#looking at it now i probably should have made the transparency of their top horn more obvious hmm

[mem-fr]

needed art to make a new signature with , so surprise ! it’s nebula again .

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #5

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Iolite of Cloudy Skies

Iolite. Its Japanese name was “blue flower stone”. The gem was blue with a purple tint stronger than that of a sapphire and had a unique viscosity that made it seem as if it was coated with a bit of dew. The level of hardness was seven. It was called iolite when treated as a gemstone, but when treated as a type of mineral, it was also called cordierite. It was an eccentric stone, which also appeared to have a grayish brown color instead of blue depending on the angle that one looked at it. Etc., etc.

“What happened, Seigi? Your eyes are dead.”

“How can I put it...? Surfeit, I guess.”

“Haah?”

I couldn’t memorize the stones’ names. They were too many.

The client who left just now had come because they wanted to see many sorts of blue stones, so Richard’s treasure box was packed with a great variety of blues. There were sapphires, of course, and also tanzanites, lapis lazuli, blue chalcedonies and this iolite.

Half a year before I had started working part-time in Etranger, the image I had of gemstones was limited to things such as diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds, I believed. Now I knew about the existence of a stone named zircon, which shone in the same way as a diamond, and also knew about the spinel, which was red like a ruby, as well as that the color of sapphires was not just blue, having a wide range from purple to yellow, and I had seen transparent jades that were impossible to tell apart from emeralds.

If I had as much knowledge of minerals as Tanimoto-san, I would’ve managed to sort stones inside my head by the differences the in chemical composition of each, but unfortunately, I was unfamiliar with such things, and I currently didn’t have enough enthusiasm or willpower to study them. If I were to explain figuratively, it felt like going out to hunt for clams at a beach, and when you innocently dove into the lake, you’d see the Mariana Trench spreading out below. It was a beautiful world, thus also too wide and too deep. And endless. To a terrifying extent.

When I told him roughly this, Richard laughed, the depths of his throat trembling with giggles. “It is not as if you are aiming to obtain a GIA or FGA qualification or anything, right? Isn’t it all right for you to observe as much as you like?”

“That might be the case, but...”

I found myself thinking that it was a waste.

After all, I’d be on my knees listening as Richard went, in earnest, through the trouble of introducing all kinds of stones to me one by one. I often heard from my senpais that “job hunting is a connection for people”, so I felt sorry that my connection with stones remained scoreless. Regardless, it wasn’t like I was suddenly going to get any smarter.

As I said this, Richard laughed again and beckoned me with a hand gesture. He then took something out of his suit’s pocket. One of those subdivision vinyl bags that I’d often see when he was handling jewels in the back room. It seemed there was an iolite inside. There was a label stuck to the bag packed with absorbent cotton, and something was written on it in horizontal letters. “Viking sunstone,” it read. Vikings? Like the ones that you’d imagine wearing horned helmets, carrying axes and coming from the sea on a ship? As I asked for confirmation, the jeweler nodded with a “precisely”.

“The words written on this label are associated with the former ‘purpose’ of the iolite. In the past, people used iolites as sun stones.”

“‘Used’ them as ‘sun stones’...?”

I didn’t understand anything from A to Z. What did that mean? For starters, why was gem of such a cold-looking color made into a stone of the sun?

Before I even had a breach to ask, the beautiful shopkeeper began talking, a smile ghosting his lips, “You might already know this, but a portion of the people residing in the current Britain are descendants of those who went through the Norman Conquest that began around the ninth century - in other words, of the Vikings. They were famous for having the skills to travel long distances, which was unusual at the time, so Seigi. If you were someone who travels the sea for long periods, how would you know your way?” Richard asked me.

A means to know the cardinal directions in the open sea. So it was a situation where there’d be no piece of land to act as a mark. The only thing I could use in such a case was a magnet. No, wait. Richard had said earlier that it was the ninth century. The compass would be invented only much later. I recalled memorizing that this was the invention that triggered the Age of Discovery back in high school for history class. If so, I recalled the words on the label. “Sunstone”. Yeah, it connected.

“They knew the directions by using the stone of the sun?”

“Good for you. Exactly. Isn’t it clear?”

“K-Kinda!”

“Then, what about under cloudy skies, when the sun is not visible, Mr. Enlightened Part-Timer?”

Speaking of which, the weather changed easily at sea. I had also heard that England was a country where the skies tended to be overcast. Bad weather must be frequent in those coastal waters. If the sky stayed cloudy for three or four days, what should I do? Was there nothing more that could be done at sea?

When I made a puzzled face, Richard smiled as though he had hit the nail on the head, his white hands displaying the iolite under a fluorescent light. “For instance, let’s try to put a mark on any of this iolite’s faceted sides with ink. Another one on a different side. On sunny days, we would record in which direction we can see the sun from one of these two points at given times, and on cloudy days, we would look for parts where the two points overlap. When doing so, since this stone can detect even the faintest light, we would be able to tell the sun’s position,” he said.

“So we can know the position of light with that stone...? Then couldn’t it be any other stone?”

“Light refracts. If it were passing through thick clouds, the human eye would find its shine in a different direction from the sun’s actual position. Iolites acted as polarized lenses, so to speak. By using this stone, the sailors could tell the correct position of the sun. Yet the most famous sunstone is not iolite, but a type of refraction stone called ‘Iceland spar’.”

A polarized lens. Now he was talking about physics? But I did remember the stuff about light refraction. Got it; so that was why it was a “stone of the sun”.

“I don’t get it very well, but I feel the gemstone romance from it. I like that kinda thing,” I said enthusiastically, Richard giving me a calm smile.

“You do get it. Just as you said, you ‘don’t understand stones very well but like them either way’. That is exactly why your eyes were open, so you thought only about how far your destination was and felt your teeth set on edge at it. You mustn’t expect to be able to understand everything overnight. Go steady, without rushing. Do not waver at the impatience stuck back-to-back to your ambitions. That is different from having no one to depend on due to not knowing where you are headed. The hardest times are probably the ones when you have no idea where you should go, but you know the exact position of the sun.”

So, in short, I knew exactly where I wanted to be?

While I remained quiet, Richard shrugged and added, “Of course, this is a metaphor. Even if little by little, the stones should definitely be leaving a trace inside you. Aren’t you supposed to be treasuring this instead of chasing after what goes away?”

Lastly, Richard threw in the trivia that, in the world of power stones, the iolite was said to be a stone that showed people the “right direction”. Taking the backbone of it into consideration, that was indeed a convincing talk. But more than that...

“It’d be great if you were by my side forever.”

“Hah?”

“You’re an expert at noticing what’s troubling other people, aren’t you? I really think you’re a handy guy, like a compass. Aah, ‘the world’s most beautiful compass’, huh?”

“Those are quite irrational words, on top of being illogical. You were born in Japan, raised in Japan and aspire to become a public servant of Japan, so why are you calling an English jeweler a ‘compass’?”

“Well, I don’t plan to ask you about how to prepare for the public servant exams, but I can rely on you when I run into bigger problems, right?”

Richard sighed with a face of thorough dismay. I could understand how he felt. This was like a child in nursery school saying, “It’d be great if my teacher could always be there to help me out.” Long story short, I was acting spoiled. Even though he was my superior at work.

“That’s right; about the custard pie that today’s costumer brought, it looks like it’s quick to expire. Wanna eat it? I’ll make some tea.”

“If you would. Aah, the sugar...”

“Holding back on it this month, right? I know.”

“Help me with half of it. The amount of sugar in it concerns me.”

“Leave it to me.”

This guy was truly good at leading the mood around, and the same applied for the not-too-straightforward way that he phrased himself when recommending gemstones to the customers. Apparently, he thought I was feeling down.

I cut the crunchy pie in half while the tea leaves boiled, then shared it with Richard in the reception room and we both ate it. Covered with powdered sugar, the pie was a dangerous white little thing, as the colorless powder could scatter around from the pie’s surface just by us breathing on it a tiny bit, so the snack time turned into a moment of silence. I felt like laughing at the much too surreal sight several times, but if I happened to cause a big damage to the beautiful shopkeeper’s high-grade suit by doing that, my pay would be reduced. In the end, I ate the pie entirely while looking at the wall.

On the way back home that day, as I looked up at the night sky, I thought about the Vikings of over a thousand years ago. It was said that they were after new lands. What about me? Where was I headed? Would there ever be a day when I would fall into a philosophical concern, like, “I have no idea where I’m trying to go”? Perhaps Richard too? I insolently prayed that the stones may help us out at least in times like those.

Stars were beginning to twinkle in the purplish-blue night sky. There was no doubt that the stars appearing in the sky had not changed ever since the Vikings’ era. Thinking about that as I walked, I mistook one of the streets I should have turned. I had the feeling that I heard Richard’s voice, telling me to mind at least my own steps. I get it, geez.

I decided to wait patiently for the benefits of the stone. It was best for something like that not to happen, but there was no guarantee that both of us wouldn’t lose our ways at the same time one day.

[captainkurosolaire]

Reverie of Winning

“She has a name, you bastard!”

At no chance would that sufficiently hit Shiro who was calculated always and right now as he began returning to his evil ways, mental tormenting drew satisfaction. All forms had thresholds he felt compelling and screaming other demon’s floating inside him screaming the gap of their power was tremendously in his favor. The indifference's were believed absurdly countless to count. An aetherial icy hand began molding and attempting to seal in his block. More ice surrounded Shiro’s entire frame that often was always around him in a transparent bubble. He had a certain radius that kept him clean and secure from filth and pollution. A protective aura of sorts or defined as his safe-zone. The ice that spawned forth was rapid and not in any sense logically gathered as his corruption defied his normal limits. The Captain predicted a counter only under the many battles they contested his better instincts and judgments kicked in. He followed up in his motion high-kick while allowing them to remain linked to trace behind his spine and unstrap his revolver charged with high dense explosive hollow rounds. Taking a point of aim. Shiro laughed between the true portion of this fight began shaping full-on something associated with likeness of a Voidal presence alarming around the stage of this contest. Horns and demonic runes began burning his flesh and replacing his birthed markings. “Did I hit a nerve?” Before Kuro could hit the trigger Shiro ran his finger into the barrel jamming and stuffing it with a diamond icicle shard perfectly sculpted. Causing a clogged discharge and a catastrophic boom. At the same time releasing Kuro’s leg letting the forced impact entirely boom him ever comically over to the other side of the Ruins from a discharged recoil. He ate it up. Shiro manically became more unstable like a misperformance tune on a violin string. So this is what he sacrificed and sold his every remaining piece of humane for..?                   Good riddance. This power activated only in unmatched hatred and only festered parasitical growth. Captain’s entire frame clashed into a heap of old rubble as many additional falling slid onto his downed canvas in a burial pile. Shiro began a hymn step in casualty coolness while seeking to lecture and berate his cringe of a foe. “I uncovered recently in my travels all your memories of your loved one have stripped from you too, ironic, opposing my rightful claim in trying to get mine returned. However, I’d ask what you were doing coming here for this Treasured Relic was your intentions really any far from my own? Do you really believe yourself better than me, somehow, at all? That you could forgive yourself for letting that part of you freed.  Yes… You threw all the other Stars to fall, those other so-called gems you go on about, everything and cast them aside for her sake, even abandoning the seas pledges in the pursuit of straying to whatever pact once that made you somewhat mildly amusing as a character. Though what makes your bond more important than mine? My sake is just as valued as yours! Losses of glory are always painful no matter so tell me your differences, fiend!” Long absence and pause happened on Captain’s side as he had to work much harder to catch his breathing from a hit like that. Suddenly softer pieces of rubble over-top began rolling down the pile. His hand breaking forth before shoveling himself into the landslide. Scratches, bruises, and blood already began dripping from him in disarray his eyebrow on his skin peeled back. His rigid lungs forced him to cough out the dust and debris.

As he slowly began to reclaim his posture. “Who said anything about mine is more important in comparison? I legitimately and full-hardheartedly messed up. It’s not my first-voyage or time, probably won’t be the last. I’ve been on the verge of being n’ the whole happily ever after sunset many times and I screwed them all up. There’s no blame outside my own. Look at me. I get n’ these types of injuries and situations all the time. This isn’t anything unusual, I’m a handful in every sense, sometimes, there’s more pain in that than the actual intended pleasure. Even to other Voidsents on my crew formerly, or mythical creature’s beyond mind, I can be an exhausting nightmare to even them. Ye think that’s healthy or stable or somehow certified sane? Doesn’t matter even if you’re eternal or everlasting or blessed by some creator that’s bound to taint and soil any waters. She cast me out and extended mercy on me and freed me even as I turned to the epitome of fright, a prediction she foresaw, even when I wanted to fog from reality.”

 “T’ sow these rifts like this one I can’t make my departure soured without learning. No one deserves more happiness than what Ayla gave and should have gotten or any of the recognition I lacked in providing… I’ll always have a part of me that love’s her and owe every fortune I obtain here on and out as her claim too. But In order for that to transpire reassuringly all that I formerly had in the light and was known for my fame and all my signs of openly living must forever be the shadows ownership for now. Nightmares were meant to end when eyes are opened! So... WITH THAT BEING SAID. I’ll show you who I’m fighting for in this!” He took on a charge once again reinvigorated even knowing in every sense this was futile, outclassed and outmatched. Last time he came close to defeating Shiro first-time it took him preparing and actually expecting the battle. Using Grade 2 - Wyvern-Obsidian to carve through the Diamond Ice. He didn’t have that courtesy in this encounter. The pirate wasn’t selfishly throwing these in some self-made vault or intending to use any of the trophies acquired in usage. He wanted to secure and put them into a slumber further away from the worst in his sector corner. To let them be with either their people of origins or to reside with researchers in museums or artistic wonders if they didn’t forebode troublesome damnation. Regardless to Shiro’s belief the Captain had no plans or intentions to encounter his bettered-rival here in this map and next adventure and when he did stumble across and saw with his first sight. It broke a cord inside him with a sign of sympathy and regret. Shiro believes there was no such thing as a pirate of compassion. He was wrong alongside with that whole illusion of wishing-well when someone was in a compromised and fallen mood was a ruse. It was understandable coming from the upper echelon in society, people always swindled and played the same card to merely keep a connection or contact with status closely to them. There wasn’t an entire flaw in Shiro’s jaded thoughts though there was more depth he refused. Realms were led by statistics. It’s why categorization and separation hierarchies had to exist. There was realism and there was idealism. Those that weren’t taught the exact same ways as others those so-called privileged weren’t known by the same eld textbooks or hand-me-down spew from fossilized oaks. Those that had nothing but a scrap of their own knowledge and perception crafted their own past droid teachings. Eventually, there was one part of a group line that coherently believed in all formed free. Fears of free often were doubled-sided, naturally, as one part of the definition of free could simply just mean pure anarchy and chaos an excuse for lawlessness. While another believed that any and all forms of corrupt and foul could exist no matter the origins it was all individual influenced and decided. And shouldn’t be determined until active clarity was known but over time this became a worthless fight. It was easier just to knuckle up for these arguments and drive home their value.    (Previous)  — /References/ —   ♫ ‘Black Holes’ — (Next Page)

[wafflebloggies]

A Favourite Idea

Figment, light as a feather in the updraft, half-bounced and half-fluttered across the maze of beams in the workshop’s high vaulted roof until he reached the middle.

If anyone below had happened to look up, they would have seen a wide, airy warehouse ceiling, criss-crossed with beams and strong gunmetal-gray supports. They might also have seen a scrap of yellow, a hint of chrome, or a suspicion of sweatpants. Nobody looked up, so nobody did.

The Captain sat on a central span with his legs crossed, his back against the top of the centre-most column. At floor level, each column was a handy storage-post for something or the other, hanging tools, shelves, blueprints on pinboards. Up here, there was nothing but patchy paint and dust, and the Captain, chin propped on his hand, watching the ground below.

It seemed rude to just plonk himself down right next to him, so Figment parked himself a few feet from his side- just close enough to be convenient for conversational purposes- and cleared his throat politely.

“Hek-hempf.”

No response. Figment edged a couple of inches closer, and coughed again, but the Captain seemed to be set on watching the workshop floor, without much expression beyond a small irritable crease at the top of his nose. Figment tried to follow his gaze, but he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary down below. Only Blair, working, shirtsleeves rolled up amidst the chaos, buried up to his elbows in the Dream Machine’s complex workings, and Alan on the old couch, his laptop on his knees, cross-legged in an attitude pretty similar to the Captain’s. As Figment watched, Alan looked up from his screen and said something- unintelligible, from this distance- and Blair pulled his head out of the tangle of machinery and laughed.

Figment smiled, bright and wide, because seeing people happy made him happy, and seeing Blair happy was best of all. Then he noticed that the furrow at the top of the Captain’s nose had deepened, turning into a Definite Scrunch.

Well, if the Captain needed cheering up, Figment had the perfect thing. The little dragon scooched another inch closer, coughed a third time, and began-

“Hey, Captain, what lies at the bottom of the sea and shivers?”

“What does he think he’s doing?”

Figment blinked and shook his head. “No, you’re supposed to say ‘I don’t know, Figment, what lies at the-’”

“It’d drive me crazy, someone sucking up to me like that.” The Captain waved a hand. “It’s so obvious- look at them! He follows the Dreamfinder around like some kinda… lost puppy. I mean, doesn’t he have any standards?”

“Uh…” Figment, watching the two humans below, tapped his two index claws together, making a blunt, uneasy little noise. “I don’t think he’s-”

“It’s so transparent. Honestly, Figment, it’s pathetic.”

Figment’s big, luminous eyes looked troubled. If he felt like it- and honestly, right now, he did- he could drop down out of the dusty rafters, free as air, and curl round Blair’s shoulders. He could tell Blair his awesome joke, and Blair would probably think it was a riot. It occurred to him, vaguely, that for some reason the Captain didn’t have the same sort of freedom, and not just because he was bigger and human-shaped and would knock Alan flat if he tried landing on top of him. No, it was part of the whole Thing that had Blair so worried. The Thing that Figment wanted to understand… and help with, if he could.

The Captain was a spark, just like Figment. Figment felt that this should mean that there were things that they could talk about between them, things that maybe the Captain found hard to discuss with Alan. This seemed even more likely to him because, from what he’d seen lately, the Captain and Alan didn’t really talk. The Captain demanded things, usually sounding more like he was telling off an irritating house-pet than anything else, and Alan mumbled monotone agreement. As far as Figment could tell, it wasn’t really an open exchange of ideas.

“Is this… because Alan isn’t helping with your show?”

“It has nothing to do with Alan not helping with-” The Captain looked as if he was trying to swallow a kiwi whole. “-with our show. Just because he doesn’t understand the meaning of a commitment-”

Figment craned his long neck over the edge of the beam, looking closer, trying to confirm for himself what the Captain was studying so intently. Nothing stood out to him, so he scratched his horns, scootched a bit closer still and tried to sit himself cross-legged like the Captain, in case that helped his point of view, and began again.

“Come on. What’s up, Captain?”

“Us,” said the Captain, in a distracted voice.

“I meant-” started Figment, but before he could finish the Captain looked right at him, as if he’d only just realised he was there.

“What’s the first thing you heard him say?”

“Huh?”

“The Dreamfinder. The first thing you ever heard.”

“Oh!” Figment cheered up immediately, beaming happily at the memory. “Well, he didn’t say it out loud, but he thought, ‘I’m gonna make a friend!’ And then he did. And then, when he needed me, he found that memory, and I was right there with it! The first thing he actually said was ‘Oh, good Lord,” but the actual, factual, first thought… that was the thought that turned into me!”

“’I’m going to make a friend,’” repeated the Captain.

“Yep-yep! I’m his spark- his favourite idea. You know- just like you’re Alan’s!”

The Captain made a noise like a cough with a strangled huff in it. Figment’s smile fell a little, as he sensed that while his answer had been true, it hadn’t been very welcome.

“What about you, Captain? What was Alan’s idea?”

The Captain stood up, suddenly enough that Figment flinched and slid off the beam. Righting himself in the air, the little dragon looked up at him, alarmed.

“’Please do what I can’t,”’ he parroted, somehow managing to sound sing-song and flat at the same time.

“Huh?”

“Favourite idea, ppff, right. I’m not here to be his friend, he didn’t-” He stared downwards, a hitch of distaste at the corner of his silvery lip. “He didn’t make me for that, he made me because he needs me to do all the stuff he can’t do. At the end of the day, he’s not a superhero, he’s not a- a super-successful Shorty-winning Youtube sensation, he’s just some guy! He’s just- he’s just human!”

Figment thought. “Blair’s the Dreamfinder, and a Portal Master,” he said, “and the Last Keeper of the Dreamport- or he will be, when we find it! But… he’s human, too. I don’t know that there’s any just about it, Captain.”

“Ugh,” said the Captain, and it sounded like an ugh right from the depths of his soul. “Humans, they’re so… glitchy. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be in that body? I was in it for less than an hour and I basically wanted to explode! When Alan even thinks about talking to a room full of people, his entire body tries to kill him so he doesn’t have to do it. You wouldn’t believe how much he sweats, and his stomach goes crazy, and it’s like his throat gets really-” A hard swallow. “The point is, Alan can’t stand in front of an audience or, or a camera and say stuff… even if he wrote it! But someone has to. I have to- I have to do what he can’t!”

“Sure, but-” said Figment, but the Captain wasn’t done.

“So if he can’t do all that stuff, the least he can do is…” He sat back, tucked a hand under his chin again, grumpily, and waved the other in a vague, dismissive manner. “You know… the stuff I don’t want to. Without getting an attitude about it!”

Figment cocked his head. It seemed to him that there were an awful lot of things the Captain didn’t want to do, all the way across the spectrum of tasks from fetching snacks to intensive editing, scriptwriting, musical composition, finances, web administration, correspondence, and his own laundry. He thought about saying something to the point, but right when he opened his mouth, the Captain looked at him again, hiking an eyebrow as whatever train of thought he’d been following pulled laboriously to an end. Not a great end, if the look on his face was anything to go by. Just for a moment, in fact, he looked just as tired as Alan.

“A nervous wreck,” he said, and then- as he seemed more and more inclined to do, lately- he fizzled into a vaguely Captain-shaped array of bright cubes that spread and spilled away upwards, vanishing into thin air.

Left alone in the rafters, Figment sighed, fidgeting uneasily with the ends of his two-spiked tail.

“Well… I thought it was funny.”

[chaoticookie-autonomous]

Under Your Spell

Day 6 - AU

AU: Drive (2011 Film) with some of my own twists; Star Wars-verse(ish). No space magick, Jedi, or Sith. Pairing: Maul x Móni (OC) Rating: T Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: So... did a thing. Hope you enjoy :]

_________________________________________ 

A small window framed a dark location covered in smog and sweating buildings, often a flash of bright lights from speeders zooming past was about all the color that splashed onto the bleak picture. It was also the bedroom’s only view, the resident never bothering to cover up the gaping reminder of a life she had to force herself to wake up every morning to.

Durmónia tied her thick head of black curls on top her head, unable to pull back the stray strands over her forehead. She checked her dark features in the bathroom mirror and noted the black circles forming under her eyes--their sunset hues dimmed under the poor lighting. For a moment she considered hiding her weariness with some layers of make-up but decided it wasn’t worth the risk of being late.

Outside the room was the chattering voices of the holonews coming from a hologram displayed before a theelin teen in a hoverchair. He stared on without interest in what was being said, his thoughts far away from the drab apartment.

“Kyp,” Durmónia returned him to the present. “Want me to bring you something back from the diner?”

He angled his hoverchair to face her better, his blue eyes blinking slowly with a hardship no one his age should be allowed to carry.

“No. I’m okay. Betts is making something for me right now.”

Coming around the kitchen was a service droid on a single wheel holding a tall cup that gave off a whiff of fruit juices Durmónia was skeptical about.

“Where did you get those ingredients from?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” was its terse response before holding the smoothie’s straw to Kyp’s mouth.

With no time to argue, she gathered a double-breasted jacket with faded stains off a chair and slung a bag over her shoulder.

“Okay. I gotta go,” she pressed a kiss to Kyp’s lavender forehead then smacked Betts’ metal head. “We’re having a talk about stealing when I get back.”

Checking the chronometer, she cursed under her breath and sped down the hall of doors and glowing numbers to the lift at the end of it. The seconds it took to reach the garage floor, irritation igniting her nerves when it halted for other residents, was endless. At its final stop, she slivered her way out the moment the door spun open and sped walked to her landspeeder, passing the silent neighbor who was making their way to the lift.

His crown of ivory horns curved out prominently against the crimson skin where black tattoos marked every section of his bare skull, face, and neck. She glanced his way a moment and caught drops of golden amber peeking back at her as well.

+

A hand smacked a panel with buttons bent and faded from the number of times it had been pressed for an order ready at the window. Within the steam of food in the clamorous kitchen, a balosar female sigh in aggravation.

“Hey!” she pressed the panel several more times. “Get the kriffing food! Stupid droid…”

“Shysha, give them a second,” Durmónia came around and plated sizzling, charred meat. “Their processors are as old as some of the freeze packages of food still packed in the storeroom.”

“You know you can do better than work in some backwater diner, right?” Shysha rubbed one of her antennaepalps with discomfort from the oil spitting at them. “Only reason why this place is still open is because of you.”

“Yeah, well,” Durmónia finished sautéing a pan of multicolored vegetables and distributed them on several plates, “not easy to find work when you have an extensive criminal record you’ve been falsely accused of.”

“Thanks to that we got less shoot outs and bar fights in here.”

Durmónia broke into a laugh, “Is that the real reason why I’m being kept here?”

“Secret’s out.”

“And here I thought it was because of my charming personality.”

Shysha raised her brows, “Charming isn’t quite the word I would use to describe you.”

The order she had placed on the window was still being warmed under the heat-panel and slammed the panel prompter again.

“Droid!”

“I got it.”

Durmónia checked for the table number on the console and took the plate to the customer who had their blue hands patiently folded over their face. He moved aside his wide-brimmed hat to make space for the meal.

“Sorry, Bane,” she met the striking, red gaze meant to keep bystanders at bay. “It’s on the house.”

He waved a hand of indifference and spoke with grains in his throat and the support of his breathing tubes, “I’ll pay what needs to be paid.”

Unconvinced, she grinned at a proposition, “Ale on the house?”

“Two,” he agreed easily.

Durmónia squinted, “You didn’t sabotage our droid did you?”

“What gave you that idea?” he hid a coy smirk by taking a bite into his meal.

“I’m only allowing it this one time as a thank you for taking your bounty outside the restaurant and not shooting up the place the other day.”

“Much obliged, ma’am.”

Past the transparent pane that extended across the diner’s front face, a speeder bike parked alongside the other vehicles and a male with a horned helmet and a black, leather jacket swung off the seat.

“Is it our steel-legged regular?” Cad Bane observed. “What does the fellow order here anyways? Don’t think I’ve ever seen him eat.”

Durmónia followed the masked male, the neon lights of the diner’s sign reflecting off the visor.

“Tea.”

Bane hummed with mild interest and remained silent when the being with crimson skin removed his helmet and sat himself down.

“He’s a strange one.”

“You’re one to talk,” she scoffed. “You order the same thing every week too.”

“He wears the same jacket every night he comes here,” he explained. “New markings on it each time. New bruises. Carries no blaster. And he’s no bounty hunter. I would know.”

“That’s quite a study. You thinking of asking him out on a date?”

He released a grainy growl, “Get me my ale. Two of them.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Her eyes followed a droid hovering to the zabrak’s table and taking its order before returning to the kitchen where there was a single order on the console’s display.

“Same thing?” Shysha came up behind her.

“Same thing,” Durmónia confirmed.

+

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Three in the morning and her feet hurt from being on them all day without taking a single break, but her speeder decided to steam and made strange noises when she started it. She opened its hood and was engulfed with black fumes she waved and coughed at then stared at the coils, cylinders, and wires as if they were her greatest enemy.

“Okay,” she calmed herself and started to reach for the first thing Kyp had taught her from memory. But she yelped in pain at her burning fingers.

“Kriff!”

In the corner of her eye was a shadow looming beside her and on impulse slid her foot forward and brought a fist into an undercut that was stopped with ease by a leather bound hand.

Amber eyes gleamed with mild amusement at her hand in his, then fell away to the somber exterior she always saw on him in the sparse seconds of their silent interactions.

“Sorry!” she returned her hand. “Didn’t know—didn’t hear you. You’re so quiet.”

Durmónia cleared the nerves building in her throat at the proximity and catching the details of his tattoos for the first time; how well the designs accentuated his features.

“Do you require assistance?” his voice rumbled smoothly from his chest.

“Ah,” she rubbed her bare arm, the uniform discarded long ago to release the kitchen’s heat. “A bit. Not good with machines. They have a vendetta set out against me.”

“Let me take a look.”

“Oh, no. You don’t have to,” she held her hands up. “It’s really late and I can take the train home.”

Halfway through her protests he maneuvered his way to the speeder and dug his hands into the engine.

Durmónia scratched her head in thought, considering several times to push him out of the way and be more direct about it being alright to take the train. However, she lost herself in his tinkering, the knuckles moving under the fabric of his gloves in the low light of the neon sign which also reflected a helix earring.

“You need more light?”

“No. Almost finished.”

“That was fast.”

“A temporary fix to get you home. You will need to have it looked at.”

“I know someone who’s pretty savvy with this stuff. Keeps telling me to just get a new one.”

“It is...,” he faded as he straightened himself up, “not a good speeder.”

“The model?”

“This one specifically.”

“No need to be so harsh,” she patted the vehicle. “It’s been through some tough times.”

“Its time has ended.”

Durmónia barked a laugh, “Alright. Well…” What am I thinking? “To thank you for your troubles would you like to come over for tea? I have your favorite kind.”

He paused halfway to shutting the hood.

“I mean—,” spurts of panic elevated her heart rate and backtracked. “I mean, maybe not now. It’s super late and you probably have other things to do and I take stuff from the diner all the time, so I have a bunch of other stuff at home, not just that tea specifically. Plus, I don’t live alone and—”

“Now is fine,” he closed the lid then turned from her being able to see his face. “I will see you there.”

It wasn’t until he reached the speeder bike and placed on his helmet did Durmónia stumble into the driver’s seat and whirred the speeder’s repulsorlift to life.

+

The lift’s glowpanels flickered when they raised to their floor.

Durmónia softly chewed on her lower lip, taking in the disciplined posture of the being beside her who also stared intently ahead of them.

“I’m Móni.”

His rigid form softened, the shoulders dipping in just the slightest, and showed her a bit more than his profile.

“Maul.”

+

Steaming, black liquid poured through a strainer and into a cup, which was then set on the kitchen’s island that divided the living area. Durmónia did her best to not stare at the black diamonds on his knuckles when he grasped the beverage in his hands.

He didn’t take a seat, instead standing while he took a sip.

“How long you been on Coruscant?” she leaned back against the sink, steadying the quake in her legs.

“Several years.”

“So, only relatively new here in the building.”

“Yes,” his attention was taken away to subtle movements behind a closed room. “You live with a boy.”

She nodded to Kyp’s room, “Yeah, he’s been with me a year before you moved in.”

“Related?”

“Uh,” Durmónia shifted her weight with discomfort and decided to start cleaning the single cup Kyp drank his smoothie out of before she left. “No. I’m a friend of his father who’s in prison. Taking him in until he gets out.”

The cup striking the counter hit her ears louder than the running water, and from over her shoulder caught a scowl pouring into his cup. Before he could open his mouth to speak his apologies, she dropped the dishes and dried her hands on her pants.

“What do you do?”

This time, it seemed it was her turn asking the wrong questions when he searched for an answer to give off to the side.

“I am a contractor for a businessman,” he chose his words carefully.

“Oh,” Durmónia felt she had broached a taboo subject which pushed her curiosity. “What kind?”

Maul remained unmoving, a shadow of anger casting over his features; hardening his appearance into something wild.

Cad Bane’s warning echoed in her head, inciting her to scan the leather jacket that was frayed at the ends and had darkened splotches of carbon scoring. There was also a decolorization on his cheek bone she recognized from experience what the cause was.

He downed the remainder of the tea and gently set it aside.

“The kind that provides my services to those in need of it,” the helmet slid off the counter and under his arm. “You should rest.”

Before Durmónia could try to act like a good host and show him out, the area littered with articles of clothing she really should have put away when she woke that morning, Maul already had his finger to the door panel.

“Thank you for the drink.”

“Not a problem. Hard to pass on a free drink, right?” 

Maul inclined his head some, unable to hide the deep furrow of concern on his brow ridge. 

Not wanting to end the night on a sour note, Durmónia sucked in a deep breath.

“See you at the diner again?”

He stopped just past the doorframe and faced her.

Their similar height forced them to look directly at the other, a spark igniting in between the distance.

How long had she watched the unnamed zabrak? From the moment he moved-in to his constant appearance at the diner. Never eating, only taking the same order while staring past the customers and the muggy moisture that fogged Coruscant’s lower levels. Always deep in his world, never been seen with another or held any interactions with another lifeform, except when she caught his stray glances into the kitchens.

But now the mysterious rider had a name to the face, and he had become a reality she could possibly touch and not this unattainable being. And when the lines of his discomfort smoothed away, she melted into the kindness that rose on the corner of his lips.

“Yes.”

She watched him off, the joints of his cybernetics whirring past several doors down the hall, until he reached his apartment.

“Who was that?”

Durmónia jumped at Kyp hovering close behind her.

“A friend,” she recovered from the scare then gathered her clothes from the couch and chairs.

“That’s good.”

She faced the teen with a pile in her arms, “Good?”

“Yeah,” he maneuvered the hoverchair to the couch and motioned his eyes to the space behind it. “You haven’t hung out with anyone since I’ve been here.”

“That’s…,” a bra was recovered she thought had been lost forever. “It has been awhile.”

“Shouldn’t stop your social life on my account. Also, if you’re worried about how I feel about it because of Dad, don’t be. I know you two haven’t really been together for some time now.”

Durmónia spun on her heel, “Alright. What do you want?”

Kyp hovered back to his room, hiding his victory, “I get to bring a friend over too.”

“I never said you couldn’t bring him over.”

“Yeah, but,” he gave a dramatic sigh, “didn’t want to make you feel like a third wheel.”

“How considerate of you. Little monkey-lizard,” she paused at pulling out a pair of shorts from under the couch. “Wait a second. Maul isn’t that kind of friend.”

“Alright,” Kyp didn’t sound convinced. “Tell me that when you’re not actually cleaning the apartment you haven’t touched in months.”

She clicked her tongue at him and carried the high stack to her room, “Go to bed. And tell Betts I haven’t forgotten her recent escapades.”

“Night, Móni,” he chuckled.

Durmónia collapsed on her bed, breathing in the rush still thrumming in her veins from the encounter and hugged a pillow to bury her grin into.

Her grip loosened when she recounted Maul’s possible occupation, though. How it could affect her life. Kyp’s life. If it was something that should be pursued.

She undid her hair and massaged the scalp under the thick mass of curls from the main dilemma at hand. How she had been completely trapped under his spell.

_________________________________________

A/N: I will be writing Maul’s POV for the SWPOC week for coded characters of color. As for the story itself.. depending on how many notes the fic gets, may or may not continue with this.

Thanks for reading!

[rottenbrains]

Kuroo Tetsurou X Reader

Wordcount : 1554 words

Warning :

The cold wind conquered the air as raindrops made their way, pitter-patter on the concrete path while you rushed to your favorite coffee shop. Entering the shop, the invigorating smell of sweet drinks molded together invade your nostrils, sending signals to your muscle for them to relax. The premise itself was quite warm, considering the lack of humans inside help you to relax further as you ventured towards the counter to place your order.

A tall male with broad shoulders and unique hairstyle, not to forget his hazel-colored pupils were ready to take your order as he stood comfortably behind the counter. He’s a new guy. Apparently, it’s his second week since he first started. Before this, your best bud would be the one to take your order. But since the new guy came in, Koutarou always… like always attend the cakes and cookies section as he pushed the new guy to attend you in his stead. While glaring at Koutarou for his tenacity to stay away from you, the catlike-male voiced out to you.

“I guess you really do run out of caffeine fast, huh?” He commented, flashing his smirk towards you. For a person that you’ve regarded as ‘your best friend coworker’, he sure does know how to cut the gap short, acting like he’d known you forever. On the other hand, the only thing you know about him was his name, Kuroo Tetsurou (written on his nametag), and the fact that both of you enrolled in the same university (Koutarou told you).

The fact that he is strikingly handsome.

And playful, with a hint of a jerk-personality.

Annoyingly smart (Koutarou would brag about him to you, all the time).

How his smile totally melted your heart.

How his eyes felt like it’s piercing through your very soul whenever he looked at you.

How his lips looked so tasty you can lick it all day.

And totally your taste.

“Daydreamin’ about me?” Kuroo asked as his face inched closer to you, making you flustered from the sudden realization of his face closing into yours.

“In your dreams, longcat… Oh, one hot Vanilla Latte, grande, to-go”, you said swiftly as you glared at him, still annoyed from his previous comment. From the floor, your best friend suddenly popped himself to greet you as Kuroo went to prepare your drink after you paid for it.

“Y/n, I thought your class ended a few hours ago?” Koutarou asked as he raised his eyebrows, wondering why are you here when you were supposed to be relaxing in your apartment now instead of ordering a hot drink with your shoulder clearly wet from the rain.

“Urgent meeting for the festival next week… and it dragged for too long. Are you coming for the event?” you answered and inquired back at him as you fished your phone, the screen lighting up from the notification.

“Of course… who would want to miss a festival?” Koutarou beamed, but soon his smile dampens when he saw your crinkled forehead as you read the chat sent to you. Realizing that his tone went down, you looked up to your best friend when you saw his horn-like tufts, somehow wilt down. “You’re okay, Y/n?”

Mustering a smile, you tried your best to flash your heartiest smile to him.

“…Yeah, I’m fine... But, I’ll be super busy starting tomorrow until the end so I’m not sure I’ll come and meet you guys… Well, I’ll somehow manage. So make sure you come, and bring the others…” You softly announced to him, giving him a toothy grin when you realized your drink are done as Kuroo walked towards the counter bringing your drink.

“It’s yours… enjoy and come again soon~” Kuroo cheered at you as he pushed the drink to you. Taking the warm drink, you turned around to walk out from the premise when Koutarou called out to you.

“Hey, it’s raining. Why are you going out??”

Sighing, you turned back towards the two workers.

“Got some extra papers to look into, I need to go back to university… I’ll see both of you around”, you said as you briskly turned around. Taking a sip from the sweet and warm liquid, you pushed open the door walked quickly with a plastic folder on top of your head, shielding you from the rain and the drink on your other hand.

You were quick to disappear from the shop as you focused solely on your steps, two worried gazes easily slipped away unnoticed by you.

.

.

.

It’s the last day of the festival. You’ve been busy making sure that every stall are operating properly while making adjustments to where it needs that enjoying the festival was not on your to-do-list for today. You were about to take a breather in the meeting room when the door burst open, revealing one of the committee members of the event.

“Y/n-san, I brought a drink for you,” Takato-kun said as he showed you a transparent tumbler with a greenish drink inside. “There are also your friends here…”

Golden round orbs showed themselves behind your committee member.

“Koutarou!!” you cheered weakly since the tour and inspections took a toll on your energy. Your best friend walked towards you, followed by Keiji.

And of course, Kuroo Tetsurou.

Takato-kun was the first one to arrive at your place. Giving you the drink, he looked at you, smiling apologetically.

“Your friends brought it for you… and you should take a break, go enjoy the festival. I can do the rest…”

“Yaa, we’ve arrived here so let’s go visit the stalls after resting…” Keiji interjects from beside you while Kuroo stayed behind him.

…

You’re still sipping the Green Tea Latte while walking around the stalls with your friends, Koutarou was totally pumped while gazing at the food as Keiji tried to keep him in check.

“You like it?” Kuroo tilts his head sideways to look at you, all the while matching his pace with yours.

“Yeah, I really need this… I guess you made this?” you inquired him with your lips carved a small smile.

“Bokuto told me you’ll need this when you’re super weary and tired… Stopped by the café to make it before coming here...”

“Since when? … and I thought you’d rather work than come here…”

“Y/n, me and Kuroo had been friends since high school… that’s why I told you to come to one of my matches…” Koutarou cuts you as he shoves a piping hot takoyaki in his mouth, quickly regretting his actions as he tried to cool down the food while inside his mouth.

“I did come, you fool bird!” you growled at the poor owl as you felt stupid for believing that Koutarou and Kuroo had known each other since they worked together. To your delight, Keiji just had to add his own comment.

“You did run off somewhere directly after the matches… or you actually came to matches that have nothing to do with Kuroo-san.

“Just shut up, both of you…” you said, giving up as you finished the drink.

.

.

.

“Thanks for the hard work!!!” Everyone yelled and slowly packed their belongings with their sore limbs from the cleaning of the festival. You waved and wished the others goodnight before exiting the room. Slowly, your path change to a path lit by streetlights. Looking forward, you saw a familiar figure standing a few meters away. You continued on walking until you reached the figure.

“Why are you here??” you asked quizically at the figure who had his right eye covered by his bedhead.

“I’m waiting for you, of course. Bokuto said you would probably walk home late… so, here I am.”

Hearing his response, you let out a small giggle before looking at him again.

“And, if Koutarou didn’t tell you that??”

“I would still be here, waiting for you….”

The pathway was lit by streetlight, and the lights from cars zooming past both of you. With the streetlight just above your head, both your shadows are fixed on the ground. Only when cars passed by, the silhouette of you and him stretched on the bushes beside the path.

“Stupid teasing bedhead..” you muttered under your breath, but still noticed by the male. A warm hand found your cold ones, warming the patch of skin by simply enveloping your small hand in his big one. Before you could even question him, he gripped your hand tighter.

“Be happy that your handsome boyfriend is here to walk you home…” Kuroo teasingly said as he looked at you. Baffled, you chuckled and raised your hand that was held by him as you retort back to him to cover your embarrassment.

“Oh, since when?? Getting a little bit too high, are we?” you said while smiling slyly at him. All too sudden, he stopped in his tracks and turned his whole body to look at you.

“Since now.” He let out, a sweet smile decorated his lips as his eyes look straight on yours. All the while his eyes searched for an answer from you, your hand confirmed it for him. Gripping on his hand, you smiled teasingly.

“Well, there’s no reason for me to reject… Now, let’s go… I really want to go back home and take a long bath.

“I can always wash your back..” He retorted back, a nasty look on his face as he eyed you.

“Oho, someone’s up for some beating…” you glared at him while he has a stupefied look on his face. Amused by your boyfriend’s confession and honesty, you softly muttered.

“We have a lot of time for that, so don’t worry.”

.

.

“I hear that, kitten”

[d0gdaze]

8.

The body swap au a surprising amount of people asked for, actually.

Read on AO3 / Summary

Pairings: Eddie Kaspbrak / Richie Tozier

Warnings: swearing, sexual references, drug references

Chapter 8/?

Prev | Next

Word Count: 4121

Eddie’s playlist

Eddie was sure he was doing a substantial job of appearing calm and collected as Mike's car made an unexpected detour on their way to school the next morning, at least considering the circumstances.

They turned down a street, and then a couple more, until they were driving past a stretch of storefronts. Mostly small businesses, a few 'for lease' signs, minimal parking space. God, they were probably going to make him play hooky. Sit in a dirty, empty lot all day and smoke a bong, or whatever you call it.

He hadn't been paying much attention to what the two in the front seats were talking about, only catching fragments about homework and some guy Beverly was into and other trivial things that seemed stupidly unimportant. Eddie almost felt offended, how dare people worry about such things while he was going through the most traumatic and hellish experience that had ever happened to anyone.

The car rolled to a stop in front of an outdated looking diner he had never been to, though he vaguely recognised. Sadie's, as the unlit neon sign above the door told him, Open 24 hours. The one trashcan he could see was overflowing onto the sidewalk with burger wrappers and plastic cups and there was graffiti littering the outside walls of the establishment and oh jesus was that a rat what the fu-

Beverly jumped out of the car quickly, Mike driving off before the door was even completely closed. Eddie watched her, twisting his head around to look out the rear window until she was inside, then whipped back around and straightened himself in his seat. Mike was now singing along to the song that was playing, drumming on the steering wheel as he circled the block. As they drove Eddie couldn't help but keep frantically glancing at the clock on the small radio display. If it was accurate – which maybe it was and maybe it wasn't, he hadn't gotten a good grip on Mike's time-keeping habits yet, – then they were absolutely going to be late if they didn't get a move on.

“Something eatin' you Rich?” Mike asked, peering back at him through the rearview mirror. The thought ran through Eddie's mind that there very well might be, considering the itchiness of the sweatshirt he had picked up off the floor of Richie's wardrobe. He was bombarded, suddenly, with the mental image of hundreds of bugs crawling up and down his arms. He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and forced the idea down.

“No, I don't think so,” Eddie replied, starting to pick at a bit of peeling skin around his thumb. He had already chewed up his other one to the point he had to wrap a bandaid around it. Mike's expression shifted.

“You've been acting weird lately,” he said, his voice somehow sounding genuinely concerned and casual at the same time, “ain't been seeming like yourself. Quiet.”

You should be thanking me for that, Eddie thought, because surely even these people, that willingly spent time with and around Richie five days a week and sometimes weekends, would be relieved that he suddenly changed his entire demeanour. Surely.

But Mike didn't look relieved, glad, or unbothered. He had the same look on his face that Ben often wore, when Eddie came to him ranting about grades or track or medication or whatever new thing was plaguing his brain this week. It was the expression Bill showed him when he had broken his arm a few years back, and when someone had taken to writing the word 'faggot' in permanent marker on his locker. It was a look his mother faked a lot and one he hadn't gotten the hang of yet.

Basically, Mike looked the way a person does when they actually gave a crap.

It might have sparked some sort of meaningful realisation if Eddie hadn't been distracted by a pigeon pecking at a half eaten hot dog someone had dropped on the sidewalk.

They circled back around to where Beverly was now standing on the curb in front of the diner, balancing a cardboard tray with three large, white cups in one hand and a fourth in the other. She was also holding a white paper bag between her teeth. Something greasy had made semi-transparent patches at the bottom of the bag. The car rolled to a stop and she made a few attempts to open the door using her foot, swinging her leg up to try and lift the handle with the toe of her converse. It carried on for half a minute before Mike reached over and opened the door for her, biting back laughter as she got in. Beverly mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “you're a douchebag,” though it was completely muffled by the bag still hanging from her mouth. Once she was back in her seat she let it drop into her lap, exposing the spit-covered bite mark now embedded into it. Mike pulled away from the curb, grabbing one of the cups at the same time. Eddie would have yelled at him for not doing a head-check, but then there was a cup being thrusted in front of his face.

He blinked at it for a moment. Some of the thick, off-white liquid it contained was leaking out – he watched a line of it drip down the side and over Beverly's fingers. He could already feel his hands getting sticky just by looking at it, his stomach starting to churn at the thought of drinking it.

Eddie didn't often indulge in food that didn't have the nutritional value and ingredients printed on the back. He knew what was safe to eat – things that would give him enough energy through the day without leaving him restless, and he knew how to adjust his intake if he had PE or a track meet or if he was planning on staying up later than usual. He'd tell himself that it was necessary to be careful, that if he wanted to be on top of his game, he had to be on top of his diet, too. It wasn't the real reason, but it was the one he could live with.

Beverly cleared her throat.

“Earth to Richie,” she said, tipping the cup towards him again, “arm is getting tired.”

He took it tentatively, avoiding the side where the leak had run. It was heavy and cold and wet with condensation, and as he lifted the lid to further inspect the concoction, he was hit with a waft of sugar and vanilla and cream and it was so sweet he honestly felt dizzy. When he tilted the cup to one side the contents held firm, undisrupted, and moving the straw left a gap that took nearly ten seconds to fill back in. Eddie had made smoothies before, and on his last birthday he had bought a strawberry frappe from the ice-creamery in town, but this was a whole different level. Gluttony itself had risen up from the third layer of hell and was now on sale for a dollar seventy-five a pop.

It hit him, suddenly, how he recognised the logo. He'd seen Richie walking around with one of these things nearly every day! He ingested this muck on a regular basis – the boy's metabolism must be running like a bullet train on steroids.

In the front of the car, Beverly was throwing bits of hash brown at Mike as he tried to catch them in his mouth, most of the pieces falling into his lap or disappearing onto the floor. There was a spot of grease on his cheek that shone when he turned his head, and several stains from his collar down the front of his shirt. Her fingers were covered in a similar shine, crumbs collecting on her skirt as she tore more pieces off. Someone sounded their horn as they swerved onto the other side of the road, Mike swearing as he corrected himself but they were both still laughing, and as Eddie was screaming at them in his head for reckless driving and making a mess and playing with their food and a whole list of other things, he took a sip. Maybe it was just muscle memory, or his stomach taking control after he'd skipped breakfast twice now, or if it was just a new Thing about inhabiting a body that wasn't your own that he had to deal with now on top of all the other Things, but-

“Holy fuck.”

The words came out of nowhere, and for a second he wasn't even sure if it was him that said them. It was good. Like, really fucking good – he felt disgusting because it tasted like pure sugar and so many calories, but he was sure in that moment that he could have finished the entire thing three times and still go back for more. One taste and he knew he could drink that shit until he puked, and oh god, this was how addiction started. He had never understood it too much before, why people smoked, or jumped out of planes, or did crack, but hell, if crack was as good as this milkshake he'd probably be the biggest crackhead ever.

Beverly looked back at him over her shoulder.

“He speaks,” she spoke around the straw that she had between her teeth, “you good?”

Eddie nodded, and she grinned and winked at him before turning back around in her seat. He sucked at the straw again, taking a big gulp of the stuff, eyes falling closed in a tiny moment of peace. When they opened again they caught Mike's in the rearview. He was smiling, his eyes crinkled in the corners and bright. Eddie found himself smiling too, only a little, but genuinely. And while he did stop himself, because come on, these people are the enemy! Get it together, he couldn't rid his stomach of the warm fluttering that had manifested.

At least he could blame it on the sugar.

The pleasant feeling came and went, as they often do. Upon their arrival to the student car park, he was tuning back into the regularly scheduled anger, confusion, and hysteria that he was starting to become accustomed to. He scurried off before Mike had even locked the car, chucking his empty cup into a bin outside the school steps without actually looking to see if it went in.

He had barely taken five steps into the building before he was being shoulder-checked into the row of lockers, the barge nearly sending his knees out from under him, a shock of pain shooting up his elbow where it collided with a padlock. He winced, then groaned as a rough hand gripped his other shoulder, manhandling him so his back was fully pressed against the metal.

"Good morning, Hamlet,” Henry jabbed, leering at him while digging his chipped, dirt-filled fingernails into Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie blinked incredulously at him – harassment was nothing new to him, especially from Henry and his goons, and he had gotten his fair share of insults and injuries over the years but they were mostly in passing. Someone would knock his books out of his hands in the hallway or tape a 'kick me' sign to his back, but they didn't touch him, never cornered him. At least not after he had accidentally broken Bradley Donovan's nose when they were doing wrestling in PE. Or maybe they were scared of catching something off the kid with a backpack full of pills and ointment tubes. Either way, he wasn't complaining. He'd take the remarks and the rumours over this any day.

“You gonna say good morning back?” Henry's breath was hot and rotten, masked only slightly by the smell of juicy fruit gum, and he was leaning in so close that his glasses started to fog up. Belch Huggins, who Eddie now realised was also standing there, shuffled closer. He was grinning in much the same way Henry was, the pair of them doing an outstanding impersonation of every bully from every movie involving teenagers ever. “Say it, tall-ass!”

Henry slammed his fist into the locker next to Eddie's head. The sound made him jump, and caused a few passerby to look in their direction, but no one actually stopped what they were doing. He even caught someone roll their eyes – they've all seen this before, he realised. Of course they had. God, he was an idiot. He'd spent so much time hating Richie Tozier that it had never occurred that other's did too.

“L-l-lay off, Bowers,” an unmistakable voice appeared from behind Henry. Eddie lifted his head to peer over his shoulder, seeing both Bill and Ben standing in the corridor. The latter was holding a precarious stack of library books, which to Eddie seemed like a years worth of reading but for Ben would last two weeks, if that. Bill had a new blonde streak in his fringe that meant he had either been rejected again or had gotten into a fight with his parents – he assumed the second, because Bill was very bad at being low-key around girls and he hadn't picked up on any new crushes in the past couple of weeks.

“This doesn't concern you, Denbrough,” Henry warned, glancing back at them. His grip tightened in Eddie's shirt and he swore he heard a seam rip. “I'll get to you queers later.”

Bill stepped forward; if it was a spat with his parents that led to the late night bleach job, then Eddie knew the boy would be looking for a way to relieve some anger, and he wasn't about to stand there and watch him get his underwear pulled over his head.. again.

“Henry,” he coughed, drawing the bully's attention back with a sharp turn of his head. An audible crack emitted from his neck and Eddie cringed. Henry sucked his teeth, eyebrows lifting in an unspoken taunt.

Welp, he was going to regret this.

“If you're gonna make the choice to have an outdated haircut, you could at least use some fucking conditioner.”

The speed at which he was pulled forward and slammed back would surely have given him a killer case of whiplash, but luckily for him the back of his head was smashed against the locker hard enough to leave a dent, and the resulting headache would be agonising enough to distract him from the neck pain. He sunk to the ground, vision spinning violently. He felt someone reach down and take the glasses off his face, which only worsened the distortion.

More things happened that he barely registered – someone kicked his leg, another dropped a heavy glob of spit onto his sleeve. He heard something clatter to the ground next to him and when he felt around to pick it up, he came up with the two halves of Richie's spectacles, snapped right at the bridge.

Fucking christ.

Richie had only seen the end of the altercation, coming in through the west entrance to the sight of Mullet-head Bowers nearly knocking him out and breaking the glasses he had just replaced the month before and had been so careful with, because his parents had sworn it was the last pair they would pay for. But now it was back to tape and wonky lenses like when he was thirteen and couldn't keep them intact to save his life.

He'd caught the bus in and sat next to Ben Hanscom, whose name he was now aware of because it was written in blue glitter pen on a label on his walkman, and because the first thing that he noticed when he got on the bus was that This Kid Has An Actual Walkman! Ben also had a hoard of novels on his lap that he was going to return to the library after school in exchange for different novels. Ben also spent the bus ride giving Richie brief but enthusiastic reviews on each of the books he had brought with him, but Richie was too distracted by the portable CD player and the Backstreet Boys song he could hear faintly coming out of Ben's headphones that he didn't retain a single piece of information.

After getting off the bus, he had made a beeline for this one smoking spot behind the dumpsters. Not the best location, he tried not to make a habit out of going there, but it was close and secluded and there were never many people around. He'd nicked the emergency carton from under his bed before Eddie banished him to casa de Kaspbrak, and dragged two cigarettes down to the filters before heading inside, finishing them both in record time if you didn't count the minute he took in the middle to cough up a lung.

The first bell rang, and Henry and Belch fled the scene, falling in with the crowd of students bustling towards their morning classes, but not before Belch could slap the books out of Ben's hands with one downward swoop. They scattered to the ground with a clamour of thuds and flaps. The hallway gradually emptied. Richie stood back and watched as Bill tried to help Eddie to his feet, only for him to start swaying precariously and sit himself back down again.

“Oh, shit,” Mike appeared beside him, suddenly, walking in through the doors with both Beverly and Stan in tow. They had been laughing about something, he didn't know what but he felt jealous already, and Stan was drinking a shake and oh, man, he could use on of those right now. The three of them rushed over, Beverly shooting Richie a confused glance as she went past. Mike knelt down beside Eddie, inspecting his face for bruises, and Stan set down the cup, picked up the broken glasses in one hand and used the other to swing his backpack around to his chest.

“Bowers?” he asked, turning to Bill and reaching into a side pocket of his bag. He nodded and Stan sighed, pulling out a roll of masking tape.

“Y-y-you always carry that ar-r-around?” Bill tittered, taking the frames as they were passed to him and holding them together so Stan could start taping them up.

“It comes in handy,” he replied, “knowing this idiot.”

Beverly finished helping Ben gather his stuff, placing the last novel on top of the tower. He had to crane his neck to rest his chin on it, thanking her sweetly and failing to hide his flustered-ness.

The second bell rang, meaning class had started and they were all getting tardies at this point. Ben apologised to the lot of them and hurried off. Stan handed the glasses back and quickly followed suit.

“I'm fine,” Eddie insisted as he tried to stand for the third time, “lemme up. I'm good.”

“Dude,” Mike said, forcing him to sit back down for the third time, “you could have a concussion.”

“Concussion?” Eddie repeated, slumping back down and looking at Mike in horror, his eyes taking up half his face with how wide they were. Richie groaned, gaining the group's attention and receiving four different types of weird stare.

“E-Eddie,” Bill called over to him, and gee, that hairstyle was really something, “you know stuff a-a-about conc-c-concussions?”

He walked over, until he was standing over Eddie. No, he thought, but I'm getting a pretty good grasp on migraines.

“He'll be fine, probably,” he muttered, hooking a hand under his elbow and yanking him to his feet. Eddie paled, leaning all his weight on Richie and nearly toppling them both over.

“I don't feel so good,” he wheezed, his breathing suddenly shallowing. For a moment, Richie thought he might actually pass out.

“You're fine,” Richie said, sounding and feeling a lot less confident about it. He turned to the others. “I'll take him to the nurse.”

“I'll come with you,” Beverly offered, looking up at Eddie with alarm.

“No,” Richie interjected, too quickly and too loudly, and was met with even more confusion. “I mean, it's okay. I-” say something convincing “-have a punch card.”

He left then, rushing out before he or anyone could say something else, as fast as he could manage while trying to keep Mr. Drama Queen upright.

Bill, Mike, and Beverly exchanged looks as the two of them stumbled down the hall.

“That was weird, right?” Beverly asked, just as they turned the corner. Mike let out a nervous, breathy laugh. Bill ran a hand through his hair, and sighed.

“It's r-Richie and Eddie,” he said, “I'm starting to get used to it.”

“You're not having an asthma attack.”

Richie had dragged Eddie into the boys bathroom, and after checking it was vacant and locking the door, proceeded to finally start losing his shit on the outside as well as the inside. Eddie was sitting with his knees up to his chest on the floor, heaving in rasping breaths and mumbling unintelligibly about brain damage and asphyxiation.

“I am,” he insisted, for the umpteenth time, “I'm having a fucking- I can't breathe. I can't fucking breathe.”

Richie ran his hands down his face, then knelt down in front of him.

“Dude, again, you can't be having an asthma attack, because I do not have asthma,” his voice was brimming with frustration; everything was a mess and the only person he could find an ounce of solidarity in was an overdramatic asshole who wouldn't even play his part right.

“I think I'd know if I'm having a fu-” another gravelly inhale, and Eddie's hand came up to grip at the collar of his own shirt, pulling it away from his neck, “fuck, I need my inhaler.”

“You don't have it with you?” He was sure he couldn't have even pretended to sound sympathetic at this point.

“No, asshole,” Eddie snapped, and Richie had half a mind to just leave him there to deal with this shit himself, but he had too many things he needed to say to him that wouldn't be properly conveyed in a strongly-worded letter. “I can't get into my own room.”

“Well, that's not my fault, is it?”

“I haven't decided yet.”

“You really think you're funny, don't you,” he stood up, distancing himself so he wouldn't feel as much of an urge to punch him. He took a deep breath in, then exhaled slowly. “What's your locker combo?”

Eddie blinked up at him, eyebrows knitted together.

“What? Why?”

“Because I assume you have more than one fucking inhaler,” he replied, “and I also assume you keep at least three spares in your locker, correct?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie coughed, starting to realise that cooperation might have been a good plan and that he wasn't getting anywhere with the bickering route, but also feeling like he had already thrown the brakes out the window and was too far gone to stop now. He was starting to get dizzy again. He let his head roll back against the wall.

Richie let out a heavy sigh.

“Combination,” he said, “or you choke to death on the bathroom floor.” He moved towards the door, pulling his bag back onto his shoulder, “I couldn't give less of a shit which one you choose.”

Eddie hesitated, grinding his teeth. Choking to death wouldn't be the absolute worst way to go, but it still wasn't ideal. The door creaked as Richie began to push it open.

“Six eleven twenty-two,” he croaked. Richie walked out without so much as a nod of confirmation, and as the door swung shut behind him Eddie started to worry that he hadn't heard him at all.

So here he was, sitting in filth, stripped of dignity with a throbbing ache echoing around his skull, and feeling very much like a bad person. But despite the haziness and discombobulation, he was starting to come to terms with the fact that this whole thing was real. He hadn't before now – had felt disconnected, trapped in a limbo since the previous morning, somewhere outside of reality, and he truthfully had expected it to just end at some point. It had to, he thought. It was a dream state, and nothing he was going was actually happening and when it was over things would go back to the way they were. But now, god. He was in the midst of a lot of pain and panic, and it had shocked him to the point of realisation, and some clarity.

This was real. This was real. He really truly believed that now.

And because it was real, so were his actions, and therefore the consequences that they resulted in.

The pinhole got tighter. The door opened again. Wordlessly, Richie handed him his aspirator.

Tag list (bolded won’t tag):  @fanficisgoodforthesoul @i-is-gazebo@dandeliontozier@panicatbakerst@howellhxlic@musicalsaftermusicals@bernaynay@bust-a-move-bev@reddie-to-go@richietoaster@omgboiledcabbages@reddietofall@flowersiren@lousytrashmouth@get-fcking-reddie@finnwollfhards @bjrdies@steve-harringtwin@thecastlebyers@books-and-donuts@valenschmidt@grasshoppper@80s-trashmouth@beepbeeprichiellc@little-miss-hellraiser@okay-i-get-it-alreddie@finn-trashmouth@kaspbrakseggo @lolahood @sad-synth@turtleneckrichie@reddieforanything @vitomire @its-stranger-than-you-think@spooky-risley @ohheydatsme@hoteltozier@holystanlon@apatheticphotos@dewdropseddie @ill-float-too@peterparkerwithoutacause@sir-furry @ailecstuff @bird-uris@iamworried7@beepbeepbitchard@trashcanonlegs@11leggomyeggo11@bisexual80scliffjumper @reddieseggrolls @rediietoship @starryeyedstanley @beepbeep-losers @richiefuckfacetozier

[onewhoturns]

Fireworks (1/4)

What?? Another?? Damn straight, I’ve written one thing a day just about for the past four days which is insane but here we are.

Fandom: Oxenfree Pairing: Alex/Jonas Chapter: 1/4 Characters: Alex, Jonas, (later) Michael, Ren, Nona, Clarissa Word count: 2437 Rating: T for language Summary: The one saving grace of that first kiss (apart from, well, it wasn’t a bad kiss) -- the one thing she could point to as making the kiss sort of okay, morally -- was that it was in a timeline where they were just friends. Well… okay, maybe the kiss might have changed that. A little? Or maybe it didn’t get a chance to, much, cause Alex was too busy shutting herself away and having a teensy tiny crisis over kissing her sometimes-stepbrother. And then, naturally, as always seemed to happen July 8th, it would be May 1st all over again. or: the First, the Fourth, the Fireworks.

-

She should’ve seen it coming. He’d become her other-brother, the one she went to with the things she wasn’t sure she wanted Michael to know. Even if Michael so often ended up finding out anyway (the awkward moment when Michael realized Jonas had been her emergency ride home from a party at Pat’s where she got a little past shitfaced, that was a memorable one). It’s par for the course, in these realities where Michael is with Clarissa, where Ren is with Nona, that Alex gravitates toward “new in town” Jonas. At least, at this point she’s pretty sure that’s how it goes. She doesn’t remember everything, just bits and pieces and vague feelings. She would remember if she’d kissed him - if he’d kissed her - before, right?

There had been moments, sure, that might’ve hinted at it. Halloween night, when Clarissa wore those red contacts, and Alex was shaken to her very core, Jonas had been the one she drove to the coast with. Staring up at the stars, in comfortable silence, feet knocking against one another lazily. Wrapped up in the ratty blankets from the back of his truck, sitting on the rocks and looking out at the ocean. Not that she’s all that big of a fan of the ocean, either, but it was too cold for anyone to try to pressure her into swimming (and Jonas has never been the type to do that, anyway).

Actually, it was weird-- the first time (this time around, anyway) she’d balked at deep water, everyone had seemed surprised. Like this Alex was a friggin’ fish or something. A couple of panic attacks later, they’d learned not to push it. It was wading or the shallow end for her. And Horn Lake was officially a no-go area.

Maybe that’s why she’s been perhaps a little bit clingy with Jonas at the 4th of July barbeque. She couldn’t convince her parents not to have it at the lake, so instead she brought Jonas along and once there dragged him as far from the water as possible, perching on top of the playground equipment, throwing snap poppers at the ground and lighting sparklers and dollar store smoke bombs and trying to forget the fact that Michael is probably at this very moment swimming in the thing that killed him. In the dark. Like an idiot.

It jolts her heart straight into her throat hearing Clarissa’s yelp of, “Mike!” from the beach. The smile wiped from her face, the sparkler drops to the ground and she’s on her feet in an instant, staring worriedly toward the spot their families are camped for the night’s festivities, but unable to see past the silhouettes of a few bodies gathered around the camplight. But then Clarissa bursts into shrieking giggles and Alex finally breathes again.

“Hey,” Jonas’s voice is soft as he wraps a hand around her wrist, giving a gentle tug. “You alright?”

She might be about 50% of the way to crying when she turns back to him. Maybe. Possibly. Or maybe it’s just the wide-eyed panic that has him suddenly concerned, that small crease between his brows just visible in the mix of moonlight and tree-trunk-filtered LED camplight as he reaches for her other hand as well. “Alex, seriously-- are you okay?”

Her pulse had skyrocketed, but with his thumbs rubbing circles into her palms, it’s a lot easier to come back to herself. She hadn’t realized the memory -- a false memory, now, of something that never even happened -- was still so clear, that it could flash so vividly into her head, no matter how briefly. A noise somewhere between ‘mhm’ and ‘ehhhhh’ croaks from her throat between closed lips.

God, his face is so soft. For someone so good at maintaining his cool (ever-vigilant, after his juvie stint, of keeping his temper in check), Jonas’s expression is pretty transparent. None of the usual wariness she gets from others about her baseless fear of the lake, or her occasional moments of sheer panic. His smile, small and slow and warm, is genuine. Caring. A corner of his lips lifts wryly. “Don’t go all Edwards Island on me, now.”

It’s so easy to step forward, to stand in front of his perch on the stupid plastic wall of the kiddie playground, to step between his knees and rest her forehead on his chest and just breathe. He’s grounding. Dependable. A few breaths of his shirt - his deodorant a scent she’s pretty sure she can pick out of a lineup - has her head a lot clearer.

“...Alex...” His voice is almost hoarse, and he clears his throat.

“I’m okay,” she mutters, and sighs before straightening, pulling her hands from his to rest on his knees, avoiding his eyes. “Just… you know. That thing,” she tilts her head toward the sounds of splashing and laughing and people checking their watches in expectation of imminent fireworks. She’s told him about Michael. Well, in a way. She didn’t go into the whole parallel timelines thing, but he knows she had some kind of experience, or maybe a dream, that made Michael + swimming + lake = terror. He puts a hell of a lot more stock in it than Michael, too.

“Right. Yeah.” He swings his legs a bit, thudding his heels against the hollow rails with a thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk. “...Wanna get out of here?”

Alex shakes her head, staring at the ring that still hangs around Jonas’s neck. “Nah, I’m-- I’ll be fine. Besides, the fireworks are gonna be starting s--” The word isn’t even all the way out of her mouth before she sees as well as feels his shift of attention, looking up to the sky, and a moment later there’s the boom and crackle of the first rocket. She half turns, watching the scattering of sparks floating a bit sideways in the slight breeze. The camplight went out from where the rest of their group had stopped to watch. And then up goes another, another thud and a noise like hard rain on a plastic roof.

She turns to watch the sky, midnight blue, speckles of stars lost in afterimages of the fireworks. A triple explosion - the loudest ones they’ve got, all in a row - brings a smile to her lips. “Nice.”

“Yeah. It’s, um… beautiful.”

Alex scoffs, shooting a glance back at Jonas with a small smirk. “They’re like ten bucks a pop, Jonas, this isn’t some masterful pyrotechnics, just the annual July Fourth ‘extravaganza’ according to a few suburban PTA moms.”

“Heh... Yeah, well. Last year it was me and my dad watching Die Hard on the couch and listening to it all going down outside, so…”

“But Die Hard’s a Christmas movie.” She ignores the teeny touch of guilt that she didn’t invite him last year, after all the Island drama. Then, all she’d wanted was to be around her flesh-and-blood, no-longer-dead brother. This year, though, with all the graduation festivities over and done with, with Clarissa and Michael both home for the summer and both families chattering at each other constantly any time they’re in close proximity, Alex was way too eager to have a friend to hang with.

“Oh, we watch it then, too. Sandwiched between Trading Places and Gremlins.”

She narrows her eyes for a second, unsure if he’s serious, before elbowing him in the stomach, rolling her eyes. He hooks an arm around her to keep from taking a ten foot fall to the ground, pulling her back against him as she snorts, “Seriously, you guys have the weirdest traditions.”

“Hey, I take personal offense at that.” He flicks her in the arm, and when she bats his hand away, and he teeters once more, he wrestles her arms to her sides. “Alex I swear, if you push me off this thing and my legs stop working I will never forgive you.”

She’s smirking, but let’s him hold on. “Optimistic. I think I’d aim for paralysis from the neck down.”

“Well you’re the overachiever.”

Another burst of one, three, one, four explosions, and they’ve fallen into companionable silence. In a brief pause between pops, Alex muses, “You know, I heard three years ago one of the firework engineers almost lost an eye.”

“Hm.” She doesn’t get much more than that from him, and then there’s another pop-crackle-pop-pop-BOOM and his hold tightens a little.

“Scared?” she teases, as the sky clears again, in anticipation of the finale. She’s pretty sure that’s his heart she feels thudding against her shoulder. “You never told me your family has a history of losing eyes to pyrotechnical accidents.” Seriously, is he having a heart attack?

“Alex…” His voice is quiet, maybe hesitant, close to her ear.

She huffs out a small laugh, “Relax, I’m just-” But when she turns to reassure him their lips meet and-- Jesus Christ, they’re kissing, when did they start kissing? Her eyes close for a fraction of a second before the fireworks crackle through the air and she blinks back into her senses and pulls away. “What the hell--?”

“Shit, I’m-- Sorry, I--” He lets go of her immediately, and she can feel the heat off his skin even if she can’t see his blush as she stumbles a step away. “I didn’t-- That’s-- Fuck, my bad.”

She thinks maybe she should be leaving, walking back to her family, glaring at Jonas for kissing her so suddenly, but instead stands, dumbly, a foot out of his reach. She’s just… baffled. Confused? Perplexed.

Jonas’s head falls into his hands as he groans. “God, that was--” He’s mumbling into his palms, “Can we just pretend that didn’t happen?”

Alex stares for a second. Because, she’s just… there’s a lot happening in her head right now. Specifically, after mentions of Christmas, she’s remembering that awkward moment at Ren’s Christmas party, running into Jonas in a doorway, catching him spotting mistletoe and very quickly stepping out of her way, face flushed from what she’d initially assumed was the spiked punch. And maybe there had been glances across the front seat on those midnight drives, the way he looked at her when she stuck her head out the window and howled at the sky, that grin he gave her, and the look in his eyes. Tracing the lines of her palm hanging over the side of the couch as Ren and Nona battled it out button-smashing, as everyone threw taunts and jeers at game night. That time she’d had a nightmare and called him at 4am and he answered (with only minor complaint).

...Okay. Maybe she’d… um… maybe…

A hand is rubbing at his neck awkwardly, head hanging low, feet tapping a quick nervous rhythm close to the bars, super audible in the silence now that the fireworks are over and done.

Alex has never been particularly good with romance. She has, in fact, been notoriously obtuse when it comes to people liking her. Case in point, apparently. But she does like Jonas. And it’s definitely not the same way she likes Ren, or Nona, or even Michael. She loves him, really, just never considered it a physical thing, never thought that maybe it could be something… else. He’s her best friend. Closer than Ren in a shorter amount of time. She’s just… surprised, that’s all. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t something settling in the pit of her stomach. Something not nearly as unpleasant as she might have expected.

She probably looks more angry that she feels, brow furrowed as she steps toward him. But she’s not angry. Just… trying to figure out what exactly she’s about to do. And really trying to ignore that nagging feeling in her head that this is one in an infinite number of timelines where too often this is not okay.

A tentative step forward and she’s between his knees once more, fingers resting on denim. He drops his hands and glances up; ashamed, hopeful, mortified. “Honestly, Alex, that was way out of line, I shouldn’t have-” His voice stutters to a halt as she brings her face closer to his. Her gaze shifts from his eyes to his mouth-- she’s just to his right, glancing away for a second, and she spots his hands gripped tight to his perch, and she turns back, and her eyelashes brush his cheek as she noses into his space, and then--

Their lips are touching. Again.

It’s… nice, actually. Better when he breathes her in and seems to melt against her and his hands wrap around her waist like he’s scared she’ll pull away again. Her heart is in her throat for a completely different reason now, because this is the closeness she likes with him-- only better, closer, but not in a way that makes her feel awkward or uncomfortable or… It’s just… really nice. Kissing him.

When she breaks the kiss, she doesn’t pull back, only moves to rest her cheek on his shoulder. There’s a pause, a moment when she realizes her heart is beating as hard as his was earlier, and she lets out a short huff of breath.

“Um…”

But whatever he’s going to say, it’s interrupted with a call from the beach. The camplight is on again. “Alex? Alex honey, we’re just about packed. It’s getting late.”

She’s not sure when her palms went to Jonas’s chest, but they leave it now, stepping away once more, only for him to catch one hand.

“Want to go for a drive?” It’s hopeful, maybe a little anxious, even though the request is one he’s made - hell, she’s made - time and time again. “Or-- or I can just give you a ride home, or…”

She shifts from one foot to the other, avoiding his expectant gaze. Instead her free hand traces the chain, hooks briefly into the ring around his neck. Shit-- She lets go, steps away again, pulling out of his grasp. And he lets her go, of course he does, and she wonders if she’d spot his expectations falling if she were brave enough to look. “I’m… look, I’ll…” The breath feels forced from her lungs in a puff of air. “Not tonight.”

And she feels like an idiot for it -- feels guilty and stupid because that’s just mean, leaving him like that -- but she leaves the remnants of sparklers and smoke bombs and poppers scattered on the ground (in a poor display of responsibility) and walks back to the picnic site not quite too fast, but with a kind of determination that only comes from pointedly avoiding thinking about potentially really fucking up a relationship thanks to an awkward kiss in the dark.

[twinflamable]

Rising Heat

((Od Dotharl. cw: sexy stuff, I guess. Nothing too explicit. Image credit, btw.))

Stone pillars cut long shadows out of the sun. The black lines pointed inward from the courtyard, becoming new roads that lead into the dark. The brightness of the sun made these alcoves all the darker, better to seek shelter in. Here, it was cool. The sound of trickling water echoes on invisible walls. It seemed less a building than a cavern, humid and cool, unknowably deep. Either exciting or terrifying to explore, depending on one’s courage. By how D’leyn crept forward, she felt some of both.

The sound of dark water moving, the glistening of black horns rising from the pool, the shine of blue reptilian eyes reflected just above the surface, turned D’leyn toward the darkest shadow. She flinched in instinctive fear, crossing her arms over her body. She was naked and wet, water brimming from the cups of her collarbones and drawing rivulets down her chest and stomach. Her gold-furred ears flicked and cast gleaming drops into the sunlight. “Nald forfend, Od! What are you doing in here?”

The bath-house was a broad complex, sparsely populated at the moment, and the most popular place for noon bathing was those sun-warmed pools that D’leyn now came from, where the heat soothed the aching bodies of the gladiators. This left Od alone in the dark and the cool. Stepping forward in the water, Od lifted her face just one more ilm to get her lips above the water and say, “The light hurts my eyes.” Od was black rising from black, two great horns pointed up and back, two more sloping forward into the pool, hair melting perfectly into the water, eyes glowing like discs of blue aether in the dark. If D’leyn looked closely enough, she’d be able to see how Od’s eyes strained to dilate, how she winced subtly from moment to moment. But Od knew there was no way to see the pain, how even the gleam of water on D’leyn’s body stung. Od strained to see D’leyn’s shape, her skin, her face, but the pain radiated and magnified by the second so that Od’s teeth and horns ached. “Come further in so I can look at you.”

The way D’leyn’s ears stood and her shoulders lifted, Od knew that her breath had faltered, and ever-attentive D’leyn had not only noticed it but read it perfectly: yes, D’leyn, you have my attention and I want to see you, to have you here now, to have you closer. D’leyn stood in place, eyes blinking, tip of her tail twitching, and then she came forward. She lowered her arms to her sides, further exposing herself.

But Od didn’t let her eyes roam. She held D’leyn’s gaze with all the focus of a beast at hunt, expression straight and unreadable. “Were you looking for me, D’leyn?”

They’d known each other for a week, having met on Od’s first day in Ul’dah. They’d first made eye contact at the coliseum, with a crowd between them, blood sport playing out below. Od was draped in dark cloth, her horns stabbing through a hood that kept her eyes shaded so the lights wouldn’t find her face. She caught D’leyn staring, distracted apparently from a conversation she was in the middle of with some Lalafel in rich attire. Od had at first felt nothing upon seeing D’leyn: she wore a transparent silk dress over a white slip, adorned in golden chains studded with various gems, a rich blond miqo’te who probably owned some of the gladiators. But something had happened in D’leyn’s eyes while Od watched: widening, focusing, like recognition and hunger, but impersonal.

D’leyn’s eyes did the same thing now when Od stepped to the edge of the pool, letting the water run down her body, naked but imperfectly revealed in the shadows. By then, D’leyn’s eyes had adjusted so that she could almost see, and she let her eyes fall to the black scales on Od’s sides, on her ribs and hips and her legs. Just like back then, Od felt nothing remarkable at being seen; oh, there was a heat on her skin where D’leyn’s gaze touched her, but Od’s heart beat no harder. The thing that thinned her breath was how D’leyn’s lips moved, gleaming brown and soft.

D’leyn took a step back as Od reached the edge of the pool, keeping a yalm between them. “Is everyone where you’re from…?”

“Dotharl Khaa,” Od reminded her. Of course Od was the first Au Ra that D’leyn had ever seen, and that lead to uncertainty: did D’leyn’s eyes gleam with lust or just curiosity? Od extended a hand, curling her fingers. “Come here. Trust me.”

D’leyn was a member of a wealthy tribe who owned an enclave inside Ul’dah, not something that Od would’ve thought possible before D’leyn told her about it. They invested in gladiators, and Od was interested in fighting. D’leyn had told her that entrance into the bloodsands was rare and difficult to achieve, but with nowhere else to go and no other ambitions, Od had accepted an invitation to D’leyn’s small roster of gladiators in training for minor bouts. Since then, D’leyn had been watching her spare against her Ul’dhan recruits, gold eyes reflecting sunlight, making Od’s head ache. The aches were worth it. There was no satisfaction in sparing Ul’dahns, and Od refused to be trained by the scarred-and-maimed roegadyn that D’leyn put in charge of the gladiators, but Od enjoyed D’leyn watching her.

D’leyn stepped forward when encouraged, lifting her hand with some hesitation. Od reached out and took hold of it, pulling it to her and putting it to one of the horns that extended forward from the side of her head. As D’leyn’s fingers touched the smooth horn, she froze and took a breath. Od’s lips, ever thin and closed, showed amusement by softening their pout and parting slightly to say, “Don’t worry. Go ahead and feel. I don’t have much sensation in my horns.”

“It’s warm.” D’leyn stepped forward, lifting her other hand to Od’s other horn. Thoughtlessly, Od closed her eyes. In the past months, she’d only been touched outside of combat once, and that was for a chirugeon’s examination when she’d joined D’leyn’s gladiators. As D’leyn moved her fingertips to the tips of the horns, and then slid them back toward Od’s face, Od’s heart finally began its pounding. She parted her eyes to see D’leyn’s distracted expression, lips open, eyes watching the sweep of her own hands in fascination as she drew near and reached for the horns behind Od’s head. She was like a girl that had just noticed the appeal of bodies, clumsily reaching out without understanding the implications of what she was doing. But she was smarter than that. She would have to know, wouldn’t she?

The corner of her lips twitching up in a playful smirk, Od bent her head forward so that D’leyn could reach the tips of her long horns. As heads were measured, D’leyn was taller, but Od’s horns were remarkably long even among her family back in Dotharl Khaa. As she leaned, Od reached behind D’leyn’s head and pressed her fingertips to the base of the miqo’te’s ears.

D’leyn froze, ears slamming down over Od’s fingers. “Hey.”

Od smirked, sly and small. “It’s only fair. I’ve never touched a miqo’te’s ears.”

Eyes narrowing as though to call some bluff, D’leyn eventually let Od run her fingers up the backs of her ears. Od noticed how D’leyn gasped at the sensation, features flush, so she pet them more gently. After a few moments, with an expression of resolve, D’leyn ran her hands back down Od’s horns to the scales on the side of her face, then her neck, along the tops of her shoulders. D’leyn said, “You feel this?”

Od nodded. “Yes, but it’s fine. I don’t mind.” Was that what D’leyn wanted? Od moved her fingers gently at the base of D’leyn’s ears, hearing the woman breathe deeply. Od realized they’d drawn closer because she could almost feel D’leyn’s chest expand with breath. Od let her forearms rest on D’leyn’s shoulders while she massaged D’leyn’s scalp and the miqo’te’s hands slid down the scales on her back. Od kept her gaze stubbornly on D’leyn’s eyes, but D’leyn made no effort to keep her eyes up. She looked down and bit her tongue, and Od felt heat rising in her body as D’leyn’s fingertips reached the long, rigid scales at the top of her tail.

The slightest touch of a fingertip to her tail was enough to stop Od’s breathing, and she felt her heart beating in her horns. Not without pain – oh, how her skull throbbed even now, heat like coals on the backs of her eyes throwing smoke over her senses – but Od wasn’t one to relent to pain. It was a feeling, and she replaced it with other feelings, particularly with the movement of D’leyn’s fingers on her tail. D’leyn ran her fingers down, pressed her palm to the top of Od’s tail, then to its side. As her fingers tested the softer scales on the underside of Od’s tail, her thumb moved in a slow circle on top, right at the base against Od’s back. The sensations of each touch, the heat of it, radiated through Od’s hips stomach, up her spine and into her chest. It pushed the pain to the tips of her horns and into her eyes, where Od could contain it by closing her eyes and bowing her head forward.

D’leyn leaned her face to the side, but didn’t back away. Face was an ilm from the wet, warm skin of D’leyn’s shoulder, Od put her hand against the small of D’leyn’s back and pulled them together.

D’leyn went rigid and froze. “Od.”

“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” Od moved her hand to D’leyn’s tail, duplicating her movements: fingers curled underneath, thumb moving in a circle at the base of the tail. D’leyn exhaled a hot breath and Od felt her shivering where they touched at hip and stomach and chest. Od said, “Your tail’s as sensitive as mine is, isn’t it? You know what you’re doing.”

Eyes turned away, D’leyn was still except for the heaviness of her breath, like she’d forgotten how to breathe and had to struggle to do so. She didn’t move the hand on Od’s tail, while her other hand rested on Od’s back.

“What’s next?” Od whispered, lips brushing D’leyn’s skin. “Should I guess?”

“D’aun will kill me if I start messing around with the gladiators.” But D’leyn didn’t move.

“You don’t have a merchant’s body. You have a fighter’s body. Do you train? I’ve never seen you train.” Od ran a hand up D’leyn’s back, pulling them tight against one another. “D’leyn, why are you training your gladiators to lose?”

D’leyn took a deep, fast breath, and took her hands away, leaning back. “What?”

“You know what you’re doing.” Od held fast, moving forward to keep their bodies together, D’leyn’s wet skin sliding over her scales, Od’s muscles pulling while D’leyn’s pushed away. “You know the techniques they’re being taught are flawed. And you’re watching everyone, making sure they’re vulnerable. Making sure they’ll lose.”

“Let go. This is a mistake.” D’leyn pushed against Od’s shoulders more powerfully than a rich merchant should’ve been able to, enough to hurt, maybe enough to bruise.

Od smiled and showed her teeth, pulling back just as hard, feeling the fire inside her burning all the hotter, the headache forgotten, the sensation of skin and breath and water replacing it completely. “Let’s just burn together for a moment.” Od suddenly dropped her weight and pitched backward. D’leyn’s hands slipped off Od’s shoulders and her weight pitched over Od’s head. They fell backward together, toward the water, the dark and the cool rushing up around them. Od closed her eyes and held her breath and pressed D’leyn’s writing body against her own.

D’leyn was not simply writhing, though. The pool wasn’t deep – maybe a yalm and a half – and D’leyn drove her feet to the bottom. With surprising strength, she lifted Od and turned her over her shoulder, all the momentum of their fall turned to throwing Od down and lifting D’leyn up. In an instant, Od hit the steps where the pool was shallow, laying on her back with the corners of the steps pressing into her and the water lapping at her sides. D’leyn was on top of her, haunches to Od’s stomach and legs wrapping Od’s torso, weight baring down, tail whipping in anger.

Od’s pained groan held a laugh. Her horns hurt, renewing the pain in her head and her eyes, and she could feel the press of stone at her back ready to well into ugly bruises, but she smiled and laughed, and grabbed D’leyn’s hips to pull her down.

D’leyn hissed, “What is wrong with you?” She grabbed Od’s hands and pulled them away, pushing them back.

Od strained against D’leyn’s pushing, instinctively testing her strength and leverage. “Why do you think I won’t let myself be trained? Out of pride? I can tell as easily as you can from watching that they’re not being taught how to fight properly. More when I’m sparring with them.”

“If you have a problem with how they’re being-“

“You’re doing it on purpose. I felt how your body moved just now. You know how to fight better than they do. Better than their trainer.” Od could’ve forced D’leyn off of her, used her legs to prise D’leyn away and throw her back into the water, pounce her and wrestle with her body again. All the fire in Od’s body desired it, but she stayed where she was, lips straight, voice sharp, all that heat pouring out of her eyes. “You know what you’re doing.”

The pressed her weight down on Od made it plain that she felt the rising heat, but she held it in check. “You’re seeing things, Od. There’s a brawl in a week. Six lesser gladiator schools like ours. One fighter wins. The prize is a berth in the bloodsands’ grand melee the week after. You don’t think I want one of my gladiators in the main event?”

“It doesn’t look like it.” Od strained against D’leyn’s strength again, forcing the miqo’te to press down all the more, to tense her powerful shoulders and arms, making the muscles stand out. Od wanted so badly to get her hands on D’leyn’s thighs, but she settled for this tension, the way that D’leyn’s legs held her.

“If you keep this up, I’m not going to let you into the brawl.” D’leyn grated. “You want a shot at the bloodsands, right? It’s what you came here for, right?”

When Od had arrived in Ul’dah, her first question to someone on the street had been, Where is the blood? Pressing her hips up against D’leyn’s body, Od said, “Yes.”

D’leyn bore her weight down against Od. “Then stop. Don’t ask questions like that. And let me go.”

Od narrowed her eyes. “You’re going to fire me up this much and then just try to put me out?”

“I can keep you pinned here all night if I need to.”

“No, you can’t.” Od lifted her knees and pressed them against D’leyn’s back. The feeling of D’leyn’s tail moving against her legs was welcome.

“Od,” D’leyn growled. “I will cut you out of the brawl if you don’t stop.”

“I don’t believe you.” Od’s plan was to cast D’leyn back into the water and turn this around, maybe pin D’leyn against the wall of the pool and hold her there, bite down on her neck, make her admit to whatever plan she had while collecting her thin breath, her shivering voice, tasting her body. Od thought this plan through and shook with the need of it, hoping that D’leyn could feel that shaking where her hips pressed down on her.

But Od exhaled that heat and let her head lay back in the water, relaxed her arms, let her legs fall. Because she didn’t know D’leyn, and she didn’t trust D’leyn. At the very least, D’leyn was a liar, someone with a plan she couldn’t admit to. And Od did want that fight, the brawl, the berth in the bloodsands. Eyes closing, tail churning slowly in the pool, Od muttered, “Fine. I’ll stop.”

D’leyn let go of Od’s arms, and Od left them limp at her sides. D’leyn lifted her hips, leaned forward, and put a finger to Od’s lips. When Od’s eyes opened, D’leyn’s shone gold down at her. “Od, I like you, but I own you. Let’s not mess that up yet.”

Od felt the throb of returning pain in her eyes and her head. Not returning: never absent, a permanent ache that could only be forgotten for moments at a time. “Yet?”

“Maybe after the brawl. If we don’t win, then what’s the point?”

“I’m going to win.” Od said this without thinking, lips against D’leyn’s finger. Daring to lift one hand, Od rested it over D’leyn’s, and the miqo’te didn’t pull away. “But I do like this.”

“Well one of those isn’t going to work. Now stay put.” D’leyn pulled her hand away and leaned back, untangling her legs, retreating into the pool.

Od lifted her head to watch D’leyn move away, toward the light. Then the sun was on D’leyn’s body again, shining bright from her hair, glistening in the drops of water on her skin, and every flash of it stung. Od lay her head back and closed her eyes, watching now the false light behind her eyelids brighten and ripple in time with the throb of the pain. She listened to D’leyn’s footsteps on wet stone, becoming quieter, and then gone.

Lifting herself up on her elbows, Od pushed herself back into the pool and sank slowly until her feet touched the bottom, bending her knees so her head submerged. The darkness, the coolness, the pressure on her skin and her face, eased the pain. Her skin was still sensitive from D’leyn’s touch, and the movement of the water as she sank into it excited every inch of her. Under the water, she pushed her back against the wall of the pool and crossed her arms over her body, feeling her skin and her scales, running her hands down her sides, her hips, behind her to press at her tail where D’leyn had touched. Od pulled up her legs and let her tail curl up between her thighs, drifting almost weightless. In cold and dark, she was still hot from the pain that throbbed in her head and her bones. But she hot on her skin from the thoughtless, remembered sensations of bodies tumbling in this water, from straining limbs, and from the way D’leyn looked at her: hungry, distant, but like she might rush close at any moment.

[everly-kindred]

Everly’s Diary - Entry #2

Synopsis: Eve enjoys the chaos and wonderment of the winter holidays, and the wait for her Hogwarts letter continues!

Words: 1,360

Date: 27th of December, 2025

Dear Diary,

It’s been a few days since nearly all the holiday celebrations have been… well, celebrated. Now we simply await the new year! I’m saddened to say that my Hogwarts letter has not yet arrived, but mum and dad say I have nothing to worry about. I certainly hope they’re right, though my cousin did once say I might not get in since my family isn’t ‘pure-blood,’ whatever that means. But then my uncle scolded him and said that ‘no one has given a rats tail about blood purity since the nineties,’ so, who knows.

Things have gotten crazy since my birthday. So many things to celebrate, after all! Of course, I know it’s all separate, but my brain kinda mashes everything together as one big winter celebration that lasts about a week between all the family members I have to see. There’s the Winter Solstice, otherwise known as Yule, which is more so recognized on my dad’s side, while my mum’s side prefers Christmas. Either way, the traditions, while amazing, have put me in a perpetual state of sleepiness.

I guess I’ll start with the things we did at my dads. For Yule, we got our Yule Log which we had carved from an oak tree and burned with runestones for light, warmth, and happiness in the dark days ahead - Kaunaz, Peorth, and Wunjo. After the Yule Log was lit, we did a candlelight walk with several witches and wizards my mum and dad are friends with.

In this celebration, we both greet and say farewell to the darkest day of the year, and know that from here on out, we will be gradually granted more sunlight. When the sun had gone down, we lit a pathway through a forest nearby with candles and lanterns. Everyone gathered around a bonfire and sang a song, which, I wish I could remember the words to. I should have written it down right after, truthfully. It reminded me very much of the kind of song a phoenix would sing - rebirth, and light in the dark. With everyone singing it all together, it was quite haunting but also filled me with an odd sort of hope. I'll ask my parents what the song was tomorrow, I think.

We then walked the lit pathway with our own lanterns and candles in hand, in complete silence. The world around us seemed an endless black oblivion, with only tiny flames to follow. I nearly slipped once or twice, too. It was, like I said, dark, but on top of that, it was also quite muddy.

When we got home, we all had a dinner of soups, bread, and roasted vegetables, and I did a tarot reading with a Yule-specific spread I had gotten from a book my mother gave me. It was designed after a Christmas tree, with five questions for me to answer. The first was called ‘the star’ and asked me what my life had looked like the past year. For this, I drew the Empress in reverse. Based off of what the book that came with my tarot deck had to say, this means that I’ve felt like something has been lacking in my life, and I am unsatisfied. It suggests that I take a step back from things that lack creativity and look to myself to see what I am craving.

Next was ‘the branches’, which asks me what I appreciate most about myself. For this, I drew the one of coins, which suggests that I appreciate inspiration and positivity, and am willing to work hard to achieve these things. After that was ‘the needles’ which ask me what my greatest weaknesses are. For this, I had drawn the nine of swords, which says that I torment myself with my own thoughts, which means that ultimately, my own anxieties are my greatest enemies.

Following that is ‘the pinecones’ which asks how I can make positive changes for my future. At this I pulled the knight of coins, which tells me to apply determination and perseverance in the future, to maintain my goals and push through any trials I may face. Lastly, for ‘the trunk,’ I am asked what I should pay attention to, to keep me moving in a good direction. For this, I ironically enough pulled the Emperor in reverse. This warns me that someone with authority over me may abuse my ‘good nature’ and that I should be cautious of manipulation. I can’t think of anyone I know who is like that, but I’ll be sure to keep an eye out…

After my Yule reading, my dad and I made ‘witch balls’ which are glass ornaments that you decorate. Muggles believe that the ornaments by themselves will be enough to ward away negativity, but dad put a few charms on them. ‘Just in case,’ he said. I filled mine with some pine needles, cinnamon, hazelnut, powdered ginger, citrine, and garnet, and then painted a star on the outside with gold paint. I decided against hanging it on the tree and instead hung it in my window.

At that point, it had gotten quite late, so I went to bed and had very peculiar dreams. I dreamed as though I were but a few inches tall, and climbed on my windowsill. I used a candle like it were a broomstick, and flew into the sky. I had an old-timey nightcap on like the kind my grandpa wears, and I used it as a sort of bag to collect the stars from out of the night sky. It was a pleasant dream, really.

The next day, I had gone to my mum’s house for Christmas. I had a very long debate with her about how Santa is probably just a really old wizard who borrowed the Philosopher's stone, and how he probably uses floo powder and apparition to get everywhere with his red velvet bag that has obviously been enchanted with an extension charm and featherlight. Mum laughed and says it’s impossible, but sometimes I hear about Christmas miracles that make me think otherwise.

When we got home, I helped my mom make gingerbread ornaments to hang on the tree. Mine didn’t turn out quite as nice as hers had - I was particularly messy with the icing. By the time we had finished, mum and my stepdad’s family had arrived, and it was time for dinner on Christmas Eve.

I ate enough to make me sick. Mostly mashed potatoes, but I also had a great deal of chicken pot pie, and this baked fruit my mom makes - yams, prunes, and apples with brown sugar. Then, we opened presents. I didn’t get a whole lot this year, which is fine, honestly. I’d had such an amazing birthday, after all. Though I did get this stuffed fox with snowflakes printed on its velvetine fur, and it’s probably my favourite present so far.

Only one other thing happened that night, something I haven’t fully wrapped my head around. If I were a muggle, I’m sure it would have been quite frightening. While I was trying, and quite frankly failing, to fall asleep, I heard a clattering in the living room. I thought for sure that my theory about Ole’ St. Nicholas had been correct, but when I poked my head around the corner, I saw someone of transparent silver, who seemed to be the saddest creature I’d ever seen. She looked and sounded like a woman, and drifted around the Christmas tree. It seemed like she was trying to put out the candles that were hung from it.

I sat there watching her for a long time, all wrapped up and hidden in my blanket with my fox in my arms. But eventually, I drifted to sleep, and by the time I had woken up not more than an hour later, she was gone. I’m not sure I’ll ever see her again or know her story, but according to mum, ghosts are common in our world, and all muggles really fear is ‘that of the unknown.’

I’ve written quite a bit, and that’s about everything that happened, so I suppose I’ll stop for the night. I’ve managed to stay up late, again, but luckily, I can sleep in. See you next time, in 2026 perhaps?

Sleep well! - Everly

About the Character: Everly Rosemary Kindred is an imaginative Hufflepuff attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She keeps up with her magical journey through a series of diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings, all documented for future reflection. Her diary is a small glimpse into her enchanted life, and her adventure into the wizarding world and all its splendors. If you’d like more information about Eve, visit her wiki page. 

About the Author: My name is Elowen! I am a 21-year-old Hufflepuff & Pukwudgie from Louisville, Kentucky. This page is my creative journey into the magical world, through the lenses of Second Life. Here I post diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings all from my character’s perspective. If you’d like more information about me, visit my Flickr! 

Outfit Credits:

Hair - TRUTH / Beatrix

Fox - EF: Spirit Animals: Winter - Fox

Nightgown - hazy . dreamer baby . M 9

Necklace #1 - .Atomic. {Unicorn Horn} Necklace

Necklace #2 - Kibitz - Magical moon and star necklace - copper

[selenelavellan]

Fairy AU Part 3

Part One     Part Two

Dirthamen, Deceit, Fear, and Turmoil are @feynites

Des wakes before she does.

Beams of light are beginning to stream through the colorful glass holes in their ceiling, his eyes back to their usual gold as he stares at her bandaged arms.

Selene lets out a breath of guilty relief; if he's worried, he's remembered himself. Which makes him much less likely to attack her.

“Did I damage your arms?” He asks with a frown.

“No,” She lies. “I fell into a blackberry bush trying to reach for one I thought might be ripe last night.”

He doesn't fully believe her (he never does), but knows better by now than to try to pull a truth from her she doesn't want to share.

“You should be more careful,” He says instead.

“I'll keep that in mind,” She assures him, sitting up to stretch her arms up over her head. They sting anew with the exertion, and she's going to have to change the bandages every few hours to avoid infection or blood becoming noticeable, but it's manageable. She'll have to see if she can find a needle and thread to pull the worst of the openings back together while she's searching for a cure today.

She takes advantage of the bath Dirthamen has allotted her, carefully scraping dirt from her skin and plucking the twigs and seeds and pollen from her hair. It takes nearly 3 rounds with the shampoo before it finally regains it's natural white color, rather than the dusty grey it had absorbed from so long without a proper wash. The skin on her shoulders has gotten burnt and flaky from too much sun exposure. Selene hesitates before carefully stripping the transparent, uselessly dried skin from them. The remaining flesh is tender and hot to the touch, and she's not looking forward to having to cover them with fabric for the rest of her life.

She wonders if there is any part of her that isn't damaged at this point. She had never realized just how much harm she caused her body on a daily basis before her current condition.

She may have even less time than she had been expecting, at this rate.

She steps out of the bathroom, enjoying the fresh scent of lavender in the towels as she dries and tells Des to take a wash himself.

There is a small wardrobe in the room, filled with various clothing items. She claims a pair of black pants that stops just above her ankles as well as a loose purple blouse that is long enough to tuck in, and cover the fresh bandages wrapped up the length of her forearms. She tops it off with a silver cloak that shimmers when she sways in it. Not enough to be flashy, but it's a pleasant enough effect that it makes her smile.

It's important to enjoy the little things, sometimes.

Setting out for the library, she decides that even here, her best bet is to stick to the shadows. She stays close to the old oak walls, the hood of her cloak covering her face. No one stops her for most of the way, which is for the best, and what she wanted, until she realizes she has ended up in the same foyer for the third time.

Damn spacial magic.

Her best bet then, is to wait for someone to pass her who is already going where she wants to go. Patience has never been her strong suit, even before she had a time limit officially allotted to her existence. Nor is it a part of her that has improved.

Thankfully, it does not take too long for her to find another fairy pushing a cart filled with books and scrolls through the room, and she trails a few feet behind them on their journey. Up hidden staircases that smooth to permit the cart easier travel, down sealed hallways decorated with murals that tell old stories, doors, and over a small creek that whispers and cools her feet while it tries to convince her to drink from it.

The fairy only turns to her once, when she gets too close and accidentally brushes up against the leather of their outstretched wing.

They whip around to face her, eyes narrowing. “You should not be here,”

“Just looking for the library,” She assures them.

“Then you should be taking the main paths.”

“Well, if I knew where those were, maybe...” She mumbles.

“I will find someone to escort you-” They state, turning back to face their cart of books.

As soon as they do, the usual happens.

Selene takes a silent step back, and doesn't bother trying to stop it. They've almost arrived to the library anyways, she's pretty sure.

The fairy shakes their head, mumbles something quietly to themselves about imagining things, and continues their walk to the library.

Selene follows along, more careful now not to draw their attention again.

They finally arrive at two large stone doors, covered in a thin layer of moss towards the top. The doors open inward at their arrival, and someone greets the fairy she had been following-Turmoil, supposedly- while she slips off into the stacks.

She spends several hours pouring through them, nabbing any books that correlate to cures and curses and even a few on the average life spans of flowers.

A few make mention of the curse she has, of people that have cast them. Never the person to bear the curse, of course. Only of the 'righteous judgment' of the royals to cast them on nameless and faceless fae that have 'deserved' it. As though anyone deserves such a fate, she thinks bitterly.

Her research doesn't bear fruit. As she reads each story and record of past occurrences, of potential theories for cures, she can find only one that has ever brought about the end of her curse.

Death itself.

She feels the vines tighten around her heart, and tries not to cry as her stomach goes cold.

–

Dirthamen wakes up feeling as though something in his home is just slightly...off.

It is difficult to ascertain just what aspect of his day has shifted, though his aspects seem to assure him that they can also feel the disturbance.

His routine is the same as he recalls it ever being. His duties are not outside their usual parameters of strangeness, and he even takes the care to ensure he has each of the required nutrients with his afternoon meal, in case of some sort of vitamin deficiency.

Neither Fear nor Deceit report any strange activity in the court. There are rumors of books going missing in the library, but most have been accounted for by the end of the day. Likely some mischievous spirit making trouble for his librarians again.

He is still pondering the matter when the sun has set, and he is returning to his rooms.

There is light, coming from the room besides his own.

...who could be in there?

He stops outside, about to turn the knob and demand to know who would make such a presumption when he recalls that he had permitted a nearly corrupted spirit of Desire to take residence there.

...Though, why he had made such a decision, he can not seem to recall.

He tries to remember if there are any ongoing projects that would require a demon for a power source, but can think of none. Nor any curiosities of his own that would cause him to make such a dangerous decision.

Has he fallen prey to a demons tricks without knowing? That would be very troublesome, and a sign of weakness if one of the other courts were to discover it.

He opens the door, and discovers an unusual fae sitting in one of his chairs.

Not quite a demon yet, he notes with interest. They have horns curling outward from their forehead and a long, pointed tail swaying beside the legs of the wooden chair. Their hair is long and dark and not unlike his own. But their feet end in toes and their hands have fingers rather than claws, and their eyes do not reflect the madness that is often associated with a corrupted spirit.

He recalls attacking this fae yesterday. But he cannot think of why, or what goal he had been trying to achieve by doing so.

“You are feeling better?” Dirthamen ventures. Perhaps the man in front of him does not know that he does not know what either of them are doing here.

“...Yeah,” The man says slowly. “Do I know you?”

“I...” Dirthamen starts, as a woman wanders into the room, arms laden down with the missing books and a few scrolls of parchment.

A hood falls from her head, and all at once, he recalls the previous evening. The sunflower, the Forest of Ash. Her theft, and his oath.

Her name.

“Useless information,” Selene grumbles, books bouncing as she drops them onto the bed he had given her. “Nothing worth anything in here, bloody researchers not bothering to do any actual research...”

“I forgot you,” Dirthamen admits. Not an admission he thinks he should have spoken aloud, but not one he feels should be contained, either.

Selene looks over at him and lets out a soft, nearly pitying sigh. “Yeah.”

“How did I forget you?” He asks as she takes off the mithril cloak and hangs it back in the wardrobe.

“You are going to have a great many questions for me,” She evades with a shrug. “There will be very few that I may answer. I apologize now, but I will not be able to apologize each time, or we will have little time for anything else. You found me in the sunflower fields last night, and followed me when I...”she hesitates. “...seemed to have caught your interest. You made an oath of protection to myself and Des and offered us space in your home and access to your resources.”

“When you stole my mask, you mean.”

She stills slightly, before tilting her head in curiosity. “You remember that?”

“I remember our previous encounter, yes. But I did not recall you today, why is that?”

She chews on her bottom lip and seems almost close to giving an answer before dragging a frustrated fist through her hair and giving him a vague “Out of sight, out of mind.”

“You're the first one to remember her since me,” Des chimes in. “Normally she's erased from minds entirely. She must have made quite an impression.”

“It's probably the oath,” Selene says dismissively. “Power in words. His magic remembers, even when he doesn't.”

Dirthamen frowns, taking a seat in one of the other empty chairs. “I do not understand,” He says again.

Selene rubs at her forehead and begins walking back and forth in a small circle. “For instance, I introduced myself to your worker, Turmoil, three separate times today.”

“When they saw you, you were caught, and when they turned they just forgot,” Des sings lightly while Selene nods.

“So when I cannot see you, I will not remember you exist?” Dirthamen clarifies. “That seems troublesome.”

“Yeah, I'm sure its a real pain in the ass for you, personally,” Des snorts.

“It is a condition of your affliction, then?” Dirthamen asks.

“I can't answer that,” Selene says.

He supposes that is as good as a yes, under current circumstances.

An interesting perk to a curse, he thinks. And for it to affect him, the person who cast it must have been...hm...

Keeping his oath may be more troublesome than he expected.

“I will have to keep an eye on you, then,” he decides, summoning Deceit. The aspect shifts into their smaller fae form to fit into the room. “Deceit, it will be your job to make sure we do not forget again.”

“Will that work?” Des asks, taking a large bite out of a grape.

“We are the same person; it should.”

“I...” Selene hesitates. Likely uncomfortable with the prospect of being watched at all hours of the day, but it cannot be helped. He cannot ensure she is not being harmed if he does not know who she is.

“I will be able to escort you through our home,” Deceit assures her, attempting to ease the situation. “My presence will also permit you to enter places that would not appear without me.”

“You promised me unfettered access though,” She frowns.

“And this will ensure that,” Deceit agrees.

Selene does not seem particularly pleased with the arrangement, but offers no more arguments on the matter. Dirthamen lingers in her rooms, browsing through the books she carried in in hopes of discovering what precisely is the cause of her affliction, but they cover a large variety of topics. It opens as many possibilities as it dismisses, and leaves him only with more questions that she can not seem to answer.

He stares with more than curiosity at the bandages on her arms before he is finally asked to leave so that she might sleep for the night. Deceit remains, taking the newly vacated chair while Dirthamen returns to his rooms.

He does not sleep much himself, mind too full of possibilities and problems and potential with the woman on the other side of the wall.

When he does drift into the dreaming, he finds himself flooded with images of rose bushes growing.

Fragile and dangerous and beautiful all at once.

Flowers blooming from mouths and wounds and cracked skin on an empty face, as the chill of winter settles in around him, leaving him with a vague but overwhelming sense of failure.

A lingering loss of something he never had.

[shardclan]

Dawn had come and gone over the Promenade, but the inside of the room was darkened by the stormy expressions of its occupants. The strange tundra was sprawled out on a bed of roc down in one of the spacious back rooms of Promenade Medical where full-form dragons could be treated.

Telos hadn't left him. Not even when Zo had returned with Junior and Abaddon. Not when Lutia had shown up in surprisingly cool temper only to be followed by Safiri in a fit of fury the likes of which none of them had ever seen. Telos might have been pressed to control her if Hart had not also made an appearance. His anger was silent, but the pressure of it left little room for anyone else's. Rather it seemed to absorb them, binding them together into a united  force with only one target worth striking at.

So they sat in deep silence, waiting for the tundra to awaken.

From further down the hall, a commotion was heard--a series of breathless 'scuse me, pardon me's that finally arrived at their door in the form of yet another stranger. Tall with the horns of an imperial, Arcane eyes, and fine sea green hair well down to his waist.

"Oh gods," he wheezed. "Is he alright?"

Every eye in the room turned on him, prickly and aggressive. "Who the hell are you?"

Perilous pushed past the strange imperial, and put her arm in front of him protectively. "I'm sorry, your Majesty. This is Floe--my grandson."

Most eyes dropped to his neck, where sure enough a collar of ice threw off its own haze, and the room relaxed slightly. Floe had insisted on staying with Hibernas out on the edges of the old territory. Hibernas was a minor deity of winter in service to the Icewarden, and similarly Floe was in service to Hibernas. It was unclear if the Arcanist simply had no power over them or if they were exempt from exile like the coven was. Either way, Floe had never come to Aphaster. So this was the first time any of them had seen how he looked when he was shifted.

"You came through the portal," Telos mused, turning the ring in her fingers. "It should have reached you that I expressly forbid passage without my approval."

Floe quickly dropped his head. "I did, and I'm sorry. But it was important! That dragon is one of Icewarden's Chosen, Renat; if Hibernas is the like Warden's eyes in the Isles, Renat is the chains. He watches over the things in the ice, in the crystalspines, sometimes even in the waters--makes sure they sleep. I must take him back!"

Hart laid a hand on Floe's shoulder, commanding his complete attention. "This Chosen Renat... He had the ring that belonged to the last of the old Dynasty."

Floe's lips pressed together, and his already near-transparent skin went even whiter. "I see."

"Fragment always had this ring. Always. It had to have been on his person when he went to exaltation." Telos' finger closed tight, creaking around the  offending item. "So I would like to know how Renat came to possess it."

"I understand. If," Floe groped for the right words. Ones that wouldn't ignite the subdued anger filling the room. "If you're worried he somehow retrieved the ring by means related to de-exaltation, I can promise you that wasn't it."

"Can you."

"I can. Chosen Renat would never dabble with the affairs of the gods. The Chosen are only allowed in the Isles because of an old pact. Something about the receding and relinquishing of the Northern Icefield. Any Chosen who profanes the Arcanist is destroyed. That is Law."

Telos stared into Floe's nervous but sincere eyes, and leaned back with a sigh. She didn't know him or Hibernas, but she knew about Law among dragons who were true servants of the Icewarden. If he said that Renat would die by Law if he blasphemed, then the mere fact that he still breathed was proof he hadn't come across the ring by foul means.

"So he just...found it? Why would he be carrying the ring around? He wasn't even wearing it."

Hart sighed. "He is a tundra as well as being a born one of Icewarden's Chosen. He probably thought it an interesting artifact and sought to preserve it."

"That's exactly what I did," came a gravelly growl.

Renat sat up in his bed with clearly foul temper undaunted by his unfamiliar and hostile company. A flash of silver runes shone cold through his fur, and his massive fangs bared themselves as he flexed his aching body.

"What were you even doing up there," Safiri hissed. "That's sacred ground."

Renat stared at her, completely unmoved. "I've noted no less than forty-four completely unaffiliated Arcanites stand where I stood to study the aether. How sacred is it?"

"What she means to say," Telos said sternly, before it boiled into a fight. "Is that a lot of bad things happened to our clan up there. And we'd like to know why and for how long you've had this ring."

"Bad things happen everywhere," Renat said flatly. "The importance you place on that particular patch of dirt has nothing to do with me. Same for that ring. I found it half-buried in the dirt a few eons ago. I preserved it in dry ice."

His eye happened on Junior. He snorted, but did not appear to bear a grudge. "With Flameforger's so close, it's been hard to keep ice magic functioning properly without melt. It was merely a bit frosty when that lad apparently found it familiar and lost his composure."

Telos immediately got out of her chair to keep Abaddon and Zo in check, but that left no one to keep the lid on Lutia.

In spite of the difference in their size, Lutia showed no fear in grabbing Renat by a tuft of his mane and yanking him down to her eye level. "You've been up there often. I can smell the ozone and the cold in your fur. And I know if you think very hard, you will recognize my scent. Big breath now--"

"Yes," she snarled as she saw recognition in his eyes. "That's exactly right, that was me. That 'lad'? What you picked up is his brother and their father's ring. He found the source of their scent, which he hasn’t experienced in seven eons, in a stranger's claws at the place he last saw them. I think he’s owed a loss of composure. So if you demean him again, I will lose my composure."

Renat shifted his jaw around. Certainly it was humbling to come face to face with the source of that excessive Arcane energy from several eons ago, but something more important ate at him.

"You..." He leaned in, his nostrils flaring invasively against her tiny shape. His eyes narrowed. "You were the one who shook the crystalspines, weren't you?"

"I haven't done any magic in the Isles recently," Lutia growled.

"He means the moving of the Seat," Floe squeaked. "As the celestine shattered, so were other things damaged. Many Outsiders have been roused or released."

Renat finally noticed Floe, and immediately rose from the bed. "You. You knew about this? This is your home clan?"

"Yes. You've been busy. You never asked myself or Hibernas for information. You haven't had the time."

"And now I find out who is responsible. Gods, your Arcanist could not have chosen a worse time to stir the Outsiders." He grabbed his hood and staff from the corner of the room and pointed Floe toward the door. "You will debrief me in full on our journey back."

"It's gonna be a lot shorter than you think; I really think you should see Hibernas."

For the first time, Renat's hackles rose. "I think my duty can be done without intruding on the little love nest you keep trying to build with your kidnapper."

Perilous gripped at her sword even as Floe went bright red with both embarrassment and anger. It was technically true that Hibernas had kidnapped Floe. But it was Floe who chose to stay even when his mothers had come to rescue him. It was Floe who loved Hibernas and insisted on staying, not the other way around. Hibernas was lacking in a dragon's common sense, but he was not cruel and he had never once prevented Floe from going home.

"Don't talk about him like that,” he muttered with quivering shoulders. “You don't know either of us."

"It's better that way."

Telos's grip on the ring tightened until veins stood out stark on her hand. "Enough. I can't detain you if you're god-chosen, but I can make your escort out of my territory very rude. Floe hasn't lived among us, but I consider him as my own. Mind your tongue, be about your business, and get the hell out of here."

Floe grabbed Renat and dragged him out, eager to be off before the situation soured even further. Perilous went after them, and could be heard hissing and cussing on her grandchild’s behalf until her voice faded out.

Telos sagged in her seat. Only a little had really happened but it all felt so jumbled. Was the business with the Outsiders something she needed to be concerned with? Renat seemed to have it under control, and it was a problem older than the Seat or any of their woes. Older than the current age for that matter.

Godsdammit. All she'd wanted was to go to the mountain top and get some things of her chest. She felt angry, but Renat had encountered the ring completely by coincidence. And relinquished it so easily. Aside from his complete disregard for others' feelings he really hadn't done anything wrong. But it all still felt wrong somehow, like she should have punished Renat. Like she should have been able to have more control over the situation that she did and his walking out was...anti-climactic. She couldn't even really let herself be happy or grateful to have a memento of her husband for how irrationally vexed she was.

Of course, she might have just been a bit high-strung given she hadn't slept in a full day now. When she finally spoke, it was with a weary finality that plainly said the loose ends of the situation would have to be dealt with another time.

"I'm going to bed.”

[jpowssbcu2]

Further digging deeper

Further digging deeper:

 Task 1: Select Select an artwork/installation/film/sculpture/book/article/soundtrack/object/thing

I decided to do a further digging deeper to discover new materials that I could possibly use to make my plaster heads more interesting.

Task 2: Respond Write a 200-word response to the work. This does not have to be written in an academic style. Make it personal; think about how the work made you feel or what it reminded you of instead of what it looks like.

I really like the plaster head sculptures; the process was timely but easy to do. However, they’re just hollow plaster heads ready to be sealed and possibly planted. I wish to make these heads more interesting whether I dig deeper into the materials that I could use and the purpose that these materials could have and the impact they share. The heads remind me of the busts that you’d see in an old fashion home – apart of the décor, possible mounted onto a wall or displayed on a fireplace. It would be interesting whether I can see inside the plant heads? Maybe a transparent material? Or to use a transparent material that could be mixed with items or plaster – or possibly layered with plaster?

Task 3: Research Research is more than finding out about the artist that made the work or how it was made. We want you to use these artworks as starting off points. We want you to dig deeper. Be curious!  3:1 Start by identifying key themes of the artworks. Make a list.

Plaster sculpture, Head, Plaster, Person’s head, bust, Material, Texture, Colour, Shape 3:2 Try some word association from the keywords.

Material – Plaster, Plastic, Acrylic, Polymer, Concrete, Resin, 3D Print, Vinyl, Fibre Glass, Silicone, Rubber, Latex, 3:3 You can now use these keywords to search in the library as well as various online sites.   You can start by using websites such as… • bbc.co.uk • theguardian.com   • moussemagazine.it • frieze.com   • tate.org.uk   • e-flux.com   • itsnicethat.com   What other sites can you dig in? Find your own resources relevant to your practice

I made my first search on tate.org.uk and found an artist, John Davies who used Polyester Resin with fiberglass to create a head sculpture. The sculpture is based on a life cast made of William Jeffrey’s head in 1972. A series of heads resulted from this cast, of which five were completed, all entitled ‘William Jeffrey with Device’. T01578 was the third in the series and had perhaps the most complex of the devices used. The ‘devices’ on the other four are: one, chicken wire, stretched over a wire frame, over a horn shape which covered the nose, forehead, and mouth but which left the eyes visible; two, a horn-like form from between the eyes covering the nose and part of the mouth, with feathers around the outer rim of the form; three, two pieces of dowelling, one resting horizontally on the bridge of the nose, the other parallel to this on the tip of the nose; both were fixed by wire around the ears, and the eyes look out in the space between the dowelling; four, a hat made of felt and coated with oil paint, a painted leaf-like structure over the nose with pieces cut out so that the eyes are visible. The artwork relates to mine so far as I started off with creating a series of heads to which I can experiment with. It will be interesting how I can use resin to create some works that could create an illusion of something or to layer up to create a mixed media head sculpture – possibly mixing found items into the resin.

I then started to search more into resin, but I couldn’t find many works that were relevant to mine so I just type ‘resin head casts’ into google. I found an artist called Richard Dupont who created a series of head casts that were filled with salvaged items and cast with resin. http://www.richarddupont.com/sculptures/resin-heads/featured-works#6

This gave me an idea that I can use found objects that are relevant to my idea suffocation and possibly put them into the resin as I pour it into my mould.

 I then searched ‘Concrete’ into Tate.org.uk and found work by Henry Moore. https://www.tate.org.uk/art/research-publications/henry-moore/judith-collins-henry-moore-and-concrete-cast-carved-coloured-and-reinforced-r1172059 Henry Moore made in total twenty-one sculptures in concrete, all between the years 1926 and 1934. This was a period of experimentation and rapid development in his career in which he explored this new medium alongside stone and wood. As he later commented, he was then very interested in all types of sculptural media and took up concrete in part because it was becoming a more commonly used building material and he was hopeful of being commissioned to produce concrete sculptures to go with these new buildings. Perhaps equally important was its cheapness (he had little money then) and the different ways in which it could be worked: concrete could be cast in a mould, shaped and added to while soft, or carved when hard. It could also be colored by pigments and incorporate other objects. Carving was his preferred mode of making sculptures during the 1920s and 1930s: famously espousing the doctrine of truth to materials, he publicly championed the view that a sculptor should carve word or stone directly in order to be able to respond to its properties rather than attempt to disguise them. But the story of Moore’s engagement with concrete shows him also alive to the possibilities of a material that could be modeled, carved and cast, and creates a more nuanced understanding of his approach to material and technique in the interwar years.

3:4 Can you expand your research to find links that address… • What you think the artist would have researched when making their artwork?

Artists would have researched how the materials would work; how the materials respond when being mixed with other materials and the durability and whether the materials are versatile. Artists would have researched how other artists may have used these materials or artists who have created something similar.

• How the artwork relates to current news events? Artist Henry Moore relates to an artist Stefano Boeri ‘Forest cities’. Henry created concrete sculptures as a commission to go with some buildings. However, Stefano used concrete buildings to house people and a forest of plants to create a self-sustainable town. https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/gardening-blog/2013/feb/27/bosco-verticale-vertical-gardening

Richard Dupont created a collection of resin heads. One of his resin head creations ‘Pink Head, 2011 made with solid cast UV stable polyurethane resin with studio and personal detritus, found and salvage, recycled objects, and waste’ reminded me of a news article I found on The Guardian. It talks about how if we reuse/recycle materials, we could possibly create 200,000 jobs. To see Richard is using found, recycled and other types of materials in his resin heads is a way of using less resin (saving him a lot of money) and a way to create colourful art with a strong meaning.

https://www.theguardian.com/business/2015/jan/20/reusing-recycling-waste-materials-creates-jobs

• How the artwork relates to history? “Mould making is a 6000-year old skill. That means that our prehistoric ancestors were working in the same technique that we can pass on to our children and grandchildren.” “Archaeologists have also unearthed stone moulds used for making axes from about 3000 BC. They were probably made from an identical two-piece mould tied together with a rope, with a hole on top through which the liquid metal would have been poured. Many early weapons were fabricated through casting, making this technique key to the success of the hunting and gathering lifestyle of early humans. This shows the effect that fabrication techniques have on all aspects of life.” https://smartartbox.com/blogs/smart-art-blog/history-of-mold-making-and-casting

• Can you find any online articles that relate to each of your selected keywords?

Making concrete green: Reinventing the worlds most used synthetic material.

https://www.theguardian.com/sustainable-business/2016/mar/04/making-concrete-green-reinventing-the-worlds-most-used-synthetic-material

Golden resin highlights cracks in the floor of TANK's Xchange Apartment: Inspired by the Japanese Kintsugi method.

https://www.dezeen.com/2016/07/22/gold-resin-floor-cracks-tank-xchange-apartment-kyoto-japan/

• Can you find any books in the library that relate to your keywords? “This is an informative, inspirational, and highly illustrated introduction to the design potential of concrete and its vital role in contemporary architecture. It mixes key issues such as design, aesthetics, and sustainability, with useful technical content such as how to set out the design of a concrete structure, guides to the basic principles (column sizes, slab thicknesses, and types) and how to achieve many different concrete finishes. Accessibly written: this book will appeal to both students and junior practicing architects, and function as a handy guide for more senior architects too.”

https://www.waterstones.com/book/concrete/michael-stacey/9781859463345

Rachel Whiteread is one of Britain's most exciting contemporary artists. Her work is characterised by its use of industrial materials such as plaster, concrete, resin, rubber, and metal. With these she casts the surfaces and volume in and around everyday objects and architectural space, creating evocative sculptures that range from the intimate to the monumental.

https://www.whsmith.co.uk/products/rachel-whiteread/9781849764643

 3:5 Identify the connections between the expanded research and the original artwork.  Can you summarise and reflect upon the expanded research and how it relates to your initial artwork? Think about the connections between the various links - can this provide an alternative way of thinking about your project/concept/idea… How do you relate this to the work that you are making? How can this expanded research develop your own practice?

After doing my research, I’m particularly interested in resin. Resin seems to be the most exciting material to work with and will allow me to do many things with it. However, it’s very expensive and has many health and safety guidelines. Richard Dupont resin head collection has given me an idea for my project to help develop my head casts. The concrete works haven’t really interested me to the level that I would like to use concrete in my own practices, but maybe in the future, I could use concrete to create some interesting creations. I also feel that using concrete will have many implements for my work and cause problems.

[reconcilethewords-blog]

Application Day Chapter One: Take a Deep Breath and Count to Three

Written by - Reconcilethewords and Paperhelmet The big-headed man entered the craft from behind Sam and Bailey with a synthetic hiss, the beam of blue-white light collapsing behind him. He rubbed his pupil-less eyes - which blinked horizontally - and straightened his back with a crack. "You kids alright? Running into a Beam Elevator is a good way to make yourself sick, y'know.” He rubbed his pupil-less eyes - which blinked horizontally - and straightened his back with a crack. “I'd say save that kind of thing for emergencies. Economy instant transports usually can't handle solving two directions at once. Been known to port the contents've your stomach in half a second late." Sam leaned against the nearest wall he could find, bracing himself on his forearm and covering his mouth with his hand. A couple of dry heaves later he spoke hoarsely. "I don't understand... Anything you just said..." The Fountain Dew in his stomach sloshed around sickeningly. His gum was gone; likely swallowed on the way up.  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Bailey was with him and sighed in relief when he found her. Bailey, eyes watering from the florescent lights, frantically went for her bag. In the light of the ship Sam could make out her heart shaped face and almond-colored eyes. There was a subtle upturn of her nose with a high widows peak that was hidden amidst head of tight brown curls that fell at her shoulders. Her lips, dry and cracked, were full and in a perpetual pout even when she was smiling. She was thick legged with full hips, her face holding a bit of baby fat in her flushed cheek. She was a full head shorter than Sam and only inches taller than the alien standing just beside her. Gold and silver bangles hung from hers wrists by tens and her nails were painted a striking orange with flaking varnish that hadn't been reapplied in months. Her fingers were covered in bandages in a rainbow of gaudy colors - some peeling back to reveal small cat-like scratches that had yet to start healing. Her feather ornament, seemingly to be from a very large avian, sparkled with gold filament in the lights. It looked to have been dipped in gold metal, the edges razor sharp to touch. Her messenger bag, showing it's age in a frayed strap and creases, was peppered with novelty pins and flags of several different countries. The largest being a Aboriginal-inspired orca jumping a cresting wave of blue and green - the words 'Go Canucks!' splayed over the middle. Her face was a sickeningly green pallor, clearly suffering the same stomach pain as Sam. The world was lost on her for a moment as she fussed over whatever was inside. He could see her in living color now, as well as the big-headed man a few steps behind her. He was your typical grey alien; big, ovular head, black eyes and no nose to speak of. His grey skin was smooth and hairless, except for the area around his mouth, dusted with stubble. The safety-yellow jacket and slacks he was wearing in addition to the matching trucker hat conjured the image of a intergalactic bus-driver. Sam raised his brow and sharply inhaled through his teeth. "You uh... You're an alien... With a hat," he offered flatly. The grey snorted. "And you're a human; with working eyeballs."  "Please be okay, please be okay." She mumbled worriedly under her breath. A woozy whine resounded from the bag in a nauseated trill. Sam turned his head to the side, then looked back at Bailey. "Did... Was that you?," he questioned, somewhat worried. "Did your bag just make bird noises?" "No!" She began out of habit, only to cut herself short with a nervous smile, "Yeah... yeah it did." Bailey relented awkwardly. The grey laughed and pushed past. "Kid, if you've got an animal you can let it run around. Well... Long as it ain't anything dangerous." He pulled up his slacks and moseyed on through a nearby door that Sam assumed lead to the rest of the ship. She watched the grey leave through the sliding door and whistled comfortingly to her messenger bag, rubbing soothing circles in the side. Upon realizing that Bailey wasn't going to take the man's (she wondered if they had the same pronouns) advice her bag gave an irate trill and smacked violently against her thigh in a child-like fit. "Yeah, real mature you big baby. You can deal." She scowled at it impishly, but not bothering to stop the thrashing. Her hand white-knuckled the strap, the frayed edges lining up with the bandages on her fingers. "Sorry," She told Sam, "S'been a long trip, I think he's restless - or being cooped up for so long. I've been promising to feed him since Jasper..." Sam made a map in his head and drew and imaginary line from British Columbia - The home of the 'Go Canucks!' logo on Bailey's bag - to Medicine Hat, Alberta and cringed. "You went a full province without feeding the thing? That's no good. We gotta get something in it before... I dunno, what is it even?" She shrugged helplessly, "Best we probably do before he forces his way out." Bailey muttered, cringing in memory of what he had done to her neighbors mobile home back in the trailer park where she had grown up. "He's kinda like a bird --" Bailey, standing just shy of Sam, was cut short as her bag trilled excitedly. A long tongue slipped from the corner of the flap and licked at his pant leg - stealing a spider that had made a home there. The material where the tongue had made contact began to sizzle. The tongue slithered back with a quick snap, an elated muffled chirping coming from within "... Like a bird, you said?" Sam stared at the patch of seared denim, pulling it away from his leg to get a better look. He tried to think of all the different kinds of birds he knew with acidic tongues, but unfortunately none sprang to mind. "Look, maybe we should follow the alien, God I never thought I'd say that and mean it, and mean that. Maybe... Idunno, maybe there's non-pants related food for it inside, all I've got it in my bag is candy." He turned around and made for the set of steel doors the grey had left through. ‘Okay... Find your happy place... Deep breath. Just find somewhere to sit down and collect your thoughts, its no big deal you've been abducted by aliens, happens to tons of people.’ He shook his hands loose and moved one toward the doors. ‘If crappy B-Movies on the Space network have taught me anything...’ An electronic beep ‘arped gently from an unseen speaker and the doors flew apart.  His smile was triumphant. ‘Yeah, thought so.’  “I’m sorr…” Bailey began, only to be interrupted subsequently abandoned by Sam in the small hallway as he marched towards the sliding doors. A nervous trilled questioned from her bag, feeding off Bailey’s own anxiety. She mumbled under her breath, giving her bag a soft but firm pat. She was quick to fall in step behind Sam. She was wholly unprepared for what greeted her. “W-Whoa.” The doors retracted in a snap, spurred by the sensor bars visible in the doorframe. It beeped twice as Sam and Bailey stepped through, both flabbergasted and confused by the sight. Beyond them it opened into a gigantic circular space with a vaulted ceiling that stood at least fifty feet above their heads. The room was ringed by massive digital flat screens that could have been easily mistaken for windows in the chrome bulkhead. It gave a panoramic view of the outside of the ship that was resting on the top of the knoll they had only just sprinted across, still lit up by the diffused blue glow of the ship’s spot-lights.

The interior itself was an anachronistic amalgamation of alien technology and 1950’s décor. One half of the ship was dedicated to a styled lounge and a open air kitchen. Diner-inspired seats made of pastel blue upholstery ringed the plasma viewings screens with tin-table tops between them. People, of varying races and species, seated themselves sparsely in the rows. Giddy giggles and bouts of excited chatter broke over them in a quiet din as the smell of greasy food and burnt bacon wafted from kitchen. It looked as if a piece of 1950’s Americana had been ripped off the side of a highway and jammed into the corner of a Roswell spacecraft. A checker-tiled quartz counter top separated the lone cook from the passengers as she flitted between the grill top and the coffee maker. She was dressed down in a loose fitted t-shirt with tattoos from wrist to elbow chewing nosily on a piece of bubble gum. Bar stools ringed her counter and a few of the passengers had taken refuge there clutching chalk-white cups of coffee. Bailey, barely able to tear her eyes away, flicked them over to the second half of the ship where the marriage of the two impossibilities happened. It was free of seats and wide-screens, instead piled with World War II telemetry and radars. The scripts scrolled in indecipherable runic letters that reminded her of the movie ‘Independence Day.’ Sam could only stare, taking in the odd menagerie of races and eras that forced themselves into his eyes. Silently, unblinking and without looking, he retrieved a dark-chocolate almond bar from his backpack. "Baiwey... Are you feeing vis," he said, not so much a question as begging confirmation that he hadn’t gone crazy. "Mhm," Bailey whined high pitched behind lips drawn into a thin line.  He scanned the area for other humans or anything vaguely modern and familiar, but every creature his eyes could find save for Bailey was only human at first glance. Some had horns, antennae, tails, wings... One had the lower body of a goat, to which Sam could only muster an exasperated blow. The grey dressed in yellow reappeared overhead, sitting comfortably in a levitating chair and fiddling with some kind of futuristic tablet. He came to a slow stop in the middle of the transparent dome that occupied the center of the ceiling, several holographic screens flickering to life around him. Fixing his hat, the grey pulled a small microphone from the arm of his chair and a touch of feedback echoed throughout the craft. "Attention passengers, attention passengers, this is Captain Larrz of the S.S. Sunspot. In about five minutes we will be prepared for take-off. If there are any calls you have to make before we leave satellite range, please make those calls now. Estima-... Haha, whoops, hit the coffee maker. Estimated time 'till we reach the school, about twelve hours. Feel free to have a nap, we'll wake you up when we get there. Oh, kitchen's open too, please inform our lovely Chef Ganymede of any allergies before ordering. Enjoy the flight." Sam swallowed. "... This is actually happening... I guess... We should find somewhere to sit." With the Captain announcement, Bailey grimaced. On top of the eighteen hours she had already traveled, her cramped thighs ached at the idea of tacking on another twelve. 'Wait, doesn't it take three days to get to --'  "Ha-buh-wha?" She babbled to Sam, her voice cracking with prepubescence. "R-right!" she squeaked, her cheeks red from embarrassment.  "Food." She daftly stated, pivoting on her heel toward the counter. Sam climbed into one of the stools lining the porcelain counter. It was stained with age, but otherwise clean, save for the odd crumb or two. He eyed a few of the less obvious contraptions in the kitchen, unsure of what more a kitchen needed than a stove, a fridge and a few cupboards. One gadget had a big rectangular window set in it, taller than it was wide, with a narrow slot just thick enough to maybe slide a CD into. Another resembled a water cooler, but with a thin mechanical arm in place of a spigot. He shook his head. It was going to take a long time to get over any of this.  "Hey uh... Why don't you go first," Sam offered to Bailey, admittedly somewhat scared of starting a conversation with anyone that wasn't for sure a human being. This "Ganymede" seemed to fit the bill but something felt... off about her. "You need it more than I do, after all, heh." With a faint nod of agreement, Bailey sat down beside Sam and rested her satchel on her thighs. It moved and twitched, chirping anxiously; invigorated by the smell of bacon grease. "Um," She glanced warily at the menu, finding her cheeks warming yet again with embarrassment. "I've never actually done this before... I've always just gone out and bought packages of raw meat from a butcher or grocery store..." She told Sam under her breath, gesturing towards the cook with both hands discreetly, "How do you ask 'Hey, can I have whole raw chicken if you got one?'" She asked Sam helplessly Sam laughed, amused. "A whole chicken? Like from a mini-mall or something? What kind of dog are you keeping in there?" He scratched the back of his hand, still nervous. "Why don't you literally just say that? We're on a... Hoo... We're, we're on a U.F.O., I'm pretty sure 'I'd like a whole chicken, please,'" he exaggerated the phrase with some silly gestures, "isn't too much of a thing to ask for." He looked back at the kitchen. "Speaking of, I guess we know what they do with all that abducted livestock now...”  Bailey snorted with a quiet giggle. "I didn't say it was a dog," She reminded with a playful hint. It was still surreal to be open about her most guarded and closely kept secret. Bailey pulled out her cellphone and laid it on the counter, it was a clunky and old, the first version of a touch screen. She tapped the screen, opening up the menu, and selected a note pad application. In it had several lines, once of which was labeled  'School.' She opened the application and typed. 'Mode of transportation; spaceship. ‘Three day journey condensed into twelve hours.'  Bailey sighed as she set it down, shook her head, and waved down the cook. She glanced at Sam, pushed down her cowardice, and let the words tumble out of her mouth. "Hey, um - It is possible to get chicken? Like... a whole one? Raw?" She cringed, "Er... If not, s-s'not a bother... Sorry." Chef Ganymede looked over, a baby-blue bubble hovering just in front of her lips. It popped audibly, and she sucked it back into her mouth. "Sure thing, sugar," she responded tiredly, placing her phone in her cleavage and turning towards the kitchen. "... Huh. It really was that easy," Sam let slip. "Er, uh, I mean, see? It's that easy." He coughed. His eyes followed Ganymede, expecting her to make a beeline for the refrigerator, his face falling slightly when she went the opposite direction. She opened the front of a tall, metal cylinder that was separated vertically into tiers, filled to the top with colored discs. She took a single pinkish-beige disc from the middle and closed the door, heading over to the windowed gizmo Sam had noticed earlier. With precision that spoke volumes about her familiarity with her job, she slid the disc into the odd slot in the bottom of the machine and activated it with a few prods of a keypad.

Sam attempted to shake himself awake when he saw the pink wireframe of a plucked and headless chicken appear in the rectangular window. He had to add a double-take and a quick session of rubbing his eyes when he saw the real deal reconstitute itself from whatever was in that disc. In just under a minute Ganymede had whisked the poultry onto a red and white dinner plate and served it to Bailey, cold, dead, and surprisingly fresh, as if it had just been washed and prepared. "And for yourself, darlin'?," she asked Sam nonchalantly. Sam's mouth hung open as if to catch flies. "... I uh... Need a moment." "That's amazing! Just like outta a sci-fi comic-" Bailey gushed loudly, only shrink in on herself as the plate was slid in front of her. Several heads turned, some chuckled, and another muttered disdainfully. "Mundanes." Bailey mumbled her thanks, hiding behind a fringe of her curls, and opened the flap of her bag to tip the chicken in. An excited trilled erupted from the leather - the bag throwing itself around on her lap with the sounds of noisy snap of jaws and a whine for more seconds later. "That is all you get for now. More later, promise..." She looked bashfully up at the cook. "H-How much do I owe you?" Ganymede raised her palm and shook her head. "First one's on the house, sweetie. Most students get on this ol' starbucket with not a Copper to their name. It'd be unfair to charge." She shot a steely glare at the man who had spoken up in a fit of prejudice, leaving him suitably cowed. "And don't mind the peanut gallery. Non-students should count themselves lucky we let them on at all. This ship belongs to the School, darnit." She turned her attention back to Sam, who was fidgeting something fierce, eyes fixed on the point in space whereupon the chicken ceased to be. "I uh... I guess I'll have uh..." Sam thought for a moment. "... What's a mundane?" Ganymede laughed, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "Humans, sugar. Non-magic humans that can't see past the Barrier. Something you two ain't anymore." Sam rested his chin on his palm. "Well that just raised more questions..." Bailey shifted on her seat, leaning over her bag to open up a new notepad on her phone. "I read about it," she offered to Sam. "From what little I could find, it's like walking around with a blindfold on? Sorta?" Her dark eyes fled to Ganymede, wondering if the metaphor was the correct one. The tallish woman straightened her dark hair and examined herself in the reflection of the cash register before her. "Something like that. The long and the short of it is that anything outside of what regular earth folks consider 'normal' is essentially invisible to their senses. It's called the Barrier by most. Sort of a thing the brain flicks on to hide the Magical World from humans, lest they go nuts from the revelation, or get into trouble." Ganymede leaned on the counter. "The two sides separated by the Barrier can't do nothin' to each other. Can't see each other, can't hear. Can't even touch. They just pass right through like they don't even exist." She looked between the two clueless students-to-be, taking something of a sadistic pleasure in watching them try to figure everything out from her words alone. "'Course, the Barrier can be weakened by being around a lot of magical stuff, or having magical blood down your family tree. And if a Mundane's Barrier's weak and they stumble on into something their brain can't think of a lie for..." She snapped her fingers and watched the startled duo jump. "The Barrier breaks! Then that lucky little Mundane is on their way to becoming a part of the Magical Community... Like you two." She smiled warmly."Though, you may not be all the way yet... Comes in stages, y'know. First you start seeing and hearing things you swear aren't there... Then you're actually able to interact with some of the more 'human-like' Magical Folk. Next thing you know, you're seeing everything the way it should be." Ganymede's expression turned wistful as she reminisced in silence of the time her own Barrier shattered. "Wow..." Bailey said through her teeth, but her eyes fell to her satchel. She tried to process the fact that she had, inadvertently, joined another sect of people. Magical people. Magical Society. "Like... muggles vs wizards type thing?" Bailey couldn't stop herself from blurting out, the only comparison her overwhelmed mind could supply. "I-I mean..." She gave up, then, and buried her face in her hands.  Ganymede raised an eyebrow. "... Muggles? What're those?" "Its a thing in a book..." Sam explained absent-minded, leaving Ganymede puzzled. "So like... If I'm getting this right, there's just been this... World, that we couldn't see going on around us since were born, and we're only starting to see it now? Because something," fingers raised in quotation, "'Magical', happened to us?" "That's the simple way to put it, yeah," Ganymede nodded. "So our whole lives, there could have been... Things we couldn't see spying on us? Like, a ghost or something could've been break-dancing beside me while I slept for all seventeen years of my life and I would have never known?" His tone steadily grew more and more serious while a translucent girl several stools down giggled to herself. "Well, with some of the more human-ish folk, your brain would've dressed them up as humans so as to lighten the load, so to speak. So a fella that was, say, an Elf wouldn't be able to pull a stunt like that. But something as complex as a ghost could get away with a break dance or two, I'd reckon." She winked cheekily. Sam hugged his stomach, suddenly wishing he'd never asked. "... I feel ill..." Bailey reached her hand up as if to pat Sam consolingly on the shoulder, but thought better of it. "It's okay man," She offered instead, "Maybe a glass of water?" Bailey asked Ganymede pleadingly gentle.  She worried her lips between her teeth, troubled with thought.There was so much she didn't know and so much to take in -- and Bailey hadn't been normal - Mundane - for a long time. Not since she was eight years old. She thought, then, on the website pages that came up '404 error' and found herself saying. "I don't think I'm fully out of it yet... I still can't see some things. What about you, Sam? What made you start seeing things?" "Well, uh..." he began. "It was a couple months ago, when I was still living with... Living at my old place. Crummy neighborhood, so, of course all the crummy kids that lived there went to the same crummy school I did. I was eating a chocolate bar... Foreign stuff, got it off the internet, and some jerk, Jason Carmichael shoved me outta my seat. We were in the courtyard, so it got covered in dirt and gravel and... stuff. I'd told him to back off the day before. He was always picking on me..." Sam knocked back a mouthful of water after Ganymede placed it in his hand. "... So, knowing what he does to kids who tick him off, I... reacted. I hucked a bunch of rocks in his face." Sam made a throwing gesture. "I'd thrown the chocolate too, I didn't even realize I picked it up, and then... It exploded. Right in Jason's fat, ugly mug." He nodded, staring into space, almost like an old, grizzled war veteran recalling his days in Vietnam. "It had to be the chocolate too... I remember bits of burning chocolate stuck to my fingers. After that, I got expelled for 'endangering a fellow student' by 'bringing fireworks to school'... Got in a fight with my f-... My parents. Started seeing weird things out of the corner of my eye and finding TV channels I never knew existed. And uh, yeah. I guess that's where mine got... Broken."After a short silence he stretched loudly to ease the tension. "Uh, w-whaaat about you?," he said to Bailey, reminiscent of a talk-show host. "How'd your one, yours... Your Barrier break?”  Bailey listened intently. "Yeah, kids are real assholes sometimes." Bailey told him sympathetically."Mine? Nothing like that. Mine was a lot slower. Sorta realized the pet I had wasn't... exactly normal." She chuckled nervously and placed both hands on her messenger bag. "When he started growing feathers, I sorta realized I was in trouble. But if I really think about it - I think I know when I... advanced a stage?" She looked to Ganymede for confirmation and the cook nodded, gesturing for her to continue.  "My neighbor in the trailer park, uh, where I live." Bailey sighed, thinking back on the day, and squeezed her satchel with white knuckles. "He always like one of those hoarders - you know? Like on AnE channel? Nasty old guy, always chased us kids away from his trailer. Everyone hated him. Anyway, this guy got away from me and he was too big at that point for me to stop. I found him in my neighbors mobile home - had to break in to get it." Bailey grimaced. "My neighbor had like... faeries? I think, locked up in bottles all over the place. I didn't know what to do so I picked Abel and booked it out of there. After that, I started seeing more and more stuff." "Starting t-... Okay, I gotta level with you Bailey. What the hell is in the bag?" He took a moment to mentally ask himself what he thought he was doing. If she had it locked up in a bag, it was probably for good reason. Ganymede agreed. "Yeah, what is rustling around in that sack of yours? I've just been watching it twitch, plum curious as to what kinda animal you've got in there. If it even is an animal..." She smiled at Bailey, knowing all too well that whatever was in that bag could be intelligent. "Also, make sure you peg your pig-shit neighbor for Faerie Trafficking, that's all kinds of illegal." A light rumble pulsed through the floor as the S.S. Sunspot's engines came to life. Captain Larz's voice filled the air. "Please stay seated, ladies and gentlemen, we'll be taking off in just a minute or two." "Well, uh, a few years ago... Abel," she gestured to her bag, "kinda fell on his trailer and bisected the thing. I think a lot of them got away. I threw a empty propane tank in there and the cops blamed it on faulty stove." She grinned triumphantly to Ganymede, glad she had done the right thing, even if by accident. She instinctively rested her hand over the flap of her messenger bag. Her pet, Abel, trilled curiously. As if excited by the prospect of being freed from confines of the satchel. "...Uh, um... Spoilers?" She laughed, eyebrows pinching contritely. Bailey was uncomfortable with exposing Abel. She had spent ten years keeping him a close guarded secret. It was hard to wipe away a decade of secrecy, even if she was slowly leaving the planets orbit bound for, hopefully, greater things. Bailey raised her band-aid covered hand up to the feather tied in her hair. It was nearly a foot long, edges tipped with gold, and played with it between her fingers. It was a gradient of exotic orange and green, flecks of red threaded through the keratin. "This is one of his feathers." Sam looked between the feather and Bailey, unimpressed, while Ganymede looked on with an intrigued expression, wholeheartedly impressed. "Psh," Sam blew. "'Spoilers'... It can't stay in there forever, Bailey. Gotta go to the bathroom at some point..." He turned to Ganymede. "Speaking of which-" He was cut off by the sudden roar of the craft's propulsion system. A low hum began to reverberate through the Sunspot's cavernous interior as the fire-less engines glowed white with power. The saucer displaced a roiling cloud of dust as its wire-thin landing gear retracted into the hull and the ring of lights dotting its edge began to slowly rotate around the perimeter. Sam tore himself away from the conversation to observe the simulated windows, on the other side of which the horizon began to sink. He gulped, fighting and just barely beating the urge to run and look over the edge. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, stifled only by a lingering fear that was slowly ebbing away. "... I guess this is it." "It is," Bailey whispered, eyes resting on the sun as it just peaked over the horizon. The expanse of pine forests and cities below slowly becoming nothing more than specks of inconsequential grid lights. She searched the horizon for a sight of home, fighting the cognitive hallmarks of severe homesickness. She thought of the beach her Mom took her to on lazy summer days or the nature hikes through valleys in the middle of forested suburbs. 'If I don't get in,' Bailey told herself, tearing her eyes away, and clutched at the glass in her hand. 'It'll be a Hell of a story... that I can't tell anyone.' Bailey inhaled sharply through her nose and threw Sam an uneasy grin. "You only need to be brave once, right?" She echoed her mantra. Words a wiry-thin old man had told a little girl with a fat-lip and a black eye. “Good mindset," said Ganymede, keeping an eye on Sam, afraid he might start to hyperventilate. "Hon, have you decided on something to eat? Food'll be good for your nerves." Sam shook his head free of his thoughts and turned back towards the worried chef. "S-sorry. Just... Do you have burgers? Something with meat and... bread, I guess... I don't know, I'm drawing a blank." Ganymede chuckled. "Bacon cheeseburger and fries it is. What about you... Bailey, right? Getting anything for yourself tonight?" She glanced at the simulated windows. "Or, today, I should say." "Just the same," Bailey's mouth salivated at the idea of food, she hadn't eaten since they left Vancouver. Her focus had been on Abel and his care. "Since it's technically my second meal." Bailey opened the flap of her back, digging her arm into the satchel without worry. She winced as she scraped against Abel's muzzle, catching on his hide, and he chirped rubbing against her hand affectionately. He was intelligent enough to understand that they were leaving. When they had cleared the Rocky Mountains, he had been frantic without of the scent of the sea and reacted to Bailey's own growing trepidation. 'Later, bud, I promise.' She silently promised, tapping her fingers against his nose. He huffed, but she found the purse. She pulled the blue, telephone box printed clip purse from her bag. "I'm not exactly sure what the currency exchange is... I just have this on me... I hope it's enough." She opened it and pulled out six platinum coins and several smaller silver ones and few gold. They were printed with a ten planet solar system with the sun at the center. "Ooh, someone got sent away with change to spare." Ganymede's eyes sparkled in the light that reflected off of the bashful girl's money. "All that's gonna take you far. What you've got there is close to seven-hundred US Dollars. Just five of the silver ones is fine, sugar." Sam recoiled in shock. "Wh-... Are you loaded or something!?," he asked incredulously, as if he'd just been betrayed. Bailey stared wide-eyed at the Ganymede's estimation. She had her phone in her hand neigh instantly, thumbing the exchange. "I-I'm not loaded! I live in a trailer park!" She reminded feverishly, putting her phone back on the table - aghast. "Either way, two bacon burger combos coming right up." Ganymede retreated back to the kitchen and pulled a half-empty bag of frozen fries from the freezer. Sam put a hand to his mouth and whispered to Bailey. "Thank god, she's using a normal appliance. If she just up and downloaded a burger I was gonna freak." Ganymede then proceeded to take a couple of tiny brown tablets from a nearby cupboard and place them into the second gadget Sam had noticed earlier, the one with the tiny mechanical arm. A few bubbles rose from the bottom of the transparent water tank to the top, and the tiny arm whirred to life, depositing atop the tablets a drop of water each. In barely any time at all the tablets had unfurled and expanded, fully transformed into hamburger buns nearly the size of a human head, sesame seeds and all. Sam's poker face was resolute, and polished as bronze. “I uh... I need to go bleed the l-... Relieve myself, 'scuse me..." Despite the Captain's orders and Ganymede's concerned hand, Sam got to his feet. She chuckled as Sam leaned to whisper at her opening her mouth to agree - only to cringe as his concern became reality His expression was inscrutable as he fled across the bay despite Ganymede's warning to remain seated. "Sam wa-" He was gone across the foyer before she had a chance to finish. She sighed heavily, concerned, and rubbed at the back of her neck."That boy gonna be okay, sugar?" The cook sighed with a light bob of her head as she dropped the fries into the scalding fryer oil. "I have no idea," Bailey answered truthfully, "I literally just met him thirty minutes ago in a forest..." She massaged her temple, feeling an on coming headache. It wasn't bred out of frustration or concern, but long drawn out fatigue. Bailey was exhausted.  The ship's din quieted as people sorted themselves among the plush leather seats and others hunkered down for the long haul. Light music floated out of the speakers, crackling with dynamic feedback. It was old and country - no doubt the Captain's choice. Ganymede swept away from her for a moment, busy with other passengers, and prepping their order. This was just another day at work for the chef. This was just another day for all of them. This was so normal for them. Like a commercial flight to Honolulu or Mexico... Except they were orbit bound. Her phone, resting on the counter, buzzed with a update notice. Captain Larrz had warned them they had a small window of opportunity to make any urgent calls. With the horizon slowly ebbing away into a sky darkened with encroaching stars, Bailey knew it was closing. The network bars were slowly decreasing by the minute, a 'roaming' warning popped up in the corner. She brought up her contacts with a tap of her thumb, hovering over 'Mom.' Bailey clicked the green call icon and brought the receiver to her ear. "Heya honey!" Her Mother's voice erupted excitedly from the other end. "It's pretty late for you to be calling - early? God, what time is it even over there?" She questioned, the sounds of a fire and luau music crackling through the speaker. "Hey, Mom." Bailey hoped her voice didn't crack. "I was up early, wanted to see how you and Charlie were doing?" "We're doing great, sweetheart, you should see the view from the hotel. It's breath taking. Just like the post cards we used to look at remember?" Bailey's eyes fled plasma screens that ringed the ship, Earth slowly spreading out before her in a 1080p panoramic. "That sounds amazing, Mom. I'm so glad you're having fun. You deserve it you know." She trailed off. Bailey closed her eyes and wanted to only focus on her Mother's voice. She didn't know when she would hear it again. "Mom?" "Uhuh?" "I love you, you know that right?" "Of course, baby... What's wrong?" She fretted, the enthusiasm lost from her voice. She tsked. "I knew we shouldn't have left you by yourself - I can cancel, we come home early --" Bailey, hearing the crackle of an impending disconnect, rushed to say."I just wanted to tell you that I love you and you're the best, you know?" "Awe, honey - Just a week more and we'll be ho-- fzzt crack" Bailey stared mournfully at the 'no signal' symbol that flashed across her screen. "... But I don't know if I'll be." -  Sam felt the force of the ship's ascension with every step as he trudged in the direction of the bathroom sign (three figures, the standard blue and pink man and woman, and another between them that was green with a tiny "ETC." on the head). He stumbled through the door to the men's and looked around to see if anyone else was there. When he determined that it was just him in there with only the stalls and urinals for company, he fell to his elbows on a flat space between the sinks. He ran his hands roughly across his hair, distraught, the impossibility of his situation and the forces of elevation not helping matters. "Okay... I'm not dreaming. That's... I'm not stupid enough to think this is a dream..." His breathing was heavy and ragged. He'd been walking for far too long. Hoping it would wake him up, he cranked the cold water and splashed it across his face. He met himself in the mirror with eyes that were screaming for clarity, the droplets of water streaming down his face granting the illusion that he was sweating bullets. "Yeah... Yeah, definitely not dreaming." He put his full weight on the counter, forehead resting on his crossed forearms. "Aliens exist. Magic exists. Faeries exist. Everything is real." He looked up at his scowling reflection. "So, idiot. Was it worth it? Magic School... What the hell was I thinking..." He took out his phone and tried to turn it on, forgetting it had died. "... No. No, no turning back now. Anywhere's better than there. Anywhere's better..." He took a deep breath and looked himself dead in the eye. "You did the right thing."

[invertedfate]

A Shift in Fate - Part 3;

Back again with some more crossover. As always, this is co-written by Voltra, creator of @ut-storyshift, and this time we have probably two of the most anticipated characters appearing. Fun stuff! Characters: IF Frisk, Sans, Papyrus, Flowey; Storyshift Chara, Asriel, Papyrus Rating: PG Summary: Upon venturing from the Ruins, Frisk stumbles upon another human! A very mysterious human with cool teleportation powers, and their adorable goat sibling. Little do they realize, they’re not alone. If you’re new to the crossover, here are part 1 and part 2 respectively!

It doesn't take long for the Caretaker to make his way to the bake sale. He's been here long enough to memorize every room. He even helped them set up way back when the Ruins were still being carved out, forming a strong friendship in the process. Along the way he glances back at his younger other.

"HOW ARE YOU HOLDING UP?"

"I'M GREAT, AS ALWAYS! THOUGH... WELL, I DO HOPE THE HUMAN WILL BE ALL RIGHT IN OUR ABSENCE." Science Pap can't help but peek over his shoulder, as if the kid will turn up at any moment. "THOUGH I SUPPOSE WITH SANS THERE, IT ISN'T AN IMMEDIATE CONCERN..." This spider bake sale. Hm! Well, he'll poke his head inside, see what the fuss is about. "COME TO THINK OF IT, I REMEMBER HEARING ABOUT A SPIDER BAKESALE IN HOTLAND AS WELL."

"IF THEY ARE ANYTHING LIKE THE SAME HUMAN I SAW EARLIER, THEN THEY WILL BE FINE." Popyrus says this pretty confidently. That human has made it to Hotland after all, they are practically almost out! "I BELIEVE THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT ANOTHER STAND BEING SET UP NEAR NEW HOME TO GET NEW CUSTOMERS." Speaking of the spiders, he pokes one of their webs gently. "EXCUSE ME, THE DOOR TO SNOWDIN WILL BE OPEN FOR A MINUTE SOON. LETTING EVERYONE KNOW SO THEY CAN BUNDLE UP."

"WAIT! I HAVE AN IDEA." And, not wasting a moment, the more scientifically inclined skeleton whips out a small glass dome... with rainbow flames burning inside. "WHILE WE EMBARK INTO SNOWDIN'S FRIGID CLIMATE, THIS FIREGLOBE WILL PROVIDE YOU WITH THE WARMTH NECESSARY TO FEND OFF UNWANTED COLD!"

The Caretaker's eye sockets widen. "DID YOU MAKE THIS? IT'S INCREDIBLE!"

A couple of spiders come down, look over the globe, shrug, then cling to it and take it up to their homes. It's odd but it looks like it will work.

"NYEH HEH HEH! WHY, THANK YOU! IT'S JUST ANOTHER ONE OF MY MANY SCIENTIFIC MARVELS, CAREFULLY CRAFTED BASED ON ADVANCED COOLCULATIONS." He winks. "WHICH, BY THE WAY, IS PATENTED BY YOURS TRULY." x.x.x Meanwhile, Frisk has opted to venture their way downstairs. Sure, they should probably wait for Pap, but curiosity's nabbed them by the chest. They, of course, left a note for the Papyruses on the main floor, just by the stairway. However, while that's perfectly sound for Frisk, it's less so for Sans.

Though for now, he follows silently as Frisk ventures down a long corridor, then another, drawing closer and closer to Snowdin's chilling wilderness. As they return outdoors, they become all the more grateful for their winter duds.

The familiar cold nips at their face. Strange how it looks like almost nothing has changed. Well, there's no paper covering the camera in the bush here. Nothing to worry about then?

Someone at the end of the hall is on high alert. A door that has never opened is now open? Maybe this time he actually...

Shortcuts are faster than feet. They have to be sure. A blur of green appears before Frisk. Neither person sees who they were expecting.

"Huh? How did you come out of the Ruins again? Or rather, how did you get in again?"

Frisk nearly jumps as the figure appears. Their eyes pop wide open, and for a moment, they stare.

* ...What?

* No.

* This is...

* They're...

A familiar voice, but the human's lips didn't move. So what's going on? What does this MEAN? Frisk doesn't mean to, but they continue staring for a few moments, until it dawns on them that a) this is probably a bit rude, and b) they probably look like an idiot.

Well. There's one way to recover from this, and so they straighten their hat, clear their throat, and crack a smile. This kid said something about the Ruins, right? They didn't pick up on the specifics, but uh...

"Because I'd be ruined without you."

Somewhere under the ground, Flowey is trying to repress a scream. Is this seriously happening? That voice. He knows that voice, but he can’t come out and see them. Too risky. What if the Trashbag followed them? Can he really risk being caught like this? But if his suspicions are true…

And of course the kid had to make a cheesy pickup to top it all off!

The hooded human snorts. Okay, that was a good one. "Well aren't you a cha-" They freeze up and their eyes widen, maybe even more so than Frisk's were before. What was supposed to be a two syllable 'charmer' is now a soft 'aaaaaa' before they give themselves a smack on the side of the mouth. THAT will need some explaining. But first things first. "Aren't you, uh, supposed to be in Hotland? I saw you on the last broadcast and you weren't wearing those nice looking snow clothes."

Oh, hey. They liked the pickup? Frisk heaves a small sigh of relief, then promptly proceeds to straighten their hat a bit. Or start to, anyway, but when Hotland comes up, their smile falters for a split-second. Boy, this is gonna happen a lot, isn't it?

"Uh, funny story. See, I'm kinda... from a parallel dimension."

Silence falls onto the pair. The hooded human seems torn between laughing and staying frozen. They glance around Frisk, as if looking for some sort of prank crew to come around and tell them they are on T.V. and just been duped. It never comes and their jaw slides back into a semi-confident smile.

"Okay. I suppose that would explain how you got all the way back here... what's your name?"

"Frisk." And it's there that a little laugh escapes them, and they rub the back of their neck. "Funny thing is, you're the first person that's asked." Which is odd. Did monsters just not care about names, or was it because they're human? A slight crease forms in their brow at that thought. There's another question at the tip of their tongue-- can this kid read minds? Are they telepathic?

Their own, weird head voice remains quiet. Eerily so.

All the while, a laugh escapes the hooded human, half out of feeling the tension lessen. "It took a while for my family to ask my name. They were busy with other stuff at the time." Like making sure they ate and were okay. But Frisk doesn't need to worry about that. They offer a red gloved hand. "Hello again, Frisk. My name is Chara."

So it's them. It's them. It really is Chara! There's a slight shifting in the soil. Very subtle. For now, Flowey remains tucked away. They don't wanna get ahead of themselves, even if a part of them most certainly does. An odd sort of paradox. However, while the name registers to one other in the vicinity, the lack of familiarity for Frisk prompts them to reach out and shake that hand without a second thought.

"Heh, well, nice to meet you... again?" And after a moment, Frisk can't help but wink. "Hope I made a good impression, even if it's not really the first." There. That's smooth. That's cool. Perfectly appropriate. Memorable. Maybe? Hopefully. Yeah.

"You did just fine." Man, that cool kid act is pretty transparent. Just like Rei. Speaking of, isn't he nearby? Yeah actually, they were touching up Chara's sentry station, aka doodling on it with some freshly fallen markers. "Come on, you can make another cool impression on my brother up ahead." Hand. Still holding hand. Well. This is nice but also a little awkward. ...maybe they can make this work. "Want to try going the fast way?"

"Yes." If that means getting to teleport? Absolutely. In fact, Frisk was gonna remove their hand until Chara brought that up. Are they supposed to keep holding on? Is there some kinda trick to it? How are they so relaxed? Why isn't FRISK relaxed? This was so much easier when they were surrounded by goofy skeletons and sassy flowers. "So, what do I gotta do?"

"Hold on." Chara pauses for a second. "Probably should close your eyes." Chara takes a step... and they are behind a cardboard wall filled with torn empty chocolate wrappers. The jolt wears off for Chara fast enough, but probably less so for their passenger.

"Welcome back, Chara! Everything okay?" chirps a voice on the other side of the wall.

"Yep, just had to pick someone up."

Bwuh. The sensation of being pulled from one place to the next leaves 'em frozen for a few seconds. It's not a huge shift from Papyrus' teleporters, but it takes a moment for their surroundings to set in, and when they do, Frisk can't help but notice the chocolate wrappings lying around. Weird. Is there more where that came from?

Well, there's no time to ask as a new voice chimes in. Perking up, Frisk tries taking a peek at this new stranger.

The snow's shifting even more fiercely than before. That voice. HIS voice. He knew this was coming. Flowey fully expected this.

That doesn't make it any easier to grasp.

A living, breathing Asriel. Chipper and cheerful and perfectly safe, totally unaware of the twisted fate his parallel double endured. Death due to his own pitiful pacifism. Revial as a soulless plant. All those RESETS, his losses and his victories… Haha. Ha. What would either of them think if they knew? Yet gain, the urge to rise from beneath the snowy soil rears its head, and yet again, Flowey represses that urge. He’ll just watch. He’ll listen. Spring up at just the right moment.

Frisk continues to remain unaware of his floral friend’s internal struggle, instead focusing on the fluffy stranger before them. If they’d met Asgore when he was younger, he might have looked like this. This monster is clearly still a kid, no horns have even grown out. Their rainbow bandanna stands out amongst the white snow with ease. It looks like they are doodling on the other side of the wall in marker right now. That stops as soon as he sees Frisk.

"Oh! It's you again! ...nice hat."

…Still, it’s a tiny Asgore. A tiny Asgore with an adorable bandanna and they're so fluffy. And those floppy ears. Maybe it's due to Frisk's soft spot for cute critters, maybe it's because this goat isn't a big, manly beefcake, but they let out an "Aw" on pure impulse.

Except...

Briefly, their face pales. A shiver races down their spine. For a moment, the little goat seems to stretch. The surroundings blur. Horns, spikes, wings, wicked laughter, and an endless sea of black. They're sinking into the snow as if it's quicksand. They can't escape, they can't—

As soon as they blink, it's gone. The image fades rapidly, a blur. Was it even there at all? Awkward laughter escapes them, and they flash a big smile.

"Thanks, but it's nowhere near as COOL as that bandanna." There. Nailed it.

The minor freak out does get an odd look from both siblings, but Asriel quickly forgets it in swelling with pride. "I-I'm glad you noticed!" He adjusts the colorful garment with a slightly forced smile. Act cool, act cool!

Chara soon cuts in. "So Asriel, this is another version of the same human we saw before."

"Pfft!" Asriel covers his muzzle in disbelief. "Nice joke, Chara."

"I'm not joking, Rei."

The goat-like monster whines. "Stop calling me that in front of the newcomer..."

Frisk has to bite their lip for a moment. Oh god, they can already SEE a pun coming, but they gotta resist. Can't do too many at once, or it might look like a gimmick. And they don't wanna be too cheap or irritating around this cool human and their adorable, goat sibling. Still, the antics bring some more genuine laughter in the aftermath of... whatever that was, and they welcome this change of focus.

"No, I'm literally from a parallel dimension where Asgore lives in the Ruins and Papyrus is a great big nerd." For a moment, they glance back toward the direction they came. "It'd be easier to prove if he was HERE, but I'm pretty sure he's still in the Ruins with his double... and Sans, I guess?"

Boy, this is gonna be a lot to explain, isn't it?

"Why would Dad be in the Ruins?"

"You know Papyrus!?" Both siblings speak at once, one clearly more shocked than the other. Asriel seems skeptical and confused, but at least not laughing at the idea.

"Do I know him? He's practically been glued to me since we met up... right here, actually." In fact, just for fun, Frisk straightens their posture, clears their throat, puffs out their chest, and does their best Pap impression. "BUT PERHAPS THAT'S A RESULT OF HIS MAGNETIC PERSONALITY!"

Oh god. Sans can't help but chuckle at that, though he at least tries to muffle it with his mitten. Gotta stay incognito for now, while Frisk carries on.

"He's... also kinda an inventor, I guess? He's made working teleporters and invisibility machines, so." They shrug. He's a bit eccentric, but that's not a bad thing.

"That sounds really cool," Asriel admits. A lot of detail for something that could be made up. Maybe it's real after all?

Chara inwardly is thankful that Frisk is focused more on Asriel right now. Shock is still written all over their face and a gloved hand has the duty of covering up a massively growing smile.

"Yep! In fact, I got a little something..." They dig through their pockets, whipping out that oh so pretty fireglobe. "Right here! Scientifically enhanced fire. Pretty sweet, right?" They hold it out for Asriel to get a closer look, but oh. Don't think they've forgotten you, Chara. The expression lights up a light bulb in their head, and they look away from Rei for a moment. "And y'know, I'd be happy to introduce you myself."

Both siblings' eyes light up. The fireglobe is definitely a factor, but the extra sparkle in Chara's eyes hints at another reason.

"Thank you." They murmur under their breath.

"No prob." Though Frisk's smile takes a turn for the sheepish. "Just, uh. As a heads up, Papyrus might try to... well. Protect you. A lot." Heh. Now, that'd be something. "But since you've got cool powers, I doubt you need too much help."

Chara smiles softly. What they don't know... "The extra help is always appreciated."

Asriel is still mesmerized by the fireglobe. He reaches out, but hesitates about touching the globe itself. "It doesn't burn, does it?"

Frisk was about to comment, but another voice cuts in before they get the chance.

"only if ya break the glass."

And it's here that Sans finally steps out from behind the trees, hands in his pockets and his lazy smile as present as ever. His eyes fall on Chara, though he makes no sudden moves, opting to watch and see how the kids take his appearance.

Asriel returns to confusion land at the sight of the unfamiliar skeleton. Chara on the other hand bows their head. "Good to see you again, your highness."

Asriel's head whips to the side so fast that his ears smack his face. "Wha- that's the King!?"

"He is in our world but I don't think he'd be so far from his castle."

Asriel turns back to Sans with a look of awe on his face. "It's nice to meet you!"

Sans can't help but snort at the comment. "wow. a king. dunno about you, but i think that'd be a ROYAL pain. i mean, who wants to put up with that much responsibility?" He shrugs shis shoulders and holds up his palms in a nonthreatening gesture. "nah, think i'm pretty cozy as guard captain number two."

Crunch, crunch, he finally steps forward. "so. another human. that's new."

"New AND cool," Frisk adds. "I mean, they've got teleportation powers." And they're kinda cute, but that goes unsaid. "...Actually, I didn't even know humans could HAVE powers." That's a lie. They have their RESETS after all.

But, well. Should they mention it to Chara? Maybe when they're alone.

'That sounds like they mean the opposite. Looks like there's another demon in town.' Chara blushes a little bit at all the lies Frisk keeps throwing out and tugs at the side of their hood.

"Chara's been here for a while actually. About three years now, right?" Asriel looks at Chara for confirmation.

"Just about, give or take a month."

"...And you're safe? Nobody's given you a hard time?" There's a hint of disbelief to Frisk's voice, and they turn to Sans, who at first stays silent. That's, uh. Interesting. Very interesting.

Ultimately, he shrugs. "different timelines, different rules. besides, if they're livin' in snowdin, i doubt there's much to worry about."

"And if there was any problems, they'd have to take it up with Mom!" Rei says with a flourish.

"She's really protective of me, for obvious reasons." Chara on the other hand seems a bit embarrassed over this fact.

"heh. that's tori for ya." There's a subdued chuckle from Sans, almost wistful. "sounds like you're in good hands, then. but, uh— what's her status? can't be queen..." So where's she fit into the picture? So much has changed that it's hard to draw any direct connections with the placements. Two siblings in Snowdin... so does that make them an analog to him and Pap? But neither kid looks like a scientist or vice captain.

Weird.

Frisk, however, can't help but note, "She'd probably get along great with Papyrus, then. But if we put 'em in the same room..." Well. That'd be some intense coddling, huh?

"eh, i'm sure we'll find out soon enough. i mean, she's probably... chilling in town, right?" Sans winks, fully aware of his bad joke but not particularly upset about it.

Asriel beats Chara to the punch on this. "Actually she's probably still patrolling in Waterfall. Has to make sure all the kids there are in school."

"Yeah," Chara gives a slightly annoyed look at being cut off. "Captain's duties."

Oh god. That comment makes Sans' smile grow by a hair. "yeah, that sounds like somethin' she'd do." If she were captain, and if she weren't so... disheartened. Though that goes unsaid. No way is he gonna be a downer at a time like this. "so your mom's out in waterfall... that mean you two are on your own?" Kinda young for that, but one of them IS a human. A human who, in another timeline, made some... questionable choices.

For now, he'll keep cool. No point in making assumptions when the kids seem... pretty normal as far as kids go.

"Man, that's some family," says Frisk, somewhat wistful. But a few dots are beginning to connect. Asgore is their dad, but he's in Hotland. Their mom is Toriel, the queen... now captain? Which means Asgore and Toriel... which means...

* Yes. * That's exactly what it means.

"Heheh..." They rub their neck, head ducked slightly. "So... What do you guys do for fun?" That seems like a good distraction from potentially confusing thoughts. This is a lot to take in, but it'd be nice to just... let loose for a while. Goof off with some kids their age.

While all this is going on, a certain scientific skeleton has just finished dashing through the house, and, "THEY'RE GONE!" Huffing, he stops, turning to his handsome double before bolting out the door and into the snow. "...I BLAME SANS." A thorough lock up of the house ensues, but it’s not long before both skeletons dash out of the Ruins and into the snow. Once they step outside, Science Pap takes a cursory look around. "HMM... YOU DON'T THINK THEY'VE ALREADY MADE IT TO TOWN, HAVE YOU? I SWEAR, IF SANS TOOK THEM TO GRILLBY'S BEHIND MY BACK..." Sighing, he looks to his double. "WELL, IT'S A GOOD THING WE'RE BOTH TALL, LONG-LEGGED, AND WITTY!" Clearly, their combined genius will solve this conundrum! "TO BE HONEST," says the older skeleton while looking back at the other side of the Ruins door. "I HAVEN'T BEEN TO SNOWDIN SINCE I FIRST CAME HERE. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE LAYOUT IS LIKE. BUT IF I HAD TO GUESS, THEY HAVE TO BE NEARBY." And perhaps... they will be here?

Further ahead, the conversation continues. "Yeah, we're on our own most of the time." Chara replies, glancing down at the ground. No kids like to be interrogated. And that's what it sure feels like.

"We play Humans and Monsters mostly. Want to join us?" Asriel looks over at Frisk with hopeful eyes. Another person to play with? Please?

Frisk briefly looks to Sans, brow raised and frowning faintly. "Maybe you should cool it with the questions." But, onto brighter news, they shoot Asriel a grin. "And, hey, I'm down for that! Truth is, I could use a break from all the, er... Well, the point is, it'd be nice to actually-"

But before they can finish, there's a loud gasp and an even louder voice. "HUMAN!!!" And in comes a certain scientific skeleton, bolting through the snow and straight toward his friend and brother... before promptly stopping because, oh. Hi. Tiny goat person and human clone? "I MEAN... HUMANS? WOWIE, I WASN'T EXPECTING THIS!"

Asriel is shocked at the newcomer, but something about that voice made him look at Chara.

That voice. Could it really be? Chara is still as a stone and filled with hope.

"HOLD ON, I'M COMING ALONG!!" There. That's him. There's no doubt about it. Chara takes off towards the voice.

The human is coming closer! Well, one of them, anyway. Granted, Frisk soon trails after, while Sans watches with caution. He can't act rash, but a Chara running this close to his bro. Bros? Well, to Papyruses, anyway... What's gonna happen? This is kinda a big deal.

The science Papyrus offers Chara a friendly wave. "GREETINGS, NEW HUMAN! I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS... AS IS HE." He gestures to his double.

Chara darts past Science Papyrus. No offense, just some things have to come first.

Caretaker Pap seems surprised at the child that just clung to his legs and wobbles off balance for a moment. He looks down at the human for a few seconds before asking.

"CHARA? IS THAT YOU?" The child nods into his robes, shaking softly. He gives a big smile and kneels down, petting the sniffling child reassuringly. "I'M GLAD TO SEE YOU TOO."

Sans remains still, but his eyes are glued to Chara. He's watching, not even blinking. That's awfully close to a version of his bro. It'd be so easy to take advantage of his lowered guard. One good hit... A human could do it. Easy.

Flowey, while unseen is listening intently. Bad enough that a version of his old self is around. Bad enough that he has to hide while CHARA is there. This Chara is... strangely close to Papyrus, but why? How? What does it MEAN? Sure, Papyrus is amusing and interesting and eccentric, but why isn't it ASRIEL who's...?

Finally, Frisk moves in, not too close so not to interrupt, but. "Hey. You okay, Chara?" The crying sure comes as a surprise. "C-CHARA...?" Science Papyrus' eye sockets nearly  double in size. Wasn't that the child who...? But they look so happy. So sincere! And far be it from him to cast judgment on a human he's just met. Still, squinting, he assesses them, trying to read their LOVE and EXP levels.

1 LOVE, 0 EXP. The child picked up into the Caretaker's arms hasn't hurt anyone. Said child is also clinging to the skeleton and trying their damnest to hide their face from the others.

"I-I'm fine. J-just really happy." Chara rubs their face with a glove and smiles back at Frisk with a mostly clean face. Asriel overcame his case of double takes and now steps forward with a crunch of the snow.

"...Good. Just wanted to make sure, y'know?" So, happy tears. That's definitely a good thing, though Frisk will have to ask about Papyrus later. Such a tearful greeting must carry some history behind it. Is this Papyrus to Chara what their Papyrus is to them? Well, the crunching of snow pulls their mind from such thoughts at the moment, and Frisk steps aside to give Asriel room to move closer.

Except upon spotting him, Science Papyrus lets out a tremendous gasp. "OH. MY. GOD!!!!" He points, eye sockets all buggy. "IT'S A TINY TORIEL! HELLO, YOUR... MAJESTY? HIGHNESS? I ALWAYS GET THOSE TWO MIXED UP!"

"Tor- I'm not my mommie!!" Asriel blurts out without meaning. It takes a moment for him to catch the embarrassing name and settles for covering his face in hands and ear to hide the blush.

"HELLO TO YOU TOO, ASRIEL!" Caretaker Papyrus calls out as he approaches the group.

"Hello, mister skeleton..." The blushing goat mumbles.

"AS... OH. OH!!!" If possible, the scientist Papyrus' eye's get even buggier. "THEN YOU, TINY HUMAN... BUT YOU'RE VERY MUCH ALIVE... BUT THEN, THIS *IS* ANOTHER TIMELINE. WOWIE! THIS IS BOTH CONFUSING AND CAPTIVATING AT THE SAME TIME!!!"

"eh." Sans shrugs. "infinite outcomes, y'know? but man, talk about a huge crowd..." He glances around the group, his smiling face unreadable. "so. what's the plan? personally, i could go for some burg right about now."

Asriel picks up on something very odd about what Papyrus said. Will definitely have to ask about that later. "Hey!" Chara half squeaks. No, it's not because they were crying. "How about we head into town? No point talking in the middle of the snow forever."

"IT WOULD BE NICE TO SEE HOW MUCH HAS CHANGED SINCE I LEFT AS WELL," Popyrus adds.

"Sounds pretty... cool to me." Frisk cracks a grin, lifting their chin and trying to play it cool again. Please enjoy their sense of humor, cool human.

The science Papyrus' eye socket twitches a little, and he looks like he's trying to hide a smile. Sans, in the mean time, chuckles.

"so... anyone up for a shortcut?"

"Yeah, sounds great." Chara somewhat reluctantly lets themselves down out of Caretaker Pap's arms. "All the other guards should be back at Grillby's at this time."

"You can do shortcuts too Ki- Mister Sans?" It was a quick catch before Asriel corrects himself.

Frisk gulps. Other guards? That's... a little foreboding, though they try to hide their unease with a slightly twitchy smile.

And Sans responds with a nod. "yup, it's kinda my thing." And he motions for the others to come closer. Somewhat reluctantly, his brother obliges. "all right, so... sounds like at least a few of us are used to shortcuts by now. those that aren't, it might tingle a little."

'Kinda your thing, huh?' Something about that strikes Chara as odd. As does Frisk's attempt at hiding their unease about... something. Chara doesn't know what. But they do know what could help out. Chara walks over to Frisk, takes their hand, and-

They aren't there anymore.

"Wha- Chara!! You left me behind!!!" Cries out the small goat.

"HUMAN!" Papyrus tries reaching out for them, but nope. They're too fast. Curses!

"...welp." Shaking his head, Sans plods closer to the little goat and plops a hand on his shoulder. "all right, then. bro, bro, kiddo... looks like we'll be making the jump as a group."

He gives the elder Papyrus a chance to come closer-- just in case this whole thing's disorienting. Once they're all ready, he'll make the jump. To Be Continued