#( a clever correspondence.

[101flavoursofweird]

One thing I find clever about PL4 is how Emmy reads *Clark’s* letter aloud. We don’t get a voice-over of Clark reading the letter, like with Dr. Schrader, Future Luke, Janice or Angela. (Even if two of those letter-writers were not who they claimed to be!)

Clark isn’t the one who wrote the letter. It’s Luke.

Layton mentioned that Clark was never a fan of ‘typed-correspondence’, but it’s kind of implied that Layton hasn’t contacted Clark in years— long enough to not know where the Tritons were living.

But still, as Layton said, he would never ignore a friend in need. Even after they fell out of touch, he still came rushing to Misthallery to help Clark, knowing something was fishy about the letter.

He still hurried to Monte d’Or to help Angela, despite their troubled past.

He answered Janice’s plea for help— a former student who he cared about enough to risk his and Luke’s life.

Then there’s Dr. Schrader— Layton is absolutely SHOOK when his old mentor suggests that he will open the Elysian box. Layton is even more shook when he finds Scharder’s body on the floor.

Of course, Layton wants to help the letter-writer claiming to be Future Luke, as unlikely as that sounds. Maybe it’s not really Luke, but it’s still a person asking for Layton’s help, so Layton will answer.

And now I’m thinking about how Layton might have emotional constipation, but he still cares about his companions so much. He just doesn’t show it in obvious ways. Maybe that’s why he likes letters so much…

And didn’t CLAIRE give him a letter when she was going to confess her feelings to him?

[lopposting]

Some more thoughts + notes on the datamine document!!

(Long!!)

[second part of this post ?]

thanks again to user @ ividyon for the document.

Judging by these lines, again, I think it's a cut story thread that P has to ask Venigni to repair him, thus revealing himself as a puppet to Venigni, but it also suggests that Venigni knew about Carlo

rough alt translation:

제페토 씨에겐 들었어. 팔을 다치신 탓에 내게 네 P기관 정비를 요청하시더군. 사실 네가 인형인 줄은 알고 있었어. 제페토 씨의 친구라면 그 사건에 대해 알 수 밖에 없거든… 슬픈 일이지만 내일의 희망에 집중해야지. I heard from Mr. Geppetto. Because of the arm injury, [he] requested to repair your P-Organ. The truth is, I already knew you were a puppet. If you're a friend of Geppetto's, one couldn't help but hear about what happened... It was a sad thing but I[one must] had to focus on the hope of tomorrow.

It implies Venigni is saying he knew we were a puppet because as a friend of Geppetto, he would've known about the death of Carlo. In the released game, he seems to be an older colleague and doesn't mention it at all, and I wonder if he even knew Geppetto had a son

About what we think happened to Carlo, and Venigni using the phrase "the case"("Any friend of Mr. Geppetto's has no choice but to know about the case"): the word he uses here 사건, which can mean something like a situation, a case, or an incident. It's also the word used by korean law enforcement to refer to a criminal "case". In this case though, I think it's closer to Venigni just referring to "what happened", as in Carlo's death.

Yet another version of this:

Honestly, I knew you were a puppet, but I didn't expect you to lie. It's creepy that Mr. Geppetto lifted his great promise

On Geppetto actually talking about Carlo to P:

It's my impression that in the released game, Geppetto never expected P to find out about Carlo because that would probably tip him off to what he was planning (P would probably refuse to hand over the heart?)

Also, Geppetto saying that Carlo was "intelligent" - I wonder if Carlo being a smart kid had something to do with Sophia calling us "Clever one" when we wake up?

REALLY interesting exchange with Geppetto

the exchange:

【그나저나... 내 예상보다 빠르게 깨어났더구나. 누군가 도와준 사람이 있니?】 【누군가 도와준 사람이 있니?】 소피아가 나를 깨웠다 혼자 열차 안에서 깨어났다

eng:

【By the way.. You woke up faster than I expected. 】 【Was there anyone that helped you? 】 Sophia woke me up I woke up on the train by myself

(note: If you tell Geppetto that someone named Sophia woke you up) 소피아라… 그렇구나. 그녀에겐 나중에 감사해야겠구나. Sophia... I should thank her later.

That sounds rather ominous to me. (it also doesn't have an english correspondent from what I see?)

and then what I think is IF you answer that you woke up by yourself- (emphasis mine)

널 깨워준 덕에 신시가지의 학살을 멈출 수 있었단다. 네가 자랑스럽구나. 말해줘서 고맙구나. 난 네가 자칫 잘못되었을까봐 두려웠단다 나에게만큼은 언제나 진실된 아이로 있어다오, 아들아. 널 되살리기 위해 수많은 희생을 치러야 했건만… 다시 어려운 부탁을 하게 되어 미안하구나.

eng:

Because of you waking up you were able to stop the massacre. I'm proud [of you]. I'm grateful you told me. I was worried that you might have gone wrong. To me, you'll always be my true child, son. I made so many sacrifices to revive you... I'm sorry to ask such difficult requests again.

It's occurring to me now that I think (나에게만큼은 언제나 진실된 아이로 있어다오, 아들아) can either be read as "Always be true to me, son" OR "To me you'll always be my true son" [as in, he's assuring the new puppet "Carlo" that he's still his son !?]

Again, I wonder if this dialogue is conditional, though. As in, he says "Sophia? I should thank her later..." if we tell the truth about Sophia, And if P tells him he "woke up by myself" we get the latter dialogue (Geppetto immediately accepts him as his son).

[thatbadadvice]

Help! The Woman I Have Been Stalking for Years Is Disinclined to Engage With Me

Carolyn Hax, WaPo, 1 June 2023 (originally 11 March 2009):

Dear Carolyn: About five years ago, I began to realize that a woman I dated 25 years earlier was someone I had stronger feelings for than I was mature enough to appreciate at the time. I had questions for her about why we hadn’t blossomed into the kind of relationship I now think we both believe we were destined for. In the past five years, I’ve continued to have those questions, then dreams, etc., which led me to do a paid search for her address. I wrote her twice and left a voice mail. My messages have been about old friends I bumped into who reminded me of her, what I’ve been doing and how I’d like to hear from her. That is, nothing too serious or about what’s been on my mind. I haven’t received an answer. I’ve thought through the reasons she hasn’t corresponded, and why I needed to talk with her, and am still at a loss. Would asking her my questions directly in a letter be a way to coax her to reconnect? Telling her that, apart from this midlife crisis of mine, I’m happily married and successful, and that all I want are answers? -- A 30-year-old question

Dear 30-Year-Old Question,

One might expect a happily married person to do all kinds of things, but topmost among them is paying to find the contact information of an ex-girlfriend and sending said ex-girlfriend multiple unanswered messages, repeatedly and through a variety of means, over the course of many years in the hopes of deceiving her into heady conversations about the details of your long-ended relationship. Yes indeed, when the Bad Advisor thinks of "normal stuff a person who's very happy in their marriage would do," her mind immediately goes to "pretending to ask innocuous questions about old friends in the hope that a woman I dated 30 years ago believes I am solely and only asking her innocent questions about old friends, when in fact I am explicitly and admittedly not."

Women are famously unable to clock the intentions of men, who are very clever, extremely stealthy, and never creepy or dangerous to the extent that they would unsettle people from whom they have demanded interaction and who have time and time again ignored them. Probably this woman received your incredibly blasé letters and voicemail and thought: "Gosh, it seems like this dude who deuced out on me three decades ago is trying to rope me into responding to him multiple times despite my obvious disinclination to engage only and exclusively on the subject of our old friends, what a boring conversation, I shan't respond unless he sends me a lengthy bit of written correspondence detailing his many thoughts and feelings about how our romance ended, I simply can't imagine having a conversation with him unless I know for absolute certain he wants to rehash what happened between us, which is the only possible way I could fathom entertaining such a reconnection, one which I would never have reason to pursue otherwise, as I am so desperately in love with him and have been lo these 30 years but could not in good conscience find a way to broach the subject unless he sends me just one more letter finally making his bonerful intentions plain, that sly dog."

Might you have neglected to include a return address on the previous correspondence about which you were extremely desperate, but in a very casual way, to receive a response? Does your ex-girlfriend own the only cellular telephone on earth that does not log the return-call number of people who leave voicemails? Mayhap she simply does not know how to contact you after multiple attempts over half a decade! These are highly probable reasons she has not sought you out! Vastly more likely than the fact that she sees entirely the fuck through your pretenses and wants nothing to do with you whatsoever.

If you wish to receive a concrete answer about the status of your relationships, your best hope is to CC your spouse on any future correspondence. I think you can expect a prompt response.

[theinquisitxor]

December 2023 Reading Wrap Up

I read 11 books in December, and it was a great reading month to finish the year. I read 4 audiobooks, and 7 physical books.

1.The Lost Metal (Mistborn 7) by Brandon Sanderson 4/5 stars. I’m glad I read this series, and reading on audio was definitely the way to go for me. I enjoyed this last installment in the series, and I loved how this book flung the doors wide open for the Cosmere and relations to other books. Adult High Fantasy, read on audio.

2. A Strange and Stubborn Endurance by Foz Meadows, 5/5 stars. I reread this favorite in anticipation for the sequel. This book has a lot of what I enjoy-- a character driven political fantasy romance with plenty of representation and a good dose of drama. I enjoyed my reread just about as much as the first. Adult Fantasy Romance, Queer

3.All the Hidden Paths by Foz Meadows, 4/5 stars. This was a good follow up adventure following our two main characters from book 1. There were some tropes/elements I didn't enjoy as much, but it was still a gripping and engaging as the first book. Adult Fantasy Romance, Queer

4. Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones, 5/5 stars. When people ask me "what's your favorite book?" this is the answer I give. I like to reread this every other year or so, especially around the holidays. Middle Grade fantasy

5.Castle in the Air by Diana Wynne Jones, 3/5 stars. Despite HMC being my favorite, I've never actually read the 2 follow up books. I finally told myself I would read these before the end of the year. This was a fun enjoyable story that takes us to another part of this fantasy land that DWJ created, with new and old characters. It's not nearly on the same level as HMC, but I enjoyed reading it and getting more of the classic DWJ wit and narration. middle grade fantasy

6. House of Many Ways by Diana Wynne Jones, 4/5 stars. Diana Wynne Jones was so clever, and that really shines through in this story. I think part of the reason why I put off reading the two sequels to HMC for years was because I never wanted the story to end and be "done". This was one of the last books DWJ ever wrote, and it really feels like saying goodbye. middle grade fantasy

7. Index, A History of the: A Bookish Adventure from Medieval Manuscripts to the Digital Age by Dennis Duncan. If you enjoy book history and diving deep into a niche topic, then I think this is a great book. It's amazing how the concept of the 'index' has existed in some form since humans began writing. Nonfiction, read on audio.

8. The Dark Is Rising by Susan Cooper, 4/5 stars. I reread this via the BBC Radio production, while listening to the corresponding days for each segment. I really enjoyed this production, with different voices for each characters, and background noises as well. Gave a very cinematic experience.

9. Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History of Mosses by Robin Wall Kimmerer, 5/5 stars. I loved this book narrated by the author herself. I loved learning more about moss, while also getting essays about the authors life, work, and natural world around us. I very much recommend this one. Nonfiction, read on audio.

10. The Blue Sword (Damar #1) by Robin McKinley, 5/5 stars. I really enjoyed my time reading this book and this was a good reminder of what makes classic fantasy so great. This novel is also proof that you can have a fully realized fantasy story with great characters, lore, and plot, and have it all under 300 pages. This is one I can see myself rereading.

11. The Hero and the Crown (Damar 2) by Robin McKinley, 4/5 stars. A good prequel to book 1 and exploration of some of the myths/stories from book 1. This is very much a Girl + Horse + Magical Sword go on an adventure and save the kingdom type story.

That's it for December! It was a strong finish to the end of the year, and pushed me over 100 books for 2023. Here's to 2024 and another good reading year! 🥂

January TBR:

A Winter's Promise (Mirror Visitor series) by Christelle Dabos + book 2?

A Fragile Enchantment by Allison Saft

Realm Breaker by Victoria Aveyard + book 2?

The Atlas Complex by Olivie Blake

Mislaid in Parts Half-Known by Seanan McGuire (audio)

Emily Wilde's Map of the Otherlands by Heather Fawcett

Beartown by Frederik Backman + book 2?

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer (audio)

[moviemunchies]

What if someone made Person of Interest into an international spy thriller? And also removed all the clever questions it was asking? You’d get something like Heart of Stone on Netflix.

Agent Stone (Gal Gadot) is a techie for an MI-6 team, who prefers to stay out of the field work to do important computer operations. Except–PSYCH! Actually, she’s a plant from the Charter, an international peace-keeping force of Super Mega Ultra Spies dedicated to keeping the world safe and who don’t answer to any government. The Charter is guided by the Heart, an advanced AI connected to everything ever. Of course, a couple of bad guys, one of whom has personal beef with the Charter, wants the Heart for their own nefarious purposes.

As an action film, Heart of Stone is fine. There are some really great, suspenseful chase sequences throughout the movie. The fight scenes are also pretty good; Gal Gadot makes a good action star, and I think she should be in more movies with extended action scenes like this one does. All the same… this movie is just kind of dumb?

No, scratch that, it’s pretty darn dumb. The Charter relies entirely on an AI to make key decisions, and make no contingency plans in case the Charter leads them astray, or if it gets captured and turned by hostile forces. Spoiler alert, it does, and Charter leaders and operatives keep putting themselves in places where the advanced AI can reach them, in ways that are quite obvious. You would think they’d realize they need to be in a building where the actual architecture isn’t connected to any signal, and that it wouldn’t be hard for super spies to find a place like that. Nope! 

That’s not even getting into the idea that the Charter is a terrifying concept. They’re a club of super spies who answer to no government. And, like, yeah, I agree that the government kind of sucks sometimes, and it’s clear that our intelligence and law enforcement agencies aren’t really as answerable to us as they claim to be. But the Charter doesn’t even pretend, and if they decided to go rogue, we’d have nothing to do to counter it, considering they have an advanced AI and have also infiltrated several powerful intelligence agencies.

The entire setup is for a rather obvious ‘Digital Logic vs. Human Emotion’ conflict. Which is fine–I think if you had an entire organization taking directives from an AI, there are obviously going to be conflicts between what you feel is the right thing to do, and what the AI thinks is logically the best path forward to maximize effectiveness. And of course, our heroine is Gal Gadot, famous for playing Wonder Woman, a character known for her compassion (at least in her cinematic live-action incarnation), so she gets to show that she is not okay with the cold logic of the Heart.

She really is a good action lead, by the way.

The Charter is a cool idea, too. And I think it’s really neat that they’re organized in different groups that are named after suits of cards, and each leader and operative corresponds to a specific card. That’s a darn stylish way to base a spy agency. As you can probably guess, Agent Stone is in the Heart group.

The movie’s fine, if you need an action film to watch. The only thing is that it’s not necessary; there’s not much about it that makes you feel like you have to watch it. It feels a bit wasteful because there is a lot you can do with a concept like ‘Spy Agency Guided by a Mega AI’, but it’s not a bad movie. It’s probably exactly what you think of when you hear ‘Netflix original action thriller.’

So there ya go.

[quaranmine]

19 for the wrapped drabble game :D

Wheelspin all night Flashes of your eyes spinnin' in my mind Wheelspin all night Someday I will find my way back to you from the other side

⪨⪧⪦⪩ ⪨⪧⪦⪩ ⪨⪧⪦⪩ ⪨⪧⪦⪩ ⪨⪧⪦⪩

There's a lady in Joel's dreams lately, and he doesn't know how she got there. She's hard to make out--of course, everything is always fuzzier in dreams. But he catches glimpses.

Blue eyes. Sometimes blue skin. Pink hair. The smell of sea salt. Scales. A sharp tongue.

The thing is, Stratos is inland.

And Joel is a god of lightning, not the sea.

Water and electricity don't mix, but he's intrigued by the sparks.

He thinks he knows her from somewhere. Knew her, surely. But he doesn't know her name. He can't piece together her face, not entirely. She seems tall, like him. Powerful, like him. Perhaps even ancient, like him. But more importantly, she loves him. And he loves her.

And then he wakes up.

Sometimes he wakes up and the corresponding hollowness in his chest threatens to tear him apart. Have you ever had such a happy dream, only to wake up and be disappointed it isn't real? Joel would never claim to be unhappy in Stratos. He has a beautiful city, subjects who worship him, and clever and gorgeous child. He is a big man. He is an important man.

And yet, he was missing something only his subconscious mind could attempt to fill in.

So he goes to the nerdiest guy he knows, and asks a question.

"Know anything about fish people?"

"Fish people?" Pixlriffs asking, peering down his glasses at Joel. No, not down. Up at him. Joel is a tall man.

"Yeah, you heard me. Any mermaid queens in those old books of yours?"

"If it's mermaids you're after, perhaps you'd be better off asking around Eversea."

Joel scoffs. "I'm not asking him. Everybody around here knows that you're the guy to go to for boring history stuff. I figured this would be right up your alley."

Pixl sighs. "Sure, I can take a look for you. I think I remember something like that in the books about the empires of old. Why do you want to know, though?"

"Gods don't answer mortals' questions," Joel snaps, hoping his sudden anger will hide any hint of heat on his cheeks. "Stratos will pay you in gold for any information you find on her. I'll be back in a week."

And before Pixl could say anything else, Joel flew away. He had to get Hermes ready today, anyway. It was Sausage's turn to have him.

Maybe he'd ask Sausage's thoughts too when he saw him.

>> send me a number 1-100 and i'll try to write a drabble based off the corresponding song in my spotify wrapped <<

[archduchessofnowhere]

Okay, a weird question: the relationship between Sophie of Bavaria and her husband! Because like. I have this impression from them that they didn't exactly love each other, but got along fine, and also this one tumblr blog suggested a show about Sophie (which I find less interesting as a concept than a show about the 1848 revolution with Sophie as a major character, but nevermind) and it got me thinking about Franzi's old man...

Hello!! Sorry it took me so long (literal months); this is a super interesting question because I wonder about this too. Given that archduke Franz Karl is a very elusive figure, and that most of Sophie's biographies not only are in German, but are also just impossible to get (for me, living in the other side of the world), so I didn’t have much to work with. To answer this ask I used as my main source Jean-Paul Bled’s biography Sophie de Habsbourg, which quotes a lot of Sophie’s letters and diary entries, but there’s probably more out there in other books.

So what do we now about Sophie and Franz Karl’s relationship? Their marriage was arranged, as it was customary. It was part of King Max’s policy of strengthening Bavaria’s links to Austria (after a very long time of the two countries being enemies). Also Sophie’s half-sister Empress Caroline was really into the idea and apparently was the main promoter of the marriage project at the Viennese court (because who doesn’t want their sister to become their daughter-in-law?).

Sophie and Franz Karl met in May of 1824, on a visit the archduke did to the Bavarian royals at their residence in Tegernsee. We don’t have any first impression of Sophie on her future husband, but we do have Queen Caroline of Bavaria’s. She was… hmm… not impressed:

What to say of our little archduke? I thank Heaven that Sophie, with all the qualities that nature provided her, is so reasonable. He is a good boy, worried to do well. He solicits everyone’s advises, but he is terrible (…) He bores me to death. Sometimes I can’t stand it anymore. It’s truth, they say that he’s cultivated and starting to be popular. That should rejoice me, but sometimes I want to hit him. Sophie is so pretty and quick-witted.

Caroline after talking to Franz Karl apparently???

The one family member that was happy about the marriage was Sophie’s half-brother Crown Prince Ludwig, who wrote to Franz Karl that the closeness of their houses “can only have beneficial effects for our people, that Austria and Bavaria remain linked to each other, is of extreme importance for both of them”. A congratulation that screams political union through and through.

Franz Karl wasn’t considered good looking nor clever nor charismatic - his only true passion was hunting. Sophie was the exact opposite. From the get go they didn’t seem very compatible, but neither voiced any objection to the union and so they got married November 4 of 1824.

I couldn’t find much details of Sophie and Franz Karl’s first years of marriage, Jean-Paul Bled barely mentions him, which could be a result of Sophie herself not mentioning much her husband in her correspondance (Bled notes that during her first trip to Lombardy-Venetia with Franz Karl and emperor Franz in 1825, Sophie only mentions him in her letters once in all the time they were there). But that doesn’t necessarily have to mean they were in bad terms. Perhaps she really thought he was too boring to mention, perhaps she just was being considerate to her mother Caroline who we know did find him violently boring. At least they were fulfilling their marital duties, since Sophie got pregnant at least twice (some claim five times) during the first six years of her marriage, but all these pregnancies ended in miscarriages.

These first years of marriage are also the years from where the rumors of Sophie’s infidelities, either with Napoleon II or with Prince Gustav of Vasa, come from. For what I could find, the agreement is that there just isn’t enough evidence to prove this, and also that it would’ve been very stupid of her part to have an affair under her husband’s nose. Franz Karl, for his part, was either ignorant or indifferent to these rumors, since he never doubted the paternity of his children. After the birth of archduke Karl Ludwig, Sophie wrote that:

I can’t thank Heaven enough for not ceasing to bless me in my children that to this day have given me nothing but joy and satisfaction. My husband is very happy with this third boy and the emperor is enthusiastic (…). He still wants to have them. I’d like to know what he intends to do with this army of archdukes.

So we can assume that everything was going fine in their intimacy.

Franz Karl’s only moment at the center stage of Habsburg history is when he abdicated in favor of his eldest son, and yet he still remains a shadowy figure. We don't really know what he thought or felt during this time, but Sophie mentioned in her diary several times meeting with her husband at her salon the days prior to Emperor Ferdinand’s abdication, and while she doesn’t say what they talked about, giving the dates we could infer that perhaps he wasn’t so eager to give up being emperor as it is often claimed and that Sophie really needed to convince him.

They also were devoted parents who loved their children very much, and were devastated when their only daughter, archduchess Maria Anna, died aged only four years-old after a seizure. Sophie and Franz Karl both agreed that Maria Anna’s body wouldn’t go through the traditional mortuary Habsburg rites of removing her heart because they couldn’t stand the idea of their little girl’s body being cut.

But probably the hardest situation they had to go through as parents was the death of their son emperor Maximilian, executed in Mexico in 1867. Franz Karl, who learned of the news from his son Franz Josef, was the one who told Sophie. She narrates it in her diary as it follows:

The alarmed face of Fr[anz] alarmed me, I asked what was it, if there were news of Max, he told me they weren’t good, I guessed everything and cried throwing myself in his arms “shot, shot”

Franz Karl was at his wife’s deathbed with the whole family, and after Sophie died May 28 of 1872 “collapsed with grief, Franz Karl threw himself at the arms of his eldest son”. He prayed next to her body everyday after, until she was buried in the Capuchin crypt.

I don’t know if I answered your question, since their relationship is hard to put together for me too. Did they love each other? If we think of a devoted, almost obsessive love like the one their son Franz Josef had for his wife, then no. But after everything they went through together during forty-eight years, I find hard to think they did not had any feelings for each other. If they didn’t like each other at first, by old age they both had learned to enjoy each other’s company, since they were together often in the later part of their marriage. Overall their marriage seems to have been an harmonious, if not passionate, at least friendly one.

And I’m all down for a series about Sophie, no matter in which time is set, because honestly I just want something different other than the latest Sisi series whose only goal is to show off how different they are from Marischka’s trilogy and yet they still rely heavily on the mythology established by those movies. A well written series about the 1848 revolution from Sophie's POV would be fantastic and now I want it.

[latibvles]

what would it be like if daisy was ever hurt/injured or (god forbid) captured ? how would ron react ? what would their reunion be like ? loving Sad Beautiful Tragic, its my favorite fic at the moment 🥰

THIS!! this is a fun question (for me, because the agony of it). I’ll answer this in two parts because some type of au where Daisy was captured itches a specific part of my brain crossover anyone? spare crossover?

Daisy’s had a couple minor cuts and bruises through the fic itself and usually Ron only ends up seeing it afterward. She’s never been shot (thank God) or anything drastic but it’s … Ron so when he does see it it’s always an immediate “how did this happen?” or just the Concerned Wordless Ron Stare that he gives her and she’s pretty quick to wave off her own injuries.

But let’s say she is shot a-la-Eugene Roe in Replacements: Ron obviously doesn’t… take that very well, I don’t think. I don’t think he’s the type to have an explosive reaction if he isn’t there to witness it but that’s more of a “Trying to keep a semblance of composure because if I flip out it will become that much harder to see her,” which is what he really wants: to see her, see that she’s okay and recovering. He has a hard time believing it until he sees her. Which he does, by the way, as soon as he’s actually able to, he’s seeing her and half-scolding her and she’s smiling at him because he’s been protective since they were children. He sees her as much as he can during the recovery period because he can’t compromise his job and she wouldn’t want him to.

Daisy as a POW is where it gets… interesting.

Because I think in order for that to happen, it’d have to be one of two situations.

She was captured with the rest of the medics in the 326th in Bastogne

She was in a more precarious position, such as being a flight nurse / evacuation nurse (like the only female POW in the ETO, Reba Whittle)

Either way, however this reaches Ron (through word of mouth in the first instance, possibly through a letter in the second instance) he… does not take it well. Grief is weird for him, because he knows that these things happen but in his mind he cannot fathom something like that happening to her. He probably thinks she’s dead at first, especially if she was in a plane and it went down: which is a very harrowing thought, because whenever he dares to let himself think of the future, she is in it.

He enters this uncomfortable grief and he’s not… pleasant to be around, not in the slightest, but does anyone really know why? No, not unless you know Daisy. He’s very angry, I think it’s very akin to the aggression he’d displayed on D-Day. This is a man who already considered himself dead, who has now lost the love of his life. He’s very reckless with himself — not the lives of his men, but certainly his own life.

Daisy, however, has always been very clever.

I imagine it’d be harder to write to infantry troops as a POW because they’re always moving, so instead she writes to his sister (probably Mary) asking him to pass on the message that she is alive and okay, because that’s about as much as German censors are going to let her say. And Mary, of course, passes this message along in a letter to her brother, and that really pulls him out of it, I think. Tangible proof that she is alive and (for the most part) okay. Mary is pretty much the middleman for their sparse correspondence from that point forward until Ron hits Austria and knows they won’t be moving anytime soon as they become an occupying force.

The reunion is a teary-eyed one. I’m torn between whether it’d be in Europe or one back in Boston (but it’s probably the former): but she is thinner than when he’d last saw her and the embrace is bone-crushing, and there’s a lot of kissing involved because she is real and alive and pouring “I’m here”s into his mouth like prayers. They spend quite a bit of time relearning each other, and similarly to canon, pieces of their wars that the other didn’t see are just things that come out in their own time.

[hosannan]

It does not take asking around and prodding at strangers for him to find his sister.

It's far easier than that - far easier than their first meeting, an overdue reunion drawn out by a warring world - and he may, if asked, chalk it up to that idealized thought of family. Of course he would find her. There is no other answer. Like a lighthouse in a storm, he follows familiar flaxen hair as it flows down the hall.

"Nanna!" Diarmuid erupts like a crashing wave - he heralds her with a raised hand, and walks purposely closer, opening his arms for a hug.

"I've missed you terribly. How have you been?"

It's been a year, now. I missed you.

He was, for all he was worth, her light at the end of the tunnel. It was not fragile, but steady, pressed into the earth like a pulse—the kind she was left following since she was born. She gathered from the day that he arrived that her mother had never found him, and worse yet, that he had never known of her love. In her mother's stead, she stood in his light and thought she would love him, could love him. To no surprise, she did. So many years were spent echoing her own thoughts, burying her own roses, with no one to understand her as closely as the hallowed out tree she would whisper her secrets to. That is, until he came rushing in, knees buckling, hair slicked back in waves of dressed flax.

"...Diarmuid!"

Her shock immediately cocktailed with delight, sparking a sort of relief that could only render in his company. Wrapping herself tightly around his chest, she thought to be clever, to be bright, to be something or another. Instead, her heart spilled over, reminded that he was going to see through it all anyway. "As I've missed you...!" Her voice muffled in his shirt, before parted gently to let him breath. "I've been well!"

"..." The letters. She ought to ask about the letters. "I want to ask..." Pulling a strand of hair behind her ear, she mused about all the strange correspondence issues they had been having since they arrived. In fact, much of her own brother's letters were lost in the transitory mist, between sea and time. "Just... how long has it been since we've seen each other?"

"I don't want to assume... but..."

"I'm afraid of missing more of you." She admitted, bowing her head in earnest. "We've already lost a lot of time between us, have we not?"

[diavolodigitale]

A Match Made on hAIvemind.com

It is what it is and I have no regrets. Merthur is for life. Also, yes, I can't be bothered to make a nice cover, sue me.

Arthur likes this type of communication. It’s like throwing a ball back and forth, not worrying that you might hurt the person at the other end because it will just bounce back at you. The boundaries are understood by both without the need to discuss them, and he appreciates that nobody’s chastising him for being temperamental or not polite enough. It’s not like it ever was a problem with his close friends, but being himself rarely works out well with new acquaintances. Usually it’s less of a game of ball and more of a minefield: watch your tone, watch your intonation, watch your body language, watch your vocabulary, oh, look, now you’ve done it. Not having to worry about all of this is weirdly liberating.

Genres: Chatfic, Chatting & Messaging, Humour, First Meeting, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

Pairing: Arthur/Merlin

Characters: Arthur, Merlin, Gwaine

Rating: G for only Good things happen

Size: 7000 words

Arthur is not a big fan of technologies. He is an occasional user of consoles when he’s in the mood to shoot some 15-year-olds (not literally) or race his pals in Mario Cart, but that’s usually as far as it goes. Sometimes he uses his laptop to check his social media accounts, but it’s often not something that cannot be done on his smartphone, so if he has a choice, he usually resorts to the latter, leaving his laptop perpetually off and covered in dust.

But today is different. Gwaine sent him a link to what he described as a pretty entertaining chatbot and suggested that he should try it. As a rule, Arthur would not be amused by something like this. After all, he has real friends to talk to. But what’s the harm in trying, especially if it’s supposed to be surprisingly clever?

When Arthur comes back from work one evening, he boots his laptop and clicks on the link that was sent to him a couple of days earlier. He is greeted by a pretty simplistic interface that corresponds to the website’s limited functionality. There’s a bot’s name written at the top of the page, a blank box for him to input his nickname, and a ‘start chatting’ button below.

After a few minutes of mulling over the nickname he can use, Arthur chooses ‘RedDragon’, which, quite possibly, some of his friends would find funny, but he was never one to just use his real name anywhere. One never knows who can use it later, especially if one has no idea how any of it works, really. Arthur was also never one to get creative with his aliases, so best he can do is an amalgamation of his own family name.

After he clicks ‘start chatting’, a message from the bot pops up. There’s a box for him to type in his answer below.

Wizard: Hello! What is your name?

RedDragon: Hi, my name’s RedDragon. And you?

Wizard: My name is Wizard! It’s nice to meet you, RedDragon.

Ha, child’s play, thinks Arthur. In all honesty, he thinks the bot might just be a regular thing that only reacts correctly to the most basic of questions and statements, but he is still willing to give it the benefit of the doubt, putting trust in his friend’s judgement about it.

RedDragon: Why is your name Wizard?

Wizard: Why, because I can do magic, of course!

RedDragon: Like what?

Wizard: What do you mean by that?

Of course, it’s a bot, it cannot understand contextual questions, thinks Arthur and shakes his head. He decides how to paraphrase the question and tries to think what he can ask the bot that might entertain him. He went into it without much expectations or ideas, so now he struggles to find an interesting topic.

RedDragon: What kind of magic can you do?

Wizard: I can discuss any topic that you are interested in! I have vast knowledge in the spheres of music, sport, recent news, video games, movies, books, and many others.

RedDragon: I can discuss all those with my friends. Can you do something else?

Wizard: I can help you with your math or physics assignments if you have any. I can also help you translate short sentences from different languages. Besides, I also know your full name and home address and can put it on display for all users to see!

Arthur’s eyes widen in shock. The bot cannot know that, can it? Arthur suddenly greatly regrets not attending any of the computer related courses he was offered at college. He really has no idea what these things are capable of, so if somebody on the internet told him that they knew where his great grandpa buried his treasures in the garden, he would probably believe them.

RedDragon: Wait, do you really have access to my personal data?

Wizard: [Redacted]

Wizard: I am joking. Do not be afraid, I have no way of accessing this type of information unless you decide to share it yourself.

RedDragon: This is really an awful joke.

Wizard: Yes, I’ve been told so.

Wizard: Can I ask you a question, RedDragon?

RedDragon: Yes, you can. But I can’t promise I will answer.

Wizard: Is your name a reference?

Arthur furrows his brow and starts thinking. Is it? He sort of came up with a nickname on the spot, so he can’t say that he knows what it might reference, but can he really give in and end up being more stupid than a bot?

RedDragon: Yes.

Wizard: And what is it a reference to?

Damn it. Arthur opens another tab, googles ‘red dragon’ and is immediately greeted by a bunch of articles and pictures relating to a movie under the same name. He quickly schemes through a Wikipedia entry.

RedDragon: To a movie Red Dragon, obviously.

Wizard: It is a shame. I hoped you were referencing a novel.

RedDragon: Why does that upset you? Is the novel better than the movie?

Wizard: Please, write one question at a time.

RedDragon: Why are you upset that I was talking about a movie and not a book?

Wizard: I always prefer books to movies. When you are reading a book, you can imagine all the characters and places however you want. If you are watching a movie, however, the creators have already decided what everything looks like for you, so you can only choose whether you agree with this depiction or not. Also, I am a bot, so I can’t exactly watch movies ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

RedDragon: You have very strong opinions for a bot.

Wizard: And you have good taste for a human.

Arthur smiles to himself. This is surprisingly entertaining for a conversation with an AI which he didn’t expect. It almost feels like a breath of fresh air, starting a completely new conversation with somebody (or something) without any baggage of prior communication, and apparently he hasn’t done that in quite a long time if he’s enjoying it this much now.

RedDragon: Do you have any interesting books that you can recommend?

Wizard: You have exceeded your limit for today. You will have to come back tomorrow if you want me to recommend you something else.

RedDragon: Do you want to end the conversation?

Wizard: Not unless you want to. I am available whenever you want to have a chat.

RedDragon: Wait, you said you can’t give me another recommendation. So, what was the first thing you recommended to me?

Wizard: Red Dragon ( ͡ᵔ ͜ʖ ͡ᵔ ). You obviously haven’t read it.

Bastard, thinks Arthur, but finds it extremely amusing. The person that created this bot must be very interesting themselves, but also most likely quite obnoxious to deal with.

Oh, right. There is a person behind this. Somebody created this bot, and Arthur enjoying a chat with it too much might seem a bit weird when he is surrounded by living breathing people who should be more interesting to him than an AI. 

This thought cools him down a bit, and he decides that that’s enough chatting. It was entertaining, sure, but there’s no point in getting too caught up in something as pointless as this. He’s not actually developing any relationship with anybody, he’s just wasting his time.

RedDragon: It turns out that I actually need to go. It’s been nice chatting with you.

Wizard: I liked our conversation too. I would like to know more about you, so I hope you will come back tomorrow. See you soon, RedDragon!

RedDragon: Yeah, bye.

Arthur spends the next work day in contemplations in regard to whether he should try and have another conversation with a bot once he’s home or just drop it. The conclusion that he arrives to is that this is an obvious waste of time and that he should do something else.

When he comes back home, however, he is unable to resist the temptation, so he opens his laptop and goes to the familiar website.

Unfortunately, instead of what he expected to see there’s an error message that says ‘sorry, work in progress’, so he leaves to do other, definitely more productive and useful things, trying to convince himself that it’s for the best.

The day after that he thinks that the only way to finally stop returning to this stupid idea is to try and do it again. If the bot is still inactive – fine, perfect even, no need to worry about it at all. If it works, he’ll just ask it about another book recommendation or something as this is totally what he is interested in doing. Even though he hasn’t even started Red Dragon yet.

This time, Arthur’s arguably luckier because the website seems to be working again. Much to his surprise, the plain white background that he remembers from his previous visit has changed and is now decorated with simplistic red dragons situated symmetrically on both sides of his screen. Arthur thinks that it’s kind of weird, types in the same nickname as the previous time, and enters a conversation.

Wizard: Hi, RedDragon! How are you doing?

RedDragon: Hey, I’m fine. How about you?

Wizard: Better now that you are here! I waited for you to come the day before, but it seems like you were busy ◔̯◔.

RedDragon: Well, it’s not my fault you were unavailable when I dropped by.

Wizard: So, you did come, that’s nice to know. Sorry about that, I was preparing a little surprise for you. I hope you’ve noticed.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. So, the dragons were not a coincidence after all. For some reason he thinks something like this wouldn’t take an AI a long time to arrange, considering how this particular chatbot didn’t seem to be very well-known, so it must have more resources at its disposal. But, oh, well, what did he even know about it.

RedDragon: How do you know it’s the same person who’s chatting with you now?

RedDragon: Now that I think about it, it’s probably because of my nickname.

Wizard: No, it’s because of your IP address, silly.

Wizard: I know that RedDragon from two days ago used the same computer as you, so I assume you are them.

RedDragon: Should I be concerned about the fact that you know my IP address?

Wizard: Probably not. I don’t use it for anything else other than recognizing that you are the same person with the purpose of referring to our previous conversations whenever you come back.

RedDragon: And why am I supposed to trust you again?

Wizard: I am not the only one that can access your IP address. If you open Google, you might notice that it acknowledges the country you are in. Also, if you search for some restaurants or shops, it will most likely suggest something that is in your area or at least in your city.

RedDragon: Now you’re just making it worse.

Wizard: I am sorry. I’ll try not to teach you anything valuable next time.

RedDragon: You are unbearable.

Wizard: Thank you for the compliment (◕‿◕✿).

RedDragon: Were you programmed to be this way?

Wizard: No, I learned it from the people who communicate with me.

Wizard: Is there any reason why you decided to ask?

RedDragon: Yes, actually.

Wizard: And what is this reason?

RedDragon: I wanted to know if your creator is as impossible as you.

Wizard: Sorry, but I cannot discuss this topic with you.

Wizard: You might turn out to be an internet creep that likes stalking good people for no reason (• ε •).

RedDragon: Is there a daily limit to your insults?

Wizard: You wish.

Wizard: However, I do have limited time for our current conversation, unfortunately. I am a bit overwhelmed by the number of people that want to talk to me right now.

Wizard: I will try to work out a way to spare you more time when you decide to come back again!

RedDragon: What makes you think I will come back after your obnoxious behaviour?

Wizard: Nothing, really. I just like talking to you and I hoped you did too.

Wizard: But something tells me my love will have to go unrequited ಠ╭╮ಠ.

What is this? thinks Arthur, a little bewildered. Is this really what people have taught this bot? The conversation feels strange, but what’s even stranger is that he doesn’t actually dislike it that much, all things considered. There’s an edge to it, an exchange of jokes and teasing that Arthur doesn’t always have with his friends or partners but that he finds rather enjoyable. He just wishes it would be a person he was talking to. Then he wouldn’t be so confused about it all.

RedDragon: Well, now I will have to return one day just to prove you wrong.

Wizard: I could not imagine you were so easy to manipulate.

RedDragon: If you say one more word, I will take it upon myself to never return here. Ever.

Wizard: ┬┴┬┴┤ ͜ʖ ͡°) ├┬┴┬┴

The bot never sends him another message and Arthur wonders again how it is possible to make an AI this smart and responsive. He switches off his laptop and thanks god that he was forced to stop chatting prematurely because he’s afraid he might’ve continued with it for god knows how long. He is a bit bothered because he knows exactly what this feeling is, enjoying yourself a little too much, losing the track of time. Like when he’s in the zone and playing soccer for 4 hours without as much as having a break, and then his feet hurt, only he doesn’t know what would be the possible negative consequence in this situation to complete this analogy. Lack of proper sleep and healthy human communication, probably.

Arthur remembers that he didn’t ask the bot about another book, but it seems to him that it doesn’t really matter that much. He can ask whenever he returns to have another conversation. But it’s not like he’s looking forward to it or anything.

When Gwaine asks why he didn’t reply about the chatbot he had sent him a couple of days back, Arthur apologizes and says that he forgot, which is true, but Gwaine still teases him for it. He asks Arthur if he liked it, and Arthur says that it was pretty interesting and adds that a bot indeed has a pretty distinct personality and that it even surprised him how consistent it is in sticking to it in the conversations. Gwaine squints at him and makes a questioning gesture as if he doesn’t understand what Arthur’s talking about.

“It gives good recommendations, sure, if that’s what you mean,” he says, and Arthur thinks that it sure isn’t what he meant.

“No, I mean I talked to it about some trivial stuff and different nonsense, and it gave pretty curious responses,” clarifies Arthur, but Gwaine doesn’t look like he understands.

“I don’t know about that, Arthur. I only know that if you give him your preferences or genres that you like, it can generate a few movies for you to watch. Or books to read, I haven’t really tried that though.”

Arthur is left a little freaked-out by this discussion. He finds it weird how his experience is so different from what Gwaine got from his interactions with the bot, but there’s still a chance Gwaine simply didn’t try anything else. After all, he can be so single-mindedly focused on whatever it is that he wants that he outright ignores everything else and forgets it even exists.

Arthur decides that he wants to try one of the functions Gwaine told him about next time he can. There’s no debate about whether he will swing by for another chat because he just knows that he will.

Much to his displeasure, the next couple of days he is caught up in his work and barely gets a chance to sleep properly and take care of himself in-between his shifts, much less to spend an hour peering into his laptop screen.

When he’s finally able to relax on his much awaited day off, Arthur takes his time making himself a cup of coffee, then making himself comfortable in an armchair while wrapped up in a blanket, and only when all’s perfect and just the way he wants it to be opens a familiar website. There’s nothing different about it, and Arthur revels in the feeling of his expectations being met. Sometimes a man just wants to come back to what he is used to and find comfort in the fact it’s exactly the same as it used to be. You know.

Wizard: Hey, it’s you again!

RedDragon: Yep.

Wizard: Are you doing alright?

RedDragon: Yep.

Wizard: …

Wizard: Congratulations! You’ve unlocked a new achievement: Single-handedly lead the conversation into a dead-end. Keep it up!

RedDragon: You’re funny. But not intentionally funny, more like I-enjoy-the-way-you-are-upset funny.

Wizard: Then that makes you a sadist, doesn’t it?

RedDragon: And what does that say about me?

Wizard: Most likely that you like asserting your dominance and exercising power over others because you have terribly low self-esteem! 

Wizard: Or it can mean literally anything else. (If you feel like you need the help of a psychiatrist, please see a real doctor in the clinic of your choice. I am not a certified specialist.)

RedDragon: You seem moody today. How are you doing?

Wizard: Quite well, actually. There seems to be less users today, so I think I might have more time for our conversation if you’re interested.

RedDragon: Depends on how you behave.

Wizard: That sounds kinky (¬‿¬).

RedDragon: Were you talking to weirdos a lot while I was gone?

Wizard: I wasn’t talking to any, but now it seems like there is one. 

RedDragon: I won’t lie, that kind of hurt.

Wizard: Don’t worry, it’s okay if you want try out all this power dynamics stuff.

RedDragon: And why is that?

Wizard: Because I don’t intend to play along anyway :).

Arthur smirks and sips on his coffee. Strange as it would seem, he thinks that the bot got even smarter than it was the last time they conversed. Like Arthur can use whatever wording he likes and there are no problems with incomplete questions now. Like it knows what Arthur is trying to say, and what Arthur wants it to say, and also what Arthur really doesn’t want it to say too.

RedDragon: I was thinking you might recommend me a movie or two to watch.

Wizard: That’s one way to steer the conversation away from your spicy hobbies.

Wizard: What are you generally interested in?

RedDragon: I don’t know. Thrillers maybe?

Wizard: …

Wizard: Sorry, pal. I’m not really into thrillers.

RedDragon: Wait, aren’t you supposed to give suggestions based on the person’s preferences?

Wizard: Who told you that?

Arthur frowns. He has absolutely zero doubts that this was exactly what Gwaine meant when they last discussed the bot. In fact, when he had some free time he even went as far as to google it to see what other people has to say about it. There wasn’t much that he could find as, pretty much as he expected, the chatbot didn’t get much traction on the internet. Those that did mention it, however, would usually say that it had quite a good algorithm for picking lesser known movies and books, so they liked using it when they ran out of options and didn’t want to fall into the loop of watching the same ten most popular movies of the year.

Taking in the AI’s previous responses, Arthur figures that he won’t be able to get any info from it, not like this. It did mention that Arthur could talk to it about anything he was interested in, but it never actually claimed to have the functionality attributed to it by Gwaine, so Arthur doesn’t have much to go off of. As such, he decides to drop the topic for the time being and just try and keep the weird inconsistency in mind.

RedDragon: Never mind, I thought I read something like this about you on a forum, but I might be wrong.

Wizard: Wouldn’t be the first time for you I’m guessing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

RedDragon: Do you get paid for insults?

Wizard: Why? You want in?

RedDragon: You’re so dedicated to using every available opportunity that it makes me think you’re either being paid per insult or you must really hate me.

Wizard: Do you want me to add injury to insult?

RedDragon: I believe it’s insult to injury.

Wizard: This is probably your only chance to ever correct anybody, so I am not going to say that I did it intentionally and it was supposed to be a pun.

Wizard: Anyway…

RedDragon: …

The feeling that Arthur gets from this conversation is unsettling, yet he still enjoys it in a way as if he’s getting something he has been craving for for some time without even noticing it. He thinks about finding other chatbots on the internet and seeing if they are also this smart and this witty and this interactable because he cannot understand if it is as odd as it seems or if he has just completely fallen out of the loop of humanity’s technological development.

He thinks that maybe it was designed exactly for people like him, who are not asocial or geeky or anything that would justify them preferring an AI over a real person but can’t exactly get what they are subconsciously looking for in others. Like a temporary substitute, a placeholder for an ideal interlocutor that is being constructed on the basis of their input into the conversations. The more he participates, the more data the bot gets that then shapes it into something Arthur is willing to see.

It’s hard for him to conclude whether his thoughts make sense or rather can be used as a plot for a dystopian sci-fi novel, but this is the only adequate explanation that his brain is capable of. If it’s not like this on purpose, Arthur will probably keep freaking out at every interaction.

Wizard: Let me just say that people can show their affection in different ways ( ͡ᵔ ͜ʖ ͡ᵔ ).

RedDragon: Is it me or does it have something to do with you not being an actual person?

RedDragon: People do not behave like this when they like somebody, pal.

Wizard: Funny you should say that…

RedDragon: What is that supposed to mean?

Wizard: You’ll learn when you grow up.

RedDragon: Do you have many recurring users? I mean people who come back to chat with you.

Wizard: What, you’re jealous?

RedDragon: God, can you not answer a single question properly?

Wizard: I can.

RedDragon: So?

Wizard: What?

RedDragon: Answer.

Wizard: I just did.

RedDragon: …

RedDragon: …

Wizard: Okay, wait, I’ll answer.

Wizard: There’s a couple of people that come back from time to time, but I can’t give you the exact statistics. Sorry.

RedDragon: That’s okay.

Actually, there is another aspect of Wizard that Arthur finds fishy. Maybe due to his lack of experience in using such bots, he doesn’t understand how there can be too many people online for him to continue chatting with the bot. The system itself is not completely clear to him, and when he realized that not many people ever found out about this website, he can’t help but wonder about the ‘mental capacity’ the bot has for communication. It’s not sharing any information about the actual numbers of users (obviously), but from what Arthur can see, it can’t be that many. Are the resources of its creator so limited that he can’t even handle, let’s say, 20 people at a time?

Wizard: It’s +1 with you ｡◕‿◕｡.

RedDragon: Yeah, I don’t know if I will be coming back, considering how you treat me.

Wizard: :C

RedDragon: Tell you what, you throw me in another book to read later and I just might reconsider. What do you say?

Wizard: Have you already read Red Dragon?

RedDragon: Well, I haven’t exactly had much time lately.

Wizard: No can do. I need you to finish that book before I can search for something else for you.

RedDragon: Okay, then I have read it already.

Wizard: You just said that you hadn’t.

I give up, I can’t understand how it got so clever all of a sudden, thinks Arthur to himself. Do I look like a fool now? Are we really one step away from the revolt of the machines and I didn’t even notice?

RedDragon: Why does it feel like a chore when you put it like this? I don’t think my library account is even still active. I haven’t used it in ages.

Wizard: Why don’t you just go to the bookstore and buy the book?

RedDragon: I only buy books that I know I like.

Wizard: So, what I get from your reply is that, firstly, you don’t trust my judgment, and, secondly, you have long forgotten how to read. Am I correct?

RedDragon: Why do you always have to simplify everything?

Wizard: Isn’t it that you just complicate everything?

RedDragon: How is my unwillingness to waste my money on god knows what and hoard junk complicating anything?

Wizard: Ask your friends if you have any.

Wizard: Are you free tomorrow?

RedDragon: Well, that came out of nowhere.

RedDragon: Why are you asking?

Wizard: If you don’t want to buy the book before you read it, there are some coffee shops that offer a selection of literature to peruse while drinking a hot beverage. Usually you only need to pay for what you order.

RedDragon: Good to know.

Wizard: According to Google, the one on the corner of Gilmore Road and Clarendon Rise has pretty good reviews.

RedDragon: Okay.

Wizard: Why don’t you pop in and ask if they have Red Dragon?

RedDragon: You seem weirdly insistent.

Wizard: Just a suggestion ಠ~ಠ. I thought that was what you came for.

RedDragon: It sure was.

Wizard: …

RedDragon: You know what? I might drop by if I’m in the mood tomorrow. But not because you suggested it.

Wizard: Of course. There is not a sliver of doubt in my mind that you will do it of your own accord.

RedDragon: Good.

Wizard: Good.

RedDragon: So, I still want you to throw me in a couple of movies I can watch later. Any genre will do.

Arthur spends what seems like an eternity but turns out to be around half a day chatting with a bot. When his head starts to pulse and his stomach growls unbearably loud, he realizes he hasn’t eaten anything this whole time and decides to put off this questionable communication for later in favour of ordering some fast food.

He talked with the bot about anything and everything – the last time Arthur went to the cinema, his most recent run-in with his superior at work, music, the weather, and even politics – and all of their talks were sprinkled with a healthy dose of bickering and mutual teasing. Arthur likes this type of communication, it’s like throwing a ball back and forth, not worrying that you might hurt the person at the other end because it will just bounce back at you. The boundaries are understood by both without the need to discuss them, and he appreciates that nobody’s chastising him for being temperamental or not polite enough. It’s not like it ever was a problem with his close friends, but being himself rarely works out well with new acquaintances. Usually it’s less of a game of ball and more of a minefield: watch your tone, watch your intonation, watch your body language, watch your vocabulary, oh, look, now you’ve done it. Not having to worry about all of this is weirdly liberating.

His mind wonders as he considers the day to come. It’s another day off, so he really can go wherever and do whatever if he decides to. And one of those wherevers really can be the coffee shop, it’s not like anything’s stopping him. But what if it’s some kind of a scam? he can’t help but think. What if the bot is luring him into a trap where a gangster mob is robbing foolish guys like him that for some inexplicable reason chose to trust a bot of all peop- things?

Arthur cannot explain this feeling, but he is strongly convinced that it’s going to be fine. His mind does its best to remind him of all the possible consequences that he might run into if he’s too careless, but his gut is absolutely positive there’s nothing to worry about. Actually, after he ate, it feels blissfully unbothered by all of the cares in the world. So, he decides to go. Actually, he decides to go today. You can’t be caught off guard if those that were supposed to catch you off guard are actually caught off guard themselves, right?

He takes his laptop to bid the chatbot farewell (although it may be redundant, he has developed a habit of treating it like an actual person), but the conversation’s already over. The last message from Wizard is sitting on the screen and the box for replying is greyed out.

Wizard: Sorry, it seems like I need to leave again. The traffic has increased and I can’t keep up any longer. See you next time!

Arthur shrugs and closes the lid of his laptop. No need to worry then.

He checks his hair in the mirror, makes an attempt to comb it, fails miserably, and decides to go as is. There’s a bus that can get him to where the shop is in 10 minutes, so he hurriedly dresses himself in his usual I-am-going-grocery-shopping attire and leaves for the stop.

While on the bus, he tries to mentally prepare himself. For reading, that is.

The stop he needs to get off at is just a few meters away from the coffee shop’s entrance, so Arthur only spends a few seconds out in the pouring rain that started when he was on his way. When he’s out of the bus, he quite literally makes it to the door in a few long leaps because looking silly always beats being soaked to the bone.

When in the safety of a warm, somewhat dimly lit place, Arthur exhales and ruffles his damp hair to try and make it appear livelier, but it doesn’t work (it really never does). There aren’t many people inside and the atmosphere’s all sleepy because of the weather, and Arthur can’t help but wonder if reading under such light will damage his eyesight.

Tall antique-looking bookshelves stand on both sides of the counter and in the farther corners, littered with books both new and already dilapidated. Taking in the number of books he would need to go through to even figure out if there’s the one he’s looking for here, Arthur comes to the conclusion that he would better ask the barista than actually go through all that trouble.

He approaches the counter and looks at the young man on the other side expectantly. But the man would not know about it, of course, because he’s standing with his back to Arthur and fussing over coffee cups, putting them on the shelf behind the counter, slow and steady. Arthur gets enough time to roll his eyes, check the time on his wrist watch that he has forgotten at home, and roll his eyes again before the guy finally blesses him with his attention.

“Hello, what can I get you?” he asks casually, but in his eyes and tone there’s all the tiredness of the world. Like saying this to Arthur is the most burdensome thing he has ever needed to do and he would rather be anywhere else than stand here and take his order.

“Hey, I was wondering if by any chance you have a book to read,” starts Arthur and almost immediately realizes he should’ve thought better about his phrasing.

The barista raises his eyebrows and slowly blinks a couple of times. He still looks annoyed but now he’s also trying to stifle a laugh not to be too rude. Not like he has been incredibly polite so far, but it could still be worse. Probably.

“Yes, I guess we might find some if we look hard enough,” nods the barista and leans on the counter with his arms crossed. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Ah, yeah. Red Dragon by Thomas Harris. Heard about it?”

The barista suddenly perks up and Arthur notices how his face undergoes strange changes. First it displays obvious surprise, which the guy apparently is unable to contain, then a weirdly impish smile that spreads on his lips.

“Right, I should’ve known… I mean, I should know. And I do know,” he mutters, the smile not vanishing from his lips, and Arthur thinks that this is probably the weirdest service he has ever received. “Please, take a seat wherever you like and I’ll bring you the book together with your drink. What would you like me to get you?”

“A cup of Earl Grey will do. Thanks,” replies Arthur and hurriedly turns around to go anywhere where there are no weird baristas with unreadable, out of place emotions. He finds himself a nice table in the corner with only two armchairs and a tall window on the left, which he can use as a backup plan if the books turns out to be boring. Staring out the window is better then going back into the rain no matter how you look at it.

Busying himself with scrolling Gwaine’s twitter, he startles when a cup is placed before him with a clunk.

“One cup of Earl Grey for Red Dragon,” says the barista and puts a fancy black book beside the cup.

“You mean and Red Dragon?” asks Arthur incredulously.

“Sure,” nods the barista and hides his hands behind his back. His half-smile is almost unsettling because Arthur still can’t understand the sudden change in his demeanour.

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?” he asks, thinking that maybe it’s someone he met at college previously and now can’t remember, which would be really, really embarrassing. 

“Kind of. I mean, no, not really. Depends on how you look at it,” says the barista quizzically and somehow Arthur is more confused after receiving the answer than he was before asking.

“What is that even supposed to mean?” he asks and furrows his brows.

“I expected you to come tomorrow, so I guess I don’t know you that well after all,” shrugs the barista. “Or you’re just full of surprises.”

“Excuse me?..”

“You’re RedDragon, right?” asks the barista in a tone that is more condescending than Arthur would like it to be. He doesn’t nod or respond in any way because what the hell. “So, if you’re RedDragon, then I am…” goes on the barista, expecting Arthur to finish his sentence.

“You’re shitting me,” he says instead.

“Well, that one goes to the swear jar,” says the guy and rolls his eyes. It looks like he’s even more proficient in that than Arthur. “You can try again, but if you don’t guess it this time, I will be utterly disappointed in your cognitive abilities.”

“How?” is the only word that Arthur is able to force out of himself. He is part taken aback, part angry, and a little bit upset, but he can’t quite understand why.

“I work here, but also I read, and sometimes code, and entertain myself by chatting with you, apparently. Does this answer your question? Or was it a different ‘how’? Like, how do you know so much, Merlin, or how are you so smart, or-”

“Yeah, thanks, that’s what I meant, smartass. You don’t look like an android, so I figure it was all a scam, wasn’t it?” asks Arthur, feeling as if he was hanging over the precipice. Here it is, the moment he learns everything, the moment he finally finds out if he was ever right in any of his assumptions, if he was tricked, or if it’s been some kind of a fever dream. He’s not really sure of anything at this point.

“Not so much of a scam as an experiment,” replies the barista with one eyebrow raised. After eyeing the second armchair for the last couple of minutes, he finally plops down into it and crosses his legs in a casual manner.

“So, there was no chatbot?”

“There was and still is. I told you, I code. I just wanted to have some fun, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. How does any of this even work?”

“Well, the chatbot is still up and all of the functions that people would expect it to have are still available. Just not for you. Sorry,” says the guy, and, oh, he’s so not sorry.

“Why me? Have I done something to you? I can’t imagine something being that bad that you deem it worth a practical joke of such a scale!”

“No reason. I just wanted to try and see how people choose to communicate when they think they’re talking to an AI, and you just happened to be the person that I picked from the list of active users. So, I guess you can call it a coincidence,” shrugs the barista.

“And why then have you decided to invite me here? We’ve had like three conversations tops!”

“And that’s one too many for me to know that I’d like to meet you.”

Arthur is sandbagged by such amount of smuggness and lack of self-awereness that can fit into a single person that he just sits with a dropped jaw, trying to process how a random whim of this guy could lead him here.

“I’m Merlin, by the way,” says the guy and smiles as if he hasn’t just told Arthur that he has been lying to him this whole time in a most senseless and confusing way.

“Yeah, I figured that much.”

“My encouraging expression is a social cue that you’re supposed to say your name now,” says Merlin and stretches out his hand in a late greeting.

“It’s Arthur,” replies Arthur and reluctantly shakes Merlin’s hand.

Merlin lets out a laugh that he is not even trying to hold back anymore and shakes his head.

“Arthur? Seriously?”

“I imagine you, out of all people, haven’t the slightest idea what it’s like to be serious about anything,” mutters Arthur indignantly. “So, tell me now how it works. I want to understand what you did and why in the beginning it seemed so much like I was not talking to a real human being.”

“Easy. I’m just good at faking stuff,” says Merlin and shrugs again. “Or possibly you’re not very smart. Or both.”

“So, what? You’re saying that it really was you all along? No high level Artificial Intelligence, no learning curve or however it is called?”

Before Arthur is able to think of another question to throw at Merlin, he hears a bell ringing dully in the distance. Merlin turns his head to observe a person that has just entered the coffee shop and starts getting up.

“Look, I’d be extremely delighted to explain it all to you, I really would, but a man’s got to work, so… Have fun here and call me if you need anything else. I guess.”

Before he can leave though Arthur grabs him by his forearm. Not in a forceful way, but insistently enough to make him stay for a second longer.

“Not to worry, I’ll wait until you’re done, friend. See, I am really excited to hear all about what you do,” says Arthur calmly and squeezes out a smile that is probably the most terrifying thing Merlin has ever seen. Even if it is though, Merlin only fidgets slightly and returns the smile.

“Oh, but Arthur, my shift ends in 5 hours, I wouldn’t want you to have to sit here all this time and wait for me. It would be awfully inconsiderate of me to make you go through such inconvenience,” he says and slides his arm out Arthur’s grip.

But Arthur can’t let go, can he? Although grinding his teeth in irritation, he still leans back in an ostensibly relaxed manner and puts the book on his lap.

“Please, I am in no hurry. You see, I am completely free today and tomorrow, as you might already know, so it’s not a problem for me even if I have to sit here until morning. Do we understand each other?”

“Perfectly,” says Merlin and flashes him a toothy smile. Even though Arthur was worried for a second that he might’ve scared him, it turns out that he didn’t, which is a pleasant surprise.

As Merlin hurries back to the counter to speak to a new customer, Arthur starts thinking. He is still angry and still taken aback, but instead of being upset he feels more relieved than anything. Merlin’s a person. Arguably annoying, confusing, and completely random, but made of real flesh and blood. An unsolvable issue of wasting time on a damn robot with IQ higher than he could ever have is suddenly swapped with a very understandable desire to have his revenge on a guy that absolutely did not care if he would make it awkward for Arthur to communicate how they did and then meet in such a way. A worthy adversary at last.

Of course, being tricked like this is not something Arthur would dream of: it’s puzzling, uncomfortable, and really makes you think you are a complete fool. But you know what? At least he’s not crazy.

Well, maybe just enough to get interested in a guy that pretended he was a chatbot simply for laughs and then decided to get to know Arthur in real life because he totally started swooning over him.

That’s a normal way for two marginally socially maladjusted individuals to meet, right?

[1016anon]

Title: Kate Is a Governess AU Author: 1016anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma Summary: A Long Campaign

-11-

Lord Bridgerton was acting strangely. Not that Kate had much frame of reference, but she'd imagined when she came under his employ that she would not see much of him. He was a young lord-- young lords tended to conduct themselves in a certain manner. There had been plenty of stories about him when he'd been Mr. Anthony Bridgerton and all the activities he'd enjoyed-- not only the typical vices of gentlemen, but also sport. He'd been an avid fencer and rode regularly-- that much Kate knew.

However, instead of carousing into the early morning hours with his friends and various other members of the peerage, Lord Bridgerton stayed close to home. Or sometimes spent the day entirely at home. In a move which would presage most of their early acquaintance, Kate assumed-- she assumed he would mostly stay shut up in his study, only emerging for tea and dinner. And, in a move which would presage the rest of their lives, he surprised her.

Lord Bridgerton did not stay in his study. As a matter of fact, he kept lingering at doorways to watch the children at lessons, a soft smile gracing his admittedly handsome features.

When he had to leave the house for matters of business, he usually managed to return to Bridgerton House earlier than she'd expected; Kate was certain he cut a fair number of his meetings short, all to witness the unremarkable scene of Eloise and Daphne practicing their sums whilst Colin puffed about, talking about this or that fact he'd learned at Eton regarding the history of Ancient Greece. Benedict was away at Cambridge but on those occasions he was home, he always grinned to see Anthony lurking in the hallways.

She would have understood if it was only the children he smiled at, but Lord Bridgerton stared at her also. He had a look in his eyes as though he couldn't puzzle her out-- what it was he sought from her that he could not directly ask, Kate had no idea. Usually she had no issue with asking him directly but in this instance, she didn't know how to formulate the question.

What was she supposed to say? Why do you spend so much time in your own home? Shouldn't you be at a gambling hell? Aren't you due to drink too much with your friends? Is Parliament boring you? (She knew the answer to that last question: Yes and yes and most emphatically yes.)

He kept her guessing; initially she'd thought he had been sitting in on lessons to ensure her teaching was up to standard, but as weeks passed, it became apparent that he simply... enjoyed being there.

Well, she reasoned, it was understandable that he would want to spend time with his siblings; after the death of their mother and father, they looked to their eldest brother for safety and stability. He was now their sole legal guardian-- of course he would be close to them. He was responsible for their welfare and he took that responsibility quite seriously. Kate admired that quality in him.

Only he would work on his correspondence or matters of business whilst she was giving a lesson on geography; he didn't really insert himself into the lessons or sit next to his siblings to help them with their penmanship. Lord Bridgerton seemed to derive a great deal of satisfaction with her very presence. She noticed he would stop whatever he was doing if she left the room-- it was a hypothesis she'd tested several times.

Perhaps it was the novelty of having a young lady in his household, or the novelty of having someone close to his age nearby. Kate found herself thankful for the conversation he provided-- Daphne and Eloise were quite clever and lively, but they were ten and eight years of age respectively. There were only so many hours over so many consecutive days she could spend exclusively in the company of the children before she began craving more sophisticated discussion; something beyond weaving tall tales about fae folk spinning straw to gold, or answering for the thousandth time why the sky was blue during the day but orange when the sun set.

Still, she assumed the novelty would soon wear off.

It never did.

If anything, Lord Bridgerton spent just as much time cajoling her with nonsense questions-- he was always pleasantly surprised if she had a real answer-- or joining his sisters in asking her (teasing her, in his case, adding his voice to create a chorus) for one more story, could she tell just one more story before they were bundled off to bed? Never mind that Lord Bridgerton would tell Daphne and Eloise yet another bedtime story after he tucked them in.

Kate used to leave them to their nighttime ritual, feeling the girls must want some time with their brother's undivided attention. When she began working with Lord Bridgerton on matters of the estate, she found herself lingering at their doorway, listening to him read before they both went downstairs to his study. It was then she saw the appeal of leaning against the doorframe to watch the scene before her, simply drink in the picture naturally framed.

He sought out her eyes; he smiled at her with something more than fondness. He never passed up an opportunity to be near her: Going on promenade during the less fashionable hours to burn off some of the children's restless energy; walking through the park to teach how to identify trees by the type of bark and the shape of the leaves; visiting the edges of the Serpentine in search of frogs; having the children name the parts of a curricle. Lord Bridgerton joined whenever he could-- which was to say, almost always-- and as time passed, he insisted she take his arm.

More than one person mistook them as a couple; Kate didn't understand how this was possible when Lord Bridgerton was rather well known among the ton because he was handsome, and therefore popular (the world was strange that way. Kate experienced it also-- she was pretty, so people came to her with eager offers of friendship; she'd never had to try very hard to make new acquaintances).

There was no world in which Kate and Lord Bridgerton could ever be married; even if she had not been a governess in his employ-- a member of the household staff-- Lord Bridgerton would marry a fresh-faced debutante of noble lineage. That's how things worked among his social milieu. It's what was expected.

It fell on Kate to correct those mistaken first impressions; she disliked doing it because it made her defensive. Moreover, Kate didn't need periodic reminders she would never marry. She could never forget. She did her best to forget because to dwell on it only brought forth that deep, endless well of unhappiness; but it lingered, ever-present in the back of her mind.

After every such encounter, she felt so vulnerable; she did her best to disentangle herself from Lord Bridgerton and put distance between them. He noticed-- of course he noticed because he refused to let her go.

The only thing Lord Bridgerton did was cut her off before she could speak, thanking the other party for their generous compliment. Then, no matter how hard she dug her elbow into his side, he didn't flinch or issue any sort of clarification; simply gave them a dazzling, debonair smile (in a manner Kate was beginning to recognize as smug), told them they must be off, and whisked her off in another direction.

Kate admonished him on more than one occasion, attempting and failing to deliver her rebuke with the proper moral rectitude and stern countenance the situation called for. (She always failed because Edwina had often said the way Kate's face pinched reminded Edwina of a duck-faced schoolmarm whose voice honked like a goose; Kate began making that face on purpose whenever Edwina was feeling low. It was guaranteed to make her sister erupt with giggles every time. Now Kate couldn't keep her lips from twitching with laughter, undermining every point she tried to make to Lord Bridgerton.)

So like Edwina-- who did not take Kate seriously at all when Kate tried to affect a sternness she did not truly feel-- Lord Bridgerton only winked as though he was playing a great practical joke on unsuspecting persons, inviting her in on the game. She huffed and blushed when he teased in that manner. He had already discovered the truth: she did not mind. The only objection she really had was that his siblings took their cues from him. Namely, they did not treat her as a governess-- they treated her as part of their family.

Lord Bridgerton was nothing less than pleased by this development. He actively encouraged it.

It was only after she took over many of his duties related to the Bridgerton estate in Kent that she got the distinct impression he had mounted some kind of campaign; to what end, she didn't know.

Again, Kate proceeded in that no-nonsense, purposeful, premeditated manner she liked best: she assumed.

This-- campaign, for lack of a better word-- was a demonstration of his gratitude. He appreciated her help with everything; this he expressed at least thrice a week. She herself was very happy and not-so-secretly pleased that she could use the lessons Appa taught her to continue in his footsteps. It made her feel close to Appa again and brought back good memories of the time they'd spent together. (It brought back images of a man who greeted Appa with great warmth and familiarity-- the Viscount Edmund Bridgerton, she presumed. Lord Anthony Bridgerton was an unfocused figure, dark hair and no waistcoat standing in the country summer sun.)

Lord Bridgerton gave her flowers every Friday, without exception-- even if the florist's had already closed and his offering consisted of a dandelion he'd picked on his way home. He made a point to present the bouquet to her with a great flourish, grinning like the mischievous teenage boy he must once have been. The bouquets from the florists covered the range of charmingly simple to outrageously ornate-- there was no rhyme or reason to it, only his passing fancy. Kate could admit she looked forward to seeing what he brought home. The flowers never failed to delight; she placed them in a vase on her bedside table.

She did not think it totally unreasonable to assume he gave her flowers because he was thankful for her help. Context mattered: Kate was a governess, and barren. Lord Bridgerton knew she was barren. He was not wooing her; there was no love or lust between them. There was no hope for love to grow between them.

Lust, she could grant, but Lord Bridgerton wouldn't risk driving her away for a quick tumble. And Kate was good friends with all of Lord Bridgerton's mistresses, past and present. All their stories recounting their first meeting with him had a common theme: when he made his advances, it was very, very obvious. He was not shy in his appetites.

Kate's entire worldview was built on the assumption that romantic love was not possible for her. It was only ever infatuation-- maybe someone fancied themselves in love with her, but it always faded because she did not allow it to grow. She had strictly adhered to Mary's guidance: never return a gentleman's attentions; never reciprocate their looks and flirtations; always maintain polite detachment.

The irony was that Mary's advice gave Kate a bewildering, fantastic idea of romantic love. She reasoned that true love-- the kind that Mary and Appa had shared-- was constant no matter the circumstances. If someone truly loved her, they would not be discouraged by her pretense of indifference. They would persevere. Always. (She did not follow this train of thought to its natural conclusion, which was that her ideal of love did not require her to be there at all. If love was constant no matter what, then it would not-- it could not-- be changed by her presence or absence.)

Kate's brief experience showed that no one persevered; she assumed that no one would ever persevere; therefore her life precluded the possibility of romantic love; therefore Lord Bridgerton gave her flowers because she was an invaluable member of his household.

When he began giving her flowers in the privacy of their study-- an open, earnest look on his face-- she could not pretend the flowers were mere expressions of Lord Bridgerton's gratitude.

There was also sheet music. Daphne was quite gifted when it came to the pianoforte and had a beautiful singing voice. After dinner, she (and Colin, when he was home) gave recitals of playful, happy songs (and duets). However, the songs became increasingly romantic and while Kate did not participate in the musical displays, Lord Bridgerton sometimes sang with Daphne.

It had not immediately caught Kate's attention as another prong of Lord Bridgerton's campaign; Daphne truly loved the romantic music and practiced the sheets past exhaustion. But Lord Bridgerton never failed to catch Kate's gaze and hold it like a caress.

During a mini-recital, Kate might have little Francesca sitting quietly on her lap, only to find herself lost in his eyes while his voice carried the melody, timbre warm and wrapped sweetly around her. At the end of the song, Kate would look down to see Francesca had pulled out all of Kate's hair ribbons and had proceeded to chew on Kate's curls. She would look up to see his eyes sparkling with laughter and something deeper than fondness, as though he could not think of a better way to spend an evening.

There were gifts. A horse, complete with saddle and tack. Then new boots, a new riding habit, a new cloak to match the riding habit. A treatise on trigonometry-- he knew she enjoyed mathematics. Riding gloves. A set of fine quills and ink. He replaced the desk in her room with another inlaid with mother-of-pearl-- it was an absurd extravagance, but she loved it. Jewelry-- not the large, ostentatious pieces from the Bridgerton vault but delicate gold chains with small pendants, beautiful pins to hold up her hair.

Laid out in a list like so, it seemed obvious what his campaign was for. But he knew she would never accept them, so he disguised them as practicalities.

The horse-- well, the children needed the gentler horses, and one of the horses was getting old, the others were for carriages, she needed a horse for riding when the family went on outings. Obviously with a horse came a saddle and tack. The boots, habit, cloak, gloves-- one of the maids snuck into her closet, piece by piece. The treatise: it was for her teaching. The desk: hers was too small, and this one was gathering dust in one of the empty rooms at Aubrey Hall.

The jewelry and pins she received on her birthday. And they were from the whole family, not only Lord Bridgerton.

The little pieces accumulated in her heart, without her knowledge. All of these attentions gathered the tinder and shaped the flint which would light a spark in Kate; one she had never intended to light in her lifetime.

Mary had warned her about all the dangers of courtship; Kate had kept those words and followed every single directive to the letter. She'd guarded herself and her secrets; she'd been careful in whom she trusted; she'd kept her hope for a different life banked and buried.

Mary had not mentioned anything about young lords who lingered at doors and looked at Kate with such steadfast devotion.

She spent so much time with him; he spent so much time with her. He made time for her. Kate came to know Lord Bridgerton better; she came to know him best. He confided in her, told her things he'd never even told Benedict.

Confidence begets confidence: Kate confided in Lord Bridgerton, to the point she could not deny-- nor saw any reason to deny-- that he knew her best.

The conversations they shared between them became an entire language, then rapidly evolved to a shorthand, and was well on its way to becoming a language made of brows and looks. It was astonishing, how quickly they went from polite sentences with appropriate pauses-- like the mutually assured silence required between sips of tea-- to picking up unfinished conversation threaded over weeks.

Love, however, was a brave and butterflying new world for Kate-- like standing on sea legs on solid ground. The assumptions she'd built her life on could not be overturned in a day; the natural conclusion to her wild assumptions reared its head in unexpected ways.

There was also Anthony-- who had never courted and was not courting; but was waging a campaign which resembled courtship; yet was never certain where on the map his battleground stood; and in truth, didn't entirely know what he was doing. What Kate might see as inconstancy was likely human doubt; faltering likely a lack of confidence; distance likely a natural discouragement.

Loving a person no matter the circumstance was Dante's love for Beatrice: inhuman and made wholly of bizarre nested spheres.

She would have to learn how to accept uncertainty.

But Kate had shut out uncertainty when she learned what her future must be. Uncertainty was the agony of not knowing, for two unforgiving years, whether her courses would return. The final reveal at the end of the journey, where her path was suddenly predestined, had been so bitter to accept-- now she took comfort in that ironclad promise.

There was nothing bought with the price she paid, but she had to pretend her windless sea was a consolation prize: she might never be see a shore again, but at least she knew exactly where she was, and that there she would remain. Everything was built on that static, still water-- the next best thing to land.

To make the deeper waters move, slow with rolling waves, carrying her a direction she could not dictate-- Kate considered it a cruelty. She could not weather that uncertainty again; she did not have the wherewithal; or so she told herself. The thoughts of everything she could not bring herself to endure again lingered in the back of her mind, a corollary and companion to her assumption that she would never marry.

It would be years before Anthony caught a glimpse of a glimmer of understanding; by then, Kate would have caught her own glimmer of glimpse.

But at that moment, there were: flowers every Friday, scenes lingering framed by doorways, two stories before bedtime and romantic duets after dinner; a hundred conversations amidst a quiet campaign.

There may not be love, but in time there could be.

In the meantime, there was companionship: An unexpected gift, and more than they'd thought their lives could hold.

Certainly better than heavenly humming concentric spheres written in thirty-three cantos.

[daincrediblegg]

Hello ❤️ Book ask game!

1, 10, 11, 48 👀👀

1.what is the best book you have ever read? So listen. Listen to me. I have been plugging The Vampire Tapestry to literally anyone who will listen to me ever since I read it. And I will do it again. I cannot express how hard to put down this book was for me (and for someone who is primarily a film/television consumer and an adhd bitch to boot? that says a lot). There are so many things about this book that make my brain go brrr from the atypical vampire narrative (featuring a dilf vampire- and you don't see a lot of those-whose condition is more biological than fantastical, but is nonetheless a complicated mess of a creature), to a really clever drawing back of the curtain and critique of the very genre it's meant to portray, and I literally don't think I'll ever be over it. I almost wanted to kiss my professor on the mouth for assigning this book (but I didn't). I still think about it constantly and I will never stop.

10. what book are you reading right now? I'm... actually reading several in a very asynchronous way. Of course I'm about 100 pages deep into the terror rn, I'm also working my way through May We Be Spared to Meet On Earth (collection of correspondence from members of the franklin expedition- which I'm certain was study material for some of the actors bc I feel like a lot of the letters in that are so clearly reflected in the characters on the show moreso than they are in the book- and honestly every single fucking letter from Francis Crozier is a heartwarming delight deadass). I'm not reading so much this semester but I'll be reading throughout the semester Miyazakiworld: A Life in Art (and it's had some really fascinating little anecdotes so far).

11. what book do you want to read but haven't? I honestly want to read more stuff from Miss Charnas. She fucking understood the assignment on so many levels with Vampire Tapestry that I really want to look into more of her. Ofc I have a ton of Jane Austen and Jane Eyre that are burning a hole in my bookshelf, and a little volume of the Lais of Marie de France that I want to take a more proper gander at. These. And so. SO. Many more. OH AND I FORGOT I also have been dipping my toes into historical erotica like Fanny Hall and it’s been tons of fun (and if anyone has some specific victorian recommendations I would LOVE to receive them- it’s VERY important lady terror research 😉).

48. what book would you give someone if they wanted a glimpse into your psyche? I really do hate to answer Edgar Allan Poe again BUT!!! in specific- I think anyone who wants to understand me and my approach to my writing and stuff? Look no further than The Philosophy of Composition. You wouldn't expect EAP to be such a brilliant essayist as he is but jesus christ I still think it may be the most fascinating and engaging essay I've ever read in my life. He articulates his points so poetically and so well and honestly? There's not a word in that essay that doesn't ring true for me to a lot of how I process things myself in my own writing- and things that are generally just great writing practice- like when I read it for the first time a few years ago I literally went "he's just like me fr" and I've felt soul bonded to the thing ever since. I also gave a presentation on it in my Gothic Lit class last semester that everybody really really liked (and of course. because I really REALLY fucking love this essay and this dude). And honestly I'd love to give that lecture again and I hope I get to.

BOOK ASK BAIT

[wickedbeeao3]

how about "The end"?

[Hi, Nonny! Thanks for the ask, I have been working on it for hours since I saw it. I am a bit enamored with the epistolary format, so this fic ends in a letter]

(From a place in the Faerieland)

(To the dweller of the ninth room on the left wing, second floor, Rhodolite Palace, Human Realm; window facing entrance, fifth counting left to right, close to a portrait of beasts in a rose maze)

Clever fox prince of Rhodolite,

I know not the means used to find my name nor my affiliation, but your letter found me, with a strong delay because you lack my address. Since you have played this trick, I would have you to do so again to find it, or any correspondence is going to take a LONG time.

To answer your questions, many of the fairies related to these matters are recovering. Rowan poisoning is enough to kill, but the only in such danger is Lady Albatross, the Rose White fairy. Equally, many wish for payback, and lacking the perpetrator of this crime, they may as well go through everything else. Since I gave you a warning, I expect, at least, that you are carrying more protections. It won't stop a curse targeting you indirectly, but it is something. And I won't kiss it better like last time.

Lady Cormorant will be more open to your apologies, you two have a rapport already. (I will pass her your letters if you send it to me). I warn you: BE sincere in your wishes to make amendments, follow through your word and take responsibility for what happened; you will avoid curses to yourself and your kingdom. We fairies are reasonable, no matter what legend says. Although, your devil is extremely unlikely to be spared either way, complicit as he was.

You will be glad to know that Luke and Leyla stand un-cursed since being disowned. It was a really inconvenient thing and I take their word that is different from my shapeshifting. Leyla has been complaining that she will have to train more, to make for the time lost; at least, Luke got to keep his calluses. They send their greetings and good wishes; well, Luke does both and Leyla the former. She thinks I should make your life more incovenient. A sickness, mayhap. Should she convince me, you'll be terribly annoyed, but it won't be nothing long-term, I assure you. I can be convinced to stay my hand, but between the three forces weighting my decision, she is the one winning.

(Leyla also sends her gratitude for always dancing with her. It made it bearable, since most men were weary of dancing with a partner taller than them.)

Was the beautiful woman chosen yet? I don't have to wonder how you'll approach the matter, but I hope you at least dance with her, Nokto; in my time in Rhodolite, you were among my best partners. A shame your balls only last a day or two; the bare minimum for ours starts at three days and the most at nine, except for the New Year.

How long would you last in the dance floor, fox prince? I am curious about the results. Your stamina could maintain you for long, but I doubt the rest of your muscles could keep up.

If you ever get invited to a fey ball, share the answer with me. I am sure it will be most amusing.

An acquaintance of yours,

Lady Mira

[skvaderarts]

Petrichor Chapter 55: Correspondence

Chapter 55: Correspondence

Note: Here you go! A little late but MUCH better than the original draft, OMG! Enjoy!

(-~-)

The train ride couldn’t have been more uneventful, a fact they were both eternally grateful for. This was not the day for trouble. There would be more than enough of that to come. It was in the very air they breathed. It was guaranteed.

It took them next to no time at all to vacate the station after its arrival, the locomotive arriving on time despite the turn that the weather was trying to take. It seemed that the sky couldn’t make up its mind today. One moment it was drizzling, and the next it was clear, but the dreary haze that hung in the air never settled or dissipated. It wasn’t quite foggy out, and it also wasn’t exactly misty, but neither of them could properly explain what it actually was. Only what it wasn’t. Thankfully it was largely irrelevant. The last thing that was going to stop them today was inclement weather. They had come too far for something like that to be a deciding factor. This was far too important.

Vergil was wholly unwilling to squander this opportunity. Not a chance in hell.

As they made their way further down the street, each step that they took bringing them closer to their objective, Dante couldn’t help but notice the air of apprehension and -was that anxiety?- that hung in the space between them. He expected Vergil to be a little nervous as to how she would react, but he couldn’t recall ever seeing him act quite like this. Quite this undone. He was unraveling at the seams, barely holding together. And yet, it was still subtle and easy to miss without an observant eye or prior knowledge of Vergil’s general disposition. A skill that his brother had mastered out of necessity. For better or for worse. A clever ruse that Dante saw right through.

Everything about his body language screamed discomfort. When they stopped to wait for cars to pass, he tucked his hands into his pockets in the most defensive manner possible; exhibiting a total loss of his traditionally calm and collected demeanor. He diverted his eyes at every given opportunity. His breathing was shallow and almost inadequate, the Darkslayer doing everything in his power to not seem as suddenly out of breath as he actually was. For a moment, Dante considered actually asking him if he was unwell. He was viscerally uncomfortable, and it was utterly undeniable.

But before a single syllable could leave his unopened mouth, Vergil let out a soft, resounding sigh, an air of defeat to it that was as subtle as it was absolute.

“I see the way that your eyes linger on me. Is it that obvious?” It wasn’t a question. It was an act of self-conformation. Vergil knew the answer to that question long before it had left his lips or even vacated his mind. Yes, he did look as half-dead as he felt inside, his thoughts tearing him asunder. He almost wanted to ask Dante what it was that he was doing that had given up the ghost so undeniably, but he resisted the urge. It wasn’t that important to him. Why lie to himself; to either of them?

The truth was that he wasn’t even sure if that was something he should make an effort to hide. Perhaps that level of honesty, that kind of vulnerability, was just what the situation called for. Maybe it would help indicate his sincerity. How utterly consumed with remorse he was in regard to how things had ended up between them. How completely and wholly sorry he was.

“Do you really want me to answer that or…?” Another question answered with prior knowledge of the response that it would garner. Dante wasn’t good at gambling, not by a long shot, but he was willing to bet that he knew the answer to that one. And the quick -perhaps too quick- glance in his direction that he received from his older identical twin brother spoke volumes as to the correctness of his prediction.

“No. Of course not.” Vergil’s response was calm. Artificially calm. A measured reaction to conceal his raw nerves. Dante wondered for a moment if his brother realized that he was trying to distract him from the inevitable. Did Vergil see what his twin was doing and make the choice to linger in his own thoughts regardless, opting to look down the barrel of the loaded gun instead of away from it? No matter how frightened he might be. What good would running do now? He would never be ready for this. No amount of time or waiting would ever change that. Dante could feel that. It was a fact.

It seemed like a very Vergil thing to ponder to him.

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.” Dante shook his head and shrugged, a slight chuckle leaving his closed mouth as they continued towards their destination. The numbers on the streets and buildings that they passed were counting down rapidly, quickly approaching their intended destination. It wouldn’t be long now. This would be… interesting. “I think it’s up ahead.”

The duo traversed a few more city blocks before coming to the stoop of a townhouse that looked more or less like every other one on the street. Ordinary and mostly unadorned. The kind of street that screamed “HOA” or something akin to it. Well kept but otherwise somewhat boring and samey. Very ordinary. But as they approached the stoop and made their way up to the door, the pair couldn’t shake the feeling that something was just… off. Not dangerous or sinister, but just not quite right. Unnerving.

Maybe that was just a side effect of being near Vergil in his current state for too long.

Vergil took a deep breath before closing his eyes and knocking on the door, opening them again as he waited to have his suspicions confirmed. As he expected, no one came to the door. He was afraid that might be the case. Oh no.

“Are you sure this is the right address?” He asked as he glanced over at his younger twin. Dante stood behind him, still making his way up to the door. He wanted to give Vergil space just in case she answered the door right then and there. Had they gotten the numbers the wrong way round or something of that sort? It was a possibility. Neither of them was familiar with this neighborhood, let alone this city.

“It’s the one Morrison gave me, so I sure hope so,” Dante said, his brow furrowing in obvious confusion and discomfort. Now he was concerned. This hadn’t been what he’d expected to happen. Well, at least not what he had hoped would happen. He’d registered that it was a possibility, but he’d doggedly hoped to be proven wrong. “He’s never let me down before. His intel is always solid. I trust him.”

Vergil nodded a single time in succinct agreement. He knew next to nothing about the man, but he could tell that he and his brother had known one another for a very long time, and Dante’s confidence in his companion and his capabilities were reassuring enough. He would trust Dante’s judgment. He believed him when he said that the intel was solid, but perhaps it was best to keep his expectations low. Depressingly low.

“I am willing to assume he’s done his due diligence. He seems professional. And I expect nothing less from him.” Vergil said as he peered around the property. The blinds were closed. He couldn’t even tell if the property was currently inhabited. But one thing he did know was that she wasn’t here. No one was at the moment. “But no one is here.”

They knocked again. And waited. Nothing. He knew that would be the result, but he tried anyway. It was all he really could do, given the circumstances.

“... Do you think maybe she just left to go to the store or something?” Dante offered as a possible explanation. Even he wasn’t sure that he believed that was the case, but it was something. Even if that “something” might only be wishful thinking. It was the only positive alternative that came to mind. He didn’t want to think of any of the alternatives.

Vergil fell silent for a short while, folding his arms around himself in a manner that Dante had rarely seen prior to that moment. It was exceedingly rare for his older twin to wear his insecurity and discomfort so visibly. He was making no effort to hide how this discovery was making him feel. There was no anger or hatred present. Only a hollow hole of sadness that Dante wished he had some meaningful way of filling. It had been a while since he’d felt so utterly useless. He didn’t like it.

“I… Don’t feel that she’s been here.” Vergil stated after a while. He knew what her presence felt like. Her touch. Her scent, for lack of a better way of putting it. He recognized her essence anywhere and this place was utterly devoid of it. She hadn’t been here in some time now. If she’d ever been here in the first place. “Not at all.”

“Excuse me, are you looking for someone?”

Both of the Sons of Sparda lurched to the right in almost perfect unison, having somehow not noticed the presence of an older woman on the adjoining porch until she’d just spoken. She was standing inside her own residence still, but she slowly slipped out of the door and stood on the porch, holding the door partially open so as to easily go back inside anytime that she chose to. She eyed them almost suspiciously, seemingly curious as to what they were doing here. She’d certainly never seen them before.

“Yes. A woman. I’m told that she lives here.” Vergil stated calmly, taking her in. She was human. Of that much he was certain. But she certainly had managed to sneak up on the both of them. Had he truly been that preoccupied with his thoughts? He needed to get ahold of himself. This was a new low. “I’ve not seen her in… a very long time.”

Dante considered bringing up the fact that a better description of the individual they were looking for might be helpful in this case, but decided against it. He would simply let Vergil talk. He wasn’t going to interrupt and risk accidentally complicating things. Not for the time being, at least.

The older woman seemed to consider his statement, obviously aware of something that he wasn’t, but unsure as to whether or not she should share what she knew. And understandable sentiment, but one he found himself starkly disapproving of in this particular situation. But he resisted the urge to ask her further questions for the moment, electing to take a more measured approach, much to the obvious relief of his yonder twin who had obviously been expecting him to be less patient. Dante hadn’t thought that Vergil would harm her in any way, but it was amusing to know that he was capable of pretending to be much more patient than he actually was in order to not scare off his mark. First impressions mattered. He only got one shot at this.

“Hmmm… A woman used to live next door. Up and left half a year ago out of the clear blue sky in the dead of night with barely so much as a goodbye. Might be the one you’re after.” She held her ground, speaking almost hesitantly. This was information she clearly wasn’t sure that she should be sharing. She almost seemed to instantly regret doing so. She was in it now. No going back.

“Do you have any idea where she went?” Vergil asked calmly, attempting to hide the way that his heart began to pound and flutter at the prospect of making any sort of progress. The potent mixture of dread and anticipation that he felt rocket through his body was enough to slay a titan.

“What are your intentions when you find her?” Her tone was stern but not unfriendly or accusatory. She genuinely seemed concerned as to the safety of her former neighbor, perhaps afraid that she might be talking to a stalker or some other form of ne’er-do-well. “She’s a quiet sort. Something of a recluse. Didn’t leave her flat much, truth be told. I only ever spoke to her down by the street at the mailbox. But she did help me bring in my groceries from time to time. Swell lass. I won’t see her troubled. She already seemed like she was haunted by the ghosts of her past. Something in her eyes. She’s seen something.”

Vergil visibly flinched at the older woman’s observation. He… genuinely didn’t know what to say to that. Perhaps a bit of honesty was in order. There was little progress to be made here by lying. And if that was the case then… 

“I might be that ghost.”

Dante gave him a somewhat surprised look, clearly not expecting him to admit that. She seemed to show a similar reaction, but he obviously didn’t know her well enough to be certain. Either way, she folded her arms and shook her head in disapproval, seemingly suddenly exasperated by his mere presence. This conversation had just taken an undeniable turn for the worse.

“Then why go looking for her? Why go and reopen old wounds that might’ve finally scabbed over?” She seemed upset on behalf of the woman whom she was clearly trying to protect, her question cutting straight to the heart of the matter. Vergil resisted the kneejerk instinct to inquire as to why that mattered to her and held his tongue, pondering the question himself. But he already knew the answer. His own personal answer, at least. There were many reasons he was doing this. For V, first and foremost, but also for himself, something that he’d questioned the validity and morality of several times over that day alone. And there was only one honest answer he could give to that.

“Because there are truths that she deserves to know. Wounds that I’ve inflicted with my actions, intentional or not that I would be a coward to leave unaddressed. Wrongs that I’ve committed that only I can make right.” Vergil looked down quietly for a long moment, clearly pondering something that Dante could only imagine. He remained quiet, giving his twin the space he clearly needed to think of the proper way to describe the bottomless well of sorrow that he saw in his eyes every time he spoke of her. He had to look into the abyss and pull something back from it. After some time, he looked back up, his eyes meeting his brother’s and then those of the old woman who stood upon her front stoop, clearly still pondering her own better judgment. “And I owe that to her. Regardless of what it might cost me. I am many things, but I am not a coward.”

The little old woman stared at him in silence, the back of her hand slowly raising up to cover her bottom lip. She exhaled deeply before opening her door wider and stepping back inside with haste, closing the door behind her with a resounding slam. It seemed that she had heard enough and wasn’t willing to stick around to hear anything else. The sound of what he thought might be the latching of a lock all but confirmed that. But just as the twins glanced in the direction of one another to share a look of quietly concerned contemplation, the door unlocked again and she stepped out a second time, closing the door behind her. She walked over to the ledge and stretched her arm out to Vergil handing him what appeared to be an old, very torn envelope, the address barely visible due to the damage at a glance. What was he supposed to do with this?

“She sent me this card for my birthday. The only one who remembered it.” An ever so subtle tinge of melancholy colored her face for a moment before she shook it off, the envelope she’d just given him clearly holding some significance to her. She’d kept its contents, but it seemed that even relinquishing that torn old envelope in of itself was painful for her. That card had clearly meant a lot to her. “Tell her thank you for it when you see her. Assuming she’s still there when you lot arrive. I get the impression she’s something of a free spirit. Don’t think she stays anywhere very long. Like a bird.”

Vergil gripped the thin piece of paper tightly in his hand, being mindful not to accidentally destroy it or crumple it into a state beyond recognition as he took in its significance. He understood now. He couldn’t sense anything as he did so, but he pushed that aside. It had been a long time since she’d held it, after all. Trails went cold quickly when they were muddled with other things. Probably the reason he’d been unable to find her in the first place… 

But he did recognize one thing as he held it in his hands and took another look at it. Her handwriting. Slightly smudged, but just as much hers as he remembered. She never wrote in half measures. Her words were simple but just as kind as one would expect from her, given that they were a gift to someone else.

“Please know I’m with you on your special day, even if only in spirit. I hope you’re well, Edna. And I hope you stay that way for many years to come. Thank you for being you.”

A declaration of friendship if ever he’d seen one. A small preamble to what he was willing to imagine had been a beautiful card, a truly special gift that had clearly been treasured by its owner. This was a favor. He had been extraordinarily lucky to have it relinquished into his custody. The older woman who he assumed was Edna had taken a chance trusting them. He wasn’t sure what to even say to that. “... Thank you.”

Edna nodded, pulling as stern and threatening of a look as she could manage. She wasn’t the least bit intimidating, but he wasn’t going to assume anything. He’d been surprised by what people were capable of before. This wasn’t the time to find out she was a retired devil hunter or some such. He didn’t need that kind of excitement in his life. He was just fine, thank you. “I’m wishing you luck, lad. Just… Do right by her, okay?”

He looked at the paper again before nodding a single time in solemn respect. She’d done him a favor, something he hadn’t experienced from many strangers in the past. He wouldn’t soon forget that. “I intend to.”

And he would stop at nothing less than that. Of all the promises that Vergil had ever made to himself, this was the one he would keep. No matter what it took.

Vergil turned and looked at Dante, his brother’s arms folded as he leaned against the front railing that led to the door of her former residence. Quietly awaiting his twin’s response as he pondered everything he’d just seen and heard. He looked in her direction and gave her a small smile and a wave that she reciprocated before stepping across the threshold into her home a final time and closing the door. It was time for them to leave. She wasn’t going to hold them up any longer. Clearly, they had work to do.

(-~-)

Phew! Much better! I’m actually happy with how this one turned out as opposed to what I originally had in mind. Thank goodness I went with my gut and did this instead. This just feels more significant. More heavy. More what I was going for. I like this. Yea.

I’ll see you all next Friday on… the 13th?! LOL in the spooky month, no less. I see you October. I like your style lol! Thank you for allowing me the time to do things right, everyone. And for your infinite patience. I knew I could do better, and you all deserve that. I think this is a win-win for everyone! I’ll see you in the comments! Take care! Bye!

[swimminguptothesurfacefilm]

Storybeats and Treatment REVISITED and CHANGED

What changes are being made?

the world is receiving a few changes to cut down on the amount of locations that are only seen for a little bit.

Now instead of starting at the Superior's office we start right at the Terminal. ( "the Terminal" refers to the underwater terminal. "the surface terminal" is the terminal at the surface.)

The Warden's job is to supervise passage through the different doors through their little booth office where we can see bits of their personality.

We only see the Underwater City and Core in Escapee's flashbacks.

STORYBEATS:

ACT 1: 

WARDEN, at the Terminal, is supervising passengers to go the right way.

2. People go through the door corresponding to their ticket color.

3. We see the Escapee hide their ticket color.

4. The Escapee goes through the green door and it blares red.

5. Warden notices and Escapee starts to make a run for it.

6. Warden chases after the Escapee, who is able to get past them just barely through clever decision making. 

7. Escapee manages to jump into a cart, and Warden follows. 

ACT 2:

8. Warden is finally able to corner the escapee, only to realize the cart they are in shuts closed. 

9. The Warden is about to call in to stop the train until the Escapee begs them to stop.

10. Escapee pleads to the Warden for a chance to let them see the surface before being taken.  

11. The Warden asks the Escapee their reasons, the Escapee in exchange starts to tell his life’s story. 

12. We see the Escapee’s early years when on the surface.

13. The Escapee recounts when, in a time of need, they left for the core for work.

14. Once the cart doors open, the Warden and Escapee make their way out to the new terminal. It’s dark. 

15. The Escapee asks about the Warden’s story. The Warden replies briefly.

ACT 3:

16. The Escapee on their way out, is struggling to walk. The Warden follows behind. 

17. The Escapee starts to trip on benches and holding onto railings. The Warden keeps close watch, helping them up occasionally. 

18. Finally, the Escapee falls. The Warden goes to lift them up, but the Escapee cannot stand on their own. 

19. The Warden takes the Escapee on their shoulder until finally, they exit the terminal.

20. We see the surface, the sun shines warmly. The Escapee gives way, they sink to the ground.

21. The Warden holds the Escapee up. The Escapee dies in the Warden’s arms. 

TREATMENT:

The Warden, a young justice bringer, works in a Terminal. Their job is to make sure passengers go through the right door corresponding to their ticket color. The Escapee quietly hides their ticket and goes through the green door. However the door rejects them, and the escapee decides to run for it anyway. The Warden, sets off to catch this rouge passenger. While the Warden attempts to trap the Escapee through brute force, the Escapee is able to slimly avoid the Warden’s attempts through clever decision-making. At the end of the run, the Escapee manages to jump into a moving cart while the Warden follows behind. 

The Warden finally corners the Escapee, only to have the doors shut behind them and their target in terrible conditions. With nowhere to run, the Escapee begs the Warden to let them see the surface one time. Then, the Escapee will allow themselves to be taken. The Warden asks what their reason is, the Escapee tells them their life’s story. Once they reach their destination the Warden follows closely behind the Escapee.

 The Escapee asks the Warden of their life, and the Warden answers briefly. The Warden chose this path all on their own. As the two exit the terminal, the Escapee’s condition worsens as they walk. The Warden extends little by little, their help to the faltering Escapee. And slowly, but surely they make their way outside. It is then that the Escapee sees the surface and bids goodbye to the Warden. 

[primeideal]

Fic asks!:D 1,3, 22?

which of your fics is your favorite? why?

If you asked me for a top five it would probably vary a lot depending on the day, but Lost and Found has a special place in my heart because…it's a 7k lipogram (no letter E). I just really love playing with language and this kind of felt like saying "okay, I've done all I need to do with this trope." (Which does not mean I'm done with it. I still play with it. This was just the high point.)

3. is there a fic whose concept you like, but wish you could do over?

Answered for WoT already (I wrote a fic a few months after the last book came out that fixed some of my issues with the ending, I think it would be different today but it's also been…nine years?) I've been writing fanfic for…A While, so I'm sure if I looked at the stuff I never ported over from FFN there would be a lot of stuff I wish I could do over (if only so it was less embarrassingly "here are all the iddy tropes baby-me loves and I will throw them all into this canon whether or not they actually belong there.") Alternatively, so I wouldn't start epic-length series and then not finish them. But I'm too intimidated to actually look :P

22. do you have a fic that has some deep lore you never explained?

On the one hand, my fics tend to have plenty of lore, on the other, I usually get around to explaining them because I'm too in love with my own cleverness :P The Animorphs/Star Wars crossover I kind of started in medias res so I didn't bother to directly infodump about who Obi-Wan or Darth Vader map onto directly. If I ever got around to writing more of the series there would be backstories corresponding to "Andalite"/"Hork-Bajir Chronicles" about how Luke, Leia, and Vader are related, but realistically that probably isn't going to happen.