#inspired by conversation with @even-in-arcadia!

[rui-nova]

Tragedy at an Impasse: The Terror, Hope, and Loss

Or a series of digressions about the story's themes of hope and some of its manifestations.

Once upon a time, a Greek chorus would sing upon a spectacle, and before then, and ever after, tragedy would fascinate us, because it would call to our familiars, because we, too, live with regrets, on a stage with little control over our fate, where we are nonetheless festering hope, a speck of something unattainable, a longing for what we may have once dreamt as familiar, as safe, as right.

There is no chorus in The Terror, its music is haunting, quiet, and acute. Like a good tragedy, its beginning already spells its doomed end, but its theme is silence. How then, should one replace the chorus, how can one call for fear and mercy, which muse should sing for them, rotten as they are, lonesome as some vowed to be? Its characters are left bare, but few of the self can be recognised through their exposed thinning flesh and frail whimpering. They are no geodes, expecting to be broken, to reveal a truth only their God would lay claim upon 一they’re Heraclitus’ paradigm of the shifting river, Theseus’ ship, and they are gone. Dead, and gone.

They are a graveyard of hope, with no bones to be buried. It begets grief and resistance, in their path laden with loss and futileness. The Terror is a tale of hubris and loss, of unfairness upon silence, of humanity bereft of it. Hope, too, is bereft of itself —but it does not die until they all do.

I. Devotion

On occasion, the characters pour hope into their devotion. After all, the men of Erebus and Terror cling mostly to the way of the lands they leave behind.

Far from the waylay ships and their forsaken fates, they hang on to the faith of their merciful God, whose scripture should stand above all laws of men. Here? There is no place for the divine. Not for them. The land, they soon see as godless, as it is put under prejudice, as they try to conquer that which is not theirs; soon it is godless, as human law and debauchery attack it, and thus God cannot love them. Their faith, and thus their hope, cannot reach him, if he is there.

Forsaken, what is God to them? He who loves them not, and in whose stead Fitzjames raises Sir John first, then Crozier?

Like Irving, the men who know the gospel in their hearts doubt and suffer, but they find contentment in that divine law, in its order. That God would not grant them ghosts. There is no more content soul than that of the most pious devout, and that of those who deny religion and gladly accept it in their heart. To Irving, faith was enough, as he upheld 'propriety' at the ships. It was enough, as he trudged atop the ice and the steppes. It bloomed, when hope was granted by chance, as a meeting with the Netsilik, as the goodwill of humanity was rekindled before his eyes. Freezing, devoted, doggish Saint Bernard that he was, it is still known: tragedy fancies not a mercy to devotion, to faith.

God-fearing Franklin and David Young cling to faith, when they feel their passing near.  Perhaps, convinced by Goodsir, Young would fashion himself a more fortunate Icarus, even when his wings he did not will himself; why would he not wish to be anything other than a canary in a coal mine, after all? Perhaps, Sir John fashioned himself a Robinson Crusoe, that God would say to them that “As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you” (Joshua 1:5). Perhaps, but God is not there for them.

Even then, when Goodsir claims it does not matter if God is with them, it matters to some, it matters to Hodgson, and Fitzjames, who gnaw onto its hope and meaning for salvation, for legitimation. Hodgson equates the Holy Communion to human consumption, he incarnates the horror that Dante appealed to with Count Ugolino and his purposely ambiguous verses, and he hopes, or rather wishes he hoped, that this faith will preserve his humanity, as the body of Christ preserves life, because he is hungry, and he wants to live. Fitzjames, in its stead, plays his subtle counterpart, he plays Ugolino’s sons, he pleads to give back to those who believed his performance more than he did, and he cries, to Crozier, who ‘loves the men more than God does’, “Father, much less pain ’twill give us / If thou do eat of us; thyself didst clothe us / With this poor flesh, and do thou strip it off. / Then hunger did what sorrow could not do” (Canto XXXIII, Inferno). Indeed, he is not Christ, but his body he will offer.

Hope, thus, is named faith, in the name of Christ, the son of the absent God, ripped apart like a Dionysos by men hungry for his love, when hunger did what sorrow could not.

II. Consumption

Could we say, then, that hope is consumption, in the human need of possession, the desire of life?

The crews find little wonder in this place. They wonder only of below, of forward, by Franklin's ghost. Life can bloom, one can find beauty in Nunavut, Goodsir learns, and Silna mourns, but the other sentenced men see only a barren land. The hollow land, for hollow men. 

Hope turns some to forbidden consumption, to harvest corpses for the life that does not bloom in them, and it is both the epitome of Arendt’s banality of evil, that “wholly unexceptional complacency” (Eichmann in Jerusalem) that waltzes into horror, and an act of fear and unrequited understanding, unrequited love.

It is said that “incorporating what you love is a sure way of seeing that it never escapes from you” (Crain, 1994). It is no wonder that he who has nothing would want to consume everything.

Rat, vulture, prophet, devil, monster, chosen, no one, ‘Hickey’ 一neither of which he is. Few understand hope as Hickey does. Hope is whatever one makes of a bad situation. Hope is survival, and “survival is a nasty piece of business. But we do what we have to do.” There is no troubled complaisance, because this force of life, this meaning, is owed to the possession of something, anything; it is feeding from the possibility of having a place and a meaning in the great scheme of it all. 

This curse may leave them loveless, may leave them unconsumed by the recognition of the other through their ever-decaying humanity, but Hickey opens the door to hope through consumption. No more would they be shown “fear in a handful of dust” (The Wasteland: The Burial of the Dead, TS Eliot), but rather, a new life from it: a utilitarian Noah's ark of mutineers. Or the attempt of it.

Because Hickey scraps from meat and its ornaments, he dresses in that which the world knows he is not, in the boots of a man who must stand to the view of all or believe himself no one at all, in the coat of a subservient man who forced him to expose himself for the 'godly' concern of ‘dirtiness’ —but Hickey is no Dr. Jekyll. He is both sinner and sufferer, but cannot conjure a Mr. Hyde. He cannot become someone else, someone born with different circumstances, someone beyond tragedy.

But hopeful, of his powerful change of fortune, he must have felt. Hopeful that the intimacy of anthropophagy and lust —and perhaps even love— would fill him as they should, that he would be seen and loved by a place through which he only works if it is to mingle with the dead… but this place, this barren, hollow, wasted land that they have made, cannot love them back. It cannot love Hickey back, no matter how much he hopes so.

III. Legitimacy

Hope is born out of recognition, a yearning that could not be wholly unreal, that there may be no certainty, but still a possibility of that desire, and a strength to see it through. As such, hope calls for an act of mercy, in repentance and debt, a hope for meaning and order; hope longs for foresight, as it guides the defeatist soothsayers to silent survival.

Mercy demands a hierarchy, a higher power and a higher moral, and what claim do these downtrodden souls have on such exercise? What right have they, to instil upon their lot the pretence of order they left back on their homes? What legitimacy have they to cry for Lazarus, his grave either sealed or in the making?

If hope is survival, if hope is in the rightness of humanity, and the purity of the flesh, it gives, that the physicians would dare all they did, a vow to knowledge, a vow to wellness ーthe burden of mercy. It is telling, then, that Stanley and Goodsir’s sentence is set from their very own sickened flesh, when their soul can no longer be contained, when it cannot bear to heal what is thought lost. Song is lost, through Morfin, and so is fellowship, through Collins, and truly, what remains of man by then?

Soon, they will be husks, there is no other end to life and their sentences. Three roads stand before them: they may seize all banal struggle, end it here before hope eats itself; they may push forward, wait for someone to take up the torch while they impossibly keep its fire alive; they may also cut expenses, maximise the chances of the fortunate few. Le Vesconte chooses the latter, to Little's dismay, but truly, nothing is fair where they are. The ill shall die alone, but they, too, already are "dead and gone", and damn it all ーthey still hope to live.

Theirs is an act of love, a hope that their mercy might make it right, but, ultimately, they are no God, and they cannot command the choice of their men. They cannot play Abraham nor the shepherds, because they are Cain, indeed, their brethren’s keepers, and the death they plan is also the death they hope to inflict upon the lead and the fear that is slowly sentencing them.

This is a truth that they know all too well, but few more than Silna and Crozier do, soothsayers, voice in the wilderness, shamans that they are. They have the certainty, and they suffer the curse of Tiresias and Cassandra, of an Orpheus who shall see his darlings leave when he remains, and whose cries shall be for naught but a sad song with no words. 

And Crozier shall drown in the alcohol and the visions of a David who will be thrown to the lion's den and survive it, yet he will long for that spiteful hierarchy of patronising mercy, in the mistrust born from others’ devaluation of him —but Silna shall be a symbol of the suffering that colonial enterprises inflict upon the innocent. She shall bite that “We were never meant to survive” (A Litany for Survival, Audre Lorde), but why would they not leave, why would they not let her bury her father, force her to play Antigone? Why are they tying her down with them, making her Lady Silence? And, to Crozier, “Why do you want to die?” Why— why would he kill hope, why would they make her home a boneyard?

And, far removed from who they were, exiled from their homes, both shall inflict a silence upon their legacy, and enact the aftermath of that hope. 

IV. Hope

What value does hope have, if this is an inked and parched tragedy? What goodness is it, when loss is assured, faith is unheard, consumption fills no well, and mercy is not merciful at all?

Most died, and there were innocents back in the graveyards they left behind, as there were innocents in Sodom and Gomorra. Faith and trust are gone, and so is warmth, while love is frail. Hope is at odds with itself, it is both a noble promise and a delusion, and it is the trembling gun that points not to the narrative’s back, but to its chest, cold, heavy, knowing, undoing. That particular gun should fire, it would be right, but a certain lieutenant wavers, does not pull the trigger, because he hoped— He hoped it did not have to be like this.

A question is thrown to the skies, from sore, tender hearts: “Why?”

The veterans remember well, ‘why’. Before their minds were touched by darkness, “it wasn't sickness or hunger that mattered most to our chances.” Instead, as Mr. Blanky relates, “what little love we had amongst us was the only thing keeping us civil”, and Blanky speaks not only of the story of Fury Beach, but also of their very fates.

If hope is to be the compulsion to bite the hand that feeds, to split its head open with a boat axe —if hope is to be a stronger faith in the others, or the self, than on living on, then so be it.

To hope against hope, in the face of silence, of loss, is worthwhile, and it is allowed, Blanky proves, as he discovers both the Passage and Tuunbaq by his own, lonely path. Then, hope needn’t be of survival, it needn’t be of a cleansed state of naïve, optimistic utopia. Ephemeral as life is granted to humanity, I’d dare say we are allowed this, to hope not only in spite —but because of death.

Because of death, the Netsilik family that feeds Irving matters —because of it, the efforts Lady Jane pursues back in England matter —because of it, Collins, Hartnell, and Tozer’s care for their fellows matters so, even as it leads them straight to their death.

Because hope is restless, and it cares little for tragedy when tragedy cares so much for it, it lives on, and it instils upon the bystander the chance of that bittersweet, wonderful catharsis.

Hope punishes Jopson, due to a frenzied servitude and loyalty that is paid in the botulism-induced disbelief of abandonment, but it pushes him forward, too, closer to the open than to the living dead the tents guard; hope chokes Little through angry chains and a last command, it reduces him to puppetry, but it pushes him to a subtle integrity few are allowed, and something must remain at the very end, to ask ‘Close?’, and thus hope for an answer, if it mattered, in the end; hope tells Bridgens love is what life is worth being alive for, and he’ll want for nothing else when Peglar’s gone, but he guards the pocket-book to his waist, he keeps his lover's words close, closer than his own, and he hopes not to die an empty book.

Crozier speaks without a waver, through words that haunt The Terror till its very end. That “‘close’ is nothing. It’s worse than nothing. It’s worse than anything in the world.” This is a tragedy, there is no happy ending. But ‘close’ does have a meaning. ‘Close’ means ‘hope’, and hope is the remnant in Pandora's jar, to which they were so close. Hope is what made them, once upon a time, alive, and hope is why it hurts.

If you reached the end, this is an invitation to talk about the hyperfixation together 🤝

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Poets and Painters (Golden Dawn Part 2) - Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss. Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Scheming brothers. Brief miscommunications. Mutual pining? 👀 Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet.

Word-count: 6,743

It did not take little Mir long to find several samples of art and poetry to share with the cluster of curious on-lookers that have grown around her sister while she prepares bundles of incense and dried flowers. Petals and dried leaves are taken in clusters of twenty-seven before being tied tightly with twine, and carefully passed over the fire to the individual by name. Among the first bundles she gives, one is offered to Plo Koon, who has joined you since Mir had to ask for Solladara’s help in finding a particular piece of poetry and it interrupted their discussion. 

“This is for you, Plo Koon.” 

“That is kind of you. Thank you, young Gi.” the Jedi professes his thanks once he’s able to extract one of his occupied hands, more of the Chossi children than before sitting around him or in his lap, now. He has nowhere to put it, for the time being, so while you’re busy reading some of the poetry Mir found, Commander Wolffe takes his general’s bundle of incense and finds a place for it in one of the many compartments in his utility belt. 

The Basic that’s carved into thin sheets of bark may be slightly broken and disjointed, but the verbal painting performed here is no less incredible. So… is it really the doing of the Dinocaeruleus anthos that everyone’s been so… inspired? The mere pollen in the air, where that pleasant and faintly familiar smell has followed you all day long, is responsible for all this?

All the sketches, the thoughtful conversations you’ve had today, even the thoughts you’ve been having about the commander, that could all be the influence of the pollen? You’re not sure how you feel about that. Stars above, you live in such a strange galaxy…

“It will only be effective for those who reach maturity.” Mir’s older sister explains to her curious onlookers and those fielding questions, like Tack, preparing a new incense bundle that will be given to you to take back to the Jedi cruiser. “To those who have not reached maturity, like Mir, the pollen and petal incense will only smell sweet.”

Beside you, you hear Tack now quietly mourning that it will only ever smell nice for poor Orchid under his breath. Orchid snarls back at him to shut up, saying that that was a cheap shot. He can be plenty mature! He is so fuckin' mature, thank you! 

“If you're talking about your language and your choice of reading material, sure… Now pipe down, both of you. Don't be rude to Gi!” Suds mutters, wagging his head disapprovingly of both brothers’ behaviors. “Sorry about them…” 

Gi offers only an impish smile, finding humor in the brothers’ bickering. “It won't work for Mir. But, it would work for you, Arcadia, and Wolffe.” she adds with a nod, offering him his own bundle of anthos incense. “I will make some for your brothers, too. If they are interested.”

“That’s very kind of you, Gi.” Wolffe answers as he pockets his own bundle beside General Plo’s, nodding to show his gratitude for the generosity of your hosts here. The members of their community that were once cold and standoffish before to the battalion have since thawed out some more, making further offers to show elements of their culture, their homeland here with you as off-worlders. 

We’re all just the universe trying to make sense of itself. Shouldn’t that be enough to unify us? Wouldn’t it be nice if that was all it took? 

No. Unfortunately the galaxy was just far too vast for that optimism, that sweet naivete. It would never be enough to settle the differences in Republic or Separatist opinion. 

It would never be enough to bring back Wolffe’s lost brothers, either.

Brothers he forever carries in his heart no matter if he knew them in maroon or gray. Five hundred seventy-four brothers were lost in the Battle of Abregado. As was the original Triumphant: the new flagship is unofficially filed as the Triumphant II, for the time being. If only you had the appropriate leverage to do it (or maybe you talked to enough of his brothers to rally them around the idea) you would propose Resiliency for the Star Destroyer’s new name to honor Commander Wolffe’s inspiring refusal to be deterred from his service, his duty, his creed of brotherhood and loyalty. 

It’s a lovely thought anyway.

One for another time. There’s still so much to do tonight. Gi’s still making bundles of incense for members of the Wolfpack, but there’s been offerings from the Chossi to show more of their homeland, and what they accomplish under the light of the moon as a nocturnal culture. Children Mir’s age are willing to share star stories, naming various constellations you can see when you look in the gaps of the leafy canopy of their community homes. (They’re calling it star-sowing, which sounds adorable.) Children Gi’s age have simple chores to do, and several of Wolffe’s men offer their hands in aid. 

Already, a few have assembled themselves in groups, rather like the squads they’re familiar with, and are ready to “report” to the youth of the Chossi. One rookie admits he doesn’t know what ground-squash looks like, but he’s willing to help with harvesting the ripe ones. They’ve spent all day relaxing. And though they spend more days than not getting their hands dirty, it’s from things like droid oil, and soot, oftentimes blood. Getting a bit of dirt on their hands while digging through a communal vegetable patch? Yes, that’s technically work on a day their General took them here to relax, but it’s relaxing compared to what they normally do.

“Might be the only time we get to dig holes we don’t have to fill back up.” another soldier says with a shrug, deciding he’ll join in after taking anthos incense from Gi. “Wait up, guys!”

“What did he mean by that?” you ask, half turning to Wolffe after noticing his eyes becoming half-lidded in thought. 

“Graves, most likely.” A stiff shrug is offered, showing he’s not sure himself. “Don’t trouble yourself with it.”

Tack, having eaten his hash-sah fruit while you’d been distracted, butts into the conversation between you and the commander before it grows any more grim. “You really got to try the fruit, Commander; it’s delicious. Arcadia’s should be big enough to share.” He can show you how to eat it, too, since it’s best to hold it by the soft rind, otherwise you’ll end up a bit of a mess like Orchid. 

“Ah shit, got my gloves and damn vambraces all fuckin’ sticky.”

Soapsuds hisses for him to be better. “Cool it, fresher-mouth!” he’s displeased that his brother’s not minding his tongue with so many little ones around. The little girl from earlier he’s given his chocolate to still hasn’t let go, for the most part; he’d rather not have one of his brothers prove a bad influence in her galactic vocabulary. 

You agree to get the large hash-sah fruit from amongst the things in your bag, gingerly extracting it when the flint-gray commander takes note of the time and suggests you need something to eat. If you’d returned to the Jedi cruiser with the rest of the crew, you’d probably have gotten dinner long before now. “Can’t have you going hungry, Arcadia.” Wolffe says, another instance of it being more than a suggestion. 

It’s a veiled request.

Afterwards, perhaps together, you can find something more to do. This time it is a suggestion. 

You figure anything will work, so long as it means he’s not about to start patrolling the perimeter of this community like he had in the clearing. You’ll count it as relaxing if you could get him to at least sit while he frets about his brothers. Especially if the brother within his sight is a shiny, thinking back to how he had asked if you could tell who among them were freshest out of the tube while working on his own sketch. 

Teeth and claws.

You really have to apply a firm grip on the soft rind of the hash-sah fruit in order to keep it from slipping out of your fingers once Tack’s gotten it divided equally between you and the commander, nails biting into the outer shell and leaving deep ruts as the juice runs between your fingers. 

“Stars above, scarcely started and I’m already wet…” you say as it drips into the lap of your uniform, catching the lewd innuendo far too late. “Orchid, don’t even.” 

He gives you a smile, but nothing more. 

“I mean it.” you warn him.

Laughing, Orchid now holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Can I at least ask if you think the fruit’s good?”

The commander's opinion of the local produce comes quietly before you answer his brother. ”It’s not rations.” Neither negative or positive, merely neutral. If he finds it bitter, or sweet, or savory, he doesn’t share. It’s simply not rations. 

“‘Anything’s better than rations’, I know. But is it good, Commander?”

Wolffe gives it a moment of thought. “It’s… like eating sweetened rainwater.” 

It doesn’t make much sense, but no one can figure out a way to argue against his description either. The matter gets chalked up to sitting near the fire for too long where Gi had been hard at work wrapping clusters of twenty-seven petals and leaves of a plant responsible for encouraging a person’s creativity and inspiration. 

It’s the pollen talking, you all reason amongst yourselves.

You and Commander Wolffe part ways for a short time, Plo Koon begging for your forgiveness as he explained (a little vaguely) that Wolffe was needed for something Dara had remembered, something they had forgotten to do around the ceremonial welcoming fire. After you had finished your portion of the hash-sah and cleaned your hands best you’d been able of the juices, someone had been by with more trinkets for the battalion to take with them if they wished. Leather bracelets of sorts with three beads of hammered copper, meant to be worn on the dominant arm. 

That’s when Dara remembered there was something special that was meant to be offered. It’s nothing Wolffe or the Jedi have to take, but as a culture that values their generosity, she and the rest of the elders feel it’s important to at least show it. Best guess anyone has is it’s likely some kind of clothing unique to the planet. Maybe art. 

“It would be impolite to refuse without seeing it first, General.” Wolffe agrees with the Kel Dor after briefly conferring with Kwill for the best course of action. He promises to come find you later. If it’s permitted by the elders, he’ll have Kwill take images of the offering in the event it’s something they feel they can’t (or won’t) take, so you can see it. 

“Don’t worry about me.” you promise, feeling safe between his DeeCee in your belt, and the familiarity in the company of his brothers. Though you are a lamb among so many wolves as a civilian, you couldn’t be safer. “I’ll find something to pass the time, General.”

“Thank you for your understanding, Arcadia.” Plo Koon replies kindly, dipping his head into a respectful bow of thanks. 

You’re not sure if it’s a Jedi thing, or a him thing, but you find yourself mirroring the motion this time. Respect earned, respect returned. 

He and Commander Wolffe shouldn’t be gone terribly long with the elders, so you decide to stay relatively close to where he’d departed from you just for now. Your head feels a little clearer than before, distanced from the incense where those stirring feelings had distracted you before. 

Twilight troubles, named for the harm they can do, could be simultaneously helpful. Funny how there’s so many things like that in this galaxy: good things, even good people, with intimidating names.

You’ve met a few troopers with hard, edgy names, their hearts softer than tooka fur. There’d been no bristle or frigid shoulders from men named Bane or Dukes or even a Bonesaw like your co-workers had warned you to steer clear of, what feels very long ago now, when you were very new to the job. They’d been the ones to help you navigate the durasteel halls while you learned where to go, what your duties were, your first few days. There’d been a Scuffle, too, who helped you, even at great inconvenience to himself. (Curiously, his armor bore some paint in sap green. Had he been transferred from a different unit?) Each had called you a rookie, but it was more of a casual, almost affectionate sort of thing, when they offered you their help. 

Here, sir, helped your lost rookie find their way. Got a little turned around in the halls. (Hey. Don’t worry, Arcadia, you’ll learn your way around in no time.)

Clones look so similar at first glance, a sea of sameness and uniformity. But you know better. These brave men are not wholly made of justs and sameness - a Clone who’s been invited to try his hand at throwing at a foot-pedal pottery wheel may have the same fingerprints as a million other brothers, just another Clone made in the after-image of a dead warrior, but his mark in this galaxy is unique because he is the one who put it there as the iron-rich clay squishes between his fingers in his first attempt. He laughs it off as the Chossi woman showing him how to throw encourages him to try again. 

“Well that’s certainly one way to get a feel for the clay!”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” she chuckles while she helps him start again. 

Trying again, he makes a concentrated effort not to immediately squish and squelch the red earth-matter, experimentally scooping into the mound she’s made to try pulling it outwards, like she showed him. Clones are remarkably fast learners, no matter if the result is a bit messy. Specks of clay plip against his stark white armor after he adds a bit too much water, distracted by Sergeant Boost joining the crowd of on-lookers. 

“Waiting here for the Commander, Arcadia?”

Answering somewhat to the affirmative, you tell him you’re mostly just looking around. “Just watching Lasher at the wheel for now, really.” Lasher’s having a good time, and watching the veteran ceramics at work is kinda mesmerizing. 

While you’re distracted, Sinker sweeps up Orchid, Tack and Soapsuds behind you, urging them to be silent. You’re none the wiser.

“Thinking you might add pottery to your list of talents?” Boost asks, teasing lightly. 

You roll your eyes, a sarcastic lilt in your voice. ��Yeah sure, if I can find somewhere to squeeze it in between all the poetry and painting and woodworking and a thousand other things I’ve ever wanted to try my hands at with my precious free time since I’m just swimming in credits.”

“Hah,” Boost laughs, bobbing his head both knowingly and sympathetically, “Probably a good thing Clones don’t exactly come by much in the way of credits. There’d be too many half-used hobby kits lying around the cruiser.” 

While you’re asking him where Clones do get the credits for things like the popular Clone bar on Coruscant, Sinker is trying to persuade one of his brothers to do something for him to little success. “Please? It can’t be me or Boost.” It needs to be one of the younger brothers of the battalion who does this. He’ll sweeten the pot if need be, if it convinces them. “A dirty holomag. Round of drinks at 79’s. We won’t make you clean the gunships. Something.” 

“You had me at dirty holomag.” Orchid answers, grinning as he gleefully rubs his hands together. “What do you need me to do?”

Sithspit he didn’t actually have one on hand back at the cruiser, but he knows how to get one. That's a problem for later. “Listen carefully, when the Commander gets back-” Sinker begins, casting a careful look over his shoulder to make sure Boost still had you properly distracted. The two of you are making idle chatter, still. Sounds like Boost has you talking about potentially going back to the gathering fire with him later, where the inviting blaze would keep you warm in spite of the night’s chill. Just in case Commander Wolffe ends up being a while. 

You’re hemming and hawing about it, admitting you’re not sure just yet, but it’s kind of him to offer in the spirit of the oft-shared sentiment from the inhabitants of Little Archossi the Jedi, Clones and you are the humble guests of tonight. 

More friends the merrier. All are welcome under our shared skies. 

“Sure, no problem Arcadia,” Sergeant Boost says agreeably, “Night looks promising to have a lot of excitement still, so I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to - oh, I dunno - step back for a bit and find somewhere quiet. It is pretty late.”

Or, early, rather. It had been well past 1:00 when last you looked at a chronometer, putting you an hour into a new day. It’s probably 2 or even 3:00 am by now. It could be another three hours before dawn, give or take. You’re definitely not getting any sleep tonight, but you may at least need to rest. (You may need a lot of caf to get through the day when you get back to the cruiser.)

There’s a tree not far from here that seems a little more isolated at the edge of the settlement, Boost pointing it out to you when you say you think it might be a good idea, so it may be a good place to rest and work on another of your sketches if you want. 

“Thanks Boost. I think I might.”

From here, the activity and chatter of the settlement has fallen away into a comfortable lull of background noise, punctuated with hearty laughter and dramatic sound effects used by the troopers to spice up their storytelling. In the cold glow of the moon, you could once more study the artwork Wolffe had made of you while you twirled one of the coloring pencils in your hand absentmindedly. 

Color it however you like. 

Trouble is, you keep changing your mind, or run into complications. First you thought about choosing your favorite color, but the end of the pencil was too dull and you couldn’t find a sharpener among your things to remedy that. (How did you not have a sharpener?) Then you thought about coloring yourself in maroon too, the end still plenty sharp, but putting yourself in such a significant color to the history of the battalion felt… strange. Like maybe you felt you weren’t worthy of it. You’ve gone through a few more colors in your bag, putting away one and pulling out another, but you can never seem to bring yourself to put the pencil to paper. 

A rhythmic sound coming from the community, like the beating of a heart, pauses your skylane of thought for a moment. Growing louder, closer, you realize its two sets of boots tromping down the path, one heavy and deliberate to combat the other’s backpedaling. 

“Orchid, what is the meaning of this?!” Commander Wolffe demands at last, realizing his brother isn’t going to stop for anything, not even the threat of refresher and gunship duty. His brother only marches him further and further through the dark pathway where the crowns of the trees keep all the light for themselves. A datapad clipped to his hip rapidly knocks against the plastoid at the pace they’re going. “Let me go, or tell me what’s going on!” 

“Respectfully, Commander,” Orchid begins in a voice that leaves no room for interruption, “it’s time for you to stop circling the gunships and get to the hangar already!” He gives Commander Wolffe a firm shove from behind, sending the man a half-step forward into your small circle of light with a mischievous cackle. “Don’t worry about the rest of the battalion for the night, we’ve got it covered with the General!”

It’s now coming together for Wolffe, piece by piece. “... Boost and Sinker put you up to this, didn’t they?”

“Not quite, Commander. But they know I’ve got just enough younger brother privileges to still get away with this.” Orchid replies with a shit-eating grin, pleased with himself. 

“I’m putting all three of you-”

“Yeah, we’ve got it covered Commander! Have fun!” Orchid calls back over his shoulder as he retreats into the boundaries of the Chossi community. “Elder Row says don’t go any farther than the fifth cairn stack!”

Have fun? Fifth cairn stack?

Gulping back some nervousness, you apologize to the commander. “I’m so sorry that they’re… Well, I don’t even know what. I’m just as much in the dark as you, actually.” You’re not sure what Sinker or Boost had planned, or how exactly Orchid got involved in it, but you’re positive it’s giving Wolffe a headache. “I… might have a theory though.”

“... what?” Wolffe dares to ask, hesitant. 

“Sergeant Sinker told me earlier that I… s-seem to be having better luck than them when it comes to encouraging you to relax, so it’s… part of the reason I keep offering to keep you company.”

He stares at you in silence, contemplating perhaps, but it’s more likely that he’s working up something to say. 

Instead he sighs. “Hmm.” 

Putting your things to the side, you climb to your feet and dust off the seat of your pants, unsure if you should approach him when he’s currently clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. It doesn’t seem to be a completely conscious action as he finally drops his gaze and sighs once more. 

“Damn him.” comes the bitter grumble, a regretful expression cracking the commander’s stoic shell. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have started to lose my temper with-” Swallowing back the rest of the sentence with some difficulty, Wolffe looks at his feet instead, registering just how far he is from the settlement now, too. Sometimes, he finds himself forgetting just how strong the youngest troopers are. 

He’s been in this war for so long now, it feels, that trying to remember his own days fresh off Kamino proves a struggle. He used to be one of the four marshal commanders of the Grand Army, but the man you’ve gotten to know today is just a commander now. 

Wolffe notices something below his left boot just as you find your voice. 

“Wolffe? Are you okay?”

Your concern is touching. “I’m fine now, Arcadia.” he promises, pulling back his foot as he stoops to see what it is. Ah. Must have stepped on one of the Dinocaeruleus anthos after Orchid pushed him. (Anger and annoyance has been replaced with pride for that little pain in the ass.) He plucks the terrible blue flower with smashed petals from its home in the soil, looking regretful. Sorry little thing. He hadn't meant to trod over it. 

“What did Gi say these were called again?” he asks you, thinking to tuck the ruined blossom in his utility belt until he can find Tack. (Maybe even a ruined specimen can serve the researcher, in some way, he hopes.)

“Twilight troubles.” you answer, your voice softer than the gentle breeze. 

His head dips with a thoughtful nod as he plucks the neighboring, uncrushed flower too, “... come here.” Commander Wolffe requests in that golden tone that sends shivers down your spine. Close enough for his liking, Wolffe finds some buttonhole in your uniform to thread the stem through, adorning you with further tokens. “A little more color to catch the moonlight.” 

The stitched, gray wolf head with thread in your favorite color for the eyes was the only addition that graced your uniform just this morning. Now, there was the long leather cord of three copper beads wrapped around your wrist, and the Dinocaeruleus anthos - a delicate and beautiful galaxy when kissed by the rays of the moon - in the buttonhole to your breast pocket. 

“There,” Wolffe says decidedly, “think suits you rather well, Arcadia.” There’s a glimmer of moonlight reflected in the surface of his cybernetic eye, the cold and delicate beauty of it serves for a lure. You’re staring, and he can tell. 

He turns his face from you, eyes growing half-lidded. “Looks strange in the moonlight, doesn’t it?” The murmur is bashful, or perhaps more accurately, more self-conscious. Funny, you’ve never believed Commander Wolffe to be in any way conscious of his appearance like this in all the time you’ve been aboard the Triumphant. Never for a moment would you have pegged him to harbor insecurities, until today and all the many opportunities he has left himself vulnerable under your sight. 

Been permitted to know him better.

He’s allowed himself to be pulled apart, scrutinized and examined all so you can continually paint him with your praises, making your promises that you see him for the whole of the man he is. Beyond the flint. Beyond the designation number. Beyond his status as a commander, or simply just yet another rain-soaked son of Kamino. To you he is not Kaminoan or even Republic property, a mere product ten years in the making, a culmination of what a good, dutiful soldier was imagined to be and nothing further. No. You’ve witnessed too much today to pretend otherwise. 

He’s so much more.

“No. Strange isn’t the word I’d use.” you reply with a somber edge in your voice, “It’s… brighter in the moonlight. Like… like it becomes a beacon of light. Or a moon of its own.”

Instance after instance, you continue to impress Wolffe. Stump him repeatedly. Just when he thinks you can’t possibly offer yet more worshiping words, you conjure more. You’ve never seen him painted in the aching pains of rage that come in the heat of battle, but your tongue lifts only in reverence when you speak of his once-maroon paint and the phase one helmet. You’ve witnessed the hands that comforted and guided his brothers today, the very same hands that show a readiness in drawing his weapon today or any other day; never once did you shy away from such displays. You looked on in awe, instead. Or fear, not for yourself, but for him. 

He hums low in his throat. “Sounds like pollen-talk.”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s not. But would you believe me no less if it was, Wolffe?”

“‘Sounds like’ is not the same thing as ‘that is’, Arcadia.” the commander informs you, clarifying his meaning with a soft voice like hissing cinders. “But I never meant to imply I did not believe you…” Of course he believes you. You’ve proven your respect for him today, instance after repeated instance. 

It’s time he showed you more of the same respect in kind. You’ve been… so selfless, and kind, in giving him your time today. You could have told him to fuck off when he got in the way of the tree you’d been drawing, and you didn’t. You didn’t have to keep him company when Plo Koon had gone scouting, but you had. And you chose to remain behind when the rest of the crew left. How better can he repay all of that than to be honest with you?

Hoping he comes across in earnest, he meets your eye. “I would still believe you, even if it was from the flowers, because it’s you talking.” Wolffe promises. 

Now alone, fully isolated from his brothers rather than surrounded on all sides like so much of today, both you and the commander grow bolder, speaking freer than when you find yourself in the midst of the wolves. “Earlier: what was it that Waves said?” you ask, setting your things down now that you’re out of visual range of the battalion. 

Steeling himself with a long draught of his canteen first, Wolffe does not immediately meet your eye. He had taken you a little further away from the edge of the settlement, fearing his brothers would repeatedly come to gawk at the pair of you. What he says next, paired with the location, should be cautious. He’s aware of what it looks like. 

“Orchid seemed - seems…? - to think you'll have my privates standing at attention before morning, as a way to get me to relax, the next time we were alone.” 

It's exactly as you suspected, a sexual innuendo.

Both you and the commander break eye contact with the other at the same time. Yeah. You know exactly what the 104th will think when they learn that you two snuck off alone, staying within the boundaries of the third and fourth cairns - rock formations a whole head taller than Wolffe - in order to get a little alone time. 

“Permission to turn him into flower food, sir?” you request half-sarcastically with a deep groan, face in your hands. Did Orchid get that idea from his choice of reading material? Was the clever if crude play on words involving military rank and one's genitalia something he found on the Holonet? You and the commander… you barely know each other, let alone-! “Fucking hell… I think I’m gonna kill him.”

“He’ll wish you had after a week of fresher duty,” Wolffe says with a mild laugh, now offering you the canteen. “But I’m afraid the general and I need that little pain in the ass in one piece.” 

You chuckle. “Spoil-sport…” With not much in the canteen, you take a small drink with the intention of conserving some for later. The rest of the water was for you, he had said. You thank him after setting the canteen beside your bag, where you once more pull out your sketchbook as well as the second datapad you had offered to carry. When Orchid had shoved the flint-gray commander, the force combined with the weight of the datapad had compromised the clip holding it to Wolffe’s belt. At least that was going to be an easy part to replace. 

“So before I forget… what did Solladara want to show you and General Plo?”

Finding the pictures, Wolffe shows you the items, “Artwork of the clearing, where they found us. And… this.” It looks like it’s supposed to be some kind of shirt, but the material is surprisingly transparent. “You can understand why we accepted only the artwork, I’m sure.” Wolffe adds, shaking his head with a soft laugh as your eyes roam the image, trying to picture him in it while he mentions he’s going to try to get a small fire going to stave off the chill of the night. There’s a shallow pit, kindling and firewood that you can use here already, to your good fortune.

“I’m almost tempted to draw you again, wearing that Chossi attire that was offered to you this time.” you admit with a splitting smile, twirling the 2-besh pencil in your hand teasingly as you continue to study the image.  

You’re not really going to draw him in it, knowing that it’d leave very little to the imagination with a body type like the commander’s. He’s not slender in the same way the peoples of Little Archossi are, certainly much broader, and with well-defined muscle… Well. 

There was no way such a thing would be appropriate to wear anywhere other than the privacy of his own quarters. You’ll end up making the man look like a pin-up model in a state of semi-undress.

Wolffe clears his throat meaningfully. “You really should rest your wrist. I think you’ve drawn enough for the night, Arcadia.” Stretching out his hand, he silently beckons for the sketchbook to be turned over to him once he’s gotten the fire going. 

“Seriously?” You’re less than impressed with him for the moment, and it shows. You want to be touched that he’s concerned about your comfort, but him acting like a parent or other figure of guardianship in your life taking something away because you’ll misbehave with it in your possession is not the way to go about it. “I think I’m capable of showing some restraint on my own, thanks.”

Wolffe gives an unpleasant twitch when he realizes how this looks. How he believes he’s offended you. “I didn’t mean to imply that- Yes of course you are, Arcadia, you’ve proven that. I only wanted to ask to see it for a moment. I’m sorry.”

Oh. 

Oh Maker. Talk about a total overreaction when you don’t have all the facts. 

You hand him the spiral bound, eyes turned away. “I’m sorry. For assuming, and overreacting like that. I shouldn’t have.” The apology comes out in a strained voice, far more choked than you’d like. There are a million half-formed thoughts racing over your tongue right now that will never make it past your lips. You do not trust any single one will be coherent when it’s clarity you feel he deserves. “I think… I think after being around all this creativity-boosting pollen today it kind of just left me… wondering where all the thoughts begin and end.”

“Do you think you need a minute?”

“Yes…” you admit slowly. Wolffe starts to climb to his feet and panic begins to bubble up in your chest. “B-but I’d like you to stay! I’m not asking you to leave.” You don’t want him to leave, because you don’t know when he’ll come back, or if you feel this is worth potentially troubling a medic over. 

He listens, and he stays. The distance between you however, has changed. Wolffe’s put himself much closer to you now. Previously at arm’s length, he’s now close enough to lean against. He has the sketchbook in his hands, flipped open to that page of you in uncolored armor, but it’s you that he studies. In his quiet observance, Wolffe’s expression changes several times in the fluttering firelight, each change gradual and small. Softening brow. Pursing lips. Eyes full and fixed. 

“You’re a hard man to read sometimes, Commander Wolffe.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to say it, or how he’ll take it after what just happened, but maybe he’ll appreciate knowing what’s on your mind. “I think it makes me nervous. Sometimes.”

You know he doesn’t mean to. But you can’t help the way you feel either.

“I don’t doubt that, Arcadia.” 

He’s sorry that he makes you nervous, as well, Wolffe adds. Of course it isn’t his intention. Of course he understands that feeling this way can’t be helped sometimes either. He’s familiar with that feeling and its cousins. Nervousness and dread. You’ve seen enough proof of it today. The pacing. Safety drills. Lecturing Suds. Arguing with his sergeants. Throwing himself over you to keep you safe. 

Without hesitation. Like you were one of his own brothers… 

“Hey, um-” you start, glancing over at your sketchbook, “H-how’d you draw me so quickly? Can’t just have been ‘inspiration’.” It’s not the question you want to ask first when you disturb the curtain of silence, but it’ll serve as a good starting block.

Commander Wolffe gives you a small, guarded smile. “The idea is to be quick when you’re drawing outdoors, is it not? That’s what you said to me this morning.”

Oh the utter cheek in that reply - whether it was intended or coincidental - could drive someone wild were there not so many questions on your mind. And there’s just so much. 

“Force, I… I almost forgot I’d said that, in all honesty.” you admit a bit numbly, staring ahead into the dark sea of foliage. “You- Well no, you remembering that would make sense. I guess I should be more surprised by how much detail you captured in so short a time.” 

Muttering something to himself in thought, he repeats the word detail several times before coming to an important decision. 

Commander Wolffe's hand darts into the low fire pit, snatching out a charred hunk of wood. As you're wondering what the hell's gotten into him, if he's burned his hand through the gloves, he takes the art book in his opposite hand and flips it to his sketch of you. Sort of tickling the page with one end of the charred wood, Wolffe is carefully smearing the appropriate areas of the armor with ashes, blowing away the excess once he's done. 

“That takes care of gray missing from all of the coloring pencils.” He nods once, stiffly, satisfied with his ingenuity. “Now you truly look the part.” 

Look the part? But you're just drawn in Clone armor and colored in gray, just like the 104th battalion. What's so special about-?

Oh, Force. Oh galaxy and all her stars…

Commander Wolffe means you look like the rest of the one-oh-fourth, that you fit in. 

“Are you saying that…?” 

Osk-nern-esk

The eyebrow above his cybernetic eye lifts just so, nearly missed in the flickering firelight. “Use your words, Arcadia.” he teases. 

Osk-forn

“A-are you saying that I’m… b-but I'm just part of the crew!” you insist, certain that he's not serious about this. He can't truly mean what he's been writing, word by word beneath the first mantra. 

Trill-hesh-esk

“But you are, Arcadia. You're one of us.” Wolffe promises, voice low and reverent. “The 104th would not be the same without you. Not after what I've seen… felt today.” 

Wesk-osk-leth-vev-esk-senth

ONE OF THE WOLVES.

Whether they were still the magnificent maroons of the past, or the grizzled grays of today, you have been added among the names - the number perhaps thousands or more - of his brothers that he will forever carry in his beating heart, forevermore his wolves. This is a silent oath that when he fights for the glory of the Republic and the downfall of the Separatists, he’s doing so for his general, for his brothers, and for you.

For good measure, Wolffe scribbles down his rank and name, bringing the end to the work on his magnum opus with a signature. It's only fitting. Here, at this private fireside, he lays his heart and intentions bare to you. “I’m probably about as poetic as a gargled mouthful of Aurebesh soup, but Arcadia… while I know you well enough to consider you one of the Wolfpack, I'd… I'd like to ask if you'd be opposed to getting to know you better. As new friends do, first, perhaps, or…”

You blink once, maybe five times before finding your voice. Friends. In his own way, he confirmed you were friends. “I wouldn't be opposed at all… I-I’d be happy to, even.” 

You're nearly breathless, heart racing a thousand kilometers an hour, just short of warp speed. 

Does the slight stress to “or” mean he's grappling with other feelings about you on his mind, like you do for him? The love versus limerence? 

“As friends is a… good place to start.” you offer additionally, matching that tender, relieved smile he shows you. 

“Have to start somewhere, Arcadia,” the Commander replies plainly, trying to appeal to his and your own sense of logic perhaps. “Just to make certain of any… feelings.” 

Taking you under his arm, against his side, Wolffe is content with waiting out the remainder of the night under the curtain of stars for the sky to lighten and give way to another glorious, golden dawn. The 104th will depart for the Triumphant at daybreak, and the war efforts will resume as normal. You just hope Plo Koon cooks up a satisfactory excuse in the event someone asks him what happened today. (Or, technically yesterday. (What time is it?)) For all you know, nobody will ever ask or care to know, or it'll be decided what happened on Little Archossi is by-and-large an unspoken secret. 

Which would kind of be a shame. 

It'd be terrible to keep the day you became friends with the flint-gray Commander under wraps, never get to explain the truth behind him coated in maroon while you're in gray in the pages of your sketchbook. Never be able to explain the full context of meeting the Chossi, or what they've taught everyone. 

Or how, murmured under his breath into the shell of your ear after the stars begin melting into the backdrop at long last, Commander Wolffe admits that perhaps for once, he's never been more relaxed since the start of the war.

That's a wrap! Thank you so much to everyone who read this series; I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing this.🩷If you would like to be join my taglist for future fics, the form can be found here.

Tag list: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar

[Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Midday] [Late Afternoon] [Evening] [Deep Night]

[Golden Dawn part 1] [Finished!]

[hallowgracie]

There's Always a Mystical Lost Princess, Isn't There?: Carina Eldora

When I was developing the overall plot line for my sky-pirate high fantasy novel, To Sail on Seas of Sky, I did not hide that this was a tropey project. Instead, I leaned into some of the common tropes in pirate and sea-based fantasy, like in Skies of Arcadia, Castle in the Sky, and Legend of Zelda: The Wind-Waker. One of the common storylines in all of these media included a lost civilization with a mythical princess.

And who am I to deny these tropes? Especially since I find them fun! So, let's talk about our mythical princess: Carina Eldora.

I always liked this archetype as a kid, the gentle and mysterious princesses who had an intuitive connection with whatever the magic was of the world--and so Carina will be the same.

Unlike a lot of her archetypical inspirations, like Princess Kida, Nadia, Tetra, or Sheeta, Carina is not the primary heiress to the kingdom. Rather, her older brother is, and Carina is not really even considered for this role. She was born to a mother who was not from the Manoan diaspora, unlike her brother Alcor, meaning she was not primarily raised among her diaspora.

While she knows some things about her father's people, the connection isn't there, and furthermore Carina feels a stronger connection to her mother's more current culture.

Which means when her brother shows up on her doorstep, offering her the keys to the kingdom if she's willing to help him revive the Empire of Manoa and begin a conquest of the Sea of Gales--she refuses.

Carina understands the impact of another empire vying for control of the Sea of Gales, as so many islands have suffered in the war between the rival empires of Cartagena and Albion, and when Manoa ruled the first time before them. So she stands against this, and she runs--leading to her run-in with the protagonists.

I'm still developing Carina beyond a more "mystic waif" personality. Like Tetra and Kida, she certainly is independent, has a mind of her own, and I suspect is trained in some sort of fighting style of her mother's people.

I think she's also very spiritual, but not in the "strict obedience" sense that a lot of people associate with religion and spirituality. For her, spirituality is a conversation with your gods, not an edict.

As I said, I'm still figuring out entirely where I want to go with her beyond mere plot. But I'll keep you updated as she changes and evolves.

[bladeshowers]

@souls-of-arcadia :

G'raha's fluffy tail seemed to expand to twice its normal size and it twitched. "A-Ah....well...." Haah, he was daydreaming, wasn't he? This couldn't really be a conversation he was having with the woman who was such an inspiration to him she had practically evolved into a myth in the century he had toiled to ensure the future he had been awoken to never came to pass.

He cleared his throat. "W-Well....that's a difficult question to answer. It feels like it would be very contextual and personal between the individuals involved...." His ears twitched. "I suppose it could be reasoned that even friendship is better than nothing, though that would also be personal for the individuals involved....." He smiled sheepishly. Was he ignoring what she seemed to be implying? Perhaps. He was mostly just in denial though.

Amara looked at him, frowning a little, as she was unsure whether she wanted to continue to speak or not. It was always a hard subject for her to broach. Did she risk everything for the hopes that maybe her feelings were returned? G'raha and her had always had a special connection that had started then they first met. He was different back then. More playful and rambunctious. One could argue a bit more flirty too with how he had acted regarding the aethersand. He'd changed though the further they explored the tower until he had sealed him away...

Then that alterative future and his time on the First had changed him too. Amara wasn't quite sure how everything had resolved itself other than him being here with her now, hale and whole, without a worry as far as she knew. Surely if he had felt something beyond friendship he would have...? Hm...It was hard to anticipate since she had never truly gotten to know him as well as she would have liked. He always seemed to, intentionally or otherwise, keep her at arms length from her perspective. Whether to protect himself, or her, she knew not.

"You know I was hurt pretty badly by your decision to stay in the tower." Amara gazed upward at the night's sky. She was quietly nursing a cup of hot chocolate on the terrace they had atop Diamond's Forge and Rowena's Splendors. "Obviously, it turned into a good thing, but I remember it bothered me for awhile I couldn't talk you out of it."

[casarolltroll]

Changeling Trio with human s/o Characters: Otto, Nomura, Strickler Warnings: None, just general fluff

Otto Scaarbach

He is not the smoothest man out there. But he certainly has a charm to him like no other. Maybe its the accent, maybe its the blue eyes, or maybe its just cause you find him cute.

All things considered this German Changeling was certainly lucky to have you come into his life. He wasn't really looking for anyone , it kind of just happened. First you started seeing more of eachother. Then it was that time in the bakery, and before he knew it he had asked you to have lunch with him.

After that things took off on their own. You two spent a lot of time together, outside of his work hours with the Janus Order of course, he tried to hide it from you really. And boy was he good at that.

It would definitely take him a while to become comfortable enough to tell you he is a Changeling. History has not exactly been kind to his species. And he really values you as someone he holds dear, so he is really risking ruining things with this.

But he shows you that he's not human. You stare at him bewildered for a moment, before you get up slowly and take a step forward eyes gleaming with curiosity. You gently but a hand to his cheek while he's in troll form. Its warm and surprisingly smooth. You tenderly massage his cheek in a loving way and you say "Its you, no matter what you look like you are still my Otto"

At that he lets a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He is so relieved that you dont mind thats he's not human. You tell him sure you were surprised but at the end of the day he's still the same persom no matter what form he takes.

At that he picks you up with strength you never knew he had and gives you a gentle kiss while he holds you in his arm. He tells you how much he loves you and how happy he is that you accept him no matter what he is.

Zelda Nomura:

She is a creature that prefers to keep more to herself. If she's in a relationship its open with benefits. And it was almost always with another Changeling.

But when she met you things changed. Suddenly she didn't want things so open. She genuinely found that she wanted to take it slow and get to know you.

You are simple and plan, but you are who you are and that's what draws her in. The fact that you don't care what people think inspired her. Your thick skinned and stick to your morals.

She would see you day after day around Arcadia and one day she just got curious so she decided to take a seat on the park bench just across from you. She wouldn't say anything, she would just observe you. This would go on until, she deiced to approach you. You weren't a changeling, so you were new territory and that intimidated her as much as it excited her.

She started with a hello and the conversation took off from there. She had a spark in her that made you want to listen to what she was saying. It helped that you are both into artifact and relics. You enjoyed African artifacts and she fancied European ones more herself.

She felt safe around you, the two of you could talk about anything. You both had a spot in town where you liked to meet and it became a habit. You had slipped into her life so easily.

One night you invited her over for dinner and she accepted. The evening was going wonderfully until you heard something moving on the roof. She tried to assure you it was nothing but you insisted on going outside to check. The next thing you knew you were being attacked by a small swarm Goblins. She immediately sprung into action shedding her human form and killing them off with her giant blades.

She stood over you fear written in her eyes and you staired up at her mouth agape and eyes bugged out. She turned and ran away. You yelled after her but she was already gone in a flash.

It has been weeks since you had spotted her. She made a good effort to keep away from you after that night. However she got unlucky and one day you were able to catch her, grabbing her wrist before she could turn away. You pleaded for her to talk to you. You said you didn't blame her for what happened and you were happy she was there. You told her you didn't care what she looked like, that all that mattered was who she was. And that to you she was a beautiful person.

In a moment of vulnerability she lets tears slip down her face as you pulled her in for a hug. Relieved that the relationship you two had built wasn't ruined.

Walter Stricklander:

We all know Walt is smooth, so situation of romance more often then not tended to go his way. He could have anyone person he set his sights on.

For some odd reason he choose you. Someone he saw lost in a pile of history books at the Library. Maybe it was the way the sun shone through the window upon you in a poetic sort of way, or maybe it was that you looks so whimsically lost in your readings.

He began to frequent the Library much more often in hopes of getting to see you.

One day, perhaps by accident or perhaps by his careful planning the two of you reached out for the same book hands touching. You shyly offered to let him have the book as you had read that one several times. He mentioned that he had also read it dozens of times.

He offered to have a scholarly conversation with you over the book and it took of from there.

The two of you began to have regular Library dates where one of you would pick up some coffee and the two of you would spend hours talking over the material you both knew by heart.

Slowly overtime your relationship blossomed into something he would want to protects. And try as he might to keep you away from it all sooner or later his other life would catch up with him and he knew this.

So rather than wait for it to randomly happen one day, he made the decision to tell you before you two became more serious with each other

He invited you to tea at his place one day and that is how he would break the news to you, in the comfort of his own home. You could tell shortly after you had been inside that something was off with Walter.

Once he told you everything and then showed you he waited quite anxiously for your reply. You were taken very off guard by his transformation. You got up, excused yourself to the bathroom.

It took you 15 minutes to process this new information and when you came back he had changed back fearing he made you uncomfortable with his troll form.

You sat next to him and gently put a hand on his shoulder. Telling that this would take some getting used to, but that you were in no way uncomfortable by him or by his being a changeling.

To you he was the same old Walt after all, and if you really thought about it having a supernatural boyfriend really was kind of interesting.

He was happy and relived to say the least.

[tarraxahum-ish]

can we hear your interp of max👀

Oh-ho-ho, anon, sure, I will try! Beware, my trying always entails A LOT of text. (EDIT: and I touched a lot on the ending and Chloe 'cause can we really talk about Max in this game without mentioning those points?)

So, as I mentioned in the tags of the post that inspired this ask, Max is a weird character when it comes to interpretations. As in, almost all people in my friend group alone have a different take on what her personality is supposed to be (apart from the obvious baseline) and which choices "make more sense" for her. Most of it comes down to her being a protagonist of a choice-based game, of course. She can snoop or she can not snoop. She can try to make cautious choices or she can just be reckless. She can save Kate or totally fail to do that. She can kiss Chloe, she can kiss Warren. Etc etc etc.

Because of that, I think, in a lot of ways she reflects the player. For example: when my friend and I, both "straight" at the time, played LiS for the first time, she adamantly went for the "Chloe and Max are just good friends" route and favored Warren as a romance, refused to let the alt Chloe die and then sacrificed 'our' Chloe to save the town, all the while lamenting that it would make much more sense for Max to sacrifice herself to stop everything. Meanwhile I was all THEY'RE LESBIANS HAROLD (well Max is bi but you get the meme), let the alt Chloe die (at the time) and didn't hesitate A SECOND before dooming Arcadia Bay to save Chloe. Those are two VERY different Maxes here. (We later discovered that my friend was a bisexual in denial and I was a closeted lesbian who didn't lock the door very well. So, you know. Reflection.)

HOWEVER. I feel like despite the choice trees, certain decisions fit into the story more snugly. It's especially evident in BtS, where you COULD make a choice to reconcile Chloe and David, but the consequences if she DOESN'T fit what we see in LiS much more. Granted, there are many disconnections and retcons between the games, but most of them are in the plot itself (see: Rachel, Chloe reacting to Frank's place and Wells' cabinet like she's never been there, etc), not in the player's direct choices, as is the case with David.

The question of which choices are more "fitting", however, is where that bias comes in. And my personal interpretation of Max. Finally.

Another friend of mine recently mentioned that she does not believe in the "sacrifice AB" ending because, to her, "Max doesn't seem like the kind of a person who cares about Chloe to THAT extent, what with the five years of silence and all".

And that's what got me thinking…I see Max as a complete opposite of that. The in-game Max of that one week in particular.

The five years of silence? Yeah, that was shit. Without a doubt, that hurt Chloe a lot and that's on Max.

But I also get it. I don't excuse it, I get it. Every time I move (even when I jump fandoms, truly) I lose contact with a lot of good friends very quickly. When I started my first couple of jobs, I stopped talking to some of my friends for THREE YEARS STRAIGHT. I was overwhelmed. The people that were right there in front of me took my attention and my energy, the need to assimilate and exist in a new environment took all my focus. And the more I stayed quiet, the more awkward it seemed to suddenly reach out. The more we weren't talking, the less common topics for a possible conversation we were likely to have. And if on top of THAT I'd have the whole "What do you say to a person whose beloved dad died right before I left?" kind of an anxiety? Those five years don't seem far-fetched to me. Once again, I'm not excusing the hurt that Chloe experienced because of this, but I understand how things like that happen and what levels of social awkwardness and limited energy resources go into a mistake like that.

Which brings me to the point of: Max's care for Chloe is much more characterized by what she does when she's THERE than by what she failed to do when she was a teenager settling in in a new city hell knows where.

And what does Max do, if not repeatedly puts Chloe first with rapidly growing degree of recklessness? Okay, the first time she saves her, in the bathroom, she doesn't even know it's her (which, btw, speaks volumes that she still goes back there, alone, not telling anyone, knowing that Nathan will have a gun and potentially putting herself in danger, all for an unfamiliar girl. It's already reckless as fuck, and therefore genuine - say what you want about Max sucking up to everyone by saying the things they wanted to hear, her biggest feats of bravery were never even known by most.)

((I don't know where to put it, but I'll also point out that the game itself generally encourages 'reckless' choices. Get into David's face about Kate instead of being cautious, lie for Chloe instead of being cautious, tell Kate to go to the police instead of playing it safe. Max saying 'ah, fuck it' generally ends up being the right choice more often than it's not, so that's the way of playing her that I'm mostly taking into consideration.))

Times at the junkyard and the train tracks are arguably spoof of the moment things (any sane person wouldn't just, like, NOT rewind to stop their best friend from shooting herself or getting smeared by a train, right?), sure.

But the last episodes, though. That's where the plot goes batshit and so, kind of, does Max. It's not just about simply rewinding right then and there on the spot if something goes wrong.

It's about repeatedly going out of her way, BIG time, all for Chloe.

Fucking up space and time. Technically changing her own life (it's hard to say why William living led to Max being the popular girl but sure, let's roll with what we're given, butterfly effect and all) just to make sure Chloe is happy. Immediately rolling it all back, also solely for Chloe (at no point does Max think about how HER life changed beyond the initial surprise). Tbh I think that's what they actually got right in the comics - how readily Max screws her own life just to find somewhere where Chloe is happy, even if in the end that's not the answer.

Then it gets worse. Max gets a future she technically dreamt of, one of being an acknowledged photographer, her career secure in the palm of her hand.

Throws it all away without a second thought as soon as it implies losing Chloe (sure, at the moment she does kinda think about the town as a whole, but Chloe calling and Max not being with her when she's in danger is still the catalyst of that - the point of the photo retcon is not to stop the tornado, it's to be near Chloe when it hits).

Gets drugged and tortured REPEATEDLY (all timeline jumping and rewinding considered), forces herself through multiple timelines to the point of active nosebleeds (that previously made her faint).

Still only thinks about saving Chloe AS SOON as she's out of that chair.

Is technically safe in an underground bunker (as evident by David surviving), goes out INTO the storm (tortured and drugged and having jumped and lived multiple realities on no food or sleep!) and drives TOWARDS it JUST to save CHLOE. (Does she even HAVE a driver's license or is she just winging it, btw?)

Also worth of note, if you as a player participate in all the prompts and puzzles on the way to the diner (which I'd say is logically the 'canon' Max, since that's how you're meant to play the game), then she does her best to help everyone around her, too. It's not even about the "time to be the everyday hero" anymore - she's tired, she's angry, she most likely feels like shit and she's marching through a literal tornado just doing her best at any opportunity she sees. I doubt any 'heroic' thinking went into those actions at that point. She just walks on water towards her goal and yanks out every drowning person who outstretches their hand towards her. ALL THE WHILE knowing that she's about to rewind this timeline and won't be present at this exact location to help in the next, so technically it's meaningless. But she does. She cares for people, not just their opinions on her.

But at that point the mantra isn't "stop the tornado". She'd like to, yes. But the focus is very much "Chloe". Tornado comes second. It's in her way, even.

Which brings us to the final choice. Skipping the whole nightmare sequence because I honestly think it's self-explanatory on the topic of Max's insecurities and the weight of the town and her power on her shoulders, and on how much Chloe means to her.

The final choice. On which I could say a lot more narration-wise, but we're talking about Max, and I've started with my friend's comment on which choice is more "realistic" to Max's character.

Now, I won't tell anyone how to play their game, which morals take into account and what to make of their Max.

The way I see it, however:

Yes, Max (if you took all the prompts and paid attention, etc etc) always stopped and tried to help in any way she could (be it the wrong way or the right one, re: Kate), and she's obviously freaked out by the threat to the town from the very beginning.

But that's the thing, however. Beginning.

The town was always this "Oh no, I don't want this to happen, can I stop it?!", which, you know. A pretty fucking normal human reaction, I think.

But Max specifically went through Hell, arguably multiple times over, threw away multiple great versions of her own life without a second glance, almost died, spedran her character development losing shyness, fear, self-consciousness and basic human self-preservation instincts in less than a week, didn't allow herself a second of breathing room while going through experiences that would break most people (look at Victoria in the Dark Room), and ALL of that was 99% of the time verbally (or, well, internally) justified by her with saving Chloe.

With the town and the rest of the characters, Max tried her human best. With Chloe, she all but ran herself and the whole time and space continuum into the ground.

And you're telling me, that this Max, the one still reeling from everything she went through, the one who dug her way back to Chloe through metaphorical stone with bloody fingers, the one who just jumped through multiple realities in half (if not most) of which she suffered or was in danger in some way, all without having any buffer time to process any of that shit, all with "ChloeChloeChloe" on her tongue and Chloe's necklace on her neck, THIS Max, is NOT likely to just snap and rip the goddamn photo and unequivocally say RIGHT HERE AND NOW I STILL FUCKING CHOSE YOU"?

Like, if someone wants to see it as her breaking point, her stopping to run point, her giving up point, her seeing 'common sense' point, her respecting Chloe's wishes point, well, that's their choice.

But UNLIKELY to choose Chloe? Yeah, I don't think so.

To reel it back a little from the final choice and back to Max as a character. At the beginning of the game, I see her precisely the "shy cliche geek" more or less. Not unlike me. Anxious, bad at keeping in touch, bad at fitting in with anyone but with those who are also bad at fitting in, and even then not always. Dreaming of more but not believing in herself. Wanting people to like her, 'cause really, wouldn't it just make life so much easier if we'd never had to go through the embarrassment of saying the wrong thing to anyone ever again?

She's unsure of her powers, she chastises herself for small mistakes, she doubts most of her choices regardless of which one you made.

By the second half of the game though? She grows powerful. She grows bold. She tricks people for information, she all but bullies Frank to get his keys 'cause she knows he won't be able to touch her, she starts toying with big changes in the timeline (William).

And by the end? By the end she's sneering in Mark Jefferson's face despite being scared shitless - not unlike with Nathan in the parking lot back in the episode 1 if you choose to tell him to take a step back, btw, so she always had it in her, but by ep5 she has nothing left to lose and nothing to hold her back. By the end she's smashing, forcing, gnawing her way though time and space like an unstoppable force, all caution and doubts abandoned. By the end she's standing in the middle of the storm she was terrified of in ep1 and she's ANGRY and DETERMINED instead because she has no mental capacity to even freak out again until she and Chloe are together and safe by the lighthouse.

By the end, for a brief moment before the storm finally hits, she's basically god, a kind, empathic one, but also an incredibly selfish one, who does it all for one singular person first, everyone else second. And whatever choice she makes at the end, that fact is still a fact. In my book, anyway.

For me, for how I saw her after having, what, seven years to process the story and replay it a few times, how I feel and play my Max now?

With shaky hands, she pulled the trigger at Frank back at the junkyard, and at the lighthouse, tortured and exhausted and selfish to the end, she took all her choices in stride, let her power be there for a reason, and let the tornado take its due.

(And Chloe, who has long forgotten what it felt like to genuinely be WORTH something to someone who explicitly chooses HER, deserved that tenfold in my opinion, but that's a whole other essay).

But then again, I was always a fan of 'selfish' love and 'selfish' stories. So, reflection of the player, after all? Perhaps.

But narratively, the way I personally see it, it just fits the most.

And even if for one reason or another she makes another choice, I still struggle to see how up until that point she's any less than that.

[a-weird-writer]

mmmmmmmmmm mmz related question

how do you think ciel n' copy x relation would have been?

I can't imagine Ciel and Copy X in any sort of relation that isn't remotely negative in their current timeline. But I'm sure I can somehow imagine some way they could both co-exist.

This analysis was written longer than originally expected, a TLDR is located at the very bottom.

Major Spoiler Warning; (Mega Man Zero 1, 3 and Ciel and Copy X's backstory)

Despite being his creator, it seems Ciel kind of disconnected from Copy X in his creation (Though I can't say that with full confidence in its truthfulness in canon, the game probably left them like that for mystery and vagueness). I can guess that, as Copy X begun building his anti-Reploid Regime, any "attachment" he might have felt towards Ciel was ultimately thrown out the window, (To be fair, if my mom created me, said "done" and quickly left without a word, I'd be mad too. Ciel is one of the reasons behind Neo Arcadia's Regime, since she created him, even admitted to it.) more so from Dr. Weil's influence.

In game, the interaction isn't much. When Copy X is resurrected by Dr. Weil, he barely talks to her, and in that one time he wasn't nice. Only appearing to offer "amnesty" in exchange for her system and total surrender. What other opinions we do hear aren't positive, Ciel clearly distrusts him, and Copy X utterly hates her. They are obviously very distant, if they did genuinely converse, I don't doubt Copy X would immediately dispose of her after Ciel finishes monologuing why she is so disappointed in him and has hope for Zero. I doubt further he'd miss her too.

But I digress. Parallel universes exist in Mega Man, so time to experiment! Let's expand our horizons for the sake of creativity, a different world formed from the original. The Dark Elf is still sealed by X, his city doesn't take a turn for the worst from his replacement's rule, resulting in the nonexistence of the Resistance and Zero's contained body remaining undiscovered. Where Copy X isn't an unsympathetic asshole (Dr. Weil disappeared and is invisible, for whatever reason.) and Ciel is, in fact, involved and as motherly to him as with everyone else, their assumed time period is before MMZ 1. Everything is in a sort of alternate "best-case" scenario, there are few struggles, but human and robot equality and peace is upheld.

I'd describe their relation as "tough love", they aren't as personally included as they could be. Although both are busy and involved in far different affairs, an effort is being made. This version of Copy X isn't psychopathic and is far less murderous, but he can still act slightly haughty, nerve-racking and God knows he will never not be stubborn. Which means Ciel steps in as a guide for her creation from time to time, Copy X tries to avoid it in stubbornness; teach him a thing or two about opening up to others, the benefits of equality and consideration of other people and not allowing arrogance to overshadow his judgment.

Arguments don't really happen, no serious ones at least, mostly from how Copy X deals with conflict and moves forward. And it's not as much of arguing as just an in-depth conversation regrading recent decisions. It's a journey, about Copy X's growth as a person and his grasps on fair law and equality between the species. Ciel scolds any unacceptable behavior he may develop, suggesting fair and more humane resolutions, hitting him over the head with that classic "acting like a decent person" spat; he remains open, indeed listens. She is that strict, but overall, kind mother type. During her free time, she tries harmless methods to bond with Copy X in familial ways, researching brand new answers to issues by receiving advice and seeing other peaceful families, trying to inspire Copy X to do the same. Labelled a prodigy at a young age, she deliberates over problems and practices many solutions, a scientist will be a scientist. Ciel does what she can to be an outstanding mother in his eyes, like to Alouette. I can see Copy X soon coming to admire and love his mother in this specific version of MMZ, rarely says it even so.

Truly connecting the definitions of the heart and soul is a hard lesson, since Copy X's superiority complex threatens to evolve and overcome him, understanding and sympathizing with inner emotions is how X managed to rule as long as he did, Copy X wants is to be as perfect as his counterpart was. So, he attempts to understand in the best way he knows; learning and patiently observing, which is exactly how Ciel adapted to educate herself quicker than humanly normal.

TLDR; There are bumps in the road, and it happens in an alternate world, but Ciel and Copy X work it out (By talking like a fucking family.) nonetheless.

[shiningamongdarkness]

Chapter 49. Let them go

Shining among Darkness

By WingzemonX

Chapter 49. Let them go

Once the police let them go, Matilda, Cody, and Cole inevitably ran into each other again at the hospital entrance, even though their last conversation had practically been a goodbye. The air between them had become particularly awkward. Furthermore, the exhaustion was more than noticeable on their faces and postures. The only thing Matilda wanted in those moments was to get to her hotel, bathe as best as possible that her wound would allow, and sleep… also as best as that horrible wound would allow.

But before all that, she would have to prepare everything for her departure to Arcadia, to rest for a few days at her mother's house until her health improved. With her arm in this state, it was not advisable to fly, so her most viable option would be a train, which would take perhaps more than a full day to arrive in Los Angeles.

And about her rental car, another complication stood in the way of the psychiatrist's immediate wishes. Due to all the medications they had given her, including the anesthetic that had put her to sleep, and additionally her immobilized right arm, it was also not recommended that she drive, although the distance between that point and her hotel was not so long. However, Cole offered to do it for her since they would be going to the same place anyway. Matilda accepted in a somewhat cold way.

"I'll be staying in Salem, too," Cody pointed out, taking his two companions by surprise.

"Are you sure?" Matilda questioned uncertainty. "What about your…?"

"There's no way I can sleep without having nightmares tonight," he said with some regret. Then he felt his jacket, specifically the pocket inside it, making it sound like a rattle. "I'll have to use my pills. Besides, I'm too exhausted to go all the way to Seattle."

Matilda and Cole said nothing to him. They hoped that he really knew what he was doing.

The drive to Salem was really quiet. Cole had his sight fixed on the road, Matilda was staring thoughtfully out the passenger window, and Cody was fighting not to fall asleep in the backseat; the last thing they wanted was for one of the professor's vivid illusions to appear in front of them right there in the middle of the road. Neither said much, no more than a few random comments, most coming from Cole and none from the Californian woman beside him.

Once they reached the hotel and Cole parked the car in the parking lot, Matilda bolted inside, only offering a terse good night without looking at them. She entered the reception area before anyone stopped or spoke to her, and they quickly lost sight of her. Cole got out soon after, slamming the door with some force as a sign of frustration.

"Remember, it's rented," Cody muttered in a muffled voice, getting down as well. "At least you didn't kick it like that chair."

"I need a drink," the policeman murmured, running his hand over his face.

"I believe you. But I have to see if I can get a room, so…"

Cole waved a hand in the air, signaling him to go confidently. Cody took him at his word and entered the hotel through the same door Matilda had gone through. And once again, Cole was left alone.

He stood to one side of the vehicle for a while, thinking of what to do. Would he go for that drink by himself? Would he take that cigarette he hadn't been able to, or perhaps wanted to, smoke all night? Or would he follow the example of his friends and go straight to sleep? The last option didn't appeal to him, but the first two might.

He took out his pack, took a cigarette between his lips, lit it without hesitation, and began to smoke it calmly, trying to calm down... if that was even possible. After all, nothing in all that situation was worthy of inspiring calm.

He raised his gaze to the starry Salem sky, letting the smoke slowly billow out of his mouth and settle over him like a dirty gray cloud, obscuring the stars for a few moments. Thus it felt as if he had a great dark cloud over his head, waiting for the best moment to drop a heavy rain on him and perhaps some lightning.

"You should consider quitting smoking," he heard a voice abruptly to his right, taking him so by surprise that he jumped to the side in alarm. "It won't do you any good in the long run," added the same voice.

The rugged, somewhat square face of the late Dr. Malcolm Crowe turned to him, offering him a curious, mocking smile. Recognizing it, Cole's initial shock lessened, though it became more of an unusual strangeness. Twice in one day; it was uncommon for Cole to see Dr. Crow so often, not since he was a child.

"Is it a real warning?" It was the first thing that occurred to him to say, although the ghost only answered him with a subtle shrug. A little more confident, Cole leaned back against the car next to his unexpected visitor, but his attitude turned slightly rougher. "Did you know this would happen? The escape, the death of that woman, Eleven…?" Crowe didn't reply. "You could then have warned me much more clearly."

"You know..."

"That it doesn't work like that, yeah, yeah," Cole finished, just before taking another deep drag on his cigarette.

He, more than anyone else, knew that some of the dead could see much further than the living, even into the past or the future. But it wasn't like turning on a television and sitting down to watch a movie. As was the case with those shine ones who had a particular affinity with seeing or feeling what would happen, the information often came to them in pieces, which had to be put together and interpreted later. And yet, there were other times when they could know or sense that something was going to happen, but they didn't have the ability, or perhaps the permission, to pass that information along, even to those like him. So recriminating to that being, who shouldn't even be in that world anymore, for what happened was totally meaningless. The actions of the living were solely the responsibility of the living themselves.

"Do you at least have any advice on what I should do now?" He asked him, somewhat hopeful that Dr. Crowe could at least give him some guidance, as he had in many other moments when Cole had felt just as lost.

He heard him sigh, and a cold sensation ran through the place from below to above. Crowe was looking toward the door through which his two new friends, if he could still call them that, had left. His expression was concerned, quite tangible, coming from the face of someone who had died years ago.

"Go home, Cole," he exclaimed suddenly. "Stay away from this, like your mother asked you to."

"Go?" Cole snapped, almost as if the innuendo insulted him. "Just so? Is that your advice?"

"That's the only one I can give you, as your psychiatrist and friend."

Cole snapped, apparently not too pleased with what he was hearing. He returned his cigarette to his lips and inhaled again with some insistence. Although, he noticed how, little by little, that ceased to relax or calm him as much as he needed.

"And if I do… will this all work out?" He questioned, intrigued, without looking at his visitor. "Will everything be alright?" He raised his eyes at that moment to the door, which seemed to him for a moment more distant than before. "She will be alright?"

In his head, the warnings that his mother had given him hovered:

"This case in which you have been involved is more dangerous than you think. You have to leave as soon as possible, get away from this whole thing. Or else... you'll die... and she too..."

Unfortunately, however, Crowe did not have a satisfactory answer to ease his doubts.

"I don't know, Cole," the late psychiatrist murmured ruefully. "I don't think there is anyone living or dead who can assure you of such a thing. Not this time... not with this enemy you've gotten involved with."

Cole quickly lifted his face and turned it squarely on him, intrigued and surprised by the sudden mention.

"Are you talking about who attacked Eleven? Do you know who he is?"

He was unable to hide his urgency to find out. That person, the threat that had lain over his head like that deadly rain cloud. Did he know who he was? Did he know who that hidden enemy was? Cole was sure beforehand that he wouldn't tell him if that was the case, but he still couldn't help but question it. The result, however, was as expected.

Crowe slowly shook his head, not seeing it.

"If I told you, you'd try to go straight for him, wouldn't you?" he responded in dismay, and Cole could not deny it. "It is your decision whether to do it or not, but I refuse to deliberately push you in that direction; your mother wouldn't forgive me. Besides, he's not the only one you have to watch out for, but you already know that."

Cole exhaled heavily through his nose and leaned back against the vehicle. The disappointment was quite palpable, even his anger. But Crowe was adamant about his answer, and he couldn't blame him for being. Cole himself wasn't really sure what he would do if he had that information at hand.

After a while in which both remained silent, the spirit took a few steps away from the vehicle and turned to the detective with a calmer and more serene face.

"I have to go," he informed her bluntly. "I've been here too long already. I don't think we'll see each other again for a long time."

"Didn't you say you'd be around if I needed anything?" Cole commented in a slightly jocular tone. "I feel I'll see you sooner than you think."

Crowe gave a light chuckle at the suggestion.

"It may be so." He smiled at him. "See you later, Detective Sear."

"See you later, Dr. Crowe."

After that last friendly goodbye, the psychiatrist turned around and began to walk as if he were going to enter the hotel as well. However, halfway there, he disappeared, fading into the background and completely taking his presence with him, including the cold.

Cole stayed there a while longer until he finished his cigarette. He didn't think carefully about the hidden meaning of those words, what had happened, or what his following action would be. He just stood there, finishing his cigarette and thinking about that drink.

— — — —

Matilda gave up her idea of ​​taking a full bath at that point due to her injury and just washed her hair and part of her body, just enough to make herself as comfortable as possible. The medicines still had her in a daze, so once she finished her improvised wash and barely managed to put on her pajamas, she lay in bed for a few moments, looking at the ceiling as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. She forced herself not to stay like this for too long, and she immediately took her cell phone with the intention of… she really didn't know what she wanted to do.

Her first instinct was to investigate what to do with her rented vehicle, but then she thought of Eleven, Mike, and her daughter. Should she call them to find out how she was doing? She didn't know if she would be too intrusive. And, on top of that, she wouldn't know what to tell them that could be comforting; she was terrible at those things, which was not a remarkable quality for a psychiatrist.

Then she thought about her mother. Shouldn't she call and tell her what happened? She would otherwise end up arriving at her door out of nowhere with a gunshot wound to her shoulder. But if she told her what happened on the phone, she might upset her even more...

She sighed in frustration and pressed the screen of her phone against her forehead as if hoping it would help her think. She inevitably remembered Cole and Cody and that she had maybe been pretty rude to both of them a few moments ago. They hadn't done anything, and they were just as affected by all this as she was. And instead of reaching out to them with a helping hand, she had chosen to run away… Yes, that was the best way to describe it.

What kind of psychiatrist was she? At that rate, she would have to go to therapy herself, and everyone knows that doctors make the worst patients. She might have to apologize to both of them before she leaves in the morning, especially to Cole. They had already started to get along, and she suddenly returned to her rough attitude out of the blue.

But anyway, by that day, it was too late. Perhaps the best thing would be to sleep, rest, and worry about the rest the next day...

Then she suddenly heard someone knocking on the door, taking her by surprise. She flinched a bit, and her movement caused a nagging pain sensation in her shoulder. She waited a bit for the pain to subside, and then she carefully stood up and approached the door, almost without thinking. In fact, she was about to just open it directly, but before touching the knob, she thought twice. Hadn't there been too many misfortunes that day to be so reckless? She then decided to look through the peephole first to see who it was. That, however, did not help her much to calm down.

Standing in the hallway outside the door was Cole, looking to the side as he waited for some response from her. Matilda backed away from the door a little as if it had frightened her. What was he doing there? Has something happened? And how did he suddenly appear just when she thought of him? And… why was she reacting so nervously exactly?

Matilda breathed slowly, trying to calm down. That reaction was immature and irrational. With more courage, she removed the chain and lock, opening the door wide enough. Cole turned to her as soon as the door opened and smiled, apparently a little timid and uncomfortable. Before saying anything, the detective raised what he was carrying in his right hand: a six-pack of beers, one of which was already missing.

"Would you like a beer before bed to make amends, doctor?" he suggested with a jocular tone.

Matilda looked at him sternly but not too severely. He didn't look drunk as such, but she felt he had more than one beer on him. Even so, she was surprised, and at the same time a little embarrassed, how despite everything he behaved so lightly with her, wanting to "make amends" as if everything was slipping away from him. Either he was a person with a good emotional balance, or it was another one of his masks.

"Sorry, I don't drink alcohol," she replied, trying not to be sharp. "And even if I did, I couldn't mix it with my medicines."

Cole just smiled and nodded a little.

"I had a feeling that you would tell me just that…" he murmured, pointing at her with a cunning gesture. "Sorry for the interruption. Goodnight…"

He made a dismissal gesture with his head, and without another word, he turned around with the clear intention of returning to his own room.

"But…" Matilda said forcefully, drawing his attention before he left. The doctor seemed to debate with herself again for a few moments, but in the end, she opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Come in if you want. I guess we could both use a little talk."

"Will you charge me for the consultation?" the detective asked playfully, to which Matilda responded only with a questioning look. Choosing then not to continue tempting fate with jokes, Cole accepted the invitation.

The officer entered the room, and Matilda closed the door behind them.

— — — —

Cody lucked out and got a single room for the night, though it cost a lot more than he expected. He hadn't brought pajamas with him, so he just took off his shirt and pants to sleep in his underwear. He didn't have a toothbrush, either. And, actually, he hadn't even eaten anything, although for some reason, he wasn't hungry; in fact, his stomach felt queasy.

He didn't take a shower, just washed his face and soaked his hair a bit. Then he lay down on the bed, resting his head on a tower of three pillows to be almost sitting up, and turned on the television for a few moments. He didn't pay much attention to it; he had it more like background noise so as not to sink into silence.

The professor's blue eyes focused more than anything on the orange bottle with those magic pills that guaranteed him to be able to sleep all night without any dreams or nightmares, at the cost of practically not resting. But God knows what else unknown side effects could come on suddenly. He wondered if he really needed them; maybe nothing would happen, maybe he cared too much... But he knew that he was fooling himself.

Cody knew very well how his mind worked, and he knew there was no possible way he could get through the night without some horrible nightmare accompanying him. Whether it was the Canker Man, Lily Sullivan, or a horrendous, misshapen dark mass eating Eleven without him being able to reach her. Whatever it was, it would materialize through the corridors of that hotel, putting all guests in danger.

So, not taking that pill was not an option. Still, he had been staring at the bottle for about half an hour, waiting for something in his label to change and tell him not to do that.

He sighed wearily, placed the pills on the nightstand, and took his phone instead. He reviewed his conversation with Lisa. He had texted her twice after what had happened at the hospital and tried to call her once he was in his room. Lisa didn't respond to any of those things and didn't show up as she logged in for hours.

Cody tried not to let that bother him, especially when he had ignored her a few days after her discussion; perhaps it was her way of getting back at him. However, their last conversation had him unsettled, especially about what Lisa could do with the information he had shared with her. Not that he expected her to tell anyone, but maybe she just wouldn't take it well. He might not hear from her for days, and when he finally located her, it would be to end it all on bad terms.

He suddenly felt somewhat selfish and foolish for thinking about it at a time like this. Eleven was in a coma, people had died, Samara had disappeared, Matilda had been shot, and they had no idea who this mysterious enemy was that was haunting them or whether sooner or later it would come back to attack them again. By comparison, his concerns felt a little small... but not unimportant.

Without quite consciously proposing it, his hands opened the bottle and took out one of those small pinkish oval pills. He gazed at it for a few seconds in his hand, somewhat fearfully, only to be shoved right into his mouth, followed later by a small sip from the glass of water that rested on the nightstand.

It was done.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling while the television and light were still on. His vision and mind soon wandered, and the sounds on the TV distorted and confused. From one moment to another, he wasn't exactly asleep, but his body no longer moved; his eyes didn't really look at anything, and his ears didn't hear any sound either. He was simply there, reclining, his bald eyes unable to close, while his mind disappeared overhead. In a way, that feeling was like a nightmare, but at least it was one that only tormented him… as it should be.

— — — —

Cole sat on the floor mat to one side of the bed, quietly sipping his beers. Apparently, the fact that Matilda rejected them was not a reason for them to go to waste. For her part, the room's guest sat on the bed with her legs stretched out. While he drank beer, she settled for one of the complimentary bottled water and bag of peanuts that came with the room; these last ones she had placed on the bed cover so that they were easier to take with her free hand.

"He didn't know he was dead? Really?" The psychiatrist questioned skeptically. Before Matilda was aware, her casual conversation had quickly turned to the subject of ghosts. She supposed it was pretty common in a conversation with friends over beers and appetizers on nights to start talking about spirits and demons out of the blue. But this occasion was special because she was doing it with someone who was supposed to be more than an expert in the field.

Cole took a sip of his second (or third?) can before answering her.

"It's not that weird, actually," he explained. "I think I had already told you about it, but when death is violent and sudden, the transition from one state to another is so abrupt that the souls become confused, and they cannot process the entire experience. From that moment on, they live their day to day without realizing the passage of time or those things that contradict the reality they want to believe. It doesn't happen every time, but it is common."

Surprisingly, the officer spoke quite fluently and eloquently despite already having a few milliliters of alcohol on him, perhaps even more eloquently than he did when he was sober.

"I don't get it," Matilda pointed out, just after popping a peanut into her mouth. "Do you want me to believe that he was unaware that his wife, or anyone else, wasn't speaking to him or even aware of his presence?"

"I told you," Cole shrugged, "they interpret the passage of time and reality as best fits what they want to believe. You are a psychiatrist; you must understand it better than me. As in the aftermath of a traumatic experience, some memories are blocked, and realities are created to protect themselves."

"And does that apply to ghosts as well?" Matilda questioned, arching an eyebrow.

"So it seems."

"How interesting," muttered the brunette, somewhat sarcastically. "If I had met you before, I could have done my thesis about the psychology of the dead."

Cole laughed, amused by her jovial comment.

"I don't think many in your line are ready to take that idea seriously. Like you, for example," he pointed at her with the same hand that held the can.

"Do you think I'm not taking this seriously?"

"You do?"

No, she didn't really… or at least, not entirely. But right now, she felt much more open to considering the possibility. Quite a few uncontrollable things had happened in the last few days, in which her pride and arrogance hadn't been much help. And after learning more about Detective Sear, she didn't see why he would cheat or lie. Besides, it's not like she was going to solve the mysteries of life and death that very night; it was just a pleasant chat between friends. And perhaps, hearing more about how he saw this world of wandering spirits, she would understand a little what was hidden behind his mask of cheerfulness and carelessness.

"And you knew he was a ghost?" Matilda asked, trying to get back to the story they were talking about.

"Not at first," Cole replied, moving his head slightly to one side, then the other. "Now I have learned how to recognize them, and mainly to feel them. At least most of them... But back then, I could only trust their appearance and the cold that accompanied them. The first two times I saw him, I didn't feel the same as with others, but I could tell as I spent more time with him. Well, it also helped that my mom never mentioned she wanted me to see a psychiatrist. And once I mentioned it to her, I realized she didn't know what I was talking about. After that, I was able to see him in his actual appearance."

"And what was that?" Matilda asked with genuine interest.

"Basically, he looked so normal, but for some reason, many wandering ghosts who haven't crossed to the other side yet, are usually seen with the appearance they had the moment just before they died. In Dr. Crowe's case, he was shot in the abdomen, and his shirt was covered in blood. As far as it goes, he was the most minor terrifying thing I saw at the time."

"And he didn't realize it?"

"What? The blood stain? I suppose not. I go back to what I said before: they deceive themselves. But when I realized what he really was, I was not afraid of him like the others because I never felt threatened by him. He really wanted to help me, and he succeeded. He..." Cole paused for a moment, staring at the opposite wall, losing himself a little in that thought. "I think he was the first real friend I ever had… and he was already dead."

Although, at first, she joked a bit with the idea, in reality, Matilda began to find that point a bit interesting. The idea, hypothetical or not, of studying the states of mind that a deceased person passed through would be a totally virgin field in which there would be much to discover. Although, if that was in any way possible, she could bet that someone else, with the help of someone like Cole, had already done something similar without ever publishing it or passing without drawing much attention from the scientific community, for obvious reasons.

Matilda took a small sip from her water bottle as she thought about this. Leaving aside the professional (or pseudo-professional) nature of the matter, there were some other implications inherent in the possibility of speaking with the dead, some of a more… personal nature, but which she refused to give a definite shape in his head. As if that embarrassed her.

"And you told him?" Matilda asked suddenly after that moment of silence, taking Cole a little off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"Did you tell that man he was actually dead?"

"No…" Cole hesitated. "But I gave him a little push so he would figure it out on his own. After that, I didn't see much of him, so I assumed he had crossed over to the other side. Once every few years, though, he reappears to give me some advice, as if he were my personal Obi-Wan.

His "Obi-Wan"; that statement brought back to Matilda an old memory. She looked thoughtfully toward the door and picked up one more peanut from the pile next to her.

"When a soul crosses to the other side... can it return to this world?" she asked suddenly, with some hesitation in her tone. Cole turned to look at her, puzzled. Not because of her question but because of how she had asked it.

"Only on infrequent occasions, and I think only with people like me," he replied more seriously than before. "That is, with the proper Shining to communicate with them. But they never stay long. Being on this side is sometimes painful. Why do you ask?" Cole turned fully to her, looking at her with curious eyes. "Are you thinking about that doctor who jumped off the roof or Mrs. Morgan?" Matilda continued to stare at the door without saying anything. "Or in Carrie White?" Matilda remained silent, although her face made a little frown, similar to how her stomach hurt.

Cole then started to get to his feet, as dexterous as the beers he'd had would allow, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Matilda didn't stop him. The detective looked at her seriously, like a parent about to lecture a child; one fair but severe.

"I'm the least suited to say this, or perhaps the most depending on how you look at it," he stated calmly. Matilda looked at him just a bit. "But it isn't good to cling to the dead" He paused to drink a little of what was left in his can and clear his head in the process. "My mother died of cancer about eight years ago… or is it already nine? Anyway, when it first happened, it was so easy… to call her before me and be able to see her and talk; pretend that she had never left. But what I was doing was wrong. I was hurting her for my selfish desires, and me the same. I understood the hard way that although it is very difficult, perhaps one of the most challenging things that can be done, the best thing is to let them go. So they can rest in peace, and so can we."

Matilda was struck by how wise and convincing those words sounded, even from someone half drunk. Although she had not been through an experience even remotely similar to the one he described, she could imagine the emotional impact that could have on an individual. Perhaps that had been part of that mask he was now wearing, but she felt that while she was listening to him, she had been able to see and hear the real Cole Sear for those moments. And what she perceived… she had to accept that she didn't dislike him. Although if he smelled less of alcohol, it would be better.

The brunette smiled without meaning to, and not sure why exactly. It had simply gotten away from her.

"Eleven was right," she pointed out suddenly, sitting up straight on the bed and moving closer to him. "You really have a perspective on all of this that I could never have or even understand. I wish I could have used it better instead of feeling threatened by your presence. Maybe things would have turned out differently…" She looked ruefully to the side.

"It wouldn't have, and you know it," Cole scoffed. "If it makes you feel any better, I also felt a little jealous when I asked about you and heard everything the Foundation people said about "Eleven's Favorite."

"Oh, God," Matilda exclaimed between giggles. "Do they really call me that?"

She had come to think that everything Cody had said to her was just to annoy her, but it seemed that it was a very real nickname.

"Don't tell them I told you," Cole asked between some laughs. "But the reputation that precedes you can be intimidating and create a lot of expectations."

"So much pressure. Well, I hope I met those expectations."

"You did," the detective pointed out with conviction, leaning toward her slightly. "And too much..."

This took Matilda a little by surprise. She felt her cheeks flush, and unconsciously she leaned back a bit as if wanting to make even a little more distance between them. Cole apparently thought he had made her uncomfortable, which Matilda wasn't sure if it had been true or not. Despite his alcoholic state (which he apparently could control well), the policeman had the clarity to decide that perhaps it had been enough for one night.

"I'd better go," he said, getting up from the bed with everything and the couple of beers he had left, staggering a bit in the process but managing to stay on his feet. "You sure want to sleep. Tomorrow you will travel, after all."

"Yes, that would be for the best," Matilda replied calmly, also standing up to lead him to the door.

"Next time we meet, you'll have to tell me about that poltergeist you saw when you were a kid. "

"I don't think so," Matilda whispered wryly. She didn't think they could ever reach that level of trust.

The psychiatrist opened the door for him, and Cole walked slowly, perhaps to avoid falling. Before he got out, however, Matilda stopped him.

"Cole, wait a bit," she whispered, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. Her eyes stared at him with some intensity. "Tell me the truth… what was it you saw in Samara?" Cole looked at her blankly. "Everything you told me about a demon haunting her… was it serious?"

Cole couldn't figure out if she was asking because she was beginning to believe him or perhaps because she was hoping he would tell her something that would clear up the significant doubts that were starting to occupy her mind. The beer didn't help him much in finding out, either. For the same reason, before saying something that could ruin that little moment they had shared, he decided to say something that perhaps was not what she expected, which was quite sincere anyway.

The officer took a deep breath and leaned against the door frame to keep from falling.

"People like Eleven and I tend to walk in the shadows so much that it's all we see at one point. But you were able to see the light in that girl and realize that there was goodness in her. Maybe that was what she needed most, really. I am convinced that if you had had the time and the opportunity, you could have saved her, regardless of what I did or did not see."

Matilda smiled thinly and leaned her head against the open door.

"That doesn't comfort me."

"I know," Cole replied, shrugging. "But unlike Carrie White or Mrs. Morgan, Samara is still alive. As long as she's alive, there's still hope, right?"

Matilda nodded slightly, not in fact entirely convinced.

"Good night, Detective."

"Good night, Doctor."

Cole backed away, swinging down the hall a bit until he reached the elevator at the end of it. Matilda closed the door carefully after he left, and she stood in front of it for a while, her forehead resting against the smooth wooden surface. She wasn't sure if that short conversation had helped either of them in any way. But something was a little more certain: she was going to miss that… "detective of the dead."

She sighed and smoothed her hair a bit with her free hand. Now she really had to try to sleep. How well Cole had said, tomorrow she had to travel.

END OF CHAPTER 49

[nurisiliel]

A Zouxie Week

fandom:          Tales of Arcadia

characters:     Hisirdoux Casperan, Zoe Ashildr, Archie

Summary:       Eight sequential short stories from the lives of Douxie and Zoe in Arcadia Oaks for the zouxieweek2022.

warnings:       Day 7: /

disclaimer:     I don't own Tales of Arcadia (Trollhunters, 3Below, Wizards and Rise of the Titans) or any character which you may recognize from the shows or the movie. They belong to Guillermo del Toro and DreamWorks Animation. However, everything else is my own creation.

A/N: This chapter is inspired by Teny's post on Zouxie Week 2022, Day 7 - goth. Before she posted it, I didn't really know what to write about "goth" because I hadn't really come into contact with this lifestyle yet except sometimes for the annual Wave Gothic Meeting near me. Further, Douxie's title Shepherd of Fire is also by her. So, thank you, for this inspiration, @tenyai. I just love all your art.

Day 1 - 6 - Read on AO3

Zouxieweek2022 prompts, Day 7 - goth

"I'm proud of you."

With a long sigh, Douxie accepted Zoe's words. If he didn't expect an unspeakable headache from the important conversation to come, he might be proud of himself too.

"Hey." With an encouraging tone, she nudged his with her shoulder as he leaned forward slightly to fasten the last buckle of his top. "Really, Douxie, how long have you been avoiding them? And yet now you seek to talk to them to help Toncor's tribe. You should be proud of yourself, too! And besides, might I add," she slowly stroked his sheathed arm, "you look very good in that outfit! Maybe we should consider regularly wearing this for ADP."

Slowly, Douxie straightened up and looked at Zoe in disbelief. "You do realize that this is pure chicanery? Chaka's out of his mind, if you ask me! That you have to dress like that to be allowed to come forward for a meeting! Outrageous!"

When he had received the conditions for an audience the day before, Douxie almost exploded. That he had to leave Archie behind, he could even understand. After all, both Akane and Adalar had both had extremely bad experiences with dragons in the past. The rule that dragons weren't allowed to appear before the Council of Wizards was therefore ancient, and Douxie respected it. But this nonsense with the dress code?

"He's just bored. Don't take it so hard. Besides, don't you think I'm sexy?" With a seductive gesture, Zoe let her fingers glide over her pentagram, which was the connecting piece between her dress and her shoulders flattering stole made of raven feathers, and her chest before placing her hand on her hip. "You're definitely sexy, my dear. And so badass…" she purred. "If you're so upset about having to wear something that makes you look so insanely handsome and attractive--"

"Yeah yeah, stop that, okay?" Douxie grumbled, adjusting his collar once more. "Let's just get it over with."

Less than half an hour later, Hisirdoux was so annoyed that even Zoe's soothing words couldn't really calm him down anymore.

"Seven! Zoe, who needs seven damn gates to bring the claimants to themselves and keep uninvited guests from finding their citadel?!"

"Hmm..."

"Or don't you think that's silly, too? Crazy? Suffering from delusions of persecution?"

"I do. But what you should keep in mind is that the council will hardly listen to us if you pay your respects there with an expression like you're about to kill them all."

"That's probably exactly their goal," Douxie muttered as he stepped out of the portal and began walking across a snowy plain without looking back. No sooner had the two of them left the immediate area around the portal than he heard the gates close behind him, and immediately after, felt a wind coming up that seemed to whisper to them.

"Ah! See? Here we finally are."

Douxie heard his companion's amused chuckle and grabbed her hand to help her walk through the snow with her shoes unsuitable for this surface.

At least, he told himself, that was the only reason. But of course, Zoe saw right through him.

"While I think it's a gallant gesture, I know you know I can certainly enchant my shoes to be both warming and non-sinking, my magical knight. But, of course, you're welcome to use me to cool your mind a bit. Raven's voice grows louder. We should be crossing the barrier in a moment, and then you should bring out your acting skills and put on a more easy expression."

Douxie nodded. But this time he found it hard to hide his feelings. This wasn't about him, after all, but about an entire tribe of forest trolls, already considered rare in Camelot's best days, and now even more so and steadily being further reduced thanks to the depletion of forests all over the world!

Then, all of a sudden, a bright light blinded him and for a short time he literally saw the snowflakes dancing on the insides of his eyelids before coming back to the there and then while blinking hard.

"What was that, Zo?!" Douxie asked, rubbing his slightly sore eyes.

"Sorry. Magically enhanced flash to pick up anything magical. And believe me, that's going to be a spectacular picture when I print it out for our photo album. Here," Zoe spoke, turning her cell phone toward him so that he could see himself on the screen.

But he couldn't really recognize himself in the photo. He was looking at a man with an expression of fierce determination, in whose pupils a blue fire seemed to blaze. And this fire had already inflamed him everywhere - not only his runes shone in the color of his magic, but also many accents of his long coat and all metal buckles on his clothes!

"Archie's going to be so mad he missed this." Zoe laughed softly. But then she abruptly turned serious as she made her phone disappear somewhere in her dress.

For at that very moment their surroundings changed, while crossing the threshold invisible to mortals. The snow-covered plain disappeared and instead they were now in a small hall, at the end of which a door stood open.

"Let's go, you two."

Raven's voice manifested to that very person as the wind swept once around Zoe and Douxie and then dissipated as a small tornado rippled across the ground before them.

"Raven," Zoe greeted the witch, while Douxie could only stare at her.

Instead of her usual pitch black hair, she wore a mixture of soft pink, purple and blue. But while that still looked tolerable, her clothes just screamed at him.

"Why, Raven?" Douxie asked, shaking his head. "That's not you! You look like a rebellious anime teenager! You--"

With a groan, he grabbed his side where Zoe had more than rudely punched him. But Raven only laughed.

"Ridiculous, isn't it? Try to take it with humor, Brother Hisirdoux. Chaka is, after all, currently our chairman and has proposed a change in dress code to be closer to the spirit of the times from our sisters and brothers. And yes, my pastel explosion is a rebellion against it while at the same time it's accepted because of the subculture, but don't tell him that," she whispered the last sentence and winked at him. "But come now. And try not to stare. Caralyn has found her true self with this change and now shines inside and out. Oh, and Akane and Amaniel are currently a couple. You won't miss that in a moment..." she spoke, gliding lightly ahead of the two.

Sighing, Douxie offered Zoe his arm, and with a serious nod, she put hers around his before they both followed the council member with measured steps.

No sooner had they entered the hall, where the other five council members had already gathered, than Douxie felt Zoe get goosebumps under her thin gloved gauntlets.

"Damn! She wasn't exaggerating! Caralyn just looks.... otherworldly ethereal..."

Douxie could only agree with that. It had been ages since he had last seen her. Back then, Merlin had taken him on a trip to Avalon, where the young Hedgewitch was also present to meet with the High Priestess. Even then, she had had an unnaturally pale taint, which had made her skin almost radiant.

"I wonder if white hair would suit me as well?" Zoe murmured with a clear envious tone.

"Don't even think about changing your pink, Zo! Yes, I openly admit that her white gothic style looks killer and suits her immensely, but it wouldn't be for you. You have to remember that her sanctuary is the Arctic and Antarctic. If you were to suddenly walk around Arcadia completely in white, you would only draw unnecessary attention to yourself."

With a heavy and unladylike snort, she made her displeasure known. "Sometimes, I really hate it when you're right. But one thing you can know, the next Samhain is coming for sure and then I won't care if I scare the mortals with my white appearance if I go to the Wild Hunt like this!"

"Welcome," Chaka addressed them both then, saving Douxie from having to find a retort for Zoe. "It is not often that we see you here with us, Sister Ashildr. But never before have we had the pleasure of receiving the Shepherd of Fire within this ancient halls. Tell me, how is your Familiar Archibald, Aspirant Casperan?"

No sooner had he spoken it than Douxie felt Zoe's fingers squeeze his arm imperceptibly. And yes, he would thank her later for the silent encouragement, but right now he didn't need it. Chaka was going to rub his nose in the fact that he wasn't a master wizard yet? Ha! He could do that all he wanted. Eventually, Merlin would wake up again, and then Douxie would show him that he was worthy. Dignified, he therefore indicated a curt nod before answering in a calm voice.

"Archibald sends his regards to the Council of Wizards and hopes that you will help us in our cause, Master Chaka."

Greeting the other members each with a nod as well, Douxie then waited until Zoe had also greeted them with a formal curtsy.

"What is your business that you wish to bring before us, Brother Hisirdoux?" Adalar asked then, smoothing out his coat as he sat down, which could have come straight out of Bram Stoker's Dracula, and removing his top hat, which he placed with an elegant gesture of his hand on the small table in front of him, on which eight glasses were also ready.

"And please, help yourselves. The way here is by now no longer the shortest..."

"Our thanks, Master Adalar," Zoe addressed him. "But our time is short. After all, there are lives at stake that we have sworn to protect."

"Then please speak. Enough formalities have now been exchanged," Caralyn's bell-clear voice floated through the room, officially ending the obligatory and age-old greeting part.

And while Akane and Amaniel settled down on a two-person couch, holding hands in their partner-look black and emerald green attire, and Raven conjured up a windball and sat playfully cross-legged on it, Caralyn and Chaka remained standing. The latter positioned himself in the middle of the others with his hands clasped behind his back and a grim face, and Douxie secretly wondered if he had chosen that place because of his status as chairman of the council or because he thought he was a general with his military-looking uniform frock coat.

"Now then," Douxie began, directing his thoughts solely to the matter for which he and Zoe had come here. "Four days ago we encountered beings of a nearly extinct species, and that encounter brought home to us the obligation of our brothers and sisters to support the entire magical community..."

@moppetwithamanbun @emsprovisions

[daydream-believin]

The Never-Ending Roadtrip (new beginnings)

Summary: Reader joins Douxie in the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company won’t he? - Also, a talk about Merlin and grief. It’s big feelings time. (part two)

Warnings: Swearing, theres like three bad puns and at least one meme im sorry

Word Count: 2713

A/N: inspired by the fact that i recently moved states and it was the most tedious trip ever. It took the entire day. i was bored out of my mind. So i decided to write about going on a long boring roadtrip with Douxie instead. also, i have a black cat myself and i can attest that they are little domesticated demons. she didn’t like the long trip either.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Douxie deadpanned when he saw (Name) run up to join him on the ship, perching on the edge. “Well I’m coming with you, obviously.” Douxie had known the young woman long enough to know that there would not be a point in arguing. They would just go round and round for hours before she ultimately won. She fought dirty, puppy dog eyes and all. He didn’t have time for this.

After making sure that Archie and Nari were secure, Doux turned back to (Name), “You’re absolutely sure about this decision, love? Once we take off there’s no going back. We could even be running for the rest of our lives. You really should stay with the others,” he warned.

She looked annoyed. “Yes, Doux. I am absolutely sure. I wouldn’t want you to do this alone. And besides, you’ll need me.”

He blushed for a second before realizing she meant he would need her as in extra backup and not that he needed her needed her. Trying not to show the slight disappointment that was written on his face, he chuckled and covered his cheek with his palm, “Of course.”

They set off into the early morning sky. After waving goodbye to the rest of the gang, (Name) clung to the golden railing, looking out over California in amazement. It was like she was in a movie. This was her life changing magic carpet ride. Of course, a lot about her life had seemed to be out of a movie lately. Ever since she discovered her gift for sorcery. Ever since she got mixed up in all this Arcadian mess. Ever since she met Douxie.

Surprisingly, Douxie was really talkative for the first few hours of the trip. (Name) had expected him to be a bit more closed off, considering the week they had just gone through. He was really gushy too, with his heart on his sleeve even more so than usual, and that’s saying something for Douxie. Maybe momentary death was good for unclogging heart pipes.  (Name) was loving it. Not the momentary death thing. That had almost stopped her heart. No, it was so nice to be having such lighthearted conversation with her friends. Kept her from dwelling on things. Once night got closer, though, she couldn’t help it. What could she say, the pink splattered purple sunset made her sentimental. She and Douxie had slipped into a little talk about Arcadia, about the kids, about what had happened, and about what was next for them. Despite her gushing about how happy she was to be here with him, Douxie still felt really guilty that he put her through all this. She made the mistake of telling him how much it scared her, everything that happened earlier. She made a bigger mistake telling him how she cried over his body, refusing to accept that he was gone. He wasn’t of course, but she didn’t know that.

He suddenly got quiet after that. The conversation lulled. Even Nari and Archie seemed to sense that something was off and kept quiet. After watching the stars roll by in silence for a few hours, (Name) started to feel the tug of sleep. She tried to find a cozy spot, but failed, because she was on a ship. A pretty basic little vessel. There were no seats or anything even kind of cushiony. She contemplated using Archie as a pillow, but that probably wouldn’t fly well with him. Pun intended.

Douxie was still as statue, staring out straight ahead into the clouds. Like a grizzled old sea captain. The bags under his eyes were getting worse than usual, but (Name) decided to not to say anything to him and let it be. He looked like he was enjoying the silence. She didn’t think he’d sleep tonight. How could he? She mused. (Name) herself hadn’t even begun to truly process all that had happened. She wished she knew what to say. Anything to comfort him, to let him know she’s be there. But (Name) was no use now, in her sleepy state. She might make it worse. She’d try talking to him in the morning. If he even wanted to talk.

In the end, (Name) wound up leaning against the corner, using her balled up over-shirt as a pillow. It was a bit colder now, but with Nari snuggled up in her lap and Archie stretched out over her legs, she’d be just fine. They might as well had been heaters. Doux wouldn’t join them, insisting that they needed to fly through the entire night to put as much distance between them and Arcadia as possible. He assured them that he’d wake them up if something was the matter. Of course, they were sleeping on an open deck floor. Any sort of trouble would wake them up immediately anyway, but it was a nice thought. (Name) snuggled into her makeshift pillow. She took one last look at Douxie, brooding at the helm, before slipping off to dreamland. It was a mediocre dream.

The morning sun came sooner than (Name) wanted. The cheeky bugger. There was no use trying to go back to sleep. The sun was too big and bright. so, so bright. Nari also stirred when the sun beam hit her face. She blinked blearily and let out a cute yawn. Or at least it would have been cute, had it not been directly into (Name)’s face. (Name) had to give it to Nari though, her morning breath actually didn’t smell bad. It was earthy, floral even. Damn nature spirits. Despite (Name) and Nari being awake, the sun’s rays seemed to have little to no effect on Archie. He could sleep through anything, on anything, at any time. Damn cats.

Douxie looked like the dead. His raven hair was a mess, lips chapped from the wind. Those eyebags had somehow gotten even worse. Douxie gave Tim Burton characters a run for their money. (Name) decided it might be better to wait until she was a bit more awake and articulate to try and talk to him more about… the, ah, events from yesterday. Yet, she was fully aware that if she kept procrastinating, the conversation was just going to get worse and worse. But the timing’s not right. Yes, the timing’s just not right. The stars, they’re not in position. In fact it might be easier if she got him to take a nap first. Yeah, no need to cause sleep deprived Douxie to have an unnecessary breakdown.

It took some convincing, but (Name) finally got him to agree to let her take the helm and get that well deserved rest. Not that Douxie thought he deserved it. He wasn’t too happy about leaving (Name) and Nari alone, figuratively, while he was unconscious and unable to protect them. He wasn’t too happy about a lot of things, really. He especially didn’t care to be alone with his subconscious. But with the worried look (Name) gave him, he couldn’t help but comply with her demands. Her and her bloody puppy dog eyes.

He woke up to the sound of (Name)’s singing. She probably hadn’t meant to wake him up, with her soft voice hushed, but nonetheless he was awake. Douxie was a light sleeper. He had to be, after all his troublesome years. She was singing a sweet little love song. He felt a drumming in his chest as he listened. Speaking of his chest, there seemed to be a bit of pressure on it. A familiar pressure. It started to purr, sending the comforting vibrations through his ribcage. He gave Arch a good scritch behind the ears before sitting up.

“Your voice is so lovely, you know. I cannot imagine why you’re always hiding it.”

Name startled. “Did I wake you?” she asked, concerned since he hadn’t been out but for a few hours.

“Yes, you had,” He began gently, “But, I’m glad.”

“You’re glad?”

“Of course, I got to hear that beautiful singing voice of yours. Quite the rarity, innit?”

(Name) flushed. She wasn’t sure if she was flattered by his compliments or embarrassed that he had caught her singing once again. Still, she tried to refute his words but all that came out was a flustered sputter. Thankfully, Nari came to the rescue. Unintentionally, but a rescue all the same.

“Hisirdoux, now that you are awake, may I ask where it is that we are going?” the small goddess asked.

“Oh, uh, about that,” Doux wrapped his arms behind his back and sucked some air through his teeth, “I actually didn’t have a set place in mind. I think we’ll just wing it. On our winged boat.”

(Name) whipped her head towards him so fast she’d get whiplash. She didn’t even acknowledge the terrible joke. “I’m terribly sorry, but you what.”

“I just thought we’d head northeast for now. Once we run out of land, we’ll pick a new direction. It’s not like we’d be able to stay too long in a place, after all. It’s safer to be constantly moving.” He tried not to sound to unsure in this rambling. He did have a plan, just not one that looked too solid on a piece of paper. It’ll be fine. They’ll be fine.

“I- okay.” She didn’t sound too panicked, which Douxie counted as a win. Still, he didn’t want her to be too stressed about the uncertainties. He figured he might as well just pick a place to ease her fears a bit. She couldn’t worry herself raw, that was his job.

“How about New York City? That can be our first official destination on the Never-Ending Roadtrip.”

“Yeah, yeah okay. New York City, that sounds nice.” Victory.

***

“Ugh, we’ve been flying over basically the same damn thing forever! Can’t this thing go any faster?” (Name) whined as she leaned over the edge like a wilted flower. Her wind-mussed hair hung over her face. It took everything in Douxie not to flinch whenever she got to close to where she might fall out. Sure, she would most likely be able to break her fall with magic, not coming out with too many scratches, but it still scared him just the same. (Name) was gonna give him a heart attack one of these days.

“It’s a fucking magical flying boat, (Name). It goes eighty miles per hour tops. Do you know how advanced that was in the twelfth century? It was a fucking miracle of technology, (Name). It’s not the boat’s fault we’re currently travelling through Kansas.” Doux huffed. He quickly felt guilty for snapping at her and apologized. He felt a bit on edge lately. Their conversation last night kind of freaked him out. He wanted to be a little more protective of her now since she told him about how scared she was, but snapping at her would just accomplish the opposite of getting across how much he cared.

Name sighed. Looking around the ship, she noticed that Nari and Archie were just napping in the sun, completely unbothered by her and Douxie’s loud outbursts. She looked back out into the seemingly infinite grass field again.

“Well, I guess now is a pretty good time,” She said cryptically, “Hisirdoux, we need to talk.”

It was like she just injected ice water into his veins. He didn’t like her tone, plus, those words were never proceeded by something good. Never. “To talk?” he asked with a nervous tinge in his voice, hoping if she elaborated it wouldn’t be as bad as the conclusions he was jumping to.

“Yeah. Talk. About your feelings.” Well now he was panicking. She said that so solemnly. How did she know? Fuzzbuckets, she was about to reject him, on this boat they were stuck on, in the middle of Kansas. Rip out his heart and throw it into the grassy void.

“To talk, about my feelings?” he repeated her again, incredulously. He put on his best fake smile.

“Yes, Doux.” She sat down on the railing near him and crossed her legs. “I just- I think it’s time we had a proper conversation about stuff. Like say, I don’t know, how you’re handling your grief over a certain mentor.”

Douxie quickly let go of the breath, he wasn’t sure when he started holding, in a loud sigh of relief. Oh thank Merlin, he thought this was going to be bad. That’s what she wanted to talk about? Okay, not the problem he was expecting, but one he could deal with. He’s already had a couple of good cries. He spent most of last night mulling over not just Merlin but the whole concept of death. He could talk about the weight of grief hanging over his heart, no big deal.

“I believe I am handling it well, thank you for your concern, Love.” He tried to sound nonchalant.

“Hisirdoux Casperan, you stared out into the distance with unblinking glassy eyes for hours last night and barely spoke to any of us. Hell, you fucking died yesterday, Doux. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that. You’re not fine. And you’re not weaseling your way out of this conversation either.” She said sternly. They entered an unspoken staring contest.

“Alright, Love, fine. I am fine. Okay?” She quirked her brow. “I am, truly. I’m at peace. He lived a good life and I’ll continue his legacy with honour. Of course I’m still sad about it, but I’ve got other things to focus on right now. Sure, my chest is still heavy, but it’s not crushing like it was when the wound was fresh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “And I did get my last goodbye talk with him when I was dead,” He chuckled to try and lighten that last bit up, but name still winced at his words.

“Douxie, I just- I know what it’s like, ya know. To suddenly no longer have that father figure in your life. Someone you looked up to for so long. It’s hard Doux, I get that.” She sympathized. She tipped her head down towards the deck floor.

“Well, in a way, he’s already been gone for about, say, nine centuries. I’ve had my time away from him, so I know that I can do it. It’s the knowing that now he’s gone gone that’s the real kicker.” He glanced across the boat over to the sleeping pile of fur and greenery. Nari was curled up into a ball while Archie mirrored the same, but on top of her. They were like a couple of stacked buns. Douxie smiled at the sight. “And yet, do you know what makes it all feel better?” Name looked back up at him and furrowed her brows.

“You. And Archie. And Zoe. And Claire. And my bandmates and my coworkers and the rest of the Arcadia gang. I’ve got plenty of people in the world now. I know I’ve got all kinds of love.”  He hung his arm over her shoulders. He had made up his mind, he was going to open his heart to her soon. Almost dying really puts one’s priorities in view. “Recently, a great man, well, a great dragon, told me that family is not just who you have, it’s also who you’re with. If one thing I’ve learned in this nightmare week, it’s that you’ve got to enjoy people while you can. Because once they’re gone, they’re gone. You can’t dwell on past love, you’ve got to soak in the love you’ve got now, or you’ll miss it.”

“I guess I understand that.” (Name) said softly. She took in his words. Focus on the now love, huh. She could use to do that too. She felt his hand move from her shoulder to the small of her back.

“Oh hey look at that, we’re coming up on Missouri. How about we stop for brunch, Love?”

“Oh I’m starving,” Archie butt into the conversation and flew over to rest on (Name)’s shoulder. He did one of those black cat yawns where they turn their entire faces inside out and they become nothing more than a black hole with teeth, “I could really go for a bagel with extra lox right now.”

[writings-of-a-daphodil]

Fire Keeper: Chapter 13.5

Douxie x fem reader

Chapter 1

Masterlist in bio!

Series Summary: You are Jim’s older sister who is taking a break from college and has moved back home to Arcadia. You end up joining Jim and his friends on their adventures.

Chapter 13.5 summary: You meet some special siblings who are new to Arcadia.

You hummed as you admired a pretty suitcase. It was just your style and thankfully in your price range. You put it into your cart and continued shopping.

Now that you had decided to go to Europe with Douxie you needed to get some stuff. You were taking a plane in a few days so there was no time to waste.

You enjoyed how normal it felt to go shopping. You quickly checked off each item on your list and a few that weren’t. You weren’t going to risk being unprepared.

After you checked out you made your way to your car, unfortunately you had had to park far away.

The sun was setting and you were surprised by how much time you had spent shopping. Your stomach growled and you remembered that Jim was making your favorite food for dinner. It was supposed to be your going away meal since the both of you would be busy the rest of the day leading up to your departure.

As you loaded your purchases in your car you subconsciously monitored the auras around you and you would have continued to ignore them had two auras not stood out.

They weren’t like the soft and scattered auras of humans, the rough auras of trolls, or the clam aura of a wizard. At first glance their auras were organized and clean. As you studied them for longer you got past the first impression. You were able to sense the girl’s excited and determined energy and the boy’s nervous yet curious energy. The more you studied them the more you were able to glean about their personalities.

You looked for the source of the auras and found two kids around your brother's age walking towards you. You had never seen them before and while that didn’t inspire a need for investigating them, their odd auras did.

“Hi,” you greeted as they got near you.

The boy considered you for a moment while the girl shook your hand. “Hi, I’m Aja. This is my little brother, Krel.”

“I’m Y/n, nice to meet you.”

“Lively!” the girl exclaimed.

“I haven’t seen you in Arcadia before,” you stated, trying to keep the conversation going so you could continue to read their auras.

“We just moved here from Cantaloupia,” Krel said and that was when you became certain that there was something going on.

“Oh? I’ve never heard of Cantaloupia.”

Krel opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by a car alarm. You looked towards the noise and saw what you believed to be a robot. It gave off no aura so that was the most logical thing it could be.

You scoffed, first trolls and wizards now robots, what more did Arcadia have to offer?

Even if you didn’t exactly know what the thing was you knew what would happen when it raised its weapon.

You pulled Aja and Krel to the ground as blasts soared over your head. You were still struggling to use magic, but you did your best to summon a shield. Your orange magic lit up around you, keeping you safe from the robot for the time being.

You looked over at Aja and Krel, “So, I know what this looks like. I’m a sorceress and that means I can do magic. Um, please don’t tell anyone.”

“Lively!” Aja exclaimed. “Don’t worry your secret is safe with us.”

“Yes,” Krel added, “we know what it’s like to keep a secret.”

“Ah, so the robot is after you then?”

“He’s probably a bounty hunter,” Krel admitted as he fumbled with what looked like a protractor.

Aja grabbed her own protractor looking device and when she pressed a button it expanded to shield the three of you. “Cantaloupia must be quite the advanced country,” you mumbled.

“Oh you have no idea,” Aja replied.

“You can drop your shield, Y/n,” Krel said, eyeing the flickering dome.

You let out a breath as you dropped it, but there was no time to rest. You summoned your sword, though it took you awhile, and pounced on the robot.

It wasn’t focused on you at all which made it easy to fight. With that statement though it grabbed your arm tightly and threw you away from it. You tumbled through the parking lot and you were glad there were no humans around to witness the battle or to run you over.

You used your sword, which had landed near you, to help you up. You looked over to where Aja was attacking the robot, but instead of seeing Aja you saw a bright blue girl with four arms. You looked for Krel, and saw a bright blue boy lying on the ground. Things clicked as you ran over to him.

“You know, this makes so much sense,” you said, helping Krel up.

“What do you mean?”

“I was reading your auras earlier and I noticed that they weren’t human,” you explained.

“Watch out!” Krel cried pushing you to the ground as the robot shot at you.

“Thanks,” you said, Turing to face the robot. You ran at it, zigzagging to avoid its blasts. Now it seemed very focused on you, giving Aja the perfect chance to destroy it.

You walked over to the robot and kicked it to see if it was dead. Satisfied you walked back over to Aja and Krel.

“So where are you two really from?” You asked.

“A place very far away from here called Acaridian-five. We’re the king and queen in waiting. We had to flee after a coup,” Krel explained and you realized that Arcadia did have more to offer.

Your eyes widened in shock. You couldn’t imagine being forced to leave Arcadia. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do to help? I’m really good at making up excuses if you need any.”

Aja smiled. “Thank you, we will remember that for later.”

You opened your mouth to say something else when a car drove into the parking lot. You quickly hid behind your car.

“Aja, we should get going. Varvatos will be worried,” Krel said, then he turned to you. “Thank you for your help.”

“Of course and if you need any help at all adjusting I’m here to help.”

“Thank you!” Aja exclaimed, giving you a hug.

She and Krel ran off, darting into alleys and hiding from humans. You smiled at the two of them, your older sibling instincts had definitely kicked in. You would do your best to help out those two. 

****

Tada! I hope you enjoyed this even though there wasn't any Douxie, this was for setting up a later chapter. A later chapter that I am very excited to write. Anyways have a fantasticly wonderful day/night and stay safe!!💖💖💖

P.S. if you want to be on the taglist feel free to ask. I hope it works and please message me if it doesn’t.

P.P.S. I'm totally open for requests on fluffy half chapters! If you have any ideas for the half chapters send them in and I'll do my best to include them.

[nikibogwater]

Long-Distance: a Tales of Arcadia fic

Nari comes to an upsetting realization when Douxie makes a very important phone call.

Somehow this ask got me to write an entire oneshot after months of really struggling with writer’s block, so I can only conclude that the Non was a literal enchantress whose ask was packed with the magic of the muses. At any rate, thank you for the unexpected inspiration! 

Unfortunately I was not able to include a scene of Douxie stopping by Zoe’s place before he left Arcadia. The show heavily implied that he just grabbed Nari and booked it to New York City as fast as possible, which is a bit upsetting to the Zouxie shipper in all of us, but I did try to provide a bit of an explanation for it in this fic. This fic ended up being a two-for-one special, prominently featuring both Zouxie and the Magical Siblings (because I’m pretty sure I have a stipulation in my fandom contract somewhere that every ToA fic I produce must have Magical Siblings content in it). Also Archie being a marvelous little menace. 

Read on Ao3

Or under the cut:

Douxie had been on the phone for almost two hours.

From what Nari had observed of him, this was highly unusual behavior. He was typically very averse to making phone calls, and even when it came to checking in on his friends in Arcadia, the conversations never lasted more than thirty minutes or so. But he had seemed downright excited when he told her and Archie that he needed to make a call that evening. Archie must have known something Nari didn’t, because he swished his tail smugly and said “I see the lovesickness has settled in again.” Douxie threw a pillow at him, which he dodged gracefully, and began dialing before Nari could ask what any of this meant. 

“CASPERAN!” Douxie did not have the speaker on, but the others could hear Zoe’s voice screeching on the other end just fine without it. The wizard hissed and jerked the phone away from his ear, though his aura seemed strangely unperturbed by the less-than-friendly greeting. “YOU TRASH MY WORK AND THEN TRY TO DIP OUT OF TOWN WITHOUT TELLING ME--AND WHAT THE HELL IS ALL THIS I’M HEARING ABOUT YOUR DEATH?!” 

“S-sorry, darling,” Douxie sputtered. “I--yes, I know that wasn’t...I texted you as soon as I could! There wasn’t time to stop, the Order was practically breathing down our necks, and I couldn’t risk bringing them to you...Of course I’ve been meaning to call, but getting my phone replaced was a nightmare and there’s just been so much...No, I’m fine it was just...” The conversation continued at an ordinary volume from there--clearly Zoe had just needed to get the yelling out of the way first. But there was something odd about Douxie’s aura that puzzled Nari. Granted, she had not known him for very long, but she’d never sensed his spirit giving off this particular energy before. It was a sort of warm fondness, but somehow different from what his aura projected when he was near Archie or any of his other friends (she was only just beginning to dare to hope that perhaps some of that fondness might be directed at her). It was almost a happy ache of some kind, something that felt as gentle as a budding flower, but also as ancient and deep as a canyon. It took her a moment to recognize it, but when she did, it gave her an unpleasant start. 

“Archie,” she inquired softly, giving the Familiar a gentle nudge. The two of them had settled on the broken-down sofa near the front of the studio, while Douxie was flopped on his mattress near the back. Archie’s ear twitched and he looked up at her expectantly. “Is...Are Douxie and Zoe...” She dug through her mind in search of the correct human term. “...mated?” 

“The human word for it is married,” Archie informed her gently. “And no, they are not. Though they certainly give off that air.” He looked back at the wizard sprawled on his mattress, face aglow as he listened with rapt attention to whatever Zoe was saying on the other end of the line. 

“But they love each other as mates?” Nari persisted. 

“I would say that is an accurate assessment of their relationship, yes,” Archie chuckled. “They met back in Camelot, when Douxie was still an apprentice. Boy took one look at her and was instantly smitten. It was hell on earth trying to deal with him moping and sighing around the castle, sounding out ridiculous love songs on his lute at all hours of the night. Zoe took a bit longer to come around, but she did after a while, and they have been devoted to each other ever since.” 

Nari’s heart twisted. That was what she had feared. The guilt that had been nibbling away at her now began to gnaw like a ravenous beast. Douxie had not only left his home because of her. He had left loved ones. It had barely been a week since they fled Arcadia together, and yet his heart was aching for Zoe like they had been apart for years. And it was all because of her. Nari pulled her knees up to her chest and curled into herself, feeling sick. Douxie’s voice continued to fill the tiny space.

“...Mm-hmm...Yes...Yeah, I’ll be fine, Zo. Really. And I promise I’ll call again soon, alright?” There was a long pause. “...I love you,” he said softly. His aura gave a warm, fluttering pulse, a sure sign that Zoe must have returned the sentiment. Nari’s stomach turned uncomfortably. “...Yeah. ...Yeah, okay. ...I will. ...Goodnight.” The phone beeped softly as he ended the call with a deep sigh. He lay on his back for a while longer, staring up at the ceiling, a sad, dreamy look on his face. 

“Are you ever going to eat dinner, or do you intend to sustain yourself on yearning alone?” Archie called across the room. Douxie huffed and pushed himself upright to glare at his Familiar. 

“One day, Arch, I swear, you’re going to--” He stopped suddenly as his gaze landed on Nari, still huddled against the back of the sofa. “Nari? Are you alright?”  

“I....yes,” she fumbled, surprised he had even noticed anything. “S-sorry.” Archie was looking at her now as well, and she felt herself shrinking under both his and Douxie’s scrutiny. 

“Hey,” Douxie murmured, getting up and crossing the room to kneel in front of her. “What is it?” 

“...Why did you leave Arcadia?” Nari asked in a tentative whisper. Douxie tilted his head in confusion. 

“What do you mean, why did I leave? We had to. You wouldn’t have been safe there, the Arcane Order was too close.” 

“I had to leave, Douxie,” she insisted. “But you could have stayed. I have been hiding alone for hundreds of years, there was no reason you had to be part of that.” 

Whatever she had been expecting, it was certainly not the look of hurt that flashed across Douxie’s face, accompanied by the feeling of his aura flinching away from her as though she had struck him. 

“Do you not want me here?” he asked, voice tight with whatever pain Nari could feel turning in his spirit--it was an old pain, that much she could tell. 

“I...I want you to be happy, Douxie,” she replied, willing her voice to keep steady. “But the only thing my presence has brought you is suffering.” 

“Who told you that?” Douxie barked, voice suddenly sharp. He didn’t seem to want an answer, because he continued before she could say anything. “They’re wrong. I don’t care what they told you, they’re wrong.” Images of Bellroc and Skreal flashed through her mind briefly, but Douxie wasn’t giving her any time to dwell on it. One of his hands landed on her shoulder. “Nari, leaving Arcadia to protect you was my choice. Merlin entrusted me with your safety because he knew you are worth protecting, and I--” He stopped for a moment, searching for words. “...I agree with him. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, even if that means I lose something along the way. You are a part of what makes this world good, and I decided a long time ago that I wanted to protect all the good I can. But that’s on me, and me alone. You’re not responsible for anything the Order has done since you left them. Understand?” 

There were several things Nari could have said to refute his argument. She still had doubts as to whether Merlin would have ever found her individual safety at all important if it hadn’t been for the fact that the Order needed her to open the Genesis Seals. Douxie’s desire to protect what was good in the world was admirable, but also entirely foolish. It could only end in his demise (it already had once before), and someone with a heart as pure as his deserved better than to make such a thankless sacrifice. 

“...What about Zoe?” was all she said. 

“...I do miss her,” Douxie confessed, voice soft once again. “But this isn’t the first time my wizarding responsibilities have forced us to part for a while. I know she’ll be there when all of this is over, and that’s all I need. And besides--” He gave her a lopsided grin. “This is nothing compared to what it was like before the invention of the telephone. At least I can talk to her whenever I want now. It’s really not so bad.” 

“I can attest to that,” Archie put in. “This Lovesick Period isn’t nearly as horrendous as some of the others I’ve seen.” 

“Yes, thank you for that, Arch,” Douxie replied dryly. “Point is....I wanted to look after you, Nari. I made some sacrifices to do it, but I know it’s worth it. And Zoe feels the same. Honestly if I hadn’t been the one to take you, I’m half convinced she would have. She acts tough but she’s soft on the inside.” 

“...I do remember sensing that much when we met,” Nari admitted. She uncurled and folded her legs beneath her, reaching out and cupping Douxie’s face in her palms. His aura twitched in surprise, but he did not pull away from her, even when she tentatively pressed her forehead to his for a moment. It was a very ancient gesture of trust and affection--so ancient that Nari wasn’t even sure if most humans still practiced it. But it was the only way she knew how to convey her feelings just then. “You are what makes this world good as well, Douxie,” she murmured. “I will do my best to protect you in return.” Archie cleared his throat loudly as she pulled away from the wizard. “You and Archie both,” she amended, giving the Familiar a fond pat. 

“...Right,” Douxie breathed, his aura glowing with fondness once more--the familiar kind she had felt before. And this time, Nari let herself believe that perhaps it was for her.

[yellowmagicalgirl]

(the garrote killing me is made of your) heartstrings

Wizards whose powers awaken at a young age stopped aging in their late teens until they meet their soulmate. That didn't mean that Douxie expected to meet his soulmate any time soon, however.

This was inspired by that one tumblr post where you start aging again when you meet your soulmate. Warning for discussions of death as well as mild body horror concerning Akiridion biology.

AO3

FFN

“So, how did you manage the whole living for 900 years thing?” Claire asked. The two of them were in Douxie’s old bedchambers; they spoke quietly to avoid waking Steve up.

“By taking it one day at a time,” Douxie said. Some of those days had been better than others. Some of those days the only thing that had kept Douxie alive was that one day, Merlin would come back and need Douxie.

“Er, I actually meant the fact that you haven’t aged from now to when we left Arcadia... I hate time travel.”

“Oh. That’s actually simpler. Wizards whose powers awaken at a young age stop aging in their late teens until they meet their soulmate. Then, if they want to gain their immortality back they have to kill their soulmate. I mean, it’s still really hard to kill a wizard if they’ve met their soulmate, but I just haven’t aged in about nine centuries.”

“How do you know, that someone’s your soulmate?”

Douxie blinked. That wasn’t a question he expected Claire to ask. “Why, I thought you had more faith in me. I would never kill my soulmate.”

Claire raised her hands apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I just... I guess you’ve never met yours, so it doesn’t matter, I’m sorry I asked.”

Douxie glanced toward the dungeon. She was probably asking about Jim. “There was this guy, back in the early nineteenth century, and at the time I thought he might’ve been my soulmate. Obviously, he wasn’t, but I loved him nonetheless. And like I said, if you have to struggle with immortality, then you have to take it one day at a time. Live in the moment. And yeah, outliving your loved ones is hard. But there’s upsides to immortality as well.”

Douxie walked into Hex Tech, thankful to see a short girl with pink hair pinned neatly into place. He didn’t trust any other hedge mage like he did Zoe. Douxie walked up to her. Her, and a boy at the front desk shoving something into a backpack.

And as he bore the wrath of the boy Douxie had technically cut in front of, Douxie felt something unlock deep within him.

Surely, it was just a feeling of familiarity, and safety, from being in a place where the Arcane Order wouldn’t find them.

Douxie came home to the shared studio apartment to find Archie and Nari talking in low voices. That... wasn’t exactly a good sign. It wasn’t automatically a bad sign, but it wasn’t exactly good.

“Douxie,” Archie said gravely as Douxie put away his keys. “Have you noticed anything different, in the past two months?”

“Uh, we’re in New York?” After a week of making their way around the continent and setting up false magical signatures for Nari, the three of them had buried themselves in a small, crowded part of New York City. The Arcane Order wouldn’t be able to find them here. Also, Merlin was dead as opposed to just asleep, but Douxie was trying not to think about that.

“Other than that,” Archie said. Douxie shook his head in response.

“You’re aging,” Nari said.

“What? No.” Douxie couldn’t be aging, he still had so much to do. He protected the Earth for about 900 years and he planned to keep doing so. He planned on protecting Nari for eternity if he needed to. If he was now mortal, then he wouldn’t be able to do so. “I don’t have time to be aging.”

“We all knew it would happen eventually,” Archie said. “Who do you think your soulmate is?”

“I...” The problem was, Douxie had only met one person whom Douxie had thought was his soulmate. That man died a little less than two centuries ago. It had been for the best, really. If Douxie’s lover had been his soulmate, he wouldn’t have been able to meet Merlin again in Arcadia Oaks. Who knew what he could accomplish if he lived long enough that he would still be around two centuries from now? “I don’t know.”

“Give me your hand,” Nari said, “and I can try to find them.”

Douxie obediantly stuck out his left hand, and Nari took it in her own. She closed her eyes. Her hands glowed with green light, and illusory vines wrapped around Douxie’s hand and floated in the air. The vines then disappeared, and her hands stopped glowing. Nari opened her eyes.

“That is strange,” Nari said. “I can sense the living soul of every being of this planet. But your soulmate is not one of them.”

“So... my soulmate is dead?” Despite Douxie’s frustration with aging, he still felt a shallow pang of grief. It wasn’t fair. If he had to once more age, then he’d want to meet and get to know the destined person that Douxie was intended to die for. And instead, he wouldn’t even get that.

“I do not know,” Nari said. “Your soulmate’s soul could be in the Shadow Realm, like Jim’s was.”

“We need to find a way to better hide you and the seals, or even find a way to defeat Bellroc and Skrael for good,” Douxie said. “The Arcane Order has forever. I’ve got, what? Eighty years?”

“Or longer, if we use the right spells, or...” Archie trailed off, looking away. Douxie frowned. It must be hard on Archie, to know that he would definitely outlive Douxie. Dragons could live for three or four millennia, after all.

“We can’t be sure, but we think that you might be aging slightly slower than the average human,” Nari said.

“Could it be because I died?” Nari and Archie flinched as the words left Douxie’s mouth.

“I don’t know,” Nari said. “You’ll have to give me time.”

That was something Douxie was running out of.

“So, I was thinking,” Claire said as she rummaged through Douxie’s pantry, looking for a snack. She was quite the prodigy, having progressed quite far in the year and seven months that Douxie had been training her. The two of them had come back to his apartment after setting up decoys for the Arcane Order in various locations across Central and South America. “Jim’s mentioned that he wants to find a way to return to his troll form, but not permanently. And my first thought was maybe making him a changeling, but then we’d have to kidnap someone.”

“Not a good idea,” Archie said. “Hand me that can of tuna?”

“Exactly,” Claire said as she passed along the can. “But, we might be able to adapt Akiridion transduction so Jim can choose if he wants to be a human or a troll. So, what do you say to bringing Krel into this project?”

“Sure,” Douxie said. A couple days after Douxie had left Arcadia Oaks, Steve had added Douxie to a group text with the other Guardians of Arcadia. Douxie and Krel had started talking on their own a couple months after that. It would be nice to see Krel in person again. “Do you or Jim want to ask him, or should I?”

Claire brought Krel with her through a shadow portal soon after noon the next Sunday. Krel looked around, fidgeting his fingers along the edge of his jaw. Douxie expected to be annoyed that in the time since Douxie and Krel had first met, Krel had grown taller in his Akiridion form. They were no longer the same height, which had been... oddly nice, for reasons Douxie couldn’t name. Krel was now tall enough that his hair brushed against the ceiling of the apartment. Douxie wondered if it naturally grew that way, or if Krel had to spend time using products to make it stand up. From all the time the two of them had texted each other, Krel didn’t seem like the type of guy to spend a lot of time and gel spiking his hair every day, and Douxie had once been the type of guy to spend a lot of time and gel each day, making sure his hair was nice and spiky.

A small pang of grief for his lost immortality came with the memory of the old, somewhat cringe-worthy hairstyle. Douxie had mostly adjusted to his newfound mortality, but it still hurt sometimes. He, Nari, and Archie still hadn’t made any progress on the topic of Douxie’s soulmate, either.

Douxie forced himself to stop staring at Krel. Yes, Krel was attractive in a way that caught him off guard. There was something about the way his face now looked that made him look regal, moreso than Arthur and Morgana had ever looked. Maybe it was the fact that his faceplate had finished detaching a week ago? Krel had complained over text a month or two ago that it was an uncomfortable process that signified the start of adulthood for a royal Akiridion.

“You’re...” Douxie trailed off. He wanted to say beautiful. “A little later than expected.”

“Yeah, sorry, Mass ran late,” Claire said. “So, how’d you want to get started, Teach?”

Six hours of three frustrated prodigies ignoring each other’s personal space as they debated schematics passed. While Akiridion technology and magic were surprisingly compatible, transduction wasn’t quite as compatible with human-and-troll biology as they had hoped. Still, they weren’t quite ready to give up. Well, not forever, anyways. Words were starting to stop making sense for Douxie, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the same was starting to more-or-less happen to the others as well. Douxie stifled a sigh. He didn’t want to be the one who bailed first, but he also got the feeling that if he didn’t say anything the three of them would continue attempting to work for another hour or two of increasingly angry conversation.

“Do you want to break for dinner any time soon?” Douxie asked.

“Please,” Claire said in a desperate, thankful tone, “I’m starved.”

“Wouldn’t it just be a late lunch?” Krel asked.

“Time zone difference,” Douxie said.

“Right, forgot, sorry,” Krel said. A year ago Krel had explained how time zones weren’t really a thing on Akiridion-V. Instead, all clocks were set to the same time as it was in the capitol, but depending on where on the planet you lived you might start your delson at a different time. That being said, the amount of artificial lighting on the planet meant that location didn’t quite matter for when people were supposed to be awake or asleep.

“Can we get pizza from that one place a block away?” Claire asked as she stretched. “You’ll love it, Krel.”

“Archie, Nari, we’re going out, you want to come?” Douxie called across the apartment.

“Bring me back something with anchovies!” Archie said. Claire wrinkled her nose.

“Give me a moment to put on my disguise!” Nari called. Krel activated his transduction. While Arcadians had gotten used to trolls and extraterrestrials, and New Yorkers were mostly unphased by Nari’s antlers, Krel’s four arms and glowing body might draw unwanted attention. Douxie swallowed in order to stifle a gasp.

If Krel had grown into a regal young man in his true form, as a human he had become a roguishly adorable sort of scruffy. Krel had grown his hair out into messy a chest length ponytail. He was an inch or two taller, too.

Nari walked over to them, disguised as an incredibly short human with a beanie that had antlers attached to it. There was probably something to be said about how a nature goddess was more focused on a game on her phone than her surroundings, but she was used to the layout of the apartment. Plus, she could sense the soul of every living being of the planet Earth. She wouldn’t bump into anything until they left the apartment. Then she’d have to be careful.

She bumped into Krel, and looked up, startled.

“Sorry, I didn’t...” Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t sense you. You’re not from Earth, are you?”

“No, is it still that obvious?” Krel fidgeted with the ends of his ponytail.

“Not if you can’t sense souls,” Nari said. She gave Douxie a pointed look. He had no idea why.

Nari and Archie spoke in hushed enough to be somewhat worrying tones as Douxie got ready for work the next day.

“Should we tell him?” Nari asked.

“He’ll figure it out,” Archie said. “Or well, he should. If he doesn’t figure it out within a year, I guess we should tell him, but until then if he’s that oblivious it won’t hurt him.”

Douxie decided to ignore them and whatever they were talking about. His phone buzzed with a text from Krel, and Douxie smiled.

A/N: I decided to leave it ambiguous as to whether or not Jim and Claire are soulmates in this.

[a-s-levynn]

*pounces on the Ask Game* DOUXIE! ✨ (yes, I'm basic lol)

Look i love gushing about my faves and Douxie is kind of starting to take over my life so thank you!

Why I like them?

There is so many reasons again but i just love characters that despite being thrown shit at them constantly can and will stay genuinely kind and caring. And his whole character is just such an inspiration. He pretty much is what i wanted to grew up to be but i failed at it spectacularly so far. But i'll try my best

Why I don’t

I wuw heemm so muuuuchh

Favorite episode (scene if movie)

Wizards S1E1, the scene trying to capture the shadowmephit. Than an there it was decided i love him, he must be protected at all cost and it haven’t changed ever since. But a strong contender scene is when he lets Charlemagne destroy Merlin's staff. Because reasons

Who am i kidding. I love every single episode. Can we just consider the entire season as one long ass episode? Because i love all of it

Favorite season/movie

Well we only have Wizards so... shame it was so short

Favorite line

"I will not be lectured by someone who licks their own butt!" -to Archie

S1E1

Favorite outfit

His modern clothes. I love the Camelot ones as well but i’m a simple person. Also he looks more comfy in his hoodie

OTP

I don’t have one. I actually had a conversation about this not so long ago with @dahliycia and i still stand by that i can’t see a clear one yet. I’m not much of a shipper, i’m open to anyone's likings but i’m not that hooked on the idea of any kind of loveinterest for him. I like how Teny draws zouxie but we didn’t see enough of Zoe yet in canon so i can stand behind that just yet either. But i love their friendship dynamic so far

Brotp

Him and Archie. But only because i can’t say the entire Arcadia gang plus Nari. It would defeat the meaning of the brotp

Head Canon

Again, i’m not big on headcanons becaude i'm not smart enough for them but i actually have a few small ones of him.

I mean the glowing tattoos are pretty common but i'd like to think he has them instead of a fancy wizard armor. Because it looks cooler also more practical in sense of movement than a full set of armor. So basically they are not just amplify his magic but serve as protection as well? I don't know if that's stupid or what but i like it

I think he can cook fairly decently but rarely has the time or energy to do it

I think he can play more instruments than lutes and guitars

I believe that he is not incapable in a hand-to-hand fight. He grew up on the streets of the capital city of a kingdom that punished the use of magic by death immediate so he had to find other ways to fend himself. He probably is a scrap fighter and uses whatever is around him. But we seen glimpses of how he handles his guitar. (If his staff had turned into an axe, not a guitar, he would have gotten half of Morgana's head off, just sayin'.) He does that with ease so i think he could hold himself in a fight fairly okay even without his magic

And a few small stuff like this, nothing unusual or groundbreaking

Unpopular opinion

I have two but i'm not sure they are that unpopular but there we go:

1. I don't think he needs a canon love interest. He needs a family and he found one with Nari and the Arcadia kids and i think that can be enough for him to be happy

2. I’m not entirely convinced he sings in Ash Disperal Pattern. He definitely plays the guitar and probably the lead one but i don’t think he is the singer. I can see him doing some vocals but not on main (This is probably due to the fact the the irl person whom i draw the most inspiration for him, can sing and has a good voice but he usually just a guitarist in most of the bands he is in doing some backup vocals)

A wish

Just let him rest for once, and let him be happy. ALSO SOMEONE GIVE HIM A HUG!!

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen

I don’t want him to loose Archie. Or anyone for that matter. He started to really bond with the Arcadia gang and i don’t want him to loose anyone, ever again.

5 words to best describe them

Kind, hardworking, selfless, courageous and compassionate

My nickname for them

I usually just refer him as Doux. I'm simple that way

[ladyherenya]

Books read in September

I had a moment of intense self-centredness and, internally, wailed: Why isn’t the world filled with more books that appeal exactly to me??? 

I’ve concluded that it’s like I have an inner story-troll sitting inside me shouting: Tell me a story! I try to appease it by presenting it with books, one at a time, and seeing how it reacts. 

Favourite cover: Flyaway.

Reread: The Shadowy Horses by Susanna Kearsley. (I also reread From All False Doctrine at least twice.)

Also read: The Disastrous Début of Agatha Tremain by Stephanie Burgis and Snow Day by Andrea K Höst.

Still reading: The Time-Traveling Popcorn Ball by Aster Glenn Gray and The Game of Kings by Dorothy Dunnett,

Next up: I have borrowed The Other Side of the Sky by Amie Kaufman and Meagan Spooner, Taking Down Evelyn Tait by Poppy Nwosu, and Between Silk and Cyanide: A Code Maker’s War, 1941-45 by Leo Marks. And maybe I’ll finally get around to The Dictionary of Lost Words by Pip Williams?

*

The City of Brass by S.A. Chakroborty (narrated by Soneela Nankani): I think this Middle East-inspired fantasy was just not the story I was in the headspace for -- it was longer, with more complicated worldbuilding and fewer answers. Possibly I’d have followed the political intrigue of Daevabad better had I read this in one gulp (I got halfway through the 20-hour-long audiobook before it was due back and I read other books before picking up the ebook). I liked the two protagonists, enough that I’m curious about what happens to them next, but the second book is 23 hours long and undoubtedly won’t resolve everything either. Maybe another day.

Tuyo by Rachel Neumeier: Ryo is left as a “tuyo” -- a sacrifice to be killed by an enemy -- as a sign that his tribe will withdraw from the Ugaro’s war with the Lau. But his captor doesn’t want to kill him, he wants Ryo to help him stop the war. Neumeier effectively creates tension between people who are polite, honest and honourable, and shows an intriguing relationship, defined by mutual respect, fealty and something more familial. There’s also some unusual magically-defying-physics-as-we-know-it worldbuilding but apparently I was far more interested in the character dynamics. I enjoyed this. Sequel, please?

From All False Doctrine by Alice Degan: My favourite book this year! Toronto, August 1925. Elsa Nordqvist, who hopes to write her MA thesis on a recently-discovered Greek manuscript, is at the beach with a friend when they meet two foster-brothers. This meeting deftly sets up everything which follows. The cover says “A Love Story” but this is also like a cross between a Golden-Age mystery novel and a fairytale retelling, with bonus academia and Anglicanism. I really like how much these characters value their friendships, their lively, intelligent and often honest conversations, and the way the romance unfolds. It also feels like a story written just for me and a hard one to review because my reaction has been very personal.

The Haunting of Tram Car 015 by P. Djèlí Clark (narrated by Julian Thomas): Set in the same city as A Dead Djinn in Cairo, this novella follows two agents from the Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments and Supernatural Entities as they investigate a possessed tram car. The world-building is vivid and cleverly, thoughtfully, imaginative. But, perhaps because of the mood I’m in and because this story isn’t interested in exploring the personal lives of its detectives, I have no feelings about this.

The Angel of Crows by Katherine Addison: Sherlock Holmes wingfic involving Jack the Ripper murders. Not what I’m looking for in a Holmes retelling. But I was sufficiently intrigued by something the author wrote. I really like Crow and Dr Doyle (arguably more than their original counterparts). My interest wavered a bit during the second half. It closely mimics the style and structure of the original mysteries in many ways and that’s not my favourite style. I wanted fewer cases to solve, and more of Crow and Doyle interactions. I liked the ending, enough to be glad that I hadn’t given up halfway through.

Making Friends with Alice Dyson by Poppy Nsowu: Australian YA. Alice plans to spend her final year of high school staying invisible and studying hard, but is thrown into the spotlight after someone posts a video of her dancing with Teddy Taualai. I loved how intensely this captures Alice’s emotions and perspective, and how the story explores that people have different emotions, perspectives and needs. Alice seems to me like someone who might be on the autism spectrum -- and whether or not that’s what the author intended, it’s great to see characters like her represented. I wish it had unpacked her relationship with her parents more, but that didn’t negate how much I enjoyed this. 

Always and Forever, Lara Jean by Jenny Han (narrated by Laura Knight Keating): I can’t remember why, after I read To all the boys I’ve loved before and P.S. I still love you in 2017, I decided against reading the third book. It turned out to be my favourite. I loved it! I had a different experience of finishing high school and applying for university, but I find Lara Jean’s perspective intensely relatable: she has strong opinions about aesthetics; she’s nostalgic, introspective, stressed by uncertainty; she enjoys spending time at home with her family. I liked how this book captures her wonder at the intimacy of knowing another person well, and how, although she sometimes worries about their future, she has very few doubts about Peter himself. I haven’t come across very many YA novels in which a teenage girl is so secure being in a relationship. 

The Rose Garden by Susanna Kearsley:  After her sister dies, Eva stays with family friends in Cornwall, where she and Katrina spent summers years ago. I wasn’t expecting time-travel. I like time-travel stories, and I like how Kearsley handles it here. Eva’s choices make sense, given her situation, and the story emphasises that, even though she cannot control when she travels in time, there are still many choices she can actively make. So Eva becomes fascinated with 1715, because of the people she meets there and the relationships they develop... but I wanted to spend more time in the present-day Trelowarth, with its rose gardens and new tea room.

Flyaway by Kathleen Jennings: After she receives a mysterious note, nineteen year old Bettina flouts her mother’s rules for ladylike behaviour and embarks on a roadtrip with a couple of forgotten friends in search of her brothers, who disappeared three years ago. I loved some of the descriptions, especially seeing a rural Australian setting for this sort of fantasy. Jennings creates a wonderfully eerie atmosphere and the mystery kept me reading. However, the folktale parts of the story are dark, uncomfortably so. Very successfully Gothic, just ultimately not really my brand of Gothic.

The Duke Who Didn’t by Courtney Milan: There’s something so incredibly soft about this romance -- yet at the same time, it’s about two people who work fiercely towards their goals, worry about things, and are acutely aware of the discrimination they and other they love face as Chinese people in late 19th century England. Chloe and Jeremy’s relationship is characterised by banter and gentle teasing that reveals just well they know and accept and care about each other. Moreover, they have friends and relatives -- and a community -- who are supportive. I really enjoyed reading this and appreciated how low-angst it is.

The Threefold Tie by Aster Glenn Gray: Very tender. The characters convinced me that they were capable of communicating honesty with each other and making an unconventional relationship work. I liked the prose, which is no great surprise. 

Hamster Princess: Whiskerella by Ursula Vernon (aka T. Kingfisher): This time, adventure finds Harriet at home: her parents are throwing a masked ball so she can “meet some nice young princes without terrifying them”. But the princes are all preoccupied with a beautiful stranger, and Harriet is distracted by the mystery: who is this hamster, how did she get in without an invitation and what sort of magic is behind her glass slippers?  I think this is my favourite of Harriet’s adventures (so far). I loved the humour in this one.

Echo North by Joanna Ruth Meyer: When Echo finds her missing father unconscious and half-frozen in the woods, she is given a choice by the white wolf. A retelling of “East of the Sun, West of the Moon” with elements from “Beauty and the Beast” and “Tam Lin” thrown in, this has so many things which appeal to me, including an unexpected and wonderful library. Yet I found it frustrating and slow; the prose and the characters are rather straightforward, and I predicted nearly all the twists (bar the finale). But I believe that this tale could delight a younger, or a less critical reader.

The Disastrous Début of Agatha Tremain by Stephanie Burgis: In the two years since she turned sixteen and dismissed her governess, Agatha has been free to disregard ladylike behaviour, studying the books in her father’s library and teach herself magic. But then her aunt arrives and insists upon Agatha making a social début. This novelette is another story that I suspect I’d like more if it had been longer, if some of its ideas had been expanded upon and some of the relationships been given more space to develop. Agatha’s aunt and her motivations were unexpected, and I wasn’t entirely comfortable or satisfied with how that was resolved.

Snow Day by Andrea K. Höst: This novelette takes place after the Touchstone trilogy, more specifically after In Arcadia. Two outsiders get to see Cass and her family on Snow Day, and reveal a bit about their upbringing on Kolar.  This feels very much like fanfiction which just happens to be written by the author. It is fun to see familiar characters through others’ eyes and the expanded worldbuilding is interesting, but as a narrative, it seemed somewhat incomplete. (Maybe she’s planning something more with these characters?)

[that-girl-i-told-you-about]

An Invitation to Paradise

It's a cool, crisp evening out here in my little Eden, my love,

It feels like Autumn coming back for her coat - after she forgot it at the bar;

Giddy, mellow, walking on air,

Dancing on a brisk breeze that smells like the colour blue

And tastes like ivy.

My darling, I am finding myself beginning to melt;

Deftly dissolving into the comfort this eventide so exquisitely exudes;

Invigorated by its midnight mollycoddling,

I am enveloped in the warmth of revivifying analepsis;

Which concludes my ministry here on Earth -

In this enchanting witching hour,

I have found serenity.

Basking in magnificent quietude,

I feel only the rapture - and hear only the whispers -

Of conversations with you that we haven't yet had

Whilst sat out here under this majestic sky;

Which glitters with gold and shimmers with ethereal diamonds.

The only thing that could possibly make this tantalising twilight more pleasurable,

Is you;

Your spellbinding presence.

Oh! How I wish you were here with me right now, my idyllic inamorato,

So, please, come join me in Arcadia - my Shangri-la;

We can philosophise out here, together, until the early hours of the dewy, misty morn,

Delicately interlacing our souls

As we revel in the awe-inspiring floridity of the Universe.

Thus, I beg of you, my dear, please entertain this; my provocative proposition,

Accept my invitation and know

That I'll be waiting for you, my love, with bated breath.

Even if it takes you an age,

Rest assured, I will be eagerly awaiting your arrival;

I will never bar your entry to my Elysian Fields.