#i am going to keep transcribing my chapter

[theunicornastronaut]

*smashes my face into a wall*

it be like that

[frankenfossil]

No bingo today but this was fun

There was a Bingo card going around for bad artist habits and I was inspired to make one for webcomic creators!

[nomie-11]

Epilogue - Unsent Correspondence from the Desk of Late Rider Cadet Liam Mairi

<- previous chapter | masterlist | series masterlist | next book! ->

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

Before the death of Liam Mairi was reported, and his items were burned, a stack of unsent letters from under his bed were taken by one graduated rider cadet and two second years. Among those letters, three letters in envelopes were addressed to The Wounded Healer, The Drowned, and The Guilty. These three people were later discovered to be Genevieve Hale, Violet Sorrengail, and Xaden Riorson, and were properly distributed. 

These three letters, for preservation purposes, are listed and titled below. 

Transcribed into a modern language by Jesinia Neilwart, Curator of the Scribe Quadrant of Basgiath War College. 

Unsent Correspondence from the desk of late Rider Cadet Liam Mairi

To my dear Violet, 

As I write this, Genevieve is passed out on my bedroom floor, and you’re softly asleep on my bed, in my sheets. I’ve never been good with words, especially ones I can’t bring myself to say out loud. But I need to try, at least this once. Because if I don’t, I think it’ll haunt me worse than the battle scars ever could. 

There’s something about the way you sleep, Vi. So peaceful, like the weight of the world hasn’t touched you. But I know it has. You carry so much on you, more than most people ever should or ever will. And yet, here you are, still fighting, still breathing, still… you. I don’t know how you do it, but I’m grateful every damn day that you do. 

Being around you, fighting alongside you, it gave me something I never thought I’d have in this bloody war—hope. Hope that there’s something worth protecting, something good that survives even in the darkest places. You’re that light, Vi. You’ve always been. And I know I shouldn’t say that because it sounds like something out of one of those stupid romance books we’d steal from Xaden and laugh at, but it’s true. You make me believe in things I should have long stopped believing in. 

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you the way I promised I would. I know you don’t need anyone to keep you safe—you’re fierce, stronger than most of us—but I wanted to, anyway. It was selfish, I suppose. I was supposed to protect Genevieve, but I wanted to be the one you turned to, the one you trusted with the things you don’t share with anyone else. And yet, here I am, with so much left unsaid. 

There are days, Vi, where I wonder what would’ve happened if we’d had met before the rebellion. Before the fighting and the death, before all of this. Maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe we could’ve had a chance at something more, something normal, something not filled with blood and battles. I’ve never let myself think too long about it, though. Because that’s not the world we live in, is it? We don’t get to have that kind of peace. 

But if I’m honest with you, and I have to be, you deserve that at least now, I wanted that. I wanted you. I wanted us. I wanted to wake up next to you, not just here, not just at the brink of dawn, but every damn day. I wanted to marry you. And gods, I hate myself for saying that because it feels too late, and maybe it is if you’re reading this, but it’s the truth. I’ve wanted that since the first time you smiled at me like I was something more than just another rebellion kid. 

I know this letter won’t reach you while I’m alive. And maybe it’s better that way. But I need you to know, Vi, that if I could go back, if I could change just one thing, it wouldn’t be how we fought or the decisions we made. No, it would be this; I’d ask you to marry me, right then and there. I wouldn’t wait for the perfect moment or a perfect day, because there’s no such thing in a world like ours. 

I’m going to die soon, I can feel it, but I’ll die without regrets. At least, that’s what I’d like to say. The truth is, I do have one. 

It’s that I never got to marry you. 

Yours eternally, Liam.

—-------------------------------------------

To Xaden,

I’m sorry. 

I’ve thought of a thousand ways to say it, but none of them feel like enough. I failed you. Worse than that, I put us all in danger because I couldn’t look at Violet and lie to her about everything. I thought if she knew the truth about Athebyne, it would protect her. But I recognize now that it’s probably going to be my downfall. It’s just… everytime I look at her it’s like the truth spills out. And now there’s no turning back. 

I’ve always known you carry a weight that no one else can understand, not even me. You were forced to lead before you were ready, forced to make decisions that no one should ever have to make. And I made it worse. I wanted to believe that if I could just tell Violet everything, tell her why I had to disappear at night, that maybe this wouldn’t be so hard. But I misjudged everything. Aetos probably read her memories, and by the time you’ve read this, I’ve probably destroyed everything. 

You’re right to be furious with me. I betrayed the only real family I’ve had since my parents died. And even though I did it because I thought it would help, it’s no excuse. I should have trusted you—trusted your wish to remain a secret, trusted that you’d find a way to protect us all, without dragging Violet into it. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry, Xaden. More than you know. 

But now it’s too late for apologies. By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. 

I don’t know how it’s going to happen—whether it’s a battle, an ambush, or just the cruel hand of fate—but I know that my time is coming. And I want you to know that when it does, I’ll go down fighting. Not just for you, not just for Violet, but for all of us. For everything we’ve been through, for everything we’ve fought for, for the futures we all deserved but never got. 

There’s one more thing, Xaden. Genevieve. 

You’re not going to like this, or maybe you will, but I had to make a choice. She’s important—to all of us, yes—but especially to you. I saw the way you looked at her, the way that she was the whole world in your arms. You’re as good at hiding your feelings as ever, but I know you. And even though she’s been forced into this situation, forced to spy on us, I know she isn’t our enemy. 

When it comes down to it, if it’s her or me, I’m choosing her. I’ve made peace with that. If it means you’ll survive and have someone by your side after I’m gone, someone who might understand what you’re going through, someone who’ll stand with you when the world turns to ash, then it’ll be worth it. 

So, if the time comes, and I have to make that choice, know it’s not because I don’t care about you. It’s because I do. It’s because you’ve spent too long losing the people you care about, and I won’t let it happen again, not if I can help it. 

The idea of dying doesn’t seem to scare me anymore, really, because I know when I die I won’t be alone. I’m excited to see my mother again, most of all. I love you more than words can convey, brother. You’ve always been the best part of me. And I’ll see you on the other side. 

Your brother, Liam Mairi

—--------------------------------------------

To Genevieve, 

I know you didn’t want it to go this way. Hell, you’re probably furious with me. And you should be. I never asked for your permission to make this decision, to sacrifice myself for you. But, Genevieve, I think we both knew from that night in February that it would end like this. We just didn’t say it out loud, did we? Some things don’t need to be said to be understood. 

I’m sorry. 

I’m sorry because I know what this will do to you, how much you hate owing anyone anything. But this isn’t about debts or favors or even survival. This was my choice, and I made it because you deserve a shot at something beyond this. I’ve seen the fire in your eyes, even when you’re trapped in a cage that you didn’t build but can’t seem to escape. You deserve the chance to break free, to live beyond the strings people keep trying to tie you to. 

I don’t want you to think for one second that this makes you weak, that my decision somehow implies that you couldn’t make it on your own. You could. You can. But I also know you’ve been fighting with every ounce of strength you’ve got for so damn long, and I just… I wanted to give you a moment. Just one. A moment to breathe, to take control of your fate without someone else calling the shots. 

It’s not fair. None of this is fair. The fact that we’re even here, at Basgiath, trapped between wars we didn’t start and loyalties we didn’t choose—it’s all wrong. But we don’t get to change that. What we can change is what we do with what’s left. And what’s left for me, Geneiveve, is making sure you get out of this alive, no matter what. 

I know you’ll never forgive me for this. I know you’ll curse my name every day from here on out. And maybe I deserve that. But I couldn’t just stand by and watch you burn yourself to ash trying to survive in this gods-forsaken world. You’ve got something inside you, something bigger than revenge, bigger than all this pain. You just don’t see it yet. 

And you will. One day, when the smoke clears and the world isn’t quite as dark, you’ll understand why I did it. And maybe you’ll hate me a little less. 

So live, Genevieve. Live on your terms, not anyone else’s. And when you do, don’t look back. Not for me. Not for anyone. 

I’ll be with you, in whatever comes next. I just hope you’ll find a way to forgive yourself for not saving me, even if you can’t forgive me. You need to remember that you are nobody’s soldier, and know that I’m always beside you, for you are my greatest adversary and my best friend. 

Your sword and shield, Liam

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

So, how are we feeling?

That's it for The Wounded Healer, The Drowned, and The Guilty! This will be a bit of a longer note because there's so much I want to say about this project and what it meant to me to write it.

This is my first writing project after what was a pretty hard breakup for me. I didn't write for the almost entire year I was talking with my ex, and then he cheated on me and I decided that I needed an escape. I read Fourth Wing to give me a quick break from reality, and between the breakup and reading Fourth Wing, Genevieve Hale was born.

I'm actually not a romantasy reader, nor am I a romantasy writer, I tend to sway towards classical literature and poetry, but I can appreciate a good book when there's a good book, even if I don't love the writing style or the main romance, so this was a huge step out of my comfort zone, but it was a lot of fun!

It's actually 3 months and 1 day that I'm completing this since starting it. I started writing it on August 15th, and then finished writing on October 27th, and finished publishing today, November 16th, which is pretty crazy. And I reached 100 followers literally yesterday on Tumblr, which is pretty crazy (at least to me--100 followers in three months???), so thank you all so much for being invested in my writing. I never imagined people would actually read this, and I'm so grateful for each and every one of you.

There's a lot of things in book 1 that I left unexplained that will be covered in book 2, we will go more into Genevieve's father, Genevieve's mother, Genevieve's signet, Genevieve's relationship with Xaden (and Violet post-Resson), and much more.

With that being said, now you understand the title of the book The Wounded Healer, The Drowned, and The Guilty. Genevieve is the wounded healer, a fitting title for someone who cannot physically heal someone without nearly killing herself, but it's also a title for her emotional state. Violet is the drowned, representative of the grief that will consume a lot of her actions in book 2, and a lot of the things that Liam hid from her, and Xaden is the guilty, a testament to the lies and deception he was taking part in when hiding details from Genevieve. I already released the title for book 2, so it should give you some insight into what will go down in the second book, but I'm excited to hear your theories (if you have any).

What do you think will happen between Xaden and Genevieve, Genevieve and Violet, Genevieve and (eventually) Catriona and the gryphon fliers? How will Genevieve cope with the loss of Liam? What developments will Genevieve's signet and her understanding of it go through? Let me know!

Anyways, that is it for now! I'll be back in a little bit (probably around 2-3 weeks) with chapter 1 of The Tragic Hero, The Betrayed, and The Haunted, but between now and then there will be some bonus content (incorrect quotes, one shots--x reader and x genevieve, etc) posted here and there. That will only be on Tumblr for my Ao3 readers, so find me at nomie-11 if you are interested!

As always, if you enjoyed, leave a like, comment, or kudo, and I'll see you all soon with book 2!

-------

Taglist: @awkardnerd , @hannraumari , @minjix , @glaciuswduo , @wolfbc97 , @heeseungthel0ml

[imustbenuts]

nuts reading trigun in japanese 6 - kaite's foreshadowing. plant synchronization's downside

remember in my part 3 and 5 i was talking about hierarchy? surprisingly, it continues past chapter 8 with kaite. and wolfwood. triangulating nyoom

(to be honest... ive been doing these read and analysis completely blind in a 1st JP read through. so its possible ill find new nuances, get things wrong as the context shifts and changes, so my stuff looks like its scattered all over the place. sorry about that.)

i think ill start explaining names and meanings. kaite's name in japanese is kaito. カイト. this can be a homonym with i think 怪盗 (kaitou) in this case, which means phantom thief. for trying to help Neon with stealing loot from the Sand Steamer.

left bubble next to neon: 道案内は的確だったかね！？ I trust your guide has been giving you clear instructions?

^the headaches with manga translations has always been to keep texts short and reasonable for flow and readability, so these simplifications can and sometimes must happen.

but, add dakutens, the " on 2 of those カイト katakanas and suddenly, kaito turns into. ガイド gaido. Guide.

so Kaite has been playing as a guide to lead vash to his death at the hands of Neon. this page is such a fucking whammy with the wordplay going on. if you just read this in japanese theres a moment of "oh shit, no way, Kaite, vash just told you to stop betraying people! what the hell!"

yet theres a level of trust going on already, so its not as bad as it seems

nightow really likes his worldplay. i really like this page.

kaite redeems himself by later charging into the boiler room and helps turn the valve to stop the sand steamer from running off cliff and killing everyone on board....

hm. a guide. and those sequences

we sure have a lot of guides here. one who appears in the manga later with a kansai dialect. and another in TriStamp, where he is younger than he appears.

when i spoke about hierarchy and the fact that vash is over 150, i was also kind of hinting that all of current humanity are akin to children in the system of JP hierarchy. that takes on extra meaning with a little change of context and language

wolfwood is filling in the shoes of kaito here in tristamp. and within trimax, kaito foreshadows him. incredible.

theres actually more going on with wolfwood and certain design/changes choices i wanna talk about with tristamp but ill save it for another day. maybe when i run into him in this read later

Plant Synchronization downside.

....so theres a bad downside to vash synchronizing with the plant that i didn't catch. which also answers what the fuck was going on in tristamp when that version of him hits the ground

nightow mentions this in an interview, link here posted and transcribed by xoxo-otome (thank you!) that he likes action flicks and has incorporated a lot of action into his work. and its true. there is so much action in the form of sound effects.

reading through the entire manga and paying attention to the sfx peppered around offers a lot more context to whats happening in half of the panels that seemingly doesnt make sense

like this one where the top panel has "DADADADADA" sfx. so they're stomping down the corridor with their guns crossed and facing each other. the "GO OH" in the bottom panel emphasizes the sudden burst into open air. unfortunately, anyone who values their life and sanity in this economy will not want to translate trigun's sfxs 100%.

i should have paid more attention when reading trigun in english. but i didn't so here i am. in the trigunbookclub tag now doing this.

why is it important? here. this. below. when vash does his plant thing with his sister:

see those heart panels? i tried searching real quick but nobody seems to have pointed this out. i havent seen this in EN fanfics. maybe i missed it. maybe im stupid:

thats Dokun, the sound effect of a heart thumping. as vash synchronizes, the heart panels with the same sound effect appear, but they gradually split apart further with ellipses "..." to signify his heart beat slowing down. and down. and down....

Dokun, do kun, do... kun....

then the wings comes out. and the panel below it:

sfx: PIIIIIIIIIII

breathes. a FLAT LINE.

aaaaaaAA?!

何かなんだかわかりません I'm not sure what's going on. とにかくプラントの動きは一切止まっています But the Plant's movement has completely stopped. 同時に男にも呼吸　心音ともに停止してます It's the same with that man. His breathing and heartbeat sounds like it's stopped with the plant too.

AAAAA?!!?! the も means vash is in the same state as the plant?

i.... um. um.,, ANYWAY-

AAAAAAAAAAAA?! HUH?! HUH??? HUH?!

is THIS why he has a metal grate over his heart? something happened and he an an operation on his heart???? by some engineer maybe? what? huh? am i reading this wrong? what? wait, hello? HEY!!!

what the fuck. okAY--?!

and then he just. pretends like nothing's happened. doesnt tell kaito anything. and he leaves the Sand Steamer.

and im going to have to sleep bc its 5 am now and pretend like i didnt just realize something this big right in front of my eyes during the first read.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I Want it All: Preview 2

Fuck me this is going to turn into a two parter. I'm already at 2,700 words and I haven't even transcribed everything I jotted down in my notebook yesterday. I haven't even started the confrontation. The fall out has got to be it's own chapter otherwise it's gonna take forever. Why do I do this to myself? Why is this what's finally giving me motivation to write?

Anyway, point is if I keep this momentum up the first part should be up in a few days. Thoughts and prayers are appreciated.

Here's another snippet if you're interested.

“What’s it lookin’ like then,” Karlach asked. 

“All taken care of. Just need to pluck out a quick set and we can eat.” 

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Astarion said. “I don’t mind it myself, but your songs have a tendency to be a bit, well, destructive. Frankly I’m surprised you didn’t use that cutting mouth of yours to simply insult the woman feeding you.” 

“Well unlike some people I am capable of restraint,” you said. 

“Oh trust me my dear, I’m well aware of that.” 

You rolled your eyes, deciding to ignore the suggestive tone of his statement. 

He couldn’t seem to help making those kinds of jabs ever since you had declined his offer for a midnight tryst. It wasn’t as if you weren’t attracted to the man. There were so many qualities you admired in him; his insight, his perceptiveness, the way he could make you laugh. The more you learned, the more you wanted to know and the more you were willing to give for answers. The trouble was his idea of a night of passion and yours were so very, very different.

You couldn’t stand the idea of having to explain it to him. It would leave you too exposed, too vulnerable to that insistent burning hope that had a way of tearing you apart from the inside out. It was better to leave him to his assumptions of suppression and prudishness. At least then you could keep your dignity.

[gemini-magic17]

Entanglement Chapter Nine

Arriving at the castle I hurriedly jumped off my horse while saying goodbye to Kit and telling her I had a great time. Before she could say anything back I had already made a beeline for the castle. Rushing to get to my chambers I collided with someone which ended with me falling to the ground.

"Princess, are you ok? Should I go fetch a physician", I hear the familiar voice of Ser Easton spewing concern about the interaction.

"No, there is no need it was my fault", I said.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry"?

"I was heading back to my chambers", I explained.

"May I ask why"?

I contemplated telling him about my conversation with Willow and everything pertaining to dragons and the prophecy. Out of all the people I have known he is the most trustworthy and can count on him to keep whatever I tell him a secret. Although, would he be able to keep this a secret from my mother and father. He looked at me waiting for an answer and the words just came out of my mouth frantically before I even knew what was happening.

"I was in our family's library the day I found out I was going to be married. I came across a book or rather it "jumped" out at me and while looking through the book I found this section talking about dragons and how they were utilized in war. Not only that but the book spoke of a prophecy about a girl born of the dragon's blood and she would be the one to save the realm from impending darkness", I explained having to catch my breath from speaking so fast. I looked at him waiting for an answer and from the look on his face he didn't get anything of what I had just said.

"Princess, can you repeat what you just said but slower because I did not get any of what you just said", Ser Easton said with somewhat of a chuckle.

I took his hand and led him to my room. As soon as we got there I dragged him in and locked the door. He looked at me with narrow eyes and a questioning gaze as to why I locked the door.

"Ok, Ser Easton you have been by my side since I was a child. You have looked after me and protected me. You are one of the people I trust the most and the only one I believe who will not tell anyone what I am about to say. However, before I do I need you to promise me what I am about to tell you will stay in this room between you and me. That means not even my parents can't know and don't worry it has nothing to do with being in danger."

"You are starting to scare me Princess, but I promise what you tell me will never leave this room", he said.

"The day I found out I was going to be married I went to our family's library. I wanted to read something to calm my nerves on Tir Asleen but before I could a book landed on the floor and it referenced ancient history. When I got to a certain section of the book it talked about dragons and how they were used in a great war long ago between the kingdoms. It also talked about a prophecy", going over to my trunk I got out the book and turned to the page detailing the prophecy. I handed him the book and on confusion was written across his face.

"This text is written in a different language. I don't think I have seen this kind of language before", he said.

"That's because it was written in Ancient Decyros", pulling out the paper I used with the transcribed text on it I gave it to him. He read over its contents and looked at me confused.

"I don't understand why are you showing me this."

"When Kit and I went to see her friend Willow he showed me the same text and told me that it was I that the prophecy pertained to", I said looking into eyes awaiting his reaction.

"How do you know that what he told you was true", he questioned.

"Willow said he saw flashes of the future and how I am the one he saw fulfilling that prophecy. Plus its not just that", I turned to the next page showing him the intricate drawing of who the girl was. Ser Easton took a good look and turned back to me.

"It looks just like you. The hair, the eyes, and your face resemble her", he seemed amazed by this.

"It's not just that", I really contemplated on whether or not to tell him this part but I'm into deep and might as well tell him everything.

"The dragon, Calyx that was used by King Brixton during the war that was mentioned in the passage is still alive."

"Princess, how do you know that to be true? The book may say that but you can not be sure of it."

"Yes, I can. I saw him the night of the Queen's birthday celebration. Him and I were as close to each other as you and I are now", I explained.

"If what you say is true and there is a dragon in Tir Asleen we have to to tell your parents and the Queen", he said with concern.

"No, you cannot you promised me that you wouldn't."

"Princess, he could cause serious damage. He is a threat to the people of Tir Asleen not to mention how he is a danger to every kingdom", Ser Easton said.

"He has a name and it's Calyx! When I looked into his eyes I didn't feel like I was in any danger and if the people were don't you think Calyx would have done something by now", I asked him.

"I suppose you are right but that doesn't change the fact that he still poses to be a danger to the realm. We have to tell-", I cut him off then and there.

"No, you made a promise to me and I trust you to keep it", I exclaimed with a commanding voice resembling my father. He looked at me defeated and bowed is head.

"Yes, Princess. I promise to keep your secret", he said and turned around to unlock the door to leave.

The door shut and I turned to look out the window. My mind went back to Calyx and how if anything happened to him because of me I would never forgive myself. Pulling me out of my thoughts there is a knock at the door.

"Y/n, are you in there", its my mother's voice.

About to answer my eyes landed on the book and I heard the turning of the doorknob. Rushing to hide the it I stuffed it back into my trunk and buried it under a pile of clothes.

"Yes, I'm here. Come in", I said making sure the book was well hidden. She walked him and I took in her appearance she was adorned in gold jewelry and a red flowing dress.

"Hi, sweetheart I just wanted to come check on you and see how you and Kit were getting along."

"I am fine, mother. Kit and I are getting along we are really starting to get to know each other," I smiled reassuring her with the obvious look of worry on her face.

"That's good to hear I am glad you two are getting along so well."

"Is that all you wanted to talk about", I asked her. There was hesitation when she tried to speak. I gave her a questioning look and in the back of my mind I knew something was wrong.

"What is it", I asked.

"There have been some recent developments and it has to do with your marriage to Kit", she said.

"What kind of developments"?

"The meeting we were going to have today with you and Kit was about how your wedding is to be moved up", she explained.

"I don't understand, when is the wedding supposed to take place", I asked

"The wedding will be held in two weeks."

"Two weeks! Why, what could have possibly happened for you to do this", I said.

"King Larkison has heard about your impending marriage to Kit", she explained.

"Oh, so this is about the fact that they think that we are joining forces to conquer Sundar? We have a treaty with them and they want to break it just because of my betrothal. Can I tell you how that sounds like absolute bullshit? Can't you just explain to King Larkison and Queen Isla that we have no interest in their kingdom and that this alliance is just due to a mutual benefit for Zemira and Tir Asleen", I asked her.

"You know King Larkison since whenever has he listened to reason. It was hard enough getting him to agree to the treaty all those years ago", she said

"So, he would rather go to war and risk the lives of thousands of people over an assumption. What a dumbass he is and a fool for a Kind as a matter of fact."

"Yes, that he is and always will be."

"Has anyone told Kit about this? I don't think she will be too pleased", I said with worry.

"Honey, why are you worried you and Kit are getting along so well", she asked.

"Kit is just now starting to warm up to me and I am afraid that our wedding being moved up is going to change that."

"I'm sure that is not true. Everything will be fine and Queen Sorsha is telling Kit right about now", my mother said.

"So, you are telling me that I'm getting married in two weeks all because King Larkison is some scared asshole that my union to Y/n will lead to us overthrowing him", I said.

"Yes, unfortunately Kit", my mother said.

"This is complete and utter bullshit! You told me that I would have three months before I had to marry her and now because of this I am to be married sooner than I thought", I exclaimed.

"Yes, but I don't see what the problem is though"?

"What the hell do you mean you don't see what the problem is", I yelled.

"You and Y/n have been getting along so well why are you acting like this is such a tragedy", my mother questioned.

"Because it is! You told me I had three months now I am reduced to two weeks of coming to terms with this and getting to know her."

"I am sorry Kit but this is the way it has to be. With the potential threat of war hanging over our heads it is best for you both to be married as soon as possible", she said.

"I have a better idea why not just call off the betrothal and that way there will be no chance of war", I said.

"I cannot. Your marriage to Y/n will have great benefits for Zemira and Tir Asleen it is imperative this wedding happens. Besides, once you two are married the numbers we have will double in size making it nearly impossible for King Larkison to even start a war", she explained. I looked at her portraying the look of disgust and anger.

"Don't worry Kit everything will turn out for the better you'll see", she hugged me and walked out of my room.

As soon as she left I grabbed one of my throw pillows and screamed into it. Everything that has happened these past few days has made me come to the realization that there is no way to get out of this and that what is to come will be hell.

[comesitintheclover]

Six Sentence Sunday Monday 📚📜🖊️

Thank you so much for the tag @bookish-bogwitch! your chart is awesome!

I will remember to try that/ a similar thing if I keep having issues with this fic I'm writing (but I should at least try to slog through a first draft of my trouble chapters first - i just get so anxious that I will fuck up the funny-conflict and make it miserable or something when it's 'perfect' (but vague af) in my brain and has been that way for 4 years...).

And thank you everyone who has tagged me in the last months/year <3 @nausikaaa, @ileadacharmedlife, @monbons, @supercutedinosaurs, @brendughh, @rimeswithpurple, and anyone else if I missed you because my tumblr notifs won't go that far back 😭💗💞💖 I love you all! Thank you for including me in the community even when I haven't been writing for a while! It's been so inspiring seeing what you all have been up to and I've finally started writing again so yay!

My goal is to finish this fic I've been writing for four years (i've written what I'm estimating is 50k words freehand and am transcribing and editing them onto my laptop and I still need to write the other half ... hahahaha 😅. But I love it. ) called *The Long Summer*, within a month (the first draft at least, I'll come back and edit it at a later date. I want to post it on ao3 over a summer so hopefully I will be ready next summer! I need to write it while I still love it!), and then I want to write the first draft of an original story for a month or so/NaNoWriMo, and then I will pick one of my Carry On WIPs to work on (hopefully just in time to celebrate snowbaz's anniversary!)

(The Carry On WIPs in question: I'm thinking I will probably pick my soulmate au fic called Meet the Parents/When You're an Adult You'll Understand, or a trans au called Fraternity house, orrrrr this magical Agony-Aunt fic called Basilton Grimm-Pitch’s 10 Step Plan for Getting Over*(letting himself be in love with) Simon Snow ).

And I'm planning to interact more with wip-wednesdays and six-sentence-sundays from now on to keep me motivated and accountable! (hopefully this works, battling my motivation is like trying to wrestle a fish or something... i'm constantly at a loss with my brain - oh why won't I do things that I love and have time to do??)

....Oh and I want to make some Carry On animations.... (this is probably why I don't do things... Too ideas many and hard to pick. I tried to make a schedule last night that included everything I wanted to do in a day and it was 35 hours long... oops).

*The Long Summer* is a harry potter fic, and since I know all of you lovely people from Carry On, and I know lots of people avoid hp stuff for obvious reasons (JKR is wrong! Trans liberation now!), I will keep the rest of this under the cut <3

here are the first six sentences from my 💗beloved fic💗:

Ron Weasley wasn't an introspective soul. By the time something actually rolled around to happening he would probably have had twelve chances to predict it, if he was Hermione. He presumed something like this would never have happened to Hermione. Summers were probably a lot more quiet in the Muggle world, as an only child, with parents who weren’t - well Hermione was so smart she probably already knew, no there was really no reason to write to her. And Harry - well he didn't want to write to Harry about it either.  Honestly, it would probably be better if he never found out.

(I wrote these when I was 16 and they may need editing but that's for future me to worry about - rn I'm trying to push out a first draft as fast as possible...)

Thank you to anyone who read this far!

Hi!'s, tags, and hand-hearts to everybody 🫶 @stitchy-queerista, @umdiasujo, @carpeosculum, and open tag to anyone who wants to be tagged! <3

[alliumdykes]

Omg hi ur so sexy and awesome hahaha talk about the game How Fish Is Made hahaha

Omg wow hi person who totally isn't me I'm going to talk about How Fish Is Made and its semi-sequel/next chapter The Last One Then Another.

Spoilers under the cut, this is very long.

Ok so I just LOVE this game sm. Like I am luring you in with haha funny joke for my long-ass essay rant explination thingy.

But I love this game. The feeling of being in the machine. It's both organic and mechanical. It makes the machine feel biological and man-made at the same time. But also neither. It feels wrong. All the fish you meet NEED to know if you choose up or down. It's the most important choice you make. You MUST choose up or down. It leads into a debate about if you should choose up or down, fishes telling you to choose up while another yells at you to choose down because their so smart they were stuck.

You find a fish whos in fear, they can't choose up or down? Do they go up with their best friend? Or down with the rest of their family? They need you to choose for them. You fall down flesh tunnels, fish seeing frozen fish and calling it art. Its so disgustingly human in some way. At one point you need to open a gate, but a fish is stuck in the gears, thinking there was a way to beat choosing up or down. And technically they did. But not through escape. but from being killed by you, you have to kill someone to progress. And you have no choice.

You enter a room full of water, but you can't swim. you can never swim. you must flop.You meet a fish whos tongue had been devoured by Cymothoa exigua, who sings you a cheerful song about how you just have to live with the bullshit that you are put through. After you are put through the song full of parasites there you must continue on your journey. You enter a room full of fish eggs everywhere and you are forced to stop. you get a dialogue text saying "Why do you deserve it? Will you be able to live with it? Try and try and try and try and try again. Ah, those double action hinges have always been there, just for you, right? You'll come back. Everyone does. Weak. Or you'll go looking. one way or another, right? Weak." Before your forced to keep walking, thinking about what you were told. I like to think its some meta-commentary thing, about how we will go look for another ending of the game, if you do something different you will get another, better ending.

This can also be interpreted as how in life if we make a choice, we could choose one. but in the end we will always want to see what happens if we choose something else. Maybe if I did this instead it'll of end out better? Maybe if I do this in this way instead of that it will be better! but it doesn't matter.

You enter a room, with lights and a fish in the middle. They say this is about conviction. But also. They're just a fish in a room with intimidating lighting, they acknowledge this. How do we know that they know it? They just look smart.

When you finally make the choice a fish whos seen the amount whos gone up and down. You ask the fish to go up or down, they say that whatever one they go through that they will tell you what they see. but you don't.

You go through. You get a message that I transcribed here. I like to think that the monologue is about the selfishness that comes with grief. That you feel that you've had it the worse, what you have gone through is worse then what everyone else has gone through. no one else has gone through the same suffering that you have gone through. but its not true. its rude and selfish.

You can get two endings, a large blob when you go up and you become apart of a sandwich if you go down. I think this is meant to be that no matter what you choose, their as bad as each other. But you have a choice, the only good thing is that you have a choice.

Ok now onto The Last One Then Another.

This takes place after the first, and your in a large blob no matter if you choose up or down. You free the blob and start to (quite literally) consume bits of dead fish around you, gaining enough to burst through a shut door. a fish asks to come with you. you can say yes and consume the fish, or you can just leave. this is the only time you can do this, the only time you don't have to consume.

You go to a boat or bathtub (I'm unsure) and you follow the light to a bloody bandaged head where you can only see an eye and the mouth of the man. You can rather leave or consume. You aren't large enough to consume though. so you must leave. You go through this fleshy tunnel where there's a fish feasting on a birthday cake. You have the option to leave or consume. Although but you have to consume to progress. You go back to the main area where a whole is opened in the middle. You go down to see just the eye of the bandaged man after consuming a small fish.

The man tells you a joke that goes like this "Three men are in the hospital. The first man cries 'I lost both my hands, they told me I'll never work again!' The second man wails 'I lost both my legs, they told me I'll never work again! The third man? He rejoices 'I lost my hearing, they'll never be able to tell me I'm fired again'" before laughing and just sitting there.

You go through a thing where it's only able to fit a specific size, you go into a room, with fish parts, a bunch of mouth wash and a fish covered in mouth wash. The fish cries for you to take them with you. Saying that choosing up or down was stupid. or was it left or right? They can't remember. So you take them with you. You go back to the main area and go up to the bandaged and what do you do? You consume him. You have no choice. You must consume.

You then change into a first person perspective cutscene, your a person on a ship giving pain killers to a bandaged man without both hands, without both feet and with no ears. A Deaf man who has no hands and feet, like each of the men in the joke. You feed the man painkillers with the first option being the same mouthwash in the room near the bathtub boat thing. You feed the man the painkillers then get an ad for mouth wash. and then the Cymothoa exigua in friend-os mouth appears asking you to wishlist the game mouthwash.

I like to think the second part/chapter is about over consumption. You must consume consume consume. And the choice you made that was extremely important doesn't matter, because all you must do is consume.

Anyways thats my thoughts :3

[solarishashernoseinabook]

Yk, I was going to ask this in the comments, but then I thought, why not a nifty little ask?

Do you actually write all your stories by hand? And how does it work? Cuz personally I am always put off by the fact I like, don't write fast enough to be able to keep up with the sentences forming in my head, yk. And do you then retype the chapter after you've handwritten it? Genuinely curious as to why/if/.. you prefer doing it this way

I'm glad you asked! And I'm glad you asked as an ask, because this would be a weee bit long to go in a tumblr comment 😅

I handwrite most of my fics, yeah! Tho it's more of a hybrid model instead of strictly handwriting, then typing. I bounce between handwriting and typing based on if I'm having writer's block or not. If I get stuck when typing up a chapter, I save what I have, close down my computer, and pick up a notebook and start writing from the last point I remember. Not being able to refer back to what I've written previously means I'm not stuck agonising over it, and allows me to write more freely than if I was constantly going back to earlier paragraphs. If I get stuck when handwriting, I boot up my computer again and transcribe everything. Y'know that bit of writing advice that's like "if you have writer's block, your problem is actually half a page back"? Yeah, that's why I transcribe! The process of rereading my earlier writing lets me identify what's not working and how to fix it.

TRR2 is actually the first fic where the majority of it has been handwritten beforehand, because Angel bought me a gorgeous notebook to write it in (and he got me a second to continue with!). A good portion of every chapter so far has been handwritten, and some chapters were entirely handwritten before I transcribed them :D

Further reasons I like handwriting include...

...no longer worrying so much about making it "perfect", and letting a first draft just be a first draft Sometimes in the middle of writing a scene I'll realise it works better in another character's POV, or in another setting, or any number of things. Instead of going back and changing it, I make a note saying what the change is and then keep writing as though I've already made the change. That way it doesn't break up the flow of writing and I can continue on a roll! Similarly, if a line is wonky or weird, but I can't immediately think of a better one, I just write down the wonky line and continue. Without the ability to erase what I just wrote, I don't get bogged down making every line perfect, and usually when I go to transcribe it later I have a better idea of what to write

...it helps me be more considerate of my words Wait, isn't this a direct contradiction of what I just said? Let's pretend it isn't I also write slower than I type, which I find is a bonus! My brain keeps working on the words and scene while I write, and they can often end up more refined than if I was typing everything because I had more time to turn the words over in my brain. There's also just something about handwriting things that helps my brain remember them more

...it's way more versatile I can't type on phones - it's actively very uncomfortable for me (small hands yaaay). Unfortunately, this means if I'm not at a computer, typing anything more than a couple of sentences is a no-go. Notebooks are easy to carry, don't require an external power source, and I can easily curl up with them to write in the car, in bed, or outside (bonus: it's MUCH easier to see a notebook in direct sunlight than it is to try and make out words on a screen). It also means I can write at work without worrying about keystrokes being logged, people seeing what's on my screen, forgetting a USB, or - disaster of disasters - computers crashing and erasing my data

...purely autistic/aesthetic reasons :D Writing is a huge physical stim for me. Typing can be too depending on the keyboard I'm using, but writing with a pen on paper is remarkably calming in a way that very little else is. Also, notebooks pretty ❤

thanks for dealing with all that (and also giving me an excuse to ramble on for way too long :D)!

[definitelynotshouting]

hi tem!! 72, 77, 78!!

Ask me fanfic writer questions!

Omg hello!!! Eidnwjdjdj i shouldve guessed i'd get 77 immediately 😂😂😂😂

72.) what do you do if a scene gets too serious?

Generally im almost always aiming for serious on some level, tbh-- thats my favorite thing to write about!! Even while writing comedy, i tend to go for more serious undertones; in the case that im going intentionally for pure humor, though, and the scene comes out a little more serious than intended, i try to dial it back by focusing on banter, adding a bit of humor to the narration itself, and essentially laying the scene out in a way that's intentionally meant to draw your attention to whats supposed to be funny.

On the whole, though, serious scenes are my JAM and i adore writing them, so its not often i run into this problem!!

77.) how do you write kissing scenes?

OH BOY. OKAY. this is the point, i suppose, where i mention the Kissing Seminar.

The Kissing Seminar is a very informal discussion i held in one of my discord servers and later transcribed to a google doc when the topic of how to write kisses came up. Full disclosure: i kiss a lot. I love kissing. Ive kissed a ton of people in my life and i kiss my partner constantly. So when im writing kisses, i am pulling DIRECTLY from my own experiences on how it feels and how i do it (and sometimes i do need refreshers; last time i wrote a kiss i had to pause, kiss my partner for a minute, and then go back to writing. Partner reported being INCREDIBLY confused by the abruptness but was pleased to receive smooches until the next day when i informed them of why, and then they hit me with a pillow SJDNEJDJEJJS 😂😂😂😂)

Anyway, the Kissing Seminar is something ive been meaning to pretty up and post for public consumption time and time again, but havent yet because its just so currently low on the priority list. But it details HOW to kiss, and what to expect, and some options for how to write it if you want to go for something more detailed rather than just saying "they smooched". As a tl;dr, its generally all about body placement, rhythm, and emotions-- and the intermingling between them. If you want to write good kisses, focus on all three of these things, and it'll help you out a lot

78.) how do you choose where to end a chapter?

I go off of instinct, mostly!!! Usually i try to keep my chapters all to a similar length (so for hunger au, im aiming for 4-5k each time), and because i know how long most of my scenes take (about 1-2k depending) im able to round off where things should stop after a certain amount of scenes have been written. Sometimes its not precise, though-- last chapter of litd was meant to have the Pearl conversation fully in it, but Tango ended up being the primary focus, and i couldnt really edit that out without sacrificing a lot. So as soon as i found a good stopping place, i went ahead and finished the chapter.

Good stopping places for me are where a scene naturally ends and begins to transition into a new one-- think like movie clips, or scenes in a play. To continue using hunger au chap 4 as an example, the final "clip" so to speak started with Tango and Grian on the couch, and ended with Tango leaving the set while Pearl took his place. I found this to be a really good natural stopping point for the chapter, because Pearl and Grian's convo is very different from the way Tango and Grian's went, so it requires a different tone and new atmosphere to fully delve into that. I find that when the tone of a scene changes, or something new is happening, or time is shown to have passed in some way, these are naturally good places to stop a chapter.

I think this is often why people will choose to end their chapters with their characters falling asleep-- its a natural transition that people instinctively recognize as moving things forward, so it acts as a way to separate one scene from the next. The problem with relying on that alone though is that it can become very repetitive, so its important to be able to start pinpointing all your transition sentences or paragraphs so you can find other places and ways to end chapters and add in some variety

As with all things, though, this isnt a hard and fast rule; i can think of several ways one might want to lean on that for thematic purposes, or using it as a motif, or just a particular expression of style. Really what it comes down to is what you want from your story, and the best ways to achieve that; a good editor in particular will help you find a way to do that. Wkdnwke sorry this became sort of a very extended ramble, but as a professional editor and a longtime writer i find the subject fascinating and feel like mechanics like this arent really talked about often enough. Anyway thank you for listening to my little soapbox if you read all the way through, and thank you so much for the questions!!!!! :DD

[thegreenisles]

I've put together a spreadsheet that contains every line of dialogue in the game, written out.

This INCLUDES lines of cut dialogue that were left over in the files!

Additional information below the cut.

The cut dialogue is at the very bottom of each chapter's sheet. However, if you would like to mix them all together and see them in sequence, you can filter the leftmost column (with the file names) by A-Z

(I should note that in chapter 1, a lot of the files are named inconsistently, so a lot of lines should go together in-game are named separately. They get better at naming them in the other chapters, though there are still a few inconsistent ones)

You can also search for lines from a specific character by pressing Ctrl+F and typing their name with a - before it (ex. -Graham, like in the picture I'm using). That way, it won't include lines of dialogue or file names with their names in it, it'll just be their lines. Or just filter the character names column from A-Z, but searching will keep it all intact and highlight their name, so you can see the related lines of dialogue from other characters in context with theirs.

I basically just dug out all of the subtitles from the files, and put them with the audio file names that they go with. You want to know why the file names have .mp3 on them? Because I copy and pasted them in one big chunk straight from my audio files directory. No way am I going to do that individually, or edit each one to remove the .mp3. The cut files do not have .mp3 at the end. This is a good companion to the voice line audio files in the google drive.

There are also lines of dialogue that were not subtitled. I manually went in, listened to them, and transcribed what I heard. It's a lot of [grunts], [yells], [groans], and [goblin noises], but I did it! I also included the ice guards from chapter 4's reverse audio transcription, so it says what they're actually saying there.

The way to tell if a line is ripped straight from the game or transcribed by me is to look for quotation marks. If it has quotation marks around the dialogue, it's straight from the game. Anything I typed out myself lacks those.

There's also a few times where the 'cut' dialogue is just repeats of what made it into the game. I've included everything- with no exceptions, so they're all there anyway.

This was a huge project so I hope others find this useful! Even while it was unfinished, I liked to scroll through it or search for specific lines I remembered. The cut dialogue is really cool too, so check it out if you're interested!

[armoricaroyalty]

"[This definition of an affair] brings together three key elements: a secretive relationship, which is the core structure of an affair; an emotional connection to one degree or another; and sexual alchemy. And alchemy is the key word here, because the erotic frisson is such that the kiss that you only imagine giving can be as powerful and as enchanting as hours of actual lovemaking...” Esther Perel. “Rethinking infidelity...a talk for anyone who has ever loved.” TED, 2015.

Previous | Chapter Start | From the Beginning | Next

author’s note: andre got visited by the hair fairy because bald-headed, he looks exactly like a relative of mine and I simply could not cope. s/o to @nexility-sims​ for being a good writing partner as I sent her infinity drafts of this scene! P.S. You can see the pictures from the album here.

Transcript under the cut

4:32 PM / February 27th, 2016

LEONOR | [gasps] ANDRE | Well? What do you think? LEONOR | Amazing...I didn’t think there were any pictures left. I thought all the negatives had been destroyed years ago... ANDRE | No, not all of them... LEONOR | How long have you been holding onto these? ANDRE | Twenty years. Longer. LEONOR | [sighs] You sentimental old fool... ANDRE | If I am, you’ve made me that way. LEONOR | Hush. What does your wife think of that kind of talk? ANDRE | [sighs] She...doesn’t approve. LEONOR | No, I don’t suppose she would. ANDRE | She knows you’re here. LEONOR | Oh? In the country or in your office. ANDRE | Both. I told you, a long time ago....I’d never go behind her back. LEONOR | Yes, and you also told me that we could never see each other again, but here we are. What’s changed, Andre? ANDRE | [sighs] About two years ago, I got bad news...I was diagnosed with lung cancer, and I came very close to dying. LEONOR | I wondered... ANDRE | You weren’t the only one. My press office did a damn good job keeping it quiet, but they can’t do much when you lose 40 pounds and all your hair. LEONOR | I’m sorry, Andre. I wish I could have been there... ANDRE | I know. I did too. Being ill, you...you have a lot of time to think, and...I thought about you. Us. That summer — LEONOR | It was a lifetime ago. We’re different people, now. ANDRE | I know, but...you know what? I don’t have many regrets. But I regret how things ended. I regret hurting you. ANDRE | Leo...could you ever forgive me? LEONOR | ... LEONOR | Andre... [she stands up and kisses him, they make out for a bit and I’m not transcribing or captioning kissing noises] LEONOR | We should go...we can’t be late to the banquet. ANDRE | I’d rather stay here. LEONOR | [laughs] Perhaps we could be a little late...

[sen-no-kotowari]

PGR S Lee Character Profile

Hello! Here's S Lee's character profile. Over the next few days, I'll also be posting Qu's and Changyu's character profile plus the first chapter of Amplifier Selena's Interlude Story. I will eventually post Roland's Interlude Story, I apologize if it's taking a bit longer than it should be. As for the voice lines of the characters released in the bili servers, I'll be doing a tester with Fire Lee that'd be marked as "Beta" since most of the JP audio is transcribed by ear. That's it for now, I hope everyone enjoys the translations. You can learn more about him on the cut down below ♪(^∇^*)

Voice Line Data

Motion Voice Lines

Lobby Voice 1

Lee: If you don't need anything else from me, you ought to train your mental fortitude.

Lobby Voice 2

Lee: You seem to be free right now. How about we train together?

Lobby Voice 3

Lee: I won't miss the words you say to the letter—be it your command, or anything else you've said.

Raise Affection Level

Lee: I didn't say I hate it.

Repetitive Taps

Lee: Will you stop that...!

Log-In

Lee: Been waiting for you. There are several peculiar parts to this experiment's data. Looks like we'll be holed up in the lab today.

Online for a Long Time

Lee: I'll protect you, so don't worry and take a break. No need to always push yourself, you know.

AFK

Lee: If there are some things you can't deal with, you can ask me for some advice instead of dealing with them alone.

Shake

Lee: You really... love doing this huh.

Offline for a Long Time

Lee: I just happen to be on duty today. It's not like I'm waiting for you to return or anything.

Introduction and Formation

Structure Acquired

Lee: So you're the new Commander, huh... I hope you're not a fool.

Level Up

Lee: That's just natural.

Advancement

Lee: Doing good. I think I'll only get stronger from here.

Model Improvement

Lee: So it's like this huh... There's more room for improvement.

Skill Upgrade

Lee: This mobilization pattern seems to be useful, might use it next time.

Equipment

Lee: Hmm~... Seems easy to use. Not bad.

Add in Team

Lee: You made the right decision by choosing me.

Assign as Captain

Lee: Me? Captain? I'll show you how to lead perfectly.

Mission Accomplished

Voice Line 1

Lee: Seems like we've received the rewards, let's go claim them.

Voice Line 2

Lee: We'll receive a reward once we've finished the mission... It's common sense you know?

Daily Small Talks

Voice Line 1

Lee: …Do you need something?

Voice Line 2

Lee: If you don't need anything else from me, you ought to train your mental fortitude.

Voice Line 3

Lee: Finally decided to come back to us? Just when I'm about to be lost in thought.

Voice Line 4

Lee: You have other work that doesn't involve with just sitting around, right?

Voice Line 5

Lee: You've taken enough rest already. It's about time we head back to battle.

Voice Line 6

Lee: You seem to be free right now. How about we train together?

Voice Line 7

Lee: Why do you keep spacing out?

Voice Line 8

Lee: Your work as the commander is indeed tiring. If you feel your body starts feeling uncomfortable, you absolutely must tell me about it.

Voice Line 9

Lee: We're very lucky to have a person like you to be leading us.

Voice Line 10

Lee: If something's bothering you, be sure to tell me, no matter what.

Voice Line 11

Lee: I won't miss the words you say to the letter—be it your command, or anything else you've said.

Voice Line 12

Lee: What am I listening to with my headphones? N-no, these aren't headphones! You can't hear anything from them!

Voice Line 13

Lee: I don't easily make any promises, but... I wish to have your word of promise...

Voice Line 14

Lee: Compared to the rest of humanity, our lives are quite longer... I would offer you every ounce of my life...

Raise Affection Level

Voice Line 1

Lee: No need to try and humor me.

Voice Line 2

Lee: I already know how you humans usually are, it's useless trying to control me from the shadows.

Voice Line 3

Lee: I didn't say I hate it.

Voice Line 4

Lee: I've already gotten used to you, Commander.

Voice Line 5

Lee: I don't mind if we've grown closer than before.

Voice Line 6

Lee: I want to know more about you...

Voice Line 7

Lee: I'm really happy that you also have continued to try and understand me...

Voice Line 8

Lee: I want to be by your side from now on.

AFK

Voice Line 1

Lee: For you to leave your post during work hours...

Voice Line 2

Lee: If there are some things you can't deal with, you can ask me for some advice instead of dealing with them alone.

Voice Line 3

Lee: If you suddenly stay silent like that, it'll make me restless instead... Please do something, anything.

Voice Line 4

Lee: Commander? Are you here? Don't scare me like that...

Online for a Long Time

Voice Line 1

Lee: Is there some kind of benefit for you to even work while you're on break?

Voice Line 2

Lee: Being devoted to your work is great and all, but I think you should look after yourself more.

Voice Line 3

Lee: I'll protect you, so don't worry and take a break. No need to always push yourself, you know.

Log-In

Voice Line 1

Lee: Morning. Let's start the operation once you're done preparing.

Voice Line 2

Lee: Kept me waiting. First off, let's start analyzing the sample specimen of an Infected from yesterday.

Voice Line 3

Lee: The data analysis is already done. Let's begin the discussion if you're awake. [1]Audio: The data parsing is done. Once you're fully awake, let's move on to the discussion.

Voice Line 4

Lee: Been waiting for you. There are several peculiar parts to this experiment's data. Looks like we'll be holed up in the lab today.

Offline for a Long Time

Voice Line 1

Lee: Are you the new Commander?

Voice Line 2

Lee: I knew it was the right call to keep on waiting. Welcome back, Commander.

Voice Line 3

Lee: I just happen to be on duty today. It's not like I'm waiting for you to return or anything.

Voice Line 4

Lee: Thank you, for coming back here.

Shake

Voice Line 1

Lee: W-what!?

Voice Line 2

Lee: Are you a kid or something...!

Voice Line 3

Lee: ...Are you satisfied now?

Voice Line 4

Lee: You really... love doing this huh.

Repetitive Taps

Voice Line 1

Lee: Will you stop that...!

Voice Line 2

Lee: Are you trying to make me sick or something?

Voice Line 3

Lee: Is there something fun about this...?

Voice Line 4

Lee: Just you wait, if I meet you in person, I'll make sure to poke the living hell out of you.

Activity Task Full

Lee: Activity level's already at max. Don't forget to get your rewards.

Triumphant Return

Lee: And another perfect line of fire.

Squad Member's Return

Lee: Welcome back. It's already praise-worthy to be able to come back in one piece.

Battle Dialogues

Battle Start/Character Switch/Voice Line 1

Lee: Think you can escape the bullet trajectory I've calculated huh.

Voice Line 2

Lee: You call that hiding?

Voice Line 3

Lee: It's wise to just give up.

Ultimate Skill

Lee: There's only one end that awaits you.

Light Damage

Lee: Tch... Not bad...

Heavy Damage

Lee: Situation's...looking bleak huh...

Incapacitated

Lee: It's all right... I won't...

Friend Support

Lee: You won't have any problems as long as I'm here.

QTE

Lee: Just give the orders.

Battle End

Lee: And another perfect line of fire.

Structure Documentation

Document Detail 1

A new model designed to utilize Lee's outstanding calculation abilities efficiently. It was produced in the same production lot as Kamui's model.

Document Detail 2

With his perception modules completely remodeled, he can control the bullet trajectory at will. His ranged attack's precision capabilities have improved compared to his previous model.

Document Detail 3

An anchor lock-on function has also been added. If paired with Lee's precise calculational prowess, it is possible to rapidly mark and track different enemies.

Document Detail 4

In any case, Lee's newer model was designed to prioritize reinforcing its calculation module's efficiency. Because of this, Lee could currently calculate even the most intricate data down to just microseconds.

Document Detail 5

Lee's manufacturing abilities as well as repairing abilities have immensely blossomed—he successfully remodeled a Structure once.

Document Detail 6

Lee once made a miniature robot for the Commander. Moreover, the said robot is being updated every single day. It's said that the Gray Raven's Commander has been using the robot's alarm function to wake up on time.[2]

Rumors and Secrets

Secret 1 Highly sensitive when it comes to numbers.

Secret 2 He insists that there is a problem with the model's automatic heat energy circulation system. However, there aren't any signs of a request to get it fixed.

Secret 3 Lee's win rate against Kamui in a verbal argument is 50%.

Secret 4 His favorite color is blue. The color of his circulation fluid is also blue.

Secret 5 His hair quality is stiffer compared to other Structures.

Secret 6 Although Lee frequently gets requests for his contact details from female humans more than female Structures, he rejects all of them.

Secret 7 He is more knowledgeable about internal framework than external appearance.

Secret 8 Had a logical and objective conversation with the Commander about the functional importance of designing a Structure. The conversation also included the cushion on Bianca's chest.

Secret 9 Lee once did a research on Kamui's vocal device and was able to shut it down.

Secret 10 He has managed to develop and install a quasi-version of an Inverse Device in the robot he made.

Secret 11 He was almost forced to crossdress by Kamui and his friends after a certain incident[3], but Lee manages to avoid it.

Secret 12 Lee has the Commander's consent in turning his series of observations and comprehended material of the person in question into data and compiled them for safekeeping.

Spoken dialogue is different from the one that's written.

A callback reference to A Lee's Affection Story.

The incident in question happened in Main Story Chapter 11 (Nona Ouroboros)

[autumnalwalker]

Empty Names - 20 - Changeling Child

Author's Note: In which Ashan helps out a fairy that just realized they aren't human and draws uncomfortable parallels to his own experiences. Also, Lacuna horrifies everyone with mad science. There were a lot of delays with life generally getting in the way of this chapter being written, but I am a little proud of myself for just barely squeezing this in before the year ends, as per the goal I set for myself a month ago (in my home time zone anyhow). That said, I didn't manage to give this chapter my usual once-over full reread before posting, so I won't be too surprised if I edit this post later, if only to add the spoiler commentary to the tags. Hope you enjoy, and Happy New Year, everyone. Minor edits to wording/typos have now been made and additional commentary has been added to the tags. Word Count: 11,337 Content Warnings: Fantasy fight scene violence. Attempted (but failed) mind control. Passing reference of blood and gore without detail. Mild body horror. Deadnaming and misgendering a trans person (not Lacuna for once).

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It is a strange thing, to suddenly obtain a new material possession when one has previously made a point of keeping as few as possible.  Stranger still when that new possession is slightly too big to fit into the folded space within the sleeves of your robe to keep safely on your person at all times.  Eris did however include a white carrying case to go along with the matte-black laptop she gifted to Ashan last week, so that is something.  It is not quite the same shade of white as his robe, but it is close enough that Ashan appreciates the thought.

For the time being, that laptop has stayed hooked up inside the guestroom within Bridgewood Manor that Ashan has been occupying since that first mission with Road nearly two months ago.  At Lacuna’s urging he has tried to incorporate it into his morning and evening routines, if only to check the electronic mail.  Thus far that has mostly just consisted of messages from Lacuna containing images with humor he is still grasping, the occasional suggestion from Eris regarding educational resources, and one from Bridgewood congratulating the three of them on connecting to the Manor’s WiFi.  That last part had been nearly as esoteric process as Lacuna’s explanation of memes, and that had rapidly devolved into a rambling lecture about long cats, defunct deities, a philosopher called Plato, dual linguistic meanings lost in translation, and the ultimately futile and deceptive nature of the written word.

Whether it had been Lacuna’s intention or not, that extended feline rant led to his spending even more of his downtime on the computer than in the Bridgewood library since then.  Not for the memes, but to find out who Plato was.  That reference to an (apparently) historic figure as if familiarity were assumed once more drove home the fact that being stolen away before even completing an elementary-level education made him a foreigner in his own homeland.  True, Aliana had tutored him on mathematics, logic, literary analysis, and other such skills in addition to magic, but none of the history or philosophy he learned under her guiding hand came from Earth.  And why would it have?

But now this strange little bifurcated box offered a way to, if not fully amend, then at least mitigate that ignorance.  While Ashan had long been aware of the Internet and its theoretical use as a store of knowledge and a communication medium, between a childhood in a home without a computer and adolescence spent in world without electronics he had never really experienced it until Eris showed up at the Lonely Walk office and handed him a surprise gift.  To hear about it is one thing, but to actually scroll through the pages upon pages listing titles for tens of thousands of transcribed books free for access and hyperlinked inter-referencing encyclopedia articles tracing an interwoven tapestry of conceptual linkage from ancient philosophers to arboreal bearcats was another thing entirely.  Ashan had known scholars on Orthon who would weep with joy and envy at the mere idea of such a library. 

Admittedly, there were some complications with exploring the wider Internet caused by his translation charm not knowing how to handle trying to use a keyboard.  Writing words by hand had been bad enough ever since the onset of his condition, causing whatever he wrote to come out as a pidgin of a dozen or so different languages - many of which he had never even personally encountered before - that was effectively gibberish to anyone without translation magic of their own or a very intense interest in linguistics.  Trying to force his thoughts through a single achingly unrecognizable symbol at a time to try to form words specifically in a language that had been stolen from him was… distressing.  Speech recognition software had proven no better, with the device - as Eris explained it to her - responding to specific physical sound patterns without any true perception happening for his charm to tap into.  But he still has the collection of links and bookmarks his friends had sent him, and that is proving to more than suffice.  Just those first two resources Eris provided him with were more than could be read in a single human lifetime.

Friends.  What a wonderful thing to be able to call someone.  How had he never realized what he was missing?

So now, on this particular morning, after his long-standing morning rituals of exercise and meditation (and a breakfast that he is perfectly capable of remembering and not putting off when there are not more pressing matters to attend to), Ashan turns on his laptop and checks his electronic mail.  There is one new message, sent from Lacuna at two in the morning.

Its subject line reads “Simulations are done.”

Ashan is not normally one to hurry or rush things.  Ashan barely takes the time to skim the full text of the message before closing the laptop and departing from Bridgewood Manor and the surrounding Estate at the quickest possible pace that will not leave him visibly winded.  The brief time that it takes to reach the tree bridge that will transport him to its twin tree across the street from the office feels like an age in his excitement, and he tries to remind himself that after this long of a wait a few extra minutes will not make a difference.  It is certainly nothing worth breaking decorum over, even with no one else around.

An eager grin the like of which has not graced his face in years creeps in all the same as he steps out of the Bridgewood Estate’s secure transit between the trees and into the early morning sunshine.

He crosses the street and then the sidewalk, and then the outermost of the security wards surrounding the Lonely Walk Outreach Agency.  Invisible to the mundane or inattentive eye though they might be, after all the time he has spent adjusting and fine tuning them it is difficult for Ashan not to perceive them as a shifting rainbow lattice-work overlaid in concentric bubbles around the refurbished antique building.

The front door is unlocked, indicating that Lacuna must already be inside, given that Road and Eris were not expecting to be back from the followup to their most recent mission for another day or two.  Ashan heads straight downstairs towards Lacuna’s basement lab; the woman is hardly ever anywhere else these days.

And yet, when the door slides open he finds her usual chair unoccupied despite all the computer monitors surrounding it being turned on.  Ashan’s first thought is that she has simply stepped out for a moment to feed or relieve herself, but then he notices the figure displayed on the monitors.  Eight different cameras at eight different angles and levels of zoom are displaying eight live feeds split across two screens  Eight mechanical eyes watch a faceless white mannequin in worn and baggy clothes standing almost perfectly still in the middle of an evenly-lit blank white room.  Its chest and shoulders rise and fall to the rhythm of slow and steady breaths despite the lack of mouth or nose.  A timestamp on one of the video feeds tells Ashan that the recording has been running for nearly five hours now.

Ashan crosses the lab to the testing chamber door where he finds the clothes Lacuna was wearing yesterday lying crumpled on the floor.  Curiosity morphing into concern, he hits the large red button to open the testing chamber doors and steps inside.

The mannequin takes no notice of him.

“Hello,” Ashan softly calls out to the figure.

No response.

“Lacuna, is that you?” Ashan asks, sliding his wand out of his sleeve and into his hand in a practiced gesture.

A shudder runs through the mannequin.

“Lacuna,” Ashan emphasizes the name, “are you alright?”  Cautiously easing closer, he realizes that the mannequin is making a fist around something in one of its hands.

The mannequin twitches and jerks, contorting its limbs.

“Lacuna, may I see what that is you are holding?”

The mannequin goes still again before slowly turning its head down to eyelessly look at the hand it has brought up to chest level.  Its fingers uncurl to reveal a sphere of interwoven plastic tendrils that rolls off of its hand and shatters when it hits the ground.

In an instant, the mannequin grows three inches, shifts its skin from blank white to a mere sickly pale with the occasional freckle, sprouts hair, and contracts its blank face to reveal the contours of features.

It surprises Ashan just how light Lacuna is when she falls forward into his arms.  He is barely even eye level with her shoulder on the rare occasions she stands up straight, but he realizes now just how much she is skin and bones beneath the loose-fitting clothing she always seems to favor.

“Don’t tell Eris,” Lacuna breathes into his ear before passing out.

*******

“I’m sorry,” Lacuna apologizes for the tenth time since waking up.    The first three times had come in quick succession upon regaining consciousness a minute or so after fainting.  The fourth came when asking for a moment of privacy to change back into her clothes from yesterday, and the fifth when emerging from her lab some minutes later.  The sixth was a part of turning down Ashan’s advice to put herself into the autodoc suite.  The seventh was instigated by her stumbling on the stairs ascending out of the office’s basement, which in turn led to the eighth when accepting Ashan’s offer to help her up.  The ninth took the place of thanks when Ashan unstuck the cap she was struggling with on the bottle of apple juice she retrieved from the refrigerator.  What this latest one is for is less immediately apparent.

Now she sits at the other end of the kitchen table from Ashan, staring down at an empty wrapper of plain salted crackers.  Stripes of morning light cut between the window blinds and divvy up the space between them.

“For what are you sorry this time?” Ashan prompts.

Lacuna flinches at the question, withdraws momentarily, and hesitantly answers, “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?  That must be annoying, sor- Gah!  Why do I keep - I mean -” She stumbles over her words a few more times before closing her eyes, holding up one finger, and taking a long drink to drain the rest of her glass.  Setting down the glass, she opens her eyes and tries again while drumming her fingers on her arms in a rolling motion.

“I should have gone to bed and gotten a decent night’s sleep after sending you that message.  So that I’d be able to help you today.  Instead I got over-excited and tried to squeeze in a little bit of time now that the server load was free.  For a personal project.  Selfish.”

“Apology accepted,” Ashan says, keeping the disappointment out of his voice.  He tries to tell himself that just one more day of waiting will not hurt him.  And if Lacuna is a reckless enough enchanter to run some manner of botched transmutation ritual on herself, perhaps it would be for the best that he does not let her try to experimentally “help” him.  “But why did you not want me to tell Eris?  Friends are supposed to aid one another when distressed, are they not?”

“I don’t want her to worry about me.  Same for Road,” she mumbles.

“You mean to say that becoming stuck as a faceless imitation of a human being all night is not cause for concern?”

“It’s fine!” Lacuna snaps defensively and then shrinks back from her own raised voice.  “It’s fine,” she says more quietly.  “I’m fine.  I’m fine.  It’s a problem I’ve been working for a while now and that’s not even the worst thing that’s happened to me so far.  And the enchantment had a safety timer built in, so I would have been fine.” She raises her head, looking through Ashan rather than at him.  “Compared to some of the other mishaps, this one actually felt… nice?  It was quiet.  Like all the thoughts going in my head all the time finally shut up for once and let me just be.  Awareness without a sense of self to be aware of and in a room with no external stimulus.”  She slaps a hand to her forehead and laughs.  “Okay, wow, that does sound bad when I say it aloud, but I promise I’m fine.  It was actually about as restful as sleeping, I’m just a bit frazzled right now from the sudden jolt back into things.  And probably dehydration.  And maybe low blood sugar.  But I’m good now.  Mostly”

As Ashan opens his mouth to form a reply to that, several other noises interrupt him at once.  The sharp ringing of the outer barrier detecting an intruder with violent intent.  A shout of fear.  A howl of pain.

Before Lacuna can even make a surprised exclamation of her own, Ashan is already out the kitchen, past the repurposed check-in counter, and throwing open the door.  The frightened and haggard individual sporting a denim jacket covered in enamel pins on the other side stops dead in their tracks at the motion of a wand coming within an inch of poking their eye out.  Looking under and past the unexpected visitor’s placatingly raised arms, Ashan catches a glimpse of a smoking pantherine shape on the sidewalk dissipating in a sparkling green haze.  The tree-lined street is left empty except for fallen petals and parked cars.  The blue electric hatchback with claw marks on the side parked nearest to the former bed and breakfast had not been there when Ashan arrived barely half an hour ago.

Ashan’s eyes flick back to the individual standing in front of the door, locking gazes.

“What was that?” he asks.

“I was hoping you could tell me.  Now please, you gotta let me in.  Before it -” 

They double over groaning in pain.  With effort they crane their neck up to reveal a face flickering between two forms.  One of an unremarkably average brown-eyed human with two or three days of unshaven stubble, and the other violet-eyed with smooth, waxy leaf-green skin.  Violet eyes or brown, the look of desperate fear and confusion is the same.  It strikes Ashan how young they are.  No more than late teens.

“Help me,” they gasp.

Ashan guides them to a couch in the nearby living room, locking the door behind them.  They recover quickly enough after lying down - Lacuna catches up just in time to see the surprise guest’s face flicker for the last time - but even after their face settles back to human their left arm remains green.  They cradle it to their chest, as if it were still in pain.  Or as if they were trying to hide it.  Shame?  Fear?  Embarrassment?  All of the above, Ashan guesses.

“Name,” Ashan says, instruction more than question.  He remains standing, alert for the first sign of treachery from whomever he just invited in or of another attempt at entry from whatever that was outside.

“Tam,” the individual on the couch stammers.  “Tam Lin.”  Their green left hand clutches tighter at the utterance.

Ashan stares this Tam Lin down.  On the one hand, that sort of fear - the bewildered fear of having been abruptly thrust Backstage for the first time - is as difficult to fake as it is recognizable.  On the other hand, that which he suspects them to be are known to be excellent actors and none of their kind would so easily give away their Name.

“Tell me Tam Lin,” Ashan asks, “what brings you here today?” 

The green hand twitches at the Name’s emphasis, even without any attempt at nominal magic infused into his voice.  Yes, definitely one of the fair folk, but why the guileless deception?  Why take such risk with a Name freely spoken, as sensitive as their kind are to that?

“The website,” Tam says,  “it said you can help with weird stuff like this.  You can help me, right?”

“Most likely,” Ashan answers, “but first we need to know more specifically what your problem is.”

“If I may,” Lacuna speaks up from where she has perched on an ottoman at the other end of the couch from Tam.  As she slips her phone back into her skirt pocket and intently looks Tam up and down all her earlier disorientation has vanished completely.  Ashan knows that eager, almost hungry look.  It is a look he has seen on experimentally-minded wizards presented with a unique specimen and alchemists greedily eying rare reagents.  And on children seeing their favorite animal in the flesh for the first time.

With only the slightest misgiving, Ashan nods in assent.

Lacuna’s eyes light up and she leans in even closer.  “Right.  So.  Tam.  Let me know if I miss the mark anywhere.  As a kid you saw all sorts of fairies and similar magic.  When you got older you wrote them off as childhood make believe, but ever since you had strange and vivid dreams about them.  Maybe you even were one in your dreams.  When you hit puberty, those dreams got more frequent.  More intense.  Easier to remember.  Almost a second life whenever you were at your lowest points.  Still just dreams at the end of the night though.  Nothing you couldn’t put out of mind and focus on the ‘real world.’  And then one day.  A recent day.  I would guess.  One or both of your parents died.  Ever since, you’ve started having those dreams every night.  And then every time you closed your eyes.  And then when you looked in the mirror, wide awake, you looked like you did in your dreams.  That’s when something started following you.  Not knowing where else to turn, you turned to the Internet, and found us.  No one answered your calls or the message you left.  That’s my bad.  Real sorry about that.  So you hopped in the car and drove all night to our address.”

Tam stares at her, eyes wide and jaw agape.  “My moms are still alive, but everything else is - how did you know?”

Ashan tilts his head, surprised and curious to know himself.

Lacuna slips back into her usual discomfort, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck.  “Sorry.  That was weird of me, wasn’t it?  Got carried away.  Touches on a… special interest of mine.  So.  Basically.  You’re a changeling.  A fairy swapped with a human baby to be raised in its place to take its Name.”

“You’re joking,” Tam denies.

“You were quite literally shapeshifting in front of me,” Ashan points out.

“Not intentionally,” Tam says.

“It wouldn’t be,” Lacuna says.  “Historically speaking, most children accused of being changelings were just some flavor of neurodivergent.  The real ones tend to blend in as normally as the baby they swapped with would have, fooling even themselves.  Not that there isn’t overlap between the two from time to time.  A Name isn’t just the name it’s tied to, it’s a whole identity, physical and mental.  Most changelings have no idea they’re not human until something triggers a change, at which point whatever fae liege made the bargain will come to retrieve them.  Or send a servant to do so.  Kinder ones will be upfront about it and explain things.  Maybe even make an offer to continue living as you are.” 

“And crueler ones will send a hunting beast to drag you back kicking and screaming,” Ashan posits.

Tam’s nervous nod is all the confirmation Ashan needs as to what tripped the wards around the office.

“What I’m still hung up on,” Lacuna says, “is what triggered your change.  Normally it’s the death of whichever parent made the deal, but…” She trails off as her eyes alight on one of the pins adorning Tam’s denim jacket.  A heart of four stripes.  Yellow, white, purple, and black.  “How long ago did you start calling yourself Tam?” she asks.

“A little over three years ago.” Tam answers.  “Just before I turned sixteen.  But, come to think of it, the dreams actually stopped for a while when I came out, if that’s what you’re getting at.  The therapist my moms had me see told me it was probably just a repression thing that didn’t need an outlet anymore now that I’d accepted myself.  I’d just about forgotten about them until this all started out of the blue a couple weeks ago.”

“You said ‘moms,’ plural,” Ashan observes.  “What about a father?”

Tam shakes his head.  “I asked about it once and they told me they went through a fertility clinic.  Anonymous donor.  No legal way to know who.”

“Oh, that’s clever,” Lacuna says.  “Dirty dealing and a really messed up way to get around the classic ‘firstborn child’ contract, but clever."

“Clever or not,” Ashan says, “I suspect it is beside the point at the moment.  The more pertinent question is this:  What do you want Tam?”

“What do I want?  I want to stop being chased by a giant monster cat!  I want to stop randomly turning green!  I want my life back!”

“Do you truly want that?  Even knowing what you know now?  Even with the knowledge that it may not be your life to begin with?”

“Of course it’s my life!  So what if I was switched with some other kid at birth?  It was me that everything happened to.  It’s me that everyone in my life knows.  My moms, my friends, my experiences, and my life!”

“And you are not the least bit curious about what else your life could be if you found more answers and embraced what you really are?”

“Oh screw you and your mind games.  Do I look like I give a shit about some absentee fairy king dad wants for me?  I know who I am and don’t you dare imply that my life hasn’t been real.”

“Good answer,” Ashan says.  “Now hang on to that conviction.  You shall need it.”

“What for?”

“For when we go tell a fae liege unused to being told ‘no’ that they cannot have what they want.”

*******

“Last check if you want to wait until Road and Eris get back,” Lacuna’s voice says through Ashan’s earpiece as he stands just inside the picket fence marking the border of the office and the unwarded sidewalk.

“Road left me behind for the express purpose of helping any clients that show up needing help while they are away, and that is exactly what I am doing now,” Ashan responds.  “We have taken the necessary precautions and I see no reason to doubt my ability to resolve the matter.  Or are you saying that you would rather wait?”

“I’m nervous, not gonna lie, but what else is new?  You’re the one with the hard job here, so we’ll be fine.  Anyway, mirror charm’s still holding strong on this end.  Tam still looks like you in here, and you still sound like them.  Let’s just hope it fools everyone else as well as it fools me.” 

According to Tam, the beast that has been hounding them for weeks now only shows itself when no one else is around, which presented a complication for any plans to assist them.  Fortunately Lacuna had been able to dig up a pair of bracelets she had enchanted some time back as part of one of her ever-vague “personal projects.”  Allegedly they operated via a modified perception filter to cause observers to perceive one wearer as the other while leaving the wearers’ perception unaltered.  That last part had caused Lacuna to deem the bracelets “an experimental failure but exactly what we need now,” while leaving Ashan and Tam to take her word on their efficacy.  While even now Ashan can tell that the bracelet is doing something whenever he glances down at his wrist, actively focusing on it is nearly as nauseating and disorienting as that concealment ritual of hers.  

The same goes for the little metal rectangle engraved with a not-quite-fractal on either side now hanging from a cord around his neck and tucked beneath his robe.  According to Lacuna it is supposed to provide protection from anything trying to get into his mind.  It was the one amulet out of the whole clinking mass she had tried to foist upon him that he accepted, and mostly just to placate her, if he is being honest.  She had been busy these past weeks with enchanting trinkets from her library of pre-recorded rituals from her old job and if Ashan had hung all that she had offered around his neck the combined static noise of their auras that close to him would have run the risk of making him sick.

Once again, he wonders how she has not accidentally killed herself already.  Or at least blown up her lab.

But enough of that.  What comes next requires a clear mind free of distracted musings.

A static tingle runs over Ashan as he steps through and beyond the outermost ward and onto the unprotected sidewalk.  He continues forward, past the car Tam hastily and crookedly parked on the curb.  The claw marks on the vehicle are long and deep, and numerous enough to indicate multiple attempts at retrieval. He comes to a stop with one foot on either side of the painted divider line bisecting the empty street. 

“I am ready now,” Ashan says to no one.  “Guide me to your master and I shall follow of my own free will.”

A sudden breeze carries the scent of dry leaves and kicks up a swirl of sparkling green dust.  The same synesthetic mapping that allows Ashan to “see” the wards around the office shows him a rapidly growing ring within the verdant haze.  A low growl rumbles out of the hole within the formless ring and a pantherine shape slinks out from behind the breeze. 

The great cat sharing the street with Ashan would be longer than he is tall even without the tail that coils and unfurls as it slowly sweeps back and forth.  The beast’s baldness only accentuates its bulging muscles and the isolated shock of dark hair atop its head. The brown eyes that stare up into Ashan’s look just like Tam’s.  It snarls, barring too-human teeth for the shape of its head, and then turns away. 

Ashan follows the hunting beast across the street to a fairy ring of white mushrooms near the bridge tree that most certainly had not been there when he arrived earlier this morning.  It pads around to the far side of the fairy ring, looks back to Ashan, gestures downward with its head, and flexes its claws.  Its front paws have thumbs. 

The message is clear enough: Step into the ring.  Run again and claws will catch. 

If the earlier swirl of dust was a tunnel, the fairy ring is a hole beckoning him into its depths.  Ashan knows better than to let himself fall in. 

He leaps. 

He does not look before nor during the leap.  Such transitions do not wish to be perceived.  It takes longer than it rightly should for his feet to touch the ground.  He keeps his eyes closed and tries not to heed his less biological senses lest nausea take him as he falls.  Not that “falling” is the correct word for it. That would imply an up or down. 

His arrival is signaled not by an impact but by the smell of dry leaves and the tickle of inhaled dust. He pinches his nose to stifle a sneeze and opens his eyes. 

The space he finds himself in cannot seem to decide if it wants to be a forest or a castle.  He is surrounded by pale-barked twisted trees.  He is standing in a solid-walled narrow corridor.  Fallen leaves crunch under his feet as he shifts his weight to look around.  A neat carpet stretches behind him off into shadows and before him up to an ornate beaded curtain.  A cloud-muted sun filters down through a canopy of desiccated foliage.  A star-backed moon shines through a high vault of stained glass.  Either way, motes of dust catch the weak light, shifting through the slow motion gyre of a breeze too weak for flesh to feel. 

“Are you alright?  We lost the feed for a minute there.”  The static crackle of signal decay does little to conceal the concern in Lacuna’s voice.  Is that not the tone she normally reserves for Eris?  Are she and Ashan closer than he realized, or does she worry like that with everyone she considers a friend?  He has little basis for comparison to correlate sensitivity of concern for safety with emotional investment. 

It is a distraction. 

He wants to ask her what she sees through the filter of the camera atop his ear.  To verify the chimeric nature of his environs that shifts with every turn of his head and blink of his eyes.  To tell her that her charm of mental protection does not work to shield his senses.

But he is playing the part of Tam Lin right now and Tam would have no reason to ask such questions of the empty air. 

He nods and hopes she takes the cue to be silent when the hunting beast pads past him toward the hanging moss (beaded curtain).

For all that Ashan prides himself on stepping as lightly as any thief or dancer, he cannot help but stir up puffs of dust from the carpet (pulverize dry leaves into blooming clouds) with every step.  The hunting beast’s guiding passage leaves no such trace.  It is its master’s creature within its master’s demesne.  Unlike Ashan, it is not showered with gray powder when passing through the moss (curtain) and into the throne room (parched glade) beyond. 

The hunting beast crosses the space and seats itself on its haunches in front of a tangle of roots (a bas relieved throne), from atop which presides the fae liege with whom Ashan has come to bargain.  It/He/She/They/Fae wear(s) wears robes of gray that are in the active process of becoming moth-eaten before Ashan’s eyes.  Fingers and forehead alike are adorned with bechained jewelry; metals tarnished and patinaed, gemstones dull.  Its/His/Her/Their/Faer face is an overlaid multitude that blurs expressions into an indistinct haze of imperfectly aligned features. 

Ashan nods his head and sweeps an arm in a gesture of respect.  It is not something Tam would do, but while Ashan has not dealt directly with the fair folk before he has been trained well enough to know the danger of losing oneself to a role in a place such as this and a true wizard bows to no higher authority.  Fortunately, this lukewarm obeisance does not seem to perturb the figure on the throne.

“The Seventeen-Named Count of Curses and Dust bids you a welcome homecoming and congratulations on joining the ranks of the Named, Carter, my little changeling.”

With that proclamation one of those seventeen unspoken Names is chosen for temporary prominence and a conceptual waveform collapses.  Ashan’s surroundings solidify into a single hybrid of a forest woven together into the shape of a castle.  Tight-packed trees interlace branches to merge into solid walls.  Leaves fallen from the canopy above have been carefully arranged into patterns on the forest floor. The fae liege now sits upon roots that have been expertly coaxed into the shape of a throne and wears only a single grandfatherly face.  The hunting beast at the foot of the throne winces.

“You honor me with this audience, great Count,” Ashan says.  “Pray tell, what next lies in store for a newly returned changeling?”

“So you do still recall the tongue of your true people in waking as well as dream.  That shall save us much time in preparing you for your role as one of my emissaries.  Once you have resworn your oaths of fealty to me your training in the ways and arts of my court shall commence.  There shall be no time wasted on pointless festivities, for ours is the dominion of the dust to which all things return.  To be my emissary is to weave the curses that will hasten that return, especially for those foolish enough to believe they can postpone it indefinitely.”

“Well, there’s your offer,” Lacuna says to Tam on the other end of the comms link.  “Magic and probably a bit of world-hopping.  Still want out?”

“Hell yeah I want out,” Tam exclaims loudly enough to be picked up by Lacuna’s microphone.  “Screw this dust-to-dust reaperman crap.”

Ashan nods in silent acknowledgment of the expected response and addresses the fae lord in front of him.  “O great Count, thank you for your answer, but I must now take my leave.  To be one of your emissaries is not my place.”

“You misunderstand your position, little changeling,” the Count says, “your role here in my court was ordained long ago.  Now Carter, kneel before me and renew your oaths.”

The hunting beast crouches and growls.  Ashan stands unbowed and serene.

“I do not answer to you.”

“Such impudence!  Have you no gratitude for your liege who saw fit to grant you a Name purchased in fair contract?  By that very Name, Carter, I command thee kneel and renew your oaths!”

The Count’s voice echoes through the forest and shakes the dust from the trees.  The roots of the throne writhe and the leaves stir from the floor.  The hunting beast yowls and Ashan stands unbowed and serene.

“I do not answer to you.”

Another of the Count’s Seventeen Names takes prominence and the parched forest glade closes into a vaulted stone audience chamber.  Fallen leaves sew themselves together into a threadbare tapestry of a carpet.  Soft wrinkles stretch smooth and tight over a sharp-featured skull.  From atop a marble throne embossed with arboreal motifs, the steel-eyed Countess of Curses and Dust glowers down at Ashan.

“You are mine.  You.  Shall.  KNEEL!”

A will that is not his own claws at the edge of Ashan’s consciousness, ancient and vicious.  The mental wards he was taught early on and has diligently kept up ever since fray and fracture.  The invasive presence reaches in and touches a stray surface thought, withering it down to a vague sense of something forgotten.  Perverse delight seeps in from the outside at the prospect of doing the same to every other thought until his very self is reshaped by erosion into an ideal servant.

The amulet beneath Ashan’s robe oscillates between burning and freezing against his skin.  The intruder in his mind recoils and retreats.  The Countess of Curses and Dust lets out a scream from her throne that sends the feasting moths fluttering away from her regalia.

“I.  Do not.  Answer.  To you.”  Ashan gasps.  He has denied the fae liege for a third time.   By the Law of Threes he should be safe from that avenue of coercion for now.

“What trickery is this?”  The Count(ess) asks.  Their face and hall flickers between aspects on every third word.  “You are not my changeling.  What are you?  You are full of shards of glass and shattered iron that writhes and drips with rotted ichor.  I will have no dealings with mad and broken gods or spawn of the eldritch.”

Suppressing a shudder at the thought of what Lacuna has hung around his neck and wrist, Ashan slips off his bracelet and the glamor disguising him as Tam Lin with it.  With an audience gained and the nature of Tam’s would-be master displayed, there is no further need for that ruse.

“I am the student of Aliana Glassgaze, wizard, warder, and master of the Dancing Dream Paints style.  I am here as the appointed champion of Tam Lin whom you would call Carter to speak on their behalf.  I have judged the treatment you would afford your vassals and would now negotiate their release from your service.”

The room settles back into a hall of stone.  “Interloper,” the Countess accuses, “you have no grounds on which to negotiate.  Carter was one of mine when still Nameless and accepted the offer to become a changeling with full knowledge of and agreement to the terms that would come after.  Whether or not he still remembers that agreement is immaterial.”

“Contracts made before a change in Name are not binding except between the Name’s new and original owners, and you were merely a middleman in that exchange.  Elsewise you would not require a renewal of oaths.”

“You argue semantics of the general where it is the spirit of the specific that matters.  Changeling contracts are always between intermediaries for neither the unreal Nameless nor the unborn Named are fit to negotiate.  This contract was made and fulfilled in accordance with custom.  All services to the blood father of the prior Name-holder were rendered as contractually agreed upon and fairy was swapped for child as payment rendered.”

Ashan puts one of the practiced smiles he copied from his mentor; the narrowing of eyes and lopsided upturn of the lips that lets an opponent know they have just walked into a trap.  He never was able to muster the emotion she put behind it, but it remained an effective tool of intimidation and unbalancing provocation whether applied hot or cold.

“You would invoke the spirit of tradition, but this contract violated even that.  You failed to account for the realities of modern anchor world humans.  The exchange of child for changeling as a valid price is predicated on the bond between parent and child, but no such bond existed between the contract holder and child in this case.  This so-called blood father was a mere anonymous donor of seed who met neither mother, child, nor changeling.  It is doubtful he was ever even aware of the stolen child’s existence and certainly had no part in the bestowing of a Name.”

The audience hall shrinks down claustrophobically close.  Peeling wallpaper faded to gray surrounds the empty and dust-covered royal nursery.  The petulant Heir of Curses and Dust pouts from atop a pile of broken toys.

“That doesn’t matter,” they insist.

“Does it not?  You were tricked into providing your curses to a human for free and in the process inflicted harm upon an uninvolved third party.  That Name was not sold but stolen and was given to the changeling on false pretenses.”

“Liar!”

“If you truly thought I was such, you would not be wearing that face.”

The Count of Curses and Dust regains his composure and returns to being an old man on a throne of roots.  The moths return to resume their eternal feast on his regalia.

“All of this is beside the point,” the Count says with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “By my station, it is well within my rights to compel any courtless fairy whose Name I have command over into my service.”

“Then let us make a bargain,” Ashan suggests.  “What is your price for leaving Tam Lin whom you call Carter and their friends and loved ones alone in perpetuity?”

The Count stares into Ashan’s eyes for a long moment and once again the young wizard feels an alien touch brush against the edge of his consciousness.  This time the Count’s will does not seek ingress but instead traces the outermost border.  An assessment of general shape if not interior contents.  Twice Lacuna’s charm grows warm and twice the presence momentarily retreats before returning more cautiously.  On the third time the Count breaks the silence.

“You would deny me the return of a changeling whose Name I bargained for, so it is only fair that I receive the means to create another in return.”

“My Name is not for sale.”

“Neither of them?  You have two, do you not?  One you wear now and one you have all but abandoned since childhood.  A childhood name for a new changeling child would be most fitting indeed.”

“My Name is not for sale.”

“Are you sure?  I would think I would be doing you a favor to unburden you from it.  I can tell that all the recent times you’ve worn it have been marked by loss and longing.  Wouldn’t it be better to let that pain go?  To allow yourself to be fully the you that you are now?”  The Count leans forward with a smile that is kindly at first glance.  “Think about those loved ones you wish you could be with but cannot bring yourself to embody that old Name like you would need to.  They could have the you that they remember back and the you that you are now could finally move on.  You would be doing them a kindness.”

“My Name…” Ashan hesitates.  It would be a kindness.  As he is now, he cannot possibly hope to return to his parents without causing more pain than healing.  But a changeling with his old Name unburdened by everything he has been through?  A fae liege of the Count’s power could probably even alter memories and spin a story well enough to avoid a Masquerade breach.  Without that wounded Name, perhaps he could even find it within himself to forgive Aliana and they could travel together again the way things were.  Maybe he could even talk her into joining with Road and working with his new friends.

Maybe…

*******

“Maybe we’re wrong,” Eris said to Ashan the night after their mission with the vampire crypt beneath a suburban basement.  Hot drinks late at night in the office’s kitchen had become something of a post-mission ritual between the two of them.  At least when the two of them were both well enough to stand.

“Wrong about what?” Ashan asked.

“About family.  Love.  Broken bonds.  All that stuff.”

“I am not sure I follow.  Perhaps having been drained of blood is still affecting your cognition.”

“Eh, I’m mostly fine.  What I’m saying is the Masquerade's done a number on both of us.  You feel like you can’t go home after running away and my parents straight up disowned me after I came home covered in blood I couldn’t explain one too many times.  But maybe we’re wrong about not being able to go back.”

“That is highly doubtful.”

“Doubtful, but not impossible.  Look, let’s make a deal.  If you ever change your mind and decide to try talking to your family again, I’ll go with you to support you and back up whatever you decide to tell them.  Masquerade cover story or the truth, doesn’t matter.  Then after, we’ll go see my folks.  If it works out, then great, and if not, at least we tried and we’ll still have friends here to come back to.  So, what do you say?”

“I say that blood loss and blunt force trauma are impairing your judgment, and even if I were to accept your deal I would not change my mind on this matter.   But…”

“Buuuuut…?” 

“Maybe I am wrong.”

*******

“My Name is not for sale,” Ashan says for the third time to the Count of Curses and Dust within his wilted forest glade.

“So be it,” the Countess of Curses and Dust proclaims, her voice echoing throughout her gloomy stone audience hall.  “In that case, let us balance the deal with a more finite service in exchange for the denial of a servant.  A favor of my choosing to be decided upon and called in at a later date, as is the most traditional price of contract between fairy and mortal.”

Ashan imagines the way Aliana would laugh off such an offer but chooses not to mimic it.  “Do you think me naïve?  Once again you invoke tradition, but this is a tradition that any knowledgeable mortal would know to avoid.”

“Then this negotiation is at an end, for you have nothing else to offer me.  If you will not offer me your lesser Name, then you would certainly not part with your far greater one, and if you would refuse a single favor then I cannot hope to extract any other oath of service from you.”

“I have access to the library of the sorceress Bridgewood,” Ashan proposes.  Any payment out of the Bridgewood Estate would need to be negotiated with the current Bridgewood of course, but this fae lord does not need to know that.

“So that is why your mind is so hideously warped and sharp to the touch.  Speak that name no further in my presence.  I have never known a more unclean thing with a refusal to return to dust than that sorceress, save for the attack dog she made her consort.  If you claim to be her ally, then we truly have no more to negotiate”

“If you truly put such stock in tradition, then let me make one final offer on behalf of Tam Lin whom you call Carter.  Let us both put forth the prices we would otherwise be unwilling to pay as stakes on a wager.  My aforementioned request for noninterference against your request for a future favor.”

“The favor, and your childhood Name.  As the price of mentioning that hated sorceress in my home.  What is to be our game?”

Aliana’s way of doing things it is then.  Yet again.  Did she too try and fail to avoid this route time and again before giving in and making it her first option at every occasion?  Unlikely.  She always enjoyed it too much.

“I invoke the rite of trial by combat between appointed champions, to be held on neutral ground.”

*******

Hours later, after extensive negotiations regarding the precise wording of the terms of the duel and subsequent prices the loser must pay, Ashan finds himself standing on one of the few level rooftops in Crossherd’s outskirts.  This far out from the pocket dimension’s heart geometry and geography get strange.  The buildings here were dreamt up to give the impression of an endlessly expansive city skyline, not for use or habitation, so while they look normal enough from a distance upon closer inspection they quickly become nonsensical.  Overlapping windows tilted at odd angles, doors that open up to the outside seven stories in the air, fire escapes that connect to neither windows nor the ground, sometimes even whole buildings intersecting with their interiors leaking into one another and corners erupting from each other’s faces.  The interiors are even worse; where they are not completely hollow facades they are unnavigable mazes of doors that open into flat walls, stairs that recursively loop back on themselves, and floors with no route between them.

This particular rooftop however has become something of a fixed point in the city’s inconstant periphery owing to its repeated use giving it a firm place in the collective consciousness in a certain portion of the city’s residents.  In other words, while Ashan was handling the contract negotiations, he had to send Lacuna out ahead to make sure that no one else was already using the rooftop to violently settle a dispute away from potential collateral damage today.  Or rather, Lacuna sent one of her remote drones which even now hovers on paratech repulsors above the scorched and pitted ring of concrete where the half-formed air conditioning units and ouroboric ductwork has been cleared away to give would be duelists, pit fighters, and blood feuders room to do their work.

Crossherd has ever been a city built on symbolic stereotypes and tropes, and the climactic rooftop showdown is a powerful one.

Ashan’s opponent - the very same hunting beast that had been sent to retrieve Tam Lin for its master - impatiently paces the far side of the rough ring.  Someone has clad the nearly hairless felid in ill-fitting pale gray plate armor and strapped a rusty sword that it has no good way to wield to its back.  If it were not for the anger burning in its too-human eyes every time it glances his way Ashan might pity the poor creature.

Behind their two designated champions, Tam Lin and the Count of Curses and Dust stand witness.  In the Count’s case he is possessing the body of one of the Nameless fairies under his command.  Much like the surrounding buildings, the empty-eyed wretch looks normal enough at a glance but the illusion falls breaks apart and tumbles down into the uncanny valley under scrutiny as if someone described what a human looked like to some skilled alien sculptor who had never seen one in person and thus thought the eye whites and teeth should be the same material and was left to guess as to whether clothes were part of the body or not.  The fact that Tam has been having trouble maintaining human form every time he looks at their distant cousin whose fate they presumably once shared has not escaped Ashan’s notice.

“This is your last chance to put aside this foolishness,” the Count says through his Nameless vessel.  “Call off this farce of a duel Carter and renew your oaths to me.  Do it now and I will not hold this tantrum against you, for you are young and confused.  You do not realize the value of what you are and what you would be with me.”

The emphasis of the Name elicits a scowl from Tam and a growl from the hunting beast.

“That’s not my name anymore, old man!”  Tam shouts back.  “So you can shove your offers.”

“Nonsense,” the Count says.  “You cannot simply create a new Name for yourself.  That is a privilege reserved for mortals, and no matter how much you believe you are one that can never be.”

Ashan tunes out whatever further barbs Tam has to exchange with his erstwhile and would-be master.  He slides his wand into his hand and takes a stance, already envisioning the anchor points from which he will draw his conjurations.  He focuses on the hunting beast, the way it moves, the range of motion of its joints, the places where the armor hangs loose.  Which way will it dart once the duel begins?  Can he incapacitate it before it gets the chance to close the distance between them?  Should he open by tying it down with point restraints or start with a loose encapsulation and tighten his grip from there?

No, do not overthink it.  Remember Aliana’s advice: A duel is a dance and he must adjust his rhythm to that of his partner.  He has already avoided the mistake he made with Logos and set the stage in a locale that does not favor his opponent, now all that is left to do is wait for the signal.

Somewhere in Crossherd’s heart, a clocktower bell tolls the changing of the hour.

The hunting beast lurches forward, then to the left, then to the right.  It leaps with claws out and fangs bared.

Five fingers on one hand point to five points on the rooftop.  The hand makes a fist and five threads tie themselves to four limbs and a neck.  A wrist twists and the threads pull tight enough to keep claws from reaching throat.  The fist falls and the hunting beast is dragged crashing down to the concrete.  A wand draws a circle in the air and a shimmering disk appears.  The wand slashes downward and the disk falls onto the hunting beast pressing it further into the rooftop until the conjuration molds to its target’s shape, sealing off any struggle.

The duel is over before it begins.

But then the threads go slack and the disk goes flush with the concrete below.  

The hunting beast is gone but for a shimmering emerald haze.

Ashan spins a glass cocoon around himself just in time to block the claws seeking to tear out his spine.  The hunting beast disappears once more from behind him and then reappears to his left.  Then to his right.  From behind again.  In front of him where the prior conjurations have since dissipated.  Each time it reappears it strikes at Ashan’s conjured barrier, probing for weaknesses and finding none, then disappearing again in a cloud of green.

Ashan holds steady and examines his foe’s movements for a way to counter them.  The delay between reappearances rules out true teleportation.  No sign of active cloaking magic or illusions, so probably not invisibility.  No active magic signatures at all save for a fraction of a second when the green haze appears.  A phase shift then, or possibly stepping in and out of its master’s demesne.  Either way, he can work with that.

He pushes outward on his translucent cocoon, turning it into a tight bubble just big enough for him to properly move his arms and legs, but too small to fit both him and the hunting beast lest it try to reappear inside the barrier.  Bending down, he begins drawing the first of a sequence of glistening symbols on the ground to turn the surrounding area into a planar-locked ward.

“Arise, my servant!” the Count’s name echoes across the rooftop.  “Be not a savage beast, but my noble knight!  Become my Champion of Curses and Dust!”

Bone cracks, pops, and knits back together.  Skin stretches, tears, and heals.  The armored hunting beast stands upright on its still-feline hind legs and hisses through its muzzle protruding from beneath its helmet.  It reaches a forepaw-now-hand behind its back and unslings the rusty sword.

The Champion of Curses and Dust charges Ashan once more.  The wizard speeds up his drawing of the ward and begins the chant for the spell to activate it.  The air inside Ashan’s bubble grows cold and frost covers the ground.  The sigils flash.  The spell completes.  No more teleporting to worry about.

When the rusty sword makes contact with the conjured barrier it passes right through, melting a hole that causes the rest of the conjuration to unravel.  Ashan barely manages to spring backwards in time to keep from being impaled.  Instead the rusty sword cuts through the ward’s central sigils and into the concrete beneath.  

Staggered as he is by the dual backlash of two actively maintained spells being violently disrupted, Ashan fails to press the opportunity presented by his opponent’s blade getting lodged in the rooftop.  As the Champion of Curses and dust works the sword back and forth the concrete cracks and crumbles with a century of erosion passing in the blink of an eye.  When the sword is at last prised free, a hole in the rooftop the size of a grown man’s torso collapses into the room below, exposing rusted pipeworks and corroded wiring.

With the ward destroyed before it even got a chance to do anything the Champion disappears into green haze once more.  By reflex, Ashan throws a hand behind himself to conjure a shield in anticipation of the next strike before realizing his mistake.  He jumps to the right quickly enough to dodge the worst of the blade’s path when it reappears and once again passes through his barrier as if it were nothing, but the tip of the rusty sword manages to clip the edge of his arm, just above the wrist.  The wound itself heals before blood can be spilled but his hand grows old and wrinkled before his eyes and he can feel the same happening to his arm beneath his sleeve.  Arthritic pains flare up from his fingers to his elbow as joints seize and grow stiff, forcing a strained gasp from the otherwise young wizard’s lips.

A twist of his heel sends Ashan spiraling into the air to gain distance from his attacker but the corkscrewing conjuration propelling him is cut down, disrupting his trajectory and crashing him into one of the remaining air conditioning units halfway across the rooftop.  He rolls to his feet but still finds himself on the back foot with precious little to do but avoid and evade.  Bereft of his usual kinetic barriers he resorts to retooling his technique to conjure streams of fire, wind, and lightning, but even those do little to deter an opponent that can effortlessly shift in and out of this plane of existence, and is an inefficient enough power draw that his breath quickly stings his lungs from the cold air.  

All in all, it is nearly as bad as trying to fight Eris when she is wearing those dispelling gloves of hers, a sparring setup that Ashan is yet to emerge victorious from in their regular matches between missions.  

A memory flickers in the back of Ashan’s mind of waking from unconsciousness when his mentor thought a monster had just killed him.  In her cold fury she had filled the cave with conjured wires and floating shards of glass.  The monster’s own weight had forced it through the deadly web like so much cheese over a grater.  And then his mentor had set the wires and shards in motion and it became more like meat through a grinder.  The sight had given the young Ashan nightmares for weeks afterward, but maybe if he could now duplicate the technique at a lesser scale to merely injure…

Ashan begins to envision and draw the net of monomolecular wires and spinning blades around him for his opponent to cut itself on but hesitates just short of funneling in the energy to make them a reality.  Unfortunately, a lifetime of being careful to never kill nor maim with power that could easily do both deeply ingrains inhibitions that are not so easily overcome.  That hesitation very nearly costs him the use of his other arm.  Fortunately, a lifetime of training for blows coming from the periphery of vision ingrains reflexes that are not so easily overcome.

Another burst of flame buys him some breathing room at the cost of a chill seeping into his bones.  If only he could buy himself a moment to draw another planar ward.  If only that sword could be taken out of the picture.  If only the Count of Curses and Dust hadn’t transformed his Champion mid-fight.

If only…

Gods take him for a fool.

“I call foul play and outside interference,” Ashan manages to say between dodging sword strokes.  “By the agreed terms of the duel you must either forfeit or allow a counterbalancing interference.”

“Counterbalance accepted,” the Champion of Curse and Dust laughs from the mouths of Nameless servant and hunting beast simultaneously.  “Let us see what my wayward changeling can do to earn his freedom.”

Ashan locks eyes with the frightened Tam Lin watching from the sidelines and shakes his head.  No need for them to act.  They are not Ashan’s only ally present to act as witness and second.

“Lacuna!” Ashan shouts.

“Already on it!” her voice calls back from the hovering drone above.

The projector mounted on the underside of the drone flickers on and shines a ritual circle down onto the rooftop in the center of the designated arena.  The shifting glyphs spiral into a nauseating self-recursive mess that makes the incomprehensible guts of the building beneath seem logical by comparison.  The drone’s speakers begin screeching an ear-piercing white noise and the accelerated, computer-generated ritual begins.

The second sight of a well-trained wizard and the sensory organs of a beast tailor made to hunt prey across dimensions are sensitive things capable of picking up on the subtle shifts, folds, stains, and cuts in the fabric of reality that make up what is known as “magic”.  Whatever Lacuna is doing is anything but subtle.  From the sensation of hooks digging into his skin and intestinal lining, Ashan would guess that it is meant to be a combination of planar lock and teleportation anchor kicked up to a degree that would be overkill for anything short of a demigod or one of the eldritch.  Or perhaps a fae liege.  Even without that, the sudden chaotic mess of metaphysical noise is enough to set him clutching his head and retching out his breakfast.  Blurry glimpses through tear-filled eyes suggest that neither Nameless vessel of the Count/Champion of Curses and Dust are faring any better.  Tam Lin however seems unaffected and comfortably human once again.

Having experienced a few of Lacuna’s abominable rituals before - although none nearly this horrific - Ashan is the first to recover.  A flick of his wand is all that it takes to wrench the rusty sword from his howling opponent’s grip.  By the time the Champion of Curses and Dust is back on its feet, Ashan has already conjured chains linked to each plate of its armor.  He stabs his wand forward then pulls it back and the chains strip away the armor in a single motion.  His opponent attempts to disappear but there is no green haze to vanish into, only the pain in its gut and the noise in its bones as it drops back down to all fours.  A simple dome is all it takes to contain it to the point of being unable to fight any further.

Ashan staggers over to his trapped opponent.  Doing his best to ignore the wretched droning of Lacuna’s ritual he asks, “Do you yield?”

The hunting beast in the dome whines.

“I said, do you yield?”

The hunting beast looks up at him with human eyes and whimpers.  Once again Ashan is struck by the similarity of those eyes to Tam’s when they are in human form.

“My champion yields,” the Count of Curses and Dust says through his Nameless servant on the sidelines.  “You have bested us both, now stop that accursed spell.  Not even that hated sorceress would resort to a distortion so vile.”

“Lacuna, please stop,” Ashan says.

The noise, audible and metaphysical, cuts out and the projector goes dark.  The drone drops down to eye level with a flurry of apologies from its speakers.

“Was it really that bad?” Lacuna’s voice asks.  “It took a bit out of me, sure, but I didn’t think it was that far off from standard parameters.”

Ashan merely stares into the drone’s camera at a loss for words.

“I did not know the sorceress had made constructs that could speak and work magic,” says the Count.  “Little wonder such a thing is insane.  As are any who would trust it.  No matter, the duel is done and the contract sealed.”  The Count’s vessel turns to face the approaching Tam.  “Enjoy your freedom, Carter.  Love and lose those mortals you think you can be one of.  And when the pain of outliving everyone -”

“For the last time, old man, that’s not my damn name!” Tam shouts.  “My name is -”

“I introduce to you, Tam Lin,” Lacuna interrupts while maneuvering the drone between them, “whom my friend and ally Ashan Glassheart has acted as champion for today.  Tam and Ashan, for whom this formal introduction serves to prevent the accidental giving away of Names by acknowledgement, you know the rules, don’t blame me, oh goddess that was incredibly rude of me I can’t believe I just said that to a fae lord please forgive me just trying to help just ignore me and forget I exist I’m going now.” 

There is an audible pop of static from a microphone being turned off and the drone rises back into the air.

“A thoroughly insane construct,” the Count mutters before turning his attention to the still-recovering hunting beast.  “Enough of this.  We depart.  Now.”

“I’m not done yet!” Tam says.  “Yes, that’s my Name.  The one I chose for myself.  Because ‘Carter’ was never my Name.” They turn to address the hunting beast.  It’s yours, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you dare,” the Count threatens.

Tam ignores him and kneels down eye to eye with the fallen beast and touches hand to shoulder.

“I return to you the Name of Carter, which was wrongfully stolen and passed into my care.  I return it to you, its rightful owner.  I return this Name to to you, Carter, my brother.”

This time the shifting of Carter’s form to a more human one is smoother, not wood being hacked apart and nailed back together but water poured into a new container.  When the transformation is done the two fall into a tearful embrace.  Hoarse “thank you”s choke out between sobs from a throat that has never been allowed to make its own words but now knows how thanks to the experience of a well-used Name.  Carter’s nails and canine teeth are still a little too sharp, his body's muscles still bulge from years of hunting prey, and the vestige of a tail still protrudes from the remaining cloth scraps of underarmor, but otherwise he could very likely pass for being fully human with minimal effort.  He and Tam could even pass for twins who just happened to take very different paths in life.

It occurs to Ashan that that is exactly what the two of them are.

“Remember,” the wizard says to the Count, “the terms of the contract include non-interference towards family as well, and non-retaliation towards the winning participant or participants of the duel.” 

The Seventeen-Named Count(ess) of Curses and Dust scoffs and its/his/her/their/faer Nameless vessel steps behind the breeze to depart without further comment.

“So, now what?” Tam asks.  They and Carter both look towards Ashan expectantly.  The fear of the unknown future for a life that has just been turned upside down thrice over is already beginning to creep into their relief at their ordeal being over.

“Now, we return to the Lonely Walk Outreach Agency.  We have multiple guest beds there where you may spend the night in safety.  When our leader, Road, returns they will be able to help the both of you find a way to return to the life that was stolen from you.  Or to help you find a new one Backstage now that you are in the know.  Balancing the two is always difficult, but it is also an option.”

The new twins nervously nod in unison.

What would Aliana say here?  Better yet, what would Road say?

“Not that either of you need to worry about any of that just yet,” Ashan says with a nearly genuine smile of reassurance.  “You have both had a long day and deserve to rest.  Tam, you have handled the sudden revelation of the existence of the supernatural as well as anyone ever has.  You should be proud.  Carter, while I hope you never have to do so again, you fought well today and I am honored to have faced you.  May that strength keep you safe in the future.  Now then,” Ashan looks around to hide his sudden embarrassment with the act of searching, “let us find a way down from this rooftop.”

“Hey,” Lacuna’s voice says directly into Ashan’s ear through the comm piece he forgot he was still wearing, “you did good too today.  The real hero here.”

“Thank you,” Ashan whispers back.  He conjures a platform to take him and the new twins down to the ground and suppresses a shiver.

“You’re welcome.  And sorry if this is weird to say, but if you ever want to talk about whatever that was with you having two Names, I’m here for you.  I don’t think it’s quite the same thing, but I’ve got some experience with that.”

“I will keep that in mind.  Thank you, my friend.”

No, it is not the same, not nearly.  But a friend’s experiences need not be identical to share a burden.  And who knows, Ashan considers while looking at Tam and Carter already smiling with wonder and comparing memories of mothers that only one of them has met in the flesh, perhaps a change in Name and a foot Backstage need not be the end of everything.

Maybe he is wrong.

Today is not the day to find out though.

He has plenty of time.

Maybe one day he will be ready to find out for himself.

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[ladyazulina]

August 4th

This day was... unexpected in a lot of senses, but I did what I wanted (as my goal), so everything is okay anyway.

I'm noticing I'm not only talking about my writing in those posts and don't know how to feel about that, maybe I should restrain myself and keep on topic or something... I will see.

I... canceled my stream this morning, just two minutes after I started it. The day was... not being kind to me, a lot of weird things happening at the same time, so I also... didn't write early. Mostly because of that.

I decided I wasn't in the mood.

So I passed the morning trying to rewatch Hamilton (trying because the internet was being a devil and the movie stopped every thirty seconds or something like that... for three hours, bless me for continuing trying for that long), Dear Theodosia was suddenly stuck in my head and hearing the song on Youtube wasn't enough.

And after that, how I was set on watching another musical I haven't been able to and wanted since a while ago, I continued with Tick, tick... BOOM!

It was good... I have to watch Rent now.

I have to see all the musicals I ever wanted now, before my hearing gets worse and they became too loud and painful to watch. (I put them on hold because I bought an accessory that let me hear the sounds directly in the hearing aids, but one of my hearing aids started faulting, and I wasn't going to hear anything that way while only wearing one.)

SO! I decided it was time to get to work. My goal of the outline in a month won't go anywhere if I don't sit to make it happen, right?

So I sat to make it happen.

I finished eight of these to reach ten

and also got some essences that let me finish some quests.

But I had a few more words to chime in, so I decided to go against three of these

because I need lots of wood for another quest.

In word count language (?)

Worked in: Microstory. Words written: 23.

I surprised myself adding a new microstory to my second collection (you can find the link to the first collection here), after transcribing a nine-word microstory I wrote before going to sleep.

I also wrote

Worked in: This post. Words written: 161.

which I feel a bit ashamed to be sharing this way. It has no hashtags because I kinda don't want anyone finding it just because and because I don't feel like airing it around (looking for ways to get traction) on the posts with my raw feelings. Yeah, I felt a lot better after feeling validated, and I would love to connect with other people feeling like me, but I found it... wrong to voice it out in the first place to also... format it in a way that makes my voice be spread. I don't know if I am making myself understood.

Sigh.

Anyway, I also

Worked in: AngelDemon. Words written: 1.259.

The outline of the fourth chapter is ready and things are already getting heated there. I'm writing down everything that occurs to me and trying to find answers to the questions even if it's not there where they will be answered. I can't rely on myself to remember it later. So better safe than sorry.

I just remembered I wanted to share a snippet of that old work, I think from the second chapter, but I will do it later when I start rewriting. I think it's still good and still holds a lot of meaning, but it won't be kept, at least not phrased that way, so if I'm going to change it, I can as well share it.

What I will share about it right now is that the demon fell first, but the angel fell harder.

Okay, nothing more to see here except the summary:

Total words: 1.443. Lower daily goal: 100 ✅ Higher daily goal: 300 ✅ 4thewords goal: 444 ✅

And there were days when I wasn't even able to write 100 words... they feel so far away...

Should I be saying that? Not going to be that I'm jinxing myself here...

Tagging: @aziz-reads