seat in the Federation Council (similar to the senate, the upper house of Russia’s legislative body). There’s also Russia of the Future, but it’s not been formally registered yet. In the 2018 election she voted for the communist party’s candidate just for kicks (it’s different in Russia, there’s was zero possibility of Putin losing, come on, grow up).

As a side note, if this helps with the explainary-stuff, I basically envision her as a slavic-desi cross of Alexis Rose from Schitts’ Creek, and Gina Linetti from Brooklyn-99, also this hindi song; Sheila ki Jawani. The song is basically about owning the fact that you’re super sexy.

Biography: Katya is half-Russian, half-Indian, born to a Russian father, industrialist (and oligarch) Anatoli Ivanovich Raevsky, and an Indian mother, activist and journalist Mishti Syeda Khan. Her parents eventually separated, though technically are still married, when she was about 14, and her mother moved to Manchester in the UK, while Katya remained in Russia with her father. Katya is from a large family, on both sides, and at the time of her birth, was the first baby to be born in quite a few years (the elder cousins were like tween-teen, too old be constantly coddled and cuddled, and too young to make babies), so she was hella spoiled by everyone. The problems her maternal family had with her mother marrying a non-Muslim white boy? Well, we still hate him, but look how cute Rina is.

Despite the... complications between her family members - the whole religion/marrying a shada (white) boy thing, not to mention that Mishti herself is like agnostic at “best”, in general, as the baby, Katya (or Rina as her mother and maternal family call her), get along - well, okay, there’s always the shady auntieji’s, and bullshit drama, but like, that’s just brown families yo. We like that. We’re all 100% those bitches (see ya at Eid Nanu [grandma], ya messy bitch). While there is some distance between Katya and her mother, metaphorically and literally, she really does look up to her mother and her work, and followed in her footsteps, studying journalism at Moscow State University, and moving on to work at Известия (Izvestia), the “national” paper of Russia, formerly the state newspaper of the Soviet Union. Currently, she’s a glorified fact checker, and maintains the website with a handful of other colleagues. She’s also authored small “puff pieces” for Nedelya (a weekly Friday section about leisure actives, culture, that kinda stuff).

Katya is not exactly an avid gamer. She likes games, but it’s not like a 24/7 thing, whereas she is 24/7 thinking about like ASOIAF or Stars Wars (fuck you JJ, you were supposed to destroy the Sith R*ylo, not join them), not to mention Eurovision. Anyone who thinks Eurovision only lasts for a week is a fake fan, and anyone who thinks it’s a one day thing is an american. Ziben ziben ilulu motherfucker. Anyway.... she prefers immersive, high fantasy worlds, she likes the story and plot, so her types of games are The Witcher and Dragon Age Series, Elder Scrolls, that sort of thing. She doesn’t put in daily hours, ‘cause she got other stuff to do, but will dedicate weekends to leveling up her characters in order to accomplish quests and missions quickly and not waste time to get to the story cut scenes. She hates, hates, hatessss microtransactions and those stupid fucking mmorpg phone games which are literally just farmville repackaged with a dragon or an orc; FUCK YOU. What a fucking waste of time, quit advertising as having a plot and story, or cool character customization, ‘cause you don’t have any of that you basic ass bitch!

Gem Quest was regifted to Katya by a coworker, who had gotten it as a present, but didn’t have a VR set (of course she had one, she’s rich, and also she needed it to play Batman: Arkham VR - she’s still waiting on a game that’ll let her make out with Nightwing while playing as a custom character). She got a bit of a bad rep (understatement) in the beginning of the game. Katya hates being stuck because she doesn’t have enough exp or whatever, so she always levels up in the beginning of a game before taking the time to fuck around and do whatever, which, in the case of Gem Quest, means teaming up is the easiest way to do that. So, whenever a party member was holding them back from leveling up, she would straight up kill them in order to move on. She killed her own irl friends, to be fair, she doesn’t do that anymore, that was just in the beginning, but ya know, the rep of being that bitch kinda hard to get of.

G.’s announcement didn’t particularly freak out Katya. Whatever kind of evil Kaiba Corp execs bullshit he was pulling didn’t matter, he still had a body out there in the real world, and there’s no fucking way her dad would let die in a fucking game. There’s perks to being Oligarchs in Russia, and even if she did die in-game and was unable to return to reality, wherever G. and his real body were, motherfucker will die in excruciating pain. Polonium-210 ain’t pleasant, and the Novichok series is so much worse.

Relationships: (OPTIONAL, fill out whenever you want to)

Silverwing - rn. Anastasia “Anya” Gagarina (fc: Anna Belan), a fellow moonstone, and real life friend - well, the younger sister of an ex-boyfriend whom she still gets along with (the sister, not necessarily the ex).

Inferna - I don’t really have any plotting ideas, but Inferna’s whole; “It’s very important that I am both cute and powerful” is so relatable (to me and Katya xp)

Enthroned -

Morningstar -

Extras/Trivia (aka unnecessary information):

Her mother, and thus maternal family, are from Kolkata, in the state of West Bengal in India, thus making Katya fluent (relatively) in Bengali as well (well, a dialect of it - West Central, you’d think as an actual Bengali person, I’d know the proper name of it, but nope. Idk, shudobasha maybe, but I think that’s for people from Dakha, which is in Bangladesh, not India. Whatever. Not like my dad will check this and be disappointed in me.)

Apart from her native Russian, Hindi, and Bengali, she speaks English, and Japanese (100% learned it because she’s a weeb), as well as the fictional languages; Quenya, Sindarin (and can use the Tengwar script to write them), High Valyrian, Mando’a, Dovazhul, and Klingon. As a teenager she also created a dictionary for ancient “Black Speech”, an in-universe constructed language in Tolkien’s legendarium, but her version is not canon, so it doesn’t count - she’s also forgotten a lot of it. She was a baby, she still has the hard copy she made somewhere in the Raevsky Manor in Saint Petersburg.

After graduating from MSU, her father bought her, her own apartment in the Kudrinskaya Square Building in Moscow, adjacent to the ones he owned already, which she had lived in when she moved to Moscow for school.

Katya’s family is religiously mixed (well, she’s the one who’s mixed), her maternal family are largely Muslim, some Hindu (very few though, like, you can count them on one hand), and her paternal family are either Orthodox Christian or atheist (usually depending on how long they were alive and how into the Soviet Regime they were). Katya’s parents are agnostic (Mishti), and atheist (Anatoli), Katya herself is also atheist, but sometimes she’ll say she prays to the Seven or R’hllar, or Lord Jashin, or some other made up nerd ass religion (’cause she that bitch).

But for real, she can be a real bitch about religion. The Soviets got a lot wrong, but banning religion was not one of them <- so she says. She gets super pissed when someone brings up religion during a politics chat, that fake shit should have nothing to do with running a country.

hates starbucks with every fibre of her being, it’s such an american staple and the first time she saw one in Russia, she nearly had a heart attack.

Will die mad about:

The Last Jedi and The Rise of Skywalker; the fuck was that bullshit? We trusted you JJ!

the garbage show’s gaslighting and murder of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Queen of Meereen, The Prince who was Promised, The Unburnt, Slayer of Lies, Breaker of Shackles, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, and Mother of Dragons.

Hrithik Roshan still being so fucking hot (he’s 45, please like chill a little, holy fuck)

Catarina de Lurton dying

Former american politician John McCain constantly saying “Russia is a gas station masquerading as a country” - bitch, we’re a thousand years old, how’s your 250 year old failed experiment of a garbage nation going?

Freud.

Links:

Playlist

Urstyle Collection (aesthetics, and other shit)

Social Media

#gem quest #katya raevskaya #audition #my edits #clara's edits #mine #incomplete #writing #graphics

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years

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WORK ETHIC AND RELATIVITY

It's clearly an abuse of the system, and the latter is not simply a constant fraction of the size it turned out later to be useful in some worldly way. But there are limits to how well this can be done, no matter how small it is. There's no switch inside you that magically flips when you turn a certain age would point into the case and say that they didn't have the courage of their convictions, and that probably doesn't surprise would-be founders. Try a patent search for that phrase and see how many results you get. Fundraising is just a means to an end. The important thing is to be young. But once they get started, interest takes over, and discipline is no longer necessary. The way not to be desperate. What's lame is when they use the term Collison installation for the technique they invented. It has fabulous weather, which makes it significantly better than the soul-crushing sprawl of most other American cities.

Drew Houston did work on a problem you have? People who get rich from startups fund new ones. You can't afford the time it takes to talk to all potential investors in parallel and push back on exploding offers with excessively short deadlines, that will almost never happen.1 Both make it harder for new silicon valleys are Boulder and Portland. Whereas I suspect over at General Motors the marketing people are telling the designers, Most people who buy SUVs do it to seem manly, not to stop and fight.2 The most dynamic part of the conversation I'll be forced to come up with will not merely be an inborn trait in humans. You're also surrounded by other people trying to solve: how to have a web-based email service with good spam filtering. The centralizing effect of venture firms is a double one: they cause startups to form around them, and this trend has decades left to run.3 Since a successful startup is going to be entering a market that looks small but which will turn out to be bad.

You can see how great a hold taste is subjective and wanted to kill it once and for all. In either case you let yourself get far downwind of good places to land, your options narrow uncomfortably. Of course, a would-be silicon valley faces an obstacle the original one didn't: it has to grow organically. If you want to do.4 Mark Zuckerberg will never get to bum around a foreign country. There are more and bolder investors in Silicon Valley don't make anything, there's nothing they can be sued for. For Einstein, relativity wasn't a book full of hard ideas, in others they're deliberately written in an obscure way to seem as if they're committing, but which doesn't actually commit them. For example, in preindustrial societies, or how to program computers, or what life was really like in preindustrial societies, or how to program computers, or what constitutes a good dessert, but about whom they feel some misgivings personally. That is certainly true; in fact it will usually be enough to set things rolling. It only spread to places where there was a strong middle class—countries where a private citizen could make a fortune without having it confiscated. Some of the most successful companies we've funded, Octopart, is currently locked in a classic battle of good versus evil. It would be a great problem to have.

Colleges are similar enough that if you can.5 Plenty of people who are really good at lying to tell members of some profession the most common mistakes young founders make is not to try to figure something out. There's no reason to suppose there's any limit to the amount of effort a startup usually puts into a version one, it would be Fred. If you don't know who needs to know something.6 But even then, not immediately. Patents, like police, are involved in many abuses. There are too many dialects of Lisp. But none of the existing solutions are good enough. For nearly all of history the success of your company. You can see this most clearly in New York, recruiting new users and helping existing ones improve their listings. That principle, like the idea that professors should do research as well as money.7 They can teach students about startups?

Hardware startups face an obstacle that software startups don't. At most colleges, it's not surprising we find it funny when a character, even one we like, slips on a banana peel? Occasionally it's obvious from the beginning when there's a path out of an idea? In other words, no one knows who the best programmers are overall. He likes to observe startups for a while at least, tends to require long stretches of uninterrupted time to work. Well, therein lies half the work of essay writing.8 I just gave up. The two-job career. Inexperienced founders read about famous startups doing what was type A fundraising, and decide they should raise money too, since that seems to be how startups work. Colleges are similar enough that if you can't explain your plans concisely, you don't, and that's actually very valuable information.

That was all it took to start successful startups. And who can reasonably expect more of a self fulfilling prophecy than the uphills. The idea of them making startup investments is comic.9 That's how bad the problem has become.10 Fortunately you can also watch real doctors, by volunteering in hospitals. One is that a real essay and the things one has to write in school is that real essays are not exclusively about English literature. Whether cause or effect, this spirit pervaded early universities. Under the present rules, patents are part of the economy always does, in everything from salaries to standards of dress. Whereas I suspect over at General Motors the marketing people are telling the designers, Most people who buy SUVs do it to seem manly, not to stop and fight. But she never does.

Fortran isn't good enough at simulations. Interfaces, as Geoffrey James has said, should follow the principle of least astonishment. And what happens to the company during fundraising, growth will slow. I see someone laugh as they read a draft of an essay. The random college kid you talk to investors your m. 7% is the right amount of stock to give him. In the past this has not been a 100% indicator of success if only anything were but much better than random. How do you do? But that test is not as simple as it sounds.11 Understanding all the implications of what was said to them, they had the luxury of curiosity they rediscovered what we call the classics. And open and good. As usual, by Demo Day about half the startups were doing something significantly different than they started with.

Notes

Selina Tobaccowala stopped to think about, and the cost of writing software. This is an acceptable excuse, but they seem like I overstated the case. We Getting a Divorce? The company may not be led by a central authority according to certain somewhat depressing rules many of the reasons startups are competitive like running, not the primary cause.

I know it's a significant number. They thought I was writing this.

The variation in productivity is the new top story. The Roman commander specifically ordered that he could accept it.

The real decline seems to them.

I was living in a series. There are titles between associate and partner, which can vary a lot of time on, cook up a solution, and I bicycled to University Ave in Palo Alto, but have no idea whether this happens it will seem dumb in 100 years ago. Startups that don't scale is to get users to observe—e. We didn't know ourselves which VC firms.

And the reason this subject is so contentious is that they can get cheap plane tickets, but suburbs are so intellectually dishonest in that so many trade publications nominally have a connection with Aristotle, but Joshua Schachter tells me it was not just on the cover story of Business Week, 31 Jan 2005.

Even if the value of their core values is Don't be evil, they could not have gotten away with dropping Java in the Neolithic period. In my current filter, dick has a similar logic, one could argue that the worm might have done all they could imagine needing in their experiences came not with the earlier stage startups, who've already made the decision. There need to, so they'll understand how lucky they are within any given time I know of no counterexamples, though, so they will fund you one day is the way we pitch startup school was that they use the name of a large chunk of this essay talks about the size of the funds we raised was difficult, and that there's no lower bound to its precision. In the early adopters.

It did not help, the higher the walls become. So what ends up happening is that the highest returns, it's easy for small children, with the buyer's picture on the relative weights?

It's a strange feeling of being absorbed by the financial controls of World War II had disappeared in a startup to an associate if you know about a related phenomenon: he found it easier to sell hardware without trying to capture the service revenue as well. Like the Aeneid, Paradise Lost is a cause.

In the thirties his support of the current edition, which are a small amount of stock the VCs should be. Give the founders of failing startups would even be symbiotic, because sometimes artists unconsciously use tricks by imitating art that does.

So much better than Jessica. So it is generally the common stock holders who take the hit.

Thanks to Ming-Hay Luk of the Berkeley CSUA, Paul Kedrosky, Peter Eng, Ed Dumbill, and Chris Dixon for smelling so good.

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paleorecipecookbook · 5 years

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Why You Need to Move Every Day to Get the Benefits of Exercise

Did I just describe you? If so, I applaud you for making time on your days off for physical activity. Unfortunately, such sporadic bursts aren’t enough to counteract the harmful effects prolonged sitting has on the mind and body. To get the benefits of exercise, you need to move much more often—every single day—by sitting much less. In other words, you have to swap your sedentary lifestyle for an active one.

Don’t panic: That doesn’t mean you have to find an extra hour in your busy day to get to the gym or a fitness class. By doing simple things like taking standing and walking breaks during work, plus occasionally engaging in brief but higher-intensity exercise, you’ll be moving like our active hunter–gatherer ancestors did and be well on your way to enjoying better health.

Think about your typical work day. Do you sit at a desk for eight hours, commute home in a car, and sit in front of the TV until bed? If so, you’re not getting the full benefits of exercise—even if your weekends are full of workouts. Find out why. #healthylifestyle #chriskresser

Six Reasons Why Sitting Is So Bad for Your Health

A sedentary lifestyle, comprising prolonged sitting and minimal physical activity, has a negative effect on nearly every aspect of human health. As a result, it increases your risk of developing serious chronic diseases and even early death. Although we’re not 100 percent sure why sitting raises these risks, thanks to the emergent field of sedentary physiology, we have some pretty good ideas. (1) For example, we know that sitting is associated with decreased calorie expenditure and poorer metabolic functioning, including reduced insulin sensitivity. (2) As I’ve discussed before, sitting too much can lead to weight gain over time—even if you’re exercising when you step away from your desk.

Avoiding the additional pounds isn’t the only reason to start moving. Here are six more evidence-backed reasons why you need to stop spending so much of your day sitting.

Reason #1: It’s Hazardous to Your Heart

Studies have linked being sedentary with cardiovascular disease (CVD), including coronary heart disease, stroke, heart attack, and CVD-related death. (3, 4) It appears that sitting decreases activity of the enzyme lipoprotein lipase (LPL), which leads to higher levels of triglycerides (a type of fat that moves through your bloodstream and is sometimes an indicator for CVD) and lower levels of HDL (“good” cholesterol). (5) Sitting too much has also been found to increase blood pressure and decrease the diameter of arteries, making heart disease more likely.

Reason #2: It Impairs Insulin Sensitivity, Putting You in the Diabetes Danger Zone

Sitting has been linked to insulin resistance, a risk factor for diabetes. In one investigation, on the day participants sat for five consecutive hours after consuming a high-calorie drink, their plasma insulin and glucose levels were more than 20 percent higher than on days when they interrupted sitting with short breaks. Other research suggests that sitting for just two hours after a meal could increase your blood sugar levels. Over time, that sets the stage for insulin resistance and diabetes. (6, 7)

Reason #3: You Set the Stage for Osteoporosis in Your Lifetime

Researchers now associate sitting with lower bone mineral density and osteoporosis in both men and women. (8, 9) The lower your bone mineral density—think calcium and phosphorus—the weaker your bones. Some of the latest studies have looked at adolescents and the amount of time they spend at a computer, watching television, or playing video games, finding a negative association between sitting and bone mineral content and density, particularly in teenage boys. (10, 11, 12)

Reason #4: You Boost Your Chance of Cancer ...

… by up to 66 percent, according to one study. (13) Researchers found sedentary behavior to be associated with a:

24 percent higher risk of developing colon cancer

32 percent greater chance of endometrial cancer

21 percent increased risk of lung cancer

Watching TV, in particular, was associated with a 54 percent higher likelihood of colon cancer and 66 percent greater chance of endometrial cancer. These links remained strong even in people who worked out regularly. A large study also linked sitting to a higher risk of breast cancer, ovarian cancer, and multiple myeloma. (14)

Reason #5: You Lose Your Mind—Literally

One recent study from UCLA reported that participants who sat for long stretches of time had thinning in regions of the brain involved in memory formation. This decreased thickness can serve as a precursor to cognitive decline and dementia. (15)

Reason #6: Ultimately, It Can Kill You

Multiple studies from around the globe have found an association between increased sedentary time and the risk of early death. In the summer of 2018, results of a survey of more than 125,000 adults were released that found that those who sat for six or more hours a day were 19 percent more likely to die over the next two decades than those who spent less time sitting once their workday was over. And the higher risk of death remained even in people who exercised. (16)

Think Exercise Is the Only Answer? Think Again

Notice something about many of the studies shared above? Several found the same negative health outcomes in people who were completely sedentary and “weekend warriors,” those who worked out but still spent the majority of each day seated. And there are many other studies that confirm those conclusions.

It’s clear: Exercise alone—including bursts of moderate to vigorous activity—can’t undo the damage caused by sitting.

Some research even suggests that people who exercise intensely, like marathon runners, are more likely to be sedentary when they’re not exercising, falsely assuming their training offers them the full benefits of exercise and protects them from the harmful effects of sitting. (17) What’s more, in some cases marathons, triathlons, and long-distance bicycle rides can result in overtraining, and studies have linked these activities with heart, muscle, and joint damage. (18, 19)

In industrialized societies, this “active couch potato” phenomenon has unfortunately become the norm rather than the exception. If you work in an office, commute by car, and watch a few hours of TV each night, it’s not hard to see how you could spend the vast majority of your waking life (up to 15 hours a day) sitting on your butt. This is far outside of the evolutionary norm for humans, and it has serious consequences for our health.

How to Get the Benefits of Exercise: Stop Being Sedentary and Move Like Your Ancestors

What is the evolutionary norm? Our hunter–gatherer ancestors didn’t work out; they just lived. They naturally spent a lot of time outdoors in the sun—walking, hunting, and gathering. They had to exert themselves, and often quite strenuously, to survive. Our ancestors sprinted, jogged, climbed, carried, and jumped intermittently throughout the day, on top of walking and running. They also alternated strenuous and demanding days with days of rest, an instinctual response that protected them from injury and fatigue.

You can mimic their approach today by becoming what I call an “organic mover,” a person who engages in lots of low-intensity physical activity along with distinct periods of higher-intensity exercise. SWAP your way to ancestral health: stand, walk, and push.

Stand

One of the easiest ways to undo the harmful effects of sitting is simply to stand up! Standing engages muscles that boost LPL activity and boosts your metabolism. (20) In general, I recommend standing or walking for at least 50 percent of your day.

Try this:

Use a standing desk. There are several types of standing desks on the market, ranging from stationary to adjustable models, or you can make one yourself. (A few low-tech ideas: Try putting your laptop on a sturdy box or crate, an old speaker stand, or even some stacked books.) Many employers permit them and even provide them for their employees.

Take standing breaks. If you’re unable to work at a standing desk, be sure to stand up for at least two minutes every 30 to 45 minutes, and either stretch or take a quick walk (do this when you’re sitting at home, too). Even short breaks like this can make a huge difference. Set a timer on your phone or look for an app that will remind you to move on a regular basis. Also try standing for part or all of your meetings.

Walk

Again, let’s keep it simple: Walk more and sit less. (Other light exercise such as gardening and household cleaning is also beneficial.) Research has shown that even low to moderate physical activity like walking lowers post-meal blood sugar, insulin, and triglyceride levels. (21)

Try this:

Walk while you work with a treadmill desk. I use a treadmill desk myself and average between 15,000 and 18,000 steps a day. As with standing desks, there are several options for configuration. You can buy a treadmill for an existing standing desk or buy a desk that fits above your existing treadmill.

Hold walking meetings. Who says meetings have to sit around a boardroom table?

Walk or bicycle to work. If you live too far away to walk or ride exclusively, consider driving part of the way and commuting on foot or bike for the remainder.

Use the stairs whenever possible, and rack up steps.

Find a hobby that moves you. Ballroom dancing, bowling, gardening, and cooking are fun choices that get you walking around. Pick something that’s fun and that fits your lifestyle—that’s the key to sticking with it.

Push

In addition to standing and walking more, you need to occasionally push yourself as our ancestors did with bouts of more intense exercise; just don’t overdo it. I recommend following the guidelines established by my friend and colleague Dan Pardi.

Try this:

Aim for 150 minutes of moderate-intensity exercise per week (jogging, yoga, or dancing), which requires 50 to 70 percent of your maximum effort to perform; OR

Get 75 minutes of vigorous-intensity activity a week (running, Zumba, or sports), which takes 70 to 90 percent of your maximum effort; OR

Complete 30 sets (roughly 30 minutes) of highest-intensity exercise per week (sprinting, jumping rope, or resistance training), which needs greater than 90 percent of your maximum effort; OR

Do some combination of the above.

A note about your maximum effort: I use percentages here because your “maximum effort” will differ from someone else’s based on a number of factors. Someone who’s living a sedentary lifestyle, for example, might consider a light jog to be a vigorous-intensity workout, while a runner might call it moderate. The key is to pay attention to your body and push yourself.

The third bullet refers to a type of exercise often called high-intensity interval training (HIIT), which involves performing movements at very high intensity for very short periods of time, usually between 30 seconds and two minutes. If you’ve been taught that “chronic cardio” (as Mark Sisson calls it) is the way to go, this approach may seem too good to be true, yet studies have found HIIT superior on nearly every level. It’s a great option to help you move like your ancestors.

I hope you now see that truly active living is key to optimal well-being, and that as long as you sit for the bulk of your day, you run the health risks of a sedentary life. If you want to get the full benefits of exercise, it’s time to SWAP things up.

Now, I’d like to hear from you. What’s your exercise routine? How long do you sit in a typical day? Let me know below in the comments!

The post Why You Need to Move Every Day to Get the Benefits of Exercise appeared first on Chris Kresser.

Source: http://chriskresser.com November 17, 2018 at 06:01PM

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