#don't be modest copper

[malamiteltd]

Day 9 – I’m Not a Hero

Copper and Broom were sitting at one of the benches near the Pond. Broom was playing a game on an odd-looking handheld – it seemed to play the same cartridges as the console in the Game House – and Copper was watching over his shoulder, intrigued at the game being played. But soon they heard someone approaching, and the game was paused. It was Sketch and Heather, walking to a neighboring bench.

"Hey guys!" said Sketch, waving to the pair. "Everything alright?"

Broom and Copper waved back. "Everything's good!" Broom replied. He held up the handheld he was playing. "Just been checking out some of the games in that house. I found this in there and decided to try it out. Copper joined me not too long ago and he's been watching."

Copper nodded silently.

"I remember seeing devices kinda like that back in Utopia," said Sketch. "They do seem to need a lot of batteries to keep them running."

Broom nodded. "Most do. But I'm kinda surprised by this thing. Honestly, I've played on this for well over four hours and there's been no sign that the batteries are on low charge." He looked at the back of the handheld and suddenly looked confused. "Huh. It…doesn't even look like there's any battery compartment. But how does this thing work?"

Heather shrugged. "If it were me, I'd just chalk it up to the typical reason – this place is weird."

"Sounds good," said Copper. "So what brings you guys here?"

Sketch scratched at one of his eyebrows. "Well, Heather and I got acquainted with Broom the other day, and he used something called Clarity to kinda show us what he's all about, and learn about us in exchange."

Copper looked concerned. "Okay…"

"After that meet-up," Sketch continued, "I had been thinking about some of the stuff I saw in all those memories…and you were in a few of them, Copper."

"And we were kinda surprised at what we saw," Heather added. "There was a distinct memory where Broom and some large fella were trapped and unable to move, and right in front was you, facing a group of weird goopy aliens with dart guns of some kind!"

Copper started to blush. "I-I…"

"And you suddenly flicked away all their darts and dashed towards them, tearing away their guns and scaring them off! Was that really you?"

Broom was shocked. He turned to Copper. "Wait, you never told them about the abduction?!"

Copper looked away. "I…I didn't want to…"

"But why not?!" Broom exclaimed. "You were practically our hero! We weren't sure what was gonna happen to us after those aliens took us on their ship! You were pretty much the only one able to do anything!"

Copper looked a bit flustered. "Broom, please…"

"Not to mention those aliens captured so many others before! Since they abandoned the ship, it allowed authorities to investigate it and find the homeworld where the other captives were being experimented on! They probably wouldn't have survived all that, and thanks to you they were able to go back to their homes!"

Copper placed both hands atop his head, rubbing anxiously. "Broom! Please don't!"

Sketch and Heather were looking worried. "You okay, Copper?"

But Broom kept pouring on praise. "I honestly assumed you would've used that amazing speed to take one of the escape pods back home! But you stood your ground and terrified those creatures! You even broke us out of those capsules!"

Copper gritted his teeth, rubbing his head furiously. "STOP!!"

Broom looked shocked. "…Copper?"

Copper was breathing heavily for almost a minute. "…I'm not a hero."

The others were baffled.

"But…we saw what you did," Heather said to Copper. "I gotta say, it looked very impressive. You're not proud of what you did?"

"I…the…" Copper was struggling to speak at the moment. But after a minute he finally found the words. "…You don't…honestly think I did that just to be a hero."

Sketch scratched his head. "Not sure what you mean by that, bud."

Copper sighed. "I…I was panicking. A lot was happening to me since I got on that ship. I didn't know where I was, why I was locked up…my clothes were missing and I was with two strangers who were stuck in the same situation… 

He looked at his hands. "And then I was starting to realize my fervor, and I somehow unlocked my own cell door…the aliens knocked me out and strapped me to a chair, I was surrounded by scary…tools? Machines? I found a way to get out, and then I got cornered by the aliens while Broom and Husker were locked up tight in capsules behind me…

He started furiously rubbing his knees, looking to the ground. "I didn't know what to do…they started shooting at me, but the darts seemed to be going super-slow, I wasn't sure what was happening…I was getting upset! I…I don't know, I guess some instinct started piloting my brain and I was just charging head-on at those aliens. As soon as I got in one of their…faces?…I had to decide what to do… Killing them was definitely an option, but…I couldn't accept it! So I activated the ship's self-destruct program, if just to scare them away. And they were scared…they all ran to their escape pods and left the ship. After they did, I turned the self-destruct thing off and…I had to stop for a moment."

Broom patted Copper on the back. "Yeah, I guess it was all kinda overwhelming, huh? I suppose you couldn't have planned all that out considering…"

"But you did manage to pull through," added Sketch. "And you didn't kill anyone! That seems like the work of a hero to me."

"No!" Copper shook his head. "Once I began to learn what my fervor could do, it just seemed to cause more trouble!"

Broom was confused. "Wait, what do you mean?"

Copper turned to Broom with a mad look. "You're kidding! You don't remember what happened to you?!"

"What happened to–" Broom suddenly realized something. "Oh! Ohhhh…."

Heather tilted her head. "Wait, what are you guys talking about?"

Copper turned his attention to Sketch and Heather. "So…after the abduction, I was asked to undergo some tests to see what my fervor was capable of. They didn't really have any Teijru capable of doing such things before. And they made note of my abilities for…other purposes."

"Were they bad purposes?" asked Sketch.

"I mean…I don't think so. But those notes were probably the reason they approached me for what they called an 'important assignment.' Kheji had allies from Lir, a nearby planet in our system. They provided our world with a planetary barrier and other technology in exchange for mineral mining rights. Well, the allies were having difficulties with a criminal organization that was hacking into their funding, and they wanted that stopped one way or the other."

Heather looked surprised when hearing this. "This is starting to sound like some kind of espionage mission! You mean to tell me they sent you off to do that?!"

"Well, actually there was another guy, by the name of Graphite. He's the big hero of Kheji, with insane power. He thwarted a lot of hostile confrontations single-handedly, and spearheaded the charge against a space station that was planning to destroy the planet for resources to keep it alive. He was asked to do the mission, but they wanted me to go with him because the criminal group was stationed in some high-security place and they figured I could help Graphite get in with my abilities."

Sketch's eyes widened. "Wow."

"I'll admit, I was hesitant to accept the offer, even when they promised a decent reward for my assistance. But Graphite convinced me that I'd be safe, that nothing would happen to me. And…eventually I agreed. We went to the group's high-tech base and I helped Graphite get around the various locked doors and traps as we went to their main computer, where all the hacking was being done."

"Nice!" Sketch nodded. "And Graphite kept you safe the whole time?"

"Yeah…but as we were almost finished, Graphite got nabbed by a big robot-arm-thing. Not sure what it was for, maybe for construction or something…but in any case, the bad guys wanted to make sure Graphite didn't succeed in the mission. I was lucky not to have been spotted, but Graphite was getting squeezed by the big arm…and he looked like he was in excruciating pain. The bad guys stood by and watched him struggle…they even laughed at him once he started yelling in agony! I was panicking as I watched it all happen. Part of me wanted to run away, but Graphite's pained screams…I…

Copper let out a deep breath as he rubbed his head. "Well…I ended up placing both my hands on the main computer and just jolted the thing. And suddenly everything went dark…kinda like the blackout that other day. Everyone was confused at what happened, but I ran to the big arm undetected and forced it to let Graphite go, and…well, he took care of the rest."

"Still sounds like you were a hero to me," said Sketch.

Copper looked upset. "No! I'm…not exactly done with the story. Sure, after all that, we stopped their hacking business, and they even used the same computer to locate and capture most of the bad guys." He raised a finger. "Most of them. There were still two that they didn't find…the ringleader being one of them, and the hacker being the other. They kept a mental note of my name and what I looked like, as well as what I managed to do. And…" Copper took a deep breath. "…they apparently wanted revenge."

Heather covered her mouth with a concerned expression. "What did they do to you?"

"To me? Nothing." Copper looked to Broom, who looked just as concerned. "But they learned about my friend from Keshly'm, and decided to make use of him."

Broom's eyes widened. "Wait, I remember! This one guy kicked in the door of my house and knocked me out, and the next thing I knew I woke up trapped in some horrible torture device…thing. THAT'S what that was about?!"

Copper turned away. "They…sent a message to Kheji asking to confront them about a…'business proposition,' if I wanted you to remain alive. They showed an image of you trapped in a horrible machine. You were unconscious, but your arms and legs were already being stretched out in the picture. I was scared…I felt like my mission with Graphite threw me into a lot of danger, and…and you were dragged into it in the process…"

Sketch thought about this for a moment, recollecting some of the other memories Broom showed him. "I see, now… that explains the other instance Broom was in danger. And the guy even had a knife held up to Broom's throat, and you were standing there shaking… you were obviously very worried."

Copper nodded. "The guy told me they'd let Broom live if I were to cooperate with them. I'd essentially be a henchman, using my fervor to help out with their criminal work. I…I saw Broom trembling as the knife was held to him, and I…I wasn't sure what to do. They could've killed him…I didn't feel like I had a lot of time to do anything, and I worried if I made a false move, Broom was really gonna get hurt."

Heather recalled the memories too. "And then you made your move."

"I don't know what I was thinking at the time," said Copper, sounding like he was about to panic again. "I just quickly dashed up to the guy with the knife. I was quick enough to startle him, and…the scare caused him to let go of the knife. And as soon as I saw it leave his hand…I grabbed it and threw it as far as I could. Which wasn't far, but apparently got embedded into a wall and couldn't get pulled out."

"Nice!" said Sketch.

Copper winced as he continued his story. "But then I got a hold of the guy. I channeled a lot of my fervor into him. His breathing…his heart…they all stopped for a moment. His nerves fought to even struggle. I was…I was FURIOUS. I wanted it all to stop. I wanted HIM to stop." He covered his face. "I…was probably gonna kill him…"

Everyone was quiet.

Copper sniffled. "Then I heard Broom. He spoke my name…and asked if I was alright. When I heard that, I let the guy go. He was out cold, but his breathing and his heart started again. It was a partial relief, I guess…but…"

Broom hugged Copper. "It's okay."

"No it isn't!" Copper replied, sounding both angry and sad. "If I didn't get involved in that mission, you wouldn't have been put in danger! I…you claimed that I was a hero even then, but I was the reason you were kidnapped!"

"Copper, I'm not mad at you! I…I understand it was all scary. We were both scared! But I…I admit I was scared for you more than I was for me. I could see that angry stare you gave the guy…and I was worried what you were gonna do."

Heather scratched her head. "I recall seeing some other fella in that memory, who looked kinda like Copper in a dark coat."

Copper wiped his eyes. "Y-yeah, that would be Graphite. During that moment he actually snuck into the scene waiting for a chance to strike, but…even he wasn't prepared for what I did to the guy. He managed to take down the bad guys while I released Broom from the machine. It was hard to feel proud or happy about the situation, even though Broom seemed willing to thank me."

Sketch nodded. "I understand, bud. The whole thing about being called a hero…you don't think you deserve it because of all the little details…all the thoughts and emotions that were swarming your mind in those scary situations. But you always had a chance to choose…and in each of those moments, I think you did the right thing. And I think that's what makes you a hero."

Heather nodded in agreement. "People can think a lot of things in a situation. Some of those thoughts can be bad…scary, even. But it's the actions you took despite those thoughts…that convinces me you're not a bad person. You could've killed that guy, those aliens…you could've left Graphite or Broom to die…but whether it was instinct or something else, you opted to do something to fix the problem, even though it was something no one expected. And I think that's pretty cool!"

Copper was silent. He was blushing a bright purple.

"You ARE pretty cool," said Broom. "That's why I'm proud to call you my friend. I mean….I wouldn't have imagined you were what put me in that scary situation…but you managed to step up and get me right back out!"

Copper looked to Broom. "B-but…I…the guy…"

Broom nodded. "Like I said, I could tell things were getting overwhelming. So I…well, I want to say I was able to help you when you needed it. And I still do…after all that's happened, I feel like it's the least I can do."

Copper couldn't think of anything to say. He just nodded.

"I can tell you're a good friend of his," Sketch said to Broom.

"I learned a lot about him when we performed Clarity on that alien ship," Broom replied. "I…guess I never got to learn how he was feeling after the events afterward." He turned to Copper and held up his hand. "Would it be okay?"

Copper hesitated. "I…Not right now, Broom. I'm sorry."

Broom lowered his hand, then nodded in understanding. "Alright. I'll leave it be for now."

Sketch decided it was time to change the subject. "Incidentally, what's the game you're playing?"

Broom and Copper turned to the handheld. "Oh! The game? It's a bit of an action puzzler. You move dice around and connect them together to clear them off the board. Wanna try?"

Sketch scratched his head. "Why don't you show me first? I get the feeling I won't do so hot without some example to follow."

Broom nodded, smiling. "Sure thing!"

Sketch and Heather walked up behind Broom, and they and Copper all spectated Broom's game as he explained how things worked…

[immoral-stranger]

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 // 𝐌𝐕𝟏

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟒. 🪐 “I like to stick to walls. Observing conversations, lifting them when they fall.” – Foster the People, Fire Escape.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Word count: 5k

Warnings: There's a dinner party and reader is a chef, so a lot of talk about food. Reader is also very self-deprecating. Allusions to issues regarding mental health and self-worth, but it's not really the main story. It makes sense, I promise, I just don't know how to warn about it.

A/N: My sister requested this after we watched the movie Sommartider (very swedish), so there's a similar scene in that. I personally find this one very cute. ♡

The apartment smelled of butter and garlic, the scent clinging to the sun-warm kitchen, filled with light that spilled through the sheer linen curtains. It was small but charming, a snug little nest tucked into the hills of the French Riviera, not too far from Nice. You stood at the counter, hands damp from having peeled potatoes, a half-prepared gratin tray in front of you. It had been a gift from your parents, a fittingly named Marseille bleu Le Creuset roasting pan. You would’ve never bought it for yourself—too expensive—but as a gift, you’d been thankful to receive it. 

“Did you decant the wine like I told you?” Imogen’s voice drifted from the other room, where she was preening in front of the gilded mirror you’d picked up at a flea market. It wasn’t her style—too rustic, too worn—but she’d said it added “charm” to your place, always opting for a backhanded compliment instead of the truth. She hated your style because it was the opposite of hers. 

You didn’t look up from your work. “No, uhm—”

“Kinda busy,” she interrupted, breezing in. Imogen always moved like she was on a runway, even barefoot in her sister’s modest kitchen. Her hair was swept into a sleek bun, and she wore a silk blouse that you suspected cost more than your entire apartment deposit. Sponsored, most definitely. She paused to eye the tray in front of you. “What even is that?”

“The base to dauphinoise potatoes,” you said, flicking a glance at her. She didn’t care about the answer; she never did. Imogen asked questions to fill the air, not to gather information. You also suspected that she loved the sound of her own voice so much that she never felt the need to shut the fuck up. 

She wrinkled her nose, but it was half-hearted, like a habit she wasn’t willing to break. “I still can’t believe you do this out of pure enjoyment.”

You shrugged, lifting a knife to thinly slice another potato. “Everyone needs to eat, Imogen.”

“Yeah, that’s what Uber Eats is for,” she said breezily, perching on one of your barstools. “No need to go to culinary school.”

You turned to give her a pointed look, hand on your hip. “And who do you think works in the kitchens at the restaurants you order from?”

Imogen made a face, part exasperated and part amused, and waved you off. “You do not always have to poke holes in other people’s logic. It’s an unattractive trait.”

Before you could respond, the sharp trill of the doorbell cut through the room. Imogen’s eyes widened, and she hopped off the stool in a single fluid motion. “Oh god, that’s them—” She smoothed her blouse and gave herself a quick glance in the reflection of a hanging copper pot. “Do I look good?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but your voice softened in spite of yourself. “You always do. It’s your job.” 

As Imogen floated toward the door, a knot of tension twisted in your stomach. It wasn’t jealousy—it never had been. It was more complicated than that: a mix of frustration and yearning that you didn’t want to untangle. Imogen walked through life as though she owned the air around her, while you had spent most of yours holding your breath. 

She pulled the door open with a practiced flourish, stepping aside to let Daniel stroll in first. His confidence and laughter preceded him, a quick kiss placed on Imogen’s cheek, and she giggled in a way that made you want to hurl. 

Daniel moved with the kind of ease that made it impossible to tell if he was posing or simply existing. Former Formula 1 driver, now Imogen’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, who appeared far more interested in globetrotting and sponsorships than in anything truly meaningful with her. With a bit of self-distance, you actually really enjoyed Daniel’s presence. He was funny and kind, even though you had nothing in common. 

“Danny, always good to see you,” you said, managing a polite smile as he stepped into the kitchen, lifting your attention from the food preparations. 

“Whatever it is you’re cooking smells wonderful,” he replied, inhaling deeply. “This is Max,” Danny added, stepping aside to reveal the man behind him. 

Through a gap, you could spot Imogen in the entryway, observing your reaction and how you greeted the both of them. It was almost like she wanted to make sure you wouldn’t embarrass yourself—or, worse—embarrass her. You, of course, knew who she had invited over for dinner. You’d had to sit through hours worth of gossip all the times you and Imogen caught up on each other’s lives. So, having two world-famous athletes stand in your kitchen wasn’t as surreal as it may sound. 

Max was taller than you’d expected, his broad shoulders and quiet presence making the doorway seem smaller. Clad in a simple black t-shirt, he seemed like any other guy your age. He looked relaxed but not indifferent, his gaze curious as he took in your modest apartment.

You raised an eyebrow, unable to resist the rising amusement. “Danny, I don’t know if it’s funny or offensive that you think I don’t know who he is.” 

They both chuckled slightly at your words, and it was like you could see how tension released from Imogen’s shoulders, instantly becoming a couple centimeters shorter. 

“I would shake your hand, Max, but I have oil all over mine,” you said, holding up your slick fingers as evidence, before returning to the food, dealing with a marinated cut of meat. 

“Right,” Danny said, clapping Max on the shoulder and steering him further into the room. “She’s got this whole culinary genius thing going on, doesn’t she? Always smells like a five-star restaurant in here.”

“Not exactly,” you said, though the compliment made your cheeks feel warm. You glanced up at Max, who was still watching you, his smile small but genuine.

“Well, don’t let us interrupt your masterpiece,” Imogen said airily. “We’ll stay out of your way. You’ve got this under control, right?”

You only nodded, turning back to the food. It wasn’t until you heard Imogen’s laughter trailing into the living room that you allowed yourself to relax. There was a faint comfort in being in your element, even if you weren’t entirely alone.

In the background, you heard them talk as Imogen poured up glasses of wine for everyone. The wine she had forgotten to decant—that you knew needed air to taste decent. You heard her talk about the wine like it was something special. You, however, knew that she had stolen all of her knowledge from when she shot an ad for a winery somewhere in South Africa, and it didn’t particularly look like either Max or Danny cared that much. Ironic, for someone who had their own wine company, but you also got tired of hearing Imogen talk about things she didn’t really care enough about to research but talked about anyway to seem interesting. 

As she poured the fourth and final glass, you saw Max pick up two of them in your periphery. You tried to not visibly tense up as you heard his steps approach across your creaking wooden floors. He set both the glasses down on your kitchen island with a careful clink. 

With a wordless nod, you thanked him, picking one of the glasses up and swiveling the red liquid around to aerate it. 

Max lingered near the counter, his hands tucked into his pockets as he studied the array of ingredients you had spread out around you. “Is that you?” he asked, nodding toward a framed photo on the wall. 

It was one of the few remnants of your short-lived modeling career—an editorial shot of you, disturbingly close up, showing skin texture and flyaway hairs, vivid watercolour-like makeup in patches around your face and neck. You didn’t even look like yourself in it, which maybe was why it was the only photo of yourself you could bear seeing every day as you spent time in your kitchen. 

“Totally narcissistic, I know,” you snorted, keeping your eyes on the frying pan sizzling on the stove. 

“No, uhm, I didn’t mean it like that.” Max’s tone softened. “I think it looks cool. You must model too then?” 

“Nope.” You shook your head, glancing up at him, surprised by his sincerity. “I mean, I tried to, but I quit a while ago and went to culinary school.”

“That explains all this.” Max said, gesturing to the kitchen.

“I may have gone overboard,” you admitted, laughing softly. 

Imogen, perched on the edge of the sofa like a cat surveying her domain, twirled a lock of her hair idly before cutting in smoothly. “Is she boring you with her food talk, Max?” Her voice had that lilting quality you recognized well—equal parts teasing and dismissive, designed to simultaneously charm and belittle.

You stiffened instinctively, your movements freezing, spatula scraping the bottom of the pan. 

Max, however, straightened slightly, his casual stance shifting. “Not at all,” he replied, his tone easy but resolute, as if dismissing her suggestion entirely. Then he turned toward you. “Actually…” He hesitated, a small, almost bashful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can I help with anything?”

“Oh, probably not,” you said, trying to recover from sounding too surprised. “Imogen always says that I’m like a dictator in the kitchen and that my recipes are unreadable.” 

Max stepped closer, peering down at your notebook with recipes, pages filled with messy handwriting, arrows, and scratchy diagrams. “No, I get it. It’s like a mind map. Makes it easier to see the process,” he said after a moment. “Even if I don’t know what half of these things mean. What even is… a wild turkey?” 

You tilted your head, genuinely surprised that he could make sense of your ramblings. Looking over, you saw his finger point to one ingredient. You let out an unguarded laugh, the sound bubbling out before you could stop it. “It’s bourbon, for the marinade,” you explained. “Does this look like turkey meat to you?”

The meat sizzling in the frying pan was obviously some cut of beef, to judge by the colour. You didn’t need to be a culinary expert to know that. 

“No,” Max admitted with a grin. “And it would be weird to measure meat in tablespoons.” 

Your lips quirked upward, and you reached for a pear from the fruit bowl beside you, along with a cutting board and a little knife. You were hesitant to give him one of your good knives, worried he’d cut himself the first thing he did. It was quite common for people to do when they were unfamiliar with the sharpness a chef’s knife could have. 

“I guess you can chop that pear in little cubes, if you want to help.” 

Max took the pear from you, turning it over in his hands as if he were inspecting some foreign object. “A pear?” 

“It’s for the salad,” you explained, already turning back to your own task. 

“You can put pear in a salad?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve eaten a pear since I was about seven.” 

You arched a brow, glancing at him over your shoulder to see that he was fully sincere. With swift movements, you took the knife and cut a slice of the pear before dipping it into a vinaigrette you’d already prepared. 

“Try it, for science,” you said, holding it up for him to taste. 

Max hesitated before taking a small bite, his brow furrowing slightly as he chewed. Then he nodded, his expression lightening. “Huh, you know what you’re doing.” 

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you dismissed his comment, turning to look at the stove again. 

Max chuckled in response, shaking his head. He then stepped closer to the counter as he grabbed a knife. His movements were unpracticed but deliberate, the pear wobbling slightly as he began chopping it into uneven pieces. You felt the familiar itch of not being in control, almost taking over your own movements. But, you stopped thinking for a moment. Dinner wouldn’t be ruined just because the pear wasn’t in perfect cubes. And Max was actually putting in effort, biting down on his tongue, a line forming between his brows as he focused.

“Are you always this much of a perfectionist,” you asked, viewing his motions, “or are you just showing off in front of me?” 

“I’ve never put this much brain capacity into anything before,” Max joked, adding a laugh as he examined one of the misshapen pear cubes. 

For a moment, the kitchen fell into an easy rhythm. Imogen and Danny’s laughter floated in from the other room, a sharp contrast to the quiet concentration shared between you and Max. You didn’t usually let anyone help in the kitchen—it was your sanctuary, your domain—but for some reason, with Max fumbling his way through chopping fruit and throwing curious questions your way, it didn’t feel like an intrusion. 

When the food was done, the four of you gathered around your dining table, decorated with pottery and plates that you had collected throughout the years. Nothing matched, just like you preferred it. The golden hour crept through the windows as the room filled with light from the sun and flickering candles. 

And the dinner went fine, just like it always did, even though you couldn’t help but imagine the worst-case scenario of accidentally poisoning someone, or forgetting an allergy, maybe dropping the main dish right on the floor. Your sister and her company ate like they enjoyed it at least. The added blur of wine helping with the atmosphere. 

You were always the most quiet one in group settings, only speaking when spoken to, really. But you liked it that way. The stories Max and Daniel could tell from their lives were vastly more interesting than anything you had experienced anyway. Imogen too lived a more eventful life with fashion weeks and world travelling. Everyone seemed to like it that way too, the scrape of forks against plates punctuating Danny’s latest story. 

“…and when I finally got the bloody thing out of the house, the neighbour’s dog chased it straight back in,” Danny concluded, laughing as he leaned back in his chair. Imogen giggled, dabbing her lips with a napkin in that poised way of hers.

Max chuckled but shifted his gaze to you, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “So, how did you end up going from modeling to cooking?” He asked, after Danny was done telling the detailed story about a snake entering his house back home in Australia. 

You didn’t realise for how long you’d been quiet until you were now forced to speak, your voice sounding foreign to even your own ears. Setting your fork down, you answered, “I gave myself one last runway season to see if I could support myself. I walked three shows, while Imogen walked like thirty.”

“Thirty-two,” Imogen corrected, not missing a beat. She reached for her wine glass, taking a delicate sip before adding, “I’ll always believe you could’ve done it if you didn’t give up so easily.” Her tone was light but pointed. 

Your lips tightened. “I didn’t give up, Imogen—I moved on.” 

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” she said with a faint shrug. “You never see yourself as anything special, always such a plain Jane.” 

The words settled heavily in the air, their weight pressing against your chest. For a brief moment, the table fell silent, the only sound the faint clink of cutlery against porcelain. You forced yourself to maintain an even expression as you reached for your glass of water. 

“It’s kind of hard to when you’re having dinner with three child prodigies,” you answered, letting out a pathetic laugh to conceal your emotions. 

For someone who was so afraid of you embarrassing her, Imogen really had no issue with her own words causing embarrassment for others. 

Max frowned slightly, his hands stilling as he turned toward you. “I wouldn’t call myself a prodigy,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with something else—discomfort, perhaps.

“Yeah, right,” Danny said, nudging Max with an elbow. “Modesty doesn’t suit you, mate. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Max smiled faintly but didn’t reply. There was a softness in his expression that made your stomach twist, though you quickly moved your gaze to look at your plate; the uneven shapes of pear in the salad were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. 

The conversation shifted, as it always did with Imogen, back to her. Something about a designer or a photographer saying she was the best model to work with. Something about a socialite event where ridiculous things had happened. Ridiculous meaning stupidly expensive or over the top. You wanted to laugh, knowing that they most likely didn’t use the real thing for the crazy champagne fountains she talked about, or that the sturgeon caviar they had served was a cheap knock-off, because no chef in their right mind would use the amount she mentioned. 

You zoned out as she talked, only starting to pay attention again when the conversation drifted towards what they were doing tonight and that they might need to call a cab soon. 

“Oh, where are you going?” you asked, unsure if you actually cared. 

“A sponsored event on a yacht in the marina. You know the jewelry company I did an ad for?” she replied casually, her tone almost bored.

You nodded, though the familiar ache of exclusion began to settle in your chest. You knew the exact advert she was referring to, not because you cared, but because those freaking pictures of her were everywhere. In stores, on every social media app, on digital billboards across multiple cities of the French Riviera—hell, you’d even seen it at a bus stop. 

“I assumed you wouldn’t want to come,” she added. The statement wasn’t cruel, but it stung all the same. “You never do.” 

Your fingers curled around the stem of your glass as you gave a small nod, keeping your face neutral. “No, I guess you’re right.” 

Max hesitated, glancing between you and Imogen. “I mean, she could come if she wanted to, right?”

“Yeah,” Imogen said, tilting her head as though the idea had never occurred to her. “I guess I could make a call to get you on the list.” 

“Don’t bother, you know it’s not my scene anyway,” you said quickly, your voice firmer than you intended.

Danny grinned, leaning back in his chair. “A wild night for her is solving a crossword puzzle with a pen you can’t erase.” 

“Or,” Imogen added with a smirk, her eyes glinting with mischief, “when she’s brave enough, watching an episode of Criminal Minds instead of Friends like she usually does.”

Their laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls with the kind of ease you’d never quite mastered. It wasn’t malicious—at least not intentionally—but it still left a weight in your chest, heavy and familiar.

You kept your head down, pushing the last bit of salad around your plate, and told yourself you didn’t care. This was the dynamic, after all. Imogen had always been the star of the show, and Danny loved playing her supporting act. You had other friends who understood you better, who you had more in common with. Max, though—Max had been a surprise. And even now, as their laughter rang on, you caught him glancing at you from across the table, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

The dinner ended not long after. They had places to be, important people to talk to—while you had sitcoms to watch and dishes to take care of. You were happy to see Imogen every once in a while when she and Danny were both in Monaco, and you loved cooking for people, no matter who they were. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little happy knowing that Imogen was busy with work all throughout the upcoming month. 

As they filtered out, their voices trailing off into the warm Riviera night, the apartment felt suddenly too quiet. Locking the door after them, you slid down onto the floor, sitting with your knees tucked up towards your body, rubbing your tired eyes with the back of your hands, not caring if mascara crumbled all over your face. You felt empty, the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence. The half-drunk bottle of wine on the kitchen counter looked temping as you considered finishing it yourself. 

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Max trailed behind Danny and Imogen as they strolled toward the cab waiting just down the street. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of the sea, and the stars twinkled faintly above the rooftops.

Danny was cracking a joke, and Imogen’s laughter rang out like a bell, but Max barely registered it. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his mind somewhere else entirely—back upstairs, at the table, watching you push your food around with that faint, detached smile.

He slowed his steps, his feet dragging. The idea of the yacht party, the glitz and endless small talk, suddenly felt suffocating. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of leaving felt… wrong. Max hated events like that. Everyone knew that. And while it was nice to catch up with Danny since they didn’t see much of each other nowadays, he found Imogen insufferable. He could play padel with Danny tomorrow if he wanted to talk more with him. Before he could think better of it, Max stopped altogether.

“Hey,” he called after them, making Danny and Imogen turn around.

“What’s up?” Danny asked, his brow furrowing.

Max hesitated, then gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “I think I forgot my phone. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Imogen gave him a bemused smile, her head tilting slightly. “You sure? It’s not like we can wait forever.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Max said firmly, already stepping back. He waved them off. “Have fun.”

He turned before he could see their expressions and made his way back to the building.

The walk up the stairs felt oddly daunting now, each step heavier than the last, as though the weight of his own indecision was pulling him back. The soft hum of the building at night—the faint creak of pipes, the muffled sounds of life behind closed doors—seemed to grow louder with every passing moment. Max reached your door and hesitated, his hand hovering uncertainly near the wood.

What was he even going to say? He wasn’t the type to overthink things, but this felt different. He didn’t want to overstep. What if you didn’t want company? The evening had already been a mixed bag of awkward moments, and the last thing he wanted was to make it worse.

Max sighed, his arm lowering slightly, just about ready to turn back when he heard your voice from the other side of the door.

“I miss you too, like craaazy,” you said, your voice muffled but clear enough through the door. Max froze, his curiosity getting the better of him. You sounded close, as though you were standing right by the door. Picking up the pieces, he figured you were talking to someone over the phone. 

“Imogen and Daniel came over for dinner earlier, and he brought a friend of his, and it was the most awkward thing ever,” you spoke again. 

Max frowned slightly. He was the friend, of course. While he’d sensed some discomfort during the evening, particularly whenever the conversation turned toward you, he hadn’t thought it was that bad. Who would you be talking to like that anyway, debriefing something that had just happened? Did you have… a boyfriend? 

“Mum,” you added, your voice cutting through his doubt, “of course it was a boy.”

He relaxed a fraction, leaning slightly closer to the door without realizing it.

“A cute one, too,” you admitted. 

Max blinked, warmth creeping into his face. A cute boy. That was a twist he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t help but grin, his chest lifting slightly at the thought. And you definitely didn’t have a boyfriend.

“You don’t have to ask if I bottled it. You already know I did,” you said after a brief pause, your voice quieter now. “I’m not like Imogen. I don’t think I’ll ever learn to be that easygoing.” 

Max was back to frowning, this time for a different reason. He didn’t like the sound of that. He wanted to knock, to interrupt, but he didn’t move.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you,” you said, your tone softening into affection as you ended the call. “Tell Dad I said hi. Buh-bye.”

Max barely gave himself a moment to think before he raised his hand and knocked. There was a pause, long enough for him to wonder if you’d heard, and then your voice came through the door. 

“Did you forget something?”

By the sound of your voice, he could tell that you were expecting it to be Imogen coming back for something. Not him. 

Max smiled despite himself. “Yeah,” he said, the words coming out more confidently than he expected. “I think I did.”

For a moment, there was silence, and then he heard rustling from behind the door, almost as if you’d stumbled to reach it. The lock clicked, and the door opened, revealing you with wide, startled eyes. You looked more tired than you had before, makeup and clothes a bit askew. He assumed Imogen had something to do with how polished you’d looked at the beginning of the evening. 

“Max?” you asked, your voice pitched slightly higher in surprise.

He cleared his throat, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I was wondering…” he started, shifting his weight but keeping his tone light, “if maybe, I could stay here and be boring with you?” 

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, though the words sounded stupid the moment they left his lips. He half-expected you to laugh, but instead, you blinked at him, your surprise melting into something softer.

“Uhm, yeah,” you said, stepping back to let him in. “Sure.”

Max stepped inside, and for the second time that night, he was struck by how inviting your apartment felt. The uneven warmth of the terracotta tiles beneath his feet, the mismatched chairs around the small dining table, and the array of plants lining the windowsill. It was nothing like he was used to, yet it felt like the picture-perfect definition of the word home.

Moving into the kitchen, his eyes landed on something on the counter—a tray of something, its surface dusted with cocoa powder.

“You made dessert?” he asked, tilting his head toward it.

“Yeah,” you said, shutting the door behind him, smoothing out your shirt with your hands. “I made tiramisu. Want some?”

Max didn’t hesitate. Moments later, he was seated on your sofa with a fork in hand, his first bite of the tiramisu silencing any lingering awkwardness. “Fuck me, this is like the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

You laughed, a soft, almost shy sound that Max couldn’t help but find adorable. You really couldn’t handle compliments well, and Max was going to use that to his advantage to make you wonderfully uncomfortable. “And you were going to have all this dessert for yourself instead of going out with us?” he asked, setting his fork down briefly to give you a look of mock betrayal.

“Well,” you said with a small shrug, sitting down beside him with your own plate of dessert. “I wasn’t really invited in the first place.”

Max frowned. “That’s not fair. They should’ve—”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting him off. “Really. It’s not my scene anyway.”

Max studied you for a moment, his fork hovering over the dish. You were the opposite of so many people that he knew. And so similar to himself that it was almost scary to him. 

Tucking up your legs under your body, you made yourself comfortable on the sofa before you continued talking. “I tend to stick to the walls in places like that anyway. Just observing conversations, trying but failing to lift them when they fall.” 

“Do you also feel like you’ve got a foot in your mouth whenever you open it?” he wondered honestly. 

“Exactly. Always putting my foot in my mouth,” you replied with a chuckle. 

“Sounds impressive to me,” he joked with a grin. “I’m not that agile.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You were the one to bring it up.” 

For a moment, the apartment settled into a quiet hum, the faint sounds of the outside world barely audible through the walls. Max leaned forward, setting his plate down on your coffee table. The TV was noticeably black in front of the two of you.

“So,” he asked, tilting his head slightly, “what is it tonight? A crime show or… what was the other thing?”

“Friends,” you replied, reading in his reaction. “You’ve never seen Friends?”

Max’s brows lifted. “Not really. Maybe bits and pieces, but I couldn’t tell you much about it.”

“Oh my god,” you said, your tone equal parts horror and humor as your eyes widened dramatically. “You have a lot to learn.”

He laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’m hoping you’ll tell me everything I need to know.”

You smiled, a real one that softened your whole face. You picked up the remote, turning on the pilot episode. Max wasn’t really paying attention, but he liked how certain funny things made you audibly laugh. The more you watched and the more tiramisu you ate—the more the comfortable feeling spread like a fire through your living room, silently burning as he placed an arm around you and shared your blanket. 

This wasn’t where he’d thought he’d end up as he had entered your apartment the first time tonight, but now, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think ♡

౨ৎ [ main masterlist . taglist . other love letters ]

Taglist: @koko-mei @anamiad00msday @floweringanna @lucyysthings @yelenam5 @firefirevampire @alexxavicry @emails-i-can-send @freyathehuntress

[wizardnuke]

shadowgast fic recs i had in my drafts. fics where they're a little bit insane and toxic to each other or just generally dangerous people. great characterization imo. some of my favorites. i love angst and drama. read the tags

the lavender bush (E)

A fic about Caleb’s complex relationship to sex, attraction, and Essek.

Out Of Season (M)

Caleb knows what it is to be hunted. He sees it in Essek’s careful placement of his minimal luggage, how he has not unpacked anything more than what is needed at the moment, the modest respectability of his nightclothes, how he sets his boots by the bedroom door instead of on the tray in the foyer.

reaching for stars, reaching for fire (M)

The strange object sits like a silver spider by his wrists, long jointed legs entangling his hands. It’s beautiful like finely wrought jewelry, but it wraps itself around Essek’s fingers and wrists in an undeniably threatening manner.

(and the bad ending)

please don't bite (M)

“This is a good knife, you know,” Essek says, conversationally. “I had it made for general practical usage, as well as for fighting, in emergencies.” Caleb holds the knife. It is small and neat, the edge looks sharp.

Unmaking (E)

Caleb’s hair has grown in their time apart. He wears it loose around his shoulders, where it shines copper red against the burgundy of his nightclothes. His eyes barely stray from Essek as he sets the tipped inkpot upright, putting the component pouch that he had hastily snatched aside. There is a pinch of tension between his dark brows when he speaks. “Something has happened.” “I killed someone,” Essek tells him.

bow shock (M)/heliopause (M)

Adventuring might be behind Caleb, but danger is not.

Late in the night, someone comes to settle a score with him on behalf of their mutual teacher. They did not account for Caleb playing host to someone with very strong opinions about that, and the magic to back them up.

simple math (M)

Power Word Kill: You utter a word of power that can compel one creature you can see within range to die instantly. Beau knows Essek can be ruthless, and she knows he loves Caleb. The point where these facts meet still manages to surprise her, and she never has been able to let anything lie.

what our ghosts will say (M) (series, can be read seperately)

Essek has been a guest in Caleb's home for a week now.

Essek has lived in Caleb's home for months. He still dreams, but of the wrong things.

[thecoiledserpent]

what would your advice be for a saturn dominant person? i hate my life it always feels like everyone gets life easy but me

welp, struggle is the saturnian way my darling. there are several things i would say to this but the things with most foreigners or people who are unfamiliar with indian culture is that they wish to understand it, but they are most often not willing to understand the amount of control and limitation in our lifestyles. regardless, here are a few most useful tips.

avoid coffee, tea, weed, cigarette or addiction of any sorts.

avoid eating too much fatty / sweet food. just keep a modest balance in eating habits

avoid wearing the colour black, especially on saturday

wear silver jewellery, even a simple chain works. or a bangle, anything.

help the elderly, if there are any around you.

be of proper conduct and avoid any display of a loose character

if you're a hindu, offer black sesame seed oil to shani (saturn); and black cloth.

never buy items related to saturn on auspicious days.

i recommend praying to the sun god for saturn related problems, for he is saturn's father, and the death of darkness. even waking up early (somewhat around 6, 5 if you can), making your bed and bowing to the sun with devotion in one's heart is an appreciable gesture.

if you are a hindu, offer water to the sun god in a copper vessel while looking in his direction to the best of your possibility (don't burn your eyes or smth) and chant 'om suryaya namah'

after everything, i can still not assure you that saturn will be very pleased, or that life will be easier. but increasing the influence of the sun in your life revitalizes hope and energy. and most important of all is patience, especially with saturn in watch. they say it takes from 3 seconds to 3 years for a vedic remedy to work; let's be glad it's not 3 decades!

[alexanderwales]

Game Review: Factorio: Space Age (pt 2)

This is the second part of my review of Factorio: Space Age, covering the planets. This will have more spoilers than the previous section, but also include more cohesive thoughts on the expansion as a whole.

Vulcanus

Once you've built a spaceship, you have a choice of three planets to go to, and you can do them in any order you'd like. Each planet comes with its own researchable rewards, which require you to build up a base on the planet capable of making a science pack and shipping it into space (or alternately, to remake all sciences on the planet, but this is stupid and pointless given what lies further down the tech tree).

I chose Vulcanus first. There are five resources here, three of which can't be found anywhere else: coal, sulfuric acid, calcite, tungsten ore, and lava. Lava gets used to make anything having to do with copper and iron using the foundry, which is most of the things in Factorio. Sulfuric acid gets used with calcite to make water, which is one of the notable things missing from Vulcanus, along with oil. Plastic requires a long chain to make: coal liquefaction into heavy oil into light oil into petroleum into plastic. Because rockets require plastic twice (LDS and blue chips), you eventually need to set up a fairly sizeable build for this.

I didn't find any of this to be too interesting. Infinite resources are at least different, but there was nothing that fundamentally changed how I view the game, and I ended up setting up a bus with more fluids than usual, mostly making on-site plates, pipes, steel, etc. The art for it is cool, and impassable lava is at least a little constraining, but I didn't feel like it was all that great.

Tungsten ore is the main material from Vulcanus, and it's defended by the other major thing that makes the place unique, the worms. Each worm has a territory, and until you've killed your first worm, you don't have access to a tungsten ore patch, only loose scraps that have been laying around.

The worms are long and segmented, very distinct from the biters. They disable electronics with their attacks, making fountains of lava beneath you, and overall I think they're cool ... except that they're a little too easy to defeat. I set up a grid of 50 turrets with armor-piercing ammo, and that proved sufficient.

This is a boring solution. I wish it didn't work. It was the first thing I tried, and afterward I thought ... well, what was the point of that? I don't have a good solution to what you'd want to do to stop this from working, but I do think this is sort of bad design, since it's a "more dakka" solution. I've also seen that you can build a tank and take one out with a single uranium shell, which is even worse design. What I wanted was a fight were I needed to use poison capsules, land mines, strategically placed turrets, etc., some kind of mixed-asset offensive package, and what I got was fifty turrets in a stupid grid. I really do try to not be one of those players that optimizes myself out of having fun, but it's hard to motivate myself to do something the pointlessly hard way when there's something simple, easy, and foolproof.

The other thing about demolishers is that they have their own territory, and that territory never changes. This means that if you want to expand beyond a relatively modest starting patch, you need to kill them ... but unless you're going for a megabase, you don't need to kill more than three or four of them across the entire time playing the game, and since they only attack if you build in their territory, those worm encounters become like 1% of the Vulcanus experience.

I would have liked if the worm territories changed. I think it would have been cool if they fought each other for dominance over an area in a way you could capitalize on, or if they would expand into places that no one had claimed, or places a dead rival had left behind. It would have been cool to require the player to build up some do-nothing machines or other infrastructure to keep the worms back, like a sort of "build this at the edge of your territory to be in constant motion to convince the worms that it's occupied" type of thing. But instead, you just kill the worms and that's that, you never see them again unless you go hunting them. According to my end-of-game statistics, I killed 8 small demolishers and 2 medium demolishers, which was probably 5 more worms than I needed to kill, since I ended up with a lot of empty space I didn't do anything with.

So overall, Vulcanus is the weakest of the planets for me, and I think that's at least partly down to the under-use of the worms and the simplicity of the "new" mechanics.

Fulgora

Fulgora contains the ruins of a vast civilization, and there are no resources except the heavy oil between islands and the scrap that's left behind. Solar is terrible on Fulgora, but there are lightning storms at night, and lightning towers can collect it into accumulators to power your base.

Scrap gets "recycled" into a bunch of different things, and so it quickly because a nightmare of sorting things out, dealing with excess products, and turning complex materials into simple ones. There are no iron plates, those need to be recycled from iron gears. There are no copper platers, those need to be recycled from copper wire. Blue chips, which in any other circumstance need to be jealously guarded, are found in abundance.

I found this to be great fun. The challenge is certainly unique, turning the production chain on its head, but it has a nice "ramp" to it, as first you get a pile of crap, then you turn it into things, then you uncover excesses that are gumming it up, and the problems keep coming, but they usually come after you've solved some other problem.

When I started, I did a sushi belt (ed. - a sushi belt is a belt that contains multiple unsorted good, controlled by circuit conditions which allow certain limits of each item to go by, named after conveyor belt sushi restuarants), which was good enough for the short term and got me all the basic technologies, but ran into all the problems that come with a sushi belt, and switched over to a belt-based sorting system of splitters that could handle two full green belts of scrap input.

There is, for me, one big miss on Fulgora, which is that the lightning storms are basically not a challenge at all. You set up a grid of substations, each with a lightning rod, and that protects your base. You set up accumulator fields on one tip of the island, and this is a pretty boring solution. If you went to Gleba first, you can instead set up heating towers that burn the fuel you get from scrap, but this doesn't seem like it saves terribly much more space, and either way you need the lightning towers, so I'm not sure it's worth anything, and I never implemented that plan.

One of the other big challenges of Fulgora is that it's a set of islands, and there's no way to place anything on the oil sands. Additionally, there are two types of islands, one with a fair amount of space and minimal scrap, the other with tons of scrap and almost no room. In theory, this encourages a rail world, but in practice, the first island I plopped down on was the one I stayed on the entire time, and my rail network, such as it was, extended to only two of the smaller islands to guarantee all the scrap I would ever need. I think I rolled high on one of those islands: 63M scrap is a ton, but that's what I ended up with on default settings. With the drills from Vulcanus, expected output is double that, and with the legendary drills I can now produce, it would be 787M. There's simply not a need to place rails elsewhere.

I do feel that Fulgora would have benefitted from some enemies of some kind, either those that lived on the oil fields, so you'd have to build defenses on the edges of the islands, or some kind of robot enemy that you needed to kill to take islands from. Given the setup of an abandoned high-tech planet, and the electrical weapons you unlock there, it would have been nice to have some reason or chance to use them. I've definitely played Factorio scenarios with bot opponents and buildings that can be captured after the AI's defenses have been breached.

Still, the scrap sorting puzzle was a good one, with many solutions, and Fulgora was a ton of fun.

Gleba

Gleba is a swampy fungi planet. There are no conventional resources except for stone, and pretty much everything else is derived from two plants, jellynut and yamako, that get broken down.

The main mechanic of the planet is spoilage, where materials break down over time. Jellynut and yamako last for about an hour, the products you get from them are much less, a material made from both of them, bioflux, lasts a lot longer, and nutrients, which are fed to the new building, the biochamber, last hardly any time at all.

Spoilage is cool because it requires a very different mindset. Normally in Factorio, you're building up big buffers to minimize downtime. On Gleba, you want as little buffer as possible, just constant rivers of materials flowing by to be as fresh as possible, because if anything stays still for too long, there's a chance it'll spoil, which will stop the machine trying to take the ingredient, which can create a spoilage cascade.

My initial plan was to have some kind of circuit-based just-in-time system, where every machine would be monitored in order to see what ingredients it needed, and everything would be made fresh-to-order.

I ended up not doing this, mostly because demand stays relatively constant, and where it doesn't stay constant, you can just eat the spoilage costs. There's so much abundance that you really don't need to care about half your crops going to waste.

The other reason I didn't end up going with this is because unfortunately, the "river of goods" solution has essentially no complications to it, and you can simply dump everything into a recycler/incinerator at the end. In some of the Factorio overhaul mods, this concept is called "voiding", a way of dealing with byproducts, and if you make voiding easy, you essentially remove a logistical challenge, which means less gameplay. I kind of get why they made this easy, but ... I don't know. I did kind of want something that would require a big, complicated solution, a factory that dances on the edge of clogging itself up.

I ended up with a completely belt-based system, with a belt of jelly and mash, then a belt of bioflux, all nutrients made on demand, and production lines in defined blocks. The final build does 520 science/minute, which becomes 2Ks/m with full-prod biolabs, most of which goes into the trash, since it's not actually consumed all the time.

One of my favorite little puzzles of Gleba was the metals, which are produced with bacteria that spoil in a minute, becoming ore. There's a process, with bioflux, of having bacteria make more bacteria, but if the bacteria ever stop flowing (if, for example, you have enough ore), then they spoil and die, and the whole production line stops. So you need to build in a little kickstart system that will inject new bacteria if it's needed, and I found that to be delightful to work on.

The other major thing on Gleba are the enemies, which are pentapods. Pentapod eggs are necessary to make biochambers and science, but after you have one, you can set up breeding, which is dangerous given they can make more of themselves, but definitely the way to go. There are three forms of pentapod, all with their own weaknesses, and ...

Look, I went to Gleba last, but I put up a defensive wall fairly early on using only materials that I had gotten from Gleba, and then basically never had any cause to think about the pentapods again. Because I slapped this down with blueprints, it took all of ten minutes, most of which was spent fixing the kind of scuffed corners (skill issue). So I would say the amount that I actually got to experience the pentapods was pretty minimal. I also shipped in four artillery turrets that are crowded around a box of ammo, supplied by site-made shells using imported tungsten, and the circle almost entirely contains my pollution cloud, so in theory it's just an easily solved problem.

It might have been different if I had gone to Gleba first, I don't know and can't say without actually doing that, but I would have liked a little more of a challenge, and this might be where being a veteran hinders me.

Overall, I really enjoyed Gleba, the mechanics were new and unique, the little puzzles inherent in design were interesting, and I thought that overall it had the best art direction of the four planets, which is saying something, because I think they're all great on the front.

Aquilo

On every other planet, a "cold start" is possible, building up from just what you find laying around. Aquilo is different: it's a planet with ammonia oceans and some scattered liquid vents, and part of the point of it is that you need materials from outside, including anything made from iron, copper, or stone. You can't softlock on other planets, but you can softlock on Aquilo.

Aside from requiring pretty solid planetary logistics, Aquilo's main mechanic is heat. It's cold enough there that bots don't work very well, and everything has to have a heat pipe near it for it to function, including pipes and belts. To heat up a heat pipe takes either nuclear, fusion, or the heat towers that burn up fuel, and if the heat ever stops flowing, everything will seize up, requiring heroic efforts to get running again.

There's not all that much to Aquilo. You pull up slurry from the ocean, split it into ammonia and ice, use them together to make ice platforms, import concrete, and then combine oil and ammonia to make rocket fuel, which is used to both launch rockets and to toss into heating towers for power and heat to keep everything running.

The science pack is easy, though it require imported holmium plate, and my entire 200 science per minute production line was run off a tiny cluster of buildings that would have been pretty trivial to expand.

It seems to me that Aquilo is at least partly inspired by Seablock, an infamous mod where you start with almost nothing on a tiny island that you have to expand with the mineral sludge you dredge up with an offshore pump. But Seablock is a very long mod, one that typically takes hundreds of hours, and here ... well, there are a handful of challenges, and they're not all that challenging. I think I could probably list them out now.

Making ammonia also makes ice. You can void excess ice through repeated recycling, but ammonia can't be voided except by combining it with crude oil to make solid fuel, which can then be put in an incinerator. I solved this problem with a simple circuit condition.

Science and some crafting uses coolant, which must be cooled back down after use. If you just keep making coolant, eventually the system will seize up, since you won't be able to put more hot coolant into the system. But because this is a lossy cycle (you lose half the coolant) you can just hook a pump up to a tank and only inject more hot coolant into the system when below a threshold.

Outposts need their own heating for the pumps to work, and those outposts are, on default settings, quite far away. This requires setting up a self-sufficient little heating module that's either serviced by train or which runs entirely with materials found at the outpost. I ended up doing two different modules, one for oil outposts and the other for everywhere else ... but I never actually had to use them, because there were sufficient resources for tens of thousands of resources right next to the starting area.

As the "final boss", I am underwhelmed, and even as one of four planets I find myself a little underwhelmed. I don't know how much postgame stuff I'm going to do, but I can't see that there's going to be much challenge in going large on Aquilo, except that I might have to build another ship for moving in materials (as currently I have a single ship that makes a circuit of the solar system for materials and also handles shipments of science).

There is also, again, a lack of enemy. Once the rocket fuel setup was done, I had a single scare when ammonia backed up and stopped ice production, which shut down the water chem plant, which killed the turbines and stopped power to the entire base. But that didn't even freeze anything out, and it was fixed pretty easily from a restart module I'd built earlier, and after that, the ammonia issue was fixed to never have that problem again. If the cold is the enemy, it's not enough of one for my tastes.

Integration

With each planet you conquer, you get a new science pack, which opens up new technologies, and in theory you, can use them on other planets. These buildings are very powerful, and so there's some incentive to return to old factories, rip up old designs, and install new ones using the better buildings.

I did eventually do this, but I'm not sure how much I actually needed to. My furnace stacks were replaced by the foundries from Vulcanus, supplies by a hauler ship exclusively for calcite, though I did make an abortive attempt to just harvest calcite from space using a stationary space platform.

(I made four of them before giving up on the project, and found out only later that asteroid spawn rates depend on how many chunks large the ship is, so the ideal build has asteroid collectors on very long arms, and there's nothing in the game that tells you about the asteroid spawning thing, so ... whatever, it's opaque and very gamey hidden stuff, of the kind that I hate.)

I replaced my circuit production areas with the EMP, which saved vast quantities of resources and also made more circuits at a much faster rate within the same blueprint. I upgraded most belts to green.

I didn't end up using the biochambers much, in part because they need nutrients to run, and 50% prod with more module slots is great, but not so great that I wanted to set up a biter egg farm that could potentially blow up in my face.

Cryochambers just came too late for me to implement them anywhere, though I probably would if I kept playing to the megabase stage, or if I'm gunning for an achievement that requires updating Nauvis.

So I think, strangely, when considering how the planets impact each other, they ... kind of don't all that much? Yes, having foundries on Gleba means that you can make all your belts and things at a fraction of the cost, but how much doesn't that really impact anything? It meant that my ore production areas could be smaller, I guess. Is that worth anything? I kind of don't think so, if I'm considering the main gameplay to be in terms of design and decisions. Foundries saved me from having to lay down a furnace stack. EMPs saved me from having to have expansive red circuit lines to get the blue chips necessary for rocket launches.

Ideally, I would have liked one or two killer techs that mostly work through combining each planet's "thing". Like imagine that there was a combination recycler and foundry that melted down whatever was put into it, giving you molten copper and iron in exchange, creating a whole new kind of problem in exchange for ... I don't know, much much faster recycling, or less loss from recycling, or maybe a recipe that allowed true voiding. Or if you went to Gleba and then Vulcanus, and were able to bring biochambers that would allow the cultivation of some new specimen specific to that environment, maybe something that would allow better plastic production, or could pull water out of the air, both of which are kind of a pain in the ass on Vulcanus. Couldn't there be some kind of new bacteria swimming in the oil sands of Fulgora? Not something that would trivialize any challenge, something that would be a reward for having two flavors of research from two different planets. Ideally, there'd be six of these in total, allowing for each pair to benefit each other pair, but at that point I start to feel like I'm just asking for new content.

I cracked my game back open to check the tech tree, and all the Aquilo techs require all three planets. The are two techs that require mixed packs: Rail Support Foundations, which simplify rails for Fulgora, and Railgun Damage, which increases the power of the railgun. That's it. This screams missed opportunity to me.

So in terms of how the planets and their mechanics interact with each other ... I would say that they mostly don't, which is a bit of a shame. The biochamber in particular requires nutrients, which makes it effectively unusable on Vulcanus and Fulgora ... unless you're shipping in heroic quantities of bioflux, I guess, though I don't think that I could ever see myself doing that. I guess maybe on Vulcanus, which has the aforementioned plastics problem? But it feels like the kind of thing that would mostly be done for a stunt rather than because it was actually the right thing to do. And potentially on Nauvis, but it does seem like a megabase thing to do, rather than normal play. I will have to do the math, this too might be a skill issue.

(Real quick: 1 Bioflux makes 8 nutrients in a standard biochamber, which is 12 with prod, which is 24 MJ. A biochamber consumes 500kW, so with no spoilage nutrients allow 2 crafts of the 2 second oil cracking recipes, which means that every Bioflux can, at most, turn 960 heavy oil into 1080 light oil rather than the 720 light oil it would normally crack into. But obviously since the Bioflux has to be shipped in, it ends up being less than that. This is obviously more effective than shipping over oil itself, but ... man, I don't know, this seems very weak, even with adding in productivity to other steps. I guess the use case in Nauvis, where you're in theory shipping Bioflux anyway in order to feed captive biters, but that's still premised on an oil shortage that I never actually experienced.)

I do also want to say that quality had very little impact on my play. I tended to carry around some high quality quality modules and use them when crafting infrastructure, but in most cases it just wasn't much to write home about. It's most important for the ships, and for personal stuff, but it never felt that important.

And finally, I do want to give a shoutout to how easy and effective remote viewing was. One of the things I'm going to eventually do, after a Factorio break, is the 40 hour achievement run, and I have to imagine that a lot of that is just landing on a planet, doing the unlocks, building a rocket to get back, then having starter bots do all the actual base building for me, which is pretty cool.

Conclusion

Space Age took me about 140 hours, and I would say that about 10 of that was idle time while I was waiting for legendary ship parts or for a buildup of materials. The Jacknape-class ships have an issue with ammo production where they can more or less keep up with rockets, but the belt buffer goes from the front of the ship to the back, meaning that it empties from where it's needed most, rather than emptying where it's needed least, and yeah, having a fully stacked buffer takes a hot minute of waiting. Similarly, the quality module I made works over sufficient time scales, but especially while waiting on quality quality modules, there's a real temptation to just leave it running rather than actively playing.

130 hours for a veteran player is a long time for an expansion, much longer than I would have expected, even knowing what I knew about the expansion going in. Some of that time I don't count as expansion time, like all the parts where I was just doing normal Factorio stuff, and I did end up building adapted malls on each of the planets, which added on more time that could have been cut out by making an effective blueprint the first go-around, and which I don't really count as expansion time, because there's not much that's unique about making the new malls. But even if I'm arbitrarily cutting things out, that's still a ton of time.

Overall, I'm extremely happy with it, and I think I'll be more happy with it once there's another round of iteration, QoL, changes based on feedback, and modding. The modding scene for Factorio is really really good, and I have to imagine that the expansion is only going to make it better, particularly some of the changes that were made to implementation.

But I do think that it could have been more, and maybe this is just coming from a guy with more than a thousand hours in this game and multiple overhaul mods under his belt. It's very possible I would have had a better time with it if I'd chosen a higher difficulty, though of course that's very hard to know ahead of time. Certainly there were some design misses for me, and at least some of that is because I have enough experience that I can fix things with circuitry, plan a base that doesn't immediately become spaghetti, and see the deadlocks coming. I'm not saying that it wasn't hard, because parts of it certainly were, and I'm not saying that I made a bunch of perfect bases with no major flaws, because there were designs that needed to be ripped out and belts that needed to squeak through. But I think I would have preferred more complexity, more problems, more more more, and I'll have to hope that mods can give it to me.

All that said, this is the best expansion I've ever played, they put a ton of work into making sure that every planet was truly different from the others artistically and mechanically, and it's a 10/10 from me.

(I do plan on getting all achievements ... eventually. The "win in 40 hour" achievement seems very doable, and that's the hardest of the lot, though the others might take some significant time. It took me multiple years to finally getting around to doing the last green chip achievement, so I'm in no rush.)

[duhragonball]

Daima 07: Collar

Spread the word around. The boys are back in town.

All right, so last time Bulma got the Supreme Kai's old plane working, but it broke down again before her group could get anywhere with it. Now, she's discovered that the problem lies in a "damaged rock" that functions as part of the plane's energy converter. And she determined that this component is made out of materials that don't exist on Earth. This seems awfully similar to the problem Jaco had in the Jaco: Galactic Patrolman manga, but you can't fault Akira Toriyama from stealing from the best, by which I mean stealing from himself, Akira Toriyama.

Well, to be fair, the punchline in Jaco was that his ship didn't actually need an unusual material for repairs. Bulma herself determined this when she repaired his ship, and I think she used copper as a substitute. But this is a different part on a different ship, and so if Bulma says it can't be replaced, then the ship can't be fixed. She's more frustrated that she went to all the trouble to perform repairs that ultimately wound up being pointless.

I'll take a moment to note a moment with Vegeta and Bulma. When she explains the ship can never fly, he grumbles about it, and then she gets upset with him because she's the one who should be complaining, since she went to so much effort for nothing. And Vegeta just has to stand there awkwardly and take it, because he knows better. And he faces the viewer as if to say "Yeah, don't look at me, pal, I gotta live with her."

Then Hybis arrives to pick them up in his plane, and Bulma immediately steps behind Vegeta and he steps in front of her, and it's really cute. It's only a few seconds of the episode, but it captures the Vegeta/Bulma dynamic perfectly.

Meanwhile, Goku eats Manpuku Dumplings, which look like meatballs, but they're actually the Demon Realm equivalent of that Lembas bread they have in Lord of the Rings where you can live off it for a long time. One Manpuku Dumpling is the same as two entire meals. Goku eats two of them in one sitting, because he's a hongry boy.

Panzy is amazed that Goku could really be a grown man, and wonders how he could have raised a child of his own. Goku says that he "wasn't really involved." I'm sure the whole "bad dad" crowd will make hay over this, but personally I think it shows how modest Goku is about his life as a parent. It's true that he was absent for much of Gohan and Goten's lives, but he still had a big impact on their childhoods. But he would be the last person to see it that way. As far as Goku's concerned, Gohan got strong enough to beat Cell all by himself, and he doesn't see how critical his training was to that process. And so he'll freely give all the credit to his wife, since she did put a lot more time and structure into raising their kids.

Back in the outer universe, Hybis takes Bulma's group to join the others on Third Demon World. Bulma asks why Kibito didn't join them, and Piccolo explains that he's staying behind to "look after the temple". Uh… why? Is it going to be attacked? Besides, Hybis can be their guide anyway, so they don't really need Kibito.

And that's fair, Kibito isn't really necessary for this story, but you'd think he'd want to go along so he could keep tabs on his master, the Supreme Kai. The bigger question is: Why is Bulma going in his place? She was going to stay behind when they tried to use the Supreme Kai's old plane, so why is she suddenly coming along this time? Not that I don't want her to be in this adventure, but it seems a little strange to sub her in this way.

Back to Goku, his group get intercepted by King Gomah's goon patrol, and they want to search the plane. Glorio realizes that they must not be sure Goku is on board, or they would have attacked without warning. The Supreme Kai says they should play it cool so their plane doesn't get shot up, and he has an idea about hiding Goku.

Glorio wonders how they tracked them down, and Panzy figures they must have used the collar she wears to locate her. Demons in the Third Demon World are required to wear the collars their whole lives. We saw the goons use them in Episode 3 to control the townspeople while they collected taxes, and they scanned Panzy's collar in the previous episode.

So the gang deplanes, leaving Goku on board, and the goons find… nothing. Then Goku reveals he's been behind Panzy the whole time. Then he hides behind a bush. Panzy is amazed, and the Supreme Kai explains that Goku used Instant Transmission.

This is a pretty cool way to introduce Goku's ability. In other stories, Goku's Instant Transmission is often taken for granted, because he was already very powerful when he first debuted the ability. And much of the time, Instant Transmission might as well be the same thing as super-speed. In GT, Goku tried to use it, only to find his child body couldn't do it for some reason, but it didn't matter very much.

I was beginning to wonder if Goku might have lost his Instant Transmission ability in Daima as well, but then I realized there really wasn't a good reason for him to use it until now. He could have teleported to Master Roshi's to get his Nyoibo, but he flew instead, probably because he wanted to use the time to adjust to his new kid body. After that, he's been in the Demon Realm this whole time, and he can't teleport anywhere useful because he doesn't know the place well enough to travel that way. Instant Transmission relies on sensing the ki of someone else, and then teleporting to their location. So in theory, Goku could have teleported to King Kadan's castle by sensing his energy, but even if Goku could have sensed Kadan's power, he wouldn't have known whose power that was. Now that he's met Kadan, I guess he could teleport back to him whenever he wants, but that wouldn't accomplish anything.

No, the only one Goku knows in this place is the Supreme Kai, and they're traveling together, so the only reason for Goku to use Instant Transmission is if he and the Kai are apart, and he wants to go to him without anyone noticing. And this situation sets up a perfect demonstration.

So the good guys are free to go, right? Wrong. The goons want to take Panzy in for questioning. Some masked kid threw a bomb at them in Episode 3, and they think she might be connected. The Supreme Kai tries to give her an alibi, but the goons don't really care if she's guilty or not, so Panzy tasers one and Glorio and the Supreme Kai clobber the rest.

It's a pretty quick fight, but it's still good stuff, and I'm just amazed that we've gotten five fights in five straight episodes like this. Some of the goons try to escape, but Goku brings down their plane with a ki blast. Not any kind of fancy ki blast, just a vanilla one, because this show is doling out Goku's powers one by one, and I'm pretty sure they're saving the Kamehameha for later.

Panzy uses a ray gun to disable the goons' communicators, and Goku pokes one of them with a stick. Man, imagine you get your ass kicked by Goku and then he pokes you with a stick like a cutie patootie. Goku's ruthless, man. Now they're all fugitives, but Goku's cool with that. I mean, it was just a matter of time anyway. Their plane is wrecked, but they can just take one of the Goon Patrol planes and make better time with it.

There's just one problem: Panzy's collar. She realizes that if she keeps traveling with Goku and the others, Gomah's men will keep following them. So it looks like she'll have to stay behind, until the Supreme Kai takes a look at the collar for himself.

Turns out it's made of Katchintite, which is a term Goku recognizes, so I'm pretty sure this is the same metal as that block the Supreme Kai made to test the Z-Sword back in DBZ episode 250. I thought it was just called "Katchin", but that might be a dub thing. No, wait, I looked it up and he called it "Katchinko" back then. Wait, no, the subtitles on Crunchyroll call it "Katchintite", but the voice actors themselves are saying "Katchinko." Okay, I'm glad we got that cleared up.

So, in DBZ, it was just a supremely hard metal, but here, the Supreme Kai explains that it can only be obtained on Planet Kaishin, where the Glinds used to live. And I am now really confused about the Supreme Kai's backstory. Apparently he was born on the Second Demon World, then he left to migrate to the Outer Universe, but then his people settled on another planet called Kaishin, and then he finally moved to the Sacred World of the Kais when he took the Supreme Kai job. At this rate, he'll have forty-five addresses before this show ends.

Anyway, the Supreme Kai suspects that his sister, Dr. Arinsu, was the one who manufactured the collars during the reign of Dabura. I guess that makes sense, because Arinsu was doing research that was heavily funded by Dabura, and he might have found her invention useful for controlling the unruly populace of the Third Demon World. Panzy says her people are taken by the government and forced to wear the collars, but she doesn't say when that happens. She does say that the collars grow along with you as you get older, so it's safe to assume they get put on at a young age, since Panzy's still a child herself.

So the Supreme Kai offers to remove her collar, because he's a Glind, and has special powers over the Katchin metal it's made of. He just sort of busts this out without warning, so Panzy is blown away by this. Apparently, the magic used to dissolve the collars isn't even that special. The Supreme Kai says anyone can use it, so it's likely that he'll be teaching it to Panzy before it's all over and done with.

I like this a lot, not just because it's a cool bonding between Panzy and the Supreme Kai, but also because it shows just why Goku and his pals are the heroes of this show. Sure, they came here to overthrow Gomah and rescue Dende, but this is more than a mission. Just being in this world makes it a better place. Goku clobbered those tax collecting goons in Episode 3 without hesitation. If he sees more of that horseshit going down, he'll do it again, so Gomah's goon squad better just watch their butts. And now the Supreme Kai revealed he has the power to dismantle all of the evil oppression collars too. Gomah was right to fear these guys.

Panzy asks the Supreme Kai's name, because she forgot, but she also wants to know his real name, the one he had in the Demon Realm before he left for the outside world. So Shin tells her he used to be called Nahare, which she recognizes as a Glind name. Goku decides to start calling him Nahare too, but neither of them care much for that, so Goku sticks with "Supreme Kai".

So the gang resumes their journey to the Tamagami, but Glorio realizes that they'll need a new PIN number now that they've changed planes. But that's no problem, because Panzy calls some guy named Peral, who hacks the mainframe or something and gives them a new PIN to use. More importantly, Peral relays the news that Hybis has returned to Demon Realm with Goku's friends.

Panzy asks if they should rendezvous with Vegeta, but Goku says they can catch up to them. Yeah, Vegeta's used to playing catch up, if you know what I mean. Goku's in a hurry to fight this Tamagami, after all.

So Goku's group reaches the town with the Tamagami, and it just stands there like a statue and waits for someone to challenge it for the Dragon Ball in its chest. Panzy warns him that not even Dabura could defeat these things, and that just gets Goku more excited. Look, Panzy, I know Dabura was a big deal in these parts, but Majin Buu turned him into a cookie and ate him, and then Goku killed Buu with a Spirit Bomb. Dabura ain't shit.

So how do you start a fight with the Tamagami? Well, you just walk up and ask him to fight, and he yells at you. Then you fight until one of you gives up or dies. Goku's like "Fuck yeah!" And that's the cliffhanger.

The next episode preview is an extra-long one, with plenty of footage from the Goku/Tamagami Three battle, so I'm pretty optimistic about Episode 8 being wall-to-wall action. Should be a real hum-dinger.

I guess this would be a good time to consider the entire series up to this point. Really, it's all been set-up, like the first act in a three-act structure. In the first act, you introduce the characters, then in the second act you introduce the problem, and in the final act you resolve the problem. I guess I could use that to infer this series is going to be about 24 episodes long. Goku will fight the Tamagami, move on to the Second Demon World, and head for the next Tamagami, but that would be dull, so there must be some kind of complication when they reach the Second Demon World that keeps the story from getting to formulaic.

One impressive aspect of this show is how it's managed to introduce and develop the characters without dumping a bunch of lore all at once. I mean, the Buu Saga highlight reel was kind of a lore dump, but all you really need to know from that story is Gomah and Degesu's reactions to the footage. You get to meet Goku, Vegeta, Piccolo, Bulma, and the Supreme Kai later, as we continue into this story. So if you're confused about why all those guys could shoot light from their hands, you'll find out when Goku explains it to Pansy and Glorio.

It is kind of weird how the heroes' trip keeps getting interrupted by mechanical breakdowns, or planes getting stolen or outright destroyed. Maybe it's just a running gag, or Toriyama designed way too many vehicles and the showrunners want to get screen time for every single one. And there's a lot of characters just shooting the breeze as they travel. But it's effective because we want to know what these characters are all about.

Glorio is extremely secretive, so pretty much anything he says or does is a potential clue to his allegiance and true agenda. When Panzy talks about the way Third Worlders are collared, he turns away and goes back in the ship. If you don't know the character, you might think he's bored or indifferent, but we know he secretly works for Dr. Arinsu, so it's more likely that he doesn't want to hear about the collars because he already knows all about them. Or maybe it's because he claims to be from the Third Demon World originally, before he took a job working in the First. So did he have a collar once, only to have it removed when he got the job? Or is he lying about his origin? Either way, he probably doesn't want to call attention to his lack of a collar.

By contrast, Panzy seems to be an open book. She readily tells the others anything they want to know, and when she contacts Peral, she doesn't bother keeping it a secret. She's our window into the way things work in the Third Demon World. It's strange that she seems to know so much about Glinds when they supposedly left for the outer universe long before she was born, but I guess we'll get to that when we get to it. There's not much mystery to Panzy, but it's fun to watch her react excitedly whenever Goku busts out a cool new Goku power.

I suppose the Supreme Kai is mostly defined here by his suspicion towards Glorio, as well as his nebulous connection to the Demon Realm. It seemed pretty clear at first. Degesu and Arinsu were his evil siblings, and Shin was going along to settle things with them. But each new episode muddies the waters a little more. They're not siblings in the human sense; they were simply all born from the same tree centuries apart from one another. So the connection between them might be weaker for that, or perhaps stronger. Shin's the Supreme Kai of Universe 7, and he has been for a long time, but he was also born in the Demon Realm (apparently) and he has a Demon Realm name. It's strongly implied that he was part of a single migration to the outer universe, but he had his own ship, so apparently he drove himself? Why did he leave the Demon Realm, and what does that have to do with his position as Supreme Kai? He's not keeping secrets or being evasive like Glorio; it's more like the other characters just aren't asking the right questions.

Then you've got Goku, who's just going out there and being Goku. Watching him eat and fart and be a rowdy lad is awesome. I've heard it said that this show is trying to introduce Goku to new viewers that don't already know about him, and there's a lot of wisdom to that approach, but also Goku makes it pretty easy to do that. Put him in a situation and let him go to work. If a strong opponent presents himself, Goku wants to fight him. If something bad happens, Goku shrugs it off and keeps on going. If people need help, Goku jumps in to give it. If there's five hamburgers on the table, Goku will eat them all and ask for another.

So yeah, I guess that about covers it for now. Next time we'll see how that Tamagami fight goes.

Okay, here's a bonus fan theory for you: People have pointed out the resemblance between Glorio and Mira, the artificial husband of Towa, Dabura's sister. So what if that's not a coincidence? What if Glorio is Dabura's son, and he's trying to play Arinsu, Kadan, Goku, and everyone else in order to get a clear shot at taking the throne from King Gomah? That's why he's so dodgy about which Demon World he's from, and who he works for, because he's secretly in this for the good of the people of the Demon Realm. Just a thought.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

How about a royalty au?

Immediately, Endeavor started by changing his kingdom's laws to say that a premature baby, by nature of being born weak, cannot be the heir to the throne. When Natsuo and Fuyumi are born and he discovers they don't have the magic he was trying to breed into either of them, he arranges an 'accident' for Natsuo (killing Dabi's only other support), and immediately sells Fuyumi off to be wed as soon as she's 13 to gain more land/power and not have to deal with her.

When a border dispute comes up between the Demon King's territory and Endeavor's, Endeavor goes to negotiate and settle things with the Demon Prince who has been sent as a representative. After a long, tense talk, they come to an agreement, and seeing an opportunity to get rid of another problem, Endeavor also offers up Dabi to the Prince as a gift to do with him what he pleases (Be that a human sacrifice, slavery, whatever) and the Prince accepts.

Dabi is, of course, not happy about this whole deal and is pretty worried he's gonna get killed when he gets taken back to the other kingdom. He is extremely confused when he's treated like a revered guest and given fine things and pampered constantly, with Shigaraki promising that no matter his request, he will have it done for him. He proceeds to be extremely standoffish and rude until he finally finds out that their understanding of demon culture is all wrong, and by Endeavor giving him Dabi as a gift, he essentially entered Dabi into a contract with Shigaraki. Shig will someday get Dabi's eternal soul, but he has to complete a request the universe deems equivalent before he can collect.

Once that's illuminated Dabi moves out of the palace and learns how to be a farmer or other kind of modest worker because he never wants to find out what would be considered equivalent to someone as broken as he is (as he has been told his entire life). But the prince comes to see him every day, and eventually convinces Dabi to move back into the summer palace, but getting him to 'buy' it for a handful of gold he made on his first harvest since if it's a transaction, it can't be seen as equivalent to his soul.

Cue Shigaraki blatantly falling in love with Dabi over the course of the story and every romantic gesture always coming with some kind of small transaction. Whenever he wants to do something for Dabi or give him something, he demands a small price. He buys a first-edition copy of Dabi's favorite novel that was signed by the author? He sells it to Dabi for a copper. Shigaraki kills Fuyumi's husband and frees her from that contract? He insists that Dabi owes him dinner. Eventually, Dabi tells Shigaraki he wants to get married, and Shig's heart fucking breaks, but he simply says that Dabi will have to pay him the same amount that he spends on the ring for his betrothed once he finds them in order to be free of his contract and able to live out the rest of his days in peace. Dabi insists that he doesn't want to pay for the ring and that it is his request that Shigaraki gives him one instead, which is the best confession he can manage. He trades his soul for Shigaraki's heart and Shigaraki keeps Dabi by his side forever. (Even centuries later, it's said in quiet moments you can hear them bartering with one another asking for grapes or figs in exchange for kisses)

[notummyanymoreee]

there was this poet named Forough Farrokhzad who's like our national Sylvia Plath and I translated one of her poems you HAVE to read it omg

The Green Illusion

I was crying in the eyes of the mirror the whole day.

Spring had handed my window

To the green illusion of the trees.

I was not fitting into my lonely wrap

And the smell of my paper crown

Had dirtied that sunless empire

I could not,

I could not stand anymore,

The noises out on the street,

The cries of the birds,

And the wind,

The wind who breathed as if

It was in the deepest depths of a love-making

They all pressed the gates of my mute fort of faith

And they called my soul by its name

through its ragged cracks

The whole day,

My eyes were staring into the eyes of my life

Into those nervous, fearful eyes,

Who ran away from my steady glance

And hid like liars

Into dangerless isolation

Where was The Peak?

When was The Rise?

Don't all these spinning roads meet

In the cold, absorbing mouth of death?

What did you give me, O’ deceiving words?

What did you give me, O’ sore limbs and pleads?

Wouldn't it have been more captivating

If I'd put a flower in my hair

Than this deciet, this paper-made crown,

That is stinking on my head?

How the ghost of the desert possessed me

And the moon's spell took away my faith

How the gap of my heart grew larger

And no other half completed this half

And How I stood and watched

The ground underneath sink

Beneath my vacant body

Where was The Peak?

When was The Rise?

Shelter me, O’ fazing lights,

You bright cynical houses,

Clean, loved laundries swinging on your roofs

Shelter me, you perfect, modest women

Your soft fingertips leading perfectly to the nurturing of an infant

Where was The Peak?

When was The Rise?

Shelter me you lighted stoves, you horseshoes of luck

You choir of the copper dishes in the kitchen,

You gloomy song of the sewing machine

And you constant dwell of the carpets and brooms

All day

Abandoned

Like a corpse floating on water

I headed towards the frightening cliff

Towards the deepest sea caves

And the most carnivorous fish

And my thin spine

Shivered of the feeling of death

I could not,

I could not stand anymore,

My footsteps sounded of denial of the road

And my disappoinment's gotten greater than my soul's patience

And that spring, that green illusion

Who walked by the window, spoke to my heart:

“look!

you never advanced

you regressed.”

[saltuary]

pluck, sender plucks something out of receiver's hair. ⎯⎯⎯ from archie ( source, trust me i have a vision ) ( source, i don't have a vision more like a vibe )

Dol Amroth slumbered behind them, its towers white as bleached bone, circled lazily by black-faced gulls. Before them – beneath them – the sea sang soft and low, a mourning dove feathered with all things saline and silt. Its salt-wind bore the brine of dulse and the sweeter perfume of shore-flowers and sun-soaked sand.

Faramir sat with his boots unlaced, long legs suspended over the dock’s end. His tunic, unbelted, carried creases of sleep – or of hours passed without it. At his wrist, the faintest stain of ink betrayed a night given to letters rather than dreams. His sword lay beside him on the boards, sheathed, though it whispered of vigilance even in steel-lipped silence.

He watched the other man – the slight form beside him – without watching. An unfortunate habit of one too long at war. Always attuned to the shifting wind, to the presence in his periphery. Archie did not speak and for that Faramir was grateful. The hour was too thin for speech.

Instead, they passed a paper parcel between them, the fried fish still warm despite the cooling dusk. Salt and lemon clung to his fingers, sharp on the tongue. A modest meal.

Then – slowly, as if the moment asked permission – Archie reached up. Faramir stilled, surprised not at the touch but at its softness. Two fingers, perhaps three, brushed his temple where the sea-wind had teased a dry thread of kelp-coloured weed into his copper hair. A gesture so tender it held almost no weight at all.

He turned his head, not quite towards the other, not quite away. Sunlight carved a faint aureole around Archie’s profile, drawing fire from the fair strands of his hair, limning the hollow of his throat in gold. There was something ancient in that light – something that belonged not to man but to the sea itself, to the deep that devoured all things.

Faramir’s heart clenched with the ache of possibility.

“Oh,” he murmured. “Thank you…”

Above them, the gulls screamed, their cackling harsh against the gentleness of the hour. A moment passed. Then another. Cradled between them, the fish cooled. Still, they sat. Together, at the edge of the world.

[mariana-oconnor]

The Red Circle pt 1

What is the red circle? Who is the red circle? Why is the red circle?

“Well, Mrs. Warren, I cannot see that you have any particular cause for uneasiness, nor do I understand why I, whose time is of some value, should interfere in the matter. I really have other things to engage me.” So spoke Sherlock Holmes and turned back to the great scrapbook in which he was arranging and indexing some of his recent material.

I might be wrong, but I think this is the first time in the stories we've seen Holmes be dismissive and kind of rude to a client without having seen them give him a reason. And we can't even say that Mrs Warren hasn't given him a reason at this point, because the story starts in the middle of the conversation. She might have been a right arsehole prior to this.

But this story does start out with far more of the vibe of adaptations than I'm used to.

Scrapbooking is vitally important, though. Not to be interrupted.

But the landlady had the pertinacity and also the cunning of her sex.

Watson ensuring that we are reminded that sexism exists.

The following little speech Mrs Warren gives doesn't indicate that she was being terrible before this story started, so I guess Holmes really was just Like That here.

"Why, bless you, Mrs. Warren, if I were your lodger you often would not see me for weeks on end.” “No doubt, sir; but this is different. It frightens me, Mr. Holmes. I can't sleep for fright. To hear his quick step moving here and moving there from early morning to late at night, and yet never to catch so much as a glimpse of him—it's more than I can stand."

No, that's exactly what it would be like to have Holmes as a lodger. Only punctuated with strange people running up and down the stairs and with the occasional threat of violence against your property.

But maybe this guy is just a ghost. Ghosts deserve privacy, too.

“He asked my terms, sir. I said fifty shillings a week. There is a small sitting-room and bedroom, and all complete, at the top of the house.” “Well?” “He said, ‘I'll pay you five pounds a week if I can have it on my own terms.’

Alright, now I'm suspicious. 50 shillings a week is £250, roughly. And £5 is twice that. Anyone who is willing to pay double for something is automatically suspicious. He's just handing out the equivalent of £100 in cash every fortnight. It's like the Copper Beeches all over again.

“It was his particular direction that we should always, when he rang, leave his meal upon a chair, outside his door. Then he rings again when he has finished, and we take it down from the same chair. If he wants anything else he prints it on a slip of paper and leaves it.”

OK... I've got to assume at this point that the man in the rooms is not the man who rented the rooms. He went out, other guy came back. There's no other reason that no one would have seen him at all. Someone's hiding from something up there.

"What can it matter to him that his landlady should have a word of his writing? Still, it may be as you say. Then, again, why such laconic messages?”

Doesn't speak English and his first language is not written in the Roman alphabet, I'd guess. Single words mean not needing to construct sentences, printing would be easier for someone not used to the alphabet. This coupled with the title of the story makes me think Russia.

“But surely you or the girl enter his room of a morning?” “No, sir; he looks after himself entirely.” “Dear me! that is certainly remarkable."

What? A man who can look after himself?

The sexism, it cuts both ways!

"But, dear me! this cigarette stub is certainly remarkable. The gentleman was bearded and moustached, you say?” “Yes, sir.” “I don't understand that. I should say that only a clean-shaven man could have smoked this."

So it is a different man - or woman, I guess.

or he shaved.

"Why, Watson, even your modest moustache would have been singed.”

This feels like shade. Like something you'd say to your friend if he was doing Movember and couldn't grow a moustache to save his life, but you were actually a Victorian gentleman. It's just got such a tone of 'even your moustache, Watson. Even yours.'

Drag him, Sherlock.

"We have no excuse for an intrusion upon his privacy until we have some reason to think that there is a guilty reason for it."

What a revolutionary concept! I wonder if the modern world could learn anything from this. Probably not.

"I can imagine that the word was taken out of a dictionary, which would give the noun but not the plural."

Rubbish dictionary.

"‘Surely Jimmy will not break his mother's heart’—that appears to be irrelevant."

I beg to differ. I need to know if Jimmy broke his mother's heart. How could you Jimmy? You should be ashamed of yourself. Your poor mother worried half to death and you're out there requiring her to take out ads in the newspaper to try to reach you. Callus boy! Cruel boy!

"‘Be patient. Will find some sure means of communications. Meanwhile, this column. G.’"

That is significantly less cryptic than I thought it would be. Do these conspirators have no sense of style. Why doesn't the caged whale know nothing of the mighty deeps? Does the ill-built tower not tremble mightily at the butterfly's passage? Can no one say hooray hooray for the spinster's sister's daughter these days? Pathetic. Put some effort into your clandestine communications.

"‘The path is clearing. If I find chance signal message remember code agreed—One A, two B, and so on. You will hear soon. G.’"

Seriously, you're going to publish your code in the paper. Not that it even matters. You're doing a simple substitution encryption of numbers for letters, and you're not even offsetting the numbers at all. These people are very obviously not professional spies. I am ashamed for them.

Willing to bet there is a significant number of people in London who have been following these ads with glee like an Edwardian soap opera, eagerly awaiting the next instalment. There's no way no one has been paying attention to this.

"Mr. Warren is a timekeeper at Morton and Waylight's, in Tottenham Court Road. He has to be out of the house before seven. Well, this morning he had not gone ten paces down the road when two men came up behind him, threw a coat over his head, and bundled him into a cab that was beside the curb. They drove him an hour, and then opened the door and shot him out."

Did not expect the husband to be involved.

In Mystery Lodger's defence, there's nothing connecting them to this abduction. Although the coincidence seems unlikely. Why would they need the husband out of the way, though? Unless they thought the husband was the person hiding?

"What I did not foresee is that we should find a woman, and no ordinary woman, Watson.”

Gender prejudices causing problems again. I did foresee that, which is why I've been trying to use gender neutral terms for the replacement.

What does Holmes mean by 'no ordinary woman' though? I don't understand that.

Also, this makes the people mistaking Mr Warren for her even less believable. I doubt they look very alike, particularly given the fashions of the time and the stricter adherence to expected gender 'norms'.

"The printed messages, as is now evident, were to prevent her sex being discovered by her writing."

"The attack upon Mr. Warren further shows that the enemy, whoever they are, are themselves not aware of the substitution of the female lodger for the male."

Oh, we're actually addressing that? Thank you. It made no sense. But it does make things more convoluted. So only Holmes and Watson know that the woman has replaced the man.

“Education never ends, Watson. It is a series of lessons with the greatest for the last."

Does he mean death? Is the implication that as you die you think 'well, this was an important lesson for me to learn. Now I know that if I do that, then I die. 😵"

Is she on the run from family? A cruel husband? A cruel would-be husband? A gang? A government?

"A single flash—that is A, surely. Now, then. How many did you make it? Twenty. Do did In. That should mean T."

The substitution cypher is with flashing lights?

That's a terrible idea. That's the worst idea I've ever seen. What if she blinks? What if she loses count? There are twenty six letters. If I had to sit and count twenty six flashes I would go mad. T is one of the most common letters and, as you said, that's 20. This is the least efficient way of doing anything. Morse code exists, and I bet you could get a little printed guide for it that the woman could have had. Or you could have written it down for her. And then you wouldn't have needed to spell it out in the newspaper.

This is the worst. I hate it.

They came more rapidly than before—so rapid that it was hard to follow them.

And by hard you mean fucking impossible. WORST CODE EVER.

P is already 16 flashes, and that's the first letter you've got. Then you've got an R in there? Why? This is torture. I bet the guy was cut off by someone who wanted to put him out of his misery. You know why he was cut off mid word? BECAUSE IT TOOK HIM FIFTEEN MINUTES TO SAY ONE WORD.

Flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash [BREAK] Flash-flash-flash-flash-flash [BREAK] Flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash [BREAK] Flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash [BREAK] Flash-flash-flash [BREAK] Flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash [BREAK] Flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash [BREAK] Flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash

So for that one word, that's 93 flashes. I cannot be arsed counting that long. I'm sorry. I can't. Guess I'm just going to die or whatever then.

eta: just realised that the 'man who looks after himself? Impossible!' thing is a clue. Oh boy. Of course it's a woman, a man would never be able to cope on his own. 🙄

[charlesandmartine]

Thursday 14th November 2024

The sun has risen, and the truckstop is in full swing. We sat outside our unit at our sophisticated stainless steel bistro style table inches away from the back of the Ford Ranger. The rear of the truckies kitchen just a few more inches away, but now, with the all pervasive aromas of full Australian breakfast superceding the carbolic; the fat lingering like early morning mist, a new day had begun. Roadtrains are pulling into the yard, so many it began to assume the appearance of a marshalling yard. But this was their business; fill tanks, fill stomachs, and provide shelter. Then all would quiesce with long drives ahead. When sitting within a facade of civilisation, it's easy to overlook the isolation of the outback just a few hundred meters away.

Camooweal was a tiny town, but if it didn't exist, it would be invented. I could imagine those that lived there would say they love it. It was just a small grid of roads, six vertical and three horizontal, but within that was a school, town hall, hotel/ pub, two petrol stations, a couple of historical corrugated iron buildings, post office/ supermarket, and a clinic. The girl next door to us who spent the best part of the evening on the phone, walked past our breakfast this morning wearing some sort of uniform and a lanyard and we figured she maybe was working at the clinic, and sure enough, as we passed the clinic, there was her orange car with the registration, NUTS. You may need to be to work there. She probably tours from small community to small community, and she could have been anything from a neurosurgeon to nail clipper, I don't know.

Now, no longer Territorians, our drive today was a modest 190 kms to Mount Isa; not a tax break or, and for that matter, hardly a mountain at only 356 meters. A gentle start for our trans-Queensland sojourn to the coast. The road between Camooweal and Mount Isa is punishing with little to see along its length. One small respite was a very small, modest and unassuming memorial to David Sering Hall, 1902-1950, Road Engineer. Another stop boasted a WW2 memorial, but which turned out to be a board which mentioned the ground we were standing on, in contrast to the road in front of us being the one they built in 1940 to serve additional war traffic to Darwin. Well, that certainly deserved a big plaque and an applause. (Much bigger display, I might say than poor old David Sering Hall's)

Now, no one could say Mount Isa is pretty or delightful. It is a mining town pure and simple. Copper, lead, zinc and silver mines abound. The nearby lake, possibly the prettiest aspect, used to be a mine. The Enterprise Mine, Australia's deepest copper mine at 1.9km is here. This is serious mining country. Not, you might say, big for tourists? Well, maybe not for conventional tourism, but as an unusual, interesting place, tourism plays its part in the local economy. Were it not for mining, Mount Isa probably wouldn't exist other than perhaps as another truckie stop. The mine is the town; it dominates the skyline as well with its presence. There is wealth in the town, and certainly, if waistlines is a measure of wealth, they are doing quite well. The town bustles. Traffic everywhere. People everywhere. There's a Coles, Woolworths, Kmart, Clubs, Bowling Club even. This is so different from the Top End we have become accustomed to over the past few weeks. Our accommodation is rather nice. Two bedroom, well equipped house. Small back garden to relax in, and even smaller front garden. It's great to have a bit more space before we revert once again to Roadhouses. We have three nights here, so we make the most of it.

Great Northern Beer, when we returned from Coles, then Vindaloo Chicken with SB and a pastry. We shall seek out a tourist information place first thing in the morning.

ps. Temperatures still up there in the early forties. Whilst in Camooweal, my phone weather App said it was 41, feels like 40. Well I thought that. Definitely not 41!

[stellacartography]

My AO3 tabs this week*

*no guarantee that this will be a weekly thing but hey... worth a shot

Borderland by @keirgreeneyes and @hubblegleeflower

Rated E, Original Work, One-shot

Original works on AO3? It's more likely than you think. And this one is lovely and heartbreaking.

Peter and Emile, friends since boyhood, meet on opposite sides of the Great War. They steal one night to explore what might have been...

La Bête by @vulpesmellifera

Rated E, Mystrade (Sherlock Fandom), 13/23 chapters

Are you not following along with this Mystrade meets Beauty and the Beast based on Eros and Psyche? It's haunting and angst-ridden and boasts the tag "ENOUGH PINING TO FILL A CANADIAN WILDERNESS". I love reading WIPs; they're all the fun of weekly episodic television without the queerbaiting.

When Baron Mycroft Holmes violated the Law of Hospitality and angered a goddess, he was cursed to live his days as a beast... Gregory Lestrade is more than he seems, and it could be that he's hiding a curse of his own.

Don't Tell Mama by @amuseoffyre

Rated E, Our Flag Means Death, 136/139 chapters

Fyre's SMAU Burlesque Club AU is nearly at an end and now is a great time to start reading. Fyre's Stede and Ed are delightful.

When Stede Bonnet's marriage falls apart, he throws caution to the wind and follow a yearning to be a cabaret MC. Only, he's not quite ready to tell his family. What's a man to do? Well, lie and say he's invested in real estate on the other of the world, that's what!

Jim's Song by @copperplatebeech

Rated G, Good Omens (spoilers for season 2 if that's a concern), One-shot

The inestimable Copper is back with a little piece about everyone's favourite (?) retired archangel. Jim has no memory of Before, and these are his memories of After.

Everyone wants to leave a record, however modest or brief, of their existence. This is Jim's.

The Hayloft by @ewebie

Rated E, Mystrade, 34/38 chapters

The Farm AU in which Greg Lestrade is a French farmhand, has a cat named Terr, a fiesty friend named Camille, and tends the land that once belonged to Mycroft's Uncle Rudy and his partner René Faucher. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll be launched back to the days of high school French class. You'll want to visit the French countryside.

Greg watched the sky change through the trees, the sun dropping closer to the horizon. It lit the clouds with dramatic streaks of vivid colour. The cool damp of the air carried a whiff of the germinating seeds, the spring creeping into the grounds. At any other time, it would be his favourite season. He dropped down on his haunches and picked up a handful of the topsoil. It was ready. Nearly twenty years of work, and this was the year.

[wyvernscales]

No bc it’s literally canon that Manfred has an allowance. I present this codex entry for your consideration:

Text under cut:

A Monthly Stipend

1 don't understand why Lucanis claims it's "bizarre" for Manfred to receive a modest monthly stipend.

Manfred may need the funds one day, and he's capable of making small purchases! (With supervision.) I admit, however, he fancies the strangest things. Some recent acquisitions:

-A silver-backed Antivan hand mirror.

-Twenty blue marbles.

-Four sticks of chalk. (He presented one to Harding.)

-A jeweled brooch shaped like a lizard. (I had to make up the difference. He must learn to tell copper from gold.)

-A brass cup.

-A rather fine quill knife. (Confiscated.)

-Two pounds of almonds. (Removed to the kitchen.)

-Yet more string.

The latest item cost nothing. Manfred's become very fond of a little wooden stick he enjoys pointing about.

-From Emmrich's diary

Emmrich and Lucanis are the sugar daddies of the most deranged, broke-ass group of idiots in all of Thedas. It’s canon because I said it

Bellara doesn’t even know she’s supposed to be paid for work. Like, genuinely confused by the concept

Neve takes jobs from people who are basically paying her in promises and vibes

Harding lost that sweet Inquisition paycheck ages ago and is just scraping by on pure optimism

Taash probably has money somewhere but would rather set herself on fire than spend a single coin

Davrin has more holes than socks. Assan eats his pennies

My Rook is a certified Lords of Fortune dumbass with the impulse control of a magpie and a “mild” case of kleptomania. She’s in debt to people she hasn’t even met yet

Meanwhile, Lucanis is out here with two mansions, the bougiest assassin rates in Thedas, and Emmrich has what’s basically tenure at Mourn Watch Trump University, walking around dressed like my house down payment. These two are 100% bankrolling this lineup of freeloader chucklefucks

Manfred needs pocket money? Emmrich’s got him, we all know that. Also slipping a little extra to his girlfriend because she’s, you know, decades younger and strapped for cash

Then the rest of these clowns line up like it’s Thedas’ Saddest Payday, Lucanis included (he’s just there to see how far he can push Emmrich)

Emmrich finally sets up a budget spreadsheet, Lucanis whips out an abacus, and Mondays are officially allowance day with Emmrich and Lucanis alternating who’s dishing out the gold each week

This group of morons has turned adventuring into take your sugar daddy to work day

Emmrich and Lucanis are now writing “Weekly Allowance” as a line item in their budgets

[skydinzeal]

WEIRD Yet TRUE! 1st set of copper RUNES I made I lost on the alt date when Odin is said to have hung himself for 9 nights! I then spent 5 months making the new, RUNE mantra inscribed set in Silver (you've seen). I completed it on May 1st, Thrimilci (Beltane aka Walpurga). The most important of these 9 nights is "the eve of" May 1st! This is when Odin returned from his ordeal with the gift of Reading the Future (and more) of the Runes to humanity! My handmade originals were stolen from me in 2/2022 in a very large theft. I worked at rebuilding & finally my landlord's workers stole everything, then destroyed what was left to cover it up. It was all buried in a landfill on those 9 nights. I searched the hills in the rain... There was next to not chance I'd find them but it was me who was buried there. 🌷🔥🌟💥⚡☀️✨ I have been struggling to rebuild all my jewelry & art that was stolen when I was assaulted & robbed (10 times past few years) I am looking for a quality SPIRITUAL STORE or ART GALLERY for powerful mutual gain! Feature my jewelry, I help with sales/marketing others work & mine! I am a rare, tireless entertainer, salesperson and psychic. I have huge internet reach and can work day and night continuously! I don't even need to eat. I have got by on hard work & skill alone, not cheating & it shows! If you would like to make a connection happen contact me. If it works out I will pay you! 🌟 A very modest GoFundMe here! Please spread the word! https://gofund.me/82ac1c5b Thank you!🌟💜🗽💜🎿💜❄️💜🦌 . . . . . . pagan holiday Thrimilci Beltane Beltanemeaning Norseholiday mayday may1st mayfirst Divination runereadings runestones runes .WalpurgisNight Walpurgisnacht valborg ade metaphysical magick strugglingartist spiritualjewelry healingart spiritualart magicalart homelessartist Spiritualhealing Crystalhealing eed Metaphysics Atlantis pleiadian mystical  magical agick starseed Stargate Newageart ascendedmaster ascensionart fantasyart surrealart Lemurian scension consciousness psychicart metaphysicalart spiritualartist agicart visionaryartist occult outsiderart utsiderartist

http://dlvr.it/TKVRZL

[hartofthewest]

HART OF THE WEST 3 - Where Pines Run Deep

(A Novel by Winifred Hart)

Chapter 1: Honey and Hide

The morning air in Valentine was warm but restless — the kind of early summer breeze that carried the scent of horses, pine, and sawdust in equal measure. Millicent Ward stepped down from the saloon porch with a hand shielding her eyes from the sun, scanning the modest hustle of the town. Her boots scuffed the dirt road with practiced rhythm as she made her way toward the general store. She wasn’t due anywhere in particular, which was, for once, a luxury.

She was halfway across the street when she spotted the familiar swing of Stephany’s gait — her friend’s dark blonde braid bouncing against a dark green riding cloak. Stephany Langley was standing near the post office with a wide-brimmed hat in hand and a grin on her face.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Millicent Ward herself,” Stephany called, her tone teasing and warm.

Millicent laughed, genuinely surprised. “Stephany! I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Came in to deliver a few jars of honey,” Stephany said, holding up a note. “And maybe see a certain blacksmith with arms like tree trunks, if the time allows.”

Millicent raised her eyebrows. "Oh?" But Steph only grinned a bit wider. "Rock's been courting me for a while. I have to introduce you sometime." That sounded like in a praerie romance novel.

Stephany hooked her arm into Millicent’s. “Come on. Walk with me while I handle my errands. What’re you up to today?”

“Absolutely nothing. I thought I’d browse the goods at the store. Maybe sit under a tree and pretend I don’t have responsibilities.”

“Perfect. That means you’re free.” Stephany’s grin grew wider. “Come with me to the farm.”

“To your bee farm?" Millicent beamed with excitement. She had only heard of Stephany's business so far, but had never been there to see it with her own eyes. It sounded very romantic. "Is business going well?"

“I'm working it fulltime and order aren't stopping. I’ve got a few tasks to finish, and I could use a second pair of hands. I’ll even share honeycomb straight from the hive.”

Millicent hesitated for a beat, then nodded. “Alright. Let me grab my horse.”

By the time the sun was climbing toward midday, the two women were riding along a path that threaded through low hills and wildflower ditches. Stephany led the way, chatting freely about life on the farm, the latest little hunting trip with Rock, and the bee colonies’ quirks. Millicent listened with the fond amusement that came from knowing someone long enough to recognize their rhythms.

At one point, Stephany glanced sideways at her. “You ever think about settling down, Millie?”

Millicent scoffed. “With what money? And who’d take me? I’ve got dirt under my fingernails and books about pastors falling secretly in love in my saddlebag.”

“That’s what makes you charming.” Stephany paused. “You deserve something real. Not just work. Something good.”

They reached the bee farm in time for the soft golden light to start soaking into the treetops. The scent of wild honey hung thick in the air, and the gentle hum of the hives filled the space between them as they dismounted. Stephany showed Millicent the property, proudly presented her beehives and showed her the dwindling stock of honey jars, since she had sold a bunch of them earlier in Valentine.

“Careful, now,” Stephany warned as Millicent lifted a heavy frame. “You don’t want to tilt that too hard. When the combs are that full, they like to break off due to their weight."

“I’ll add that to the list of things I’ve learned this year: don’t jostle honey combs and don't ride to places you don't know just because a stranger told you.”

They laughed, and the sound startled a squirrel from a low branch. By the time they finished the last of the chores, the sky had deepened into copper and rose tones.

Stephany brushed her hands clean. “Hey. Before we head back… I meant to ask. I worked at a cattle farm nearby, before I opened my own business. They’re doing something new tonight. First cattle transport by train — trying to cut down on long drives across the state. Should be a sight to see."

“You think they’ll let us watch?”

“If we stay out of the way, I don’t see why not.” Stephany’s eyes sparkled. “Want to come?”

Millicent looked up at the darkening sky, then at her friend. “Alright. Let’s see the show."

They mounted up again, riding toward the growing dusk and the noise of a distant engine warming up.

Chapter 2: Into the Wild Dark

The sound of cattle drifted across the rolling pasture like a low tide — uneven, restless, and full of weight. As twilight deepened, Millicent and Stephany sat atop their horses on a low knoll overlooking the loading yard. Below them, lanterns swayed on hooks, casting flickering circles of light on wooden fences and the backs of dust-caked bulls.

Men moved between corrals and the long train carriages with practiced urgency, urging cattle up the ramps with ropes and sharp whistles. A steam engine hissed in the near distance, its boiler groaning like a restless beast.

“You weren’t kidding,” Millicent murmured, adjusting her reins. “This is more elaborate than I expected.”

“Told you,” Stephany said. “Rock says they’re trying to prove it’s faster and safer than open drives. I don’t know about safer though. These bulls don’t love tight spaces.”

A distant howl echoed through the dusk. Another thing that bulls didn't like.

Millicent’s head turned sharply. “That… was a wolf.”

Stephany sat up straighter in her saddle. “And it wasn’t far.”

Another cry followed, then two more — weaving together into a chorus of sharp hunger and breathless speed.

“Damn it,” Stephany hissed, dismounting quickly. “They’ve caught wind of the herd.”

The loading yard erupted in motion as the wolves burst from the brushline — lean, gray shapes with flashing teeth and raw intent. The cattle panicked instantly, hooves thundering as they bucked and shoved against the fencing. Some tried to charge the ramps, others scattered into the trees.

Farmhands shouted, drawing rifles and torches. Stephany pulled her bow from her saddle and joined them, already shouting orders back at Millicent. “Stay on your horse!”

Millicent needed no convincing. She tightened her knees and turned her mare in tight circles, keeping her clear of the panicked cattle while still trying to see through the chaos. Lanterns fell and smashed, gunfire cracked through the night. The wolves lunged at the bulls and guards alike, only to be shot down or driven back with clubs and boots.

It didn’t last long — maybe three minutes — but in that time, it felt like the night had pulled apart at the seams.

When it was over, two farmhands were bloodied, three wolves lay dead in the dirt, and the last of the cattle were finally on the train. Stephany exhaled sharply and slung her bow over her shoulder, face pale beneath the firelight.

“Well,” she muttered, “That’ll be one for the books.”

Millicent finally dismounted and led her horse to a quieter patch of grass. “Everyone alright?”

“Shaken. But yeah. You?”

“I’m fine,” she said, though her hands trembled slightly. “Your plan for a relaxing night out is something else.”

“Come on. You need a drink and something less murderous to look at.”

Stephany led her through the settling crowd, toward a small group of her old coworkers gathered near the end of the loading yard. A few of them exchanged greetings with Stephany and gave Millicent curious glances. One man stood out — tall, with tanned skin, sun-bleached hair, and a jacket that caught the lantern light with a curious sheen.

“Tommy!” Stephany called.

Tommy turned with a smile. “Well, look who wandered back. You miss the cattle or just the gossip?”

“Both,” Stephany said, then gestured to Millicent. “This is my friend, Millicent. She’s new to the Commonwealth and I'm showing her around."

“Pleasure,” Tommy said, tipping his hat. “You handled yourself real clean back there. Brave thing, standing near a stampede.”

“Accidental bravery,” Millicent replied. “But thank you.”

Tommy’s grin widened. “We’re riding this load all the way to New Austin tonight and looping back shortly. Won’t be too long, the moon’s high and the view’s better from the rail than any saddle I’ve known. You ever been out that way?”

Millicent shook her head. “Not by train.”

“Well then.” He gestured with an open hand. “Come ride with us. Sit in the passenger cart. We’ll make a loop, be back before midnight.”

Stephany leaned in. “I can stable your horse in Strawberry, no problem. Come on, Millie. You’ve earned a little window-gazing.”

Millicent hesitated. She looked at the train — the cattle car now quiet again, the passenger car already lit from within by warm lanterns. The countryside stretched dark and unknown beyond it.

Then she looked back at Tommy’s earnest face.

“Alright,” she said. “Just for a short adventure.”

Stephany squeezed her arm, looking mighty pleased.

Millicent handed her the reins, climbed aboard the carriage, and found a seat near a window. As the train began to lurch forward, steam curling like ghost trails into the starlit sky, she rested her chin on her hand and let the rhythm of the rails pull her into the dark unknown.

Chapter 3: A Fall Between Stars

The train had a rhythm that whispered to the bones.

Millicent leaned against the window of the passenger car, watching moonlight roll like spilled silver across the wide, sleeping land. Trees gave way to hills, then cliffs, then open plains that shimmered under the stars. The engine ahead of her groaned and hissed like a creature half-awake, pulling them eastward on gleaming tracks.

Tommy sat across from her, arms folded behind his head, boots up on the seat. “Told you it was something.”

“It is,” Millicent murmured. “Makes the world feel bigger than I remembered. Like there’s too much out there to ever hold in your hands.”

Tommy tilted his head. “You a poet, Miss?”

“Only when I’m sleep-deprived and slightly dazzled.”

He chuckled. “You ain’t seen the best part yet.”

He stood and gestured for her to follow. Curious, Millicent trailed him to the front of the car. At the threshold, he unlatched the door and stepped out onto the narrow platform linking the passenger car to the cattle car.

Wind rushed against them, flaring Millicent’s skirt as she stepped cautiously into the open.

“This is safe?” she asked, clinging to the iron railing.

“Safe enough if you don’t dance,” Tommy said with a grin. “Here — step close and lean out a little. You can see the whole line of cars against the landscape. It’s like flying.”

Millicent did as he suggested, carefully shifting her balance to look around the edge. The train curved ahead, long and segmented like a giant snake lit by scattered lanterns. The land beyond the tracks was vast and dark, the stars brilliant above.

And then the world shifted.

A sudden lurch of the train caught her off guard. The cart tilted slightly, the platform jolting just enough to throw her off her footing. Her boots slid, her hand slipped from the railing, and before she could shout—

She fell.

The air tore her scream from her throat as branches and cold night rushed up to meet her.

And then: impact.

Leaves. Thorns. A hard tumble into underbrush.

Millicent lay still, her breath caught and lungs burning. Pain flared along her arms, but nothing felt broken. Slowly, she sat up, her hands scratched, her shoulder bruised. The whistle of the train grew fainter, swallowed by the night.

She was alone.

The track loomed high above on a shallow embankment. The train, now far ahead, was already vanishing into the curve. There would be no catching it.

Millicent stood, brushing herself off, her hunting knife the only weapon on her belt. She took stock — no water, no lantern, and no idea how far she was from the nearest town.

But she could follow the tracks.

With one final glance into the dark trees beyond, she set her boots to the railbed and began to walk.

Time blurred. The night grew deeper, colder. Her cuts stung, and her muscles ached, but she kept moving. What was it with her and having to walk miles through the night alone? It already seemed like a pattern, and an unhealthy one at that. Whoever was leading her fate had seemingly a lot of fun to throw her in situations like that...

Somewhere near midnight, a glow appeared on the horizon — lanterns swinging lazily near a clearing.

She crept closer.

A riding circle, flat and fenced, opened before her. In its center, a woman trained a striking black and white speckled horse, her posture firm and elegant even in the dark. The animal obeyed her with fluid grace, gliding in tight circles, hooves drumming the earth like a quiet drumroll.

Millicent watched, entranced.

Then — a whistle.

She turned, and her heart stuttered. The train. It was returning. The whistle came again, closer now, and the engine’s headlight swept over the tracks. Not enough time had passed for them to unload and head back, she was certain. But as she looked at the tracks, it occured to her that they had had to change the direction in a nearby station, now branching off even further into he east.

As the train roared past, Millicent caught the faint voice of Tommy screaming at the top of his lungs against the sound of the engine. "There she is!" Then the train vanished again and she let out a deep sigh. Yes. Here she was.

Millicent blinked, dazed, then turned toward the woman in the arena. The trainer had noticed her now, stepping closer, a curious concern on her face.

“You lost, honey?” she called.

“I should have been on that train...,” Millicent said. “I… need to go to Strawberry. My horse is there.”

The trainer nodded. “Well, let’s find you a horse you can borrow then.”

She caught a roaming gelding from a nearby pen — sturdy, light-footed. Millicent mounted, thanking her between breaths, and turned the horse toward the dense tree line leading west.

Rain began to fall.

At first, a mist. Then a steady rhythm against the leaves, turning the forest floor slick.

The trees grew thick and close. Shadows moved at the edge of her sight, and her fingers tightened on the reins.

The rain came harder as Millicent urged the borrowed horse further. The path ahead was little more than suggestion — a mess of slick roots, low branches, and shifting mud.

There was no point in consulting the map in the rain, only instinct and the rough direction of Strawberry. But she couldn't afford to slow down.

Then the first howl pierced the night.

It was close. Closer than before. The images of the wolf attack on the farm flashed before her eyes.

Her breath caught. The horse skittered beneath her, nostrils flaring.

Another howl answered — to the left. Then behind. Then too many at once to count. The forest was alive with them.

Millicent glanced back and saw them: yellow eyes catching the moonlight in the distance, five—no, six—shapes ghosting between trees, lean and ravenous.

“Go,” she hissed, leaning low into the saddle.

The horse lunged forward. Rain lashed against her face like needles. Branches whipped at her shoulders and snagged in her hair. One wolf burst from the side — she saw its teeth in a flash — and the horse veered hard, nearly throwing her.

They were herding her. Surrounding.

She ducked under a hanging branch just in time. A wolf leapt and caught its claws in the back of the hore, snarling as it lost grip and fell own again. Another one snapped at the horse’s legs — the beast screamed and surged ahead, hooves throwing up sheets of mud.

A root caught the horse’s back leg — it stumbled. Her body pitched forward, nearly tumbling over the neck. The saddle shifted, soaked and slippery.

The wolves howled triumphantly. They were gaining.

Suddenly — a break in the trees. Open ground. A sheer incline of rock and mud, glistening in the rain. It wasn’t a road, but it was a chance.

Millicent kicked the horse into the climb.

They scrambled up the slope, hooves slipping, stones flying. One wolf lunged from below, jaws snapping inches from her boot.

At the top, the horse gave one final surge — and cleared the ridge.

Behind them, the wolves skidded and flailed, unable to match the climb. They barked and howled at the edge, but Millicent didn’t look back. Her heart thundered louder than the storm.

She didn’t stop riding until the lights of Strawberry flickered through the trees like a mirage.

Chapter 4: Made of More

Dawn broke gently over the Commonwealth, but Millicent’s bones felt each hour of the night that had come before it.

She had slept alright and yet felt terribly exhausted. The storm had passed by morning, but its shadow lingered in her limbs. After checking in with the stablehands in Strawberry and making sure her own horse was fed and well, she’d washed off the mud and wiped her boots clean — but she still felt half-wild.

And there was one place she had to return to.

The road back to the farm was bright with dew. The sky was a soft watercolor of morning blue and fading stormclouds, and the trees, once menacing, now only whispered as she passed. The air smelled of wet grass, smoke, and something faintly sweet — perhaps the scent of wildflowers carried by the breeze..

Millicent rode at a slow pace, letting the sunlight warm her skin, letting the quiet fill the space where panic had lived only hours before.

When she reached the farm, the bustle of the previous evening was gone. The cattle were long since transported, the pens empty but for the marks of hurried hooves and the blood of wolves. A few hands were mending a section of broken fencing. Stephany stood near the barn, sleeves rolled up, face smudged with dirt and soot. She seemingly was helping out.

Her eyes widened when she saw Millicent dismount.

“By the stars, I thought you were halfway to New Austin,” Stephany said, wiping her hands on her pants and striding over. “When Tommy came back without you, we were worried sick. Believe me, I gave him a lecture he won't forget in a while! What happened?”

Millicent offered a sheepish smile. “I fell off the train. And-”

Stephany blinked. “You what?”

“Don’t worry. I landed in some bushes. Mostly. Followed the tracks and found a nice lady helping me out with a horse. Thought it was safest to ride to Strawberry instead of coming back here, since it was night and a storm was approaching...”

From the barn, Tommy stepped out. His tan alligator-hide jacket was stained at the cuffs now, dust smudged across the shoulder. “Miss Ward!”

She turned. “I’m all right,” she called before he could panic. “Mostly bruises. Some scratches.”

He met her halfway across the yard. “I’m real sorry,” he said, low and earnest. “I shouldn’t have let you step out there like that. It wasn’t safe.”

“You couldn’t have known,” she replied gently. “I made the choice. You were just being kind.”

Tommy’s face furrowed with concern anyway. “I'm sorry anyways. If you want to come on the next train, to make up for the night-"

Millicent shrugged, smiling apologetically. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one week.”

“Understandable.” He stepped back, hands on his hips. “Still, if you ever want to try again — proper daylight, full stomach, no falling off — the offer stands.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ll stick to the ground for a while.”

Stephany laughed. “I don’t blame you.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment. The farm, for all its noise and chaos the night before, now seemed timeless. The fences creaked softly in the breeze. A single hawk circled overhead. Somewhere inside, a calf cried out, echoing through the wooden beams of the barn.

Millicent patted her horse’s neck. “I should get going. I’ve got a book in Valentine with my name on it. And maybe some sleep.”

Stephany gave her a quick hug. “Next night out will be devoid all drama, promise.”

Tommy raised a hand. “Safe travels, miss.”

Millicent mounted and turned her horse toward the road, giving them both a wave. As she rode off, the sunlight breaking through the clouds above her, she couldn’t help but glance toward the tracks winding away through the trees.

She was tired, sore, and streaked with healing scratches — but something in her felt steadier.

She couldn't help but compare the last night with when she had found herself in Saint Denis or when she had followed Mr. Cheng into the mountains, and had to rely on her own abilities to get back to safety both times. This time... she still had been afraid but... it almost felt like she had practice now.

Practice in finding back to safety after being abandoned in the middle of nowhere. A sentence she had never thought she'd phrase. But it felt... good. Strong. Experienced. And despite everything, Millicent couldn't help but smile with pride.

[lapinebuccaneer]

Chapter 4: What's In The Box?!

The twilight air hung heavy with unspoken worry as the Cloudstrider crew trudged back to Tensin village, their shadows elongating into spectral harbingers across the amber-washed dirt path. Jac's massive frame blocked the dying sun, her white fur catching the last golden rays like a snow bank at sunset. Over one shoulder she carried the two surviving bandits bound with hempen cords -- one a surly fox whose eyes gleamed with defiance, the other a nervous squirrel whose whiskers twitched in perpetual agitation.

Back at the village, Elder Tay's ordinarily composed badger features crumpled into bewilderment when Captain Ralynn presented their prisoners. The council chamber, with its modest wooden carvings and faded tapestries depicting bountiful harvests, suddenly seemed painfully provincial.

"A jail? Here in Tensin?" The elder's claws clicked against the polished table. "You must be jestin'. The last time we needed anythin' of the sort was when Joaner's fool nephew got into the fermented berries and started a singin' contest with the pigs. We just locked him in the barn with them until he sobered up the next morning."

Ralynn's golden ears twitched with impatience. "Well, we cannae just tie’em tae a tree like weans playin' at pirates, noo can we?" Her brogue thickened as her frustration mounted. "We've got the bloody Cabal breathin' doon oor necks noo, anna proper place o' confinement would be most appreciated."

After much deliberation, the basement of the Copper Kettle Inn was designated as a makeshift prison. The fox and squirrel were separated -- one in the wine cellar behind a hastily reinforced door, the other in a root storage room that smelled of earth and sprouting potatoes.

"I don't like it," Ferris muttered, his rabbit nose twitching with agitation. "First bandits in the forest, now bandits in my cellar. Next you'll be asking me to host a tea ceremony for the lot of them."

"It might get them to talk," Elspeth remarked dryly, a thin wisp of smoke curling from her nostrils as her silver scales caught the lamplight. The remark earned her a hard stare and a "Harumph" as the crotchety old buck walked back to the kitchen in a huff.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

While the others settled the prisoners, Jac lumbered up the inn's staircase -- each step, though sturdily built, groaning a symphony of protest beneath her weight. She found Kroshka sitting cross-legged on their shared bed, meticulously arranging the herbs Rose had given her into patterns that resembled the constellations the doe had been teaching the child.

"Mama Jac!" The little squirrel leapt into the polar bear's arms, her tiny claws catching in the thick white fur as she buried her small gray head deep into its softness. "I was good for Miss Kisa! She showed me how to fold napkins into little boats and said I am very clever with my paws."

Jac's booming laugh shook dust from the rafters. "Da, my little zvezdochka. You have clever paws indeed." She pressed her muzzle against the kit's head, inhaling the scent of innocence tinged with dried meadow flowers. "And tomorrow, you will help Mama make buildings strong, da? Like game of blocks, but bigger."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After settling Kroshka into bed with promises of adventure come morning, the crew gathered in a corner of the inn's common room. The usual evening bustle had dimmed to wary whispers as villagers cast furtive glances toward the visitors who had brought both excitement and danger to their doorstep.

Clarence hunched over his whiskey, yellow fangs gleaming momentarily as he snarled, "The tabby will have reached whatever reinforcements she has by now. Dawn will bring either an attack or a messenger." His claws tapped a restless rhythm against the wooden mug.

"We need a plan," Ralynn declared. The metal lockbox sat between them, the lantern light glinting a dull green from its painted shell. "Greigor won't fix the Cloudstrider without this box."

"But if we give it up, we've nothing to keep the bandits at bay," Rose added, her gentle eyes troubled.

"What if," Elspeth began, scales brightening with sudden inspiration, "we give them a box, but not the box?"

"A fake?" Jac's massive brow furrowed.

"Aye, but it would need tae be perfect," Ralynn mused. "We cannae be sure how well they know its look. They may be able to tell immediately if it wasn't right."

Elspeth's forked tongue flicked out in excitement. "I’m very good with my hands. Given the right materials, I can replicate anything."

"And when they finally open it ..." her eyes gleamed with mischief. "What if it makes a fart noise and smells like something crawled inside and died?"

Clarence's ears perked up, amber eyes suddenly alight with rare humor. "A petty revenge, but I find myself approving."

"It's brilliant," Ralynn chuckled, whiskers twitching. "Give them exactly what they want—and nothing of what they need."

"In the meantime," Rose said, her voice soft as disturbed moss. The moonlight filtering through the window caught in her large brown eyes, gleaming ominously. "I will question the squirrel tonight. The other one seems zealous, but the squirrel I get the sense is more afraid than loyal. I have a way I think we can talk to him and make sure he can’t lie to us."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the dim cellar light, the squirrel sat trembling beneath Rose's unwavering gaze. The deer's hooves made no sound as she circled him, her moon-sickle's edge catching what little light penetrated the subterranean gloom. Behind her stood Jac, a wall of white fur and implied violence, while Elspeth leaned against a barrel, examining her claws with practiced nonchalance.

"Master of the Celestial Sky, look upon this place and allow no deception," Rose intoned, her eyes briefly luminous with celestial light as the power of her deity flowed through her. "You will speak what you know. What is your name?”

“J-Janar!” The terrified squirrel squeaked.

“Janar, who sent your leader for the green box?"

Words spilled from Janar like water from a cracked vessel -- about Ainar the Knife, a high lieutenant of The Cabal who had usurped command from their previous leader. About The Boss, no one knew his real name, who had sent Ainar specifically for the green metal box. About Ainar sending out seventeen bandit leaders, of which Twilight Tom was one, with teams currently scouring the countryside for targets. About Tom’s glee at realizing they had been the lucky ones to find the right target. About his horrific injuries from attempting, against orders, to open the lockbox.

"The Cabal won't stop," Janar whimpered, whiskers quivering. "They have eyes everywhere -- guards, wardens, nobles. They'll burn Tensin to cinders to get what they want."

Elspeth's scales darkened at the mention of The Cabal, her tail thrashing once before she stilled it with visible effort. "And where will your comrades regroup? Where is your secondary meeting point?"

"East side of the forest," Janar whispered. "By a small waterfall where three boulders stand like sentinels." "If we sent you with a message for negotiations, would you deliver it in good faith?' Rose asked, staring piercingly at the smaller beast.

"Y-yes! Absolutely! Only please don't kill me. Please. I got caught up in a bad situation here, I see that now. But I'll make a change if you just give me a chance!" "Yes yes, I'm sure you will be turning over a new leaf first thing tomorrow." Rose was not prone to sarcasm, but somehow the flat manner she declared this made it clear she didn't believe it, even if the squirrel obviously did in the moment. "If you will deliver our message and urge your commander to negotiate, you may have earned your life and freedom. I shall confer with my associates."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, Clarence guarded the fox bandit, his aging but vigilant senses detecting subtle shifts in the prisoner's posture. The old wolf's instincts, honed through decades of wilderness survival, screamed warning moments before the fox's bound hands produced a sliver of metal filched from his belt buckle.

The fox lunged, the makeshift knife slashing toward Clarence's throat. With a growl that rumbled from ancestral depths, Clarence twisted aside, but not before the blade carved a shallow line across his snout. Blood matted his gray fur as he staggered back, cursing his slowing reflexes. The fox kicked open the door and bolted up the cellar stairs.

Elspeth, returning from Janar's interrogation, met the escaping bandit at the top step. Her tail lashed out like a silver whip, tangling between his legs. As he stumbled, she grabbed him by the scruff with frightening precision, her claws pricking his skin just enough to draw beads of blood.

"Going somewhere?" she hissed, sparks dancing between her teeth. "When Ainar finds me, he'll kill you and everyone in this town. You are fools who have placed their hands in a snakes nest." "Surely, " Clarence growled, "there can be some negotiation." A dark laugh barked from the fox's jowls, "Negotiation. Pah! What need has the lion to barter with the mouse?" Clarence and Elspeth both sighed and exchanged pained glances.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Beyond the village outskirts where prying eyes couldn't witness, Clarence and Elspeth stood over the fox bandit. The wolf's expression was carved from granite as he flexed his claws.

"We can't keep you," Clarence said, his voice gravel scraping bone. "And we can't release you."

"Too dangerous," Elspeth agreed, her voice clinically detached as heat shimmered in waves from her scales. "Too committed to your cause. Too many innocent lives at risk."

The fox made one desperate lunge toward the forest's darkness. Elspeth's fire caught him mid-stride, a brief, terrible illumination against the night. Clarence turned away, not from squeamishness but from regret. It was not a part of the job he liked. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following day dawned pregnant with potential violence. Jac moved through the village with purpose, her massive paws reinforcing doors, fashioning barricades, instructing villagers on rudimentary defenses. Kroshka followed in her wake, carrying nails in a little pouch, her presence transforming the grim preparation into something approaching a game.

"See, little one, we brace door like this," Jac demonstrated, fitting a wooden beam into hastily constructed brackets. "Then bad men cannot push in, must go around where we waiting for them."

While Jac pounded nails in to keep the bean firm, Kroshka “helped” by partially embedding and bending several nails in enthusiastic but failed tries to properly hammer one in. She seemed not to care in the least, gleefully bringing her much smaller hammer to bear on the bent nails and squealing as she pounded them into twisted shapes.

Rose moved between the village's modest dwellings, blessing thresholds and teaching simple women and farmers how to position themselves within the protective radius of her protection spell.

"If an attack comes," she explained to a circle of wide-eyed villagers, tracing patterns in the dirt with her hoof, "I will cast my protection. Twenty of you can shelter within its dome. Arrows cannot pierce it. Fire cannot burn it. But you must stay within its boundaries until the danger passes. Children and caretakers should be ready to come here if danger threatens, and I will make you safe until the threat has been dealt with."

Clarence, still nursing the cut across his muzzle, stood atop the inn's roof scanning the forest edge with eyes that had lost none of their hunter's acuity despite his years. His gray fur ruffled in the breeze as he occasionally dropped to all fours, testing the wind for unfamiliar scents.

In the inn's attic room, Elspeth labored over her most ambitious creation. Her claws, normally instruments of destruction, moved with surprising delicacy as she shaped, measured, and adjusted. The afternoon sun painted her silver scales in copper hues as she held up her work for inspection.

"By the stars, it's perfect," she breathed, turning the counterfeit green metal box in her claws. Every dimension matched the original to the millimeter, every dent and scratch replicated with painstaking precision. Only the interior mechanism -- a simple device that would release a noxious gas and embarrassing sound when opened -- would betray its false nature.

Captain Ralynn examined Elspeth's handiwork with an appraiser's eye. "Ye've outdone yerself, lass. If I didnae know better, I'd stake my captain's hat this was the genuine article."

The plan crystallized over dinner -- release Janar with the fake box, let him deliver it to his comrades with the message that the adventurers were leaving Tensin. Meanwhile, deliver the real box to Greigor and secure the repairs needed for their ship.

"It's a gamble," Clarence growled, his yellow eyes narrowed in thought. "If they discover the deception too soon..."

"The village could pay the price," Rose finished, her delicate ears flattened against her skull. "We must provide what protection we can before departing."

"I could stay," Jac offered, her massive paw making even the sturdy oak table seem fragile beneath her grip. "Kroshka and I, we help protect village until proper guards come."

"No," Ralynn countered, authority ringing in her voice despite her small stature. "The crew stays together. We've done what we can -- fortified their buildin’s, taught’em defensive positions, arranged for proper authorities tae be notified. We cannae fight The Cabal single-handed. But if Janar also tells’em o’ what happened tae Tom when he tried tae open the box, perhaps they’ll take their time a-fore they try again. Time the village can use tae prepare, time for the regional magistrate tae get a garrison here, mebbe."

As twilight brushed the village with indigo fingers, Janar was brought from his cellar prison. The squirrel blinked in the dying light, his fur disheveled from confinement. He flinched when Elspeth approached with the counterfeit box.

"Here's the deal," Ralynn said, standing eye-to-eye with the bound bandit. "We're leavin’ Tensin. We've got bigger fish tae fry than yer wee band o’ forest thieves. Take this back tae yer comrades with oor compliments." She patted the fake box with theatrical significance. "Tell’em we're gone, an’ there's nae point attackin’ innocents here. The village knows nothin’."

"Why would you -- " Janar began.

"Because we're merchants, not heroes," Elspeth cut in smoothly. "This bauble isn't worth our blood. We wish no quarrel with The Cabal. This was taken without knowing of their desire for it. Now that we know, we want to make amends."

Janar's bonds were cut, and the fake box thrust into his trembling paws. They watched him scamper eastward, his tail a question mark against the darkening sky.

"He's heading for the waterfall rendezvous," Clarence confirmed, keeping close eye on the direction Janar headed. "Now we wait."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night stretched endlessly, each creak of timber and whisper of wind transformed by anxious minds into approaching enemies. Rose sat cross-legged in meditation and prayer, occasionally opening her eyes to cast divination spells that confirmed the fake box moved steadily eastward. Elspeth paced the roof perimeter, the only sound the occasional hiss of agitation, boredom, or both. Jac held Kroshka close, telling her stories of her homeland's snow fields to mask the tension that vibrated through her massive frame.

Dawn came with deceptive gentleness, painting the village in pastels that belied the previous night's dread. Then another dawn. And another. Three days passed without sign of bandits or reprisal.

"It worked," Rose finally pronounced after her morning communion with the celestial powers on the third day. "I sense no approaching malice, no gathering storm. As we hoped, I think, they are too afraid to open it."

"Or they're plotting something bigger," Clarence cautioned, ever the pessimist. "The Cabal doesn't forgive or forget."

"Regardless," Captain Ralynn declared, "we've given Elder Tay time to contact the magistrate. Royal guards will arrive within the week. Our business here is concluded." She turned her gaze skyward, whiskers twitching with anticipation. "And unless my sense o’ things has gone completely tae pot, Landry should be bringing our girl home by evenin’ today."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They noticed the sound first -- the soft but distinctive high-frequency hum of hundreds of levitation crystals working in concert, an arcane symphony that made Ralynn's ears stand straight up in recognition. Then the shadow, a massive silhouette against the morning sun that drew gasps from villagers who had never seen an airship of the Cloudstrider's caliber up close.

The ship descended with balletic grace despite its earlier damages, crystal array now glowing with steady blue light thanks to Greigor's repairs. Landry Porton stood at the helm, the border collie's sharp eyes scanning the landing area for obstacles before bringing the vessel to rest at the forest's edge.

"Right on schedule," Ralynn murmured, pride warming her voice as she watched her First Mate execute a textbook landing. "I knew he wouldnae let me down."

As the crew prepared to depart, Elder Tay approached with a formal scroll bearing the village council's seal. "We've sent word to the regional magistrate," the badger confirmed. "With The Cabal's involvement now known, they'll dispatch a garrison, maybe a permanent one if the need persists."

"Good," Clarence nodded brusquely. "Keep your sentries alert regardless. These aren't ordinary bandits."

Rose presented the elder with a small pouch of blessed herbs. "Burn these at your thresholds each evening. They will not stop determined attackers, but they may give warning of those with malice in their hearts."

Jac hoisted Kroshka onto her massive shoulders, the kit's eyes wide with excitement at seeing their home returned. "We go back to sky now," she told the squirrel, whose tiny paws clutched her fur with delighted anticipation.

Greigor met them at the ship's gangplank, the silver fox's elegant robes rippling despite the absence of wind -- a subtle display of magical prowess typical of Talan mages. His eyes fixed immediately on the genuine green lockbox in Ralynn's possession. He took it from her, closed his eyes briefly as he held it as though concentrating, then opened it. After a brief glance inside, he closed it with a distinct click and nodded in satisfaction. "It's been opened, " he looked them over, "but not by you, it seems, unless you're fireproof." "One o' the bandit leaders, man called himself "Midnight Tom". He didnae survive the fight in their camp. Was a big walkin' blister before we ever stepped foot near'im"

"Ah. Excellent. You have fulfilled your end of our arrangement," he acknowledged with a formal bow. His demeanor became more brusque, "Our deal is complete. I myself will take my leave.” With that, he crossed the gangplank and made his way down the docking tower stairs.

"Time to go. And not a moment too soon," Elspeth muttered as soon as the wizard was on the staircase, smoke curling from her nostrils as she cast one last glance toward the village. "I've had my fill of provincial troubles."

As the Cloudstrider lifted back into the sky, Ralynn stood at the prow with her paws braced against the railing. The wind ruffled her golden fur as Tensin village shrank beneath them, becoming just another patch in the vast tapestry of the world below.

"Well then," she said, her brogue lilting with satisfaction as she turned to her assembled crew. "That's one crisis navigated. Though I cannae help but wonder..." She looked over at Elspeth.

"What exactly is in that bleedin' box?"

The answering silence was broken only by the occasional snap of a sail in the wind, carrying the Cloudstrider and her crew toward horizons bright with promise and shadow in equal measure.