#and i between the spheres there is a space suspended between both

[king0fcrows]

.

[caspercryptid]

Dungeon Meshi as Monster Culture

-jeffrey jerome cohen as a framework for dungeon meshi

i. The Monsters Body is a cultural body

Vampires, burial, death: inter the corpse where the road forks...it will haunt that place that leads to many other places, that point of indecision...The monster is born only at this metaphoric crossroads, as an embodiment of a certain cultural moment—of a time, a feeling, and a place

ii. The Monster Always Escapes

We see the damage that the monster wreaks, the material remains...but the monster itself turns immaterial and vanishes, to reappear someplace else.

No monster tastes of death but once... Each time the grave opens and the unquiet slumberer strides forth("come from the dead, / Come back to tell you all"), the message proclaimed is transformed by the air that gives its speaker new life...monstrous interpretation is as much process as epiphany, a work that must content itself with fragments (footprints, bones, talismans, teeth, shadows, obscured glimpses—signifiers of monstrous passing that stand in for the monstrous body itself).

iii. The Monster Is the Harbinger of Category Crisis

The monster always escapes because it refuses easy categorization...they are disturbing hybrids whose externally incoherent bodies resist attempts to include them in any systematic structuration. And so the monster is dangerous, a form suspended between forms that threatens to smash distinctions.

The too-precise laws of nature as set forth by science are gleefully violated in the freakish compilation of the monster's body.

Full of rebuke to traditional methods of organizing knowledge and human experience, the geography of the monster is an imperiling expanse, and therefore always a contested cultural space

iv. The Monster dwells at the gate of difference

The monster is difference made flesh, come to dwell among us... the monster is an incorporation of the Outside, the Beyond—of all those loci that are rhetorically placed as distant and distinct but originate Within.

Representing an anterior culture as monstrous justifies its displacement or extermination by rendering the act heroic..A political figure suddenly out of favor is transformed like an unwilling participant in a science experiment by the appointed historians of the replacement regime: "monstrous history" is rife with sudden, Ovidian metamorphose

History itself becomes a monster: defeaturing, self-deconstructive, always in danger of exposing the sutures that bind its disparate elements into a single, unnatural body.

V: The Monster polices the borders of the possible

From its position at the limits of knowing, the monster stands as a warning against exploration of its uncertain demesnes...curiosity is more often punished than rewarded, that one is better off safely contained within one's own domestic sphere than abroad, away from the watchful eyes of the state

To step outside this official geography is to risk attack by some monstrous border patrol or (worse) to become monstrous oneself.

The horribly fascinating loss of Lycaon's humanity merely reifies his previous moral state; the king's body is rendered all transparence, instantly and insistently readable. The power of the narrative prohibition peaks in the lingering description of the monstrously composite Lycaon, at that median where he is both man and beast, dual natures in a helpless tumult of assertion. The fable concludes when Lycaon can no longer speak, only signify.

Whereas monsters born of political expedience and self-justifying nationalism function as living invitations to action, usually military (invasions, usurpations, colonizations), the monster of prohibition polices the borders of the possible, interdicting through its grotesque body some behaviors and actions, envaluing others.

victims are devoured, engulfed, made to vanish from the public gaze: cannibalism as incorporation into the wrong cultural body.

vi: Fear of the monster is really a kind of desire

The monster is continually linked to forbidden practices, in order to normalize and to enforce. The monster also attracts. The same creatures who terrify and interdict can evoke potent escapist fantasies; the linking of monstrosity with the forbidden makes the monster all the more appealing as a temporary egress from constraint

Escapist delight gives way to horror only when the monster threatens to overstep these boundaries, to destroy or deconstruct the thin walls of category and culture. When contained by geographic, generic, or epistemic marginalization, the monster can function as an alter ego, as an alluring projection of (an Other) self. The monster awakens one to the pleasures of the body, to the simple and fleeting joys of being frightened, or frightening—to the experience of mortality and corporality

The habitations of the monsters ...are more than dark regions of uncertain danger: they are also realms of happy fantasy, horizons of liberation.

the scapegoated monster is perhaps ritually destroyed in the course of some official narrative, purging the community by eliminating its sins. The monster's eradication functions as an exorcism and, when retold and promulgated, as a catechism

vii: The monster stands at the threshold of becoming

Monsters are our children. They can be pushed to the farthest margins of geography and discourse, hidden away at the edges of the world and in the forbidden recesses of our mind, but they always return.

And when they come back, they bring not just a fuller knowledge of our place in history and the history of knowing our place, but they bear self-knowledge, human knowledge—and a discourse all the more sacred as it arises from the Outside. These monsters ask us how we perceive the world, and how we have misrepresented what we have attempted to place.

They ask us to reevaluate our cultural assumptions about race, gender, sexuality, our perception of difference, our tolerance toward its expression.

They ask us why we have created them

[stonegearstudios]

Creating a MegaDungeon

So, for a few weeks now, thanks to RPPR, I've been thinking about MegaDungeons as interesting conceptual spaces. It started with Stonehell, but I've been looking at other ones like Highfell, Tomb of 1000 Doors, I backed a Kickstarter called Ave Nox... And unsurprisingly (for me) I started thinking about how I would make one. The guiding thought was "What if you made a MegaDungeon, a constrained and connected space, both above ground and without walls?" From that idea has come 'The Eye of the Storm'

The basic concept is this

Off the coast of a certain area is a storm, a massive, violent hurricane that reaches up through the atmosphere, out of sight.

The storm has been there for as long as anyone can remember, as long as history records, never moving, never shrinking.

The Storm is eternal.

Likewise, it is unknown who exactly first breached the Stormwalls by using powerful magic to briefly calm the winds, but what they found within has become common local knowledge.

Floating islands, suspended on thin air, cocooned in the eye of the storm, rising up. On those islands were ruins of an unknown make, but also strange plants and dangerous creatures. The most dangerous of all being the Elementals that seemed to infest the place.

Over the years many groups have been drawn to the storm. Adventures have breached it in search of treasure and strange mystical reagents, Harpies and other flying creatures considered monstrous have flocked here to roost, and wielders of powerful magic came to study the forces that maintain the vortex.

But none have ever reached Summit, eternally out of reach.

Will you?

So yeah, that's the basic premise of the dungeon. Floating islands inside a eternal storm, progression through the dungeon is like the ascent of a dangerous mountain in some aspects.

The main thought was, most dungeons and MegaDungeons are underground, so could you do the opposite, one where you are under the light of day, exposed to all manner of weather, and where you could physically see in the distance the other levels you were yet to get to?

That also raised the question of how to map out the placement of the floating islands? Eventually I came up with a potential model in Blender

Yes, it looks nonsensical at first, but it's really just a reference for me. The Outline Boxes represent a potential space where a island could be on the 9 layers of the dungeon, while a Green Sphere represents the presence of an island in that space. That way I can remember the positioning of them all in relation to each other and figure out the connections between them.

So far I've got a loose idea of the one at the top and am working on the one at the very bottom, likely the first island any PCs would land on (and the only one that's not floating).

Lot of work to go and I've still got to figure out things like how i'm going to map the islands (I can't draw) and what system I should build the encounters around.

[fountainpenguin]

"Pretend to be sweet! Speak with a smile... Even if you're mad, play it cool for a while..." (x)

---

New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 15 - “Scald (Ren, Jimmy, Scar)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

---

While Impulse prowls in search of Bdubs, life goes on. Ren, Joel, Jimmy, Tango, and Cleo get along in their respective spheres. And Scar? ... Well, since Etho never showed up for Session 2, Scar's teamed with a bunch of other explorers to tackle a cave adventure. With a group that large, it's only a matter of time before hunters turn on quarries...

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

Renthedog - Chicken

Quarry: ZombieCleo

Hunter: Smajor1995

Allegiance: Unaffiliated

💚  💛  ❤️

"Hey." Is that a weird thing to say to a guy you haven't seen since his particles dissolved? He looks better now, standing with his hands in his hoodie pockets. In traditional Joel fashion, he got a new outfit for Session 2. The hoodie's sky blue. Puffy pastel letters spell out Glitch Survivor down the front, surrounded by four hearts, several azaleas, and little sparkles.

Skizzleman stole the traits of Tropical Fish

Actually, the whole thing looks glittery. It's childish and goofy and he looks snug and content, like Ren didn't catch him staring at his reflection for a little too long while they changed in the shower house. Ren has questions (which will go unanswered) regarding what went on between Joel's boss and the skin designers in the community mere days ago.

Not that I'm one to talk. I'm going all-in on the farmer's aesthetic this time around. It just sort of happened to him. Honestly? Can't complain, dude. The flannel shirt is comfy, the jeans aren't so bad, and the whole vibe fits his familiar suspenders pretty well. He's half worried he'll overheat, so he keeps rolling the sleeves back to his elbows.

If he were to put it into words, he's playing into that vibe of all the world in chaos while he serves smiles and escapism in his pretty little garden. In fact, Ren gets up from the muck, taking out a handkerchief to wipe dirt form his hands, and walks over to join Joel by the fence. He leans against it. Joel tilts his head. He's got little panda ears.

"'Hey' yourself, Ren. Ooh, look at you working hard in the chaos game."

"Thanks, man. You're looking good on green again; nice, nice- A+ material."

Skizzleman stole the traits of Salmon

"Yeah, Grian kicked me back up since, y'know… the whole 'creeper glitch' wasn't meant to happen and I did get my proper quarry kill." Joel points two thumbs at the bubbly text across his chest. "He'd better watch his ruddy little backend, though, because I intend to hit purple before I see yellow again. This order is tall, but so am I." His eyes roam behind Ren, wandering the other side of the fence. His fingers tap together inside his hoodie pocket. "Got quite a bit of wheat there, haven't you?"

"Wheat?" He keeps his tone light and friendly, but repeats the word 'wheat' to make it undeniable what he's referring to. "Take a bit if you like; leave something if you want. It's my community garden. This, my friend, is a safe space." He glances left and right, then leans forward, dipping his voice. He even lifts one hand to catch his words, though no one seems to be around eavesdropping. "Seems to me like you're less likely to get sniped off if your would-be murderer knows you'll respawn a few blocks away to have your revenge! And lay waste to them completely where they stand!"

Joel lifts both brows, curious but flat-mouthed. "Eeeh… Not the most exciting content for you, is it? I mean… You could achieve the same thing by lurking near your base. Or plopping your bed down anytime you anticipate a fight, if you wanna be some sort of freak… Also, I'm pretty sure you can't strike your hunter back if you drop from green life to yellow? You're still yellow, right? That's a passive color."

bigbst4tz2 stole the traits of Creeper Skizzleman stole the traits of Turtle

"… Look, it's cool, okay? Spawn's cool." Ren gestures sideways, flapping the handkerchief. "I'm in my peaceful arc right now. Spawn shall be the most beautiful place to rest one's head!"

Joel looks around, skeptic impatience dancing on his lips. Spawn isn't technically a peninsula, but it stands on a raised, flat bit of land overlooking the rushing river. The wind's gusty up here, bamboo and jungle trees swishing. Ren's got his hidden chickens and pigs.

Thus far, his play session consists mostly of bartering with Scott and Skizz for the right to breed their sheep. They helped him lead the sheep back in return for the right to take two chickens, and the haughty stare in Scott's gaze warned Ren that he wouldn't hesitate to kill every animal in his underground hidey-hole, regardless of what killing so many and swapping traits that many times in a row would do to his stomach. He needs to move them. The Sushi Boys know where they are right now and that's not a good strat.

GoodTimesWithScar stole the traits of Enderman

"Peaceful, yeah," Joel says. He leans against the fencepost, cupping his cheek in one hand. Well, one panda paw. "Say… Any chance I could pull you away from your work for a couple hours, mate? Promise it'll be worth your while."

"Oh?"

"You got shovels?" Joel summons his own to his hand with a flick of the wrist. It's stone, unimpressive, but he taps it against the edge of the fence like it's made of netherite. "I'm thinking we go about digging up sand. It won't be a monopoly, but Grian always makes a grab at it, and I think yoinking it before he tries will be the best strat."

"… Seems like he'll come after you once he realizes you've got it."

"Hope he does. I want him-" Joel makes a shhhhluck! sound, gliding the shovel scoop across his own throat. "You get me? Come on; we'll make a game of it."

Ren frowns, one ear twitching like he's got a flea. He tries not to glance at the place he hid his animals, though that means jerking his eyes back to Joel as they start to drift sideways. "Well… It sounds like you might be luring me away for a bit of thievery-"

"Oh, like you've got better plans today. You and your smelly little farm, your smelly little livestock…"

So he's already aware of them. He's not trying to fake me out. Ren lifts his hands. "All right; you've convinced me. Let's have ourselves a dig, my friend." For the sake of content creation. For the sake of getting out of his own head, too… Apart from his visit to Scott and Skizz, he's pretty much been gardening all day long. He's got an inventory full of bread and a back-up chest to boot.

And I know I'm not his quarry…

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]

[snvxiii]

Has anyone else ever considered the similarities between these two!?

Has an idol fit.

Has a white mage fit.

Affinity for Moogles (Yuna has a Moogle as her Mascot dress sphere).

Both can use swords, taking after their respective loved ones (Tidus and Lightning).

Becomes the main protagonist in a sequel game that features monster catching.

The same height. (5' 4")

Dating a blond, blue-eyed himbo.

Separated from someone they love and embarks on a journey to find them.

Summoners with a guardian (Noel is like Serah's guardian).

Has some connection to Anima (Serah, branded by it; Yuna, as a summon).

Yuna > Yin > Moon; Serah > Bow > Artemis, goddess of the moon. Moon affiliations who are dating sun affiliations...

Accepting and facing their fate (though Yuna lives).

Hometown is on a beach.

Also, the lyrics to "1000 Years" applies so much to Serah > Lightning:

| "I know that you're hiding things / Using gentle words to shelter me"

Lightning shouldering the burden of being Serah's guardian/parent, but never confiding in her to avoid looking weak.

| "You'll fight your battles far from me / Far too easily"

| "They'll fly to you / Crossing over the time / And distance holding you, suspended on silver wings"

Literally, Lightning is trapped in a distant world, across time and space, fighting a battle to protect humanity. Also, Lightning has always sacrificed herself for Serah's sake.

| "The dream isn't over yet / Though I often say I can't forget I still relive that day / You've been there with me all the way"

Serah's the only one who remembers the true end of XIII and often has nightmares of the memory. Her last "dream" is a vision of Lightning in Valhalla.

| "What if [I] ... said that I couldn't wait / But now I'm strong enough to know it's not too late"

Serah's arc from waiting for her sister to be found > actively searching for her sister.

| "Cause a thousand words / Call out through the ages / They'll fly to you / Even though I can't see / I know they're reaching you, suspended on silver wings / Oh a thousand words / One thousand embraces / Will cradle you / Making all of your weary days seem far away / They'll hold you forever"

Lightning's reason for fighting, beyond her friends, is Serah's hope being entrusted to her.

| "Oh a thousand words (a thousand words) / Have never been spoken (ohh yeah) / They'll fly to you / They'll carry you home, (carry you home) and back into my arms"

End of LR, where they are finally reunited. They are both, finally, home. <3

[anasui-at-disneyland]

Concepto Xelor/ Xelor Concept:

Los Xelor tienen algo de variación dependiendo de la versión que se mire, mientras que en Dofus son momias, en Wakfu son representados como seres mecánicos (que siguen siendo momias en el fondo), pero un factor se mantiene y es el hecho de que son cronomagos, y el concepto del pasado y futuro es lo que use para el diseño.

Con el concepto de paradoja en mente, quise dar la impresión de que ambas Xelor existían dentro de un mismo espació/cuerpo simultáneamente, siendo la base una momia como en Dofus, la cual con el paso del tiempo ya tiene sus vendas curtidas y sus prendas se han desgastado con el paso del tiempo, manteniéndose solo pedazos que se han quedado suspendidas en el tiempo por la influencia de su magia, mientras que sus adiciones como el ojo izquierdo y la armadura están completamente diseñadas con la estética de los Xelor de Wakfu, en especial la armadura, la cual esta diseñada para tener la apariencia de un búho (la pechera es la cara, a lo largo del torso están sus alas, y su cola tiene una forma de agujas de reloj).

Me gusta pensar que a lo largo de los siglos, Xelor han tenido el control del tiempo (al fin y al cabo esa es la esencia de la clase), pero en cada punto de tiempo lo hacían de manera distinta:

Xelor de la era Dofus: Magia, la cual puede realizar con su mano izquierda.

Xelor de la era Wakfu: Tecnologia, la cual puede controlar con su mano derecha.

Si bien ambos son conceptos que entran en conflicto, el balance de ambos es lo que le permite controlar su arma el cual es un gran martillo...

Los Xelor no son una raza que brille por su fuerza física, por lo que la magia le permite mover el martillo para realizar daño masivo en combate cercano, mientras que la parte de tecnología le permite utilizar sus mecánicas, las cuales son 12 pequeñas esferas con las cuales puede cambiar de posición tanto ella como su martillo para conservar la teletransportación clásica del Xelor.

___

Xelor has some variations of their concepts between Dofus and Wakfu, while they´re mummies on Dofus, on Wakfu they´re represented as mechanic beings (which are still mummies on the inside), but there´s a factor that still remains, and that is that they´re are chronomages, and past and future is what I used for her concept.

With paradox concept in mind, I wanted to give away the image that both Xelor exist on a same body/space simultaneously, using a Dofus' mummy as a base, who the time passage has made her bandages stain and her clothes to wear off to the point there´s only parts that remain suspended on time due to the influx of her magic, meanwhile other additions like her left eye and her armor are fully based on Wakfu´s Xelor aesthetic, mainly her armor, which is designed to resemble an owl (the chestplate is it´s face, the torso side are it´s wings and the tail also looks like clock hands).

I like to think that through history, Xelor always had a control over time (after all, that´s the class´ esence), but on each point in time, they controled it by different means:

Dofus´ Xelor: Magic, which she does with her left hand.

Wakfu´s Xelor: Technologu, which she does with her right hand.

Despite both concepts being conflicting with each other, balance between them allows her to control her weapon, which is a huge hammer...

Xelor aren´t a class who´s highlight is physical strength, so they use magic that allows them to swing around the hammer to deal masive damage on close combat, while the technology part allows her to use it´s mechanism, which are 12 spheres, which she or her hammer can swap places with to keep Xelor´s classic teleport.

___

Su diseño esta basado en mis Xelors Paradox-Gal (Dofus) y Clock-Fixer (Wakfu), usando los concepto de pasado, presente y futuro para su diseño, como en Xelorium.

Her design is based both on my Xelor Paradox-Gal (Dofus) and Clock-Fixer, using the concepts of past, present and future for her design, like Xelorium.

Dofus:

Wakfu:

[kvb222-n11044144]

Week 6

I found that this week really seemed to revolve around connecting all the previous weeks' knowledge, and experimenting to apply them.

In class this week, my teammate and I were allocated the theme 'more than human'. We started by looking around the area, and were really drawn to using the trees as a site. We examined the different trees, and were drawn to one which had less textured bark, and more spread out branches. On discussion, we found we were drawn to using the flora, but referencing other parts of the more than human world, such as the movement of creatures in space, but particularly the movement of invisible forces like wind.

We saw where people had bent rattan sticks to hold elegant, sweeping curves. We thought they looked quite dynamic, and leant into the swirling movement of wind or the bouncing movement of birds on branches. To experiment further, we decided to try to incorporate paper, particularly because its lightness allows it to be influenced and gently moved by the wind and other environmental phenomenon. We experimented with different ways to shape it, and found that we particularly liked tassle-shapes anchored with wire because of the ways that they flared and fluttered in the wind. I also began experimenting with rippling ribbon-like pieces of paper to drape into the form. I was initially trying to mimic the feeling of the rushing wind, but we found that it also mimicked the bark of the trees, and created a really intuitive interaction between the tree and the installation. My teammate also experimented with adding more rattan curves to the initial shapes, and he found one connection that created an oddly imbalanced sense of balance which made it lean as if blown while the wind, while still staying relatively stationary, which was a really interesting effect. We further experimented with balance and proportion visually by changing the size and layout of the different tassles. The piece felt very connected to the site, both through colour and pattern repetition, and through the movement that echoed the unseen forces in the space.

I encountered the work of Gerda Steiner and Jörg Lenzlinger. Their work seems to be environmentally focussed, depicting 'natural' places with non-traditional objects, critically assessing the human impact on the environment, and displaying a seeming fascination with the interactions of the artificial and the organically occurring. Their works create and redefine spaces. One piece that I particularly love is the 2003 work The Falling Garden. This piece holds a series of botanicals from across the world suspended in the air in a dreamlike fashion, calling the viewers to lean back and be engulfed in a dream. It creates an artificial dreamspace to call people into peace. I love this idea of creating and depicting dreamscape (as proposed in my creations last week). Along with this, I love the way that this artwork interacts with air, and creates a dynamic, wind-like sense of spaciousness even as it condenses the actual usable space.

Gerda Steiner and Jörg Lenzlinger, Falling Garden (2003). Assorted botanicals. Image source: https://www.yellowtrace.com.au/falling-garden-gerda-steiner-jorg-lenzlinger/

I also saw Donna Marcus's piece Steam, which struck me as odd because it seemed so dense, yet had such a light sounding name. Each sphere is made of tessellating textured panels with vegetable steamers layered across them. The true effect of these pieces in my opinion though comes out in the dark. The spheres are lit from within and glow as if they have a molten metal core. This transforms the form of the vegetable steamer with a tangible and buoyant sense of heat that really makes them embody the idea of the steam that they are named for. I am really drawn to round and spherical forms, and the way that these add interest to the basic sphere and radicalises seemingly familiar objects is truly compelling. Along with this, I love the way it embodies an intangible phenomena in a really weighty way. I think it also communicates with the space really interestingly as they look almost digitally unreal through their perfect patterning, and create a strangely illusory experience. They also reflect the colour and light of the area and the grey matches the ground in the day, and the light matches the buildings in the night.

Donna Marcus, Steam, (2006), Aluminium and lighting, Dimensions Variable. Image Source: https://www.donnamarcus.com.au/outside/

Dawkins, U. (2009). Pipe dreams: Steiner and Lenzlinger’s The Water Hole. Art Monthly Australia, 220(1), 52-54. https://search.informit.org/doi/10.3316/informit.166747441403652

Gallery Sally Dan-Cuthbert. (N.D.). Donna Marcus. Gallery Sally Dan-Cuthbert. https://gallerysallydancuthbert.com/artists/124-donna-marcus/overview/

Marcus, D. (N.D.) Artistic Support Materials. Donna Marcus. https://www.donnamarcus.com.au/outside/supporting-materials-a/

[hobbybound]

He walked through the dark forest, searching his adversary through the tall pines.

Adran!" the voice broke his focus. The other man stood some ten meters away on the other side of a slight clearing. Adran, the name he had taken from the god of aging wasn't a name he immediately realized was his.

"A duel as this, how could I not?" he answered a moment to late, voice shakily betraying his fear of the coming duel. The man's shoulders shook slightly in a chuckle before he stepped into a ready pose. Adran hurried to mirror their state of calm ready, his feet stubbing on the undergrowth before finally landing solidly.

He reached out with his mind to a nearby branch, anchored his powers to it and lifted it. It floated through the air suspended by nothing but a world-throwers power. The other man did the same and as both their objects, a branch and a rock, were locked in space between them and the men locked eyes Adran's heart pounded loudly in his ears.

Then the objects both moved together, a faint sound before both fell. The duel was afoot, and Adran wasn't going to let himself be the meager defender.

Immediately anchoring to two objects, begrudging the barely two seconds it took and that he was then already at his numerical limit, two meager anchors. As soon as he could he accelerated the branches towards the other man, high speeds aimed roughly at the target and then let go so that Adran could use that anchor for a new object.

By the time the first object reached the other man Adran had already slung another his way and a spark of delight shone in his mind. The other man had raised a rock and flattened it to meet and deflect the oncoming branch, he was on the defensive. As that shield was hit and the man's anchor to it was destroyed he hurried to do the same for the next branch.

As Adran grew confident with having the upper hand he began shaping his branches into aerodynamic bolts as he threw them as well, reveling in the power he had. Then something changed, the man let one bolt that wasn't aimed well enough fly past him. He knew Adran's attacks weren't as dangerous as he'd like them to be and this realization shot fear through Adran.

The other man now had multiple rocks floating around him, only being used to block bolts when needed. Sweat broke on Adran's forehead, he knew what he was doing wouldn't work but he lacked the experience to be able to change his approach. So the other man changed the tide instead.

Three stone spheres flew towards Adran, too many to block with his cap of two objects. He threw the two objects he had at the leftmost orbs and reached his hand out towards the third, anchoring to moving objects was much harder he knew. Despite his immense focus he was not able to grab the sphere out of the air and the consequences he feared came right after.

The air was knocked from his lungs and he flew backwards onto his back. Disoriented he saw the last sphere fly through the air where he had just stood. He was losing fast and the other man wasn't letting up on his assault.

A large ball of wood, presumably previously a tree, was flying towards Adran. It flew straight, gravity had no effect on it and Adran knew what that ment. This ball was not being thrown, the man was holding his control of it all the way until it was going to make contract.

The ball was to close for Adran to have time enough to block it. He would have to steal the anchor from the other man mid-air, an even harder task. Seeing it as his only way out he pushed through his disorientation and attempted to focus. Again he failed, but this object was too big, he wouldn't only be thrown around this time.

As the thought shot through his mind as did a bolt of pain coming from his left hand. The ball slowed to a standstill just above where Adran lie on the ground. "See you around weakling!" the man shouted before throwing the ball to the side and beginning to walk back to the town.

Adran had indeed been losing fast and now it had happened. In a humiliating way none the less. Then he looked down towards his hand, his left pinky had been torn and bludgeoned way past usage. It hung to the side, bones having been broken many times over and its pulsing pain was beating at the door of Adrans adrenaline and that door was slowly opening. He had to get back, this might have to be amputated, his very first severe damage from world-throwing. No longer was he unmarked and incognito.

[happi-tree]

Sixteen

Hello, lovebirds! Here’s a bit of fic that I wrote inspired by @shima-draws‘ BNHA Distortion Link AU from Nexus’ POV! Check out her blog for more info about it. I’ll put the fic under a read more, so continue on if you’re interested! TW for blood and vague, semi-graphic descriptions of corpses.

Midoriya Izuku is 16 years old when his world is ripped out from underneath his feet. 

He awakens to silence - not the peaceful quiet of early mornings that he has become long accustomed to, but to a sheer and utter absence of sound. Not a whisper of birdsong, not a single utterance of cacophony caused by the morning commute traffic in Musutafu. The quiet is eerie, anticipatory, waiting to be shattered, and Izuku gets the distinct feeling that he’s the final character in some horror flick. 

His alarm clock blares “The morning is here!” again in a robotic facsimile of All Might’s voice. Izuku startles, badly, slamming his hand down on the alarm to silence it. A breeze outside grows in intensity, slamming into the walls. The ticking of clocks, the groaning of a house in its death throes, and the rushing of blood in Izuku’s ears are the only sounds now. 

Something is very wrong.

Izuku picks his way across the room to his window, lifting the blinds, and nearly retches at what he sees.

The streets aren’t clogged with cars or buses; the sidewalks are vacant of pedestrians. Instead, the concrete is dyed red with blood, puddles of it seeping into potholes, into gutters. Bodies, for as long as the eye can see, line the walkways and the asphalt at irregular intervals, their eyes unseeing, their mouths open in shock, their forms contorted and still in pools of burgundy-ebony. Newly deceased, the analytic, detached part of Izuku’s brain observes, noting the absence of stench and lack of buzzing flies. 

As much as Izuku desperately wants this to be some horrible nightmare, he knows deep in his bones that this is all too terribly real.

And then he looks up.

Up to the sky, where his fated enemy is silhouetted against the soot-stained crimson of dawn, wreathed in clouds of smoke like the angel of death incarnate. But Izuku knows that this man is far from angelic - there is no mercy in these deaths, no just judgement present in any fiber in his body as he hovers, gloatingly, backlit by the red-orange sun. 

All for One, in all his age, has never been a creature of compassion.

With the taste of bile and ash in his mouth, Izuku frantically grabs his hoodie from where it lays across the back of his desk chair, shrugging it on. Throwing open his closet door, he pulls on the boots of his Hero costume, barely managing to fumble their laces into a proper knot and swiping his gloves from where they sit draped over his tool belt. 

One for All rockets to the surface of his skin within milliseconds, his racing heartbeat and heightened anxiety calling the Quirk to activation in record time, and Izuku breaks down the front door of his house, sprinting into the streets of the world on its final day with eight souls singing across the lightning in his veins.

It is not enough.

-

Midoriya Izuku is 16 years old when he opens his eyes to the Beyond for the first time. 

The confusion only lasts for a few moments before memories - billions of them, thoughts that are not his, were never meant to be his - shove themselves into his still-growing mind, flooding his neurons until they threaten to combust. All at once, Izuku knows where he is. Izuku knows what happened to his world; rather, the world that was once his.

Now, Izuku knows everything, and it is with absolute, mind-numbing certainty that he knows that his universe is gone.

He is the sole survivor, the lone occupant of this plane of in-betweens, where both nothing and everything is real. He feels at once impossibly heavy and weightless, power sitting leaden in his bloodstream, pulsating in time with his paradoxically-beating heart, countless lives weighted and compressed upon his mind, their taste like copper on his tongue. 

Tears flow freely from his eyes, saline globules suspended in the not-air of the Beyond as he weeps and as he feels. Seven billion lifetimes of emotions flash through his mind’s eye like an old film reel, impossibly fast, impossibly hard to differentiate. Love and heartbreak and joy and sorrow and anger and contentment and longing and desperation and too many other feelings to name overcome him, and Izuku cries out, his strangled voice the only sound amidst the deep shifting colors of the void, utterly human and utterly alone. 

Even heroes need to cry, sometimes, Todoroki’s voice seems to whisper to him, and Izuku’s body wrenches with the force of his sobbing, clinging to himself and wishing beyond anything for the phantom comfort of a friendly hand upon his shoulders. 

How can I ever call myself a Hero when I failed my entire universe?

After a time - perhaps seconds, perhaps centuries - Izuku’s cries pitter out, and he straightens enough that his feet find contact with something solid. Opening his eyes once more, he finds that his tears, spheres of liquified crystal, lay suspended across the not-space, twinkling like so many stars. For all the pain that they had caused him, Izuku finds beauty in their sorrow, trying not to tear up again as he thinks of the shifting constellations of his homeland, their lights forever extinguished. 

The memories threaten to overturn his mind again, but Izuku holds firm, pushes past the grief and the sorrow. He is the sole occupant of the Beyond, the Nexus, a realm that oversees every universe, every timeline. The weight of countless worlds rests on his shoulders now, and Izuku cannot allow himself to crumble beneath it any longer. Infinite power - so much that the feeble, human part of his mind can scarcely begin to comprehend its beginning or its end - resides in his soul, stitched into the fabric of his being. 

<If I could not be the Hero my own world needed,> Izuku speaks into the void, curling his hands into fists, <maybe I can be the Hero that the rest of them deserve.>

So many lives are in need of protection, in need of saving. And now, here I am, with the power to look after every single one of them. What kind of Hero would I be if I didn’t use this power to help them? For the first time in a long time, Izuku laughs - a hollow, broken laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

<Plus ultra.> Izuku says to the unspeaking, unblinking void. He cracks his knuckles, takes a deep breath, and then gets to work overseeing the multiverse. 

-

Midoriya Izuku is still 16 years old when he feels the first disturbance in the Beyond. 

The new presence feels scarcely like a blip on his radar, as quick and meaningless as the blink of an eye. But after centuries and centuries of absolutely nothing, a spark of excitement - an emotion almost foreign to him, now - makes itself known in the cavity of his chest, bright and white-hot. Alongside it, an equally strange feeling: hope. 

The fabric of the Beyond bends itself around him, malleable and fluid as it bows to his whims and carries him to the source of the disturbance.

Izuku watches as a corner of his world blurs green. A figure, human, falling endlessly, glitching in and out between this plane and the one to which they belong. Reaching out with his mind, Izuku nearly reels back in shock with what he discovers.

Because the figure trapped between realms is him.

Well, one of him, Izuku should say. Across the multiverse are countless Midoriya Izukus. For whatever reason, this one seems to have gotten himself into a bit of trouble.

A constant for all Izukus, getting into trouble, he muses as his other semi-conscious self falls infinitely. 

Probing further, it looks like this particular Izuku is from a world quite similar to his own. Time slows, solid in his grasp, to allow him to decipher the teal of his Hero outfit, bits of blood scattered across his freckles from a previous fight. Clearly, this Izuku had no intention of coming here, and is likely feeling very out of sorts. How he got here in the first place is a wonder, but not for long.

Memories of his double flash through his mind. The patrol assignment. Uraraka, Todoroki, Ojirou, Shigaraki, Kurogiri’s faces come to mind in consecutive flashes, and his knees nearly buckle at the sight of their familiarity. One for All activating in tandem with Kurogiri’s portal, disturbingly reminiscent of the moment that ripped the fabric of his homeland apart.

Ah, there it is.

Izuku’s power comes to grasp the connection tethering his doppelgänger to the Beyond, and he hears a gasp. 

Well, that wouldn’t do. Not that Izuku has ever seen this happen before, but he has the sinking feeling that shoving his other self back into his own universe will not erase the connection entirely. There’s something wild about it, unstable. Dangerous.

Izuku walks closer to his double’s side, time grinding to a halt.

<I’m sorry for this, but you’ll likely see more of me,> he says to himself, taking in the other Izuku’s gaping expression and wide eyes, imprinting the familiar lines of his Hero suit into his vision alongside the spattering of freckles and the smears of dirt. 

<For now, though, I’ll try to get you home. You’re doing so well, you know. I’ve been watching.>

Gently, Izuku presses a fingertip to his doppelgänger’s forehead and watches as he reappears through the tear into his own timeline.

A universe away, provisional Hero Deku returns to his friends with shaking hands, a phantom warmth between his brows, and an odd feeling of recognition in his chest.

-

Nexus is 16 years old when he sees the sky again for the first time in millennia. 

[something-tofightfor]

Magnetic; Din’s POV - Part 3 (Chapter 4)

Pairing: None… really.

Word Count: 3,884

Rating: This is just kind of angsty, no real warning.

Summary: Din gets to know you a little better as the three of you settle into your new routine - and having a conversation late one night makes him realize the most important thing about you. 

Author’s note:

I apologize for how late this is going up. I got sidetracked and then had to edit. Oops. 

This goes alongside chapter 4 of Magnetic.  As I said with the last chapter - If there are any specific scenes that you’re DYING to know about from his point of view as I move through the story, please feel free to send a message or leave a comment, and I’ll be sure to include them.

It didn’t take long for him to gather his things the following morning. Eyes opening with the sun, Din sat up, noticing that Grogu’s eyes were open, too - the child staring at him from within his floating carriage. “Morning, kid.” Grogu cooed softly, lifting one hand to his mouth, and with a sigh, Din swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Hungry?” He already knew the answer, but before he began putting his armor back on, Din opened one of the packages of food he’d brought, handing it over. “Eat. We’re leaving in a few minutes.” While he wasn’t looking forward to having to constantly worry about your presence on the ship with the two of them, Din was excited to be back in flight, moving through the stars with Grogu in the co-pilot’s seat. I’ll get used to it. And if she can’t hear me… By the time he was fully armored, Grogu was finished eating, and the two of them emerged from the room into the early morning sunlight. Cara and Karga were waiting in the entryway of the inn’s main room, and while they both stayed mostly quiet, it was a relief to see them again. This feels … normal. There was no need to make conversation, even though Cara’s focus was on the kid, and the sound of your voice caught the man off guard, Din’s head swiveling toward the hall where you were. But you didn’t greet him, instead focusing on Grogu, too, the kid’s attention immediately shifting from Cara to you. That’s unexpected. As the six of you made your way from the inn back toward the ship, Din was surprised to hear that you fell into conversation with Karga and Cara easily, although the pilot kept quiet. He could see her glancing at him every now and then, but he ignored it, choosing to keep his helmet facing forward. At least I won’t have to worry about anything like that on the ship. He smiled beneath the beskar, finally turning his head at the sound of your laughter, your comment about Grogu’s reaction to Cara’s words drawing a quick snort from him before he caught himself. Not the time. But even as he stopped himself, he found that his mind was wandering. When’s the last time someone made me laugh like that? 

 He gave you five minutes to say goodbye and check your ship once more for stray belongings, and as you turned away, he finally faced Cara and Karga, eyeing the two of them. “Guess this is goodbye, Mando?” The other man spoke, a single nod from Din the only reply. “You know, without you taking things regularly, the bounties have been piling up.” “Good.” Din straightened his shoulders, one hand on his hip. “More work for when I come back.” Karga laughed, leaning forward and waving at Grogu before he turned and walked away, muttering under his breath about the Mandalorian’s cocksure attitude. Cara stood with her arms crossed, head tilted to the side. “What?” “You’re going to have your hands full, Mando.” With the kid? I know. “Do me a favor.” She leaned in, eyes bright. “Give her a chance.” Her? “She cares about the kid. She’s gonna be a huge help to you, and …” “What are you saying?” He glanced at Grogu, watching as the child looked between the two of them. What is she thinking, kid? “You -” “She’s been with him for just as long as you were, Mando. She knows him differently than you do. Let her … talk to her. It can’t hurt.” She’d been just as adamant about Omera, about giving that woman a chance, but there was something new in Cara’s voice as she spoke about you, and the man knew that it was because Grogu was directly involved. But what is … she isn’t wrong. “No promises, Cara.” Din sighed, reaching a gloved hand out. “I’ll see you soon.” She gave him a lopsided smile, shaking his hand quickly before pulling it back and bending down to kiss the top of Grogu’s head. He blinked up at her slowly, raising a hand in a quick wave, but the moment she turned her back, Grogu’s attention was back on Din, the kid’s eyes moving from the man to the ship and back. “Yeah, kid. Let’s go.” Adjusting his bag, Din began to walk for the lowered ramp, Grogu floating close behind. --- 

 He heard you coming before he heard you speak, but Din didn’t turn to greet you, instead waiting for you to take a seat to his left. I’ll - His words melted away before he could even open his mouth at the sight of the kid making his way into your lap, twisting his tiny body to look up at you. What’s going on? “What’s he saying? If he’s -” Din watched the expression on your face shift from confusion to surprise, but it was like a blaster shot to the chest to hear the words you spoke. Of course he’d notice. “It’s not the same ship. I… he wouldn’t have …” Damn.  “Let’s get out of here, and then I’ll explain.” As he began the takeoff process, Din’s mind traveled back to the moment on Tython he’d watched the ship explode, to the time he’d spent sifting through the ashes and rubble, unearthing only a few small pieces of beskar in the spear and the ball. I’ll… I’ll give that to him after I explain. He made it through the retelling of the story of Gideon’s attack without faltering, taking Grogu from you halfway through. I know, pal. It hurts. It hurts to… But it didn’t hurt worse than you telling him that Grogu was apologizing for his part in the destruction, Din’s arms tightening around the small figure and his breath catching. “I’m just glad we weren’t on it.” At that, he saw your reaction, a visible stiffening of your body, but Din didn’t focus on it, instead reaching into his pouch for the beskar sphere. Grogu’s reaction was immediate, his arms rising to reach for it, nearly snatching it from the Mandalorian’s hands. Knew you’d be happy to see that. He was smiling again, focused on Grogu as he turned to show you his prize, but again Din’s breath hitched at your revelation that he’d shown you the ball and other memories through dreams. She can see dreams? I… Moving Grogu from his lap and back onto the empty seat, Din waited for your reply, hands resting in his lap. This could be dangerous. He didn’t know what he expected from you, but a simple explanation - you easily equating the way you used your ability to what he did with his skills - was not it. Grogu made his way back into the man’s lap without much delay, but Din was focused on you instead, hanging onto your words. I’ve never had the Force explained like this before. He had questions for you - a ton of them - but kept it to simple ones, relevant to only the current conversation. We’re not … I can’t ask things like that. We don’t know each other. But the dreams, that… and Grogu? As he listened to you explain the Force and your apparent ability to listen in on the dreams of other powerful Force users, Din found himself wondering just how strong you were. Does … is she like Ahsoka? Like Skywalker? Is she more powerful than Grogu? Can she… But it wasn’t until you mentioned the mudhorn that Din’s attention snapped back to your face, watching as you eyed the signet on his pauldron. She’s smart. He questioned your abilities without thinking, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them, and the man winced as you froze. That’s not … not something she likes talking about. There was an undercurrent to your words, to the explanation that you wouldn’t even try to move objects or suspend them, and Din decided  to move on, even though you gave him a little more information. She doesn’t owe me, and she’s still trying to explain. He saw your tears and for the first time in many months, felt conflicted about causing someone distress. I’m not interrogating her, I shouldn’t have asked. Especially since she says she hurt someone. He frowned, watching as you glanced down at the child, pausing before you wiped beneath your eyes. She doesn’t want me to see her like this. Or maybe she doesn’t want the kid to. It was something to think about, and Din filed away the information for later, deciding to change the subject - though he never got the chance. “So, Mando. It looks like you don’t have to worry about me in your head or in your dreams.” About that. His admission - and your reply - again stunned him, and Din felt the confusion within him strengthening. So the beskar keeps my thoughts private, but it might not matter when it comes to dreams because she can only see the kid’s because he… projects them.  It was a lot to take in, and so Din switched his focus to something that he was much more comfortable with: outlining the bounty itinerary. 

 There was no reason for him to announce his plans to you, but he did it anyway, explaining the order that he’d chosen out loud while still thinking about the conversation you’d just had. It was nice to have the additional connection between himself and the kid, though it would  take some getting used to. But she’s here to help. And she might … she might be the thing that keeps him with me. You kept quiet as he spoke, Din’s eyes on you though he kept the helmet facing forward… and Cara’s words echoing in his mind. Give her a chance. 

 --- 

 It took a few days to settle in, but the three of you made the most of being on the ship and the limited amount of space you had. Din was used to it, but he could tell that you weren’t, often finding you pacing in the small sleeping quarters that he’d given to you, or aimlessly organizing and sorting through supplies while he and Grogu did other things. You never complained, though, and Din was surprised at that.

He was even more surprised at how vigilant you were - it hadn’t been specified that you’d be responsible for teaching Grogu, or caring for him while the man piloted the ship, but you did both without question. It wasn’t uncommon for the man to find you and the child in the cargo hold, working on different skills. He watched the kid pass items to you, find things that you’d hidden, open doors and drawers, and even levitate his entire body a few inches off of the floor for a few minutes at a time. He couldn’t do those things before. Not like this. He was content to watch - the two of you clearly had a routine, but Grogu didn’t let him sit on the sidelines for long, pulling him into whatever he was doing with coos and wide smiles. Din couldn’t turn him down, especially when there wasn’t much else to do on the way to the first bounty, and so he allowed himself to relax slightly, getting used to being around the kid again. It was strange to him after a year apart to hear the kid’s vocalizations throughout the ship, or to see him climbing around, but Din didn’t take a single second for granted, keeping his eyes on the kid whenever possible, never hesitating to speak to him or reach for him. The first bounty was difficult, but he knew that it wouldn’t give him trouble, and so he felt confident in letting his attention wander, mostly when he was sitting in the pilot’s chair and watching the endless expanse of space. You were in hyperspace, sure, and the man had filtered the glass to make it less bright, even through the visor, but he could still see the streaks of light ahead of him. The view from the cockpit had always calmed the Mandalorian, and it was no different with the kid sleeping beside or behind him, the hours stretching on. But there was more for Din to consider than the kid or the bounties, and he found his thoughts returning to you more often than he’d expected. When he’d given you the tour of the Razor II, you’d listened quietly as he’d explained what the different areas of the ship were, what the weapons in the locker could do. You’d asked questions, but they weren’t invasive - instead, he realized that you were just collecting the information necessary to make the following weeks bearable. He found himself speaking to you more than he’d intended, going into the history of some of the weapons, outlining the reason that he’d wanted to give you the sleeping quarters instead of keeping them for himself, even though the cot on the bottom level of the ship was much too small to be truly comfortable for someone his size. But it means being able to take my helmet off with the kid. He’d never traveled long term with a woman before, so everything was new to Din, but you took the information without challenging him, thanking him and smiling. You gave the two of them the space he’d hoped for, but despite your overall friendly demeanor and welcoming tone, he noticed you pulling away slightly between the first and second bounties, took stock of the fact that you spoke less and less to him as the days passed unless you were directly spoken to. But why? It distracted him slightly; giving him pause as he tracked the bounty on Cadevine, wondering how you could switch between being around the kid all the time to distancing yourself, how you could go from being surrounded by people at the Academy that you could read to essentially being alone in a ship with only Grogu to listen to. It has to be hard for her. The tracking fob’s blinking became more frantic and Din’s thoughts shifted, moving from you and back to the task at hand. I’ll talk to her about it.. I’ll … make it better for her. 

 It was unlike him - to speak so much and so openly with someone that he barely knew - but as a way to ease into it, Din asked you more questions about Grogu and the Academy, trying to find a way to get you talking. Why? Why do I want to do that so much? He wasn’t certain of the answer to that question, but he would have been lying to himself if he’d said that he didn’t enjoy listening to you speak, hearing Grogu’s thoughts out loud for a change right alongside yours. Your life had been much different than his, and your habits were still much different than his, but listening to you was a chance for the Mandalaorian to relax, something that he wouldn’t ever take for granted. Halfway between the third and fourth bounties, something shifted between the two of you. He’d been dozing in the cockpit when he heard you climbing the ladder, pausing outside of the doorway. If I don’t move, she’ll just go into her room. Instead of letting that happen, Din invited you in, unsure of what he wanted to say to you until you made your suggestion of taking a break. It wasn’t a surprise to him - stopping for a day or two had been on his mind, too, but hearing you say it out loud convinced him that it was the right call. But she can’t just … You seemed surprised at his questioning of where you’d be if the two of them had a chance to spend more time together, and again he couldn’t stop himself from reminding you that you weren’t there to simply stick to the background. 

 Your explanation shocked him, but Din let you speak, making note of the mention of your friend Bari, along with your assessment of your place on the ship and in Grogu’s life. She shouldn’t feel like that. He was happy to have the kid back - happier than he’d been in months, but didn’t like that it was at your expense. I have to find a way to change that.  He’d been just as surprised at the joke he’d made as you were, and Din was quick to clear his throat, moving the conversation along. Unexpectedly, the conversation shifted to your understanding of Grogu’s species, something else Din had wondered extensively about. In all his time bounty hunting, there’d never been another encounter with anything like him, and with the information you had, it confirmed to the man that the kid was just as special as he’d assumed him to be. And that’s why it was important to go. One of a kind? He needed to be with people like him. Din hadn’t planned on asking you questions about Grogu’s past, but once he began, he couldn’t stop. You didn’t have the answers, but at the flash of emotion passing through your eyes as you admitted that you’d tried to figure it out, he stiffened and then forced himself to relax, thinking. If they asked her to try, that must mean… they must be … He didn’t have much time to contemplate your closeness with the child, instead feeling an overwhelming concern for you - and for Grogu - as you admitted that Grogu had attacked you using his power in order to keep you from digging deeply through his mind. The way you spoke about it casually was concerning to him, and for the first time, Din wondered just how much you were willing to ignore and accept for the kid’s sake. The way I would. The way I did. “You care about him. Even after -” You justified Grogu’s behavior, writing it off as a traumatized child that had suffered instead of blaming him for it, and despite the fact that he couldn’t read your thoughts, he realized in that moment that there was something different about you. She … it’s real. Everything she’s saying. They aren’t lines, it’s not … The realization scared him, but it also made him much more aware of you, too. You weren’t just a teacher or a caretaker - you were just as much family to Grogu as Din himself was. And that means that this is … hard for her. He hadn’t considered that before, because he’d been so focused on what having the kid back meant to him, but even though it was still early on in the trip, he knew that things had to change. I need to … need to give her a real chance. Need to … let her in, to help her understand. “Why haven’t you asked more about me? About the bounties, about my past, about my armor… or Mandalore?” It was a risk - he knew it - but it was worth it to the man. This is … this changes everything. But you were still timid with what you asked him, and though there were slight challenges in your words and tone, Din wasn’t uncomfortable with the things that you did question - or what you said about him. It was a welcome change to hear someone freely speak to him, to call him out and make assumptions based on what little they knew. And she isn’t wrong about much. He smiled to himself before he answered, admitting that he had hesitated when it came to letting Grogu go in the end, but that didn’t phase you. And she’s… using Mando’a. You weren’t fluent, but still, hearing the word for family come from your mouth sent a chill through his body. He’d heard it once, via transmission, but watching you speak the word with no pause was a different story, his eyes focused on the way it looked and sounded leaving your mouth. I should speak it more around her. Teach her more if I can. It’ll help Grogu, too. That loosened him up a little more, and Din felt bold enough to ask you to keep going. Your honesty was refreshing, and while you were analyzing him, Din wasn’t surprised when you turned the conversation to yourself and your own motivation - even though he was surprised by the contents of your admission. She stayed for him? Could have gone anywhere, but she … He knew how easily Grogu had won him over, but again this made Din question your behavior. If that’s true, why is she so willing to sit back and just let me be with him? You wanted what was best for the kid, that much was clear to him, and without pausing to think his words through, Din asked you another question, heart pounding in his chest as he waited for the answer. She calls him that because of me. Calls him … oh, Maker. He felt his mind wandering, even though he was still listening. I learned more tonight than in months. I … this is more. He hated asking you to be the middleman between him and Grogu, but Din didn’t know what else to do. There is no one else. She’s… she’s just as important to him as I am. At the movement of your hand, Din’s attention snapped back to you, but you stopped before you touched him, drawing your hand back. She stopped herself. She … He stood, armor clinking together quietly. Anyone else would have just … Cara and Terys and other women.

His hand was on your shoulder, grip tightening as he spoke - and then tightening further at your reply. Father. I’m his … he calls me... There was no specific word for father in Mando’a; it was interchangeable with mother, but as your answer settled in his mind, he realized that he’d considered himself Grogu’s buir for a long time. And this … this means he still thinks that. With one final squeeze to your shoulder, Din turned and left the cockpit to keep from making the sound that threatened to leave his throat. Father. And she just… kept it going. The night hadn’t been what he’d expected, and neither had the conversation, but as Din climbed down the ladder with shaking hands, he realized that it had been exactly what he’d needed. Now I know. Now she knows that I know. He knew you wouldn’t come after him, and so after a few minutes of pacing in a small circle in front of the cot - and the cubby where the kid was sleeping, swaddled in blankets - Din turned the lights off and began the ritual of removing his armor for the night. What else can I do?

 He used the fresher, splashing water on his face, and then returned to his cot, sliding in beneath the blanket and staring up into the darkness. You’d given him a lot to think about when it came to Grogu and his relationship with the kid, but you’d told him just as much about yourself, too. That night, the last thing Din thought of before he went to sleep was you, and the honest expression that had filled your eyes the entire time you’d spoken. 

 --- 

If you want to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know - it’s open.

Magnetic/Din Djarin Tag List :@the-blind-assassin-12 @pheedraws @alraedesigns @malionnes @deceiverofgodss @thisisparadisemylove @siegfriedkingsglaive @valkblue @hehe-oof @jynrumbly @psychedelic-star  @nuttyenthusiastdetective @gingib @bitchylittleredhead @littlemissoblivious @misguidedandbeguiled @cannedsoupsucks @greatcircle79 @thisshipwillsail316 @mandosmistress @tanzthompson​

[sheron-c]

XiSang: Awakening

(The Untamed/MDZS, ~2.2k, XiSang post-canon, sometime in the future, and mostly just pining) The solemn stone alleyways of the Unclean Realm seemed deserted as Lan Xichen made his way through one familiar turn followed by another, in search of the one man he wanted to see before his departure.

Huaisang had disappeared from sight over an hour ago, coinciding with the start of the groups of cultivators setting off for a hunt in the areas surrounding Qinghe. With the late afternoon sun shining on the final day of the cultivator conference in the Unclean Realm, and most cultivators enjoying themselves outside of the sect proper, Xichen had only encountered some servants on his way to the gardens. They bowed and let him pass undisturbed.

As he quietly approached the garden entrance in the innermost space of the Nie sect, a tall shadow separated from the nearby stone gray wall. The bearded man uncrossed his arms and bowed a respectful greeting, but his stare at Xichen was direct and questioning his presence here. Xichen instantly placed him as Yan Ming, a man most loyal to the Nie sect, and a leader of the group of disciples who accompanied Huaisang to official events. Xichen tended to think of him as Huaisang's bodyguard, whether or not the role was formal.

Xichen bowed his head in greeting before asking after his query. "Huaisang wasn't with the hunting party. I thought I might find him here."

This garden was secluded and most outsiders would not have been allowed into the private areas. Huaisang however had made a point of mentioning that Xichen was welcome to treat the Unclean Realm as his home during the week's stay. Huaisang had, in fact, looked quite pleased with each new freedom Xichen allowed himself as his guest. And thus compelled by the obvious warm regard shown his way, Xichen had visited the sect's library and browsed the lengthy tomes there, and stopped by the training grounds and observed a portion of the new training regiment conducted by one of the saber-wielding sect elders.

Busy with the duties of the conference host, Huaisang had not accompanied him, but every once in a while Xichen would catch glimpses of him in the periphery, always speaking with this servant or that about arrangements, and yet always having an encouraging nod for Xichen when their paths crossed, spurring him on to be welcome, to feel at ease.

Making sure the event ran smoothly was an obvious goal, but Xichen felt a personal touch in the way he was being treated. No detail was too unimportant. Nothing was out of place in his elegant quarters, adorned with landscape tapestries and his favourite jasmine incense, nor in the meals that were served throughout the day, not in the evening entertainment. Some of the music performed by the entertainers even held common roots with the melodies from Gusu, and Xichen found it very pleasing to the ear. Huaisang had tried very hard to please him.

If Xichen had been a different man, he might have read it as an attempt to get in his good graces after a difficult year. As it was, he saw only the effort to show that Huaisang was capable, and that he still held Xichen in high regard. Not everything was resolved between them since the events of the Guanyin Temple, but they had moved past the worst of it after some tearful conversations. Xichen chose to trust Huaisang's intentions now and made as much clear upon arrival to Qinghe. His good will was subsequently rewarded by being welcomed more as a beloved family member than a visitor from another sect.

Xichen-ge flowed well off Huaisang's lips and Xichen once more smiled to hear it.

Although no cultivator conference ever went down without heated arguing, somehow they had gotten through this turn with decorum. With a little bit of ingenious planning, Huaisang had satisfied even the grumbling old men used to far more opulence than the austere spaces of Qinghe. So when the conference had wound down and the willing cultivators were offered the opportunity to hunt in the areas surrounding Qinghe, it was a perfect finishing stroke to a brilliant week in which Nie Huaisang had shown the cultivation world what he was capable off in the diplomatic sphere.

Now the man himself was nowhere to be found, and Xichen had a hunch he would be hiding from his guests in one place in particular. As a visitor in days long past, Xichen would often hear complains from Mingjue that the young brother had once more escaped to the gardens and his birds. How much of that young boy remained in the man he knew now, Xichen had yet to see.

He waited while Yan Ming assessed his trustworthiness, before allowing him through an alcove into the exquisite lush garden warded of behind the wall. Teeming with a variety of plants, it seemed at first at odds with the restraint of the surrounding grey stone, before the unity and order made itself apparent. The large rectangular space was full of greenery, tall shrubs harmoniously giving way to picturesque rock formations, and several birds adding a chirping melody from overhead in the branches of a tall tea tree in the center that gave shade to the entire garden.

But the scenery wasn't what drew Xichen's eye. In the very middle of the garden was a human-sized wooden swing, suspended from a sturdy branch of the tea tree. In the garden swing, the young leader of the Nie sect lay innocently sleeping. His head lay on one bent elbow and his fan had nearly fallen out of the other slack hand.

Affection seized Xichen's chest so powerfully that for a moment he couldn't move.

Yan Ming made as if to wake his sect leader, but Xichen quickly motioned for him to stay behind, pressing a finger to his own lips to signal silence. The man gave him a dubious look, but their relative positions in the cultivation world were such that he allowed Xichen to do as he liked, in the absence of any threat to Huaisang.

Xichen approached the bench with silent steps, observing the man laying there carefully. Huaisang had indeed worked hard to make this cultivator conference a success, and he'd planned it almost entirely on his own. It was no wonder he found himself without energy after such a draining week. Even when Xichen stood right next to him, Huaisang didn't wake.

Xichen smiled, as an idea came to him. Crouching in front of the swing, he went to take the boots off first. One boot, then the other, he freed Huaisang's feet from the confinement, then very carefully and slowly pulled his legs up to the swing so he could rest more comfortably. Huaisang shifted slightly in his sleep, which had Xichen freeze in his movements, but in the end did not wake up. Xichen then took the wrist of the one hand that had slid down and tucked it in closer to the man's chest.

He admired his own handiwork, studying the other man. Asleep, Huaisang looked younger, though Xichen could never again see him as that carefree boy that used to get in trouble at the Cloud Recesses along with Wei Wuxian. Too much time had come and gone, and they'd both gone through a great deal. Still, as he looked into that familiar face, eyes tracing the elegant features, the sweeping dark lashes and delicate mouth, he couldn't help reaching out with a hand and brushing his hair once, tenderly moving the stray dark strands back from Huaisang's face.

Afterwards, Xichen rose briskly. His heart beat rapidly. He walked back to where Yan Ming observed the scene with an inscrutable look, and motioned for the man to follow. They left the garden courtyard in silence.

"Let him sleep," Xichen requested when they wouldn't be overheard. "There's no need to disturb him. I can wait in the study until Huaisang wakes on his own." Finding the path back would be easy, he had spent plenty of time in Qinghe to know his way around the Unclean Realm. He would of course delay his departure until they had a chance to say their goodbyes. It seemed impossible to leave without speaking with Huaisang at least once more.

After a moment, Yan Ming nodded. "Zewu-jun, do you require anything brought to you?"

"Just a brush with ink, and paper would be good," Xichen said. "I will write some letters."

Before departing the peaceful gardens, he couldn't help one last look back to where Huaisang slept on, in the tree shade. The moment seemed to stretch with delicious languor until he pulled himself away.

***

Nie Huaisang found himself needlessly straightening his hair and clothing one more time as he strode briskly towards the private study where, after asking around, he expected Xichen to be waiting for him.

Falling asleep the way he had was bad enough on its own, let alone when it meant that his most important guest had to wait around. He'd been so tired after the sleepless night that he had simply lay down on the garden swing for a moment to shut his eyes, not even thinking to let the servants know to wake him, and it had turned into several wasted hours. Someone had removed his shoes while he'd been asleep.

His steps slowed as he approached the study. Yan Ming was leaning against one of the columns outside the door, arms crossed, ostensibly guarding the entrance. He nodded to his sect leader when Huaisang indicated with a motion of the head and a raised eyebrow his silent question of whether his guest was inside. The door to the study was open to let the humid summer air circulate, and Huaisang paused on the threshold.

Xichen was sitting at one of the wooden tables, a brush in hand and his attention on the papers before him. Leaning one hand against the door frame, Huaisang studied his profile. His back was straight and the way he inclined his head held the kind of elegance that Huaisang would envy in another man. In Xichen it just made him sigh. The movements of his fan slowed to a halt as he simply observed the man in silence for several drawn out moments, as if to memorize him.

Xichen was writing something, possibly a letter, and his mouth moved a little as he mouthed the occasional word to himself, lost in thought. Huaisang sighed wistfully again, unconscious he was doing it until he heard a quiet snort behind him. His eyes flickered to Yan Ming and found the man watching him, arms crossed and a knowing look on his face. Face growing unexpectedly hot, Huaisang resumed fanning himself, eyes cutting away to Xichen again. Thankfully, the man hadn't heard their near-silent exchange.

Huaisang motioned for Yan Ming to follow him around the corner, and only then spoke low enough not to be overheard. "Can you check with the kitchen, see if there is any of that loose-leaf tea from Gusu left?" He hesitated, adding, "And maybe those biscuits we got as a gift from Lanling the other day? Have those brought as well."

The man nodded and left, and Huaisang appreciated his quiet discretion. Yan Ming may have had things he wanted to say, but he obeyed all the same, which was all Huaisang asked. He thought back to his cherished guest, enjoying a quiet moment in the study. During the conference, Xichen had been a steady voice of reason. He had to be at least as tired as Huaisang felt himself, and he had seemed relaxed and peaceful just then, as he sat writing his letters; it would be a shame to disturb him. By the time Yan Ming returned with a tray of a steaming tea pot and two small tea cups, as well as the biscuits laid out on a plate, Huaisang had thoroughly convinced himself not to intrude on the peaceful atmosphere in the study.

He picked off the second cup and set it aside on the nearby stone railing. It wouldn't be needed. "Bring that to him, please," he nodded towards the rest of the tray.

Yan Ming gave him an odd look. "You won't be taking tea with Zewu-jun?"

Huaisang sighed, and almost startled at what emotion had spurred it, amazed to recognize it within himself. It seemed his foolish heart still held on to such things; he could not deny the longing nature of that sigh. "Best not to disturb him when he is so peaceful, isn't it?"

"I am sure the Lan sect leader would appreciate the company," Yan Ming argued, looking at him with great significance in his expression.

"Oh, just bring him the tea!" Huaisang motioned for him to go with the closed fan. The last thing he needed was his sect members gossiping about Xichen. It would affect his reputation. Huaisang's reputation wasn't anything remarkable these days, but he was ever so conscious of how highly regarded Zewu-jun was, and how he didn't want to jeopardize that among his own men. He turned to leave. "I'll be in my rooms. Bring him only when he asks about me." If he even would.

Yan Ming looked ready to protest, and so Huaisang left before he would get a chance to be convinced otherwise. He'd brought so much trouble to Xichen that leaving him be in a peaceful moment was the least he could do.

If his unrepentant eyes cut away for one final look at Xichen and another wistful sigh betrayed him, nobody had to know.

***************** TBC? To be honest, I did write half of the second part to this, where they actually get to the kissing, but for now, I think this can be read self-contained.

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING ch 54

WARNING: This chapter contains brief mentions of gore and themes that some readers may find disturbing or alarming. 

Nenani could not stop thinking about the strange boy in the tree. What did he mean that she smelled like fire? They all had been sitting around a fire the night before, so should they not all smell like fire? Why only her? Or did he mean that he could smell her magic? Did magic have a smell? And if Haiyer did have magic, as the stranger boy insisted, why had he not bloomed yet? Had her mother put a seal on him as well? No, that did not make sense at all. Their mother ran from Aidus out of fear that he would kill Haiyer for not having magic.

She suddenly had a lot of questions for Maevis once they got back to the castle. And perhaps a few for her mother as well.

They did encounter a number of other bodies as they walked, forever sleeping among the tangled roots, but they did not stop to inspect them as they had the others. Keral’s eyes studied them as they passed, but he kept a steady pace that Farris matched. The kitchen master did not even look at them, and Nenani was growing concerned that he might find them upsetting. There wasn’t much Farris could not face, and the sheer practicality of his manner made it all the more worrying to Nenani. She hated the idea of him being upset. Not mad, she was quite accustomed to that. But the idea of Farris being upset was disconcerting. His eyes seemed to dart away the moment a body came into view, his shoulders tensing up, and there was a subtle shift in his breathing. He didn’t want to see them. 

She couldn’t blame him.

 ………

It was barely an hour passed mid-day when they finally came across a road. It was made of white and grey gravel, pounded flat over years of heavy use, with neatly spaced gouges down the center marking the path of cart wheels. The road looked like a long pale scar carved into the forest, cutting through copses of trees that had stood hundreds of years before there was ever a road. Ten minutes following it and they happened upon the first gate.

Two obelisk-like pillars stood sentry on either side of the road with an ornate iron gate strung between them. The metal bars had been shaped and pounded into elaborate twists and curves. Though it was clearly meant to be a display of wealth, there was something dominating and commanding about it.

Atop each of the obelisks were marbled granite spheres with trees carved into them. Keral rearded the gate with a scrutinizing eye. 

“For a man with the reputation for being very hospitable, his garden gate sure don’t look it.”

“Doesn't matter the man’s reputation,” Farris replied. “All gates are meant to keep folks out. Be a lot more suspicious if it looked more welcoming. Besides all that, a gate means we’ve made it. So we can get on with the rest of this madness and get back to the castle.”

The gates themselves were locked tight by a severe-looking padlock, but Keral still gave it an experimental jiggle that sent the iron works screeching and moaning in protest. A few moments later, as though having rung a bell, a figure emerged from behind a bend in the road. He walked quickly, but his short stature and portly middle made his walk more of a waddle. And if the flushed complexion and puffing cheeks were any indication, he was not very pleased. His eyes looked between Farris and Keral’s faces and then to Jae and Nenani, who both were peeking out from behind the brothers’ heads. His eye narrowed and he flung his arm out to his right in a manic gesture.

“Deliveries are to be made at the red gate,” the man said, waving his arm. “How many times must we tell you bloody...”

The man paused, suddenly taking note of Keral’s coat and its color. A little of the blood in his cheeks drained away. Keral’s easy stance straightened and his muscles and tendons tightened as he assumed a more commanding presence.

“Deliveries?” he asked, tilting his head curiously. “We aren’t here to deliver anythin’. We’re in need of some assistance as it happens.”

The man swallowed thickly.

“W-well, if you’re needing food, you’ll have to come back later,” the man said. “Alms are only distributed on Fridays. And His Lordship isn’t in residence just now.”

“I know he ain’t here. And we’re not looking for alms either,” Keral said. “My name is Keral Athair, Captain of His Majesty’s Rangers and I’m here to claim quarters for myself and my companions.”

The man balked, and a condescending scoff was just at his lips when his brain reminded it whom he was speaking to and he disguised it behind a cough. He readjusted his stance to match Keral’s, but his shorter stature and more rotund figure did not quite make the effect. “To claim quarters? Sir?”

“Aye. I’m sure you're familiar with the practice, ain’t ye? A man in service to His Majesty may call upon the lords of the kingdom to – ”

“Yes, yes. I am aware, sir, of what claiming quarters means. We just don’t see many rangers up this way and so it has been quite some time since we’ve had...the honor to host,” he said. “And may I ask why you’re here to grace us with your presence?”

“On business for His Majesty,” Keral replied and supplied no more.

Nenani watched the exchange with a mixture of confusion and anxiety. She had never seen anyone talk to Keral the way the sentry did. In her experience, he commanded a great deal of respect. It was a new proposition to witness anything to the contrary. And if Farris’s expression was any sort of a tell, he felt similarly. She wondered if it would be better for him to say who they and Jae were. If a captain of the Rangers did not merit an immediate invitation inside, then perhaps the king’s adopted son and the two heirs to Silvaara would. But Keral remained tight-lipped.

The sentry looked very uncomfortable and ill equipped to know what to do, and it was clearly annoying Keral, who snorted with impatience.

“So then might we be brought up to the house?” he asked shortly. “I’ll need to make use of your falconer to send the king a message. It is of some importance.”

The last part was said with an exasperated inflection. Finally the man seemed to understand well enough, and he stumbled forward to open the gate. But his expression was curiously dour. The iron gates were pushed aside with the screaming of their hinges as the man stepped to the side and waved them in.

“Follow me, if you please.”

The sullen-faced man said nothing as he led them down the long drive. There was a stark contrast between the trees inside the gated property and those outside. While winter had ravaged the foliage of color and leaves, the manicured and pruned trees of the Brennan estate looked as though it were still midsummer.

They were lush and full of leaves, and there was only a splash of autumn colors here or there. The rest were all a verdant green as though suspended in perpetual summer.

“Does he have men tie the leaves back onto the tree?” Jae whispered to Keral. The ranger’s eyes remained steady and he only grunted noncommittally.

“Lord Brennan must be mighty proud of gardeners,” Farris said to their guide. “To be able to keep color like that in this cold.”

The sentry’s head shifted as he answered. “His Lordship takes great pride in his family’s estate and heritage. Maintaining Blythe trees takes a delicate hand and firm knowledge for them to keep evergreen.”

“So it’s not their natural state fer ‘em to be green like that this time ‘a year?” Farris asked.

“Those trees were cultivated by His Lordship’s ancestor more than eight hundred years ago,” he said. “It is a symbol of his house and is believed that so long as the Blythe trees stand, so shall the house of Brennan. So yes, sir, great pains are taken to keep the trees healthy and prospering. Their coloration is a consequence of the superior care they are given.”

Nenani was surprised at just how long it took for them to reach the house. The road took them though two more locked gates before the house came into view at last. Even then, it still took the group another ten minutes to transverse the long drive and arrive at the great stone entryway of the house.

It was easily the largest house she had ever seen. It wasn’t a castle in any sense of the word, but a grand house.Tan and dark stone stacked together in a very pleasing way to make tall strong walls topped with sloping roofs. A single large dormer overlooked the property. For a house, it had many windows and did not appear to have been built with defense in mind, unlike the Vhashallan castle. A vast meadow spread out behind the manor, and she could see the mountains in the distance.

And yet, the nagging voice in her head was buzzing again, much in the same way it had when they had first ventured into the forest. But she was quick to shake the feeling away. This house belonged to Lord Brennan. Her recollection of him was that he seemed very amiable and friendly. Her mother had taken such an immediate liking to him at the dinner. But his house, much like the forest that surrounded it, did not feel welcoming at all.

But then, she had to admit, how something looked upon first meeting did not always reflect the truth of it. She had experienced such a phenomenon time and time again since coming to Vhasshal. Farris and Keral were both such examples. And they were not in any state for being overly critical. So she ignored the little nagging voice. Looking to Farris and then to Keral, she felt secure enough to know there was nothing to worry about. It was nerves, she told herself. She was merely eager to return home.

……………….

A tall, thin woman giant waited for them at the front door. The sentry rushed ahead of them to whisper something in her ear, and she had to bend herself over for him to reach. Her expression did not change, and she merely nodded.

“I shall take it from here, then,” she said to him. “Please return to your post.”

In stark contrast to the sentry, the housekeeper was calm and composed, as though she had been expecting them all along. She was dressed all in a mottled black and dark green fabric and wore her large, hawkish nose proudly. Her small brown eyes stared down along its length. It was almost comical the way she held her head so far back, as though she were going to sneeze at any moment and wanted to be prepared.

“I do apologize, my lords,” she said. “But His Lordship is away at court on His Majesty’s invitation. But the hospitality of this house is at your disposal. I am afraid, though, you have caught us in a bit of an awkward time, however. Most of the rooms are under renovation and are not decent enough for occupation just yet. I have a few small rooms upstairs we put you up in.”

Keral did not meet the woman’s eye but instead gazed around at the house behind her. “We don’t need nothing fancy. A single room will do for all of us. And I’ll be needing to speak with your falconer as soon as possible.”

She dipped into a polite curtsy. “I shall send for him immediately. We also have accommodations more appropriate for the humans, sir, if you wish.”

Keral shook his head. “No. They’re stayin’ with us, ma’am, thanks all the same.”

The woman’s lips pursed tightly. “Of course, sir. I only meant that...”

“They stay with us. We don’t plan on intruding for very long and they’re tired from the journey. If you could show us to a room, we’ll sort it all out ourselves.”

The woman dipped again and made a vague gesture to follow her.

Through the main entry, they spilled out into the atrium. The floors were a dark-colored wood, polished to a high sheen, as were the walls. Marble pillars drew the eye to the ornate wooden ceiling and the carved stone statuettes at the corners, like little stone spies. Tapestries were hung along each wall leading to the main staircase. It too was made of the same dark wood. However, the housekeeper led them down a smaller corridor off to the side, a servant’s entrance, and they followed her to a much more humble set of narrow stairs that led them to a modest guest room. There were three beds lined up along a wall close to the only window. There was a small table on one end of the room and a simple fireplace at the other.

“I shall send the maid up to light the fire for you gentlemen,” she said. Farris went to one of the beds and helped Nenani down from his pack before slinging it from his shoulders. Keral did the same with Jae but did not pulled Haiyer from his pocket. “Shall I send up some supper for you as well, my lord?”

“You’re most kind, ma’am,” Keral replied. “If it’s not too much trouble, could ye have some brought up fer the humans as well?”

She gave the smallest of smiles and inclined her head. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“My name is Miss Embrews, if you should need anything else. Once the falconer has arrived I shall send a footman to inform you.”

“I would appreciate it,” he replied. And with that, Miss Embrews turned and shut the door behind her. Her footsteps faded away and only then did Keral’s stance relax. He turned to his brother. “That was odd.”

Farris snorted. “That sentry was a prickly lil’ bastard.”

“He was,” Jae agreed, bouncing experimentally on the bed before flopping back. “Why did you tell them who we were? Wouldn’t that have...I dunno, put more of a fire under their arse?”

Keral’s eyes wandered around the room, taking in all the details. “Hm. Eh, might have. But I have a funny feeling. Better play it safe and not say anythin’. Fer now.”

Nenani’s ear tingled. Keral’s senses and intuitions were sharp and well honed. If he was picking up on something just as she was, perhaps he was right and they needed to proceed carefully. Lord Brennan may be genial and kind, but that was no guarantee that his servants were anything of the sort.

“It feels weird here,” Nenani admitted. “The forest felt that way too. Like...something saying we shouldn’t be here.”

Farris nodded. “Aye. Have to agree with ye two. Somethin’s off. Don’t smell right.”

Keral had been walking the room, assessing it and poking at the walls experimentally. He kicked one of the bed’s legs and upon Farris’s comment, he spun on his heels to face his brother, eyes alight with inspiration. “Ye know what it reminds me of, Farris? When Mum would get worked up over something and she’d spend two days washing and polishing everything in the house until it sparkled.”

Farris’s eyes widened. “Fuckin’ hell, yer right. Even smells like it.”

“Everything’s too clean,” Keral said. He looked around the room again with new eyes. “Even the castle ain’t this clean.”

“If there’s no one living here,” Jae said, pushing himself onto his elbows. “Doesn’t it make sense that it’d be clean?”

“Might be. But ye remember when Warren had the Queen’s apartments renovated before the weddin’?” Keral asked. “All the hullabaloo and all?”

Jae nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“Ye remember how filthy the place was all the while? With all the supplies and dirt being tracked everywhere from the workers?”

Jae’s lazy expression widened with clarity. “Yeah. I do remember that.”

Keral nodded. “Aye. She says they’re renovatin’ most ‘a the rooms? Where’s the evidence of it? Where’s the supplies? Where are the workers? The dirt?”

Farris made a displeased rumble. “We need to send that message out quick and get outta here.”

Keral nodded and reached into his pocket to fish Haiyer out and set him down next to Jae. The little boy sprang up to his feet and spent several moments happily celebrating his freedom by frog hopping in circles around the other boy.

“I’ll send the message and we can rest here for the night. Just gotta keep our eyes open fer anythin’ off. And we’ll move on tomorrow with some supplies and maybe a cart. Whatever they’re doin’ up this way, I’ll need more than a funny feeling to inspect further. My position gives me a lot of freedom to dig around, but I’ll need more that to do much of anything. Right now at least.”

“He was really nice at the dinner,” Nenani said. “Mama really seemed to like him.”

“No surprise,” Farris said. “He has a good reputation at court. The king likes him.”

“Haven’t ever spoken with him myself,” Keral said. “But he always seemed a friendly enough man. Not one to show off or bring attention to his person. An odd trait in a courtier.”

Jae snorted. “You mean like Colem does?”

“No one does it like Colem,” Keral laughed. “But say what you want of the man. Personally, I find him to be quite amusing.”

Jae glared up at the ranger. “You only say that because you know how much he annoys me.”

Keral grinned but did not deny the accusation. “Believe it or not, there’s a lot more to that loony bastard than ye might think.”

Jae looked as though he wanted to reply, but they were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Farris, who had sat down on the bed, reached out to coax Nenani closer to him. Keral motioned for Jae and Haiyer to remain where they were and then turned towards the door. He cracked it open and asked, “Yes?”

“I’m here to build the fire, milord,” said a young and high pitched voice. Keral pulled the door open to reveal a young maid with thin mousy brown hair tucked up under a simple cap. She, like the housekeeper, was very thin, with a hawkish nose. It was painfully obvious there were shared relations. She hurried inside, awkwardly carrying a load of firewood and some flint. “It won’t be but a moment, milords.”

She made quick work of setting the logs inside, but as she worked with the flint, striking it repeatedly to bring up a spark, her eyes darted to the side every so often. Jae, who sat on the bed nearest to her, watched and did not miss the quick glances his way or the pursed lips. Looking to Keral, he shared a bemused look. The ranger only gave a small nod and Jae got up from his spot, taking Haiyer’s hand, and they moved further up the bed and closer to Farris.

The maid rose to her feet as the fire began to burn properly and she gave a small bow. “The footman should be here shortly with your food, milords.”

Keral nodded. “Thank you.”

As the girl departed, a tall middle-aged man crested the stairs carrying a tray. The maid stepped gingerly aside as he moved into the room, and she gave him an amused grin before dashing off back down the narrow stairs. The same smile graced the footman’s face, but dropped the moment the maid was out of sight and he turned to the room. He sat the tray upon the table and turned to Keral.

“Will there be anything else, milord?”

“No, this will do fine. Any news of the falconer?”

“He lives in a cottage away from the house, sir. But Miss Embrews has sent for him. Shouldn’t be much longer, sir.”

Though displeased, Keral nodded. “Good.”

“If it pleases milord, I could take whatever message you may have and meet him halfway with it.”

“No, I will wait for him. Thanks all the same.”

The footman looked disappointed but gave a short nod and quitted the room. The food he had brought consisted of an iron pot and two bowls with a loaf of bread. Farris went over to it, taking the bread in his hands and scrutinizing it.

“Their ovens run too hot. Bottom’s burned,” he said as he dropped it back onto the tray. “I’d kick Quin in the arse fer tryin’ to serve that t’ anyone.”

“Not every baker can be as amazing as yers, Farris,” Keral replied, looking at it for himself. “Looks perfectly fine to me.”

“Say the man who eats dirt,” Farris quipped back. He pulled the lid off the pot. Inside was a cream colored soup with various vegetables and hunks of pale meat. “Looks under seasoned.”

Keral rolled his eyes.

“Gods forgive anyone who under-seasons food around you,” Keral grunted. “Just ladle it out and complain later.”

Farris merely grunted and took up one of the bowls to ladle in the soup. As he filled the first bowl and went to grab the second, a sudden flash of gold light filled the room, startling the lot of them.

“Wait!” cried a familiar voice. An orb of transparent gold hovered over Keral’s head, making quick circles around him. Startled, Keral shied away from it but frowned when recognition hit him.

“Ellis!” Haiyer cried out in delight, getting to his feet and rushing to the end of the bed. “You came back!”

Annoyed, Keral resisted the urge to swat at the fairy. “Oh, back already are we? Where’s that mage ‘a yer’s lass? Don’t suppose he’ll be turnin’ himself in, eh?”

Her voice was frantic and quick and no one could make out what she was saying. She flew away to fly laps around Farris’s head.

“Gods piss on it, girl!” Farris barked. “We can’t understand a word. Slow down.”

The fairy’s golden light took on a red hue as though manifesting her frustration. She flew to the soup pot and slammed the lid back onto the pot and stood on top of it.

“Don’t eat the soup!” she said, breathless.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Keral asked, the annoyance turning to anger.

“Poisoned?” Farris asked, his expression matching his brother’s.

“No!” she said. “People! There are people in it!”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

[yourdailykitsch]

Taylor Kitsch, an actor known for his roles in such Hollywood productions as "Battleship: Battle for Earth" and "X-Men Origins: Wolverine", is starring in the new Canal + series "Defeated". In an interview, the actor reveals what he remembers from history lessons, what connects the series' story with the modern world. He also explains why, according to him, every person should visit the former concentration camp of Auschwitz-Birkenau.

Taylor Kitsch started his adventure in Hollywood as a "hottie" - an actor associated with a great body and beautiful face. All because the first role that brought the popularity of the former model Abercrombie and Fitch was the character of naughty lover Tim Riggins in the cult series "Friday Night Lights".

Kitsch did not avoid tough moments in his career - for example, when the $ 250 million John Carter, his first such big role, suffered a disgusting box office failure. But the Canadian knew this taste already - after coming to the USA, he was homeless for some time before finding a job.

For years, he has been successfully playing in big titles and alongside big names. Oliver Stone ("Savages"), Ryan Murphy ("Heart Reflex"), roles alongside Chadwick Boseman ("21 Bridges"), Michael Shannon ("Waco"), Michael Keaton ("American Assassin") and Rihanna ("Battlefield ), the HBO series "Detective," starring Vince Vaughn and Rachel McAdams. Meanwhile, Kitsch finds his way to charity, especially for children.

From 1 January 2021, we will watch him in  "Defeated" . There he plays the role of Brooklyn policeman Max McLoughlin, who in the summer of 1946 is sent to Berlin, which is divided into four spheres of influence. Its task is to support the emerging police structures in the rubble. But upholding order in a space of brutality and lawlessness and clashing political forces - French, American, British and Soviet - will not be easy. Especially since Max does not know that he is used as a pawn in the game to open the Cold War, and somewhere in the maze of Berlin rubble lurks his brother Moritz, a self-proclaimed Nazi hunter who will stop at nothing ...

In addition to Kitsch, the main roles will be: Nina Hoss (local policewoman Elsie Garten), Sebastian Koch (criminal known as Engelmacher, Al Capone of post-war Berlin), Logan Marshall-Green (Max's missing brother, Moritz) and Michael C. Hall (consul Tom Franklin ).

The "Defeated" takes place in Berlin, right after the war. When you decided to play Max McLoughlin, did you have any knowledge of what the situation in Germany was like then?

The seres begins six months after the end of the war. I have the impression that this is a moment that is missing in the educational process - we learn a lot about the war itself, but about what happened immediately after it, for example, I had no idea. The plot of "Defeated" is made up, but our director Måns Mårlind (co-creator of the hit series "Bridge over the Sund") constructed it on the basis of many true stories. I have the impression that fact and fiction are perfectly balanced here. In the process of preparation, he gave us many documentaries and articles that helped to build an idea about the climate of the city from 1946. Discovering the next details of the story was fascinating for me.

Your work gives him a chance to get to know the world, its history, extraordinary places and people. Do you appreciate it?

This is the best part of my job! With each new production, I have a chance to immerse myself in its world and get to know it thoroughly. It could be a war movie like "Survivor", a story about a cult leader ("Waco"), the world of a detective ("Detective") or the beginning of the AIDS epidemic, as in "Heart Reflex". When I was an aspiring actor learning to act in New York, I never imagined that I would be able to live and work like this. Train with Navy Seals or meet Larry Kramer [American playwright, writer and activist for LGBT rights - ed.]. I am very lucky!

Prague, where you shot "Defeated", is a cult city for many Polish filmmakers, due to the famous FAMU school, but also a popular, atmospheric excursion destination. How was your time there?

Lovely. He will refer again to the privilege of working like this: six months in such a wonderful place, it is almost immoral! The only downside was the tight schedule so I didn't discover all the nooks and crannies that I had on the agenda. Fortunately, my driver, a guy in his fifties, was a great-grandfather from Prague, very talkative, and from him I learned the most interesting things - stories about the adventures of my ancestors and friends! Besides, in Prague, if you want to take a history lesson, you go out twenty meters in front of the front door - and it's already getting started. We shot in the summer, before Covid. We had an international team - Czechs, Swedes, Russians, Germans, French ... In use - not only behind the scenes, but also on the set - several languages ​​simultaneously. Really, the only problem for me was my diet. Flour, red meat, stews ... I don't really like to eat like that. At least the beer was delicious, really amazing! In general, I really liked the culture of drinking and eating outside, these gardens, the community ... wonderful thing.

Due to the fact that the film was made in Europe, you had the opportunity to see places related to the war with your own eyes. What made the greatest impression on you? I was lucky, although it is not quite an adequate term that during the shooting we managed to visit the site of the former Auschwitz camp. Of course I knew, I had read about concentration camps before, but this direct contact with the site was invaluable, it gave me a clear idea of ​​what happened. It is difficult for a man to believe what he sees around him. He's standing right next to him, yet he doesn't quite believe it. The space made a huge impression on me. I did not realize how huge Birkenau was, how perfectly organized the entire extermination was. This architecture, the surrounding houses, barracks. Someone designed it, thought over the function down to the smallest detail, and during my visit, I had the chance to trace how and where the whole process took place, step by step. I was standing there and it felt like I was choking, my whole body ached. Such experiences helped me a lot to bring my character to life. Max did not survive the camp himself, but he appears in a place marked by this tragedy, the tragedy of World War II, it affects him. I wish everyone could visit this place because it is a life changing experience.

Movies set in the past can be a perfect mirror for what is here and now. What analogies do you see between that reality and today's world? - Division, the dictate of fear, fear of the unknown, of otherness. Different ways to work through your trauma. These are all threads that connect the "Defeated" space with our reality. For my character, especially the experience of trauma resulting from family history, from the relationship with my brother, becomes the key. They both underwent a similar shock, but their reactions were completely different. I found it very interesting. Max is still hoping for a change, Moritz, as the saying goes, "the platform is gone". They have a completely different perception of one and the same event. Again, it is also a very contemporary thread - one event, situation, and extreme different opinions about it.

Your hero comes from Brooklyn, after you came from Canada, you spent a lot of time in New York. What is so special about the atmosphere of this city that gives it such a "mythical" status? For me, it has always been, I fully agree! Scorsese's "Streets of Poverty" has always been such a cinematic quintessence of New York, with its excellent Keitel and DeNiro. This film is set in the 1940s, which is the present day of Max. He was my point of reference in terms of the accent. Those years were difficult, the inhabitants struggled to make ends meet, and that also had to affect my character's character. Besides, New York has a chic character, New Yorkers feel proud of their roots. It's also something that Max defines.

And you had to transfer this New York feeling to Berlin ... ... to the razed Berlin, which for Max becomes, in a way, another space of trauma, personal again, but this time much more intense.

For this role, you had to master not only a Brooklyn accent, but also the German language. It was difficult?

I had an amazing accent teacher from Berlin, Simone. My rock! Fortunately, Max is an American who speaks German poorly and not a German, because if I had to play a German, I would have had a nervous breakdown! German is a damn hard language, especially for someone who wasn't exposed to such sounds when growing up. I learned everything phonetically. Sometimes I was "suspended" during the scene and then I was saved by Nina [Hoss, a great German acting and screen partner of Kitsch - ed.]. In my career, I have had to play with a South African, Texas, New York accent ... I've learned that there is no such thing as an optimal effect, someone is always dissatisfied. I focus on the vision agreed with the creators and I stick to it. Language is an amazing link between the actor and the protagonist, gives a unique insight into his state of mind and view of the world. I definitely prefer to play the character with an accent than to speak as usual. It's a great transformation tool. The arrangement of the lips, the appearance of the face, and the term are changing. In "Waco" my character, the guru of the sect David Koresh, had an unnaturally high, soft voice, which immediately made the viewer feel differently.

We associate you with American hits, but you are, like Ryan Reynolds or Ryan Gosling, Canadian. Do you feel like an American, or is Canada a state of mind after all?

I started my adventure with the USA when I was 20, I came to school. Now I'm forty, so I've spent half my life here. Madness! Over time, I have grown into this space, I have settled down and I feel at home. I'm talking to you from my home in Austin, Texas. But at the same time, I'll always be Canadian. I go there often, visiting my family and familiar places. Maybe I'll go back one day, who knows?

You've had moments in your career that turned from a promise of triumph to failure, such as the high-budget John Carter, who failed at the box office. Do you have something that you already know: "I'm avoiding this"? I don't have things that, as a rule, I don't do or know that I will never do. But there are some that I don't like. These include radical weight changes. My dear friend must have gained twenty-five kilos for a small, independent film. The first week was great because you eat what you want, then depression started, joint problems, sugar jumping ... I never put my back, but I lost weight. I lost a dozen kilos for the role in "Waco", before that for the "Bang Bang Club". It's fucking hard and very exhausting, especially the older I get. My body and head hate it! Also, until Scorsese calls with some great proposal, I say: enough.

[pomrania]

Fantasy space

Spelljammer is a cool setting. Unfortunately, it was first written in 1989, for 2E D&D. I'm not going to require anyone to read old sourcebooks, even if they're really cool once you remove the old-edition-mechanics from them, so here's an overall summary of how it works. Additionally, there were some things I didn't like in "official" Spelljammer (like clerics not being to regain higher-level spells in a different crystal sphere), so it just makes sense to write out my version of things. (To clarify: everything I put here is consistent with “official” Spelljammer, to the best of my knowledge. If there is something I didn’t like, then I simply did not include it. There are also other things which I did like, but I did not include here because they were too specific for a general overview, or because I forgot.)

1. Fantasy space follows different rules than real-world space

We're not playing a sci-fi game, we're playing a fantasy game, after all. I'm putting in a brief summary of everything here, so hopefully it will make sense. Further sections give more details.

Planets happen inside wildspace, which is kind of like space-space but it isn't a vacuum. Each planetary system, with its planets and wildspace, is encased in a crystal sphere. The various crystal spheres are surrounded by the Flow, which is flammable and also prevents dimensional travel.

When in wildspace or the Flow, everything has its own air envelope; the air inside this will not vanish, but it will get used up and go bad. The larger the thing, the larger the air envelope. Large enough things have their own gravity, and the effects of its gravity reach as far as its air envelope.

2. Wildspace

Wildspace is what you get between planets. There is very little there, other than asteroids (which may or may not be inhabited), other ships, and wreckage (which may or may not have already been picked over). Most space travel happens in wildspace, because the things to travel between are closer together.

You will not die from imploding if you are thrown unprotected into wildspace. You will however probably die from suffocation once all your air has gone bad, since wildspace does not have atmosphere, but you will have some time to be rescued or find air before that happens.

3. Crystal spheres

A crystal sphere contains a planetary system. Inside of it are planets and wildspace; outside of it is the Flow.

The shell of a crystal sphere cannot be damaged by any known means. If you want to get through it, you need an opening. These openings happen naturally, and they seem to be at random. If you do not want to wait until an opening happens nearby, you can use magic to make an opening happen where you are. Sometimes this magic is built into a ship, but that makes the ship more expensive.

4. Phlogiston / the Flow

(The "proper" name is "phlogiston", but I'm going to call it "the Flow" because a) that's easier to write, b) it is synonymous in the sourcebooks, and c) I don't know how to pronounce "phlogiston".)

The Flow is what you get between different crystal spheres. It is luminous and rainbow-coloured, and also extremely flammable. If you light a fire while your ship is in the Flow, you're going to have a bad time. If you light a big fire while your ship is in the Flow, like if you're trying to cast Fireball, you are going to have a very bad time. Even if you're fireproof, and if your ship is made of things that don't catch on fire, chances are that your friends and your cargo are not also fireproof.

The Flow provides as much light as an overcast day. This is good because if you need to see, you do not want to light a candle or a torch if you enjoy not being on fire.

The Flow prevents any dimensional travel or access. If you have a Bag of Holding, you will not be able to access its contents while your ship is in the Flow. You will not be able to teleport, go ethereal, or summon creatures from other planes.

The Flow can preserve things. If you run out of breathable air while in the Flow, you go into suspended animation, and then wake back up once you have proper air. This preservation only lasts while in the Flow. Sometimes there are ships floating around in the Flow, where all the ship's air has gone bad, and everybody on board is in suspended animation. They could be there for days or months or years or decades, and nothing would change for them. If you have to be thrown off your ship and left adrift, try to have it happen while in the Flow. You will start to suffocate as your air runs out, but it will not kill you.

The Flow has its own currents. If you know them well, or are lucky, you can arrive somewhere faster than anticipated. If you make a mistake, or are unlucky, it could take you a very long time to arrive.

5. Gravity planes

If something is large enough then it will have its own gravity. "Large enough" in fantasy space is significantly smaller than you might think. Gravity points "down", instead of "towards the centre" (unless you are dealing with a spherical planet).

The larger something is, the farther its gravity will reach. If two different large objects come close enough that their gravity fields interact, then the gravity angle of the smaller object will change to match the gravity of the larger object. This can be extremely inconvenient if the two objects are ships, you're in the smaller ship, and "down" is now "sideways" and everything has fallen all over the place. Because of this, if two ships come near each other, the smaller one will generally turn so that its "down" is pointed in the same direction as the larger ship's "down".

Gravity in fantasy space is a yes-or-no kind of thing. You are either within something's gravity field, or you are weightless.

6. Air envelopes

The larger something is, the more air it carries with it. If you go in space just with your own body, you will have enough air along to survive for a little while, but not for as long as you would probably like. If you go into space with a large object like a ship, there will be a lot more air.

The air around something is called its air envelope. The size of an air envelope is the same as the size of its area of gravity, if it has a gravity field. If you can fall, then there is air available, even if that air might have gone bad. Things that are too small to have gravity still have an air envelope, but it is smaller than the air envelope of something that is large enough to have gravity.

When you breathe, you use the air in the air envelope which you are in. If the air envelope is small, then you will run out of usable air sooner than you would like. If the air envelope is large, then it will not be a problem for a long time. A ship generally has enough air to last its crew and passengers for a couple weeks or months, depending. If there are more people in an air envelope, the air will go bad faster. If there is a fire in an air envelope, the air will go bad faster.

There are ways to keep the air fresh for longer, some of which are plants and some of which are magic. It is possible to have it so that the air never needs to be replaced, but usually something goes wrong along the way.

7. Ships that travel space

"Officially" they're called spelljammers, but I just call them "ships".

a) Helms

Space is large [citation needed]. Normal ways of getting from one place to another, even very fast ways, are impractically slow when it comes to travelling in space. There are several ways of powering a ship fast enough to make space travel feasible, but helms are by far the most common. A helm gets a ship to go fast and also gets it to go where you direct it to go (which might not always be where you want it to go, but that is why navigators are a thing).

A helm is a chair with ship-go-fast magic added to it. It can be transferred between ships, which is good because it is expensive. In order to use a helm, a spellcaster sits in that chair, and that both powers the ship, and lets the spellcaster mentally direct the ship what to do. This uses up their magical energy for the day. A spellcaster can only helm a ship if they're full up on magical energy before they start.

Helms are designed so that a ship will automatically slow down from space-travel-fast when it approaches something large enough that it would hurt if they collided. You can still run into things, but it will be at a speed where you have time to try and move somewhere else if you want.

b) Ship varieties

There are many different types of ships in space. Some of them aren't able to go space-travel-fast. These are mostly used to go short distances, like to transport stuff between big ships and places where the big ships can't land, or for space combat, when nobody can go space-travel-fast anyways. These are generally smaller ships that are more agile, but they can also be larger ships where someone didn't or couldn't put in a helm.

Many ships in space look like a cross between a water-ship and a fish or insect. This is because that is cool. There is almost always an open deck, since air won't escape the envelope, so there's no reason to close everything in.

These are a couple of different things people might want in their ship, which is why there are so many different designs:

more storage space

more agile

harder to damage

more weapons

needs fewer people to crew it

able to fit into more places

able to land on ground or water

fits someone's standards of a good-looking ship

easier to repair

costs less money

((Black lives matter, and trans rights are human rights.))

((Also posted on Pillowfort, here.))

[radabom]

Arctober Day 5- Fight

This particular story involves a concept of magic I’ve always enjoyed using for myself: the concept of a being called the Elemental. For future prompts I’ll be adding in some more details about it (especially on the day for the mc’s magic, since that’ll literally just be the entirety of what the Elemental is), but for now this story has a few details about it. Hopefully you’ll be just as confused about it’s nature as the characters in this short story.

That being said, if you don’t wanna wait to learn more about it, I’m more than happy to talk more about it’s concept, how the Elemental works and what it is. Just send an ask, or reply to this post or somethin’.

This story involves Asra, Nadia, and an unnamed GN!MC. There’s no talk of romance or fluff, it’s essentially a training fight so there isn’t really any angst either.

"Keep on trying, I'm sure you'll get it. Just focus on that feeling from before, and hopefully it'll come back to you." The voice of my friend Asra told me. He and Nadia have both been trying to help me get my powers to resurface, spending a good portion of the morning with me in an empty field right behind the palace walls. A few days ago, we had been traveling and walked into an ambush of five people that got the better of us all. My powers, the minuscule little echoes of it that Asra had sensed before, came in full force when we were all threatened with our lives. It wasn't really magic, not like how Asra or Muriel or Nadia could do; it apparently wasn't normal magic at all. According to Asra, it was a similar energy to an Arcana, but not one he had ever known. After he contacted some friends from previous travels, he came to the conclusion that it was some being called "the Elemental". Unfortunately for me, not much is known about it.

"Maybe if you remembered what the presence of this 'Elemental' felt like?" Nadia's voice added in from the sidelines where both her and Asra were watching. She had on her riding uniform and Asra was wearing his everyday clothing, sash and all.

"I can't remember very clearly. The bandits came, got the jump on us, I was terrified we'd all die, and this rush of power came through me right before I blacked out. I don't remember anything else until I woke up with you guy's carrying me back to Vesuvia..." I recounted, flexing my hands in hope that something would happen. "Are you sure there's nothing written about this... thing that apparently took over my body?" I added on dejectedly, turning towards them fully.

"The only knowledge I have on it are from the few rumors I've heard from other magicians. Granted, I'm sure not all of them are true, but from the few things I've heard from trusted sources, I can say that the only person who could teach you about it is yourself, or the Elemental themself." Asra answered, him and Nadia both walking up to me after my failed attempts at trying to reuse the powers I felt before. "The elemental only resides within one person, so there's never two people with the same powers who would be able to learn from each other." He added on, giving me a supportive hand on my shoulder as I stared at the ground in contemplation.

"Do you think if I were in a fight, feeling threatened and all that, it might resurface?" I questioned, looking up at both of them for their opinions. Nadia and Asra seemed to glance at each other for a moment, hesitation palpable in their held breaths, before Nadia turned back to me.

"I suppose that might help, considering how the apparent threat is what spurred the release. But who would you even fight?" She inquired, worry lightly showing on her face.

"Well, you guys both have magic, right? Just throw whatever at me and we can see if it works!" I added on the last part enthusiastically, hoping my energy would put them at ease with the idea. To me, at least, it seemed as good an idea as any. Nadia and Asra both seemed apprehensive at best.

Asra held his breath for a moment, closing his eyes briefly in contemplation before releasing his breath and focusing back on me. "Are you sure you want to do that? We can limit our attacks to prevent any serious injuries, but if the powers don't surface you'll most likely get hurt." His tone was worried, but I knew this would probably give us the best chance. What else could I do anyways, aside from pick a fight with a stranger?

"I don't mind if I get hurt, it's at least worth the risk if it means being able to figure out these weird powers," I nodded my head in affirmation to both of them, hands on my hips before adding on, "if I'm the only one who can figure out how to use these powers, I gotta be willing to take risks to learn more about it."

So with that, Asra and Nadia moved a few paces away from me, giving us all the space for their attacks.

"Ready?" Nadia called out. I crouched down as if I was ready to catch a heavy object, and nodded.

Asra's hands began to glow at the tips, his mouth moving in a chant while Nadia watched and waited for her turn. A small ball of ice formed between Asra's palms, the ball then shifting into a bunch of mildly-pointy spikes. I suppose if they were thrown hard enough they might draw blood...

"Fuck!" I screamed as the spikes were launched at me, moving so fast I couldn't even tell where they hit me until I felt a few tiny cuts on my shoulders and thighs. I didn't even make a move to get out of the way, nor did I even have the time to focus on trying to stop the spikes.

"Are you okay?" Asra's concerned voice shouted to me. I gave a thumbs up, taking a deep breath for the next attack to focus on.

This time, Nadia's hand began to glow with flame as a tiny ball of fire flickered in one of her palms, each moving lick of flame growing in size until it was almost as big as her hand. I knew she had magical capabilities, I just never knew she could produce flames. Maybe Asra had taught her that? I questioned to myself, trying to focus on the fireball before it even got hurdled to me. Even when Nadia launched it high in the sky to fall down on me, probably to give me extra time to focus on it, I couldn't sense any telltale signs of the powers returning. I hoped, maybe, if the fireball just got a little bit closer...

The fireball came down and smacked me right in the upper chest, sending me down and away from the other two as it felt like a kick from a horse, all oxygen forced out of my lungs. "Ow..." I muttered quietly on the ground, trying to get my head to stop hurting from smacking down. I began to get up, but noticed another source of pain that was growing quite rapidly. "Ow, owowow!!" I stood up and began flailing wildly as my shirt caught on fire, burning at my flesh. I didn't even notice it when Asra sent a massive torrent of water at me, subsequently snuffing out the fire while also blasting me so far back my body slammed against the walls of the palace, my heading bashing against it's hard surface. Falling to the ground, I could already see spots floating around my vision and I couldn't comprehend whatever exclamations Asra and Nadia were shouting as I vaguely saw them make a mad dash to me. All I could focus on was the creeping darkness, the blotchy vision, and a small tickle of energy welling up within me before I passed out.

"I knew I shouldn't have put so much force in it, but I didn't think it would make them fly like that!" Asra exclaimed, crouching at the body of my partner in an attempt to examine them. I think he might have realized I was surfacing, though, as he and Nadia's eyes both grew wide and they backed away from their friend. The body that I began taking over was still slumped against the wall, but I was kept my energy into it as their eyelids flickered open to reveal two glowing spheres of white, the telltale sign that I was in charge of our shared physical body. Feeling out the rest of the body and fully taking it over, I got up stiffly and simply stared at the two. I could tell how unsettled they were, but hopefully they knew I wouldn't harm them.

"I do not see how this fighting would help the mage with using my powers. At most, it will just trigger my takeover." I stated simply deepened voice rumbling in the air close to me as I walked past the two and looking at the field with singed grass, chunks of ice, and flooded spots of water. With a wave of one hand, the grass regrew over it's burnt ends, the ice melted to join the rest of the water, and the pools of water then floated up into bubbles suspended in the air before evaporating into the sky. I used my other hand to wave over the tiny cuts on the arms and legs of this body, feeling them close back up. I removed the tiny specks of bloodstains from the shirt, and one last wave of my hand made the singed areas of the shirt good as new.

"How is our friend supposed to use your powers, then? You're the only one who would know, right? Since you're the Elemental?" Asra asked, taking a few steps to approach me.

I didn't turn around to acknowledge them, only crossing my hands behind my back as I stared up at the sky. "Play fights between trusted friends will do nothing. If the mage wishes to learn, they must find another way. It's been different for each elemental mage, so I cannot say what will work for this one," after a moment of silence in wait of a response, I added on, "I do not harm those that the mage does not wish me to harm. Ultimately they control me, even when I'm in control of their body. Their subconscious still directs my actions and I obey it always, without fail." With that direct statement, I simply let out a breath and relinquished control over the body, letting it fall limp and unconscious to the ground once more. The two friends made their way to watch over the body and bring it somewhere comfortable, waiting for their friend to wake up once more.

[brokenjardaantech]

rk1700 december day 15: snow

written for @rk1700december​. day 15: snow

rhea is female connor. cronos is rk900.

also on ao3

----

Cronos comes back from training one day to Rhea shaking a… thing. With a mansion inside of the clear impenetrable sphere and the suspended white particles, a scan tells him that it is something called a ‘snow globe’ except that it is shaped like a lamp. He sits on the floor behind Rhea and pulls her into the space between his legs, adding a kiss onto her cheek when she is close enough, and he knows the snow globe really has her attention when she doesn’t turn around to return the kiss as usual. He presses their cheeks together, and their skin at the points of contact retracts automatically for an interface. Where did you get this? he asks. Aren’t you cold watching it?

Rhea frowns. I don’t… it cuts off from there. Can you turn off the lights?

Their quarters plunge into darkness with a thought from Cronos, and he watches Rhea slide her pinky underneath the bottom of the lamp and turn it on with a click of a switch. Light spills out of the mansion’s windows, reflecting off the flakes which start spinning automatically propelled by the invisible swirl of the liquid in the globe and shrouding the room in a warm, mesmerising shade of yellow. When the raw brightness of the lamp becomes too much, they both look up at the same time just to see the swirling spots of brightness on the ceiling, on the wall, on each other’s face. It should not be this warm, this magical - mansions of that style are empty, remnants of a time long passed; snow means cold, cold means heat loss, heat loss means… means death to Rhea. Does Rhea know this, or are facts and logic ignored in the face of a beautiful sight? Why does he, advanced as he himself is, also feel the same despite having the ability to pre-construct - in great detail, nonetheless - how they would slowly waste away if left out in the open, how he would have to give up on maintaining Rhea’s system so that she could die before him and live her whole life knowing that she was loved? 

Anchor won’t let that happen, Rhea’s voice pulls him out of his downward spiral. She’s brave enough to protect us from our creator. She won’t… she won’t… her uncertainty grows. I think… 

Cronos shushes her. There is no use speculating, he feels hypocritical when he says it. We have other things to worry about.

Such as?

My training. The conflict that Anchor still refuses to tell us about. Your condition.

Very true.

Rhea wriggles in his arms. They both stand, he lets her drag him towards their bed, and she places the snow globe lamp on the bedside table before flopping down onto the bed, bringing Cronos with her. They cuddle close together without compromising their view on the light show, and although Rhea falls asleep not long after, thoughts do not stop swirling in Cronos’ head like the flakes in the snow globe.

    A few days later, he still hasn’t figured out where the snow globe came from. Neither the item itself nor the box it came from bear enough evidence for him to reconstruct the events of its arrival into the room as if it materialised out of nowhere. Again the grey backdrop of his reconstruction software, he watches the yellow outline of Rhea’s figure wake up from her nap, see the box on the floor and, instead of pinging him to check if it is anything explosive or harmful, open the cover and slide the block of shock-absorbing material out of the container. The material comes off soon afterwards, and he sees Rhea’s reconstruction stare at the particles suspended in the globe for a few minutes until - presumably - most of the snow has fallen, after which she picks it up and switches it on just to drop it onto the shock-absorbing material; even without a face, Cronos can sense Rhea’s shock and panic as she carefully takes the lamp in hand once more before assuming the posture he found her in. He blinks, colour returning to his vision, and he immediately sends a report to Anchor. A few hours pass during which she forwards updates from site security regularly to him, Cronos preparing his mind for an upcoming wing-wide sweep which will remove him - and Rhea, by extension - from their quarters for at least half a day as all the reports return inconclusive, but it isn’t until a full day afterwards that the human brings two armed escorts with her and orders them to not only bring the androids to another room but also stay with them at all times. When he asks her about it, he can feel her eyes scanning the room and landing on the origin of their troubles, and her gaze does not soften even as it sweeps over Rhea who flinches and hides behind Cronos.

‘Someone managed to sneak an unauthorised item deep into this facility without being detected,’ a biotic field so weak that it is barely detectable fizzles and expands from her body until it fills the entire room. ‘This is a security breach and I’m not risking your safety.’

‘Then why didn’t you come earlier?’ he puts an arm around Rhea and guides her towards the door even as he says so. ‘Why now?’

‘Use your processors, Cronos.’

The door slides shut behind them, and the click that follows and the change in the colour of the hologram signify the lock engaging. They are locked out of their own quarters. Next to him, Rhea shivers, making Cronos realise that they don’t even have the time to grab her jacket.

‘C’mon,’ one of their escorts says and gestures towards the direction they should go with their gun. The uniform and helmet are designed to hide as many identifiers as possible, and now Cronos can’t even scan them to know if they’re human or android. ‘This way. We’ve got your new place stocked up.’

Their new, hopefully-temporary quarters is no different from their old one apart from the standard-issue bed which now feels a bit narrow, but since it also means more cuddling and snuggling with Rhea underneath layers of covers, he isn’t complaining about his current situation despite the lack of answers on Anchor’s part. 

Who did answer his questions, on the other hand, is Elijah.

Cronos, the email reads, it’s nice to hear from you. For the sake of keeping things pleasant, I have decided to ignore the fact that the snow globe you mentioned seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, and to answer your first question: yes, I do have experience with snow. A lot of it, in fact, as my childhood home is quite famous for being cold and harsh in winter, and our winters remain long despite the influence of climate change. Since the environment I grew up in was not exactly… child-friendly, it had always been better for me to focus on the unique patterns of snowflakes than the death and lifelessness it symbolises - easier on my poor young brain, and one needed all the hope and discovery they could find in the cold land far up north.

As for your second question about the warmth you feel when you look at the snow globe: I have always found it ironic that winter coincides with traditions and customs that, under more pleasant circumstances, should provide warmth and support to a person, be it familial love or that between friends and/or lovers, and I must apologise for not being able to provide a more substantial answer as my personal experience with said traditions and customs are sparse and in between. Those I did experience, however, I remember clearly to this day. I will not discuss the details here as it will pose a security risk and be a breach of Alliance protocol, but should you wish to pursue the matter further, feel free to ask Anchor about it. Councillor’s approval. Signed, Reed

Cronos wonders if Elijah knows that Anchor would probably kill him if he tried to talk to her right now but sends him a reply anyway to thank him for his input and direction. Their skins receding at their points of contact, he interfaces with Rhea and plays the recording of the snow globe’s projection in their original quarters on a loop until it puts both of them to sleep so that he doesn’t have to think.

    Their return to their quarters comes as suddenly as their departure. Anchor, as usual, provides little to no explanation apart from a simple ‘the situation has been handled,’ and therefore as Cronos watches Rhea crawl all over her original home to examine whether everything is in place - even the snow globe is, in fact, and Cronos has to ask about it - he decides that a visit to the human is needed, one way or another. Rhea has already turned on the lamp and is ready to switch off the lights as well when he asks her if she wants to follow him to find Anchor, but she willingly goes with him under the condition that she is allowed to bring the lamp with her (and of course he lets her; he rationalises that if Anchor allowed the lamp to remain, it means the lamp is safe). Finding the human in a large facility is, however, another can of worms in its entirety; it is after fifteen long minutes of wandering around and probably annoying the brains out of site personnel by asking them about Anchor’s whereabouts that they stand in front of a locked door leading to the observation deck. Taking a breath he doesn’t necessarily need physically, he holds Rhea’s hand tight in his grasp and knocks with his other one. A few seconds of silence. He feels Anchor’s biotics sneaking up from the minuscule gap underneath the door and gives him a poke. The lock disengages with a click.

‘Come in.’

Cronos interfaces with the touchpad to open the door. Rhea lets go of him and barrels in, stopping next to the human only when she realises that Anchor, who is sitting on the floor parallel to the floor-length windows, doesn’t seem to be interested in her and is staring at the floodlight-illuminated barren landscape outside. She kneels to place the lamp in front of the human, and that is when the latter turns and nudges the lamp towards the android. ‘Keep it,’ she says, her eyes not leaving the view once. She sounds… tired. ‘You seem to like it.’

As usual, Rhea turns towards Cronos to indicate that she wants him to answer for her. ‘She does,’ he replies. ‘Is that why you left it in our quarters?’

Anchor lays her gaze on him. ‘Ripping an object a person is attached to without said person’s consent has been proved to be traumatic. My orders are to take care of the two of you, and that means no unnecessary harm from me.’ She leans forward to place the lamp in Rhea’s arms properly. ‘I might agree with the Administrator in a lot of things, but this is not one of them.’ A cock of her head as the rings of her eyes seem to glow brighter, but it can be a trick of the floodlights outside. ‘Why are you here anyway?’

‘Do you know where or whom did the lamp come from?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do we want to know?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

Anchor shrugs, her face carefully blank. ‘There’s a fight out there. No use dragging you into all that.’

‘What fight?’

‘None of your business. Hopefully, at least. Any more questions?’

‘Yes, actually,’ he sees Rhea shaking the globe again. ‘When we turned on the lamp, it… snows in the globe. Logically, snow is associated with winter, and Rhea and I should have felt cold when looking at the artificial snowfall. However, both the scene and its projection brought us a warmth that should not be associated with snowfall. Is it a normal reaction? Elijah suggested asking you about this strange phenomenon.’

The human looks at Rhea and watches her entertain herself with the snow globe, and for a few seconds there is silence. Then, gesturing to the space in front of herself, ‘Sit down.’

Cronos mirrors her posture and sits down leaning against the glass with his legs outstretched. Seeing that her - what exactly is his relationship with Rhea anyway? - successor is on the floor, Rhea crawls underneath his arm without being prompted and snuggles close with the lamp balanced in her lap, a small smile on her face as she lays her head on his shoulder and continues looking at the particles in the snow globe softly like it both contains all the answers and is the most lovely thing in the universe.

‘One way to explain it without breaching my vows is that a… holiday where people celebrate together coincides with winter in the northern hemisphere of earth,’ Anchor’s line of sight turns towards the landscape outside once more. ‘Some places snow, some places don’t, but if we’re talking about stereotypes, yes, it snows while everyone stays indoors to enjoy their time with their loved ones. Snow-blanketed outdoors, fire-warmed and brightly-lit indoors; good, warm food, companionship, a chance to meet with one another - these are just a few images and expectations of the holiday.’

‘And to you?’

‘Sort of similar to this. Food, people I wanted to be with, warm on the inside, cold on the outside. Sometimes we exchanged presents, sometimes we didn’t, some were even worse.’

‘“Worse?”’

‘Try running away from an incompetent father and a bitch of a mother with your sibling even though you know a blizzard is coming. Worst winter ever, but that was also the last one we had to suffer through with our parents, and it got substantially better afterwards.’

‘Do I want to know the details?’

‘No.’

‘Understandable?’ he can’t imagine two humans surviving the cold, but then again humans are not supposed to be able to control dark energy either, and here they are. ‘Then what were the other winters like?’

‘I just described it to you.’

‘Yes but…’ Cronos struggles to convey that he wants to know more without sounding too eager, ‘I want more details.’

‘Details, huh?’ Anchor’s voice now matches the blankness of her face. ‘You sure you want to hear about earth? There isn’t much worth reminiscing.’

‘They will all be new to me.’

‘Fine,’ the human straightens herself. Her eyes turn glassy. ‘There was no snow the first time I truly celebrated the holiday, but it rained starting from the afternoon and continued well into the night. I wanted to study for my exam and had been doing so since the beginning of the holiday, so I thought… I could spare a day with my sibling. He busted arse for the past ten years of his life trying to raise a kid even when he was just a kid himself as well and getting a high school diploma and earning extra cash to feed the two of us because we ate so damned much thanks for unexplained space magic, and that was the first winter he didn’t have to worry about our heat cutting off in the middle of the night and giving us hypothermia.’ A pause. ‘I sneaked downstairs the night before to put the present for him next to that tiny-arse tree since it was so small that there wasn’t enough space underneath to shove that box into. He wants an actual holiday, I wanted to give him one, so I even got the damned book wrapped in recycled paper. It was just a sodding book I had seen him eye when we had walked past bookstores, and he cried - legit cried - because I gave him a damned book he wanted and wrapped it up nice and tidy with no tape. I learnt on that day that people can actually cry and look so happy at the same time. Then we had brunch, he watched me play some video games before going for a nap, he woke up, we had dinner, we watched the movie version of a book associated with the holiday as he sipped on hot chocolate, and we went to bed. All without being scared once that we would need to brave the chill to get some last-minute groceries - supplies - or that we wouldn't have enough money to keep ourselves full the week after.’

She ends it there, and Cronos gives himself a few minutes to let that sink in. ‘Sounds like you love each other a lot and celebrated it through the holiday.’

A dull thud. Cronos draws his eyes away from the lamp falling out of Rhea’s limp hands and follows Anchor’s gaze just to see clunks of ice slightly larger than the nail on his thumb hitting the ground, turning into smoke before they can hit the floodlights, shattering on the reinforced glass of the observation deck and subliming under the heat, and soon the ground is covered in a thin layer of broken pieces of dry ice. Mars’ own version of snow.

‘Is this normal?’ Cronos asks. 

A small smile appears on Anchor’s lips. ‘Every single summer.’

----

the snow globe/lamp in the fic: