#at first it was only used to collecting samples from and creating paths to other moons

[bugblast]

current alien mech design

[spiritworldart]

New art from the mindblowing process of visionary #artist LRD/BZL.  (pronounced Lord Bizzle)

LRD/BZL captures images of the spirit world by photographing peoples #breath while it's exposed to various different #spectrums of #light.

I'm extremely pleased and honored to be officially working with LRD/BZL to help bring this incredible process and collection of artwork to a larger audience.

All of the initial photographed images are intentionally mirrored at least once as part of the process for revealing the higher dimensional perspectives.

I consoder myself extremly fortunate, not to have just met (the extremely private) LRD/BZL  but to also now have the opportunity to work with an individual who I believe will go down in history as one of the great genre defining art minds of all time. Sounds lofty, but I'm all but certain that once the world sees even just a fraction of what I've recently seen (and I'm sure Ive only really seen a fraction of it all myself 🤯), all will agree.

LRD/BZL is what I would call an artist's artist, the reason you've never heard about this absolutely astonishing and world shifting art, is because the artist by their own admission has been so deeply engaged in the process and art itself for at least the last 7 years, that like many artist, it's a struggle for them to find the balance necessary to both fuel there often obessesive passion for creating with more mundane tasks like, cataloging, organizing sharing etc. That's where I enter the picture.

After having the serendipitous fortune of our paths crossing recently, a few things happened. First, like so many others who've had the pleasure of experiencing any of LRD/BZL's works, I was immediately moved in a way that's difficult to describe with words, but, I just experienced what felt like a deep and timeless connection or pull, to not just the images but what seeemed like messages or codes that were being downloaded directly to my spirit. I instantly realized the gravity and incredibly massive significance of what I was most unexpectedly being exposed to.

It was in that moment that I knew I had to help or somehow, some way, I just knew i needed to be apart  and that I needed to help other people see this stuff, so they too could see and feel what I was seeing and feeling 🤷‍♂️.

I'll go into more detail in future post, but the process BZL( in person it's just BZL, and that's a whole fascinating post in itself) created and uses is so universal and the epic, awe inspiring, timelessly besutiful and endlessly intriguing images it produces truly have a universal appeal and significance unlike anythigng Ive ever experienced in my 32 years of existence. Those included here are just a small sampling of what must be thousands of  high res works of art the artist has captured and produced over the years. 

The good thing is, after years of unintentionally hoarding this mind blowing collection. I, either a bit of persistent and persuasive dialog on my part, have been given the official go ahead to begin regularly releasing LRD/BZL's amazing and unique art collection to the world. And trust me, you're going to want to hit that follow button. Because when I tell you we're not in Kansans anymore... let's just say, buckle up and enjoy the ride.

To be continued..

Please help us spread the art by liking and sharing..the world needs to see 👀

[baambastic]

Hey, who wants to listen to me explain my idea for an origin for Ma’alefa’ak for my Young Titans AU?

Credit goes to @jesncin for giving me permission to use their Ma’alefa’ak design as a basis for him in this AU. Thanks again for that.

For those who are unfamiliar with Ma’alefa’ak, he’s the brother of J’onn J’onzz. Ma’alefa’ak was stripped of his telepathy and his memory of it, making him grow bitter. He created Hronmeer’s Curse, a virus that wiped out every other Green Martian besides J’onn; Ma’alefa’ak’s lack of telepathy made him immune to the virus. When Ma’alefa’ak discovered J’onn’s survival, he tried to dismantle J’onn’s life. J’onn was forced to kill him by restoring Ma’alefa’ak’s telepathy while orbiting the sun, triggering the virus in Ma’alefa’ak. That’s the canon.

In my Young Titans AU, these events all still happened, but Ma’alefa’ak and J’onn also had a fight in the ancient Martian city of Z’onn Z’orr in Antarctica that results in bits and pieces of Ma’alefa’ak being scattered all over the med bay.

More than a decade later, Lex Luthor has finally decided to give up on trying to get his own Kryptonian. Every clone he’s made has turned on him, and every attempt he’s made to brainwash said clones has failed. But Lex realized that perhaps a Martian clone could have even more potential; after all, Martian Manhunter was the closest being on Earth to a Kryptonian’s power level.

Lex has J’onn’s flight paths tracked for weeks and uses the information to locate Z’onn Z’orr as a probable hideout or base of operations. He sends a team to the location to collect Martian DNA samples, and the team returns with Ma’alefa’ak’s pieces.

Lex uses Ma’alefa’ak’s DNA to create his own Martian clone. Luckily, the DNA in the samples was only marginally incomplete, so while the Martian clone cannot speak or use telepathy (Lex is wrong abt the lack of telepathy being a cloning error, it’s generic memory from his previous incarnation), its DNA didn’t need to be patched with that of another species.

The scientists at CADMUS were able to massively accelerate the clone’s development until he physically reached the Martian equivalent of 14 years old, at which point the accelerated aging lessened exponentially to where Ma’alefa’ak now ages only superhumanly slowly, rather than to a Martian degree.

Martians have powerful genetic memory, which becomes more relevant later on, but at first it just means that he remembers his name and tells it to Luthor. Luthor likes the sound but not the spelling and dubs him “Malefic”.

When Luthor learns about the formation of the Young Titans team, and that the younger Superboy is a member, he decides to send Malefic on a test drive.

It is worth noting that “Malefic” stays mostly in his fully natural form (the spindly form with the more pointed skull), representing how Luthor has stripped Ma’alefa’ak of his personhood.

After Malefic is subdued, J’onn is contacted. He recognizes Ma’alefa’ak and is able to unlock much more of the Martian boy’s genetic memory, enough for Ma’alefa’ak to regain his identity and sense of self. Unfortunately, Ma’alefa’ak’s genetic memory had decayed over the last decade, so J’onn was only able to unlock some of Ma’alefa’ak’s memory, and only up to the point that matched his physical age.

J’onn decides to take in and basically foster Ma’alefa’ak, partly out of his perceived guilt for failing Ma’alefa’ak in the past.

Damian suggests that Ma’alefa’ak also join the Young Titans to help him acclimate to Earth more effectively, to which everyone agrees.

Later on, Ma’alefa’ak chooses a human form for himself, which he comes to like as much as, if not more than his Martian form. He also chooses the human name “Malek” and actually asks that his friends call him that instead of Ma’alefa’ak, as a nickname of sorts.

To give Malek a way to communicate, J’onn teaches him fingerspelling, and Damian teaches him sign language.

[pahrak-the-sinnoh-slizer]

Games in 2023: Octopath Traveler II

The first Octopath Traveler was a game I closely followed the development of, and its first demo was one of the very first things I played on my Switch.  It wasn’t exactly what I initially thought it would be, but I thoroughly enjoyed my 80+ hours with it.  The announcement of Octopath II was just kind of dropped on us out of nowhere last year, and while I wasn’t following it quite as closely, I was confident right away that it would be a good time.  The demo only reinforced that feeling, accomplishing the impossible and making February seem very long.  Now that I’ve spent 73 hours or so on the game itself, I think I’m ready to say that I enjoyed Octopath II even more than the first.

Long post full of unmarked spoilers ahead.

Like the first game, Octopath II features eight playable Travelers each with their own unique abilities and storylines, and you can choose to start the game as any one of them.  From there, you can collect as many of the others as you want in any order you want.  After sampling everyone in the demo, I started with Hikari the Warrior, then made a beeline for Partitio the Merchant and Throné the Thief. (I made sure to grab everyone before moving anyone’s plot forward, these three were just my early favorites.) Mechanically the game is also very similar to its predecessor, but the effort to build upon the established foundation pervades it: Jobs are all rebalanced, each character now has two Path Actions that let them interact with NPCs in the overworld, there’s a basic day/night system, and your characters now have a Latent Power that essentially functions as a Limit Break.  It’s familiar enough to be comforting, but iterates enough to create an experience that still feels fresh.

I already enjoyed the Job System in the first game, and I think the changes made here are to its benefit.  It did strike me as a bit odd that you would just waltz into a hidden cave and unlock a new sub-Job; now you need to find each of the base 8 Jobs’ guilds to be given a license.  You get one just for finding the place, but interestingly, you can then complete certain tasks for the guildmasters to receive a second and third license so that multiple party members can equip the same sub-Job.  This means that, if you want, you can have a full party who all share a particular Job! (Not sure I fully understand why you’d do that, but I’m sure there’s some crazy build that takes advantage of it.) The guildmasters also each mention a legendary weapon (though one is armor and one is an accessory) associated with their Job, with a hint or two on where to find them, providing some tantalizing mysteries for you to chase if you feel so inclined.  On top of that, though, those hidden caves still exist, and visiting them with the right Traveler in your party will grant them an EX Skill: powerful techniques that are entirely unique to each character!  This and Latent Powers make the individual characters stand out more, whereas in the first game the only thing differentiating characters was their Talent (which is still a thing here), and those only had so much impact on their own; the discovery didn’t feel quite as odd either, though maybe that’s just because I somehow never had the right Traveler on me when I first found them and had to make special trips. (Barring my starter, of course, since they’re locked in your party until you clear their story.) Each character also has a second EX Skill earned by completing their storyline, several of which are integral to that story’s climax, giving you a nice tangible gameplay reward for your narrative accomplishments.

Before finding any of the guilds, however, very early on I came across someone who gave me the new Inventor Job.  I’m all for seeing the Job roster expand, and Inventor works quite differently from the norm: for one, its skills don’t cost SP.  You can use each for free once, but after that, you need to take one or more turns to repair the invention used in the skill before you can use it again.  Additionally, Inventor does not use JP at all.  Instead, completing various fetch quests for the Inventor NPC lets him build new gadgets which you then gain as skills, and getting several of these unlock Support Skills (for everybody at once!) as with normal Job progression.  It’s a very experimental Job, and I like that…though, it was some time before I went back to check what the actual fetch quests were.  The total number of Jobs in this game is still 12, but the 4 secret Jobs from the first game are gone (though you can still feel their influence), replaced with Inventor and 3 new secret Jobs.  Armsmaster is this game’s Warmaster, letting you equip every type of weapon, but it works similarly to Inventor in that it does not utilize JP to unlock new skills.  There are six “rusty” weapons hidden around Solistia, and by bringing them to a certain NPC they will be reforged and unlock a new Armsmaster skill…though said skill can only be used when equipped with that specific once-rusty weapon.  That may sound restrictive, but even an incomplete Armsmaster is a force to be reckoned with, so something had to be done to balance it.  There’s also the Conjurer Job, which is the only one that requires you to fight a secret boss to earn the old-fashioned way.  It’s an interesting mix of Runelord and Starseer, with only four elemental runes (fire, ice, lightning, wind), but applying them to the entire party with a single application of the spell, no Transfer Rune required.  I love me some element-imbued weaponry, but I would still personally prefer if attacks were made dual-type rather than adding a single elemental hit. (Though this does feel a bit moot since Octopath II gives you a surprising number of ways to reduce shield points regardless of weakness.) Finally, there’s Arcanist, which is…interesting.  What immediately drew my attention are its AoE Darkness and Light skills that restore HP or SP (respectively) to the entire party.  The rest of its skills seem to mainly deal with buffs and debuffs, like it’s the other half of the Starseer Job.  I think I need more time with this one.

Overworld travel is largely unchanged, with the significant addition of travel by water.  This comes in two forms, the first being a handy canoe characters will board anytime you step off the small docks found in many (most?) maps in the game.  For the second…after completing a certain sidequest, you get your very own ship to sail the sea between Solistia’s two continents!  Various treasure chests float here and there (including one with a remarkably powerful axe), and there are a handful of islands that can only be accessed this way.  It makes you feel…I dunno, more a master of the world around you, I guess?  A feeling like a mix of freedom and control.  It’s a simple addition when you get down to it, but something about it just feels so, so good.  There are also two optional sea monster bosses guarding yet more treasures and islands, including a relatively large chunk of ocean in the southeast of the map with some very special locales to explore…just, be prepared for anything.  Also may be worth noting that the ship is required to finish Partitio’s story: his chapter 4 is on one of those exclusive islands, though I would recommend getting it before his chapter 3.  You’ll see why.

The day/night cycle is an interesting new system.  After clearing your starting character’s chapter 1, you gain the ability to switch between day and night pretty much any time you want by pressing a button.  The shift is immediate and smooth—you don’t even have to stop in place to do it (though the Switch may hiccup if you change it while moving).  Some NPCs will move around, some only being available during a specific time of day, forcing you to carefully consider the Path Actions you’re able to use on them.  You see, a character’s Path Action now depends on whether it’s day or night.  Hikari can Challenge people during the day, but at night, he can instead Bribe them to acquire information at the cost of some money.  Paritio can Purchase their items during the day, but at night, he can Hire them to get an ally he can summon in battle.  These mostly fall into the familiar categories of getting either a fight, an ally, an item, or some information, but there’s decent enough variety in how you can approach getting those things.  Some actions even give you two at once!  More uniquely, Throné and Castti’s night Path Actions just knock NPCs out; this can move people who are blocking doors and such, usually achieved through Challenge or Provoke, though I suppose the advantage here is not needing to take the time to do a battle.  Options!  I think this does a fine job of expanding upon the Path Action mechanic, and it can be fun to see how a town changes between day and night.  Oh, and stronger monsters come out at night—this can be handy for grinding, especially combined with Throné and Temenos’s passive Talents which only activate at night, buffing the entire party and debuffing all enemies respectively.  I think my favorite implementation is one particular dungeon built so that half of the layout is totally obscured during the day, and the other half is totally obscured during the night, forcing you to switch back and forth several times to fully explore it.  It’s creative, and something that truly can only be done with the mechanic’s quick swapping of the two time periods.

The story structure has been changed up a bit as well.  In the first Octopath, each character has 4 chapters.  In Octopath II, certain characters will have multiple “chapter 2” or “chapter 3” scenarios, and others have a chapter 5.  In the case of Throné, she has a ch2 and ch3 where she hunts down Mother, and a ch2 and ch3 where she hunts down Father.  Ochette has three ch2 scenarios in which she seeks out the three Creatures of Legend, then ends her story with a ch3 scenario.  Technically, this means you can do the scenarios with the same chapter number in whichever order you want…buuut, each scenario still has its own recommended level, and they can be wildly different.  Like, you could take Ochette north to find Glacis right away, but that’s intended for a character leveled into the thirties, as opposed to the more accessible Cateracta scenario that only expects you to be in the teens.  Kind of a bummer, though I don’t personally feel it impacted my approach all that much.  It certainly keeps things interesting, and can make it feel like each character gets more content this time around, which is nice.  Still, it’s odd that they level-scale the overworld areas as you progress through the game yet not the actual story scenarios, so I imagine this will be changed if we get an Octopath III.  Also some chapters don’t have bosses and are more or less just there for story, which…you know, I put a lot of value on narrative, I can get behind this sort of thing.  But when they still have high recommended levels and I make preparations only to meet little resistance if any, it makes me wish I knew ahead of time which scenarios had this distinction.  Well, they tend to be narratively fulfilling, at least, though I’m still kinda baffled by just how short Osvald’s ch2 is.

Aside from main stories, side stories return in much the same capacity.  Additionally, once you get Partitio in the party, a few more waypoints will pop up across the map where he’ll find someone to assist, invest in, and/or buy from—they feel a little different from your standard side-quest due to actually focusing on Partitio, and I will always take more Partitio content. (Plus these all unlock neat extra features, like that ship!) The most anticipated extra stories, however, are the “Crossed Paths” that involve two of the Travelers working together to achieve a goal with fully-voiced interactions.  You need to clear a few chapters with the relevant characters first, but then you’ll get a pop-up that you’ve unlocked one of them, and you can find it added to your map.  These remind me just a bit of those multi-part sidequests in the first game, where one NPC in each region of Orsterra went on their own journey that required your help every now and then.  Crossed Paths are a bit limited, four paths that each have two parts, but are fully fleshed out scenarios with voice acting and relevance to the True Final Scenario, and the dynamics they build between the featured pairs are fun to watch unfold.  They have real weight and purpose, making this approach far superior.

Brief impressions of each Traveler/storyline: -Ochette: Big Tressa vibes.  They sure do emphasize how much she loves food, but I guess I’m neutral on that.  She brings a lot of fun changes to the Hunter story: choosing your animal companion, tracking down legendary creatures, being able to turn your unwanted captures into food, and auto-capture made me actually change up my roster.  I’m only half-joking when I say this is the Pokemon spinoff we need. (Fuck that final boss though, using a move that brings a character to 1 HP and then immediately getting another turn, fuck that noise.) -Castti: Kind and helpful in a matter-of-fact sort of way I can appreciate.  Also has battle cries like “No mercy, only pain!” and there’s a travel banter where she tells Paritio they fucked after getting blackout drunk.  She has range is what I’m saying.  I also appreciate that they didn’t lean too hard on her amnesia, letting her early chapters tell their own worthwhile stories.  Her story’s villain is…not the most enthralling take on a nihilist, but he’s functional.  And the ending has some fantastic utilization of her Path Action and even her in-battle Talent! -Temenos: He’s hard to read, but entertaining to watch.  There’s something implicitly uncomfortable with one of his Path Actions being “church inquisitor beats information out of people”, though.  I think his character development was well-paced, gradually revealing more insight into who he is and why he does what he does, and I ended up rather fond of the guy.  As for his plot, while there is some focus on corruption in the church and that’s interesting to see, the path’s villain being a secret heretic trying to summon a dark god greatly undercuts it, and feels notably familiar to Ophilia’s story. -Osvald: Also difficult to form a solid opinion of, though for different reasons.  In travel banter and other low-stakes scenes, Osvald is comically stoic and blunt, but when it comes to his story, he radiates sheer dread and is prone to loud shouting.  It feels like there’s a weird split in his character, though this is somewhat bridged by his reaction to a certain plot twist late in his story.  I think how balanced he feels as a whole is going to depend on the player’s own interpretation.  Story-wise, his motivation is clear and easy to get behind, has a very unique start, and hooks you quickly with some interesting worldbuilding…though, I do feel his villain may be just a touch too over the top, and what I was expecting from something called “the One True Magic” is far removed from what I expect from something called “the Seventh Source”.  So I guess I’m a bit mixed overall? -Partitio: My guy!  He kicks the shit outta landlords, he wants to eliminate poverty from the world, and his style is phenomenal!  Partitio’s incredibly lovable, and his story and philosophy are extremely cathartic at times.  Also he fights a train!  That has a gun!  Could only be better if he was able to supplex it. -Agnea: Something about her is just adorable in a way I wasn’t entirely prepared for.  While Ochette definitely inherited the vibes of Tressa, Agnea’s the one who has the most similar story to her.  It’s a fun, low-stakes romp around the map with the added emotional layer of Agnea’s dancing making her feel closer to her departed mother (and her learning a bit more about her along the way).  I, uh…never could bring myself to sell her purse full of savings. -Throné: Feels like Primrose 2.0 in a lot of ways, though that’s not a bad thing.  I will say it’s more effective to let us see her make her initial vow of revenge during ch1.  I like her, and I like a good chunk of her story…until the plot twists begin to pile up near the end.  The scene after fighting Father is far less nuanced than it was trying to be, and while I can understand wanting to have a single final chapter, I’m not convinced “you have to go find your REAL father” is the best way to do it.  Then her ch4 scenario takes it in a way that’s unprecedentedly bizarre for Throné’s story, and we’re left being asked to feel bittersweet at the end.  It just…it didn’t land for me. -Hikari: This boy is an anime protag (affectionate).  His story was very straight-forward but that wasn’t a problem for me. (Though I do wonder if every Octopath Warrior is going to have a tournament arc for their ch2 scenario, like they’re both good but…) If you want a classic JRPG story, Hikari’s your man.

After clearing all 8 main paths, and both parts of every Crossed Paths, you then unlock this game’s True Final Scenario.  And this time…it’s an actual scenario, with voices and everything!  All 8 Travelers in one place, talking to each other about their goals and shit and going on one final journey together.  It has way more heft than the comparatively barebones approach taken with Kit’s story.  Everything actually builds towards this resolution, and I enjoyed spotting the various connections along the way, wondering what it all meant.  Overall, it was a fantastic way to cap off the game’s narrative!  However, I do have some points of critique.  Firstly, some of the individual paths noticeably withhold certain information so that it can be revealed during this segment—this can make the endings of those paths feel a bit incomplete.  The one that stands out to me is that the only way to find out what exactly made Castti’s main villain become a villain is by picking up and reading a journal during the final scenario.  When the event that triggered a massive shift in a character is only vaguely alluded to in the confines of that story path, you have a problem.  Secondly, since this story involves a secret order pulling the strings behind everything, it perhaps necessarily involves multiple twist villain reveals, which can be contentious.  From what I’ve seen there are two in particular who players feel blindsided by, and I do agree with one of them; with the other, the first time I met her I noticed a very small hint that made me suspicious of her, so I was pleased to see I was right (in part).  And thirdly…one of the members of this secret order, one who is talked up a bunch and is a major driving force behind one of the main paths, only ever actually appears in one flashback.  That’s it.  They even withhold her real name until then like it’s some kind of reveal, and I don’t understand why.  It feels like such a HUGE missed opportunity.

But, again: taken as a whole, I really, really like the final scenario.  You can change your party from the main menu once you start it!  The icon on the loading screen subtly changes as you get closer to unlocking it!  The key members of the evil secret order also have initials that spell out OCTOPATH!  The True Final Boss involves your entire party, and in a different way than Galdera did!  And there’s an epilogue segment that brings back, like, EVERYONE you’ve met on your travels, and…man, it’s so good.  I cried a little.

Anyways yeah, play Octopath Traveler II!  Now to do those other sidequests…

Miscellaneous things: -Caits are back, but they also added a similar monster which is a dapper-looking octopus fellow named “Octopuff Traveler” and that is just self-referential enough to be hilarious to me -The random occurrence of maps being blanketed by shadow with ominous music until you fight a warped variant of an enemy and things inexplicably go back to normal was something that scared the absolute shit out of me the first time I saw it.  I fucking love it. -The first Octopath teased us by only having a single boss where he and the corresponding Traveler had voiced dialogue in the middle of the fight.  Seems they realized this was rad as hell because there’s a BUNCH more of it here! -You remember Mikk and Makk?  Tressa’s ch1 bosses, came back in her ch3 scenario?  They’re here as lackeys for one of Castti’s bosses now. (They even have in-battle voiced lines!) So I guess this means these mooks are gonna be recurring should the series continue!  Can’t say I feel strongly about it, but I did laugh when they were introduced. (wait does that mean we get a Gilgamesh equivalent too when do we get our Gilga—) -I feel like I had to grind a lot more this time.  Is that just me? -They successfully faked me out making me think Al was tied to the True Final Scenario, I appreciate the misdirect.  I’m…I guess a little mixed on the way he sort of forces a connection to the first game, but it being purely optional makes it far more agreeable. -Partitio is Best Boy.  As for Best Girl…it’s close, very close, but I think I’m gonna go with Castti.

[laraphleb]

Unlock Your Future: Exciting Phlebotomy Jobs in Amarillo, TX Await You!

Unlock Your��� Future: Exciting Phlebotomy Jobs in Amarillo, TX Await You!

If you’re considering a rewarding career in the healthcare sector, look no further than phlebotomy! With an ever-growing demand for skilled​ phlebotomists,⁤ especially in areas like Amarillo, Texas, this profession is not only fulfilling but also offers⁤ numerous job opportunities. In this article, we will explore the exciting phlebotomy jobs‍ available⁣ in Amarillo, the benefits of working in this field, and practical tips for getting started. So, let’s dive in!

The Demand for ​Phlebotomists in Amarillo, TX

Amarillo, TX, is experiencing a surge in healthcare employment, and phlebotomy is no exception. As medical facilities strive​ to enhance patient care, the need for qualified professionals to handle blood sample collections has grown. Below are some key factors contributing to the demand:

Aging Population: As the population ages, there is an increased need for healthcare services, including blood testing.

Advancements in‍ Medical Technology: Enhanced diagnostic tools require skilled phlebotomists ‌to collect samples accurately.

Expanding Healthcare Facilities: New clinics and hospitals are‍ continually opening, creating more job opportunities.

Phlebotomy Job Opportunities in Amarillo

There are various settings where phlebotomists can find employment in Amarillo, including:

Hospitals (e.g., Northwest Texas Healthcare System)

Clinics ​and ⁢Urgent Care Centers

Blood Donation Centers (e.g., United Blood Services)

Laboratories

Benefits of a Career in Phlebotomy

Choosing a career in phlebotomy offers‍ numerous advantages:

Job Stability: The healthcare field is continuously growing, ensuring‌ job security.

Short Training‍ Period: Training programs for phlebotomy usually range from a ‌few weeks to several months.

Competitive ‌Salary: ⁣ Phlebotomists can earn attractive ​salaries along ‌with ⁢benefits.

Opportunities for Advancement: With experience, phlebotomists can move into supervisory or specialized roles.

How to Become a Phlebotomist in Amarillo

Becoming a phlebotomist involves⁢ several straightforward⁤ steps:

Complete a ⁤Phlebotomy Training Program: Enroll in a state-approved training program.

Obtain Certification: Earning certification from organizations like the American Society‌ for Clinical Pathology (ASCP) is crucial for job prospects.

Gain Practical Experience: Completing internships or clinical rotations will provide hands-on experience.

Apply​ for Jobs: Begin applying ⁤to available positions in Amarillo’s healthcare‌ institutions.

Training Programs in ‍Amarillo

Several local institutions offer phlebotomy‌ training programs, ⁤such as:

Institution

Program Length

Certification ​Offered

Amarillo College

12 weeks

National Certification

Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center

6 weeks

ASCP Certification

Southern Careers Institute

8 weeks

NHA Certification

Real-life Success Stories

Hearing from those who have walked the path can be inspiring. Here are two first-hand experiences from phlebotomists in Amarillo:

Case Study 1: Sarah’s ⁣Journey

After completing her certification at Amarillo College, Sarah ‍quickly found a​ job at a local hospital. “I love how my work directly impacts patient ‍care. Each day is different, and I feel fulfilled knowing I’m helping others,” she says.

Case Study 2: ⁤John’s Advancement

John started as ⁣a phlebotomist after completing his training. Within‌ three years, he was promoted ⁣to a supervisory position. “The healthcare field offers immense⁤ growth opportunities, and‌ I’ve been ⁣able to expand my skills and knowledge tremendously,”‍ he shares.

Practical Tips ⁣for Aspiring ‌Phlebotomists

Here are some helpful tips⁤ to help you thrive in the phlebotomy field:

Practice Your ‍Skills: Use practice kits to improve your venipuncture techniques.

Build Communication Skills: Being able ‌to ‌explain ‍procedures helps ease ⁣patient anxiety.

Stay Updated: Attend workshops and conferences ⁤to keep abreast⁣ of the latest​ practices and technologies.

Conclusion

Phlebotomy offers an exciting career path with ample job opportunities in ⁣Amarillo, TX. As healthcare continues to evolve, skilled phlebotomists​ play a vital role in patient care and medical diagnosis. With the right training, certification, and determination, you ⁤can unlock a rewarding future in this thriving profession. Don’t hesitate — start exploring phlebotomy jobs in Amarillo today,⁣ and take​ the first ​step toward a​ fulfilling career in healthcare!

https://phlebotomycareertraining.net/unlock-your-future-exciting-phlebotomy-jobs-in-amarillo-tx-await-you/

[stellaphlebotomist]

Leading Weekend Phlebotomy Jobs to Boost Your Income and Skills

In today’s‌ competitive job⁣ market, having a range of skills can significantly boost your income and career prospects. One​ such skill that is in high demand is phlebotomy – the process of drawing blood from patients for medical testing, transfusions, donations, or ⁤research. Phlebotomy jobs are ⁣not only lucrative but also offer excellent opportunities for personal⁢ and professional growth.

If you’re looking to enhance your income and expand your skill set, ⁣taking on⁣ weekend phlebotomy jobs could be a smart move. Not only will⁤ you be able to earn extra money,⁣ but you will also ⁤gain valuable experience that can open up new doors in the healthcare industry. In this article, we’ll explore some of the top weekend phlebotomy jobs that can help you boost‌ your income and skills.

### Benefits of Weekend Phlebotomy Jobs:

Before we dive into the top weekend phlebotomy ⁤jobs, let’s first take a⁤ look at some⁤ of the benefits of pursuing this career path:

– **Increased Income**: Weekend phlebotomy jobs can provide‌ you with a reliable source of additional income. – **Flexible Schedule**: Working on weekends allows you to balance ​your job with other commitments‌ during the week. – **Skill Development**: Phlebotomy jobs can help you develop essential skills such ⁤as attention to detail,⁤ communication,⁢ and patient care. – **Career Advancement**: Gaining experience in phlebotomy can open up opportunities for career advancement in the ‍healthcare industry.

Now, let’s explore some of the top weekend phlebotomy jobs‍ that you can consider:

### 1. Weekend Phlebotomist‍ at ⁣a Hospital:

Working as a ‌weekend phlebotomist ⁢at a hospital⁤ is ​a great​ way to gain⁣ valuable experience in a fast-paced healthcare environment. Hospitals often require phlebotomists to work on weekends to ensure that patients receive timely blood tests and treatments. This job can be particularly rewarding as you’ll have the opportunity‍ to ‍interact ‍with a diverse range of patients and healthcare professionals.

| Hospital Weekend Phlebotomist⁤ | | — | | Responsibilities: | – Draw blood from patients for various medical tests. – Label and process blood ​samples accurately. – Ensure patient ‌comfort and safety. | ‌Requirements: | – Certification in phlebotomy. – Excellent communication skills. – Ability to work well under pressure.

###⁢ 2. Mobile⁤ Phlebotomy Services:

Another option to consider is⁢ working for a mobile phlebotomy service that provides on-site blood ‍draw services to ​patients in ​their homes or ⁢workplaces. ⁢This job can‍ offer a great ⁤deal of flexibility as you’ll be able to choose your own hours and locations to work.‌ Mobile phlebotomy⁤ services are in high demand, especially for elderly or⁤ disabled patients who may have difficulty traveling to a clinic for blood tests.

| Mobile Phlebotomist | | — | | Responsibilities: | – Travel to patients’ homes or workplaces to draw blood. – Follow proper procedures‍ for‌ sample collection and transport. -‌ Maintain patient confidentiality and ‌professionalism. | Requirements: | – Valid‍ driver’s license and reliable transportation. – Phlebotomy certification. – Excellent customer service skills.

### 3.⁢ Plasma Donation Centers:

Working ⁤at a plasma donation center on⁣ weekends can⁣ be a rewarding experience both⁣ financially⁤ and personally. Plasma donation centers⁣ rely on phlebotomists to collect plasma from donors, which is ⁢used to create ⁤life-saving medications for patients with various medical conditions. ‌This job can offer a‍ unique⁢ opportunity to make a difference ​in people’s lives while honing your phlebotomy ​skills.

| Plasma Donation Center Phlebotomist | | — | | Responsibilities: | – Collect plasma ‍donations from donors. – Monitor donor safety and well-being during the ⁢donation ‍process. – Adhere ‍to strict guidelines for handling and processing ‍plasma samples. | Requirements: | – Phlebotomy certification. – Knowledge of donor screening procedures. – Ability to work independently and follow safety ⁢protocols.

### Conclusion:

pursuing weekend phlebotomy jobs can ‌be a ‌lucrative way to boost your income and enhance your skills in the healthcare industry. Whether you choose to work at a hospital, a⁢ mobile phlebotomy service, ⁣or a plasma ⁢donation center, there are plenty‍ of opportunities to grow and succeed in this field. By gaining experience in ⁤phlebotomy, you’ll not only increase your earning potential but ‍also make ‌meaningful contributions to patient ⁤care and medical research.

So, ‌if you’re⁣ looking to take your career to‍ the ⁢next ⁤level and gain⁣ valuable experience ⁤in phlebotomy, consider exploring these top weekend phlebotomy jobs.‌ With the⁣ right ⁤training,⁣ certification, and dedication, you can set yourself up for a successful and rewarding career in the ‍healthcare industry.

https://phlebotomytechnicianprogram.org/leading-weekend-phlebotomy-jobs-to-boost-your-income-and-skills/

[full-potential]

Realizing Your Full Potential: From Safety to Expansion

Realizing Your Full Potential: From Safety to Expansion Embarking on a journey to realize your full potential is both exciting and challenging. It requires careful planning, organization, and a clear understanding of your goals. Here’s how I’m organizing my path from where I am to where I’m supposed to be, and how you can do the same. - Establish a Solid Foundation Safety and SurvivalThe first step in realizing your potential is ensuring your basic needs are met. This includes securing your financial stability, maintaining good health, and having a safe place to live. These are the building blocks upon which everything else is built. Clarity and PlanningWith your basic needs secured, the next step is gaining clarity. This involves identifying what you want to achieve and developing a clear plan to get there. Tools like Google Sheets can help keep everything organized and actionable. - Organize and Systematize Centralized SystemCreating a centralized system for organizing your tasks, goals, and resources is crucial. A project management tool or a detailed Google Sheet can serve as your central hub, ensuring you have a clear overview of everything that needs to be done. Categorize TasksDivide your tasks into categories such as safety, clarity, growth, and fun. This helps ensure that all areas of your life are balanced and nothing is overlooked. - Focus on Key Areas SafetyEnsure your base is secure by covering essentials like finances, health, and security. This stability provides the confidence to pursue further growth. ClarityRegularly review and update your plans. Make sure you’ve thought through potential challenges and solutions. Clarity often comes from knowing you’ve considered everything that could go wrong and how to handle it. GrowthIdentify areas for personal and professional development. Set specific, measurable goals and track your progress. This continuous improvement leads to the most happiness and fulfillment. Love, Fun, and AdventureIncorporate activities that bring joy and fulfillment. Balancing work and play maintains motivation and happiness, making the journey enjoyable. - Develop a Routine Daily and Weekly ReviewsSet aside time to review your progress, update your plans, and reflect on what’s working and what’s not. This regular check-in helps keep you on track and allows for adjustments. Action ItemsFocus on actionable tasks that move you closer to your goals. Keep a to-do list and prioritize tasks based on importance and urgency. - Expand Systematically Help OthersOnce your base is solid, begin helping others by sharing your system and strategies. Create templates and guides they can use, fostering a supportive community. Resource ManagementOrganize resources such as time, money, and skills efficiently. Leveraging tools and technologies can streamline processes, making growth manageable. - Maintain Flexibility Adapt and ImproveStay flexible and open to change. As you learn and grow, refine your system to better meet your needs and the needs of others. This adaptability ensures long-term success. Feedback LoopSeek feedback from those you are helping and make adjustments to improve the system continuously. This iterative process keeps the system effective and relevant. - Documentation and Sharing Blog and ShareDocument your journey and share your insights through your blog. This not only helps others but also reinforces your own learning and growth. Community BuildingBuild a community around your blog where people can share their experiences and support each other. This collective effort enhances everyone’s potential. Sample Google Sheet Structure Tabs: • Dashboard: Overview of key metrics and progress. • Tasks: List of tasks categorized by priority. • Goals: Short-term and long-term goals with deadlines. • Resources: Inventory of resources available and needed. • Progress: Track progress on specific projects and goals. Columns: • Task Name: Description of the task. • Category: Safety, Clarity, Growth, Fun. • Priority: High, Medium, Low. • Due Date: Deadline for the task. • Status: Not Started, In Progress, Completed. By following these steps and maintaining a structured yet flexible approach, you can systematically move from a state of safety and survival to one of growth and expansion. This method will help you and others thrive, ensuring that you are always progressing toward your goals with clarity and purpose. This approach not only sets you on a path to realizing your own potential but also equips you with the tools and mindset to help others on their journeys. Remember, the key is to start with a solid foundation, stay organized, and be adaptable as you grow and expand. Read the full article

[solarrush]

FNAF AU: Song for a Siren Chapter 1: Welcome Aboard!

Word count: ~5350  (Temporarily posting chapters below the cut until my AO3 is up and running. Please don’t repost this story elsewhere!)

Song for a Siren; Chapter 1: Welcome Aboard!

Just one drop of blood contains billions of strands of DNA — the building blocks of life! It’s a blueprint for building a living thing. As our world faces the extinction of millions of species, the need for new, radical ideas to save those species has grown. That’s where our Faz Researchers step in. 

Using sophisticated technology, our team of scientists have collected and stored tens of thousands of samples from species great and small. Our geneticists teamed up with other like-minded partners across the world to create the first successful clones of endangered species. Through careful planning, animals that faced rapid population decreases, like salmon, would be boosted exponentially over several seasons, improving the overall health of local ecosystems. 

Now, Faz Corp’s vision to advocate and educate future generations on our planet’s most important resource — our oceans — has led to the foundation of the Faz Aquarium and Research Center, or The ARC…

ARC? That seems a bit…pretentious. You can feel yourself going cross-eyed as you stared at the black box before you, distracted by its ancient appearance. For a job orientation you half expected a…well, honestly, a show of sorts. This was *the* Faz ARC you’d been hired at, after all; a place where a mad scientist’s dreams could come true. Creatures from children’s stories were brought to life here, for Pete’s sake. 

You’d been surprised when, instead of a grand presentation, your team lead wheeled in this little 90s TV on a rolling cart and popped the DVD in (at least it wasn’t a VHS, you supposed). 

Whatever. You weren’t here to be a part of the Research Team, not the cutting-edge one, anyway. Your job would be in the Children’s Education Center, teaching kids cool facts about the tide pools. 

Like how one defense mechanism of the sea cucumber is forcefully ejecting their internal organs out their ass. 

…Anyway.

You realize you’ve zoned out for a good portion of the orientation video at this point. Whoops. Hopefully nothing you couldn’t Wiki later. Correcting your slouched posture and giving a stretch, the sound of the break room door opening signaled the return of your team lead. 

“Alright, let’s get you your badge and uniform.” 

Vanessa gestured loosely for you to follow as she promptly turned right back around and walked out the door. You had to jog to catch up, matching her pace while soaking in your surroundings.

“Work day starts at 8:00am, make sure to clock in on time and take your breaks as scheduled. Your days end at 4:30, but there might be times you’re asked to swing shift.” She droned, handing over a paper bag with your name scrawled across the top and two outfits within. A badge is activated at the employee check-in desk and snapped to a lanyard, which you take and slip over your head. Keys on a loop are handed over last, snapped to your belt loop for safe keeping.

Exiting the employee building takes you out into the main park where families were already bustling about. The ARC was a massive campus sectioned off into three areas: the public aquarium, the research centers and a restricted zone where only upper management had access. 

The entire campus criss-crossed with eco-friendly, recycled terrain paths and large gardens of native flora. As the name suggested, much of the architecture of surrounding buildings had a vaguely ship-like appearance; abstract enough to go unnoticed by most, but a wink-wink nudge-nudge for those who noticed. 

Down the grassy hill a crowd had begun to gather at the Faz ARC’s main attraction: the Faz Theater. It was nearly 10:00am, which meant the first show of the day was about to start. 

While their story might have started in conservation, what Faz was *really* known for was their “species ambassadors.” The ARC homed four of the only merfolk in the world, better recognized to the populace as the glamorous marvels of bio-engineering: Freddy, Roxy, Chica and Monty.

These merfolk were ambassadors for the species meticulously chosen for them and their purpose was to bring awareness to those species’ endangered status. How exactly the arguably “human” features came about wasn’t something Faz went about sharing, though. 

Following Vanessa down the stairs towards the back entrance of the theater, you’re welcomed by familiar smells and noises of your childhood. A popcorn cart fizzled and popped continuously, buttery goodness wafting out every time the glass door was opened. Greasy hotdogs and tooth-rotting cotton candy delighted and satisfied early-lunch cravings.

From the employee back stage path you could survey the dome’s full layout. Colorful murals depicting the four stars flowed across the walls, up-lit in blues, purples and green spotlights. Facts about the ocean and its inhabitants bubbled up beside the depictions of Faz’s merfolk, little kids hopped up on adrenaline spinning the circular sign installments with “did you know” trivia. Obligatory gift shop to the back left, already full of squabbling kids; bleachers surrounded the massive show tank in a half crescent, echoing with the metallic sounds of hundreds of feet taking a seat. 

“Wow…” You’re hit with a brief moment of nostalgia as you recalled begging your folks to see the merfolk perform. 

“Ya know, when I was a kid seeing this show was all anyone in my class talked about. Some of the older kids would compare stories or what mercy their folks got them. I was always so jealous,” you chuckle, smiling wistfully at the crowd of kids. Vanessa said nothing, sparing a brief glance your way but looking away in the next beat.

“Wasn’t till my tenth birthday did my folks take me to my first show. I couldn’t help but be absolutely captivated by the merfolk and the trainers they worked with.” Ever since then you were dead set on working at the aquarium when you were older. 

Each mer’s dedicated handler and trainer tended to their every need. A round-the-clock position, they oversaw the health both physical and mental of their mer. To the public it appeared to be all fun and games at their shows, not knowing just how much time and dedication the job really demanded. 

That didn’t deter you at all, however. Becoming a handler had always been the goal, and while you were starting small you were still one big step closer to that dream! 

Your gaze zeroed in on the handlers just below deck and did a double take when one appeared fairly shorter than the rest. 

“What’s that kid doing down there?” You ask before the brain-mouth filter kicked in. Vanessa barely glanced up from the tablet — when’d she grab that? — in her hands. 

“Gregory, our summer intern. He’s paired with Freddy.”

“I didn’t know Faz hired interns…”

“We don’t.”

You watched her type away, waiting for an explanation. When none came you cleared your throat. “So…what’s the deal?”

Vanessa gave a withering sigh through the nose before finally lowering the tablet and looking out at the intern. “Management noticed Freddy had taken a particular interest in the kid last summer. Freddy’s always been engaging and amiable with everyone he works with, but something clicked I guess with that kid.” Her face screwed tight momentarily. “Management likes to call it a ‘bond’ of sorts. They’re very interested. So…now we have an intern.”

Lucky bastard, you couldn’t help but think. The chances of that happening seemed a million to one. 

Wait.

Were you jealous of a teenager?

…..

Ok. Yeah, maybe. What, you could admit that to yourself, you were an adult after all!

Gregory appeared to be speaking and gesturing to Freddy, dwarfed almost comically by the mer whose rapt attention was only on the boy. Even when Gregory started walking towards the stairs that led up to the show platform Freddy’s shadow slowly followed along with lazy strokes of his shimmering tail.

You’d been so focused on the pair that the sudden and loud sound of the announcer’s voice over the intercom gave you a jolt. Vanessa merely cocked an eyebrow at you as you flashed a sheepish grin in return.

“Welcome, Faz Friends, to today’s first show at the ARC Theater!” A pause for cheers, background music bumps steadily growing in volume to feed the hype. The lights in the theater slowly dimmed until only the pool remained fully lit, glowing a mesmerizing teal. 

“We’re so glad you could visit us today! Our glamorous mer friends have a wonderful show for you they can’t wait to share!”

All at once the four mer leapt out of the water from the depths of the pool, delighting those in the crowd close enough to get caught in the resulting wave as they crashed back into the water. Colored lights danced over the rippling surface, bouncing off the shimmering scales of the mer as they swam in mesmerizing patterns before breaking apart. From above your perch the massive LED wall lit up with the show’s intro, the narration sounding similar to the orientation video you’d finished this morning.

Well, look at that. Seems you’ll be getting that show after all. 

Nice.

“Here at the Faz ARC, our work with these magnificent creatures provides valuable data for conservation efforts around the globe.”

As the narration droned on your gaze drifts to the handlers. Despite being in shadow you could make out how their black wet suits sported accent colors according to the mer they worked with. Even Gregory wore one, you realized. He stood beside the senior handler, nodding along while pulling treats from the nearby cooler and into the bucket they’d take up. Glancing about, the other handlers are doing the same thing. 

On cue, the handlers mounted their individual platforms and waited as the mer and handler introductions began. 

“Hi everybody!” A young woman with a ponytail of bright red curly hair stepped into the pink spotlight at her platform, waving to the crowd. Her wet suit screamed Chica with pink and green ribs, both patterned accordingly. “My name’s Alexi, and this is my wonderful friend Chica!” The crowd ooh’d at Chica’s twirling launch into the air, splashing the front row before returning to her spotlit platform. 

“Chica is our ambassador for several species of tropical fish and rays.” A sweeping gesture with one arm sends the white, pink and green mer out to swim the edge of the pool in a showy display. “Her tiger-like stripes and spotted scales make her captivating to watch, but also serve to help Chica blend into her surroundings.” 

You hum to yourself as you watch the pool become bathed in leopard-patterned spotlights, Chica’s form occasionally lost amongst the visual chaos. She was the second in popularity for the merfolk, appealing unsurprisingly to little girls in particular. 

The lights went out and the next platform lit up in pale purple. A young man grinned at his turn, fists planted on his hips. Unlike Alexi, his suit was a solid black and purple. “Hey, guys! My name’s Jax and this rockstar is Roxy!” One fist pumps the air in time with the gray and purple mer jumping into the air, drawing hoots and hollers from the crowd. “Roxy’s got the highest agility of the mer with her leopard seal and mako shark primary genetics. Check out how she maneuvers these obstacles in the blink of an eye!” 

A mechanical hum accompanied by a rush of bubbles from below revealed a version of Roxy’s course, the mer immediately darting through hoops and around pillars with precision. Roxy’s sea leopard face was certainly cute, but she had no qualms about flashing her sharp canines at the visitors who stood by the glass. 

You couldn’t help leaning forward over the railing just a bit as the next mer was introduced. His size alone was a marvel, and, quite frankly, Monty had to be the most badass of the crew.  His handler was petite in an all-black suit contrasted by their cropped, lime green hair.

“Hey folks, make some noise for the baddest mer on the block!” Their stance spread beneath the green spotlight as their arms opened wide, the crowd screaming in delight as Monty’s massive form rose from below and breached to his dorsal spines, intimidating maw snapping shut on morsel suspended from the ceiling. Splashing back into the water, Monty lazily swam back to his handler, swallowing the morsel whole. 

“I’m Jessie, and this big guy is my partner Monty! Monty’s size and thick scales are courtesy of his sturgeon DNA. You might recognize some of his traits as being similar to a mosasaur too — an ancient predator from oceans long gone.” 

Monty and Roxy definitely had the “danger” and “edgy” factor on their side, appealing largely to teenagers and young adults. You’re pretty sure Monty doesn’t have actual mosasaur DNA, but it’s still a very cool comparison. Crocodile seemed more likely. Although, you weren’t sure what they crossed him with to get that oil-slick green sheen over his scales. Eel or sea snake, you supposed. 

An energy had begun to grow in the crowd with each introduction, dripping with anticipation for the final mer. No surprise there, of course. 

Monty’s spotlight went out and at last came a beam of gold light on the fourth and final platform. The oldest handler stepped forward, smiling broadly. “We’re so thankful you all could join us in another celebration of our oceans. Now it’s time to meet our final member of the species ambassadors: Freddy!”

If you’d thought the crowd was loud before, you cringed when the screams doubled at the final mer’s introduction jump. 

Freddy looked exactly as you remembered him so many years ago, dazzling orange-gold scales accented by bolts of turquoise sparkling with every stroke of his tail. He was always the star of the show; second biggest of the four, his gentle-giant personality made him a hit for visitors of all ages hoping to have a close encounter (for a fee, of course). 

All mer now accounted for, the show could commence. While you half expected to be able to watch the dazzling show in its entirety, Vanessa was walking away from you.

“Oh, we’re not staying?”

“No, we have a lot to cover for your first day.” Came the blunt reply, your shoulders slumping minutely as you hurried after her back. 

Casting one last glance back at the show, you felt your resolve harden once more. One day that’d be you up there.

——

“Please don’t pick up the sea cucumber, he’ll puke his guts again and no one wants that,” The plea rolls off your tongue for the hundredth time today as you reach across the tide pool to gently brush away the grabby hands from poor cucumber Larry. 

It’d been a few weeks since you started working at the ARC as the “Tide Pool Guide” for visitors. All in all, about what you had been anticipating; demanding parents wanting their gremlin children pushed ahead of the others patiently waiting, other gremlins snatching hermit crabs from their pools and running off to “show their friends.” Larry was depending on you to prevent another repeat of the birthday kid trying to squeeze it like those water wigglers sold in the gift shop. 

There were only two mer-shows a day, one in the morning and one in the evening, so a good chunk of the day could be spent exploring the rest of the ARC. Which meant, in this case, a manic rush of kids high on mer-adrenaline flooding the interactive exhibits for a solid five or so hours. 

It could be worse, you suppose. You could be still working retail. This was your first big job out of college and damnit you were going to be an Adult™ and do it well. Armed with a plethora of SpongeBob references and fun (gross) facts about the critters you care for, you let yourself get lost in the children’s awe and wonder. 

“See this guy right here?” You wave your hand across the vision of several 8 year olds, directing their attention to the chunky pink starfish. “He’s growing back an arm ‘cause the original fell off,” you point towards some rocks beneath the surface not far away, “and now it’s going to become a new starfish!” 

A gasp to your right and you glance up at the little tike in a Freddy shirt. “Baby starfish!?”

“Yup! Wanna feel how bumpy they are?” Giggles answered as you took the child’s hand to gently pet the starfish. 

“Weird!” “I wanna touch too!” 

You watched with a smile as the kids took turns cautiously petting, some braver than others. Glancing over your shoulder you survey the rest of the tide pools. A few teenagers huddled together filming the sting rays, several visitors were watching the octopus tank and a handful more petting the anemones. This late in the day meant guests slowly started filtering out and wandered off in search of a bite to eat or planning on claiming their seats for the evening show. 

Glancing at your watch, a rush of relief hits you with the realization that soon enough you could close up and focus on your end-of-day routine. While every shift got easier and you slipped more comfortably into your kids “show” persona, getting some quiet time with the tide pool critters was a nice way to end the day. 

When that final call for the show chimed across the intercom you happily led guests out of the tunnel and hung up the chain.

“Not bad, shrimp.” Vanessa appeared from behind you, tapping on her tablet. 

“V, it was one time,” you whined, head dropping back against your shoulders. Almost eating shit after slipping on a shrimp earned you the nickname for the foreseeable future, apparently. 

“One’s all it takes,” came the smug reply, Vanessa glancing up from her screen to smirk. “Full house tonight. I’ll be with the others doing crowd control; you’re on meal prep for the Pools and Cove.” With a taunting wink, she turned and promptly disappeared into one of the tunnels leading out to the rest of the aquarium. 

For a beat you just stared where she’d been, grimacing at the thought of sticking your hands in the cold feed bins. Shivering, you shook the thought away and went about cleaning and locking up the exhibit. You had about an hour before clocking-out, lest the wrath of Faz-god fall upon you for not being on time, so you make quick work sweeping up wrappers, scraping up unnamed (gum? you hoped it was gum) substances from the floor and peeling stickers off the tank glass. 

Food prep always took you a hot minute, still learning the correct measurements and which supplements went to which inhabitant, so you wanted to maximize your time appropriately. Hoofing it back to the “kitchen” through the employee tunnel you run through your mental checklist. 

One drawback to doing meal prep was just how damn far it was from the Tide Pools. You practically went half way through the aquarium to get there and you rarely came across another team member during the trek this time of day. The occasional chatter from your walkie was a welcome comfort on the otherwise silent walk. 

A map caught your eye, easy to pass over tucked in between colorful posters and other employee notes. Peering closer, you skim the employee-only paths to the Tide Pools. The tunnel you were currently walking went out along the outer edge of the building, but according to this there was another route that cut through the Reef. 

Your brows furrow in consideration. The Reef had been a brief part of the orientation tour, more of a “there it is” than anything. You certainly didn’t recall taking a corridor down that way. Maybe you simply missed it?

Glancing at your watch, you decide that now wasn’t the time to stand and ponder the logic of the building’s maze of hallways. Taking a quick snap of the map with your phone, you hurried along to the kitchen. 

When you arrive you can’t help but sigh in relief to see Vanessa had actually already done some of the meal prep, laminated notes left behind for what still needed to be done. Not about to let this gesture go to waste, you're quick to pick up where she left off. 

Thanks to Vanessa’s head start you finish the prep in record time, snagging your feed bucket for the Tide Pool’s evening meal and booking it outta there. 

You must’ve taken a wrong turn, however, because now you’re in a hall you don’t recognize. 

“Uh…” You glance at your watch. 30 minutes till clock out. Calculations race through your head, figuring how reasonably fast you could dump the food in the tanks and head out. Taking the route you’d gone on your way here wouldn’t leave you enough time, but if you were to cut through this Reef area…well, the shortest distance between two points is straight, right?

Chewing your lip in indecision, you decide to pull up the map on your phone again and speed walk in the supposed direction of the Reef corridor. Familiar murals and tanks greeted you, but it wasn’t until you walked past a darkened hallway that you realized a “staff only” sign was hung up at the door. 

Ok, “door” was generous — it was more a pvc temporary door that had been covered in black vinyl and vague reef illustrations to blend into the rest of the murals on the wall. That must have been how you missed it the first time.

Feeling more confident that this would save you time, you fumble for your keys and unlock the door. 

“Holy crap it’s dark in here…” you slap your hand on the nearest wall, wet and cold, feeling along for the light switch. Stumbling over a few leftover boxes and whatever else, you sigh in frustration and instead pull out your phone once more and shine its flashlight around you. 

“Oh, weird…” These walls appeared to have a character you didn’t recognize on them — a mer with features similar to a leafy sea dragon or perhaps lionfish. None of the glam-mers had these kinds of features. “What is this…?” You slowly walk along the wall, shining your phone on reef facts and across fake coral installments. 

From the amount of materials and boxes strewn about, sporting a thin film of gunky dust, you’d think this part of the reef was shut down. But it didn’t take long to hear the hum of what must have been a significant filtration system, very much on and not at all offline. Having seen what decommissioned tanks looked like, and considering the illustrations, a strange sense of unease began to fill your chest.

“No personnel beyond this point…” You frown at the sign hanging from a chain cutting off your path. Up ahead plastic tarps hung from the walls, giving off very alien biohazard vibes. 

Was it technically trespassing if you worked there?

The sign’s fine print about hazards and construction ahead seemed reasonable. Surely the “no personnel” was just a warning for the general public…

Right? Besides, the aquarium map you found clearly showed cutting through here would lead you back to the tide pools faster than going around. Employees surely used to cut through here all the time before renovation. Shifting your feed-filled bucket to the other hand, you steel your nerves and step over the chain.

“Just don’t touch anything…it’ll be fine.” You attempt to reassure yourself, carefully maneuvering through the plastic curtains. 

It was only a tad darker than the rest of the aquarium, huge fish nets, more tools and random construction supplies scattered alongside the walls. The filtration system’s soft hum and your echoing footsteps were all you heard as you made your way through the winding tunnel. For an abandoned exhibit, you half expected the tanks to be empty. But the kelp fronds and small schools of fish said otherwise as you walked along the glass, the cool, damp room illuminated by the green-blue light of their lights. Jellyfish lazily floated up and over the glass tunnel you found yourself in, bringing you to a pause to watch their white and pink bodies drift by. 

The lights along the edge of these tanks may be on, but staring further into them revealed barely any light — natural or otherwise. 

“Creepy…” Shaking off the feeling, you focus back on the task at hand: feeding time and clocking out. Exiting the underwater tunnel brought you into what looked like a main viewing area, circular in shape and half of one wall essentially glass panels to observe what was held within.

You were almost at the end of the exhibit when a large shadow moved out of the corner of your eye, drawing you to a halt. Immediately your heart leapt to your throat, every muscle in your body holding perfectly still. 

For a long moment nothing moved. 

Then, through the misty, algae-covered glass a shape emerged out from behind a section of reef. At first, watching it move reminded you of a shark. But as it approached its frilled features came into focus.

“Holy shit…” The air was sucked right out of your lungs as you came face-to-face with big glowing eyes. Distantly you felt your watch buzz with a heart rate warning, but you were helpless to do anything but stare back at the creature before you. 

Merfolk might be the ARC’s main marketing angle, but as far as the public (or you) knew, only four lived here. Why was this one separated from the rest in a supposedly closed exhibit?

A soft thump startled you from your spiraling thoughts, focusing back on the creature in time to watch its webbed hand slide down from the glass. Were those scratch marks on the glass?

Without thinking, you placed your hand where theirs had been. The creature’s head tilts to the side ever so slightly, eyes unblinking and seemingly peering into your soul. A mutual curiosity kept you both close to the glass, barely more than a foot or two separating you from something that 10 minutes ago didn’t exist. 

“What….Who are you…?” Your voice sounds strange even to you, tongue thick and mouth uncomfortably dry. The mural from earlier flashes through your mind as you leaned close enough to fog the glass. “Another mer…”

The creature glided back at your advancement, but didn’t stray far. Its feather-like fins flared slowly on either side of its body, a proper display that could easily be interpreted as a threat. 

But you’re instead distracted by the display, both hands now on the glass. “Whoa. You’re the mer from the wall — the sea dragon lookin one. Yeah? Do you have a name? What are you doing here?” You frown as the mer tilted its head the opposite way, seeming to consider you. 

“Ah, hey, wait!” With a flick of its tail the mer turned away, swimming along the glass. You’d think it had lost interest in you if it weren’t for the fact that the mer clearly was glancing back to be sure you were following. 

Stumbling over your own feet and painfully knocking the feed bucket into your knee, you curse as you try to keep up. For the second time in your short career here you nearly ate shit on the stairs you definitely did not see in your distracted state. 

“Oh fu-!” Catching yourself on the railing, your gaze trails up the dark stairwell. “What the hell…” 

Your fishy companion wasn’t in the window anymore, but you could vaguely make out the end  fronds of their tail. Supposing there must be a second level (and you’ve come this far already) you make your way up. 

Pushing through a creaky wood door at the top, you step out onto the observation deck level. It reminded you of a larger-scale version of your tide pool — this floor was basically a huge donut with the tank taking up the center. A protective wire and plexiglass barrier circled the perimeter, tall enough to prevent little kids from falling in. Much like the ARC Theater, this room had educational illustrations on its colorful walls, now muted from dust and mold. Part of it was covered in more plastic tarp, and the wall sported strange gouges that cracked fake coral. 

Your hand brushes over the textured surface as you walk along the length of the room. Finally you came upon the sea dragon mer, taking in all its patterns and spines. “Wow…”

A splash from behind startles you from your thoughts, drawing your focus back to the water. From its surface you could just make out white eyes peering out at you, one fin crest drooped back from gravity. Against better judgment, you find your feet carrying you closer. 

“What are you doing here all alone?” 

The mer didn’t answer, but did glance (you think it did, anyway. It didn’t have pupils) at your bucket. 

“Oh! Are you hungry?” You reach in to grab a handful of smelt, holding it up for the mer to see. A sound like an alligator’s rumble meets your ears, and you can’t help your grin. “I guess the others can share, huh?” You toss the fish up and watch as the mer disappears briefly to snatch the morsels out of the water. 

Your smile fades as you begin to worry. When was the last time this mer was fed? Was anyone taking care of it? You’d seen no evidence of its existence anywhere. One would assume such an asset would be flaunted along with the other mer. 

Judging from the algae growth and just overall unkempt appearance of the exhibit, you weren’t so sure this mer had a handler. Actually, this place looked properly abandoned; posters ripped from the walls and random debris scattered across the floor, plastic tarps sectioning off half of the room from the rest and just an overall dreary vibe. A play area with foam fish and coral to climb had long since faded like the rest of the room. What was probably a gift shop looked like Black Friday gone wrong with its shattered glass doors and cracked display window. 

Wandering that way, you lean down to scoop up a plush from the floor. Its colors were long since muted from time, but you could make out its sunset stripes and sun ray-like head fins. Its big eyes and cat-like mouth screamed kid-friendly. Way more friendly than what was in the tank only a few yards away. 

“Ah, that’s kinda unfair…” you mumble to yourself, shaking your head. Obviously this mer was part of something more kid-oriented, perhaps even a daycare of sorts judging by the play area and registration desk nearby. 

Plush in-hand, you wander back to the tank and startle yet again to see the mer’s head poking out of the water entirely. It watched you in eerie silence, head fins seeming to flow ever so slight even in the open air. Like this, you’re reminded of the Teletubby Sun Baby and can’t help smiling at the creature.

“You remind me of a children’s cartoon sun, ya’know?” Its head tilts one way, then the other, fins flicking. “I’m gonna call you Sunny, ok?” Leaning down to your bucket, you pick up a couple more fish and toss them into the water. They’re gobbled up in seconds. “That cool?”

Sunny gave an indifferent sniff and disappeared back into the water. 

“Alrighty then, I’m gonna take that as a yes.” Pleased with yourself, your gaze falls to the plush in your hand. Perhaps you could take this home and wash it up? 

A buzzing from your watch flashed the 15 minute warning before you’d need to clock out, shocking you from your thoughts.

“Shit! I gotta go, uh, Sunny? I’ll come back tomorrow, ok? Bye!” You don’t look back to see if the mer heard you, racing down the stairs as fast as you dared and booking it down the hall with your bucket in tow. 

So much for saving you time!!

[princeescaluswords]

I see you are a huge fan of fics where Scott McCall dies. Don't worry! More content coming right up! ;)))

As a matter of fact I do enjoy fiction where Scott dies, so thank you very much.

Indeed, my first multi-chaptered Teen Wolf fanfiction, completed all in the way back in 2016 when I was new to both fandom and fanfiction and called Army of Ghosts, has Scott dying in the first chapter. He’s blown up in an ambush and then purposefully dismembered, and the rest of the story is an exploration of how Stiles copes with it. Hint: not well. It’s quite a dark story.

You see, there’s nothing wrong with Dark Fiction, by which I mean fiction which explores activities or events that are rejected as undesirable by modern society, in a way that centers the narratives on the activities or events in and of themselves, and not simply as obstacles for the protagonist to overcome. I believe that not only should these stories exist but they serve a valuable purpose when it comes to understanding the people around us.

My objection has always been to what I call Exploitative Fiction, by which I mean fiction which portrays activities or events that are rejected as undesirable by modern society, in a way that ignores context, consequences and even logic, with the end goal being to present those activities or events as positive experiences for a purpose not directly connected to the activity or event itself.

That’s wordy, isn’t it? Let me give you some examples then to help clarify. I consider it Exploitative Fiction when rape is presented as a step on the path to love, where physical coercion into the sexual act is seen as evidence of passion, but the consequences of employing violence as a shorthand for possessive desire are simply negated because the goal of the story is romantic rapture. I consider it Exploitative Fiction when a slave falls in love with their owner and they develop true feelings for each other, but they still exist within the same slave-owning society, yet the context of that relationship is ignored simply to produce the most intense version of you-and-me-against the world. I consider it Exploitative Fiction when writers create a fanfiction collection called 101 Ways to Kill Scott McCall, in which it is a safe bet that these aren’t explorations of how his death affects others but merely vessels for the unbridled rage of people furious that MTV decided to film a television show with a minority heroic protagonist as the lead.

The reaction to this caution is for individuals to purposefully confuse Dark Fiction and Exploitative Fiction, attempting to shift the argument by obscuring the difference. They employ the motte-and-bailey fallacy, where they point out that Exploitative Fiction is a form of Dark Fiction but choose to defend Dark Fiction, which isn' t the topic. In other words, when someone says “Hey, maybe you should be careful when sharing a story where a traumatized sixteen-year-old with abandonment issues enters into a relationship with a middle-aged millionaire white male serial killer, whose very presence will isolate the teenager from his family and friends, that you don’t present it as a flawless gateway to perfect happiness?” they respond with “You just want everything to be sunshine and rainbows and good triumphing over evil, you Puritan Scold!” and suddenly a person wondering why a story straight out of the discarded scripts of To Catch a Predator is being used as spank-bank material is labeled as Goody Chastity, Implacable Enemy of Joy and Sexy Fun.

“But PEW,” you say, “Isn’t this just your opinion?” And my reply is “Yes, it is my opinion, but it’s not just mine. Let’s talk about Kyle Rayner’s girlfriend.”

For those who don’t know, the term “fridging” came about from an issues of Green Lantern, where a supervillain killed Kyle Rayner’s girlfriend and stuffed her into a refrigerator for him to find. Whatever someone may think of that particular storyline, it started a conversation about female characters being killed as a function of a male character’s development. Having a supervillain brutally murder the loved one of a hero is pretty dark. It’s Dark Fiction. No one said that supervillains can’t murder or can’t murder certain people or that the hero can’t react to those murders. The complaint was that the female character existed solely to be murdered. Her only function in the story was to generate Kyle’s angst, to set up a situation where his character is explored. She was Exploited.

Why is this a big deal? Because it happens a lot, and not just in comic books. In television, in movies, in literature, women are often reduced in narrative function again and again to shortcuts for male character development. Better scholars than me have written about this exhaustively and pointed out how this fictional exploitation feeds into real-world exploitation (and vice-versa). It’s not hard to find a significant amount of public research.

So yeah, in posts like this one, I complain about Exploitative Fiction in the fandom community to which I belong. Because it doesn’t take a literary critic to read these stories and perceive that the goal of the story isn’t to explore the darkness in which Stiles and his killer boyfriend (whether that be Derek or Peter) murder his best friend, it’s the satisfaction of rage that their white favorites weren’t the focus of the show. Again, again, and again in humiliating, degrading detail Scott is murdered or maimed or stripped of power, in one-sided beat downs that follow no discernible internal rules but one: white male characters must win. It’s not about a power struggle or logical consequences, it’s about punishing a character for daring to be the lead, and it’s racist.

You know how I know that? Because I have never found a story where Stiles and Peter hunt down and murder Isaac Lahey for the crime of abandoning the Hale Pack, slandering Peter, or physically attacking Stiles twice. Because I have never found a story where ArchSpark Stiles tortures Jackson or strips him of his lycanthropy because he almost killed the Hales and his father, rejected Derek, and was forced to serve Gerard. Because I have found few stories where Stiles is murdered by Peter because he was plotting against him, and the evidence is that Stiles said mean things about him. It’s nine hundred and ninety times out of a thousand, it's Bad Alpha/Friend Scott, or if it’s not Scott, it’s Sinister Tree Wizard Deaton. And the sample size, my friends, is very large.

So no, I’m not against Dark Fiction. In my fiction, Scott has been killed, maimed, and imprisoned. (I’ve actually been accused of being obsessed with putting Scott in jail.) I’ve explored the consequences of these actions on Scott and the people around him, and it hasn’t always been a happy ending. I look forward to reading stories where he has endured terrible trauma. I’m reading one right now that I’m simply head-over-heels about. I just think that Exploitative Fiction needs to be addressed, head on, especially when it feeds fandom racism.

[forest-pack-pro-7-crack-g1]

Download Forest Pack Pro 7 crack (keygen) latest version NK9?

💾 ��►► DOWNLOAD FILE 🔥🔥🔥 Added support for V-Ray 6 stable version. Fixed rare crash using Point-cloud mode with GrowFX objects. Fixed crash with recent releases of Laubwerk Plants. Please download and install the Itoo Software License Server v1. New features and improvements Added support for 3DS Max Added support for Arnold 7. Previous Arnold versions are no longer supported. The target folder for 3DS Max and above can be customized in the installer. Support for silent installation to render nodes has been added. New field for Forest Lister: Stats. It shows the Forest build time. By default this field is hidden. You must add it from the Lister configuration. The match must be complete, not only for a part of the expression. The Distribution Map Channel is always set to 1 for new FP objects previously it would inherit the value of other FP objects in the scene. Now it just selects the object. Fixed rare crash getting internal statistics. Fixed: Forest Color no longer working on non Forest objects. Assigns a specific item, matching the name of the referenced object with the names of the Geometry list. Uppercase and Lowercase are equivalent case insensitive rule. If there are multiple matches, a random Geometry from the matching items is assigned. If none matches, the first Geometry in the list is assigned. Support for 3DS Max groups is rewritten from scratch. Random Rotation rotates the item using its pivot, not the group pivot. Same when the item is placed over a surface. Also, items are excluded individually for camera clipping, exclude areas, etc. If your existing scenes using groups are misaligned, please align the group pivot properly usually moving Z to its base. Added support for VRayVolumeGrid objects. Added support for native light instancing in V-Ray. Requires V-Ray 5. Now they are stored internally. Billboards are now limited to simple planes one to four faces. Other models are removed. If templates already exist in the layer i. Added compatibility with Arnold 7. You can upgrade to the latest release from here When Forest is not compatible with the current Arnold version, a warning message will be displayed. Restored the Camera parameter. When empty, the Camera is taken automatically from render view, as before. Distribution by Path uses path direction for Random Translation, instead of translating the item on XY plane. This is more efficient in recent Max releases. Added support for non-geometric objects to Library Browser. Fixed issues with scaled Custom Objects. Fixed: VRayCryptomatte renders Forest objects in black colour. Fixed: colours generated by Forest Color are not consistent when scattering lights. Fixed Maxscript security error when closing Optimize Material dialog. Fixed rare crash cleaning the Forest template layer, when the scene is saved. There are several things you need to know, depending on the render engine you use. Items are scattered as in frame 0. Other engines may be supported in the future. When enabled, the object is handled as a non-geometric object. Forest will try to instance it keeping the original format, instead getting a mesh. For many objects this is not necessary and Forest will detect the correct format automatically. The effects can be disabled for specific textures by turning off Apply Color Correction in a Forest Colour map. Two types are available, linear presets that distribute hedges along a spline, and Topiary presets that use a surface to create bushes of any shape. New Stumps Library of 40 photoscanned assets. Optimised presets are also included for scattering over large areas. The3DGarden samples are now integrated into Forest Pack, creating a free and growing collection of high-quality plants. Animation Animation modes are now supported in Corona. Scattering over animated UV Surfaces is improved to generate a more consistent result during the animation. Real time Supported by Unreal Datasmith. Supported by Project Lavina. Unity compatible, export through new Forest Tools options and import to Unity using a new experimental plugin package available by clicking here. Using References Reference mode has been improved with the following features: Multiple Items per face. The ability to randomise each items position on the marker. The ability to filter markers by material ID. When enabled, a single Forest rollout is open at time. Opening one rollout collapses the others. For 3DS Max and earlier, this feature works only clicking the rollout title, not using the contextual rollouts menu. Custom Edit mode is removed. The Geometry List can be populated from scene selection first select objects in the scene, next create Forest object. If there are items selected both in a library and the scene, the library has priority. Two new ways to add items to the geometry list based on a scene selection. When creating a new Forest Object: Select items from the scene. Go to the Create panel and click to create a Forest Object. Create a Forest Object as normal. Select objects from the scene. Reselect the Forest object. Turn off Pin Stack. Also, the Pick button is enabled automatically when a new item is added. Camera rollout is reorganized and simplified. To improve viewport performance, Camera features are disabled on viewport by default. Fixed issues with Batch render when rendering from different cameras. Library Browser The library Browser has been rewritten from the ground up to make it easier to develop new features in the future. This initial release adds the following improvements. Material Library and Max scene is generated automatically. Assets can be collected to a maps folder. Added toolbar option to open Library Browser. Improved search that finds matching items across all libraries and includes. If enabled, network paths are excluded the scan maps process. Both options are enabled by default. Element mode is not supported. V-Ray GPU is not supported. Forest Color can even be used on non-Forest objects, with the same restrictions as items instantiated by Forest Tools. Previous versions would create visible patterns. To keep the distribution of existing scenes, this is applied only to new FP objects. In previous versions the topmost spline area would be used. Now proxies and non-geometric objects are rendered using the V-Ray instancing engine similar to VRayInstancer , instead of iToo functions. Updated the Material Optimiser tool. Added support for Corona. Added speed improvements when many items share the same material. Hold down Control to select multiple items. Right-click on the Select button to select all. It affects only to custom Forest dialogs as Library Browser, Effects, etc. Improved UI responsiveness adding or updating multiple items of Geometry List. To keep distributions on existing scenes, the fix is applied only to new created objects. If not, the ID of the source Geometry. Updated Qt style to match better with 3DS Max style. Macros can now be used on all attributes of Library Items such as object names. Motion blur now works again with distributions driven by particle systems. Fixed inconsistent distribution using exclusion of other Forest objects due to multithreading. Switching between Paint Areas no longer disables the paint button if it was enabled. Links to the documentation are now included for license error dialogs. Data dependent on UV coordinates is now preserved when switching to Custom Edit mode. Fixed crash using Animation modes with interactive render modes. This fix just avoids crashing. Fixed wrong scale instantiating with Forest Tools when Display mode is set to Proxy. Fixed updating issues with V-Ray interactive render mode. Fixed: License configuration is not loaded from enviroment variables. Fixed crash creating Forest object when there is not a license. Fixed bug checking texture paths using normal slashes, instead backslashes. Fixed: Distribution by Reference displays on viewport less items than intended, when using large meshes and Material ID filter. Added support for V-Ray 5. Forest Pack 6. Fixed crashing bug with Mental Ray. Fixed: fpItem. Fixed crash with Paint areas and huge coordinate values i. Improved performance when loading objects with high material ID values. Fixes Removed support for 3DS Max Fixed the alignment of the first item on closed splines when using Distribution by Path mode. Fixed Distribution by Path using spacing zero generates the maximum number of items defined on Display limits. Fixed an issue where animated Effects parameters were not updating correctly. Fixed performance issue loading objects with high material ID values. Fixed a crash that occurred when adding items in Custom Edit when Geometry List is empty. Fixed errors in Lister when there are duplicated object names. Fixed crash using Forest as a XRef Object. Fixed missing items when rendering Particle Flow distributions. Tree Editor is renamed to Items Editor in Settings dialog. Fixed slowdown evaluating heavy models with displacement maps as Maxtree models. Fixed rare bug which causes a continuous updating of the FP object, when using animated splines and the time slider is not zero. Fixed: multiple selection is lost after changing any parameter in the rollup. Fixed updating issue when switching between Paint Areas and painter is enabled.

[rpgsandbox]

                    Mock up of the book. Cover design not finalized.

Coyote and Crow is a tabletop role playing game set in an alternate future of the Americas where colonization never occurred. Instead, advanced civilizations arose over hundreds of years after a massive climate disaster changed the history of the planet. You'll play as adventurers starting out in the city of Cahokia, a bustling, diverse metropolis along the Mississippi River. It's a world of science and spirituality where the future of technology and legends of the past will collide.

The game is created and led by a team of Native Americans representing more than a dozen tribes and we've built a game that both Natives and non-Natives will thrill to explore and build upon.

More than 700 years ago, a bright purple streak shot across the night sky. Over the coming weeks, the Earth fell into a deep winter, the seas raged and ash rained from the sky. The event became known as the Awis. As resources dwindled, winter became longer and summer shorter, people struggled to survive. Wars erupted, people starved, some fleeing their ancestral homes before creeping ice sheets.

But people survived. Tribes adapted. And in the wake, people began to notice a strange purple mark appearing on people, plants and animals alike. It became known as the Adahnehdi, the Gift, and many took it as a sign that the Great Spirit had not given up on them.

Eventually, the weather began to ease, the Earth began to heal, and new nations arose. New sciences and technologies, born out of necessity, led to a discovery about the Adahnehdi. It wasn't just a mark, it was a path to abilities and powers, beyond normal human limits.

                       The long walk home. Art by Jennifer Lange

Now, 700 years after the world was brought to the brink, a new chapter has begun. Your characters enter a world that is healing but is no less dangerous. The ice sheets are retreating and the seas are calming, but what lay out beyond your borders? The treaties and alliances that made so much sense during the long winters are now eroding and old grudges between nations are not so easily forgotten. New technologies arise almost every day and the rate of change is frightening for some. And then there are the stories. Talk of spirits, monsters, beings of legend. For so many they were just tales to be told around the fire. But now there is talk that these legends may be far more literal than you may have previously believed. Has something awakened them?

                                the northern continent of Makasing.

Coyote and Crow is an original role playing system built around the exclusive use of D12 dice. Outside of the core rule book, all you'll need to play the game is some pencil and paper and some twelve-sided dice. While there is some complexity to the game, we are striving to present a system that will allow players to refer to the rule book during play as little as possible, keeping most or all of the critical information on your character sheet.

           Mock up of the front of a character sheet. Design not finalized.

The basic rule system is centered around collecting a Dice Pool, usually around 5-7 D12s and rolling them to determine either Success or Failure and degree of effect. For example "8" might be the number your Character needs to attempt to do something and every 8 or higher they rolled would be a Success. The more 8's, the more successful they are.

While combat is a part of Coyote and Crow, the game is actually built around the idea of fighting being only one road to story resolution. The game encourages dialogue, building bridges and finding unique solutions to problems that are not always clearly defined by good and evil.

Your Characters have Stats like Strength and Spirit and Skills like Investigation and Charm that are modified by their Stats. In addition, when you create your Character, you choose a Path. That Path determines both certain Stat bonuses you receive as well as which Abilities you have access to. Abilities are powers beyond normal human capability, but not at a level where characters would be comparable to superheroes. There are 15 Paths in the core rule book available. In addition, you'll choose an Archetype (Whisperer, Healer, Scout, among others) that will give you Stat and Skill bonuses and a general idea of your character's profession, but will not force your Character too deeply down a specific progression.

Then you'll choose Gifts and Burdens. These allow you to give your Characters specific bonuses or drawbacks and will help you flesh them out in a way that is flavorful and realistic. It's important to note that the rulebook does not dictate whether something is a burden or a gift for a Player. For example, a Player might choose to give their Character a sister. That might be a Burden or a Gift (or both!) depending on how the Player wants their Character to see that relationship.

Sample pages from the equipment chapter. Layouts and content not finalized.

There are no experience points in Coyote and Crow. Instead, it is built on the Legends system. Your Character will have Short Term Goals, which will increase various numbers on your Character sheets or give them new Skills. But you and your group will also have Long Term Goals. When those are completed your legend will grow. You'll write a short story about your adventures, the kind that can be told around the fire for generations to come. These can change your Gifts and Burdens, give you access to new Abilities and more. As you complete more Long Term Goals, your Character's legend will precede them and your stories will spread.

ARCHETYPES

There are six Archetypes in the game, each acting as a starting point for Character development but not constricting their possibilities. Each Archetype has its own symbol. Here are a few of them.

            The icons for the Tinkerer, Warrior and Whisperer Archetypes

PATHS

In addition to Archetypes, Players choose Paths for their Characters, which are permanent associations they make with an animal and help define what extra human Abilities they'll be able to choose from, among other effects. There are fifteen basic Paths in the core rulebook.

                       The Path of the Badger, the Stag and the Spider

While this game was created by a Native-led team, this game is for everyone. We've taken great care to craft a game that Natives and non-Natives alike will be able to engage in and find themselves immersed in.

For Natives, we've crafted both story and game mechanics that will allow you to integrate your own tribal customs into your play. For those who aren't Native, you'll have a wealth of options to choose from as well as clear guidelines for understanding the differences between this world and our real one.

The game is designed to be your first role playing game or your latest. The core rule book will walk players through every step of how to play Coyote and Crow, but also how to play role playing games in general, including advice on safety and inclusion as well as suggestions on where to find tools outside of the rule book to make your game both easier and more enjoyable.

Everyone involved in Coyote and Crow is deeply passionate about our game and we felt that it was time for Indigenous folks to have a game that didn't see them as secondary, as adversaries, or intertwined with colonialism.

Coyote and Crow is not set in a dystopia. The world went through a dark chapter, but the people of these nations rose to the challenge. There's good food and water, education and meaningful work for almost everyone in Makasing.

But this world isn't a utopia either. It's place that's growing, where old alliances are strained and past slights are not always forgotten. New technology is putting pressure on old traditions. And with the climate becoming milder, there is a whole world of unknowns out there. On top of all of that, there are rumors that some of the old stories about monsters and spirits might just be a little more real than some originally believed. This is a game where science and the unexplained live side by side and sometimes clash.

                              The Wanderer. Art by Kyle Charles.

THE CORE RULE BOOK

We are producing a beautiful 300+ page hardbound book, loaded with illustrations and containing all of the rules you'll need to play Coyote and Crow. Included in the book (and PDF) will be:

Detailed history of this alternate world

Descriptions of daily life and culture in Cahokia, the capital of the Free Lands

Rules for creating and advancing your characters, including 6 Archetypes, 15 Paths and 27 Abilities for a massive variety of options

Descriptions and stats for mythical creatures, infamous spirits, shadowy organizations and dangerous cults that can challenge players endlessly

A group of pre-generated characters if you want to jump right into playing the game

A starter adventure, Encounter at Station 54, that can act as a stand alone adventure or as the start of a larger campaign

So much more!

                              It still hungers. Art by Jeffrey Veregge

We have a diverse team of folks working on this game, most of whom are Native. Additionally, we are striving to bring in other marginalized voices whenever possible. Our team features people from across the LGBTQIA spectrum, including two spirit folks. It's not even a question that this game is political. If you have a problem with a game where there are no people of European descent represented, than this game is probably not for you. That said, we've truly built this game to be played by everyone. It might seem like a big leap, but don't worry, we're going to hold your hand the whole way through and you'll be so happy you stepped off the edge into this vibrant fresh world.

===============================================

Kickstarter campaign ends: Fri, April 2 2021 3:00 AM BST

Website: [Coyote and Crow] [instagram]

[candychronicles]

mind control // e. kirishima

A/N: My take on the apocalypse au! this one was so so so fun to write and i hope you all enjoy!!

CHARACTER PAIRING: Kirishima Eijirou x Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,580

WARNINGS: unprotected sex, semi-public sex, kinda angsty

SYNOPSIS: when the world turns into chaos, you’re there, fighting on the front lines to find a cure. what happens when things go right for once? 

Want to read more smutty goodness? Click here !

the world changed on a mild Tuesday afternoon. there had been experiments going around regarding mind control, mind alteration, but things backfired, heavily. test subjects became irate, violent, crazed, and the serum mutated rapidly in the bloodstream. after only a few short weeks, the serum became its own disease, allowing it to rapidly be spread through bite wounds. people hallucinated, overcome by their primal desires to mate and reproduce, to fight and wreak havoc sometimes forgetting to eat or sleep, constantly wired.

the disease spread slowly, people initially thinking that it was just a few loose cannons going off around the world, that nothing was happening. it should’ve been a relatively simple disease to ward off, containing those that were mad until they slowly succumbed to their own desires, but it didn’t happen like that. more and more people were getting bit, and slowly, small outbreaks were popping up around the world. large groups of infected people congregated to fuck and fight, causing rampages in large cities. they had no care for their own wellbeing, not understanding pain, only wanting to destroy and conquer.

police, national guards, militaries and other protective personnel rushed to combat the diseased, ordered to shoot to kill, but in some places there were just too many of them, and they were quickly run down, joining the ranks of the mindless, crazed humans who just wanted to do anything to feel once again and quell the madness in their brains.

you were one of the brightest and best scientists in the country, working hard to cure this strange disease that was man made and yet had a mind of its own alongside Kirishima Eijirou, a disease specialist. together, you tracked the path of the sickness, how the world slowly succumbed to madness in just a few short months as more and more cases popped up and the numbers became overwhelming. 

you were one of the lucky few, finding solace in a well protected and well isolated research lab. things were stringent, with blood work, head scans, and other tests to make sure that you were not somehow catching the disease, despite knowing how it worked. after all, they couldn’t afford to have their best researchers getting sick, not when they were working hard and fast on finding some sort of cure or preventative. 

breaking down the dna of the disease was the first step in understanding how it was made and how it mutated, followed by what genes were affected, how the disease altered the brain chemistry, and most importantly, how to create a cure. it was long, tedious work, but after months of replicating the dna, breaking down the genomes and isolating the variables, you were finally able to locate what areas of the genes were mutating.

“Eijirou, do you know what this means? we’re one step closer to finding a cure! this is huge, we have to tell the rest of the team right away!”

with your eyes alight with happiness, pearly whites displayed proudly in the form of a wide grin, you had never looked prettier. Kirishima had liked you for a long, long time. how could he not? you were extremely intelligent, could hold your own against anyone, passionate, hard working and undeniably attractive.

in the heat of the moment, with excitement buzzing in the area, he did the one thing he always dreamed of doing: kissed you. at first, you were confused, hands still raised in a cheer, body stiff as a board, but as he began pulling away, you reached forward to wrap your arms around his body, pulling him closer. for a few moments, you two moved back and forth, mouths mashing together in pure ecstasy, high off your success and the feeling of warm lips on your own.

when you went to pull away, his head chased you, high off the feeling of you. 

“we shouldn’t be doing this. not here anyways,” you reasoned weakly, putting your hands on his chest in an attempt to both anchor and distance yourself from the man who was grinning like he had won a million bucks.

“why not? no one else is in here besides us. no one even comes in to disturb us, knowing how busy we’ve been working. why can’t we take a few minutes to celebrate our victory, and then bring our results to the doc?”

before you had a chance to respond, his lips were attached to your neck, licking, sucking, biting on your pulse point, eliciting a moan from deep within your chest. you stopped fighting your instincts, instead allowing yourself to enjoy the way his mouth felt on your skin. 

Kirishima gripped the back of your thighs tightly before hoisting you up on the lab table, pushing away various instruments and lab samples to make room for your body. your teeth gnashed together in a pure desire to feel one another, hands gripping tightly on your hips, moving up to unclasp your bra, sliding off your lab coat in the process. you were quick to follow suit, allowing the white fabric to rustle at his ankles, gripping his face in your hands to bring him impossibly closer to you.

“i need you,” he breathed out, breaking away for a moment to pull your shirt over your head and bra down your arms, immediately latching his mouth to your right nipple, his large, toasty hand fondling your left, pinching your nipple between two meaty fingers, grunting in appreciation when you let out breathless whines.

when you didn’t respond, he repeated his words once again, more forcefully this time, you nodding your head, whispering “yes” over and over again. your pants were unbuttoned and slid down your legs, one arm holding your body up to pull the fabric out from under you. his own pants followed suit, hastily shoved down his ankles, not even bothering to step out of the cloth before he was attaching himself to your lips again. 

his thick fingers found their way to your clit, rubbing harsh yet precise circles into the nub, making your head spin from the contact, throwing your head back in bliss. 

“please, Eijirou, I need you,” you called out, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

“have to get you ready to take my cock sweetheart. don’t worry, i’ll take care of you,” he promised, spreading your legs out in the process, inserting one finger into your wanting hole.

“so wet for me already, huh. i’ve barely even touched you. such a fucking needy bitch,” he tutted, pumping his finger in and out of you, curling to hit every inch of you.

you rocked your hips against his hand as he added another finger, you reveling in the feeling of the delicious stretch and him in pure awe of the situation. his thumb came back to rub harsh circles once again on your aching clit. you continued rolling your body into his fingers, chasing your high, gripping his hand for support. 

you were so close, so deliciously close to a mind blowing orgasm, when Kirishima removed his fingers from your body, languidly bringing them up to his mouth and licking the juices off his fingers, making eye contact with you.

he pulled your body to the edge of the table, hands gripping your ass tightly as he gave the top of one a harsh smack, the sound resonating loudly in the once sterile room. he removed one hand and brought it down to his dick, giving it an experimental tug, rubbing the precum over the tip of his dick. you watched with a lolled head, enamored by the sheer thickness, wondering how it would feel stretching you out.

you didn’t have to wait long to find out as Kirishima positioned himself right at your entrance, spitting onto his cock for good measure before he deliberately pushed the tip of himself into your sopping cunt, you gripping his shoulders, nails digging into the plush skin, though he never even noticed. 

he continued to gently pump his tip in and out of your cunt, collecting the sticky liquid before he began inserting his whole cock into your body, you shuddering at the feeling of him inside of you.

once he was fully sheathed, he waited a few moments, pulling you in for another searing kiss as he began surging his dick in and out of your body, gripping your hips in an iron hold, keeping you steady on the wobbly table.

you threw your head forward, gripping onto his arms for dear life, biting down into his shoulder to keep the moans muffled, listening to the grunts and groans of Kirishima breathily in your ear.

“fuck you feel so tight. i’m going to stuff this pussy full of cum. you’re going to be my little cum dumpster, aren’t you?” he cooed in your ear.

you could only nod back in response, crying out at the feeling of him stretching you to your limits, the burning only heightening your experience as you felt that coil once again build up.

it seemed as if he was chasing his own high as well, snapping his hips into you so harshly, grabbing your hips so tightly, marking you up and making you his with his fingertips imprinted into your skin in the form of pretty little purple marks.

“god, Eijirou, i’m so close,” you panted out, attempting to move your hips despite the harsh grip, wanting more friction.

he seemed to understand what you wanted, removing one of his hands to rub your clit, whispering praises and encouragement in your ear. you responded with a loud cry of your own, the dam finally breaking as your orgasm washed over you, Kirishima continuing to pound into you through your orgasm.

when you came down from your high, you were a blubbering mess, feeling another orgasm already building as he continued to fuck you senseless.

“come on baby, you have one more in you,” he encouraged, picking up the speed to ruthlessly drill into you.

“Kiri, please, i can’t,” you cried, weakly attempting to push him away, feeling so sensitive. 

just as you were going to ask him to stop, you felt your second orgasm hit you like a freight train, frighteningly fast. your pussy pulsed around his cock, encouraging him to cum, to milk his cock dry. 

Kirishima snapped soon after you, the way your walls were clenching around him sending him over the edge, grunting “fuck” over and over again as he slowed down his pace, riding out his own high.

you two hovered there, allowing yourselves to catch your breath and come down from the mind blowing highs you were experiencing. when you finally were able to think, you began tediously unsticking yourself from the now warm metal table, scooching off to stand up, immediately feeling light headed.

“whoa, are you okay?” Kirishima asked worriedly as he steadied you on your feet.

“yeah, that was amazing. plus, i don’t think i’ve eaten today. just too caught up in work, i think,” you admitted, resting your head on his chest. 

“well, lets get you cleaned up, get these lab results to the doc, and then go to the cafeteria for something to eat, yeah?”

you nodded in response, still wobbly on your legs, as you followed him to grab some paper towels, allowing him to softly clean the now dripping liquid from your legs and aching cunt.

once you were cleaned up, you allowed him to help you dress, fixing your hair and straightening out your lab coat, before the two of you made your way to the head doctor’s office located across the building.

his door was left slightly ajar when you arrived, and after a few polite knocks, you impatiently entered, wanting to tell them the news right away.

“they’re not here,” you sighed with a frown, disappointment lacing your voice. 

you were about to drop the documents and leave when a bright green folder labeled “test subjects” caught your eye. you slapped your paperwork into Kirishima’s arms before moving over to the folder, opening it without a care in the world, curious as to why there would be a folder labeled that in their office.

in it documented the tales of two test subjects who had been exposed to the sickness on purpose and then given drugs to attempt to cure or mitigate the effects of the disease. 

the two test subjects, a and b, are still unaware that they were given the disease at the day of arrival. they began exhibiting symptoms right away, like hallucinations and violent behaviors, but after days of injections, things are starting to slow down. they are starting to come to, but with some weird twists. they don’t remember being infected at all.

you furrowed your brows, motioning Kirishima over to have him read the documents himself, before you continued reading:

they knew basic motor functions, how to survive as a human for the most part, but needed to have things suggested to them, need to have some purpose in life in order to not go crazy. this was what we wanted all along: for a self sustaining human to listen to all suggestive behaviors while continuing to go about their day. there are some kinks that still need worked out. for example, they need to occasionally be reminded to eat, sleep, drink water, like they are still under the control of the disease, but those are issues that can be worked out. for now, things are going to plan.

“what does this mean?” you heard Kirishima ask, before continuing, “does this mean they’ve had a cure, or a version of the cure all along? then why have we been working tirelessly for months on this?”

“i’m not sure, let’s keep reading,” you urged, utterly confused on the situation and wanting to find answers.

the longevity of the treatment is currently being tested. they were set out on a task months ago, and are still diligently working on the issue at hand. they may actually come up with something useful at a much faster rate than the comparable test subjects without the virus, teaching themselves, learning and growing and changing at an exponential rate. for now, we continue to monitor their well being with frequent tests such as blood work and head ct’s. while they still have a bit of brain damage from the disease, they are functioning overall well and should be great successes.

“Kirishima, this is crazy. they are breaking all sorts of violations here. testing on unknowing subjects. we need to expose this. i don’t care if their experiment is working. they’re creating and working on a mind altering drug here, the same type of drug that started this whole issue in the first place. this is just a mess,” you rambled, not paying attention to the terrified look on Kirishima’s face.

once you caught onto him not listening, you followed his gaze, back down to the page, reading the last of the written material before looking back at him with tears rolling down your cheeks. you collapsed into his arms, sinking down to the floor together, finally realizing what was going on.

in highlighted lettering, right at the bottom of the page, you found your truth:

the test subjects at hand, Kirishima Eijirou (a) and (l/n) (y/n) (b) are still woefully unaware of the situation at hand, and we will do anything, and i mean anything, to keep it that way.

Tags: @redbeanteax​ @softforshigi​ @katsuki-bakugous-lady @tamakisprincess​ @secondhand-trash​ @freiyalight​ @crystal-lilac​

[shireness-says]

A Fate Woven in Thread and Ink (2/5)

Summary: Two people are trained from childhood for a magical competition they don’t fully understand, whose stakes are higher than they imagine, all to be played out in a magical traveling circus. Falling in love complicates things. A CS AU of the book “The Night Circus”.

Rated M. ~16.5k. Also on Ao3. On Tumblr: Chapter One

A/N: I’m back! Thanks for your patience in waiting for the latest chapter of my @cssns​ piece. My apologies for the wait; these chapters are slow in coming due to my own overthinking and perfectionism, what I know where everything is going and this Will Be Finished. 

Special thanks to my betas, @snidgetsafan​ and @ohmightydevviepuu​, and to @eirabach for the absolutely gorgeous art she created for this chapter. Seriously, it’s like she climbs right inside my head to see what I’m picturing. Give her a BUNCH of love for all this. 

Tagging the interested parties (and let me know if you’re one of those!): @welllpthisishappening​, @thisonesatellite​, @let-it-raines​, @kmomof4​, @scientificapricot​, @thejollyroger-writer​, @superchocovian​, @teamhook​, @optomisticgirl​, @winterbaby89​, @searchingwardrobes​, @katie-dub​, @snowbellewells​, @spartanguard​, @phiralovesloki​, @profdanglaisstuff​, @winterbythesea​​

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Henry is six the first time he visits the Circus. 

It’s a special treat for an orphaned boy like him; the nuns who run the Storybrooke Children’s Home, just outside of Portland, Maine, aren’t much given to frivolous entertainments like this. But a generous monetary donation had been made to the home when the Circus had set up just over the next hill, and tickets for all the children along with it. The nuns may not be much for frivolity, but they’re not ones for waste, either, especially where gifts are concerned. The next night, Sister Astrid and Sister Theodora collect all the children who want to go, and bring them to what, to Henry, feels like a whole other world. 

Henry is a boy the adults already say lives in his imagination too much, and the magic of the Circus only enchants him further, calling to him in a way he doesn’t yet have the words to understand, let alone describe. There are trapeze artists who soar through the air, and jugglers, and lions and tigers and wolves so tame that they’ll take treats from his hands. Kindly confectioners slip him pieces of praline and boxes of popcorn to snack on through the night with a wink and a smile. It’s treatment such as he’s never experienced before, and it’s easy to wonder if he’s just wandered into some kind of dream.

(Even at six, Henry knows better than to disrupt such a lovely dream.)

It’s easy to get separated from the rest of the children in the dazzle of it all, and Henry finds himself wandering the curved paths alone as the clock strikes one, when the others in his group are preparing to return to the Home. Not that he knows it; he’s far too occupied by staring wide-eyed at the black and white tents where they soar to meet the stars and peeking beyond their entrance flaps.

That’s how the lady finds him - gawking with a craned neck at everything around him. 

“Have you lost your group, young man?” she asks with a gentle voice. Henry likes being called young man; it makes him feel important. 

“It’s okay,” he tells her earnestly. “They like to go faster than me. I can do it by myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” the lady laughs. She looks really pretty; her hair is yellow and curly and she wears a poofy white dress with black swirly bits and a black, long-sleeved jacket, the lack of color making it obvious she’s part of the Circus somehow. If this was one of the fairy tales Henry likes so much, she’d be the princess in hiding; here, at the Circus, that just might be true. “I was just planning to walk to the front gates. Would you care to escort me, young sir?”

Henry eagerly takes the hand the lady offers. “I’m Henry,” he tells her as they walk. “What’s your name?”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Henry. My name is Emma.”

“That’s a princess name. Are you a princess?”

“No,” she laughs, “but thank you very much, Henry. I appreciate the compliment. Are you enjoying the circus?”

“Yeah!” As they walk, Henry eagerly tells the lady - Emma, his new friend - about all his favorite bits - the animals and the dancers and especially the magician. Emma has a funny little smile when he talks about that, but Henry doesn’t think to ask about it.

When the front gates are finally in sight, Henry tugs on Emma’s hand. “I like it here,” he whispers. “Do I have to go?”

Emma crouches down, her skirts pooling around her and threatening to envelop him too. “Yes, Henry, you have to leave for now.”

“But why? I want to stay here. I could stay with you!”

“Oh, Henry, I’d like that so much,” she tells him, pulling him into a hug. “You need to go for now, until you’re older, but the Circus will always be here for you, okay? You’ll come back.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Henry dreams of the circus that night, and for many nights after, though the visions his mind conjures up never quite match the mysticism of the real thing.

A week later, the Circus is gone.

(But here, in a small room in a cold, gloomy children’s home - a young boy remembers.)

———

Belle, unsurprisingly, proves to be a determined and reliable correspondent. She’s like his little window into the Circus, even when he can’t be there himself, as is so often the case - especially in those first few years. Five years pass of letters and far-too-rare visits, and yet Killian never feels left in the dark. That’s the magic of what Belle can accomplish with her words - let him feel as if he is present even when he can’t be. 

Her missives contain the important things he asked for, of course - reports of new tents and changes in operations and unusual things his opponent, Miss Swan, is doing. They’re useful words, words that help him plan his own next moves. More than that, though, her letters are filled with wonderful little mundane details that make him smile. Belle tells him about the latest book she’s read and how fast the Zimmer twins are growing up and particularly funny anecdotes she’s heard. There are complaints about the weather, and discussions of the interesting or ominous things she reads in the cards. Always, always, there are chronicles of all the many places she has seen as the Circus crisscrosses the world, recountings of wondrous sights and marvelous people. Belle had wanted to see the world, and she’s getting to, five times over. It’s everything she deserves, only wrapped in an unusual and often demanding package. 

“It’s not too much, is it?” Killian asks on one of the rare instances their paths cross - in Paris, this time, where Killian has come on an errand for Jefferson, sitting in a little cafe in the shadow of Notre Dame. “I never want to ask more of you than you can manage.”

“Don’t be silly,” Belle says, waving off his concerns like the steam from their coffee. “They’re merely letters, Killian. It’s no great bother - especially for something I’d be doing anyways. I’d be writing to you regardless, Killian - you’re my best friend in the world, and I’ll be terribly put out if you ever stop writing me back.”

And that’s that.

(Most days, Killian believes that Belle is a much better friend than he could ever possibly deserve. He makes a mental note to say something of the sort in his next letter back to her.)

(Of course, he forgets - but then again, he can’t imagine she doesn’t already know.)

———

As a child, growing up knowing she was destined for some magical contest, Emma had always been told that she’d understand what she needed to do once her competition actually started. As an adult, now smack in the middle of it all, she finds that is decidedly not the case. Emma does her best, but it still feels like she has no idea what in the world she’s supposed to be doing.

The Circus is meant to be a canvas for her abilities, hers and her opponent’s; that much is obvious. What exactly that means is… more up for debate. Emma tries to take on more of the Circus in little pieces, bit by bit, so that more of its operations run on magic than on man power. It’s more enjoyable to try and come up with new attractions, drawing upon her imagination to come up with something new. It’s not a particularly quick process - Emma spends a lot of time planning each idea, to make sure she doesn’t miss anything, and it means that she can only create maybe two new tents each year. It’s worth it, though, to wander through the finished product, and see the way her most fanciful ideas have come to life. 

(“You need to be doing more,” Regina always scolds her on those rare occasions she makes the effort to visit her student. “This isn’t playtime. You can’t just make the effort when you feel like it, silly girl. Don’t you want to win this?”

“Of course, Regina,” Emma always says, making whatever promises she needs to in order to appease the other woman - all the while knowing that she will continue to act in her own way.)

(For Emma, the best thing about the Circus may be the separation from the woman who took her in. Regina does not often make the effort to check in on how her student is doing - and Emma more than likes it that way.)

There are traces of her mysterious opponent’s work, too. Sometimes it’s in the form of dramatic new attractions, things that push the bounds of possibility and perception; sometimes, it’s with more mundane things, like a wine-sampling tent tucked along a path that Emma is certain never existed before. 

His or her greatest feat, however, is on the members of the Circus themselves. As the years pass by, Emma can’t help but notice that time doesn’t affect everyone who brings the Circus to life, with the exception of the Zimmer twins. It’s been more than half a decade, but Granny Lucas is still as hale and hearty as ever. Not a single face has gained extra creases, or a single head extra grey hairs. Something this unknown competitor did has stopped the clock for all of them within the iron fence, even as the grand timepiece above the front gates ticks on.

It’s an impressive piece of magic - one that must take a considerable amount of skill and effort. It’s the first time Emma wonders if maybe this is a contest of endurance, rather than skill.

Regina won’t tell her, however, and Emma puts the matter out of her mind while she turns her attention towards the night’s performances and the germ of an idea blooming in her head. Something fantastical. Something striking - and icy. 

There’s always room for imagination and for creation at the Circus, after all - and despite her opponent’s impressive efforts, that’s exactly what Emma is counting on to one day prevail in this competition. 

——— 

The Zimmer twins are special, Emma discovers, and not just in the way anyone who has loved a child claims them to be exceptional. In Ava and Nicholas’ case, it’s true. 

There had been something in the air the night the circus opened, the night after the twins were born - something crackling and pervasive and magical. Emma has suspected for years - since that very moment - that the energy was something created by her still-unknown opponent. It’d been like a wave, rippling through them all at once and creating unknown effects. She thinks this might be one of those - powers growing in two children who, by all indication, shouldn’t have received them.

It’s especially noticeable to Emma, who not only has the ability to sense the powers running through their veins, but spends a considerable amount of time with the six-year-old twins. Ava and Nicholas grow up like the beloved niece and nephew of everyone involved with the circus, as though everyone communally agreed to test the proverb it takes a village. While the circus is open to visitors, and the children’s parents responsible for their little cart of carved treasures, everyone else watches the little boy and girl in shifts when they’re not performing - and Emma quickly becomes a particular favorite. She’s never been sure why; maybe they sensed the magic in her own veins, even as babies, and latched onto it. Maybe they simply like the way she thoughtfully humors every flight of fancy. Whatever the case - Emma knows her life would be far less interesting without the two in it. 

Ava has magic that likes to shake out and twinkle at the edges of her soft hair, similar in a way to Emma’s own powers. Unusual things happen around her, if you’re paying attention; lost things are more easily found, snacks and sweets turn up in unlikely places, and on one impressive occasion, a pair of fluffy orange and white kittens crawled out from beneath her bunk. 

“I can fix that,” she tells Emma innocently one day as Emma moves to throw a vase of wilted flowers out. She hasn’t prodded Ava about her powers before - it doesn’t seem the time to bring to the forefront all the things she can likely do, not when she’s still a little girl, not when Emma’s own childhood was largely sacrificed because of her own powers - but it’s a hard opportunity to pass up. It’s worth demonstrating to Ava, anyways, that her powers are simply a part of her, and nothing to make a fuss about.

“Can you show me?” Emma asks. It’s impossible not to smile when the little girl nods eagerly and furrows her brow in concentration, staring fixedly at the wilted daisies. Slowly but surely, the browned tips disappear, the petals straightening from their shrivelled state and the flowers once again lifting upright to seek the sun.

“That’s very well done, Ava,” Emma makes sure to tell her. 

“I know,” Ava replies seriously with all the intensity of a child her age. “Can you do that too?”

“I can.” Emma doesn’t tell people about her magic, usually, but Ava seems like a necessary exception - to let the little girl know she’s not entirely alone in her special, unusual skills.

“I thought so,” the little girl nods sagely. “I could feel it.”

It doesn’t surprise Emma in the least. 

Nicholas knows things that he shouldn’t - knows things that no one should know. Somehow, the stars speak to him in a language only he can understand. Nick sees things to come and things that have already happened, and sometimes divulges them readily and at the most unlikely times. 

“Is the scary lady with the dark hair your mama?” he asks one day out of the blue, startling Emma before she collects herself.

“No. She was my teacher,” Emma explains. 

“Oh.” His question asked, Nick happily goes back to playing quietly with his wooden lion. He’s less prone to chatter than his sister, happy to keep to his own thoughts when Ava isn’t pulling him into some other adventure. Emma rather wonders if it’s not because he has all the things he sees in the stars to keep him company. 

“Is there a reason you asked?” she inquires as casually as she can. “Did you… was there something you saw?”

“She hurt you,” is all he’ll say. “Before you were here.”

Something from the past, then - not so immediately alarming, though a sign she’ll need to be vigilant about hiding certain portions of her memories that young, impressionable and trusting minds shouldn’t be seeing.

“It’s alright, Nickie,” she tells him. “She isn’t around to bother me very often.”

He nods decisively. “Good.”

As he turns his attention back to his wooden lion, bringing a tiger in as well, Emma reaches out for the magic constantly humming about her and draws it into herself, directing to play through her mind and cast something almost like her invisibility cloak around her more traumatic memories to keep Nicholas from seeing. 

“Is there anything else?” she prods, mostly to test and see if the charm is effective.

Sure enough, the little boy’s face twists into a frown. “I don’t know,” he grumbles. “I can’t see.”

“Ah, well,” Emma replies in a purposefully light tone. “Maybe some other time.”

(She is not entirely sure she means it.)

Truth be told, Ava and Nicholas and their wondrous gifts are a beautiful mystery. All Emma knows is that it’s her responsibility to protect them from more sinister influences, the way she wishes someone had done for her. They deserve that. She deserved that. And she’ll be damned if they’re turned into pawns the way she was. 

There are many good things to come out of the Circus - friendship and wonder and home - but Emma thinks the Zimmer twins, and the powers they should be able to wield for good without the interference of people like Regina - are one of the best. 

——— 

There are attractions at the Circus unlike anything you’ve seen before, that you think may only exist within these iron gates. The Circus is a place where the otherworldly and impossible come to life.

This tent contains one such wonder, advertised with simple but mysterious words. This marker swirls and glistens in the moonlight, coaxing you inside to discover its secrets.

Stepping through the tent flap, brisk air tickles at your face - the first sign of what’s to come. Twisting through the interior are all manner of transparent structures, arranged in neat beds. The Ice Garden - just as promised. Each creation appears impossibly delicate and fragile, and by all logic, should be impossible on a warm summer’s night. There are lilies and roses and daisies, sculpted topiaries, winding vines, flowers that remind you of an illustration you once saw of tropical flora. A raised bed of cacti and succulents sprawls along one wall. Opposite, an apple tree, laden with fruit, arches gracefully at the edge of a silver-stoned path. There are little crystalline plaques, too, for all the plants whose names you’d never begin to guess: Shooting Star. Gayfeather. Anemones. Candelabra Primrose.

Every inch, every label, every petal, is made of ice.

Even at the Circus, such a thing should be impossible, This tent may be slightly, inexplicably cooler, but it’s by no means chilled enough to maintain this icy wonder. Though you know you shouldn’t touch, you can’t help but graze your fingers along an icy petal, just to make sure it isn’t cleverly blown glass. It’s a joyous mystery when they come away cold and wet, the sculptures revealed as ice in truth.

There’s no explanation for the Ice Garden - how it can exist at this edge of the Circus, seemingly unburdened by the laws of nature.

The longer you spend in the sparkling, colorless chill, the more you come to realize that beauty doesn’t need an explanation anyways.

———

Killian - 

I know it’s not quite the update you were asking for, but I still feel compelled to share - something wonderful and charming and amusing, and so delightfully human. I couldn’t quite resist writing to tell you. 

I could be wrong - but I believe a little fanclub has sprung up to trail the Circus. You’ll think it silly, Killian, but I am starting to recognize faces here - not of Circus members (I am not nearly so unobservant, or so rude not to recognize them by name after all these years!) but of visitors. There are a handful I could swear are coming over and over again. I’ll have to ask, next time I notice.

(Not that I can begrudge them of such - I certainly would be doing the same, in their shoes! It’s just that the fortunes get rather repetitive. I should probably let them know that the stars of fate do not change nearly as quickly as they seem to believe…)

There’s a certain awe, or maybe more like peace, that they wear on their faces as they move about the grounds that’s unique from all the other looks I see - almost like they’re coming home. I certainly know something about that - I think so many of us do. It’s wonderful, really - the way these visitors love the Circus so much that they feel compelled to return time and time again, joyously retracing the same paths over and over. It’s clear they love this place the way we do. Isn’t that just what we wanted, anyways? To make something for others to love, to play a part in bringing it to life? 

(Yes, I obviously remember that you’re also doing this for your mysterious competition - but I don’t believe someone makes something so beautiful without a generous dose of love as well. Don’t try to deny it, Killian - you know I’m always right.)

I hope you are well; no other news from here. As always, I’ll let you know if anything changes. 

Best wishes,

Belle

——— 

In time, the Circus gains followers.

It was probably inevitable, in a way; as the Circus winds its way across the world, through large cities and small towns, it touches countless lives as it goes, some more impactfully than others. There are those who visit once, and remember it fondly; those who take the opportunity to visit whenever the Circus is in their area, and look forward to it; and those who hold the memories close to one day tell their disbelieving grandchildren.

And then - there are the Rêveurs.

The Rêveurs start almost like a book club - groups of people who meet to reminisce about their favorite attractions, all the sights and smells and tastes that make the whole experience unforgettable. In time, the groups morph; they begin to go to the Circus together, and then travel to visit other Rêveurs when the Circus comes to their area. Particularly eloquent members begin to write into their local newspapers and magazines, beautiful editorials that convey love and wonder and coax thousands of others through the twisted iron gates. It becomes an entire movement, based off of a shared love, of people coming together to experience the Circus over and over again.

It is easy to spot the Rêveurs, if you know what you are looking for. In one of the editorials, an adherent mentions his own preferred way to experience the Circus - to blend in as much as he can, in all black and white, while still setting himself apart from those who bring the experience to life by adding a single touch of red. The trend catches on quickly; wandering the grounds, it is easy to spot splashes of red in the crowd, handkerchiefs peeking from pockets and roses or carnations in lapels and gloves and ribbons in hair. 

Some Rêveurs make sure to visit new attractions each time they visit; some prefer to see the same over and over, lingering in the acrobat tent or on the carousel for hours. In a way, they prove that there is no right or wrong way to experience the Circus - there will always be new things to see, and old favorites to return to. 

The members of the Circus are aware of the Rêveurs, too. Indeed, there are benefits to being in the same audience with that little flash of red, as performers bring out their best, most dazzling tricks and attempt new daring feats. Watching carefully, one might see a vendor slip a cup of cocoa or an extra serving of toasted nuts to a man or woman with that bare hint of color. All visitors to the Circus are valued, but the Rêveurs are treasured, in a different way, that makes every person involved in the endeavor want to do just the slightest bit more to bring the experience to life in a new way. 

The performers and vendors and other members of the Circus are its engine, in many ways - but the Rêveurs just might be its heart. 

———

Killian - 

I just realized that it’s been a while since my last letter - two months, I believe! Everything is perfectly fine here, I assure you. In fact, I haven’t written because there’s been nothing particularly notable to report. I’ve been watching for new additions, just as I always do, but nothing has appeared. Ah, well. We must be in a quiet stretch on that front.

Meanwhile, the Circus trundles onward, as it so often does. This week, we’re in Morocco. I’ve never been - and oh Killian, it is wonderful. The air is hot and dry and tinged with all kinds of spices that I can’t quite identify. And the food! A little group of us went and wandered in one of the markets, trying things from the stands. I’ve never tasted anything like it. What boring lives so many people lead, happy to stay on their own little island and pretend they know everything. This is so much preferable. The weather is a wonderful respite, too, from the cold I know must be sweeping through now that December is well and truly here.

I do not know if we’ll be home for Christmas; I rather doubt it. I’ll miss our usual holiday feast, but I trust that you’ll have a lovely time with your brother instead. My regards to Liam, as always.

Yours &c.,

Belle

———

Killian is lucky, in a way. After all, he has Belle and Liam, who both know about this competition. They’re his support system, the people who keep him grounded to life outside of all this - especially Liam. Lord knows Mr. Gold has never sought to do that. He doubts Miss Swan has that. Maybe he’s wrong; for her sake, he hopes he is. How lonely it must be to keep that secret, otherwise. 

Liam’s apartment is like a sanctuary at the end of a long day, where his brother waits with dark spiced rum and a roaring fire. Sometimes they venture out for dinner; some nights they stay in, and have the landlady send up something to eat. Mostly, Killian enjoys the peace of being in company that never expects more of him than he’s sure he can give. All Liam expects is companionship, and maybe for Killian to come with a nice bottle of spirits every so often. Killian can more than handle that. 

(They do not mention that Liam does not seem to age, the same way all those attached to the Circus do not. If his brother has even noticed, he remains blessedly silent on the subject.)

“Do you wonder sometimes,” Liam asks one night, “what would have happened if you hadn’t been selected by Gold? If you had turned him down?”

Killian shrugs. They’re in the middle of their third drinks - just the time for philosophical questions like these. “Not really,” he admits. “What’s the use? It happened like it happened. You wouldn’t have as nice a place as this, that’s for damn sure.”

Liam snorts, and the atmosphere turns more jovial for a few minutes as both men indulge in a drunken laugh before things turn thoughtful again. “If you had to do it all over again… would you?”

“I would,” Killian agrees. “We were a couple of scrappy orphans, no prospects, nothing. I’ve never been given a reason to truly regret it.”

“Then I’m happy for you, brother.” Liam tops off their glasses and raises his drink in a toast. “To good decisions, then!”

“To good decisions,” Killian echoes. “Or at least ones we haven’t yet regretted.”

———

Some attractions are more conventional in name, their promises familiar and comforting in that way that the expected can be. But this is the Circus, and conventional simply doesn’t exist here in the same way. 

You enter another tent to discover a hall of mirrors. It is a common enough attraction, at its core, one you have seen in other carnivals and street fairs. But true to the promise of the Circus, this version of such a fun house classic is more than you’ve ever seen. There are tall, full length mirrors, as you’ve come to expect, but small mirrors too, clustered on tables in every nook between their larger counterparts to reflect the lantern light in every direction. The mirrors don’t just distort your own reflection either; in addition to mirrors that cause your reflection to look taller or shorter or wider, there are mirrors to make you look older or younger, mirrors which change your hair, mirrors which duplicate your visage over and over again until you appear to be surrounded by a crowd of your own self in the mirror. There are even mirrors which somehow make it appear that you are someplace else entirely - by the seaside, the water slowly soaking your shoes, or in a fragrant flower garden, or wandering amidst ancient ruins. It is a clever trick, and one you won’t pretend to understand. In your heart, you never want to, for fear of ruining the illusion.

The world feels bright and new under the moonlight as you exit back outside the tent, like the hall of mirrors has helped you find a new way of seeing.

(And maybe, you realize, that’s the entire point.)

———

Killian takes small comfort in the fact that Mr. Gold seems pleased with his efforts. Truthfully, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows that somehow he’s supposed to demonstrate his abilities and magical knowledge on the canvas that is the Circus, but that only tells him so much. Killian adds attractions when he can, crafting things like the Hall of Mirrors in careful dioramas before sewing the plans into his master book, but it’s so hard to know if he’s on the right track. 

Mr. Gold has never been particularly involved in Killian’s life, and that doesn’t change now that the competition has well and truly begun. As a child, Killian had been largely self-taught, relying on the books that his teacher provided and the man himself only dropping in periodically to test his knowledge and comprehension. This feels like much the same thing; once a year, Mr. Gold will appear in Killian’s office after one of the Circus dinners, or outside his flat door without warning. There may be a polite inquiry about what Killian is currently working on, especially if the visit occurs in his cramped and ruthlessly organized office; more often than not, there isn’t. Killian will make polite inquiries about his mentor’s health and business, all of which are carefully avoided. Mr. Gold will state that he is satisfied with the work of his student - exactly that, and nothing more. 

Killian never expects an expression of pride; after all, he’s never received anything of the sort in all the years he’s been under his teacher’s direction. Theirs has always been a distant relationship, if it can even be called that. 

“How will I know I’ve won?” Killian dares to ask on one of these visits. “What do I have to do?”

“You’ll know, dearie,” is all his teacher will say. “Trust me, it will be very obvious.”

It is not. 

But Killian works onward, carefully building and manipulating things. Who knows? Maybe, one day, he’ll understand. 

———

The relationship between the members of the Circus and the Rêveurs has always been unusual. If it weren’t for the fact that the two groups are inextricably linked, and indeed obviously treasure one another, the interaction almost might be called respectfully distant. There exists an unspoken, but obviously adhered to, separation between the two - that there are Circus folks and there are Rêveurs, and they do not socially interact. Though a vendor or performer might, surreptitiously and casually, mention an anticipated next stop to an awed visitor with that single splash of red, they will not be found together in the light of day, strolling in the public parks or sharing a coffee in one of the cafés. The Rêveurs, largely, prefer it that way; the mystical quality is somehow kept alive when the people of the Circus only seem to dwell within its gates.

Of course, Emma has never been one for formality, or fitting in with the rest of the crowd. 

If pressed, she’ll claim that Marco is an anomaly - a man who fits between both worlds, and therefore special. It’s her own kind of loophole in the intricate rituals of the Circus and the Rêveurs. 

(No one ever presses, though - to do that, they’d need to know that Emma writes to Marco in the first place.)

Marco, in truth, has been involved in the Circus since the very beginning - though he did not always know it. An Italian by birth, living in Germany and creating exquisitely crafted cuckoo clocks, Mr. Marco Gepetto had been the very man contracted by Mr. Booth, the architect, to build the massive timepiece at the front gates, back when this whole endeavor was still coming together. Marco hadn’t been aware of that, at the time; all he’d known was that an Englishman had offered him a frankly absurd amount of money and next to no direction, only to create something unusual and extraordinary for a circus venue he was helping produce. With his rambling imagination and careful craftsman’s hands, Marco had more than delivered, creating the masterpiece Emma has found comfort in watching many times. 

That clock had always haunted him, he’s tried to explain to her many times during their correspondence, his mind running wild wondering exactly where it had been installed. Mr. Booth had sent a note declaring the producers delighted by the result, and Marco had never heard a peep again. Emma cannot blame him for wondering, truly, after all the months he had invested in the clock and all the personal touches he had poured in. The truth, he confides, is that he believed - nay, believes it to be his greatest work, all the while unaware that so many others were similarly touched. It was only years later that Marco had realized the grand project he had unknowingly helped bring to life, when an acquaintance had insisted they visit the traveling circus setting up just outside of Munich. 

“It was wonderful,” he gushes to Emma as they walk down the streets of Naples several years later, the older man happily pointing out the location of all the haunts of his younger days. “It was more than I ever could have imagined - and so well situated! So perfectly blended with the rest of the design! I must tip my cap to Signore Booth for his work, and all his compatriots.”

Marco had fallen in love with the circus on that first night, as a venue for his masterpiece and as a creation all its own. It was impossible not to, he had claimed later in the first of many editorials and subsequent letters - it was like the Circus called to him, begging him to uncover all its secrets. It may be the work of several lifetimes; perhaps, that’s just the appeal. 

He didn’t particularly mean to spearhead the Rêveurs movement, he’d explained to Emma in one letter. It was simply that he’d fallen in love, with a place and an experience, and wanted to share that with everyone else. It was just that he was the first, the first to not just talk about the Circus but publish his thoughts, that had made him the unexpected figurehead of the group. He’d been the one to come up with the idea of that touch of red, too, though he never admits it unless pressed. 

Letters flood in, from across Europe and the globe, wanting to compare experiences and share in the joy of the Circus. Marco gladly responds; many, indeed, become friends. But none is quite like Emma, who he only first knows as a woman with unusual insight into the Circus when she first begins writing, just another person who reaches out after one of his editorials. He assumes she’s just another of his Rêveur correspondents at first, but her thoughts, so carefully measured but fond, strike a chord somewhere in Marco. A friendship blossoms over dozens of letters exchanged, comparing experiences and details noticed and treasured - until, finally, this summit, as Marco had visited an elderly aunt while the Circus docked along the Italian coast. 

He takes the revelation that Emma isn’t merely some visitor, but a core member of the Circus, with an unexpected lack of surprise. “I wondered if you were rather closer to the matter than you let on,” Marco explains, patting her hand before tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “I shall consider myself uniquely lucky to have earned your friendship.”

And he has. Marco possesses a sharp mind and an affection for the little details that Emma loves, and an easy-going manner it proves near-impossible not to be charmed by. He fills something like a fatherly role, for Emma - always encouraging and delighted to hear about the latest improvements to her show. She doesn’t tell him that all the magic she does is real - but somehow feels that he understands, anyways. Marco is special like that, and perceptive. Somehow, Emma doubts that he’d be much surprised if she revealed the whole mess of the competition.

Marco may be physically distant from the ever-changing Circus grounds, and may not fully know what’s going on - but he’s a pillar of support, all the same, like Emma has never known.

(She only hopes he isn’t one more thing that’s just too good to last.)

——— 

Killian - 

At long last - an update! I feel like it’s been so long since I’ve had anything to report to you. Not that I don’t enjoy our correspondence, of course - it’s always so wonderful to share with you a little slice of my life here and hear from you in return. I simply feel so much better when I have something concrete to report to you, as we agreed.

I’m stalling, though. The truth is… I’m not entirely sure how to put into words exactly what this latest tent contains. It defies description, I find. The little sign along the path reads ‘Wishing Tree’, but that doesn’t describe much, does it? That could be anything. The Wishing Tree, in truth, is… oh, where do I start? It is somehow both earthly and otherworldly. It is both wondrously fantastical and firmly rooted in the soil. It exists both on this plane and in the world of dreams and aspirations. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that it is a contradiction, in the most spectacular way. Most simply put, if I stop beating around the bush, it is like a living, growing wishing well - but so much better than that, in its symbolism. There are no words to do it justice.

If you couldn’t tell already, Killian, I am insisting that you come and visit the Circus grounds next time it is convenient. There is no other way to fully grasp the delight of this latest addition. If I were not so terribly fond of you, I’d offer a hearty ‘Bravo!’ to your competitor - so count yourself lucky!

Yours,

-Belle

———

The Circus’ tents are filled with wonders - large and small, loud and quiet, and everything in between. What unites all the disparate attractions is a mystical quality - one that’s hard to put into words, but that makes every move and every moment greater and more magical than any similar display you may have seen before.

The particular tent in front of you is tall, but narrow, with a delicate wooden sign carefully placed to the side of the silvery-paved path leading beneath the entrance flap. Wishing Tree, it reads in a painted cursive script. An attraction you’ve never heard of.

Lifting the tent flap reveals just what was promised on the placard - a tall, elegant tree, all in the colors of the circus, with white bark and black leaves. The tree’s branches twist and curve around the tent, creating a structure almost reminiscent of a basket. Where it could be grotesque, the way branches stretch and dip around your body, but the effect is somehow comforting - like the tree protects all that it surrounds. It is otherworldly, in the truest sense of the word, an effect only heightened by the clusters of pearly white candles on each branch. By the entrance sits a small table, with a basket of candles and a crisp white card, embossed with a simple instruction:

Make a wish.

A wish is a sacred thing, and this is a place that respects that. After making your own wish, lighting your candle with one of the many already waiting on the tree’s branches, you place it in the highest nook you can reach where two branches join. There’s a profound symbolism to it all - one wish ignited by another, left to become part of a beautiful mass of light, illuminating this little corner of the world in soft and beautiful light. 

(That light will stay with you long after you slip back through the flap of the tent.)

———

At Belle’s urging, Killian makes the trip to see the Circus, and especially this new attraction, when they pass through Edinburgh. It is not precisely convenient - there are multiple trains involved from London, after all - but there’s no real telling when it will next be in the city, and he trusts Belle’s judgement that he must see this Wishing Tree for himself.

She’s right, of course. The Wishing Tree defies all conventional description. There’s a sense of possibility, and hope that just can’t be captured in a simple letter. Killian is sorely tempted to take a candle and light a wish of his own, but ultimately resists. The Wishing Tree isn’t just for some passing fancy - it is for the deepest dreams of one’s heart. As long as Killian is still unsure as to what his own dearest dream might be, it feels more appropriate to refrain from adding his own candle to the glowing branches. There will be time, later. 

His immediate business for the evening concluded, Killian takes the time just to wander the grounds. It’s something he hasn’t had the opportunity to do in far too long - there’s always been something to worry about, something to take care of when he comes to the Circus. This is a bit of a chance to try and experience things the way all their unknowing visitors do - to see the beauty, and the wonder, without analyzing anything further. Once he clears his mind, it’s easy to see the things the way that normal visitors do, the way something special sparkles in the very air.

There are still stops to make, of course; Belle would never forgive him if he didn’t pop into her tent. The fortune teller’s tent is made up to be an eye-catching oddity, but there’s still something welcoming about it that always soothes Killian - though maybe that’s just the knowledge of his dearest friend waiting just inside. Just inside the tent flap, dark curtains speckled with silver flecks like stars drape, giving way to a beaded fringe that softly clicks when touched. He’s been known to fiddle with those beads as he sits and talks with Belle, like a soothing sort of fidget. Beyond the beaded curtains sit three comfortable armchairs with a draped table at their center; Belle always does like the romance of reading for couples. There are no crystal balls, or posters about lines on palms; just Belle, the table and chairs, and her deck of tarot cards. Killian knows one of the curtains stretched behind her hides the entrance into her private quarters, where she’s been known to duck for a quick cup of tea, but no one else who didn’t know would see that. The whole effect is decidedly unusual, even mystical, but in a way that feels cozy. It’s like sitting in someone’s living room, sharing a bit of conversation - but the conversation concerns all manner of possible futures, and how they’ll come to pass.

Belle looks like herself, mostly, elegant in shades of white and grey and black and silver. She hasn’t leaned into any of the stereotypes or cliches - no scarf around her head or massive gold earrings or patchwork skirts. She looks like she could be any shop girl, or personal secretary, or even a beloved female relation in her neat dresses in playful patterns, accentuated with pretty bits of lace. There are more formal options in her closet too, he knows, provided by the Circus organizers for her use, but she likes this better; it makes her feel more like herself, and not entirely subsumed by the role she plays. 

“You came!” she crows with delight when he ducks his head past the beaded drapery. He hadn’t let her know he was coming, this time, happy to let it remain a pleasant surprise. Not that it matters much - Belle’s face would light up in delight in the same way, even if he had warned her to expect his visit.

“Of course I did, love,” he assures her with a grin. “You insisted, didn’t you? I seem to remember a very commanding letter, telling me I must come see this wishing tree for myself.”

“Yes, but there was always the chance you would get stubborn on me, or get called away on business for Jefferson, and I’d have to send another three to five letters until I finally guilted you here.”

“Alright, I suppose that’s true,” he admits. He does tend to get rather sidetracked much of the time, especially when there is work to be done and new, exciting ideas to explore.

“Instead, here you are! Only weeks after I wrote. A rare instance of agreeability - there’s hope for you yet,” she continues, only to plow forward before he even has a chance to defend himself. “But tell me - have you seen the Wishing Tree yet? Or did you come straight here first? I’m touched, of course, but really, you must —”

“I’m not nearly so foolish as to come here first, knowing you’d demand my own opinions on the tent just as soon as I arrived,” he teases fondly.

“Wise man. Tell me then - what did you think?”

“It’s everything you promised,” he tells her. “Utterly indescribable. I’m glad you insisted I come.”

The beam that graces Belle’s face at that simple agreement is a sight to behold.

“You’ll stay for a few days, won’t you?” she asks - cajoles, really, though Killian won’t take  any convincing. “It’s been so long.”

“Of course. We’ll have dinner tomorrow, and you can tell me everything you’ve seen since I last saw you.” It’s an easy promise to make, and one he’ll be even happier to keep.

Though Belle is an expected friendly face, one Killian had already built into his loose plans for tonight, the person he runs into as he wanders down the path away from her little tent is rather more unexpected.

“Mr. Jones,” Miss Elsa Frost smiles warmly - a member of the creative team of the circus, whose eye for details had been invaluable in creating this world so many have fallen in love with. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Nor did I,” Killian admits, executing a short and polite bow of greeting. “Especially not here, so far from London. May I escort you around the grounds, if I may be so bold?”

“You may,” Miss Frost says, slipping her delicate hand into the crook of his proffered arm. “I was just about to go see the magician - Miss Swan, was it? I’m told she should have a performance starting soon.”

“Then it will be my honor to accompany you.”

Though Killian has visited the Circus on several occasions in the past years, on business and to see Belle and to examine the creations of his competitor, he’s avoided this tent. It somehow feels like cheating, to watch Miss Swan like this with full awareness that she’s his competitor when she hasn’t been privy to the same knowledge. That’s not to say he hasn’t been tempted; across all the spiraling stone paths, her magic calls to his own like a siren’s song, drawing him in. Tonight, with a companion on his arm, he finally has the excuse to cave. As they approach her tent as others trickle in ahead of them, Killian makes sure to draw a spell around him to mask his own magic like a cloak, the same one he’d used that first day he’d seen her. Even if he feels guilt at the advantage, Killian isn’t quite sure he’s willing to tip his hand yet, no matter how often he’s been tempted. It’s not the time for such a revelation. 

(He doesn’t notice, beside him, the way Miss Frost’s forehead briefly creases as the spell settles around his body; it would not matter if he had, anyways, and the lady is more than happy to hold her tongue on the matter.)

The magician’s tent is small, intimate - a small clearing surrounded by a double ring of chairs. It’s a subtly ingenious way of heightening the drama and the enchantment of the performance: there is, quite literally, nowhere to hide, every angle visible to spectators as they space themselves around the center ring. A lesser magician would never be able to pull it off; it’s lucky, then that Miss Swan doesn’t have to rely on tricks.

Killian is the only one that notices that the tent flap has disappeared, two minutes past the hour. Everyone else is too busy whispering to each other, speculating about where the illusionist is and when the show will start. Unlike the rest of them, Killian waits patiently, knowing that the show has already begun.

No one misses the next trick, as a stream of flame chases around the tent above their heads. Gasps echo from the crowd, in excitement and wonder and no small dose of fear. A handful turn towards where the exit once was, only to discover that the way has been sealed and blocked by chairs during their inattention. Gasps turn to screams, panic quickly catching, until - 

A single figure stands from the audience, a woman with dramatic black skirts and what appears to be a men’s top hat. As she moves towards the center of the ring, she casually tosses the hat onto the seat she had occupied - and as if on cue, the streams of fire chase around the tent once more before plunging downwards, downwards into the hat, which somehow serves to contain the flames instead of catching on fire. As the rest of the audience comes back to their senses, turning their attention towards the slight blonde woman now at the center of the tent, she flicks a finger, sending the hat tumbling through the air to land in her hand, where she jauntily tips the black felt back onto her head and takes a dramatic bow.

And like that, the magician begins her show.

The displays that follow exceed Killian’s feeble memory of her audition, those several years ago. There are little miraculous bits she’s still using - the chairs still levitate, and the hat replaces the jacket as it turns into a beautiful black raven to fly about their heads - but there are new bits, too, as items disappear and reappear and visitors discover all manner of unexpected items in purses and pockets. Somehow, it all flows together seamlessly, one display of ability and control into another. At the very end, the fire returns again, chasing around and around and around her body until she can’t be seen anymore —

And when the flames disperse, all on their own, there is no one to be seen at all. The tent flap appears once again, and they all file out, awed in a way they hadn’t expected. 

It’s beautiful, mysterious, magnificent - just like the woman herself. And Killian can’t remember why he ever stayed away. 

———

Wandering the grounds of the Circus, it is impossible not to notice the statues scattered along the path. Some are monochromatic, fully pristine white or glistening black; some are so vividly realistic, in black and white and flesh tones, as to seem almost lifelike. There are single figures and couples, male portrayals and female, all beautifully detailed and caught mid-action. There is something mystical about them, something you can’t quite put your finger on but know separates them from anything else you’ve ever seen - a feeling that saturates the very air within the iron fencing. 

Examining the statues reveals that the life-like state of the statues is no trick, no clever construction of hard stone and a steady chisel - no, these are merely people mimicking statues by standing so still and moving so slowly as to trick the eye. This isn’t some mere street performer, either, like you might see near the buildings tourists frequent en masse. No, this is something more special, more deliberate, more enchanting. It is almost like a dance, performed on a timeframe only the dancer can perceive. Watching closely, it is possible to see the movement - though it will take much patience. It is easier, in some ways, to pay careful attention to the stance of the living statue at the beginning of a set period, and then see how it has changed some minutes later.

It is said that if you wait long enough, the statues will bend enough to pluck an offering from your very hand. However, it takes a certain kind of person, with a certain kind of fascination, to even try. After all, why spend so long examining statues, when there are so many other wonders to see? 

(Just before you walk away, you could swear the living statue of a young man winks an eye, all in impeccable slow motion - just one more memory of the Circus to treasure in your mind for years to come.)

——— 

The Circus returns when Henry is ten.

Ten is a sensitive age; it’s an age where one is still young enough to be excited about simple, playful things, but believe oneself to be too old to show it. Perceived maturity is beginning to be tantamount at this age, as is the idea of being cool.

Henry, for all his efforts (and a good bit of maturity, in truth), is perceived as neither. 

“The circus is for babies,” Jack Hastings declares in the schoolyard when Henry makes the mistake of mentioning that he’d seen the tents. A keen observer might find humor in the fact that Jack’s proclamation was made as he and the boys played with a collection of small wooden soldiers; the boys, however, are not yet adult enough to see the irony. “I’m not going.”

“I don’t know,” Henry ventures cautiously. “I think I might like to go. It isn’t very often something like the circus comes to town.”

“That’s because you’re a baby,” Jack taunts. “Henry’s a baby! Henry’s a baby!”

“Am not!” Henry bites back hotly before anyone else takes up the chant. 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Then prove it.”

That’s how Henry finds himself examining the black iron bars that encircle the circus tents, searching for a way to slip in. It’s a dare - to sneak in, in daylight hours, and come back with something to prove it. Henry had agreed in the heat of the moment. Now, with school over, Henry’s got to do the deed, while all the other boys wait back in the schoolyard.

While Henry remembers the Circus practically crackling with its own special energy, things are quiet in the light of day. He supposes that makes sense; the Circus operates from sunset to sunrise, and it’s still an hour until dusk. Its performers need to rest and prepare and the like, like anyone else, and this is the time they get to do that.

After spending far more time than necessary carefully examining the outer fence, Henry finally finds a little out of the way stretch, framed by the back of two tents with no one in sight. The bars will be a tight squeeze, but he sucks in his stomach and holds his breath, and after a little bit of wiggling, manages to twist his way through. Quickly brushing himself off, Henry searches around for something he can bring back as proof for the other boys. The easiest thing to do would be to tear off a bit of fabric from one of the tents, but he struggles to bring himself to do it. The tents feel special, nearly sacred, somehow; it would be the worst kind of crime to ruin them in any way. Maybe, if he ventures a little further in, he can find something else —

“What are you doing?” a girl’s voice sounds, interrupting Henry’s thoughts. 

Whirling around, Henry is met by a blonde girl he could have sworn wasn’t there before, about his age, dressed in a black and silver striped dress. He didn’t know people his age were allowed to join the circus; it catches his attention nearly as much as the look on her face. Though her words are accusing, her face only shows curiosity. 

That does nothing to temper Henry’s shame, for better or worse. He didn’t exactly count on getting caught, after all. “There was a dare,” he blurts out. “To sneak into the circus.”

“Well, you managed that,” she observes. 

“Yes.” The silence sits heavy between them. Henry knows he ought to leave, but also feels like he can’t. “I’m sorry,” he finally cuts in - practically begs - once the quiet gets too much and he can’t take that curious stare anymore. “I can slip back out again, or pay the admission, or —”

That finally makes her smile - a bright, lovely thing that makes something stir within Henry that he’s never felt before. “It’s quite alright, Henry. You don’t need to leave. Nick saw you coming.”

He has many questions about that - how she knew his name, what in the world saw you coming means - but he reaches for the easiest first. “Who’s Nick?”

“My brother,” the girl beams. “Twin brother, really. I’m Ava.”

“It’s very nice to meet you.” It’s obvious that there’s no real point in offering his name; Henry is curiously less concerned about her unnatural knowledge than he figures he really ought to be. 

“Likewise,” Ava replies with that same smile, offering her hand for Henry to awkwardly shake. 

(For the first time in his life, he’s left wondering if he should have kissed the back of her offered hand instead. Then again - that sounds gross.)

“Come with me,” she commands with a little nod of her head. Even knowing he ought to slip back through the fence, Henry can’t help but follow, pulled along in a way that he doesn’t quite understand. “You picked a good day to come - Nick says the Circus will be closed tonight for inclement weather,” she adds with a hand waved towards the quickly gathering clouds.

“Yes, they just called it,” adds a different voice - another boy, this one also their age and with a remarkable resemblance to Ava. The biggest difference, really, is the boy’s light brown hair, a contrast to her cheery blonde. It’s obvious this is the twin brother she mentioned - Nick, who somehow knows things.

“He was there, just like you said, Nickie,” she laughs. “I don’t know why anyone bothers to doubt you.”

“They don’t know better,” Nick shrugs.

“Nick has a gift,” Ava explains. “He sees things that others don’t - and they always come true.”

“Oh.” Henry isn’t really sure what to say to that, honestly. He doesn’t disbelieve it, really - Ava did know things she shouldn’t have, without what they claim being true - but he’s a little too flabbergasted at it all to say anything more comprehensible. Besides, if such a thing were to be true - well, it makes sense that it’d happen at the Circus. Where else is magical enough to shelter people with such talents?

Ava breezes right past it though. That must be characteristic of her, if the way her brother stifles a smile is any indication. “There’s always a party in the acrobats’ tent whenever the weather is too bad to open. It’s the biggest, you know.”

“You can come too, if you want,” Nick adds.

Despite the tempting offer, Henry frowns. “I’m not part of the Circus, though. Won’t anyone mind?”

“Circus people are welcoming,” Nick shrugs. “They won’t mind.”

“Besides, everyone thinks we need friends our own age,” Ava chimes in. 

As the sun starts to creep below the horizon, Henry lets the twins lead him across the circus grounds. He wants to go, really - besides, there’s no reason not to. There’s no one waiting who will care if he doesn’t show up for dinner, or even for bedtime. 

(Nick probably already knows that as well; perhaps that’s why neither of them ask whether he needs to be home.)

The inclement weather party is a different kind of marvel than the otherworldly splendor of the open circus that Henry remembers. It seems like everyone is crowded into the tent as raindrops start to patter down upon the canvas, yet somehow the space never seems claustrophobic. Half the collected mass is in their black and white and silver circus clothes, while the other half wears street clothes in all manner of colors and styles. Laughter colors the air, as small groups congregate only to disperse and remingle again. It feels like a family, like a great big reunion, even though Henry is sure they’re not all related. 

(Then again, maybe family doesn’t have to be linked by blood and genealogical trees; maybe family is something that can be crafted with those you choose and care for.)

Ava tugs on his arm before he can get too lost in his thoughts and marvelling at the spectacle of the tent. “You should meet Emma,” she says. At her side, Nick nods in genial agreement. “You’ll like her. She’s the magician.”

She doesn’t quite bodily haul him across the tent space, but it’s close. Henry would complain, but it isn’t hurting; he can tell she’s just eager to share her and Nick’s world in a way she hasn’t with outsiders before. At least, Henry hopes she hasn’t shared all this with outsiders before; Henry’s never really had the chance to be special. It’d be a nice change. 

Eventually, she halts in front of a cluster of women - three brunettes and a blonde. All smile fondly as Ava approaches with Henry in tow. “Emma, I want you to meet someone!” Ava bursts out as they pull to a stop.

“I can see that,” the blonde chuckles as her companions move away. Henry’s distracted for a moment by the movement of the other three ladies, but forces his attention back to meet the magician’s eyes.

And it’s her - the nice lady from the last time he was here. Henry’s face flushes red as he remembers his youthful question - Are you a princess?. She still looks like a princess, four years later, only in a burgundy dress with her hair in a simple bun instead of her sumptuous black and white dress from the last time they met. He can see the moment recognition sweeps across Emma’s face, and knows she remembers too. 

“Henry, was it?” Emma smiles down at him. Somehow, he manages a nod of confirmation. “It’s lovely to see you again, Henry.”

Ava’s face drops a little in disappointment, and a hint of confusion. Seems this is one thing her brother’s visions didn’t reveal - or at least one thing he didn’t share with her. “You know each other already?”

“Only a little,” Henry hastens to explain. It somehow feels very important that Ava know he didn’t deceive her in this way. 

“Henry and I briefly crossed paths the last time the Circus was here - what, four years ago?” Henry nods again. Emma and Ava and Nick and the rest of the Circus may have been to so many places since them that they don’t remember exactly how long it’s been, but Henry could probably tell them down to the day if he just had a couple of minutes to think. “He was kind enough to let me escort him back to the front gates. I must say, I didn’t expect to see him here tonight, though… is there anything I ought to know?”

“No!” Ava assures quickly. It’s not remotely convincing; Henry barely manages to smother a smile as she continues her blatant evasion. “We should go get a little something to eat. Come on, Henry, let’s go!”

To be fair, the spread that Ava leads him to - Nick pulling up the rear, laughing - is very impressive. There are all manner of little finger foods to carry with him, savory and sweet, and an older lady the twins call Granny who presides over the whole thing and makes Henry take another sandwich. All of the circus members - and it feels like Henry’s introduced to every single one - seem to treat the twins like a niece and nephew, or maybe even children. There’s an affection in the air amongst everyone that’s almost palpable, and like nothing he’s ever encountered before. It’s hard not to feel a little jealous of his new friends; it’s everything he’s ever wished for himself. 

Eventually, he’s dragged across the grounds to what they’ll only call the cloud room after a stop by Emma again for a set of umbrellas that seem to actively repel water. 

“It’s my favorite spot,” Nick explains as they shake off their umbrellas just inside the tent flap in a dim antechamber. Henry had barely caught a glimpse of the signage before he’d been bustled inside; Atmospheric Wonders had been less than illuminating a descriptor. “Ava’s is the carousel.”

“I like the animals,” she shrugs. “They’re interesting.”

“Yeah, well, so is this,” her brother quips back. “Henry, look.”

And when Henry does - it’s more than his imagination ever expected.

Somehow, there are dozens of fluffy clouds floating within the confines of the tent, the top of the peaked canvas not even visible for all the clouds in the way. They come in all sizes, all winding around a central, silvery structure with a platform at the top and a slide spiraling back down to the ground. Somehow along the stretch from the ground to the indiscernible peak, the stripes shift into a night sky gently dappled with stars. It’s mystical, and marvelous, and unlike anything he’s ever imagined. 

Henry has barely processed what he’s seeing before Nick takes a flying leap onto a cloud hovering at chest height. Miraculously, it somehow holds his weight, bobbing gently in the air under the change of balance but showing no signs of capsizing.

“It’s really very sturdy,” he calls from his perch, grinning with glee. “There’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

Carefully, Henry steps onto a different cloud hovering about his knees; that’s less distance to fall if there’s any problem. Under his feet, the cloud isn’t exactly firm, or stable - it’s more like if you try to step onto a mattress - but he can also feel that he’s not at risk of crashing down. Somehow, it’s just as safe as Nick promised. 

(How did he miss this before? Now that Henry’s here, he’s not sure he ever wants to leave.)

Ava clambers up onto a cloud somewhere between him and Nick, abandoning grace to pull herself to standing. “It’s a newer tent,” she explains, brushing her skirt free of imaginary cloud dust and casually reading Henry’s mind. Maybe her brother isn’t the only one with special powers of sight. “It only went up a couple months ago, right, Nick?”

“January,” he confirms. “Just after the new year’s party.”

“Not a lot of people know about it yet - but it’s one of our favorites now. Nick and I like to come on the nights we’re not busy with other things.”

Across from them both, Nick obviously grows impatient with all the chatter, leaping to another, higher cloud. “Race you to the top!” he yells back, quickly becoming obscured from sight as he scrambles higher and higher.

Ava stretches her hand across the divide to help him forward. “You’re going to love it,” she beams.

Henry takes her hand, gladly, and lets a smile crease his face even as hers stretches impossibly wider. 

He does love it, just as she promised. The view from the top is spectacular, like something out of a fairy tale, an impression only magnified by small tufts of cloud still hovering around, inviting them to lounge. It would be a good place just to sit and think, Henry thinks, if you lived with the Circus and had that chance. 

Time passes both quickly and slowly at the top of the tower as the three of them sit and talk for what must be hours. Henry feels as if he’s known the twins forever, not just a night - like he fits with them, somehow, in a way he never has with his schoolmates or the other children at the Home, and can’t explain.

(It’s the same feeling he remembers from the first time he visited the Circus, four years before. Of belonging. Of home.)

All too soon, things much end, however. As the conversation encounters a rare lull, Henry sighs heavily, knowing he must draw this to a close. 

“I have to go,” he tells his companions - now friends, he thinks - with the kind of regret that’s practically palpable. 

Ava nods sadly; Henry scrambles to his feet to help her do the same. It’s what a gentleman would do. “We know. But this was lovely.”

“And you’ll be back,” Nick says decisively. “I know it.”

It’s not worth arguing with the boy with a gift. 

Getting down from their perch takes a little more boldness. Technically, there is a slide they could all take advantage of, but Nick won’t let that stand. 

“You’ve got to jump, Henry,” he cajoles. “It’s so much more fun. You feel like you’re flying!”

“More like falling,” Henry mutters. Even if he knows that Nick wouldn’t try to hurt him, like some of the boys at school might, looking down from this height makes his stomach turn. 

Suddenly, a soft hand slips into his own. Ava, who slipped up beside him while he was distracted by the height. “We’ll do it together,” she promises, and somehow - Henry finds himself nodding.

Nick lets out a wild whoop and throws himself off the platform, gleefully tumbling down and down. Ava squeezes his hand tight, just the once, and then she’s running too, bringing Henry with her as they leap. It feels like he’s left his stomach up at the top, but it’s a little freeing too. At the bottom, a particularly soft cloud cushions their fall, surrounding them like a hug. Henry even finds himself laughing along with Ava and Nick as they pick themselves back up. 

Ava walks him back to the main gates under the marvelous umbrella, Nick letting them go on their own after offering Henry a jolly wave goodbye. The door in the iron bars opens without even a squeak, letting the both of them slip through. 

“I don’t want to leave,” Henry confides, the words spilling out of him almost without permission. “I don’t want to go back to the real world out there.”

“You’ll be back,” Ava promises. “We’ll see each other again - I promise.”

He wants to believe her - he does. But it’s a mean world out there, and he’s long since learned that nothing is guaranteed, and —

Ava presses up on her toes to drop a quick kiss on Henry’s lips - his first. It’s just a little peck, really, but it makes them both blush and sends something hopeful in his soul soaring above all the other negativity. 

“To seal it. The promise,” she explains.

No explanation was needed, really - not to the perfect ending to this dream of a night.

(He does not return to the Circus this time, the Sisters punishing him with extra chores when he sneaks back into the Home long after bed checks. Though he would like nothing more than to return back to the Circus and his new friends, he somehow can’t regret it. Every moment was worth it.

Later, he finds a single glove, white with shiny black buttons, tucked into his pocket - proof for his dare. He never shows it off to the other boys; the little scrap of fabric is too personal, and too precious. Instead, he tucks it into the old cigar box he keeps all his treasures in, amongst the perfectly round stones and colored bits of glass and a brightly colored birds’ feather. Let them think he never managed it. They’ll forget soon enough anyways. 

We’ll see each other again, Ava had promised - and Henry intends to wait.)

——— 

There’s a new attraction at the Circus again, Killian - the most wonderful carousel. There’s the usual carved horses, of course, all wonderfully detailed, but there’s all manner of other creatures too - giraffes and elephants and a particularly clever ostrich. There’s even some mythical creatures too. I’m particularly fond of the gryphon, though I suspect you might prefer the dragon. There’s even a bench seat with a kraken twining around it! It’s truly charming; the kids love it, obviously, but it’s wonderful to see the delight of grown men and women too. I believe I saw a young couple squabbling over the cow yesterday; the lady won, of course. Wise man. 

If you hadn’t guessed already, the carousel is very obviously a creation of your winsome competitor. The ride travels through an enclosed portion at the back, ostensibly to parade the figures and their riders past a scrolling display of landscapes; however, having ridden the thing myself (I couldn’t resist, Killian! And obviously chose the gryphon, though I was tempted by a polar bear), it’s obvious that this tunnel somehow bends reality, stretches the track much further than it should ever go. Magic is obviously at play, here, though I believe the visitors are too enthralled (and, as usual, too oblivious) to realize. 

There’s something else a little unusual about the carousel: Mr. Booth’s part in bringing it to life. He was here in Brussels to oversee installation, or I might not have believed it. You know as well as I that usually, new installments just… pop up, without explanation. His craftsmanship is evident in the construction, too, if you know to look - the smooth curves and the intricate carvings and the way the peak of the striped roof stretches up towards the sky. It’s lovely, really, and undeniably a joint effort between Mr. Booth and Miss Swan. 

Does that mean he’s aware of her abilities? I can’t say for certain, but I have trouble imagining otherwise. It could be interesting to see if you could enlist him in a similar effort - though of course, that’s entirely up to you. I’m merely reporting your opponent’s most recent move on the chessboard, so to speak.

(Do come see the carousel, though; I promise you won’t regret it.)

Affectionately yours,

Belle

———

Killian folds Belle’s latest letter carefully, considering her words as he meticulously files the pages away, just as he always does. The new carousel sounds beautiful, of course; Miss Swan’s creations always are. The fact that she enlisted August Booth to create it captures his attention the same way it had Belle’s. That’s something he never considered - drawing upon others’ skills to create something that is not entirely mechanical, but not fully dependent on magic either. He should have thought of it sooner - after all, the Circus as a whole operates in a similar way, weaving enchantments in amongst all the physical manpower needed to bring the whole thing to life. It sets Killian’s mind running in other directions, other ideas that could be brought to life in the same way. And if Booth is aware of the things Miss Swan can do… perhaps he can serve as an intermediary, of sorts, in a way that could bring this competition to a new level.

But Killian is a patient man, a planner through and through. It’s his greatest advantage in his employment and in this game. So before he lets his imagination run away with him, drafting things that can never come to fruition, he calls upon Booth at his office to test the waters of what is possible. 

“I didn’t expect to see you, Jones,” the other man says, smiling genially as he comes out from around the back of his heavy wooden desk to offer a handshake of greeting. 

“It was a bit of an unplanned visit,” Killian admits as he seats himself in the offered chair. 

“Well that’s quite alright. What can I do for you? Is this about the Circus, or are you finally looking to build something more comfortable than that little flat of yours?”

“It’s about the Circus.” Killian lets his gaze glance around the room before he speaks further, considering his next words. Though the furniture in the office at Booth’s architecture firm is heavy, with dark wood and intricate carvings and tall bookshelves lining two walls, the whole thing manages to avoid a feeling of claustrophobia due to a stretch of tall windows along one wall. A panel of stained glass is installed in the middle, with beautiful swirling patterns in all kinds of colors. The whole effect is a little whimsical, while somehow still ordered and elegant. In that moment, Killian can see exactly why August Booth was chosen as a partner to produce the Circus. 

Drawing his attention back to Booth, Killian finds the man patiently waiting for him to start speaking, prompting him to gather his thoughts. “I understand you had a hand in creating a new attraction - a carousel.”

“Ah yes,” August smiles. His tone is fond, almost like a parent speaking of a favorite child. “Marvelous, isn’t it? Though, of course, I can’t take full credit - or even most of the credit, really.”

“So you’re aware of others’... unusual contributions, shall we say.”

Booth makes an amused, guttural noise from the back of his throat. “I may be a skilled designer, but not nearly enough to create space that’s not there. And I’m not nearly oblivious or egotistical enough to believe I can. Besides, Miss Swan was involved from the beginning. The carousel was her idea.”

That’s one question answered. “So how much did Miss Swan tell you about her… abilities, I suppose? And her influence on the Circus?”

“A rudimentary explanation, I believe - just as much as I needed to agree to assist her. All her illusions are real, true magic, and she’s engaged in a competition to be played out at the Circus.” Realization suddenly lights his eyes. “I suppose that makes you the competitor, then? She didn’t seem to know who they were.”

“Aye, I am. And I would appreciate it if you would keep that fact between us. This particular game doesn’t precisely encourage familiarity between contestants.”

August waves him off. “Of course. Now, are you here just to talk about the carousel - or do you have something else in mind?”

“You read my mind,” Killian says, letting a smile spread across his face. “I have an unusual idea, one that I think you can be of assistance with.”

———

Emma should have known that her opponent would hear of the carousel, and of her partnership with Mr. Booth. What she hadn’t expected was for Mr. Booth to send her a letter, detailing an idea her competitor had brought to him.

One they want her involvement in as well.

It’s a simple idea, on the surface - a maze of rooms. Its brilliance is in how it allows the two of them to interact and compete directly as they build off of each others’ ideas. Once the maze is brought to life, once visitors enter the tent, they reach a hallway lined with doors, each leading into other rooms with other doors, and so on. Some will be hidden; some will be obvious. It is entirely up to Emma and whoever she is competing against to build out each room, testing the limits of imagination and reality and magic. 

It’s like a puzzle on a massive scale - each piece fitting into others which in turn fit into others. It’s fascinating to see the things her opponent comes up with over time - creations that play with structure, with scale, like golden bird cages and a room where everything appears so large as to dwarf the viewer. She treasures exploring each one, finding all the hidden doors and discerning the way everything fits together. 

Emma has a niggling feeling that this is not exactly how their competition is supposed to play out - but as she opens another door, she can’t bring herself to care. 

——— 

Maybe it’s ridiculous - but Killian feels like he comes to know the lovely Miss Swan a little better through the room maze and each addition she crafts from her imagination.

She focuses on creating an atmosphere, he finds - the little things that make each space feel like an environment, rather than a room. There are lush green jungles and arid desertscapes and the illusion of a lovely rose garden. He wonders if she feels trapped; all the illusions of open spaces make him think she might. 

He can tell she truly loves the circus in all the little details she weaves in, too. It must take her incredible effort, but it’s worth it to see how leaves glisten with dew and the barest scent of earth or flowers tickles his nose and heat or chill dances along his skin. There’s pride to be found in the work she creates - all the things that take each room of the maze from the illusion of a space into something tangible and believable as its own natural world.

She’s smart, too: the hatches and doors out of her rooms are cleverly hidden, and often require searching for a key first. Killian thinks she might be trying to stump him, for all the time he spends searching for the way out in some rooms. Would she laugh if she could see him? Is he reacting in exactly the way she anticipated, or even intended?

(Would he even mind?)

He’s not such a fool as to fall a little in love with his opponent in the rooms that she builds, but he does delight in receiving these little insights to her personality. It reminds him that Miss Swan is more than his opponent - she’s a person, and one he’d love to know under other circumstances.

Only time will tell whether that makes things easier or harder.

———

To no one’s particular surprise, Regina does not approve of the maze.

“This is a waste of your time,” she proclaims to Emma on one of her rare (and never welcomed) visits. “You’re supposed to be competing, not… collaborating.” She spits out the word like it’s a profanity; who knows, it likely is in her mind. Emma wouldn’t be entirely surprised. 

“Isn’t this just a different way of competing?” Emma asks. Truthfully, she doesn’t see the fuss. “I’d think it would be easier to compare, when we have to share the same structure. Well, even more than we usually do.”

“This is not how things are supposed to work,” Regina snaps. “I didn’t train you to be so stupid about this, Emma. You know better - this is… frivolous!”

“I like it,” Emma says, letting her voice display a quiet defiance. “I think it’s wonderful.”

That’s why she’d led Regina to the maze in the first place, instead of simply taking tea in her compartment as usual - a little childish thought that maybe her mentor would see all the careful crafting she had put into each chamber. That maybe she would appreciate this unusual way in which Emma was stretching her abilities beyond what she thought was possible, challenged by the necessity of working around someone else’s ideas in the most literal, compressed way. That maybe she would be proud.

Pride, at least for others, is not something that’s in Regina’s vocabulary, however - something that Emma has never been more aware of than in this moment, standing amongst the hedges of a shifting maze within a maze. It’s an ever-changing creation, one that Emma had been particularly proud of.

It’s easier simply to wind their way to the closest exit than to attempt to convince Regina any further; Emma has long since learned her mentor is an immovable force. If Regina hasn’t been swayed by the creativity and brilliance of seeing the maze in person, no words will do it. So they’ll exit the maze and slip back into the backstage rooms, where Regina can berate her about her work ethic and how it seems like Emma doesn’t even want this while still failing to offer any concrete details or advice, until Emma can make her escape to perform another show, displaying her abilities to a kinder audience. That’s how these things always seem to go, and now that her foolishly hopeful little bubble has been broken, there’s no reason they won’t go that way again. 

Then again, there’s alway room for surprises and changes from the norm; Emma should know that, after so many years here at the Circus. As they exit into the chilled night air, Emma - and more importantly, Regina - clearly didn’t expect to run into Mulan as the sword swallower wandered back towards her own lodgings.

Most days, Emma almost forgets this other source of magic buzzing around the circus. It’s like white noise, almost; something Emma is subconsciously aware of, and can focus on when she chooses, but fades into the background most of the time. They’re friendly, but not quite friends - happy to spend time with one another, but rarely seeking each other out. Mulan is closer with Ruby, or with Belle. It’s easy, in that way, for Emma to forget the higher force that binds the two of them together - Regina herself, who has been a teacher to both of them. 

It is visibly obvious the moment they catch sight of one another: both straighten to their most rigid posture, Regina’s face shifting into something even more haughty than her usual mien, and Mulan shifting to something cool and dangerous. The air between them practically crackles with restrained magical energy, sending the hair on Emma’s arms to stand on end. Emma sends a silent thanks to whomever may be listening that this meeting occurred firmly in public; while the confrontation is primed to be bad as it is, she wouldn’t relish being forced between them in a private setting. Or a dark alley.

For all of the danger sparking the air, it is almost anticlimactic when each party finally finds their words. “Regina,” Mulan says, coolly polite and with the barest incline of her head. Regina only jerks her chin in a broken nod in response. 

And then they’re moving their separate ways, the whole thing over. Maybe it’s better that way; it would be a pity if the Circus was razed to the ground, after they’ve all put so much effort into the venue. There’s a story there, though, one Emma doesn’t know but can’t help but wonder about. She’ll have to ask Mulan, later; she knows very well that asking Regina will bear no fruit. 

(She never does, of course, just another intention lost to time and her mentor’s berating. Not that it would have done any good, anyways. Mulan keeps her secrets locked as tight as the most impressive safe.)

———

Emma knows Belle, of course - they’ve both been with the Circus for more than a decade, and Emma isn’t entirely self absorbed. They’re even friendly, in that way two people who work together but aren’t particularly close can be. But never once in all that time can Emma remember actively seeking the other woman out - for her skills or anything else. 

Belle’s particular skill unsettles Emma, she supposes. It feels a little hypocritical - Emma has magic, after all, she shouldn’t feel so uncomfortable about fortune-telling. There’s something about the talent to see glimpses of the future, however, that has never sat quite right in her mind - that has always made her ever so slightly uncomfortable. It’s not Belle’s fault; Emma knows as well as anyone that sometimes, these kinds of gifts choose their recipient instead of the other way around. 

There’s something in the air, though, something Emma can’t quite identify. There’s a niggling feeling of anticipation, like a reverse deja vu, where Emma knows something is coming, but doesn’t know what or how or when. She’s never been particularly good with that kind of uncertainty, searching for control wherever possible. It’s that search for control that brings her to Belle, seeking answers anywhere she can find them. Unusual times call for unusual measures, or some other such cliché. 

Emma goes at night, while the Circus is open, in between her own performances - just like any other querrant. It’s a simple thing to blend into the crowd - after all, no one is expecting  the illusionist to wander among them, especially in a dark coat and skirts turned crimson red with the touch of a finger. It takes no magic at all to slip down the silvery paths and duck into a tent labeled Fortune Teller: Feats of Fate and Prophecy. 

Belle snaps into character as soon as Emma brushes past the beaded curtain welcoming visitors into her space, only to relax again as she recognizes Emma’s face. “What a lovely surprise,” she comments with a pleased smile. “Sit down, sit down. What can I do for you, Emma?”

“I was hoping for a reading,” Emma explains as casually as possible - as if this is no great favor. Still, it shoots the brunette’s eyebrows up towards her hairline in surprise. 

“I must say, I didn’t expect that,” she comments. “I don’t believe you’ve asked such a thing of me before.”

“I haven’t felt the desire before.”

“Ah. You must face some kind of crossroads, then.” 

“Truthfully, I am not even sure enough to say that much,” Emma admits. Summoning a few coins into her hand, she pushes them across the table - payment for services rendered, as is typically custom in Belle’s little nook. “I hoped you might be able to shed more light on the matter than I can currently discern.”

Belle pushes the coins back. “Keep your money. Consider this a gift for a friend. Now, shall we?” As soon as Emma nods, Belle begins shuffling the cards - a quick, hypnotic motion, as each card flies past again and again. Once she’s satisfied with the shuffle, she carefully fans the cards across her table, face down. “Pick a card to represent yourself, if you please.”

Emma contemplates her options; truthfully, the tarot has never called to her, and this moment is no different. After some short examination, she selects one barely visible towards the left-hand side.

Belle chuckles a little as she turns the card over - and Emma can see exactly why, as soon as she sees the card. The Magician. 

“Now, this card often represents a plethora of abilities or options you may not be fully aware of, especially in the face of impending change or disaster,” Belle explains. “And that may still be the case. However, under the circumstances, I suspect this card is supposed to be taken rather more literally in this particular reading, Madame Magician.”

Belle shuffles again, before cutting the deck into three portions and directing Emma to select one. Replacing the selected stack back at the top at the pile, she quickly doles the cards back out, in practiced patterns and an unexpected elegance. There are flashes of cups and swords on the cards between them, interspersed with picture cards of women and wheels and a couple reaching for one another.

(Emma does not think she has the time for whatever a card like The Lovers may symbolize.)

“I see what you mean,” Belle says after a long moment. “There are significant changes here - in circumstance, in thinking, and in feelings. Whatever knot you have been working at in your mind will begin to unravel - one change that will spur many more. Now these changes - they seem imminent.”

“How imminent?”

Belle cocks her head, examining again. “There’s rarely an evident timeline that I can see,” she admits, “but I would wager in the coming weeks or months.”

Emma nods. It’s not really an answer - but it feels like validation, somehow. Like someone else can sense that something is on the horizon. 

“Now, I asked about a crossroads, before we started,” Belle continues. “The changes that are coming - they will not be your crossroads. This will not be the moment you have to make that decision. But each change will compound upon each other until it leads you to that crossroads - a choice you’ll make that will change everything, again. It will not be for some time yet, but those seeds are being sown now.”

Emma nods slowly, taking it all in. There is an odd comfort in Belle’s words, even as Emma tells herself not to put too much stock in it. “Thank you,” she finally says. “Is there anything else you can see?”

Belle shakes her head ruefully. “Not that I can see now, no. But I’ll keep looking. Sometimes, these things make themselves clearer given a few hours to think on them.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

Emma ponders the words as she emerges back into the night. A momentous change to come seems inevitable - both from her instincts and Belle’s own readings. All that’s left to do is brace herself and face that change with an open mind and courage.

The weeks and months to come may change everything - and Emma intends to be ready for it. 

———

We’ll be back in England next month - just in time for the rains, I’m sure. As if they ever stop. I anticipate many inclement weather parties in my future, and I don’t even need the cards to tell me that. 

Speaking of which - be on the lookout for something, Killian. Change is in the cards and in the air. Something is on the horizon, and I think it’s best you be ready for whatever that might be.

We’ll have tea one afternoon next time I’m in town, and you can buy me an absurd amount of books. I have several recommendations to give you from the last batch. I expect you’ll feign interest and the time to read, just as always, but I don’t particularly care. You’ll do it because I’m your friend, and you love me.

Yours &c., 

Belle

———

That same feeling of anticipation, of something in the air, only intensifies when the Circus returns to London for a short stretch. It’s been growing ever since Emma spoke with Belle, becoming more urgent as time goes by. A breaking point must come soon - though what that will herald, Emma doesn’t pretend to know. There’s no use continuing to worry over something that will only reveal itself at the right time.

Emma throws herself into rediscovery instead, wandering all those places she used to know. It’s hard to call London home, even though she grew up here - that designation has only ever belonged to her cramped and cozy little train compartment - but the city is familiar in a way that’s comforting. She spent the first 24 years of her life here, after all; even trapped under Regina’s thumb, she was able to discover little corners of the city all her own, park benches and cafe tables and backstage theater rooms. 

(She doesn’t intend to visit her benefactor during this stop, if she can at all help it; bringing Regina into things always invites trouble that Emma would rather avoid.)

It’s raining on their first day in town, of course, like her own meteorological welcome. Emma smiles a bit at the thought of the clouds and raindrops and wind whispering a hello - though truthfully, she’s seen odder things. She’s orchestrated odder things. The soft patter of raindrops on her umbrella is almost soothing as she walks down the cobbled streets to a favorite remembered cafe. Emma loves the Circus with every fiber of her being, both as her creation and as her home; still, sometimes it’s nice to escape for an afternoon and enjoy the anonymity of people watching or reading a nice book. Some days, she wants that distance; to be just another face in the crowd.

The afternoon passes quietly and uneventfully with her tea and scone and a silly novel. It’s easy to blend into this little corner of London, tucked into the corner of a quiet street off the main road. Emma has always liked this place, and tries to visit whenever she’s in the city; it’s something about the way that light dapples through the wide windows at the front, always perpetually just the slightest bit grimy, like dirt had accumulated just as soon as some poor soul had taken the efforts to clean them off. The used bookstore just across the street is a wonderful bonus too, where Emma sometimes finds unexpected treasures. Here, she can be just anyone else - no expectations, no grand fate. Just a woman at a weathered table. 

All too soon, the clock on the wall chimes 4pm, prompting Emma to gather her things to leave. This time of year, even though spring approaches, the sun still sets early, heralding the opening of the circus’ wide gates. Emma is lucky enough to set her own performance hours during the night, generally aiming to do three or four shows in an evening; however, it’s still important that she’s fully ready for the evening by the time the first visitors trickle into the grounds, regardless of the fact that she won’t make her own dramatic entrance for at least another half hour. 

As she bustles out the door, she mentally runs through her checklist for the night of tricks she might like to perform. That’s the freeing thing about performing with real magic; not having to depend on mechanics means that she can improvise, that every single show can be different as she feeds off the audience and her current whims. 

She’s so busy running through her possibilities for the night that she doesn’t notice she’s grabbed the wrong umbrella - not at first, at least. It’s just one amongst a cluster of black fabric in the umbrella stand, each nearly identical to each other. Emma’s put a special charm on hers that repels the rain; that slight buzz of magic is the only thing that differentiates hers from all the others. She picks it out by the feel alone, absentmindedly, before exiting into the deluge.

Something is off, though - something she realizes the further she walks from the cafe and comes back to full awareness. The charm on the umbrella is wonderfully effective, as always, but there’s something… wrong about the magic. Emma’s own magic has a particular warm feel to it, one that largely fades into the background of her mind until she barely notices it. This, though… the buzz continues, like a pricking or a tickle under her skin. Foreign.

Not hers.

Realization draws her up short. This umbrella - clearly imbued with powerful magic - magic like her opponent would possess - in the cafe at the same time - 

A polite clearing of the throat causes Emma to whip around, revealing an unexpectedly familiar face: Jefferson’s assistant, the handsome one, who she remembers lurking at the edges of ballrooms and the back of theatres and in the densest of crowds. Jones - something with a K. Or a C? Kelvin? Carson? No —

“Excuse me, Miss Swan,” Killian Jones smiles warmly, “but I believe you have my umbrella.”

[elylandon]

Part 1 - Chapter 16.1: Camping and Scars

Summary: You’re running for your life when you cross paths with an ex-bounty hunter and his small, green companion. You never thought you’d find someone throughout the whole galaxy who was as lost as you.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Word Count: 6,085

Rating/Warnings: M for mature content. Swearing, smut, unbelievable softness.

Chapter 16 | Chapter 16.2

Note: (Slight AU) And we’re back!! I hope you all enjoyed the start of the new season! I can’t wait to start Part 2 of this story, but I figured while I wait a few weeks to outline my plans with the events of season 2, I’ll drop a couple epilogue chapters to get us caught up with what Din and Reader have been up to! I really hope you guys enjoy this addition, and thanks for still supporting this story! 💜🤍

---

Three months. It had been a little over three months since Nevarro. And in that time, Din quickly realized that he had no idea how to take a proper vacation. When he’d suggested taking a break, you said that you would follow him. But in the end, he wound up following you.

Every place the three of you visited in that time had been a suggestion on your part. Suggestions of things you’d wanted to do on Earth growing up, while Din interpreted those things and found what he knew to be similar. Grand waterfalls, deep canyons, towering cities, sporting events, pod races, museums, libraries, menageries- the works. It was as if you saw the many wonders of the galaxy on a platter and you wanted to sample all of them.

But as the two of you agreed, this break would have to come to an end soon. Your birthday happened to be two weeks away, so you had a couple more ideas as a sort of celebration before getting back to reality, and finally setting out on Din’s quest with the child, and your quest to find Zekir.

Your first idea was recreational camping.

“Camping for… fun?” Din had asked, bemused. The way he was raised with the Mandalorians, camping was for survival, and nothing more. He tried to imagine the drills he’d been put through to survive several days on his own, only using the resources around him, as fun.

“Yes! It was something my parents liked to do every summer. We’d go to the same campsite every time, a forest on a mountain, and set up our camp next to a river. My dad would fish while my mom and I would hunt for crawdads and trap chipmunks. We’d cook our meals over a campfire and find constellations at night. It was probably one of my favorite things we did as a family.”

Din didn’t think he could say no to you after hearing that, even if he wanted to. There was a light in your eyes as you told him about it. Excitement, and longing for something you’d cherished in your past. He could understand that, the desire to relive something from a time when you were so happy, so carefree about the dangers of the galaxy. 

So he agreed, and the two of you made plans. First, preparation.

Din escorted you to his usual trading spot and set you loose. It was like that first time the two of you had been there, all those months ago, where you followed him to each stall as he knew exactly where to go and who to talk to in order to pawn off all the things you’d looted from Thasar’s ships. This time, though, it was him following after you, watching you haggle for things he’d never seen a necessity for, but were apparently crucial to recreational camping.

You were a fast learner. He’d been teaching you other popular languages spoken throughout the galaxy, and you were using a lot of those new skills now, speaking as if you had been fluent in these languages your whole life. With each passing day, it made more and more sense how you’d learned so quickly under Zekir’s teachings and Thasar’s tutors. Despite that, though, it also became painfully apparent the absolute waste of your potential over the last decade while you were isolated to Thasar’s whims. Din could tell you regretted that lost time, that lost education. But you didn’t waste it now.

You were almost as much of an expert on the Razor Crest as he was. You were well versed in his armor too, in case you ever found yourself in a situation where he was incapacitated and you could benefit from having access to something like the Whistling Birds. You’d improved on your marksmanship and your close combat fighting, with and without weaponry. You’d also become partial to using an ornate dagger you’d spotted on your travels, sheathing in your boot, just in case you lost the use of your blaster holstered against your thigh.

All of this was to say that, taking a break for Din meant helping you grow, watching you take advantage of your freedom, and enjoying your whims, because he didn’t really have any. Of course, you also encouraged him to enjoy things that he might have missed out on at certain points in his life, just as you were doing. However, he wasn’t really sure what he’d missed, until he was doing it with you.

Once you were done shopping, you finished prepping by packing the newly acquired camping equipment into bins down in the hull. While you did that, Din took on the task of finding a place to camp. He remembered how you had explained your camping trips from your childhood. A river in a forest on a mountain. A place that made you think of home, of Earth.

He knew the perfect place.

Before long, Din was dropping into the atmosphere of a lush, green planet. Feeling the descent, you came up to join him in the cockpit and looked around, eyes glowing, mesmerized.

“It looks… just like I remember it. I mean, I know it’s not Earth, but it looks the same.”

“I had a job here once. This planet has a large caving system. I had to walk in circles down there for three days before I finally found the guy. Once I got topside again, I thought I wouldn’t mind coming back to a place like this. If I had to walk away from the Creed, or got too old and slow for the job, this was the kind of place I’d want to retire to.”

“You’re a cabin in the woods kind of guy, huh?” you teased. He only shrugged.

Din quickly found a small clearing to land in, and you eagerly waited at the back ramp as it slowly lowered. As soon as it touched the ground, you took off into the trees, the child happily bouncing against your hip in his satchel. You followed the sound of streaming water. After a hundred or so yards, you came up to a slow moving river. Just before the bank was a small circle of clear forest floor, big enough for both a campfire and a tent. And off to the right of that was a large outcropping of rock, forming a short cliff and overhang, below it a small pool branching off of the river.

You turned as Din came up behind you, having found your trail and followed you through the trees. You beamed up at him.

“This is the perfect spot.”

You proceed to set up camp. Din moved the camping bins from the Crest to the campsite while you and the child started pitching the tent. Once that was done, you went around gathering rocks, creating a circle away from the tent to form a firepit. Then you collected firewood. Din eventually joined you, unwittingly volunteering to be the firewood carrier as you and the child slowly added to the load in his arms.

You let the child play in the empty tent while you unloaded the equipment from the bins. One was stuffed with blankets and pillows, and you used them to create a huge nest in the tent. You followed that by tossing your pack to one side and Din’s to the other, then tucked a lantern into one of the corners closer to the opening, and finished prepping the tent for basic hibernation.

Once the camp was put together, the three of you spent the rest of the day doing the activities you remembered doing with your parents. Din fished, but with a handmade spear instead of a fishing pole like you remembered your dad using. He stationed himself in the river, only out far enough for the water to run around his calves. He’d rolled his pants up, and stashed his armor away in the tent. The only thing remaining of the “Mandalorian” was his helmet. But even while he was now more flesh than beskar, he still had a way of keeping himself absolutely still as he waited for his quarry to be daring enough to swim within his reach. 

As he did that, you and the child played in the pool. Or rather, you collected some more rocks and formed a small circle in the most shallow part of the pool, just a few feet off the bank, and he splashed around in that while you swam. At one point, he’d used his powers to push the water, splashing at you. You gasped in mock betrayal and swore vengeance. Several minutes later, Din came over, a basket of fish in hand, only to find you two soaking wet and a mess of giggles. 

As it started to cool down in the late afternoon, you and child migrated away from the river and into the trees. You set up small traps for rodents on the forest floor, laying out a few tiny boxes, and propping one of their sides up with sticks. You both hunkered down behind some brush and waited, watching for little critters to come and snatch the bait you’d left under each box. After cleaning the fish for dinner, Din joined you, shaking his head as you and the child took turns using your power to knock out the sticks from under the boxes, so that they would fall over your unsuspecting prey. Of course, you’d let them go as soon as you caught them, and the poor rodents would dash away as soon as they were free. But they kept returning, as if the circumstances of their potential capture had changed. Needless to say, it created a couple hours of harmless entertainment.

As night fell, the three of you roasted Din’s catch over a roaring fire and feasted. Afterwards, bellies full, you all laid out beside the fire, relaxed and content after the busy day. Din pointed out several constellations as the stars started popping up in the night sky, remembering what you had told him about your parents doing the same. And it wasn’t long after that the child fell asleep against your chest to the sound of Din’s low, modulated voice. 

As much as you loved this kid, there were times when you were eager for him to fall asleep, and hopefully a deep sleep at that. Between the child, the armor, and the exact parameters required for such an occasion, intimate moments with Din were hard to come by. You loved spending time where the three of you were together, but you also relished the moments you could spend alone with Din. 

Said man went to grab some more firewood while you made your way up the short hill to the Razor Crest. Over the last few months, you’d managed to jury-rig a connection between the Crest’s intercom system and a long range coms device. Voila! Instant baby monitor. You snatched it up from it’s charging port on the supply shelf and tucked the child in on Din’s cot. He’d be a lot warmer on the ship, and if he woke in the night, you’d hear him. 

When you made it back to the fire you found Din kneeling in front of it, stoking the wood to keep it burning. You dropped down beside him, savoring the toasty warmth of the flames with a sigh. You criss-crossed your legs, your knee brushing against Din’s calf, and glanced around the camp. 

At first, your eyes went to the tent, and you contemplated how many more seconds you would last before you started dragging Din into it behind you. A wry smile played at your lips, but then your brain threw up another idea. 

Slowly, your gaze swung towards the pool you and the child were playing in earlier that day. 

“Now what are you scheming,” Din asked, noticing the look on your face. 

You tossed him a mischievous smile.

“I think I want to go skinny-dipping.”

Din was still and silent for a full thirty seconds as he assessed you. Then he shifted in an almost resigned fashion. 

“What is that?” he asked, tone suggesting that he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. 

Your grin became devilish and you stood. As you turned away from him, you tugged the hem of your shirt-- his shirt, the one he had given you the first day you’d met him-- out of your trousers, then over your head. You were already a few steps away, tossing your shirt aside when Din processed your actions enough to jump up and follow after you.

“Y/N,” he called, a question in his voice, confused. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling, then shed the band covering your chest. 

The closer you got to the pool, the more clothing you lost, leaving a trail for Din to follow. He was still puzzled by your actions, the sound of your name becoming more and more clipped as that legendary patience of his frayed. You glanced back at him once, and saw that he was picking up after you, your clothes and boots a bundle in his arms. Grinning so much that your cheeks hurt, you finally reached the bank of the river and the edge of the rocky cliff face that formed an overlook above the pool. 

While you were swimming with the child earlier, you’d checked the depth of the water, wondering if it would be safe for cliff jumping. The cliff itself wasn’t too high. In fact, you could compare it to jumping off the high dive at a public pool back home. And the pool was deep. Not deep enough for diving, but jumping in would be fine. 

You started to climb, and that sharpened Din’s tone. 

“Y/N, what the hell are you-”

You ignored him, scrambling up to the top of the cliff rather quickly. Yes, it was exactly like the high dive. Looking up at it from down below, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. But being up there, knowing what you were about to do…

Don’t think, just do it. 

You stripped off the last piece of your clothing, tossing your panties down for Din to add to the pile of your clothing. You knew his gaze was incredulous and reproachful as you met it, but you winked at him anyway, then shot forward, and jumped. 

As much as this reckless decision was to mess with Din-- give him a little strip tease and then a heart attack as you jumped off a cliff-- it was about you too. Earlier that day, you’d looked at the rocks and thought that it would be crazy, and adventurous, and fun to jump from them, naked, into a wild pool at night. You wanted to do it. You could do it. 

So you did. 

That quick fall, the feeling of your heart dropping into your stomach, a gleeful shout bubbling up from your throat- this was freedom. No shitty foster family. No Thasar. No Zekir. Just you, and the freedom to do whatever the hell you wanted, even something as crazy as this. 

You hit the water, and that feeling propelled you forward, swimming out a few more feet just to feel nothing but calm, silent water around you. No pressure. No anxiety. Just serenity, and lightheartedness. 

When you broke the surface, you were laughing. Laughing so hard, so unreserved that you almost took in a mouthful of water. Through your peels of laughter you shouted, “Fuck! It’s freezing!” as the cold finally started to penetrate your bliss. 

You pushed your hair from your face, treading the water, and turned back to the shore. Din was standing there, arms full of your clothes, body language suggesting he was so done with your antics. Not in a serious way, but in a I-can’t-believe-you-just-did-that-and-yet-I’m-not-even-surprised kind of way. 

“You’re a madwoman,” he muttered, then louder he said, “Get out of there before you freeze to death.”

“No way,” you called over, shaking your head. “Now it’s your turn.”

Again, Din was comically still for half a minute.

“No.” 

You snorted a laugh at his very Din-like answer. So deadpan. So serious. 

“Well then I’m just gonna hang out here.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m not leaving until you join me.”

“You’re going to freeze.”

“I guess you’ll just have to live with the consequences of your actions.”

“My actions-” Din cut himself off, realizing that you were poking at him and he was biting. He turned away, like he was going to start walking back to camp. 

“I’m s-starting to turn as b-blue as a Mythrol out here,” you stammered as your teeth started chattering. He just shook his head, so you sighed and tried a more serious tone.  

“Din, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. But trust me, all you have to do is let go. Let it all go and just… be free. Just for this moment.”

Another pause, and then Din sighed. Not his heavy, impatient sigh. Just a slightly resigned one. Then, he dropped your clothes on the bank, and reached down to tug off his boots. You continued to tread in the water, elated at the thought that he was about to jump into the pool with you, but also pleased to take advantage of your own little strip show. 

Din pulled his thick shirt over his helmeted head. While it was still dark as hell out here, the moon gave you just enough light to see more of Din than you ever had before. You never would have imagined how beautiful his skin was. For a warrior, you pictured… well you weren't at all sure what you pictured. All you knew was the feel of him. Seeing him now, it was no wonder why he always felt so warm, despite appearing cold in all that armor. 

His skin was a tawny color, his chest smooth, inviting. The armor made him appear bigger, but there was nothing lacking in his toned arms, broad shoulders, and thick neck. You were too far away, and it was too dark to see them, but you knew there were scars peppering his skin too, like yours. You’d felt a few of them before, while exploring his skin. But considering how you felt about your own scars, you never asked him about his. 

As Din reached for the waistband of his pants, he glanced up and noticed you watching. He cocked his head to the side, disapproving. 

“You’ll still have to turn around, Y/N.”

“Oh, I know. But you’ve only ever expressed that your Creed forbids you from showing your face. You’ve never said anything about the rest of you. I think I’d like to enjoy the show as long as I can.”

As if just to spite you, Din reached for his helmet first, not his pants. 

You scoffed, turning around. “Spoil sport.”

You heard the rustling of him removing the rest of his clothes, and setting them in a pile on the ground, most likely next to your own. You stared up at the sky, listening to Din’s slight, unmodulated grunting as he pulled himself up onto the rock. After a few more seconds, you wondered if he’d need some more coaxing, but as you opened your mouth, a raucous splashing erupted behind you. The waves he created rippled around you, and you sighed in slight disappointment. You didn’t often find yourself wishing you could see more of Din than usual. But in that moment, you kind of did. You would have liked to watch him make the jump. 

Alas, you kept your back to him as he surfaced, laughing some more as he released his own string of curses about the chill of the water. 

“Amazing right?” you called back to him. He muttered under his breath as he moved closer to you, stubbornly avoiding agreeing with you about how incredible it felt to jump off the cliff. 

You glanced over towards the adjacent river. “Maybe now we should try floating the river. It doesn’t look too fast.”

“No. No- Y/N!” Din caught up your bicep as you teasingly floated in that direction, pulling you back to the shore. You laughed again, just as carefree as before. 

“Kidding! I was totally kidding.”

“Alright. You’ve had your fun. You even got me in the water. Time to get back to land and warm up.”

“I know a few ways you can warm me up without getting out of the water.”

Ew, did I really just say that? You’d always hated it when men said slimy things like that to you in the past. 

“I know a few things you can do with that mouth.”

You shuddered, and opened your mouth to backpedal that statement. But what came out insead was a small yelp as Din yanked you back, spinning you as he did so. You squeezed your eyes shut, as he must have known you would have to keep from seeing him, and then-

And then his lips were on yours. Cold, but soft, unwavering. You sighed, immediately wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling yourself closer, seeking his warmth. 

It was totally a ploy. You could tell that as he tried to discreetly move you back towards the bank, kissing you as a distraction. But you were both very naked, and you had a few distractions of your own. 

Din liked to be touched. Correction. Din liked to be touched by you. You slid one hand up along the back of his neck, fingers threading through his curls. Your other hand traced over his shoulder and down his arm. Those arms were wrapped around you, his hands splayed against your lower back, never going any higher than that. As you moved against him, your breasts brushing against his chest, his fingers flexed, and he drew your hips closer, almost involuntarily, like he momentarily lost focus. 

He hummed softly against your lips.

I know what you’re doing, he seemed to say.

Your retort was the tightening of your fingers in his hair. Is it working?

The brush of sand and smooth rocks against your toes said not quite. He was determined to get you out of the water, and had managed to push you back enough to be swallowed up by the cliff's shadow, solid ground teasing you, just an inch or so out of reach. 

Alright, time for some more drastic measures. 

Your next kiss came a little harder, tongue flicking out to tease his, to taste him. Your fingers against his arm crept down along his side, then ghosted over his stomach, lower, and lower, until-

Din’s teeth caught your bottom lip, nipping you sharply as he flinched back, hissing. You stroked the length of him once again and he seemed to hold his breath in response, anticipating, already growing hard despite the frigid temperature. When you wrapped your fingers around him completely, he breathed out a soft curse, the word not one of the basic language. 

Mando’a, you’d come to find out over the last few months. When he swore or muttered under his breath in a different language, he was speaking Mando’a. He’d taught you a few words, but he’d also been teaching you many other languages, so sometimes you had to pick through the different files in your brain to decipher what he was saying. 

Back to the matter at hand-- so to speak-- you brushed your lips against his strained neck as he tried and failed to regain his focus, and slowly, oh-so-painfully slow, you slid your grip over him. Long, steady strokes that made his fingers dig deeper into the skin at your waist, restraining with all his might from bucking his hips against your hand. 

The thing about Din was that he was such a deliberate, controlled man. Every move he made was calculated, every reaction thought out. He didn’t rush things, or at least didn’t like to. When he lost control of a situation, he’d try to think five steps ahead, and if he couldn’t, he would at least execute his next step as efficiently as possible and move from there. It was how he overcame fighters or adversaries that were better than him, and how he kept a level head in tense situations. 

So attempting to undo this man was a battle. One you’d been winning more and more over the last few months. And when you did win, when Din finally snapped and let go of all that control-- like jumping off a cliff with you-- that victory was so delicious, so intoxicating-

Just thinking about it sent a burning jolt of desire through you, and you squeezed him, just a little bit tighter, the rhythm of your strokes wavering, just slightly, and that did it. That unraveled him.  

He growled, and his fingers dug so hard into your hips that you gasped. His superior height must have given him the extra length needed for steady footing on the sandy floor, for he straightened, hoisting you up without more than a slight grunt of effort. You wrapped your legs around him in response. No teetering or sinking, except he did move forward. You hadn’t realized how close you’d been to the cliff face until your back was brushing against it, rough, but not enough to cause any real pain. Din supported you with a hand gripping the back of your thigh, and the other positioned on the rock behind you. 

He kissed you again, hard, lips bruising. You returned it in kind, thighs squeezing his sides, hands on either side of his face, sighing, and gasping- and then moaning as he pushed into you. You were taken aback by how rough it was, the water tricking you into thinking it would have been smoother, easier. But it was the opposite, and you threw your head back, crying out as he thrust into you again. 

Oh gods!

Din groaned, dropping his forehead against your collar bone as he moved against you. Water sloshed with each thrust, but it was no longer cold. Nothing was cold. This- this was wildfire, and hard, and blinding. Din wasn’t even sure he remembered where he was, just that he was with you, and that every inch of his skin that was touching yours was coursing with electricity, his senses in overdrive. 

You brushed your fingers against his cheek, and he lifted his face to meet your lips once again. In that kiss he felt the desire to be closer, push deeper. He slid his hand over your thigh, tracing the skin down to your knee, then hooked his arm under your leg, giving him a slightly different angle, allowing him to drive further into you. You whimpered into his mouth, your fingers digging into his shoulders, clinging to him as if he was your lifeline. It wasn’t long before you were trembling beneath him, your walls constricting around him so tightly that he saw stars. Your climax came on a broken gasp, and Din helped you ride that as long as possible. And then all it took for him was your hand, laid tenderly against his cheek, your forehead against his, your noses brushing as you breathed his name, the sound so quiet, it was almost carried away by the river. 

The two of you hung there, as if suspended in a brief pause of time as the euphoria faded into something softer. Din kissed you again, his movements slow and tender. You tried to smoothly extricate yourself from him, and when he didn’t have to support you anymore, his hands moved up to cup either side of your face, savoring the sweetly lethargic kiss. 

Seemingly every time, why was it the sound of his name one your lips that did it, that pushed him over the edge? You somehow always managed to put so much in just that one syllable, it was maddening. You said his name like it meant something, like you cherished it, like a prayer, and that would forever be his undoing. 

And then the cold started to seep in.

“Will you get out of the water now?” Din asked. 

You scoffed. 

“You did not just do that to get me out of the water.” 

When he merely shrugged, you swatted his arm and turned towards the bank, eyes opening now to navigate your way. 

“If that was the play, all you had to say was that we’d do it in the tent.”

“Who’s saying that we won’t still?”

You quickly scrambled out of the pool and Din laughed. You closed your eyes and turned, waiting for him and smiling at the sound.

“Here,” Din said as he caught up to you. Your clothes found their way into your arms, and you were sure Din was grabbing his own as he said, “Lead, so you can see where you’re going. I’ll follow.”

You did as you were told. You turning your back to him, as you had done earlier while stripping and making your way to the pool, was a testament to how far the two of you had come together. Six months ago, you would have argued, falling back to be the follower. For one thing, you hadn’t trusted him yet, and for another, you used to go out of your way to hide your scars from him.

However, as the two of you grew closer, you slowly got used to it; letting him see that part of you, just as he was getting used to being around you without his armor. Din saw those scars now, your back a maze of them. They criss-crossed over each other in a mess of ruined flesh. Lashings. He knew they’d come from lashings. He’d almost witnessed new ones about to be made the day you’d finally killed your tormentor. Having initially seen your scars that day as Meck and Gurn ripped your shirt open, watching Rhet prepare to add to them, hearing the words Thasar used to crush you, and seeing the absolute emptiness in your eyes, he’d been only a breath away from vaporizing every last one of them.

Din tucked his clothes under one arm, then caught you around the middle with the other. He bent down, and kissed one of the bigger scars, starting just at the base of your neck. You jumped, gasping in surprise, more from the gesture than the touch of his lips on your back. But you didn’t tense. Another landmark, to show just how far you’d come. 

“Sorry,” Din murmured, stepping back. “Couldn’t resist.”

You hovered there for a moment, dazed, unable to put to words what that had just felt like. When Din gave your hip a gentle push, you scampered forward, back towards the camp. 

Still slightly disoriented, you muttered the only thing that your brain could register, and that was, “Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold.” You quickly stepped up to the fire that was barely smoldering now and said, “Fire?”

“Tent.”

“R-right. Tent.”

You unzipped the flap and clambered inside the nearly pitch black tent. Din followed as you scuttled over to your pack, dropping your clothes and digging through it to find a towel. Din did the same on his side, turning on the lamp as he did so. 

“Careful,” he said, referring to the light in case you happened to turn in his direction. You hummed an affirmation and quickly dried yourself, shivering as the cold sank into your skin. After a moment, another towel landed on your head, covering your eyes. 

“Come here,” Din sighed, though his tone hinted at a smile on his lips. You turned towards him, repressing shudders as he worked the towel through your hair. You couldn’t quite manage to silence your chattering teeth, though.

“That’s what you get for jumping into a river at night.”

“It was so worth it,” you countered, smirking. You could just imagine him shaking his head, but really, his eyes were skimming over your still naked form as he thought, Okay, it was a little worth it. 

When Din finished drying your hair as best he could, he reached for the lamp, extinguishing it. You were both still so cold, so you quickly burrowed into the nest of blankets. You blindly searched until you found Din’s hand, and he pulled you close, tucking your head under his chin as you buried your cold nose against his neck. He shuddered, arms wrapping around you, legs tangling with yours. 

You grew drowsy as you started to warm up, and you were just starting to doze when you felt Din’s thumb slowly glide up and down your right arm, tracing the scar there. The one Xi’an had given you. As if he could sense your attention on it, he stopped.

“Is this alright?” he asked, relaying an unspoken question. You understood his sudden hesitation and nodded. 

“It’s fine. It’s not as bad as the other ones.”

You thought back to before, though, when he’d kissed one of those other scars, and you hadn’t arched away from his touch. You wondered why he’d done that, and why you sort of wished he’d do it again. 

“Xi’an got me too, one time,” Din said quietly. 

“What?” you blanched, almost jumping up to look at him. 

His fingers trailed back up your arm, running along the scar, before reaching your hand, cupping the back of it in his. Slowly, he dragged your right hand over to the skin between his shoulder and collar, and your fingers ghosted over a small section of puckered skin. 

“One of her knives found this spot here, right where my chestplate ends.”

You were silent, letting him tell you the story of his scar. Though, the thought of Xi’an and one of her knives being that close to his heart sent your insides roiling, that familiar rage bubbling up. Sensing the change in you, Din pushed on, this time guiding your hand up to his chin. 

“This was pre-helmet. Took a pretty bad hit during training and landed on my face. Split my chin open and broke my nose.”

You’d guessed that his nose had been broken at one point in his life. Considering this, while you’d always respected his Creed, you found that you were actually feeling grateful for his ever present helmet now, especially considering how many hits you’ve seen him take in the last six months alone.

Din continued to guide your hand, taking you on a tour of his scars, and there was something just so intimate about it. So vulnerable. 

I know your scars make you feel exposed, a physical reminder of the pain they had all caused you, inside and out. So let me show you mine.

There were a few on his arms, one on his collar bone, and a couple from narrow misses around his abdomen. When he slid your hand over one on his left side, your fingers grazing over what must have once been a large gash just under his pectoral, you sucked in a breath with a strange mixture of excitement and trepidation. 

“I have one there too.” This time, you took his hand, and led him to your left side, letting him feel the raised skin just below your breast. He carefully traced the length of it, finding that it wrapped around your side, blending into the scars on your back. 

When Din paused, not wanting to push you, you whispered, “It’s okay.”

However, he didn’t continue along your back, but simply brought his thumb back along the scar on your side. After a measured pause, he gently pushed you back into the nest of blankets, then lowered his head, and pressed his lips against the scar. 

Your heart skipped and your exhale was a shuddering sigh as you watched, unable to see more than the outline of Din’s curly hair. He kissed it again, this time brushing his knuckles along the side of your breast. You didn’t dare speak as he finished, his lips trailing upward along the hill of sensitive skin before catching your taut nipple between his teeth. 

This time, it was your turn to snap. You shoved against him, rolling. Din chuckled as you crawled on top of him, but the sound died away as you leaned down and kissed him. And then, you took your time kissing his scars.

---

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[jazzviewswithcj]

Shizuka’s Vault: A Funny Little Time Capsule of An Era: Blue Note Live At The Roxy (Blue Note, 1976)

(pictured: October 2021 Japanese CD reissues, from my collection)

Collective personnel include: Rosko: presenter;  Alphonse Mouzon, Joey Baron, Steve Gutierrez, Ndugu Chancler, Keith Killgo, Gerry Brown: drums; Ronnie Laws: tenor saxophone; Robby Robinson, Bobby Lyle, Marshall Otwell, Kevin Toney, Gene Harris: keyboards; Earl Klugh, Bill Rogers: guitar; Donnie Beck; Ron Carter (bass overdubbed later), John Lee, bass; Donald Byrd: trumpet; and others. 

Blue Note Live At The Roxy is one of those albums that upon its release in 1976, seems to have been just kind of “there”, and sort of sank from view with little memory of what it was. It’s a funny little time capsule of an era.  Albums like this are lost to the dustbin of time, particularly in the streaming era. The release in  many ways was seen as a microcosm in the Black American Music  industry at the time as a product from a big corporate entity that swallowed the once influential and path breaking independent label, sort of using it as a brand, only in name (even redesigning the iconic logo). The album starts with a commercial, (yes, you heard right!)  fading into the live audio from the Roxy nightclub in Hollywood. It seems to have a minor cult following amongst 70′s jazz and funk lovers, and that’s a reason besides being a part of my childhood I’m bringing attention to it.

To look at this album as product-- It’s presence on vinyl is ubiquitous, regularly showing up on eBay, or Discogs, going as cheap as $2.  It was released in four countries (according to Discogs)  Even some sealed or near mint vinyl copies appear, a testament to how much of a machine this United Artists era of Blue Note was, that they were farming out copies of new releases in hopes an album would achieve the crossover success that the Larry and Fonce Mizell produced Donald Byrd and Bobbi Humphrey albums did, or the Larry Rosen and Dave Grusin (soon to strike a deal with Arista as a subsidiary for their GRP label, a leader in the digital recording and smooth jazz radio revolution a few short years later) produced Noel Pointer and Earl Klugh albums.  Many of these, like Alphonse Mouzon’s The Man Incognito or John Lee and Gerry Brown’s  Still Can’t Say Enough gained little traction outside R&B/funk circles, or gaining a small cult following in crate digging circles where recordings like these found new life in their sample laden breaks.

Blue Note was acquired by United Artists in 1971, after having been under the umbrella of Liberty Records since 1966. United Artists was under Transamerica Corporation which bought out the Liberty conglomerate.   Blue Note remained an independent under founders Alfred Lion and Francis Wolff, when due to health issues Lion decided to sell the label in 1966,  despite the success of Lee Morgan’s The Sidewinder (1963) and Horace Silver’s Song For My Father (1964)  was in dire financial straits.  Francis Wolff produced sessions  often with pianist Duke Pearson overseeing A&R duties (sometimes serving as producer) and the sound of sessions like Hot Dog (1969) by Lou Donaldson, and the unreleased till 1980 Mothership, the  wild, avant leaning final album for the label by organist Larry Young recorded in 1969, pretty much had the standard Blue Note sound Lion and Rudy Van Gelder created.  When  George Butler, who had worked at United Artists became Blue Note president in 1972, a marked shift took place from a label with a strong legacy in artistry and innovation to a label that became something else entirely in the eyes of many, especially for purists, and fans of straight ahead jazz.

Why am I writing about such a marginal album in the first place and giving some historical background? It’s for people getting into this music,  to be aware of the appearance of this much maligned era of Blue Note back into circulation (minus this album) on streaming, which very well because of  the crate digging culture, may find a new audience beyond those who hit dance floors to these records in places like the UK and Japan .  I also wish to mention this albums’ very brief and collectible nature on CD and the garish nature of this album, which I was introduced in my childhood makes it at least for me, memorable.

I was introduced to this album in my uncle’s vast record collection as an 8 year old.  I was filing through records, saw it was a Blue Note, and saw it had the 70′s era UA logo I was crazy about which you see pictured at the top. Having grown up with Blue Note albums from the likes of Jimmy Smith and Kenny Burrell, as well as Donald Byrd,   and because my mom and I  also had Earl Klugh’s popular 1977 album Living Inside Your Love at home, plus my father having Donald Byrd’s Blackbyrd, I was familiar somewhat with this period of Blue Note.  Blue Note Live At The Roxy also had Earl Klugh featured, as well as some other names I recognized like Ronnie Laws.  Having been (and still am) a huge fan of  CTI Summer Jazz At The Hollywood Bowl by the CTI All Stars, I thought this album might be similar. My uncle put it on his system and I think he played the Mouzon portion and I remember pretty heavy bass, which comes through on my Focal Chora 826 speakers loud and clear.  The CD to me sounds just like the vinyl, which I had also played at my university radio station, apprenticing as a teenager long before I attended school there.  Jazz record labels at this juncture in time in the 1970’s, started a trend of featuring their artists on package tours at major concert halls and clubs.  While the practice of jazz in the concert hall was prominent in the 1930′s with John Hammond’s famous From Spirituals To Swing concert and through Norman Granz’ Jazz At The Philharmonic concerts starting in 1946.  In the 70′s, producer Creed Taylor began the trend of record labels featuring their artists in concert to mainstream audiences starting with the CTI All Stars’ California Concert.  Labels such as Arista, Pablo, ECM,  Flying Dutchman,  Columbia, Galaxy and Milestone followed the trend of these package tours and often times were released on double or triple album all star summits.   Sometimes these albums would result in inspired, combustible playing, or just be absolute messes of awkward, incompatible musician styles.  For an example of this label mega fest, there is none better than Columbia’s two infamous Montreux Summit (available on most streaming services) albums that included such incongruous style match ups as Dexter Gordon paired with Bob James, George Duke and Billy Cobham.  Blue Note Live At The Roxy is a mix of both this kind of thing.  Now that I’m no longer a purist and at the start of my forties, I can appreciate this album as fun and can say I enjoy it for what it is: a sort of overblown, over produced snap shot of Blue Note at the time, in the Butler era which I have often termed “the dark era of Blue Note”.

As Texas based saxophonist Jim Sangrey along with others in the industry who lived this moment in real time said on the Organissimo Jazz Forums upon Butler’s death in 2008:

The longer it went on, the more and more it was all about L.A. based studio dates, not about "slick street jazz" or whatever you want to call it.   

As Sangrey elaborated in an earlier post perfectly summing up the United Artists Blue Note era

If you again look at the timeline, when Butler first assumed the lead at UA/BN, there were a lot of "pop-jazz" albums like Visions  (Grant Green) by a lot of people. In retrospect, these were not as bad as they seemed at the time, although few were as good as you'd want them to be either. If he had stopped there, ok, the shift was on once UA/Transamerica, bought out Liberty (far more the turning point than Liberty buying out BN, I think), and it could have been just another case of corporate bullshit winning the day.

But he didn't, and it wasn't. The whole Blue Note Hits A New Note thing was enormous in terms of "push" (i.e. -marketing). You could sign up for a freakin' newsletter for cryin' out loud, in case you wanted to know how chapped Bobbi Humphrey's lips were or weren't at her last gig, I guess...This wasn't intended to be just a co-opting of a label's name, this was a hoped for movement, a redefining of a legacy/brand name/whatever. And almost all of it was crap and/or repetitious redoings of a formula that had worked one time. There was no "rebuilding" or "redefining", just cheap opportunistic riding of a formula and farming out of work to slicksters, who did what slicksters do - make slick music for ready, and short-term, consumption. The only two "serious" artists left on the label were Hutch & Horace. The former's output began to be produced (to lessening effect as time went by, imo) by Dale Oehler (Butler again being "Executive Producer"), the latter's work shifting from Butler w/Marcus to Silver w/o any noticeable change, so I think this was one of those "stay out of the way" dynamics. And they got less and less push as time went by. Silver's was the very last release of new, original material on BN before it went inactive, and believe me when I tell you that it was released damn near in a vacuum.

All "style" & no substance. Go to THIS PAGE and see how the covers got prettier and prettier while the music got emptier & emptier. And that's not just a sign of the times either, since, as noted earlier, you can (and some did) make "commercial", "jazzy" music that is not as totally devoid of content as most of this effluvia was.

I'll give this much to Butler's BN though - it laid the groundwork for GRP, since Dave Grusin & Rosen became an active production team there. So if you want some, any, kind of "lasting legacy" from it all, there it is, and you can have it.

Others, like the late writer, historian and radio host Chris Albertson pointed to how clueless Butler was in a lot of the choices made, and that several others in the industry had issues with him.  Albertson remarked in the Butler thread, “he ran Blue Note into the ground” when the label ceased to release new music from 1978-1984.  In 1985, Blue Note was jump started by a classic  Town Hall NYC concert organized by then president Bruce Lundvall featuring returning label legends and new talent.  In Butler’s defense it does take a certain kind of moxy to kind of push the label the direction he did to attempt to reach new audiences, despite it’s huge failure.  It is the aforementioned L.A. session slick that dominates the Roxy album.

In 2012 it was reissued for the first time, anywhere in the world on CD in Japan as 2 separate CD volumes.  This was a surprise to take such a minor, pretty obscure title and put it on CD with many others seeing the light of day from that era of Blue Note’s history.  Given the nature of Japanese CD releases, at times being reissued again years later I took the plunge and bought both.  I bought them to “represent the worst part of Blue Note” in my collection, often calling it “the worst Blue Note album ever made” but until I bought (from the same series) Blue Note Meets The LA Philharmonic (never reissued on CD since or available streaming as the original LP) I was pretty wrong. Natural Illusions (1972) by Bobby Hutcherson, and In A Special Way (1976) by Gene Harris are just putrid affairs that make you want to puncture your eardrums with a sharp device--examples of the effluvia Sangrey mentioned.  The latter features Philip Bailey and Verdine White of Earth, Wind & Fire, but the arrangements by Jerry Peters (who produced Harris’ Tone Tantrum and played keys on many Mizell dates) are just empty, pedestrian, slickly produced for the sake of being produced.  Harris sounds phoned in, and out of his natural element, the greasy, funky piano on Three Sounds albums or his much loved Concord albums from the 80’s to the 90’s. 

Briefly returning to Blue Note Meets The LA Philharmonic, a kind of sequel to the Roxy album,  the best portions are featuring Bobby Hutcherson and Carmen McRae, but the showcase for Earl Klugh, a monster player to be sure, with musaky renditions of his tunes “Cabo Frio” and “Angelina” from his debut Earl Klugh (1976) featuring full orchestra, were a reminder I never liked any other albums of his minus Living Inside Your Love. The aural wallpaper of these two tracks was a prime example of these over arcing productions and  was nauseating.  In January 2021, I lost these albums alongside 1,500 others in an apartment fire.  Both Roxy albums nearly ten years after their initial reissue were reissued in October 2021, and I bought them again.

What Blue Note Live At The Roxy gets right in it’s four mini sets for marquee roster artists, is the presence of strong working bands.  After the hilarious advertisement for the Blue Note Hits A New Note Campaign featuring the voice of radio personality (and former CBS Sports voice over artist) Rosko, the MC of the evening with a seriously funky backing track, the drummer Alphonse Mouzon takes the stage.  The sadly departed Mouzon was the original drummer in Weather Report, was behind the kit on some of McCoy Tyner’s 70’s classics, who had also played with keyboardist Doug Carn, and around time of the Roxy concert was recording with Herbie Hancock.  Mouzon’s first Blue Note Mind Transplant (1974) is an underrated jazz-rock classic, overshadowed by Billy Cobham’s Atlantic debut Spectrum the previous year.  The album, which like Spectrum featured the late, future Deep Purple guitarist Tommy Bolin, asserted Mouzon was the next jazz-rock king on drums aside Tony Williams and Cobham.  Mouzon's group is playing selections from the newly released, absolutely awful The Man Incognito album but live, the three tunes are exciting showcases for Mouzon’s power and improvisational creativity during solos.  “New York City” is actually pretty funny on The Man Incognito with a George Duke style monologue, on Roxy it’s simmered down to a bit of gritty street funk with whanging guitars.  “Without A Reason” has a lengthy solo intro, on a hi fi system, Mouzon’s drums are truly in your face, and keyboardist Robby Robinson worships at the space pod of Chick Corea and the styling of Jan Hammer with screaming mini Moog.  The danceable groove with guitar solo is broken up by a drum/percussion duet with Mouzon and percussionist Rudy Regalado.  

Ronnie Laws is next with his band Pressure, playing music off his Wayne Henderson (of Crusaders fame) produced Pressure Sensitive (1975) and recently released Fever (1976) with it’s hilarious cover of Laws covered in steam.  The band is locked in tight, with tasty keyboards from Bobby Lyle who’d be a star in smooth jazz just a few years later.  Laws, who contributed some pretty free interludes on Earth Wind & Fire’s Last Days In Time (Columbia, 1972) contributes some searing playing not really heard on his studio albums save “From Ronnie, With Love” on Fever during the Blaxploitation/adult film funk of “Captain Midnight”, then slowly dials things down on the now standard in smooth jazz circles, “Night Breeze” composed by Bobby Lyle.   Lyle’s Rhodes solo is effervescent and effective.  The CD shuffles the LP order a bit by featuring the double album finale of Donald Byrd taped on location  on July 19, 1976,  at Central Park next playing his hits “Places and Spaces” and “(Fallin’ Like) Dominoes with the Blackbyrds.  There is obviously post production here with an overdubbed announcement from Rosko and applause taken from the Roxy concert and faded in.  This is the end of CD 1, when on the LP it represented the final two tunes on side 4.  The band does a great job of capturing the essence of the Mizell’s intricate arrangements.  Is Byrd’s playing in peak form here? No... in my opinion his peak playing can be found on albums like Byrd In Hand (1959), Free Form (1961), A New Perspective (1963), but by this time Byrd had devoted much of his time to being a professor at Howard University, and teaching, and he had earned six graduate degrees starting three groundbreaking jazz studies programs.  The trumpet chops don’t matter when it’s about the grooves here.

Carmen McRae represents a high point on  the album to be sure, the audience is really INTO it, and her rendition of “Ain’t Nobody’s Bizness If I Do” is really whimsical.   It’s also interesting to note Joey Baron who has been one of the most creative drummers in free improvisation and the Downtown New York scene is the drummer in her group.   It was one of his first gigs as a young musician, and he mentioned in a recent Downbeat interview he had to play Mouzon’s drums and stand up just to attack the cymbals!  Not a setting one would imagine him in, but really he laid a solid backing for her.   What really represents the album as a time piece of the era is the ridiculous 5 or so minutes of a proclamation given to then label head George Butler, on behalf of then mayor Tom Bradley, except Councilman Dave Cunningham was representing Bradley.  The speech by the Carolinian Butler is excruciating, sounding as if he has a German accent, and was this concert that huge that this bit needed to be included for posterity? It’s absolutely absurd and hilarious and probably has some weird sample possibilities.  Butler did bring Woody Shaw to Columbia, but axed him when they wanted to push Wynton Marsalis, and he apparently played a role in Miles Davis’ final post retirement Columbia albums before his switch to Warner Brothers.  The Earl Klugh medley shows just how good a player he was, especially in stripped down settings and the “Blue Note ‘76” track is a bit odd for the fact that it’s really a pseudo jam session with the evening’s principal artists with the addition of some of the cream of the crop of LA session players (including one saxophonist Fred Jackson The same that recorded a one off for Blue Note in the 60’s and recorded with John Patton?)  It can be enjoyed as long as the listener doesn’t expect much, it’s kind of a generic funk number that was a dime a dozen for the time, Earl Klugh lays down his best Benson isms here.  It’s also odd that the only Bobby Hutcherson appearance is this track (on marimba).  Again it’s a fun listen but not earth shattering.

I just think that for whatever reason it’s strange the album especially in it’s first CD reissue  from 2012 is more expensive than it should be.  Each volume on CD for $12-15 is reasonable, but more than that? No. The album for me is a memory of childhood and a fun listen because of how 70’s cocaine and drugs kitsch it is, with some spots of some really good playing.  The production value is high and does sound quite nice on a good hi fi, but this article is not my customary review so absent are my review ratings. Barring if you have the few key Donald Byrd or Bobbi Humphrey Mizell produced titles of this era, honestly is all you need. Blue Note Live At The Roxy is a perfect snapshot of what this era of Blue Note was.   Thanks for reading about this obscure, funny time capsule of an era. 

Note: For record label and variant obsessives, it seems that Japanese pressings featured the white “b” logo variant, which is seen on the CD.  Also, Thanks to Jim Sangrey. His perspectives are truly one of a kind, and offer utterly singular unique views of what it was like hearing something of the era in real time.

[what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me]

The Best Laid Plans

> Chapter 1: The Sighting< Chapter 2

Summary:

Five of the finest minds that Planet Earth has to offer are brought together by a mission that will forever live in history. They are the crew of Humanity's paragon starship and they pave the way for future explorers.

The mission goes wrong when the existence of sentient aliens is confirmed. 

AO3

Notes: this fic is inspired by the concept of Among Us, but you don’t need to know the game to enjoy this story. CW: anxiety attack

.

The announcement that Humanity was done being alone was met with skepticism. Such an ambitious but vague mission statement made by the government seemed like an empty promise. 

Thomas remembered where he was when he saw it. It was a fall afternoon, during the slow lull between lunch and dinner, the TV in the corner was on the news channel. Thomas ended up joking with his coworkers about shaking hands with aliens while working at a coffee shop to pay off college debt. They all laughed and forgot about it because preparing for the next influx of customers was more important. 

The promise of The Day Dream did not seem like much until the ship began to be built. Then there were whispers of scouts visiting every small town and city, looking for any suitable candidates to join the crew. That was when he - and all of humanity - got swept up into the high. 

Everybody on Earth began paying attention to the exploration program, excitement for the future in those times was so common you could smell it in the air. By the time The Day Dream launched, everybody could tell you that they remembered where they were. There was more news coverage of their starship leaving the snaring grip of the atmosphere than the first moon landing. 

If Thomas ever got the opportunity, he would joke that he remembered the launch as if he were a pilot on the starship. 

Thomas, in his humble opinion, believed it took a different kind of person to drive a spaceship than it took to build one. Just getting something off of Earth was a feat that took hundreds of years. What got them this far was perfecting and going beyond the work of other humans long dead. Amassing a hoard of refined science until they made a tower of knowledge that could reach the stars. 

And Humanity did reach the stars. He was their cherry-picked ambassador. It was his job to lead the mission to create a stable bridge for future space farers. Both in the literal and diplomatic sense. Thomas still could not believe the honor was his.

But the Captain's disbelief is besides the point. The engineers and scientists who made The Day Dream were a brilliant crew who did not get enough recognition. The marvel of it all lie in how alive the ship felt. It felt so human. The engineers and the scientists outdid themselves.

The question the build team had to tackle was how to make long term space travel enjoyable. Was it possible to make a hollow metal vessel feel more like home than their planet ever was? All Thomas knows is during the short time he has been the pilot, he had concluded the answer must be yes. That is where the recognition fell short, Thomas thinks. Despite being hailed as a genius by Earth's media, his mind could not even begin to figure out how they did it.

Too bad the media was strictly forbidden from even looking at the ship. If they could not experience the wonder for themselves, there was no reason to write about it. To them it was just a glorified vessel, not unlike any other means of transport. Snooping into the lives of its personnel was more tangible for the press. Usually more rewarding too. 

The press had been suffocating. Thomas was relieved to be off that planet. 

There was nothing remarkable about him. Or anybody else here, he likes to think to himself. They are all wonderful people to be traveling with, brilliant minds, but not remarkable. Because he is as Human as the rest of them, and the pedestal they perched him on was one of sand. Just the lightest breeze and he will be lost to time. 

Now that he is living out every child's wildest dream, he knows. The Day Dream 's crew and their prestigious schooling meant nothing to the universe. But it was an honor to get to know the universe a bit better nonetheless. 

The ship woke it's Captain up with a gentle chime. 

And when Thomas did not get up the first time, the ship brightened the lights in his room. Very suddenly. 

That got Thomas' attention. The Day Dream could not do more than follow the alarms already set, unless something major triggered the override system. There were no klaxon alarms or notifications marked as urgent, so Permission from another administrator was needed for the lights to turn on. That meant the ship snitched on him to somebody already awake. Dream is getting smarter, Thomas laughed to himself. And this ship is full of traitors who think eight in the morning is an acceptable time to be awake. 

Jokes about betrayal aside, he knew there would at least be fresh caffeine waiting in the cafeteria. 

Thomas got out of the warm sleeping pod with a stretch that popped his back. The metal floors in his quarters were heated, but only enough to starve off frostbite. The cold making his toes curl woke up Thomas better than the lights. A chime from his com ringed across the room, listing duties for the day. He assured the ship that he would be present for the breakfast meeting requested by Roman in a timely manner. 

His loose definition of "timely manner" was to allow an optimal window to collect thoughts and set his 187th day in space up for success. The captain played music from home as he got ready. The bathroom was like every other room; spacious, clean, and bursting with plant life. The air never felt stuffy and the crew suspects (Patton, who was on the ship's build team, confirmed) it was designed that way. To help with homesickness.

The Day Dream was huge. Excessively so. The ship was only meant to only house five humans long term - and maybe, just maybe, any extraterrestrial life they will come across. For now, the rooms set aside for any new life would be empty. That meant some days, when everyone was too busy to spend time with anybody else, it felt like the plants growing in every nook and cranny of the rooms and hallways were his only companions. But business was business. And at the end of the day, nobody held it against each other. Today thankfully would not be like that.

Thomas pulled on the boots of his pristine white jumpsuit before he left his quarters. The doors locked behind him with a pneumatic hiss and the hall lights flicked on, illuminating his path one by one. There was a spring in his step as he made way through the maze of tall hallways. He barely acknowledged the sound of running water and smell of earth on either side of the metal path. The self sustained irrigation system was always at work, and with the wildflowers that started to bloom recently as a result in this part of the ship, any irritation was rendered null.

He arrived at the cafeteria where it was quiet, besides the ever present humming and the drip drip drip of the ship running itself. The caffeine dispenser had been preheated. Logan and Roman seemed to have already got to it. Virgil could do with the energizing benefit of caffeine if it was not for his anxiety disorder. Both crewmates were lounging in padded seats, a steaming cup in one hand and green flashing screens taking the rest of their attention. Thomas guessed they were reviewing the information about the meeting he was called for. Virgil, who seemed not to be fully awake yet, was slowly picking off the contents of his ration packet. 

"Where is Patton?" He flushed slightly at the outburst. Asking that before anything else was not his intention. 

Luckily nobody seemed to mind. Logan and Virgil turned their heads to him and acknowledged the captain with a good morning. Closing out of the menu, Logan answered, "I believe he was sanctioned an extra sleep cycle after the extended work he did last night. The ship refuses to go through the wake up procedures."

He lifted an eyebrow. "I don't think I ever gave the order for that. But The Day Dream can override an order if it seems necessary. What the hell was Patton doing last night?"

"He was helping me in the final stages of building the gate."

Thomas turned to look at Roman. "He-," that was not supposed to be possible. "The gate is supposed to be done next month, our fabricator can't work that fast."

"That's what I thought at first! But two weeks ago while helping me troubleshoot a problem, he found our combined efforts cleaved the build time in half!" 

Virgil chimed in, like it was news to him, "That's great, Princey. But how are we sure the quality was not compromised?"

"I'm so glad you asked bec-"

Logan cut Roman off. "We are sure because I have been keeping a close eye on the progress and have taken sporadic samples of the material. I also use the ship to ensure my analysis has no human errors."

"You'll have to send those numbers to me for final approval before we tell Mission Control. But this is amazing news! Why is this the first time i have heard about this?"

Suddenly Logan lost any confidence he had, and needed to pull up a screen again. Virgil deadpan looked at him and shrugged, going back to picking at his rations. Thomas managed to catch Roman's eyes and he cringed slightly, picking at his nails. "Well… we thought you would be angry that we didn't follow orders."

Thomas lifted a hand to his heart without registering that it happened. They thought that he would be angry? He never has shown that emotion to them then why? Was there a power imbalance here? Were they afraid of him or just the consequences of "disobedience". Of course, he always encouraged his crew to pursue and perfect science, just like the builders of the ship did. As long as nobody got hurt-

-and then he remembered about Patton. Why would the ship override a wake up protocol, especially if ordered by anybody, if there was not a reason? But he could not… Jumping to conclusions would not help. 

He sighed, Roman tensed but Thomas did not acknowledge it. "I'm not angry, Ro. You did a fantastic job."

"So we won't get punished?" It was small, hopeful.

"At most, you will be reprimanded with a tighter schedule, but that will be determined after investigation."

An investigation was not something he needed on his plate but apparently was now mandatory. Thomas did not want to say it out loud, but based on what he can tell, if the crew let Patton overwork himself, the strict schedule might go through. Like it or not, the existing schedule was in place for a reason and having his copilot out of commission could spell disaster for the mission and it's crew. The ship felt so safe, so much like home, but they were at the mercy of a cruel universe, anything can go wrong. 

Yet the small smile that broke out on Roman's face after getting his praise was too good to ruin. 

Thomas would indulge in a moment of weakness and lie. 

He only realised there was tension in the room when the air slowly became more breathable. He let himself enjoy a warm drink from the dispenser and his own share of rations before getting to work. He had the mind to have one of the ship's drones deliver food and drink to Patton's room to have when he woke up. Then Thomas glanced at the data himself. All the numbers and samples that Logan had run seemed to be perfect. He ran through the calculations manually himself to be sure. Still perfect.

So it was off to Mission Control. The message explained that his crew found a way to make the Star Gate mission more efficient. Surely, this was another thing they would be praised about. All of it was almost done.

"Roman, Mission Control has the data tables now. All we need to do is the final inspection before we can set course to Moon Titan." Thomas broke the news in a sing-song voice. Everybody in the room grew visibly excited. Thomas was almost sad that Patton was not here to complete their little crew. 

"That is fantastic!"

Logan hesitated before asking, "Was my work adequate to your standards?" 

Thomas nodded enthusiastically, "It had no errors I could catch, so you did great, Teach." The captain could have left it there, but he was feeling as exuberant as the rest of them. "In matter of fact, do you want to begin the system checks so we can be ahead of schedule for the journey to Moon Titan?" The gleam in Logan's eyes spoke volumes more than the affirmative confirmation he gave. Virgil had jumped at the opportunity to join and the two ventured off into the expansive halls of the ship. 

Roman was already at Thomas's heels when the two men left the room. "Do you want me to escort you to the hull of the ship? I believe you have a date with my wonderful creation." 

Thomas could not hide his admittedly dopey smile if he wanted to. This man and his dramatics did a lot to keep the ship lively. He accepted the offer, and let Roman do most of the talking while they descended through the guts of the ship. Plant life slowly became less abundant and the mechanical whirls and pulses became louder. When they stopped at the door of a decontamination chamber, Roman gestured to a wall of headsets.

"Personal protective equipment is mandatory past this point," Roman said, an apologetic smile on his face. 

Thomas did not comment on the fact that Roman added a personal touch to his headset. The paint was a vibrant red and the acrylic of the earmuffs seemed to glow. His own pair was only cold and metallic, and Thomas briefly noted he had no idea how long ago Roman added those changes. He could see in the cabinet that Patton had a similar headset, but in the teal color he loved so much. He would have to have The Day Dream permit more time in this part of the ship. 

Today was a successful day but something unsavory was settling into his core. Thomas was a bit out of the loop with his crew, he was starting to realize.

He swallowed down the inklings of a bitter taste and turned to the cabinet containing more mandatory protective wear. He would not take it personally. He slipped a hazmat suit over the jumpsuit. Thomas and the rest of the crew were just coworkers. Black gloves slipped over his sleeves and closed with a snap! They were all friendly, sure, but this was a science expedition, not a family road trip. The spotless boots he normally wore were left in one of the lockers, swapped out for steel toe boots. If his happy-go-lucky mood had suddenly dropped he did nothing to fix it.

Thomas followed Roman into the decontamination lock without a word.

As they exited, Roman clapped his hands and he saw the walls come alive around him. This area was lined with pods containing work assistant androids lit up and awaiting commands. His crewmate fiddled with a personal command key secured on his wrist, the assistants moved in synch around their feet, opening the doors to the hull. It was a massive room, bigger than most warehouses on Earth. It was perfectly suited for projects this size and storing the raw materials needed to make the Star Gates.

Hung on the ceiling of the room was the largest fabricator on the ship. Other smaller ones were littered about in rooms like that cafeteria and navigation, but were only capable of producing small objects. The machine, though modeled after a vintage 21st century machine called a 3D printer, was cutting edge. All it needed was raw material and a recipe to follow. On a raised platform below it lay the gate.

"I always forget how massive these are in person," Thomas breathed reverently. The smallest section was the length of a school bus, and sprawled much further than that.

"We put a Star Gate up on the Moon not even three months ago, Sir," Roman laughed. Thomas crossed his arms in mock anger, making Roman laugh more.

He had a point, though. Before The Day Dream is permitted to leave the solar system, it is their job to leave gates. Not every spaceship is created equal, only government sanctioned ships are allowed to have a warp core. Warp cores allow for a ship to change the very fabric of space around a ship, changing the location instantaneously. Teleportation is the unofficial name for it. But space travel would be too slow even if they had learned how to go beyond the speed of light.

The solution had been Star Gates. These opened up worm holes for ships that did not have access to warping. The gates were to be left at popular destinations. A trip to the moon that might have taken six months only took an hour. Soon a trip to Moon Titan, which revolved around Saturn, was in order. The possibility that it might contain life made it a hotspot for researchers. Their final goal was to leave a gate at Pluto, then the true expedition could begin. Once the path for other explorers is paved, The Day Dream will be allowed to search for sentient life. For now they were to travel with solar sails while waiting for each gate to be built.

Roman pointed Thomas to a messy desk, "Your checklist should be on there." Thomas, however, was lost. He opted to watch as Roman walked up to a group of assistants drones and dismissed them. The new ones that followed Roman and Thomas in picked up on the work as the old ones backed into charging ports. As they met eyes, he shook his head in a gesture he hoped communicated his confusion.

Roman got the memo, because he jogged to where Thomas stood, looking over his shoulder. He leaned into Thomas' shoulder to pick up the empty report and handed Thomas the tablet with a flourish. The almost-contact felt nice. Thomas made a mental note to ask Mission Control about the correlation between space travel and being touch starved.

There was not time to linger on that though, because Roman was too ecstatic to wait. He personally showed Thomas the work that he and Patton had done. Every individual thing he crossed out on the list pointed to a success. Two hours spent inspecting seams, double checking wiring, and doing strength tests went by without notice and soon Thomas forgot about any bad mood he was in because it was done!

"I can't wait to deliver this to Mission Control!"

Roman was not quite used to seeing the captain as anything other than a collected leader, but this change was good. "So we passed the final inspection?"

"With flying colors."

His smile brightened. "I bet we should start preparing for our warp to Moon Titan."

Thomas gave his approval, and Roman started to conduct the service drones around him like a symphony. Mission Control replied minutes later and Thomas knew everybody who was not occupied saw that the clearance to warp had been granted. As the complete Star Gate was being pushed to the path that lead to the bay, he waved Roman goodbye.

He walked back through the decontamination chamber and set the protective gear he had been wearing into a bin for specific cleaning. Setting his appearance back into place did not take long, and soon he was led away from the smell of grease and metal to the more comforting crisp air of the upper levels.

Logan appeared by his side just a moment later. "I have the results of the diagnostics scan ready for you, Sir."

"Are we all clear?"

"Sadly not." Logan shook his head and turned a tablet for him to look at. "The lower right corner of the starboard solar sail has significant damage."

"I bet it was stray debris," Thomas shifted on his feet before asking, "Can we go without it?"

Logan hated to be the bearer of bad news, "We can, but our navigation route will need to be recalculated completely."

It made sense, Thomas thought. Even subtle shifts in angle can land them in a completely different location then intended. He thought about it a little longer. "I think we should fix the problem now, the Moon Titan base won't miss an extra day without us."

"Yes sir. I'll send Roman a request to prepare the right materials for the patch. Do you know who is to accompany you on the space walk?"

Thomas shook his head. Logan took the screen back from Thomas to open up the schedule log. "Patton would have been ideal, but he is still out of commission. I recommend Virgil."

.

.

In half of a day, they were ready. It was easy for Thomas to report the damage reports to Mission Control, to state they wish to run repairs before anything else, and for the approval for the small mission to be granted.

For the second time that day, Thomas went through the task of putting on personal protective wear, but joined by Virgil and a lifeless service drone. The solar sail patch and other needed tools were handled by the drone. Thomas knew the ship better than the medic did, so he and the drone would be the one doing most of the work. Virgil was to be the one communicating with Mission Control so Thomas could focus and he was a second pair of eyes to ensure nothing went wrong.

Virgil probably was the one who took this task the most serious, only bested by Logan. Soon enough, the small group was seen out of the airlock by Logan and Roman, and the repairs were under way.

Virgil knew space walks were consequential. If he lost focus at the wrong moment there was every possibility he could end up drifting in space. If Thomas noticed in time, he could have Logan or Roman retrieve him by using one of the smaller ships in the bay. But that possibility weighed heavily on a " if".

Every space walk before this one went off without a hitch. But Virgil's stomach was turning uncomfortably and his ears were straining to pick up anything.

He knew sound can not travel in space.

Pesky instincts were screaming that something was wrong. He needed to pay attention, be alert and ready to fight. Protect himself, The Day Dream , and all the lives within it. Something bigger, smarter than him was lurking in the unforgiving void behind him. A predator, surely, with steps quiet as a leopard midhunt, and a maw stronger than any alligator. That means twice as painful. Three times as ruthless. The crowning crux of slaughter machines, delivered to the doorstep of the spaceship by Mother Nature herself and her sick sense of humor.

But when he turned around, the only thing he was was Thomas crouched over the massive solar sail, the ship under his feet, and the stars.

It might be just anxiety. Might. No, is. It has to be just anxiety. He should trust his eyes. Because he knows his mind is not rational when he gets like this. He will not think normal until it passes. He will not because it is impossible. Something is wrong. What is making him like this? This morning Virgil did not intake any caffeine, and his nutrition logs of the rest of the day indicate no other food-born anxiety stimulates. He even took the anxiety suppressant prescribed by his therapist on Earth this morning, like every morning before.

Nothing is wrong. Why does he feel so unsafe? He does not like it, he does not like the fear for his life-

He was spiraling. His vision blanked and he did not register Thomas' questioning voice over the com. Virgil's senses did not register in the moment, except for smell. Because this smell was out of place. The instinct was right, right, rIgHt . Somet h in g waS wRoNG. Was his suit breached? Oh stars have mercy he was going to die right here, wasn't he? The foreign scent of ozone filled his suit a split second before he felt it.

ZAP!

Then… nothing.

Well nothing was not the right word for it, because there was his beating heart and the sound of blood rushing through his own body. It was the shock of everything feeling regular again. Like a reset button was pressed. The universe must have felt merciful today for that alien feeling did not hurt. It felt wrong, invasive. Very much like burning and bright electricity had just reached into every crevice of his body. The feeling was uninvited and deeply intrusive. But it did not hurt.

He was so shocked in that moment he forgot about that spiral before it came back. He could feel Thomas by his side, a hand on his shoulder. Despite the fog of an anxiety creeping into his system, it was strangely grounding.

"-gil, this is my final time requesting this. If you do not answer me now then we have to null this mission."

That was Thomas. Not invasive ozone-electricity from the stars, his mocking self doubt, or a intrusive thought deadset on letting him break. It was his captain, a man he trusted. His authoritative voice rang through a speaker in his helmet, not even a hint of static. And he wanted an answer, right. "I'm present, sir. Sorry."

The relief in Thomas' heart was tangible. Though he knew Virgil could not see through the glare of the visor, he smiled for him anyways. He had been worried! The captain moved closer and held his hand over the vitals monitor on Virgil's suit. Virgil did not push him away so he started the mandatory scan. "I'm glad to have you back. We need to check your vitals and suit systems before proceeding with anything."

"Sorry, sir. I believe I had an anxiety attack," he explained with an unsteady voice. "My senses didn't register except for a weird smell. Ozone, I think? And I felt a weird zap before I got over it."

Thomas encouraged the explanation. They would go over the audio logs later and archive this incident. Any possible suit malfunctions needed to be reported to Mission Control. Then they would report it to Roman, who will use the fabricator to replace the faulty one. These reports are endless, Thomas thought, tired. It did not end there. If they expended those resources, they would need to get more raw materials. That was all in a day's work, though. Maybe he could get Virgil off of the space walk roster if being out of the ship was a trigger. While a pleasure to work with, his mental health came first to convenience.

He was reading off the screen now. "Your adrenaline levels are spiked, but that is expected. Your hormones outside of stress response are normal. The O2 levels in your blood are normal. You have six hours of oxygen left in your tank. All the circuits are operational-"

"Thomas!" Virgil's voice ran in through the coms, an uncharacteristically urgent tone ringing in his ears. It threw him for a loop and he did not answer fast enough. The results of Virgil's vital scans were all positive, did he say something to make it worse? And then again, louder, "Thomas, please!"

"Is... everything alright?"

"No! Yes? I- um, Maybe?"

A trickle of unease settled deep in the Captain's core. "What is going on?"

"I think I saw something flying, and I don't- We need to go back inside, Thomas please. I can't do this right now."

He listened.

The mission was called null right then and there and he picked up a few pieces of the repair kit with a haste to satisfy his crewmate. The repair drone was following behind them, unaffected by the events.

But the strangest feeling ran through his body when he reached his hand out to Virgil.

He let out a gasp in surprise, and Virgil heard it over the still connected com link. It was the gentle tickle of electric curiously dancing in and out of every nook and cranny of his body. It was quizzical, and embodied a researcher like him.

As it left, he swore the smell of ozone lingered in his suit and that he too saw something move in the corner of his eye. The shape of a black triangle. Massive and looming and definitely not natural and definitely something he was scared of. He could only tell it was there because the stars disappeared behind it. A row of lights flickered on, and Thomas was paralyzed. Virgil had seen it too, but responded by dragging his stupefied captain to the airlock with unprecedented urgency.

It was gone suddenly as it came.