#torn between jumping for joy and jumping off a cliff

[cyberits]

if u squint hard enough this is basically bearnelli crumbs trust guys please

[imkylotrash]

Honesty Is Such A Lonely Word

Pairing: Saul Silva x reader

Requests: Reader and her friends do something stupid and reckless like exit the barrier and get drunk outside or go swimming in the river or anything kinda dangerous like that and then they get caught by Silva and he is angry. Anonymous And Could you do a of age student reader secretly dating silva oneshot where: instead of Bloom, its the reader that goes to Aster Dell with beatrix and learns what happened and confronts silva when they get captured on their way back?  Anonymous

Tagging: @grey-girl @intoanothermind @anreeixcobra @kingunder221b @lflores2008 @alexiapayne12 @quuenofblacks @quarterback-5 @estelmei @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody @artsyle​ @baueoud @glowingatdawn @shadowhuntyi 

A/N It’s currently 3:30 am and I’m trying to stay awake to watch the Oscars but I can very much feel that I’m getting older 😂👵🏻

“It was just a joy ride. Nothing to worry about,” you say making sure to keep your face neutral. You watch as they put the runic handcuffs on Beatrix trying not to vomit.

“Those are barbaric,” you burst out not understanding how they could treat a student like that no matter what they think she’s done. Saul pulls you aside in the middle of the drama giving him the perfect cover to talk to you on his own. 

“What happened?” You try to swallow but a lump in your throat is preventing you from doing anything other than keeping quiet. You stare right into his eyes with all the defiance you can muster. 

“I already told you it was a joy ride. You’re going to handcuff me to?” you ask holding out your arms. He pushes them away with a hushed “of course not!” but you don’t see the difference between you and Beatrix. 

“I’ll drive Y/N back,” Saul informs Dowling and you’re positive it’s because he’s thinking he can get you to talk once you’re alone but you clam up like a seashell refusing to say another word. 

“You have to talk to me. It’s better than Dowling searching through your mind,” Saul says appalling you further. He’d let Dowling tear through your mind just to find out what you and Beatrix talked about?

“Nice to know you’ll protect me,” you mumble picking at a thread in your shirt. You’re beyond upset that he so willingly allows Dowling to take this over and follow her around like a lost puppy. 

“I am trying to protect you. But I need you to help me if I’m going to succeed.” You don’t utter another word impatiently waiting for you to reach the school. Saul sighs knowing this isn’t the time to push you. But it’s the threat of everything that convinces you to join the party held by the students and a promise of alcohol. You sneak out as soon as Saul has dropped you off at your room. It’s just on the other side of the border which definitely should scare you considering the amount of problems there’s been with Burned Ones lately but several beers drown your worries. 

“You up for cliff jumping?” a random guy yells and it sounds like the perfect idea. It’s straight into a lake and the thrill of jumping is like nothing you can describe. It’s the part about breaking through the water surface and looking eyes with him immediately because how could you ever be close to him without noticing him? 

“Shit.” You turn sober in seconds watching him yell at the top of his lungs as everyone to go back to school. He keeps staring at you with fire in his eyes. Normally, you’d be sheepish but right now you’re staring back with as much fire as him. You’re not backing down on this one and he knows that too. He doesn’t speak as he leads you back to school but he keeps a very tight grip on your arm that kind of hurts but you refuse to let him know that. 

“What the hell were you thinking!” he yells once you’re finally back in private. But he hasn’t got a leg to stand on. You’re just as pissed as he is. 

“I’m not doing this. You want to talk then bring Dowling so she can go through my head.” The threat of her invasion of your mind is still living inside of you. She doesn’t stand a chance to enter your mind seeing as you’re a mind fairy yourself but even the idea of this invasion of privacy is enough to make you cry. You’re not the enemy. 

“You’re acting like a child,” he accuses you but you see the hurt in his eyes. 

“I’m acting like someone who just found out that their mentors are ruthless killers!” you yell. The cat is out the bag now. 

“What did you just say?” He deflates turning into a tiny man rather than the overpowering force of anger he was just seconds ago. 

“You heard me. Aster Dell. You killed all those people. And then you made a victory round,” you cry feeling the pain of losing the parents you never knew all over again. 

“We- I di- H-how do you know that?” he stammers already proving to you that Beatrix wasn’t lying. 

“Please, you have to believe me. I tried to stop it. Dowling and Harvey had no idea what they were doing. They thought...” You act as though you don’t care but you’re hanging on to every word he says. You want to believe that he’s telling the truth but how can you ever trust him again? 

“I killed my best friend in an attempt to stop Rosalind.” You could drop a needle and you’d hear it hit the floor in the silence that follows. Saul explains the fight between him and Andreas as he tried to stop it and you’re thinking just how sick he’d have to be to make this up. 

“I lost him that day and I’ve living with the guilt ever since. But I promise you, we didn’t kill them because we were careless or ruthless. Rosalind lied to us.” 

“Why weren’t you honest with me?” you whisper feeling torn between what story to believe. 

“I wasn’t exactly keen on reliving my worst moment in life. I had no idea you were one of the babies from Aster Dell. I swear on my life that I would’ve told you if I ever suspected even the slightest.” You want to believe him. Your heart is begging you to give in and believe his version because it’s a much better reality to live in than the one Beatrix has created.

“Let’s say I believe you. Where does that leave me? I’m nowhere closer to finding out who my parents were. Rosalind is the only one with the answers,” you argue. 

“I promise you, I will do whatever I can to help you find out the truth. I'll go talk to Farah right now and figure out how to proceed. I’ll go anywhere with you to find the truth,” he promises and you decide he’s being earnest. You know those beautiful eyes and you see nothing but the truth in them. 

“But in return, you have to promise me not to put yourself in danger like that. You could’ve gotten seriously hurt out there. The barrier is there to protect you,” he adds and you get him. It was stupid and impulsive to go out there. You’d been driven by anger and hurt when you decided to join that party. 

“Okay.” He’s standing in front of you as soon as he hears you agree. He cups your cheeks crashing his lips against yours. There’s no time to breath or think. You kiss him back feeling the events of today hit you like a ton of bricks. It’ll be a long walk to establish the trust between you and Saul but you know it’s possible. You believe him when he says they didn’t know but you hate that you had to find out this way. 

“No more secrets. Honesty is the key to get through this, okay?” you ask when you break apart at last. 

“No secrets.” He kisses you again. This time you believe him. 

[newbornwhumperfly]

burn up with the water

this is just a little drabble i penned inspired by sweet, sweet Ash by @whumping-every-day and her headcanon that Ash daydreams of rain. i really hope i did this character and your story justice! 

the title of this drabble comes from the song ‘mary’ by the big thief

         Summer is creeping to an end and soft rain begins to fill the nights.

The fall churns the loose earth gently with swollen rivers and newborn streams, upturning hidden things and washing away the waste of fallen leaves and rotten branches from the forest floors. Pleasantly, the rain brings a scent. Petrichor perfumes the dark air, the fragrance of wet dirt mingling with the scent of life in the grass and leaves and green trunks that has been loosened by the water. The rain will smell like steel later in the year, autumn giving the breeze a metal tang, its bracing taste a threat of the iron winter to come.

But for now, the heat of the year is gently leaving, like a bed whose body has risen from the sheets, and the cooling speaks of things to be done.

Ash loves it.

When the first summer showers thundered down upon the cottage, he trembled at the dry rumblings which thickened the muggy blackness. But the rain is a giant heartbeat, a steady drum against the world, unceasing and clean and steady in its rhythm. It is a heart unafraid of the dark or the light but comes and goes for hours or moments at a time but always with the same steady sound.

It soothes now and has grown more soothing in the cleansing it brings to his skin.

He doesn’t speak of it to Callum – he doubts he would be able to pour the swirl of feelings into a mold that properly contains them. But, sometimes, when the rain begins, he will rise from his little cot and push through the doors of his sanctuary to step beyond the eaves.

Even those two footfalls felt like a leap from a cliff when Ash tried it first. The house was safe. Inside was safe and the outside was too large and full of light to endure. But the darkness felt like its own sort of walls, pressing and containing into one single spot, no further than the ring of lamplight.

Here, in this halo of yellow, Ash put bare feet upon the ground. He felt the shock of cold and ooze, squeezing between already cramping toes, the slippery and sticky and the dirt. It wasn’t a bad sort of dirty, he’d quickly felt. It wasn’t filth, crusted grime layering like a second skin from months of squalid neglect, stewing in your own waste. This dirt was fresh and soft and rich beneath his torn soles. He pushed his feet further into the clay and watched the pebbles catch candlelight, flickering as though golden and precious. He watched his wiggling toes for a moment and flung back his head, rain pattering like a thousand taps upon his upturned face and dripping in slow drops off ringlets of hair.

A soft sound, like a breath, like a cough, burst from his lungs. No sound, just a jump in the muscle. It was like…a laugh. The shadow of a laugh, weak and insubstantial. But it was still a shadow and it hung in the dark, quickly becoming lost in the downpour. Ash could not remember laughing before and he wasn’t quite sure he’d laughed then. But he tried it again, huffing, hiccoughing without noise, but it was gone.

He shivered although the air was warm and the rain was not bitterly chill. It was not a bad shiver either.

Since that night, Ash had taken to venturing beyond the stoop to lean against a pine, tracing the moist grooves in the bark and getting sap under his nails. He had rubbed his feet in the muck as much as he could, always taking care to wash his feet in the little pool of runoff from the roof near the door. He had even darted around the house once or twice, feeling how fleeting the raindrops were when some missed his skin with his speed.

He had laughed again. More than once. It wasn’t loud, was barely a noise at all, but it felt like a cry into the night. Maybe it was a cry, falling in the space somewhere between joy and fear that Ash trembled in day to day.

It was not yet peace, Ash knew, hands outstretched towards the endless height of sky, only distinguished from the space around him by its stars. He might never be at peace, he was aware, as rain streamed down his arms and shoulders and made their own little rivers, as though they could also wash away the old and the rotten.

Nonetheless, the rain has upturned some forgotten thing inside of him, hidden but for the water’s release. It might not be peace, yet, but it is not pain and it not fear and Ash loves it all the same.

            i hope you liked it @whumping-every-day because i adore Ash with all my heart and your writing inspires me so much!!!

[kimtanathegeek]

Two Brothers, Many Paths - Ch 28

*sighs* Well...we had to get here someday....

Thanks for reading! :)

—

Undertale copyright Toby Fox

Story and original characters by me, Kimtana

Please do not use without both permission and credit.  

Read below, or read it on AO3 here.  

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Sans was in an absolute panic.

He had to use every ounce of sense within him to resist the urge to dive over the waterfall after Papyrus. He pulled himself back from the edge, shaking violently and hyperventilating. Tears fell from his eyes like the waters down the falls as he paced back and forth, trying to bring his reeling mind back so he could think.

He didn’t want to believe that Papyrus was gone. But he’d seen him disappear into the darkness.

He couldn’t believe his brother was gone. It was all his fault.

Sans came to a sudden halt. He gripped his skull, shut his eyes tight, doubled over, and screamed in anguish from the very bottom of his soul until his lungs were empty of all air.

He stood back up, his throat throbbing, his vision blurry, gasping for breath, and rushed to the edge.

No. He’s not gone. He’s not dead. He can’t be.

He staggered to the very edge, tears falling from his face into the void below. Then he wiped his tears and narrowed his eyes as he clenched his teeth, throwing any thought that his brother was dead into the wind. He raised his left hand and made a series of twelve bone platforms down the cliff face near the waterfall, each a few feet below the other and sat down on the top one.

I’m coming, Papyrus. I’m going to find you. Just hang on. Please hang on.

A sob escaped his torn throat. He made the platform he was sitting on disappear, causing him to fall down to the next one with a thump. He made the next one disappear, and fell to the one below that. He kept descending like this, the only way he could think of other than jumping blindly as his heart so desperately wanted him to do.

As he reached the end of the platforms, he created a dozen more. His body was hurting from landing on the bones after each fall, but he didn’t care. He descended rapidly, his platform creation and removal becoming so automatic, he barely needed to concentrate.

Eventually he had gone down the cliff so far that he, too, was enveloped in darkness. He created a blue bone and tossed it down, watching it fall into the void until it suddenly disappeared.

He kept going.

Another dozen platforms made, another dozen removed. He created and dropped another blue bone, watching it plummet. This time, the bone illuminated a body of water under it before splashing in, sinking into the depths and out of sight.

It’s not bottomless! Sans gasped, the first spark of hope igniting in his soul.

He removed the remaining platforms, one by one, falling onto each subsequent one, then let himself freefall after he made the last platform disappear. He fell through the darkness a short distance before suddenly hitting the surface of the water, submerging in the watery void. He opened his eyes, but it was as if they were closed, the darkness was so total.

He swam to the top, breaking through the surface, gasping and coughing. He bobbed in the water, utterly exhausted from his panic. He created another blue bone under water and raised it up above his head, looking around.

It was difficult to see anything in the pitch-dark, but the blue-white light reflected off the water, allowing him to see shadows in the bone’s light. The body of water he was treading was large, but he couldn’t see where the edges were in the darkness. There were formations all around, like tiny islands, rising up around the area.

He swam, one-armed, towards one of the formations, holding up the bone with his other hand as he cried out.

“Papyrus! Papyrus!!!”

His voice was drowned out by the cacophonous waterfalls surrounding the area and the pounding in his head from his anxiety.

Sans pulled himself out of the water, collapsing on the ground from overexertion. He was shivering uncontrollably from the chill and his increasing panic, the blue bone’s light shaking as it illuminated the island. He struggled to stand, his legs and knees shaking terribly.

The land wasn’t made of soil or mud, but of things. Broken wooden items, useless weapons, soggy fabrics, and various, rotting substances that Sans couldn’t identify, all piled up in the huge mound he was standing on. He covered his nose from the horrific stench as his eyes darted around, looking for his brother.

When he didn’t find him on the island, he flung the blue bone over to the next island and jumped into the water, swimming frantically to it. The second island was the same as the first—a mound of broken, decaying refuse. Once again, he searched the small mound for Papyrus, then tossed the blue bone to the next island with a strained grunt.

When the bone landed, Sans gasped. In the blue-white light was his little brother’s body, his head and chest on the bank of the mound, his pelvis and legs bobbing in the waters.

“Pap!!!”

Sans dove into the water and swam urgently to the mound, the rush of determination shoving aside his weariness. He pulled himself out of the water, a sob tearing from his chest as he looked at his brother, motionless on his stomach, his head at an awkward angle, with the tail of his drenched red scarf plastered to his back.

Sans carefully turned him onto his back and pulled him up so that he was no longer in the waters that had stolen him. He fell to his knees and put his ear to his brother’s mouth. He felt nothing against the side of his skull, a sickening feeling growing in his stomach.

Immediately, Sans sat on the ground with his legs out straight and pulled his brother up against him as he bent both knees slightly, digging his bare heels into the debris. He laid Papyrus down over his legs so that his ribcage was against his knees, his head facing downward, and started pounding his spine where it met his ribcage in short, hard, upward thumps with his hands, fingers interlaced.

“C’mon, Pap,” he sobbed, trying to keep his panic down while he performed the maneuver his parents had taught him—lessons for an emergency, such as this.

Papyrus’ soaked body moved only when struck, not responding, as the terror gripped Sans’ soul. Still, he continued, straining to count in between movements.

After several moments of striking his upper back, water trickled out of the little skeleton’s jaws, then he started coughing up water. Sans cried tears of joy as he continued thumping his brother’s back until the coughs were dry.

“That’s it,” Sans coaxed, tears flowing down his face. “Get it up. Get it all up....”

Papyrus coughed and gasped for air, then began crying loudly. Sans lowered his knees as he turned his brother over, pulling him up to embrace him, rocking him gently and gratefully.

“I’m here, Papyrus,” he wept into his brother’s shoulder as his brother cried uncontrollably. “It’s ok. You’re ok. You’re ok now.”

Papyrus’ wailing didn’t cease, which concerned Sans. He raised his knees up tight so he could lean his brother against them.

“Pap, what’s wrong?” Sans asked, his eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“Hurts....” his brother sobbed, his eyes shut tightly. His face was contorted in agony.

Sans’ eyes searched for any visible injuries, but the little skeleton’s clothes covered most of his bones.

“Where, Pap?” Sans asked urgently. “Where does it hurt?”

“It hurts!” His cry was more high-pitched, filled with pain.

Sans pulled up his brother’s shirt carefully, and winced at what he saw. One of his ribs had broken off and was missing, while another was cracked. The lower part of his vertebrae, just above his pelvis, was slightly fractured.

He gently pulled the scarf around his neck loose, which caused Papyrus to emit a bloodcurdling scream, making Sans flinch in sympathy. He tugged cautiously at the collar of his brother’s shirt and saw that his collarbone was broken, and—most alarmingly—two of his cervical vertebrae were badly fractured.

“Oh, Pap...,” he breathed concernedly.

He checked his brother’s arms and legs, which were unscathed. Papyrus was still crying out in pain, breaking Sans’ heart.

“It’s all right,” he said, stroking the side of his brother’s head soothingly. “As soon as you eat, you’ll feel much better. Let’s get back up there and out of this place. Just hold on.”

He turned his brother so that he could cradle him in his arms as Papyrus screamed in pain with the movement. Sans shushed him gently, his brother unable to hear him through his tortured screams, as he carefully rose to his feet. He held Papyrus tightly, shut his eyes, and took a step.

Nothing happened.

Sans opened his eyes, his breath caught in his throat in panic.

Why didn’t it work...?!

He closed his eyes again, pictured the pathway above, begging to be up there to the food in his bag, and took a step.

They remained on the mound.

“No,” Sans whimpered in fear. “No, no, no....”

He tried a third time, and, still, they were on the mound in the middle of nowhere.

Sans felt the panic grip his soul as his brother’s painful cries became more and more shrill. He had to get back up on that path. He had to get food into his brother urgently.

Maybe I need to be closer.... Maybe I’m too far down here.... It’s a long way down here from up there....

He looked over at the two islands he had searched before finding his brother. He figured that if he got to that first mound, he might be in better range. But he couldn’t swim, not with his brother so terribly injured. He had to be careful—one wrong move, and his brother’s fractured neck would snap, killing him. If he had thumped his brother’s back just slightly harder—the thought made him shudder horribly.

Sans knew he needed to make a bridge, so he cautiously raised his left hand as his arm helped bear the weight of his brother. But nothing happened.

“What?!” Sans breathed in shock.

He tried again—no white bones appeared.

Then the realization hit him like a slap across the face. The exhaustion he was suffering wasn’t from the ordeal. Between teleporting to the darkened area, trying to use the blue soul magic, creating and removing dozens of bone platforms, and making multiple blue bones, he had used up all his magic.

He went for his pocket to pull out the bag of dried fruit to replenish his magic so he could transport his brother to safety. His hand slipped into air as he gasped, then groaned in anguish—his jacket was still up on the pathway.

Sans stood on the mound, frozen with fear and helplessness—no magic, his critically injured brother screaming in pain in his arms, trapped in the watery darkness.

 -

 It took Sans a few moments to regain his thoughts.

Getting food into his brother was the highest priority right now. With great care, he laid his wailing brother back on the mound, rolling up the tail of his soaked scarf to pillow his head. His brother had not stopped crying, urging Sans to action quickly. Picking up the blue bone for light, he frantically searched around the mound for any sort of soil that might have mouseshroom nightlights growing in it. When he found none, he looked back at Papyrus, who was still weeping pitifully, before sticking the blue bone between his teeth and diving back into the water to search the next island.

Grasping onto the loose debris, Sans achingly pulled himself out of the water, finding another mound of discarded and rotting items. He stumbled, his body begging him to rest after depleting himself of magical and physical energy, but he refused. He held up the bone and searched the ground, his eyes scanning for anything edible.

“Please...,” he begged whatever forces were listening. “Please, give me something....”

The mound had nothing to offer, so he slipped into the water and headed to the next island, hoping to find actual ground instead of decaying refuse. Pulling himself up and out, he found yet another pile of rubbish. His soul fluttered in his chest momentarily when he saw a broken crate, filled with rotting apples.

“Just one, please,” he whispered, a whine tinging his voice, as he scrambled to get to it. “Just one....”

He picked up the crate and upended it, the rotten apples landing on the mound in a squelching, disgusting heap. He desperately ran his hands through the decayed fruit, his fingers searching for the hardness of a still-edible morsel. The entire crate’s worth was nothing but a liquified, reeking goop. Sans slammed his fists into the putrefied mess in dismayed frustration. A sob escaped his throat as panic once again clutched at him.

He picked the bone back up in his filth-covered hand, his eyes darting as they continued scanning the ground. His legs buckled, and he fell to the trash-covered ground on his hands and knees. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer like this, but he still pushed forward.

Sans returned to the water to swim to the next mound, his limbs numb in the water from cold and exhaustion. Eventually, he reached it and searched once more, found nothing, and swam to the next, repeating the motions mound after mound.

He grasped at the loose bank of yet another island of refuse, gasping and choking for air. His arms ached viciously, and his legs gave him great difficulty standing as they grew weaker. He stumbled through the debris, falling multiple times, as tears of frustration and fear for his brother blurred his already strained vision.

Then he saw it.

He had looked up briefly and thought the darkness was playing tricks on his eyes, but, squinting, he realized that there were a few faint pinpricks of light coming from an island near the one he stood on. It was hard to tell, but it sure looked like blue-white light to his tired eyes.

“Oh please...!” he rasped weakly. “Please be them....!”

Sans stuck the bone back in his teeth and dove into the water, the hope renewing his energy slightly. He swam swiftly at first, then slowed as his exhaustion weighed his limbs down. The currents pushing from the base of the waterfall right next to the mound tried to sweep his light body away, making it all the more difficult for him to reach it. He coughed as water splashed into his mouth between the bone, his desperation tearing at his soul.

At last, he arrived at the mound, coughing out water he had choked down, gasping for air as he crawled over to the flickering source of light along the bank. He ripped away pieces of wood, sodden ropes, and decayed reeds and gave a guttural sigh of joy.

Numerous rotting mouseshroom nightlights had been washed up on the mound, having found their way down the waterfall that fed the mound with its discarded cargo. Many of them were lit, their blue-white glow weak and flickering, and all of them were in a state of decay. However, much of the mushrooms were still edible around the rotting parts.

Looking around for something to carry the mushrooms in, Sans found nothing. Thinking quickly, he pulled off his soaking shirt, shivering uncontrollably with the cold as his bones from the pelvis up were exposed to the light breeze. With trembling, shaky hands, he frantically filled his shirt like a bag with as many mushrooms as could fit. He rolled the hem of his shirt to seal it, then took a nearby rope and wound it around the bundle, tying it firmly so the shirt wouldn’t open. He slung it over his back, tying the sleeves around his neck into a knot. Then he picked up the blue bone, shoved it back between his teeth, and dove into the water.

The currents were now rapidly pushing him in his favor, back towards the island on which his brother lay. Sans hoped he wasn’t too late, that his brother hadn’t shifted, causing his neck to—

Papyrus’ painful cries reached Sans’ ears as he neared the mound. Sans whimpered through his teeth and the bone, struggling to reach his injured brother with the life-saving mushrooms on his back.

Sans washed up on the bank of the mound, his body shivering violently and unwilling to move. With all the strength he could summon, he crawled over to his wailing brother and collapsed by his head, weakly pulling the knotted shirt sleeves over his own head. He pulled the bundle up to him and fumbled to untie the rope with numb fingers. The rope fell free and he tore at it to loosen, shoving his hand into the bottom of his shirt to pull out a mushroom. He tore off an edible piece and held it to his brother’s open, crying mouth.

Feeling the food at his teeth, Papyrus whimpered as he instinctually opened his mouth wider for it. Sans dropped it in, and the little skeleton barely chewed it before swallowing it with a whimper as Sans broke off another bit. Papyrus opened his mouth for more, and Sans gave him the next piece, laying his own head down on his other arm to rest. With each swallow, Papyrus’ whimpering and moaning decreased, but Sans refused to slow his feeding.

Soon, Papyrus was able to open his eyes, his awareness returning to him as the cloud of agony dissipated from his mind.

“...Sas...?” His voice was a weak croak.

“Sh-shh, P-Pap...,” Sans stammered, his teeth chattering terribly. “K-keep eat-ting....”

Sans was now shivering violently. Skeletons couldn’t handle the chill from wetness, the moisture seeping deep into their bones. Their bodies could bear the dry, frigid temperatures of the winter for long durations, but the combination of saturation in cold water and exposure in the air quickly chilled them to the bone. He knew he needed to get dried off and warm, but everything around him was waterlogged and soaking. He gritted his chattering teeth, ignoring his own discomfort for the sake of his brother’s serious injuries.

After five mushrooms, Papyrus tried to sit up, but groaned, clutching his neck.

“N-no...!” Sans begged, reaching up weakly to stop him. “D-don’t t-touch your ne—”

A green glow shone under the little skeleton’s hands. Sans watched wide eyed, mouth hung open as his brother’s clavicle and cervical vertebrae glowed in the green light, reforming before his eyes. Soon, the bones had reformed, as if nothing had happened to them. Papyrus, still sniffling and whimpering, put his hands over his lower chest. The green glow lit up his hands and ribcage under his shirt, healing his broken ribs. He then moved his hands down—leaning up slightly—to reach his lower vertebrae, healing the fractures.

This must be how he healed me, Sans thought as he watched in shock.

Having healed his major injuries, Papyrus laid back, hiccoughing tearfully from his ordeal.

Sans was still on his stomach, trembling violently as he offered his brother more of the mushroom, but Papyrus had had his fill and turned his closed jaws away from it. Sans let his hand drop weakly, and Papyrus turned his head back to face him.

“S-Sas okay...?” he asked between dry sobs.

“J-just t-tired,” his brother answered, teeth chattering loudly. “And c-c-cold. S-so c-c-old.”

Papyrus groaned painfully as he rolled over, looking at his brother through the light of the blue bone. His eyebrows raised in worry.

“Where Sas’ shirt?”

Sans weakly lifted an empty sleeve of the shirt, still filled with rotting mushrooms.

Papyrus winced as he moved closer to his trembling brother, putting his arm around Sans in an effort to keep him warm. His damp clothes made Sans shiver even more, but Sans didn’t care. He was too relieved that his brother was out of danger.

“W-we’ve g-got to g-get b-back,” Sans stammered, shaking uncontrollably. “B-but m-my m-m-magic is g-gone. I c-can’t make pl-platforms or t-take us th-there.”

“Pa do it....”

The tiny whisper made Sans lift his head weakly. “Wh-what...?”

Papyrus tilted his head and opened his eyes slightly to look at his brother. Sans could tell he was still weak from his injuries, even though they had healed.

“Pa make bones....”

Sans made a small sound of protest, but realized that it would be their only chance. They couldn’t wait for his magic to naturally replenish.

Sans looked at the rotting mushrooms spilling out of his shirt next to his head.

“P-Pap...,” he croaked. “C-can y-you eat m-more?”

Papyrus gave a weak shake of his head. “No, Sas.... Pa too full....”

Sans hesitated, unwilling to take food that should be going to heal his brother. But, deep down, he knew that if they were going to make the massive climb back up, he needed his strength.

He pulled out a mushroom and tore off an edible portion with shaky fingers, shoving it in his mouth. He kept eating, feeling his strength returning and his pain fade away slowly. After he had consumed the last of the mushrooms, he sat up, still woozy from the weakness of his magic depletion, his brother watching him through half-shut lids as he lay on his side.

Sans shook out his soaked shirt of mushroom remains and put it back on with a struggle, as the wet cloth made it difficult. He gasped sharply as the frigid fabric clung against his spine and ribcage, a loud, deep shudder forcing its way out of his lungs.

He looked over at the sheer cliff wall from where they had come, unable to see the top from their depth. There were so many waterfalls that he wasn’t sure which one Papyrus had fallen down. Recalling that he had checked a few of the islands in front of them before finding his brother, and seeing a pair of waterfalls close together like the two waterways that cut through the path near the other islands, he judged the best location for them to ascend.

Sans sighed worriedly, giving a chilled shudder. “Th-this is g-going to b-be rough, P-Pap....”

A pang of guilt cut through him, making him shut his eyes tightly and clench his teeth. If he had just eaten some dried fruit after transporting, or remembered to take some with him before going over the cliff after his brother, none of this would be happening. His brother had been suffering longer than he should have because he was too stupid to make sure his magic was in good supply. It was all his fault, if only he had just—

“Sas okay...?”

Sans opened his eyes, his breath caught in his throat as his brother’s voice startled him. He looked down at Papyrus. His brother’s eyes were wide with concern for him, his frowning face sad.

Sans put on a grin and winked at his brother. “Y-yeah, I’m f-fine. J-just pr-preparing myself f-for th-the climb. Y-you feel w-well enough t-to go?”

Papyrus nodded from where he still lay on his side. “Pa wanna go home....”

“M-me t-too,” Sans answered, getting up on his feet, his body shaking terribly from the cold and magical weakness. “L-let’s go.”

He carefully picked up his brother, cradling him in his shivering arms.

“Y-you ok?” he checked.

“Yeah,” Papyrus answered, nodding. Sans noticed he looked extremely tired.

“Ok,” he whispered through chattering teeth. “W-we need a br-bridge here to th-that island.”

Papyrus turned his head to look down at the mound they were on and the one near it. He raised his right hand and four bones shot from the bank of the mound until it reached the other side, inches above the water.

“Gr-great job, P-Pap,” Sans grinned.

Sans carried his brother over the bone bridge, the currents splashing at his bare feet. The bridge was slick from the water, and the smoothness of his bony feet on the bones of the bridge made for a treacherous walk. Eventually, he made it to the other side, finally releasing the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Papyrus raised his hand to make the bones disappear, when Sans stopped him.

“W-wait, d-don’t,” he urged. “We’ve g-got a l-long, long way t-to climb. Y-you n-n-need to c-conserve your m-magic. W-we’ll take c-care of th-these another d-day.”

Papyrus looked up at him and nodded.

Sans carried him across the mound, slipping and stumbling on the refuse under his feet that he could not see with his brother blocking his view. Papyrus whimpered as he was jostled, afraid of falling to the ground. Sans gave him a reassuring squeeze as he, himself, felt the dread of knowing they had an extremely long way to go before they were safe.

[l-egionaire]

Fire and Ice: Chapter 5

"Queen Elsa, is everything alright?"

Elsa looked up at King Faraj, his face showing obvious concern.

"You seem somewhat distracted." The king pointed out.

Elsa set down the spoon she'd been using to listfully push around the breakfast on her plate. Next to her Olaf was enjoying his own meal, twig arms rapidly shoveling food into his mouth.

"I'm just not that hungry." Elsa muttered mindlessly.

The king didn't seem convinced, but before he could say anything else, Urooj entered the dining room, shooting a glare at Elsa and Olaf before adressing king Faraj.

"Your Highness, my men and I will be starting our rounds in the village." Urooj said.

The King clapped his hands excitedly. "Excellent! Why don't you take Queen Elsa with you?"

Before Elsa could even think of a way to get out of that, Urooj almost immediately yelled. "NO!" Then in a more even tone, said. "No. the demon may get suspicious if we bring the queen along. It would be better for her to remain here in the palace. If we have need of her, we'll come and get her."

The young king gripped his chin in thought. "I suppose you do have a point." He looked to the queen. "What do you think?"

Elsa was torn. On one hand, she wanted to go out and try to meet with that fire woman again, but on the other, the idea of willingly going and taking orders from Urooj made her skin crawl.

"I think I'll stay here." Elsa answered.

"Very well." Urooj bowed to Faraj. "You're majesty." He gave a slightly stiffer bow to Elsa, then exited the dining room.

Faraj gave them an apologetic look. "I'm sorry about Urooj. I know he must seem a bit, um, ..."

"Crass, rude, arrogant?" Elsa suggested.

"A jerk?" Olaf provided, wiping the dregs of his meal off his face

"Displeased." Faraj said pointedly. "But you have to understand, our country doesn't receive many visitors. Most outsiders who aren't turned away on the spot are regarded with extreme scrutiny and suspicion. Urooj is just cautious about any kind of threat to the kingdom."

Elsa sighed. She couldn't fault the man for doing his job. Most countries might be suspicious if a snow witch was staying in the palace with the king. "I suppose you have a point."

The king gave a small chuckle. "Urooj may be bit harsh, but believe me, he only wants what's best for Arbia. He has watched over the kingdom since I was a boy. One of the last things my father ever said to me was to trust in him."

"He must have had a great deal of faith in him."

"They butted heads at times." Faraj admitted. "My father had the dream of opening Arbia's borders and allowing people from all over the world to see how great our country was. But Urooj feared that allowing in so many outside forces would cause more crime and weaken us. They argued about it a lot. In fact, they argued about the issue until the day he died. I think it's part of why he's so protective. He feels he needs to shield me so he does not lose me as he did my father. I'm sure you can understand."

Trying to shield someone from danger so that they didn't lose them? As much as she hated to admit it, Elsa understood that very well.

"I do." Elsa begrudgingly admitted. "I'll try to get along with him as well as I can." Elsa placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn.

Faraj raised a brow in concern. "Are you sure your OK?"

"Yes. I just had a bit of trouble sleeping. I haven't traveled much since my coronation, so I'm still a bit unused to sleeping in a new place." Elsa lied.

The king gave an understanding smile. "Why don't you go back to your room and get some rest? Once you've woken up we can discuss some of the new trade that will take place between Arbia and Arendelle."

"That would be great." Elsa said.

She and Olaf walked back to their room, but instead of laying down for a nap, Elsa sat on the edge of her bed, absentmindedly staring at the ground.

Olaf watched her stare at the floor for a few seconds before hopping onto the bed next to her. "Elsa?"

Hearing him pulled her from her daze. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" Olaf asked.

"I'm fine Olaf." She assured him, though she still sounded partially distracted. "Just thinking about...things."

Olaf gave her a knowing grin. "You're thinking about her, aren't you?"

He didn't need to specify who her was.

Elsa's unfocused expression soon morphed into a sincere smile.

"How could I not be?"

Elsa got up off the bed and began pacing back and forth with excitement.

"I mean, did you see her? She could set her fist on fire without burning it, and could jump super high using flames, and she had a fire cat-reindeer-bird thing! Uh, it's just so amazing Olaf! She. Has. POWERS! I'm not the only one! I'm..." Her voice cracked with joy, and some slight tears built up in her eyes. "I'm not the only one."

All her life, Elsa had always felt so different from everyone else. As if her powers separated her from other people in a way. Even with the love of her sister and her newfound family, Elsa still couldn't help but have moments where she felt somewhat alone due to being the only person with powers.

But now? Now she knew wasn't alone in having powers. Even though she had no evidence, she could somehow feel that the woman's abilities sprung from the same source as hers. Knowing there was someone who shared her abilities made her heart feel like it would burst with joy.

"That's great Elsa. I'm really happy for you. Except for the whole "her being a wanted fire demon thing ." Olaf said.

That made Elsa pause. In her excitement about her discovery, she'd completely forgotten about the woman being considered a criminal and a monster.

But now more than ever she was sure that wasn't right. From what she'd seen this person wasn't the monster everyone had described her as. Yes, she'd seen the assault on those guards but that didn't match up with her giving money and food to others or the look of undeniable excitement she'd shown when she saw Elsa's powers. Even when she told Elsa to leave she seemed to be just as upset about the idea as Elsa. When she roared at her to go, her angered expression and tone bore an unmistakable tinge of sadness.

"I SAID GO AWAY!"

"You shouldn't be here."

Hadn't that been her not even that long ago? Pushing people away, presenting herself as something she wasn't? She knew there had to be more to this women then first appeared.

"I have to see her again." Elsa declared. "If she is like me, than maybe I can figure out why she's attacking people. Get her to stop."

"Well I say go for it. After all, you do have experience with this kind of thing. I mean, it's from the other side, but Anna managed to help you."

"I didn't go with Anna, when she found me remember? Besides..." Elsa shuddered, still able to perfectly recall the feeling of holding her sisters frozen body. "That didn't really go so well."

Olaf grimaced, no doubt also remembering the incident. "Okay, yeah that didn't really go so well. But hey, at least you know what not to do. So first, make sure you don't get your heart set on fire."

Elsa gave a small amused grin. "I'll watch out for that."

Olaf had a point. She needed to be careful. Even if this fire woman wasn't what people proclaimed her to be, she'd seen that she could still be dangerous if made an enemy. She needed to think this through.

A part of her wished she'd brought Anna along. She had experience getting withdrawn magic people to come out of their shells. She'd probably know what to do.

But then again maybe not. Anna hadn't managed to convince her to leave the Northern Mountains. And she had been Elsa's sister. Someone she'd had a history and strong connection with. How could she get close to this fire woman when she was just some random stranger?

Olaf let out a groan and rubbed his stomach. "Well I don't know about you but I'm going to take a nap. I'm stuffed from breakfast."

Elsa suddenly looked at Olaf. "What did you just say?"

"Eh, I, just ate too much food. It really made me tired."

"Ate too much..." Elsa whispered. Like a bolt of lightning it hit her. "That's it!"

Once night fell, Elsa and Olaf once again snuck out of the palace and donned their disguises. They went to the same route that they'd taken before to the stone arch and this time, Elsa noticed Ifrit up on the stone cliff side. Ifrit pounded down to meet them and viciously sniffed both of them, being extra sure to examine the bundle in Elsa's arms covered by an orange cloth.

Elsa stayed completely still during Ifrit's smell-search and after she finished and curiously eyed the both of them, calmly said. "We didn't come here to hurt her. We just want to talk."

She wasn't entirely sure if Ifrit could understand her words, but she gave a slight nod and shrunk to her smaller form. Elsa and Olaf followed her until they arrived at the burnt out house. Elsa immediately saw the woman sitting crouched in front of the fire. Ifrit rushed ahead of them and laid beside her. She began stroking down Ifrit's back.

Elsa took in a breath and cautiously stepped forward. "Um, Hello?"

The figure immediately shot up to her full intimidating height and glared down at them. She tore off he cloth on her head. Despite her eyes not being filled with flames, due to their luminescence they still seemed to resemble raging flames. Her gaze seemed to scan over the both of them, taking in every detail she could. Elsa thought she somewhat resembled a cornered animal, her posture tense and slightly fearful. Almost seconds away from pouncing.

"What are you doing here?" The woman asked. "I told you to leave."

"You did. But I have questions and your the only person who might be able to answer them."

The woman raised an eyebrow at her. "And what makes you think I will?"

"This." Elsa whipped the cloth off the bundle revealing a large plate covered in heavily seasoned rice and large chunks of chicken meat. The king had called the dish Kabsa and had been more than happy to allow Elsa to take it and several others up to her room after she claimed to be more comfortable eating in her room.

Immediately the woman's expression swapped from a predator about to pounce to a starved puppy seeing a bone. The flame like effect of her eyes somewhat dimmed making them seem more like soft candle light than a raging wildfire. Her entire body seemed to unclench and the hungry look on her face was so intense that Elsa almost thought she'd start drooling.

She reached a hand out towards the platter but Elsa pulled away from her.

"Ah, ah, ah. I'll give you this, if you answer my questions. Unless you'd rather go back to eating garbage?"

The woman's eyes swung repeatedly from Elsa to the platter in her hands, her expression switching from fearful caution to intense hunger.

Finally hunger won out. She reluctantly said. "Fine, I'll tell you whatever you want."

Elsa walked forward and held out the Kabsa to her. The woman snatched it away and returned to her spot in front of the fire and sat down, her knees bent in front of her and her large feet poking out from the bottom of her outfit. Elsa came over and sat next to her. Olaf also came over and sat on Ifrits other side, lovingly stroking the kitty.

The woman grabbed a mound of rice and meat with her bare hands off the platter and shoved it into her mouth. She moaned with joy and began chewing voraciously. As she did, she looked over to Elsa and managed to say. "Go ahead and ask your questions." Before gulping down her mountainous mouthful and scooping up more Kabsa.

Elsa's mind raced. There were so many things she wanted to ask, yet she had trouble deciding which question to pick first. But she knew she had to hurry. At the rate the woman was digging into the platter of food, she doubted she had much time.

Finally she managed to settle on a simple question. And one she honestly should've asked from the start. "What's your name?"

Through a gargantuan amount of chicken and rice crammed into her mouth, the woman replied. "Núria."

"Núria." Elsa repeated, hoping she had pronounced it right. Now that she was able to hear her speak, she realized that she had a bit of an accent. It was different from the ones she'd heard from Faraj or any of the other people in town.

Okay that wasn't a bad start. She decided to ask the question she'd been dying to know the answer to. "How did you get your powers?"

Núria suddenly stopped eating, a fistful of Kabsa inches from her mouth. Her face got a bitter expression and she shrugged.

"I don't know." She admitted painfully. "I was just born with them."

"Oh." Despite knowing that that was a strong possibility, Elsa's heart still sank. She'd somewhat hoped that maybe if she met another person with powers, they'd be able to she'd some light on the origin of her abilities. Núria being just as in the dark on where their powers came from was depressing to say the least, but she powered on. "So you've had them since you were little?"

"Since the day I was born. I'm guessing it was the same for you?"

"Yep." Elsa looked away from her, struggling to think of what to ask next. She knew that she should ask about the attacks on the town but she knew that might be a touchy subject and the last thing she needed to do was make her unwilling to talk.

She was pulled from her thoughts by Ifrit letting out a loud whine. Núria rolled her eyes and said. "I know girl. "

She released her handful of food and wiped her hand on her clothes before standing back up, walking over to the trunk, delicately picking up the photos on top, pulling the top open, and removing a book the size of her palm. She then opened the book, tore out about several pages, and returned it to the trunk. After that, She went over to Ifrit and Olaf, balled up the pages and then dropped the wad of paper in front of Ifrit,

Ifrit sniffed the paper ball before licking her lips and biting into it, tearing off a chunk, and enthusiastically chewed it, before swallowing and ripping off another piece.

Elsa and Olaf both watched her eat curiously while Núria came back to her spot in front of the fire.

"Why didn't you just give her some of the kabsa?" Elsa asked.

"Ifrit doesn't eat people food. She only eats stuff like paper, oil, wicker. If it's flammable she'll gobble it up."

"Really? Wow that's so intere-Oww! Aww, she's nibbling on my fingers. Isn't that cu-ouch!" Olaf yelped.

Elsa looked at him and Ifrit with slight worry before turning back to Núria.

"Does she need to eat?" Elsa asked.

Núria brow furrowed in thought, clearly never having thought of this before. "I don't know if she needs to, but if she doesn't she gets all moody and starts nibbling on things. Plus, she can't grow any bigger."

"Oh." As Núria returned to devouring her food, she tried to consider what to ask next. "So, you made her?"

"Yeah. When I was really little."

Elsa was a bit shocked. She'd never known she could create life until making Olaf and then Marshmallow. Then again, it was clear Núria's experience with her powers was vastly different then her own.

"Why exactly does she look so...unusual?" Elsa asked, unsure whether Núria might be upset by that description.

However, instead of seeming offended, Núria gave a small grin at her question.

"Well, when I made her, I wanted her to have the best parts of my most favorite animals. A bird, a kitten, and a reindeer."

That piqued Elsa's interest. "A reindeer?"

"Yeah." Núria's smile grew wider. "I heard stories about them all the time. They were amazing creatures with incredible powers. They had razor sharp antlers that could chop down trees, iron hard hooves that could shatter rocks with a single strike, and they were strong and swift enough to carry over a hundred men!"

From her experience with Sven, Elsa was fairly certain Reindeer weren't capable of doing any of those things, but seeing the unbridled joy and happiness on Núria's face made her decide not to say anything.

"So that's why you picked a reindeer?" Elsa said.

"Yeah. And I picked the bird because I wanted her to be able to soar through the clouds the way they did.

"And why the kitten?"

"Kittens are adorable." Núria said, as if it was obvious.

"Ah."

They sat in silence for a few seconds until Núria said. "I know they aren't really real."

"What?"

"Reindeer. I know they aren't actually real." Núria said, with a completely serious face.

Elsa blinked. "W-what do you mean they aren't real?"

"Reindeer don't actually exist. They're just some myth that was made up by people who come from the north where it's cold. A magical creature like a fairy, or a giant."

Elsa stared at her with utter disbelief. She wondered for a moment if she was playing some sort of joke, but she could tell Núria believed what she said.

"Reindeer aren't real? Oh man, Kristoff and Sven are going to be so disappointed when they hear that." Olaf said.

Núria frowned and pointed at Olaf. "What exactly is he?"

"Who Olaf?" Elsa asked, still slightly stuck on Núria's disbelief in Reindeer.

"Yeah. What is he?"

"He's my snowman." Elsa explained.

"What is that?"

"Well, he's a man. But made of snow."

"And what is snow?"

Elsa gave a slight laugh of incredulity. "Wha- you don't know what snow is? How can you no-." It was then that Elsa realized she was speaking to someone who'd grown up in a desert where rain would most likely be seen as rare. Snow was probably non-existant there. Núria stared at her expectantly.

"Um, okay, uh, snow is created when water particles get caught in the upper atmosphere above the clouds and then the temperature goes below freezing, causing the particles to freeze, so when they fall to the earth as precipitation, instead of coming down as rain they come down as ice crystals called snowflakes that then accumulate on the ground and become snow."

Núria looked at her like she'd just grown a second head. "What?"

Elsa racked her mind trying to figure out how to explain it. "Snow is, it's, well it's, this." Elsa flicked her fingers upward, causing a flurry of snowflakes to appear in the air and flutter to the ground.

Núria looked in wonder at the descending cascade of ice crystals. She held out a hand to catch one and watched as a single snowflake descended into her hand. Her face fell as it melted into her hand.

"What happened?"

"It melts when it's too hot." Elsa explained.

That clearly wasn't the best thing for her to hear. Núria scowled at her hand and shoveled the rest of the Kabsa into her mouth until the platter was empty.

"There. I'm done and I answered your questions. Now go."

"I have more questions." But Elsa knew she most likely wouldn't get anything else out of Nuria tonight, so she said. "I'll come back tomorrow. And I'll bring more food."

Núria gave her a somewhat cautious stare, but she just sighed and said. "Fine."

The next night Elsa returned, this time bearing several kebabs covered in spiced lamb meat and vegetables. She hoped that bringing more food meant that she'd be able to talk longer. She'd also brought a bowl she filled with lamp oil for Ifrit.

Once they arrived at the arch, Ifrit appeared. But rather than than the aggressive sniff down from yesterday, Ifrit's pupils widened and she excitedly trotted to Elsa. She kept trying to get closer to the oil, but Elsa kept it away.

They once again went to the burnt out house where Núria sat in front of the fire. When she saw them, her eyes widened in surprise.

"You came back?"

"Of course I did, I said I would, didn't I?"

Núria went silent and took the kebabs. Elsa sat down the bowl of of oil for Ifrit and then sat next to Núria again. Strangely, while Ifrit lapped up her oil, Núria just stared at the kebabs.

"What's wrong? You don't like lamb?" Elsa asked.

Núria shot her a suspicious look. "Who are you?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean, who are you and why are you here? I know your not one of the people in town. I've seen all of them. And you certainly look like a foreigner. Plus,you have powers that are like mine and you just happen to show up here ? Why? Who are you?"

Elsa began to panic. She knew that if she admitted that she'd been summoned by the king and his guards, Núria would be much less likely to trust her. She struggled to think of an answer before she grew more suspicious of her.

"I'm...an ice merchant." Elsa blurted out.

Núria narrowed her eyes at her. "An ice merchant?"

"Yep!, Just out, here, you know, selling ice, because it's really hot out here and this seemed like such a swell place to do business and when I heard about the whole "being with fire powers thing" I just thought, "that sounds so much like me. I should check that out" and here I am!" Elsa said rapidly, hoping Núria wouldn't notice how nervous she was.

Unfortunately, it only took one look at her face to tell she clearly didn't buy her story.

"You are a really terrible liar." Núria said bluntly. "Tell me why you're really out here!"

Elsa sighed. She knew she had to tell the truth, at least partially.

"I came out here...because of you." Elsa admitted.

Núria frowned. "Because of me?"

"Yes. I heard that there was some being with fire powers out here attacking people. I wanted to come down and see it for myself."

Núria huffed. "And do what exactly?"

Elsa shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose I just wanted a first person view. Everyone I'd talked to said that you were some kind of demon."

Hearing that, Núria glowered at the ground. "Maybe I am."

"I don't think you are."

Núria looked up in shock. "What makes you say something like that? You were there when I fought those guards. You saw what I did."

"I also saw you later. With those kids and the bartender. You gave them food, money. You could have kept it for yourself. But instead you gave it to someone who no doubt needed it."

Núria seemed lost for a response, then simply asked "What do you want from me?"

"Just a chance to get to know you." Elsa said. "I've never met another person like me before. I'll bring you more food or whatever you want. I just want to be able to talk. Get to know more about you."

"You might not like what you find out about me." Núria warned.

"I'll be the judge of that." Elsa slowly reached one of her hands over and held her palm above Núria's hand. "So, what do you say?"

Núria's looked nervously at where Elsa's hand hovered above her own before slowly opening it and and wrapping her hand around Elsa's. She looked her in the eyes with clear anxiety and yet the slightest glimmer of hope.

"Okay."

[tornbetween2loves]

Arcana Unbound-Plane Rides

Four thousand years ago gods and magic shaped and ruled and were plentiful in the world. Man and all the creatures were shaped and marked by it. Then things began to change. Gradually those things of magic diminished and the things of science took precedence until magic became a myth tucked away safely in children’s fairy tales and skilled entertainer’s parlor tricks.

It’s been a thousand years of progress unmarked by true magic.

Things are about to change.

This is a collaborative project between @tornbetween2loves and @innerpostmentality parts of this particular post were also written by our good friend @kennaxval

Word Count: 2800+

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry except for our OCs. They are our precious babies and were created with all of our love and affection.

Warnings: This series may contain erotica and adult themes and should not be read by anyone under the age of 18. 

Autumn Lee, heiress of Valtoria, felt her heart race as the plane landed. 'It had been two, no, three years,' she thought to herself, 'and I'm still nervous as hell to see her.' She had spent the last couple of hours scrolling through her phone and reminiscing about Cordonia. She looked through her reflection in the plane window down at the vast Atlantic below. She mused about the complex emotions that raged through her when her mom Hana had called her to let her know about the Royal Social Season. After the fallout from his own Social Season she would have thought that King Liam would never endorse such a cattle show for his own children.

When she left to attend Julliard she knew she was running away from her feelings for Sarissa that she wasn’t prepared to explore. Not that she regretted a moment of it. Living in Manhattan and experiencing her Mama Riley’s world had broadened her horizons and brought her closer with her New York mom. Not that she’d waited tables, her jobs included playing in the atrium at the InterContential Barclay, one of the litter of five star hotels that were scattered across the premium real estate of Manhattan. She filled in as an on call pianist for various Broadway or off Broadway productions.

Her life was good; and her life was busy and it wasn’t until the phone call that she’d ever really slowed down enough to think about Cordonia. As much as she didn't want to admit it to herself, she missed being there. Maybe it was how hilarious everyone’s obsession with protocol seemed to her. Or maybe it was Leonides, her brother from another mother. Prince and prodigy, his musical ability among the best. His infectious joy as he would play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star as counterpoint to her Gershwin Rhapsody in Blue. Anytime they got together, they wrought joyous havoc through the palace. He would be sixteen, a young man now. She hoped he would still have that joie de vivre. She did miss him. But that wasn’t what got her on the plane to attend the Royal Social Season.

Autumn closed her eyes and thought back to that day 3 years ago when she finally tasted Sarissa’s lips and felt her body pressed close to hers. She remembered every detail as if it just happened yesterday. The way the water beaded on Sarissa’s perfect skin as she came up out of the water. The look of her perfect body in that metallic green bathing suit. How perfect her lips were as they kissed and how sliding her hand into the side of her bathing suit was like touching heaven. Autumn could still taste her lips, feel her fingers between Sarissa’s folds, everything. She opened her eyes, her body tingled just from the thoughts. She rubbed her eyes and tried to think of something else. But it was pointless.

She sighed deeply as she surrendered to the truth. Sarissa. It had always been her. Autumn had never had the courage to tell Sarissa how she felt to put it into words, and that's why she had to go back. She had always sworn to herself to speak her mind and not live with any regrets. It was time, one way or another, she would tell Sarissa how she felt.

* * *

Mona yawned and stretched her arms above her head. Flying was so boring. Especially on the royal private jet. There was no one to flirt with, no one to drink with. She looked across to the other side of the plane where her sister sat and flipped through a magazine. She unbuckled her seatbelt and moved next to her sister. “Hey Pam. Whatcha reading?”

"Sports Xtreme... Looking at all the things I'm going to be missing while we are doing whatever the hell we are doing." She frowned. "I can't believe they are still killing trees to put magazines on planes."

Mona shot her sister a sideways glance. “I’m sure you’ll find something extreme to enjoy while we’re in Cordonia. Maybe even find someone to enjoy it with.” She nudged her sister with her elbow as she raised an eyebrow at her

Pam lifted a brow at her sister. "Who would you suggest? I get the feeling you've been studying the prospects."

She smiled slyly. “Well, I hear that some of the Walker boys will be participating in the season. Perhaps one of them?” She looked at her sister pointedly. “Just keep your hands off of Xiphos Lykel. I’m calling dibs on Cordonia’s most eligible bachelor.”

Pam laughed and shook her head. "You like pouring fuel on a fire trying to put it out. That one is nothing but a handful of heartbreak Mona." She locked eyes with her sister. "Seriously you are going to pair me up with a bunch of Irish farm boys?"

“Hot Irish farm boys, Pam. Hot. Come on, nobody’s saying you have to marry one of them. Loosen up and have some fun!” She raised an eyebrow at her sister. “And I can handle Cordonia’s most eligible bachelor. He and I are cut from the same cloth I think.”

"You sure you don't want some of the 'Hot Irish farm boy' action? There are 4 of them if I recall correctly. Jeez, five kids... Didn't they know what causes that? I can't even imagine. One sister is great. Poor little girl... 4 brothers. Can you imagine?"

Mona shrugged with a mischievous smile. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll get a little action from the hot Irish boys too.” She giggled. “Poor girl is right. No guy in his right mind is gonna try and get close to that. Imagine facing the wrath of 4 older brothers, plus Drake? No thank you. She might as well become a nun.” The girls both broke into a fit of giggles.

Pam shook her head. "I wish I knew if any of them jump out of anything higher than their bed." She laughed.

Mona sighed. “Is that all you care about is if they’ll jump out of a plane with you? Come on Pam, you have to stop rejecting guys simply because they’re not daring enough for you. You are daring to the extreme. You can’t expect everyone you meet to be like that.” She raised an eyebrow as she patted her sister’s arm. “Most of us like to keep both feet planted firmly on the ground.”

Pam looked at her a long moment. "Have you ever thought about what you really want Mona? Seriously? How do you see yourself in 5 years? And do you really think some man is going to get you there?

Mona shrugged. “Yes. I see myself as the new Duchess of Lythikos. The only woman able to tame Cordonia’s most eligible bachelor. That’s exactly what I see in 5 years.”

Pam sighed knowing it was pointless to try to dissuade Mona. Once she got a cliff set in her sights she was hell bent to dash over it.

She closed her magazine. "Okay. So what's your game plan? Or do you expect a man who's been sampling the smorgasbord of Europe from one end to the other to be converted instantly by your admittedly stunning beauty and stellar wit?" She smiled and lifted her brow.

Mona giggled and punched her sister playfully in the arm. “Usually my stunning beauty and stellar wit is enough, dear sister.” She sighed. “But I fear you’re right. I may need a strategy.” She tapped her fingers on the armrest of her seat as she contemplated the situation. “Do you have any suggestions?”

"Suggestions?... Let me see. I could toss any other woman who looks at him over a cliff or out of a plane I guess... Hmm.

You know generally it helps if you know something about them. Something real. Not, he looks delish on a magazine cover. Do you actually know anything about what he does and doesn't like? What is fabricated to make good press? Do you care?"

Mona shrugged. “How the hell would I know anything besides what is printed in the press? I think we’ve met briefly in the past, but we haven’t really talked.” She broke into a big smile. “I know. Let’s google him!” She pulled out her phone and pulled up google then typed in his full name and pressed search.

Pam got up and walked over to the bar torn between drinking herself into oblivion and just tossing herself out of the plane.

She heard Mona squeal "Oh my God.. Oh my God... come look!"

She closed her eyes a moment before she grabbed the bottle of Glenfiddich and headed back to her seat. Where Mona shoved her phone with a full-frontal nude picture of Xiphos Lykel walking out of the surf on some godforsaken beach in her face.

She lifted a brow. And looked at her very excited sister. "Well now we know he's not circumcised. And DO NOT make that your wall paper!" She shook her head. "I can't believe you just shoved his dangly bits in my face. Seriously?"

Mona laughed uncontrollably. “Well now there’s nothing left to my imagination.” She grabbed the bottle of scotch from her sister and took a big swig, then handed it back. “I wonder if he knows this picture is out there.”

"Mona, it's Europe. They have more miles of nude beaches than some countries have coastline. Honestly it would be more surprising if there wasn't a nude picture of the man. He may have short comings but none of them are displayed in that picture. I'll give him that." Pam took a swig of the scotch.

"Mona why don't we just blow this all off. Land. Rent a car. Drive over to Rome, or Paris. Have a vacation without all the Social Season crap?"

Mona half-listened to her sister as she concentrated on zooming the photo of Xiphos. She held the phone up to Pam again. “And miss my chance at this??? No way sis, sorry.” She licked her lips and raised an eyebrow at her sister. “Can you really blame me?”

Pam shook her head. "I just don't want you hurt." She sat down and sipped some more scotch then took her phone out and googled 'duchy of Lythikos'. Information appeared about the area including scenes of its mountains and breathtaking vistas. Then information about the Duke and Duchess and their family.

"I'm not finding anything here about where he went to school. Must have been private. Or Bastien cleared the decks of personal information." She grinned. "Dad gave him a LOT of expertise in cleaning up messes." She got a thoughtful look. "Maybe that could help... If you can get his dad to like you?"

Mona shrugged. “Possibly. I’ve never had to go that route before, but it’s definitely something to keep in mind.” She took another swig of scotch. “I still think he and I will hit it off from the start. We’ll party together. We’ll have fun. We’ll just click. I know it.”

"So who else is likely to be there?" Pam Googled 'Cordonian Royal Court' Her screen filled up with lists of Kings and Queens and their courts for the last five hundred years. She laughed and narrowed the search. "I wonder who else is going to be there? Ramsford, Domvilliar, Valtoria, Krona?"

“I would imagine all the duchies would be represented. Don’t forget Lythikos.” Mona flashed a big smile at her sister.

Pam shook her head, "No chance of that."

"So have you got outfits planned for the masquerade ball? Are we going for stunning confusion, or stunning but individual?"

Pam looked over at her sister when she didn't answer and took her phone now completely filled with Xiphos’ schlong out of her hand. "Earth to Mona. Stop that! Seriously you are going to give me a problem staring at his crotch when I meet him." She reduced the size of the picture while her sister grabbed for it.

Mona pouted. “You never let me have any fun. Although I must admit now there is very little left to the imagination. I was thinking maybe we should do stunning confusion. What’s the point in being identical twins if we can’t use it to our advantage?”

Pam grinned and lifted her brow. "I'm the most fun person you know. Admit it. The only way I could be more fun would be if I happened to have an 8 inch cock. But that would definitely interfere with all the fun we get to have being identical twins." She laughed. "Do I get to see the gowns before so I know how much of my tits and ass I'm going to be strutting for the court?"

Mona grinned and shot her sister a mischievous look. Would you like to see them now? They’re hanging in the bedroom. I could sneak in there and grab them

"oooh yes! I love your designs you know." Pam lifted her brow. "Just make sure you listen at the door first and don't go in if you hear anything. You know they may be old but they sometimes still..." She waggled her brow.

Mona grimaced at her sister. “Ewww Pam why would you say that? I may be traumatized.” She got up and pressed her ear to the door of the bedroom. Pam followed close behind. She giggled and whispered low, “all I hear is dad’s snoring. I think it’s safe.” She slowly turned the handle and came back a few moments later with a garment bag. They returned to their seats and Mona unzipped the bag to reveal several gowns. She picked two and hung them next to each other. “Okay so there are two ways we can do the masquerade ball. Because obviously I didn’t have time to make us gowns for every event, I tried some new things.”

“Both of these are just basic black A-line gowns with a ruffled skirt. But we can switch out the bodice or the skirt and suddenly it’s a different gown.” She demonstrated by removing a length of the hem so the dress would now fall at mid-calf length. “I was thinking we could be phoenixes for the masquerade ball.” She pulled out two red sequined bodices, one strapless and one with one long sleeve. “This way we’re the same, but different.” She pulled out the different materials for the skirts. “One of us could do short, the other long. One ruffled, one not. One all black, one a mixture of red and black. And the masks are identical.” She pulled out two identical masks, black sequined around the eye holes and red and black feathers creating a plume that would cover the forehead. Mona raised an eyebrow at Pam. “So you’re completely in control of how much tits and ass you’re showing.”

"You're brilliant! I love these. Mona why don't you do this full time? I'd love to see you having shows. This is art and it's gorgeous!"

Mona shrugged. “Maybe someday. Right now I just don’t have the time. I’m too busy.”

Pam lifted her brow and moved her thumb and forefinger open and closed like she was expanding the picture on an imaginary phone. "Too busy? What exactly are you too busy doing?"

Mona broke into a fit of giggles. “Research. It’s research. Nothing wrong with being prepared.” She sighed as she began to pack the gowns away. “I do enjoy making clothes. A lot. Maybe I should try and make something of it. If I only knew where to begin.”

Pam smiled at her sister, "Well I think I'd try to talk with some designer that you admired who has done it?" She shook her head, "Didn't they have some classes on business modeling for this when you were in school? Let me guess.... you slept though it a lot."

Mona shrugged. “I guess they did but hell if I can remember.” She sat up straight and her face lit up. “Isn’t one of the duchesses of Valtoria a big designer? Do you think she might be at season?” Pam nodded and smiled. She picked up her phone and typed “Valtoria” into the search bar and after a moment came across a photo of Hana Lee. She held it out to Mona. “This is her. Are you familiar with her work?” Mona raised an eyebrow as she scrolled through the phone. “Actually, yes. She does great work. Now I have a second reason for wanting to attend season.”

A soft bong sounded over the plane’s speaker and the pilot announced that they were on their final approach and would be landing in the next fifteen minutes.

Moments later their mom and dad came out of the bedroom in the back and took the seats that faced their daughters and buckled in for the landing. Leo took Katie’s hand and smiled at Pam and Mona, “So have you girls been busy making plans for the Season?”

The twins looked at each other and burst into giggles.

Tags: @darley1101 @gardeningourmet @speedyoperarascalparty @hopefulmoonobject @bobasheebaby @carabeth @riseandshinelittleblossom @stopforamoment @furiousherringoperatortoad @indiacater @sirbeepsalot @alesana45 @museofbooks @eileendannie @furryperfectionlover @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat @strangerofbraidwood @teamtomsato @begging-for-kamilah @kennaxval @ao719 @blackcatkita

[herousanimarum-moved]

They had split up.

It was almost a month back now. Following up on some rumors about slavers making a move with their unwilling goods, Lloyd had gone back to base in order to update their father and gather the necessary fighters for their raid. Linus had stayed put back in the city to keep an eye on the situation, and to follow their target should they move before the rest of the group could arrive.

They had gotten back to the city, but Linus was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t in the areas that the slavers had frequented when Lloyd was still here. He wasn’t in any of the taverns. He wasn’t even in the snowy fields just outside of the dirty city.

He was just...gone.

Impatient as Linus could be, he was still a professional. If he was told to watch, he would watch until they were all ready to move and attack. If he wandered, he never went too far off.

It took Lloyd the better part of a day to locate Linus’ scent in the busy streets of the stone city. Between all the Beorc milling about day after day, and the snowfall that blanketed everything, the familiar scent was muddled and incredibly faint. What heightened his worry was the fact that, following the faded trail of smells, Linus’ scent was mingled in with something utterly foul. The smell of the slavers was there as well, but at some point, the foulness and Linus’ scent break away from the smell of Beorc and steel. 

Uhai and Ursula took the rest of their gathered group after the slavers; they still had a job to do, and they would not leave fellow Laguz to suffer. Lloyd would follow after the trail of his brother.

For weeks, he followed the weak clues and scents that kept him on target. It took him entirely out of Daein, across the border and into the southern reaches of Crimea. His body ached and his mind was overrun by worry, but Lloyd didn’t abate. If his brother was in trouble, he would do his all to drag Linus back out of it. It’s what he had done since they were pups, and he’d never stop doing it.

He’d waited. 

Lloyd was often the one to go off to report, as he was faster and better at avoiding any people on the road. Linus was good at blending in among Beorc; he was a good actor, he could pass as a big dog to them, and nobody was any the wiser for it.

During the day, he’d trot through the streets, tussling around with some of the kids or begging around butchers’ or bakers’ shops for something good to eat without getting too far away from his post. He’d gone down to one of the bakeries in the lower districts of the city, padding up to the door and sticking his nose to the bottom, snuffling at the crack there. Usually, they were open by this point in the day, but he couldn’t push the door open and dazzle the baker’s wife into giving him a pastry or two with his puppy dog eyes.

And then, something chocolate-y rolled by his paw. Nose twitching in interest, he abandoned the door and sniffed at the ball of chocolate that had come to a stop just a step or two away. 

He loved chocolate. Couldn’t get enough of it. It smelled like it had some sort of alcohol in it as well, and it didn’t take very long for Linus to nip the sweet between his teeth and wolf it down. It tasted rich, of chocolate and whiskey, and it set a shiver all the way down to his tail. Licking up any leftover crumbs, he’d turned to make his way back to his spot to keep an eye on the slavers, but another came rolling by -- just short of him. 

Linus looked down the road, ears pricked forward curiously, and padded forward to tongue the new chocolate treat up. That same shiver ran down his spine, but it felt wrong somehow now. He shook his head, ears flapping, and nearly fell over with the action, unbalanced all of a sudden. He felt ill, and made to scramble back to where he knew Lloyd would return, but a wracking pain rolled through his body, and he shifted out of his Wolf form involuntarily just as a loop of thick rope came about his neck.

There was a reeking stench in these woods. Something evil, something unnatural. It crept around in familiar forms -- Cats, Tigers, even Hawk and Dragon. They looked as they should from afar, but it hadn’t taken long for Lloyd to realize that something was incredibly wrong here. It set him on edge, made him jumpy. But his patience would win out.

These Laguz may not ever seem to shift out of their Beast forms, but they followed a dreary routine. Always the same groups going along the same routes. They patrolled like guard dogs on a farm.

That alone was unnatural.

Through the trees and the overgrown plant life, Lloyd slunk through their paths like a ghost. He stayed downwind, stayed silent; looking, searching.

It took several days and nights of laying low, brushing a little to closely with the patrols, but he eventually found what he was looking for.

Linus...

He saw his brother stationed up on the steps of the great tower, pacing on a length of chain bolted into the wall. His fur was torn and bloodied, untreated wounds festering. He growled and lunged at the Beorc that came to and from the tower, but all they did was brandish what looked to be a solid staff or cane, and he lowered down onto his belly -- still growling, still baring his teeth, but otherwise obeying like a beaten dog looking to avoid being struck again.

It was so jarringly unlike his brother that Lloyd almost felt sick just watching.

But watch he did, until he found the right moment to sneak up the stairs in the dark, and approach his brother when all was relatively quiet.

He could hear Linus’ heavy breathing, but Lloyd kept his steps light and careful. He didn’t know what was going on, but if Linus had been beaten down this badly, the last thing he wished to do was startle him. Eyes constantly shifting from his goal to the many doorways that gaped eerily in the darkness, ears on a swivel to catch any noises that would give away an attack or that he had been spotted. Nothing stirred as he got close enough to smell that awful, unnatural stench on his brother.

He didn’t smell like Linus anymore. He smelled of poison and death, of wrongness.

“Brother...,” Lloyd murmured, belly-crawling the rest of the way to his younger brother, “Can you hear me?”

His voice did not garner the reaction he hoped.

Lloyd barely had time to scramble back as Linus charged him, throwing his weight against the binding hold of the chain around his throat. He snarled and thrashed, teeth gleaming sharp in the moonlight, just missing sinking his fangs into his older brother’s hind leg.

Lloyd stared for a moment, chest heaving with shocked breaths. 

Linus had attacked him. Linus had heard his voice, and he had attacked. Even now, staring at him, Linus was trying to kill him. There was no recognition in his wild eyes. Not even threats formed in his mouth, it was nothing but feral snarling.

This was not Linus. This was not his little brother.

Everything hurt. It burned, and ached, and felt like what he could only imagine getting eaten alive by maggots was like. He couldn’t control his shifting anymore. It was disorienting. It was exhausting. What he saw seemed to happen in dizzying bursts of slow motion, blurry movements together. He didn’t know where he was, not since they had dragged him out of the city.

It smelt like rot here. Like death and sickness. Blood in a damp place. 

He could hear screams. Crying. Yowling and growling, and none of it made any sense but it felt wrong-right-wrong as it dragged through his brain.

Some days the puddles in his cell just looked like mucky water. Other days, it looked like blood and rancid meat. Most days he curled away from it in the dry corner. There were a few days he lapped it at it like it had been his mother’s milk.

He hated their sticks. Their sticks hated him. He bit. He bit and clawed, and fought. They hit him back, they jabbed him with the pointed end and broke more than a few in his flesh or across his back. It hurt, but it was something. It was better than the times of nothing; couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t move. Trapped in his body, in a cage, in a place he did not know.

He watched the beasts pace in their cages from his own. They hissed and spat. He snarled right back. He’d even tried to force his snout through the bars, and tear into a tail or limb that strayed too close to his space when they were brought in and out.

And it was his now. He did not leave it. His water-blood-meat-bone was here. It was his. It was his, it was his, his, his.

The chain broke free from its stone mooring, and Linus lunged forward with undaunted ferocity. Teeth bit deep into Lloyd’s shoulder, earning a pained noise from the white Wolf. They went tumbling down the stone steps of the tower; unyielding corners dug into ribs, fangs bit and tore into soft flesh, claws scrabbled for some sort of purchase.

They hit dry earth at the bottom, Lloyd managing to get his back paws underneath Linus to kick him off. He got up quickly, and ran back to the cover of the trees, his brother giving chase.

He needed to lead Linus away from the tower. Needed to wear him down. Subdue him. Bring him back home, and figure out what they had to do in order to heal him from what these humans had done. But Linus was built for endurance, and even if Lloyd could keep just ahead of him, his brother would keep on his tail until one of them dropped.

The snarling behind him spurred him on, punctuated by the chaotic clinking of the heavy chain as it was dragged through the foliage by Linus. 

This was wrong. 

Claws dug into the dirt with every burst of speed he put on, every quick turn to avoid snapping jaws.

He was baiting his brother through the forest like they used to do to the humans’ hunting dogs for fun. There was no joy in this. Only fear and anguish at the fact that Linus was reacting exactly as those dogs did when loosed from their tethers.

Lloyd leaped over a fallen tree, landing with a huff of air as the impact jarred him. Linus wasn’t too far behind, claws scraping over bark as he just barely cleared the jump. There was a cliff coming up, a rocky, jagged gape in the landscape; the trickle of water reaching Lloyd’s ears as he steered for it. The jump would slow Linus down, perhaps enough that Lloyd could more easily twist around and subdue the other Wolf.

He jumped, feeling near-weightless for a moment. Most of him landed on the other side, but Lloyd nearly fell back when rock crumbled away from underneath his paw, sending him off-kilter for a second. He trotted a few paces forward on shaking limbs, positioning himself for when Linus followed. He’d be in the perfect place to catch Linus defenseless. 

Linus thundered after him, froth flecking at the corners of his mouth as he pressed paws against the ground and vaulted after his target.

Lloyd stood frozen, eyes wide as he recognized...Linus wasn’t going to make the jump. The chain still around his neck had caught on something, and partway through the leap, it yanked him back, killing his momentum mid-air. 

A choked yelp. The earthy crack of rock tumbling as a heavy body collided with loose boulders on its way down. The scrape of metal as the chain dangled like a dead thing on the cliff.

Lloyd scrambled down the insecure side of the cliff he was on, skidding on pebbles and grit as he made small jumps and near tumbles down to the mud-choked creek at the bottom of the ravine. He saw Linus in a broken heap, partway in the murky water. Wheezing for breath, Lloyd stumbled the short distance to the limp body of his little brother, teeth desperately scruffing him as he pulled Linus clear of the water.

Broken leg. Probably several ribs as well, judging by the struggled breaths Linus was drawing in. Beaten and battered, but he was still alive. He was still here.

He was still not himself.

Dull eyes seared into Lloyd, blood dripping passed fangs as a weakened growl tore through Linus’ throat. There was no light to his eyes that spoke of anything but mindless blood lust. Even with his body broken the way it was, Linus was clawing at the rocky ground, jaws eager to rip and tear at flesh if he could just drag himself with reach.

Ears pinning back, Lloyd let a choked sob claw its way up his throat. 

“Linus...Linus, I...,” he breathed out, inching closer. “I’m so sorry...I wasn’t...I didn’t think...I should have been there for you, I’m sorry...I’m sorry...”

Nothing but snarls and the snap of jaws responded, the wet shift of muddied pebbles. 

Lloyd closed the distance between them, hesitating, muscles quivering with uncertainty before he brought his jaws around Linus’ throat. Not biting down hard enough to even bother his already damaged breathing, but readying for what he had to do.

Please...

Linus’ bottom jaw bashed against his skull weakly, functioning limbs flailing in some attempt to free himself or strike at his attacker. 

Forgive me, Linus...

Lloyd closed his eyes, grief already ripping through him as he bit down. Linus thrashed, garbled noise escaping him before he went still and silent. Lloyd withdrew after some time, nosing gently at his brother’s cheek, the nudge doing nothing to break whatever nightmare this was. He waited, padding around the cooling body of his little brother, and curled protectively around his broken form.

He could hear the sounds of alarm going up from the direction of the tower, but no one came down here. 

Lloyd waited. He grieved. Waited. Grieved.

The nightmare didn’t end. The nightmare never ended.

[toukenra]

Oh gosh! Another Touken Ranbu blog!? I'm so happy and I look forward to your posts!! May I request a scenario where a a group of older swords (Mikazuki, Hasebe, Ichigo and Kasen) overhear their mistress and her friends (fellow Saiwas) talking about which one of them she considered to be the ideal man (husband). The Saniwa later on finds out that these swords had actually overheard and shuts themselves in their room from embarrassment.

Ahaha poor Saniwa has dug herself her own grave well then let’s see how our old geezers will react to overhearing their cute master admitting that they are in love with them ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

EDIT: I have no idea why Hasebe’s scenario turned out to be so long and why it took me 3 hours to finish this, sorry for that but writing this was so hard for me since all of them except Moon grandpa would feel so conflicted about this situation and I wasn’t even sure if I should make them fluffy or angsty. Who am I kidding, I just suck at writing angst. Or writing in general I literally banged my head against the wall several times so yeah, enjoy or don’t enjoy these horrible scenarios

Mikazuki

this old man has no sense of privacy, so when he hears you and the other Saniwas chattering and giggling about your potential crushes in your office he decides to stand outside and wait for something interesting to slip out

he’s just a curious little shit

the moment he hears his name spilling from your lips followed by muffled snickering, an amused smile makes his way to his lips

‘Hohoo this is interesting’

even has the audacity to knock on the door 

this man has no shame ok

when you open the door and see the knowing grin on his face you just go beet red and slam the door in front of his face

rude

but of course he won’t let you off the hook so easily and just knocks again

those traitors of Saniwas gigglingly scurry out of the room, leaving you alone with him 

where’s the next cliff to jump off?

just as you’re about to die of embarassment he just kisses you out of the blue, leaving you stunned

‘I am feeling very honored to be chosen as your dream lover. Now please let this old man love you the way you certainly deserve’ very smooth

Ichigo

he never meant to eavesdrop but when he happened to walk by in search of Gokotai and heard you talking about your ideal lover he just couldn’t help but be curious

this pure bean just goes tomato red when he accidentally overhears you admitting that you had fallen in love with him while the other Saniwas were screaming in glee

‘Master..loves him? You really considered him your ideal man?’

just stopped dead in his tracks and accidentally lets his sword fall to the floor with a loud thump

hurriedly tries to pick it up but before he can even move a muscle the door slides open

‘I-Ichigo? How long have you been standing here?’ he hears you stammering in shock

poor boy just goes full red without being able to form a coherent answer, but you understand him anyway, a furious blush spreading over your cheeks as reality hits you

he knows

terribly ashamed you intend to slam the door and hide yourself in a corner but your traitorous friends decide to torture you and push both of you inside, locking the door behind them

-insert painfully awkward silence-

Ichigo is just about to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness when he hears you sigh sadly ‘Go on. Just tell me that you don’t feel the same about me, I understand.’

his jaw drops - WHAT?!

he had always thought that his feelings were one-sided and you’d never look at him that way but the moment he hears you babbling nervously he just can’t help himself, grabs your face and roughly smashes his lips against yours

both of you are blushing furiously when you have to gasp for air but seeing the shock on your face a relieved smile steals its way onto his lips

‘About that.. I think I have to thank your acquintances afterwards for granting me this opportunity to properly tell you how hard I’ve fallen for you.’

Hasebe

being the good loyal attendant he is, he paces restlessly in front of your office the whole time 

he’s so worried about you all the time so there’s no way he’d leave you all alone even though he knows that your friends are all trustworthy but still

‘Hasebe? Really?’ he suddenly hears some voices giggling and they’re coming from your office

listens quietly from behind the door as you bashfully admit that you had fallen for him

Hasebe is dead

straight up runs into his room before he collapses on his bottom, panting heavily

he’s so shocked he doesn’t even feel happy about this indirect confession, although he has harboured romantic feelings for you for a very long time he is rather disappointed with himself for having them in the first place

he should respect you, not have this sinful emotions towards you

stays shut in his room until he is certain that the other Saniwas have left

it’s only then that he gathers the courage to go to your office and knock

being the unsuspecting Saniwa that you are you invite him in but he frantically shakes his head, stopping you dead in your tracks

he’s absolutely torn between the joy of knowing about your feelings for him and the guilt of having eavesdropped like that but of course the guilt overweighs

‘Master, please forgive me .. but there’s something I have to admit to you..’

after he confesses you just. stare at him for what seems like an eternity

Hasebe is already awaiting some severe punishment but instead you just shut the door in front of him

he leans his forehead against it and curses himself for being such a complete failure until he hears your muffled sobs ‘i knew he’d never love me back’

at that moment he just loses it and storms in, hugging your knees and impulsively blurts out how he really feels but that he’s certain it’s a deadly sin to be having these kind of feelings, for his master nonetheless 

but you just stop him mid-sentence, realizing that you may have misunderstood him before

both of you had a very long and clarifying talk afterwards, and no amount of words could be enough to describe the excitement and relief that washed over both of you when he went in for an awkward first kiss

[d-clarence]

Samurai Jack Episode CI Headcanon/Fanfic

I’ve brought this up on an Ask and another post I reblogged, but I just got the motivation to fully flesh it out and type it out while it is still fresh in my mind.

Warning, potentially spoiler heavy and quite a lengthy post!

- — -

*Imagine the final battle with Jack’s forces against Aku’s at the latter’s fortress. Jack’s allies have rescued Jack from captivity and he recovered his sword.*

The Fate of the entire Universe hangs in the Balance as Samurai Jack faces Aku.

The plan was simple. Circle around Aku's fearsome tower fortress as a distraction force against Aku while Samurai Jack got in close enough to vanquish Aku. The Scotsman’s new army has assembled together for what may be their last battle. Their forces are consisting of many of the people Jack affected in his life, including the Archers, Woolies, and even Da Sa-Moo-Rai’s rag-tag group from his bar. The face off will be against seemingly never ending legions of Aku’s Beetle Drones, interstellar bounty hunters, and his summoned minions taking place outside in the crater surrounding Aku’s fearsome tower fortress. However, Jack's objective was side tracked as he was forced to face off Corrupted Ashi as Aku watches from his throne cackling in mad laughter.

“Yes… the simplest solution is usually the best one…” Aku mused.

“Ashi! You can’t let it end this way! Please Ashi, fight!” Jack begged.

The Samurai tried desperately to get Ashi to fight the corruption controlling her, but to no avail. Her whip-like attacks from her new limbs toss Jack around as he cringed at every slash from his blade that made her scream in agony as tendril after tendril, burned away to ash and regenerated at an astonishing pace.

“Aah! I… can’t! You have to kill me, Jack! There is no other way! Don’t let me live like this!” Ashi screamed as she temporarily broke away, tears pouring from her eyes, only to be silenced by the blackness of Aku’s curse.

As a powerful backhand sends Jack flying into a stone pillar of fire, he sees his situation. His hair was let loose in a mess and precious gi was completely torn off at the top half and bloodied and tattered from the waist to the bottom. Slashes, bruises and blood seeped from his wounds, and the love of his life utterly lost to Aku’s will as the demon smugly folds his gargantuan arms from his throne.

There is only one way.

No. There has to be another.

But it is what she wanted.

She needs to fight harder!

But she can’t.

Please. Grant her peace. You know what you have to do.

Ashi sprung forward, lunging at Jack as he in turn raised his sword at the ready, fighting back tears that still rolled down his blood-smeared and dirty countenance.

“Forgive me…” he whispered one last time.

He likewise sprung forward thrusting his sword, when the unexpected happened.

Seeing that Jack will be the victor, Aku did the one thing that would break his eternal adversary’s sanity. The one thing that would top all of the evil acts Aku ever did in existence.

As the lovers charged and were about to make contact, Aku pulled his influence and essence from Ashi leaving her in her former human state, in the drab prison outfit and black boots she wore beforehand. She didn’t know at first why she still ran to Jack, arms outstretched above her head. Confusion struck both their faces.

Then it hit her.

Tip pierced flesh. Blade pushed through. Her insides shredded as the sword went through her for what felt like an eternity, but twas only a moment. With a resounding crunch and snap, the sword drenched in her blood shot through her spine and out her back. The deed was done.

“No…” Jack whispered. He wanted all of this to be nothing more than a nightmare, but no, it was more real than ever. He drove his mighty sword through her to the hilt.

Tears welled up in both of their eyes. He let go of the blade as she staggered and began to fall for the last time. Jack caught her, right arm around her waist, left hand around the side of her neck. He saw she was losing focus and felt her pulse began to slow down.

The pain was too much for her to bear as it shot through her abdomen. She couldn’t feel her limbs anymore. The last thing she felt was his blade.

Blood pooled around them in the crimson floor of Aku’s chamber as he smiled in content.

She tried to speak, to give her final words of forgiveness, gratitude, and love to Jack, but she only coughed out blood and gurgled. Over 50 years of combat experience couldn’t prepare him for this.

“No no no! Ashi… I’m so sorry!” he cried as rivers spilled down his face and his voice cracked. She was done for.

The lovers shared one more solid look in each other’s eyes as he cradled her, she could only give a faint smile to Jack before the light in her eyes went away. The smile dropped.

Ashi lies dead in her lover’s arms.

“Hahahahahaha! Foolish Samurai!” Aku thundered. “Did you really think that you really deserved her? Star-crossed lovers is what you both were! Never meant to be, never will be!” The taunts persisted.

Samurai Jack held her lifeless body close, hoping for a miracle, but that never came.

“I’m… so… sorry…” he cried as he buried his face next to hers.

Aku’s laugh echoed through the inner sanctum as the tower shook from the battle outside. Explosions that were barely audible resounded in their ears. Aku headed over to show Jack the true weight of his failure. He pulled down what seemed to be a zipper on the wall as it opened with a mysterious hiss.

Jack could only helplessly look up at how much worse things were going.

The window opened to a horiffic sight. The battle was not going well. Despite the growing mounds of corpses of Aku’s terrible horde, it was a desperate fight for survival for Jack’s men and women. Their ammunition began to run dry, their blades ran dull. Bloody pools of reds, blues, and greens mixed with the black of Aku’s sentries littered the battlefront. Screams and shouts were drowned out by the clatter of bladed, mechanical legs. Several legions began to retreat. Lone survivors lingered in a dazed and shocked awe, some missing limbs, others searching for loved ones buried in the corpses.

Hope was lost.

The black demon bent down, facing Jack, a devilish green smile that stretched before him. “Annihilating your scum will set an example to all who dare oppose Aku!” He rose and laughed maniacally once more.

Enough.

Jack collected himself as his rage fueled high. He clenched his fists and he let out a yell that might as well have been heard around the world.

“AAAKUUUUU!!!!!!!” Jack pulled out his sword from Ashi’s gut as her limp body fell back into her pool of blood. He didn’t bother giving her a second look as he jumped high in the air, sword held above his head, about to strike.

Aku was too absorbed in what he perceived to be his victory to realize what came down upon him.

Jack screamed and brought the blade crashing down on the cursed demon, slicing down from his neck to the ground. The wisps of darkness burned to ash and blew away.

They both came crashing down as the evil one attempted to retaliate, sending scores of his black tendrils after the Samurai, only for them to be cut down with precision and ease. Eventually, only his upper torso and left arm was left, him weakly gripping the pillar behind him that he rested his head on.

“Heh heh heh… killing me won’t undo the past, nor bring back your sweet Ashi.” he proudly, but weakly spat. “My unspeakable evil has reached through the stars and eons!”

“No.” the Samurai said. He pointed his sword at him and shouted, “your unspeakable evil ends today! The present and future shall flourish in your absence!”

Jack yelled and leaped once more and drove the sacred blade between Aku’s eyes and twisted. The devil screamed and convulsed as his body lit and burned away to ash. The reign of Aku’s terror was finally over.

Slowly coming back to his senses, Jack calmly sheathed his sword and turned away. He almost let the madness drive him again, but not this time. He turned to Ashi and met her eyes once more, still wide open and the tears that cascaded down her face were dried and present. He closed her beautiful, lifeless eyes gently as he planted a kiss in her now cold lips and picked her up on front of him in his exhausted arms. Her blood dripped from her wound, further staining what was left of Jack’s gi. She’s become another memory, another casualty. Just as he feared.

He marched onwards to the front gate that opened to the light of the outside world. Much to Jack’s surprise, a miracle occured! He wondered in the back of his mind how he was going to go through the remnants of the armies of Aku, but no more thought was necessary. The beetle drones, the destroyers of many, were all offline! The bots fell and lay where they once stood. The remaining minions and mercenaries scattered in panic and retreat in realizing their main support was lost for good. Loud cheering echoed with the machine gun fire, sword clashing, and explosions that rocked the barren wasteland. It seems that when Aku died, his control over his machines and minons vanished as well, leaving them either permanently disabled or lost and demoralized.

Many of Jack’s friends came over charging and dealing with the stragglers with ease.

“At least they made it.��� Jack sighed and looked down on his love. “Oh, how I wish you could see this, Ashi…”

The first to arrive was Flora and some of her sisters. They were hurt from battle, but that didn't sour their spirit. “Woohoo! We hit them right in their daddy bags!” she cheered. Many others joined in.

But when she looked at Jack, her joy dropped harder than a boulder off a cliff. The others came around to their hero.

“Jack… What happened?” Flora inquired. Her father, the Scotsman, appeared behind her in shock of the scene before him.

“I defeated Aku, but it came at a terrible price. Ashi is gone.” he calmly spoke.

“Jack… I’m so sorry… I…” the Scotsman apologized.

“No.” Jack interrupted. “You both have nothing to be sorry for. This is a great victory, and we all gave our lives and more to make sure it happened.”

Flora took charge and carried Ashi’s body respectfully from Jack’s arms. She could only offer a smile for him. Her father said, “We’ll make sure this lass gets a proper funeral, laddie!”

“Thank you.” the depression clear in his voice as he walked away, head down. He couldn’t bear seeing the one he loved so much taken away from him. They all wanted to offer him support, but couldn’t. He always left before anyone could.

He walked on seeing rebels, soldiers, knights, Spartans, and civilians from many cultures and races cheering and raising their worn weapons in victory. Others scrambled to tend to the survivors, the grieving, and the wounded. The most prominent was Olivia, from the village of kids Jack saved from a rave cult decades earlier. She slung her father’s old, beaten hunting rifle on her back and jumped atop a tall mound of robot corpses. Despite the blood from her bandaged injuries, she still rose her hands high and proclaimed,

“Samurai Drop!!!”

The crowds around rose their hands in the signature “S” shape and sang their song of praise and danced the Samurai.

In any other day, Jack would have admired, even joined in on the display, but now was different. This war cost so many, and he lost too much now. He lost his Empire and parents. He lost many of those who fought alongside him. Now, he lost his one chance at true love in his disastrous and lonely life in an instant. He walked on, the crowds’ cheering left them unaware of his sudden departure.

As he reached the edge of the crater where the limits of Aku’s fortress began, he saw a figure, standing at the edge, observing him. Jack gripped his sword at the sight of this unknown man. One of Aku’s minions? No. He was something more. Upon better observation, he noticed the following:

Tall and well-built, in a black bodysuit, clearly worn from combat. He wore a raggedy cloak that covered his chest, part of his head, and flowed to the wind from his back. He carried in one hand, a large katana that sported a red and black diamond pattern on the hilt, the blade dripping black from the oil of the drones. On the other, he shouldered a large silver and chrome plated heavy machine gun, barrel smoking from use and magazine half-empty. His face was expressionless, but seemed familiar. Blue skin, bald and covered his eyes with cracked red sunglasses.

“Could it be?” Jack wondered.

Before he could investigate further, the figure turned and walked away. He gave chase, and when he reached the edge and looked, the man was gone, except for a trail of footprints that continued for as far as the eye can see to the northeast.

“There’s nothing there except for…” before Jack could continue, a faint pillar of light emerged from the distance. Dark storm clouds collected around the faint sparkle and thundered.

Upon realizing the obvious, he spake to himself, “This could be my one chance to set things right. For Ashi, for everyone.”

Near him, he found several discarded transports his army used to get to battle, among them was a motorcycle very similar to the one he drove for many years. Upon inspection, the engine worked, hull was intact, and there’s more than enough fuel to get over to the light.

As he headed off with newfound vigor in his spirit, he mouthed the phrase that became his mantra,

“Gotta get back, back to the past… Samurai Jack…”

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Revenge is Not So Great Acktually

by Wardog

Monday, 06 July 2009

Wardog gets typically epic and ambivalent on Joe Abercrombie's Best Served Cold.~

Damn you, Joe Abercrombie, damn you. I was fully intending to wait until Best Served Cold came out in paperback but I made the mistake of “perusing” it in Borders coffee shop while waiting for a friend. Well, one thing led to another and, what can I say, less than an hour later I'd bought the thing. My attitude to Joe Abercrombie is probably best described as ambiguous; I found The First Law trilogy

exciting

but also

frustrating

and ultimately, I ditheringly concluded,

unsatisfying.

As with The First Law trilogy, I started Best Served Cold in a paroxysm of wild enthusiasm that got more and more complicated as the book progressed. By the end I wasn’t entirely sure what I thought, although the fact I got there at the speed I did proves one thing at least: the man can write a gripping story. And, even though I have yet to fully establish whether I actually like what he writes, I’m still hopelessly intrigued by his books.

Best Served Cold is one of those rare, under-appreciated jewels: a fantasy one shot. It’s also, as the title indicates, a revenge-tale, with all the attendant heritage. The heroine is a member of a deadly assassin squad but when she tries to leave the group, their leader finds her and shoots her. But she doesn’t die, she just goes into a coma and when she wakes up she vows to get even on all the people who tried to murder her … oh wait that’s something else. Let me try again. The heroine is the leader of a mercenary army but when she gets too powerful, the man she is working for arranges to have her murdered. But she doesn’t die, she just horribly scarred and broken and when she wakes up she vows to get even on all the people who tried to murder her.

Okay, my plot summary is now unhelpfully crap because I wanted to make a cheap point about revenge stories. The heroine is called Monzcarro (Monza) Murcatto. Her nemesis is Grand Duke Orso, although her hit list totals an ambitious seven, all of whom were in some way involved in the brutal attempt on her life that led to the death of her beloved brother. Along way to vengeance she assembles the expected motley crew, a distinctly unmagnificent seven. What starts out a relatively simple slaughterfest soon spirals out of control in a way that cannot fail to affect not only those caught up its immediate vicinity but a battle-torn kingdom. The cast encompasses some familiar faces from the First Law trilogy, the Northman Caul Shivers, Glokta’s assistant Vitari, and, of course, the famed soldier of fortune, Nicomo Cosca, but they’re joined by an array of new and original misfits, including Morveer the self-proclaimed master poisoner, his pretty assistant Day and Friendly, the number-obsessed, borderline autistic murderer.

The main problem with revenge stories is that you have to suspend your disbelief over the premise itself. So you have this Duke, right. Who’s so totally ruthless he spent the last eight years subduing Styria so he can be King on’t. Who’s so totally ruthless he’s willing to murder his Captain General for fear of betrayal. Who’s so totally ruthless he gets five guys to carry it out while he and a random banker look on. But who’s not quite ruthless enough to ensure he’s done the deed probably before flinging the body down a cliff.

As Dan would say, that’s a very specific level of ruthlessness.

If that doesn’t bug the crap out of you from the get go, I suspect you’ll do all right with Best Served Cold.

It should go without saying but: there’s gonna be spoilers okay but nothing too catastrophic

Like The First Law trilogy, there’s an extent to which Best Served Cold is an act of deconstruction, aimed both at the fantasy genre and at the tropes of the revenge plot as well. One of Abercrombie’s strengths was a writer is the way he constantly forces his reader to evaluate her own expectations by refusing to fulfill them. Best Served Cold, which is presented in a rather episodic way, is a succession of misdirections and wrong-turnings. This is reflected in the chaotic way the events unfold, repeatedly defying even the most meticulous planning, and in the flawed, inadequate interactions of the characters, for example the spiraling tension between Morveer and his assistant, and the abortive love affair between Monza and Shivers. Revenge piles upon revenge, betrayal upon betrayal, and the personal and the political become hopelessly entangled. The problem, however, with the revenge story is that, deconstructed or not, Abercrombie doesn’t seem to have much to say on the subject beyond “is not so great acktually.”

Although I did it primarily for laughs, the comparison between Kill Bill and Best Served Cold has slightly more thought behind it than I initially indicated. If I was feeling particularly glib I might be inclined to say Joe Abercrombie is the Quentin Tarantino of fantasy fiction. He’s obsessed with genre conventions, he’s extremely stylish, violent and action-orientated, but when you stop and think about it for a moment it’s all just a little bit shallow. Here’s one of Monza’s victims on the subject of revenge:

"If you could get even what good would it do you? All this expenditure of effort, pain, treasure, blood for what. Who is ever left better off for it ... not the avenged dead, certainly. They rot on regardless. Not those who are avenged upon, of course. Corpses all. And what of the those who take vengeance what of them? Do they sleep easier, do you suppose, once they have heaped murder on murder, sown the bloody seeds of a hundred other retributions?”

It’s all been said, and shown, a thousand times before. What Abercrombie does accomplish, however, alongside standard meditations on the futility of revenge, is its diminution to something banal. Everyone’s got something against someone, and the nested sequences of betrayals and retributions are very effective. Ultimately, Best Served Cold is well worth a read. If you’re a supporter of stand-alone fantasy, you enjoyed The First Law trilogy or you like your fantasy low and nasty, I’d heartily recommend it. Abercrombie writes well, especially his action sequences. He’s one of the few fantasy authors I’ve encountered whose battle scenes I can read without glazing over. I don’t know how he does it but not only do I understand what’s going on in them, I’m actually interested:

“The Baolish were breaking through in earnest, boiling out of the widening gaps in Rogont's shattered right wing like the rising tide through a wall of sand. Monza could hear their shrill cries as they streamed up the slope, see their tattered banners waving, the glitter of metal on the move. The lines of archers above them dissolved all at once, men tossing away their bows and running for the city...”

He’s also very funny, in a grim kind of way. Here’s Nicomo Cosca (famed soldier of fortune) hiring some violent scumbags who claim to be entertainers:

Their eyes darted about, narrow and suspicious, dirty hands clutching a set of stained instruments. They shuffled up in front of the table, one of them scratching his groin, another prodding at a nostril with his drumstick “And you are,” asked Cosca. “We're a band,” the nearest said. “And has your band a name?” They looked at each other. “No, why would it?” “Your own names then, if you please and your specialities, both as entertainer and fighter.” “My name's Solter, I play the drum and the mace.” Flicking his greasy coat back to show the dull glint of iron. “I'm better with the mace if I'm honest.” “I'm Morc,” said the next in line, “pipe and cutlass.” “Olopin. Horn and hammer.” “Olopin as well.” Jerking a thumb sideways. “Brother to this article. Fiddle and blades.” Whipping a pair of long knives from his sleeves and spinning 'em round his fingers The last one had the most broken nose Shivers had ever seen and he'd seen some bad ones. “Gurpie. Lute and lute.” “You fight with your lute?” asked Cosca “I hits 'em with it just so.” The man showed off a sideways swipe, then flashed two rows of shit coloured teeth. “There's a great axe hidden in the body.”

The other big advantage of reading Abercrombie is that he ruthlessly cuts through all the crap I hate about fantasy fiction. I still remember the dizzy joy I felt when, after a small amount of build up regarding the invasion of the Gurkish in Before They Are Hanged, the Gurkish did, in fact, invade. Instead of waiting obligingly until the climax of book three. In Best Served Cold, the first vengeance-killing occurs within the 50 pages, and the next about 50 pages after that. Words cannot express how much I adore the way Abercrombie has things happen in his books. And it’s refreshing to see the usual conventions of fantasy get torn down around you – people break under torture and the damage is permanent, love and sex aren’t redemptive, if you go up against a superior swordsman you will lose.

The characters are your usual Abercrombie Bag of irredeemable, flawed but somehow weirdly sympathetic arseholes. Because there’s a significantly larger major cast than in The First Law Trilogy, I found Abercrombie’s handle on them a little less assured. Unlike The First Law trilogy in which changes of perspective were, for the most part, limited to chapters, the POV jumps around quite a lot and it’s easy to lose track of whose head you’re supposed to be in. They mostly have distinctive voices – Shivers says ain’t and ‘em, Friendly thinks in numbers, Morveer is florid – but it feels like linguistic frosting. Possibly I’m just wearing my Nostalgia Glasses but to read the First Law trilogy is to be completely saturated in the thoughts and worldview of Glokta, Jezel and Logen, whereas Best Served Cold seems to offer only the tourist highlights of personality. Furthermore, juggling such a large cast means there are some characters who barely register – Vitari, doting mother and torturer, is sidelined (again) and I have no idea what Abercrombie was trying to do with Morveer’s assistant, Day.

I had trouble with Monza, as well. She’s not designed to be a sympathetic character but, I suspect, she’s meant to be understandable and even attractive. She’s certainly a more successful attempt at a strong woman than Ferro was. I usually find there’s a point in vengeance narratives in which I lose all ability to empathise with the main character, the moment when Dantes becomes Monte Cristo; a deliberate device, on the part of authors, I’m sure, to show the de-humanising affects of an obsession with revenge. However, I never lost touch with Monza in that way, which, again, contributed to the way revenge functions in the text: not as something alien and outlandish, but as something common to all. The problem was, I didn’t really manage to invest her in the first place. One of the main reasons Monza retains her humanity is that her revenge is as much for her brother as for herself. This taps into yet another convention of the genre: the idea that vengeance for others has an inherent nobility, compared to vengeance for oneself. As the story unfolds, we learn that Monza’s brother is a traitorous, avaricious waste of space, which, I suspect, is meant to problematise Monza’s crusade, and undermine any nobility we might have attributed to her. Unfortunately, since her brother is practically introduced as Bastard McBastard of the Principality of Bastardry and everyone, I mean everyone, is constantly going on about what a bastard he was, the overall effect of this is to make Monza look like a total idiot. And I can’t imagine that was deliberate.

On the other hand I did really like the way her relationship with Shivers developed and then fell apart. At first it seems that Shivers, clinging to his vow to be a better man and characterised by by an innate sense of decency, might serve as a redemptive influence upon her. And there’s a nice gender-reversal to it at as well: he is both materially dependent upon and emotionally vulnerable to her. Shivers, in his way, wants to find hope in the world. Monza believes there is none. Watching them ruin and break each other, each at times denying the other salvation, and Shivers’ eventual transformation into Monza’s creature entirely (albeit not in any way she would want) is deeply unpleasant but also strangely satisfying. It is a tale not so often told, and rarely done well.

The other stand-out character of Best Served Cold (I’m deliberately not mentioning Nicomo Cosca, famed solider of fortune, of whom Abercrombie is blatantly far too fond) is Castor Morveer, master poisoner. Again, he is deconstructed over the course of the novel from leet poisoner stereotype to self-deluding fool whose dedication to science and maxims of caution offer no protection against the cruel whimsicality of the world in which he lives.

He was beyond doubt the greatest poisoner ever and had become, indisputably, a great man of history. How it galled him that he could never truly share his grand achievement with the world, never enjoy the adulation his triumph undoubtedly deserved. Oh, if the doubting headmaster of the orphanage could have only witnessed this happy day, he would have been forced to concede that Castor Morveer was indeed prize-winning material. If his wife could have seen it, she would have finally understood him and never complained about his unusual habits!

Yes, he’s a messed up little bunny and so utterly broken, hopeless and thwarted it’s hard not to feel a certain pity for him although he’s also a masterpiece of irritation. Although they have little in common on the surface, he reminded me a great deal of Jezel in the sense that both are characters who exist to have their illusions of themselves utterly shattered. As with Jezel, the presentation of Morveer made me faintly uncomfortable, not so much because of who he was or what happened to him, but because of an ill-defined extra-textual element. I remember finding Jezel as much as the victim of authorial malice as anything and, again, I rather felt that Abercrombie wanted to condemn Morveer for his hypocrisy. This is pure speculation of the kind that would get me thrown out of any lit class in the land, but I think one of Abercrombie’s personal bugbears (and one he shares with Dan, actually) is “people who are more shit than they think they are” and that he takes a grim pleasure in having such people come face to face with irrefutable evidence of their own shitness (there’s even a brief cameo from Jezel, suitably cowed). Unfortunately it’s very difficult to communicate the subtleties of that effectively, and the result is characters like Jezel and Morveer, who come face to face with their own shitness primarily because the author wants to show it to them.

They are presented as characters whose self-perceptions are flawed but they are flawed primarily insofar as they differ from the author’s. The result of this is to highlight their artificiality in that you’re always aware of them as an authorial creations, and the only possible perspective you can take is the one prescribed by the author. I didn’t like Jezel but I did sympathise with him greatly (I think, perhaps, his shitness resonated with my shitness), but I felt there was no room for that within the text, because the author had nothing but contempt for him. Essentially, when constructing self-deluding characters, there must be a distinction drawn between “this character thinks they’re great but they’re not necessarily as great as they think they are” and “this character thinks he’s awesome, I (the author) think they’re a dick, therefore they’re a dick.” And that, for me, is the problem with Abercrombie’s Jezel/Morveer archetypes.

There’s something Chaucerian about Abercrombie’s work, not just in a shared relish of jokes about poo, but in the sense that the primary virtue espoused by both writers is not necessarily moral good but a kind of animalistic cleverness. Rewards, such as they are, come to those who are smart enough to know when they are beaten (Glokta) and those with the wit to see themselves as they truly are (Cosca). For everybody else, there is merely destruction, self-destruction and death, as they become helpless slaves to the cruelty of others, their own needs and the vagaries of fate.

There’s a lot to like about Best Served Cold. A well designed world, snappy dialogue, some great writing, colourful characters and lashings of ultraviolence. It bogs down a little about 3/5s of the way through but finishes nicely. But there’s also a certain sense that Abercrombie may be a one-trick pony. It’s set in the same world, it has a similar approach, similar characters and, hell, even the same damn cover. It has the comparable strengths and weaknesses of The First Law Trilogy, except the weaknesses bothered me less and the strengths seemed more pronounced. In short, if Joe Abercrombie is a one trick pony, it’ll be a fucking stallion by the time he’s done.Themes:

Books

,

Joe Abercrombie

,

Sci-fi / Fantasy

~

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http://fintinobrien.livejournal.com/

at 21:32 on 2009-07-07I've always had a certain fondness for fantasy settings, despite hating most fantasy tropes with a passion, so it sounds like I should like Abercrombie. Would you recommend starting with this or the First Law trilogy?

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Wardog

at 23:05 on 2009-07-07Oh gosh, that's a rather difficult question actually. Given what you've said about your attitude fantasy, I think you might really dig Abercrombie - I know I do, when I'm not feeling ambivalent :) This has the benefit of being a one-shot so it's less of an investment but ... it's set in the same world as The First Trilogy and it does have characters and settings in common. I don't think it would necessarily interfere with your enjoyment of the book but it might be slightly bewildered.

I'd actually start with The Blade Itself - firstly it's in paperback (hehe) but I remember thinking it was one of the most interesting, exciting fantasy books I'd ever read when I began it. And even thought I'm personally not sure the second and third books live up to the potential of the first, at least you'll know whether his style grabs you. Also I think his grip on his characters is better in The First Law trilogy, maybe just because he has more time to establish them.

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http://fintinobrien.livejournal.com/

at 20:51 on 2009-07-08I was thinking I could just flip a coin, but you make a good case for The Blade Itself. (Actually, you had me at "it's in paperback.") :)

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Michal

at 03:10 on 2011-07-30I'll always remember this book as "that one with the most disappointing sword fight ever." (I'm sure you remember the one)

Not to say that I didn't like the book as a whole, but I also disliked a good many things about it, and it hasn't convinced me to pick up any more Abercrombie.

[recentnews18-blog]

New Post has been published on https://shovelnews.com/blood-creator-theres-something-naturally-funny-about-tragedy-den-of-geek-uk/

Blood creator: 'There's something naturally funny about tragedy' - Den of Geek UK

Writer Sophie Petzal struggles with humourless TV drama. “I find it really difficult to watch crime shows where everyone’s bleak and frowny and sad.” We’ve seen too much of it, she says – dilemma-led thrillers full of grave characters whose awareness that they’re in a crime drama saps the entertainment value. “If I don’t get a sense of what you’ve lost and the joy that’s been taken from you, I don’t know what I’m rooting for.”

Besides, she adds, there’s just something naturally funny about the combination of tragedy and family dynamics. “There’s humour in the fact that it’s very inconvenient to be trying to chop sandwiches for your mother’s wake while suspecting your father of her murder.”

There’s humour too, in serving an only-one-left-in-the-bakery children’s train cake at a wake, as youngest son Michael does in Petzal’s drama Blood. There’s also comedy, and pathos, in a pair of siblings sharing a box of Bourbon biscuits—their mother’s favourite—at her graveside. Blood may boil down to “a great tragedy” says Petzal, but it’s beautifully rooted in family banalities. 

Blood is the story of Cat Hogan (Carolina Main), a middle child of three who returns to her childhood home following her mother’s death. Very quickly, Cat begins to suspect her father of keeping secrets, and a satisfyingly compact mystery emerges from there. It was envisaged as a family drama rather than a thriller, but its cliff-hangers, question marks and the odd pulpy flourish give it a foot in both camps.

The series, which aired in its native Ireland in October and was stripped across a single week of November on Channel 5 here in the UK, is Petzal’s first solo drama. She’s written previously on The Last Kingdom, Medici, Riviera, Jekyll And Hyde and CBBC’s Wolfblood, but this project belonged to her and producer Jonathan Fisher, with directors Lisa Mulcahy and Hannah Quinn. 

It’s been a busy twelve months—Blood was story-lined in a fortnight after being green-lit this time last year, and filmed in Ireland this summer—followed by a nerve-wracking few weeks as it aired. Petzal had convinced herself that the Irish broadcast would be the most anxiety-inducing hurdle to clear and that the UK airing would be “much of a muchness” but found that not to be the case.

“The UK is my home and it’s also one of the biggest players in television,” she explains. Airing on Channel 5 as a quality original drama, Blood attracted press attention for marking a recent shift in the station’s programming. “Suddenly you realise you’re not just going to go calmly under the radar and no-one will notice.” It felt as though there were eyes on Blood, says Petzal. “That Monday afternoon before it went out I was sort of unhinged,” she laughs. She locked herself in her flat and watched Disney clips on YouTube just to calm down. (Which ones? Out There from personal obsession The Hunchback Of Notre Dame. “I’m the biggest fan of composer Alan Menken.”)

The response to Blood was hugely positive, with good reviews appearing across the national press and even, to Petzal’s delight, on Fern Britton’s Twitter feed. “That was a funny moment, we thought ‘oh, we’ve made it now!’” Petzal laughs. She’s saved a screenshot, of course. “Then I just spent the rest of the week madly overstimulated and unable to sleep because it was too exciting and nerve-wracking, because what if the next episode is the one where they realise it’s actually shit?!” she laughs.

“It was the fact that we’d gotten away without being called frauds,” she tells me. “The fact that we’d got through the week without being torn apart by a national newspaper or somebody saying ‘this is naff as old fucking boots. What is this?!’ It felt like we’d gotten away with it.”

That sounds unnecessarily harsh on yourself, I say. “I’m not riddled with inadequacy!” she explains, but this being her first solo project made her feel “brand new all over again, in a weird way.”

“Working on other people’s shows, all you learn from that is that you’re good at working on other people’s shows and turning things in on time. You only start to work out what your style and worth and value as a writer is when you’re doing your own thing. I feel like I’m only just at the start of that.” The critical and public response to Blood, she concludes, validated all the hard work.

In Ireland and here in the UK, the drama owes a great deal to actor Adrian Dunbar, who championed the project. “I really don’t think we’d have got that early exposure and press interest had he not been in it and talking about it.” Dunbar is a deeply beloved presence, Petzal says, particularly for his work on BBC drama Line Of Duty. 

Petzal is “a massive, massive fan” of that show. She and her producer re-watched all four series while filming Blood. “We’re massive fanboys and girls, which is kind of embarrassing but Adrian loves it,” she laughs.

Dunbar’s insights into his character, patriarch Jim Hogan, were a great boon to the Blood, she says. “Adrian approaches his characters with a really forensic, academic head on.” Petzal being on set during the shoot enabled conversations to take place that helped the characters evolve. 

“Adrian was always pushing for Jim’s softness,” she explains. He wanted his character to be “a bit more honest and empathetic,” which worked perfectly to the drama’s advantage, says Petzal, because “the more honest and empathetic Jim is, the less people believe him!”

“One news article described Jim as having a smile that never quite reaches his eyes, which is an incredible testament to Adrian’s ability. He was able to play the menace and nuance that we wanted just in the way he stands and looks and delivers lines, which means I didn’t need to go to such an extent to reflect that menace in the lines themselves. It has a far more powerful effect for it.”

She gives “unending credit” to the cast for trusting in the project. “I’m not a known quantity, this is my first gig, I couldn’t point to a load of other things and say ‘my things tend to be a bit pulpy and weird’. Everyone had to hear me say a thousand times ‘Tone. It’s just the tone of it.’ ‘Why am I jumping out at her in a corridor?’, ‘Because it’ll look great, it’s the tone, it’s funny, it’s weird, it’s ridiculous, but go with it.’ No actor likes to be told ‘it’s just funny, do it!’”

The funny moments in Blood build character, helping to bed the drama’s more outlandish genre elements in naturalism and recognisable human behaviour. The aim, says Petzal, was always to avoid having Cat and her family act “like super-clever TV characters.” One trick, she says, was to mine her own behaviour in similar situations. It’s an exposing approach, but one that really pays off in terms of naturalism.

“When characters are arguing—and in Blood there are a fair few heavy conflicts—it’s so easy when you’re writing disagreements for one character to be clearly right and for the other to be clearly wrong.” 

“I found I was writing Cat being incredibly clever and battling the family and withholding all this information that she’s learned. She was keeping the cards close to her chest and was going to play it just at the right moment… then I thought ‘That’s not what I would do.’ That’s not what any normal human being would do.”

That willingness to show vulnerability in the writing, and to include sometimes unflattering honesty makes Blood stand apart from some other dramas. 

“In my heart I’m thinking, if I’m being honest, if this were me, I’d say this really hurtful thing. But often as a writer you’re thinking ‘no, the character is better than me. They’re a TV character. They’re going to do proper TV things.’ When Cat says the wrong thing, or when any character says the wrong or hurtful thing, that’s usually me putting bits of myself in there and echoing arguments and conversations I’ve had.”

One real-life conversation Petzal had that ended up in the finale in flashback involved the strange mating habits of domestic dogs. On screen, it’s a laugh-out-loud moment between husband and wife Jim and Mary, and it comes after one of the show’s most emotional sequences. The idea was to disrupt the dull cliché about women on TV suffering from serious illnesses being “these saintly frail figures. I wanted to give a sense of how Mary is this bright spark who’s hilarious and has a filthy sense of humour and what an unjust robbery this disease is. Funny bright sparks going too young.”

Making fun of serious things comes naturally to Petzal, she says. She wanted to avoid the tragedy becoming too overwrought or earnest. “It’s in human nature to make jokes.”

Knotted in with Blood’s humour and tragedy is a moral. “Without wanting to sound too pretentious, I wanted it to feel almost like a parable at the end.” 

“I’ve had people say ‘why wasn’t so-and-so just honest from the beginning?’ and I have to raise an eyebrow and ask, ‘have you had parents? Are there times in your own family when things would have been simpler if family members had just told the truth?!’

“The moral of the story—which is a rather on-the-nose line delivered in episode five—is “why can’t we all just talk to each other?” and because we can’t, this is what happens.” 

Blood is available now on DVD.

Source: https://www.denofgeek.com/uk/tv/blood/62160/blood-creator-there-s-something-naturally-funny-about-tragedy

[raft-emilytao-blog]

Homophobia as Portrayed in Troye Sivan’s Blue Neighborhood Trilogy

Within the past two years, Troye Sivan has grown immensely as an artist through the release of his full-length album, “Blue Neighbourhood”, and his various collaborations with other singers/songwriters such as Martin Garrix in the production of the song “There for You”, and Alessia Cara in “Wild”. However, his “Blue Neighbourhood Trilogy” has stood the test of time throughout all other releases, presenting itself as a beautiful, heart-wrenching story of forbidden love throughout teenage years. The trilogy begins with the upbeat song “WILD”, followed by a foreboding “FOOLS”, and finally ending with the melancholy “TALK ME DOWN”. “WILD” is first introduced with various shots of the sea and beach, broken up by quick shots of children running, along with faces and bodies in suits under an overcast sky. This helps to foreshadow the dark and sombre undertone of the trilogy, even as the music begins in a cheery manner with the lyrics:

Trying hard not to fall

On the way home

You were trying to wear me down, down

Kissing up on fences and up on walls

On the way home

I guess it's all working out, now

The video moves towards showing two young boys playing together, seemingly innocent as they bike and wait for each other outside to play various games. Between these shots, two teenage boys, presumably the two children now grown up, sit on a bed together. A father of the two boys is seen outside with various glasses and bottles of rum, and is inferred to be an alcoholic when he is unable to control himself when interacting with other parents. Troye suddenly begins to sing the following lyrics, indicating that he is beginning to understand that the alcoholic father is unable to support their friendship and budding relationship as time passes on:

Leave this blue neighbourhood

Never knew loving could hurt this good, oh

The first installment of this trilogy serves as a visual representation of the two boys and their friendship from a young age, while also serving to indicate the beginnings of a problem within the father. The video ends with the father and the child leaving Troye behind.

“FOOLS” starts off with a much darker colour scheme, using various shades of blue and grey, while “WILD” was noticeably brighter, with shades of green, sky blue, and white. Automatically, the piano notes instill a sense of deep sadness, and almost warns as if something devastating is about to occur. The two boys are seen kissing on a bed, confirming their romantic relationship. The song starts out with the lyrics:

I am tired of this place, I hope people change

I need time to replace what I gave away

And my hopes, they are high, I must keep them small

Though I try to resist I still want it all

These lyrics, along with a shot of Troye’s face, show that perhaps people within their town and those surrounding them do not approve of their relationship. These lyrics are greatly different from the beginning of the previous song “WILD”, where a simple chorus of children singing the words “wild” repeatedly instills a sense of youth and joy. The line “I need time to replace what I gave away” foreshadows that the two boys will have to break apart and nurse their broken hearts in isolation to receive approval from their peers. In addition, the line “Though I try to resist I still want it all” shows that regardless of the disapproval and negativity faced by Troye, he still loves the other boy. The video then moves to show the boy with his father as they work together to build a shed, establishing a somewhat twisted father-son relationship, where the son still wants to please his abusive father. The father continues to drink, and a violent scene occurs where the father shoves the boy onto the bed and proceeds to physically abuse him. The boy avoids Troye from then on, with the lyrics indicating that the friendship/relationship between the two has officially ended:

Oh, our lives don't collide, I'm aware of this

The differences and impulses and your obsession with

The little things you like stick, and I like aerosol

Don't give a f***, not giving up, I still want it all

The lyrics then move on to show that Troye wishes he hadn’t pursued this relationship if he was the only one willing to make sacrifices, indicating deep regret and sorrow:

Only fools fall for you, only fools

The next section of lyrics only further amplify the feeling of regret and anguish over his mistake as he mulls over his memories of love, while also hinting at the idea that he understands that the boy’s father is to blame, with the line “I see quiet nights part over ice and Tanqueray”:

I see swimming pools and living rooms and aeroplanes

I see a little house on the hill and children's names

I see quiet nights part over ice and Tanqueray

But everything is shattering and it's my mistake

The video continues with Troye seeing the boy with a girl as they hold hands, as the lyrics echo repeatedly with the lyrics, once again creating a feeling of deep regret:

Only fools fall for you, only fools

The video ends with a repeat the previous scene of the boy being abused by his father, only with an audio clip of “Are you a fag? If he comes around again I’ll kill you, I’ll kill both of you” before quickly cutting to the next video.

“TALK ME DOWN” is the final installment of this trilogy, beginning with several shots of gravestones and angel statues under a dark, overcast sky. By now, the videos have progressively gotten darker in colour scheme, starting out with bright blues and greens in “WILD”, darker blues in “FOOLS” and finally ending with greys, blacks and navy blues in “TALK ME DOWN”. Although the video is situated primarily in a graveyard alongside a beach, the music and diegetic sounds mimic the noise of a muffled city, with low honking and car noises. This gives the illusion of loneliness of someone within a city, surrounded by people yet still feeling isolated. The video moves to show the boy and others standing around a grave, as Troye walks towards the funeral, seemingly late. Although Troye is pictured within the video, it’s not clear whether or not Troye is actually visible for others to see him. It’s ambiguous as to whether or not the father died or whether Troye died. However, looking at the ending of the previous video, “FOOLS”, it ends with Troye leaning off a balcony and a shot of an open laptop, as if to be found by others for a suicide note. This hints towards the suicide of Troye, and is later confirmed where no one is able to see him at the funeral, even though he shows up late. The lyrics begin by showing the innocence and purity of their love, with Troye simply wanting to be together with him:

I wanna sleep next to you

But that's all I wanna do right now

And I wanna come home to you

But home is just a room full of my safest sounds

'Cause you know that I can't trust myself with my three A.M. shadow

I'd rather fuel a fantasy than deal with this alone

These lines also indicate the possibility of a mental health issue within Troye, with the presence of a 3AM shadow. He would rather believe that their love still exists than deal with the heartbreak of loss and his possible depression. Several shots of the boy and the father having fun together with the same brightness seen in “WILD” is shown as the boy mourns and grieves, indicating that he is torn between blaming himself or his father for Troye’s death. The boy flickers between memories of him and Troye together, and of him and his father enjoying life together. He is unable to determine which one was worth more to him, and seems to regret many of his past decisions to ignore Troye. He suddenly sees Troye sitting on the steps of the graveyard, and is able to embrace him one last time. A passerby notices and believes that he is hallucinating, further amplifying the message of a mental health issue being present, and demonstrates the misunderstanding from an outsider's perspective where no one else is able to understand their pain. Various shots of children running across a dock is shown, and a final clip shows the boy standing on top of a cliff. The following lyrics echo in the background, and as soon as the two children jump off the dock into the waters below, the video cuts to black:

So come over now and talk me down

(Talk me down)

It can be inferred that both boys have committed suicide and the last song title “Talk Me Down” can be interpreted as a silent plea for help in changing their decision for suicide.

“WILD” was about falling in love—a secret, never to be romance.

“FOOLS” was about heartbreak, and for being foolish for thinking otherwise.

“TALK ME DOWN” was about how all he wanted was to love and be loved, but now never can.

Overall, the lyrics, cinematography and editing skills used to create these videos are able to accurately display and invoke a sense of devastating sadness within the viewer. The change in colour schemes as the story progresses is able to demonstrate the severity of the problem as the two boys are unable to pursue their own love due to homophobic parents and an inability to accept those different than the societal norm.

In terms of themes and subjects, Troye Sivan is able to present a somber and dark message throughout the viewing of these three videos, and is able to accurately portray the feelings of innocence, betrayal, misunderstanding and raw emotion. Since the videos began from when they were children and progressed to them becoming young adults, the whole story was displayed in a clear manner while also showing the longevity of constant abuse from parents and peers, rather than showing it as a short term problem. He is able to show the severity of homophobia in society today, while also showing others who may not have understood previously just how harrowing it can feel to become isolated solely based on who you love. While these videos portray perhaps a seemingly extreme circumstance of double suicide, many students face these problems of being unable to express who they truly are, whether it be in an educational setting, or a family setting. If those around you or you yourself are experiencing these feelings, do not hesitate to reach out for support, either through national hotlines or trusted adults.

[such-as-it-is]

The World is round - Chapter 2

There were times when Maro would climb as high as she could through the canopy of the swamp, only to be disappointed with the sight of nothing but tree tops and the hills which surrounded the swamp and kept all the water and the life forms of the swamp captives within. Never did Maro imagine the day where she would be on top of one of these hills looking across out into her freedom. Alas, that day would be today. The climb upon the mountains was a treacherous one, but nothing the young lady could not handle on her own.

So, without further ado, she made the final stretch onto the hills peak and climbed up to meet her fate. When finally she hit the peak, awaiting her was the most awe striking site she had ever witnessed to that day. Bewildered, she took a minute to take it all in, and yet another moment it realise what she was to do with it.

To the east, lay the coast of which she had planned her journey around. Taking in the ocean was something particularly difficult, for to bare witness on such a body of water without any obstructions was such a contradiction to what Maro was used too. Being raised in a swamp, meant water was everywhere, but the only idea she had of water was the one she had been given by the swamp itself.

Directly north lay grasslands. Rocky and terrain with the occasional small cliff here and there and every now and then lay a tree or some bushes.

In the very distance Maro though she could see a village. ‘That has to be my first destination’ she thought. Conveniently enough, to the west lay a thin stream that looked like it would go to the village. Maro assumed it was her best bet to follow the stream, because it did not look like the coast would take her to her newly decided temporary destination.

The northern hill face was smooth, laced with grass rather than mud and sharp rocks like on the other side. Maro took one of the large swamp leaves from her backpack and smiled as she placed it on the ground, while hopping onto it.

The ride was sensational. The wind in her her, the sun coming down on her, the rush of the speed. When Maro hit the bottom, she roared with laughter and joy until she could no longer muster any breath. A final tear was shed for Ora as she got her swag together and began her way to the stream.

‘This is no waterway...’ she thought to herself as she finally made it. It was now around midday and despite all that walking and not having eaten anything that day, she was still energised. And she was right too, this indeed was no waterway. This was a river. And if the moon could make some of the waterways in the swamp flow, then by the spirits, it could make the rivers flow. Such power presented in the water had never been seen by this young lady. She walked by the stream as it plowed through itself, causing currents so strong, it looked like it could have swept away everyone in the swamp all at once.

After walking along side of it for sometime with admiration, Maro was struck with an idea. This idea which was sparked by a lone branch witnessed floating down the river at a high pace. She continued walking along the river collecting large sticks and carrying them along with her. After she deemed she had enough she separated them into two piles and tied them up with vines, along with the leaf she used to get down the hill, neatly lined up between the two piles. She had now constructed herself a little raft.

She grabbed it from either side and held it up in front of her. She took a couple of steps back, and then with a run up, she jumped into the roaring river, face first with the raft underneath her.

She let out a high pitched shriek as she hit the water and was pulled with the force of an angry parent down the river. Terrified out of her wits, her heart raced as the tips of her fingers started to ache from latching onto the raft so hard. She was too scared to keep her eyes open, but to scared to close them, ripping down the river at speeds she never even thought where possible, the world around nothing but a blur. After what seemed like an eternity of being swept away, her worst nightmare came to play before her eyes.

Rapids. Large sharp rock sticking their way in the path to try and account for a difference in land height. There was no time to think, let alone act and yet that didn’t stop Maro from letting go of the raft and waving her arms in front of her in the attempt to waterbend the raft to her will. The raft did in fact turn around, however, it kept its course the same, resulting it to smash itself directly into one of the rocks ahead. Maro was thrown as full force at the pile of sticks which bound the raft as it too was thrown onto the rocks. Large cracking noises could be heard by Maro, but the next thing she knew was total darkness.

It seemed like she was just floating around in the darkness, waiting for her to be transported into whatever came after death. And it came. In fact, in stated tugging on her legs. This made Maro uneasy and she struggled against it, but as she did so, she found that she no longer was able to breathe and starting to feel pain in her ears and nose. The pulling succeeded as she was brought out. The world once again came into focus around her. Could this be a new life? No… The river came into focus and so did the net that was stretched out across it. As she was dragged across the land she started punching and kicking the air while coughing violently.

“Calm down now… You’ll choke” said a deep male voice from above. Maro took his advice and started tried to calm down, still coughing out all the river water left in her system. She sat up and vomited into the ground. Maro tried to catch a glimpse of the person who saved her, but he was already at the river.

“This raft thing of yours in going to kill the fish!” He said with a hearty chuckle at the end as she retrieved all the tangled bits of sticks and leaf from the net.

“S-So-...” said Maro, but she was cut off.

“‘Was only fooling around. You just make sure you’re alright and get all that water out of ya” said the man who was big, burly and hairy, looking like he could have been in his late 30s. He was wearing battered, torn up clothes that were stained with dirt and filth. His hair was short and as black as the night.

“What’s going on here then?” Said another male voice from behind the the lady. She turned around to see another burly man, only taller. From the front she could see his deep brown eyes and wearing the same kind of clothes and the first man. His skin was black from drit and muck, so it’s true shade was hard to determine, although he looked to be around the same age..

“I think I found our solution” said the first man.

“What? She’s so small…”

“So is Matts. And anyway, we don’t really need a big one for this”

Maro mustered the energy to get up on her feet. As she did so she found that her chest and neck started to ache dearly.

“I’m sorry about any trouble I’ve caused. I’ll just be on my way th--” she started coughing uncontrollably. Each cough was agony to her now frail neck. The first man came closer to her.

“You’re not going anywhere in your condition” he said firmly looking up at her for he was slightly shorter than she was despite his brawn. “I insist ya come to my house. ‘ave a spare bed ya can sleep in”

Maro examined her surroundings for the first time. It now seemed like she was in the heart of the village, for there were wooden buildings everywhere and people and carts walking along a dirt road parallel to the river. Houses and shops and markets and wanderers moving around, getting on with their daily routine, but only on the east side of the lake, for that’s where the village stopped.

Maro tried to muster a reply but failed and instead collapsed on the ground losing her consciousness.

For the third time on this adventure, the world around Maro came into focus as she woke up. But this was no world, this, was a room. Softness of such as bed was unknown to Maro as she hurled her blanket onto the other side of the room and leapt out of her bed. She was feeling quite a bit better now. She examined her body to assess any damages. The first thing that came into mind was the scabs left behind on her left forearm from when she fell in the swamp. They were about healed now. On the bed Maro noticed some blood stains. Although her neck suffered the most pain, some of which was still echoing now, no exterior damage was to be found upon it. On her chest, right above her right breast, lay is whole bunch of bleeding scratches and one really deep cut leaning to her center, and to the young lady's absolute horror, there was a small thin string curling up around her cut. Eeeeek! She shuddered just looking at it. She took her hand and tugged on it to see if it would come out, but it just felt super surreal, like there was a tiny little elbow leach inside of her. She decided the best thing to do would be to just ignore it.

Blood was stained upon her silly excuse for clothes, most of which become torn and she was pretty revealed. The door creaked as she opened it. Maro took a moment to appreciate that someone had built this house while her eyes scanned their surroundings and all the details became apparent. In Maro’s entire experience, such an intricate structure was astonishing and utterly profound.

“This way honey” came a gruff female voice from the right side of the corridor. While Maro had no idea why the voice would be called for honey to come, she thought she might go and find out what the deal with that was. She walked along the narrow corridor of rosewood admiring every door she passed as she made it to a large room with a table, some chairs and the source of the voice.

“Oh dear, that river fucked you up something good” said the woman. She looked like she was in her late thirties, with a long narrow face white flushed out eyes.

“You’ve been out cold for a solid day” She continued. “Please siddown, help yourself”.

On the table there was a variety of different meats and vegetables, as well as something which Maro had only ever heard about and always wanted to eat. Bread.

It was at this point when Maro had realised how truly hungry she was. She had figured that is her body was trying to signal how hungry she was, the signal may as well have been an earthquake. Or at least, that’s how it felt. Maro quickly took a plate, and before filling it she said “Thank you so much for looking after me. If you didn't pull me out of that river I would have died”

“Hush now… Eat”

Maro smiled warmly at the woman as she started to nom on the exotic variety of a meal that was on her plate. Meats from things that she had never even seen before let alone tasted, and the warm bread which went spectacularly with the meat was treat of it’s own.

“You dropped this on your little trip here. It was the only thing in the wreckage that we could recover. This is real good quality with its oil paints… Kept the water right out” she laughed softly and put the world map on the table, still neatly sealed with it’s red ribbon.

“My name is Fay and my husband who saved you is Takip” said the strange woman. “Welcome to Forgaway. We are a small mining village a couple of days away from Omashu.”

“Mining?” said Maro with interest. But then, the door opened, and in came Takip.

“Yes mining” he said in his deep voice. How he heard what was being said, Maro would never know. His skin was now clean so Maro could see the light shade of brown that it was. He was carrying his pickaxe, which he put up on a hook next to some other pickaxes. Through the open door Maro could see more houses and brown skinned people as they walked on by. Takip closed the door and sat down.

“My name is Maro” She started with a firm voice. “I am a traveler, but I am out of money right now”. Maro thought it would be a good idea to hide her swamp origins.

“You have a very interesting way of traveling” said Takip and then Maro blushed and compressed herself in her seat.

Takip sat himself down at the table and started filling his own plate.

“And what the spirits are you wearing?” he asked, taking a good look at Maro.

“My clothes did not survive my journey here. I had to improvise on the way”

“I’ve never seen leaves so big before” said Takip

“Where are you headed to, anyway?” asked Fay

“The Northern Water Tribe” replied Maro with confidence.

“Well you can’t leave here with clothes like that…” said Fay.

“That right. You can work in the mines. We pay handsomely for good work, and there happens to be a couple of openings right now” said Takip.

“Well that sounds great!” said Maro happy that it was this easy for her to find a job. “But what’s a mine?” She asked.

Takip laughed. “From an isolated place eh? Well, mining is the start of society, you see”

“Oh spirits, not this lecture again” said Fay rolling her eyes as she ate.

Takip ignored her. “Mining is where the cycle of money starts. People receive money for providing goods and services and also give their money to receive such things as well. The mines are a large network of tunnels that we built and dig in order to obtain the precious metal from which money is formed.”

“I see. And you want me to help you dig?”

“Errrrr… No. You’re much too small for that. Mining is really tough work, even for large people like me. That’s why not everyone can do it and why not everyone can just make tonnes of money strait up. Here’s the thing though, maintaining a mine requires more than just mining it. I want you to help build the scaffolding that keeps the mine walls from collapsing. It’s just putting up wooden boards and nailing them together”

“Sounds good to me” said Maro optimistically and smiled.

“Great. You can start when you feel up to it, and stay here until then”

And so, the sun set and rose again, and a new day came. Maro got up from her blood stained bed and went with Takip into the mines and learned how to build and maintain the scaffolding of the tunnels.

“Are you sure you’re ready to start? I think you need to do a bit more recovery”

Maro agreed with Takip’s statement. “Maybe, but I’d really rather start”

“Why so eager? Rest up!”

“As much as I value your hospitality, I find it hard to swallow knowing that I haven't earned it”

All the hammering and carrying the boards and nails around was tough work for Maro. And she always tried to stay out of the way of the miners. Witnessing the earthbenders loading and carrying the minecarts along the rails was always a particular treat. She loved to observe how different earth bending was to water bending. However, she was slow at her duty and as a couple of days went by she decided she needed some over time.

When the town had gone to sleep and the moon came out, Maro rose from her bed, grabbed her torch and treaded down deep into the mines to where she was building the scaffolds. But on the way something most interesting and unexpected happened. She was at an intersection carrying some boards, nails and her hammer trying to remember which way she needed to go, when a man came up from behind her. He was startled as she quickly turned around.  

“Hello” she said wondering what his business was at this hour. He was a young man, about 3-6 years older than Maro. He had a handsome face glowing in the torchlight which hazel eyes and short hair, as black as the night. He was carrying a pickaxe.

“Do you have unfinished work here too?” She asked.

He nodded and shuffled into the middle of the 3 terminals while Maro had just remembered to take the left. Never again did she see the man in the mines nor did she never talk about it.

The days went by as Maro worked proficiently in the mines, especially now that she had a proper understanding of intricacies the carpentering work. She lived in the village like a local, always exchanging greetings with the folks and discussing gossip. She used her mine money to buy proper clothes which made her look like a true earth kingdom citizen, except for her skin tone, which was otherwise a dead giveaway. She bought a compass, and Fay had taught her how to use it. She bought a new backpack, more or less the same size of her own makeshift one, but with more compartments. Eventually she moved out of Takip and Fay’s house and started staying in an inn in the center of town, where she would pay her own board. The men and women of the village loved to spend afternoons in the inn, drinking, singing and discussing gossip. She even started to learn the names of the caravan traders who stopped by as well as the cartmen who would transport gold into Omashu in return for properly fashioned money as well as other goods. Maro once tried the ale that the villagers drank and decided she never wanted any of that again. As the nights grew older the men grew more weary but also more lively. She started to learn the songs and joined in with the songs and the conversations. She heard all sort of rumors, such as the one about the underground earth rumble pit and the one about how the mines would mine themselves and the gold piles would sometimes rise in between days. They had named the spirit which would do this for them Benyi, and they loved Benyi and treated him as their own. Of course, no one has ever seen or heard from Benyi, he was just a Forgaway Legend that was pretty new. People however had knows those who would earn some kind of respect through the illegal fights in the pit. As well as all that, she also heard news from Omashu, which was apparently a big city. They had some fire nation diplomacy issues there, but that didn’t really interest Maro and figured it wasn't a big deal anyway since the 100 year war ended before she was born. She made friends with many in Forgaway and heard many stories about the world. People who used the be soldiers and those who traveled the world seeking glory. Just like the villagers in the inn Maro grew weary and lively over the course of her stay at Forgaway. Finally the social life was hers to cherish and eventually she would be let into a local secret and got to see matches in the pit. But not once did she lose sight of her bigger picture. In fact, she started to form such bonds of the villagers that she did not want to leave, and It was at this point she realised she had to do it now. And so, she chose to leave without saying goodbye to anyone, thinking that this would be the most efficient way.

It was a sunny afternoon, similar to the one that she had came to Forgaway on. The villagers were getting along on their day and Maro, who was supposed to turn up to the mines that day had her bags packed and ready to go. She Walked along the village traveling north east until she was stopped by Takip. She stood idly just staring at him and him at her. After a long silence he finally said something. “So that’s it then? You got what you needed and you’re off now”

“Come now, it’s not like that. I couldn’t bare to say goodbye to anyone” she said.

“Don’t worry. You owe us nothing”

“No, I owe you everything” she said, tears starting to form in her eyes

“I told you many stories Maro. But there was one I neglected” He started

“Fay and I used to have a son, you see…” And so he started telling a story about a boy with hazel eyes and hair as black as night who was not quite the strongest, but what he lacked in strength, made up for in witt. Takip spoke of him as though he had died long ago but as it happened, he was excommunicated from his family for failing to live up to the expectations of his father (amongst other mistakes).

Ever since Maro came to the village she had never really stopped crying about anything. About injuries in the mine, about memories of her past and even about sad stories she would hear from the villagers. But to see Takip starting to shed tears himself was indeed unheard of. And yet here it was, happening before her.

Takip had never since seen his son again. He spoke of how taking care of Maro was his own way to making up for the fact that he failed his own son. He said that if he could take back his decision, he would do so instantly.

He told the story with such detail and emotion, that by the time he had finished up, darkness already fell on the world.

“It’s night time already. Won't you stay one more night and leave in the morning?” he said, not stuttering as he spoke anymore.

“I’m afraid I can’t bare to bring myself to see the village folk once again, Takip. I will travel through the night. But can you please do me one last favour”

“Anything”

“I think I left a beam in the east wing unstable. Could you fix it up for me before morning?”

Takip smiled. “Right away. Oh and if you ever see him, send him my way” he said as he hugged Maro and she turned around, walking off into the night, not daring to look back