#its been the home to the skeletons of ships long forgotten and still on the ocean floor

[caffeinatedopossum]

Poetry prompt: under the sea’s eyes

Oo thanks for the prompt! I think I'm gonna have fun with this one

Under the seas eyes:

I gazed at the ocean

With eyes glazed over

Overwhelmed by regret

That I will never really know her

I wonder what she has seen

And where she has been

Guided by the moon

And enveloped by the wind

I wish I could speak this language

Of seafoam and waves

Oh, what poetry it must be

To harbor both so many lives and so many graves

And though her stormy depths

Are a place I dare not dive

I'll wonder all my life

Which one of us is more alive

I hope this reverence

Is enough on its own

To appreciate from the shore

The nature of things that can't be known

Feel free to give me more prompts if ya'll want! I really enjoyed this

[azems-familiar]

I was reading your novel in the tags of that jedi post :) and was curious about what you meant by Malak and Revan’s attachment?

oh GOD okay first of all. tumblr cut me off at 30 tags (tumblr is gatekeeping me i'm experiencing a microagression), i had more to say that got deleted when i made that post but uh. uh. okay buckle up i'm about to get into my Revan's Mandalorian Wars arc.

so before i get into this, i've written this whole thing out here, in fic form, and the specific event i was referring to is in the most recent posted chapter (chapter 8 of 13 yes i know it says 12 but i'm adding another chapter)! so basically. my Revan and Alek have had a Force bond since they were like, 15-16 ish, it developed over time until it's pretty damn strong. this is relevant.

they're a codependent mess long before they actually get into a romantic relationship, but it really just gets horribly worse when they go to war. the two of them have been at each other's sides and backs for as long as they can remember - they went to Ilum together, they were knighted together, everything in their life has happened together (even during their padawan years, where they were split up for lengths of time, it was still just- the two of them) - they're more one person than two. they barely know how to shield their bond and they're in each other's heads more often than they're in their own. this obviously has some ramifications when Revan becomes Supreme Commander of the Republic military and Alek is made her second-in-command, because they are attached. like, Anakin-style attachment issues, because neither of them know how to be alone.

Revan's arc throughout the Mandalorian Wars is a corruption arc, and central to that slow fall down is that she is a young woman with a lot of anger and pride (and compassion, but that gets swallowed up and forgotten by the end of it all), and a savior complex the size of Coruscant that was only encouraged by Arren Kae's teachings. and she is also the one who is winning the Republic the war. when she found her mask in the sea on Cathar and put it on, it was to seal a vow, but that mask very very quickly became a symbol of victory to the rest of the galaxy, not to just her - the soldiers under her command, the Jedi who followed her to war because she was the only one who would stand up against the Council, the civilians whose homes were burning or who lived in fear that they would be next. Revan is twenty-three years old when she is promoted to Supreme Commander, and the only way she can cope with it all, with the expectations on her shoulders, is to become the mask, to make it who she is, until she cannot show her face to anyone and until she begins to think of herself as the legend the rest of the galaxy sees her as already. she has to be that legend, she has to win the war, she has to destroy the Mandalorians and save the galaxy and be all these horrible terrible things and she cannot do it as a person, so she turns herself into a symbol.

and Alek is the one person in the galaxy who she trusts more than anything, because he's a piece of her soul, the other half of her, and he is the one who she can be weak with, who she can go to in the darkness when all her sacrifices are weighing down on her and she doesn't know how to breathe under them, and she can find her absolution in his steady faith. (this eventually becomes one of the things that leads to the betrayal - she takes him for granted, and it became a fairly one-sided relationship by the end of the Sith Years, demanding everything from him and giving nothing back. it is not a healthy relationship at any point in time and that's why it's so horribly compelling you know? lol) Alek is hers and without him - well, if she didn't have Alek, it'd be very, very bad tbh.

now we come to the actual point where this matters.

on Lantillies, Revan faces Cassus Fett in person for the first time, and actually fights him. he ends up being outnumbered and, to buy time for him to escape, he shoots Alek - and Revan lets him escape to make sure Alek is okay, because she is utterly horrified at the thought of losing him. and that reveals a weakness. Cassus has spent this entire war seeing just how far he can push Revan - he wants to know what she'll do for victory. he looks at her and he sees himself, sees so many similarities, and so he just- he keeps pushing and pushing. there are a couple other instances in which Alek as her weakness is a Thing, and so we come to the battle of Clefar, which is an original one i created. it's in the last year of the war, so things are getting very. well, hellish at this point, the fall is long in play, and the Mass Shadow Generator's research is on its way, construction is about to begin. one of the technicians on the team researching it turns out to be a Mandalorian plant, and so as Revan is coming in to defend/free Clefar from the newly-arrived Mandalorian fleet, which was supposed to have Fett at its head, she finds out that there's a scouting party with this stolen information elsewhere in the sector, on their way to meet up with Fett.

Alek convinces her to send him off to deal with it, and she's not happy with it but she does. and it's a trap. Fett is not actually present at Clefar, he left only a skeleton force there; he shows up to attack Alek's ships, and lets Alek get out a distress call before he jams comms. he wants to see what Revan will do.

and Revan gives the order to abandon Clefar to the Mandalorians to save Alek.

she wins the planet back eventually. but before she can get it back, Cassus bombs it, because he wants her to be forced to accept the choice she made, what she did: that she willingly let thousands, tens of thousands, maybe hundreds, of civilians die to save one man.

and she looks at this- and she would do it again. because there is nothing in the galaxy to her that is worth Alek's death.

[rjhpandapaws]

Ocean Eyes

Chapter 1: Gold, Bones, and the One that Couldn't Let Them Go

Tw: Description of a corpse, Nines collects bones

He and his older brothers were considered trouble by the matriarch of their pod. They were too interested in humans and their culture. They had even gone so far as to take human sounding names. Connor named himself the writing he found on an odd box containing human clothes. Silas chose the name he found  on a piece of a small sunken fishing boat. Nines had named himself after what he had seen on an interesting looking human tool. He still didn’t know what his namesake did, but he liked the sound of his name and that was enough. Where he and his brothers differed in their fascination with humans were the humans themselves. Silas and Connor adored them while Nines was more in the things they left behind when they drowned. He had a growing collection of various human bones and things that he believed they found important. If they weren’t objects of some kind of importance, he didn’t understand why humans would cling to them with such desperation as the sea pulled them into its depths. Then again Nines had never seen or spoken to a human, so he could only guess. He liked to believe that he was correct though, because if he were to ever travel to an unknown place he would bring his most important treasures with him. As soon as he acquired something that could be considered an important treasure of course.

Nines explored for new things on the days he had the time. His favorite place to look was the stretch of water between a rather perilous cluster of islands and rocks known as the Siren Isles. Ships always seemed to sink there and they brought humans and their trinkets with them. The three of them had time today. Connor and Silas lingered closer to the surface to observe the humans. Nines was closer to the sea floor combing over the wreckage for things he hadn’t seen before. A short distance from what looked to be an older ship wreck was an almost completely intact human skeleton. As fascinating as that was Nines was more interested in the gold chain that was around what had once been the neck of the drowned sailor. He traced a finger along the chain to where it was clutched in a skeletal fist. There would be no getting to the treasure without damaging the hand. Which was unfortunate because it was the first intact human hand he had come across and the sailor’s other hand was missing so he didn’t exactly have a spare to take with him. Carefully, Nines worked to pry the calcified fingers away from the secret that they so desperately clung to even after death had claimed their keeper.

In the end two of the sailor’s fingers wound up broken in the sand and Nines decided to take them as well as the strange gold pendant. It looked like it had once been able to open. If it could still open then opening it underwater would probably ruin whatever was inside. Nines had the feeling that whatever was contained in the strange compartment was what the sailor had been so desperate to protect. While thievery was a common practice of his, emotionally dishonoring the dead was not. He put the loop of chain over his head just like he had seen on the skeleton. The compartment came to rest just over his heart. He tucked the fingers into the pouch on his hip and continued his search for another  few hours. He didn’t find much of note, a few teeth he was pretty sure he didn’t already have, and an interesting little box that looked like it had sea glass on the front. Whatever it had been supposed to do the water wouldn’t let it. It still looked nice though so he decided to keep it. The strange little container on a chain was by far his best find of the day and the thing that he was the most curious about. Though out of respect, if he ever chose to open it, he would go to the surface as not to ruin whatever it held. If it was precious enough to cling to even after death, so whatever it held had to be special.

The waters were just starting to grow cold with the first hints of winder when he finally had the opportunity to slip to the surface and investigate his neck piece.  He had been wearing it long enough that its weight had become familiar. The unknown secret was something he had taken upon himself to protect. Today was the day he learned what it was he carried with him. He settled on the cliff side of the beach. It was guarded by rocks that only the most adventurous of humans would dare cross. Though if there were this far out at sea, Nines figured they would be more concerned with surviving than being adventurous. It took longer than he thought for the case to become dry enough to safely be opened. He was not going to risk breaking it. Even then it took him a few tries. Inside was an image of two humans. The shorter of the two, and the sailor judging from the clothes; had messy hair and an impish smile that promised trouble would follow. Their eyes were alight with mischief and something ese that Nines didn’t know the name of but was captivated by nonetheless. The taller of the two had long curly hair that was tied back. They were dressed considerably better, and they looked at the sailor with a softness in their eyes that made Nines bristle, though he had no idea why. He had never known this sailor he shouldn’t have felt anything at all.

Opening the thing hadn’t given him any meaningful answers, but it had given  him his sailor in a way. There was a human Connor looked at with the same soft expression. Whatever that feeling was had been what moved Connor to save that human in the storm that stole his ship and his smaller companion. Nines had observed the power of that feeling, and wondered if the person in the image with the sailor knew where their friend was. If they had grieved their loss. Had they even known they had lost anyone at all? He closed it and resolved that he would try and find where the sailor had come from and return this to their companion. Whoever they were they deserved to have something to remember their lost sailor by. No one this cared for deserved to be forgotten, and no one that cared so much deserved to be left without answers. He just hoped he wasn’t too late. Humans lived very short lives as it was even without the sea to take them too soon. In his moment of resolve he felt an almost painful cold where the container had come to rest over his heart. It had almost felt like a hand, but the sensation was gone before he could think too much about it. He understood that the metal should have been warm from the sun. He didn’t have the answers so he pushed the oddity of his situation to the back of his mind and returned home. He had a journey, a hopeless chase really, to prepare for.

That night marked the start of the dreams. Memories that payed back although they didn’t belong to him. The featured the nicely dressed human from the image. A human female if he understood correctly, and he seemed to be looking at her through the sailor’s eyes. There was a gentle warm feeling that came from being near her. A desire to give her whatever she might want. The desire to explore though, that burned. It was stronger it seemed than what held them to her. It was so intense that it seemed to be what woke him up. He opened his eyes to find the sailor, or rather a version of them, above him in the water. He had the same messy hair and those same eyes that pulled Nines in with ease. There were two problems though; humans couldn’t survive at this depth, and Nines was relatively certain that you weren’t supposed to be able to see through them. Moreover, they seemed entirely alive aside from being almost completely transparent. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” They said without drowning. Nines decided there was something seriously wrong. “I just wanted to see her one more time, I can’t in this state and I drowned before I could make it back to her.” They sounded so heartbroken that it made Nines ache on their behalf, “You’re dead?”

His company took a moment to look down at themself, “I think so.” “Do you remember what you were called when you were alive?” Nines asked. Connor would chide him for asking such an insensitive question, but he needed to call his sailor something. There was a long stretch of silence that was almost uncomfortable before his companion replied. “I remember the name Gavin. I’m not sure if its mine or not, but you could call me that if it helps.” Nines gave a nod and Gavin continued, “Do you have a name?” “I call myself Nines.” He said. “Nines?” Gavin responded, “Like the number? Seems weird but whatever. Will you help me get back to Aliyah?” Nines nodded, “In the morning. As the living creature of the group, I actually need sleep.” “Right.” Came the reply. Gavin sounded like he had genuinely forgotten, “Sleep well then.” Just like that he was gone.  As sleep made slow work of coming back to him Nines wondered what it was he had gotten himself into. He agreed to go Gavin only knew where to reunite a ghost with his lost love. At the very least he wouldn’t be bored anymore. He just hoped Gavin remembered where he lived better than he remembered his name.

[thesolitarystripe]

This was actually one of the first “chapters” I wrote about Tindyl. I started playing World of Warcraft in Legion and haven’t stopped since. For anyone that plays and is familiar with the expansions; this piece took place in BFA. It’s short and simple but considering it was my first time delving into writing about her and my guild, it’s worth a post.  I also profusely apologize that none of her story is posted in chronological order. It is absolutely all over the place despite there being an order, for sure. If there are questions on what to read first, I’m happy to answer. 

There was little land untouched by her feet but, even still, it felt strange being here in this town upon the sea. The sun was hot and the air thick with salt as it wafted through the alleys of the Tradewinds Market. It seemed there was always a distant call of gulls and the noise of trade echoing between the sturdy buildings. The young night elf had not yet found a favorite spot, one that brought comfort and peace of mind—every city she visited had that one place for her.

Tindyl spent many nights when the breeze was cool and laughter dimly echoed from the inn behind her, sitting upon the stone ledge overlooking the harbor. Perhaps it was the sight of their ship and the Alliance sigil floating above the sea that provided reprieve and an ounce of serenity. Unlike many of her allies, Tindyl did not find comfort in the bottom of a bottle; nor did she particularly enjoy the effect spirits had on her. Though she loved them all, she preferred to listen to the waves crash into each other and watch the moon shine bright above them.

In all her excursions with the Alliance, never had she felt so unattached from the mission. She did her duty, as well as she could. She kept her friends alive no matter the cost while they defeated the horde and made their way closer to Sylvanas. Within her, her heart was uneasy.

No matter how desperately she tried, she could not forget the flames or the smoke that engulfed her home. The smell of burnt wood, how the once lush grass crunched beneath her feet, the screams.

Tindyl bowed her head, slender fingers gripping the cold stone as she sat upon that familiar ledge in Boralus Harbor. If she could forget the screams; wipe away the crimson memories that stained the back of her eye lids—maybe, then she could find peace in this new town.

If Tyrande had been there, she hadn’t seen her. With the orders given to her then, Tindyl worked with blinders on—desperate to save as many of her kin as possible. She bandaged until her fingers were numb and called upon her healing powers until her spirit ran dry. Even then, it was all for naught. So much and so many were lost.

She wished she had stayed until the last ember had fizzled out but, with orders to evacuate, Tindyl left behind her home and the shriek of her dying people.

The briny air smoothed over her skin, ruffling silver locks and pushing them over her eyes. They were dark against her pale complexion. Gone was the soft ivory glow she’d been born with. Becoming a Night Warrior was an easy decision. The return to Darkshore weighed heavily on her. Bearing the memories of that night she followed Dori’thur—chills running down her spine.

Once her boots touched the familiar soil, damaged and strange as it was, it felt familiar and welcoming—as if the earth called to her still, as it did when she was a child. She had pressed one palm to the moist sand and soaked in the rage that had seeped deep into the land. Tindyl let it consume her as she and her allies charged further inland to find Tyrande.

Hearing Tyrande bark orders at their sacred Elune struck both fear and admiration within her breast. Why shouldn’t they be angry? Where was Elune when her people suffered and wailed beneath a night sky, painted in flame?

Tindyl accepted Elune’s power, hoping for a feverish moment, that she would be deemed worthy enough to wield it. It scared her now how quickly it was for her to accept death—should Elune’s power tear her apart. She was grateful it hadn’t.

We will Kill them all.

Tindyl stood, shaken but renewed as this celestial power coursed through her veins.

All her life she had lived to save, to heal, to protect. As she stood now, the looming vision of Teldrassil’s skeleton in the distance, she vowed to follow Tyrande’s orders.

The time for mercy is over.

Tindyl’s eyes opened, glistening as new tears formed and slid down her cheeks. She did not regret the lives she took. Over the years of service to the Alliance, she had followed through on every mission, every target. Yet she wept more than ever now.

Why?

Her fingers came up to brush her hair back from her face and quickly hide the shimmering droplets as the sound of footsteps padded behind her. A slight turn of her head brought the vision of a familiar face. Tindyl eased back off her knees and sat her hips down in full upon the ledge so that her feet could dangle over the side.

“Out here alone Archdruid?”

The female panda took a seat beside the night elf, she needn’t ask if her presence was wanted. It always was.

“Please,” Tindyl laughed softly, “don’t call me that.”

Both women rolled their eyes and shared another chuckle. Together they stared out over the sea, Tindyl’s heels thumping against the stone as she kicked out her legs methodically.

“Missing home?” The panda asked boldly. Tindyl glanced sideways at her before fixating on the moon above. Only her dearest friend, Kagurah, could speak so blatantly. Everyone else didn’t dare broach the topic.

“Of course,” Tindyl sighed simply.

Kag nodded, she often found her friend sitting out here staring blankly at the rolling waves.

“We’re going to take it back.”

Tindyl looked at the panda with a plain expression, eyes wide with disbelief. People always said that these days, but it was hard to feel its truth.

“The Alliance has always been met with hard times and we’ve always risen above it.” Kag spoke with a confidence that stirred Tindyl’s heart. “But you can’t keep sulking out here until we do,” she chastised before wrapping one strong arm around the druid. “Come have a drink with us, you can sit between Hibikyoku and me. Felwalker and Heftyweizen are in there,” she nodded back toward Snug Harbor Inn. “Everyone, everyone is in there asking about where you’ve gone off to.”

Tindyl struggled mildly against Kag’s hold; she had forgotten there was comfort to be found in the warm arms of the people she loved. The night elf patted Kag’s soft wrist,

“Fine. Only because you asked and just this once.” Tindyl’s voice came in a slightly annoyed grumbled.

Kag hardly noticed and dragged the silver haired elf to her feet. They were in the warmth of the Inn before Tindyl could protest any further. Seated at the tables were the members of their guild. Shamans, warriors, rogues, monks—humans, pandaren, void elves, draenei.

The shaman’s arm was still around her as Kag laughed at something Kreevus had said. Kag released her and took her place beside her husband, paws wrapped around her half-full tankard.

Tindyl felt the fire in her soul stir as the voices and laughter of her companions filled her ears. Maybe she was luckier than all of them. Perhaps Kul Tiras would never give her a place to feel at home but, she didn’t need one.

She was pulled down into one of the wooden chairs by another familiar pandaren and found herself sandwiched between him and Torvamir, their paladin. Hefty greeted Tindyl with a hearty hello; and a drink was set in front of her by a lovely barmaid.

Tindyl felt so silly for forgetting that this familiarity she craved, the warmth and love, the peace—was with her wherever she went, as long as she was surrounded by the people she loved most. A silent vow was lifted, Elune as her witness, that she would protect these special people until she drew her final breath.

“For the Alliance!” Hibi swung a freshly filled tankard of ale and it sloshed over the sides onto everyone sitting near him. A small army of glasses rose to meet his in the air.

“For the Alliance!” Tindyl lifted hers too, a smile breaking out over her face as the whole room chanted and cheered in tandem.

[halloweennut]

Homeward Bound

A ship crashes on Shuggazoom, and Chiro learns about his past

Listen I was having feelings and many thoughts. Take this as you will.

-

One Year after the Start of the War of the Dead

A ship had crashed in No Man's Land, between the City and the Wastes where the Skeleton King and his army lived. By the time the Hyperforce had managed to get there, the hull was surrounded, pillaged by Formless, taking whatever dead that remained before they could stop them. All that remained was a few supplies and crates, their contents long gone.

"This ship looks like its seen better days, even before the crash," Sprx said, walking around the decrepit hull. "It's way out of date. They don't make this model anymore."

"We can check the ship's logs to see who manned it," Chiro said. "We can at least put their names on the memorial."

The memorial was a new addition to Shuggazoom. It read the names of those taken into the Formless Army or fell in battle. It was thankfully a short list.

"On it! Let's see if we can pull up the ship's manifest and crew on their computers," Otto said, going to the control panels. "Maybe we can see what happened to-"

He pressed a button, and there was a whirl of life as the bridge came back to life...and then sputtered with sparks, smoke, and flame. Otto gagged, coughing as he waved it away from his face.

"Nevermind- ack!" he coughed. "I'm not sure how much is salvageable."

"We might be more likely to find information based on the ship's name," Antauri said. "We must head back before nightfall."

"Agreed," Chiro replied. After one final sweep for Formless or any lucky survivors, they exited the ship through a large crack in it's side, walking around to the tail where they came across the name 'Tomorrow's Destiny' in red. Chiro furrowed his brow - it sounded familiar. Perhaps it was a ship from Shuggazoom.

"Tomorrow's Destiny?" Sprx said aloud. "Huh."

"What's wrong?" Nova asked. "Do we have a ship you know nothing about?"

"No, it's a smuggler ship," Sprx said. "There was a bounty on it years ago! But it was supposedly caught."

"What's it doing on Shuggazoom?" Gibson asked. "I'm loathe to think smugglers had a hideaway in our city."

“Could have just been floating in space and got caught in our orbit,” Sprx shrugged. "We'll run the ship number in the Robot and see where it's home port was registered."

The ship was surprisingly registered to a port in Shuggazoom. There was no name attached to the building or ship, long since erased or hidden, no doubt. The port and ship hangar itself was abandoned, not having been in use since the Tomorrow's Destiny had flown off. Spiderwebs and dust covered every corner. Old lockers and crates were abandoned to dust and decay, tools long since been rendered useless for want of a mechanic.

Chiro couldn't place it, but he knew this place. Antauri could sense his confusion in his mind. "Chiro? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm just...this will sound crazy, but I feel like I know this place, but I don't," Chiro replied. "I'm just not sure how."

"Maybe you were a little baby smuggler!" Nova joked, elbowing his knee. He laughed. "Just imagine little Chiro, sneaking contraband onto the planet."

"Awww, little criminal!" Otto cooed with a laugh.

"Please, like our Chiro would have done anything of the sort," Gibson chided.

"They're just joking," Chiro said. "Besides, maybe I just saw a movie or a show that had a similar setting."

The lights whirred on, as well as a large computer monitor at the far end of the room. Sprx came out of a backroom. "Found the switch! Now let's see what we're working with."

Chiro walked up to the computer, brushing dust off the screen and panels. "It's asking for a handprint or passcode."

"Let's see, 39 keys, average passcode length is 6," Gibson murmured. "That would be over a million possible combinations, but if I create a code-"

Chiro slipped off a glove, and cautiously placed his hand on the scanner, expecting it not to work...but something said to try.

"Handprint Accepted. Welcome: Chiro."

The group looked up in shock as everything became available - shipping logs, crew, everything.

"So Chiro was a baby smuggler."

"Nova!"

"Message available for: Chiro. Play message?"

Chiro looked at Antauri. "How does it know me? Should- Should I even play it?"

"If this isn't something you wish to learn about yourself, perhaps we should come back," Antauri replied. "I know much of your childhood...is missing to you. This may be a clue into your past."

He took a deep breath. "Computer, play the message."

The screen flickered. The date of the recording flashed - it had been recorded when he was younger, maybe 8 or so, and just before the ship had last been seen. It flickered again, and the message played. A woman sat in front of the camera - she had short black hair and blue eyes, like Chiro, but wore a dark red coat and gray turtleneck. She smiled, and it was friendly yet playful, and Chiro felt himself go stock still.

"Hey Chiro," the woman said. "I don't know when you'll be seeing this, but I hope even more that you won't."

She sighed.

"I'm about to go on my last flight. It should be, anyway. It's a big score for me and the crew. We won't have to do any more shady things. But, last flight...brings up some bad images in my mind, and worries too. I know I'll come home, I promised you that. Remember? When I got back-"

"We'd go get ice cream and go to the arcade," Chiro said in unison with her.

"Chiro, there's so many things I wish I could tell you, about me, about what I do," she continued. "But you're still so young, my baby boy. I don't want you to have the burden of me being, well, a criminal on your shoulders. There's a lot of things I don't want you to go through, not like I did. But you are the best thing in my life, and know that I'll always come back for you, my darling son."

"Wait, that's your-" Nova sputtered.

"My mom...," Chiro said. He remembered now. He remembered their small little apartment, the smiles she had, the way she made coming home from school an adventure. The day she brought him here and scanned his palm on the computer...the day she left...

"Oh, my little star sweeper, one day I'll give you the stars- the galaxy. I'll show you every planet," she said. "For now, I just care about you being safe and happy. This hangar is yours now. There are a few ships in the back, but one is my personal cruiser. When you're 16 I'll teach you to fly it, and at 18, it's yours."

"I just hope to be there, Chiro," she looked back up, and it felt like she locked eyes with him. "Remember that I love you, so very much, and every day I'm away, all I'm thinking about is you. I'll see you soon, I promise. Captain Mara, signing off."

The video ended, and Chiro leaned heavily on the control pattern. He had nearly forgotten her voice, her face...the idea, the confirmation that she was dead, sank like a stone in his stomach. He could care less about the criminal past. He could hear the monkeys murmuring around him, trying to get his attention, but it sounded far away as he was caught in the riptide of his thoughts and emotions. It wasn't until he was pulled onto the floor by them did Chiro's head rise from the waters as his team pulled him into a hug, shushing the threatening tears away.

"She seemed wonderful," Gibson said, gently. "For a smuggler-"

"We're sorry, Chiro, that you had to find out everything like this," Nova said. "Why don't we return tomorrow to continue our search?"

Chiro shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "Let's finish here. Maybe...maybe I can find more about my mom that way."

"Alright, Chiro," Antauri said. "Let's see what we can find."

-

Mara woke up.

[goattypegirl]

Harrow the Ninth Live Read: Chapter 6-11

Con: It’s been a while

Pro: We finished part 1!

Con: this post is hella long now.

Chapter 6

Eighth House icon. Oh no. Gotta say, not a fan of the characters from the Eight House in Gideon the Ninth, whose names I now forget. There was Big Dude and Mayonnaise Twink. 

OH OK WE’RE STARTING OFF WITH SOME LOCKED IN SYNDROME SHIT. 

So, panicked person wheeling Harrow is given the title “Sacred Hand.” I vaguely recall seeing that before; is that a title given to Lyctors? Is this one of the OG Lyctors finally making an appearance? Wheeling the frozen Harrow to the Emperor to “unfuck accordingly?” Well, maybe not. Presumably another Lyctor would be able to “unfuck accordingly” themselves.

Oh disregard it is a Lyctor! And if we go back to the Dramatis Personae, this should be... Mercymorn! Originally of the Eighth House! She seems nice.

“It was his order that she not be touched.” Did the Emperor do this? But hwhy?

Calling Harrow and Ianthe babies is kind of hilarious. Aaaand Mercymorn just knocked this random person unconscious. OH wait is this the person the Emperor said to make static-y noises at? Survey says... maybe? They were called the Saint of Joy, which seems a unique title?

The whole description of the Lyctor and the way she visually dissects Harrow is so poetic, but something else catches my eye here. Harrow says her eyes did not have such a startling transition, which helps confirm my theory that Harrow is suppressing or undid the Lyctor process.

Also using the power of Cringe, Harrow partially(?) undoes the paralysis spell done to her. “An emotion was playing out over her face that was- not unfamiliar to you- but nonsensical; you discarded it.” Eh? What emotion could this be referring to? Confusion over what Harrow did? Awe? Fear? All of the above?

OH okay before I forget, Harrow formed a bone hook inside of her to do that, and she made that bone sheath to hold on to the sword, so maybe her necromancy isn’t being suppressed? Well, maybe. That feels more... internal? Like she hasn’t grown any full ass skeletons from bone dust yet.

...Why is Harrow afraid of telling Mercymorn her actual age? Why is the Body telling her to lie? Why fifteen??

Relief? That’s what flashed across Mercymorn’s face? Oh, duh, because Harrow did that and didn’t immediately die. Duh. Also she straight up said “hiss”? That is weird. Also, thinking back, it is weird there wasn’t an age requirement in the Lyctor trials. Also Mercymorn took Ianthe too???

“You’re not as pretty as Anastasia.” Anastasia being the member of the Ninth House listed with the Lyctors, but not as one of the Saints. Doing this liveread has its advantages, namely that I can remember shit that happened earlier! 

OH WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT. “AS Anastasia,” not “As Anastasia was.” Implying Anastasia’s still alive? Matches her name not being struck through in the Dramatis Personae, and Mercymorn said there were 3 OG Lyctors now. Which matches with Anastasia not having that line about being a Saint! I’ve connected the two dots!

Okay there’s a lot going on here. Why is this normal necromancer so fascinating to Ianthe and Harrow? What she’s doing is pretty dope to be fair. Mercymorn called Ianthe 12... which... huh. More on that in a second. First, I need to google what the fuck an animaphiliac is... probably in an incognito window. Oh, okay, it’s just a style of necromancy in this universe okay thank God. Mercymorn also said Ianthe wasn’t as attractive as Cyrus... which is weird... And it reminds Ianthe of being with Mummy... I assume she means her mother, comparing her to Coronabeth? Oof.

So, back to the lowballing age thing. Mercymorn assumes Ianthe is 12, probably  because she’s super old and has forgotten how mortals age. Harrow seems to have subconsciously picked up on this, which is why she lied about her age. I’m still in the camp of the Body being non-supernatural in origin. Yes, she has Gideon’s eyes, BUT, she spoke in the voice of Harrow’s mother and Aiglamene. SO, my theory is that the Body is a product of the trauma Harrow’s gone through, that’s kind of externalizing Harrow’s inner thought process. Like I said earlier, I’ve read Twig, and this is reminiscent of that.

OH hey we’re headed to the frontline apparently? Because 3 warships got shot down suddenly? Which begs the question I’ve had in the back of my mind since first picking up this series, who the fuck are they fighting??? Probably not Ressurection Beasts, given what we know about them. Other humans, probably? Dominicus (probably) isn’t Earth or humanity’s home planet. 

Okay, hold up. The Emperor is trying to get to the frontline now, Mercymorn wants him to return to “the Mithraeum”, which is presumably the capital of the Empire outside of the Dominicus system? Also, Emperor’s been on the ship for 80 years, and been away from the Mithraeum for 100... Once again, the math’s not adding up...

Okay, so God hugs Mercymorn, she freezes, he confirms that he is leaving, and that he knows exactly who shot down 3 warships???

Okay cool we’re not headed to the fronline, we’re headed to the Mithraeum, whatever the fuck that is.

Ohhh and the Cohort necromancer girl died, or committed suicide? And the Emperor brought her back? ...There’s a story there.

Ohhhh Mom and Dad are fighting.

OKAY ONCE AGAIN A LOT TO UNPACK HERE BUT THE MITHRAEUM CAN ONLY BE REACHED BY ONE MEANS???? AND IT MAY HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH BEING A LYCTOR???

...Hey. So. Here’s something. In the description of Mercy’s sword, it says it has a white knob at the end of, and I quote “-you didn’t know the exact technical word. It was a pommel though.” There’s a disconnect there, between Harrow’s knowledge, and the narrator’s knowledge. This has happened a few other times, like just a few pages ago, Harrow says a room is used for bodily functions, but the narrator jumps in and says no one in the universe would call it that, it’s a toilet. And this is going to sound kind of batshit, but like 6 years ago i was in to Undertale, and there was a popular theory that the narrator in that game was a separate character from the PC and... a lot of the points used in that theory kinda ring true here... even the use of second person narration...

So the narrator is a separate character from Harrow? Now, whether this narrator exists in-universe, or if this is a really cool stylistic choice, is another story. Right now I’m leaning towards... I don’t know. Well, hm. If the Body is a kind of externalization of Harrow’s inner thought process, maybe the narrator is an internalization? 

That makes no sense.

Something to keep in mind.

Anyway, the shuttle detaches. There’s a sort of irony, in God being tired of people martyring themselves for him, but giving a speech saying “hey if you die in my service I love you.”

OKAY I think we’re about to go faster than light using necromancy? This should be good. OH OKAY WE’RE TAKING A SHORTCUT THROUGH HELL. COOL.

...so what was their original method of faster than light travel that turned out to be unusable? did it have to do with neutrinos in italy?

okay I love Mercy and the Emperor’s dialogue here. Again, objectively, I’m sure they’re bad people who have committed several warcrimes... but the way they bicker is just hilarious.

I’m googling hyperpotamus, and i’m only getting other Harrow the Ninth livereads, so it appears to be a term made for the book. But I have a terrible feeling it’s a pun on hippopotamus.

There are so many quotes here that I absolutely love, including “said the Lord of the Nine Houses, who apparently existed within a complex power dynamic.”  and “The magma metaphor falls apart from here.” 

...Oh. Okay, serious time. Even at the very start, just post-Resurrection, two of the Lyctors fell to the Resurrection Beasts. Well, one died, and one was “removed from play.” Which sounds horrifying.

So we’re dipping into Hell because you can move fast there. Hell is full of angry ghosts. This explains the ghost ward. Lyctors have hacked the system, and so can kind of survive there. And we learn what happened to Cassiopeia, one of the deceased Lyctors. (Interestingly enough it says she baited physical portions of the Ressurection Beast. Not a beast. Nor is it given a number...)

ALright so entering the River physically sounds fucking horrifying. I’m very glad we only have to do it this once and it definitely won’t come back later in the book nope definitely not.

“and that you felt alone in your head.” ;_;

Chapter 7

Sixth House icon.

There’s not a lot to say here, besides how freaky this is. How much do you want to bet that the faint wail Harrow hears is coming from the coffin with Cyntherea’s body?

JOHN. GOD’S NAME IS JOHN?? #NAME LORE UNLOCKED. IM JUST SO HAPPY I FINALLY HAVE A WAY TO REFER TO HIM WITHOUT STRUGGLING TO SPELL EMPORER EVERY FUCKIN TIME.

Also, Mercymorn knowing his like actual human name further implies some stuff about the timeline of the Ressurection, which I was wondering about previously... but that’s a discussion for later because Harrow’s in Hell!

Not a lot to say here besides 

fuck.

A few things. One. I think they’re going to get out of this okay? And by okay I mean alive? We know Ianthe, the Emperor, and Harrow live up to the point of the Prologue, and I don’t think Mercymorn is going to die already. 

Two. Cassiopeia was from the Sixth House, going by her Cavalier’s last name, which explains the chapter icon.

Three. The lights? The last page or so is very metaphorical, but, at the beginning it says Harrow perceived herself as a “sickly radiance”, and that she perceived the others on the ship as a light as well. She later said she was an “ova cluster of two hundred pinpricks of light.” So I think in this deep part of the River Harrow accidentally sent herself to, souls (maybe?) are displayed as lights. Harrow’s own soul is literally made up of the hundreds of dead House Nine kids, which is. Spooky. But then, at the end, when they jump out of the River, they bring 5 lights with them. So... either something hitched a ride with them, or it has something to do with Harrow suppressing Gideon and the Lyctor ritual. Everyone else on the ship has undergone the Lyctor ritual (or something similar, in John’s case), and they only have 1 light each. At least to Harrow’s eyes. BRUH IDK WHAT”S GOING ON. 

Chapter 8

No further answers here, this is a flashback chapter! So, sheared skull = flashback. And this chapter is going to feature the Fourth House, apparently. Who was Fourth House again? Oh no it was the kids. Oh no. ;_;

So, we are continuing through Harrow’s re-imagination of the events of Canaan House, with her Ortus OC in tow.

Of course Harrow is overwhelmed by normal tea, and of course Harrow thinks dressing up skeletons is stupid. 

AND of course Harrow would have a private prayer wishing doom on anyone that looks at her with any kind of emotion.

Hold up, the Anastasian tomb? Reserved for warriors? And presumably derived from the word Anastasia, the mysterious not-Lyctor of the Ninth House?? 

I can already tell Anastasia is going to become my Pepe Silvia. 

Ohhh this is going to be a lore bomb about the timeline of the Ressurection and I’m going to need to pull out my copy of Gideon the Ninth to see if any of this shit actually happened. 

TEN? TEN NORMAL ASS HUMANS? AND FIVE NECROMANCERS?? BUT THERE WERE SEVEN LYCTORS. THE MATH DOES NOT CHECK OUT.

Okay so I checked and none of this shit actually happened! In fact, Teacher actually said there were 16, 8 necromancers, 8 cavaliers. Where the fuck is Harrow getting 10 from? Who knows! And rather than explicitly saying “hey check out the basement labs to see how to become a Lyctor,” Teacher actually said fuck if I know. Not actually. But still.

Oh of course it’s called the Sleeper!! I had Kill Bill sirens playing in my head when I first read that. 

So,  had a whole ass monologue here, but this is already very long and im sleepy, so to very quickly summarize, the Parahumans series had an entity known as the Sleeper that was intentionally very mysterious and raised a lot of questions amongst fans, and the fact that there’s another entity here known as the Sleeper is flooding me.

So, I’m spooked. Again, this entire conversation did not actually happen. Teacher’s dialogue is precious. “go where I durst not go: because I love my life, and I love noise, also.” and “I do not know the answers to any of these questions, only that, already, you are being too loud.”

So, the rest of the chapter plays out with Ortus complaining to Harrow. Intriguingly, he says that Harrow doesn’t have much of an imagination, when she says there was no one else to choose as her Cavalier... And then one of the skeletons says, “Is this how it happens?” harkening back to Parodos, when the Body says something similar. There’s a lot to unpack here. One, like I said previously, because Ortus, and apparently the entirety of Canaan House, is a product of Harrow’s mind, they can maybe give some insight into Harrow herself. However, the fact that Ortus seems to break character and chastise her for her lack of imagination is... I don’t know.

Okay, theory time. “The Work” alluded to in the letters is not only the suppression of Lyctor-hood, it’s also the erasure of Gideon, and the creation of these false memories. Meaning Lyctor!Harrow somehow crafted them; there was conscious effort behind it. Which means we can totally pick these scenes apart to gain further insight into Harrow! The skeleton and the Body asking if this is what happened, and Ortus breaking character (maybe) are her subconscious breaking through... Maybe that ties into my idea of the narrator being an internalization or compartmentalization of Harrow’s trauma? Hmm...

Chapter 9

Seventh House skull, and not a flashback. I’m guessing this is because we’re going to inter Cyntherea’s body here.

Okay, so time seems to have passed. IDK how much of the River Harrow remembers here. It seems like she recalls it like a bad dream. Ianthe’s here, and they’re in a chapel made of bone. Or at least one absolutely covered in bone. 

Here’s a question. The necromancy Harrow excels at, that’s creating a whole ass skeleton from a single bit of bone. Is she actually creating a new skeleton? Or is she reforming one. Like if she had two teeth from the same skeleton, could she use that to make two new skeletons? In the last chapter the Ressurection was described as not creating anything new... does that apply to all of necromancy, or just what the Emperor did?

Also another side note, Harrow says the stars glow with an unearthly light, which matches what the Emperor said, that they restarted the stars near the Mithraeum with thanergy, so they’re weird now. Except... wasn’t Dominicus restarted the same way? Or is the Dominicus system a hybrid of thanergy and thalergy? I’m getting my energies mixed up.

Anyway yep it’s Cyntherea’s funeral, and Harrow is checking the fuck out.

Okay we have a new Lyctor... and I’m guessing it’s Augustine, since he and Mercymorn are fighting.  

Okay and John’s giving a speech and giving more lore about the pre-Ressurrection and it’s confirmed that this guy is Augustine and-

First gen? Second gen? Sixth installation?? Valancy? ANASTASIA?

bruh im so flooded and this is supposed to be such a reverent moment.

Ohhh this is awkward now that they’re pulling Ianthe and Harrow forward. Okay we get a formal introduction to Mercymorn and Augustine. Augustine trails off before the third... and asks if he, the third surviving Lyctor, knows about the missile strikes...Is the third Lyctor the one leading the people who shot down the warships, which is sounding increasingly like a rebellion rather than a battle against others? Who’s the third again ah fuck it’s ORTUS.

ORTUS is apparently interested in “you-know-what”. Which I don’t know what. Please elaborate. 

ORTUS is here and he’s skeletal. OH AND SO IS RESSURECTION BEAST NUMBER SEVEN.

FUCK.

(bruh what the fuck is a pseudo-Beast)

Okay yep time to fight an eldritch god.

Speaking of which, God’s name is John confirmed.

And Harrow bled from the ear and fell unconscious, hearing the name ORTUS.

Chapter 10

Pog we’re almost done with part 1. Fifth skull, sheared, so it’s flashback time. 

I don’t recognize immediately where we are; apparently this is in the library in Canaan House? Though I don’t remember one from Gideon the Ninth. We see a bit of personality from Ortus, when he complains about Fifth House poetry, which is nice. 

Oh, wait, never mind, that was Magnus speaking. Ortus remains as boring as ever.

Hehehehe dick jokes.

Hey so no fake vow of silence in the false memories of Canaan House! That’s interesting. As is Magnus and Abagail being here, and them being pretty fleshed out characters. As are these cooking instructions from the Lyctors...

HOOOOOOOLD the phone here. The cooking notes mention an M and Nigella... which was the first name of Cassiopeia’s cavalier... How would Harrow know that? The easy explanation is that this is a note that Harrow actually found, and is placing here in her fake memories... The other explanation is that something funky is afoot...

Ooohkay Magnus is asking if this is how it happens now. The simulation is breaking down. AND ABAGAIL CAN TELL THAT HARROW IS A LIVING WAR CRIME. PANIC.

Okay now we’re getting Ortus emotion! He is a grown ass man Harrow. At least, he would be, were he not a figment of Harrow’s imagination.

HEEEEY

WHAT THE FUUUUCK

WE’RE CONTINUING ON THIS DYING EGGS THING

PROBABLY WILL BE RELEVANT LATER.

Okay and the simulation breaks down further when Ortus says “you did have a cavalier with a backbone, I’m not them.” Interestingly enough, it’s hours later Harrow realizes something’s weird... Huh...

Chapter 11

Seventh House skull.

Literally just a paragraph saying Harrow sleepwalked and stabbed Cyntherea’s body.

...She sleep walked... the Sleeper from the fake Canaan House...

[whereistheonepiece]

♥ If it strikes your interest: Sanji is very affectionate when he's drunk

Send me writing prompts. Status: Accepting.

Note: This is inspired by @lesbian-space-ranger Also I don’t know if you saw, but this is the last prompt I did. I think you’ll like it if you haven’t seen it.

I worked very hard to get into the proper headspace to write this.

-

Zoro and Sanji were not what one would consider an affectionate couple–at least not in the beginning and not when other people were around to see. This in part was because Zoro didn’t understand the incessant need some couples had to involve the public in something that was supposed to be private. This wasn’t to say that he was against hand holding or light kisses in public settings, but Zoro wasn’t in the habit of making anyone else privy to the fact that Sanji’s deft fingers in his hair reduced him from snarling tiger on the battlefield to a purring lap cat–in the beginning, that is. Nowadays, he didn’t care who saw when he settled in for a nap on Sanji’s lap, lulled to sleep by the soothing sensation of Sanji playing with his hair and lightly scratching his scalp.

And then there was Sanji, the other half of the equation. “It’s not that I’m ashamed,” Sanji had told him once when Zoro had approached him to ask him if he was having second thoughts about their relationship. “I just like that this is just between us right now. I like having this little secret with you.”

And Zoro had respected that, had understood that line of reasoning. He waited and tried to remain discreet until Sanji was ready to go public–and then he did what he could to assuage Sanji’s wounded pride in the privacy of the kitchen while the cook ranted about how none of the crew had been surprised, because hadn’t Sanji and Zoro been careful? 

Zoro remembered trying at first to stifle his amusement, but Sanji, in his anger, reminded Zoro of an angry kitten Zoro had come across once. The thing could fit in the palm of his hand, and it had been startled by Zoro, and it had done its best to appear big and intimidating, arched back, tiny lips pulled back in a snarl. It had only made Sanji angrier when Zoro had started laughing, and Zoro had to fend off Sanji’s furious kicks, grinning all the while as his kitten bared his fangs at him.

Zoro looked at Sanji from across the table he and the rest of the crew occupied in the tavern, smiling to himself over the rim of his tankard as he remembered how things had been so long ago. These days they were more open with their affection for each other, but usually that stayed on the comfort of the ship or at the end of the battle, when their blood still raced and unspent energy found its outlet through heavy, aggressive kissing and gripping, pulling hands.

Zoro kept his gaze on Sanji, watched the love cook flirting with Nami, Robin, and the two friends they’d made since entering the tavern. Zoro watched the way Nami and Robin exchanged knowing glances with each other as Sanji tried to ingratiate himself with the two women seated across from them, the two female members of the Straw Hat pirates already three steps ahead of Sanji, as always. 

Robin, cheek cradled in her hand, her eyes sparkling with amusement, cast a glance Zoro’s way, silently checking in with him without needing to say a word. Zoro nodded at her and tipped his tankard in her direction before finishing off his drink. He then pushed himself up out of his seat, telling the table he’d take the next round, feeling generous, earning raucous cheers from his inebriated crewmates.

Sanji noticed Zoro as he passed by, grinning at him and throwing an arm around his neck. “Zorooo,” he drawled, slightly stumbling as he followed him to the bar, leaving all four ladies behind. Zoro raised an eyebrow, putting a steadying hand on the small of Sanji’s back just in case it was needed.

“Hi, Cook,” Zoro said, raising his free hand to get the bartender’s attention. “You having fun?” He glanced over his shoulder and saw the women chattering away, the both of them already forgotten.

“Yes,” Sanji said, with the special kind of happiness that only came to small children and the drunk. “But the important question is: are you having fun, Marimo?”

Zoro smirked and looked at Sanji, who still had his arm around his neck, as he put in his order for the next round. “Yes, Cook,” he said. “There’s alcohol and all our friends are here. Course I’m having fun.”

“Good,” Sanji said, nodding with as much solemnity as he could muster in his current state. “It’s good to have fun.”

Zoro chuckled once, shaking his head. Sanji had hardly anything to drink and already he was tipsy. “Should I order you another drink or are you stopping here for the night?”

“No.”

“No, what?” Zoro asked. The bartender looked their way and sent Zoro a brief nod as he worked on drinks for a different set of customers.

“No, I’m not stopping.”

“All right.”

“‘Cause I’m gonna keep up with you tonight.”

Zoro looked at Sanji skeptically, raising an eyebrow. “Cook, you’ve probably had less to drink than me and you’re already ahead of me.” Zoro at most had a nice buzz going on and Sanji already looked sleepy.

“Don’t care,” Sanji said, resting his head against Zoro’s with a sigh. “Maybe I’ll stop and wait for you to catch up.” He hummed contentedly, his fingers snaking up the side of Zoro’s head and petting Zoro’s hair like he would a small animal. “Yer hair’s soft...”

Zoro blinked. The cook was going to have a killer hangover in the morning if he truly intended on drinking like Zoro, and he was always a complete bitch in the morning after as he nursed his headache, but Sanji was an adult and could make his own decisions–no matter how poorly thought out they were. “Don’t come crying to me when your head hurts tomorrow,” he said before placing his order. “You’ll get no sympathy.”

“Cross my heart, hope to die, Marimo.”

-

Sanji’s plans to drink as much as Zoro had failed. Nami was the only one on the ship who could keep up with Zoro–and maybe even outpace him–and she’d left with the rest of the others a while ago. Sanji’s efforts had been brave–and stupid–but they’d been in vain. The cook slumped over the table with a sigh, pushing his tankard away in defeat while Zoro watched him over the rim of his, small smirk on his lips.

“Okay,” Sanji said, pushing his seat out, probably ready to leave. “I’ve had enough.”

“See you on the ship,” Zoro mumbled, too busy staring into the amber depths of his drink to notice Sanji walking over to him until the cook had plopped himself in Zoro’s lap, straddling his thighs. He looked up at Sanji. “Hello–” he said before he was cut short by Sanji wrapping all four of his limbs around Zoro’s torso and burying his face in Zoro’s neck.

Zoro blinked, glancing around to see if anyone had taken notice. Most everyone had left at this point and those that had remained were too drunk to notice or care. He was the only witness to Sanji’s shameless clinging. He wished he could take a picture of this moment. Zoro let him be, taking his time with his drink, the alcohol and Sanji’s soft snoring his only company.

When he was ready for what would be his last drink, Zoro stood up and was shocked to find that Sanji’s grip hadn’t lessened, even in sleep, even as Zoro moved. Zoro stared at Sanji, his shock dulled by the alcohol. A crossbreed of a snort and a snicker emanated from his nose and made his nasal passages sore as he took in the absurdity of the situation.

Zoro sighed. “Cook,” he said, trying to push down on Sanji’s thighs. They wouldn’t budge. He tried again, this time with more force, and was met with the same resistance. “Cook. Let go.”

Sanji mumbled something in his sleep.

Zoro shook his head. To think that all of the previous moments he’d experienced in his life had built up to form this one. The absurdity of it all...

Zoro continued to try to pry Sanji off him until it finally sunk in that the only way he’d be free of Sanji’s python grip was to enact serious injury on the cook, so he relented with a long, tired sigh. “This is my life,” Zoro muttered to himself, still in disbelief as he turned around slowly and Sanji continued to cling to him. Zoro tiredly ruffled Sanji’s blond hair as he approached to pay his tab, the final drink a no-go. “Guess we’re going home, Cook.”

The bartender did little more than raise his eyebrow, having probably seen weirder. Zoro flashed the man a sardonic grin. “Gotta take my child home,” Zoro said wryly as he paid for the night.

He heard the bartender bark out a laugh as he turned and left.

He found Brook waiting for him outside, staring up at the full moon. The skeleton turned his skull, saying “Ah, Zoro-san, the others–” Brook stopped in his tracks when he saw Zoro staring at him blandly, Sanji clinging to his torso like a young koala did to its mother.

“Shhhh,” Zoro whispered loudly, finger held to his lips. “The baby is sleeping.”

Brook hesitated, tilting his skull to the side. “I was trying to say that the others thought it prudent that I escort you back to the ship.”

Zoro was already trudging past Brook. “Of course they did,” he said dully. “Assholes.”

Brook took two large steps to catch up. “Ah, Zoro-san?” he asked, concern in his voice as he grabbed Zoro by the shoulder and steered him in the right direction. “May I ask why–”

“Why I have a twenty-one year old man hanging off me?” Zoro asked, looking up into Brook’s skeletal face. “Dumbass wanted to drink with me.”

Brook laughed quietly. “I see. And have you tried–”

“Yes, Brook,” Zoro interrupted, “I tried getting him off of me. Asshole’s got legs of steel.”

“Hm. I must say, it’s interesting to see the two of you like this,” Brook observed.

“Like what?” Zoro asked, keeping his attention on the cobblestones in front of him.

“So open with each other out in public,” Brook explained. “You’re usually more reserved than other young couples your age.”

Zoro shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Indeed,” Brook agreed. He paused for a moment before continuing. “And it’s interesting to see Sanji-san so...”

“Clingy?”

“Vulnerable,” Brook clarified.

That brought a tired smile to Zoro’s lips. He looked at Sanji, who was still snoring away on his shoulder, and he dropped his hand onto the top of Sanji’s head, ruffling his hair softly. “He’s gonna hate you for seeing him like this,” Zoro murmured, looking ahead and seeing Sunny in the distance.

“It is a rather undignified position,” Brook agreed, laughing softly.

Zoro groaned as they drew closer to the ship.

“Zoro-san? What’s wrong?”

Zoro stared up at Sunny. He then looked up at Brook. “I’m just realizing what a pain in the ass it’s going to be getting him up there.”

Brook laughed melodically while Zoro struggled to wake Sanji.

“Cook.”

Silence.

“Cook, wake up. We’re here.”

“Mmmm...”

“COOK!”

“Nooooo...” Sanji whined, nuzzling the front of Zoro’s shirt.

“AT LEAST MOVE ONTO MY BACK, YOU CLINGY BASTARD!”

“Nooo, I’m comfy...”

“ASSHOLE!”

Brook laughed. “Good night, Zoro-san,” he said as he made his way onto the ship.

“WHAT? BROOK? BROOK, GET BACK HERE! BROOK, COME BACK AND HELP ME!”

But Brook was already gone, leaving a drunk, angry, tired Zoro behind with a drunk, whiny, clingy Sanji who refused to let go. Zoro yelled up at the sky in frustration, the lion head on the front of the ship and the moon silent, indifferent witnesses to his troubles.

-

Note: Okay, I’m take nap. You guys can send more prompts if you so desire. I’ll even do stuff for other ships (if you know that I like them).

[discopiratetanis]

Ghosts from the past [Part 1] [mandalorian x reader]

Summary: You are a honest scanvenger living their simple life on Lothal. The Empire is dead, finally. The Rebellion has transformed into the New Republic. You know it’s all the same cycle. But you don’t mind. You like your life. Then one day you feel something is coming. And it brings you bad memories from the past.

A/N: This a experiment and my very first pj x reader fic. English isn’t my first language. No beta because we die like heroes here. Super slowburn. Please forgive me and all my deep (and not that deep) sw lore. Post!Season1. Beware of possible spoilers.

Word count: 1584

* * *

You know something would happen that day.

You don't know what, but you're sure something will happen, anything, that didn't happen every day. It's not the first time, it wouldn't be the first time. You identify the signal, is a tingling sensation that runs through your body, nice and nasty at the same time, because it makes you feel excited, watchful and alert at the same time.

Is it a good thing, like when you knew when that terrible drought would end the day before it finally rained?

Is it a bad thing, like when you knew the bandits who tried to raid the village would show up?

You have no idea.

That morning, like every morning, you woke up to the clucking of your neighbor's hens and the thundering meow of the stray cat that prowls around your shack. Though it's not as if the whole village wasn't home to a colony of cats who had decided that living in the meadows was not appropriate for them. You got used to it a long time ago. It was the first thing the mayor had said to you when you arrived: Lothal is full of cats, so get used to it. You really prefer it. You still remember how sad and empty the village was when the Empire was occupying the planet and controlling absolutely everything.

You still remember... a lot of things.

"Good morning, [Y/N]!" someone says when they see you leaving your house.

You greet them back without saying anything, but with a smile, and walk quickly up the street, with your bag wobbling behind you, to the pub, where some of your neighbors and parishioners greet you with joy before continuing with their respective breakfasts. You sit down at the counter, are served a bowl of milk sprinkled with cereal, and bread. You have breakfast between comments on how the day is going to go, and you listen and tell something funny about the day before. You pay: New Republic credits. You say goodbye to everyone there, hang your bag over your shoulder and leave as quickly as you had entered.

Like you do every day.

Only that day the tingling sensation distracts you enough that you listen to half of everyone else's conversations and comment on nothing but isolated monosyllables, and wonder what the kriff is going to happen to make the tingling so strong.

It hasn’t been that strong before.

When you leave the pub you take a deep breath and look up at the sky. It's clear, sunny, but the wind is fresh and strong and it's shaking your hair playfully. You walk down the street, retracing your steps from your home. When you get there, you go to the backyard, where you have a little old speeder parked, so run-down that no one knows how it hasn't fallen to pieces yet. You get in, you start the engine. The speeder makes a hoarse, cavernous roar after coughing up a single puff of black smoke.

You leave the village.

The grasslands of Lothal, even as far as you are from the Capital City, are still full of junk. Scrap from ships and machinery of the Rebellion and Empire, forgotten by all but the scavengers who are willing to take advantage of even the smallest piece of metal. However, you know that Lothal's scrap dealers are not as wild as on other planets. You're grateful for that, because you've heard real horror stories from travelers and traders from the Middle Rim.

The tingling makes you drive slower than usual. Numerous cats run beside you, but they don't get in your way, meowing curiously. You don't mind. The place you're going is not far away and you're not in too much of a hurry. The junk won't move from where it is, and you have a considerable stock of decent material in your basement anyway. 

Just in case.

You park the speeder near your prey, the skeleton of an X-Wing fighter, from which you have been extracting the useful parts for quite some time. The ship is embedded in a small mountainous formation, in the middle of the seemingly endless high grass plain. You don't know how long it's been there, but it can't be more than seven or eight years. 

You get to work quickly, with the efficiency of routine and experience. You know perfectly well what to take first and what to leave for later, to sell at the best price in Capital City. Some would say it's hard work, or boring, but you like it. Surrounding yourself with metal, feeling the touch of grease, the warm smell of dry oil. It makes you forget about other smells, the touch of the earth, or the whisper of the ears of wheat, the tingling of the skin when...

You rip out part of the wire mesh from the cockpit control panel. It's a bit damaged, but you think it might be useful. At least to someone. Bit by bit you get several pieces that you put in your bag. With each one you think about the traders, the price, and that maybe you will be able to buy a new speeder soon with your savings, which are not many but enough to feel safe. Maybe you could take a trip to the Capital City in a few days, when the tingling feeling passes and whatever has to happen, happens.

Just thinking that, something immediately makes you feel it's not going to be that easy. It confuses you. But you keep on working, until the sun almost reaches its zenith and your stomach growls with hunger. You pick up everything, equipment and tools, and march home. The feeling doesn't go away. It's not just an itch, you perceive it as if someone scratches you on the back of the neck, with the nail, weak but insistent, or as if there was something to remember but you do not know what. You want to stir in the speeder seat. 

And it makes you feel more nervous, anxious.

What is it, what's wrong? You think, over and over again.

Sometimes you wish you couldn't feel any of it.

You park the speeder in your backyard, as usual. And as usual, you leave the pieces and the stuff you've fetched in the basement. You wipe off some of the sweat and dust from the trip in the kitchen dispenser, and head for the pub. It's always full of your neighbors at lunchtime, as few people make their own meals at home. As soon as you enter some people greet you, but you feel a strange, dense atmosphere.

Heavy.

You stop just for a second at the doorway, feeling the tingling stronger than ever. More than in the morning. You take a deep breath, hold it, and finish coming in, feeling like you're stepping on eggs. As you approach the counter you hear some comments, whispers. The voices are low enough that you don't hear much, but you hear a word:

Mandalorian.

You put your hands on the counter, and they serve you the usual things: a bowl of good stew, a glass of good liquor, but you don't eat or drink right away. Instead, you keep your eyes on the food, quietly, stiff as a stick.

Mandalorian.

You take a drink from your glass and swallow it hard, the alcohol burning your throat. It's been a long time since you've heard anything about mandalorians. It brings you... bad memories. But you can't help it, and after tasting a spoonful of the stew, you casually look around the pub. And you see them right away, of course. It's impossible not to spot them, stuffed into those recognizable, distinctive armors of theirs. They are sitting at a lonely table, with a bowl similar to yours, although it's obvious that they are not eating from it because they are wearing their helmet. You roll your eyes away from them, trying not to calculate how much the beskar of their entire armor is worth. You know it's a little disrespectful, even though they're not going to know it. You take your glass to give it another drink.

Then you notice something pulling at your pants.

You glance.

And you see something you didn't expect to see for the rest of your life.

The child chirps at you, happy. It's green, tiny, with little black eyes and ears as long as your hand. You let go of the glass, which crashes to the ground and frightens the creature. You take a step back, unwittingly stumbling over a stool and tipping it over, holding on the counter with your fingers so hard that your knuckles are white. Your heart beats furiously, and you're scared, your eyes sting. You hear screams that you know no one else hears. You blink too many times, trying to calm down.

But you can't.

"Uh," you babble. "S-Sorry, Rach, I'll pay you the glass,"

You dig into your bag quickly, take out a handful of credits, more than the cost of the food, and leave it on the counter. You leave, dodging the child, ignoring the strange looks of your neighbors, and not realizing that the mandalorian has stood up the table.

You walk with long strides first, then you ran until you reach your home. You enter the house and close the door behind you. Your breath is fast, broken. You shake your head.

Then you notice.

The tingling feeling is gone.

[solartranslations]

VF Dante Chapter 5: Ebb and Flow

The two go after the heroine who has been taken by Joshua. Dante has no further doubts…

~*Scene: VF Captain’s Cabin*~

Felicita: Zzz

~*Flashback: VF Deck*~

Dante: Right now, your family is something I’ve sworn to protect—

Dante: And they are my future!

~*End Flashback*~

Joshua: …His “future”…

Felicita: *wakes up*

Joshua: I see you’ve awaken, Princess of Regalo

>That fog…

>Where’s Dante?

Joshua: It is one of “Justice’s” Arcana powers

Joshua: I remember…using it to protect the island a long time ago

Joshua: Your beloved and Ash should be headed this way

Joshua: You will see him soon…

Joshua: I’d tell you to relax, but I doubt you trust me

Felicita: …

Joshua: This is off topic but, are you the daughter of Arcana Famiglia’s Papa?

~*Flashback: VF Staircase*~

Dante: Did you know that in the past, Mondo was even more unreasonable than he is now?

Dante: He thought the way he was raised was wrong. So, he was always very strict on the son he had with his first wife

Dante: …As a result, that son rebelled by running away

~*End Flashback*~

Joshua: I see Mondo hasn’t changed…has he already forgotten about me?

>There’s no parent who doesn’t care about their child!

>You’re the reason Papa dotes on me so much?

Joshua: …Yes. I agree

Joshua: Right now…I’m actually in the same situation. But it might be too late…

Joshua: Is that what happened after I left? *laugh*…should I apologize then?

Joshua: I’m sure you know that’s also part of his love

Joshua: *laugh*…Your father may be strange, but he is very kind

Joshua: I wish I could have seen him again while I was still myself

Felicita: !

Joshua: Take these… I’m sorry for being a terrible older brother

Joshua: …Ah, I’m, out of, time…

(*grab) (*whish)

Joshua: …I have you. My sister… “Wheel of Fortune”

~*Scene: VF Staircase*~

Ash: So just to be clear. You really weren’t Strawberry Head’s dad, old man?

Dante: No! Ojou-san’s father is the top of “Arcana Famiglia”

Dante: He’s the first person you must see when you come to the island

Ash: Who said I was going?

Dante: We’ll talk about that later. Saving Ojou-san comes first

Ash: Still, I did think something was weird between you two. But I didn’t expect you had that kind of relationship

Dante: Yes, it is “that kind”

Dante: Hm? That looks like…

Luca: Dante! …And, you!!

(*crackle)

Ash: The useless alchemist. Relax. I’m not in the mood to fight

Debito: Well, I’m not going to waste my strength either. Luca, cut the damn flames

Luca: Guh… You all have such foul mouths

Dante: I’ll take responsibility for Ash. We have more important things to do

Ash: Yeah. The old baldy is going to go save his amore

Luca/Debito: Amore?

Ash: You’re his friends, right? Then help

(*glare) Luca: Dante, how exactly did you explain who Ojou-sama was!?

Dante: Well, a lot happened…

Dante: But I fully understand that enjoying myself in this situation wasn’t proper as your superior and—

Debito: Ugh, you’re going to brag now? I’m not listening to this…so I’ll go ahead

Dante: Of course, when we get back I’ll be sure to…

(*smile) Luca: …When we return to the mansion, I’m sure you’ll need time to speak with your “amore”

Dante: No, actually I was…

Nova: There you are, Dante!

Nova: Why are you muttering to yourself? And I’d like an explanation regarding the guy behind you

Nova: Jolly said he was leaving the captain’s cabin to Pace and Liberta. We should get back as soon as possible

Nova: I’m glad we were able to regroup, but now…I feel uneasy about them

Nova: And, Dante. Why is there steam coming out of your head?

Dante: S-steam!?

Ash: People who group together really are laidback…

Dante: L-let’s go!!

Fukurota: Hoot…

Dante: You’re worried about Ojou-san too, huh Fukurota?

Dante: It’ll be alright. I promise I’ll save her

~*Scene: VF Deck*~

Jolly: The fog has cleared so now is our chance

Jolly: We’ll finish this while the “Justice” Tarocco is still dormant…

Jolly: I’ll leave the skeletons to you two

Pace: You got it!!!

Liberta: Hehe…here I stand, against a countless sea of skeletons

Liberta: Yeaaaah!! This is so exciting!

Liberta: Hiyaaah!!

Jolly: This ship was created using the same principles as the Tarocco…how very interesting

Jolly: It’s also full of things that pique my interest

Jolly: I’ll make sure it serves Regalo to the fullest…

Pace: Let’s hurry home and have lasagna!!

~*Scene: VF Captain’s Cabin*~

Felicita: !

Joshua: I can’t lose this host…before returning to the Tarocco…

Joshua: Now, change my relationship with my host into the form I desire, “Wheel of Fortune”

>What does that have to do with losing your host?

>The “Wheel of Fortune’s” power…

Joshua: If I lose him, it will be too late

Joshua: Are you really a contractor if you don’t use your power?

(*crash!)

Felicita: !

Dante: You treat your sister much too roughly, Tarocco of “Justice”!

(*glare)

Felicita: !?

~*Scene: VF Deck*~

Joshua: …Do you know why…I haven’t been able to find a new contractor for so long?

Felicita: …

Joshua: Hah!!

Felicita: !

Dodge!

>Hit

(+50 Amore)

>Miss

(-50 Amore)

Felicita: *dodge*

Dante: Hah!!

Dante: I don’t know any of the specific rules between Tarocco and their contactors

Dante: You’ll have to ask your creator, or an alchemist who studies your power

Dante: All I know is that “the cards choose their hosts”

(*hoist)

(*whoosh) Dante: Uryaaah!!

Joshua: Hah!!

Felicita: *dash*

Felicita: Hya!

Attack!

>Hit

(+50 Amore)

>Miss

(-50 Amore)

(*whack) Joshua: Urk!

(*dodge) Joshua: …!!

Joshua: Quiet

(*whish) Joshua: Hah!!

Felicita: !

Dodge!

>Hit

(+50 Amore)

>Miss

(-50 Amore)

Felicita: *dodge*

(*whack) Felicita: Ah!

Dante: Ojou-san!!

Joshua: I was in a lone slumber after my host passed, you wouldn’t understand how I feel…

Joshua: With power beyond your knowledge, we Tarocco can control our hosts

Joshua: Using this host, I can even stay in this world forever by my own will…

Dante: …So it’s already lost all reason…

Joshua: Who decided what was “reasonable”? Humans?

Dante: Then I ask you. Why do the cards choose “humans”?

Dante: Beside the Tarocco, there are many things that hold great power…like guns, or important documents

Dante: If that power brings blessings and wealth—

Joshua: Grrraaa!!

(*rumble) Joshua: Find your way to despair…Un Labirinto Atmosferico

Dante: It can also cause suffering depending on its wielder’s ambition and intent

Dante: If that happens, I will put a stop to it

Dante: Let all be swallowed by the storm, and return to nothing…

Dante: Dare un Ordine! (TN: To give an order)

Felicita: …

(*dash) Felicita: Yah!

Attack!

>Hit

(+50 Amore)

>Miss

(-50 Amore)

(*whack) Joshua: Gaaah!

(*dodge) Joshua: …!!

Dante: If someone doesn’t take the first step, then nobody will

Dante: And I want to be that “someone”

(*crash!)

Joshua: Graaaaah…!!

>I admire you, Dante

(No Amore)

>I want to stand by your side, Dante

(+20 Amore)

>I want to support you, Dante

(+10 Amore)

Dante: Can I really become a good role model?

Dante: But, I’m satisfied being your guide…

Dante: Hahaha! Usually you stay behind so I can protect you. Isn’t that logical?

Dante: But…since you’ve chosen to be by my side—

Dante: I’m happy to hear that

Dante: You’ll support me? You’re quite confident, aren’t you?

Felicita: *mad*

Dante: I know. I’m probably already relying on you a lot

❤≪Dante≫ Seems concerned ❤≪Dante≫ Seems concerned ❤≪Dante≫ Seems concerned

Pleasure: I’m happy to receive her praise

Link: Saving Joshua will also be my repentance

Link: My greatest achievement was earning your heart

Pleasure: Her words are reassuring…but deep

Person: Saving Joshua will also be my repentance

Pleasure: I’m glad we’re close enough to trust each other

Link: Saving Joshua will also be my repentance

(*grip) (*whish)

(*step) Liberta: Dante, watch out!

❤≪Liberta≫ Seems confused

Pleasure: The skeleton!

Pain: What’s up with this ship!?

Felicita: !?

(*clang)

Dante: Thank you, Ojou-san, Liberta

❤≪Dante≫ Seems concerned

Pleasure: Ojou-san and Liberta both saved me

Person: I can’t let my guard down

Link: Saving Joshua will also be my repentance

Liberta: Geez, Dante! Focus! Is that skeleton the leader!?

Joshua: Ahhhhh…

Dante: Joshua…

Dante: …Ojou-san, is it possible for you to save him using the power of “The Lovers”?

❤≪Dante≫ Tarocco

Person: Ojou-san should be able to use her powers without issue now

Link: Saving Joshua will also be my repentance

Arcana: I’m not just denying our powers

Dante: “Justice” has lost sight of its true self…so use your powers to see what it truly wants

Dante: You should be able to do that now

Felicita: Okay

>It must…not really want to be apart

>”Gli Amanti”, lend me power

Gli Amanti: How interesting

Gli Amanti: I’m not the only one who likes my host

Gli Amanti: The power of your love has certainly grown

Gli Amanti: I can see that, so I will gladly lend my power

Gli Amanti: “La Giustizia” is confused…it wants to return, but is attached to its host

Gli Amanti: When it awakened, its host had no need for it, so perhaps it is resentful

Gli Amanti: It isn’t enough to need “La Ruota della Fortuna’s” power like it desires

Gli Amanti: Well, that’s all I can do

Gli Amanti: Continue to nurture your love, my master…

Felicita: !

Dante: Joshua…was set free?

❤≪Dante≫ Seems concerned

Person: Joshua looks…

Arcana: So “The Lovers” has provided the answer

Place: This light is…

Joshua: The Tarocco couldn’t return…because of my regrets…?

Dante: That’s just how you see it. “Justice” has already returned to its card

Dante: That was to be its fate sooner or later

Joshua: Fate guides us…you mean

Dante: …You understand, right Ojou-san?

Dante: The Tarocco was created by a human, and have not only power, but also emotions and a will of their own

❤≪Dante≫ Tarocco

Pleasure: Ojou-san seems to be friendly with her Tarocco

Arcana: The relationship between humans and that Tarocco is unknown but profound

Person: Joshua looks…

Dante: All we can do is struggle as we are manipulated by the Tarocco’s great power

Dante: Since it seems that is what they desire

Liberta: Dante! Where’d the leader skeleton go?

❤≪Liberta≫ Seems concerned

Pleasure: It’s so bright

Person: The one with clothes is the leader, right?

Daily: I haven’t fought it yet!

Dante: The leader of the skeletons…returned to where it belonged

❤≪Dante≫ Seems concerned

Arcana: The relationship between humans and that Tarocco is unknown but profound

Person: Joshua is Liberta’s…

Place: He’ll pass on in his rightful form…

Liberta: Aw, really. It ran away? …But, this view is really nice…

❤≪Liberta≫ Seems shocked

Daily: But I didn’t get to fight it

Place: Now we just have to get home to Regalo!

Dante: Yeah…

Joshua: …What kind of place is Regalo?

Liberta: Huh!? Why’re you asking that?

Joshua: I’m asking because you’re the one who’s here. Regalo was the destination of my journey

Dante: …Answer him, Liberta

❤≪Dante≫ Arcana Famiglia

Link: It’s not my place to say

Arcana: We have one more job left…

???: I can’t see very well here

Liberta: Dante? Oh, okay. You look like a ghost, so I’ll tell you before you go

❤≪Liberta≫ Seems concerned

Place: He knows Regalo?

Pleasure: Talking to a ghost will make for a great story later

Liberta: Regalo’s the best! There should be tons of flowers blooming right now, and everyone’s really nice

Liberta: …You should visit in your next life!

Joshua: Yes. I hope to as well. Thank you…

Liberta: Yup!

Dante: ……

Dante: …My last job here is done then…

Felicita: …

>I was scared, but I waited for you

(+30 Amore)

>Don’t leave me alone

(+20 Amore)

>Joshua has…

(No Amore)

Dante: Yes, you did well…

Dante: You’ve always been easy to scare since you were young

Dante: Yes…I apologize for making you scared

Dante: …I remember you clinging on to me like this the same way a long time ago

(Skip the next dialogue choice box)

Dante: This may sound cold, but his fate was already decided

Dante: …I’ll stay with you in his place. That has always been my duty

(Skip the next dialogue choice box)

>You remember?

(+10 Amore)

>I wish you’d forget…

(No Amore)

Dante: You spread your tiny arms wide and clung to me with all your might…

Dante: How could I forget?

Dante: It’s alright now…

Dante: What? Now is the only time I can say it

Dante: You get embarrassed too easily

Dante: It’s alright now…

Dante: But our feelings for each other have changed since then

Dante: Now…we’ve become closer kind of family

Dante: It’s embarrassing to admit, but when I’m with you, I end up acting so disgraceful

Dante: Like when you look at me with such honesty in your eyes…I never want to give you up to anyone

>I don’t want to let you go either

(+10 Amore)

>I want to stay with you forever

(No Amore)

Dante: I see…so you feel the same way

Dante: We’re alike…so we’re a good match

Dante: Felicita…

Dante: Of course you can

Dante: I’ll stay with you to make up for the time we were apart…

Dante: Felicita…

Liberta: The heck…I can’t watch!

❤≪Liberta≫ Can’t seem to handle it

Place: I can’t go over there!

Person: Have Dante and Ojou always been that flirty?

Nova: Cut it out already! And please explain what’s going on with shady Alchemist #3 over there, Dante!

❤≪Nova≫ Seems nervous

Person: This is unsightly!

Arcana: We aren’t done here

Place: Wait until we’re home

Ash: #3…you mean me!?

❤≪Ash≫ Seems irritated

Person: Shut it! Soybean!

Arcana: I’m the one who went after the old man

Link: Joshua…was saved

Luca: Well, the alchemist shouldn’t be a problem if he causes no harm

Luca: But the other thing is a different matter!!

Pace: Luca-chan’s making funny faces!

Debito: Leave them…I just want a drink and a nap

Dante: Haha…they can’t seem to bear this, but I suppose it means they care for you

❤≪Dante≫ Seems nervous

Person: Ash reminds me of how I used to act brave

Love: I don’t want to look like this in front of the young ones…

Ash: Don’t think you’ve won, old man. I’ll be staying in Regalo until I can get back at you!

>You can just ask for help

(No Amore)

>I won’t leave my “family” behind

(+30 Amore)

Dante: Yes, you’re still young. It’s the best time to be honest

Ash: I’ll pass if that means becoming a pervert like you

Debito: I agree he’s definitely a pervert

Dante: Yes. While you’re in Regalo, you’ll be “family”

Ash: Well if I just live on my ship in the sea, I won’t be family. Take that!

Luca: So another twisted person has joined our Family…

❤≪Dante≫ Seems to be having fun ❤≪Dante ≫ Seems concerned

Daily: It won’t go that easily though

Link: Ash needs to be around people

Pleasure: Words fitting of our future “Donna”

Link: Ash needs to be around people

❤≪Ash≫ Seems concerned ❤≪Ash≫ Seems concerned

Person: Don’t cling to each other in public

Link: I’m glad Joshua was saved

Arcana: I’m the one who went after the old man

Person: I’m family too?

Arcana: I’m the one who went after the old man

Link: I’m glad Joshua was saved

Liberta: Wait, why do you and him get along?

❤≪Liberta≫ Seems concerned

Place: This ship is interesting!

Person: Isn’t he our enemy?

Pleasure: This’ll be fun!

Ash: Listen! Don’t go calling us friends, family, or anything like that

Dante: Hahaha! Come then, if you want! I’ll take you on any time

❤≪Dante≫ Seems happy

Pleasure: I feel like I’ve been saved by saving someone

Love: I’ve been saved by having Ojou-san by my side

~*End of Scene*~

Special Voice obtained. It can be heard in the Profile section

(Continue to Famiglia Epilogue)

(Continue to ED1: 700+ Amore)

(Continue to ED2: 400+ Amore)

(Continue to ED3: <400 Amore)

(Back to Directory)

[pulaasul]

Vengeful Captain

Ryuji found a box inside his room.

Out of curiosity, he opened it.

Ao3 I FFN

--------

Its Ryuji’s Birthday, so in honor of his birthday, here’s an AU where Ryuji discovers his Persona-related powers a year before Akiren went to Tokyo.

Happy Birthday Ryuji! You deserve justice against Kamoshida, if Atlus won’t give it to you, I will

--------

It has been a few months since that bastard Kamoshida broke his leg.

Months since his club had been disbanded.

Months since his reputation took a turn for the worse.

All because he can't control his anger.

All because he can't take all the insults hurled towards his mother.

Ryuji Sakamoto was in his bedroom on an imposed bed rest. He wasn't allowed to put stress on his legs, meaning no walking and no running for the foreseeable future, not unless he was doing physical therapy.

He was simply reading his manga when he noticed an inconspicuous box in his bedroom. His current bedroom was his father's former storage room back when they first moved to Tokyo from Tatsumi Port Island.

If he remembered correctly, they had moved away from Tatsumi Port Island at the urging of his father's boss.

Not soon after, the death of one Shuji Ikutsuki was announced.

That was when their relationship with father had gone sour.

Beatings took place instead of hugs.

Harsh words took the place of praise and encouragement.

Everything had gone south, not even his Track accomplishments in middle school assuaged his father's treatment of him and his mother.

Not long after, his father left the family.

Hopefully for good.

Maybe the inconspicuous box was something his father left behind.

Morbid curiosity got ahold of Ryuji, to satiate it, he used his elbows to crawl towards the box and opened it.

--------

Now that he had finally successfully disbanded that pesky Track Team, thanks to Sakamoto, he can finally reign the school as he pleases.

The principal was easy to please, he was obsessed with the school's prestige. Kamoshida knew how good Kobayakawa's name would smell if it'd become public knowledge that he was the one responsible for bringing such reputation to the school.

Kobayakawa wasn't exactly happy when he broke Sakamoto's leg.

A good sob story about defending himself did the trick and brought him to his side.

Kamoshida was currently sorting through the papers of the school's volleyball teams. He looked at them thoroughly and examined which of these students would be easily persuaded to do his bidding.

When a single envelope fell out from the table.

Curious, he opened and saw an ornate ring inside, alongside a note.

Kamoshida-sensei, I know this must be sudden.

But please take this ring as my appreciation.

For teaching at Shujin.

Your Secret Admirer.

A grin was plastered on the teacher's face as he read through the note. He was only a few months in and he already had a secret admirer from the student body.

He immediately took the roster of the girls' volleyball team and tried to think which of the girls would've sent the note.

----------

A few more months had passed since Kamoshida had received the ring and note. He was still far from figuring out who from the student body would send such a note.

In any case, Kamoshida decided to wear the ring every time he was about to go home, where there were no students or fellow teachers around. He knew it'd be easier to figure out his secret admirer if he had worn the ring everywhere he went.

He can't have his reputation sink so low, so early in the game.

As he stepped outside the school, suddenly his surroundings turned green, the small puddle by the walkway turned blood red.

"What's going on?!" Kamoshida growled. "IF this is a joke, you better cut it out."

Kamoshida tried to walk back inside the school but somehow the doors refused to budge. That was when he noticed a coffin standing near the door, sealing it from the inside.

He looked around the school and the walkways and the street, everywhere he looked he could always see a standing coffin.

--------

Ryuji looked at his former teacher with morbid glee. It wasn't long ago that he discovered this new power, this green-red reality.

Who better to test his new abilities on than the one person who destroyed his chance at life in the first place?

As soon as he saw Kamoshida step down the stairs he immediately announced his presence.

"Kamoshida-sensei" Ryuji mocked. "I thought you were above panicking?" He questioned.

"Sakamoto!" Kamoshida growled at the Sakamoto. "What have you done?!" He demanded. "Get me out of here this instant!"

"So demanding." Ryuji yawned. "Or what Kamoshida?" He glared at his former coach.

"Or what?!" Kamoshida scoffed. "Have you forgotten what I did to you, you punk?!" He glared at the young boy. "Or would you like another demonstration and leave you a cripple for life?"

As soon as the inevitable threat left the perverted teacher's mouth, Ryuji couldn't help but guffaw and laugh as hard as he could. Kamoshida was in unknown territory and he still had the gall to blurt out threats.

"What's funny Sakamoto?!" Kamoshida seethed. "Get me out of here this instant!"

It took a few moments for Ryuji to calm down, but he eventually did.

"You know what Kamoshida, you should be begging for your life." Ryuji stated. "You are in an unknown territory, you are talking to someone who you have wronged, and well the entire surrounding is creepy." He continued. "And yet here you are blurting out empty threats."

"Beg to whom?" Kamoshida scoffed. "You?"

"Who else?" Ryuji gave out a feral grin. "You see anybody else here?"

"I didn't peg you to be a comedian Sakamoto." Kamoshida scoffed once more. "Did a broken leg gave you that talent?" He mocked.

"Comedian eh?" Ryuji raised a nonchalant eyebrow. "Let's see you laugh at this!"

Ryuji kneeled down and clutched his head, as if he was having an intense migraine, while he glowed red. He screamed silently as he pulled his hair in an attempt to ease the pain he was feeling.

Suddenly, something eerie just happened, something in red hue appeared behind the Sakamoto.

It looked like a skeleton with a noose tied around its neck area while his upper limbs were bound by together by another piece of rope. It also wore a pirate-themed clothes complete with a hat on its head, hiding the upper part of its skeletal face. It was standing on an old-looking ship that was used back in the day.

"Is the light show supposed to frighten me?" Kamoshida mocked.

"You may mock me Kamoshida, but I can see your legs shaking." Ryuji smirked as he stood up, wincing in the process, and glared at his former coach. "But I guess, that's just you." He sneered.

"Give'im hell Captain Kidd!"

---------

Everyone was abuzz and panicking.

Crumpled on the street, sobbing uncontrollably, was one Suguru Kamoshida. It looked like he went through hell, his clothes were burnt, and even his jogging pants had burn marks in them.

Different shades of purple decorated the Kamoshida's body, in fact some people commented that some of his body parts weren't supposed to go that way.

The emergency response team that arrived tried to gain information on what had happened, but all they can hear the Kamoshida say were words of apologies and begging for his life. No one could make sense of the PE teacher.

It was a miracle that Kamoshida didn't end up being a cripple, but his days as a volleyball coach was over. He needed time to rest his body from the beating he took.

A few weeks went by and Ryuji was accepted back in Shujin. People suspected that he had something to do with the assault on Kamoshida but no one could really prove it.

Leaked interrogations proved his alibi. He was at the hospital doing physical therapy when Kamoshida was found on the streets.

In time, those accusations never came to fruition. They found out that Sakamoto had changed a lot. He doesn't even get angry at the people who antagonize him, even to the people who brought up his father.

A year later however, those very same people were suddenly found on the streets, sobbing uncontrollably, but couldn't remember what happened to them.

Some had even soiled the pants they were wearing.

Of course, the media pinned those as done by the Phantom Thieves of Hearts.

[theyearoftheking]

Book Fifty-Nine: Duma Key

Have you forgotten what we were like then

when we were still first rate

and the day came fast with an apple in its mouth

it’s no use worrying about Time

but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves

and turned some sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal

we didn’t need speedometers 

we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn’t want to be faster 

or greener than now if you were with me O you

were the best of all my days...

Duma Key was one of the best books I could have picked up right around spooooky season. I knew very little about it, and it was a well-written, suspenseful ghost story.

Edgar Freemantle survives a horrific accident that involves a crane crashing on his car. In the aftermath of the accident, he lost his right arm, his marriage, his successful business, and his house. It sounds like a bad country song. 

Edgar decides to deuce out of Minnesota (wise choice, friend. The Vikings are an embarrassment this season); and rents a vacation home in Duma Key, Florida. Edgar stays in a house he dubs “Big Pink” and starts feverishly painting. Big Pink definetely has some creepy vibes, and the sound of the ocean rushing over the shells underneath the house certainly doesn’t help. Edgar finds things washed up on the beach during his morning walks, and incorporates them into his paintings. As his body continues to heal from the accident, his walks get longer, and eventually he meets Wireman, the caretaker of the eccentric Elizabeth Eastlake. 

Kids. When someone is rich and crazy, they’re referred to as “eccentric”. When they’re poor and crazy, they’re just, well, crazy. #themoreyouknow

Edgar and Wireman take to each other right away, and Edgar learns more about Big Pink, and Elizabeth. Big Pink had been used in the past as an artist’s retreat; Elizabeth was a patron of the arts, and wanted to inspire local artists. Elizabeth herself is in a bit of decline: she’s dealing with Alzheimer's, and swings between blinding lucidity, and silent unknowing. It breaks Wireman’s heart. There’s a lot of mystery surrounding Elizabeth’s family, including the death of her sisters and father. But, when she’s lucid, she’s the sweetest lady ever.

In between hanging out at the Eastlake estate, Edgar continues painting. His daughter Ilse comes for a visit, and is impressed by her dad’s talent. They try to take a drive around the island, but Ilse becomes violently sick. Edgar later gets a strange message on his answering machine from Elizabeth, informing him the island is not a place for daughters. After Ilse’s departure, Edgar paints a foreboding picture, including a woman in a red cape. He’s not sure what it means, but he’s worried about Ilse. 

Edgar then discovers his paintings have power... there’s a long stretch that includes a killer named Candy Brown, and Edgar giving Wireman his failing vision back again. Also, he has a vision of his ex-wife, Pam with a new rose tattoo (on her boob! So scandalous!), sleeping with one of his friends, Tom Riley, and Tom’s increasingly suicidal thoughts. He calls Pam to warn her, she of course behaves like an ex-wife, but then later finds out Tom does in fact need his meds adjusted. Edgar for the win!! Save? Win? Either way.  Edgar remembers before his accident he liked sketching, but he never remembers being this good, or this powerful. Everyone is amazed by this talent, and they encourage him to show his paintings at a local gallery.

This my friend is the halcyon part of the book... Edgar shows his work at a gallery, all his friends come on a Gulfstream jet from Minnesota to see his work, they are proud of the physical recovery he’s made, and the talent he’s been hiding from everyone. The paintings all sell out, and even Elizabeth Eastlake is lucid enough to have Wireman bring her to the show. She looks at the paintings and tells Edgar what he already knows: he can’t sell those paintings. Bad things will happen to whomever owns them. There’s a curse at work. And then Elizabeth has a seizure and dies; which could perhaps be the most dramatic end to an art gallery exhibition ever. 

But the curse, y’all. Thankfully not all the paintings had been framed and shipped out yet... but the ones that have? Not good. Tom Riley drives off the road on his way to kill Pam. Ilse is drowned in the bathtub by an art critic. Edgar needs to release the spirit that is killing his friends and family. 

So, Edgar, Wireman, and Jack (the island errand boy) head over to the original Eastlake mansion (you know, where Ilse got so sick) to release a demon from a bottle, and capture her in a flashlight. Yep, you read that correctly. 

Even though I’m skimming over the end of the book, I’m doing it on purpose. This is truly some of Steve’s strongest writing. He captures a strong gothic vibe and runs with it. In a rare show of restraint, I’m not going to describe the last quarter of the book, and I’m going to encourage readers to pick it up, and fall head-first into the story. It’s part Bag of Bones, part Rebecca, and part awesomely spooky. It’s so damn good. Duma Key is hands-down one of the best Steve books I’ve read in a long time, and my timing was perfect. 

There were two Wisconsin references: a mention of Eau Claire, and the Packers. Woot! 

Also, there was one Dark Tower mention... at one point Edgar thinks how, “life is a wheel.” It’s ka, bro... ka is a wheel. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 40

Total Dark Tower References: 55

Book Grade: A-

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Duma Key: A-

Black House: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

The Dark Tower: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

Wolves of the Calla: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Song of Susannah: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

From a Buick 8: B

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

The Colorado Kid: B-

Storm of the Century: B-

Everything’s Eventual: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Cell: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Faithful: D

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Lisey’s Story: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers: D

Next up is Stephen King Goes to the Movies; where he breaks down five of his favorite stories adapted into movies. I hope everyone has a safe, healthy Halloween weekend! Enjoy the last bit of spooooky season, y’all!

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights, Rebecca 

[thebirthbysleep]

𝐭𝐰𝐨. 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 :  six thousand, five hundred and thirty words

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 : avoiding rampaging navy soldiers, din is forced to stay on the pirate ship until they reach land. she grows distasteful that she is no longer homebound, and now the conversation regarding her curse continues to come up.

she’s sleep again.

in her sleep, din would forget who she was as she was reduced to dust at the mercy of traumatising dreams from which she could not wake. any child, upon awakening from a terror in the deepest level of sleep, would cry into their parents arms, and would be comforted with warm and hushed encouragements. and as the tears stop, they can find themselves slowly falling back asleep. because the comfort is there, the arms in which they feel safest are stretched wide open and the dark doesn’t bother them anymore. no monster under the bed can peep out, no ghost in the corner of the room can reach them. their dreams, plagued by the darkest parts of the human imagination, become forgotten memories as the second wave of sleep hits. 

din wasn’t so lucky in that regard. she had no arms to run into, she couldn’t even awake from the nightmares; she would simply be put into another, and fight back the tears of fear whilst facing another demon, another fear, another beast hidden in the back of her mind, placed into a plane from which she could not escape. there wasn’t a time where she was not in a dream, even after she spent minutes in the tower, she would be thrown into a whirlpool of darkness, to return to further suffering.

it was expected at this point, that if she ever sleeps again the nightmares would follow her, a stalking of the soul that would only results in the further shattering of something that barely existed anymore. din found herself feeling like a coward with each passing year, weak at the raging vendetta of vengeful greek gods. the effect of the curse working, the gods rendering her powerless, and her will to fight back reduced to the size of a speck.

in this dream, din found peace for the first time. nothing bad happened, but neither did anything good come to happen as well. she was stuck in a pond where she floated, ears hovering above the water where she could hear the tweeting of birds and the familiar rustling of leaves in the trees which would fall into the pond as if to kiss the surface where the nymph laid. they sensed her, they sensed every part of her. they sensed that something good and pure had fallen into the pond just like a leaf picked off on autumn, meeting the flower with its fellow kin, to be blown into the wind just like all the others.

it was a strange feeling but din felt like she was home. the nostalgia floating in tepid water, the running of streams of the grotto she familiarised herself with. it was heaven. she could almost reach the pearly clouds and the blue sky that greeted her, the sun smiling down upon her warm face,

causing her cheeks to rush rosy. it was odd, but din felt herself stand, her feet touching the smooth rocks at the bottom of the pond.

and that’s when she saw the fishes swimming in colonies, flocking to their families and picking off the algae growing on rocks. an orchestra of croaking frogs came behind her, following by a symphony of crickets which created the most magnificent music piece known to man; ambiance.

here, din stood for god knows how long, bathing and playing with water as if to familiarize herself with an old hobby, like picking up a pencil to draw years after closing the sketch pad and letting it collect dust. this was home, whenever this was. a memory, not a dream; her mind wouldn’t know how to create something so raw with nature’s perfection, it was a memory and even her doubts told her it was a memory. one which she wished to linger in for eternity. she could never get lonely here.

but all dreams must come to an end and this one was no exception.

din opened icy eyes to a strange environment. below her was a soft mattress, her body entangled in sheets and a pillow at her side which she had embraced tightly. it was the only occasion where the girl could confirm that she felt refreshed upon waking up. it didn’t land on her that she was somewhere strange until she heard a small hum from beside her.

sat on the edge of the bed, rosé glanced down at the half-awake nymph with curiosity. seconds later, din squeaked and jumped up, scurrying back and nearly falling off the bed on the other side. it was only then when the memories of yesterday came flooding back, but din found herself too dazed to scowl. to scream and scold as she did best.

“ good morning, sleeping beauty. we’ve set course to a lovely place in the mediterranean. i don’t know whether you’ve been to venice; i hear it’s beautiful ”, rosé said with a cheeky grin, din continued to stare at her with flustered round eyes, blonde hair caught in a nest which would only infer that she had slept well. what made it almost comical was the way in which the nymph held the pillow so tightly to her chest. “ captain said he has some sources over there; sea witches who could point us in the right direction. we’re going to get rid of your curse, dinnie~! ”.

getting rid of her curse? that didn’t sound right. din said she would be doing it alone and would require no help from the people who parents were the only reason she had gotten the curse anyway. she was stubborn, she wouldn’t allow her pride to be further injured by just subjecting herself to obedience just because they had volunteered to help and claimed themselves to be innocent children.

but it was far too late to be complaining about that now, especially as she laid in a bed in a small cabin where she assumed someone else slept, unless if this was a spare. she saw the lack of decorations and things that would normally personalise something as intimate as a room. needless to say, aside from being in a strange room, she had also fallen into a pirate ship which was no sailing in the middle of nowhere. the ship she thought would be going to athens was probably halfway through its journey by now, but then she realised she wouldn’t have been able to go.

because the sailor whom she brought the ticket off of turned on her, pointed a finger and cried witch, and the ottoman soldiers came in with the intention of doing god knows what to harm the nymph. it wasn’t safe to beg for a return. she couldn’t just snatch the wheel off the captain’s hand, she didn’t know how to sail a ship. and by far the most important detail, was that she hated the sea.

it was easy to say that she was eager to get on land as soon as possible, whether it be venice or anywhere else in the world; she would see land and she would vanish, she would start making her way home no matter what she did.

her thoughts came to a stop as din let her eyes fall onto her figure and found herself wearing something she definitely never recalled owning; a sky blue sleeping gown that went just past her knees and she quickly adjusted the ends as it had risen, bringing a flood of redness spilling onto her cheeks. “ who changed my clothes last night? ”, she asked through a mumble. 

“ oh, i did! ”. the nerve of this girl to sound so proud had din’s head spinning. rosé continued to grin. “ i lent you one of my many fancy sleeping gowns. you were in that white dress for a hundred years, and a lady should always have nice clothes at her disposal. so i hope you’re comfortable. i can get you something nice after breakfast. “

at that, her stomach croaked and ached. the nymph only shuddered and refused to look at aphrodite’s daughter as she stood and chuckled, seemingly amused by such comedic timing even though din was hours away from becoming a skeleton. she hadn’t finished eating her dinner last night, the pita bread and the mead left to be collected and thrown to others. it broke din’s starving heart.

“ up you get! don’t worry, i won’t be bringing you on deck now. i know you might be feeling slightly uncomfortable after yesterday ”, rosé continued, now on her feet and looking through something in a wardrobe; din daren’t look, it wasn’t her business. “ marcato will whip you up something nice. he feeds us quite well, none of that icky sailor food most pirates tend to eat. ”

din hesitated, her legs falling to the side of the bed and her bare feet now touching the wooden floors. she was confused on why she still felt pain at the soles, like something was digging into them. until she recalled the thorn path, and the scars it would leave on her physical body. she thought it would heal given her curse of immortality, yet not a patch of skin had nursed itself back; it was not good. how was she to traverse lands whilst aiming to get back home?

“ are you hurt? ”.

even rosé sounded pleasantly surprised by the voice coming from the door. din quickly adjusted the skirt of her sleeping gown and did everything she could to avoid looking at sephtis. by far the most awkward encounter she’s had yet; she’d cursed his mother the most, her personal grudge towards hecate running rampant.

he leaned by the door, and had taken notice of how din had been studying her aching feet with a small sneer on her face. “ don’t worry, seph. i’ll get marcato to patch her up nicely. what is it, din? a cut or a bruise? ”, din really didn’t want to be showing them her feet, it felt odd.

“ a scar. it’s still healing ”, she murmured and heard another hum from sephtis who then approached her and leaned down in front of her, observing the scar that her run to the side of her feet, raging with redness and aching to brush against. she had to look away.

sephtis observed in silence, “ rose thorns. they usually have this fungus growing in them that scars and swells up the injury it leaves. where did you get these from? ”. no answer, din didn’t need to respond when he could guess it for himself. “ i see. i thought you were immortal, aren’t you usually supposed to heal quickly? ”.

“ i still feel pain and gets scars like any other mortal ”, din said defensively, almost moving to show the other scar she had gained on her stomach but that was something far too intimate and private, a memory she liked to bury in a black hole somewhere in her mind. “ i-i don’t know why this isn’t healing. ”

“ enchanted thorns? ”, rosé suggested from beside her, placing a change of clothes folded neatly beside the nymph and tapped her chin. it was a cute habit. “ hardly seen in real life, most likely fabricated in that period of sleep you were in. ” din scowled, she disliked how they brought it up so casually, hardly with any caution that it might bring hurt to the nymph.

sephtis sighed after standing, “ i don’t know. but i’ll ask marc to whip up a remedy for the swelling and burning sensation. if she’s like this then we can’t really explore venice with much comfort. ” upon saying so, he turned and walked to the door. hesitated. but then left, leaving din staring at the wall in front of her and clenching the bed sheets under her trembling hands.

rosé quickly took notice and beamed care-freely. “ i know it may seem strange now, you’re on a pirate ship with people you most likely despise with a passion. i can’t blame you. but . . . we thought that maybe if you were going to return home, getting rid of your curse was perhaps the first thing you should do ”, she stated, din stared hard at her. “ in case something bad happens and all of this repeats again. and you suffered long enough, it’s about time you get back to your life. ”

din snorted bitterly, “ what life? i don’t remember anything from my life in the grotto. all my kin have passed, my parents are no longer with me and the grotto has perhaps become just another stream for men to drink from. ” she bit her lip. “ mortal men care little for the care we nymphs have for nature. the nature they go on to ruin. which is why i have to go back, even if i’m there alone. ”

“ seems like a lonely life, does it not? ”. the nymph blinked, taken aback. “ even if you’re home, you’d still be alone. it’s rather sad. ”

it wouldn’t be lonely, din wanted to say. but she didn’t like lying to herself. in fact, she knew it would be lonely. yet then again, she wouldn’t have anything to compare it to. her memories of the grotto had been whipped completely, she didn’t know anyone, so she had no one to miss.

it would be lonely, but it was home.

rosé got up and shrugged gently, placing the change of clothes within din’s reach, but before she could walk off, din had to ask something that had been gnawing at her mind since last night. in her dreams, it was pleasantly forgotten; but now it was important. she didn’t know whether rosé would be honest, but she still dared to ask.

“ last night ”, she stated. rosé stopped. “ at the inn. you said it was the man who found me and ratted me out as a witch. was it really him, or was it another pirate tactic to get me aboard your ship? ”.

rosé observed her for a while, to the point where din avoided her gaze, the air thick with an awkward tension. had she said something that brought offense? she knew it was a bold claim to make, but honesty goes a long way.

“ din. ”

the nymph looked up.

rosé offered her a warm smile, nothing like the cheshire grin she had gotten used to. “ we don’t like playing dirty. that’s something i can promise you. we’re not our parents in that sense. we like honesty. and we wouldn’t make this up just to get you onboard. we want to help ”, she said. “ just as we’d help any other person with your circumstances. ”

din rose a brow. “ okay. maybe not any other person. we owe it to you. our parents wrong you, and we’re here to correct it. it mustn’t be nice to kill all who you touch, and live out some of your closest friends. where’s the fun in that? ”. rosé’s words seemed genuine. din was no professional lie-catcher, but nymphs never lied, sworn to pure honesty. she could tell when someone was being anything but purely honest. but rosé had surprised her.

it was pleasant, in a way, to learn that they carried good intentions. but her rage was still boiling, she still hadn’t forgotten what they’d done beyond putting her to sleep for a century. they destroyed all that she loved. and yes, her sorrow cost three hundred lives; at the expense of the god’s betrayal, of course, giving her a gift she hadn’t asked for and cursing her with immense trickery which was probably funny from where they saw it. to her, it was anything but. never once had she laughed whilst stuck in that night-mare dimension, not even a smile.

it was only sorrow, painful sorrow.

“ we’re going to make this right. we owe it to you in a way ”, rosé continued, tapping her foot against the floors. “ i don’t really regret touching that gold. it awoke someone who will now give us the chance of an adventure of a life-time, and we’d be doing something for a good cause. ”

the nymph glowered, “ i’m not a compass. ”

“ no. you’re not ”, rosé quickly corrected herself. “ but you must understand, the whole concept of piracy is deemed a taboo. and we’ve sort of allowed ourselves into a self-fulfilling prophecy. we do pillage and steal and fight. with you onboard, it’s going the first time we’ll be venturing out for a good cause. we’re not heading off into the world to steal to survive. we’ll be helping you. and god knows, you deserve it. ”

it was deemed too perfect of an opportunity for din to accept. for all she knew she could be dumped back onto the hands of these gods and perhaps killed. she didn’t trust the kids yet, she couldn’t bring herself to do so when she still ached so much. deities weren’t good beings, they were selfish and it was painful to see the respect normal mortals held for them. they allowed their own personal grudges to have an impact on the world.

she wasn’t sure if it was true but she’d heard that after the fall of the january festival, there was ten consecutive days of rain that brought about a flood in the coastal region; poseidon’s doing, no less. demeter’s anger killed most of the crops. most gods allowed their anger to run wild and it hurt the greek population more than din’s storm did.

it was ironic, and unfair. yet she was perfectly comfortable with accepting the role as the antagonist. she had the perfect tragic backstory to become one. although most antagonists wind up crushed under the weight of the gods, din promised to be sly.

but right now, at that very moment, she had no choice but to comply. strand on a ship in the middle of the mediterranean, she would have to play along and then flee when they got to venice. it was the only way. would she be alone again? yes. but better alone than with these people.

she hadn’t noticed how quiet she’d gotten, and when she looked up, rosé was still smiling, but now sat beside her. din could only raise the corner of her lip and bow her head in slight dismay, squeaking when she felt what appeared to be a pair of cherry lips pressing against her cheek. rosé then quickly stood up. “ i’ll ask marc to get your breakfast ”, she said and then left, leaving a blushing din recovering holding her cheek, heart hammering.

the only worry she had, was that the charm of these demi-gods would be too much for her aching heart to handle.

･ ｡ﾟ.˚⊹･゜

the clothes felt weird.

as a nymph, din was used to no clothes at all. most nymphs would display their bodies and cover themselves with leafs around intimate parts, and took to nature to decorate their hair and bodies similar to how a mortal would craft jewelry and accessories from gold and stones.

the first time din saw her reflection after a century, she didn’t recognize herself. she hadn’t realized she had blonde hair quite like the locks she owned, and her eyes perhaps weren’t as azure as before. oddly, she thought back to the girl in her dreams. and how their features were basically swapped. for reasons unknown, she found the girl’s beauty far more striking than what the nymph saw in the mirror.

regardless, she fixed the tight waist-coast hugging her torso, the sleeves of the white shirt rolled up as they were a little long. the skirt was by far her favorite part; navy blue, her favorite color, and it went just past her ankles. shoes polished and clicking against all they touched, din thought that she could very well pass as a peasant girl, or maybe a maid or cook working on a ship. ordinary, just the way she liked it.

she remained uncertain of what to do with her hair, and in the end, let it fall loose after brushing it.

what was for breakfast was unknown to her, but it smelt nice when she stepped out onto the hallway, hands grazing against the walls to keep herself balanced. although it was a big ship and the water seemed calmer, din was still disturbed by the trembling and wading just as any person with a fear of the ocean would feel.

“ din! you’re up, that’s good! ”.

marcato sounded pleasant that morning, he had an air to him that was identical to his father’s. but apollo was more of a flamboyant god with smiles that could blind; what she now stared at was an almost exact replica coated in timidity.

in his hands, he held two wooden bowls and she spotted what appeared to be porridge with honey and chopped bananas on the stop, and she held her stomach so it wouldn’t cry out at the sight of something so divine.

she was seconds away from forgetting her manners, but she composed herself as the male placed the one bowl down on the table and beckoned her over. din gave a suspicious look around, marcato seemingly knowing why. “ don’t worry, i asked everyone to stay on deck so you can eat in peace. daeva is quite grumpy during the morning, and griffin is too loud ”, the sunny boy laughed and began to eat from the other bowl. “ dig in before it gets cold. ”

with some hesitation, din complied, lifting her spoon and observing the oats. could a ship like this really house such incredible ingredients? she wasn’t certain whether they had just stolen it or had someone make it for them, but din was impressed. from inside, it was already far prettier than the paladin, which she was supposed to have sailed off in that morning.

the thought of what would’ve happened to her on that vessel, aboard with only men, with a rumor flying around of her being a witch; din didn’t wish to linger on it. so with a shudder, she began to eat.

“ i know this hardly seems like a pirate ship. but it’s home for us ”, marcato said after a few silent spoonfuls. “ griffin usually fixes it when we’ve set course somewhere. he gets quite busy. he strengthened the thickness of the walls of the gallows, so our food and goods don’t get hurt by impacts or accidents. ”

din stopped, spoon hovering by her lips. “ how often would i have to worry about any of those happening? ”. marcato chuckled, but din didn’t mean to be funny, she was quite serious.

luck isn’t something din would say accompanied her on a regular, but she’s been having quite a lot of it after she woke up in regards to food. the food at the inn was something she wouldn’t quite forget, and this breakfast was no different. care was put into it, something about the softness of marcato’s hands justified this. the sweetness rolled right off her tongue.

“ are you feeling better? you completely blacked out after you came aboard last night ”, din had forgotten this entirely. to her, she was brought to a comfortable bed and slept soundlessly. that dream then came afterwards and she found peace. only to be awoken by rosé looming beside her.

her lips trembled for a moment, “ i’m fine. i just have a slight phobia of open water. makes me sick. besides, my plans were spoiled. maybe it was anger or just total panic that brought around a total collapse. ”

“ maybe it was pain, as well ”, marcato set his bowl of porridge behind him and went towards a cupboard where he pulled out a vial. a remedy. they’d really asked him to make her something for her injuries. her toes curled slightly, wondering if it would sting or hurt any further than the excessive burning on the scars on her soles. “ this will do the trick. ”

“ you don’t have t— ”.

“ i do ”, marcato said quickly, walking on over to her and sitting in front of her after pulling up a chair. “ it wouldn’t feel right to have an injured person aboard. i can tell you’re hurting. comes with being the son of the god of disease and healing. ”

could he sleep knowing someone nearby was in pain, she wondered. marcato motioned to her shoes, and after finishing her breakfast, din slipped the small heels off and hugged her knees to her chest, feeling bashful and she stopped the young man as he went to pour the medicine onto a cotton bud. “ can i do it myself? ”, she questioned.

he moved to give her the bud, but she shook her head. he would have to place it on the table, because if she touching something he was holding, she would make it disappear. it was just like what occurred with daeva’s sword the other day.

“ ah, your power. ”

marcato applied more of the oil-like substance onto the bud and then placed it on the table. and din took it quickly, and slowly dabbed it against the scars which would most likely turn purple if they hadn’t been treated any sooner. it didn’t hurt or sting to apply the medicine, to her pleasant surprise. “ it smells nice ”, she murmured. “ like— ”.

“  —chrysanthemums? i add floral scents to my medicine ”, the healer said, cheeks dusted pink like he’d just shared a timid secret. “ it makes the healing experience pleasant. most medicines smell like bitter herbs, and floral scents relax people. ”

din chuckled vaguely, amused by the confession. although she was forced to agree; floral scents were one of the many wonders of the world. they came in huge quantities and distinctions. subconsciously, din thought back to the grotto, and wondered whether she would familiarize with these blessed scents.

flowers were truly the gift of the world. it was as if persephone traced every single one with precision, and then breathed life into it. there wasn’t a flower that din didn’t know, but she hoped that perhaps she would come across others on her way back home.

in these thoughts, din hardly took notice of how quickly the scars were healing; like magic. she continued to picture the wind of colors that came with leafs and flowers. it was a form of meditation for her, she just had to picture what mattered to her the most. her thoughts ran wild of what beauties she would find back home.

“ do you have a favorite flower? ”.

she immediately shook her head, “ i don’t. it wouldn’t be fair to pick a favorite when they have so much value, one matters just as much as the other. medicine, food, beverages, most also aid in the care of our world. i love each one, even the ones i may not know about. ” with that said, din looked up at marcato. “ do you? ”.

“ u-uh, verbascum clementine, maybe. especially the ones with the faint yellow or orange color. i would say sunflower but . . . ”. din chuckled again, it would be self-explanatory. “ b-but i also like lavenders. ” marcato met her gaze shyly.

before she could conjure a response, din heard a noise from the entrance of the kitchen and spotted somnia. daughter of hypnos, and that morning, din didn’t find any energy to insult or argue. “ captain is calling all of us on deck, he says it’s urgent ”, somnia said and yawned into her hand, before taking a quick leave.

din glanced back down at the soles of her feet and found the redness fading and the swelling would soon be over. so she slipped her shoes back on and picked up her bowl of porridge and brought it over to what appeared to be a sink. “ y-you don’t have to wash it! ”.

it would be impolite if she didn’t, but the captain was calling, and she didn’t want to be the one keeping people waiting. so she left it on the side, adjusting her clothes before following marcato onto the deck.

what was difficult was getting up the stairs without feeling like she would tumble back, but she broke through into the sunlight which blinded her, her hands quickly thrown before her eyes in an attempt to protect them. she could hear the waves crashing from below, but the sound amplified as she stepped out, her stomach spinning with anxiety.

but as her eyes slowly adjusted, she blinked and was welcomed by a sight unlike any other. it was most definitely the most stunning ship she’d come to see, polished and clean, not a hole or crack in sight. it smelled of fresh paint and sea water, a funny mixture yet one that didn’t irritate or cause strange sensations.

“ morning, din! ”.

she heard griffin call from the side. the son of hephaestus didn’t share many resemblances to his father aside from the ears and perhaps the pouted lips. griffin was boyish, with dimples and muscles in every sense. she knew his father lingered with cyclopses, creatures unharmed by flames and also master smiths and creators.

marcato was right in saying that the ship looked so pleasant due to griffin’s seemingly strive at perfection. everything was precisely placed; who on earth would’ve guessed this to be a pirate ship?

“ busy so early in the morning? ”, she asked, feeling comfortable to talk to him the most out of everyone else in the crew. she continued to hold a hand against her forehead to avoid being blinded, whilst approaching a working griffin. “ what are you doing? ”.

griffin sniffled and then raked a hand through his brown hair, “ adding some metal onto the cannon side. not a thick sheet so it shouldn’t weight that much, but usually when we engage in sea warfare, our port cannons get butchered. we’ve lost two in our encounter in tortuga. so we can’t really repeat the same mistakes. ”

din wouldn’t have known that they suffered during warfare for how cared for the ship was. but as she looked deeply, she saw minor scratches on the edge of the port side, scars gained from engaging with people who had far more experience. but she thought of piracy of something like an apprenticeship; you learn on the way, and usually end up knowing more than scholars.

“ you seem to know quite a lot ”, she uttered, mostly under her breath but griffin picked it up with some ease.

he even laughed, setting down a hammer he held onto the floor and rubbing his scarred hands. “ i hear that a lot. i’ve been on the run from bitter gods for a while. maybe since i was fifteen or sixteen. when cap found me, i’d already gone through about four different crews ”, he revealed. “ two spanish ones, one french and one portuguese. i was always the mechanic, but i know a thing or two about sea warfare and the gamble that it is. ”

din almost didn’t hear what he said after he revealed something. about being on the run. well, it was no wonder she felt fonder of him than she did for the others. but it confused her; his father wasn’t a bitter man, he was fine serving as a blacksmith and being overworked to the brink of exhaustion. why would griffin be on the run? unless if hephaestus wasn’t the one he was avoiding.

and griffin spotted her confusion, “ my dad is alright. it’s his lovely spouse who makes things a little . . . complicated. she found out he pursued a mortal when she left him to be with ares, went absolutely insane. i guess it’s only because of rosé that i’m safe. ”

din turned her attention to where he nodded, on the quarterdeck, where the daughter of aphrodite sat chatting away with marcato and sephtis. “ i owe her a lot. she fools around a lot but she’s quite protective. i couldn’t have asked for a better half-sister. even if she annoys me half to death ”, with a snort, griffin turned back to his work.

･ ｡ﾟ.˚⊹･゜

the meeting didn’t come as urgently as din had expected, it took about an hour for the pirates to sort out an issue they were having with the gunpowder that was apparently weighing the boat down. whilst they disputed in the captain’s cabin, din took the time to explore the ship.

there wasn’t exactly much she could do other than walk around the deck. at first she didn’t advance onto the forecastle deck which was stationed right at the end of the ship, but it came to a point where boredom led her there, gentle steps finding her atop this elevated platform that allowed a view of the sea ahead of them that would scare but amaze every person.

to din, it was a matter of picturing the ship was the biggest component to the image. she couldn’t think of how big some waves could get, how easily this ship could be engulfed by one of poseidon’s murderers. the sea was an angry monster, hungry; it would swallow all it wanted. that was where her fear of it stemmed from.

it was no a matter of the beasts that laid within the waves; it was the ocean it itself, in its entire greatness and immense size, and the phenomenons that occur. whirlpools were by far her greatest fears; a large cyclone, a crack in the water sucking in all that couldn’t resist its great pull.

the very thought had the nymph cringing.

“ what are you doing out here? ”.

daeva.

din resisted the urge to roll her eyes and turned to glance at the male with a clenched jaw, “ am i not allowed? ”. what the nymph found was that her mood derailed the moment daeva opened his mouth or so much as came near here, it started the moment he pointed the sword at her yesterday; a foolish mistake, now she wanted him as good as dead.

“ no, you are. but the meeting is starting soon ”, daeva grunted, motioning over to where the pirates had gathered; just in the main deck, a map stretched out on a wide area with the captain pointing at certain places. at that, din moved past daeva, almost bumping into him on her way out of the forecastle.

she came to find theseus explaining the plan once they’d arrived in venice. by the nods he was getting, most agreed, and he politely rose his head when din approached. “ oh, you’re here! good, we were just going to ask you whether you’ve heard of tortuga ”, he said with a boyish grin.

tortuga? well, from what she’d heard, these pirates had wrecked havoc and had managed to tick off a couple of french soldiers. was it wise to put your feet back there when you had a navy after you?

“ yeah, i guess i have. ”

sephtis pointed to the island on the map, a mere speck opposed to the other islands of the caribbean. “ theseus says there’s a sea witch who apparently deals with curses. where in the island, i don’t know. but she’s there. and she hasn’t had many visitors in a few centuries ”, he explained.

din frowned, “ wait, weren’t you going to venice? ”.

“ we are ”, somnia cut in. “ but not because of the curse. we need to stack up on resources if we’re going to journey across the atlantic. we also need to find any island to stop at in case we have to hide. there are a few islands in between europe and the caribbean, and we need to find every single one. ” she nodded to griffin. “ he said the italians will help. ”

din looked at the taller male and he gave her a smile, “ relax, i know a couple of guys over there. they’re expert at maps. probably know territories we’d never even imagine. with the ottomans pissed off, the royal navy basically roaming the seas, and the french after us, we’ll need to be sneaky. ”

now she stepped closer to the map, and saw the lack of land in the atlantic aside from the huge continents of which she already knew. she pointed her index finger against the coast of africa, “ we might find a chain of islands here, and then cross directly into the caribbean. the shorter the distance, the better. but we also have to avoid following the trail of europeans colonizers. they’ll kill us. ”

“ well, we just about ticked off every european monarchy under the map. unless if we take down one of the ships at sea and steal their flag and clothes ”, theseus proposed, and griffin immediately shook his head. “ what’s wrong? ”.

griffin crossed his arms, “ we don’t have a lot of people in our crew. they usually carry twenty to thirty men in every ship. it’s fine that we have a small crew since we’re pirates, but the european ships will get suspicious. for that plan to work, we need more crew members. ”

“ we need to pick up more, then ”, rosé said pleasantly. “ i say we’ll find some as we cross the mediterranean. for now, we should focus on getting to venice, finding our sources, and we’ll pick up new members on the way. ” the girl clapped her hands, as if the meeting was over. “ great! now can we pick up more speed to get to italy sooner? ”.

theseus held a finger in waiting, and glanced carefully at din. “ i understand if you might be suspicious of coming with us. but we want the best for you, din ”, he said, bringing the nymph to frown more. “ this sea witch . . . she’s dangerous, but she’s our only hope. at least that we know of. we can break your curse if you want. ”

god, she wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible. and although the course had already been set and plans had been made, din was still resilient in joining them. in fear of putting her life at risk. she couldn’t die, but if she was jailed or imprisoned by officers on sea, it would be another period of imprisonment. and it wouldn’t be long before she was trialed with piracy.

she couldn’t risk it, and she wouldn’t.

yet the sly nymph to look the pirates in the eyes and nod.

“ i’ll come with you.”

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨.

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG151 /o/

- And Peter’s “friend” was, in the end, Simon Fairchild:

(MAG144) PETER: I’m absolutely delighted with your progress, and I feel you’ve earned some straight answers. MARTIN: But not from you. PETER: Oh, no. That sort of conversation makes me very uncomfortable. No, I’m owed a favour by a friend of mine. I’ve asked him to stop by, when he’s back in the country.

(MAG151) SIMON: Peter asked me to look in on you and… have a small chat. Well! A big chat, really. Answer all those… nagging questions. […] I lost a bet, and this is how the good captain chooses to use that. The second is… sort of?

Simon himself pointed out the compatibility between The Lonely and The Vast, but the Lukases had also collaborated with the Fairchilds on the Daedalus project (together with the Church of the Divine Host, although they were mostly invited into that project by Rayner to cough up the funding, according to Manuela). And Peter was indeed “owed a favour” because said friend had lost another bet. (So, amongst the gambling club, we got Salesa > Peter > Simon, so far. … Given how Peter had apparently betted on MAG066’s statement-giver’s death with Salesa, I’m… not sure I want to know what Simon and Peter had betted about, for Peter to win.)

Jon had kinda jinxed us that we would meet Simon this season, but Jon also avoided the Worst Of It:

(MAG124) ARCHIVIST: Simon Fairchild is one of the… recurrent figures that I think disquiets me the most. Not simply for what he does, the endless spaces of highs or depths to which he’s so quick to condemn his victims, but… the joy he seems to take in doing so. And I don’t think there is much to this tale beyond that: an evil man tormenting and killing simply for his own pleasure, and to feed the power that sustains him. […] I do not think I ever wish to meet him.

Congrats, Jon, you managed to not meet him although he came to the Institute! /o/ Staying holed up in the Archives has its perks. (… Especially considering how Jon had lost it in front of Breekon, I’m… not sure that he wouldn’t have thrown a fit in front of Simon. I mean. If Martin lost his cool so easily despite knowing how dangerous Simon is, Jon would have been a living nightmare about that guy.)

“Simon Fairchild” had been linked with a few “firsts” in the history of the series. He was one of Jon’s first cases at the Institute; he was in the first Vast statement we heard in the series, which had… been interrupted by Martin himself, as Martin was just returning from Prentiss’s entrapment and would give his statement in the very next episode:

(MAG051) ARCHIVIST: […] One of my first cases as a researcher for the Institute in 2012 was looking into the history of a jeweller in Hackney, that had reported cases becoming cracked in the night. Nothing was ever taken but, each morning it would be like a heavy weight had been dropped upon them. Looking into it, it turned out that the jewels had, in the 1930s, belonged to a con artist and fence, who had attracted the displeasure of the local population. When one particularly irate customer threw him out of a fourth-floor window into a crowded street at midday… no one claimed to have seen anything. A minor possible haunting with a decidedly pedestrian backstory, but notable because while I was never able to discover the original name of the con artist, one of his many, many aliases was Simon Fairchild, and it appeared on several business listings around the time. Whether it’s a coincidence or not is something of a moot point at this stage, however.

(MAG021) ARCHIVIST: […] It might just be a coincidence, but I recall the name “Simon Fairchild” was one of the ones used by– [DOOR OPENS, CHAIR TUMBLES] My god! Martin?! [SOMETHING SQUELCHES] What… What the hell is–? What are these things?! [CLICK.]

MAG124, “Left Hanging”, which featured Simon in the statement, also marked the first time that Jon had tried to interact with Martin since he had awakened from his ~coma~. So: it feels like “Simon” had been around for a while, surrounding important events but always escaping us a bit, before, finally, we met him in (what’s left of) the flesh.

- We had heard the name “Fairchild” since MAG021, and Gerry had mentioned that it wasn’t actually a family (MAG111: “Well, Fairchild’s just a name, they’re not really family.”) but we had heard of them as being… a clan of some sort (MAG089, Jude Perry: “Hangs around with the Fairchilds sometimes.”):

(MAG051) ARCHIVIST: […] A cursory bit of research reveals the Fairchilds in question to be an exceptionally wealthy family, based down in Cornwall. No real business to speak of, but it appears they’ve invested very wisely in aerospace technology, shipping logistics and underwater drilling and construction. Whatever their origin, I feel it’s worth keeping an eye on them.

… and turns out that HAHA:

(MAG151) SIMON: I’ve been “Simon Fairchild” about, um… eighty or ninety years, maybe? For business purposes, mainly – by which I mean I was bored of not being wealthy, so I made some arrangements and sent Mr. Fairchild on a very long fall. I could go into details, but without a certain amount of knowledge of 1930s tax practices, it wouldn’t mean very much to you.

It’s… not even a stolen name, it’s a stolen alias. And they all developed around it / kept Simon’s alias as a sign of respect / just used it for tax fraud and get rich, all along.

- Simon was a BLAST, rambly, jumpy, losing his breath here and there, living his best life of being terrible (only caring about the people he had traumatised/deprived of their closed ones when it came to introduce himself, casually threatening Martin, absolutely chill about the idea that yes, people are suffering and are meant to suffer or to disappear) – I’m especially fond of that moment:

(MAG151) SIMON: And honestly, the idea that this is all some… “grand cosmic joke”, thousands of us running around spreading horror and sabotaging each other pointlessly while these impossible, unknowable things just lurk out there, feeding off the misery we cause… [INHALE] I find that interpretation quite appealing…!

He just spat the whole sentence at full velocity, and we could hear the lack of oxygen towards the end, it was great and fitting for an avatar of The Vast! And he was an utter troll, to the point that Martin actually tried to threaten him?

(MAG151) SIMON: Peter said you’d have a lot of questions about that one. MARTIN: I do. [PAUSE] How are new powers born? SIMON: Hm… don’t know! MARTIN: How soon could it attempt its ritual? SIMON: No clue! MARTIN: How do we stop it? SIMON: Can’t help you! MARTIN: [THROUGH GRITTED TEETH] Could you, at least, try? SIMON: [FRANTIC] … No–no–no–no, you’re right, of course!

… TWICE:

(MAG151) MARTIN: I don’t see your point. SIMON: [INHALE] My point is… [PAUSE] … You know? I’ve quite forgotten! MARTIN: [EXASPERATED SIGH] SIMON: [PANICKED SOUNDS] I’ve just not been doing much recently, it’s not a good time for perspective, you see.

Martin meeting what is for us the oldest avatar around (… at least officially; what is Elias, etc.), even older than Rayner, somehow translated to “Martin on the verge of beating an old man, twice”. S2!Martin was bringing you tea; S4!Martin is done with each and every one of you and has gained so many levels in bossy from having to deal with Peter for excruciating months:

(MAG151) SIMON: [CHUCKLING] And this has been fun! [INHALE] Now. [CHAIR SCRAPING] If we’re about done– MARTIN: We’re not. Sit back down. SIMON: Boooold~ [CHUCKLE] [CHAIR SCRAPING] I like it.

(redusijnferd why did you sound so flirty, you pink skeleton of a man. Get in the queue to get a Power Claim on the boy.)

- We could perfectly feel that Simon was older than your regular avatar (if he worked under Tintoretto, it means he was born in the 16th century) through his way of looking at the Fears, the sheer… chillness? with the prospect of everyone dying/disappearing, but also more personally, in the portrait he was painting of Peter:

(MAG151) SIMON: Yes, well! You have to understand how it is with Peter. He finds talking to people directly very difficult, especially explaining the more, hum… esoteric side of things? MARTIN: Mm. SIMON: Charming chap, I’m sure you’ll agree, absolutely lovely, but… even if you can convince him to actually give you a straight answer, he’s just not that good at actually putting these things into words. Something to do with his upbringing, I think. [CONSPIRATORIALLY] I’m pretty sure he was home-schooled, you know! […] He is what he is, Martin. For a creature of The Lonely, the urge is always to isolate; never to communicate or connect. I suspect that’s why he’s so keen on wagers: it allows him a framework for cooperation that doesn’t risk any sort of intimacy.

… Simon was describing this awkward, kinda sweet guy who is trying his best to save the world but has a few disabilities and tries to manoeuvre around it. Meanwhile: we witnessed live Peter Lukas sending Brian Finlinson to The Lonely in MAG100 apparently Just Because He Could, and he whooshed two researchers who were only ignoring his directives while Jon was still unresponsive, and there is the whole Tundra deal; he also began to ramble in front of Martin about how he would have gone for Gertrude’s throat… I’m glad that Martin didn’t fall for it and was rightfully unimpressed (he also told Basira that Peter was “awful” right after). But it was telling that Simon would present Peter as this uwu sweet child uwu, when… really, absolutely nope.

(About the “home-school” bit: and how many Lukases children are “raised” in Moorland House, right now…?)

Simon was also… absolutely unsurprised by Little Institute Things:

(MAG151) SIMON: Ouuh! Hello? [CHAIR SCRAPING] Hmm~ […] Hm! No wonder I’m so sympathetic to The Lonely. You know: this really is a place for self-discovery, isn’t it? [CHUCKLE] “Statement ends”, I suppose! MARTIN: Uh… I’m sorry? SIMON: Oh! Nothing, just my own hubris. I should have known. When I came here, I said to myself: “Simon,” I said, “you’re going to answer this young man’s questions, but you’re not going to give The Watcher a statement. You’re better than that.” But it’s a hard one to resist, isn’t it? You get in the flow of talking about yourself, and it all just… tumbles out. MARTIN: Mm, does seem like it. SIMON: [CHUCKLING] And this has been fun!

(Oliver had also described Jon’s effect: “Be easier if you could talk back, right? Ask me questions and just have it tumble all out.” (MAG121)) Simon greeted the tape recorder (?), and knew about the “Statement ends” phrasing, and that one is… noteworthy, since it’s Jon’s trademark (later copied by Martin). Gertrude wasn’t using it, she immediately announced her “Final comments” after her readings - how did Simon know about Jon&Martin’s formulaic “Statement ends”? Did Peter describe it to him? (… Or Elias?)

- That episode was indeed a MAG111.2 (30th episode of season 3 / season 4!) – except it wasn’t Jon receiving the information, but Martin, and it was… less about categories and repartitions, more about how the Fears tend to operate in their irregularities. We didn’t even learn a lot about structures or terminology; technically, we… didn’t learn a lot, but mostly got a few confirmations for things that had been there for a while, although not fully assimilated, through an ~exterior~ point of view? The biggest information was probably that not all avatars are as afraid of The Extinction as Peter is:

(MAG151) SIMON: I’ve actually been toying with the idea of trying to do something with the scale of humanity itself; you know, emphasise all that “overpopulation” nonsense, but… honestly, it just… doesn’t ring true for me. We’re all just so tiny and pointless, you see; it’s hard to really get past it. Also, I worry it might be straying into territory that emboldens our potential new rival. MARTIN: … The Extinction. […] You don’t sound worried. SIMON: That’s because we disagree on exactly how bad it will be. Peter seems convinced that The Extinction is different. That its actual birth will be as bad or worse as another power fully manifesting. He believes its advent will be heralded by all sorts of disasters and catastrophes, and global upheavals, and whatnot. That kind of things. MARTIN: Sounds like a rich feeding ground. SIMON: Well, exactly! Peter, however, seems to think that it will upset the balance that we all have an awful lot invested in. And he’s not at all certain the world as we understand will come out the other side. MARTIN: And let me guess – you think he can’t see the “big picture”? […] You don’t think it will be the end of the world? SIMON: Oh! It very well might be, but… MARTIN: [EXPLOSIVE EXHALE] SIMON: Life has continued through dozens of apocalypses already. Ice ages; pandemics; calamities; extinctions… The only reason this one feels special is because, well… it’s happening to you. And that’s the sort of solipsism that tends to come with loneliness – in my experience. So. My feeling is that I’ll help out where I can; but ultimately, if this “Armageddon” comes off, then… so be it. Either billions suffer and life goes on; or billions suffer and life doesn’t. In the grand scheme of things, it’s all… much of a muchness.

(… That depiction of avatars as finance workers basically sharing the cake and eyeing cautiously the newcomer, not because of the positive or negative outcomes it could bring on clients/victims, but because it could steal some parts of their market…)

And it indeed fits: the one who had been doing all these researches about the new emergence is Adelard Dekker who, as far as we know, is human, and had explained in MAG113 how his own biggest fear had once been to die without realising it, such as in his sleep. It might have coloured how he researched and described The Extinction, how devastatingly annihilating he perceived it? And Peter has essentially based his own investigations on Adelard’s research, while Simon… tends to regard it as just another Fear – it’s bad, but then, they’re all bad and relying on people’s suffering (and coloured by his affiliation to The Vast – even if it’s worse than the others and supplants the other Fears, the universe will still be there, with or without humans).

So, at this point, it’s… possible that no, Peter and Martin won’t manage to stop The Extinction from being born, because it has already grown enough? But it doesn’t mean, either, that it would throw off the balance of the Fears game so much. However… it would probably be shattering for Martin, if his sacrificing his life for the Greater Good for almost a full year, not indulging in things he loved anymore (he stopped writing poetry, he turned away from Jon and contributed to his isolation, making him more susceptible to use his Powers thus going further into Beholding/monsterhood and increasing his victims count)… doesn’t lead to an achievement of any sort.

- In season 4’s own flavour: Simon also pursued the idea that nobody and nothing is exactly in control, that there is no Grand Scheme – but mostly things happening, an unidentified and anonymous system going around, in the frame of which avatars&monsters operate (and as Jon had put it in MAG145, run by the idea that “we’re all just… ‘groping about’. Trying desperately to find out what we’re actually meant to be doing.”). The Lightless Flame and The Dark respectively created Agnes and the Dark Sun mostly by believing strongly in their aims; and, overall, rituals are indeed attempts at putting a dream, a feeling into shape, and these translations are faillible on their own (if Jon&co hadn’t gone to The Unknowing, would it have stopped on its own…? Did Tim actually sacrifice himself stopping something that wouldn’t have worked anyway…?). Annabelle claimed to have a limited influence, and to not be aware of any greater plan from The Web. Elias (as much as we can trust what he wants to convey) is limited, erratic, and fallible – admitted that he had “overreacted” when he had killed Leitner, didn’t pay attention to the assistants’ plan to arrest him, claimed that he hadn’t seen that The Dark’s side had been too heavily damaged to even attempt a ritual. Martin got told that Peter in himself wasn’t such a big deal; that his promise to protect the Institute against unknown threats… had been mostly a smokescreen because he really wanted/needed Martin to work with him:

(MAG134) PETER: Martin, this is what we agreed. After The Flesh attacked, you came to me. MARTIN: [SIGH] PETER: And I’ve held up my end of the bargain, despite your continued hesitation. Your friends have been largely untroubled by the many – many – enemies that they have made. MARTIN: What about the delivery guy? Breekon. And the coffin?

(MAG151) MARTIN: How honest has he been with me? SIMON: About which part? MARTIN: Protecting the others. SIMON: I think he tried. I suspect he may have slightly exaggerated his abilities when you first made the deal, but he certainly expended a reasonable amount of influence and resources to follow through. MARTIN: But… [EXPLOSIVE SIGH] But that was never the endgame, was it? He just wanted me on side long enough to rope me into his… his plans for The Extinction. SIMON: Do you really need me to answer that one? […] I think… [INHALE] I think Peter is taking a rather large, but calculated gamble. Not just on you, but on a lot of things. If it works, he’ll be in a very strong position. And if he fails… it won’t be all that bad.

We had indeed never seen Peter actually doing anything regarding that “protection” bit: he found excuses for his inaction when Breekon breached in (Jon had been quicker), and blamed Jon’s decisions to get involved with spooks (back then, the coffin; and Martin had been unaware about the Svalbard trip until Daisy told him). Nothing about the spiders, either. And now: confirmation that Peter was actually useless but wanted to Sound Impressive to get Martin. It doesn’t mean that he can’t be damaging (Elias was absolutely awful on a one-on-one basis) but it paints him in a less threatening/all-controlling light, too.

(- Is Peter annoyed by analogies

(MAG151) SIMON: Alright. Let’s… try one of those analogies Peter finds so annoying.

… because they’re a way to connect and create links between what are essentially different ideas. That sounds like the nerdiest Lonely thing. (You want to kill a Lukas? Talk in *gasp* metaphors.))

- I loved how Martin wasn’t letting it go? Was pressing and cornering to get his answers? And was, at the same time, kinda poetic / very… sensible, in his approach?

(MAG151) MARTIN: It doesn’t scare you? SIMON: Martin. Taken on a cosmic scale, we’ve never even been alive…! Not in any way that might register, I mean, if this… dreadful little planet had a fractionally different orbit, and life had never even started here, then… ultimately, nothing of any real importance would have changed. [SILENCE] MARTIN: [POINTEDLY] I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever. SIMON: … What a Lonely way to look at things. Which makes sense, I suppose. […] MARTIN: And… and how did you get started with it all? Did you, did you, [SARCASTIC CHUCKLE] did you just look up at the sky one day, and fall head over heels in love?

1°) Of course, Martin would (even snarkily) describe the process of getting involved with a Fear as ~falling in love~.

2°) I… don’t have much to say about Simon and Martin’s opposition, but I like them both? I like how they’re both extremely valid, indeed, depending on the scale? (And it kind of resonates with Gertrude’s way of dealing with the Fears: she seemed to favour the “big picture” in her own way, sacrificing people if it means saving the world, multiple times; but every person she decided to sacrifice without their consent, or saw as a casualty to attain her goal… had value, too?)

- Interestingly, Martin still spontaneously identified the Distortion as “Michael” – not “Helen”?

(MAG151) MARTIN: Things like Mi– Hum, th– er, the Distortion. I thought they were part of the Entities themselves, ext– extensions. Surely, they know what’s going on? SIMON: Honestly, I think they have it a lot worse than we do. Imagine being a hand that can conceive of itself, having impulses shot through you, being moved and clenched by some unseen mind – but never knowing the reasoning behind your own actions, or even if you’re just some thoughtless reflex. Eww! Sounds horrid.

It sounds like Martin might have listened to the tape between Leitner and Jon, or that Jon kept them updated on that specific bit?

(MAG080) LEITNER: The books are, I think, their essences in a purer form. The other things that stalk us, from what I know of them, they have varying wills of their own. All in service of the thing they’re a part of, but not directly controlled by the mind beneath them. At least, inasmuch as these entities have something we could recognise as a mind. ARCHIVIST: Like a… a, a muscle, spasming on reflex? LEITNER: Yes, that’s actually rather good. ARCHIVIST: It would explain Michael’s identity issues. LEITNER: “Michael”? Oh… that, that’s what the Distortion calls itself these days, isn’t it?

(So… were Breekon&Hope in that category, too? And ;; it really doesn’t bode well regarding Helen’s looming presence around the Archives…)

- ………… I’m glad that Martin immediately thought about the Daedalus when it was about The Vast’s ritual attempt, and:

(MAG151) SIMON: … Do you know when the last ritual I attempted was? MARTIN: I… I don’t know, that space station? SIMON: Oh goodness no, that’s the future my boy! […] I’ve just not been doing much recently, it’s not a good time for perspective, you see. The world all feels too small, these days. I used to do a lot with religion, but it’s just not got the same conceptual scope that it used to. Honestly, I’m pinning most of my long-term hopes on space – but that’s at least a hundred years away.

Simon having Thoughts about the next one was mildly terrifying and atrociously funny: going “that’s the FUTURE” over your next planned apocalypse is…

- Updated list of rituals that aren’t a cause of concern (anymore):

* The Hunt: “The Everchase”, ongoing for at least the past two centuries, aggregating Hunters in America. Doesn’t have a culmination, revelling in the pursuit. (MAG133)

* The Vast: “The Awful Deep”, in 1853. Didn’t really work, and stopped by a Hunter. Simon Fairchild is banking on space for the next attempt. (MAG151)

* The Slaughter: “The Risen War”, should have happened centred around the Nemesis in late 1942, in the Pacific Ocean. It failed due to not meeting all the requirements – probably had a bomb planned that never came. Gertrude finally got confirmation in October 2014 that she didn’t need to worry about it; she threw out wild guesses that The Lonely or The Web could have been responsible for thwarting it. (MAG137)

* The Desolation: “The Scoured Earth”, relying on Agnes Montague, who was neutralised in the 70s when The Web tied her to Gertrude, and the chance got definitely destroyed in 2006 when Agnes began dating Jack Barnabas. Could take only a few decades before they get enough power again – or Agnes lied, and she successfully crashed their chance for this round herself. (MAG139, MAG145)

* The Buried: “The Sunken Sky”, 17th June 2008, in Bucoda, Washington (USA). Stopped by Gertrude by throwing pieces of Jan Kilbride’s Vast-touched body into the pit. (MAG097, MAG129)

* The Flesh: “The Last Feast”, October 2009, under an old Gnostic temple near Istanbul (Turkey). Stopped by Gertrude and Adelard Dekker thanks to a bunch of explosives. (MAG130)

* The Spiral: “The Great Twisting”, somewhere between October 2009 and 2011 (since Leitner told Jon that Gertrude has lost her last assistant “six years ago” in February 2017), in Sannikov Land, which does not exist somewhere in the Arctic. Stopped by Gertrude by sending Michael Shelley with a map inside of The Distortion, to fuse with it. (MAG101, MAG126)

* The Lonely: no name given, but a probable Story coming about that one. Gertrude took care of it, Peter is still cross about it. (MAG134, MAG151)

* The Dark: “The Extinguished Sun”, around the time a full solar eclipse was happening in Ny-Ålesund on 20th March 2015, three centuries after Edmond Halley was possessed by Dark water after Halley’s eclipse (which may have been a planned ritual attempt in itself). Didn’t work for unidentified reasons, might have been linked to Gertrude’s death or lack of faith, or not. (MAG025, MAG140, MAG143)

* The Stranger: “The Unknowing”, 7th August 2017, at the House of Wax in Great Yarmouth (UK). Gertrude had prepared the thwarting with Adelard’s help, stocking plastic explosives and understanding that it would take someone touched by Beholding in the middle of it, had thought of Gerry for that role though wasn’t sure he could pull it off (MAG137). The ritual was effectively stopped by Basira, Daisy, Tim and Jon using that plastic explosive (MAG118, MAG119): with a Beholding-touched person pulling the trigger in the middle of it – Tim. Previous attempt was in October 1787, at the Court Theatre of Buda, Hungary, and was interrupted by an agent of The Slaughter. (MAG116)

* The End: according to Peter, neither wants nor needs a ritual (MAG134: “it knows that it gets everything eventually, so why bother. The End manifesting would not be a new world of terror; it would be a lifeless world. Devoid of everything.”)

* The Web: according to Peter, has never tried to manifest or to get a ritual – though he didn’t sound absolutely sure about Her motives (MAG134: “The Web, I’ve never really been sure about: if I were to guess, I would say it actually prefers the world as is, playing everyone against each other, and so on.”)

We’re still lacking data about:

* ~The Corruption~, which is the Unloved Fear of this season. Gertrude’s laptop revealed that she had bought large amounts of pesticide (MAG066: “There’s also the matter of the products she was ordering. There were several online orders of petrol, lighter fluid, pesticides, and high-powered torches. They are sporadic, but notable, in that she did not drive, smoke or work in pest control.”) and there might have been something attempted during the Prentiss siege against the Magnus Institute on 29th July, 2016, with some of the worms forming a “ring” in the tunnels (MAG041: “Then I found the circle of worms. […] a few were still embedded in the wall providing the clear outline of a circle. The ceiling was higher here, and all told it must have been about… ten feet in diameter. Its size was not the most disconcerting thing though. Inside the circle, the stone was… wrong somehow.”)

* The Eye: “The Rite of the Watcher’s Crown”. According to Gerry Keay, it was the next one on Gertrude’s list together with “The Unknowing”, and she had already devised a plan to stop it (MAG111: “She didn’t tell me much about that one, just that she knew how to take care of it”), which might have involved reducing the Archives to ashes (MAG080: “I assume [Elias] discovered we were planning to destroy the Archives.”, “Planning a little light arson, are we Jurgen?” / MAG092: “So. For the avoidance of any doubt. I killed Gertrude Robinson because she intended to destroy the Archives.”). Robert Smirke feared that Jonah Magnus was trying to launch it in 1867 (MAG138). Might “have” to happen in 2018, as Jon noticed the two-hundred years anniversary of the Institute’s founding (MAG127) and is experiencing a feeling of urgency (MAG137: “I feel like I’m on a deadline, like I’m running out of time somehow”).

* + The Extinction’s own birth: incoming.

(… Now that I’m thinking again about it: if it turns out that Jonah had indeed tried to launch The Watcher’s Crown under the counter, and that Gertrude didn’t know about it, and that The Eye lost its chance 150 years ago…)

- With the casual reminder that Peter is originally a captain (MAG151, Simon: “The answer to the first is simple: I lost a bet, and this is how the good captain chooses to use that.”), a dimension which has been entirely absent throughout season 4 (Peter had made nautical puns in MAG120, though), and the mention that he was probably “home-schooled”, it feels like a Lukas statement could be (finally!) coming? We also got another confirmation that The Lonely has had its chance this round, and that it had been dealt with:

(MAG134) PETER: Martin… it’s going to be decades, if not centuries, before I get another chance to bring Forsaken into this world. Your last Archivist saw to that. Honestly, if Elias hadn’t killed that woman, I’d have been very tempted. I warned him she was a danger– MARTIN: Peter! PETER: –but he’s always– MARTIN: Peter. PETER: … Anyway. The point is that, yes, obviously, if I last that long, I’m going to try again. But I’m… rather keen for the world not to end, in the meantime?

(MAG151) MARTIN: Is Peter attempting a ritual? SIMON: Not in the sense that you’re used to. Him and his family made their play a few years ago and they failed. I’m sure he’d like me to explain it, but I think he can do that one himself.

So there is definitely a story behind this, and we might get lucky enough to get it directly from Peter’s mouth. Either with Peter telling Martin (on Martin’s request, as a guarantee?), either because Jon, starved and holding a Martin-shaped grudge, will jump at his throat and rip it out of him.

(- The “Great Twisting” happened after October 2009 and Peter had brought Gertrude and Michael Shelley there… so was that before or after Gertrude had crashed their ritual?

Probably before, but. Consider the following: Peter having lost a bet to Elias or to GERTRUDE HERSELF, and consequently being forced to escort Gertrude&Michael with the promise not to throw them overboard or to feed them to The Lonely. Would have been a lovely ride.)

- I’m specifically hysterical over the way Simon described how his last ritual attempt went:

(MAG151) SIMON: It’s all a matter of perspective, you see. My patron has gifted me with… quite frankly, an absurdly long life. An appropriate gift, and one that serves to provide a certain distance from things. Of course, a paltry few centuries is nothing, really, but it’s more than most get. And even in that brief time, I’ve seen all sorts of ebbs and flows to balance off things. … Do you know when the last ritual I attempted was? MARTIN: I… I don’t know, that space station? SIMON: Oh goodness no, that’s the future my boy! But no; it was 1853! The height of the aquarium mania! All over the Empire, people were starting to understand the depths of the terrible unknown below the ocean. And I thought that was a rich vein to be tapped. Even bothered old [Aullier?] into helping me design a special diving bell for the ritual. I called it “The Awful Deep” – and between you and me, I was rather proud of myself. MARTIN: … So why didn’t it work? SIMON: Because it… wasn’t a very good idea…? The Fear wasn’t out there, not like I hoped it was. It all sort of… fizzled. Also, a Hunter broke in and destroyed the mechanism, sent me and all my sacrifices plummeting to the bottom of the ocean.

(I still haven’t managed to catch the name of whoever helped him design the diving bell, but I discovered in the process of searching for it that Edmond Halley historically designed one, which, SCREAMS. But it didn’t sound like the way they have been pronouncing “Halley” until now so, relief.) (Welp no, apparently, it’s a possible pronunciation for “Halley”, so it was him. No wonder that the Fairchilds were invited to cough money for the space station, then, if they had already collaborated in the past.)

He sounds so excited over his failure, and just casually mentioned in passing how yeah, it still killed off a lot of people in the process. (… and it presumably ruined the chance of everyone feeling Vast-affiliated to get off their own ritual for a few centuries? And just because he got his fancy idea and ran with it? HE WAS SO PROUD OF “THE AWFUL DEEP” AND IT WAS SO UNINSPIRED, SIMON PLEASE……………)

- So, with the description of the failed ritual… What was “The Maria Fairchild”, wrecked off the coast of Nova Scotia?

(MAG051, Antonia Hayley) “The old man, Simon Fairchild, had come to us claiming that he had pinpointed the location he believed his great-grandfather’s sailing yacht had been sunk almost a hundred-and-twenty years ago, and he was keen to retrieve any heirlooms or curios he could from it. The only thing interesting or… unusual about his story, was the amount of money he was willing to throw around to back it up.”

1°) 120 years ago meant, at the time of the statement, around 1890s, which is not the aforementioned 1853.

2°) Simon hadn’t yet stolen the identity of “Simon Fairchild” in the 19th century, so the boat welcoming the ritual… couldn’t have been called “Fairchild” unless coincidence?

So, was it the boat from the ritual attempt but Jonny mixed up dates? Or, given that it’s Simon and, as far as I recall, no one else has mentioned the existence of “The Maria Fairchild” existence outside of him (no mention of whether the captain had corroborated Simon’s information, Jon hadn’t tried to fact-check because those events took place in Canada), did Simon just… bullshit that whole backstory in MAG051, just because he wanted new sacrifices and/or recruits and any boat would have done the trick? [Edit: the boat was named “Maria Fairchild” in MAG051, though, they read the plaque before diving.]

- Clock in the background during this episode, so… was it in Elias’s office? We had heard the clock in MAG067, MAG092, MAG102, MAG116, MAG120 (and for the last four, it was implied to indeed take place in Elias’s personal workplace); given how it was heard in MAG126 and MAG142, I had been assuming that Martin was in Elias’s old office, though it wasn’t the case in MAG134 and MAG144 (and MAG149… may have been the Archives’ other office?).

… so, if That Clock indeed means Elias’s office. Does it mean that I’m hearing everything right and have the correct assumptions for what these sounds mean:

(MAG151) [CLICK–] [CONSTANT CLOCK TICKING IN THE BACKGROUND] [FOOTSTEPS ECHOING IN THE BACKGROUND, COMING CLOSER] [CONSTANT STATIC BEGINS] SIMON: Ouuh! Hello? [CHAIR SCRAPING] Hmm~ [RUFFLING OF CLOTHES] Hm–mh! [CHAIR SCRAPING] [SELF-SATISFIED CHUCKLE] [DRAWERS OPENED?] [MORE CHUCKLING] MARTIN: [FAR] Ah! Uh, excuse me sir, you– [IN THE ROOM] Uh, sorry, you can’t actually be here… SIMON: Oh, not to worry! I seem to be doing alright so far. [PAPER SOUNDS] MARTIN: No, I– I mean, this area is actually off-limits to the public, so– SIMON: And quite~ right~ too~! Goodness! The things they could learn here…! Turn your hair white, eh? [CHUCKLE] Best to keep them out, I say! [TURNING A PAGE, HUMMING]

Was Simon just rummaging into Elias’s desk and looking through files like that, because sIMON AHAHAHAHAH.

- Aaaand we got a date for the statement: August 14th 2018!

Elias has been in prison for more than a year, YOUHOU!!!

… Which means precisely we’re past the one-year anniversary of The Unknowing (is it why Jon immediately thought about it in MAG150?), and precisely one year and one week since Tim’s death. SOB. (This season still feels so… strange to me, on the fact that: you don’t really feel like seasons 1 to 3 technically happened. There is virtually nothing left of Sasha (understandable: no certain memories of her) nor Tim, who has barely been mentioned. In the same way that this season has been physically more centred on the inside of the Institute compared to season 3 (the exceptions being four visits to Elias, a glimpse at Melanie’s therapist, MAG141 and MAG143 about the Svalbard trip, MAG147 at Hill Top Road), it’s like time… stopped a bit, too – there is barely any future except the prospect of The Extinction and the looming threat of The Watcher’s Crown, and the only relevant past has been about… spooks, rituals, Gertrude. Tim had worked in the Archives for almost two years, and yet, it doesn’t feel like… he ever existed there…? It’s as though, with Peter’s arrival, some of the relationship maps, present or past, have been broken, too. I still wonder if it’s just like that, if Tim&Sasha are just… not meant to be relevant ever again, or if feelings are meant to come out pouring, sticky and corrosive, at some point, when there would be an argument about self-sacrifice/dying/surviving. Same with Martin’s relationship to his mother.)

So, timeline time!

MAG121 (+MAG122?): February 15th 2018 MAG123: February 17th (“Two days out of a coma, and I’m already tired.”) MAG124: February 24th~ (“It’s been a week and… Melanie’s attitude towards me hasn’t softened.”) MAG125: ? MAG126: ? MAG127: ? MAG128: 3rd March [Jon extracting Breekon’s statement] MAG129: ? MAG130: 17th~ March (“It’s been two weeks since I heard from Basira”) [Gertrude recording] MAG131: 20th March [Jon taking Jared’s statement] MAG132: 24th March (given that Jon has been in the coffin for three days, either 21 to 24th, or 24 to 27th?) MAG133: ? MAG134: ? [Martin reading a statement] MAG135: ? MAG136: at the very least two weeks after MAG132 (since Jon hasn’t seen Daisy in his dreams “for the last couple of weeks”) MAG137: ? [Gertrude recording] MAG138: ? [Martin reading a statement] MAG139: ? MAG140: one day after MAG139; end of May 2018 (“Summer solstice is the 21st of June. So we leave in a fortnight, and should arrive about a week before.”) MAG141: June 11th 2018 (two days before arrival) MAG142: June 12th 2018 [Martin taking Jess Tyrell’s complaint] MAG143: June 16th 2018 [Jon taking Manuela’s statement] MAG144: ? (same day or shortly after MAG143, since Jon&Basira are “back”) [Martin reading a statement] MAG145: “just over a week” since Jon&Basira’s return [Gertrude recording] MAG146: (July 20th 2018 or the day prior?) MAG147: July 20th 2018 MAG148: ? MAG149: ? [Martin reading a statement] MAG150: ? MAG151: August 14th 2018 [Martin taking Simon’s statement]

* … I didn’t remember that gigantic gap between Jon’s return from Norway and the Hill Top Road expedition, wow.

* 2018 carries on. Jon is aware that it’s the 200th anniversary of the Institute, and the year… is not over yet, but only four months and a half remaining.

* Jon’s last live-statement was two months ago, and that’s when he also he destroyed the Dark Sun. (And he’s remained weak and hungry since then; we… still don’t know if the symptoms will fade with time, or if… they’ll just get worse.)

* When did Jon find Martin’s tapes?

(MAG151) BASIRA: I don’t think so. Three weeks I’ve been waiting to catch sight of you, and now I find you chatting with Simon Fairchild. No, you’re not pulling your little “vanishing act” on me. […] MARTIN: You–you know about that? BASIRA: Yeah. Jon found the tapes you made for him– MARTIN: SHH–SHH-SHH!! SHHHHH!!! BASIRA: [LOWER] Found a stash of them a while ago. I made sure he shared with the class. MARTIN: Oh, there you go, then!

Basira has been trying to get her hands on Martin for “three weeks”, which means since around July 25th, so… after the Annabelle expedition. So, looks like she followed the vein of paranoia and tried to check if something else was manipulating them / keeping an eye on them?

But it doesn’t mean that that was when Jon found the tapes: was it after Annabelle? Or after their return from Norway? Or even before the trip?

- Some tiny doubt regarding sound – was that static, or a ruffling of clothes?

(MAG151) MARTIN: [SIGH] BASIRA: Who was that? MARTIN: Basira, please, I don’t have time. BASIRA: Oh no, you don’t! [OUTBURST OF STATIC?] MARTIN: Basira, let. go. BASIRA: I don’t think so.

I thiiiiiiiiiink it was static given how it was “fading” when Martin spoke but I’m not sure about it (it lacked the faint distorted sounds that we could hear in MAG149, imitating Peter’s, but then, they were preceded with static at that time. Martin is just very faint compared to Jon or Peter). The way I understand it: Basira grabbed Martin before he could disappear like he had managed to do with Georgie? And Basira wasn’t surprised about it, so it maaaaybe indeed, when she had told Jon that Martin tended to “disappear”:

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: Do they? … W–w–who else– Did Martin say something? BASIRA: … It was a few months back. After the attack. He’d started spending time with Lukas. At least, he said he was. And I wanted answers. He kept telling me to trust him, to hear the guy out even though he still wouldn’t actually show his face. I told him he could… drop me an email or vanish me. ARCHIVIST: … Right. BASIRA: Honestly, I kind of regret not just… grabbing Martin and shaking an explanation out of him. But I didn’t want to push it. He was in a… bad place, what with the attack and his mom and everything, so I didn’t press it. Now, I try and bring it up, he just… disappears. Nothing to be done.

… she meant that in a spooky way already? It was unclear to me whether she meant that he was just leaving and refusing to talk and hiding for a while every time she tried to talk to him, or whether he was disappearing in the Peter way.

(- So, it took Basira three weeks to get her hands on Martin, which means he’s (getting?) inaccessible. Yet, Daisy had managed to find him in MAG142 (in a room with a clock in the background) and in MAG144 (… without any clock). Which means he wasn’t in the same place that second time.

… Had Daisy been Hunting him back then, to be able to find him so easily…?)

- It was minor but at the same time… I got Feelings over the fact that Basira, who had pointed out to Jon that she hadn’t managed to get a lot from Martin’s mouth, who told Jon she hadn’t wanted to “push” Martin given his circumstances, snapped this time and didn’t let it go. Wanted to hear, from Martin himself, that he wasn’t betraying them; asked/ordered him to talk to her:

(MAG151) BASIRA: That makes me worried. Makes me suspicious. [SILENCE] Tell me I’m wrong. MARTIN: [INSTANTLY] You’re wrong. BASIRA: So what’s going on, then? [SILENCE] Talk to me. MARTIN: It’s complicated.

It’s… probably worrisome from Basira – she’s been way too suspicious of everyone, she even used the same vocabulary with Martin as the one Melanie had used to depict her (… so Melanie wasn’t exaggerating):

(MAG131) MELANIE: [LONG EXHALE] Basira is, hum… Basira deals in “intel” these days, in “usable data”; assets, not “feelings”, not… “people”. Crying, shaking, nightmares, that is “better”. It doesn’t feel like it, but as far as Basira sees it, I’m not compromised anymore, and… that is “better”.

(MAG151) BASIRA: Jon may be going through a whole “we have to trust Martin” thing, but I’m not. As far as I can see, you’re either compromised, or you’re being played. And I want to know which.

But at the same time, she let him go and her “Don’t make me regret this.” was saying that she would let him do his thing. So. She finally (kind of) shook an explanation out of him, in the end, and… she knows what he’s heading for. Was it the self-sacrificing bit which convinced her of his good faith – since she… should guess that, indeed, if Jon knew about it, Jon would probably try to prevent it?

- On the other hand: Basira’s paranoia spiral is very reminiscent of Jon’s in season 2, mixed with her background as a police officer – is that… a Beholding effect at work? She was also very quick at pinpointing that the guy Martin had spoken with was Simon:

(MAG151) BASIRA: I don’t think so. Three weeks I’ve been waiting to catch sight of you, and now I find you chatting with Simon Fairchild. No, you’re not pulling your little “vanishing act” on me. MARTIN: How did you know about– BASIRA: Yeah, Jon’s not the only one who listens to statements.

We got a description of Simon in MAG051 (“He must have been pushing a hundred years old, just a tiny pink skeleton of a man”) so it could have been thanks to that… but randomly knowing stuff and claiming to have read it in a statement was also what happened with Jon:

(MAG102) ARCHIVIST: Is there anyone else who might know what it is, or– or where? Aside from Leitner, or Gerard. ELIAS: … Sorry? Gerard Keay? ARCHIVIST: Uh… yes…? ELIAS: How did you… Who, who told you he was working with Gertrude? ARCHIVIST: No-one, I–I–I just, I… I read it in one of the statements. ELIAS: I don’t think you did. ARCHIVIST: I… but… aaah… ELIAS: You just… knew it! ARCHIVIST: What, no, I, I… Th– that’s not a– ELIAS: No, no, no. No, Jon, this is good. It’s a promising development!

(Jon had already casually put Gerry in the list of people who had worked with Gertrude in MAG099; so he hadn’t noticed that he had Known about it… like that, for a while.)

So. Maybe Basira just guessed because “tiny pink skeleton of a man” + spook translates into Simon Fairchild (we listeners would also think about it), but… there is also the possibility that she’s going through a s2!Jon phase without realising, falling deeper into Beholding. ;;

- Though, AHAHAH, obviously, Basira would be extremely suspicious and cautious about the idea of “x is following a Spook’s leads (and it will end badly)”.

(MAG151) MARTIN: … It’s none of your business. BASIRA: No? ‘Cause it seems to me like you’re panning around two very dangerous people right around the time you’re cutting all of us out. […] MARTIN: Look, I don’t have time for this. I–I don’t like that I have to work with Peter any more than you do, and I didn’t know that Simon was involved until today. But I would hope that you and Jon understood the importance of preventing an apocalypse. BASIRA: [SIGH] I guess I’m just a bit burned out on the end of the world. MARTIN: Yeah, well… that’s your problem. […] BASIRA: You’re not expecting to come out of this, are you? MARTIN: … I’ll do what I have to. If I’m right… no one else needs to get hurt. [SILENCE] BASIRA: [SIGH] … Okay. You want to do whatever “grand sacrifice” you think is going to save everyone, go ahead. But you’d best be sure you’re not just playing their game. MARTIN: I know what I’m doing. BASIRA: We’ll see. [PAUSE] Don’t make me regret this.

From her perspective, Martin is… doing with Peter exactly what she had done with Elias: and when she planned to prevent an apocalypse by going to Norway with Jon, it only resulted in Jon attacking Floyd, and indeed neutralising the Dark Sun – but becoming weaker and hungry in the process. And even before that: The Unknowing had cost her Daisy a first time, and she had spent seven months trying to convince herself that, even though there was no body, Daisy was dead. I don’t think that Basira is trying to make amends of the fact that she had hidden that she was following Elias’s leads, however; it was a sore spot when Jon tried to reproach it in MAG148 and she had immediately bit back. She’s been grown quite dry and hypocritical since The Unknowing? Only able to trust herself, like she told Jon in MAG128? But, at the very least, she would know from experience that… no, following Peter/Elias’s leads only serves their plans.

- !! I had already squinted hard over Jon’s description of Martin’s situation last episode:

(MAG150) ARCHIVIST: And at least none of us is suffering alone. … Martin’s got it the worst, of course. But it still seems to be his choice. And I have to trust that he knows what he’s doing.

And INDEED, it makes a lot of sense that he had known for a while a bit More about Martin’s situation than we thought.

(MAG151) BASIRA: Yeah. Jon found the tapes you made for him– MARTIN: SHH–SHH-SHH!! SHHHHH!!! BASIRA: [LOWER] Found a stash of them a while ago. I made sure he shared with the class. MARTIN: Oh, there you go, then! BASIRA: Jon may be going through a whole “we have to trust Martin” thing, but I’m not.

So that’s why Jon knew that Martin had it bad with The Lonely, and how he knew that Martin had a plan and wasn’t just a victim or being held hostage by Peter! But that raises a few questions:

* How long has Jon known about it? Was it only recently (after Norway or after Hill Top Road) or for longer? In MAG139 already, Jon had wondered why they had been “chosen” and had asked the question about Martin specifically; he knew that Peter had plans, and was exceptionally worried about Martin, to the point of trying to use his powers to Know about Peter’s projects:

(MAG139) ARCHIVIST: Why were we chosen? Agnes was created – crafted with a specific purpose so finely tuned that even a grain of uncertainty threatened the entirety of her being. [CHORTLING] But I’m so full of doubt it feels like there’s no room for anything else, and… I’m sure Martin is the same…! […] [SIGH] I’m just worried about Martin. … Christ… Every other Avatar gets to have their feelings… burned right out of them, but me? I’ve… just got to sit in mine. … I know he said he had everything under control. I need… to trust him; whatever he’s doing with Peter, he’s… he knows what he’s doing. Probably. I just– … [VERY FAST] I need him to be okay. I just do. … If I… Knew… what his plan was; if I knew what Peter was doing; if I just– [WHISPERING] … Can I…?

… Had Jon already listened to one of the tapes, back then?

* … Which tapes has Jon listened to?

-> MAG149: Martin read a note from Gertrude (the statement-giver had been sent by Adelard, and Gertrude was aware that Adelard was calling what he suspected to be a new Fear “The Extinction”). Martin highlighted that Peter abandoning him was probably in order to increase his loneliness/Lonely-compatibity. … It………….. also contains Georgie and Martin’s exchange, and AOUCH AOUCH AOUCH if Jon heard that one……………………

-> MAG144: the other side of Martin pushing Daisy away – that he was fearing that Peter would go after her. The keyword “Extinction” mentioned multiple times, Martin exceptionally snappy at Peter and trying to get answers, Peter announcing that Martin would meet someone and get a few answers.

-> MAG142: Martin (?) had already got that one through to Basira&Melanie&Daisy by MAG146.

-> MAG138: was directly addressed to Jon at the end, though the statement mostly dealt with The Eye and Smirke’s Architecture (The Extinction was only namedropped by Martin once during the post-statement). Martin warned that Peter might be interested in the tunnels below the Institute. It also gave some information about Jonah Magnus / a potential Watcher’s Crown attempt, or project, and Jon, who had been exceptionally impatient on that subject in MAG137… just stopped mentioning it afterwards.

-> MAG134: was the one which talked in great length about The Extinction, with both Adelard’s and Peter’s inputs. It was also when Peter confirmed that The Lonely has already attempted its ritual during the current cycle, and that both The Web and The End were assumed to be uninterested in trying to pull one off. It… would make sense that Jon and the others listened to this one, given how Jon didn’t mention researching the rituals of the Web and the End (and, indeed, if he knew that they’re not a current concern… there’s no need to focus on them). Interestingly: it’s also during that post-statement that Peter and Martin discussed Jon’s journey in the coffin, and how Martin had put the tape recorders around it. So: Jon would know that Martin was still keen on protecting him.

Tl;dr Especially with MAG134 and MAG138, Jon would have had proof that, no, Martin was not abandoning them and was still… very much on their (Jon’s) side.

* And that’s also why the Team Archives seem to be on standby since Hill Top Road – they’re indeed waiting, because they’re aware that Martin is the one dealing with a current threat!

* Jon seems to be sticking to his decision from MAG117 to “trust” the assistants… but given how Tim died/sacrificed himself on him through that trust, I wonder if that’s his entire reason. Is Jon taking some comfort in the distance with Martin, because it means not having to face Martin after what Jon did to the five people he attacked in season 4…?

* Will Jon&co find another of Dekker’s statements (Peter had told Martin that he hadn’t found all of them as of MAG144) in the Archives? Or something about Dekker’s whereabouts? What happened to Dekker, why is he absolutely silent right now…

(My bets are on either “became one of the first Extinction avatars somehow”, either “got killed by Peter who ‘overreacted’ like Elias had done with Leitner”.)

* Heyheyheyhey, I was already wondering why Jon had read MAG150’s statement and if something had been influencing him – why reach the conclusion that he had to keep trusting Martin and not do anything, when the statement was demonstrating that affection and trying to reach could break through The Lonely?

1°) That’s because Jon doesn’t think, at the moment, that Martin needs to be “saved”, because he has proof (Martin’s tapes) that Martin is planning something – and not simply swallowed into something he doesn’t understand at all. (Though, yeah, we know, it will… likely backfire.)

2°) That’s also giving clues, as a safety net, to maybe manage to get Martin back in case everything goes to hell thanks to Peter.

3°) ……………………. DID JON

SPECIFICALLY

PICK

THAT STATEMENT

AS A SORT-OF-INDIRECT-MESSAGE TO MARTIN

BECAUSE IT WAS GIVING HIM AN OCCASION TO SAY “I LOVE YOU”……………

- We got Simon, absolutely chill and casually gleeful about sacrificing people and, Jon, at least in MAG146, wasn’t… fine with it (Helen’s “It would be better if you embraced it.” was telling: he currently isn’t).

That question has been at the back of my mind since we’ve begun to meet avatars: Jude quite easily butchered her first victim, Mike Crew explained that he had discovered he didn’t mind killing to reach his goal while on his quest to escape The Spiral, Simon said he “never looked back” since he embraced The Vast, Oliver said that he had understood what he had to do on the boat (meaning, shooting the captain and leading everyone to their deaths)… Did all of them rewrite their own history after the fact, presenting their pasts as more “coherent” with who they currently are, and was there a time they actually used to be more ashamed and desperate about their own actions and sacrifices; or were they already quite down with murder from the start? (Oliver is probably the most ambiguous case: he sounded absolutely hopeful and Trying His Best in MAG011, but present!Oliver talked of his past self as mostly naïve… and admitted that he had even lied through omission, back then.)

Jon mentioned a “bias of survivorship” in MAG129 regarding victims; is there one regarding avatars, too, because usually, the ones choosing these paths would already have been quite ruthless? Is that an ineluctable progression (through habit, desensitisation, repetition), or was Jon a bit of an… outlier, from the start, potentially by accident – although he had been giving the impression of being dry and cruel at the start of the series, we discovered that it… was mostly a façade, in his case, because he tends to Hide Himself quite efficiently?

- Simon’s and Arthur Nolan’s words about Rituals/Entities/their relationships to their patrons were… quite similar?

(MAG145) ARTHUR: You’ve never really had to bother with it, have you? You got him upstairs to point the way as often as not, and the rest of the time you’re just figuring out people – or things that used to be people. You never try to talk with that Eye of yours. You never had to second-guess a god. ‘Cause that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? We feel Its joy and Its… anger; It warps us, and changes us, and feeds on us, though not in the ways we expect. The one thing It never does is just… tell us what to do. It seeds us with this… aching, impossible desire to change the world, to bring It to us. Then, It leaves us to guess and bicker and fight over how the hell you can actually do it. … If it’s possible. Sometimes, I think They understand us as… little as we understand Them. We don’t think like They do. GERTRUDE: I’m not actually convinced they “think” at all. ARTHUR: You might be right. But Agnes did. That’s the thing about an… “incarnation”, isn’t it? […] Find me one so-called “expert” on all of this who didn’t end up regretting all of it! … That’s the trouble with overthinking any of this: you ignore your gut. And to my mind, that’s the only part any of Them Beyond… actually care about. They don’t give a toss about your “rules”, or “systems”. They only care about what feels right, what freezes your belly with terror.

(MAG151) SIMON: The thing you have to remember is that no one actually knows how these things work. Not really. There’s always been plenty of theories, of course, and over a century or two you do start to get an intuitive feel for it, but… there’s really no hard and fast “rules”. The Powers, or Entities, or Fears, or whatever you want to call them, are bound up in… emotion. In feeling. How they exist, what they can do, how they interact with the world, it… it all makes about as much logical sense as a nightmare. Which is to say, there is a certain sort of emotional logic to it all. Things feel like they flow together in a way that makes sense, but if you try to stop and… do the maths, then it all comes apart. At least, in my experience. “When is a new Power born?” Well; when does it feel like its birth would be right? When enough creatures suffer a terror of it that feels distinct, that feels truly its own… then it would probably feel right for it to emerge into its own. Or perhaps there’s a ritual, if it feels right to enact some sort of birthing ceremony, some… apocalyptic midwifery. […] MARTIN: You make it sound like the… the Entities don’t even know that they’re doing. SIMON: I have no idea if they’re doing anything at all – if they’re even capable of “doing” things. I know that most of their servants are simply doing their best to interpret and serve something that is almost definitively inconceivable. MARTIN: You can’t be serious…! SIMON: Alright. Let’s… try one of those analogies Peter finds so annoying. Hum… imagine you are deaf. But every night, you hear the most beautiful music in yours dreams. And your every waking thought is consumed by trying to reproduce that music. Oh! You’re mute, as well, in this analogy, or at least you can’t sing. And you need to invent the idea of a musical instrument from scratch. Everyone else is also deaf, and mute, and, hum… MARTIN: Yes, yes, I think I get it. SIMON: Yes, well, the point is, most of us are trying so desperately to recreate our own dream symphony that… we bring an awful lot of our own baggage into the mix. […] And honestly, the idea that this is all some… “grand cosmic joke”, thousands of us running around spreading horror and sabotaging each other pointlessly while these impossible, unknowable things just lurk out there, feeding off the misery we cause… [INHALE] I find that interpretation quite appealing…! MARTIN: … “But”? SIMON: I still hear the music in my dreams.

………………. but it raises, more and more, the question: Jon, what music do you hear in your own dreams? (Jon was especially worrisome in MAG145’s post-statement…)

At least, Jon is currently accepting the cold turkey (or at least, as far as we know, he hasn’t wrestled Basira&Daisy&Melanie to try to get out to go hunt) but… how long can it even go on…

- Reassuring point: Team Archives has actually been communicating in the tapes’ backs, since Jon shared his discoveries with the others and they all know about The Extinction. When Jon was describing their less-than-ideal-but-we’re-trying-to-face-Peter’s-effects in MAG150, it had sounded absolutely cold but… there is a bit more substance to it, then (they’re indeed sharing, and hiding from the tapes).

Good: Martin still Very Aware that Peter is bad, because the fact that he was growing accustomed to his presence / was desperate to the point of almost-missing-Peter-as-he-was-the-last-person-he-could-interact-with had me a bit worried.

(MAG142) MARTIN: [SIGH] Th–the worst part is I don’t even want to talk to him about it. I’m just… [SIGH] I suppose I’m just getting comfortable with the distance. [SIGH] Cut off. [DRY CHUCKLE] “Lonely”. [INHALE] Mind you, Peter’s not wrong. It really is easier than actually just trying to communicate with people.

(MAG149) MARTIN: Sort of… surprised Peter hasn’t rocked up with some more… “insights”? Haven’t seen him around for a while, actually. I mean… eh, it’s not like I miss him [CHUCKLING] but, at least he was someone to– [PAUSE] … Ah. [HUFF] [PAPER RUSTLING] Yeah, that makes sense. [EXHALE] A’ight, fine. Just… me on my lonesome for a while, then. … Could be worse. … Peaceful, at least. … I don’t miss all the shouting. [CHUCKLE]

(MAG151) MARTIN: Look, I don’t have time for this. I–I don’t like that I have to work with Peter any more than you do, and I didn’t know that Simon was involved until today. But I would hope that you and Jon understood the importance of preventing an apocalypse. […] Peter’s the one with the plan, and… it needs me to be alone. BASIRA: And you don’t see anything suspicious about that? MARTIN: Of course I do! But it… might be the only way and… [INHALE] So far, at least, he’s been honest with me. Awful, but… honest. I need to do this. For everyone.

Bad: HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, super worried that Basira and Martin, although they (… naïvely?!) tried to keep quiet, explicitly discussed what Martin was doing behind Peter’s back……………….

(MAG151) MARTIN: It’s complicated. BASIRA: What? They’re just here out of the goodness of their hearts? Helping you save the world from Extinction? MARTIN: You–you know about that? BASIRA: Yeah. Jon found the tapes you made for him– MARTIN: SHH–SHH-SHH!! SHHHHH!!! BASIRA: [LOWER] Found a stash of them a while ago. I made sure he shared with the class. MARTIN: Oh, there you go, then!

mARTIN, BABE??? I don’t think that trying to keep your voices low helped in any way?! If Peter was there eavesdropping, then he’s still there and listening. If whatever-is-listening-through-the-tape-recorders didn’t already know already that Martin had a stash of tapes, and that Jon&co had listened to them already, then It knows now. If Elias was Watching you two and is planning to tell Peter… then he will be able to do it anyway.

And even: Elias called Martin out on being a manipulator back in MAG138; he… probably saw Martin stashing the tapes, Jon discovering them and sharing them with the others? So if he’s in this with Peter… he’ll probably tell him, or has told him already. Which. Shit. The fact that Martin is still trying to hide his double-agenda sounds more and more useless…?

I’m a bit afraid that Martin has been trying what worked with Elias with Peter: staying close, focusing on their shared goals (stopping The Unknowing / The Extinction), roughly following the path he’s assigned (reading statements, staying at the Institute while he “officially” wanted to go with the others / agreeing to cut ties with the others) while showing his discontentment for good measure… and planning to backstab when he’d find a weakness. But Peter is not Elias (and we’re not even sure that Elias wasn’t counting on the others to take him down and send him to prison, given how it had been “easy” for Melanie to find evidence against him…); Gerry had pointed out to Jon that the Lukases were “very good” at pushing people “in the right direction” amongst the family.

- Simon technically avoided to answer one of Martin’s Big Questions:

(MAG151) MARTIN: … Fine. So why me? What’s his plan? Why not get the others involved? SIMON: He is what he is, Martin. For a creature of The Lonely, the urge is always to isolate; never to communicate or connect. I suspect that’s why he’s so keen on wagers: it allows him a framework for cooperation that doesn’t risk any sort of intimacy. As for his plan… [INHALE] I don’t know the details. But I believe there’s something in the Institute that he thinks can help his cause. MARTIN: … And he needs me to use it. SIMON: Presumably – from what he said, it must be “powerfully aligned to The Watcher”. If he wishes to use it, it would need someone already touched by The Eye. And if he wants to control that someone… MARTIN: They need to serve The Lonely.

Why Martin? Peter had highlighted that Martin was already Lonely-compatible, and Elias acknowledged that he had basically given Martin to him:

(MAG134) MARTIN: Mm–okay. Okay, so, so let’s say, for now, that I believe you. Hypothetically. Wh–what does this have to do with me? PETER: [BREATHES] I’m still working out some of the kinks. But I believe I have a plan. However, it requires this place, and it requires someone touched by The Beholding. Elias was, perhaps unsurprisingly, unwilling to help. MARTIN: And you thought that since I’m so lonely already, I’d be ideal. PETER: Yes!

(MAG138) MARTIN: So why haven’t you helped him?! […] ELIAS: Anyway, I have helped him. I’ve given him control of the Institute, I’ve provided him with–   MARTIN: Me? ELIAS: –any manpower he might require.

Which, indeed, we saw happening in MAG108:

(MAG108) MARTIN: Oh. You’re… one of them, aren’t you. A… a Lukas. PETER: Yes, that’s– Peter. Pleased to meet you. Now, how did you know that? MARTIN: I, I was just reading? Jon left some notes, and… PETER: Ah, I see. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. It’s one of Elias’s little jokes. MARTIN: I don– What? PETER: Did he suggest you record a statement today? One that mentioned me? MARTIN: … yeah? Sssort of? I mean… not you specifically, but… PETER: I have a meeting with him today. He suggested… I’m sure he’s watching from his office, grinning from ear to ear. MARTIN: I… don’t… PETER: I almost thought he genuinely wanted me to meet the team! Oh well. MARTIN: I’m really sorry, I… I don’t actually…

So, Elias had orchestrated Martin’s and Peter’s meeting, knew that Martin would catch Peter’s interest, Peter is indeed all set on Martin helping/being used for his plan against The Extinction – but why Martin specifically? There was a large pool of Beholding-trapped assistants at the time of MAG108: Basira was around (though she was together with Daisy so that was probably making her lose Lonely points); Melanie had already read two statements and Elias had just pointed out how her life was “indeed shockingly absent of any meaningful connections. That’s actually one of the reasons I chose you for this job” (MAG106; though Elias also pulverised her in that episode and Martin&Basira witnessed how she was having a bad time afterwards); Tim… had been shown to be particularly impacted by Sasha’s death, had just described how his brother had died a few years ago, had been dangerously antagonising towards Elias (MAG104), and had decided to turn his back on everyone in the Archives to go it solo. Martin indeed sounded like a logical choice, but there were still other options – so what was the tipping argument to throw Martin at Peter? Was it because Elias had never been fond of Martin in the first place (he tended to treat him with casual contempt in MAG060 and MAG084)? Was it because Martin’s ~hopeless crush~ and situation with his mother made him especially isolated/lonely? Was it because Martin was the most “actively” Beholding amongst the assistants in the statements-reading area? That was the reason why Elias had jumped on the idea of keeping him at the Institute when the others were planning the trip for The Unknowing:

(MAG116) MARTIN: No, no, I can help, I’ve been reading the statements! ELIAS: … Quite right, er, probably best he does stay behind. BASIRA: What, so you have a backup if Jon doesn’t make it? ELIAS: I’m sure that won’t be necessary.

(-> Elias didn’t confirm that he was planning to use Martin as a back-up Archivist, but the fact that he had read statements was a Super Effective argument, so it… mattered, in one way or another.)

(I think it’s very likely, in canon, that Martin’s lineage is absolutely unspooky, and that his family story is a “normal” family drama, as painful and tragic and heart-breaking as it is already? But I’m also very very very onboard with the Lukas!Martin theory and won’t give up on it as long as I don’t have Martin’s birth certificate and a dozen blood-testing results from different labs to prove that his father wasn’t a runaway Lukas, so:

(MAG151) MARTIN: …. Who are you? Did Peter send you? SIMON: Ah, you must be Martin? Goodness! He was not exaggerating. MARTIN: What’s that supposed to mean? SIMON: Oh, come now, don’t be like that.

… What was that “He was not exaggerating” referring to? Was it to Martin’s behaviour (the fact he was a bit nagging, or trying to keep people away from dangerous areas, or quickly understanding that this old man could be acquainted with Peter)? Or was it about Martin’s physical appearance – Martin, who is apparently the spitting image of his father…?)

(Other possibility: Simon went “He was not exaggerating” because Martin, who wasn’t canonically “the hot one” in MAG052 (that was Tim.), is actually the “ASTOUNDINGLY AND INCREDIBLY hot one” in the team.)

- I’m impressed at how Martin has learned to navigate amongst the Fears architecture on his own? Even in season 3, he had a lot of trouble with the powers and recurring figures:

(MAG098) MARTIN: [SIGH] I wish John kept better organised notes because I know he’s mentioned someone called Maxwell Rayner, but I cannot find much in the way of any info–

Back then, “Maxwell Rayner” shouldn’t have been such a vague name for Martin, given how he had participated in the researches around Hither Green in MAG025 and the Montauk case in MAG052. But here, Martin immediately identified “Simon Fairchild” as The One:

(MAG151) SIMON: Oh, come now, don’t be like that. [INHALE] Let’s start over. Simon – Simon Fairchild. Peter asked me to look in on you and… have a small chat. Well! A big chat, really. Answer all those… nagging questions. MARTIN: Simon Fairchild. [PAUSE] [NERVOUS CHUCKLE] Wait, “Simon Fairchild” as in… SIMON: As in “all those people who said I did horrible things to them and their loved ones”? Yes. They have been in, haven’t they? I’d hate to think I’m underrepresented in here, not when Peter tells me that that… “bone” fellow has at least half a dozen. MARTIN: N–no, no, [NERVOUS CHUCKLE], not… not at all. Y–you’ve sent plenty of people our way.

(It’s still… something, that avatars are both looking down at The Eye for being a “bottom feeder” or for robbing part of the fear, but at the same time, are preoccupied by the amount of statements mentioning them, as if they were competing about it. (… why are they all looking down on Jared.)) Martin was able to be exceptionally diplomatic (mix of honesty and not-pissing-off-something-that-could-wreck-you), to immediately ask good and relevant questions although he hadn’t been warned that he would encounter Simon right now, cautious enough to check that there wouldn’t be any “trick” in the fact he was allowed to ask questions:

(MAG151) MARTIN: And you do it? Why? SIMON: Is that your first question? MARTIN: … Is there a limit? SIMON: Only until I get bored. And that does tend to come more quickly, these days. MARTIN: O–okay, okay, then sure, sure. First question, then: “why are you helping Peter?” D–don’t you serve different… you know… Fears? […] How are new powers born? SIMON: Hm… don’t know! MARTIN: How soon could it attempt its ritual? SIMON: No clue! MARTIN: How do we stop it? SIMON: Can’t help you! MARTIN: [THROUGH GRITTED TEETH] Could you, at least, try? […] And how close is it, do you think? […] You don’t sound worried. […] And let me guess – you think he can’t see the “big picture”? […] … So why didn’t it work? […] Assuming The Extinction doesn’t derail everything…! SIMON: Which is why… I’m happy helping Peter. But! If it does: then I’ll either be dead, which will be fine, or… I’ll adjust. MARTIN: It doesn’t scare you? […] So what do you do, then, if, if the world is pointless and your god is so weak right now? […] I thought you said that the maths doesn’t work. SIMON: Oh, you are a quick one! […] MARTIN: … What about the monsters? […] So– [EXHALE] So if no one’s ever actually communicated with their patron, how do you know they even want rituals? H–h–how does anyone know if they could ever even work?! SIMON: We don’t. MARTIN: [INCREDULOUS SCOFF] SIMON: And honestly, the idea that this is all some… “grand cosmic joke”, thousands of us running around spreading horror and sabotaging each other pointlessly while these impossible, unknowable things just lurk out there, feeding off the misery we cause… [INHALE] I find that interpretation quite appealing…! MARTIN: … “But”? SIMON: I still hear the music in my dreams. MARTIN: Hm. [SILENCE] Who are you? No, no: who were you? […] You said you were here to answer my questions for Peter, but so far you’ve told me basically nothing of any use. SIMON: The big answers are rarely helpful. MARTIN: Then let’s try some smaller ones. Is Peter attempting a ritual? SIMON: Not in the sense that you’re used to. Him and his family made their play a few years ago and they failed. I’m sure he’d like me to explain it, but I think he can do that one himself. MARTIN: How honest has he been with me? SIMON: About which part? MARTIN: Protecting the others. […] … How do you feel about this? SIMON: You might need to be a tad more specific. MARTIN: All of it. Peter’s plan, The Extinction, me…

All of his questions were excellent ones: he was able to keep in mind the data Simon was providing, he was extending questions to his current situation (outside of The Extinction itself), he was able to use his snark and sass to squeeze more answers and knowledge out of Simon, he was able to ask for contextualisation and keep in mind how Powers tend to oppose each other. Simon was absolutely willing to talk but Martin honestly made the best use of it – I found the way he led the interview even more impressive than the way Jon had dealt with Gerry? And asking questions is supposed to be Jon’s thing as The Archivist. (Well. Getting answers, whatever his questions are, technically, but.)

When pressed, Martin was also able to find the best possible answer to Simon’s jovial threat:

(MAG151) SIMON: And I never looked back. I tried to share it with others, not just as sacrifices; but they often find it difficult to keep up with the, hum… velocity I tend to live at. They tend to get left behind, and I suppose it doesn’t help that I can’t… bring myself to see any of them as anything other than trivial. […] I’d say “anytime”, but honestly, if you see me again… I may just throw you off something for a joke. How do you feel about… rollercoasters? MARTIN: Uh… Neutral. SIMON: Oh… [CHAIR SCRAPING] You’re no fun.

That was the only safe possible answer: if Martin was positive about it, it would mean being a potential recruit; if he was showing discomfort, that would make him a sacrifice. And Martin was able to improvise the it, although he had been known as The Assistant Of Many Fears:

(MAG015) ARCHIVIST: I sent Tim to check the details – Martin declined to help with this investigation as he’s “a bit claustrophobic” […].

(MAG022) MARTIN: The light from the window behind me cast it pretty clearly on the floor, and looking at it I swear the edges seemed to move. It was like a… like a, like an undulation, like, like they were being shifted by something. I mean… look, I know you hate the word, but it was really… spooky. […] I think I might have… lost my mind a bit, then. It all… feels very… strange, blurry. I–I remember stamping and stamping as-as more made their way under my doorway. I-I remember grabbing every towel, sock, bit of fabric scrap that I could find, stuffing them under the door, into the cracks around the window.

(MAG039) TIM: Martin’s gone. ARCHIVIST: I’m getting to that. Martin has disappeared. Tim was right about there being fewer worms down here, but they are much faster. More aggressive. None of us have been hit yet but… during one of the more alarming encounters, Martin ran off. TIM: He thought we were behind him, I think. ARCHIVIST: He didn’t think at all.

(MAG040) MARTIN: Sorry. ARCHIVIST: Ah, it’s fine. I just… I only need from when you got separated. From when you got lost in the tunnels. MARTIN: No, I mean… I’m sorry I left you. ARCHIVIST: … Oh Martin. MARTIN: [TEARFUL] It was an accident. I thought you two were with me! I mean, the worms came at us, and they were so much faster, and then there was the gas, and the running, and I just… I, I thought you were right behind me. But when I turned round, you were gone. You were both gone. It was an accident.

(MAG072) ARCHIVIST: I’ve had Martin looking into the case of John Haan, though it’s slow going as whenever there’s a picture he ends up needing to take a breath of fresh air.

(MAG108) MARTIN: I’m really sorry, I… I don't actually… PETER: Do I scare you Martin? MARTIN:  Yes…! PETER: Hm. Probably for the best.

(MAG117) MARTIN: I… I’m scared, I guess. No, wait– No! No, I mean– uh… Oh, I don’t want that to be my last message, the thing that defines me. “Martin Blackwood: he was always scared, then he died. The end.” I don’t want that. … But it’s true, isn’t it? I mean, if you’re right, if these things out there are eating our fears, then I’m a… a luxury smörgåsbord, I suppose. I’m just afraid all the time! I know, I know, I’m not gonna die, I’m not even going to be on the incredibly dangerous mission. Me and Melanie, well… Well, I don’t think “death” is really the worry, it’s just… [SIGH] It feels like an ending? Or… something. Like nothing can go back to normal after this. […] I need them to be safe. I need him to be okay. … So–sorry, hum. I–I’m not afraid for me, though. Isn’t that weird…? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be safe, like, my plan’s not dangerous but it’s… it’s mine? These last couple of years, I’ve always been... running, always hiding, caught in someone else’s trap, but… but now it’s my trap. And, well. I think it will work.

From Martin who was regularly presented as incompetent back in season 1 (to the point of surprising Jon when demonstrating otherwise during the worms crisis) and who was too honest for his own good when he met Peter, to Martin who is able to swim through the Fears politics, to ask good questions, to snap and squirm and get out of Simon’s grasp… He has learned to deal with the spooks quite efficiently, huh?

- In Jon’s tracks, Martin has been slowly moving forwards when it came to the Archival work. Pushed by Elias, he was the first one of the assistants to read statements aloud and “ritually” starting season 3, and, although he was aware that they were hard on him, he was the only one who kept reading them – Tim tried once and immediately gave up in MAG086; Melanie read two statements but stopped after MAG106’s (and, given her declaration that she would stop feeding The Eye in MAG150, she’s not planning to go back to it); Basira read one in MAG112 and never tried again (and her distaste of the tape recorders and her unwillingness to stay in the room while Jon is recording in season 4 seem to point out that she doesn’t plan on doing it again either).

(MAG084) MARTIN: [RAGGED BREATHING AS HE REGAINS HIS COMPOSURE] Well, I, er… I think that was okay. Er, yeah. To anyone listening, sorry about the change of tone. Jon, the, uh, Head Archivist is… absent, so I’ll be trying to fill in as best as I can. Um. Maybe Tim as well, if he… if he feels like it. It, it doesn’t matter, I suppose. Just as long as it gets done.

(MAG095) MARTIN: S–s–statement… done. [HEAVY BREATHING & TREMBLING AS MARTIN STEADIES HIMSELF] I don’t like recording these. There. I–I said it. I’m sorry whoever’s listening to this, I know it’s unprofessional, but they f… I don’t like it. I guess we’re past professionalism now. Probably. I don’t even know why I’m still doing them, since Jon’s back now.

(MAG098) MARTIN: I, um, I think I might need to sit down. Oh. Yeah, I am. Right. I don’t, uh, I’m not really sure if these are actually getting easier or harder. I mean I don’t feel–

(MAG108) MARTIN: Statement end. [LOW VOICE] That wasn’t so bad? [BREATHES] Hum, not sure there is anything to say about this one.

(Starting MAG108, it became easier for him: was it because it was a Lonely one, then a Web one? Was it because Jon told him he was okay with Martin continuing to read them in MAG102?)

I’m still eyeing the ways Jon is completing his own set of Fears through live-statements/nightmares/scars/encounters with direct manifestations of the Powers, but Martin, in his own way, has also been completing his own set of Fears through his written&live-statements:

* The Corruption (MAG084, Adrian Weiss) * The Buried (MAG088, Enrique MacMillan) * The Flesh (MAG090, Ross Davenport) * The Slaughter (MAG095, Luca Moretti) * The Dark (MAG098, Doctor Algernon Moss) * The Desolation (MAG100, Lynne Hammond’s (messy) live-statement) * The Stranger (MAG104, Tim Stocker’s live-statement) * The Lonely (MAG108, Adonis Biros) * The Web (MAG110, Alexia Crawley) * The Extinction (MAG134, Adelard Dekker; MAG144, Gary Boylan; MAG149, Judith O’Neill) * The Eye (MAG138, Robert Smirke; MAG142, Jess Tyrell’s live-statement/complaint) * The Vast (MAG151, Simon Fairchild’s live-statement)

He’s missing The End, The Hunt and The Spiral at the moment (although he experienced the latter when Tim and him were trapped in Michael’s corridor in MAG079-MAG080) but… he has already covered almost all of them…?

The previous time we had seen Martin (MAG149) highlighted that he was progressing with The Lonely, given how he disappeared on Georgie. Although Simon pointed out that Martin was fitting with his own conception of The Lonely in MAG151, we also got… clear indication that Martin is still very much aligned to Beholding:

(MAG151) MARTIN: Hm. [SILENCE] Who are you? No, no: who were you? SIMON: Originally? No one you would have heard of; no… great historical figure or atrocity-monger. I’ve been “Simon Fairchild” about, um… eighty or ninety years, maybe? […] Hm! No wonder I’m so sympathetic to The Lonely. You know: this really is a place for self-discovery, isn’t it? [CHUCKLE] “Statement ends”, I suppose! MARTIN: Uh… I’m sorry? SIMON: Oh! Nothing, just my own hubris. I should have known. When I came here, I said to myself: “Simon,” I said, “you’re going to answer this young man’s questions, but you’re not going to give The Watcher a statement. You’re better than that.” But it’s a hard one to resist, isn’t it? You get in the flow of talking about yourself, and it all just… tumbles out. MARTIN: Mm, does seem like it. SIMON: [CHUCKLING] And this has been fun! [INHALE] Now. [CHAIR SCRAPING] If we’re about done– MARTIN: We’re not. Sit back down. SIMON: Boooold~ [CHUCKLE] [CHAIR SCRAPING] I like it. MARTIN: You said you were here to answer my questions for Peter, but so far you’ve told me basically nothing of any use.

Martin’s shortness and impatience reminded me of Jon’s when he was trying to get answers from Jude Perry (MAG089: “You don’t even know what this is about, do you?” “So tell me!” “An Archivist pleading for knowledge. That, oh that is satisfying to see.” “Look, if you’re just… You’re just about my only lead, and if you’re… Just kill me, alright? If it’s so easy? If you’re not going to tell me anything worth my time.” “Now you’re sounding like an Archivist.”), but more importantly, it seems like Martin was used as a channel for the Institute to get Simon’s live-statement?

It’s certainly not going in-depths like Jon’s, but Simon still identified it as something he hadn’t been planning on giving and as, specifically, a statement. And that’s the third time something like this happens with Martin: he got Tim to tell him his story in MAG104, he managed to get Jess Tyrell’s complaint in MAG142 (although it was explicitly less complete than with Jon: “… And I start to tell him… everything. About the job, about the collapse, ab–about the hand… And more than I told you, even”). I’m guessing that it’s mostly thanks to the Institute’s effect, and I doubt that Martin could manage to get a statement outside like Jon did starting MAG089, but it has still happened thrice.

So. The Lonely got Martin, but he’s still very much Beholding? Peter’s goal relied on Martin becoming able to use two powers (MAG126: “The sort of power you’re going to need relies on your–” “Obedience.” “Isolation. It needs to be you, Martin. You’re the only one who could possibly balance between the two.”), and Simon confirmed that it required The Eye and The Lonely, so… Martin is getting there. Or is already there.

(- Obligatory Honorary Web-sounding Reminder (BECAUSE YES, I WON’T GIVE UP ON THAT EITHER AS LONG AS WE DON’T HOLLOW MARTIN OUT AND CONFIRM THAT HE’S NOT FULL OF SPIDERS) (… wait no, that’s a bad idea, no, don’t hollow Martin out, Jonny–) that:

(MAG138) MARTIN: … What? [HUFF] That’s it? No, no monologue, no mindgames? You love manipulating people! ELIAS: That makes two of us. MARTIN: [HUFF]

Which Martin masterfully demonstrated when he made Elias want to keep him at the Institute during The Unknowing, when he made Elias use his powers on him and lower his attention while Melanie was stealing stuff in his office, when he threw Elias in jail, and which Martin is demonstrating again by… finding loopholes in his agreement with Peter to still send information to the others. And Basira’s suspicion:

(MAG151) MARTIN: … I didn’t know Jon had listened to them already! BASIRA: Well, he has. He seems to think you’ll come to him when you need him. I think you’re feeding him what he needs to hear so he doesn’t bother you. MARTIN: Look, I don’t have time for this.

… sounded very very Web-y to me? So, is that paranoia or is that well-founded.

Also, it’s Aza’s pet-theory so, updating the list:

(MAG104) MARTIN: Elias seems to think that he’s the best chance that we have to stop them. TIM: And what? I’m supposed to just trust Elias now? MARTIN: Please. TIM: [EXHALE] Fine. Fine. I’ll tell him in person, when he gets back from… wherever it is that he’s vanished to.

(MAG118) MARTIN: Melanie. Melanie, please. MELANIE: … Alright. Let’s get these somewhere safe.

(MAG129) MARTIN: Stop. Stop, please, I–I shouldn’t know any of this, I… [PACKING UP] I–I–I really need to go, I–I’m… ARCHIVIST: Right. … right. MARTIN: Please, stop finding me.

(MAG142) MARTIN: Just… just tell me what happened. Hum, please. I–I won’t judge. [SILENCE] WOMAN: Alright.

(MAG151) MARTIN: Yeah… [PAUSE] Don’t… tell Jon. [SILENCE] Please. BASIRA: Fine.

… people’s tendency to do exactly what Martin Asked after he has said “Please”, although they were initially reluctant.

(Counterexamples: “just everyone please, make it back home…?” in MAG117 didn’t work, and neither did all his desperate “Please” to Jon in the season 4 trailer, but.))

- HEY MARTIN??

(MAG151) MARTIN: Look, I don’t have time for this. I–I don’t like that I have to work with Peter any more than you do, and I didn’t know that Simon was involved until today. But I would hope that you and Jon understood the importance of preventing an apocalypse.

DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOU’RE SOUNDING LIKE ELIAS

(MAG102) ELIAS: I should have thought preventing the horrific transformation of our world is not solely my concern!

(MAG135) ELIAS: I rather feel the real shame would be letting the entire world fall into Darkness because of a single person’s wounded pride. Detective. The stakes are far too high for that kind of… indulgence.

BECAUSE YOU ARE.

- This season, we saw Jon fumbling around, and only getting “victories” through personal accomplishments: saving Melanie from the bullet, saving Daisy from the coffin – and even then, those were tainted with the reveal that they had been followed by Jon attacking people from their statements right after, to feed/heal/feel good. Whenever Jon tried to meddle with bigger spooks, it resulted in disaster: trying to Know Peter’s plan hurt him in MAG139 (and that’s probably why he was so “ravenous” against Jess Tyrell?); going to Norway made him encounter Floyd and take his statement; the journey didn’t even serve the expected purpose – sure, he destroyed the Dark Sun, but it wasn’t an active threat and the act was probably the origin of his current “hunger” (as Jon has since then mentioned multiple times having not fully recovered from it). Given how Elias made sure that Basira would leave Jon alone with the coffin because he wanted Jon to develop his powers, and then sent them to Norway (and then claimed that it had been a “miscalculation”), it’s more than likely that they’ve just… been playing his game all through this season. That, or Elias indeed didn’t have any plan and constantly improvised and only pretended to be in control. The end result is still: Jon managed to save both Melanie and Daisy from the spooks, but hurt (and is still hurting) five more people in the process – and we heard Jess Tyrell, Jon didn’t “just” plague them with a few bad dreams, he directly and personally shattered them and their lives.

In parallel, Martin has been cutting his own (lonely) path, is getting more personally involved with spooks, and might be becoming our “protagonist” of the season: getting the “big” picture, receiving the input of other avatars (Peter, Simon) about the Fears architecture and the way they work, getting involved in active and current threats… So, what will be the downside to his actions – who will he hurt, outside of himself…? What is Peter expecting regarding his “progress” if, at this point already, his presence is enough to get an old avatar to give his statement, and if he is able to disappear on someone as he did with Georgie, what more could he need? Is it to simply grow more powerful in the Lonely area? … Because, as we saw with all the avatars, Jon included: using powers or simply staying alive comes hand in hand with sacrificing people. Martin told Basira that his current actions were motivated by the idea that “no one else needs to get hurt”, and I’m really afraid that he hasn’t factored in the idea that no, if some power is required, it will be from other innocents. And I don’t trust Peter to not put Martin in front of that fact at the last moment, when he would have no time to duly consider whether to sacrifice people or let The Extinction emerge completely…?

(…………… That, or Peter already has leverage to crush Martin last minute? Timeline-wise, Martin began to work with Peter two months after his mother’s death but. I’m still a bit afraid that The Lonely may have been involved in that one, to further cut Martin off from anything or anyone…………………)

- One of our current new mysteries is the thing Peter is planning to use:

(MAG151) MARTIN: Is Peter attempting a ritual? SIMON: Not in the sense that you’re used to. Him and his family made their play a few years ago and they failed. I’m sure he’d like me to explain it, but I think he can do that one himself. […] As for his plan… [INHALE] I don’t know the details. But I believe there’s something in the Institute that he thinks can help his cause. MARTIN: … And he needs me to use it. SIMON: Presumably – from what he said, it must be “powerfully aligned to The Watcher”. If he wishes to use it, it would need someone already touched by The Eye. And if he wants to control that someone… MARTIN: They need to serve The Lonely.

That’s technically only confirming what Peter had said in MAG134 (and Elias confirmed in MAG138, regarding the part where he hadn’t been willing to help):

(MAG134) PETER: [BREATHES] I’m still working out some of the kinks. But I believe I have a plan. However, it requires this place, and it requires someone touched by The Beholding. Elias was, perhaps unsurprisingly, unwilling to help. MARTIN: And you thought that since I’m so lonely already, I’d be ideal. PETER: Yes! MARTIN: You see, the thing is, Peter, I’m still not all that keen on being part of any ritual you set up. You know, in fact, if I were to be blunt, I’d say that would be suicidally stupid. PETER: Martin… it’s going to be decades, if not centuries, before I get another chance to bring Forsaken into this world. Your last Archivist saw to that.

… except for the part where it’s presented as a “ritual”: Peter denied that it was one, or changed the subject to mention that it wasn’t The Lonely’s; Simon… is less categoric – it’s not The Lonely’s ritual, but it’s kind-of-a-ritual still, and it requires… something.

* The Watcher’s Crown? The way Robert Smirke had worded it, it sounded like a physical, tangible item (MAG138: “I warn you again that if you have any remaining ambitions to use our work, to try and wear The Watcher’s Crown, you must abandon them! Not simply for the sake of your own soul, but for that of the world!”).

* Barnabas Bennett’s bones? They’re technically a link between Beholding and The Lonely, Elias pointed out that they were in his office (“[Jonah Magnus] retrieved those bones sadly enough when the time came. Bones that you can still find in my office, if you know where to look.”, MAG092), and we haven’t heard anything more about them since.

* Jon himself…? As he has proven with the Dark Sun (and potentially Breekon): he can be lethal towards other powers, and The Hive had been very angry towards the Institute because of how the Eye was… weakening? it through its study (MAG032, Jane Prentiss: “You can see it and log it and note its every detail but you can never understand it. You rob it of its fear even though your weak words have no right to do so.”). We’ve seen all through season 4 that Jon was affected by Martin’s absence – Martin has definitely grown to become a weak spot of his. But, aouch: if Martin was mostly meant to give Jon his Lonely scar, or to be used against Jon to stop The Extinction… it would be awfully nasty for Martin, who spent the last 8 months selling himself in the hope of protecting Basira&Melanie + now Jon (“… and Daisy I guess”). (Though: it would have required for Elias and/or Peter to know/guess that Jon’s weak spot would be Martin and… I have trouble picturing Elias going for it back in season 3 already? And from Peter, it would require taking into account the connections and affections of people; can he… even… do that…)

* The tunnels under the Institute? They’ve been thematically important since Jon&co discovered them at the end of season 1, they’re remnants of the Millbank prison (with the Panopticon sounding… very much like a Beholding project – maybe what powered the Institute in the first place? Was “the Fear/feeling of being watched” originally from the prisoners who couldn’t know when they were actually seen?), Robert Smirke was involved in their construction, even Jurgen Leitner (who had lived down there for years) wasn’t absolutely sure of the way they worked, Elias agreed to allow Jon to keep exploring them when he used… very Beholding-aligned arguments (“I need to know!”, MAG067); there is still the mystery of the “ring” of worms found by Tim and then Jon… and Martin was suspecting that Peter was mainly interested in them:

(MAG138) MARTIN: I don’t know what he’s talking about when he mentions Millbank. The old prison, I guess? Tim said the tunnels under the Institute were all that was left of it, but… Jon said he’d checked them pretty thoroughly. [SILENCE] [SIGH] I’m not the one who knows all about this stuff…! I wish– … No. No, it’s fine, I’m… fine, I… [EXHALE] I can do this. I don’t know what Peter’s planning, but my-my guess is that it might involve something below the Institute.

The tunnels have been… there, in season 4, too: it’s where Basira&Melanie took shelter, and Basira has been cautious about them (MAG125, Basira: “Got a camp bed at the other end, near the tunnels. I like to keep an eye on them.”); it’s where Jon and Basira operated on Melanie; judging from the sounds, it’s where Helen’s door has occasionally been (MAG131).

- Aaaaaaaaaand Martin is putting up his own death flags:

(MAG151) MARTIN: Look, I don’t have time for this. I–I don’t like that I have to work with Peter any more than you do, and I didn’t know that Simon was involved until today. But I would hope that you and Jon understood the importance of preventing an apocalypse. BASIRA: [SIGH] I guess I’m just a bit burned out on the end of the world. MARTIN: Yeah, well… that’s your problem. BASIRA: And if you really think this whole Extinction thing is it… why not come to us for help? MARTIN: I can’t. Peter’s the one with the plan, and… it needs me to be alone. […] I need to do this. For everyone. [SILENCE] BASIRA: You’re not expecting to come out of this, are you? MARTIN: … I’ll do what I have to. If I’m right… no one else needs to get hurt. [SILENCE] BASIRA: [SIGH] … Okay. You want to do whatever “grand sacrifice” you think is going to save everyone, go ahead. But you’d best be sure you’re not just playing their game. MARTIN: I know what I’m doing. BASIRA: We’ll see. [PAUSE] Don’t make me regret this. MARTIN: Yeah… [PAUSE] Don’t… tell Jon. [SILENCE] Please. BASIRA: Fine. I can’t promise you he won’t just know it, though.

… on the one hand: the fact that Martin is expecting it to happen, is getting ready to die… could mean that, precisely, it won’t happen, and he will come out of it somehow. On the other hand: Tim was spitting out his own death flags until the end (MAG116, MAG117, MAG118), was downright saying that he wasn’t expecting to come out of The Unknowing alive, even said that he wasn’t sure he wanted to survive it, and it didn’t prevent him from going out with a bang. On the third hand: it already happened with Tim, so rip Tim but Martin could be… different.

I have no idea. I think that for Martin, surviving while others die and/or surviving without having managed to achieve his goals is probably a worst outcome (meaning, more likely to happen) than sacrificing himself and reaching his objective in the process. He’s adopted the stance of sacrificing himself from a distance for a while: with his mother (she was refusing his visits), with Basira&Melanie (he accepted Peter’s deal to protect them and the Institute from external threats), plus now for Jon (he went to talk to Elias in MAG138, he has accepted to discuss with Daisy in MAG142, with Georgie in MAG149, now with Basira in MAG151… but Jon had been off-limits in MAG129). That, or… becoming something that would have hurt, or has to hurt innocents to survive.

(Does he even think that he matters for them? Basira had described to Jon that Martin had been in a very bad place after his mother’s death, and Elias had confronted him about the fact that she didn’t care about him two months prior. Begging Jon for help while he was in his coma in the trailer also didn’t result in anything; Martin had confirmation that he wouldn’t receive any help. But I… don’t think that Martin is aware of how much Jon has been impacted by his absence this season – would it make him reconsider/waver about the self-sacrificing bit…?)

- Basira agreed to not tell Jon but. She was the one staying behind with the tape at the end of the episode (Martin was the one to leave, while Basira was sighing).

The tape could disappear on its own but… so far… it means that it’s now in Basira’s possession. Would “giving the tape to Jon” count as “not telling him directly”.

- Currently: Jon is going cold turkey and still “hungry” and “weak”; Melanie is risking a slow death by Eye-deprivation, à la Tim in season 3 (his attempt to flee to Malaysia); Daisy has stopped Hunting as well (… although Jon’s “Daisy is… [PAUSE] [SIGH] Yeah. She’s managing.” from MAG148 makes me incredibly worried: was it to point out that their circumstances were different? Was it about a relapse that only Jon knows about? Was it about Daisy being actually slowly dying from the deprivation, like the people in MAG112?); Basira is deep into paranoia territory; and now, Martin… is going for a self-sacrifice.

That’s. Not a pretty picture right now, and the question goes back to “who will die first”.

(And I’m really not sure that Jon wouldn’t give up the “trusting Martin” trajectory and do something rash, if he learns about Martin’s plan to… not come back. Melanie already announced that she was ready to die: from Jon’s point of view, he’s been seeing the assistants disappear or going for their deaths. Sasha died because of the table that Jon wanted to keep. Screaming at Tim “I knew none of us might be coming back, and I’m not gonna let anyone get killed for nothing!” and “I am not losing you as well!!” (MAG118) still didn’t prevent Tim’s death. Martin is the last one of the original assistants and… so far, Martin’s plans had been based on the idea of everyone making it out alive at the end: imprisoning Elias was the way he had found to keep him away without risking to die with him. Right now, Jon&the others are apparently waiting for Martin to get on with his plan, but… probably on the assumption that Martin is planning to come back to them once he’s done. And it’s now officially not the case.)

MAG152’s title is a funny one considering that we’re bidding goodbye to the Kanto dex to head into the Johto region and it’s thus “the Chikorita episode” (the title is… quite fitting for Chikorita) /o/

I’d say End (nothing since Oliver; would Jon mention him in the post-statement…?), Corruption (so… unloved…) or Buried (… DIG/the tunnels?)? Or Lonely again?

[toastscraps]

Daystar

              I blame @linkeduniverse  by @jojo56830 ; It made me get a tumblr (and discord) account and write a fanfiction for it. I don’t own the characters, (Nintendo created them, jojo perfected them, I just play with them.) Based on the discord writing prompt, “Hope, even in the worst of times.”

I was stupid and did the bonuses, too:

- 3k+ words (turned into 12k +)

- Link-centric with a Link you’re unfamiliar with (I’ve never played any of Wind’s games, and avoided his character on Smash because I didn’t like the design. I have done my research and now understand the error of my ways.)

- Prompt incorporated (near the end of the fic)

- Fight scenes incorporated (yes, but not very good ones)

Warnings: Blood, gore(mostly minor), angst, injuries, major character death(s)

Other Warnings: poor writing and pacing, characters may be OOC, author is not good at writing emotions

Summary: Wind wishes to prove himself- he makes a mistake and tries to fix it. It only gets worse from there.

I apologize ahead of time for this monster.

               They were in Time’s Hyrule, surrounded by Peahats and Stalchildren.  Time was not happy because Wild, Hyrule, and Warriors had been fooling around and had awakened the Peahats. To make matters worse, due to the Shadow’s interference, Stalchildren (which hadn’t been around for years) had risen again and had been enhanced to the point of only being affected by fire and bombs (which Wild had discovered by accident). At most they could use their swords to push them back and gain a little room to blow them up. It was very… loud and explosive. Twilight was the only exception to the rule, his strength cracking bone on impact as he pushed with his shield and kicked with his iron-toed boots. He would shoot a bomb arrow occasionally, but he mostly stuck to brute force tactics. The others had their own ways of dealing with their enemies. Time was on the other side of the fight, using Din’s fire to roast the Stalchildren around him.  Sky was taking down Peahats with precise movements, Four getting under the blades and stabbing upwards into the soft flesh without somehow getting decapitated. Hyrule had enflamed his sword with magic (or something) and was using it to take down enemies left and right. Legend was, of course, fighting with an efficiency that would be sure to make even the greatest veteran fighter jealous. He somehow knew exactly where his enemy was going to be, and was able to place bombs right where multiple Stalchildren were about to appear. Warriors was taking out waves of the skeletons just by swinging the fire staff.

               And here Wind was, rolling and ducking to get to a place where he could hit a plant with a sword to kill it. Sure, it had deadly blades, but he was a hero. He should be better than this. Wind had run out of bombs earlier, forgetting to pace himself, and was now relegated to fighting the Peahats, which weren’t the ones he was familiar with, which Four had discovered could be killed by slicing at the roots multiple times. They never rested or went back into the ground, and seemed strangely sentient. Wind ducked the sharp leaves, wishing he either had more bombs, or had more brute force. Either would be preferable to this dodging and moving to get into a good position to target the roots.

               Wind was finally able to down his monster, and looked up to see Twilight knock the head off of one of the Stalchildren with a well-placed blow to its jaw with his shield. It walked around aimlessly, as if looking for its skull, before Twilight knocked it over with a kick to its shins and it retreated underground. The charred bones of the other skeletons disappeared into the ground with shadow rising up in a mist and blowing away on the wind. Soon all that was left were the vegetable remains of the Peahats.

               Time sighed and allowed Wild to harvest what he wanted, looking around in disapproval with his patented “dad” face. Wind couldn’t help but feel as if it were directed to him. Sure, he took out a lot of creatures, but not nearly as many as the others, and it had taken him a long while to figure out how to get around the defenses of his own enemy and stab at the core.

               “And you guys thought it would be a good idea to awaken the Peahats, why?” Time asked a guilty Wild and nonchalant Warriors. Hyrule was trying hard to look ashamed, but mostly Wind thought he looked pleased with himself.

               “Never mind,” Time held up a hand, closing his one eye, “I don’t want to know.”

               “What should we do now?” Twilight asked. Wind wiped sweat from his brow. He didn’t know how the others made it look so easy. Sky seemed tired, too, but he was the only one.

               “Maybe we can make camp?” Sky asked hopefully. “It’s night already, and there’s no sense in travelling in the dark.”

               “All those for staying the night?” Legend asked, holding up a hand as if he were taking a vote.

               “No,” Time said. “I don’t think that would be wise. At least not here. We need to get out of Hyrule Field; if Stalchildren are rising again, we’re going to be fighting them all night.” The entire group groaned. “I know we all want to rest, especially after such a big battle, but we need to prioritize our safety above all else.”

               Four recovered first. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” He stalked over to where Time was already turning toward the Forest, which was only about an hour’s walk away. The others shuffled over, ready to leave as well. Wind, finally catching his breath, moved to catch up.

               “You holding in there okay, kid?” Warriors asked from beside him. Wind glanced over and huffed.

               “Yeah, I’m fine.”

               “It was a long fight,” Warriors reminded.

               “It’s okay. I’m good.”

               Warriors seemed to search him with his eyes, and then nodded. “Okay, but I’m gonna walk back here with you.” Quiet filled the night air as the earth cooled. The breeze felt good on Wind’s face, and he was glad that there was at least a little reprieve from their fighting. Time’s Hyrule had fresh air, a different kind from the great sea, and even a removed kind from New Hyrule’s. It was different, but good. Hyrule Field had once belonged to many farmers, Time had said, a long time ago, before most of Hyrule could remember, and before Time was born.  Then there had been a war. Then there had been burning and fear, and nations warring against nations, and Hyrule field was in the middle of it all. There men and women of various races fought and bled and died. It was a dark time, full of anger and terror. Fields of wheat that once grew and flourished under the sun were trampled and torn up and watered with sapient blood. Fences that had been raised under the care of farmers were torn through by heavily armored horses and knights. Homes were broken into and burned, and everything became tinder for the flames of conflict.

               Those who didn’t live behind the protective walls of cities and towns were the first to die.

               By the time the Hylian kingdom had won and united the country, the field had become a graveyard and a reminder of the sins of the land. But seasons passed, and vegetation grew; weeds flourishing in the baking sun and crisp-cool night. Shafts of grain, legacies of an ancient past, grew there too. At night the dead, long forgotten, were again remembered, and reenacted their ends in horrific mimicry. But the land was beginning to heal, and on the breeze came the scent of barley and wheat and the pollen of wildflowers flirting with the air. And somehow, even if it wasn’t his Hyrule, it felt like home.

               Wind released a breath and opened his eyes. It really was nice just to calm down, especially after a battle; even if he was practically worthless during it. “C’mon,” he told Warriors. “Let’s catch up with the others.” Warriors gave an amused huff and jogged with him until they were walking behind Twilight and Wild. Wild turned and grinned at them, and Twilight gave his hair a quick ruffle.

               There was a shift in the wind, and suddenly it didn’t smell like Time’s Hyrule. It smelled like a sunny day and salty droplets spraying from below. Time must have noticed as well as half the party, because they suddenly stopped. “Something’s about to–” Legend started. He didn’t have time to finish, because suddenly they were all standing on wooden boards, rocking to a perpetual motion. They all got sprayed with brine, and Sky nearly toppled over at one of the large waves.

               “Oi! What are you rats doing on my ship?” a rough voice called out. Lightning flashed, revealing a tall, thin-ish Hylian with dark bags under his eyes and a little lip fuzz. Wind recognized him immediately, and pushed himself in front of the rest of the group.

               “Hey Linebeck!” Wind cheered, gaining his attention.

               “Ki- Link! How fare you? How’d you get on my ship?” Lightning crashed and the ship tossed violently. Hyrule and Four were thrown off their feet. Warriors was visiting the side of the ship, and even Time was looking a little green. Sky was still trying to stay balanced.

               “It’s a long story. Mind if we take this down below?”

               “Sure- Hey, you! No vomiting on my ship! I mean it!”

               “Why are you up here in this storm? You’re not even at the wheel!”

               “What do you mean? I love untamed nature! The chaos! The grit it takes to be a man and to go toe to toe with the elements!”

               “…There’s a monster in the hold, isn’t there?”

               “I’ll go!” Wild offered quickly, and darted down the hatch. Even he was looking a little peaked.

               Wind sighed. “C’mon Linebeck. It’ll probably be dead by the time we get down there, anyway.”

               The rest of the Links began to follow, Warriors practically running.

               “Hey, you’re not going to empty your guts on my floor, are you?” Linebeck challenged.

               “There’s nothing left in there anyway,” Warriors muttered, ducking down below.

               “I’ll help up here,” Legend said. “Make sure we don’t crash into anything,” he said under his breath. He grabbed the wheel and held it firmly.

               “Don’t worry about crashing,” Linebeck called out. “There’s no land here for miles!”

               Legend frowned, and then returned it back to the way it was before. “Whatever; it’s your boat.”

               Soon they were all down below. Wild was gathering blue chuchu jelly into some jars, and Warriors was already looking relieved. Legend just looked nervous.

               “Ahh, this is much better,” Linebeck said. “So, now that we can hear one another, how did you get to this ship?”

               Wind explained why they were there, and who the other Links were. Time and Sky both spoke a bit, too, but Sky looked like he was about to sleep where he was sitting.

               “Hmm. I’m not sure I believe you, but you are all here anyway. Welcome to SS Linebeck! Don’t touch any of my stuff, and I’ll let you sleep next to the crates.”

               “How generous,” Legend said dryly. He shuddered at some invisible chill. “Are you sure you don’t want help in this storm?”

               Linebeck waved him off. “These storms don’t usually last long. Besides, the sails are down; there’s not much else I can do.”

               Wind was surprised Linebeck was allowing them to sleep down here at all, though, he reflected, it probably would have been in poor taste for him to start throwing the others overboard. “Good night, Linebeck!” he called.

               “Night, kid,” Linebeck replied and headed out of the hold to his cabin.

               “Well, that was interesting,” Hyrule said.

               “Let’s all get some sleep.” Time stood and began to unpack his bedroll. “We’re lucky we got teleported to an ally; let’s take advantage of the peace while we can.”

               Thunder crashed and boomed. The ship dipped back and forth like a child’s rocking horse. No one slept much that night.

               Morning came bright and early. Wind was already up on the deck looking out over the ocean. He took a deep breath of the fresh air and exhaled. This is what he’d missed most about his world; the freedom, the saline wind in his hair and the blue expanse of the sea. The sun had risen on a clear blue sky, and the visibility was amazing. Wind could see for miles.

               Then he noticed something out on the horizon. It looked like an island, but it seemed a lot larger. It cast a great shadow where the sea met the sky. Linebeck was standing at the bow, looking in the same direction. Wind ran up to him.

               “Do you see it?” the captain asked. “That, right there, is a new discovery! Think of the treasure one might find on an island like that! Why, who knows? Maybe we’ve discovered a new land! We could call it… Linebeckia! Or something. I’ll think about it.”

               The others trickled onto the deck throughout the morning, and by lunch they were almost at the shore. Linebeck didn’t have any means of cooking, and practically had a heart attack when Wild attempted to build a fire in the hold, so they had to either eat some of his jerky stores (which weren’t bad, Wind had practically consisted off of them for an entire pseudo-year) or wait ‘till they landed to have lunch.

               Sky was, as usual, the last one up, and by that time they were anchoring. The land was huge, larger than any island Wind had ever seen. Legend was eying it critically, and Wind thought he saw a good mixture of relief and something else when he found (or didn’t find) what he was looking for.

               They all got out and looked around. It seemed dead silent, not a soul or sign of habitation to be seen for miles around. “Not many landmarks around here for a treasure chest, are there?” Linebeck frowned. They found some driftwood drying in the sun and built a large fire there on the beach. Wild cooked up some fish they caught. Wind watched the flames while he ate, licking off his greasy fingers when he was done. He wished he could show the others his home; where Aryll and Grandma lived, and where the hibiscus bloomed on the beach in the light of the setting sun. But, he supposed, this was kind of nice, too. Seagulls cried well above them, coming close to the strangers that had food. Wild was trying to shoo them away from the cooking pot, which by now was cooling on the sand. Four was, uncharacteristically, lounging on the sand and soaking in the sun. Twilight and Sky had left to go scout the area in case there were enemies or settlements nearby. Linebeck wanted to go search for treasure, and Hyrule and Legend had offered to join, so they were out milling around somewhere, too.

               Wind wondered, suddenly, what it would be like for them if they left him behind. It was a strange thought, one he wasn’t used to contemplating. He was a hero, like the rest of them, and he knew it, but sometimes he just felt so…outclassed by all of them. He wanted to be more than just another one of them. He wanted to show them, to prove to them that he wasn’t the weakest of their group; that he wouldn’t hold them back.

               “Hey, kid, what’s wrong?” Warriors sat down next to Wind, having been in the middle of a conversation with Time moments prior.

               “Nothing. Why?”

               “You’ve been quieter than normal.” The young man picked up a stick from by the fire and used it to stir the dying coals back to life. “Did something happen last night that we don’t know about?” Suddenly he shot an appraising gaze up and down Wind’s body. “Did you get wounded?”

               “No,” Wind said quietly. “Just thinking.”

               “Well, that’s dangerous,” Warriors said, joking. He lifted his hand to ruffle Wind’s hair. “Don’t sit thinking too long, we like having you with us.” He dropped his hand from Wind’s head. “Do you need to talk about anything?”

               Wind shrugged. “I dunno. Nothing important, just thinking. Warriors, what do you think sets you apart from the others?”

               Warriors appeared momentarily surprised by this question, but recovered quickly. “Why, my devilishly handsome good looks, of course,” he smirked. “And I have more training and skill fighting multiple monsters at the same time, I suppose.” Wind nodded quietly.

               “And what do you think sets me apart from the others?” Warriors seemed very concerned about this question and was opening his mouth to answer when loud shouts came from the land above them.

               “Hey, guess what we found?” Hyrule asked excitedly, running down to the fire where they were sitting. He kicked up sand as he ran, getting some in the cooking pot, which Wild had just finished cleaning. Wild made a noise in his throat and reached in to try to clean it out again.

               “Let me guess,” Time said wryly as Linebeck came into sight empty-handed. “Not treasure.”

               “No, even better!” he exclaimed. “Come see!”

               Hyrule’s excitement was persuasive, and soon they were all following him back up the hill. Sky and Twilight were just returning from their scouting, and joined the party as well. Hyrule led the way forward, as Linebeck had excused himself, saying he had an errand that needed running and would be back in a few days. He’d hugged Wind and told him that if he found any treasure to let him know. Wind didn’t like goodbyes, but Linebeck had promised to return, so he didn’t complain much- he would see him in a couple of days.

               Legend was waiting for them at the top of a rocky cliff overlooking the beach further down. There was a rope ladder bolted into the ground that had obviously been there before they had. “Now, before we go down there,” he started without any preamble, “they may look different, but don’t attack them. They are really quite peaceful.”

               “Why would we want to attack them?” Sky frowned.

               “Someone startles easily and likes to swing first and ask questions later,” Legend said pointedly. Hyrule blushed.

               “No one got hurt,” he quickly clarified. “And they’re really cool, too!”

               “Alright, let’s get down there,” Time said, following Legend as he descended. Wind followed after, much to the protest of Twilight, who thought he should be next. He went ignored.

               When they reached the bottom of the ladder they followed the cliff to a cave entrance. It was dark inside, and it took Wind’s eyes a couple of moments to adjust. When they did, he heard a gasp behind him as Twilight entered. The people here were black and white skinned, with grey tones between, and teal symbols marking their chests. They were slender and towered over them on thin legs, their orange eyes observing every move. In one corner of the cave there was what appeared to be a strange mirror with runes running its circumference. The other corner was much more elaborate, appearing to have been carved out of stone by an ancient race. There was a stone door with carvings and ancient symbols with the image of a woman in the middle, holding up what appeared to be a stone with lines drawn outward from it. The rest of the party piled in, and the tallest of the group stepped forward to greet them.

               “Hello, I am Hambar, of the Twili. I have been delegated as Keeper of this sacred cave, and these are chosen ambassadors of the Light world. When the little one attacked, we knew that your party must be made of brave warriors.”

               “We do apologize for that, by the way,” Time said, stepping forward. “Is there anything we can do to make up for it?”

               The ambassadors shared a glance with the Keeper, and they nodded to him as he turned back to the group. “There is one thing you could do for us,” he admitted, “though we understand if you refuse.

               “You see, after the goddesses sank Hyrule, they approached us and offered us a chance at redemption. We were trapped millennia ago in the Twilight Realm due to our greed. Over the years we have adapted to our environment, and lost most of our magic. Some of us still have it, but we have all but forgotten the skills our sorcerer ancestors possessed. As such, we cannot enter the Light Realm without threat of death. The goddesses have given us this land, but it is impossible to leave this cave except at night. We don’t want to risk building when we might not get back below before the sun rises, and there is no cover for miles around.

               “But the goddesses have given us a way out. This is the Cave of Naeovi, and herein lays the Daystar, which can transform our people so that we may step into the light once more. Only one who is worthy can complete the Trials of Sorrow, which will unlock the Daystar and allow our people to live in the land we’ve been given. We’ve been waiting hundreds of years for our freedom.”

               “Why haven’t one of the Twili completed the trials?” Time asked from the sidelines. He was tense, and appeared suspicious.

               “All of us who wish to have tried, at one point or another. Young men and women, looking to prove themselves, place their hands on the Moonstone and try to gain entrance to the trials. Some are rejected; some make it into the trials but fail. No one has passed, and once failed the Stone no longer accepts them. No one who has been rejected has ever been accepted at another attempt, either. I myself tried every day for years when I was first made Keeper of the Cave. We are losing heart. But here we have fierce and brave combatants from the Light world. Perhaps we have a chance at redemption, now.”

               “And what exactly do these trials consist of?” Legend’s arms, like Time’s, were stiff and straight, like he was either preparing to grab his sword or turn and run.

               “We cannot say,” Hambar replied. “No one who has made it to the trials has spoken of them. We assume the Stone keeps them from sharing any information.”

               “I’ll do it,” Twilight offered quickly, stepping forward. “I’ll try the trials.”

               Hambar eyed Twilight critically. “Very well, I suppose you may. Just be aware that only one attempt can be made per day. And the challenger must have a light in them to rival the surrounding darkness.”

               Wind didn’t know what made him do it, but he walked up and stood next to Twilight. “No, I want to try first,” he said, heart pounding in his throat. Twilight turned and looked at him, surprised, as if he hadn’t been expecting him to appear next to him. “This is my Hyrule,” he looked Twilight in the eye. “If I can’t, then you can try tomorrow.” He turned back to the Keeper. “But I want to try first.”

               The Twili tilted his head and examined Wind for a moment. Wind felt as if he were staring into his very soul. “Is that okay with you, Dark One?” he asked. It took Wind a moment to realize that he was talking to Twilight.

               “I suppose so,” Twilight said, looking at him. His gaze weighed heavily on Wind. “This is his era.”

               “Very well,” Hambar consented, finally breaking eye contact. “Follow me.” The Keeper went to the carved door and placed his hand on a panel near it. It gave off a teal glow and the wall slid open to reveal a smooth, domed room beyond. The walls were a dark blue, specks of light shining like stars, repeated endlessly into a crystalline darkness. The image shimmered and moved as they walked, giving a soft glow to the floor below. A door was set into the wall on the far side, only the smallest hint of a seam indicating its presence. In the middle of the room was a beautiful, smooth white stone that shone at different points as if the stars were repeated inside it as well. The Moonstone, Wind realized. An obsidian statue of a Hylian woman knelt on the ground, her fingers seeming to caress it. Drops of water trickled from her empty stone eyes and fell off of petrified cheeks to be absorbed by the gem below. Wind suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.

               “You sure about this?” Warriors asked. “You don’t have to prove anything to us, you know.”

               “I want to,” Wind replied quietly. “Besides, this is my Hyrule. I want to save these people, too.”

               Warriors took a deep breath and released it before nodding once and removing his hand. “Okay. I trust you.”

               The Twili didn’t protest as the others entered the room, but motioned Wind forward and instructed him to kneel on the ground as the woman was.

               “Place your hand here on the Moonstone,” he instructed. “It will decide whether you are worthy or not. Good luck.”

               Wind placed his hand on the mineral and slammed his eyes shut as light flashed suddenly from its core. He heard exclamations from the others as they, too, had to hide their eyes from the glare. There was a loud noise, like the pounding of a thousand thunderstorms, and then all was quiet.

               He slowly blinked his eyes only to see, disappointed, his hand still on the stone, which had returned to its normal state. He looked around the room. The others were still rubbing their eyes, and the door had yet to open. He felt a large hand on his shoulder and felt himself being lifted up off the floor. Hambar was quiet as he led him and the rest of the group out and back into the main cave.

               “Do not feel disappointed,” he said quietly. “Many have tried and many have failed.” He looked up from Wind. “There is always tomorrow, if any of you others wish to try,” he said as the Twili ambassadors slowly took their leave. “I will still be here.” There were little flashes of light as the Twili disappeared back to their Realm, and the others began to ascend the rope ladder once again. Wind was the only one left.

               “What are you still doing here, Little Light?” the Keeper asked. He didn’t sound nearly as welcoming as before.

               “I would still like to help,” Wind knew he wasn’t worthy, but there had to be something he could do. The Twili man seemed to consider his offer, and then nodded.

               “Very well,” he said. “It is said there is a rare lily that only blooms under the light of the moon. The Moon’s Pail grows on a slender stem, with many tiny flowers. You can smell its fragrance easily on a warm night; it has a honey scent. It is many leagues from here, in the Brineback Swamp to the east. None of us dares to retrieve it, but it is a great medicine to our kind, and can even cure those of us who have been fatally burned by the sun. If you retrieve a couple for us, as well as a bulb or two to plant in the soil above, we may be able to hold up until this curse is lifted.”

               Wind smiled brightly. He still had a chance. “Thank you so much!” he waved as he left, backing toward the entrance. “You won’t regret it!” And then he was following his companions to where they were congregated at the top of the cliff.

               “We’ll head back to where we built our fire earlier. That way we’re still close and Linebeck will know where to find us when he returns,” Time was saying. The others looked his way when he came in view, quickly looking away when his eyes caught theirs. Wind’s heart sunk. They were ashamed of him. Warriors was the only one who kept eye contact. He moved to walk beside Wind as they made their way to camp.

               “Hey, you aren’t feeling bad, are you?” he asked. “You did your best. We know it. They know it, too.”

               Wind remained quiet. He didn’t know what to say. He swallowed the tight feeling in his throat and continued to walk forward.

               “They’ve been trying for hundreds of years, and none of them were able to complete the trials.”

               But at least some got admitted to them. Wind hadn’t even gotten that far.

               “This is my Hyrule,” he said instead, “I’m supposed to be able to help them. What kind of a hero am I if I can’t?”

               “You help in any way you can,” Warriors replied. “You aren’t a hero because you can lift a sword out of a stone. You’re a hero because your heart is in the right place and you want to help others. You put their needs before your own.”

               Wind nodded, feeling the light inside him ignite anew. Warriors was right. He hadn’t been accepted into the trials, but he could still help the Twili. The others needed to stay close to see if they were worthy, but Wind didn’t. He already knew the decision of the stone, and now he had something better: he had something he could do other than sit around and see if a rock would think he was worthy of it. He could still help these people.

               But he didn’t know how long he was going to be gone for, and the others needed to be nearby in case the stone chose them. When they got back to camp, he told Time that he was heading out to go exploring a bit. Time wanted someone to go with him, but Wind refused.

               “Do you see anything out here?” It was a rhetorical question. “I know you’re worried, but I’m a hero, too, and I can take care of myself. If I’m not back by tomorrow morning, go ahead and try the trials without me. There’s something I need to do.”

               “You should still take someone with you. It’s not like you’re planning on being gone more than eight days, are you?” Wind wasn’t planning on it, but it was entirely probable.

               Wind shook his head anyway. “I want everyone here that can be. The stone might speak to one of you, and you may be their hope,” he said. “This is my era. These people are my responsibility, and the sooner they can get out of that cave, the better.” He hefted his pack over his shoulder and made eye contact with as many of them as possible. “Do this for me?”

               Warriors looked troubled, but he said nothing. Time didn’t look like he approved, either, but nodded. “Fine. But I want you back within three days, or we’re going looking for you.”

               That wasn’t as good as Wind had hoped, but it was better than nothing. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll see you in a couple of days.” Twilight’s blue eyes stared unnervingly at him as he turned around. He could feel them weighing heavily on his back. His own hubris had caused him to go before the elder teen, and may have made the Twili wait longer. But he would be back, and he wouldn’t disappoint them. He would amend his mistake, and help the people he’d failed.

               He had to.

                 Wind travelled all day and stopped to rest only when night was falling. Thanks to journeying with the other Links for so long, he’d gotten used to walking long distances, and he was able to get a lot farther than he would have before. He ate some of the jerky stored away in his pack. Something he used to enjoy now just tasted like cardboard, but he didn’t know if it was because he’d been spoilt with Wild’s cooking, or if his earlier failure had taken the taste out. Either way, he couldn’t lose this opportunity. The Twili were counting on him, and he would do something to help them, even if he couldn’t free them completely.

               Wind took a brief nap before continuing on in his easterly path. The moon had crested the horizon, and he thought he heard a wolf howl in the distance, but it could have been the wind. There was nothing but sparse grass and rock for miles. He wished for Wolfie, but it was unlikely that Wild’s companion was nearby. He would have to do this alone.

               Wind tried to hum a jaunty pirate tune to get his mind off of his loneliness, but it ended up sounding more haunting than uplifting. His attempt died out quickly. He’d never really been alone during his travels, and it was odd to be so now. He wished there was someone to talk to. The heath stretched on for miles, becoming its own ocean as gusts caused the grasses to bend in waves. The smell of salt blew in from the ocean, even though it was a half an hour’s walk away. Everything here- it was so desolate. Wind wondered if this land was really better than the Twilight realm, but quickly brushed it off. If Hambar and his people were so desperate to get here, then it must be better. And the land wasn’t entirely untamable. Wind had seen the people of New Hyrule turn infertile tracts into lush gardens of vegetables and fields of grain. There was hope for the Twili yet.

               He spotted a dark stain on the horizon, and squinted as if it would help him to better make out its shape. The moon was above it now, and its brightness was making it difficult to see.

               It took thirty more minutes before he realized they were trees. Was this the swamp? Wind felt excitement race through him and broke into a run.

               In eight minutes he was panting hard and his legs burned, but he was at the dark copse of trees. Anticipation rose in him as he entered. He would find the flowers here, he would bring them back, and he would help the people he’d failed. It was the least he could do.

               Everything was noticeably darker after entering the woods. Wind had difficulty seeing his hand in front of his face, much less if there were any flowers around. He could no longer hear the howling gales, the sound being replaced by the hoots of owls in the branches and the groans and creaks of ancient trees. His heart pounded in his chest and his feet ached, but the Twili’s hope was ahead. He would find it, and he would bring it back to them.

               The air here was stale and stunk of rotting vegetation. Mud appeared beneath his feet and began to suck at his boots. At one point he stepped in a particularly soft patch and ended up almost thigh-deep in it. He’d reached out and found a vine, which he used as leverage to pull himself out. After almost losing a boot, he was more careful to feel out his steps first.

               Suddenly there was a snap of a twig behind him, and Wind turned quickly just in time to see a Lizalfos jump at him with a spear. Barely dodging, he slung his shield onto his arm and quickly retrieved his sword. It hissed and growled at him, coming back for another lunge.  Wind had never seen one in his own world, and yet it distinctly was one of his, and not one of the others’. He didn’t know how he knew, and tried not to think too hard about it.

               It hissed and jumped toward him. Wind blocked its blow and thrust his weapon toward its exposed belly, but it retreated quickly and he missed. Cursing under his breath, he readjusted his footing and readied himself for another attack. It came bounding toward him once more, and he struck just as it lifted its sword arm. It screamed in pain and he quickly pulled his blade out of its belly. There was a strangled roar behind him, and Wind turned in time to see another monster lunge for him.

               Sweat began to dampen his hair as Wind fought, feinting and spinning to get a good angle on his attacker. As soon as he dispatched the one he was fighting, another materialized from the woods.

               Luckily he was accustomed to their movements by now, and was able to finish the great lizard off much more quickly than he had the other two. Still, he stood there trying to catch his breath after the last one was downed. Wind was exhausted; the fight had taken a lot more out of him than he’d thought. He would need to rest soon, but not yet.

               The breeze in the leaves above him rustled, and Wind turned his gaze to a glow he could now make out further in. Wearily, he trod forward through the soggy ground to see what it was revealing.

               There, bathed in the soft light of the heavens, was the Moon’s Pail. The dainty flowers were facing up towards the great light, where it appeared that they were gathering the beams like a pail would collect water. Delicate petals were black on the outside and white on the inside, and they trembled as Wind ran a wondering hand over them. He picked one, and then another, and then another; until he had a handful of the sweet-smelling blooms. He left plenty in the clearing to repopulate, and dug up a few bulbs as well. Satisfied with his findings, he quickly put them back in his bag and began to head back west.

               Getting out of the forest was much easier than going in had been, and once he was out on the heath Wind finally began to relax. There was nothing for miles around, and he decided to take another nap.

               The nap ended up being more than a nap, as Wind awoke to light glaring in his face and a cool gust to his hair. Immediately he jumped up. He had to get to the others, and quickly!

               Wind ran most of the way there, and began to shout as he neared the location of their camp. “Guys, I’m back! And I’ve got something for the Twili, too!” Wind gasped at the sight that greeted him when he crested the hill.

               “No.” No. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t.

               “Guys?” Wind hated the way his voice sounded. It was tiny and hurt, and nothing like the way he wanted to sound.

               But his friends, his family…Wind ran down to the beach where they’d peacefully had lunch the day before. “Guys?” It was a slaughter. Red stained the sand below and bodies were twisted in painful positions. “Please,” he whispered. No one moved. His eyes roved desperately, trying to find a survivor. Time, Legend, Hyrule. Sky…. He hesitantly moved forward, his eyes filling with tears that blurred everything. Twilight, Four, Wild… No, someone had to live! Someone had to have escaped! Eight figures lay unmoving on the ground. What happened? Who could have done this, why didn’t they –

               “Warriors?” His friend, his older brother was… Wind choked back a sob as he knelt in the sand beside the body. “Warriors?” He began to shake him by the shoulders, even though he knew it wouldn’t do anything. His bright blue eyes stared up into nothing. “C’mon, wake up. Please.” His voice cracked at the end, but he didn’t care. Hot tears spilled down his face, the ocean breeze doing little to calm him. His friends were gone.

               “Link! Link!” Wind picked his head up at the call, and noticed Linebeck running on the beach toward him. The man stumbled slightly and his eyes widened at the sight in front of him. “What in Din’s name…?”

               “They’re gone,” Wind choked. “I f-failed them, Linebeck. I shouldn’t have - have le-left.”

               The sailor appeared horrified before he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Link.” Wind closed his eyes and shook his head, ducking it low to curl over his older brother figure. “But there’s trouble on Outset.” Wind felt his heart sink even lower than it had been before.

               “What do yo-you mean?”

               “A group of raiders has invaded, and the whole island is under siege. Tetra and the pirates are doing what they can, but Outset isn’t prepared to fight a veritable army.”

               “I’ll go.” The Twili could get their flowers at any time.

               “What about them?” Linebeck asked quietly, gesturing to-.

               Wind closed his eyes and turned his head. “I might be able to save Grandma and Aryll,” he said. “I’m too late for –.” The last part came out as barely even a whisper. He was too much of a coward to even finish the sentence. He stood swiftly, brushing the tears from his eyes. There would be time to mourn later. For now, he tried to think of the family he was going to save, and not the one he was too late for. Not the one that he was leaving to bake in the sun.

               Wind gently closed Warriors’s eyes, and turned to go with Linebeck.

               It was evening by the time they got to Outset. Wind saw the smoke before he saw the land, great billows of it rising into the air and blackening out the sky above. If there were any flames there before, they were already gone. The skeletons of houses stood eerily above a beach littered with bodies. Linebeck cursed as Wind dove overboard, forgetting his pack aboard the ship. He wasn’t an amazing swimmer, but he was semi-decent. The need to see his family overrode any concern about his own wellbeing.

               Wind had no idea how he got to the shore before Linebeck, but he did. Soaked and shivering, he searched for any sign of his sister or grandmother. “Grandma! Aryll?” he cried, panting as he looked for any signs of life among the wreckage. Cannonballs left troughs from where they plowed into the sand. Limbs and weapons and gore littered the ground, but Wind ignored all of it. “Aryll? Little sister?” he called desperately. “Grandma!” Then he saw it: a little sandal under some collapsed roofing where there house had once been. Wind grunted as he pushed the boards up and heaved them to the side. “Aryll?” Her face was turned upwards toward the sky with a peaceful expression. Blood puddled underneath her head, and in the moonlight her skin appeared as veined marble. When Wind’s tentative fingers brushed her cheek, it was as soft as the Moon’s Pail’s petals and as cold as ice. He used the back of his hand to gently wipe away the trickle of blood that had crept from the corner of her mouth. No breath left her lips. His grandmother lay nearby, her neck twisted as if she was looking out to the open sea.

               “At least they died together,” a voice came from behind him. Wind spun to see her, covered in sweat and blood that wasn’t her own, her face wet with tears. “But you were gone. You weren’t here.”

               “Tetra?” He hated the tremor that came out with the word.

               “You failed them, Link.” Her voice was hard as the tempered edge of a cutlass. “Where were you?”

               “I was…” he trailed off.

               “You were nowhere to be found,” she snapped, her lower lip trembling and her voice breaking like fine china dashed against the surf. “I sent messages by bird, by ship, by train, but you were nowhere.”

               “I…I didn’t know,” he said pathetically.

               “Do you know?” Tetra rubbed hard at her eyes, hiding them behind her forearm. “Do you know that they were hoping for you? They were looking for you to come out of the ocean and rescue them, even when the raiders began to fire at the houses with their cannons.”

               “No,” Wind said, shaking his head, but not in answer to her question. He closed his eyes. This couldn’t be real. This can’t have happened. Tears were soaking his cheeks and dripping from his chin, turning the ashes to mud below him.

               “Even when the raiders came into the houses, murdering and looting, they said, ‘Link will come. He won’t forget us. He’s our big brother, our grandson. He won’t leave us to die!’”

               “Please, stop,” he whispered. He didn’t want to hear anymore.

               “And where did their hope in you get them?” He looked up as she stayed quiet. She shuddered and turned to look Wind in the eye.

               “Please-se, Tetra,” he sobbed.

               “They begged, too.” It came out dead. “And they locked them in the house and set it on fire. If it weren’t for a misfire on the part of one of the raiders’ ships, they would have burned alive.”

               “Don’t,” he choked, “don’t. Please.”

               “I can’t even bear to look at you,” she said, turning her face from him. The sound of footsteps in the sand broke up the sound of waves lapping at the beach below them. “Linebeck,” she said, her voice leaving her mouth as cold and hard as coffin nails. “Take him with you.”

               “Tetra, please.” He didn’t have much left. At least let him bury his dead, see to it that they were cared for and loved.

               “Your Majesty?”

               The pirate captain shuddered. “I never want to see him again. Take him back to that island, to whatever was more important than his own people, and leave him there.”

               “Zelda, please.” The words came out tiny and broken, just like him. She turned slightly toward him, and Wind thought for a moment she might change her mind.

               “Goodbye, Link.” And then she was walking down the beach toward the hull of her broken ship.

               “C’mon, kid,” Linebeck said gently, guiding him by the elbow. Wind felt numb as he was led back toward the ocean and onto the deck of the steamship. Linebeck left him to himself, busying himself across the ship and guiding it out into open waters.

               It was noon by the time they reached the dead island. Linebeck was quiet as he anchored the ship, and some distant part of Wind was glad he’d landed further down the beach instead of where his friends had been slaughtered. He moved robotically, grabbing his things and walking off the gangplank and onto the sand. Salt had crusted in his hair; muddy ashes had caked on his shins. His lashes were frosted with minerals from the swim and his own tears. His eyes were itchy and swollen as Linebeck came beside him and enveloped him in a warm hug. Wind didn’t have the energy to lift his arms to return it.

               “It’ll be okay, kid,” Linebeck pressed his lips to the top of Wind’s head. “It’ll be okay.”

               Wind was unable to process much as Linebeck released his shoulders and, giving a final pat, turned to his ship. The almost fourteen year old watched as the vessel got smaller and smaller until it disappeared over the horizon.

               The pack hadn’t been on his back when he’d dived into the water. Wind took it out, not sure what he was going to do; maybe look for the telescope Aryll had given him (he needed something to-), when he noticed the Moon’s Pail inside, somehow still as fresh as they had been when he picked them. Tears prickled at his eyes and he sniffed. Was this what he got for helping others? For being a hero? If it was, he didn’t want any part of it.

               “You might not be able to help them, but you can still help someone,” a calm voice spoke in front of him. Wind looked up, just to see Four’s figure fading from view, his face looking over his shoulder at the cliffs behind him.

               “Wait, Four!” but the smaller hero was gone. Wind wiped his face for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Four, or his memory of Four, or that illusion, or whatever-it-was was right. The Twili were still relying on him. The people he loved were gone or had left him, but the Twili could still have happiness. They could still have hope. Something good had to come out of this.

               Steadying his breath, Wind picked himself up off the ground. A breeze blew through his stiff hair and rustled his crusty clothing. He could do this. He could help the Twili, even if it was with this. He could still have hope for them. And then…

               Stumbling up the hill, Wind somehow made it to the top of the cliff. The rope ladder was exactly as he’d remembered it, and he descended it carefully, making sure not to lose the precious cargo on his back.

               Entering the cave, he once more blinked his eyes to try to get them to adjust. “You look terrible.” Wind was just able to recognize the voice as that of the Keeper’s.

               He didn’t have any words for him in response.

               Instead, Wind took out the flowers in his pack as well as the bulbs that could potentially save so many lives.

               “The Moon’s Pail!” the Twili exclaimed. “Where did you find it? Never mind, never mind. I’ll put them in a cool dry place and we can plant them tomorrow.” The Guardian of the cave held out a long, pale hand. Wind normally would have felt some sort of accomplishment, but now he only felt exhaustion. He wanted to curl up in a corner of the cave and sleep until everything made sense, or everyone was back as they should be. But he couldn’t.

               Instead, he reached forward and handed the plants to Hambar. He knew, somehow, that what he’d done was incredibly important to these people. It could bring them light.

               As soon as the flowers touched the Keeper’s hands there was a loud crack, and the carved stone door slid open to reveal the room beyond. And beyond that…

               “The door is opened!” Hambar exclaimed. “Well, that’s certainly never happened before. No one has bypassed the Moonstone.”

               Wind should have felt excitement, but he didn’t feel anything except relief. There was still hope yet. He could save the Twili still. He looked at the Keeper expectantly, wondering if he was going to protest him beginning the trials. Hambar’s eyes bored into his own.

               “It’s up to you, Little Light,” he said. “Retrieve our Daystar.” Wind just nodded, and Hambar offered to him the natural spring in the back of the cave to refill his water bottle at. Wind did so, washing his face and hands in the refreshing flow, as well as refilling his flask after drinking water from it several times over. Feeling a little bit more human and a lot more refreshed, he approached the entrance to the Trials.

               He entered the dark room, and the door slammed shut behind him. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure if he could do this. “You can do this, little brother,” Warriors was suddenly in front of him, as bright and fresh as he had been when he was alive. “I believe in you.” He reached a hand forward as if to ruffle his hair, but faded away before he made contact. Wind’s eyes filled, but he nodded. He would complete the Trials. He may not have hope for himself, but he still had some for the Twili.

               He walked forward hesitantly, gripping his blade tightly as he saw a strange blue glow down the dark hallway. The light took shape as he came into a large chamber, and before him was the huffing steaming creature he had fought most recently.  “Malladus,” he whispered, horror warring with anger. How was this demon alive again? He didn’t care. He would kill it and make sure it left this earth for good.

               Wind charged forward with a yell, keeping his shield in front of him and his sword ready to swing. Malladus sped forward as well, intent on skewering the boy on his horns.

               The young teen leapt at the last second, vaulting up and over the beast’s head and driving his sword into the weak spot on the creature’s back; or, at least, he tried to. Instead of going through like he wanted, the sword bounced harmlessly off of scaled skin. Wind gasped. The last time he’d fought it, he’d had Tetra’s help. Now he was on his own. The demon reached a large, clawed hand over him and tore him from its back, throwing him into the cave wall. Wind shook his head, trying to keep the room from spinning and quickly jumped out of the way before it got to him, causing it to ram into the wall. While it was down, Wind lifted his sword and again aimed for the jewel between its horns. He prepared to strike down with all his might, but the beast recovered more quickly than he was expecting and swung one of its horns at Wind’s side. Wind was just a bit too slow, and didn’t get his shield up fast enough. He screamed in agony and shoved the Phantom Sword into Malladus’s eye. It was a small target, and it was a dirty move, but it did the trick. The demon jerked back with a roar, Wind’s screams joining him as blood began to flow more freely. He was barely standing, holding the hole in his side with his shield arm while raising his bloody sword in a tremulous grasp. He stood at the ready, waiting for the beast to notice him and charge again, but it didn’t. It pawed at its face, and Wind realized it must still think the sword was in its eye. He himself was feeling weak and exhausted from the fight and lack of sleep, but he would finish this. He would finish this and retrieve the Daystar for the Twili.

               The beast began to ram its face blindly into the walls, and Wind approached it slowly, trying to keep his insides in. He shivered as he watched it bash its skull into the sides over and over again. It stumbled and fell to the ground, its head lying low as it tried to catch its breath. Wind felt a flash of pity as he lifted his weapon and shoved it as hard as he could through its ruby-encrusted forehead. The demon shuddered once and then stilled, stiffening and crumbling into dust. Wind sighed and collapsed to his knees.

               A door banged in the distance and Wind flinched. Peeling open his eyes, he saw a tall, dark, robed figure walk through. He struggled to rise, but didn’t make it halfway before he was knocked to the floor again.

               “I would stay down, if I were you.” Wind froze. He recognized that voice. The fine tremble in his arms intensified tenfold. “I have plenty of malice for the one that entombed me in stone at the bottom of the sea.” No. No. How? How could this monster still be alive? He’d killed him. He’d shoved a sword through his skull and covered him with water and left his corpse leagues below the surface. How was he here?

               “Bow like the insect you are,” the false king growled, “and I will spare your life.”

               “No,” he said, choking around a glob of blood. He managed to make it unsteadily to his feet, and spit at Ganondorf’s boots. “I will never bow to you.”

               “Very well,” Ganondorf said, “then perish.”

               Wind had every intention of fighting that monster then and there, but his body had other ideas. The Gerudo swung a meaty fist at his face, and all went black.

                 When Wind next blinked open his eyes, he was in a prison cell. He didn’t move. He didn’t even twitch. Rather, he just allowed himself to breathe, to hear the rush of air in and out of his lungs. He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep and wake up again with everyone alive and well. Wind’s eyes pricked with tears. So much had been taken from him, so quickly; he hadn’t had time to process it. It wasn’t fair.

               “So what, you just gonna lie there and give up?” a voice snarked. Wind lifted his eyes to see a transparent Legend looking at him from where he was leaning on the wall. “Doesn’t sound like a hero to me.”

               “I don’t know if I want to be a hero.” His voice was scratchy, like it had been overused.

               Legend rolled his eyes. “No one wants to be a hero kid. At least, no one that’s been doing it for a long time does. Heroism is selflessness. It’s putting others first. It’s hard, and you can bet your bucket that it’s gonna drag you down and feed on you ‘till there’s nothing left. But you know what?” Wind shook his head. This was the longest that any of the “ghosts” had spoken to him. “It’s worth it. It’s worth every bit of pain that comes to you, to save someone, to protect a life and give them a future. Don’t give up, Wind.” And then he was gone.

               He was right, Wind realized belatedly. People’s lives alone were worth the fight. Lying here, feeling sorry for himself, wasn’t going to help anyone. He tried to push himself up to his knees, but he couldn’t; he still had a gaping wound in his side, and if he didn’t get help soon, he would die.

               “Hey, Wind,” a voice quietly came from right next to him. “Hold still, I might be able to help.”

               “H-Hyrule?”

               “Yeah,” he said quietly, slender fingers moving to the gouge in Wind’s side. “You’re one tough kid, you know that?”

               “I- what are you doing?” Sparks danced from Hyrule’s fingers, and he moved them gently over the wound. It slowly closed up, until an angry scab was all that was left.

               “I’m sorry I can’t do more,” Hyrule said, smiling at him. “But this should hold ‘till you finish the rest of the trial.”

               Wind felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. Again. He was so weak.

               “Hey, hey, hey; you’re strong, Wind. Just remember, where there’s life, there’s hope.” He shot Wind a smile.

               The younger teen huffed out a laugh. “That’s so lame.” Hyrule just smiled and stood up. Wind got to his legs shakily.

               “Door’s unlocked,” Hyrule informed him. “Good luck.” And then he was gone.

               Wind cautiously opened the door to his cell, cringing as it creaked loudly. But no one came to investigate the noise, so he went ahead and stepped out.

               The corridor was eerily quiet, his shuffling echoing off the stone walls. He followed it until he came to a large, open room. He quickly swallowed his fear and drew his sword. The dark king was there, his back turned to the door, his face set toward a shining bright stone sitting upon a pedestal. Wind felt anger rise up inside him at the sight. No. Ganondorf had ruined enough lives. Wind was going to stop him where he was.

               As silently as possible, Wind came up behind the monster and stabbed at his unsuspecting back. Cape parted and steel met steel in a clash as the Gerudo matched Wind’s sword thrust with a block of his own. “Thought you could sneak up on me, little ship rat?” he growled. “I will show you what true revenge looks like.” And with that he shoved the young teen backward with his sword.

               Wind blocked and parried as he was forced back to the wall. He gritted his teeth. He had to fight; he had to win. If he didn’t… well, he wouldn’t think about that. He would make sure he won. The Twili were counting on him.

               Suddenly Ganondorf moved. Wind went to block the strike, but it was a trick. Instead he was on the receiving end of a great fist to the stomach. His air whooshed out of his lungs, and he was thrown back several yards. Hyrule’s healing had covered his wound, but it hadn’t replenished the lost blood. The exhaustion was catching up with him and making him sloppy. That sloppiness had cost him.

               Wind moved to get up, but the monster placed a heavily-booted foot on his chest, forcing him down. He gasped for air, but the dark king just pressed harder.

               “Pathetic,” he growled. “I expected more of a threat, but you are just a puppy. You’ve lost your touch.” Desperate, Wind swung his sword and pierced Ganondorf’s leg through. He roared, jerking his limb back and freeing it from the blade.

               Wind sat up and took a deep breath, forcing himself to stand on two feet. “I’ve already beaten you once. I can do it again.” The man snarled in rage and rushed forward. Wind had no time to dodge before his large hand was wrapped around his throat, squeezing the life out of him. Suddenly Ganondorf swung downward, bashing his head against the hard stone floor, and Wind’s sword clanged as it bounced away. Then he was slammed hard again. Again. Again.

               Wind was dazed. Where was he? What was he doing? Where was his sword? Why was his side warm and sticky? He gasped as a knee pressed into his sternum and the sound of metal being dragged menacingly across the stone floor got louder and louder until the source came to rest by his ear. A giant face moved down to whisper in the other one.

               “There is something you should know, before I kill you,” Ganondorf whispered. “Darkness always wins. It wins in the hearts of everyone. No one dies with hope.” Wind grasped with his hand, and felt something hard and smooth under his palm. His sword! Ganondorf kept his head low as he positioned his blade for a final blow. “Goodbye, little hero.” Steel cleaved flesh, and with a strangled gurgle, a heart stopped. All was heavy and silent...

…

…

               Wind’s eyes opened. Something hot and viscous was flowing down the back of his hands. With a sigh, the giant body fell toward him, and Wind barely had the strength to push the knee off and shove the corpse away as he rolled from it.

               And he promptly threw up.

               There wasn’t much in his stomach but water and blood. The past … day? Day and a half?... had been so harrowing that he couldn’t stop the tears from pouring out. It felt like a lifetime. He was so tired, so weak; blood loss and exhaustion had overtaken him. He supported himself on shaking limbs, the Phantom Sword still lodged in the Gerudo king’s jaw. He left it there.

               Suddenly his arms gave out beneath him, and he landed in the puddle of bile and blood that had left his body. The sound of footsteps drew near, and he tried to track the sound with his eyes.

               “C’mon, Wind. Get up;” it was Sky, his soft voice echoing through the chamber. He knelt down and peered into Wind’s face. “Wake up. Complete your journey.”

               “You’re almost done, kid.” That was Twilight. What was he doing here? “You’re so close to finishing.” Wait? Where had Sky gone? No, he was dead. So was Twilight.

               “I can’t,” he cried. “Not- not as good as you…” It was hard to catch his breath, and he felt himself slipping. “’M not as s-strong as you or Time, not as sm-mart as Four or Hyrule…hhuuhh… I don’t have Leg-en’s ‘sperience… or Sky’s, Warriors’s, and Wild’s…skills…. ’M a failure…. Failed you. You’re dead because of me. Can’t do it.” Everything hurt so badly.

               “Sure you can,” Wild’s voice sounded as deerskin shoes came into view. Wind turned his head, just to try to catch a glimpse of his face. “You have to. You have to remember. We can’t do this, only you can. You have to fight for us. Live for us.”

               Wind struggled to get to his knees again. The pedestal was still there, holding the Daystar which pulsed with life. It was the last beacon in the dark- the last hope of the Twili.

               But he didn’t know if he could get to it.

               He managed to prop himself up on his hands and knees, his shirt hanging heavily with bile and blood. He had failed the others. It only made sense that he would fail the Twili just as easily. He wasn’t even crying, now. He was out of tears.

               “Wind,” a voice gently spoke. It was Time. He waited to continue until Wind met his eye. “You, Wind, are our hope, even in the worst of times. You are our light. Shine for us.” Wind tried to draw in a deep breath, but it came out sounding more like a hiccough. He tried again, and somehow, miraculously, got to his feet. He was shaking so badly he wondered how he hadn’t toppled over. But it was nothing in relation to the light ahead of him. His skull was throbbing behind his eyes, its cacophony drowning out all but the music of the gem. The pain in his side was just a scratch in the face of the Hope ahead. Sounds of his own blood “plip”-ing against the stone floor went ignored; he was concerned with something greater than himself. He stepped forward. Once, twice, thrice, until he came to the altar of the Daystar.

               He prayed that this would bring hope to the Twili. He prayed that, when it was over, he might be with his friends and family again.

               It wasn’t the most graceful of movements. In fact, it was a sloppy thing, a jerky motion that even a toddler would be ashamed of. His left arm flailed out, and his fingers brushed its corona.

               The world exploded into light, a high pitched ringing sounding through his ears and consuming his very being.

               Then, it was just light.

…

               Then, there were fingers running through his hair, and a familiar voice in his ear.

…

               Then, the light faded, and he realized his eyes were closed, a warm breeze blowing in his face.

               Then, he opened his eyes to Warriors’s concerned face and a canopy of eternal stars. A quiet glow was coming from nearby, adding softness to his features.

               “Hey, little bro. Nice to see your baby blues again.” His smile was white and brilliant, perfect as always.

               “Warriors?” The elder’s hand came into view as he withdrew it, and Wind realized it had been his fingers that had been playing with his hair. “Y’re dead.”

               Warriors’s expression twisted into confusion. “No I’m not.”

               “Yes, y’are. Saw it. Were… all bloody. I clos’d y’r eyes.”

               “What?”

               “How’ryu – alive?”

               Warriors looked at him, flabbergasted. Wind was too tired for this. He slowly shut his eyes. And then opened them again.

               “’M I dead?” he whispered. “Sorry,” he apologized as Warriors seemed to grow more agitated. “Just wished to be with you guys. But where’s Aryll? Grandma?”

               “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” Warriors replied.

               Something was off here. Wind wasn’t sure what it was, but it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps Warriors wasn’t a ghost. And maybe this wasn’t the afterlife, either.

               Wind squinted, and tried to sit up. Warriors gently pressed down on his chest. “Whoa, easy there. You just finished the Trials; you shouldn’t try to get up too fast.”

               Wind glanced over. Under his left hand was the Moonstone, smooth and unblemished and bright. And holding it was the statue of the Hylian lady, but she was no longer crying.

               “What? I don’t understand.”

               “You finished the Trials of Sorrow.” Wind turned his head towards the other voice, which happened to belong to Four, who was walking over with Wind’s blanket. He had a pleased smile on his face. He draped it over the younger’s body, and Wind removed his hand from the oblong orb. “Congratulations!”

               “I –” Wind’s voice was shaking, “I don’t understand. You guys were killed. I wasn’t there to be with you.”

               “Wind,” Four said slowly, his brow furrowing, “we’ve been here this whole time. You never left the cave.”

               “What?” he asked. “But what about my failure to activate the Trial? And the Moon’s Pail? Remember, I told you guys I would be gone for a couple of days?”

               The other two shook their heads.

               “You – you’re not dead,” he murmured, realization slowly sinking in. Then a giant grin spread across his face. “You’re not dead!” He repeated, and flung his arms around Warriors’s shoulders. Warriors’s breath came out in a whoof, but he quickly reciprocated the hug. Four placed a hand on his shoulder.

               “No, we’re not dead,” he said, humor lacing his words. “And you were amazing! You pushed through to the end, even when it got tough! Once you completed the Trials, that door over there opened and the Daystar ignited. It flew to where the Twili were waiting and immediately transformed the ones here to be able to live in the Light world! Now they can live on this land without fear of dying from exposure to the sun!”

               “Alright, Four, I think Wind’s been overwhelmed enough,” Time said, amused. “Let’s get back to the others.”

               “Can you walk?” Warriors asked, helping Wind to his feet. Time went ahead with Four to tell their companions.

               “I-I think so,” he said. “How long was I out?”

               “Oh, it took you pretty much an entire day to complete the trials, if not longer. I dunno, it’s kind of hard to tell, time passes strangely in here,” Warriors looked around the room as if it made him feel a little lost. “But, after about…mmm…two thirds of the way through, we were allowed to help you.”

               “Help me?”

               “Yeah. We could see a little bit of what was happening in that moment, and sort of ‘coach’ you, but our time was limited and we usually couldn’t do much. You were allowed more and more help as time passed, but we could only help you once.”

               “I…didn’t know that. Now it all makes sense,” Wind muttered.

               “After you finished the trials, you slept for another six hours. And, well, here you are!”

               “I finished the trials?” Wind asked.

               “Yeah, kid.”

               “And the Twili, they…they got their promised land?”

               “Uh huh.”

               “Oh,” a small grin began to break out on Wind’s face. “I guess things really worked out pretty well then, huh?”

               “I guess so.”

               When they left the cave, Twilight was chatting with some of the Twili, whose appearances had changed slightly, but not drastically. He was asking if they knew a “Midi,” or something, and the ambassadors were starting to look at him suspiciously.

               Hambar noticed him, and approached with a wide grin and welcoming arms. “Our hero!” he exclaimed. “Link, of the Wind, you have brought light back into our hearts.” He clasped hands with Wind, and shook them vigorously. “Now we can claim the land the goddesses gave us, and build a better future!”

               “I – it was my honor,” Wind said warmly.

               There was a large celebration that day, with Wind named their Hero and the excitement over the new land. The Daystar had risen to rest high above the party, and they all got to rest as the festivities ensued. Linebeck came sometime during the day, and it seemed he got into some sort of argument with the Twili, because they were soon watching wrestling matches and other good-natured competitions between the Hylians and the Twili. It was only after day had become night and then day again that they said their good-byes to the Twilit race and found themselves back on Linebeck’s ship.

               “Where are we headed now?” Linebeck was covered with necklaces of smoky quartz and obsidian, gifts the Twili had bestowed on him from their realm. In return, he’d given them a variety of rupees. They seemed fascinated with the colored jewels.

               “Let’s go home. I’m missing Aryll and Grandma,” Wind replied.

               “Very well then,” Linebeck answered. “To Outset!”

               They arrived at nightfall, and the entire group was welcomed kindly and lovingly. Wild got Grandma’s soup recipe, and Four showed Aryll where the Picori liked to hide. Everyone enjoyed themselves, but were exhausted.

               Tetra had heard Wind was back, for now, and had come to visit as well. He inquired about setting up a defense for the island, in case they were ever invaded. She’d given him a funny look, but when he’d asked again, voice quivering, she’d relented and promised him she’d get something together.

               They stayed busy enough that Wind’s sleep was dreamless.

               Eventually the time came for them to leave. Wind was incredibly anxious the whole time. He’d hugged his grandmother and sister and had made them promise to stay safe.

               “You do the same, Link,” Grandma had said. “Take care of yourself.”

               He tried to stall as long as possible, but eventually goodbyes were said and the group moved on to their next adventure.

               Then came the nightmares. Wind often found himself jolting awake in a cold sweat, the names of his family on his lips. Many nights he never slept at all, leaving him dead on his feet and sloppy in the field. Warriors and Wolfie had begun to lay down next to him in an attempt to get him to drift off. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

               One of those nights he was tired of tossing and turning and got up to sit by the fire. Legend was on watch at the time and noticed. The older teen sat down next to him and examined him for a very long time. Then he looked away. “Do you remember,” his fingers darted to his head and then back to his lap as if he didn’t know where they belonged, “what I told you? When you were sitting in the Trial’s cell, waiting for Ganondorf to return?”

               Wind turned to look at him curiously.

               Legend turned his eyes toward him. Wind, for the first time noticed the bags. He wondered what had happened to Legend that he still was unable to rest. “When you decide to become a hero; and I don’t mean that ‘chosen by Hylia’ or ‘the goddesses’ crud, because that isn’t what a hero is; when you decide to become a hero, you decide to give up your own happiness for the wellbeing of others. Terrible things happen to you, like they happen to everybody, but you paint a bigger target on your back than anyone else, because you’re blocking most of their blows. Ugh, I’m not good at this.” Legend took a deep breath and looked somewhere above Wind’s eye-line. “I guess what I’m saying is, is that misfortune is what we get for being heroes. But you gotta believe it’s worth something, that it has…meaning, if it means saving people, y’know?”

               “Yeah, I guess,” Wind said.  He didn’t know if this was supposed to make him feel better or not.

               “I’m sorry, kid. I’m not good at this comforting stuff. It doesn’t get better, but it does get easier. And as you grow older, the scar won’t fade or get any smaller, but you’ll grow bigger and bigger until you’re bigger than it.” Legend raised his arms as if to demonstrate, and Wind giggled. Legend rolled his eyes. “Never mind. Get some rest, kid. We’ll be lookin’ out for ya.” He got up and began to walk back to his watch post.

               “Wait, Legend?” Wind called. Legend stopped. “Thanks. And you know, you can enjoy things, too. Just ‘cause you put others first, doesn’t mean you can’t be happy.”

               Legend’s face softened. “Alright kid. I’ll keep that in mind. Goodnight, Wind.”

               “Goodnight.”

               The next morning Wind woke up to Warriors sprawled out beside him, drooling into his pillow. Despite his anxiety the night before, a smile grew on his face. His family was alive, his friends were alive, and an entire people had been saved. He could rest easy knowing that.

               … And so he shut his eyes again, and did.

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations HAILEY! You’ve been accepted as JANUS.

Hailey, you took Jacksons skeleton and delivered it to us on a silver platter. I’m truly speechless at how you captured their ability to never be the same person twice. “He has never been content with one face, even before his abilities developed.” Who is Jackson deep down, does he even know that? Having them figure out who their are on a personally level and within the grand scheme of things. I also can’t believe you made me choose between two of my fave white boys.

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information:

NAME/ALIAS: Hailey 

PRONOUNS: she / her

AGE: 22

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: EST: I would say around a 5 activity wise. I usually work five days of the week now (but sometimes more) so although my hours are funky I usually have time to reply to dms after or before work, and get replies up during at least two days of the week!

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Jackson Raemers / Janus

GENDER/PRONOUNS: he / they

DETAILS & ANALYSIS:

They are the wind beneath your sails, the bandage over your wound, and the realization that it never meant anything to them.

Jackson may never covet your gilded spotlight but you would be a fool to underestimate him for it. Though he works best from the shadows, obscured by the weight of faces and names that are not his own, it’s his fingerprints that stain the success of all who wield him. He slips effortlessly through cracks others would be constrained by, both unnoticed and undetected, though the impact of his presence are neither of those things. Though you may be unable to place your overlooked hero on the streets, you will never forget how effortlessly he stanched the troubles that bleed from your veins before slipping from your grasp, another unknown stranger in the crowd. Jackson’s someone you’d want on your side, both capable and necessary, but is it because his heart blooms for your cause, or simply because it’s expected of him? So quickly shifting, so carefully adapting, if you were to blink, you might miss him, but is that not his charm? His name will never spill from your lips in adoration, yet it does nothing to still the parts of him that jump to prove himself worthy of such. Both the optimism that manifests when you most need it and the invisible force that gently urges you onward when you’ve lost hope; Jackson prioritizes that which beckons his assistance most urgently with greedy delight, perhaps, in a desperate attempt to fill the void of not knowing yet what it is that they need themselves.

The cut you get on your finger from opening a letter and the blood that stains the white carpet when it drips down.

Jackson, like most others, is a product of their past, though it’s with great strides that they aren’t entirely felled by the memory of their own. Enough has been taken from him that he resents every fragment of himself still coerced into something bitter and unfamiliar; the scars of wounds that will never heal correctly. Though he’s convinced that his purpose in the Jem Family is to spare future mutants from suffering the same fate as him, and his companions, he knows there’s a more sinister, albeit spurned, intent that resides deep within his heart. Is it truly for the betterment of all mutants? Or is there a part of them that selfishly yearns for the violent demise of the humans that hurt him? Jackson battles with his morality, determined not to become the very monster he feared as a child, though he worries what’s left of his purity may already be touched crimson by this bitterness. There are thoughts even Jackson shies away from, scared to grapple with the stranger that resides in the dark crevices of his mind. They’re already fighting one monster, what’s another?

They are the fake label that is stitched onto a shirt then sold for hundreds of dollars, the flake that comes off of a gold bar to reveal that it’s copper, and the cheap paint that washes away when an itchy suspicion turns out to be true.

They are intimately familiar with disappointment. Watching the glimmer in your eye fade after the fraudulence of their fantasies surface. That pang of realization that he is nothing more than a cheap imitation of the person you most want; someone that Jackson, himself, could never be. At times, they too wish to be the greater, more gilded thing, punished by the reminder that it’s just an act, and underneath it all, he still remains himself. His ability is but a taste of more, followed by the wrenching of such from greedy fingers as the curtain falls. With the gift to be anyone in the world, why would you ever want to be yourself? He hardly ever is, the details of his forgotten identity swept under the rug in favor of better, more appealing, traits he’s adopted. Though his ability is mighty, Jackson often wonders what would be left of him without it. Would he ever be enough, if not for the weight of power at his restless fingertips? Years of his life were overshadowed by those abilities, and how deftly he could demonstrate them. But would he carry any value, at all, when stripped of them?

They are your wildest dreams come true, willing to do what it takes to get you to believe in their lies.

Jackson dons a separate mask for every one person; figuratively, though at times, literally. He has never been content with one face, even before his abilities developed. Jackson has been abandoned and overlooked too often not to revel in the warm light of adoration, no matter the cost. He can feel your ease when he seemingly leans in the very direction you hoped he’d go, or the spark of elation when he fulfills muted desires. It’s a drug, that praise, and he longs for its buzz. Perhaps he bends the truth at times to sell the vision; that he’s exactly who you want him to be. But is it such a crime when you’re both getting what you long for most? Even when wearing the face he was born with, Jackson will tug at the details of himself until they smooth to your liking; until you weaken for the portrait he’s painted. His tongue may be as gifted as his mutant abilities, able to angle the truth that lay right in front of your very eyes. But when his pretty lies fail, there is always another identity lying in wait, convincing you to love him, no matter what it takes, no matter how little you truly know the illusion that desperately beckons your worship.

BIO:  TW (ABUSE, STOCKHOLM SYNDROME)

Jackson had often wondered if it was his mother’s eyes, or his father’s, reflected back at him in the mirror. If the chilling sensation that zipped up their vertebrae in the dark was inherited, or simply a product of their own cowardice. How much of him was comprised of people he was not given the chance to remember, and how much had begun with him, and him alone? Having been given up for adoption at birth, Jackson willed his own conclusions. The first foster family he can recall were the Wilsons, and he had just turned six. Even then, he was enthralled with the parents that had abandoned him, devising make believe anecdotes about each that were far more charming and warmhearted than the inferior truth. But Jackson grew, and so did his stories. Childish fibs about how he was the spitting image of his father, or how his mother used to be read him stories every night blossomed into tales of ship crashes and war stories. He longed for the startled admiration of the other children he roomed with; the closest thing to family the boy had ever known. Jackson was lucky, his time in the foster care system had been undeniably better than that of most.

In fact, it was only after his removal that life began its downslide.

He lived in his fourth home, with the Jefferson family, in the two story brick at the end of the street. Jackson was eleven at the time. Then, he was only vaguely familiar with mutants, and of the whispers they elicited among the streets. He had no reason to think he could be one, of course, so it came as quite a shock when a foster sister attempted to tattle on Jackson and they were able to perfectly mimic the girlish whine of her voice in jest. Their flawless recitation had been no parlor trick, nor mundane talent. But the incident slipped away with little interest, having been confined to Jackson and their adolescent witness. Still, the memory of its inhumane nature simmered within him, and he longed to see if he could repeat it; a child experimenting with a new toy. After the others had gone to bed, and the house was blanketed in eerie silence, Jackson pulled the covers over his head with a mirror in one hand and a flashlight in the other. It began with impressions of voices he was familiar with; Allison Jefferon’s shrill, demanding pitch, Peter Jefferson’s gravely grumbling. It was astonishing, how his tongue so effortlessly disguised itself as one right after the other. The boy spent nights grinning ear to ear beneath his sheets, delighted with the newfound ability.

But just as quickly delight bled into panic. One afternoon, in an argument with the same rambunctious sister, Jackson thought it funny to mock her insults. But, rather than the unfamiliar tone they had practiced, they were met with their own voice. Still, shock and fear contorted the girl’s expression, sending her sprinting into the next room despite their nervous pleas for an explanation. Instead they were met with Peter Jefferson, who demanded to know how this was possible while blocking the exit of Jackson’s room. It was only with a side glance at the closet mirror that the boy saw themselves for what they had become; a direct copy of the girl whose reactions they so enjoyed. Though it was their own voice that yelled out in panic, and their own fingers that tore at the skin that did not belong to them, they instead appeared as the same sister that now cowered from them. Try as he might to reverse the sight, Jackson remained a prisoner in his own body, terrified he would be buried as this strange and unusual anomaly.

Many distressed phone calls later and Jackson was removed from the foster home by men he did not recognize, shut into a stranger’s car with no goodbyes or answers. It was with terror that they were confined to a windowless van, their heart frantically galloping in their chest. He choked on questions, and begged for help, but his captors remained silent. When he finally arrived at his destination it mirrored a hospital; sterile, cold, disarming. Jackson thought, briefly, he had been taken somewhere that could right this mistake, and return him to the person he had been before, with those fearful eyes of his lost mother or father. But he would never again be that child, and he quickly discovered the truth of his unwanted fifth home, undeniably less a home than it was a punishment.

There were various testing facilities surrounding the city of Chicago, though at the time Jackson was ignorant to their existence. Now, he was ensnared by one; a child called by a monster’s name. Mutant. He could remember the kids at school, how they had sneered the word. How Allison Jefferson had once called them abominations when the title was mentioned on the six o’clock news. It must be a mistake, he’d assured himself, shaking fingers grasping at the fabric of their allocated uniform. But quickly, and without mercy, what remained of his humanity was stripped. The boy who longed to be more human than all of the others reduced to a guinea pig. They couldn’t find one more cooperative than Jackson though, who would rather suffer through bouts of exhaustion after the abuse of their abilities than deny the facility what they demanded of him. Perhaps it was fear, or the lingering hope that his entrapment served a larger, more benevolent purpose, that pushed him past his hard limits time and time again. There were occasions when he was returned to his room so badly shaken and weary that all he could do was lay on the cold linoleum and consider the people and places from his childhood stories; the heroes he wanted to be, and the exotic lands he longed for.

There were times even Jackson’s impeccable behavior was not enough. Moments when he had proudly displayed a perfect recreation of the photograph they provided only to be struck by someone or jolted with electricity in response. At times the abuse grew so detrimental to their health they wondered what could possibly remain of them when it was all over, if it was ever to be over. Eventually the hope for escape dwindled, and they grew accustomed to the constant beep of monitors, and the purging of all freedom or individuality. Jackson’s childhood had been brutally ripped from him and because of it he expected far more of himself than any normal teenager would. If his abilities were what they wanted most, what stifled the pain, if for only a moment, he would give it to them. He would harness and sharpen his shifting skins until there was nothing left for them to want from him; until he reached the peak of his power and they were, at last, forced to accept his limit.

Jackson’s abilities were his lifeline. From the ashes of his optimism grew determination, and though he focused on his power for the wrong reasons, it was this concentration that spared him long nights of agony. The unrelenting practice redirected his mind, and maintained its sharpness, pinning it instead to a goal that Jackson desperately grasped for. Relief. It was his only outlet behind the guarded walls of the facility, and even with shaking hands he would muster its presence, as much for himself as for the scientists that watched on in scrutiny.  What else did he have? No family, no friends, and no future if this torture was to continue. Only himself, and the identities he nurtured for his own feeble sanity.  

It was by sheer luck his fellow mutants were less easily appeased than Jackson. He can still remember the vivid blare of warning sirens, a red haze painting the nauseating white of the walls. A fire maybe, or a raid. One could only guess what had become of the real world while Jackson withered away behind bars. But it was not flames that licked his cage, or the rumblings of a distant bomb, but another subject. A group, rather, of others like Jackson who had tired of their binds and created a key where there was not one to be found. In a flurry, the door to his confine was opened, and the various boys and girls, both adult and child, fled toward liberation. They were escaping. A plan so harrowing and disillusioned that it had not occurred to Jackson to consider. Had they gotten help? Who had organized it? How had they known he was there, waiting, clueless? He was left to his thoughts, the hall clearing as quickly as it had filled with terrified mutants, bound for freedom. At any moment the guards would surely return, tightening the leashes upon their throats to reel them back to their chambers.

Time had blurred together, minutes languidly blended into one exhausting eternity as Jackson remained curled in a ball against the clinical white of his room. So many unfamiliar faces had passed, restless, wild, in their search for sanctuary, but Jackson was rooted to the floor. His knees trembling against his chest in panic. If the punishment for existing scarred their skin and bruised their bone, what would become of those mutants that greedily chased more? The temptation was so great Jackson vibrated with it, the need aching in his heavy chest, but they had been bitten too many times among these corridors. Maybe it was a test. Perhaps, he would lie in wait, cooperative and meek, and the guards would have mercy on him in the wake of his pristine behavior. He could not fathom the alternative. A life somehow worse than the one that already clung to his weary bones like shackles. Jackson couldn’t, in good conscience, betray himself that carelessly. Ultimately, it was not that fearful boy who made the decision. But rather a fellow mutant, who beckoned him. Who encircled his wrist in their grasp and pulled him loose from his submission. It was the turning point of his world, that day, and yet it crashes on his conscious like roaring waves. A blink of relieved mutants there, a glimpse of determined hands pulling him through the wreckage of the facility, a glance at the gentle expressions that lulled him into a car, much the same as the van he arrived in. The day returned in fragments, then his chest had heaved too rapidly, his head split with far too much tension, to place every minute detail. But since, every relocated shard has surfaced with gratitude.

Jackson had never heard of the Jem Family before his escape. Until they had dusted the ash from him, like a forgotten phoenix who not yet had the strength to rise themselves. In a sense, they were his sixth foster home. The one that finally stuck, resolute and steadfast. In their embrace he found acceptance, unlike that he’d ever known before them. When his fingers shook and his gaze flickered away from contact, they were there. When he resented himself, and the abilities that had slipped the cruel noose around his throat for many years, they were there. The same power that had worked as a desperate distraction now served as a wicked reminder of his time spent in captivity. They felt less like his, as if he had robbed the facility of their cherished work. For a time, Jackson imagined that being ordinary would be easier. Better. He abandoned his talents for those more socially accepted, and after years of grappling with the sickly feeling that blossomed at his mutant traits, enrolled in college. He would find a new talent, one that even the humans that ostracized him could appreciate.

He had been robbed of so much normalcy. He finally had a real family, and still, it was not enough. Selfishly, he wanted more. The job, the house, the wife. The future that had been dangled in front of his eyes, and subsequently, severed while imprisoned. If Jackson could blend in, and escape the mutant brand, perhaps it was not yet lost. The aspirations he had once daydreamed about could be fulfilled, if only he could swallow the half of himself that stood in the way. The half of himself that had already unraveled his hopes once before. But he had far better control now; never again would he look in the mirror and be startled by what he saw. His abilities could only rear their ugly head if he allowed them to, if he summoned them, and then, just entering adulthood, he planned not to. They would suffocate alongside all of the memories he carried of being abnormal.

Perhaps, in a sense, that was Jackson’s teen rebellion. It could have lasted, possibly, had the local news not carried such concerning developments on mutants around the country. Every day they were confronted with horror stories, some far worse than what Jackson himself had endured. The Jem family made it a point not to shield him from every horrific detail, instead swaddling him in positive reinforcement. The trick was not to comply to the country’s social norms, but to demand equal treatment for those who could not meet the impossible standards. They hammered it into his brain. The cause had saved him. Did he not want to do the same for others? Did he not want to be the salvation for some other trembling child, starved of freedom?

The more the surrounding abuse escalated, the more inclined Jackson was to entertain his once banished abilities. It took no shortage of support, and encouragement from the Jem Family. Especially as his eyes glazed over, and his heart squeezed beneath his ribcage; the torment Jackson endured present in every celebrated advancement of his powers. It, at times, hurt. In the same way it might have to break through the steel of unwanted chains. Repression was no light weight, and Jackson, like Atlas, had shouldered far too much for far too long. But in time, he could feel how it sloughed off his shoulders. How he breathed a little easier with the gentle coaxing from those that could truly understand him, and the pain of a past he longed to forget. He was no longer that scared child, fending for itself. He was not alone anymore, a solitary sacrifice to science. He was part of something. Something with claws and razor sharp teeth that could seize back all that had been stolen from Jackson.

He only hopes he was not rescued from one monster, and fated to become another. At times, Jackson carries more humanity than those entirely so. Living with the burden of remaining soft in a world that so often yearned to splinter his edges into something deadly. But how can he shy away from its violence without hiding from those that plead for his help? How can he betray those that are what he, at his core, is himself? A mutant.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

LUCA MENDOZA: Many would never gravitate to Jackson without his illusions and honeyed words, yet when Luca caught him on a bad day they were all ears and, under their willful gaze, he found plenty to say. He knows he’s skirting sharpened edges with Luca, but when they look at Jackson they give him nothing; no hint to mold himself around. All that remains is himself, and the words that fall unbidden at Luca’s presence. Maybe he’s a fool to trust them as he does, baring his heart to someone that would just as surely carve him of it, yet he does in spite of the warnings. Perhaps because Luca’s strength, no matter how off-putting to some, ensnares him like an unsuspecting moth to a flame that fails to find its own. I would love to see as the two develop whether there will come a day where there’s something they can’t agree on or look past and it grows to cause fissures in the wall they’ve built around their relationship. Or if, oppositely, one is driven to do something out of character in order to protect/appease the other and it changes them as a person, and ultimately the dynamic the two share.

NEVE KAPLAN: The first person to ever truly know Jackson, and the first to love him in spite of it. Because it was, no matter how she shies from the emotion, love. How freeing it was to meet someone who could liberate them from their net of lies and niceties, and embrace the less glamorous parts of him. In Neve’s presence they never felt the urge to bite their tongue, or swallow thoughts for her to deem them worthy. During the course of their relationship, he’d tasted the normalcy he so craved as a teenager. The bliss of routine he never thought could belong to someone like himself. Slowly, his veil of shame lifted as Neve demanded to see the presence beyond. Who was he to deny her anything when she’d given him everything? A family, a love, a confidante. But while the girl had filled Jackson’s wanting hands, he had failed to return the favor. More than he, she yearned for retribution. The very desire he often wrestled and longed to suffocate bloomed within Neve effortlessly. As time wore on, it became clear which of the two she held dearer to her heart, despite Jackson’s efforts. She will always be the one that got away, though he fears she will become a stranger to even herself as obsession needles at the parts of her he most adored. Pain festering within her until the person he once loved becomes swallowed whole in its mutiny.

As a child, Jackson’s mind was plagued with selfless heroes and hedonistic adventures. In Neve he sees the bones of those imagined villains, and he fears she will meet the same fate should he not intervene. I can’t wait to see these two interact! Jackson will always carry this unique bond with her and I’d love to see what he’d do to protect it. How will her motivations intersect with his own and those of the Jem Family? Will it one day cause problems for the others he considers family, and will he be forced to decide between the two? Could Neve eventually cross a line even Jackson can’t defend, or will he submerge himself in the same depravity in hopes of pulling her free from it? I think he is hopelessly attached to Neve and I’d love to see the depths he’d go and the sacrifices he’d make to salvage what remains of her.

CAIN DOUGLAS: Jackson is someone who aches to be liked, and Cain seems to enjoy pressing their thumb against the wound. Sure, he may be far too careless or distracted at times but the doctor’s rage is unmatched. He’s not sure of the exact moment he fingered the wrong button on Douglas, but how he yearns to undo it. No matter how he tries to joke and soften their demeanor he’s met with unparalleled annoyance. Still, if Jackson is anything, it’s persistent, and in the wake of Cain’s rejection he finds himself searching for common ground. Usually, he finds more give in the walls he prods, but with the doctor they’ve found disappointingly little. In an attempt to ease their dislike and garner their help, Jackson’s even resorted to offering them bits of information. A secret here, a weighted question there, waiting eagerly for that flicker of interest in their glare. But should it not manifest, Jackson is relieved for the input, no matter how hostile or unhelpful. Though Cain might simmer at the sight of him, Jackson can’t deny the way he lingers on their words and reactions, in careful observation. There’s a lot to learn from someone so seemingly opposite to himself, and if the two are fated to spend so many hours together, he just might take advantage of it. I’m really interested to see how this could progress! Jackson garners respect for Cain despite their differences, and I’d like to see if eventually he could pique their interest, perhaps with something serious or dire that he meant to keep quiet from the others. Or if it’s as simple as Jackson finally proving himself with some unexpected act that meets Cain’s standards. Otherwise, I do love enemies and it’d, oppositely, be super fun to see how Cain’s annoyance could blossom and what it would create within Jackson to be met with such growing aggression when they ache for the opposite.

EXTRA: a pinterest board here (x)

HEADCANONS

Began to collect a lot of house plants aftering dating Neve but her green thumb never rubbed off. It took days of research just to learn how to keep a succulent alive for longer than a week at a time.

Really enjoys reading and, in particular, immersing themselves in stories/poems with heros and travel tales.

Outside of his mutant abilities, Jackson grew to be quite an actor due to his careful observation of those around him. It mainly stemmed from self defense reasons: foster care, and entrapment, but stuck over time. He has no desire to pursue it, but it’s a good party trick for telling stories (that are not always factual) and jokes at parties. It’s only when those pesky feelings interfere that their body betrays them, and their gift falls to the wayside.

Jackson is bisexual/biromantic and awful at dating.

A documentary junkie. Whether it’s something he’s interested in or not, Jackson breezed through the Netflix selections in a week, trying to expand their horizons. They would blame it on general research for facts and details that might be of use while masquerading as someone else, but he really just wants to collect hobbies and knowledge in search of fulfillment.

Very simplistic/minimal taste in both clothes and interior decorating (which means, in so many words, they’re too lazy to venture outside their comfort zone.)

A dog person with no dogs. 10/10 will pet your dog.

Likes being outdoors and feels like he’s suffocating if he doesn’t get out often enough. Outside of needing company and hating to be alone for extended periods, he starts to feel trapped if he doesn’t get fresh air and room to roam after long intervals stuck between four walls.

ANYTHING ELSE: If possible I might prefer an alt fc of Richard Madden but if you’re attached to Jack Lowden no worries!

[livvywrites]

crimson river [tmq prequel]

the origins of Talitha’s ship. it’s long, so most of it is under a cut <3

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Talitha lifts the violin to her chin, and puts the bow to the strings. The music comes to her, easy as breathing; the melodies of childhood filling the clearing. She closes her eyes and lets the notes envelop her in sound. A memory rises, following the sound of the music. She’s taken back to when she first learned the song; calloused hand wrapping around hers, drawing the bow across the violin; chest pressed against her back.

The chest rumbles, and it’s Lyr’s voice that touches her ears; his breath ghosting across her skin in phantom memory.

He sings; pleasant baritone. Talitha doesn’t know the meaning the words he sings—she never asked, content to let the language stay a pleasant mystery. And as he sings, a glow flits on the edges of her vision. The pure, raw, unfiltered magic of Eldora becomes visible; shining bright under the hum of his voice and the melody of her violin. It dances and flickers like a thousand fireflies; like firelight; like glittering stars.

At fourteen, it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen—even now, there is no sight that could ever compare to that one; the courtyard lighting up at midnight, to the tune of a song she could never understand.

She fell in love that night—with magic, with the unknown, with music… and maybe even with her best friend.

The song ends, and she opens her eyes.

Golden green eyes, wide and luminous, bore into her own—only inches from her face. Talitha cannot bring herself to be surprised. She smiles.

“Hello, Cala.” She doesn’t know where the name comes from—doesn’t know how she knows the name at all.

But the nymph, the same nymph who gave her the violin in the first place, smiles back; revealing pointed teeth. “Hello, pirate.”

“Why did you call me here?”

“You want to get off this island. And I and my sisters would like you to leave,” Cala said easily. But Talitha didn’t get the impression that she meant it maliciously. They were invaders, and they had not been invited. More than that, Talitha and her crew could not truly survive out here, cut off from the rest of the world. (And, Talitha thought, Lynette deserved better.)

“What do I have to do?”

Cala smiled. She gestures to the violin in Talitha’s arms. “You have all the tools you need. Music—and your voice. You have the memories. Think of Lyr, and the magic he showed you. The magic he taught you, intentionally or not.”

“Majaria is a Slaeyr’s magic,” Talitha protested. “It’s—I’m not… I’m not a Slaeyr.”

Cala scoffed. “The Slaeyrs appearance brought it into the world, but just as they can be born to any race—so too can any race use that magic. Not as powerfully… in most cases.” Cala gave her a pointed look, a strand of bark-brow hair falling into her eyes. “You, my dear, have the ability. So use it.”

“I don’t—I don’t know how.”

“Yes. You do.” Cala reached out and touched her cheek. “Open your eyes… and sing.” Cala’s hand, green-skinned, slides from her cheek and presses against her forehead. She pushes, and Talitha falls backward; her mouth opening before she sits bolt upright.

For a moment she sits there, staring into the dying embers of a campfire. She can hear Lark snoring, and Ana muttering in her sleep. The ocean laps at the shore, and the woods are full of sounds. The chirp of frogs; the hum of insects; the calls of birds. But… as she sits there, staring into the ashes, she hears… something else. A song. A melody, that she… had long forgotten. She remembers, playing it with her sister. Lynette on the harp, Talitha on the violin. Shrouded in peace. Talitha had never been happier, growing up, than she was in the music room with her sister.

Talitha sits up. She wipes the sand from her body and steps over her sleeping crewmates. Falon has fallen asleep on watch, head ducked into his chest and loud snores coming from him. Tomorrow, she might berate him about it. For now…

She has to see if her dream spoke the truth.

She stepped into the woods, pushing aside hanging vines and stray branches. The path is overgrown. Roots grow in her way; some arching high off the ground and others just protruding, hidden by moss and clover. Talitha walks steadily. The branches grow thicker; the foliage blocks out the light of the moon and stars. She summons a dim, twinkling magelight. Around her, she can feel eyes boring into her. The branches shake, and the leaves quiver as creatures race through them. Birds take off, their wings fluttering and their cries piercing the air.

Goosebumps raise on Talitha’s arms, and her heart races in her chest. But she continues on; determined.

The trees begin to grow closer together, their branches tangling. Talitha can no longer tell which tree the roots under her feet come from. Perhaps they are but sprouts; roots themselves, springing from a much larger tree.

She ducks beneath arched roots, and climbs over others. Bushes reach out with prickly branches to tear at her clothes and skin. They’re minor cuts and rips, and she can live with them. So she ignores them. It would be unwise to ruin or harm any of this forest—especially when she was so far from the beach.

Talitha pushes more vines from her view, and immediately finds herself squinting in the moonlight. She steps into the grove. The ground is covered in moss and clover, and in the center of the clearing is a massive tree. Talitha swallows in its presence. This is no ordinary plant. This is a tree descended from the World Tree—Talitha would bet her ship on it.

Or, well. She would if she had one.

Her eyes slide over the grove. Hanging lights float in the air. Some of them are fireflies. But others—they look like wisps. Or fairylights. Flowers grow; their perfume thick and heavy in the air. The forest is concealed by thick, hanging vines. The area is unnaturally still; the moon beaming above, and the stars glittering mysteriously. Talitha swallows. She keeps walking forward, waiting for the sensation that something is wrong to creep into her gut.

It never comes.

Halfway across the grove, she spots it. Sitting innocuously on one of the thick roots of the tree… it’s the violin from her dreams. Grey wood, the same color as the tree bark, with green patches as if moss was growing on it. A perfectly from bow sits beside it, and so too does a tiny seed. Talitha walks over, and very carefully picks them up.

It feels right in her hands. As if it was made just for her. She swallows. She reaches out, with the hand holding the bow, and touches it to the tree root. “Thank you,” she breathes.

A breeze blows across her skin. The trees whisper—or so it sounds, as their leaves rustle against one another. Talitha turns and leaves, heart in her throat. She pauses, once, at the threshold, to look over her shoulder. She swears that, across the clearing and to the left, she can see the faint, ghostly outline of Calla, the nymph from her dream.

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Back on the beach, Talitha walks away from the campsite. She finds a far away spot, and plants her feet into the sand. She stares into the trees. After having traversed the grounds, the forest should seem less foreboding… but it doesn’t. Something about the shadows lurking between the trees sends her heart racing and her stomach twisting nervously.

There is something… wild, and alive about this place.

Calla was right. She needs to leave. They all do. This is not a place that they are welcome. Not now—perhaps not ever. There is a reason it was hidden in the middle of the Dead Sea.

Talitha plants the seed beneath the sand, and stands. She exhales.

She closes her eyes, and she pictures the Captive Queen. And then—she pictures every change that she would make. She breathes in and out, steady and deep. Her heartbeat slows, and the tension drains from her body. The ship builds in her mind. She sees the hull, grey and barklike in texture; like the violin she holds in her hands. There are patches of moss. She sees the sails, made of fibrous material, made from the plants of the forest. She sees the anchor, hewn from stone. It is bereft of weaponry—but that, she can buy. Somehow.

She sees the rooms. The bunks. She sees the hold, and the brig. She sees the masthead—fashioned to look like Calla. But she also sees intangible things. The magical layers of protection, hewn into its surface. The way it’s tied to her, the way it will respond to her every thought. This is not something she desires, but it is something that will happen, because that is the nature of the magic.

She sees how deep her influence goes—and watches as, in her mind’s eye, the ships sails not just the sea but through the sky, like the airships of home.

Talitha opens her eyes; takes a breath; and begins to play. The melody is a haunting refrain, sliding between hopeful, and mournful. Her feet trace patterns in the sand, as she whirls and dances in place, her movements copying the rise and fall of the tides; the ever-shifting motion of the ocean.

The trees begin to sway in an unnatural breeze. The sand lifts from the ground in whirls. Talitha’s clothes begin to flap. Her heartrate picks up again. Her blood flows faster; her fingertips and feet growing warm. The trees begin to creak and groan, an ominous sound, but to Talitha it is of no consequence. Words form on her tongue, her native language springs to her lips, and she sings. What words she says she does not know but it does not matter, for her intentions are clear in her mind. And she can feel the island itself. Its age, and its power—and its willingness to help, if only to make her leave.

Their roots of the seed begin to creep out and into the sand. They rise from the ground and reach out towards the ocean. The skeleton of a ship begins to form, slowly and yet all at once. The rooms fill the gaps in the skeleton. Halls and ladders connect them, and then the hull forms to protect them. It gleams with golden runes. Some pulled from her—others, formed by the trees. They are in a runic language Talitha does not know and were she of clear mind, she would crave their knowledge.

But she isn’t, and so her mind piques in curiosity, but it is swallowed by the ebb and flow of the music, and the words forming on her lips.

The masts rise from the deck. Plant fibers grow, forming themselves into sails. Below deck and in her cabin, she can feel them transforming into mattresses, and blankets. They won’t be the most comfortable things—but they’ll do, until more can be bought. Stones rise from below the earth; precious metals with them. A chain weaves its way through the walls, and an anchor comes to rest at the side of her ship.

Ropes are woven of vines, connecting to the sails and forming riggings. The crows nest opens at the top.

The last thing to form is the figurehead. The rendition of Calla breaks through the hull, looking like a mermaid rising, chest first from the water. Though her coloring matches the ship—she is just how Talitha last saw her. Curly hair cascading down her shoulders; sweet, open face and calculating eyes; bare, curvy body with arms outstretched. Her legs do not form, and Talitha does not envision them.

The ship is finished. The wind slowly dies down, and Talitha sinks to her knees, the violin limp in her hands. She breathes heavily and harshly in the night air… but she doesn’t feel exhausted at all. She’s energized—her heart still racing and her blood still pounding.

Too much extra power. The thought floats to her mind. It takes an eternity to place the words. Her teacher, back in school. Sometimes people draw too much magic from another mage, or from Eldora, and it overloads them. She has to—she needs to get rid of it.

She struggles to her feet. She knows where to go.

She walks to the edge of the forest. The violin falls from her grasp and lands on the ground. She stumbles forward; splays her palms against a tree. She closes her eyes and reaches outward.

The trees—they’re an interconnected network. It all leads back to one tree… but not the one Talitha visited, in the center. The forest must be made up of multiple interconnected root systems. She files the thought away for later, and instead—she focuses on pushing out. She channels that extra magic into the tree, and piles with it her gratitude.

Thank you, she repeats. Over and over again, until she sinks to the ground, palms scraping against the rough bark. Her trembling subsides. Her heart slows down. Her blood stops pounding in her ears.

She can breathe again.

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