#custom statue markers

[bhuvneshwarimoortiart]

The Artistry of Radha Krishna Marble Statue Making

Creating a Radha Krishna marble statue can be time-consuming, but these skilled artisans can craft a piece that captures divinity in a simple stone and inspires devotees. And if you are looking for a Krishna statues distributor in India.

[transmutationisms]

can u elaborate on posture being a lie

As Beth Linker explains in her book “Slouch: Posture Panic in Modern America” (Princeton), a long history of anxiety about the proximity between human and bestial nature has played out in this area of social science. Linker, a historian of medicine at the University of Pennsylvania, argues that at the onset of the twentieth century the United States became gripped by what she characterizes as a poor-posture epidemic: a widespread social contagion of slumping that could, it was feared, have deleterious effects not just upon individual health but also upon the body politic. Sitting up straight would help remedy all kinds of failings, physical and moral [...] she sees the “past and present worries concerning posture as part of an enduring concern about so-called ‘diseases of civilization’ ”—grounded in a mythology of human ancestry that posits the hunter-gatherer as an ideal from which we have fallen.

[...]

In America at the turn of the twentieth century, anxieties about posture inevitably collided with anxieties not just about class but also about race. Stooping was associated with poverty and with manual, industrialized labor—the conditions of working-class immigrants from European countries who, in their physical debasement, were positioned well below the white Anglo-Saxon Protestant establishment. Linker argues that, in this environment, “posture served as a marker of social status similar to skin color.” At the same time, populations that had been colonized and enslaved were held up as posture paradigms for the élite to emulate: the American Posture League rewarded successful students with congratulatory pins that featured an image of an extremely upright Lenape man. The head-carrying customs associated with African women were also adopted as training exercises for white girls of privilege, although Linker notes that Bancroft and her peers recommended that young ladies learn to balance not baskets and basins, which signified functionality, but piles of flat, slippery books, markers of their own access to leisure and education. For Black Americans, posture was even more fraught: despite the admiration granted to the posture of African women bearing loads atop their heads, community leaders like Dr. Algernon Jackson, who helped establish the National Negro Health Movement, criticized those Black youth who “too often slump along, stoop-shouldered and walk with a careless, lazy sort of dragging gait.” If slouching among privileged white Americans could indicate an enviable carelessness, it was seen as proof of indolence when adopted by the disadvantaged.

This being America, posture panic was swiftly commercialized, with a range of products marketed to appeal to the eighty per cent of the population whose carriage had been deemed inadequate by posture surveys. The footwear industry drafted orthopedic surgeons to consult on the design of shoes that would lessen foot and back pain without the stigma of corrective footwear: one brand, Trupedic, advertised itself as “a real anatomical shoe without the freak-show look.” The indefatigable Jessie Bancroft trained her sights on children’s clothing, endorsing a company that created a “Right-Posture” jacket, whose trim cut across the upper shoulders gave its schoolboy wearer little choice but to throw his shoulders back like Jordan Baker. Bancroft’s American Posture League endorsed girdles and corsets for women; similar garments were also adopted by men, who, by the early nineteen-fifties, were purchasing abdominal “bracers” by the millions.

It was in this era that what eventually proved to be the most contentious form of posture policing reached its height, when students entering college were required to submit to mandatory posture examinations, including the taking of nude or semi-nude photographs. For decades, incoming students had been evaluated for conditions such as scoliosis by means of a medical exam, which came to incorporate photography to create a visual record. Linker writes that for many male students, particularly those who had military training, undressing for the camera was no biggie. For female students, it was often a more disquieting undertaking. Sylvia Plath, who endured it in 1950, drew upon the experience in “The Bell Jar,” whose protagonist, Esther Greenwood, discovers that undressing for her boyfriend is as uncomfortably exposing as “knowing . . . that a picture of you stark naked, both full view and side view, is going into the college gym files.” The practice of taking posture photographs was gradually abandoned by colleges, thanks in part to the rise of the women’s movement, which gave coeds a new language with which to express their discomfort. It might have been largely forgotten were it not for a 1995 article in the Times Magazine, which raised the alarming possibility that there still existed stashes of nude photographs of famous former students of the Ivy League and the Seven Sisters, such as George H. W. Bush, Bob Woodward, Meryl Streep, and Hillary Clinton. Many of the photographs in question were taken and held not by the institutions themselves but by the mid-century psychologist William Herbert Sheldon. Sheldon was best known for his later discredited theories of somatotypes, whereby he attributed personality characteristics to individuals based on whether their build was ectomorphic, endomorphic, or mesomorphic.

[...]

Today, the descendants of Jessie Bancroft are figures like Esther Gokhale, a Bay Area acupuncturist and the creator of the Gokhale Method, who teaches “primal posture” courses to tech executives and whose recommendations are consonant with other fitness trends, such as barefoot running and “paleo” eating, that romanticize an ancestral past as a remedy for the ills of the present. The compulsory mass surveillance that ended when universities ceased the practice of posture photography has been replaced by voluntary individual surveillance, with the likes of Rafi the giraffe and the Nekoze cat monitoring a user’s vulnerability to “tech neck,” a newly named complaint brought on by excessive use of the kind of devices profitably developed by those paleo-eating, barefoot-running, yoga-practicing executives. Meanwhile, Linker reports, paleoanthropologists quietly working in places other than TikTok have begun to revise the popular idea that our ancient ancestors did not get aches and pains in their backs. Analysis of fossilized spines has revealed degenerative changes suggesting that “the first upright hominids to roam the earth likely experienced back pain, or would have been predisposed to such a condition if they had lived long enough.” Slouching, far from being a disease of civilization, then, seems to be something we’ve been prone to for as long as we have stood on our own two feet.

[sweetmage]

Accessible BG3 Mods For The Visually Impaired!

As someone with a vision disability, I have a hard time reading small text, distinguishing menu options, and so on. So of course I stay on the look out for accessibility mods. I'm gonna link some of the mods I use (and some that might just be useful) for other PC users that are struggling with vision issues with this game. Be sure to check the mod pages for specific installation instructions for each mod as well as any dependencies or compatibility issues with other mods. Do note that these mods were compiled based on my own experiences with low vision, eye strain, and trouble distinguishing small objects/words so they may not be useful for everyone. If you have any suggestions for things to add to the list or if any links are broken, please let me know!

Also please show some love to these modders if their mods helped you 😄

Better Maps All In One

Link Here

With this mod you can remove the grid overlay on the map which reduces visual clutter. There is also an option to make the minimap larger and a recent update says that colorblind support has been added for NPC markers!

Bigger Mouse Cursors

Link Here

Does what it says on the tin, makes all mouse cursors larger.

Darker Paper

Link Here

Providers a darker background for all readable items (books, notes, etc.) which may reduce eye strain for some.

Comic Sans (Font Replacer)

Link Here

Can be useful for those with dyslexia or vision impairments.

Better Context Menu

Link Here

Adds related icons to all context menu options and (optionally) makes the context menu larger.

Increased Font Size

Link Here

Does what it says on the tin, increases font size with options ranging from 10% to 55% increases. Note: If using in conjunction with the Comic Sans mod, the author of this mod recommends starting with the 10% size and increasing if needed as the Comic Sans mod already starts larger by default.

Less Annoying Magic Effects

Link Here

Disables VFX for many spells, status effects, etc. (see mod page for list). Useful for reducing eye strain, visual clutter, or headache inducing effects. There is an optional configurable version so you can remove only certain effects, though I haven't tried that myself.

Bigger Customize Dice Button

Link Here

Does what it says on the tin, makes the button to customize your dice larger.

[petalruesimblr]

Download Link: Sim File Share | MTS (for approval) Name: Central Park Festival Grounds Description: Welcome to Central Park – where laughter echoes, paws patter, and every season is a celebration! Nestled in the heart of town, Central Park features play areas for kids, pet-friendly zones and a spectacular seasonal festival grounds. This whimsical park was envisioned by the town's beloved founder, Mayor Thomas Shelby and thus a great statue is placed within the park forever capturing his spirit of unity and playfulness. Bring your little ones, furry pals, and join us as we continue the legacy of Mayor Shelby – making memories in the heart of Central Park! Price: 129,992 Lot Size: 40X40 Version: 1.42 Store Content: Mr. Turnwillow from Riverview CC Used: None Packs Needed: Seasons, Generation, Ambitions, Late Night File Type: Package

It was hard looking for a Festival Lot that checks off all the boxes for the kind of lot I want. I wanted it to fit a 40X40 lot typically placed in the center of town for custom small worlds, all the activities for all seasons and a spacious area where my Sims' pets can run around when not in season. The Central Park in Sunset Valley was perfect for me, but it was too big. So, I created this one, using Central Park as inspiration but without the pond and bridge because unfortunately, they wouldn't fit anymore.

This lot has been play-tested and I've used it in all my saved games. There were no issues with it in all seasons but please let me know if you experience any problems on your end. More pictures and information in the MTS link provided above (once approved).

📣Please be aware that there are spawners used on this lot thus I would advise to not rotate the Festival Lot to avoid duplicate spawners and remove spawners when the lot is deleted due to them remaining on the empty lot. To check and remove spawners, enable "testingcheatsenabled true" and "buydebug on" after.

📣All the expansion pack decor/items that were used on this lot will be replaced by the game if you don't have the expansion pack listed below but Season is required for the Seasonal Lot Markers to work.

[papabirdurskeks]

Well, I got some more headcanons about the Witness's people that no one asked for, but I'm gonna talk about it anyways! c:

This is gonna be about facial tattoos for the Witness's people and why they are important for them!

To start off with simply, facial tattoos are important for this species because they signify a number of things for them: Family, Life, and Status (as charted below)

Tattoos that make up the forehead and brow are by far the most important for them all. As stated in the chart, these are clan/family signifiers, stating to others which family you are from/belong to. While they typically vary in design, they all serve the same purpose of differentiating other clans from each other and as well as aiding in keeping possible chances of inbreeding out; therefore giving a higher and better chance of gene variety down the line.

Tattoos that are located around the mouth and/or lower jaw mark the second most important set of markers for these people. These are known as Rite of Passage tattoos, which in themselves are extremely important as they mark an individual's transition from childhood into adulthood. In times before the Traveler, infant and child mortality was extremely high, as resources were scarce and times were extremely dangerous. Even teenagers were not safe as well. But once they reach adulthood, it marks a moment in life that not only they survived as long as they did but also that they are fighters that have earned their right to live.

The last set of tattoos that are located around the eyes are more recent in terms, coming about during the Golden Age in which society was beginning to establish itself further. These markings tend to signify one's rank/status in society.

The more markings one has around the eyes, the higher the status/rank the person is within their society. The same goes vice versa. The less markings around the eyes, the lower one is on the social chain.

Ranks are typically obtained through marriages, though many clans/families tend to marry within the same social status. However, mixing of ranks is not frowned upon and either can obtain higher or lower status to their wishes of said unions. Most of lower ranks/status usually tend to move into higher ranks and later gain more facial tattoos to state their newly obtained status. Those who are of higher rank and decide to marry into a lower rank family are unable to remove said tattoos but still hold their titles even if they willingly give it up.

And with unions comes new generations of children to which will inherit their parents' markings as well as their own passage tattoos when they reach adulthood. As per example with Hutia and his family below:

Upon reaching adulthood, the clan/family mark will be given first as custom. This marking is always combined with that of the "mother's" first and foremost as the main focal point of their tattoo. This is usually the middle and the brow, a link to show the importance of the role the "mother" plays and that all blood is linked to them.

The remainder of the tattoo is combined with that of the "father's" tattoo, the two mixing together to make a new but entirely familiar marking that signifies who the individual belongs to in terms of family.

That's about all I got so far! But also keep in mind these are just headcanons and I know I can be 100% wrong on this, but frankly, I don't care. I'm just here to have fun and share some thoughts!

[livgr3]

Fairy Tale Musicals: Little Shop of Horrors (1981) dir. Frank Oz

Little Shop of Horrors has a somewhat lengthy history of multiple adaptations. The first iteration of the story was the 1960 film The Little Shop of Horrors, with a screenplay inspired by science fiction stories of the 1950s. Then, the movie was adapted into an off-Broadway musical in 1982. In 1986, the popular musical was adapted into the high camp, soon to be cult-classic movie musical Little Shop of Horrors, directed by Frank Oz, whose experience in creating and puppeteering The Muppets would lend itself to Little Shop's impressive Audrey II puppets.

Three teen girls who live on Skid Row, Crystal, Ronette, and Chiffon, introduce and narrate the events of the film.

Seymour and Audrey are both struggling to make ends meet, and work at Mr. Mushnik's failing flower shop on Skid Row. Seymour, who has a hobby of collecting exotic plants, brings a mysterious plant to the shop, Audrey II, which draws in customers and gives the shop a fighting chance at staying in business. As the plant begins to make Seymour more popular and successful, he discovers that the only thing that he can feed the plant to make it grow is human blood. (Also it can talk and sing.) Meanwhile, Audrey's abusively masochistic dentist boyfriend Orin becomes more and more insidious towards her, making him into the perfect candidate for Audrey II's first victim...

Aesthetic Markers of Class, Race, and "Bootstraps" Myths Through Song

Though Oz's film is still set in the 1960s when its source film was made and generally parodies conventions of '60s B-movies, it is clearly influenced by the politics of the 1980s, when it was made. I will read Oz's Little Shop alongside two specific events: The Reagan Administration and the Second-wave Feminist movement.

Let's close read the musical number "Skid Row" to see how formal and stylistic elements enhance racial difference and enforce the "Pull yourself up by the bootstraps" rhetoric that became popular during the Reagan era as a way to justify and distract from the growing economic disparities in America.

Though the three narrators provide a segue into the song by exclaiming that there is no chance of "bettering ourselves" on Skid Row, Audrey and Seymour end the song determined to get out of their situations. They are notably the only two people in this ensemble number to sing about getting out of Skid Row, looking up towards the sky as the song ends while the rest of the cast looks down. Several other stylistic markers set Audrey and Seymour apart throughout the song, such as the bright lighting on only them, their brighter clothes/hair in comparison to everyone else's dull attire, and even the slower tempo and more gentle style of singing during their verses.

While Seymour and Audrey's economic status makes them "Othered" protagonists (much like Eliza Dolittle in Ray's analysis of My Fair Lady), the formal elements of this number serve to further Otherize people of color. It is important to consider Seymour and Audrey's whiteness in comparison to the ensemble, which consists of many Black performers. With these two white characters as the only ones to sing about wanting to get out of Skid Row while the others do not, the film contributes racist capitalist narratives that one's economic status is a "choice." This is further supported by the fact that the rest of the ensemble of this number rarely shows up throughout the rest of the film. Their only purpose is to foil the protagonists' strife, making the audience feel as though they are rooting for the "little guy" or the "Other" at the expense of another, racialized Other.

However, the narrative that continues after this song seems to subvert and rework this very same myth of finding economic success through the exploitation of The Other.

After finding out that Audrey II feeds on human flesh and blood, the meek and good-natured Seymour struggles to see anyone as "deserving" of death. That is, until Audrey II directs him towards Audrey's abusive boyfriend Orin. Fast forward a bit, and Seymour later feeds his boss, Mr. Mushnik, to Audrey II. The death of both these characters promote Audrey II's growth, which increases the attention it gets from the media and therefore brings Seymour more wealth.

Since the film dips into conventions of Sci-Fi and monster movies, it is expected that those who are killed for financial gain are bodies which have been marked as disposable or lesser. However, the victims in this film, a horribly misogynistic man with a good career and a boss who disregards the well-being of his workers, could easily be construed as heroes in other films. In this film, Seymour and Audrey II flip the narrative of violent exploitation, fighting against oppressive figures in order to succeed in the very capitalist system which they help promote.

Complicating Femininity Through Race and Class

 Ray writes of My Fair Lady as indicating what it means to properly "be" a woman through a rags to riches transformation. Little Shop sets up the perfect foundation for such a transformation to occur to Audrey, who defies any notions of demure, proper womanhood with her "trashy" style and nasally voice. This physical transformation never happens, though, and Audrey's femininity or womanhood are never in question.

Instead, Audrey undergoes an internal transformation through the film's exploration of domestic abuse, which seems to be informed by a heightened awareness of the issue thanks to the advancements of the Second Wave Feminist movement. I find that the film handles this issue surprisingly well, with Audrey experiencing symptoms of abuse in a way that is very realistic, and she is never treated as a source of blame for the abuse Orin subjects her to. When Orin's death frees her of her circumstances, she regains a sense of autonomy and self-confidence.

Audrey's "I want" song, "Somewhere That's Green," also handles contentious aspects of womanhood in a way which considers economic class. In this song, Audrey sings that her biggest dream in life is to live in a comfortable suburban home married to Seymour. While the Second Wave Feminist movement fought against the designation of women as housewives, such a lifestyle would be a privilege to Audrey in her current economic state.

However, the film's three narrators are not given the same complex characterization. Ray writes of the "transgressive inner voice" of female musical protagonists as something progressive and empowering. The three narrators in Little Shop are basically only their voices (and they out-sing everyone else in the cast tbh), existing as an omnipotent presence that is only partially connected to the world of the film. Though the film definitely showcases their vocal talent and charm, they are reduced to an accessory with the sole purpose of narrating white stories.

Two Endings

The film's original ending followed the ending of the stage musical. In this version, Audrey II kills both Audrey and Seymour. Businessmen take cuttings of Audrey II and sell it across the country, accidentally creating an army of Audrey IIs that take over the US.

After two test screenings which left audiences uncomfortable and speechless, Oz filmed a new ending before the wider release of the film. In this new conclusion, Audrey and Seymour survive, kill Audrey II and live happily ever after.

Discussion Questions!

Does camp and the tone of movie musicals make it easier to include anti-capitalist themes and narrative points? Might the film have been made and widely released if the same themes were conveyed in a more "serious" manner?

What is the significance of Audrey II being a plant, as opposed to another kind of being? Could there be an environmentalist reading of the film?

Why do you think the darker ending was successful in the stage musical, but made audiences of the film adaptation uncomfortable? Do stage plays and films evoke different expectations?

What do you make of the second ending and the role of happy endings more generally - can they evoke a sense of hope, or are they an unrealistic distraction from real issues?

[theladyofrosewater]

Okay the video game poll is over and idk if people went with their actual favorite or just whatever game they had heard of bcs the botw/skyrim option won so for every option that got more than one vote I'll describe what I think that game would be like in order of how many votes it got.

OPEN WORLD STYLE ADVENTURE 36.4%: You play as Irene's reincarnation and wake up outside of Phoenix Drop with no memory of who you are and after the tutorial section of phoenix drop you're basically on you're own to somehow defeat the big bad Shad, however you get a special ending if you beat the game in under two hours and use batshit tactics you can technically customize your character but it's only hairstyles and tattoos. There WOULD be a speedrun based on who could place something weird like a bomb or a pumpkin on the Irene statue in Scaleswind

STORY BASED JRPG 18.2%: I've never played a jrpg I'll be honest but Jess stole a lot of stuff from final fantasy anyway! might as well complete the circle. But one thing I image is that defeating the jury of nine and the high priest is the main goal with Katelyn being the only recrutable one. 22% of the game is just sorting gear bcs the game has lootflation. 50% is just putting your guards in pretty outfits. the rest is side quests.

MINECRAFT MOD PACK 15.2%: Okay we could totally do this ourselves in fact people have tried I'm pretty sure, the hardest part would be making the map and making sure the NPCs functioned normally but you'd basically just play through MCD with all the mods jess used (with more quest markers to keep you on track) I imagine it would only go up to half a season at a time though just to keep track of everything and make it less cluttered.

BASICALLY JUST STARDEW BUT BETTER COMBAT 10.6%: exactly what it says on the tin. It's Stardew but you're the lord instead of the farmer. You can pick which village you choose to rule and you get a different story/marriage candidates depending on each one. The combat comes from battle campaigns technically doesn't have an end since Stardew can go on forever.

VISUAL NOVEL 9.1%: Just the normal story of diaries with maybe a bit of puzzle solving to spice up gameplay, It would be a comic book art style and different chapters would have a new art style for tone purposes+ hiring more artists and would only have like three endings plus a secret forth one for 100% completing it.

HADES-STYLE ROGUE-LIKE 3%: I'm surprised not a lot of people picked this option but IMAGINE IT. You play as Laurance and you've gotten better at resisting the call and so you set out to escape Shad's domain but have to battle limitless foes and keep fighting the call at every step of the way. succumbing to the call makes you start over but you won't give up! The bosses would be other shadow knights, maybe Gene, Sasha and Zenix to replace the furies. Zane and Janus(shush I know he's not one but I needed a second person) could replace Theseus and the Minotaur and Shad would obviously replace the final boss. Vylad could probably replace Thanatos or something too.

DATING SIM BUT CURSED 3%: You are Irene Aphmau and you absolutely MUST pick someone to spend the rest of time with! except it resets if you don't pick right, it resets and resets and resets. but if you do pick right they keep dying, and dying, and dying. and even if you change everything they keep dying and dying andyingandying-

[darkmaga-retard]

By Charles Hugh Smith

OfTwoMinds.com

August 7, 2024

There are voluntary ‘Anti-Consumers’ like us, and increasingly, ‘involuntary Anti-Consumers’ who have no choice but to slash all discretionary spending to the bone.

Who are the biggest chumps in today’s economy? One set of contenders is the corporations and marketers buying social media and search data on Anti-Consumers like myself who get their dopamine rushes from producing, not consuming and who experience extremely negative emotions when spending money on anything but the bare essentials.

Anti-Consumers are anathema to corporations selling low-quality goods and services based on the dopamine hits generated by taste, convenience, novelty and status. We’re also anathema to the entire waste is growth Landfill Economy which cheers the profits generated by low-quality goods that break down, forcing consumers to replace them, and planned obsolescence, which forces consumers to replace products that are designed to fail or upgrade via forced obsolescence (software upgrades, forcing customers into monthly fees, etc.)

The Consumer Economy trains people to depend on consumption for their dopamine hits. In a less perverse economy, individuals get the positive vibes (i.e. dopamine rushes) we all need from meaningful work, a purposeful life, interacting with friends and neighbors, and the positive social role/status generated by producing something of value. Consumption is not a focus because it isn’t the source of selfhood or social status.

To break this unprofitable reliance on being productive as the source of selfhood and status, The Consumer Economy infantilizes adults via dopamine addictions and an obsessive focus on products and consumer experiences as status markers.

[d3zydration]

Digital Sketchbook (06.20.2024)

I'm about to make a big update post for my main website, but I didn't feel like using up storage on some preview shots. At the top, we've got progress on my 2d model for my YouTube channel, along with the many outfits I've made for her. Once I'm done with all the shading, I can break down the pieces and start the rigging process. I've probably got more outfits than I need, and there are some side characters I may make that I've had bouncing around in my head and on my channel for a long time that I'll probably also make, but once the bulk of it is done, I can focus on rigging while that happens.

On the bottom left, we've got a new Hesiodos (Hesiod) piece I'm working on. I wasn't happy with how the first one turned out, and honestly, I need to get back into the flow of more realistic works. Painting pieces directly from photo reference is easy enough, but it's a bit more difficult using a marble statue, as I did with my first piece, and more difficult still drawing from the mind while trying to translate those references as accurately as possible. I'm also using a more gouache-inspired brush set for this one. I've been super fascinated with acrylic gouache lately and am planning to start doing traditional pieces again in marker, watercolor, and acrylic gouache. I've been really into the work of Amina Illustration and I'm A Wonder.

My YCH (Your Character Here) commission piece "Little Witch" still has 5 available slots left on my Etsy shop (which is discounted from what you would pay for a custom commission with those specifications) - but I had also started on a number of other ones back in autumn of last year: A little graveyard chibi pin-up, a chibi girl holding a pumpkin spice latte, a woman kissing the cheek of a scarecrow, and a vampiric take on Klimt's The Kiss. I also started on a few general ones: one inspired by the style of Bratz, one inspired by the style of Monster High, and one inspired by the lo-fi girl. I'll still be wrapping them up and making them available whenever they're complete, but they aren't at the forefront of my workload at the moment - especially since I'm planning on moving away from Etsy.

Along that line, I also have plans to work on a couple of emote, clip art, and marketing packs, some stickers (including sticker sheets for my planners), a magickally-accurate Sailor Moon chibi series, and a couple of fan oracle decks. First on my to-do list, however, is a ton of website graphics for my new websites, the next batch of designs and styles for the Luxe Gothique Boutique, and a rework of my Khthonic Wiccan art series, as it's something else I just wasn't satisfied with.

And that's just artwork! I have a lot of writing in the works now, as well. I've got two books, my Mythos Reimagined series, and my webcomic, A Little Town Called Lorauvial, in the works, as well. This is a lot, I know, but I'm making progress each day. I just want to make so many things. I can't possibly keep it all locked away forever. 👻💚

Anyway, stay tuned for my update article. I'm going to be getting on that shortly with info on my other goings-on. Be there or be square.

[8thy]

Custom MTG token art time - Case Solved

Quick lil status marker I made for my ensoul deck

[hallwords]

just a silly lil one-shot

...

tw for terminal illness, allusion to possible suicide, death, and grief total word count 3980 status completed(?)

He meets her in a café.

She is not the first and she will not be the last, but she is different, unique, and he knows the moment he sees her that she will break his heart.

She's new. He can tell because she looks stressed as hell, clumsily preparing a customer's order and following after her more experienced coworker like a lost puppy. Her blonde hair is in disarray, looking more like hay than anything that belongs on a person's head. Strands of gold have slipped free of her ponytail, cascading behind her like the path of water on too-shallow streams. Her eyes are wide with something akin to hysteria, rings of blue darting to every corner of the small space behind the counter.

She looks like she's on the verge of a mental breakdown.

She has also not noticed him standing directly in front of her. He's been staring at her for the past ten seconds now.

Make that fifteen.

Now twenty.

He clears his throat, loudly, pursing his lips against a smile when she jumps out of her skin. She straightens up, wheezes through a breath of air, and barely has the mind to put on a smile (grimace) before she sucks in another harsh breath through gritted teeth and says, "Hi, howareyoudoinghowmayItakeyourorder?"

He blinks, eyebrows disappearing behind his bangs.

She huffs out a pained chuckle. "S-Sorry," she tacks on, wringing her hands together behind her back—a common nervous gesture. "I... I'm new. Like, very. Real— Really, really new. Ha." She shakes her head, as if to scramble her mind back into working order, and yanks her hands up to grip either side of the register. "Yeah, you-you probably knew that. Uhm... Right. Order. What... What can I get you, sir?" Her eyes widen impossibly further at that, and she hurries to correct herself: "I-I mean... Sir, right? It's... Uhm. I didn't mean to-to assume or anything. I—"

This time, he can't stop his laugh. He tries to hide it by clearing his throat again, but the way her face twists into a pout (Adorable, comes an unbidden thought) proves he failed.

"You're fine," he says. Despite already knowing exactly what he wants, he allows his eyes to stray back to the menu on the wall behind her, letting his gaze linger in however much time it'll take for the poor girl to get herself back together. When the student behind him starts tapping an impatient rhythm on the counter, he says, "I'd like one of your soy iced vanilla lattes. Eight shots of espresso, seven packs of sugar, three creams. Largest size. Maybe add in some caramel, I've..."

His eyes return to her.

She's staring at him in a daze. Probably has been for longer than socially acceptable. Not that he's one to say, considering he'd done so for longer when she was zoned out behind the register.

"What," is all she says.

His lips curl into a smile. This might take a while.

——

"What's your name?" she asks, marker in shaky hand and cup in other shaky hand.

"Sage," he says.

"Oh, cool," she replies. "I'm Zoey." The introduction is brief, automatic, off-handed. She's stumbling away through his order before he gets the chance to comment, to tell her that it's a nice name.

Zoey. It's Greek and stands for "life," appropriately representing "eternal life." If she wasn't spilling coffee grains all over the floor, he'd tell her that it was ironic, considering that she'll die within the next three years.

————————

Sage spends a lot of his time in cafés. The popular ones, especially—the ones always bustling with people. You'd expect someone like him to be on the opposite side of reality from anything that breathes, but Sage has learned that avoidance leads to nothing. The inevitability of outliving everyone is just that—inevitable. To try escaping fate is a feat reserved for fools, after all, and Sage's curse of an immortal body and a mortal heart is something he must simply accept.

Though if he hadn't the knowledge of when and how everyone he will ever come to love will die, then perhaps keeping himself sane throughout the years would be more... manageable. Perhaps if the countdown was not reserved only for those he is destined to love but for everyone, he wouldn't be as broken. But for him to see numbers hovering over people he wouldn't bat an eye at otherwise, for him to be told who he is to love and for how long he is capable of loving them...

It hurts.

Alas, the world despises everyone unfairly and unequally, and Sage is no exception. He can only live. Forever, in an eternal cycle of heartbreak.

"Do you believe in soulmates?" Zoey asks him one day.

Sage sometimes finds it amusing how his younger self wouldn't be here with her. He was harsh and bitter then, unwilling to accept what had happened, what he had done to himself, froth dusting his lips as he snapped at anyone who dared to get close, afraid to get his spirit torn to pieces again. Because there was always something to tear, he found out eventually, no matter how empty he felt.

But now, Sage is too tired to be at war. Let the world be cruel. Sage knows that she only has so much time, so he might as well make the most of it.

Sage is allowing himself to fall, is the one pushing to be closer, is someone who wants to love. Perhaps it's delusion. Perhaps it's a mistake. Perhaps he has grown so used to the pain that he now actively seeks it. Perhaps he's lost his mind. The details are irrelevant.

Sage has chosen to approach Zoey, ignored the numbers floating above her strawberry-blonde head, and has said, a gentle smile on his lips, "I'd like to get to know you better."

And he has. He wants to know everything about her. He's too old to continue drowning in regrets.

In the past year he's spent listening to her every word, he's learned so much. She likes the color brown, prefers cats over dogs, and killed a cactus when she was thirteen. She has a family: an annoying older brother named Zach and a mother named Zaira. She considers it creative that their names begin with the letter Z. She has a crush on her classmate, Elijah, but can't bring herself to confess. She spends so much time reading fanfiction and binge-watching anime that she worries she no longer has a life.

She wants to be a fashion designer. She wants to go to France. She wants to marry the stranger she met at a bus stop when she was fifteen years old. She wants to summon the courage to write her number on a napkin for a cute customer. She wants to get enough money to buy a house by the ocean. She wants three cats. She wants a good husband. She wants to raise two kids.

She won't be able to graduate.

Sage wants to be young again. He wants his anger back so he can curse the world for everything it's done. It would be a human thing to do.

He thinks being human again would be quite nice.

"Sage?" she prompts, and when his eyes clear and he snaps back to attention, she only smiles endearingly at him, rolling her eyes as she inhales what's left of her watermelon slushy—her favorite.

"Sorry," he says. He isn't. She's used to this by now. He curls the edge of his lip the tiniest bit, tilts his head in a way that would make many swoon. "I was busy admiring your eyes. They're quite beautiful, you know? Ravishing, almost. Do you know of the word 'pulchritudinous?' Well, I must say that those rings upon your pupils are most effervescent azure—"

She merely rolls those beautiful eyes again, unfazed. He knows she does not love him romantically, so he does not love her romantically either. He thinks he lost all ability to love someone that way. He thinks he's going to lose all ability to love at all. But Sage needs to have fun sometimes or he'd lose his mind.

"Flirt," she accuses.

"If the shoe fits."

She pops another of the café's crackers in her mouth. Not the crackers sold at the café she works at, mind. The ones at the rival café are better, she says, bold traitor that she is, so she always drags him here whenever she's on break for the "superior treats."

("Isn't there some kind of unwritten law that prohibits baristas from ordering from their employer's greatest fiends?" Sage had commented when they took their place at the end of the line.

Zoey simply huffed and turned to tell him, "Last I checked, no one gives ten shits about me wearing a Café le Restaurant apron at Grains de Café." He's always thought the names uncreative. "I'm free to come and go as I please... On break, of course."

Sage leaned down their six-inch height difference to conspiratorially whisper, "That barista is side-eyeing you. Perhaps he's dredging up a contingency plan to eliminate his vile competition."

Zoey punched his shoulder. Hard. Enough for him to flinch, actually, and it made him happy, seeing that she was still so strong. "Shut," she said, "and stop talking like you were born in the late Victorian Era... or some... overly pretentious, nerdy madman. You're making me feel decades younger than you. I'm pretty sure our age difference is only four years, not four centuries."

Sage only smiled.)

Now, at the table farthest from everyone else, with another ten minutes left of her break, she adds, impolitely (her mouth is very much full), "You haven't answered my question."

"Hmm?"

"Yep," she goes on. "Do you believe in soulmates?"

He arches his brow. "What brought this on?"

"I read too much fanfiction," she answers curtly. "Now, c'mon, tell me, tell me, tell—"

"Alright, alright," he says. "No need to get so rowdy."

"Ew. I hate that word. You should die."

She's so silly sometimes.

He makes a show of thinking, and she leans forward, impatient. Hand on his chin and forehead creased, he makes a low, noncommittal hum, and says, "No."

I believe in doomed souls, he never says. Souls that split each other apart.

Her eyebrows fly into the heavens. "Wellllll, okaayyyy," she says. "Ignorance. 'Tis ignorance that makes you think such, surely. I'm fixing that. What if I tell you all about them—" she glances at her watch— "with the seven minutes I have until I go back to being a suffering member of society? Maybe I can convince you that they exist, hmm?"

He chuckles. "Sure."

At that, she lifts her cup of hot chocolate (she ordered it despite Sage's warning that it doesn't mix well with watermelon slushies) in an offer for a toast, just because she can. He humors her, again, his own mug of hot chocolate clinking gently against hers. She tips her head back and chugs it all down like some sort of drunkard.

She could drink if she wanted to, he thinks. Alcohol, that is. Today's her twenty-first birthday. She could do whatever she wanted, including getting piss-drunk. She has time.

She has a year and a half to live.

...

still interested?

this funky mess is a part of my still-growing collection of one-shots on my wattpad page. you can read the rest here!

i'm planning on turning this concept into a novel one day. if you're interested in seeing what happens after the events of the one-shot, be sure to vote and interact with this post by any means you'd like!

(that way, i'll know people want to know more.)

let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

[thesoftestcowboy]

This is wayy late but I just realised I never really posted this anywhere - this is a collage I made for an exhibition we had on this year's TdoV. It's quite a personal piece and a bit unusual as I tend to do more light-hearted work these days, but I really like it - its topic was the assesments I went through when I legally changed my name and gender marker in 2018. The top layer of each paper were some (photocopied) lines of the assesment documents rearranged in a way that is meant to showcase the sheer absurdity and ultimate meaninglessness of the process (and the views on gender behind it).

I won't upload the individual pictures (the text is almost all german anyway), but I'll put a transcription and some thoughts below the cut! TW for some transphobia (nothing physically violent, but it's kinda the whole topic), discussion of ableism and sexism, mentions of suicide and self-harm. Also it's quite long

1- "Customer receipt | In reply to the question | 1. Does a transsexual characteristic exist in the applicant? | In the scales for recording of the so-called gender dysphoria, gender was codified and calculated. | Answers will be noted | Mr XXXX is waiting for your evaluation."

The background is different passport pictures of myself - from age 2 to mid-20s - overlaid and edited to make them resemble a person without any specific, tangible traits. I wasn't less male when I wore braids or lipstick and don't see the point in contrasting the 'before' and 'after' - all of these layers are a part of me and can't be separated by gender or age or before and after.

2- "1.6 Family medical history: | Mr. XXXX states that in his blood relatives, the following ailments are known: | Persistent male identity experience | the parents' marriage | social success | normal sexual interest || Mr. XXXX emphasises again and again, how good and harmonious he feels in the male role, in contrast to her father and brother, who, due to their tomboyish behavior, are allowed to live out freely the male role and consistent masculine appereance | allthough no change of first name or status of the person was implemented. | At present, no treatment by doctors is being carried out."

I won't translate all of them, but on the bottom page, I added a variety of questions I have been asked about gender or transitioning , with the ones from the evaluation bolded. Some of them just deal with plain old sexism ("Are you sure this is not dad's job?", "Is this gift for a boy?"). The bolded statements return to being about wearing dresses again and again ("But you had to wear one for grandma, right?"). The drawings in the background are from a picture of my family I did in kindergarten, copied a bunch of times and the heads and bodies switched. Adding onto the last picture, I wanted to show the layers of gendering that even a 4-year-old experiences day-to-day.

3- "Mr. XXXX has, due to the assessment for the change of first name and personal status according to TSG, undergone testing on the topics of | sitting, walking and talking, efficiency, letter reading, number repetition, and | letter repetition, perception and other cognitive functions as well as | intelligence || After assessing the overall situation and the developmental specifics, the existence of | general personality traits can be affirmed."

The lines are, again, rearranged, but yes I had to do exercises about counting and vocabulary. Is there a level of intelligence needed to be trans? I don't think ableism and transphobia intertwinging with these kinds of evaluations are a secret exactly.

4- "The appetite is directed towards men in fantasy as well as practice. | Mr. XXXX appears 'gay, interested in men as a man' | Apparently, so it is reported, he has had good experiences overall with this."

The page is covered with a thin, lavender fabric, partly covering dating advice for young women from a 1950s book. Apart from the color symbolism, the fabric would usually be found in women's clothes. Being gay is quite an important part of being a man for me, but that meaning is usually downplayed or ignored in these assessments.

5- "2.4.2.1 Rorschach-Test || 3. Diagnosis | Ailments, (e.g. | Depression, somatisation, anxiety, mania as well as transvestism, sexual disorders, unacknowledged homosexuality, neurotic or psychotic disorders, personality disorders, disorders due to substance abuse etc. or self-harming tendencies, anxieties, depressions, compulsions, personality disorders, sexual disorders, [unreadable] disorders, addictions, suicide attempts, psychosomatic disorders, | hallucinations, egomania) | unlimited concentration problems | but all in all healthy."

The Rorschach test is controversial at best and yet something to go through for this. Do you question the scientific basis of this during evaluation and risk it all? Or do you just give half-asses answers that go on to diagnose you with something or the other? Overall, psychiatry is used against you either way. At which point am I too depressed to be allowed to be trans?

6- "by all means perceived as male | holding the male role | under consideration of the principles described above, Mr. XXXX fulfills the legal and medical criteria without a reasonable doubt. || Score: 3 || Diagnosis atfer [ICD-10, gender dysphoria F. 64.0, with citations.]"

Trying to get a good score at being male which is normal to expect of people and possible to achieve, as proven by me actually having succeeded in doing a name change.

[gasha40k]

The last post was supposed to be a lot longer, but it got cut off because Tumblr is made of rocks. I’ve got a bit more to share, starting with a little bit of progress on World Eaters.

Finally got my hands on this guy again. I only need two more models to finish my World Eaters character collection: Azrakh the Annihilator and Angron. I also saved the Juggernaut body from my first Invocatus so soon I’ll have a Lord on Juggernaut as well

The fluff behind Lord Invocatus is so excessively metal that I can’t help but love it. The mental image of Avocado here galloping across the sky on a bridge of smoke and flame is one of the most raw things I think I am capable of imaging. That being said, the model is, like, very disappointingly not on fire, even if it’s still a banger model. I felt that this was a horribly missed opportunity, so I went about and built a reposed Invocatus with an added 3D fire effect from Deadly Print Studios to represent the bridge of flames. I’m really happy with this! Not only does the repose make him look larger and more ferocious, but the fire makes him look like the centerpiece that he should be, and the visual of him and his Juggernaut leaping over a plume of flame is sure to strike fear into the hearts of whoever I field him against. Or he’ll be the biggest target on the board because of his posing, and he’ll get shot and killed immediately. We’ll find out!

In the time since my last post, I’ve also come into possession of a few new neat 3D printed models for some little projects of mine, courtesy of an Ork-playing friend. This guy here is Tyrant Siege Terminator from the Iron Warriors Legion, the Chaos Legion that my Thunderbearers claim their heritage from (not that they’d know this, though).

Making that objective marker from a few posts ago was really fun, so I made some more ideas for custom ones to use with my factions. While I don’t exactly have a plan of action regarding this guy here, I do know that I’m going to turn him into some kind of relic recovery marker. A supremely apocryphal Chapter artifact of the highest sanctity, for the eyes of the most elite Thunderbearers only. An echo from a forgotten past, a powerless demigod from a lost era, frozen in time and waiting for 10,000 years. This’ll eventually be painted in Thunderbearers regalia and draped with either creeping vines and wild overgrowth, or dust, cobwebs, and rubble. Despite its heraldry, however, this ancient armor is still noticeably a Terminator pattern utilized almost exclusively by the Iron Warriors Traitor Legion. This implies that whichever venerable forebear originally adorned this armor would’ve either been a Battle-Brother of the Chapter’s earliest shrouded histories, or a later Astartes of such grand renown that he inherited what would’ve undoubtedly been one of the Chapter’s most valuable artifacts. Regardless, it’s a neat looking piece and not something that people will glean from first glance. It’s like a little Chapter Easter egg basically for me only, and that’s cool cuz it’s my army. <3

This beefy boy will be the subject of another objective marker. After a page describing each of the Chaos Gods, 9th Edition’s Codex: Chaos Daemons includes a two-page spread detailing anecdotes about various Daemon Worlds and how exactly they’d fallen to the Gods. The above excerpt from the Khornate incursion on a Daemon World named Tartora struck me as particularly visually poignant, so this boisterous Ork is gonna get turned into a statue of brass and bone. I’ll decorate his base with various skulls and lots and lots of blood. Maybe fire, too. I think a sort of glowing red vein effect on the base might be pretty cool. I’ll use him primarily with my World Eaters. Combined with a classic skull tower that I’m gonna make at some point, that means I’ll have two objective markers for both of my armies.

Moving on, I’ve been painting my dudes in what I believe to be their final color scheme for a good long while now. I’ve even started putting transfers on some of them as of a couple loads ago. That being said, I noticed that my most up-to-date heraldry sheet was kind of total garbage, and it didn’t represent the current look of the army whatsoever. This new heraldry sheet will be my (almost) final one; the colors are all correct, the helmets are all correct, and the Chapter icon has been edited and finalized. I may change the symbol signifying Chapter Honor Guard to be a set of tilted black stripes, sorts like hazard stripes but with the yellow replaced by Wraithbone. This could be another subtle nod to the Iron Warriors heritage as black stripes are a very common pattern, which means it could rationally be either an ambiguous heraldry of visually pleasing design, or iconography from culture that’s evolved slowly over the course of 10,000 years.

On the gameplay front, I recently played my first and likely final game of Strike Force in 9th with my brother. To send out 9th and usher in 10th, the Thunderbearers and Cobalt Lancers got together again for a good old fashioned “full-scale combat simulation.” They definitely used tracer rounds or something.

Most of my games are pretty standard but this one was great fun. We had very similar army compositions, with differences only in some key areas, like armor and HQ choice. The plan for us both was to forward deploy Infiltrator squads to hunker down on objectives, since we both took our Chapter-specific action secondaries. The mission we rolled, however, had better plans, and disabled setup rules in No Man’s Land, effectively making the Phobos forward deploy completely useless. It was a really even game, likely my favorite I’ve played so far, and I realize now after playing it that 2000pts is definitely the way that 40k is meant to be played. There were a lot of cool moments, too, and I think that was mostly facilitated by the higher point limit.

A Redemptor, an Aggressor Squad, an Eversor Assassin, and a Primaris Techmarine walk into a bar.

One of those cool moments was a chain of events that I’ll remember for a good long while. After my Predator las-sniped an enemy Redemptor, my own Redemptor stomped up to join two Space Marine columns locked in combat. After some intense combat, the Dreadnought was felled, surprisingly setting of an explosion, dealing mortals to literally everyone in the circle. The Techmarine takes the opportunity to kill the Eversor after this, who then explodes, killing the Techmarine. Earlier in the game, an Impulsor had exploded, and if I recall correctly, Big Harold exploded, bringing the game’s total explosion count to around 4 or 5. Fun!

My brother beat me on objectives, 26-40. He played his primaries far better than I did, and I was far too focused on killing his scary shit to properly run my secondaries. While I took out his Repulsor—the centerpiece of any good Cobalt Lancers army—during the game’s first BR, which significantly lessened his firepower and freed me up to move, aggressive pushes with his Impulsor and excellent positioning of his squads kept me at bay and I lost the inevitable Astartes vs. Astartes battle of attrition.

I hope that I can play some more 2000pts games here soon. I got my hands on a copy of the new Core Rulebook, so I’ll be hopefully be dipping my toes into the future of the 42nd millennium here soon. I’ve got some friends who wanna get back into the game with 10th, so I’ll be getting a couple Combat Patrol games in as well. Maybe Calthradia will follow into 10th, but the Crusade has been on hold for months now and I’m undergoing some significant life changes at the moment, so I doubt I’ll be making much consistent progress for a while.

[siennasfix]

Pareidolia

Chapter 2 "Watchful silence"

*****

<<<Chapter 1 Chapter 3>>>

Trigger warnings: 1. Funeral 2. Smoking weed 3. Mentions of starvation 4. Human experimentation

Each resident of Camp Jupiter was within their right to request how they wished to be buried. Their individual choices were largely influenced by the customs of the empire over which their Godly parent presided, which served as a marker of identity even in death. Greek demigods and legacies almost always chose to have their bodies turned to cinders; their ashes preserved in urns. It was up to their family and friends to choose whether to keep or scatter them to a site of their choosing. The offspring of their Roman counterparts most often opted for inhumation, despite the practice having been just as commonplace as cremation, and there were cemeteries and catacombs designated to hold the remains for eternity. 

Ruth Velasco, daughter of Mercury, had done no such thing so the decision had been left up to her siblings. Ultimately, they resolved to have her buried in the catacombs beneath the temple of Mercury on Temple Hill. The news had spread like wildfire and it wasn’t hard to understand why. A girl of twenty was found impaled on the statue of the ruler of the pantheon, her corpse violated. 

The picture on the front page of Noctua Mane, Latin for Morning Owl, was nothing like the one Y/n had seen the night of the murder. Sweet smile, eyes that sparkled with good-natured mischief, olive skin, light brown eyes and arched eyebrows, and straight black hair tucked behind her left ear. She was the picture of joy. Or had been. 

Now she was a girl whose life had been taken too soon, her corpse lying frozen in the morgue of the underground laboratories of the CIH, Criminal Investigation Headquarters. Somewhere, in another mortuary cabinet, lay the corpse of Juliana Pierce. Both of them were kept from the warmth of the soil so that the experts might produce some worthwhile evidence to conclude the investigation with satisfactory results. What that entailed remained a mystery to everyone but the members of the Council.  There was nothing for Olympia University to do but pay their respects in the Hall of Ceremonies.

On any other day, Y/n might have taken the time to appreciate the grandeur of it all. It was immaculate, down to the most minute particulars. The Hall, a building in and of itself located 300 meters in the northeast, stood somewhat separate from the rest of the campus and the Training Center. Gardens of the most delectable fragrances and topiaries in the shapes of the most common perceptions of the Gods, celestial creatures, and animals associated with divinity made for an ethereal ambiance. Even today, the pelt of grief, in which the hearts of Ruth Velasco’s loved ones were engulfed, was not in the least reflected in their surroundings. The water pouring from the beaks of two marble swans in love remained clear, the surface of the water in the fountain before the front steps of the building unperturbed. 

The interior evoked a different feeling. Significant effort had been made to convey the grief be it through the roses and violets lining the walls or the black drapes with those same flowers embroidered on them. The cushioning of the chairs, too, was black. Of course, the banners adorned with the Caduceus symbol, representing Mercury and Hermes, could not be missing from the ceremony. So large were they that the entire length of each column was concealed by the fabric. 

Truly, Y/n would have loved nothing more than to sit in her chair and admire the intricacies of the edifice but how could she when the only things on her mind were the events of that night and the conversation she’d had with Luna before stepping out of the house? She’d made a repeat of the conversation this morning as well. 

“Remember,” Aside from her voice, the sound of the zip of the green padded jacket coming up to Luna’s neck was the only one in the room, “Don’t talk about what you saw. Just don’t talk about it. Don’t mention it. If anyone asks anything related to it just say you feel bad that she died. Tell them she was so pretty, like a princess. Okay?” 

Luna had nodded and her gaze had fallen on the place where Y/n’s fingers met the jacket. 

“What- what if they take me?” Her little sister had said in a shaky voice. “What if they don’t let you take me home? Then I- then I- 

  “No, no, little moth,” Y/n had wrapped her arms tightly around her little sister’s shoulders and patted her back to calm her nerves (the past few days had been brutal for Luna). Then, she draped her scarlet scarf around the girl’s neck. “No, they won’t do that. They can’t do that because you’re innocent. See, you haven’t done anything wrong. You just saw something you shouldn’t have seen, something no one should have to see. But you were here, in our bedroom, and I was lying on the floor next to you. I’ll tell them that and no one will be able to hurt you.” 

By now Luna’s chest is rising and falling rapidly and Y/n can feel each movement against her torso. 

“But what if they don’t believe you?” She asked, fingers curling around Y/n’s jacket. “Then they’ll really take me away.” 

“I won’t let them, though,” Y/n said, knowing she wouldn’t be able to stop them. 

It had taken a few minutes but eventually, Luna’s breathing had returned to normal and they’d headed out the door, Luna in her padded green jacket, worn-out jeans and shoes, and Y/n in Olympia’s official uniform of dark sienna. The moist March wind had caressed their cheeks as they made the one-hour walk toward Luna’s school and when they had had to part ways at the towering gate of steel, for fear of showing up late for the ceremony, Y/n had squeezed the small hand one last time before ushering her inside. Those big brown eyes had glanced back one last time as she’d waved goodbye, trying to freeze some joy onto her face for the sake of the scared little girl. Then, she’d smoothed over the knee-length skirt that seemed a bit larger each time she tried it on, secured the pin on her chest, empty though it was, and set off for Olympia. Tardiness, justified or otherwise, would only arouse suspicion. 

Professor Philomena Laqueus, daughter of Athena, head of Olympia University’s Academic Board, a senior Overseer, and an esteemed member of the Council of Rome, ascended the steps to the raised platform at the end of the Hall that allowed her an unobstructed view of each Cohort. Her appearance was enough to bring Y/n’s thoughts to a screeching halt. With her graying frizzy hair, strong jaw, and the gold and royal purple paludamentum draped over her muscular shoulders the woman was nothing if not overwhelming. The rest of her outfit was the same as that of the academic personnel seated behind to the right and the student body; a dark sienna, with the identification pin attached to the jacket on the left side of her wide chest. But she made it all the more unnerving; an exalted slaughterhouse. 

As a sign of respect, each student stood. After a few moments of sweeping her gaze across the hall, the woman raised her hand for them to take their seats. 

“Today,” Her voice had a heavy yet tremulous quality to it, not raspy like most would assume at first glance, and each word sounded like a boulder being flipped on its side. “We gather to bid farewell to Ruth Velasco, daughter of Mercury and member of the Second Cohort.” Y/n glances three rows to the right just as Professor Laqueus gestures to them. Some appear distraught. Others wear a mask of unflinching marble. The woman addresses the rest of the student body once again. “Miss Velasco’s kind and amiable disposition earned her the admiration of her peers and betters as she approached every obstacle with unwavering perseverance. Her courage and reverence for the Divine Rule of the Pantheon were profoundly inspiring, serving as a lasting testament to what a demigod ought to strive for. For this reason and her inestimable attributes, her absence will be felt deeply by all who knew her, even if in passing.” Her gaze slides across the hall in an almost wolfish manner, as though scouring every inch for the faintest trace of guilt. “Thus, we bid a solemn farewell to a compassionate person whose true potential was never fully realized, whose hopes and ambitions will remain unfulfilled as time moves forward towards a brighter tomorrow. But that is not to be an omen to a sorrowful ending to all things. Although her absence is profoundly felt, it may bring solace to know that her legacy can be enriched by those who have the means to do so. As a parting tribute, we make this vow to her.” 

It was at that moment, as Philomena Laqueus uttered the final sentence of her speech, that Y/n felt eyes stalking her every breath. 

“Though her flesh and bones may lay buried,” The grounding cadence of the woman’s voice drove each word home, “The truth shall crawl to light.” 

Y/n wished she’d never craned her head to find the source of her discomfort. Four rows to her right, where the members of the First Cohort sat proudly in their black chairs, dark eyes pierced through the hundreds of students filling the distance between them. How she wished she had not picked this seat that was neither at the front nor in the far back but somewhere in between, because if she had, he wouldn’t have found it so easy to stare at her without raising some eyebrows. She meant only to glance at him but the moment their eyes met, she found herself holding his gaze. While she could feel cold sweat pooling down her back, he remained unabashed and unfaltering. He was dressed the same as the rest of the male students. His hair was in a half-up half-down style, with a few strands at the front framing his face. He looked like the only thing he had running through his veins was stardust and needed to draw blood to seem human. 

Not wishing to be at the receiving end of his pursuits, Y/n turned around, swallowed, and tried to focus on the farewell speeches of the leaders of the Second Cohort, Choi Soobin, the only son of Jupiter, and Hwang Yeji, daughter of Victoria. No word stuck in her brain. Everything was an amalgam of parting words, sniffling, and silence so solemn and disquieting that Y/n found herself shifting in her seat, hands fisted on her lap. More cold sweat beaded on her forehead. It felt as though every gaze was on her, hammering guilt into the pin on her chest. The dread of being perceived as suspicious had her heart threatening to shatter the constraints of her ribcage. Over the course of several speeches delivered by Ruth Velasco’s loved ones, scenarios spun in her mind; of escape, imprisonment, torture, and execution. Not once did she imagine herself or Luna being saved. 

When the ceremony came to an end, it took tremendous willpower not to bolt for the exit. She forced herself to picture their eyes narrowing in suspicion, their castigatory stares, and the disdainful curl of their lips if she were to let her panic take over. This was how she kept herself from shoving her way through as the other members of the Fifth Cohort made their way out of the hall. 

Once they were out in the gardens, she decided to put some distance between herself and the rest. The topiaries were of various sizes. Some were the size of a poodle while others grew up to six meters. It was behind one of the latter that she found some solace, shaking as she massaged her knuckles. As if that would force her anxiety into submission. 

Y/n could hear the students gathering at the front of the edifice while others headed back to the main building. Lectures didn’t start until 10:30 so they could afford to loiter about the grounds in the meantime. What she hadn’t considered was that other students would seek comfort in the gardens as well (she’d gone fairly deep within the labyrinthine structure after all) especially close enough for her to catch snippets of their conversation. Following the direction from which the voices were drifting, she at first estimated a distance of around five meters to her left. But upon gathering some of her wits about her, she realized it was the shadows telling her. The students, males by the sound of it, were standing in the shade of a topiary two rows behind her and likely at a far greater distance. If she made no noise, they would probably not realize someone was eavesdropping. Not that she was doing it on purpose. 

“Was her corpse really missing the eyes?” One of the boys said, making no great effort to be discreet. “Or was that just a rumor?” 

The silence stretched for a few seconds and Y/n could hear everything from the wind whispering in the dense forest beyond the garden to the leaves brushing against fabric as one of the boys leans against the topiary. When the response did come, it was in a voice so velvety and euphonious that she found herself pressing her left ear into the bush. The effect should have concerned her, but it didn’t. 

“Yeah, her eyes had been gouged out.” 

The first boy muttered a ‘damn’ before pulling something out of the pockets of his uniform. It sounded like paper. 

“The killer must have taken them before fleeing. Since they weren’t found at the crime scene.” He laughed a little before continuing, “The CIH better pray the fucker isn’t a cannibal.” 

The other scoffed. “They might as well save their breaths.” 

That seemed to give the first boy pause. For a few moments, no words were exchanged between the two, and the only sounds were those of paper chafing against paper, birds chirping, and students talking among themselves at the front of the building. 

“What do you mean?” the first boy asked eventually, in a lower voice. 

“It wasn’t a cannibal.” The other one clarified. “Whoever killed her, stole her eyes, and put her body on display didn’t do it for self-gratification.” 

The first sounded genuinely confused as he questioned, “What else was it then? Self-defense? But Ruth wasn’t violent. Not as far as I know.” 

There was no other way to describe the moments between that last sentence and the one that followed other than grim and fretful. The blossoms around them, for all their vibrant colors and riveting fragrances, did nothing to lighten the atmosphere, serving instead as mere decorations. Synthetic. Hollow. Illusory. Y/n pressed her right palm lightly against the bush, dewy greenery against her skin, breathing as quietly as she could while listening attentively to each breath the male students took despite knowing she shouldn’t. 

The boy with the mellifluous voice at last spoke, “I thought we you dragged me here for a smoke.” 

The first boy let out a cartoonish snicker. 

“Lo and behold, Hwang.” There came the sound of flame flickering to life. “This is prime quality weed I’ve rolled for you so let’s get high out of your fucking mind. I won’t accept anything else.” 

After that, all Y/n could do was stay there and listen to them blabber about things she had no clue about. Every time the conversation shifted; it was for the worse. Whatever they were smoking was influencing their ability to hold a sane conversation. The smell wasn’t all that nice either so they must have been receiving the desired effects if they were willing to withstand it. As they were leaving, the males sounded slightly more collected, as if their brains had pieced themselves back together. Y/n waited ten minutes before following them out and heading for the main building. 

**************************************************************************************************************************************

Their late breakfast was a gloomy affair, for obvious reasons. Several of Ruth Velasco’s closest friends and family sobbed into their steaming bowls of soup while others struggled to bring their spoons to their mouths with shaky hands, making sure to swallow their grief before taking a mouthful. The hall was relatively silent if one didn’t count the hushed conversations being had throughout the dining hall. Briefly, Y/n wished she could be part of a small group, weathering sudden woes together. Walking down the hallway and to Laboratory 205, where they conducted experiments concerning the field of Hematology, would be much easier then. But spying on the fleeting whispers around her would have to suffice. 

Only five students occupied the spacious room by the time she stepped through the door. A girl sat on the row by the window, face hidden from view as she napped the minutes away. One of the auburn-haired girls at the front, twins by the looks of it, penciled in her eyebrows as the other cracked a joke and they both burst out laughing. So far, her feet had been going on autopilot. But right before she could make the mistake of invading her classmate’s personal space, one she had never spoken with before, Y/n stopped in her tracks. 

Thoughts raced inside her head. And they were merciless. Had her seat been taken? Had Seungmin grown so tired of her that he no longer wished to be her lab partner? He’d become such at the beginning of the first semester but not by choice. Was that it? Had she made a mistake that had affected his grades? Seungmin was quite obsessed with them after all. His pride as a son of Minerva was on the line. Where was she going to sit now? If she had the nerve to ask the other boy where he had previously sat, then- 

The boy clapped Seungmin on the back and made his way toward another desk near the middle. Students started pouring in, and Y/n breathed a sigh of relief before taking her seat. After that, nothing out of the norm happened. Orlova took a roll call, after which she assigned them to spot RNA and DNA abnormalities and determine what they could result in, and left them to their devices. 

From time to time, she would approach students and oversee their work. Y/n always dreaded these moments. A bitter cold would sweep across the room, creeping into her circulatory system. Her very marrow seemed to freeze at the sight of Orlova heading towards their desk. The cold was without pity. 

“Is there a reason you refuse to take the medicine you’re given?” 

Seungmin’s voice from beside her was as low as it could be without the words being lost entirely. Still, she could detect the hint of annoyance behind his seemingly harmless question. 

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows at him. “Is there a reason you keep asking?” 

“You’re delaying our work.” He says and looks at her with utmost indifference. “I refuse to get a bad grade because of whatever complex you might have regarding your pills.” 

“It’s not a complex. You don’t- 

“You’re right.” He sets his pen on the notebook and looks into the microscope, adjusting the lenses. “I don’t understand. Which is why I posed the question, one you refuse to answer.” 

Y/n could feel the last of the warmth in her body travel up to her cheeks, staining them a sorry shade of pink. 

“Maybe you should ask the people who keep giving away confidential information.” She muttered. 

Seungmin didn’t bother to look up from the microscope. “Maybe I will.” 

A minute or two after their miserable and short-lived conversation, a knock came at the door and, at Professor Orlova’s permission, a boy about their age walked in, immediately making his way toward where she sat behind her desk. He leaned down and whispered something that had the woman’s mood visibly souring before stepping back as she shrugged off her lab coat. 

“Continue to work on your reports.” She instructed, facing the students who had previously been immersed in work or gossip. “Do not forget that the average grade for them comprises 20% of your final evaluation for this course.” 

There was only a unanimous nod and verbal affirmation before she exited the laboratory with the boy right on her heel. 

“What’s going on?” A student questioned in a whisper but no one answered. 

It didn’t matter anyway. They did have reports to finish after all. Liliana Orlova wasn’t one to try your luck with when it came to lab work. Many before them had attempted to pull one over her only to end up begging for the wretched yet invaluable 20% of the final grade and be met with her pitiless evaluation. She was within her right to do so. If exceptions were made, they had to be made for everyone. But that was exactly what was wrong with her. She had a soft spot for but a precious few, a group of elite students who were equally elitist, and everyone else got the stinky eye whenever they pled for leniency. Seungmin was, needless to say, a part of it. 

At least he didn’t try to make her talk about the despicable medicine she was routinely prescribed by the higher-ups. She hated talking about it even more than she did ingesting the actual thing. She felt less than for being questioned about it. 

Orlova returned a while later, heels clacking almost violently against the floor. Everyone in the lab could feel the frustration wafting off of her like some overpowering perfume. It made her resemble the children of Ares and Mars more than she or any child of Aphrodite and Venus would like to admit. Disturbingly similar. The space that had once been clinical could no longer be considered as such. Its sterility had become muddled. 

The footsteps came to a halt right in front of Y/n. Professor Orlova’s question cut through the uncomfortable silence. 

“Are you finished with the report, Miss. L/n?” 

Internally panicking, Y/n looked up from her paper. “I’m almost-  

“Being weak and slow-witted is not what a student of Olympia ought to strive for.” Even the way she said the words sounded cruel. How could the daughter of love speak with such loathing, looking her up and down as if picking her apart flaw by flaw? “Though I suppose it is rather difficult to be anything but given your… predicament.” 

She could talk back, snap at the professor the way she had before, but where would that take her? Back to Principal Jiang’s office? The old man would love that. He must enjoy doling out punishments for the same student over and over and over again like he had nothing better to do. Right now, the only person with nothing better to do was Y/n. So, she kept her mouth shut, lowered her head, and nodded. 

That seemed to satisfy the woman’s sadism because all she said was, “Place it on my desk in five minutes.” 

“Yes, Professor,” Y/n murmured and watched as she walked away, taking some of her foul aura with her. 

Then, just when the humiliation seemed to abate, Seungmin got the brilliant idea to speak. 

“Does that mean we are being graded separately?” He asked, eyes flitting between Professor Orlova and Y/n. 

The former turned and smiled slightly at him. 

“Of course, Mr. Kim,” she answered in a much softer voice. “I do not wish for you to suffer the consequences of her bovine capacity. You may continue.” 

Y/n dared a scathing glance toward Seungmin who had gone back to his work. Her fists itched to punch his teeth in and the sound of him breathing next to her after she had just had those words thrown at her was enough to send her into a fit of rage. It was cold though. So, the anger kept her warm. She didn’t need to look up to know the other students were staring at her. Some snickering. Others muttering to themselves. But if she had let her gaze roam, she would have met his. The one gaze that always seemed to linger when all else had ebbed. 

Seungmin took turns using the microscope. A sort of silent agreement not to speak until the end of the class. They worked separately and efficiently because that’s how he liked it. They didn’t speak because that’s how he liked it. It worked wonders for him but for Y/n it was one more box into which she was shoved. When she was finished, she stood and went up to Orlova’s desk, handing her the report with trembling fingers. 

“What is this?” Orlova spoke quietly, thumbing through the pages. 

She didn’t look pleased. Not at all. Y/n could only curse at that. 

“The report you asked for, Professor.” She answered, knowing the question had been rhetorical. 

The professor stopped turning pages and glanced up sharply. Y/n would be lying if she said she wasn’t at once thrilled and scared shitless. And it wasn’t like Orlova couldn’t pick up on it. Children of Aphrodite and Venus were equipped with a hound's nose since birth when it came to people’s emotions. They knew when you were in pain or at peace. It was safe to say that she couldn’t be too thrilled about Y/n’s reaction. 

That’s probably why she called Seungmin over. He glanced at Y/n in confusion as Orlova handed him the report. 

“Mr. Kim, as your professor, I demand that you be completely honest with me.” Orlova’s tone left no room for interruption or defiance. She looked him in the eye. “Did she steal your work? Did you help her with it?” 

If Seungmin felt awkward at the implication then Y/n was drowning in embarrassment. He took in her profile, the paper limp in his loose hold.  

“No, Professor, she did not.” He answered. “Nor did I help her with it.” 

Orlova was not satisfied. “Is that your final answer?” 

“Yes, professor.”

Again, that did not satisfy her. Her lab partner’s answer only seemed to make things worse. Maybe he was unaffected by it or unable to perceive when authority figures saw him as a filthy roach, but Y/n was and she could. It was pointless to pretend otherwise.  

“Very well, then. You may return to your seat.” She told him with a twitch of a smile and held out her hand for the report, which he placed on her palm before turning to leave. Y/n made to follow him. “Not you, Miss. L/n.” 

She had dreaded this. The moment when she’d be left facing Orlova, this time alone. Seungmin wasn’t her friend, but he was just there. In his presence, Orlova softened her words, cushioned her remarks, and sugar-coated her distaste. None of that now. 

The professor planted her elbows on the desk and clasped her hands. “What will it take for you to learn your place?” 

Y/n looked anywhere but at the woman in front of her. “I don’t kno- 

  Orlova squinted. 

“Enough with your pretend cluelessness.” She sneered. “You may have fooled Hajjar and Principal Jiang into seeing you as something other than what you truly are but you will find I am far more difficult to misguide.” 

Her brain went into overdrive. She was short-circuiting. 

“Whatever Professor Hajjar has in mind, I had nothing to do with it.” That only made the woman’s sneer grow in cruelty. “I don’t- I truly want no part in it.” 

She gave Y/n such a pointed look, that she felt it poking her eyeballs. 

“Then, it is only fair we question as to how a professor that has never once risen to your defense, has suddenly taken you under his wing.” Orlova unclasped her hands. “I warned you. I am much more difficult to misguide.” 

Y/n glanced down at the report, finding solace in her handwriting. 

“But I am not trying to.” She tried to appeal. 

Orlova gave her one last scathing look. “Go back to your seat.” 

She stood there, frozen, hands now purple from the cold and throat clogged up. This was bad. Whatever she had been called to attend forty-something minutes prior had ignited a new brand of hatred in the woman before her. Her grades would suffer for it. She would have no chance of being employed. Luna would have to live in even graver poverty. Penury as it was called. 

The walk back to her seat was like trudging through heavy snow. She couldn’t help but bite down on her lower lip, drawing blood. Hot pain. The only warmth she could provide for herself. And he was staring. Staring while conversing with his lab partner, a boy she recognized from the ceremony. Leader of the Second Cohort and Son of Jupiter. 

Y/n wanted to stare back, maybe even scowl at him. But he appeared too secure (symmetrical features, unflinching gaze, and physical adeptness) while she felt hounded on all fronts. They were horribly matched. 

She had to see Professor Hajjar and convince him of the implications of going through with his plan. As absurd as it sounded for someone to say this, she had to make a son of Minerva see reason. How was she going to do that though? Genius wasn’t encoded in her DNA. She couldn’t compete with him in terms of logic, rationality, and strategy. Not when he had the advantages of both nature and nurture. Whatever her argument, he was sure to counter it with one more thoroughly constructed. 

This was all she thought about while walking up the steps to his office, the same steps she had ascended just a few days earlier. Today she felt she had already received her punishment. So why was knocking on his door such a daunting task? When she managed, however, he gave her permission to enter. 

“Good afternoon, Professor.” She greeted. 

He looked up from his device and extracted a file from the neatly organized stack on his left. 

“Good afternoon, Miss. L/n. Here,” He motioned for her to come closer and once she stood in front of his desk, handed her the beige folder. “It is your training and diet regiment. I trust you have refrained from overeating. A ruptured stomach after years of starvation is the last thing we need right now.” 

She shook her head lightly. “No, I’m good. The lunch ladies are following your instructions.” 

Anxious to find the right way to start the discussion on her supposed training, she began abusing her lower lip feeling the skin peeling under the brute force. Because, truly, how was she supposed to tell him she wasn’t planning on going through with it because his colleague had all but threatened her? She could just outright say it. But that was so pathetic. So fucking pathetic. It would sound so ungrateful of her after all the string-pulling he did to get permission for her to train with her peers. In each fathomable scenario, she sounded like a snob.

“There is someone I would like you to meet on Monday.” His words pulled her out of her steaming train of thought. His hands were clasped before him, but it was not meant to taunt her she thinks. “Someone I think would be suitable to your needs.” 

She was back on the steaming train. “You won’t be the one training me?” 

Professor Hajjar unclasped his hands to gesture at the stacks of documents on his desk. 

“I am far too engaged with research and grading tests and assignments to oversee your training personally. The student I have in mind is hardworking and skilled at his craft.” 

“Student?” She questioned, fingers curling anxiously around the schedule. 

“Would that be an issue?” 

His question would be insulting if it weren’t for the fact that Y/n fears her peers as much as she wishes she could stand by their side. Whoever it was that he was dead set on assigning as her mentor would not be gentle. He would not be patient because he didn’t have to. Not when it was her. 

Y/n shifted her weight from one leg to the other until Hajjar had enough of her. He rose from his seat and headed for the bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines of books too expensive to dream of possessing. Being a renowned researcher and an esteemed professor at Olympia University meant he could afford such luxuries. Luxuries he apparently intended to extend to her. 

It was curious, how this was the first time a hand stretched in her direction, not seeking to draw blood but to gift. While she fought between rejecting his gift and accepting it with a thousand thanks, he unfurled her hand and placed the book on her cold palm. Instinctively, her fingers curled around the binding. 

“Just because I will not be there each day to supervise you, does not mean I will be left out of the loop with regards to your progress. One of your mentor’s duties will be to provide a weekly report on precisely that.” 

Y/n nodded, unable to speak for a few moments. 

“Can you tell me his name?” She asked when the initial shock had begun to subside. 

Professor Hajjar regarded her stoically, hands clasped behind his back. 

“As I said,” He began in an even tone, walking back to his seat, “You will meet him on Monday at the Training Center.” 

What was with all the mystery? Why couldn’t he just tell her outright? Was it that crucial to his plans that she be kept in the dark? Despite having received the gift a few moments earlier, she felt her nervousness spike up again. 

“Professor, can I ask you something?” The question slipped from her lips. 

The man peered at her from behind his glasses once more. “Carry on.” 

“Can I take some of the food back home to my sister?” She asked without delay, fearing that if she hesitated, she might never say it at all. “I thought that since raising our stipend is out of the question, I might at least take some of the food home to her. Like- like maybe half a burger, for example. Or a salad. That way she can- her stomach hurts so- 

“Miss. L/n.” 

“Yes?” 

She was breathing erratically, something she realized after having been interrupted. Her heart beat so fast it hurt each time her chest rose and fell. But she could only look at Hajjar, sending him a silent plea. 

He nodded and said, “It will be arranged.” 

To say this was the best thing to have happened to her in a while would be a dishonest understatement. Because it was the most benevolent thing anyone here had desired or dared to do for her. It was the only thing anyone here, on Camp Jupiter, had ever done for her period. She would be forever grateful. 

“Thank you, Professor.” 

Eos Elementary would put the fear of the heavens in the foundations of any normal elementary school outside of Camp Jupiter. It was only right though, considering the attendees weren’t normal children and those other schools didn’t have to teach them how to control their gifts so they didn’t blow up the building for being upset. It was built to accommodate the talents of every young demigod and hone their skills so they could overcome the challenges they would have to face later on in examinations and quests. Easy-peasy? No. Not for any demigod, but especially Luna. 

Luna, who stood outside the gate with her scarf wrapped up to her cheeks with only an armed guard to keep her company. Luna, who kicked at rocks, waiting for Y/n to pick her up so they could go home and do their homework in bed. She jogged toward the little girl, wrapping her arms around her. 

“Heyyyy.” She greeted, trying to sound cheerful. 

“Hey.” 

Luna was less enthusiastic than usual, which wasn’t surprising. Given everything. Y/n helped take her backpack off her shoulders, carrying it in one hand and holding the other for the little girl to take, which she did. 

“Everything good at school?” Y/n asked, trying to ignore the guard’s stare burning into their backs. 

Instead of responding with words, Luna simply nodded and looked down at her feet as Y/n herded her through the streets. 

“So, guess what,” Y/n said when they had to stop at a red light. Luna only looked up at her briefly before looking back down, kicking at the pavement. Still, Y/n tried to sound jovial as she delivered the good news. “I get to bring you food from the dining hall from now on!” 

Luna perked up at her words, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Really?” She said, dark eyes glinting with hope. “You can?” 

Y/n matches her enthusiasm with an excited nod, fingers tightening around the smaller hand as she enumerated whatever came to mind. 

“Hamburgers. Salads. Pasta. Soups and stews. Whatever is on the menu for breakfast and lunch.” 

“Even the honey muffins?” Luna is practically jumping for joy at this point. 

“Even those.” 

The rest of the way home, Luna is asking her about how much food she eats at school, unaware that she has only recently tried the food there. But Y/n makes a good show of bragging about it in hopes that it will lift the girl’s spirits higher. It works like a charm. 

There is little to no difference between their rotten apartment and the streets; cold, wet, and a tad gloomier than the lamplit alleys. But Y/n cooks a pathetic batch of what’s supposed to be pancakes for Luna (a bit of cheese as well sprinkled with olive oil and oregano she had stolen during New Year’s) and hands her a glass of water to wash it down. Then they get into bed and do their homework in silence so that tomorrow they can spend the day at the aviary. This is all fine. The problem is falling asleep. There seems to be no dream compelling enough to claim Luna’s consciousness for a few hours. No blanket so thick as to keep her warm. 

Y/n tucked her black hair behind her ear. “Are you cold?” 

Luna nodded slowly. 

“I’m scared.” She confessed and looked up at her. “Can you stay with me?” 

With that, all thoughts of sleeping on the floor were abandoned. Keeping Luna warm and feeling safe was her top priority. 

“Here,” she said, cupping her hands under the blanket. “It’s better now, isn’t it?” 

“A little.” 

“You can go to sleep now. There’s nothing here.” 

Even as she spoke the words the falsity of them rang loud and clear. Especially in a room so utterly cold, and dark, the walls of which were covered with mold no matter how she tried to scrape it off. Luna knew it too, even if she hesitated in speaking her mind. Fear did that to a person, a child. 

“What if I see something again?” She asked, a tremor in her voice. “What if they kill me?” 

Y/n pulled her into an embrace, bones digging into smaller bones, and rubbed soothing circles on her sister's back. She kisses her temple as Luna fists the back of her midnight blue shirt.  “Nothing’s going to happen to you. I’m right here, aren’t I?” 

Luna lifts her head and looks Y/n in the eye, a silent plea. “You won’t leave after I fall asleep?” 

She couldn’t lie to her this time, couldn’t part from her when her breathing evened out, and lay down on the floor. She couldn’t part from her to sit at the edge of the bed, holding her hand when she was cold all over. No, tonight was going to be different. 

“I promise.” 

She secures the blanket around their shivering bodies. 

************************************************************************************************************************************************

Monday turned out to be absolute poison. Not only did Professor Orlova keep breathing down her neck about every single noise regardless if Y/n had caused it or not, but her arms hurt like a fucking cunt from the apex of her shoulders to her wrist. She could barely write and could only take about five minutes of carrying her ratty brown backpack before removing it and sitting just about anywhere to roll her shoulders. There was no relief. It only hurt more. Breakfast went down smoothly so there was that, but other than the warm meal nothing about that day seemed promising. 

The entirety of Olympia, be it the student body or the staff, had been almost a bit too eager to leave Juliana Pierce’s death behind like a rusty relic in a dilapidated museum, but the mood had shifted over the weekend. Now, everyone whispered amongst themselves, raising question after question. Some even had theories of their own to share over breakfast, and Y/n had eavesdropped from her table while pretending to revise one more time before classes began. 

Lucky for her, she didn’t have to strain to catch the conversation a group of four students were having at the long table to her left which joined another, then another, to the very end of the vast structure. It wasn’t enough that she couldn’t afford to have a warm meal in the dining hall, but even when she could, it was an unspoken rule that she had to sit at a table separate from the rest. It was a mere three feet of a distance, but it cemented a tacit ultimatum; that she was not to mingle. She was not to pollute the other tables with her presence. She didn’t attempt to change that. Even if the group of students seemed to be of an amiable disposition. 

Having had her blood drawn earlier than usual, as per Professor Hajjar’s instructions, Y/n had arrived there before them. She’d managed to catch glimpses of them. Not that there was any need to, as they were the same students who always sat there; two young men and two young women. The males, Jisung and Felix, were the same sons of Apollo she’d caught looking at her the week before when Orlova had put her on the spot. One of the girls was Hwang Yeji, leader of the Second Cohort. The other, whose Cohort Y/n didn’t know, she’d heard the three refer to as ‘Lia’. By now she’d memorized their voices. 

“It’s been three weeks though.” Said Lia, “Shouldn’t the CIH have found a lead by now?” 

A sound similar to a scoff, but more resigned came from Jisung. 

“So what if it’s been three weeks?” He countered, and seemingly after taking a bite out of his cheesy bun, adds, “The paper said there were no footprints, no DNA left behind at the crime scene. So far, the only way for them to find a lead is by analyzing the killer’s method. They could just be a perfectionistic bastard who’s hard to catch.” 

“The people that were there said that she’d stripped naked and skinned alive.” Said Yeji. “Remember what that girl with the black and red spiky hair said when they interviewed her?” 

This time it was Felix who spoke. 

“Yeah, we were about to turn off the TV when that came on and she started talking about the hole in Ruth’s chest. No heart. No eyes either. No traces of DNA, monster, beast, or human.” He paused, and Y/n flipped the page. “Poor girl looked about to have a breakdown. Good thing they cut it before they caught it on camera.” 

“Like it would have mattered.” Shot Jisung through a mouthful of mushroom-and-dill chicken and dumpling soup. “She’s going to have to live with the sight of Ruth’s corpse for the rest of her life. What a bunch of pussies have to say doesn’t matter shit.” 

Groaning in disgust, Yeji muttered, “Says the bitch with social anxiety.” 

“Don’t start shit with me, Elmo lookalike.” Fired Jisung. 

What followed was a back-and-forth worthy of the circus. Even amidst the clatter of utensils all around them, the cuss words being hurled across the table entered Y/n’s ears unobstructed. She tried to make sense of some of the expressions but without much success. 

“Isn’t it strange though?” Lia spoke in a soft voice, and the rest of them stopped to listen while Y/n wallowed a spoonful of the soup. 

When it became obvious that she wasn’t going to elaborate, Jisung took it upon himself to ask her to clarify. 

“Lia, baby girl, everything’s fucking weird around here lately.” Y/n could hear the laugh he was trying to suppress. “You’re going to have to be more specific.” 

“What Felix said before, about there being no traces of DNA.” She explained, voice still gentle. “There’s always something left behind, isn’t there? Cloth fibers. Skin. Nails. Body fluids.” Y/n started in her chair, soup spilling out of her spoon and back into the porcelain bowl, as booming laughter sounded from somewhere across the dining hall. It seemed to temporarily catch their attention. Then, Lia whispered. “It’s almost like whoever did that to Ruth was never even there. Like the only evidence they ever existed is the tragedy they left behind.” 

Felix matched Lia’s whispery tone with his own. “What if they left something but we have no way of understanding it because we aren’t aware of its existence?” 

Jisung groaned, mouth full of food. 

“Whatever,” He interjected, likely wanting to end the conversation, “It’s not like we’re going to solve the case at eight in the morning.” 

“No coffee today?” Asked Yeji, sounding surprised. 

That seemed to ignite some kind of previously dampened frustration in Jisung as he all but pushed the chair backward, the legs screeching against the floor. 

“I would have had some,” he emphasized and Y/n heard Felix make a choking noise, “If not for this chicken dragging me away from the vending machine like a wet rag going all ‘we have to cut back on coffee, Jisung’ and ‘it’s not healthy to put that much caffeine in your body, Jisung’.” 

“Really? You’re trying to lay off coffee?” Yeji’s question was answered by another series of choking sounds. None of them paid that any heed as Jisung continued to do whatever he was doing, Yeji sipped from her cup, and Lia took a small bite out of the dumpling in the soup (Y/n spied from the corner of her eye). “That’s great, you know. I was getting worried seeing you chugging down liters of coffee like it’s water.” 

Jisung released a short laugh of absolute derangement. “Yeah right. He just doesn’t want to have to run just to take a shit.” 

Y/n couldn’t withhold her laughter anymore. It spluttered out of her even as she abused her lower lip by biting into it. Some of the soup that had barely passed her lips and that she’d been trying not to swallow for fear of choking with amusement, ended up on the silver tray. She swallowed what remained in her mouth and used a napkin to wipe her lips. 

They’d stopped talking by now. Y/n could feel their gaze on her so she tried her best to act like she’d been laughing at something else, turning the page, and mentally punching herself for it as realization struck. Nothing about Hematology was amusing. In fact, it was rather infuriating considering who taught the course. Pathetic. Fortunately, the group of four had let her be pathetic in peace, not bothering with pointing out how disgusting she was, and they’d all gone about their day in peace. 

The little comfort she’d derived from Orlova’s lecture was thanks to Seungmin’s presence. She would never tell him that though. Surely, he would hate to be perceived as someone she could trust, someone she could consider a friend. He made this obvious through his body language; maintaining a conspicuous distance when they worked in pairs even as the rest huddled near the microscope, mostly looking at her from his peripheral vision, giving curt answers, shrugging when she asked a question, and so on. Whatever ease she felt in his company was to be kept a secret from him. 

What she couldn’t keep a secret was the unease that had taken root in her subconscious the previous week, when she’d first become conscious of his existence. Hwang, as his friend had called him, had been perusing the pages of his Hematology textbook just as Y/n had taken a few moments to look about the room. She hadn’t been paying attention to him specifically, but he had somehow sensed her wandering gaze and turned quickly enough to catch her admiring the architectural design, gazes locking. The oxygen had vanished from her lungs. Cold with fear of Luna being taken into custody, Luna charged with a murder she hadn’t committed, Luna taken away, Luna being tortured for information, she’d looked away and feigned interest in some other aspect of the lecture hall. But the dread had not ceased. 

It had stalked her in the hallways, followed her at lunch, and, ultimately, tracked her down at the Training Center. She’d entered the changing room, put on her new uniform, the material of which showcased the effects of starvation on her body, and sat on the bench, waiting for her new instructor to arrive. After twenty minutes, it had become apparent to her that they were a no-show, so she’d braved the short journey across the floor to the archery area. Looking back, it had been the worst possible choice she could have made. But how was she supposed to know what to do? Just by having watched for years? She wasn’t the best at translating theory into practice, even if her imagination was what she’d relied on to compensate for the lack of tactile experience. 

So, yeah, archery turned out to be the wrong discipline to start with. Not only did she not know which bow to pick from the shelves, but the gloves were tailored for each student specifically. It had either skipped Professor Hajjar’s mind or he didn’t intend for her to start with the bow just yet. Still, she’d picked a spot farthest to the right and watched the other students in action. How they placed the arrow. How they positioned their feet. The angle of their arms as they pulled the string. The required distance from the faces so it didn’t slice the flesh off once it was released. Not feeling all that confident, she’d taken her spot and raised the bow. Instant regret. Pain shot from her shoulder to her wrist as she struggled to keep the arrow in place and the string pulled. Not that she managed to pull it, to begin with. It was a rather failed, pitiful first attempt. 

To make matters worse, she could feel eyes observing her. It was almost the same as before, the sole difference being the intensity of the gaze and the fact that when she looked to her right, Y/n came face to face with the person who had been stalking her nightmares for the past week. In her dreams, he was always a witness, the final nail in the coffin. Only, it wasn’t just a dream. 

Her fingers trembled with the nerves. It was impossible to knock the end of the arrow on the string without the former veering to the right before clattering to the floor. She glanced at him as she crouched to pick it up. She bit her lip in frustration, tasting blood. It irritated her to no end; that he leaned against the wall, that she hadn’t noticed sneak behind her or lean against the wall, or that he made no attempt to hide the fact that he was watching, and a bunch of other things that, in the end, were irrelevant. Most of all, she loathed the effect that this man, whom only days before she hadn’t known existed, had on her. His mere presence served as an electric chair, constantly punishing her for her silence. The arrow clattered to the floor once more. 

Again and again, she tried without success, and all the while, he was there to watch. Y/n wanted so badly to stomp her feet like a five-year-old. His presence deterred her. It came to the point where she worried about the smallest things; bending down to pick up the arrow, placing her feet shoulder-width apart, worrying if they were parallel with the shooting line, or when she bit back a whimper of pain as she pulled the string. That was the last time. 

The fingers of her right hand clenched around the shaft of the arrow. Humiliated, Y/n took a tremulous breath before lowering the bow, picking up the quiver, and walking away, leaving the boy behind. He did not follow. Or at least, she didn’t hear him do so. To make sure, she halted and looked back just once to catch him with his gaze trained on her. Immediately, she faced the exit. 

Enclosed in her own head and all the negative emotions brewing up in there, Y/n failed to notice the man headed toward her, which would be impossible in most cases considering the young man was hard to miss, even if he was clad in the same training gear as every other student. But miss him she did. And she continued to miss him even as she turned to the left toward the shelves, placing the bow on the rack with trembling fingers and the quiver where she’d found it. No amount of rubbing her palms against her thighs calmed them. This was just humiliating. 

She turned and crashed into a sturdy figure. Hands came to rest on her arms, steadying Y/n as her forehead throbbed from the impact. After making certain she wasn’t going to collapse, Lee Minho stroked his chin, the flesh now rosy and tender.  

“Well,” He began, looking at her, “This is going to bruise.” 

Y/n didn’t feel all that sorry, but if she showed no remorse for the honest accident, she might garner the wrath of his friends. They didn’t look like the kind of people anyone wanted to fuck with, least of all her. 

“Sorry.” She muttered, averting her eyes. 

Before she could walk past him, he took hold of her arm and took a good look at her face. 

“Did you have anyone take a look at your nose?” He asked. 

Normally, it would have been hard to forget about the navy bruise since it was quite literally on her nose, but all concerns about her surface flaws tended to flee whenever more oppressive issues became the main characters of her life. Luna’s safety was her focal point, as was hunger. Her health had never been anyone’s priority, and she had learned to disregard it just as expertly. The same thing she had done with her appearance. Yet there were moments like this one when someone would point out the holes in her threadbare shirt or the hollowness of her cheeks, that she considered turning her skin inside out. Hiding her face beneath her flesh. 

She looked at his gloved hand on her arm. “Like they’d waste their medicine on me.” 

His hold loosened and then disappeared as he crossed his arms over his chest. Y/n looked up at him, asking herself why she hadn’t already left. 

“It doesn’t look that bad considering the strength and speed of my kick. All you have to do is get someone to realign it for you.” 

That was a low blow. Even for him. It was not a secret that she was quite literally an outcast, period. This truth was not easy to stomach but there was no easier way to say it either. And he knew it. 

“You’re mocking me, aren’t you?” Y/n could only be thankful that the shame hadn’t drained the last ounce of strength from her limbs. “Leave me alone. You had your fun.” 

Minho’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Where’s the fun in besting someone who has had no training? It’s like kicking a starved dog.” Y/n hoped he couldn’t tell how his words affected her, even if it wasn’t her first time hearing them. There’s a pause before he speaks again. “Besides, I’m not here to mock you. Professor Hajjar assigned me to be your mentor, show you the ropes until you get the hang of it. Basically, train you until you’ve built enough skill and stamina to level up.” 

That caught her by surprise. Several questions started running through her head at a speed only an overthinker could achieve. Why was he so late? Why was he wearing archery gloves? Had she been right to pick up archery first? Why did he smell like the violets in the lush gardens surrounding the Hall of Ceremonies and the rum that children of Dionysus and Bacchus so often consumed behind staircases? 

But what Y/n asked as she stared at him, frozen, was, “Why you?” 

“Hm?” 

“Why would he choose you?” She repeated, somewhat impatiently. 

The pause that followed was filled with grunts, moans of pain, taunting laughter, thuds, whimpers, arrows swishing through the air, and more as he regarded her with a somewhat pensive expression. It wasn’t until she lowered her eyes to her feet as a resounding cackle sounded from the far left of the archery zone, that Minho seemed to break away from his train of thought. 

With a slight shake of his head, he walked to the shelf and picked up the bow and quiver from before. 

“Maybe he thinks I wouldn’t make a spectacle out of you.” He said, fingers running up and down the upper limb. 

Another surprise. 

As if driven by some newfound hope, Y/n stepped closer. “Is he right?” 

Mouth curving up in a small smile, Minho nodded and handed her the bow. 

“Any luck with it?” He asked. 

Y/n shook her head, eyes on the bow as her fingers curled around the grip. 

“None.” When he just stood there, staring as if he expected a more detailed answer, she went on to say, “The string- it hurts my fingers when I pull it. If I can pull it in the first place.” 

“There are pads for that. Why didn’t you take a pair from the shelves? I know you don’t have your own yet.” 

Because she didn’t know there were any. The archery zone was farthest from the benches, and this was her first day of training. Ever. She didn’t know her way around here, and it was only becoming more and more obvious by the second that she stood out like a sore fucking thumb among all of these well-fed, athletic, lethal cohorts. Her silence and the way she couldn’t look him in the eye was a clear enough answer for Minho as he placed his hand on her bony shoulder and led her back to the trenches of the archery zone. On their way to the farthest spot on the left, where she’d made a fool out of herself previously, he explained the parts of the arrow and the bow. They registered in her brain as follows; the point/arrowhead, shaft, fletching, nock, lower and upper limbs, grip, arrow rest, and the nocking point. Easy enough. Theoretically. Maybe with consistent training, she would get her arrow to stay still. 

“Hey,” Minho says, eyes set ahead, “You’re here. Done practicing?” 

She follows his gaze to the person it has landed on, and she wonders how she could have let his presence slip her mind. Had she been swept away by Minho’s explanation of the basics of archery to this extent? 

The boy closed in on them as they halted at Y/n’s previous spot, and she hoped her discomfort at his presence didn’t bleed into her countenance, pale as it was. His height and appearance didn’t help. Over the past week, she’d seen him in passing and at a distance, but now that he stood before Minho and her it felt as though some looming threat had materialized before her very eyes. Some primal instinct in her urged her to scour her surroundings for an exit. It made her want to worm her way into the deepest layers of the earth if only to seek refuge from the misfortune one word from him might bring upon Luna and her. His eyes were on her for no longer than a few seconds. 

“Finished a while ago,” Hwang told Minho in that honeyed yet neutral voice of his. His right thumb fit neatly inside the ringlike part of the black knife he had apparently been carrying the entire time. She noted the sinister curve of the blade. “Thought I’d try archery today.” 

“Where’s your bow?” 

“Changed my mind. Things are rather dull around here.” He said nonchalantly, but Y/n felt the sting. “I might go join Yeonjun and Beomgyu in the simulation chamber after all.” 

Minho’s brows shot up. “There already?” 

“They waited for you for about half an hour then left.” The boy’s eyes were on her, appraising her once again. “I see you had no plans of joining us though.” 

“I told you gremlins on Friday that I’d be training her from now on.” Minho reminded him and suddenly he was standing a tad closer to her. “After simulation practice. Remember?”  

Hwang’s gaze briefly shifted to the space between her and Minho and then he shrugged. “We thought it was a prank.”  

Y/n couldn’t fault him for that. This whole endeavor sounded like a practical joke. She didn’t see how it could end in anything other than complete and utter disappointment for her. Orlova would humiliate her further if she failed. And she would fail. But the way he said it implied that she was the joke. A bleak, pathetic little gag that his friend was wasting his time on. True as it was, it still made her itch. 

After that, Y/n tried to tune them out with very little success. Even with all the screaming and groans of pain around, his voice was impossible to dampen. She heard everything, from their talk about the new gear for the obstacle course to the nets on the second floor of Compartment A, a place she’d never stepped foot in. If Minho found the fleeting glances Hwang shot in her direction suspicious, he did not remark on it. In any case, Minho’s ability to pick up on the way his friend appraised her mattered little when she was cursed with feeling dissected every second of their interaction. 

A bit later, the taller boy took his leave, toying with the knives in his grasp. 

“Hyunjin, hey,” Minho called after him. Y/n glanced back just as Hwang tilted his head for his friend to continue. “Don’t forget about what we talked about before.” 

After taking one last look at her, the boy answered simply, “Sure.” 

The next 15 minutes were an overload of theory that she would soon have to put into practice. Minho was a good teacher, even if a little intimidating at times. His gaze could be equally warm and chilly, yet it appeared to melt entirely at a specific sound.  

Her head snapped to the left, and surely, halfway through the thinning line of archers, stood Jisung with his brother Felix, both in their training gear. They were- well, he was cackling and pointing at Felix’s sorry attempts at hitting the target dead in the center while the blonde pouted, frustrated at his less-than-adequate skills. He must have been a healer then if he wasn’t even a little bit naturally gifted with the bow. The worst part about being a pitiful archer was probably having a brother who was just the opposite and made no effort to console you. Not that Jisung wasn’t trying to help. He just teased Felix in the process. 

Y/n smiled a little at their bond before positioning her feet the way Minho taught her and made to pull the string. When she craned her head to the side for his approval, his attention was fixated elsewhere. While she’d pulled herself back to the matter at hand, he seemed to be under some sort of spell. Interest in their training had drained from his eyes. Now, the warm irises expressed something different, remote, and almost regretful. Y/n couldn’t put a finger on it. 

Lowering the bow, she asked, “Do you know him?” 

As if electrocuted, Minho tore his gaze away and looked at her. She felt a little sorry for having sought his attention. 

“Yeah,” he said, nodding for her to raise the bow and get in position. “They’re my friends.” 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************

The next day starts normal enough save for the fact that they wake up earlier as she has to get her blood drawn earlier if she wants to have breakfast at the hall. Made breakfast for Luna, and endured the pangs of pain. Stomach acidity going wild in there. Reassured her little sister for the thousandth time at home and on the way to Eos Elementary. Ran a marathon to school. Got her blood sucked through a tube which left her feeling dull and lifeless like a dish towel. Breakfast was stellar and she even stuffed an extra honey chocolate muffin into an empty pocket of her backpack, all wrapped up in foil by the lunch lady. 

Lectures went on and on, and for once Y/n didn’t feel like she was about to turn into one of Medusa’s little garden companions. Seungmin and she were still not on speaking terms. Not that they had been gossiping and chatting away before. Just… the silence was stifling. She’d have to get used to it. It was no different from what she had once shared with Chiron, her caretaker. An uneasy, dutiful coexistence. 

Lunch came around but she tried not to seem too excited about it. Others would think it weird for someone to be that excited over a meal. Or maybe everyone did? Food was something to look forward to for everyone, wasn’t it? 

Whatever the case, she tried to put a leash on her excitement as she received her prearranged lunch. On her way to her table, she spotted Minho talking with his friends and another guy with a muscular build she had seen around before. He caught her looking and acknowledged her with the slightest nod. Not even that seemed to escape his friend Hwang. His piercing dark eyes studied the exchange, which urged her to hurry to her table. 

To her left, the four students from before chatted with each other. At one point she felt them watching as she dug into her small portion of spaghetti. She put the fork down and settled for studying the floor. What magnificent patterns. After a minute of speaking under their breath, they looked away and pretended they hadn’t seen her gorge on her food like a cavewoman. 

Halfway through lunch, a storm of a dark-haired young man comes their way, clasping his hands on Jisung’s and Felix’s shoulders. 

“Oh, my fucking fuck, you guys,” Is his first line, “You’ll never guess what happened!” 

Jisung pulls him down to his eye level. “So, tell us since we won’t.” 

The man sits smack between the two brothers. 

“This little girl basically went barking mad at the school. You know the one. For the little kids. The one you went to when you were little.” 

The redhead speaks, sounding incredulous. “Eos Elementary, Jeongin. How can you not know?” 

“Why would I know?!” The guy, Jeongin, defends. 

“You’ve been here like three years!” 

“And I would have lived not knowing anyway!” 

Jisung intervenes. “Oh, my fucking gods, who gives a shit?!” 

“Yeah, you were talking about a little girl?” Felix attempts to bring them back on track a tad more gently. “What did she do?” 

Jeongin smiles big, his eyes turning into glittering jewels as two adorable dimples appear on his cheeks. He leans forward, motioning for the others to do the same. But when he speaks, he makes no effort to lower his voice. 

“From what I heard, the higher-ups sent some of their own to investigate. I know what you’re thinking; what the fuck are they doing there then. Well, at first, I thought they suspected a staff member. Maybe one of them got caught selling drugs on the low. Dabbling in crystal meth or cocaine. But, no, that doesn’t make sense because they’re busy trying to catch whoever killed Juliana and Ruth. Is that it then? Did the janitor kill those two? So, then I listen closer and-  

Yeji lifts an eyebrow. “Listen?”  

“Eavesdropped on the professors, whatever. So, then I listen closer, and when I tell you my jaw dropped!” 

All five of them fall silent, and Y/n listens with bated breath. 

“Wait…” Jisung looks to others for confirmation. “Don’t tell me they suspected a kid.” 

Lia cups her hand over her mouth, her appetite long gone. “No way…” 

“Way!” Jeongin effused. 

Yeji threw up her hands. “This is getting ridiculous.” 

“Is this what they’re wasting time on while Ruth and Juliana rot?” Felix asked in disbelief and anger, staring down at his plate. “Chasing and scaring little kids?” 

“But you guys don’t know the best part.” 

“Best?” Yeji shot him a reproachful look, just about done with his chipper attitude towards the situation. “There’s nothing remotely good about this, Jeongin.” 

Her words appeared to strike a chord within him, for he got red in the face as if he’d been guzzling down cup after cup of wine. He removed his hand from Jisung’s shoulder, whose expression let him know he agreed with the redhead. Felix and Lia shared the same opinion it seemed. 

“I know. I didn’t mean it like that. I- well, you know how I- sorry, I got carried away.” He apologized, and it sounded truthful, with the way he smiled awkwardly, blushing even more with each word. Then, with a shake of his head, he carried on, “Apparently, they started to question every kid that is known to have inherited powers. Started doing blood tests. Putting them through this trance-like state. This girl couldn’t take it and lashed out, injuring the medics before making a break for the gate.” 

A few unnerving beats of silence. Lia rotated the pearly bracelet on her delicate wrist. Jisung zoned out, toying with a triangular-shaped object about the size of an acorn. Felix picked up his fork only to set it down again. Yeji was deep in thought. 

“Do they have her in custody now?” 

The question earns her a groan from Jeongin. 

“That’s what I’ve been telling you! She broke out. The guards started chasing like fools but they couldn’t catch her.” 

“Couldn’t get their hands on a little girl? Are you serious?” 

“Deadass.” 

“Are they still out looking for her?” asked Felix, who was now trying to force himself to eat. 

Jeongin shrugged, picking up Jisung’s fork to steal some of his spaghetti, which the latter didn’t seem to mind.  

“All I know is that the last time they saw her was before she bolted inside the forest.” 

Jisung’s eyes almost popped out. Lia gasped and the rest were just as shocked. 

“Oh, no,” She whispered. “Gods she won’t be able to survive in there.” 

Jeongin swallowed the food and grabbed a napkin to wipe at the corners of his mouth. 

“I think she will.” He counters. 

“How so?” It was the first time Felix sounded genuinely angry as pushed his plate away, almost knocking over Lia’s glass. To him, the whole ordeal is absurd at best, and evil at worst. “She doesn’t have the training to face what prowls in there.” 

No, she doesn’t, thought Y/n. For the entire duration of their conversation, her body had remained stock still, a veritable statue. Her body had gone into panic mode, reserving energy only for breathing. Her limbs had lost all feeling to the point that she had felt like a spectator to her miserable form sitting there uselessly while they reacted to the unofficial news about the runaway child. A child driven mad by experiments conducted in the name of an investigation. 

It took a few moments for her to reclaim her anatomy, to perceive the surroundings through her eyes; the clattering of utensils, the boisterous laughter, the brain-rotting whispers, and the light streaming in from the windows high up. Then, utter void. She could feel their eyes on her but their voices were suddenly silenced by the buzzing in her head. The ringing in her ears. The blood rushed back into her face as she forced her trembling hands to grab onto the straps of her backpack. Darkness pooled at her feet as though every crevice of her framework bled pure, unadulterated tar. A fog that, if you touched it, curled around your fingers, slowly draining your life force. Not that she knew any of this. 

By the time she snapped back into her body for the second time, she had already begun running. 

No one other than the higher-ups knew of this, but back when she’d first arrived at Camp Jupiter, Y/n had done so through the forest. Lupa had found her at the very edge before she’d managed one step into the green nightmare. She had smacked her around a few times, glowering over her, thinking it would intimidate her into abandoning her newfound purpose. Meeting her baby sister. In the end, the guardian had granted her entrance. Only not through the natural path, and not without a few chilling words of caution. 

Now, she found herself at the edge for a second time, preparing to brave the search for Luna in the gargantuan nightmare before which she stood. No forest was so imposing, so eerie in the way only living things promising a harrowing death can be. But what did any of that matter? What did it matter if she stayed outside of it, alive and with her sister's mangled corpse painted on her eyelids when she could just step inside? 

Clutching the straps of her backpack, she willed the fear to melt off her extremities. The forest closed up behind her, alive with the desire to prevent her escape. Two more steps inside and her sense of direction turned to mush. There was no left or right, no up or down. Only branches, thorns, the hooting of owls, and somewhere, what felt like but a few hundred feet from her, maniacal laughter. There was only forward because the exit had been devoured. 

Her heart hammered away inside her chest. How was she going to find Luna in this leafy purgatory? Encased by darkness as she was, she would assume she was without hands or feet if not for her sense of touch. Her soles prickled with the cold and her fingers were minutes away from turning into inoperable stubs. As she walked, she resolved to prevent that by opening and closing her fists.  How quickly you forget us, spoke the shadows. It was difficult to tell which. They all melted together. But that single sentence was enough to make her remember who she was. She was the daughter of Nyx. Darkness was her legacy. Speaking to it, wielding it, that was her prerogative. 

Luna. She spoke as softly and as low as she could so that she wouldn’t spark the interest of any creatures lurking nearby. 

Luna. She spoke her sister’s name once again, and when that went unanswered, she took several steps in an unknown direction, feeling her way around with her hands. Thorns pierced her skin. Her blue oversized blue zip-up hoodie snagged on the branches. She could swear they were clawing at her face, back, thighs, and neck. The bark was so rough, she couldn’t lean on it for long. But the cold lessened the pain of the abrasions. 

 Luna, it’s me, Y/n. She tried a third time, never stopping to look into the darkness for fear of what she might find staring back. Answer me if you can hear me. Don’t scream or you will alert the monsters. Listen to the darkness and it will lead you to me.  

No response, and after a few minutes of unendurable silence Y/n could no longer keep her breathing steady. She could hear her heart hammering away. Her blood rushing throughout. The ringing in her ears drowned out all sounds, which was dangerous considering where she was. 

She recalled the way she had torn through the forest years ago. Her tunnel vision had proven useful back then. It had given her courage, the strength she needed to charge towards her purpose. Now it hindered her senses. She was going to get mauled before she could find Luna. It would all be for naught. All because she hadn’t honed the ability to commune telepathically with the shadows. It drove her mad to think about it. 

But she kept going. It seemed like a sin to stand still. 

North. 

She knew it was the darkness. No one spoke to her like it did. But did it actually expect her to be able to tell which way north was? She could barely tell which way was left and right. Y/n looked into the dark, truly gazed into it. She could make out certain shapes; owls on the trees, squirrels nibbling on nuts, and other larger-sized silhouettes prowling. Surely that couldn’t be north. 

When Y/n turned right, the darkness spoke again. It sounded annoyed. North! 

“I don’t know.” She hissed. “I don’t know which way north is. I’m not a fucking compass.” 

This time she turned left. This must be the way because when she next heard the darkness speak, it sounded almost relieved. North. 

“Thank you.” She whispered. “That’s how we’ll communicate.” 

As she walked north for what seemed like an eternity but must have been just half an hour at most, she noticed the forest getting brighter. It flickered like the lights at their apartment. Only this fractured the darkness at even intervals, like a regular heartbeat that supplied the rest of the entire harrowing expanse of the wild with life. She gravitated toward it, drawn by the fluorescent aquamarine hue of the veiny roots and the scent of pine needles. The latter made the ground soft for walking, cushioning the footfall. 

The closer Y/n got to the source, the more she could tell wasn’t the only one entranced by it. At first, all she heard were rushing currents, muffled sounds, then sobs, and lastly the voice of an adult male. 

“Do you like flowers, little one,” it said, and his voice gave her chills. 

Y/n didn’t need to hear the child speak. Her sniffling was enough. 

“Yes.” Luna hiccupped. 

Y/n was now behind the tree, petrified at the thought of what this man might be. Was he even a man? He looked like it; black hair curled at the ends, clad in a white blouse and ironed pants much too crisp for their surroundings. There should at least be some splatters of water or soaking hems. His clothed feet were in the stream after all. 

The man bent down and plucked a blade of grass. It spiraled around his index finger and then sprung free, fluorescent petals of green and blue spreading like feathered wings. 

“Here, then,” he said gently, waiting for her to accept his creation as he placed his hand on top of her head. “Beautiful thing, is it not?” 

Luna nodded, her small fist closing around the glowing stem. The man’s mouth twitched. 

“You may take it home with you if you wish.” He told her. 

Y/n couldn’t hide any longer. 

“Luna?” She called out, finally appearing on the other side of the stream. “Luna, throw that away.” 

“Y/n!” Luna screamed for joy, crossing without fear of being swept away by the current. “Y/n, you came! You’re here! You came for me!” 

The little girl pressed her face into Y/n’s hoodie and the latter responded by wrapping her scrawny arms around the girl’s shoulders. 

“Of course, I did. I came to take you home.” 

“I don’t want to.” Luna’s voice came out muffled. 

“What do you mean- 

“I don’t want to! I don’t want to go home!” 

“Luna, they won’t hurt you. I won’t let them, remember?” Y/n tried to reason, rubbing the back of her head as her eyes flicked up at the man on the other side. “Do you remember what I told you to say if anyone asks?” 

Her little fists tighten around Y/n’s hoodie. 

“I was in bed sleeping. Then you suddenly remembered to go pick up something from a store at the square.” 

“Yes, that’s right.” Y/n encouraged her. “And when I arrived there, people were crowded around the fountain.” 

Luna makes a choking sound. “And then you came straight home to make sure I was okay.” 

“That whoever had done that hadn’t hurt you.” Y/n finished but it didn’t do anything to calm her down. On the contrary, her body tensed up against hers. “See, they can’t say anything bad about you.” 

“But I’m- 

“It’s time you went home, little one.” 

The man’s voice commanded their attention, even if the way he spoke was deceptively soothing. Luna loosened her hold and held onto her arm instead. Its petals unbruised, the flower remained in her hand. 

“Thank you.” She said, “For looking after her.” 

“Hardly. It is you I wished to have a word with.” He revealed quite plainly. Y/n waited for him to speak his peace, which he seemed to understand. “Tell the wretched vermin not to be so awfully stingy.” 

Then, he turned on his heel. Before he disappeared, he craned his head a little and cast them one last glance. 

“And keep that flower.” He told them. “It is, by far, the most precious thing you own.” 

With that, he vanished from the shallow creek, leaving them to stand beneath the arching branches overhead, watching their glow sink into the bed of the stream, particles reflected off the current which got more violent by the second. They had to get out of there at once. So, they went south, walking as fast as they could without raising hell in their wake. Still, twigs snapped under their feet. Their breathing grew more labored as they neared the spot from which Y/n had entered. A little further and they would get to the clearing. But to do that they first had to claw through the barrier of thorns that had blocked her exit just moments before the darkness had swallowed her. 

Glued to her side, Luna trembled with fear. Her heels dug into the ground. 

“Please,” Came her quivering imploration, “Please, don’t take me there. I don’t want to go back.” 

Y/n couldn’t see her face, only the shivering frame of a little girl. 

“If we leave, they’ll find us.” She tried to reason once again. “Nothing could save us then.” 

No reply. Sensing that Luna wasn’t going to be convinced to follow her out of the forest, Y/n began to panic. Nothing would convince the scared child clinging to her arm to step back into misery. A place, she was certain would not dither to sentence her for a crime they believed her to have committed. It was a losing game. The least she could do was gamble one last time. 

She set down her backpack and felt around inside its pocket for the muffin she had previously stuffed in there. After fishing it out, she placed it on Luna’s hand, the one clasping hers, and let the girl bring it up to her nose. 

“It’s a muffin,” Y/n confirmed. “I got it from the cafeteria like I told you I would. But if we leave, we won’t be able to have food like this ever again. I’m no one outside of this camp. I’m not a person. I can’t get a job and cook warm food for us every day. We would starve, and I don’t want you to suffer, Luna.” She clasped Luna’s hand into her own. “If we stay, I can get all sorts of things for you. Food, clothes, and maybe a better house one day. Then, you can leave and I’ll stay.” 

She could feel her little sister tensing up and about to cry. 

“Okay,” She said in a wobbly voice, “I’ll come with you.” 

That was all Y/n needed to face the barrier of thorns and start clawing through it. She was not strong. That much she knew. But maybe her perseverance would suffice. Maybe the darkness would lend her a shadowy hand and snap each branch one by one, even as the thorns tore at her clothes and the rough branches broke the skin. Maybe crawling through it, roughed up and bloodied with her sister unharmed, would be enough. Maybe all the forest sought was her blood. Maybe it was divine. Maybe it was human after all. 

It seemed like an eternity before they saw light peeking through the thorns, which somehow had made it their missing to grow behind them even as she clawed through. Meaning she had to be more brutal. Charge faster towards the beckoning light of the clearing. 

What she had anticipated and tried to deny, was the welcoming party. A squadron of a hundred and fifty demigod warriors awaited their return; spears raised, blades drawn, arrows nocked. The celestial bronze was almost blinding in the glow of the afternoon sun. In stark contrast with the gloomy wilderness from which they had emerged. 

An imposing figure led the troops, standing proud was Shin Ryujin. 

“Do not resist.” She commanded. Luna took shelter behind her. The action didn’t go unnoticed by the daughter of Bellona, who called four of her subordinates forward. “Seize them.” 

<<<Chapter 1 Chapter 3>>>

[meandmyechoes]

hey interesting scenario: I found these Sabine and Padme sets, but not any information on them online more than a “CANCELLED” status. These Forces of Destiny dolls were supposed to come out later in 2018, as part of a Wave 3 that mostly repacks previous sets into standalones.

The packagaing looks too thorough to be a factory sampe so I think they might be a distributor sample but the prodcuct never made it to the market, the US market at least. My question is, has anyone ever seen these in-person? in which part of the world?

from Yakface:

Sabine’s Graffiti Speeder Customize Sabine’s speeder with stickers, markers, and a stamp (Wipe clean and customize over and over) Includes: Adventure figure, helmet, 2 boots, belt, unassembled speeder (4 pieces), stamp, 2 markers, and sticker sheets UPC: 630509611256 Walmart SKU: 423963050

Padmé Amidala Mission Set includes 2 separate outfits (Genosis and Theed) UPC: 630509613168 Walmart SKU: 779872892 Amazon SKU: B07212Q8HS

[luvcraze]

How to bullet journal

Bullet journaling is a flexible and customizable system that combines elements of planning, organization, and creativity. Here's a little guide on how to start:

1. Get the Right Supplies:

You'll need a notebook (typically dotted or grid paper works best), pens or markers, and any other decorative supplies you'd like to use (such as stickers, washi tape, or colored pencils).

2. Set Up Your Key:

Start by creating a key or legend to signify different types of tasks or events. For example, you could use a dot (•) for tasks, a circle (o) for events, and an asterisk (*) for important items.

3. Create Your Index:

Reserve the first few pages of your notebook for an index or table of contents. As you add pages to your bullet journal, jot down the page numbers and corresponding topics for easy reference.

4. Set Up Monthly Logs:

Dedicate a spread (two facing pages) for each month. Use one page for a calendar view of the month, and the other for a monthly task list, goals, or any other relevant information.

5. Daily Logs:

Each day, create a new entry with the date. Use bullet points to list tasks, events, and notes. You can also include symbols from your key to denote the status of each item (e.g., completed, migrated to another day, canceled).

6. Collections:

Collections are themed pages or spreads for specific topics, such as habit trackers, meal plans, or reading lists. Customize your collections based on your interests and needs.

7. Trackers:

Incorporate trackers to monitor habits, goals, or other metrics over time. Examples include habit trackers, mood trackers, or spending trackers.

8. Review and Reflect:

Regularly review your bullet journal to track your progress, identify patterns, and make adjustments as needed. Use reflection pages to jot down thoughts, insights, or lessons learned.

9. Stay Flexible:

One of the key principles of bullet journaling is flexibility. Don't be afraid to experiment with different layouts, formats, and styles to find what works best for you. Adapt your system as your needs and preferences evolve.

10. Have Fun:

Bullet journaling is not only a practical tool but also a creative outlet. Don't be afraid to add artistic elements, doodles, or decorative touches to personalize your journal and make it uniquely yours.

There's no right or wrong way to bullet journal. The beauty of the system lies in its adaptability and ability to be tailored to suit your individual preferences and lifestyle. Experiment, explore, and make sure to enjoy the process!