#it's not a difficult metaphor to arrive at though

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Hi! I've been wondering about something for a while now and I didn't who else to ask this question: i keep finding the motif of the hairy heart in things, first in the tales of beedle the bard and then in an italian song, Scetate Vajo' by Mannarino. Is it a folklore thing? Thanks ☺️

Hmm, without speaking Italian and without wanting to read Beedle the Bard, I'm going to presume that the motif of someone having a "hairy heart" signifies an absence of love. And therefore, possibly, a presence of evil.

I have never encountered this in folktales however. There are stories about frozen hearts, or stolen hearts, or "hidden away in a chest/egg/etc." hearts, and while a person is missing their heart or there is something wrong with their heart, that usually means they are unfeeling or undying or something else Bad. But I don't remember stories like that were the heart is described as overgrown with hair. (Of course this does not mean they do not exist, just that I don't know them.)

The concept that unusual hair growth might point towards evil is not uncommon. It shows up in werewolf legends, "wild man" legends and folktales where people are cursed to be hairy or forbidden from cutting/shaving their hair. But the point of the hair seems to be making the character more like an animal and less like a human, the hair itself is not making them evil.

The only direct connection I've been able to find between a "hairy heart" and evil, is in Cree mythology:

The Cannibal, Mamiltehe’o, ‘He Who Has A Hairy Heart’

Wesakaychak and The Hairy Hearts

Especially the first story is interesting. It ends with the line that Mamiltehe'o, the cannibal sorcerer, "actually had hair to the length of a hand hanging from his heart like a beard, as his name indicated."

[zvdvdlvr]

Indisputably Difficult to Choose ✰ JayVik x Reader

✰. You’re Viktor and Jayce’s new roommate- a flirt and a damn good cook. Thankfully, you get along well with the two men! Maybe too well. Eventually, you can’t tell where the line between ‘just friends’ and ‘more than friends’ is.

✰. WC: 1.7k. Female reader. I have no idea if Vik is russian or Czech but most reddit posts say hes russian😭??? Friends to lovers trope. Miscommunication trope? Oh well! Sorry for any errors in the spanish or russian pet names- I definitely didn’t use google translate. . .

It wasn’t every day that you got roomed with both life-altering scientists. And yet, here you were, offering one of them a sly smile. “Hello.”

Jayce smiled right back at you easily and opened the door further. “Welcome home, stranger,” he greeted.

After adjusting the backpack hanging from your shoulders, you stepped into the room. “Good to see a handsome face whenever I arrive home,” you murmur absentmindedly as you examine the walls and floors. “Where’s my room?”

Jayce nodded towards the hallway. “Down there.”

Later that night you met Viktor. Tall, lean, devilishly handsome Viktor.

You were making yourself at home in the kitchen making pasta for dinner when he cleared his throat. Turning, you smiled at the man in front of you. “I hope you like tortellini, Viktor,” you said.

He hummed. “I’ll eat anything that isn’t cooked by Jayce.” Viktor hears an incredulous gasp from the other room and chuckles. “It smells good,” he says politely, stepping closer to the stove.

“I like to make a good impression.”

And by God, you do.

Almost two weeks later you finally find your rhythm. Wake up, get ready for class, go to class, go to the lab to help out the boys (because helping out world-changing scientists looks damn good on your resume), decide what to have for dinner, drag the boys home, go to sleep, repeat. A long and tiresome but rewarding list.

Five and a half months later and midterms were finally over! You were on break and had so much free time on your hands but didn’t feel like going in to work every day. So: you made your boredom the boys’ problem (though you knew they wouldn’t actually complain).

Today was one of the rare days you could convince Jayce and Viktor to stay home with you because there weren’t any classes and ‘why let your favorite roommate be all by her lonesome?’ It was easy to convince Jayce. When Jayce finally relented, the both of you turned to Viktor with hopeful smiles.

“As long as you make that beef stew for dinner,” Viktor finally grumbled. As he hobbled away dramatically, Jayce laughed as you whooped excitedly.

When you were done basking in glory, Jayce wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You would have bet your life savings that Jayce melted further into you when you wrapped your arm around his waist since you could not reach his shoulders. “Viktor wouldn’t actually say no to you anyway, doll,” Jayce said casually, flopping onto the couch and pull you with him.

Dynamics between the three of you were. . . perplexing. Viktor was a quietly independent person who bonded with you over food, riddles, and literature. When he had seen your Harlan Ellison novels, you swore you saw the metaphorical wall of defense behind his piercing amber eyes crumble. The first time Viktor sat on the counter and had an emotionally intelligent conversation with you (while you made chicken fajitas as per Jayce’s request) was the first time you heard Viktor truly laugh- a sound from deep in his throat that temporarily distracted you from the sizzling meat in front of you. After that, Viktor had warmed up to you enough to slide into the hug Jayce pulled you in when they returned from the lab.

Jayce had almost immediately clicked with you. His charmingly pathetic smile and himbo aura were captivating. Jayce had gasped allowed when you were still decorating your new room. “Oh my Jan- is that. . ?” He then started helping you tack up posters and other goodies you had to decorate your space while gushing about some of the bands, movies, and television programs you were interested. Jayce, you learned, had a soft spot for predicable romance and science fiction movies- though he often narrated errors in information while watching anything sci-fi. He was also very physically affectionate: pulling your legs into his lap during movie nights, gently moving you by the waist whenever he was in the kitchen, wrapping an arm around you while walking to the coffee shop, and an obscene amount of hugs. You thought it was a little odd at first, but he does it to Viktor too- and you couldn’t really judge because you flirted with them and called them nicknames. A lot. 

When dinner time finally rolled around, you had a pot of steaming vegetable stew on the stove. Three bowls and three spoon were all waiting to be used off to the side. Viktor had made a beeline to the kitchen the second ‘food’ left your mouth and by the time Jayce got up and you’d entered the kitchen, Viktor’s bowl had tears of broth rolling down the side as it pleaded for help. “Smells good, Солнышко,” he praised. 

“Thank you, darling scientist of mine,” you hummed, handing Jayce a bowl.

“Wha-“ Jayce spluttered behind you. “What about me? Have I not earned the title of your favorite darling scientist?”

Viktor snorted as he started the short trip to the dinner table.

You threw your head back in laughter, eyes closed. If you were watching the two bickering men boys, you would have seen Jayce’s mock hurt melt completely off his face as he watched you laugh happily before letting his eyes flicker over to Viktor; who was completely immersed with you (not the stew). You didn’t see Viktor looking up to Jayce with a certain look in his eyes and tilt his head all in the blink of an eye.

“I mean, Viktor did fix my console and the T.V. without me having to ask,” you say as your laughter fades. “I guess pretty boy over there has you beat.”

Jayce clicks his tongue, catching your eyes. “Then I’ll have to make it up to you, tu hermosa mujer,” he says with a low tone, the spark in his eyes that burns in his eyes when you usually flirt was absent. “Hm?”

You blink. Mouth open as your eyes frantically flicker between Jayce’s eyes and the unchanging smile on his face. “I- I guess so.”

Viktor coughs so loud you instinctively take a step back. “If you guys are continue kindling your blooming romance, I’d like to remind you that I am still here.”

You don’t look at Jayce as you blink out of the confused haze you found yourself in thirty seconds ago and start to the table. “Don’t be jealous, pretty boy,” you halfheartedly joke at Viktor.

“I’m not jealous,” Viktor says, watching you intently. “Because I know I could be better than Jayce at anything you wanted.”

“Is that right?”

Viktor raises and eyebrow at Jayce as he sits beside you in his normal spot. “Indisputably.”

“I don’t know what you guys are playing at,” you cut in finally, letting your spoon rest against the side of the half-finished soup. “But clearly there’s something I’m not understanding. This-“ you gesture from Jayce to you to Viktor “-is starting to confuse me. And I- I need you guys to figure it the fuck out because I can’t keep lov-“ you cut yourself off. Heaved a sigh before standing up and leaving with a mere ‘I need to think’.

“Y/n.” Jayce watches you grab your wallet and the coat nearest to the door- which happened to be Viktor’s- and ignore him. “Y/n, baby, please-“

You slam the door on the way out.

Viktor is standing up before Jayce can say anything. “Let’s go,” Viktor tells Jayce, shoving his arms into another one of his coats. “I don’t want her out during the dark.”

Jayce understands Viktor’s fear, knowing Viktor’s anxiety was multiplied tenfold by what he’d experienced and heard during his life in the Undercity. “Okay.”

Adrenaline and anxiety propelled Viktor forward into the night, rain soaking his useless coat. Jayce had your location pulled up on his cell and was confident that he and Viktor were close. “We’re almost there,” he told Viktor over the pattering rain.

“There! Is that-?”

“Y/n!” Jayce shouted, seeing the hooded figure halt for a second before you started walking faster.

“Куколка please wait,” Viktor called. “I cannot run after you- please just talk to us!”

You stopped. Turning, the pair could see your bloodshot eyes and wobbling lip.

“Oh, my Родная,” Viktor cooed, dropping his cane to wrap his arms around you and Jayce.

Jayce held you and Viktor upright, feeling his heart shatter when he felt you shaking in his arms- crying over something he did. “Y/n, mi amor, I’m so sorry,” he finally said. “We are sorry.”

Viktor leaned on Jayce as he went on. “Y/n, I think it’s safe to say that Jayce and I. . . our feelings for you, you see-“

“We’re in love with you,” Jayce blurts. “The cuddling, the cooking, the affection, the flirting-“

Viktor nods. “But we didn’t know how to tell you without making you choose because, quite honestly, I am scared that you’ll leave or- or, I don’t know. The point is: I didn’t want to complicate our relationship by telling you the way we feel for you.”

“My boys,” you murmur, your hand going up to cup each of their cheek. (Thank Janna that there were no passersby due to the rain.) “Would it be wrong to say that I don’t want to choose? Because. . . I don’t think I could choose.”

Jayce feels himself exhale. Viktor sags against him: the soul-crushing possibility of you leaving was out of the question. “Please come home, mujer preciosa,” Jayce pleads weakly, leaning into your palm. “We can make this up to you-“

“However you want,” Viktor adds quickly, sticking his bottom lip out with a shrug.

You laugh weakly and nod. “Yeah- yes. I’d love to go home. Hold on, pretty boy,” you say before bending down to retrieve Viktor’s cane.

“Is it too early to say I love you?” Viktor asks, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You chuckle and let yourself be sandwiched between the two men who you’d been enamored with for the past six months. “I already know you do, but it wouldn’t hurt to say,” you say.

“Well, we can say it as long as you want us to,” Jayce says, watching you with fond eyes.

[eastend-if]

👥DEMO 👥 PLAYLIST 👥 PINTEREST

You keep having the same dreams over and over. It happened, years ago, before you left. You thought you had left Eastend behind for good.

It seems you can never truly escape your past. The Priest had warned you.

There's a girl you've never seen in your dreams. Yet, she seems so familiar - as a forgotten teddy bear you left in the attic of your home. She feels right, she looks wrong, she's wrong. Because she's not you, she says. And the two of you stand on the road...a bright light blinds you but the smell of iron reaches you. You do not need your eyes to deduce the ending of the nightmares.

Metaphorical dreams have never been your forte...except this is real. On the day you arrive, she's still alive. And smiling...laughing...walking with her friends. She looks like a normal girl of your age.

You black out - from the shock you think. The familiar iron smell being all too close, it makes you nauseous. At least, the earthen scent that lingers on your clothes counters it a little.

Why are you in the woods again?

....Why is there blood on your hands?

Welcome home, whispers the wind.

• Customize the vessel whether be it in looks, personality or identity.

• You are free to romance four of the cast. Maybe more, there are many eyes on you.

• Your choices will shape you as they shape the town. They will have consequences on the people around you and those who aren't anymore. Be careful you never know what effect the ripples may have.

• Explore your past to shape your future.

• Fight your nightmares should you be so inclined - or welcome them, there might be surprises in the deep dark part of your mind?

• Choose whether or not you'll doom your childhood town - although, that might not be left to you. Leaving is an option too, after all, you've already left once.

• Survive - or don't. You didn't think you were the only one who could save them, did you?

Eastend is rated 18+ for sexual themes, substance use, explicit language, explicit violence, death and more.

Beverly Arevalo [F,23], your childhood friend. At least, one of you perceived it that way. She has always been difficult to read and understand, you were one of the few who could years back. Maybe you can rekindle your friendship - maybe it will grow into more. The only thing you know for certain is that there are many unknowns surrounding Beverly.

Aina Valen [F,26] is that stereotypical preppy girl, at least what you know of her. You were never quite close when you still lived in town, but things have changed and so have both of you. Surprisingly enough, she works at the library now, having taken over her brother. You're not aware of what happened between them, only that she seems overly bored whenever you pass by the vitrine. At least she insists on telling you you are the 'spice' of her days, whatever that may mean.

Benjamin Li [M,26] his preferred nickname, Benji has always shown kindness to you and this didn't change with your unexpected return. He somehow always has a nice word for you or others in his vicinity, it's refreshing quite frankly. There are always critters following him around but they say animals are good judges of characters so that's a good sign, right?

Hezekiah Lyncroft [M, 24] was always a pain in your ass, even younger. Always arguing with you over anything and nothing, he was the reason for many headaches. Back then, there were rumours about his home life, ones you remember well. At least, he seems to be in a better place nowadays, even though he's still a pain to be around. But not all pains are bad.

+ familiar faces and strangers you've yet to meet

Demo stands currently at 8.6k words.(sans command lines) It is meant as short introduction to the setting and story. Hope you enjoy despite the length :)

[vioredynamite]

I'm going to ask people to stop spreading the idea that all black people disappeared from Argentina because "we killed them all". Is Argentina racist? Of course it is. But leaving aside the African and Afro-descendant population of recent migrations (20th century), the problem with the Afro-descendant population in Argentina is that it's still incredibly invisibilized, especially the one with roots going back to colonial times.

1) Any Argentine will have heard of the "crisol de razas", ("melting pot"), the metaphor linked to the supposed "homogeneous" integration of the entire foreign population that arrived in the country during the era of the great waves of immigration (1890-1920). This concept, in addition to establishing a false equivalence between "nationality" and "race", always left out the Afro-descendant and indigenous population, not because they didn't exist but because there was a need to create the myth of a "white Argentina".

2) There are other sources of invisibilization:

a) At the end of the 18th century, the Spanish monarchy approved a Real cédula called "gracias al sacar" which established "monetary compensation" (a payment, so to speak) so that freed black people could acquire the status of "white" and thus access some of the privileges and benefits that this position entailed (it's important to note that in colonial times, at least here, "white", "black" or "indian" were legal categories rather than racial).

b) During most of the 20th century, the DNI (Documento Nacional de Identidad, "National Identity Card") included a description of the physical traits of individuals, one of which was skin color. One such color was "trigueño", a category difficult to describe accurately because it was used very broadly to describe people who were "brown" or "morenos", neither black nor white. As Miriam Gomes (activist and literature professor) mentions (in Spanish), many black people were pigeonholed in this category (in Spanish, see min. 21:40), which contributed to their invisibilization. Imagine that this category was so broad that even my own paternal grandmother, who has Mapuche (but not black) ancestry, was also labeled as "trigueña".

3) According to the 2022 Census, the population that recognizes itself as Afro-descendant or has black or African ancestors totals 302,936 people in the national territory. This population group constitutes 0.7% of the total number of people living in private homes, while in the 2010 Census it represented 0.4%. [[I must remember that we should take into account the possibility that for whatever reason there are people who don't know or don't identify themselves as Afro-descendants even though they are]]. The third graph of the linked document shows that most of the Afro-descendant population in Argentina is located in those provinces/jurisdictions that concentrated the black population (either enslaved or free) during the colonial period (i.e. Buenos Aires, Cordoba, Santa Fe and the Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires). Unfortunately, this graph doesn't provide information on the migratory origin of this population, but according to the data I risk establishing a certain continuity with the colonial period.

4) I will strongly urge you to follow Afro-Argentine activists and people who write about their history to get any doubts you may have out of your mind: I recommend Miriam Gomes, Sandra Chagas, Piba afroqom (@ pibaafroqom on Instagram), Mesa Afro Córdoba (@ mesaafrocordoba on instagram), Malungo Libros (@ malungo_libros), GEALA (Grupo de Estudios Afrolatinoamericanos), Comisión 8N (@ comision8n), and Asociación Misibamba (@ misibamba).

[tsuiioku]

— ᴘᴇʀ ᴛᴇ ᴇ ᴘᴇʀ ᴍᴇ ɴᴇʟ ᴄɪᴇʟᴏ · ꜰʏᴏᴅᴏʀ ᴅᴏꜱᴛᴏᴇᴠꜱᴋʏ

content. gn!reader. based on a request. forehead kisses, flirting, slight character study, possible inaccurate depictions of italy, teasing, slight suggestive themes (towards the middle), soft!fyodor, translation at the end. muse-typical metaphors. not proofread. 1.7k+ words.

author's note. this was so fun to write! a very delicate balance of sweetness and humor, along with the slightest dashes of spice and angst. thanks to @rusmii for descending from the heavens to remind me of "love in portofino." i had it playing on repeat <3

would you like to see more? fill out the taglist or comment under this post.

It was difficult to describe the issues that arose from you and your lover's hectic schedules, at least to others. How would you ever begin to explain it—he's a terrorist dead-set on the eradication of sin from your world, and sometimes that doesn't mesh with your nine-to-five career. Yeah, that would be well-received at brunch. But it was your reality, and for the most part, you made it work.

Simple meals served between stints of scheming in his office; convoluted stories discussed amongst infrequent breaks in your living room. Both of you were aware that a relationship would not be easy, but you made it work. It wasn't for lack of trying on his part; however, you knew he disguised his desire to be close underneath a mask of perfection, pretending it was solely for your benefit. Sure.

So, to your surprise, a pamphlet appeared on your nightstand. You scanned the cover with scrambled thoughts—its glossed sheen describing the wonders of Rome—and when you inevitably arrived in his office to question its sudden appearance, he simply stated that he 'required a visit to the country' and that he knew you'd be interested in joining him.

To most, he's an enigma, but you read him like an open book. There was no use in pointing out his scheme, so instead, you settled into the idea of a vacation, joyfully assisting in any help he needed booking the trip—you had been to the city before and often spoke of your wish to return someday, which had seemingly caught his notice. He placed you in charge of specific details of the itinerary—smaller stops on your preset route, the transportation, restaurants for lunch—though he noticeably had already planned many of the larger events. 

And that's how you arrived here. Rome, Italy. It was as luminous as you left it. You traded in your everyday attire for breathy linen and flowy cotton, allowing the Mediterranean sun to dance across your skin. Your ebony-haired lover was not far behind in fashion, a stark difference from the heavy wools and flannels of his motherland, which you had forced him to leave back in Yokohama so as not to worsen his already weakened constitution. 

The brilliant city held a beauty incomparable, its streets nestled with centuries of history that went beyond books, laid to rest underneath soil and entombed in stone. Even Fyodor, with many years of travel under his belt, couldn't help but admire the manmade structures of a bygone era, which reached like beacons of human ingenuity into the firmament. 

It had been ages since you explored the streets, and it was better now that you had a partner to hold your hand, hopping from place to place as you took in every destination with a new perspective. And in your exploration, you prayed Fyodor would find a connection with some kind of sight, with anything at all. He was a man so distant from mankind that you couldn't help but fret over his self-made isolation.

You were both exhausted—you had been on your feet for hours, and even though he tried to conceal it, you'd be foolish not to notice the slouch of his back as he tried to fight off sleep. He struck you with a knowing look whenever you cooed at him, forcing you to advert your eyes straight out onto the road as you scanned for the vehicle that was supposed to take you to the hotel.

Half an hour passed—nothing. You started to get worried.

"We've been scammed," he said, beating you to the punch as he stood from his seat on the sidewalk. You filled in his place, slumping against a wall as you hid your face in shame—one of the few tasks he had charged you with, and you had managed to mess it up!

He let out a breathy chuckle, patting the back of your head like he were comforting a scolded child. "We'll simply get a taxi."

You groaned, your stomach twisting at the sensation of your own incompetency, before allowing yourself to peek between your fingers to look out into the open world—and that was when you spotted it. A quaint shop with a flickering sign and a handful of mopeds slumped over outside. Fyodor's gaze followed yours, his brows furrowing as he found the target of your ire.

"Absolutely not."

But you had already grabbed onto his hand and pulled him out into the street, with surprisingly little resistance from him as he allowed himself to surrender to your will.

"You haven't experienced everything Rome has to offer," you hummed with a noticeable smirk, tilting your head to gaze at him between your lashes in a mocking attempt to sway his favor. "Come onnnn, Федечка."

He huffed, although his normal stoicism held an unmistakable look of fondness. "Ты маленькая гадюка."

You didn't need a translator to understand the meaning behind his words, heart filled with an almost sadistic joy as you approached the older gentleman that was running the shop. He seemed equally as amused as you were once he deciphered the situation, trading cash for keys as you skipped out the door.

Fyodor had planted himself onto the Vespa's seat without complaint, though you could not help his striking resemblance to a child on a bike that was far too small for them. He had his legs propped at an awkward angle to keep them from scraping against the ground, and the subtle twitch of his brow told you everything you needed to know.

You, on the other hand, were more than comfortable enough to settle between his legs, leaning against his chest as you reveled in the rare domesticality of the moment. That was until two arms decided to slither around your waist, a span of warm breath prickling your skin.

"You're quite brazen for someone that fell right within my grasp," he cooed, his voice dropping into that velvety, sadistically sweet tone that never failed to make you melt. 

The bastard had planned this on purpose—he had reviewed your travel plans beforehand, including the transportation company. Much like you could read him, he knew your story from cover to cover, often reading over every page like his favorite novel. And he knew the best ways to make you squirm, his hand snaking up your side, brushing the sensitive divots of exposed skin as it made its way around your throat, giving the slightest but most lingering of squeezes.

That was until you unintentionally floored the gas pedal, propelling you both onto the street—luckily, there wasn't too much traffic at this hour. Despite the rush of the sudden acceleration, you had found that your heart returned to its normal pace as you moved with a rhythm within the twists and turns. You zipped past various sights, most of which were the most enjoyable, in your opinion—a glimpse into the lives of those who occupied these homes. There was a comfort in the consistency. People had passed and left, but the atmosphere remained the same, passed with care through every generation.

And then, your eyes caught onto something, and the muscles of your fingers instinctively flexed against the handlebars. The arms around your waist squeezed you when you began to tilt the moped steadily to the right.

"Don't—"

But you chose to do it anyway, slipping into a narrow sidestreet. You tried not to burst out in laughter at Fyodor's dumbstruck expression through the wing mirror, wishing to capture this moment in a frame somehow. Who knew that all it took to shut the mouth of the destructive mastermind Demon Fyodor Dostoevsky was a trip on a potentially dangerous vehicle? 

You had recognized the pathway as a detour to an infamous part of the city—a perfect view of the Tiber River. It was difficult not to divert your path straight into the water when you funneled out into the road, the setting sun drawing a picturesque scene that could not be replicated, even if you returned to the same spot at the same time. There would never be another moment like this again. That sweet breeze parted the sky, both cradling and revitalizing you. 

You crept onto a safe spot to park the moped and jumped off to rush to the edge of a bridge that overlooked the entire river, leaning against the railing while being careful not to tip your body over the side. The water sparkled and flickered from the rays of the dying light, twinkling as creatures rested underneath its surface. It enveloped you in an atmosphere of complete calm as if you and Fyodor were the only ones to exist in the world.

Speaking of.

His eyes had drifted toward a view completely different from yours, at least in aspects of physicality. You may have admired a sunset as the peak of fleeting beauty, but you seemed completely unaware that you encompassed every aspect of such a celestial entity, yet in such a strikingly ethereal way. He had seen many sunsets many times, much like he had seen many humans��unique and fascinating in their own way, but not always beautiful. But then, you crashed into his life, and he knew it was always intended for you to remain at his side. Much rarer than a sunset, much more precious.

He would take your life into his hands, ones stained in blood and sin, and unlike all the others he held within his grasp, he would nurture it—cherish it. Like a blossoming flower, he intended to care for you, an invaluable treasure.

He had already found the sight he had been searching for.

"Look!" you exclaimed, practically bouncing as you pointed toward the swaths of fluffed clouds that embellished the sky. "Isn't it gorgeous!"

You didn't even notice the slip of his mask as he joined by your side, brushing a kiss against your temple as he eyed the blooming excitement on your cheeks with your grin. The wind swept through in another attempt to swaddle you, letting the fresh smell of water brush through the folds of your clothes and the tresses of your hair. You turned your gaze to Fyodor, laughter caught in your throat as your eyes peered into his—locked onto you with an almost unnoticeable but most genuine of smiles.

"It truly is."

федечка = fedechka ты маленькая гадюка = you little viper

TAGLIST: @aureatchi @betweensinners @lovedazai @osameowdazai @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @squigglewigglewoo @kelperspelt @miloofc @s1eepybunny @dazaisms @deepseafragments @ajaxism @himikoslove @little-miss-chaoss @justcallmesakira

© MUSAMORA 2024 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[stardustgates]

Author’s Notes: Possibly OOC behaviour? I’ve done my best to stick by Canon as much as I can, but given I’m a newer player, I don’t know the relationship between Kafka and Silver Wolf or the characters individually as well I’d like to. Though I did do my best, please be aware that I may have taken some creative liberties in their characterisation and inner thoughts regarding each other. Also I am aware that this may just be 5.5k words of nonsensical BS but I haven’t written proper fanfiction in a hot minute so take it with a grain of salt. Not so much of a reader/canon thing and more like a reader AND canon thing currently. Perhaps that will change in future works, who’s to say? Oh yeah this is a SAGAU.

Warnings: Canonical In-game violence, references and descriptions of dissociation via player-induced body possession, references to drug use (one sentence), yandere tones if you squint really hard (shes a slowburner ya’ll), and a single swear word :3

Beyond the mind, within your body.

Description: Unaware that your presence has been made apparent to the eccentric duo during your first run through of Honkai Star Rail, you happily indulge yourself in the immersive (tutorial) world before your eyes. Kafka and Silver Wolf attempt to adjust to the feeling it brings, which leaves their minds constantly switching between distrust and euphoria, and all the things in between.

Word Count: 5.5k

Hoyoverse’s newest game hadn’t seemed much to your liking when you’d first heard the announcement. For one thing, you weren’t particularly pleased with the constant stream of ‘HONKAI STAR RAIL - PLAY NOW’ interrupting your YouTube doom-scrolling every other ad; Not to mention, you weren’t very keen on the gacha aspect. 

Within your small circle of friends, you’d been known to cave easily when attractive anime characters were involved and you weren’t planning on another hyperfiction to solidify your position as the group’s resident simp. That being said, with such a title swaying above your head like a shiny silver dagger, you’d held a metaphorical death grip on your wallet, solemnly swearing that you’d keep your distance from the game for as long you were able.

Ultimately that so-called iron will of yours didn’t last so much as a year, as just seven months after its release a simple character trailer was enough to break your steadfast resilience. Well, it wasn’t ‘simple’, if you were being honest with yourself- It was a brilliantly unique masterpiece, tailored to the exact essence and spirit of his character. You were sure Argenti wouldn’t be released for a good while, so you decided to pick up the game and grind what you could before his arrival.

That was your plan at least. Your friend had warned you a few months prior (Though admittedly, you hadn’t been paying much attention at the time.) that the download and installation would take an exhaustingly long time. Well, it was better than Genshin Impact had been- but still, you were getting bored and subsequently decided to fetch yourself something to drink in the meantime.

With your back turned to the loading screen, you waltzed out of your bedroom with little care in the world- oblivious to the ominous glowing cracks slowly sprawling across the screen of your device.

As you returned a few moments later, you found that it had finally finished installing! You’d certainly waited long enough. Sure, it wasn’t as soul-sucking as Genshin had been but your patience wasn't that of a saint’s either. With a renewed sense of anticipation, you hit start and breezed through the usual terms and conditions without reading anything and let out a sigh at the beautiful change in scenery.

It perhaps wasn't the smartest idea to skip it completely- but you had spent so long waiting already that you weren’t going to bother wasting time reading a document filled with dolled-up words you could barely pronounce.

✄————————————————

 Herta’s Space Station’s defences hadn't been particularly difficult to slip past surprisingly, though Kafka didn’t recall any mention of difficulty regarding entry in Elio’s script, so she supposed the lack of security wasn’t of any particular importance.

Despite the calm confidence that usually accompanied her on these little operations, Kafka couldn’t shake the strange feeling of being watched. It wasn’t the usual sort of lingering gaze or sharpened stare, but a vague pulsating heartbeat that faded in and out, as though blinking through blurry vision. 

Needless to say, she kept her guard up. Playing none the wiser and bowing mid-air to the tempo of a rather graceful tune. She forced her shoulders to relax and gently swayed her body, controlling her every little move with practised ease- even as that strange pulsating presence slowly sped up and stroked the fires of an oncoming headache- as the elevator descended to the station’s ‘ground’ floor.

 (You remained none the wiser to her sudden awareness, the rapidly changing scenes flashing past your eyes far too quickly to pick up on a single, brief second of stillness in her body.) 

A sudden explosion reverberates across the station's cold, metallic body and brings Kafka’s impromptu air-violin session to a screeching halt. Simultaneously, that presence settles over her body like a thick blanket of fog. That ‘gaze’ she had felt becoming so vivid she could feel its weight pressing down on her tongue.

She has little time to process the feeling before the usual blueish glow of Silver Wolf’s communications screen flickers into existence before her very eyes. 

“... Seems I came at a bad time.”

“No, No – I think you couldn’t’ve timed it better. Twenty-three-fourty-seven-fifteen system time. Very punctual, Kafka.” Silver Wolf almost sounds impressed, though Kafka suspects she’s only trying to butter her up so she’ll let the girl go off task again. Perhaps, under different circumstances, she would have been kind enough to allow it, but with the nature of their current mission and this inexplicable presence, Kafka doesn't find herself in a very generous mood. 

Kafka merely hums in response and ignores the empty praise.

“Elio always tells the exact future. So What’s with the explosion just now? Was that part of his script?” Silver Wolf picks up on her cue to focus without any fuss.

“Twenty-three-four-four-fifty-nine system time: The pulses from the explosion cause a massive breakdown from the master control system.”

Pulses. Perhaps it’s linked to the feeling curling itself around her senses?

“You did that?” Kafka doubts that Silver Wolf would waste effort on something so minor.

“No, the antimatter legion did it. They completely invaded the space station two system hours ago.” She whistles in response and glances down the glass panelling to the approaching ground floor. A small group… annoying, but manageable.

“Alright, so do we need to fight the legion?”

“Dunno, Elio didn’t say anything about it, so it doesn’t matter.” Hmm. Silver Wolf made a good point. 

“Got it. So from now on, I'll be in charge of this operation.” She feels that tingle of a smirk reach the corner of her mouth, and smiles a little wider in anticipation.

“Copy. Can you let me have some fun this time? Our last few operations turned out to be pretty dull.” Kafka lets out a playful hum as she ponders over her colleague’s request with faux consideration. She can practically hear Silver Wolf’s stifled groan in the second of silence that passes.

“...Sorry~ I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for you- our task this time is just to ‘place’ the target properly.” 

Her choice of words is careful, though not enough to cause any alert in potential eavesdroppers. The feeling still hasn’t left. 

“But if you wanna go look for some fun yourself, I won’t stop you.”

“I mean… after all…” she chuckles lightly as the blue hologram blips out of her vision, and reaches for the holsters tucked into her lower back. “After all…” Kafka readjusts her footing just in time to watch the elevator’s doors slide open, the sound of metal dragging against metal pinching at her ears.

“Elio didn’t put it in the script… Why would it matter?” 

Just as the impact from her gunshots flitters across her skin, Kafka feels her mind being pulled back to the edge of her skull. 

The group of voidrangers in front of her feel distant and smudged, the sockets of her eyes creating a blurred tunnel of vision that refuse adjust no matter how much she tries to blink it away. Their dark forms bleed into black speckles that crowd her already limited vision until she’s staring directly into the singed edges of the universe.

Kafka’s body… is no longer hers to command.

✄————————————————

She returns to her mind with startling swiftness. Her memories of the brief battle suddenly bubbling up as though pushing themselves through a thick soup of aether. She feels disconnected from the memory but can at least recall that she’d lost control of her body before blacking out. 

She attempts to think back on that burnt, golden memory but is stopped by a sudden wave of nausea. She opts to set that aside for another time and refocus on the operation. Elio had not mentioned this happening anywhere in the script- so either this had no significance or… 

Still, those Voidrangers hadn’t proved to be much trouble- in fact, they’d been less of an annoyance than she had prepared for. Either she’d been far more ruthless than intended or the antimatter legion had lost its touch.

“When did the anti-matter legion become so weak?” She asks out loud.

“I could only attract this much. Did you really want the entire legion to come here?” Silver Wolf speaks in feigned annoyance, her usual behaviour. 

She hadn’t even realised. Kafka chooses not to mention anything for the moment, instead opting to subtly gauge the extent of control this presence… or rather... Entity, seems to have over her. 

“This lot won’t be able to slow down the Astral Express crew.” Silver Wolf sighs in response on the other end of the device.

“Relax, a doomsday beast is also here.”

As she approaches one of the station’s automatic doors, Kafka feels it slip back into her body as if wearing her like a coat. Its influence feels… less heavy than it previously had been a few moments ago.  At the very least she remains conscious this time; A strange lightness in her feet as she feels herself stealth towards a lone voidranger lounging about the area.

Her movements come to her now like instinct, striking down enemies with admittedly far more efficiency than she was naturally capable of. If it weren’t for her body being strung along like a puppet against her will, she’d almost be grateful for the power and resiliency it granted her. 

Kafka has barely had her fill before a euphoric sense of power seems to swell up all at once; Killer instinct pumping through her veins like a well-oiled machine. 

Ahh. Now this�� this particular feeling wasn’t so bad.

Truthfully she’d liked to have toyed with this one a bit longer, but she knew all too well that it wouldn't manage to survive her next attack. She chatters to no one in particular, the ecstasy in her mind clouding whatever decorum she would have usually displayed. 

“Good times never last… time to say bye.” 

“Ah- She’s so cool…”

Kafka tenses up at the stranger’s voice, just as the swirling dark mass in front of her collapses into itself. 

She sheathes her sword and adjusts her gloves, ignoring the voidranger approaching her from behind. Just before its darkened claws reach her, Silver Wolf’s ability activates no more than a hands-width from her shoulder blades.

“Cleaning up other people’s mess isn’t in my job description… y’know Kafka?” Silver Wolf huffs out, but her voice has no real bite in it. Was it her? She wasn’t usually one to doubt herself, but that fog of exhilaration certainly could have played with her mind. 

“Yeah, yeah. Where did you send it Silver Wolf?”

Kafka turns in time to hear the gooey pop of the silver-haired girl’s bubblegum as she hops to her feet. She isn’t sure if it's Strawberry or Grape, but the artificial sweetness and scent of no-fruit-in-particular is so strong it actually grounds her mind for a moment. 

She sighs for no real reason, but it brings her relief regardless. 

Oh.

She hadn’t realised how bad her headache was. 

“Some random Co-ordinates, not important.” She avoids Kafka’s gaze for a reason she couldn’t care to name before taking on an adorably defiant stance, her hands placed at her hips as though it would help her short stature in any way. 

“You care about where that voidranger ended up?” She doesn’t. But she’d rather think about that than, well… She didn’t know what to call it at this point. But it was distracting and she needed to focus on literally anything else for the sake of what sanity she had left. 

Though some could argue that she wasn’t sane at all- which was only half true because most people’s definition of sanity varied greatly from her own. 

Oh, Silver Wolf was still blinking up at her expectantly.

“Of course not- I’m just amazed at this fancy technique of yours, as usual.” she smiles down at her colleague, who only rolls her eyes in response. To the girl’s credit, she’d been dealing with Kafka’s empty flattery for quite a long time.

“Just a little trick of tampering with the data of reality, I wouldn't call it fancy.” Kafka smiles a little wider, following behind as Silver Wolf strolls down the hallway. Her tells were always so obvious.

“What were you looking at just now? Let me see.” Silver Wolf huffs a bit as she settles herself onto a desk and faces her.

“Herta’s toys,” she begins in an almost mocking tone 

“A catalogue featuring the space station’s collection of rare items.” Her fingers briefly tug on the white fluff of her jacket as she speaks “They’ve got quite a looot of interesting gadgets~”

Kafka’s previous interest (however feigned it may have been) dies down a little at the prospect of these ‘gadgets’ but nonetheless she indulges Silver Wolf’s unspoken desire to share what information she’d dug up.

“Like what?” 

“There’s this gun, it can rate any creature within its crosshair as a score from 0 to 100.”

“... Doesn't sound very interesting.” Her brows pinch together and her mouth stretches into a thin line of clear disappointment. Not one to be disheartened so easily, Silver Wolf continues on

“Aren’t you curious how much you would score? I kinda wanna know mine.” 

So this is what she’d been hinting at since earlier. Kafka crosses her arms and takes on the tone of an exasperated mother having finally given up after being nagged at for far, far longer than the reality of it. 

“Fine. I guess we can swing by and play with it, if it’s not too far. What’s our destination?” She redirects Silver Wolf’s distractable attention onto their current objective with practised ease. 

Hmm. 

She feels a little cold for some reason… and those watchful eyes haven't left during the entirety of their conversation. Kafka’s guard raises a little further than before.

Her colleague’s eyes flit down to a small blue hologram, her fingers swiping past various screens until arriving at what Kafka could only presume was a list of directions given to her by Elio.

“Go down the corridor, behind the door… ooon the left. There’s a room where some kind of rare item is stored.” 

Kafka feels the entity strongly now, she stares just beyond Silver Wolf’s shoulders where it feels most concentrated. The feeling she is met with is a dense smouldering hotness. It’s like melting iron dripping down her throat and burning it in the process. It feels almost itchy.

She redirects her gaze back to Silver Wolf far quicker than she’d intended to and resists the urge to scratch at her throat.

“So that’s where the Stellaron is?” Kafka is somewhat relieved when the feeling seems to simmer down. She once again debates speaking on the sensation during the slightest lull in their conversation but when Silverwolf turns her head back to face her, she finds the girl’s gaze to be much sharper than before.

“That's where we can find out where the Stellaron is.” 

Kafka immediately knows that Silverwolf has finally caught on to this feeling and says nothing as she readies herself for the next half of their mission. Almost instantly, she feels the presence shift and roll over her shoulders, like a cat stretching out its limbs. 

It's languid and smooth and she feels her tense- She had been tense this whole time?- muscles slowly relax until she finally feels that usual calm focus she’s so intimately familiar with. She hadn’t realised the extent of how cold she’d felt when it had stepped- strange, it feels like a person?-  away.

Kafka decides that her feelings towards this... Being- She isn’t totally sure if it feels sapient, but it certainly has some form of will… That much she can tell- are mixed, to say the least. She wonders one more why Elio hadn’t mentioned anything about something so foreign and strange but sets the thought aside and refocuses on the task at hand. 

She locks eyes with Silverwolf briefly, and just as she thought, Silverwolf is most definitely aware of it at this point. 

“The central area of the space station is up ahead. There’ll be loads of Legion Void rangers there.” Silver Wolf hops to her feet and saunters toward the door’s control panel. A bit too casual to be natural, but it doesn't cause the feeling to stir, so she says nothing. 

“Okay.” Kafka breathes out. 

Then that feeling of puppeteering seems to stitch itself into her mind once more, albeit in a much more faded sense- it feels more like muscle memory than it does being pulled from her own body. She allows it to pull her along and lead her toward whatever it wants. As her fingers glide over the room’s control panels and her heels click against the cold steel of the station, she feels that fog of exhilaration settle over her again- that almost euphoric surge of strength from earlier suddenly vivid and fresh in her mind. 

Silverwolf seems to feel the building strength in her own body too, as she quickens her pace when they turn the corner to find themselves at the back of a particularly strong-looking voidranger. She huffs out in bemusement and half-heartedly mutters out some encouragement to her colleague.

“May as well kill them all.” 

Not needing much more encouragement than that, Silverwolf leaps forward with as much grace as her short form can allow her and drags her digitally enhanced blade across the muscles and sinew of its chest. She leaps back beside Kafka as it staggers on its feet and tries to regain its footing. Kafka’s arm pulls itself up, gun in hand, and fires out a cascade of bullets that each burrow and pierce into its flesh. 

“This… seems a lot easier than it should be.” Silverwolf comments under her breath quietly. 

“Well, let’s count our blessings–” Kafka is cut off as her arm is singed by the blast of the voidranger’s fire canon. 

“Tch. Didn’t hurt.”

Silverwolf pulls out her holographic system at such speed that Kafka feels the static waft across her skin.

“Hmph, still. This combat needs optimising.” Just as the creature aims its weapon once more, it’s hit with a blast pulled from the loosened strands of reality itself. 

“At that speed? Too slow!” 

Kafka almost feels sorry for it, as she watches its body disintegrate while collapsing into itself.

Unfortunately, the girls are not left with time to bask in their victory- Silver Wolf lets out a small yelp- the entity has left its place on Kafka’s shoulders and draped itself over her companion it  would seem. Her short colleague adjusts to the sensation of its guiding hand far better than she had, if her losing conscious was anything to go by.

Kafka follows behind silently, eyes trained intently on the girl in front of her for any indication of danger.

“Hold it. Someone.. Or something is up ahead.” she warns quietly, arm extended out to her side like a makeshift barrier. They both come to a sudden halt as the entity violently rips itself from their bodies and settles just beyond their skin. 

Goosebumps this time. 

The cold seems to get worse and worse each time it separates from them… well, her. Silver Wolf grits her teeth. Kafka notes the tiny pearl of sweat rolling down the side of her face. Still a shock to the system then. 

“Looks like we’re the ones getting ambushed.”

“...But they’re the ones getting besieged.” 

✄————————————————

The game has felt pretty cool so far, and you quite like this Kafka woman. You don’t recall her being part of the main cast your friend had rambled about however many months ago it was, but you hoped you’d get to see a lot more of her. 

Her design was really nice- though strangely familiar?- and her voice was pretty too! Silver Wolf was alright, but she hadn’t really caught your interest so far, so you werent sure what to make of her yet. 

They did seem to be close though, but less like friends and more like tired workmates who’d been stuck in the same dead end job for a decade- that is to say, it definitely felt like they were used to dealing with each other’s nonsense. 

Were they a ship? You could see it. Ah, another battle, sweet!

The combat system Star Rail used wasnt particularly innovative or anything, but it’s playstyle was strangely addictive- especially the Ult animations! Kafka’s especially had you nearly squealing with how badass it was. Did the MC have a cool one too? You could hardly wait to see. 

✄————————————————

The mood is light despite the circumstances, they both feel a sense of safety and confidence while the presence pulls them along, as though leading them in a dance. The Voidranger’s movements stand out like a pindrop in an empty room. Predictable, and delectably so. 

Silver Wolf barks out a short, quick laugh- a taunting thing that aggravates the musclehead stomping around in front of her- before decapitating the creature in a single, swift move.

“You took the bait, just like that?” Her jubilance is cut short by an attack from her blindspot, it isnt fatal- hell it barely counts as a battle wound- but its enough to flip her mood in the opposite direction. “Tch.”

Kafka laughs lightly at her, amused with her momentary lapse in spacial awareness. Silver Wolf scoffs and scowls lightly at her. Really, like she hadn’t gotten hit before? 

Just as she opens her mouth to hurl a barely-an-insult-but-im-still-annoyed-with-you comment towards the magenta haired woman next to her, Kafka’s aura shifts somewhat. Time seems to slow down for a second as Silver Wolf watches the woman’s pupils dilate in slow motion. 

Had she appeared like this? When that wave of energy had swelled within her?

She receives no answer to her unvoiced question, and instead hears Kafka’s voice ring through out her ears.

“That breathing sensation. Remember it.” Silver Wolf gulps in a breath of blood-scented air and breathes out a sickly, golden-sweet taste. As Kafka’s bullets rain down upon the bodies of their would-be-ambushers she can't help but feel pure ecstasy in the moment. Truly…if this was a drug she’d be hooked like a fish to water. 

Even just being near it is enough to cloud her mind.

“Alright, now that that’s over with…” Silver Wolf’s body relaxes significantly as Kafka speaks, the strength of whatever had possessed them slowing dripping out from their bodies like tree sap. She feels like she just got a massage. 

“I could get used to that.” She isn’t sure who she’s talking to, but it feels appropriate to voice. Kafka ignores her and spins her around to face the door, and Silver Wolf seems to go into auto pilot as she unlocks the control panel blocking their path, stepping lightly as her taller colleague gently pushes her forward without a word.

 The monitoring room is completley empty. Nothing but the quiet beeping of a few monitors and the rustling of swaying leaves, courtesy of the air conditioning unit humming softly above them. 

“Huh. not a single soul here. Impressive evacuation work. Did herta organise it herself?” Kafka seems mildly impressed- and entirely unaffected by the sensation Silver Wolf is still trying to shake from her skin. 

“According to the access history, she hasnt logged in her for over six months. The evacuation was directed by the acting lead researcher - a girl named Asta.” 

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Oh, right. Elio said we wouldn’t run into herta. It seems she really isnt here.” Though something else definitely was, but Silver Wolf supposed they weren’t going to be making any conversation on that topic.

She sighs, and scrolls through her holograms nonchalantly.

“Elio’s Script doesnt include any info about the location of the stellaron. Which means in the future he foresees…”

“... we would find the stellaron in a non-physical way?” Kafka crosses her arms, easily having picked up on her train of thought and already dipping her metaphorical toes into several different plans of action. She was always efficient like that. Silver Wolf strolls over to the water cooler and pours herself a cold cup. She gestures to Kafka who only shakes her head in response.

“This space station is packed with extraordinary objects, I wouldnt be surprised if theres one that can make it happen.” She takes a long sip, the cooling sensation bringing relief to her sweltering body. The combat efficiency was nice, but she was left feeling like an overheating graphics disk everytime it took control of her. She idles on a page in her hologram briefly before continuing on her scroll-fest.

“Hiding something extraordinary with something extraordinary… this is pretty Herta. I assume you know what to do? I mean, You’ve been reading that cataogue for a while?” Ah. Perseptive as ever, Kafka never changes. She ignores the heat building in her ears at the prospect of being caught slacking-off, and bins the styrofoam cup as she turns to the older woman.

“Hmph. I’ve got all the clues we need. The only piece missing is a simple trick- maybe this entity thats been stringing us along could lend a hand? After all, it doesnt have a physical form.” 

(You didn’t expect them to involve the player like this! What an awesome storytelling device, and it would hopefully grant a lot more player agency too! Hoyoverse had truly out done themselves this time. Feeling a surge of excitement at being learning you’ll be able to lend a helping hand ‘directly’, you decide that Silver Wolf is also really cool.)

Kafka says nothing in response, only staring down at Silver Wolf in consideration.

“Why dont we have it help us investigate the terminals around here, that item we’re looking for may be inside.” The magenta haired woman only sighs, internally cursing the girl’s lack of caution. Though… she couldnt deny that it had only been helping them so far. 

“Alright, lets give it the spotlight.” 

“Oh god, I hope I don’t fuck this up…” Kafka stills. The same voice from before. So it can speak? She tucks the information away in her mind for later.

She watches it guide her along the messily arranged desks and flickering monitors. Stopping at a memory storage cart- which is, of course, missing its memory. Not useful for her current objective, but it at least told her that whatever it was could see the same things she could.

“...I cant see the memory storage for this terminal.” Her body shifts slightly.

“This is the monitoring room, the must have deleted the records and made a run for it. Classic.” Silver Wolf is still scrolling through the holographic catalogue, idling against a desk in the middle of the room. She doesn’t look up, even as Kafka is strung along past her towards a monitor on the other side of the room. 

“You don’t seem to be very affected by it? Its control over you, I mean.”

“And you? You seemed a little weary earlier.”

“I wouldn’t say that. It’s just new, thats all.”

Kafka’s hand reaches out to flick through various active surveillance cameras, interesting but ultimately fruitless. 

“Hmmm… I can see the whole space station on the surveillance screen. But not the Stellaron.” Silver Wolf scoffs indignantly behind her, she almost sounds offended.

“Even if you could it’d be a trap. Herta doesn’t display her collections.” She turns to her hologram once more.

“This thing isnt very good with investigating, is it?”

Kafka expects some form of insulted rage to squeak in her mind’s ear, but she hears nothing. Though faintly she imagines a rather adorable ‘Hey! I’m trying my best!’ echoing in her skull.

Kafka staves off the sudden urge to get defensive in response and clamps her mouth shut.

Silver Wolf sighs at her lack of response and shifts onto her feet. 

“Make your way over here then. There’s no point in trying to search like this.”

“So? Got a master plan? I’m all ears.”

Kafka’s tone takes on a slightly irritated edge, for a reason she herself doesn’t quite understand. If Silver Wolf picked up on it, she chooses not to say anything and instead gestures to the warping static of the holographic screens lining the walls of the office.

“Its a matter of hacking the surveillance system directly.” She says matter-of-factly, smirking playfully as her iconic vandalism plasters itself onto every screen in sight. 

“Aha, I see. Herta’s collections aren’t in the system so anything unaffected should be our target.”

Their heads are guided to turn and face the back of a lone monitor by the main desk. Ah. that one then. As they both stroll over to investigate, Kafka feels a strange sense of pride bubble in the back of her mind. Not for Silver Wolf’s accomplishment- that much would be expected from the shorter girl- but for the entity curling along the edge of her mind. What exactly she was supposed to be proud of she couldnt tell, but the feeling was pleasant regardless.

Silver Wolf slips into a chair and slides forward to the desk, cracking her knuckles and wiggling her fingers as she readies herself for some data mining. 

“Crude, simple, but effective. Look, found it.” The computer’s cursor circles a line of code tauntingly. Kafka doesn’t understand what any of the values mean.

“Item number two-eleven, ‘Blind Spot’ : a simple light-deflecting field. It allows an object in its field to pass unnoticed, but if a different item ceases to be obvious, the object gets revealed.” 

She isn’t sure which set of numbers.. Or letters? That item is supposed be, but it does seem like a very… uncomplicated form of security for someone like Herta. 

“So, Herta the genius… hides her collection with something as simple as this?”

“the simplest method is the hardest to spot, isnt that our motto?” 

“Huh? How is that simple?” Kafka nearly chokes on her saliva while trying to hold back a bark of laughter and wonders why she’d kept her guard up for this thing. She follows Silver Wolf towards the glitching hole in the wall and sighs bemusedly. 

“The data suggests its just an ordinary hologram. But it has an added layer… “ Silver Wolf eyes the frayed edges of the hologram cautiously, despite the confidence in her voice.

“Lets take a look. Dont worry, this place wont be our grave.” The girl only puffs her cheeks and steps forward, ignoring Kafka’s words of comfort completely. Well, she’d expected that much at least.

As she follows behind, her vision melts into a stark change of scenery. 

The bright, ethereal glow of the Stellaron coating the walls of the closed off room in a golden-blue light. A strange combination, but one that was all too familiar; the everchanging strands of reality warping and stretching around itself, as the Stellaron sat patiently- sealed away- in the center of the room. Such an otherworldly treasure was exactly what all Stellaron hunters across the universe strove for. Though admittedly it was a mere front for their true purpose, a fact that Kafka was intimately aware of. 

Their true goal would see this stellaron- sealed away, courtesy of Herta- to another use. Once said seal was removed by Silver Wolf, all Kafka would need to do was take hold of it and place it inside that vessel. 

It had been laying in wait for this exact occasion…Kafka smiles fondly at the memory of it. Silver Wolf makes a small noise of surprise, catching her attention. She steps over towards the girl and the control panel, asking a question without speaking.

“It has its own security system… I guess even for herta, a Stellaron is no ordinary rarity.” Silver Wolf sounds genuinely surprised at this fact, though Kafka feels this was a rather likely outcome.

“Can you get it?”

“Of course, even the genius Herta cant compete with me when it comes to hacking.”

“Good. Then I’ll also count on you for the preparation of the receptacle.” Not to mention, she was quite sure this being wouldn’t be able to provide much help if Silver Wolf couldn’t figure it out herself. Speak of the devil, she feels the entity waft away like smoke in the wind and settle in the air around them as she lifts the Stellaron from its prison. She turns to her Silver haired companion and unspoken words flicker between their eyes.

This is Kafka’s decision.

Or perhaps it isn’t, she corrects herself over the distant sound of Silver Wolf’s voice.

 When it enters her body, it no longer feels like being puppeteered or controlled. 

She recalls that first feeling of possession, and the bleeding darkness making way for glowing golden edges of a burnt milky way. Her mind is dipped like an apple into the thick syruppy taste of synethesia. The amber eyes of the vessel- piercing into her soul and leaving her tongue sizzling in an almost addictive sort of pain- briefly flash open before collapsing to the floor in Kafka’s arms. 

The Stellaron has found its place. And something else entirely has made its home there too.

(What an amazing tutorial and intro! You get the feeling you’ll be playing this game for a very long while!)

[rottenpumpkin13]

I'm curious, what do you think was the WORST injury Zack had and SOMEHOW got away with it? You can go Hurt/No Comfort if you want we're all collective masochists in the end

Have it your way >:^) - also this took so long because I wrote a version that was not a fun read for the Zack enjoyers and had to tone it down asdfghjk

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

He vaguely recalled reading an article about comatose patients: how their consciousness, though unresponsive, remained active—suspended in void between life and death, poised to be drawn toward one or the other. Comas were like waiting rooms, and he almost wished he had something to occupy his mind—a magazine, a comic book, even a crossword puzzle, despite his usual disdain for them; anything to drown out the voices that began at precisely 4 PM each day.

Angeal was always the first to arrive, the squeak of his boots unmistakable against the polished hospital floor. He would listen intently as the supervising nurse provided updates on the condition—“No significant changes in his neurological status, the expected timeframe for him regaining consciousness remains uncertain.” But Angeal's positivity never wavered. "He will," he would insist, bless his ignorance, "Zack's strong.. He'll pull through this, I know he will."

In the first week, Zack wanted to shout, “Hell yeah I am! Watch, Angeal, I’ll be out of here in no time!” By the third week, it was as if he’d lost his voice—both literally and metaphorically. Zack prided himself on his perseverance, as if he were born with sunny-tinted glasses that allowed him to pull through everything without a fight.

Scraped knees as a child became cool battle wounds in his childhood; timeouts transformed into prisons the warrior he pretended to be had to escape; and the vegetables his mother forced him to eat were poison he had to avoid at all costs. Naturally, the waiting room analogy was what he clung to in order to stay sane.

Next came Sephiroth, heralded by the unmistakable clatter of his shoulder guards—a sound Zack likened to a cat bell, one he’d be sure to tease Sephiroth about when he woke up. Sephiroth never asked the nurse for updates; Angeal must have already filled him in. Instead, he would walk silently over to the bed, place a hand gently on Zack’s forehead, and whisper softly: “I miss you. Get well soon,” before carefully adjusting his blankets, making sure Zack was comfortable.

Inside, Zack was desperately screaming, "I will, I promise!" but Sephiroth couldn't hear him. By the fourth week, the harder Zack tried to scream, the further he felt from reality.

Then came Genesis, his presence inundating the room. He spoke to Zack as if he were awake, greeting him with a cheerful, "Good evening, Puppy," and proudly asking, "What do you think of my new coat?" Zack wished he would never stop talking. Genesis would then sit beside him and read aloud from Loveless. Zack suspected it was Genesis’ version of a prayer, and for that, he didn't mind at all.

And then there was Cloud. Zack's longing to scream out surged whenever he caught the meek shuffle of Cloud's boots, followed by the faint squeak of him thanking the nurse before entering. Cloud would meticulously style Zack's hair, crafting his signature spikes with care, as if determined to preserve Zack's essence even in his incapacitated state. His touch was gentle as he spoke to Zack as though he were awake and listening intently. Cloud would vent about his rowdy squad mates, grumble about his stern commanding officer, and lament the monotony of patrol missions where he strived to do his best

And then came the most difficult confession.

"I'm gonna stop trying out for SOLDIER," Cloud admitted one day, his voice soft as he tended to the flowers by Zack's bedside. "Tryouts are approaching, but… it just wouldn't feel right without you. Not that I'm all that confident I'd make it anyway, but I can't bring myself to do it without you here."

If Cloud could glimpse inside Zack's mind, he'd hear him screaming.

He was so helpless, trapped inside that cage, that body that wouldn't just WAKE UP. He needed to get up, he needed to be there for Cloud, and for Angeal who wasted so much time training him, and for Genesis who was finally starting to warm up to him, and for Sephiroth, who’s friendship he valued so much.

But it was useless.

He wanted to give up.

So he did.

He caved, and let the darkness take him.

But it rejected Zack. As much as death teased and loved to embrace him, it eventually always spat him out again. And maybe that was Zack Fair’s curse, cemented when his eyes fluttered open one morning.

Hovering above him was the unmistakable silhouette of a SOLDIER. With great effort, he lifted his heavy eyelids, only to find Kunsel standing before him, his appearance clearly older than the last time he had seen him. Zack should have noticed the calendar hanging on the wall, its numbers spelling out the year "0007."

Yet, instead of acknowledging the date, Zack's trembling voice broke through the silence. He questioned Kunsel, struggling with each word. He asked about Angeal, Cloud, Sephiroth, and Genesis.

Kunsel looked grim before replying.

“There was a mass desertion at SOLDIER years ago.”

[chaikachi]

Little Red Riding Hood, The Big Bad Wolf, & The Silver Bullet

Aka I did an Oscar as The Little Prince analysis and now I wanna do one for Ruby's allusion in honour of the 10th Anniversary.

I know most if not all of us are familiar, but I'm still going to start with a summary.

Little Red is a story about a young girl in a red cloak who is sent into the woods at her mother's behest to bring baked goods to her sick grandmother. There, she meets a malicious wolf that asks her many questions, to which she answers all truthfully and without hesitation. The wolf takes this information and uses it to beat the girl to her destination where he then swallows her grandma whole and disguises himself in the woman's clothes. There he waits for the child to arrive and come closer so he can swallow her up too.

There are actually two popular versions of this story with different endings that we often look back to.

In Perrault's story, there is no happy ending. They're both eaten up, the wolf is content. The end. But in the Grimm version, there is an additional character... the Huntsman (aka the woodsman). He hears the wolf snoring after its meal and ends up cutting the beast open & saving the victims. Then, with the help of Little Red Riding Hood, he kills the wolf before it can do anymore harm.

All in all, it's a story about childhood innocence being lost, learning not to trust strangers, and being mindful to always follow the correct path. For if you stray too far, you may lose track of time, invite unwanted danger, or find yourself lost.

In RWBY, we have some very clear allusions here since it's the basis for so much of the show as a whole:

Little Red - Ruby Rose

The Mother - Summer Rose

The Grandmother - Maria

The Hunstman/Woodsman - All Three of Them

The Wolf - Salem and her Grimm (but ESPECIALLY The Hound)

They're all pretty self explanatory.

Ruby has the red cloak, her og trailer is clearly inspired by the tale, she loves baked goods, she's referred to as "Red" and "Little Red" by Torchwick & Cinder. She's also a huntress. And, by and large, her entire arc is about losing that childhood innocence and the view that life "is like a fairytale" as well as struggling with what the "right path" to follow is.

Summer is the mother (baker of cookies) and also the huntsman (slayer of giant monsters). The battle axe being her weapon choice alludes well to the alternate name, Woodsman, as well.

While Maria as the grandmother makes the most sense. Another silver eyed huntress that becomes a mentor figure for Ruby.

And while Salem, her war, & the Grimm (that are all emblematic of that loss of innocence) can absolutely symbolize the wolf... There's a reason why I want to focus on The Hound.

All three previous characters are connected by a very specific common denominator: Silver Eyes.

And the hound is no different.

Just another huntsman... but one devoured by the malice of a canine. And, if Ruby's theory is right, that's the same fate that Summer met as well.

And if you think about Silver Eyes specifically... What is one of the most famous lines from the original fairytale?

"My, what big eyes you have grandmother." "The better to see you with, my dear."

Which, when applied to the grimmification of SEWs, is HAUNTING.

Terrifying when you remember "Woah... you have silver eyes". Also thanks to Behind The Scenes content, that Ruby's hair design was always meant to "be a bit wolf-y". And that since Volume 4, Salem has been interested in capturing Ruby alive... I am WORRIED ABOUT HER.

Some interesting things about silver though that ARE worth noting...

1. "In folklore, a bullet cast from silver is often one of the few weapons that are effective against a werewolf or witch."

2. "The term silver bullet is also a metaphor for a simple, seemingly magical, solution to a difficult problem."

3. "In the Brothers Grimm fairy-tale of The Two Brothers, a bullet-proof witch is shot down by silver buttons, fired from a gun."

The lyric "Yeah I'm a girl but I'm also a gun" from Triumph really tells us point blank (lol) why Ruby is so important to this war against Salem, huh.

I'm gonna end this meta on a fun little easter egg; a hidden fifth character allusion to the original Red Riding Hood fairytale: The Woods.

Now I know what you're thinking, the woods aren't a person, they're a location. But they're INCREDIBLY important to the story.

Overall, the woods are the world outside of the cabin that Little Red grows up in. Whenever she travels beyond it, she's liable to meet all sorts of horrible tragedies and monsters. But I want to talk again specifically about The Hound & just where Ruby first meets them: Atlas.

Or, more specifically, Ironwood's kingdom.

For those unfamiliar, while Jimmy's main allusion is the Tin Man from Oz, his last name gives us a hint to another subtle allusion: Járnviðr. Aka the Iron Wood of Midgard in Norse Mythology (a mythos that's been alluded to a lot in RWBY).

Whiiich if you look at a stanza (40) in the infamous Völuspá, a historic poem which is chalk full of Norse myths, you get the following passage:

In the east sat an old woman in Iron-wood and nurtured there offspring of Fenrir a certain one of them in monstrous form will be the snatcher of the moon

A poem that talks all about the Biggest Baddest Wolf of the Norse pantheon, Fenrir... who is the offspring of a powerful Witch...

and is destined to eat the moon...

All within the Iron Wood, a character Ruby spends an entire volume contemplating on whether or not she can trust...

And the moment she does finally tell Ironwood the truth? The secrets she was keeping? The woods become unsafe, the witch and the wolf appear, and everything else falls apart. Resulting her and her team lost and very far from home.

Say what you want about analyses like these but CRWBY knows what they're doing, okay?

[skellymom]

"STASIS"

The BAD BATCH WRECKER x FEM READER FIC

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

Word Count: 1.8K

Background: A Jedi finds refuge on Pabu...and more! Love story with angst. For those wanting the love story read just the story until the end, then go no further. Those who wish to stay for the adult humor EPILOGUE, keep reading!

The Jedi faces themself and their fears in the deep instead of a cave.

Warning: Star Wars Canon violence. Swearing/potty humor in the EPILOGUE only!

(Credit: Cool moving star dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers , Wrecker Pinterest credit: Bad Batch)

Suspended comfortably like a womb and slowly riding the currents, I stilled my mind.  The ocean’s cool embrace allowed me to float effortlessly in its depths.  

All around gradients of aqua, azure, and lapis blue fading into one another. 

The rays of the sun playing upon ripples of the surface above. 

Deep dark blackness down under. 

As above, so below... 

Holding my breath for so long was second nature.  Had been since I was young.  Reaching a suspended stasis where a fresh breath of oxygen would only be needed once an hour. 

When my body signals the need to breathe, I can let go of the Force and slowly drift up to the surface, stopping just short of it.  With precise muscle control only allowing my nose to rise just above the water line... 

...exhale fully, inhale...filling my lungs to capacity... 

Then drift down again into the depths of the ocean.   

I don't even need to open my eyes or actively swim to accomplish this. 

I had arrived on Pabu that afternoon.  Getting intel from many different outlets to find a safe haven.  Seemed like FOREVER before I was able to get the coordinates.  And sworn to secrecy upon my very life. 

The island's Mayor, Shep Hazard, was kind and welcoming.  He offered to introduce me to the inhabitants of Pabu.  I politely declined for now.  He nodded with a knowing look. 

Before I could face ANYONE else... 

I had to face MYSELF. 

From there I walked with purpose to the soft sandy beach of this island paradise and sat upon its shores attempting to meditate.  It's beauty a wonderful home, the people upon it frolicking, working, LIVING instead of merely SURVIVING. 

A testament to what COULD BE in the universe.  A wonderful sight to behold. 

Unfortunately...too much of a distraction for now. 

So, I got up and moved to a more secluded area.  The walk slow, deliberate: a pre-meditative process before going into Force Stasis. 

Noting the soft, grainy texture of the sand beneath my feet and between my toes.  The island breeze caressing my body, causing the hooded robe to dance in the breeze.  The sounds of sea birds, crashing waves...smell of the surf, sand, breeze, warmth of my own skin in the sun... 

...the sun... 

The sun slowly lowering down to touch the horizon.  The earth and sea caressing each other with each successive wave.   The wind quietly sings as it brushes over and through the landscape. 

Soon, the moon will rise...and she will advance towards the sun in transit. 

Two lovers who continually pass each other and will for an eternity, never able to touch. 

Such a metaphor of a Jedi’s yearning for love...and physical bonding. 

I’m struggling to hold my composure... 

He was a clone. 

Even though it wasn’t his mutation, he could perceive my feelings for him.  Of course, I could easily pick up his. 

It was as natural as breathing. 

Spending so much time together: planetside, in war, the barracks, during idle downtime. 

One day he came to me, taking my hand into his...asking if our lives could be intertwined... forever.  

Holding back the intensity of emotion was extremely difficult.  I DESIRED this more than anything in the galaxy but had to keep it close to my heart.  Tamp it down.  Not allow it to run away with my feelings, or become too much of an attachment 

He openly wept when I explained that the Jedi Council would NEVER allow such things...and that he was property of the Republic. 

We both had NO control of each other’s destiny. 

I could FEEL his heart breaking.  But even after my gentle rebuke, he still carried a warm and intimate devotion for me.  My fleeting glances and body language telling him I felt the same way.   

Both of us YEARNING for something more.  Something freer than what our respective societal roles would allow.   I fondly remember his kind eyes, jovial laugh, gentle ways despite having the strength of twenty men. 

But THAT is ancient history.  Kamino City lies on the bottom of another ocean and The Jedi Order is dead... 

And the clones??? 

Their minds were taken by SOMETHING insidious and beyond their control.  All of them killers, missing, and forgotten by history. 

I BARELY escaped with my life. 

And now, I have found a safe place with that one similarity to home that I crave... 

The ocean. 

Tears leaked out of my eyes, mixing with the salty water of the sea, eliminating their very presence. 

A large school of rays swam past sensing melancholy, fluttered and swam around my body.  Caressing my skin, attempting to pull me away from my grief. 

I reached out with the Force thanking them for their care...as they glided away in the deep blue. 

It had taken me a while to find the right spot on the beach. 

To move onto the next chapter of my life, I carefully disrobed, folding my clothes neatly, placing them on top my boots, then relinquishing my light saber... 

...slowly stepping onto the surf, swimming out, and sinking into the depths of the planet's womb. 

The waters eventually darkened to black.  The only visibility from the full moon filtering her dim light through the depths upon my floating body. 

Something large circled me.  Far out, but slowly coming closer. Sizing me up with its hunger. 

I continued to float quietly, taking note of its lazy, deliberate orbit. 

Reaching out I registered its emotionless presence, driven to exist and feed.  I attempted to speak with it through the Force, but its brain was almost mechanical and not registering my thoughts. 

There was NO fear in my heart.  This was not evil, just nature. 

If indeed the Force meant for me to meet my end here on Pabu, how could I fight it? 

Everything lives.  Everything dies.  The Wheel of Life continues.   

My light saber resting upon the shore, out of reach.  If I thrashed about to swim, surely it would advance faster. 

I calmly waited to meet my fate. 

Eventually the presence circled closer.  I catch fleeting glimpses of pale scarred skin. 

It’s HUGE. 

With another pass the shark’s snout comes into view: Large jagged teeth poke out of its mouth, and a black impassive eye stares back into mine... 

...where I can see my reflection. 

It glides past gracefully and before swimming away... 

...bumps me... 

It’s jagged skin opening mine... 

A small stream of blood wafts away in the current. 

I refuse to struggle, keeping still, silent. 

The shark keeps swimming, then pauses a millisecond... 

Swiftly it turns and slams into me with brute force.  Knocking out my literal breath.  Swallowing water and reaching out intuitively I find its snout.  Trying in VAIN to reach out with the Force... 

But...I’m drowning... 

Large jaws thrash.  I can feel the concussive force of them closing even in the water. 

It’s pushing me back attempting to catch my arms, legs, body... 

I hold fast pushing against its snout. 

Those black empty eyes staring into my SOUL... 

Until one of them explodes into a mess of blood and tissue.  Two more shots hit it in the face.  Something breaks the surface of the water, bubbles trailing behind it, jackknifing towards the shark. 

The shark retreats, slamming me HARD with its tail. 

As my vision and consciousness starts to wane, a second something...someone...breaches the surface of the water...coming right for me.  I black out before I can tell who... 

The next thing I register is vomiting seawater on someone’s hand as they pull me up while gripping the front of my tank top. 

My sinuses, throat, and lungs burn from the seawater.  I'm coughing and struggling for breath...then look up. 

“CT...”  I cough again “TECH???  Is... that YOU???” 

“Of course.  Who else would I BE?” He’s wet, in swim trunks, wiping my vomit off his hand with a towel...then pulls at the bottom of his goggles to empty any water. 

Crosshair stands behind him, smug expression, holding his rifle. “Picked a GREAT time to go swimming.” 

“YOU’RE a sight for sore eyes!” Echo smiles and waves with his scomp. 

I cough and spit some more.  Sitting in a boat... 

“HOW...when...I have SO many questions...Where’s Wrecker???” 

The boys grin. 

Then I hear him.  His BIG voice booming across the water, excited as a puppy.  Barely able to contain himself...approaching in another boat...thirty feet away. 

I’ve held back for too long. Jedi Code BE DAMNED! 

Exhilaration, freedom, ALL the emotions launched me up from that boat and into the darkness... 

Force Jumping into the arms of the man I LOVE!!! 

He caught me.  He KNEW where I’d be.  No faltering in his desire to be there...to catch me.

I’m holding onto him with all my strength, kissing that beautiful bald head, down his cheeks... 

He gently grabs my face with his powerful hands, bringing it around to kiss him deeply... 

Somewhere in the back of my senses I hear Tech... 

“Careful, she just vomited...er...ugh...” 

Crosshair...laughing?  Maker, he sounds like a defective GOOSE! 

Wrecker’s lips pull away from mine.  We stare into each other’s eyes. 

“You’re REALLY here.”  He still can’t believe it. 

“Yes...and I’m staying...if you’ll have me.” 

“Forever?”

“Forever.” 

“I’ll TAKE IT!” 

EPILOGUE

Tech, Echo, and Crosshair watch as the second boat speeds away towards shore.  Shep smiling proudly as he mans the engine. 

Wrecker and his Jedi love with their arms intertwined, laughing... 

...the happiest they had ever seen their brother.  The Batch watch them go. 

“Where’s Hunter?” Crosshair inserts a toothpick into his mouth. 

Tech and Echo stare at each other alarmingly...he NEVER came up to the surface... 

Echo grabs a flashlight from his hip and shines it over the edge of the boat. 

A HUGE sharp toothed head emerges from the deep RIGHT IN ECHO’S FACE! 

“OHHHHSHHHIIIIIIIIIT!!!”  Echo jumped up and fell backwards onto the floor of the boat. 

The brothers hear a smoky laugh...somewhere out there... in the darkness. 

“KARKSDAMMIT, HUNTER!  Pissed myself!!!” Echo yells. 

“Confirmed.  Pissed himself.  Can SMELL it.”  Hunter remarks as he pushed up out of the water and flopped into the boat...wet hair and all.  He had tied the dead shark to their boat to take to land for butchering purposes. 

“Well SOMEONE had to get themselves into trouble several hours into one credit beer night!”  Echo grumped. 

“Could have just whipped it out and pissed over the side of the boat.” Crosshair smirked. 

“I’ll remember to do that NEXT TIME we're speeding along and I’m in FRONT of you.” 

Tech gazed at Echo and Crosshair like he didn’t recognize them.  “That...is disgusting.” 

Hunter chuckled, pulled up the seat storage compartment to take out an extra pair of swim shorts, tossing them to Echo. 

Echo sighed. “Thanks, vod.” 

Crosshair settled into the navigator's seat, waiting for Echo to change... 

...then FLOORED the engine before Echo could pull up the clean pair of swim trunks around his ankles. 

A VERY surprised bare-assed Echo grabbed ahold of Tech for balance as both collapsed into the boat! 

Hunter toppled off the back and rode the dead shark all the way to the docks! 

Crosshair honked as he laughed his ass off... 

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

Please let me know if you wanted to be added to my taglist or removed! Thanks so much for your support!!!

[i-guess-im-into-this-now]

The Apothecary Diaries

S1E8 First Watch

Here's where I watch The Apothecary Diaries for the first time and give my thoughts, analysis, predictions, and occasionally I stumble into a joke.

If you want to start at the beginning:

Episode 1

My character cheat sheet

Luomen - Maomao's father

Verdigris House - brothel

Meimei - courtesan at Verdigris House

Lihaku - the military officer who took Maomao home

Jade Pavilion - Lady Gyokuyou's residence

Hongniang - head LIW at Jade Pavilion

Maomao wakes up at her father's house and is disoriented, her subconscious not having adjusted to the change. She comments on her oily hair, already missing the comforts of the Rear Palace. We are seeing a Maomao who wants to feel at home in her father's home, but no longer does. It's like that saying, "you can never go home again."

Maomao worries about her father's ability to keep working since he's becoming elderly. Maomao isn't there to tend the herb garden and help him. What will become of him if she remains in the palace?

A servant from a brothel comes to get help. There is an emergency and two people have collapsed. Maomao takes charge and is able to resuscitate a man who stopped breathing. Her medical skills truly are all encompassing.

She requests charcoal and sends the servant girl to fetch Maomao's father, but on the way out the girl glares at Maomao. Is she upset that Maomao saved the courtesan and her customer? Does she resent being sent on this errand? We shall have to wait and see.

And hmmm, I'm still leery of this father-daughter dynamic. Maomao saved two people's lives and all her father tells her is that she has done a "fair job." Maomao responds with sarcasm but I get the impression this is fairly common. Maomao striving to impress her difficult to please father. This really puts into perspective why she responds so well to the praise she receives it at the Rear Palace. She's craving validation.

Luomen is a medical genius, one that Maomao has been trying to live up to all of her life. In her time learning with her father, Maomao has absorbed a lot of knowledge and experience but doesn't recognize the greatness of her own abilities as she sees them only in how they compare to her father.

Maomao thinks there is something wrong with the story that the two people she saved were trying to kill themselves. She goes to check on the man and prevents the young servant girl who scowled at her earlier from murdering the man.

Turns out the guy Maomao saved was an ass who would lead on courtesans and break hearts. He's the son of a wealthy merchant who simply smooths away any issues with money. Attempts on his life had been made before and this is merely the latest. Maomao agrees to remain quiet on this issue since making it known would cause problems for the ladies of the brothel. Hoes before bros.

Maomao can't stop thinking about it though. She knows it was a murder attempt and she has figured out the clever way it was committed, but there are so many people involved. She questions who knew what and to what degree they played a part. Then she shuts down those thoughts.

Maomao's father scolds her for conjecturing out loud and later she scolds herself. Speaking her thoughts on a case was always something she was encouraged by Jinshi to do in the Rear Palace and it bothers me to see her feel like she has to silence her thoughts now.

While she is in the Rear Palace, Maomao's detective abilities are appreciated by Jinshi and she blossoms with his encouragement. Now, back in the Pleasure District, she is overlooked, literally paid to hush up, and scolded.

Maomao compares the Pleasure district to the Rear Palace. Something she did in episode one when she first arrived. Both are beautiful gardens and cages. She uses a poison metaphor, stating that the environment poisons the people that are trapped in it and they go on to poison others in turn.

She is probably thinking about the courtesan who attempted to murder her troublesome client, but it's worth asking, has Maomao herself been poisoned by her environment?

Does she think that the changes in herself are poisonous? Is that why she scolded herself for her conjectures? Does she think her time at the Rear Palace has poisoned her so that she feels at liberty to speak about conjectures when those thoughts are best kept silent?

Perhaps the truth is that Maomao's poisoning happened before she ever arrived at the Rear Palace. Her father's strict parenting style and theories about what should or should not be said have poisoned Maomao into silence. She literally lets a would be murderer walk free here because she won't speak her thoughts. This is drastically different from the Rear Palace. In the Rear Palace, Jinshi supports her both by encouraging her to speak her thoughts, and by handling whatever problem is revealed. She's supported and encouraged in the palace, here she is silenced and alone.

Maomao finally gets her bath and Meimei joins her. It is nice to know that the people here worried about her and missed her. Then Meimei asks hesitantly, if Maomao has been out to the annex. To which Maomao responds "not yet." My, how cryptic. Based on the emotions they are both skirting around it has to be something meaningful.

I haven't explored a wild theory in awhile. Let's go down a rabbit hole for a moment. Based on the level of emotion revealed by Meimei's question, maybe the annex has something to do with Maomao's mother? I'm remembering what Luomen said about how strange a twist of fate it is that Maomao is in the palace. And I wonder if "the annex" is part of the palace. Is Maomao's mother in the palace? Or maybe she was. If Maomao came out of the palace, is it possible that she actually does come from a higher social status? One high enough that she becomes a more appropriate match for Jinshi? I'm remembering when she asked him not to touch her because her status is so much lower than his, and I think my theory adds a delicious irony to her words. I've long wondered if she was hiding something but I was so focused on Jinshi being a royal/noble in hiding that I didn't spend time thinking that Maomao may be as well. Furthermore, Maomao ended up being raised by a doctor. Is Luomen even Maomao's real father? He is quite old to be her biological father. Was Luomen called upon to treat a dying child, or possibly deliver a baby at the palace? Was he asked to claim the child had died then smuggled her out of the palace? He does seem to be too good of a doctor to be working in the Pleasure District. Wait does this have something to do with her arm? Did she sustain an injury during the time she was in palace? Or have a distinguishing birth mark? Does she cover her arm to hide it? Would her identity be revealed if her arm healed? Have I gone way too far from the known facts and entered the realm of headcanon? Actually, I can answer that one: yes!

Okay, time to go back to the story.

It's time for Maomao to say goodbye. Lihaku had the time of his life and wishes they didn't have to leave. Maomao is indebted to Verdigris House and has a year left at the Rear Palace to come up with the amount owed, or she'll be paying in a different way. The Madame already has plans for her.

Everyone comes to greet Maomao when she returns, happy to see her and eager to hear about her visit to home. Except Jinshi. Oh he's there, but he's pissed. Gaoshun doesn't approve.

Maomao meets with Jinshi privately and he's simmering with agitation, not bothering to hide his feelings or try to act formally. And oh, he actually is trying to stay cool, and utterly failing. He's worried about Lihaku! Bwahaha! Good work ladies of the Jade palace!

And no one has yet explained the significance of the hairpins to Maomao. She describes receiving a hairpin from Lihaku as receiving a consolation prize.

Jinshi: In other words, I lost to a consolation prize, then?

He's hurt. If she thinks of receiving a hair pin from Lihaku as merely a consolation prize, and she turned to Lihaku for help, how much lower must she think of Jinshi?

She decides to soothe his ruffled feathers and declares that she couldn't have chosen Jinshi because she would have had no way to repay him. Jinshi can't believe this shit.

Jinshi: This Lihaku person... Did you give him something in return?

Maomao: Yes. I bestowed a night of blissful dreams on him.

Friends. The gasp, I gasped at this! For such a smart person Maomao is dumb as hell!

And the psychic damage she inflicted on Jinshi! 💋🤌 She left that man catatonic.

It's exactly what Lady Gyokuyou and I have been waiting for. Lady Gyokuyou is laughing so hard she looks like she might pee herself. She loves to see Jinshi suffer and so do I.

Hongniang, smacks Maomao. And Gaoshun looks deeply unhappy. Probably because he is going to have to deal with a moping Jinshi.

I do feel bad for Jinshi. He really cares about Maomao and wants to get closer to her, but nothing he does seems to work. He's rebuffed at every turn.

It seems she would prefer anyone over him. And now she is bestowing her favor on someone else (Also, is Lihaku going to be okay? Jinshi's, like, mad mad that the guy asked for some kind of repayment). As a prince palace manager, Jinshi's probably rarely if ever lost out to someone else. And now the lady that he's interested in seems to prefer a low ranked officer, who barely put any effort into getting to know Maomao, and she just gives herself to him?

It was just a couple of episodes ago when Jinshi tried laying his hand on Maomao's shoulder and was told that his status makes anything between them impossible. It has to rankle. I feel for him.

On the other hand. Jinshi began his relationship with Maomao by manipulating her and trying to seduce her so that he could control her. That his plan has backfired on him, feels like justice.

Jinshi has started to get to know Maomao better, and I think he's starting to really see her, but he has to learn how to respect her too. He's getting there bit by bit, but in the meantime he will suffer.

Because Maomao doesn't trust him. She's not ready to let him in. She's too afraid of being vulnerable in the way that love demands. She's not ready to face her demons, much less share them. Certainly not with Jinshi. Not the man who can and has manipulated her in the past. The man who doesn't share what he knows. The man who has the power to destroy her with a word if she missteps. The man whose status is so far above her own. There are just so many unknowns when it comes to Jinshi.

Not to mention the secret of his identity.

If Jinshi wants to be loved, he will have to let himself be seen, and that will involve some radical honesty from him. He's not there yet. He doesn't want it bad enough yet. So he will suffer in his desire until then.

If you want to start at the beginning:

Episode 1

Next Episode

Episode 9

[imtrashraccoon]

This one covers a variety of subjects and the prompt could be interpreted literally or metaphorically. I dunno, I couldn't find a good place to stop writing it lol. Also, I think I'm going to include word counts when these get pretty long from now on.

@owl-bones

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day.

Bad Sansuary: Horror - Sharp

Word Count: 2,900

You were in the middle of sweeping the floors and going some general cleaning, when Axe stopped by again. You'd gotten used to the slow but steady knocks that signaled his arrival by now and since you were a little busy, you just called out for him to come in as you knew the door was unlocked.

The door opened and shut as he actually entered your apartment. Then his warm, quiet voice called out to you, "hey, i brought somethin' if ya want to try it..."

You poked your head around the corner to greet him, only to see how shocked he looked. His red eyelight had shrunk down to the size of a penny and it was clearly wobbling around the edges. His posture was stiff and his fists clenched tightly, despite holding a small crock pot with one arm.

You frowned and leaned the broom up against the wall before approaching him carefully. "Is everything okay?" you asked.

His gaze flicked over you quickly, never focusing on one place for too long as if he was inspecting you, eventually settling on your left hand. You started to ask again when he carefully set the crock pot on the ground and stepped closer to you. He went to reach for your hand but hesitated when you stepped backwards.

"are you okay? what happened to your hand?" he finally asked.

You grimaced and looked down at the thick bandage around your index finger. "Oh, this? I'm fine, I just got a bit careless and nicked my finger with a knife while making lunch earlier." To sort of prove your point, you flexed your fingers, although it was a bit difficult with how wrapped up your hand was.

His gaze lingered on your finger for a long moment before he glanced back at your face again. Sucking a deep breath through his teeth, you could see he was trying his best to calm down again before speaking.

"sorry... i just... i could smell blood and i guess i panicked..." he muttered. His cheekbones seemed to flicker a cobalt colour which, while it was momentarily fascinating, you quickly realized he was embarrassed for getting so worked up over nothing.

You frowned and quickly inspected your bandage for any leakage, but you'd taken great care to wrap it as securely as you could. "Huh, I swear I cleaned up after everything, although there was quite a bit of blood..." Shaking your head, you added, "It pretty much stopped bleeding after a couple of minutes though, so I don't think I need to get stitches."

"i have a really strong sense of smell...helps with huntin'..." Axe picked up the crock pot and turned to you. Before you had time to ask what that even meant, he decided to change the subject. "i think you should try some of this," he stated in a firm voice.

He was already on his way to your kitchen to put the small appliance down on a counter and so you just followed him without protest. Whatever he'd made certainly smelled good, although you'd barely just eaten lunch, and you didn't want to ruin your dinner by eating anything heavy right now. You really hoped he wouldn't be upset by this with how adamant he'd sounded.

Clearing your throat, you moved over to the counter so you could look at him. "It smells really good, what is it by the way?" you asked.

Axe smiled as he removed the lid and gave the heavenly contents a quick stir with a spoon. " 's called chicken divan," he hummed.

"Ooh, sounds delicious." You hesitated for a moment before trying to approach the real issue. "Um, Axe?"

His gaze flicked to you and he tilted his skull in a questioning manner. "what's up?" he asked.

"This looks really good and I can tell you spent a long time making it, but I don't think I could eat much of anything right at this moment. You see, I just had lunch... I'm not trying to be rude or anything... I just..."

His left eye socket narrowed ever so slightly as you continued rambling although he didn't interrupt you, and just waited until you'd run out of steam. He didn't look upset per say but his expression seemed so neutral that you couldn't be sure.

He reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder when you'd stopped speaking. "i'm not offended, okay? i'm just concerned about ya and eatin' even just a little will help..." He spoke slowly like he was trying to explain something but didn't really know the best words.

You didn't really understand why he wanted you to try his food so bad. It was just food, right? He was also acting really concerned when you'd only had a small accident earlier and were okay now.

"How will it help? Am I missing something here?"

"cause it has healin' magic in it... all food made by monsters does," he said plainly.

When you gave him a confused look, something seemed to click and his eye sockets widened in surprise. "you've never had monster food have you?" he asked and glanced around your kitchen as if he'd spot some sort of ingredient to prove him wrong.

"No? I've heard it's good but I've never really paid attention." You crossed your arms when he glanced back at you in disbelief. "Axe, you're my only monster friend and in case you haven't noticed, I don't spend a lot of time out and about making new friends, monster or human."

He hummed thoughtfully before shrugging. "fair enough, i didn't realize. it'll help heal your injury though like nothin' happened."

You couldn't argue with that, especially since your finger was still throbbing painfully, even if it wasn't actively bleeding any more. So, you managed to eat a small portion of the incredibly tender chicken and broccoli in order to ease his concern. It had been a long time since you'd even eaten anything this delicious.

Axe seemed to relax some after you'd finished eating, although you couldn't help but get the feeling that he would've preferred if you'd eaten more. He didn't complain though and when you complimented his cooking, seemed positively pleased. Although, he still appeared to be on edge about something if the way he kept looking you over was any indication.

When you caught him studying you once again, you reached over and gently touched his arm. "Hey, Axe? Are you alright?" you asked.

He seemed to startle and jumped slightly. His gaze silently flicked to your hand and then back to you with a surprised expression.

"i... i'm fine, just..."

You could see him struggling to answer and he couldn't seem to maintain eye contact at the same time. Still, you gave him a patient smile and rubbed his hoodie sleeve in a reassuring manner.

"You can tell me if something's bothering you. That's what friends are for, you know?"

"it's...hard to talk about," he responded.

"I don't mind listening..."

Axe let out a heavy sigh and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs from the table. Following suit, you sat down next to him and waited patiently. He stared at his clawed hands for several long minutes before speaking again.

"things used to be really rough...where i'm from... there was a famine... folks had to resort to...drastic measures to survive... if it weren't for paps and myself, the whole town would've...fallen down..."

As he spoke, you noticed how detached and hollow his tone of voice had become. You could also feel the depths of his pain, as if you were taking a peek into his very soul, and it hurt. Still, you wanted to be there for him and so you stayed seated nearby, resting your hand on his arm in an effort to comfort him.

"it's hard seein' people i care about hurt or even just hungry... i've seen so many just...give up..." He made eye contact with you and held it before adding, "you have no idea what i've had to do just to survive..."

You couldn't help but glance away under the intensity of his gaze. Was it just you or had the room become colder all of the sudden? Swallowing nervously, you steeled yourself to look back at him, only to find that he was still staring.

"Well... I, uh, can't say I fully understand how awful literally starving to death is, but you're doing better now, right?" When he nodded slowly, you sighed and continued talking. "That's a relief to hear at least. I'm touched that you trust me enough to tell me about this when I can tell it's not a pleasant thing for you to discuss."

He continued to stare at you for what felt like an eternity. Unfortunately, you couldn't tell what he was currently thinking from his indecipherable facial expressions. Just when you could hardly take the unofficial staring contest any longer, he finally broke the silence.

"you're a strange human..." he muttered.

You couldn't help the quick bark of laughter at his comment. "I thought we'd already established that by now," you teased.

That same cobalt colour from before flickered across his zygomatic bones and he glanced away, scratching the right side of his skull awkwardly. "heh... right, i almost forgot..."

"I wouldn't have stuck around at all when we first met if I didn't like you, okay? I stand by the people I count as friends and I consider you a good friend, Axe."

His blue blush deepened slightly which was kind of adorable, considering he was such a giant of a skeleton. He certainly seemed easier to fluster today, although a lot had also happened in the short time he'd been here. You would definitely have to tease him about it another time.

"you did it again."

You were a bit taken aback by the suddenness of his statement and blinked owlishly at him. "Did what again?" you asked.

"the thing you did with intent. it was like...you forced all of your concern and reassurance into my soul."

Your eyes widened in shock and you quickly pulled your hand away from him, although he looked a little disappointed when you did so. "Crap, I wasn't trying to...manipulate you or anything like that..." You buried your face in your hands and groaned, "I really have no idea how Intent or magic works... I'm sorry, Axe."

He chuckled and shook his skull. "nah, ya didn't do anythin' wrong. it...felt nice actually..."

"Really...?" You peeked between your fingers at him to check that he wasn't upset, thankfully he just seemed mildly amused. "Any chance you could explain what it is so I can try not to accidentally do it again?"

"eh, i'm really not the best person to ask..." Axe thought for a moment before continuing. "do ya at least know about human soul traits?"

You nodded, "Yeah, it's pretty common knowledge now, although only mages can really know their primary trait. Anyone without magic can't really, unless you know a monster willing to draw you into an Encounter or have to get some expensive procedure done."

"figures," he muttered. "i used to be able to tell at a glance but after everythin' that happened, my magic changed completely. i pretty much only use it to get around now and rarely even then."

"I'm guessing you can't draw me into an Encounter to actually find out then?"

He got a bit of an odd look at the idea and shrugged. "more like i won't... 's not that i don't trust ya...i just don't trust myself..."

"Ah." He probably didn't want to risk nearly killing you again after what happened the first time. The weird thing was, you were pretty sure he hadn't actually pulled you into an Encounter back then, but you'd never been in one to know either.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I understand they're something personal to monsters and I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

" 's fine, i don't get offended easily compared to some guys i know." Axe took a deep breath before quietly adding, "well, i don't tend to lash out if someone insults me at least..."

"Why would anyone...?"

He gestured to the left side of his skull before you could finish your question, drawing your attention to his large red eyelight but also, the gaping hole in his skull. You'd almost forgotten that wasn't normal as it just seemed like a part of him as a person, rather than a likely traumatic injury.

"Oh... Still though, why make fun of the guy who could bench press anyone without breaking a sweat?"

He shrugged, "dunno, some folks are probably too dense for their own good. i never used to look like this though..."

"How so?" you asked softly.

"used to be shorter...less scary looking too. no claws or sharp teeth either... 's the result of changin' to make survival easier."

It was hard to picture him as anything but the large, sharp-edged skeleton currently sitting at your dining table. He tended to be the honest type though so you had no reason to believe he was messing with you.

"So...is that what you meant by hunting earlier?"

He nodded but remained quiet.

You felt like you had to say something to make him feel slightly better. It was true that he was on the scary side as far as appearance goes, but you'd seen how gentle he could be. He wasn't some scary, evil person, at least in your eyes.

"You know, you are quite scary on the outside. However, unlike a lot of humans I've met over the years, you seem to wear your heart on your sleeve and aren't hiding malicious intentions on the inside." You smiled warmly at him and added, "I... I consider you a good friend... Which is saying a lot because I don't really have any friends."

His permanent smile instantly morphed into the most genuine grin you'd seen to date. He looked like he desperately wanted to give you a hug but was physically holding himself back for the time being.

"heh, i'm touched to say the least..." he said, although you could tell that was quite the understatement. "i consider ya a good friend too and, as i betcha understand, i don't make friends easily."

Hearing that he felt the same, you felt an overwhelming wave of joy flow over you. No one would understand that you got along with this teddy bear of a man better than any of them, despite how scary he looked.

But then, you remembered your previous question that had brought up this conversation in the first place. "So, not to brush aside this awesome moment, but what about Intent? What does it have to do with soul traits?"

He didn't seem to mind that you'd changed the subject and nodded thoughtfully as he considered your question again. "well, i 'spect your primary soul trait is some variation of kindness considerin' how empathetic you've always been towards me. i can't say i've ever met a human who uses intent to make others feel better like you do."

He scratched his skull and added, "it's hard to describe... normal humans can't really sense intent as far as i know, but it's like you're giving all of your current feelings to me."

He chuckled when you gave him a look of bewilderment and took your right hand in his much larger one. "don't worry, ya aren't doing it all the time, at least from what i've sensed, just today and the last time. i think ya need to purposely touch me anyways."

You breathed a huge sigh of relief and glanced down at your joined hands before looking back up to him again. "That's good to hear, I was really worried I'd been acting inappropriately or something."

"nah, you're fine, lil' chip..."

You blinked in surprise and did a great job at imitating a goldfish for a moment, much to Axe's amusement. "Excuse me?! You did not just call me short..." you hissed under your breath.

He actually laughed, to the point of nearly being brought to tears, much to your annoyance. You pulled your hand away and crossed your arms until he finally calmed down enough to speak again.

"what? it's cute, like you, so why not? if we're goin' to be friends, you should know i like to give my friends nicknames..." he said while flicking a stray tear away from his left eye socket.

You tried to remain firm and pout, but you couldn't. He was adorable and while you'd always hated it when people picked on you for being a bit smaller than average, you didn't really mind it coming from him. He seemed completely genuine and not like he was trying to belittle you either.

"Fine, but only because i like you..." you grumbled. "And you better make it up to me by coming to visit more often."

He chuckled again and patted your head in a way that was probably supposed to be affectionate. "okay, okay, i'll see if i can make some room in my schedule so we can hang out more, just for you..."

You could feel your cheeks grow warm with the way he was looking at and talking to you. "You better..." was all you could manage to retort with.

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

FREE SANJAK

"Neural interference systems online."

"Optical camouflage systems holding at 100% functionality."

"Fifty thousand kilometres to the blockade."

The Union Navy ship Shadowed Open Palm slipped across the dark gap in between the stars on silent, padding feet, quiet as a mouse and twice as difficult to spot. At the helm, Captain Abdol Karim was the perfect picture of a stealthship officer; passive-faced, stern, oddly relaxed considering the circumstances. His standard-issue Naval Blacks rustled slightly as he stood from his chair at the helm and assumed a parade rest, sun-browned hands of a former asteroid miner folded behind his back.

"Engines to one-third speed. Alert our Liberators that we are beginning the blockade run."

He didn't raise his voice, nor lower it. His every command was given steadily and without hesitation.

"Engines to one-third speed, aye, sir," the helmsman reported, without looking up from his display screen.

First Lieutenant Tayu Corazon, standing behind and to the left of Captain Karim, watched the scene with an appreciative eye (though she was trained to not let feelings like that show). The Shadowed Open Palm was a ship run tightly; she could appreciate such things. Then again, she had been a fan of the Navy since her childhood and was always happy to see a ship in the first place.

"Two hours to reach atmosphere, sir," the navigation officer announced, just loudly enough to be conversational. There was, after all, little need to shout in the near-silent bridge. This was a stealthship. It wasn't crewed by the types for idle chatter. Captain Karim nodded.

"Acknowledged. Handler, you may wish to begin preparations for landing."

Lieutenant Corazon nodded. "Fly safe, Captain."

"Come back alive, Lieutenant."

The Handler turned on her heel and left the bridge, heading for the small barracks that her team had been quartered in. She'd memorized the route to and from the bridge from those quarters on her first day aboard the Shadowed Open Palm. Down the port-front stairwell, turn right and head down the port-side bow-to-stern hallway. Step through three bulkhead doors, then look for the third door on your right. Tayu idly pretended to bounce lasers off the walls as she walked.

There were few soldiers moving about the hallways. All of them were near-silent and had been more or less since the stealthship had been ordered to assume Condition 2 Readiness (or, for those who weren't quite as familiar with Union Navy terminology, something analogous to "yellow alert"). What few soldiers Tayu passed by paid her no mind as she stepped through the third bulkhead and found the third door on her right. The door clicked slightly, then opened at her touch.

Inside, three of the four Lancers that made up Liberator Team 'Poirun' were relaxing as best they could under the circumstances. Sasha was reading (Tayu didn't know what, but given past history, assumed it was smut); Lily was tinkering with her optical mask; Rachel was the only to notice her arrival.

"According to Captain Karim, we're two hours from Sanjak's atmosphere."

"Three hours from landing, then?" Sasha asked, looking up. "Finally. My legs were starting to cramp."

"So stretch," Lily half-questioned, raising a confused eyebrow.

"Ah... metaphorically speaking."

"Still. Stretch."

"Will we be in our gear for the landing?" Rachel asked, ever pragmatic. Tayu nodded.

"Everyone except myself will be. Jadwiga, Protector, you two will be carrying the cargo out of the hold. Observer, you'll be on overwatch."

The team nodded as one. Lily finalized her tinkering and slipped her optical visor onto her face once more; it locked into place with a gentle metallic click.

"It's just agricultural gear, right?" Sasha asked. "The cargo, I mean."

"Agricultural gear and about a hundred metric tons of printer filament," Tayu confirmed with another nod. "Get your gear in order and make your final preparations. I want you all suited up and ready to go within two hours."

(This took unexpectedly long to finish. Happy New Year to all you Ungrateful blogs—especially @radiofreesanjak for giving me an excuse to write this, however indirectly.)

[thunderhel]

Fratt Week Day 1 - Blood

Pairing: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock Word Count: 2089 Rated T Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Not quite actually Fratt yet, More Frank just making some observations

I haven't actively participated in anything fandom or posted any writing in over a year so shout out to @frattweek for giving me the inspiration to actually do something. Even if that something is writing 2k in a day and posting it unedited because it's late and I'm already a day behind 😬

Read on AO3

Frank thought a lot of things about Red.

About The Devil. Daredevil. Murdock. Matt.

All stupid names in Frank’s opinion. Red suited him better.

The Devil was probably the stupidest of all. I didn’t pick it, Frank. Though Daredevil wasn’t much further behind. Again, I didn’t pick it. Murdock was so unfortunate he almost felt bad for little Red, having to deal with that on top of everything else life had heaped onto him. I genuinely can’t tell if you’re just trying to be rude or if you’re actually just racist. Matt was too human. I…Frank, I am human. You know that right?

Frank knew. He just liked, every now and again, to hear Red say it out loud. Maybe to remind Frank, but maybe also a little to make him remind himself.

They didn’t always fight together. They didn’t even frequently fight together, but sometimes things just lined up in a way that Frank refused to classify as either good or bad, and they ended up on the same trail.

It had been the same shit as always, just under a different name. Drug dealers this time. The real deal, not kids trying to be inconspicuous in the alleyways, but the main runners, meeting suppliers at what was supposed to be an empty warehouse. The drugs weren’t the reason Frank nor Red were really after them, but putting a stop to that felt like a bonus.

They’d split up shortly after they’d arrived, Red slipping in through an open window, high enough it hadn’t been considered a priority to guard, while Frank had taken the perimeter, eliminating any threats -with beanbag rounds, Red, don’t be a bitch about it- before they could notice anything was amiss inside.

The bored guards outside hadn’t been an issue, but the armed security just past the bay doors had given Frank a bit of a run for his halfhearted promise to try to use nonlethal force. The problem was, nonlethal was much more difficult and time consuming than simply painting the concrete with brain matter, which meant Frank was slightly behind schedule when he finally made it to the sounds of Red’s fight.

He had intended to be backup, and he didn’t intend on slouching the responsibility. Frank took up his position alongside a wall of half broken crates, the stock of his gun pressed hard to his shoulder just in case anyone seemed about to slip past Red’s defenses, but he doubted he would be needed. Not with the way Red was fighting tonight.

It’s something my dad used to say, Red had told him one night, speaking low and slightly detached, the way he always did whenever he shared something about himself. About his past. There never seemed to be any rhyme or reason to his sudden decision to share. Frank half wondered if he was just talking to himself when he did, forgetting Frank was even there. When he’d go dead eyed in the ring and just turn into a monster as he beat the shit out of the other guy. He called it ‘letting the Devil out’.

Frank had never met Red’s old man, and he knew exactly three facts about him. He was a boxer, Red had loved him more than anything in the world, and if his version of letting the devil out was anything even close to Red’s, he was a fucking force to be reckoned with.

Because Red didn’t act like that devil business was a metaphor. Red was a fucking demon when he fought.

For everything he’d done and everywhere he’d been, Frank knew he’d never seen anything move the way Red fought. He moved like he was created to fight, like everything else he could possibly do with his life was just tossed on at the end like a bonus if he ever got bored of the incredible way the universe had decided to put him together. Every move was coordinated, almost liquid in the way he ducked below punches and arched himself out of the way of kicks.

Everything about him was power and speed, moving in ways Frank knew he hadn’t been able to bend at even in his prime, before delivering hits hard enough that Frank could hear the other guy’s bones snap from across the room. A pipe flew clumsily past Red’s head and he dispatched of its thrower so quickly, Frank wasn’t even sure exactly what he did to get the guy to make that exclamation of pain before he was slumping to the ground in a spray of blood.

A few drops of it hit Red’s chest plate, but the marks were lost among the myriad of streaks already decorating it. The red and black of his stupid devil suit made it hard to tell what was clean and what was filthy with blood, but the entire picture came together to create something so unsettlingly otherworldly that it hardly mattered. Blood streaked across his mask and was running over his chin, either from a lost tooth or a broken nose, or maybe none of it was his at all.

The bandages on his hands were a darker red, the color so thick it looked like they’d been dyed and not just stained. Blood was flecked and splattered across his chest, the wet spots glowing against the matte red and black. It was running down his chin, dripping onto his neck in a way that reminded Frank of an animal after a hunt. If he had turned right then and had taken a bite out of one of the men on the ground, Frank couldn’t say he would have been too terribly surprised.

Red tilted his head in that unnatural way he had, assessing the last man lying prone at his feet, or maybe the room as a whole. His shoulders were still hunched, fists curled at his sides as he remained locked in fight mode, his body clearly uncertain how to proceed without something else in front of him to punch. His lips curled back in what might have been a grin or a snarl or maybe just an animal reaction to the adrenaline still coursing through him.

Frank, for all his flaws, was 100% human. There was no mutation, no alien DNA or secret government experiment gone wrong. Just normal government black ops shit that went sideways and a stupid jarhead they’d tried to make a patsy. Just a human man with a short fuse and the memory of his daughter’s limp weight in his hands and nothing left to lose.

Red was a different story.

This was why he couldn’t call Red Matt. Matt - Matthew- was a human name. A normal name for a normal man, and Frank for all of his eye rolling at Red’s choir boy bullshit, didn’t think he would ever fully be convinced that Red was human.

Frank could see it in the way he moved, the way he slipped when he stopped talking. When he stopped trying to force himself down into that tiny box whose walls were made of religion and society and legality. When he let the devil out and went out hunting for blood.

He’d never tell him, had to keep the thought down low, but Frank thought he understood why Red didn’t kill. Not because God told him it was wrong, and not because of the law or whatever other bullshit Red liked to tell whoever had to listen to him talk about it. No, Red didn’t kill because of that animal thing inside of him.

He didn’t kill, because Frank was almost positive Red might like the feeling a little too much.

Red didn’t kill, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

It had to have only been seconds, not more than a brief pause in the chaos of the night, but Frank felt time slow down for the first time in a while as he stared at Red’s form in the half light, his chest rising and falling with the effort to breathe through the fight he’d just finished.

In those brief seconds Frank thought of the leopard he’d once seen while on tour, dragging a carcass up a tree. Thought of the way its fur had shown in the sunlight and the blood had marred those distinctive spots. He thought of the sound his old man’s GTO had made when it started up, that deep vibration that echoed in his chest. He thought of the glint of moonlight on his Ka-Bar, the kick back of his gun against his muscle, of the look Maria gave him over her shoulder the first night they spent together.

The last one kicked him back into reality, and he cleared his throat, spitting the taste of copper out of his mouth before he lowered his gun. Red’s head jerked the other way, a dog picking up a scent, as Frank finally approached.

He could forgive himself for the mix up of his thoughts, blaming it easily on the adrenaline and the scent of blood in the air.

He thought of that leopard again, of the way its muscles had moved beneath its fur as it had dragged its prey up that tree. Of Red’s fist slamming into the jaw of an idiot who didn’t know when to get out of the way. With a silent prayer of an apology to Maria, he begged her to understand - it was hard to see a predator move the way they did and not think it was a thing of beauty.

Frank had meant to grab Red’s arm, try and jerk him out of whatever blood fueled stupor he’d lost himself in, but his hand landed instead on the side of Red’s face, thumb pushing hard against his jaw as it swept through the blood not yet dried against his stubble. If Frank still felt fear as strongly as he used to, he might have been worried about getting bit.

“Easy there, Alter Boy, they’re down for the count.”

Red exhaled low and long, and Frank watched the struggle happen. Watched as Red tried to fight back that inhuman part of himself to resemble something decent. He made a sound almost like a huff - like he knew he should be annoyed with Frank but was going through the motions just because he thought he should. He didn’t pull away from Frank’s hand.

The idea of Red, of this wild cat in the shape of a man, tucked into a suit and tie and handing over legal documents at the courthouse and calling a judge ‘your honor’ was almost a joke.

“Not for long,” Red finally managed, his voice low and thick. “We need to get going.” He titled his head in a way that if Frank wasn’t careful, he might have said seemed like he was pushing further into Frank’s touch.

Frank thought of the heavy weight of a knife in his hand and the smell of gunpowder. He tried not to think of Maria’s skin beneath his fingers as he dropped his hand to Red’s shoulder.

Red was still tense, still poised to pounce at the slightest provocation. There was a hum beneath his skin, stronger than blood but not quite animal enough to call a growl. It burned beneath Frank’s fingertips, under muscle and blood and bone and leather. He squeezed once before he let go, but knocked their shoulders together as he turned.

“Then let’s get fucking going.’

Red gave a sharp incline of his head instead of a nod. He leaned away and spat a spray of blood, some of it flecking across the face of another man on the ground. The blood was bright red, a superficial wound in Red’s mouth, nothing to distract Frank from the blood still humming too fast through his own veins.

With a swipe of the back of his sleeve, Red halfheartedly cleaned his mouth before straightening back up. When he turned back to Frank, the pull of his lips couldn’t have been anything other than a grin, wide and vicious and sliding straight through Frank’s chest.

“Let’s get fucking going,” he echoed back, voice low and too excited for the amount of blood still smeared across his pale skin. His footsteps were almost silent as he led the way back out.

Frank slung his gun back into position, finger on the trigger and stock his shoulder, focusing on the weight in his hands, and not the sound of echo of Maria’s soft sigh against his ear.

[desifleabag]

I am a hypocrite

I share stories and poems of love with people I will never meet,

Yet I find it difficult to stand beside the bride and groom, watching them get married

With a face of utter disappointment and hate.

Why did she get married? Why does she want to have kids?

I love families who genuinely take care of each other,

So I tell her mother, "I am jealous you have such a sweet family."

My friend smacks me and reminds me, over tea, how I speak of not wanting a family.

I love roses, and it's the only metaphor of love I contemplate to write.

I bought roses from the street and threw them away,

Maybe because I am distant with the idea of love,

Or because I have deprived myself of love every single time it knocked on my door.

I tell my friends I want to sleep alone.

When I do, I find my teddy bear hugging me,

While my friends watch "Friends," Ross hugging Rachel.

My tears dry, and no one removes my specs or puts a blanket on me.

Oh yes, I locked the door, just like I locked my heart.

I hate my parents, not because of the way they treat me, but the choices they made in their life.

I don't save the last scoop of ice cream for my mother,

I don't call my dad to come for dinner.

Yet, I clean the kitchen and wait for my dad while reading a book.

I told the universe that I hate him,

I will never love him.

Yet, I choose to keep his contact in my phone,

Text him every last week of the month.

I didn't stop cutting cake on his birthday,

Though he lives in the same continent and hates celebrating birthdays.

I whisper, "This is the last time," but I behave as if it's my first time embracing him.

I keep shouting at my sister, calling her a trash bag.

But while buying a flower for myself,

I will buy one more flower for her.

If I buy a T-shirt for myself,

I will purchase a bigger size so we both can wear it.

I keep complaining about the relationship I have with winter.

But when it arrives, I buy myself a cardigan,

Make hot chocolate, have tea, and do bonfires,

With a stack of medicines.

Yes, I am over my friendship breakup.

I hated them with my heart, mind, and soul.

It's been months and months,

But I still keep them in my prayers and wonder how they are doing.

Do they think about me? Oh! Forget it, they don't!

The hypocrite in me and the lover in me,

For the things I hate and love at the same time.

I will never understand or articulate.

I am not yellow, but I am grey.

[nikofortuna]

JTTW Chapter 67 Thoughts

Chapter 67 for the @journeythroughjourneytothewest Reading Group!

It is nice that there are these more relaxed little one-shot adventures inbetween multi-chapter arcs.

Also it is nice to see another case of different places having similar sayings. Speak of the monster-spirit and he shall arrive!

We did have a snake with red scales show up in the story before quite some time ago in a nature poem, namely chapter 20. Just like then it might be a Python Brongersmai just in really big this time.

One could headcanon that both mentions are perhaps the same individual who just travelled that far and grew a lot on the way in the years that have passed since then. I see this as neither likely nor unlikely given the fantastical setting, so this is a fun little headcanon that I shall have now.

Though this time around I fully understand why the snake had to be taken down. They were in a state where they already had great power but not the mind to wield it well, so they were a danger to everyone around them regardless of where they went. Truly the mind should be cultivated first or great power will be in vain and that does not only count for animal-born yaoguai.

The German translation explains all of those snake puns.

“Don't try to pull a snake backward like that!” or pulling a snake backwards is a metaphor for fruitless endeavours.

“Isn't this what you call no more snake to play with?” is a metaphor for having nothing with which you could garner success.

And lastly “Beating the Bush to Stir the Snake.” is a reference to one of the 36 stratagems.

How nice they get to have a week of vacation!

Oh come on Tang Sanzang, by now you should really have learned not to jump to conclusions and start to cry right away when something is just said to be a little difficult.

[ciellafanfic]

La Pomme Vie et Morte

Solas/Female Lavellan

Summary:

It is said that the apples that grow near the gallows will be bitter on the tongue of a lover who will betray. It is also said, although by different people entirely, that unripened fruit should not be the only consideration when investigating matters of fidelity. The latter are lonely most evenings among the arbors of the Summer Bazaar.

—From Our Orlesian Heart by (formerly) Sister Laudine

Just a small, hopefully bittersweet, scene from Inquisitor Lavellan's first trip to Val Royeaux.

"Thank the creators that we’re finally leaving," said the Herald. Solas looked at the elven woman. Her whole body slumped with the metaphorical weight that had been thrust onto her shoulders as she walked beside him through the streets of Val Royeaux. The Seeker and Varric walked not far ahead, the latter needling the former about something, attempting to get a rise out of her. He’d done this for the majority of the trip here and looked as if he would continue on their way home. Their strange company had traveled here to ally themselves with the Chantry leaders, to secure their assistance in closing the Breach. Instead, they had been rebuffed, not only by the Chantry, but by the Templars as well. 

“You were quite excited to travel here. I assume the recent events have dampened the city’s appeal?” he replied. The eagerness she’d shown on their approach to the Orlesian capital, while naive, had been pleasant to witness. It had been far too long since he’d looked at a place with such fresh eyes. To see only the beauty, the glamor, and the novelty, without knowing the rot that it held beneath it. There was actually a twinge of sadness in him that she was no longer ignorant to it.

“It’s an amazing place,” she replied, her voice somewhat wistful as she glanced around the colorful buildings. “But it’s a lot like that lake they have back there: incredibly beautiful and horribly useless.”

Solas chuckled slightly at the comparison. The Herald had been aghast at the idea of creating a lake from which no water could be drunk nor fish be caught. And while everyone agreed that the emperor who had created it was mad, that hadn’t been much in the way of a balm. 

“Thank you, though,” she continued, giving him a pleasant smile. “For coming with me. It was nice not to be the only ‘knife-eared savage’ about.” 

She said it as they passed a group of mask-wearing nobles who whispered and pointed in their direction. He’d heard those insults hurled at her multiple times since their arrival here. Some even to her face. He was surprised at how well she'd handled it. On occasion, he had even felt ready to lash out on her behalf. But the insults didn’t seem to bother her. At least, not half as much as the fact that there was a hole in the sky and no one she spoke to wanted to do anything about it. 

Solas schooled his features into mock seriousness.

“Ah, but see, only you are the ‘savage’, I am merely a humble ‘knife-ear’,” he replied, with just the smallest of bows, to show his humility.

She laughed at that, throwing her head back slightly before looking back at him. The weight had shifted off her shoulders for the moment, and there was only her light-hearted smile. She did have a charming smile, he had to admit. Exuberant, he could call it. And contagious as well, as he found himself smiling back.

“How could I forget?” she said. “I’ll need to wear one of those fashionable masks if I ever visit again.”

“That would be a true shame,” Solas said. He said the compliment, without thinking and she raised an eyebrow at him. Her smile turned sly, but surprisingly, not uninterested. Solas even noticed Varric looked back to give him a glance.

“It’s incredibly difficult to eat one of those little cakes while wearing a mask,” he said, hopefully not missing a beat, and she laughed again in response. 

“That’s true. You were right about them, they were delicious. A half-mask then.” 

Solas gave her a smile in response, but inwardly he scolded himself. He was here on a mission: seal the Breach & retrieve the foci. He was most certainly not here to flirt like the courtier he’d once been. 

But when he looked over at the elven woman, he couldn’t help but think that he’d been right; covering her face with one of the humans’ silly little masks would be a shame indeed. 

She glanced at him and he shifted his eyes so he would seem as if he was looking just beyond her. Judging by the self-satisfied smirk that graced her face, his ruse wasn’t as successful as he hoped. 

He looked forward again, taking in the bright colors of the banners that hung along the city streets. There was music being played at some café down the road, and it wove its way through the chatter of the busy thoroughfare. As he felt the sun warm his skin, he let himself drift away. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe that was everything what he presented himself to be. A simple apostate who had wandered into a larger world, by forces beyond his control. And by his side walked a pretty Dalish woman, who smiled warmly in his direction. 

He could flirt with her, and perhaps she would return it. She didn’t seem disinterested. They could talk. He could make her laugh. Glances could linger. Skin could brush against skin.

“Are you hungry at all?” she asked. He was pulled out of his daydream by the question, leaving the fantasy behind. It shouldn’t have been as difficult as it was. Fantasy was all it could ever be.  

“I thought you were eager to leave. Did one of the cafés catch your eye?” he asked. 

“Oh, we can definitely leave, but I just spotted a snack.”

She pointed to some decorative apple trees that were rather garishly adorning the gallows in the bazaar. 

“I’m not so sure those are for eating,” replied Solas. A small fence surrounded the trees, and it would be very Orlesian to use fruit-bearing trees for decoration only. 

The Herald rolled her eyes at the idea of food not meant for eating, and he could hardly blame her. 

He watched as she gracefully vaulted over the small fence and began to pluck a handful of apples from the lower branches. Behind her, there were indeed several Bazaar patrons who seemed scandalized by her ‘savage’ behavior. If anything that seemed to increase the gleam in her eyes. 

“What are you doing?” the Seeker asked, annoyed. Solas presumed she was more perturbed by the delay in their exit than by the Herald’s brazen transgression of Orlesian niceties. In answer to her question, the elven woman tossed the Seeker a shiny red apple. Cassandra caught it one-handed, before even registering what it was.

The Herald tossed another to Varric and a third to Solas, before leaping over the fence once more, her own apple in hand. She lifted the fruit to her companions in a toast.

“Thanks, Lucky,” Varric said, returning the gesture with a smile. 

Cassandra simply made a half-hearted attempt at a grunt and began walking again.

“I believe you may have shocked the locals,” Solas said as she began walking next to him again. 

“I hope so,” she said, unabashed. “They could use a bit of a shock.”

She took a large bite of her apple for emphasis. He could hear the crisp snap as she broke away the apple’s flesh and a small trickle of juice ran down her chin. Solas had the sudden urge to wipe the juice away with his thumb, brushing it just slightly against her lips as he did. He quashed the impulse as soon as it appeared. It seemed that he'd let his small fantasy get away from him. Perhaps it had been too long since he’d worked in close quarters with others. He would need to make a better effort at controlling himself.

Solas took a bite of his and spit it out on instinct as his mouth was flooded with a strong bitter taste. He looked down at the offending apple and saw nothing wrong with the thing. It didn’t look mealy or rotten. In fact, it looked delicious. He brought it to his nose with a sniff. Nothing smelled off either. He quickly darted out his tongue to taste it once more and the apple’s flesh produced that same bitter taste. 

“What’s wrong?” the Herald asked.

“It seems I’ve gotten a rotten one,” he replied.

“Oh no,” she said, more concern on her face than a rotten apple merited. “Want some of mine?” 

Solas shook his head.

“It’s no matter. We’ll be at the camp and resupplied before long.”

She gave him an empathetic frown and returned to her own apple, though with far less enthusiasm this time.

“Thank you though,” he said. “For the thought.” 

“I guess Val Royeaux just wants us to leave on a sour note,” she said with a sigh. They were approaching the exit to the Bazaar and Solas felt a strange pang of regret that her first, and possibly only, visit to the city would end so poorly. 

“I don’t know about that,” he said, hoping to give her one more smile before they left. “It is rather a beautiful view.” 

From ahead of them, Cassandra and Varric could easily assume he spoke of the city. But, next to him, the Herald returned the gaze he had leveled directly at her. He watched her face begin to flush red and she turned to the side to try and hide the blush. Solas could see the small smile at the corner of her lips, one that seemingly matched his own. 

They passed into the Avenue of Reflective thought, leaving the Summer Bazaar and Val Royeaux behind. He supposed he could allow himself the fantasy for just a brief moment longer.

Codex entry: La Pomme Vie et Morte

It is said that the apples that grow near the gallows will be bitter on the tongue of a lover who will betray. It is also said, although by different people entirely, that unripened fruit should not be the only consideration when investigating matters of fidelity. The latter are lonely most evenings among the arbors of the Summer Bazaar.

—From Our Orlesian Heart by (formerly) Sister Laudine