#I know they changed the format - AGAIN - but dear lord I don’t like them just

[chaosinstigator]

oh right it’s sprint week

[craptsukii]

genshin boys and terms of endearment they'd use

a/n: this is my first time writing headcanons and ngl i found them quite difficult to format :( i’m liking this style for now, but things might change later on teehee anyway, lemon cake update next week, i promise!

♡༚࿐ 🇩‌🇮‌🇱‌🇺‌🇨‌

let’s get something out of the way first

diluc is not a jerk

sure, he might have tsundere tendencies but he’s definitely not as cold as people make him seem

in my opinion anyway

i like to call him a classy, but also a very private, softie

i can totally see him as someone who’d use terms such as darling, love, doll

a major factor here is the time and place

in public, he tries to seem more indifferent and will most likely refer to you by your name

however, in a more private setting, he has no inhibitions and actually prefers using nicknames!

I feel like diluc would want to really reassure their partner he truly cares about them, but in a direct yet indirect way

and calling you sweet things seems to get the message across.

listen to this while reading!

If only time could pass faster. Who knew waiting could be such an agonising activity? Such a simple but repetitive thing. Waiting for your cake to finish baking, waiting for the morning to arrive and even waiting for your lover to come home turned out to be much more of a challenge. It wasn’t unusual for Diluc to spend hours on end at Angel’s Share, but it was rather odd of him to break his promises.

A sad smile took over your features, remembering last night. Remembering his words, so sweet and benign, promising to dedicate you all of him and his time. His crimson red eyes, full of love and admiration for the person he held so dearly to his heart. His voice, so demure and nothing but a soft whisper, as if raising it would ruin the moment. The moment he shared with you in a little dark corner of Mondstadt, away from curious eyes and sharp ears. The moment he so desperately wanted to hold onto. Yet, the darknight hero was nowhere to be found.

By the time he finally arrived, your eyes were already closing. It was a gloved hand that pulled you out of your somnolent state. Yet again those same red eyes were looking into yours with the same devotion, if not stronger than the night he made his promise.

“Forgive me, love,” he pleaded in a shushed tone, “Kaeya came in and started causing a commotion and I couldn’t just leave.” he continued, his thumb brushing over your cheek delicately.

Too tired to say anything, you placed your hand over his, silently asking him to join you in bed. You had all the time in the world to discuss tomorrow... Hopefully. After discarding his black coat on one of the chairs and taking off his shoes, Diluc plopped in your shared bed, not even bothering to change into something more comfortable. Soon his arms were around your waist, bringing you closer to his chest. His smell reminded you of grapes and it completely enveloped you as you nestled into him.

“If only I could turn back time…” Diluc murmured to himself, kissing the top of your head. “Nothing will come in between us and our time together tomorrow. I promise you, darling.”

Turns out that, in the end, he does keep his promises.

♡༚࿐ 🇽‌🇮‌🇦‌🇴‌

listen to this while reading!

my very polite baby

like sure, he’s straightforward

but he be treating everyone with respect

you might be wondering why that matters

well that's because i think xiao would see it as a little rude to not refer to someone important to him by their name

names play a major part in xiao’s past

with rex lapis re-naming him after taking him under his wing and such

so, in my opinion, xiao finds calling out your name way more meaningful than nicknames

although if he were to use one it would probably be dear

it’s short and he can still address you as “dear (name)”

it does sound quite formal at times though

Moments like this were rare. Usually, sleep doesn’t concern your lover in the slightest, as it rarely comes to him. Although you couldn’t help but admit how much you loved it when he did come and sleep. Cuddled up next to you was the vigilant yaksha, the well known protector of Liyue. And dare you say, it was truly a divine sight. In the wash of the morning light, his face took the appearance of an old photograph, so nostalgic, so at peace. Slowly, one of your hands brushed past his face, placing the few rebel aquamarine strands that were cascading down his cheek behind his ear. For a moment, you find yourself in perfect silence, Xiao’s soft breaths being the only sounds that could be discerned. Without realising, you started softly rubbing his back, your heart leaping at the content purr that followed shortly after.

It was almost impossible to put into words the joy this brought you. Although it was such a simple, mundane thing, seeing Xiao so at ease was by far your favourite memory with him. The more you studied his features the more your sight fell upon his lips. The sudden urge to kiss him overwhelmed you, wanting nothing more than to cherish and show your lover the affection he deserves.

If only the sudden chirping of birds didn’t scare you, barely a few inches away from his face.

Curse those birds and their awful timing! And so, you backed away, laughing to yourself in self-consciousness, thankful that no one was aware of your little mishap.

Or so you thought.

You felt your face get warmer the moment you saw Xiao looking at you, drowsiness still coating his eyes. Yet again, for another short moment, no sound could be heard.

“____ my dear” he said, his voice deep and hoarse, snaking his arms around you as he brought you closer to him, “if you won’t do it, I will.” it was then the flush across his cheeks became apparent to you. Shame you didn’t have time to savour it, his lips immediately finding yours in a sweet, dream like kiss.

Moments like this were truly worth treasuring.

♡༚࿐ 🇨‌🇭‌🇮‌🇱‌🇩‌🇪‌

in contrast with xiao, childe loves calling you cute nicknames

in fact, he barely uses your name!

sometimes he likes to tease you and pretend he forgot your actual name

of course that’s not true,he could never do such a thing

I can totally see him use pet names such as comrade, girlie, cutie, shawty, sweetness, princess/prince, baby

ok i know shawty is kind of random, but i think he’d use kind of ironically?

I think he’d also use big sister/brother just to tease you, even if you’re younger than him

he heard teucer refer to you as such one time and it honestly melted his heart a little bit

as a side note, seeing his siblings get along you makes him genuinely happy.

listen to this while reading!

Spring was such a beautiful time. Especially in Liyue. Especially on a date with the one and only Childe, eleventh of the Fatui harbingers. For someone with such a fearsome title and reputation, it wowed you to no end just how charming, just plain adorable, Tartaglia can be. Albeit, it was only your second date, it was expected of him to at least try to be nice.

And on time.

As you waited, under that beautiful sky, a hue so gentle between cloud and baby blue, you watched each bird upon wing. It was one of those spring days with a kiss of coldness that somehow heightened the warm rays of the sun. You paused to admire the flowers, to sense their aromas, to be in the moment with their transient beauty.

“Lovely, aren’t they?” asked Childe from behind you, a shy, perhaps slightly embarrassed, smile painted on his lips. “Sorry I’m late, I really overestimated my juniors’ capabilities and I had to step in.” he continued, gingerly taking hold of your hand, kissing the back of it.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his gentlemanly antics, although you enjoyed them nonetheless. “Don’t worry about it, you’re here now.” you reassured him, as you took a hold of his hand, already leading him towards nowhere in particular.

Another thing you liked about him. Things were so casual, so easy-going. One might call this date nothing but a hangout, but not every date has to be a luxurious five star dinner or a fancy show. Sometimes just a simple walk along the Liyue port was enough. Enough for you to get to know Childe, enough for you to like him even more.

Suddenly, Tartaglia was in front of you, his hands lightly taking hold of your face.

“Hold on cutie, there’s something on your face,” he answered your silent question, seeing as you looked a little confused. The next thing you knew, his lips descended upon yours. It was a sudden but very much welcomed kiss. A kiss that unfortunately ended just as abruptly, “it was me.”

♡༚࿐ 🇿‌🇭‌🇴‌🇳‌🇬‌🇱‌🇮‌

favourite peepaw

also prefers using your name rather than nicknames

but he’s not completely against them

he finds them quite nice actually

and he actually enjoys being referred by one!

like imagine going for a stroll with him and all of a sudden you go "darling, look!"

he'd look so content oh my lord

in my opinion anyway

he’d usually call you honey, my beloved or even my one and only!

you could be doing the simplest of things like reading with him under a tree

and he'd go "you're my one and only love"

no, he isn’t aware of how cheesy it sounds.

listen to this while reading!

Who knew the God of contracts could be such a romantic? Usually, Zhongli wasn’t a big fan of fancy, elaborate dates. He’d usually say something along the lines that “spending time with you was enough for him to feel like the richest man in the world”, which he technically was even without your presence. But, quite frankly, it was because he lacked the funds to do so that he didn’t pamper you every moment of the day.

So when you found yourself face to face with an array of different foods, meticulously prepared and arranged on a soft picnic blanket, you couldn’t help but wonder —

“Why the sudden change?” you asked, sitting down on the plush cover, to which Zhongli only chuckled.

“Am I not allowed to change my mind?” he replied in a teasing tone, flopping next to you.

“Oh, you are more than welcome to do so,” you winked, pouring some tea for both of you. It smelled like chamomile, “I was just trying to say it’s a nice change.” you continued, taking a few sips of your tea.

Zhongli only hummed, content with your response. Sometimes, sitting in silence, all while eating delicious brunch foods and drinking sweet tea, was much more enjoyable than small talk.

And so, you spend the rest of the day with your lover, basking in the sunshine and each other’s company. In his embrace, there was something so right, something that felt right, smelt right. You let your body sag, your muscle become loose. In that embrace you felt your worries loose their keen sting and your optimism raise its head from the dirt.

“You’re so beautiful, my beloved,” he whispered, cupping your face and kissing you gently.

♡༚࿐ 🇰‌🇦‌🇪‌🇾‌🇦‌

avid user of nicknames

partially because he finds them cute

and partially because he loves teasing you

he’d use them in public and try to get a reaction out of you

like let’s say all of a sudden kaeya is back hugging you, pampering your neck with kisses

saying something like “what’s wrong, baby?”

he’d also use hot stuff, sweet cheeks, gorgeous, handsome, cutie pie, treasure

sometimes they’re really sweet, other times they’re really silly

side note, i feel like this one got a little out of hand sorry yall i lowkey can’t take kaeya seriously

listen to this while reading!

There was something so heavenly about a kiss in the rain, a tender moment that just wouldn’t wait. It was that burst of love that is expressed, not caring if the water soaked through to chill the skin. You felt yourself gasping for air as Kaeya’s lips left yours, doe like eyes searching for his. Behind that brilliant shade of blue sparkled a glacial attraction. So complex and mysterious, it was magnetic. It made you want him even more.

Upon seeing your dazed state Kaeya smiled, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. His hands found yours. “Let’s get you of here before you catch a cold.” he said, leading you down the streets of Mondstadt. It was the middle of August, and you got caught in nothing more than a summer rain. You weren’t even cold, but alas you let it slide, enjoying seeing Kaeya worry about you, even if it wasn’t as serious as he made it seem.

There is something about a rain-washed pathway that invites playful feet, that says each new step will be rewarded with a splash. And soon, you found yourself splashing around, making the most out of this accidental rain shower.

The moment you finally reached your home, Kaeya wasted no time, his arms already wrapped around you in a tight embrace. Yet again, a gasp escaped your mouth, Kaeya’s cold lips leaving goosebumps behind each carefully placed kiss on your neck.

“You know what’s the best way to get warmed up, treasure?” he asked, his hands ghosting over your hips.

You shook your head softly, awaiting his answer.

“A good old dance party!” he exclaimed, spinning you around as he started humming a cheerful. “Nothing gets the blood going like a little movement!” it was obvious he found great pleasure in seeing your more than confused, if not disappointed, expression. Still, he paid you no mind and continued dancing with you all while singing a cheery melody.

It was quite save to assume there was never a boring moment with this man.

♡༚࿐ 🇦‌🇱‌🇧‌🇪‌🇩‌🇴‌

my favourite elevator boy

doesn’t love nicknames but doesn’t hate them either

i see him as an action speak louder than words guy

and although he’s aware that, as his partner, you know that

he still feels sorry for not being as vocal as other people when it comes to talking about his emotions??

so cute terms like these are a simple way he can show his appreciation for you

for some reason, i think he would really like using diminutives??

he’d call you things like little star

or baby or lovebug

i think it really matches his vibe ngl

listen to this while reading!

The breeze blew warm announcing the coming of summer's hottest days. The aroma of the tall grasses were an intoxicating perfume and the starry night above was a painting more sublime than any man could create. The clarity above became reflected in your mind.

Being with Albedo meant putting up with the unholy amount of hours he’d spend on whatever research he’d be conducting at the time. And luckily for you, his next big discovery involved the stars. On the black sky above you, there were a multitude of stars and there were lighter patches, clusters of faint and bold light, the constellations altered according to the time of year. These were the same stars that greeted the ancients, the same ones that would be there in millions of years.

As you enjoyed your little midnight snack, your gaze fell upon the chief alchemist. His eyes were fixated on the landscape above him, utterly fascinated by the world’s mystic beauty. Seeing him so consumed by his studies made your heart feel warm. It was adorable to see him like this.

Your sudden yawn made both you look at each other. Albedo’s gaze was filled with compassion, and perhaps a little remorse for making you come with him so late in the night just to stare blankly at the sky.

But you knew this wasn’t such a trivial thing.

You pet the spot next to you, silently asking him to sit down with you, to which he immediately obliged. As his head found its place on your shoulder a little sad smile made its appearance on his face.

“Sorry for making you come here with me, baby.” he said, his hand drawing patterns along your thigh. “I know this isn’t your idea of quality time.”

“Any time spent with you is quality time, silly.” you giggled, kissing the top of his head. “And besides, who doesn’t enjoy a little bit of stargazing?”

♡༚࿐ 🇻‌🇪‌🇳‌🇹‌🇮‌

ok now for venti

i feel like with him the tone he uses is very important??

i mean this also applies to the rest of the guys

but for venti even more so

he could simply refer to you by your name and it would still feel all special and bubbly

nonetheless, he loves using pet names!

i mean as a bard, he can come up with poems and such on a whim ( flashback to the signora moment :) )

so his nicknames for you always have a certain meaning or funny story behind them

oh, you love pumpkins or had an unfortunate accident involving one? now he calls you pumpkin all the time

he’d also call you things like sunshine because to him you bring so much joy and you warm his heart just like the sun.

with that being said, good luck to those pulling for him! <3

listen to this while reading!

“There you go! You’re really good at this!” Venti complimented you, observing in great detail the way your fingers touched the strings of his lyre.

Judging by the curious stares and even odd looks you’d get from time to time, that wasn’t really the case. What was supposed to be a simple walk around the city turned out to be a full concert. Although Venti couldn’t find it in his heart to tell you, who asked him so eagerly just a few moments ago if he could teach how to play a song, just how… Poor was your attempt.

A relieved sigh could be heard the moment your fingers left the strings, although Venti’s reassuring smile never left his face. “Don’t let a few strangers discourage you! Even the greatest geniuses had to start somewhere!”

“Are you saying I’m a genius?” you asked teasingly with a raised eyebrow, laughing at his flustered face.

“Let’s not go that far…” he murmured, winking cheekily.

“And here I was, thinking I could wow you with my insane musical skills…” you whined sarcastically, handing him his lyre as you continued your stroll. It was then Venti stopped in his tracks. Upon his face, shock was written all over, his expression soon turning sympathetic. For a moment, he left you alone, diving into the crowd of people, only to return to you with a single cecilia flower. Its fragrance was sweet and fresh and its color a perfect white. Shortly after, he gently placed it behind your ear, smiling to himself while looking at you.

“You don’t need fancy tricks to win over what you already have,” Venti said, kissing your cheek lightly. A cheerful tune could be heard across the street, Venti’s soft melody attracting a lot of attention, “I’m all yours, sunshine.” he said loud enough for more than a few people to hear.

He has such a way with words, doesn’t he?

[chibimyumi]

Lost and Wins in Adaptation

Dear everyone, as per Anon’s request, I shall analyse a Kuromyu and discuss the Lost and Wins in Adaptation. The results of your democratic votes (comments and asks) are out, and the winner is TANGO ON THE CAMPANIA! In this post I shall only be discussing character/plot influential changes, so no stand-alone comedic sketches will be included.

This is going to be a very long post because there’s just so much to unpack. But feel free to read it in bits, or skip to the part you are most interested in (but do come back later though (ÒvÓ)b). This post will include the following sections:

What makes a good adaptation?

AberHanks - Expert Glue and Filler

“Just like my family!” - One line, many messages

Grell - A Capable Career Woman

An unfortunate Sacrifice

Raw Trash Demon

Active Inclusion Midfords - Manga Fix?

Reunion and Aftermath

Afterword

I promise you the analysis will make you love TotC even more!

1. What makes a good adaptation?

2.5D wouldn’t exist without the 2D, so it is essential for any 2.5D producer to prove to the fans the producing side understood the source material using their form of medium. Changes are inevitable, but the key is that when things are changed, the core of the original needs to remain intact.

Theatre as medium’s biggest disadvantage is its strict time constraints. Whether the producers are capable of adapting a story within the time constraints without it feeling like a quickly duct-taped patchwork is what distinguishes a good adaptation from a bad one. The scriptwriters have no choice but to sacrifice parts to tell a concise story, but the art is in skillfully choosing what to yeet. The musical does need to be able to stand on its own without new audiences going “what?”, after all

2. AberHanks - Expert Glue and Filler

The most obvious difference between the original manga and Tango on the Campania is the addition of Aberline and the musical original, Hanks. In Tango on the Campania they are very cleverly employed to tie the musical together within the time constraints.

Ronald appeared before the Campania Arc, but it wasn’t before this one that he gets his own proper introduction. What the manga readers and musical-only audience have in common then, is that at this point of the story, Ronald is almost equally new. The line: “if we get to meet again, alive, that is” is a very effective way to introduce Ronald’s chipper but cynical personality. In the manga Ronald’s conversation partner was a passenger who fancied Ronald. It would have been a waste of stage time to adapt the third class setting and introduce this girl too, but skipping the line entirely would not do Ronald’s introduction justice. So the script writers cleverly used AberHanks instead, and when Ronald delivered the iconic line, the impact is still the same as in the original.

Additionally, AberHanks are supportive roles in them being police officers who help combat the zombies. The historic Titanic had a really poor survival rate, and that’s without dealing with murderous zombies. In Campania however, that’s a different story. I would argue that Aberline and Hanks evacuation efforts, along with the Formidable Midfords greatly increased the survival rate of Campania passengers.

This addition is a brilliant three-birds-one-stone move. This firstly shows that despite AberHanks being the comic relief, as the police they are not there to fool around. Secondly, by explicitly placing the Midfords along literal fighters of crime, the audience also clearly understands what the Midfords - the Chivalric order - are: fellow fighters of crime.

Thirdly, the gentleman’s code of evacuation is children and women first, and AberHanks would undoubtedly also have heeded that code. And yet Frances was there, and AberHanks never attempted to evacuate her or doubted her skill. The police and Frances fighting side by side shows the audience that even in the 19th century, Frances is recognised firstly as member of the Chivalric Order, before being ““just a woman in a huge dress””. Don’t mess with her.

3. “Just like my family!” - one line, many messages.

A very small but game-changing alternation is when Ciel was trying to convince Lizzie to remove her dress to benefit escape. In the manga when Lizzie refused, O!Ciel immediately rips the dress, saying that once dead she won’t be able to wear any dress, because death is the end of everything.

In the musical with real child actors they couldn’t very well reenact this scene, so instead they gave Ciel the line: “Everything is over if you’re dead, just like my family!”

In the musical, Ciel doesn’t touch Lizzie, which is very clever. When someone refuses to remove her clothes, it is because she feels infringed, exposed and/or unsafe. If somebody doesn’t do something out of fear, what you need to do to convince them is to minimise that fear. By forcefully ripping her clothes, MangaCiel only made Lizzie feel even more infringed.

Instead of touching Lizzie, MusicalCiel appeals to Lizzie’s empathy. By making Ciel say “my family” to Lizzie, both audience and Lizzie are shown/reminded how Ciel had tragically lost his family, and cannot afford to lose more. At that time of the musical, new audiences wouldn't know yet what Ciel had been through. So when later the Cinematic Record of Sebas started, “just like my family” also functions as an effective foreshadowing of what would later be revealed, avoiding Ciel being in a cage looking like it came from nowhere to new audiences.

One could argue that Ciel’s phrase was emotional manipulation, yes... but it was a literal life or death situation for the objective good of everyone. And besides, we all know who our Trash Lord™ is; manipulation is part of him.

Ciel had yelled at Lizzie, and immediately he turned around, clutching his chest. It was such an impressive moment because it showed how that blow Ciel dealt was a doubled edged one. Lizzie was clearly hit too, and very quickly she realised her own fault and apologised. Then the most fun part for the audience is to consider whether this was Ciel’s genuine reaction, or whether that was all part of his acting skills in manipulating Lizzie. I say both are equally likely! (Oh Reo, you brilliant little...)

I personally consider this alteration superiour to the manga original.

4. Grell - A Capable Career Woman

Per Yana’s direct request to Grell’s actor, Uehara, she asked him to portray Grell as a capable career woman because Yana admitted she failed to do so herself.

Most of Yana’s request was fulfilled simply by Uehara’s acting and respect for Grell, but there is also one tiny line added to her script which emphasises her focus on her job. “I’m dropping you!”

Nobody on the Campania had time to fool around because it was literally going down. Grell had her job to do, and yet Rian thought it a good idea to withhold information from Grell about the method of stopping the zombies. By threatening Rian whose life was at Grell’s mercy with “I’m dropping you”, the audience is very effectively shown that Grell is a no-nonsense woman, and that she knows how to get someone to talk. 👌👌👌

5. An Unfortunate Sacrifice

Some things had to be omitted to fit the stage time limit, but the most painful omission in my opinion were details in Sebastian’s cinematic record.

A really unfortunate but understandable omission was Ciel reuniting with Tanaka and Madam Red... but considering the time constraints of the musical, shoe-horning these moments in with different actors would have come at the expense of the rest of the musical. Though very sad, it is what it is.

Another omission is Sebas forgetting to spare one assassin to interrogate. In this post I discussed in detail why this omission by the movie adaptation was such a sin. Tango on the Campania omitted that part too, though as a stage medium it is more forgivable than an animated movie with endless possibilities Ò^Ó. Nevertheless it is a bit sad, because this omission takes away that the audience can see how Sebas was just so used to massacring on auto pilot, and how even Sebas himself recognises he needs to learn control.

THOUGH, I must say the musical actually tries to compensate for this shortcoming, unlike the movie. This omission of what showed that Sebas was far from perfect at the beginning, Furukawa compensated by simply being the most insincere, passive-aggressive, unprofessional, arrogant prick he could be.

The audience won’t catch a hint that Sebas used to be no more than a weapon, but they will see how Sebastyun never served a human on close proximity before!

6. Raw Trash Demon

I have already talked about how Sebastyun is a real game-changer on this blog, so I will not repeat every detail again. So here I will only address the significant changes in spoken lines that add to Sebastian’s character before he was fully trained. In this post I discussed in detail how Furukawa portrayed Sebastian’s gradual growth from raw demon to one hell of a butler. Sebas at the beginning was really butler in appearance only, as he was insolent and never knew when to shut his wondrous trap.

In stage format it would have been quite awkward to do a bath scene, so instead the creators replaced it with a wound-dressing scene. Instead of pouring hot water over the boy, Sebastyun is now scrubbing his master’s skin off. When the boy protests, rather than immediately apologising like his manga counterpart did, Sebastyun just shoves the feedback right back down the boy’s throat. “You’re making too much of a big deal out of it.” Here we see how Sebas is not there to serve his master, he’s just doing his thing because he has to.

Another line that is musical only is when Ciel’s stomach rumbled, and Sebas laughed his arse off, saying: “what an inglorious sound!” In the manga Sebas started a high-horse speech about human weakness, which was quite bold already. But he did not seem to dare straight up humiliate his master for a basic bodily need.

Sebastyun however? Balls of steel.

He humiliates his master, can’t apologise for shit, and when he says things in compliance with his master, it’s in a tone of: “well, screw you too”. Sebastyun was so bad at his job that Ciel too was given another line that wasn’t in the manga: “The preparations of a day’s meals is part of a butler’s job”.

Sebas had just criticised his master for being a useless kid, and now Ciel makes a comeback with the line: “well, you don’t even know what your literal job is, let alone how to do it.” The addition of this line is very powerful in my opinion, because it quite effectively compensates for the omitted scenes of Ciel and Sebas both sucking at their respective roles.

When O!Ciel commented on Sebas’ awful cooking, MangaSebas seemed quite willing to do his job well, and immediately offered to fix his mistake. Sebas does not apologise, but he does show that he made a mistake in not being considerate enough of Ciel’s current condition.

Sebastyun however, couldn’t apologise for shit at the beginning. Instead of showing openness to feedback, he immediately externalises by making humans the problem again, rather than his own lack of cooking skill. No wonder Ciel smashed that table with such aggression!

Another changed line is Sebas bringing his master hot milk after his failed dinner attempt. Originally Sebas did so potentially as an attempt to show his readiness to do better at his job. He explains that he does so out of consideration for the well-being of the boy.

In the musical however, Sebastyun does not say the manga line. Instead he says: “I can’t afford to have you starve to death.” I am not sure whether this was the script or Furukawa’s improvisation, but either way it perfectly shows yet again, how Sebas is not there to serve his master, but to just get his tasks over with.

This is a very short but efficient alternative way to retell how Sebas especially at the beginning was not very enthusiastic about being summoned, as analysed here from the original Japanese manga. Sebas is not like: “(UwU) gimme more orders”, he’s like: “(ಠ_ಠ) what is it this time?”

A small addition that was definitely an improvisation was Sebastyun sitting down on Ciel’s bed, and the boy pushing him away. (At the beginning of the run Furukawa didn’t do that yet. The first time Furukawa sat down Reo just moved aside and gave Sebas a nasty look.) Here it also reemphasises how little Sebastian understood of what was done and NOT done as a servant.

A final, noteworthy addition in the far beginning of their contract was Ciel saying that he acknowledges both he himself are the demon are still fakes. The boy says this line after Sebas had brought him hot milk which Ciel appreciated.

Ciel calls his butler forward in a soft tone, and Sebastyun just looked so self-congratulatory, self-satisfied, he adjusted his suit, standing all ready like: PRAISE ME! (●´ิ∀´ิ●)✨

Yeah no... you wish.

In the manga this line doesn’t exist, so Sebas is simply surprised to hear the compliment, and then his master just splashes the cold water right over him.

7. Active Inclusion Midfords - Manga Fix?

The most dramatic and influential change to the musical is the active inclusion of the Midfords. It is an entire scene that was added to the musical, so it is a bit impossible to unpack everything in this already very long post. So here I will only address the most game-changing alterations.

Yana Beaten to the Punch, strike 2 and 3?

Now many chapters later than the Campania Arc, we know that the Midfords had been the legal guardians of Ciel after the death of his family. But even before the release of the chapter, we’d see in Sebastyun’s Cinematic Record how the Midfords were very involved with their nephew. This shows how much respect for the manga the musical producers had, and how well they understood their source material that they too could beat Yana to the punch. Strike 2!

Both Midfords were present before and during the decoration ceremony. And Sebas bows deeply, thanking them sincerely for their aid all this time. Sebas cannot lie, so when he says “sincere gratitude”, it really was sincere. Alexis responds humbly, saying that it’s simply the right thing to do.

Not only did the Midfords aid Ciel in his reintegration into the world, Frances also showed the audience and Sebas she knows exactly what she is preparing the child for. Frances says she understands how cruel it is for the young Ciel to do what is expected of him, because being Earl means more than wealth and power. It is: “shouldering the burden and name of ‘the Queen’s Watchdog’.” The musical also does a great job at linking Frances’ position as the previous Watchdog’s sister, to being the legal guardian of the future Watchpuppy.

I have seen many manga readers talk about how they found Frances’ involvement insufficient in the manga, and I understand. She has a very small role in the manga, so we don’t know what she has or hasn’t done to help. But in Tango on the Campania, we do get a much clearer sense of the Midfords’ role in Ciel’s life.

Ciel was still mid-preparation before the start of the Ceremony, but Frances and Alexis had already arrived to keep a parental eye on him.Ciel is surprised, but Frances responds with: “it would set a bad example if the star is late”. Though it is but one short phrase, the script writers shows (not ‘tells’) how she is there because she wants to make sure Ciel’s decoration will go smoothly, as well as that her own role is to set an example for Ciel by being on time herself.

This is possibly a reference to what Sebas says to Frances in chapter 14, how he wishes her to be his master’s example. Except that here in the musical, it is Frances who takes this initiative, which in my opinion is the superiour way.

When Frances commends Ciel for his courage of returning to fight, Sebastian adds: “The most opportune chance for counter attack is when the opponent strikes. That is what milady Frances had taught him, the Young Master said.”

To which Frances is quite surprised to hear, and incredulously she says: “Ciel said that?” This makes one suspect whether Frances really said those words to supposedly Real Ciel. It would be very funny if Sebastian (accidentally) gave Frances a hint of his master’s real identity. I am not sure whether this is an implicit hint that Frances might have started suspecting Ciel is not the Real Ciel. Some have theorised Frances has the deepest suspicions among everyone. If that turns out to be true, then TotC might have beaten the original manga to the punch again. Potential strike three!

Another change is the replacement of Madam Red with Alexis. This one is just a very pragmatic change, because the phrase “To Ciel you are already as good as family” is very iconic and important and shouldn’t be left out. But getting a Madam Red in here out of nowhere would require time-consuming exposition. So by giving this phrase to Alexis instead, the musical effectively solves two problems in one go.

8. Reunion and Aftermath

Another addition to the original manga is the reunion on the rescue ship, just like the the movie adaptation of the Campania Arc did. After all that has happened it is very nice for the audience to see the emotional reunion and the aftermath. In the manga the Arc ended with Sebas and his master on the rescue boat, and it had a very nice, open feeling to it, I absolutely love it! 💖🚤

Audience Considerate Story Telling

To a musical-only audience (which TotC had a lot of because of the collaboration with TOHO), the opening ending might have felt a bit abrupt. These musical-only spectators don’t have the Arcs after the Campania to know for sure Sebas and Ciel went home safely, and that life would just continue. Nor would they know for sure what kind of impact the enormous revelation of Undertaker being a reaper would have on our protagonists. Had the non-manga audiences been given the same ending as the original, then it might have looked a bit like this to them.

Also considering the musical medium, any (Japanese) audience would want a satisfying finale song to wrap everything up. (Kuromyu21 not having one was a real complaint among JP spectators). And after the dramatic brawl song of Sebas fighting the zombies on that boat, you can’t very well pull another song on that tiny thing again. Okay, the song TotC did settle with for the finale song was......very disappointing in my opinion as it reminded me more of a Disney parade, but it at least had a song.

Emotional Full Circle

Despite the song being quite unfitting, the emotional reunion really, REALLY hit hard. When Lizzie says “welcome back” to Ciel, it was a perfect full circle back to what Lizzie couldn’t do 3 years ago.

In her flashback of 3 years ago when Ciel returned to her, the boy lifelessly said: “I’m back... Elisabeth”. Lizzie however never responded with “welcome back” because she was too preoccupied with something just feeling off.

In the musical reunion however, unlike 3 years ago Lizzie was fully emotionally equipped to genuinely welcome her fiancé back, and Ciel too happily responds: “yeah, I’m back, Lizzie”, using Lizzie’s preferred name.

Sebastian’s Aftermath

The reunion is but a simple addition, but it allows the musical to show the impact of such a traumatic event on the omnipotent demon butler.

The Cinematic Record showed how cocky Sebastyun was, and how he didn’t have a single worry in his life. After Undertaker had fatally wounded even the demon however, Sebas became a different person. In the finale we see Undertaker silently disappearing into the shadows. Sebastyun wasn’t even entirely sure whether Undertaker was there, but at the merest suspicion already you see him flinch and twitch. This shows how from now on Sebas has become a person who is on edge.

I mean, what’s the point of telling an event if the event doesn’t impact the story and characters, right? In this way too, the inserted aftermath scene skillfully wraps up an overwhelmingly eventful story.

9. Afterword

Well, thank you for reading this looong post till the end! As discussed in this post, TotC did a wonderful job at adapting an existing story with consideration of its audience and medium.

The largest obstacle of the theatre medium is time constraint, so the makers have to sacrifice parts. In what was sacrificed however, they more than sufficiently compensated by including parts outside the Campania Arc into the musical, without harming the integrity. This shows just how much respect and knowledge the TotC team have of the source material.

As a musical adaptation, it is an exemplary production.

Related posts:

Hyper Detailed Development - The Art of Kneeling

That Demon, Skin Crawling

That Butler - Punchable

Lost in Translation II - Sebastyun’s Butlernese

[nishiisenpai]

feelin insecure - bokuto koutaro, tendou satori

REQUEST: “hey so i went to the doctors today and found out that i went from 164lbs to 175lbs and it made me feel really insecure. could you do hc’s with bokuto and tendou trying to make the reader in this situation feel better? - @im-alyssa-btw​ “

A/N: omg i am so sorry that you’re feeling like that lovebug !!! i know how it feels to see your weight change and it isn’t the results you were looking for. that feeling must have hurt you and i am sorry once again that you’re feeling like that. 

but do not fret !!! you are beautiful or handsome- and no matter what your weight is currently atm, just know that it is just numbers and numbers should never define someone’s quality as a human being. 

if you ever wanna talk about any problems or issues you’re feeling, you got me here !!! number one hype lady to get you back and running with some confidence !!!

side note: apologies for writing this months??? later, school is really kicking my ass atm so im currently stressing and crying cause of the workload :p - besides the point, i hope these headcanons bring you joy and happiness and maybe a bit of self confidence too !!! 

-

WARNING: insecure, self-judgement, downgrading yourself

WHO: Bokuto Koutaro x Reader , Tendou Satori x Reader

FORMAT: Headcanon!

-

bokuto koutaro

mood:

it’s like a sudden wave of discontentment weaved through your whole body the moment you saw the numbers on the scale. 

you tried really hard to hit your goal but it just couldn’t quite make it there or come close. 

so you come home feeling sad and down, but try not to show it- although your boyfriend bokuto can see it right through you.

if you’re sad, he gets sad. it’s canon, ladies, gents and captains.

physical touch:

i feel like bokuto would be the type to have physical touch as his way of comforting you. 

like touching you physically is like a god sent for him.

he loves everything about you.

please- all the insecurities you get would be mostly wiped away by him.

he’s like a ball of sunshine.

oh you have an insecurity over your stretch marks? 

not anymore, he thinks of them as battle scars against a past life war opponent and it shows that you are worthy, strong and powerful. 

oh you don’t like the way you have extra thigh pudge when you wear thigh high socks? he thinks of them as soft pillows for his head to lay on when you run your hands through his hair.

like this man will make the negative thoughts about yourself turn into a positive feeling/outcome.

he’s definitely the type to shower you in kisses. 

he’ll most likely kiss your insecurities away.

he enjoys patting your thighs ever so often

squishes your cheeks a lot to give kisses to them or just to suck onto them to create the pop sound.

holds you in place.

SIT ON HIS LAP

SIT ON HIS LAP

SIT ON HIS LAP

sweet lord, bokuto LOVES, ADORES, freaking GUSHES over when you sit on his lap. 

a ton of roaming of his hands on your body because this man seriously can’t keep his hands off of you. 

other comments:

okay so if you’re not the type to find comfort in physical touch, he will definitely keep that in mind as he tries to hold back for you.

if you don’t wanna be kissed, hugged or cuddled, he would probably find building a pillow fort fun

going out for ice cream 

or snoozing on the couch watching some boring documentary would be ways to cheer you up.

if those options don’t work out, he will just spurt out compliments every minute or so like: wow, you are gorgeous.

“sheesh, how did i get so lucky?”

“you are an angel.”

“my princess~”

“baby, did you know that kuroo is punching the wall rn cause he doesn’t have you, and i do? HAHA A WIN FOR ME AGAINST THAT ROOSTER HEAD!”

god this man is head over heels for you. 

i kid you not, he probably falls asleep and wakes up thinking about you and you only.

he will try to be sneaky and stealthy about surprising you with little gifts or snacks or flowers too (depending if you’re allergic or not).

i can imagine he loves doing big things for you, but if you’re not really all in for that, then he does the littlest things to make your day. 

OH ONE MORE THING.

IF YOU EVER. 

AND I MEAN EVER.

DEGRADE YOURSELF IN FRONT OF THIS MAN-

ISTG YOU BETTER PREPARE YOURSELF.

THIS MAN WILL JUST BE WILDING.

he would go feral or become the most upset man-child there is to existence. 

so please don’t do that to him.

-

tendou satori

mood:

the weight scale became your biggest enemy. 

every time you looked at it, it just pained you to see the numbers going (up/down) without much change to your original goal. 

you tried really hard to the point it affected you mentally. 

thankfully your boyfriend tendou came to the rescue :O

physical touch:

i would also like to believe this man is a another person who would use physical touch as his comfort to you.

though his way of expressing it will be depending on your mood, unlike bokuto who will immediately just go for it.

tendou would know his boundaries on places where to touch because he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable with his actions, especially after you had gone to a place that documents your insecurities.

so the times where he is allowed to comfort you through physical comfort:

he will most likely cradle you like a baby

hug you while rubbing your back up and down

draw shapes, happy faces or even speak out complimentary words to calm you down

link pinkies or hold hands

give you forehead kisses

he wants to share as much affection as possible to you

he also loves kissing your knuckles or the back of your hand because he finds that action super cute.

playing with your fingers is also another thing he does

other comments:

this man is very observant and smart

so he thinks of plans immediately in situations where you do not want to be physically held. 

he likes purchasing gifts, but finds homemade items even better.

this man also makes chocolates on his spare time, so he is BOUND to bring you some even if you insist that you don’t want some, he’ll force feed you till you accept his offer.

he also likes giving his hoodie to you too???

like this man likes seeing you in your comfortable state because you look so cute and cozy.

he likes holding deep conversations with you. 

whether it be about your future plans/goals or what your next meal may be. 

he just wants to be a big part of your life so that you know you can depend on him whenever you need him with you.

also let’s all be honest. tendou would never judge you. he accepts all kinds. 

after the stigma and trauma he’s received for being called a monster, he hates when people judge others off of their appearance.

so do not worry- dear reader,

you are loved.

-

thank you for reading, if you have more requests, please do submit them in my inbox :)

[koutone-moved]

Saeran/Ray After Ending: My Thoughts

Hey everyone! I’m not one to really go in-depth about stuff in here, but I really felt the urge to talk about this since Saeran is a character that is really dear to me and this After Ending was something that I and many, many other people had been looking forward to for a long time.

I’ll be talking spoilers about the entire AE below the cut, so please beware!

I wanted to start off with the things I really did enjoy. 

Cheritz trying new things with the AEs for both V and Saeran was really great, in my opinion. They could have stuck with the previous format of just giving us sneak peeks into the respective couple’s life after getting together but instead decided to turn them into complete story expansions that felt more like Secret Endings. The effort and care everyone at Cheritz has put into these storylines is incredible and they deserve all the kudos and praise. 

The chatroom format was a really cool idea and having the player influence the outcome was something I greatly enjoyed. Having the story be a romance/thriller combination was super fun and immersive, too. The prologue was a great hook in my opinion--it had my heart beating fast with anxiety from the very start lolol.

ALL THE SAERAN FLUFF AND CALLS, LORD ALMIGHTY. I ADORED EVERY SECOND OF IT! I totally picture Saeran being a really cheesy and adoring boyfriend, especially since MC is so precious to him. I think they hit the nail right in the head with this.

The CGs were BEAUTIFUL. I was shocked at how many we got for a 4-day story, and they all really brought the story to life. Huge props to Cheritz for the immense effort they put into them.

The first two days of the AE (though extremely anxiety-inducing and emotionally painful for most of their duration, lol) were super entertaining and how I had always envisioned the story going down. I think having the PM and the agency unite forces as the main antagonistic force was awesome, and I really wish the story had solely focused on them.

Now, the things I didn’t like.

The Rika drama. I totally understand why addressing and breaking down Rika’s terrible actions is important for Saeran’s story. But... why, why did we need to revisit the “actually Rika has always been a good person that did some bad things” plot point when it was already done to death in V’s AE and route? I’m sorry, but this makes my blood boil.

Rika abused Saeran so badly to the point that he had to split his personality into two different people to survive, drugged him into hating his own brother, constantly told him and made him believe he was worthless if he didn’t work his ass off 24/7, killed his fucking mother, etc. The list goes on. Not to mention: she broke and drugged the minds of many other people! Not just Saeran!

I understand that the story gives us options to call Rika and V out on this bs and it encourages us to do it, but... just the fact that we have to entertain the possibility of forgiving her and letting her get off scot-free truly, truly fucking floors me.

What really bothered me about this is that this subplot took an entire day out of the 4-day story. A whole ass day that could have been spent developing the PM-agency storyline (which, again, I truly wish they had focused on). It really sucked that we had to spend a day exclusively talking to Rika and V about the same thing over, over, and over again.

V. What in the hell did Cheritz do to his character, lmao? I don’t like V at all and the actions he’s chosen to take in regards to Rika and Saeran have always truly infuriated and baffled me. But, I’ve never thought of him as someone who would willingly hurt the RFA.

I was SHOCKED to see how selfish and twisted he was in this story, especially in Day 3. He said he would never try to change Rika again and hoped she would flourish as a result and become a better person. But. My good man, how in the hell did he ever think that kidnapping two grown ass adults and forcing them to be their children was a sane decision? 

I was truly convinced until the very last moment that V returning to Rika was a red herring and that he had a plan all along to keep her in check and protect the RFA. But nope. 

I may not be a V stan, but even I know that V would never act so selfishly.

The GE/NE resolution. It felt so rushed and is the main reason why I think Day 3 should have been handled differently. The truly bullshit thing that stood out to me about it was how a short confrontation with the illegitimate son he gives no shits about is enough for the PM to have a change of heart. LOL. The corrupt, greedy prime minister that has his entire life and career hanging on a line is suddenly enlightened on his evil ways and turns himself in. Am I too cynical for thinking this resolution is stupid and makes no sense? I know at this point it was basically impossible for him to not get arrested, but I really didn’t buy this and it felt like cop-out from Cheritz’s part, writing-wise.

How Saeran’s trauma was handled. I know I already expressed loving how Saeran was towards MC in this AE, but that does not include this part specifically, lol.

I understand a big part of Saeran’s story is learning to forgive and understand to find true happiness and freedom. And I love that, it truly is a beautiful direction for his character.

I know Cheritz is not great at writing realistic trauma recovery for his characters--that was already apparent in Saeran’s route. But, I never found it so unrealistic to the point of breaking immersion for me until this AE. It just felt so silly at some points that I couldn’t even convince myself that maybe it was possible.

It’s been two weeks since he escaped Mint Eye, and... he is completely fine with talking casually to Rika, trying to understand her, and being in the same room as her? He is fine with confronting the PM and telling him he forgives him because ‘he must have a tragic past’? Really? 

Maybe he is just a better person than I am lol, but this was too much. I completely understand how someone could reach this level of inner peace and choose to forgive their abusers in order to heal. But. Two weeks. Although the circumstances were different, I think the Secret Ending handled Saeran’s recovery a lot better in this sense.

In Summary: LOVED Day 1 and 2, hated Day 3 and 4

I’m sorry if I got a bit too rant-y on the reasons why I disliked the AE LOL. I just had many feelings about it and couldn’t stop myself. If anyone wants to send me or comment their own thoughts, please feel free to do so!! I would love to read some different perspectives. 

I don’t hate the AE as whole, but it really let me down in some big ways. I’ll probably try to replay it in the future and see if I change my mind about some aspects about it, though. It’s sad to say this, but V’s AE left me feeling more fulfilled in some regards than this lol. I really wish Saeyoung would have had more involvement in the story, too.

I did love the very final epilogue for both the GE and NE, which was the main thing I was hoping for--so there’s that, I guess.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading!

[pettyprocrastination]

Dinner for Three

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Valerie Lord x Black!Fem!Reader

OneShot: This is just a non-canon fic! This is basically placed AFTER the timelines of this fic, just a fun little side ficlet surrounding you and the lords after yall get together in celebration of Valentines day!

*If you want to read the rest of the fic so far here's a link to my masterlist where you can find Rip Out Our Seams & Stitch Us Together*

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: profanity, some groping going on and kissing. That's about it! Fluff and talking of self-worth.

Summary: It's Valentine's Day, you decide to treat Valerie to a nice homecooked dinner, Maxwell joins you when he returns home from work.

If the formatting is fucked im sorry tumblr fucked this like three times today im just trying to get it POSTED for you all.

Tag List: @captainsamwlsn @themarcusmoreno @cinewhore @thesadvampire @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @readsalot73 @holographic-carmen @honestlystop @thecrimsonsquire @phoenixhalliwell @that-chick212 @phantomnae @goldafterglow

If I forgot to tag you I'm so sorry please let me know!

Notes: BIG thank you to @ficsilike-reblogged who bought me a kofi! I know i was meant to do asomething shorter but i couldn't help myself! Also my usual big thanks for the ever lovely @teaofpeach for editing for me you are an absolute treat my dear ily <3

(i coudn't find any good lasagna gifs the TRAGEDY)

“What in God’s name are you wearing?”

You turned around at the shocked voice to see Valerie standing in the kitchen doorway, red painted lips dropped open.

You grinned and planted your hands on your hips with pride. “My Valentine’s Day outfit! You don’t like it?”

Her face fell flat as she looked you up and down; the main culprit of her disdain was the shirt you wore, buttoned neatly and covered in hearts. “Hon, you look like a cartoon character.”

You wiggled your brows. “A sexy cartoon character?”

“Remind me again why I love you?”

Hearing the word ‘love’ from Valerie Lord would never not send your heart into a frenzy. It had been months since the gala, since they had told you about their feelings with courage brought on my champagne and their own confessions to one another.

They finally had each other, why couldn't they have you as well?

Of course, that didn’t mean there wasn’t a… learning curve. When it came to the relationship, Valerie was bad at sharing her feelings. Sure, she’d say when she didn’t like somebody, or when she thought certain food tasted bad or when Maxwell’s new cologne smelled like rat shit. But she wouldn’t tell you when she was sad, insecure or felt like she wasn’t enough for the both of you.

Maxwell was too concerned with the outer view of the relationship, as he had been with Valerie since they got married. It was suspicious of course, for him to be seen leaving with a “mystery woman” without his wife around, so he took certain precautions. When out and about, he would take too much time fretting over the cameras and questions than you.

These precautions nearly cost them your relationship, their sweet girl who brought them together and showed them love and care and made them realize while they couldn't live without each other, they couldn’t live without you as well.

But now, they knew this. That you weren’t a fling who could be replaced. Your nimble fingers had stitched their beating hearts back together with a golden thread they wouldn’t dare untie from your own.

You turned away from the heiress and back to the stove as you stirred the red sauce in front of you.

“As abhorrent as that shirt is-” Her voice purred in your ear as her arms slid around your waist and pulled your back flush against her- “I love you in those jeans.”

You chuckled and kept your eyes on the task at hand as you slowly stirred. “As much of a compliment that is, Mrs. Lord, why don’t you keep those hands to yourself until I put this on the stove, alright?”

She hummed, contemplative before pressing her lips to the crook of your neck. “So mean to me baby.”

Her hands toyed with your belt loop, a painted nail hooking your shirt and slowly sliding it out from where it was tucked.

You sucked in a sharp breath. “Valerie.”

“What? Can’t I show my pretty baby some love on Valentines day?”

“Not while I’m cooking on a hot stove, little-miss-gropey.” A quick slap to her wrist with the wooden spoon made her yelp and yank her hands away from you.

“Bitch!”

You turned and pursed your lips. “Aww, poor baby, want me to kiss it better?”

She grumbled under her breath, taking in the splattered food on her wrist from the spoon before swiping her finger through it and bringing it to her mouth.

“Maybe you can kiss my ass instea- Oh, damn that’s good.”

Her eyes widened and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of such a high and mighty woman licking the back of her hand.

“Is that-”

“Basil?” She hummed at the taste. “I’m glad you enjoy it. It’s my father’s recipe.”

Valerie watched you as you cooked. Methodically adding each ingredient while humming along to the radio and swaying from side to side. 

“You don’t talk about him much.”

Valerie knew you were different than her and Maxwell. Your childhood wasn’t full of flashing cameras, propping questions, and hiding tears behind fake smiles to reporters. When your father was brought up in conversation, you didn’t bristle or change the subject. You would smile. 

She wasn’t jealous of that joy. That love you had from your family. She’s grateful for it, that amongst the struggles you had, there was also support and happiness. 

“He doesn’t come up in conversation often.” Valerie’s hands once more wrapped around your waist, but simply settled at your hips. Her body was flush with your own and she let her head rest on your shoulder, gently swaying with you as you continued to cook. 

“Tell me about him.”

She saw the small smile that graced your lips, mourning and grateful all at once as you spoke of him. 

“He used to say that as people, we’re a collection of those around us. The ones we’ve loved. All their little mannerisms and tics become a part of who we are. And that we do the same for other people who love us.” 

As you slowly set the pasta onto the bottom of the pan and began to layer the sauce, she wondered who you were an amalgamation of. Was the way you tilted your head back as you laughed from an old flame? 

Was the way you sang and shook your hips from a best friend when you were young, who you wished had been more?

Were the soft kisses you press to the tip of their noses something given to you? Or an act of love learned by watching your parents?

Did you have anything of hers? Of Max’s? 

Did they have anything of yours? 

“I see it in you and Max, yanno.” You stepped back to open the oven and settle the pan on the top rack before shutting it. “You both do a lil’ nose scrunch when you get angry.”

“What?” She drew back from your body, unintentionally wrinkling her nose in the process. “We do not.”

You pulled her close to your body again. Your arms settled around her waist as you slowly moved side to side. You hummed along to the smooth voice of Grover Washington Jr. that danced from the radio and filled the large kitchen, empty except for the two of you. 

“Sure do. You're also both very boujee-”

“Hey.”

“A touch temperamental-”

“I’ll give you that one but-"

“As well as emotionally constipated-”

“Excuse me?”

“And yet-” You hummed, letting your head drop forward to rest against hers, nose bumping against hers in a gentle caress- “I can’t help but love you both every damn day.”

Her blue eyes widened, before she groaned and shoved her face into your shirt. 

“You fucking sap.” She lifted her head to yours and kissed you. The melody curled around you as she wrapped her arms around your neck and tugged you flush against her. A soft moan broke from her lips as you ran your hands over the plush skin of her ass. 

You pulled away long enough to press a kiss to the tip of her nose, giggling when her face scrunched up in response. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Val."

Valerie Lord never thought she’d have this. This love and security. The ability to smile and kiss and dance on a Sunday night in the arms of a lover. She didn’t think she’d ever have a day where she felt love, a love she wasn’t afraid to admit. 

Especially to two people. 

The pair of you danced in silence, listening to the lyrics that serenaded the way you spun her and the laugh that bubbled up her chest her perfect, pinned, blonde curls came loose. 

And darling when the morning comes

And I see the morning sun

I wanna be the one with you.

When Maxwell came home, he noticed how quiet the house was. No chatter or footsteps along the hardwood floors. He knew what day it was, of course he did. He wasn’t an idiot. Valentine’s Day wasn’t a special day with the Lords. It never had been. 

But of course, that was before they met you.

Maxwell never saw that love with his parents. His mother was cold and cruel, and while his father was a good man, he knew he didn’t love her. He didn’t blame him for it. But now he felt it. The way his heart would hammer against his ribs so hard he wondered if you could hear him. The way all his stress and anger would melt away the moment Valerie’s hands held his face in a grasp like that used to carry a bird with a broken wing. 

He didn’t think it was possible to love. To desire and need somebody as much as he did you two. Now he did, and he wouldn’t go back to a life without it for all the money and power in the world. 

The sound of smooth sax caught his attention. Slowly, he set down his briefcase and followed the music until he found himself in front of the kitchen. 

This. Maxwell thought as he watched the two of you, your eyes shut as you held one another in a close embrace as swayed. This is why he did it all. 

The long hours, the greuling work and idiotic employees. If he could come home to this everyday, it’d all be worth it. 

He leaned against the doorway, watching you two until your own eyes opened and met his. 

“Happy to finally have you with us monopoly-man.”

He snorted at your lovingly crude nickname. “It was a long day at work.” Gone was the fake ‘apple-pie-and-picket-fence’ accent he forced himself to use at work when he spoke and you loved it. To see the real Maxwell was a privilege, one you would never take for granted. 

“Every day at work is a long day for you.”

Before he could retort, his wife unwrapped her arms from you and walked over to her husband. Valerie cupped his face in her hand and led him to her lips with a soft moan. Maxwell melted into the kiss with ease, all thoughts of work and conference calls vanished into thin air as his wife’s fingers carded through his hair. She pulled away with a wet pop and ran a thumb over the smudged lipstick on his face. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, dear.”

Maxwell let his hand run over her bottom lip with a lazy smile. She was magnificent like this. Not preened or pinned or posed. She was messy and unkempt and happy. She never looked more breathtaking than in those moments. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey.”

Her eyes flicked over his crisp suit and her sweet smile was replaced with a groan. 

“Son of a bitch you fuckers are matching!”

You shrieked with laughter while Valerie pointed an accusatory finger at the heart-covered tie that lay on her husband’s chest. 

“You tacky traitor!”

You leaned over and pressed your lips to his cheek, his hand coming to rest at the small of your back. 

“Aw don’t worry, Max. She’s just jealous she isn't matching with us.”

Valerie reared back. “I’ll be caught dead before I ever-”

“Alastair sent them to us.”

A moment of silence passed before she spoke again, more offended than annoyed. 

“And he didn’t send one for me?”

Maxwell smirked at his wife, fishing out a small white box and presenting it to her. 

“Our son knows his mother wouldn’t be caught dead in anything with gaudy patterns.” He opened the box and she took in the red heart earrings with a smile. 

Which was ultimately ruined by you. 

“Aw, he boujee just like his mama!”

Before either one could snap back at you, a small ding sounded through the kitchen and you moved quickly over to the oven. 

“You know-” Maxwell spoke as he put the earrings on his wife with gentle hands- “We have a chef for a reason.”

You brought out the pan and set it onto the stove, taking in the savory smell with a proud smile. 

“Well, fine then. Go get your cook to make you dinner if you want to complain.”

“Wait. Wait, no that not- that’s not what I meant- I’m starving, please.”

Valerie moved around her husband, taking a bottle of red wine and bumping his hip with hers. “Just set the table Maxwell, we both know how you can make it up to her later. It’s a special day after it all.”

Her husband loosened his tie and grinned at you in a way that made you think he wanted to eat you for dinner instead of the meal you prepared. 

“Lovely idea, darling.”

[aspenflower17]

Finding You (Part Fifteen of ??)

Goodness gracious, I’m back, and excited to be here. I just had the weirdest two weeks, so I apologize about not updating last week. Luckily, I just stayed home today and was able to write most of this chapter. Here is a link for anyone who’s new and wants to start over at the beginning: Part One.

A couple notes: I totally forgot I wanted to add a dream sequence to part fourteen, so I added it first thing in this update. It is a rewrite of part of Satan’s “The Search of Self” Devilgram so there might be some spoilers. I also missed you all so much! Honestly, I’ve been feeling kinda down lately and haven’t even had much motivation to play Obey Me (or do much of anything), so being able to hang out on Tumblr today and see all the posts has helped me get some of my inspiration back! I also bought a Chromebook and I'm still getting used to it. If the formatting goes weird, please let me know so I can fix it.

Tags for the beauties: @simpingforsatan @naimena @hachimochi @wrathandgreed @magi-minminxiii @rensphilia @a-dream-at-night @chloelikesobeyme @getbehindme-satan @theuglypugling @oofthelazyweeb @mammonismyfirstman

Word Count: 3293

Warnings: Possible spoilers for the first season (though I think I’ve had some before so...), spoilers for Satan’s “The Search for Self” Devilgram story (it’s not the full story and I added a lot)

Mc followed Satan to a fairly large building. Satan, still so weird to say, had asked her if she wanted to go around the Devildom with him. The letters above the door were illegible, seeing as how the Devildom had their own language and alphabet, but she instantly knew where they were when they walked in, “You took me to an art gallery?!”

“Oh, seems like I made a good choice,” Satan looked a tad shocked, but then smiled, “I like to come here to get away from stuff and clear my head.”

“So, are these like human art galleries?” Mc asked.

“I think so? Naturally, they have older, historically significant paintings, but they also exhibit pieces created by young, up-and-coming artists. And they’re always holding interesting events. It’s a lot of fun… Are you interested in art, Mc?”

“Yeah, I am,” Mc answered.

“Ah, is that so? I’ve got a feeling you and I might get along, then. I really love art.”

Mc felt her heart thill at his words. She’d been interested in the blonde fourth-born the second she’d seen him, and her interest seemed to be well founded.

Satan continued on about why he loved art, and though there was brand new art for her to look at, all she could do was hang watch Satan and hang onto his every word. He wasn’t saying anything she herself didn’t think, but just being here with him was giving her butterflies.

“... If you’re nervous about coming here alone, then say the word, and I’ll join you anytime.”

“Ah, that’s so nice of you. Now that I know this place exists, I’m definitely going to need to visit often.”

“You’re really excited about this, aren’t you?” he was watching her, eyebrow quirked, but with a soft smile.

“Of course! Not only do I have a whole new history to learn about, but there’s even new art!”

Satan chuckled, “Well, I’m glad you’re actually interested in art. It really is important not to focus only on your outward appearance like Asmo, because the person you are on the inside has a way of showing through on the outside as well.”

“I agree. Too many people’s beauty is only skin deep.”

“Exactly. Incidentally, it looks like they’re having a contemporary art exhibit here today. Shall we go check it out?”

“Definitely. I hope demon modern art is better than, “Four Blue Squares on Canvas”.”

“Wait… Really?”

“Yup. It’s a real art piece I saw in my University’s art museum.”

“So, was it really…”

“Just four blue squares on a white canvas, all equidistant from each other.”

Satan blinked a couple times, “Well, I hope ours is better too.”

They entered an exhibit space. Mc found herself a little disappointed, as she saw some of the same stange, abstract, postmodern art she would’ve seen at a human art gallery. Satan noticed the change and hurried to explain, “This is the human art wing. Many of the “lost” art pieces you’ve heard about can be found in collections here in the Devildom or in some of our galleries. This gallery is curated by Lord Diavolo, as advised by Barabatos, Lucifer and myself. Right now I believe this collection was put together by Lucifer.”

“Ah. That makes sense,” Mc stated, lips pursed as she looked around, making Satan laugh.

The duo continued through the gallery, Mc stopping every-so-often to examine a piece that caught her eye. Satan knew the artist’s name and the medium of almost every piece, though there were a few that were new to him too.

“Check out this work here. The use of color is so novel, so original. It’s very eye catching.”

Mc leaned down to read the museum label, “You know, that reddish color really reminds me of… Oh…”

“Human blood? Yeah, I thought as much. Though the smell had been dampened, probably diluted with water, it’s still unmistakable,” Satan answered absentmindedly. Finally seeing Mc’s discomfort, he quickly tried to backpedal, “I’m sorry. I forgot human noses aren’t as... sensitive as demons. This artist makes pieces that stimulate multiple senses. She’s an acquaintance of mine. This piece in particular incorporates the blood of… Seven distinct creatures, demons included.”

“Oh… Which one is the demon blood?”

“The black. If I’m not mistaken, she used her own blood for this piece,” Mc nodded, the art more macabre than she’d originally thought, “Well, there’s a lot more to see than just this. Let’s see, what’s over here in this space?” They walked through an archway into a room that held a huge installation. A lot of strange items filled the room, some on pedestals, or the ground, while others hung from near translucent strings from the ceiling. The lighting in the room was generally low, specific spotlights or illumination obviously very strategically placed. A low glow on the floor marked a pathway that allowed the viewer to wander around the room.

“Wow! Now this is very interesting,” Satan breathed, eyes glittering, “See? Check it out. At first glance it looks like a bunch of random stuff scattered all over the place, doesn’t it? But actually, every piece of rope, string and crumpled paper has been arranged very meticulously. It actually depicts a war between a dragon and an army of angels. If you want proof, look at it from the side. It looks as if the dragon is over powering the army. Buuuut,” Satan continued excitedly rushing over to the other side of the room, “When you look from this other angel here, it seems the angels have the upper hand.”

“Interesting, because, from where I’m standing, I can see Earth.”

“Wait, really?” Satan moved to where Mc was and bent down so he could view it from her height, “Would you look at that. I don’t think I ever would’ve seen that. How interesting… Very nice find,” he complimented, his smile, words and proximity making Mc’s cheeks heat up.

They spent some more time in the room, though they didn’t find any other secrets. They both vowed to come back however to search some more. They then spent more time in the gallery before Satan suggested they head out to get some refreshments at a new cafe in the Devildom.

“Thank you for that Satan,” Mc grinned, “That was some much needed mental refreshment.”

“No, thank you Mc. It can be difficult to get any of my brothers to spend time with me in a manner that I enjoy, and even harder still for them not to annoy me in the process, so I usually end up going around on my own. It was invigorating having someone with me who also appreciates art,” He grinned at her again, making her heart flutter. She could definitely get used to spending time with the Avatar of Wrath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mc blinked awake. That was the second dream she’d had that seemed more than just a dream. She could still remember the first in clear detail, though her dreams usually started fading once she woke up. The only other time she’d experienced something like this was her memory of being a Wanderer. But… This couldn’t possibly be like that. That was a memory, and these were just the result of finally being able to talk to and spend time with the demon she’d admired for so long… Right? She shook her head, the large questions the dreams brought up already giving her a headache. She grabbed her DDD blinking at the light it gave off. After her eyes adjusted she saw a new message alert. Opening it she smiled. Seems like he'd finally opened up her letter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dude, just read it.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Belphie sighed and got up, grabbing the letter off of the kitchen counter.

“What are you doing?” Satan asked.

“Well, if you’re not going to open it, I will. I can’t believe you didn’t read and respond to it that night.  Honestly, you’re one of the most powerful demons in the Devildom and you can’t even-” he was cut off by Satan grabbing the letter from him, the seal already halfway broken.

“I will open it myself, thank you.”

“Then do it,” Belphie said, unaffected by Satan’s anger.

Satan narrowed his eyes, and turned back to the letter in his hands. Logically, he understood why he was nervous, and usually knowing the why behind a feeling would help him get it under control, but that had never worked with any feelings toward Mc. He had hoped this time around would be different, and he was almost more nervous than before. There seemed to be so much more riding on her returned affection than before. Cautiously, he broke the rest of the seal on the envelope, and pulled the letter out/

Dear Satan,

I would love to get coffee with you sometime! If I can be even half as engaging as last time, I’ll consider it a job well done. To help us plan that and talk more easily in the future, I included my number ;) Once you text me, I have a secret to share with you.

Satan blinked a couple times. He turned the letter over to see if she’d written anything on the back. No such luck. Was that really all she’d written?

“Forever the tease I see.”

“... Did you just read that over my shoulder?”

“Well, when you delay as much as you did, and then have that kind of reaction, who wouldn’t? Anyway, you should text her.”

“I… Yes, you’re right. I definitely should,” Satan said grabbing his DDD. He opened the messaging app, typed in her number and… just sat there.

“You good?”

“Hmmm? Oh, yeah. I’m just not sure how to start the-”

He was cut off by Belphie grabbing his DDD, typing something, and then tossing it back to him, “There you go. I’m going to go sleep now. It’s way past my bedtime.”

“Wait, what did you even-”

“Night,” Belphie called from the doorway before walking out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Satan was reading when his DDD meowed that he had a message. He almost threw the book he was reading into the air as he lunged for his DDD which was on the table next to him. He didn’t even have time to be embarrassed at his over-the-top-reaction.

Satan: A secret? 

Mc: Yes :D

My name is not Jane Doe, though 

I’m sure you’ve already

surmised that much

Satan: I thought as much, though it really isan ingenious alias.

Mc: Thank you! I thought so too 

Satan: So… Do I get to know what you’re

real name is?

Mc: Hmmm… What if I want to go get

 that coffee with you before

 I divulge that information?

Satan: We’ll just have to go get that coffee then.

Mc:

When?

Satan: Whenever you’d like. I am free today.

Only if you want though.

Mc: Okay! Shall we say… 16:00?

Satan: As long as there’s no last minute RAD Student Council meetings called, that should be perfect

Mc: Well, if there is, I’ll just have to come

 tell everyone you already made plans.

I’ve been meaning to visit RAD anyway.

Satan:

Oh how I’d love to see Lucifer’s reaction

to that.

Mc:

Satan: Wait… Shouldn’t you be asleep right now?

It’s rather late.

Mc: I was asleep, but…

Satan: Bad dream?

Mc: No actually. Quite the opposite.

I just can’t stop thinking now.

Satan: Ah. I understand that.

Anything I can do to help?

Mc: Would you talk to me a bit longer? Maybe tell me about thelatest book you’ve been reading?

Satan: Of course.

Though he wished Mc would talk to him about what was bothering her, he figured this was probably the better option. They hadn’t met many times, and prying might upset her. So, he simply started telling her the basic plot of the new novel he’d picked up. Eventually, she stopped responding, and the messages stopped being shown as read. Satan smiled at that, texted her good night, and snuggled down into bed himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry!” Mc’s voice brought Satan out of the book of poetry he’d been reading, “Not only did I fall asleep while texting you last night, but then I was late today and I set the meetup time? Ugh, I feel so bad and I’m so sorry!”

“You’re alright,” Satan smiled, not wanting to acknowledge how much anxiety had been eased up by her appearing.

“I woke up late, and I dropped my DDD bad enough that we have to get a new one all together, and then Michael was asking me about native Devildom fabrics and if he should get a new outfit made in one… It’s just been a day so far.”

“Like, I said, it’s all okay. I’m sure you would’ve messaged me if you could.”

“I would’ve. I still feel bad… But thank you for being okay with it,” the look of anxiety to joy that she gave him made every second he’d spent waiting worth it.

“O-Of course,” he got out.

“So, what were you reading?”

“A collection of Arabic love poems.”

“Ah, “... When I love, / I become liquid light,” and “... If the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent,” Mc sighed, resting her chin on her hand. Then, as if remembering her current company and current residence, she shot up, “Sorry! I just really love that line.”

Satan laughed, and then said a quote of his own, “My lips and fingers were pens on her flesh. / I memorized her in every alphabet and memorized my memories until they multiplied…”

“I look at you and I dream of snow, I look at you and I await autumn…”

“My temptations in your eyes, And the cities of your grief,” Satan quoted just then realizing they were both leaning in towards each other. He leaned back a bit abruptly and cleared his throat, “Anyway, I really enjoy Adonis’ work.”

“Me too,” Mc answered, leaning back as well. Fortunately, a waiter came up to them to take their order, helping resolve the awkward air his sudden retreat had created. He tried to collect his thoughts as she ordered. He could only think of one thing to talk about though.

“So… Your name is not Jane Doe.”

“Nope.”

“So... What is it?” Didn’t they have this conversation last night?

Mc looked disappointed for a second, but then she was back to normal, “It’s Mc.”

“Really? That’s a lovely name.”

She looked up, eyes measuring him, “You think so?”

“Of course! It suits you really well,” Satan said.

“Well, there’s actually an interesting story behind that. Usually when an angel becomes an angel, they receive a new name. Back in the past, they used to allow them the choice between their new name and their old one. This resulted in too many angels remembering their human life, so they stopped allowing it. I’m the first angel in quite some time to keep the same name as I had in life.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Apparently Sim and Luke were insistent on it. Luke didn’t have a ton of clout upstairs at the time, but Sim does. I promised I wouldn’t question them too much about my human life.”

“They were huh? That’s interesting…”

“Why?”

“Oh, uhhh… Just general curiosity. I’ve been trying to pin down what kind of person Simeon is since the first exchange program,” Satan scrambled, actually managing to sound convincing.

Mc just hesitated and then nodded, not keeping eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry. I’m just nervous that I’ll make a fool of myself and ruin this time like I have the other times we’ve talked,” Satan confessed in Latin, his brain still on the last language he had been reading. Saying the things that had been bothering him started when he became more comfortable around Mc the first time around. He found saying the things on his mind out loud usually released much of his nervous energy, helped him understand what and how he was feeling without doing things to make Mc uncomfortable, even if she hadn’t understood most of what he’d said. It had become something they had shared, causing her to work hard to learn other languages so she could catch the little embarrassing things he said.

Mc gave him a look before replying, “Well, you didn’t mess up last time.”

“Well, I-” Satan cut off when his brain caught up to his mouth. She had just responded. In perfect Latin. His brain flipped back to their discussion on Arabic poetry and he realized she had been quoting that in Arabic too, “I hadn’t realized… Of course you speak other languages.”

“I have to read it in its original tongue. Translations generally don’t do the original justice,” Satan was still trying to think of an appropriate response when Mc spoke again, “Question though: Why did you say that in Arabic?”

“I… I fell into that habit awhile ago.”

“I thought a lot of demons knew different languages.”

“Well, I don’t do this around other demons. I don’t care what most of them think of me…” Satan cut off as the waiter came back with their drinks.

Mc sat in thought for a second before realization dawned on her, “Oh, was it because of…” her face fell before she could continue her thought.

“Hmmm? Did you say something?”

“No, just a stray thought that slipped out.”

“Hmmm… Well, do you want to tell me more about yourself?”

“Only if you tell me more about yourself.”

“Sounds fair to me. We can trade off asking questions.”

“Okay,” Mc seemed very excited by the prospect, and Satan found it infectious. The questions were a bit stilted at first, but they slowly fell into a comfortable space. Though the answers Mc gave, it seemed she was the same person essentially, but a lot more educated, even more opinionated, and with a different upbringing. He found the fact her personality had remained intact very interesting as well as relieving. He found the fact she was now an angel not as terrible as he thought it’d be. Sure, she spoke about saving souls and bringing people to the light, but with what she’d done for him and his brothers, it seemed a perfect fit. He’d always known she was a really good person. At times it had almost made him try to give up on their relationship, not wanting to corrupt her, but also feeling it in his very nature too. Now however, he didn’t necessarily feel that for her. She was an angel and it took a lot to corrupt an angel. He didn’t feel any animosity towards her and found her to be a lot like Simeon in her regard to demons. He found himself thanking Simeon for keeping her intact. If they couldn’t give her back to me, this is probably the next best thing.

They were both surprised when Mc’s DDD rang, a call from Luke asking if she’d be back in time for dinner. While she was on the phone, Satan received a similar call from an annoyed Beel telling him it was time to come home. Lucifer wouldn’t let him eat until he’d gotten home. They both got off the phone at the same time.

“I… actually have to go. I hadn’t realized how late it’s gotten.”

“I didn’t either. I have to go as well. There’s a hungry Avatar of Gluttony at home and a stupid Avatar of Pride that won’t let him eat until I get back.”

“Well, I really had a good time tonight. We should do this again sometime.”

“I agree,” Satan smiled, “Today was amazing.”

Mc smiled and blushed a bit, “I’ll text you later then?”

“Definitely. Bye!”

Mc waved cutely and then started running off in the direction of the castle. Satan watched her until she was out of sight, smiling softly the whole time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, yeah. Arabic love poems make me live. I apologize if the translations are weird. I literally found them on a twitter post someone had posted on Tumblr. Here’s the link: https://twitter.com/rosewatwr/status/1292487129793208320?lang=en

Can we also take a moment to talk about how absurd it is that Satan, of all people, was having trouble eating properly with a knife and fork?! Are you kidding me?

Part Sixteen

[25centsoda]

An Unintended Side Effect 3/?

Piett looked down at the tired boy on the couch and sighed internally. He had a ship to run, and the boy clearly wasn’t going anywhere. But Lord Vader’s demands superseded almost all else, save those from the Emperor, and Piett quite liked breathing, thank you very much.

Sitting down stiffly on the couch next to him, Piett said, “So, Imperial Prince Skywalker.”

Luke tilted his head to better look up at the Admiral. “Unfortunately.”

“While there are, ah, certain downsides,” he said, looking uncomfortable, “surely a position as the Imperial Prince is better than the alternatives.”

“Mmm, no, I’d rather be back with the Alliance and able to think clearly.” Luke sighed. “But I do prefer this to being forced to turn to the dark side I guess. Hopefully if I promise to cooperate Vader will stop drugging me.”

“He has spent considerable resources scouring the galaxy for you, I can’t imagine he’d want to take many chances on you escaping.”

“No, I’d imagine not. Still. Surely I’m not this much of a danger, with him following my every move.”

Piett didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, and they sat in semi-awkward silence for a moment - Luke was too tired  to really feel awkward.

------

Luke picked his way down the shuttle ramp a half-step behind his father, careful not to stumble. It took a lot more focus than it really should have, and the voluminous, heavily stylized robes in every shade of blue really weren’t helping. To add to his discomfort, the cuffs corralling the billowy sleeves made him think of chains wrapped around his wrists.

“Young Skywalker, we meet at last,” the Emperor said, walking up to greet them, his cane clacking on the marble floor.

They all stopped at the bottom of the ramp, and Palpatine reached out a hand to touch Luke’s face. His presence in the Force was like an oil slick, dark and poisoning the air. When the backs of his cold, gnarled fingers touched Luke’s cheek he shuddered and just barely managed not to pull away. He felt the touch of the Emperor’s Force signature inspecting his.

“Lord Vader,” he said, still looking at Luke, “couldn’t keep even your own son under control without resorting to such crude methods?”

Vader didn’t reply, but Luke could tell through their connection that behind his shields he was fuming.

“No matter,” Palpatine said, dropping his hand. Luke shored up his own shields as best he could without being able to properly touch the Force, clumsily stacking them higher. “My dear boy, should you find yourself wishing for an alternative, I’d be more than happy to take you under my wing. Surely you grate under so much time in your father’s company.”

Luke balled his artificial hand into a fist, then forced himself to release it. “I am...honored, Your Majesty, but I’m fine right where I am.”

Palpatine gave him a long, amused look, but turned back towards the palace. “My offer stands as long as you need it, my boy. Come, it is time for the galaxy to learn of its new Prince.”

They wound through hallways grander than anything Luke had ever seen, never stopping to admire anything, although Luke dearly wished to at least linger in the portrait hall they’d passed; surely if he was being forced to wear Nubian makeup then his mother would have warranted a portrait in the Imperial gallery? He’d have to see if he could come back later, even if it had to be with an escort.

When they reached the balcony, Luke stood in the back, blinking in the light, grateful that his father had conceded to let him be on a lower dose for the ceremony. He’d need his wits about him to get through this, especially while trying to make sure the Alliance didn’t think he’d decided to change sides.

“Citizens of the Empire,” Palpatine said, voice surprisingly strong as the speakers carried it across the amassed crowds. “On this, the 22nd glorious Empire Day, I have a gift for you. Your new Imperial Prince.”

He gestured behind him, and Luke reluctantly joined him. Palpatine put an arm around Luke and he held back another shudder as the man’s Force presence seemed to try to seep into his skin, wrapping around him like a blanket, or a viper.

“Luke Skywalker, son of the late Padmé Amidala, who hailed from my own home planet of Naboo. He was stolen away by the Jedi of the Old Republic, and led away by the Rebellion. But now the prodigal son has returned to us! In celebration of this joyous day, and the anniversary of the formation of our beautiful Empire, there will be a ball in the Imperial Palace tonight. For now, however,” he said, releasing Luke, who took the opportunity to take a half-step away, “let the celebrations begin!”

The crowd erupted in deafening cheers and fireworks went off throughout the masses, startling a flinch out of Luke. Music started up from somewhere and TIE fighters screamed in from the air amid the chaos, signaling the start of the parade.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Palpatine said, still facing the crowds.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Luke said dutifully, staring unseeing at them himself.

“It could be yours, if you chose.”

“I’m fine, Majesty,” Luke said, turning to look for his father. Even Vader was better than this; or, better yet, now that he was on a planet he might have a better chance of escaping than he’d had on the Executor.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, dear boy. You’ll find my Inquisitors quite difficult to evade, should you attempt it.”

Luke stiffened, hands freezing at his sides.

“But go, enjoy yourself. I’m sure there are many who would like to meet with you; don’t let an old man such as myself stop you.”

He felt the echo of Palpatine’s laughter follow him down the stairs.

-----

Although he was stuck standing by Palpatine’s throne, Vader never took his eyes off his son, so he saw the moment Luke collapsed in his latest dance partner’s arms.

Vader immediately left the Emperor’s side and rushed to his son, whose head was in the lap of the man he had been dancing with. Luke’s eyes were closed, but they fluttered open when his father approached, carefully wrapping his presence in the Force around his son.

“Father,” he slurred, reaching a hand up to him before letting it fall back on his own chest.

“What happened?” Vader demanded.

“I don’t know, my lord, he just collapsed,” Luke’s dance partner stuttered.

As Vader pulled Luke into his arms, Luke began speaking again. “Mmm, you’re warm. Not like, personality wise, but your suit is. I wish you were, though.”

Clearly his son was in no condition to stay here. Surely Sideous had his fill of watching Luke mingle with the Imperial elite, and would not protest if he took Luke to bed.

“I wish you were warmer,” Luke continued, eyes now closed. “More like, like a real father. I used to dream about my father, you know, how he’d take me away from Tatooine and we’d see the stars..”

He gestured, uncoordinated, as he said this, then let his hands fall.

“But I guess that’s reality for you, huh? Uncle Owen always said I dreamt too much. And now instead I’m the stupid Imperial Prince, whatever that’s supposed to mean.” Quieter, as he shifted his head closer to Vader’s chest, he added, “I’d settle for being back with my friends right now.”

Vader’s heart ached. He wished he could be a proper father to his son, but Sidious had long ago ensured he would never have the chance. All he could do now was quicken his step and get Luke to a proper bed for the night, and get him off Coruscant, away from Palpatine, as soon as possible.

-------

As Luke slept that night in the Palace, a dark, oil-slick presence slithered its way into his chambers, seeking the boy’s light. Although he shivered in the cold it brought like a fog, he didn't wake.

The dark presence seeped across the floor, and up to Luke. On reflex, the boy threw out a dazzle of light, the best defense he could give in his drugged, exhausted state. The darkness was barely pushed back, but amusement colored it and it conceded, letting the boy have his rest, for now.

It had seen all it needed to.

[lilachaeyo]

Staying in the Shadows (A Naruto Fanfic) Chapter 4 - Dropping Out.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 (Part I) Chapter 3 (Part II)

"Two Ichiraku Special, please," Jinko ordered as both her and Mitsuki sat at a table.

"Ichiraku ramen is the best ramen in the world!" Jinko looked at Mitsuki. The room smelled of spices and filled with customers chatting amongst themselves. The place had been redecorated. It was much larger than Jinko remembered. Jinko couldn't recognise it.

"Here you go!" A waiter placed their food. Both of them said their prayers and dug in. Mitsuki was gulping the noodles. His eyes were wide, amazed at the taste. Jinko chuckled at him. Mitsuki finished his bowl when Jinko's bowl was half. "Do you want some more?" she asked. Mitsuki shook his head. Mitsuki wanted to ask her about her past but was not sure how to bring up the subject. Jinko knew something was on Mitsuki's mind but she let it slide. He will tell her when he wants to.

"Uh, Jinko," Mitsuki interrupted in between her bite.

"Hm?" she asked.

"How come you never told me that you're from Konoha?"

She swallowed her morsel before replying, "Never came up. Didn't think it was important." It wasn't just that. She didn't want to bring up the subject as she didn't want to remember those days. Only few people knew of it, most of them were dead. Orochimaru knew some of it, but not everything.

"Well I'm bringing it up. Could please tell me?"

Jinko sighed. "I'm from Tao clan, which is a small but a proud clan of the Konoha. I grew up here, went to the academy and became a genin."

"What happened after that?" Mitsuki asked. He was curious about her past life. She was from Konoha meaning she might know some of the people here. What if she knew Naruto Uzumaki? The thought wasn't very far from his mind.

"Something came up and I had to dropout from the programme," she answered looking down. Mitsuki couldn't believe his ears. Dropping out of the programme? How can she quit? What was so important to give up being a shinobi?

"Why!" he exclaimed.

"It's a story for some other time. Nothing special. I don't want you to dwell on these trivial details," Jinko shook him off. "Now if you are done, we should leave and find ourselves a hotel to rest. I don't know about you but I'm pretty beat."

Jinko paid the bill before standing up and leaving the hotel with Mitsuki on toll.

After an hour of searching, Jinko and Mitsuki finally settled in a two room suite, which wasn't too hard on their budget. After making sure that Mitsuki was asleep, Jinko slid into her own bed. The streets seemed silent. It must be around midnight, she thought. Although she was tired Jinko couldn't make herself to go to sleep. Her mind kept going back to her past.

It had been months since formation of the Team 7. The missions assigned to them where only D-ranked. Naruto was becoming a nag, always complaining how bored he was with these mission and how he was ready for some serious ones. Tch, baka.

Ever since the bell test Jinko knew she was the weakest amongst them and she had to train extra hard for her to be of any use. She got up every morning and practiced her punches and shuriken throwing skills. She meditated before going to bed to increase her chakra control. She even asked Isao, her older brother to spar with her but he was too busy. Teme, if he ever comes to me asking for help, she thought grudgingly. These D-rank missions were easy as it didn't require any Ninjutsu or any other skills for that matter but she knew the day wasn't far away that she might have to go on a C-rank or B-rank missions.

Team 7 was in the Hokage's office for their new mission. "I don't want any of these baby missions. I want some real mission," Naruto yelled.

"How dare you! You're only freshly graduated genin and you are going to do missions D-ranked only, just like everybody else!" Iruka sensei yelled back.

"Naruto, listen to me," the Third said calmly. "Different people come to our village for missions and then we analyse them and categorize them into A, B..."  Lord Hokage was explaining how the village works but Naruto, Kakashi, Sasuke, Jinko and Sakura all zoned out and started listening to Naruto who was talking about ramen. "So I had this Tatsu ramen yesterday and I think I need Miso ramen today—"

"Silence!" Hokage silenced him. They directed their attention to him now.

"Ah! You always lecture me as if you're my grandfather or something! But I'm not the brat who pulled pranks all the time. I'm a ninja now and I want some ninja mission!" Naruto puffed his cheeks out and turned his back to lord Hokage.

Both Iruka and the Third laughed at his antics. "Alright. Since Naruto wants us to know that he is a former brat and want some ninja mission. So be it. I will assign you all one since you are so determined." This piqued Naruto's interest and he turned to the Hokage again.

"I'm giving you a C- rank mission. You are going to be the body guards of our client."

"Really? Who? Is it some feudal lord? Or a princess?" Naruto began rambling. Everyone was excited for the higher level mission but Jinko was sweating bullets. She knew this day was coming but never thought this early. Damn you, Naruto! she thought. She wasn't ready yet. D- rank missions were easy and nobody really understood each other's capabilities. But C- rank mission will be different. They would need to use their skills and talent. What if they laugh at Jinko for being so weak?

The door of the office was opened and in stepped a drunk old man. "What? A bunch of snot nosed kids," he slurred. "And you, the little one with an idiotic look on your face."

"Who's with the idiotic look on the face?" Naruto laughed. Everyone stepped closer to Naruto and he understood that it was him. "I'll demolish you!" He started flailing his punches around in the air.

Kakashi hold him back, "You can't demolish the client Naruto!"

"Now if you leave the room, I have some important matter to discuss with Jinko," the Third voiced over all the ruckus. Jinko looked at the Hokage, "Huh, me?"

"Yes." Everyone left the room and Jinko was now facing Iruka sensei and the Hokage. He put his elbows on the table and intertwined his fingers. He looked gravely at Jinko, almost like he knew whatever he wanted say wouldn't settle with her. He pitied her. Jinko was scared. Her mind overworking her imagination. Was someone dead? Is it Isao? No that can't be I saw him leave today. Who then? I'm I in trouble? Is it because of my performance? Jinko kept searching the ground as if it had answers.

"Jinko, your parents and I had a meeting this morning about your future. They had a peculiar request," he said, finally breaking the silence.

"A request?" Jinko's eyebrows creased.

"They came here for your unenrolment from the programme."

Unenrolment? "What do you mean?" Jinko asked incredulously.

The Hokage sighed. "They don't want you to continue being a shinobi. They want you to drop out," he said grievously.

"But why?" Jinko exclaimed. Outside the door, her team and Tazuna was interrupted in their argument by her loud, distressed voice.

"That you are going to have to discuss it with your family, my dear," the old man replied. His voice laced with sorrow for the girl. Jinko's eyes filled with tears, looking pleadingly at him to help her out. Her face flushed and a knot was forming in her stomach. Why would they do this? She thought many reasons as to what made her parents to take this step. Never in her wildest imagination she would have guessed the actual reason which would be released to her later that day.

"That's all, my child. There's nothing I can do here. If your parents change their mind then you can rejoin your team but till then I must strictly ask you to not participate in any kind of missions with your comrades."

Jinko couldn't hold it any longer. As soon as the Hokage was finished, she slammed opened the door and darted past her fellow comrades. She had her arm around her eyes to hide her tears but she couldn't help the sob that left her lips. Everyone outside were surprised by the sudden loud sound of the door slamming against the wall. Their faces were of confusion and concern for their teammate who passed by them sobbing. Even Sasuke was taken aback. "Hey Jinko! What's the matter? Where you going?" Naruto tried to stop her but his voice didn't reach her ears. He was about to run after her but Kakashi stopped him. "We have a mission to worry about," he told him, knowing full well of the conversation that was held inside. The Hokage broke the news to him just after Jinko's parents left. Naruto couldn't argue with him. Kakashi was right. I would ask her on our way to the Land of Waves, he thought.

"Mother!" Jinko yelled as she barged inside her house. "Mother! Father!"

"What is it Jinko? Should a lady be yelling this loud?" her mother chastised her as she came out into the living room.

"Mother what is this nonsense about you asking me to drop out?" Jinko asked wiping away her tears and fixing her attire.

"Yes. Your father and I need to talk with you," her mother replied calmly. "But before that, go and clean yourself. I will not have you in my house looking this filthy!"

Jinko went to her room and changed into her yukata. After tidying herself, she went downstairs in the living room. Jinko sat in front of her parent in a seiza, with her head bowed down. Her father, the head of the Tao clan, cleared his throat. "Jinko, my dear, you know how the Tao clan works, correct? We may be small but we are a proud clan. We are not powerful like the Uchihas, or have renowned kekkei genkai like the Hyugas, but we have connections. Connections which make us stronger, perhaps even more than the Uchihas. We maintain these connections by having good relations.

"And these good relations are because of mutual respect and a little give and take. Some times they make requests and we have to abide them, if we don't there will be consequences. Consequences which harm our clan's reputation. The same goes for them, dear—"

"But what does that have to do with me dropping out?" Jinko cut him off. "Quiet! Shouldn't you know better than to interrupt your father!" Jinko's mother shushed her. Jinko looked down at her hands clutching her yukata.

"As I was saying, a request has been made by the Eguchi clan from the Land of Silk. A request which involves you. The son of the feudal lord, heir of the Eguchi clan and you are arranged to be married." Jinko's father finished. There was silence in the room. Jinko sat transfixed, clutching her yukata. Her eyes flickered with shock. Married? He is not serious. He can't be!

"But why?" Jinko wailed. "Why me? I don't want to marry!"

"The Eguchi clan and Tao clan are bounded together by our common perspectives and our respect to our ancient principles and our traditions. They wanted a daughter in-law from a family with such beliefs. No better than the daughter of the Tao clan, don't you think?" her father explained. His face showed no emotion. He was unfazed by his daughters tears, which were now running down her cheeks.

"Now," her mother started this time. She looked almost bursting with joy to tell her further news. "They wanted a lady, one who could bear them their heirs and not a shinobi. That is why you will be dropping out of the programme and stay at home. I will teach you all the things that an ideal and perfect housewife needs to know. You'll be a real lady in no time." She smiled at her proud. Her mother got up and walked around the table. She bent down and hugged Jinko with her thin arms. She then proceeded to kiss Jinko's wet cheeks, all the while Jinko was motionless. Her mother then got up from her position and left with her father, both talking about being fortunate to receive such a proposal. Neither of them paying heed to Jinko.

A tear slipped from Jinko's eye as she remembered the day which turned her world upside down. She quickly wiped it away and shut her eyes to get some sleep, but orange light shimmered through her windows and fell upon her bed. The birds started chirping and the swishing of the brooms sweeping the road was heard. Well, might as well arrange breakfast before Mitsuki wakes up, she thought. Jinko stretched as she stepped out of her bed and started her day.

[fixerupperofarrendelle]

Day 1: “The Wind Blows A Little Bit Colder...”

A/N: Thank you for reading! This is my first time doing a challenge on tumblr, but I hope I can make some friends within this fandom. ❤️

@vannminner @vuelie

The wind blows a little bit colder in Arendelle as the autumn breeze changes to winter snowfalls.

This period of time has been full of change. Elsa abdicated the throne, placing the kingdom of Arendelle into the hands of Anna, and moved to the Enchanted Forest as protector of the spirits and the Northuldra people living in the Forest. The former queen, now the fifth spirit, truly feels like she is where she belongs.

Anna, on the other hand, has had a tough time transitioning into her new rule. Of course, she had a great role model— Elsa handled her queenly duties with grace after the Great Thaw. But Anna wasn't like Elsa. She always felt more like the spare child, not the other side of a very important bridge as Elsa had told her.

The people of Arendelle was always Anna's main concern. She wanted to make wise decisions with trade agreements and other political changes. Balancing council meetings, paperwork, and foreign dignitary visits, Anna could barely keep her head afloat.

Sure, she had Kristoff who was always ready to listen to her venting sessions. Olaf and Sven would do their best to cheer up the exhausted Queen.

She knew that she could send a note with Gale to tell Elsa she needed her, but Anna did not want to do that. The queen's realization of her struggles with being codependent caused her to try to do it all on her own.

Kristoff saw red flags almost immediately after Anna was coronated. He gave her a few weeks, hoping Anna just needed time to adjust. But with her constant mood swings, her skipping meals, and her staying up way too late to finish paperwork, Anna was struggling.

The only time she seemed to be herself was when Elsa came for family game night. Sometimes, Elsa would stay the whole weekend, which she had been doing more recently because she missed spending time with her little sister.

Today is Friday. Elsa should be arriving shortly after lunch. She always patiently waits for Anna to finish up in her meetings before coming to relax and have fun with the family.

Kristoff decides as soon as Elsa arrives, he will discuss what he's noticed about Anna. Maybe she can provide some comfort.

Anna runs into the dining hall a few minutes after noon. Without a word, she takes her seat.

"Um... hey," Kristoff speaks as he rubs the back of his neck nervously.

She avoids eye contact but sighs, "Hey, honey."

"Is... everything alright?"

"Everything is fine, Kristoff. I just don't think I'm going to finish my paperwork in time for family game night," Anna folds her arms and lays her head on the table.

"I'm sure Elsa will understand. She will probably stay the whole weekend anyways," Kristoff responds, trying to soothe his fiancé.

"She shouldn't have to do that," Anna grumbles.

"What do mean?" Kristoff gives her a look of confusion.

"She should just come for family game night and then go back to the forest where she belongs-"

"Woah, Anna. Are you sure you're-"

"I'm fine!" Anna yells as she slams her fists against the table.

Kristoff stares at her, his jaws dropped.

Anna cringes with embarrassment from her outburst. Tears begin to stream down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. Just... tell Gerda to send my lunch to my room," She speaks choppily.

Before Kristoff can object, Anna runs out of the dining hall and practically flies upstairs, skipping one or two stairs between every step.

Kristoff lets out a sad sigh just as Gerda walks in with the huge meal. "Gerda, would you please take her meal to her room?"

"Yes, my lord," she responds as she sets the plate of food in front of Kristoff. Gerda hastily pushes the tray of food out of the room.

Kristoff hates being call a lord. He's just a mountain man that fell in love with a Queen, but Anna insists that he is spoken to with his formal title.

Interrupting his thoughts, Elsa elegantly walks inside the dining hall.

"Elsa!" Kristoff jumps up and gives her a hug.

"Hey, Kristoff," Elsa smiles at him. She looks around him, expecting a hug from her sister.

Her smile fades, "Where is Anna?"

"She's in her room... um... Elsa? I need to talk to you about her."

A flash of concern washes over Elsa's features. "Please, let's sit down," she leads him back to the dining table. "What's going on?"

"At first, I thought she just needed time to adjust to being Queen, you know? But she is overworking herself. She skips meals and never comes to bed before midnight. Her mood changes constantly, and Anna is only herself when you come to visit," Kristoff informs Elsa.

Elsa's face twists with sadness. Without another thought she stands up, "I need to talk to her-"

"Wait!" Kristoff stops her. "Um... she's upset right now, because she doesn't think she will finish her work in time for game night," he warns.

"Thank you for telling me, Kristoff. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go talk to my sister," Elsa says almost pleading. Kristoff gives a polite nod and decides to walk to the barn to feed Sven.

Elsa softly knocks on the Anna’s door. When she doesn't get a response, Elsa presses her ear against the wood. Sobs escape her sister's mouth on the other side.

"Anna? Please, let me in— it's Elsa."

Another minute passes. Restless, Elsa tries again. "Anna, please! I'm going to open this door."

Instantly, Anna swings the door open and throws herself into Elsa's arms. "E-Els-sa," she sobs loudly.

Elsa holds her steady and gently leads her to the bed in Anna's room. She quickly jumps up to close the door and runs back over to her little sister.

"Anna, breathe. It's okay, dear, I'm here now," Elsa attempts to soothe the wailing queen.

It takes Elsa about thirty minutes to calm Anna well enough to understand Anna when she speaks. "What's been going on?" Elsa strokes her sister's cheek.

Anna turns her face away and remains quiet.

"Anna," Elsa reprimands gently, "Don't shut me out, please."

"I'm not you," Anna chokes out.

"What?" Elsa gasps. Anna looks back at her older sister.

"I'm not you, Elsa," Anna stands up and starts to pace around her room. "I'm not an amazing queen who has magical powers. Like Olaf said, I'm powerless. I was never meant to be the queen— I'm just.... the spare."

In shock, Elsa stares at her sister. She slowly walks toward Anna. Elsa places her hands firmly on Anna's shoulder. "I didn't know you felt that way," Elsa tells her guiltily.

"No, no, it's okay-"

"Anna," Elsa stops her. A single tear falls down the oldest's face. "I want to show you something."

Elsa shuts her eyes and conjures the icy magic. Snowflakes swirl around the room, collecting in the center, a few feet away from the girls. There, ice formations of King Agnarr and Queen Iduna form.

"Darling, I've been thinking," Iduna starts as she looks lovingly at her husband.

Anna gasps and glances at Elsa when she recognizes the icy figures.

"It might be time to tell Anna about Elsa. I can't bear keeping her shut out anymore. She's maturing now, she can be responsible," the Queen reasons.

"It's not Anna I'm worried about. What if we let them get close again and the feelings are too much for Elsa? Joy brings her powers out strongly as fear,” the King reminds his wife.

In shock, Anna takes a small step forward, watching the scene take place in front of her.

"But if anyone can find a way to help her, it's Anna," Queen Iduna smiles.

"She may be right about that. There's not much that girl can't do,” King Agnarr smiles now, thinking about his youngest daughter.

Iduna sighs happily, "Her love could hold up the world."

"Lucky for the world," the King chuckles. "Okay, we'll tell her when we return."

The King and Queen share a sweet hug as Iduna hums in contentment.

Anna turns to Elsa and runs into her sister's arms. She sniffles loudly, "Thank you so much for that."

Elsa pulls away to look Anna in the eyes. "They believed in you, Anna, and so do I," Elsa smiles warmly at Anna.

"Oh, Elsa," Anna wipes the snot of her face with the sleeve of her dress, causing Elsa to giggle.

"And hey, you do not have to be me to rule Arendelle. The people here adore you, Anna. You may not have ice powers, but you have something stronger," says Elsa.

"What's that?" Anna shakes her in disbelief.

Elsa places a hand on her sister's shoulder.

"Love!"

[unpeumacabre]

my kingdom for a horse: chapter 1

the year is 1601, a messenger has been sent to dongnae, and he has not returned. lord cho-hak-ju advises the joseon king to send crown prince lee chang to dongnae to investigate, but the plot he unravels there threatens the safety of the entire kingdom, and the stability of the dynasty.

a rewriting of kingdom, and lee chang finds love.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Lee Chang/Yeong-shin

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting)

Count: 7k

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A/N: ummmmm so basically i wanted to rewrite kingdom... with a yeong-shin/lee chang twist... and it turned out as a massive lee chang character study lol. the plot borrows elements from the drama but is quite different - i wanted to bring out certain aspects of the characters and tone down on some of them a little more. the story is mostly complete, i'm just in the midst of editing, so updates will be weekly. enjoy~

Survive.

Lee Chang gathers the reins of his horse in his hands, and looks out towards the horizon. The sun is waning, and Mu-yeong is complaining about the flies, and Lee Chang still feels the heat of anger and injustice scorching his skin.

He had been there when the King had sent the messenger to Dongnae – a routine check it had been, nothing more. Apparently, Cho Hak-ju and his spies had heard murmurs of a rebellion in the South, and he had whispered his foul poison into the King’s ear, convincing him to send a messenger to Dongnae to put the magistrate on his guard.

Lee Chang had also been there when the messenger’s horse had returned, bereft of its rider, and bereft of its message.

“Why not send the Prince to investigate?” had been Cho Hak-ju’s answer. “We must send someone reliable this time, someone who will not shirk his mission. And the Prince must have been so bored of late. There is little to occupy his scholarly mind in recent days, what with everyone being occupied preparing for the new prince’s birth.”

“Why not send Beom-il? Surely your son is more experienced than I am at these matters,” Lee Chang had answered, and he had felt the strain of his smile stretch tight against his cheekbones.

“Of course, but Beom-il is indisposed at the moment. He has been sent to oversee the setting up of the new regiment at Haeju, and will not return for a few days more.”

He was an odious snake, he was, Lee Chang thought bitterly, but still the King had acquiesced.

His only modicum of hope lay in the words the King had said to him that night, as they took their private dinner together – a rarity, now that most of his time was occupied with the queen and her increasingly-rounded belly.

“It pains me to say this, but…” the King had picked at his food. “There is something brewing in the south, although I do not believe it to be the rebellion that Lord Cho is suggesting.”

Lee Chang personally thought there was nothing in it, but then again, he didn’t have the extensive network of spies the King and Cho Hak-ju seemed to have. He could not – and probably never will – understand how one can trust men who live in the shadows and trade secrets – and lives – for their livelihood. Perhaps it would not make him a good king, but Lee Chang wanted to believe that it would make him a better one instead.

“I want you to investigate what the Haewon Cho clan is up to in the south,” the King had then said, and Lee Chang had almost fallen from his seat.

“Father, why?” he had asked, a perfectly reasonable question. He well remembered the times in his youth when Cho Hak-ju had said something insulting to him or done something to side-line him, something so serious that he had felt the need to go to the King for recompense. Every single time, he could recall being brushed off and told “Lord Cho thinks only of the good of the nation” and “you would do well to heed his teachings”. Never had the King shown even a hint of resentment or suspicion of the Haewon Cho clan’s leader, and Lee Chang had always thought his trust in Cho Hak-ju unshakeable.

Not so unshakeable, it seemed. A shadow had crossed the King's face then, and he had turned away as if to hide his face.

“I did not believe it when first the Head of the Royal Commandery brought it to my attention,” the King had said then, “but Cho Beom-il has been implicated in several – well, shall we say, unsavoury deals, and Lord Min’s investigations point to Lord Cho at their head. But he has been very careful to cover his tracks, and the evidence is, while convincing, mostly circumstantial.”

Lee Chang had taken a sip of his wine, his throat suddenly dry. “And of my role in all this?” he had managed. “Why send me? Surely by doing so we are playing precisely into Lord Cho’s hands.”

“I do not yet know what he plans,” the King had replied, shaking his head. “All I have are ominous tidings from my spies in Sangju and Dongnae that there is something nefarious being planned, but Lord Cho – if it is indeed he behind it – is an intelligent man. He has not yet let anything slip. If we must play into his hands, at least for now, just know that you go as my envoy, my emissary, and not the messenger boy of the Haewon Cho clan. I trust only my son to carry this through for me.”

“I wish to see my son, and I miss my wife,” Mu-yeong complains, and it snaps Lee Chang back to reality. He huffs out an exasperated laugh at the familiar refrain.

“At least she will be well-taken care of while you are gone,” he says, letting the amusement thread through his voice. “Where did you say she was staying while you are with me?”

“With her aunt, in Naesonjae. Her brother has found work in the queen’s palace, so they have enough money to put her up at least until I return,” Mu-yeong answers, and punctuates his answer with an enormous, put-upon sigh.

“That is good,” Lee Chang says absently. “At least you need not steal desserts from my table any longer to feed her.”

“Your Highness – you said you wouldn’t - ” splutters Mu-yeong, his face turning beet red, as he spins around in his horse to check on the entourage of three guards following them. Thankfully for him, they are bickering among themselves about something inconsequential, and Lee Chang dismisses them as not having heard anything.

“We must find somewhere to make camp soon,” he decides, looking back towards the horizon, and the sun’s fading rays colouring it red.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mu-yeong replies, and he slows his horse to tell the guards.

Very quickly, they find a clearing in which to make camp, and Lee Chang grooms his horse while the guards and Mu-yeong start the fire. When the fire is sufficiently large, he sits by it and unwraps the jangguk mandu prepared for him that morning by his chefs. The smell of pork and kimchi wafts like sweet perfume from the wrappings, and he catches the guards looking at him enviously from the corner of their eyes, as they dig into their mieum. The gruel splatters over the grass as they eat.

One of the guards’ voices drifts over to him on the wind. “Royals are lucky,” he says, a thread of envy in his voice. “Jangguk mandu and tteokguk for dinner. What I would do for some meat.”

“Hush,” Mu-yeong says, glancing over at Lee Chang, but he pretends not to hear their conversation, and Mu-yeong returns his attention to the guards, reassured. “You know meat is a luxury us peasants cannot afford, especially in these trying times.”

“Yeah? You’d think the royals and the lords don’t know of the ongoing famine. The other day, I was on guard for Lord Park, and he left a whole dish of goldongban untouched. Untouched!” There is a collective groan from the group.

“What I wouldn’t do for some beef and eggs,” agrees one of the others, fervently.

“My mother died of illness last month. She wasted away,” comes the quiet voice of the last guard. “And when you think of all the food that’s left on the royals’ tables…” He shakes his head, and fumbles in his pockets. “I only have my daughter and my dear wife left, and the little girl’s so much like her grandmother. Worries about me all the time. She made me this talisman to keep me safe.” He displays the charm, and Lee Chang can vaguely see the childish drawings on the blue fabric, accompanied by words he is too far away to read.

He looks down at his mandu. Suddenly, the dumplings no longer seem as inviting.

Lee Chang thinks of offering them his food, then. Thinks of unwrapping the rest of the packages tethered to his horse, and sharing the food among the guards, because, if he’s honest, there was far too much food packed for him alone.

But something holds him back. Pride, perhaps, or irrational fear, that they will hate him even more for what they might construe as his pity.

And now it is too late. Before he could come to a a decision, the guards had finished their food, and now they are standing up, stretching, and sorting out the watch schedule. Mu-yeong comes over to him and notices his untouched meal.

“You must eat, Your Highness,” he urges, his tone teasing.

But when Lee Chang turns his face up to face him, Mu-yeong must see something in his face, for he squats down, his eyes turning liquid and understanding.

“Your Highness is different from the rest of the nobles,” he murmurs, under his breath so the other guards do not hear. “You did not execute my family when you caught me stealing from your table to provide for my wife. You did not execute the maid when she ruined your second-best coat with her shoddy washing skills. You did not execute the chef when he cooked you kongguksu for dinner, forgetting soy beans give you sleepless nights. That mercy is far above what any other noble is capable of – ah, now, don’t blush, Your Highness – you know it to be true! Don’t be embarrassed.”

Lee Chang scoffs and turns away. “Be quiet, or I shall execute your whole family,” he mutters under his breath.

“Isn’t it about time you stopped joking about that?” Mu-yeong cries, aghast. “Such a threat from the Crown Prince holds more weight than you think!”

Lee Chang glares at him out of the corner of his eye, then sighs, and turns his attention away. He begins unpacking the linens with which he is to make his bed, and tries not to smile; but he is sure the way his lips twitch, gives him away.

Satisfied that he has restored his prince’s spirits, Mu-yeong returns to the rest of the guards, who have been watching their exchange with some curiosity. Lee Chang strains to hear their conversation as they welcome his guard back to their side with a comradely clap to the back, but it is late, and the hard riding of the morning has driven all the energy from his bones.

The ground is hard against his back, and it is with the unhappy feeling of rocks digging pinpricks of pain into his skin, that he finally drifts into a restless slumber.

***

He is in the King’s study, staring at the irworobongdo behind the King’s desk and thinking to himself, “I will never be king.”

The King’s great-grandfather, his great-great-grandfather, had had the folding screens installed behind his desk in his room in Gyeongbokgung Palace during his reign, to emulate the irworobongdo behind the royal throne where he held court. Lee Chang had been told by his nurse as a boy that the former King, his great-great-grandfather, had used the paintings to intimidate whoever was unlucky enough to be called to his study for an audience. After the Second War of Jeong-yu, three years ago, Gyeongbokgung had been razed to ashes, they had moved here into Changdeokgung as the main palace, and the current King had decided to adopt the same practice as his great-grandfather.

It makes a majestic sight for sure, the five peaks rising above the head of the King, flanked by the two moons, conifers, and streams running down from the mountains. Lee Chang had often been called here in his youth, and one of his earliest – and most vivid – memories is of standing before the King, only nine years old, on his knees and crying. He remembers having been summoned for some small prank he had played on one of the guards. He remembers the King’s back, tall and stately, looming above him, his arms crossed behind him, and his voice: “You are the Crown Prince, Lee Chang. Such childish frivolities are beneath you. You must always act with the maturity and dignity required of your station.”

Yet he cannot remember the King’s face.

So now, he fixes his gaze blankly on the third and middle peak of the irworobongdo, as the King strides leisurely across the room, watching him.

“Did you hear me, Chang?” he says, and his voice is quiet.

“Yes,” Lee Chang manages. “That is wonderful news. You have informed the ministers, then? That Her Highness is with child?”

“Yes, yes,” the King replies, waving his hand airily. “They have given their best wishes, of course. I am sure he will be a beautiful baby boy.”

Or a girl, Lee Chang’s mind whispers, but somehow he knows in his bones that it will be a boy. Cho Hak-ju is not known for his errors.

The King is still watching him. Lee Chang does not know what he is expecting to see.

Then he turns his head away, sighs, and gestures imperiously towards Lee Chang, beckoning him forward. Lee Chang steps forward and kneels at the King's feet. He feels like that nine-year-old child all over again; but the difference is that, in the years between then and now, he has learned not to cry.

“Chang,” the King says, and Lee Chang feels a hand in his hair, a gentle touch which catches him by surprise. “You have survived, as I commanded you to. And you are all that a father can ever ask for. All that a nation can ask for in its prince. When this child comes, you will no longer be destined to be king. But you will still be a prince, and that is all that matters.”

“Is it?” Lee Chang whispers. “I have been brought up to be a king, with the expectation that one day, it was to be I who would sit on the Phoenix Throne and command the kingdom of Joseon. And now I realise that all that will have been for nothing.”

The King sighs again. “Not for nothing,” he amends. “Your brother will need you as he grows. You are experienced both in scholarship and military command. Do not dismiss yourself so easily.” The hand in his hair disappears, and Lee Chang finds himself strangely bereft.

When next he looks up again, the King is sitting at his desk, reading. The third peak glimmers in the light of his lamp, directly above his head. Lee Chang takes it as a dismissal.

“Chang,” the King says, as Lee Chang turns to leave. He turns back to face him, and the King’s eyes are molten gold.

“Remember,” he says. “Survive.” And he opens his mouth, and emits a piercing scream.

Lee Chang is jolted from his slumber and scrambles for the handle of his sword. He whips around and the blade points directly at Mu-yeong’s throat.

“Your Highness,” Mu-yeong gasps, his hand still on Lee Chang’s shoulder, where he has clearly been trying to rouse Lee Chang from his sleep. “We are under attack!”

Lee Chang’s mind immediately flies to Cho Hak-ju’s miserable face, but he quickly dismisses the notion. There is hardly any legitimate reason Cho can find to hunt him down, after all – Lee Chang’s plans had not been ready to set in motion before he had left the capital.

“By who?” he roars, instead. “Who dares attack – “ He is cut off by another piercing yell, this time of pain, and he turns in time to see one of the guards fall to the ground, a man covered in bloody rags clinging to his throat.

Immediately he leaps forward and buries his blade in the back of the attacker. The blow is harsh, and carves a deep line to the bone. The man jerks and convulses, falling off the guard and rolling onto the ground. Lee Chang is repulsed to see that his face is covered in blood, and that his teeth had been buried in the guard’s throat.

Quickly he bends down and shakes the guard. “Are you alright?” he asks roughly, scanning the wound. It is a bad bite, it is, and the attacker had torn out a good chunk of flesh when he had fallen off the body. It needs bandaging, and so Lee Chang rips off a piece of cloth from the hem of his coat. He pulls the fabric around the guard’s neck, making sure not to pull it too tight and obstruct his breathing, then he ties it off with a quick bow.

It is only Mu-yeong’s reflexes which save him from certain death, in those next few moments.

The man who had been lying on the ground – who had clearly been dead, no one could survive such a blow and live – had sprung up from his supine position and leapt for Lee Chang’s throat. He is too slow to react, and when he turns, the man’s breath is hot on his neck, in the instant before Mu-yeong’s blade whistles past him and separates the attacker’s head from his body.

Lee Chang falls back in disbelief, his bottom hitting the ground, and stares unseeingly at the head on the ground, its teeth bared in a foul approximation of a smile.

“How?” he asks, blankly. “He was dead. I buried my blade in his back myself. I severed his spinal cord. He should be dead.”

Another scream of pain attracts his attention, and he looks away in time to see the other two guards fall, and descended upon by more raggedy attackers. Lee Chang feels his stomach roil as he realises one of the smaller figures among the pack, is that of a child. His hand flies to the handle of his sword, and he is about to rise to his feet and run to the rescue, when he feels the body under his other hand begin to tremble.

“Your Highness,” Mu-yeong says warningly, but Lee Chang hardly needs his words to recognise the mottled colour spreading across the downed guard’s face, and the milky film descending over his eyes. He recognises that face, for he has seen it just moments before – on the head that is now sitting, eyes unseeing, among the blood-stained blades of grass.

Purely on instinct, his body leaps back from the guard, and he watches in horror as the guard begins to writhe and shake, as if caught in a fit. His neck arches backwards, beyond what is humanely possible, and his mouth falls open, froth drooling from his jowls. It is the most terrible thing Lee Chang has ever seen.

“Are you alright?” he calls, urgently. No answer, as the man continues to fit.

Then, suddenly, eerily, he stops moving.

“We must get medical help for him,” Lee Chang says urgently, glancing up at Mu-yeong. “He is on the brink of death!”

But Mu-yeong is not looking at him. Lee Chang follows his gaze, and although his body is screaming at him to run, he finds he cannot move. The sight before him is so horrific, it is beyond anything in his worst nightmares.

The other two guards, with their throats torn out and blood gushing from numerous wounds all over their body, are also convulsing on the ground. One of them – the one who had been, only just last night, bemoaning his lack of meat and the royals’ frivolity – has had his eye torn out. The eyeball dangles, almost comically, from the empty cavity of his eye socket, except that there is nothing laughable about this situation at all. Lee Chang turns his head to the side and retches.

As he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, he hears Mu-yeong suck in a sharp breath. “Your Highness,” he says, and his voice is small. “Your Highness!” he repeats, this time louder, and with more urgency. Lee Chang lifts his head, and the group of attackers is looking straight at them.

“They see us,” hisses Mu-yeong frantically. “Your Highness, we must run!”

Lee Chang springs to his feet, but something catches his ankle in a vice-like grip, and he almost falls. He turns, and the body of the third guard – who he had thought stone-cold dead, after his fits! – has roused itself. He is leering up at him, teeth bared grotesquely, and its claws digging into the skin of his ankle.

He is no longer human, some primal instinct of his tells him, and so he does not hesitate.

Again, his blade strikes honest and true, and cuts deep into the body’s abdomen – a blow that would fell any normal man. But the body does not falter, and rears upwards, sword still buried in his stomach, intestines spewing out, his jaws gnashing and aiming straight towards Lee Chang’s face.

Lee Chang yanks the blade from its stomach with a motion that jars his shoulder, for how deep it is buried in the other man’s abdomen. The movement hoists the creature up towards him, and Lee Chang feels its fetid breath against his nose for one terrifying moment – makes contact with its sightless eyes for barely a second – before he swings and takes the body’s head off.

He can’t hear the thud of the head as it hits the ground, and belatedly he realises that the ground is shaking.

“Your Highness, we must flee! Now!” Mu-yeong yells, and grabs his shoulder. Lee Chang springs up and grabs his pack from the ground, where it is lying next to him.

And so they fly, the pursuers hot on their heels. Lee Chang has never run so fast in his life. He feels his heart beating a thousand miles an hour, thrumming through his ears, counting out the beat of his steps as they sprint over the dry grass and across the plain.

They are running too fast to stop, however, when they reach the cliff. There is barely a split second as they see the water loom before them, Mu-yeong looks at him, and his mouth forms an ‘o’ – Lee Chang would laugh, at the surrealism of the entire situation, if he weren’t working so hard to keep from breaking down. He says some words his wet nurse would have shook him upside down for.

And then they hit the water. The impact is like hitting a wall, and it drives all the air out of his lungs. He feels himself begin to sink, his heavy silk clothes quickly absorbing the water and lending him the weight of a stone, and the water bites cold frost into his skin.

Desperately, he kicks towards the surface, feeling his head throb with the pain of his lack of air. The moonlight is bright above the water’s surface, so near yet so far, as if the moon itself is taunting him. His limbs are a leaden weight, and he barely feels himself move. He cannot breathe.

Then suddenly he breaks the surface of the water with a gasp, and air – blessed air – rushes into his lungs. The cold air stings his reddened cheeks, and he already feels the ache of bruises beginning to form, from his intimate contact with the hard surface of the water.

“Mu-yeong!” he yells hoarsely, when he does not see the guard’s head. Moments later, the man breaks the surface, gasping and flailing, his sodden hair and clothes clinging miserably to his skin. Lee Chang knows he looks no better.

“They are too afraid to jump!” Mu-yeong calls to him, his voice bright with relief, pointing at the cliff’s edge. Indeed, the attackers are gathered above them, staring sombrely down at the two of them paddling in the water. There is one unlucky man who evidently was unable to slow his run, and is now clinging to the cliff face.

As they watch, he slips and plunges into the water. He does not come back up.

“It is a miracle,” Lee Chang says in disbelief. “They are afraid of the water.”

“Probably afraid of freezing to – well, death, if that’s even an appropriate word for them,” Mu-yeong says grimly. “And so will we, if we stay here much longer. The sun is rising, and I can see lights over there – there must be a village, or a camp of some sort. We must make for it before we freeze to death.”

With a nod of assent on Lee Chang’s part, they paddle dolefully to the opposite shore and haul themselves up. The wind is cruel and relentless, and Lee Chang feels his teeth begin to chatter. They lie prone on the ground, chests heaving in tune, arms spread akimbo, and staring unseeingly up at the beautiful night sky.

“C-c-c-curse this autumn wind,” cries Mu-yeong. “I am only thankful that it is not winter. We w-w-would be dead by now, if t-that were the case.”

Lee Chang laughs. But halfway through, it devolves into a sob, and he somehow finds the energy to sit up.

He barely makes it up before he feels his stomach revolt, and he throws up all over the ground. The remnants of meat in his vomit remind him of the chunks of flesh the creatures had torn off the guards’ bodies, and the memory makes him heave again. This time nothing comes up.

He turns, and Mu-yeong is shaking with quiet sobs, his jaw clenched and  his eyes blinking furiously as he tries to hold back tears. It is the first time Lee Chang has ever seen Mu-yeong cry.

“Mu-yeong.” Lee Chang calls his name, and the gentleness of his voice surprises even him. The guard turns to him, eyes glassy with unshed tears, and his fist stuffed in his mouth to block his sobs. Lee Chang tries to find the right things to say.

“They were good, honest men,” he says, at last. “I did not know them very long, but I could tell that they were good men. We will honour their memories and their bravery in the face of unholy evil.”

Mu-yeong chokes out a laugh, and it is an ugly sound. “They were bloody awful at times,” he says, casting his eyes away. “We always quarrelled. They begrudged me my role as your guard, and always teased me for only passing the exam in my forties, when they had done so in their youth.” He pauses to wipe at the sides of his eyes, and when he continues, his voice is quiet.

“But they were good men,” he says, and his voice is full of affection. “You are right, Your Highness. They were honest, and hardworking, and brave. They did not deserve the death they received.”

The sun is rising, and the heat of its rays takes the edge off the cold. Lee Chang tries to ignore the sour stench of his own vomit, and stares off into the horizon. Their attackers are no longer gathered at the cliff’s edge, from what he can make out.

“They were ungodly abominations,” he says lowly, recalling the dark patterns that had been spread across their faces and exposed skin, and the rotting flesh that had been falling off their bodies. “I do not know how it is that they were able to sustain blows that would kill any normal man, nor why they were feeding on human flesh. But they are still on the other side of the river, and I fear for the villages we passed on our way.”

“What will we do, Your Highness?” asks Mu-yeong, and some semblance of normality has been restored to his voice. “Do we still ride – well, walk to Dongnae?”

“Yes,” Lee Chang says decisively. “We must go to Dongnae, and light the signal fires to warn the other cities in the region. We do not know how many of these people are out there, nor what they want. It will be good to prepare everyone for an attack.

“And Mu-yeong?” he says, almost as an afterthought, but as quite an important one. He manages a small smile when the guard turns to face him.

“We will return for your friends’ bodies,” he murmurs softly. “Their bodies will not be left to rot, alone and with only the crows for company. We will return them to Hanyang, for an honourable burial, and for the peace of mind of their family.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Mu-yeong says quietly, and he is about to say something else, when they are interrupted by a loud cacophony of clattering.

“Who are you, and what have you come for?” comes a voice from their right, and when Lee Chang turns, he comes face to face with the barrel of a musket.

It is a rough-looking man, smaller in stature but no less fierce for it. His hair is carelessly tossed into a bun, and sweaty strands of it stick to his tan skin. The bags under his eyes speak of countless sleepless nights, but still the hand that is holding the gun is steady and true. A pile of bamboo poles lies by him, the origin of the clattering sound.

“Put down your weapon!” Mu-yeong cries, and hefts his sword. The man spares him a glance out of the corner of his eyes. “Do you know who you dare lift your weapon against? This is the Crown Prince of the Joseon kingdom!”

The stranger’s brows shoot up, but apart from that, he does not move an inch, and the barrel of the musket is still pointed straight at Lee Chang’s face. Lee Chang feels himself begin to sweat.

“You did not answer the question,” he says quietly. “Why have the Crown Prince and his guard emerged from the banks of the Nakdong River, soaking wet and covered in gore?”

“We were attacked,” Lee Chang finds his voice. “By men who ate human flesh and did not balk at our blades in their back. Three of my other guards were felled by the attackers, and we had to flee into the river, which they dared not enter.”

There is a moment of silence, as the man stares at them, his eyes wide, and Lee Chang thinks he does not believe him. Honestly, were he the opposing party, he does not think he would believe his story either, outlandish as it seems – but every word of it is, unfortunately, the cold, hard truth.

“Then they did survive,” the man says abruptly, and his arm drops back to his side. Mu-yeong’s stance relaxes minutely, his blade still drawn, but the man pays him no mind and turns to the river.

“We must return to the other side,” he says urgently. “You must show me where the monsters descended on you.”

“Monsters?” splutters Mu-yeong. “What the hell – beg pardon, Your Highness – what do you mean by that?”

“Those men were dead,” the stranger says ruthlessly. “They frothed at the mouth and fitted to death, but at night they rise again and crave human flesh. They cannot be killed by normal means – only by fire, deep water, or beheading. And if we do not dispose of their bodies by tonight, they will return to kill once more.” He turns to them again, his eyes ablaze. “You must show me where they found you. They will be hiding from the sun, somewhere nearby, as they fear the daylight. We must burn their bodies as soon as possible.”

“We were on our way to Dongnae – “ starts Mu-yeong mulishly, but then he stops as Lee Chang holds up a hand to stop him. If, indeed, these men will rise again tonight to attack more unsuspecting folk… Lee Chang thinks, again, of the villages they had passed on the way, and the playful cries of children that had arisen from those settlements. He cannot let the innocent people in those villages die, not when he can prevent it.

“We will show you the way. Dongnae can wait.”

“Your Highness – “ Mu-yeong says sharply. “What reason do we have to trust this – this stranger? He could be lying. The story he tells – of the dead rising and killing for human flesh? It is a tale that is nigh on impossible.”

“You saw what we saw last night, Mu-yeong,” Lee Chang says quietly. “I do not believe those men were human. Besides,” he says, with a weak smile, “I did promise you we would return to retrieve your friends’ bodies – although I did not expect that we would do it as soon as we are choosing to now. Dongnae can wait. If we find these bodies and destroy them, it will greatly thin the number of monsters out there.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Mu-yeong accedes. Although it is not without a final glare towards the back of the man, who is standing by the riverside a little ways away, glancing restlessly back at them as they make their decision.

He brings them to a bridge further down the road, where they cross to the other side of the river, and they retrace their steps in silence till they reach the remains of the campsite.

The ashes of the fire Mu-yeong had lit are still smoking, and the bodies – even those of the guards – are nowhere to be found.

“They must have carried their bodies off,” Mu-yeong mutters, in disgust. Lee Chang watches as the man squats down and examines the ground.

“Do you see any tracks?” he calls, as the man picks up a piece of dirt off the ground and sniffs at it. He spares Lee Chang a glance, then stands up and brushes his hands off on his trousers.

“They went northward,” he says shortly. “Into the forest. There must be some abandoned homes or buildings among the trees in which they can hide from the sun.”

Lee Chang nods, and gestures forward. “Lead the way then.”

They walk into the woods. The trees have shed their leaves and are bare and stark against the crisp autumn sunlight. Frost crunches under their feet as they walk, and the air is eerily still, undisturbed by the sounds of any animals. Lee Chang gathers his coat tighter around him, and subconsciously tightens his grip on the handle of his sword.

“There,” the man says, stopping suddenly, and he points at a ruined shack that lies a distance from them. They make their way over to it, and Mu-yeong tentatively opens the door. It creaks as it opens, and releases a cloud of dust that makes all of them cough.

Lee Chang steps in first, squinting into the darkness. He draws his sword, and the blade gleams dully. The floorboards groan under his feet as he walks, craning his neck to see further than one chok in front of his face.

There – there is a glimmer of something in the corner of the room, he thinks, and readies his sword for battle – then there is an almighty crash as the complaining floorboards finally give way, and he sinks downwards with a shout of surprise.

The landing is unexpectedly soft, and there is a sinking feeling in his stomach as he turns his head downwards to gaze at what has broken his fall.

Faces upon faces upon faces, bodies upon bodies upon bodies, curled up in grotesque positions under the boards. Their eyes are shut in a gross parody of sleep, but their chests do not move with breath. They are dead.

Mu-yeong hoists him from the ground, and utters a hoarse cry as he sees what Lee Chang has happened upon. The stranger is unfazed, however, and begins pulling up the floorboards.

“We must get all of them out, and make sure their heads are cut off before we bury them, so they do not rise again,” he orders. Lee Chang has a very brief argument with a voice in his head – one that sounds very much like the King’s voice - about the merits of following the orders of someone of a lesser station than himself, before he sternly tells himself off and squats down to help.

They manage to pull out all twenty-one bodies of their attackers, and Lee Chang is horrified to find out that he had been right – one of them had been a child, no older than ten years of age, with the same mottled pattern on his skin, and mouth painted with gore. He almost throws up again, then, but his stomach is protesting the lack of food, and thankfully he manages to push down the urge.

Mu-yeong finds the bodies of the guards, one headless and two others still intact. He drags the bodies and the head out and lays them sombrely in front of the porch, aside from the other bodies.

“I apologise, my friends,” he says, under his breath, so softly that Lee Chang knows the words are not meant for others to hear. “I would give you now a burial worthy of the most honourable of men, but alas, I cannot do so. I promise, I will retrieve your bodies and bring them back to your honourable families, so they can pay their respects to you as you deserve.”

The man comes up to him and stands by his side, looking at the bodies of the guards. Then, in a stern but kind voice, completely at odds with his manner so far, he says, “We must cut off their heads as well. Any man the monsters bite will turn into one of their kind.”

Mu-yeong looks torn, and splutters. “That is absurd. Whoever heard of such a thing? Your Highness,” he turns to Lee Chang, and while his voice is accusatory, his eyes are soft with anguish. “You do not believe him, do you?”

Lee Chang sighs, and inadvertently locks eyes with the man. His eyes are fierce, and hooded, but Lee Chang thinks they hold no lies – at least, with regards to his matter. He shakes his head in answer to Mu-yeong.

“We saw it for ourselves last night, Mu-yeong,” he says patiently. “One of them returned to life and attacked me, and the only way of ensuring he did not rise again, was by taking off his head. Think of this,” and he manages what he hopes is a comforting smile, “it would be the kindest thing to do, to stop them casting a blemish on their honourable record by killing more innocent people. They would have wanted you to do it.”

In answer, Mu-yeong bows his head, and nods. And later, when they are done beheading the rest of the monsters, he takes the heads off the guards himself.

“We must dig a pit to bury the bodies in,” the man says, coming out of the shack with tools in hand. He passes one shovel to Mu-yeong, then he looks at Lee Chang out of the corner of his eye, a question written clearly in his face. Mu-yeong’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth to interject; but Lee Chang silences him with a look, and takes the shovel from the man.

About an hour passes as they dig into the frozen ground to create a large shallow pit – shallow because they can go no deeper with the rudimentary tools they have, and the hardness of the soil. It is backbreaking work, and even in the cold biting air, Lee Chang feels sweat beading on his brow. The numbness in his fingers and the weariness in his bones does not help.

When they are finished, they haul most of the bodies over to the pit and try, as carefully as possible, to arrange them inside. They were once human, after all, and every human, no matter how small in stature or station, deserved an honourable burial.

When it comes to the three guards, however, the stranger squats down by the bodies and rifles through their clothing. In a swift movement, Lee Chang strides over and has his blade at the man’s throat.

The man pauses in his movements, and looks up at Lee Chang. A swallow bobs his throat, but his eyes hold no fear, and the twist of his mouth belies his impatience.

“How dare you attempt to desecrate these men by looting from them,” Lee Chang whispers. “Is it not enough that their bodies have been so profanely defiled? Do you intend to rob them as well?”

“Your Highness,” the man replies, very calmly – too calmly, for all that he had a blade at his throat – “while you have been sitting in your golden palace, eating the food of the gods, we have been starving.” Very slowly, his hand comes up and grips the pommel of the sword, right next to Lee Chang’s hand. His eyes are dark, and full of resolve.

“The sick at Jiyulheon need food, or they will die by morning,” he says quietly. “Our stocks had already been depleted before the monsters appeared, and now, more than ever, we need food. Will you let the sick and injured at Jiyulheon starve to death, for your honour and morality? This is reality, Your Highness – the reality of us peasants’ lives. This is not the first time I have stolen from a dead body to live, and it will not be the last.”

Mu-yeong is oddly silent, Lee Chang thinks, dazedly. He is able to hold the man’s gaze for a moment – just a moment more - then he can bear it no longer, and has to avert his eyes.

The man coolly levers the sword away from his throat, and returns to searching quickly through the guards’ clothes. He finds a few packets of dried meat and other trail foods, and these he packs them away in his bag.

When he is done, he makes to drag the bodies into the pit, and a small blue square of fabric falls from one of the guards’ pockets. As Mu-yeong and the stranger lug the bodies away, Lee Chang bends over and retrieves the item.

The guard’s daughter has written on it, in shaky writing; Papa, it reads, pleas keep your self safe and pleas bring back some mandu for mommy. We love you! There is a doodle of a girl sitting on what appears to be some vaguely-four-legged animal, brandishing a sword, with her father seated behind her. Lee Chang finds he suddenly has to steady himself against the walls of the shack, as a lump finds its way to his throat.

“Your Highness,” Mu-yeong calls, and Lee Chang looks up with a start to realise that the other two have already hurried some way up the slight incline that had led to the shed, and are now looking back at him – Mu-yeong with puzzlement, the stranger with badly-concealed impatience.

“The sun is setting,” says the man. “I must return to Jiyulheon – they will need help with defence against whatever monsters are left from this pack.”

“We will come with you,” calls Lee Chang, on some impulse, as the man turns to leave. Lee Chang’s words makes him spin round, his faint brows riding high in surprise.

“Why?” he says, and the twist of his mouth reads of his suspicion. “I thought you were on your way to Dongnae?”

“Staying in Jiyulheon cannot be your permanent solution against an attack,” Lee Chang argues, walking quickly up to them; and from the way the man’s eyes darken, Lee Chang knows he has hit his mark. He steps closer to the man, and they lock gazes.

“We can help with your defence through the night, and when morning comes, we will find a way to bring the people of Jiyulheon to safety. I swear this upon my crown,” he says, solemnly, for the look in those burning eyes holds him to nothing but the truth.

“Can a prince run as fast as is needed?” says the man at last, tossing his head scornfully. A sudden flock of crows ascends above their heads, bringing with them a cacophony of cawing, and their shadow runs long. The sun is setting, and night is drawing near.

Lee Chang feels his resolve set. He tucks the talisman into his pocket, and gives the man a firm nod.

[iwilleatratfood]

happy holidays fellers heres my review of the newest madhouse post

long ass post that deals with abuse and a very thinly veiled death threat, read at your own caution

TW Abuse

im not gonna go too grammar insane as a writer especially since a lot of pokemon grammar is hotly contested. however like in the second paragraph lily makes a pretty obvious tense error lmfao. theres tons of little ones scattered around. obviously not proofread lol

“She didn’t know, Bonnie. This lady…” G racked her brain, looking for a way to communicate the problem in a way Bonnie would understand. “…She was kinda like the Sun.”

Bonnie prickled, her face contorting into pure, unadulterated horror. “BUT THE SUN IS PURE EVIL!” She made it very clear to the entire household how little favor she had of the sun, the bright thing in the sky that always made her head hurt.

was this necessary? this may surprise you lily but the people reading madhouse have basic reading skills. you dont have to explain this to us like we’re three. 

“Your Mom wouldn’t let her split us up, though. It was the one thing she refused to cave on,” she continued. “And the lady got more and more angry over not controlling her completely. So one Christmas, she broke your Mom’s heart more than it had ever been broken.” G’s mind flooded with memories of that day. The aftermath of what was supposed to be a cheerful getaway christmas vacation for Lily and her then fiance. G awoke one night to find that Lily had come home earlier than expected bawling her eyes out on the couch. The look of absolute despair on the face of her lifelong friend. The things she spoke of. It still made G’s blood boil over ‘the last one’.

first off this shouldn’t be one paragraph if you want your readers to not immediately skip over it. the reason why authors like david foster wallace use it in books like infinite jest is to create prose that is painful and hard to look at. i dont think that was your intent.

second, i made a post on this shit and deleted it before lizzy told her side of the story because i wanted to not come off as a complete asshole. but i really dont care anymore. 

putting your real life relationship problems, about a person whos accused you of sexual coercion (bc lets not mince words here, that’s what it is) is literally one of the lowest things you could do. this isn’t for “healing”, this is trying to weaponize your fanbase to harass your ex.

“You were going to have to tell her eventually,” G argued as she took a step back and glanced at Mikaila and Ginger, who had both clued in to the conversation and were looking at her disapprovingly. “What?”

“Yeah, but not when she’s still so small and baby,” Lily pouted before going back to comforting Bonnie. “It’s okay, sweetie. The last one is gone and she’s never coming back. Mommy is much happier now that she’s gone. It’s okay.”

“Then Momma will eat her,” Lily said with a warm smile.

“Oh don’t call me Momma!” G groaned.

Lily snickered. “Your Godmom will eat her.”

“That’s better,” G huffed. “And yes, I will. I’ll bury every fang in her sternum. I’ll purge her evil from the world with the unstoppable power of my digestive tract.”

hm wonder why this couldn’t make it into a comic. wonder why it couldnt be put to a visual medium right after lizzy’s twitlonger. hmmmm

“Was G like this when you guys were little?” Ginger asked.

“Sort of? When we were little, G’s psychic powers were still developing so she couldn’t really read people as effectively,” Lily explained. “And since we were both little, we had little kid things to worry about. Telling Bonnie about Kirsten only made her understand the feelings she picks up better. That’s why we have to be careful what we tell her.”

ok again with the past tense shit. i noticed this before and im starting to get annoyed. if this is happening now and its not a memory, use the present tense speaking verbs ffs.

my real point here is why is this a pokemon work. like whats the point of having G be a pokemon or this taking place within the canon universe. this is a ultimate flaw with a lot of sentient pokemon works, so lily you’re not exactly special here, but i feel like recently its become more glaring.

 if all the pokemon act like humans and are sentient like humans, why are they owned by them? if i made G a sentient alien and removed all the pokemon shit, not a whole lot would change, and thats a fucking problem if ur making a work within that universe.

“I look forward to it every year,” G smiled as she hugged Bonnie tightly.

Ginger turned a smirk back to Lily. “So it’s like an anniversary?”

“It’s not an anniversary!” Lily exclaimed, wheeling around with pursed lips. “Why do the two of you always go there?”

if pokemon/human is morally wrong stop teasing it in your work.

“Why not?” Bonnie pouted.

“Because… dear lord, how do I explain this to a baby?” Lily let her head fall back against the couch.

“Because it would make both of us unhappy,” G explained as she ran her fingers through Bonnie’s hair.

Bonnie blinked, looking up at her Godmother in complete and utter bewilderment. “What do you mean?”

G bit the inside of her cheek slightly as she took a moment to consider her next words. “Well… a lot of reasons really,” she started. “A big reason is If she and I were together, I would only want to have her all to myself. Your mom isn’t like that. She needs to share her love with everyone she feels it for. She’d have to give that up just to appease my insecurities. Mikaila and Ginger wouldn’t be here to spend time with you or tell you fun stories.”

so why is G still here if she would be so abusive and controlling?

rest of the post is boring and not worth my time to review but seriously. why is this a pokemon story  still, why is this G even with lily still after how controlling and obsessive she’s been in the past... typical questions that come up whenever new madhouse is posted.

and like. holy shit for a “damn good writer” lily cannot fucking seem to follow basic writing rules and/or basic grammar. even i know this shit, and i consider myself a writer that needs to improve. tons of basic tense shit that grammarly will hit you for, a fundemental lack of understanding on how fucking dialogue is formatted, and just massive paragraphs that need to be broken up so the reader can actually read the shit your posting.

merry christmas, i will be reviewing the next post as well. 

[redrobinhoood]

no choir | chapter 3, pleasure of your company

AO3 Link | 2500 words (approx) | Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: Riyo decides to pay some old friends a visit and realizes how much things have changed.

Fox stalked through the halls of the Senate building. It was quieter now than it was during the time of the Republic. No one trusted anyone anymore. Which may have been for the best. Many senators who had spoken out against the formation of the Empire now backstabbed each other to gain favor with it. Fox despised them. There was no point in having morals if they were discarded and reformed every time they were challenged. And everyone had been challenged. Perhaps that was why he hated those anti-Imperialist senators with a passion, because they had been willing to compromise their morals in the face of destruction while he had stuck to his morals and regretted it all the same.

Fives had been right about the inhibitor chips, and while Fox had wished that he had listened to him it wouldn’t have changed a thing. He had no chip; the fault was his own. Perhaps it wasn’t him. The dreamlike state he found himself in at times could not be the real him. Yet all the same, it had been his hands.

The Royal Guard let him into the Emperor’s office without protest, he was well known to them. He had spent the first week following the formation of the Empire going in and out of the Emperor’s office. Or at least, he thought he did. It was all a blur.

“Commander Fox.” The helmeted shadow that was Darth Vader acknowledged his arrival, though he did not turn from the window to face him.

“Lord Vader.” He addressed the man as he’d been taught, though he couldn’t remember when the lesson had occurred. A quick glance around the room told him that he and Vader were the sole occupants. He could’ve commented on the Emperor’s absence, but thought it best to leave it unspoken.

“You have prepared your men for the lockdown of the Jedi Temple?”

“Yes, Lord Vader. Sir, I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but a little more information about who we’re facing may give us a tactical edge.”

When Vader turned around and their helmeted eyes met Fox’s blood ran cold.

“You already know all that you must, Commander Fox. In the past, have you not given more than enough effort in cases that you knew less about?”

“I don’t follow, Lord Vader.”

“The Tano case.”

Fox bit down a protest. The taste of blood filled his mouth as he bit down on the inside of his lip to prevent himself from speaking. There had been ample evidence to indict Ahsoka Tano for the deaths and mutilations of his brothers. Except for the accounts later given by his wounded brothers that the fallen Jedi Barriss Offee had committed the acts. But those had never gone to the trial. He remained silent as he tried to remember why they had been blocked from speaking at the trial. Growing impatient, Darth Vader crossed the room in a few swift strides until he stood right before the commander. Fox flinched as the Sith raised a hand to shake a finger at him.

“I trust you to do better this time, Commander. Do not fail me again.”

Again? To the best of his knowledge, Fox had never served this man before. Although, he mused, it was not unlikely that he just didn’t remember it. “Yes, sir.”

Darth Vader turned back to the window, and Fox took that as his cue to leave. As Fox walked out of the Emperor’s office he had a sinking feeling that Riyo’s dream may have been a prediction.

---

Riyo left the halls of the Senate as soon as she could. It had been a long morning of meetings and the drab atmosphere of the Convocation Chamber was wearing her down in a way it hadn’t before. Then again, before she’d had friends. She’d had Padme. Now, she barely spoke to her fellow delegates for fear of being labelled a traitor to the Empire. She could not abandon the Empire so quickly, and she could have never dragged Fox down with her. Perhaps she would be imprisoned, but he would certainly be executed with no trial. She tried to bury her thoughts of poison vials and firing squads as her speeder descended into one of the many markets of Coruscant and she made her way to the stand she knew so well.

“Senator Chuchi.” The elderly Pantoran woman greeted her. Riyo would’ve been embarrassed to admit that after all this time she still did not know her name. “What will you be purchasing today?”

“The usual, ma’am.” Riyo said, pulling out the credits from a pouch at her hips.

“You have fine taste, my dear.” The woman said as credits and tins were exchanged. One full of ‘those golden ones’ that the Guard enjoyed so much, and the other an assortment of whatever other sweets the stand had that day.

“My friends do. Thank you.” Clutching the tins to her chest as if they were made of gold, Riyo made her way back to her speeder and set off to the Senate. She wished Fox were with her. He’d be sitting in the passenger seat laughing about how she was going to ruin their cover story but doing nothing to stop her. She’d give anything to take a casual ride around the city with Fox, to watch him lean back in the seat with his hair flowing in the breeze. But their chances of being caught were too high.

Once she was back within the confines of the Senate, she made her way to the offices of the Coruscant Guard. The office was emptier than usual. They used to always have at least ten men in the foyer, most at work, a few on break, but now only two men sat in front of the many computer terminals. Neither one looked up at her entrance.

“Knock knock?” She asked as she came to stand behind Rys.

“Senator Chuchi!” Jek exclaimed as the two men jumped to their feet.

With a laugh she set down the tins and wrapped her arms around Rys, then reached over the desk to hug Jek. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all!” Rys gathered up the piles of datapads and flimsiplast next to him and dumped them on the other side of the desk so that she could sit beside him. “How are you, Senator Chuchi?”

“I’m well, all things considered. How are you two?”

“Horrible, we’ve been promoted.” Jek shrugged.

“Congratulations! How is that a bad thing?”

Jek held up a datapad. “Captains do more homework.”

“Captains.” She mused. “Captain Rys and Captain Jek. I like the sound of that!”

“So we do.” Rys assured her. “But it was a rough transition.”

“Says the man nominated for ARC training.” Jek scoffed. “I reckon Rys is in line to be commander. There’s no way we can continue on with only Commander Fox and Commander Thire, they’re wearing themselves to the bone. Though I am sure you’ve heard all about it.”

Riyo took a moment to open a tin and pop a sweet into her mouth. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I barely see Commander Thire.”

Rys elbowed her softly. “And Commander Fox?”

“Whom?”

“Surely you’ve seen him around, ma’am. Red armor, power-walk, permanent look of disappointment?” Jek asked.

“The first two ring a bell, but that ‘permanent’ look of disappointment sounds like it’s reserved only for you two.” She teased. “Oh! I have a question for you. What does cyar’ika mean?”

She watched as the blood drained from their faces.

“He’s not calling me a rat, is he?” She prompted.

“No, ma’am.” Rys managed. “But, that’s a little above our paygrade.”

“Well, I won’t bring the wrath of permanently disappointed Commander Fox down upon you.” She brought up the datapad that she had tucked into the waistband of her pants. “Do you mind if I stick around for a while?”

“Please.”

So she stayed. Occasionally the three would make light chatter, or ask someone to pass one of the sweet tins, but their focus had turned back to their work. After the past month of lonely days in her office, Riyo found it nice to work with friends- even if they were all working on different things. Rys was working on sitreps for the Coruscant Guard, Jek was going over the necessary security details that would be needed in the upcoming month, and Riyo was trying to open a channel of communication between textile artists on Mygeeto and silk farmers on Pantora. It would’ve been easier if either side had an updated comm-station, and she made a mental note that she would have to request one for the Pantoran silk farmers as part of the new Imperial regulation. The Empire was determined to bring everyone into the current century. Though she agreed with the ideals and regulations as far as they brought aid to worlds in poverty, it hurt her to see the traditional ways of so many beings discarded.

She stayed at work there until Rys was summoned by Fox over comms. With a final embrace, she left her two friends and went back to her own office to finish her day. There, she sat down and kicked her feet up on the couch she kept against the window on what had formerly been the entertaining side of her office. She didn’t think that she’d entertain guests anymore, at least, not for a very long time. She was able to remotely connect to her computer terminal from here and lay back while waiting for her datapad and terminal to sync. The sound of her office door opening surprised her, but that turned to delight when she saw a set of red armor step in and lock the door behind him.

“Fox.” She stayed seated as he set his helmet on her desk and made his way across the room to her.

“Riyo.” He perched on the couch next to her, careful not to crush her legs under the weight of his armor. “I heard I missed you at the office earlier.”

“Yes. Not to worry, I didn’t distract your captains for too long.”

“I wasn’t worried. They need a break, which is more than I can give them.”

“You weren’t lying when you told me that you’re understaffed. Is it really just you four in the office now?”

“Most days.” He admitted. “Though I’d say three. Thire’s with the Emperor most of the day.”

“That’s not good, Fox. Are they sending you more men?”

“They will. The Emperor knows that we’re stretched too thin. He’ll give me more men when the time is right.” Fox turned to look out the window across the city. Riyo took a few moments to appreciate the golden glow of the afternoon sun across his features. The Pantorans worshipped a moon goddess, but Riyo found herself gravitating towards the sun, her lover. Surely, that sun god was Fox.

“You’re beautiful.” She said.

He turned to look at her, one eye still golden in the sun, the other brown in the shade. The shiny scar across his lips and those on his neck reflected light like gold veins running through his skin. “I’m nothing special.”

“Yes, you are.” She protested. “You’re mine, and that makes you special.”

“Thank the Kaminii for picking a good genetic donor.”

“Maybe I will.” She reached over and grabbed the top of his blacks to pull him into a kiss. He followed her lead without protest, tangling a hand in her hair as their lips met. Even after all this time, he still kissed her like he had the first time; soft open-mouthed kisses that almost frustrated her in their tenderness. “Will you be back tonight?” She asked after he had pulled away.

“If all goes well, yes. I should be back around midnight.”

“I’ll wait up for you.”

---

And she did. When the chronometer read 23:50 she rose from the couch to prepare herself for bed, leaving behind the view of the Jedi Temple from her window. Tonight, she had stared at it until the sun went down and she could no longer pick out the little white shapes that moved around it. A month ago, she had sat here in her living room and watched the Temple burn through the night. She hadn’t been concerned for Fox at the time, but the following week had tested her resolve as the Republic was replaced by the Empire and her only glimpses of Fox were fleeting glances across the room as he went about his duties by the Emperor’s side. He had finally come to her a week later in her office, empty eyed and quiet with a row of stitches across his lips. The marks had faded well, and the stitches had never stopped him from pressing the unwounded side of his lips against her.

She wondered if she was the moon goddess tonight, waiting for her lover to return with the dawn. Perhaps not literally dawn, but she felt like she had been waiting all night for him. She knew there was a myth putting the moon goddess in the same situation, but she couldn’t remember now if the sun had returned to her. But that was how the world would end, she remembered that much. The sun’s injuries would be too severe for him to rise again, and the world would be plunged into eternal darkness as the moon goddess scorned her creation. She had never understood that when she was a child. Now she did.

She was pulling out the last of her bobby pins when she heard the muffled explosion. She ran to the living room to watch as a plume of smoke rose from the side of the Jedi Temple. She could’ve sworn she saw a green blade dancing with a red one amongst the smoke. She bit down a rush of fear at the sight of the red lightsaber. She could see the clones firing too, and she prayed that they wouldn’t fire on the red blade as they did now on the green one. She turned away from the sight, returning to the bathroom to brush out the unnatural curls that her senatorial hairstyling left behind. She had just picked up her brush when the mirror rattled with another explosion. She ran back to see smoke rising from a neighborhood bordering the Temple. Abandoning her hair, she turned on the HoloNet in search of answers. She found none.

It was now past midnight. She grabbed a blanket and curled up with pillow in her lap to watch the smoke billow into the night sky. Sleep would not find her tonight. And perhaps, the sun would not rise with the dawn.

[nihilnovisubsole]

i feel like we say this every year now, but wow, 2019 sure was a ride, wasn’t it?

sometimes i worry so much about coming off as negative that i’m not emotionally honest about my personal life. so, as much as i wish i could tell you otherwise, i’m not really ending 2019 on a high note. for several months, i’ve been working on something that’s been a shambling slog of rejection, false hope, and a lot of wasted energy. i’ll survive - i always do - but it’s still been frustrating, and it’s definitely affected my ability to work on my other projects. in fact, i’m not even going to tally up a word count for 2019. i know it’s less than 2018. nothing i can do but do better next time. many of my friends have hit huge, happy personal milestones this year - engagements, big moves, dream jobs, graduate degrees. i’m proud of every one of them, and because i’m so proud of them, i wish i had something of that magnitude to share with them, too.

[again, i say this as a joke, not to be depressing, but you know i’m in a rut because i’ve been drawing more again. when i’m happy, i write. when i write, i’m happy. when i push through my forearm injury to draw, you know there’s something i’m trying to escape from. probably the writing.]

on the other hand, i don’t want to let the gloomy second half of the year cloud the fact that i really, actually, finally, for real put a novel out. i’d built it up in my head for so long, it feels strangely ordinary to have done the one thing i’ve wanted to do since i was eight years old. because i’m... well, me, i have to remind myself that it’s a real achievement, not just the bare minimum to be an accomplished human being. i did it. i wrote it, i designed the cover, i formatted the ebook, i tweeted about it, i saw it through from start to finish and made it real. even if it hasn’t made me an overnight millionaire. even if i didn’t publish it in the way i dreamed of being published in elementary school.

it’s also a sign of how far i’ve come that i see me taking a summer break to dash off a 38,000-word fanfic as a trivial footnote. [and a very well-received one, thank you!] i remember all the afternoons i hunched over my college desk and grit my teeth about only being able to write 200 words a day. i remember how hard i worked to drag myself over the 13,000-word finish line of the fallout big bang. lord knows i remember playing repetitive video games until 4 AM, stewing in the fear that i’d never make it in the only field i want to pursue. nowadays i don’t think, apart from a chosen few, any writer “makes it” the way we think of “making it.” you never get to rest on your laurels. you always have to keep working. it’s why you have to enjoy it. even if i’m not a bestseller, i’m lucky i do.

because it’s 2019, everyone is doing retrospectives on 2009, and it’s weird for me to contemplate even existing in 2009 and 2010. for years, i’ve thought about writing a nonfiction piece about what happened back then, and something always stops me before i get it off the ground. either i cringe at my memories, or i cringe at my nonfiction writing style, or i want to wait until i’ve become some kind of outrageous success so i have something more narratively satisfying to end it with. mostly, i recoil in horror at the idea that, to really write it, i’d have to be completely open about a wretched time in my life. after a decade of facing outward on social media, i’ve become one of those stiff-upper-lip people who is intensely private about the things that actually bother me. you kill a bad thing by acting in public like it never existed. if you write a navel-gazing essay about it, you’ve made it immortal. so maybe i will. maybe i won’t.

in the meantime, i wonder if i can meet myself halfway and learn to talk about my younger self with more neutrality. i’ve spent the decade brutalizing past-me with a spiked baseball bat over my questionable grooming, or my edgy, cynical attitudes, or things i said out of jealousy or ignorant, arrogant meanness that irreversibly damaged friendships with people who didn’t deserve it. bashing your old self’s brain in doesn’t change the choices you made. it just leaves you exhausted and covered in gore and feeling gross. i always said that if i let myself forget how much it hurt, i’d slip up and make the same mistake again. but that’s not true, is it? i think now the real victory would be to let it stay in the past and not feel the obsessive urge to keep scourging myself. to paraphrase a dear friend who i don’t get to talk to enough, “everyone is already cruel to teenage girls. you don’t have to be, too.”

around the time i graduated from college, i had a premonition that it would take about a decade after 2010 to get back on my feet. i couldn’t explain why then, and i can’t now either. it’s just a feeling. by some people’s standards, i may have already done it. by other people’s - like my own - i still have a long, long way to go. which is silly, because i couldn’t even tell you what “getting back on my feet” looks like. i just know that it has been almost ten years, and i have a sense that i’m standing on one of those precipices of change where you've become sick of yourself. i’ve started feeling homesick for places i’ve never been. i’m fidgety about my writing projects. i’m not sure what i want to throw myself into next. i’d love to move to another country, which is surreal and bewildering, since i’ve spent the whole last decade wanting to move back to the home i lost. what can i do with that? i don’t know. i want things so badly, i wear myself out. i’ve always struggled to accept that sometimes you just have to wait and see.

i thought about setting new year’s goals, like “talk more about dangerous crowns,” or “publish a twine game,” or “finish another novel,” or something like that. but to be honest, i already hold myself to such ridiculous standards that pressing the boot on my back even harder feels like a bad idea. maybe 2020 is the year to work harder without trying to prescribe what should come of it. i may not know where i’m going or whether i’m on my way, but at least i know next year, i’ll have something new to report.

[cross-poison]

CLARITAS. The Mandalorian/OC (PART 8)

WORDS: 3.4k || WARNINGS: spirituality/talk of (made up) religion

a/n: FINALLY finished this part. I hope the fact that it’s almost double my usual chapter length makes up for how overdue it is. 

As the Mandalorian stepped across the central aisle of the marketplace, he locked away in his mind the appearance of the nobleman Elliotte had pointed out to him. Lord Miryus. He’d not only been responsible for spraining Elliotte’s wrist, but also, apparently, a number of ongoing problems here on Listronus. Mando temporarily filed that information away for later, and he instead turned his attention to the fisherman behind the merchant’s stall as he approached.

The fisherman caught his eye and immediately poked at some of his fresh-caught fish, chattering excitedly about the quality and size of each one. 

Elliotte came to a halt beside the Mandalorian at the stall and occupied herself with admiring the variety of fish, giving him the amount of space and time he needed to lock in a trade with his merchant of choice. He held the spool of string in-hand, turning it over in his gloved palm. The merchant stole a look at it before shifting his gaze back up to the intimidating visor of the Mandalorian’s helmet. “A trade?” he said, “Are you looking for a trade?”

“Yes. We are,” Mando replied, turning his helmet in Elliotte’s direction. She simply offered him a reassuring smile. He could do this… it’s not like he’d never negotiated before. “This is… a very fine, sturdy material here. Perfect for stringing fishing poles.”

“Right. May I see it for myself?” asked the merchant, humming thoughtfully as Mando passed him the spool. He held it up, unrolling a little segment of it and pinching it between his fingers. “It is a bit stretchy---quite perfect, if you ask me. I wouldn’t mind making a trade for it. Has anything here caught your eye…? Or your lady’s?”

“She isn’t my--”

“How about five of these little zemmoks?” Elliotte chimed in, extending a finger to gesture to a long and thin fish, rather average in color, but distinguished by a needle-like protrusion from its lower jaw. 

The fisherman chuckled. “You drive a hard bargain, dear. Four and it’s a deal.”

“Alright then. Four.”

The merchant tucked the spool away into his pocket and turned to package up the small fish. He passed them across the row of fish to her and she tucked the wrap against her arm, thanked him, and nodded to Mando.

Once again, the two returned to the open marketplace. “Very well done! He didn’t doubt you’re a local for a second! I mean… perhaps other than appearance-wise. In that regard, you do sort of stand out,” Ell began, “I apologize for butting in there at the end… I just know we’ll need zemmoks for our next barter.”

“How many more of these are there?” Mando said, perhaps growing a bit agitated at the grueling process. As far as he could tell, they’d made no progress toward anything more valuable. A toxic fruit to beads, to a spool of string, to a handful of too-small fish… this hardly felt like a successful endeavor.

“This is the last one, I promise,” she assured, picking up on his annoyance, “I know these don’t look like much, but pitch them to the right merchant…” Ell shifted her gaze to a stall toward the front portion of the marketplace, and Mando followed her gaze. A plump and older merchant woman was receiving a handful of silver coins from a customer before passing him a basket of brightly-colored berries. That was their next target?

“That there is Misa. She’s an old friend of mine… has a real taste for zemmoks, you see. She has some old family recipe that requires a bunch of them, so she’ll snatch them up whenever anyone offers. In return, she offers useme nuts by the dozen… they’re these fist-sized nuts that grow in her personal orchard on the other side of town... crisp and incredibly tasty, especially when they’re salted the way Misa prepares them! Pretty great deal if you ask me,” Elliotte explained as she weaved through the crowd and in the direction of their target merchant.

Mando followed her, offering nothing but a grunt in response. He’d be rather happy to be finished in this marketplace. The heat of the day was unpleasant in the stuffy crowd, and although he was used to drawing curious gazes toward the sleek shine of his beskar, the continuous feeling of eyes watching his every move was beginning to grow taxing. 

“Misa!” Elliotte’s voice drew him once again from his thoughts as the two of them came to a halt in front of the merchant’s stall. Unlike most of the other vendors in the marketplace, it seemed Misa specialized in more than one thing---berries, nuts, fruits, and even a few various animal products from creatures he’d never even heard of. 

“Good afternoon, Elliotte!” said the friendly-looking merchant, “What can I interest you in today?”

“The usual,” Ell replied, passing over the wrap of fish she’d obtained from the previous merchant. 

“You know me so well. A dozen per zemmok---that’ll give you forty-eight. Agreeable?”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Misa grinned, turning away from her to set the fish down and began packing useme nuts away in a large basket. “So, are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Mando managed to catch her eye for a moment before she offered a faint smile and turned her gaze back to the vendor. “This is Mando. I’m showing him around the market this morning… and the proper bargaining techniques.”

“That’s a handy skill to have,” Misa said, sitting back to blow a strand of hair out of her face. She reached over her table of goods in order to extend her hand, and Mando did the same, firmly shaking her hand. “Welcome to Listronus, Mando.”

“Thank you,” he answered.

“Well, here you are, Ms. Cantossan! Forty-eight useme nuts,” Misa added, lifting the basket off of the table and passing it to her. 

“Thanks again, Misa. See you later,” Elliotte said, looping her arm under the basket’s handle and carrying it off. Finally, they were able to leave the intense environment of the marketplace. As they drew further away from the noise, Mando was able to visibly relax, at least just a hair. “Okay, now I’m intrigued. What’s the purpose of so many of… those?”

“These are a great local food source here on Listronus. I figured you could take as many of these as you’d like back for you and your kid… and if it isn’t too much to ask, I’d like to ask if I could have the remaining ones instead of a monetary payment for this first day of guiding!”

“You can have them all,” answered Mando, tilting his helmet in her direction, “I have enough to get by on my ship. And the kid’s a carnivore anyway.”

Elliotte blinked, positively bewildered by such a thing. “We’re talking about the same kid, right? Th-the little green one? He’s a carnivore?”

There was a muffled almost-chuckle from beneath the helmet. “Yes. It took me by surprise too when I saw him eat a frog whole the night I found him.” There was a certain underlying fondness in his heavily-modulated voice that Elliotte didn’t miss whenever he spoke about the child. Spending so much time around politicians and noblemen, Ell was able to differentiate between fake smiles and genuine ones, and although the Mandalorian’s face could give her no true indication she could almost hear the smile through his voice. This child was important to him.

“I didn’t mean to assume. We can trade these useme nuts for some larger fish, if--”

“No, please… I can tell they have more value to you. I have enough food on my ship to get through several more weeks. Besides… I’d rather not go back into that marketplace again for a while.”

“Crowds aren’t your thing, huh?”

“Not really.”

Ell hummed thoughtfully, switching the basket of useme nuts to her other arm. “Well… I know a few places we can visit that are much less crowded. You up for a history lesson?”

“I don’t see why not?”

“It’s a good thing we bought these after all. We’re gonna need some for the trip.”

It turns out, “trip” was a bit of an overstatement. To the east of the city, the landscape gave way to hills and valleys. Most of the flat area had been developed into farmland while the hills were relatively untouched and wild. As Cietovus 8 climbed higher into the sky, the two cut through rows of knee-high crops, watching each step to make sure no plants were crushed in the process. Mando spent much of the walk admiring the change of scenery and enjoying the time away from the bustling city streets, but even he grew curious as to what exactly the destination was supposed to be. 

Ell, on the other hand, seemed to have the path memorized… which, he supposed, made sense in the grand scheme of things. She had lived here for all her life, after all. At first glance, the Mandalorian believed she was simply another haughty aristocrat. She certainly dressed like one and knew their mannerisms well, but upon getting to speak with her beyond more than a few passing words, he came to realize that she was kind, but without being naive and considerate without being a pushover. It was almost endearing in a way, the gentle balance she maintained. 

Mando must have been gradually slowing his pace, because once he’d finally drawn out of his thoughts, they were no longer walking side-by-side. Ell was a few steps ahead of him, still chattering on about the details and history of the landscape and pointing out specific structures in the nearby fields. By now, he’d come to realize that they were nearing the edge of the crop fields and approaching the base of a large hill. The incline was gradual, but scattered with trees and various rock formations that would make for some simple obstacles. Overall, it appeared to be a relatively easy climb.

“Where are we?”

“This is Listrona Hill. As the name implies, it has… incredible significance to the people of this planet. It’s also why the capital city is located so nearby,” Elliotte answered, already drawing closer to a narrow trail winding up the hillside, “But it’s not the hill itself that’s so important. It’s what’s at the top.”

Mando followed her, watching every step up the incline. “What is at the top?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Ell said, “Back in the early days of this planet, Listronians were known for their unique spirituality. We believed every creature and object had a spirit and essence that it offered to the universe in a way only it could. Our deity was Artres, goddess of flowers and abundance. According to ancient myths, this hillside was her home… to this day, we still hold many funerals and weddings at the peak, and many of the older generations still believe it honors Artres. I’m not very religious myself, but the sentiment is nice.”

Mando listened to her explanation quietly as they navigated the tricky hillside, and Elliotte continued to recite old myths and stories about the creation of the planet, the supposed death of the goddess, and her rebirth in the form of a meadow of flowers, but her organized storytelling quickly dropped off in favor of enthusiasm as they neared the peak. She increased her pace until she was jogging the final stretch and turned around to wave him on and beckon him to hurry up.

Eventually Mando was standing beside her at the summit of the hill, looking out over a vast meadow of flowers that varied in color from blues and purples to reds and yellows and whites. The thick trees didn’t seem to grow into the meadow; Instead, they outlined the hilltop from the edges. The only thing around to interrupt the expanse of flowers was a small lake filled with crystalline water so pure one could see to the very bottom. In front of the lake was what appeared to be a small shrine.

The shrine itself was made of old, deep brown wood that had obviously been replaced and refurbished multiple times over the years. Semi-fresh flowers, wilted beneath the heat of the sun, had been weaved into the lattice pattern. Perhaps the features that stood out most was the pair of large antlers against the back of the shrine and the two sets of silver claws that dangled from them. While the antlers looked natural, the “claws” were clearly manmade--composed of the same carved silver that wrapped Elliotte’s forearm. 

Ell seemed to pick up on his curiosity quickly. “The antlers are from the Warhara. They’re a large canid species native to Listronus. Their antlers are strong and sturdy, and are worn by our Kings so that they may embody the same traits.”

“And these?” Mando said, cupping his hand beneath the silver claws.

“These are similarly modeled after the Warhara. To represent the spirit of a warrior. Before modern times, they were worn by footsoldiers and guardsmen, but obviously this sort of weaponry is outdated. These days, they’re worn exclusively for ritual combat… Look.” Elliotte carefully took the silver pieces off of the antlers and turned them over so that her companion was able to see the thin loop made on the underside of each claw. She slid her fingers into each loop and flexed them to show off the new extension of her hand. “They’re pretty cool, right? Personally, I think we should bring them back as part of our everyday wardrobe,” she took the claws back off and draped them back over the Warhara’s antlers before turning to him. 

“Princes of Listronus can lawfully challenge the Kings for the throne, but the only weapons they are allowed are those. It’s a dangerous event. Those claws are excellent for speed, but they definitely don’t provide the same kind of protection as your um… ‘beskar’, it is called, right?” She asked, stepping away from the small shrine and crossing the meadow to the edge of the small lake. There, she knelt in the grass beside the basket of useme nuts and patted the space beside her to encourage him to join her. He did so, and not soon afterward, Elliotte reached up and began to pluck the day-old flower buds from her hair. She unraveled them one at a time and set them aside in a neat pile beside her as she stole a glance in the Mandalorian’s direction. 

“Anyway, I’ve chattered on about history lessons long enough. I’m curious to learn more about you, if you would be willing to share. You mentioned earlier that you were a bounty hunter at one point… surely you have some interesting stories to tell?”

“Plenty,” Mando responded, the chuckle that followed catching on the modulator of his helmet, “... I don’t suppose you’ve heard of a ‘Mudhorn’ before, have you?”

Ell hummed thoughtfully, then offered a small shrug. “I’ve read briefly about them in books and on datapads through the years, but they’ve never been something I’ve heavily studied… why?”

The Mandalorian leaned back in the grass, placing his hands behind him as his helmet tipped skyward. “It wasn’t too long ago, actually… I was on assignment when a group of Jawas in their sandcrawler stole all the valuable parts they could scavenge from my ship. In order to get them to agree to return the pieces, they had me bring an egg of a Mudhorn as a trade. These things are… huge and incredibly territorial, and it wasn’t too happy to see me near its egg. I was outmatched immediately; It nearly shredded my armor and my weapons couldn’t even touch it --- in all honesty, I really thought I was done for. But then the kid, he--” he reached out to mimic the gesture the child seemed to make with his hands, but hesitated before finishing his sentence. 

Perhaps it wasn’t wise to share this information publicly. But Elliotte was enthralled by the story, fingers paused over the stem of a flower in her curled strand of hair and eyes wide with wonder and fascination, and the Mandalorian couldn’t find it in him to withhold the rest of the story from her. “All of a sudden, it stopped. The Mudhorn, mid-charge. I thought I must have died, because I sure didn’t believe what I was seeing. The whole creature was just… floating in front of me in the air. When I looked over at the kid, he had his hand out like this--” he mimicked the motion, “Keeping it suspended. I’ve never seen anything like it. With him keeping it occupied, I was able to finish it off but if he hadn’t… there’s no doubt I wouldn’t be sitting here now.”

To his surprise, when he’d finished his retelling, Ell snickered softly and set the last flower aside. “That’s an interesting story, Mando.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Sure I do. The universe is so vast and unique, there’s no way we can possibly understand all of its inner workings. Just because something isn’t common doesn’t mean it’s impossible,” now that she’d finished removing the petals and buds from her hair, she turned away and began to pluck new ones from the colorful meadow nearby. “Priestesses in Listronian history have exhibited similar abilities. It was thought to be a given gift by Artres herself, you know. Not that I believe too heavily in old religion, but perhaps your child has just inherited something similar. It sounds quite extraordinary.”

The Mandalorian cast her a glance from the side of his visor. Not only had Elliotte responded unexpectedly well to such a story, but she believed it wholeheartedly. He was hesitant to call it naivety, as she really was knowledgeable about her planet and people, but trust was a difficult thing to come by in his line of work. “You’re unpredictably nonchalant about this.”

To that, Ell laughed softly. “In my experience, closed mindedness is dangerous. It lures one into a false sense of security, content in the idea they have all the answers, whereas open mindedness allows room to learn and grow… to fluctuate and move, like flowers in an afternoon breeze.”

This sentiment only served to further cast a ripple in the Mandalorian’s original judgement of Elliotte Cantossan. Despite himself being the one wrapped head to toe in protective metal, the one meant to be a mystery, he found himself more at a loss with her -- the harpist whose only armor was the band of silver on her forearm and the woman who willingly sought him for nothing but his company? 

She had trusted him enough to allow him into her house and enough to agree to visit his, and even enough to bring him to the holiest space on her homeworld… and yet, as he’d come to realize, he still knew hardly anything about her. She knew hardly anything about him. And yet he felt drawn to her -- comfortable around her -- as if parts of him could seep through the gaps in his armor without worry in her presence. 

By the way Ell’s smile brightened just a little when she saw the t-shape of his visor faced in her direction, he could almost believe she felt the same. As he watched her begin to tie fresh flowers into her hair, he could no longer keep himself from asking the question: “The flowers… they’re incorporated everywhere on this planet. What is the significance? Why do you put them into your hair like that?”

“Spiritually speaking, flowers are symbolic to Artres--”

“No, why do you do it?”

Ell seemed taken aback by his question, normally steady fingers faltering and causing the strand of hair to unwrap from the stem of a pink flower. She quietly cleared her throat and began the process again. “We call it artresmour. “Godlike love”. To put them on yourself is to express vitality and youth and self love -- to put it on anyone else is to express devotion and trust… it’s like saying… ‘you are important to me in a way words cannot describe.’ It’s not necessarily romantic; It’s romantic and platonic and familial. Some villages even use it as a greeting to strangers and newcomers. It unites us. Godlike love,” she paused briefly before continuing, “To me, it’s a way to deepen bonds; My best friend and I take turns every time we meet… it’s the way we acknowledge each other’s struggles and our fights to overcome them, and our way of assuring each other we aren’t going it alone.”

There was a brief pause between the two of them before the Mandalorian chose to break the silence. “How do you feel about… doing it blindfolded?”

TAGS: Message me/send me an ask to be added.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677540/chapters/60781519

[smol-and-grumpy]

Dear Dean (Chapter 1)

Re-post

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Jamie Blum)

WC: 4.1k

Summary: After taking Saint Lo, by sheer dumb luck, Lieutenant Dean Winchester from the 29th Infantry Division, Baker Company, received a truckload of replacements for his platoon that was falling apart. Little did he know, that one recruit would change his life forever.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, minor character death

SERIES MASTERLIST

July 18th, 1944

The sound of boots on dirt roads is all that Lieutenant Dean Winchester can hear. The sun was burning bright, the air was warm, dewy tinted with salt from the sea. That morning Dean felt good. Maybe for the first time in days, things didn’t seem so extreme, so dire. And maybe it was weird that the rhythmic sound of boots calmed his heart.

Right, left, right, left, right, left.

Laughter echoed behind him in formation as one of his men rattle off a joke. The sound was quiet, like a whisper. He didn’t listen.

Dean squinted into the sun and then he heard one of his men break formation and jog ahead of him. “Lieutenant Winchester, I’ve got a joke for you.” Private Milligan walked backwards, breaking into a lazy jog. He was out of step and the rhythm of the company was not right anymore.  

“Milligan, get back in line!” Dean ordered, his jaw tight.

The kid was no older than nineteen, a kid by all standards. He was younger than Dean’s younger brother, so somehow he looked like a little boy in his oversized helmet, with his rifle slung over his shoulder. “Come on, Lieutenant! Just one joke. Just one smile, not everything has to be so goddamn serious all the time.”

Deans eyebrows furrowed, meeting in the middle of his already wrinkled forehead. It was a good day and they were hopeful and Dean’d be damned if he tipped that hope away from this kid. “Fine, but it better be damned good, Milligan.”

“You got it, Sir.” Private Milligan grinned wide.

Right, left, right, left, right, left.

“So, a soldier walks into this club in a city in the outskirts of France, and there’s a girl, right? Pretty little thing. She comes up to this soldier. Saunters over, and he’s thinking… Hell, I’ve never seen hips like those.”

There are moments when time slows down. The first snow fall on a cold morning in Lawrence, a shared look with a pretty girl across a crowded bar, the smile on Sam’s face when Dean made a dumb joke. Those moments were nothing like this one.

Right, left, right, left, right, left.

Private Milligan jogged backwards ahead of the whole platoon and he gestures wildly with his arms, as if he’s telling the joke on a freaking stage and they were his audience. His teeth fully exposed and shining in the bright morning sunlight. He was still smiling when his back foot landed on the mine buried under the dirt. It was small, and rudimentary. It didn’t appear to be military grade, but yet…

Dean saw it before he heard it. Milligan’s foot landed with a soft thud on the dirt road. It was like he landed on a geyser, dirt and rock spraying up around him. It was almost spectacular, the wave of dirt swirled around him, reminding Dean of the tornado that almost took their house when he was eight.

Something hit his chest, hard, knocking him off his feet. On the fall he watched the crystal clear blue sky, littered with flying dirt like a Summer rain falling around him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel like he was at home again, with Sam. He felt something wet and warm on his face. His eyes fluttered open. It wasn’t rain that rolled down his cheek, it was deep red and sticky, like his mother’s cherry pie filling.

Dean pulled himself to his feet, forcing himself forward. There was a ringing in his ears, distinct and sharp, from his closeness to the blast. His eyes scanned his surroundings, looking for the kid. The kid he let out of step. The kid who just wanted to make him laugh.

“Goddammit! Cover! Cover! Everyone off the road! Off the road! Go go go!” He screamed himself hoarse because he couldn’t hear his own voice. He wanted to call out for a medic but then he realized that there wasn’t even enough of Milligan left to save.

Dean crouched down in the dirt and noticed the lone boot. It was Milligans. Shit!The kid was his responsibility, and now all he had was a spare foot in a fucking boot to send home to his family. The folded flag wouldn’t be enough to explain that he wasn’t coming home. He wasn’t coming home because he wanted to make his Lieutenant laugh. He wasn’t coming home because his Lieutenant was too distracted to realize that there was no laughter in war. There was no hope.

***

July 21st, 1944

Dean knocked at the door of the makeshift office of his CO before he straightened up and called out, “Winchester, permission to enter, Sir.”

“Permission granted.” The voice of Captain Mills was rough and maybe a little hoarse. No wonder, there were lots of shouting going on before they finally managed to take over Saint Lo and liberated the city of Germans. If it weren’t for the whiskey Dean had stashed away, he was sure he’d sound about the same.

The battle was a hard one. They were cut off from the other companies for a whole fucking day and the Germans moved in on them. Well, technically Dean’s company moved in through the front line of the Germans defense without them even knowing it. He didn’t know how it could happen, but he hoped that it wouldn’t happen again. It helped that a company of the 3rd Battalion did manage to break through to Able company. They were able to supply the trapped soldiers with food, but unfortunately, they were still low on ammunition, but at least moral did take a leap there - up until the tanks came toward them. They worked with the ammunition they still had on them and fluked their way out of the misery.

Dean had lost a third of his platoon and half of the men who are left, were wounded. A couple of them would be able to return, but the rest would get an express ticket back to England. He was surprised that he was still standing after it all. Maybe someone up there really, really liked him. He couldn’t lie, he had some close encounters with death. Especially the grenade that was thrown to his feet but, by some dumb luck, never exploded. Dean already saw his life passing him by in the back of his mind and, strangely, the only thing he hoped for was that there would be enough of him left to put in the ground. And, of course, he thought about Sam. How Sam was doing. He was out there somewhere, too, even though Dean never knew where. Sam was with the 3rd Battalion and they wrote to each other when they could. He hoped, above anything else, that Sam was doing alright.

The heavy door creaked open, ripping Dean back to the present, and he stepped in, whirling up dusts of sand. Captain Mills hunched over reports of the other platoons at his makeshift desk, that consists of old tires and a wooden plank, when he looks up to Dean. “Lieutenant, please, tell me you have good news.” The look on his face was hopeful and Dean almost felt bad that he won’t be able to live up to the expectations of his CO. Dean liked Captain Mills, the man did a good job. He didn’t want to disappoint him, but in war, he was learning, disappointment was the name of the game.

Dean strolled toward the table. He wished that he could cheer the Captain up. He forced a charming smile, it was the best he could do. “Sorry to burst your bubble, sir.”

“Ah, shit.” Captain Mills exhaled and rubbed at his eyes with his fingers that were smeared with dried blood and coated in dirt. He left a streak on his cheek. Dean wanted to point it out, but decided against it.

“Sir, we need replacements. I have less than half of my men left standing, and our sharpshooter is out.” Dean dropped the piece of paper onto Captain Mills’ table. Lord knows that he could use some technicians as well, but he also knew that at that point, he could consider himself lucky if he got privates who knew their elbows from their assholes. Word was that Basic was cut short, because they were losing too many men.

“Yeah, doesn’t look any better for Novak, Balthazar and Gabriel’s platoons either. You get what you get, Lieutenant.” Captain Mills clutched Dean’s report in his fingers and looked up to him with tired eyes.

Dean knew that. He got what he got, and he would be lucky if he got anything at all in that goddamn place.

“Thanks, Winchester.” Captain Mills said again, standing from his chair. He walked around the table to put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re my 2IC, do you think you’ll be ready?”

Dean wet his lips. They felt too dry all of a sudden. He frowned as he looked at his Captain, wondering whether the question was a joke. “Come on, you don’t mean that, Sir.”

“I actually don’t, but I think that my luck’s going to run out soon, Lieutenant.” Captain Mills said with a heavy sigh. He looked exhausted, heavy bags drooping under his eyes, despite him being only 31.

“You wanted Hitler’s head on a stick, Sir, and I expect you do hold it up for us.” Dean tried to make him smile, and it worked.

Captain Mills shook his head, a small grin spreading on his face. “Oh, the faith you have in me, Winchester.”

Dean shrugged with an easy smile on his lips, before Mills said that he’s dismissed.

Dean stepped out into the hot day and walked back to the building where the Baker company were staying until they could move out again. Move forward. There was always a new battle. A new city to liberate. A new stronghold to assault. New casualties, new deaths. His trigger finger twitched at his side, as he focused on the steady one two pace of his boots on the dirt.

He didn’t want to admit to Captain Mills that he was scared to lead. Leading a platoon was one thing, but leading the whole Baker Company was a whole different animal. Dean couldn’t care less about paperwork, and he didn’t know why Mills didn’t appoint Cas to be his 2IC. Cas would be a fabulous leader. He was fearless and he loved what he did. Dean was only good in following orders and cheering people up. Although, he could be a pain in the ass too, especially to new recruits, but that’s a whole other story. He guessed that there was only one way to his heart and to earn his trust and they’d have to work hard to get there.

At that moment, Dean tried not to think about it. Mills would lead them to Germany and Dean would try to keep himself and Mills alive plus all the other men whose life had been trusted to him. Dean shook the thought of Mills out of his head, because, right then, he wanted to think about the roof over his head. Wanted to think about the hot meal that he’d be getting tonight. He’d been out there for so long, he didn’t even know how real food tasted anymore and his mouth started to water just thinking of it. It was the little things, like Winchester Surprise and letters from Sammy that got him through the day. That helped him suffer through the bland rations and blistering Summer sun.

January, 1940

Jamie Blum lived alone with her three brothers in the rural town of Trenton in North Carolina. Life had never treated them well, but the four of them learned how to get by, if only by each other.

Their mother died when she gave birth to the twins, Jamie and her brother Jameson. Their father was an alcoholic, always had been from the way her brothers talked, and they were probably right. She didn’t need to be a genius to notice the alcohol influence in their names. Jim, Jack, Jameson, and Jamie. Well, their father named her Jamie, because he couldn’t be bothered to search for a girls name for her.

Their father slipped into depression after the death of his wife. Her oldest brother, Jim, found him in the garage one day, and told the others not to come in because there was not a lot left of their father’s face to be recognized. The day their father ate the bullet was the beginning of the end for the Blum children.

Jim and Jack dropped out of school straight after, taking on two to three jobs to keep the house and the twins in school. They insisted school was the only job for Jamie and Jameson. Do good at school, make them proud. Make Mom proud.

A year before the twins finished High School, they came home to a stuffed duffle bag next to Jim’s feet. “I enlisted.” He muttered, avoiding the eyes of his siblings.

Jamie would never forget holding him tight and crying into his chest. She tried everything to stop him. She insisted that she’d be able to help when she finished school. That he didn’t have to do it. It wasn’t the only way. “It’s only one year longer, Jim, please!”  

Jim was having none of it. He held her face in his big hands, and looked her directly in the eye. He told her to keep on studying. His voice shook and it took everything in him to keep his hands steady as he swung his duffle over his broad shoulder. He prayed that his siblings would have better lives than he ever did. He wanted them to at least have a shot at it.

He left that evening, traveling cross country to get to the training camp. He promised to send his wages. It’d be more than he could earn there, he said before adding, that he calculated the numbers in his head, and if his figures were right, they could keep the house for a couple of years.

Jamie didn’t want to interrupt, even though it hurt, she didn’t want to say that there was no worth in keeping a house that he wouldn’t be coming home to. There was no sense in living in an empty box, but she didn’t say anything. Instead she wept into his chest. She had a gut wrenching feeling that she would never see him again, so she held on tight, her fingers curled in his shirt for as long as he’d let her hold on.

***

August, 1940

Jack had been antsy after Jim left. Even though Jim thought his leaving would relieve some of the pressure, it just continued to build inside of the second oldest Blum sibling. Jack was the head of the house. He had the role of father, mother, and eldest brother. So, when he heard the news about the upcoming draft, he decided that he wasn’t going to wait for it. It was the honorable thing to do, for country, and for his family. It was during the summer break from school when Jack, too, left Jamie and Jameson.

Jack, too, said that he’d send his wages home, and Jamie wondered that what the point of it all was? What was the point of having extra money when there was no one to hold her when she felt weak? When there was only half of her family left to return to after a long day? Who would Jameson look up to with both of her older brothers gone? She didn’t say all of the things that made her head spin, though. Instead she held tight to Jack and cried.

She never felt like much of a crier, but with every brother that walked out the door, with a duffle bag over his shoulder, another piece of her chipped away. She was dust in the wind, every blow sending away another piece of her. The pieces were so far away she couldn’t grab them in her hands, and she watched as they slipped through her fingers.

Her brother released her grip, and without second glance, Jack walked to the bus stop with his bag heavy on his shoulders.

***

September, 1940

Jamie and her brother were only 19 when Jameson decided that he, too, wanted to register for the draft. They sat at the kitchen table, across from each other, about to eat a meal that Jamie had worked on for the last hour. She tried all she could for any sense of normalcy since her oldest brothers left.

Although the twins were only a breath apart, they felt like miles when Jameson met her eyes, identical to his own. “I can’t stay here, Jamie.” Jamesons voice was low, barely a whisper. He picked at his food, absentmindedly, and all Jamie could think was, does he not like it? It felt stupid, but she was in shock. He swallowed down the lump that built up in his throat, and it was as if Jamie could feel it too. She swallowed.  

She didn’t feel hungry anymore, and she stared at her brother, watching as his eyes well up. She tried to stab her fork into her dinner, but her vision was blurry and she didn’t even know if she managed to put something on it. She wanted to eat. Food was scarce, and they always finished their plates, no matter what. She tried to think about her empty stomach and that she needed food to survive, but couldn’t. Not while she felt like someone was clutching her insides in their hand. Not while they were squeezing hard.

“If you go, I go.” She thought she was talking to herself, but the words came out louder than she wanted them to, and she was sure that Jameson heard them, too.

Jameson frowned at her, knotting his eyebrows in the center of his forehead. “Jamie, you’re a girl.”

It was out and she couldn’t take it back, so she just looks at Jameson as she felt a teardrop running down her cheek. “And?”

“Girls can’t fight. Come on, Jamie.” At least his face lit up a bit at the thought.

Jamie took a fork full of mashed potatoes and proceeded to talk. “I’m sorry, have you met me?” The tears are still running down their cheeks, but there was also something else in the air. She wouldn’t say hope. That was too strong a word. They kept talking. Talking to forget the imminent.

“Well, I know you can, in theory, Jamie… but–” Jameson took a break to fork half of a sausage into his awaiting mouth, but Jamie cut him off.

“Come on James, we’re twins. Jamie is a boys name, too. You can register for me.” Her voice rattled off, her fork shaking in her fingers. “Go in on different days. I don’t want to stay here and wait on news of my brothers!”

Of course Jameson could never deny Jamie anything. She knew the way around her brothers, and could always sweet talk them into anything. Her stubbornness, paired with doe eyes could be a deadly combination to men. She knew that much.

So she batted her eyelashes, and poked out her bottom lip like she did when they were children. Jameson was her other half. She loved the other boys, but they didn’t give her peace like Jameson did. As babies, nothing could calm them down like each other. She couldn’t live in the house without him. She wouldn’t.

“And who knows, maybe I won’t get drafted at all? Maybe we both won’t?” She tried to ease the tension. She tried to believe her own words, too.

Her thoughts ran wild with the idea. She could see herself, next to Jameson in matching uniforms, truly looking like twins. No one would miss them in Trenton. The money for their house went to their aunt. She moved when their mom died, and since the house belonged to her parents, she was paying rent for them. Unless their aunt made a trip down from Detroit, no one would notice they were missing. Jamie thought that it was highly unlikely that she’d pop in for a visit. The Blum children hadn’t seen their aunt in more than 10 years.

Jameson didn’t say he wouldn’t enlist, and he didn’t say he wouldn’t add her name to the drawing, but they didn’t speak about it anymore that chilly fall evening. Their faces fell back to their potatoes, and they ate in silence.

***

January, 1944

Jamie came back from her evening class, to find Jameson waiting for her. He should have been at his job. She rushed home so she could surprise him with dinner. He surprised her instead.

She unlocked the front door, to find him sitting at the dinner table, a crumbled letter in his hand. Jamie didn’t notice that she was holding her breath, until Jameson started to talk. She didn’t want to listen. She knew the signs. All of a sudden, there was a pain in her stomach again, and she braced herself against the heavy armchair, her nails digging into its fabric, holding herself steady.

Jameson took a deep breath before he exhaled loudly, followed by a sniff as he brushed at his wet cheeks. “It’s time, Jamie. I’m going in.”

He stood up, and pulled his duffle out from under the kitchen table. He’d packed it when she was at school. Her head spun and there was a strange feeling in her gut that almost tore her apart.

Jameson left that evening, taking a piece of Jamie with him. She didn’t hug him. She didn’t cry. She didn’t beg him to stay. She watched him toss his duffle over his shoulder and walk out the front door. She watched the last piece of herself get picked up in the wind and taken away, and for the first time in her life, Jamie was all alone.

The house was too big for one person, and Jamie found herself curled in Jameson’s bed, wearing his shirts. She couldn’t focus on school, and spent a lot of time looking out the window, wondering if her brothers were safe. She wondered if there’d ever be a time when someone wouldn’t walk out on her. She wondered if she’d ever feel whole again.

July 22nd, 1944

The new replacements arrived in a line of blurred green and khaki. They all were faceless, standing at attention. Dean was already feeling tired just looking at them. He got 10 new privates. 10 new fucking rookies that probably didn’t even complete a week in Basic because the men were dropping like flies at Omaha and Saint Lo. 10 greenhorns who probably didn’t know how to secure a rifle, let alone use one, and he knew it was up to him to gather up all his patience to teach them.

Dean looked over the new privates, some of them probably not even 18. He would never understand why someone would lie to get into the army. Why would anyone do that? It wasn’t exactly a day at the beach. His gaze trailed along their faces, and Dean knew how they felt.

He saw that some of them were scared. They were frightened and shaking in their boots. Some stared at him, their eyes blank, emotionless. Those were the worst. It could mean that they had already given up, and they weren’t even in the shit yet. Dean could tell that the majority of them weren’t there because they want to be. Well, technically, he wasn’t there because he wanted to be either, so.

He eyed them up, one by one until his gaze rested on a short recruit. The guy’s shorter than the others. Dean came to rest before him. The private stared up at Dean with big brown eyes. They were really big, doe like. Just like Bambi, he thought. He saw the movie in a special showing at camp in 1942. Why they showed a Disney flick to a group of soldiers was beyond him, but he had to admit that he teared up a bit when the mom was shot. The privates lips were pressed together tight into a straight line, as if he was holding in a laugh. Dean could see the cheeks puffing up. Dean could’ve shouted at him, asking him what’s so fucking funny about going to war, but he was too tired for that shit so he let it slide. Instead he asked a different question, “What your name, private?”

“Blum, sir.”

CHAPTER 2