#and forth on it. its complicated HAH.

[suffarustuffaru]

So, have you read Re:Zero Mimagau IF/Genderbent If? What do you think of this if route? A lot of people have complained that it's boring because it's basically just changing the names and keeping the general plot the same, but I personally kinda like it a lot?I didn't expect Tappei this troll to come up with something like that,but maybe he just ran out of ideas and improvised...

Some of the little details that were changed because of the gender reversed were interesting, like ram jokes on subaru are more refined and less aggressive in general ;male rem behaviour after (s)he was saved changes from female rem into a positive, smiling and relaxed version of him, but they way he bonds with subaru is different from rem, to avoid problems(sexual offenders), imagine it kind of like reinhardt is with felt etc.

But I'm a bit disappointed with the male Emilia's personality, I personally thought that since he's a male elf he'd be a bit more cold and reticent than was in the main canon, and then the male version of satella's name is actually "Luna"! I don't know if Tappei is hinting at something or he's just trying to troll with us lol

Although I enjoyed Mimagau IF, but some of the later plots and scenes can be very weird and even creepy because of the whole gender reversed.

my apologies it took a long while for me to answer to this ask T^T i put it in my drafts bc i wanted to think about the topic in depth bc this is Super interesting..... and then i forgot about it on and off oops HAH. but no i havent read the genderbend if!! i WOULD but there is only so many rezero side stories i can get to and so mimiagau is only at the bottom of the list bc like you said the plot is similar to canon anyway and i got other side stories i need to finish!! but im Definitely intrigued by mimiagau thats for sure <3

HAH yeah maybe tappei ran out of ideas and decided to make a genderbend au for funsies but he Has shown an interest in playing with gender a bit via the natsumi arc..... and yeah keeping mimiagaus plot similar to canon is, you know, a good way to save time and effort on it but i 1. really adore all the names that tappei chose for everyone, given the vast majority of characters are gonna have their names changed bc biological sex changed, and 2. i also appreciate the minor changes tappei makes bc it Makes Sense thatd it change bc its a genderbend au. some things will just Inevitably change bc of that fact, yeah. bc of societal gender norms and other things like that. plus the fantasy worlds opinions on gender are interesting bc its Definitely a mixed bag....... like how rezero in general is a mixed bag in terms of how misogynistic or not it wants to be. like rezero will read like r/menwritingwomen bc of all the times tappei INSISTS on mentioning boobs, or female characters sometimes having questionable designs, but then rezero turns around and creates truly iconic characters like echidna or anastasia or *insert many other great female characters here* aljsdlf or the beautiful character arcs that beatrice and emilia have in arc 4 for example HAH.... a mixed bag for sure!! and the fantasy world has all sorts of stuff... like you know theres all the world ending powers and powerful positions various people can have regardless of gender, the royal candidates in canon being all women but theyre referred to as "kings" either way, but then theres stuff like crusch wearing masculine clothing being a Big Deal + general emphasis on ladylike behavior, etc etc... also homophobia and other such things like that exists HAH. so its interesting to me.

again i havent read genderbend if but the changes you did mention are interesting yes!! and it makes sense... male ram making more aggressive jokes with female subaru Would be more frowned upon and you know the way male ram and rem present themselves would be more frowned upon if they acted exactly the same as they do in canon. like you said, theres just different expectations there bc their genders are flipped o.O societal expectations both from us the viewer, the world of rezero, and tappei which is very much what the point of a genderbend au is - i mean the moment you make a genderbend au it shows your opinion on gender whether you like it or not i think :o youd definitely have to think on how thatd change the plot in minor or major ways!! and its like every person is gonna have a different take on rezero genderbend au fr T^T which i also find super interesting.

yeah so as for male emilia / emilio - the idea of him being more cold compared to canon is fascinating.... i have slightly mixed feelings on it though bc im like "WAIT BUT WHICH DETAILS WOULD CHANGE AND WHICH DETAILS WOULD NOT CHANGE BC OF THE GENDERBENDING" as i said earlier. like you could go in so many directions with this. is (female) puck gonna be more lenient with emilio???? is female puck gonna be just as controlling as male puck in the same exact way, or is it different since emilios a boy with slightly different societal expectations????? would luna and emilio by proxy be feared Even More bc theyre guys now?? (probably not bc rezero fantasy world just recognizes Power above all else right bc theres equality there. but still important to ponder about ig.)

but yeah anyway SO MANY QUESTIONS are swirling around in my brain about this bc genderbend au = you can do SO MUCH with this. so much. but yeah as for emilio, my personal thoughts on it is that emilia and reinhard in canon mirror each other A LOT. they have softer personalities partly bc of their trauma helping to shape them, partly bc thats just who they are, partly bc theyre kind of admired (reinhard) and feared (reinhard and emilia) by the whole world so of course theyre gonna be softer to combat that bc Anything they do can be taken the wrong way. so like while i think adelheid might be a little softer than reinhard and emilio might be like a little more uptight and formal than emilia bc Societal Things i Personally think emilio and adelheid would likely still act pretty similar to their canon selves. bc emilia does have moments where she acts cold or a bit uptight so maybe emilio would have more of those moments bc that (being Softer and vulnerable) would Probably be a bit more frowned upon as a boy yeah!!! while adelheid i can see having to balance like. noblewoman expectations vs sword saint expectations too bc the energy i get from canon is that attitudes towards sword saints are mainly the same (intimidation,, fear,,, admiration,,, theyre tools for the government,, etc,,,) but the vibes to me is like. female sword saints vs male sword saints are seen a Little differently. just a little bit. if that makes sense. more societal norms at play here HAH. then again there Are female knights theyre just not on screen that much unless youre a sword saint.

and luna!! :D great name imo i love that name choice. i think its probably bc emisuba / emilias moon motif in canon + tappei had to find an astrology name aljsdlfj i wonder if he has more reasons to choose luna though? or maybe the dude was just like "hmmm i cant keep satella ig...." though tbh i kind of thought hed just keep satella pfft cool that he chose luna. bc again - emisuba moon motif!! :o bc the phrase "the moon is beautiful isnt it" = "i love you" also................. and yeah tappeis a troll too theres that HAH

as for the later plot beats being weird and creepy bc of gender reversal - they were already like. weird in canon though tbh with everyones canon genders aljdsfljsdlfj i think its just more apparent with gender reversal partly bc societal things and partly bc maybeee male characters torturing female characters happens often enough throughout fiction anyway?? not that the other way around doesnt happen but like. i dont know how to explains this HAH but yeah gender reversal makes things feel a little wack but it was ALREADY wack in canon tbh. i think as long as its treated with nuance its fine though hah and also as long as. subaru doesnt get magically tortured More bc shes a girl now. if that makes sense. no misogyny or misandry please!! though. im gonna be real i think tappei would be more fair with the now male cast in genderbend if. just bc rezero and its tendency to either hate or love women either on purpose or on accident HAH.

OK ALSO AS FOR SUBARU people always have different takes on genderbend subaru (my take is that subarus ALWAYS genderqueer either way okay...) and i think its interesting how people interpret subarus like. interest in isekai too + subarus personality in general......... like what changes bc of the gender change??? is subaru still interested in the same KIND of isekai stories?? does subaru gravitate towards shoujo now or is subaru still like into more shounen esque things bc either one can happen!!!!!!! is subarus personality more disapproved of now that shes a girl or is it less disapproved of - in the sense that people might interpret a girl doing it vs a guy doing it differently. and then theres audience opinions too bc like if subaru WAS a girl from the beginning people might have different opinions on her but also some people think subarus annoying either way (which fills me with sadness...). but also fem subaru had HER OWN NATSUMI ARCS OKAY... THIS IS REAL TO ME. TAPPEI BETTER HAVE INCLUDED IT. BUT ANYWAY yeah. interesting ways to take genderbend aus theres a gazillion different directions you can go in. this was not very coherent i think but genderbend aus are very interesting to me!!! though of course my own opinions and experiences regarding gender and gender roles are showing aljsdflj bc that IS the nature of genderbend aus.

ALSO toxic masculinity in rezero is like. a Very Important thing with characters like subaru and julius so its like. youre gonna have to find a way to explore that in Different ways with genderbend au bc those kinds of issues arent gonna go away. theyre gonna manifest a bit differently, probably. and its probably gonna affect the Now Male cast too.

[phoenotopia]

The Last Phoenotopia Blog Update

(Date 2021 MAR 01)

I debated how to open this blog post, but perhaps the main crux of this blog post is the best place to start. The blog is being retired.

The purpose of this blog was to be a "development" blog for Phoenotopia, and well, Phoenotopia's development is done. I'll still be doing bug fixes and maintenance on the PC and Switch versions, and playstation and xbox ports are underway (by a publisher). But I'm not going to be making any more major changes to the game. At some point, you put the paintbrush down and say it's done. Blemishes and all.

Recent Events

The game launched on Steam last month, and like any launch, it was hectic. Bugs Galore. This is our first commercial PC launch, so it was a real baptism by fire. Unlike Switch's one configuration, the PC has multiple configurations and factors to account for. The game needed to be able to handle multiple control schemes, screen resolutions, refresh rates, and more! I had a 60Hz monitor going into launch and didn't know anything about Hz (I do now). There was a troublesome stutter that some players were sensitive to that my whole team didn't notice since our eyes compensated it away. There were a few times where in fixing something at one party's behest, it introduced problems for another party. A few times, due to disorganization, I unwittingly rolled back a fix that was meant to be applied. For some, the game couldn't play at all (really glad Steam allows refunds).

It was messy. It was tiring. I.AM.BEAT.

I think the worst of it is over... I'll still be around to do the last updates and bug fixes, but I'm ultimately ready for what's next.

SO what is next?

What isn't next... is Phoenotopia 2. As you may have heard down the grapevine, the game couldn't be what you call successful. No one's earned even minimum wage on it.

Maybe there's hope in the game's long tail. A year or two down the line... maybe. I won't hold my breath though. At some point in the past few months, I finished processing (or grieving) and it's time to move on.

The game has at least earned enough for us to continue our modest operations. As long as we don't expand the team, and we don't take another monster six-year dev cycle like what Phoenotopia took, we can continue. We'll have to be smarter and faster. Perhaps the most valuable thing we gained from all this is experience.

The Experience

It is a dev blog. Here are some of the lessons I've accumulated from this game's development.

- Have a good menu design. Menus aren't just that in-between fluff before you get to the good stuff. Menus are KEY. Your menus need to be robust, expandable, and *understandable* (to you, the developer). Because once the game's out, you will invariably be asked to add more options. And if your menu design is bad, every time you have to add a new menu option, it becomes a whole new pain all over again. Support mouse from the get-go, etc.

- Focus on features that people will actually care about. For instance, I've never seen anyone praise the camera's zoom feature. In practice, people try that feature a few times and then never use it again. But that feature was a constant consideration factor for every level. Run through it multiple times to make sure the level didn't break, think about which zoom levels made sense, resize rooms because they worked at one zoom level but not the other, and so on.

- Don't do boxes that you can move around. Other 2D platformers avoid movable boxes because they're a huge headache to program and they really complicate the game space. Enemies need to respond to boxes you throw in their path and either navigate around or attack it. When you're moving the box, you have to worry about constantly changing your collision size and reconciling when the box gets snagged on the environment. The boxes were also a constant source of bugs because people can manipulate them to soft-lock themselves and more.

- More focused script. Phoenotopia's 100,000+ word script was panned more for being bloated than it was praised for being lengthy. Long scripts take a long time to write and make the game more unwieldy, increasing the costs of translation and upkeep. Every update we're addressing some textual error or mistranslation. There are some highly renowned games (e.g. Hyper Light Drifter) that do without a script at all!

- Be flashy! A bat and a lightsaber take the same amount of work to program, but the lightsaber will draw a lot more attention and interest.

- Slopes, surprisingly! Six years ago when I started, Unity was ill-equipped for 2D games. If you used the physics that Unity provided you'd have a really floaty character that wouldn't adhere to the slope when going downhill. There were a hundred different tutorials saying different things (use forces, use move position, use translation, etc). You can get rectangular collisions done in a day, but to do slopes took weeks. Meanwhile, games can actually get by fine without slopes. Most people won't even notice. Did you know the Phoenotopia flash game didn't have slopes? Neither does Hollow Knight or Rogue Legacy. You can save yourself a lot of work by avoiding slopes.

(big entities look weird on slopes. Bad slope!)

I could write enough little knowledge nuggets like this to fill a book! But I'd rather just make the next game. 

So… what IS next?

As mentioned previously, it's not Phoenotopia 2. Pirate and I are mostly just tossing some ideas back and forth right now. We'll go silent for a year (or two). Our next game's scope will be more modest in some ways, more ambitious in others. It will definitely be more smartly designed. (There will be a map!)

We'll announce it when it's ready for the public. It might be necessary for us to do a kickstarter. I've tried to avoid kickstarters having been burnt on quite a few myself and also because I worry that mismanaging a kickstarter would earn the ire of backers.

But I did keep this blog regularly updated for six years. So I've gained some confidence in my abilities to at least manage a kickstarter well.

Is it really the last Phoenotopia Blog update though?

Okay, not really. There is some news that I'll need to announce, and this blog is one of the game's main outreach channels. Here are the events that will cause me to update the blog:

Announcing the launch of the xbox/playstation ports when they're ready

If a physical edition of the game happens

If a new language is getting introduced into the game (Korean is a high possibility)

When we're ready to talk about our next game

If (BIG IF) we begin development on a Phoenotopia sequel. I do want to do a sequel one day if we have the means and the demand is there. 

Those updates will be more on a "when they happen" basis, rather than me reporting in every couple months.

Fan Art

As always, I'm very happy to see fanart of Phoenotopia. Major thanks again to Pimez for collecting all the artwork from the corners of the internet! Since this is the "last" blogpost, Sir Pimez can finally take a rest from collecting the fanart :P

ÆV made a series of pictures that tell a story. A Pooki is humanely sheared of its wool to create a hat. The Pooki is unharmed. Nice! Gotta love Gail’s expressions.

Amagoo Mazeru makes a stunning landscape shot of a full moon and shooting stars. It’s a sharp and clear vector art. I like the faint glow of the moon and the fire and the subtle gradient in the night sky. Very skillfully done!

Hah hah. I got a chuckle out of this one. I imagine this is how Gail's enemies see her by the end of the game. CaESar made this image based on TerminalMontage's famous youtube videos. Nailed it!

CrownStar drew two pictures of Gail. I'm a big player of JRPGs, so the first shot instantly reminded me of Persona 4's art style. (Hmmm... Phoeonotopia as a JRPG... there’s potential there...) Next, Birdy is shown carried off after her defeat. I really like Birdy's expression here - she just seems mildly uncomfortable.

There's a bit of a story behind the first image. As Firanka shares it, she wasn't able to defeat the Big Eye monster at the end of the flash game, so she believed a tall tale that what awaited after was a 6 armed Kobold boss. Hilarious! The second is a rendition of the lonely Anuri elder. A rare subject. The loneliness is portrayed well here. I feel lonely just looking at it!

Koo_chop draws the clash between Gail and Katash at the top of the towers. I really like this interpretation of the game's art style. It’s faithful to the in-game graphics. And the lighting, from the glow of Gail's bat, to Katash's sword, and the lightning in the background... Amazing!

Lime Hazard shows Gail with a salute pose. Very appropriate for this occasion. I also like how there's a slight tilt in the angle that Gail is portrayed. Those dynamic angles are always hard to get right, and Lime Hazard pulled it off very skillfully. See you next mission!

Lyoung0J with a digital painting of Gail posed sitting on a rock. I like how it almost seems like she was caught in a candid moment - she’s smiling, but also feeling self-conscious. Cute! The art style really pops, and I like how Gail is sporting what I call the old anime style nose. 

MyUesrNameIsSh*t with a sketch of Gail performing a skillful slingshot. I like how Gail is depicted with her tongue out in a mischievous manner, the way all mischievous people with slingshots do.

Niitsu Kentaro returns with a 2021 Happy New Year picture. That happened didn't it? A New Year... Gail's pose gave me a chuckle with how she seems to be waving the bat around as casually as one would wave hello. And "Phoenotopiyear"... Well said! One day we'll have our Phoenotopiyear...

Ochan Nu breaks all records with a stunning NINE pictures in one session :O

There's so many goodies here. My favorite would be the one with Gail staring intently at the screen - it's like she's looking directly at you. You almost feel uncomfortable.

Next, there's an Animal Crossing villager dressed as Gail and sporting her pink hair. It even looks like a house Gail would live in. Gail is a connoisseur of the arts and likes Mona Lisa. Yes :)

There are various comics of Gail pointing out Gail's weird food habits. A picture of Fran looking really cool, and even Gail rocking a bathing suit. (bathing suit image linked here in case NSFW). Wow!

Pimez didn't just collect the arts, he creates them as well! This one, which he aptly named 'The Year 175' is a depiction of when the dragons invaded the towers as told by an elderly Daean woman. Great pixeling skills! I got a good chuckle from the ice dragon leaving with its stuff slung over its shoulder.

Quo made a stunning picture of Gail playing the flute surrounded by the 5 musical notes and the Phoenix logo behind her. The theme seems to be "fire" and it works really well. Gail herself looks awesome depicted in her red suit - it's like she's leading a marching band!

Rai Asuha depicts Gail in the late game with her red suit, and night star bat, and holding a lamp. She looks ready for adventure! I really like the white outline here and Gail's poofy shoulders here - the art style feels reminiscent of Final Fantasy Tactics.

Seri also draws Gail bearing her late game equipment. Unique to Seri's drawing is how all of Gail's equipment is accessible from a pocket on her shirt. I also like how Gail is depicted with her lucky earrings - that accessory is often forgotten.

Treedude depicts Gail with a bat and wearing a funny smirk. She looks like she's ready to hurt someone!

Warotar returns with everyone's favorite Great Drake, Bubbles! It seems so happy to be featured!

I'm really grateful for all the fanart this game has received. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!

Closing Notes

Pirate drew a picture to mark the occasion. It shows Gail enjoying a hot chocolate with marshmallows and a pumpkin muffin. A rest well-earned...

Goodbye! Until next time!

[theoppositeofprofound]

“It’s inevitable that we beings of songflesh turn to metaphor to describe the singers. We speak of veils, of fire, of music, of fatherhood, knowing that these are paltry veneers over a greater truth.

The most attuned philosopher-physicists seek discard many of these low level thought experiments. They speak of resonances, vibrations, light that is two things at once, entangled specks of self.

For the purposes of this discussion we will work within the established body of imagery; specifically focusing on the fana, the veil which all being of spirit are said to draw over themselves when they wish to interact with the world and people of matter. The veil is distinguished from a true bodily raiment by its flimsiness, the ease with which it is shucked on and off. A being of the spirit, unbound, is no more attached to their veil than we are to a summer shawl; it comes on, it comes off, it can be swapped for a more fetching style. In comparison we’re practically buttoned into our garments. And Manwë forbid we should take them off in the city square! Mandos would frown on that! Hah, just a bit of hrondo humor there.

Of course the key word in the statement above is “unbound”. One of the Ainur unlimited and in the full of their power may do as they please. But over the years cases have emerged which demonstrate the complexity of the veil and the limitations of its use.

The most famous case of this shackling is Moringotto. The Enemy, after burning his hands on the Silmarilli, found himself unable to heal those holy wounds. As the years passed he loathed to change his shape as well, remaining in the form of “a great, dread barrowking,” according to Penlod. Other servants of the Enemy, especially his Balrogs, were also marked as becoming increasing frozen in form over time— we have the testaments of a few prisoners of Angband now, including the University’s own Bronadwen, who speaks of the never changing fana of their captors.

Obviously a number of hypotheses have been put forth for this phenomenon. A popular explanation is that their ability to alter their veil was revoked by higher powers, this falls apart once you realize that Sauron the Abhorred retained his ability to take fairer form well into the second age. It seems more likely that their lack of change was a consequence of Moringotto’s own insistence on testing the bounds of the veil, along with exposure to the Silmarilli, which the Abhorred is known to have mistrusted.

To put it into simpler terms, it’s much easier to put on and take off a light veil, or in this case an approximation of an elf. The more complex the fana the more complex its investment and divestment, the more power must be sunk in. A great fiddly cape, or festival clothes, well we’ve all gotten home from one of the great holidays and simply not had the energy to take our nice robes off, haven’t we? The Enemy, who was once said to have fought as a mountain wreathed with clouds, whose form even in those later days was seven times the size of a normal man and heavy as lead according to the Revised Mithrim Histories, whose Balrogs flew on wings of smoke and breathed fire as recorded in the Fall of Gondolin, had made himself and his followers veils far too complicated to get in and out of. With the influence of the Silmarilli it is not surprising that they stopped trying.

If you want a case of actual top-down limitation of veils you’ll want to look towards the Enemy of following ages. The Abhorred, perhaps retaining some of his skill at craftsmanship, kept his ability to shape and wear immaculate veils until the fall of Númenor. After the Fall, to prevent future tragedies, he was forbidden from ever again taking a fair shape. This kindness to the men and elves still dwelling in Middle Earth proves that the One has some control over their Children’s manifestations, though it raises some significant questions about why they chose to interfere at that juncture and no others.

There are other matters of academic interest related to the Tormentor’s physical veil, in particular how it was moderated through that artifact known as the One Ring, but if you want answers about that you’ll have to take Theoretical Spiritbinding with Istarnië im six years. Do sign up now, her classes get full fast.

The last example I wish to discuss with you is that of Queen Melian, once of Doriath. Though there are rumors of other half ëala-children in this world— if you read my colleague Wilwarindîl’s book on folk songs of hobbits you would think they’re everywhere— we have only one recorded case. This means that Queen Melian is the sole Maia who can explain the ramifications of reproduction on a metaphysical level. Sadly even since her recovery she has rebuffed all interview attempts so we must rely on second hand sources, using again, the language of fabric and vestments, to describe this great undertaking.

Most Doriathrin sources agree that Queen Melian, though free with her form in the early days of her marriage, settled into single chosen shape a few decades before the birth of Lúthien Tinúviel. She does not seem to have changed this veil from that point forward, in fact it is not clear if she was able to do so anymore. To quote Soloe of Alqualondë, “If the Ëala wear a veil then it’s too thin and fluttering to anchor a gestating creature of soul and flesh. To solve this problem, Lady Melian stitched herself in.”

Her solution was not permanent, based on records it seems that in her grief following the death of King Thingol she “ripped the seams” so to speak, fleeing back to Valinor in the guise of a nightingale. But such and act came at a high cost, Queen Melian slept for almost an age after that exertion.

Now, why don’t we break into groups of three or four and debate what you believe the hard limits of physicality translated through the veil to be. How much are the Ainur constrained by their own power, or the power of others. I’m sure you’ve all heard the Tale of Beren and Lúthien, how realistic was her threat that “There everlastingly thy naked self shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes, unless thou yield to me the mastery of thy tower”?

Once you’ve all made your cases and had the evening to think about them, tomorrow we’ll have a special visitor. Yes, yes, do stop cheering, I’m not that dull. One of my friends from Oromë’s hunt has agreed to come over and answer your questions to the best of his ability, provided you mind your manners and remember that it’s as hard for him to talk about this as it is for you to describe all the layers of your skin.”

— Notes taken for a fellow student who had to miss class. University in Valmar, Digressions on the Insubstantiation of Ëala (for first to twenty first year students)

[project-ohagi]

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader {Fantasy AU}

Buy me a coffee!! <3

Crimson.

A most enchanting crimson. That was the sight awaiting your rest-deprived eyes, as they dipped in and out of the mountain springs connecting the queendom of the faeries to this mortal coil. Had you happened upon a particularly beautiful fairy, or were you perhaps still dreaming? There were so many emotions swimming amid those starry pools...anger, mystification, irritation, suspicion, even a hint of nervosity. But only a hint. It was innocent, it was vulnerable, and it certainly didn't match what he chose to display. Actually, it reminded of the children who made merry in the castle's courtyard; the ones who weaved flowers into crowns and were excited for you to read to them tales of faraway lands, of dragons and masters, of mages and knights.

Well, if this man who knelt before you belonged to the plane of reality, and wasn't a tempting illusion...might you have been transported into one such tale? You reached out a hand, almost unwittingly, to ghost your fingers across his skin. It was pale and smooth. He made no effort to cease your actions, instead watching, as if an astral projection, as your fingers wandered the entirety of his face. His nose scrunched in mock disgust, lips silently begging to be claimed.

How could a seemingly small and fragile woman incite such a fierce reaction within him? He didn't understand, but he wanted to.

And then, a seraphic voice called, to snap him from a pleasant reverie. It took a few seconds to realise that you were its origin. "Um...my apologies - I must be disturbing you! B-But...may I ask...where exactly am I?"

"...My land." He grunted, after some careful consideration.

Was your ignorance genuine, or a mere deception? No-one arrived at Bakugou's territory without the intention to usurp him, or to slaughter him alongside the countless dragons who inhabited the land. But...would a frail-looking girl be selected for such a dangerous task? It was unlikely - though the possibility couldn't be discounted, for safety's sake.

"Your land? Are you perhaps the king here? Ah, what should I call 'here'? And, please pardon the intrusion! I-I'm not certain myself how I wound up on the forest floor. Not - not in foreign land, at least. I remember talking to the elves...oh, my goodness! I must have succumbed to sleep. How foolish of me! Father always warned against sleeping in the forest! Oh...what if there is a changeling replacing me right now, in the castle? What am I to do?"

"Quit mumbling. It's annoying." Those four words immediately flustered you, but he continued. "...You don't know how you got here? And...what's that about a castle? You royalty or something?"

With a quick gesture of affirmation, you replied, "My father is King (K/n)...not an awfully nice man, but saying anything more could be considered treason. Rest assured, he is not above executing one of his own."

Bakugou's expression soured. "That's fucked up."

Yours erupted in shock and awe. "T-That word...you use it? Is it not too vulgar?"

"Hah? Do I look like a gentleman, to you? Sorry Princess, but I curse as and when I like." He puffed out his chest, secretly hoping that you might compliment his muscles.

"'Princess'?" You gazed forlornly at the dress you wore. "This is your land. I'm no princess here."

You didn't wish to offend this man, especially not when the spears and swords you anticipated weren't being pointed at your throat. Bakugou's tongue was sharp, his responses crude and unrefined. Despite this...there was a warm aura emanating from him. And, from the way he started patrolling the length of the cave (as you soon recognised it), he was focused, protective. Even as the idle conversation whiled away the hours, even though he never really abandoned your side (whether this was due to doubt or care, you remained oblivious), he made a point of checking and re-checking, for any anomaly. When the western wind targeted you quite harshly, Bakugou forfeited his fur-lined cape. He draped it over you, grumbling all the while.

Though, your keen eyes caught the faintest of shivers, and before he could protest, you wrapped the cape around your bodies, snuggling into him. Bakugou's heart fluttered. His mind was failing to comprehend this new feeling, this sense of...home, and the sudden need, no - urge to provide and cherish. The small breaths against his chest, the hair tickling his skin...

Bakugou had little experience with human women. Until your arrival, the dragons were his only companions. Well, maybe the merchants (Ashido and Kaminari) could be classified as such? Definitely not that wannabe-knight, Deku, nor the fully-fledged knight, Iida, nor the Mage, Uraraka...

What if you were special? His pair - his mate? During your slumber, in the absence of any words, any reason for being here...he guessed either a fairy, a witch or a succubus, for your breed. But faeries were blessed with wings, and witches never ventured without their brooms. As for a succubus...you seemed too easily-flustered. The disbelief still permeated his mind. You, a creature of such ethereal beauty, were human? Like him? It was a simple mistake, to imagine you as something greater. His fixation had been instant. He knew what he wanted. Whether it would prove to be love, or some other, unfamiliar emotion...well, he wasn't renowned for patience, but...this was surely something to cultivate, something that required natural growth and progression.

Hopefully, your departure wouldn't be swift. Hopefully it would be messy, complicated, and eventually you would realise your true home: right here, by Bakugou's side. Together, you would spin a tale of love and devotion for the ages. Hopefully. If you didn't choose to leave.

If you left, if this feeling faded...what dreadful emptiness might consume him? He wondered about your interests, relatives (were you betrothed?), friends, future plans...he needed to sync your dreams and passions. You were perfect for him, so he needed to be perfect for you! This was his final, grumpy thought, before sleep lured him closer, closer, closer...

The morning brought forth a barrage of questions and quandaries, like: where the fuck were you? And: when had you abdicated his side? "Shit! Fuck! Shit! DEKUUU!"

"Hm?" Hearing the commotion, you poked your head around the corner.

"Who is 'Deku'?"

"Tch. Nobody. Where were you? When did you leave? Why didn't you wake me? You could've been hurt!" He scolded, loathing the slight wince caused by his raised voice. "...Sorry. I was just...urgh, nevermind!...Did you cut your dress?"

Sure enough, the distasteful garment (distasteful only because he wished to rip it off your body), once trailing on the ground, now settled just above your knees. "Yes! I would rather something shorter, anyway. Um...did I...does it not look..."

"It's better. If it's long, you'll just trip over stuff..." There lay a subtle blush upon his cheeks.

It went unnoticed. "Oh, thank you! I was hoping for practical and cute! And, um...I shouldn't intrude on you for too long, but perhaps I can be useful? I can cook...although that is probably all I can do."

"'Cause you'll wanna go home soon, I guess."

You laughed the most glorious melody. "That place is not my home."

Bakugou couldn't allow the silence to fester, lest this golden opportunity be wasted. "I can find work for ya. The dragons always need feeding...I can cook and clean, so don't fuss over that."

"B-But...I should repay you somehow!" Your whining flipped a switch in his heart.

I can think of a million reparations, but I can't say a single one of them...God, was I always this useless?

He groaned. "Like I said, I'll find something. You just...stay here for now. I'll go and catch breakfast, since I couldn't do that last night."

"I'm so sorry!"

While you wallowed in undeserved shame and guilt, Bakugou rejoiced at the memory of your conversation - all the monologuing, that transitioned into stumbles and stutters when you spoke for an extended time...the housewife air surrounding you (definitely a product of Bakugou's delusion), the way you smiled and laughed...It was ecstasy, Heaven, warmth! It was everything, and so, so much more! It was pure...

He started collecting little trinkets alongside the food - things he thought you might appreciate. Gifts, if you will. He imagined you smiling brighter, wider than before. He imagined receiving a kiss, whether a shy peck or a fiery lip-lock. He imagined decorating your neck with a dragon's teeth necklace, and showing off your bond to the world. If you would...accept him, accept everything about him, then...bliss would rain upon his heart forevermore.

She'll be my mate. She has to be! I won't let her be with anyone else...! I'll lay my claim soon enough, just you wait!

[Word Count: 1452]

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Winging It - Luke 24:38

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T  

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: Getting relationship advice is kind of hard when you have to omit that the relationship in question is with a Prince of Hell.

***

“... And so, this friend of yours ghosted you?”

“Yes. I don’t think I did anything wrong - they were about to fall on their face and so I caught them, what else was I meant to do? I just tried to help, for Heaven’s sake!”

“Right.”

“It’s been a week and they haven’t showed up again. I don’t understand. They usually appear at my place every other day - or night - usually night--”

“Oh, you gave them the keys to your flat? Sounds serious, then.”

“What? No, they don’t need the ke-- I mean-- yes. Right.” Gabriel cleared this throat, still pacing back and forth, reminding himself that mortals would find it quite odd that this friend of his could, quite literally, appear in his bedroom in a burst of flames that would probably set off the fire alarm sooner or later.

If Beelzebub was ever going to appear again in a burst of flames or otherwise, of course. They may never do so again. And the notion grated him. “They… do have the keys,” he muttered. The problem with his human friends was that there was a lot he couldn’t tell them, but the notion of talking about this with the other archangels… well. It was awkward to put it mildly. “But the point is, they’re not showing up anymore and I think I am owed an explanation, don’t you think?”

“Hu-uh,” Fabrizio said through his mouthful of sandwich. 

Gabriel turned on his heel, starting another round across the break room just as Łukasz spoke. 

“All right, I have to ask - is grabbing them before they fell really all you did?” he asked, causing Gabriel to blink, looking up.

“What?”

“I don’t know, maybe your hand slipped, and it was. You know, inappropriate?”

Hey, get a room!, the boy had yelled, right before the wheels of his bike mysteriously caught fire and sent him crashing into the pond. Gabriel hadn’t paid it much attention, but it made it back to his mind now and he’d spent too much time on Earth not to have grasped what it meant, however dim his concept of carnal desire was - a thing he knew existed, but which had never been of his concern. It still was none of his concern. 

Right?

“What-- no!” Gabriel sputtered, face suddenly aflame. “If you’re suggesting I’d do anything inappropriate, I never--!”

“Whoa, all right, calm down! I told you, as an accident!” Łukasz held up his hands. “Are you really sure there isn’t anything else that happened? Because storming off for being caught before falling is kind of… well…”

“An overreaction,” Fabrizio said, once again through a mouthful of his lunch. Łukasz raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Yes, that. Bit rich coming from you, though. You announced I’m going to Hell for putting cream in carbonara, you dramatic ass.”

“He is right, actually, and you should stop,” Gabriel informed him, matter-of-factly, causing Łukasz to throw his hands in the air with an exasperated noise and Fabrizio to laugh hard enough he almost choked on a sundried tomato.

“You’re the worst and I wish Daniel were still here to agree with me,” Łukasz lamented. “Look, are you sure nothing else happened?”

“Well…” Gabriel stopped pacing, hesitating a moment. “... We did have a disagreement, I suppose. Over, uh. An old job.”

“What, you were colleagues?”

“A very long time ago. We were both very different people then. They were fired long before I was, and at the time I agreed with--” divine judgment “--the management.”

A scoff from Fabrizio. “And they fired you anyway. Typical. I have yet to work a job where the management knows the first thing about what they’re doing.”

“It’s… complicated. It’s more that they handed in their notice, only the terms they got were not favorable. But the management they’re under now is arguably worse.” A pause. “I pointed that out. They didn’t like that.”

This insult will not stand! You take it back right now!

“See? Maybe that was it, not just grabbing them.”

Unhand me right now!

“... They didn’t like me catching them, either.”

“What did they want you to do, let them fall?”

Why not? I did before.

The thought was a sudden stab of pain somewhere in his chest, and Gabriel chased away the thought. No, he hadn’t let them fall - he had tried to reach out. Both had tried to reach out for the other, neither had taken the other’s hand, and what had happened next was entirely out of Gabriel’s hands. In the end, he sighed. 

“I don’t know,” Gabriel muttered, just as the timer on his watch went off. Ah, there it was, the end of lunch break. As Fabrizio seemingly unhinged his jaw like a boa to swallow the rest of his frankly oversized sandwich, in a move Crowley would be proud to witness, Łukasz shrugged.

“Have you tried calling them?”

“Calling?”

“Or sending a message. You’ve got their number, no?”

He did, as a matter of fact, although he saw little point to it when he could quite literally call their name to see them materializing before him. That was an option, but at the same time it grated his nerves - the idea of calling out for them while they didn’t bother to get in touch at all. He frowned. “I am not desperate yet.”

“Yet?” Łukasz repeated innocently, causing Gabriel’s frown to deepen and Fabrizio to guwaff.

“Hah! Look, I tried to do the aloof thing with my girlfriend too, and you know how it went? I don’t have a girlfriend. Zero out of ten, would not recommend.”

“What…?” Gabriel blinked, taken aback, and stated at him like he’d just grown antlers. Wait, what was he thinking? “This is not-- they are not even remotely my girlfriend, it’s not like that--”

“Ah, right, sorry. Significant other, in this case,” he cut him off, entirely misunderstanding what Gabriel’s correction had been really about. “Anyway, call them.”

“No, they’re not my significant anything-- we-- it was them to storm off, I have no obligation--”

“Guys! Lunch break is over! Get your asses over here so I can have mine!”

Fabrizio shrugged, patting his shoulder. “All right, you do you. Just don’t complain once you’re single,” he said, and walked out, leaving Gabriel to stare at his retreating back, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. 

“... You all right?” Łukasz’s voice came from very far away. Gabriel recoiled, and shook his head. 

“Yes. I’m fine,” he muttered, and walked past him, doing his utmost to push that nonsense in the back of his mind and think no more of it.

He had about as much success as he’d had trying to talk the Antichrist into bringing forth the end of times.

***

For the eighteen-hundred and thirty-second time, the mug shattered in a hundred pieces on the stone floor. For the eighteen-hundred and thirty-second time the pieces came together again, leaving the mug unscathed. For the eighteen-hundred and thirty-second time Beelzebub, Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, picked it up and stared at it as though expecting to see some kind of great secret revealed on its surface.

On the side of the mug, the Titanic remained still, halfway into the water. After a few moments of silence, the mug was thrown on the floor to shatter for the eighteen-hundred and thirty-third time. For the eighteen-hundred and thirty-third time, it came back together and Beelzebub picked it up to stare some more at the ship printed on it.

At this point, Dagon had questions.

Questions were among the things that had landed them in not-really-metaphorical hot water a very long time ago, and truth be told they were not the safest thing to ask in Hell, either. She was, however, trusted enough by Lord Beelzebub to speak her mind. Most of her mind. Most of the time. “Is something the matter, Lord Beelzebub?”

The Lord of the Flies took their eyes off the mug to give her a look which let her know, in no uncertain terms, that they found the question amazingly stupid for how obvious it was that something was indeed the matter. She was not ordered to be silent, at any rate, which made her bold enough to speak again. “I couldn’t help but notice you seem displeased.”

“Mph,” was the reply as the mug was thrown to crash on the floor for the  eighteen-hundred and thirty-fourth time. “This stupid mug displeases me. The imbecile who gave it to me like it would be even remotely enough to win my favor displeases me.” The mug in question came back together for the eighteen-hundred and thirty-fourth time. 

Maybe Dagon should just stop counting.

“I assume you’re referring to your attempt at getting a hold of the soul of the former archangel? Surely it is a good sign that he has given you a, uh… mug. As a… token of his loyalty?” she faltered a little, not really knowing what else that mug was supposed to be. If Beelzebub’s snort as they picked up the mug once more was anything to go by, ‘token of loyalty’ was not it.

“This pathetic thing is no token and there is no loyalty involved. It is a gift of sorts.” 

Dagon blinked. “A gift?”

“Yes. And the imbecile probably even scored a good deed in getting it for me, to add insult to injury.” The Prince of Hell’s scowl deepened, and the mug crashed on the floor for the… upteenth time.

“... So it is some kind of plan from his part to thwart you?”

“The idiot cannot plan to save his miserable mortal life,” Beelzebub snapped, glaring down at the mug as it fixed itself once more. “He only ever followed one plan his entire existence, someone else’s. Now he has none - all he can do is spew out the most obnoxious nonsense!”

“I understand,” Dagon said, not understanding at all. She just watched as Beelzebub slammed the mug on the table beside their throne, this time without shattering it but still glaring death at it all the while. Finally, they stood. 

“I will have his soul. It is a matter of principle.”

“Of course.”

“He spent his existence serving someone who threw him out at the first failure - who does he think he is, to just start lecturing--” they trailed off with a scoff, waving a hand. “Neither of us could bring about the Apocalypse, neither of us could punish the traitor, but I am Prince of Hell still. My loyalty was recognized - and where has his loyalty landed him?”

“In Soho,” said Dagon, who was not the sharpest knife in the drawer when it came to figures of speech. Not that Beelzebub minded the rather literal nature of their reply. 

“Exactly! Some thanks he got for his eons of work, doing everything by the book - and now he thinks he can question Satan, of all beings!”

The notion of questioning Satan was unthinkable enough to make Dagon visibly shudder, clasping her hands behind her back. “If you win-- I mean, when you win his soul, he’d better learn his place quckly, or he will not last as a demon.”

“Of course he wouldn’t last! He thinks it was bad being cast out! Hah! There is no being cast out of Hell. Questioning Satan means destruction for any of us, and--” they trailed off, suddenly, and to Dagon’s confusion their expression went from frustration to astonishment, like something mind-blowing had just occurred to them. It wasn’t often they were so fazed and Dagon might have asked, if not for the fact the Lord of the Flies’ features twisted into fury once again the next moment. 

“He’ll learn better, or face the consequences,” they buzzed furiously. “You’re dismissed.”

“Huh. My Lord, I am here concerning the filing system upgrade you reque--”

“GET OUT!” Beelzebub’s shout was underlined by a burst of flames and furiously buzzing flies, which told Dagon in no uncertain terms that was the right moment to take her leave.

Questioning Satan was unthinkable, but questioning Beelzebub was not a very bright idea either.

***

“I certainly hope I have not taken you from important duties by calling you here - duties which I’d rather know as little about as possible,” Gabriel said. He managed a smile, passing the mug from one hand to the other. “You must have been busy. I must say, I have been busy myself. Time flew by. I just now realized we haven’t met in a couple of weeks.” 

A pause. 

“... Not that I was actively thinking of it, of course, but I just happened to pass by a store, and they had this mug on display. Since you seem to like mugs, I figured it would be right up your alley. I understand if not, I purchased it just in case - I could use a new mug myself, I could keep it. That was the idea, actually. That you might like it was more of an afterthought, but either wa-”

“Sir.” Gabriel’s little speech to the wall was cut off, and he turned to see a rather exhausted-looking clerk staring at him, and then down at the mug in his hands. 

“It’s closing time. Do you want to purchase either of those?” he asked. Witnessing a client talking to the wall for several minutes while holding mugs didn’t really seem to faze him.

Closing time already? He must have been standing there longer than he thought. About an hour longer than he thought. “Ah,” Gabriel said, and looked down at the mugs he’d picked up. One read ‘Boss From Hell’ printed in back letters and surrounded by flames, while the other read ‘Tears Of My Employees’. He tried to make himself pick one in the following five seconds, failed, and sighed. 

“I’ll buy both.”

“We have a discount, that would be ten pounds. Twelve if you buy a third.”

“Oh. In that case…” Gabriel turned and grabbed what had been his third choice, ‘Bitter As Hell’. “I’ll take this one as well.”

It didn’t occur to him that trying to claim he had just so happened to buy three mugs Beelzebub might like, entirely incidentally, might not be an easy lie to sell.

***

“Why rebel to the absolute authority of God to pass absolute the absolute authority of Satan,” he’d said. 

“It was God’s Great Plan you were fulfilling,” he’d said.

“I didn’t mean to grab you,” he’s said. 

There was absolutely not one aspect of their last conversation that did not make Beelzebub want to burn down a planet or two or twenty before returning to Earth to choke him with the very mug he had foolishly gifted them. First of all because he deserved it and, secondly, because he had a point and it was the single most infuriating thing Beelzebub had to admit to themselves in the past several millennia. 

There had been a similar conversation before, hadn’t there? Only that the roles were reversed, then.

“We do all the work, no? God has done nothing but give orders in eons,” Ba’al had said, a very long time ago.

The ruler keeping away, not really talking to anyone, giving instructions that are not always exactly clear or giving none.

“Don’t you dare say such a thing! None of us is above--” 

This insult will not stand!

Overall that seed of extremely uncomfortable doubt was the most worrying thing, and therefore Beelzebub made what seemed the most logical move: ignored it entirely hoping it’d die off like an unwatered plant, and focused on the other infuriating thing about their latest exchange. 

He’d picked them up. He had dared pick them up, just like that, presuming he was allowed to touch them - that was the infuriating part. The worrying part, though not as worrying as an attempt at questioning the very foundation of their existence, was that outrage hadn’t arrived immediately after the surprise faded. Something else had, which Ba’al may have felt once but not Beelzebub, not ever, not since the Fall that forged them into what they were now.

They’d ordered Gabriel to unhand him without knowing exactly what they would have done if he had not, and try as they might there was no denying a pang of something that felt suspiciously like disappointment when he had, indeed, unhanded them. And that stupid look on his face...

Hey, get a room!

Ridiculous suggestion, ridiculous idea. They were not even human, and were not among the demons who ever held any interest in carnal matters. Gabriel may be human now, but surely neither would he. And if he did-- no. No, it was ludicrous.  

Everything about this is ludicrous. I should have burned that mortal to a crisp. Should have burned Gabriel to a crisp when I found him, let his soul go wherever, and forgotten about it. 

But they hadn’t and now they were stuck, because getting his soul was a matter of pride and they really should go back on Earth to make sure he wasn’t behaving too well and earning himself access to Heaven. If he did, and returned there as a mortal soul in the lower spheres after death, it would mean defeat… and never seeing him again, because mortal souls couldn’t leave Heaven any more than demons could enter it. 

Either I win his soul, or the end of his laughable lifespan will be the last I see of him. And I am losing that fight.

“Well, good riddance,” Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and Prince of Hell, told the empty room. Empty words. Empty lie. 

And keeping up willful ignorance was getting difficult, more and more unwise by the day.

***

“Uh, angel?”

“Yes?”

“Since when you have pornography books?”

“Oh, a good while now,” Aziraphale replied, as casually as he might have informed him that it was mildly breezy outside. “They’re all first editions.”

“Ah.” Crowley cleared his throat, skimming through it. It was illustrated, showing men in various interesting as well as rather indelicate positions. Some of which had to be bullshit, because there was no way a human being’s skeletal structure may allow for such flexibility. “Not very holy, I have to say,” he said, choosing not to comment on the fact it was right next to a first edition of the King James Bible.

“They’re collectibles. I acquired that one in a discreet gentlemen’s club, one of the patrons - a grandson of Queen Victoria, I believe - was selling it.”

“A discreet gentlemen’s club.”

"Yes, in the 1880s. The Hundred Guineas Club.”

“The-- wait, that club? In Portland Place?”

“Yes, you heard of it?”

He had and, considering it was the most exclusive gay club in London at the time, so had plenty others. His eyebrows went up almost to his hairline. Surely he had not… no, not Aziraphale, he couldn’t imagine it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. “... I heard it mentioned once or twice.”

“It was a nice place, I was quite put off when they shut down. I learned to dance the gavotte there."

“The gavotte.”

“You know, the dance?”

“You went to the Hundred Guineas Club and learned the gavotte.”

Still focused on the books he was cataloguing - apparently, moving books from one bookcase to the other was… more complicated than just grabbing them and moving into another bookcase - Aziraphale shrugged. “Well, it was more convenient than going all the way to France,” he said, like he had not taken a trip to France in the midst of the Revolution, dressed as a nobleman, to eat some crêpes. 

“... Fair,” Crowley muttered, putting the book down and stepping closer to the shelves. In the end, they had elected to only move some of Aziraphale’s most prized books in the cottage and leave the rest in the bookstore. After all, with a door now miraculously connecting them, it would be a simple matter of stepping through it. “How’d Gabriel even know you had this sort of book?”

“Oh, I don’t think he did. I have no idea what that was all about, in all honesty. It did cause some awkwardness when a customer present returned asking to see the books I have in the back of the store. I had to turn him down - they’re not for sale,” he added, stepping back from the bookcase to admire how the books looked in it. He seemed satisfied. 

“Heh. If Gabriel shows up again asking for pornography, you should show him this.”

“That would be most inappropriate,” Aziraphale replied, somehow managing a tone that said he disapproved as well as a look that hinted he was at least amused by the notion. “Which he is now aware of, thank God, so unless he loses his mind he is unlikely to come to me asking for pornography,” he added, and both of them forgot something rather important he should have learned long ago.

Unlikely was not impossible.

***

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“What-- there is no meaning. It’s just mugs.”

“You summoned me to show me mugs? Are you mocking me?”

“No! I just bought these for myself, and I figured you might… er…” Gabriel paused, unsure. It finally occurred to him that the claim was… a little less than believable, and he may be better off telling the Prince of Hell something a bit closer to the actual truth. “I bought them as… apology.”

Beelzebub turned to look at him, clearly taken aback for a moment before they narrowed their eyes. “And pray tell, what are you apologizing for?”

Gabriel shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a little taken aback by the question. “For-- grabbing you?”

“... Yes, I suppose I am owed an apology for that too.”

Ah. Right. “If it’s about what I said about you letting Satan have absolute power after rebelling against absolute power--”

“Yes. Apologize.”

Gabriel frowned a little. “You know I have a point.”

“You do not.”

“You wouldn’t be so cross about it if you didn’t know that I do,” Gabriel remarked. 

Beelzebub’s expression soured, but they didn’t try to argue that point. Instead, they turned to look at the mugs. “An appropriate payment for your insolence would be your soul, but for now, these will do just as well.”

As much as the statement should have relieved him, something about it rubbed him the wrong way. “Wait, is that what my soul is worth? Twelve pounds?”

“I said for now, mortal.”

“Oh. I mean, good. I was starting to feel insulted,” Gabriel managed to joke, smiling. Beelzebub raised an eyebrow at him.

“Also, while I am not an expert in human etiquette when it comes to… gifts, I am fairly sure you are not supposed to disclose the price paid for it to the recipient.

Gabriel’s smile went out like a burned-out lightbulb. “Ah. Fuck,” was the brilliant reply. For the briefest moment, the corners of Beelzebub’s lips seemed to quirk upwards before their gaze turned inquisitive. Which was… probably not a good sign. 

“You are a mortal now.”

“... I am aware?”

“And a great many mortals have desires. The carnal sort.”

Gabriel opened his mouth, sputtered, and felt his face catch fire. 

Hey, get a room!

“Yes, I-- I suppose-- they do,” he muttered. It had been simply a fact he had been vaguely aware of for a long time, of absolutely no relevance to him. He still was of no relevance to him, or so he had thought until very, very recently. 

When the Prince of Hell had suddenly been in his arms, the weight and warmth of them, the closeness, the grip on his shirt right over a fast-beating heart he couldn’t entirely blame on jogging. How right it had felt. How reluctant he was to let go. 

Beelzebub stared, expression unreadable; only the clearing of their throat revealed the barest trace of discomfort. “Well. Do you?” they asked, their gaze resting on just about everything in the room except Gabriel, who was beginning to wish God would smite him where he stood.

“No, I--” he paused, trying with very little success to recollect his thoughts. Not that he’d precisely had carnal desires - or at least he didn’t think he did - he knew very little of what those would entail. It was not something he’d looked into. Perhaps he should seek advice. “I don’t… think I do?”

Beelzebub turned away, too quick for Gabriel to gauge their expression, and grabbed the mugs. “I see,” they said, their voice entirely flat. “Well then. Your boon and apology are accepted.”

“Ah. Good.” Gabriel cleared his throat, trying to recover some semblance of control. “Well, if you are not busy this evening, I was wondering if you’d--” 

There was a burst of flames, louder and taller than usual, followed by the wail of the fire alarm that had, at long last, detected the presence of hellfire. Gabriel ignored it, just staring in silence at the spot where Beelzebub had stood only a moment earlier, feeling a lot like he had just failed a test he did not understand.

***

"And He said to them, 'Why are you troubled? And why do doubts arise in your hearts?'" -- Luke 24:38

***

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[kbstories]

Signification

sig·ni·fi·ca·tion (n.)

The process of assigning meaning to something.

Captain and First Mate, two years later.

(Or: Zoro adores his captain. A lot.)

Tags: Reunions, Nakamaship, Introspection, Fluff, Domesticity (!)

Post-Timeskip setting, between Sabaody and Fishman Island. Read Chapter 2 here.

***

Surrounded by tumultuous battle and the distant booming of cannons, the Thousand Sunny begins to sink. The waves churn and slosh against her hull with increasing might; glinting foam breaks across the sky in half-formed arcs and yet not a single drop touches the grass below.

The crew watches, wonder shining in their eyes. Roronoa Zoro counts, sharp gaze touching upon every familiar face, every smile that glows with shared relief, then starts over.

Nine. Nine, again.

Finally complete, the Strawhats are swallowed by the sea.

In a heartbeat, the breathless moment dissolves into the usual chaos as Nami commands their gradual descent: Usopp and Chopper screech in unison about this sea king and that monster over Franky’s good-natured reassurances at the helm and the melodic humming coming from Brook; blooming and wilting like flowers, Robin’s elegant hands crop up all over the deck where Sanji and Zoro are wrangling the sails against the ocean’s massive current–

The Sunny moves like a living thing underneath them and through it all, Luffy laughs and laughs like he couldn’t get himself to stop even if he tried.

Having his friends back is a delight in and of itself but it’s that sound that does it. Zoro can feel the rough edges of the past months knit themselves together into something nostalgic, something fond, a type of gooey-warm devotion that became second nature somewhere along the line.

Like muscle memory, dormant for a while and never forgotten. It’s good to be home.

And yeah, he’s the first to admit soft things don’t come easy to him. There is a private smile on his lips, though, one he doesn’t care to hide. There’s no reason to, not here. Above them, a school of fish swims by, silhouetted by the sun like silver-coated birds and–

“Woah, it’s huge! Is that a shark?”

–the smile turns into a grin. Zoro’s eye meets those of his captain and, before Monkey D. Luffy can utter the idea brewing in that rubber brain of his, Shusui glides out of its sheath smoothly. Luffy cackles and together they stand, with their crew behind and the vast ocean ahead.

“You ready, Zoro?”

Those three little words settle in the spaces between skin and muscle and bone and – after two long years of worrying, wishing, waiting – Zoro nods and gladly takes his place beside the man who will be Pirate King.

*

The reunion party takes days to run its course until, on the third night, even the most energetic among the Strawhats are turning to their spot on Sunny’s deck for a cozy evening. A bonfire burns brightly in their midst and, under Sanji’s watchful eye, all kinds of sausages and vegetables sizzle away on a makeshift grill. Curiously, the smoke it produces leaves the resin coating of the ship in small, harmless bubbles – arms crossed and leaning back against the railing, Zoro follows their path until they disappear into depths unknown like sticky shooting stars.

A bit of imagination and even this cobalt sky can yield a few constellations, though it would take a creative mind like Usopp’s to name them all. Their presence is soothing, regardless.

No need to look so glum, Mihawk had said, that first night an eternity ago, after awkwardly hovering in Zoro’s periphery for far too long.

It had been a clumsy attempt at comfort at best. There was blood on the cuffs of his shirt and the soot of cannon fire still clung to his coat; made vague by the darkness, it was nonetheless the kind of tangible proof that all those headlines in the paper lacked. Somewhere out there, the ruins of Marineford smoldered. Somewhere out there, his captain was hurting.

Zoro had just huffed and stared out into the void. There was nothing to say, nothing at all.

There had been a quiet sigh, and steps echoing in the silence. Arms crossed, Mihawk had stared until Zoro couldn’t but stare back, quietly surprised by the intensity of emotion burning where nobody dared to look for it.

Don’t grieve what you haven’t lost, kid. You’re all under the same sky, after all.

Still, Zoro muses, eye slipping shut and shoulders relaxing against the Sunny’s comfortable embrace. Around him, the ever-present chatter of the crew dulls to a low rush. This is better.

The transition between sleep and consciousness is so gradual that Zoro doesn’t bother to track down the moment he dozes off. Eventually, there is a subtle shift around him, like gravity itself bends and realigns towards a greater force – a silent force, and that is what makes Zoro glance up between sleepy blinks.

There Luffy stands, hand on his hat and his hat on his chest and a woven-straw brim barely covering the crater of a scar below it. The fire casts shadows on Luffy’s face (Is it doubt flickering there? Indecisiveness?) and yet they’re fleeting enough to make Zoro question what he sees, fractured as his vision has become.

Then Luffy notices he’s awake and it’s all gone with a smile. “Napping already?”, he chuckles as he hops on the railing next to him. Zoro shrugs and stretches with a satisfied grunt.

“We getting close?”

“Nope, not yet.” Luffy snickers as Zoro slumps right back to where he was, his back snug against warmed wood. Sandals flip-flop along with the carefree swinging of Luffy's feet. “It’s okay, though. More chances to listen to Usopp’s stories! He met the Hercules, can you imagine?”

“Hardly”, Zoro grumbles indistinctly enough to not disturb the starry-eyed marvel on Luffy’s face. “Did he tell the one about the man-eating plant turned island yet?”

“The what?!”

It’s impossible not to laugh at how wide Luffy’s eyes can get: Zoro snorts and gestures towards the shape of Usopp on the other side of deck, a silent have at him that Luffy almost follows.

Almost. Cheers and laughter carry over from Usopp’s loosely assembled audience, and Chopper’s astounded What, really?! proves the story being told is a good one. Even so, the motion to launch himself into an unsuspecting Usopp is stopped mid-way and Luffy bounces back to the railing.

Huh.

At Zoro’s questioning grunt, the man just shakes his head and lowers his hat to his lap. “Ah, y’know. We have time now, right?”, he says with a thread of serenity woven into his voice – one that wasn’t there, last time they spoke, and the realization that Luffy is pacing himself shouldn’t feel this monumental.

Zoro lets his gaze linger, this time: over the subtle lines around Luffy’s eyes and the hint of exhaustion underneath; over all the little scars dusting his knuckles, old and new, and the gentle back-and-forth of his thumb over the ribbon of his hat, a mindless gesture of comfort that aches, somehow.

Threadbare it has become, this most faithful of companions. The red is long washed out by the sun and the sea and hell knows what else. Gratitude registers as a warm glow at Zoro’s core, for it being there when none of them could. For weathering the storms and the tears and the laughter, from the instant it left Shanks’ head to this very moment.

“It’s looking good”, Zoro comments lightly as he sits up and rubs the last traces of sleep from his eye. “Feels like ages ago that Nami had to stitch the hat back together. After… Buggy, was it? The clown guy.”

The expression on Luffy’s face goes a bit funny at that, half-way to a grimace yet too fond to be one. “Hah, yeah, him. I’ll have to thank him next time we see him, him and Jinbei and the others.”

Zoro blinks. That… makes no sense at all. Then again, Mihawk did grumble about the clown becoming a warlord, so weirder things have happened. “Who’s Jinbei?”

Luffy smiles, then, bright and toothy. “A friend! Don’t worry, you’ll meet him soon. He’s all serious and talks about honor a lot, so.”

So you’ll like him, Zoro fills in for him and huffs to himself. That part of himself that is fiercely independent wants to argue the point – then again, Luffy’s instincts are rarely off the mark.

Another thing to look forward to, then. Hopefully this Jinbei guy likes to drink.

“Say, Zoro?”

In a bundle of rubbery limbs and rustling fabric, Luffy joins him on the grassy deck, legs crossed and hat back where it belongs. His head tilts curiously, the steady weight of his full attention one Zoro shoulders with ease. “Where did you go?”

Ah, that. It’s a question he’s heard a few times this week, along with How in the world were you first? and What the hell happened to your eye? and Zoro has no room to complain. He, too, keeps a list of names in his heart, and the question marks around their fates are a subtle discomfort but very much there.

It’s weird to think of adventure as something they can experience even when forced apart.

And so Zoro tells him, about the castle standing proud among ruins and the ship that wrecked before it even touched the sea and the day he bowed to become stronger. He doesn’t mention the tense days spent in-between, reading the newspaper near-obsessively for even a scrap of new information. That black-and-white image of his captain standing alone on a battlefield is fresh in his memory, and will remain there for eternity. “Took me a while to get what you were trying to say”, he admonishes without heat, and Luffy nods sagely.

“I know, right? So complicated… Without Rayleigh I would’ve mixed everything up.”

That confirms that theory, then. A whole library of those exists in Zoro’s mind, years’ worth of theories and questions gone unanswered and wild speculation and it doesn’t matter, not anymore. Not with Luffy sitting next to him, looking more at peace than Zoro expected, deep down.

“You did well, Luffy.”

The words are out before he really thinks them through. It feels right, though, to see surprise dawn on Luffy’s face; the pride Zoro places in his voice soon takes root in the square set of Luffy’s shoulders, too, and the strong line of his back.

Then, he grins, eyes alight and squinting with it. Like this, the signs of weariness melt off entirely and there Luffy is, a little older, a little more mature and scarred to hell but still the happy-go-lucky idiot Zoro chose to follow two years ago.

“We really made it, huh, Zoro? It felt like forever and I was wondering if I’m just dreaming or something but… We’re finally here.”

Zoro sighs and reaches over and pulls the hat down, the brim briefly covering the amused chuckle on Luffy’s lips before it’s righted again. “’course it’s real, captain. You think we’d all bust our asses to be on time for some dream? Seriously.”

Luffy is still laughing, “I mean, you were early! Everyone was so surprised!”, poking him in the cheek and wiggling his feet in delight. Zoro lets him have it for a second longer than he normally would have before he rolls his eye and gets up.

“C’mon, rubber-for-brains, there’s some sake I brought that’s calling my name. Oi, Usopp! What was that thing with the plant island again?”

And with the sound of stretching rubber and a not-so-distant crash, Luffy is gone and Usopp yells.

>>Read Chapter 2

[pippki-writes]

Moot and Eirelandais

People like to think that to snap, something has to happen. Some precipitating event, big or small, that is nevertheless different from the thousand repeated indignities tolerated prior. But nothing different had happened. The same unwanted hand making its way up her leg as she waited tables. The same undesired breath on her neck, whispering the kinds of things she had no interest in hearing. All of it exactly the same as it had been for nearly the past three years. All of it she had put up with, every day, relentlessly, until one day Eirelandais realized she could not tolerate it any more.

The apothecary, Eidle, had to die.

Like most nights in his life, Dubius Moot found himself in a tavern. Like most nights in his life, someone, somewhere, was trying to kill him, or at least have him killed. What was unusual for Moot was that at least one of those people was his former mentor, and because of that he’d had to flee her and the city he loved trying to survive in. He’d made it far enough by now that no one in the tavern seemed to have any idea who he was. That was unusual too. Back in the Bryc, at least one person would’ve recognized him by now, offered him a drink—but no matter. The goal was to get as far from Opelia’s reach as he could.

Though he’d stolen enough to pay for his lodgings honestly, he couldn’t resist engaging in enough misdirection and sleight of hand with the tavernkeeper that the man would be paying Moot for the privilege of having Moot sleeping in one of his beds.

“And let me know if any of the girls catch your eye, we can add it to your bill,” the tavernkeeper said to him, oblivious to the money he’d just lost.

“Ah, hah, hm, yeah,” Moot replied, doing his best not to wince. He hated men like these, but the world was too full of them to fight them all. He took a watery ale toward a seat in the back corner and resolved to steal more of whatever he could before he left in the morning.

Eirelandais watched the traveler passing money back and forth with her uncle, quite certain he’d left her uncle poorer for the exercise. Her uncle, the idiot, had a look on his face as though the traveler had paid him double. She smiled to herself. The world finds ways to punish the deserving.

She watched the traveler as he was preoccupied at the bar, hoping to observe him without catching his eye. He clearly was not from around here—humans had come through before, but they were few and far between, particularly for a town that wasn’t on the main road between Cliath and Enniscorthy. His dark, curly hair was pulled back in a careful ponytail from which a handful of wild strands had still managed to escape. His clothing looked like the deliberate sort made to be sturdy, but not look too nice lest people realize what kind of money you’ve really got. Most of it was still covered by his dark hooded cloak.

Eirelandais managed to look away before the traveler turned in her direction. Best not to catch his eye. Best not to make this night any more complicated than it needed to be. She glanced at Eidle, already at his usual table near the fire. His cold, greedy eyes met hers. Tonight, she thought to herself. It will be tonight.

Moot kept walking but stopped the mental inventory of what appeared to be most easily stealable ranked by value and weight. He mentally cursed that slithering weasel of a tavernkeeper, because a girl had caught his eye. It wasn’t her long blond hair, gathered high on her head, nor the steady way she carried herself across the room on those long, inviting legs. It was the look she gave, one that went unnoticed, there for the briefest moment and then gone. Dangerous and determined and deadly. And most importantly, not directed at him. His heart beat a little faster, for the first time in days not over some imminent crisis or threat to his own life. He sipped his ale and watched her surreptitiously, hoping she’d do it again, or look his way, or come talk to him. The night was young, and there weren’t many other girls working. Surely she had to talk to him.

Oh. But that meant he had to come up with something good to say. This was an unusual problem. Nothing came to mind. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at such a loss for the right words. But as he continued to watch her as discreetly as he could, as she approached some average-looking creep at a table by the hearth, he found himself overwhelmed with the desire just to talk to her, and for her to want to talk with him.

“My sweet baby bloom,” said Eidle in a low voice, his fingertips brushing against the nearest bit of exposed skin he could reach. “My delicate young flower. That man—” he flicked his eyes in the direction of the traveler “—is staring at you.”

Eirelandais felt her pulse quicken in irritation. Of course, the human would bring himself trouble.

Eidle reached out for her arm, pulling until she was forced to lean over awkwardly toward him, his lips nearly touching her ear. “You’ll need to slip him a drink, before he tries anything.”

This was unnecessary. Eirelandais knew what to do. Eidle didn’t need to tell her.

“And bring me something I like,” he said. He boldly tried to nibble her ear, but she had already straightened back up again.

She kept her eyes down, and murmured, “of course, Eidle.”

The traveler was a detour, a diversion, and the perfect distraction. He would need to be poisoned—the usual blend, something to cloud his memory, preoccupy him with uncomfortably lusty dreams, and leave him with a little headache in the morning. He would be fine. And Eidle, the apothecary who had foolishly taught her everything he knew about poisons so he could keep her all to himself, who would not have suspected how sharp this delicate young flower could become, well. If she got the dosing right, he would not be fine.

Moot wondered idly to himself if it was feasible to be in love with someone you hadn’t even spoken to yet. Because he was quite certain that the girl was going to kill the creep by the fire, and he loved her for it.

The longer he sat thinking about it, the higher the stakes got to come up with something to say to her besides, “hi” and “can you get me a drink?”

He started quietly reciting pick up lines to himself to see if any were so bad they circled around to being good again, and was so lost in thought he didn’t notice as she slipped right past him to the kitchen.

Eirelandais stared thoughtfully at the cup as she prepared it. Fortified wine for both—Eidle’s favorite, and she found in her experience the poisons tended to compliment the flavor of the wine, bringing out a subtle complexity. She wondered about dosing for the human, and hoped they weren’t too different. She’d check on him later, just to make sure he was still breathing. She didn’t worry about toning down the dosing for Eidle. He’d built up a resistance to a good many poisons. She made sure his would kill him.

No one was listening to him, so Moot gradually brought his volume up to conversational level to try out various tones of voice. “Is your dad a baker? Because those buns look amazing. Are you a thief too, because I think you’ve stolen my heart. If I told you that you have a nice body, would you hold it—ugh. No, no this is all wrong. Maybe if I just—”

“Excuse me, sir?”

Moot panicked. It was her. “Is your dad an amazing thief because I think you’ve stolen my buns,” he blurted out. Oh, no.

Eirelandais laughed, a genuine giggle she couldn’t help. “I’m sorry, maybe I don’t need to offer you this drink.”

“I’m sorry, that was. Hm. I’m not normally. Hm,” he sighed, frowning at himself.

Eirelandais had been feeling anxious as she approached, but as she watched this young man trying to pull himself together she smiled. “Well, I haven’t met too many humans to say if you’re what would count as normal.”

“Apologies,” Moot said with a smile, his thoughts finally catching up with his mouth. “To be fair, no, I suppose I’m not normal. But,” he waved his hand, “enough about me. I seem to be finding you so intriguing that my mind doesn’t know how to deal with it. Won’t you sit down and tell me your name?”

“Why don’t you stand, and offer me yours?”

Moot gazed up at her, unable to control his grin, resting his chin in his hand as he admired her. “Quite honestly? Because I think you’re a lot taller than I am, and I’ve already given you good reason to laugh at me. I’d like to keep that one in reserve, in case you need something new to smile about. Also, I’m a little bit on the run and haven’t come up with a good fake name to give out yet.”

“It’s Eirelandais,” she said, setting a cup of wine on his table. “I can’t come sit with you while I’m working, but have a drink on me, and I’ll see if I can think up a name for you.”

“Eirelandais,” he repeated, taking up the cup, toasting it to her. “Thank you.”

Eirelandais chided herself. She had enjoyed that too much. She hadn’t meant to really talk to him at all. She’d been repeating to herself—left, traveler, right, Eidle—until she’d gotten close enough to hear the traveler talking to himself. He had looked like he would be the sort of person to know exactly what to say to someone, and it surprised her that he wasn’t. She hoped Eidle hadn’t noticed them talk, her laugh, her expressions unguarded. She took his cup to him. It would probably be at least an hour before his poison took effect. Eidle was just barely sneering, sitting at his table quietly seething. Of course he had noticed.

The wine was good—surprising to find in a nowhere town like this—but after half an hour or so Eirelandais had not come back with a fake name for him. Moot decided to go back to the bar for another watery ale, since there was little point wasting the amount of time or money it would require to get him drunk on even the good stuff. He didn’t want to deplete the town supply. Just give him something to do with his hands. Perhaps he’d come across an excuse to trade a few more words with Eirelandais. He stood up.

Or, tried to anyway. His body disagreed completely, and the room suddenly felt about fifteen degrees off from the axis where he had thought it had been. He stumbled back down into his chair.

“Oh, no?” he whispered to himself in confusion. This was an unwholesome new feeling. Moot had a legendarily high tolerance and built resistance to every known toxin, powder, and otherwise vile concocted liquid. He’d never successfully been poisoned before.

His arms felt very far away, and a little bit like his fingers were on fire. He pressed his palms firmly to the table, holding on onto the surface so that he wouldn’t slide off. He would be a magnet for pickpockets if he ended up on the floor.

“Eirelandais,” he whispered, trying to look around for her without moving his head, trying to summon her through sheer force of admiration.

Eirelandais saw the movement out of the corner of her eye. The traveler looked like he’d lost all cooperation with his legs. That was fast. Human dosing must be different. She had better help him.

“Drunk already?” she asked, moving the cup and the mug off to the bar.

“We need to talk,” he slurred confidentially.

She checked the time. If Eidle died at his table, well she could just slip out the back, perhaps. She glanced at Eidle. He did look like he was making a strange face.

“Come on,” she said, offering her arm. “I’ll help you to your room.”

He managed to stand, leaning heavily on her and clinging to her arm. He looked up at her, his rich brown eyes wide and glassy. “Oh, spirits help me,” he mumbled, “I told you you were taller.”

He leaned his head against her arm, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Youuuuuu,” drawled Moot, trying to unbutton his vest as he fell over sideways on the bed, “Are. Amazing.”

Eirelandais shut the door and looked him over. His cheeks were flushed, his eyebrows looked like they were sweating, and she started to wonder if an antidote might be needed. That was doable, but not something she had time for.

“Run away with meeee?” said Moot, trying to roll over. “I think alluv youuu,” he slurred.

Eirelandais tapped her fingers against her chin, thinking while he rambled, trying to decide what to do. She liked the traveler, and wouldn’t feel right leaving him to potentially die just because he was human.

Moot managed to push himself up and tried to wave her over. “’M serious. This’s serious,” he slurred, clearly working hard to be as understandable as possible. “D’you know, d’you KNOW, that no one, no one has ever, ever, EVER managed to poison me before? Y’gotta teach me, y’gotta tell me, ‘s gotta be enough poison to kill a man, his mother, ‘n the horse they rode in on.”

Eirelandais shook her head. “It’s a common poison. You’re just human.”

Moot slapped the bedcover indignantly. “No. M’best friend is the most poisonest man to ever mix two liquids in a bottle, in all of Innisfail ‘n Ivernia. Common poison’s m’breakfast, lunch, an’ middle name.” A thought managed to occur to him, and for a moment he looked like he could cry. “Did Opelia send you? To kill me? Ohhhh no, you reeeeeally did trick me…”

“What? No!” Eirelandais snapped. “Who? No. I’m not trying to kill you—”

Moot gasped, loudly and dramatically. “I knew it,” he hissed with glee. The unbounded look of adoration returned to his face, then slowly slid to a frown, attempting to think. “But you did give me poison.”

Eirelandais tried to remember. Which cup had she sat down, and which one had she carried over? She thought she knew. There were only two cups.

“—and a lesser man than Dubius Moot would be dead before you, y’know, you’re very lucky,” he drawled, trying to wag his finger vaguely in her direction.

She slumped against the wall. The wrong poison. Could it be possible? Surely the traveler was just wrong. But if he wasn’t? That meant Eidle would not be dead. Nor would he be asleep from a poison he’d designed. A poison he knew the taste of. The face he’d been making. She was in trouble.

And her only help was too incapacitated to even come up with a good fake name.

“Dubius Moot?” she said absently, her mind still hoping to avoid reality for a few more moments. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be.

“Oops.” He clapped his hands over his mouth.

“That’s a terrible fake name.”

He sighed. “That’s ‘cuz it’s my real name. You were s’posed to help me witha fake one.”

“Yeah. Dubius?”

“Mm? Call me Moot. Mos’ friends do.”

“Moot? I’m in trouble.”

These were the facts: it should not take Eirelandais this long to put the drunk to bed. He had seen them smiling. She was his. And she had tried to poison him.

This would not do.

She could hear his footsteps coming down the corridor, recognized them immediately, like so many nights before.

“Eirelandais,” Eidle called softly. “My sweet little blossom, whatever are you up here so long doing?” His tone seemed gentle, but she could hear the sharp edge, the seething rage simmering beneath, the promise of violence yet to come. She held her breath, hand on the doorknob, waiting.

His footsteps stopped outside the door. She felt his hand rest on the doorknob. “Please don’t make me have to teach you a lesson,” he said as he turned the handle.

Now. Eirelandais jerked the door inward, pulling Eidle stumbling forward. Dubius Moot exploded haphazardly from a crouch beside the door, his solid frame connecting into Eidle with a crash that knocked Eidle’s head against the footboard. Eirelandais quickly slammed the door shut again, but Eidle was out cold. For now.

Moot rolled off him and peered closely. “He’s breathin.”

“For now,” said Eirelandais, hurriedly undoing Eidle’s belt, yanking it roughly out of the belt loops.

“If you think you can stand, help me,” she said, slipping the belt around Eidle’s neck as she tried to reach the other end to the top of the bedpost.

Moot got as far as his knees before falling over again, and did the best he could from there to push Eidle’s slumped form upright enough for her to tie a knot. She braced her shoe against Eidle’s neck, pulling the belt as tight as she could, then arranged him into an obscene tableau before taking the money from his pockets.

On the little table, she left a note –“For Eirelandais”—and the money from Eidle. Perhaps it was enough to cover the debt her father had sold her for. It would have to do.

Moot had managed to drag himself upright, propped against the other bedpost. Eidle, raggedly, was still breathing. For now.

“Do you…still want to run away with me?” she asked.

Moot burst into a smile as he clung to the bedpost. “More’n ever.”

“How do you not have a horse?” hissed Eirelandais, struggling to hold Moot upright with one arm while she searched for the key she had taken off of Eidle.

“Horses...can’t climb trees,” he managed to get out. He slipped out of her grasp, hit hard against the side of the building, and just barely managed not to throw up on either of them. He’d really hoped that vomiting would at least make him feel a little better, but that was not the case. “Might not be ok,” he muttered.

Eirelandais got the door to the apothecary’s shop open and pulled Moot inside. There was nowhere to put him, so she lowered him as gently as she could the rest of the way to the floor and let him curl up on his side. She had been here enough times to know what she was looking for, the jar full of powdered charcoal sitting next to the jug of cold, clear water drawn under the full moon’s light from the allegedly enchanted spring. She wasn’t sure she bought all that, but it was good, clean water. She poured it into an empty bottle and carefully dumped in several heaping spoonfuls of charcoal, then sealed the bottle shut with the palm of her hand while she shook it. This wouldn’t fix everything, but it was a start, and it would buy Moot some time so she could think.

“You need to drink this,” she said, sitting him upright, “and try to keep it in you.” She helped him hold the bottle to his lips, and it took all his concentration not to spit the gritty liquid back out at her. “Keeping it in,” he mumbled, clutching the empty bottle as he sunk back down to the floor.

It wasn’t merely that she’d poisoned him with any one poison--it was the combination, the unique ways the poisons had been brought together, treatments and mixtures Eidle never would have dreamed of, the unique interactions resulting in a constellation of symptoms that no simple antidote could cure. Not that Eirelandais had put any thought toward making a cure when she’d thought and mixed it up. Now she wished she had.

She tapped her fingers on her chin, trying to remember what kinds of rare ingredients Eidle kept on hand. She tried opening a few small drawers, but found them locked--a different key, of course, was needed. She swept her hands blindly along the top of a few high shelves, hoping another key would appear beneath her fingers. No such luck. She spared Moot a glance. He’d begun to shiver, teeth clenched. She didn’t have time to think of something better than finding more ways to shovel charcoal into him. She doubted that would be enough. He needed a healer, and there was only one person in town who knew any healing magic.

The apothecary’s wife.

Eirelandais quickly straightened up the things she had moved, grabbed a few vials that looked like they would be worth having, and helped Moot off the floor. He was soaked in sweat.

Eirelandais had never met Eidle’s wife. She had heard a good many cruel things about her, but Eirelandais always suspected her only true crime was having been young once. And loving Eidle, perhaps. Still, it would not look good to wake her up and bring her to Moot laying on the floor of her husband’s own shop that Eirelandais should not have had a key for. She shut and locked the door behind them, and pocketed the key. She’d considered slipping the key under the door, but what if Eidle’s wife led them right back into the shop? The sight of the key without its owner wouldn’t lead to anything good.

It felt like Eirelandais was the only thing holding Moot up at this point. They made it to the door of the home attached to the back of the apothecary’s shop, and Eirelandais rapped sharply, urgently on the door while her mind was racing. What was Eidle’s wife’s name? Should she address her by name? What would she tell her? What would make her ask the least amount of questions? What if she didn’t wake up?

The sound of movement came from the other side of the door, and a wary female voice--”Who goes there and what do you want? It’s late.”

“Please,” said Eirelandais. “Are you the healer? I believe you are, it’s my friend, I think, I think he’s tried to poison himself.” Why did she say friend, why would she have some random human friend, there aren’t any humans in this town, come on Eirelandais. “I’m Eirelandais, from the tavern just down the road.”

“Ah.” A pause--the door was still chained shut, but the apothecary’s wife opened the door to peek out at them. “One of Corrigan’s girls.” She had tried not to mean any judgement by it, but Eirelandais could tell she’d taken the term ‘friend’ euphemistically. Fine. Whatever.

“Please,” said Eirelandais again. “We gave him some charcoal for it but I don’t think it’s enough.”

The older woman sighed. “Bring him in,” she said, shutting the door long enough to undo the chains. “I can’t promise much, I’m no great healer.”

“Thank you,” said Eirelandais, as the two of them helped lay Moot out on the couch. “I don’t think you can do much to make him worse.”

“It’s a shame you’ve come when my husband is away. He’s a great apothecary, could probably help your friend more than I can.” She sorted through a series of bottles in a cabinet on the wall. “I’m sure you could find him in town--”

Oh no, thought Eirelandais, absolutely not.

“--but by now he’s probably too drunk to do much good. So you’ll just have to settle for me. My name’s Aellys, by the way.” She set some bottles on the table by Moot with a mortar and pestle, and took out a sharp needle. “Any idea what he took?” she asked, holding the needle in the flame of the candle on the table.

Eirelandais shook her head. Would the knowing make a difference, when magic was involved?

“Do you know his name?”

Eirelandais looked at Moot’s troubled face. He’d asked her for a fake name.

“I think he said his name was Dolan.” Dolan - unlucky one. Probably not what he would have picked, but certainly an accurate reflection of how his night had gone.

Aellys chuckled a little to herself. “No wonder, with a name like that. Well, let’s see what we can do to help. Hold the bowl for me, I need to get a bit of his blood.”

“Dolan?” said Aellys, raising her voice as if it might be heard over the pain. “This might hurt a little my dear, but then again everything probably hurts right now doesn’t it?”

Eirelandais held the mortar while Aellys pricked one of Moot’s fingers with the searing-hot needle. She squeezed a few drops of blood, and then knelt by the little table, speaking softly in the sort of long-dead language reserved for the use of magic while she added a sparkling gray powder from one of the bottles. Aellys ground the powder with the blood, and added enough liquid to the bowl that it would be drinkable. Eirelandais watched nervously, hands clenched and feeling useless, as Aellys continued to chant. Aellys waved her over, and motioned for her to take Moot’s hand while Aellys helped him drink the mixture, all while continuing the spell. Once the mortar was empty she stopped, and let Moot lay back down on the couch.

“What now?” asked Eirelandais. “What did you give him?”

“Now we wait,” said Aellys, clearing away the table. “I gave him something I’ve been holding onto for many, many years. Charcoal made from enchanted helix horn. It was a wedding gift, if you can believe it.” She smiled, but there was a hint of sadness to it. “You hold onto these things waiting for the right time to use them, and then you never use them. It seemed like the right time. Might as well use it.”

Eirelandais watched as Aellys closed the cabinet. Did she know who her husband had been, when he wasn’t at home? Perhaps she knew all too well. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to know, and had been content to stay at home and ignore whatever rumors and whispers managed to reach her. Eirelandais was too afraid to ask.

“Wake me up if you need me, and sleep if you’d like. I doubt you will though. There’s nothing more either of us can do for now, dear.” Aellys patted Eirelandais on the shoulder, checked the locks on the door, and went to the bedroom. Eirelandais wondered if Aellys had been waiting for Eidle to come home. Maybe that’s what she’d done every night.

Moot had fallen into a fitful sleep. Eirelandais found herself wanting to brush the stray curls off his face, but resisted. She looked at the strange, soft curves of his ears, and this time she could not resist reaching out to feel one. She could feel faint scars beneath her fingertips. Moot shifted onto his side, and Eirelandais quickly pulled her hand away.

Eirelandais found the most uncomfortable chair in the room and pulled it over by the couch so she could keep an eye on Moot without falling asleep. Aellys had been kind, too kind. She would probably make a good enough apothecary. But Eirelandais didn’t intend to find out. They needed to leave before daybreak. Eirelandais stifled a yawn. She would carry Moot like a sack of potatoes if she had to.

Moot’s consciousness came struggling back to him. The first thing he noticed was pain. He had thought he’d felt pain before, but those were mere inconveniences. This was Pain, perhaps the worst he’d ever felt, screaming through every ounce of his existence. If he wasn’t dying, someone should have let him, because this was the most cruel and tortuous experience of his life. His skull felt too small, and his brain felt like someone had yanked it out through his mouth and slammed it back in upside-down through his eye sockets. His stomach was in a confused and untenable state, feeling simultaneously hungry enough to eat a horse, yet too nauseous to even speak. The taste of devil ferrets haunted his tongue. Everything was awful.

The second thing Moot noticed was the feeling of a hand pressed on his mouth (oddly comforting, for the moment, because it made him feel like he could keep all his insides inside of him with someone else fortifying the gate), very nearly blocking the air from his nose too. A poor attempt at smothering? Maybe they were just getting started. Another hand was shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes unevenly, blinking in the dim pre-dawn light, trying to get his bearings.

Eirelandais. Very close. Her hand on his mouth, as she softly shushed him. If she was trying to smother him, well. He found himself strangely alright with that. Existing right now hurt. She leaned a little closer to him and whispered, “We need to leave.”

Moot nodded as little as possible, closing his eyes. If he could just go back to sleep, maybe forever, he might feel better. Yes, that would do. He felt dimly aware of the hand leaving his shoulder as he tried to drift back into the less consciously painful embrace of sleep. Two fingers slowly pinched his nose closed, cutting off all his air.

Eirelandais let go as soon as Moot’s eyes flew open. “We need to leave now,” she whispered fiercely. “Come on. Can you stand?”

Moot made quiet noises of protest as Eirelandais pulled him up off the couch. He gripped her arms, white-knuckled, as waves of pain and nausea hit him. He focused on his breath, harsh and intense, in and out, in and out through his nose, mouth and eyes clamped shut. For a moment he merely stood there, clinging desperately to Eirelandais, frowning and furrowing his brow as he battled every awful feeling that fought for his attention. Need to leave now, she’d said. Even if he’d wanted to question it, there was no way he’d trust himself to speak feeling the way he did. He gave a little nod, and waved a hand in what he felt was the direction of a door, and hoped that was enough to convey both “lead the way” and “please don’t let go of me.”

Her hands were steady as she helped him across the room, her feet light on the floor, listening for any sound of Aellys stirring. She wasn’t sure Moot could keep himself together, but by the look on his face picking him up was out of the question. He was glaring daggers at the world ahead of him, wholly consumed by the laborious process of remembering to successfully walk without falling down or turning inside-out.

They made it outside, Eirelandais closing the front door carefully behind her. She left Moot resting against the side of the building, his head tilted back as he focused on his breathing, and grabbed their bags she’d hidden in the apothecary’s little stable. Supplies were critical. If they could get enough distance between themselves and this town, she’d be able to stop and make Moot some ginger-root tea. He desperately looked like he needed it, she thought, securing their bags over her shoulders. As she returned Moot had undone the top half of his vest and was working to unlace the shirt beneath it, as though any fabric encroaching on his neck threatened to choke him.

“Can you walk?” she asked.

“Mhm.” He slowly pushed himself off the side of the building, and managed to get himself braced, upright, unassisted on his own two feet. For a long moment, he simply stood there.

“Are you...sure...you can walk?”

“Mhm!” Moot managed with false cheer. His entire conscious existence had boiled down to two things: breathing, and walking. He did both forcefully, deliberately, looking like a man possessed as he trudged over to Eirelandais.

She offered a hand, but he waved his dismissively. Focusing on a third thing would be catastrophically distracting, and he could only accomplish the other two through great powers of concentration.

“You mentioned something about being on the run, right?” she prodded, looking up and down the road. Eirelandais realized, in the chill light of the slowly rising sun, that she had had no real plan beyond killing Eidle. The world was opening up before her, strange and full of unknown potential. “What direction do we need to go?”

[rigelspride]

"Berkut...?" There is surprise in his voice. He approaches him, jasper searching his expression. A smile in his direction. "I didn't know you were going to enroll here." There's a pause when he adds, a bit softer, uplifting almost—smile matches his voice—this time, as if hesitant to how hard the tiger will bite, but hopeful that he wouldn't. "Have you eaten? I was just on my way to the Dining Hall. We could go together."

That voice.

No. No. Not here too.

Perhaps that dream had been a sign of things to come. The rage Berkut had felt then at the sight of his mother’s ring between his cousin’s fingers bubbles up into his chest again, burning like fire. Was there nowhere he could claim for himself? Rigel. Valentia. His own dreams. And now this academy. Tainted. Rooted deep at the center of it all is the fear that he will always be eclipsed. That Alm’s destiny written by the gods was to rule, while his own was to be trod upon.

But he quiets the inferno. Smothers it. Alm’s appearance in his dreams had at least prepared him for confrontation, allowed his instinct to snap like a mousetrap so that he could compose himself better the second time. He had always known anyway that eventually he would be made to face his cousin again, though he had always thought it would be in Valentia. On his own terms.

His shoulders rise with tension, and his expression is dark and smoldering when he at last turns to Alm, but there is no explosive tirade this time. He regards his cousin with his head angled partly away, narrow eyes made sharper by the line of his cheek. Gaze lowers in rare silence, appraises the uniform shoes Alm now wears in place of the muddy work boots Berkut remembers seeing last, and lifts again only as far as his shoulder. He stares past him at some distant point.

Had he known Alm had enrolled as well, he would have retracted his application. But he chooses to answer differently. Stormy eyes flicker up to meet emerald.

“You left the throne less than a year after you wrenched it from His Majesty’s dead hands. I had to see for myself what could possibly be so important.” Cold and sharp in place of volatile passion.

Gaze sweeps out across the courtyard, over the heads of other students milling about, and then returns to Alm with a caustic huff.

“It would seem you’ve finally realized leading a country is far more complicated than leading its conquest. Any baseborn barbarian can rally an army to kill for him, after all.” Another huff. “Your smile makes for a fine ruse, I’ll give you that. But what do you hope to achieve with it? With—“ He moves his hand back and forth between them and frowns. “This? Asking me to accompany you to the dining hall as if we’re friends? Hah. What a fantasy you live in.”

[seasonofthegeek]

Drift Away, Part 3

Parts 1, 2, 3:

“It true you can walk in the sun?” Bakugo asked, looking past the prone vampire to the heavy curtains covering the far window.

“Yeah, but I have to work at it. It’s not something that comes easy,” Kirishima answered after a hesitant pause.

Bakugo simply hummed in response, seemingly lost in thought.

“What can you do?”

“Anything I fuckin’ want.”

Kirishima grinned and shook his head, dry hair rustling against the pillow. “I mean power-wise, man. I know how Ver is.” He frowned. “Was, I guess. You must have something cool you can do.”

Ignoring his question, Bakugo studied him. “How does it make you feel knowing that I killed the woman who made us like this?”

“You want to know if I’m mad?”

“I want to know what you think about it.” He watched emotions flit across the other vampire’s face. Kirishima was an open book if he wasn’t trying to be careful. Bakugo had realized his blank face for hiding how he was really feeling was a huge smile, but he was still having trouble determining what smiles were real and which ones weren’t.

“I’m not sure how I feel,” Kirishima admitted with a sheepish smile. “I loved her, and I hated her. She was the first person to make me feel important, but she was just so… I don’t know, it’s complicated.”

“She left you to decay in the shithole forever. Doesn’t seem too complicated to me,” Bakugo replied gruffly.

“Guess I know how you felt about her then.”

Bakugo stood and turned away from the other man as he began to ready his bag for going out to grab them another human for dinner. “She made me even stronger than I was before, so I guess I’m thankful for that. Doesn’t go much beyond that though. She was a selfish, hateful bitch.”

“Do you ever regret it?” Kirishima’s voice was soft, quiet. “Killing her?”

“No.” There was no hesitance in Bakugo’s answer. “Regret everyone else though. Never wanted them to die. They were her victims just like us.” He looked down at his palm and brought forth tiny popping explosions for comfort. “Still not sure how I survived it.”

“I’m still wondering if I did or if this is some kind of purgatory.” The sickly vampire grunted as he tried to push himself up on his elbows. His shoulders shook for the brief moment he was upright and then he fell back to the bed with an agitated huff.

“Just rest, idiot. I’m going out for dinner. I’ll bring someone back.”

“Hey, Bakugo?”

“What?” He finally turned back to Kirishima to see him covering his face with one arm.

“Can you try to keep me from killing this one? It really makes me feel bad.”

Something about his request made warmth spread through Bakugo’s chest and he covered it with a sneer. “You’re an awful vampire, you know that?”

Kirishima laughed but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Yeah, that’s what she used to tell me too.” _____

“How old are you? I know you aren’t older than me. You act like you’re in charge, but I think you’re a baby vamp.”

Bakugo glared at Kirishima from across the room. “What do you know, idiot? You’ve been little more than a shitty skeleton for the last few hundred years.”

The other vampire grinned and shifted so he could find a more comfortable sitting position on the bed. “You’re young, aren’t you? I doubt you’ve been a vampire more than a decade even.” He tilted his head as if he was listening for something. “That’s what it feels like anyway.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of. We were all young once.”

Bakugo growled under his breath and stood, unceremoniously tossing the book he was reading on the table. “I’m going hunting.”

“I want to come.” Kirishima grunted as he tried to get his legs to cooperate while he forced them over the side of the bed.

“You’ll just slow me down.”

“I need to move around or I’m going to stay stiff.”

“Then walk around the cottage.”

“But I don’t want to,” Kirishima whined. “I wanna go outside.” He attempted to stand, but his legs buckled immediately, leaving him to slide off the edge of the bed with a surprised yelp.

Bakugo shifted his weight, trying to keep himself from immediately rushing over to Kirishima’s side to prove his point. “See? You’re too weak to go out.”

“Come on. I won’t get in your way. And if I can feed on the spot, you won’t have to carry anyone back here. That’ll be easier, right?”

“No. Stay here.” He went to the door and didn’t look back even when he heard the other man calling his name. _____

Kirishima watched Bakugo hammer the last nail into place, successfully covering the hole in the cottage roof so that sunlight couldn’t filter in during the day any longer.

“Wood is old as hell,” he muttered, climbing off the makeshift platform he’d created from a chair on the table. “Cracked some of the boards with the nails but hopefully it’ll hold ‘til we get out of here.”

“And you take me to the council,” Kirishima supplied.

Bakugo only grunted in reply as he moved things back into place.

“I don’t think I’m going to go.”

“Hah?”

“I don’t think I’ll go to the council.” Kirishima shrugged and made a show of stretching his legs the length of the bed, the tips of his toes pointing outward. “Ver never wanted me to be around any of them; that’s why she left me here, I guess. Seems silly to let you just take me to them now.”

“You’re going,” Bakugo growled.

“You can’t make me.”

“Wanna bet, you shitty old vamp?” He held open his palm and small explosive pops flashed above it.

Kirishima watched his act, eyes widening in awe. “That’s really neat.”

“It’s not neat! It’s deadly!”

“Well, sure.” His expression went thoughtful. “Is that how you killed Ver?”

“Why do you call that bitch that?”

“What?”

“Ver.”

Kirishima frowned in confusion. “That’s her name.”

“She’s The Countess.” Disgust colored his words. “That’s the only name she ever gave. Even the council calls her that.”

“She always had me call her Ver. I know she used The Countess too, though.” Kirishima stretched his upper body and Bakugo caught sight of the hand he usually kept hidden under the blankets. Though the skin was still darker in color, it was much less shriveled than before and there was the hint of movement in the fingers. “You didn’t answer my question though.”

“What question?”

“Did you use your fire hand to kill her?”

“Don’t call it fucking ‘fire hand’. That sounds ridiculous.” Bakugo glared at him. “It’s just my power. And no, I didn’t use it on her. I couldn’t.”

“She bound your power.” Kirishima nodded wisely. “She did that to me. It sucks.”

“Yeah, well, no one else knows about that so shut up. I caught her at a weak moment and drained her dry.”

“Oh.” He blinked in surprise. “I guess that explains how you survived then.”

Bakugo gave him a steady look. “What do ya mean?”

“She was invincible to most attacks.”

“Yeah, no shit. We’re vampires.”

Kirishima shook his head. “No, I mean, she was really invincible. Vampires can be killed. It’s hard to kill us, but it can be done, so we’re immortal, not invincible. If you drained enough of her blood, some of that power must’ve transferred to you long enough for you to be able to kill her.”

“How is that any different from bleeding any other vampire dry?”

“You survived killing your sire. I don’t think you could’ve done that if you didn’t have a least a little of the invincibility in your system.” He picked at a loose thread on the old blanket in his lap. “None of her other children survived, did they?” His voice was soft and though he’d phrased it as a question, it was more of a statement.

“Only you,” Bakugo finally sighed. “I checked on the ones I knew about. I hoped if I was still alive that maybe…” He ground his teeth together. “I thought it would kill me too. I didn’t expect…”

“You said she was having a weak moment. What had happened?”

The emotional toll of the conversation weighed on Bakugo and he wanted to change the topic but had a feeling that the older vampire wouldn’t allow it. Something about his attitude during their talk had him feeling uneasy.

“You know of Yaoyoruzo?”

Kirishima’s face lit up. “Momo? Is she still well?”

“Uh, yeah. She’s fine. But The Countess was always jealous of her creation power.”

“Yeah, she hated her,” Kirishima agreed. “Wait, she didn’t try to fight Momo, did she? That would’ve been disastrous.”

Bakugo couldn’t stop the chuckle that forced its way out of his throat. “Ah, no. She’d have lost in a heartbeat.”

“Definitely.”

“She did find a human with a creation power though. Wasn’t nearly as good as Yaoyorozu’s but she thought it’d be a start. Turned this little girl and immediately took her power, then beheaded her and started trying to create stuff.”

Realization dawned on Kirishima’s face. “And she was weak from that.”

Bakugo nodded. “I was supposed to be guarding her but…”

“You did what you had to do.”

“That’s it? I did what I had to do?” Bakugo asked incredulously.

“Yes.” Kirishima tilted his head, studying him. “You’re brave. I could never bring myself to hurt her. I admire you.”

“Fuck off.”

“What? I do!”

“Whatever.” Bakugo paced to the other end of the cottage and stared out the window. The sky was still dark, but he could feel the soon-coming morning chill in his bones. There would be no leaving the safety of the cottage now.

“I don’t think you’ll take me to the council,” Kirishima said confidently. “I think you’ve got too much good in you to hand me over.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But I think I’m right about you.” _____

“Going out. Be back before the sun’s up,” Bakugo grumbled as he did his ritualistic check on the windows before going to the door.

“You sure I can’t convince you to let me come? I can probably walk most of the way.” Kirishima gave him his brightest smile that didn’t dim from the glare he got in reply.

“Stop fucking asking. You’re staying here.” He turned the doorknob, grumbling under his breath. “Can’t even make it across the damn house on your own.”

“Be safe!” The other vampire called cheerfully. He concentrated on his supernatural senses, following Bakugo’s essence further from the cottage until he was too far away for his mind to keep track of.

With a groan, Kirishima stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders back and cracking his neck. He scratched at his stomach as he moved across the cottage to open the door. He breathed in the refreshing night air still tinged with rain and stepped out into without another thought.

Bakugo hadn’t hunted for them in two days because of a heavy storm and it had taken every bit of willpower Kirishima had not to give away that he no longer needed the young fledgling to take care of him. He rounded the cabin at a light jog and within second was sprinting head on into the thick of trees. Branches whipped around him as he raced by, scratching and tearing at his hair and clothes and skin but he couldn’t care less because he felt free.

Finally, free.

He ran until the faint aroma of human blood caught his attention and he stopped, finding himself on the edge of a town.

It would be easy to keep going now.

He’d only meant to leave the cottage for a few minutes, to get a taste of the night and then go back to his bed before Bakugo returned but…

But he could just keep running.

He could run and run and run and no one would ever find him. Anyone who could recognize him was long dead most likely. Ver rarely left witnesses when it came to her prized possessions and he knew he’d been her best.

He could escape into the new world and never look back. He could start fresh.

The thought was tempting. So tempting.

But then there was Bakugo.

By vampire standards, they were the only family they had left. Although with him being so newly turned, it was quite possible he still had human family alive. Unless Ver gave them the same treatment she’d given Kirishima’s family.

He shuddered at the memory even if the pain was only a dull ache he had to search for after all this time.

With a sigh, he turned back in the direction of the cottage. His pace was much slower, barely more than a jog. His feet felt heavier the closer he got, and he found himself almost returning to the town he’d seen before when it hit him.

Bakugo’s scent was faint but getting stronger as it mingled with freshly spilled human blood. It spurred Kirishima to hurry into the cottage and throw himself into the bed, pulling the blankets up around him to mask his venture outdoors.

He leaned against the headboard and ran a hand through his hair, wincing as the healing skin pulled tight with the movement. The door slammed open and Kirishima schooled a pleased, expectant look on his face. “That was quick.”

“Yeah, well, this dumbass was camping by himself not too far from here.” Bakugo dropped the unconscious man on Kirishima’s legs. “Feed while I get cleaned up.”

The man groaned softly and Kirishima’s nose wrinkled up. “Hey, uh, Bakugo?”

“What?” he snapped, not turning away from the sink basin where he was washing his hands.

“I was thinking while you were gone, and I might have an idea that will help me heal a little faster. Like a lot faster really.”

The other vampire turned to face him slowly with a hard glare. “And you’re just now deciding to say something, moron?”

Kirishima flashed him the sheepish smile that he’d often used as protection from their sire. “Sorry. I guess my mind has been a bit foggy with the lack of blood and all.”

Bakugo narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the sink. “Tell me your idea, bloodbrain.”

Turning his smile from sheepish to slightly hopeful, Kirishima tried his best to look as non-threatening as possible. “You could let me feed from you.”

Buy me a cherry coke?

[phoenotopia]

2020 March Update

Happy New Year! Well, I guess it's a bit late for that...

Much of what transpired in the past few months will fall under polish and bug-fixing. Will and I have a mutual friend who got married, so I had the occasion to visit Will to attend the wedding as well as have Will playtest the game in its most complete form yet. He logged 24 hours of playtime and just reached the entrance of the final dungeon. Then we had to call in for the night since it was 5 AM, and I had a flight to catch in the morning.

His completion rate where we stopped was 42% of Heart Pieces, 33% of Energy Gems, and 44% of Moonstones. So... I think we have a pretty lengthy game!

This will take a while to playtest & polish... Will's daytime profession is QA Engineer so he's pretty great at catching bugs. From his playtest, we jotted down 200+ items to fix/adjust. Some as small as a simple misspelling, and some more significant (like Gail being unable to jump when standing at the edge of a steep slope). I'm about half-way through fixing that list...

(Will’s living room where much playtesting was done)

Here are some other things we've accomplished in the past few months. A lot of it falls under polish and bug-fixing, which won't sound outwardly impressive, so I'll dive in a bit under the hood.

-------------------------- Item Balancing --------------------------

There are over 200 items in the game. Of which, 90+ are healing items. While much of their flavor text was already written, their stats weren't yet finally decided. So a large effort was spent to balance them as well as possible. Initially, I balanced items by observation (ex: "The player is relying on this item a lot, so I will nerf it...") Now, I've moved to a more systematic way of doing things. I made an equation that takes in all of an item's parameters, and spits out a score. The higher an item heals, the higher the score. The longer an item takes to consume, the lower the score. And so forth.

As usual, I used google spreadsheets, since they support equations. I could tweak the values of a healing item, and immediately see how its final score was affected. I also made use of automatic color formatting, so a field becomes highlighted red, if it's particularly bad, or green, if it's particularly good. Of course, the sheet is just a guideline. The aim wasn't to make all items have the same final score, but that they made sense for what they were and when you could get them. Late-game items tend to have higher overall scores versus early-game items. Some items, like doggy biscuits, have notoriously low scores across the board - as a joke!

-------------------------- Cooking Systems --------------------------

Another thing that had to be done with the healing items was finally determine their cooking sequences. 38 healing items could be cooked and will transform into something else. The way I specified that an item could be cooked was to add a a little snippet to an item's "meta data". An example would look something like, "COOK,57,62,ABXY,10,1.5,1".

In order, this specified the item_ID that would result on success (57), the item_ID that would result on failure (62), the button sequence (ABXY), the time you had to complete the sequence (10 seconds), how quickly the cursor should move (1.5x speed), and if the item multiplied on success (1). The system appears simple enough - but it was actually extremely inefficient!

For one, this system didn't allow random button sequences - all "berry fruits", when cooked would have the same button prompts and in the same order every time (ABXY). Initially, I thought having set button sequences would be a feature, but in practice, it was less fun. 

Two, this system wasn't human-readable at all. I'd see a sequence of numbers, forget what they were, and have to look them up over and over.

But the biggest problem was that you couldn't evaluate an item's cooking difficulty from these numbers without manual testing. At 1.5 cursor speed, how many times does the cursor pass the center panel in 10 seconds? Maybe that's 15 times... for a 4 button sequence, the player has 11 opportunities to miss - that's too wide a berth for failure. The system also had variable penalties - if you misspressed a button prompt you loss time on the cooking meter. If you didn't press anything, you missed the opportunity, but not the time - but the clock was still ticking, so you did lose time, just not as much. In the end, the difficulty of cooking each item was all over the place. It was also possible to create "unwinnable" scenarios if I made the button sequence too long, the time too short, or the cursor speed too slow. Testing each item manually to ensure doability was too tedious and unreliable - it was a mess!

Which is why, the underlying cooking system was revamped. The new meta data looks like : "COOK,57,62,seq_length,5,spd,1.5,ease_add,2". This is a lot more readable. Beyond the first 3 entries, the arguments could be specified in any order. And their meanings were easy to understand.

"seq_length,5" means a random button sequence of 5 will be generated (no need for me to personally generate it)

"spd,1.5" means the cursor moves at 1.5x speed. I could also leave this field out to get a default value of 1x cursor speed.

"ease_add,2" - the biggest improvement to the system is how we now approach difficulty. We streamlined a miss-press and a missed opportunity as the same level of "mistake", and difficulty is framed as, "how many mistakes is the player allowed to make and still have a successful result?" By default, the player is afforded the ability to make 2 mistakes, and "ease_add,2" bumps the number of allowable mistakes to 4. We then automatically calculate how much "time" the player should have to cook something based on its cursor speed, how long the button sequence is, and how many mistakes the player is allowed to make. This was a more sensible and efficient system that let me knock out all 38 healing item cook sequences in one sitting!

-------------------------- Badges Nearly Done --------------------------

As you may recall from the last update, I was working on implementing the badges.

Thinking up the badge and having its graphic drawn is just the first half. Underneath, the code also needs to be made to track all the relevant player stats - how many times the player fished, ate, got money, used a certain move, etc. Some badges require extra guards, because they can be spoofed. For instance, the "Treasure Hunter" badge is obtained when the player has collected XXXX RIN through the course of your journey. However, there is something like a "gold exchange" in the game, where you could circularly trade gold and RIN to boost this number artificially. It's important to guard against cases like those.

So far, 30 of 33 badges are implemented. The last three have to do with late-game things that have inter-dependencies that we're still figuring out. The Speed running badge for instance is still dependent on two things. One, I need to speed run the game a few times to see how fast it's possible to beat the game and decide finally what's a reasonable time-limit. Two, there's actually a time-keeping bug which can inflate the game time if the system is left in sleep mode. I don't expect either things will be too hard to figure out - just gotta find the time for it.

-------------------------- Script Extra Polished --------------------------

We continued to polish the script, which I thought was basically done before. We added some extra NPCs here and there, and fleshed out the world with lore text where it seemed appropriate. In the end, the game's script ballooned to over 100,000 words! Hah... It's definitely DONE now however!

Some interesting things I noted as I was polishing old text - there were quite a few instances where Gail talks. I began the game's development with the idea that Gail should definitely talk since I wanted her to be a more active participant in what she chose to do. But I discovered later that if Gail talks, but only talked a little, she comes off as a very reticent person. There's no middle lane here - you're either all in or all out.

If Gail was a silent protagonist, she still talked symbolically. She is understood to be talking based on how people react to her - kinda like Link. So that's the direction I went with in the end (again). When Gail has occasion to talk, it comes in the form of a player dialogue choice. She also has an inner voice when she needs to remind the player to do something.

Another reason I went with this direction, is for brevity. Take this exchange for instance: QUEST GIVER : Can you help me find this super rare ingredient? GAIL : Maybe. I can't make any promises...

If Gail is silent, I can reduce those 2 lines to 1. QUEST GIVER : Can you help me find this super rare ingredient? GAIL : ...

-------------------------- Business Taxes --------------------------

Not too exciting, but new year means I gotta do taxes for the business. They're a lot more complicated than personal taxes, and more expensive! Since the game hasn't sold anything, you would think there'd be nothing to file. Hah! If only... The business is there so we can act as a legal entity and record expenses for when we do start selling. I really want to focus on making games, but there’s a small percentage of it that is sometimes boring and dreadful (-_-) ... still it needs to be done.

------------- Why no Public Beta Testing? -------------

As you may have noticed, I haven't put out any public calls for testing help despite being at that stage. Some have offered to help, which I appreciate! But sadly, I cannot accept. Here's the story for that.

Two and a half years ago, I got my hands on a console dev kit - that's very exciting, so I hurriedly took the steps to convert my dev station to be console-capable. After about two weeks, I had the console version working and integrated into my workflow, so all appeared good...

4 Months later, an artist needed an updated PC build to test some new art assets, so I went to build a new PC version. We use Unity, so generally you just need to click your desired build target, and hit "build". However, I now discovered that by attaching the console "hooks" into my work environment, I could no longer build to PC... It was possible, from my end, to test the game from the dev station in dev mode, which was why it went undiscovered for so long.

I did try to excise the hooks, but proved unsuccessful after a day of work. I decided to take this as an opportunity to focus exclusively on the console version first, which afforded me some niceties. Knowing that there's a standardized control scheme meant I could make full use of the control stick for the fishing mini-game. I also didn't need to create a rebindable keys menu - which is a MUST for PC versions... Most importantly, it lets me focus on making the one version as good as possible before moving onto the next. I have NO idea how those other guys release on all platforms at once...

Chalk it up to inexperience. In my defense, this will be my first commercial release, so bear with me. Don't worry, I still plan to make the PC version! It's a bit unconventional, but we're just going to go in the reverse direction of the usual. Console first, then PC, then other consoles. Wherever it makes financial sense, there we will be. (Sorry Ouya!)

Back to the original question - that's why I haven't sent out any public calls for playtesting. Current playable builds of the game are locked to my console dev kit. So actual playtesting unfolds in a very closed setting. Like what I did with Will, I literally sit behind the playtester, breathe down their neck, and watch them play, taking notes all the while.

But since I'm observing the player directly, even just one playthrough nets me a TON of bugs and adjustment tasks. So it evens out I think.

-------------------------- Trailers, Release Dates, etc. --------------------------

Alright, get your frowns ready...

We finished two trailers, and they're raring to go. BUT! We can't show them yet... We're sort of at an awkward spot where we're waiting on some conversational threads to conclude. Say we win a slot in a show - that'd be a HUGE plus for us - but that may also be contingent on us having NOT shown anything substantial yet. The game in its unrevealed state is a negotiating chip. So we're trying to leverage that... and you can only do the reveal once...

We also want to have some "actionable" items in the trailer - a launch date you could mark on your calendar, a wishlist, a website you can visit, etc. So since those things aren't entirely lined up yet, we can't let the trailers rip just yet...

Right now, I can only say we're *aiming* for a late Q2/early Q3 launch. But I can't commit to anything concrete yet. As soon as we know, we'll happily sing it from the rooftops. I hope I can update this blog sooner with good news, but if things move slowly again, I'll send out the next "we're alive" update 2 months from now (end of April).

I know it's frustrating to have nothing major after so long still, so I captured some gameplay footage... May it sate your hungers!

-------------------------- Footage 1 : Fishing --------------------------

You've seen pictures of the fishing, but never video of it in action. Well, here it is!

(And right after I uploaded the video, I noticed there actually was a video of fishing before. D’oh)

The idea is simple. First, get the lure in front of a fish, and assuming the fish isn't scared, it will soon bite. Then begins a fight sequence, where your energy meter is pitted against the fish's energy meter. Whoever's energy outlasts the other's wins.

The fish's resistance is represented by a red moving circular subsection. You fight the fish by pushing the control stick and keeping it on the subsection, which will dart around and try to escape you. Bigger and tougher variants of fish will do a "shake" which will reverse the wheel. When the wheel is reversed, so too are the controls, so it gets extra tricky!

While fishing, your energy meter doesn't recover, so one of the ways you level up your fishing ability is by finding energy gems to increase your max energy. There's another way - but we'll keep that a secret.

-------------- Footage 2 : Kobold Boss Fight --------------

You can actually skip the next section if you'd prefer to be surprised and you find your hunger for info sated. That's how I prefer to consume the games that I know I'm going to get. If you're still hungering for info, and you don't mind the slight spoilers, then feel free to proceed!

The next video shows the new Kobold Boss fight. Let's take a moment to reflect on the old game's visuals and how far it's come...

(we've come a long way since the time of the flash game)

You'll notice the Kobold boss has a name now - Katash! He's a significant enough character that he's earned it. The second thing you'll notice is that he looks better!

Some people have humorously pointed out that the old boss looks like Wolf O'Donnel from Star Fox. There's a funny story behind that. Basically I asked an artist to draw me a space wolf. And the artist, whom I'm assuming wasn't familiar with Wolf O'Donnel, drew that - all of it - all the animations and everything. The first time I laid eyes on it, it was already done, so it was too late to ask for edits. So I just ran with it.

That was seven years ago. Nowadays, I know to involve myself more in the process. I ask for just the design first, and we don't move forward with animations until we're happy with the design. Life lessons!

By the way, if you like Katash’s personal boss theme, give it a lesson on Will's Sound cloud (LINK)

-------------------------- Fan Arts -------------------------- Lots of fan art came in over the past 3 months!

This one is a pixel animation made by Pimez, and shows Gail singing a Christmas carol in various parts of the game. So cute! Years ago, I too was making little animated gifs for my favorite games, so it really brings me back!

This one was made by cARTographer (twitter link) after a request by Deli_mage, so thank you both. Gail rocking stylish boots with a pose that shows confidence in her batting skills. Very anime - Love it!

Another submission of laptekosz of the Last Song of Earth area. Whereas the last picture depicted the night sky, now the orange trees are lit by a rising sun. Artfully done! Kinda makes me want to eat eggs. I hope you'll like the new Last Song of Earth area just as much :D

A new artist to the scene, Not_Quin, submitted two pictures, one of Gail and one of the Sand Drake re-imagined as a centipede. I'm always a fan of these re-imaginings! I like how it's spiky all over and appears to be wearing a skull mask. The Sand Drake is often pointed out to be too similar to Zelda's Dodongos, so maybe a long slithery body would have indeed served better. Fun fact, long ago, when we were working on Phoenotopia 2 in earnest, we actually had a giant man-eating worm planned - WIP animation depicted below. One day... one day...

Negativus Core made two cool new arts! I'm really impressed by their use of unique perspective! Having characters run towards the screen or reaching close to the screen from afar is tricky since the proportions get all distorted - but not an issue for Negativus Core! Love the blur on Gail to show speed, with 66 in focus - really skillfully done! And the cube. Amazing!

--------------------------

I'm really honored by the huge fan art community. Thank you all! 

[novantinuum]

Hollowed Moon (Ch. 1-3)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (for sensitive content in later chapters)

Words: 1.5K~

Summary: Stevonnie doesn't crash the Star Skipper onto that jungle moon. Instead, they crash on a craggy fragment of rock suspended thousands of miles away from its associated colony, long forgotten.

On that lonely hunk of rock is a domed garden.

And standing in that garden, just as lifeless seeming as the rest of it, is a pink Gem.

Okaay, so this is the beginning of a little series of drabbles I’ve been posting on AO3 over the last two weeks. It’s an AU that diverges from just after Lars of the Stars. I have seven chapters posted already on AO3. Link to that will be posted in the reblogs, for anyone interested.  

Ch. 1

The force of the impact nearly vibrates through their bones as the Star Skipper hits the surface, throwing them against the cockpit’s control panel at such speed that they barely have enough time to put up a bubble. Thankfully, ‘enough’ is all the time they need. In but a millisecond the world tints pink. Following momentum, their neck snaps forward, causing their head to smash against the solid barrier. Stevonnie yelps, vision going temporarily woozy. It takes a while for them to fully recover, with the wrecked remains of the ship spinning like a top from their perspective as they slowly lift a quivering hand to their forehead to check for wounds. They groan, nearly every square inch of their body aching something terrible, but there’s nothing. No blood, no easily distinguishable breaks, nada. Lucky them! Score, Stevonnie one, busted, broken spaceship zip.

It must be your healing powers keeping us in one piece, ‘cause that was one really violent crash.

Well, also my bubble is pretty strong!

“Hah, well... we’re lucky even a bubble got me outta this scrape,” they murmur out loud, and let out a shaky breath as they attempt to ground themself. Taking a cursory glance around, they notice that the cockpit’s window has shattered, leaving the ship open to the vacuum of space. At least, they’re assuming it is. Whatever hunk of rock it is they’ve crashed on, it doesn’t appear to have an atmosphere. “Oh boy, guess I gotta keep this thing up for a while,” they say with a nervous laugh. They press their cheek against the bubble’s rim, peering at the cracked display screen. “Now, I wonder if any of this tech is salvageable...”

Stevonnie shifts in the seat. Without any iota of warning the ship’s engines explode, launching their protective bubble hundreds of feet closer to the very stars they’re lost amongst.

Oh, what a day it’s been.

Ch. 2

This shard of planetoid isn’t particularly large, but it has just enough mass that its gravity pulls Stevonnie’s wildly spinning bubble back to the surface. Their heart pounds as the bubble collides hard upon the craggy surface, bouncing a few times before finally coming to a rest. They gasp for breath, pulling themself to their knees.

“Aughh, my everything hurts.”

Slowly but surely they rise to their feet, their knees still shaking. All around them, the remains of the Star Skipper (may she rest in pieces) are now barely distinguishable, nothing left but melted twists of scrap metal. Even if there was any possibility of fixing up the communication array earlier, it’s a moot point by now. 

Steven, how are we gonna-?!

“Oh, no, no no no no!” they cry out, gripping at their hair. “Oh, this is bad. This is so, so bad. How is Lars gonna be able to find us now?”

They adjust the straps of the backpack around their shoulders and begin pacing as they continue to talk to themself, walking back and forth across the dust and rock within the bubble like a hamster in a ball.

“Okay, Stevonnie, calm down,” they say, hugging their arms around their chest. “We’re fine. I’m fine! Let’s just work this out bit by bit. So. We’re stuck on some weird asteroid, or something. We have no ship. No means of communication. We’re safe in this bubble... for now. But... I honestly don’t know how long I can keep this up. I don’t usually use it longer than a few minutes at a time.”

What about when we first met?

“That’s different, though,” they stress, plopping down to sit crisscrossed. “That time he didn’t summon it voluntarily. And that time, we weren’t stuck in the vacuum of space! Although... Okay. Okay, we were stuck under the ocean, fair point. And I guess there’s that time Steven was marooned with Eyeball. But still. It’s only been a few minutes and I’m already... so... so tired.”

Stevonnie’s breathing grows shallower, each puff of air coming in staccato gasps in their exhaustion. They grit their teeth, hand clenching against the rose quartz gem at their midsection. Over time they’ve come to realize that maintaining any one of Steven’s shields or abilities for a long period of time is super taxing to them, more so than it is for the young half-Gem himself. Makes one wonder if that’s because they’re a 75% human hybrid, because of the nature of being a fusion, or because they simply haven’t trained enough together.

They moan, frustrated at this whole dumb scenario, desperately wondering if there’s anything they could’ve done differently to avoid it all together. Lars and his friends will find them soon once they follow their trail and do a flyby, hopefully, but there’s still so many variables to consider here. They quickly hop back onto their feet inside the bubble.

Stevonnie squints, for a moment thinking they can see dimmed starlight glinting off of a domed surface in the far distance. Perhaps there’s some Gem technology hidden away here that could prove useful. For now, all they can do is explore and wait.

Ch. 3

The dome encapsulates a gigantic garden. At least, what they can only guess was once a garden. All the plants have long since shriveled up into husks of their former glory, much like the hollowed-out moon hanging high above. There’s a single service doorway on the dome’s exterior, a feature Stevonnie is exceedingly lucky to have found before finally fading to exhaustion with their bubbling ability. Now freely wandering around the dome's interior, they approach a massive platform towards its center. Eyes glittering, they brush their hand against some eroded etchings in the old stone. They’re sure it used to be quite a sight to behold in its heyday, this whole complex. Such a shame time had to carry this place to eternal rest. What used to go on here, they wonder? What kinds of Gems would use this space? Did they all leave when the colony above was... fully drained of its resources?

Their nose crinkles just thinking about it.

Hey, they muse suddenly. Up at the top... I think that’s a warp pad.

Are you sure?

Pretty positive.

“Couldn’t hurt to look,” they mutter softly, climbing up the stairs. Their legs are still burning from the long walk they set upon to reach the dome in the first place.

When they reach the top they kneel in front of the warp, and place a palm flat upon it. They close their eyes, focusing their mind on the tangled web of warp stream signatures old users have left behind, almost like a fossilized travel record. Except it’s energy based. Well, kinda. They’re sure it’s far more complicated than that, but to be fair Steven wasn’t paying full attention to Pearl the day she was teaching him how to do this. His loss, Stevonnie thinks with a snort. They think all this Gem history stuff is pretty fascinating.

The web comes into focus in their mind’s eye, one particularly bright thread stretching further across the stars than any warp pad they’ve ever seen before can.

“Galaxy warp,” they breathe in giddy realization. “This is an actual, working galaxy warp! But- no!” they cry, grinding their hands into fists. “That means we can’t use it, because Earth doesn’t have an operationa—“

“Pink, is that finally you??” a high pitched voice cries in joy from the distance.

They whirl around in a flash, scanning the interior of the (perhaps not so?) extinct garden. The complex is massive, but it’s not long before they locate the origin of this new voice, trapped amongst the browned and hardened brambles.

Standing midway between the raised galaxy warp platform and the stagnant fountain at the center of the dome is a short pink Gem.

From this distance, they’d have to guess she’s maybe half their height, perhaps a little taller. Her gemstone is on her chest, a heart shaped type they don’t recognize. The Gem’s hair is pulled up into messy little buns, twisted to look like hearts themselves. She stands with her arms open wide, baggy eyes alight with anticipation as she waits for their response.

Mouth agape, Stevonnie skitters down the steps of the platform as fast as they can. Who is this Gem? Why is she alone in a withered garden, in the middle of deep space? And why are her feet literally bound by roots?? How long has she been standing here?

“Oh! Oh, hello! I, uh- I don’t think I’m who you’re looking for, sorry,” they say with an apologetic smile. “I’m Stevonnie. If you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here all on your own?”

“I’m playing a game,” the small Gem replies simply, clasping her gloved hands together.

“A... game?”

“With my best friend, yes!” she enthuses. “She’ll come back any day now, I can just feel it.”

Her voice sounds chipper enough, but perhaps as a result of Connie’s lonely childhood and the walls a person learns to erect in those situations, Stevonnie can intimately sense the cracks in her facade. They may not yet understand the full scoop, but they can tell she's desperately trying to convince herself of her own cover story.

What on Earth happened to this Gem, here in this forgotten garden?

[doctorinnovatium-archive]

The Doctor’s Workshop: The Prologue

From some time, from some place beyond the veil of worlds, an untraceable signal is being broadcast across the realm of Fantasy. One cannot easily tune into it intentionally; those who do accomplish this feat accidentally, often when tuning their radio or television in search for another station. Those who only receive the signal audibly only hear a slightly shrill and subtly unhinged voice whose accent implies its owner to be from the British Isles from at least one iteration of Earth. Those with visuals see a thin, Caucasian man dressed in a red waistcoat and white, long-sleeved shirt, with a pair of peculiarly tinted goggles - red and blue respectively, like the tint of vintage 3D glasses - obscuring his eyes and giving off an eerie glow. The man, whose face was contorted into a welcoming if rather deranged grin, stands in front of a blackboard, where a somewhat enthusiastic hand has written ominously, "THE DOCTOR IS IN!!!"

"Greetings, people and likewise of the Imagiverse! It is I, Doctor Innovatium, discoverer of the elusive element Innovatium and somewhat of a legend, if I'm right, in universal scientific circles. You may or may not have heard of me or my contributions to the fields of science and technology; indeed, it is likely you know not of either and are wondering who this rambling fellow is! In which case, I will give you a brief rundown;

"In the 1895th year of Earth, London, I had discovered the life blood of the universe; a peculiar substance that serves both as a near-infinite power source and a... dampener of the fabric of reality, or, to put it another way, a space-time hallucinogen. You see, the force of Reality is not as binary as you would think, but rather an analogue quality, so that there are things that are more real than others. What Innovatium invokes is what I've labelled hyper-fantasy, an extreme level of non-reality which does away with the conventional laws of physics and logic and-

"Oh, look at me ramble! Sorry, the nature of the Imagiverse is such a fascinating subject for me, I tend to lose myself. Anyway, I discovered this peculiar element and wasted no time experimenting with its capabilities. With its reality-bending properties, I found it could open many doors to realising the scientific fictions that occupied the minds of many back in those days, what with the Secret of Flight and so forth. I had even hypothesised the use of Innovatium to power our locomotives, although I never saw that patent be accepted by the Bureau.

"Then came the faithful night I finished constructing my then-latest invention, a portal that could transport one to the Realm of Fantasy, which I had theorised to exist in tandem with the Realm of Reality we knew back then. I'm... afraid I'm rather blurry on the details of the occurrence, but I know that one moment I had been turning on the portal, next thing I was here, in the same workshop I had been in prior, but unable to leave! Thankfully, it meant I could continue my research without the interference of third-parties, and so I have been living here for the past... well, I'm not too sure how long I've been here, time seems to avoid this place, but I have been living here a long time since, isolated from the rest of the universe I now know to be the Realm of Fantasy; the Imagiverse.

"... Well, that wasn't as brief as it should have been, but never mind. I shall get straight to the point; for a long time now, I have hidden from the rest of the Imagiverse, tinkering and tinkering, letting my name become a mere legend among those few who have peered through the veils of their worlds. Today - that is, the point of time that I am transmitting from - that will no longer be the case. I am officially establishing communications with whoever receives this transmission, and this is how you may establish contact-"

"Dad, what're you doing?"

Doctor Innovatium pauses, turning to his left where his daughter, Alice, was standing in the doorway, her chrome-like face bearing the expression of intrigued suspicion. He had devised many contraptions during his time in this isolated bubble, but not one of those miraculous devices could take his daughter's place as his most prized creation. Time being what it is here, he could not remember exactly when he had the sudden longing for companionship or when he had acted upon that longing to devise his first artificial lifeform, but he was already thinking that she had been with him forever, as if the years before didn't matter anymore. It was a pity the visual recording apparatus would not be able to record her likeliness, as the people were missing out on the chance to gaze upon her metallic beauty.

"I'm in the middle of a transmission at the moment, Alice," he replied, in a tone considerably more soft than when he had been addressing his imaginary audience. "I did tell you of my plans, didn't I?"

"Well, I thought you weren't seriously going through with it," she responded curtly. "Do you seriously think anyone would be able to receive that transmission? We're too far away from any worlds for their radios and stuff to be able to pick it up! How many people are you expecting to respond?"

Doctor Innovatium sighs, leaning towards the recording apparatus, a complicated contraption with an eerily-realistic eye fitted onto a large, telescope-like appendage. He turns a dial on a panel fitted into the device, and those watching (or listening) are denied the ability to hear the conversation.

"Alice," the Doctor says, kneeling in front of his daughter so that they were eye-to-eye. "This is no ordinary transmitter, as I'm sure you may have guessed. When a radio - or for that matter, an antique television - is adjusted to any frequency that does not correspond to a worldly channel, they play static, is that not so? Do you ever wonder why you get static instead of, say, nothing at all? It's because it's receiving signals from a plethora of different sources, some perhaps light years away from their planet. What I'm broadcasting right now will ride on the cosmic frequencies of the Imagiverse, so it will be possible for anyone to receive it. Now, I'm not saying that everyone will be able to; I suspect that it will only be decipherable on select and special circumstances, or perhaps it will depend on their equipment. That, in turn, may actually make it easier for us, eh?

"Besides," continued the Doctor, "you're always wanting to interact with the outside world, which I can understand. It can be very lonely here, save for the company of our, hah, assistants. Perhaps you can take this opportunity to finally talk with the Imagiverse, maybe make some friends!" His smile returns, albeit warmer. "Now, may I please finish my transmission?"

Alice looked down to her feet before looking back up to her father with a stern expression. "And you'll let me talk with the outside world?"

"Absolutely."

Eyes towards the eccentric camera, then back at the Doctor. "Okay."

The Doctor pats his daughter on the shoulder, his grin widening. "Brilliant." With that, he positively strides back to the device with a single step, turns the dial back and continues.

"As I was saying, upon receiving this transmission, you will be in the possession of a device you didn't have before. Where you may find said device will depend; it may be on a counter, it may be next to a computer-like contraption of yours, or it may perhaps have materialised before you as you are listening. Either way, you will know it to be a gift of mine; it will enable you to establish contact with us from your world. Simply take it to a device that you wish to contact us with, and it will make some... Modifications to said device. I've designed it to be exceptionally versatile, so you can leave all the efforts to the device.

When the modifications have been made, you will be able to contact me," the Doctor turns to his daughter, who is watching him with her arms crossed, before adding, "and my daughter at any time. You may ask us any questions you may have, although I beseech you keep any... intimate questions you have for my daughter to yourself. She is still, at least in my eyes, quite young, so I will not tolerate any amorous advances-"

"Oh come on, dad!"

"- that you may make towards Alice. Anyway, I believe that all points have been accomplished for this broadcast, so I shall end the transmission here. I look forward to hearing from the people and likewise of the Imagiverse and to finally step out of the mists of legend and into the public eye once more. So for now, adieu, auf wiedersehen, farewell."

Silence. The transmission concludes, at least for the time being. Those who listen through the transmission would receive the device, and if they choose, they would use it to contact the mysterious Doctor and his daughter. It is uncertain the number of recipients that would respond, but considering the expanse of the Realm of Fantasy, it pays to be optimistic, at least on the part of the Doctor. _____________________________

And so starts the blog! Hello, Tumblr, this is @adamskelecoot​, coming at ya with my first roleplaying blog. I've been devoting quite some time into getting this ready, what with creating the icons for both characters, and am proud to announce this ship ready to sail. The roleplay (at least, on my side) will include originally crafted icons drawn by yours truly (with borders sourced elsewhere - see Sources page). Usage of said icons will start off as liberal for now, as most of the planned icons are still in production, but the ones I have made so far should suffice for now. I look forward to seeing how this project will pan out. I would like word to spread about my new blog, so any voluntary act of promotion is greatly appreciated, as long as you @ this blog. That's all I can say atm, so make sure to check out the pages on my blog, especially the Rules page, and I'll see you in the Workshop!

[raendown]

Pairing: Hashirama/Madara/Tobirama/Izuna Word count: 1662 Soulmate au: The one where everyone has a tattoo that shifts under your skin to reach towards your soulmate

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 196: Hashirama/Madara/Tobirama/Izuna

Madara and Izuna had known since they were young that the potential was there, that their souls were so connected they were drawn together even without being true soulmates. It was there in the ink on the back of their hands that reached for each other only to skitter away the moment they touched. Knowing they were so close to being each other’s soulmates meant they had grown up an extremely close pair, close enough to raise a few eyebrows though no accusations were ever made.

Of course both of them had always understood that same potential existed with their respective rivals as well. It was hard to ignore the pull of their ink each time the Uchiha and Senju clashed in battle, just as it was hard to ignore the disappointment whenever their bodies met in spurts of taijutsu only for the ink to skitter away as it always did. Even if one of them had been matched to an enemy it was still a precious honor to actually discover one’s soulmate. It would have been nice to know their match, though that would not have lessened the bond they had in any way.

Building a village with the Senju was a sort of bittersweet thing when it happened, so close together with so much potential and yet never a solid match made. More often than not Izuna and Madara found themselves ending the day by curling together on their living room couch and talking about anything but the concept of soulmates.

As time went on even Izuna learned to put his instinctual hatred aside and make friends of a sort with the two Senju brothers. The two pairs could often be found out and about during their off hours in any number of combinations even though rarely did all four of them find a chance to be together at the same time with so much work to be done in so many places. It was strange to admit but spending time with either of the Senju provided the same domestic contentment Izuna and Madara felt when they were alone together, something that only brought the four of them closer together.

Today just so happened to be one of the rare occasions that all four of them found they had a few hours to spend together. It was only a simple dinner eaten on the engawa in the Senju’s backyard but simple things were often the most peaceful, as Hashirama would likely say.

Izuna made no apologies for lounging against his old rival’s shoulder after the food had been demolished, watching their older brothers work off a few calories with messy roughhousing only a few feet away. Neither of them were wearing shoes and their feet slid repeatedly on the grass as an evening mist rose and left dew in its wake. Their pants were both soaked before long but they doggedly continued to clash and tumble and fill the air with unrestrained laughter. A far cry from the tension of the warring era.

“Go away,” Tobirama rumbled as he watched the two of them slip closer. “You’re going to fall on us if you’re not careful.”

“Hah! If I’m going down I’m taking all of you with me!” Madara's cackle didn’t have nearly the same hair-raising effect as it used to have with flowers all woven in a crown around his temple. Either he didn’t remember they were there or he refused to do away with such an obvious sign of Hashirama's favor – something he should well know he’d always had.

Rolling his eyes, Izuna snorted. “Take us down in to madness maybe. Listen to Tobi and go away. I’m comfortable.”

“We’ll try!” Hashirama managed to say before Madara gave another shove and he whooped with excitement as he pushed back, wrestling like children.

Of course because he had just promised to be careful that was when his foot slipped and he went reeling backwards. Madara cried out as he was dragged along by the death grips they were holding on to each other with, sending both of them crashing back against the engawa straight in to their younger brothers’ laps. Three different voices swore harshly but that still that wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of Hashirama's frantic apologies as they all twisted and squirmed and generally tried to figure out how to untangle themselves.

Eventually Izuna got tired of the confusing shuffle and shouted, “Everyone just stop moving!” To his great surprise, they listened.

“We didn’t mean to,” Hashirama whimpered.

“I smell a plot to force us in to accepting more of your insistent hugs,” Tobirama snipped back not unkindly. He sounded like he was trying not to laugh more than anything else.

“Alright.” Izuna struggled to get one hand under himself and braced against the pile of bodies with his other hand. “Just nobody move and I’ll try to figure out whose limb goes where and then we…and then we…oh my god…”

Predictably, all three other men began wriggling with worry.

“What is it?”

“Is something wrong?”

“Are you okay?”

“Did we hurt you?”

Izuna blinked at his hand and could only choke out one word. “Soulmates.”

Once more the pile went still, this time with shock. Of the three of them only Madara was at an angle they could make eye contact and his brother had never looked more like he was standing on a precipice, ready to jump at a moment’s notice. It was an odd look on him but one that reassured Izuna for the hundredth time just how deeply his brother trusted him.

“What did you say?” Madara asked and it took a few tries to answer him.

“I…” He looked down at his hand. “We’re…” The spot of ink that had always skittered away at the last moment was still and calm, so far down the back of his hand it had slid up his fingers and dyed the tips black where they rested on someone’s leg. “I think we’re all soulmates.”

That was the only explanation that made sense to him. Since making peace and getting to know each other he had touched all of these men more times than he could count and always his soul mark yearned for them until the last possible second when it shied away, incomplete. Now with all four of them in a heap his mark had settled for the first time. It was a wild idea that four different people could all be fate bonded to each other, a crazy intricate tapestry the likes of which he’d never heard of before, but the idea of it just felt so right that as soon as it settled in his mind he accepted it as truth without question. He had three soulmates. He was bound to all of his most beloved people.

“Is that possible?” he heard Hashirama ask.

“Probably,” Tobirama’s voice answered. “If you could all get off of me we could test that theory quite easily.”

“You want to do an experiment now!?”

“Dummy, we just have to touch each other. That’s the whole experiment.” Even as he rebuked his brother Tobirama managed to sound fond, a rarity he reserved only for those present in their little dog pile.

Once again the struggle began as they all wriggled about trying to untangle themselves. It took several more minutes and not a few elbows in unfortunate places but finally the four of them were able to stand facing each other in a tight circle just beside the engawa. With anticipatory looks traded back and forth Tobirama instructed them all to hold out one hand but not to touch each other, looking almost surprised that they all did as they were told without fight.

As expected, all of their marks reached out for each other but as he went around and touched each of them one by one their marks all skittered away. When he laid a hand each on Madara and Izuna both of their marks skittered away as well – but towards each other. Even when he brought all three of them together the results were the same.

“Right. Anija, if you would add your hand to the mix please.”

Hashirama very carefully reached out to poke one finger against the ball they made together and all of them watched with fascination as their marks all slotted together like puzzles pieces, four blots of ink happily reaching out and curling together in a way they had all seen in other people hundreds of times. There was no mistaking what that meant. Just like there was no containing Hashirama as it dawned on him that he had finally found the answer to a question that had plagued them all for years.

“We really are all soulmates! Oh this is amazing!” With a happy cry he reached out and drew them all in to a tight bear hug at the same time, nearly tripping them back in to another pile on the ground.

“Isn’t it though?” Izuna mumbled. He met his brother’s eyes and smiled to see the wonder in them.

“Actually, I’m a little upset this didn’t occur to me earlier,” Tobirama said with a frown.

Madara rolled his eyes. “You don’t always have to have the answer for everything you know.”

The two of them immediately began to bicker happily, Hashirama interjecting with frequent outbursts of glee, and Izuna watched it happen without mentioning that they were all still holding hands, not one of them making any sort of movement to pull away. It was hard to believe the solution was so simple yet so complicated at the same time and that it had been there for the taking if any of them had just opened their eyes to the possibilities.

Feeling like everything in his life had been leading him to this moment, to this happiness, Izuna closed his eyes and smiled as he listened to the sounds of the future awaiting him.

[marsarrim]

             servant records : ur-nungal ( ruler ) dialogue .

SUMMONED : ruler ur-nungal at your service - do not worry if you have not heard of me, just put me to the test and use me as you see fit .

                                                                LEVELING

LEVEL-UP : there is always room for improvement but for today you’ve done enough . 1ST ASCENSION  : reminds me of when I received my very first weapon of my own - the pride to have come so far but knowing I am not even at half the strength I should be. 2ND ASCENSION : … not bad for a prince, but master, remember, I am a King ! 3RD ASCENSION : hah, I believe now I am worthy to carry the crown and sit upon that throne, you have done well to help me come this far . 4TH ASCENSION : what kind of madman are you? putting so much effort into someone like me… I see, if you had existed back then, I would have liked for you to be part of my court, you are worth to share the same stage as those loved by the sun.

                                                                BATTLE

BATTLE START 1 : to experience battle like an ordinary soldier… it is a little bit exiting, I am looking forward to it, master. BATTLE START 2 : if you fail to give me the right commands we can change our positions, after all I have been trained to command people . SKILL 1 : I heard you  SKILL 2 : ah, of course . ATTACK SELECTED 1 : always command with certainty in your heart  ATTACK SELECTED 2 : mhmm ATTACK SELECTED 3 : understood . NOBLE PHANTASM SELECTED : heh, you wish for me to use that much of my strength? ATTACK 1 : if you do not move, I will have no regrets ending you  ATTACK 2 : tch . ATTACK 3 : hmpf . EXTRA ATTACK : honestly you are a stubborn one... NOBLE PHANTASM : it is time to test your determination - do not waver from your goal or I will erase you & your desire here on the spot . come forth, enlil’s judgment ! ( Alternative, as a full title : Ana Harrani Sa Alaktasa La Tarat  [ Road Whose Course Does Not Turn Back  ] ) . DAMAGE FROM NOBLE PHANTASM :  I will turn you to dust ... REGULAR DAMAGE : hmpf.. DEFEAT 1 : …even like this… am I truly not strong enough ? DEFEAT 2 : so it amounts to nothing… BATTLE FINISH 1 : you’ve done well… you’ve improved as a master BATTLE FINISH 2 : as if a true king could be defeated like that !

                                                 MY ROOM .

BOND LVL 1 : you summoned me to help you, that is all that there is to say about this . BOND LVL 2 : you wonder why I would not use the gate more often ? perhaps I will tell you about it in the near future, do not worry too much about it, I am strong enough as it is to be of use to you . BOND LVL 3 : why I am a ruler ? ah right, you mostly summon saints to that role - you see, I was loved like a saint by my people - born neither overly divine, nor overly human, I became the judge between the heavens and the underworld. BOND LVL 4 : the gate again ? I guess I can tell you now . it is simply an inherited power, not just that I have my limitations of borrowing its power, it is not something I have earned myself, so I dislike using it… what do you mean that’s childish ?! BOND LVL 5 : I wonder if it is alright to ask you… to remember me . history will not do so, but fighting at your side it—  no ! I am not asking for your friendship ! someone of my position does not have friends ! I am just saying that I might enjoy being part of this journey —- and to not forget the parts I played in it ! DIALOGUE 1 : you wanted to speak to me, so speak up, don’t just stare . DIALOGUE 2 : when I was bored as a child I would braid my own hair… it got to the point that I was talented enough that I would soon braid the hair of my servants, soldiers and their children... DIALOGUE 3 : why I avoid peoples gaze ? I… you noticed, huh? my eyes are a bit unusual, thanks to my divine blood, apparently my stare is intense and makes people uncomfortable . DIALOGUE 4 ( GILGAMESH / GILGAMESH CASTER) : of course you would summon him… who wouldn’t . but if possible I would like avoiding having to fight alongside him, it is around him, that I do not feel like a King but a clumsy prince . DIALOGUE 5 ( ENKIDU ) : I was young when they died… but I remember admiring Enkidu with all my heart - I wonder if I have the right to ask them if they recognize me? DIALOGUE 6 ( ISHTAR & ERESHKIGAL ) : well of course her name tells me something, it is just that I have never been as troubled by the gods as my father, still I might keep my distance . SOMETHING YOU LIKE : something I like… ? when it comes to things I can buy, I had all I desired as a King but… it’s childish, really . I always enjoyed my father’s adventure stories when I was little . SOMETHING YOU DISLIKE : fate perhaps…? no . that isn’t right, while I sometimes wonder how it would have been to have been born a simple shepherd boy… I guess a mundane answer would be snakes? I was bitten once as a child… a most unpleasant memory . ABOUT THE HOLY GRAIL : desiring something that fulfills a wish - this might be complicated but I wish to achieve my goals with my own two hands . if I’d win the holy grail war, than the battle was my path to earning the right to possess it, however that does not mean I earned the right to use it… does that make sense ? DURING AN EVENT : I never liked big events but a King’s duty is his duty, come with me at least . BIRTHDAY : it is your birthday ? well then for today, I shall act as your servant and attend to your wishes… well one wish. you may have one wish !

[charityhopevalentines]

A Long Overdue Review of  “My Fair Lady”

-i saw her just a little after Laura had had a cold and I was BEYOND THRILLED when I saw she was going on that night!

-can i just say how much i ADORED hearing an actual overture at the beginning of a show?! like an actual overture made up of several songs from the show? bring overtures back!

-laura is really brilliant and breathes new life into eliza. she humanizes the character and makes her more than the of a caricature guttersnipe she is supposed to be even from the beginning. Everything Eliza does is with the thoughtful intention of becoming a lady and honestly her acting is just superb.it is honest. It possesses an intelligence and gravity I’ve never seen before in the character.

-you could really see the desire for more in her eyes especially during “Wouldnt it be loverly” which was basically choreographed like the movie

-her cockney accent was okay. I mean I didnt really expect it to be perfect and it surprisingly didnt bother me that much (being the Julie Andrews purist that I am). I thought her high class accent was better though, however in her dramatic final scene it did come and go a little with the heightened emotion but honestly it really didn’t hinder her performance for me. 

-Her “aaaooowwws” were more low key but probably more realistic and not as caricaturish. 

-you really felt Eliza’s exhaustion and frustration with everything Higgins was doing(but it a very realistic way), which made him look like a far worse character than he has been portrayed as in the past, and rightly so I would say because it exposes him. 

-HER VOICE IS SO BEAUTIFUL. I mean wowww. I’ve heard her sing many times from Gypsy and Women on the Verge but she was never really required to sing the way she does in this and it sounded very operatic with lots of vibrato and it was magical. I don't know why I was so delightfully surprised, I knew she had a great voice before but it felt like yesss this is the show you needed to show off your instrument. “I Could’ve Danced All Night” was absolutely a dream and I will never forget it.

-the rotating set was super cool(only used for higgin’s house: library(two stories with couch, spiral metal staircase, desk, wooded banister, chair obs books, hallway with wood staircase, bathroom with shower for that one scene, and a small outside area which wasnt used)  it was beautifullll omggg. also as it was turning laura would do quickchanges and I was so impressed with how she did what looked like were really complicated changes in a very short amount of time

- Harry Hadden-Paton, who played Higgins was really great and I feel like he has gotten even better from the first time I saw him in August. He grew into the role and was much funnier and energized than before (maybe because of Laura?) He did a great Rex Harrison-esque voice and sang the songs very well but it made me a little sad because for an actor who can actually sing it must be a rather limiting role and Harrison’s shadow is cast in such a way that he feels the need to imitate him because I guess thats what they think we expect but I feel like the audience would’ve been fine with just an average higher class english accent but I enjoyed it.

- the man who played her father was good but I didnt find him super likeable and I think he’s supposed the kind of character who isnt really the best morally but is so charismatic you have to like him?? but it was ok

-during the ball scene there was a grand staircase at stage left which made for super lovely entrances as you can imagine. the orchestra was onstage during the ball and it was soooo cool to see them actually playing the music as people danced to it. I dont know why it struck me as so special because we all know shows have orchestras but they became characters in the show for a while “musicians” playing “musicians” and I thought it was special. like we don’t think about it often but we take the fact that there is a live orchestra for granted yet we never really see them. also the scene was so beautiful! there were gorgeous chandeliers and it was very stylized yet simple. all of the dancing and waltzing was so romantic and it was just beautiful honestly. also laura looked stunning but i think they could’ve picked an even better color for her because it was off-white and i wasnt absolutely in love with it.

-SHE IS SO FREAKING HILARIOUS *which we already knew* but just the little things she did were so fing hysterical. The scene where she's talking to Higgin’s mother and other high class people at the races was one of the funniest things I have ever seen. When she was saying “how do you do” to everyone she copied their vocal pattern for how they said it, which was different every time and when she got to Freddy he didn't say it so she mouthed “how do you do” and then looked panicky at Higgins like “wtf do i do?” The scene with the fire and saying “hah” to make the flame jump was so funny because once she got it she was like “hah, hah-hah, hah-hah-hah-hah-hah. hah-hah-hah-hah-hah..etc” and was moving back and forth with each hah in her chair and I died. There were a lot of other little things that were super funny too. 

-i feel like the move your bloomin arse line isnt even funny anymore because everyone knows its coming-but is it supposed to be funny?

-get me to the church on time was one of the most energized and fun parts of the show i mean it was really ALIVE and it made you want to get up and dance. It really had the feel of a lot of drunk friends together having a big party at a london pub and there was a lot of dancing and DRAG! there were men dressed as showgirls and one as a bride and a woman in a tuxedo and it was obviously for comedic effect but yass! It was one of the highlights of the show!

-Laura’s “Show Me” didnt really work as well as I thought it would. I saw the understudy Freddy so maybe that’s why but I feel like moments they tried to make comedic really didn’t sit as well with the audience as they would’ve liked. I think it needed more rage? and i wasnt really feeling the release of frustration?? which is ironic because she was so good at conveying it before?? but maybe she was saving it for the last big scene (she wore a pink outfit which looked sooo beautiful on her though omg it was like baby pink-i loved that color on her) 

-on the street where you live was classic and beautiful and just as romantic as we all imagine it to be and the background of a pinkish/purple sky really added to the mood.

-their dynamic(her and higgins) was very equal and they were clearly on the same plane the entire time because of the similarity in their ages(which made their relationship in the end a lot better I think and not creepy like in the past imo)  as well as Laura’s interpretation of the character which showed she was just as emotionally and mentally intelligent, except she really didn’t come into her own and realize this until the scene at the end which was soooo satisfyinggg.

-HER ACTING IN THE SCENE WHERE SHE REALIZES SHE DOESNT NEED HIGGINS WAS SUPERB. it had the same strength and power of the dressing room scene at the end of gypsy and i was blown away.

-i really liked the feminist ending where after he says “where the devil are my slippers” she runs into the audience and up the stairs out of the theatre (its an amphitheater) like she has finally found love but doesn’t depend on that and has finally found herself and that is the most important thing. (also she run up the side closest to me and i freaked out realizing she got that close i was like AHHH!)

-I LOVED THE SHOW! It was better than the first time I saw it! It totally lived up to the original production while not being an exact copy and I am so glad I got a second chance to see it! Brava Laura! Im so glad I got to see her in her dream role!

[dunmerofskyrim]

78

The Kogaru were slow to be off, no matter how Simra stared at them. A pointed look, poised like a hawk on the hand and impatient in its silence. They picked themselves up and gathered to go all with the same reluctance. Simra couldn’t imagine why. Sooner they got going, sooner he’d be gone. Ought to be what they wanted.

“D’you know he’s this way?” Simra asked once they were underway.

Kaliklu was leading again, but only by a few strides. “Until the water we were only guessing.”

Simra found that less than comforting but said nothing of it. “It’s his work, then?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve seen it before? Been here before?”

“Yes.”

“Often?”

“No.”

“He a friend?” No response. “Should I be wary is what I’m asking? Scared? Ready for a fight?”

“Of course you should be wary.”

“Wary of what? Ready for what?”

“Anything,” Kaliklu said, curt and impatient with the questions now.

Simra kissed his teeth, loud and harsh, and walked fast to put distance between him and the elder. He’d get nothing more from him, that was clear. Old man was on enough of an edge now without Simra grinding it sharper for him. No help at all, Simra thought to himself. Ready for anything. Ready for anything always seemed a good way to be ready for nothing much. The world’s a place of specifics. A mess of specifics, infinite beyond thought, infinite beyond thought of thinking. Be ready for the world? You can’t. Best you can do’s prepare for what you know is in your closest corner of it. What you reckon’s around the bend.

And there was the thing. He didn’t know what to expect. Besides the holdout of a mage with enough power and strength to change the land for half a league around. To dig a hole in the surface of Winter and fill it with high green Spring. Besides a Telvanni turncoat, stubborn and strong enough to break from the mistress of Tel Branora and flee to the world’s wild north edge. Besides a problem big enough that Tel Branora wound launch some tieless nobody northward and into the Sea of Ghosts, to go scour a bleak little rock in that waste of ice and slate-grey ocean, and bring back news Dalvur Vedith was dead. And not knowing what to expect, he had no way to prepare. Not the slightest sketch of a plan.

The stream ended abrupt in a clearing. It was overgrown, small, but stood out stark in the thatch-thick woods. Cutting it in half, the water rested in a cool silver sickle of pond, pale lilies on the surface and purple velvet flowers with lolling hand-long petals. A dancing cloud of yellow blossom-moths, same as before, twisted like smoke through the air. Hundreds, thousands.

A kind of structure stood in the pond’s curved belly, half-surrounded. A low shape with a slumped curved roof. Growth covered it, so dense it looked made of nothing but pink and white flowering vines, woody-skinned creepers. Curlicues of bramble split off its bulk like flyaway hairs from an unkempt head. But underneath the overgrowth, Simra thought he could make out stone. Rafters and ribs, reaching up from the ground and forward, like a short hunchbacked tunnel. A skeleton of scaffolds and supports in black screw-surfaced torquestone.

A slack line of growing things made something like a trellis, meandering till they met the hut and knit over and into its side. Simra wanted to think of them as trees but it didn’t quite fit. Only thing right about them was the trunks – birch thin, fine and pale, planted in close order – and only because they were in the right places. The rest was inverted. Up top, their roots fanned out like the bare bones of a parasol, naked and tasting the air. Their branches crawled thick and tangling across the ground, clawing into the dirt, all wearing a ragged plumage of leaves. Their pattern was almost regular. Quadrangles and half-circles, traced out across the clearing floor in ledges and ridges, the edges of raised planting-beds full of damp black earth.

The roots cast a stripey shade below them. Bent over one of the beds, arms buried partway to the elbows in rich dirt, Dalvur Vedith knelt by his trellis, his hut, head bowed.

Whatever Simra might’ve expected, he hadn’t expected this. The brown tatters of a simple robe hung off his sloping back. It looked like a horseblanket. Wrapped haphazard around him and held on with complicated knots and cinching lines of faded purple braid, but a horseblanket all the same. Wisps of colourless hair floated around his small dark grey head, and tickled at his jutting ears. And when he looked up and stared, his eyes were pouchy, small and bright in a deep-lined face.

“There you are.” His voice was cracked, creaking like a disused door. “I wondered, you know. Would you ever come back? I wondered. And as I felt you in my garden, I thought: well then well then, be it what it may, but an old mer can hope…”

“We do not disturb you without need, Gurrigalattu,” said Kaliklu. “You know this. Just as you do not disturb the island beyond this valley.”

“My valley…” Vedith smiled. Holes and gums, teeth and darkness.

“Your valley,” Kaliklu was quick to agree.

“So! It’s true then? You’ve come to see me. Come to see old Dalvur?”

“I have brought someone, yes. Someone who wished to meet you.”

“A visitor!” Vedith’s head cocked and twitched on its thin neck, casting round. His eyes were hollow, half-lidded and lookless. “I count five. You’ve not brought visitors before, Kaliklu.” He sniffed, long and deep through one nostril, covering the other with a dirty finger. “To what do I owe the pleasure, old friend?”

Simra thought a moment, dry-mouthed and asking himself, how much could he say and keep all his stories straight? “I’ve searched you out to pass on a message.”

Vedith’s jaw went slack. Mouth open, his dust-coloured tongue moved fitful, like he was counting what teeth he had left. “This one’s not one of yours, Kaliklu. He speaks for himself! And doesn’t, hah, doesn’t smell so much like blood. And the other?”

Simra glanced round, searching for Llolamae, and found her beside him, toes on the edge of the water that separated them from Vedith. She was puffed up, standing straight and strident. Not a little girl but a Mouth again, like when he’d first met her.

“I’m Mouth to Master Vidanu of Tel Kogaris.”

Vedith scrambled upright and onto his feet. His robe was gathered up and girded at his waist, showing the grubby knob-kneed length of his skinny legs. His face was a blur, spasming from feeling to feeling. Through terror to joy to despairing of a hope he’d never had the time to hold. He bowed and twitched, stepping back and stepping back, till he retreated into the trellis and flinched from it with a dry gasp.

“House…” he started, struggling to find breath for the words. “House business then, is it?”

Llolamae shot Simra a look of confusion. Shrugged and angled her eyes, questioning. Simra nodded quick and insistent.

“Aye,” she said. “It is that.”

Dirt-flecked hands wringing each against the other, Vedith paced a moment, back and forth amongst the beds and roots. His mouth moved silent, teething and chawing over talk that wouldn’t quite come. Whatever Simra might’ve expected, he hadn’t expected this. An old mer falling to pieces, knowing maybe what’d come for him.

Vedith stopped. “Vidanu, d’you say? Kogaris, is it? Not — I mean, that’s to say not—”

“That’s right,” Simra cut in. “Vidanu of Tel Kogaris.”

“It’s about the torquestone!” said Llolamae.

“The torque—?” Vedith’s face slackened, all the workings under his skin laxing all at once. “The what? The stone! You mean the twisty, the twisting, the one with, the one you can… Hah!” His empty eyes rolled back deeper into his skull, eyelids fluttering. Relief. “Of course, of course. Of course! Torquestone. Good name, very good name. Hadn’t thought… Well then, come in! Come over. You must. Oh, will you take tea? I have something, somewhere, very good…”

The Kogaru had bundled together into a group, talking in fevered whispers amongst themselves. The hunter spoke most, with Kaliklu listening, nodding. They were tense, anxious here. Nerves in all their faces, the set of their shoulders and turn of their bodies. Jangling nerves in all their voices. Kaliklu peeled himself from the group and spoke to Simra:

“You have no more need of us.”

It didn’t sound like a question. Simra stepped closer while Llolamae scuttled round the pond and onto its far side, capering between the beds. “That right?” he said.

“We have already stayed too long.”

“Too long for what? Have we stayed too long too and you’re not telling us?” Simra hissed. “What about getting out of here?”

“You have only to follow the water.”

“For how long? To where? Blight, you agreed to guide me! I bled for that, bargained for that!”

Across the water, Llolamae was chattering to Vedith, bright as birdsong.

“We did,” said Kaliklu, reaching out an empty hand. “We have.” The hunter plucked the wand from his bundle and passed it into Kaliklu’s grasp. He wasn’t pointing it at Simra, but the message was clear.

Force his hand and Simra would’ve bet the wand was empty, or close to it. Or that Kaliklu’s fingers wouldn’t find its touch-runes fast enough, unpracticed and unfamiliar with it. But why gamble when there was nothing to win. Kaliklu was right. Right, and scared, and like as not to do something stupid.

“Off with yourselves, then,” said Simra. They’d played their part, done as they said they would. Even so, for the second time that day, Simra couldn’t help but feel cheated.

They upped fast, silent and impatient, making to hurry away. Sooner they got going, sooner they’d be gone, and gone was where they wanted to be, they’d made that plenty clear.

“Busy busy!” Simra muttered at their backs. “Hurry hurry. Sure you’ve got fucking caves to paint. Other strangers to ambush and extort…”

Kaliklu still held the wand as they hustled towards the clearing’s edge and back the way they came, following the water. None of them looked back. Just fled, fast as they could.