#its been 85 years since the sun last set

[everloste]

him again i guess

[frankendykes-monster]

Check their shoes and look for mud!” shouted one Atlanta police department officer to another. The sun was setting against a tree line growing greener daily due to recent balmy, spring-like weather in Atlanta, but the bucolic setting of a Sunday in the sun at a free music festival abruptly became panic and chaos. Dozens of law enforcement officers, many with automatic weapons, swarmed into a forest of hundreds of acres, seeking to find any of the 200 or so activists who had set fire to a bulldozer, trailer and other infrastructure used for construction on “Cop City”, a $90m, 85-acre police and fire department training center, about an hour earlier. The clash was just the latest dramatic chapter to hit the Cop City project, which has already seen one environmental activist shot dead by police – the first incident of its kind in the US – and drawn national and international attention to the fight to save the Georgia forest where the giant project is planned. The one officer’s frenzied order about dirty footwear seemed as absurd as any part of the Sunday night operation, since Georgia rains had left muddy patches all over the forest, and at least 600 people were lying on the grass, or camped among the trees, or entering the forest to catch an evening’s music under the stars or leaving – thus many had mud on their shoes. But such was the situation on Sunday night, on the second night of the fifth “week of action” by activists over the last year dedicated to protecting the land called South River forest on municipal maps and Weelaunee forest by activists – using the Muscogee (Creek) word for “brown water”. The scene included police running through trees, arresting a legal observer from the National Lawyers Guild, sending a negotiator to agree on terms with five randomly chosen individuals for letting about a hundred music festival audience members safely leave the forest, and detaining journalists for questioning on “what they were there to cover”. The first two days had included free music, herbal workshops and a peaceful march through neighborhoods surrounding the forest south-east of Atlanta. Then, around 5.30 on Sunday evening, about 200 activists, most in balaclavas and camouflage clothing, began lining up to the right of the stage. They marched around three sides of the audience, chanting “Viva Tortuguita” – a reference to Manuel Paez Terán, a 26-year-old activist who was camping several hundred feet away from that spot on 18 January when police shot and killed him in another raid. It was the first time police killed an environmental activist while protesting in US history. Authorities said that Paez Terán fired first. After several hours of chaos on Sunday night, 23 people – including a legal observer with the National Lawyers Guild – had been arrested and charged with “domestic terrorism” under state law, adding to the 18 defendants facing the same unprecedented charges who have been arrested in recent months.

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[glorioustidalwavedefendor]

Check their shoes and look for mud!” shouted one Atlanta police department officer to another.

The sun was setting against a tree line growing greener daily due to recent balmy, spring-like weather in Atlanta, but the bucolic setting of a Sunday in the sun at a free music festival abruptly became panic and chaos.

Dozens of law enforcement officers, many with automatic weapons, swarmed into a forest of hundreds of acres, seeking to find any of the 200 or so activists who had set fire to a bulldozer, trailer and other infrastructure used for construction on “Cop City”, a $90m, 85-acre police and fire department training center, about an hour earlier.

The clash was just the latest dramatic chapter to hit the Cop City project, which has already seen one environmental activist shot dead by police – the first incident of its kind in the US – and drawn national and international attention to the fight to save the Georgia forest where the giant project is planned.

The one officer’s frenzied order about dirty footwear seemed as absurd as any part of the Sunday night operation, since Georgia rains had left muddy patches all over the forest, and at least 600 people were lying on the grass, or camped among the trees, or entering the forest to catch an evening’s music under the stars or leaving – thus many had mud on their shoes.

But such was the situation on Sunday night, on the second night of the fifth “week of action” by activists over the last year dedicated to protecting the land called South River forest on municipal maps and Weelaunee forest by activists – using the Muscogee (Creek) word for “brown water”.

The scene included police running through trees, arresting a legal observer from the National Lawyers Guild, sending a negotiator to agree on terms with five randomly chosen individuals for letting about a hundred music festival audience members safely leave the forest, and detaining journalists for questioning on “what they were there to cover”.

The first two days had included free music, herbal workshops and a peaceful march through neighborhoods surrounding the forest south-east of Atlanta. Then, around 5.30 on Sunday evening, about 200 activists, most in balaclavas and camouflage clothing, began lining up to the right of the stage. They marched around three sides of the audience, chanting “Viva Tortuguita” – a reference to Manuel Paez Terán, a 26-year-old activist who was camping several hundred feet away from that spot on 18 January when police shot and killed him in another raid. It was the first time police killed an environmental activist while protesting in US history. Authorities said that Paez Terán fired first.

After several hours of chaos on Sunday night, 23 people – including a legal observer with the National Lawyers Guild – had been arrested and charged with “domestic terrorism” under state law, adding to the 18 defendants facing the same unprecedented charges who have been arrested in recent months.

[tanzaniiite]

ROAD TRIP • SEIJOH THIRD YEARS

requests: OPEN

warnings: cursing & stupid high school antics

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this idea has been on my noggin for so long omg, enjoy!

please reblog and reply, engagement is both fun & important ✨

[not edited]

this was fun, should i do more fics like this?

“Ugh, are we there yet?”

Oikawa whined looking out the window with a forlorn look as if he was in a music video. You glanced at Iwaizumi, who was at the wheel, snickering slightly as you saw his eye twitch in annoyance. The five of you decided to take a road trip, sort of like a last hurrah, for your last year of high school.

This originally started as a small trip that was planned on senior ditch day but Matsun and Makki wanted to do a road trip. And so, senior ditch day morphed into senior ditch weekend. Of course, none of your parents approved this, so you guys were in for an earful when you returned. But as Hanamaki stated, when you got a screaming voicemail from your guardian, “Live in the moment, worry about that later”. And despite that being terrible advice, you listened anyway.

The destination of your little road trip is Tokyo which was a five to six hour drive. Some might say that’s not too long but traveling with Oikawa it feels like an eternity. He was already complaining. That was mainly because he was upset that you got shotgun and he didn’t. Originally you planned on sitting in the back with the disaster duo but Hajime insisted you sit in the front with him. Something about you being the most tolerable. Iwaizumi was obviously the driver because he’s the most responsible out of you five. It’s weird to think you guys just planned this trip just a week prior.

“So what are we doing for senior ditch day?”

You asked setting your tray down and sitting in between Matsukawa and Hanamaki. Issei just scoffed lightly, “I dunno what you’re doing but I’m sleeping” He answered. Takahiro laughed in agreement. “Probably practicing” Tooru replied. You pouted at their lame responses, “Hajime please tell me you have better plans than these losers” You pleaded. Iwaizumi looked up from his notes, “Uh, I don’t know, I’m probably going to come to school” He shrugged ignoring your disgusted face.

“I know y’all are not serious. This is the last year we’re going to be together like this, we should do something memorable”

You declared crossing your arms over your chest glaring at your friends. “Ew, you sound like Oikawa, getting all sentimental and shit” Makki quipped popping a french fry in his mouth. You stuck your tongue out at him playfully. Oikawa hummed, “I mean they do have a point, let’s do something we’ll remember for years to come”. “Whatever, I guess I’m down” Matsukawa added rolling his eyes. The four of you looked at Iwaizumi, who mentally checked out of the conservation a while ago, waiting for his answer. “Count me out, my parents will kill me if I skipped school” He responded, causing the lot of you to groan. “Ugh, can you not be an upstanding student for like two seconds” You huffed leaning your head in your hand. Now the brunette looked up, “You guys know how my parents are, especially you Shittykawa” He stated, pointing his pencil at the setter. “Yeah yeah, we know how your parents are. Y/n’s parents are just as bad” Issei voiced.

You couldn’t help but internally groan, you remember how your guardians reacted when you brought the four boys to your house. “Don’t remind me. Senior Ditch Day is on a Friday, we barely do anything as is since it’s the end of the year” You said, “plus, you’re the only one of us that drives decently” You stated mustering up your best puppy dog eyes. Hajime looked at you before answering, “Fine, but if I get in trouble. You guys will be the ones talking to my parents”. And from there, the planning commenced.

Currently, you guys were only an hour out of Miyagi. Issei was already knocked out, Hanamaki was on his phone and Oikawa was sulking as per usual. “If you ask me if we’re there yet, one more time, I’ll have Makki push you out the car” He threatened his eyes never leaving the road. “Makki wouldn’t do that to me” Tooru claimed which caused ‘Hiro to snort. “Shut up, you know I will” He stated not even bothering to look up from his phone. Oikawa let out a dramatic gasp, “But we’re going 85 miles an hour on a highway!” He exclaimed. “Did I stutter?” Takahiro mumbled, still not paying any attention to his captain’s dramatics.

This was going to be a long four hours.

You woke up leaning against something super warm, you opened your eyes taking in your surroundings. You weren’t in the front anymore, from what you could see, it looked like Oikawa got his wish of riding shotgun. You sat up rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “Oh, good morning sleeping beauty” Oikawa teased. You were too sleepy and disoriented to come up with a witty comeback.

“Why.. why is Issei driving?”

That’s when you noticed Iwaizumi was the warm surface you were leaning against moments before. “I got tired of driving, we stopped at a gas station and switched places” Hajime explained noticing your confused face, “and you were sleeping so we moved you to the back”. You realized that not only were you leaning against Iwa but your legs were propped up on Makki’s lap. You nodded slightly, still tired despite waking up from a nap. “We spoil them rotten, don’t we?” ‘Hiro commented pinching your thigh causing you to whine slightly. “Shut up” You mumbled leaning into Iwaizumi’s side once again making him chuckle. Matsukawa looked at you through the rearview mirror,

“That’s right, Y/n gets all grumpy when they’re tired”

“Issei… focus on not crashing the car, not on me”

Oikawa let out a low whistle, “Woah, catty much?” He asked rhetorically laughing slightly. You rolled your eyes, “Whatever, how much farther?” You asked closing your eyes. Hajime glanced at his phone, “Two more hours” He replied. Tooru made a choked noise before turning around to face his childhood best friend. “Uh! They ask you if we’re there and get an answer, but when I ask, I get threatened?!” The brunette cried his eyebrows furrowing. The ace rolled his eyes, “Yeah, cause they’re not fucking annoying about it” He retorted. You pointed at Oikawa while laughing at his shocked face causing him to pout and crossed his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Uh oh, I think it’s Oikawa’s turn for a nap” Makki joked. Matsun hummed in agreement, “Yup, Y/n gets grumpy and Oikawa gets bratty” He laughed.

“Ugh whatever, at least I don’t snore like a chainsaw”

“Says the man who can’t sleep in any other position besides fetal”

“Dude shut up! It’s comfortable!”

Iwaizumi sighed, already knowing this petty argument wouldn’t end anytime soon. He looked down at you, “Who are you messaging?” Hajime inquired, peering at your phone. “No one, just some first years in my DMs” You hummed noncommittally. “You still leading those poor kids on?” Hanamaki asked. Glancing at Makki you pursed your lips, “I’m not leading them on… I’m just entertaining the antics” You replied smiling innocently and batting your eyelashes. “Yo, remember when that one first year confessed to you in the middle of lunch?” Issei asked slowing at a red light. You sat up suddenly, “Oh my god yes! That was so embarrassing!” You exclaimed. “You were embarrassed? Imagine the kid when you rejected him” Iwaizumi countered raising an eyebrow. “The second-hand embarrassment was strong on that one” Takahiro agreed, “Y/n’s a heartbreaker,” He said shaking his head.

You gasped, “I’m not! I’m just not interested in people like three years younger than me” You explained defending yourself. “Well, your choices are limited, since all the people in our grade are scared of us for whatever reason” Tooru stated with his eyes closed and head leaning on the window, looking like he would clonk out soon. “Yeah cause y’all are intimidating as fuck” You claimed. Issei chuckled, “Mm, yeah we kinda are” He admitted. “If they really liked you, they wouldn’t be scared to confess” Hajime shrugged. You smiled widely, “Ok king! My fault” You laughed giving him a high five. “Wait but if we’re so intimidating how come girls are always throwing their panties at Oikawa” Hanamaki questioned.

“Cause he’s not the intimidating one, it’s mainly Iwa and Matsun”

“Matsun is not intimidating, he looks out of it half of the time”

“Not out of it, more like zooted”

You quipped, laughing when Issei playfully glared at you through the rearview mirror. “Bro, remember when Kindaichi found out we were going on this trip and asked to come?” Takahiro laughed. “Stop! Y’all are so mean to him” You said kicking Makki slightly with your foot. Matsukawa snorted, “No cause what did he expect us to say, “Sure buddy you can come!” Like dude nooo,” He mocked laughing loudly. You bit your lip in an effort to not laugh, “Stop this Kindaichi slander at once” You demanded holding back your own giggles. “Okay Y/n, are you saying that you would’ve said yes if he asked you?” The wing spiker inquired giving you a look. “Well.. no—” You started. “Exactly! You’re just as bad as us” Issei interjected.

“No, I am not! You two literally looked at each other and busted out laughing, you didn’t even answer the poor boy”

“Sorry… it was funny”

“That shit was hilarious”

Hajime cleared his throat, “Is Trashykawa sleeping? Haven’t heard him talk in a while” He asked drawing shapes into your shoulder absentmindedly. Matsun glanced at his friend who was definitely passed out against the window. “Yeah, he’s gone” The middle blocker responded.

“Should we draw on his face?”

…

“Oh absolutely”

The car was fairly silent now, you guys were nearing the end of your road trip and it was later in the day. The sky was littered with reds and oranges as the sun started its daily routine. The sunset was bold, radiant, and just plain mesmerizing, you couldn’t help but stare in awe. You sighed inwardly, “I’m gonna miss you guys” You uttered looking out the window. Your four guy friends looked at each other before looking at you. Iwaizumi spoke up first, “What’s there to miss? We’re not going anywhere” He asked. “I know that but who knows when the next time we’ll do something like this?” You whispered refusing to look at them because you knew you would start crying if you did. Hanamaki nudged your foot with his hand, “Y/n stop being such a baby, we’ll still see each other—” He started before you interrupted.

“That’s not the point stupid. We’re all going our own separate ways. Iwaizumi’s going to school in America, Oikawa’s going to fucking Argentina, and we’re all going to different colleges. This sucks ass, I finally have a group of friends I love and now I have to leave them—”

“Hey, what did we just say? We’re not going anywhere. So what if we’re going down different paths? Holidays exist Y/n, you think Iwaizumi and Oikawa are gonna stay in America and Argentina all year round? Plus me and Makki’s colleges are not that far from yours, I could probably walk if I wanted to. Now stop sulking, you’re bringing down the mood”

Issei stated his eyes never once drifting from the road. You sniffed and leaned into Hajime’s side more, “Jeez, sorry” You mumbled playing with your fingers. If the car wasn’t quiet before, it sure was now. No one knew what to say, it seemed too early to make a joke about it and it was a conversation none of you were ready to have. But despite not being ready, Oikawa still voiced his opinion nevertheless,

“Well would you look at that, Y/n really does love us. And I thought you hated me”

You snorted, “I do hate you” You teased making a face at him which he gladly returned. But his demeanor suddenly became serious,

“Adding on to what Mattsun said, we’re not leaving forever Y/n. Graduation is like three months away, we still have time to hang out plus we have the summer so there’s that. I know you love us and can’t possibly live without us but I think you’ll manage”

You blinked in response to Oikawa’s little spiel, “You are so corny” You huffed looking down so he wouldn’t notice the small tears in your eyes.

“Ah! So when I do it it’s corny, what about that whole pitch Matsun did?!”

“Hey, I wasn’t corny. I was being real”

“Please, as if, you were just being mean”

“It’s called tough love, it isn’t made for softies”

Watching the two of them go back and forth once again was entertaining. And when Makki and Iwaizumi joined in, it was just one hundred times better. But seeing your best friends interact with one another just made you realize how much you love them. And although this may be your guy’s last high school adventure, it wasn’t going to your last endeavor with this crazy bunch. You smiled slightly to yourself,

“Man, I really do love you guys”

tanzaniiite © 2021 — all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, or copy. do not plagiarize. thank you.

[writingbakery]

“what’s new, pussycat?”

this work is my absolute pride & joy, one that i hold very near & dear to my heart! it was previously written for a different fandom, & ive reworked it to fit here. i hope you love it as much as i do, & yes - there will be more parts to this story! ✨taglist; @katsukisprincess @secondhand-trash @redbeanteax @monst @shinhoetoshi @shinsouzone @togasknifes

[pairing; panther familiar! hitoshi shinso x green witch gn! reader]

[warnings; fluff, meet-cutes, magical au, bitchy witches, soft words, strangers to lovers]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

for a green witch in a relatively small town, you’ve got a pretty good life.

you’re not the most powerful witch around; your talents are more centered around healing, crafting potions & spells, but you don’t mind. you like helping people, whisking away their problems & leaving them happier than when they walked into your little shop.

your shop is perfectly situated right at the forest line at the end of town, making it easy for you to restock your supply. you don’t get many customers, but you treat everyone like they’re most important, focusing on what they need & providing them with just what they’ve asked for. you don’t have many friends, most of the other witches not thinking much of your talents or your profession - they were all more modern witches, using electricity & technology to help others - but the ones you do have treat you nothing but kindly.

you’ve got everything you need in your little shop; a tiny apartment just above it, a loyal customer base, & the forest to soothe your worries.

the only thing you don’t have is a familiar.

you turned twenty six months ago, the age at which every witch receives their familiar. sometimes, it happens sooner, sometimes it takes a little longer. you’re just a hint impatient.

you’ve been ready for your familiar since your powers emerged at six years old, little flowers & vines bursting from chubby fingers & small palms. your friends even had a betting pool set up, sero swearing that you would get a kitty cat, & kirishima insisting it would be a rabbit.

you don’t care what your familiar is. you just want to meet them.

you’ve nagged your mother more than enough over the years, whining & complaining at your lack of a companion - both the animal aspect of them, & the human. familiars often became their witches’ best friends, & on most occasions, have fallen in love with them.

it’s a romantic concept, really. two magical beings, tied together forever by their shared powers, falling in love.

you’ve had dreams about it. kaminari makes fun of you for it whenever he can.

still, you don’t need to fall in love with your familiar. you love them already for supporting & adding to your magic, even if you haven’t met yet. you just know you’re going to be the best of friends.

you also side with sero. you’re definitely hoping for a kitty.

you alway tell your friends you don’t mind being patient, but secretly, you wish your familiar would speed things up a bit.

the other witches in town don’t tease you outright, a bit more poised than that, but you’ve heard more than enough whispered giggles of “bet it’s a fly, & it just can’t find them” & “maybe [y/n]’s just too weak for one”. you know they consider you a joke, a laughingstock, but you do your best to ignore them, burying your head in your spellbooks & inventing new potion strains.

you’re good at what you do, & that’s all that matters. but with a familiar, at least you’d fit in. you’re not expecting anything huge, not like the wolf inasa got, or the pheonix momo was gifted. you just want something that’ll care for you, help with your little tasks & fill the hole in your heart.

you even have a little side room set up in your shop for them, complete with a small fluffy bed & lots of pillows. kaminari had wrinkled his nose at the setup. “what if they don’t like all the fluff?” he’d asked - his familiar, an overexcited ring tailed lemur named mina, had absolutely destroyed the setup kaminari made for her, choosing to snuggle the taller witch in her human form every night. you had a separate betting pool with kirishima & bakugou about when those two would finally start dating.

mostly, you just hope your familiar won’t be disappointed with you. you aren’t the fastest on a broomstick, or the smartest with spells. your potions are good, but they take you a while to brew, & you don’t get that many customers. you’re definitely not the best witch in town, but you try your best, & you hope that counts for something.

it ends up counting for a lot, even if you don’t realize.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

you’re looking through your little vials & plants one day, crafting a rejuvenation potion for mrs. parks - she’s got a garden to maintain if she wants to win first place in the landscaping competition next week, & at 85 it doesn’t always come naturally - when you realize you’re clean out of starflower. the pretty little orange & yellow foliage always added an extra boost to your energy potions, & you chance a glance out of your shop windows. it’s a nice day, sunny but not too hot, & you easily tug on your jacket & basket to gather some from the forest.

the air is warm, floaty with the smell of spring & you bask in the pleasant heat of the sun as you walk. the forest is unusually quiet, a sort of energetic thrum hovering just under the surface & normally, you would be concerned. but the day is so lovely, the warmth seeping into your bones & you brush it off as a slight imbalance in the woods.

you find the right clearing relatively quickly, sitting cross legged amidst the flowers & beginning to pluck them. you coo to the brightly colored petals gently, asking them to feel safe, protected. you wouldn’t hurt them, nor waste them unnecessarily. they were headed to a good purpose, & you reassure them as such as they make their way into your basket.

the already quiet air stills suddenly, birds silent in the trees & leaves pausing their ruffling. you shut your eyes & soaks up the sudden silence, an odd sense of calm settling over your body before you open them again.

a pair of amethyst violet eyes stare back at you, barely ten feet away from your face.

you open your mouth to scream, but let out nothing but air; your breath seems caught in your throat, lodged painfully deep. the creature in front of you is still, black fur gleaming glossy in the afternoon sun - a panther, twice the size of any normal big cat, sharp fangs glinting in its large mouth. you just stare, frozen & wide eyed.

the panther tilts its head at you inquisitively, letting out a sharp exhale through its velvety - almost cute? - black nose. you do scream this time, a barely there squeak that youd defend to your dying day as a very aggressive yell.

& then you pass clean out, slumping to the cool forest floor.

above you, the panther simply snorts, rolling bright purple eyes in mild annoyance as it curls its lithe form around your unconscious body, settling in for a nap.

it protects you from harm, patiently waiting for you to wake up.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

you wake up confused & a little dizzy.

you’ve only been out about an hour, but already the sun sits lower in the sky, a chill sweeping through the quiet wood. you’re disoriented, taking a few moments to remember where you are, & why. youre warm despite the cool forest air, body swathed in silky softness. you burrow deeper into the warmth, sighing softly as you toe the line between sleep & awake.

then you remember the panther.

shooting straight up from the dirt, you look around wildly, all traces of sleepiness gone as you take in your surroundings.

the panther lays curled around you like a warm blanket, keeping you tucked up against its shoulder with massive black paws crossed in front of your legs. it’s fast asleep, not even stirring as you shift a little to study its face.

gold runes run from the tips of each large, silky ear, trailing down either side of its face to its long whiskers. each rune matches one on your own arms, elegantly winding down your smooth skin. a little flutter settles in your chest.

this is your familiar.

you run one slim finger down the sides of the panther’s sleeping face, gentle & light as you trace over the marks that mirror the ones you’ve had since birth. it’s a little nerve wracking, a little unreal.

you’re so awestruck you don’t feel a pair of sharp violet eyes tracking your every move, looking just a little fond.

you start a little when the panther stretches, long heavy limbs arcing out into the air as it yawns. you get a good eyeful of sharp, gleaming white fangs & an impossibly cute pink tongue before the panther is staring at you again, seemingly waiting for your next move.

oh right.

hastily clambering to your feet, you stand in front of the lying animal, just about level with its head. you swallow a little nervously, shifting from foot to foot as you look up into bright, curious eyes.

“a-are you my familiar?” you ask, immediately cursing yourself for stammering & asking stupid questions. you’re supposed to have your shit together, you’re the witch here.

the panther seems unfazed, if not a little amused, as it nods once, then twice, eyes twinkling in the sunlight. your own eye twitches.

you’ve got a familiar. a panther familiar. you, [y/n l/n], who can’t fly a broomstick straight & nearly burnt down your shop crafting a potion last week.

suddenly everything seems a whole lot less simple than it was before.

bracing your hands against your knees to catch your breath, you let your mind go wild, running through a million thoughts at once. what would the other witches say? what would your friends say? how the fuck was this panther going to fit inside your house?

you don’t have a single answer for any of them that won’t send you into a panic.

your stomach ends up deciding for you, the low rumble of it breaking the tense silence. the panther actually does roll its eyes at you this time, standing to its full - very, very tall height & moving to kneel at your side. it motions towards its back a little impatiently, & you scramble to climb on.

you can feel lean, powerful muscle underneath you as the panther begins to walk through the forest, quickly shifting through the underbrush towards town.

it’s much quicker than you walking on your own, & you appreciate that.

you know you’re going to get plenty of stares once you hit town, & you’ve already got a plan set: make it through quickly, avoid questions, & once you’ve got the both of you locked up in your shop, the panther can shift to its human form & introduce themselves. simple.

the second you step foot - & paw - into the town, you know you’re screwed.

all of the townsfolk are staring wide eyed, giving the pair of you a very wide berth as the panther trots along the street. hushed whispers are already circulating, & you can feel endless sets of eyes digging into your back.

just a couple more feet, a few more moments. then we’ll be safe, you think as your shop comes into view, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. you slide down off the panthers back to unlock the door & usher it in, locking it behind you both with another relieved sigh. you relax too soon.

there, in your kitchen, sit sero & kirishima, both gaping as they stare at the massive panther in your foyer. sero’s got a teapot in one hand, the other cupping the air - a shattered mug at his feet.

“we came for tea,” kirishima squeaks. sero is dumbfounded where he stands. the panther huffs unamused, tail flicking & breaking one of the china plates along the wall.

you sink to the floor in despair.

what the fuck, is all you can think, burying your head in your hands.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

your friends take it all in surprisingly well. sero sweeps up the shattered mug & dish, kirishima makes them all tea, & you have a mild panic attack.

the panther simply curls up in a corner of the shop, avoiding everything delicate as it takes up a good chunk of the space. kirishima can’t stop staring at it, eyes blown wide as he takes in every inch of the creature.

“it’s really yours? your familiar?” he’d asked, voice hushed. you swatted at his arm with a scowl, glancing over at the uninterested panther. “stop talking about it like it’s not here! you know it can hear you.”

truthfully, however, you don’t even think the panther is listening. it has an air of disinterest clouded around it, lazily examining its paws & twitching its whiskers every so often.

sero maintains that he won the bet, much to your chagrin. “it’s just a really big cat!” he insists. kirishima simply rolls his eyes & tells him to take it up with bakugou.

it takes an hour or two, but eventually you manage to shoo your friends out of your shop, a headache building at their incessant questioning - “so what's its name? boy or girl? did it try to eat you? why is it looking at me like that?” - & all you want to do is sleep.

you lead the panther to the small side room you’d dolled up, albeit for a much smaller animal, wincing at the judgemental look you receive in return. “right, that won’t work. i mean, you could stay in my bed? it’s really big, just a bunch of cushions & blankets on a floor mattress?” you offer, twisting your fingers in your shirt a little shyly. the panther pauses, then nods again, squeezing its massive frame through the narrow staircase to follow you upstairs.

your bed - a custom made mattress that spanned nearly across the entirety of your bedroom floor - seemed to accommodate the panther just fine, and it paced around once, twice, before settling in one corner of it. its lithe form took up a good two thirds of the mess of blankets, & you can’t help but coo at the sight. it really was just a big kitty cat, although you’d probably never say it to the creature’s face.

you busy yourself with getting ready for bed, washing your face, brushing your teeth & changing into your baggy blue silk pajamas - they’ve got little yellow crescent moons sewn into them, & you swear the panther laughs at you in them - before settling between the sheets.

“goodnight, mr. panther,” you mumble sleepily, silently hoping that things would be easier to fix in the morning before drifting off to dreams.

above you, the panther huffs a little fondly, nuzzling your soft little cheek before falling asleep as well.

—

the next few days aren’t any easier.

for one, you’re swamped with customers for the first time ever, people crowding into the tiny shop to catch a glimpse of the enormous panther curled up in the corner. normally you wouldn’t allow it, but the panther doesn’t seem to mind, & everyone who walks in leaves with something - you’re making a killing.

another little problem: the arrival of your - rather powerful - familiar means your own abilities have gotten a much needed boost. everything you make is soaked in energy, & your plants are shooting towards the ceiling every other hour.

in short, you’re probably the most powerful nature witch in the country, let alone the county.

you appreciate the fact that you’re better at what you do, but it tires you out quicker, & you’re twice as busy now that you can do so much.

all of this would be reasonably manageable, if your familiar wasn’t still stuck in its animal form.

the panther’s refused to shift for the entirety of the time you’ve known it, staying in its animal form in the corner of the shop. it simply watches & observes, occasionally nudging the right vial or plant closer to you with its large black nose. it’s a cute sight, the little nature witch bustling around the shop in your emerald green robes, a huge black panther tracking your every move with a fond expression. you’ve started to get comfortable around it as well, but you would like to get to know it eventually, & you enlist kirishima’s help.

the more experienced witch drops by with an old history book one afternoon when you aren’t as busy, the pair of you sitting at the table to read up on familiars.

“it says here familiars usually shift within the first day of meeting their witch,” kiri reads from the book, squinting at the tiny text. you had shooed the panther into the garden so you could talk uninterrupted, & you watch as the large creature nips at the butterflies circling its head. it makes you smile, heart a little fond at the sight.

“it’s been almost a week, kiri,” you pout, looking up at the witch in concern. maybe it's not comfortable with me yet, you add in your head. your stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought.

kirishima, seemingly sensing your worry, ruffles a hand through your hair, a reassuring smile on his face.

“don’t worry, [y/n]. i’m sure they’re still getting used to being here with you,” the taller comforts you. “just give it a little time.”

watching as your familiar tramples your hydrangeas, looking up at the window with a guilty expression on its face, you can only sigh.

“i hope you’re right.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

nearly two months later, you’re starting to doubt kirishima’s advice.

your familiar still hasn’t shifted in front of you, although you’ve got a sneaking suspicion it does while you’re asleep, a smattering of all black clothes hidden in random corners of his shop.

you still know absolutely nothing about them, every question you throw at the panther met with unblinking silence. but the panther knows all about you.

it knows which tea you prefer in the morning & evening, nudging out the right canisters with one massive paw. it knows every plant in your shop & garden, delicately ripping out whichever ones you need with sharp fangs. it knows to growl when a potion is boiling over, or huff when a customer is at the door. it even ran off a few thieves a week ago, snarling with its hackles raised at the foot of the stairs as they screamed & ran. you had given it an hour long head massage, complete with ear scratches, as a thank you.

the panther has settled itself in your shop & your life almost perfectly, a constant presence that you’ve grown fond of. but it doesn’t change the fact that they still haven’t revealed themselves to you. you feel like this relationship is ridiculously imbalanced; the panther knows you inside & out. you don’t even know their name.

still, you push down any doubt or insecurities you’re feeling, determined to let the panther come to you in your own time.

the mayor’s birthday changes all of that.

the mayor always requests a grand celebration, complete with magical fireworks, charmed balloons, singing lilies, & a three tier magical cake. normally, he only requests singing lilies & roses from you.

this year, you get a golden invoice for everything.

the mayor wants you to craft the cake, enchant the balloons & streamers, gather the singing flowers, and charm the fireworks, all in less than two days. you immediately break into a sweat.

you can’t ask your friends for help, as they’re tied up in their own town’s festivities. your only choice is to get the other witches’ in town; surely they’d help with the mayor’s birthday celebration.

surely not. they laugh you away from their shops the moment you ask, a pleading expression on your face.

“you shouldn’t need help, little dirt witch. you’ve got that powerful familiar of yours, don’t you? unless you can’t handle it,” they mock you, & your fists clench unwillingly; you force yourself to breathe.

you don’t need their help, or their disdain. you’re going to do it all by yourself.

you start with the flowers, collecting the brightest & loudest singers from your garden & placing them in charmed rainwater to keep them pristine. the panther helps where it can, delicately holding them between its fangs.

enchanting the streamers & balloons takes the better part of the day, & you’re up late into the night crafting the fireworks the right way. you fall asleep in a spellbook, the cake left forgotten till the morning. the panther simply rests its head next to yours on the table, the pair of you fast asleep until the next day.

when you wake up, the birds are chirping steadily outside, sunlight filtering in through the windows. it’s calm & soothing, & for a moment you’re at peace.

then you see the time, panic immediately setting in.

“wake up! wake up! i have to have the cake ready in four hours! it’s going to take me three just to mix the batter!” you’re running around the shop in a flurry of robes & quick spells, arms full of supplies. the panther just watches from its position on the floor, eyebrow quirked.

you’re halfway through mixing the batter when you realize you won’t finish in time.

you can’t focus on charming all three tiers at once as he mixes, but if you do them one by one you won’t finish in time. you pause, turning desperate eyes onto the panther.

“i know you’re not ready, & i didn’t want to push, but please. i need your help,” you plead. hands clasped in front of you & flour in your hair. the panther continues to stare, unmoving, as though immune to your begging.

it’s too much all at once, stress & anxiety building until you snap.

“why not! why! i get it! i understand you’re disappointed! i’m not some high tech witch in a big city, i’m not powerful! i’m weak & i suck & i can’t brew potions fast without blowing them up & i fell off my broomstick in the garden & you saw, i know! i just need help, for god’s sake! just help me, & you don’t ever have to talk to me again!” you promise, eyes watery as you burst into tears.

dropping your head into your hands to muffle your sobs, you barely register the faint whirling of air in front of you.

hands suddenly flutter over your crying form, hovering just above touching you as a low, rough voice pulls you from your misery.

“please stop crying, shit, please, i’m sorry, i swear i didn’t mean to make you cry, fuck,” you hear, & you tilt your head up, rubbing tears from your eyes.

there’s a man standing in front of you, wearing all black. he’s got messy purple hair sticking up from all sides & dark eyes, a hint of violet flashing through them in the light. there’s circles as dark as his clothes under his eyes, a familiar look on his face - like you’d seen it every morning waking up.

this ridiculously handsome man, looking slightly panicked, is your familiar. every time you’d called him a “pretty kitty” suddenly flashes through your mind.

fuck.

pushing all those thoughts to the back of your mind, you straighten up, hastily wiping your eyes on your robe sleeves. “can you stir the second pot, please? i’ll worry about the other ones,” you ask meekly, a little embarrassed now. you ignore the familiar’s prying gaze, simply muttering spells under your breath as you stir the first mixture.

the pair of you don’t speak unless it’s instructions, racing around the tiny shop to craft the magical cake. flour & sugar & icing cover every available surface as you wave your hands, whisking it all over the towering cake. you struggle a little to reach the very top, on your tiptoes as you attempt to frost the highest tier. warm, strong hands grip your waist & lift you right off the ground, holding you up to help; you blush furiously as you quickly finish.

you’re just putting the final smattering of glitter onto the cake when the mayor’s party attendants arrive to collect it. you can finally breathe as you watch them carry off everything you both had made, shoulders sagging in relief.

your familiar leans against the counter, wiping down the tables with a rag as he watches you. now that everything’s been finished, there’s no avoiding it.

“i’m hitoshi. that’s my name,” the panther - hitoshi - offers, presumably sensing your nerves. “& for the record, i think you’re a great witch. youre powerful all on your own, even without me.”

you can’t help your smile at that, a little flush to your cheeks as you sit at the table. “then.. then why didn’t you shift?” you ask softly. up close, you can see tiny freckles in place of hitoshi’s whiskers, the glossiness of his hair reminiscent of his panther fur.

the familiar shrugs, cheeks going a bit pink themselves as he stares at the table. “at first, i was just a little shy. it’s nerve wracking, meeting your witch. & then you just… passed out, you know? i was worried about how you’d react, so i decided to give you time.” you can understand that, listening closely.

“you were so nice to me, you weren’t scared at all. you scratched behind my ears & made me cleansing potions. & you let me stay in your bed, so easily. you were just…. nicer than i expected. and…. and prettier.” the familiar’s cheeks are a rosy red now, bright in contrast to his soft skin & prominent dark circles. you think it’s adorable.

“i just didn’t want you to think any different of me, you know? you liked panther me a lot, even though i kept breaking stuff, &.... i wanted you to keep liking me.” you outright coo at that, ignoring your familiar’s protests as you dissolve into giggles.

“really? of course i’d still like you, silly! i let you cuddle me! i called you mr whiskers for a solid month! oh god, i called you mr whiskers,” you whine, pouting a little. you’d called hitoshi a bunch of silly nicknames before he’d shifted, from pretty kitty to mr whiskers to sugarpaws. you’d been trying to compensate, in your defense, & hitoshi had seemed to like them.

hitoshi’s the one laughing now, smile bright as he gives you that same fond look. “it was cute. you were trying really hard,” he admits, head cocked to the side as he watches you.

you sit in a comfortable sort of silence then, simply taking in each other’s presence a moment.

“so, you thought i was pretty, huh?” you tease, breaking the silence as you move to stand in front of hitoshi. you giggle more at the flush that follows, ignoring hitoshi’s mumbling rant about “soft little witches” & “green robes & moon pajamas, that's ridiculous”, your smile growing ever wider.

you tap a finger against hitoshi’s nose, the familiar protesting in flustered panic. standing on tiptoe, you press a light kiss to the cranberry stained cheek, watching hitoshi absolutely melt.

“i thought you were cute too, pretty kitty,” you smile, turning to tidy up the pots & spellbooks & leaving an awestruck hitoshi at the table, hand frozen where you had pressed your lips.

i could get used to that, you think, giggling as hitoshi trips over himself to squish you against the counter, covering your face in kisses.

just you, your shop, & one pretty kitty.

[new-sandrafilter]

Timothée Chalamet and Eileen Atkins Interview - British Vogue May 2020

“Maybe your knuckles weren’t bleeding, but there was ice,” Timothée Chalamet tells Dame Eileen Atkins. He is recounting, with no small amount of awe, how he first came to hear of the legendary 85-year-old actor with whom he is about to appear at The Old Vic. It transpires that Oscar Isaac, Chalamet’s co-star in the upcoming blockbuster Dune, was at the receiving end of Atkins’ fist in Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood (all in the name of acting, of course). Chalamet was duly impressed.

“I gave him the worst time of his life,” says Atkins, bristling at the memory, before merrily launching into several candid, very dame-like stories from her time on set – “That was a nightmare movie. A nightmare.”

It is a Saturday afternoon in late February, and the two actors – one a titan of British theatre with an eight-decade career; the other, Hollywood’s most in-demand young leading man, with an insatiable Instagram following – have just finished being photographed together for Vogue. Chalamet, 24, in louche, low-slung denim and a white T-shirt, has folded his Bambi limbs into a chair next to Atkins, whose hawkish frame, in a navy jumper and jeans, belies her 85 years.

“Do you like being called Tim or Timothée or what?” Atkins asks in her warm but brisk RP, all trace of her Tottenham upbringing erased.

“Whatever works,” he replies in a bright American accent, that shock of chestnut hair falling into his eyes. “Anything.”

“So you won’t object to ‘darling’? I call everyone darling. I’m told I mustn’t say it these days.” He assures her he is fine with it: “It’s a rite of passage, being called darling by Dame Eileen Atkins.”

“You always, always, have to put the dame in, otherwise you can’t address me,” she jokes.

It’s good the two are getting all this sorted now. A couple of days after our interview they will begin rehearsals for a seven-week run of Amy Herzog’s play 4000 Miles, in which they star as a grandmother and grandson, each quietly dealing with their own grief. Chalamet takes on the role of Leo Joseph-Connell, a somewhat lost 21-year-old who experiences a tragedy while on a 4,000-mile-long cycle ride with his best friend. Atkins plays Vera Joseph, his widowed 91-year-old grandmother, upon whose Manhattan doorstep Leo unexpectedly arrives in the middle of the night, unsure of where else to go. What follows is a wonderful, and wonderfully witty, study in human relationships, a portrait of two generations with decades between them trying to make sense of the world.

Its stars, who’ve met twice previously, in New York last year, are still very much getting to know each other – and are confident in the appeal. “There are things like this play – hoping I don’t butcher it – where you can just sit back and go, ‘Oh, this is a delicious meal,’” says Chalamet. Atkins agrees. “I have a phrase in mind that I shouldn’t really say because it’s going to sound terrible in print.” Which is? “I find it a dear little play, a really dear little play. I think it should be very moving. But who knows? We might f**k it up.”

It’s unlikely. Atkins has been a regular on The Old Vic’s stage since the 1960s, going toe-to-toe with greats from Laurence Olivier to Alec Guinness, and fellow dames (and close friends) Maggie Smith and Judi Dench. Chalamet, meanwhile, is a relative novice, with only two professional plays under his belt. But since his turn as Elio in 2017’s Call Me by Your Name (for which he was Oscar-nominated), his celluloid rise has been meteoric. Roles in Lady Bird, Little Women, The King and Wes Anderson’s upcoming The French Dispatch have not only earned him the slightly fraught badge of “heart-throb”, but proved him to be among the most captivating actors of his generation.

He says he couldn’t resist the opportunity to come to the capital. “There was something exciting about doing a play that feels very New York in London,” Chalamet explains of taking on the part. He’s a diehard theatre fan, too, revealing he saw the six-and-a-half-hour epic The Inheritance – twice. “There are films like The Dark Knight or Punch-Drunk Love or Parasite that can give you a special feeling. But nothing will be like seeing Death of a Salesman on Broadway with Philip Seymour Hoffman or A Raisin in the Sun with Denzel Washington.”

Herzog’s writing particularly spoke to him. “Leo’s in a stasis that was very appealing to me,” he continues. “We find our crisis in moments of stasis, but there’s an irony to it when you’re young, because the law of the land would have you think that to be young is to be having fun, to be coming into your own. But as everyone at this age who’s going through it knows, it’s often a shitshow.”

It’s safe to say that, in casting terms, director Matthew Warchus, also artistic director of The Old Vic, has hit the jackpot. He first took the play to Atkins three years ago, but it was only towards the end of 2019 that Chalamet came on board. When it was announced, in December, that Hollywood’s heir apparent to Leonardo DiCaprio would be making his London stage debut, the news was met with a level of hysteria not usually associated with the 202-year-old theatre’s crowd.

“Oh, my friends have told me who the audience is,” Atkins chimes in when I ask who they think will be coming to see the show. “It’s 40 per cent girls who want to go to bed with Timothée, it’s 40 per cent men who want to go to bed with Timothée, and it’s 20 per cent my old faithfuls.” Is Chalamet prepared for the onslaught? “I think it will be 100 per cent Eileen’s faithfuls,” he demurs.

On the surface, they can seem quite the odd couple. Chalamet, raised in Manhattan by an American dancer-turned-realtor mother and French father, an in-house editor at the United Nations, may be living a breathless, nomadic movie-star life but there’s an iron core of Gen Z earnestness there. He arrives on set with minimal fuss, even deciding to wear the clothes he came in for one shot, before knocking out some push-ups, politely ordering an omelette and generally being divinely well-mannered.

He turns on the star power for the camera, though, and I can confirm it’s as dazzling up close as it is on the red carpet, where he has, famously, casually redrawn the rules for male dressing. From that Louis Vuitton sparkly bib at the 2018 Golden Globes, to a dove-grey satin Haider Ackermann tux at Venice last year, he’s a true fashion darling. Then, of course, there’s his dating life – from Lourdes Ciccone Leon to Lily-Rose Depp – that remains an endless source of fascination to millions worldwide. (All this, it must be said, is of significantly less interest to Dame Eileen.)

Atkins started dance lessons aged three, shortly before the start of the Second World War. By 12, she was performing professionally in pantomime, not far from where she grew up in north London, the youngest daughter in a working-class family. A fast-established theatre star, wider fame didn’t find her until late in life. Despite memorable turns in Upstairs, Downstairs and Gosford Park, it was the 2000 television hits Cranford and Doc Martin, when she was in her early seventies, that finally made her a household name. Today, she lives alone in west London, since her second husband, the TV and film producer Bill Shepherd, died in 2016. She has often spoken of being happily childless, and has zero time for razzmatazz.

And yet, despite their differences, the pair appear perfectly matched. They already have their grandmother-grandson dynamic down pat. Atkins does a fine line in mischievous eyebrow-raising, and at one point recites a limerick that is, honestly, so rude it almost makes her co-star blush. Chalamet, meanwhile, is politeness personified, still trying to work out his thoughts on various subjects, less inclined to give so much of himself away. There is a physical likeness, too, in their delicate features and fine bone structure. They share a naturally melancholic look, one that melts away when they laugh.

Their upcoming play, which premiered to rapturous reviews Off-Broadway in 2011, “about a block” from Chalamet’s high school, LaGuardia, could have been written for them. “Other than not being American, I’m very like the old woman,” says Atkins of the Pulitzer-shortlisted play. “I can’t be bothered to learn the internet.” If there’s one thing she won’t tolerate in rehearsals, it’s people on their phones. That’s the only thing that will “piss me off ”, she says, brusquely.

Ah, phones. Are they really the symbol of generational disconnect? “It’s easy to point to these things,” Chalamet says, tapping his phone on the table, “as the cause or the symptom, but I think my generation is a guinea pig generation of sorts. We’re figuring out the pros and cons and limits of technology.”

Equally, Atkins is keen to distance herself from some of the criticism levelled at her age group. “There’s a saying isn’t there: if you’re not very left wing when you’re young, you’re heartless. And if you’re not very right wing when you’re old, you’re foolish. I’m not political, but I’m not with this government I can assure you – and I’m not with Brexit. I wanted to wear a sweater saying ‘I did not vote Brexit’, because it was all old people who did. Not me, not me,” she snaps. “I went on the march.”

Both are in agreement that intergenerational friendships are too rare these days. “So. Important,” Chalamet says, hitting the table between each word. “There is so much to learn from people who have walked the path of life. That’s why I’m so looking forward to these next couple of months.”

Atkins is thoughtful on the matter. “I don’t miss the fact I don’t have children, but I do envy my friends who have grandchildren,” she says. “About five or six years ago I met a couple of young people – they are just about 30 this year – and, do you know, we go out together. And people immediately say to me, ‘Are these your grandchildren?’ And I say, ‘No.’ And they say, ‘Your godchildren?’ And I say, ‘No, they’re just friends.’ Everybody thinks there is something weird about all three of us. They just don’t get it. But the boy makes me laugh more than anybody and the girl is enchanting. I have more fun with them than I do with almost anybody else.”

I remind Atkins about her description of today’s youth as being overly serious. “I do call them the New Puritans, yes,” she says, before motioning to her young co-star. “He probably drinks like a fish.”

Chalamet, currently single, is remaining tight-lipped about plans for his new London life, and how many late-night manoeuvres in Soho or Peckham it may involve. “I’ve got friends here, which is nice. But I’m here for this – to be terrified at The Old Vic.”

Before we leave, there is a final thing to clear up – Atkins’ aforementioned limerick. “Do you know about the Colin Farrell situation?” Eileen asks Timothée. No, comes his reply. “Better get it over with now because someone will tell you,” she says, proceeding to explain how, when she was “69, about to be 70” and filming Ask the Dust with a 27-year-old Farrell, “he made a pass at me. He came to my hotel room. He was enchanting. I let him chat for two hours, thoroughly enjoying it, but no not that. He was very cross I didn’t.”

But then, she explains guiltily, she later told the story during “some stupid TV show” (Loose Women), where despite her best efforts at keeping Farrell’s identity secret, the internet did its thing and news got out. An apology to Farrell was required. “So I left a limerick on Colin’s phone…” she says. She clears her throat: “There once was a **** of a dame…” she begins, in her imitable theatrical timbre, before reeling off one of the filthiest rhymes I’ve ever heard.

There is a moment of stunned laughter. “Wow, that’s sincerely amazing,” comes Chalamet’s response, as Atkins finishes the verse. He gives her a solemn oath: “I promise I won’t hit on you.”

4000 Miles is at The Old Vic, SE1, from 6 April

[varian-and-the-seven-skies]

Cor Meum | Chapter Two: Pieces Set, Start

Synopsis: In a world of floating cities and steamships, Captain Rapunzel runs the fastest ship in all the skies. But this rowdy crew is not without its secrets—or its treasures— and Hugo, newly-hired, is ready to discover them all. Now if only Varian, the whip-smart lead engineer, would get out of his way.

A TTS & 7k AU of epic proportions, featuring cool fight scenes, steampunk machinery, and an inevitable romance. Written by @littlemisslol-fic and @izaswritings.

Notes: Thanks so much for all your guys’ support for this new fic! Your comments were a joy to read, and we’re so excited that you guys are excited! We have a whole lot in store for y’all— we hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: There is mild reference to implied child abuse—nothing explicit or graphic, but please be wary! If there’s anything in this chapter you think we missed, let us know and we’ll add the warning up here.

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AO3 Link is here!

Fic Playlist can be found here!

Chapter One can be found here!

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Chapter Two: Pieces Set, Start

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Standing in the burning midday sun, hand half-shading his eyes, Hugo stares up into the shadow of the Aphelion and thinks: This is too easy.

He almost feels bad about it, honestly. Like stealing candy from a kid—not that it’s going to stop Hugo from robbing them blind, blah blah blah should have held onto it better—but still. The fact remains that this will be painfully easy. It’s been maybe two hours since he set foot in Corona, and he’s already been hired and secured a place on the ship. Fastest infiltration he’s ever done.

“She’s perfect,” he says, with a smile that maybe shows a bit too much teeth. Oh, well. Hugo’s probably fine. What does this kid—Var-something, Varitas, Varian?—know of threats and dangers anyway? The cotton-weave shirt, the brass cuff bracers, the worn work-pants and even the shine of his boots; given all that plus the oil and grease streaking his face, and the way he barely even notices, Hugo is almost positive that this kid has never even stepped three feet outside of a workroom.

Hugo doesn’t have a good opinion of this kid’s instincts, either. After all, it’s taken everything Hugo has not to laugh in his face from the moment he got hired, pint-size here being his new ‘boss’ or no, and the other teen hasn’t even noticed.

“So?” Hugo says. “Do I get the grand tour?”

Varian (Hugo is, like, 85% sure it’s Varian) doesn’t react. He seems distracted, staring hard at the ground with a furrow to his brow. He jumps at the sound of Hugo’s voice, and shakes his head hard as if to chase away his own thoughts. At his feet, that creepy little rodent automaton chases circles around them. “What? Oh. Um, yeah. If you want.” He gestures, listless. “It’s, uh… just up the ramp.”

Hugo eyes him, just a bit—where’d the fire go? The sass? The really annoying attitude?—but he doesn’t actually care, in hindsight, so he shrugs and dismisses it, heading up for the ship ramp. The closer he gets, the more impressive the ship looks: Hugo hadn’t been lying, at least, when he’d called her perfect. She’s a mish-mash of colorful cloth-weave and metalwork, and even from here Hugo can tell she’s a labor of love. The Aphelion is… beautiful isn’t a strong enough word for what she is. Stunning, maybe. Ethereal is closer. He can’t even imagine what the work inside looks like. What sort of pipe system do they use? What model are the engines?

By the Maker, Hugo is almost excited.

He just barely keeps from bouncing on his feet—he’s not a child, he knows how to control himself—and when he reaches the deck, he takes a moment to step out and turn around, taking it all in. It's huge, wide open and two-tiered, with heavy metal chains and cables of thick braided wire trailing up to the sails and envelope high above. The railing is a mix of shiny brass and dark, reddish wood; the whole deck is varnished with a nice coat of gloss that keeps the wooden planks waterproofed even through the heaviest of storms. Hugo slams his foot down, just to be sure, and—yep. That heavy thunk tells him all he needs to know. No leaky roofs on this ship, no sir.

Gods above, she’s fucking gorgeous. Hugo might be a little bit starstruck.

“Where to first?” he calls back, still staring up at the sails. Is that embroidery? Holy shit, it totally is. This ship is ridiculous, and Hugo hasn’t even seen the inside yet. “Engines? Captain’s quarters?” A thought strikes him. He keeps his voice casual. “Cargo hold?”

He can hear Varian step up behind him, still quiet. “Well,” the other says, a little dryly. He holds out one arm, and that raccoon automaton of his runs one last time around his feet and then jumps up on his shoulder. Varian rubs at its ears. “I have to find Yong, and you’re stuck with me, so… probably going to start with the library and work our way from there.”

Hugo clicks his tongue, disappointed, but knows better than to argue. He’ll see it all eventually, he knows, and has to bite back another mean smile at the thought. When Varian makes his way for a massive door of intricate iron,Hugo follows him.

“Yong,” he echoes to himself. “Assistant to engine-man, right?”

“Xavier.” Varian looks up at him, half-hidden in the shadows of the sails, his eyes flashing bright and burning. “Yong is— fire prone, so it works out pretty well for him. You’ll see.” He scowls. “And learn people’s names, would you?”

“Hm.” Hugo makes a show of thinking about it. Leans back on his heels, resting his chin in his hands, humming—and then grins. “No.”

“You—!”

“Varian!”

Varian’s eyes snap away from Hugo, and he’s almost sad to see them go. Hugo looks towards where the voice had come from, seeing a younger teenager standing in front of them with her hands on her hips. She’s tall, taller than Varian even which is hilarious. Her curly black hair ripples in the gentle breeze of the dockyard, pulled up in a perfect little up-do that Hugo can already tell takes her way too long in the morning to perfect. She’s got dark skin and amber eyes, and she’s fixing them both with a scrutinizing look, mouth pulling into a low frown when she notices Hugo. She’s wearing a purple tunic cinched tight around her waist by multiple brass-buckle belts, a sash of dark brown silk tied overtop, and dark leggings that look almost black in the sunlight. Her little heeled boots are purple as well—Hugo can sense a bit of a theme with her—and they click against the polished deck as she impatiently taps her foot.

“Nuru!” Varian says, ignoring her pointed glare. “Haven’t seen Yong by any chance, have you?”

“Afraid not,” she says, eyes flicking from Varian to Hugo. Hugo can’t help but feel the need to size her up, maybe due to the suspicious look in her amber eyes. It’s obvious she doesn’t trust him; if Hugo wasn’t absolutely certain his true identity was still secret he might even feel nervous. Ah, well— something to work on.

She finally tears her gaze away from scrutinizing Hugo, looking to Varian once again. “Why, are you looking for him?”

“Xavier is—” Varian shrugs. That creepy little automaton on his shoulder makes a mechanical chitter, a puff of steam fluffing out from between the mismatched plating making up its body. Varian doesn’t acknowledge it, his voice strong over the steam. “—and I’m giving our new junior engineer here a quick tour while I look for him.”

The title boils Hugo’s blood, it really does, especially in the self-satisfied way Varian says it. It’s like an insult, this idea that this pipsqueak is suddenly better just because he has some fancy position handed to him by his beloved Captain. As if that makes the fact that Hugo is older, smarter, and better than him null and void. Honestly, infuriating, but Hugo grits his teeth and bears it. Once this is over, once the target’s acquired and the money’s made, Hugo’ll just pitch the annoying little shit off the edge of the ship and watch him fall. It’ll be like a present to himself, a reward for a heist well heist-ed.

Hugo’s so wrapped up in the delightful image of Varian screaming as he’s tossed over the rails of the top deck, he nearly misses the conversation continuing on in front of him.

“Are you going to introduce us, then?” Nuru says primly. Her glare flicks back to Hugo, who straightens his spine a little under the scrutiny. Something in her makes Hugo wary; he’ll have to keep an eye on her.

“Oh!” Varian shakes his head. “Duh, obviously. Nuru, this is Hugo, Rapunzel’s new hire for the junior engineer position.” At least this time Varian doesn’t say the title in a way that makes Hugo want to punch him. “Hugo, this is Nuru, our assistant navigator. She’s usually up on the bridge, but you’ll see her around. Aphelion isn’t that big a ship, after all.”

Understatement of the year, really. The Aphelion is minuscule when compared to basically every other ship in port. Just a tiny trading ship, small and unassuming. Kinda like the brat who built it, Hugo snickers to himself. She might be a well made, ethereally stunning machine, but she’s small. Fast too, from what Hugo’s heard. Fast enough to outrun a band of pirates, even—

“A pleasure.” Nuru’s nose wrinkles in a way that makes it obvious this is anything but. Hugo schools his face into a delighted—it’s always so much fun making new friends—and locks eyes with her in a challenge.

“I’m sure it is,” Hugo smirks. Nuru doesn’t back down, the two of them glaring over Varian’s head. From the corner of his eye, he can see Varian scowl at being ignored, before the younger boy bodily shoves his way between them.

“Okay, enough of that,” Varian says, putting a hand out to either side, pushing Hugo and Nuru apart. “We’re all going to have to get along if we’re going to be stuck together for six months, right? Can we at least try to be civil?”

Hugo wants to retort with the obvious fact that Varian has been nothing but borderline hostile since they met, but Nuru speaks before he can, taking the stage with ease. She nods once, and steps back, almost diplomatic.

“Of course,” she says, giving Hugo one last once-over before turning back to Varian. “Have you tried the dining hall for Yong yet? Lance said he was making ginger molasses cookies, and I think Eugene was trying to rope some people into helping him steal some.”

Varian nods in thought, already moving forward. “Good enough place to start, I suppose.” He gestures for Hugo to follow, and they walk together across the polished deck of the ship, towards the back end where a large portion of the deck raises up into a second level. A large door of iron and brass stands centered on the wall, twin staircases spiraling up on either side. It’s embossed with faint carvings, suns and moons and the occasional star, all winding around a large, interlocking wheel made of solid brass in the very center. The whole thing almost looks like a square bank vault door. It’s certainly over the top, in Hugo’s humble opinion, but it’s also becoming increasingly obvious that the Aphelion, and the crew that sails her, are decidedly over the top in basically everything they do.

Ruddiger slips off Varian’s shoulders, the little automaton chittering in excitement as it hits the polished deck. The raccoon is gone in a second, scaling up one of the large chains with its weird little metal claws. It looks down on them with neon green eyes, the aperture clicking open and closed as if it were blinking. By the Maker that thing’s creepy; Hugo hates it on principle.

Varian grunts as he grabs the wheel, turning it with no small amount of effort. The spinning wheel retracts a series of pistons, a small plume of steam puffing out as the door swings open, revealing a long hallway made of the same polished wood as the deck. Large copper lights line the hallway, emitting a cheery glow that bounces off the glittering pipes of metal tucked away near the ceiling, running through the Aphelion like veins through a body. Hugo could almost call it homey, dare he say quaint, with a maroon carpet running down the length of the floor, and redwood walls lined with strips of warm brass.

It seems Aphelion is just as immaculate on the inside as she is on the outside. Hugo can’t help but grin. There’s nothing better than a ship that’s obviously been loved from her very conception.

Varian leads him on through the narrow halls, deeper into the labyrinth of the ship, roughly gesturing to the occasional doorway. “Library,” he says, pointing to a set of double doors, not faltering a single step.

“Crow’s nest.” An iron spiral staircase, spinning up into the ceiling above.

“Navigation room,” Nuru butts in, gesturing to another door. Varian smiles at that, nods.

“Navigation room,” he repeats, as they reach the end of the hallway. There’s another door like the one outside, with the same locking mechanism. Varian turns that one as well, and the first thing Hugo registers when the door opens is heat. Both Nuru and Varian continue like there’s nothing wrong, Hugo forced to follow or else get left behind. Through the door lies a metal catwalk, level with the wooden floor. 

The ground, however, dips right away, the catwalk hovering at least three stories high as it crosses the length of the large room. In the very center is a large main engine, quiet for now, but Hugo knows that once Aphelion takes flight it’ll be near deafening. It’s so big Hugo has to crane back his neck to see the top of it, surrounded by a string of metal scaffolding, catwalks and ladders and stairs, an intricate mess of pathways. The heart of the Aphelion is a large monstrosity of iron and brass, a mess of metal panels and pipes, dials and gauges, all covered in the slightest sheen of grease. It’s obvious the heart has been well loved, shined clean and immaculate, but she’s a working thing. There’s dust in her corners, grease and oil in all the little nooks and crannies, dents in her panels and places where her casing is mismatched.

She’s the most beautiful thing Hugo’s ever seen.

The room below them is a mess of pipework and wires, weaving down through the many catwalks spider-webbing the large space. They cluster and split at random, and for a second Hugo’s truly shocked. He’s seen main engine rooms before, but never one so… busy. Hugo can’t help but feel awed at seeing an honestly perfect machine, one designed from the ground up with love and dedication.

Varian strides forwards into the room with the confidence of a man three times his age, and Hugo follows slowly, almost dazed.

“Main engine room,” Varian says with an air of pride, his voice echoing against the metal walls.

Hugo finds himself following in their footsteps, sandwiched between Varian and Nuru. He doesn’t get the time he’d like to stand and stare; the tour must go on, it seems. The engine block is in the direct middle of the Aphelion, from the looks of it. Across the catwalk they go through another iron door and Hugo once again finds himself surrounded by wood panels and vaulted ceilings. It’s almost like most of the living quarters surround the engine block in a ring, an odd design for a ship. Usually engines get tucked away in the back, closest to the rudder and turbines, hidden from sight. In Aphelion, her beating heart is on display like a piece of art.

Hugo’s sad to see it go, but he knows he’ll be elbow deep in the guts of that machine soon enough. The thought is enough to tide him over, as they continue Varian’s tour.

“Cassandra’s office, for the sky guard,” Varian says, passing a large wooden door. Ah, they’re back to the list. “By invitation only.” There’s a few marks that could only be made by throwing knives that are deep in the wood. Hugo thinks that maybe it would be a good idea to avoid that particular door as they move on.

Finally they get to the end of the hall, and Hugo knows they must have walked the majority of the ship’s length by this point. They come to the final set of doors, a double wide pair of solid redwood with intricate hand-painted flowers decorating the woodwork. There’s the sound of clinking kitchenware from inside, muffled but distinct.

“Dining hall,” Varian says, with a sense of finality.

Varian pushes the door open without preamble, gesturing for the other two to follow. Nuru does so without question, and Hugo follows only a step behind. Always good to know where the food comes from, after all. Beyond the door is a large room, decorated in the same style as the rest of the living quarters of the ship; large redwood panels of wood and perfectly polished floors. A large rectangular table takes up half the space, and Hugo can count almost thirty chairs surrounding it. Small ship, small crew, Hugo supposes, though really why anyone would want to eat with their crewmates, he has no idea.

The whole back wall of the room is made of windows, from floor to ceiling. The sunset is just beginning, painting the sky a bright, cheery cherry color. Red sky at night, Hugo thinks to himself, watching as the sunset plays off the brass panels of the rudder peeking up below the large windows. Varian moves further into the dining hall, peeking over to the other side of the large space.

The other half of the room is a wide open space with couches and side tables, a sitting room of sorts. A large carpet covers the floor there, the mismatched furniture looking well worn but comfortable after years of use; it’s the kind of place where one could sit to read a book and accidentally fall asleep. A large galley window is beyond that, embedded into the wall. Hugo can see the kitchen through it, the sounds of clattering pots and pans coming from within. He logs that information for later, just in case.

Large pillars of iron support the high ceiling, the paneling almost seeming to curve, and when Hugo looks straight up he can see a perfect dome of glass in the center of the roof, held up by large iron trusses in the ceiling. The fading sunlight streams through it, bright and cheery, casting the whole room in a warm and reddish glow.

“I guess Yong’s not here,” Varian grumbles, looking around the space with a sigh. “We’ll have to keep— hey!”

Hugo only just sees Varian get tugged behind a couch, the flash of a small hand around his wrist. Nuru lets out a small laugh, gesturing for Hugo to follow as she too disappears behind the ornate velvet backing of the couch. Hugo doesn’t do hiding behind furniture like a child, so instead he opts for leaning over from the side. He bites the inside of his cheek, seeing Varian, Nuru, and a smaller boy all giggling like a bunch of idiots, sitting on the floor without a care.

“Eugene said to wait for the signal,” the boy says, red eyes alight with mischief. “And then I’m supposed to cause a distraction!” With that the kid reaches into his red vest, drawing out—

Holy shit.

“Is that dynamite?” Nuru chokes out. “Yong, we told you after last time that you weren’t allowed that anymore!”

“She’s right,” Varian says, gently taking the dynamite from the kid— Yong? Hugo’s pretty sure this one’s Yong. Little pyro— Hugo likes him already. Everything from the kid’s wide smile to his wild hair, black and nearly standing on its ends as if he’s been caught in an explosion, is eye-catching. He’s short, laughably so, shaped like a little bowling ball with all that baby fat. He can’t be older than fourteen, Hugo thinks— just an infant, really. His big eyes are red too, as vivid and bright as maraschino cherries, an oddity in Hugo’s experience. Hugo’s noticing a trend here: apparently the crew of the Aphelion all seem to be colour-coded. The kid, for example, wears a red vest and pants, only just accented by golden buttons and trim. A white shirt puffs out from under the vest, the sleeves billowing in a way that makes Hugo think it’s a hand-me-down, one the kid’s supposed to grow into. Would make sense, as it’s not like there’s many places to buy clothes for a growing boy while out in the open space between the cities.

Varian’s hands are gentle as he takes the stick of dynamite off the kid, holding it out of reach.

“There are better ways to make a distraction, ” Varian says with a smile, reaching into his tool belt. He pulls out a small, hollow ball of glass, filled to the brim with a glowing green mixture. Yong’s eyes go wide at the sight, his chubby face splitting into a grin. The kid reaches for the ball, but Varian closes his hand around it, snatching it back. “Do you promise to go help Xavier after this?” Varian asks, fixing Yong with a warning look.

The kid nods quickly, making grabby hands towards Varian’s closed fist. “Yeah, of course!”

Varian rolls his eyes, but still hands the glass ball over. Yong snickers in glee as he holds it, the green glow lighting up his face in a way that seems almost manic. Nuru bites her lip like she wants to say something— but sighs, instead, as a quiet whistle echoes through the dining room.

All four heads snap around to look across the room. Hugo raises his eyebrows. Across the dining hall, a man is poking his head up from behind a large, wingback chair made of a dark wood. He’s handsome, Hugo will admit, in a pretty-boy kind of way. He’s got a rogue-ish kind of charm to his face, with large brown eyes and tousled brown hair. And… wait a minute.

His eyes narrow. No, there’s no mistaking him. Hugo knows this one. And how could he not? Everyone in the Seven Skies knows the wild tale of Eugene Fitzherbert, former-pirate turned to a life of good, praised for helping free the lost heir to the City of Corona…

Hugo lip curls at the thought. What a disgrace, really. Flynn Rider had been a legend, the peak of the profession, and he’d thrown it all away for sickly saccharine love.

What a fucking waste.

Eugene brightens when he sees them, probably excited to see more co-conspirators, before his eyes land on Yong. He gives the kid a thumbs up, gesturing towards the window to the kitchen. With a sudden yell, Yong lobs the ball through the window, sending it flying in a perfect arc across the room. Varian tugs Hugo down by his sleeve as it explodes in a shower of smoke and glitter, and three angry voices scream from inside the kitchen. Hugo goes willingly, ducking down behind the couch as a large man comes barreling out of the kitchen through a nearby swinging door.

“My eyes!” he cries, bringing two hands up to his glitter coated face. He’s covered head to toe in green dust and glitter, the colour making him nearly monochrome. He’s big, and Hugo’s suddenly glad he’d followed Varian behind the couch.

The big man isn’t alone. Two small girls, children almost, come sprinting out from the kitchen as well, covered in the same heavy dusting of glitter. The difference being that these two look downright furious, and they’re scanning the room in rage. Hugo shrinks down further behind the couch, just in time for the shorter one’s dark eyes to land on Yong.

Yong pauses, takes in the situation, tilts his head— then straightens, grins, and gives the girl a cheerful wave. “Hi Kiera!”

“Yong!” the girl yells, her black hair flying in a flurry around her face as she charges. The other girl, a redhead, follows right behind her, borderline snarling. Yong takes one look and then yelps, turning tail and sprinting for the double doors leading back to the hall. Hugo presses his back against the back of the couch as Yong bails, the two girls following close behind as they all rush from the room. Yong’s terrified screaming gets distant and small as he tries to escape, the sound getting progressively higher pitched until a sudden series of loud bangs echo through the halls and cut him suddenly and terrifyingly silent.

The large man finally gets the glitters off his face, revealing dark skin and brown eyes. “Girls!” he wails, giving chase as well. “Girls, please, we promised no more collateral damage!” He disappears into the hall after the children, and the doors fall shut behind him with a final and echoing slam.

There’s a beat of silence, as everyone involved in this debacle waits to see if the big man will come rushing back, but after a moment it seems safe to say he’s otherwise occupied. Crouching down next to Hugo, Varian sighs, finally rising back to his feet.

“So that was Yong, Xavier’s assistant,” he says, wincing as another crash echoes from somewhere outside the dining hall. “And Lance—the big guy—and his two daughters, Keira and Catalina. They run the kitchens.”  

Hugo doesn’t really care, but he nods to pretend he does.

“Fun bunch,” Hugo says, standing as well. Nuru looks torn, her eyes flicking between where the chaos is obviously reaching a crescendo outside, and then back to the two engineers. Varian grins and hands her the dynamite, passing it like a torch.

“Maybe you should go check on them?” Varian asks, and her face lights up in a grateful smile.

“I should,” she says. Hugo would even say her tone is nonchalant, if not for the way she seems drawn to follow the sound of chaos. Busy-body, Hugo thinks, busy, busy, busy-body, and he almost laughs as Nuru spins on her heel and follows after the sound of chaos, leaving without another word.

“Hey kid!” comes a loud voice, and Hugo groans. Right, Fitzherbert. Hugo had almost forgotten.

Varian’s face splits into a grin as the man in question sashays from the kitchen, shouldering into the room with a plate full of ginger molasses cookies in his arms. Eugene already has one cookie shoved in his mouth, chewing obnoxiously, and he tosses another to Varian. Eugene is grinning around his mouth-full of pastry, and as Hugo watches, a chunk of it slips free and splats on his shirt. Gross.

“Thanks for the help!” Eugene says, though it sounds more like fanks fer dah hemp by the time it makes it through the sugar. “Couldn’t have done it without you, kid.”

Varian laughs as he catches the food, snagging a second one when Eugene offers him the tray. With a small motion he offers one to Hugo, holding it up. Hugo eyes their ill gotten gains for a second, before shrugging and taking it. He’s never been one to turn down free food, really, even if it does come from such an irritating source. Eugene seems to notice Hugo then, eyebrow raising in question. He swallows down his big bite of pastry, gasping for a second before shaking himself and looking back to Hugo. “Ah, did you finally make a friend, kid?” he asks Varian, smirking as Varian lets out an offended noise.

“Not particularly,” Varian says, crossing his arms. He’s pouting, but when Hugo glances at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement, he’s quick to turn it into a scowl. “This is Hugo. Rapunzel hired him on as a junior engineer.”

Eugene’s brows shoot up for the sky, and he looks over to Hugo. “Really?” he says, “just like that?”

“Just like that,” Varian mutters. Eugene purses his lips in thought before shrugging and sticking a hand out to Hugo.

“Eugene Fitzherbert, helmsman,” he says with a grin. “Welcome to the crew, then. Don’t let my vertically challenged friend here scare you off, I swear we’re nice.”

“Hugo,” the blond responds, ignoring Varian’s offended noise. “And don’t worry. All he’s done is try to sass his way out of admitting I was right and he was wrong about an engine part.”

Varian boreline screams at that, the offense clawing its way out of his throat as Eugene cracks up laughing. Hugo smiles at a job well done. At least someone on this crew had a good sense of humor. The man merely ruffles Varian’s hair, moving past them with his plate of ill gotten goods.

“Make sure Yong goes to Xavier!” Varian calls after him, crossing his arms. Eugene offers a thumbs up, casually shoving another dessert in his mouth.

Varian rolls his eyes and waves Hugo forward, back into the hall. “Come on. Captain’s this way. She’ll want to talk to you before we set off.”

Hugo hums, unbothered, but behind his back his fingers tighten. The Captain. Right. Okay, then— showtime. He pulls himself taller, and sets his shoulders. He’s sold them the lie, and they’ve swallowed it, but now he has to keep it going.

There’s only one room down this end of the hall— a wide curricular door with a crossed little porthole window and a brass handle. Varian knocks twice, waits until a voice calls back, and then pushes it open. He doesn’t walk in, though, instead pressing himself back against the door and then gesturing for Hugo to go first.

Oh, so it’s like this then. Hugo grits his teeth a little and then forcefully relaxes, stepping inside. He resists the urge to shoulder-check Varian as he passes— this isn’t the time for it; there’ll be other opportunities.

The Captain’s room isn’t what Hugo expects, first stepping in. It’s smaller than Donella’s by far, almost cozy, with tapestries and scarves hanging across the ceiling and hand-painted artwork scrawling the walls from floor to ceiling. There’s a wide open window deck and small personal balcony, like Donella has, but even that is smaller than Hugo expects.

Beyond small, it’s also breezy— every window open, every door thrown wide, as if trying to make the room seem bigger than it is. Hugo can practically see the whole sky sprawling out her window, the distant horizon and even the slight glint of the copper-panel lightning shields that make attacking Corona so troublesome. A small door on the side looks like it might lead to the Captain’s personal quarters, and in the center of the room is a huge desk overflowing with paper and ink and half-open books, ship logs and journals and one bizarrely placed cookbook.

Captain Rapunzel is standing at the balcony, flipping through loose papers; when Hugo enters, she tilts her head with a smile. She’s still dressed in that fancy noble’s gown, like the filthy rich kid she is, though the shoes have made a sneaky disappearance entirely. On her shoulder sits a strange chameleon-looking automaton made of some fascinatingly reflective material, looking almost mirror-like but without the fragility of glass. A little ways away, a tall woman with curly bobbed hair and sharp eyes leans against the far wall, absently flipping a knife through her fingers.

Hugo glances between them, taking in every detail in seconds before he straightens and gives both ladies a smirk. “Captain,” he says, nodding at Rapunzel. He turns his attention on the sharp-eyed woman next to her, and forces his smile wider, giving a second jaunty nod. “Random stranger.”

The woman snorts; Rapunzel laughs aloud, one hand rising to hide her smile. “Hugo,” she says, sounding delighted. God, she’s peppier than most puppies— how on earth did she get to captain of a ship like this? “It’s good to see you again! Sorry, I’ll introduce you—this is Cassandra, leader of our sky guard force.” The woman gives a short, disinterested wave with the knife. “Cass, this is Hugo— our new hire.” She turns back to Hugo, beaming. “Have you been taking a look around? What do you think?”

“She’s lovely,” Hugo says, honest for once. None of you deserve her, he thinks, also, but that comment is better left unsaid. “Aphelion is a beautiful ship.”

“She flies like a dream, too,” Rapunzel says, with a little sigh. “Ah, I’m so happy you like her! You’ll be working closely with her, so—” She pats the wall next to her head, almost fond. “Well, it’s always good to know ship and engineer agree with each other.”

Varian snorts loudly. Hugo stills at the disrespect, shoulders going stiff and hands curling so tight his fingers ache— but all Rapunzel does is wrinkle her nose, giving the other boy a swift evil eye before turning back to Hugo with an apologetic smile. “Anyways, I just wanted to check in. I know I said you’ll be starting as a junior engineer, but unfortunately you’ll be on probation for a while before you can start properly. Aphelion’s engines and pipework can be… delicate, and we want to make sure you can handle her before we throw you into the fire.” She presses her hands together. “I hope you understand?”

Hugo wrestles with himself. Probation? He hasn’t been on probation since he was ten years old, and the demotion stings worse than that goddamn junior title. He can hear Varian snickering behind him, and that burns too— that this pipsqueak gets to deal with those burning, beautiful engines, while Hugo spends fuck-knows-how-long screwing in loose bolts? Fuck that.

But this is the Captain, her orders, her word, and Hugo thinks of Donella and the job and the payoff, and in the end he shoves his fury back in the corner of his mind, smiling wide instead.

“Of course,” he says. “Sounds… lovely.”

“Only for a little while,” Rapunzel repeats, sympathetic. The silver chameleon on her shoulder trills softly, and she runs her finger down the length of its spine almost absently. “Oh, thank you, Pascal. I almost forgot.” She looks back to Hugo and claps her hands. “Room assignments!”

“Yay,” Hugo says, dryly. He takes a breath, shaking off the disappointment about probation more firmly, and holds himself a little taller. It’s fine. The worst news is over with, anyway. Hugo doesn’t really care where he ends up; Hugo has never been picky about these sorts of things. So long as it’s quiet and he’s away from the annoying pipsqueak, Hugo won’t complain.

Behind him, Varian chants, in a very poor attempt at a low whisper: please be next to the boilers, pleaseeeee be next to the boilers, please please please—

Rapunzel’s smile grows wicked. “You’ll be in the empty room next to Varian’s.”

...Wait, what?

There’s a muffled thump as Varian dramatically falls over in shock.

“Also, the room isn’t ready yet—” Rapunzel adds with a grin, “—so tonight you’ll be sleeping on Varian’s floor.”

Hugo opens his mouth. Hugo closes his mouth. Hugo grits his teeth very hard, and reminds himself that mutiny two hours after being hired is not, unfortunately, part of the plan.

Behind Rapunzel, Cassandra is laughing so hard she’s starting to wheeze. Gods damn her.

Varian is still face-first on the floor. His answering “Fuck!” is muffled into the wood.

Rapunzel frowns at him anyway. “Language,” she says, but— holy shit. Is that a smile?

It is. They’re being mocked. By the Maker, she is laughing at them. What did Hugo do to her? He thought their first meeting went fine! What the hell!?

“Is this because I ate the last slice of pie yesterday?” Varian asks the floor. “Because I am sorry. For that. So sorry. Please have mercy.”

“Oh, c’mon, up— off the floor,” Rapunzel sighs at him, still laughing, and walks by Hugo to help drag Varian up to his feet again. The boy goes reluctantly, looking despondent. “I’m not doing this as punishment, Varian, please. He’s your assistant and you two are going to be working together very closely, so he’s your responsibility. That’s all.”

“But I—” Rapunzel gives him a look. Varian visibly deflates. “Fine, fine.”

Cassandra, Hugo notes, is grinning. He narrows his eyes. That’s all, hah, he doesn’t think so. They’re being played. Hugo can sense it.

Rapunzel draws away from Varian with one fond tuffle at the other boy’s hair, then moves back towards her desk. “That’s all I really had to say, I think… Eugene will drop off a spare blanket and pillow for you in Varian’s room, Hugo, and with luck we’ll have your lodgings prepared before tomorrow night. And… yep, that’s all! Unless you have any questions?”

“No,” Hugo says, a little stiff.

“Great! And just in time for dinner… well, I won’t keep you two.” Varian is already turning away, heading for the door without so much a salute; a moment’s pause, then Hugo reluctantly follows, unsure how to deal with this odd relationship between Captain and engineer.

“I actually hate you,” Varian says with a scowl.

Rapunzel laughs. “Save me a seat!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Wild.

They’re halfway through the door when Cassandra calls out after them. “Sleep well tonight, lovebirds!”

Hugo rolls his eyes, and he grabs for the doorknob even as Varian whips around ahead of him, face flushed and eyes wide. “Cass!” Varian shouts through the door, right in Hugo’s face. “Come on! I have STANDARDS!”

Hugo chokes on a laugh, ducking his head quick to muffle it in his arm. Rude! he thinks, almost grinning at the offended face Varian makes at his back, and then pulls the Captain’s door shut with a heavy thump.

Through the door, he can hear both Cassandra and the Captain laughing. Varian is still shouting.

Six fucking months of this. Supposedly it’ll all be worth it in the end, but…

Ugh.

Hugo squeezes his eyes shut, pinching at the bridge of his nose, and refuses to admit he’s smiling too.

Dinner that night is… interesting, to say the least. Most of the crew is taking advantage of their last night on land, so the dining hall is decidedly empty. Still, there’s enough people to call the room cosy, the lot of them lining up to receive their food. Hugo’s used to a certain system: grab your plate, get your ration, and fuck off. Easy peasy. Varian doesn’t seem to want to chat too much, but he still shows Hugo where the large stacks of plates and cutlery are so he’s not totally lost.

Hugo’s surprised when Lance dramatically unveils a spread of food across the whole of the wide window between the large room and the kitchen. He must be pulling out all the stops for the last night before they set sail, Hugo muses, watching as those before them pick and choose at random what to put on their plate. It’s odd. Usually with ships you’d be lucky to get something that wasn’t freeze dried or hard as a rock. There’s actual food here, chicken and roast vegetables, and— by the Maker is that actual, honest to god cheese? Hugo can’t help but get a little excited. Rapunzel’s money must be good for something, he guesses.

The Captain isn’t there, probably off eating in her own quarters like Captains usually do. No point in associating with the common rabble, after all. Varian scoops food onto his plate, idly passing a large spoon to Hugo when he’s done with it, the motion happening without any thought. It seems that’s how it works, Hugo scooping food of his own before he passes off the spoon to Eugene, standing behind him. This is so goddamn weird, Hugo thinks to himself as he scoops more food onto his plate. Who the hell actually eats food like this on a working vessel?

The weirdness doesn’t end there, either. The way Hugo’s used to things is simple: after you win the scramble for rations, most people tend to immediately piss off to their own isolated corners of whatever ship they’re on, hiding away to eat in peace.

The crew of the Aphelion do it differently, because of course they do. When Hugo goes to leave the room, Varian grabs him by the sleeve, dragging him over to the large table he’d noticed last time they were in the room. Yong and Nuru are already there, as are Cassandra and Xavier, and a few others Hugo doesn’t have names for yet. Not that he cares, of course, because none of them matter in the grand scheme of things anyways, and why is he bothering to remember their names again?

Varian greets them with a smile, setting his food down and taking a seat. Hugo stands awkwardly for just a beat too long, holding his plate just a little too tightly, before Varian takes pity. The younger teen kicks out the empty chair next to him, gesturing for Hugo to take a seat. He does, looking around as people fill in about a third of the chairs, the lot of them clustering around one end of it. The head spot is empty, probably because it’s so close to the wall with the way the table’s jammed into the dining room. The gentle lull of conversation takes over, only growing when Lance and his daughters join as well, once everyone’s sat down. Another oddity, the kitchen staff eating with the rest of the crew.

“I just have no idea where they went!” Lance moans sadly, “I swear I made three dozen ginger molasses cookies, but now I can only find two dozen.”

“That’s rough, bud,” Eugene says, playing with the tines on his fork. “We haven’t even taken off yet and you’ve already lost your mind.”

Yong snickers from his place across from Hugo, as does Varian to his left. Hugo has to bite his lip to keep from laughing too. He’s got a reputation to uphold, after all.

Cassandra glares at them all, and they sit up a little straighter under her stare. The giggles stop, but then she smirks. “You guys tell me if he snaps,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “I need an excuse to toss him in the brig.”

Lance makes a dramatic gasp, clutching at his heart. “You wouldn’t!” he wails, “I am a single father, and you would throw me in the brig?”

“Absolutely,” Cassandra says blandly. “And your kids would help me.”

“We totally would,” Keira pipes up from her place next to Lance. “If you’re not around, bedtime is never.”

They all let up a little as Lance begins to blubber into his dinner, wailing about ungrateful children into his peas. They muddle through a little more awkward small talk, everyone dancing around the fact that Hugo doesn’t seem keen to join the conversation, until one of the doors flies open with a loud bang.

“Sorry I’m late!” Rapunzel crows, Pascal on her shoulder. “Got lost charting some stuff for tomorrow.”

She borderline skips past the table, grabbing a plate and humming as she loads it with food from the spread. Hugo nods to himself, ah that must be what the chair at the head of the table’s for. They all watch her spin around and come towards the table, and Hugo waits to be proven correct.

Therefore, when Rapunzel sets herself down to Hugo’s left, he’s left a little confused.

What kind of Captain eats with their crew? The absurdity of it throws Hugo for a loop, the sheer oddness confusing at best. Varian snickers by Hugo’s other side, watching as Rapunzel begins to shovel food into her mouth like she’s been starving for weeks. When she breaks for air she turns to Hugo, leaning an elbow onto the polished wood of the table and balancing her chin on her hand. She looks at him with excitement, bouncing in her seat. What an actual lunatic.

“So,” she says, her grin getting wider, “how was the rest of your afternoon?”

“Fantastic,” Varian says, answering for Hugo, but Rapunzel flicks a pea at him.

“Wasn’t asking you,” she says as Varian throws another pea back. She slaps it out of midair, obviously used to this. “I was asking Hugo. So?”

“Nah, it was good,” Hugo says, trying to school his face into a smile. “Very… educational.”

“It’s a lot at first,” Rapunzel nods. “But you’ll get used to it— I promise!”

Varian snorts, but doesn’t say anything. The conversation drifts then, easy and light like they’ve been doing this for years.

Hugo realizes with a start that they probably have.

He shuffles food around on his plate, unseeing as he begins to think of a game plan. It’s obvious that he’s going to have to tweak his original idea. It seems as though skulking around like he usually does is only going to seem more than a little suspicious with such a tightly knit crew. A bit of a wrench in the engine, but nothing he can’t handle. Donella’s counting on him, after all; it wouldn’t be due to let the boss down.

Xavier seems to be going on about some legend or another, the whole table politely tuning him out. Eugene seems to be almost asleep, borderline leaning on Cassandra as he balances his chin on his hand, elbow planted firmly on the table. Hugo can see a shimmer of something on his shoulder, startling when Pascal shifts into view with the faintest glimmer of shifting colour. God what a creepy thing to make. The chameleon shaped automaton wiggles on Eugene’s shoulder before letting his tongue fly, catching Eugene right in the ear. He wakes up with a shriek, loudy screaming as he jolts upright.

The whole table erupts into laughter, even Xavier. Hugo can hear Rapunzel gasping for breath through the loud laughs, cackling at her husband’s expense. Hugo can see Varian out of the corner of his eye, the shorter boy nearly face first in his dinner as his shoulders shake with giggles. Hugo fully turns to him, ignoring Eugene’s howls about goddamn awful frogs, and sees Varian just as he snorts on his own giggles, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. Hugo stares for just a second, caught up in the sight of it—

Cute.

—Oh. Oh, fuck no, he is not going there. Even if Varian isn’t half bad to look at, he’s still a certified pain in the ass, not to mention part of the crew Hugo is here to rob. No amount of sass or big, baby blue eyes will ever change that. At the end of the day, Varian’s merely an obstacle between Hugo and his prize, and there is no way Hugo is letting anything stop him. Hugo tears his eyes away from Varian, shaking himself. Think of the money, stupid, he tells himself, think of the fortune.  

The laughter dies down after a few more seconds, Eugene finally getting Pascal off his shoulder and onto the table. The little automaton scurries back to it’s master, Rapunzel scooping him up and petting along his metal back with a coo. It reminds Hugo of Varian and that stupid raccoon, the way she treats the automaton like it’s a pet. Strange.

Dinner settles into a companionable silence after that, everyone too busy stuffing their faces to really make conversation. This, Hugo can already guess, is probably the quietest they ever get on this ship. Hell, he’d even put money on it. They’re nothing if not a lively bunch, to say the least. Not really Hugo’s style of people; the whole peppy, loving-life, sappy crew that children dream to be a part of someday.

It’s disgusting, is what it is.  

Rapunzel doesn’t try to loop Hugo into any more conversations, thankfully, the Captain disappearing from dinner just as abruptly as she’d entered. “Sorry guys!” she says, borderline tossing her plate into a square bucket by the kitchen window. “Can’t stay long, lots to do before tomorrow!”

Everyone calls their goodbyes, but she’s out the door in a swish of purple fabric before many of them can even speak. Varian just laughs and gathers his own dishes, holding a hand out for Hugo’s as well. The blond stands when Varian gestures with his chin, following across the room to a strange set of three pipes, all embedded in the wall. They’re brass, blending in with the warm wood well enough that Hugo hadn’t noticed them until now.

“Forks, knives, spoons,” Varian says, gesturing to each one. He holds a fork up in display before putting it into the tube labeled forks in looping, whimsical blue-painted script. The other pipes are labeled as well, and under each label the pipes have a small metal button in the center. Once the fork is in Varian taps the button with his thumb, the tube making a little shwoop-ting noise as the fork is dropped down into it. There’s the tiniest puff of steam before a little piece of metal pops back up as Varian releases the button, blocking the pipe once again.

“I made Lance an automatic dishwasher for his birthday last year,” Varian explains, “It’s not… delicate enough for anything made of glass, but for silverware it’s great.”

Hugo snorts, his brain running a mile a minute as to how to make it work for glasses and the like before he has to stop himself. He’s not here to make friends, and he’s certainly not here to be helpful. Hugo tries the knives chute for himself, delighting as the cutlery disappears into the void below. He might have to ask Donella about getting that for their own ship, really, not that Hugo would ever give Varian the satisfaction of Hugo asking how he made it.

They’ve only just made it out of the dining hall, before Varian is nearly bowled over by a frantic man with red hair. The new guy— tall and gangly and looking one good breeze away from falling right over the edge— is the throes of panic, half-way ranting even as he grabs at Varian’s shoulders. Varian holds up his hands  and backpedals, nearly falling into Hugo, shying away from the frantic energy of the man in front of them.

“Woah, woah— Feldspar, what’s happened now?” Varian asks, not-so-subtly trying to inch away as the redhead gets closer.

“It’s water pipe eighteen!” Feldspar— Hugo doesn’t even know where to start with a name like that— crows, nearly tugging his own hair out. “It’s popped again, I don’t know what happened!”

“Again?” Varian mutters. “We’re not even in the air this time!”

Feldspar only nods, grabbing at Varian’s wrist. The short boy sighs, looking back to Hugo with a scowl. “Stay here,” he says, already letting Feldspar tug him away. “I won’t be long.”

Hugo nods, smiling and giving him a thumbs up. It’s obvious that Varian doesn’t believe the false innocence for even a second—Hugo can tell by the way his eyes narrow and Varian’s head cocks to the side—but Feldspar is already screeching about water damage and oh by the Gods it’s everywhere, and so Varian has no choice but to follow the hysterical man back to whence he came.

Hugo keeps his grin in place until they round the corner. The minute Varian loses sight of him, Hugo drops the grin like it’s wronged him, pivoting once on his heel and walking right away.

“Stay there, Hugo,” the blond mutters to himself, pitching his voice to be deliberately wheedling and annoying. “I’ll be right back... buncha bullshit.”

The halls of the Aphelion are long and winding, but nothing Hugo can’t handle. He skates his way through with ease, eventually finding his way back up to the deck. Hugo steps out from a different door than he’d come in from, this one decidedly smaller and more unassuming than the one Varian had shown him earlier this afternoon. It’s still in the vault door style Hugo’s noticed they like to use, a great iron door embedded in the wood with a spinning wheel for a handle.

Hugo slips out onto the deck as quietly as he can, cautiously closing the metal door behind him. It ghosts along on perfectly oiled hinges, silent in the inky black of the late evening. The deck is empty, save for Hugo, but he still takes his time. He needs to find where the cargo hold is, and soon—

A sudden bang comes from the dock below. Hugo drops to the polished wood of the deck on reflex, dipping down so he’s nearly pressed up against the boards. He chances moving towards the edge of the deck, peeking over the immaculate railing and down to the dockyard below.

Four large figures stand on the copper panels that make up the docks, all of them wrapping chains around… a very large something. Hugo perks up with interest when he sees it. Bingo, something in him whispers. Donella had never told him exactly what the Aphelion had been transporting, only that it was incredibly valuable. From the shady way Varian had dodged Hugo’s questioning earlier in the day, Hugo can hedge his bets: it’s the kind of thing that can make a man rich beyond their wildest dreams.

The box seems to be a containment chamber of some kind, a five foot squared box of metal panels all bolted together with perfect accuracy. There’s a single porthole of glass bolted into one of the sides, and Hugo can only justsee a neon green light filtering through… is that ice? Sure enough the window is frozen over, and Hugo can even pick out the beginnings of hoarfrost crawling up the corners of the chamber.

Puffs of frozen air seep slowly from the seams in the metal box. Liquid nitrogen, Hugo thinks to himself, sinking down a little deeper as the side of the Aphelion slides open, a great door in the outer wall of the ship. The men wrapping the containment chamber finish their work, and a metal crane extends from the guts of the Aphelion. This is pretty standard for larger pieces of cargo, of course, to bring it directly into the cargo bay from the outside, but in the dead of night? With minimal crew to get it in place?

Suspicious.

Hugo watches as the great metal box is lifted into the air, lifting off the cart the men had brought it in, the Aphelion reeling it in like a caught fish—

“Hugo?!” a frantic voice calls behind him, and Hugo whirls around, half-rising from his bannister hiding spot to see Varian, standing right behind him and looking undeniably pissed. “Hugo, you’re not supposed to be up here!”

If anything Varian looks spastic, and when he hears the commotion being made from the cargo being loaded onto the Aphelion, he outright blanches, going pale in the face. He grabs at Hugo’s sleeve and starts to pull.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Varian says, dragging Hugo away. The blond thinks about putting up a fight, but logic tells him that would end badly. Or, at least, with Hugo being fired before he can even get what he came for. He lets Varian drag him away, chancing one last look back.

He gets one last glimpse of the box, finally in the Aphelion, the doors beginning to inch quietly shut. In the next instant Varian has pulled him out of range, but the damage is already done.

Bingo, Hugo thinks again.

Varian bullies him off the deck, forcing him down into the labyrinthian hallways of the ship. “Why the hell were you up there?” Varian demands, stopping them once they are well and truly away from the deck. “You were supposed to wait for me near the dining hall, why did you wander off?”

“Got bored,” Hugo says, shrugging. Varian’s eyes narrow, as though trying to intimidate him. It’s adorable. “Needed some fresh air, goggles, is that a crime now?”

“It is when I told you to stay put,” the shorter boy snaps. “That cargo’s confidential; you weren’t supposed to know about it.”

“Need-to-know-basis?” Hugo asks with a smirk, remembering Varian’s words from earlier that afternoon. If anything, Varian’s scowl deepens, his teeth gritting just a little tighter.

“Exactly,” Varian hisses, “and you weren’t supposed to know, so you’d do well to forget everything you saw up there.”

Hugo holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sure, goggles, can’t be that important.”

Varian huffs out a frustrated noise, and Hugo smirks. Better to feign nonchalance now that he’s been caught; if he tries to dig now Varian would be more suspicious than he already is. Varian can’t prove Hugo was snooping, and that’s enough to keep Hugo safe… in theory.

The shorter boy looks ready to punch Hugo, but he can’t, and it’s so delicious. Hugo would laugh, if he weren’t so irritated.

Varian finally settles for clenching his fist in the air with frustration, then motions for Hugo to follow him further down the hall. This is a new part of the Aphelion, one lined with doors on every side of the hallways. Varian leads Hugo to one of the doors near the end, opening it and gesturing for Hugo to follow inside.

He does, without question.

“Your room’s not done until tomorrow,” Varian mutters as they walk into a sparse bedroom. Hugo makes a face at the room: the automaton, Ruddiger or whatever, is already sitting on the bed, fast asleep. So creepy. “You’re bunking with me, like Rapunzel said.”

Yeah, Hugo knows; he hasn’t exactly forgotten that he’s going to have to share a room with this pain in the ass. He steps inside and stands still in the center of the room, hearing Varian close the door behind them.

Despite himself, his hands curl into fists, half-hidden by his sides. Irritation bubbles bitter and acidic in his chest. He knows better, he knew going in this job wouldn’t be that easy—but still. They were loading the stupid thing right in front of him, and if it weren’t for Varian, Hugo could have…!

Damn it.

He lets out a thin breath through his teeth, a low hiss— then turns and meets Varian’s narrow gaze with a bright smile. Varian looks annoyed to see it; Hugo smiles harder in retaliation. Behind his back, his fists clench. It’s been a long day, a tiring day, and Varian is the cause of most of the bullshit. Hugo is allowed to be pissed about it, okay?

“So?” Hugo says, and if it takes more effort than usual to keep his voice light, well. “Where am I sleeping?”

Varian’s expression sours at the reminder. “Right,” he mutters, and makes for the far wall, towards a small bolted dresser with shuttered doors. “Eugene should have put some blankets in here somewhere…”

The room is cozy, Hugo notes, almost absently; sparse and clean and rarely used, the bed made and sheets crisp. Something tells Hugo that Varian doesn’t spend much time here—wherever his workspace on this ship, Hugo would bet good money it’s a disorganized mess with a cot under the desk for all nighters.

Still, the room isn’t shabby—a nice size, with a dresser and side table and a wide bed. There’s a large porthole window looking out the right side of the ship, into the dockyard, and a copper lantern hangs from the ceiling like a droplet, swinging faintly with the sway of the ship. A heavy shag carpet takes up most of the floor, a dark gray turned multi-colored from past experiments. The rest of the walls are taken up by shelves, stuffed full of books and materials and spare parts. The smell of oil lingers faintly in the air. If Hugo hadn’t been so irritated, he might have even found it nice.

Instead he finds it vexing, and as Varian shakes out the extra bedding and lays it down, Hugo rakes his eyes down the walls and feels a sneer curl his lips. “Homey,” he says, mild as the weather, and makes it sound like half-an insult. “I bet it’s real fun to fix those shelves up again once one rock sends them sprawling, hm?”

“They’re locked in with magnets. My design.” Hugo scowls; Varian looks up, grinning a little. “Also, all furniture is bolted down, too, to avoid exactly that.”

It’s clever. Hugo hates it. “Lovely,” he says dryly, as unimpressed as he can make it, and wanders across the room with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. His eyes catch on the dresser. There’s only one thing on it: a metallic frame with a small sepia photograph, faded and worn with time. The photo is of a young boy, obviously Varian given the matching stripe in his hair, and a man—tall and broad-shouldered with deep set eyes, smiling wide and fond at the child sitting up on his shoulders.

“Who’s that?” Hugo wonders, looking at the frame, picking it from the dresser. The magnet sticks a bit, but he pries it up pretty easy. “Daddy dearest? I don’t think we’ve been introduced. What’s he do— swab the deck?”

Varian’s voice is very quiet. “Put it down.”

Hugo looks back, mocking. “What—”

He goes silent, his mouth snapping shut. Varian isn’t even looking at him. He’s staring at the photo, pale and a little wild-eyed, hands clenched. “Put it down,” he says again, and there’s nothing in his voice at all.

Hugo’s irritation flatlines; something in his gut drops. Shit. He’s crossed a line, somewhere, without even knowing it. He puts down the photo at once, stepping back, hands raised and empty. “I didn’t mean to—”

Varian shoulders past him, dead-eyed and cold. “Good night.”

“I—”

“Good night.”

Hugo takes the hint. He edges towards his bed roll, lips pressing thin, uncomfortable. He’d just wanted to push some buttons, not—this. He’s not sure what this is, or why he feels vaguely ill. Is this guilt? Oh, shit.

Varian shucks off his coat, under the covers before Hugo can even blink. Hugo settles on his own blanket pile just as the light snaps off. It’s dark.

Hugo looks down at his hands, staring until his eyes adjust and he can see the shape of them in the dark, listening to the ragged drag of Varian’s breathing. He doesn’t move, not yet. He just sits, and listens, and watches his hands.

And he waits. Just to see. Just in case.

But Varian doesn’t speak to him again.

Hugo opens his eyes to a dark morning.

A headache pulses behind his eyelids almost at once, and Hugo grits his teeth and presses a hand against his temples. He hisses a breath between his teeth as silently as he can. He’d planned for this, when he’d finally laid down last night to sleep—there’s no better time for snooping on the ship then in the dead-hours of morning, after all—but still. He’d had a long day yesterday, and a late night, and something in him despairs at the dark sky he sees outside Varian’s window. The sun isn’t even remotely up yet.

Ughhhhhhh.

He climbs to his feet, silent as a grave, pulling up his coat and boots to take with him. He stands, listening intently for any change in Varian's breathing, and once satisfied he moves noiselessly to the door. It’s time to get to work at his actual job.

He slips out the door, and eases it closed; it clips shut with only the slightest of thumps. So far, so good. Hugo pulls on his coat as he pads his way down the hall, boots still dangling from his hands. The hallway is dead silent, and dark, only one out of every four lanterns still lit. Hugo takes his time, listening, but no one else seems to be awake yet…

No, wait. Hugo stills mid-step, eyes widening. Because there, if he strains his ears…

Footsteps, high above him.

The deck.

...What was it Varian had said, yesterday? Leaving tomorrow, and I mean tomorrow. Which means—a morning lift off.

It’s ass o’clock in the morning, and the rest of the crew has apparently chosen this to be the time to trope on back indoors. So…

Hugo closes his eyes and rubs at the bridge of his nose, tired all the way to his bones. Oh, he thinks. Fuck me.

Well. He’s awake now, no changing that, and there’s no way he’ll be getting back to sleep anytime soon. Hugo scrubs his hands through his hair and kneels down to put on his boots. He won’t be able to go to any of the places he needs to check out, but he can still take a look around. And if anyone asks, he’ll just say he couldn’t sleep.

Still: so annoying.

He steps up onto the main deck already frowning, and squeezes his eyes shut at what he finds—people, not enough to be loud but definitely too many to hide from, walking silent across the ship, carrying crates and tying down final shipments. They speak in muted, hushed voices; soft laughter drifts across the deck. Far-off over the edge of the deck, he can see sparks of lightning hanging in the air, Corona’s floating shields up and running even in this early hour.  It’s still dark, but this high up Hugo can see the thin line of blue starting to band the horizon, the gold hue creeping into the distant clouds: dawn, slowly but surely on its way.

Hugo looks away, and beelines for the stairs leading up to the upper deck; if he’s going to be out here, he might as well get a view. He gets half-way up before he realizes the deck isn’t as empty as first thought—there, in the far corner, elbows resting on the railing and her eyes turned towards a slumbering Corona, is Rapunzel.

Hugo stills, preparing to back away—but it’s too late. She turns to look at him, and catches his gaze. Hugo doesn’t move.

After a long pause, Rapunzel smiles at him, something hushed in her expression. She gestures him to her, and Hugo, though reluctant, goes.

He steps up beside her, gingerly resting his elbows on the railing in a mimicry of her pose, and turns his face to the city too so he doesn’t have to look at her. He’s not sure what to make of this Captain, all things considered; she’s childish and naive and preppy, too genuinely cheerful by half, and these are all things Hugo holds in disdain. And yet, at the same time, the paradox: she is Captain of the Aphelion, the fastest ship in all seven skies, the jewel of the northern skyline. She is a legend.

He doesn’t understand her at all.

Hugo turns his face up into the wind, taking comfort from the cold. Corona is a dark blot on the slowly lightening skyline, as asleep as cities ever get, the lamplights burning a distant orange and the trains all silent. It is a dark city lit only by faint, distant dollaps of light like fireflies, but as Hugo watches, a thin band of gold haloes the highest point, the first spire of the Sun’s temple, a thin circle of sunlit glow like a crown.

The silence stretches, and Hugo shifts, a little uneasy. “What,” he says, for lack of anything better. “Homesick already?”

Rapunzel laughs quietly. “Do I look homesick?”

He glances at her from the corner of his eye and falters, because— no, maybe not homesick. Hugo doesn’t even know what that would look like. But there is something muted in her, something sad, a strange sort of melancholy as she looks out over the city.

“I don’t know,” Hugo says, and looks away, discomforted by his own honesty.

Rapunzel is quiet again. Then she sighs, soft, a heavy exhale. “No,” she says. “No, not homesick. I never really miss Corona, though I probably should.” Her smile twists, goes funny at the edges. “But no. Aphelion, this ship, she’s home to me. Corona is… just a place.”  

Hugo makes a face at that, utterly involuntary, and turns away too late. Rapunzel hums, thoughtful. “You don’t agree?”

He thins his lips, fingers curling on the railing. He shouldn’t—it’s stupid and he knows better, never antagonize a Captain, and especially not her; Hugo can’t afford an enemy this early into the game.

But he’s tired, and his head hurts, and he’s so sick of it, this goody-two-shoes crew with their sweet sayings and friendship bracelets and lack of anything resembling a sense of reality, and his fingers are digging into the wood before he can even think to stop himself.

“What’s the deal with that?” he asks, unable to keep from sounding snide. “With all that ‘the ship is home’ shit. I mean—come on.”

Rapunzel tilts her head, brow furrowing. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean— ” He gestures, expansive, to the ship, something tight and angry winding in his chest, like laughter, only cruel. Because home? The Aphelion is beautiful, yes; Donella’s ship is lovely too, in its way. But Hugo has never been so stupid as to call a ship home. Ships are fallible, breakable, and crews shift like the tides; it’s a place of commerce and trading and battle. Not home, whatever home is, whatever that sort of thing looks like. Home stays on the ground; home is just Hugo, and all the riches in the world; home is—not necessary. Not needed.

“Look, I don’t mean any offense, Captain, but—how can a ship be a home?” He scoffs, scornful, and shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “It’s a place of employment. It’s a job.”

Rapunzel is staring at him now. She’s turned away from the city entirely, looking right at him. Her eyes are pale green and sharp as glass, and all at once Hugo realizes what he’s saying, who he’s saying it to, and he clenches his jaw and braces himself and waits for the verdict. Gods, if he gets fired over this, before liftoff, just because he couldn’t resist being mouthy, Donella is going to kill him. Hugo won’t even blame her. This was such a bad idea, in hindsight, so fucking stupid—

But after a moment Rapunzel blinks, and instead of going cold, or angry, or commanding, she does the most baffling thing she’s done yet: she smiles. At Hugo, directly at him, and it is a warm smile, a fond smile, a little crooked. As if he has said something funny, instead of something cruel.  

And all she says is: “Give it some time. You’ll see.”

Hugo stares at her, utterly floored, for the first time unsure of what to say or what’s happening. And Rapunzel shakes her head, still smiling that strange, soft smile, and before Hugo can move she reaches out and pats his shoulder, once, twice, and then she takes her hand away and heads back to the stairs.

“I didn’t say it earlier, so I’ll tell it to you now, I think,” she says, face turned up to the wind. She’s smiling soft and small, and looks at him from over her shoulder. “Welcome aboard, Hugo. I really am happy to have you.”

By the time Hugo can even think to answer, she is already gone.

He stays there for a long time, just staring, not sure of what to do, or what to think about it all. For the first time in his whole life he feels—he’s not sure what this feeling is. Like being seen, or being known, like something Donella did at times, very rarely. Those brief snatches of a moment, when she’d look at him and her lips would curl into the smallest of smiles; those rare, rare times when she would reach out and ruffle his hair like he was her own. Something bizarre and strange and—

Warm.

He feels shaky. It unsettles him. He doesn’t like it—Hugo draws into himself, rubbing hard at his arms, turning back to the railing. He exhales, watching his breath mist, and shivers for a moment in the morning breeze. He—

He doesn’t know what to think.

Down in the dockyard, people are starting to shout. Dock workers are crossing to and fro around the shipyard, tossing ropes and chains, beginning to unbolt the line. The ramp up to the main deck begins a slow, laborious journey of being rolled back up for storage. The ship is waking up, getting started. He can feel the rumble of the engine starting to buzz beneath his feet with a distant hum. They’re going to fly, soon. In a few minutes’ time, they’ll be in the sky.

Hugo doesn’t move. As the blue line of the horizon turns golden with sunrise, he watches as the Aphelionslowly but surely awakens into life. The chains holding the balloon down fall first; next the fires of the engine, filling up the envelope. Muted yells are traded  across the deck, and in the distance Hugo can hear Rapunzel calling orders. The sails are hoisted tall and high; in the back of the airship, the great copper turbine starts to spin. And little by little, bit by bit, the Aphelion starts to rise.

Hugo stares down at the city, unmoving. He can see the puff of steam rising from the first morning train; the wind is starting to pick up, a comforting howl in his ears. The ship rocks beneath his feet as she settles into the wind currents, and Hugo grips tight at the railing, riding out the first fits and starts of a ship finally waking up.

And just like that, they leave Corona behind.

It takes almost no time at all to leave the dock. Even less to pass the lightning shields, those chained-linked copper panels shining bright in the sun, a loose circle around the city. After all the work it took to get here… leaving Corona takes only a moment.

As the first bit of sun crests the distant hills, Corona is already falling into silhouette. It’s beautiful. Hugo has never put much stock in cities, but… even he has to admit it. The flying city is shadowed and soft in the early morning light, outlined in shining gold, and for a moment he can truly, honestly understand why it’s named for the Sun. There is something ethereal about it. Something fragile and light like a dream, a glow that exists only now, in these in-between daybreak hours.

He watches as Corona fades away, swallowed up by the clouds, and it is only when the city is at last out of view that Hugo lets up on his grip, exhaling hard.

He bows his head over his arms, feeling a tension he didn’t know he’d had ease away from his shoulders. He laughs, a little, then remembers the Captain and her words and—that, whatever that was, and feels the smile falter and fall off his face.

He exhales into his elbows. He lifts his head, staring blankly into the clouds. What had she meant by that? You’ll see. He thinks of last night’s dinner, of Varian’s hiccuping laughter, of the way Rapunzel looked at the dawn, and—

And he thinks: Does it matter?

Does it matter what she meant? Does it matter what she wants? Does it matter that Lance has two kids and Varian snorts when he laughs; does any of it actually matter at all? Of course not. Of fucking course not. Hugo’s not here to play games or play at being their friend—he’s here for a reason, for a job, for the money at the end of the journey. Their words don’t hold any meaning. They don’t hold any meaning, not in the grand scheme of it all.

Hugo’s expression firms. His eyes narrow. His fingers curl. He shakes his head, inwardly marvelling at his own stupidity, because—seriously. What a joke. That he’s hesitated at all, that he’s wasting time on this… he knows better than that. Or, he should.

The Captain—he’s underestimated her, he thinks. He understands a little better how she came to command the ship. For a moment, despite everything, despite all logic—

Hugo shakes his head again, shakes the last echoes of that conversation away, and straightens up to his full height, yawning into one hand. Stupid, really. He knows better, he always has; at least he’s gotten one good thing out of that odd, odd conversation. He’ll have to keep an eye on the Captain after all— she’s more of a threat than he first thought, and that means… Hugo’s going to have to watch his step.

He has a job to do. He has a treasure to steal. Corona is gone and the Aphelion is in flight: six months left, now, till they touch down in the City of the Moon. Six months to plan—to prepare—to pull off the best heist this side of the northern sky.

Hugo closes his eyes, and inhales deeply, and his conviction settles hard and cold in his chest. He’s ready. He has to be. The board is set—the pieces in place—the main players chosen. Hugo versus Aphelion; Hugo versus Captain Rapunzel. Everything is as it should be. All that’s left is to play the game.

All that’s left is to win.

Hugo opens his eyes to the first dawn of many to come, and grins.

“Game on.”  

[vurlix]

The Druid of Mothem

### I started working really hard on this one AI Dungeon campaign mapping out the whole world of Xaxas that the game offers and putting it all into World Anvil (an online world builder) So i can better track places and people since the AI in AI dungeon can only remember so much. The majority of this story is created by GPT-3 (if I had to make a guess I’d say ~85-90%. I also used the website Art Breeder to generate the pictures for the characters and landscapes. ###

### AI is coming a long way. I plan to continue this story since I love playing a druid in 5e. ###

### I also added the new AI Dungeon feature which allows the gaining of stats so every time I try to do an action, it rolls on stats that continue to grow. ###

### But besides that, I also rolled out a Druid Wood Elf and have a character sheet to follow

I’ll link everything after the story, other than that I hope you enjoy!! ###

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You are Goodaquazi, a male elf druid who lives in the town of Morthem. You are new to the town though rarely actually visit it. Being a druid you're the most comfortable being outside the town in the forest with nature. The town of Morthem consists of a few large buildings and many smaller ones surrounding it. Humans and elves make up the population of this small farming town. A large deep forest surrounds the farmland as far as the eye can see. It truly is a beautiful forest.

When you're not spending time in Morthem, you can be found deep in study at a small nature temple located somewhere away from Morthem deep in the forest. This temple is where all druids or those with an interest in nature and druidism spend time in study, meditation, or prayer.

The day to day life of Morthem goes on with or without you and that's OK. The people are content and that's all that's in your heart. It's a simple life, and you're happy with that. 

You are in a forest somewhere far from any civilisation. This is your home and you feel comfortable here with the animals, plants, and nature. You were taught by the master druids to harness the natural magic energy that exists in all things. You practice this skill every day for there is always more to learn.

 You lie down on the ground, stretching out your arms and legs along the lush grass and closing your eyes. The sun is high overhead, its light filtered through an unblemished blue sky. A cool wind blows through the field, carrying with it the rich scents of soil and nature. The grass is damp from last night's rain, and you can sense the life force of the land, almost as if it were a living creature itself. The scents and sensations are almost overpowering after your time in the city, but feel refreshing now that your senses have been reawakened.

You slowly open your eyes. All around you, plants grow and animals live in a perfect state of harmony with the land. You vanish from their sight, though creatures with greater senses might still be able to detect your presence if they were really looking.

However, it is not upon the ground that you wish to be. You feel cramped and bored lying there, so you take a deep breath and rise up into the air, levitating several feet above the ground. You are weightless, able to drift through the air with only a thought.

You have many hidden conversations with animals as you move through the forest and they, curious about this friendly stranger. Different types of animals, each with their own unique personalities, sizes and abilities. There are fighting animals able to kill even the largest of beasts, and others that are solely for transportation or, in some cases, purely companionship.

You drift along atop the wind, smiling and laughing as you fly. This is how you move from place to place when you are outdoors. Eventually, you begin to get a splitting headache from all the sensory input and decide to head back home for the day.

You approach your cabin by nightfall. Made chiefly of wood with a thatched roof, it looks every part the fairy-tale cottage. An enormous oak tree towers over it and provides shade. You walk up to the door and unlock it with ease. Heading inside, you take off your shoes, as is custom in this land. The entire floor is covered by a thick carpet of grass which springs back up after every step you take.

Una, your girlfriend, is preparing dinner. Her long blond hair falls down to the small of her back and her sky coloured eyes pierce your very being. By her feet rests Zane, the cutest puppy you've ever seen who can someday grow up to be a fierce guard dog if given the right training.

"Hey, Una," you say.

"Uh-huh," she replies, engrossed in the cooking.

From another room, you hear a baby boy giggling. The newest member of your family, Behan, lies in his cradle. You fly through the door and hover over his crib, looking down on his innocent features. Through your son, you have discovered the true joys of fatherhood. All younglings go through an insane rebellious phase, which Behan will eventually go through too, but for now he is really sweet.

"You look tired," remarks Una, suddenly standing beside you with a bowl of strawberries in her hands.

You take one out of the bowl and eat it, relishing the sweet taste as it enters your mouth. "I had an interesting day," you reply. "Why is Zane outside?"

Una blushes. "I wanted to surprise you. Turn around."

Curious, you do as she says and spin on the spot. You hear Una squeal with delight before her arms embrace you from behind and her head rests itself upon your shoulder. "So?" she asks, a mischievous smile evident in her voice.

You turn to face Una and are faced with the image of her clad in a tight, midriff showing black dress and knee high stilettos. Your jaw drops and you stare with awe. "Wow," you utter, staring at her beauty. "You... look... amazing!"

"I thought we could go to a friends' house to eat. They're having a party, do you want to go?"

The constant sensory input has given you a monstrous hunger, and as much as you love Una, you need food. "Absolutely," you say.

The two of you fly to your friend's house. The manor lies on a hilltop which descends into a plain, which lies on the edge of a dense evergreen forest. You are faced with the grandest house you have ever seen. Dozens of little windows peer at you like wandering eyes. Hundreds of lights create the illusion that the house is glowing. The manor is at least four stories high and has a tryst swim among trees behind it. The entire setting is like something out of a fairy tale. You land beside a golden pathway that leads up to the manor. The evergreen forest towers over you on both sides and a soft, cool breeze passes through it, sending chills down your spine. You take a deep breath through your nose as you enter through the heavy wooden door.

You are faced with a giant hall, with several corridors branching off it. The walls are lined with suits of armour, which glare at you with iron eyes. Black and white tiles line the floor, and a giant chandelier made up of antlers hangs from the ceiling. You both walk past the hall and down one of the branching corridors. Tiny flickering lights dance along the corridors' walls. You peer into a room and see a grand piano and several pieces of classical music written in notes on sheets of music. You enter the room as you sense somebody there. An old man with a goatee sits in the corner of the room, playing the piano. The music is slow and rhythmic.

You remember this man. He was one of Una's former boyfriends, a pianist that travels around the country and plays for people. You are about to call out to him when Una grabs your wrist. You look at her, meeting her fiery eyes. She motions for you to follow her and the pair of you bypass the man entirely. The next corridor weaves back and forth and has the same black and white tiles as the last corridor. Finally, the corridor brings you to a set of stairs. You climb the stairs slowly, and as you do you see someone at the top. It's the host of the party, Judge Beckery.

"You came!" he says, smiling. "I can already tell this is going to be the best party ever."

"Who was that man playing?" you ask, motioning toward the room with the grand piano.

"Oh him?" says Beckery. "That's just Harvey. He's a bit of a weirdo."

You nod slowly.

"Anyway, I just got here myself," says the Judge. "I'll show you to your room."

The pair of you head up another flight of stairs and Beckery stops at the first door on the left. He opens it and ushers you inside.

"I hope you'll be comfortable in here," he says.

The room is small but comfortable. It has a double bed, a dresser, and a nightstand with a lamp. There's also a desk in the corner. The walls are covered with a deep blue wallpaper. You set your bags down on the floor and look out the window. The courtyard and forest surround the house.

You return to the party. Those few feet between you and Una seem like an endless distance, one that neither of you are willing to cross.

As you enter the room the crowd melts away before you and everyone stares in astonishment. You stand there, surrounded by a crowd of people. A fight seems inevitable.

Suddenly the crowd parts and Una comes before you. She looks into your eyes and gives you a small smile. It's a smile that says everything will be alright. You smile back, and then feel your face flush and your heart flutter.

Before you stands Una, a tall and willowy young woman with long blond hair, gray eyes, and fair skin. Her beauty takes your breath away--more than that, her presence does, the way she stares back into your eyes timidly yet still willing to meet your gaze for as long as you like.

"I love you Una, thank you for bringing us here but I'm starving! Why don't we go into the dining room and get something to eat?"

Everyday your craft keeps you occupied and your spare time is spent with Una. As the years pass your personal life and druidic life begin to overlap one another. Your love for Una only deepens and your son Behan grows in strength and wisdom. You tell him stories of the old lands of Tuatha, and promise that when he's old enough you'll return, if only to visit.

"I saw the strangest thing today," Una says to you as you eat dinner. You are eating roasted duck at this party and Una has been watching you and Behan with a faint frown on her face.

"What's that?" you ask.

"I saw one of the peasants run over a fox and kill it." she says.

"That's terrible, why would someone be so careless about a living creature. What if that fox was me Una? Did you see who the peasant was that ran over the fox? " you respond.

"I did," she says, "It was Chris."

"Are you sure it was him?"

"No. But the man I saw was a barbarian and he's friends with that barbarian."

Knowing Una, this must have bothered her greatly. You've never been a fan of Chris, it seems that even if you are wrong about him, you still have to tell him to apologize to Una. As the sun disappears over the horizon and night falls, you head over to Chris's room.

You rap on his door and he bids you come in.

"What the hell do you want." Chris grunts angrily. You can tell he's clearly been drinking and not to mention his room smells awful. You also notice that there are various bottles filled with assorted types of Liquid.

"My wife is pretty upset with what happened at the party earlier, and I'd like to apologize if I could." You lie.

"Alright?" He says to you as he lights his pipe, the lighter producing a small blue flame.

You quickly chant a short incantation and the flame on his pipe flares up as smoke billows into his face, he has been incapacitated by the flames and he begins to scream as he desperately tries to pat them out.

You rush over and smack him in the head with your palm and he's out like a light.

You then look for Una to make sure she is alright, you find that Chris' alcohol and medications have finally kicked in and he has gotten some sleep.

You reassure Una and tell her not to worry about anything.

The next morning you both wake up and start to gather your equipment together.

You hug Una close and tell her how much you care for her.

"I told you everything was going to be fine." She says to you with a smile, "Let's go home, I miss Behan...and you need someone to do the shopping and cleaning."

Slowly the two of you head home. You start to reflect on the events that have occurred and realize that your life is finally calming down. You open the door of your home to find Zane making Behan laugh by chasing his tail. You watch your family with a smile on your face, glad that everything has worked out for you. You take a seat and call Zane over to join the family for a group hug.

“Good boy” you say to Zane as he begins to wag his tail happily. He gets up and goes over to Behan who is attempting to crawl away to no avail. Zane begins to lick Behan in the face, you watch them both laugh and occasionally look over to Una. You feel truly happy just watching them all. This is real happiness, this must be how Father felt. Time passes and it's nighttime before you know it. You tell Una that you're gonna cook dinner for tonight so she can relax and enjoy her night. With the nightly routine of cooking, cleaning and putting Behan to bed you soon find yourself heading off to bed as well.

As you both lie in bed with Una's hand wrapped around your arm you feel truly complete. There's nowhere else in the world you'd rather be, you have everything you need right here.

Your eyes start to get heavy as you fall asleep with a smile on your face. Your mind drifts from one thing to another as you find yourself entering the druidic realm of dreams. Several hours later you drift back into consciousness and remember the events that have led you here. You open your eyes and slowly sit up, the sun is already high in the sky outside and Una is nowhere to be seen. Knowing that she's probably out hunting, you get out of bed and look out the window. You take a deep breath through your nose and smell the scent of trees, nature, earth, and wild animals. You feel truly at peace in this moment.

With a smile across your face you walk over to Behan's bed and pick him up.

"Come on Behan!" you shout excitedly "Let's go play outside!"

You look outside and everything looks great. The forest, the trees, the earth, everything is perfect. This is your life now, and you wouldn't have it any other way. You set Behan down on the floor and go over to your dresser to grab your clothes. Nature is perfect, yes, but there are simple things in life that make it better. And one of those things is clothes. You put on your typical outfit, nothing too fancy, just your typical wool pants and tunic. With that done, you walk outside to play with Behan in the fields.

Zane wakes up and comes to join in the fun running around in circles and making Behan crawl after his tail. Every day is a happy day when you're with those who matter to you .

As you look out across the fields to watch Una returning from hunting with freshly killed deer, you realize that those that got you through hard times are the ones that matter most.

You will continue life as it is now. There is nothing else you could desire.

You greet Una with a small smile and hold out your arms for the deer carcass.

"Good work Una." You say smiling at her as you lift up the deer.

"Thank you." Una responds looking down at Behan who crawls over to her legs.

The carcass will feed your family for the next few days. You set it down near your home and bring Una inside to rest. She's a hero today and that's all that matters. She deserves to be treated as one.

You Kiss Una on the forehead and lift her in your arms to carry her into the bedroom.

You place her near Behan, and they both fall into a gentle sleep. They look like an angel and a demon sleeping together, but there's no malice in them at all!

You grab your blade and walk over to the deer carcass. You begin to butcher the beast using your vast expertise in limb severing. First, you remove the legs, then the head and then the torso. You work fast because you don't want the meat to begin rotting. With enough salt, you could eat it in a day or so.

Your family will eat good tonight and for the next few days!

Having finished the job you walk back into the house returning to Una's bedside to watch her sleep until dusk arrives.

Throwing in some pork for extra taste, you set out to make the deer meat stew.

The meat and bone will be used to make the stew and the offal fed to Zane who is begging by your side the whole time.

A blue flame envelops your hand and you slam your hand into the oven! The rich scent of flame-broiled deer meat fills the room in an instant.

"Zane! If you eat any more of my food, you won't grow up to be big and strong like me!" You joke at your small but ferocious dog!

Finally, the food is done, and you sit down with Una and Behan to enjoy an evening meal.

Master of fire you may be, but without the love and support of your wife and son you would burn out in a flash. Tonight you are happy and look forward to an amazing life with your family.

You hold Una's hand and thank her for being the amazing woman she is. "I have a goal set for myself tomorrow Una, I'm going to learn to shape shift" you explain. Una smiles and shakes her head fondly at you. "You'll never stop learning will you?" she asks in response. You both laugh and enjoy the evening meal.

[boywivlove]

Don’t be afraid of the dark

Genre | Supernatural AU, Witch/Warlock AU, slight angst, slight fluff

Pairing | platonic Min Yoongi | Kim Namjoon

Summary | The Empyrean Academy for gifted young men finally opens its doors after the tragic accident of 85. A new coven is formed as six new warlocks now call the academy home. But as one gifted individual finds out, someone already resides in this great house. But after 35 years, is this his home, or his prison?

Warnings | Mentions of death, brief descriptions of violence, brief descriptions of gore and wounds, descriptions of occult stuff? Implied member x member

Authors Note | Im SSSSOO glad to finally be writing something! Ive been in such a rut with creativity but Im so glad to get this out! This is my first member x member fic Ive written please be gentle! This reads a lot from Namjoons side of things but does switch to Yoongi more throughout!!

The Empyrean Academy, once the home of a great and powerful coven, now stood frozen and abandoned. The magical enchantments on the place made it as though no time had passed since it closed its doors. The rooms, still immaculate and not a speck of dust anywhere. The light still shone through the transparent white curtains and the dark wood flooring still looked freshly polished. Indeed it was as though no one ever left. But sadly, this was not the case. The once great house closed its doors back in 1985, 35 years to the day. The enchantments in place were powerful to say the least, no pesky squatters could enter, nor robbers nor locksmith could find their way inside. But while no one can enter, nor can anyone leave. And for one soul, this is a gift as well as a curse. Only with the emergence of a new coven would the academy open its doors again. But is our friend ready and willing to share the only home he’s known since afterlife…

12,146, twelve thousand. one hundred. and sixty two days…to the day… how time flies when you have no need to keep note of it anymore. A hand gently brushes the ivory keys of the grand piano situated in the portrait room. He contemplates the melodies his hands remember, anything to block out the unbearable silence. 

Min Yoongi sat on the bench, his eyes dully reading over the sheet music, each one a beautiful melody, but overplayed. He only had himself to blame, spending so much time at that damned piano has left him growing bored of one of the few things he took joy in during his life. But 35 years has started to chip away at him, making him unable to think of a melody to key. It was always the same, he would wander through the house, he would read the books, he would light the candles, play the piano, and every single day since he died, he would repeat the now tedious activities. He never felt hungry, he never grew tired. But everyday would end up the same.

No one knows what happens to you when you die, no one in this big blue world knows what awaits you on the other side, and had Yoongi known what awaited him, he never would have gotten involved that day. He never would have tried to intervene. 

That’s what he likes to tell himself, he tells himself that he should have let them blow themselves up, let them be stuck here for decades with no one but themselves. But he knows he could have never stood by while someone else was in harm’s way, that is not the way of the coven, in this house, we protect our own. He knew in whatever scenario, he would be there trying to stop things escalating to a shit show like before. His mother had always said he was too nice. Even if his face didn’t always register his kindness. 

He missed her. His mother, god only knows how she reacted to the news of his death. He missed talking to her over the phone about classes and what he had been learning, he missed her letters,the swirl of her handwriting telling him how much she misses her boy, the way the pages would smell like her perfume, reminding him of her. The letters he still had were so old now, the scent had dissipated and he now only remembered it in his memory, ivory soap and lily of the valley. It’s a scent that reminds him of home. A home he can never go back to. This place was his home now. His tomb. The dorm room he once shared with friends now is a place for him to wallow in his memories as he watches the days turn to night, a cycle that repeats itself in his endless eternity.

The day Kim Namjoon found out about his gifts, he had accidentally set the curtains of his family home on fire. He had been terrified of what had happened, unable to explain it. It wasn’t until his mother sat him down and revealed her family secret, the gift of the craft that had skipped her generation, he finally understood. It was odd to say the least, he still didn’t fully believe that he was a descendant of a powerful witch, and he had manifested one of many gifts their line was known for having. It wasn’t until his mother explained that she had made a call to an old friend, and he would be going to a private academy to learn how to control his powers that it all became real. He didn’t know how to feel, on one hand, he would be leaving his whole life behind, but he would be learning how to harness his powers to control them, and hopefully not set fire to anything anymore. He just hoped the people there were willing to help him. And he prayed there was at least a lunch lady, curtains weren’t the only thing he’s accidentally set on fire…

The trip down to Peninsula Bay was long, 5 hours in a crowded bus with no stops, his legs were numb and his back arched slightly. It wasn’t all bad however, the man escorting him had introduced him to two students who would be joining him in his schooling. One was a young man, younger than himself, named Jeon Jungkook, he was welcoming, he had a nice smile that set Namjoon at ease ever so slightly, The boy was dressed in all black and had combat boots that could crush your windpipe, a complete 180 from his personality.  The other young man, his name was Jung Hoseok, his smile was even bigger than Jungkooks, eyes crinkled with how wide he smiled. He was a ball of energy, his blonde hair like the sun and his clothes were all bright summery tones and double denim, not what you would expect a warlock to dress in, but then again, Namjoons shirt had flowers on… were warlocks supposed to dress a certain way? if so, Jungkook didn’t have to worry at least.

They made their way off the bus to be greeted by their new  governess, Mrs Song, wife to the supreme warlock of this new coven, A welcoming woman but she had an aura of power that made it clear she was to be listened to. She led the three men into another car that took them up a steep hill, the sea seemed to go on forever and stretch further the more they travelled. The car arrived at the gates of a beautiful white stone mansion, The Empyrean Academy, Empyrean meaning the highest part of heaven as Namjoon recalled, no one would bother them up here, convenient given what was to be going on inside.

It had taken a while for the other student to arrive, to Namjoons surprise there were only six of them in total. The other three names he learnt were Kim Seokjin, he was the oldest of the lot,Park Jimin and  Kim Taehyung knew each other before coming to the academy, both coming from families that actively practised their craft, Namjoon could see the bond the two shared. They were led inside my Mrs Song, after reciting an enchantment that made the wind pick up, and the gates creak open on their own. The dead leaves of the autumn swept themselves from the driveway and the doors to the house unlocked themselves.  The boys were given a quick tour of the house, it was so beautiful. Namjoon could see himself sitting by the windows in the sunlight, his potential new study spot. 

It didn’t take long for the boys to each pick a room, Mrs Song had mentioned the rooms used to house up to 3 boys each back in the day, but since the numbers had dropped to 6 they could decide to share or have their own space, Namjoon found it not surprising at all that Jimin and Taehyungs rooms were next door to each other. Jungkooks room was down the hall from Jins, Hoseok had chosen the room right across from Jimins, which meant that Namjoon was left to decide between two more rooms on this wing, he made the decision for the room closest to the stairs,heading to open it. The door opened ever so slightly before it was slammed closed again. Oddly, he found himself unable to open the door, he felt as though someone was holding the handle on the other end, it wouldn’t even budge. Mrs Song had reappeared in this time and watched the small struggle unfold.

“Id pick another room Namjoon. That room has too many bad memories you see.” There was something in her eyes, something that looked almost sad. She waved her hand and the other room’s door opened for him, and then she was down the stairs and he could see her heading into a large room, her office perhaps.

Namjoon let go of the handle, he had a feeling, an odd feeling. He Felt like there was something inside that room. Something that didn’t want anyone to enter. 

Indeed there was something on the other side of the door, and he didn’t at all feel like sharing his room. Not with all his things being still here, the last thing he wants is some nosy new student rifling through his belongings. Yoongi may have lost his powers of the craft when he died, but being a spirit bound to the house you died in gave you some abilities, abilities he would put to use. He’s been here 37 years, now he finally had some company, but when you’ve been alone for so long, new arrivals can be jarring. He would hide out in his room for now, sure they couldn’t see him unless he wanted them too, but he would scope them out when he was ready.

The boys had settled nicely into the academy in the weeks that passed. Namjoon had found himself becoming fast friends with the whole group, he grew close with them all, Jin he was particularly fond of, Namjoon swears to himself it’s not just because Jin can cook, but it is a heavy factor for him. 

The boys each had their own special talents, Jin was gifted in a herbology, gifted with botanical magic, he would often be seen in the greenhouse or the kitchen cooking up all sorts of smelly things.. Jungkook, the youngest of the group, was developing his gifts of divination and clairvoyance, he could read objects and people enough to know something about w said person. He was also interested in the world of spirit contacting, liking to read tarot cards and scoping out the veil. Hoseok and Jimin seemed to share the most gifts with each other, their favourite pastime was seeing who could levitate the most stuff, a lot of broken or smashed things to the bemusement of Mrs Song and Taehyung, who would spend this time sharpening his transmutation powers, Taehyung would always catch the others by surprise by flitting from one room to another, many times he’s heard Jin cry out in surprise, and Jimin and Jungkook laughing hysterically.

Namjoon had also started developing his powers, his pyrokinesis had come a long way in just a few weeks, no more setting curtains afire. He had learnt enough control over his fire powers to understand his power surges were brought on by stress and anger. Namjoon could understand why, at the time of the curtain accident he was under a lot of academic stress with college entry exams. Just as well he set them on fire, in truth, he’s never felt more at home. The others were his home away from home. 

But with all this comfort Namjoon felt, his mind couldn’t help but go back to the locked room. Jungkook had asked him one night if he felt anything weird about that room. He looked like he knew something but if he did, he was keeping it quiet for now. Namjoon had explored quotes around the house during his stay, he had found a door in the wall in the living room,and stumbled upon the portrait room in the east wing. The walls were decorated with portraits of all the former supreme warlocks, but there was one he found out of place. It was smaller than the others, and instead of being hung on the walls, it was framed and sat upon the grand piano. 

The portrait was of a young man no younger than him, his hair was neat, while his uniform was black and pristine looking, it looked dated. Namjoon looked at the plaque below and read the name Min Yoongi - 1958 - 1985. Twenty seven when he died. This was an old photo, but then Namjoon had thought. 1985. This was the year the academy shut its doors right? Was this man connected with it somehow? Namjoon had so many questions about the academy, it was in his nature to be curious.

Yoongi had eventually come out of his room, shifting from one room to the next, he had observed each of the new students, and so far he didn’t see anything that would cause him to be weary. He would often watch the group during their lessons, following along with what Mrs Song was teaching them, he was surprised to see the curriculum had changed. No more dark magic history lessons it would seem. 

`Good. Maybe things will turn out differently for this coven.` He couldn’t help but think. 

He wouldn’t admit it, but the boys were growing on him. He often had a chuckle to himself overhearing their conversations or observing their antics. But there were two of the men he wasn’t sure of. The first was the youngest one, he learned his name was Jungkook, he found himself tiptoeing around this kid. 

Yes this `kid` was 22, but had yoongi lived, he would be 62, everyone of these guys were `kids` or `Young men` in his eyes. 

Jungkook always seemed to get off feelings whenever Yoongi had appeared around him, obviously he couldn’t see him. But it seemed this warlock had an affinity for sensing when spirits were near, even if he didn’t fully understand the depth his powers yet, Yoongi would catch The kid looking up to where Yoongi situated himself, with a gaze so intense that Yoongi often wondered if he could in fact see him, but he knew he couldn’t if he didn’t want the kid to. 

The second was the blonde that tried to get into his room the first day, Namjoon. He had observed this one the most. He was a curious one. He had spent a lot of time in the library, studying anything and everything. Yoongi had to stop himself playing tricks on the man by making books slide off the shelf, most of these books are older than the house and he wouldn’t risk damaging such an old relic.

He found himself hovering around Namjoon more than the others. It was interesting to see the man looking into the house, most students just focused on their powers. But Namjoon went searching all over the house for all its hidden mysteries, He could relate, he remembered the hidden room in the back of the greenhouse he stumbled upon with his roommates back in the day, there was nothing in it. But the thought of more hidden spaces in the house made Yoongi shiver. The thought of unlocking hidden places excited him.

He had followed Namjoon into the portrait room, he would spend so many hours in here playing the piano, his own portrait staring at him. He watched Namjoon observe his portrait, a curious look on his face, his thumb brushing the name plaque gingerly. 

Yoongi didn’t know what compelled him, he felt himself materialising before he could reason with himself not to be an idiot.

`Not my best look, but they got my face in a good light at least`

He never saw someone jump up so quickly.

`JESUS, w-what`

`what, you never seen a ghost before…` Yoongi felt like an idiot, he hadn’t spoken to anyone in 35 years, his tone wasn’t exactly welcoming.

`a-a ghost, wait, your, your, your a`

`Dead guy? yeah…

There was a long silence, Yoongi could practically hear Namjoons heart beating out of his chest. What the hell should he say now…

`so, you were a student here back in 1985?`

`Yeah, me and twenty other students, it was so different back then, I’ve told you this already.`

`I know, I’m just thinking, your pretty old now, you must think its all new to you, the laptops, phones… we don’t ride broomsticks anymore haha`

Yoongi gave a deadpanned look to the man laying on the bed besides him, the hint of a smirk evident on his lips. In the past week he and Namjoon have spoken a number of times with each other. It was nice to talk to someone again. He honestly thought Namjoon would run a mile after seeing him, but as surprising as it was, he remained with him. Namjoon had calmed himself, figuring that, if witches and warlocks were real, why not ghosts. That’s what Yoongi liked about talking with Namjoon, he liked that he was openly curious about things. Namjoon would listen to Yoongi talk for hours about his life way back when, and Yoongi craved all the attention he was getting from the man after decades of solitude. 

He hadn’t revealed himself to the other students yet, he wouldn’t admit it to himself, but he just wanted to sit with Namjoon, he did other things to give the others a hint he was there, he would open doors for the others when they had their hands full of books, or he would leave relevant books on the tables in the library whenever they needed to research something important. Of course none had caught on yet, thinking it was one of the other students, but Namjoon had mentioned that Jungkook often stared at him with an off look in his eye, not bad nor good, it was like he knew, but didn’t elude to anything. Given his abilities, Yoongi wouldn’t be surprised. 

Namjoon didn’t jump at telling anyone yet either, he knew that Yoongi had been alone for years, and while he had told Namjoon his story, he had kept some things hidden, his death was something Namjoon was eager to learn about. Morbid yes, he had learnt from Mrs Song that a student had died and two others had been injured years back and the details were kept secret, but there whispers that dark magic was surrounding the young man’s mysterious death. Namjoon had pieced together that Yoongi was the Man in question, and when he questioned Yoongi about what happened, Yoongi had clammed up, nervous almost. 

`It’s not something you need to know about, drop it please?` 

Namjoon had not brought it up again, it clearly upset Yoongi and he didn’t want that. He wanted Yoongi to know he can trust him. He let Namjoon into his room, eventually. The others had gone out for a trip into the town down the cliff, a chance to get out for a while. Namjoon decided to stay behind, wanting to catch up on his reading, that’s what he said. In truth, he just didn’t want to leave Yoongi inside the house alone, he’d been alone enough. Namjoon had wandered through the house searching for the ghost, and when he didn’t find him in his usual haunts, he had thought of the one place he hadn’t checked. 

He was hesitant to knock on the door, he knew Yoongi now only shut himself in his room when he was particularly down and didn’t want to be bothered. He rapped softly on the door, his voice finally coming to him.

 `Yoongi, are you alright?` 

Nothing. No answer.

`I just want to know your alright… If you don’t want to talk that’s fine…`

He waited a couple of seconds, before deciding to leave him alone, when the handle clicked, and the door slowly creaked open. Namjoon hesitated before stepping over the threshold. He didn’t know what he expected, but the room was almost like his own, the curtains were still immaculately white, the bookcase and desk were riddled with all kinds of books, the beds were perfectly made and the clothes in the closet were neatly folded. Namjoon also noted the other furniture in the room, two empty beds, two empty closets. 

He approached Yoongi, who was sitting on the window ledge looking out of the window that overlooked the sea, in his hands was a photo frame. Namjoon sat by his feet, Yoongi looked deep in his own thoughts that Namjoon thought he didn’t notice him, but he let him into the room.

He didn’t speak, he waited for Yoongi to open up to him, he let him in for a reason, he just knew it.

` Do you ever think about what would have happened if you decided something different.`

`sometimes`

`I find myself thinking more and more about what would have happened in my life if things worked out differently… I would be 63 today if i was alive. I’d probably have been teaching you and the others in this coven.

His eyes didn’t leave the sea, his head pressed against the glass as Namjoon looked out to see the waves crashing on the rocks.

`Yoongi, you’ve never told me. You know, how you died. I know you don’t like talking about it, but it’s pretty obvious it was what you were thinking about…`

Yoongi’s eyes downcast to the photo in his hands, and then to Namjoon. He held out the photo frame for Namjoon to take, He saw the photograph, it was Yoongi, and two other young men at a bar, they looked happy, these must have been his roommates.

`they were my best friends, we all came to the academy together.`

`Are they, were they involved?`

`yes, and no… it was, something else.

`something, else?`

Yoongi sighed, he sat straighter now, his legs crossed and he rubbed his face with his face. 

`It was something dark. My roommates, they had been looking at some dark stuff, black magic and conjuring spells. Our coven had been under attack back then, witch hunters.`

`witch hunters?` 

`yeah, they were nothing but persistent, no one got hurt but it was getting worse and worse by the day. They wanted to conjure a protection spell that would ward the house against the hunters. When I was alive, my gifts were a lot like your friend, Jungkooks, I had an ability to see into the veil, to see spirits and commune with them. My friends found if they could channel me and my power, they would be able to conjure a protective spirit. But I saw the books they were reading, there was no certainty that the spirit that would come through would have been a good one.`

Yoongi had gotten up by now and got a book from the shelf, he opened the book and handed it to Namjoon.

`This, this is dark stuff, where did they even get this book.`

`The coven used to teach dark magic and its history back in my day, a way to make us aware of the danger, fat lot of god it did right? I told my friends they were getting into some dark stuff but I didn’t want to leave them, if something went wrong they would need someone versed in magic of the veil to help.`

Yoongi sat down near Namjoon, their knees touching as Namjoon listened to every word with sympathy.

`what happened.`

`The spirit they conjured, it was anything but good. It attacked one of my friends, He didn’t even have time to defend himself. We tried to send it back but it kept getting more aggressive. I used my powers to look through the veil and see what it was… it was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve never felt a spirit that dark before, a black heart surrounded with occult magic… but I knew what I had to do, being versed in the veil, I knew I could send it back, but when I tried to force it through the veil, it attacked me, it let the others go, but, I guess I wasn’t lucky….`

Namjoon could see Yoongi shaking slightly, his smile was undermined by his eyes watering. Namjoon couldn’t imagine what Yoongi had seen that night, but it clearly left him fearful, even decades later. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around the shaking spirit. Yoongi takes a breath and continues.

`By the time it was forced back through the veil, that thing did enough damage to me to make me bleed out, the others tried to stop the bleeding and get help, but by the time the supreme came running in, I was already standing over my body. I knew I had died. My friends said nothing, they knew how the coven viewed dark magic and conjuring, they would have been blamed for my death, and exiled from the coven completely. They told our supreme that I conjured it.`

That was a surprise he hadn’t seen coming. Yoongi’s best friends had blamed their dead friend?! Namjoon would never meet them, and he was almost glad he never would. His blood boiled at the thought of friends betraying someone whose death they caused.

Eventually the blood was cleaned up and the room was closed up, they said my things were probably riddled with black magic, and best to shut the room up and let it be forgotten. I saved my best friends, I died for them, and they blamed their stupidity on me, that hurts you know. I just tried to keep them safe.`

Yoongi had broken down at this point, he didn’t know he could cry this much being dead, his retelling the events had caused the phantom wounds to itch, by the time the whole ghastly event was finished, his chest was ripped up, the scratches inflicted upon his arms and legs had nicked an artery, He remembered every tear of his flesh and the sticky warm liquid soaking his shirt. And when it was all over, when the supreme listened to his so called friends retelling of events, he felt his ghostly heart break. 

Namjoon didn’t say anything right away, but held Yoongi, what could he say? He had no idea Yoongi’s death would have been shrouded with deceit and betrayal. Yoongi was a gentle soul, he died protecting his friends, and they spat in his face. Namjoon held Yoongi and let him cry as much as he needed to. He ran his hand through Yoongi’s hair, a small comfort to the spirit. Night had fallen without other noticing, and Namjoon still held Yoongi, the only light in the room was the candles Namjoon had lit. In spite of his little breakdown, Yoongi now felt calm, he almost felt at peace. It was Namjoon, he was comforting. The most comfort he’s felt In years.

[f4liveblogarchives]

Fantastic Four Vol 1 #196

Sun Aug 25 2019 [01:53 PM] Wack'd: Normally I don't post covers but there's a lot going on here

[01:53 PM] Bocaj: A lot to unpack [01:54 PM] Wack'd: So for the record [01:55 PM] Wack'd: What actually happened was that Skrulls abducted Franklin Storm out of prison, replaced him with a Skrull. Skrull Storm then broke out of prison and claimed he'd given himself superpowers and was now a supervillain [01:55 PM] Wack'd: "The Invincible Man" [01:56 PM] Wack'd: When the Four figured out the truth, the Skrulls send Franklin Storm back with a gun strapped to his chest, but rather than murder his kids he dropped to the floor so the gunshot would rebound on him [01:56 PM] Wack'd: So, uh, no. By no metric did Sue and Johnny "murder" him [01:57 PM] Wack'd: This was all back in the 60s which I read a fucktillion years ago in 2016 so I hope that recap helped [01:57 PM] Bocaj: That sure is nonsense [01:58 PM] Wack'd: In fairness. Not bad revenge for being tricked by a comic book and having your soldiers turned into cows [01:58 PM] Bocaj: Fair [01:59 PM] Wack'd: So anyway Reed is in a hypnosis chamber to have his will broken so he'll kill his friends [01:59 PM] Wack'd: When his new bosses said that there was free mental health treatment I don't think this is what Reed had in mind [02:01 PM] Bocaj: Truly businesses supporting mental health hasn't gotten any better since the 70s... [02:01 PM] Wack'd: This mystery man who may or may not be Franklin Storm somehow has cannibalized Psycho-Man's suit for more effective hypnosis. You might remember him from the Four 1967 annual [02:01 PM] Wack'd: Also other stuff [02:03 PM] Wack'd: Also his assistant is Hauptmann, from the 85-87 arc where Doom tries to trap the Four in Latveria forever [02:03 PM] Wack'd: I really should be keeping a running list of who's been doing the most cannibalizing from the 60s [02:03 PM] Wack'd: Because jesus fuck have we been on a continuity kick lately [02:04 PM] Wack'd: BACK TO HOLLYWOOD [02:05 PM] Wack'd: Sue tries desperately to pretend she's had a single meaningful conversation with Johnny since 1964

[02:06 PM] Bocaj:

"Hey.... you" "Its me, Johnny! The loveable rascal! Your brother!" "Right right right of course!" -to Reed- "I have no idea who that is"

[02:06 PM] Wack'd: I'd like to nominate Keith Pollard for worst-ever drawing of any child, ever

[02:06 PM] Bocaj: Kill it with fire [02:07 PM] Wack'd: Maybe Pollard is just...bad at art?

[02:08 PM] Wack'd: The coloring isn't helping though [02:08 PM] Umbramatic: oh god [02:08 PM] maxwellelvis: I was about to say [02:08 PM] maxwellelvis: Good lord! First-phase Liefeld's Syndrome! [02:10 PM] Wack'd: Something I haven't mentioned is that Agatha is now Franklin Richards' live-in nanny which, I think, would probably have been a smarter writing choice from the beginning [02:10 PM] Bocaj: Oh so she returned to the job? [02:10 PM] Wack'd: It was always kinda weird that Reed and Sue had to shlep out to Agatha's house to see their kid [02:10 PM] Bocaj: This must have been around the time she told Wanda 'I've taught you all I can, laters' [02:10 PM] Wack'd: Yeah since New Salem and also her house got got she's been following around Sue and Franklin, including to Hollywood [02:12 PM] Wack'd: So Sue, Ben, and Johnny go sightseeing, and talk about reforming the team. Only problem is convincing Reed [02:12 PM] Wack'd: They arrive on the Walk of Fame, and--

[02:12 PM] Wack'd: I am officially declaring Pollard the worst [02:13 PM] maxwellelvis: AHH! ART ATTACK! [02:13 PM] Umbramatic: my eyes [02:13 PM] maxwellelvis: THE ART IS COMING RIGHT AT US! [02:14 PM] Wack'd: Ben tries to get an autograph but is shoed away by cops [02:14 PM] Wack'd: Who think he's a guy in a costume because Let's Make Another Deal™ is shooting across the street [02:15 PM] Wack'd: Okay, I laughed

[02:16 PM] Bocaj: Hah [02:16 PM] Wack'd: *Alex Ross goes on to use this panel as the basis for his drawings of Sue and Johnny* [02:16 PM] Bocaj: To choose which celebrities they look like? [02:16 PM] Wack'd: Yes [02:16 PM] Wack'd: Dats da joke [02:17 PM] Bocaj: Is it a joke? I thought you were seriously imparting trivia [02:18 PM] Wack'd: It was a joke, I can't actually name the celebrities off the top of my head that Alex Ross picks, sorry [02:18 PM] Wack'd: So the scenes from the cover happen but they're hallucinated in the middle of this lovely restaurant [02:19 PM] Wack'd: Also, this

[02:20 PM] Wack'd: So apparently this was all a battle in the center of the mind not in physical space. Sue, Johnny, and Ben lose, allowing Invincible Man to extract them from the restaurant [02:21 PM] Wack'd: Just another day in Hollyweird, lol

[02:22 PM] Wack'd: So back at Reed's new job, it turns out Invisible Man was--REED! [02:22 PM] Wack'd: He was hypnotized [02:23 PM] Bocaj: 😐 [02:23 PM] Bocaj: Another Evil Reed? [02:23 PM] Wack'd: But then he snaps out of it and gets angry so they're all thrown in a dungeon [02:23 PM] Bocaj: Another Evil But Its Not His Fault Honest Reed?? [02:23 PM] Wack'd: YEP [02:23 PM] Bocaj: Weird trend lately [02:23 PM] Wack'd: I know, right? [02:25 PM] Wack'd: I maintain that Wein was throwing a hissy fit over the idea of Reed having character flaws. But Wein is gone, and it's a weird grudge for two consecutive writers to hold, especially when the divorce arc has been over for like 45 issues [02:26 PM] Bocaj: Maybe the current writer is just copying Wein [02:26 PM] Wack'd: Maybe [02:27 PM] ThreeOfFour: someone tell The Maker he isn't special [02:27 PM] Wack'd: So anyway Reed agrees to go back to work because otherwise his friends die I guess [02:28 PM] Bocaj: Hey, the Maker. You're not special [02:29 PM] Wack'd: ...this guy hasn't appeared before this issue so I'm not sure why I'm supposed to care here

[02:30 PM] Wack'd: I actually went back and checked just now to see if this guy was in other issues at Reed's new job and no, he's not, Wolfman introduced to this supposedly important character just to make a joke about the fact that he's not important [02:31 PM] Wack'd: The beginning of the issue kind of implies that he's the mysterious man in chair? But there's a panel later on that implies it's Doom, so [02:32 PM] Wack'd: So this is what Reed's been working on

[02:32 PM] Bocaj: The set of a high budget fantasy movie? [02:32 PM] Wack'd: These mirrors are so powerful that they will drive you insane if you look at them with your eyes open, and even with your eyes closed it's not great [02:32 PM] Bocaj: why [02:33 PM] Wack'd: I guess this is what they thought solar power would be like in 1978 [02:34 PM] Wack'd: The Red-Haired Man is also planning on getting Reed his stretching back for some reason [02:35 PM] Wack'd: Back in the dungeon, Sue uses her force fields to break the team's shackle and the--okay

[02:35 PM] Wack'd: I know Janet has that whole speech about how when you focus on power sets and not what each personality brings to the team, you don't build something that lasts as long as the Avengers do [02:36 PM] Wack'd: That said I'm kinda feeling like Sue can do everything Reed could with far less threat of bodily harm [02:36 PM] Bocaj: But can she be a giant asshole who tells the others what to do all the time? [02:36 PM] Wack'd: Fair [02:37 PM] Wack'd: Also why are so many artists convinced Sue's powers come from her forehead [02:37 PM] Bocaj: That’s where psychic powers come from [02:39 PM] Wack'd: I should probably take a moment to point out the interior blue highlights on Sue's powers, an embellishment that will gradually lead to more dynamic illustrations and the eventual obsolescence of the classic dotted-line look

[02:40 PM] Umbramatic: Sue's slow evolution into one of the most powerful people in Marvel pleases me [02:41 PM] Wack'd: Anyway no sooner do they escape then they are immediately re-captured by Doom, who let them escape because they are powerless and he is great and yada yada yada [02:42 PM] Umbramatic: DOOOOOOM [02:43 PM] Bocaj: "There would be no plot if DOOM did not allow you fools to escape"

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[gruenersmoothie]

8 Somewhat Weird Ingredients That Will Revolutionize Your Smoothie-Making

Time to make smoothies aplenty! There is in no way like a smoothie for transforming crisp natural products into a tasty, excellent, reviving nibble in a glass!

Be that as it may, while new organic product can be motivating, smoothies don't need to be about natural product. Truth be told, many motivated smoothie makers have amplified natural product's taste and medical advantages by including fixings you may never envision ought to be permitted in a smoothie formula.

Prepared to hit the "Liquify" button on your blender and bring tasting to an unheard of level?

Take a stab at including these unexpected fixings to your next smoothie...

Extraordinary Greens For SuperGreen Smoothies

Alongside those delectable organic products, the rancher's market is loaded up with rushes of green. Furthermore, in those waves you'll locate some dynamite smoothie sustenance sponsors. Spinach and kale are among the best greens to include since they have a mellow flavor. Be that as it may, you don't need to stop with them - attempt mustard greens, radish greens, collards, chard or even romaine lettuce.

Spinach - Popeye's capacity nourishment - isn't just high in iron, yet additionally significant levels of manganese, magnesium, calcium, potassium, copper and zinc. It brags a riches carotenoids like nutrient A, lutein and zeaxanthin just as folate, nutrients K, E, C, B2 and B6.

Kale rivals spinach in its great nourishment. Additionally pressed with nutrients An and K, it has more nutrient C than an orange. What's more, for minerals, it's a decent wellspring of manganese and copper. An individual from the cruciferous group of vegetables, kale likewise contains exceptional sulfur-based mixes, called glucosinolates. These mixes appear to support the action of detoxifying proteins in your body. They have additionally been connected to essentially decreasing your hazard for cancer.[1]

While a great many people enjoy the fresh mash of the radish bulbs, the radish greens are the genuine nourishing powerhouse. Stuffed with nutrient C and calcium, radish greens carry a pleasant sharpness to any smoothie blend. Like kale they are a piece of the cruciferous family which implies they contain a decent measure of extraordinary malignant growth battling mixes.

Beet greens are similarly on a par with the root with regards to supporting your body. Furthermore, they may even lift your state of mind. Notwithstanding Vitamins A, C, and K, beet greens have a rich stockpile of the amino corrosive tryptophan. Tryptophan not exclusively can assist you with unwinding and rest, it additionally is a structure obstruct for the synapse serotonin. Serotonin is connected to a sentiment of fulfillment and happiness. While the flavorful taste of a smoothie in itself can lift your state of mind, beet greens may really give you the mind-set boosting science you need.

How to prepare them? Search for dark green leaves that haven't yellowed. Wash them cautiously and drop them in stem what not. More youthful leaves are simpler work for your blender. Be that as it may, on the off chance that you have bigger, harder leaves, don't surrender. Essentially ensure you add a lot of fluid to enable your blender to hack them up adequately.

Need a snappy, supergreen hit? Add some chlorella granules to your mix. Chlorella green growth has more green chlorophyll than some other plant on the planet, also elevated levels of nutrient An and magnesium. Also, its novel chlorella development factor speeds tissue recovery. What's more, it is one of the main plant-based wellsprings of genuine nutrient B12, basic for cerebrum and heart wellbeing.

Smoothness Factors That Make Smoothies Go Down Smooth

Avocadoes

Actually avocadoes are a natural product, as well. They develop on huge avocado trees like pears - consequently their other name, Alligator Pears. In any case, despite the fact that we generally just partner them with flavorful nourishments, they're not only for guacamole! Avocadoes carry a light smoothness to your smoothie alongside unique fats your body adores.

Avocado contains bravo fats like:

· Phytosterols like beta-sisterol, campesterol and sigmasterol;

· Oleic corrosive, essentially found in olives;

· Polyhydroxylated greasy alcohols (PFAs) are just found in sea plants;

These fats help your body battle aggravation. They likewise increment exponentially your body's assimilation of carotenoids. Carotenoids are fundamental for nerve, eye, insusceptible and conceptive wellbeing. Avocado brings a surprisingly various blend of these carotenoids to the table too.

At last, in case you're looking to smoothies to assist you with cutting your midsection, avocados are an absolute necessity have fixing. Ongoing research demonstrates avocadoes' rich sustenance may help control desires and bolster weight reduction. [2]

Need to maximize your avocado? Ensure you scratch out the darker tissue close to the skin. This is the piece of the avocado with the most noteworthy grouping of carotenoids.

Substantial Cream

A significant part of the smoothie disturbance has been activated by an enthusiasm for low-fat, profoundly nutritious nourishments that can assist you with getting in shape. Consequently, including substantial cream may appear an abomination to great smoothie conventions.

Not really... While some examination shows the soaked fats in cream may build your hazard for coronary illness, cream additionally has fats that are verifiably bravo. Cream from field raised creatures contains exceptional fats called conjugated linoleic acids (CLAs). What's more, these exceptional CLAs really assist you with building slender bulk. Discovered uniquely in items from grass-bolstered creatures, they can assist you with getting in shape and may even help keep your corridors clean.[3]

Notwithstanding CLA's, grass encouraged cream offers you another rich and delicious course to getting omega-3's and nutrient A. Lastly - like avocado - overwhelming cream can make your smoothie fulfilling enough to hold you until the following feast.

Obviously, while cream may offers some medical advantages, including helping you nibble less throughout the day, remember the worries raised about soaked fats. By appreciating cream in your smoothies with some restraint, you can be certain you're getting the great fats and supplements without trying too hard on the possibly unsafe fats.

So as to appreciate these velvety advantages, get your cream from a rancher who you know pastures her animals or search for grass-encouraged dairy in the store. Natural cream will likewise contain a portion of these supplements since natural dairies are required to offer some entrance to pasture for their creatures.

Coconut drain and oil

The coconut offers another approach to add solid smoothness to your smoothie.

Coconuts contain unique medium chain fats. In contrast to the most well-known fats on earth, long chain fats, coconuts' fats are consumed distinctively in your body. Rather than being put away, they are utilized quickly for vitality creation. Along these lines, coconut fats really accelerate your digestion and help you consume significantly more fats.

Moreover, coconut fats are anything but difficult to process. Furthermore, as an uncommon reward, they appear to battle contagious, parasitic and bacterial contaminations too.

How to get these exceptional fats? Get them straight as chilly squeezed coconut oil. Simply add two or three bits to your blender and appreciate the rich flavor. Or then again attempt them joined with coconut water by pouring in some full-fat coconut milk.

Change Your Smoothie With A Dose Of Creativity

Fire up your smoothie motor and escape your smoothie trench... there's a wide range of supplements you could be tasting through a straw. Envision your body getting fired up with the intensity of green? Or then again contracting those awkward desires down with the smooth extravagance of cream?

An incredible smoothie formula can fill your heart with joy. Be that as it may, don't lose all sense of direction in another person's formula. Trial. Include something new. You might be shocked at how delicious a little smoothie inventiveness can be!

Sources:

[1] Cruciferous vegetables and disease avoidance. National Cancer Institute site.

[2] Wien MA et al. Randomized 3x3 hybrid concentrate to assess the impact of Hass avocado admission on post-ingestive satiety, glucose and insulin levels, and consequent vitality consumption in overweight grown-ups. Nourishment Journal 2013 volume 12: 155

[3] Whigham LD et al. Adequacy of conjugated linoleic corrosive for lessening fat mass: a meta-examination in people. Am J Clin Nutr May 2007vol. 85 no. 5 1203-1211

About Dr. Michael E Rosenbaum, MD

Dr. Michael E. Rosenbaum is a 35-year veteran and broadly perceived pioneer in the field of wholesome drug, elective social insurance and therapeutic needle therapy. As one of America's most regarded specialists in regular wellbeing and mending, Dr. Rosenbaum has been a regular speaker to proficient restorative gatherings and has taken part in various TV and radio television shows. He is likewise a regarded individual from the Sun Chlorella Advisory Board, which helps manage the medicinal development behind Sun Chlorella items.

[nickgerlich]

I Shutter To Think

What goes around, comes around. That’s what they say. Fashions have a way of coming back to haunt us, as do hair styles. Maybe it’s because there truly isn’t anything new under the sun. Maybe it’s because, in our rush to reach tomorrow, we left behind a really good yesterday, and have come to regret it.

And maybe it’s because we have raised new generations of people on the New, that they are fascinated by the Old, and want to experience life as we did several decades ago.

Vinyl records are a good example. Starting in 2006, vinyl started its comeback, and last year 21.8 million units were sold. That compares to CDs, which continue their decline to 17.7 million. Sure, tangible recorded music is only about 10% of the music pie, which explains why many retailers have eliminated this category. Streaming services now account for 84% of music sales, but vinyl is big enough to warrant a specialty record shop in Amarillo, and even one in tiny Shamrock Texas on Route 66.

Another great example, and one that has piqued my curiosity, is film photography. This is how I learned the art of capturing light many years ago, borrowing my father’s Pentax K1000. It’s a rock-steady camera that I have today and still use. So popular is film photography that Kodak, once the industry giant, has hired more than 350 people in the last two years to be able to address rising demand.

It was in late 1996 that digital caught my eye and I bought my first film-free camera. It was a Casio that had what was then considered a mind-boggling 360 X 240 resolution. Yeah. That’s less than 1MP. Can anyone say grainy?

I dove deep into digital, and have bought quite a few cameras in the last 25 years. Digital is a very different game, allowing users to effectively pre-edit by adjusting a variety of settings, or tweak later in Photoshop and Lightroom. In the old days, editing was what you did in the dark room, with masters like Ansel Adams dodging and burning to achieve special effects.

Of course, film is still a tiny portion of the bigger photography picture (pun intended). The most common camera that 85% of us possesses—our smartphones—will never have film. And while there is a handful of new film cameras being manufactured now, the vast majority of cameras sold are digital, either DSLRs or mirrorless. Film is the new vinyl.

And there’s the issue of processing and printing, which can be expensive. You have to know where to look, although many Walgreens offer the service, as well as Walmart. There are also specialty mail-order processors, who will also burn a CD with your images in case you want to ride the fence.

Interest in film photography is felt across all age groups, but more pronounced among those who probably never loaded a roll before. There is increasing fascination with film photos from previous decades, notably the amazing work of John Margolies, who documented the vanishing American roadside from 1969 through 2008. He died in 2016. A large portion of his catalog is now available in the public domain at the Library of Commerce. 



Rabbit hole alert: You can get lost in his photos for hours!


As an amateur photographer, I am fascinated by how any photo more than 20 years old is viewed less for its artistic quality, as much as it opens a window unto the past. The cars. The clothes. The hair styles. Even the shops and their signage. Every artifact of past pop culture becomes valuable, whether the horizon line is level or not. Meanwhile, I am my own worst critic, often agonizing over shots to get them just right. In 20 years, no one will care. Heck, in 20 years I may be dead, and my kids will have canceled my storage subscription on the cloud. Poof. Gone.

Some credit Instagram with the resurgence in film. For those of us who have been using the platform since its launch in 2010, we recall the quirky old-school filters as well as the square-only format, like a Polaroid picture. Lost in this assertion is the fact that, at least in the beginning, Instagram only supported digital uploads from a smartphone. You can now post from a computer, and use any digital or otherwise scanned images.

There is a twisted irony to the recent surge at Kodak, though, because the company invented digital photography in the 1970s, then sat on it, allowing others to hammer nails in its coffin many years later. But as it turns out, Kodak is not quite dead yet. While film may never grow so much as to give Kodak the last laugh, it all goes to show that what’s old can become what’s new.

I just hope that bell bottoms and mullets never return. We can live without those pictures in my mind.

Dr “Some Things Are Best Left Dead“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

[sbutheatrearts-blog]

25 Fun Facts about Japanese Culture

By Vivien Safi Chanda

Konnichiwa Seawolves! That was “hello” in Japanese. Not familiar with Japanese vocabulary or culture?  I want to switch that one up by giving you a quick and fun way to learn as much about Japan as possible. Be ready to explore Japanese culture in 25 fun and interesting facts:

Japanese Geography

1. First of all Japan is not called “Japan” in Japanese. You already got tricked. Once upon a time people believed that Japan was the first country to see the sunrise in the East. Therefore, Japanese people call their mother land Nihon or Nippon which translates to the “Land of the Rising Sun”.

2. Speaking of the Sun (which feels so long ago us Seawolves could enjoy warm weather), Japan consists of over 6,800 islands. As you know, Japan is an island itself but all the small islands around it are part of the Japanese territory. The four largest ones are Honshu (island Tokyo is based on), Hokkaido, Kyushu, and Shikoku.

Let us talk about food

3.Most of you probably relate Japan to its cuisine (I mean who does not love sushi), but did you know that Japan has the third longest life expectancy worldwide! On average they live four years longer than Americans. 

4.How is that possible with more than 3,000 McDonald’s in their country, making this the largest number of McDonald restaurants outside of the United States? Furthermore, Japan has around 5 million vending machines all over the place. These vending machines sell basically everything! Hot beverages, liquor, food, underwear, light bulbs, condoms, living crabs, and the list goes on! The only way I can explain their long life expectancy is the fact that…

5… Japanese are the population with the largest fish consume worldwide. To throw some numbers at you: 17 million tons each year are either imported into Japan or locally produced. Additionally, over 20% of their protein is obtained through seafood.

6.Apart from seafood Japanese are known for their love to ramen noodles. 5 billion servings of instant ramen noodles are eaten in Japan per year.

7.In order to enjoy their noodles as quickly as possible Japanese tend to slurp a lot. Slurping cools down the hot noodles and indicates that the food is delicious. If you do not slurp, you are being rude to the cook. So slurp up!

8.Finally, sushi. Who does not know it, who does not love it. Sushi has been around for quite a while now. It all began in China in about the second century A.D. where sushi was an easy way to preserve fish. In the early 17th century Japanese natives came up with the idea of eating raw fish with rice.

9.In order to enjoy all of these typical Japanese dishes around 25 billion pairs of waribashi (disposable chopsticks) are used in Japan each year which is equivalent to about 10 million trees.

Japanese Locals

10.I bet the Japanese “diet” - how I would call it - is the reason why Japan has the highest amount of elderly people living there. To be exact 50,000 people are over the age of 100! In other words they have more elderly people in Japan than children.

11.Due to the low birth rate compared to elderly people living in Japan, adult diapers are sold more than baby diapers.

12.Another thing Japanese have more than children are pets. Japanese tend to spoil their pets such as dogs more than they would with their own children. It is common in Japan to spend up to $250 or more for a “poodle pullover”.

13.Japanese are also very superstitious. Since the number shi (four) sounds similar to the Japanese word for death, they tend to avoid that number as much as they can. While it is common in the Western culture to sell sets of dishes of four or six, Japanese sets are sold either in threes or fives. Even tall buildings and skyscrapers skip the level four.

Tokyo

14.Speaking of skyscrapers. The Tokyo metropolitan area is the largest worldwide with 35 million inhabitants. In comparison, the New York Metro area accounts for “only” 20 million people.  

15.Imagine the hectic space people in the Tokyo metro area face on a regular basis! This might be the reason why employers are so easy on their employees when it comes to taking naps, called inemuri, at work. Inemuri translates to “sleep while being present”. It is an expression - or a cultural Japanese practice - of being a hardworking individual who is successful and therefore, all public spaces are normal to take inemuris: trains, benches, cafes, etc.      

16.Hard to believe a Japanese train would be a peaceful and restful place to take a nap at. Tokyo’s main train station Shinjuku is known to be the busiest in the world with 2 million people using public transportation (Penn Station has about 600,000 people passing through). At times trains are so crowded that additional railway staff pushes and crams people inside the train.

Fun Activities in Japan

17.Sounds like it could be exhausting at times, right? So what do Japanese people do to relax and enjoy themselves? One activity Japanese love in their free time is reading comics. Cartooning started in Japan in the 12th century, and today more paper is used in order to produce comics for consumerism than toilet paper in Japan.

18.Another  thing Japanese natives love more than anything else is their smartphones. About 90% of all Japanese phones are waterproof because Japanese people rarely separate from their “technological love” (not even while being in the shower or bath tub).

19. The sport Japanese enjoy the most is baseball. Who would have guessed that!? Baseball is called yakyu and was introduced by an American teacher in Japan. Since 1873 yakyu is the most popular sport at Japanese Universities. They have two professional baseball leagues and even high school games are broadcasted on national TV as well as university games.

20.The one sport you probably would have associated with Japan is Sumo wrestling. You are not wrong. Sumo wrestlers are very popular in Japan. Besides the traditional Sumo wrestling there are different contests between Sumo wrestlers as well. One common contest is the “crying sumo” where wrestlers compete to see who can make a baby cry first.      

Customs to consider

21.If all of these fun activities do not help to cope with their exhausting everyday lives, Japanese tend to drink a lot of coffee. This hot beverage is so popular in Japan that they import 85% of Jamaica’s total coffee production!

22.What do Japanese have with their revitalizing coffee? Probably a cigarette. It is hard to find a non-smoking area in Japan. Even restaurants allow people to smoke inside. This habit is, predominantly, in the interest of profit making politicians.

Last but not least...

23.If Japanese do leave Japan - which happens more often than people immigrating to Japan (98% of Japan’s population are born and raised in Japan) - they are likely to move to Brazil. Based on cultural and economic exchange, today, Brazil has the largest Japanese community outside of Japan (1,5 million Japanese) and vice versa. About 300,000 Brazilians live in Japan making them the biggest non-Asian ethnic group in Japan.      

24.With its second lowest homicide rate in the world, Japan seems like a good place to move. Do not judge a book by its cover! Even though its homicide rate is very low, Japan is home to the “suicide forest” Aokigahara. This forest is the second most popular place in the world to commit suicide and is considered “the perfect place to die”. (Number one is the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.)

25.You might consider moving (or visiting) Japan after all, especially if you have crooked teeth. They are considered attractive in Japan and women actually go to the dentist to achieve the so called yaeba (crooked teeth). Bai Bai braces!

    Vivien Safi Chanda is an exchange student from Germany studying at SBU for two semester. Back home in Germany, Vivien is studying “Interdisciplinary American Studies” with an emphasis on African-American history. This summer she will be interning for a PR agency in Berlin, Germany before returning back to the University of Tuebingen for her senior year.