#It's “Mercy.”

[idalenn]

With a good chunk of the outline now solidified, I went back and rewrote the first chapter of Lillian's canon now that I have a better idea of her character. I'm still keeping the 1st person bit, though. I like it too much. Same with using bolded text to represent Echo-translated dialogue.

Setting: Elpis (6.0)

Words: 3598

“To a rat in a maze, the end is where the start begins.” – Noah Sebastian

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“How do you become a part of someone else’s family? You don’t, and you never do.” Y, Marjorie Celona

I judged the tree less the product of nature’s will, and more a mammoth growth reaching for the empty, blue-black sky with unshaven arms. The lifeless soil, chill winds, and lack of protection from the oppressive sun should have eaten what little nourishment it might have received, yet it stood in defiance of all botanical knowledge. I pulled the borrowed robe tighter around my body when the wind kicked up, as if to further mock me, and stung the scars adorning my face.

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Paper-thin slivers chipped off and fell to the earth with a rap of my fist, with several stuck onto the fibers of my glove as it came away. Far too fragile, the thing was; no tree born from a seed splintered this easily, but nature was denied freedom in this place, as I was coming to learn. Its overseers had instead chosen to swell their lands pregnant with imitations of the natural world below, isolating themselves, and their precious concepts, from influence deemed beyond control. Even the scholars of Sharlayan sought to provide their beasts in underground Labyrinthos with flesh and blood prey to loose upon, and dark, rich soil on which to chase, wealth to nurture the flora.

Casting my eyes upward, I counted clusters of blooming flowers on every branch. Golden petals bled to red at the tips. Down below on the earth lay naught but grass. No orphan acorns. No pinecones. No discernable way for seeds to spread. It is just as well; there are no clouds to provide rain so any would quicken. Keeping with their vision, the architects of this land have built their castle above the clouds, and so weather has become of no consequence to them.

The leaves bear a sweet scent, like raspberry jam, and my stomach is teased into rumbling. I placed one onto my tongue. Discovering it tasted like any other broad leaf, I was reminded of the carved fanciful soaps a merchant once tried to sell me whilst I burned under the Ul’dah sun. He had presented one shaped like a clutch of grapes for me to try which I had promptly taken between my teeth before fleeing the market, my tail between my legs, clouds of sputtered bubbles behind. My stomach turned now as it did then, brought about by this facsimile, gut now becoming the battlefield for a three-sided war: birth, duty, and logic. My gloves were halfway off before I realized what I was doing and shoved them back on. Too long had it been since bark ground against my fingers, stuck calluses full with familiar splinters. A tree is a tree is a tree, my soul has – annoyingly – decided, even if false and hollow artisan’s work. Hugging the trunk, gloved fingers digging into the grooves, I began the ascent, and a young voice below begged me for an onze of care.

“I was born for this. Fret not, child,” I shouted, taking care not to show her a chuckle as I reached for a length of branch which had seen calmer days: a face’s width had been smashed down, the bark cracked by force of impact. A quick jerk proved it was still stable enough for successful use by me.

Though the gloves occasionally made finding an ideal grip difficult, my ascension proceeded without issue, but other causes for discomfort began to appear. No small life dotted the tree. No spiders, insects, or worms lay or lived in its skin unlaced by webbing. Cocoons were nowhere in sight. A shiver crept through my bones.

My quarry dangled from a green stem, one of several nestled in a wreath of flowers around a branch just beyond my reach. If the one below had been anxious before, what I was about to attempt would send its heart fluttering in all ways neither of us desired. The thought drove my own heart to beat louder. A real tree, a real branch with thick, living wood would support my weight easily, but this sculpture gave no hints as to how its branches would handle my miqo’te body. Height was bestowed upon me in excess by the Lover (not that such a gift has been without usefulness) and while I’ve been given a simple robe to wear in place of my weighty armor, time and trial and necessity of duty have wrought no small amount of muscle from this flesh. Entire yalms worth of distance would I plunge if it snapped. What a way for this journey to end: lain low by a simple fall, all because I had accepted a request to pick apples for one met only that day. And a concept, no less. Not a person – a creation. A humble (if embarrassing) end for the Warrior of Light. But I have endured to create a home from this body. By the scars I wore, I had emerged the victor over nature. I refuse to give up this flesh in folly.

Once certain the branch was firmly in my grip, I left the safety of the tree trunk and began swinging hand over hand along the branch as if it were a tightrope, the wood surprising me with its sturdiness. Whereas natural wood would have bobbed up and down to my movements, the branch I hung from remained stiff even as my body swung in the open air, tickled by chill across every spot armor once protected.  

Now close enough, I reached out with fingers trembling, my other hand still clenching the branch above my head, nervous over thoughts of the fruit turning to paste, or how it would combust in my grip, but the apple responded in no such manner. No bruises, no signs of decay; a healthy red sheen and solid feel in my palm. Perfect enough to have been pulled straight from a painting. Following instinct to brush the apple against my clothing to clean it as I had done with countless others would have only sullied the fruit. Plucking another, I deposited both into the pocket of the borrowed black robes along with a handful of flower petals. With quarry secured, the time had come to return to the ground.

Releasing my grip on the branch, I let myself drop.

Aether flew forth from within me, emerald fading clear into the air as it rippled like summer heat, diverting rivers to flow about me and dull the descent’s sharpest edge.

Below, the earth shuddered at my aether’s touch. I commanded it reshape, simultaneously returning freedom to the wind while grass and flowers parted to expose smooth, brown earth, before curving a slice upwards. Knees bent in preparation for the ramp, my momentum was preserved by the incline. I slid along its surface, surfing on the soles of equally borrowed shoes, hair grey as storm clouds flying behind me, ears fluttering, tail countering the motions to maintain stability, the mixed expression of surprise and glee on the awaiting concept’s face strangely finer in my veins than any drink. Once my slide came to a halt, I gave it a deep bow.

“That – That was –”

“Amazing?” I finished, tossing one of the apples. It caught the fruit in slim hands mid-clap. Bluebird wings about its head picked up where the hands left off, beating joy for me to see.

“Yes! Very much amazing, yes!”

“Thank you, Meteion. I try.” Taking bits of the black robe between my fingers, I attempted to curtsy, but the robe’s length rendered the gesture impossible to see. Entire fistfuls would needs be lifted over my head for a proper display. Meteion’s childlike head cocked in confusion like a beast’s. It placed the apple onto the ground before picking up the edges of its own blue dress from around what one might have called knees, only leaning forward slightly on its pair of scrawny avian legs in a rough imitation.

“Close enough.” It smiles at that. “Now, I believe you mentioned these apples needing syrup? Where would we find some?”

“Euanthe! She lives in a building on the west row, usually. I can take us to her!” Sapphire eyes sparkled up at me from a cherub face.

“Good, because I know naught of any row in this place. Lead on, then.” Picking its apple back up, Meteion takes off at a brisk pace, myself in tow. Twin feather tails flap behind it, as though the concept were attempting to take flight.

As we return towards the plaza, the grass underfoot becomes carved, white stone. Hills turn to stairways. The rivers and trees give way to angular structure and architecture. Nature is shaven down, restricted, and molded to fit into strips. At the plaza’s center, a chunk of polished blue crystal suspended in air by magicks older than my language turns ponderously slow. Here, others clad in robes like mine mill about. Most still choose to wear their pale white masks, while those who forgo them instead hang the masks around the neck, though not one still dons the hood. A lucky thing, as wearing both makes distinguishing one from another a hopeless endeavor. Here, in Elpis, the qualities of man are allowed greater liberty.

Meteion guides me to one such person sitting on the edge of a fountain, built into the side of a railed stairway. The woman holds in her hand a pink reptilian creature, one tan finger stroking the fronds of skin ringing its head while a cluster of alike others look on from the water’s edge. She snorts as it toothlessly nibbles at the auburn hair falling past her shoulders. As we approach, Meteion is greeted with a warm smile, but the mask hiding the woman’s eyes makes it impossible to discern if the welcome is also extended to me.

As her mouth opens to speak, I strengthen my stance. What leaves are not words, but a cacophonous tidal wave of sound.

[“Meteion, always a pleasure to see you. Hermes has allowed you out on your own, I take it?”]

Even having prepared, I still stagger. A symphony of cannon blasts with every syllable. Forge smiths by the legion hammering steel into shape on the anvil. My ears ring, and my eyes well up with tears as alien words write familiar shapes in my mind.

“Yes, Euanthe, but I am not alone.” It held a hand to me. “Lillian is accompanying-ing me. Please greet her kindly.”

[“Is that so?”] Euanthe bobs her head up and down in obvious examination of me from head to toe. [“He’s allowed the company of another familiar? And one with such a curious design? What results does he mean to extrapolate from this, I wonder?”]

In my pocket, I root around for the flower petals taken from the tree. Popping one into my mouth, I force myself to chew. Bitter and unpalatable with no purpose other than to look appealing. Again, nothing like the petals of home, but chewing stops me from spitting back any sour replies as my innards crawl under her gaze.

“Euanthe, might we borrow some of your aether?” Meteion asks.

[“For what purpose?”]

Meteion holds out the apple. “For syrup!”

[“Oh, you want a candied apple.”] Euanthe releases the lizard back down to the water and its family. [“I suppose I do still remember the process, but…”] She shakes her head. [“Meteion, if I remember correctly, you weren’t designed to eat.”]

The concept wilts at the words, arms retracting to its chest, the wings on its head falling limp. “That’s right, but I want to share in eating with Lillian.”

[“Maybe next time when Hermes accompanies you. Or, perchance, he could manifest one for you. He himself is partial to candied apples.”]

“I like them too.”

Euanthe scratches her head. [“While it may seem that way, do keep in mind your ability to feel the emotions of others. What pleasure Hermes derives from eating is felt by you also. Such was his wont when he made you, Meteion. You may be mistaking his feelings for your own.”] She held out an open hand. [“As a precaution, I must ask you relinquish the apple you have procured.”]

Meteion dragged one foot across the ground, though “foot” was the wrong word entirely. “Foot” was too reminiscent of man. Every visible ilm of skin extending from the hem of the dress was of a leather with blueish-green complexion, ending in a claw, like a bird’s appendage. The talons – four of them, black as onxy, one for each toe-like structure – scratched lines into the stone. My ears fluttered irritably at the sound, as did my tail towards Euanthe.

“I’m sorry, Lillian.” It says weakly, handing over the apple with the same pathetic reluctance of a child returning stolen sweets to their mother. Woe is me, I’ve been caught. My own heart feels a pang for this waist-tall carved soap of a child and its face flushed with youth.

It takes a moment to find my words again. “Once Hermes’ meeting is adjourned, I’m certain we can bother him for one.”

“An excess of faith you place, Lillian, in that adjudicator he now hosts.”

The voice drifts down from the stairs above.

“Had you any hope for a swift resolution, I daresay I must needs dash it thoroughly. Emet-Selch’s adherence to duty remains legendary, consideration for others’ time being the lowest of his priorities.”

As always, the first moments of her appearance are the worst.

From her hair to her robes to her skin to the mask at her collar, to even her eyebrows, pure, brilliant white catches and reflects the midday sun directly into my eyes. As they adjust, her own piercing ones come into focus, rings of crystal blue around the pupils. Her other features remain washed out. Flat. A ghastly mask in portrait until what remains, too, comes into visibility: high cheeks, an upturned nose, grooves beneath the eyes and the corners of the mouth from a few faint drops of age, and from smiles repeatedly held.

She leans against the railing, flashing us teeth gleaming and perfect from on high. Even now, she looks comfortable in her position. She is too at peace here, in her people’s castle, floating at the edge of heaven where blue and cloud meld, where, if I remain long enough, I would behold the moon from so short a distance between us that I might discern every crater on its surface with eye alone instead of through some strange Sharlayan glass contraption.

[“Greetings to you, Venat. To what do we owe the pleasure?”]

“’Twould seem Hermes has attracted our Convocation’s attention, for reasons I can only fathom. Our eminent Emet-Selch carries out the interview as we speak, supplemented by the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect. Before it began, I and Hermes bade this one,” she points at me, “Keep Meteion content until they adjourned.”

[“This familiar is of your making?”] A scowl pulls back my lips to expose the fangs beneath.

Venat laughs. “Never would I claim such.” Stepping back, she plants one foot on the railing. Meteion’s hand takes mine and begs retreat. With so little effort that it might have been mistaken for any at all, Venat pushes off the railing and into the air, her impact as she lands sending a quiver through the stone. She even brushes away dirt from her shoulder as if any were there to begin with. The urge to roll my eyes nearly overtakes me. “More accurate to say she belongs to a dear friend. But what of your discussion with these two before? Of eating candied apples? I would hear more if it pleases you.”

[“Very well. As I explained to Meteion, she is not designed for the consumption of food. As she is Hermes’ concept, I fear I must decline her request in addition to confiscating the apple she had found, lest she potentially cause harm to her being.”]

Nodding, Venat looked between the apple and Meteion. “She is incapable of eating?”

[“That is not entirely accurate. While she does possess a functional digestive tract as well as all necessary bodily structures and operations for the eating and processing of sustenance, intestines and such, she will derive no nutrition or tangible benefits from doing so. What’s more, her finer details have yet to be made public by Hermes himself. I would not know how eating would affect her aetheric balance. Rather he were present at this time to observe and correct any inadequate results.”]

“Well said, Euanthe. I daresay your logic is impeccable.”

[“I appreciate your sentiment on this matter.”]

“Then,” she began, “Might I ask you close your eyes to this?” Euanthe’s mouth drooped open without response. “Should anything unsavory come about from this reckless decision of mine, you shall be counted blameless.”

Swallowing, Euanthe nodded. She held out the apple for Venat. [“Are you certain of this?”]

“I am.” Venat replied, taking the apple and handing it to Meteion, who accepted it with a grateful smile.

[“If that is your wish, Venat, I bid you farewell.] She gave each of us a short bow before striding off at a brisk pace not once looking back.

Clapping her hands together, Venat flashed us a mouth brimming with perfect teeth once more. “Meteion, I believe you were fraught with desire for some syrup? You as well, Lillian?”

“Yes! Yes, Venat! Please, will you spare some of your aether for us?” Meteion held her apple aloft. I silently held up my own. That ungodly assault on my senses has never grown any easier to endure, but a few more seconds of peace should leave me feeling whole again. As whole as can be, anyroad.

Venat whistled, warbling like a bird as if trying to attract a cloudkin of the forest. Sure enough, two of the pink lizards stuck out their heads from the water and crawled onto the stone wall Euanthe had sat. She leaned down to them, offering her hand for them to scamper onto, which they did with gusto.

“An axolotl, how lovely.” She patted the creatures on their heads with the tip of her finger. Eyes like black beans blinked once before the axolotls melted into emerald and orange light. Meteion clapped her hands excitedly, her eyes sparkling. The ancient spread the light over our apples with a wave of her hand. As it winked out, the light was replaced with a sticky, brown syrup smelling of cloves and cinnamon.

A small part of me lost its appetite.

A second, smaller, part of me argued profusely against how no such emotion was felt when I had previously witnessed this. Emet-Selch had done the same with a butterfly-like creature wide as I was tall. A snap of his fingers had converted the being into the articles I now wore. Every ancient in attendance here wore a similar creature, like as not, Venat included. Was it really any different than the leathers worn by so many in my home, or the beasts I myself had skinned for use in clothing time and again? The first part wailed, “Of course it is!”

“Is it not to your liking?” Venat asked.

“Perhaps I’m not as hungry as believed.” I said with mouth traitorously watered.

“Hesitate not to ask if there is aught you require, for full glad will I be to provide any and all you ask for.” Meteion tries to exult Venat’s praises through a mouthful of sticky fruit, and like a mother proud of her daughter’s first mewlings, she returns an understanding grin. I now know where to shove mine once it needs another. “Now, if you are ready, I have found a spot well-suited for our undertaking. One far from curious ears.”

“I don’t suppose your interest in my tales has waned at all?” I asked.

“You would ask if my interest in the greatest of vast unknowns has declined? That I might let an opportunity such as this pass me by as easily as day turns to night?” A mischievous spark graces her eye. “And here I believed you knew me well.”

Venat winks before departing, as if there’s a hidden jest held between us intended to be laughed over in our solitary moments before sleep. Meteion follows behind, syrup from an egg that resembles an apple staining cheeks that look like flesh. If I do not follow, I will soon be alone. Venat will turn, noticing what is amiss, and she will question what lingers on my thoughts and causes me hesitation. I will have no answer. I may as well be trapped in my infant body, all the words I wish to say clear and sharp in my head but dead the instant they step onto my tongue, unable to leave, driving me instead to scream until someone, anyone, tries their damnedest to discern its cause on their own.

So I follow.

I follow because I am being told to come along. I follow because I have a task from those in my homeland, and a task from the one I have come to find. There exists a third reason that I fear will show on my face if dwelled upon in excess, thus it shall be buried for a time in the deepest recess of my soul; the only organ that belongs to me, and me alone. From her piercing eyes and intuition will this secret be safe. She shall not divine it with the same ease as she did my reason for arriving here, before she revealed it to all present with her damning words.

“I say...have you perchance come from the future?”

[starringmoon]

toby when i get you toby

[diabloku]

Lucifer: *enters the hotel*

Alastor: I cast vicious mockery 😈

An animation my sis and I made for fun

Music is Perception Check by Tom Cardy.

[ikol-art]

Ok I did the thing

Don't look at it too hard

[sealsprout]

you don't think I know my own palace?

[raointean]

...he'll get there eventually

[nourasbasha]

A child in Gaza holds his cat among the rubble. No home. No safety. No food. Yet he still protects someone more vulnerable than himself. In a place where everything is under attack, mercy survives..Support those who kept their humanity.

[neildylandy]

[do-you-know-this-queer-character]

Do you know this queer character?

Castiel is Queer and Agender or Genderfluid, and uses varying pronouns based on presentation!

[flapdoodlez]

⚡ BATTLE MEDICS ⚡

[followerofmercy]

Networking/Knowing A Guy: A Guide

This is the autism website. Now, as an extension of the power of love and friendship, there are few things more useful than Knowing A Guy. Knowing A Guy means you have a support network. Knowing a plumber, or a tax accountant, or just that one dude that's really fucking good at finding the information you need when you're really overwhelmed, can be the difference between being able to pay rent and having a fun party with friends to fix your shit.

How does one end up Knowing A Guy? It's a skill you can develop called Networking and it is one of the foundations of society. Unfortunately making those connections with people is fucking hard and nobody makes a tutorial for it. So, here you go:

The golden rule is you scratch my back and I scratch yours

It is necessary for survival to seek out useful people

Great news! Everyone is useful in some form or fashion - including you! When given the opportunity to learn about someone, do it! Extroversion does not come naturally to some people and that's okay. Just take whatever falls in your lap.

Types of usefulness: trade skills, connections of their own, personality you jive with, pleasant to talk to, niche interest in shared hobby, security - the list is pretty much endless. I know a guy that lives in the metro area - no job, no major hobbies, inoffensively annoying to me personally, kinda ignorant, not attractive to me, but you know what? He knows how the fuck to get around the city by foot. My rural-raised ass APPRECIATES the guide.

Remember important information: general personality, background, skillset, likes and dislikes. You can find this information by making smalltalk about their life. There is no such thing as pointless conversation. (Yes, even the annoying smalltalk)

The more people you know, the higher the likelihood that one of them will be useful in a given situation - or will know someone who is.

It is overwhelming. In a given clique/community/workspace/whatever, there is A Guy Who Knows The Other Guys. This Guy is a shortcut. Find them. They're often elderly, extroverted, a little bit annoying, a secretary or in some otherwise forward-facing position. Look for people that are gossipy/talk about other people a lot but not in negative ways. If they constantly talk shit, they'll talk shit about you too. They're still useful but be careful with the information you share

You do not have to like someone for them to be useful.

You do not have to like someone for them to be useful.*

If you have low self esteem, you're going to feel like you're using people. You're not. That's the devil talking. People like feeling valued and the connections you are making are the threads holding community together. Recognize people for their talents. It's only a problem when you're taking advantage of people

So: don't feel scummy about it. You're an animal. You have to claw out your right to survive and people will respect you more for it.

Luckily mutualism is the name of the game in the animal kingdom. Offer something back. The foundation of a Know A Guy relationship is Mutual Benefit

Sometimes that Mutual Benefit is just spreading news of the The Guy far and wide. My plumber friend is my actual friend and I love her to death, but I'm maintaining our backscratch relationship by pimping out her plumbing business to anyone that'll listen

Food is a good Mutual Benefit. People across cultures for all of human history have bonded over food. I have good success asking people for a favor and then offering to buy them lunch in return **

General compensation is also good. Offer a service in return and always do your best to offer financial compensation as appropriate. Having your plumber friend take a look at your drain: doable with a case of beer. Having your plumber friend redo the pipes in your entire house? You need to pay for that.

Being transactional is not necessarily a bad thing. I would advise against keeping an itemized list of things owed, but fish don't seek out cleaner shrimp just because they enjoy their company. Everyone gets something

Unfortunately being extroverted and generally personable is a huge benefit here, but that's the value of the Guy That Knows A Guy. There's someone out there that has consolidated All The Guys so you don't have to be the local expert. Always remember nobody can do everything and you don't need to master every skill

* This is the foundation of a functioning community. I have many acquaintances that I find incredibly annoying. They include doctors, welders, artists, social workers, lawyers, construction crew and random fuckers at the grocery store. I do not hang out with them. I do not have to in order to maintain a civil Know A Guy relationship. I can drop them useful tidbits and fuck right off so I don't have to spend any more time than necessary with them

** People may assume romantic intent. Be prepared for that. I generally denote that it's a friendly/work lunch by calling them bro at some point if they're my age. Otherwise my general demeanor is sufficient to show that I do this with everyone

Source: personal experience, mother's teachings of crime, booth vending and poverty

[touch3d-by-ang3ls]

10k notes I'll come out to my parents

[bloodyrosemisaki]

Youtube: User violated our terms and conditions

User Jorge Rivera-Herrans: How?

Youtube: You are using Jorge Rivera-Herrans songs without permission

User Jorge Rivera-Herrans:

[sewer-sermon]

tfw you visibly base your entire identity around One Specific Character Or Thing so that whenever it gets brought up (or left out) of a conversation you look like this pointing it out

[nicolacoughlan]

#of course they are friends