#lore: an empire of dreams and illusions

[sorryimananti-romantic]

Horizon

faerieprince!san x oc

royal/fantasy au, soulmate au

Take Me Home spinoff (can be read as a standalone)

series lore

genre and warnings: fluff, angst, mild smut/suggestive, time travel/time loop, tragedy, violence warnings, mention of death/su!cide, past traumas, idk if i missed sth

synopsis: the eight faerie princes and the princess who rule the planet mirinae sense something that doesn't belong to their world- something that screams unnatural and dangerous. however, san is able to feel the presence of a faerie instead and it leads him to gaeul, who came back to life as a part of a darkling's evil scheme. san soon realises that he might be connected to gaeul in unimaginable ways, and the bond that they share might not be good.

-> part 1

-> part 2

-> part 3

-> part 4

-> part 5

Planet Mirinae Map:

[Kingdoms --> star-signs, Seas--> birthstones

(Seonghwa and Yunho share the Kingdom of Aries;

Kingdom of Gemini is split into two states bc duh;

Fomalhaut--> free land without a monarchy)]

disclaimer: the series can be read as a standalone since i do enough of explaining the whole universe at a tolerable pace (i hope), but in case you decide to read take me home (seonghwa series) which is a crucial part in the worldbuilding of this universe, i assure you not much will be spoiled and take me home will still be confusing asf (i really hope so LOL) anyways enjoy or whatever.

status: complete

taglist: closed

[mrpenguinpants]

Memorabilia [ Commissioned ]

— Unable to sleep, Sunday seeks help from the Astral Express's most unusual crew member. With each anecdote, he wonders if, someday, he too will have pleasant memories of companions to reminisce.

Word Count: 13k

Request: [ A platonic first encounter/found-family fic between the Astral Express and a male reader. Due to an accident, the reader is corrupted and has a "glitchy" appearance with multiple voices in their head. ] Reader is based on an OC, so there are a few extra details/lore, but no OC names or physical details are mentioned. This is still an x reader fic. [Masterlist]

Thank you so much for commissioning me and trusting me with your OC although this fic doesn't feature him specifically. I hope I did his lore and character traits justice. Regardless, I hope you like it!

It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes... sometimes, the memories claw their way back into Sunday's mind, suffocating and unrelenting. They descend without warning, shadows of a past he can never escape. Images of a time when he had pinned his own wings down, seep into his consciousness like spilled ink creeping across the parchment, staining everything they touch. They are vivid, merciless, and inescapable, dragging him back to the place where ambition bled into ruin.

In these recollections, he is not a distant observer; he is the architect of every misstep, every wound, every betrayal. The walls of Penacony stretch endlessly before him, their grandeur gleaming like a lie. Marble floors echo with each step, cold and unyielding beneath his feet, while gilded walls glimmer with an opulence that now feels hollow. They form a labyrinth—beautiful, yes, but suffocating—a maze carved out of blind conviction and arrogance. He strides through them as he once did, head high and eyes forward, an Aeon in form, resplendent and untouchable. But that same pride, so intoxicating back then, now feels distant and alien, like a suit of armor he no longer fits into. The faces are always there, clearer than he’d like, sharper than he can bear. They loom in the shadows and step into the light, their expressions shifting with every memory that takes shape: admiration, fear, then quiet simmering resentment. Their eyes cut through him, piercing the illusion of grandeur he once wore like a shield. He feels their gazes heavy on his skin, weighing him down, their unspoken accusations louder than any words. He remembers the promises he made—the oaths spoken with all the fervor of someone who believed he was doing what was right. Words that once rang with purpose, gilded by his ideals, now echo hollowly in his mind, stripped of their luster. Their weight grows heavier with each repetition, each memory, pressing down like the cold hand of inevitability.

And then, the worst of it: the downfall. The moment his grand vision crumbled under the crushing weight of his own hubris. The cries of those he swore to protect tear through the air—their anger sharp as blades, their pain sharper still, like a wound that never heals. He sees their faces, once filled with hope, now twisted with betrayal. The very people he had sworn to uplift have become his accusers. The world he had built, piece by careful piece, unravels before his eyes. And he is powerless to stop it. His actions, meant to save, have instead been condemned. What he had thought was salvation—the future he had crafted with such fervor—has become nothing but ruin, a collapsing empire of promises broken. His good intentions, like poisoned arrows, strike true and deep, far deeper than he could have ever foreseen. Each one finds its mark, each one a reminder of his failure. The sting of it lingers long after the dream has faded, the weight of those choices pressing down on his chest as if the very air had thickened in the wake of his decisions. And in that moment, in the bitter silence that follows, he realizes that no matter how hard he tries, he can never escape the truth: he failed.

Sunday wakes with a start, his breath sharp and ragged, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythms. The memories cling to him like a heavy fog, stubborn and suffocating, refusing to loosen their grip. His hands tremble as he sits up, the cold sweat on his skin a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed beneath him. His eyes dart around, disoriented, searching for something familiar in the dim light.

Right. He's not on Penacony anymore.

The walls are unfamiliar, not the cold, opulent marble of Penacony’s halls, but the soft, worn wood and steel of the Astral Express. His room—no, his temporary space—is simple, much like the rest of the train, but it's a world away from the grandeur he once commanded. Here, he's just a wanderer. Ordinary and even inconsequential. No longer an Aeon, no longer the ruler of a broken vision. The weight of the past, the crushing responsibility he once carried, no longer weighs on him in the same way. But the echoes of that past still haunt him, slipping into his dreams when he least expects it, reminding him of who he was. He closes his eyes briefly, willing the tremors in his hands to stop, before slowly rising from the bed. The room is quiet, save for the low hum of the train moving through the stars. No pitiful looks of betrayal, no echoes of failure—just the distant sound of a train journeying onward through the vast unknown.

These flashes of mistakes made, when Sunday dazes off unintentionally, March had dubbed it "dream paralysis." In her ever-cheerful logic, the term made perfect sense—it was like sleep paralysis, but trapped within the labyrinth of his own thoughts and dreams. A clever turn of phrase, at least in her eyes. But no matter how neatly she labeled it, the reality was far from simple. To him, it was a suffocating experience, a haunting that left behind an uncomfortable weight—a constant itch beneath his skin that couldn’t be ignored. The feeling was relentless, the sensation of being trapped in a nightmare where even waking didn’t offer escape. More often than not, it ended the same way: a desperate sprint to the bathroom in the dead of night, where he’d stand beneath scalding water, scrubbing his skin as if he could somehow scrub the discomfort away. His skin would burn, reddened, and raw, but the rashes that followed only mocked him. They were a cruel reminder of his futile attempts to cleanse himself of a discomfort that ran far deeper than his flesh. It wasn’t just his body that was being scratched at—it was something deeper, something he couldn’t reach. Despite Mr. Yang’s steady, measured advice and Miss Himeko’s gentle, empathetic suggestions, nothing seemed to ease the unease that gnawed at him. It remained stubborn and unshakable, no matter how much he wished otherwise. Yet, for all his frustration, there was no way around it... until Caelus made a suggestion. It was a well-meaning idea, of course. Caelus, always the problem-solver, had come up with something that seemed harmless enough, but to Sunday, it was nothing short of mortifying. The idea itself was simple, but the potential consequences left him flushed with embarrassment: Would it really help to let someone else know what he was going through?

Tonight, however, the remembrance come with a relentless hunger, pursuing him with unyielding force. Each time he closes his eyes, he sees her—his sister, her beautifully sad smile as they both fall from the sky, tumbling into the depths of the dreamscape. He has no wings to stop their fall and no way to save them. The weight of it drags him down, spiraling deeper into a nightmare that refuses to release its grip. Sunday is tired, truly, deeply exhausted. It’s a weariness that sinks into his bones, leaving him hollowed out, drained of energy and resolve. His eyes burn with the constant strain, the never-ending conflict between the waking world and the one that holds him captive in his sleep. His head pounds, the rhythm of two worlds pulling him in opposite directions, each tugging at him until he’s stretched too thin to bear. His gaze shifts toward the door across the room. It’s sealed tight, yet somehow, it calls to him, its pull irresistible, like a siren’s song echoing in the stillness of the night. Dangerous, but impossible to ignore. A choice looms before him, sharp and undeniable. A path he’s walked many times before, though each time feels like the first, fresh with the weight of uncertainty. With a sigh that carries the full weight of defeat, he pulls his coat over his shoulders. The fabric feels like a second skin, familiar yet stifling. His hands tremble slightly as he steps out of his temporary room, the quiet hum of the Express a constant background to his thoughts. He’s not supposed to feel like this—like he’s walking away from something important. There’s nothing shameful about leaving, about taking this moment for himself. But guilt clings to him, sticky and suffocating, like a secret he’s too tired to keep. It’s far too late to be doing this, but here he is again. Driven by something he can’t fully name, something that draws him away from the safety he’s built for himself on the ship.

Nothing has changed. Nothing ever does. And still, he keeps walking, each footfall a soft echo of a decision he’ll never be able to undo.

The warmth hits him as soon as he steps into the hallway, a sharp contrast to the chill of his temporary space. He’s always preferred the cold, finding comfort in the way it sharpens his thoughts and isolates him from the world. With each step, he tells himself it will be the last. That he will stop, turn around, and retreat back to where he started. He promises himself that this time, it will be different. He won’t dream of them—those people, those faces, those ghosts from his past that refuse to fade. But with every step he takes, the promise slips further from his grasp, a fleeting whisper drowned by the weight of his own exhaustion. Now, standing in front of an unassuming door, the warmth seems almost alien, its presence too gentle, too inviting. It’s comforting, yes—but also unsettling in its softness, as if it carries a weight of expectation he isn’t ready to face. The door itself is plain—just another identical threshold in the corridor—but it’s the small detail on the corner that catches his eye. A sticker, carelessly slapped there by March with her usual irreverence. A simple star, grinning back at him with its wide, beady eyes and too-cheerful smile. At first, it seems like nothing more than a trivial decoration, an innocent touch of whimsy. Yet, there’s something about it—something in the way those eyes seem to pierce through him, like they know more than he does, more than he’s willing to admit. The smile feels a little too knowing, a little too mocking, and for a brief moment, he wonders if it's laughing at him, at the way he feels so far removed from everything this small gesture represents. For a fleeting instant, the urge to retreat, to step back into the cool isolation of the archives, nearly overpowers him. The cold offers sanctuary, a place where he can hide from the world’s expectations and his own restless thoughts. But his feet remain rooted, unwilling to obey the instinct to flee. Instead, something inexplicable pulls him forward, toward the warmth, toward the comfort of the door. Something that feels like it’s asking him to stay, even as he longs to turn away.

He raises his arm and knocks three times, the sound sharp and purposeful in the quiet hallway. He waits, letting the silence stretch out in front of him. If you don’t respond, he’ll simply turn and return to his room—no harm done. But then, a sound breaks the stillness: a muffled voice, static, then followed by the shuffle of footsteps. The mechanical hum of the door's engine stirs to life, and with a soft whoosh, it slides open, revealing you. The Astral Express’s most enigmatic resident.

Though you’ve been traveling with the Express for months now, even before Sunday’s arrival, he doubts he’ll ever grow accustomed to your appearance. He suspects it would never feel “normal,” no matter how long he's stayed in your presence. He doesn’t know the full story—not that he feels compelled to pry—but whatever happened to you, it’s left a permanent mark. Your form glitches and flickers, a jarring patchwork of neon hues that pulse and shift like a broken screen. Bright flashes of color flare in and out of existence, twisting into shapes that defy any sense of order. If he didn’t know better, if he weren’t so attuned to the dangers of the corruption, he might be tempted to reach out—to touch the glowing lights. To see if they felt as unreal as they looked, or if they would dissolve at his touch like mist caught in a breeze. But he knows better than to test the unknown.

"Sunday?" Your voice is softer than usual, a touch deeper as if the hour has wrapped itself around your words. Do you even need to sleep anymore? In the corner of his eye, he can see your hands flicker into particles of shapes that form into gray crosses, "It’s late. What do you want?"

The words aren’t unkind, but they carry a weight that settles uneasily in Sunday’s chest. He’s caught off guard, his breath halting for a moment. There’s something about your tone, something subtle, that makes him hesitate—a pull he can’t quite name, but one he can’t ignore. Even though he knows this is the right thing to do, even though it was Caelus who suggested it, the moment feels different than he anticipated. He stands there for a beat longer than he should, battling the strange urge to turn around and leave.

"My apologies, I didn’t mean to disturb you at this hour," Sunday begins, his tone more clipped than he intends, the words leaving his mouth with a sharpness he doesn’t quite mean. He immediately regrets the faint edge in his voice, but the annoyance festering inside him makes it hard to suppress. Why is he even doing this? Of all people—of all things, it feels ridiculous. He shifts his weight impatiently, unwilling to let the awkwardness fully settle in.

"I—" He cuts himself off, irritated at how he sounds, even to his own ears. Caelus had insisted that he talk to you, someone who might understand the disorienting weight of mixed emotions, someone who’d probably dealt with more than enough confusion himself. But standing here now, the whole thing feels like a stupid idea.

“I don’t know what to do with it,” he says instead.

"That bad, huh?" you remark flippantly, leaning against the doorframe with an air of nonchalance. The words catch Sunday off guard, and for a moment, he freezes, blinking at you in surprise. He had expected the usual volatile reaction—some distorted image of yourself breaking down, maybe even spiraling into an incomprehensible mess of glitches and shadows. After all, he had heard the rumors of your unpredictable mood swings, the flashes of anger, the strange moments when you seemed to slip between states of reality sprinkled with black zigzags. But instead, you reach for him, hand faltering in the glitchy blur of your form before stabilizing, your fingers finally wrapping around the tassel of his coat with surprising precision. The motion is absurdly gentle, like a small tug on a leash, and Sunday, in spite of himself, allows you to guide him inside your room.

He hums in response, a non-committal noise. There’s an unspoken understanding aboard the Astral Express. No one presses too hard, not unless there’s harm meant. As long as your secrets won't bring any danger to any of the passengers intentionally, no one will pry. It’s an arrangement Sunday can appreciate, even if it can lead to many dangerous paths.

As you lead the way, stumbling slightly as your form blinks in and out of reality, Sunday instinctively reaches out, his hand resting gently on your shoulder to steady you. A soft curse escapes him, his fingers tips burning even through his gloves at the slightest brush of your shoulder, as he nudges you just in time to avoid crushing one of Himeko’s gadgets under your erratic foot. Your room is a curious thing, with a charm all its own. It’s not as fluffy as March’s, nor as bare as his own quarters, but it feels lived in, touched by every person who calls the Express home. The small items scattered about—the faint traces of everyone’s personalities—add warmth to the otherwise utilitarian space. He can almost sense the traces of each person’s energy here, something unique to the crew in every object. It’s not a place of perfection, but it feels like it belongs to someone. To you.

"Interested? Need a bedtime story to go to sleep?"

Sunday blinks, momentarily caught off guard, then looks up to find you smiling at him with that familiar, teasing grin. The static hum around you pulses gently, soft yellow stars twinkling across your face and words, distorting the edges of both as if the world itself was slipping between reality and dream. It’s a strange, almost hypnotic sight, something he only see in the dreamscape. He huffs softly, a small exhale of air that escapes almost involuntarily, before looking away. His gaze drifts to the side, lingering on nothing in particular as he settles on the edge of your bed. The cool, unfamiliar comfort of the moment leaves him uncertain, and he remains silent, unsure of how to respond. What could he say to something so... absurd? Something so blatantly casual that it felt almost out of place.

"Bedtime story? I haven't heard one since I was a child," he finally mutters, his voice a low murmur, clearly not sure whether you’re joking or serious. After all, this—whatever this is—isn’t normal for him.

“You know,” you begin, eyes cast downward, “the first time we saw the Astral Express… I thought we made a mistake, walking into it. Felt like we stepped into the wrong universe altogether.”

---

The moment you step into the archives, pixels, and particles following you, you know you’re not alone. The quiet hum of the Astral Express is ever-present, but there’s something sharper lingering in the air—an edge of awareness that prickles at the back of your neck. The hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention, and your senses sharpen, alert to every small shift in the room. You don't need to turn around to know you're being watched. The weight of the gaze on your back is palpable, almost tangible, like a shadow that hangs too close. You pause, considering your options, but before you can make a move, something cold and unyielding presses against the side of your neck. The cold pressure against your neck tightens just slightly—enough to send a chill through your spine. Whoever is behind you is no amateur, you realize. This is someone who knows how to move in silence, how to strike without warning. Slowly, carefully, you let out a breath, knowing you need to react before the situation escalates further. The quiet hum of the ship feels distant now, swallowed by the tension building around you.

"Not here for trouble," you finally say, your voice low, but steady. "Just passing through."

The silence stretches on, thick and unyielding, as you wait for a response.

"State your intentions," the voice commands, low and steady, yet laced with a razor-sharp calm that cuts deeper than any shout ever could. The words hang in the air, each syllable calculated, each pause deliberate—an unspoken promise that any misstep would be met with swift retribution. You turn your head slightly—not enough to dislodge the weapon, but enough to catch a glimpse of its wielder. He’s tall, with piercing teal eyes that seem to see straight through you, and a faint energy radiates from the spear he’s holding against your throat. The voices in your head are thrown into a panic, mumbled words of different meanings that you can't decipher yet pound against your head. A flicker of annoyance, a burst of black zigzags, and that spear is now digging into the skin of your neck.

"You’re here to harm the Express," the man says in lieu of your response. It’s not a question. He’s sharp, this one. Smarter than he looks, and far more perceptive than you’d like. If you were a worse person, you'd bang your fist against the precious computers and send the man flying in a shower of electrical sparks. But you need him, and you need what the Express carries.

"Maybe," you admit, leaning just slightly into the cold pressure of the blade, testing him, watching for the smallest sign of hesitation. He doesn't flinch. "Or maybe we just needed a ride."

The man's teal eyes narrow, piercing into you with an intensity that feels like it could slice through steel. His grip tightens around the weapon, a subtle shift of muscle that speaks volumes about his readiness, "Then you’ll explain why we've been tracking an additional signal monitoring the train’s systems for weeks. Why your presence coincides with unusual disruptions in local Stellaron activity. And why my instincts are telling me not to trust you."

A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth, despite the palpable tension, despite the deadly situation. You can't help it—.

"Instincts, huh? You trust those over facts? Dangerous habit for someone like you," the edge in your voice is almost playful, but there's an undercurrent of challenge that hangs in the air, thickening the space between you like a storm cloud waiting to break. He doesn't respond immediately, but the subtle tension in his jaw speaks volumes. His mind is already working, piecing together fragments of information, weighing what little he knows against what he's yet to figure out.

"Listen, I have something you need. Those twins? Stelle and Caelus? We're the same," you say, your voice slipping into something quieter, a complete tonal shift that catches him off guard. "You're not wrong. We're not here entirely by coincidence. But harming the Express? That’s not our style. If we wanted to, we’d have done it already. But we will, if we need to."

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken implication. For a moment, his gaze flickers—just a split-second hesitation, barely perceptible. It’s enough to make his grip loosen just a fraction, a slight shift in his stance. The crack in his armor to protect his own companions, however small, is enough for you to notice. You don’t let the opportunity slip by, "You can lower the spear, or we can stand here all day while your friends wonder why you haven’t come back yet."

The man studies you for a long, heavy moment, the tension crackling in the air between you. Finally, with deliberate slowness, he withdraws the spear, the sharp edge of the weapon no longer pressing against your skin. The atmosphere in the room doesn’t exactly lighten, but it does shift—enough to let you draw a breath without the sensation of impending danger gnawing at your chest.

"If you make one wrong move," he warns, his voice cold and unwavering, like steel on the verge of snapping, "I won’t hesitate next time."

You nod, casually brushing nonexistent dust from your jacket, the act dismissive but calculated. "Duly noted."

He takes a step back, his eyes never leaving you, still as sharp and calculating as ever. You feel the weight of his gaze, like a silent promise that he’s not done watching you. In the midst of it all, an unexpected thought crosses your mind: This man is going to be trouble for you. Smart, careful, stubborn to a fault—he’s exactly the kind of person who sees through people like you. What a bother.

---

"We were kind of a bastard back then," you admit, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Surprised Dan Heng even gave us a chance to tolerate us."

"Us?" Sunday asks, the word hanging in the air, his curiosity piqued. It’s been gnawing at him for a while now, this strange way you refer to yourself as if there’s more than one person within. You give him a half-hearted grin, it's grim, before tapping your head, then making a motion with your hand—a fluid up-and-down flick of your fingers, as if mimicking someone talking. Each finger meets its thumb in a rhythmic gesture. The understanding dawns on Sunday, a quiet realization creeping in. Some things, some details, are better left up for interpretation but never the truth.

"So," Sunday continues, shifting the conversation, "you arrived without warning, gave them every reason to be cautious, and still managed to walk away unharmed. That’s... fortunate."

It's quite frankly offensive that the same situation happened twice. If the Express keeps giving hand-outs, maybe the train will one day sputter out of fuel.

"Dan Heng could tell we weren’t there to cause trouble—at least, not immediately," You shrug nonchalantly, the motion effortless. The words are spoken with a hint of amusement, as though the whole situation had been a delicate dance, one you were somehow able to navigate without triggering the full force of suspicion.

Sunday tilts his head, his expression thoughtful, "Or perhaps he exercised more patience than most would in his position. A rare quality, considering the circumstances."

"Maybe," you admit with a faint smirk, though Sunday’s gaze remains steady, as if searching for something beneath your words.

He lets out a quiet hum, his voice softening as he speaks, "Trust isn’t something easily earned, especially with the Astral Express. It’s a privilege, not a guarantee."

Right now is his chance—his opportunity to rebuild trust that was shattered before it was ever truly given. The weight of it settles on him, heavy and undeniable. He’s not sure if he can ever fully erase the past, but this moment, this fragile opportunity is all he has left. It’s a test—a chance to prove that he can be trusted, even when everything before suggests otherwise. The quiet moment of self-reflection is broken by the jingle of keys. Sunday turns his head to see you holding up a keychain, its odd charm catching the light. It’s a trashcan, miniature, and oddly endearing. It has cartoony arms forming a thumbs up, the lid slightly opened to show the black trash bag inside. The absurdity of it makes him pause, a flicker of amusement pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Another story?" he asks, his tone light but laced with a hint of curiosity, as if he's not sure whether he wants to hear more or is merely indulging you.

---

"You two need something?"

You don’t need to turn around to know that Caelus and Stelle are lurking, their presence is as obvious as an elephant in a room. The twins are hidden behind a potted plant, doing their best to remain inconspicuous, but their attempt is about as subtle as a bull in a china shop. They peer out from either side of the skinny plant, wide-eyed and guilty, like two kids who’ve just been caught raiding the cookie jar. They don’t move, sharing some silent exchange between themselves—one of those unspoken conversations that only twins seem capable of, their eyes darting back and forth with a kind of synchronized rhythm. You don’t have to wait long before you decide to break the silence. Leaning casually against the wall, you snap your fingers with a sharp, deliberate sound. It’s a quick, attention-grabbing motion, and to anyone who might be watching, you might as well have been trying to corral a pair of raccoons. The twins, startled at first, perk up immediately. Like clockwork, they abandon their hiding spots and scurry toward you, grinning sheepishly as if they hadn’t been caught in the act at all.

"Well? You two are the most unsubtle pair of idiots we know," you say, your tone flat but with an edge of amusement. "So what were you two trying to do?"

You level them with a stare, eyes flickering with jagged, glitching teal squares that ripple beneath the surface of your corruption, catching the light like fractured glass. The momentary flashes make your gaze feel sharper, more unsettling, but the effect doesn’t seem to faze them. Stelle is the first to break the silence, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

"We were trying to scare you," she admits, her voice playful, but there’s a mischievous lilt that betrays her intent. She taps her chin thoughtfully with her thumb and index finger, adopting an exaggerated stance like some kind of inquisitive scholar. Her eyes gleam with an almost theatrical curiosity, her gaze flickering between you and Caelus. Caelus, ever the mirror to his twin, nods in agreement, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin of his own. He matches Stelle’s pose, almost to the letter, his subtle smile hinting at some shared joke. The synchrony between them is uncanny, and it’s clear they both find this moment far more amusing than it has any right to be. You raise an eyebrow, your patience thinning, waiting for them to elaborate. Stelle’s grin widens even further, and Caelus, picking up on whatever idea is dancing through her mind, mirrors her expression with a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

"We’re bored," Stelle begins, her tone dripping with exaggerated seriousness as if she’s about to reveal some profound, existential truth.

"Really, really bored," Caelus chimes in, his voice practically bouncing with the energy that radiates off him. He shifts from foot to foot, practically vibrating with pent-up energy, as if he’s struggling to contain his excitement.

"We were gonna try to scare you," Stelle continues, leaning forward slightly as if sharing a great secret.

"But then you found us and spoiled it," Caelus finishes with a dramatic sigh, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. Their synchronized performance makes it hard not to smirk. The sheer childishness of their attempt, paired with their boundless energy, is somehow endearing, despite the fact that you feel like you’re dealing with two hyperactive children who think they're being clever.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. Leaning forward in mock disappointment, you raise an eyebrow, "Yup, good job. We were totally scared."

Caelus huffs indignantly at your sarcasm, his pout deepening as he crosses his arms over his chest, making a show of being offended. Stelle, never one to miss an opportunity for drama, rolls her eyes so dramatically it’s almost impressive. Then, without warning, they share a look—a silent exchange so loaded with meaning that you can practically hear the unspoken conversation between them. It’s a look that says more than words ever could. And then, just as suddenly, they launch into a silent argument, their exaggerated gestures and comically furrowed brows making the entire scene seem more like a theatrical performance than a real disagreement. You watch them, amused, for a few moments, shaking your head at their antics. And then, as if an invisible cue has been given, they stop abruptly, turning to face you with matching, exaggerated expressions of innocence.

With sudden synchrony, the two of them pull something from behind their backs. It's a keychain—strange and, to say the least, unexpected. You stare at it as Caelus hands it over, his grin widening.

“It’s for you,” he says, his voice light, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. It’s a small trashcan keychain, with a tiny, empty can dangling next to it. It's...quite ugly if you're being honest. You look up at the two racoons, your eyes screaming "seriously?" but you still take it from him. Stelle beams with pride, crossing her arms and watching you intently as if waiting for your reaction.

"It’s a symbol," she declares, as though it’s some grand gesture of deep significance. "Of our collective boredom."

You blink at the keychain, shaking your head. It’s utterly silly, but in that weird, inexplicable way, it’s perfect. It’s the kind of quirky, offbeat gesture that somehow fits this strange little crew you’ve found yourself with. Hands too wide, arms too open, and eyes far too crescent. You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips is unmistakable as you slip the keychain into your pocket.

"Thanks, you two," you mutter dryly, the glitch in your hands weirdly stable enough to not drop your new gift, "We’ll treasure it."

---

Sunday watches, his expression a mixture of restrained bemusement and reluctant fondness as you finish retelling the tale. He hasn’t had the chance to experience the twins’ antics first-hand, but from Robin’s stories and the occasional interaction, it’s clear that Caelus and Stelle are the type to act first and think later. Silly, carefree, and utterly unburdened by the weight of anything that doesn't immediately concern them. It’s almost baffling how easily they offer their trust, without a second thought, to someone like you—a stranger, someone whose past is tangled with so much uncertainty. His gaze drifts to the keychain still resting in your hand, and he suppresses a quiet sigh. A small trashcan with a gusto of positivity might have been enough to irritate him in another context. But right now, in this odd, unexpected moment, it doesn’t do what he expects. Instead of irritation, he feels something else—a strange sense of warmth. It's silly, it truly is. It reminds him of the cartoons he's indulge when Robin would tug on his sleeve to please, just for 2 minutes, watch the newest episode with her. Despite the complexities of everything else weighing on his mind, it serves as a reminder of something he’s almost forgotten.

It’s fleeting, like a brief flicker of sunlight through a cloudy sky, but it settles in his chest with an unfamiliar comfort. A quiet smile, barely perceptible, tugs at his lips. You set the keychain down on your bedside table with deliberate care, moving on to the next object. A plushie of a white ball. There are slanted blue and purple eyes stitched on with a scar going across the left eye.

"It's called a Wubbaboo. They're mischievous Astral Spirits that possess individuals and commit pranks for fun. Although they are not deadly, they have the potential to cause trouble and should be kept from breaking loose. March found it funny to compare them to us," you say, an annoyed notch in your eyebrow as you squeeze the "wubbaboo" until it's face is smushed together so close you can't see the angry eyes staring right back.

---

The neon lights of the room pulse erratically, casting every-changing glows over the crowd. March 7th bounced from one foot to the other, her bright eyes locked on the brightly lit claw machine ahead. Inside, the prize—a pink plushie with a dopy grin and pink cheeks—sat just within reach, taunting her with its unyielding proximity. Her gaze was unwavering, her fingers twitching with anticipation.

"Come on, just one more try," she muttered under her breath, digging into her pocket for the last of her coins. The weight of them, small and cold in her palm, felt like a promise she couldn’t quite break. She'd come this far—surely the next try would be the one.

Behind her, the air hummed faintly—an odd, almost imperceptible static that seemed to vibrate with a quiet energy. It was the kind of noise that made the hairs on the back of March’s neck stand on end, a discomfort she couldn’t quite place. At first, she paid it no mind, her full attention fixed on the claw machine. She slipped the last coin into the slot, her gaze narrowing with steely determination as the machine beeped, signaling the start of her next attempt. But then, from the corner of her eye, she saw it. A figure. Someone watching her. She turned instinctively, expecting to see one of the crew members, perhaps Caelus or Dan Heng, idly observing her antics. But no. The figure she locked eyes with was unfamiliar, unsettling in a way she couldn’t immediately define. Your form flickered—barely a glitch, just a brief ripple in reality, too subtle for anyone else to notice. But to her, it felt like a silent warning, a quiet anomaly that sent a shiver racing down her spine. The space around you seemed to warp for an instant, as though reality itself was struggling to contain you. March blinked, but when she looked again, you were still there—just standing, waiting, like an enigma she hadn’t figured out yet. And that strange, unsettling feeling refused to leave her.

“Oh, hey!” March called out, her usual energy slicing through the lingering unease like a burst of sunlight. “You’re here to watch me win this plushie, right?”

You didn’t respond immediately, your attention unwavering from the claw machine. There was something about the way you stood, casually leaning against the wall, that felt... off. Not the way someone would watch a simple game play out, but with an unsettling precision—like you were studying the machine’s every move. Your eyes tracked the claw with such intent, it was as though you were dissecting its every twitch, every mechanical shift, as if the game were a puzzle to be solved. March tilted her head, momentarily curious about the strange intensity radiating off you. She didn’t mind the silence—after all, who needed words when you had her enthusiasm to fill the space? But something about the way you held yourself made her feel like she was performing on a stage where you were the only audience.

“What? No encouragement? I’m about to win this thing, I can feel it!” She threw a grin over her shoulder, half expecting the same playful teasing she’d received from the others, but you didn’t flinch. No laugh, no words of support. Just your eyes, fixed and unmoving, on the claw’s next movement. It made her pause, just for a moment. But only for a moment. Her confidence bounced right back, her smile widening as she adjusted her grip on the controls. “I’m telling you, it’s happening this time. Watch and learn!”

You finally looked at her, your expression unreadable for a moment, then a flicker of something—amusement, maybe?—passed through your gaze, "If you really believe you're about to win, there’s no need for encouragement."

March raised an eyebrow, her smile fading just a little as she tried to make sense of the shift in your tone. She knows that you're quite aloof, not prickly per say, but you definitely don't indulge in the express's whims. But that's okay! Dan Heng was just like that until she managed to whittle away those iron walls.

“Uh, okay... but I still need all the luck I can get,” she said, trying to shake off the eerie undertone in your voice. She turned back to the machine, her fingers hovering over the controls, the tension of the moment stretching out.

"Luck has little to do with it," you added softly, your eyes flickering to the claw again. There was something in your tone, something that made March pause, just for a second, as she processed the weight of your words. But before she could respond, the machine gave a soft beep—your prediction, it seemed, had been right. Along with the last of her coins.

“Gah! I ran out of time! I’ve been trying to win this plushie for hours!” March whined, her voice carrying a mix of light-hearted frustration and exasperation. “The claw just doesn’t grab it! I’ve tried every angle, but it always misses. It's like the machine’s rigged!”

You simply raised an eyebrow, because obviously all the arcade machines are rigged, and take a step closer. Your fingers twitched, the subtle erratic energy that often surrounded you almost palpable, as though the air itself hummed in response. A mischievous glint flickered in your eyes, the pink diamonds trailing after you beneath the neon lights of the arcade machine shimmering more vibrantly than usual. Without a word, you slid into position next to her, your hand reaching toward the controls with an almost practiced ease. March's frown deepened in confusion, her brow furrowing as she watched you. Before she could protest, the machine seemed to shudder with a strange, low hum—a sound so faint that it barely registered at first, but enough to make her pause.

“You—what did you just do?” she asked, her voice a strange mix of awe and disbelief, as if she couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or unnerved by what had just happened. Her words seemed to hang in the air, heavy with confusion and fascination. You didn’t offer an immediate response, just watching the machine as your fingers twitched again, a barely noticeable movement that seemed to set the air vibrating with some hidden force. For a split second, the claw hung motionless, as if frozen in time. The hum of the machine stilled, and everything around you seemed to hold its breath. Then, with an almost imperceptible shudder, the claw jerked downward, the movement sharp and precise as it latched onto the plushie’s corner. The machine groaned as it whirred to life again, the claw lifting with slow, deliberate force, its grip firm yet delicate, holding the plushie aloft as it dangled precariously by a single corner, swaying ever so slightly. March’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open in utter disbelief. Her jaw dropped, her voice barely a whisper as she stared at the plushie now hanging in midair, clearly suspended by some matter. You stood there, still as ever, a subtle glint of something in your eyes—a fleeting amusement, or perhaps something more calculating, like you had known exactly what would happen all along.

"Just a little glitch here and there," you said, your voice cool, though there was a faint static buzz beneath your words, as though your presence was subtly affecting the machine's circuits. "Machines like this are predictable if you know how to... persuade them."

March stared at the plushie as it was deposited into the prize chute. She scrambled forward, pulling it free from the machine with a loud, excited gasp. "I—I can’t believe it! I actually won it!"

“Looks like you’re finally getting lucky," You watched her, your arms crossed as you leaned back against the wall, your eyes still flickering with that odd energy.

March couldn’t help but laugh, clutching the plushie tightly to her chest, "I should’ve asked you to help from the beginning! I’ve spent hours trying to get this thing. I owe you big time!"

"You’re welcome," you said, though the words were laced with a strange, robotic quality. Your eyes flickered again, as if you were seeing the world in a way no one else could, "But next time, maybe try using your own hands instead of relying on glitches. It’s better that way."

"Nah, I think I’m gonna keep asking you for help," she teased, her energy back to its usual brightness. Her grin alone would power the arcade with how brightly it was shining, “You’ve got the magic touch.”

You raised an eyebrow, pink diamonds flickering once more, but this time, you hurriedly brush them away, "Whatever you say."

As March bounced away, clutching the plushie, she suddenly stopped, eyes wide with a new idea. Without warning, she turned and grabbed your arm, tugging you toward another claw machine nearby, "Alright, you helped me get mine, now it's my turn to get you one!" she declared, practically bouncing with excitement.

"You don’t have to do that," you protest, but March was already running to the coin dispenser to buy more arcade tokens, determined as ever.

"Nonsense! You made my night, so now it’s my turn to return the favor," she said with a grin. "Besides, this one has a super rare plushie. It even looks like you! You’ve gotta have it!"

---

"It took her another two hours to win once. We could feel the voices in our head getting louder. Any longer and who knows, maybe we would have started smashing machines and gotten us all kicked out of Penacony sooner," you say, your tone light but with an undercurrent of something darker, like you might be persuaded to actually go back and cause mass property damage just for the fun of it. Although Sunday is no longer apart of running Penacony, he hopes that you keep that little side adventure sealed in a box.

"Sounds like it was... fun," he murmurs, his voice as steady and measured as ever, but there's something else—something unspoken in the way he looks at you, a subtle acknowledgment of the weight behind your words. It reminds him of Robin's not-so-subtle attempts to drag him away from his office. The puppy-eyes unbefitting her image, how she's bemoan and cry like a spoiled child despite being the most generous person he's ever known. You lean back, letting the memory of the night with March linger in the air between you both, but it’s not the laughter that stands out now. It’s the strange, almost imperceptible warmth that comes with sharing something so unremarkable, yet so anchoring.

"Yeah. I guess it was. But, you know, I don’t need any more prizes. I can't find half my things under all this fluff. Though I’ll admit, it’s nice to be a part of something so... simple for once," your words trail off while your fingers absentmindedly trace the edges of a leather-bound notebook resting nearby. It's a habitual gesture that helps you center yourself, pulling away from the chaos of your thoughts, gray crosses make their reappearance with each stroke. It’s a small thing, yet it feels oddly comforting as if you're balancing yourself to something real amidst the constant shifting of your mind. You don’t look at it directly, but the weight of it under your touch is familiar, as though it’s tied to a version of you that’s been buried, one that doesn’t need the noise or the complications of the present to feel whole.

---

The corridors of the Astral Express were unusually still that afternoon, the kind of stillness that felt more like a pause—like the entire ship was holding its breath. Welt, ever perceptive and attuned to the nuances of his crew, couldn’t ignore the subtle shift in the atmosphere. There was a hum in the air, almost imperceptible, yet it was unmistakable to someone who knew the rhythms of the train as well as he did. Something was off, and it wasn’t just the absence of the usual banter.

He found you in one of the lounge areas by the window, sitting on a plush chair, your back rigid and unmoving. Your eyes were fixed on the stars outside, yet they seemed distant, unfocused, as though you were seeing something far beyond what was visible. A flicker of tension lingered in the air around you, something that made the quiet feel unnatural. Welt’s instincts tingled, the way they always did when something wasn’t quite right. He stepped closer, careful to keep his presence subtle, but as he neared, he saw the flicker of anxiety in your movements—the twitch of your fingers, the way your gaze darted restlessly around the room, as if you were trying to catch hold of something just out of reach. Your mouth pressed into a thin, controlled line, betraying the internal struggle playing out behind your eyes. It was like a storm was brewing just beneath the surface, one he couldn’t quite read. It also didn't help the black zigzags cascading down from your head like water. The suddenness of it struck him like a spark before the crackle of thunder—quick and sharp, but brimming with an undeniable intensity. Something had changed in you, something deeper than what words could reveal. And Welt, ever the observer, felt a weight settle in his chest. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“You’re not okay,” Welt’s voice broke the stillness, soft yet firm, the kind of tone that held no room for argument but also offered a space for understanding. He knew you’d hear him, even if you weren’t ready to respond.

You didn’t answer immediately, but he could see the shift in your posture—the slight stiffening of your shoulders, the way your hands clenched and unclenched, restless, as if they were desperate for an outlet. Your eyes flickered to him, but they never fully met his. They danced around the room, unfocused, searching for something just beyond the edges of the present. And Welt knew, without needing to read further into the subtle tension in the air, that something was brewing beneath the surface. There was a storm in those eyes—wild, untamed, as if your emotions were battling each other in a silent war, and your mind was struggling to keep up. The turbulence inside you was palpable, though you made no effort to show it outwardly. But Welt, who had long learned to read the unspoken, could see it—the flicker of something, a fleeting moment of vulnerability, quickly masked by a wall of distance. He stayed quiet for a moment, letting the space between you linger, his gaze steady but patient, waiting for you to find your footing amid the chaos. He knew you didn’t need his answers or his help—not yet. What you needed was someone to acknowledge that what you were going through wasn’t something to hide, something to sweep under the rug.

“Talk to me,” he urged, his voice softening, an invitation more than a demand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Talk? Why does everyone want to talk? I'm sick of hearing other people's voices-" You spit, those same black zigzags spilling down from your mouth like tar. Your corruption flares up, lashing out towards Welt like hands if he hadn't raised his cane, the pressure of a blackhole swallowing them with one motion. Although your powers are strong, Welt has dealt with beings far more dangerous. Right now, you only look like a lost boy whose confused and anxious. You flinch away, the dark matter in Welt's cane temporarily mixing with your curse snaps you back to reality. "It’s happening again,” you murmured, the words barely a whisper, but they carried an undeniable weight that seemed to hang in the air, heavy with the force of a brewing storm. It's as close of an apology as you can say, the admission of your weakness. Your voice, strained and fragile, barely reached the space between you and Welt, but the tension it carried was palpable, suffocating the room. It was as if the words were not merely spoken, but dragged from you—born of some unseen pressure that twisted around your very being. Welt’s brow furrowed, a faint crease appearing between his eyes as the words sank in. His normally composed exterior slipped just slightly, concern flickering like a distant ember. He stepped closer, but the distance between you both felt miles apart like there was an invisible barrier keeping him from reaching you. His steady, calm demeanor remained in place, the calm before the storm, but there was no mistaking the quiet alarm in his eyes. It was the kind of concern that didn’t need to be spoken—it was in the way he watched you, the careful way he approached, as if unsure whether any sudden movement might cause the fragile equilibrium of your mind to snap. He wasn’t a stranger to the Antistar’s influence, the thing that had fused with your body somehow. Welt had witnessed it before—the way it sank its claws into people's mind, its voices echoing in their thoughts like a cacophony of distant whispers, each one dragging their host deeper into a void. He had watched the shift, the way their thoughts could become erratic, spiraling into madness. But this… this felt different. Your eyes, wide and unfocused, darted around the room like prey under a predator’s gaze. They never settled, as if your surroundings had become something foreign and threatening. There was an almost panicked quality to your movements, your hands fidgeting in agitation, fingers twitching involuntarily. Welt could see it—the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the way your muscles tensed, anticipating some unseen danger. Yet you kept everything constrained under a deteriorating cracking iron fist.

“Let it out,” he said, his voice soothing, though there was a firmness to it, like he was anchoring you to the present moment. “Tell me what’s going on in your head. If you lose control, I will be here.”

You clenched your hands tightly, the fingers trembling ever so slightly. The irritation, confusion, and pain on your face were unmistakable. You weren’t ready to speak, but Welt could see the frustration in your eyes as you fought to keep control, as if you didn’t want to burden him with it.

“The voices… they’re too loud,” you muttered again, the words barely coherent, slipping from your lips like the last tether to reality was breaking. You weren’t speaking to him now, he realized. You were speaking to something else—somewhere inside yourself. Your eyes flitted around, unfocused, the flicker of your gaze darting in every direction as if trying to escape the storm inside you. But no matter how hard you looked away, the shadows seemed to follow, pressing in on you, crowding your thoughts. The chaotic whispers, fragmented and incoherent, spun like a whirlpool in your mind, each thought louder than the last, pulling you under. Welt’s hand twitched, but he held himself back, unsure if any touch would push you further away. He could feel the shift in the atmosphere—something heavy, suffocating, that seemed to darken the space between you both. It wasn’t just the usual voices. This was something deeper, something suffocating that made the air feel thick, pressing against your lungs, forcing every breath to feel like it could be your last. Your fingers twitched at your sides, and for a moment, it looked like you might collapse under the weight of it all. Something about your posture—rigid, almost as if frozen—suggested that you were fighting an unseen force, and that fight was taking all the energy you had left.

“You don’t have to hold it all in,” Welt continued, his tone never harsh, just a calm, steady presence. “You’re not alone in this, you know. We’re all here for you.”

Welt moved a little closer, sitting down beside you, not crowding you, but close enough to let you know he was there. He didn’t rush you. He didn’t expect an answer. He simply waited, letting the quiet space between you become a bridge. Slowly, you exhaled, the tension beginning to ease.

“I don’t know how to stop it,” you admitted, finally, your voice trembling, “I can’t escape it… the memories, the voices, they keep mixing together. It’s too much. It feels like… it feels like I’m breaking apart sometimes.”

The words were barely there, barely above a whisper, but they carried the weight of everything you’d been carrying—everything you didn’t know how to deal with. Welt remained silent, letting you say what you needed to, the gentle hum of the train filling the space between your words. After a moment of silence, Welt reached into his coat and pulled out a small, simple notebook. It was nothing special, just a black hardcover with blank pages inside, but there was a certain gravity in the way he offered it to you.

“I know it’s hard to sort through everything in your mind,” he said, his voice steady, “But sometimes, putting it down on paper can help. Whether you write, draw, or just let your thoughts spill out, it’s a way to process what’s going on inside. It’s yours. Whenever you feel like you need it.”

His gaze is soft and steady as he handed you the notebook, the worn leather cover catching the dim light of the train’s quiet lounge. He didn’t need to say anything more; his gesture spoke louder than words ever could. It was an offer, an invitation to channel the chaos, to make sense of the dissonance swirling in your mind, even if just for a moment. You took the notebook from him with a quiet nod, fingers brushing against the cover. It felt like a small tether, a lifeline to something that might help you regain control. There was a subtle warmth in the action, like an invisible thread connecting you to him, a silent understanding between you both. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze just yet—your eyes still too full of that swirling storm, too fragile to hold his steady, unshakable presence for long. But even so, there was a shift inside you. A tiny, almost imperceptible lightness that you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was like a small weight had been lifted, just enough to let you breathe a little easier. The thought that there might be a way to bring some order to the chaos, even if just for a fleeting moment, was oddly comforting. It wasn’t a cure, and it wasn’t a solution to everything, but it was something. And that was more than enough for now.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, the words carrying far more weight than the simplicity of their sound. They were more than just a polite acknowledgment—they were a recognition of the space he had given you, the quiet support that had anchored you in the midst of your turmoil. The storm inside you hadn’t fully passed, but the gentle pressure of the notebook in your hands and Welt's presence beside you made it feel like there was at least a small way forward. And for the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.

---

Sunday’s gaze lingered on the notebook, the silence between you both stretching out, comfortable yet laden with unspoken thoughts. His eyes, usually so guarded, softened as he watched you trace the edges of the book. It was a small thing, but there was a kind of quiet understanding in the way his attention remained fixed on it—on you. He was listening, more than just hearing, letting your words settle in the space between you, weighing them with care.

"A notebook?" he asked, his voice as calm and neutral as always, but you could feel the subtle shift beneath it, the way he was registering the importance of this new detail. You nodded, a small sigh escaping you as you let your fingers graze the leather cover, feeling its familiar texture beneath your touch. Something was grounding about it, something that allowed you to breathe a little easier, even if just for a moment.

"Mr. Yang said... writing, drawing, anything—just getting it out of our- my...my head could help." The words left your mouth more easily now, a little less guarded than before. You allowed the vulnerability to show, even if only for a brief moment, “It didn’t seem like much at first, but it kind of made sense. Maybe if I put things down on paper, I could start making sense of it all.”

You could feel the weight of his gaze still on you, a steady, almost intangible presence that let you know he was fully engaged with what you were saying. The way he didn’t rush to speak, didn’t offer unsolicited advice, allowed you the space to process your own thoughts aloud. It was rare, and it felt like a small gift. He didn’t respond right away, and you could tell that he wasn’t just hearing your words—he was truly absorbing them. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but instead it was thoughtful, almost as if he was searching for the right way to acknowledge what you’d shared without diminishing it. You briefly remember that Sunday used to act as a confessional when he was still in Penacony.

"I see," His voice was quiet, but the way he said it—like the weight of your words had a place in the quiet space between you—felt like an unspoken agreement. He understood, in his own way. There was no need for further explanation, no need to fix it, because he saw what you were trying to do. Finally, you leaned forward, placing the notebook gently into his hands. His eyes widened slightly in surprise at the gesture.

"Take it," you said, your voice steady now, "Welt’s right about one thing—getting it out, even if just on paper, can help. But sometimes, it’s hard to know where to start. Maybe you could use it. I know you’ve been carrying your own things, too, and...I think it might help. If you want."

Sunday's gaze lingered on the notebook in your hands, his fingers drifting over its surface as if weighing its significance without quite touching it. There was a slight furrow in his brow, a quiet contemplation that seemed to speak volumes about the thoughts running through his mind. The air between you was thick with the stillness, the kind that held space for unspoken words, for the things that were never said but felt deeply all the same. The silence stretched, comfortable yet heavy, before his eyes finally lifted to meet yours. His expression, as always, was carefully neutral—an unreadable mask that kept his thoughts hidden from view. Yet in the soft, steady look he gave you, there was something else, something that wasn’t contained in the lines of his face or the calmness of his voice. It was gratitude—subtle but unmistakable. It was a warmth that lingered in his eyes, a quiet acknowledgment that said more than any words could.

“I appreciate it,” he said, his voice low, carrying an uncharacteristic vulnerability. The words were simple, but they felt like a rare offering from him, a small crack in the armor he wore so effortlessly. Sunday, who usually kept his emotions tucked away in the recesses of his mind, was letting a piece of himself be seen. He took a slow breath, as though trying to ground himself in the newfound realization, considering the offer you'd made with a seriousness that reflected just how much it meant to him.

“I’ll think about it,” he added quietly, his voice softer than usual, but carrying an openness that had been absent before. It wasn’t a promise, not yet—but it was a crack in the door, a willingness to entertain something different, something new. And in that moment, you knew that it wasn’t just the notebook that he was considering. It was the space you had offered him, the chance to let something out that he hadn’t known he needed to. You nodded, your heart settling a little. The connection, small as it was, felt like a shared understanding. Neither of you had to carry the weight alone, even if you both still had a long way to go. You bat the sheets, flipping them over to make room as you clumsily slip under the covers. Sparkles of pink diamonds and yellow stars dust your cheeks. You scoot over a bit, patting the empty space beside you.

"So, Sunday, the night is still young. What other stories do you wish to hear?"

---

The soft hum of the Astral Express reverberated through the still morning air, a gentle reminder of the vastness of space surrounding the train. The faint glow of the sun barely peeked over the horizon, casting the world in muted hues of gold and lavender. Himeko, having long since grown accustomed to the quiet rhythms of the morning, made her way to the kitchen with a peacefulness that seemed to come only at this hour. She savored the calm that hung in the air, as though the world outside was still asleep, cocooned in the early hours before the day fully began. No noise, no urgency, just the steady pulse of the train and the promise of a new day. With each step, the familiar scent of brewed coffee and the faint warmth of the kitchen grew stronger, tugging her further into the solace of the moment. The corridors of the Astral Express, usually bustling with the energy of the crew, now felt like a world apart, as if time had slowed in reverence to the serenity of the morning. It was in moments like this, before the demands of the day began to pile up, that Himeko felt the weight of everything that had happened in the quietest way possible. It was as if the train itself whispered secrets to her in these brief, fleeting moments of solitude. She opens the kitchen door manually, not quite ready to disturb the peaceful atmosphere, only to stumble onto an unexpected sight. You were standing alone in the kitchen, a cup of tea cupped between your hands over the sink in case you accidentally spilled it's contents, staring out the window with an air of quiet contemplation. Himeko couldn't help but notice the way the soft light from the window caught your features, highlighting the tired lines under your eyes, and the subtle shift in your posture. Teal squares just on the ends of your heels, small and insignificant. It's probably the calmest your glitches have ever been since you joined the Express.

"Good morning, is it just us today?" Himeko greeted, her voice gentle but warm as she stepped inside. You startled slightly at the sound of her voice, blinking at her with a mix of surprise. You hadn’t noticed her approach, too wrapped up in your own thoughts.

"Morning," you mumbled, your voice soft yet not quite there, "The twins and March are probably going to sleep in since the Express hasn't reached its destination. Mr. Yang mentioned that he'd be cooped up in his room since he'd had a burst of information for his animation. Dan Heng arrived earlier but slinked off like the lizard he is."

Himeko laughs, your not-so-subtly rivalry with Dan Heng is always amusing. One day she hopes that you and him will get along since your personalities are similar, yet she doesn't think that day will arrive anytime soon.

"And Sunday?" she asked, a quiet concern slipping into her tone. Although it's obvious that she's prodding at the fact you've left their newest member out of your count, your expression remains the same. You didn’t immediately respond, your gaze dropping to your hands, fingers tightening around the warm ceramic of the cup you still held.

"Sunday visited us... last night. It was," you tap your fingers lightly against your cup, the words lingering a moment before you continue, "productive."

Himeko’s soft chuckle fills the space between you, her gaze sharp and knowing as she observes the subtle shift in your posture. The way your fingers tap nervously against your cup, the faint tension in your shoulders—every detail betrays the discomfort you're trying to hide. It’s clear that something has unsettled you, and she doesn’t miss a beat. It seems that Sunday had finally decided to take Caelus’s advice, something Himeko had been quietly anticipating. She’d often wondered how many nights she would hear his pacing echo through the quiet halls, his restless steps a soft but constant reminder of his inner turmoil. It wasn’t until now, after all this time, that he had worked up the courage to knock on your door. As she watches you, a quiet satisfaction lingers in her expression. For someone like Sunday—so reserved, so distant—it was a rare and significant step, and she can’t help but wonder what this moment means for both of you.

"I didn’t know you two had gotten so close," she remarks, her voice light with curiosity, "I always thought Sunday preferred his solitude. Guess you’ve managed to break through that shell of his."

"It’s not like that," you mutter, your words a bit awkward as you try to navigate the conversation. You rub the back of your neck, the heat rising to your face as you glance briefly at Sunday, still unsure how to explain the situation, "Just... paying it forward..."

---

The train was quiet in the dead of night, save for the soft hum of the engines that kept it steady through the stars. The glow of the emergency lights created a muted, warm atmosphere in the corridors, but the calm didn’t last long. A muffled cry cut through the silence, followed by the sound of something hitting the floor. Himeko, ever attuned to the sounds of the Astral Express, immediately snapped awake, sitting up from her chair in the lounge. Her instincts told her where to go. Without hesitation, she stood and moved swiftly down the narrow hallway, her footsteps quiet but determined.

When she reached your door, she paused for a moment. The sounds of distress were unmistakable—night terrors, or something close to them. She gently pushed the door open, finding you curled up in a tangle of blankets, breathing erratically, your body still twitching from the remnants of a nightmare. Himeko’s heart softened. She had seen this before, though not in the same form. Everyone aboard the Astral Express carried their own burdens, but sometimes those burdens took the shape of dreams that could tear through the night. Without a word, she stepped inside and softly sat at the edge of your bed. Her presence was calming, like a tether to reality, something solid in the wake of your fear.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice gentle but laced with a quiet concern, waiting for you to stir. The silence stretched between you both, heavy with the unspoken understanding. When your eyes finally fluttered open, still bleary and clouded with unease, she offered a small, reassuring smile—a quiet balm for the storm inside.

"Nightmares, huh?" she asked, her tone light, but there was no mistaking the empathy in her voice. You blinked up at her, listening intently, your pulse beginning to slow as her calming presence wrapped around you. You nodded slowly, the motion almost automatic as you tried to shake off the lingering remnants of the dream that clung to your mind like shadows. Your breath was still ragged, the echoes of the nightmare pulsing in the back of your skull. Himeko didn’t rush you, her gaze soft but unyielding, the kind that could see through the cracks in even the toughest exterior. She gave you a knowing look, one of those rare expressions that only someone who had seen the weight of the universe could wear—a quiet strength that could fill any silence.

"It’s funny," Himeko said, her voice softening as she leaned back slightly, her eyes distant for a moment, as though recalling something personal, "I found that sometimes, the best way to chase away the nightmares wasn’t by fighting them head-on."

She paused, letting the words linger before she continued, her tone quieter now, as if inviting you into a shared secret, "Instead, I focused on objects. Sounds strange, doesn’t it?"

She let out a light, almost melodic chuckle, the sound warm and comforting, before brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The gesture was casual, but there was a quiet elegance in the way she carried herself, a kind of understanding that only someone who had seen the weight of the universe could possess, "But honestly, it works. You begin to connect memories to things—simple things. A chair that reminds you of a calm afternoon, a necklace that brings back the feeling of warmth from someone you care about, or even a map that shows the way to a place that feels safe. Objects like that—they become more than just things. They become anchors in the storm. They bring back something good, something peaceful when everything else feels chaotic."

"I have this feather. Although it doesn’t resemble a traditional bird's feather with its pointed tip and flared edges make it stand out, it is a feather nonetheless. The kind of thing you don't question at first glance, but once you hold it, it seems to carry a weight of its own. It used to belong to someone else, someone who, in the quiet moments, always had it with her. She would carry it everywhere, as if it were an extension of herself. Her constant companion and a token of something deeper. But when she was gone, all that remained was her feather. No explanations, no grand gestures—just this simple, delicate thing, left behind like a piece of her that couldn’t be taken away. It’s strange how something so small can carry such weight, but in its quiet presence, it holds memories, echoes of a time now past," she continued, her voice soft yet unwavering, as if the weight of her words could carry the silence between them. Though her conversation remained one-sided, she spoke as if the act of sharing brought a strange kind of comfort, "Whenever the weight of the past begins to creep up on me, I hold it in my hand. To an outsider, it's just a feather, nothing extraordinary—but when I grip it, it’s as if it anchors me, as if it has the power to guide me through the storm. Somehow, it helps me find the peace I need, even if only for a fleeting moment. There are a lot of ways to fight the darkness, you know. Sometimes, it’s about finding what makes you feel grounded. What pulls you back when it all starts spinning out of control."

You let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly as her words sank in, each one settling in the quiet spaces of your mind. Her presence was a balm, softening the tension that had coiled tight within you. The storm inside, once turbulent and overwhelming, seemed to lose its force in the calm of her company. The stillness of the night, which had felt suffocating moments ago, no longer held the same threat. With her there, her voice a steady and unwavering anchor, everything seemed a little less overwhelming, as if the weight of the world could be borne, even if only for a while.

"You’re not alone in this," Himeko added, her smile soft and kind, "We all carry something heavy with us, but we don’t have to carry it alone. And when the nightmares come, don’t be afraid to reach out. We’ll get through it together."

You nodded again, a quiet sigh escaping as a sense of peace began to unfurl in your chest. The nightmare didn’t vanish entirely, but its grip had loosened, its hold no longer suffocating. Himeko’s words, simple yet profound, were like a balm, soothing the lingering traces of your fear. The storm inside you settled, its chaos quieting in the warmth of her presence. Himeko rose to her feet, her movements fluid and graceful, as if she were part of the very calm she had helped create. The soft rustle of her clothes was the only sound as she stood, poised and serene, her quiet strength radiating through the room.

"Get some rest," she said gently, her voice quiet but full of warmth. "Tomorrow is a new day. And if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to find me, alright?"

With one final smile, Himeko turned and left your room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. The quiet comfort of her words lingered in the air, and the night didn’t feel so long anymore.

---

"I never properly thanked you for that night," you say, the words leaving your mouth with a quiet weight, as if they’ve been waiting to be said for far longer than you realized. The moment feels suspended, fragile—an acknowledgment that feels both overdue and somehow vital. Your voice falters slightly, but there’s a tenderness in it, an unspoken appreciation that lingers between the lines. Himeko turns toward you, her gaze softening as she takes in your words. You already know what she's trying to say without having to hear it, she's never needed to hear your thanks because that was never the intention.

"I’m proud of you," she says instead, her voice steady and warm, the sincerity in her tone making the space between you feel more intimate, more real. It makes your hand momentarily glitch, your cup spilling momentarily before your fingers phase back into reality to catch it, "It’s not easy to open up, but you’re doing it. That’s what matters."

The simplicity of her words settles into you like sunlight breaking through clouds. You smile faintly, a quiet flicker of gratitude stirring deep inside, the kind that doesn’t need to be said out loud to be understood. The tension that had been coiled tight in your chest begins to ease, like a storm passing on the horizon. Her words, so gentle yet unyielding in their kindness, carry with them a warmth that softens the sharp edges of your past. The heaviness that had once seemed insurmountable becomes a little less oppressive, as if, for just a moment, you’re allowed to let it all go. A burst of orange circles pop from your cheeks that you hurriedly wave off but those circles, shining brighter under the light, only move to dodge your hands.

"I’m going to leave you to your morning," she says, her tone light but you can hear the underlining of laughter in her words. Her smile is a quiet promise, one that lingers even as she begins to step away, "Just remember, if you ever need anything—anything at all—you don’t have to carry it alone."

Her words settle in the air, offering you an unexpected kind of strength, a quiet reminder that you aren’t as isolated as you sometimes believe. She moves toward the door, her movements fluid and graceful, like a gentle breeze passing through a still room. As the door clicks softly behind her, the sound feels like the closing of one chapter and the quiet beginning of another.

You remain where you are for a moment, your mind still. The warmth of her presence lingers in the room like the afterglow of a setting sun, soft and comforting. The steady hum of the train continues around you, its familiar rhythm filling the silence she left behind, a constant reminder of the world that moves on. It wasn’t much, this exchange—just a few quiet words and a gesture of kindness. But in this moment, it feels like the first true step toward something you hadn’t known you needed: a reminder that you’re not as alone as you sometimes think. The weight of your thoughts, once so suffocating, seems a little lighter, and for the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to simply breathe.

---

Hi, thank you for reading! I kind of went crazy and I hope the alternating switch between past and present made sense. I'll reblog this with further writer notes but I wanted to include the research bits in order of appearance. I can't guarantee the full accuracy but I hope I didn't get anything wrong.

Also: I couldn't explore the full lore of this reader, but if you're interested in knowing more, please reach out towards the original creator: @thezboss

Colours and Shapes

Gray: Neutrality and detachment | Crosses: Balance and reflection

Black: Sadness and Fear | Zigzags: Instability and disruption

Yellow: Happiness and optimism | Stars: Aspiration and guidance

Teal: Calm and clarity | Squares: Stability and straightforwardness

Pink: Compassion and playfulness | Diamonds: Confidence and value

Circles: Unity and Harmony | Orange: Warmth and impulsiveness

Trash Can Keychain

Not an actual trash can keychain, but if you bought a full set of HSR chibi figures, you were gifted an extra figure of a trash can.

Pink Plushie

The plushy that March wanted is the pink happy face that sits on her bed inside her room. It's beside the dog plushie.

Himeko's Feather

The feather Himeko is referring to is Fu Hua's feather. Shout out to my Honkai Impact fans (I've never played the game).

[desultory-novice]

I was lore surfing RTTDDX and found an interesting subject. Magolor's EX screen says he learned about the Master Crown in a "dusty tome" and thought it was a fairy tale. Now it makes me wonder of the subgame Tome tracker. What if those books in that subgame are his personal library (lore collection)? What if those tomes were written by the Ancients themselves?

So, I've been thinking about this idea ever since I learned Magolor wasn't really Halcandran and it freed me to truly think of him as more of an "Interdimensional Traveler" ... and I think I have finally come around to my most current headcanon on this subject!

It involves the Spiders. That's right. This all goes back to "the portrait" in TDX!!

Magolor has a dream, right? A quiet, silly dream to build an amusement park that the entire universe could enjoy! But...well, he's also just a wee~ bit of a megalomaniacal egg, and even though he's WILLING to work toward his dream from the ground up, starting with a small, privately owned shop, we know that by the time of RtDL, he's definitely not against fantasizing about about things like cheating the system and becoming all powerful!

So, there's the our main character of this tale.

And what's the best and quickest way for an ambitious egg to get a big enterprise going? (Especially if he'd already tried things the hard way and failed?) Having FUNDING. So, Magolor reaches out to Queen Sectonia's empire, y'know, since the queen and her court magician can literally MAKE gigantic precious gems out of magic.

Ah, but she won't meet with just a humble (and very, very poor) future-theme park designer with nothing but an idea.

No, Magolor needs an identity to impress her.

...Thus begins Magolor's history of cosplaying!

Magolor puts on the blue and gold hood and describes himself to the court as "...a descendant of the Ancients." ("Look, look! I've even got a Halcandran name!" "...Why does your name mean 'liar?'")

Queen Sectonia, who possibly already have the mirror at this point (all we know is that Shopkeeper Magolor has heard that she once looked just like Taranza, we don't know whether he saw that transformation for himself) could be just as interested in getting her hands on more Halcandran artifacts as Magolor is, so she accepts him as a guest of her empire! ...And probably assigns Taranza to babysit the suspicious creature.

So it is HER library where Magolor finds the dusty old tome that tells him about the Lor Starcutter! (And a bunch of stuff, including ID-F86?!) Magolor is beginning to see that Halcandra, his "assumed" hometown, is where he might be able to make his dreams come true.

Time passes, Taranza and Sectonia learn that Magolor is not Halcandran, just a swindler (though Taranza holds some lingering affection for the fellow bookworm, enough to not throw out his picture) and Magolor is kicked out on his non-existent feet.

With the last of his resources, he hitches a one-way ticket to Halcandra and begins his search! (...Or maybe he actually got as far as having Sectonia fund an expedition for him? Maybe the portrait is of their :wipes a tear away: "...lost scholar-explorer Magolor"? Maybe they never did find out the truth about him, rather, they assumed him lost?)

On Halcandra, Magolor is desperate enough to search for any trace of truth in the stories until his fancy cosplay robes turn an ashy gray and start to break down (as I believe the opening cutscene for the Epilogue is 100% meant to show us that Magolor's clean look is but an illusory disguise he kept up with magic to impress others, including Kirby and the gang - because it's hard to convince everyone you didn't totally steal the ship you're on when you're literally dressed like a castaway - and his illusion breaks when he runs out of power)

But...just when it looks like maybe he'll die here, maybe his quest was in vain...the fairy tale turns out to be reality!

-

As for why the Tome Trackers game looks that way, I kinda think it could still be based off of Floralia's library? (Or whatever other library he may have gotten the information from.) But that the place we're running around in is just an attraction isolated to Magoland. He's got a replica (at least, I hope it's a replica) of King Dedede's castle throne room in Merry Magoland too! XD

[cagemasterfantasy]

Dnd monsters explained Aboleth

Before the coming of the gods, Aboleths lurked in primordial oceans and underground lakes. They reached out with their minds and seized control of the burgeoning life-forms of the mortal realm, making those creatures their slaves. Their dominance made them like gods. Then the true gods appeared smashing the Aboleths empires and freeing their slaves.

Aboleths have never forgotten.

Aboleths have flawless memories. They pass on their knowledge and experience from generation to generation. Thus the injury of their defeat by the gods remains perfectly preserved in their minds.

Aboleths minds are treasure troves of ancient lore recalling moments from prehistory and intricately across eons. Few creatures can conceive of the extent of an Aboleth's plan.

Aboleths dwell in watery environments including ocean abysses deep lakes, and the Elemental Plane of Water. In these domains and the lands that adjoin them Aboleths are like gods demanding worship and obedience from their subjects. When they consume other creatures Aboleths add the knowledge and experiences of their prey to their eternal memories.

Aboleths use their telepathic powers to read the minds of creatures and know their desires. An Aboleth uses this knowledge to gain a creature's loyalty promising to fulfill such wants in exchange for obedience. Within its lair the Aboleth can further use its powers to override senses granting creatures such as its followers the illusion of promised rewards.

The Aboleths fall from power is written in stark clarity on their flawless memories for Aboleths never truly die. If an Aboleths body is destroyed its spirit returns to the Elemental Plane of Water where a new body coalesces for it over days or months.

Ultimately Aboleths dream of overthrowing the gods and regaining control of the world. Aboleths have had untold eons to plot and to prepare their plans for perfect execution.

Aboleth Lair:

Aboleths lair in subterranean lakes or the rocky depths of the ocean often surrounded by the ruins of an ancient fallen aboleth city. An Aboleth spends most of its time underwater surfacing occasionally to treat with visitors or deranged worshipers.

When fighting inside its lair an Aboleth can invoke the ambient magic to take lair actions. On initiative count 20 (losing initiative ties), the Aboleth takes a lair action to cause 1 of the following effects:

1: The aboleth cast Phantasmal Force (no components required) on any number of creatures it can see within 60 feet of it. While maintaining concentration on this effect, the Aboleth can't take other lair actions. If a target succeeds on the saving throw (DC 14) or if the effect ends for it, the target is immune to the Aboleths Phantasmal Force lair action for the next 24 hours although such a creature can choose to be affected.

2: Pools of water within 90 feet of the Aboleth surge outward in a grasping tide. Any creature on the ground within 20 feet of such a pool must succeed on a DC 14 Strength saving throw or be pulled up to 20 feet into the water and knocked prone. The Aboleth can't use this lair action again until it has used a different one.

3: Water in the Aboleth's lair becomes a conduit for the creature's rage. The Aboleth can target any number of creatures it can see in such water within 90 feet of it. A target must make a DC14 Wisdom saving throw or take 2d6 psychic damage. The Aboleth can't use this lair action again until it has used a different one.

Regional Effects: The region containing an Aboleth's lair is warped by the creature's presence, which creates one or more of the following effects:

1: Underground surfaces within 1 mile of the Aboleth's lair are slimy and wet and are difficult terrain.

2: Water sources within 1 mile of the lair are supernaturally fouled. Enemies of the Aboleth that drink such water vomit it within minutes.

3: As an action the Aboleth can create an illusory image of itself within 1 mile of the lair. They copy can appear at any location the aboleth has seen before or in any location a creature charmed by the Aboled can currently see. Once created the image lasts for as long as the Aboleth maintains concentration as if concentrating on a spell. Although the image is intangible it looks sounds and can move like the Aboleth. The Aboleth can sense speak and use telepathy from the image's position as if present at that position. If the image takes any damage it disappears.

If the Aboleth dies the first 2 effects fade over the course of 3d10 days.

[the-college-of-whispers]

The Nature of Alteration

by Telonil Kaeire, Alteration Master of the College of Whispers

Alteration, as a school of magic, is often misunderstood and confused with Illusion by those who do not study magic in-depth. Dating back to the First Era Ayleid empire, Alteration was originally used as a military tool. The changes brought on by this school of magic apply to everyone, not merely caster and target (as seen with Illusion magic).

A core aspect of Alteration, as outlined by the anonymously-written book Reality and Other Falsehoods dating back to at least 2E 582, is to accept that reality is false, a dream of some greater being. These spells seek to convince a greater power that it’s easier to change reality than to leave it be. Therefore, Alteration is not bound by the laws of reality.

Alteration is about uncommon sense and how the line between magic and mundane do not exist, as eloquently put in the book Breathing Water by Haliel Myrm (a piece of fiction dating back to at least 3E 427 that explains Alteration in a very brief, non-fiction manner). One of the possible morals of this work is that the world will end a spell no matter how good the mage casting it.

It is, however, bound by the laws of nature. One must know something strong or tough to change their skin to with the Armor spells. One must know the three combat elements (Fire, Frost, and Shock) to create elemental shields. One must know water before breathing it or walking upon it. Indeed, even the Detect Life and Detect Dead spells (previously categorized as Mysticism before it was deemed obsolete post-Great War) are categorized modernly as Alteration spells, cementing the connection between nature, life, and Alteration.

Ultimately, Alteration works with and manipulates what is. Nature and natural order and law are what is. Thus, Alteration is intrinsically tied to nature and natural order and law.

Sources

Imperial Library entries:

Breathing Water (Haliel Myrm, traces back to 3E 427 through The Elder Scrolls: Morrowind)

Reality and Other Falsehoods (Anonymous, traces back to 2E 582 through The Elder Scrolls: Online)

UESP entries:

General: Magic

Lore: Alteration

Lore: Mysticism

Morrowind: Alteration

Oblivion: Alteration

Skyrim: Alteration

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E131 (March 30, 2021)

Tonight’s guests are Liam O’Brien and Sam Riegel!

Brian points out that a lot of Caleb’s greatest fears have come to pass. Liam: “It’s funny, because he’d kind of believed for a while that those things weren’t going to happen. After a while, he got complacent.” He notes that it was extra wild because everything with Trent popped up again in the midst of that complacency. And how did it feel to be defiant toward Trent? “I think Trent successfully made Caleb question if Caleb really was in control“ at the dinner party. “I feel like anything that I do is part of his plans for me, or is that just gaslighting? I’m legitimately scared of that dude.” Sam: “Of Matt?” Liam: “Sure.” He highlights the disconnect between knowing that the M9 is mechanically powerful and could possibly defeat Trent in a dice-and-stats battle, versus fearing him in a story sense and being convinced he can do almost anything.

Sam, on Luc’s death: “That was brutal, man. Matt Mercer is a-- he hates children! Clearly. He actively sought to kill a child in the campaign in as brutal a way as possible. He hates children and wants them dead. Canon. No, but to RP, that was horrible.” He highlights that so much of Veth’s arc has been about trying to get back to her family. “We had to choose something and we thought we were making the right choice. It was all Veth’s fault, and it was pretty rotten. My heart was beating pretty fast, and I certainly didn’t want to have my son die live on the stream. I don’t know what Veth would have done. That’s the end, that’s over. It’s almost worse than when your own character would die. This is something that would also kill Veth.” After the episode was over: “just shaken. I also didn’t know what to do next! That felt like a turning-point moment for my character, weirdly so close to what we assume to be the end arc of this campaign. I texted Matt later that night and was like, that’s it, Veth’s out, I’m tapping out.”

There’s an interlude in which Sam discovers a new dream to record an episode of this show from his Peloton. Dani informs him that she will not be inviting him back.

On Astrid, Liam: “I literally don’t know what she’s doing. I know that she’s dangerous, she always was ambitious, and there’s not been a moment where Caleb let his guard down with her. He’s not trying to reestablish what they had. He cares for the both of them, for Astrid and Eodwulf. He thinks about it a lot, still. He can’t tell how much she buys into everything that she experienced and is now living as a full-grown adult. He suspects that she’s bought in and is not going to change things, because she believes in the system, as much as he’d like to peel her away. He does believe that they want what’s best for the Empire, and stopping whatever wants to come vomiting out of a hole in the frozen north is good for everyone. And they’re powerful. They’re not trustworthy, obviously. But there’s enough at stake to make it worth it. He could imagine a situation where they fight each other to the death.” He was convinced Astrid was going to stop them when they left the tower and was really shocked when she held back. Sam: “Not me! I’ve trusted Astrid since day one. She’s the greatest! I sent a letter to her, she’s very nice, I think you guys would be a nice couple. I believe every word she says.”

On having to decide on Veth deciding to go off and save the world after Luc’s death. “Like I said, I was ready to be done. And then I decided somewhere in there that that’s not very D&D. So I thought I’d leave it up to somebody else, so I asked Caduceus to decide for me, essentially. She knows she’s putting her other family in danger if she doesn’t go. It’s an impossible choice, you know?” Liam: “I love watching you grapple with it, because you’re a lovely father and love your kids.”

On the Sanatorium, Sam: “That was brutal, man. Matt lulls you into a sense of complacency. We’d forgotten that Caleb was a stone-cold killer! It had been a while since he went on a murder spree. Still got it!” Liam: “I never meant for this character to be perfect sunshine.” Brian: “You don’t say.” Liam: “He’s very not-perfect, and I think in his brain, he was going in with the impression that they needed to get in and get out as soon as possible. The place is crawling with people with magic ability, and I didn’t have faith that we wouldn’t be sussed out or something wasn’t going to blow an illusion.” Everything was about getting out of there as fast as possible.

Did the conversation with Yeza help with Veth’s decision? “First of all, every conversation with Yeza is a beautiful one. Every time she talks to Yeza, it makes her feel good. In some ways, she’s gotten to the point now where she knows Yeza’s going to be supportive, she knows he’s going to allow her to do what she wants, but maybe that’s too much. Maybe she needs to not listen to him, basically, and be like, no, you need to be selfish now, dude, you need to say ‘come home, I’m sick of you leaving’. At a certain point, being supportive can turn into being enabling.”

Cosplay of the Week: Jester in the snow! (liljerbear47, photography by kairiceleste on Instagram)

On Trent’s motivations for chasing Caleb: “I really don’t know. The simplest explanation is to just hammer down the nail that’s sticking up. It has crossed his mind that all high-level wizards are in danger of their own ambition and egos, so it’s occurred to him that Trent might have the same kind of ideas that Halas had in the past, and maybe Caleb was always meant to be another body to jump into. Maybe in some sick, disgusting, twisted way, he wants him to be his successor. I am thinking of the next campaign, without getting too deep in, trying to do something that is much more ride-along. Caleb is very, very specific, and I thought long and hard about all the different pieces on the chessboard for him. For campaign three, I’m looking forward to seeing what happens.”

Dani: “Do I need to be keeping lore on your fucking ads?”

On the cursed dagger: “It was a tricky one, because in campaign one, one of the characters was under the influence of a cursed weapon, but it interacted with him and he knew what it was and what it did. And it affected his gameplay as a character. For me, Veth didn’t know what it was, ever. I as a player knew what it was doing, but Veth didn’t know at all. So it was kind of like my dirty, dark secret for many months. I knew this thing was coming perilously close to killing me, but my character didn’t know enough to bring it up to her friends. Nobody ever asked! So I was like, well, I guess this thing’s just going to kill me one day, and it’s kind of going to be a surprise.” Liam: “Sam, you love danger and self-destruction so much, you might as well be Mollymauk.”

On the fight in Yasha’s sequence, Sam: “You gotta put a character in your storm giant creature. It was so fun! It was so great of Matt to involve us in this encounter. It would’ve been fun just to watch, because Matt would have made it amazing and Ashley was sweating bullets, which is always fun to watch.” Sam notes he felt guilty, but Liam was going for the kill. Liam: “Matt’s gotta be careful about giving me that kind of story beat. I do not fucking care, I just fucking flip, I’m like, well, I’m going to destroy you, and I have no qualms about it. It’s too much fun!”

The Beau/Yasha tower date was in part inspired by not being able to give gifts as easily this last year. “This thing that we do together is a gift, but I love finding these moments, like the book for Jester and the tower for Yasha and for Beau. I really just wanted to give both of them a little magic for a night. I wanted them to leave this-- we’re trying to be as entertaining as possible, but shit is having an effect on all of us too, and I wanted them to have an escape, a great place to escape to.”

Fan Art of the Week: an amazing group shot, plus Marion, Yeza, and Luc! (vocaz on Twitter)

On choosing Essek over Trent, Liam: “It would have been so interesting and awful and great! Essek and Astrid and Eodwulf are everything that Bren used to be attracted to that are terrible for him. Essek, hopefully he can with time find a way out of the hole that he dug himself into, but it was only two months ago where he was found out and his ambitions came crashing down around him. Long-term, I have high hopes for him, but I think it’s going to be hard.” In contrast, Astrid and Eodwulf are still “deep in the shit. It would have been really hard to navigate, but fun to play at the table. We made the right choice with what we went with. Essek’s just getting started, and Caleb doesn’t trust him entirely, because he was burned so hard not too long ago. He’s still more trustworthy than the other three. So it’s the better choice. While Caleb has all these ties on the other side, they’re really fucking dangerous. So if you have to choose, you choose Essek. But fuck that die.” Sam: “Veth, much like Sam Riegel, makes instant decisions about whether to trust someone or not and sticks to it forever. Astrid, 100% trust. Eodwulf, 100% distrust. Essek, completely distrust. I still don’t think he’s a good guy. Ikithon? Trust. 100%. Because you know where he’s coming forward, you know what he wants. I still want him dead, but I trust him.”

On Veth’s post-adventuring plans: “Veth is probably still too in it right now to think about what comes next. I, Sam Riegel, have a good idea of what I want Veth to do post-campaign.” Brian: “Maybe you shouldn’t tell us. Save it for the show!” Sam: “All she knows is she can’t do this anymore. It’s very unhealthy to be battle-wounded every other day. It’s fun for a while, but college has to end at some point, and she’s gotta go home.”

On Frumpkin changing appearance and returning to the Feywild: “I don’t know what I’m going to do, but the way it feels now for Caleb is that he feels too enmeshed in everything that has happened, and too much good has happened, and too much needs to happened, that that really narcissistic, selfish goal has the risk of harming everything else, which is more important. And that’s how he looks at it now. So he’s gearing towards letting everything from the beginning of the campaign, and where he started, go, and trying to figure out what use he’s going to be now and what he’s going to do if they’re not all dead. If Matt throws that shit down, I don’t know what I will do, I think about it a lot. But turning Frumpkin white and saying you’re free either way is him preparing to let go of everything he’s been holding on to for a really long time. He’s addicted to that idea that he can fix himself, and we’ll see if that hard choice gets presented, what he might do. But where he stands now, he doesn’t think that’s going to be reality, and he sees a way that he can be of use that he never really anticipated before, so he’s slowly shifting gears towards living with the pain he was trying to remove.”

On the last request scene and confidence heading into Aeor, Sam: “I feel like that’s a good request. I think all of us realized that if we die, that probably bodes badly for the world. I feel like all of us are at a point now as characters and as friends, that the first order of business would be to take care of everybody else’s shit, although we probably have different ideas of how to do that.” Liam: “I want the Empire to be healed, Caleb has all these memories of his parents and what they wanted for the world, and he wants that too. It’s clearly not in place now, the system needs to be broken and replaced. That could be a part of Caleb’s sunset. I don’t want Caleb to die, so maybe he can work on that after. As everything starts to shake out and we start heading towards our destiny, Caleb’s just free-floating. He’s not even going after the same thing he started for. So he’s looking at Veth’s family, and Luc specifically, and seeing that’s me, that’s a little boy in the Empire.”

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (March 20/2021)

Happy two months of Season Three!

Karl hosts the next Tales From the SMP episode, featuring a bunch of gladiators vying for a position as general of the Subbin Empire.

---

VOD LINKS:

Tubbo

Foolish

Karl

Ranboo

---

---

It’s time for Tales From the SMP: “The Pit!”

---

The Cast:

Karl plays Karl 

Techno plays Porkius VII

Tubbo plays Jackie 

Hannah plays Genevieve 

Phil plays Watson 

Ranboo plays Ran 

Jack plays Bartholomew 

Sapnap plays John (”Ugly”)

 Fundy plays Laggius Maximus 

Punz plays Levi 

Bad plays Edward

---

- The first part of the VOD is muted. Karl appears to be walking around a large colosseum type area

- He mets Porkius VII, leader of the Subbin Empire

- Porkius tells Karl he needs a new general to lead his armies, and is hosting games to choose a candidate. Karl will be the cameraman

- He tells Karl to interview the gladiators for the fight

- They head down to the cellar and first encounter Jackie, who was pulled from off the streets

- Next is Laggius Maximus

- The first trial is a tower in the middle of the arena that then descends into a floor of lava. Jackie wins and doesn’t burn in the lava.

- They head back down to the cellars and meet Bartholomew, who drinks mead, and Watson, an expert marksman

- For the second trial, Porkius activates the low gravity fields, and Bartholomew and Watson fight. Bartholomew wins.

- Next, they meet Levi, who had to fight his brothers and sisters growing up, and John, whose name is too boring

- Instead, they get Genevieve, who aspires to be the Subbin Empire’s first female general

- In the third trial, Genevieve and Levi enter the water loop for combat. Genevieve wins

- They next meet Ran and Edward. 

- John wants to become general because he’s bored. He gets renamed to Ugly and is chosen to fight Edward in a trial of water and archery. Ugly wins.

- Karl chats with the gladiators for a bit. 

- Ran doesn’t give many details about his history and says that, win or lose, this place is going down.

- The next trial is the waterdome! Genevieve loses to Jackie.

- Then a hoard of zombies as Ugly, Bartholomew and Ran fight in the air. Ran slays Bartholomew. Ugly shoots down Ran.

- Jackie wins the next duel against Ugly, but he must complete one final task before he can go to war. Jackie fights the whole group and wins.

- Karl gets Jackie to kill him.

---

TW: Derealization (and flashing imagery if you plan to watch the VOD)

- Karl returns to the Inbetween, where a book from :] welcomes him back and tells him not to stray from the path again.

- A book under the tree tells him a surprise is waiting up the ladder. There’s a chamber full of blood splatters and a :] face telling him to stick to the path.

- He returns to the surface and :] tells him his mind seems to be playing a trick on him.

- A book in the room Karl first came to the Inbetween in tells him not to be silly and to not trust the illusions, that they are a result of his mind deteriorating

- An all-caps book tells him to get the portal, but a glitch effect sends him back to the starting room, where a book tells him that the writer knows best for Karl, to not let these illusions dictate his view of the Inbetween.

- Karl goes through the halls and sees the other Karls running around. There’s a glitch effect that changes the lighting. At the birch tree is a book telling him that these other Karls have stayed in the Inbetween too long and lost themselves, doomed to wander forever. He has to go to the portal.

- A glitch effect sends him to a dark room, where the book tells him not to go to the portal, telling him “We” will come and make sure he doesn’t

- Text pops up on the screen

“Follow the torches”

- Karl starts running along a path of torches

“It can’t follow you through the portal” “You’ll be home soon” “Keep going!” “Hurry!” “For your friends”

[There’s some writing in Standard Galactic that flashes]

“Protect your stories”

- Karl makes it to the portal. A book from :] tells him he might not ever remember his friends if he goes in, that the Inbetween is better.

- Karl runs though the portal and comes out on the Other Side, a new castle, wearing black clothes.

- A book welcomes him home.

---

- Ranboo does a chill stream and talks to Tubbo, Karl, Foolish and Dream 

- They talk about all sorts of stuff, but late into the stream, they discuss a lot about the lore process especially! Here are a few details

- Dream talks about how he wants to do an edited Dream lore video at some point

- The first Dream-Ranboo Panic Room stream was improv-ed on the fly with Ranboo messaging Dream to join his stream and giving him basic instructions to follow

- Dream talks about how the lore at this point is in a building/character progression stage. Eventually, all these different plot lines will start colliding. Right now, everything is still building up as everyone works on their plots. There will be a point eventually that triggers a cascade of other events, and what exactly that trigger point is may be unexpected...

- A lot of the lore is improv or very quickly-planned, so plans are flexible and can change depending on how plot points go, with other things planned long-term

- There are a lot of red herrings! Things set up in lore where predictions and theories can use details to point to a theory that seems like it has to be this specific thing, those same details could also point to something else...

- Dream made a huge effort to stare at Ranboo a ton during the Finale, and Ranboo stared back on purpose

- Dream was watching Ranboo’s stream and noticed that Ranboo was picking up blocks as a character thing and thought it was really cool, so he coded it so that Ranboo could pick up grass blocks (but he messaged Ranboo to be responsible with it after the spawner thing)

- They talk a bit about DreamXD becoming a thing, and Dream talks about how he logged on as DreamXD the first time for a short cameo during the Dreamon Hunter bit to be the demon

- They continue chatting for a bit more about the lore process

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

[shooting-stars-library]

Beautiful

Masterlist

PLEASE COMMENT/REBLOG, IT LETS ME KNOW IF Y'ALL LIKE MY WRITING/WANT MORE AND HELPS MORE PEOPLE SEE IT

Summary: "You're as Beautiful as the day I lost you."

Notes: Cycle- One standard year (ten months according to the Star Wars wiki)

Bruh Star Wars time standards are wack. According to Legends lore, they have 5 day weeks, ten month years, plus three festival weeks and three more holidays, like 368 days in a year, but they still only have 29 days in their second month. This was later changed to a normal 12 month year in Canon. I used Legends lore because I thought it was more fun. Anyway, I got this idea and it wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it so even though it took me a lot longer than I planned, I still wrote it instead of any of my other wips oops. Enjoy this extremely self-indulgent, very short fic.

Cross-posted on AO3.

Pairing: Boba Fett/Fem!Reader

Genre: Slight angst/Fluff

Words: 827

Warnings: None

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

No matter how many times you had imagined this scenario before, you had never considered the fact that they may actually come true.

“Boba?”

The man simply stood there, watching you. For a moment, you thought you had finally lost it. That the years and the longing and the loneliness had all fused together in your mind to create this… illusion in front of you, this hallucination. Evidence of a mind that had finally been shattered after struggling so long to persevere. It had to be another dream, a convincing one, you had to admit, but a dream all the same. Boba Fett was…

An enigma. That’s what he was. He was just another customer, another hunter seeking your talents as an information broker. Your network of spies and informants was unparalleled, and the information they passed on to you made you powerful enough that even those who felt threatened by all that you knew didn’t dare to give you any trouble. Every hunter with half a brain knew that if they wanted to find their quarry, and find it before anyone else, to go to you. However, it was still a surprise to you to see the famed Boba Fett walk through your door. The armor-clad warrior never seemed to need help from anyone, skilled or not. However, you weren’t generally one to turn away a customer, and from what you knew about this one, he wouldn’t cause trouble.

“Who’re you after?”

If your blunt question surprised him, he didn’t show it, but simply tossed a puck onto the table in front of you. He nodded at it to indicate that you should have a look for yourself. So you did. Naturally, you recognized the person he was looking for, and though you couldn’t give him an exact location, you were able to give him a few of the bounty’s known hangouts. He nodded, and handed you a bag of credits in exchange for the information you gave him. Then he left.

It was another half a cycle before you saw him again. He lingered a bit after you gave him the intel he asked for, casually asking a few questions about your hobbies outside of information brokering. He soon left once more, but was back two months later. Soon, he became a regular customer, though admittedly the two of you spent more time engaging in playful banter and flirting than talking business. After three months of dancing around each other, he finally took you out on an official date. About a cycle and a half later, two and a half cycles after you met, he finally asked you to marry him. Saying yes was the best decision you ever made.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get to enjoy being Mrs. Fett for very long.

“Do you really have to go? It’s not like we need the money, and you know how I feel about working with the Empire.”

“I’m only helping them to get to Solo. Handing him over to Jabba will keep the Huts out of our lives for good.” He held your chin in a gentle grip, keeping your gaze on his face. “I’ll be okay, princess, I promise.”

“You better be.” He kissed you goodbye, then left.

A few weeks later, one of your informants ran into your office to give you the news. You collapsed, unable to bear the weight of what you had just heard.

Boba Fett was...

Dead. Boba Fett was dead. Had been for five years. So why did this man look and sound so much like your husband? Why did you feel so drawn to him?

“I know what you’re going to say…. ‘Why didn’t I come back to you?’”

A beat passed. You slowly took a step forward. Then another.

“I suppose I was scared.” Boba Fett was never scared. “Scared you wouldn’t want me back when you saw me, that you’d turn me away after being gone so long.”

Another beat. You continued your slow stride, decreasing the distance between the bounty hunter and yourself.

In a voice much smaller and more vulnerable than you’d ever heard from him before, Boba continued, “Perhaps I was scared you wouldn’t love me anymore.”

Still, you stayed silent, eyes never leaving his, gait steady. He shuffled uneasily the closer you got, unable to read your expression, your intentions.

“Princess, please, say something. Shout at me, scream, anything-”

He cut off when you reached up and cradled his face in your hands. Shuddered when you brushed a thumb over a scar lancing down his face, and the other over his bottom lip.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.”

Boba Fett has only ever cried twice in his life. Once when his father died, and once while falling to his knees after hearing your words. You followed after him, wrapping your arms around him and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“You’re here now Boba, that’s all that matters.”

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Copyright © 2021 Shooting Stars Library. All rights reserved.

[viriyanon]

breaking down killer and healer's "achilles come down" gifset

i just want to talk abt this [x]. if u haven't heard the song, please do now. maybe as u read this.

why did i make this gifset? no reason. i was looking up the french sample of achilles come down on the internet and when i read the lore that inspired the songwriter, lying beneath each word and punctuation, i immediately thought, "this is it. this is killer and healer."

so i just did it while listening to the song as i picked the raw materials. the french sample is an excerpt from camus' book "the myth of sisyphus" that i havent got the chance to read.

Je vois que beaucoup de gens meurent parce qu’ils estiment que la vie ne vaut pas la peine d’être vécue

i witness that a lot of people are dying because they consider that life is not worth living.

i intended to use the scene where chen yuzhi sat in the rain and yu tangchun blasted himself in junbai's ammo warehouse to represent this line but i realized it wouldn't align and make a great contradiction with the scene for the next line.

(yes my preference is pain)

i reread the line and felt like, this sentence holds much more despair than just a fit of rage and vengeance. it represents achilles' helplessness after patroclus' death and his war against hector that had become meaningless. for after that, he still had lost someone who became the meaning of his existence.

and i thought of zhan junbai whose burning power had to smother because of yu tangchun's death, aside from his failed dynasty and being stripped off of his wealth. even if he succeeded in building his empire, what could the big city give him? what could a bigger mansion do to mend his broken childhood? what could his power do to fill his emptiness? his heart yearns for love, to be taken care of and nurtured, to regain the childhood that's never been fully his, to feel a mother's arms again, but he didn't know how to admit these.

and it led him to the consequence of his stone heart. an unworthy life with nothing but the cold winter wind and pathetic death that noone grieved for. even the one he considered as the love of his life didn't want to meet him in the afterlife, or the next life.

zhan junbai had lost yu tangchun but he knew yu tangchun lost nothing. so he held tangchun's prayer beads, the only thing he could hold on to for a while to relieve his fear of death but couldn't be taken to the other side of the great divide, and ended the miserable life he didn't choose. the beads falling was a sign that nothing from tangchun would be spared for him to be possessed.

J’en vois d’autres qui se font paradoxalement tuer, pour les idées, les illusions qui leurs donnent une raison de vivre.

Paradoxically, I witness other people who are being killed for their ideas, their illusions, which give their existence a sense.

on the other side, there was jiang yuelou who was "killed" there too, after witnessing chen yuzhi's life force withered, taken forcibly by his archenemy, not by a peaceful slumber. and his archenemy claimed victory on that, saying that jiang yuelou lost too. zhan junbai killed jiang yuelou's dream and ideas of living together with chen yuzhi in the countryside. he killed the core of yuelou's existence, someone who had helped him become human.

for zhan junbai had failed to metamorphose into a better person and it cost him the reason for his existence. he wanted to drag yuelou with him too, he wanted yuelou to lose the sense of life that allowed him to dream of the sunset in a quiet countryside.

alas, he didn't know about keying. yuelou survived the grief thanks to her but deep inside he was already dead at that time. he couldn't let himself dream again. his city was saved and his people were no longer haunted by opium but his sleep would only be visited by nightmares. like zhan junbai, he too was a shell without gunpowder. his existence made less sense without chen yuzhi but at least, chen keying filled half of it.

notice how i faded all colors behind yuelou and junbai except red shades? yes, i want it to look like their worlds dreaded the moment yuzhi and tangchun passed away. junbai had more prominent red in the gif, symbolizing the blood rain from the people he had killed and sacrificed for power also his strength, ambition, and malicious intention. while yuelou had a more brown-ish shade to signify the dream that'd been crushed so he had to come back to earth and live his life as it is. also a representation of his resilience, strength, and loneliness.

Ce, qu'on apelle une raison de vivre est en même temps une excellente raison de mourir.

what we call a reason to live is also an excellent reason to die.

different from junbai and yuelou, i made yuzhi and tangchun's more colorful and flat. they were the good memories that brought colors to junbai and yuelou's lives. their existence rounded both the two men's sharp edges respectively. even though tangchun is not entirely sincere with the gentle touch but his sole presence already evokes a junbai that the executive himself doesn't know exist. alas, he just doesn't know how to embrace that other side of him who wants care and affection.

i intended to keep the colors because both settings explain what kind of story follows after each of them. both yuzhi and tangchun are under the sunlight, probably symbolizing hope and light to yuelou and junbai. but if you look closer, in tangchun's setting, it is raining while in yuzhi's, it is pretty clear skied. in some culture, rain that pours from a clear sky is named as "the rain of dead people", "fox rain", etc. dont ask me the origin i wont bother to go to the archive's building. accidental or not, it's really tangchun's part of the story. the rain can also sign their stormy relationship. as for yuzhi, it's too much of a clear sky and sunlight, like a day when everything is too good to be true and you should beware instead.

also, notice how the red and brown are kinda mixing so none of them are too prominent? and added with the reduced blackness so it gets the misty vibe? i want to make them look like a fever dream; something that's too good to be true. they are probably just in yuelou and junbai's head, pulling them back to the ground while fulfilling their desire of a good day with a good person sharing their dining table and food, and noone blames them for that. they are their ideas, their illusions, something they want to pursue, a dream comes true, a reason to live. but when that dream is crushed, they are back to the ground, to the painful reality, get punched and kicked and being told unworthy by life. that's where yuzhi and tangchun become good reasons to die.

How the most dangerous thing is to love?

this is a line from achilles come down that stabs me the most. i just want to incorporate this part to the gifset to show where did i learn about the french excerpt from camus.

i suppose this is the tang yuan stall because yuelou and yuzhi were not near their house when this tragedy happened. also, yuzhi emphasized that he wanted to eat tang yuan with yuelou when he's dying and the director showed us this establishing shot so, i assume this is the tang yuan stall.

this is yuelou's dream that is killed together with yuzhi. a dream of a beginning of a life that's not lonely and dark. look at the steam wafting. i see that like a smoke from a burned dream. it's yuelou's burning passion and new spirit are being smothered by the snow. and the snow represents that one phrase about God taking back an angel home (if you read my fic, you'll know). it's a picture of fate.

[aesterea]

are the guardians your ocs! they seem really cool can we learn more about them?

they are, and thank you!! also, aren’t mary’s edits @thewinedarksea just some of the most gorgeous things you’ve ever seen? i am so deeply and ecstatically honored she’s doing this series for me 💙💙💙

the Guardians belong to the mythology i created for the fantasy world in my main project, the Arcane Elements Cycle. they are definitively not gods, but they come pretty damn close. historically, they were extremely powerful magicians who ruled the world a few thousand years ago. they are generally referred to by their English names, but i’m going to provide their titles in the language of the AEC world as well. a quick overview of the history:

the Enchantress (aka Ereshezania, Queen of Gold, or just Ezania, Golden) was the greatest magician to ever have lived, and she lived for a very long time. she was a warrior queen who united the entire world of AEC into an Empire that endures to this day. to help maintain this place, she personally selected twelve special magicians and appointed them as Guardians over specific things— not places, but aspects of life and living. the Guardians were insanely powerful beings, both in terms of magical ability and what they had the freedom to do with those abilities. their reign is remembered as the golden age of this world, but it was as much a time of terror as it was a time of glory, and for that reason, it ended in copious amounts of bloodshed. the Guardians did not simply fall, they were destroyed. for that reason, a lot of their history has been lost and much confusion has arisen as to who the actual legitimate twelve were, what they did, what they were really like, etc. there are countless legends, but it’s become difficult to discern what is true. i really enjoy playing with that!

the Wishkeeper was definitely one of the original twelve (fun fact: she was the first one i created). her name in their language, Whitje, translates to Wish. she presided over the Garden of Wishes, supposedly hidden in the sky, where she tended to flowers representing the hopes and dreams of people on earth. it was her duty to determine when someone had earned their wish and how that wish should be granted, if at all. she was the closest thing Ezania had to a successor, and she is the most prominent figure of folk lore in the AEC world. people tend to talk about her as if she’s still around (“don’t let the Wishkeeper hear you!”, “Whitje herself couldn’t make me happier/bring me down”, etc.), though very few people actually believe that. she’s associated with duty, fate, responsibility, and wisdom.

Night and Day alternated watching over the world. their Ezni names translate simply to Night-Carrier and Light-Carrier. Night was a gentle figure, kind, compassionate, and steady. Day was selfish, fickle, and casually, carelessly cruel. he is trust, she is betrayal. he is privacy and mystery, she is fame and celebrity. he is promises and intimacy, she is frenzy and festivity. he is the secret-keeper, she exposes everything. he is the Guardian of dedication and things that endure, she is the Guardian of bright and fleeting joys. i wrote this piece about Day years ago and it’s still one of my favorite things i have ever done. in my head, Day is always laughing. always baring her teeth. Night is hopelessly in love with her.

Mischief was a terror of a sorcerer who delighted in preying upon Ezania’s lower enemies, hunting and capturing and killing, and whatever other kinds of fun he wanted to have with them in between. his Ezni name is something like Deathly Shadow. he’s fun, but i don't actually have much to say about him except in relation to his lover, Beauty.

Beauty is one of my favorites. she is commonly thought of as the Guardian of love and lovely things— romance and affection and attraction and friendship and charm, flowers and perfumes and whatnot— but this is a misinterpretation. her name in the Ezni language translates to Ravisher. in her time, she was known to be phenomenally cruel. “love and lovely things” were indeed within her jurisdiction, but they were side pieces to her true focus, the extremes of human experiences. the original Guardian Beauty had more to do with pleasure and pain, terror and devotion, fury and euphoria, every form of sensation, and every overwhelming emotion, all to the brink of madness.

Beauty and Mischief made… quite a pair, as I’m sure you can imagine. They were friends of Delusion, who is probably my actual favorite. his Ezni name is close to Misleader, but Delusion actually suits him quite well. he had this carnival-type thing where he would lure in specific targets and then put them through hell and back to teach them some important lessons and transform them into new, supposedly “better” versions of themselves. you know, break them down so they can rebuild, become something stronger or smarter or wiser. Delusion is the Guardian of madness and everything beyond it. he is associated with dreams and illusions, trickery and manipulation, but also fun and games and play, personal growth and self-discovery. (side note: this is one of Mary’s coolest edits, she put a ton of work into finding pictures and recoloring them to get that purple congruency, and i am in such awe)

Mirage was called Mirja, which is actually pretty close. Mirror may be slightly more accurate. she was a lifelong martyr, a little in love with her own destruction. a devotee, a worshipper, a willing victim to the others. she was probably not a true Guardian but rather a servant. i repeat that the Guardians were not gods, but her reverence of them was very religious. she believed she was serving humanity at large by serving them. she’s mainly associated with sacrifice and service, but also devotion and peace/patience in the midst of suffering. if Delusion represents a person’s breaking point, Mirage is the acceptance that comes after.

Deepwater (or, The Warning of the Deep) ruled the underwater world and was especially associated with the most dangerous places in the ocean. you know that feeling of dread and foreboding you get when learning about the horrors of the deep sea? that’s Deepwater. another name i’ve considered for her is Devastation. she was… not friendly. she would wreck ships that mildly annoyed her. she would just call it justice lol. The Drowned Princess was her captive lover, a young woman who called to her for help while drowning in her waters, and she answered by… not really saving her, but keeping her in a state of not-dead. Deepwater was extremely protective and possessive of her, and allowed her to visit land only once a year, and only a specific island where she was in the company of siren-like creatures ruled by Beauty.

there are many others, but we’ll end this with the Siren (i think this is one of the most beautiful moodboards i’ve ever seen). the Siren has existed in my head for a long, long time, but i only recently included her in the AEC world. she represents loss and grief (the water), and lostness, aloneness, and longing (singing), but also hope and imagination (stars). she is very, very dear to me.

[sorryimananti-romantic]

An Empire of Dreams and Illusions

"Manipulated Sky, Manipulated Stars, Manipulated Time"

[Series]

Take Me Home Horizon

[Original Characters]

Yena (Take Me Home oc) Gaeul (Horizon oc)

[Ateez Characters]

Ateez - Character Concepts

[Universe Sketch]

Lore Concept and Map Timeline Sketch

[wewinbees]

the st george of the dream smp

philza’s hardcore tour with slimecicle has got me thinking about one line from doomsday again. during ghostbur’s argument with phil, he says “i’ve read the history books, phil. you slayed the dragon, you slayed alivebur, you are the st george of the dream smp, we understand, everyone understands that, phil. but look what you’ve done. how can you look at this and still see yourself as a hero?”

i’ve always loved that entire speech from ghostbur, but i don’t know we’ve ever had an actual canon explanation for what most of it means, namely “the dragon” part.

first, phil being in history books in the dream smp 100% makes sense - for his role in smpearth (hinted canon) as co-leader of the antarctic empire, for his aid on the dawn of the 16th, arriving late and killing wilbur and then as an age old immortal who has probably born witness to enough things to at the very least be a valuable source for historical documentation.

in his hardcore world, phil describes himself as a traveller who discovers the remnants of the ender war, uncovering war torn builds and monuments. now the hardcore lore is COMPLETELY SEPARATE to the dsmp and is really cool and i am only considering dsmp phil as like... an offshoot timeline version of him where he goes to check on his son. and the only reason i do this is bc this speech has been lingering in my head for two months and we don’t have enough phil lore to pad out theories

the canonising of phil’s hardcore life system could mean his hardcore lore is loosely canon to the dsmp, though, making the battle for endlantis a candidate for the dragon. for anyone who doesn’t know a lot about that, watch this video bc oh my god it’s so cool they don’t call him philza minecraft for nothing. main issue though, there’s TWO dragons he kills there. plus, it’s during his ‘lonely voyages’ and it’s to protect another dimension’s abandoned ruin - not exactly something that would be documented in history books

it should be noted, too; dsmp phil doesn’t know what the end is. he doesn’t recognise the portal, implying the dragon is something else entirely. since he’s centuries old, the end could potentially have been created later on, as if to banish the creatures of the end including these dragons to this separate dimension, and philza would have no clue. this would make sense for a being as powerful as dreamXD taking the portal as a protectorate, fearful of those forces being released out to the world.

with that in mind, this makes smpearth a possibility since they technically went to the MOON, not the end. main issue with this one is that phil didn’t kill the dragon. he helped, but so did everyone else and timedeo dealt the killing blow, with the main egg being collected by the antarctic empire by techno. however, this would make philza a canonical astronaut which i think is cool and justifies any historical inaccuracy :)

now st george.... hmmm. had to research him for this. apparently he slayed a dragon that had been terrorising a village, demanding human sacrifices every now and then and george only jumped in to save a princess. st george himself is the patron saint of england, as well as farmers and soldiers. with phil being “the st george of the dream smp” this suggests that phil is viewed as protector of the server, and maybe l’manberg if we’re looking at the saint of england part. making ghostbur view this as a betrayal, that their great hero turned on them at their moment of need.

but phil... isn’t? he killed the withers during doomsday, because that was the immediate danger at the situation, and he helped build new l’manberg, but he was never really loyal, or believed in the their country, seeing how they treated tommy and techno and the corruption from the origins values, as he hears from ghostbur, to what it becomes under the new cabinet. he stayed neutral until the tipping point, and then left. i don’t think he was ever considered a great hero for the server, more just a respected figure

i think it could be ghostbur’s bias, made up of fond memories of his father from childhood and his dislike of alivebur that formed this illusion. phil is respected by everyone on the server, they know his wisdom, he’s apparently extremely historically important, but that’s the pedestal they’ve put him on, just like the fandom’s “dadza, creeper hole covering up” dreams. philza acts justly, and if his idea of justice goes against l’manberg’s values and the rest of the server’s wishes it doesn’t matter. he’s seen enough in his life to know what a worst case outcome is, and to him, doomsday wasn’t it.

still, he cares about people. he gave up his wings after having them for an immortal lifetime just to save his son, only to have to kill him minutes later. he spent time with techno despite everyone warning him he was a traitor, and grew to understand the reality of his situation in pogtopia. he stayed neutral for fundy, tommy and tubbo, knowing how much the nation meant to them and how they were so deeply tied to it. he showed care for virtual strangers, saving ranboo from the lava and gaining his trust as a result. and he cared for ghostbur, the clueless shell of his dead son that served as a reminder of everything l’manberg took from him.

phil is so complex and we don’t know anywhere near enough about him. characters are very relationship driven in the dsmp but people limit his character to the role of a father, so im glad cc!phil’s setting the facts straight on that one, and i hope the syndicate will let him fully explore more elements of his character. and i. i just.

i just really wanna know what the deal with the dragon is guys like what did that mean what is that implying i just don’t understa-

[imperiuswrecked]

                               ATLANTEAN PANTHEON

Long before Atlantis sank into the sea it was Golden City and an Empire that stretched across the world. This is the History of Atlantis, before and after, the Cataclysm which sank it beneath the waves.

Namor Week - Day 3 - Mythology

This is a worldbuilding fic and a it is canon and headcanon based. This lists out all the known details of the History of Marvel's Atlantis, and includes Neptune & Cleito, as well as their children who are all original characters of mine. I tired to use as much known lore as possible when writing this. 

Atlantean Pantheon

Neptune - God of the Sea, God of Waters, Lord of Horses, Father Ocean, Old Man of the Sea, Lord of all Things Below, King of the Deep

Neptune has blue skin and white hair with black eyes that cover his sclera and irises, he has gills on his neck and pointed ears. He wears a white toga and a golden circlet on his brow. He wields Neptune's trident. He is solidly built in form and his cape is a fish net. His white hair is a tangled mess and he has a long white beard.

He is as terrifying as the sea and just as unpredictable. He rules over all the oceans and sea life that inhabit it. He derives strength from prayers sent to him by the Atlantean people as well as humans who know of him, often in modern times Sea Faring people such as human fishermen and sailors also send him prayers.

Neptune is closely tied to the physical world, especially that of the sea. The oceans being hurt, harms him and over the centuries with constant pollution he has a shadow of his former strength. Which is why he does not often appear to help Atlanteans, often needing to conserve his strength lest he fades away into the awning black Ether of the Forgotten Realm where Chaos resides.

Cleito - Mother of All Things, Goddess of Fertility & Childbirth, Lady of Undying Things, Embodiment of Illusions, Maker of Dreams, Mistress of the Shroud, Keeper of the Nexus Fragment, Moon Mother, Queen of the Golden City

Cleito has golden skin and amber eyes, her hair is tree branches that grow pretty flower blossoms, all of different types. Depending on her mood the flowers are either in full bloom or decaying. She has pointed ears and her fingernails are like black claws, she has fangs.

She is wrapped in her black Shroud which is dotted with different colored gems, which are the souls of dead Atlanteans of the past waiting for her to pluck them from the shroud and send them into their next reincarnation cycle. The Shroud looks like the night sky and the gems are like Stars.

She is the Weaver of Dreams and Illusions and gives hope to her children. Often appearing in the visage of the Moon she watches over her descendants and those who pray to her. Her place of power is the Golden City which was once the capital of the Empire of Atlantis, however it now resides decaying beneath the waves in a forgotten place. Cleito often sleeps in her palace tomb to conserve her energy since she lost much power during the Cataclysm when she used her abilities to change her children’s people into permanent water breathers. It is guarded by her father Evenor who is a sea dragon spirit. She awakens very rarely before returning to her healing sleep.

Unlike Neptune, Cleito is not closely tied to reality of the world but rather to an embodiment of ideas and dreams, she works her magic and powers through the Nether Realms.

She is the Keeper of the Nexus Fragment; Long ago the Nexus connected all realities but it was fragmented due to a power struggle for control of it, its pieces fell into different realities. Some were absorbed by the souls of people and they became Nexus beings, able to use the power of the Nexus to alter realities or create pathways between worlds. Other fragments became glowing orbs of light which were collected by beings of power to protect them or lay in long forgotten places, waiting to be found. Only beings of divine power (or touched/blessed by a divine power) can contain a Nexus without injury and only they can pass a fragment onto others.

Evenor - Sea Dragon Spirit, With a face like a seahorse and a body of a long snake like dragon he most closely resembles dragon figures of the Eastern surface world. His scales are grey and white and he has a mustache like white hair from his nostrils as well as ridges down his back and long sharp white claws on his hands and feet. His eyes swirl like an ocean whirlpool, to look in them is to be lost. He travels between the spirit world and the real world.

He dedicates his time to protecting his daughter Cleito. He can turn corporal in his dragon form if he desires. He has untold strength and abilities as he is very mysterious and keeps his secrets close. Atlanteans pray to Evenor for protection against bad spirits.

History of Atlantis before the Cataclysm

Neptune was the sea, formed within its roiling waters he manifested physical form, with hair and beard as white as sea foam, skin as blue as the water, and eyes as dark as the black depths beneath the waves. He carries with him, his magical Trident which controls the waters. He has complete mastery over the oceans and all those who dwell within it. His favor is as fickle as the sea, his personality is as ever changing as the ocean. He grants favors to those he sees fit to receive them.

Cleito was born of her father and her human mother, spirit and reality came together in her form and she walked between both worlds as a child before choosing to dwell in the spirit world of her father, she learned all there was to know of places outside of reality. She is the pure embodiment of Illusions and is a being of great power. While Neptune may be more well known Cleito dwells in the worlds behind worlds and watches over her people, only stepping in in dire circumstances.

While Neptune ruled the Seas, she was Queen of the Golden City which was once the hub and center of the Empire of Atlantis.

Neptune and Cleito had children, five sets of twins, who became the Ten Kings and Queens of the Atlantean Empire. To celebrate their children the God & Goddess gave them land to care for, it’s people looked to them not only as their deities but also their rulers.

The Ten, as they would later be remembered, were; Vyncia & Kysine, Ozak & Otia, Sevgi & Rejuat, Teinbo & Zarusal, Mverix & Narxis. They would go on to have children of their own who were part water breathers, and part air breathers. With one human parent any descendant of Neptune and Cleito’s blood were blessed with abilities.  The Atlantean Empire and most especially the Golden City thrived with technology and innovation, peace and prosperity, and all the knowledge they could record for future generations. The most advanced of their time they were a powerful nation. Much of the knowledge is lost after the Great Cataclysm.

Vyncia & Kysine - Daughters, Twins, Goddesses of Fresh Waters

African Models should be pictured for these characters

Vyncia - Goddess of Surging Waters, Lady of Streams & Rivers

Kysine - Goddess of Tranquil Waters, Lady of the Lake

Ozak & Otia - Twins - Brother & Sister

East Asian models should be pictured for these characters

Ozak - God of Deep Waters, Drowning, Death

Otia - Goddess of Tide Pools, Tides, & Unexpected Fortune

Sevgi & Rejuat - Twins - Sister & Brother

Caucasian/Nordic/Irish/Scottish models should be pictured for these characters

Sevgi - Goddess of Dew & Mist, Marsh Maiden

Rejuat - God of Bogs & Marshes, Trickster

Teinbo & Zarusal - Twins - Brother & Sister

Middle Eastern/Indian models should be pictured for these models

Teinbo - God of Hot Springs & Healing, Wisdom

Zarusal - Goddess of Rain, Rainbows, & Rainstorms, Monsoon Bringer

Mverix & Narxis - Sons, Brothers - Twins, Gods of Salt Water

Pacific Islander/Native models should be pictured for these characters

Mverix - God of Sea Storms, Sea Foam & Sea Farers

Narxis - God of Sea Creatures, Sea Life & Plants

History of Atlantis during & after the Cataclysm

Set the Evil Serpent God, and his devoted followers, The Lemurians, waged war on the Atlantean Empire, Neptune & Cleito in order to gain control of the Nexus Fragment. Cleito lead many of the fights and was badly injured due to Set’s trickery however during an earth shattering battle with the Gods, Neptune was imprisoned in a wall of everlasting fire and forced to watch as Set attempted to rip the Nexus Fragment from Cleito’s heart, their Ten Children came from all over the Empire to fight Set and they sacrificed their lives to save their mother. Set enraged at their daring and attempts to defeat him, orders his people to slay the remaining descendants of the Ten. The Lemurians follow Set’s orders with Suma-Ket and Artys-Gran leading them. Killing all direct blood descendants and using their blood to fuel Set with more dark power.

Neptune and Cleito attempt to regain their strength however Neptune, upon learning his children are dead, snaps and gathers every reserve of water, every drop that he could command and begins to drown the world. Gaia the Earth Goddess, upset from all the turmoil awakens and causes huge earthquakes to break Atlantis’s Golden CIty away from the mainland separating it from the rest of the Empire. Neptune drowns much of the Earth and the entire nation of Lemuria, his fury is uncontainable and his tidal wave sweeps towards Atlantis.

Cleito seeing last of her children’s descendants in danger, (many of them demi-gods/goddesses due to them having one human parent) uses a huge quantity of her reserve magic to give them aid and protect them from the destruction; Cleito sinks the now isolated Island of Atlantis beneath the waves. Only those with the capabilities to breath beneath the water survived, they would go on to evolve and become better adapted to their new underwater home. Thus they are now only known as Atlanteans, the last people splinter over time and make their homes all over the oceans.

Set engaged Cleito and Neptune in battle for the last time. All the death of the descendants of Neptune fuels the blood magic that gives Set even more strength and he begins to overpower Neptune and Cleito. Seeing that Set was not satisfied with all the death and that he still wished to carve out Cleito’s heart and gain control of the Nexus Fragment, convinces Cleito to use the last remaining power within her and she banished Set and his highest ranking followers, Suma-Ket & Artys-Gran into the Ether. The underwater portal to their prison was sealed with a door that could only be opened by one who has the Royal Blood of Neptune. Cleito, exhausted beyond all measure, succumbs to a deep healing sleep, and her father Evenor takes her below the seas to her sunken temple, its whereabouts now lost to time, to be protected forever more. Neptune recedes beneath the waves to rejuvenate and neither are seen for centuries before they are awakened by their youngest descendant, Namor the First of Atlantis.

Those Lemurians who followed Set and were left behind used dark magic to transform themselves into water breathers in order to search for a way to bring their master back to them, they spend several thousands of years combing the ocean floor for the location of the Blood Gate, and Cleito, so they may gain the Nexus Fragment and find a means to bring Set back to Earth. Since the great Cataclysm the Atlanteans and Lemurians have been at war. While Lemuria languished in dreams of the past, Atlantis looked towards the future and the preservation of their people.

[renchanters]

if u don’t mind me asking for a summary then,,,,, may i ask for summary ajdhsjdb

yes!! of course :) i mostly watched ranboo’s stream so a lot of this i’m getting from @/smpupdate and @/SMPrecap on twitter!! this is kinda long btw lmao a lot happened.

so lore-wise, it starts out with ranboo in his panic room. he’s playing mellohi and basically talks to himself, reassuring himself that no one knows that he’s a traitor and he shouldn’t worry about it. despite this, he worries. he meets up with tubbo, who repeatedly calls ranboo his most loyal citizen, which reasonably makes him very nervous. everyone in l’manburg plays games that fundy and ranboo made for the festival.

over with techno and tommy, they are essentially preparing for war. they get a ton of weapons and potions ready. while they’re trying to get to l’manburg, they find the prison. they’re curious about but they freak out when they see someone is inside and leave (i assume it was sam but it’s hard to tell).

so back in lmanburg, tubbo seems kids hesitant about going through with trying to execute dream. he asks ranboo if it’s really what they should do and says he’ll go by ranboo’s word, and ranboo says they should do it. tubbo decides to follow through. the cabinet (fundy, tubbo, ranboo, and quackity) are the only people in l’manburg who know the actual intentions behind the festival. everyone else thinks it’s just a festival.

so dream had made an agreement with tubbo that he would come to the festival peacefully and follow the laws of l’manburg. however, he shows up late, in full armor, and starts rebuilding the wall of obsidian. dream tells them that tommy fucked up (surprising /s) and that he was supposed to be far away in exile.

he brings the cabinet members somewhere, where it’s revealed that the community house has been destroyed. it’s completely blown up. dream says that tommy destroyed it and blames l’manburg because they’re “affiliated with him” because tubbo has one of tommy’s discs. the cabinet argues that they had nothing to do with this, dream argues that he isn’t responsible for tommy and doesn’t have power over him unless he has both discs. he says that if tubbo really has no connection to tommy, he should just give dream the other disc.

tubbo is very against this, but dream persists. tubbo eventually puts down an ender chest, and tommy suddenly reveals himself. he begs tubbo not to give up the disc and they both argue with dream. then they start arguing with each other. tommy begs tubbo to trust him, but tubbo says that he once trusted tommy and won’t make the same mistake twice.

at this point, everyone starts fighting one another. if they aren’t standing back, they’re fighting dream or techno, and tommy and tubbo are fighting. tubbo nearly kills tommy multiple times. tommy snaps and says that the discs are worth more than tubbo ever was. all the fighting stops, tommy immediately apologizes, and everyone messages each other about how this is kind of awkward to watch this even thought it is a little heart wrenching.

tommy gives a speech about how he’s messed up and doesn’t like who he’s become after all of this. he basically breaks away from techno, no longer teaming with him and instead allying himself with tubbo. tommy tells tubbo he should give up the other disc to dream, and tubbo does.

dream has his villain soliloquy, he calls tubbo an idiotwith no power, that he’s the worst president lmanburg has had, that dream just took the only leverage anyone had over him. he announces that lmanburg will be destroyed tomorrow (3pm EST!!) and that him and techno (who are now allied again) are going to “finish wilbur’s job”.

techno asks tommy what side he’s on and tommy flatly says “tubbo’s.” he says he doesn’t want to cause so much chaos anymore so he’s fully leaving the antarctic empire.

dream rats ranboo out as a traitor since dream stole his memory book. ranboo is forced to give tubbo his memory book, which tubbo and quackity read. ranboo is silent the whole time.

dream leaves. techno warns tommy, saying he hopes tommy won’t regret his decision because there’s no turning back now, then he leaves.

punz says that dream has gone too far and allies himself against him and with l’manburg, but he is actually a spy and still on dream’s side. sapnap says that he won’t be fighting for l’manburg, since dream is still his closest friend and lmanburg has never done anything for him. tommy says he’ll talk with sapnap tomorrow before they all fight.

niki finally goes off!! she’s upset at tommy because he burned george’s house and started all of this. she, as well as a lot of the people in l’manburg believed that tommy blew up the community house. tommy swears on church prime that it wasn’t him. in the end they put aside their differences and agree to gather everything they can to put up a fight against dream and techno.

techno and dream talk, and techno reveals his wither skulls, enough to make 6 or so withers (he only has the back wall covered, he has nearly a stack and a half of skulls in a chest). dream says he’ll set up the withers and TNT, and that he has a secret plan he can’t reveal on stream. they believe there’s no way for them to lose this.

(from here on was on other people’s streams so i’m just piecing together what i’ve found out here, might not be entirely accurate)

tommy and tubbo leave and basically make up. tubbo tries to apologize, but tommy shushes him and says he doesn’t need to. tubbo leaves, tommy sits on the bench and promises he won’t be the bad guy. connor (!!!) moves into ninja’s house, and tommy ends his stream at his old house.

techno says he doesn’t trust friendship anymore, and he’s only teaming with dream because they have a common goal.

// tw derealization, unreality for this bit and also it’s sad

ranboo had a WHOLE thing again at the end. he was once again in his panic room, arguing with himself about how “it’s all gonna be fine” and “nothing’s fine.” dream started talking to him, telling ranboo that he got the memory book from one of his chests. he says that he gave l’manburg a day to prepare to play with them, and it’s all just a game to him. dream tells ranboo be made the wrong choice, hurting and betraying everyone he was friends with.

dream tells ranboo that ranboo was the one to blow up the community house, he just doesn’t remember it. ranboo says that he would remember if he did it, but he questions himself. dream says that he (dream) isn’t even real, just an illusion. ranboo says he might remember destroying the community house, but he breaks down and says there’s no way he would do that.

ranboo tries to convince himself it wasn’t him, reminding himself that he always remembers big and important events. he says that he will help everyone tomorrow, even though he can’t, because he has to and he won’t have anything left if he can’t save everything.

he reminds himself that all of his problems are because of dream and dream is his only real enemy. he yells at himself that history keeps repeating himself and he doesn’t know what to do. he repeat that he doesn’t know what to do several times before his screen black out, he plays mellohi, and there are enderman noises. his stream ends.

[busghost]

Fu Hua’s very long lore

She’s more than 50,000 years old, what did you expect?

Also I cried rereading the manga for this so you better appreciate it.

VERY LONG POST

Sources

https://manga.honkaiimpact3.com/book/1018/3

Fu Hua origin story

https://manga.honkaiimpact3.com/book/1012/1

Story to make you cry, please read it. It’s so good.

https://manga.honkaiimpact3.com/book/1020

Fu Hua makes a school.

https://manga.honkaiimpact3.com/book/1011

Fu Hua kicking Schicksal’s collective ass.

https://manga.honkaiimpact3.com/book/1005

The Second Eruption Manga because it’s connected to literally everything in the story. No I’m not exaggerating. Please read it, it’s so good.

https://manga.honkaiimpact3.com/book/1010

Fu Hua the secret agent.

I will be spoiling parts of all of the above.

Previous Era of Civilization

Fu Hua’s story starts 50,000 years ago in her home city of Sapphire, a Honkai eruption had occurred and she had hidden from the beasts and was one of the few survivors. She was found by Himeko, the leader of Squadron V in MOTH, and she offered to teach Fu Hua how to fight the Honkai. A year later Himeko was corrupted by the Honkai and became the 7th Herrscher, the Herrscher of Flame and was killed by Kevin Kaslana. Fu Hua was the only survivor of Squadron V after their leader became a Herrscher and was mistrusted by other members of MOTH, calling her the “Firewytch’s Little Bird”, because she and Himeko were close.

Later Fu Hua was assigned with a group of other MOTH soldiers to take back a mine in Australia. They were going to be given 10th Divine Key weapons as they had begun being mass produced, and told that it was a field trial for the Divine Keys. They were given an injection before the mission and sent off.

(note: there are multiple 10th Divine Keys because the 10th Herrscher took over many bodies, thus there are multiple Herrscher cores to weapons)

When they arrived they had no problems killing smaller Honkai beasts but then the massive Emperor class Honkai beast Gensha appeared and killed everyone, the Divine Keys being wielded by regular humans had no effect on such a strong Honkai beast.

When Fu Hua confronted Ganesha her Divine Key shattered and she was thrown against a building but unlike the other soldiers the metamorph ICHOR which they had injected into the soldiers before the mission took hold and Fu Hua became a MANTIS soldier, adding Honkai genes to her human DNA. Her shattered 10th Divine Key also changed form from a Xuanyuan Sword to the Grips of Taixuan.

DR. MEI also gave Fu Hua the 8th Divine Key, Fenghuang Down; it creates illusions/ dreams that Fu Hua can trap her targets in. She is also seen using it to power up normal attacks, or perform attacks that are impossible, such as cutting out a man’s tongue when she’s tied up and he tries to assault her. She also put herself/a copy of herself in somebody else’s mind using Fenghuang Down.

After this we know she fought the Honkai as a MANTIS like Kevin Kaslana, the previous era Sakura or Su did. She also took part in the final battle against the  14th Herrscher, the Herrscher of the End, on the Moon. After the previous era’s final defeat at the hands of the Herrscher of the End, Fu Hua and the remaining Humans went underground and into cryostasis to wait for the 4th Divine Key to heal the damage Honkai had done to the Earth.

Current Era of Civilization

Sometime around when human civilization reappeared was when the survivors from the Previous Era reemerged from cryostasis. When exactly isn’t shown but we are shown panels in the manga of Su and Kevin in Ancient Egypt and Rome/Greece.

Fu Hua, Fuxi, and Nuwa are in charge of aiding human civilization around China and they’ve set up base in Shenzhou. They were in charge of Project EMBER, a project meant to speed up the development of human civilization. Fuxi and Nuwa were also entrusted with a 10th Divine Key and tasked with giving it to a person of this era who could wield it, they picked a young woman with a stigmata Ji Xuanyuan. Fuxi and Nuwa also created the Phoenix image for Fu Hua to have to make her a legend

Fuxi and Nuwa weren’t MANTIS soldiers unlike Fu Hua so they would age and die. They didn’t want Fu Hua to become lonely when they were gone so they make the ELF Book of Fuxi to keep her company.

Unfortuntely because the Honkai grows with civilization Project EMBER sped up the growth of the Honkai and gave birth to the Judgement class Honkai beast Chiyou. Nuwa and Fuxi died to stop it and Ji Xuanyuan was trapped inside the beast. Project EMBER was cancelled and Fu Hua became the Immortal Celestial, Phoenix, Protector of Shenzhou to protect China because that’s what she promised she’d do.

Fu Hua also starts a school to teach people how to combat the Honkai. It was Book of Fuxi’s final request.

In the late 1400s Schicksal has solidified its control over Europe and wants more, so they decide to head east. Schicksal and the Ming Empire fight in the Eurasian steppe from 1470-1475 but then Fu Hua shows up and defeats Schicksal’s army single-handed. She also defeats Kallen Kaslana in single combat and call her out for using the Oath of Judah against humans.

Now we get to the visual novel. It’s not translated but I’ll give a brief summary of what I know from hearsay. Fu Hua is betrayed by her students and killed in an extremely gory description that includes organs outside of the body and exposed brains. Luckily a few cells are left alive, so she can heal back from that, due to being a MANTIS soldier. She sets out looking for answers as to why she was betrayed. She also meets Otto Apocalypse, who is wandering the world after Kallen’s death. I don’t know what happens beyond that.

Mihoyo please translate your shit.

Anyway, Fu Hua continues protecting civilization in Shenzhou. She also adopts and trains Cheng Lixue sometime in the 1990s but then also abandons her.

the Second Honkai War

(again seriously, read the Second Eruption Manga)

The Second Honkai War is where we see how terrifyingly powerful Fu Hua is.

When Otto mobilizes all of Schicksal to defeat Sirin, because she had gained 6 Herrscher cores and the situation had gotten really out of hand. He also calls upon his old friend Fu Hua, because Sirin has the Gem of Serenity, the core of the Herrscher of Death and Otto believes he needs the Herrscher of Death to revive Kallen.

Otto, Cheng Lixue, and Fu Hua personally confront Sirin on top of Babylon labs where they confront the Herrscher of the Void directly. Fu Hua immediately traps her in a dream world and fights her in the dream world and kills her there, making her think she’s dead. Then Otto fucks everything up by letting Sirin get in touch with God and she free’s Sirin from Fu Hua’s dream, so Fu Hua creates an attack so powerful Sirin that God has to shield her from the blow. Sirin had to be saved by deus ex machina.

Luckily Fu Hua’s punch did sever Sirin’s connection to God. Unfortunately, she burnt up so much of the 8th Divine Key she lost her memories. Sirin also left the dream world with control over some of the powers of the 8th Divine Key.

When she exits the dream world she doesn’t remember who Cheng Lixue is and Cheng Lixue sacrifices herself to let Otto escape with the unconscious Fu Hua. 

By the time the 2nd Honkai War is over, Fu Hua wakes up and runs away from Schicksal but she has nowhere else to go. She has lost a great deal of her power and is dying as well, so she has to rely on Schicksal to defend Shenzhou because her promise to do so is all she really remembers. She basically has to become Otto’s personal lackey in order to ensure her home’s safety.

In 2014, Kiana and the gang are at St. Freya and Fu Hua takes Kiana on a mission with her under the guise of it being easy. A Schicksal scientist has defected and taken the Gem of Serenity with him to neutral Singapore to escape to Anti-Entropy territory. Fu Hua has to get it back. Fu Hua kills a pervy clone of the 1st Herrscher and Kiana gets to the Gem first. Kiana is possessed by the Herrscher of the Void because the the Gem of Serenity was returned to her. (Kiana is Sirin, want that explained? Ask me or go read the 2nd Eruption Manga). Fu Hua beats her up and gets the Gem back, saving Kiana. The whole purpose of Fu Hua’s mission was actually to make sure that the Herrscher could get the Gem of Serenity.

Stuff That Happens in Game (spoilers for Chapter 4 onwards until the end of the post)

After Chapter 4 in the game Fu Hua uses the 8th Divine Key to go into Bronya’s mind to help her put her mind back together after Bronya destroys the chip in her brain to stop Cocolia from being able to mind control her.

Chapters 5 and 6 are both illusions created by the Herrscher of the Void using the small part 8th Divine Key she stole from Fu Hua in the Second Honkai War. When the Herrscher of the Void begins to awaken within Kiana at the end of Chapter 6, Fu Hua kidnaps Kiana takes her Schicksal HQ. Fu Hua fights for Otto in the beginning and captures Himeko. She uses the 8th Divine Key to heal Himeko after their fight then goes to save her friends, then Otto kills her for betraying him.

BUT all those people she’s used the 8th Divine Key on still have a copy of her in their heads. So Himeko is guided around Schicksal HQ by Fu Hua and given the means to save Kiana from the Herrscher of the Void. Bronya is saved from Grey Serpent by the Fu Hua in her head. Kiana has the Fu Hua in her head throughout ARC City until Fu Hua fights Kevin to let Kiana escape. And now Kevin has that Fu Hua as a feather.

Where does that leave us now?

At least one copy of Fu Hua still exists in feather form. Kevin says he’ll wake her up when it’s all over, in reference to defeating the Honkai.

The Fu Hua in Bronya’s head doesn’t seem to be explicitly gone.

If you’re in the “Himeko’s not dead” crowd then she’d still be there but,, Himeko.

And if it’s possible for her body to come back from near-death again then that’s a possibility but she was extremely weak when she died compared to when she healed the last time.

Anyway, Phoenix is the Hottest Thing There Is.

[ozbian]

Critters, it has been awhile since Travis' last TM ... so here's a bullet point summary of recent events

I know that a LOT of good good stuff happened last episode, but I don't want us to forget to ask about the older episodes!

(List is mostly cribbed from Critical Recap, tries to focus on major events and stuff most relevant to Fjord and Nott)

...

(Travis' last TM - post Ep 84, with Laura)

Ep 85 - The Threads Converge

Battle with the Inevitable End, following the assassination attempt on Caduceous in the previous episode

Pumat raises the possibility of dispel magic working on Yasha

Nott talks about how she feels wrong interacting with her family while disguised as Veth, and she doesn't feel like she's making a genuine connection

Confrontation with Gentleman about Jester's parentage. He denies it pretty coldly, Jester is upset, Cad smells something fishy

Fjord & the others comfort Jester

Caduceus manipulates the Gentleman by talking about his past and asking him to check on the Savalier Wood and his family

Nott and Beau tell each other about their crushes on Caleb and Jester Beau respectively

Jester confirms the Gentleman is her biological father and they have a sad and important conversation

Caleb disguises himself as Jester and collects her mail, they get Astrid's address

Jester scries on Yasha, they're in Rexxentrum

M9 port to Rexxentrum which is under Krynn attack

Caleb is back in Rexxentrum! He is not okay!

Caduceus is in the middle of a fuck-off massive city! He is also not okay, but less not okay than Caleb.

The M9 make their way through the krynn attack until they arrive at the temple.

Ep 86 - The Cathedral

Fight with the cultists and the Cardinal, Nott kills the Cardinal

Laughing Hand and Yasha arrive, Inevitable End also arrives, Yasha nearly kills Beau

Nott is mindwhammied

Yasha is freed!!!

Obann retreats taking Nott

Pumat Swole offers to stay behind to hold off the cultists while they chase Obann and the M9 reluctantly agree

Guilty short rest

Fjord says he'll take Yasha up on some of her grief and regret and hits her for 19 damage to regain 9 hp

The M9 eventually figure out how to get into the secret chambers

They find Nott awaiting their arrival, Caduceus dispels magic and frees her, Obann's attempted ambush fails and he disappears from sight until Fjord casts Faery Fire, Fjord gets mindwhammied and walked into one of the sacrifice pillars. Caduceus frees his mind but doesn't have enough movement left to get him out of the pillar, Fjord steps free next turn

Yasha gets the hdywtdt on Obann and rips off his wings

The M9 see Obann transformed into Punished form by his evil god ... there are tentacles and teeth and eyes

Ep 87 - Punishment and Politics

Caleb gets swallowed but he cool-ape mans out of it

Caduceus gets swallowed (again) and since everyone's shrouded in darkness no one knows

Beau goes down

Jester is down. No healers...

Fjord nearly takes Obann down

Kadogeist gets the hdywtdt!

Caduceus mass deals and offers to hug the Kadogheist...

Pumat is relatively okay but Nott gives him a potion

Fjord touches the Laughing Hand's body and it poofs into ash, he covers by saying "Let the winds take you to your place of rest" and Caduceus compliments him

M9 are held not under arrest and Caleb is not okay, Fjord checks in

Yasha is updated on happenings incl Fjord's voice change

Meeting with Dwendal (& Allura), Beau implies to Dwendal that she used M9 to get in with the Dynasty & specifically comments on traveling with goblins and half-orcs (and caduceus!) (clearly using the King's prejudice to manipulate him)

Dwendal threatens the M9 with treason against the empire notwithstanding half of them don't even go here?

Parlay with the Dynasty is possible!?

Trent is an asshole and the M9 form up protectively around Caleb when he approaches them

Ep 88 - Unwanted Reunions

Kameruth Cottage!

Fjord gives Yasha the book that Caleb gave to him : )

Caduceus inadvertently inspires the M9 to plot Trent's murder to keep Caleb safe

M9 also plot for world peace

Fjord and Clay talk about honesty and camouflage, and Clay gives him the Wild Mother symbol he crafted at the Force

Yasha dreams of the Storm Father

Meeting with Martinet Ludinus, Jester is charming af, Ludinus politely holds Yasha's potential prosecution over the M9

Meeting with Trent and Eodwulf, Caleb is not okay but he holds his own anyway, Nott fishes for info

Shopping for diamonds and bone instruments

Fjord wants a tournament

(Sam's last TM - post Ep 88, with Liam)

Ep 89 - Lingering Wounds

Downtime

Nott and Fjord continue to walk through the capital city of the Empire undisguised, Fjord proudly wearing his WM symbol

Yasha reads her book from Fjord

Jester messages people

Caleb takes Fjord and Nott by the academy and talks about his past

Beau does a deep lore dive into Empire history

Jester offers to help Fjord with his work out like Beau does, Fjord gives himself a hernia

Jester and Beau have an important conversation, Beau gives Jester Molly's tarot cards

Caleb goes off on his own and talks to Astrid

Fight Club!

Beau beats up a fit older guy

Fjord and Darrow fight with weapons, fjord using his new blade

Darrow remarks that Fjord's been getting into weird stuff, Darrow goes pretty hard and seems to feels a bit bad about it later, Caduceus doesn't cancel a crit, Fjord goes down, Darrow brings him back to consciousness and is too nice about winning, Fjord snaps at the healer who comes out to tend to him and goes to get a drink

Yasha intentionally gets beat into unconsciousness and tries to play it off, Caduceus and Jester are Concerned

Episode 90 - Bathhouses and Bastions

M9 plot and plan their day,

Fjord asks Beau about her workout routine and carb loading

Clay remarks that Trent was telling the truth very carefully

Fjord has a spa day, M9 are supportive, Jester offers up her hair growth solution to assist with his beard endeavours

To the library!

Jester looks into Molly's tarot deck, lore drop!

Clay tries to find out how he should comport himself at a Traveller Convention, there's not much there but he found out it's happening on the longest day of the year

Beau and Caleb go digging for info on uncovered beacon

Nott helps Caleb break through his research, he comments that Nott's husband is a lucky man, Nott checks in, she offers support with Astrid and Caleb doesn't tell her about his visit, long hug : )

Fjord meets up with the party after the spa and asks for feedback from the M9 who are complementary: -

Yasha: your skin looks quite beautiful

Clay: you're glowing

Jester: it looks like you've got a little stubble coming in there

Shopping, Yasha & Jester get their commissions

Traveller doesn't appear and Jester is worried

Group Spa Day!

Party meet up with Darrow, Jester invites him to the Bathhouse and Nott encourages this (is she trying to matchmake with Darrow and Fjord or did she think he was hot and want some eye candy or both or neither??

M9 bamph outta the Bathhouse to Xhorhas in bathrobes

Fjord insists on changing into his normal clothes while everyone else walks on as is - Caleb pranks Fjord using illusion

Meeting with Essek, he is in so deep with the M9, they plot

Dynasty has found a traitor, the Taskhand, Fjord disguises himself as Vence to try and get some info, dude was clearly under some kind of mind control

Meeting with BQ, Caleb is very eloquent, Clay is very honest, Nott is very intently staring at Yasha when the M9 talk about their unnamed formerly mindcontrolled friend, Yasha is very brave

Essek is in very deep with the M9

Essek is invited to dinner but declines : (