Pain in the Time of Luck - Pistols at Dawn Chapter 23

 March brings us a 13,000 word update. It's still quite early in the month so there may well be a second update near the end. In case you've forgotten what happened in the previous chapter, you didn't miss much: there was the conclusion of a foiled murder plot, some Black Swan ballet rip offs, and Vince the blonde anime Templar has a twin. Sprinkle this with a blossoming romance plot between our PeeOhCee Gypsy Crusader and her anime Immortal time traveler, and you have a story that continues to chug on long past its due date.

The word count stands at 223,666. Ominous.

Ah………shit.

Here we go again.

The unidentified, armed woman enthusiastically fastened her view to me; periwinkle diamonds sharpened to take my whole figure in, and a cut across her lips that resembled a removed-stitch-like scar.

Les doesn't know how colour-coded diamonds work. There are no 'periwinkle diamonds'. There are blue diamonds and purple diamonds, with some brilliant shades in between. For this you'd be better off describing a 'light blue diamond with violet hues'. 

These descriptions confuse me. What's wrong with writing 'she had a stitch-like scar across her lips'? Let me guess: you wanted it to sound more sophisticated than it was?  

Dark clothes with a braid that nearly coruscated against them when it ran down to the middle of her back. Bands of various belts across her wide, flat chest and her square hips, I could only fathom what she carried on her person if she was bold enough to have an axe strapped onto her. The involved, stupefied spectators susurrated on either side of us, obviously and understandably conflicted if any of this was authentic.

Let's be real honest here: you are a hired Assassin. You're going to an opera house and you want to blend in. To do this you look as ostentatious as possible with the flashiest gems a person could ever have. Imagine wearing clothes that would upstage Marie fucking Antoinette. Everyone is going to notice you. They're going to remember you as the chick who was decked out like a chandelier. 

Why, oh why, are you using an axe for an Assassination? Axes are blunt tools meant for chopping up limbs and cutting through bone. You can't possibly think this Fate/Stay Night cosplay was going to work, did you?

"Before you, madame, stands a hero that has dealt her hand against the banes in this world." She scanned the seats around her while she twirled the axe in her steady grip.

 No, I read a 'Look at how flashy I am!' bitch who thinks she can out-do 50 Cent. What's next? Is she going to start monologuing? 

I lower the clutched daggers, studying her comfortable posture. She takes note of this, and her mockery turns into a tease.

Elysia should really learn that you never let a villain gloat. Kill them when you have the chance. I guess she never really learned anything from her time in Tuscany or when she was humping Link on his horse.  

“Now who exactly are you? A friend? Or foe?” She points the axe to me, her feet spread to aid her confident pose and emphasize the dangerous smirk stretching, “You wouldn't want to keep the audience waiting...they did come for a show after all."

Pfft. She knows who Elysia is. If she doesn't, she didn't go into this rodeo prepared. No one in their right mind would dress as vibrant as this idiot did. She's standing there completely still, gloating, and everyone is witnessing this charade. I'd also like to note that Arno and Clement and Stephen are also watching this, doing nothing.

Clearly, a whole hoard of frantic and helpless victims wouldn’t exactly be swept under the rug, nor be ignored by the public. She knew this, I did too. And so did Clement, Stephen and Arno….

Then why the fuck did you get up during the middle of a performance with a literal axe to grind? You just couldn't wait until the mute was home alone? I bet the plot twist here for this public massacre was to show how 'terrifying' these Neo Templars are.

I straightened my back, and pulled out the hidden, arm-length sword strapped to my leg underneath my dress, “I’m your conscience,” that made several others gawk and sit up excitedly.

Oh, I see how it is. The audience thinks this is all part of the show. It would be clever if it was written by a competent author. But no one would really believe an Assassin like not-Vince here.  

She raised a brow, intrigued, "A conscience that has come to grips of this man world; a treacherous obstacle with a severe cruelty that would taint any reflection of innocence as black as the sea depths.”

Ah yes, the Verbose Villain. They don't actually have a personality so they just bog down the scene with a thesaurus. You'd think you were having a séance for Cthulu. 

I held up the sword, pointing it to her in a fencing position, “Rest assured, you are no hero in it. Not even close.”

"The famous red-herring claims to know what a hero is?"

I doubt Les even knows what a Red Herring is, because this entire work constitutes a red Herring: she promised to 'rewrite' the plot of AC Unity and give every Templar and Assassin a better, bigger role and yet she did no such thing. She deceived her audience. So to see an NPC villain lampshade this character is amusing to me. I'd love to give Les a mirror so she could self-reflect.  

“I wonder what exactly you know about me.”

She smiles, chuckles broadly at this, “Enough to paint a picture.”

Not-Vance asked if Elysia was a friend or foe a few paragraphs back. Now she knows exactly who she is. Why bother with this tête-á-tête?

The crescendo of tense violins resounded from ahead, Arno seeming to urge the conductor to play along and advising Fran to exit the stage as he grabbed her hand. However-

“I suppose that makes me the loyal subordinate!” a blonde individual spread his arms out, smiling broadly to the glaring Arno as he appeared from the side of the stage. “Dear Vincent at your service. You have something of interest to me!”

You mean to tell me that while Vince's twin was having this monologue, Arno didn't notice Vince enter the side stage? Either he has exceedingly poor peripheral vision or his skills are lowered on purpose. I'm going with both. It's as if Les completely forgot he has Eagle Vision. In fact, I have never seen him use it throughout the duration of this story. Not once. 

As for this 'interest', we don't even know who Fran really is or what her purpose is. Arno didn't bother telling Elysia that she knew who the Assassins were and that her brother spoke to one. This whole Black Swan impromptu session could have been avoided.

“You’re going to have to get through me first,” the Dorian threatened and pulled Fran behind him. Hastening Clement did his best to push himself along the wall as the audience now clapped and urged the play’s continuation.

I'm glad he suddenly realized his importance!  

“I’m also part of the play-EXCUSE ME EXCUSE ME-“ Stephen muttered rapidly, trying to reach Arno’s direction from the other side.

Look, if you need to make this announcement about how special you are, you are one SHIT Assassin. All this fucker is good for is getting ass-clapped by his Japanese vampire boyfriend. 

“Ready, dear Val?” Vincent pried off something from his waist, twirling it like a loose pistol in his grip, “Let’s give ‘em a show!”

"You always know when to steal the spotlight." The twin in front of me remarked with a snort. The horns picked up, along with the pitch of the violins that rapidly swayed within their capable masters’ grips.

Fucking Christ. This is really one shitty anime. There is no way this woman read this and concluded that this was a great thing to put in here. It has nothing to do with Assassin's Creed. Even if this was an original work it'd be God awful. No wonder most of the fandom on AO3 is giving this work shade. It sucks.  

I growled, “You’re going to regret this.”

You had the opportunity to kill her while she was gloating. You should have learned how to deal with monologuing villains when you were with Ezio. Don't ever let them finish a sentence - kill them and be done with it. Do the investigations later.

Val laughed heartily at that, “Only if you hit me hard enough!” She lunged, and I ducked from her hazardous swing. The audience gasped out from the close hit, some clapping enthusiastically at the “realism” of it. I advanced with a downward slash, only to have it thoroughly blocked. Sparks ignited at the harsh assault. She danced with my cold glare, and her pupils shrank in wild captivation.

Logically her pupils would expand, not shrink. Adrenaline makes them bigger so they can absorb more stimuli. Unless, of course, you're shining a light in her eyes? It'd be mighty useful. 

I'd also like to add Val here is using an axe, a heavier, blunter weapon against Elysia's thin, arm-length sword. Just because she has inhuman strength, doesn't mean she isn't going to have a hard time wielding it. The power imbalance would be obvious. And since she's immortal/inhuman, just tackle the bitch and cave in her skull. 

“For a second, I didn’t believe him,” she revealed. She pushed hard, and I had to reaffirm my stance from her sudden strength despite the Twilight accompanying me.

You are immortal. You can throw people off of buildings and kick weapons out of people's hands. You have a Dark Energy force surrounding you, and you can't beat this anime ripoff? Christ Almighty. Why were you made Mentor, again? 

I gritted my teeth, and urged with a whisper, “Where is Shay?!”

How can she hear you when there's an orchestra in the background?

“Foolish to keep him in your thoughts when you have me to deal with!” she kicked forcefully to knock me on my back. I rapidly swung my legs upwards to avoid the thrown axe splintering the floor. I struck downwards to catch her kneeling form, though only being able to block Val’s upwards strike when she had recovered the axe in her swipe. The bestial, incited Twilight steadied my arms to make the sword firm against Val’s unforgiving form.

 How did she manage to kick you? You would have been able to see her generate the kick. Were you just standing there? C'mon, man! You've got all this manic Dark Energy and you cannot break her axe? 

I really just think Les wants to make Elysia look like Jon Snow fighting a White Walker.

Meanwhile, Arno made several attempts to secure Fran to the back of the stage, but all were met with Vincent’s interference. The mercenary’s swift jabs and agile sweeps made it nearly impossible to do so. With each recovery did Arno recollect his stance, until finally Clement was beside him with small axe drawn.

Two years. Two years Arno has been with the Assassins. He's been trained not just with Bellec, but with Elysia. You are deliberately dumbing down his skills so he can be upstaged by these nobodies. 

I'm glad Stephen Universe can get his five seconds of fame, though.

“Ahh so you’re also an axe-wielder!” Vincent grinned. “Bet you can’t fight just as good as my sister.”

Well your sister thinks it's a splendid idea to go to an assassination with an axe and diamonds that'd make Princess Diana look poor. 

“Go!” Clement motioned to Arno and advanced with his swiping axe to confront the nimble assailant. Vincent, fluid as a ribbon, curved downward and tripped Clement behind him. Clement hit the ground with a roll, Stephen arriving from right side of the stage with three daggers between his fingers. With a swift throw did they fly-

Don't use knives. Use a gun. Harder to dodge bullets. Or just grab and instrument and shove him inside a tuba.

“Haha!” Vincent threw his upper body back, purchased his hands on the varnished floor, and kicked upward to make himself stand upright. “Naughty, we haven’t even introduced ourselves.” He tucked something out of his person, tanned animal hide and all; it looked almost broken when the man twisted and cocked it like a gun. Arno’s eyes widened, and he gripped the pale and anxious Fran who was yanked back from her sprint-

This is literally the Matrix. Good God. I'd love to know what kind of weapon uses 'tanned animal hide'. Definitely not a wood stock, and it's not a revolver. Does Les even know what weapons were used during this time?

Why did he do a flip when that would've meant he had to let go of his gun?

A small BAM! went when Clement’s axe disrupted from behind Vincent, the sound masked under the heightening orchestra. Arno inspected the pierced prop for a second before focusing on evading further detection from Vincent while Clement and Stephen did their best to disrupt his intrusions. The flustered audience divided their attention back and forth to keep track of the ongoing conflicts. 

 Wait, what? How are you avoiding detection when you are in a literal firefight? Your assailant isn't just going to forget about you! Did you just let your target run away?

“Get out of my way!” I fiercely countered against Val’s stone threshold.

She wasn’t as evasive, but her top-form stance rivaled against my assaults well enough, “That defeats the purpose of keeping you occupied!”

It has been obvious from the get-go that she has been a distraction. Elysia should have figured this out. This whole thing was obvious as soon as Arno never told Elysia that Fran knew her brother's attacker dressed like them. Seriously. 

These long diatribes within fights needs to stop. When you are focused like this, there really is no time to gloat. Unless you're Nick Diaz. Then you can do whatever the fuck you want.

The iron and metals clashed again, and a dangerous dance enveloped us; close swings of her axe were parallel to my lunges, and I quickly grew frustrated of her blockage to reach the stage. I sharpened my view, and the Twilight obliged to pick up my momentum. A slash here and a thrust there—

Hey. You know you can, uh, jump, right? You can jump really, really high. You climbed on top of a Cathedral when Ezio and his recruits were chasing you in the previous story. You can literally pogo-stick over this nut.

“Tch!” Val seethed with a vicious smile, withdrawing her cut arm, and failing to butt me away with the handle of her axe. “That’s not fair, so let’s keep you occupied.” She pulled out two smoke bombs, and grinned wickedly to me.  

My eyes widened, “What the hell—"

“Think fast!”

So. You didn't notice the smoke bombs on her belt when you were eyeing her up; you didn't even think they would be used, despite smoke bombs in a crowded, heated theatre would be a bad idea. I have lost the plot and so have the authors.

She struck them down, and the smog filled the carpet aisle. A considerable amount of space was left between us as I struggled to diffuse through the smog. My nose picked up the ash stench...but something was wrong. Something thickset clung to the inner chambers of my nostrils, and my eyes shut tightly to repel away the watery exterior spewing. My vision warped, and suddenly I couldn’t make out Val’s form. I felt so sluggish, like my legs were wading through water.

OK, this is something Elysia should have learned when she spoke to James' dad: she is no longer an anomaly. There are people that know who and what she is, and conveniently have the proper chemicals to 'dampen' a supernatural ability. She has been alive for centuries and never once thought this was possible. 

Definitely the height of arrogance, what can I say? 

Get up!

Did she just incapacitate my Twilight senses?

Focus, Elysia!

They know what you are. They know you are not human. You had the means and the connections to learn whether anyone was plotting against you. You could have asked Orfeo or the Japanese vampire. Speaking of, is Orfeo going to help or did he run after the train?

I trudged forth, trying to wave off the smoke as the sword felt twice as heavy in my hold. My body wavered to and fro, nails digging into the cushioned seats to keep my upright posture, and even feeling some of the audience’s hands push me to continue the spectacle. I couldn’t object, and the numbed sound of the sword dragging across the floor hovered behind me.  

What I don't understand here is that Elysia is incapacitated and the Templars have a prime opportunity to kill her. If she doesn't have access to her 'Twilight', she presumably cannot regenerate or be resurrected. Kill her now and spare us the plight of this massacred story. But alas, we'll never be granted this mercy.

I managed to reach the section of the nervous musicians, though my knees gave way. I didn’t let go of the sword, attempting to stand myself up with it. My arms felt so heavy. Why did I feel so sleepy?

Clement and Stephen held the siblings at bay, whose backs were turned to the crowd, and faces menacingly shadowed to keep their true intentions curtained.

Inventory check: Clement and Stephen have swords, axes and throwing knives, but not the chemicals Arno has access to in-game. No smoke bombs, no frag grenades (prototypes did exist then), no tranquilizers. They do not have any of the lethal or non-lethal equipment on them that was and is required for Assassins. Needless to say, Elysia set them up for failure. Par for her course.

Are they 'menacingly shadowed', if there are lights everywhere? Again, you have weapons at your disposal. Whack them with the tuba.

“No need to drag this out,” Vincent sighed, twirling the mini-gun in his hand around his digit. “She knows what we want.”

But she can't talk and can't write. Without an interpreter, she cannot help you. What's the point? Do you have a Psycho Mantis to read her mind? 

“Not a chance!” Clement growled, Stephen beside him with daggers between his palms.

Enough with the daggers. They won't work. Get a gun. 

“You’ll regret another step!” Stephen added, and the loud, low drums created a tense beat beneath the stage. They were, they were in trouble. Arno, Stephen and Clement were in trouble.

They are in trouble because, once again, you prepared them for failure. Stephen and Clement have clearly never fought anyone with an axe or encountered hidden guns before. They do not have any of the sidearms like the Phantom Blade, and Arno is left to carry all of the weight on his shoulders. No wonder these Assassins were wiped out so easily.

It's not arrogance that doomed them, but pure idiocy.  

Fran was in trouble.

We’re….we all are….

Alright, where's Orfeo? Can't wait for him to fire up the ovens.

“I still don’t know why you picked me.”

I don't know either, man. 

The sunset was nice. So red. Like fire.

“I don’t know either.”

He smiles. That gentle, knowing smile.

“Yet, here we are.”

“Yes, here we are.”

This drug is amazing if it's making you sluggish, rendering you mortal and makes you hallucinate. Wow.

My eyes waver, and they lock to the sword’s hilt. Then, the reflection, I see the reflection of my eyes there.

We were all in trouble.

And whose fault is that? I can think of one person who focused more on her clothes and date night than she did preparing for a mission.

“You didn’t deny my request.”

If I didn’t do something-

“I did not.”

If I didn’t get up-

“So what does this mean?”

I'll gladly tell you what it means. It means this story has gone on for longer than it's worth, and the author just doesn't know when to stop. These characters are now comical in every action, every word, and every breath they take. They aren't comparable to human lives at all. It's a Robot Chicken Pinko block sketch without the satire on modern culture. 

I shut my eyes. My head shakes. The audience behind has grown silent.

“Damn it, get up!!” a familiar voice. My hold tightens, and my watered Twilight spikes at that. At the agitated Darkness lingering from the balcony behind me that calls to it so lecherously. “GET UP!”

The drums and violins beat as one, and it turns almost feeble from the crowd chanting the same words over and over again, “Get up!! Get up!! GET UP!!”

Ain't that nice? Your boyfriend watched this whole charade and didn't help you once. Didn't help your recruits rescue a mute woman from her would-be kidnappers. You sat in your private opera box, watching this unfold, and you're now acting as a Number One fan?

Amazing. And you know what? She still fucks him. That's the best part.

I spring forth, stepping briefly onto the small platform (alerting the yelping conductor momentarily) and landing on the edge of the stage with a stumble. This garnered Val and Vincent’s attention, and the concerned eyes of my students.

You could've done that before you were drugged. Just one little leap. 

“You’re still walking?” Val scoffs like she caught me disobeying her word. “That was a heavy dose of ashwood; should’ve made you drop where you stood.”

“Whatever it takes to stop you,” I growl.

So far, we know two things about Elysia: 

1. She's allergic to silver.

2. Ashwood can kill her.

And she went centuries without knowing both.

Amazin'.

“You can’t stop what’s already in the works.” Val pointed her axe toward the tense Arno and Fran, ignoring both Stephen and Clement’s advancing step to keep her distant. “A dying nation, blackened with the riot fires of the streets, and beneath the smoke lies the truth of the oppressed! The deceitful can no longer cower in the shadows.” She stood practically at the edge of the center stage, and threw her arms opened to the attending onlookers.

Oh please. Enough with this rah-rah revolutionary pep talk. It's what? 1791? The revolution has gone on for two years. The Bastille is a pile of bricks. The royal family has fled. Other European nations have declared war against France. You'd never know it if you paid really close attention to this story. You'd never know this was actually set in Revolutionary France. 

None of this talk would be new to anyone. They would have heard the talks of Robespierre, Danton and Marat. Does Les not even know who the Jacobins were?

“We all stand before one flag, yet a royal wedge divides our alliance. We all slave and work and hunger for a change. You know who doesn’t?” Val gestures her hand backwards toward where Arno and Fran cautiously stood, “Those in the high crown! Who dance and sing and carry on in their privileged lives! Who don’t worry about tomorrows, who don’t sacrifice like the common man!”

Oh for fuck's sake. You know this has a modern tilt to it. Once again, this takes place in 1791. We're not in 1789 anymore, unless Les decided she turned back the clock because she honestly thinks Ben Franklin was in any mood to travel. At this point, even the nobility was split between joining the new National Assembly or having their wealth confiscated. This speech might've worked pre-National Assembly, but not now. 

The once unified crowd suddenly murmurs, and arguments spew while the music intensified in its low notes. Vincent points his weapon to the shuffling men to keep them in place. Arno isn’t afraid to hide his glower, still tucking Fran behind him as they occupied the cross stand. Vincent chuckles at that, and to the two who kept them blocked.

You know what happens when villains are monologuing? They aren't paying attention. So do your job and, oh I don't know, Assassinate them. 

Val turns to me, and I take a step back, inspecting her wavering weapon before it targeted the center of my chest, “Do you stand before the common man? Enslaved your mind to the royals and elites? Who tell you what to do, what to believe in?? What do you believe in, my Conscience?”

I get it. They're making it a revolutionary play. Asking if she's a Republican or a Royalist. 

She votes a straight blue ticket, anyways. Even her dead grandma.

We work in the Dark, to serve the-

“I stand for the truth in the Light.” The music faltered, and a large drum echoed with low, faint cymbals. Like a beating heart. “While you stand beneath a fallacy of righteousness.”

Lady, you don't even stand for knowledge. How the fuck did you not know what your own weaknesses were and were naïve enough to think your enemies would never figure them out? 

She throws her head back at that, “Your Light is the fallacy. How ridiculous. How naïve and narrow-minded!”

I readied my sword again, “Prove me wrong, then.”

This reads almost exactly like Les' Twitter feed. You'd think she was referencing AOC and one of her staged photo bombs here. Then you hide in a bathroom for six hours.

“With pleasure!”

As if we were never interrupted, Val takes my hand back at our previous strut, and works my legs to make sure I can keep up. Our boots practically tap in tune with the music, and I’m almost sure she’s doing it on purpose for the hell of it. The axe strikes down again, and I sidestep to avoid it; she chuckles at my twirl, and meets me head on. Our chests are practically touching, the axe shaking as the sword skillfully holds it in place above our heads.

While this is happening, Orfeo the loyal boyfriend is watching from the opera box and Arno and his butt buddies are standing there being taunted by the other blonde twin. 

Bad fight choreography mixed with terrible dialogue really won't give you the effect you want.

“I like a strong woman, it’s a shame,” her smile darkens.

“I could say the same thing,” I retort. We clash metal numerous times until once again I’m equally giving back the same pressure as she is. She meets me straight in my gaze.

A dear shame that this title belongs to neither of you. There aren't any redeeming qualities for one, and one thinks wearing diamond studded armour is suitable. But hey, you gotta love these Kingdom Hearts scenes.  

“How is that ashwood doing in your lungs?” she quipped as she pushed another step forward

I steadied my arm, looking at her past the edge of the straw hat, “You will meet your downfall if you stick around with Shay Cormac. Whatever it is he’s planning; I will make sure it doesn’t come to fruition.”

It's been established Elysia is allergic to silver and ashwood, but if she has enough 'inner strength' she can cough up the toxic substance and get right back to normal. I wonder if Les knows that ash trees are found all over Europe? 

Now, for this Shay Cormac plot. There's no need for this gloating because A) Elysia has no idea who the fuck he is and B) she has done nothing since James' death to adequately prepare for Shay. You should have some 'idea' of what he's planning, especially since Arno's 'sister' is the up and coming head of the French Templar Order. This should not be hard.

Instead of gloating and having this monologue, you could kill pseudo-Samus Aran right now. With a bullet to the head.

"Tch--you have no power over that," she forces her weight. The floor creaks, and my eyes shot down momentarily to catch the lining of a trap door. The bodies beside shift, and I could see Stephen signal something to me.

“It’ll be your doom!” I distract her.

“So be it!”

Protip: when you write that you have 'no power' over something, that normally means that said thing is absolutely going to be destroyed. As the saying goes, 'If the situation was hopeless, their propaganda would not be necessary.' If you also need to say that going against something will be 'your doom', it likely won't be as dangerous as you hype it up to be. This dialogue is...well, take a look at it. Long and hard.

"Now!" Arno commands. Clement moves fast, and his body is a ramming bull compared to Vincent’s lean figure when he collides his shoulder against his side. Stephen rolls across his comrade’s wide back, and plants a heavy kick against Vincent’s grunting chest. The twin staggers, and I move with precision. I drop the sword in my hand immediately to latch onto the striking axe’s handle, alerting Val from my sudden offense position. My hands meet her clenched fists.

Why didn't you do this when Vince was gloating? He's doing Matrix-level moves and you're standing there watching him? If he's lean, and not that physically strong, him gloating in front of a guy who could be a linebacker is not a good idea. If these two are working together, why hasn't Vince made an attempt against Elysia?

“Think fast!” I exclaim, and deliver a headbutt against her forehead. She staggers, and I stare past the red flare pulsing in my eyes. The twins bump each other with a lazy tumble, Val catching Vincent before they can topple over. The look of surprise is fleeting when Fran and Arno pull down a lever behind the curtain, and the trap door opens. The two yelp out, and hit the hidden floor below. The crowd bursts into a thunderous applause as we rush to the opening when suddenly-HISS!!

Heh. I knew that trap door would be used for something. See? It's like a Looney Tunes skit!

You could have used your Hidden Blade when you head butted her, you know. If you're close enough to grab her, you're close enough to plunge a blade into her heart.

The pit sprouts from the same, ashy smog as before, as I remain back while both Stephen and Clement inspect the empty pit of wood and broken debris of stored prop work.

“They’re gone!” Stephen alerted.

“The back alley, that’s where it leads out!” Arno hints swiftly as he grips Fran’s hand to go to the front of the stage. I got the cue and cut across backstage with Clement and Stephen in tow. The music swells to its final melody, and applause thunders inside the second we rush out to the dim pathway of the structure.

This is really something. Yes, you got rid of the twins, but you also let them deliberately escape. I'm not too surprised at this because Elysia did stand still and stare at Shay while he was aiming at her. In direct view. 

Now, you let this pair of dastardly twins get away - knowing full well what your weakness is. Does that sound like a smart thing to do?

“Which way?” Clement lowered his axe, almost spinning in place of the numerous possibilities of their escape. There was no way I could detect them in this condition.

Psst. Hey. Arno has a thing called Eagle Vision. Just ask him to use it.

“Leave it,” I advise, and seat myself on a set crate near the door. They take note of this, Stephen being the one to put a hand on my shoulder.

Why? You just let two would-be Assassins get away, and are no closer to figuring out why they want to kill Fran. Are you just going to let her go about her life unprotected?  

“Are you okay? For a second, you had us worried.”

“I’m fine, I’ll be fine,” I confirmed, giving a firm nod. “That could’ve gotten a lot worse; good job everyone for acting accordingly.”

Not really. You took in a lungful of toxic ash that debilitated your abilities (despite not even considering Europe is coated with ash trees) and couldn't knock over a woman coated in diamonds wielding a huge axe. Let's ALSO considering how your boy-toy, also an immortal, did not jump in to help. Everyone just stood around and watched. 

Truly, you are the most incompetent Assassins I have ever met.

“Heck yeah, we did it!” Stephen threw his arms up, giving a sigh of relief. “That was some great acting, they totally bought it, yeah?”

'Yeah my mentor almost died and I failed in my duties but YEAH DUDE WHAT A SHOW!' 

He nudged Clement at this who rubbed the same spot a second after, “I would hope so. Though….it still doesn’t answer why both of them were after Fran.”

I found my footing, and addressed the two with a firm expression, “That’s what we’re finally going to find out.”

You know you could just ask Arno, right? Fran told him that her brother was killed by a man in a hood. You could have deduced it was not one of your own, and kept an eye out for the target. Better yet, this could have been solved had Arno used his Eagle Vision. Because that's not important or anything.

The theater was cleared out within the hour, and once its doors were closed to the public did we Fran feel comfortable enough to tell us the truth.

She should have done that when Arno spoke with her. She knew what would happen. Instead, she'll be a random NPC forgotten in the next few chapters, in a semi-murder mystery plot that did nothing to move the plot forward.  

“It’s okay,” Arno reminded her gently. “Whenever you’re ready.” She took his sincere encouragement kindly, and unraveled the front of her dress. There, she tugged out thin envelopes that almost blended with the seams of her one-piece.

Wow, they didn't get ruined from her sweat? Amazing. 

“Why did you hide them there?” Arno rashly asked.

“She willingly put them there because she knew they would try to try to shoot her.” Fran held them out to me, and I took the thin packets, eying to Rose for confirmation. “And it would destroy the letters.”

The costume designer agreed, her arm wrapped around Fran’s, “Exactly.”

They would still be ruined by sweat and general wear and tear. Blood may blot the ink but it wouldn't destroy the contents, per se. You can still copy the writing once the blood dries. Unless they were aiming to disembowel her.

Fran gestured a sentence to Rose who nodded in understanding, “You’re welcome to read the note, but we will take our leave. Franziska and some of the other performers will be leaving France to pursue their dreams somewhere else. But before you do...”

Not really. Fran will go off to fuckoffity land and we'll never see her again. Another Red Herring in the bucket.  

Fran gestured a sentence to Rose who nodded in understanding, “You’re welcome to read the note, but we will take our leave. Franziska and some of the other performers will be leaving France to pursue their dreams somewhere else. But before you do...”

I still don't understand why you're hosting entire ballets in Revolutionary France in 1791. It's flat out dangerous, especially since Fran is not ethnically French. She should have stayed in Austria. 

Fran silently glided herself aside, and faced the perplexed Arno. Before he could ask, she cupped his face like a porcelain doll, and thumbed across his sparkling cheek. She leaned, and pecked his cheeks fleetingly.

“Thank you, Arno, for keeping her safe,” Rose smiled at the last translation, Fran turning to the rest of us to bow her head one last time.

The Dorian beamed gently, resting his hand on his chest and giving a generous bow, “The pleasure was all mine. Take care, Fran. I hope your dreams comes true.” She smiled just the same.

He learned ballet for letters he could have easily just stole. Ho hum. Muh plot. Muh complications.

Rose, Fran and other performers bid us farewell, and the theater closed its doors for the rest of the evening. We relaxed ourselves against a lamppost a few blocks down the street to avoid the eyes of any pedestrians.

Rose Bertin, btw, stays in France. She designed dresses for the future Empress Josephine. I hope Les knows that.

“Before you all question me-“ I cut in to the three students keenly shooting their glances to me, “Orfeo is well aware of Assassins and Templars; way before we met.”

“…..Fair,” Stephen replied, though a tight strain held his eyes as he examined Orfeo once alongside Clement (who either might or might’ve not been convinced).

I opened the letters, but what I found…..:

That's nice, but he still did nothing to help you. He just watched. He could have easily shot one of the twins with a weapon. You could have used your Hidden Blade. But whatever. 

The people grow restless, and I hear there is anarchy unfolding in the courts. It is only a matter of time before this gets out of hand. We must act.

 

I have made contact with a group of Austrians. This is a sign to prepare yourself. In return, I will make sure you and your sister are safe out of harm’s way.

 

Thank you for your patience. The restlessness grows more by the day. Please wait for news of my next letter.

 

Our next step is coming faster than expected. The Royal Family is aware. The King of France thanks you for your service.

 

I exhaled, and folded the letters up, “They’re all signed by Mirabeau,” to give them to Clement to read over with his own eyes. A terse silence unfolds, and almost immediately—

I hope Les realizes the Flight to Varennes would happen in June of that year. Unless there is a specific reason Fran's brother is involved in said plot, why would Mirabeau care for him? 

“...What?” Arno exhaled. “It’s because of Mirabeau...Fran’s brother died?”

We don't know what purpose he served, or why - but the best answer is he served nothing important and is meant to be the fork in the road. What purpose does a random woman in ballet have with Austrians? Her ethnicity alone doesn't cut it. What is it all for? 

“I hate being that guy-“ Stephen jerked his hand out, and this foreign look of unbending seriousness enveloped his face, “-but this is now obviously something much bigger than Fran. Mirabeau is contacting these people for something. You don’t contact citizens for nothing, why wouldn’t he involve Assassins in this?”

Wow, that's certainly a million dollar question! Glad you asked. Now, are you going to ask why your Mentor didn't teach you how to fight properly or who the fuck Shay Cormac was? Because you're going to need a major refund from life, my friend.  

The silence grips us, and its heavily unsettling.

“Because…he didn’t want to,” I exhaled, rubbing my thumb against the folded letters given back to me by the eerily-silent Clement. “Vincent and Val were here because they knew Fran’s brother came into contact with him; something tells me Shay knew about it too. In some way, shape or form.”

So the solution here is to send a pair of ostentatious siblings to kill a random woman's brother, which absolutely would not gather any attention and would not involve Assassin investigation at all. Since Mirabeau is involved, there's added risk and intrigue, because a Mentor of the Brotherhood doesn't seek out randoms on a whim. 

You would think the Templars would be smart. That Shay would be smart. That they would set up an accident where a prop would fall on Fran, making it look totally normal. Normal enough not to warrant suspicion right away. But nooooo..you send a Matrix-era twin, and one wearing diamond studded armour with a giant axe to an opera house. With special bombs that can paralyze an immortal.

You're not aiming for an Assassination. You're aiming for a bloodbath. You just gave your entire game away.

“Mirabeau is a public figure who is known to work for the King of France,” Clement recalled, crossing his arms rigidly on his broad chest. “You…you don’t think….”

"Isn’t it obvious?" Orfeo's voice chimed in. The group turns to him leaning against the lamppost. "Your Assassin leader is going to help the King of France escape.”

“Mirabeau….he wouldn’t do that,” Arno added meekly. The color of his face drained into the shadows of his hood, despite how sparkling the makeup made him look to be. “Mirabeau wouldn’t allow the people of France to suffer. It can’t be- this can’t be true!”

There is no way these people can be that naïve, especially Arno. Politicians are, by their very nature, forked tongue double crossers. To assume that everyone here hated the King is misleading, too. You've got the royal family under house arrest and other nations have declared war against France. Why wouldn't you think they'd try to escape? 

Mirabeau has, at this point in his life, just been a scandalous, boisterous politician. Everyone knows he's not really helping inflation or fixing the food crisis. So why are you acting so shocked?

“Arno…” my eyes traveled to him, “then why was Oskar shot dead, if not for that reason?” A hefty blanket of discomfort was clearly seen residing along Arno’s face; it made sense, considering the Dorian was, in fact, a patriot of sorts for his country unlike the rest of us. No doubt it was something he grew up with naturally to take pride in.

'Unlike the rest of us.' Well that explains everything. Clement isn't French, Stephen is English, and Elysia has no loyalty to France or Europeans at all. They just don't comprehend what the French people are going through or their myriad ideologies or loyalties; it's just taken that it's for the 'greater good'. 

This is also a double entendre of sorts: 'Unlike the rest of us' can mean that Arno is an Assassin with loyalty. The rest simply serve their own ends. That said, it should surprise no one Mirabeau is a crooked politician. It's on the package. 

Lastly, it singles out Arno as being the only guy who cares. And he still isn't the protagonist.  

So, to hear that a leader of an organization that was capable of aiding and making changes, and had direct connection to the King wasn’t going to, in fact, make things better….

No, Les. King Louis XVI isn't entirely at fault for the woes of France. He kept getting bad advice from comptrollers, telling him to keep burrowing in order to make France look like its economy was improving when it was in fact ballooning debt. He tried to make the availability of bread easier and introduced inoculations for preventable diseases. At every turn he was thwarted by the Parlement of Paris. He can be described as an underwhelming King, but he wasn't immune to his people's needs. 

As for Mirabeau, his work with the National Assembly has far reaching consequences, so even if he is ousted as having worked with the King, there are scores of others who will take up that mantle. Note how Robespierre, Danton and Desmoulins - to say nothing of Napoleon himself - have not once made an appearance yet. 

The baker stood next to me, and pointed to the parchments in my hand, "If I were you, you'd burn those. You're holding a death warrant."

“More like Mirabeau is,” Stephen defended. “Knew he was up to no good.”

No, you didn't. You just followed what Elysia said and did. You would not have known or cared had she not brought it up. Also note how Elysia will not tell Trenet, Quemar or Beylier about this despite their own suspicions. Bellec, out of all of them, knew what Mirabeau was doing.  

“I know this is a lot to process, but let’s not make any rash decisions right now.” I pacified the men, tucking the letters away into the bind of my dress, “Today has been long and tiring, most notably for Arno.”

Oh? You just had a public fight you conveniently passed off as a play, swallowed a lungful of chemicals that took your powers away, and spent weeks getting Arno primed for a ballet when he could have stolen the documents and whisked Fran away. This is absolutely rash - and absolutely useless. 

“….You did a good job up there,” Stephen nodded in agreement, patting the Dorian’s shoulder.

Arno gave a small nod of acknowledgement, “Thank you….”

Yeah, he can't wait to get his hands on that tight ass of yours.  

“Tomorrow, I have to head to the council to relay some information I found for Mirabeau,” I revealed, and gave a knowing look to Stephen who shared the same expression. “Until then, we say nothing. I know it’s upsetting but right now that’s all we’re going to do. Understood?”

You already revealed to Quemar you were up to no good, killing random Templars that, to this day, they don't understand the importance of. Let's not forget how you ignored every warning regarding Shay Cormac. 

The three of us looked to the stone-like Arno, who then sighed, “Understood.”

“And you?” Stephen signaled to Orfeo. “You gonna tattle on us?”

Orfeo made a face, clearly displeased of Stephen’s remark, "I only came to see a play."

“And…so did we,” I highlighted. “It’s late. Tomorrow we meet as usual. You’re dismissed.”

You went to see a play where your star never used Eagle Vision to locate your targets, and didn't bother noticing the chick with the huge axe and diamond-studded armour. Oh, let's not forget how Orfeo simply stood there and let his girlfriend huff angel dust. Good times.

 The ashwood residue (from what Val had revealed to me) was gone, yet the prickling motion along my skin showed its face. I found myself rubbing my eyes off, and removing my hat to fan myself despite the cold air. Orfeo must’ve noticed because when we came to the front of the manor—

It's still in your lungs. It's clear it takes effect within minutes, and it's toxic enough to render you mortal. Remember what I said about ash trees being endemic across Europe? Yeah.  

“Looks…like you need some rest as well. You were part of the play as much as he was,” he joked, thumbing to Arno who groaned almost on cue, dragging his feet across the stone pavement to go through the front door. There he left the ring of the keys, and I could hear him almost crawling up the stairwell.

Arno would be exhausted but he's had years of training. He shouldn't be this tired. As for you, huffing angel dust and using a small sword to deflect an axe is pretty impressive. 

“Funny enough, I didn’t have to memorize any lines,” I added, and this surprisingly made him chuckle. His haunting Darkness from before frothed at his shoulders, like a dusty jacket. He made a motion of his stance, and I already knew what he was going to say— “Would you like to come inside?” I tried to ignore the pressure along my legs and neck. Why did my Twilight feel so edgy? Was it still from the ashwood? From the fight with Val?

Notice he never used his Darkness during the fight, not even to provide cover. What a man. But hey, he gets your pussy wet so who am I to judge?

He tilted his head, curious,” You’re not tired?”

I hopped over his question with a casual nudge of my arm, “I also did promise you to share the bottle of wine. It hasn’t moved from upstairs.”

He scoffed with that rare, intrigued smile of his, “Then let’s make something to eat before we do. You must be starving.”

STARVING FOR THAT DI-

OK, I'll stop now.

The stone oven was lit, the flames bustling to eat the bit of firewood thrown within its icy jaws. The runoff heat warmed the chilly kitchen near the back, and the windows were kept open to draw out the residual smoke that expelled.

Orfeo reached for our long, wooden paddle, sliding it in the oven with a quick jerk of his talented wrist; it was impressive to see him instantly immerse himself to his craft at the snap of a finger. We managed to grab some leftover bread, and procured pieces of meat and cheese to go with it. With a quick cut of his knife, our plates were set. He let me take the first pieces.

 I wonder if he'll burn the bread this time from hallucinations about his past? Guess not, because he needs to make dinner for his brown waifu.

We made our way quietly up the stairs (as to not awaken the others in the manor), and entered my dark room. Soon enough did we light some candles to give the cozy chamber an orange, even-glow with pitch-black shades and heavenly-colored curtains. The golden frames and rims along the walls mirrored the small blazes like mapped constellations, and captured my reflection walking back and forth to prepare the small table for our short-notice dining.

If you have 'pitch black shades', they're going to absorb all the light. 'Some' candles are not 'many' candles, and you shouldn't be able to see this much detail with such little light. Just something to remember.

I grasp it gingerly, licking the front of my teeth self-consciously. I take a light sniff, and how powerful the pressed, sour grapes hit the back of my throat. I don’t remember how I even drunk the last time. My only recollection of that night—

Yes, you were.

I was with Alessio. 

Indeed, he was.

I have to say, watching this romance unfold was very...underwhelming, given everything else. You'd think you'd cram in more chemistry and mutual agreement in a story this long. But I'm pushing it - we haven't gotten to the sex yet.

I inhale, and take a gentle sip, “....I don’t remember much, to be completely honest.” My words are dry, and so is the wine when it streams along my tongue and down my throat. It doesn’t burn, but it makes me cough from the harsh aftertaste.

I’m sure you remember some of it.

Ah, here we go. She is briefly stunned from ashwood but can't drink wine. She'll be choking on something else, later.

Orfeo laughed lightly, pleased rather than mocking, “No wonder you asked for my help then.” He gives his attention to his prepared meal. I follow suite, and inspect the considerable piece I had taken. I analyze the spongy texture of the soft bread, and the spread of the cheese when I parted it. It looked scrumptious.

It's just bread with cheese. But you've never actually eaten the gruel most Parisians had to eat, so eh, whatever.

I furthered my curiosity, and ignored the brewing collection of fingers and nails dragging against my back, “Did you find pirating fun? I’d imagine it was a hefty experience.”

“Yes, I had fun; it was exhilarating. The wind surging against your front, the waters at your beck and call.” He licks his lips off at this, the back of his pointer finger rubbing beneath the curve of his bottom lip, “I was smart to keep close to land enough that I didn't drive my crew crazy."

Did his crew ever notice he had obsidian eyes with no pupils, would get dark, physical auras when he gets angry, and generally has an uncanny appearance about him? Guess not. 

He had a ship then, “You were a captain. How long did that last?”

"Couple of years...maybe more than ten." Orfeo squinted lightly, recalling as he held up a digit, "One mutiny tried."

“I take it you didn’t handle the criticism well.” His mischievous grin flourished. How maliciously enthralling it looked. “…Interesting.”

That's a great piece of projection in that last sentence. When you have an author who complains on Twitter about 'cyber stalkers' and how you are the 'one and only true fox' that's a good sign you can't handle any criticism. 

The other one hardly smiled at you.

I tried not to shut my eyes, instead occupying them to the glass bottle.

This one at least shows interest, don’t you think?

That’s really not fair—

He would have found you by now.

I grinded my teeth silently.

If he really cared-

People don't smile at you because you'd rip their face off. You're not that interesting or charismatic, so it's understandable most completely avoid you. Why would anyone care about a character that has such a vile personality? 

I steel myself to the chair from the awkward surge of energy sprouting from the center of Orfeo’s center. I drown my senses with some alcohol; a hefty amount that makes Orfeo shift his eyes along my hidden expression in an attempt to decipher the true meaning of my words.

“At sea with you? Surely...you got lonely,” I added with casual caution, swallowing back my dry cough. God this tasted terrible.

It's one of your best bottles. Show some respect. 

Anyways, this flirtation attempt doesn't work as well as the author thinks it does. 

He crooks his mouth, and handles my inquiry with care, "Someone like that....no, not really."

“...Maybe it would’ve been a nuisance in that sort of lifestyle...” I tried to redirect.

"Heh, you have no idea. Being on a ship full of men who, for months, haven't seen or felt a woman in ages."

“Paradise….for the gay men.” The tension between us lessens, and I find Orfeo snorting, giving an agreeing gesture of a shrug.

Interesting that 'gay' is used here, when the term wasn't in use then. In any case, there's a gay paradise going on in the Brotherhood, especially once Arno drops his trousers and takes it like the good boy he is. 

"I mean, you're not wrong..." his shifty eyes garnered further investigation.

I shouldn’t be prying so much, “...Oh yeah?” but his eyes give him away too much.

You don’t have to fight locks for this one.

He licked his lips, “Okay, I tried it once.”

He doesn’t lie to you.

He has, actually. He has lied about profits for the business you nearly tanked, he is deceptive in his motives, and he's dishonest with everyone else sans Elysia. She has been fighting with him since the beginning. Remember when she fought him for ownership of the Café? Me too.

I wonder: is Orfeo a top or a bottom?

He also wasn’t afraid to tell me things, “How was it?”

"It wasn't the worst thing but it wasn’t for me." He took another bite of his bread, and held the remaining piece in his mouth as he shimmed his shoulders out of his coat. The muscles in his arms worked to hook one arm behind the head of his chair in a tranquil manner.

It doesn't work an an original male character, but it works for a canon character whose story this is supposed to be. Funny how that works. 

Goddesses of Hyrule, he looked so good today. This was…before the wine. I thought this before the wine. When I saw him walking to me—

“So....I thought to ask…”

I swallowed.

It's always cute to see astute feminist Mary Sues drop their panties for hot guys. Never gets old.

“What is your deal with…this whole Templars versus Assassins dilemma? I’ve only seen it from a safe distance.” Why did it sound like that’s not what he wanted to ask first?

Shouldn't it be obvious? She's a high ranking Assassin, leading other recruits. Is it that hard to put two and two together? 

“You….don’t want anything to do with that,” I waved a hand, feeling the prickling along my cheeks. My chest expanded with the warm atmosphere of the candles. The drink muddled my keen sense, yet I found myself taking another dose after Orfeo. Tasting his indirect kisses. On purpose? Not sure. “It’s a goddamn mess, here, in Paris.” The voices in my head were lessening.

“How is it any different than before?”

Well, he's going to be involved one way or another. Your vampire friend Akinara is involved, and chances are Orfeo has been involved in centuries past. He doesn't live in a bubble. 

As for Paris being a 'goddamn mess', Elysia has done nothing to fix it. She's thrown down the gauntlet for Arno, the only one - by her own admission - who is actually patriotic for his country by forbidding him to do anything. The Assassins have done nothing to alleviate any pain. Now, we have a quasi-mystery plot where they nobly take down Mirabeau. Ain't that something?

Indeed, how is it any different from Florence being at war with three other city states in Italy? Or Cesare Borgia? Or a corrupt Pope?

You don’t have Alessio here.

I ignored it, “A lot, actually. That was three hundred years ago.”

"Aren't you only in your thirties?" He stared, his lips pressed to the opening of the bottle. “You've said some odd things before that haven't added up to me...I don't believe you've lived three-hundred years."

He is immortal, same as her. It should not be surprising to learn she hasn't aged in centuries.  

“I only lived in Tuscany for a year, where I came from…somewhere else. Then, I…..I um….”

He waited.

“….I came to France, five years ago. I skipped three centuries in the process.”

OK, so she only lived for a single year in the previous installment. That 400,000 word fic took place in one year. One year and she managed to buddy up with Ezio and have a whirlwind romance. In this story, she has lived in France for five and was granted Mentor status and did not bother learning about French history or its situation in that time. She got control of the Café in that short period, got new recruits, and is venerated as a wise and powerful Mentor. 

In five years. 

Fucking hell. You'd think she was there for decades. 

“You skipped?” he repeats.

“….Um, yes.”

He makes another curious noise, deeper than a hum, as low as rumbling thunder in the distant plains of a long-forgotten memory, “How?”

With the same portals you jumped through, dumbass. 

I debated, and he senses my hesitation. I finish my meal, and let the alcohol pooling into me fumble and thrash against my walls. The surface level quiets, and I could hardly hear them now. I sigh. I sigh deeply of the relieving silence that resides in my head. I merge myself in my place, to remain aware of my existence with Orfeo.

“If you don’t want to answer…”

This is where I want to be….tonight.

“I’m not from here. I’m not from your world.”

He lets the information sink in, “So….where are you from?”

Here's another fork in the road: Orfeo is immortal, same as she is, and has a dark aura around him that he uses for his powers, similar to her Twilight. He is not native to the Legend of Zelda universe; he is a human, from our world, with these abilities. 

This is getting fucking stupid. 

“A world that is beyond your imagination,” I hinted with slight angle to my eyes. The bottle is gladly back in my care. “It’s called Hyrule.”

“Hy-one more time?”

“Hy. Rule.”

“Ahhh….high-rool. That’s how you pronounce it?”

One world with MacGuffins and long-eared sand babes, and another world with MacGuffins and long eared sand babes bitching at Fucking White Males. Sounds legit.

“You’re not human,” he concludes, but isn’t bothered or interested in that. More like…a fact being said.

“I’m not.” He nods in understanding. Aware of our existence versus everyone else’s. “I’m half Hylian, half Gerudo.”

Quite sure Bellec and the wannabe Winchester army after you knows what you are. They know you aren't human because of those ears. If Bellec called you a 'slur' - which I sincerely think was 'Gypsy' - then he and others now. It's obvious. 

“You don’t have humans there?” He’s….so interested. Merely peeking around the wall rather than hitting it, trying to force it open.

“We do. Hylians look more humanish. Gerudos are mostly women who live in tribes. I grew up in the desert, and moved away when I was still a child. A lot has happened since then.” I fill my mouth heavy with the drink to keep my silence at bay. In a gulp did it enter my system much faster than before, and the soft haze clouded my mind further. The light of the candles framed around Orfeo’s face. I slouched in my posture; my legs slumped beneath me. This felt nice, it felt nice saying all of that. “I was transported here and I haven’t gone back since.”

Ordinary humans even in the AC world don't have magic demon auras. There is only so much believability you can suspend. 

I noticed that she forgot the part where a Gerudo warrior queen sentenced her to death and she was transported to Tuscany for a year. Because multiverses are out of the question to a demon baker. 

I inspect him, my mouth slightly open, “Only the….tip of the iceberg.”

He exhales out a humored grin, “That’s all you’re willing to tell me?”

I shrugged, “Yes…maybe yes, I don’t know. I feel funny. Wine makes you feel this way, right?”

You can tell him you skipped entire centuries all thanks to wormholes, but telling him you came here because of a wormhole is unrealistic? Girl -

“Any form of alcohol does, yes.” He brushes the stubbles along his jaw. My nails push my cheek upwards, and my pinky stays near my mouth where I chew it faintly. He’s looking at it. He knows that I know he’s looking at my mouth. My eyes flicker at that. “That would explain your ears a lot.”

I instinctively reach up, ruffling my curls down to cover them, “That’s the…Gerudo side of me.”

"Does everyone have pointed ears where you live or did you just get the lucky end of the genes?" he smirks rakishly.

Unless Orfeo jumped forward to our time, he would have no concept of what a 'gene' was, let alone basic heritability. He's a baker, not a farmer. Genetics was not invented yet. 

Research helps. 

I can’t even be upset, and I sigh, exasperatedly embarrassed and charmed, “Oh um….I don’t even know what to say to you sometimes.”     

I don't even know what to say to this whole damn right. I'm legitimately flabbergasted. Floored. Gobsmacked. Holy shit, is this bad. 

I inhale sharply, “…..It’s not fair. It’s stupidly unfair.”

Everything leading up to this was unfair, really. And, suddenly, I look at his hands. His sturdy, admirable digits. A soft glow resides beneath the flesh of my face, and the pinky is back between the barriers of my teeth.

“What’s so unfair, Elysia?” his low octave tone stabilizes me, and I’m not sure what to say to him.

My eyes aren’t rolling, but they do feel like they’re teetering like they’re skating along an ice pond. My skin danced along with the flickers of the candles. “I’m supposed to be composed. I had it all under control, and then you show up. You could’ve been anywhere else but Paris, and….”

You have never been composed. You have an explosive temper and you nearly murder those who dare to contradict you. Arno was almost killed by you when he called you out on your destruction of the Café, then James was outright killed when you refused to warn him about Shay. Let's not forget she nearly killed Fran, the ballet dancer, because she didn't let Arno steal her letters or use Eagle Vision. 

You're just angry because your pussy pass is being activated. 

I really wanted to touch Orfeo. So bad. To wipe that smirk off his face, and pin him somewhere. Anywhere. Then I realize that it’s not the Twilight holding my tense body hostage…it’s something else.

That's called sexual desire, my dear. And I know you want those fingers up where the sun don't shine. 

“Yet...you choose to be here. Chose to stay despite knowing I was here and I was even bitter at you. Chose to even invite me in. You had all the ingredients to make your name somewhere else. Yet, yet—” he enunciated, and the way his jaw moves open stirs my legs, “you're still here. If I didn't know better...maybe you do want to be here."

She actually can't leave. She's a Mentor. If she just up and vanished in the middle of the night, she'd be shirking her duties and would be considered a deserter. She already confessed she has no loyalty or care for France so the only real reason she's staying is reputation. She needs to look good to be praised as good.

The anxiousness builds along my abdomen, a hidden cauldron stirring, “I love watching your hands work.” My lashes flutter at his thrilled expression.

“These hands know what they’re doing,” he answered resolutely. He shifts, and he leans forward in his seat to match my distance to meet me halfway on this ridiculously small, accent table. His heated eyes take me, “If we’re making confessions here: my resentment might’ve been misdirected to you unintentionally.”

My heart drips with wax, “I…I guess I could’ve been nicer.” My eyes traveled to his forearm, and how it tensed with his fingers curled. I was tired of trying to move things so slowly. “Instead of trying your patience every minute I was around.”

Nah. You enjoyed being a bitch. Revel in it. You have never apologized or shown true grace and spirit to anyone else. You're only melting and acting submissive here because you want to get fucked. How utterly predictable. 

 “You know, your eyes shine like gold men could only dream of having.” His breath smells of toasted bread. His lips shine with wine residue. I can already taste them.

“You’re being awfully sweet to me.”

“I’m enjoying my date with you.”

I ran my bare leg against his clothed one, “If only you knew….”

That your vag has teeth, and Orfeo sucks at oral? Yeah no amount of gold is going to help you there. 

He invites the touch, and the hold on my jaw is much more confident, "Knew what?”

“I think you’re flirting with the wrong person."

He doesn’t break gaze, "If that's the case, then why are you flirting back?" He advances incrementally close, "Aren’t you looking for a good time?"

Yeah. Why go through all this trouble arguing 'I'm not someone you should date' while playing these sexual games? Defeats the purpose. 

"...Define a good time." A hot shiver held me. How deep his chest breathed out a satisfied scoff. My eyes were threatening to lull to the silent call he beckoned me to.

Orfeo didn’t waste his words, "I could take you to the bed right now and do away with you however I please, and take full pleasure in what I'm reaping."

Turns out he sucks at oral, and Les never got wet enough herself for sex. Yes, I read ahead. You'll see eventually. 

My fingertips slide into the opening of his sleeve, and press the fabric up firmly against his elbow. The indent of a scar. How many more did he have hiding underneath? The scent of something sharp grapples around my neck, and the tendrils of his Darkness coil there, seeping down my sides and front. Was the alcohol buzzing my ears, or was it Orfeo's own doing?

I am very curious as to where his Darkness is coming from. Since he is not from Hyrule, but our own (supposedly), who or what gave him these powers? And why?

I tilt my head down, Orfeo's palm now open against my cheek where I breathe deeply, "Have you thought about me in your bed?"

"Not particularly on the bed."

I bite my lip, "Where then?"

"Against the wall, over the counter, on your desk." His mouth is parted open, hovering over mine. His arm jerks from my dragging nails, and he’s gripping the edge of the table to hold himself there. To not lose it. Was he craving just as much as I was? How long had he gone without an intimate touch? “In my bed.”

You know, I wouldn't mind this sex talk if it actually had a decent amount of chemistry behind it. Aside from four chapters where these two are featured, there has been no romantic tension between them. We are entering Harlequin romance territory. Shame I've read one shots that managed to have more chemistry between the main characters.  

“How about mine?” I stroked along his outstretched arm, kneading the muscle there.

Orfeo curls his fingers with mine, and soon we’re standing and almost toppling both the table and empty wine bottle over. He has my waist in his grip, and he inspects me fully to take me in, practically cradling my neck in his steady grip. He guides himself back, and the wooden floor creaks when we reach the edge of the sheeted bed we had already innocently shared before.

It's been hinted Elysia is a virgin. Alessio never managed to conquer those fertile plains. It shows. Only reason I know that is because the author said so this late in the game. 

He sits and settles me onto his lap, “Have you thought about me?"

A bolt of hot lightning shoots into my spine. The logic drips down my back, and its ooze coats my lower body into something far more primal. His fingertips press onto my sides, and they trace with hidden desire. My knees sink to secure him in. I didn’t know where to touch, though they settled on his lean shoulders. I eye his exposed collarbone.

Well that's a weird metaphor. Logic drips down your back? That implies you had any to begin with. 

“Yes, sometimes,” I replied, a nail slightly scratching at the edge of his ascot.

We don't really know how often because there have only been a few chapters dedicated to this pairing. Truth is, she's never really considered him important in her mind.  

“Heh, that’s endearing," he exhales lowly. "I only have one condition on my part: don't touch my neck."

My skin dances, and the words leave without even asking why, “Don’t lick my face.” His callous hands are rough, and swim across my tight blouse. Trying to feel me underneath all the fabric I wore. I held the front of his shirt to respect his request.

You can't lick the woman's face who will happily rip off yours. Touching. 

"Do you want me to—"

"Y-Yes."

His expert digits went to work, lacing around the knots and ties that held my dress together. Button by button the front came undone, and all the meantime he strokes what skin exposes itself to him.

"Is this what you want?" his palm sinks and baths across my side and around my hot, bare back. I bite my lip again. He’s being careful, soft. I shiver. He notices and keeps doing it. Skin untouched for so long—I was letting him touch it. I wanted him to. I wanted to be touched like this by someone.

Who would've thought the sexist bitch could become so obedient when a masculine man enters the picture? Perish the thought! 

“Merda...” the sensation shoots through my stomach, igniting the acknowledged lust further. My nails bite the front of his chest, his blouse stretching when I thirsted for his skin. He groans softly, and the thread comes undone. He’s not heavily built, though his chest had gone through many battles; scarred and healed various times where the ancient mingled with the recent decades of combat. The tattoos I had only seen fleetingly when we worked to steal back his stolen flour, I drank them visually. Two swords struck deep into a biologically drawn heart that was on the center of his chest. He had more. So much more.

'Biologically drawn heart'? You mean anatomically accurate? 

'So much more' apparently means having a big cock yet can't get a woman wet enough so she can take it. 👀 

He was a goddamn pirate underneath his baker persona.

He's not a pirate. And for the love of God, stop copying Edward Kenway.  

I exhale, and Orfeo drinks that. Lips hovering.

“Answer me, Elysia.”

“You feel good,” I manage to expel, and my fingers thumb along his soft pectorals.

"So do you....your skin is soft....." he leans. I crane my neck, and he presses his lips there. He runs his mouth along the side of it, and nips a spot.

 Her skin is the only thing soft about her. Wonder what kind of soap she uses.  

A jolt of a storm grapples me that my train of thought is lost and prisoner to his actions. My jaw slacks, and I clench his blouse in my grip. His hot breath coats my sighing throat, and the edge of his teeth explore as he nips another part. His hands dig underneath the bottom of my skirt, and ride up my bare thighs with steady pressure. Pinning me in place. My palm slides up and into his dark locks. It smelled of ash from the stove.

"I'm not going to stop," he warns.

“Don’t.”

The fitnessgram pacer test is a multistage aerobic capacity test that progressively gets more difficult as it continues

He wraps his arm around my waist, and tilts me on my side. A moment later he’s hovering above me, and cupping my tender face in his palm. My hips squirm ardently, and he takes this as an invitation to lean down to kiss me.

My sweltering heart sings. His lips were surprisingly velvet, precise and hungry. Cheeks hot. His wavy locks hang like the theater’s curtains, teasing my own curls that collected around my head. He cuts away to fix his posture and my half-opened eyes catch his dark orbs where the crimson shards dangerously coruscate through.

So his eyes are so black you're able to see red in them. Quite the detail. Added bonus is that he's not from Legend of Zelda, but our world (supposedly), and no one was ever unnerved by his inhuman eyes. Having nearly solid black eyes is a useless trait because A) you can't reflect light and are technically blind and B) people will notice. Where did Orfeo come from? The Marvel universe?

Now look what you've made me do. Talk about eye colour vs discuss your sexy times. 

His thick legs part in-between, and they hook my waist on his solid hips. His back dips, and his chest is against mine as he deepens our playful kiss. I exhale for air, and he catches my tongue to suppress the surprised noise that tries to escape. We sink further into each other and my digits purchase his locks because, oh, they’re so soft. He holds my neck from the back, and the kiss turns meaningful as his wine tongue detains me in heavy, smoldering bliss. He pins me beneath, using his heavier weight to prevent any kind of escape. Not that I was planning to…but it was hot.

It was hot being held down like this.

I've said this multiple times, but it is enlightening when your absolute bitch of a 'feminist' character melts like hot butter when a manly man fucks her good and hard in bed. Really speaks of feminine desire and want. 

Every woman is a feminist until she is given a good orgasm. 

“Orfeo…” my head rolls back, and the pirate takes the opportunity to latch his mouth onto my exposed neck. There he bites, and sucks. Hard. My legs weakly kick underneath, and the whirling pit in my stomach expands to rile my desire. He felt so good. My hips grind, and Orfeo follows with his own forming lust. He practically tears open my blouse—

Orfeo being a pirate means nothing to me considering he's a copy of Edward. He's a time-traveling pirate who tried anal once. Interesting development, no?

“God,” he groans as the remaining buttons fly, and cups my small breast in his grip. He gives it a soft knead, making my back arch from the hot arrow that punctures my lung. He chuckles darkly in the nape of my neck, "You're so reactive to everything I do to you."

If her breasts are that small, why was there emphasis on her wearing a corset or binding her breasts? Usually, you wear corsets if your breasts are a decent enough size for added support and shape. If Elysia is an A cup, there is no need for this. Clearly, from Les' art of Elysia, she isn't small breasted at all. 

He grunts briefly through the mixed, pained pleasure of his pulled hair, though it does not deter his onslaught. He plucks at my delicate nipple, and my hips buckle at the new, enthralling sensation of it. The blouse is still somehow attached to me by its cuffs, lingering poorly around my rocking hips and leaving my chest and shoulders bare. Naked to him. My hands grasp the cuffs of his own in desperation.

Orfeo is unrelenting in his sensual assault. He had done this multiple times before...but god I was a victim to his expertise. I wanted to be. I wanted him to take me.

I read this as 'sexual assault'. Make use of that as you will. 

“God damn it,” my legs brush against his sides, and the ragged friction washes into my lower region. Everything was getting so unbearably hot, and I feel my wet sex ruining my undergarments. “Your turn,” I practically command him, and his rakish grin intensifies when the candlelight hits his face just like that.

Unless you made your own underwear, they didn't actually wear underwear during this time. Either way, this character, which has been nothing but a nuisance, is getting wet at the drop of a hat. Fitting. She's like a leaky faucet in a gas station bathroom: all it takes is a little push and she comes gushing.

“How bad do you want me?” he rides his lips upwards, and they reach the opening of my ear. Just when I thought he would say something else to torment me further—

“Mppph!” I’m a fucking mess when his mouth catches my earlobe, and he sucks. Tongue lapping, his teeth pulling to test the durability of my flesh there. I’m moaning as the waves of pleasure override me, and I forget the one rule he told me already— “Ahh!”

I'll tell you what a fucking mess is. This sex dialogue. You're either having a stroke or you're taking a shit. It makes me laugh either way. 

His palms pin my wrists above my head, and his looming expression is a mix of annoyance, hunger, and satisfaction, “What did I say about my neck, Elysia?”

“I-I’m sorry,” I hoarsely breathe out, and my attempted-hugging arms weakly struggle. Gods, why did it feel good having my arms like this?? “My ears are…sensitive, I wasn’t thinking—”

Here, some better light for that projection. 

He leans down to the opposite, virgin ear, “I can tell.” He doesn’t wait, and his entire front presses down enough that my back basically dissolves on the sheets like sand. My fingers fight, my nails sinking into the blanket rather than his flesh. I gasp so sharply that there’s no other sound left in me when he excessively snakes his tongue at the edge of my pierced ear. I squirm firmly, enticing him to keep me there. Keep me under him. Shackled in his hold while he did what he wanted.

Look, I get that ears are an erogenous zone for some, but in Elysia's case all I can think of is a dog cleaning its ears. What's with this obsession?

“OR-FEO-MMNN!” I want to scream, and one of my arms is freed, yet my mouth is clamped with his salty hand. I expel whatever pleading and shameless noise managed to control me, and indulge along with my rolling eyes. Delightful darkness accompanied with my scorching ear. My freed palm digs itself up his shirt, and I yank on it. The sharpened nails pierce the threads in an animalistic fashion, and the distorted baker let’s go of me, boxing me in with his arms instead. “Mnnnn….” I sing out, raking my nails along his working sides and lower back.     

These kinds of sex noises and dialogue has been endemic in KeyBearer's writing. It has not changed for years. It's not sexy, it doesn't set the mood, and it is akin to hearing an overly vocal bear of a man ejaculate into a sock. It's comical and absurd. 

“Fuck, Elysia! The others are going to hear you,” he hisses darkly, his eyes flickering in a seduced daze when we roll our hips together like this. “Have you already gone over the edge just from that?”

“No, but I want to….” I stroke my palms down until they feel the hem of his trousers. He watches me, and his eyes widen when I cup the hardened length tenting in his pants, “I want to know what it feels like,” because I truly think he wasn’t prepared for that answer.

So, after a series of this colossal length (no pun intended) we learn Elysia is a timid virgin in bed. The woman who tore people to shreds and snaps people's legs with her feet has sensitive ears is just a cute uwu innocent wallflower. She's been alive for what? Centuries? And she never learned what sex was or masturbated once?

Guess she didn't want to tear up those meat curtains. 

He’s panting softly and a blush rides along his cheeks, “…Am I your first…?” but he doesn’t stop me. He doesn’t stop me when I’m undoing his buttons. I whine gently, and it feels so foreign, that sound, like I’m physically here and my voice is outside the door. My hands are lightly shaking, and my heart is stuck beneath my slender throat where I felt the soreness of his earlier onslaught.

Of course! We needed a fiery romance. What better way than to show us the powerful, strong and independent Mary Sue has a weakness than in the sexual arts? It's so...cliché.

“Please,” I beg brazenly, and the edges of my eyes swell at the anticipation, at the possible answer he might give me if he changes his mind. At the thought that he might say— “S'il te plait, monsieur.”

I'd LOVE to say this starts and ends quick - but it doesn't. In fact, the sex scene takes up half of the chapter. 

The hesitation in Orfeo’s expression is slowly overridden, and his mouth parts open to intake my starving plea. Drinks it avidly as he rocks his hips against my palm. His head hangs almost, and I want more. I want to see more of his face.

“God, Elysia—” he groans, and his back hits the sheets now. I follow swiftly after, “Argh!” Our heads graze from the harsh movement, and he winces from the accidental bump, “Ughhh, my head isn’t as hard as yours—" he nearly growls.

He sounded so fucking good.

These sex sounds sure don't. Are you jacking off, or trying to fix an engine?

My fingers clamp onto the pillows behind his head, and I straddle his hips with my rear. He grits his teeth, and resists rolling his head back to witness my show; I grind awkwardly and terribly rough, ignoring the small pounding on my forehead and consuming Orfeo’s image beneath me; despite the skirt covering my work at hand, it didn’t matter—

The pounding from the head butt isn't going to hurt as much as the pounding after...just saying. 

He moans hungrily, “Gnnn…” the sound drawls out like a longing wish, and suddenly, there’s a pressure flexing in me. It’s nothing like I ever felt. Orfeo notices, because our grinds slow drastically, and he clamps my hips in place in a certain position. The weight of my head leans, and this undeniable static is coursing through my body with every delicious friction he presents me. Oh my god, what was this.

Magic sex energy. Who would've thought? And please stop with the 'gnn' hngg 'argh' vocalizations. You're not coughing up a fur ball. 

“Right there?” he exhales out, delectably inspecting me. One hand gropes upwards, and my perked nipple is being played between his dexterous fingers. The static in my muscles grows louder, floods my arms and stiffens my legs. He keeps going, and his clearly aroused cock reminds me of what I desperately want.

Elon Musk colonizing Mars? Hey he could do it with Orfeo's rocket cock.

Damn, sensitive ears AND literal electric sex? You could power a house! You should inform Ben Franklin about this astounding discovery. 

“Fuck, oh fuck!” I whisper urgently, a hand snapping to hold onto his built arm. My lungs are choking; how am I still breathing?? My voice trembles— “Mmmnn!” and I bite my lip when Orfeo sits up urgently, nearly knocking me back. His arm stealthily twines me like rope, the other keeping him up—

“Mnnnnnn,” he moans, and I nearly choke when his mouth latches onto my breast, tasting me vehemently. I’ve lost whatever functioning, motor skills I had left, because I’m practically left mute and reduced into this salacious and aroused mound of flesh. Every starved suck and lick he gives me possesses me to rock further, to fulfill this fervid yearning he promised to satisfy.

Really? What happened with the electric sex? All buzzing and shit? Glad to know your nipple is the off switch. I'm also pleased you're sucking on a Sour Patch Kid.

To satiate this hidden thirst I never fulfilled before. That I had been so close to tapping into countless times—

Literally where? You're a virgin. You've never masturbated. You've shown no sexual desire. Where, exactly, is this coming from? 

I stomp away the guilt, and my hold on him strengthens on his sturdy shoulders and wide back. My nails rake downwards on his hard flesh, and the hot gasp from Orfeo’s mouth against my sapped nipple sends me fucking flying.

'Sapped nipple'. Your tits are literally trees now. Too bad you don't explode when lightning hits you - oh, wait. 

Where are you 'fucking flying' to? Mars, where the rocket cock is? 

A blanket of white slaps my rolling eyes when the sensitive nub between my legs sparks, and Orfeo’s mouth on mine muffles the agonizing and eager moans lodged inside my sweltering lungs. His fiercely, sensual tongue lures me into a euphoric plane of existence, and I kiss and lick whatever I can back. My numb hand climbs into his hair where I massage his scalp in an affectionate caress. He likes this from his leisure lips plucking my plump ones.

This isn't too bad, all things considering. But that's all I'll give it. 

I open my eyes and his relaxed face abruptly morphs into a handsomely wicked smile. I had never seen it, and my once delirious high-state of mind subsides mildly when he says, “I’m not done with you yet.”

And this sex scene goes on for another 3,000 words. 

The scene before my eyes swiftly moves, and Orfeo is on top again, greedily analyzing me and there I see his Darkness perched outwards; the outline of his invisible, obscure wings and he looks so stunning. He removes his shirt, and throws mine off for good measure to the floor. I’m panting watching him, and how the bulge of his arms is shimmering gold from the bedside candlelight. His right upper arm harbors a realistic skull jotted with symbols I was unfamiliar with. Something blurry is on his left wrist, and another unidentifiable image poked from his lower, right hip.

This is something I have never understood about this character. Presumably he is from our world, yet possesses these demonic powers. Isu tech obviously did not grant him this. He has abilities one would expect from a Sorcerer Supreme or Ghost Rider. It may well be he's from the Kingdom Hearts universe, because that'd be a greasier knife in the back. No matter where he is from, he has zero place in Assassin's Creed. 

“You need to take those off,” I huff out almost angrily, deprived of the sight. I slide his belt fully off and make it clatter somewhere beneath. The immortal stops me when I clasped his pants.

By the way, we don't even know how Orfeo is immortal.  Because logic. 

“You first,” he thickly rasped out. The next second, the skirt is hauled off, leaving my bare legs and damp underwear in his view, “Your tattoos; you look devastatingly radiant.” He dips, his long arms riding up my sides until they stopped midway on the side of my ribs. I heaved out a breath, hotly panting as Orfeo stimulates my nipples yet again with his raw tongue. I was almost convinced he laced it with some sort of delirious drug I was unaware of to keep me so stupidly stunned like this.

Who needs ashwood when this girl gets stoned when you get her wet? Seriously, she's shooting out electricity like Emperor Palpatine and is on a meth high like Florida Man.

There is a LOT of focus on nipples. They're a lot like M&Ms: don't overkill on them or else you're gonna get sick. 

I exhaled out with flushed cheeks, “Gods….”

He kisses along my chest, “They can’t save you now.” The sentence practically sends me reeling. His lips trail downward my toned stomach, and my body jerks from the alien sensation, “Oh??”

I’m giggling suddenly, and I try to push him away, “No no nooooo…”

Imagine living for centuries and not knowing where your erogenous zones are. She's not asexual and she has had sexual thoughts. There's no reason for THIS kind of naivety, especially since she's been around other people for centuries.  

“Didn’t know you were ticklish here,” he chuckles warmly (to be fair, neither did I), and pecks the spot briskly before continuing down. My laughter dies, and it’s only a matter of five seconds until I’m helpless again. He clutches at the band of the undergarments with his teeth, and snaps it back playfully.

I hiss, “You would.”

1. They didn't have panties then. 

2. Elastic was not yet invented. It was patented in 1820. This would all be linen or cotton if you could afford it. 

“You’re fucking soaking, Elysia. What the hell…” His octave tone entices me to look, and he gazes up to me with a relishing smirk, “I bet you taste sweet.” His hand moves fast—

“What are you—ahh!” My back jolts, and my fingers clamp onto his head instinctively.

“Like candy,” he pushes, and his burning tongue lathers against the fabric barricading my lower lips. This doesn’t stop him, and he hikes the cotton opening to the side, “Mnnn…”

 I'm getting cavities from this. I've read tons of slash and tons of het works. For the longest time people felt I was unfair to slash fics and accused me of homophobia. Well, here's a great example of really, really shitty het. I have always been an equal opportunity critic. 

I’m writhing.

I can’t fucking breathe.

This has gone on longer for eight minutes and thirty seconds.  

My back bends like a bridge, allowing the electrifying coil bundled in my stomach to gush outward from that specific location. Tormenting convulsions prevented me from removing Orfeo, but Goddesses of Hyrule, I didn’t want him to stop his immodest appetite. Because by his statement alone, he thought about this.

Er, bridges aren't supposed to bend. If they do that you have structural damage. The last time there was a 'bending bridge' it was an engineering disaster. This, along with the convulsions, makes me think she is shaking so much her back is going to break.  

“O-Or-feo!” my quaking lungs fueled his ambush. His thick hands massaged my thighs, and they tugged me down when I tried to squirm away. His tongue dove deeper, and when it slid- “Ohhhh~”

 'Quaking lungs'. 'Convulsions'. 'Bending like a bridge.' You are quite the contortionist. With Orfeo's tongue like a writing snake, it's an added bonus to this clown show. There is more singing here than there was at the opera house. 

His name became an unrelenting prayer. And how I prayed so desirously; lured by every sound he made, every groan and siren-song he charmed me into. I was absolutely gone. Gone and drunk. I was so drunk by his intoxication. His body, his words, his hands. His hands. Just when I thought it couldn’t get more pleasurable, when I was on the brink again…

If this were simply a trashy harlequin romance, this paragraph would be a great addition to a standalone. But since it is not, this only makes the story worse. These two have no actual chemistry. They have not had much time to build a solid relationship. Yet, I am supposed to blush at this smut. 

I really can't wait to see the Arno man-on-man action. 

He pulled back, his absorbed and drunk face viewable to me and his hair horribly disheveled by my doing, “Fucking hell….” He licked his lips off, one of the back of his hands cleaning the edge of his mouth clean, “You don’t know how long I’ve been imagining that…”

Hmm, let's see. There's only been...three chapters were you two were explicitly together? Yeah. We don't actually know how long the desire has been there because so little time has been dedicated to it. The rest has been nothing but complete filler. 

I don’t have a comeback, much less any kind of coherent vocabulary to say anything. I’m not paying attention to when he leans down to grab one of the blouses from the floor, nor when he reaches over to the nightstand and rummaging through the drawer for something and says to himself, “Charlotte must’ve known”. He’s hovering above me again, my legs parted between his stomach and hips. He holds my cheek, and moves it to let him gaze at my red face properly.

The first two sentences perfectly encapsulate everything I have felt about this story. There are no comebacks; there is no coherent vocabulary. No one is paying attention. All I know is that Assassin's Creed has been thoroughly fucked into the bed, past the parquet floors, and into the ground. 

“You look divine,” he genteelly kisses me, and I taste myself there; tangy, like a moist fruit. I’m so shameless to force my tongue inside his mouth to get more of it. He doesn’t expect it, and I make him thickly groan, “You naughty fox.” He shifts my leg a bit to the side, and the blouse is unexpectedly tucked beneath my rear.

I flicker my eyes to him, “Is it going to hurt…?”

I don't think Les knows the difference between 'gentle' and 'genteel'. When I first read this paragraph, I thought they were going to do anal, hence the emphasis on the lube. But no, they're going to do vaginal. This, despite Elysia being completely wet and thoroughly prepared.  

Orfeo sighs, and curls his arm around my waist, “Yes….it will, but it’ll be short-lived.” I hold onto his shoulders, but I notice his pants are still on. But his fingers are there, and they’re coated with something, stroking my sex through the soft bush of my curls.

I get it, Les. You're a lesbian who has never had sex with a man and has no desire to. But this is incredibly naïve. You should know how to please other women. Being this wet should not pose this much of a problem. You're not using a Bad Dragon dildo. 

I deplore, “Will you make me feel good after?”

He nods, and curls me to him, “Absolutely.”

“I want you.”

Fuck, I'm feeling nauseous right now. Get it over with. 

Wait, don't you mean, 'implore'?

He coarsely grunts, “You have no idea how much I want to fulfill that.”

One digit inserts inside, and it’s nothing like I ever felt. It’s….unexpectedly uncomfortable, and Orfeo must suspect that because he kisses along the side of my face sweetly when I flinch. I nuzzle my cheek against his, and he sighs softly of the gesture.

Have...have you ever masturbated before? Legit question. The author states she is a lesbian through and through, and she never ONCE fingered herself? Come on. It feels weird but it should not hurt. 

“You’re so affectionate,” he says almost sleepily. I shut my eyes, and my body stiffens. I feel it, the unbroken wall of flesh. I breathe in and out sharply, and Orfeo cradles me, “Just relax….relax for me.” 

Okay, that's it. This woman has absolutely  has no fucking clue what she's doing. First, the hymen is NOT A WALL OF FLESH. It is a membrane. It is not like popping off the lid of a pickle jar. It can be broken with physical activity or by inserting a tampon. This myth sincerely needs to die. 

Not only does this woman not know anything about history or video games, SHE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW FEMALE ANATOMY. 

“I’m going to hate you—” I painfully shut my eyes when he inserts the second dense finger, and how large they feel in me. “Oww….”

“You’re so tight, you have to relax,” he reminds me, and his palm adamantly turns rigid on my back. He coaxes me further, pecking along my cheek and neck, “Elysia-“

I disregard his condition yet again when the delicate blockade breaks.

What did I just say? For God's sake, the muscles have nothing to do with it. She's already wet; it should pose no problem. He just gave you the oral of your life. It's not like breaking into the Bastille.  

My arms snatch around his neck, and my cry buries itself into his scarred shoulder where the tears expel out. The sensation of being gutted with a knife throbs the entirety of my lower body, and I bite the ascot that’s still on Orfeo’s neck. He holds my head gently, his voice soft and tranquil.

“Shhh….it’s okay…” he strokes along my back, and kisses along my wet cheek. “It’s done, you’re done.”

“I fucking hate you,” I grieve with a shaky inhale, and another droplet of tears rattles my body again. Why did that have to hurt so much??

Yes, this woman is a virgin. The spicy Latina has never taken a dick or a dildo in her life. There is no way in Hell you get this wet and you should be crying like this. It's one thing if he's pile-driving dry. This woman is wetter then Niagara Falls. You'd think she was shot or something.  

“I know, you’ve told me plenty of times already.” He’s wiping the blood off of me, doing his best to get every bit of it. He thrusts lazily to ensure it, and my anger subsides a good moment after when the numbness goes away, and is replaced by a persuasive and pleasant pulse of something else. His promise pulls through, especially when he adds more oil to his clean digits again. He sinks them back in, and the hated, piston-motion from before sweetens and awakens my newfound ache. He teasingly presses into the flesh of my walls, curling and rounding his fingers with want.

What the -? THERE SHOULD BE NO BLOOD. I AM NOT FUCKING JOKING. Fucking Christ this woman is terrible at writing sex. This is not period sex. You are THOROUGHLY prepared for this dude. What the fuck. 

This is a GROWN ADULT writing this. Not a teenager. A grown adult woman who attended college and can't stop bragging about how much those fucking white males envy her for being a lesbian. 

“Ahhh…” My hips swivel ever so slowly beneath Orfeo. He takes in the heavenly scene, his other palm grasping my waist in place as the other motions inside me. “Like that…”

Heavenly scene with more blood than a stuck pig.  

“God, look at you,” he shakes his head in disbelief, and traces his free fingers along the symbols on my thighs, sides and stomach. “I can’t stop looking at you.” A third digit slips in, and my head snaps back, trying to mold itself into the sheets. I’m panting, and could feel every breath Orfeo gives along my skin. His teeth glide along my perched leg, and they lick at the face of my knee. I moan. He hits a hot plane further in, I could feel it at the tip of his middle finger with every, considerable puncture.

What kind of faces are on your knees? I'm interested now.  

There should be no puncture wounds inside your vagina, unless you want an embolism going to your heart. 

He picks up pace in his steady momentum—

“Fuuuck….”

“There it is,” he claims, and his groan suffocates my hearing. He deepens his motion until the base of his hand hits me. My hips jerk up to catch more of him, and he complies. My view is a mixture of darkness, his hot face, and the side-wall. My jaw hangs, and the soft moans control my lungs. He withdraws his hand a bit back, and I grit my teeth when he suddenly slows.  

You deserve an F for making a thoroughly wet woman bleed. What the hell are you using, electric knives? You're not Freddy Kreuger!

Fuuuuuuck is right.  

“There it is,” he claims, and his groan suffocates my hearing. He deepens his motion until the base of his hand hits me. My hips jerk up to catch more of him, and he complies. My view is a mixture of darkness, his hot face, and the side-wall. My jaw hangs, and the soft moans control my lungs. He withdraws his hand a bit back, and I grit my teeth when he suddenly slows.  

Yes, dig nails that are sharper than a lion's claws into your lover's head. That would be a much needed twist. Show me that blood, girl.

Also, how does one 'condemn huskily'?  

He chuckles, and grumbles his answer out, “I have to stretch you if you want to take me.”

My eyes shoot at him, “…You’re bluffing.”

He smiles innocently in the shadow, “Want to see?” His pants are halfway down his robust thighs, and clearly outlined was the size of his enlarged member in his underwear. I breathe out sharply, and stare at him when he mirthfully snickers.

“That’s not going to fit in me,” I state a fact.

Ah, so he does have a Bad Dragon sized penis. Great. This entered SFM territory real fast. 

What, is he eight inches? Nine? Three inches across? Come on, get detailed! 

“You took three fingers, and I was about to put in the fourth,” he revealed slyly. He tilts his head and sucks on my neck, and I fall prey to his mouth. My leg bends, his large, creamed fingers sink across my thigh, emitting a mewl from me. The wet sound of oil being lathered makes me flush like a dark rose, and my eyes dart away when Orfeo tugs off his under garments at last. I could hardly keep my eyes open when he’s over me. His cock is gripped in his hand, and one look from me is enough for me to plea—

“T-That’s not going to—” I shake my head, and I find myself giggling nervously to hide my disbelieving tone. “No, I don’t believe you!”

I'm wagering he's nine inches. Bigger than what Subway has to offer. Hope you packed the sweet sauce!  

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he coos. His mouth kisses along my neck and collarbones, nipping them and thumbing along my waist. “Don’t you want me, Elysia? I’m so hungry for you.”

Imagine being a literal Biggus Dickus that you need extra lube for an already wet girl. That's a lifetime achievement. You must be Mr. Hands.  

I whine at his pleading tone. He’s never begged. Orfeo and the word ‘beg’, I never thought I would ever live to see the day.

“God damn it.” My head rolls from side to side, his locks curling between my fingers, “Why do you have to say it like that??”

Well, let's consider how cartoonish this is. A ultra powerful, unstoppable, immortal brown woman who has never masturbated once in her life and is privy to sex acts like a nubile virgin. When she sees the biggest dick in her life, she becomes a Space Jam character. Would anyone in their right mind take this seriously?

“Because I want to see you writhe,” his voice is profound, and my legs are hooked around his waist. He holds one of my tattooed legs up, angling himself. I brace myself, clinging onto the sheets so hard my knuckles threatened to morph with my bones. His heated eyes aim at mine, and the withheld hunger he had stowed away claimed his locked jaw, “You’ll be the one begging in a moment.”

I don't think I've ever read a lesbian so enthusiastic over heterosexual sex, and then proceed to write it so terribly. I hate to sound like one of 'those people', but Les really needs a good dicking. She described the hymen as a 'flesh wall' for fuck's sake. No wonder she's living out her fantasy here.  

I bite my lip, “Or-feo—”

“I’ll have you chanting for me,” his grin was striking. Brighter than Lake Hylia.

“Give it to me,” I impatiently urged with a roll of my hips, and his composure almost shattered when I licked my lips, and ran my nails down his blemished and scarred abdomen. “Baise moi.”

Will the chanting here include 'hnn' 'mmm' and nrrg'?

“Elysia,” he crooned with flickering eyes. His thumb ran along his head. Once more he licked and sucked up my stomach to end up in the crook of my neck. He settled there, and it was fair to say—

“Merda!”

He was a lot bigger than what I thought he would be.

Yeah, but how big?

My one wrapped leg around his lean side shook from the sleek entry, but fucking hell, he filled me. I gritted my teeth to fight the cry clawing at my throat. I needed to hug his neck to me…

Let me guess. There's going to be blood, and it isn't because of her time of the month.  

“Orfeeoooo…” my intoxicated head leaned, and my upper arms supported me up to deflect that desire. The emerging claws sunk secretly into the sheets and mattress. His forehead pressed against mine, and we both gasped into each other’s mouth when he nudged further into me.

“You’re fucking tight, merde.” 

Yeah, and she's going to be blown the fuck open once you're done with her. Unless your magical healing powers applies to your vagina, too?

I was so afraid he was going to rip me apart; my breath hitched, “I can’t help i-it….” but bless my aching, virgin heart if I died this way. My support collapsed, and I writhe beneath him again, kneading his arms from the pleasurable torment. He meets my eyes, and he’s positively handsome with how much of a mess he is versus his formal attire attending the play earlier.

So he's actually hung like a horse and is about to split you open guro-style. That's not sexy, that's bordering on ridiculous. 

“I’m going to move,” he cautions while straightening himself up to fix our positions, and I watch his body work with all its delicious muscles. His tough palms clasp my sides, and Orfeo melts on the first thrust. Its unbearably scorching, and this hardened hunger morphs me into something more than my Twilight had ever done to me.

You're turning into a Reese's cup, eh? Eat 'em up, eat 'em up, eat 'em up! 

I plead through clenched teeth, “Don’t stop,” and they slackened to expose my desperate moans and whimpers when he obliges. When he obeys me. I purchase his pectorals where his pounding heart raced to keep up with mine. He sounds amazing, he felt amazing, god he felt amazing inside me.

I thought you said it felt like he was tearing you apart? Ouch. Guess your magic healing powers are good for something!

The curling knots of passioned desire all bundled into my lower region, and it coarsely heightened when Orfeo pulled back, and nearly impaled me to his rim. He enjoyed every second, watching me from a heightened view as he kept his back tall and wide, and joined my raised hips. The one lifted leg eventually found itself over his sturdy shoulder, and I forfeited all free will.

“Ahh…ahhhh! Orfeo! Orfeo…” This man was going to ruin me.

 You're not the only thing that's been thoroughly fucked in this story. You just happen to be the only one enjoying it. 

I'd also like to say I'm tired of the 'impaled on his dick' usage. It doesn't give me the mental image you think you're giving me. 

His eyes were half opened, drinking me with every thrust willed to me, “God, Elysia. Lose yourself.” The outline of his body blazed with the moonlight peering through the slits of the curtains, and how his lips and half-opened eyes shined. Hungry for me.

Losing myself was hardly the case; irrecoverable was a better term. Wayward. Vanished. Strayed into the never-ending, wanton sea Orfeo had expertly sailed me to. I wanted it, I wanted it, I want it, please, please, please, please, fuck fuck fuck fuck, oh fuck—

Yeah, we get it. You're saying 'fuck' as many times as he's pounding into you. I can hear each slap. Ick.

“Orfeo-ORFEO-“ I spoiled his name so much. He loved that. Lusted for it. Craved my voice, craved me. I was so fucked. My hips bucked, and I tensed. I felt it again, I felt it coming again, the constant smack of my nerves— “O-Oh my god!” I snap my teeth at the sheets, and the white space boils over; it marks me even before I get there. His trained hands pin me down, and he ravishes me impolitely and heinously at my pleasured core.

'I was so fucked' doesn't even begin to describe what I'm thinking about this. But it describes what I'm thinking in its brilliant simplicity. 

I’m immediately his, and the coming wave is agonizingly merciless than the last. The tears spill, and Orfeo catches my sob with a deep, ardent kiss. His hips slow, yet he still moves, and my body contorts with every measure of friction. My legs shake, and he cups them against his sides to secure me to him. His tongue scoops and collides in all my glory, and a loud moan escapes me when he’s over me. He wriggles above me with a low snarl.

“Fucking shit….” I’m crying gently, and his thumbs my tears off. “Did I hurt you?”

No, but you're hurting my brain.  

I shake my head, I can’t even see, “N-No….gods, no….” I feel for his face, and his growing stubble tickles my sensitive hands. I force open my eyes, and his irises are coated treacherously bloody, brighter than my red hair. The name escapes me, “Corvus.”

How does she know his name is Corvus? Did he ever tell her? This just came up.  

My face leans, and I kiss him passionately, stroking his cheeks back. I feel him stiffen, mouth frozen…but he caves a second later, and he’s on me again. I caress his arms and back, dig into his hair and bite his bottom lip. He moans deeply at that, and we hungrily clash. He plucks my breasts again. I let him, encourage it as I slither my hips up to curl his member suggestively.

Isn't he inside you? How are you curling his penis? How is he plucking your breasts when you are barely an A cup? 

His eyes roll when he submerges himself further, “Elysia…”

“Corvus…” I purred.

Wait, she's curling your dick when you're only halfway inside? Huh?

His brows furrowed deeply, and the flush on his freckled cheeks worsened, “Turn around, on your front.”

“Is that what you want?” I sucked his lips. I nipped the bottom one again.

“Yes, please,” he buried himself into my breasts. “I’ll make you feel good.”

How can he bury his face in your chest when you are almost flat? There's nothing to rub! 

He eventually pulled out, and I swallowed my breath from the immense difference of his absence. I had to roll to my front from how much my legs were trembling. With Orfeo’s aid and direction, I was on my feet, and leaning over the edge of the bed where my front rested. I clamped the sheets when Orfeo got behind, and towered over me so easily. His lips kissed and nipped across my back. Exploring the valleys and muscles there. His short nails dragged down my sides. I jolted at the motion.

His deep, octave voice boomed within my hair, “You’re beautiful.”

For the record, I have seen pictures of Elysia. She is flat as a board, and looks like a man. She has no hips, no curves, nothing indicating she's a female. She's very androgynous. That's not a problem in of itself, but Les has always sold Elysia as the most beautiful creature around. Now that I know she resembles Bruce Jenner, I get a very different perspective. 

I sigh, “Gods, Orfeo.”

He wraps an arm around my waist, and straightens my legs, “Like this….yes. Bend your back….” His tongue trails along my spine, and I shudder. “You have more tattoos here, Christ.” He moves my hair to the side, and he bites on my shoulder. I gasp from the thrill, and I hold my breath when I feel him shift again. His cock grinds against my lower lips, newly lubricated. A wicked temptation hits me, and I reach back between my legs— “Tch!”

He shouldn't have had a problem to begin with. But Les doesn't know anything about female anatomy which is AMAZING to hear from a lesbian.  

It was so fleshy, and dripping. I stroke it once in my grasp, and Orfeo almost slams himself into my back. His fine growl sinks into my ears, and I don’t stop. My thumb brushes against the head.

You're quite the acrobat I'll give you that.  

“I was admiring you, but fine,” he raggedly answers, and tugs me to him. “Mnnn…” He parts my leg, find my slick, sought-after folds and sinks into me.

He's waiting for the toilet to flush, duh.

“I was admiring you, but fine,” he raggedly answers, and tugs me to him. “Mnnn…” He parts my leg, find my slick, sought-after folds and sinks into me.

How can you admire a woman that looks like a darker version of Steve-O?

My walls stretch to accommodate him in the new angle, “….Shit…” And it feels a lot different than the first. He doesn’t wait, and plunges himself into me. I arch in response, and hug the blankets to me. Hard, pirate hands fasten me in place, and the new surge of pleasure builds again. “Oh shit….”

He went through all the trouble to get that booty and he got short-changed. Sucks to be you, man. 

“I’m going to fuck you all night at this rate,” Orfeo pleasurably groans. He bucks into me harder; taking advantage of slipping one hand around to crawl it up my front. He toys my nipples endlessly, and soon I’m panting underneath him, and biting at the sheets. A trickle of something warm slides between my leg, “You’re making a mess, Elysia.”

The virgin is also a squirter. Cool. Amazing that you hit the right notes on your first try. 

My head hangs forward, “Fuck!” and my sweating neck is clasped in Orfeo’s grip. He pins me, and curves my ass back to meet his thrusts. I bite the sheets, a consensual victim in his ravaging onslaught, “Orfeo…Orfeo, Orfeo—"

“What is it, Elysia?” A handful of red curls are held in his stone grip, and he yanks my head back to force me out of the blankets, “What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

I want a refund for you promising me smut that'd enrich the story. You just gave me shit that needs an FDA recall. 

“Y-You, I want you!” I beg unapologetically. My hand and nails clasp onto his side, and the hold on my hair releases, substituted for my outstretched arm. My watering eyes look up at the new perspective I’m given, and Orfeo’s examining me with such mischievous intent, “Corvus, Corvus,” it was driving me insane.

“Then I’ll give you…what you want.”

Have you ever read something so ridiculous that the monster cock described in the story has a way of giving you the impression it's down your throat? Yeah. I'm feeling that right now.

The steaming air nearly suffocates me; he holds me hostage in his undeniable grip. The muscles in my legs from climbing scaffolds are somehow giving up on me. Orfeo doesn’t stop, and his thrusts evolve into poundings that make my head scream. My mouth drops, and I’m positively absorbed in his chaos. The location of my nerves riles up, when he hits it just….like…..that.

Just say he's hitting your G-spot. Easily done. Don't clog up the drain with this bullshit. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck…” I’m trembling so hard; he wraps an arm around me to keep me steady. To keep my upright. To make me his.

“Take it, Elysia,” he sinks his face into my back. Fingers trail down and lace into my nether region…

I've read a LOT of smut. Of all kinds. But when you start sounding like a BangBros or a FakeTaxi film, it's just parody at this point. 

'Nether region' sounds more like a place where you summon demons rather than your vagina. I suppose it is accurate here.

 Oh my god, I’m going to die.

He rubs the front section of my opening to claim the sensitive bud there. He’s so ruthless, my Twilight ridden body is a slave to his whims.

“That’s it,” he encourages.

Ashwood wasn’t enough to slow this creature down, but one orgasm is enough to strip her of her immortality. Why would an ethereal spirit ‘feed’ into her orgasm? It obviously did not overreact when she inhaled a deadly substance.

Why didn’t he bother to rub her clit before? He just shoved his nine incher right in her hoo ha and she took it like a champ. I guess all you need to defeat this being is to give her a vibrator.

“Ahh….ahhhh….AHHH…!” The familiar, irresistible responsiveness from before is climbing, and contorts my body to bend forward to easier access. To give Orfeo what he wants. To give me what I lusted for.

He snakes his arms to my front, hugging me to him, cupping my chest in his large hands, “Elysia.” The side of his face rests against mine. He’s on fire. He could hardly keep his eyes open. His jaw drops, and he moans loudly into my ear, “Tip over…..fuck.”

I hate how he did that, how he commanded me so impolitely, and yet….

I’d really love to know where Les got her sex knowledge, because it wasn’t from California’s sex ed. You don’t need to write these vocalizations. I don’t hear ‘sexy’, I hear howler monkeys. These contortionist moves are impressive for a virgin. Soon she’ll be ready for the reach around twice over.

“Corvuuuus!”

 

My body did what he told me to, like a beast to its master. I cripple to a pool beneath him, wrenching myself into the sheets as the sweat drips down my neck and my back. The white stars and galaxies of pleasure wring out whatever sound and vulgar vocabulary managed to be salvaged until the end.

That’d be something to be privy to, wouldn’t it? Hearing a woman moan like she’s having a heart attack. Being so loud everyone in the café can hear her. More sweat and lube than a gay bar. All you’re missing is meth and Frankie Goes to Hollywood.

He keeps going, riding me out. Milking it. A strangled sound between a groan and a choke.

I’m so gone from Paris. From this world. I’m in Orfeo’s possession and no one else’s and nothing else mattered. Nothing else mattered and I relished that.

I truly wish this orgasm would cast you away. Since it reduces you to a mere mortal, and all. You're not a cow, you're not getting milked. 

Isn’t it cute how the strongest feminist character and ‘inspiration’ for a spicy Latina feminist happens to melt like hot wax when a man comes around? This wouldn’t be a case of projection, would it?

He pulls out without warning, and I almost sink away from him. He groans once, twice, and then, “Shit!” Something hot and thread-like hits my lower back. I’m too exhausted to move or ask him what it was. Another splash….another. He decorates my lower back with it. When he reaches for the second blouse on the floor, and wipes it across my flesh….

Oh…..

Biggus Dickus has a lot of semen. I wonder why Elysia is acting surprised at what it is, given that she likely knew Claudia and her work at a brothel? You mean to tell me Elysia NEVER saw someone jack off before?

This guy has got to have more sauce than a Subway restaurant.

“God, Elysia.” My body is moved easily, light as a cloud as the soft sheets cradle the form of my figure. I’m lying on my side facing the wall. My eyes are hardly opened. The sheets cover me, and I hear Orfeo rummage around in the back for something. I hear a drawer open and close. Body parts shifting. He must’ve put on a new shirt because he slides behind me, “Mnnn…” and tucks my back into his clothed chest.

He feels...lovely.

I bet the next chapter is going to have anime mom Charlotte squeal over Elysia having sex. There’s going to be lots of gossip, hot chocolate and tea biscuits. Maybe that annoying twat Jaq will come in, wondering why she has bruises everywhere. Calling it now.

I’m also wagering there’s going to be a huge schism between Elysia and her fuck toy in the future, especially since Arno is going to have the mantrain run on him.

“Can I kiss you?” I ask.

He scoffs, “….Yes, you may.”

I cradled his head gently, and pluck his lips with my own. Our eyes flicker closed, and I pull him close. He obliges, and soothes his thumb along my hip. We part a long, blissful moment after. His lips are like blooming petals of the Spring tulips.

And I bet your vag is shredded like their petals after an ice storm. If you think that’s vulgar of me to say so, consider Les never exactly said how large Orfeo was. Enough to ‘tear her apart’.

I open my mouth...but something silences me. And I merely gaze at him, and hold his gentle face in my palms. I must be dreaming. He looked striking with that blush on him. I wonder if he’s as tired as I am from the way he’s brushing my side. I maintain my inspection of his face, and the Darkness that slumbered along his skin. I run a finger down his nose...and he wiggles it when I get to the tip. I softly giggle; it was so foreign for me to do.

Well, we know what the Magic Woman of Colour’s weakness is. We know how easily she’s torn apart – literally, in some cases. We know that she is your typical naive virgin despite her long life. And she is tasked with carrying the story.

Looks like the only thing she’s carrying is all that semen.

It feels nice.

 

 And I don’t remember when I fall asleep.

Neither do I. This took me ten days to do.

I want to start off with the sex. Do you want to know how long this laughable sex scene went on for? 6,572 words. Give or take. An entire chapter’s worth.

I’d also like to remind people that these two characters had next to no interaction beforehand. I can count on a single hand how many times they shared a single scene together. Note this story is getting to the 250,000 word mark and this is more than enough time to write a few chapters of them reacting to one another. This was not done. Instead, the most inane and silly plots were hammered down on the pages. No wonder most people are not reading this piece of shit; they either don’t have the patience, or leave the minute they see this nasty, rat-faced character grace the front page.

The opera murder plot was left in the gutter, the same place Orfeo’s come went. We never figured out who Fran really was, and Arno never bothered to tell anyone that her brother knew what an Assassin was. Fran recognized Assassin robes and he remained mum. He spent weeks wasting his time in recitals and ballet dancing when he could have stolen the documents she had on her person. There was absolutely no solid need for any of this to happen. It is simply yet another meaningless distraction.

The problem is that the author thinks adding side quests in a story sounds as good as it does in her mind. It doesn’t. Side quests in a game are meant to convey additional information and character development. In this case, these side quests and plots feature Matrix-style flips, fights, and bullet-time action, combined with toxic ash that could have killed the protagonist.

As we have discovered, ashwood isn’t toxic to Elysia – despite living in a nation filled to the brim with ash trees – orgasms are. We also discovered she has only been in France for five years and was granted Mentor status. Five years and she learned nothing about France, allowed the Café to fall into disrepair, did not learn about the history of the Brotherhood, and generally hasn’t a clue as to what she is and what she’s doing.

I am most eager to see the turning point of this story. So far, I see no indication that any of the three authors know what they’re doing. This is mere bluster.

The sex scene, occupying half of the chapter, included some of the most pathetic smut I have ever read. So over the top, too many stupid vocalizations, and a typical virgin Mary Sue who was wet as a dog and yet needed extra lube to handle a colossal penis. It’s almost SFM tier. The difference between this and the latter, is that SFM animators do a better job of making their scenes look fluid and smooth.

If your sex scene makes me cringe this much, and I have to force myself to read it, you have failed. This should not happen with two additional authors who are acting as betas. Betas are meant to look through your work and smooth it out. But I can see the raw weakness in this writing and I know that the main author has not had anyone directly confront her on how bad she is.

Protip – you can’t cup a breast if your girl is flat as fuck. And boy, is she flat. Elysia has a male body and she breast binds – despite having such small breasts they would not pose a problem in male clothing. Seeing her do the dirty with an anime boy with a ‘darkness’ that gets its own supernatural boner during sex sounds more like a job for the Winchester brothers.

I’m just fucking glad to be done with this shit. On with the next chapter update.