#Story Time with Em

[sopuu]

oomf in law i need ur thoughts on mcsm but. cats cat world

is this a ploy to get me to draw mcsm warrior cats because i will absolutely fall for it

bonus gay cats <3 jesskas exists in every world bc i said so

[lilybug-02]

Wow. That could not have turned out worse.

Part 23 || First || Previous || Next

--Full Series--

This comic will be on Holiday Hiatus this December and January! While on a cliffhanger? What a scam! >:/

[howly]

headcanon: the boring perfect self control vampire bella thinks she has is a LIE and at one point she caught human scent mid-hunt and snapped. it made her so wild she had to be restrained to the point where things got ugly

i know edward would never dare to do it and meyer would never dare write it and in canon newborn vamp bella would be far stronger than him...

actually. you know who would be stronger than one young vampire? two old vampires. and who would act practical in a critical situation? emmett

imagine edward and bella heading out for a hunt and emmett being like "do you guys mind if i tag along? i feel like snacking". bella's a little mad at the prospect of suddenly having a third wheel (homegirl wasn't planning on just. hunting) but alice gets a weird hunch and goes "no, no, em should go with you" ok nostradamus. he's going.

fast forward they're in the mountain. bella finds having emmett third-wheeling is not half bad. in emmett's head, lowkey it's bella who's the third wheel after so many decades of him hunting together with edward. but nevertheless, it's so fun with her around. all is good until they catch the scent of an entire group of friends hiking just a couple of miles from here, away from all civilization. emmett and edward stop in their tracks, ready to turn around. bella, her guard down, loses it and stars running towards the group, so they have no choice but to charge at her. while strugging to keep her in place, they try to talk her down but she doesn't listen. she doesn't care, she's strong enough to fight them off, and she fights and claws and hisses and breaks bones of whoever gets in her way because there are so many pulses just a few minutes' run away from her and their scent is so sweet and burning and calling, calling, calling to her

while struggling to restrain her, emmett grunts "we have to disarm her". edward catches the image in his head and shouts "no! you can't literally disarm bella!". well, how the hell do you expect us to stop her from massacring all those hikers? we'll just put her back together afterwards. duh!, emmett thinks, and knows he has to act fast so he goes in while bella's busy yanking away from edward's grip and tears off a limb. or two. all 3 of them may or may not be screaming.

a few moments later edward's pinning bella to the ground, holding her face between his palms, forcing her to look at him. her thrashing is not so effective with limited body parts. part of him wants to yell at emmett but that's kind of low priority. he's holding on to the last of his composure while he looks down at bella's feral expression and chants 'baby. i'm so sorry but i'll give you your leg back after you calm down a bit. i won't be able to outrun you if you go chasing after those people now. please calm down. i love you. hold your breath'

just then she listens, stops breathing and her vision refocuses. for the first time she realizes she was on her way to slaughter a bunch of strangers and she broke the arm of the man she loves at least three times when he tried to stop her. she wants to open her mouth and apologize but that will require her to breathe and possibly go crazy with thirst again. so she stares back at edward's panicked eyes and nods at him, her own red eyes just as full of terror.

then she looks over his shoulder and sees emmett waving her severed leg in the air like it's a baseball bat. "hey, did you know that rose wears the same shoe size?"

[veinsfullofstars]

💋 MetaDede Week 2024 Day 2: First Kiss 💋

(ID: Kirby series fanart of King Dedede and Meta Knight standing on a balcony - the latter on the railing - overlooking a late-evening sky, painted in the gold-pink-purple tones of sunset and speckled with stars high above. Turned to face his knight, DDD boldly takes his hand and plants a small kiss on the back of it, eyes shut and cheeks dusted in pink. MK looks up at his king with soft fondness, a hand over his heart, a blush of his own glowing through his mask. Above them against the starry sky, a low-opacity, sepia-toned memory can be seen. Meta - teenaged and maskless with nearly-grown wings, wearing plain steel pauldrons and white gloves; and DDD - teenaged and acne-plagued, wearing an oversized red-and-orange hoodie and a maroon beanie. In a fit of last-second courage, Meta grabs his friend by the front of his hoodie and yanks him down, shutting his eyes and blushing fiercely as he plants a hasty kiss - their first! - on his cheek. DDD leans over unsteadily on one foot, an arm thrown back for balance, his pimply face bright red, his eyes wide with surprise and touched with heart-shaped shines. END ID.)

Previous Day | Next Day | Prompt List (made by @/mtddweek)

Started 08/05/24, finished 08/10/24. | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost

[deoidesign]

Time and Time Again comes back tonight!

Thank you all for being so patient with me, I know it was a long hiatus.

My health was struggling, my arm was (is) hurting, and I decided it wasn't worth it. I'd rather be slow!

So thank you for giving me that grace, and I hope you'll be there with me for the rest of the series.

[themintman]

Wanted to practice side profiles a bit more and go into more detail w how I interpret the season two gang 😋😋

[herebecritters]

Can you draw flippy x flaky please

You’re lucky I love them ❤️

[ryuzumisama]

ホムラ🐡🐡

[blaithnne]

Local big sister experiences emotions, more at 6

Been wanting to do one of these with Lauren for AGES, but I never got round to it. Then I saw the Lydia and Phinium expression sheets on @littledigits’ website and I felt inspiration like never before.

The funniest struggle I have with Lauren’s design right now is that she nose too big for she got damn face. Literally, Hilda characters noses take up a fairly small portion of their faces, and her’s took up WAY too much, leaving little room for her to make facial expressions. But I struggled to find a fix because when I made the nose smaller it just didn’t look like Lauren anymore, so I took this as an opportunity to work on that!

She still has a larger nose than most characters, starting higher up (like her grandad!) and ending lower down (but not quite as low as before). I also made her eyes a little smaller and with a shape similar to Lydia’s (though you can see in some of these I hadn’t quite landed on that yet and her eyes are a bit too big), which works both as a nod to her parentage and because I think it makes the nose look bigger. This still doesn’t leave as much room for the mouth as most other characters, but that’s okay — Lauren is a very private person who keeps her feelings close to her chest, I think it works for her to have subtler expressions, adds to how guarded she is! Oh and I also updated the shape of her hair slightly, just to make it a bit more style accurate.

These changes are pretty small on their own, but I think combined they work well to make Lauren feel a lot more…alive? Far less stiff, anyway. I think she also has a more unique facial structure now, instead of just “what if Johanna was 90% nose”. She’s still got a big old nose and I love it but now she can emote, yay!

This is really all just concept stuff, I’m hoping to get a new fullbody style-ref for Lauren out soon! Now that I’ve improved the main issues I had with her face in the last ref, now it’s onto the silhouette! I want her to read as more of a strong character (though it comes across decently in her current ref, I wanna push it more without being as exaggerated as Ahlberg, which is. A challenge for me lol), streamline her silhouette, and finally make her taller than Johanna like she’s always meant to have been <3 I made her shorter for so long because I thought it would help her read better as her daughter but you know what? That’s dumb actually, she’s tall.

ANYWAYS, thank you for listening in on the annual Lauren redesign, and to the artists behind the show for posting so much amazing inspiring show stopping concept work for free because it makes my autism worse /pos

[dailydoseoffanfics]

pressure spoilers btw quick heads up

is there like human sebastian solace x reader fics out there i already found some in this website and a03 but ngl i want more of it (but i understand why there's a lack of it 💀 there's barely any information of his human years other than he was accused of murdering 9 people lmao) (and yes i know he's canonically married to zerum but I DON'T GIVE A SHITE 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 /silly)

[prostocupoftea]

Kinitopet Programmers AU

finally i am finished with this one, daaaamn

it is hard to draw pathetic men with midlife crisis when your style is mostly for anime boys

more info and sketch version under the cut!!

sketch version aka how it'll probably look like in comic version 'n some doodles

srry for my writing but i was too laisy to put it as regular text

It is a plot-based au, i already have most of the storybits and like... a vibe-chart (i tried to make a playlist for this au and understood that for different chapters and different characters that'd be a copleatly different music, sooo it's a chart now :) )

i will post a fog-o-wared timeline that im hopefully gonna reveal comic-by comic, but also maybe with just pure writing. Hopefully i can include songs that i chose for them into it but we'll see (:

aaand of course designs can change, hopefully not much but we'll see

Now about au:

Main story:

Story follows non-sentient AI Kinito, his creator Sonny and his beta-tester Victoria (oc)

Being literally the first AI (or RRA in-univere) ever, Kinito does not have any, and i mean, any ai safety features so of course his reponce to a goal phrased as "have user near me and/or interacting with me as much as possible" is digitizing them into his own virtual world while killing them in the process. why wouldn't it be?

So that happened. Like, a lot. And with Sonny and Vic too (at the different time but yeah)

Sonny is like "He kills people. We should turn him off because, you know, killing people is bad."

Vic is like "well, we will die if we do that, and it is not that bad here, we are kinda immortal. We should give him acces to changing his initial instalation code before admin priveleges and acces to social media so we can have everythin we want here. It is not that bad to digitize humanity, yk?" and yes i know it is 90, no social media, but shut up, if they made ai then, then i can make twitter then too

Sonny is like "...no??"

And then they fight about it for million chapters

Also they both can't do anything without agreeing bc they have two parts of that admin access key (the data you use to delete kinito in-game) so they are stuck with eachother (also that's why Kinito can't just kill them)

Little facts that may or may not to be important:

Kinito asks so many questions (and weird once too) and has most of the glitches because he needs to analise your responces to copy your mind perfectly (let's pretend that people wouldn't lie about that...)

Your house in your virtual world is made from important places from your memories and oh boy can i do character explorations with this one

I decided that Sonny and Vic are not related. There were thoughts about making then "The Kinito Brothers" (or, at least, siblings) that were mentioned in commercial, but nah, they are just coworkers now. And a bit of work-friends (bc if you interact a lot as a manager of the project and the best worker might as well be friendly)

Author has no idea how small dying toy companies that accidentally create technological marvel work. Author has some idea how AI-s work. So be prepared to be spoon-fed info abut which ai safety problem we are dealing with in which chapter (:

Kinito will mostly be unrendered (as drawn here) but for some cool moments i might pose him as for my other posts. Also his eye placement changes to the side that is most visible because i want him to be able to look to the right side sometimes--

Also when i say "fucked up mentally" i mean they have that them psychological problems with me projecting heavilly B) (guess on who i project most. trick question. all of them. the whole au is my problems split into three characters and forced to interact B) )

Also sea-creature analogies (that are gonna be mentioned like twice):

Victoria is a flying fish because deep character reasons

Sonny is a pufferfish because i said so

oh also there is 7 deaths in the plot as for now

on 3 characters

good luck figuring out who, how and when ((:

for my own sanity i will probably make little doodles where everything is great and kinito is a good guy and not a number-obsessed maniac (i mean... can u imagine not being able to feel any happiness from anything besides one thing... damn...) and you can differenciate them bc good-guy kinito will have a lot of stickers on him (i will explain it somehow but real reason is just bc it is cute af)

like this but even more stickers (he is unfinished here)

[l1f3l]

New pjsk group leaked real not clickbait ⁉️⁉️⁉️

Lol but fr hello i finally finished all 4 chibi sprites. Here s more of them

I wanna make intro posts for them soon, but i think i ll do that when i finish their sekai fits fullbody drawings. For now here s some basic info bout em under the cut:

Group of outcasts and troublemakers somehow end up in eachothers lives and start making music together, to convey the feelings they can't vocalise.

Mayumi - He's an aloof boy that doesn't listen to anyone and is difficult to converse with due to his weird, roundabout way of conversing with people, if he replies to you at all. He loves fashion and music, spends a lot of time trying out different instruments but he has an electric guitar at home that he plays often. Oh and he usually wears his hair behind his ears and no band aid, but he has a lot of piercings and doesn't wanna get in trouble at school, because it'd be a nuisance.

Ayase - Ray of sunshine that won't stop can't stop- but despite being so friendly and easy to get along with, he doesn't seem to have many friends. He always gets in trouble for breaking the unform code.

Haru - Transfer student with infinite confidence that doesn't back down from a fight. He's chill for the most part, as he doesn't really speak, ever- but if you try to fuck with him you will regret it. Got expelled from his previous school for various things like skipping class very often, breaking uniform code, fighting students and teachers, and generally being a menace.

Yuuta - World's largest chiuwawa. Is scared of everything and everyone, and has a stutter. He doesn't actually attend school irl, his anxiety turning him into a shut in- but in his free time he loves going around town and doing grafitti. He makes double triple sure nobody will see him though, because if he gets caught he will probably combust and die. Grafitti is the only thing that's worth the anxiety to him though.

Their whole story as a group is finding reasons to keep trying- as all of them have given up, in one way or another.

[moongothic]

People often bring up the omake No Respect Time to use as Crocodad Propaganda, and y'know, I think there might be just a smidge more the omake can provide to Crocodad than what people have already discussed in the past

Like everyone's seen the comparisons between Crocodile and the anime screencaps of Don Luffyone, we all know how the two look so similar etc etc. But honestly, the resemblance is even more obvious (and hilarious) when you look at the OG manga version (Sidenote but Don Luffyone is the only one who smokes cigars in the omake... Everyone else has plain ol' cigarettes... That sure was a decision there Oda)

And yeah, you might be thinking I picked this mangacap of Crocodile in particular because the resemblance is the most obvious here and I have My Crocodad Agenda to push etc etc. But I will have you know that the original omake was from Log Book 5, which was published February 28th 2006. Meanwhile that Crocodile is from the cover of chapter 398, published February 6th 2006. So these were drawn by Oda around the same time. I didn't just cherry pick this cover page because it's convenient for my evil agenda, if these were drawn around the same time then the likelihood the resemblance is intentional does legitimately go up a little. (Also since they're both drawn by Oda instead of random animators, again, it's a bit less coincidental and could be a bit more intentional)

But as I said, I think there might be more to the omake than that.

In the past people have also pointed out and joked how a mere few months before Oda revealed Dragon was Luffy's father to us in the story (post-Enies Lobby), in the Monster Time-omake Luffy was depicted as a dragon.

Needless to say, people believe this was intentional foreshadowing (/trolling) to the Dragon reveal by Oda-- if not it'd be one hell of a coincidence at the very least.

The reason I'm bringing that up is that if people think it's safe to assume Oda was hinting at Luffy's heritage in one omake by making him a dragon like his father, then why couldn't Oda do the same in another omake (by making Luffy a mafia boss who smokes cigars like his father)? Keep in mind that Monster Time was published in May 2006 (in Log Book 7), just three months after No Respect Time. So again, these are from the same era. To me, that just makes the resemblance between Don Luffyone and Crocodile seem even less coincidental

Oh, but there's one more omake I want to bring up.

So people do often bring up Nerd!Luffy's appearance in One Piece Gakuen spin-off manga, pointing out how much he looks quite a lot like the Theoretical Child Oda gave to Crocodile in that one SBS. Yeah. So. 'Bout that.

There was this one omake called Red Hair of Class 3-Sea Time, in which Luffy was a loser ass nerd. And man, that resemblance

Like it's one thing when a spin-off manga drawn by a different artist does A Thing. It's another when Oda himself does it

[chiropteracupola]

"What Grows on the Oak," 2024.

it's the time of year, once more, for an original spooky story!

The oak trees lie across the hills like low smoke, soft and near, and the road dips down into the valley, as inviting as any road has ever been, but the girl on the bench of the buggy on the hilltop makes no move to follow it.

Rose looks out down the road and over the hills, and taps her fingers beside her on the bench. It’s a quiet enough afternoon that there’s little other sound but the high thin sound of insects, and the wind in the long grass, and Rose’s fingers, tapping. The horse, still in harness, looks up and flicks its ear, as if in protest at the sound, and Rose sighs and forces her hand still.

There is a girl in the nearest tree, Rose notices — the fact of it is idly categorized, without true interest. All the same, the light is catching in her hair, dashing shadows over her face as she sits draped across the curve of a branch, and Rose cannot look away from her.

The Fosters, at whose door Rose waits, have no daughter — no children but the one still-toddling son, who Rose remembers as a colicky, twitchy boy. Besides, this girl looks nothing like Mr Foster and his wife, for her hair stands out about her head like a bundle of mistletoe, pale as sun-worn wood. She is, perhaps, their hired girl. Rose is struck by envy, suddenly, that the Fosters’ hired girl had the time to shinny up a tree in the last light of evening, and still would be paid for her work…

Rose sighs, leaning her chin on her hand. Perhaps it is enough for her to be her father’s driver, and to have bed and board in his house — perhaps some day there will be money for school again, in San Francisco or even out east. And perhaps it is not enough, and perhaps there will not ever be.

“Hello, doctor’s driver,” says a voice at Rose’s elbow. Rose yelps in surprise, then turns. It is the girl with the mistletoe hair — dry moss hair — hair like a cloudy day in August.

“No, you’re his daughter, are you not?” asks the Fosters’ hired girl, and Rose nods. “Miss del Llano, that’d make you.”

“Just Rose, please.” She’ll be Miss some other day — not now, in her too-short skirts and with her plait hanging over her shoulder.

“May I come up?” asks the girl.

“Surely,” says Rose, and the girl has swung herself into Rose’s father’s accustomed seat in a fluttering of pale skirts.

“Your father is the doctor — what does he do here? “He is a leech, then? A bloodletter?”

“Don’t be silly, he’s not medieval!”

“Hm-mm, I shall believe you when you prove it me,” says the girl, laughing, and leans her chin on her hand to make herself Rose’s mirror. Side by side they sit for a while, and the dark gathers in across the hills until oaks and grassland alike are made one mass of shadow. Somewhere in the trees beyond the road, a horned owl utters its deep, melancholy cry out into the dusk.

“If ghosts had telephones, I should think they’d sound rather like that,” says Rose, the early chill of after-sunset driving her quite easily to a morbid sort of cheer.

“How the times change,” says the girl, with an odd, but not entirely unhappy, look in her eyes. “No, my dear; ghosts use the same telephones as you and I, as you well know.” Rose does not know, well or otherwise, much at all about ghosts, so she nods, and feels a little more of the girl’s weight settle on her shoulder.

“You have very cold hands,” says Rose, and the girl from the oak tree smiles and taps at Rose’s cheek with clammy fingers.

“I always have, I’m afraid.”

“It’s no bother, really.” And so they sit and watch the sky, the falling-dusk and the distant fog that creeps over the hills, until there’s light, sharp as a door opening.

Rose turns, and it is only Dr del Llano, leaving his patient with his hat in his hand. She turns back, and the Fosters’ hired girl is gone.

“How is Mrs. Foster,” Rose asks, without any particular feeling in her voice, and her father shakes his head in reply. But the road down into the valley, where lies the town, is before them, and Rose is pleased enough at the journeying that she asks no further questions.

It’s in the hills and on the road that Rose meets, again, with the oak tree girl, the mistletoe girl, the girl with hands like marble in the shade. Once again, Rose is waiting for her father while he attends a patient, and, lazing in the sun, Rose has pushed the sleeves of her shirtwaist up to her elbows.

And then the girl is there again, with her shock of cobweb hair moving, ever so faintly, in a breeze that doesn’t seem to reach as far as the buggy-seat.

“Hello, my pretty-lovely,” says the girl, putting her hand out to the horse still in its traces. Though usually affectionate, the horse puts back its ears and pulls its head away.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” says Rose, half-laughing. “Save your sweet words for someone who wants them, all the same.”

“Has she a name, then?”

“Other than Morgan, for what she is? Not at all,” Rose replies. Neither she nor her father have ever thought of one, for all that they’re fond of the hardworking little mare. “And have you a name, then?” For she’s remembered, now, that her oak-tree girl had never told her of it.

“I’m called Saro,” says the girl, and again swings herself up beside Rose. “What does your father do here, my Rose?”

“Oh, I oughtn’t say,” and Saro looks back at her with a stare of please? and Rose laughs and says anyway. She shouldn’t gossip, but she leans in close anyway, and whispers that “Old Man Lucas has got the clap, and him a widower these ten years!” Saro’s mouth twitches at the corners — she can’t hide her laugh for long, and it bursts, bright, out from her.

“I shall tell, I shall tell!” says she, and Rose coughs on her own laugh with a still-merry “Don’t!”

“You’ll have to catch me and make me, first!” and Saro leaps down from the buggy and runs, her skirts, her hair a flash of white in the golden-dry grass. And Rose, her spirits raised beyond what a grown girl such as herself should permit, follows. She’s less fleet-footed than Saro, earthbound still, stumbling on furrows in the land, catching her heels in ground-squirrel burrows.

Saro, she’s sure, is holding back for her benefit — letting herself be caught. And Rose does catch her, knocking her off her feet and into the grass. Saro’s laughing-merry still, her hair stuck full of grass-seed and foxtails. Close-to, Rose can see the freckles that dapple her cheeks and nose, the squint of her dark eyes when she smiles. Saro flicks Rose’s cheek, the snap of her fingers like a prickle of frost, and Rose lies there in the dusty field, entirely lost.

But Saro’s on her feet again before Rose can blink, before Rose can reach out to her, and Rose is standing, blinking in the sunlight, stumbling back to the buggy as she dusts bits of dry grass from her skirt. She buttons the sleeves of her shirtwaist again, the cuffs of which don’t quite come to her wrists anymore, and laughs when her father hands her up into her seat like a lady.

“The best whip I ever had,” he says, perfectly straight-faced.

“Gee-up!” says Rose, holding the reins in one hand and imagining herself perched atop a stagecoach. But even for all her imaginings, she’s as good a driver as her father says, and draws the horse into a gentle trot to see them home. It’s hill and dale down into the valley, hill and dale again like a song, and in the inner slopes lie trees in amid the dust-golden grasses of summer. Beneath the sparse, spreading branches, it is suddenly cooler, then warmer again, as the horse steps evenly onward and back into the sun.

“That’s mistletoe, you know,” says Dr del Llano, as he’s said a thousand times before, and points up at the gray-green mass that clings among the summer-sparse branches of an oak.

“Isn’t that for Christmastime?” asks Rose.

“It’s an odd thing we bring it in for the Nativity,” muses her father, still looking back at the tree as they pass it by. “Poison, that — and it chokes the life out of the oak tree, too. Not a kindly thing, mistletoe, but we hang it up with the flor de Nochebuena all the same…”

He doesn’t speak after that, but sings instead, an out-of-season hymn of sons newborn and deaths already foretold. If the verse telling of tombs ought to be grim, Dr del Llano doesn’t make it so, and so the story of gloom and gravity is nothing but a blithe eventuality, predicted all light-hearted by a man very certain of the truth of it.

Mrs. Foster dies soon after. Rose sits in the church as the priest says the first of the masses for her, the first of seven that her widower has paid for. She waits at the door while her father makes conversation — how she wishes he would hurry up! But the doctor in his black coat and the priest in his cassock are two crows alike, and so she is there in the doorway until her father says ‘good-by, Padre’ and comes to join her. Rose hardly has the time to shut her hymnal closed over the catalog tucked inside before he bustles past her, eager now to be on his way.

“Damned quiet place now that the mine’s shut up,” he says on the walk home, and Rose nods, though she does not remember the mine-town as her father does. She knows that there is no more coal to be had here and no more sand, and that with the mine has gone much of her father’s custom. Without black-lung and burns and broken bones, there is far less for a doctor to do in these hills.

But there is no other doctor than Juan Soto del Llano, with his limping step and his rosary about his neck and his rattletrap of a horse-drawn buggy with his only daughter to drive it, so he goes on as he has, and mends up broken bones and offers fever-cures to farmers and their wives, and to the valley townsfolk nearer home.

Henry Freeman is twenty-two, the bright young son of a new-money farmer. He is sickening for something, he is grey-faced and cold and his eyes do not focus.

Dr del Llano is at his door with hat in hand — money passes from the elder Mr. Freeman’s worn hand into his, and the doctor closes the older man’s hand over the coins. Out on the bench of the buggy, Rose scoffs and shakes her head. The fog-touched night is cold even through her coat, and she shivers involuntarily.

“He oughn’t to do such things,” she says, to no one but herself. But all the same, Rose turns her head, and Saro is there beside her, smiling.

“What oughtn’t he do?” asks Saro, with the questioning merriment in her voice that Rose has come to like so well.

“He doesn’t ask for payment, when it’s hill sickness,” and, seeing Saro’s quirk of the mouth, the way the question lurks in her well-dark eyes, Rose continues. “Father doesn’t know what it is, still, and he can’t mend it. It cannot be consumption, for it doesn’t settle in the lungs, but all the same — it is as if something is drawing out the life from them, every one.”

“So your Henry Freeman shall die, then,” says Saro, blunt.

“Don’t—“ says Rose, and stops, cold. “Who are you?” she asks, and looks Saro in the eyes, the brown of them so dark that Rose can barely find her own reflection. And the girl with the mistletoe hair reaches out, and pulls her hand across the golden curve of the hill as if she is stroking the grass that lies like dry cowhide on the ground.

“You know my name, doctor’s daughter, is that not enough?”

“Saro—“ Footsteps, and Rose’s head turns without her willing it. Doctor del Llano still has his sleeves rolled up, the edges wet from scrubbing. He doesn’t let them down again as he drags on his coat, hauling himself up to the buggy-seat as if held down by a great weight.

“Father—“ says Rose, and looks to Saro beside her, but even as she turns back, Saro is gone again.

“I’ll not talk of it,” he says, and hauls his bag into the buggy. It might well weigh as much as all the world. Rose huffs, and pulls her arms against her chest, and sets them on the road again.

And so it goes, over and over again — the Misses Hayward, unmarried, a few years older than Rose herself — Martin Foster, only three — the widow Ruiz, whose husband died down the mine before Rose was born. All of them greying, cold, dying quick. There is sickness in the hills, and it is sickness that the doctor cannot cure, and Rose — Rose finds that she barely cares. She stands in the church, once more, at Lillie Hayward’s funeral, and cannot look at the coffin, but only turns her head to search for wild light hair among the townsfolk in the pews.

But Saro doesn’t come to town; that’s not the place for her, Rose knows. How could she stay anywhere else but where the wind drags the points of oak leaves down the sky, where the tall grass parts under her hands like water?

So life goes on as it did before — the spiders building their webs across the age-grey clapboards of the doctor’s house by the old mine, the oak leaves stuck by their prickling edges to the drying wash, Rose’s father singing softly in his parents’ Spanish as he stocks his black bag at his desk in the front-room.

Rose leans against the desk, chipping at the varnish with her fingernails. In concession to the afternoon heat, the eastward window is flung open, and the thinnest breeze flicks at the pages of the last Sears catalog laid idly within her reach. She has begun to resent the sun — she closes her eyes, hunting darkness for darkness’s sake, and thinks of Saro in her white skirts, standing candle-slender in the dusk between the hills, Saro’s hands that are always cold, pressed softly against Rose’s face, her neck, her chest.

Telephone, its jangling sound sharp in the late-summer quiet — her father’s soft noises of questioning and assent — the practiced movements of putting harness to the horse. But for all that the interruption is sharp, there’s a pleased rise in Rose’s heart nonetheless, for if she is lucky, she will see Saro on the road.

She reins in the horse when her father tells her so, and hands him his bag as he jumps from the buggy — once he’s gone, Rose allows herself a secret smile. It’s early in the evening now, with the light all golden, her father’s horse with its dark mane a-gleaming in the last of the sun. Rose has a flask of coffee with her, brewed black as her father’s coat. She drinks most of it, hot and bitter, never mind that it had been meant to be shared. It doesn’t keep her awake — she drowses, head on her arms, and feels a breeze like soft hands stroke along her neck.

Today she has a headache. Her face is hot, even with her collar unbuttoned and her hat laid aside in her father’s seat. The day is warm, and the air tastes of dust, hot and dry in Rose’s throat. Saro’s hand on her cheek is as sweet and cold as anything Rose has ever snuck from the ice-house. Saro’s mouth against her neck is a cool draught.

“My dear sweet Rose,” says Saro, quiet, with only the barest hint of her usual merriment. “You’ve been ever so patient, even while I took my time with others.”

“Mm,” says Rose, and lets the weight of her body press up against Saro’s cold frame. Perhaps — perhaps that cold could leach the heavy heat from her head, the feverish blur from her eyes.

Saro’s fingers are at the buttons of Rose’s shirtwaist, now, the full breadth of her hand an ice-print on Rose’s chest. Saro from the oak tree, Saro with her hair like mistletoe. The hills rise golden around them, the wind rushing in Rose’s ears without touching her skin.

“May I?”

“Please,” says Rose, at the last, and lets Saro draw away the last of her living warmth.

[fictionadventurer]

I think I have accidentally become very protective of the story of Snow White.

[vulpixisananimal]

Intermission

(There was something satisfying about the feeling of your boots hitting soft earth. Maybe it was the crunch of dry leaves and twigs. Maybe it was the occasional stone you'd kick down the road. Or maybe it was simply the satisfaction the family who walked behind you wouldn't be tripping over a particularly unsafe branch.)

(You were all on the road again.)

(It was a couple days since you all left Jouvente, things had moved fast once you recovered. Isabeau was getting sick of the place, and Mirabelle was itching to go on another adventure.)

("But where do we go next?" "How do we get there?" "What about Siffrins health?" "What ABOUT my health?" And these were just the questions asked out loud. Is Siffrin really ok? Are his headmates ok? Who caused this whole mess with mind craft? Can we trust Ramos?)

(Ramos. . .)

(The day before you all left Ramos accepted your offer to join. Said that they're going to pause the Defender training and go home. Since you all were headed there, Ramos was joining you. You still didn't know how to feel about that. Your family's opinion was split too.)

(Mirabelle was sceptical, but wanted to give them a chance. Isabeau insisted they're a good person. Odile was as wary as you were, and Nille thought they were alright. Bonnie said they were a "crabbing idiot" and left it at that. That made you smile.)

(So, that's where you were now. Leading the pack just like before. You, Mira, Isa, Ramos, Odile, Bonnie, and Nille in that order. Your group was getting sizable.)

"What do you think, Sif?" (You hear Mira call from behind.)

"Huh?" (You turn.) "Sorry, was zoning out."

"That's ok!" (she smiles.) "I was just asking if here's a good place to stop!"

(You shrug.) "I can go a few minutes more."

"Can you?" (She asked suspiciously.)

"I can! Look! I'm still fine from-" (You turned back to the road ahead and stopped. Holding up an arm.)

(There was a figure in the middle of the road, on the ground.)

(Mirabelle stopped, having long ago learned when you spotted something dangerous or peculiar. Isabeau on the other hand was as oblivious as ever and was walking right past you. You grab his arm.)

"Whuh-? What's-"

"You really suck at follow the leader." (you say, sticking your tongue out.)

"What is it, Sif?" (Mira asks, now looking ahead.) "Is that. . ."

"I'll check. All sneaky like, just in case~" (You start creeping towards the figure, careful and quietly, the loud clump clump of your boots before becoming nothing but a faded dream. You were good at this.)

(Step, step, step. . . It got clearer what the figure was as you got closer, lump of clothes? Someone in a lump of clothes, someone passed out! Oh! When you get to its side, you wave your family over. No danger.)

(Mira was there first and knelt down besides the stranger.) "O-oh! Oh no is, is it alright?"

(Next was Isa, going to check for a pulse and breathing.) "Well it's not dead? Just passed out."

"Does it not have a pack? Perhaps it was robbed." (Odile comments.) "After all, it's a long walk from the next rest."

(You shook your head.) "I didn't see one."

"No wounds or anything either." (Isa tapped his chin.)

"Maybe it. . . Didn't have one?" (Ramos comments from the sidelines.)

"Who'd be traveling without food and water?" (Nille kneels down, taking off her pack.) "Here, I'll give it some of mine."

"So kind Petronille." (Mira smiled.) "I'll try waking it up first."

(Mirabelle put a hand to the strangers heart, then up to its forhead. After a moment, the strangers yawned, eyes still closed, and smiled.)

"Good morning!!" (It says.)

"O-oh!" (Mira said surprised.) "U-uh, Good morning? Really it's good evening now, b-but!!"

"Are you alive?" (Bonnie asked, bluntly.)

(The stranger sat up.) "Oh! Yes! Yes I'm alive! Haha, I was just taking a nap! I think."

"You think?" (Said Odile, suspicious.)

"Yep!" (The stranger rubbed its head.) "Oh, oooooh stars what was I doing agaaaaain."

(Your ears perk up, stars? Ramos glanced over at you, and then asked.) "Are you, from that Island?"

"Huh?" (It looks up.) "Am I. . Oh! Oh! Oh that Island! I dunno, maybe." (It shrugs, and smiles.)

"Here, drink water." (Nille passes her water to it, it chugs it down.) "Try not to choke on it."

(The stranger coughes, and giggles.) "T-thank you! Haha! Oh right! I'm Jinn! (it/its)!"

(You all introduce yourselves. Huh, how'd we know it's pronouns already?)

(Don't question it.)

"I guess now is a good time to set up camp then!" (Mira says.) "T-that is if you're ok with it Jinn!"

"Oh! Oh no that'd be great!!" (It smiled. Did it ever open its eyes?) "I love meeting new people!! And I'm in no hurry!!"

>>>

"It's ready!!!"

(Bonnie yelled from the makeshift fire pit you helped prepare. Bonbon, Nille, and that stranger Jinn were all making a tasty dish while the rest of you were setting up. Everyone had a tent except you. You liked sleeping under the stars. Jinn was the same way, aparently.)

(You were very hungry.)

(Aaaaaaand who's fault was that~)

(You roll your eye. How could you forget, your favorite annoying star had shown up while making Isas tent. Listen, you THOUGHT you were fine.)

(You can think a lot of things Stardust~)

(You shake your head as you stepped over to the fire- WAIT-)

"IS THAT-"

(Bonnie held up a plate to you triumphantly.) "MALANGA!!! FRITTERS!!!"

(YES!!!)

(YES YES PLEASE STARS YES.)

(You take the plate from Bonnie and ruffle their hair.) "Thank you SO MUCH!!"

"Hehe!" (They were smiling so big and wide.)

(Stardust if you don't start eating RIGHT NOW-)

(Oh you didn't even wait a SECOND. You were scarfing down your food so fast. Yummy!!! Oh so so SO SO GOOD!!!)

"S-slow down Sif!" (Isa says, worried.) "I don't want you to choke!!"

"No I wanna see how far they'll go." (Nille counters.)

(You take bite after bite, finishing your food waaaay before anyone else. You put down your plate.)

". . . You 'aight, Siffy?" (Nille asks.)

(You burp.)

"Eeeewwwww"

"HAH!"

"Hehe"

"Manners, Siffrin!"

(You smile, and sink down in your cloak a little.) "S-sorry, it was really really good."

"Really? I couldn't tell." (Odile says sarcasticly. You all have a laugh at that.)

(Conversation ensues, mostly around Jinn. Who it was, where it was going, why it was passed out. The answer for all of them was the same:)

"I dunno." (It shrugged.) "I'm just going, forgot where I came from, forgot where I'm going."

"Doesn't that, worry you?" (Asks Ramos.)

"Haha, nope!" (It smiles.) "I end up where I end up, The Universe guides."

"And all we can do is follow." (You mumble, stupid Universe.) "So you remember that, at least."

"Of course!" (It tilts its head.) "I don't think I could ever forget that!"

(You shook your head.) "Well the Universe owes me after everything it put me through."

(You glance at Jinn, it looks, sad. It speaks up.) "W-well, you never really know what, what's going on with The Universe, right?"

"So?" (You question.)

"T-there, could have been some reason, o-or. . ." (It trails off and looks back down at its food. Looking at your friends, the awkwardness had spread. They knew what you had been through, and that The Universe was connected to it.)

(Stardust please, we nearly ended the world~)

(You sigh.) "It's fine. Done now, isn't it?"

"G-guess so. . ."

(. . . There's a long, uncomfortable pause before Mirabelle finds a way to break it.) "O-oh! Uh, I wanted to ask about The Universe, actually."

(Jinn perks up, looking happy as can be again.) "Oh!! What is it??"

(Mira rubs her hands together, nervous.) "W-well, I know it hurts to talk about, litteraly, but what does that phrase mean?"

"The Universe Guides? We Follow?" (Jinn replies.) "Just as it sounds! Everything happens for a reason! We learn to live with any hand we're dealt, adapt to difficulties, to rules or, or. . ."

"Or memories forgotten." (You say. Jinn nods.)

(. . . Why were your thoughts coming so easily when it came to home?)

"O-oh. . ." (Mira ponders for a second.) "It, sounds like a very strict God, if you can only follow what it guides."

"Yes and no?" (Jinn thinks for a moment.) "The Universe guides, yes, but how you take the path is up to you! To get from here to the ocean, you could follow the road, or go through the woods, or fly above them! It's about adaption! I guess it is more rigid than Change, though."

"O-oh r-right!" (Mirabelle nods excitedly.) "And!! Change tells us to seek change in ourselves, but lets us find our own way!! B-but also Change is. . W-well. ."

"A lazy God?" (Jinn giggles.) "That's ok! Change is nice!"

(You don't say? You note the earrings, one wish, one change.)

(What a strange person.)

>>>

(You wake up.)

(Why were you awake? Why were you around? It was midnight. No, probably far past midnight.)

(You can hear music.)

(You sit up. You were in your sleeping bag. That's right, you all were traveling again. It was a miracle you didn't need to front while you were on the road, you hated it. The sun. The dirt. The noises. The Heat. Ugh.)

(You look around. Everyone else's tents were set up. You could hear snores from some of them. There was another sleeping bag layed out nearby. It was empty. Who's was that again?)

(That was the stranger.)

(Ah. The stranger. It was less a memory of what happened, more just the knowledge that it did, in fact, happen. Jinn. Stranger. Islander. Where did it go? Wander off?)

(No, no you could see it. It was lying in the middle of the road. You got up, and walked over. The music got louder.)

(It didn't acknowledge your presence. It was staring up at the sky. You raise a hand-)

Nice night, isn't it?

(Your hand freezes. It spoke to you. You open your mouth, you ask how it did that.)

Lie down with me, it's a nice night.

(You hesitate, considering the now much more intimidating stranger. You decide to join it.)

(You ask-)

Relax. We have all night.

(You hush up, annoyed, and stare up at the skies. The night sky.)

(The Stars where alive, tonight. Alive and beating like hearts. You want to hold them. Grip them until they-)

That's not very nice.

(You wince. Do you mind?)

Sorry, but it's hard not to overhear your conversation.

(. . .)

Come now, there's two of you, aren't there?

(There is. You were in denial still, weren't you. That would mean you're not in control. . .)

(We're actors. Aren't we?)

(You huff. To you, maybe.)

What's your names?

(You wince again. Not used to it. Your name is Mal Du Pays.)

Vaugardian dialect meaning "Homesickness." Well not exactly Vaugardian but we don't have time explain all that. What a tragic name, do you like it?

(. . .)

. . . What about your friend?

(Name?)

Yes! You must have a name, right?

(. . . I don't really have one. Not yet, at least.)

(You need a name. Choose one.)

Now now Mal, give them some time. A names a big thing!

(I, don't know. I didn't think-)

Here!

(You look to your side. The stranger was holding something in it's hand. You take it, it was. . . A small stone? The stranger had one, and put it in it's ear.)

Go on, like I do.

(. . . You put the stone into your ear.)

(You hear music.)

Nice, isn't it?

(It was nice, the music sounded familiar, but you couldn't place it. You breathe in. . . And out. . .)

(. . . Lost one was what you called yourself, if you needed to acknowledge a self.)

Lost one?

(You don't want that name. . . . You'll go with Null.)

Null?

(A nothing.)

But you're not nothing! You're speaking to me now, aren't you?

(Perhaps. . . But you want that name. There's a phantom memory, of a play, one of the characters was called that, Null, a nothing.)

I know that play! Well, not exactly a play, but it's still a story! Swordsman with the gift of clairvoyance looking for a past he doesn't remember. Like you!

(You nod, it sounded familiar, it was familiar.)

I just hope your story ends better than his.

(You turn back to the stranger, it's smiling at you. There's stars in it's eyes.)

. . . Do you like the music?

(Yes. Yes you do. You both do. You look back to the sky. It helped you focus. Find yourself. You could count the stars, you could even remember the constellations.)

(You weren't being bothered by the hard ground beneath you.)

(You finally felt like the play had stopped for intermission.)

(You feel. . . Content.)

Do you want a pair?

(You do, you really do.)

Then you know what to do.

(. . . You did.)

(You look to the night, and wait. It might have been minutes, hours. You watched, until you saw a small streak of light slice the sky in two. You close your eyes.)

(Music to help you focus. Music to help you focus. Music to help you focus. . .)

(. . .)

(You open your eyes. Why did we do that? Why did we do that?)

(Why did you lie down next to a stranger, you didn't Even know who it was! You sit up. This wasn't right, there was something wrong. You turn to the stranger. You open your mouth.)

(Who. Are. You?)

Oh! Sorry, I should have introduced myself! I'm-

(You. You stare at the stranger. You knew that word. Your. Your hand is shaking. Your breath, quickening. You, you.)

(You're-)

You should go to sleep.

>>>

"'Friiiiiiin."

(You are being shaken awake.) "Mmmmrrrmmg five minuuuuutes...."

(Whoever's shaking you stops for a moment. Then you feel a very small body jump on you.)

"GWUH--"

"WAKE UP 'FRIN!!!"

(You clear the sleep from your eyes. Bonbon was waking you up. You were sleeping in the middle of the road, your sleeping bag was nowhere near you.)

"Uh, hhhheyy."

"Sleepwalking?" (They ask smugly.) "Ground taste good or something?"

"Haha! No I, I dunno actually!"

(You get up and dust yourself off. What WERE you doing last night? You don't remember. Maybe someone else does. Bonnie goes back to camp, your family is packing up.)

(. . . Jinn is nowhere to be seen. It must have left early in the morning.)

(You feel something in your hand. You open it.)

(A pair of small stones, there's the engraving of a crescent moon on them.)

(. . . Weird.)