#i am catastrophically in love with queue

[pallases]

real

[epithet-beloved]

ill try to keep my ramsey-related requests limited cause i dont wanna lose control but what are your dating headcanons for him 🤔

DATING RAMSEY MURDOCH

synopsis…  headcanons about dating Ramsey Murdoch !

ft. Ramsey Murdoch 

tags… relationship study, fluff

word count… 839

a/n… never feel bad for sending requests that’s what we’re for !!! It always makes us happy and we love writing these !! Also I promise you will catch me writing other characters in the future (I have a silly Slim post locked and loaded in the queue) for now I’m just snatching all the Ramsey posts and I feel confident about this one in particular because I am a Ramsey kisser myself so boy do I have headcanons ✧ 🦇

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Starting off strong Ramsey is really into physical affection. Hand holding, hugging, kissing; you name it. He’s up for all of it.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 So part of dating him is genuinely just having him hover around you constantly with at least an arm wrapped around your shoulders, whether you’re in public or in private (he has no problem with PDA; but if you do, he’ll stop. Your comfort comes first!)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He’s a really attentive lover, he’ll memorize small things you mention about yourself or stuff you like

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 If you mention you want something, he will probably definitely get it for you as a gift, no matter how cheap or expensive it is. He’s big on gift giving too.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Genuinely? He does not understand how you find him attractive, people usually recoil or make a face when they see him.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 And yet you look at him with those big eyes full of admiration and wonder… Oh he could just melt right then and there. No one has ever really looked at him like that.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Call him handsome? Gorgeous? Beautiful? Anything? He’s gone. There’s steam cartoonishly coming out of his ears. He is unresponsive and his face is redder than his hair.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 It’s kind of part of the fact that draws him to you: you’re not disgusted by his appearance at first glance, nor do you seem to find it hard to look at him; he knows he’s not the most attractive person and to think you do find him attractive?? The most beautiful person he’s ever seen??? He’s a WRECK

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 It is so obvious when this guy has a crush on someone

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He hands you flowers he morphed into gold. He just always kind of stands around you when you’re in the same room. He definitely tries to flirt just to fluster you or hear you laugh.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Even if he fails catastrophically at flirting with you and falls over while trying to lean on a wall, he still claims it as a success if he hears you laugh (before he melts into a puddle when you’re all worried asking if he’s okay)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 All in all Ramsey is very open with his emotions. You can easily tell when he dislikes or likes someone, he feels like it's not worth hiding it.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 But when you start flirting back and showing genuine interest in him? He’s terrified you’re making fun of him. Because why would someone as gorgeous as you want someone like him???

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Please hold his face and comfort him. He has small tears in his eyes if you do but he promises they’re happy tears

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He understands that perhaps what someone has inside is more important than the outside, but he has to admit the judgment of the outside still hurts a little bit

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He has so much to offer in terms of personality and affection and you definitely get to see all of it.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Think of a love language and this guy probably has some of it in him.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Physical touch? Absolutely. Big cuddler. Holds you like a teddy bear if you sleep in the same bed (he snores really loud though so good luck with that)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He’s also warm so bonus points in winter you have your personal heater

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Gift giving? As mentioned above, mention literally anything you like and he’s getting it for you. He might have scammed someone to get it if it’s expensive. He does not tell you.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 And he hopes you don’t figure it out because he does not want to get yelled at. He just wanted to get you something nice :(

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Acts of service? He’s not a morning person but would absolutely get out of bed earlier than you in the morning to make you both breakfast. 

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He’s not a very good cook but he tried his best!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Quality time?? SIGN HIM UP

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He loves date nights. He gets so excited to do anything with you. But honestly? His favorite way to spend time with you is at home with some takeout and maybe watching a good movie together (and maybe you also cuddle)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He also likes cooking with you but again. Not a really good cook. You’ll have to do most of the work. Sorry

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 By the way the flirting he does with you pre-dating does not change in the slightest after you’re an official thing. 

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He’s just more confident now and has no problem sounding all cheesy. He looooves making you flustered

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He’s the type of guy to point at the scar on his eye and ask you to kiss it better

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 (He just wants an excuse to kiss you)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 My favorite headcanon is that he would definitely turn something of yours into gold so you just always kind of have a memento of him with you, he thinks it’s nice. 

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He’s a good partner but certainly not perfect (who is, honestly) so there might be some bumps in the road here and there

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 But no matter what he absolutely adores you and wouldn’t trade what you two have for anything in the world

[cakeboxie]

Pardon my rambling. Illness of the mental flavour this fine four in the morning.

On one hand I want to post shit as soon as I’m done drawing but I also like keeping a queue bc then my account doesn’t die for 7-14 business days when my wrists act up not from an obligation to post just bc I like seeing people interact with my art and i know I could take a break and keeping a queue makes it so I can but also I love consistency and I just because I should take breaks doesn’t mean I like doing it and I think I may spend too much time on the internet but I’m not entirely sure what else to do with myself because what else is there to do for me as someone who can’t really go out or do most normal things. I suppose I could read but I already do a lot of that not even just fanfic I read a decent amount of novels im just horribly picky and I find the process of finding novels I enjoy exausting. I could write more music too but I already do that a lot and it’s debatable if that’s better because I end up obsessing over even minor flaws. I want to redecorate my room but I’m not sure if that’s a good idea or if I’m just tired bc I’m pretty sure I forgot to take my meds last night even though I slept what felt like a normal amount. I should also go to bed now bc I did take my meds and I know that’s definitely making my current situation worse but on the other hand I want to run. Which I know is a bad idea last time i tried to go for a run my legs gave out and I was stuck in the cold for 4 hours until my roommate woke up and could bring my wheelchair and I’m not sure when my knees got this bad. Like I could never run because I was asthmatic but it was a different kind of couldn’t like I could technically run it was just a bad idea because I’d have an asthma attack. But now I can’t because I’ll fall and won’t be able to get back up or I’ll be in such severe pain I can’t get home or one time I got lost and just kinda kept walking for almost 2 hours bc I forgot my phone so I couldn’t contact anyone and I shit you not I ended up in the neighbor town (it’s not that far and I didn’t remember crossing the highway either way) and after that I barely got out of bed for like a week. Not that I get out of bed often as it anyway and I think that’s why it feels like I spend too much time online. Because I only really remember being online because it’s the best part of my day. Like I know I have one irl I could be hanging out with but also that is so much effort and I love her dearly but it’s a different kind of yearning I think. I want to be normal just for like a day I want to have friends who want to talk to me and people to spend time with irl. But I also don’t. I don’t want people I don’t want friends and I know that. I want the romanticized version of friends that don’t have drama or problems or complexity and I think that’s why I value my online friends and my mutuals so much because it fills the social need without any of the issues that come with humans and I feel horrible saying that because I know my mutuals are human but online is comfortable and the block button is always a click away and I’m not afraid to use it but also I am because what if I’ve misjudged the situation not that I’ll ever ask.

Edit I’m expanding this because my brain has gone in a very irl dangerous direction and I need to keep my hands busy lest I do something fucking stupid. Sometimes I wonder how much my apathy shows and sometimes I wonder if it’s even apathy because I am apathetic in a clinical sense but I wonder if I’m exaggerating because I get bursts of excitement or feeling but it comes and goes in minutes like. Even then direction I was going isn’t out of and particular negative emotion it was a passive thought and I think that’s arguably more worrying bc instead of being jarring and worrying I considered making a catastrophically bad decision with all the care of someone picking want to have for breakfast. Maybe I’d feel better if I jerked off I don’t think that’s is a great idea but also there’s certainly worse options I’m wondering if this reads as much like a conversation as it feels because I don’t remember writing most of it but also reading it does sound like me but not and I don’t know why that is but I don’t want to think to hard on it so.

[ariadnebridgestock]

@tscunderratednet event 1:

favourite non-villainous TMI character

C A T A R I N A ⠀ L O S S

Catarina was the blue-tinted voice of reason and minor rebellion in the hallowed halls of the Academy.

⤷  @tscnetwork event 5: 

favourite underrated character

[atreewithin]

Kieran describing Kit's eyes as "an ordinary sky" and Kit being mildly offended was one of my favourite parts of LoS honestly

[dear-ao3]

attention friends, romans and countrymen alike.

i have a question.

first of all, no, i am not dead and left my blog to run off of queue for the rest of time. i am very much alive, just now at home because the semester ended and i had to make the terrible trek up through the damned state of delaware to my home, which took far longer than it should because a prime truck decided to not deliver things with its promised next day prime shipping (smh jeffery put your back into it). and since i am now at home i am slightly sad because i can no longer see brad whenever i wish, nay, i cant even text him whenever i wish because he is off galavanting in some european country or other having a glorious time leaving me alone by myself with my dog and my squishmallow, which has since been named dino de vito so thanks for whichever one of you sent that one in.

but anyway.

my mother has been trying and failing to convince me to crochet something for brad for the last few months (which is really a feat because she only found out at thanksgiving that we were dating) and i keep declining because 1. crocheting takes a lot of time an effort, 2. it costs money and 3. you should wait awhile before you make someone something because there is every possibility that they will hate you in a few months and burn all of your hard work into ashes along with the polaroid pictures that you took in a five guys.

now brad and i have been dating for like 3.5 months, which isn't very long in the grand scheme of things, but we have lasted officially longer than taylor swift and jake gylanhaal did and considering she gave him a scarf when they had been dating for less time (yes i know they broke up and it was terrible and also the scarf is a metaphor for virginity and all of that and theres only supposed rumors that the scarf existed and she didnt make it it was one of hers anyway but the principle remains the same) i think that i can make brad a scarf.

now is this just to quell the pestering of my mother? perhaps. is this mostly because i miss my absolute himbo of a boyfriend and wont see him until january 27 because we have a stupidly obnoxiously long winter break? potentially. is winter break boredom getting to me? quite possibly. (seriously i have been home for less than 48 hours and have been covid tested 4 times in 4 days) in any case. i have decided that a scarf is in order.

will this cost me money? yes. but. i think that im getting paid one more time and also brad is a stubborn himbo with an unhealthy dose of toxic masculinity that manifests in him feeling the need to buy me literally everything ever (seriously one time he almost rejected the sandwich that i bought him as a thank you because he had spent far too much money on leggings that i didnt exactly need for me even tho it was literally 4.95) i think this would be nice. also we are planning to take a day trip into nyc when we get back to school and 1. it will be freezing and he has no cold tolerance and 2. he will once again insist on buying everything on said trip so the least i can do is make sure that he doesnt freeze.

i have a pattern for said scarf picked out. (and i also bought not one but two crochet hooks from michaels today but i had a coupon so it was fine. even though i haven't bought yarn yet but we will get to that.) it is very nice and i will not show a picture of it because i haven't purchased it yet off of etsy (yes that is right i am buying a pattern. i only every follow youtube tutorials or make something up but well i want it to look nice and this was a very pretty pattern. i must really love this man.)

but now. the question. the one that i said i needed to ask about 700 words ago.

is getting red yarn to make it from bad luck?

i only ask this because the scarf is red in the taylor swift song, all too well, which was referenced above, and she and joke gylanhaal broke up quite catastrophically after he stood her up on her 21st birthday, not that that will be an issue for brad and i as he will literally be in europe during my 21st birthday and would not be here regardless and also he would not have the scarf yet. but my mother thinks that he would look in "a nice cranberry red" or "a greenish blue." she is also outraged that he owns literally no colors and wants me to somehow fix that with this scarf.

these are the yarn colors that i have to choose from:

i personally like the red one more because he has a navy blue wool coat and i think that the red would look better with it and also he would think its funny that im giving him a red scarf because of his recent taylor swift obsession but i do not want to curse us so.

who has thoughts.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 150

I think for the time being, I am going to quit calling myself ‘late’ posting as long as I get the chapter up on the right day of the week *facepalm*.  Bc I am barely keeping ahead, much less remembering to queue things up.

I am so, so sorry about that....

Fair warning before anyone @s me: The French is a joke, so if I got it super wrong I am equally sorry to the degree of which it’s wrong.

Unless it’s obscene. Then I want to know so that I can laugh with you, and I am LEAVING IT.

As always, shouts out to @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, and @charlylimph-blog!

Heaving an enormous Dutch oven onto a burner, I turned on the heat low and started chopping vegetables. After the first celery stalk, I glanced up at Derek, who sat across from Maverick in our living room.  The quarters were shaped differently, which had distressed Derek initially, but the addition of his favorite blankets to the sofa had helped.  Currently, he was completely distracted from even Mac: staring off into space, his fingers flying and flicking with a feverish, almost convulsive movement.

Maverick glanced up at me with a smile before following my gaze. “Yep, the cyber siege continues.  He’s doing well, from what Zach told me.”

“I thought he was only supposed to attack human-managed systems,” I grumbled, thinking back to the cold shower I had been subjected to that morning. Turning back to the vegetables, I made short work of the celery before taking my frustration out on the carrots. Scooping the diced vegetables into a bowl, I started measuring out paprika, sugar, salt, pepper, basil, and oregano into another bowl.  “Where’s Sam, by the way?”

“On the way,” Maverick promised. “With Terran-style tomatoes, he swears.  And Derek is only attacking systems we manage.  When BioLab 2 was set up, we had to take over water management, to protect the lab from any sort of contamination.”

The knife in my hand, brandished at three cloves of garlic, clattered to the work surface. “Seriously?” I glared at the tap, suddenly suspicious.

“Probably get water from the console,” he winced, nodding briskly at Derek, who nodded in confirmation without stopping his tapping and flicking gestures.

Groaning, I shook my head and crushed the garlic, removed the skin, and started mincing. All that was left was to wait on the tomatoes from Sam.  The garlic was potent enough, and I wanted to avoid cutting any onion until absolutely necessary since Derek was clearly parked for the duration.

I was saved about fifteen minutes later when Conor and Sam stopped at the door.  Sam waved cheerfully and held up the requested vegetables while Conor removed his boots. A quick shuffle later for Sam to remove his own shoes, and both came to the food prep area - too small to be considered a proper kitchen - to greet me. 

First, Conor gave me a big, smelly hug and a kiss on my hair. “Did you already slice the bread?”

“Ew, you gorilla!” I laughed. “And I haven’t sliced any bread yet, I wasn’t sure how long I had and I didn’t want it to get too stale.”

“They’re toasties, love.” He shook his head with a grin before swatting me on the butt. “No one cares if the bread was a bit stale before you started.”

Over his shoulder, Derek’s head bobbed side to side. “I think someone disagrees.” I looked meaningfully past him.  To Conor’s credit, he looked sheepish.

Sam squeezed around and handed me the tomatoes and gave me a hug. “Thank you for making soup.”

“I know it’s our favorite,” I winked before shooing him out of the area. “Not enough room for more than one in the kitchen. Y’all go unwind out there, and make sure you warn Derek that I’m about to start cutting onions.”

As he held up his hands and jokingly scurried away, I turned to the stove and started cursing myself. I’d forgotten to start boiling water. Snagging a small saucepan, I got a carafe of water from the console and started rectifying that, tossing in a generous pinch of salt.  Gently, I cut an X into the bottom of each tomato and set them aside before peeling and dicing the onion.  Immediately, the onion, carrots, and celery went into a food processor.  “Derek, I’m about to be loud,” I called softly before counting to ten to give him time to cover his ears or step into the corridor.  A quick blitz later, the vegetables were perfectly between a mince and a puree.

A quick swizzle of oil went into the already-hot dutch oven before adding the mirepoix and giving it a quick stir. As if on cue, Tyche and Antoine breezed through the door, noses twitching.

“I smell food,” she announced, stalking into the kitchen.  One look at the ingredients was all it took. “Ooooo you’re making the tomato soup.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “I am, and you know I don’t have room in here for spectators, unfortunately.” Arching an eyebrow, I pointed the spoon in my hand at the table.

She wasn’t having it. “One of these days, you’re going to show me how to make that. May as well be today.”

“Nice try, but I need some secrets. Besides, the longer I argue with you, the more likely the vegetables are going to scorch. Scoot!”

She scrunched her face at me but acquiesced. As I scooped the garlic into the pot, I heard her change topics. “How much longer is the stress test? My music keeps getting mixed up with Antoine’s. I don’t mind it, but…”

Antoine smiled softly and shook his head. “But it is quite a shock to expect classical music and instead her rock starts playing.”

Personally, I liked both, but still shuddered at what he was talking about. Carefully lowering three of the tomatoes into the now-boiling water, I glanced at the sauteing vegetables and gave them a quick stir to check. “We have about six more days before the repairs start, maybe four more after that?”

Conor sighed. “I wish we could ask if anything important was being hacked, not just annoying environmental controls.”

“Plants aren’t dead yet,” Sam pointed out, tipping his bottle of water toward Conor in a practiced gesture.  Everyone laughed when, rather than being reassured, Conor leapt to his feet to check on his ‘babies’ in the room.

Cursing, I dipped the tomatoes out of the boiling water and dropped them immediately into an ice bath.  A couple pokes with my trusty spoon showed they weren’t overcooked, thankfully. “None of my information for work has been acting up,” I admitted as I started peeling them. “But Pranav advised that more critical data would either go completely missing or not show any signs of infiltration.  We won’t know until after the test is over.”

“Lovely,” Tyche drawled as she watched Conor fretting over the plants. “So it’s all or nothing.”

I shrugged and dumped the tomato paste - admittedly, from the console - into the pan of other vegetables.  When I stirred, I was satisfied that the carrots, onion, and celery had cooked down to where they were soft. “In a weird way, it makes sense. They’re testing for catastrophic data breaches, which would pull everything down, or for data theft, which you wouldn’t want to leave traces of.”

The corner of Antoine’s mouth quirked up as I dropped three more tomatoes into the pan of boiling water. “No hidden boba tea this time, that is reassuring.”

Hands still moving without hesitation, Derek whipped his head toward Antoine, paused, and turned back to where he had been staring. Derek’s version of a glare.

“That was Charly,” I responded in unexpected unison with Maverick and Conor.  I smirked while dumping the already-peeled tomatoes into the processor with another pinch of salt. “Seriously, Derek had nothing to do with that other than divine retribution.” I paused for a moment. “Although I do have to admit that the cold showers do seem to track with what Charly reported.”

That only got a shrug from Derek, which was as good as an admission.

The conversation shifted again - something Conor and Sam were working on in the aeroponics labs that I had already heard multiple details on, plus repetition.  Tuning it out, I pulled out the last three tomatoes, dropped them in the ice bath, and took a platter with a loaf of bread, sliced cheese, and butter out to the table. “Mav, can you start setting up the sandwiches?”

He went to stand, but Tyche shooed him back down. “I got it. She may not let me help make the soup on this one, but I can prep a grilled cheese with the best.” Staring me in the eye, she started cutting slices from the loaf defiantly.

I just laughed it off. This was the only tomato soup either of us liked, and she had been chasing me for the recipe for ages.  It had become a running joke at this point, so without hesitation, I moved back to the food prep area, peeled the remaining tomatoes, and gave another warning that I was going to be loud.  Some more blitzing later, the now-pureed tomatoes went into the pan of veggies along with the spices I had already measured out, the juice from one lemon, and enough water to fill the pan three-quarters full.  Leaving that to boil, I moved the boiling water off the stove and swapped it for a grill-pan.

“Sophie!” Conor cried from the armchair where he perched. “You’ve seen the plants we’re growing in the lab! Tell them we’ve managed a crop of roots!”

I winced. “Jury’s out… I’m not sure how aeroponic potatoes are going to turn out, but I can confirm they are in the process of finding out?”

Tyche’s knife fell to the table, and she moved her mouth silently in a very accurate imitation of a fish before managing to sputter. “Air-grown… potatoes?”

The confusion on Antoine’s face was painful to look at. He started to speak before stopping himself and instead pulling up his datapad, jotting a message, and flicking it out to the room.

When I read the message, the confusion was so clear that I hurt my sinuses snorting. Des pomme de terre en l’air? Pommes aeriennes? Talk about being lost in translation…. “Conor, Sam… I think Antoine has the perfect name for those if they work out. Just sayin’”

Tyche snorted and shook her head before handing me the platter, with a stack of perfectly buttered bread, two slices of cheese between every other slice of bread.  The soup had just come to a simmer, so I was stirring intently and just nodded for her to start grilling sandwiches.  Several appreciative sniffs and twenty minutes later, six bowls of soup and six matching sandwiches - three cut vertically and three cut diagonally, because it mattered and was not a battle I was willing to fight - hit the table.  Tyche politely placed the salt cellar and a pepper grinder on the table, although the glare she dished out to the collected group promised strong retaliation to anyone who touched them.

I held up half of my grilled cheese in a mock-toast. “To soup night!”

“To air potato soup, soon!” Maverick offered up with a grin, only for everyone to echo his sentiment with the exception of Derek - who just held up half of his sandwich with one hand and tapped away with the other, not even relenting to eat.

Frankly, as long as he spared a hand to eat, I couldn’t bring myself to care.  He took these tests very seriously, and generally only stopped when he was completely asleep.

Everyone dug in, but it was only after my first spoonful that I spoke up. “Considering how long it took to make sure the tomatoes wouldn’t be poisonous, I’m not sure the potatoes will be ready before we get to Von.”

Conor and Sam nodded, as did Tyche and Antoine, but Maverick stopped with his bowl halfway to his mouth.  Setting it down gently, he angled his head. “What do you mean, poisonous?”

“They’re nightshades,” Conor told him, as calmly as if he was telling us that water was wet. “Tomatoes are the only edible berries of that family, and potatoes are the only edible tubers, so we have to be extra careful.”

Maverick’s eyes grew wide and turned toward his soup. Tyche just reached out and patted his hand. “You’ve eaten this soup for years, and you love tomatoes. They’re safe, I swear.  And Sam won’t let Sophia near the new ones until he’s completely sure they’ll be okay to eat.”

Sam nodded, shoving a soup-covered wedge into his mouth. “We’re growing them in simulated Von-light, hoping that keeps the roots from creating chlorophyll.  If we’re wrong, there’s a forty-three-point-six percent chance they won’t grow at all, ten-point-five percent chance they will give you a stomach ache, eighteen-point-four percent they won’t taste good, and twenty-seven-point-five percent they will taste good and be safe to eat at the same time.”

“Meaning they won’t kill you, you might get a tummy ache, but most likely for this generation, they just won’t grow,” Conor translated.

“Hang on,” I held up my spoon. “What kind of stomachache are we talking here?”

The mad botanists looked at each other and made a few thoughtful faces. Finally, Conor nodded and Sam spoke. “Unripe apples,” he stated flatly. “But just unripe apples.”

“Oh, that’s not too bad,” I shrugged and crunched into my sandwich.

Derek finished his half-sandwich and blindly reached for another. He had it halfway to his mouth before he looked at it and dropped it back to the plate in alarm. You would have thought it tried to bite him rather than vice versa.

Antoine shook his head and reached past the vertically cut sandwich Derek had dropped and delicately handed him a diagonally cut one. “Here you go, friend.”

Glaring at the sandwich like it may betray him, he bit it viciously before going back to the screen he could only see in his mind, seemingly satisfied that the sandwich would not change into the offending shape.

I told you, it matters.

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[pallases]

The moonlight moves, a cool slash across the foot of the bed, and August squeezes her eyes shut. There’s no point to it, loving a girl who can’t touch the ground. August knows this. But to kiss and be kissed. To be wanted. That’s a different thing from love. And maybe, maybe if she tried, they could have something. Not everything, but something.

[mmikmmik2]

If you were to sort the Infinity Train cast(s) into the Major Arcana a la the Persona games, which Arcana would you give everyone?

anon I had SOOOOO much fun thinking about this, thank you so much for sending me this. I sorted all the major characters, plus a few other entries, based on a mix of Arcana symbolism, Persona series character archetypes, and general vibes. I came up with answers I feel pretty good about for all but four of the Arcana. (Was really tempted to say Strength is every human character who doesn't board the train because they can handle their problems on their own lol.) This is going to be a long-winded post, so I thought I’d post just the list as an image (which hopefully won’t be too blurry!) rather than wrestle with Tumblr formatting trying to make a short list, and put a big text wall under the readmore talking more about my picks.

If this list does end up illegible, the same info is under the readmore as text! Plus some characters for Magician, Strength, Justice, and Death that I didn’t want to add to the “official” list because they’re more based on headcanon. (Although my reasoning for some of the “official” picks is pretty weak lol.)

One-One as 0. The Fool

Oh my gosh, what am I?

IT is great at fleshing out character backstories and families, so One-One at the beginning of S1 is one of the few characters who really feels like a blank slate. He's got a lot of his baggage back by the end of the season, and I think One and One-One are more similar than they seem at first glance, but S1 does seem to have been very formative for One-One and how he thinks about what he's supposed to be doing and how he relates to other people. So it does kind of feel like his fool's journey.

Alrick Timmens as I. The Magician

The magician begins the journey... by beefing it on a dirt bike, dying, and sending his wife flying off the deep end. Rip.

Alrick was an engineer like Amelia, so I could see him suiting some of the themes of the Magician, like conscious thought and manifesting ideas. His apparent playfulness and insecurity are similar to the Magician characters in Persona.

Kez as II. The High Priestess

“We can’t make this decision for you, Kez.” “You know what to do.”

I thought really hard about making Kez the Magician because just like every Magician since Persona 3, she's dumb, horny, and insecure dlkjasfdkl

(and also her showing up at the start of the story arc and being helpful but also super needy is very Magician)

But the idea of "intuition" really does suit Kez. Sometimes her intuition is as bad as her conscious reasoning, but I think that's a lot because she's so confused about what happened with Jeremy, and Morgan making Kez feel like she did a bad thing by helping him.

Tuba as III. The Empress

She made me feel like I was warm all the time.

Tuba's a mom. Sorry, this one's not that deep, haha.

Simon Laurent as IV. The Emperor

Highest number! I'm the leader now.

Simon has a lot of issues, but the one that felt the most prominent to me was his unhealthy relationship with power, authority, dominance, and rules. Another quote I considered using here was what he said in Grace's memory of meeting Amelia: "I never thought I'd get to see the Conductor with my own eyes. He's perfect! Everything finally makes sense again." In his emotional crisis, he thought everything could be fixed just by the existence of a huge, scary, powerful, male authority figure, even if they weren't doing anything helpful or informative.

Atticus as V. The Hierophant

I like to think that our stones are sturdy and handsome, like the Corgis that crafted them.

Atticus is a figure of traditional authority who deeply loves the history, society, and culture of his people. He often provides spiritual wisdom and encourages Tulip to get out of her own head and engage with the world around her. Also in Persona, Hiero is the Dad Arcana so it's very funny to me (a) to make the little dog be Hiero and (b) that the little dog really does have the strongest Wholesome Dad Energy of the whole cast.

Jesse Cosay as VI. The Lovers

Don't tell me what to do. I'm not going to be a part of anything like this, on or off the train.

This was my first and easiest pick lol, Jesse is sooooo Lovers. Like, the focus on choice and personal values and relationships? Yep, that's Jesse. It works on an "actual meaning of the Arcana" level and a "vibes with the Persona characters" level lol... popular, upbeat, and having such an identity crisis.

Lake as VII. The Chariot

I'm my own person, who is getting off this train!

I don't know if Chariot captures all the ways Lake grew over the course of S2, but I feel like they had the most externally focused conflict of all the IT characters, which suits Chariot. They've been fighting to stake out their personhood from start to finish, and they took action and used their willpower to achieve that goal. Also they have at least a little jock energy which is a prereq for Chariot tbh.

Frank as VIII. Strength

I dunno, I kinda imagine him as a simple man and easily underestimated, but with a lot of heart. The Cat may say they're keeping things casual but I don't think she'd take him with her on her private vacation unless he had some kind of inner toughness that would let him stand toe-to-toe with her.

Morgan as IX. The Hermit

I need to be alone right now. Kez... maybe... we can talk later.

I like that Morgan embodies toxic self-isolation and stonewalling and rejection, but that she seems to be moving towards the positive aspects of Hermit and taking some time to calm down and process and think. I like it when characters can embody the best and worst of their Arcana.

Tulip Olsen as X. The Wheel of Fortune

We have to adapt to the changes in our lives. It's the only way things can get better.

Tulip has a lot of themes and conflicts, but this one is a clear standout as the most important. I also like it for Tulip because, while she has to handle a lot of difficult and even traumatic situations, some of the change that challenges her isn't as unambiguously bad as e.g. the death of a loved one. It really is just change itself she's struggling with, and that's Fortune babey. Also, from the perspective of the train itself and lots of other characters, by reversing Amelia and One-One's positions again and changing how One-One administrates the train, Tulip is the one giving the wheel a spin. That's fun.

Lucy as XI. Justice

One of my friends once described the Justice characters in Persona as "the ones the player character is ultimately accountable towards", and I like to think of Lucy as kind of being that for Grace (...since Hazel has excused herself). Lucy is the Apex kid we see Grace interact with the most, the first Apex kid Grace admitted to herself that she had harmed (see Grace very briefly showing distress and then regret when Jesse points the harpoons at his face and she stops him), and the first person to confront Grace when she came home in The New Apex.

Min-Gi Park as XII. The Hanged Man

I don't know if we'll sell a single album, but we'll figure that out as we go.

Min-Gi sacrifices his "realistic", "sensible" goals for a more personally (spiritually, even?) enriching life that's beyond his control and outside of the expected norm. Like the Hanged Man, who dangles foolishly upside-down, but as a deliberate choice and in a state of serenity and enlightenment. I also think this arcana suits a reading of Min-Gi's character development as starting off going slower as a way to stall and live in denial, but then going slower with deliberation. Compare his arrogant insistence on refusing to act in The Astro Queue Car to his patience and care in The Castle Car and The Train to Nowhere.

Jeremy as XIII. Death

This isn't about the death of his family - I'm thinking of his reluctance to admit his number was going down. He cared about Morgan and Kez, and it's possible both that he may have really wanted to stay with them despite his exit and that that might even have been a healthy choice - they're real ass people with feelings and everything, not holodeck characters. But I also think Jeremy was using his life with them to avoid moving on out of that fog (because it was hard and it hurt and he didn't want to think about what that would mean for him and Morgan) and Morgan was enabling him.

Ryan Akagi as XIV. Temperance

Maybe the experience is the point. I wasn't just rushing you. I was rushing myself.

I think this one speaks for itself. Also, the other quote I considered putting here, from The Art Gallery Car: "You told me I can't appreciate the song without taking in the rest of the album. I need the whole package."

The Cat as XV. The Devil

I always do the right thing.

Honestly, this is one I really wasn't sure about. The Cat isn't a great pick for a lot of the meanings of Devil. She is definitely consumed by material comforts, and the short-term rewards of ignoring her issues at a long-term cost, though. This is more of a "vibes with Persona characters with this arcana" pick... Devil characters tend to start off being somewhat exploitative or even antagonistic towards the player character, and gradually showing a more conflicted and genuine side.

Amelia Hughes as XVI. The Tower

There's a hole in the universe where Alrick used to be.

Amelia's life is defined by catastrophe and upheaval - both those she's suffered and those she's inflicted on others.

Hazel as XVII. The Star

I'm going to keep loving you like you're still here.

When I think of "The Star" as a small but inextinguishable light in the darkness, Hazel seems like the obvious choice. Although we left her deeply wounded, I think she still has a flicker of her hope, faith, and purpose.

Grace Monroe as XVIII. The Moon

But it's unfair for me to tell you how to understand yourself. I mean, I don't even fully understand me.

Grace is probably the most complex and dynamic character on the show and hence one of the most difficult to place. I considered Empress, Strength, Devil, and Judgement for her... I think ultimately, lies and illusions are the most unifying theme of her character arc. Also, from a Persona angle, her pursuit of status out of a lack of true self-worth reminds me of Ai and Mishima.

Alan Dracula as XIX. The Sun

Brought together by the majesty of a superpowered deer!

I'm sorry dkjasfklads this is largely because I thought it was funny to have this completely inexpressive dead-eyed deer as Sun akfk but also... like... it kind of works okay!!! Think about the genuine joy and comfort and positivity he brings to Lake and Jesse (and me)!

The New Apex as XX. Judgement

"Then what are we gonna be?" "Guess we'll have to figure it out?"

This is kind of a Persona mythology gag again because of Judgement being a group social link near the end of the narratives of P3 and P4, when the protagonists have pierced through the lies and actually figured out who the villain of their game is and are ready to really start making progress.

0 as XI. The World

Ah, train does it again!

It's an ending and the completion of a journey, but also the beginning of a new one. And the world is literally what the passengers receive at the end of their train journey. Welcome home.

[glitterbootsharry]

Chapter One- Hocus Pocus

Disclaimer: I do not know much about witchcraft or anything associated with it besides the few tv shows and movies I have seen. If I have gotten anything wrong or mixed up, please feel free to let me know. I want to get as much right as I can as I have done some research, but I know I do not know a lot. 

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It’s a cliché, but a cliché nonetheless. My world changed at the blink of an eye- the opening of a café door. I go there every morning on my way to class; it’s the only one near campus that isn’t too terribly crowded. The one on campus is a nightmare on a good day, but on term week? You might as well hang out over night to get a decent spot in the queue. And yet, I never saw her there, her raven-like hair shining in the window, until today.

She sat in the corner table by the window with her nose stuck in a book. Her chocolate hair neatly curled in waves with a frizzy braided headband from her own hair lay atop her head. She was a host to an empty coffee cup that sits alone on the dark wood table. If I'm going to be honest, she made me queasy. Sick at the stomach. Her brown eyes scan each page quickly before she eventually grabs her pen and orange highlighter to encompass whatever Edgar was speaking to her at the moment. I couldn’t take my eyes off her- her olive tanned skin, her dark hair, her bright eyes. She was everything that beautiful could endure.

She sighs as she sips the last remanence of coffee, half of it spilling on her crisp white shirt. She hastily placed the cup down before pushing the book further up to her face.

I’m up next in line. I ask for a simple black coffee and a refill for the girl in the corner- the one whose bookmark is a rose. The counter girl looks at me strangely before pushing the few buttons to ring up my order. She flutters her eyes at me as I run my card through the reader and says it will be a few moments. I wait by the other end of the counter, closer to my mystery girl. The universe could come to a crashing end and she wouldn’t know with her head stuck so far into the book. From the corner of the paperback, I can see she’s chewing on the inside of her lip. Whatever story she’s reading, she’s there imagining the world lay about her. The counter girl walks past me and gently lays the black coffee in front of her with the small cup of creamer. She clears her throat making the book girl look up.

“I didn’t order this,” she says. Her voice is melodic to my ears. Her eyes scan the room when the counter girl says that I bought it for her. I stuff my hands in my navy pea coat before walking over to her. The counter girl says, “I put your amount of sugar in there already. Just needs creamer.” She smiles and nods her head at me, completely ignoring the girl at the table, before walking back to her station.

“Some light reading, I see? No one really reads Poe anymore,” I say, a smile growing on my face. I feel like an idiot. Without my hands leaving my pockets, I motion to the empty chair in front of her. “May I?”

She doesn’t say a word, only goes back to her reading. I take her silence as consent and wait for my coffee to arrive. She pours the entire contents of the creamer into the cup and swirls the white liquid until the coffee turns into the hazel color she prefers. “What’s your favorite story? Or poem?” My leg bounces under the table when she looks at me with a glare that could kill. “Mine’s The Raven. Poem would be Annabell Lee.”

She looks back at her book when my coffee arrives. I sip slowly, hoping this agony would end soon. I don’t want to walk away from her until she leaves. That would be quite rude. We sit in silence, she ever so seldom sipping on the coffee I bought her.

“Tale-Tell Heart and Alone,” she finally says, breaking the silence between us. She still has the book in her face, but I can see that she’s looking at me over the black binding.

“Ah, she speaks. Was beginning to wonder if you were mute or something,” I laugh slightly, but she does not. I feel my cheeks get hot as I clear my throat, sipping my coffee again. “For all that I have loved, I have loved alone.”

She makes a noise from her throat as the book slowly begins to lower. She has a black hoop hanging from her nose and earrings all up her ear. Small tattoos above both elbows and wrists. There is one behind her ear that creeps onto her neck. My guess is that she finally knows that I am not going anywhere until she does. I extend my hand across the table, hoping she would take it. She slowly extends her, watching the people around look at us. “Name’s Harry Styles.”

“Rowan Lloyd,” she whispers. She quickly takes her hand away after I shake it once. “You a student at the university?”

“Yeah,” I scoff as I rub the back of my neck, something I’ve always done when my anxiety is up. “English major. You?” She nods, not telling me what her field of study is. “Well, I want to be a writer. I’ve got a talent for it, but lack the skills I guess. That’s what my mum says. Anyways, is there a chance I could get your number? We could hang or-”

“I don’t do that,” she says, pushing her book into her book bag. She pulls out a set of car keys and sets them on the table.

“Can I ask why?” I’m watching her every movement, drinking her in. I don’t want to forget her.

“No, look I got to go. Thanks for the coffee, but don’t do it again, alright? You seem lovely, but it’s not you, it’s me.” With that, she walked out of the small coffee shop and got into a green car that had seen better days, driving away. She broke up with me before we even started.

“Don’t fret it,” a guy slides into Rowan’s seat. He must have been watching the catastrophe from afar. “She’s a weird one. Doesn’t get on with most students. Rumor has it, her family is nothing but devil worshippers and witches.” I snort, not believing such nonsense.

“Yeah right.”

****

I sit in the middle of the classroom- not too far back that I don’t pay attention, but not up front to where all eyes were on me. I like being in the middle, knowing I’m not vulnerable to such idiocies. Students are piling in, taking their seats, chatting away at their newfound friends when Rowan walks in, still wearing her coffee stained white shirt. She scans the room for an empty seat. I wave at her, but she ignores me. I know she saw me- the panic in her eyes tells me so. She finds a seat by the window that faces the small garden on the grounds. She pulls out her book and lays the rose on her desk when she begins to read, small tendrils of dark hair fall in her face.

The professor walks in, her heels clicking against the tile floor. She calls out attendance, and when she asks for Rowan, all she does is raise her hand, still reading Poe. She introduces herself as Doctor Murray.

“You have a paper due by the end of term on what you learned during our time together. I expect it to be no less than five pages,” Dr. Murray says with a handful of groans and panic following. “For now, I will be pairing two of you up to complete our first project. Shakespeare. Really dig deep into his words, you all. Read not just what’s on the paper, what he’s saying, but read between the lines, read the words he doesn’t speak. I would like a presentation on how the past has and will affect modern literature.” Dr. Murray calls out last names in pairs. I try to steady my heart, but every time I look over at Rowan, her nose is buried deeper into the book. It was the last two names that were paired together that made me nauseous. “Styles, Lloyd. You two will have The Tempest. Good luck.”

“Witch,” someone calls out from the back. A ball of paper is thrown at her, but misses greatly. “Perfect play for you, devil worshipper.”

“Williams, do we have a problem?” Dr. Murray asks, quirking her brow. Her eyes look over her half-rimmed spectacles to the young boy in the back corner. “If you have a problem, please take it up with them outside my class, not in.”

Dr. Murray clears her throat before dismissing us. “Be careful, Styles, you might come back as a toad,” the same voice talks down to me when I look up. It’s a man about my age and he’s still wearing a jacket from college.

“Haven’t got the slightest clue what you’re on, mate. Just doing a project is all,” I smile and push past him. I try to catch up to Rowan, but she’s descending down the stairs quickly as a group of students block me. It isn’t until we’re in the car park that I spot her again. “Rowan!” I run to catch up with her; she’s hunting for her keys next to her car. “Rowan, hey. I just want to say that I’m really excited about-”

“Come off it, will you?” She looks up at me with hurtful eyes. She’s nearly in tears and I don’t know what to say. Her car isn’t the same as I last saw it. “What do you want? Call me names? Want me to recite some spell you made up? What do you want?”

“N-Nothing, I just wanted to know when you wanted to get together,” I cup her elbow with my hand, “You alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” she sighs as she wipes the tears from her cheeks. She looks at the mess on her car. Someone had painted “Witch” on the back windshield in red paint before pulling toilet paper around the car. I sigh, setting my bag on the pavement before gathering the useless prank off Rowan’s car. I try my best to wipe up the paint so that she could see, but it’s partially already dried. “Thank you. I guess you’ll be needing my number after all.” I place my hand back on her elbow. She’s frozen with anger and sadness.

She gives me her number, her black nails hovering over the piece of paper.

“Why do they call you that? Witch?” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me.

“Just some teasing they do. I figured after college it would end, but it seems that London’s a massive gossip parasite. Who would have known?” Rowan rolls her eyes and shifts her book bag on her shoulder.

“Why? Witches aren’t real,” I smile trying to ease the joke in. Of course, it’s all a big joke, right? “A bunch of Hocus Pocus?”

“Yeah,” she says with a firmness. She looks up at me and smiles softly.

“So do you want to come over to my flat or I come over to yours?” I ask, bouncing on my heels. She looks at me with reddened eyes before speaking.

“I don’t live in the city. I take online classes except for this one- I couldn’t get it online. I live just out in the countryside- just inside Shere in Surrey. It’s a small village, quite cozy, really, with my grandmother so your place will have to do for now, I guess.” A sudden look of fear and panic crosses her eyes, “Shit I forgot my flower.”

“Your rose?” I ask, wanting to touch her hair. I’m conscious that my hand is still on her elbow. “I can go get it for you, if you want me to.” The module will be filling up again, but I am willing to dive into dumpsters for that rose.

“No, it’s fine. I have more at home.”

“At home? You grow roses?” I quiz, my heart exploding in its cavity as she smiles at me.

“Yeah, I grow them. Among other things. So, um, Harry it was nice to meet you or whatever, but I’ve got to go. I’ll start reading tonight.” She turns, my hold on her fades, and I stand back as she reverses. Her eyes find me in the rearview mirror, in between the dried paint, and I could have sworn she winked at me.

It was when she left that I realized she didn’t have my number.

“Shit.”

####

@sunflwr-styles

[ariadnebridgestock]

ღ  h e l e n ⠀ + ⠀ a l i n e  ღ

“She remembered the first love note Aline had ever written her. The curves of your lips rewrite history. The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. Later, she’d found out it was an Oscar Wilde quote, and had said to Aline, smiling, You’ve got a lot of nerve. Aline had looked back at her steadily. “I know. I do.”

[atreewithin]

Aline and Kit being friends and making fun of the Centurions together rb if you agree

[evasjacks]

Now I am curious- what are all your moot's queue puns

ohh a ton don't use queue at all but here are the few I've memorized:

'i am catastrophically in love with queue'

'queue are something greater'

'i never leave the house without queue'

'dangerous queues can protect themselves'

'queue don't know me at all' and 'to save myself I let queue die' are both annie's

Idk anyone else's so rn and add if y'all want

[mybukz]

Fiction: Nona Annabelle by Peter Soh

Image  by T RR from Unsplash

This is a catastrophe. I must be dreaming. Wake up, Annabelle. Only when you wake up will you realise this is just a dream.

But they are still here. Pairs of black eyes are looking at me, no matter how many times I close and open my eyes. I can’t recognise any of them. They are not my family members and they definitely can’t be the servants in the house! He must have eaten a lion’s heart to simply enter a nona’s room! So, who are all these men? And the ladies here?

“Who is this girl? She looks like she has no idea where she is. I love mindless girls!” a boy smirks.    “Shut up, Andrew Zach,” the girls growl in unison.

“No girls will like an arrogant guy,” a girl with a ponytail echoes.

The boy scoffs. “Well, I can prove you wrong. Mr Ian always says no one carries the skinhead as good as I do. I don’t blame you girls. You girls have no taste.”

The man is Andrew Zach. His name resembles my cousin’s husband’s, Marvin Zach Pereira, who is a Portuguese.

Wait a minute. Am I in Portugal now?

This Andrew Zach indeed looks like a Portuguese. He has a natural tan on his face, neck, and arms – the one that is completely different from other men where their face and neck and arms are covered with different shades of brown. He has a pair of deep eyes and together with his almost-bald head, his piercing eyes make him a forbidding figure.

“Siapa kamu semua?” I ask faintly.

“She speaks Malay. I fail my Malay,” the girl with a ponytail turns to someone.

“I am not good in Malay too,” Andrew Zach seconds the girl. “Kah Heng, you go and ask the girl who is she instead. You come from the government school and your Malay is better than us.”

Everyone looks into the direction of a boy with small eyes. He shakes his head.

“I don’t want,” he splutters his refusal.

“What do you mean by ‘I don’t want’? Find out where she comes from before Mr Ian comes in.” Andrew Zach is rather loud.

The boy with the name of Kah Heng walks towards me. I retract my legs and redirect my gaze to the floor. I feel so uneasy – I have never come across a man face-to-face before. Except Father.

“Hi,” Kah Heng greets softly.

I avoid his gaze and continue to look at the carpeted floor.

What is ‘hi’?

Wait a minute. Did he mean ‘hoi’? I have heard of this Dutch greeting when Father held meetings with the Dutch in our home. Let’s just try.

“Hoi,” I mutter.

“She is weird,” Andrew Zach interrupts.

“Shut up, Andrew. Let Kah Heng do his job first,” the girl with a ponytail speaks again. This time she looks annoyed.

“All right, Isabelle the class monitor,” Andrew Zach jeers.

Isabelle? Is her name Isabelle? I think that’s a name because my name is Annabelle.

“Apakah nama kamu?” Kah Heng continues.

Did I hear it wrong? He speaks Malay?

“Lu tau cakap bahasa? Gua Annabelle! Kenapa gua kat sini? Ini tempat mana eh? Lu orang siapa?” I cough out all the questions I have in my mind.

“Kami pun tak tau kenapa you kat sini. You kat sini sudah bila kami semua balik ke kelas.”

“Kelas?”

I am in a class? I have never been to a school and I am forbidden from doing so.

“Mana tempat ni?” I try to probe further of my whereabout.

“Quincey International School,”

I can’t understand the language. “Apa?”

“Ni sekolah antarabangsa. You pelajar baru?”

“Pelajar?”

I look at the surroundings. There are many tables and chairs. Underneath those tables are cascades of papers and books. Two white boards are fixed behind me and there are many bright long tubes on the ceiling. The room is extremely cold and everyone looks bewildered.

#

I sit at a metal table not knowing why am I here. All I can remember is I uncoiled my long hair and washed my feet before I went to bed. I am very sure I washed my feet before bed because this has been a practice in my household for generations. It is said to prevent sleepers from having nightmares.

But why am I in a school now? Am I dreaming, still?

Many people are queueing up for food. I have no idea why they have to queue in such a manner – people are distancing themselves from one another for about three feet. They all look scruffy and depressed; the men have long hair and moustaches and their white shirts are full of creases and stains. The ladies have bags under their swollen and bleary eyes and most of them let their hair down like homeless people. And that’s not the worst.

I can’t bear to look at the ladies who are all in short skirts. It is despicable to even create such a dress in the first place, not to mention putting it on. Tak seronoh langsung. A self-respected and dignified nona will never make themselves seen by others, least of all to expose such immodest amount of legs to the public!

I am never allowed to make myself seen. Even my existence in the house is highly guarded and I can never cross to the thia besar where guests and visitors will be seated. The furthest I can venture out without company is the thia gelap. I used to peek through the gilded screen door in the second hall to catch a glimpse of the Dutch businessmen but it wasn’t long for me to have to stay at the quarter end of the household to learn about my jobs.

Mother never lauds me for keeping the thia abu immaculate nor pressing her favourite maroon kain chelay smooth. She often reminds me the laurels of my highest acclaim will be the day when she receives nasi lemak on the 12th day of my wedding. I do not understand what Mother means but I perceive it as the day where I am free to go out from the household without hiding myself in a gunnysack.

At the moment, in the event of me leaving the house – usually to a Baba’s household to help out in cooking for weddings or funerals – Mother will require two male servants in the house to prepare a gunnysack for me to sit in. After I am well covered, a thick bamboo pole will be placed through the gunnysack for the carriers to transport me out from the house. And even so, Mother will never leave me with the carriers; she will always tag along closely because I can never be exposed under the sun.

“This is for you,”

Isabelle carries a tray of food and lays it in front of me.

“Isabelle?” I point at her.

“Yeah, I am Isabelle. This is for you. Food stocks are running low. I hope you don’t mind. Eat something.”

The last thing I want to do is stare at her again but I can’t comprehend any of the words she said. Except her name.

“Makan sikit, Annabelle. You need energy to go through this time,” Isabelle starts tucking a sludgy brown piece of meat into her mouth.

It must have taken a voracious man to be able to swallow such abominable food. I gag at the sight of the food but I sniff a pungent reek of curry.

“Kari?” I ask.

“Yeah, this is green curry chicken.”

I whip a spoonful of gravy and taste it. It isn’t spicy. The food tastes sweet and I find it funny. How can a curry be sweet? Mother would have thrown this rubbish and commanded a re-cook had I possessed the gut to serve this on the family table. I remember the hot slap on my left cheek when I mindlessly put in an extra tablespoon of salt into the curry chicken.

It is always about concentration, precision, and perfection in prepping a nona’s dish, as a nuance in taste can take its toll on my prospective marriage. Mother doesn’t have to keep her eyes on me to know my shortcomings; she knows from the way the rhythm plays when I pound the spices to the taste of the food I prepare.

I find cooking a gruelling task because there is no absolute way to tell how much spices, condiments, and herbs one has to put in in prepping the dishes. It continues to elude me how much to put in; it depends on the portions served and the preferences of each eater. I find it an irony to base my cooking by mere estimation to achieve perfection but I choose to keep quiet. It is better for me to endure the long hours in the steamy kitchen to pound, grind, cook, and steam dish after dish, pastry after pastry, than receiving curses, pains, and humiliation. After all, I am waiting for the day when nasi lemak will be sent home. That’s the day when I can go beyond the thia gelap, step out from the Chan’s family door, to look at the world.

How does the world look like in 1800? I heard from Father that The Stadthuys – the previous residence of the Dutch Governor – is painted in white but I am yet to see it myself. How massive are its walls? How tall are the doors? I believe it must be a prominent building because Mother says it houses important people from the Dutch, and now Britain. It must be interesting to see how different the Dutch and the Brits are since I have never seen a Brit in our house before.

I also heard that there are also a lot of Chinese slowly streaming into Melaka but Father detests them. He always complains how the Napoleonic wars gave chances to the British to bring in more Chinese and my marriage should only take place between compatible families, and never with the sinkeh. I always wonder why Father hates them since our Chinese forebears hailed from Fujian, China, too.

Just like the sinkeh, we bear a Chinese name and we pray to Dato’ Hoot Chor for Her protection and blessings. We celebrate numerous Chinese festivals and these are times when I confine myself mostly to the kitchen, busy grinding flour, separating rice grains, washing pandan leaves, plucking, drying and boiling bunga telang to make different offerings for Mother to bring to temples, such as kueh bakul for Chinese New Year, kueh chang for Kueh Chang Festival, and nasi kunyit during Semayang Bulan Tujuh, where souls of the departed are free to roam around the streets.     I never understand much about Father’s concern for the presence of the new Chinese. The only thing that I am free from doubt is the fact that dishes can never be ruined for they are served to deities, ethereal beings and guests.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Isabelle asks. “Gosh, I keep forgetting that she doesn’t understand English. Kenapa tak makan?”

“Gua tak lapar. Gua dah makan semalam,”

“Yesterday? Then why are you here? Kenapa kamu kat sini?” Isabelle continues to munch on the chicken.

“Gua tak tau…”

“What? How do you come in to the school? The whole school is in lockdown.”

“She is probably a boarder who just somehow wanders into our classroom. We have many international students here, come on.” Andrew Zach chimes in.

“Maybe…Look at her costumes. She is definitely not a local.”

“Mintak tanya eh. Macam mana gua boleh balik rumah?”

“Balik rumah?” Isabelle frowns.

“I told you she is weird,” Andrew Zach concedes.

“Semua orang pun nak balik rumah. Tapi tak boleh,” Isabelle sighs.

“Kenapa?”

“Adui. The school has been placed on lockdown. How to go back?” Isabelle snaps suddenly.

I am shocked at the abrupt change of her tone. I think I must have said something wrong.

I never ask anything again. Everyone looks despondent and it seems like the people here are going through a difficult time.

I sit upright and rooted, watching Isabelle and Andrew Zach gulping down the green curry chicken. I never eat the chicken.

#

“Mr Ian, there’s a new girl in our class,” Isabelle chirps.

Andrew Zach sneers at my direction. “And she is weird.”

Someone comes into the classroom. A middle-aged man with spectacles. He stands in front of the students, his face oily, his hair tousled, and his clothes smudged.

What on earth is happening to the people in this school? Dirty-looking, eating rubbish, and speaking alien language.

Am I dreaming, still? Why on earth people want to behave this way? I must be dreaming.

“Are you a nyonya?” the man looks at me with utter surprise.

I can’t decipher what he says but he mentions the word ‘nyonya’, which is quite similar to the Dutch word ‘nona’ in describing people like me who looks foreign in Melaka.

I smile weakly at him and quickly avoid his gaze. I think he must be a teacher of this class.

“Is she a new student? Where does she come from?” the man asks around his students.

“Mr Ian, we found her when we came back from the lab. We have no idea where she comes from but we think that she is not a local. She can’t speak English at all. She can only speak Malay!” Isabelle explains. “And her name is Annabelle.”

“Annabelle the doll,”

“Shut up, Andrew. Stop being so mean!” Isabelle retorts.

“She can speak Malay? Then why don’t you all speak to her and find out where she comes from?” The teacher looks displeased.

“Well… My Malay is not good,” Isabelle says.

“All of us are bad at Malay. We just take it because we have to!” Andrew Zach adds while spinning a basketball.

I can sense that the teacher seems to be very fascinated of my presence. I can see from the corner of my eyes that his eyes are darting up and down at me. I tug the opening of my brown baju panjang to the right.

“Annabelle, you datang dari mana?” the teacher asks genteelly.

This man can speak Malay! I turn and look at him. I can’t hide my excitement.

“Gua datang dari Melaka! Boleh encik hantar gua balik rumah?” I gabble.

“Kenapa you kat sini?”

“Gua tak tau. Bila gua bangun, gua dah ada kat sini,”

The teacher looks baffled for a second. “Takpe, esok dah boleh balik rumah.”

Clearing his throat, the teacher turns to everyone. “After 60 days of lockdown, the government has managed to weather the Covid-19 situation. I am here to inform you that we can all go back tomorrow. And the school is going to shut down for the entire year so that everyone can take this time to stay at home, have a good rest and reconnect with their family. Today shall be the last day for us to be here.”

A deafening cheer erupts. The girls hug each other while some cover their faces and wail loudly. I am not sure why they cry but it seems like the class has won a victory as all the girls quickly gather and form a big circle around each other. The men look calm but I notice that they aren’t looking so depressed anymore. Andrew Zach smiles to himself and he turns to his friends when he sees me looking at him.

“Mr Ian, how are we going to send Annabelle home? She will have no place to stay since the school is going to close.” Isabelle asks.

“No worries, we can book a bus ticket for her now since we now know where she comes from.” Mr Ian says.

“Good idea!” Isabelle trills. “But she doesn’t know how to speak English. What if she is stranded in the bus station?”

“Hmm…” Mr Ian thinks for a moment.

I have no idea what’s going on. I just heard my name being read, and the man, Isabelle, Andrew Zach, and some other students are all looking at me.

“That’s easy. We can just pre-arrange a Grab driver for her upon her arrival to the bus station. We just inform the driver how she looks like and what time the bus will arrive. I am sure the driver will know who to pick up because she is the only one who dresses like an ancient person. Probably comes from the grave since her name is also Annabelle.”

Andrew Zach bursts out laughing suddenly and Isabelle rolls her eyes again. I don’t know what’s happening but the environment is jovial. I am convinced that something good must have happened.

Mr Ian looks pleased with what Andrew Zach has said. “That’s a good one. Let’s ask for her address and we can settle everything now!”

“Annabelle, esok dah boleh balik rumah. Kami akan hantar you balik. Boleh tolong bagi alamat you?” the man asks me.

“Gua tinggal kat 133, Jalan Gelanggang,”

“Okay, tunggu jap,”

The man opens a box and starts typing. The box emits light and Isabelle is looking at her teacher’s actions.

“Done!” the man exclaims. “I will send her to the bus station tomorrow. The bus will depart from Kuala Lumpur at 9a.m. and I have booked her a Grab driver in Melaka. I have also told the Grab driver how she looks like – a tan girl in a chignon and a white-and-green school uniform.”

“Our school uniforms?” Isabelle asks.

“She is going to change her attire now. I will get her one from the storeroom. She is going to freak people with this outlook!” The teacher points at me suddenly.

#

Isabelle brings me to a room with a huge mirror. There are five doors standing next to each other. I notice that there is a white vase in each of the room.

“Do you want to pee?” Isabelle asks. “Wait, I forgot you don’t know English. Nak kencing?”

I am bemused with what Isabelle says. “Kencing? Sini?”

Isabelle looks at me and frowns once again. “Yeah… sini.”

“Kat sini?” I point at the white vase.

Isabelle seems to be appalled by what I ask. She nods at me with much confusion as I do.

“And tukar baju you kepada ni,” she points at the school uniforms that she holds.

“Kenapa?” I put my hand across my kerosang.

“Cikgu kata you pakai macam ni nanti semua orang tengok. Dia kata you pakai baju ni dan esok you boleh balik rumah terus.”

Desperately wanting to go home – or hoping this dream to come to a halt as I wish it to, I quickly undo my three kerosang and pass them to Isabelle. I take off my baju panjang, later my baju kechik, and Isabelle turns her back hastily.

“Why are you not wearing bra?” Isabelle calls out. She passes the uniform to me on her left hand without looking at me.

I don’t understand what she says. My sarong drops when I unfasten my silver belt. I take the clothes from her and put on the clothes that I loathe.

I look at the mirror in front of me. Such an ugly and distasteful concoction – a white-and-green short sleeve and short skirt attire paired with my sanggol tiga batang and kasut seret. I feel like killing myself before Mother does.

I am no longer a nona.

#

I sit in a moving vehicle and the man drops me at a crowded and smelly place. I use my batik handkerchief to cover my nose from the nauseating black smoke coming out from the many moving vehicles.

“I bagi you ni. You bagi I sapu tangan you,” the man points at my handkerchief while giving out a small bag of white paper. It seems like he wants to exchange things with me.

Wanting to end this dream, I pass him my handkerchief in exchange for the white paper.

He points at my chignon this time. I can tell that he wants my three gold hairpins.

I shake my head. No nona will ever let their hair down in the public and I refuse to give him my hairpins.

The people around start noticing us. I start to believe that my outlook attracts unwanted attention. I want to cry.

I pull out my three hairpins and throw them at him. My long hair uncurls as people watch our – or my – ungodly affairs.

He looks satisfied with what he gets and I stand there repressing my urge to cry, waiting for his next instruction.

“Naik bas tu. You akan sampai rumah. Jangan khuatir.”

I look at where he points. It is a blue vehicle. I point at the vehicle and look at him again and he nods his head.

I scuttle to the blue vehicle in my kasut seret. This is the only belonging that I never exchange with the man. My precious gold hairpins, kerosang and silver belt are now gone, to a man that doesn’t even need these items.

The blue vehicle moves. I heave a sigh of relief. I believe I am going to wake up in the Chan’s household again. I weep silently until I drift off to sleep.

#

“Mr Ian is dead!” Isabelle screamed.

“What the fuck? Since when?” Andrew Zach was taken aback at what Isabelle said and everyone was aghast at what they heard.

“I heard from other teachers that he died of sudden cardiac death on the last day of school.”

“On the last day of school? What did he do?” someone chimed in.

Another student spoke. “I don’t know. I saw him leaving the school with Annabelle.”

“Oh yes! That mindless girl. Any way we can contact her? Maybe she notices what happens prior to Mr Ian’s death.” Andrew Zach suggested.

“I remember where she stays!”

Isabelle took out her laptop and started typing away.

“133, Jalan Gelanggang.” Isabelle murmured to herself. “Here we are! A temple?”

“How can she live in a temple? I am sure she is not a nun!” Andrew Zach tried to deduce things with rationale.

“But here’s the location from the internet. And there’s a phone number too. Let’s just call and find out. If it is wrong, then at least we don’t make assumptions anymore.”

Isabelle called the number. Andrew Zach snatched the phone and put the conversation on speaker. The ringing continued until someone picked up their call.

“Hello,” a breathy voice answered.

“Hello. We are calling to look for Annabelle. Is she here?” Isabelle asked.

“Annabelle? Who are you?” the man sounded stunned when he heard the name.

“Yes, Annabelle Chan. She came to our school for a day last year. Is she here?”

“That’s impossible. The little girl had passed away more than 200 years ago.”

“WHAT?” everyone bellowed in mystification.

“How sure are you, uncle? How come you know things that happened 200 years ago?” Andrew Zach confronted the man.

“Of course, I am very sure. I am the keeper of this temple. The lady whom you mentioned is the daughter of this temple’s founder. Their tablets are venerated here.”

Sense of creepiness swept through the students. Isabelle trembled upon hearing what the man said. However, she plucked up her final courage to ask the uncle one more question.

“Do you know how did she die?” Her voice quavered. She couldn’t process all the things that had happened.

“According to the previous keeper here, Annabelle Chan committed suicide not long after she got married to a Baba household in Kuala Lumpur. It was said that she didn’t want to stay at home and so she took lots of sleeping pills and killed herself. Some people saw from the newspaper that her name is in one of the many graves exhumed to make way for a school. I am not so sure about this because her plaque is placed here. Aiya, there are so many nyonya ghost stories nowadays. Some even said those who owned vintage nyonya costumes and jewellery are cursed because nyonya adored their costumes and accessories much. You young fellas are reading too much ghost stories. Bye! Stop fooling around. I am very busy.”

The students looked at each other in silence. Isabelle’s legs went limp suddenly and passed out on the carpeted floor – at the same location where they first found Annabelle.

*

Peter Soh is an ambitious Malaysian writer whose stories are about darkness, pain, struggles, identity searching and what it means to be a human being. He made his publishing debut with his short story, ‘The Missing Tomb’ in the ‘Emerging Malaysian Writers 2018’ anthology and has unknowingly written six features about the baba nyonya in Penang Monthly. He is currently teaching First Language English and Sociology in Kingsley International School.

[pallases]

like king of his castle, jesper was standing on top of a table, holding his drink in the air and smiling broadly. he didn’t look like a prince — instead he looked like every other young adult in there. he wore fitted green and yellow ankara-pattern pants with a plain cowl-neck tank top. the only signed of his status was the gold armlets that adorned his biceps, and gold clips on his ears. he danced with anyone who crossed his path, his cheeks flushed.

— THE SIEGE OF NOVYI ZEM by @zemenipearls, grishaverse big bang 2020 (@grishaversebigbang) (x)

@mitdemadlerimherzen (x); @angelawongart (x); @saintprivateer (x); @namelessscribe (x) (x); @bdhead (x); @darklesmychuckles —

[monstersdownthepath]

Spiritual Spotlight: Imot, the Symbol of Doom

True Neutral Psychopomp Usher of Inevitability, Mathematics, and Portents

Domains: Luck, Repose, Rune, Weather Subdomains*: Curse, Psychopomp, Legislation, Storms

Concordance of Rivals, pg. 9

Obedience: Spend an hour in a dark space barely large enough for you to fit and cast your thoughts out from your body. Benefit: Gain a +4 insight bonus on Perception checks to spot portents and traps; this expanded insight also allows you to disable magic traps as if you had the Rogue’s Trapfinding ability.

(*IMPORTANT NOTE: The Subdomains are my best guess; Subdomains are not listed in Concordance of Rivals. Anywhere!)

Pity you ended up in a desert for this adventure, eh? No, but finding a space ‘barely large enough for you to fit’ is likely going to be difficult if you’re not an urban environment. Most DMs will just wave their hand and say that there’s an outcropping of rocks or a hollowed out tree here or there that will allow you to complete your Obedience, but if you’re in hostile territory it may become more and more difficult to find a safe space for you to squeeze down into. I suppose you could technically carry or create your own by toting around a sack just barely you-sized, but then comes the awkwardness of getting into and out of the thing each day. Do you ask for help? Or do you trust that you’ll eventually escape? Many Obediences have an unspoken ‘eject button’ that lets you leap from the ritual and defend yourself if necessary and begin again later, but Imot’s Obedience leaves you terribly, terribly vulnerable.

Also, “cast your thoughts from your body” is a strange sentence to me. Is that just a fancy way of saying ‘meditate?’ Do you legitimately have to try and astral project? Is it ‘cast them out’ in a ‘wander elsewhere with your mind’ way, or an ‘empty your mind’ way? Hrm.

Well, anyway, that’s a REAL nice benefit, a whole head and shoulders above the usual fare of ‘on par with a feat.’ Perception checks are the most-rolled checks in the game, and keeping an eye out for traps is one of its most important functions. As for what ‘spotting portents’ entails, it’s annoying to have to detail this out, but portents are basically omens or warnings. The tide suddenly receding heralds a tidal wave, the skies above darkening signaling a terrible storm, a depressed wall plate signals a trap is set, claw marks in the door suggests its occupant is terrible and sharp... Things like that. It’s basically an excuse to have you spot tiny details that foretell incoming disasters, with is a delightful ability to have if the DM can play around with it. Why yes, you notice that merchants hands are backwards right away...

Oh, also, disabling magic traps is nice... But uh, best to leave that to the experts, unless you are the expert, since this ability doesn’t actually make you any better at dispelling or disarming them.

Boons are gained slowly, gained at levels 12, 16, and 20. Servants of the Monitors, though, can enter the Proctor Prestige Class as early as level 8. If entered as early as possible, you can earn your Boons at levels 10, 14, and 16. You MUST take the Monitor Obedience feat, NOT Deific Obedience. Monitors grant only a single set of Boons. 

Boon 1: The Coming Storm. Gain Doom 3/day, Scare 2/day, or Rain of Frogs 1/day.

Doom, despite having such an ominous name, is only level 1 and causes the target to become shaken. Powerful at low levels, but it falls off quickly and its nature as an emotion/mind-affecting effect make a painful number of monsters immune to it.

Scare is, perhaps, even more painfully outclassed than Doom, because it only affects creatures who have less than 6 HD. I find it amusing that Doom and Cause Fear are the same level, but Doom is infinitely better. Scare is a step up from Cause Fear, but not a HUGE step. It’s useful for cowing a legion of smaller foes into submission, but once you start hitting the mid/upper levels, you won’t really find many creatures worth using this power on that you couldn’t just deal with using a different spell.

And thus, we get to Rain of Frogs, one of the best spells in the entire game if only because causing a flood of amphibians to fall upon your foes is one of the best possible uses for magic in existence. Also, I linked to the spell’s page because I enjoyed how much and how little patience the authors of the website had and just conglomerated all the information you need to use the spell in one simple page. Nice of them! Anyway, with a range of Close comes the power to drop your poisonous frog storm directly into an enemy’s square, which is endlessly useful when dealing with casters or fleeing foes. I’d pick Rain of Frogs every single time, as the other two don’t even come close to comparing to its power or utility.

Followers of Imot always know that the Coming Storm is composed entirely of frogs.

Boon 2: Insight Into Disaster. You add your Wisdom modifier to Initiative checks and Reflex saves.

Alright YEAH! Initiative checks GO!!! I really hope you didn’t dump Wisdom, because people who didn’t get rewarded HARD. Moving first is perhaps the most important thing you can do in combat, letting you strike first, buff first, retreat first, etc etc etc. And you not only get that, but the added benefit of adding Wis to your Reflex saves as well. Casters typically have poor Reflex saves AND poor-to-middling Dexterity, and this solves both of those issues in one fell swoop.

Also, this is an untyped bonus, allowing it to stack with pretty much every other buff in the game. ...

... Alright, I think that covers it. Flat stat boosts are always boring to discuss, no matter HOW excited I am to see that you can potentially double your Initiative and Ref.

Boon 3: Call Down the Wrath. 1/day you can cast Extended Control Weather.

That’s altered weather patterns for 4d12x2 hours, by the by. Realistically, about 1 to 2 days of weather control (the average roll is 26, which doubles to 52), but if you’re especially lucky you can muck with up to four days of weather. Even a low roll sees 8 hours of climate change, a full adventuring day! With an area of 2 miles centered on you and the potential to have the spell last 2, 3, or 4 days, you can have the effect overlap itself and just have an eternal 2-mile bubble of whatever you want it to be. Become the very avatar of tumultuous climates as you stroll from place to place with dark clouds both heralding your arrival and shadowing your departure, or go in the opposite route and just give yourself a perpetual spring day!

It takes 10 minutes to cast this spell and 10 minutes to alter the weather in a meaningful way, so if you want to be DRAMATIC with it you need to time it exactly. Queue up a thunderstorm BEFORE strolling into the enemy evil leader’s base and demanding their cooperation and snapping your fingers to cause it should they fail to comply... Or, y’know, to celebrate the occasion should they actually comply. It’s a warning! A display!

It’s really easy to abuse this spell thanks to even the lowest possible roll still meaning you have 8 hours to muck about with an enormous patch of weather. Need to sneak somewhere? Create thick fog, torrential rain, or snowstorms to hide your movement. Need to clear out an enemy camp? Terrible heat or cold could make them move. Need to halt an enemy army? Bring down catastrophic hail or a tornado to rip through them. You can’t directly control where the tornado will travel or how the hail will fall, so make sure you’re protected from your own actions! And know that your allies and friends aren’t spared from you Calling Down the Wrath, but luckily being a Proctor demands skill in Abjuration anyway, so assure everyone possesses shields and wards!

Or, you know, march your lonesome self into enemy territory. That’s an option, too!

I really, really love this reward because Control Weather is one of my lower-key favorite spells. It’s one of the few that actually makes you feel like a God, which everyone knows is what magic is all about! Too bad Imot is one of the Ushers that leans more towards the Evil side of the Neutral spectrum.

Side note: Since using a spell-like ability isn’t technically ‘casting’ a spell, Druids don’t get the bonus of doubling the already-doubled duration or the 3-mile radius.

You can read more about it here.