#i have more to say but they are less connected thoughts and do not befit an official tumblr post - so there's just the basic gist

[a-wins-a-win]

You have elaborate Rory and Meghan lore?? 😀😀😀😀😀

i do have elaborate Rory & Meghan lore!! they are my tragic lesbians and i love them a lot <33

(i have several fic concepts actually, someone just needs to convince me to Actually Write them)

as the story goes, initially Rory & Meghan had hopeless crushes on other girls (Diane & Nadia, respectively). They became friends initially due to proximity and a shared penchant for smoking - which is what would lead them to coming out to each other, as much as they could without saying the words out loud, anyway.

One day they're all hanging out and Rory is getting tired of Lucas & Jason's shit, and when she wanders away Meghan follows her, they complain about boys and Meghan ends up kissing her.

they didn't have crushes on one another beforehand, but as the only two lesbians either of them knew it was all too easy to fall into a not-quite-platonic-not-quite-romantic situationship. as time progresses though they realise that they actually are Falling In Love with one another as people, not just Messing Around as girls.

but because of course Meghan's story ends the way it does, they don't have a lot of time together. Rory is distraught in a way that no one else understands after she dies, but there's not anything that they can really do about it.

[ohallthecrushes]

"Elegant and subtle"

A/N: it's short headcanons. Sorry about the joke below. It's just hard not to think about his growing, overwhelming, delicious D- devotion... ok, I'll stop now.

Summary: Ways of how Morpheus approaches you, his romantic interests, to show you his growing dick, sorry affection.

Nothing too obvious, my dear, he won't say he has feelings for you, nah-ah. Not at the beginning at least. Not until he's sure, you'll reciprocate his affection.

Considering his enigmatic character, he may approach the situation with a sense of subtlety and elegance,cause those are the ways thatt befit the Lord of Dreams.

Since he has difficulty with expressing emotions directly, he may use dream symbolism or metaphorical language to convey his feelings.

For example, he can send you cryptic dreams that mirror your shared experiences or create dreamscapes that resonate with you on a deeper level. Through these dreams, he can subtly reveal his admiration and fascination with you.

You will wonder however... Did he spy on your dreams to know your desires and likes so he could create the perfect dreamscapes for you? I won't say yes, but... He won't tell.

You will find small well thoughtful gifts around your flat, something you only briefly mentioned you'd like to have.

If you don't know how to flirt, it's ok, it doesn't matter. Your blushing cheeks and soft smile in his presence are enough for him to know you welcome his romantic gestures.

If you are aware of your own issues and awkwardness when it comes to romance, then so is Morpheus. He's attentive and observant. But don't worry. His approach is gonna be patient and understanding. He will demonstrate that he respects your boundaries and independence and that he values you as an equal, showing empathy for your struggles (with a more practical way of course).

Is there a specific nightmare or a memory that haunts you often? Poof! It's gone.

Do you need his help with anything? Poof! It's done.

Morpheus will also listen attentively to your thoughts and feelings, allowing you to open up at your own pace without pressuring you. His nonjudgmental nature and willingness to accept you as you are can foster a sense of trust and comfort, making you feel less out of hhis league.

the ethereal and mystical nature of Morpheus' realm can allow for unique and romantic experiences. It's inevitable that he will invite you to explore the Dreaming with him, to share the beauty and wonder of his domain, forging a deeper connection through you mutual fascination with the dream world.

Even though it's all subtle, it is hard to miss all those romantic signs and gestures.

And even if you,for some reason, still don't see them or refuse to see them, Morpheus will find a more subtle way, though still elegant and romantic, to show you his interest and how serious he is about you.

[erabundus]

anonymous &&. said... Ren when was the moment you realized that you started to feel something for Kazuha?

it's  a  harder  question  to  answer  than  it  should  be  —  for  a  multitude  of  reasons.  though  some  time  has  passed,  these  emotions  still  ache  fresh  and  raw  as  they  always  have.  (  a  wound  on  his  nonexistent  heart.  )  they  confuse  him,  both  in  their  complexity  and  the  intensity  that  only  seems  to  grow.  he's  never  experienced  anything  of  the  sort  before;  centuries  of  detached  observation  has  only  afforded  the  wanderer  an  understanding  he  now  knows  to  be  terribly  SHALLOW.  likely  not  helping  matters  is  how  fiercely  he  rejected  their  mere  existence.  he  has  no  interest  in  forming  bonds  he  knows  will  only  end  in  TRAGEDY  —  much  less  one  that  would  leave  him  so  disgustingly  vulnerable.  he  may  have  given  up  his  efforts  to  strip  himself  of  emotion,  but  avoiding  these  feelings  is  a  decision  based  in  pure  pragmatism.  frankly,  it  still  terrifies  him  how  easily  kazuha  could  be  used  against  him.

❝  it's  hard  to  say.  ❞   ren  confesses  honestly.   ❝  i  was  in  denial  for  a  long  time.  ❞  he  was  repulsed  by  the  very  idea  —  HATING  HIMSELF  for  desiring  anything  from  this  person  he  had  brought  nothing  but  misery  to.  what  right  did  he  have,  to  hold  such  tender  feelings?  (  to  drink  in  every  touch,  every  soft  word  like  the  finest  of  spirits?  )  he  didn't  want  to  love  kazuha.  he  wanted  to  ensure  the  human  lived  a  fulfilling  life;  it  was  the  only  thing  he  could  do,  if  he  wouldn't  simply  end  him  as  penance  for  his  sins.  their relationship  simply  became  more  complicated  along  the  way  —  the  wanderer  started  to  YEARN,  as  he  always  did  for  that  which  he  could  never  have.

he  never  expected  kazuha  to  reciprocate.  frankly,  ren  had  resigned  himself  to  BURYING  those  messy  feelings  down  in  some  dark,  suffocating  place  while  he  watched  over  him  from  afar.  the  human just  had  a  way  of  drawing  him  in.  they  are  two  halves  of  the  same  whole,  after  all.  (  soulmates,  connected  by  a  red  string  in  a  manner  he  would  have  once  scoffed  at.  )  perhaps  they  were  always  destined  to  have  their  fates  intertwined.  perhaps  they  were  always  destined  to  fall  in  love  the  moment  they  met  —  like  MAGNETS,  drawn  together  the  instant  they  enter  each  other's  proximity.  it's  a  train  of  thought  a  bit  too  whimsical  for  the  wanderer's  usual  dour  fare,  but  he  supposes  kazuha  has  a strange  way  of  INFLUENCING him  to  think  in  a  manner  more  befitting  the  poet.

he's  glad  that  he  loves  him.  even  if  he  doesn't  understand  it  —  even  if  he  still  feels  undeserving  of  it. kazuha's heart is his most precious treasure.

❝  i  think ...  ❞   the  wanderer  begins  tentatively.  ❝  when  i  realized  he  made  me  feel  comfortable  enough  to  sleep.  ❞  a  hand  raises,  delicate fingers  curling  (  unconsciously  )  over  the  spot  where  a  heart  would  reside.  ❝  or  when  he  gave  me  a  scarf.  ❞  such  a  strange  choice  of  gift  —  at  least  for  a  puppet,  who  could  brave  the  COLD  better  than  any  human.  when  the  seasons  turn  cool  again,  he'll  ask  kazuha  to  wear  it so it may take on his scent ... that is, after all, its true appeal.

[jinjahime]

(reposting a meta rant from the old blog)

so, kubo imparts bleach lore primarily through someone "knowledgeable" about a subject to someone who is not- aka, an audience surrogate. more often than not, this takes the form of ichigo, learning about soul society and the greater spiritual world at large; he's taught by a number of people, each with varying levels of knowledge, but also intent. for example, rukia is often used to explain things at their basest level, both through her crude drawings as a visual gag, but also in the sense that she is providing the audience an introductory look into the lore: souls come from departed humans, and hollows come from corrupted souls.

then there are explanations from urahara, often more in-depth while simultaneously not explained in a way ichigo (or even the audience) can readily understand. similar to him, mayuri, aizen, and szayelaporro all have clinical, scientific ways of describing things, befitting of their characters and ways of thinking. (urahara is special though, he's just particularly autistic <3)

kubo is especially good at having characters explain things in ways that, while not always black and white or even detailed, paint a larger picture of the world and its lore, all through audience surrogates learning it and with a unique flare in how the lore is delivered based on who gives it. not everyone can give textbook explanations for kidō, or what exactly fullbringers are, or how shinigami tech works- and that's a good thing.

but.

but, while this is all well and good, that brings me to the second part of my thought- what this means for the characters imparting the knowledge.

in some cases, that can be easy- rukia has less of an understanding than someone like urahara, and so her explanations are going to be more basic than his would be. in other cases, we run into a particular happening in bleach:

the unreliable narrator.

no, this isn't about aizen; aizen as a character is very calculated and while he was keeping his intentions from not just the audience surrogates but the cast as a whole, i would not file him under unreliable narrator. unreliable actor, perhaps, but he was not the narrator. specifically what i'm referring to is the scene where isshin appears as a shinigami for the first time. kon, after being chased by the newly formed arrancar form of grand fisher, is saved by isshin arriving, his shinigami powers restored. in this whole scenario, what is interesting is that ichigo is not our audience surrogate- kon is. this will be important.

kon is obviously shocked to see isshin, but then urahara shows up, further shocking him- urahara and isshin, through a brief conversation, reveal to kon (as our audience surrogate) that they know each other. urahara knows masaki was killed by grand fisher, and he was connected to isshin losing his powers 18 years prior. at this point, we, the audience, do not know the events of the everything but the rain arc- we are learning of this connection for the very first time, alongside kon.

isshin then makes a point to say to urahara that "he was right- they have contacted ichigo." they, in this instance, is referring to the visoreds, and how shinji had reached out to ichigo- in fact, shinji was with ichigo facing a hollow at that very moment, and shinji did not recognize isshin's reiatsu. cutting back to isshin and urahara, they talk about the visoreds, and this is something that sticks out to me, because ultimately the discussion being had is one of the least natural exposition dumps of bleach. the two of them are talking to each other about the visoreds, stating that they were a rogue group of shinigami who used the hōgyoku to break the barrier between shinigami and hollow.

what makes this conversation so particularly unnatural is 1) clearly this is something the two of them have discussed before; they need only say "visoreds", or even when isshin just said "they", urahara knew who was being discussed. isshin even said that it was as urahara predicted- they both knew what was going to happen. 2) they are having this discussion in full view of kon; they aren't talking to him, as primarily is the case in audience surrogate scenarios- whether it's ichigo learning about shikai and bankai from shinigami in the seireitei or uryū learning about quincy lore from ryūken, lore getting imparted to the surrogate is always directly to the surrogate. however, kon is not involved in the conversation at all.

and perhaps the thing that intrigues me the most about it: 3) it's all a lie.

isshin's lore drop about the visoreds is entirely incorrect, making them sound like some gang who willingly sought out the hōgyoku's power to make themselves stronger. even though we won't learn about the turn back the pendulum arc for some time still, meeting the visoreds shortly after and getting to know them does not lend itself to isshin's purported lore. which is where it begs the question: what does this mean for isshin? why was he telling inaccurate lore? does he not know the truth about the visoreds? shinji doesn't recognize isshin's reiatsu, which means he either a) doesn't remember him as a shinigami from 100 years prior, (which tracks, isshin was not captain during tbtp and therefore shinji would never have known isshin's reiatsu level at captain-strength), or b) he has never met isshin and does not know he was also a shinigami. and with this, that leaves of us with one of two possibilities: a) isshin and urahara previously agreed upon a false narrative to say in front of kon for the sake of obfuscating the truth for the audience's sake (see: why isshin had to take masaki's surname in ebtr for the sake of keeping the secret of ichigo's relation to the shiba clan in the soul society arc), or...

b) urahara lied to isshin about the visoreds, spinning a false narrative about them being the willing enactors of their own hollowfied fate, which is what isshin was simply reiterating back. i say that it was urahara's explanation and not soul society's simply because soul society didn't know about the hōgyoku at large. the narrative central 46 had at the time of tbtp was that urahara had experimented on his fellow captains and lieutenants, and had been behind the greater hollowfication experiments, and that the captains and lieutenants were to be "disposed of like hollows". soul society did not know the outcome of the visoreds. they know that they were taken, went to the world of the living with yoruichi, urahara, and tessai, but after that, the visoreds seemingly kept to themselves in their warehouse, unbothered by anyone.

seeing interactions between the visoreds and ichigo, and also the conversation between urahara and isshin, it paints a picture of the visoreds and urahara not interacting much, which leads me to believe that b) is likely the case- it seems that he has sought to give the visoreds their space and privacy and safety over telling others the truth, even if those people may be ones who could benefit from it (in this case, isshin).

now, why it's important that kon is the one as the surrogate and not ichigo is that ichigo never even learns any of this- he doesn't even learn on page or screen about the history of the visoreds; we, the audience, learn about it though an extended flashback mini-arc! kon doesn't reveal what he learned to ichigo, not just about isshin's shinigami powers, or his connection to urahara, but also about the visoreds- thus meaning there was no reason for isshin or urahara to lie in-context of the story. it's a pointed, narrative decision to have isshin lie to the audience, which if you break it down, doesn't make sense unless isshin thought it was the truth.

overall, i think this scene is just a prime, grade-a example of how truly masterful kubo is with how lore gets revealed; no, not everything CAN be explained in bleach, and that's okay- the world at large has explanations, and the people who explain it know different levels of truth to it. it makes the story more layered, more multifaceted, and ultimately? more realistic. not everyone is going to know everything, and not everyone is going to be able to explain it properly, whether they want to or not. sometimes, people may even lie about the truth of the world, because it's simply not the right time for us as the audince to know it. it just makes the world and the lore that much more lived-in.

[languor-em]

Inscryption prompts you say?

May we receive some crumbs of angst with the prompt of Leshy arguing with the scrybes after they were turned to cards — with him believing this is the Best Possible Way to go on but they're angry and hurt and feel betrayed? Possibly leading up to the wolf and stinkbug being locked away?

OH BUT THIS IS A VERY GOOD PROMPT!!!

Here y'all go!!! Angst!!! And super spoilery so!! Be warned!!! (Also I smattered in some personal headcanons because I'm a simp and legally required to do so)

That Unwanted Animal

In which Leshy tries to forget.

"What have you done?"

To his credit, Leshy did not respond to the card's accusatory words. He simply continued to sit and carve his masks, hoping fruitlessly that the repetitive shhk sshhhk of his knife scraping against wood would drown out that familiar voice. Stave off the guilt, he supposed.

"Do you have any idea what you have done? What you have destroyed?"

A different voice, less heartbroken and far more angry.

He ignored this one, too. Instead he focused on bringing life to the Prospector's face.

"Listen to me you Stinking Beast! Stop this madness!"

He tensed in spite of himself, painful guilt clawing a festering home in his chest. But he still made no move to acknowledge the three cards flung haphazardly on his table. His hands shook- imperceptible to most aside from him and his closest friends.

Naturally, they noticed.

"At least have the decency to look at us! At what you've done!"

And as desperately as he did not want to, he did.

And there was guilt, that unwanted animal, sinking jagged fangs into the flesh of his throat.

Three cards for three companions, three friends, three Scrybes. Three times he had betrayed those closest to him.

For the greater good, he reminded himself, to preserve them in forms befitting their honor. To save them.

"It is for the best," he said matter-of-factly, looking from the cards back to his carving.

"Say that enough and maybe you will begin to actually believe it," snapped the Stunted Wolf. Leshy did not respond.

"Leshy, dearest-" it was the Stinkbug who spoke next- her sweet, shaking voice doing nothing but driving guilt's teeth further into his throat, "It is alright to be frightened, love. We are all scared. But you do not have to handle this alone! We can get through this together!"

He knew in his heart that it was going to be her who struck him the hardest, gave him the most pause. They were one in the same cycle, after all. Life and Death, connected intrinsically. But he would not allow himself to be swayed, not even by her.

They would have done the same, hissed the frightened animal in his mind, Would have caged you, locked you away to rot in dust. No, this is honorable. This is right. This is noble.

"It is for the best," he said again, his tone firm and conclusive. Though he knew, just as the others did, that he did not quite believe himself.

The room went quiet, save for the faint crackling of a dying fire and the shy return of Leshy's carving. He thought, for a moment, that that was perhaps the end of it.

"I can't believe I trusted you."

It was the Stoat who broke through the veil of silence, its voice strangely weak in comparison to it's usual cocky cadence.

"I- we thought we were safe with you. And you just..."

It trailed off, it's voice failing it for the first time in its long, long life.

"You have killed us all, Leshy," said the wolf, his voice harsh and cold, "And for what? Power? Domination?"

"To protect you all!"

His outburst surprised them all, including himself. He had stood with a strength he usually tried to keep hidden, wooden claws digging dents into his table and splintering the surface. He was positively bristling, his long tail thrashing with barely contained frustration.

How could they not see? How could they not understand? The world was ending, rotting! It would have ended them all had he not done anything about it! He had saved them! Put them in the noble bodies of beasts, for them! This was not about power, not about games, and certainly not about domination! This was about...

Absolution.

He had lost something before to that all corrupting nothing. He could not quite remember what, who- but he knew he had not been able to protect them. And that fact ate him up inside, more so than that cruel animal Guilt ever could.

"You have not seen what I have," he finally murmered, his head cast downwards, "You do not know what I now know. Believe me, this is for the best. This is the only way."

And that was the end of it. The cards' words fell on now deaf ears, the Scrybe stubbornly forcing their names and faces from his mind.

And eventually, to an extent, it worked.

He no longer knew why looking at those talking cards brought him such pain. He did not know why the blighted pit in his chest made him lock the Stunted Wolf and the Stinkbug away where he could no longer see them. And he could not remember why he couldn't bear to do the same to the Stoat.

Leshy, the once great Scrybe of Beasts, one of four, was now just a man.

A frightened, lonely man.

A man who had forgotten.

And for that, a part of him was grateful.

And for that, the whole of him regretted.

[twistedtranslations]

Cater Diamond - Full of Lies

You can unlock this story by getting Cater’s SSR Scary dress

Big thanks to Rym and Apollo for proofreading!

Translation under the cut

Chapter 1

Main street

/Notification

Cater: Oh? A message on MagiCam? Who would've thought it was that girl! How nostalgic~ The picture those ghosts took at Ramshackle dorm made our college's Halloween event trend -> Jumping onto the bandwagon and posting a lot -> Huge success for Cay's follower-catching strat! So far it's been going well but… Mixed within the comments and DMs of my new followers are a lot of old aquaintances. Even some classmates from middle and elementary school are here.

Cater: "Hey! It's been a while! Oh, would you like to come to our college? Cay welcomes every single one of you! You can always come over to hang at NRC's Halloween event!"

Cater: And now some emoji full of feelings!  (^○^)♪ (ゝω・)☆　d(’ｖ｀*)b

Cater: Everyone is really so casual and easygoing~ Well, it's easier on me, so I'm not complaining.

???: HEY!

Cater: Where did that loud and rowdy voice come from? I've got a bad feeling about this…

Front Gate

Sebek: Humans, don't crowd around the young master! Get out! Leave!

Boy A: Hey, what are you doing, sweptback bro! Don't interfere with our Draconia Challenge.

Boy B: We're putting our lives on the line to show our bravery by uploading a picture of us touching The Malleus!

Boy A: Huh, since when did Malleus disappear?! It's that sweptback bro's fault.

Boy B: Don't be so angry. After all the effort of having a sweptback, let's show the world a huge smile on that face!

Sebek: For humans of your social standing to use the name of the Lord of the esteemed Valley of Thorns in vain…Besides, my hair is swept back like this so I have an unobstructed view to find those like you who behave rudely towards my young master! You shall receive punishment for insulting the Draconia… no, for insulting the young master. My thunder shall shock you all to bits! HAAAAA...

Cater: Okay, stop! I'm part of the Halloween Committee. It's forbidden to fight. Why don't you try talking to this lad if something's up?

Sebek: Don't interrupt me, you frolicking human! I will shock you to bits as well!

Cater: Won't you create a scandal for the Draconia family if you were to harm an ordinary human with magic?

Sebek: W-Well… You're right. Besides, didn't you just say you were part of the Halloween committee? Both the young master and master Lilia are both performing the same duties… They ordered me to listen to the orders of the other committee members. Ok, I shall talk this out.

Cater: Even though you are crossing your arms and puffing your chest out, you are being apologetic right? Anyway, these are our college's precious guests. They have no intention to harm Malleus.

Sebek: These magic-less weaklings were making a spectacle bothering Young Master with a toy. I cannot forgive that!

Cater: Malleus is like super famous, and he's an admirable being, right? So just for this festival, it should be fine to interact with our guests as a little fanservice right?

Sebek: Stop messing around. The young master is a dreadful being who makes everyone kneel and bow down to him. AND THAT'S WHY I WILL NEVER LEAVE HIS SIDE AND PROTECT HIM ALL MY LIFE!

Cater: You're just obsessed!

Boy A: Hey, interfering our Draconia Challenge aside, what are you two squabbling about?

Sebek: Hm? You humans are still here? I told you to leave.

Boy B: Huh? You've got some nerve, talking rudely to us like that!

Cater: Come on guys. Why don't we take some pictures together since it's finally Halloween! We, Heartslabyul are those who rise from the soil in the darkness, the underlings of the night~

Boy A: Wow! Now that you mention it, you do look real good for the camera!

Cater: Cheer up everyone and gather! Let's decide on a pose~~~ Happy Halloween~

¨*shutter noise*

Cater: (Ugh… This is exhausting)

Chapter 2

Classroom

Kalim/Cater/Lilia: *Sigh*… I'm tired….

Cater: This year's Halloween was exhausting. Mainly due to our guests being rowdy..

Kalim: It was fun entertaining the guests, but I was really troubled because Jamil got in a foul mood.

Lilia: Even we, three most gentle boys, have been worn down. The other students must be at the limits of their patience.

Everyone: *Sigh*…

Cater: Now that you say it, by chance all the members of the light music club are also part of the Halloween Committee. Let's have our usual relaxing tea time while also discussing some countermeasures.

Kalim/Lilia: Agreed~

Cater: I got this! Trey's home-made pumpkin pie! It's moderately sweet, so it's my favorite!

Kalim: I have kunafa. It's a cheesecake from the Scalding Sands. It's delicious when it's hot!

Lilia: Oho, these are all sweets befitting of Halloween. As the last one, I have prepared this. Licorice!

Cater: You're always bringing the same thing! You know me and Kalim don't like that.

Kalim: The smell makes my nose shrivel up~

Cater: But you know, since it's black, it does feel like Halloween. Oh, right, let's take a picture together. It's super charming to be in costume and have themed food.

*shutter noise*

Cater: #TheBestHalloween #SelfmadeCostume #HomemadeTreat #LightMusicClub #NRCHalloween

Kalim: The best? Didn't you say you were exhausted earlier, Cater?

Cater: I never said it wasn't exciting and for things like SNS, isn't it better to exaggerate a bit?

Lilia: As expected of you. We live in a period where everyone is connected all around the world. It is most wonderful to spread happiness instead of complaints.

Cater: Oh. The picture I just uploaded got an amazing response! 

*notification*

Cater: Another message from that girl. Was she the kind to keep track of people's activities?

*ringing noise*

Cater: This time it's a call. (How persistent…)

Kalim: Cater, is it from one of your friends? You can pick up if you want.

Cater: Hm~… More like an acquaintance from the past? But it's alright? We're at a very important meeting, after all.

Lilia: We are only eating sweets, taking pictures and uploading them to MagiCam though…

Cater: It's the age of social media where everyone can keep in contact at their own pace, you don't have to go through the pains of having to response in real time to a phone call.

Kalim: Do you have that many people who want to get in touch with you? You're so well connected Cater~

Cater: Well, if you look the amount of aquaintances I have, that might be true? My dad's a banker. The bank he works at has branches all over the world. Therefore, whenever he transferred to a different branch, our entire family would move with him. We moved once every two years, so I kind of feel like a pro at quickly packing things?

Lilia: Commonly said, you are a family who moved a lot for the sake of the breadwinner.

Kalim: So the reason why you have so many friends is because you have travelled around the world since young.

Cater: Yeah, the girl just now said we are friends as well. Having to change schools frequently, I got to meet more people compared to someone staying at one place. From the best to the worst… a lot of people. However, they all had something in common.

Kalim/Lilia: …?

Cater: If I left there, they remained there. That's why I'd rather have a casual and happy time with everyone than to deepen a friendship. It’s like a circus troupe, you know, having fun hanging with people all over the world and then leaving. That's why MagiCam is the best! People from my school from three years ago contacted me out of the blue. My social circle is expanding as well. Cay is getting popular!

Kalim: Even if they're far away, you don't have to hold back you know? I got it! I'll lend you my magic carpet, so you can visit your friends whenever you want.

Cater:… I expected no less of you, Kalim. I'll take you up on that offer next time.

Lilia: I feel like I understand you.

Cater: Hm?

Lilia: The relations between humans are eternal. They are things that cannot be severed. In a new place with no trace of your existence, new relations will continue to be forged. That in itself is nature. However, I think the more precious a relation is, the more lonely it becomes. Why does it feel that way? I have lived a long life but the reason is still unknown to me. But just as Cater said, there may be a perfectly logical explanation for not getting too attached to one person in particular.

Cater: Lilia, what got into you suddenly? What I wanted to say was-

*ringing noise*

Lilia: Hello, this is Lilia speaking? What business do you have?

Cater: He just casually picked up the phone during our conversation.

Lilia: Oh, Sebek. What is it? You are so loud. Right now, I am in a meeting with Cater and Kalim. WHAT?! MALLEUS?!

Kalim/Cater: ?!

Chapter 3

Hall of Mirrors

Silver: Stop pushing. It's forbidden to enter the Hall of Mirrors.

Man A: Huh, really! I came all the way to the Isle of Sages to see Malleus Draconia.

Man B: We are doing the Draconia challenge now! Why can't we enter~

Girl C: He’s inside right! An actual Draconia, the Actual Malleus!

Everyone: MALLEUS! MALLEUS! MALLEUS!

*Lightning and thunder*

Silver: It's a rare event that Master Malleus is participating in. He also agreed to interact with the guests... For it to come to this... Everyone, it’s better if you leave. You have angered master Malleus.

Man A: I paid a lot of travel expenses, did you know that? This is the price of fame.

Everyone: MALLEUS! MALLEUS! MALLEUS!

Exterior Hallway

Cater: Did the visitors who wanted that  MagiCam glory end up angering even Malleus himself?

Sebek: Yes. At first he was gentle and calmed me down when I got angry… but a fool grabbed Malleus by the horns and made fun of him by saying "Look! It's a bicycle from the olden days!"

Lilia/Cater: Gh!

Cater: I don't know if they're brave or just reckless. Were the dark clouds and thunder rampaging in the sky above the Hall of Mirrors due to Malleus' anger? You don't think he overblotted, right…?!

Lilia: Do not worry. Using that amount of magic power shall not make him overblot. He is simply irritated. Back when he was young, mountains would be destroyed by his lightning whenever he threw a tantrum.

Cater: Hahaha… that's on a totally different level. I guess it was a good idea to have Kalim fetch the professors.

Sebek: Upperclassman Vil noticed something was up and isolated the young master. He also casted a defensive spell so the tourists wouldn't be harmed. And it seemed that Upperclassman Jade is persuading the angry young master with some unique methods... Even so, those humans who can't seem to understand the gravity of the situation keep stirring up the young master, they're uncontrollable.

Lilia: This means we must use our last resort. We must put in effort to suppress the onlookers and avoid the worst situation.

Cater: Wait a second, Lilia. I thought of something. It's not like people there dislike Malleus or anything. Despite that, it doesn't mean that they like Malleus as well... They're just interested in trends. Just like my old acquaintances.

Lilia: ?

Cater: First, I'll take a picture of Lilia, who's wearing the same clothes as Malleus!

*shutter noise*

Cater: Next we use something catered to influencers. We'll elongate Lilia's picture with a photo editing app!

*swiping on phone*

Cater: Now we just add some text to finish it up. And then upload a cropped version to MagiCam!!

*Phone SFX*

Cater: #AWildMalleusAppeared #DraconiaChallenge #UnexpectedlyAtSportsGround #NRCHalloween

*Phone SFX*

Hall of Mirrors

Man A: H-Hey. Look at the Draconia challenge tag.

Man B: It seems he's at the Sports Ground now. As expected of Malleus. He's much faster than we are!

Girl C: Okay. Everyone, let's move!

Everyone: YEAH!

Silver: What happened? Master Malleus should still be in the Hall of Mirrors.

Cater: Fu. With this, I hope the storm has passed…?

Vil: Good grief. Accidents are an unavoidable part of stage plays. Letting yourself get influenced by the guests is so amateurish. My work here is done. I will return to the dorm to straighten up my appearance.

Jade: My, that was a close call. Malleus is extremely powerful. I persuaded him to the best of my abilites, trying to get him to understand. But there was no one to turn to if it had failed. Well then, I will also return to my station. I wish everyone a wonderful Halloween.

Malleus: I caused many disturbances between different racial groups during a mere school event. I should restrain myself more…

Sebek: The young master has done nothing wrong! It was the fault of those inferior humans!

Silver: The young master told us to avoid hostility between fae and humans. Why are you getting more hostile?

Sebek: WHAT DID YOU SAY SILVER!

Lilia: Malleus. Did you forget our promise from long ago? Call for us when the tranquility in your mind is disturbed.  Even if we are not related by blood, we are still a family. Got it?

Malleus: Lilia… My apologies. To everyone.

Everyone: …

Cater: ….Family…huh.

Flashback

Lilia: But just as Cater said, there may be a perfectly logical explanation for not getting too attached to one person in particular.

Flashback ends

Cater: (That was full of lies. For a guy who grew up and lived in the same place, he never had to deal with rebuilding relations over and over…He would never understand my worthless and meaningless feelings.)

*ringing*

Cater: Hello, Trey. What's up? Huh? Are we doing our rehearsal for our night show at the stamp rally now? And Deuce, who is also part of the Halloween Committee, was at his wit's end due to the lack of manpower. So Ace is helping him out? Darn, Ace is definitely going to extort me for a favor later!

Cater: Argh! And is Riddle on the verge of a rampage? I'll be back soon, Trey. Please calm him down! I am currently at the site of the biggest crisis yet of this Halloween Week! No, for real! I'm not lying. That's why you don't have to be so cold to me, 'kay? URGH, TREY, YOU'RE SO CRUEL!

Cater: Now that Diasomnia's turmoil has settled, let's change the mood and continue on with work. In any case, we’ll still separate after the fourth year… It would be different if I repeated a year though. Anyway, I should just enjoy the moment to my heart's content! I'll surprise everyone with this charming skeleton costume! I'll show them what I'm capable of!

Cater: Happy Halloween!

[dailyadventureprompts]

I am currently in the process of designing my universes cosmology. It is currently similar to some of the stuff you have put out, with big emphasis on an all encompassing realm called the Dreaming (formed from the consciousness of all living things and connection to it is the source of magic). But unfortunately I am struggling to find a natural home for the gods, I want them to be present in the material world but at the same time have a separate realm from which they draw divine power.

Hi friend, I hope you don’t mind if I don’t to a full writeup on this, as there’s actually some preexisting d&d adjacent lore that fits what you’re looking for PERFECTLY. 

So in the Greek myth Based Theros setting ( as featured in Mythic Odysseys of Theros), the gods dwell in a realm known as Nyx, which manifest as a flowing landscape of nebula matter, constellations, and starstuff. Nyx is a realm apart from and “overlooking” the mortal realm, allowing the gods to view the world of their followers as if they were looking through a multifaceted jewel. 

Nyx is a plane of belief and legends, morphing overtime in accordance with the mythos of mortals and affecting that collective psyche itself in turn.  

As an example of this process: 

Say a hero earns great renown that people tell their story for generations, entering the collective canon of tales and legends, becoming a thing that is simultaneously mythic, and commonly accepted to be a thing that happened as the “reality” of the tale gets strained out with each new telling.

The starstuff of nyx would rearrange itself, creating space for that hero and their deeds to be immortalized in the infinite cosmic tapestry, living out their great deeds over and over again in the great dance of the heavens. 

Since that legend dwells in Nyx, it happened, and any mythic qualities or deeds accrued by the hero over various retellings become retroactively true, such as their sword acquiring magical powers, or the appearance of a particular type of monster at a particular location in their journey, descendants of that beast still haunting that location to this day despite never living there in the first place. 

If the gods so wish, they can reweave the fabric of Nyx to their liking, immortalizing events or reworking history as they see fit. Events stripped from the mythic tapestry fade from common knowledge over generations, the evidence of their greatness crumbling away to ruin with only the slightest scrap of starlight remaining at their edges.

This last fact is why the gods are so protective over the ways into their domain, and keep most secret portals and ascension points shut or heavily guarded. They wish sole control over the mythic history of the mortal realm, and should a mortal find their way in with the right help or the wrong kind of magic, they may do irrevocable damage to the cosmic weave in attempting to change things to their liking. 

The gods are also cable of creating things wholecloth out of their cosmic realm, manifesting these “nyx-born” or “star-wrought” creations in the waking world as befits their will. Often they will do this when mortals have earned their attention or ire, creating wonderous boons to reward the favored or great beasts to punish the hubristic. These creations are “less real” than the more gradual changes wrought by the mythic realm, as they lack the generations of belief needed to shore them up into something enduring, the starstuff from which they were made peeking through  the edges.  To countermand this fragility, the gods seek to work their creations into existing or currently ongoing stories, framing these creations as the accessories of great heroes or of heroes yet to be.  

if you’d like another example of what all this looks like, please refer to the absolute MASTERPIECE that is Sinbad, Legend of the Seven Seas

I hope that helps friend, honestly WOTC never explains all of this in one place, and I’ve wanted to get my thoughts down on the matter for some time. 

Art

[smokeonshadows]

We need to talk about the Bobbseys

Strap in, kids. This is going to be...a lot.

To put it bluntly, the way the Bobbseys were handled was messy, unnecessary, and probably the worst thing about an otherwise great season.

It's really disappointing because the Nancy Drew writers have already proven themselves to be not only good writers, but also socially conscious writers. They actively and publicly aim to be inclusive in their storytelling, so I think it's fair to hold them to that standard.

There was a lot of potential in the Bobbseys–they're a morally ambiguous brother-sister team of codependent twins from a rough/tragic past who sometimes lie, cheat, and steal in order to make ends meet. This is interesting, this is full of possibilities as to how they could fit in with the Drew Crew, and, most of all, this was a great opportunity to have complex representation of the south asian community that subverts popular stereotypes (model minority, traditional upbringing, perpetual foreigner, etc.). Amanda and Gil would've been great characters in their own rights...but instead they were used as nothing more than cannon fodder for an unnecessary, half-baked love square with low key racist undertones.

Problematic elements

I've already talked about the racist undertones in previous posts, but in a nutshell, Gil is portrayed as being controlling/aggressive/domineering (particularly towards Nancy and Amanda) and it's a stereotype that south asian men (and I'd say black and brown men in general) are misogynistic, aggressive, and otherwise abusive towards women. This portrayal is made even worse because he's meant to be a foil for Ace, a soft/gentle/sensitive/emotionally stable white guy who Nancy is obviously meant to be with. And for Amanda, she's also portrayed in line with the stereotype of asian women being very submissive (particularly to their male counterparts). I don't think any of this was intentional, but it's just not a good look.

This problem could've at least been somewhat alleviated if Gil and Amanda had been written as fully fleshed out characters who were going on their own journeys and were consequential to the story, but that didn't happen.

Stereotypes aside, another problematic aspect of the Bobbseys is that they both fall into the unfortunately common trope of being the character of color that the white character has a superficial relationship with and leads white character to realizing that they should actually be with this other white character who's been there all along.

Even when they have roles in the episode apart from being superficial love interests, oftentimes they don't do much aside from being useful for getting the Crew from point A to point B of a mystery.

Underdeveloped relationships

Was I the only one who found the resolution of the Nancy x Gil relationship in the season finale to be a bit abrupt?

While I appreciate that they showed how seemingly small transgressions within relationships can actually be red flags and that a situation doesn't need to escalate to full-on physical abuse in order to count as domestic violence, I found that the moment when Nancy has this realization and then breaks up with Gil lacked the emotional weight befitting that situation. I think this was the case because Nancy and Gil barely had a relationship. There was attraction and sexual tension, they hooked up a few times, but it was never shown to be a real relationship. It's not just that we didn't often see them together, but with or without him, Nancy didn't think much about Gil or what he thought of her and, more importantly wrt the breakup, we aren't shown all the ways that his treatment of her affected her sense of self or the way she operated. Nancy's relationship with Gil was inconsequential, so the stakes were low.

And yes, casual hookup situations can also turn abusive, but from a narrative standpoint, the way this particular situation was portrayed, it was given both more and less weight than it should've been given. It felt like the writers wanted the breakup to be big and impactful but they not only didn't work for that payoff, they also wanted to resolve it quickly so they could move onto more important plot points (the breakup was at the beginning episode and Nancy never mentions it or even hints at any emotional fallout from it ever again).

(Amanda was done dirty)

Actually, if anything, the big dramatic breakup should've been between Amanda and Gil. Even with her severely limited screentime, almost every time we do see Amanda, we are reminded of how close she is with Gil, how badly he treats her, how much she values his opinion, and how smothered she feels by him. And it sucks that we never actually get to see Amanda make the realization, stand up for herself, and confront Gil. All we see is Ace encouraging her to break away and then cut to her living her best life post-sibling breakup.

In the end, it's as if Amanda's pain and suffering was made to be less about her and more about Nancy/being evidence that Gil is not good for Nancy. Again, not a good look.

And Amanda and Ace's relationship is also underdeveloped compared to the impact that the writers seem to want it to have. Like, I don't understand why Ace would give her a pseudo-ultimatum ("I'll prioritize you if you prioritize me") at this stage of their relationship. Yes, they do seem to be more of a relationship than Nancy x Gil, but it always felt like they were very much in the budding romance stage. While he does talk about her when they're apart, we still rarely saw them interact with each other outside of the context of Ace needing to use Amanda's connection at the hotel or to her father or brother in order to help solve the mystery. And we don't learn more about or see a different side either character through their relationship with each other.

Poorly executed, unnecessary love triangles

The whole point of having a love triangle is to raise the emotional stakes.

It's always been my belief that if you're going to have a love triangle, you need to commit to it. That means making both legs of the triangle equally viable, developing both romantic options and both relationships equally.

As noted in the sections above, this was not the case with either love triangle, which makes the whole thing feel cheap and unsatisfying. Like I said in a previous post, I think it would've been more powerful if Nancy had two really great options, but in the end chose Ace because that’s what her heart really wants no matter how great the other guy is.

Anyone with a healthy understanding of love and relationships would choose Ace over Gil. It's no contest, no real choice, so it adds nothing to the conversation, it says nothing about Nancy or her feelings for Ace. It's inconsequential, the emotional stakes are practically nonexistent.

Literally, I feel like if you took the Bobbsey love triangles out of this season, Ace and Nancy would still end up in pretty much the same place wrt their feelings for each other. I mean, yes, the whole jealousy/green eyed epiphany thing did play a role, but the relationships with the Bobbseys featured so little and were so underdeveloped that it would be more or less the same as one of them flirting with a background character every once in a while.

And Nace still didn't end up together after all that! It's hinted that for some reason, Ace will be stringing Amanda along next season while he pines for Nancy. Which is exhausting.

This is really what we sacrificed two perfectly interesting characters of color for. I'm upset.

[angstmongertina]

The Vision of Lachesis

Spoilers for Artem’s Entwined Fates SSR card story! Also, warning for angst and implied/mentioned character death, because I can only write so much fluff before things get angsty.

I had this idea almost as soon as I played the Entwined Fates card story because I am a sucker for outside POV fics, though the idea for the last scene came later lol. Incidentally, if you want to skip the angst, just stop before the little warning I put in there. Everything before it should be perfectly fluffy.

Cross-posted to AO3.

In his years living at Cloudbreak Temple, Master Lu has already seen many visitors pass through its gate, all with various different hopes and dreams and stories filling their souls. He has seen everyone, from new babies to old grandmothers, from shy young couples to blissful newlyweds and bickering old spouses. And still, the pair he spies entering the temple catch his attention.

He is, as is always the case during the busy festival days, pulled in all directions at once, guiding petitioners through the rituals of prayer and interpreting fortune, but even so, he cannot help but keep an eye on them. A man in front, tall and middle-aged, wearing a solemn expression that does not quite suit the laugh lines on his face, and a boy, not yet fully grown and quiet, shying away slightly from the noise and bustle around him but watching the proceedings with a bright, piercing gaze. The man says something, a gentle hand clapping the boy’s shoulder in a warm, fatherly gesture that brings a faint smile to the small face, before they dive into the crowd, and he turns his attention back to the couple before him.

Thankfully, they do not comment on his preoccupation and he puts the others out of mind as he helps them determine their fortunes.

The next time he sees the pair, they are with old Master Wang, which comes as no great surprise to him. Although Cloudbreak Temple may be most well-known for petitions to the star of wisdom, they accommodate many types of prayers, and while the boy may be of the age where success in learning and exams is important, one glance at the youthful face is enough to tell him that the boy has both intelligence and diligence to spare, and furthermore, a concrete attitude that would likely dismiss the thought of appealing to prayers for school out of hand. No, there is no need for prayers for success. But for safety, on the other hand…

He moves a little closer, still not yet so close as to be truly spying, but near enough to get a better look at the pair. The man is dressed casually, long brown hair pulled out of his face, and stands almost at a slouch, but the eyes that observe the world around him through thin-rimmed glasses are far from relaxed. Instead, their grey depths are cautious, sharp, clearly accustomed to seeking out the truth behind every person, every choice and interaction. It is only when they fall on the young man beside him do they soften with affection and concern. A man of action, of justice and strong morals, though perhaps of some impetuousness and with a fragility under it all.

A man, in short, who likely puts himself into the path of danger for the good of the people around him, but who also might shatter should he be pushed to the brink, should the lives of those he cares about be on the line.

And the boy…

Master Lu frowns, brushing a thoughtful hand over his chin and the faint beginnings of a thick beard as the man ruffles the boy’s hair and he looks up at his companion with a small but adoring smile.

The boy still has a whole entire life in store for him, of that he is certain. And one that will no doubt intersect with the temple again.

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

When the couple steps through the gates of the temple, the man sheltering the girl beside him from the crowds, he notices them immediately. Though many years have passed, he has learned to trust his instincts, even beyond what his mind may tell him, and his gut recognizes the man long before his eyes do. The boy has grown, of course, in the ensuing two decades, but the bright intelligence, the thoughtfulness and care, all harken back to the shy child of so long ago.

But rather than his old friend and mentor, this time, the man brings with him a companion of his own. At first glance, she is just as bright-eyed and curious as he once was, though perhaps with more anxiety than he had, focusing immensely on the tasks before her. And the way he watches her…

Before he knows it, he is approaching the pair, standing at a table for the star of wisdom, and offers his assistance. He sees her attention flit away as her partner leaves for his own prayer, following him through the crowd with her eyes and her mind; though she appears to be unaware of it herself, her partner knows, and he knows, that even apart, their hearts, their very lives themselves, are irrevocably entwined, two souls pulled together by an inescapable gravity that he had not seen in decades, if ever.

He cannot help his curiosity about them, about this pair that seems to confirm the very existence of fate itself. These two lawyers, partners, these two halves of a single whole, that the universe has brought together, in an act of perfect balance.

Their marriage fortunes, an offer he makes that is part personal interest, part guiding hand, come as a surprise, though perhaps it should not have been wholly unexpected. He has never been wrong before, not about the couples who have captured his attention, but this…

This is less of a gentle nudge from fate and more of a flashing neon sign.

She reacts to her fortune tag first and he cannot help but smile at the curiosity, at the innocence, in her eyes. “I cannot keep my heart, as it longs to be with you…” A straightforward fortune, as befitting the girl who watches her partner with subconscious adoration, who still does not see his unconditional tenderness, who still does not understand her own constant preoccupation, for what they are. In time, she will realize.

But her partner…

He knows from the moment he sees the man’s face that the meaning of his own fortune is not lost on him. “It is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.” And it is fitting for him, for the way he turns away from this, his hesitant heart, cautiously hopeful for a sign that the undying flame he carries will not be snuffed out, bruised from this heavy blow from fate, determined to carry its burden alone, to push his feelings aside and pretend that all is well, as he has always done.

It is a cautionary tale, this particular fortune, and he can say nothing, can only look on in weighty silence, as its recipient takes his companion and continues down his ill-fated and forewarned path.

Or, at least, attempts to, but for the efforts of the girl by his side. He does not listen to the conversation not meant for his ears but he does not need to, not when her thoughts are written clear across her face, not when she tugs her partner back to hear his explanation.

Not when she, despite being still oblivious to the depth of their connection, to the direction of her heart, immediately moves to petition, to help, to find some way of reversing the luck, propelled by outward concern and hidden affection.

He gives them directions both to the wishing tree and for the method to improve one’s luck and watches as she leaps at each opportunity, apparently unaware of the implications, in her quest to lessen her companion’s misfortune. But the man, now wearing a near constant smile of stunned helplessness, knows, even if he cannot, or perhaps more likely, will not, let himself, discern the cause of her concern.

Not even when it involves her suggesting that they bind their fortunes together on the wishing tree.

He chuckles, running his fingers over his beard as he watches them, their gentle discussion and animated features, both conveying so much to the world that they are too close, too farsighted, to see. But in this moment, it is not his place to say anything, to interfere any further, and so he doesn’t. Fate has already shown her own interest in their future, one that they have accepted and furthered, without, apparently, even realizing it.

Ah, to be young and in love.

Waving off their thanks, he watches as they leave before shaking his head and letting out the full-bellied laugh that he has been holding back since he first met them. In all of his years working at the temple, he has never been wrong before, and he is certain that he will not be wrong this time.

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

The first day of the festival dawns early and bright, with that telltale warmth that foretells another hot August day. Even before the temple is open for visitors, anticipation hums through the air, the faint buzz as everyone prepares for the inevitable rush of petitioners.

Standing before the steps to the main temple, Master Lu looks out over the entire grounds with a smile. While the outside world has changed drastically in the past decades, within the temple, it is like being transported back in time; the same old tables from years past have already been set up, and the decorations, while not entirely the exact same as those used in centuries past, have all been remade in the original style.

In the fast-paced and ever-changing world, it is almost a sanctuary from time itself, where the tags of decades of visitors remain for an eternity and the history and traditions of the ancestors are preserved for future generations.

Well, at least in some ways more than others, if the influx of technology, and not just from forgetful visitors, is any indication.

He shakes his head, chuckling at his own preoccupation as he dodges young Master Zhao, juggling his attention between the pile of fortunes carried in his arms and the phone jammed under his ear. Clearly, he has begun to get overly sentimental in his old age.

Alas, yet another reminder of the inevitability of the passage of time.

The entry of visitors, a veritable tsunami of petitioners all looking to arrive early, interrupts his thoughts and he turns his attention to them, casting an experienced eye over the crowd. As usual, the vast majority make a beeline straight for the table for the star of wisdom, drawn as ever to the promise of good scores and success. Young couples make their way to the table for marriage fortunes, fresh-eyed and smitten with each other. And others still filter towards the other tables, for peace and wealth and…

And safety.

He spots the small family almost as soon as they pass through the gates, though they are admittedly hard to miss. The man and woman walk arm in arm, slow and cautious against the crush of the people around them, his form shifting to act as a barrier to shield her against the worst of the crowd. The height of the man alone would have been enough to catch his attention, but it is accentuated by the tiny pigtailed girl riding on his shoulders, adding another head to their overall height. From her perch, she looks around with bright, curious eyes, a small hand pointing towards the main temple, and him.

Even across the distance, he can see the surprise and recognition flicker in the bright blue eyes that meet his, and he would not have been able to hide his grin even if he had tried. As it is, though, he does not try, instead stepping forward to meet them with a greeting.

“I don’t know if you remember us, but…”

He shakes his head, waving off the woman’s comment with a laugh. “I do.”

And of course he does. How could he not? They have matured, naturally, settling into one combined force rather than two beings still tumbling in each other’s orbits; her hair is longer now, pulled into a neat bun, and his more disheveled than he’s ever seen under the ministrations of toddler hands; but the same spirit, the same keen eyes and entwined fates, shine out from the pair, unique amongst the crowd of other visitors.

He grins. “Of course I do. After all, it’s not every day I draw two fortunes quite so complementary, and even more rare to have them be hung up together on the wishing tree like that.”

At that, she laughs as well, her cheeks reddening slightly, and pauses to shake her bangs out of her face. “Yes, well, you were right, and it all worked out in the end.” She turns to her husband with a playful look, elbowing him gently in the ribs. “Even if it did take the better part of another year.”

“That is on you just as much as it is on me. After all, it took you just as long to realize,” the man retorts, though, to his amusement, his ears flush a faint red, which only deepens when their daughter points them out in a chipper voice, one loud enough that several visitors nearby turn to glance at them.

From the mouth of babes…

“What brings you back? Not just to check on your old tags, no?”

Shooting him a grateful look for the subject change, the man shakes his head, a faint smile curling the edges of his mouth. “No, though it is an added bonus. We’ve come for a new prayer for safety.”

His wife nudges him again, though gentler this time, and with less vigor. “Two, remember?”

He laughs openly, an expression that makes him look years younger, as he drops a hand to the gentle swell of her abdomen. “It may be a little early for that, still. I think he at least needs to have an official name first.”

She wrinkles her nose at him before laughing in turn. “Fine, fine. We will just have to come back again in a year or two.”

“Of course. Anything for you.”

“Daddy!”

A comically dramatic wince flashes across the man’s face when his daughter leans over, her voice projecting with unerring precision directly into his ear, and his wife is left hiding her amusement with some difficulty.

“Too loud, baobei.”

The bright blue eyes widen in distress. “Sorry, Daddy!”

He chuckles, reaching up to clasp her small fist in his hand. “It’s okay, baobei. What is it?”

Squirming from her perch on his shoulders, she points towards the back of the temple, where a few decorated branches of the wishing tree can be seen hanging over the roof. “Big tree! ‘S pretty! Go see?”

He shakes his head. “Later, maybe. First we have to—”

“No! Go see!” She leans over until she is hanging directly in front of his eyes. “Daddy, please?”

The man glances at his wife, who shrugs, mouthing the word “softie” while still wearing that same huge grin, and he finds that he has to struggle to choke back his laugh before anyone notices.

Given the soft snort that reaches his ears, he only partly succeeds.

“All right, then. Let’s go. We can come back for a prayer of safety”—the man glances back down at his wife, a faint but wondering smile dancing on his lips—“or even two, later.” With a solemn expression, the man offers him a deep, respectful nod, one that he is not quick enough to wave away. “Thank you, Master.”

“Bye-bye!”

Laughing, he waves at the trio, watching as they slowly weave their way through the crowd towards the back of the temple. Even across that distance, he can feel the affection and respect they hold for each other, can see the connection they share, which have managed to catch his attention time and time again.

When they finally move out of sight, he turns back to the temple and the flood of other guests, making a mental note to keep an eye out for the little family in future years. Maybe he can take a small break from drawing marriage fortunes in favor of overseeing prayers for safety for a few years…

STOP NOW IF YOU DON’T WANT ANGST.

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The sky is still dark with storm clouds when they first dare venture back outside to examine the state of the temple. In some ways, it is almost a miracle; despite the weeks of heavy storms, accompanied by shrieking gales and large hail, Cloudbreak Temple and its inhabitants have been mostly unharmed, save for superficial damages, just in time for the summer festival. Still, the mood is quiet, solemn, as everyone sets to work, clearing away the fallen branches, discarding the broken shingles, and making room for the stations as best they can in the limited time they have.

Wandering over the grounds, Master Lu shakes his head. Summer storms are not uncommon in the mountains, but even in the many decades that he has spent at Cloudbreak Temple, he has never seen a storm like that one, lightning seeming to rent the sky in two and thunder shaking the foundations of the temple itself, where there was naught to do but to stay indoors and safe. They were truly fortunate that nobody was injured and that most of the damages can be repaired.

Unfortunately, not all of the temple has remained quite so intact.

Stopping at the edge of the courtyard, he sighs, casting his gaze over the mess. It does not come as a complete surprise, given the lashing of the rain or the howling of the wind, but that does not change the sorrow he feels at the destruction that greets his eyes. Where there was once a majestic, venerable camphor tree is now a tired, wizened old thing, bowing under its own weight in the weak hints of daylight. Fortune tags lay strewn amongst the branches that had once held them aloft, once vivid symbols of the future now simply dark red and brown patches against muddy green, that he has to pick his way around as he wanders further in, taking in all of the damage.

But there is no time to clean up the mess, not in his old age and with everything else that will be happening for the day, and the visitors will understand, have to understand. He shakes his head, feeling all of his many years pressing down on his shoulders, almost as though he is fighting the weight of all the fallen wishes themselves.

“Master Lu?”

He looks up at the familiar voice and smiles. Master Chen, arms full of red cords, stands in the entryway of the courtyard, his bright eyes filled with concern, and he suddenly finds himself wondering when they all got so young.

“What is it? Do you need my help with anything?”

The boy shakes his head. “No, we are almost finished. There are enough of us to finish and handle the visitors, since there likely will not be many so soon after the storm. If you want, I could help clean this area…”

He shakes his head again, this time with a more genuine smile. “No, you go on. They’ll be needing you in the main temple, I’m sure. I can work here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Chen nods, putting the new cords on the nearby table before giving him a small, formal bow. “Thank you. Then I leave this to you.”

He waves the kid away, chuckling slightly as he watches him turn and walk back to the main temple before turning his attention back to the courtyard and the scattered fortunes, the remembrances of years, or decades even, of hopes and dreams.

With another heavy sigh, he squats down, tossing some fallen branches aside before picking up the wooden fortune at his feet. It is old, the carved text worn down by the elements, and he runs his fingers over the inscription, a brief statement on the virtues of hard work. A student had hung it there, once upon a time, and he closes his eyes for a moment, hoping that they achieved their goals, before tucking it into his robes and continuing forward.

In some ways, it is almost a walk down memory lane. Prayers to the star of wisdom from students that have long since graduated, who may even be teachers and professors now. Prayers for safety for people who have moved beyond that point, who may have even already passed. Marriage fortunes, ones that he helped distribute and interpret, for young couples that are now parents or even grandparents of their own…

He stumbles to a stop, staring down at the ground by his feet. Lying in the grass, so hidden by mud that he almost missed them, are two wooden cards. Their surfaces are almost entirely obscured by the dirt, but he still recognizes them instantly, the pair of fortunes so opposite to each other, so perfectly complementary. Held to the branch and each other by a red cord that has split and frayed under the years, no doubt hastened by the tempest.

Heaving another sigh, he leans over and…

“Master?”

Caught off-guard he snaps upright, turning around with a polite refusal on the tip of his tongue, but his instincts, ever reliable, stay his reply as the appearance of the visitor sinks in.

Dressed in dark, muted colors, he is easy to overlook, blending into his surroundings, into any crowd, with little effort. His face is drawn, haggard, lines of exhaustion etched into his skin, making him look years older, while his dark hair is disheveled, streaked with gray. Altogether, the man in the entryway, tired and worn, is almost unrecognizable from the young, joyous father of his memory. In just the few years since he last visited, he has aged a decade, his strong, confident form now frail, once bright azure eyes now dimmed, haunted.

And the man approaches, moving forward with slow, hesitant steps, eyes fixed on the tags he holds in his hand.

“That… Is that…?”

The voice nearly breaks around those few words, hoarse and almost inaudible, but he doesn’t need to hear the rest of the question, doesn’t need an explanation to know what the man wants, to know what must have happened.

Closing his eyes, he bows his head. “Yes. It is. They must have fallen during the storm.”

He hears a labored, shuddering breath, one that makes his own chest tighten in sympathy. “I… May I?”

“Of course.” He steps forward, gently placing the tags into his outstretched hands, watching as trembling fingers brush over the faded markings, the broken cord, as the pale face twists with fresh pain. “I…” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“Daddy?”

They both turn at the same time, where a small girl stands in the entryway of the courtyard, holding the hand of an older woman as she cradles a bundle in her other arm. Pulling free of the restraining grasp, she runs forward to join them, grabbing her father’s free hand. “Daddy?”

Something resembling a smile tugs at the corners of the man’s lips as he squats to his daughter’s eye level. “What is it, baobei?”

“Are you sad?”

The sound that leaves the man’s throat is more of a rasp than a chuckle, but neither of them seem to notice. “Yes.” He wraps an arm around the girl, lifting her into the air as he stands back up. “Yes, I am.”

To his surprise, the girl only nods solemnly before looking at the tags in his hand. “What is that?”

The man sighs, holding it up so she can examine it more closely, running her small fingers over the wood as he wipes away the mud. “Mama and I came here years ago and hung it up when we were here. Before you were even born.”

“Oh. It’s pretty.” A slight frown on her face, she studies the fortunes and the cord linking them before raising her gaze. “Do you miss Mama?”

He has to shift his gaze away as the smile on the man’s face crumbles, turning his attention back to the mess of branches and fortune tags, but even so, he cannot escape hearing the slight hitch in the quiet voice. “Every day.”

She sniffles, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face against his shoulder. “Me too.”

“Anthea!” The older woman reaches them, her face a mix of concern and frustration, and he can’t help but turn his attention back to the family. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think she would be so quick.”

The man shakes his head as she reaches for the girl, instead shifting her position in his arms. “It’s fine, Ma. Besides, you have enough on your hands. And you’ve done more than enough for us now.”

“Still…”

“Ma.” The man closes his eyes, gently shaking his head, before meeting her gaze with a determination that even he can feel, that makes him tear his gaze away once more, feeling vaguely like he is eavesdropping. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I…” A sigh that hangs in the air between them. “I need to do this. For her. But thank you for… for everything. And…”

A hand suddenly appears in his vision and he looks up to find the man before him, standing up straighter with a mix of sorrow and resolve dancing on his features. “I don’t know if you remember me, but…”

He shakes his head. “I do. Still.”

“Of course.” A small but genuine smile cracks his mouth as the man draws a deep breath. “I… I remember you said once that fortunes should be returned to the temple once they’ve come true and…” He swallows once, hard. “Can you put these back for me?”

“Yes, certainly.” He reaches for them, hand closing back around the fortunes that the man holds out.

Two little wooden tags have never felt so heavy in his palm before.

For a moment, the man stares at them, as though in his hands, in these fragile pieces of wood, he carries all the weight of the world, before tearing his gaze away to meet his. “Thank you.”

Oddly enough, when he opens his mouth, he finds a sudden lump in his throat and instead of trying to speak, he only inclines his head, but it is enough. The man smiles again, a soft, ephemeral expression, before turning and walking away, still carrying his daughter while his mother paces alongside him with his son in her arms.

As he watches them leave, he brushes his thumb over the worn fortunes he cradles, gently tracing the text that he still remembers like it had been drawn yesterday.

It is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.

Leaving the courtyard, he silently enters the main temple, ignoring the questioning looks from his fellow masters and visitors alike as he sets the tag, still tied to its partner with muddy red cord, down amongst the various other fortunes of years past, and sits back on his heels, reading it over one last time.

And so it is.

[comeandreadawhile]

Au: Boba gets adopted (pt 2)

Part 1

Boba was adjusting.

Perhaps as well as could’ve been expected, having to learn to live in the stronghold of his ancestral mortal enemies as the child of the only Jedi he’d been acquainted with, but Anakin—his new ori’vod, he guessed, who had first come to the temple around Boba’s age—had also taken a while to settle in. He finally had the option to play with children his own age, who weren’t twice his size, and at least the education modules he was given were similar to the ones his dad—

Boba was trying to adjust.

Boba had clung to Kenobi as soon as the man had set down the clanking bundle he’d brought back to the ship with him, and had held fast from the moment they’d left Geonosis’ atmosphere—even as a medic was fussing over Kenobi’s leg, the redhead simply shifted Boba out of the way, half onto Anakin, who’d sat next to the pair on the flight to Coruscant. (Somewhere in the back of his mind, Boba noted how the teen’s attention was torn between him and his new caretaker, and the older girl closeby also being fussed over by a medic.)

Kenobi was certainly trying to make the transition easier. Becoming a High General in the newborn war with the Separtists, in addition to finding out his current padawan had just weeks ago lost his own parent while they were separated, had certainly given Kenobi enough to deal with without unceremoniously adopting a child. Yet he had, and here they were; two grieving, angry children and an already exhausted Master Jedi.

The Jedi bigwigs—council, Kenobi said—hadn’t taken his impromptu claiming of a child lightly.

He was clinging still when they’d arrived to the temple; an emergency meeting of council members to discuss Kenobi’s findings and their concerns of the dawning war had been called. Kenobi had made no move to separate the child from his person and did quite the opposite when the matter was immediately brought up. Boba remembered thinking that if he held on any tighter, he risked choking his new-found guardian. Kenobi simply shifted him a bit higher on his hip, a better hold, at the deep-voiced inquiry. Over Kenobi’s shoulder, Boba noticed an old Master—surely, the person must’ve been one—with a long snake’s tail instead of legs, peering at him kindly from under a thick mane of white hair.

“He’s mine,” was the explanation Kenobi had given. “I will raise him.”

The same deep voice, that had already sounded tired to Boba, now sounded tense. “You already have a padawan, Master Kenobi.”

“Then it is good that I have no intention of keeping him as a padawan,” Kenobi, replied coolly. “I’ve claimed him as a foundling under Mandalorian law.”

“We are not Mandalorians, Obi-Wan,” said a different voice, less deep than the first and oddly accented. Boba could only see a large pink ear in that direction from where he was hiding in Kenobi’s throat. “I would’ve expected this behavior from your master, but not from you.”

Boba did not need the Force to feel the righteous fury the remark inspired in his guardian. A woman—a togruta, his father once called her people—turned slowly towards the pink ear’s owner.

“Master Piell,” she spoke lowly, “that was uncalled for.” The few other people Boba could see looked similarly indignant, and he felt the tensed arms holding him relax minutely at the woman’s admonishment.

The first deep voice spoke again, “Be that as it may, Master Piell is correct in that we are not Mandalorians.”

“The bounty hunter was, and this boy is.” Kenobi responded as if the last minute hadn’t happened.

“We do not take in civilian children, Kenobi, and that doesn’t change because of your fondness for Mandalore’s people.”

“What would have had me do? Leave him on Geonosis?”

“The Republic’s foster system would’ve been alerted of the boy.”

“—and he could sit in the sand by himself, grieving, until they picked him up? You know how difficult it is for older children in that system to find homes.”

“We,” a pause fell that Boba guessed was spent sending a look to a certain Master, “are not attacking you, Master Kenobi. Even if we could adopt every orphaned child into our fold, there is also the issue of attachment.”

“Are we not honor-bound to help those in need?”

“This is not a simple matter of helping! You know that this goes against our code,” The deep voice replied sharply. Boba felt Kenobi tense again.

“You would choose to abide by our code so strictly and whole-heartedly even if it conflicts with the interests of a child?” There was a chill to Kenobi’s tone that made Boba hope to never receive it. A new voice, old and squawky, huffed.

“Both of you, enough. Argue like children, you do. A bad example, this sets.” A cushion shifted. “On this matter, what does Skywalker say?”

Kenobi shifted his feet a bit before answering, “Anakin’s recently lost his own mother; he’s struggled with his attachment to her the entire time I’ve trained him. It’s my hope they will help each other work through their grief in ways I might not be able to. He’s accepted this boy already, Master.”

The ancient voice hummed, a Boba heard the airy taps of wood against tile. “Master Koon,” the voice sounded undecided. “Helpful, your view may be.” The lilt at the end of the sentence, and the quiet sighs of some councilors gave Boba the impression there was a joke he wasn’t getting. A new voice—not unlike the horns the Cuy’val Dar blew on special occasions, noble and deep despite their hollow resonance—joined the fray.

“There is already a strong connection in place,” this Master stated. “It would most likely prove more traumatic for the boy to remove him from Master Kenobi now.” Another cushion shifted, “Besides, who better in this Order to raise a Mandalorian than Obi-Wan?”

“Matters, does it not, that coming, a war is?”

“From my understanding of their customs, certain sects of Mandalorians took their children to war about this one’s age. Am I correct?” The question must’ve been for Kenobi, because he turned his body and answered.

“Yes, Master. Their coming of age rites are performed at thirteen, but most clans start training and going to war as young as eight. I am familiar with their fighting styles and customs, enough to get this boy through his Verd’goten.” Kenobi turned back to the first, critical, deep voice. “Even if I must do so without the approval of this council. I will not go back on the vow I made.”

The voice like strong music hummed thoughtfully, “An admirable conviction, Master Obi-Wan. Your master would be proud of your morals.” The air suddenly felt warmer to Boba, and the voice sounded resolute as it continued, “A Jedi of this Order killed this boy’s father, so a Jedi of this Order will raise him in his father’s place. That is my opinion on this matter.”

The togrutan woman spoke softly, “Exceptions have been made to the code before now, surely they will again.”

“A vote, we shall have,” declared the squawky voice; in the next terrifying minute, silence filled the chamber as hands were raised or stayed, with the blood pumping loud enough in Boba’s ears he wasn’t sure whether or not they’d announced their decision and he’d missed it until the deep voice from the beginning spoke, tight and stern and tired.

“This council has ruled in favor of you keeping your foundling, Master Kenobi. Raise him as befits this order.” Two sighs of relief echoed into the chamber, and Boba saw as the man with the snake tail nodded, smiling under his beard.

“Before we begin Master Obi-Wan’s debriefing...” the voice like horns chimed in, trailing off behind the sound of linens shifting. “It has been some time since a Mandalorian youngling was within these temple walls.” The voice was closer now, and Boba startled as a hand landed on his head. Turning around in Kenobi’s hold, he met eyes—or assumed so, with the mask between them—with a being he’d never seen before. Boba’s first thought was ‘ugly’, and then immediately felt a pang of guilt for such a thought toward the one who’d spoken so in favor of keeping him and his new guardian together. The clawed, orange hand resting on his head gently ruffled his hair before retreating into the Jedi master’s sleeve.

The togruta had made her way over to them as well, peering down at Boba with wide, steel-blue eyes; she swept a gentle hand over his head much as her fellow master had done. He did his best not to scramble as Kenobi made to put him down. “We should give you a proper introduction, then, shouldn’t we?” He kept a grounding hand on Boba’s shoulder as he spoke. “Masters, this is Boba Fett. Boba, these masters are…” and Kenobi went down the line, first beginning with Masters Ti and Koon, who the. Went back to their fancy chairs, and then turning to go around the circular room. The squawking voice had apparently belonged to an odd little green creature, and then Boba met eyes with his neighbor.

He’d have liked to throw up as cold dread wrestled with hot fury in his gut.

Kenobi quieted, he and the other masters going tense and stiff at the boy’s vast and sudden emotional shift. The one Kenobi called Yoda crossed his clawed hands over his cane and spoke as if he expected Boba to bolt; Boba had half a mind to. “Quite distressed, you are. Why?”

Boba wasn’t quite sure how the words got out with how tight his throat had become. “He killed my dad.”

He’d have spat the syllables had they not been choking him. “He killed my dad with a purple lightsaber.”

Boba remembered little of what happened next—torn between running away and lunging at the jedi master’s neck as Kenobi scooped him up and practically ran out of the chamber—somehow ending up in a garden with a winded Anakin to wait out Kenobi’s debriefing. They’d talked, both of them trying to distract the other from recent losses; Anakin even taught him how to blow off steam by skipping stones in one of the larger fountains. Upon his return, Kenobi snatched Boba up and apologized profusely, not having known Mace’s connection to the boy.

They’d gone back to their quarters, Kenobi promising Anakin they’d spar the next day and discussing plans for latemeal with Boba settled back on his hip. The lull in activity only allowed the boy’s mind to wander back to the events leading to his current situation, and both jedi noticed the spike in Boba’s grief and frustration; Kenobi gave him a gentle squeeze as the first sniffle came. “Any ideas for latemeal, little one?”

“Neither of us have spent much time in the temple the last couple weeks but the commissary will be open for a while if nothing else,” Anakin chimed in, sarcasm threading the edges of his tone. Kenobi gave a small ‘tsk’ in response.

“There were plenty of shelf-stables when we left,” Kenobi pointed out. “Besides, a large loud room full of strangers is the last thing Boba needs at present.” He repeated his previous question, and Boba was more than happy to turn his thoughts to potential answers.

“Something warm...and salty, maybe?”

Kenobi nodded beside his head, “There’s a start. What else?”

They carried the conversation on until the trio reached a door set into the wall. Entering the small apartment for the first time, Boba had been struck at the differences, as well as the similarities, to the dwelling he’d been raised in. The jedi clearly weren’t material people, but compared to the sterility of Kamino’s white halls, the room awash in afternoon sun was extremely inviting despite its foreign nature. Plants, slightly wilted from their master’s absence, littered the space’s windowsills, with books in neat piles and rows within several bookcases nearby. Blankets draped over some on the furniture that Boba could see, and the glimpse of a table around a corner hinted at the location of the kitchen.

Anakin had been tasked with showing Boba around the living space while Kenobi went about the kitchen’s stock. He’d been all too happy with the excitement Boba had shown while admiring his collection of ship models, and once latemeal was well underway, Obi-wan had been relieved to pop in and find, despite recent events, his nineteen year old wasn’t too old to play starfighters.

Boba slept in Anakin’s room that night, a belly full of warm soup—it had been just what he needed—and grateful his first night in this foreign place wouldn’t be alone.

The next few days had been a flurry of activity, between the Jedi preparing themselves and their padawans for war, barely being instructed on how to lead the men they’d be assigned—who Boba tried not to think of—and bouts of quiet, where Boba tried to become more comfortable with his new home. Obi-wan, who insisted Boba call him that instead of ‘Kenobi’ his second night at the temple, had begun trying to teach him to meditate, saying it would be a good tool for when he felt stuck or frustrated. The Jedi master said they would pick up Boba’s training soon from where his dad left off.

Boba missed his dad. It certainly leant to his hatred of being alone, and despite the newness of their situation Boba couldn’t help feeling paranoid whenever Kenobi left to attend to some matter or other. What if something happens? What if they change his mind? Will someone else take me? Would someone else want me? What if Obi-wan never comes back?

Yet, each time Obi-wan would return with a tired smile and hug, asking how he and Anakin got along that day. There had a time within the first weeks, with warning of course, that Obi-wan had been gone for a couple of days, and after Boba’s anxiety at their separation came to a head the first evening, Anakin had pulled out a holocomm. He’d pulled Boba onto his leg and suddenly a blue hologram of Obi-wan, unfortunately soaked, sprung up from the device. They’d called again the next night, too. Boba had run to the door the next day when it opened, and was briefly halted. He’d used to run to the door when his dad came home from a hunt; was he forgetting his dad by showing this Jedi the same excitement?

He filed the conundrum away for later when said Jedi called his name. The man’s arms were filled with boxes, with more trailing behind him. “I’ve got some things for you,” he’d said.

To say Boba could’ve cried at what was in those boxes would’ve been inaccurate. Because he did, in heavy sobs, when he opened the first and pulled out one of his dad’s shirts. Going through the boxes with tear-filled eyes and an almost frantic determination to make sure, Boba found that everything personal from the Kamino apartment was in those boxes; his and his dad’s clothes, his dad’s books and even some that had belonged to his ba’buir, and the entirety of the armory his father kept apart from Slave I, among everything else. He tackled Obi-wan’s legs in a hug, wet hiccups making him unsure which language his stuttered thanks was given in. He’d slept in his father’s shirt that night, clutching two more like lifelines.

Boba began his education modules shortly after Obi-wan’s return, content to do them while Anakin went through his saber practice or as a distraction when Obi-wan was busy in with the council. Grief was difficult, especially so sudden a loss, but he was adjusting while working through it. He and Anakin sometimes swapped stories of Jango and Shmi, and it felt good to talk about them even if it left the boys misty-eyed afterward. Boba was trying to adjust.

Then details of Obi-wan and Anakin’s first deployment came.

[fallen-stars-au]

Any Kind of Freedom (Chapter 2)

Steven's been missing for over a month now.

Well, okay, he's not missing if they know he's on Homeworld, but he wasn't the sort to just go zero-contact for this long.

And it's officially been long enough.

They would find him and bring him home or get shattered trying.

(Ao3 Version)

Prev | First | Next

Pearl was… distressed. Her It’s Steven had been away for so very long now—longer than she could ever remember him being gone since she’d first emerged. And now she was disobeying a direct order from him! What in the stars was she even thinking?

She wasn’t supposed to be thinking at all! Stars, she was doing everything wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, she should be replaced, she- 

Didn’t have much time to continue the train of thought as she was pulled off the warp pad on Homeworld by Peridot. So she listened instead because she shouldn’t be thinking even to berate herself on how disobedient she was being.

“We go to his room. If he’s not there, we find Zircon.”

Lapis nodded sharply, and Pearl would have hardly been going this fast on her own. But the two were practically running and kept her up to speed with them. It was hardly appropriate for any of them to be running in the palace halls… but she was already indecent for breaking the one rule she’d ever been given. And it wouldn’t do if she were caught alone unless ordered so by her Diamond.

The route from the Galaxy Warp over to Steven’s room—Steven’s tower, actually—was an easy one but the longest it could take to get to any of the Diamonds’ chambers which meant time had creeped past Steven’s usual wake-up point by the time they made it there. Lo and behold, when they hurried in (Pearl was pleasantly surprised she was able to open the door but confused because she’d never done the calibration to be able to do as much), no Steven.

Lapis gave an exasperated groan and promptly started to rush off again, and Pearl made to follow her before Peridot called out to them both. “Wait! … Something’s not right here…” After a moment of looking around and thinking, she pointed to a duffle bag by his bed. A closed one. “Steven’s bag is packed.”

Lapis hurried back in the room past Pearl who stepped closer after her again, rather befuddled but unquestioning. She couldn’t help be worried still, though. “What…? So he’s coming home soon? What the hell’s he been doing here so long?”

“No… Lapis, I don’t think he ever unpacked it. Look-” Pearl watched as Peridot picked up the bag, struggling somewhat. “It’s too heavy and too full. He always puts his dirty clothes in another bag—I see him carry both home every time.” She went to pull the zipper, but that was enough for Pearl to speak up with an automatic response.

“My Diamond would not be pleased with anyone rifling through his personal belongings.”

It was difficult to smile obediently and patiently at the glare Lapis gave her and exasperation from Peridot as she dropped the zipper. “Right. Well, I don’t think Steven’s opened his duffle bag since he got here…”

Lapis’s expression screwed up at the implications of that and took the bag from Peridot, having an easier time with the weight of it. “We’ll bring it home with him, then.”

And with that, they were on the move again, straight from Steven’s tower to the building next door and through to a pink closed door. Pearl jumped sharply as Lapis’s abrupt banging on the door frightened her, and she regained her composure and pleasant smile as the door slid open. She also promptly saluted then.

“What did I say about-“ Zircon cut off, taking in the sight of the three gems in front of her and grimacing. “The two of you are trouble when you want to be. He’s not here. And I’m under direct orders to tell no one where he is, so you’re going to have to find someone other than me.”

“Well then tell us who put the gag order on you, and we’ll go ask them,” Lapis shot back, impatient and unwilling to jump through hoops. Something about the way she phrased it, though… upset Pearl. She couldn’t place why, though, so she focused on the conversation again instead— forcing the smile back to her face. She was thinking too much still.

“One of the only four gems who can give me orders. That should be enough for you to determine it. Now, please leave my office. I am incredibly busy at this moment.” Zircon eyed each of them shortly before she turned on her heel and went back into her office, the door sliding closed behind her. Peridot and Lapis gave one another a look that Pearl couldn’t quite grasp before they started walking again, and she dutifully followed them.

“Would you like me to carry my It’s Steven’s bag, Lapis Lazuli?” She asked as they left the building.

“No, Pearl, just keep up with us.” Curt and short, but Pearl did as she was told.

The walk to Blue Diamond’s quarter of the palace was rather short, but the wait once they were there was less so. She nodded her head politely as Blue’s Pearl greeted them, informing them of her Diamond’s presence in a meeting. And from there, they just had to wait. There were hushed discussions between Peridot and Lapis, but Pearl hardly snooped and listened. She was already breaking so very many rules.

When the door they waited outside of finally slid open, Pearl snapped to absolute attention and saluted immediately as the lustrous Blue Diamond stepped out. And she couldn’t help be more than a little appalled as Peridot and Lapis failed to do the same. 

“Oh. You two… are some of Steven’s court, yes? My Pearl informed me I had been requested. What ever might this be about?”

Lapis truly did not pull punches as she lacked any hesitation. “Where is Steven? We know you know where he is. We know he hasn’t been to his room since he got here over a month ago, and we know something’s up.”

Pearl watched fearfully as Blue Diamond’s face flickered through anger then annoyance then settled on sadness. The massive leader looked around at the other gems in the room then took the small group by surprise as she bent over and extended her hand out towards them—offering a place for her to hold them. Lapis, however, ignored it, drew out her water wings, and flew up to Blue Diamond’s usual eye-level instead. The Diamond straightened out and whispered directly to Lapis for a moment.

It was… odd. In a sense. To see another Diamond speaking so secretly and so sadly to a member of another Diamond’s court. Pearl wasn’t sure to make of it still even as Lapis flew back to the ground rapidly, her expression contorted with rage (the likes of which Pearl doubted she’d seen since she’d first emerged—when her It’s Steven fought that awful Spinel).

And her language as she returned to them was hardly filled with words befitting the presence of a Diamond. Pearl found no time to object to it, however, as Lapis set off again without another word to any of them. Instead, she did as she was supposed to.

She bowed to Blue Diamond with her salute still perfectly in place and a soft apology for Lapis’s unsavory speech, and then gracefully followed the two of them again.

Pearl had to properly run in order to catch up and even to keep up once she was behind them again as Peridot had jumped onto her human metal can lid and floated to keep speed with Lapis. Pearl was grateful she could at least hear them still as she tried to stay below them without disrupting anyone else.

“Where is he? What did she say?”

“It’s no wonder he’s been gone! They- I-“ But Lapis was too angry to finish her sentence as she cut it off with an enraged cry and just continued to lead the way.

Past the rest of Blue Diamond’s quarter.

Past most of White Diamond’s quarter until they’d reached almost the back of the area of Homeworld considered the palace where a lone, gray tower stood high above the surrounding ones. Stars, it stood almost as tall as White Diamond’s ship. Wordlessly, Lapis picked her up beneath the arms suddenly—surprising and somewhat frightening her as she took off towards the top of it with Peridot following them closely.

“Where the hell’s the entrance to this thing anyways?”

“There should be an elevator that rises from the ground somewhere—look for where that would connect!”

Just as Pearl started to feel very uneasy at dangling in the air from Lapis’s arms as she was, there was a shout of success from Peridot, and a section of one wall slid open. Once they were inside, Lapis let her back down to the floor and instead approached a vast sealed door in front of them. They were unlike any others Pearl had seen on Homeworld or Earth. There was no visible scanner to open them, no handles, no hinges. The only way to determine it was a door was from the crack running down the middle that was so tightly closed, it was barely visible either.

“Can we even do this…?” Peridot questioned, gazing up at the immense size of the doors.

“Whatever it takes—we’re not leaving until Steven is free,” Lapis affirmed, ready at any moment for a fight should anyone disagree with them.

Pearl froze in her tracks, not noticing anything around for a moment as Peridot and Lapis began to struggle with the door. That word resonated through her. That last word.

Something… wasn’t right. In her.

Or… was it?

No…. Yes?

…. Yes. Yes, something was right. Very right.

She’d disobeyed orders. From her diamond, from the other diamonds, from everyone who had ever given her one… And it felt good… A Pearl disobeying…? But what was she supposed to do when she felt she’d lost the person she looked up to most?

She was just a Pearl—who was she to question-  

But… but she was… she was more than a Pearl. Wasn’t she…?

She was. She… she was… She is.

Something snapped. Or broke free or something, but a flood of memories rushed through her. Memories of rebelling. Memories of Steven… Of helping him. Teaching him. Fighting with him. Fighting for him. Things she couldn’t recognize, but she knew immediately they were real.

More came. Steven wasn’t the first she’d fought to protect. Pearl remembered her. She remembered fighting for her. Protecting her. Devoting everything to her. Loving her… losing her.

Something changed. And she started to reform.

“It’s not going to work, Lapis! There’s nothing to hack into, no weak points to destroy. It’s just too-“ Peridot’s words cut off sharply as she looked towards her friend who was desperately slashing at the tower door with harsh streams of water as a physical offense, but her gaze drifted back behind them from a familiar sort of light brightening up the short hallway. Her eyes widened, and she couldn’t help it as a grin spread across her face just as much. “Lapis- Lapis, look!”

Thankfully, the blue gem did look before she started cursing as Pearl—the real version of Pearl—landed gracefully to her feet, freshly reformed and seeming a bit dazed.

“You’re back!” Pearl stumbled back a bit as Peridot’s arms were slung around her legs, and she looked between her and Lapis confused.

“Wha- what in the Stars has gotten into the two of you?” Not that Pearl could even tell entirely what was wrong with herself at the moment. Her mind was fuzzy, and she was disoriented as she tried to remember where they were and why even as she was hugged tight enough to hurt.

Peridot let go to surreptitiously wipe away a tear under her vizor. “Right. It’s sure to be a struggle to recalibrate yourself for a time. You were rejuvenated for nearly a year. Garnet and Amethyst still are. Steven, Lapis, and I have been trying to bring you all ba-“

“Steven…” The mere mention of him jogged something in Pearl’s gem. Steven… Steven was locked up in the tower. The one Pink had been locked in so often before she’d been created. That’s where they were now. Meaning the door right in front of them was the only thing in their way of bringing him home.

It was almost scary how drastically and rapidly Pearl’s expression changed from confusion to recognition to anger, and Peridot was completely willing to step back out of the way as Pearl gently pushed Lapis off, pulled out two metal swords from her gem, and stepped forward with a look that made it clear how the rebels had won the war with her amongst the leaders.

[satan-chillin]

Hereafter (1/7)

Wei Wuxian is sent off of Cloud Recesses, bade by his fathers to "have fun and make friends" which, now that he thinks about it, sounds like a gross oversimplification of what the next six months away from home will entail.

If he happens to form unlikely connections, start a matchmaking, and gets unwittingly involved in the presently strained political state of the cultivation world, those are just par for the course.

Chasing after one of the famed Twin Jades of Lan, however, is an added bonus.

(Or, WWX was sent to Gusu by his fathers Wen Kexing & Zhou Zishu)

Part 2 of Spirited Away Series. Part 1 here.

Also available in Ao3

❆❆❆

Emperor's Smile was a good wine as advertised, and Wei Wuxian lamented that he was pouring it to accompany his sullen mood.

The departure of his shixiong brought an inexplicable feeling of gloom. He had never been this far from home—oh, there had been trips to Mirror Lake Sect and Longyuan Valley once or twice a year but always with the company of either the senior or junior disciples or sometimes his fathers—and never alone like this, in almost what seemed to be the other end of the map and a place where it might as well be a different world.

He thought of the half-finished letters he would be sending back with his shixiong. The long-overdue one was for his shijie Xiaolian who in their last correspondence told him that she was expecting; it was only natural that he would suggest she took a character from his birth name. The shortest missive was for the juniors left at the Four Seasons Manor who had him promise that he would tell them of the cultivation world; their minder, Shu Feng, would read his letter to the juniors—who were yet to learn how to read on their own—as if their usual bedtime stories.

The longest letters were for a-die and baba, separated only because he doubted he could fit in his sentiments for them in a single letter. He kept their reminders at heart despite his initial complaints of their nagging; from his baba, most of all, who had hardly let him out of his sight and had prepared his favorite meals during supper in the last few weeks leading to his departure. Even his a-die had doubled his training regimen a month prior, a lot stricter and meticulous in gauging his progress, though Wei Wuxian had suspected that it had been his way to ascertain his readiness—and to spend more time with him.

Simply put, he missed his home and family already, right off his first evening in the Cloud Recesses. And to think that he had long been waiting for this moment to come, brimming with excitement for years at the prospect of delving into a world that seemingly came from a myth. He had been a child filled with wonder when told that he was originally a part of it too, that once he was of the right age he would return where his birth parents had lived.

And so far, he was... reserving his judgment in that front, so to speak.

Wei Wuxian let out a sigh. He was aware of being uncharacteristically despondent under such a pleasant evening of bright moon and a delectable wine at hand. The right company wouldn’t be so bad, and if his shixiong was amenable they might as well spend the night before his leave.

“Trespassing is forbidden in Cloud Recesses.”

It was the colors Wei Wuxian first registered: the shade of white that was almost reminiscent of his baba’s snowy hair; the soft hue of blue that was barely distinct in the dark but not so much under the moonlight, the color of his favorite robes as a boy because it was the first that he had worn at home; the long dark hair billowing in the breeze in sharp contrast with the white ribbon; the golden eyes that hinted a brewing righteous anger the longer Wei Wuxian stared without any response.

He blinked slowly, almost afraid of the night carrying away the illusion, and threw caution in the wind as the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“Not even to catch a glimpse of you?”

Not a mirage, he decided, not with the deepening frown he got in response. Wei Wuxian smiled invitingly, raising a toast to the direction of the Lan Disciple.

“Alcohol is prohibited.”

He savored the lingering tang, not moving from his spot at the roof as the disciple approached in warning. Wei Wuxian took out an empty cup and poured one for this chosen company. He received a reproachful stare for his trouble, and he gambled with a pout that he knew only his fathers could resist. “Not even to share it with me?” He was, quite expectedly, met with silence that had him shaking his head ruefully. “I toast to the moon on high. That’s two of us; my shadow makes it three.”

Wei Wuxian was of the belief that it must be the first time that someone had an objection to the emphasis of their ethereal grandeur, though it could be because he fell short on words to properly describe this young master’s beauty. Not that he was given the chance to convey his intentions.

He sidestepped from the obvious assault to his precious alcohol, deftly keeping it away from the flash of silver. Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue reprovingly. “Young master, if the selection is not to your liking, this one will get another and share it with you.” Unable to resist, he asked, "Will you await my swift return?"

“Leave and do not come back,” came the clipped reply that betrayed none of his growing irritation.

“Aiya, there appears to be a misunderstanding.” Wei Wuxian showed the jade token and mustered a bow as formal as his occupied hands allowed. “This one is called Wei Ying, courtesy name Wei Wuxian, who came to Cloud Recesses to study under the Lan Sect’s prodigious tutelage.”

Prodigious was in the vein of how his parents had described the Lan Sect in general. His fathers had been the one to personally explain his situation to the Lan Masters, after all, something which Wei Wuxian had sulked and grumbled over during last year’s spring when he had not been allowed to come with them. A respectable sect rooted in tradition, a-die had said; ascetic and a stickler for discipline, had come from baba, if that isn’t obvious yet with their 3,000 rules.

A bunch of hard-asses, they meant to say. It was as if they had known Wei Wuxian would have gripes with the somewhat stifling ways of the Lan Sect and had softened the blow and at the same time had given him a warning. It helped, he supposed, and while he was usually called tactless, let it not be said that he did not have his moments. He wasn’t a child and student of Wen Kexing for nothing.

At the display of abrupt politeness, the Lan Disciple seemed to ease a little, keeping a respectful distance and returning the gesture with an acknowledging nod—still miffed, however—before stating, “Venturing out at night and bribing an officer are prohibited.”

Wei Wuxian sighed. Calling this disciple a hard-ass would sound unseemly, especially when he deemed his comeliness warranted poetics. He took it back; it was all an illusion, and this display of ridiculous uptightness was the disappointing reality.

“This one asks to be forgiven for not knowing the rules. He is but an outsider who is unlearned of the ways of the Lan.” Wei Wuxian inclined his head, cognizant of how it highlighted his profile and the imploring gaze under thick lashes. “Perhaps if the young master is willing to teach this one...”

Later, he would vehemently claim that he meant no offense (truly!) with his words, but he couldn’t determine whether something slipped in his tone or it was a complete misinterpretation on the Lan Disciple’s end that earned him, and his jar, another strike which was honestly uncalled for.

Wei Wuxian dodged a well-aimed swipe at the wine as if it personally offended the Lan Disciple (it probably did) and kept to his own left side once he figured out the disciple’s dominant hand. He was light on his feet, his footwork firm and steady on top of uneven ground, and it was a mark of a good foundation that he supposed he should have expected from a disciple of a major sect.

The fluidity of his steps and the grace of his swings were an admittedly admirable display of internal balance, and Wei Wuxian had to discern any chink he could press. He twisted, chest against the elbow of the disciple’s right arm that held his sword, a masterful creation that suited its owner. Wei Wuxian leaned, his finger following the curve of the clothed forearm and to the peek of a wrist where a single touch told him of harmonious meridians that resonated with a powerful golden core. Impressive.

He drifted to the hilt of the blade. “Nice sword.” He winked.

“You—”

The Lan disciple pivoted, and Wei Wuxian crouched low from the hit that definitely wasn’t just to incapacitate. He leapt backward, a little captivated at the positively incensed look present that replaced the previously stoic expression. He had a suspicion that this one wasn’t often riled up, and wasn’t that such a regret when he looked nice when impassioned?

Still, Wei Wuxian had to pull back almost reluctantly. It wouldn’t do to antagonize someone way before he could even establish acquaintance with his peers. The last thing he wanted to reach his fathers’ and shixiong’s ears was him causing trouble less than a day since he stepped on the grounds of Cloud Recesses.

“I propose a deal with the young master,” he said, “A duel. If you win, then this one will submit to his punishment.” He smirked. “Any kind of punishment that the young master thinks befit this transgressor.

“And if I win, then the young master will consider the matter settled and this one will leave for the night… with the promise from the young master to share a jar of good wine with me next time, of course.”

Golden eyes narrowed. “Fighting without permission is prohibited.”

“What exactly is not prohibited here?” he asked dryly. “Alright, no duel. Hmm.” His eyes landed at the silk band tied at the young master’s forehead. “Keep me from taking that, then.”

Whatever protest or recitation of another rule broken that was about to escape the Lan Disciple was promptly cut off the second Wei Wuxian darted forward, as quick as a snap of fingers. To the disciple’s credit, his stance barely faltered, already on the defense.

Unfortunately for him, Wei Wuxian grew up playing this game with his senior brothers and sisters, and his favorite distraction for his junior siblings. He could picture himself in the Lan Disciple’s perspective, watching him in slow motion as he snatched the silk ribbon with a wicked, triumphant smile.

A top quality of silk with a pattern of clouds, and it glided against his palm like a touch of feather and carried a faint scent of sandalwood and incense. Wei Wuxian glanced at the frozen young master whose face remained blank as if still processing the quick succession of events, and, in a stroke of inspiration, brought the forehead ribbon to his lips.

“Wei Wuxian will treasure his reward,” he announced earnestly—and immediately retreated in a manner that he hoped was graceful enough for a hasty exit before the young master could recover from his state. “Until next time!”

❆❆❆

Come midnight, his letters were finished, and the ones addressed to his fathers were marked with the recollection of the night’s encounter. A part of him dearly wished he could hear his baba’s chuckle and his a-die’s snort of amusement. No matter. He had half a year to gather anecdotes for them, and as far as he was concerned, it wouldn’t be the last time he would see of... of…

Huh.

Wei Wuxian frowned, thought hard, and scratched the back of his head.

Wait. What was his name again?

❆❆❆

“Four Seasons Sect, take your bow.”

There were not so subtle whispers and murmurs that ensued the declaration, though most that Wei Wuxian could hear was confusion as to who and which sect it was. He stood straighter, making sure his posture exuded his pride for representing the name of his sect, his home. He fell into step next to his shixiong who spoke in a clear and equable voice.

“On behalf of Four Seasons Sect, Zhang Chengling pays respect to Master Lan. I present our disciple who is sent to learn under your guidance, and may he serve as a bridge between the jianghu and the cultivation world.”

“Wei Ying, courtesy name Wei Wuxian of Four Seasons Sect greets Teacher,” Wei Wuxian said, raising his voice amidst the growing incertitude that followed his and his senior’s words as they bowed in perfect synchrony.

“Your mother Cangse Sanren and father Wei Changze are lauded rogue cultivators,” Lan Qiren said, effectively silencing the incredulous mutterings at the distance and doubts at jianghu producing cultivators. “It is good to find their son hale after several years.”

“This one is fortunate to be taken under the care of Four Seasons Sect, to grow and be a part of them. At their behest, we present gifts to symbolize our aspirations for a fortuitous relationship between Gusu Lan Sect and the Four Seasons Sect.

��A sapling of rowan as a symbol of connection, to provide protection against malevolent beings, and to guide home those who are lost. Blackthorn for discipline and control that are the known cores of Lan Sect’s teaching, and also to symbolize overcoming obstacles and hope in the middle of devastation. The last sapling is from a tree that bears a multitude of blooms in varying colors and is native to the Four Seasons Sect where flowers bloom all year round, hence the name after our sect. These are dear treasures from the home I know, hoping for them to grow on the soil that my birth parents lived on.”

The tall man standing beside Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen—the Lan Sect heir, if Wei Wuxian was correct—smiled serenely. “The Lan Sect is grateful for the gifts, and we look forward to them growing in a year’s time. We’ve had the pleasure to meet Master Zhou and Zhen, and it shows in their disciples their virtue and great esteem as sect leaders.”

The mention of his baba’s birth name of Zhen Yan instead of Wen Kexing startled him, though he was certain that there was a valid reason for it. Chengling sent him a small smile that told him he did well, and a knowing look that promised an explanation later.

The welcoming atmosphere was suddenly heckled by a commotion from men in red and black barging in unannounced, the man in the lead sneering how easy it was to get into Cloud Recesses. Lan Xichen addressed him as a Wen, and from what Wei Wuxian gathered, the presence of the Wen Sect was uncommon, not to mention unwanted.

Coming from a sect that outright insulted Cloud Recesses’ lectures, the Wens were keen to send two of their disciples, related to the main branch, no less. Wei Wuxian was unable to contain his snort at the dramatics of it all.

“And who’s this scoundrel?”

Wei Wuxian turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Scoundrel is too big a title for me,” he quipped, a rakish grin forming when he crossed his arms. “Four Seasons Sect, Wei Wuxian.”

“This boy dares to interrupt me.” The Wen gave him a scrutinizing glare before letting out a sharp bark of a derisive laugh. “I wasn’t aware that Gusu Lan accepts runts from no-name sects.”

“After all that boast of Wen education, I wasn’t aware that disrespect is what they teach you, but here we are.”

“Fine. I’ll teach you how Qishan Wen deals with those who don’t listen well.”

“Master Wen,” called Chengling placatingly. “This is a simple disagreement. There’s no need to be aggressive.”

The attempt to pacify the situation merely grated at the idiot. “And why should I listen to vermins who don’t know their place?!” Seething, the witless Wen jerked and his armed retinue immediately surrounded them, blades drawn and pointing not only at Chengling and Wei Wuxian but also towards others who had been watching the exchange warily. Chengling moved in front of Wei Wuxian, his hand on the hilt of his own sword and keeping him partly hidden for his hand to clutch his fan on the ready.

After a tense minute that felt as if it lasted an hour, soothing notes that he recognized from a xiao resounded, deceptively lulling if not for its effect of disarming the parties involved, the Wen Sect’s weapons clattering down in warning.

“Today is Cloud Recesses’ ceremonial day for taking new students,” Lan Xichen said, his volume never rising but firm. “We ask that Second Young Master Wen conduct himself.”

A woman who called herself Wen Qing stepped in a flourish, ultimately keeping the brittle moment of stillness with her tact. “This is my and my brother Wen Ning’s first time in the Cloud Recesses, and we know not of some of the rules. We hope Teacher Lan and Young Master Lan are forgiving.”

She bowed apologetically to Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, and even at Chengling. Wei Wuxian, begrudgingly impressed, was under the impression that within the Wen Sect it was either you had modesty in spades or did not understand it at all.

The rest of the Wen retreated, though not without the Wen moron committing Wei Wuxian’s face to memory. Not that he cared a lick after that outright disrespect to his senior—he was willing to give that sneering face a healthy dose of beating next time if necessary.

He was struck with an insight related earlier when his father’s name was brought up. The name of Wen Kexing was never given, and after the distasteful encounter with the Wen Sect, he had a suspicion as to why.

Gripping his shixiong’s arm reassuringly when asked if he was alright, Wei Wuxian cast an assessing sweep across the room, restlessness blanketing pretty much everyone else from the sects present. These were inner disciples of their respective sects, so it was safe to assume that they were no stranger to this kind of behavior from the Wens.

Lan, Nie, Jiang, Jin, and Wen were prominent names in cultivation, and out of all the five, the last was the most dominant in terms of manpower and territory. Knowing how terrifyingly efficient his a-die was when it came to gathering information, Wei Wuxian had an adequate background when it came to the major sects, though he wished he had listened more if only to come up with a better approach from here on out.

He was starting to think that the advice of ‘have fun and make friends’ from his parents was a jest in poor taste. Sighing, his eyes landed on the familiar-looking disciple quietly observing him before his attention snapped elsewhere.

Lips unconsciously twitching into a smile, Wei Wuxian wondered if he was imagining the light pink dusting those pale ears.

[otomememento]

The Smell of Autumn

Esme hummed softly to herself. It was a jaunty little tune that children had been chanting for quite some time. The smell of autumn in the air was enough to remind her of her childhood days of dressing up and going door to door. Granted, the scent wasn’t quite the same, since she was in another country, and another time, but it was familiar enough to tickle her nose and raise her spirits. While it was true the last several Halloweens had been less than happy for Esme, the earlier memories were stronger and they were the ones that sprang to her mind now. There was something charming about the mansion in the fall, with the fog hanging heavy around it to give it an air of mystery befitting its very unique residents.

“What’s that you’re humming, luv?” The sound of Arthur’s voice made Esme turn rather rapidly, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Even though he used the term frequently, Esme often had to remind herself that the term was common enough that it wasn’t to be taken personally. Not that she ever figured she’d be seen that way by any of the residents. Or anyone at all, for that matter. Still, it was hard not to blush when she heard his voice, with that accent, and a handsome face to match.

“Oh, um, nothing much. Just a silly song that we used to sing as kids,” Esme said. She often used the term ‘we’ when talking about her childhood. It spoke of the close connection she had had with her siblings growing up.

“Do tell,” Arthur suggested, leaning against a wall. Esme blushed harder.

“It’s, well, it’s very silly. Like, the kind of thing only kids would come up with,” she protested, not really wanting to sing that song in front of anyone here.

“I can’t promise I won’t laugh,” Arthur said with a cheeky grin. “But I won’t be laughing at you.”

Esme just stared at Arthur. Well, at least he wasn’t even going to try to convince her he wouldn’t laugh, which was fair enough. If he had, Esme would have been way more suspicious. But even though Arthur often unnerved her, she couldn’t honestly say that she mistrusted him. She didn’t sense any sort of malice from him, but she really couldn’t tell what he was thinking otherwise. But, given that he wrote one of the most infamous detectives out there, she could only imagine how terribly clever he was. So she simply never attempted to match wits with him. Ever. But she also had trouble flat out saying ‘no’ to most of the residents, and she couldn’t tell if it was the fact that they were historical greats that compelled this obedience, or the fact that they were vampires. Quite likely, if she thought about it, it was both. Sighing, she took a few breaths.

“Trick or treat

Smell my feet

Give me something good to eat

Not too big

Not to small

Just the size of Montreal.”

As promised, it was completely ridiculous, and Arthur was glad he didn’t make his own promise not to laugh. How could he hold back after that little performance? His eyes crinkled up as he gave a genuine laugh, not one for show, but because he was truly delighted and entertained. It wasn’t the words themselves that Arthur found charming, but simply how easily Esme repeated something that was evidently from her youth. A fond youth, by his estimation. Esme blushed again, her cheeks getting quite the steady infusion of blood since this meeting began.

“I told you it was silly.”

“I won’t argue that. But you obviously were humming it for a reason, and you looked happy, not melancholy. So I can only conclude that this song means something to you, if only to tie back to some fond memory,” Arthur said. Listening to his words, Esme nodded slowly. It was pretty much spot on.

“A lot of us would sing it around Halloween. I’m sure our Halloweens are probably a lot different than ones now. Or ones that anyone else here enjoyed. Well, except maybe Sebastian, but I don’t know much about how they celebrate in Japan…” Esme trailed off. Suddenly it occurred to her that she would most likely be alone in her enthusiasm for the season. While it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it was something she had to process.

“You’re probably right. I might be terribly clever, but I can’t see the future. History does tell us, though, that things change, and sometimes quite rapidly. So, it only makes sense that you wouldn’t have the same experience as anyone here.” Seeing Esme’s face fall, Arthur continued. “However, apart from the two brothers who were raised together, it’s unlikely that any of us have shared the same holidays and traditions as anyone else.” This seemed to slow the decent of Esme’s mood.

“Arthur, you’re right. I’ve often focused too much on how I’m different from all of you, I haven’t stopped much to think on how different you all must be from each other.”

Arthur reached out a gloved hand to ruffle Esme’s hair. To his surprise, she allowed the contact. Esme had always been so skittish around him, and while he knew that he deserved it, he was pretty sure that it would be a permanent fixture in their interactions. As for Esme, there wasn’t much about touching her hair that bothered her; it seemed an innocent enough gesture to her, unlike a lot of Arthur’s flirting and teasing, so overly laden with innuendo that it was hard to miss. But, her limited understanding of his life showed that he was quite a bit older; old enough to have been a grandfather to someone her age. It was hard to reconcile those two sides to him, but she suspected many a person would be happy to have their youth restored, even at such a cost.

“You’re a duck, Esme,” Arthur said. “Just be careful; most of us here are a selfish lot, and you’re a lot more considerate than most of us deserve.” Strange, how being called a bird felt uncomfortable, yet being a specific bird, a duck, was complimentary. Esme took a few moments, just trying to unpack that.

“I don’t know about that,” Esme said thoughtfully. “After all, Le Comte seems very generous, and he’s the one who brought you all back. I don’t think he would have exercised such great powers without thinking things over carefully. Which means he wanted each of you here,” she points out. “I’m the one that came by accident.” She didn’t know about Napoleon’s situation; it simply had never come up.

“Well, if it was an accident, and I still have my doubts about that, then I’d say it was one of the best accidents I’ve seen in my life.” Arthur paused. “And, all told, it has by no means been a short one.”

“That’s very sweet of you to say, Arthur,” Esme said, looking equally pleased and embarrassed. “But I really should get back to work,” she was a little too quick to say. She just couldn’t handle that kind of praise gracefully, and needed to get away to sort it all out. Arthur watched her scamper away in amusement. She was very transparent, which might have been dull if not for the fact that he couldn’t quite fathom how someone could reach her age and still be so delightful. Anything from his time, moving backwards, he could anticipate, but as he had said so firmly to Esme, he could not predict the future. And without knowing the time and place she was from, she was beyond even his keen ability to completely sort out.

[theowlandthekey]

Embracing Hel

Embracing Hel

Three roots standon three ways under Yggdrasil’s ash: Hel under one abides, under the second the Hrimthursar, under the third mankind. -Poetic Edda, Grímnismál, Stanza 31

Who is Hel? In the vastness of Norse mythology, she is rarely given much due. She does not go on adventures for glory and fame as many of the other gods do. She does not seem to bother overmuch about the future of the world like Odin, nor does she stir up trouble like her father, Loki. She’s content in her dominion of the death, Niflheim, and seems well placed out of the troubles of men and gods. So much so that it often feels she is neglected when compared to the rest of the pantheon.

Hel is featured as a character only once in the Prose Edda, when the god Hermoor rides to Hel on behalf of Frigg and offers her a ransom for the return of the god Baldr. Hel agrees, stating: “If all things in the world, alive or dead, weep for him, then he will be allowed to return to the Æsir. If anyone speaks against him or refuses to cry, then he will remain with Hel.” Baldr was well loved and so it was thought this would be easy to accomplish. But when the jotunn Þökk refuses to weep, Baldr is consigned to remain in Niflheim in service of Hel.

In nearly all other mythos, Hel is mentioned only in passing, referenced rather than focused on. Every other god gets a myth where they are the protagonist of their own story. So why is Hel overlooked? Because of the fear she inspires at the prospect of a life lived without note or valor? Because her appearance was considered so repulsive that, while acknowledged as a goddess, she was put as far away from Asgard as physically possible so as to avoid offending the others with the sight of her?

As much as I love Norse paganism and link myself to it, I find plenty of people who speak with Odin and Frigg, Loki and Thor. Never once have I met someone who says with a smile that they speak to Hel. That’s fair. How many people do you know talk to Hades or Osiris or Mictlantecuhtli on a regular basis, even among the gothiest of pagans? Why even bring this up at all? Last December (2019), I was doing a Krampus Walk with a bunch of women from the International Wenches Guild. (That’s a whole other story.) At the end of the walk we gathered up in a local alternative religion shop to warm up and grab a few things for the pre-Yule rush. Up on the shelf, something naughty my attention. It was something I'd never seen before in all my years of goblin-like hoarding of witchy stuff. A statue of Hel looked back at me, sitting on a throne with a knife in one hand and a bowl in the other. By her side was a wolf, and her skull seemed to be grinning at me with interest. I went back to that statue three times, telling myself I didn't have the money to be spending on things right now. But when I picked her up to examine her, I knew I wasn't walking out of the store without this statue. I brought her home, placed her on my altar, put a few coins in her bowl, and there she stayed.

And then Covid-19 hit.

I've never been one to rely on religion in times of trouble. It's never done much for me one way or the other. I've long held the belief that witchcraft involves handling your own shit before calling on anything else to help out. But this? This is one of those things that is well beyond the control of most humans to handle alone. It's emotionally exhausting, mentally taxing, and physically dangerous. We're all doing the best we can, wearing masks, sanitizing, washing, distancing, doing all we can to prevent things getting worse despite the best efforts of the world to remind us that we are inevitably only human and the risks are infinite. It's humbling to say the least. So, it's in this time of stress and disorientation that I find myself drawn to Hel.

Family Ties

“The following night the goddess of death appeared to him in a dream standing at his side, and declared that in three days’ time she would clasp him in her arms. It was no idle vision, for after three days the acute pain of his injury brought his end.”

-Gesta Danorum, Saxo Grammaticus (12th century)

Hel's name means 'to hide/to conceal', giving it a cruel humor. She was, after all, respectfully banished from Asgard due to her physical appearance, or perhaps because Odin foresaw her part in future events. She is described as being half blue and half flesh colored, though the depiction has altered over the years to mean half flesh and half corpse. Hel is said to be gloomy, dour, and even fierce looking, which suggests a woman with little time for nonsense within her realm. Despite all this, she is said to have a vast hall called Éljúðnir and many servants as befits her station. Everything that surrounds her seems to speak to the fears of the people who believed in her. She has a bowl called 'Hunger,' a knife called 'Famine,' curtains called 'Misfortune,' and a bed named 'Disease'.

On the plus side, she does have a dog named Garmr, said to be the 'goodest of boys'.

The best of trees | must Yggdrasil be, Skíðblaðnir best of boats; Of all the gods | is Óðinn the greatest, And Sleipnir the best of steeds; Bifröst of bridges, | Bragi of skalds, Hábrók of hawks, | and Garm of hounds.

-Poetic Edda, Grímnismál

Her father, Loki, is well known for his mischief and chaos. But her mother, Angrboda, remains largely overlooked beyond being acknowledged as the mother of Loki's three 'darling' offpsring. Angrboda, being a jotunn, is not well looked upon as the Aesir seemed to find themselves constantly at odds with the jötnar. The Aesir and the Vanir form the two principal tribes of gods within the Norse pantheon, the forces which held the world together and brought forth order in which life could thrive. While the Jotunn were more elemental, primordial beings who were born from chaos and presented challenges to the structured order of the world.

It's important to note that Hel is not the only goddess who fits within the overlap of Norse mythos complex Venn diagram between the Aesir, Vanir, and Jotunn. Loki himself is Jotunn as is Skaði, while Freyr and Frejya are Vanir. However, Hel's connection to Angrboda as her mother and Loki as her father seem to be enough to condemn her in the eyes of the ruling Aesir, as well as make her a subject of fearful respect.

Her brother, Jormungandr, is the infamous Midgard Serpent. The middle child of the brood, Jormungandr was tossed from Asgard by Odinn into the ocean where he was said to grow so large he encircled the earth and bit his own tail. If you're familiar with gnosticism (or Full Metal Alchemist) you would recognize the ouroboros symbolism inherent in the mythos as connecting Jormungandr to the cycle of life, death and rebirth, another primordial concept. At Ragnarok, the serpent will be said to release its own tail and fight Thor, both of them doomed from inception. Thus, the old world will end, and a new cycle will begin.

Fenrir, Hel's younger brother, is likewise doom driven, foretold to devour Odinn at the end of the world only to be killed in turn by Odinn's son Víðarr. The theme of the bound monster, I believe, is connected to the concept of man trying and failing to forestall his own fate. Another primordial concept of change as an inevitability.

And yet there is Hel. Out of all her family she seems to stand alone as the most consistent of her bloodline. The black sheep in a family of black sheep. No sagas recounting her heroic adventures, no epics building to the rise and fall of greatness. Only a goddess fulfilling her function to take in those who died of sickness or old age. It is not known for certain whether she survives or dies during the events of Ragnarok, only that Loki will have 'all Hel's people with him' during the final confrontation.

Symbolism

Throughout my research into Hel's mythos, it's clear she was viewed with begrudging respect by her own people. As a goddess, one couldn't afford to be less than deferential when dealing with her (assuming of course that they dealt with her at all). But how they felt about her can be discerned from the associations given to her through her items and surroundings. I began to collect a series of symbols associated with her. Each one tells us something about how she was perceived among the Norse people, and gives us some interesting modern-day interpretations when applied.

50/50 – In all the descriptions of Hel, she is said to be half flesh and half either discolored or corpse-like. Like most cthonic deities, she has a liminal quality to her, being representative of a transitional state of being. Balancing neatly between life and death, Hel is a crossroads deity, guarding over the boundary lines (though not traditionally associated as such). She has the ability to release those sheltered under her threshold, although she demands a price as is her right. This also puts her squarely in the category of a liminal being, one whose mere existence challenges the social classifications of the time. Liminal beings are often described as both immensely powerful and dangerous, depending upon the situation and perception of society. They are undeniably eerie, and yet inspire awe for the way in which they transcend limitations of the self.

Hel's Hall – Éljúðnir is the hall of Hel, located within Niflheim and aptly named as her realm is said to be barren and cold. It's said to be a mansion, and it would have to be considering that she is responsible for sheltering everyone who didn't die gloriously in battle. Her hall then becomes a symbol of her status, a recognition of her as a goddess with her own realm and duties. With hospitality being such an important social factor to the Norse people, I find myself hard pressed to believe Hel is needlessly cruel to her guests. Like any mead hall, it is a center for social activity as well as her residence, if a somewhat foreboding one.

Hunger, Famine, Misfortune, Disease – It seems Hel is often deemed responsible for all of the troubles that plague humanity. A rather dire proposition, but isn't it better for someone to oversee these things rather than letting them run amok? Given her connection to the primordial forces of chaos, it seems fitting that Hel, the stable one in her family, is relied upon to control the disorder that society faces from time to time. The objects deemed as a part of her entourage are significant to her personality. Even in the modern times, these troubles are never far from humanity’s mind, with much of the world facing them on a daily basis. *A bowl (Hunger) is often symbolic of receptiveness, or of fertility, neither of which seem to fit Hel herself. For many the bowl represents a scrying tool, portending to the future. It's not unusual for cthonic deities to be connected to omens and portends. So, it may well be that the 'Hunger' her bowl represents has less to do with wanting food and more to do with our hunger to know our own fates. An empty bowl representing the unknown fate of humanity as a whole may present as a bit nihilistic, but it does seem to fit. *The knife (Famine) as a tool which represents the ability to defend or attack. A knife can help fix a meal or it can protect a family. In this case, 'Famine' represents not only the absence of plenty, but the seeming inability to provide for one another, thus weakening everyone as a result. Famine is not just about food, it's about the failure to provide. For a society that was heavily reliant upon all of its people to survive day to day, this would have been a terrifying concept.

*The curtains (Misfortune) are used to draw over the windows and shut out the light. This is what 'Misfortune' does. It clouds reason and empathy and makes it difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Curtains can also be symbolic of one’s desire to hide from the world, to shelter themselves or to keep others from finding out something they find shameful. It may feel safe, as if we are only protecting ourselves. But Hel's curtains are, I believe, named Misfortune for the sake of choosing whether or not we draw them closed or open them up.

*The bed (Disease) is often used as a symbol of intimacy or rest. A bed named Disease could also easily be a colorful metaphor for STIs, though in this case I believe it was meant to represent the fear of dying in ones bed of old age or disease, thus missing out on Valhalla. For Hel to have a bed named Disease suggests an unexpected nurturing aspect to the goddess, as the sickbed is often where we find ourselves the recipient of the most care from others.

In this way, I believe Hel's tools exist as a reminder to society that these things will always exist, and that in order to combat them, people must constantly struggle against them to better survive together.

Garmr – Another in the long list of ferocious subterranean hounds associated with cthonic deities, Garmr was said to be her guard dog, standing bloodstained by her side. He is her faithful protector, as well as the guardian to the underworld. The hound is often a symbol of loyalty and ferocity, but in this aspect I believe it relates more to the black dog associations with death and ill omens. Again, I've yet to see anything relating to Hel being a seeress or an oracle of any sort, but there always seems to be some connection between death gods and omens of the future.

Hel in Practice

Change is uncomfortable. Humans have always preferred stability, even if it's inequitable, because we'd rather function in practice than succeed in theory. Hel is a paragon of balance within chaos, affording the opportunity to change and progress through the inherent suffering of life as it is. And yes, I'm aware of how nihilistic that comes off. But here within the instability of our current world, I find a kind of comfort in that rational. Change is eternal. Tomorrow is an unknown. Control what you can and stay by the people you care about. Keep moving. You are not dead yet.

Rune: Hagalaz “Hail”

- The rune of Hagalaz is practically unanimous with misery. Which makes it's appearance less than desirable during a reading or when found in the day to day. That being said, some degree of unfortunate occurrence is unavoidable in life. It is unalterable. However I find it's distinction kind of like finding a crack in a dam. You now know there is a problem. Maybe you can't 'fix' the problem, but you can stem the damage and keep the outcome from being worse than it absolutely has to be. Hagalaz is about weathering the storm and coming out the other side of it knowing the work that must be done.

Realm: Niflheim

- Niflheim is one of the nine realms of Norse Mythology. A world of coldness, fog, and the primordial darkness. Ymir was born here. Hvergelmir, the source from which many rivers flow, begins here. Níðhöggr the dragon/serpent dwells here, gnawing at the roots of the World tree Yggdrasil. So it would seem Niflheim is a a place of beginnings, endings, and ultimately change. According to the mythology this is where those who died too old, too young, or on the sickbed end up. And yet for all it's forbidding geography and weather, Hel is said to be put in charge of caring for those who arrive. Hall: Éljúðnir

- If Hel is meant to care for those who did not die in the glory of battle. Many times we see this as crowds of dead souls wandering endlessly in the freezing mists. But when I think of Hel's hall of Éljúðnir, I think of a place which is a respite from the cold. It is said to be sprayed with snowstorms, meaning that it stands against the raging storms of the realm, providing shelter to those who dwell within. What if her hall stands alongside Valhalla and Fólkvangr? What if she is the world-weary and cunning inn-keeper who offers bread and mead to those brave enough to find their way to her doors?

Appearance: Dour and fierce looking in expression. Half flesh and half dead.

Tools:  knife (Famine) bowl (hunger) curtains (Misfortune) bed (Disease)

Color: black white grey/silver blue dark purple

Animals: wolves/hounds serpents ravens worms

Plants: yew/ash wormwood rosemary mistletoe mustard seed blackthorn

Offerings: tobacco garlic figs mushrooms rye bread black cherries dark chocolate mead coffee, black espresso

[willowsrain]

20 Questions

20 Questions tag~

Tagged by @deadlyglacier! Thank you! <3 

How many works do you have on AO3?

5! 

What’s your total AO3 word count?

16,903 

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

In total? I’ve written for three. Rockman.EXE/Megaman NT Warrior when I was younger and on FF.Net, Persona 5 (that I deleted from AO3), and FMA

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Well I only have five, so that’s easy at least! 

Aureate - Roy is a sap disaster when it comes to Ed. Contains lots of references to the color ‘gold’, copious amounts of schmoop, and some NSFW in the form of consensual somnophilia. 

The Waning Moon - Ed is dying from ALS. This was inspired by my work as a nursing assistant in an Assisted Living home, after I found that so, so many medical fics disregard the most ugly parts of dying. So I set out to make this as accurate and ugly as I possibly could. 

Floo-ke Encounters of the Magical Variety - The obligatory HP/FMA fusion set in the FMA-verse. Ed’s a wizard going to Hogwarts with a time turner and after a problem with the Floo, he comes out of Roy’s office fireplace when he’s supposed to be on a mission in South City. Whoops.

En Garde - The college tour-guide AU that I couldn’t actually bear to write as a tour-guide AU, so I wrote about Ed and Roy being on the fencing team. There’s a horrible amount of fencing innuendos, courtesy of Roy - and Ed threatening to shove Roy’s foil up his ass. I had way too much fun with this one. 

Dance with Books - An Ed/Al drabble that I wrote with two excellent prompt one liners. 

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to? But I kinda suck at it... I’ll get better at it, I swear! And comments make me scream happily. 

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

The Waning Moon. I gave the fic two different endings, with the ‘bad’ ending being the ‘true’ ending that I had in mind when I wrote it. In it, Ed offers what remains of his life to Truth in order to return Roy’s vision to him, and so that Ed no longer has to suffer with his disease. 

A snippet of the end of the 2nd chapter: 

He buried his face in his hands, covering his wretched eyes in the process. Edward might have given him his sight back, but now everything he saw was forever tainted with death.

Which was, Roy mused, a fate most befitting for the Flame Alchemist.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Hm... Aureate, probably? It’s a sappy fic that you need to make sure you brush your teeth after reading, because it’ll give you cavities otherwise. It ends with the two of them saying ‘I love you’, so I’m not sure it gets much happier than that!

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Yes! The Harry Potter one is the only one I’ve posted so far, but I’m currently planning out one for Persona 5 based in the FMA verse, where Roy and his team all have personas and the ability to enter the cognitive world. Roy and Ed are together, and Roy starts to have the nagging sensation that Ed might be suffering from a palace - and it turns out he’s right. 

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Thankfully no! But I also avoid FF.Net like the plague, so... that might have something to do with it. I also try to be very clear about anything that may be triggering, such as the pairings I write for, or any sensitive topics. So far, the haters have stayed away from my fics, phew! I hope it stays that way!

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I mean, I wrote Aureate, so... yes? I struggle a lot with it, but I plan to keep writing to hopefully get better at it. But consensual smut is a must. 

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Thank goodness no! 

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also no! 

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! I’m working with someone right now to write an ABO-verse FMA fic. More details to come when we finish it :3 

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

RoyEd. Preferably with Ed being aged up into adult age. There’s something about having two characters who both understand the demons that the other suffers from, and they can exist (and thrive) in each others’ worlds and minds that I absolutely adore. They’re also amazing foils for each other that cover each other’s weaknesses beautifully.  

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

My P5-like rewrite of Brotherhood. Sigh. I want to. It’s one that incorporates the social aspect of P5 into FMA for Ed. IE - for each ‘rank up’ of each person that he bonds with, he grows his knowledge of alchemy, and gathers different talents that Truth gives him as he grows. 

For example, Truth is represented by the Fool arcana, and at first Rank with it - Ed gains the ability to read the intention behind any array that he sees. As he hits rank 2 with Truth, Truth has the ability to speak to Ed without being in Truth’s realm. 

With the other arcana, as he maxes out the social rank with each person, he gains knowledge of an array that he’ll need in order to fight Father on the Promised Day. But Maes dies before Ed can complete his social rank, SO WHAT IS HE GONNA DO?! :3

What are your writing strengths?

Uh, I’m not sure? I like to think that I channel the character whose POV I’m writing through pretty well. And I like showing their thoughts and attitudes through the story itself. 

As an example from En Garde - 

“Alright! Let’s get started, everyone! Sabres to the north, Foils with me in the center, and Epees to the south!” Roy called out, his voice projecting without making his voice sound any less attractive.

Holy fuck, Ed was already in over his head. He was screwed. Dead. Done. Double done. Absolutely and utterly fucked. And judging from Roy’s flirting, potentially actually fucked.

Shit.

And with that lovely thought, practice started.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I get bored, especially if there’s a part of the story that I’m extremely excited to write. I either start to skimp out on the details of the part of the story prior to it, or I’ll just skip right to the part that I *want* to write, which can sometimes make it read a bit awkwardly when I go back and try to connect it. 

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Eh. I find it pretty distracting, unless the words/titles are ones that are well known in the fandom. But if I have to scroll to the beginning or end of the chapter to get a translation, I’m not really going to enjoy it. If you *really* want to write in another language (which I’m not at all against), just put the english dialogue in a different type/font to show it’s in a different language. 

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Megaman NT Warrior (Rockman.EXE). God I loved that show so much when I was younger. I used to carry around notebooks and whenever I had to go to appointments, or I was on the bus, I would jot down ideas and write out stories. But holy shit I was *awful* at it! 

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Floo-ke Encounters. It was so much fun to write from start to finish. Roy singing into a stapler and dancing around his office (And can I just say that I am beyond disappointed that NO ONE noticed that he was singing “The Ring of Fire” from Johnny Cash. DISSAPOINT.), Roy having a more or less panic attack as he realized that there were, in fact, TWO Edward Elrics existing at the same time, and Ed’s sheer glee in tormenting Roy. I love it! 

Tagging: @kylermalloy @konekowrites @kugisaki-nobara-rights

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 70: Something Old, Something New

Table of Contents. Third Instar, Chapter 1. First chapter of Third Instar; go to previous. Go to next. TWs: Canon-typical animal violence, hostile locals.

In the shape of things to come.

_______________________

It should have jolted ‘Choly electric, when Sticks turned over Little Boy Blue with the rhythmic sequence of soft chirps from its push-button transmission. Yet, the smooth uniform purring of the fusion engine left him doe-eyed sinking deeper into the ancient moving blanket that had been folded lengthwise and tucked down atop the otherwise exposed re-stuffed guts of the passenger seat’s upholstery. A lone Mister Handy fuel tank tucked itself behind him.

Sticks had replaced the front driver’s seat with a balding duct-taped armchair, trimmed to fit; he had also replaced the entire back seat with a footlocker, to make extra room inside the vehicle. The ghoul had paid the interior far more attention in flirting after perfectionism, with what he could loot from Concord nearby. His flux welding intimated once present chrome contours, the refinished salvaged wood, its prior vinyl wood paneling. The ghoul drew down the parking lever, now a screwdriver with a leather-wrapped handle, took the freshly royal blue 2071 Chryslus Coupe out of neutral, and eased it out from under the canopy of the Red Rocket Truck Stop to exit the parking lot.

Before ‘Choly could register to wave to the Sanctuary settlers out the open window behind them, Sticks had shifted into third and spirited them down to the first light to turn East into Concord. He sank down in his seat again, and folded his gloved hands in his lap.

‘Choly supposed that the two of them were just as patched together as Blue--though Angel would certainly have argued it took the cake for this distinction, were it in on his internal monologue. The composite Mister Handy had powered off its thruster on Blue’s roof, where Sticks had latched it down with a pair of tow chains, hooked around the rear pillars of the blown-out back windows. From atop the car, its Mister Gutsy grade sensors would provide them with a slightly greater forewarning of incumbent road hazards.

Sticks slapped the steel dashboard and laughed.

“Hah! aren’t the hydraulics just riding like a dream.” He beamed, petting at it. “Ohh, sometimes I surprise even myself.”

“It’s skating on glass,“ ‘Choly agreed, his attention squarely on the ghoul. He chewed at his lip. “Are you sure you don’t need another nap? We could pull in behind the Wright’s Inn, and you could recline--”

Rather than answer, Sticks zipped left and picked up a speed more befitting an automobile. With the windows down, the quarter windows open, and the floor vents unlatched, the crisp breeze disturbed ‘Choly’s headspace before it could sour. He tugged his golf visor down on his head, and coughed a bit at the smell of the road kicking up in the floorboards, but he welcomed the fresh air, as the air conditioning was the one notable thing Sticks had not managed to restore in some capacity.

He couldn’t get the ghoul to admit how he’d managed a (mostly) in-tact windshield, when there hadn’t been a scrap of glass left on the husk of the car after laying on its side for the better part of two hundred years.

‘Choly reached up to put a hand on the roof. Angel tapped it emphatically, reassuringly. His eyes couldn’t follow the scenery as they zipped along Route 62.

“Have you been further North than Lowell?”

“Oh, yeah. No further than Ant, though. Never been reason for me to. This’ll be a first.”

Route 62 changed over to Route 4 as it eased North. Sticks swerved around a bit of road debris, but did not otherwise slow down. ‘Choly fretted that little remained of the junkyard, after the fusion engines of automobile and robotics alike had exploded last he’d been this way. Sticks decided to push Blue’s constitution and gunned it up to sixty, then eighty.

As the scenery blurred past them and even with the correct prescription of eyewear on his face, ‘Choly shook his daze and instead squinted at the map on his Pip-Boy.

“Ant? As in... ants?”

“Don’t overthink it. We’re not stopping. Straight shot to Nashua.” The ghoul belted another laugh, letting the wind whisk his noseless face and last locks of blond hair. “I haven’t had a car run this smooth in eighty years. Maybe more.”

“You did great...” 'Choly admired his enthusiasm and pride of craftsmanship. “I doubt anybody else could’ve done what you’ve done.”

“You can say that again.” Sticks threw a hand across the back of ‘Choly’s headrest, and rubbed at his shoulder. ‘Choly leaned into it. “With how well he runs, we might be able to get back to Goodneighbor by the end of the week. --Fuck Tucker Bridge, though. Fuck it to Hell.”

“You really think we’re on the road for a while then?” He picked at the radio dials before deciding not to see if WXXX was the only surviving station in the area. “Shouldn’t we stop to loot in Tyngsborough or Chelmsford, then? There’s plenty of silt flour for a month or two, but I’ll need way more than a bottle of mouthwash and a half tube of toothpaste if we don’t want to have to choose between using it and my eating it.”

“For real. Don’t sweat it. If I were worried about groceries, I’d have had us stay over in Billerica to loot on the way down. Still can’t quite wrap my head around you getting by on that stuff, ya know.”

“Mm.”

Several minutes passed where they took in the sound of the open road. The unevenness of the rubbled roadway became more obvious to ‘Choly in the break in conversation, although Blue cleared a majority of it without hesitation.

“Say, where do you see us a year from now, anyway?”

“Is this your way of proposing to me?” ‘Choly turned to him with a starstruck start. “Next you’ll tell me you’ve got rings in that Cram tin.”

Sticks turned thoughts over in his head a bit.

“Well, there are rings in there. But they’re not for you. That box of rocks is our insurance.”

“I suppose I’ve spoiled the game, then.”

“You’re the one who had a proposal at all, you know. The proposal I was meaning. Gee, you really are head over heels for me, if you’re already talking about getting old.”

“I haven’t been thawed out for a whole year yet. It’s hard to imagine getting any older than I already am, let alone with you. ...You really think you’ll stick with me a whole year?”

“Many more, is the idea. Hopefully, you’ll stick with me.”

“...I meant to do that.”

“Sure,” the ghoul grinned, giving him a side-eye.

It took less than an hour for them to pass through the residential ruins of Chelmsford and Tyngsborough, though variably dense evergreens paved much of their way. The Merrimack ran against them to the right, coiling back and forth out of sight. Blue skipped a wet patch on Route 3A, spraying a muddy mist up into the floorboards and getting the two to sputtering and laughing.

Sticks slowed as they neared the invisible demarcation which once divided Massachusetts and New Hampshire. ‘Choly was about to crack a joke about speed limits, only to notice the three figures, in mostly combat armor, attending the military road blockade ahead. ‘Choly straightened in his seat as Sticks slowed to a stop.

The elder of two women stepped up to the driver’s side coddling the hulking chrome and steel form of an assault rifle. The other two guards aimed directly at the vehicle.

“You sure are a bad habit.” She chewed at a cigar.

“Sergeant Bea.” Sticks gave her an awful grin. “Just passing through. If that’s all right with you.”

She stooped to squint and scowl at ‘Choly. He swallowed hard and gave her a tepid smile.

“Sticks, you’ve got one minute to get that pile of metal shit off the Lane before I tell Gerald he’s got target practice.”

“Be out of your hair in half that,” he blandished. “Good to see you again, love.”

She told him off as they continued past. He casually waved his middle finger out the window, keeping his eyes ahead of him.

“You’re just on everyone’s good side, aren’t you?” ‘Choly wrung his hands, still stiff against the seat.

“Laners hate machines, is all. Can’t appreciate a fine automobile.”

As Sticks accelerated again, ‘Choly wondered whether Sticks’s reservations coming this way had more to do with the locals than the climate. He slouched, only to see a towering projection screen come up on their right. Agape, he nearly hung out the window, clutching at his visor. In the parking lot of what had once been a Starlight Drive-In, now stood a bustling flea market. A romance flickered anciently on the screen.

“Sticks, there’s people here. A hundred, maybe. People.” Under his breath, he murmured, “I wonder if they’ve got any horror movies.”

The ghoul scoffed.

“People with a stick up their asses, more like it.”

They passed the parking lot of a large shopping mall. Before ‘Choly could get into him, gunfire rang. A dozen mutated waterfowl the size of a human assailed around twenty settlers armed with shotguns, pole hooks, and bludgeons. Sticks sped up and ‘Choly grabbed him by the arm.

“The fuck are you doing!” the ghoul yelled. “Gerald’s their missile man!”

“We’ve got to go help them!”

“They don’t want our help!”

'Choly shook Sticks until he loathingly relented, then tried uselessly to unlatch the tow hooks in the back seat. Once he managed it, Angel lit its thruster and sped off saws blazing headlong toward the Radfowl. ‘Choly hadn’t expected to need to have a weapon at the ready. Sticks, meanwhile, hunched into the steering wheel with the determination to mow at least one goose-like thing down with the traffic barrier he’d bolted where Blue once had a front bumper.

The Mister Handy and the vehicle beset the composure of the locals far in excess of the fowl. As Blue connected with a pair of birds, the locals they’d squared off with immediately lashed out at the front of the car with their baseball bats. One punctured the trunk hood with their pole hook.

“HEY!” Sticks roared. He laid on the horn, and the three scattered to assist the others.

‘Choly shakily unholstered his Nagant. Before he could aim out his own window, a pair of Radfowl had rushed to snap and snarl in the driver’s side. One chomped down on Sticks’s upper arm where it could get at him, and he let out a groan. At close range, it felt more like administering tranquilizers with a jet injector rather than the modified syringer revolver he’d endeared as the Tryasovitsy. Their gnarly tusk-like teeth scraped at the door on the birds’ way down to the pavement.

‘Choly tried to get a better look, but Sticks shoved him back, to reach for the hunting rifle he’d tucked between the seat and door. He took aim and fired on one of the fowl.

“Just get your damn robot back over here before they beat the shit out of it.”

“Angel’s doing well with the birds--”

“--I meant the Laners.”

Another massive goose-like thing ran flailing toward the passenger side and ‘Choly reflexively drew on it, emptying the rest of his barrel of Pax Syringes with a choking panic. Once the last of the geese dropped, he sank back in his seat to steady ragged breathing.

Sticks got out of the car long enough to shoot the two Radfowl sedated on the driver’s side. An older man in fishing overalls with a shotgun came up and finished off the Radfowl on ‘Choly’s side before aiming the gun at him. A pair of teens had picked up the tow chains and approached Angel, swinging them slow and furious.

“We’re just trying to help!” ‘Choly squeaked out at the man. He dropped the silenced revolver in his lap in an instant. “We don’t mean you any harm!”

“You fucker. Ruined perfectly good meat,” the Laner snapped, repulsed and hateful. “Can’t eat drugged meat.”

“Please!” ‘Choly adjusted in his seat when he realized his sudden lurch could’ve seemed like hostility rather than begging. “Don’t hurt my Handy. We’re leaving! I swear it!”

“You’ve already wasted enough of our time. Tussling with you ain’t worth it.” The older man kicked at the concrete with a growl that punctuated in a hiss. “What did you think you were doing! Horning in on our hunt!?"

“Hunt?” ‘Choly frowned, guiltily incredulous. “You were attacking them?”

“You shouldn’t have risked yourselves like that. We had it under control. Get your goddamn tin can liabilities off the Lane!”

“Forgive us,” Sticks started. The man brandished a finger at him, warning that they keep their distance.

“And you can’t have any of our Radfowl meat!”

“All yours. Sorry to be trouble, folks. Angel! Come on, chap.”

Sticks waved to the Laners to gesticulate for the berth to reverse enough to turn around. They all glowered at the pair before getting to dressing their kills.

“The fuck is wrong with these people,” ‘Choly finally blurted out.

“Listen to me next time? I told you we didn’t need to help them.”

“Of course we did, Mister Hawthorne.” Angel swept around to the driver’s side where Sticks could hear its indignity. “It’s not our fault they’re ingrates!”

“Are you sure you’re all right? Those things have more teeth than a shark.”

“There had better be a Stimpak there. Or something.” He snorted to shrug off a pout. “Not like I’m bleeding out. Hurts, but I’ll live.”

“There’s definitely a full assortment of first aid stock at the warehouse. I’ll patch you up once we get inside. ...Sorry that I didn’t listen.”

“You keep doing the exact opposite of what I tell you, and it keeps biting you in the ass. This time, it bit me in the arm. Got a right mind to start telling you to do the opposite of what I think you’ll do.”

Now that they’d crossed the New Hampshire state line, ‘Choly produced the folder he’d tucked between the center console and seat, to skim Gretchen’s landmark location directory again. Going North on the Daniel Webster Highway, you’ll pass the Pheasant Lane Mall on your right. Crossing under a double overpass, there’s a Luxurique lot and cemetery on your left. The Nashua warehouse is at the next left.

“Let’s just... keep onward. Priorities. Right.” ‘Choly sighed. “We made good time getting up here. There’s still plenty of daylight left. The warehouse shouldn’t be more than ten minutes from here, provided we don’t encounter more locals.”

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