#it seems I’ll simply have to perish

[perpetualprocrastinationisme]

I’m a simple person, I don’t ask for much in this life. I really could live without a lot of things if I could just have my basic needs met.

My basic needs: food, shelter, human connection, Ty Blackthorn’s POV.

[amateurvoltaire]

For the past six years or so, this graph has been making its rounds on social media, always reappearing at conveniently timed moments…

The insinuation is loud and clear: parallels abound between 18th-century France and 21st-century USA. Cue the alarm bells—revolution is imminent! The 10% should panic, and ordinary folk should stock up on non-perishables and, of course, toilet paper, because it wouldn’t be a proper crisis without that particular frenzy. You know the drill.

Well, unfortunately, I have zero interest in commenting on the political implications or the parallels this graph is trying to make with today’s world. I have precisely zero interest in discussing modern-day politics here. And I also have zero interest in addressing the bottom graph.

This is not going to be one of those "the [insert random group of people] à la lanterne” (1) kind of posts.  If you’re here for that, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.

What I am interested in is something much less click-worthy but far more useful: how historical data gets used and abused and why the illusion of historical parallels can be so seductive—and so misleading. It’s not glamorous, I’ll admit, but digging into this stuff teaches us a lot more than mindless rage.

So, let’s get into it. Step by step, we’ll examine the top graph, unpick its assumptions, and see whether its alarmist undertones hold any historical weight.

Step 1: Actually Look at the Picture and Use Your Brain

When I saw this graph, my first thought was, “That’s odd.” Not because it’s hard to believe the top 10% in 18th-century France controlled 60% of the wealth—that could very well be true. But because, in 15 years of studying the French Revolution, I’ve never encountered reliable data on wealth distribution from that period.

Why? Because to the best of my knowledge, no one was systematically tracking income or wealth across the population in the 18th century. There were no comprehensive records, no centralised statistics, and certainly no detailed breakdowns of who owned what across different classes. Graphs like this imply data, and data means either someone tracked it or someone made assumptions to reconstruct it. That’s not inherently bad,  but it did get my spider senses tingling.

Then there’s the timeframe: 1760–1790. Thirty years is a long time— especially when discussing a period that included wars, failed financial policies, growing debt, and shifting social dynamics. Wealth distribution wouldn’t have stayed static during that time. Nobles who were at the top in 1760 could be destitute by 1790, while merchants starting out in 1760 could be climbing into the upper tiers by the end of the period. Economic mobility wasn’t common, but over three decades, it wasn’t unheard of either.

All of this raises questions about how this graph was created. Where’s the data coming from? How was it measured? And can we really trust it to represent such a complex period?

Step 2: Check the Fine Print

Since the graph seemed questionable, the obvious next step was to ask: Where does this thing come from? Luckily, the source is clearly cited at the bottom: “The Income Inequality of France in Historical Perspective” by Christian Morrisson and Wayne Snyder, published in the European Review of Economic History, Vol. 4, No. 1 (2000).

Great! A proper academic source. But, before diving into the article, there’s a crucial detail tucked into the fine print:

“Data for the bottom 40% in France is extrapolated given a single data point.”

What does that mean?

Extrapolation is a statistical method used to estimate unknown values by extending patterns or trends from a small sample of data. In this case, the graph’s creator used one single piece of data—one solitary data point—about the wealth of the bottom 40% of the French population. They then scaled or applied that one value to represent the entire group across the 30-year period (1760–1790).

Put simply, this means someone found one record—maybe a tax ledger, an income statement, or some financial data—pertaining to one specific year, region, or subset of the bottom 40%, and decided it was representative of the entire demographic for three decades.

Let’s be honest: you don’t need a degree in statistics to know that’s problematic. Using a single data point to make sweeping generalisations about a large, diverse population (let alone across an era of wars, famines, and economic shifts) is a massive leap. In fact, it’s about as reliable as guessing how the internet feels about a topic from a single tweet.

This immediately tells me that whatever numbers they claim for the bottom 40% of the population are, at best, speculative. At worst? Utterly meaningless.

It also raises another question: What kind of serious journal would let something like this slide? So, time to pull up the actual article and see what’s going on.

Step 3: Check the Sources

As I mentioned earlier, the source for this graph is conveniently listed at the bottom of the image. Three clicks later, I had downloaded the actual article: “The Income Inequality of France in Historical Perspective” by Morrisson and Snyder.

The first thing I noticed while skimming through the article? The graph itself is nowhere to be found in the publication.

This is important. It means the person who created the graph didn’t just lift it straight from the article—they derived it from the data in the publication. Now, that’s not necessarily a problem; secondary analysis of published data is common. But here’s the kicker: there’s no explanation in the screenshot of the graph about which dataset or calculations were used to make it. We’re left to guess.

So, to figure this out, I guess I’ll have to dive into the article itself, trying to identify where they might have pulled the numbers from. Translation: I signed myself up to read 20+ pages of economic history. Thrilling stuff.

But hey, someone has to do it. The things I endure to fight disinformation...

Step 4: Actually Assess the Sources Critically

It doesn’t take long, once you start reading the article, to realise that regardless of what the graph is based on, it’s bound to be somewhat unreliable. Right from the first paragraph, the authors of the paper point out the core issue with calculating income for 18th-century French households: THERE IS NO DATA.

The article is refreshingly honest about this. It states multiple times that there were no reliable income distribution estimates in France before World War II. To fill this gap, Morrisson and Snyder used a variety of proxy sources like the Capitation Tax Records (2), historical socio-professional tables, and Isnard’s income distribution estimates (3).

After reading the whole paper, I can say their methodology is intriguing and very reasonable. They’ve pieced together what they could by using available evidence, and their process is quite well thought-out. I won’t rehash their entire argument here, but if you’re curious, I’d genuinely recommend giving it a read.

Most importantly, the authors are painfully aware of the limitations of their approach. They make it very clear that their estimates are a form of educated guesswork—evidence-based, yes, but still guesswork.   At no point do they overstate their findings or present their conclusions as definitive

As such,  instead of concluding with a single, definitive version of the income distribution, they offer multiple possible scenarios.

It’s not as flashy as a bold, tidy graph, is it? But it’s far more honest—and far more reflective of the complexities involved in reconstructing historical economic data.

Step 5: Run the numbers

Now that we’ve established the authors of the paper don’t actually propose a definitive income distribution, the question remains: where did the creators of the graph get their data? More specifically, which of the proposed distributions did they use?

Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to locate the original article or post containing the graph. Admittedly, I haven’t tried very hard, but the first few pages of Google results just link back to Twitter, Reddit, Facebook, and Tumblr posts. In short, all I have to go on is this screenshot.

I’ll give the graph creators the benefit of the doubt and assume that, in the full article, they explain where they sourced their data. I really hope they do—because they absolutely should.

That being said, based on the information in Morrisson and Snyder’s paper, I’d make an educated guess that the data came from Table 6 or Table 10, as these are the sections where the authors attempt to provide income distribution estimates.

Now, which dataset does the graph use? Spoiler: None of them.

How can we tell? Since I don’t have access to the raw data or the article where this graph might have been originally posted, I resorted to a rather unscientific method: I used a graphical design program to divide each bar of the chart into 2.5% increments and measure the approximate percentage for each income group.

Here’s what I found:

Now, take a moment to spot the issue. Do you see it?

The problem is glaring: NONE of the datasets from the paper fit the graph. Granted, my measurements are just estimates, so there might be some rounding errors. But the discrepancies are impossible to ignore, particularly for the bottom 40% and the top 10%.

In Morrisson and Snyder’s paper, the lowest estimate for the bottom 40% (1st and 2nd quintiles) is 10%. Even if we use the most conservative proxy, the Capitation Tax estimate, it’s 9%. But the graph claims the bottom 40% held only 6%.

For the top 10% (10th decile), the highest estimate in the paper is 53%. Yet the graph inflates this to 60%.

Step 6: For fun, I made my own bar charts

Because I enjoy this sort of thing (yes, this is what I consider fun—I’m a very fun person), I decided to use the data from the paper to create my own bar charts. Here’s what came out:

What do you notice?

While the results don’t exactly scream “healthy economy,” they look much less dramatic than the graph we started with. The creators of the graph have clearly exaggerated the disparities, making inequality seem worse.

Step 7: Understand the context before drawing conclusions

Numbers, by themselves, mean nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I could tell you right now that 47% of people admit to arguing with inanimate objects when they don’t work, with printers being the most common offender, and you’d probably believe it. Why? Because it sounds plausible—printers are frustrating, I’ve used a percentage, and I’ve phrased it in a way that sounds “academic.”

You likely wouldn’t even pause to consider that I’m claiming 3.8 billion people argue with inanimate objects. And let’s be real: 3.8 billion is such an incomprehensibly large number that our brains tend to gloss over it.

If, instead, I said, “Half of your friends probably argue with their printers,” you might stop and think, “Wait, that seems a bit unlikely.” (For the record, I completely made that up—I have no clue how many people yell at their stoves or complain to their toasters.)

The point? Numbers mean nothing unless we put them into context.

The original paper does this well by contextualising its estimates, primarily through the calculation of the Gini coefficient (4).

The authors estimate France’s Gini coefficient in the late 18th century to be 0.59, indicating significant income inequality. However, they compare this figure to other regions and periods to provide a clearer picture:

Amsterdam (1742): Much higher inequality, with a Gini of 0.69.

Britain (1759): Lower inequality, with a Gini of 0.52, which rose to 0.59 by 1801.

Prussia (mid-19th century): Far less inequality, with a Gini of 0.34–0.36.

This comparison shows that income inequality wasn’t unique to France. Other regions experienced similar or even higher levels of inequality without spontaneously erupting into revolution.

Accounting for Variations

The authors also recalculated the Gini coefficient to account for potential variations. They assumed that the income of the top quintile (the wealthiest 20%) could vary by ±10%. Here’s what they found:

If the top quintile earned 10% more, the Gini coefficient rose to 0.66, placing France significantly above other European countries of the time.

If the top quintile earned 10% less, the Gini dropped to 0.55, bringing France closer to Britain’s level.

Ultimately, the authors admit there’s uncertainty about the exact level of inequality in France. Their best guess is that it was comparable to other countries or somewhat worse.

Step 8: Drawing Some Conclusions

Saying that most people in the 18th century were poor and miserable—perhaps the French more so than others—isn’t exactly a compelling statement if your goal is to gather clicks or make a dramatic political point.

It’s incredibly tempting to look at the past and find exactly what we want to see in it. History often acts as a mirror, reflecting our own expectations unless we challenge ourselves to think critically. Whether you call it wishful thinking or confirmation bias, it’s easy to project the future onto the past.

Looking at the initial graph, I understand why someone might fall into this trap. Simple, tidy narratives are appealing to everyone. But if you’ve studied history, you’ll know that such narratives are a myth. Human nature may not have changed in thousands of years, but the contexts we inhabit are so vastly different that direct parallels are meaningless.

So, is revolution imminent? Well, that’s up to you—not some random graph on the internet.

Notes

(1) A la lanterne was a  revolutionary cry during the French Revolution, symbolising mob justice where individuals were sometimes hanged from lampposts as a form of public execution

(2) The capitation tax was a fixed head tax implemented in France during the Ancien Régime. It was levied on individuals, with the amount owed determined by their social and professional status. Unlike a proportional income tax, it was based on pre-assigned categories rather than actual earnings, meaning nobles, clergy, and commoners paid different rates regardless of their actual wealth or income.

(3) Jean-Baptiste Isnard was an 18th-century economist. These estimates attempted to describe the theoretical distribution of income among different social classes in pre-revolutionary France. Isnard’s work aimed to categorise income across groups like nobles, clergy, and commoners, providing a broad picture of economic disparity during the period.

(4) The Gini coefficient (or Gini index) is a widely used statistical measure of inequality within a population, specifically in terms of income or wealth distribution. It ranges from 0 to 1, where 0 indicates perfect equality (everyone has the same income or wealth), and 1 represents maximum inequality (one person or household holds all the wealth).

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

5 sentence for you if it sparks anything ^_^

Astarion *mumbles in elvish*

Tav, intrigued “wait what was that??”

A/N: Okay, I did spark something, but slightly different from this set up. I hope that's okay!

Also, this is in keeping with the canon that Evie (Ace!Tav) can't read common. So, any Elvish they've learned is purely through what they've heard and conversational context.

You should have known you'd find trouble the second you saw the look on Astarion's face.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen you perform. However, it was one of the few times you had decided to sing as opposed to simply play. The crowd seemed right for it, and after going through your standard set list you had decided to end to night on an old favorite. It also happened to be the only song you knew in Elvish.

He looked so...delighted. It made you suspicious, not helped by his overly enthusiastic applause as you finished.

“Bravo," he exclaimed as you took your seat beside him. "And here I thought you didn’t speak Elvish."

“Not fluently. Just enough to negotiate a meal really," you admitted.

He nodded, his expression turning just a little too smug. “Ah.”

You narrowed your eyes, your lips turning into an unamused line. “What does “ah” mean?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself my love," he assured, innocently. "So I take it you learned that song by ear.”

“Yes…" you said, frowning. "Seemed to be a crowd favorite.”

“Indeed it is. And you do play it so beautifully.”

You bit back a frustrated growl. If he was going to play coy, so could you. “Oh I don’t know. Something tells me I would play it much better if I knew what it meant. Perhaps if somebody could translate it for me.”

Astarion shook his head, clutching a hand to his chest is dismay. “Perish the thought. I wouldn’t dare jeopardize your performance. No, I believe it would be much better if you keep doing exactly what you’re doing.”

You gave a slight huff, realizing your efforts were futile. You then turned your attention to Shadowheart.

"It's all a big metaphor for sex, isn't it?"

She shrugged. "Not much of a metaphor."

send me a sentence + pairing and i’ll write the next five sentences

[svkahug]

once more to see you

[chapter three; ao3 link]

tags: slow burn, injury, forced proximity, quarry!reader, hurt/comfort

summary: On the run with the Empire on your heels, a bounty hunter seems to be your only option and your best bet to getting back home.

a/n: heard someone say tumblr has no fluff well i shall provide

---

Space is so… quiet . So empty. Sometimes there’s not another breathing creature for miles. Then you hit a planet. You’ve tallied all the planets you’ve been on recently as the Mandalorian goes on the search, relentless. Yavin, Geonosis, Lothal. Desolate and lifeless planets. But you never see them. The Mandalorian isn’t exactly a tour guide but he does talk to you more often as you strap yourself onto the co-pilot seat beside him. Him and the kid are gone for days at a time, no longer than a week. 

You eat, you sleep, you dream. You’ve snooped around every nook and cranny of the Razor Crest. It’s not as if he’s going to pop out of nowhere and chastise you. You can probably traverse this ship from memory alone. 

You find what you assume is his bed. But you don’t sleep in it. Not even on the days where he’s gone. It’s just as small and cramped as the ship and you simply can’t believe anyone even uses that thing. 

The worry that he might have perished out there crosses your mind. But you couldn’t let it get to you. He uses the ship's emergency comms to check in at night. Sometimes he doesn’t.  

You shuffle through the supplies, you use the fresher, you stare outside the windows of the cockpit then you sleep on the floor. Until on the nights that you don’t. You think it started when they left for Lothal. They were gone for four days and you barely slept a wink.

It was the nightmares, you think. Twisted and vile things that were a manifestation of your fears. 

You don’t like to think about it. When your ship crashed on Jakku. You lost people. Guardsmen that've been with you since childhood. People died violent deaths to protect you. 

The memories come in flashes, unwanted and painful. They chased you through that rocky and desolate planet. The Empire rained hell. You ought to be flattered seeing as how they would go through all this trouble for you. If not for the night terrors you had of being back in that rubble, of seeing people drop dead like flies, and smelling the stench of gasoline from their flamethrowers. 

You wake up, heaving and choking back sobs, the heat of the flame feeling too real and too close. On the good nights, you’re able to talk to the Mandalorian through the emergency comm on the console of the ship. 

You’re mulling around the cockpit, memorizing the console controls, wondering what each one does when a soft crackle gets your attention. You’re so used to the quiet that the soft sound causes you to perk up immediately. 

“Mando?”

“— Hello ?”

“Took you long enough.” 

“ How’s the ship?”

You look at the blinking communicator as if it’s done you some personal offense. “...I’m fine, thank you very much. Ship’s intact, at least. Old thing.”

“... And you?”

“Are you asking if I’m still intact? Because the answer is no. I’ve lost my mind. I think I can hear colors.”

“ Yeah, isolation will do that to you .”

“What about you? Any sign of her?”

“... No. I'm in a village. No one’s seen anyone matching her description. Fob’s no help either. ” 

“Oh.” It’s nearly been two weeks. Four planets and more parsecs than you can count. “A village?”

“ Yes. Almost a day’s trek from the ship, so I’ll be back there by tomorrow. ”

You hesitate. “Can you stay? Just for a bit?”

“ Have you been sleeping? ”

“Not really.” 

“...I can keep the line open for a bit. Try to rest. ”

—

Two weeks later.

Batuu was green. That was the first thing you noticed. As the ship geared closer to the surface you see that those are actually trees, densely packed together to form a jungle. 

The ramp lowers and you can’t help it, you stand on the mouth of the ship, admiring the life of the planet. They’re gigantic, with bark twice the usual size and vines hanging from their branches, unlike what you had back at home.

The Mandalorian falls into step beside you and you can already sense what he’s about to say so you beat him to it.

“I’m just going to look.” The crest is parked in a clearing in the middle of the forest, flattening the long grass. It smells like damp soil and you can hear birds cawing in the distance. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you as you slowly walk down the ramp, grateful for the fresh air. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s ancient.” He counters, his boots crunching on the ground as he flanks you. “These trees have been here for a thousand years. They’re sacred.”

You turn to him. “Don’t you think I should—”

“ No .” He says firmly. 

“She’s trained. Been in military command for as long as I can remember. She can outsmart you and she can fight….She wouldn’t run if she saw me.”

“Believe me, I can handle it. If she’s even here. I’m not risking you for an intel that could be weeks old.” He says, wading through a field of long grass, the little kid hovering nearby. 

“You’re no use to me dead.”

You make a face, smiling sarcastically. “ Charmed .”

“You’re welcome.” He deadpans. “Now get back on the ship.” 

—

There’s a storm outside when the Mandalorian comes back two days later.  You’ve fallen asleep to the sound of the smattering of rain on the roof of the ship when there’s a loud clang outside and you shoot up almost immediately.  

Suddenly, the ramp creaks awake as it opens, letting the water in. The sound of the rain is deafening now and you’re barely up on your feet before the Mandalorian sprints inside the vessel, the child’s pram zooming shortly behind him. He makes his way up into the cockpit immediately, firing up the engine before you can even hear the ramp shut below. Another crash comes from outside, and what sounded like an animal growling and clawing on the ground. Panic rises inside you as you stumble into the cockpit. 

“ What is that —?”

“Strap in now . We’re leaving.”

You do as you're told. “Did you find her?”

“No.” The ship lifts off the ground, and there’s something clanging on the side of the ship now. 

“ Who is that? ” They found us, you think. They fucking found us. 

“Bandits.”

“Wh– Seriously ?“

You’re in hyperspace when you finally notice it. You couldn’t help the gasp that escapes you, “ Holyfuckingshit , Mando—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He says, voice a little more ragged than usual, as if he didn’t have a knife sticking out of his fucking back.

You shoot up from your seat. “Shit , what— what do we do ? Holy —fuck .” It all comes out in a tumble. He’s facing you now but you can still see the knife sticking out of him. It’s really fucking huge. Especially because it’s halfway stuck inside him.

“Wait, wait here.” You’re practically flying through the ship when you come back with the kit, ripping it open on the floor of the cockpit and rummaging through its contents. “Here, what do you need?”

“The cauterizer.” His voice sounds thinner, even through the modulator, and it only adds a layer of panic to your already worsening state. “Look for the cauterizer— That— Yeah that one. Good.” You hand it to him. “You’re doing good. Now, you’re going to take it out—”

“What? No way .” You step back.

“Listen–”

“I don’t know how to — ”

“Hey, hey, breathe .” He grasps both your hands in his. His gloves are damp, and you see the droplets of water on his armor, his chrome visor staring up at you. “Calm down. It’s going to be alright. As long as I don’t bleed out, it’s fine.” 

“You’re kidding me right? How is that fine ?”

“Trust me, I’ve had worse.”

Trust him? That’s literally something the two of you couldn’t get right for nearly a month now. Now he’s basically putting his life in your hands and asking you to— Fuck . “Fuck, fine. I—I’ll do it.”

“Okay, you’re going to take out the dagger. Then you’re going to cauterize the wound with this.” He flicks some sort of switch and it fucking zaps . He places it in your hands. “Are you ready? You’re going to have to be quick, alright?”

He makes quick work of his chestplate, the armor clanging on the ground just as you come back with the scissors, ripping violently through his undershirt. You don’t think, you just do it and to your horror and surprise, the blade comes out easier than you expected. He lets out a long and loud groan, doubling over and gripping the console just as the bloody weapon joins the rest of his armor on the ground. You place a hand on his back to steady him, his skin warm.

“Maker, I’m sorry.” You say sincerely, gripping the cauterizer in one hand and steadying him with the other. He barks out a shout just as the laser makes contact with his skin. “ Stars , I’m sorry. Sorry, sorry… I’msosorry .” Your apologies turn into a whisper under your breath like a mantra, staying laser focused on the task at hand as he makes pained, broken noises underneath you. His fisted hand comes down onto the edge of the console.

It’s done eventually. The process felt longer than it was and there’s a moment when all you can hear is his heavy breathing mingling with the peaceful hum of hyperspace. It’s a juxtaposition of sounds. You couldn’t possibly imagine the pain he’s in and all he’s got to show for it now is a fresh jagged scar on the back of his shoulder.

You want to sit, but before you can even move an inch, he beats you to it. Suddenly, he’s tipping forward, a little too much and you recognize the fact that he’s going limp. You move just in time to catch him, letting your entire body support his weight as his helmet digs into your stomach while you try to get him back up into the chair without hurting his freshly closed wound. You hear garbling coming from underneath the armor. 

“It’s okay,” you murmur, hands on his pauldrons to support him, smearing red all over the metal. “It—It’s okay, I have you.” Literally. You don’t see any other option on how to move an injured man twice your size without hurting him right now and you’re too tired to think of a solution. So, you let him rest like that; his head on your stomach. 

You take a deep breath, your dominant hand cramping and your limbs feeling like you just strapped weights on them. You’re also getting colder and colder as the water he brought in earlier mingles with your sweat. Your hands are bloody. He makes another pained sound, a gloved hand coming up to grip your hip. 

“You ok?” You whisper. 

“ Mhm .”

“...Th—That wasn’t them, right?”

“No, it wasn’t.” Relief washes over you and you hardly feel his thumb brush a circle on your hip. 

You stay like that for longer than a moment. At some point, he’s placed his elbow on his knees to relieve some of the weight on you, still keeping his hand on your waist to steady you as you whizz through hyperspace. 

You let out a sigh, trying to focus on anything but how uncomfortable you are. 

It dawns on you you’ve never been this close before and you’ve never touched him, let alone seen his skin. It’s the first time you see him underneath all that metal. 

Suddenly, to you, there’s a lot of him. Weeks of looking at him and seeing nothing but metal and now the large expanse of his back is exposed to the cool air where you cut through his shirt. He’s a little pale from the injury and you also think it’s something to do with not being exposed to the sun that much. Your fingers grip his bare shoulder as you push him up just enough to make sure he doesn’t slip. His skin is damp, and he vaguely smells of rain, and something earthy. He’s a man underneath that armor, you almost forgot.

You watch the steady rise and fall of his torso as his lungs expand, muscles contracting as he tries to take in more air, and you notice the moles on his back. Tiny and completely unnoticeable marks scattered on the expanse of skin unless you stare really hard. You wonder if he knows this. Without thinking, you drag a clean hand, from his pauldron, to the small spot on his back, tracing it. Then to the next, and next, careful of his bad shoulder. It seemed like something you should do naturally and with no hesitation. You’re completely out of it, then, gently running your fingers along his back in a trancelike state, like your action and him feeling anything were two completely separate things. You hear him release a breath underneath you but you don’t feel the shudder that runs up his spine. You don’t see him shut his eyes underneath the helmet, don’t notice him lean back into your touch. Mando tries not to feel the throbbing pain on his shoulder, instead he focuses on the feel of your hand against his skin. He wonders if you were doing it on purpose. Or if you were in shock.

“Are you okay?” comes his question. He sounds more full now. Like he’s back to his usual self.

“Yeah,” you breathe, hand stopping in the middle of his back like you just traced a map and finally settled on a location.

You feel a squeeze on your hip, his head resurfacing from where it rested on your stomach and you’re suddenly faced with the chrome visor of his helmet.

“I’m fine. The kid’s fine. It’s over.” He says, sensing your distress. You nod silently. You can see him, and your reflection on his helmet but you can’t really… see it. Everything feels so cloudy and far away. You don’t want to look at the blood staining your hands, on his back. 

After dropping out of hyperspace, you lock yourself in the fresher and don’t come out half an hour later.

—

You assumed he was passed out from where he sat on the floor of the hull, resting, when you got out of the fresher until he said something. “We’re going back to Nevarro.”

“What for?” you whisper, meticulously laying out a fresh set of blankets on the floor. You were trying not to think much about anything right now. The baby is asleep, the hull is dark and silent, save for your whispers.

“I’m meeting with my employer, and we need supplies.” He’s changed out of his damp clothes now, and didn’t bother with putting the beskar back on yet.

You frown, listening to his attempt to get up. “You’re going to work for him?”

“Yes. I’m not made of credits.” You could argue that, technically, he was. But you feel like that would have been borderline offensive. He finds himself expecting you to say something back, but you’re quiet. He at least expected you to fight him on this, like you usually do. 

“Hey.” Comes the modulated tone of his voice, sounding hesitant. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” You chuck your damp clothes in the corner, not meeting his eyes—or rather, the chrome visor now staring in your direction.

“I think you’re in shock.” He takes hold of your elbow as you make your way across the other end of the hull. “Talk to me.”

You stop in your tracks, feeling oddly vulnerable in your state. “...You just scared me.” You state plainly and just when the words leave your mouth that’s when you’re able to pinpoint what it is you’ve been feeling all alone. Fear. An image flashed through your mind—limp bodies on the ground, eyes wide open but so empty and lifeless. The memories rears its ugly head at you tonight, resurfacing faster than you can help it. 

“ Maker —” You breathe out a puff of air, pressing the palm of your hand to your eyes until you can see stars. “I—I don’t want to do that again. Please don’t—don’t make me do that again. I—I don’t know why I’m—I mean, shit, you were the one with th—the knife in your back.” 

The Mandalorian’s hand drifts down from your elbow to grip your hand in a gloved hand, his filtered voice surprisingly really soft. “I think you’re just tired…. It’s alright.”

A wet sob fights its way out of you. Stars, it’s pathetic. It’s so fucking embarrassing . 

You wipe away your tears angrily with your free hand, a lump forming in your throat as you try to stifle a sob. You just stand there, frustratingly wiping away your tears as they come, sobbing quietly into the palm of your hands. It’s all really caught up to you now. How much the past few weeks—hell, months —really fucked you up. He was right. You were tired. You wanted to go home. You wanted to grieve . 

You suspect he might just leave you there, tell you to at least get some rest before going back up the cockpit to maneuver the ship to Nevarro but he doesn’t. 

The hand that’s holding yours starts to tug you closer, hesitantly and you go willingly, still wiping tears until you’re close enough to wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his good shoulder, letting him soak up your fresh tears. He’s warm without the beskar, and you practically melt into him.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” You shook your head against the soft cloth of his black undershirt running down to cover his arms, now wrapping securely around you, albeit awkwardly like he really didn’t know what to do and was simply improvising. “...It’s okay.” He runs his hand across your back soothingly and you hum softly against his shoulder.

A part of you is surprised at the gentleness in which he handles you, something you only ever see him reserve for the kid, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away. While he never showed any ill intentions towards you, you could never really read him. This was a job. You were a job to him. And he never failed to treat you as such. The things he did, you always assumed, was to benefit him and the kid. Your protection was just a byproduct.  You had no qualms about it, but months on the run, weeks alone, and the uncertainty of it all was getting to you, you admit and you just needed… you needed someone that wasn’t hunting you down or trying to kill you. 

You stay like that until your sobs subside and you’re taking calming breaths against him, his hand lingering . It was nice. This was nice. You turn your face into the crook of his neck, where there’s a spot where a patch of skin is showing. You find yourself wondering what he looked like all of a sudden

Suddenly, a soft cry pierces the silence of the ship and you’re suddenly reminded about where you were.

Slowly, you part. “I’ll get him,” you say with a nod. 

That night, you fall into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

[ike-garden2024]

⇒ The Record Keeper and New Beginnings ⇐

Here’s the standalone fic I wrote as a fun way to introduce my upcoming Ikemen Revolution story. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy it!

Word Count: 2971   Content Warning: Some self aware characters  Series: Ikemen Revolution  POV: 3rd Person  Summary: Blanc gathers everyone to share some important, exciting, and scary news to the rest of the cast. Oliver ends up with many questions and Blanc gives him answers he doesn’t have time to process.

As another day comes to an end, warm hues of red and orange color the sky as the sun takes its final gaze upon the city. It’s noisy but comforting all the same. 

Tick. Tock. “Oh my, it’s getting rather late indeed. I wonder if everything is ready…” Despite his words, steam continued to pool from the hot teacup sitting in his hands, his glasses falling victim to it as he brought it near his lips. The peaceful moment comes to an end as someone angrily opens the door.

“You dumb rabbit! Why are you still here?! Everyone is waiting for you!” A child storms in with more annoyance than his little body can handle.

Blanc softly chuckles, “Yes, you’re right, Oliver. My apologies, I simply couldn’t help it… It’s a lovely sight. "

"What are you going on about this time?” Oliver questions as he begins to walk towards the window.

A soft, distant look settles into Blanc’s eyes, “Nothing… I was simply admiring our lovely home.” He sets the teacup down and begins to walk towards the door, “Let’s get going, there’s important news to share, so we mustn’t keep them waiting.”

Oliver quickly glances out the window, “admiring cradle?...” he mutters to himself before following the man out to the hallway. 

“You made sure to invite everyone?” Blanc says in an inquisitive tone.

This not being the first time he hears the question, Oliver deeply sighs before answering, “Is old age finally starting to take effect?”

Deciding not to respond, Blanc laughs at his friend’s words; they never lose their edge. A sense of comfort settles into the air as their exchange feels as old as time.  

As they continue to make their way down the hall, Blanc asks, “Have you ever wondered what Cradle will be like in the future?”

Oliver hesitates before quietly responding, “Of course I have… but wondering is pointless. I know I’ll see it eventually.” Blanc simply hums with a smile; there’s no need to say more as both are aware of Oliver’s unique situation that kept him forever young.

Blanc speeds up his pace before turning to Oliver. He winks at his friend as he points out the window, “Don’t look so down, it’s just about that time of day.”

Before Oliver has a chance to respond, a blinding light flashes and now in place of where Oliver the child stood, was a tall, dark-haired man. “Finally,” he says in an exasperated tone, “let’s get this over with.”

He begins to walk away. Now an adult, Oliver’s strides are much longer, reducing the amount of time it would take them to get to the meeting hall.

Several muffled voices could be heard through the door, some excited while others seemed bored. They had no idea why they were all summoned; the invitation mysteriously said:

“This is ridiculous. Why have we all been summoned? They’re wasting our King��s time.” Jonah’s irritated tone made it clear he didn’t appreciate Blanc and Oliver’s plans.

“Come now, aren’t you excited for what’s to come? A new journey sounds fascinating.” Edgar countered Jonah’s words, clearly amused by the entire set-up. 

“The only journey I want to take is the one to meet the bottom of a bottle,” Kyle mutters to himself as he rubs his eyes.

Unfortunately, his comment does not go unheard. “You won’t perish from one alcohol-free night,” Jonah remarks.

“Withdrawal symptoms can vary,” Kyle shrugs lazily in response. Both Lancelot and Zero ignore their chatter, choosing to quietly wait against the wall.

“He should leave…” Luka mumbles under his breath. Too bad for him. Seth has good hearing.

“Ahaha! Now, Luka, no one wants to receive severe punishment.” Seth beams at Luka, earning a slight pout from him.

“He complains too much,” Luka retorts, but this time, Sirius is quick to respond. “Can’t say that I blame him this time. The hosts are late.”

Both Seth and Luka glance at each other with a thoughtful look. It did seem strange that Blanc and Oliver were late. Usually, for any formal meeting, Blanc was always the first one there, waiting for everyone else to arrive. For him to be late meant that something must be keeping him.

The Black Army members continue to exchange looks, having a silent conversation until finally Fenrir asks, “What are we thinking, Boss?” He turns to look at Ray, who hasn’t made a single comment. 

Ray was unreadable as usual, and instead of answering Fenrir, he began to scan the entire room; his eyes stopping at each group. Alice was laughing with Loki and Harr, Dean and Mousse in serious conversation, the Red Army chatting, and a few others, but beyond that, there were more. While not visible, Ray could feel there were eyes watching the room from a distance. Finally, his eyes met Lancelot; this alone was enough for both to realize they had noticed the same thing. 

“Our sincerest apologies for the wait,” Blanc says in a loud voice, making sure everyone can hear him as he walks into the room, Oliver following behind him.

“Please gather around and come forward,” Blanc continues. “There’s something important we must discuss.” He softly smiles in an attempt to ease the tension in the room. 

“There are a few missing,” Oliver whispers to Blanc. “Not missing, you just can’t see them,” Blanc reassures him. He’s not wrong. Just outside the windows of the room, those who were summoned from the Magic Tower quietly watched the events unfold.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I summoned you all.” Blanc pauses and takes a look at everyone before continuing, “It’s time for something new. To put it simply, we’ll be part of a new story.” Everyone looks at him in shock, including Oliver, not fully understanding what he was talking about.

“I’m sure that’s confusing. Let me explain.” Blanc says as he pulls out his record book. “We are all characters in a story. And every now and then, people who enjoy our story will make their own creations that include us. Someone has recently decided to write a story about us. This means we will be leaving here and entering the world they created for us.” He finally finishes his explanation, but it only raises more questions. 

Quiet remarks and growing concern were heard, slowly getting louder, but Lancelot silences the room with one word, “enough.” They all turn to him seeking guidance.

Lancelot turns to Ray, who nods at him once, a signal to keep going. “White Rabbit, are your words true?” Lancelot questions Blanc.

“Yes,” he begins to answer. “Nothing I said was a lie,” he finishes.

“This is difficult to accept as a fact,” Lancelot squints suspiciously as he moves the conversation forward. “What you’re claiming is impossible.” Immediately, Blanc counters, “Is it?” He smiles.

“We live in a world full of magic, you know. It’s what separates us from the land of reason…” He begins to scribble something in his book of records. “There are many different kinds of magic…” A blue light begins to shine from within the book. “I ask that you all keep an open mind. The impossible can be quite fun… wouldn’t you agree, Alice?” 

Blanc turns to look at the only person in the room who had experienced what different worlds are like. Alice’s eyes slightly widened. “Oh, well I… it does seem possible-”

Jonah cuts her off. “How does any of this seem possible??” Lancelot places a hand on Jonah’s shoulder and looks at Alice, urging her to continue.

“If someone had told me about Cradle back when I was in the land of reason, I wouldn’t have believed them… but I’ve fallen from the sky and seen so much magic here… it’s hard for me not to consider what Blanc says as truth.” She smiles. “I’m excited to see what Blanc is talking about!” 

“Thank you, my dear sweet Alice,” Blanc pats her head affectionately. “However, I’m afraid I must inform you that you will not be an active character in the story.” Her eyes widened at this.

“WHAAAAT!?!” Seth screams as he hugs Alice. “What kind of horrible story are you sending us to!?!” His arms further tighten around Alice.

Blanc laughs. “I assure you, the story is wonderful. There will be new people for you to meet.”

This doesn’t reassure Seth at all, or anyone else for that matter, but Alice speaks up with a smile. “That’s okay. I know you’ll all be okay and happy wherever you go. So… please enjoy the new world for me! I’ll come haunt you if you don’t,” she laughs lightly. It’s obvious she wants to ease everyone’s worry, and it somewhat works. Seth finally releases her, and everyone begins to look at Alice sadly. 

“It’s time to say goodbye, everyone,” Blanc warns as he finalizes what he’s written in his book of records. Many tears are shed; some don’t want to let go after hugging Alice. They say their goodbyes, sharing silly memories to make each other laugh.

Despite the emotional scene going on, Blanc had a calm, warm expression on his face; Oliver, who had been silent and off to the side the entire time, took notice of this and found it odd. With his focus completely on Blanc, he failed to notice Alice approaching him to offer nice words and a hug.

Soon everyone gets back in line, forming a semicircle around Blanc, whose book of records was glowing slightly. “I will recite the final lines as I write them. The spell of new beginnings will then activate.”

The book of records began to glow brightly and float in the air. Glitter like sparkles began to float everywhere, attaching itself to everyone, causing a fading effect. Everyone slowly began to disappear. Confusion could be found on every face in the room as each person tried to reach out towards their friends, but there was no point.

Lancelot, Ray, and Harr remained as calm as they could in an attempt to offer reassurance to those around them. Loki desperately tried to hold Harr, but his hands ran right through his body. He began to cry helplessly on the floor. Seeing this, Alice couldn’t hold herself any longer. Deep down, she was incredibly terrified of what was to come. As silent tears streamed down her face, Ray and Lancelot stood before her, smiling. In return, she smiled at them. Mustering all the final courage she could find, she walked towards Blanc, taking a position where she could see everyone one last time.

Finally, she politely bowed towards everyone, “Thank you for everything. You’re all so wonderful…” She lifted her head. “I love you all.” She smiled before fully disappearing into the air, sparkles falling towards the ground.

No one knew what to say or do. There’s nothing they can do except watch each other disappear. Jonah walks towards Luka, who began to cry when Alice disappeared. The brothers look at each other. There are so many words they want to say, but time didn’t allow for it. Making a decision, Jonah smiles at Luka, “My dear sweet Luka,” he affectionately says as he reaches out towards his brother before vanishing like Alice. Almost immediately after, Luka is gone as well.

Seth sits beside his sister, who was trying to remain calm by talking about random things, but her body was shaking from fear and anxiety. Unable to do anything, he simply smiled and followed her lead. Not long after, they disappear together. One by one, each person vanishes, leaving a trail of glitter fallen on the ground. 

Only Ray and Lancelot remain in the end. They walk towards Blanc, who wasn’t surrounded by the magical light. Ray begins to speak, “No one else seemed to notice but…”

“Why are you and Oliver the only ones who aren’t covered in magic?” Lancelot finishes Ray’s question.

Blanc hums, “I have a stop to make before joining the rest of you. Oliver will be assisting me.” He turns to smile at Oliver. The two leaders nod, accepting his reasoning.

“We’ll be looking for you when everything is settled.” Ray makes arrangements. Again, Blanc hums and nods as he watches the Kings disappear. 

“My assistance?” Oliver questions Blanc, who is now writing something new in the record book.

“I only need to pick up a new book from the library. We’ll be joining them after,” Blanc assures him as a blinding light flashes. 

Affected by the bright flash, Oliver rubs his eyes, trying to gain his vision back. When he finally does, he’s met with a white room full of what seemed like endless columns of books. 

“What is this place?” Oliver questions.

“It’s the records library. It holds everything,” Blanc responds as he walks towards a column.

“This is where you keep all of Cradle’s records?” Oliver follows behind Blanc so he doesn’t get lost.

“Not quite. This place holds much more than just Cradle’s records,” Blanc begins to explain. “This is where all the worlds are collected. I mentioned before that we'll be going to a new world. This is where the records of that world will go. See, we’re part of a storyline created by a bird—”

“A bird?” Oliver cuts off Blanc with an annoyed look on his face.

“A clever name, isn’t it?… These storylines that they create are enjoyed by many people all around the world. These people are inspired and create their own works of art based on our stories, creating different worlds and timelines,” Blanc finishes his explanation as he finds the book he’s looking for.

Oliver doesn’t fully believe Blanc but is unable to fully call all of this a lie. He feels strange, almost like déjà vu. However, he can’t remember ever being in the library before. 

“You always feel the same, Oliver,” Blanc chuckles. “Yes, you’ve been here before, and… we’ve had this same conversation many, many times.” Blanc looks around the library as if to show Oliver the amount.

“Why don’t I remember anything?” Oliver asks as he holds his head.

“We’re not supposed to remember any of it,” Blanc whispers sadly. “Whenever a new world begins, there is a reset here in the main storyline. Everyone disappeared right now, but by dawn tomorrow, everything will be back to normal, and everyone will go about their lives as usual. We who “disappear” are transferred over to the new world, our current memories wiped, making space for all new memories to be placed.” Blanc looks at Oliver, trying to gauge his reaction this time.

“Why do you remember everything?” Oliver’s questions continue.

“I don’t, it’s just that when I reset here in Cradle, I always find the library and all the worlds… I find out by reading the records. But I will not remember anything once we get to the new world.” Blanc finishes explaining.

“What exactly is the point of telling everyone they’re going to a new world before casting the spell?” Oliver still has questions.

“A courtesy of mine,” it’s a simple answer but it reflects the respect Blanc holds for everyone. 

“Would you like to see her?” Blanc asks, already knowing what the next question is. “She’s lovely,” Blanc comments as he conjures up a cloud of light.

Oliver’s eyes widen at what he sees. It’s a young woman with long, deep brown hair, busy with something on the table in front of her. The girl looks up and turns to her left as though someone had called her. Before the image disappears, Oliver catches a glimpse of her warm smile and welcoming eyes.

“That was ��▨▧▨ , She’s going to ▧▨▧▨, it’s always exciting to ▧▨▧▨” Oliver can’t fully make out what Blanc is saying. “Oh dear, it seems our time is up… that’s alright, I ▧▨▧▨ so things should ▧▨▧▨”

“Wait, what?” Oliver says, confused. He can’t hear Blanc completely. That’s when he notices that they’re both starting to disappear.

Oliver looks up at Blanc and he’s met with a reassuring smile. “We’ll meet again, my dear friend…”

A bright light flashes one final time, and the pair disappear along with the new record book.

The library is once again empty yet full of life. 

“Ver-… liver-… Oliver…” Oliver opens his eyes, the sun shining through the window. Blanc is calling him, “It’s getting rather late. Your store opens soon, doesn’t it?” Blanc says as he opens the curtain more.

Oliver sits up with a confused look on his face, “Rabbit…?” Oliver questions as he holds his head almost in pain.

Blanc turns to him, “Are you feeling alright?”

Oliver closes his eyes and rubs his temples, “I’m fine. I just had a strange dream… I was about to tell you something, but I can’t remember…”

Blanc smiles softly and he begins to walk out the door, “I’m flattered you think of me even in your dreams.” 

“Wait,” Oliver stops him. “What’s today’s date?”

Blanc looks at him curiously before answering, “January 6, 2025. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Oliver responds lazily as he gets up to look out the window. “I forgot the date is all…”

Blanc hums before leaving the room, already thinking of a tea that would help his little friend with his headache.

Oliver quietly continues to gaze out the window in a daze, taking in the sight of Cradle...

Hikari's note: Wahhhhhhhh thanks so much for being here! Admittedly I’m nervous as hell because this is my first time sharing a creation of mine, but it’s okay 😂 I’m so excited to share this project with everyone. For some of you, IkeRev might not be a series you’re interested in and I get it, the series is discontinued. But for me, that’s exactly what sparked this story idea (& my love for Rev of course). So if you’ve decided to give it a chance, I hope that you’ll enjoy the story that will come with my OC. The purpose of this standalone fic is mainly to kick off the debut of my OC and her story. I'd also like to give special thanks to  @ragyragd0ll @missaengg @william-rex! They've been super helpful throughout this whole process and I don't think I would've gotten as far as I have without their support. Since it’s my first time fully flushing out a story please expect many mistakes and mid level writing 😅 I hope to improve as I continue writing. Thank you for your support & patience!

< Teal Playing Cards Dividers made by @/thecutestgrotto >

[starglow-xx]

— Oh Baby!

part 2! - a solution? sure, let’s call it that

heartslabyul & savanaclaw x f! reader

synopsis: when the boys of heartslabyul and savanaclaw get turned to kids, who else is supposed to take of them except their beloved prefect? go figure. damn you crowley. oh, and you too grim.

fandom: twisted wonderland

type of work: part of mini series! : “Oh Baby!” ; written segment, fluff / platonic themes, comedy? ; check out pt. 1 here!

warnings: a stressed prefect pt. 2, unedited

a/n: YALL it’s been a year since i posted the first part to this and obviously since then i’ve completed the books for octavinelle, scarabia, and pomefiore, so maybe they’ll have future appearances later hehe but no promises

“you’re telling me you don’t know how to fix this?!” you whisper yelled.

“that’s what i said was it not?”

you wanted to scream in frustration at the headmaster but refrained yourself from doing so as your newly turned baby friends were oh so peacefully playing in the common room as you and crowley talked in the kitchen, and didn’t want to draw attention.

“loosey duecey! loosey duecey! loosey duecey! loosey duecey!”

“shut up!”

maybe peacefully was too good of a word in this situation.

“WELL THEN! it seems that i am no longer needed so i will take my leave—”

“get the hell back here for seven’s sake! and didn’t i tell you to keep your voice down?!”

“but—”

“shut up! if you won’t help me solve my problem then don’t speak at all!” you continued to whisper yell.

“...”

“seriously?!”

with strength that you usually save for rounding up ace, deuce, and grim (on normal circumstances), you grab the stupid headmaster by the back of his cloak thing as he turns away from you to make his escape.

“oh no you don’t!”

the bird for brains had the audacity to sigh at you like he was the one inconvenienced with 8 children. 8 actual children.

“ms. prefect, you must understand, that despite how gracious i am, i simply do not have time for—”

“i’ll go on strike if you don’t help me!”

“...come again?”

you sweatdrop as you let go of his cloak. you didn’t really think the whole thing through, it kind of just came out of you mouth, but it seemed to get his attention so you’re going to have to role with it dammit.

“t-that’s right!”

you cursed in your head slightly as you stammer. there’s no turning back!

“i’ll for once since i’ve gotten here be an normal student! so that means no cleaning after your messes, doing chores that shouldn’t be my responsibility, fighting stupid overblots blah blah blah, you get the picture?”, you threaten.

crowley is silent as he contemplates your words.

“and no, holding housing or allowance over my head is not going to work, because i will literally get myself adopted by another dorm or so help me.”

at that, crowley sighs once again, but this time in defeat at the teenage girl in front of him.

“all right, i’ll go work with the staff to try and figure something out.”

phew.

“however!”

god dammit you can never win can you.

crowley with a stern voice as he wags one of his fingers shatters your hopes and dreams with a simple, “the children must stay here!”

you couldn’t believe your ears, and started to yell, forgetting about whisper yelling.

“what?! why?! i’m asking for help with them because i can’t handle it!”

he simply raises an eyebrow at you.

“do you think it’ll be beneficial and efficient to have the children running around potions and stacks of books while we try and find their cure?”

you sigh, disappointed but not surprised at his rebuttal.

“...no sir”

“great! i guess we’re on the same page after all! i wish you the best of luck prefect, for i am gracious.”

you deadpan.

“right of course. whatever would i do without your help headmaster”

“oh you’d probably perish!”

“that was sarcasm”

ignoring your retort, the man dramatically swished his coat cape thing nearly whacking you in the face (you’re 98% sure it was on purpose) as you feel a migraine start coming on, and the you 15 minutes ago wouldn’t believe it wasn’t because of the children.

after a deep sigh, you follow after crowley reentering what grim dubbed as the “danger zone” only to catch the evasive headmaster walk out the door and shut it behind them.

from where you’re standing, you hear grim, who’s awake now, but still lying on the floor, mumble something along the lines of “useless” and you couldn’t agree more.

you eye the handful of children running around and yelling at each other.

oh great seven, this is going to be one hell of a migraine.

i love their shenanigans <33

as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize, repost, or translate on here or any other sites!

[skylarstark4826]

Neytiri does not regret her actions under stress. Her oldest son had just perished, she could not allow her daughter to befall the same fate. 

Using Spider was not a calculated decision, but it was a fair one, she thinks. Slicing his chest was a warning, a good one. And if Quaritch had not released her daughter, she would have driven the knife through his chest. She knows that as clearly as she knows of Eywa's existence.

A son for a son.

But, being an uncalculated decision, she hadn't considered how she would feel after the fight. After giving Netayem back to Eywa, and settling into the Metkayina village for good; after settling Spider into a hut just a minute's walk away from theirs. She hadn't expected to be haunted , to feel the heat of Spider's body under her hands before she falls asleep, to hear the gasp of his breath when no one else is around, or to see the red of his blood on her knife in her dreams.

She hadn't expected to feel angry. 

She hates the way he scurries around her, avoiding eye contact. He hides behind Kiri and Lo’ak and even Jake doesn’t seem to notice, but the way he trails her movements without looking directly at her makes clear the intention of the action. 

And somewhere along the line, she decides she doesn’t deserve this sort of fear.

Is it not clear to him what was at stake? He grew up around her, and for one action to make his fear so palpable -

This can’t be the only reason for it. 

And it isn’t, she realizes, after listening in on a conversation between the human boy and her children.

“She wouldn’t have killed you,” Kiri is saying, matter of factly. “It was a bluff, she’s too good to kill a kid.”

Something sour curls in Neytiri’s gut - guilt. Anger. Kiri does not understand what it is like to lose a child, to fear losing another. Goodness has nothing to do with it. 

“I don’t know,” Spider says. His voice is smaller than Neytiri has ever heard it. Quiet. It’s out of place next to her daughter's strong vocals. “She’s never liked me around. And she’s never…had a problem killing sky people before.”

And there’s an inflection there. Some secret meaning that makes Neytiri’s eyes narrow. 

Who is he referring to?

“Psh. You’re hardly a sky person at all at this point,” Lo’ak comforts.

Neytiri leaves as the conversation shifts, feeling stranger than she had before. 

Angrier.

~   ~   ~

As with all things, it gets worse before it gets better.

“Quaritch is alive,” Jake whispers to her without preamble. Their children are asleep on the floor next to them.

Neytiri’s heart sinks. “No,” she states. It isn’t denial, she simply can’t see any way he’d be alive. “No you killed him.”

Jake shakes his head.

“You let him live,” Neytiri hisses incredulously. 

Jake pauses for a moment, considering. His eyes look off into the distance, somewhere past their hut. Neytiri hopes, for his sake, that he isn’t considering lying to her. 

Eventually he shakes his head. “Not me.”

Neytiri’s face goes hot as she realizes. He’s looking off toward Spider’s hut.

Neytiri growls. “You mean to tell me -”

“Spider saved him,” Jake interrupts before she can wake their children with her volume.

Neytiri reaches toward her bow on reflex. “I’ll kill him. I should have killed him before!”

“No!” Jake snaps, grasping her wrist in an iron grip. His eyes bore into hers. “I agree with you on most things, love. But this one I cannot.”

Neytiri does not release the bow. Instead, she gestures toward her children. “We’re one less because of him!”

Jake shakes his head. “Netayam -” he pauses, voice crackling with emotion. “Netayam died before this, you know that.”

“Because they went back to save him!”

“They were too good to leave him behind…again," he tacks on. 

Neytiri drops her bow, burrowing her face into her hands. She feels as if her anger is justified, and yet, no one else seems to agree. There is something wrong with this situation. With Spider. “Why? ”

Jake pulls her closer, pressing her head against his chest. “Quaritch saved him from some terrible things the RDA was doing to him…and from you.”

Neytiri sobs. 

“Spider said he was returning the favor. If you ask me, I think it’s because he couldn’t watch someone die if he had the chance to save him.”

“He would’ve died in battle. It would’ve been as honorable a death as that demon could get.”

“Most humans don’t see it like that. We don’t have Eywa to return to.”

Neytiri sweeps her eyes across her sleeping children once more, wishing, longing for the chance to go back to how things were. 

“Neytiri, my love,” Jake lifts her face. His eyes meet hers. “Promise me you won’t hurt Spider. Promise me. ”

Neytiri sobs again. “I promise,” she says, only because she can see how much it means to Jake that she agrees to this. 

His forehead bumps hers softly, and his eyes close - in relief, she thinks. 

“I See you.”

“I See you .”

~   ~   ~

Spider senses the shift in attitude. He hides from her even more often, stops coming to their hut to meet with Kiri and Lo’ak. 

Kiri notices.

“I don’t care why you’re angry with him,” she says. Neytiri wishes she hadn’t inherited her father’s bluntness. “But he’s wallowing and he feels guilty about something, and I know he’s too good to have done anything wrong. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

Neytiri doesn’t answer. Kiri squints up at her.

“He’s scared of you. Fix it. Please. ”

Neytiri sighs, placing a hand on her daughter's head. "I will do what I can."

She can keep an eye on him, at least. 

~   ~   ~

Spider has trouble in the village, Neytiri notices.

Na’vi stumble out of his way as he passes, or they curiously pull his hair and pinch his skin until he drives them away with his hisses, and there is no in between. Despite this, he manages to befriend both Tsireya and Aonung. A feat even her own children could not do nearly so easily. 

The leaders' children follow Spider, observing him. Much like the scientists at Base Camp observe the Na'vi. The parallel makes Neytiri's eyebrows furrow when she thinks about it. 

Soon enough, they're approaching Lo'ak outside the hut where Neytiri can hear, asking permission to bring Spider on hunts.

"I don't care," Lo'ak answers casually. "Spider does what he wants. He'll follow you if he likes you."

Neytiri frowns. 

Spider used to follow her. 

The acidic feeling in her stomach frustrates her. It isn’t anger, she’s felt anger. Hatred? No…jealousy. Jealousy? Of two Metkayina children? 

Being in the water so often must be confusing her mind. 

And yet, she watches. Even as she supervises Tuk, diving through the water on her Ilu, her eyes stray toward the human and his new Na’vi friends. Waiting, maybe, for something to happen. For some excuse to intervene. Kiri catches her watching, once, and grins in a way that makes Neytiri roll her eyes. 

Soon, she does have to intervene.

Aonung and Kiri are in the water, watching Spider pace on the docks. They’ve teamed up to tame an Ilu for Spider, just outside the Sully’s hut. Unheard of. Impossible. Neytiri is almost disappointed in her child for assuming it could be done, until she remembers that Kiri seems to make anything seem possible. 

They’ve been trying since the morning began.

“Now, get on!” Kiri says, waving Spider over. She has one hand on the Ilu, gesturing toward Spider with the other. Aonung’s braid is connected to the animal, a baby. Small enough that Spider won’t be hurt if the animal lashes out. 

Spider shifts his feet, looking entirely bored. “Can’t we try again tomorrow?”

Aonung huffs. “It’s not that hard!”

“Not for you! You’re literally built for this!”

Kiri glares at him. He sighs, shifting again, and then his feet are moving as he runs into a dive. 

His form is good. He looks, for all intents, as if he’s been riding Ilu since childhood as Aonung guides the Ilu into a gentle swim. Kiri ties his wrist to the saddle, customary for those learning to ride. Everything is going well.

At least, until Aonung’s braid disconnects. 

Suddenly, the baby Ilu is panicking, shooting off into the water. Spider is yanked underwater, and Neytiri wouldn’t care normally. He has his mask to breathe, and Neytiri wouldn’t particularly mind if he didn’t. But Kiri is panicking, and she’ll surely despise herself if anything were to happen to Spider. Stupidly.

So Neytiri dives into the water and unties Spider’s wrist as Aonung tries to subdue the animal. 

He shoves away from her, swimming back to dry land on his own. 

Ungrateful, Neytiri thinks, huffing.

Kiri pulls her into a hug, though, and that makes it worth it. 

She releases her mother to check on the human, apologizing for the mishap. Aonung looks sheepish from where he’s wading in the shallow water.

Spider plops down, kicking his feet in the sea. “Thanks,” he mumbles when Neytiri passes, half hidden behind Kiri.

Useless, Neytiri thinks. Coward.

~   ~   ~

Eventually, Neytiri manages to find Spider where he can’t hide behind someone.

Fishing, alone on an abandoned islet. And failing at it spectacularly.

“Who taught you this?” She asks, blunt, before he’s noticed her presence. He fumbles the crossbow, shooting an arrow off into the water, nowhere near any fish. He fixes his feet, prepared to run.

“Uh. No one. I watched.”

Neytiri yanks the crossbow from his hands, ignoring his grasping fingers. “Who made this,” she asks disdainfully. The mechanism is wrong, and the carving is lopsided.

Spider frowns, shuffling his feet. “I did.”

Neytiri raises her eyebrows incredulously. 

Spider jumps to defend himself. “It’s not like anyone taught me, I watched some of the villagers make one and I thought I could figure it out, but I didn’t realize this wood would be so different from anything I’ve carved with! It’s too soft!”

Neytiri silences him with a look. 

And isn’t that interesting? Spider has never been particularly easy to silence.

The power she holds over this child, now, it’s -

Interesting.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I was trying to help.”

Neytiri sighs angrily, taking pity on the boy. How can he allow himself to live with the Metkayina without being useful? So she reaches behind herself, grasping her own crossbow off her back. It’s a whole lot bigger than the one he’d carved for himself, but if he can figure out how to use it he’ll be better off. “Try this one.”

He takes it warily. His eyes never leave her other hand, maybe expecting something.

She’s half surprised when he manages to hold it the way he’s supposed to, muscles tensing with the strain. It’s hilariously large in his arms, and the kickback skews his shot, but…he wasn’t lying when he said he’d watched. His stance, at least, is correct.

Neytiri slinks behind him, scrutinizing. He startles, turning to keep his eyes on her.

(Brown eyes, peering up at her, knowing she’s about to do something she can’t undo.)

She grips his head in her hand, none too gently turning it back to face the ocean. He doesn’t protest, not physically. “Focus,” she snaps.  

He does, though his hands shake. He’ll never get a fish like that. So she uses one hand to steady his arms, and places the other on his middle back to steady the kickback. His trembling only worsens.

“Calm yourself. Shoot.”

He does, and even through the palpable tension, he manages to get a fish. Neytiri straightens herself, fighting a grin off her face. She has no reason to feel proud of him. She is doing this for Kiri and Jake, and because she may as well keep him where she can reach him. But she feels proud anyway.

He breathes deep; his mask hisses. It is useful, Neytiri thinks as she watches him dive. He has no need to hold his breath underwater with that thing pumping oxygen to him all the time. He won’t slow them down in that sense, at least. She remembers Tuk complaining about their need to breathe more than the Metkayina when they first arrived in the village; she doesn't envy those times.

And it is an easy weakness.

“Good,” she says when the boy resurfaces, trying to keep her voice emotionless. 

Spider averts his gaze to the flopping fish, fiddling with the arrow stuck inside it. “Thank you.”

Neytiri nods, and that’s the end of that.

~   ~   ~

Later, Spider visits their hut to return her crossbow.

He leaves a basketful of fish as well.

~   ~   ~

The next time Neytiri catches him alone, he doesn’t notice she’s there.

He’s fiddling with the condensed oxygen tank connected to his mask. Steeling himself, for something. And then the oxygen canister is no longer connected, and he’s swiftly reaching to the side to grab a new one, one of many provided to him from Base Camp. His cheeks are puffed out and quickly turning red.

Oh, she thinks. He can’t breathe. 

It would be easy. To take the new canister away from him. To let him die the way he should’ve allowed Quaritch to die. To rid herself of this difficulty.

But - he looks small, here. Vulnerable in a way that makes her gut clench. She remembers the feel of his small human body under her hands again, the quick deep breaths of a child about to die.

She sees the light leaving Neteyam’s eyes.

She shakes her head clear of this image, just in time to watch him catch her eye. His strange brown eyes widen, and he fumbles the canister.

It plops into the water. 

Neytiri watches.

He moves to dive in after it, blinking the Pandoran air ferociously out of his eyes. He won't be able to find the canister like this. He wouldn’t even be able to keep his eyes open underwater, probably.

So Neytiri - hesitating only slightly - shoves him away from the edge and dives into the still water herself.

She’s not a good swimmer, not like her children have learned to be. But she can catch the little oxygen tank easily enough. Resurfacing, she clumsily connects it to his breathing machine. The gasp of breath he takes is enough to silence the roaring in her head and the churning in her gut. 

She hates the way she cares for this boy. When had that happened?

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, trembling with fear. "I - that's never happened be-"

"Shut up," Neytiri snaps.

His hand flits up to his chest as he breathes heavily, settling against the healing cut she'd left there. He attempts to pass it off as a scratch. It doesn't work.

Neytiri sighs, glaring at the scarring mark. "I sense…I've made a mistake."

Spider shifts onto his ankles. He's silent for a beat, and then - "You did. You should've done it. Killed me."

Neytiri startles, looking at the boy. His eyes bore into hers, entirely serious.

"You’ve been too nice. Everything is messed up because - because I was too weak to get out of there myself. And 'cause I couldn't - I couldn't let him die. I - I couldn't," his voice breaks off. Tears fall behind the mask. Neytiri itches to wipe them away, but she fears any movement would scare him. "Things will never be okay again," he finishes.

Neytiri drops to her knees. She watches the water as it laps against the shore. "I am angry," she starts. "I thought I was angry at you. What you did - was…but I don't think that's it. I think…" Neytiri pauses, searching for something she doesn't know is there. But there are no words to describe her emptiness, and if there were, she would be saying them to Jake, not to a child she's just learned not to hate. So she places a hand on his where it's clutched against his wound. "I shouldn't have hurt you."

"You should've -"

Neytiri silences him with a glare, grasping his tiny human hand in hers. "I should've protected you. Kiri would've forgiven me for letting her…she wouldn't forgive me if I killed you."

Spider's shoulders shake. He turns away to let the tears fall, and she waits as they pool in the bottom of his mask. "I miss Netayem," he chokes.

Neytiri allows a tear of her own to slide down her cheek. "He is with Eywa," she says. For the first time since the ceremony, she finds, she feels okay with that. 

She leans toward the human boy, pressing her forehead to the top of his head. 

She isn't angry anymore.

[townsenddecades]

1331 – Day 1 – Townsend Farm (1/2)

A few more weeks go by before Hawise feels certain that she is indeed with child. The knowledge leaves her giddy with a wild mixture of emotions: delight, fear, hope, nervousness, all of it melding together to leave her breathless. Not just a child, but her first! And so soon after her marriage, too! She only just turned eighteen.

Despite her fear of the birth and of her and her child’s chances of survival, she is already picturing who they might most take after and how happy she will be to add another member to this close-knit family. She is sure that Malika and Benjamin will be glad to have their first grandchild. Benjamin already told her that he is envious of his older sisters – one of whom perished in the famine that ravaged the land when Hawise was still a child – for having beaten him to providing Benedict with his first great-grandchildren.

But there is one person who deserves to know before anyone else. She can’t wait to tell Malcolm about it. How she scrapes together enough restraint to not simply let the news burst forth before they are alone in their little cottage one morning, she will likely never know. Her excitement is hardly hidden; she is practically bouncing on her feet when she approaches her husband.

“Husband, there is something I need to speak to you about before we walk over.”

Said husband gives her one of those tender smiles that make her heart flutter as if it has sprouted wings. “Judging by your countenance, I’d guess it is something joyful?”

“I’m with child!”, she blurts out. “We’re going to be parents, Malcolm!”

She had expected him to be as happy about this as she is, but instead, his eyes widen, followed by his face going slack. He only stares at her for several moments, unmoving. Until, finally, he says only one thing: “Oh.”

Part of her still expects him to shake off his shock and share in her joy any moment now. It is natural to be shocked by something like this. Childbearing is dangerous, after all.

But he doesn’t laugh, or smile, or move his face much at all. All he does is stare at her.

Finally, she musters a reply. “’Oh’?”

Her disappointment at his lacklustre reaction must be obvious, because he manages to pull himself together after a moment. “I’m just…overwhelmed by it. That is great news. Thank you for telling me.”

Now it is her who stares at him, lost for words. Despite the words he used, he doesn’t sound as if this is positive news to him at all. He sounds as if he is trying to fob her, his wife, the woman expecting his firstchild, off with polite platitudes.

“Of course I told you”, she said. “This is your child, after all.”

He almost flinches at that, she is sure of it. And yet, he says nothing. She takes a step back, unsure what to make of this.

“I thought you’d be happy”, she says quietly. “Your parents told me how much they are looking forward to having grandchildren.”

He shakes his head, whether as an answer to her question or to clear his head, she can’t quite tell. “I’ve never been very good with children. I’ll have to get used to the idea of becoming a father. But I’m sure my parents will be very happy.”

“You have to get used to it?”, Hawise repeats.

“It’s a big change”, he says, raising his hands, finally seeming to realize just how incredulous and hurtshe feels because of his reaction. “Of course I’ll have to get used to it! Watcher above, Hawise, we have been married for less than a year.”

“But you must have known that it was a possibility. That what we…did, together, would lead to us conceiving a child.” Why am I arguing for myself as if I did something wrong? She has done nothing but what was expected of her. But his reaction makes her feel insecure in ways she didn’t even imagine before.

Finally, his patience snaps. “Of course I knew that!”, he shouts at her, throwing his hands into the air. “That doesn’t mean that I have to be happy about it, just because my parents want us to create heirs for the farm!”

She is so shocked by his outburst, and frightened by the anger on his face, that she shrinks back, despite her anger only moments before. Malcolm looks shocked himself. For a moment, she is sure he wants to say something, but then he shakes his head and storms past her.

“I need to think about this.”

And he just leaves her standing there, trying to understand what has just happened.

Hawise is so shaken by the unexpected turn of that conversation that she can’t think of anything to do but put aside her feelings and try to focus on her work. She spends the day tending to the grapevines and apple trees, thoughts tumbling over themselves as she tries to figure out what to do now.

Regardless of how her husband feels, she is pregnant. And she still wants this child, even if he doesn’t. What she can’t understand is how he can be so against it. And to make it worse, her excitement has all but vanished, just because she doesn’t know what will happen now. Her husband doesn’t show his face again, either, which is particularly irksome. Calming down very much makes her wish to talk to him. But he has holed himself up in the workshop, and she doesn’t see him at all for the rest of that day.

Luckily, her experiences with Malcolm don’t deter her from telling his mother, at least not for long. She knows that Malika will be pleased with this news, even if her husband can’t find it in his heart to be happy. She had planned for herself and Malcolm to tell his parentstogether, but if he leaves her alone in this, then she will also keep him out of telling his mother that they will soon have their first grandchild. Besides, if someone can tell her what to do now, it is another wife and mother.

This time, her expectations are fulfilled; Malika seems overjoyed when she tells her, full of congratulations and praise. All of that happiness swiftly vanishes, though, when she tells her why Malcolm isn't there to share this moment with them.

In other interesting news, while she is out on an errand, Amye runs into Alexandre de Bellefaye again, whom she had met once at a fair in Mahlsberg before he became her cousin-by-marriage (or had even asked for her cousin Annette’s hand at all).

She didn’t attend his wedding or has even see him or her cousin since but congratulates him sincerely both on the match and the birth of his daughter Juliana. What she finds stranger than the fact that she recognizes a finely dressed man like him is that he recognizes her.

They talk for a while, exchanging news of their families to carry back home, as people tend to do when they meet kin from outside their own village or town. But aside from the information they gain, the conversation is pleasant for its own sake; Amye at least finds Alexandre as charming and personable as she did during their previous meeting, a sentiment that is warmly reciprocated by him.

Previous: 1330 Statistic <--> Next: 1331, Day 1, Part 2/5

[fatuismooches]

Oh. My. GOD. The ending to Puer et monstrum was so devastating I nearly cried..

Reader was and still is as strong as Zandy said, because after everything that would happen afterwards I don’t think I’d be able to manage. I cannot imagine the anguish of losing a child, especially not one of my own, but to learn my own husband was responsible for their death? PHEWWW. Reader is better than me- that’s all I’ll say! 😅

Also the way you depicted the panic for Zandy seriously had me feeling stressed.. I wished Reader had begun hugging him and telling him everything would be okay. I know they were desperate to save Zandy’s life, but it really seemed Dottore wouldn’t have changed his mind. Even when they got to the point of pleading. THATS JUST SO SAD. The impending time of Zandy’s death was so sick :(( </3

This just opened a whole new can of worms of me because imagining Zandy and the segments in their final moments- their feelings of being scared, panicked, just a multitude of emotions- all towards the fact they’re all about to die. Imagine the segments, who too, thought of reader right then- thinking of reader as they perished & not being able to reach reader like Zandy had.. I need a moment- 😭

-🎺

WEWDJWEDOW THANK YOU FOR YOUR KIND WORDS!! (*obligatory hugs and tissues*) And YEAH!! Reader is HELLA strong in their own way, even if they don't recognize it, because i wouldn't be able to handle that whole situation either. I'd simply disappear 🥰

As much as Reader tried to comfort him, I imagine they were having their own sort of breakdown having just learned that all of the segments they've known for years were literally about to die in mere minutes, so many things rushing through their mind on what they should do and how to stop it and just everything they went through with them. It was hard for them to just believe that after spending so many years with the segments, they'd just go poof. At least Zandy was able to be with the person he loved most.

The segment's last moments are also something that KILLS me inside like- 😭 they did not need to die!! We deserved to see them!! Poor Reader, they probably think about what the segments wanted to say to them before they died. You just wish you could have provided some comfort in their last moments, although it's impossible now... Never forgiving Omega for this 🙄 (my innocent pretty wife)

[yunessa]

Owlcatober 26: Records

“Pathfinder Hilor?” The tall athletic human Yunessa found was lean, with grey hair stood out in the crowd he was speaking to.The monocle he wore gleamed coldly in the torchlight. “I’m Yunessa. I’m glad I could find you.” Hilor studied the hand Yunessa extended before he shook it. 

“Greetings, I am Hilor, Venture-Captain of the pathfinder Society. Commander Tirabade said you were looking for the Pathfinder Society but I’m the superior Officer for Pathfinders in this Region of Mendev and the only Pathfinder in Mendev.” 

“There’s no other Pathfinders here?” The society was so large that Yunessa found it hard to believe there was only one. “Does this area have no support?”

“The Pathfinder Society is running no operations here. I’m only stuck here because of an old feud with a demon worshipper called the Spinner of Nightmares.” Hilor reached up to rub one of his shoulders. “I’m not doing this with the society’s help so I’m working alone.”

“I see.” Yunessa said slowly.  

“If you need help however, I am well acquainted with the local mercenaries and fighters. If any of them are alive and you need them for a good and honest cause I can get you in touch.” Hilor tapped a heavy book at his hip. "There's always a mercenary looking for work if the pay is right."

“Oh, no. I don’t remember meeting a Pathfinder before you and Finnean here. That was all. I’m also not familiar with the Spinner of Nightmares.”  Yunessa admitted. “I tend to earn enough to go to the next town and head off- the life of a bard.”

“That sounds accurate for a travelling bard however, Finnean?” Hilor questioned. "I didn't know more of the society had come here."

“Finnean Dismar. I found him in a merchant’s shop about a half hour walk from here.” Yunessa explained as Hilor’s brow furrowed. 

“Dismar… dismar. I’ve heard the name before- he’s on the lists of the fallen. He went missing in the wound at the end of the Second Crusade. He’s been on the lists of the Fallen for quite a while.” Hilor’s gaze sharpened as he focused on Yunessa. “You said he was here however?  Where is he now?” His eyes moved from Yunessa to glance around them.

“One moment.”  Yunessa reached for Finnean at their belt where he had remained after returning to the form of a sword. He had periods of what seemed to be inertia and the purple eye on the scabbard seemed to be as it appeared. As Yunessa held FInnean however, the purple eye blinked, stirring to life. ”This is Finnean. Finnean Dismar, this is Venture-Captain Hilor.”

Hilor’s eyebrows rose up.  When Finnean spoke, however, he simply blinked once in surprise. “Hello! So you’re the Chief in these lands now? Where did lady Auery go? When I left for the Wound she’d just taken the position.”

To Hilor’s credit, the Venture-Captain simply blinked before examining Finnean. A sad chuckle escaped him when he finished and turned his head away. “I’m afraid Lady Auery perished during the Third Crusade and Finnean Dismar was recorded on the lists of the Fallen at the end of the second crusade.”

“Well, here I am, alive and well! Write in your lists that I’m back and soon i’ll write a detailed report on what happened to me.” Finnean’s voice was full of joy. “I was gone for a while so it’s just a misunderstanding. But now everything will return to normal. I should write to my folks. They probably think I’m dead too.”

Hilor gave Yunessa a sad smile. “Poor Lad….” He trailed off as Finnean excitedly mentioned several people and things he needed to write and go to do now that the Society knew he was ‘alive’. “Such is the fate of a pathfinder. We face the unknown but sometimes the unknown wins and our minds cannot take it. " A heavy sigh escaped Hilor. "Or we don't return as we left. Such is our fate."

“Is there nothing you can do?” It bothered Yunessa to see Finnean so excited. “Someone in the society that might have any experience with this? I know you’re the only one for Mendev but I have gold-I can pay for society's troubles. Surely the Pathfinder Society would take care of their own.”

“I’m sorry, I truly am. But I’m the only one here with no support. None of the local fighters are proficient in the kind of subjects you’d need to start helping.” Hilor’s eyes moved to Finnean. “If you leave here I’d say go to Absalom. But he might be considered an artifact more than a person.”

“He is a person Hilor.” Yunessa gripped Finnean tighter and Finnean’s chatter cut off as the sword exuded a sudden wariness. “Finnean isn’t  just a weapon, he’s still a human.” Yunessa didn’t recall many of their interactions with other elves, but they had generally been pleasant. They always treated me as if I was still an elf, still one of their own. Not once was I ignored if I needed aide.

“Be that as it may, not everyone would see it that way.” Hilor sighed. “It would probably be best if you kept him with you. Maybe a way to help him will appear.” - "I still think you're human Finnean." Yunessa promised once they had returned to the Courtyard. "There has to be one long-lived human who keeps track of time." "Yeah." Finnean said slowly. "Maybe, maybe I was just asleep for to long and people forgot about me. Crossed me off on the lists on accident." His attempt at cheer sounded forced. But there was a despondency to it. "I guess even elves do it to sometimes?" No. Not even a little. There were just to few elves to cruelly ignore the rest. When Yunessa had been hungry, needed a place to rest- it might not have been the best bread or the finest inn to rest in. But their kin had helped. As much as they remembered anyway. "Yeah." Yunessa lied. "Happens more often to us than you'd think Finnean." It was a simple lie. A easy one. One even Ember counter counter if she was there. But it made the eye on Finnean's hilt widen before it changed. "Yeah. Yeah!" The cheer was real now. "if it happens with elves well then, it could happen with anyone! So it's just a mistake. I might need to just... I dunno. Prove myself or something. Have a big fun dramatic story to prove them wrong." "I can't imagine they'd leave the records wrong for to long." Another lie. But this one seemed to brighten Finnean's evening the most. "Who could ignore you when you're standing right there Finnean?"

[actingwithportals]

For the character bingo, how about Loop?

(No one could have seen this coming.)

Actually, I’ll add Odile to this as well.

[Bingo card transcript: I am so normal about them / I have so many headcanons about them / *projects onto them like a mf* / [scribbled drawing of a figure with big wet eyes and hearts all around them] / a beast unleashed / I want their gender / my friend's favorite, the blorbo by proxy / everyone else is wrong about them / the fandom is so mean smh / *puts them in a salad spinner* / canon isn't real if I don't look at it / that's a solid design right there / free space / they are so silly / they didn't get bullied enough / they sure do exist / [scribbled drawing of a figure squeezing a much smaller figure like a squeaky toy with the word "squeak" written above them] / no. / literally I would kiss them / bastard / if anything happens to them I will cry / I want to BITE them / I wish they didn't exist :)) / not for me but I can see the appeal / I fuck with this aesthetic so hard. End transcript.]

First one for Loop, and they get: I am so normal about them / I have so many headcanons about them / *projects onto them like a mf* / [scribbled drawing of a figure with big wet eyes and hearts all around them] / a beast unleashed / I want their gender / *puts them in a salad spinner* / canon isn't real if I don't look at it / that's a solid design right there / free space / they are so silly / [scribbled drawing of a figure squeezing a much smaller figure like a squeaky toy with the word "squeak" written above them] / literally I would kiss them / bastard / if anything happens to them I will cry / I want to BITE them / I fuck with this aesthetic so hard, giving them a bingo for the top horizontal line!

Hi I'm so normal about this one guy I definitely do not have serious mental illness about them or anything noooo no not at all nope no sireee anyways for no reason whatsoever don't look at my AO3 works.

(The canon isn't real being selected is for the same reasons I saw you put for yours honestly lol, I think on a purely objective storytelling level I do like the ending they got, it felt appropriately...tragic, I suppose. HOWEVER,,, subjectively I need this bitch to have a happy ending where they get to heal and be with their family or else I will simply shrivel up and perish.)

((Also count Loop as the THIRD character now to alter the trajectory of my gender identity. Yes maybe I want to kiss them but I also want to BE them you see my dilemma?))

Odile's turn! She got: I am so normal about them / I have so many headcanons about them / [scribbled drawing of a figure with big wet eyes and hearts all around them] / that's a solid design right there / free space / they are so silly / [scribbled drawing of a figure squeezing a much smaller figure like a squeaky toy with the word "squeak" written above them] / literally I would kiss them / if anything happens to them I will cry / I want to BITE them / I fuck with this aesthetic so hard, alas she did not get a bingo.

I almost included "bastard" for hers but it's not quiiiiite the right vibe? She's on the same scale of character type that bastard fits on, but I'd put her more in the hard-ass direction lol. Anyways I'm. more than a little bit gay about Odile I love her so much. She's definitely the ISAT character who I think resonated with me the most right out the gate. The sort of cold, distant character who isn't really emotionally vulnerable and seems to have no interest in ever being so, that shit hits for me so hard.

Also uhhh the biting one got selected?? Wonder what that could be for who put that there—

[verycharismaticdragon]

On Air Island - chapter 1 - part 6

[prev] - [story so far] - [next]

(the transcript is available below the poll, under keep reading)

Whoa, our first timed choice! Click fast! Okay, jkjk, to explain: some of the choices in OAI have a 5-second timer. If you don't pick anything and the timer runs out, the game will either default to one of the options or give you the secret third (or fourth) thing. Thus, letting the timer run out will also be one of the options on the poll! So,

Transcript legend:

In-game text

Character speaking: dialogue line

regular chat message Donation: donation message

available donation messages

{ Alternative translation }

|| 🏅 award (achievement) collected ||

———— ———— ————

Hanse: I'll try harder, and I will avoid the punishment.

[player] donated 50 Ordinary Spade: Why is that place so serious;;

Hanse: That would be... ah.

FactOppa: ??? 123123: Jin and Ezra?

Jin: … … … … …

MyBaby: Wut? MinjunGF: Why's Jin face doesn't seem good? Perish: I am shaking

Jin: … … … … …

Darling: ? lalala99: What's up? DUMMY: Why isn't anyone saying anything?

Hanse: Maybe it was the terrible meal......?

mochimo: Was it that bad? hasebuck: HAHAHAHAH ReadMe: Shaking so hard I_han: Well, even 'so-so' tasted bad

Ezra: Huh? Mr Hanse, I thought you were already gone, but here you are.

mochimo: Uweegh

Ezra: I guess you weren't in a hurry to carry out your punishment.

c'monya: Researcher 'Oppa' ♡♡♡♡ DevilMan: Is he really an 'Oppa'? JoseonRc: Be quiet!

Hanse: Oh...... No! I was just about to leave.

Hanse: How was your meal? You looked very uncomfortable.

donateme: Well soofarrr: Jin eat everything so well tho TAKYO: Well she is a survival expert

Ezra: Haha, I was just about to ask if I could get some digestive medication.

WOLKER: Ugh iamfan: Oh my... Rainbow: How can he say that while laughing? Hihanse: ikr...

Ezra: To thank you for your concern, I'll tell you a story to ease your tension.

MyBank: ?????

Ezra: The staff over there told me that it's a punishment to be a guide's helper.

adam3882: Great hansehan: It's way easier than expected CloseEye: Just give him some food

Ezra: There's a time to get back to base camp, so you'll just have to hold it together until then.

TAKYO: Ezra is so sweet all the way weekend: Ezra. This is aunt. I lost your phone number. please give me your number. MoreNari: lol lol

Hanse: Heck, really......! Thank you!

Hanse: And now......I'll go to Haggai who will give me a punishment!

EatRamen: Let's go! sayaaa: Fighting 1pmhanse: Hanse cheer up

[The sound of Hanse's footsteps walking through the forest]

[Hanse getting short of breath]

outnow: Watch out hanse bbongGgu: Ough han-L: Don't get hurt

[Strange bird chirping]

[Wind] [Wind] [Wind] [Wind]

Hanse: I thought I told you it was this way......

onionin: How far does he need to go? Believe: where does he have to go?

Villager 1: Wait, sir, wait, wait!

artofhan: ? onmang: ????? YDD: What?

Villager 2: I simply won't let you go this way.

Hanse: Eh?

captain: what? ANINEFAN: Eh hanseggg: Look at Hanse shocked expression

Villager 2: In order to be able to stand by Haggai's side, you must cleanse your body and mind. || 🏅 I’ll give you a good wash ||

onehanse: Pardon?? BeMySon: What a nonsense BeSlave: ikr

⏰ Villager 1: Please come with us first.

What’s the problem? Try to follow them!

Do not follow them!

[princesscallyie]

Any Eirenelas character interactions?

Yes! It took me awhile cause I couldn't think of anything at first lol. They are a bit longer than normal.

Eirenelas reclined in a lounge chair of a corrupt excutive’s penthouse apartment. He was currently in his more casual attire instead of his usual Greek armor and conspicuous black wing. He mused at luxurious surroundings as he waited for the man to speak.

“Eirenelas, nice of you to come back. I suppose you’re to discuss our deal.” The man said, his voice carrying a sinister yet shaky tone. His forehead was moist in sweat and his hands just happened to be hidden around his back.

Eirenelas simply nodded, noting the current demeanor of the man. He leaned back, crossed his legs. “Yes, let’s recall the stipulations of our bond. You were in a desperate need of a way to escape being found out that you laundered millions of dollars from your company. You risk being thrown in jail for years and being outed as fraud, ruining your reputation. You had 48 hours to return the laundered money by liquidating your assets-”

Suddenly, the man pulled out a gun and pointed it frantically at Eirenelas. 

“You must be out of your damn mind if you think I’m going to give my fortune! They owe everything to me, that money deserved to be mine! I’m not letting all of that go. If I get rid of you then this bond bullshit is null and void.”

Eirenelas sighed and rolled his eyes. “Why do they always do this…” 

Desperation brought an onslaught of emotions, and insanity seemed to be the major one. He sensed he was going to do something brash, but he didn’t think he would actually go through with something so foolish. Perhaps he misunderstood the human psyche. 

“Mr. Wilson… you are aware that you’re the one who agreed to our bond… the conditions were simple… you succeed, you get away with everything and live your life in blissful ignorance. If you fail, you perish in the endless pits of despair. What about that you do not understand?” 

Eirenelas said as he rose from his seat. As he spoke, feathers swarmed his body as he transformed back into his original godly form.

“G-get away from me you, d-demon! I don’t have to listen to you!” The man gasped at sight, he stepped back and fired his gun missing almost all the shots because of his shaky aim. One lone shot zoomed straight towards Eirenelas’ face. It was deflected by a chain that emerged from his body, an ability granted by his godly nature.

Eirenelas advanced, his green eye glowing ominously as he inched closer.

“So what you’re trying to tell me is… you failed.” 

A barrage of chains shot toward the man, binding him tightly and constricting him with deadly force.

“Wait wait wait! I-I’ll do anything! What do you want?!”

A contract materialized in Eirenelas’s hand. He grinned, knowing that this was the part of the process he particularly enjoyed. The bonds he offered to these desperate but often crooked individuals were nothing more than a high risk gamble. Either all or nothing. Yet if they lost, part of what was forfeited would find its way to him. A fair exchange, all things considered.

“How about this lovely penthouse for starters. Sign it over to me…”

The man hurriedly signed the contract, transferring his penthouse over to the god.

“There it’s yours! A-and I’ll give away everything else too, just like in our deal! A-are you gonna let me free now? W-we had a deal, you know!”

Eirenelas chuckled, his grin devilish. “That isn’t how this works…”

The chains tighten further around the man’s neck and head, muffling his screams of agony. Soon, the life was squeezed out of him, his body vanishing into a wisp of smoke.

As another bond was fulfilled, he looked around his newly acquired abode. “Hmm, this will do quite nicely…”

~~~

It's been a day or two since the eventful day where Eirenelas met with Drake after he freed him from the puzzle box and formed a bond with him. They fled the Alliance’s base and were now at the god of despair penthouse. The first night Drake dropped like a rock and slept for almost a full day. He thought he died if was being frank. Today, he was awake at least, but he was sulking on the sofa staring off into space like a lifeless zombie.

Eirenelas took a sip of his coffee as he partook in the sight. This was his first time interacting with a human in this matter, especially one this young. He wanted to give him some time to rest but this seemed way out of the ordinary from what he knew about humans. Was this what owning a puppy was like?

“How long do you expect to stay like that?” Eirenelas finally spoke. “We do have some work to do if you recall…”

Drake sighed, offering no response. 

Setting down his coffee, Eirenelas approached him and leaned down to his level. He lifted Drake’s head up by his chin gently, meeting his gaze. They were dull and lifeless, his skin pale with bags under his eyes - signs of a young man overwhelmed by his ordeal.

Eirenelas felt a surge of unexpected empathy wash over him as he sensed the despair and dread radiated off of him like hot coals.

“Such a poor, beautiful soul…” he murmured softly, examining his delicate features. “Despair is always temporary, it comes and goes like the wind. Don’t let it consume you…”

Eirelenas placed a finger on Drake’s forehead and he channeled a flow of his godly power through him. The effect was immediate that it made Drake jump back. His mind was clear for the first time in months. All the dark and dreadful thoughts that clouded him just vanished.

“H-how did you do that?” he questioned, his eyes wide with his new found clarity.

Eirenelas straightened and crossed his arms with a grin. “Oh look who can talk now. I thought you were going to end it all on me, little puppy.”

~~

It’s been a while longer and Drake was now beginning to get used to his ordeal. Eirenelas had a plan to get rid of his father by summoning his creator, a god like him, to take him down. He had no choice but to follow his lead on this. There was no way he could take down his father by himself, not even if he had the whole Alliance of his side. He had that much power and influence. He had to save his mother and put a stop to this cycle once and for all. With the bond he had with him and the strange powers that came with it, he could achieve this.

But other than that, he was enjoying his new found freedom. It was nice to be able to wear what he wanted and style his hair without any of his father's restrictions. Surprisingly, he felt more like himself than he has in a long time. And despite Eirenelas being an intimidating god, of an emotion like despair nonetheless, he treated him rather fairly. Even though he can be an annoying tease at times.

“As you know, Drake, in this world, money makes the world go around. We will need to amass a lot of it to continue our plan to find the sources of Earth’s primordial magic,” Eirenelas explained as they rode in a car on their way to a discreet location.

“Yeah, I know, don’t remind me…” Drake mumbled as he recalled the days where his father would berate him about the Alliance’s lack of funds.

“This job should be simple for someone of your abilities. We infiltrate this mafia ring and retrieve the funds and their connections and we’ll leverage that to our advantage.”

Drake slumped deeper into the leather seat, dreading the job. He thought his days of doing petty missions like this were over once he became the leader of the Alliance. “Couldn’t you just create a bond with the leader so he can hand over what we need?”

Eirenelas chuckled. “You misunderstand my powers, Drake. I can’t just impose a bond. They have to seek me under extreme despair. Some of these so-called leaders are just foolish and arrogant, not desperate.”

“You just described the history of humanity…” Drake scoffed.

“Yes, partly,” Eirenelas said with a grin toward Drake. “But then there are those like you - clever and resilient, the best humanity has to offer.”

Drake’s face turned a hint of red after receiving the praise. That was the nicest thing someone has said about him in months. “Sure…” he replied, averting his gaze. 

“But you’re still a god, though. You should be able to knock everyone out with your chains or something…”

“You’re trying your best to wriggle out of this, huh?” Eirenelas remarked, clearly amused.

“How could you tell?” Drake said sarcastically.

Eirenelas pinched his cheek, which made Drake swat his hand away in response. “Oh so sassy, little pup. Come on, the exercise will do you some good.” he chuckled.

[dungeonaspects]

The Keys to Our Love

We find ourselves in a cosy, warmly lit living room. The soft glow of the fireplace casts a gentle light across the room, highlighting the shelves filled with books and the plush blankets draped over the couch. I sit comfortably, glasses perched on my nose, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in my hands. The rich aroma of cocoa fills the air, mingling with the faint scent of vanilla candles.

Beside me, you sit, your eyes sparkling with mischief and warmth. Your playful smile makes my heart race. You reach over, gently nudging me with your shoulder. “You know,” you say with a teasing tone, “you look absolutely adorable when you’re lost in thought.”

I chuckle, a look out the corner of my eye showing my ’annoyance’ and hunger. “And you,” I reply, “make me want to keep you here till you know you can’t escape.”

You laugh, a sound that feels like music to my ears. We both settle into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s presence. The world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of us in this perfect, cosy bubble.

We talk about everything and nothing, sharing stories, dreams, and gentle touches. Your hand finds mine, fingers intertwining, and I squeeze gently, feeling the warmth of your love. The room is filled with a serene silence, punctuated only by the crackling of the fireplace and the soft rustle of pages as I turn them. The world outside feels distant and unimportant, as if time itself has slowed down just for us.

I pick up the book I’ve been reading and start to read aloud, my voice soft and steady. I attempt to give each character a unique voice, but my efforts are more comical than convincing. You laugh, a sweet, melodic sound that makes my heart swell with joy. Despite my terrible job at the voices, you listen intently, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

Between passages, I pause to stroke your head gently, my fingers running through your hair. “And then the brave knight said,” I continue, trying to deepen my voice dramatically, “My lady, with the venom in my veins I’ll perish, please, help me cleanse myself,”

You giggle, shaking your head. “You’re terrible at this,” you tease, but your smile is full of affection.

I lean in and kiss your forehead, my lips lingering for a moment. “I know,” I reply with a grin, “but at least I’m mildly entertaining.”

You snuggle closer, resting your head on my shoulder. The book lies forgotten in my lap as we sit there, wrapped in each other’s warmth. The calm and comfortable love we share is palpable, gentle, and effortless. It’s in the way our hands fit perfectly together, the way your laughter lights up the room, and the way my heart feels full just being near you.

As the evening progresses, the atmosphere shifts slightly. I stand up, a playful glint in my eye. “Come on,” I say, pulling you to your feet. “I have an idea.”

Curious, you follow me to the back of the house, where a door leads to a hidden staircase. I lead you up, and we find ourselves in a secret attic space. There’s a sense of magic in the air, as if we’ve stepped into a different world.

The room is bathed in a soft, warm glow from the fairy lights that drape across the ceiling like a canopy of stars. As you look closer, you notice that each light is encased in a delicate, hand-blown glass orb, each one unique with tiny imperfections that make them all the more beautiful. The walls are adorned with vintage tapestries, their intricate patterns telling stories of far-off lands and ancient times.

In one corner, there’s a small, antique writing desk, its surface cluttered with old maps, quills, and bottles of ink. The wood is worn and polished from years of use, and you can almost imagine the countless letters and stories that have been penned there. A closer look reveals tiny carvings along the edges of the desk, depicting scenes of mythical creatures and enchanted forests.

Scattered around the room are various trinkets and curiosities: a brass telescope mounted on a tripod, its lenses gleaming in the light; a collection of ornate, leather-bound books with titles in languages you can’t quite decipher; and a delicate porcelain music box, its lid painted with a scene of a moonlit garden. When you wind it up, it plays a soft, haunting melody that fills the room with a sense of nostalgia.

The floor is covered with a patchwork of rugs, each one a different colour and texture, creating a cozy, inviting space. As you walk across them, you notice the subtle variations in the weave and the intricate patterns that seem to tell their own stories. There’s a large, overstuffed armchair near the window, draped with a knitted throw blanket that looks like it was made with love and care.

Near the window, there’s a small, round table with a crystal ball resting on a velvet cloth. The ball catches the light from the fairy lights, casting tiny rainbows around the room. You can’t help but feel a sense of wonder as you take in all the details, each one adding to the magical atmosphere of the attic.

I grin, handing you a small, intricately carved box. The box itself is a work of art, made from rich, dark mahogany wood. Its surface is adorned with delicate carvings of swirling vines and blooming flowers, each petal and leaf etched with meticulous precision. The edges are trimmed with a fine gold inlay, catching the light and adding a touch of elegance. The lid is hinged with tiny, ornate brass fittings, and at the centre, there’s a small, polished emerald embedded within the wood, glinting mysteriously.

“Open it,” I say.

Inside is a collection of old-fashioned keys, each one unique. The keys are nestled in a bed of deep blue velvet, their metallic surfaces gleaming softly. As you look closer, a few keys stand out compared to the rest.

One key is made of silver, its bow shaped like a delicate butterfly with intricately detailed wings. The shaft is slender and smooth, ending in a series of tiny, precise notches. Another key is larger, made of aged bronze, with a bow that resembles an ancient Celtic knot, its loops and twists forming an endless pattern. The shaft of this key is thicker, with a series of runes engraved along its length, hinting at some long-forgotten language.

A third key catches your eye, made of a dark, almost black metal. Its bow is shaped like a dragon’s head, with tiny ruby eyes that seem to glow in the dim light. The shaft is textured, resembling scales, and the bit is jagged and complex, as if it’s meant to unlock something truly special.

“What are these for?” you ask, intrigued.

“An adventure,” I reply with a wink that’s so bad it makes you laugh before I can continue. “Each key opens a different door in this attic, leading to something new.”

You look up, seeing me stepping to the side, lifting a tapestry that fell all the way to the floor, concealing a hallway that had every kind of illumination along its walls. Ducking within you see a hallway that continues on in an infinite curve that felt dizzying, me moving closer and steadying you with a gentle kiss on the top of your head as I whisper in your ear.

“Let’s explore.”

We spend the rest of the night unlocking doors, discovering hidden rooms filled with wonders. Each key reveals a new and enchanting space, each more magical than the last.

The first key, the silver one with the butterfly bow, opens a door to a room that feels like stepping into a fairy tale. The walls are lined with shelves filled with delicate glass jars, each containing a different type of butterfly, their wings shimmering in the soft light. The air is filled with the gentle fluttering of wings and the sweet scent of blooming flowers.

As we step further into the room, we notice that the decor subtly shifts to reflect the changing seasons. One corner of the room is dedicated to spring, with cherry blossoms in full bloom, their petals gently falling like pink snow. Tiny fairies, no larger than a thumb, flit among the flowers, their wings iridescent and their laughter like the tinkling of bells. They weave garlands of fresh flowers, leaving trails of sparkling dust in their wake.

In another corner, summer reigns supreme. The walls are adorned with vibrant green vines and clusters of sunflowers that seem to turn their faces towards us as we move. The air is warm and filled with the scent of freshly cut grass and ripe berries. Here, the fairies are slightly larger, their wings resembling those of dragonflies. They playfully chase each other, their laughter mingling with the sound of a gentle summer breeze.

Autumn takes over the next section, with leaves in shades of red, orange, and gold carpeting the floor. The shelves are lined with jars containing butterflies that mimic the colours of the fall foliage. The fairies here are dressed in tiny outfits made of leaves and acorns, their wings patterned like those of moths. They gather around miniature bonfires, their faces glowing in the warm light as they share stories and songs of the harvest season.

The final corner is a winter wonderland. The walls are covered in frost, and delicate snowflakes hang in the air, catching the light and sparkling like diamonds. The butterflies here have wings that look like they’re dusted with snow, and the fairies are dressed in tiny cloaks made of white fur. They skate on a frozen pond in the centre of the room, their movements graceful and fluid. The air is crisp and carries the scent of pine and cinnamon.

In the centre of the room, there’s a small fountain, its water sparkling as it cascades over smooth stones. The fountain is surrounded by a circular bench made of polished wood, inviting us to sit and take in the enchanting scene. We sit on the bench, watching the butterflies dance around us, feeling a sense of peace and wonder. The fairies occasionally pause in their activities to glance our way, their eyes twinkling with curiosity and friendliness.

The room is a perfect blend of magic and nature, each season bringing its own unique charm and atmosphere. The contrast in seasons creates a dynamic and ever-changing environment, making us feel as though we’ve stepped into a living, breathing fairy tale.

The second key, the bronze one with the Celtic knot, unlocks a door to a room that feels ancient and mystical. The walls are covered in tapestries depicting scenes of legendary battles and mythical creatures. Each tapestry is a masterpiece, woven with threads of gold and silver that catch the light, bringing the scenes to life. Dragons soar above knights in shining armour, and enchanted forests teem with magical creatures.

In the middle of the room, there’s a large, round table made of dark wood, its surface etched with intricate patterns and symbols. The table is surrounded by high-backed chairs, each one carved with the image of a different mythical beast. On the table, there’s a collection of old scrolls and maps, their edges frayed with age. The maps are detailed and beautifully illustrated, showing lands that seem both familiar and fantastical.

We spend time examining the maps, tracing the routes of ancient explorers and imagining the adventures they must have had. The room is filled with the scent of aged parchment and the faint sound of distant, echoing chants, as if the walls themselves are whispering the secrets of the past.

As we explore further, we discover a series of objects that help us weave our own tales. There’s an ancient, brass astrolabe, its surface covered in mysterious symbols and constellations. We use it to navigate the stars, grinning as we describe ourselves as intrepid explorers charting unknown territories. We can feel the rush of excitement as we weave our tale together, the sensations of months together in foreign lands brush against our senses

Next to the astrolabe, there’s a beautifully crafted compass, its needle pointing steadily north. The compass is engraved with the image of a phoenix, its wings flickering as the magic within has faded in ages past. We feel each moment as we follow its guidance, embarking on a quest to find hidden treasures and lost civilisations. We hold each other and dance under moons unknown to all but us.

On a nearby shelf, we find a collection of small, intricately carved figurines. Each one represents a different character from the legends that we shape in our stories. Their lives so rich and beautiful as we build whole worlds, tales, legends, myths. To us we make civilisations rise and fall, simply feeling the bliss of endless creation.

The room is filled with the warmth of our laughter and the excitement of our shared adventure. Each object we discover adds a new layer to our stories, deepening the bliss in our words. The ancient and mystical atmosphere of the room enhances our tales, making them feel real and magical.

The third key, the dark metal one with the dragon’s head, opens a door to a room that feels like a hidden treasure trove. The walls are lined with shelves filled with glittering jewels and precious artifacts. Each shelf is a display of opulence, with crowns encrusted with diamonds, necklaces dripping with pearls, and goblets made of pure gold. The light from the fairy lights reflects off the treasures, casting a kaleidoscope of colours around the room.

In the centre of the room, there’s a large chest overflowing with gold coins and sparkling gems. The chest itself is a masterpiece, made of dark wood and reinforced with iron bands, its surface carved with scenes of dragons guarding their hoards. The coins and gems spill out onto the floor, creating a shimmering pool of wealth.

We sit on the floor, sifting through the treasures and marvelling at the beauty and history of each piece. The room is filled with the soft clinking of coins and the warm glow of reflected light. As we explore, we begin to shape new treasures for each other, competing in ostentatiousness and stark beauty.

I pick up a delicate tiara, its silver filigree adorned with tiny sapphires. “This,” I say, placing it gently on your head, “is for the queen that will take my head.” You laugh, adjusting the tiara and standing imperiously as you pull a gilded sword from the pile, holding it to my throat before taking a kiss for yourself.

Not to be outdone, you find a magnificent necklace, its pendant a large, flawless emerald in the shape of a dragons eye set in a frame of intricate goldwork. “And this,” you say, draping it around my neck, “is for the king that I intend to have a scandalous love affair with before conquering his realm.” I chuckle, admiring the way the emerald catches the light, the slitted pupil glinting in grandeur.

We continue our playful competition, each treasure more extravagant than the last. I present you with a golden chalice, its surface engraved with scenes of mythical creatures. I pull close, placing my hand to your throat and press the vessel to your lips, the rich aroma of wine tingling your senses “For you, my love, a cup fit for a goddess.” You smile, biting your lip for a moment before taking the chalice and glance over the top of it as you sip a rich sacrament from the cup.

You then find a jewelled dagger, its hilt encrusted with rubies and its blade etched with ancient runes. “For you, my would be assassin,” you say, handing it to me with a flourish. I take the dagger, pretending to brandish it with a cruel scowl before we both burst out laughing at my poor attempt at looking intimidating..

Despite the grandeur of the treasures we find, none of them come close to feeling as perfect as we do for each other. The room, with all its glittering wealth, pales in comparison to the warmth and love we share. Each treasure we shape for each other is a symbol of our affection, but it’s the moments of laughter and connection that truly take our breath away.

Each room brings us closer, deepening the bond we share. The adventure leaves us both exhilarated and content.

The next room we enter is a magical forest. The walls are covered in lush greenery, with vines and ivy creeping up to meet the ceiling, which expanded into a night sky devoid of stars, a moon so large it leaves us breathless high above. The air is filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the soft rustle of leaves. Fireflies dance around us, casting a gentle, golden glow that illuminates our path.

As we walk hand in hand, the ground beneath our feet feels soft and mossy, almost like walking on a plush carpet. The trees are tall and ancient, their branches stretching out like protective arms. The forest is alive with the sounds of nature – the distant hoot of an owl, the gentle babbling of a hidden brook, and the soft chirping of crickets.

We come across a small clearing where a crystal-clear pond reflects the starry sky above. The water is so still and pure that it looks like a mirror. Around the pond, flowers of every colour bloom, their petals glowing softly in the silvery light. You pick a glowing flower, its petals shimmering with an ethereal light, and tuck it behind my ear, making me smile.

In the centre of the clearing, there’s a large, ancient tree with a trunk so wide that it would take several people to encircle it with their arms. The tree’s bark is covered in intricate carvings that tell the stories of the forest’s history. As we approach, the carvings seem to come to life, depicting scenes of mythical creatures and ancient guardians of the forest.

We sit beneath the tree, feeling its gentle presence as we rest side by side. The fireflies gather around us, creating a magical aura. You lean in and kiss my cheek, your breath warm against my ear. I laugh softly, unable to resist a kiss that could have lasted moments or centuries. The forest seems to embrace us, its magic weaving around us like a protective cocoon.

As we sit there, time seems to stand still. The worries of the outside world fade away, leaving just the two of us in this enchanted place.

Next, we find ourselves in a room filled with floating lanterns. The lanterns drift gently in the air, casting a warm, golden light that bathes the room in a soft, ethereal glow. The walls are a shimmering wave of golds, reds, and blues, an eternal sunset. Tiny, twinkling lights dot the distant sky as darkness encroached from behind, mimicking stars as lanterns filled the world around us.

The lanterns themselves are of various shapes and sizes, each one unique. Some are round and plump, while others are elongated and delicate. They are made of thin, translucent paper, and their surfaces are adorned with intricate patterns and designs. As they float, they sway gently, as if moved by an invisible breeze.

We walk through the room, our hands intertwined, marvelling at the beauty around us. The air is filled with a sense of tranquillity and wonder. The lanterns cast dancing shadows on the world, creating a mesmerizing display of light and movement in the air around us. The soft hum of a distant melody fills the air, adding to the ambience.

In the centre of the room, there’s a small, circular pool of water. The surface of the water is perfectly still, reflecting the lanterns above like a mirror. We kneel by the edge of the pool, our reflections mingling with the lanterns in the water. You reach into a nearby basket and pull out a lantern of our own. It’s a beautiful creation, with delicate patterns of flowers and stars etched into its surface.

We light the lantern together, watching as the flame flickers to life. The warm glow illuminates our faces, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped. We release the lantern, watching it float up and join the others.

As we stand there, watching the lanterns drift and dance in the air, I feel a deep sense of connection and love. The room, with its magical light and serene atmosphere, feels like a sanctuary, a place where we can dream and imagine together.

We spend some time releasing more lanterns, each one a wish for our future. The room fills with the soft glow of our hopes and dreams, creating a tapestry of light that surrounds us. The moment is perfect, a beautiful blend of magic and love.

Another door leads us to a room of mirrors. The walls are lined with mirrors of all shapes and sizes, each one framed in ornate gold or silver. The room is softly lit, the light reflecting off the mirrors and creating a warm, inviting glow. As we step inside, we notice that each mirror reflects a different memory of us together, from our first meeting to this very moment.

The first mirror shows the day we met. The memory is vivid, and I can almost feel the excitement and nervousness of that moment. We laugh, remembering how awkward and shy we were.

The next mirror reflects our friendship. Built on innocent love, trust that grew as we grew ourselves. You smirk as you wince at my mistakes, yet you still squeeze my hand. The memory is filled with warmth and joy, and we smile at the reflections.

As we move through the room, each mirror shows a different milestone in our relationship. There’s the mirror that reflects our first kiss, the one that shows us talking for hours only to realise we love each other, and another that captures a quiet evening spent cooking dinner together.

One mirror shows a us in ways that we can be and want to be. The reflection captures the emotion and sincerity of each moment, and we both feel a surge of affection as we watch ourselves in the mirror. You catch my eye in the reflection, and I see the same love and tenderness in your gaze.

We continue to explore the room, laughing and sharing stories as we go. The mirrors not only reflect our memories but also the emotions we felt in those moments. The room is filled with the sound of our laughter and the warmth of our love, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and connection.

Finally, we come to a large, full-length mirror at the end of the room. This mirror reflects us as we are now, standing together, hand in hand. The reflection shows the love and joy we share, and the journey we are on. You catch my eye in the mirror and pull me into a tender kiss. The moment is perfect, a beautiful blend of past and present, and a promise of the future we’ll share.

We then step into a room that feels like a cozy cabin. The walls are made of rich, dark wood, giving the space a warm and inviting feel. The scent of pine fills the air, mingling with the faint aroma of cinnamon and cloves. A large stone fireplace dominates one wall, the flames crackling and casting a soft, flickering light that dances across the room.

The floor is covered with a thick, plush rug that feels soft underfoot. In front of the fireplace, there are two overstuffed armchairs, each draped with a knitted throw blanket. A small wooden table sits between them, holding a tray with a steaming pot of hot chocolate, two mugs, and a plate of cookies you know I tried my best to bake. They weren’t good for their taste, but you relished my shyness as you tried one.

We sit on the plush rug, the warmth of the fire enveloping us. The flames cast a golden glow on our faces as we share stories and laugh together. The room is filled with the sound of our voices and the comforting crackle of the fire. You pour us each a mug of hot chocolate as soon as we run out, the rich aroma filling the air. We sip the warm, sweet drink, savouring the moment.

There are shelves lined with old books and trinkets, each one telling a story of its own. A pair of snowshoes hangs on one wall, and a woven basket filled with pinecones sits in the corner. The windows are adorned with heavy, plaid curtains that add to the cozy atmosphere.

You wrap a blanket around us, holding me close as we enjoy the warmth and comfort of the moment. The firelight reflects in your eyes, making them sparkle. We sit in a comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s presence. The world outside feels distant and unimportant.

As we sit there, the fire crackling and the scent of pine filling the air, I feel a deep sense of peace and contentment.

Finally, we enter a room with a starlit sky. The ceiling is a vast expanse of stars, twinkling brightly against a deep, velvety black sky. The stars are so vivid and numerous that it feels like we’ve stepped into the heart of the cosmos. The floor is covered in soft, lush grass that feels cool and comforting under our feet, adding to the sensation of being outdoors.

The air is crisp and fresh, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers. As we walk further into the room, we notice that the constellations above are not just static; they slowly shift and move, creating a mesmerizing dance of celestial bodies. The Milky Way stretches across the ceiling, its countless stars forming a luminous river of light.

In the centre of the room, there’s a small, gentle hill covered in even softer grass. We climb to the top and lie down, looking up at the breathtaking display above us. The grass beneath us is like a plush carpet, cushioning us as we settle in. The gentle hum of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl add to the serene atmosphere.

You point out your favourite stars and constellations, your voice filled with excitement and wonder. I listen intently, feeling a deep sense of connection as you share your knowledge and passion. You trace the shapes of the constellations with your finger, drawing lines between the stars to form mythical figures and ancient stories.

I follow your lead, tracing the constellations with my own finger, feeling a sense of peace and wonder as I do. The stars seem to twinkle more brightly in response, as if acknowledging our presence. We take turns pointing out different constellations, sharing stories and legends associated with each one.

As we lie there, the vastness of the universe above us makes everything else seem small and insignificant. The worries and stresses of the outside world fade away, leaving just the two of us in this magical, starlit sanctuary. The room feels timeless, a place where we can dream and imagine without limits.

The gentle glow of the stars casts a soft light on our faces, highlighting the love and joy in your eyes. We hold hands, our fingers intertwined.

As the night draws to a close, we find ourselves back in the living room, wrapped in each other’s arms. I look into your eyes, feeling a surge of love and gratitude. “I love you,” I whisper, my voice filled with emotion.

You smile, your eyes shining with affection. “I love you too,” you reply, leaning in for a tender kiss.

Not entirely sure what this is. Wrote this for someone I love and found it magical and wanted to share. Hope they know that I love them.

Love is love, platonic, familial, romantic, everything. No matter who, no matter what, as long as everyone involved is consenting, please embrace who you are and who you love.

Sorry this is so random, just felt the urge.

Hope you're doing ok.

[abysswalkersknight]

Here's one of the quick long fics I've been doing the past two weeks while catsitting. This was really just to past the time so I wasn't paying too much attention to it but hopefully you all enjoy.

.............................

One dark rainy season, Lilia became aware of something crawling around his domain in the woods. Judging by the light scuffles, it was surely larger than a dog.

Currently it was one of those nights where all of Briar Valley was enveloped by an endless torrent of hard, harsh rain, and filled Lilia’s cabin with the soothing melody of tinks and trickles and drips, he’d only noticed the creature because his sharp ears had picked up a faint whining sound underneath the rhythmic rain, they probably thought that nobody could hear them. Over the days the rain hailed on, enough so that Lilia could barely take a step outside before either slipping or coming ankle deep in mud. It were times like these where he was glad he was retired from the front lines and can prepare comfortably for this sort of weather, where he had also found the joys of having warm, dry clothing on hand as well as being able to easily slip out of his drenched shirt and boots and rest his aching muscles next to the blazing hearth. Perhaps it was these thoughts which had prompted him to keep an eye outside for the creature. It was starting to get really bad out there, the wind was picking up and he heard that it was beginning to flood in some places. Though it could also simply be the old habit of being mindful of enemies or the like. Seven knows how often Lilia’s had to weasel out a shoddy spy or two, or an assassin if he was lucky.

Whenever the storm had paused in its fury, Lilia would quickly venture out and check the surrounding wood, peering inside tree hollows, in the tree’s canopies, checking for any suspicious looking tracks, looking for signs of anything taking refuge in the area. Unfortunately nothing wielded anything other than the usual wildlife that lived in the area. 

He’d do this for a few days out of simple curiosity, until one day he found something that made him sigh deeply and shake his head.

During one of these breaks in the weather Lilia had left a brilliant attempt at a pie out on the windowsill  to cool off. The charred, blackened crust had been broken, letting the air into the warm, gluey heart of the pie. Yet it was not the massacred pie that had soured Lilia’s spirits. Marked on the edge of the windowsill with the purplish red insides of the pie were prints from the little hands of a small child.

With this newfound information, Lilia puts more effort into his searches, and has even taken to setting out bowls of food and water, and they were always empty by the time he came to collect them. Though soon Lilia grew to be quite restless, when suddenly more and more food were left behind each day and his heart quickened when one day he caught sight of little bits of blood swimming in one of the water bowls.

Alright, now there’s a sick child suffering out there, he pondered, trying to figure out his next course of action.

He contemplated mixing in some medicine with the food but then thought against it, he had no idea what species this child was and hadn’t the foggiest clue as to how much the average child has, I don’t even know if their constitution would allow it.

The best thing I can probably do right now is try to gauge what ails them, and for that I’ll need to catch them. Easier said than done, the child proved to be an elusive one, having discarded the food altogether once they seemed to realise that Lilia was leaving them closer and closer to the cabin. Lilia cursed, since then the only reasons he hadn’t believed that the child had perished were food stolen from the garden and the occasional weak cough he’d hear in the middle of the night. The storm has yet to let up, to the point where Lilia was worried that some of the trees around him might fall, and the water levels in the river next to the cabin were rising rapidly. Of course he could easily teleport to the castle should he need to, but that child was still out there… There was no more time left for stalling, Lilia needed to find that child now. Thankfully, despite remaining hidden from his eyes he knew the child always remained close to their best food source, so wrapping himself in his travelling cloak he dashed out into the pouring rain, mud spraying everywhere as he shot towards the river. 

Just as he suspected the river was rising quickly, having breached the banks and crawling higher. The currents were rampant, forcing the water wheel to spin wildly as it crushed any debris caught under it ‘hey! Is anyone out there!’ he calls out to the raging wind ‘child! Where are you?’ he knew it was likely that the child wouldn’t respond if they had remained as cautious as they have. But he prayed that the storm would have frightened them enough to seek him out ‘answer me! it’s alright child, it’s too dangerous out here,’

‘Ah…hel-mffh!’ ears pricking Lilia urgently flocked to the shrill cry, he called out again but couldn’t hear anything, instead he caught sight of a disturbance in the rapids. Frantic splashing amongst a pile of logs and branches partly submerged in the water, Lilia would have thought nothing of it, had a tiny hand not reached up to scramble desperately along a branch only to fall back down.

He blinked at this pile for several seconds before realising what this meant. Within a few strides he had leapt onto the strongest log, searching until he found it. A small figure trying to cling onto their branch with all their waning strength, only to have their feet slip on the eroded, muddy wall the branches grew from. He lurched forward as the child suddenly lost their grip altogether and splashed into the murky water, Lilia cursed again when he found that their arm was caught on something that had the child being tugged painfully in the current as they struggled to keep their head above the water. As he got to their branch Lilia was stunned to see that it was a little chain that was caught on a broken piece of wood pointing upwards, and connected to that chain was a little shackle fastened to an even smaller wrist, what the- no time for that! Bracing his knees against the log Lilia seized the child’s arm with one hand and grasped the wood with the other, he heaved back on the log like a fisherman hauling up his net, feeling it bent and splinter until finally it snapped right off. With no hesitation he hoisted the child up into his arms and leapt as far away from the wood pile as he could before the whole structure suddenly collapsed and crunched under the water wheel.

Now safely out of the river the child tumbled down, spluttering and coughing a brown, watery spray while Lilia collapsed beside them with a tired huff.

Woo, I’m going to be feeling this for a while, he thinks, placing a hand on his aching back. Oh the frailty of old age! He glances over to his breathless companion, quite young to judge by the height about five or six though skinny as a twig.

‘Where did you come from, little one?’ he murmurs once he’s recovered. They did not answer, but sat curled away from him and staring from under pale eyelashes. They were utterly filthy, the river doing nothing to wash away the mud and grit caked in their hair and clothes. They clutched at their shackled wrist as if preventing it from moving even the slightest inch, Lilia winces in sympathy, that does not look good ‘let’s have a look at you then’ he mutters, they were resting by the shed bit of the wheel so conveniently there was a bucket full of water right next to him, he grabbed it and before the curled figure could do anything he had splashed the water across their face, washing away the worst of the mud, revealing dull white locks. A boy? With his free hand Lilia grabbed the boy’s chin to gently wipe away the stubborn bits of dirt, he managed to clear off around the ear before the seemed to regain himself and made a panicky attempt to bite, showing off a full set of milk teeth. He let them latch on, hardly a sting at all, and stroked his head soothingly, murmuring sweet nothings until the boy let go. Lilia frowned at the tiny smattering of blood on his arm, clearly not his own. Ignoring the boy’s weakening protests he swiftly scooped him up and hurried back into the light and warmth of the cabin.

It was difficult at first to get the child in the tub but eventually they got him relaxed and melting on the edge of it while Lilia massaged soap in his hair and scrubbed to grit off those soft little limbs. It soon came as a shock to Lilia that with every rinse he gave to the boy’s locks, instead of a bone pale white he expected they soon revealed a mane the colour of glistening swords honed to perfection, a luxurious silver many would envy. But the greatest shock came when he swept a wet lock behind the boy’s round ear, such a funny shape it was, it was a shape he hasn’t seen since his time on the battlefield ‘so you are a human, my dear’ he whispers with revered astonishment. And he was so little the only humans Lilia’s seen were either full grown or barely into their adulthood, always swinging a sword or catapult at him. This one though only murmurs in contentment while leaning into his warm touch, judging from the horrible shackle he’s had to carefully snap off the sore wrist and the slight wheezing in his lungs the poor thing must have run away from a horrible place, the boy whimpered and whined as Lilia carefully rinsed off the raw broken skin, had it been left any longer he was sure it would get infected. Thankfully the boy settled once Lilia wrapped a warm wet cloth around his wrist and surprisingly nuzzled into his hand when he petted him, it was no wonder to Lilia that he’d revel in what was possibly the first kind touch he’s ever had ‘you must have been watching me all that time to be this cosy with me so quickly’ he says, drying him off with the fluffiest towel he had, it would explain the feeling of being watched he’s been having for a while he thinks as the boy startles at his own sneeze. Chuckling at such cuteness Lilia dressed him in the smallest clothes he could find, though still they were much too loose on the boy who wiggled his arms and legs around trying to find his hands and feet and for possibly the second time that day Lilia’s breath was cut off. 

Beautiful auroral eyes gaze up at him with an innocent curiosity, eyes that struck fear and longing in his heart. He knew those eyes, those were the eyes of his greatest enemy and rival, the eyes of the one who had slain his dear princess and orphaned the young prince. 

All of his centuries old rage came boiling up at once, this was now clearly a child descended from the cursed knight of dawn, one bearing his exact image. Lilia’s face had not moved at all but the child must have sensed something because his features slowly began to droop and quiver, he looked at his hand, fingers curling dangerously. He could do it, finish it right there, avenge his fallen friends, but…

Loud hiccupping startles him from his thoughts, the child was breathing fearfully, until a coughing fit took over his lungs, his body trembled with every cough working hard to hack out his very lungs, once it was over he wearily glanced to the door and back but made no move. Lilia could tell that he wanted to leave, having frightened him enough but the child was too weak at the moment, quivering with fear and exhaustion he even spied a smear of dark red on the corner of those lips trembling for breath. But there was something else in the boy’s expression that gave him pause, it was one of defeat, of accepting their fate. A look that should not be on the face on any child no matter what their origins. He sighed, all his rage sizzling into nothing, who was he kidding, this child has dealt with enough already, he didn’t need to add a centuries old grudge against his dead parents to the list. It took a little while but once again Lilia was cooing over the sweet little one in his arms, taking him downstairs to soothe his tired throat with a diluted healing potion and hot chocolate. It wasn’t much against whatever mysterious ailment the child has, but hopefully it will help until he could get into contact with his old lieutenant; Baul, whose daughter had married a human, hopefully they would help and then Lilia can decide what to do next, but right now he’s happy to sit languidly on the sofa sipping the greatest hot chocolate he’s ever made, with his semi claimed child resting his weary head against his shoulder.

[invisible-shadow]

im not sure if it needs a blood warning but here it is anyway.

Someone? Anyone? Please…

Cecelia: who was that, this late at night? It’s not safe… I’ll go check on them. ‘It was coming from here…’ Cecelia thought

An injured evoker laid on the grass, Cecelia panicked, “oh my- I’ll try and find someone!”

“No”, the evoker said, ”please stay with me, I am beyond saving. I don’t want to die alone please! I had so much faith in my higher ups I did everything they demanded without question. In return, they left me in the mud to rot. ”

Cecelia kneeled gently on the grass and asked, “what happened?”

“well”, the evoker started, “we needed potion ingredients… then it appeared… everyone abandoned me to save themselves… I escaped with minor withering, when I went to a village for milk, I got attacked. I dragged myself here to die”. He seemed to have great difficulties trying to remember what had happened. The evoker shifted to look at Cecelia, “now you tell me, why haven’t you left me, an Illager, to simply perish?”

almost instantly, Cecelia replied, “because that would be very wrong.”

“You're to good for this world, take my totem”, the evoker stated

“but you’ll die!” Cecelia refused the totem

“I’m not worth saving, it’s not going to work anyway, an emeralds missing”

Cecelia had an idea,”is there a way to mask life with it”

“Yes, it’s very dark magic, what are you willing to sacrifice?”

“Anything”, Cecelia stated.

“First repair the totem with an emerald, then take the blood of everyone you want to protect. Use the blood, and the totem as an offering. Everyone will become ghost like entities; neither dead nor alive”, the evoker seemed like he was trying to remember something, “this all requires a sacrifice who the nether beings will gladly accept.”

(I lost the panel 🥲)

“S-sacrifice?”, Cecelia repeated startled.

“They’ll accept just about anything”, the evoker added calmly.

“what’s your name?”, Cecelia asked

“Edward ”

“I’ll remember you Edward”

“Thank you”

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

A sacrifice, the totem, the blood.

the nether beings gladly accepted Cecelia’s offerings. But one question remained on Cecelia’s mind. ‘How does one defeat a wither storm?’

———————————————————————

@brimstone-and-cinnabar I did this before the stage update, I tried to make it kinda fit in with your wither sickness (forgetfulness).

this is the first comic I’ve ever done, I’m open for constructive criticism. I know my story telling skills aren’t the best, I’m working on it. I