#what kind of dark road do you need to travel to reach a place like that

[isfjmel-phleg]

For goodness knows what reason, there has been an unusually high number of what my boss calls altercations here in the library, so I am getting trained on what to do because I'm not very authoritative and look like a student and am not good with confrontations. Can't be like that. Got to strike--well, maybe not terror into the hearts of students, but definitely let them know we mean business. I've been given a script. Been told to use my "librarian voice." (I'm not sure what that is. Maybe my actual voice but a few octaves deeper and a lot firmer.)

Yikes. Daunting. What I'd like to know now is why all this is happening all of a sudden. Not really something I can ask my boss. But what on earth, student body.

[live-laugh-lenney]

hi lovely, could I request something? If yes then could you write something about Arthur proposing? ‘Cause I feel like he’d probably cry more than us hahaha he’s just so ahhh ❤️🥹

oh lordddddy.

arthur is a huge romantic.

so when the time comes for him to propose and take the next step in their relationship by asking her to be his forever, i can see him taking her away on one of the most beautiful and most romantic holidays where it's just the two of them and the culture around them. with no social media notifications, no work calls to take, no youtube videos to upload and film and no tiktoks to post for promotional ads or gifted reasons. a complete and total relaxing break from their work schedules.

somewhere with beautiful scenery.

somewhere with gorgeous culture.

somewhere that was unforgettable.

he kept their destination a secret until the day they flew from gatwick airport because he figured it would be difficult enough to hide where they were going when it was on screens all around them. he told her to pack appropriately, of course; he wouldn't leave her in the dark and let her pack a piece for every weather possible... he told her that she needed the kind of clothes that she would usually pack if they were going somewhere hot, somewhere where they could lounge by a pool all day, somewhere that didn't require a lot of walking but she'd need comfortable shoes.

everything was planned.

even though he wanted to ask her as soon as they'd stepped foot in their villa - a villa that was so beautiful on the outside with it's white-washed walls and bright blue roof and the most delicate of flowers creating arches and paved their pathways, tucked away neatly from the main roads but overlooking a stretch of sea, in the backyard, that was decorated with yachts and boats travelling on the waters surface - he didn't want to ruin the evening he had set to ask her. but all he could think about was the ring box, that was wrapped up tight in a pair of beige chino shorts so she couldn't see it if she peeked inside his case, and how all he wanted was to ask her so he wasn't a bundle of nerves for the entire week.

"why have you booked us into a three bedroom villa?" was the first thing she asks him once she'd finished taking in their home for the week, "not that i don't appreciate all the planning you've done for this week. just... there's only two of us."

"i wanted to book the best one," he admits and she can't help but grin at him with a stupid open-mouthed smile, "what?"

"nothing," she walks across the open-plan living space and wraps her arms around his neck, bringing his head closer to hers so she could slap a kiss on his lips, "i love you so much. this is going to be the most loveliest week."

"whatever you want to do, we'll do it," he says, pressing one last kiss to her cheek before pulling away from her, reaching for the handles of their suitcases so he could lift them up the stairs and leave them in their bedroom, "shall we unpack and then head out for a walk? look at the area? get some food?"

"i was thinking something a bit more... active."

"a swim in the pool?" arthur questions and she's glad he has his back turned to her because he couldn't see the devilish smirk that curved a corner of her lips upwards, "i actually think this place has a hot tub we could try out. maybe we could get some greek wine, sit in the tub, watch the sun go down."

"so many places try out," she cries out excitedly with a clap of her hands and he looks at her from over his shoulder with a confused look pinching his features up, "oh, come on, you're such an innocent sweetheart."

he feels her hand stroke the curve of his bum before she squeezes at the clothes flesh and, oh...

... how naive he was...

... there were so many places to christen that week.

"anywhere we want. however loud we want to be," she's close behind him on the stairs and it took his entire willpower to not drop the cases and have his way with her on the stairs with the way she was hinting, "anytime of the day. no one to walk in. no one to hear us."

oh, boy.

it was only day one and he didn't want to leave, ever.

and, despite the bundle of nerves that sat low in the pit of his belly for the time they were there, the whole week was peaceful.

the kind of peaceful that they usually always took for granted.

because, back home, peaceful had a whole different meaning.

peaceful, back home, meant no unexpected visits from their friends because they were bored and wanted to go and do something; a trip to the pub or a cycle around london until they found something to do. it meant no videos to film for their channel's or for anyone else's, and it meant no livestreams to stream. it meant lounging in bed or on the sofa, all day and with no need to get up for any reason, with disney+ nature documentaries half started because they were far too cosy and comfortable and kept falling asleep.

peaceful, in a hot country, meant time to themselves with only each other to talk to. it meant intellectual conversations and compliments to the surrounding area as they took slow walks into the town centre for dinners. it meant laying in the sun, whether it be on the beach or by their private pool, with no silliness around to disturb the quiet and no one to take their attention away from the other.

-

"i figured, since tomorrow is our last night here, maybe we could go out for one last meal at our favourite place? get that dessert we keep eyeing up," yn suggests to him, wearing nothing but one of his tees which hung low enough to show her naked flesh, dried bikini still on her body from spending the afternoon in the pool, "i really need one final gyros so i can go home happily fed."

"yeah," he nods softly, looking up from his phone and over to where she was sitting crossed-legged on a sun lounger, skin beautifully sun-kissed and tanned but a little burnt around her shoulders. the sun setting in the distance, painting the sky with the most gorgeous mix of oranges and yellows, creating a beautifully bright reflection on the surface of the sea in the horizon that even his sunglasses couldn't protect his eyes from, "that sounds good. fancy going out tonight or shall we cook here?"

"may as well eat the last of the food here, no? do another barbecue or something," she suggests, rolling her head back as she basked in the last minute sunshine before it disappeared behind the walls of their villa, "maybe we could give the hot tub another go, as well."

"i'm gonna miss that thing," arthur laughs softly, "maybe even more of a reason to move out together and get a house."

"you wanna live with me?" yn asks sweetly, uncrossing her legs and placing her feet on the tiled floor beneath her, still warm from where the sun had been bathing it all day, "you really wanna live with me?"

he watches her as she stands to her feet, arms stretched out and her fingers wiggling in his direction, hopeful that he'd take hold of her hands and stand to his own feet... which he did. guiding his arms to her waist before wrapping her own arms around his neck, forearms on his shoulders, fingers stroking the damp hairs at the nape of his neck.

"i think i love that idea, mister television," she grins up at him and he gives her a squeeze, tightening his arms around her waist and lifting her off the ground, "maybe we could look into that when we get back home? not right away but-"

"no, right away," he smiles, her legs wrapping around his waist and her ankles hooking at the base of his back, "i want to spend every single day of my life with you. i want to wake up next to you, i want to go to sleep next to you, i want to cook you breakfast and cook you dinner every day. having you be a part of my daily routine."

"this sounds like a marriage proposal," she says it in a joking manner and raises her eyebrows, but all he can muster is a roll of his eyes - he really couldn't give himself away. he'd managed to wait all week, with perfect opportunities coming up, but he wanted to do it right. a way she would remember and gush about everytime someone asked. "i want all of that, too,"

"good," he presses a kiss to her forehead and sets her back down on the ground, "go get in the shower. i'll get dinner started then i'll come and join you."

"or we could just," she drags her hands around his upper body before settling just above the waistband of his swimming trunks, "we could just have a late dinner tonight? you can come join me, right now, then i can help with the food prep, yeah? i can make the salad?"

"are we really gonna talk about food right now?"

she teasingly tucks her fingers into the waistband beneath her tips and she can see the blush covering his cheeks.

"you really can't turn me down, can you, arthur?"

she retracts her hands and moves away from him, starting her walk back into the villa, hearing his shuffling footsteps behind her... of course he couldn't resist her.

-

if there was one thing yn hated about a holiday, it was the last day.

how she had to pack away her belongings and fold all of her clothes up neatly, how she had to have one final shower under a shower head with the most perfect water pressure that never amounted to her own shower back home, how she had to figure out what outfit she wanted to wear during their plane journey back to gatwick because the london weather was so unpredictable - she wanted to show off her tan but she wanted to be warm, knowing the temperate was never going to reach the temperature they'd become used to over the last week or so.

the dreaded final night's sleep where the strong desire in not wanting to go home sat low in her stomach and played on her mind, wanting to stay in the sunshine for more than just their holiday.

she wasn't quiet in letting him know her desire to stay for another week, too... in every moment of silence, she broke it with her want to spend every day of her life there. and as tempting as it was to book them into another hotel on another island, arthur thought that it felt too late.

but he made it clear that they would be back. without a doubt. and she was okay with that.

with their suitcases almost packed and their dressing tables looking bare from their belongings and their bedside tables looking sparse from their gadgets and chargers, the room felt boring and empty as the two of them left for their final night in the greek town they'd been calling home for the week. one more night with yn dressed in one of her summer dresses and one more night with arthur dressed in a pair of shorts and a loose shirt that complimented the tan he had picked up from the days spent in the sunshine.

except, this time, his pocket felt a little heavier.

all day, his stomach was in knots; his mind fearing for the worst. because, regardless of how well the week had gone, she could still say no... and, really, he had no idea what he was going to do it she said no to his marriage proposal. and that's why he wanted it - no, it's why he needed it to be almost perfect.

their favourite restaurant had been one by the sea, under a fabric cabana, located just a steps distance away from the sandy beach. the atmosphere of traditional greek music, the gentle lighting and the laughter bringing them back almost every night of their holiday and it was one place they were going to miss.

a table laid out in its usual format; a vase with some fresh flowers poking out the top, a citronella candle lit to keep the bugs away, big wine glasses ready to fill with their choice of red or white and place mats that matched the vibe of the entire restaurant. the smell of fresh seafood filling the air and

and it was the one place that arthur felt was just right.

with their bellies full of chicken gyros and tzatziki and chips, having demolished the food that came out on their plates, he needed just a moment before he popped the question.

"i really am going to miss the greek food," yn frowns down at the empty plate in front of her before she looks up to meet his eyes, "no matter how many times we try to perfect it at home, it just never hits the same."

"i don't know, i think you nailed it the first time you tried it," he smiles, his hand laid upon the table and holding her hand tightly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles softly, "george still goes on about it, to this day."

"i was terrified i gave him food poisoning that night," yn cackles out loud and arthur just rolls his eyes, "seriously! it was the first time i cooked it properly and i was so nervous for everyone to try it."

"but it was delicious," arthur admits and yn grins widely, "like a taste of home away from home."

the two of them fall silent and it's just the remaining customers in the restaurant who are filling the silence between them, mixed with the crashing of the waves just a few feet away from where they were sat, and he can feel the ring burning a hole in the pocket of his chino shorts.

it was now or never.

"have you had a good time this week?" arthur asks her and she nods with a smile on her lips; the kind of smile that could have split her face in two, with crinkles forming at the corner of her eyes and her teeth on show, "it was all about you, this week. you've been working so hard and you deserved a break."

"not as hard as you," she claims and he shakes his head, "seriously, arthur, you paid for all of this as a surprise for me. i know you've been working your arse off these last few months to make this happen, it was clear as day once i figured what was happening. and i don't know how to thank you for all of this."

"you don't need to thank me," he says, "just you being here, spending time with me, coming away with me. that's all i can ask for."

"i'm so lucky to have you," she squeezes his hand and he can feel his eyes beginning to sting with rampant tears that he was trying to hold back, "seriously. i love you so much and you've excelled yourself this week."

"well, i'm just as lucky to have you in my life," and this was it... the moment the whole week had been leading up to; he had no words, no script, no notes to go off of. everything he was about to say, it was on the spot and from the heart and he hoped, to god, that he didn't miss anything he wanted to say, "and i am. i really am the luckiest guy in the world to get to call you my girlfriend. we've done a lot together in the last few years and i can't wait for many more trips here or any country in the world."

he stands up from his chair and, for a moment, he can see the sudden realisation in her eyes as she clocks on to what was about to happen. her hands clasping over her mouth is shock. and as he dug his hand into his pocket, he grips onto the box for dear life... scared to lose it, to drop it, because that would be the perfect start to their next step.

"i love you, i'm always going to love you, and it would be an honour to get to love you, and only you, for the rest of our lives," he bends down on one knee beside her sitting stance and opens the box, "will you marry me and make me the happiest man in the world?"

he watches as her eyes swell with tears and he can feel his own begin to dribble down his cheek, his big brown eyes looking softer than ever, and she can't hold back the emotions that were bubbling to escape.

"of course i will," she grins widely and he slides the ring onto her ring finger, shining under the lights above them, and as they stand to their feet in front of each other, her arms wrap around his neck, "god, this whole week, you had me fooled. i didn't think this was how we were spending out last night."

"i'm just full of surprises," he squeezes her to his front and he never wanted to let her go, "i love you so much."

"i love you too," she whispers into his ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek before she pulled away, "fiancé." xx

[or0ch1maru]

How about a y/n who likes collecting things? Pretty rocks, feathers, or buttons? (or even stuffed animals?) Would the Akatsuki find this cute? Or maybe a waste of time?

This my loves is what I like to call crow brain. See something pretty, you pocket it 🥺

I swear you must live in my walls or something because this^ this right here is me. My dresser is covered in rocks, acorns, and other cute things I’ve collected over the years hehe. (im also a huge stuffy collector🥺)

•

•the first time they notice you pick up and pocket a cool looking rock, you received a few curious glances

• “it was pretty” you reply with a shrug before getting back to the business at hand

•another time, they caught you picking up something off the ground, when asked what it was, you showed the red, heart shaped button off proudly, a smile that reached your eyes plastered across your face

•then, there was the time you and the rest of the Akatsuki ventured into the Hidden Rain to meet with your leader and his right hand woman

•a few wanted to stop by a small convenience store for a drink after the tedious travel so while you waited for them to finish, you did a little shopping of your own, but not for food, or a drink

•as you stood outside the small and now crowded shop, your eyes fell on an antique store across the way

•while your team was distracted, you bolted across the wet road, arm held over your head to shield you from the never ending rain, eyes falling on a rather worn, and raggedy looking teddy bear. One that was well loved by its past owner, that is now in need of a new one

•you opted out of needing a bag for your new friend and walked out with the bear tucked under your arm, using your cloak to shield him from the weather

•by now, your comrades have gotten used to this, and don’t really bat an eye when they see you pick up or buy something completely random

•so when you met back up with the team, nobody even as much raised an eyebrow at the item you’re holding against your side

•one evening, you were perched on your bed, painting your nails your designated dark purple color when a knock came through

• “come in” you replied cheerfully as you brushed a streak across your big toe, tip of your tongue poking out in concentration

• “here” you lift your head when you hear Deidara’s voice. Your eyes drift to his outstretched palm, a shiny blue colored stone sitting near the mouth that’s in the middle of his palm

•you nearly flew into his arms in excitement, a wide smile as you take in his gesture of kindness

• “I love it, thanks dei” you replied happily, taking the stone from him and walking towards the shelves that sit against the wall to the left of you

•he lets out a satisfied ‘hmph’ as he watches you place the rock towards the front of a shelf, sitting beside all the other things you’ve collected or have been gifted to by fellow members

•like the soft, yet elegant pale green and white feather Konan brought to you a month ago

•or a handful of Pilea peperomiodes that sit in a pot that Tobi hand picked for you somewhere outside only yesterday

•or the single 5 leaf clover that Kisame and Itachi stumbled across on a mission last week

•little do you know, anytime your comrades leave for a mission, one of the first things they do when they leave, is look for something you might like, your habit rubbing off on them

•even if it’s as little as a cool looking rock or

•a cute stuffed animal in a store they happened to visit while away

[coralquest]

─ HEART TO HEART | KYŌJURŌ RENGOKU

❛❛ 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝. ❜❜

𓆩♡𓆪 FORMAT: one-shot | fluff

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY: Two Hashiras take a break in a peaceful forest while on their way back to Butterfly Estate after a grueling mission. As they await the sunrise, they engage in a "heart-to-heart" conversation, sharing their fears, guilt, and upcoming challenges that await them. The past hasn't been kind to them, but they find solace in opening up to each other.

It had been a long day on the mission, and night had fallen as you both made your way through the path. The sky was awash with the warm hues of twilight, the last vestiges of sunlight casting long shadows across.

"We still have a few hours of walking ahead of us. Are you sure you don't want to take a break?" Kyojuro asked, his concern for you evident in his booming voice.

The shadows grew deeper, and the trees seemed to tower over, your branches reaching up towards the stars.

"If we stop now, we'll need more than just a few hours to make up for lost time," You looked back at him with those same rolling eyes which he couldn't help but recall with a grin. The first day you joined them, eager to embrace a new life in a new place with all that attitude of yours. Those rolling eyes.

As you trudged through the muddy road, he caught sight of a towering tree off the beaten path and without warning, you were pulled by your hand in another direction.

"Worry not, we're just taking a break," he announced, sensing the weariness in your body. You protested weakly, but he wasn't having any of it. Your feet were aching and those eyelids of yours were incredibly heavy. Kyojuro, on the other hand, seemed to be unaffected by the long day of travel. 

"You look absolutely exhausted, my friend. I don’t want you falling asleep on the way back home," Kyojuro said, his flammable eyes glinting as if in the form of stars. "Besides, I don't want to give the others a chance to tease you about me carrying you all the way!" he added with a chuckle.

"But what about the demons?"

His fiery spirit blazed like the flames he wielded. He raised one of his fists to his chest proudly, his face alight with intense passion. 

"I'll take care of them! Just relax and snooze the sweetest of dreams by the fire. Leave the rest to me, friend!"

He patted your shoulder gently before turning his attention to the darkness beyond the fire, ready to face whatever demons might come their way.

You hesitated slightly, just coudn't shake off the feeling of guilt that washed over as you watched him tirelessly do all the work without your help. Despite his insistence, you wanted to be as useful as in any way you could, but only for him to refuse such kind offer.

But after all, your exhaustion won out.

„Thank you, Sir Rengoku.“

„Kyojuro, call me Kyojuro.“

He went about building the fire, skillfully arranging the wood and kindling until the flames roared to life. As he worked, he noticed the chill in the air and knew that you must be feeling it too.

"Hm. Take my haori," He smiled at his good work with the fire now burning much hotter than his flaming hair, offering you the oversized garment.

“Oh, thanks.“

"It's even bigger than you! Even more than enough to wrap around you like a blanket, though!" As he draped the haori over your shoulders, he couldn't help but laugh at the sight of you nearly disappearing beneath the voluminous fabric. The sound of your laughter joined his, and for a moment, the two of you were lost in the joy.

As the night settled in, the forest came alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures. The hooting of an owl echoed through the trees, bowing their wings in the moonlight. The stars twinkled in the sky, and the gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of wildflowers. It was a peaceful and serene moment, a moment that you wished would last forever.

And when the stillness of the forest enveloped you, a familiar voice broke the silence after quite some time. "You're still awake, any disturbance?" The Flame Hashira whispered softly, his presence a comforting one.

"I can't sleep." 

"That's alright," without hesitation, he settled down next to you, his reassuring energy grounding you whilst offering you a warm smile.

"Do you want to talk instead?" The invitation hung in the air between you two, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for his kindness. With him by your side, you knew that even the darkest of nights would be easier to bear.

„I'm just..Sir Rengoku, I am truly sorry for making you do all this work for nothing, I—I really tried to rest and all, but we could have just continued walking instead—“

„I didn't to this good work for nothing, I'd say.“ He reassured you, his voice kind and understanding as always, yet never quiet. „Even if you're not asleep, your body and soul still need rest. If we had continued walking instead of stopping here, I guarantee you I would have actually carried you all the way, one way or another!“

His laughter rang out, the sound filling the peaceful surroundings.

„So, worry not!“

For a fleeting moment, the silence between you and the Flame Hashira was palpable, heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions. Your eyes met and your fingers fidgeted nervously, punctuating the stillness with small gestures. In that instant, the already-quiet night seemed to grow even more hushed, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

 „Well?“

„Well what?“

"Since you're already in no shape to sleep, will a little heart-to-heart do the trick?" he clarified, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Heart-to-heart?“ you repeated, a hint of amusement in your voice. "Is that what you call a late-night talk?" You couldn't help but grin at the playful term, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort settle over you as you settled into the easy rhythm of your banter.

Together, you whiled away the hours, sharing stories and jokes and just being yourselves. But when the conversation turned to the topic of family, you grew quiet.

And Kyojuro noticed that.

“Hey there now,” he said, placing a warm hand on your shoulder.

"I know it's tough. I've been there myself, when I lost my mother. We had so many plans together, so many words of encouragement left unsaid. She was an incredible woman, with the most beautiful smile I've ever seen."

"I'm really sorry about that.. I, I believe she was really a wonderful woman."

He nodded. "There is no such need to be sorry, I'm very glad that woman was someone I could call mother on my own. She taught me something important before she took her last breath - she taught me to never give up. To always keep fighting, no matter what. And that's what I try to do every day . To protect the weaker ones, ones for whom my heart beats the most."

"A truly wonderful woman, raising you so well..I can't help but admire you, Sir.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, watching the fire crackle until there was something else to be told.

"You know," he began, "I have a younger brother, too. His name is Senjuro, he's the bravest guy I know— just don't tell him I just made that up!"

You looked at him curiously with a smile on your face. "I'll be able to meet him? Really?!"

"I don't see why not, my friend! Apart from being so quick to fear anything, his heart burns hotter than any horror in his path. He is a talented swordsman, my little hero as I like to call him."

You could hear the pride in Kyojuro’s voice, not knowing whether to ask the next question or not. "And your father?"

In the blink of an eye, you noticed how all that pride settled down, watching his face also change its happy position of the lips from a smile to something a little more serious, darker.

"Oh? My father..My father, I suppose, was never a father figure to us. He always did his own thing and didn't seem to care about us. Senjuro and I were the only family we had, but no matter what kind of father he is, I hope he finds peace. Losing a loved one can be devastating, and I understand his anger. It's not just anger itself, it's the pain of grief and the struggle to cope with loss.”

"Right, I believe he experienced a lot, even what he neither needed nor wanted. I'm sorry if this is all too much for you..I shouldn't have dragged it into the topic." you whisper, but his smile only warms your heart even more, and you feel a sense of relief.

"I appreciate your attentiveness, but you don't need to apologize so much. It's truly refreshing to talk to someone who listens so well." he replies, fixing you a little better with the haori you were wrapped in like a granny.  

"Remember that no matter what you're going through, you're not alone. We're all in this together!"

His words resonate deeply within you, and you feel a renewed sense of hope and strength. With a small smile, you settle back into your spot by the fire, feeling comforted and at peace.

You were overwhelmed with gratitude and struggled to find a way to express it adequately. Though you had thanked him verbally countless times, you knew those words didn't truly capture the depth of your appreciation, so you reached out your hands and embraced him tighly, feeling the warmth of your shared bond radiating in between the two of you.

„Thank you, Sir Rengoku, I really mean it.“

„Kyojuro!“

„Kyojuro, right, right! No need to be so scary!“ You cackled at his boisterousness.

It was a warmth that surpassed even the cozy embrace of that haori of his and the flickering flame of the campfire. This hug was the truest expression of your gratitude, to which he chuckled at heart.

„Although your parents may not fully support your dreams at the moment, it's important to persevere and not give up easily. Keep working hard towards your goals, and someday you'll achieve the victory you're seeking!"

You didn't even have a chance to glance at the time before your eyelids fluttered shut, the darkness engulfing you like a soft blanket. For what felt like hours, you slept soundly, lulled by the distant calls of nocturnal creatures like night owls who praised the moonlight over the world once again.

When you finally stirred, the first rays of dawn caressed your face, welcoming you back to the world of the living. You felt as though you were cradled in the arms of a loving parent, far softer than the rough bark of the tree you had leaned on before drifting off. As your eyes opened, you were momentarily disoriented, wondering where the fire and the tree had gone. Instead, you saw an endless blue sky stretching out above you, and a road stretching out ahead like an invitation.

"Good morning!“ Rengoku's booming voice broke through the peace once again, his strong arms carrying you effortlessly towards the entrance in a flash. The Butterfly Estate.

As you emerged into the light, you were greeted by the warm smiles of your companions, including Tanjiro and his playful friends. They welcomed you with open arms, thrilled to see you up and about once more. You couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you, knowing that you were safe in their care.

However, as you stepped into the main hall, you were immediately greeted by a chorus of playful teasing, which were not to your liking.

"Ooh, looks like Kyojuro has found himself a new lady friend!," Kanzaki giggled, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

"I see you've taken to carrying your companions around like princesses, Kyojuro," Kocho remarked dryly, though you could detect a hint of amusement in her voice.

The Flame Hashira merely chuckled, having those sparkling eyes wide open. "Our fellow Hashira was exhausted after the battle, and I didn't want to risk injuring her further by making her walk," he explained, his arm still wrapped protectively around your waist.

“So, Kocho, could you please double-check her just to be safe? Though I am confident that everything is intact. I made sure to pay attention to all aspects of the situation.”

The others exchanged knowing looks, their teasing continuing in good-natured ribbing. Despite the initial embarrassment, you found yourself laughing along with them, feeling grateful for the camaraderie and lightheartedness in the midst of such grave circumstances.

You reached out and gently touched his hand, feeling a surge of admiration for the Hashira who had taken you under his wing, your mind buzzing with possibilities, knowing that your journey as a Demon Slayer was only just the beginning.

.

.

𓆩♡𓆪

[see-arcane]

I don't think Mina is now but a mindless plaything being led to the castle by the guy who very much does *not* want her to reach him tbh. My read is that it is her Dracula-induced senses that help her know where to go in reaching her destination, his lair, the closer they get to it. Senses she has harnessed, because she's confident instead of freaked out about it. Of course, Jonathan has written about the sharp turn on that road too, so she explains it away that way, as telling Van Helsing "don't freak out but I can do that now" would have made him think she's now pretty much turned.

Honestly, this whole scene and the premise of the coming scenes in which [SPOILERS] we meet up with the Weird Sisters is a very mixed bag ability and intention-wise. The way I break it down is:

-Mina already had something like intuitive/psychic ability prior to Dracula chomping on her. She has little blips of more than ordinary Awareness throughout the novel--and one juicy line is yet to come regarding her awareness of Jonathan 👀--that don't really tie into the Count's whole shtick. Whatever was already there might have gotten spurred into greater action by the vampirism like waking up an underused muscle, but...

-...despite Dracula's consciousness/voice being present in hers with the hypnotic trance, I doubt he really needed to be the one to have Mina point out the path with 'stolen knowledge.' Jonathan did write about the way up to the Castle! But then he also wrote about how Dracula kept driving him in circles to waste time and disorient him. All of which was happening in the dark. Maybe she gleaned enough from that entry, maybe not. But I suspect she'd have put the route together regardless and her current creepiness was what threw Van Helsing off.

-That said, I think where a lot of folks are putting their foot down as far as 'this is removing her agency/power!' or 'Dracula wouldn't want her to know how to get up there, it's a secret stealth-girlboss move!' etc etc is that it kind of overlooks a few important points.

One, Re: Dracula almost certainly threw in Dracula's consciousness being present for the "My Jonathan" line alone. It adds more horror to the scene, an extra gut punch, and provides a way to sneak in a few more lines for Karim Kronfli. It made my skin crawl to think about that smug fucker making use of the temporary trance-connection to spit that unctuous claim out. Which is the point! It makes you want to punch the bastard's fangs in even more!

Two, it's not him robbing her of anything (much as he'd like to somehow take even more from her). Their minds are mingled soup whenever the hypnosis happens. That's how she's been able to get anything out of the Count's mind in the first place. Nothing has changed in the status quo apart from the fact that she's been growing harder to get any info from.

Three, I would bet good money Dracula would genuinely be super eager to see Van Helsing and Mina mosey on up to the territory where his three weed-smoking baby-eating girlfriends are lurking around. Not just because he's still a cocky fucker when it comes to his/his thralls' power, but because here, now, he has every reason to be that cocky.

Van Helsing has never killed a vampire at this point. Arthur and Jack took the Bloofer Lady apart. The guys are all closing in on Dracula with their numbers and strength and weapons.

But him? An openly terrified old man, traveling up into the mountains that are Dracula's admitted place of power, perhaps even a genius loci, with a companion who is quickly turning into his murderer-in-potentia, specifically to confront Three Whole Vampires to hopefully catch them unawares in their coffins if he doesn't get torn to shreds or eaten first? Even having read the book, I would still hesitate to bet on the professor. If I were Dracula, I'd be brain-texting the Weird Sisters to roll out a red carpet and paint arrows on the mountains.

THIS WAY TO YOUR BIG HEROIC SCENE, OLD MAN!

NEVER MIND THE UNMARKED GRAVES OF CENTURIES' WORTH OF TRANSYLVANIAN LOCALS WHO TRIED TO BE A HERO BEFORE YOU!

WE HAVE UTMOST CONFIDENCE THAT YOU!--YOU ALONE!--WILL DEFINITELY BE THE EXCEPTION!

PLEASE WASH YOUR NECK BEFORE PROCEEDING BEYOND THIS POINT!

In short, it would make sense that Dracula wants to let Van Helsing know the route to Exsanguination Station. He has zero reason to expect that events will align in any way that's not in his favor on his own territory with his bloodthirsty thralls on alert. Perish the thought!

(If you listen close, you can almost hear Bram Stoker rubbing his hands together and snickering behind the fourth wall.)

[gotta-pet-em-all]

[An audio file is attached. Would you like to listen?

"Okay. So this is going to keep recording your voice while we talk," Pine explains.

"Fascinating," says someone, muffled slightly as if behind glass. "I’ve seen photography cameras that can preserve images, but now they can do the same with voices?"

Fluff gives a short laugh. "Yeah. You can even take videos. If you want, after this I can show you some of my little feather baby Cari! She’s a togetic."

"I see… I need a moment."

"Ah, sorry. Is it overwhelming?"

A pause where a shrug might be. "Not really. The ginkgo guild would frequently have us take time to organize, with only minimal local contact after we reached a new place. So I don’t mind the quarantine much, unlike my neighbors."

"Oh shit, we haven't introduced ourselves," Fluff realizes. The audio file cuts to elevator music for a moment.

"Volo Ward, merchant of the Ginkgo Guild. Typically, you’re supposed to introduce yourself by where you’re from, but I don’t exactly have that. So my occupation will have to do."

"So you traveled?" Pine asks, sounding excited. "What sort of places did you see? What kind of cultural differences did you notice?"

"The damned Kalosians, I swear. They have the best textiles, so we’d buy things wholesale from them to distribute, but they didn’t standardize their textile names. So you had to go to six suppliers and get seven names for the same fabric. We had to recruit someone to help us label them. Apparently there’s a general name, and then there’s the local name, and you need both. Ah, what else… in Paldea, the roads aren’t traveled much after dark, so the local kids will play on the roads outside of their houses. I was allowed to join in, once I’d finished my chores."

Fabric rustles for a moment before Pine asks, "Do you recognize what this is for?"

"Oh!" Volo sounds pleasantly surprised. "I used to play with those all the time as a kid. Why is it labeled a ritual object?"

"I think that’s something archaeologists do when they don’t want to admit that they don’t know what’s going on," Fluff says, with all the confidence of someone who knows only what she's been told about archaeology by people who are thoroughly pissed at the field but love it anyways.

"Not to be petty but I am going to demolish some of the ignorant old quacks in this field," Pine says, very quietly, with malicious intent.

"As you should!" A muffled thump. "It’s a beautiful field that’s been tainted by ignorance and racism from old men who think they know better than anyone else and treat it as a curiosity rather than giving it the love it deserves. Ah-- apologies. I didn't mean to get that heated."

"Oh, our partner would love to chat with you," Fluff says confidently. There follows a few moments of audible confusion before Volo seems to remember non-monogamy as an option.

"So, ah. I’m afraid I’ve never been up to date on the culture around me, so you might want to ask one of the sisters if you can get them to talk to you. They like gold, but they’ll take food too. Hm… I could tell you about my job?"

"With the Ginkgo Guild? What sort of wares did you typically sell?"

"Hm, lots of potions recently. Things are changing, and pokemon are-- were, ah, seen as beings to live alongside, rather than to fear and revere and only use for one’s own purposes. Medicinal leeks were the bread and butter of our trade."

"They’re endangered in the wild now," Fluff says, almost apologetically. "Overharvesting. They had to synthesize an alternative."

"...I see. You used to be able to find them wherever there was a shady spot under a tree. Near rivers, too. I’ll miss them. When I was a kid, I learned that if I got a cut, I could just snap off a little bit of the stem and rub it on, and it would keep the wound from going sour."

Pine makes a confused noise. "Wait, how old are you? Or is this a thing where the age of majority was different?"

"Twenty-six," Volo says flatly. There is an long pause. "I look about as old as your friend, I know."

"Wait, how old do you think I am?" Fluff asks. "To clarify. I thought you might be.... twelve?"

"You look maybe thirteen."

"Nineteen. Actually," she says tiredly. "Chronic baby face, I’m looking forward to getting grey hairs. My condolences."

A pause, as Volo searches for the right words. "The timespace distortion changed me. And my pokemon as well. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it."

"Are you okay with talking about the Nobles and their purpose, then? If you'd rather not talk about yourself."

Volo makes a vague noise. "Rei would know more than me. Ah, but he and I aren't on speaking terms at the moment. I don’t really exactly have any desire to go back. All of us are here because we chose to leave Hisui behind, after all."

"Wasn't it... your home? Or, I know you roamed, but an entirely new era can't be easy to adapt to...."

"It won't be, no. But I’m looking for a fresh start. I suppose I was looking for the approval of someone who was supposed to watch over me and my family. But it never happened. I waited all that time, but I was never worth coming back for."

"…your dad?" Fluff guesses.

"No. A deity," Volo says dryly. "Ah, what’s the modern term? A deadbeat dad."

Pine makes a choked laugh. "I-- you're not wrong."

"Well, uh. Welcome to Pasio. I made bread?" Fluff offers.

"I saw that," Volo says, sounding amused. "Thank you. I'm likely going to wait out my containment in here, and then explore, see what this new world has to offer."

There's the sound of a door opening, and a new voice. "Hey, uh. Are you guys about finished up? I was going to visit my cousin real quick."

"That's all right. I think I was just finished here," Volo says. "Clover? Could you please tell Rei his cousin is here to visit?"

Video ends.

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 7: Out of the Woods

Welcome back to my continued to be filled with spoilers reread of The Wheel of Time. If you don't like spoilers, retreat to the woods or possibly start vandalizing your nearest auto body customizer, depending on what's more convenient to you! If you do, read on.

First, I realize I'd been forgetting to do chapter icons since my bad day so let's cover those real fast!

The Gleeman had a harp icon, which is sort of Thom's personal chapter symbol, so naturally he's the biggest player in that chapter.

The Westwood had a heron-marked sword icon, which usually refers to blademasters, including Rand. It likely symbolizes Tam and his recollections of the Bloody Snows.

Both this chapter and Winternight have a leafless tree with the moon behind it, often referring to travels through the woods at night (like Rand had to do to get back to the house in chapter five). I guess in this chapter it just refers to getting out of the woods because dawn breaks early into it and Rand reaches the village soon after.

Okay, hopefully that's the last time I forget and realistically it is the twenty-sixth to last. Onto the text!

He no longer felt the strip of cloth digging into his shoulders, but then he felt nothing in his shoulders except numbness, nor in his feet, for that matter. In between, it was another matter. His breath came in labored pants that had long since set his throat and lungs to burning, and hunger twisted his stomach into queasy sickness.

You can tell Jordan was no stranger to all-night marches through the woods. His military experience really elevates a lot of these kinds of sequences.

Vaguely he caught the smell of woodsmoke. At least he was almost there if he could smell the village chimneys. A tired smile had only begun on his face, though, when it turned to a frown. Smoke lay heavy in the air—too heavy.

Poor Rand, having come so far only to be smacked in the face by reality now. At least he's clever enough to figure out what he missed: that the Trollocs heading down the road to his house implied they'd been coming from where the road led.

Grimy-faced villagers, some yet in their night clothes, poked through the ashes, here pulling free a cookpot, there simply prodding forlornly at the wreckage with a stick.

The Grinch should have just burned the Whos out of Whoville. There wouldn't have been any wimpy singing then!

The destruction seemed scattered at random through the village. Five houses marched untouched in one row, while in another place a lone survivor stood surrounded by desolation.

Is it actually at random, or did every house hit have a young man in the general age range living in it?

Egwene, running by with her arms full of bedsheets torn into bandages, looked around at them without slowing. Her eyes stared at something in the far distance; dark circles made them appear even larger than they actually were.

Like Rand, Egwene has spent the whole night running around and trying to deal with the wounded, though she has the slight benefit that her family isn't among them. Though she's seen a lot more people, and probably a lot of dead men. It's no surprise that when she figures out Moiraine is her ticket out of here, she runs. She's traumatized already.

He wondered why her hands were clean when smudges of soot marked her cheeks.

Because something even more valuable than the printing press survived the Breaking, Rand. People know to wash their hands when tending the sick and wounded, but she hasn't had time to clean herself in any other way.

Alsbet cracked one’s skull with a frying pan. She took one look at the ashes of our house this morning and set out hunting around the village with the biggest hammer she could dig out of what’s left of the forge, just in case any of them hid instead of running away.

Really, it's kind of surprising that the Two Rivers folk needed Perrin to come home when they had Alsbet.

“You have to do something. You have to. You’re the Wisdom.” Pain twisted her face, but only for an instant, then she was all hollow-eyed resolve again, her voice emotionless and firm.

Poor Rand, to have come so far and survived so much only to be told it's all for nothing. And poor Nynaeve, to finally have everyone's unconditional respect only when she can't help them as much as she wants to.

Suddenly he was knocked back a step as Egwene cannoned into him, throwing her arms around him. Her hug was hard enough to bring a grunt from him any other time; now he only looked silently at the door behind which his hopes had vanished.

I'm really sad that their relationship is all downhill from here (well, flat for a few books but then downhill). It's a shame that they can't come to express this kind of care for each other at the end.

Oh and because I'm being fair, note that Jordan is using an anachronistic verb here. A lot of people give Sanderson shit for his anachronisms but Jordan wasn't quite perfect, especially in this first book.

Another of the Dhurran stallions passed him, its harness straps tied around the ankles of a big shape draped with a dirty blanket. Arms covered with coarse hair dragged in the dirt behind the blanket, and one corner was pushed up to reveal a goat’s horn.

Earlier Rand saw one of the stallions dragging something towards what he thought were Bel Tine bonfires, but we can now discount that impression well before he catches up to the truth. The three flames are just for cremating the enemy dead.

As he made his way down the Green, people called to him, some from the ruins of their homes, asking if they could help. He heard them only as murmurs in the background, even when they walked alongside him for a distance as they spoke. Without really thinking about it he managed words that said he needed no help, that everything was being taken care of. When they left him, with worried looks, and sometimes a comment about sending Nynaeve to him, he noticed that just as little.

This is a little microcosm of a lot of Rand's interactions with his allies to come, and it's no surprise he doesn't associate this dissociation with anything negative when it's rather adjacent to his meditation technique AND on this first big occasion it's going to pay off as well as he could hope.

All that was left of the peddler’s wagon, though, were blackened iron wheel-rims leaning against the charred wagon box, now on the ground. The big round hoops that had held up the canvas cover slanted crazily, each at a different angle.

Is there any Darkfriend who doesn't get screwed over by their association with the Shadow?

Suddenly he found himself facing something scrawled on the inn door, a curving line scratched with a charred stick, a charcoal teardrop balanced on its point. So much had happened that it hardly surprised him to find the Dragon’s Fang marked on the door of the Winespring Inn.

Rather amusingly, despite the ill-intent of the symbol, it serves as a foretelling of who has come to the inn on the first day of spring.

“Nynaeve wouldn’t do anything. She said she couldn’t help him. I knew . . . I hoped you’d think of something.”

It's also something of a microcosm of the series as a whole that every authority figure is failing Rand, even these ones who mean well. By the end of the series, virtually all the major power players will have been replaced by Rand or his enemies, or be part of a weird prophecy clique that meant forsaking all of their actual duties that he was counting on them fulfilling. The Wise Ones are basically the only exception and they've spent the last 3,500 years prepping for his arrival.

“I was just wondering,” Thom said, tamping his long-stemmed pipe with his thumb, “if the Mayor knew who scrawled the Dragon’s Fang on his door.” He peered into the bowl, then looked at Tam and replaced the unlit pipe between his teeth with a sigh. “Someone seems not to like him anymore. Or maybe it’s his guests they don’t like.”

Thom is of course so addicted to speaking in riddles that he can't give a straightforward bit of advice in a medical emergency. Thanks Thom!

“We just ran like chickens with a fox in the henyard till Master Lan put some backbone into us.” “No need to be so hard,” Thom said. “You did as well as anyone could. Not every Trolloc lying out there fell to the two of them.”

I suspect that really some people - like Alsbet - were putting up a struggle the whole time and that Moiraine and Lan only rallied the stragglers.

Help from an Aes Sedai was sometimes worse than no help at all, so the stories said, like poison in a pie, and their gifts always had a hook in them, like fishbait.

And in this case, Moiraine has a hell of a hook.

“Some of the stories are exaggerated, in a way,” Thom added, as if the words were being dragged from him.

It actually really pains Thom to suggest a young boy seek out the Aes Sedai, all things considered. And it says a good deal about him that he can put aside a very justifiable hatred, even only a little, for the good of a complete stranger.

“Seven bands. Seven! That many have not acted together since the Trolloc Wars. Bad news piles on bad news. I am afraid, Lan. I thought we had gained a march, but we may be further behind than ever.”

Trolloc bands are another thing that will rapidly become irrelevant. I think they get mentioned again in Jordan's last book, but really only as a background detail. I'm much more interested in Moiraine saying they're "further behind than ever". They weren't especially behind in New Spring. What's changed since then?

Surely there must be something about an Aes Sedai to mark her for what she was.

The ageless face. The Great Serpent ring. Sorry that she's not wearing a jersey that says "Damodred 01" so that you know she's the tiniest member of the Blue Ajah.

“A night like that can give a man bad dreams, Rand. If you have nightmares, you must tell me of it. I can help with bad dreams, sometimes.”

I think the sleep deprivation is both making Moiraine seem creepier than she intends to and preventing her from considering that Rand wouldn't have had much sleep today either.

“I’ll pay any price in my power if you help him. Anything.”

Just imagine if Rand had been involved in the Bowl of the Winds debacle; he'd make Elayne and Nynaeve look like Nelson Mandela. "We'll give you all land within a hundred miles of a river if you just agree to use the Bowl that we hereby agree has always been your property and that we owe you rental payments with interest on."

(Yes Rand is a shrewder negotiator by that point but come on he's spent a few pages panicking about Aes Sedai help and instantly agrees to be screwed over every which way if she'll just help him.)

“Death comes sooner or later to everyone,” the Warder said grimly, “unless they serve the Dark One, and only fools are willing to pay that price.”

This is foreshadowing for the Forsaken resurrections of course, but it's also amusingly backwards. Serving the Dark One means you get MORE deaths per lifetime than the average, not fewer.

“You think only of taking care of me. Why should he not think the same of his father?” Lan scowled, but fell silent.

Just like Rand spent all of yesterday afternoon hoping Lan would adopt him, Lan has spent much of his freetime hoping he gets to adopt the crazy Aiel farmer, so seeing him suddenly so loyal to his REAL adoptive father is very hurtful after such a miserable night.

[thinplacesradio]

darkness to the left, a stream on the right, flowing over rocks under a distant bridge; bare trees reach over the water. the image is distorted by VCR static. white text reads:

[023] THE TEST. A CALLER MISSES AN OPPORTUNITY. THE HOST WADES IN.

listen here, or anywhere you find your podcasts. transcript under the cut:

[static, radio tuning]

[Traveling Sales Rep: Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back, after these short messages.] [static, radio tuning]

[click]

Hello and welcome to Thin Places Radio. I’m your host,

and it is the middle of the night. But don’t worry. You’re not alone.

[Thin Places theme]

[water sloshing and flowing] [crickets chirping] [owl hooting]

I’m coming to you in the flow from my studio, which is what I like to call this stream I am currently standing in, pant cuffs rolled up to just below my knees. The water’s cold. It’s dusk, and there were too many mosquitos when I got out of the car wherever I am now to grab the winter coat that I saw caught in the barbed wire of the fence that’s stretching across this little hill. The hood is shredded, but the lining’s still intact, and that’s what matters. The road provides.

Mosquitos don’t like running water. They look for stagnant pools to lay their eggs. I think that’s something I might have judged them for, even just a few months ago. But don’t we all need a place to lay our heads? Every night I move, like water. I thought that meant I was always changing. Maybe it did. But isn’t there something stagnant about always doing the same thing, too?

I’ll wait them out. It really is freezing, though.

[water burbles]

So… what is Thin Places Radio? Well, you can call in about anything strange that you’ve got going on in your life - feelings, omens, premonitions, hauntings.

Do you keep seeing cardinals?

Are you being tested?

Did you have a vision from the other side?

When the veil between worlds is thin, we get closer than ever to the strange and the unexplained - but also to each other. Call in, get it off your chest. Lines are open.

[click] [voicemail:]

I was in London several years ago for work, and a colleague and I were walking from a pub to dinner, and all of a sudden the woman appeared out of nowhere, uh, asking for money. Our initial response was to say no and to continue on our walk, but we reconsidered and turned around, and we turned around, she was gone - vanished. Even though it was a small, narrow alleyway that we were walking down. Was this some kind of a test? Was she a figment of our imagination? Not really sure what happened, but we've really thought about it since then.

[click]

Mm. Thank you for your quandary, caller. The shorter answer is: I don’t know. But here’s the long one:

She was real. You know that she was real - not because you both saw her, but because she’s still on both your minds. But was it a test? And if it was a test, what kind of test was it?

[searching music]

I want to tell you that it wasn’t, that life doesn’t work that way - that we're not being judged and measured by every small failing we accumulate. I don’t think that life is a test, but I think that we are often tested by it. We're often weighed down by our own shortcomings.

I don’t know if what happened back then was a test, but it’s become one since then. You’ve made it one in your memory through the very act of failing it. You have measured yourself and found yourself wanting. That’s a good sign, as long as you take it with you into the future instead of getting mired in the past.

Someone told me once that your second thought is the one that matters - the one that shows who you really are, once you take a moment to think a situation through, to recognize your own biases and internal voices, and lay them aside. This is good. But sometimes the second thought just comes too late. Sometimes the apology isn't accepted. Sometimes there’s damage done. Sometimes when you turn back to do the right thing, the person you wanted to help has vanished.

And what then? Maybe, then, we stop testing ourselves. Maybe we just try to make it right the next time.

[click] [Traveling Sales Rep over bouncy, distorted music:]

- we’ll work with YOU to get you the deal you deserve. Pay what you can. Because there’s always something you can pay. There’s always something you can give. What do you want? [voice distorts] What would you hand over to get it? [pause] Call now, and we’ll throw in a free -

[click]

[water flowing] [crickets chirping]

It’s dark - really dark, now. My feet have gone numb here, and my coat has gone warm, which means that it’s time for me to keep moving. I don’t have anything miring me, here in the present or back in the past. I never do. I don’t know if that’s a good thing.

I thought it was, when - when I - I don’t know. [frustrated] I can’t remember what happened. What I’ve done. That’s the anchor in the back of my head, now. Remembering that I don’t remember. Remembering that there was something to forget at all.

[owl hoots] [the host takes a steadying breath]

Okay. I’m going to run back to my car, now, from this ordinary stream, on unsteady feet that will sting as I pump blood back into them again, and I’ll probably fall on the way there, and my feet will burn when they thaw out, and I will savor all of these sensations as they come. Wish me luck.

[water sloshes as she gets out of the stream]

[distantly:] oh, oh my god, okay, ahh-

[click]

Thank you for listening, callers, and thank you for calling, listeners. I hope you feel a little bit lighter. I know I do. As always, our number is 717.382.8093. That’s 717.382.8093. Until next time. I’ll be here.

[static] [Traveling Sales Rep: visit us at the - diner just off -] [Various Garbled Voices: the - road - provides - the - road - provides -]

Thin Places Radio is a podcast written by Kristen O’Neal and produced by Kaitlin Bruder. The voice of Your Host is Kristen O’Neal.

Tonight’s voicemail was left for us by Kevin. The SFX, music, and voice of our Travelling Sales Rep are by Miles Morkri. Editing and sound design are by Kaitlin Bruder, and the music tracks you heard in tonight’s episode are: the Thin Places theme, by Miles Morkri, and Umeed by RANA. If you have a question to ask, a story to tell, or a suggestion for the host, give us a call at ‪(717) 382-8093. The lines are always open.

[Thin Places Theme outro]

[strangerwheelerthings]

Nancy playing dungeons and dragons as kids

This was so fun to write! Thank you!

----

Mike threw open her door and barged into her room. “Nancy! Look at this cool game Lucas found! It’s called Dungeons and Dragons, and you get to go on fantasy quests. It’s better with more than three people though, would you be willing to play with us? Will’s asking Jonathan too.”

Nancy looked up from her novel. “What’s involved?”

He jumped onto her bed beside her, tugging the book from her hands and plopping a new one into them. The cover depicted a mythical dragon fighting a knight.  

“There’s a whole manual with information about the monsters and fantasy races you can play as and fight. There’s this person called the dungeon master who leads the other players through a story and plays as the side characters, like the villains and allies. I bet you would be really good at that. You do the best character voices!”

Nancy snatched her fantasy novel back from the dangerous hands of her eight year old brother. After setting the book safely aside, she flipped through pages of the manual. It was filled with art and pictures of various creatures and spells. It looked really awesome actually. “Sure, why not, I’ll be your story teller, or whatever it was called. It’d be better than having one of you dorkasauruses do it. ”

Her brother didn’t even acknowledge the jibe. “Yes! I have to tell Lucas and Will! They were fighting over who would have to do that.” He jumped off her bed with a fist pump. “Let’s go!”

“Hold your horses for two seconds! If I’m supposed to be leading some kind of story, I’m going to need some time to figure this whole thing out. Give me a few days. Aren’t you three having another play date on Saturday?”

He pouted. “Yeah, ok.” His mood flipped again. “This is going to be so cool! My character’s going to be a dragon killing knight! Heiya!” He mimed waving a sword around as he ran out of the room. She giggled at his enthusiasm before noticing that he forgot to shut the door behind him. “Mike! Close the dang door!”

She started studying the manual immediately. She wanted to know the rules inside and out. Mike had presented a challenge, and she was going to master it. Over the next few days, the manual was juggled between the many hands trying to learn everything about the game. They were preparing character sheets while she learned the details of the world and made a few of her own. Jonathan required some cajoling from Will, but eventually he agreed to join in a game. 

On Saturday morning, they all crowded into the Wheeler’s basement and set up. Nancy was nervous, but mostly excited. She thought the boys would probably like what she had planned. Thankfully, they had managed to get a few sets of dice, though Will and Jonathan would have to share theirs. The younger boys took out the papers and grinned at her with eager faces. Jonathan did not look nearly as excited. 

She took a breath, giving them a moment to calm down before she started the introduction. “Our tale begins on the outskirts of a dwarven town. There have been rumors of children across the whole valley going missing. A tall figure sits in the corner of a tavern, called there in search of a mystery.” She gestured to Mike. “Mike, describe your character.”

He dove into an extremely detailed account of his human paladin’s armor and wickedly cool sword. 

“Three men in worn traveling cloaks approach you. They have been many days on the road. They hail from different places, but found camaraderie and protection in joining forces against dangerous bandit attacks. Will, Lucas, Jonathan, describe your characters.”

Will jumped to describe a powerful, yet spindly human wizard. Lucas went next, painting the image of a colorful and charming tiefling ranger. Jonathan’s turn was brief and to the point as he said he was a dark and mysterious rogue elf. They were ready to start the actual roleplay.

“Boys, you reach the table that Malavin sits at. What do you say to him?”

The dialogue was slow and awkward in the beginning, as they struggled to get their improve legs under them. Eventually the story started going smoother and the awkwardness faded. They seemed to get very invested in the mystery she had spent hours agonizing over. Finally they reached the moment of reveal. 

She shifted in her seat, eagerly awaiting their reactions as she revealed the betrayal of the helpful town deputy. She was not disappointed. The table erupted in uproar. The boys jumped from their seats. 

“What!?!?”

Nancy couldn’t hold back the laugh bubbling in her throat. She choked it down after a moment, and started speaking in a low and dark voice. “Kanjigar’s evil smirk starts to widen and shift. Something is happening. The human facade is falling, his form starts bulging and growing. His skin stretches, changing into a sickly blue. An Oni stands before you. Everyone, roll initiative.”

After another freak out, they got serious and prepared to fight such a dangerous creature. They managed to survive by the skin of their teeth and a few miraculous saving throws. Even Nancy jumped to her feet in excitement when Will rolled a natural twenty at the most critical moment, taking the monster down with one final blow. 

They were all hopped up on adrenaline and energy as they closed the quest and finished the story. That had been so fun. Her little brother and his friends had loved it! The four of them easily decided that this would have to happen again, with a longer campaign the next time. Jonathan respectfully opted out but thankfully a party of three would be enough for a fun game still. She wanted to create something even better next time, something that the boys would love. Her favorite part of the part was how happy it made them, but also the challenge of setting up interesting plot points and watching them react. 

--- --- ---

Over the next couple years, Nancy DMed for them many times. The boys grew older and more confident in the game, and started running their own campaigns. When Dustin joined the party, he brought a fun new energy to the group. His arrival also meant that she wasn’t needed to play anymore.

Nancy was growing older herself, and she didn’t find being a part of the party as fun as being the DM. When she made her own best friend, Barb, she stopped playing with them altogether. Barb wouldn’t like D&D anyway. She’d think Nancy was a crazy geek, especially for enjoying the game as much as her little brother. Little boys were obnoxious anyway, Nancy didn’t know why she had liked the stupid game in the first place. Yes she did.

[nycteres]

Ira Deorum

WIP Prologue for longer fic | Fandom: BG3 | CW: Mildly implied child neglect.

Trying to actually write my dumb little BG3 Protag fanfic. 😭 Idk how far I'll get but i needed a place to store this that was easier than google docs lmao.

Bards and poets alike - the egocentric windbags that they are - have often said, ‘Home is the first grave’.

Aphrodite walks down a dirt and clay road - one she hoped she’d never have to set foot on again - and tries to put the saying out of her mind.

Red road dust licks at her heels. It’s clumped along the straps of her sandals, adding new grit with every step for the last several miles. The hem of her skirt is similarly soiled, clay and linen tangled together, swishing around her ankles sad and deflated.

Half-buried before she’s even reached the doorstep.

By the time the farmhouse comes into view, her tail drags across the ground. It carves little furrows, kicking up more dirt; covering the vibrant purple of her skin with a layer of rusty brown. It hooks on stones and pebbles and she lets it. A yoke she must drag forward. Feeling less like a Tiefling and more like a workhorse with every step.

No one greets her, not when the steps groan loudly at her weight. Not even when the door swings open on tired hinges, with a protesting creak.

Her mother stands in the kitchen, in the same spot she always has, as if she’d never left it in all those years. Sorting beans with quick hands and a tired air.

“Oh,” She startles when seeing her. Bringing a hand up to her chest and letting loose a dramatic sigh. “You gave me a fright there, we weren’t expecting you till tomorrow.”

“I walk fast,” Aphrodite says, doing what she must. Laying her pack down on a nearby chair and folding her mother into a hug.

She’s just a small as she was last time. Fitting neatly into the space at Aphrodite’s shoulder, hands creased and rough as they fiddle with her blouse, fastidiously tugging at garments that are still well in their place.

Her mother’s complexion is of a similar color, if faded by time and sun. Not an eye catching, violent purple, that Aphrodite takes pain to contrast against fine silks and glittering metals.

Her coloration is almost dun. A muddy violet, chapped and wind worn, one that looks dull even against Aphrodite’s third best traveling cloak. The one made of sensible, dark brown wool. The kind that wont offend her parents with its excess. It’s only concessions to her tastes being the scarlet flowers one of the acrobats in her caravan had embroidered around the hood.

Everything in the farmhouse is muted and weathered. The hug is too, even if Aphrodite lingers out of the vague sense that this is what she owes, as a daughter. Whether she wants to give it or not.

They break away after long enough has passed. Counting the beats in her head until she can unwind her mothers arms, step out of their reach with pity and gentleness and relief.

“In any case, we’re always glad to have you.” Her mother says, going back to her beans with a gentle pat to her shoulder. “I could always use the help. You know how they are.”

“Hard to forget.” She says, sunny; with a drawling trill to her undertone.

Aphrodite’s sarcasm is deftly ignored. The shelled beans falling into the container in little stuttered taps, like rain on a tin roof. Echoes that fill the awkward silence.

“It’s worse than any of the others I’ve had.” Her mother offers. “You’re welcome to try if you feel that confident. He’ll be in the bedroom. It’s a task getting him to come out some days.”

“Really?” She can’t help but needle a bit. “A seasoned veteran like you, done in by a single child?”

“I said it to that priest so he could write it down for me in our letter. And I’ll say to you again now. He’s an odd one. There’s something off about that boy.”

Aphrodite hums, a soothing two tone sound she uses on particularly uppity clients. Falling into the usual song and dance, an worn groove of Deflect, De-escalate and Disengage.

“Why don’t you show me where he is? I’ll see what I can do while you finish up.”

Her mother shoots her a particularly nasty and tired look. One that says that Aphrodite knows exactly where the bedrooms are located and should need no guide.

She doesn't back down, but rolls her eyes. Leaning against the solid oak dining table. One of the few pieces of furniture that doesn't look like it’s old enough to have seen the second sundering. The one that she sent them money for, when their last table broke.

“It’s five steps down the hall, it’s not going to kill you.” She cajoles with a nasty and tired look of her own. “He’s - what? - three, he’d probably be more worried if a stranger came in without him knowing who they are.”

She gets her way in the end. Even if the acquiescence comes with a disgusted sigh. Her guide stomping down the hallway with ill grace.

The door to the third bedroom is thrown open with little fanfare. When Aphrodite steps through, it’s like swimming against a current of Déjà vu. Old memories superimposed against the current floor plan.

It looks different now than when she was last here. Housing one child instead of several. None of the triplets’ effects randomly clutter the floor. There aren’t lutes and lyres and badly whittled flutes to serve as a tripping hazard to unwary visitors. But parts of it are still same in the end.

Faded curtains, a rickety pallet bed. An endless pile of mended blankets to ward off the chill.

“I’m afraid I offended him by trying to get him into a change of clothes this morning. He’s refused to come out since then.” Her mother - their mother - gives another deep exhale. A new kind of weariness in her tone, surprising after eight children. But maybe it shouldn’t be, if one considers what little time she had actually spent with them.

“You’re welcome to try your hand at it,” She offers with a shake of her head, heading back to the kitchen. Not remembering or not caring that she had asked for an introduction.

Aphrodite shuts the door quietly behind her. Cutting off escape routes. Intimately familiar with which hiding spots a small child might favor.

She doesn’t find him in the chest of drawers, or behind the shabby little dresser in the corner. But the creak of a floorboard alerts her to her quarry. Taking pains to move slowly, she steps closer to the bed, sinks to her knees and shuffles under it as best as she can.

He’s wedged against the wall, pillbugged into a stiff little shape. Horns dusted with all the cobwebs that accumulate near the edge of the baseboards, where no one ever sweeps.

“Hello there,” She greets him, taking pains to keep her voice soft and pleasant.

Her brother doesn’t respond. Watching, waiting. With black sclera and bright pupils, a blazing orange that hearkened back to the eternal fires of Nessus.

Not even the shadows can hide the ridiculous coloration of the rest of him. As pink as she is purple, contrasting sharply against the cream linens and homey ginghams that cover their home.

“Well,” She says dryly, not bothered yet by his lack of response. “At least you got some of my good looks.”

“Fate has preserved you from looking like father, in any case,” Aphrodite whispers conspiratorially, knowing children love nothing more than being included in a good gossip session. “Cherry red is very passé I’m afraid.”

He doesn’t respond. But she can see his nails digging gouges into the wood. Still, tense, quiet.

Aphrodite switches tracks. It's the mark of a good conman, knowing when tailor your approach to the current audience.

“My name’s Aphrodite. I’m one of your sisters. Why don’t you come with me, and we can get you something to eat.”

She holds out her hand, dusty with the filth that accumulates underneath a bed. Prepared to wait for as long as it takes.

Which is a while, in the end. A long, expectant silence. Broken only by the roosters crowing outside.

“I promise I won’t make you change clothes.” She whispers conspiratorially. Playing her trump card.

Basking in the success of the moment. When that little hand folds into hers, and lets itself be shuffled out from underneath the bed, cobwebs and all.

His name is Adrammael. A name that is as predictably long and awkward as all of his other sibling’s names. To speak nothing of her own.

Their parents don’t even have the grace to remember which one of them came up with it.

“It’s practically child abuse to make you write that out, when you start learning your letters.” She says to him one evening. When they both sit inside the run, warming themselves in the sun.

“You look more like a Dram to me.” Aphrodite decides with firm certainty.

If Dram has any opinions on the subject, he doesn’t care to share them. Preoccupied with burying his face into one of the chickens that he’s coerced into sitting in his lap. Making one of those odd guttural, humming noises he seems so fond of, muffled by a mouthful of feathers.

Aphrodite would rather swallow a particularly hot coal than admit to her mother being right about anything, but in the privacy of her mind, she is forced to admit. There really is something off about that boy.

Dram takes to her easily enough despite that.

She takes to him too, despite the myriad of difficulties that have stopped their parents from doing the same.

Chief among them being that he doesn’t speak yet. No matter what sort of threat or bribe he’s faced with.

Dram does not speak, even though he’s of the age to. But to everyone’s annoyance - even hers - he has no problem with screaming. He screams when he’s angry and when he’s upset and when they make him wear certain articles of clothing.

He’ll run away if the dinner contains certain vegetables he’s not too fond of. Crawl under the table to hide when they have visitors. Press his hands to his ears and start up a slew of truly concerning vocalizations if he’s forced into a situation that isn’t to his liking.

He’s a terrible handful of a child - despite having practically raised her seven other siblings, possessing more than enough experience with kids of his age - and there are times where Aphrodite fantasizes about going back to her old caravan. Letting her parents sort this one out by themselves. Learn the consequences of not using any kind of protection for once in their lives.

It’s a beautiful fantasy. If one that falls apart pretty quickly.

Crumbling to pieces a little more every time she wakes up and finds him in her room yet again. Waiting to follow her around the house from dawn to dusk. Trailing after her skirts with a solemn stare that seems out of place on his round, little face.

The thrill of it wears down sooner than she thought. Banished completely when she gets him to sound out a word or two after trying for weeks on end. Realizing that it’s not that he can’t, but that he doesn’t want to.

The way he doesn’t want to try yams and the way he doesn’t want to be around their father any more than she does. Scurrying under furniture when he enters the room. The tip of his tail poking out from his hiding places like an over sized rat.

It doesn’t help that her parent’s fall back into old routines easily enough.

Aphrodite’s here after all. No need to look after your own child once the free labor has arrived.

A resentment that grows and festers. Bubbling over when she sees him scoot a stool next to the cabinets one afternoon. Clambering up to the counter in the stumbling, uncoordinated way children of that size navigate the world.

Clumsy, but practiced enough to manage on his own.

A child who had learned to get into the pantry to feed itself, since her parents were still in bed and she hadn’t thought to offer him lunch yet.

Aphrodite watches him gnaw on slightly stale bread. Letting a solid century of grievances darken her thoughts and spur on her pettiness.

Home may be the first grave, but she's not very inclined to bury the hatchet alongside herself.

“Dram,” She says carefully, setting him down from the counter. Reaching for that foreign power that perches on the back of her mind and delights in her rash decisions.

“How would you like to go on a trip with me?”

Dram doesn’t say anything. Keeps working on his snack with single-minded determination.

But his hand winds itself into the fabrics of her skirt easily enough. Tail twining around hers, more at ease with Aphrodite than he is with anyone else. Despite how little time she’s spent with him in comparison to their parents. Barely six weeks, by the time she thinks to start scheming.

“I think you’ll have fun.” Aphrodite pats his head, knowing he won’t mind too much in the end.

“I certainly won’t. Considering how I’ll have to give up most of my social life.”

She sighs dramatically - heartfelt and whiny - in a way she feels that befits someone going through great sacrifice. Letting it all out before she’s forced to move on more actionable concerns.

“But first, we need to eliminate the chance of any surprises of this kind happening again.” Aphrodite relishes the thought. Urging him towards the run. Letting him play with the chickens while she drafts an amendment to a particularly tricky contract, and tries to puzzle out the worth of a foreign body part.

Fae did have an unsettling lust for such things. One which she planned to exploit in her favor.

[mareastrorum]

WIP Wednesday: TF&TS (Alfield)

Here is a scene from an early chapter of a longfic I am working on.

Fanfic Summary: Mollymauk Tealeaf survived the encounter with the Iron Shepherds, but a short time later, a spirit had begun hunting him, claiming that he stole his body. This Campaign 2 AU begins with Episode 26 and continues on from there.

This fanfic will be posted on AO3 starting in July. (OH GOD, THAT'S SO SOON. OH NO.)

Alfield was still in the process of rebuilding since the last time the Nein had stopped in town. They had arrived via the Amber Road shortly before dark, then briefly met with Bryce Feelid and had made their way to the Feed and Mead. Bryce joined them after a meal. It was kind of nice when people were grateful for their work, even when they got paid for it anyway.

Beau was also happy to indulge in the free drinks offered by the other patrons. Molly snuck some coins into their pockets as they walked away, but eventually he was tipsy enough that the only reason they didn’t return the coin was the awkwardness.

“You doing alright, Molly?” Beau prodded. She almost followed up with an instinctive disclaimer that she didn’t care, but, well, she did. Why was it still so hard to remember to be nice?

Molly hummed a question back, but didn’t wait for her to elaborate. “We’re finally back on the road, so I’m celebrating!”

Beau raised a brow. “Celebrating being on the road?”

“Damn right,” Molly replied as he lifted his tankard in a toast. “Staying in one place for two weeks was far too long.” Beau rolled her eyes, but tapped her own against his and took a drink. The others joined, if they could reach, but the rest on the other end just lifted theirs and sipped. “To adventures and low profiles!”

Beau snorted and took a second drink. After the fiasco in Shadycreek Run and then running into Cree again at Zadash, she couldn’t blame Molly for wanting to slink into anonymity. However, he also was the most ostentatious of the Nein. If anyone was going to be recognized on sight, it was going to be Molly.

Jester, Fjord, and Nott discussed getting past the Wuyun Gates with Bryce at the other end of the table, though Beau had little to add. Bryce was pretty cool for letting the open discussion of mail fraud go by. Most Watchmasters had a stick up their ass about that sort of thing. But now that she thought about it, Molly, Nott, and Caduceus probably didn’t have any papers. Beau flipped through her notebook quickly to see if she had anything that might be useful for forging.

“Hey, Molly, Caduceus, do you have like, papers for traveling?” Beau asked as she looked up.

Molly shrugged affirmatively. “Oh, sure. Had to put some together at the carnival ages ago. Plenty of Crownsguard found it thrilling to pester us whenever we got near the garrisons or the capital.”

“Ah, I don’t know what that is,” Caduceus answered with a smile.

Beau sighed. “We’ll figure something out. Molly, gimme yours and I’ll see what we can do for Caduceus. We can probably copy what you have and just switch some stuff around to fix it up.”

Molly fished in what seemed to be an endless number of pockets in his coat, then handed off the papers. His eyes didn’t have pupils, but Beau got the sense that he spaced out a moment afterwards.

“What papers do people need for traveling?” Caduceus inquired.

“Just bullshit for leaving during a war,” Beau answered as she looked them over. “It’s usually checking for spies and deserting soldiers. We’re so far from the front lines that it’s probably not that big of a deal.”

After a brief review, Molly’s papers were actually decent forgeries. They had all the right seals to permit travel across the Empire with the carnival. The band had traveled in a circle around the Silberquel Ridge, though it seems they skipped large cities like Rexxentrum and Zadash. Beau started scribbling notes of what the Nein should include for any papers they might forge.

“That reminds me,” Molly started with a subtle drawl, “Mister Caleb, I’ve got a bone to pick with you about your book.”

Beau rolled her eyes yet again without looking up. She knew that Caleb had gifted a book of fairy tales to Molly. She’d been rather surprised to find out that Molly had not only accepted the gift, but actually read it. Or part of it, anyway. She had thought the day spent at the Valley Archive in Zadash would have put him off reading for a good while. Or forever.

“Was?” Caleb asked, an eyebrow raised. “It’s your book, Mister Mollymauk.”

“Yeah, but you gave it to me,” Molly stated matter-of-factly, “and one of the stories in it is wrong.”

Beau shifted her attention to Molly and Caleb. The carnie was going to argue with a Zemnian about Zemnian fairy tales. She grabbed her tankard and took small sips to hide her expression.

“Wrong?” Caleb replied, almost looking offended now with two brows raised. “How can one of them be wrong? They’re stories.”

Molly sat up straight and emphasized with his hands. “Your book has a story about ‘The Scorpion and the Frog,’ but it’s supposed to be ‘The Scorpion and the Turtle.’”

Beau focused intently on Molly’s face as she took a long drink from her tankard. It was possible that he was just pulling Caleb’s leg, but Molly actually looked serious. Well, as serious as Molly ever could be outside of a fight. And she faintly recalled that he had mentioned a fable about a scorpion back when he chastised Nott for some of the drama that happened during that Knights of Requital job.

Caleb’s brow furrowed as he pondered that a moment, then looked back at Molly. “No, you are mistaken. The tale is ‘The Scorpion and the Frog.’ It couldn’t be a turtle. The lesson is that one should not trust bad people because they cannot resist their nature, even if betrayal is against their interests.”

Now Molly looked offended. “That’s a terrible lesson. That’s the sort of shite the people in charge want the common folk to buy into. No, it’s ‘The Scorpion and the Turtle.’ The point is that sometimes you have to trust untrustworthy people, or else you’ll just be stuck alone.”

Beau stifled a laugh and took another swig of ale. Oh gods, Molly had not thought that through entirely. She said nothing though; she wanted to see how Caleb would handle this.

Caleb’s face fell to confusion as he thought it over. After a moment, he asked, “Well, what happens in your story?”

“The scorpion rides on the turtle to cross the river, then stings her, and they both die,” Molly explained confidently. “But it was still better to at least try, rather than stay where they were by themselves.”

“But the turtle could have crossed on its own, while the scorpion needed the turtle, ja?” Caleb inquired. “So the turtle did not need to trust the scorpion to cross the river.”

“Well… yes,” Molly agreed hesitantly, some of his confidence fading.

“And how did the scorpion sting the turtle when it is protected by a shell?” Caleb pressed.

Molly stared back at Caleb in silence, opening his mouth to speak, then closing it after saying nothing, and then his face seemed to express the various stages of grief over the course of a few seconds.

Beau exploded with laughter, nearly spilling her tankard, but she managed to set it on the table to save it, then leaned on one hand to try to calm down. She barely heard a “Fuck you, Beau,” but she could not collect herself to give her usual response. After giving her abs a good warmup, Beau managed to bring it down to quiet snickering and looked back at the two. Molly had a tight, frustrated grin while Caleb seemed quite amused and victorious with a small smirk.

“So who told you the version with the turtle?” Caleb asked.

“Ornna,” Molly replied while shaking his head. “Godsdamnit.” Caleb chuckled, but did not say anything further.

Beau snickered and went for another drink of ale, only to find she had finished it already. She looked over and waved at the barkeep, pointing at her tankard for a refill, but he pointedly turned away from her to help another customer. She frowned. “Yeah, he— uh… Crute? Yeah, Crute might be kinda sore about Jester breaking that window with her spell.”

“Oh, well that’s unfortunate,” Molly noted as he turned to look. He finished off his drink, then stood up abruptly. “Well, I’m in need of another drink, and his beautiful face is sure to cheer me up, so I’ll see about smoothing things over. Besides, we need three rooms, right?”

Bryce perked up at that, briefly looking over, “Oh, that will be covered for your stay. Please, let Crute know to see me about that.”

Molly squinted. “Are you paying for it, or is the Starosta?”

Bryce chuckled, “The defense fund is covering it as thanks for your prior defense of the town. We may be shorthanded, but the Crown has provided plenty to hire hands as needed.”

“Excellent!” Molly grinned wide and headed off. Of course he was happy to spend the Crown’s money.

“Molly, get us another round too,” Beau called after him.

“And, uh…” Caduceus began.

“And something for Caduceus!” Beau added. Molly waved her off and leaned over the bar to snatch Crute’s attention as soon as he reached it, though she could not hear the conversation at that distance. She shook her head and looked back at the others as a brief check before she went back to the papers.

“Like, see it see it,” Fjord said to Jester. Bryce had a hand over one eye, slowly shifting to cover both. Nott was looking at Jester with curiosity, and Caleb was turning red. Beau raised a brow. What were they talking about now?

“Like, penises?” Jester asked, waggling her eyebrows. “Wieners? I’ve seen so many penises.”

“Really?” Fjord seemed half-appalled and half-unconvinced. Beau smirked deviously. Oh, this would be fun.

“Jester, what’s the best penis you’ve ever seen?” Beau interrupted.

“Hold on hold on hold on—” Caleb suddenly jumped in as Fjord also tried to intercede.

The explosion of overlapping conversation was everything Beau had hoped for. Caleb attempted to divert the topic to voyeurism versus experience. Why was Caleb so interested in people’s sex lives? Fjord tried to pin the question on Beau instead. Jester clearly enjoyed the chaos, prolonging the discussion by answering every side question they threw her way, which only disoriented them even more. Nott just drank from her flask and admired the insanity. Caduceus looked so confused. Bryce was staring straight ahead and trying to pretend they weren’t there.

Oh man, neither Caleb nor Fjord wanted to know the answer. They were both totally sweet on Jester and did not know how to handle it. Well, it’s not like Beau could blame them either, she was adorable.

“Yeah, what’s your best dick?” Beau insisted once the distraction had gone on long enough.

“My best dick?” Jester giggled.

“If it’s too hard, you can do top three,” Nott suggested with a snort.

All three women dissolved into a giggle-fest. Caleb turned red and hid behind a facepalm. Fjord sighed and resigned himself to the embarrassment. Caduceus watched, still lost.

“Okay, honestly?” Jester said, looking around quickly, then turning back and wagging her eyebrows dramatically. “I saw Molly’s when we were in the bath house.”

Beau had no idea what face she made as she momentarily closed her eyes and laughed, but she hoped it conveyed how much that was the most amazing answer Jester could have given in that context.

“Was it? We all saw it, but how did it compare?” Nott asked.

“Molly's was pretty good,” Jester answered noncommittally, though she gave a nod.

“In terms of just being giant or, like, well-proportioned? Symmetrical?” Nott kept pressing.

“It was really nice and it was a good color,” Jester elaborated sweetly.

The whole time, Beau was squinting to try to contain her giggling to a reasonable volume. Jester and Nott knew exactly what they were doing with this conversation. The faces on Caleb and Fjord were priceless. Especially when Nott suggested “giant.” Beau had not expected Nott to be such a shit-disturber.

Once they recovered some composure, Caleb and Fjord tried diverting the conversation again, and Beau could not catch her breath.

At that point, Bryce spoke up, with some moderate color on their cheeks, “Well, folks, I think this is my cue to get some rest. It’s been great catching up a bit with all of you. Stay safe.”

The Nein bade Bryce goodbye, though Nott threatened to kill them if they tried to pay for their drinks. Bryce looked a bit concerned and conceded, then left their coin at the bar anyway with a polite and slightly mischievous smile.

Molly was still at the bar, apparently making no progress with Crute. That carnie was nowhere near as charming as he thought he was, and Beau was pretty sure that he was just diverting Crute’s annoyance with Jester to himself rather than absolving it.

“I know this sounds petty,” Fjord requested with a low voice, also glancing in that direction, “but could y’all do me a favor and not tell Molly about this conversation?”

“What? Why?” Jester asked petulantly.

“Because I have to room with him and the nudity is awkward enough already,” Fjord answered flatly. Nott scrunched up her face.

“I mean, he’d probably use it as an excuse to show off more than he already does,” Beau agreed, stifling a laugh. “That wouldn’t be all that conducive to finding good jobs.” Though really, Beau just wanted to avoid the preening. It would never end. Molly did not need that sort of ego boost.

“Yeaaaaah, that might be trouble with some kinds of work,” Jester said thoughtfully, though she was clearly weighing whether she wanted to see the madness that would result from telling Molly.

“You could always tell him later, Jester,” Nott chimed in.

“I could!” Jester laughed.

“I don’t get it, but alright,” Caduceus added, still digesting the insanity that just occurred. He’d get used to their weirdness eventually.

Of course, Caleb just switched topics rather than answer, “Anyway, Jester, do you have a good sense of how Nott would fit in at the Menagerie Coast?”

Nott derailed the conversation completely to show off her “skin mittens” as Jester called them, and they were appropriately horrifying. Molly eventually returned with a tray of drinks (he was surprisingly graceful after so many drinks) and three keys for their rooms, insisting that he had smoothed things over with Crute. The side-eye that Crute kept casting their way suggested otherwise.

Beau shook her head with a smile and enjoyed her ale. These misfits were so much better than putting up with the snobs at the Cobalt Soul.

* * *

Fjord was immensely grateful that his and Molly’s room had twin beds. Caleb and Nott had offered to share with Caduceus since theirs also had twin beds, so it was just the two of them this time while the Jester and Beau had the room with a single bed.

Once the door was closed, Fjord saw to doffing his armor. It fit well, but loosening the snug pieces was always such a relief. Maybe he’d see about getting it refitted in Nicodranas.

“So, Fjord,” Molly started suddenly, “why did everyone keep looking at me while I was chatting up Crute?”

“Hu—what?” Fjord stumbled, trying to appear clueless. Shit, he already fucked that up. He stayed focused on getting his shoulder guard off, hoping that Molly would leave it alone.

“You all kept looking my way,” Molly repeated calmly. “Why?”

Fjord looked up at him to see the tiefling had a knowing grin, though still flushed slightly from all that drinking. Did someone already tell Molly? Or was that just the drink and he was being a brat? Fjord couldn’t be sure. “Well, you were taking quite a while, and we were keeping an eye out.”

“All at the same time?” Molly leaned closer, narrowing his eyes with suspicion.

“We didn’t all look over at the same time,” Fjord insisted, though he honestly did not recall. Godsdamnit, he did not want to deal with Molly peacocking around if he found out about that stupid dick conversation.

“You did,” Molly insisted with suspicion, though he still had his mischievous grin.

“Uh…” Fjord mumbled. “Well, I guess you did come up in conversation.” He was trying to stall for time, but no good explanations came to mind.

Molly grinned wide. “I did, did I? What about?”

Fjord dropped his hand from his shoulder as the armor came loose. Shit. He explained slowly, trying to come up with something to throw it off, but his mind drew blanks. “The subject of… of men’s genetalia came up, and given Jester’s background growing up in a, uh, where she did, Beau asked Jester what the best she had seen was.”

Molly stared incredulously, unblinking, arms crossed.

“She said yours, alright?” Fjord confessed as he lifted both his hands in concession. Godsdamnit. Molly was going to be insufferable about this for who knows how long. And walking around naked even more than usual. Maybe Fjord could convince Caduceus to room with him so he could room with Caleb and Nott.

Molly stared him down for several seconds. “This is payback for telling you my glass swords were magic, isn’t it?”

“What?” Fjord blurted out. “No, I’m serious.”

“Listen, you’re normally a decent liar,” Molly reasoned as he put a hand on his chest, “and I love the appeal to my ego, but c’mon. That’s not believable that you all happened to have that conversation while I was dealing with Crute.”

Fjord felt slightly annoyed that Molly thought he was so deceitful—and secondly that he was also bad at it—but that was easily buried under shameless gratitude that it still achieved what he wanted. And it meant he didn’t even have to put on an act anymore. “Really, Molly. You could ask any of the others, even Beau.”

“Aha!” Molly exclaimed as he pointed at Fjord. “You’re trying to set me up to piss off Beau!”

Fjord sighed in exasperation, “Fine, don’t believe me then. The rest would still back me up.”

“No, no, you’re not getting me that easily,” Molly crowed as he walked over to his side of the room. “You need to work on your pranks, Fjord, that was just uninspired.”

Fjord shook his head and mouthed “thank you” to the sky at whatever deity had been watching over him just then. He went back to removing his armor and hoped th— no, Molly was already stripping to nothing. Shit.

* * *

“Hey, Jester.” Beau prodded as she did her evening stretches. “Do you still have a crush on Fjord?”

Jester was already curled up in the blankets on the bed. Their room only had one, but it was large enough that they had plenty of space to share. She had been sketching in her notebook, but she sat up with a coy smile. Jester adored girly talk, and while it wasn’t always Beau’s top interest, a thought had occurred to her.

“Mayyyyybe,” Jester drawled coyly. “Why? Did he say something about me?”

Beau took a moment to think of how to phrase this. She was still trying to become comfortable with correcting her own social stumbles, and it was difficult to sort out how to be gentle about pointing out others’ mistakes. She preferred being an asshole about it, but she didn’t want to be an asshole to Jester.

“Well, uh,” Beau tried to couch it with some of her own awkwardness, “Isn’t it kind of, you know, messed up that you basically said Molly’s dick is better than Fjord’s to the entire group? I mean, that’s gotta wound his pride, even if it’s just based on looks.”

“Oh, shit, I did huh,” Jester said as her eyes went wide and her mouth hung open a bit.

“Yeahhhh.” Beau nodded, waiting to see how Jester would react.

“Um, well, ac-tu-al-ly,” Jester enunciated slowly for emphasis, “you know, some dicks are good for one thing and not another, and there’s definitely some…”

Beau had thought of several ways this conversation could go, but an in-depth analysis of penises based on Jester’s observations at home had somehow not made the cut. She had never had any interest in them beyond bored curiosity, and Jester was apparently an expert. Beau listened for about a minute before she truly could not stand to hear more about dicks.

“Y—you know what,” Beau interrupted, still trying to be polite and only half-succeeding, “I kinda didn’t think about how this conversation would proceed, and now I’m thinking we should just, y’know, not talk about that. That— That’s on me, that’s my bad. Totally my fault.”

Jester had been earnestly listening to Beau speak, but as she had continued, that soft smile had turned into a pointed, impish grin. Oh, shit.

As the conversation turned worse, Beau could only sigh.

I did this to myself, godsdamnit.

* * *

“Man, everyone got really awkward during that conversation about dicks,” Caduceus noted as he, Caleb, and Nott got ready for bed. Their room had twin beds, and Caleb had intended to share with Nott so that Caduceus had one to himself. Unfortunately, all of the beds were too short, so Caduceus was setting up his bedroll instead so that the others could each have their own.

“It was a strange conversation,” Caleb agreed, a little flushed and stubbornly not making eye contact with the other two while he looked over his spellbook. Nott inspected Caleb’s face and posture closely. She seemed to be trying to piece things together, but Caduceus had the feeling that she had not quite caught on. But she was certainly going to try to help anyway.

“Don’t worry about what Jester said, Caleb,” Nott said matronly. “I’m sure your dick is great for a human’s, probably one of the best. Jester’s just biased towards tieflings.”

Caduceus watched as Caleb’s face flushed to melon pink and then a tomato red as Nott spoke. Caduceus said nothing, but the embarrassment reminded him so much of Clarabelle teasing Colton. It was harmless fun, and would probably do Caleb a bit of good. He needed silly types of humility, not the self-sabotaging depreciation that he seemed to prefer.

“I would very much like to stop talking about this please,” Caleb replied flatly, still refusing to look at either of them.

Caduceus knew that he was much older than any of the Nein by several decades, but that younger brother instinct was kicking in. He could give into temptation sometimes.

“I’m a bit confused about what makes one dick better than another dick,” Caduceus commented to Nott. It wasn’t really a lie, but that wasn’t the point of saying it either.

“Welllllll…” Nott drawled excitedly as she clapped her hands and rubbed them together, preparing herself for a lecture.

“TIME FOR BED!” Caleb blurted suddenly as he threw his blanket over himself and faced away from them.

Caduceus chuckled a bit and let it alone. He shrugged good-naturedly at Nott and bid them both goodnight. He missed his family greatly, but he wasn’t lonely with this group. He felt certain he had the right companions for his quest.

[loudgibbon]

A little short horror story I wrote :)

Night Ride

I pressed on the gas a little more, my rusted Chevrolet Caprice beginning to roar as it barreled down the dark country road. Rain crashed against my windshield so loudly it nearly muffled the sound of clanging metal emanating from the bolt cutters, screwdrivers, and various other tools strewn about the passenger seat. It was going to be a rush job, and I knew it, but there wasn't time to really plan something like this out. I just had to get off my ass and do what needed to be done. Dad would have wanted me to do it; he would have hated people thinking he kicked the bucket so easily.

"Don't worry, justice is coming," I say to myself as I scrounge around in my cup holder for what little remains of yesterday's blunt. As I wrap my grubby fingers around it, the paper unravels, having been partially stuck to some long-forgotten residue, losing its contents in a cascade of sticky, grape ape-scented debris.

"Fuck me," I mutter to myself as I try to slide the substance off my legs and into the cup holder, to join the ooze that obviously wasn't ready to give up its new lover just yet.

Looking back up after my selfless act of reuniting the forbidden biohazard lovers, I am greeted with the cold, reflective eyes of a suicidal deer standing in the center of the road, watching as I frantically slam on the brake. But due to the combination of the rain and the admittedly reckless speeds at which I was traveling, the car continued forward, not sparing a thought for my increasing panic. Jerking the wheel to the side only served to spin the car as it slammed into the animal, ultimately coming to a stop after sliding into a ditch.

After a moment in which I cursed my late Beyblade opponent for their self-destructive strategy that I had just managed to defeat with my wholly unique and definitely purposeful technique, I pushed the deflating airbag out of my face with a groan. I try to open my door but find it thoroughly stuck against the inconsiderate earth. Cursing under my breath, I instead grab a shovel from my passenger seat before rolling down the window and throwing it out. Unclipping my seat belt, I make an awkward attempt to follow, one lanky limb folding after another as I squeeze myself through the gap.

Landing ankle-deep in a pool of mud, I reach down and fish out the shovel before scampering my way up the ditch to get a better look at the situation. The car had done a 180 before sliding off the road, the headlights perfectly, illuminating the mangled mess of deer strewn across the road. After surveying the grisly scene for a few moments too long, I turn back to the car and begin to peel away layers of earth. It isn't long before I'm soaked by the downpour, my socks squelching aggressively inside my athletic works running shoes.

Once I'm satisfied with my work, I once again climb the ditch in hopes of finding a branch or something to shove under the tire to give me some traction. As I search for a suitable tool, I hear a snap from behind me, imagining with my luck I would have to fight a bear next. I whirl around, shovel in hand, ready to beat something’s skull in, but there's nothing, nothing I see at least. Going back to my task, I locate the perfect stick, long, wide, and a little flat, this was a stick for the ages, the kind of stick one only finds once in their life. The kind of stick—

*Crack.*

The gut-dropping sound plays again, louder than before, this time as I'm walking back to the car, its source now unmistakable. I had allowed myself to hope my luck was good enough for it to be a bear, but now I see that was unrealistic of me. As I watched, the deer's body shivered and shook, bones cracking and popping back into place, the entrails worming their way back into its body cavity.

“Fuck you, I won fair and square,” I say as I stuff the perfect stick under my wheel before scrambling back in the window, abandoning my spade to face off against the unholy creature alone. I slam the car into reverse, wincing as I hear the crunch of the perfect stick underneath my tire, but thankfully its sacrifice was not in vain as the Chevy rockets out of the ditch back onto the road, where I am greeted once again with the unthinking eyes of the definitely-not-deer. As I watch, the creature makes two halting steps towards me, jerky and unnatural as if it was being pulled around by a profoundly incompetent puppeteer. Obviously not fully healed yet I breathed a sigh of relief at the extra time I’d been given, I pulled the car into a three-point turn. But not a moment after reaching point one, I look back to find the not-deer reeling back onto its hind legs, its hips, shoulders, and neck popping into a horrifically unnatural humanoid orientation.

“Fuck that shit,” I say as I continue to point two, furiously cranking up my window as the monster breaks into a sprint, hooved arms pumping like a fucked-up Usain Bolt. Screaming, I slam the gas, my engine roaring once again as I speed down the road. The not-deer, still in pursuit, winks out of view as I continue around the bend.

“Jesus Christ, Dad, what did you get yourself mixed up in?” I complain to myself as I continue my quest.

[broomballkraken]

Title: A Little Bit o’ Mermaid Magic Chapter 4: A Special Kind of Mermaid Magic

Fandom: Octopath Traveler 2

Pairing: Osvald/Partitio

Word count: 2996

Warnings: None

Fic Summary: Osvald is rescued after his escape from prison by Partitio, a valuable and talented member of the Merfolk Merchant’s Guild.

After being nursed back to health, Osvald embarks on a journey for revenge, and fate seems to keep bringing him and Partitio together…until the day came when fate decided to stop dragging them apart.

Chapter Summary: Partitio runs into Osvald yet again while traveling through the Riverlands. This time, however, he senses that something is very wrong, and Partitio is determined to help Osvald in any way that he can.

Even though he was glad to call the sea his home, Partitio loved traveling by river, as that allowed him to see all of the wonderful sights that the vastly different regions of Solestia had to offer. Today, it was the verdant forest of the Leaflands, abundant with lush vegetation and beautiful flowers that filled his nostrils with a most pleasant scent whenever Partitio broke the surface of the water.

Partitio paused in the middle of the river and pulled out his map, letting out a hum as he rubbed at his chin. He had just left the town of Timberain after doing some more advertising for the Merfolk Merchant’s Fair, and his next destination was set to be a much smaller town called Cropdale. Smiling as he tucked his map away, Partitio started swimming again, thinking that today was turning out to be a great one…and it seemed fated to get ever better.

Partitio caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and a broad smile slowly crept across his face when he spotted a very familiar silhouette moving quickly down the road that ran parallel to the river.

“Hey, Osvald!” Partitio called out, waving his arms excitedly and splashing water about. A warmth spread throughout his chest at seeing the object of his affection again so soon, and he couldn’t wait to hear how his confrontation with that bastard Harvey had gone.

However, the smile slowly fell from Partitio’s face as a sense of dread washed over him. Something was…wrong. Osvald didn’t seem to hear Partitio’s rather boisterous greeting, and seemed to be in quite a hurry as he rushed right by Partitio without a passing glance. As Partitio watched him with a knit brow, he noticed that Osvald was stumbling slightly, and his breathing was labored and erratic. Something was definitely very wrong.

“Osvald wait! Hey!” Partitio cursed under his breath as he swam to catch up to Osvald, and he spotted a low-hanging bridge up ahead. Biting his lip, Partitio quickened his pace to beat Osvald to the bridge and he pulled himself up onto the ledge of it.

“Stop, partner!” Partitio yelled as Osvald tried to run past him, and Partitio reached out to grab him by the arm. Osvald kept moving for a moment, forcing Partitio to grip the railing of the bridge with his other hand to keep himself from being dragged to the ground.

Osvald stumbled backwards and finally turned to Partitio, and the look on his face made Partitio’s gut twist with worry. Dark bags sat under Osvald’s bespectacled, bloodshot eyes, and his face was almost as pale as when Partitio had found him half-dead and floating in the sea. The arm that Partitio held was shaking, and he slowly shook his head as he met Osvald’s gaze.

“Osvald…you look like you’ve just rolled out of a grave! What happened?” Partitio asked, and Osvald grit his teeth and yanked his arm away.

“I-I can’t stop, I need to…get to Gravell…” Osvald growled, and Partitio was giving pause at the overwhelming amount of rage in his tone. He started to stomp away, but Partitio pursed his lips and placed a hand on his shoulder, using all of his strength to turn the larger human back towards him.

“Now hold on there, partner,” Partitio said, his eyes narrowing to match Osvald’s glare as he placed both hands on his shoulders, “You look like you’re about to fall back into that grave any second now. Let me cook you a meal, and you can tell me what happened.”

“But-”

Partitio shook his head, his grip tightening. “No buts! You’ll never make it to Gravell if you collapse from exhaustion or hunger, right? Let me help you, please.”

Osvald stared him down for a moment, and Partitio’s mouth went dry as his heart hammered hard within his chest; he hoped that his heartfelt plea was enough to convince him to rest. A few long seconds ticked by, before the tension disappeared from Osvald’s shoulders and he nodded.

“...Fine,” he mumbled, his mouth set into a tight line, and Partitio breathed a sigh of relief as they moved to the riverbank. Partitio quickly started setting up his tent and cooking supplies, while Osvald gathered wood to make a campfire, setting it alight with a snap of his fingers; Partitio had always been amazed at how easily magic came to him.

A heavy silence fell between them as Partitio cooked and Osvald stared blankly at the fire. Partitio tried to keep his mind on his cooking, but he couldn’t help but speculate about why Osvald was in such a state. Had his confrontation with Harvey gone wrong somehow? He couldn’t imagine how that could have happened.

“Here ya go!” Partitio said, forcing a smile as he barked out a half-hearted laugh, “This here is my special beef and veggie stir-fry surprise!” He handed Osvald a full plate and winked as he nudged him with his elbow.

“The surprise is that there’s no beef, ‘cause I ran out and forgot to buy more, haha!”

Partitio’s laughter trailed off when Osvald just stared down at his plate without a word. Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Partitio didn’t bother to fill his own plate, and instead pulled himself up to sit on the log next to Osvald.

“What happened, Osvald? I wanna help you, if I can.” Partitio’s voice was soft, and he reached out to place his hand on his thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. Osvald said nothing for a moment and tried to take a bite of his food, but his hand was shaking too much. Partitio reached up to cover his hand with his and helped steady his fork so that he could take a bite.

“It’s…good,” Osvald said in a quiet, defeated tone, and Partitio’s heart sank when Osvald pushed his glasses up to rub at his watery eyes.

“Harvey…” Osvald spat the name like it was poison on his lips. “When I confronted him, he attacked me with a monstrous golem that he created…with my wife’s blood.”

Partitio’s eyes went wide and jaw dropped as Osvald continued. “I-I managed to…kill it, and then…my daughter walked into the room.” Partitio let out a surprised gasp and smiled at that; his daughter was actually alive! However, what Osvald said next wiped that smile from his face and caused his stomach to churn with horror:

“She called out ‘Papa’ and…went right to Harvey.” Osvald had started shaking again, and Partitio quickly took his plate of food from him before he could spill it all over the ground, “H-He brainwashed her, and took her to Gravell to be used in some twisted, dark ritual. M-My dear Elena…” Osvald’s hands moved to cover his face as he suddenly broke down crying, and Partitio sniffed as tears welled up in his own eyes.

“Oh, Osvald…” was all that Partitio could bring himself to say, and he pulled Osvald into a tight hug without a second thought. Osvald started sobbing ever harder as he buried his face into Partitio’s shoulder, and the breath was crushed from his lungs when Osvald wrapped his arms around him and clung to him tightly, as if he was holding on for dear life.

As he continued to hold Osvald in what he hoped was a comforting embrace, Partitio couldn’t help but feel so… useless. He cursed the fact that he was confined to the water, because otherwise he’d be right by Osvald’s side ready to beat that bastard Harvey’s ass. Alas, he couldn’t do that, so for now he would focus on what he could do for Osvald: give him a shoulder to cry on, a hot and hearty meal, a warm and comforting embrace, and so, so much unconditional love, even if it remained unspoken.

Partitio swallowed thickly, tears falling down his face as he closed his eyes and gently rubbed his hands over Osvald’s back. “I’ve got you, partner. I’m here for you.” He slowly rocked Osvald back and forth, and Partitio pressed his face against his soft hair as he bit the inside of his cheek to stifle a sob of his own.

He really couldn’t imagine what horrible mess of emotions Osvald was dealing with right now. Partitio’s blood was boiling at what Harvey had done, using Osvald’s wife’s blood and brainwashing his daughter. The only positive that Partitio could glean from this situation was that Osvald’s daughter was alive, but he would wait until later to bring that up.

The fire had burned down quite a bit by the time Osvald finally lifted his face from Partitio’s shoulder, and Partitio offered him a small smile as he reached up to brush a few stray tears from Osvald’s cheeks.

“Better?” Partitio asked, and Osvald let out a deep, tired sigh before giving him a slight nod in response, “You should try and finish your meal, partner. Gotta keep your strength up if you’re gonna save your daughter!”

“You…are right,” Osvald said, and he let Partitio help him take a few more bites of food, until his hands had stopped shaking and he could eat on his own.

Partitio finally filled a plate of stir-fry for himself, and they ate in silence until their plates were clean. The fire was nothing but embers now, so Osvald put it out completely and helped carry Partitio to the tent that he had set up. After Osvald had gotten comfortable in his nightclothes, he had settled his head onto Partitio’s lap as the merman carefully pulled a brush through his long, beautiful hair.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Osvald,” Partitio said, giving the hand that he was holding a squeeze, “I wish I could have been there for ya.” Partitio hung his head and averted his gaze, but he looked back at Osvald when he felt his arm tighten around his waist.

“It’s alright, Partitio. I…know that you kept me in your thoughts, and that means a lot to me,” Osvald said as he looked up at Partitio with such a gentleness in his gaze that took his breath away.

Partitio perked up at that, and he felt his cheeks start to heat up. He wanted to say that Osvald never strayed from his thoughts at all, but he managed to hold his tongue for now; this was definitely not the time to air out those particular feelings.

“...and thank you for stopping me.” Osvald grimaced and rubbed his cheek against Partitio’s stomach, and Partitio let out a giggle when his beard tickled his skin. “It was careless and foolish of me to travel all the way from Montwise without eating or sleeping-”

“You came all that way without food or sleep?!” Partitio exclaimed, and Osvald pursed his lips and sighed.

“Er, yes. At least I had nothing in my stomach to expel during that horrid trip across the sea…” he mumbled, and Partitio sighed as he gave Osvald a love-tap on his shoulder with the hairbrush.

“Gods, you’re damn lucky I found ya when I did! Any longer and you’d’ve been a real goner.”

“I know, I know. It was highly illogical of me.”

“You got that right, but…” A fond smile crossed Partitio’s face as he brushed the back of his webbed fingers over Osvald’s cheek. “I’m so glad to hear that your daughter’s alive! And I just know that you’ll find a way to fix her brainwashin’, with those scholarly smarts of yours.”

“Will I?” Osvald mumbled, and Partitio frowned when he heard him sniff. “I-I’m scared, Partitio. What if…she never does acknowledge me as her real father?”

“She will, Osvald, I just know it.” Partitio surprised even himself with the amount of confidence in his voice, and his heart swelled when Osvald chucked and sat up.

“You sound so sure of that.” Osvald raised an eyebrow and stared at Partitio over his glasses. “Is that due to this ‘mermaid magic’ of yours that you’re always going on about?”

Partitio barked out a laugh and winked. “Hehe, well, that’s my little secret, partner! You’ll just have to wait and see.” Osvald laughed at that, and Partitio was glad to see that he seemed to be feeling much better than earlier.

Osvald suddenly let out a long yawn and stretched out his back. “I should get some sleep. I need to head to Gravell as soon as I can.”

“You got it, partner!” Partitio said, his mood deflating a bit. He didn’t want to part from Osvald yet, but he knew that it would be selfish of him to suggest staying and putting off his rest. Osvald had an important mission to complete, and getting enough sleep would be essential in helping him to save his daughter.

“I’ll just go and set up my spare tent-”

“Wait, Partitio.”

Partitio paused with his arm pushing up the tent flap, his heart racing as he turned his head back to Osvald. Osvald cleared his throat and fidgeted with his fingers for a moment, before his gaze moved up to lock with Partitio’s.

“Will you stay here and…hold me, like I held you back in Montwise?” Osvald asked, and Partitio thought that his heart might just burst right out of his chest then and there.

“I sure will!” he blurted out, and he immediately smacked his hands over his mouth, his face flushing a bright red when Osvald chuckled, “Er, I-I mean, yes!” He tried and failed to tone down his happiness, but Osvald didn’t seem put off by it at all, so Partitio threw caution to the wind.

“Thank you.” Osvald set up the bedroll and took off his glasses before lying down, and Partitio couldn't stop a goofy smile from crossing his face as he let Osvald wrap his arms around him and pull him close.

Osvald covered both of them with a blanket and was quick to rest his head on Partitio’s chest, and Partitio wrapped his arms around him and let his tail wrap around Osvald’s leg.

“Is my tail okay like that?”

“Mhm. Makes me feel…secure.”

“Aw, shucks…”

Osvald’s arms tightened around Partitio as he pressed himself flush against him, and Partitio a fond smile crossed his face while he gazed down at Osvald’s face as his eyes slowly slipped shut.

“Goodnight, Partitio.”

“G’night, Osvald. Sweet dreams.”

It didn’t take long for Osvald’s breathing to even out, and Partitio had to stifle a chuckle when he started snoring. Partitio wasn’t sure how this human had managed to take such a tight hold of his heart, and oh how he ached for the opposite to be true as well…

“L…ve…ou…Par..tio…”

Partitio’s eyes went wide as Osvald mumbled in his sleep, and he wasn’t sure if his feelings for the man that he held in his arms was making him hear things. Blinking away the tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes, Partitio’s lips curled up into a smile as he pressed them against Osvald’s hair, whispering his reply just before sleep could claim him as well:

“Love you too, Osvald…”

Morning came far too soon, in Partitio’s opinion, and he was none too happy when he had to detangle himself from Osvald’s warm embrace. He knew it was for the best, because Osvald had his daughter to save, and the last thing that Partitio wanted was to hinder him.

“Alright, here’s a bunch of cured meats and bread, oh, and some cheese that should be good for a bit longer…” Partitio beamed as he handed a bulging sack to Osvald, who chuckled as he securely attached it to his travel pack.

“Thank you, Partitio, for everything.” A fiery determination blazed in Osvald’s eyes, and Partitio matched the intensity of his gaze as he nodded. “I should head out now. Elena needs me.”

“Oh, wait, partner!” Partitio’s eyes went wide as an idea popped into his mind, and he rummaged through his bag and pulled out a shiny silver coin. His gaze locked with Osvald’s as he brought the coin to his face and pressed it to his lips, and he took a moment to admire the cute blush that rose upon Osvald’s cheeks.

“Here, take this,” Partitio said as he flicked the coin at Osvald, who caught it with ease, “It’s filled to the brim with my own, special brand of mermaid magic, so it’ll keep you safe for sure!” Partitio shot Osvald a wink, and was delighted when he laughed.

“Thank you, I will cherish this gift.” Osvald maintained eye contact as he lifted the coin to his own lips and kissed it, and it was Partitio’s turn to blush as his jaw dropped. “I will save Elena, and make sure to return this to you.”

“Osvald…” A beaming smile slowly spread over Partitio’s face, and he reached out to take Osvald’s hand, giving it a shake. “You can do it, I just know it! I’ll be cheerin’ you on!”

Osvald carefully stowed the coin away and gave Partitio’s hand a squeeze. “Farewell, Partitio.”

After his hand had slipped from Osvald’s grasp, Partitio waved as Osvald set off in a hurry, and he slipped into the cool, calm river. Letting out a deep sigh, Partitio leaned his arms against the riverbank and rest his chin on his hands as he watched Osvald get father and father away.

“Shucks…Got it real bad for ‘im, don’t ya Partitio?” he said to himself. He perked up when Osvald paused and turned around to give Partitio one last wave before he disappeared around the bend, and Partitio turned into a giggly mess as his tail swished vigorously back and forth in the water.

“...Really, really bad.”

[sakshiwriter]

It’s only when the forest is drenched in the dark hours, do we fathom that the creatures that looked so appealing and fascinating during the daylight, are nothing but hungry, harrowing predators, waiting for the right moment to pounce and take what is theirs.

Is your life theirs? Maybe not from a mortal man's perspective. Then what are you doing in their territory?

That is what happens when you walk into the unknown, your are oblivious to the threats lurking beneath the thick layer of dried discarded leaves and the wide trunks of hauntingly tall trees.

Maybe it was just a field trip. You wanted to try something new. Or maybe you were out for the hunt.

So which one of those deserves to die?

None of them but it’s not in their hands. It almost always depends on the place, the time, the situation, and the surrounding life they live in.

The morning is beautiful in a forest. The breeze carries luscious scent of green leaves and wood. Twirling through the branches, awakening every creature in its wake.

Bees and flowers alike. Preys and predators alike. You and nature alike.

The walk on the leaves is a dream come true, especially when there is a path ahead, your well-wishers behind you, a backpack full of what you need on your shoulder, a cap to cover your head, clothes to protect you from scratches and medicines to keep away the insects. you even have your dog with you.

There is chatter as you set out to discover nature, clicking pictures, inhaling fruity scent of flowers, skimming the shy leaves, and just living in the moment. The birds chirping are nothing but just a realization of how vast and huge this territory is. But the distance to be travelled doesn't worry you because you have enough time. To reach the other side. You have the road. The map. The company. And the fuel. You have time, you think you have time, so you take your time.

What is on the other side? Something you have always been wanting, something you have been dreaming about. That is what it is, the ultimate happiness for you. You know this beautiful forest is the only way there and you couldn’t be happier.

The sun slowly reaches its magic hour. Each beam of light slithers through the leaves onto the muddy surface, making it the ground look like molten gold. Each ray highlights a million particles as if glitters.

A content sigh escapes you. This is what you love doing. You love being in the life around you. You love admiring nature. You love straining your body and giving your mind and heart the thrill and peace it deserves. You love all of it. You love when you have to sit under a tree’s shade to eat your food. You love to chat with your companions who share their food with you. You love the cold water as it travels down your throat and refreshes you.

But the same things giving you the trill are the tings that allows doubts and uncertainty to consume you. Maybe it’s the sudden burst of wind or the frantic chirping of a flock of birds. An unnerving growl from your dog. It can also be the anxious look in everyone else’s eyes as they look around and tighten their grip on their belongings. They pack things up and suddenly are on their toes. Explaining how you have to be quick. They are using you as a guide. To reach the end and you know it is your responsibility to keep yourself and everyone safe, so you get up, tighten the leash around your hand and move ahead in the now scorching heat.

When did it get so hot?

There is a murmur of discomfort from behind you and you watch as one of the companions turns around to leave. You try to stop them but they are adamant. They just have to leave. They can’t take it anymore. And once they are gone, the seed of insecurity is planted within your heart sprouts. Maybe you should have gotten some more cold water or a fan.

Your dog can sense your mood. It stops and rubs its head onto your thigh, you too stop and caress it gently. Thanking it for its kindness and for always being there with you. it is your family and has been for as long as you could remember. You hear scoffs and voices expressing their discomfort so you keep going deeper and deeper into the forst. The heat is burning through your skin and making you hazy and you suddenly start disliking the discomfort. You are averse to the idea that you have to keep walking in this condition, so you slow down. When you glance over your shoulder, there are only a couple of companions left. You get to know that they were too frustrated with your slow speed. So they chose to take another route. Did they know a different route?

The ones remaining shake their heads. They weren’t too confident. So you just look ahead and keep walking. You are hungry again. You need to rest again. So you stop. But this time, the air is imperative. The sun is lower, no longer serving as a crown to the jungle but as someone who peeked into the depth and brought warning of what lay ahead. Your dog sits beside you and you gently run your fingers through its golden fur glimmering in the evening hour. It gives you peace, more than anyone else can.

You look into the pet’s eyes and you see the same diamonds twinkling with the same energy you had when you started, so you get up, with the goal still persistent in mind and the two companions share a smile, passing a couple of encouraging words. Their smile shrinks when the sun sets a little more and they ask you to keep moving and remind you of your collective goal. Their goal.

It was turning darker by the minute as if with each step you were stepping on the orange sun, pushing it further into the blanket of the horizon. The energy and enthusiasm that you had begun with were now draining down your spine as you overhear the words of your companion. As if they were speaking for you to hear. Suddenly you realize that they have been saying the same slashing and hurtful words for a long time. Quite a long time, but you couldn’t hear them over the joyous voice in your head.

At the now newfound voices, a chill runs down your spine, you are so focused on them that when an bone-shattering howl tears through the air, the leash in your hand slips right through your fingers when your dog breaks into a run. You trip forward, landing on your knees and palms sending jolts of pain up your palms and knees. Your blood is pounding through your ears, your breath coming out shallow when you fall back on your butt and crawl back against a tree trunk.

You close your eyes and, clench them hard in hopes that the pain will disappear. But it only makes you aware of the sudden silence surrounding you. Deep, thick, and clutching silence. Not even a single leaf moved. It was dark, dense, and pitch black everywhere you looked.

No dog, no companions, no sun, no light, no winds, no birds, nothing but emptiness surrounded you. And the howl? Where was it from? Did the voice grip your companions or what did it get to your pet first? The mere thought sent a slash across your heart and you curse yourself. It was all your fault. Just your fault. Only if you hadn’t seen the dream. If only you hadn’t helped anyone to here. If only you wouldn’t have wasted time in admiring instead of focusing on the end. If only the leash was a little bit tight in your palm and if only you weren't so caught up in other’s words.

You kept cursing and mourning the unknown and unconfirmed loss until the wind once again starts blowing. A small whiff of air that carried the scent of flowers and fruits. But you hated it now. Despised every inch of the place around you and inside you. Despised everything you thought was beautiful because it had taken everything away from you,

But you knew that you couldn’t sit any here any longer. Or you too would disappear into thin air with no one to search for you. And what if your dog was alright? What if it was here somewhere? Hope once again strikes within you. And even more than the goal you are now focusing on the one life of your dog. someone who was with you through our your life.

You stand up on shaky limbs, taking the support of the tree, you scratched palm sliding up against the rough wood but you didn’t care. You had to move,. you needed to move. If there is hope it is only now. Now is all you have so you move. Even though you despise the walk, the heavy weight on your shoulders and all the pain this forest has caused you, you follow the trail again, knowing your pet, it would smell you. You don't call out his name, knowing someone unwanted might hear you, instead you keep moving.

You think of giving up a couple of times, one when a large Slytherin crosses your path and you are forced to stay still until it leaves, but the image of your pet warped in the clutches of such a creature forces you to move ahead and faster. The second one was when you heard a rustling in the leaves and a large night owl flew over your head, not close enough to hurt you but close enough for the fear in your heart to tighten painfully. Too painfully.

But then you kept going, and you realized that you had crossed the path twice as much faster and were almost towards the end. A mile or so more and you would be out, but suddenly you didn’t want to reach yet. You wanted to find your pet first. You wanted him to come with you. So giving it your last shot, you call out. Loud and echoing in the dark. And you hear it.

A growl. Deep, guttural, and predatory. Then you see it; two eyes staring at you through a distance. It growls again and the sound almost makes you feel like the dark eyes have already clutched you, and you are at your death. There was no pet, and no more the end. This was to be your last.

As the creature leaps out of the shadows you shut your eyes preparing for the impact, but instead, you feel a breeze past your head and a thud behind you. You don’t open your eyes until you hear a growl again followed by a bark.

A bark.

It is here!

**You whip around and there he is. Wagging his tail with a smile, baring his canines slathered with blood. Your eyes fall down to the creature that attacked you. But instead of fear, love fills your heart, and with the overwhelm you crumple to your knees. The pet pounces on you and into your arms with a soft push. As if it dissolves within you. Its paws gently landed on your shoulder, easing the tension in your shoulder, its head snuggling into your neck, getting the blood on its muzzle on your cheeks in the process. Its soft belly warms your chest as you clutch it harder and thank the universe. Thank it for keeping your pet safe.

But when you open your eyes, he is no more there, you still feel the warmth, the blood, and the untensed shoulders but now the blood is on your hands, tears on your cheeks, and the creature still lying in front of you.

And the reality sets in.

It was you all along.

You did it.

[germainetrittle86]

My Idyllic Camotes

Camotes island in Cebu will always have a special corner in my heart. I went there not in the best of conditions, emotionally and psychologically, but came back stronger and with more than I expected.

The trip was a consequence of a Child Rights training racket which was referred to me by a friend. It would entail giving a comprehensive seminar to the island’s local government officials and community leaders. It was for at least a week, 3 batches of 2-day sessions. And I was to be hosted at the only completed and furnished “resort” which had a beach-front view.

The trip was like the classic “plane, train and automobile” kind. Only, I went by plane, boat and motorcycle to reach my final destination. My travel began with an early morning flight from Manila to Cebu. Upon landing, I needed to catch the first boat from the nearby pier to the “big” Camotes Island. I wasn’t told there was a much faster hydrofoil fastcraft available, so I took the wooden inter-island boats which are critically filled to the point of overloading before launching off. I reached one end of the Island from mainland Cebu, but still had to do a “cross-country” island motorcycle ride to the other end of the big island.

I learned later that the hydrofoil went to the other big island – for Santiago or San Francisco-bound tourists only, but I needed to go to Tudela in Poro to get to the other island of Pilar. I was met in Tudela by a couple of volunteer Moms from Kawit, and was directed to waiting motorcycles nearby. This “habal-habal” was commissioned for our “special” trip. Still, it’s 3pax to a motorcycle, driver included, and I had to share my ride with my assistant-companion Doray while the 2 Moms rode the other one.

Over rough dirt roads we flew. It was a bumpy ride but “Kuya driver” deftly maneuvered his motorbike over potholes and slippery gravel. I thought my innards had a fine shaking already, but lo and behold, our rough rides weren’t over!

Having reached the end of Poro island, we jumped into a motorized banca to cross over to Kawit in Pilar, the last island of Camotes. And yes, that final leg was the worse! We faced big waves in the open sea crossing over to Pilar and our little banca sputtered along courageously. I have to admit, I experienced big waves island-hopping in Alaminos’ Hundred Islands and coming back from Sipaway island in San Carlos City, but those 20 to 30 minutes to Kawit were by far the longest half an hour of my life. (I would not have any other similar experience until we visited Palaui island in Sta.Ana, Cagayan years later…but that’s another adventure story.)

Enroute to Kawit, as our little boat crested wave after wave, I felt like vomiting but held my breath instead. It didn’t help that we were told to help bail out water that kept splashing into the banca. Seawind blowing, spindrifts flying into my face, I valiantly bailed out water while praying to high heavens to spare me a watery grave. I now understand adrenaline junkies, because you never feel more alive as when you are risking your life. There is also nothing like fear to get your head on right, because you begin thinking of what really matters most.

Finally, we reached the white sand beaches of Kawit. I got off the banca into the clear waters teeming with small fishes. My knees were still all wobbly, but I was amazed by the natural beauty of the place. There was none of the dark gray sand of the Northern Luzon beaches I grew up with. These white sand beaches are rare in the coastal provinces of my childhood and I only remember them from distant places like Bolinao in Pangasinan and Pagudpud in Ilocos Norte. I guess the Visayas has more of them because they have a multitude of islands in an area constantly battered by typhoons and strong waves, pulverizing corals and seashells alike to form these wonderful bleached grains.

I didn’t really have much in terms of expectation, I knew it was a poor community, not yet developed as proven by the rough roads and limited forms of transportation available. While there was electricity on the island, it was not stable or regularly supplied yet. Residents are still compelled to have generators for light and power. And the “resort” itself was still unfinished, except for a few rooms, a large common activity area, and a small store for snacks or basic necessities. Fortunately, there was airconditioning in the room and freshwater supply in the private toilet/bath. Those were my bare minimum requirements and was content enough with our accommodations.

Happily, I was also informed that my regular Coke or Pepsi was available at the resort store should I want it. It’s my only vice and I usually need a softdrink when I do my lectures and talks. While there was no cable TV, the typical island entertainment was drinking and videoke. Since I was allergic to alcohol, I turned to a nightly concert with some of the villagers instead. Surprisingly, after lecturing the whole day, my voice was still good for some singing.

There were other perks of course. I had a beachside view everyday from the moment I woke up, to the whole-day seminar sessions we conducted. Gentle seabreezes blew in fresh air and there were enough island vegetation for some shade. There were fruit-bearing trees like coconut, mangoes, santol, star-apple, and edible shrubs like bananas, papaya and cassava. I enjoyed spectacular sunsets and was lulled to sleep by the sound of waves rushing to shore as the tide came in. Towards the middle of the island, I was told there were caves and mini-waterfalls. Unlike other islands, Pilar island is self-sufficient because it had a fresh water source from its mountains. In fact, in the other big island, there was an actual freshwater lake – Lake Danao.

I had enough time for a morning swim each day, so I took full advantage of it. I walked the beach each day, the sand still littered with corals, seashells, starfish, and brittle-stars. Crabs and an occasional sea urchin threaten my feet on the sand, but those colorful tropical fishes kept me company during my swim. Blue, green, and yellow fishes zoomed past me as I snorkeled at the nearby rocks. And you just know these are still genuine, unadulterated beaches because the white sand are not yet powder-soft in some places, granulized corals and shells are still quite visible and unfortunately hurt your bare feet. Knee-high water has small fishes swimming about because of the seaweed growing abundantly near the shore. Nearby, mangrove areas are still preserved providing safe haven for other sea creatures to grow their young. This apparent care of preserving the island’s natural resources significantly contribute to the island-community’s self-sufficiency.

Had I not been allergic to half of the seafood offerings, it would have been a culinary heaven. I could not enjoy the shrimps, prawns, crabs, or lobsters they offered. I did try the grilled giant squid or “lumot” just to be polite and because I knew I reacted least to it. Nevertheless, I quickly chased it down with Coke and my antihistamine medicine just in case. I did enjoy the freshest of seaweed in all its varieties – stringy, worm-like, grape-type. I tried the different kinds of clams, mussels, scallops, oysters, and other mollusks I wasn’t familiar with. There was even a unique edible seashell from the conch family which they said was a real delicacy because it was seasonal. The deep-sea fishes were also a real treat. They are really tasty and flavorful compared to freshwater fish. There is what the locals call “isdang-bato” which are monstrous-looking with their protruding jawlines and really sharp teeth. They look like they came straight from Jurassic Park and I am even afraid to eat them because they look like they’re the ones about to eat me. Some are really scaly and perfect for grilling, while the smooth-skinned ones are good for soup-based dishes.

Sometimes, some of the villagers would bring back some bananas, guavas, mangoes or santol to pass around and eat during the afternoon sessions. It was more than as snack but a way of staying awake as well, because there was no overflowing coffee or candies in these parts. They would leave a bunch of these goodies for me at the end of the day, and sometimes they were good for a midnight snack or just something to munch on while doing the nightly videoke.

 

Initially, I thought the change of scenery was great for my physical well-being. I was getting some fresh air away from the city pollution, some sunshine instead of being locked-up inside the office everyday, and regular exercise with all the morning swimming I was doing. I was also getting a healthier diet of fresh fish and native chicken instead of all the harmful meats and cold-cuts which were my staples back home.  But there was more than the unhealthy food I was eating that was actually making me unwell back home, of course. Home life just wasn’t as conducive to a positive mindset and I was feeling unappreciated and taken for granted. Unconsciously, I was treating myself the same way and was not taking care of my health.

On this distant island, the people were treating me better than any five-star resort-hotel. I actually felt like royalty even with the humble accommodations I had because of how the people valued my well-being. They would tell me what fresh fish would be available because the returning fishermen gave us first dibs. Then women would ask how I would like it cooked and would recommend different styles and carefully explain to me why its best grilled, soup-based, and kinilaw or ceviche. Occasionally, a group would come by and offer the freshest seaweed they gathered. The mothers once made their kids collect the famed seasonal mollusk as special fare so I can taste it. I loved the regular, friendly interaction with the locals. I was learning from them just as they were learning everyday from my lectures. Neither of us were taking each other for granted, and we both considered our meetings and conversations as significant. But none was as life-changing as speaking with the person who would remain on my mind long after I had departed from the island – the resort owner’s youngest daughter who took care of us during our stay.

After lunch, after each morning session, I would ask her for a bottle of Coke or Pepsi at her small refreshment shack before starting my next lecture. After the second day, she would automatically hand me a cold bottle of Pepsi after my lunch. I smiled at her anticipating my needs like that. It was the first time in a long time that someone seemed to be paying attention to me.

There were times she would join us for the videoke singing, not drinking alcoholic beverages herself. We would talk for hours about life on the island, its unspoiled beaches, many undiscovered touristy spots, including the difficulty of travel via the scheduled boat rides and its accompanying dangers at sea. It was the first time I heard about the “pito-pito” myth, where islanders believe bad weather usually takes 7 days or 7 weeks, and you have no choice but get stuck on the island. I told her of my work, how I got there doing what I was doing, seemingly simple and altruistic considering my impressive education at the country’s State university. She thought me kind and smart, and I thought she was refreshingly cheerful and quite sexy in her pajamas or jogging pants which she opted to wear to avoid mosquito bites. Yes, some of the vegetation and dark corners also attract mosquitoes even with the seabreeze blowing.

 

Soon, I was waking up at dawn not just for sunrise, but to see her drive up on her motorbike and prepare the resort for the day’s activities. She would turn-off the generator or check if it still had gasoline, check the watertank if there’s enough supply for our morning showers, and turn off all the other safety lights around the resort. I noticed she would purposedly pass by our room and I began to time my exit from my room so I would also catch her walking by. She would watch out for me like a lifeguard while I take my morning swim. On rare occasions, she would join me combing the beaches for seashells and starfishes to throw back to the sea. And once, I was nipped by a hermit crab which I mistakenly picked up as an empty shell, and she laughed her lilting laughter. She repeatedly warned me to watch out for the sea urchins or “tuyom” which I might step on. I asked her about those weird starfish-like creatures which had long arms littering the beach and which turned out to be brittlestars. On those blissful early mornings, I was lucky enough to see an actual sand dollar and even a squishy sea cucumber.

No matter how busy and tiring the day was, the view of the sunset by the beach always left me amazingly refreshed and envigorated. The fiery sky on the horizon, with its palette of red, orange, and yellow hues, signified the culmination of another meaningful and productive day. You cannot help but feel reflective, meditative even, but always grateful. I was beginning to remember what I was worth as a person again.

And as my week in Camotes began to wind down, she said she regretted not taking me around to the other spots worth seeing - the waterfalls and the inland caves. I, on the other hand, promised to come back because the island was so memorable for me. I was happy enough to have reached such a wonderful place and to have made new friendships.

She saw me off at the pantalan for the boat to take us to Ormoc, Leyte this time which was nearer at this point. From there, we were to take a ship back to Cebu.

Our goodbye was an awkward hug and simple peck on the cheek. But like that swing we danced during one videoke night, it seemed to promise something more. I couldn’t shrug off the strange feeling at this point because I remembered my weird dream about her. it was about her touching my feet (I am rather sensitive about having my feet touched), where she explained that “she was just checking how far this would take us”. I woke up so confused and wondering what the dream meant because I hardly knew her.

We texted all throughout my trip back to Cebu, trading messages on how much farther land was because the open sea scared me. Thankfully there was a cellphone signal at different points. By the time we were at the airport in Cebu, I somehow knew I was taking back more from Camotes. For that brief stint as a training facilitator, I was on my way to healing, to finding myself again. I found my way back by bravely moving forward with my heart.

[dycefic]

The Seven Daughters Of The Cailleach Foraoise

Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was a great forest with trees so tall that they shut out the sky, and it was always dark in that place. A single road passed through it, one side to the other, and no wise traveler ever ventured off that road.

In the forest to the east of the road there was a great hill, with a tower on it, and in that tower there lived a wizard. He was solitary and ill-tempered, but if someone in trouble came to him humbly and begged his aid, he did not usually refuse.

In the forest to the west of the road - or so it was said, for it was not visible as the hill and tower were - there was a great dark hollow with a house at the bottom of it, where the forest witch, the Cailleach Foraoise, lived with her seven daughters. She was ill-natured and dangerous, but still, she had been known to give aid to those willing to pay her price.

It happened that the king of the land had grown cruel and dangerous, and he taxed his people to starvation, he poisoned their land and slew any who displeased him. He slew even his own sons, when they defied him, and all went in terror of him. This king had three nephews, the sons of his sister, and they saw that soon they would be in danger from him as well, so they fled his castle by night, and took the road through the dark forest.

When they reached the river that ran through the heart of the forest, they stopped and took counsel of each other. They must do all that they could to save the kingdom and its people, that they agreed, but they debated what that was until the youngest spoke.

“Brothers, here are three ways before us,” he said, “We may go on through the wood, to our allies to the south, and there beg their aid against the king who has turned kin-slayer in his madness. We may turn to the east, and seek aid of the magician, who may be able to cure our uncle or else end his wickedness. Or we may turn to the west, and consult the Cailleach Foraoise, who it is said will give great aid to those willing to pay her price. And we, too, are three. One of us should take each way, so we may have three chances instead of one to succeed.”

His brothers did not like the idea, but they could not fault his reasoning. “I will be the one to go west,” said the eldest brother, “for it is a dangerous way, and I am the eldest.”

“No,” said the youngest, to his eldest brother. “You are the king’s heir, now that our cousins are dead, and you have a right to ask the aid of our kingdom’s allies where we do not. You must take the road.”

“That is true,” the eldest said reluctantly. “It is my place to make that request.”

“Then I will go to the west,” the middle brother said, “for I am the strongest and largest, and can protect myself.”

“No,” the youngest said again, “you should go to the wizard. You are large and strong, and not afraid of hard work, so when he puts you to work to prove your humility you will do well. I am the one who will go to the west, for it is well known that the youngest of three or of seven is lucky, and luck is what will be needed most.”

And both his brothers smiled, though they feared for their brother. “You are clever with your tongue, and that may serve you even better than luck,” the eldest said. They clasped hands, and wished each other well, and the eldest crossed the bridge over the river, and the middle brother turned to follow the river to the east, and the youngest turned to follow the river to the west, and soon they were out of each other’s sight.

The youngest brother walked downhill for a long time, always following the edge of the river. After some hours, he heard a small peeping, and found a baby bird that had fallen from its nest, its parents fluttering anxiously around it. Being kind of heart, he carefully took up the tiny bird in one hand, and climbed the tree to set it back into its nest.

Some way further on, he heard rustling, and found that a leaping fish had been caught in the leaves of a tree, and was thrashing and gasping. Being kind of heart, he waded out into the water to shake the branch, so the fish fell free into the river.

Shortly before sunset - though he knew this only by the colour of the sky he saw in tiny scraps far above between the leaves - he heard yelping, and found a young fox with one paw trapped between two stones. Being kind of heart, he wrapped his hands in his cloak to protect them, and freed the young fox despite its attempts to bite him.

It was long after the sky turned black, and he was using a lantern to light his way, when he came to the shores of a lake. “Of course,” he said, glancing at the river, “a hollow by the river would be a lake. And yet the house of the Cailleach Foraoise is in the middle of the hollow, so they say, which is a puzzle.”

Since he saw no immediate solution to the problem, he sat down on the bank of the lake to rest and eat some bread and cheese. As he ate, he heard a trill above his head, though at this time of night all birds should be sleeping, and he looked up to see one of the birds whose hatchling he had returned to its nest. He threw some crumbs onto the grass, and the bird ate them. Then he heard a splashing, and saw a fish leap in the lake, and thought it might be the one he had rescued, so he threw some crumbs to the fish also.

When a young fox peered cautiously out from under a bush, he laughed. “Of course,” he said, “I should have known,” and he threw a chunk of cheese to the fox. “If you are the daughters of the Cailleach Foraoise, then I am sorry that I have no better fare to give you. If you are magical, then I will be grateful for any aid you choose to give me. And if you are only hungry, then I am glad to share what I have.”

Another laugh, harsh and croaking, echoed his own, and when he turned he saw an old woman of so wild and fearsome an appearance that she could be no-one but the Cailleach Foraoise. “Well said, youngster,” she said approvingly. “One may be kind without being stupid, and offer aid without knowing whether or no there will be a reward for it.”

He got to his feet, and bowed deeply. “Wise Woman,” he said, which was the polite way to address a witch in that time and place, “I come seeking your aid.”

“Of course you do. No-one comes here who does not.” She leaned close to look at him, her bright eyes seeming to look right through to his soul, and he stood still and did not show fear, though she was close enough now that he could smell the scent of death that clung around her, and see the necklace of human bones around her neck. “Well, you may have a hearing, at least. Come with me, young man, and lend me your strong arms to help an old woman home.”

She led him to a small boat, and bade him row towards the middle of the small lake. And though the lake had seemed empty when he looked across it from the shore, as he rowed a mist seemed to fade from his eyes, and he saw a house raised on tall stilts in the middle of the lake. It was a large house, large enough for a lord, but made all of logs with the bark still on them, and strangely formed, with three levels each larger than the one below, so it looked upside down.

The Cailleach Foraoise secured the boat to a hook on one of the stilts, which were oak logs bigger around than three men’s arms could reach, and then rapped on it. “Sky above, earth below,” she said, “let me in.” And the side of the great log indented itself, to make a comfortable ladder, and they climbed up it to a small door that opened itself at the same password.

Within the house, the youngest brother found himself in a long, low hall, with fires burning at each end of it in great fireplaces, though he had seen no chimney outside. And within there were seven young women, who rose and greeted their mother with great affection.

There were many tales about the seven daughters of the Cailleach Foraoise. Some said they were as fair as fairy maidens, and others that they were as ugly as their mother. Some said that they were witches, and some that they were innocents stolen away as infants by the witch and imprisoned by her. But the youngest brother saw only seven young women, some pretty, some less so, but none who could not have walked down any road in his kingdom quite unremarked.

They greeted him pleasantly, and invited him to join them for their evening meal, which was good bread and fish stew and fresh greens. He thanked them politely, and ate what was offered him, and afterwards they showed him to a pallet bed by the fire.

“Tomorrow,” the Cailleach Foraoise said, “we will begin.”

The next morning the youngest brother was roused at dawn by the oldest of the seven sisters, who was tall and stern-looking. “Today you will aid me in my work,” she told him, “and each of my sisters in turn for the next six days. At the end of that time, you may ask our mother for what you want, and she will tell you the price of it.”

“Then I am glad to assist you,” the youngest brother said. “Put me to work, lady, and I will do my best.”

“We will see,” said the oldest sister. She led him a great hot kitchen. “I do all the cooking, and today you are to help me.” And all that day, from dawn until dusk, the youngest brother stirred and kneaded, peeled and chopped, washed and scoured, hardly stopping to eat himself. He did his best, but for every task he completed, the eldest sister completed two, and he made many errors.

At the end she put her hands on her hips, and looked at him. “Well, you have not shirked or complained,” she said, “but you have not done well, either. What have you to say?”

“I can only say that I have done my best,” he said meekly, “at a task I never turned my hand to before, and if I am not your equal, that is only to be expected, for you are a master of your craft, and I am not.”

“That is a good answer,” she told him, and bade him go to his evening meal, and rest, for he must work again tomorrow.

On the second day, the second sister, who was a woman larger and stronger than most men, took him to a room full of clothes and cloths, and great tubs of water. “Today is the day for washing,” she said, “and you must help me to wash until everything is done.”

So all that day the youngest brother scrubbed and rinsed, wrung and beat, and hauled and heated water. He did his best, but for every sheet or garment he washed, she washed three, and he made many errors.

At the end of the day she put her hands on her hips and looked at him. “You have not shirked or complained,” she said, “but a maid of fifteen might do more than you, strong man though you appear. What have you to say for yourself?”

And again he answered meekly. “I have done my best, at a task I never turned my hand to before, and if I am not your equal then that is to be expected, for you are a master of your craft and I am not.”

She laughed, and showed him her broad hands and arms as muscled as any blacksmith’s. “There is no man who has hands stronger than a washerwoman,” she told him, “and it’s well that you own it, or you’d have felt them alongside your head. Go eat and rest, now, for you have more work to do.”

On the third day, the third sister, who had a merry eye and curling dark hair, took him to the stillroom. There he chopped and ground, simmered and strained, lifted what was heavy and tended the fire. He did his best, but he knew as little of herb lore as he did of cooking and washing, and again he made many errors.

At the end of the day the third sister, who had talked more than the others and taught him much that was useful to know, shook her head. “Well, you did your best,” she said kindly, “and perhaps in time you would be better.”

He was grateful for her tolerance, for he knew he’d ruined more than one brewing that would have to be done again. “I have done my best at a task I never turned my hand to before, and if I am not your equal then that is to be expected, for you are a master of your craft and I am not… but I am sorry I did so ill, and fear I’ve made as much work as I’ve saved.”

She smiled at that, and patted his shoulder. “Oh, it’s not so bad as that, and it truly was a help to have someone to lift the heavy crocks and knead the thicker ointments, for I’m not as strong as some of the others, and it’s a trial to me. You go eat and rest, for you’ve four more days left.”

And so it went for the next three days. The youngest brother found that he was no match for the fourth sister at carding and spinning and winding wool, no match for the fifth sister at crafting in wood and leather, and no match at all for the sixth sister in setting fish traps, or snares for game, or hunting mushrooms and other good things that grew wild. Every day he worked hard and did his best, and admitted that he was no match for the sister who worked beside him, and they teased, or encouraged, or laughed, each as her own nature inclined.

On the last day the youngest sister, who was a small, plump girl of no more than fourteen, led him up to the roof where he found a garden. It was a strange garden, in which it seemed to be all seasons at once, and where spring blossom hung beside ripe fruit and young shoots stood beside ripe grain. “Where magic makes all grow quickly,” she told him seriously, “weeds grow too. Also, we must harvest fruit and vegetables and grain for the kitchen.”

They worked side by side, and for the first time the youngest brother found himself almost the equal of his partner. He had less knowledge, but much greater strength, and under her guidance his piles of weeds and baskets of vegetables equaled hers. She saw him looking at them, and laughed. “Yes, you won’t be scolded today,” she said cheerfully. “Though if I were you, I would not boast to my sisters that you are the equal of one as small as I am.”

He laughed too. “I would not! Though it is a small sop to my pride that I am not quite useless.” Then he sat back on his heels and looked at her. “You are very young,” he said slowly. “And your mother is very old. Too old to have a child of your age. Is it magic, or…”

“No, it is not magic.” The girl sat back on her heels, and the face that had been cheerful became sad. “Mother does not bear her daughters. Some she finds abandoned, or lost. Others she takes from homes where they are cruelly treated or neglected. I was one of those. I love Mother for taking me from there, and making me her child. Here I am never hungry, and I am never beaten, and my mother and sisters treat me with love and kindness.”

“I see.” He had seen, of course, that there was little resemblance between the seven daughters, but had wondered if it was a case of their having different fathers… and, quakingly, if that might be the duty that would be asked of him. “Then she is strangely misunderstood, for she is spoken of as cruel and capricious, even vicious, in the stories I have heard.”

“Well, and so she is,” the youngest daughter said calmly. “She is kind to children, always, and any woman truly wronged may find a friend in her, but there are few men indeed to whom she is as kindly inclined as to you.”

“Kindly inclined?” He frowned. “I have never even seen her in all this time.”

“Yes, that is how I know she likes you. If she did not like you, she would have spent the seven days frightening you until you almost died of it, threatening all sorts of terrible penalties if you did not equal our labour.” She chuckled, seeming amused by the thought. “That is what she usually does! But you were so polite and respectful, acknowledging us your betters at our own work, that she has hardly troubled to look at you.”

The youngest brother frowned. “Of course you are better than I am at your own work,” he said, puzzled. “I have never done any of these tasks before. Even had I not been schooled as a warrior, what man could equal a woman at the work she has known all her life, and he never?”

The creaking laugh behind him told him that the Cailleach Foraoise was not so far away, after all, and when he turned to look he found her sitting under one of the small apple trees, turning an apple over and over in her fingers. Behind her, the sunset of the seventh day was painting the sky in streaks of brilliant colour. “It would surprise you,” she said in her harsh voice, “how many men are just such fools as that. Very well, youngling. You’ve done your work well - oh, with no great skill, but you truly made your best effort, and respected those with greater skill than your own, which inclines me to approve of you. Tell me what you came for.”

“My uncle the king is mad, or possessed, or under some terrible curse,” the youngest brother said, rising to bow politely. “He has become cruel and fey, even slaying his own sons, and all his people live in terrible fear and hardship. I came to ask for your aid in ending this state, and returning peace to the land.”

“Indeed. And do you ask me to cure him, or to kill him? Do you seek to be a king, youngster, and take his place?”

“I? No, indeed!” The youngest brother laughed ruefully. “Wise Woman, I’m the youngest of three brothers. It is my eldest brother who is his heir.”

“Oh? Then why is he not here, working to save his kingdom?” The bright eyes were very keen, and once again she seemed to look right through him.

“Why, because he is elsewhere working to save his kingdom,” the youngest brother said readily. “We each went a different way. The eldest went to the next kingdom, to seek aid of our allies, and the next went to the wizard on the hill, and I came here. Three chances of aid are better than one, and where one or two might fail, one might succeed.”

“Well, that’s sound sense,” the Cailleach Foraoise admitted after a moment’s thought. “Only a fool puts all his eggs under one hen.”

“Indeed. And I do not ask you to kill or to cure, for I truly don’t know what to do for the best. If he can be cured, it will be a cruel torment to him to see the terrible things he has done. And yet he is my kinsman, and to seek his death would be a wicked thing.” He spread his hands helplessly. “It seemed to me best to ask you for aid, and trust to one wiser than I to know what truly would be aid, and what would be harm, even with the best of intentions.”

“And if he dies, you cannot be held a kinslayer if you put the matter in my hands, eh?” She laughed her cracked laugh again, and held up a hand when he blushed and tried to speak. “Nay, nay, boy, I don’t think less of you for being cautious. Very well then. I will give you the aid you need - not what you seek, mark you, but what you need - and the price…” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “To earn this boon, you must answer three questions, before my daughters and me, and if we judge your answers both true and pleasing, you will be rewarded. But if you lie, or we are angered by your answers, there will be a price to pay that will be harsh indeed.”

He sweated at that, for it would be no easy task even for him, who so far had pleased them well. And yet she could have charged him to do anything - to catch a magical fish that answered riddles, or to steal seven stars from the sky for her daughters to wear in their hair, or to climb a mountain of glass. Answering three questions, however difficult they might be, was still a light task compared to others he knew she had set. “Yes, Wise Woman, I will do so.”

She brought him to the hall, where all seven of her daughters were seated in a row, on seven chairs, for the youngest had slipped away while he spoke to her mother. The Cailleach Foraoise went to another chair, larger and grander, and sat down in it, folding her gnarled and clawed hands together. “Now, youngster. Three questions you must answer, and mind, you must answer each in brief, not make a speech, and stand by your words, for if you lie my magic will tell it. If my daughters like your answer, they will remain as they are. If even one turns from you, the game is forfeit. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Wise Woman,” he said, and though he was nervous, he cleared his throat and stood straight and tall. “I am ready.”

“Very well. The first question is this.” The witch stared at him, and into him. “Are you a good man?”

It was true what his tutors had told him, that a simple question could be the hardest to answer. He must not boast or seem prideful, and yet to deny goodness might be displeasing too, and he must be entirely truthful and answer in one, at that! For a moment his mind raced, and then he drew a deep breath. “I do my best to be a good man, by my own judgment and knowledge, and I think that no imperfect mortal may claim more than that,” he said steadily.

Several of the daughters smiled, and none turned away. The Cailleach Foraoise nodded approvingly. “Truly answered, and well answered, for no man may answer yes without committing the sin of pride, and yet only a fool would answer no.” Then she smiled, showing too-sharp, too-grey teeth. “The next question, then. Of my daughters, which is the fairest?”

The youngest brother glared at her, for that was an unfair question to ask, before them all, and how to answer without lying and without offense was even harder to work out than the first time. Then a thought came to him, of fair and unfair, and he smiled. “Why, that is hard to say on so short an acquaintance, but I have found them all to be entirely just, for not one blamed me for my lack of skill, knowing I had done my best, but each praised me for working hard.” he said innocently. “Fair and just, indeed, and kind too, for with all my efforts I was a poor helper.”

The oldest actually laughed at that, and the other daughters smiled, and the Cailleach Foraoise laughed her cracked laugh. “Oh, he may twist words to suit himself, I see… but I’ll let it pass, for it’s a true answer and a good answer as well.”

She leaned back in her chair, watching him for a long moment. “A good man, but not a fool. A kind man, but a wary man. Humble enough to labour, but bold enough to lead,” she said thoughtfully. “Yes. You will do. Tell me, which of my daughters will you take for your wife? Think before you answer, for only one answer is the right one.”

This should have been the hardest question of all, and for a moment he was too stunned to do more than gape at her… but as he stared at the daughters, he saw the youngest touch the hand of the girl next to her, who looked nervous, and smile reassuringly. And then he knew what the only right answer could be, and spoke up bravely. “At your command, Wise Woman, I would not marry one of them, for I’ll take no wife forced to have me,” he said, meeting her eyes. “But if there’s one who would wish to have me, and who would be happy with me, then the honour would be mine, for they are all kind, and just, and skilled, and it is a fortunate man who could call any one of them his wife… though the youngest will need a few years yet before he should,” he added, winking at her.

This time, all the daughters laughed, and their mother with them. “Well said, well said!” cried the Cailleach Foraoise, and suddenly she looked far less fearsome, and more kindly. “No man could answer better than that. Very well, then, I will give you your aid, and send you forth to meet your brothers on the road this very night. And when your duty is done, come back - in no more than seven days, mark you - and I will wed you to my daughter Aine.” She drew forth the daughter who had worked with him in the stillroom, who was neither the plainest nor the prettiest, but whose merry eye and  bright smile had pleased him well, and whose kindness and wisdom even more so. “She is a princess in her own right, driven out of her land by a usurper, and long have I sought for a man who will do for her, for he must be brave and bold, wise and clever to fight for her rights, and yet he must be one who will not try to push her aside or rule over her, but who is humble enough to allow that a woman may know more than a man, and do her own work better than he does.”

It was the youngest brother’s turn to laugh, and he bowed to the Cailleach Foraoise, and kissed Aine’s hand. “I could not ask for higher praise, or a wife better suited to me,” he said, and was pleased to see her blush and smile. “You have my thanks, Wise Woman… and my promise that I will return.”

And indeed, he did not return in seven days, but in three, and brought his brothers with him to the wedding feast. They celebrated that wedding for three more days, and then the brothers parted again, one to rule his kingdom, and one to apprentice to a wizard, and one to set out with a merry bride and a good horse to claim what was hers, and would be theirs together hereafter.

For the Cailleach Foraoise has seven daughters, but they are not always the same daughters, and whenever one leaves, another is brought to the upside down house in the center of the lake, to find six loving sisters waiting to welcome her, and a home that will be hers until she chooses to leave.

*

Author’s note: No, I don’t know how to pronounce it. Google Translate was unforthcoming.