#maybe a rehaul of another one

[spooky-pomegranate]

Eyes on Fire (pt 2)

*Enemies to Lovers inspired by the Year Zero music video*

Papa Emeritus II x Reader (18+)Word Count: 3.4k (Part 1) (Read on AO3) (Part 3)

Summary: Hoping to escape the headaches of Imperatrix's life you spend time in a forbidden section of the Abbey. Meanwhile, a sleepless Papa Secondo goes for a walk in the early morning hours to clear his mind.

(Dividers by @wrathofrats)

There was only one place you wanted to be...

A place far away from Papa’s dining room, the bustling great hall, and the dormitories flooded with siblings preparing for a night full of debauchery and sin. You wanted to be in the one place that felt most like home with the people who felt most like family. So you climbed. Stride by stride you moved down ancient and worn stone steps covered in cobwebs and dust as you made your way toward the ghoul dens.

The Abbey had stood on the same grounds for hundreds of years. In that time many improvements had been made. A swimming pool was added in the 1890s, the great hall was expanded in the 1920s, and more recently the kitchens had gone under a total rehaul, with new top-of-the-line appliances and expresso machines flown in from Italy. But the one place the ministry hadn’t touched in all those years was the space below.

The basement of the Abbey was a restricted section for all siblings. Partially because it was a bit unsafe and partially because the ghouls were too much of a handful to be trusted with nice things. There was no electrical power down below. The stone walls in the basement were lit only by candle sconces that threw around long casting and eerie shadows. To those unfamiliar, the basement probably looked more like a crypt than it did a home for hell-spawn creatures. But the ghouls liked it that way and so did you.

At the bottom of the stairs, you snatched a candle from one of the wall scones. For some reason lately, there had been an influx of rats scurrying around the Abbey. The last thing you needed was to accidentally step on one. That might just send you to orbit.

By candlelit, you followed the halls through their maze of twists and turns before stopping in front of a massive set of wooden double doors. A large bronze knocker cast in His image hung from the center. You picked it up and slammed it against the splintering wood door three times.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Yeah. Yeah,” you heard a familiar voice call from the other side. “Hold onto your granny panties would ya.”

The door groaned in a heavy sigh as it opened. A scrawny maskless ghoul stood in the entryway. Two white horns protruded from the crown of his head and ashen black skin covered his body. When his orange eyes met yours his spaded tail flicked from side to side.

“Hey! What’s up little snack pack?”

“Hey, Dew,” you sighed. “Can I come in?”

“Sure thing babe.” The fire ghoul bowed with a flourish and waved for you to enter. “Right this way little lady. You look like shit by the way.”

You rolled your eyes as you stepped past the ghoul. The main room of the ghoul den was decorated in what a generous person might call an “eclectic style.” Mix-matched furniture from varying decades was strewn around the room in random places. A few soft carpets were layered on top of one another to confront the cold that seeped into the stone floors during the winter months and much like the stairs leading to the basement, candles burned on the walls basking the place in a soothing warm and yellow light. It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t even that clean. But maybe because this was the only place in the Abbey that wasn’t dripping in opulence, it felt like being wrapped in a warm hug. And you needed that right now.

In the center of the room, Cumulus and Auoroa lounged on a lime-green sofa. On a small coffee table in front of them, snacks and drinks were laid out. They waved for you to join them.

“Hey guys,” you said, plopping down on the couch between them with a huff. Dew grabbed a guitar from a table by the door and sat in a chair across from you. Aimlessly he started picking at its strings.

“Hey, love,” Cumulus said smiling from your left. Like Dew, her skin was the color of burnt embers but her eyes differed. They were a beautiful soft gray. The same color as the sky before an evening storm or the pebbles on the beach by the lake south of the Abbey. “What are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be in that shiny new suite of yours? Mountain told us it was real pretty.”

“Honestly today’s been a day,” you answered, sinking further into the couch. “Just wanted to hang out if that’s alright. Unless you guys had plans. Then I can fuck off.”

“Nah. No plans,” Aurora assured you, popping a chip into her mouth before offering you one. “We were just gonna practice for a bit. Unless you wanna talk about your day?”

“God no,” you answered, taking the chip. “Listening to you guys sounds really nice actually.”

“Oh thank Satan,” Dew huffed. Both Cumulus and Aurua shot the fire ghoul daggers and he stopped strumming the black and white guitar in his lap. “What?! Don’t lie you both wanna sing. You have been begginggggggg me to practice with you. ‘Dew please play with us,’” He impishly sang. “’Dew no one plays like you. Please Dew. You’re so talented with your fingers Dew.’”

“No one said that,” Aurura grumbled, throwing a chip at him. It landed squarely in between his eyes.

“Also we don’t sound like that. Plus if she’s having a bad day some humans like to talk about their feelings,” Cumulus added, picking up another chip and throwing it at Dew. “It’s called empathy dipshit.”

Dew stuck out his tongue and you laughed. You were surrounded by idiots. Sweet and loveable idiots. You were feeling better already. After a few more minutes of juvenile bickering, the hellspawns eventually settled down and started to play.

For as long as you’d known Dew he’d been a cocky shit, always bragging about his skills with a guitar. But as you listened to him play you knew he’d earned every brag he’d ever boasted. He was a magician with strings. Plucking and picking with a mesmerizing mastery that had to have been a gift from Satan himself. But the ghoulettes were just as spellbinding. Their harmonizing voices bounced off the high-bowed walls like sirens, lulling you into easy relaxation. At some point, you decided to crawl off the couch and lie on the floor, curling up in a pile of pillows and blankets and letting the music soothe you.

“That’s really pretty…” you murmured half-asleep, during a short break in the music.

“Mhmm. It is,” Cumulus purred from her spot on the couch.

“What’s it mean?”

“You don’t speak Latin?” Dew asked incredulously, before taking a long draw of some water Aurora had passed him.

You propped yourself up on your elbow and looked back at the fire ghoul. “Eh. I’m a little rusty.”

“Through hardships to hell.”

“What?”

“That’s what it means,” Dew answered, setting his water aside. “Per aspera ad inferi. It means through hardships to hell.”

“Oh,” you said shirking back to the floor and into your covers. It hadn’t occurred to you that this song might be incredibly personal to the three ghouls. They had quite literally crawled through hell to be here in this Abbey and serve the ministry. They had come from the real below.

“Did you guys come up with that?” You didn’t know much about their journey. You’d always assumed it wasn’t your place to ask or to know, but the song… it had been so haunting and yet… so strangely familiar. Even though you hadn’t understood the words, the music had clung to you. Like thick sticky syrup, it had swirled into your blood and mixed in your veins. You felt an inexplicable connection that was as old as time.

“No. We didn’t write it,” Cumulus said quietly.

“Who did?”

The three ghouls looked at one another. Seconds passed like minutes.

“Papa.”

There wasn’t much point in staying in the dens after that. You’d come down here to escape thoughts of Secondo only to be reminded of him all over again.

The climb back toward your suite didn’t take long. The Abbey was quiet this late at night. The hallways were empty of their regular hustle and bustle. Most siblings were asleep in their beds or tangled up in the sheets of another. You reached your door in record time. You pulled out your brass key and slid it into the door... but it was already unlocked.

You heard the crackling of your fireplace before you saw him. He was seated with his back to you in one of the tufted leather armchairs across the room. There were no lights on and you couldn’t see his face from the doorway, but none of that mattered. You knew who it was. Only one person owned the tense curve of those broad shoulders. It was him. It was Secondo. He was here in your room.

“Do I repulse you, sorella?” His voice boomed over the fire.

You froze in the doorway. Legs cemented to the ground, heart ready to bound out of your chest. What was he doing here? Had he come to expel you from the church? Was he going to smile as he tossed you out on your ass?

“Speak up sorella,” Secondo commanded. “I will repeat my question. Do I repulse you?”

“N-no, Papa,” you managed to squeak.

“Come here. I want to look at you while we have this conversation.”

Fuck. So this was it. The sadist was going to make you leave right here and now in the middle of the night. You moved across the room and into the dancing firelight.

After what had happened in the dining room you weren’t prepared to meet Secondo’s eye line again. So you delayed it. Slowly you looked him over, starting at his feet and working your way north.

Secondo wore a pair of black Oxfords, buffed and polished so pristinely that you saw your reflection staring back at you. A few inches higher black socks peaked out from underneath a pair of crisp black slacks. And on his steadily rising and falling chest, he’d opted for a button-down of a matching color. A black and emerald Grucifix hung from his neck. Head to toe he was dressed in black.

He looked like an undertaker. You closed your eyes. You weren’t ready to be laid out on his slab.

“You will answer me honestly, sorrella. No lies to your Papa.” It wasn’t a question but you nodded anyway.

You opened your eyes and looked at Secondo’s face. Since dinner, he’d washed away his sacred paints. A pair of dark aviators were perched on his crooked nose. He looked every bit like the Papa the siblings whispered about. An angry, bitter man, full of rage waiting for a spark to ignite his fire.

“You won’t partake in the offerings?” He questioned.

“No, Papa.”

“It is late, sorrella. I will not drag this out. Tell me your reason and do not lie.”

Secondo was right.

It was late. The clock in the corner of your room had finished its 24-hour cycle and the hours had reached into the early morning. But you were sick of having this conversation. You were sick of defending yourself. Fuck it. If Sister Imperator hadn’t told him you would—cards on the table.

“I don’t like to be so casual about who I have sex with.”

For a moment Secondo looked confused before he burst into a fit of laughter. Bending at the hip, he slapped his gloved hands on the arms of your chair. “Say that again sorella. That is the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”

You wanted to slap him. Anger pooled in your stomach. Your fist clenched at your side. “I believe sex means something more when there’s more than just a physical connection.”

Secondo laughed again and you bit your cheek. “You know you sound like a Catholic when you say these things. ‘Means something more.’ Are you going to tell me that the next sister I sleep with I should marry and that I should make as many babies with her as possible?”

Secondo rose from the chair and stepped toward you. Inches separated you. You could smell his cologne. Rich and deep. Sacramental incense lingered on his clothes. He stared down at you over the ridge of his nose. His brows cast long, and angry shadows over his already glowering features.

“Do not confuse our rituals for something deeper, sorrella.”

“Of course, you would misunderstand me.”

The words slipped from your tongue before you could think twice. But you didn’t want them back. You meant it.

You’d seen Secondo.

You’d watched him as he moved through the Abbey every day and every night. He only ever thought of himself. He was a taker, never minding what others needed. What others wanted. So why would a conversation here and now be any different? Why would he consider any other person’s perspective but his own? He didn’t even remember what he’d said to you. How he’d hurt you.

“Watch your tone diavolessa,” he growled. “I am your Papa.”

Exactly right, you thought. You are my Papa but you are not my owner. My maker. My master. You have no right to claim me or to force me to do anything. I own my destiny. Not you. You took another step closer to Secondo, the front of your habit brushed against his dress shirt. Unafraid you tilted your chin up. Fire blazed in your eyes. Heat emanated from his chest.

“Apologies, your dark excellency. I will ask Sister Imperator to move me back to my former post in the gardens.” You didn’t want to give up your new apartment but you’d rather fight for lukewarm water in the communal showers than deal with him another day longer.

“That is…” Secondo paused and you closed your eyes bracing for the blow. Send me away. Do it. Send me back to the land of the undeserving and misguided. Do it now. I’d take them over you. I’d take anything over you. “Thatisunnecessary. I will see you tomorrow.”

Without another word, Secondo brushed past you and walked out your door.

There was no point in going back to his quarters. Secondo wouldn’t sleep. He hadn’t slept well in days. Tonight would be no different. There was too much on his mind.

He needed to clear his head.

So Secondo stepped out into the night.

The air was crisp and cool. Fall would be here soon and the flowers would shrivel. But for now, life still breathed in the grounds and the air still smelled sweet. Secondo followed the dirt path from the south entrance of the Abbey down to the gardens. His older brother had taken meticulous care of them since his retirement, practically spending every waking hour pruning and pampering his beloved piccoli fiori. Primo’s obsession had grown so strong that he’d even moved out of the Abbey’s suites and into a small log cabin on the edge of the ministry’s grounds so he could be closer to his work.

But Secondo hadn’t minded.

It made Primo happy and he could still find his brother for a chat whenever he needed to. If it weren’t for the early morning hour he would have sought out Primo for one of those talks now. The old man was more of a comfort than his father had ever been and his mind had been a mess for weeks. But the sun was almost up. Surely Primo in his old age was sound asleep somewhere. So Secondo chose to stroll the grounds alone and linger in the messiness of his mind.

He wandered through rows of vibrant roses and multicolored hydrangeas, passing various fruit trees and flowering cherry blossoms until he reached something he had not seen before. Underneath a centuries-old weeping willow, Primo had planted something new. In tightly packed rows narrow plots of spectacular white and pink flowers bloomed amongst leathery deep green shrubs. It was beautiful. The shrubbery looked like rhododendrons, but the flowers… Secondo had never seen anything like it. They resembled the cooper bells that hung in the Abbey’s highest towers.

He needed to smell them.

Secondo crouched down on the dirt path and reached for their pretty petals.

“Careful fratello.” Secondo quickly dropped his hand. “She is not so friendly this one.”

Clad in a red robe, Primo emerged from the dark path. His hands were clasped behind his back and he eyed his younger brother with a loving smile.

“Shouldn't you be asleep fratello?” Secondo asked, pushing off the ground with a groan that denoted his age and stood to his full height. “The sun will be up soon.”

“Ah, I was going to ask you the same,” Primo’s smile widened, strolling over to stand next to Secondo. “Do you like the fiori? They are beautiful, no?”

“Si. They are,” Secondo answered truthfully. “New additions?”

“Not entirely fratellino. Many moons ago these flowers used to surround our little Abbey. If you would indulge un vecchio uomo I would like to tell you their story.”

Secondo nodded, “Of course, Primo.”

The elder Emeritus led his younger brother to a stone bench under the willow tree. They sat down together. Secondo looked over the rows of flowers as his brother began to tell his story.

“Before you and I, walked these grounds there was a beautiful sibling who cared for the fiori and impianti. She came to the church with an extensive knowledge of botany and quickly thrived here. From the things she grew, she established the first apothecary in the ministry. She helped many siblings. She was happy and content. Eventually, she fell in love with a brother and he with her. But one day when the sister walked these grounds she witnessed a betrayal. Her mate with another. Her heart was broken. But the sister would not let this indignity stand. She introduced a colony of bees to the garden and let them feed on the nectar of these very beautiful fiori.” Primo’s gloved hand pointed to the rows of pink and white bell flowers in front of them.

“And then the ever-patient sister waited. She waited and pretended everything with her lover was bene, while in the night he continued to be with another. But after a time she returned to the garden and to her bees. She collected their honey knowing their nectar had been poisoned by these beautiful fiori. One evening the sister made her lover a pot of tea and added a spoonful of her wicked honey. As he drank the brother’s lips began to burn. Pain flamed his mouth and throat. He withered and convulsed in pain for hours. The legend diverges here. Some say the brother died. While others claim he recovered but fled the ministry in fear of his beloved’s vengeful wrath. In both versions of the tale these flowers were ripped from our grounds.”

Secondo sat quietly trying to make sense of his brother’s story. Ever since he could remember his elder brother had used longwinded tales to teach him lessons of the world or of the church. But tonight for the life of him, he could not figure out what Primo was to say. What did these poisonous flowers have to do with anything?

He was too tired. A puzzle was the last thing he wanted. He couldn’t hide his annoyance.

“Why are you telling me this brother?” Secondo asked exasperatedly. “You know I don’t care about these plants the way you do.”

“Ahh,��� Primo hummed. “That may be true but tastes change fratellino. Things we once thought were insignificant can become valuable to us, no?”

“Primo I don’t under-”

“It’s nice to have beautiful things around, even if we cannot touch, si? Even if we cannot taste?”

Secondo raised an eyebrow. “What have you seen fratello?”

“It should not matter what I’ve seen. You must see for yourself.”

Secondo angered. Standing quickly he spun and stared down at his brother. “How quickly you forget what it is like Primo!” he shouted. “I need guidance. I don’t need this. I don’t know why I bother when you only speak in riddles.”

Secondo turned his back and stormed away from Primo, but before he got lost amongst the roses he heard his brother's voice.

“He has not forgotten you nor have I. Patience fratellino. Plans are already in motion. You will not be denied.”

(Follow along on AO3 here)

(Part 3) (Back to Part 1)

[the-letterbox-archives]

story volumes of the archives

hello, all! this is letters, and i’d like to take a moment to explain a new system element to the archives! in the rehaul of the filing system, stories have been sorted into ‘volumes,’ and i wanna explain what that means!

simply put, a volume is a group of active stories within the archives that were released around the same time, marking a sort of new ‘era’ of the archives, if you will. for example, volume 1 contains tales from a dying heart, the rockdove promise, insincere., on kingston alley, school rules, and the dumaresq poems. and now, to mark my return to the archives, volume 2 has been released! this includes the hunt is a dance, TITANSPINE, n3xt y3ar, soleil éteint, and shatter the shield. i’m really excited to get further into volume 2, but don’t worry, as no story is purposefully neglected here! (of course, sometimes certain stories can get lost in the static for one reason or another, but i do my best to make sure every story is recognised, since i love and am passionate about all of them <3)

that does raise another question: 2 volumes? that’s it? are you sure, letters?

well, i’m not lying when i say the archives is always expanding, in fact, volume 3 is being produced as we speak! it won’t be out very soon, as i need to get them off the ground, and i want volume 2 to have the spotlight to itself for a while. but there are more stories on the way! (and maybe an extra special project sometime soon…)

so i hope that clears it up! i’m so excited to continue my work in the archives and get these stories out! and, since i love a good vote, i would like to know;

tag list for all wips:

@wyked-ao3, @48lexr, @thecrazyalchemist, @moltenwrites, @yourpenpaldee,

@glassfrogforest, @the-golden-comet, @gioiaalbanoart, @drchenquill, @paeliae-occasionally,

@tc-doherty, @corinneglass, @mysticstarlightduck, @thecomfywriter, @thelovelymachinery,

@kind-lion, @leahnardo-da-veggie, @an-indecisive-nerd, @honeybewrites

[batmansymbol]

I hope this isn't a weird or too random question (and if it is, feel free to ignore ofc!) but I was wondering if you had any advice for someone thinking of writing full-time? The obvious question is, of course, can one make a living from it even if they're not like Stephen King or GRR Martin or something? Do you have any tips from your experience that you would have found helpful when first starting out? <3

Hi, sweet anon! Not weird at all. I'm happy to chime in with some (long) thoughts.

Firstly, yes! Authors can make a full-time living from writing even if they're not GRRM &c. I know a number of full-timers, and some of them aren't even NYT bestsellers.

As a caveat, I know very little about the indie/self-publishing space, so the following is based on my experience in traditional publishing.

I spent around 2-3 years writing books full-time. I no longer do that, and don't plan to return to it unless I have a big commercial breakout. It was just a never-ending parade of financial stress. It's hard even to give "tips" because so much is out of your control -- but if you're considering trying to write full time, you should definitely know what you're signing up for.

Here's an average situation for a non-bestseller trying to full-time it:

Let's say you've published two books, and your third is on the way (awesome!). For your first two novels, you got advances of $40,000, but maybe they've only sold 15k copies apiece -- not enough to "earn out" your advance and start making new money. So, you're not making a cent off your older books. Probably won't for years.

Let's say your book 3 is supposed to publish in June 2025, and it sold for more than your last books: $75,000. Pretty good! Advances are usually divided into thirds these days: 1/3 on contract signing, 1/3 on delivery of the fully edited manuscript (D&A), and 1/3 on publication. So that makes a $50,000 salary this year, yes?

Kind of. Right off the bat, your agent gets 15%, so that would make a $42,500 salary. A little tighter, but still seems doable. Also, you need to make estimated tax payments to the IRS. So, let's ballpark your taxes at $7,000, state and federal, which you'll pay in installments throughout the year.

Contract negotiations take a few months as usual, and let's say in April, you get the first payment: your first $21,250. Nice.

Unfortunately, your editor's swamped, and 2 months go by before they send you edits. When you get the letter in June, you're like -- shit, this is a more extensive revision than I thought. You start rehauling the novel, but after your month-long deadline passes, it's still not right. You take another six weeks before you're happy. It's now September.

Suddenly money is very tight. You got $21,250 in April, but since then you've paid $5,250 in estimated taxes, and every month you pay $2,250 in rent, health insurance, and food. You were supposed to have your second payment already, because the contract's estimated D&A date said September. But you still need to do line edits. You now have $2,500 in the bank. You are very aware that this will last a little over a month.

Your editor gets back after a few weeks, having loved your revision, and has sent you line edits. Thank God she didn't want a second round of bigger edits. But it's now October. You rush through the line edits, turn them in after a single jam-packed week. You have $250 in the bank. Your D&A payment is now due.

A week goes by. Where is the payment? You email your agent. She badgers the publisher. They say the payment will be sent through in a pay run next week, so after agency processing, it'll be with you in early November.

You have $75 in the bank. You start putting everything on your credit cards. Then your utility company makes a direct withdrawal from your checking account. You wake up to an overdraft notice and zero dollars in your account. Holy shit, you think, why did I choose this career. November hits. You are late on rent. Maybe you should start drawing from your retirement account, which you put $5,000 into, one time, three years ago?

When your payment arrives, you're not happy so much as ready to cry with relief. You start paying off your cards and sending late, embarrassed Venmos to your friends. You can finally stop declining invites to hang out because you have no money.

And by then it's November, and you're realizing that you really need to be thinking about your next book. If you were working smart, you got a jump on it earlier in the year, when your editor was late with your edit letter. Let's say you wrote an entire first draft back then, between January and June. (Which, to be clear, IS fast for a novel, do not believe the ridiculous standards of writing speed you see online.) If you now take six months to mold that first draft into actual art, then send it to your agent next May, and she wants changes, and you submit in July, and it sells after an average couple months on submission, you won't get your next contract payment until January, 2026.

ARE YOU ANXIOUS YET?

The above scenario is ordinary. An editor having a delay on an edit letter for a month or two, or an author getting stuck and running over deadline for a month -- that stuff is barely worth commenting on.

And there are all sorts of other bumps in the road. Let's say the publisher has turnover in the contracts department. Immediately, that'll be a delay on your signing payment. I've waited 6 months for a contract payment before. I've waited months for a simple email reply from an editor because the company was going through layoffs.

Add more people into the process, and it gets slower. Are you working on IP, let's say a novelization of a TV property? That team might take months to get back to you even on your proposed outline. Working with a freelancer or cowriter? Add weeks or months to every step. In publishing, you spend half your life waiting. You know what doesn't wait? Rent, taxes, and health insurance.

Anon, this is the shoestring, desperate kind of full-time author existence. If you're doing a little better -- still midlist, but better -- you might have earned out one or more of your backlist titles. That means you'll get additional royalties twice a year, usually April and October. That will help.

Or maybe you're a super-fast writer who's always, always juggling multiple contracts and shooting drafts in and out of your door. That's a decent way to make a healthy living as a full-time author, but you'll need to complete multiple books a year, for sure.

This is why I have a survival job half the week that pays my rent. The stress is still there, but it's less frequent and less intense. Honestly, given my sales figures, which are (checks notes) bad, I'm lucky to get to keep doing this after five novels. Because the biggest looming threat is that if you don't break out, editors will start shutting the door immediately because of your lack of established audience.

The only really reliable way to pay your bills is to break out. Then if your editor leaves your publishing house, and you get reassigned, and that pads 3 months onto the editing process, or whatever, it doesn't matter. You'll have actual, substantial royalty payments twice a year. Your advances will always be over six figures. You can live a normal life where you're not staring into the murky distance, wondering when some payment is going to soar out of the night and into your terrible bank account.

Or ... you can just get a day job. And you will get paid biweekly, reliably, on SPECIFIC DATES!!!, forever. When I tell you this shit was life-changing for me. Good God.

Obviously the biggest problem in this whole post is the bit where I wrote "every month you pay $2,250 in rent, insurance, and food," and worried if I was, in fact, lowballing that amount. What a broken world!

Anyway. Best of luck with the writing, anon -- no matter what your experiences in or around the industry, I hope the work itself continues to feed your soul.

RR

[zmediaoutlet]

11 and 35 please!

hooray more distractions!!

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

If I may be an asshole for a second -- I believe in that rule big time for other people, but I hardly ever follow it myself. But this is why, to be less assholey (I hope): I very very very rarely write any darlings! I hardly ever write pretty sentences just because they'll be so pretty, gosh and golly. In general actually I feel like my sentences are specifically not pretty, because I'm trying to get out of the writing's way and just let it. Like, be there. Most of the time, from me writing something to y'all seeing it, there has been basically zero editing (although, more on that later), so there are hardly any assassinations and therefore no darlings to haunt the bardo, as it were. I maybe ought to edit more, but...

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

...following up from the last answer, I pretty much only edit-as-I-go and very very rarely rewrite or do a major rehaul on anything. I also pretty much only write chronologically, from sentence one to The End, and I think that's part of why -- it's VERY VERY RARE that I can write what happens next without having an entirely solid handle on what came before, so everything has to be pretty much nailed in place for me to be able to move on. I also generally have a sense of where I'm going, or at least I won't come up with a different conclusion than one that follows from the beginning, and therefore don't have to rework the beginning for a new ending I've just come up with to make sense.

This means, of course, that sometimes when I'm writing I end up with a fic that isn't exactly what I set out to write -- or that could have had adjustments to go another way -- or where sometimes the conclusion that a reader might draw isn't exactly the one I was hoping they'd get. But I don't... care? And the reason I don't care is that I operate on the "many pots" theory of art as much as possible: I'm not aiming for some Perfect Creation, but rather an iterative process of writing and writing and writing again, and through the writing we find out what we think. So this particular fic went that direction. Shrug! The next fic can go another direction. I'm just never going to be one of those people who fretfully rewrites a paragraph five times to make sure it's Just Right. (Another reason I can't do original work -- I would murder an editor. Get away from my paragraph! It's telling this story. If we change it, we'd be telling something else.)

(still proctoring, still in need of distraction from how i increasingly need to pee -- let's chat about writing)

[thewolfofpennsyltucky]

Mask Making Ethics: Rehauls, Conversions and Recasting.

Many folks within the masked community have probably heard the terms “rehaul,” “recast,” or conversion from time to time. You may be surprised that these terms do not solely exist within the mask community, but also branch out into the art and costuming communities as well as many more. While some long term members may already be versed with these words, I’ve spoken with quite a few newer members of many communities that are a bit confused as to what these terms are. This post will hopefully answer those questions as well as highlight what is and what is not ethical within the community.  Rehauls

Rehauling is the process of taking a mask and “amping it up,” if you will. One can typically see this with licensed character masks. No doubt you’ve seen some masks around and have thought to yourself: “That looks okay, but maybe it could look a little better.” By no means am I dumping on any artist or studio, but in a mass production setting, sometimes things get put on the backburner in an effort to get as many products out on the market as they can. It looks good, but it’s not 100% “there.” Maybe the sculpt is great but the paint job is off. For example, let’s take the Trick or Treat Studios Michael Myers mask from Halloween Kills. Like many fans and collectors, I found the mask to be sculpted very well, but lacking on the paint job. This is where rehauling comes in. Many have taken to buying these masks and rehauling them to their full potential. They can be sold online, which is perfectly ethical and legal AS LONG AS YOU MENTION IT IS A REHAUL. An example of this can be found at the link below, where Nick Mulpagano rehauls a TOTS Halloween Kills mask from start to finish.  Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=joLHAYRiw5o&t=765s Conversions

Conversions are in the same vein as rehauls in that they are perfectly legal and ethical. Still, it is good to give props to the original designer and distributor of the mask. But a conversion is exactly what it sounds like: taking one mask and converting into another mask. Examples of this include some of the masks worn by Slipknot in their earlier years. In my experience, when new members find this out, they’re blown away to learn that these masks started their life as a completely different thing all together. Chris Fehn (#3) wore a converted Distortions Unlimited Liar mask, which was made by and given to him by a prior member. James Root (#4) used a converted Forums Novelties Jester mask. The band purchased these, made modifications and turned these masks into their own thing. Nothing at all wrong with that. To see how this was done, check out the video by YouTube user iamtheniko to see a #3 Liar Conversion from start to finish (Or for the Slipknot Mask community, the “Spit It Out” Liar). Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4mwXy4c034

Recasting

Recasting is not okay. For the most part. There are *some* exceptions, but generally it is frowned upon within ALL communities. Recasting is the process of creating a mold of a piece and creating casts of that piece. The reason this is frowned upon is because THIS IS OURTIGHT THEFT. In recasting the work of an independent artist, you’re taking the work an artist has put into their piece, their skill, their money and everything that went into it. Not only is this stealing the work of an independent artist, but recasted pieces are generally smaller and have lesser quality to them. On the opposite end of that spectrum, recasting mass produced pieces comes with its own series of issues as well. Mainly, the pieces being mass produced means that there’s some company that owns the image of whatever the piece may be. If you are caught, this could result in a Cease and Desist notice (which is a nice way of the respective Trademark Holders saying: “Hey, how about you don’t do that,”) or a possible lawsuit. 

Sometimes, it is given an OK, but these always fall under certain circumstances. Firstly, the Company or Trademark Holders are no longer in business, in which case, the pieces were probably sold off to another company. Second, the piece has been discontinued. Third, which may fall in line with the second, whoever owns the piece simply does not care. Either way, track down the rightful Trademark Holders first. AND DO NOT RECAST UNLESS YOU GET AN OKAY FIRST. “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness instead of permission” is stupid advice and you should never follow it. Also, don’t try to be slick. People who are passionate about the community are obsessive (not an insult), and there’s always someone out there who’ll notice. No matter how well you try to cover your tracks, eventually, you WILL be caught. 

I hope that clears some things up for anyone who was curious about what recasting, rehauling and converting is. If you have questions about any piece, there’s no shame in asking someone who’s been in the community for a long time for their opinion. Call me biased, but I think we’re a good bunch. But, support your passions, the arts, small businesses and have fun collecting, rehauling, converting and making good art... without recasting. 

[timehascomeagain]

I need to get my septum done and i need to cut my hair again and make it shaggier and maybe even commit to bangs again. What i really need is to find peace deep inside my soul and then my material reality won't affect me one way or another but i also want to rehaul my wardrobe and completely redecorate my room. Plz

[ikeameatballspoisonedme]

Guide of watching mi chanel

There’s no guide LMAO watch whatever vid you want HOWEVER

I feel like Ace Files #4 forward are the vids I wanted to make. Even the filler content. Well actually 2/3 of them are filler content LMAO but those are the cream of the crops. The script on those vids are tight, even months later I don’t think there’s anything I’d like to cut

Ace Files #1 is the start of actually watchable vid. Song Machine was arguably watchable but the mic on that vid is still AAAWWWFFFUUUULLLLL. But I feel like my script writing at that time, along with my editing, was still quite the bare minimum. There are a lot of things I would like to rewrite. I still used non-instrumental songs in #1 which was a mistake!! Another mistake is using different editing files for different segment. My computer indeed can render 1 hour vid LMAO I love you baby. My voice isn’t as expressive as nowadays, my delivery is still pretty damn monotone. I think I would rehaul the entire Aspirations and the character analysis too. I just didn’t have the vernacular I thought I possessed back then. I think the movie review could’ve used some rework as well, felt like I was so caught up with the deadline so I rushed it all. Editing a bit bland too. For #3, I think I would cut the Bleedman part a bit, some of them are kinda irrelevant even tho they’re very interesting :p but #3 was so SO rushed you have no idea, I just want to get into the fourth one lmao

I might do quickies again in the future... my schedule is 1 filler 1 long ass video essay. Maybe 2 fillers if some topic is interesting enough (Banksy for example, love that vid)

Frozen video is completely unwatchable. I didn’t unlist it for memories sake, it was my first video after all :) oh how far I’ve become, I got 10 views for that vid and 1 sub and I was so proud

Miscellaneous stuff:

You guys really liked that CGI Murdoc huh. Good because I need Ace Files #1 to get off from the most watched vid 😩😩 I was kind of an amateur in that one as I explained!!! Pls watch the #4 instead....... Incredibly underwatched tbh which is so sad (I don't mind CGI Murdoc taking over tho)

I'm just so proud that I was possibly the first person that noticed the Paris Hilton-Banksy-Danger Mouse-Jamie Hewlett connection. Like, if you are a conspiracy theorist it's so plausible!! Kinda went off with my research for that vid

Followers of this blog that watch my content here is the spoiler for upcoming vid: Motorcity retrospective - Willem Dafoe fish - Tron Uprising retrospective. Cracker Island unboxing possibly once I have enough money

Ko-Fi at 1000 subs, we're halfway there :') I need money so bad and I don't want to monetize my vids because of 18+ restriction plague

I scrapped my P4G vid. My feelings for P4G remains the same, I often replay Margaret fight LMAO but oh man I don't want to work hard on the queer disappointment of P4G just to get dislike bombed by reactionaries saying that I just missed the point of the story. It's so demeaning. Go watch Azumanga Daioh and die

[cuteteacakes]

Alright, several things:

Should I order a 2023 calendar now? I found another yoi one :3

Also I’ve completely rehauled my mystery novel from undergrad (at least the concept) while I was at work and decided that there WILL be a gay pairing because i am TIRED of every mystery cozy being about a woman in her 30s hooking up with the cop/detective that works for the police. Cops work for a crooked system and I will NOT be supporting it. But the fact that the protag sees ghosts will not change u3u (ask me if you want to know more about what I changed hue)

I’m gonna wait until my dogsitting gig to order my birthday present from Solarisjapan (since that’s the cheapest place I can find that Nadeshiko figure). And maybe that’s when I’ll sign up for the affiliate program. So uh don’t sign up for Solarisjapan and buy stuff until I get that together okay? ;u;

[kaibacorpbros]

( lost ) // let's say this is an opportunity for you to describe one of the worlds Seto ended up in

| Send me a prompt! | ( lost ) : wandering in the middle of nowhere, with no idea where they are | @ofthepuzzle​

This place was... dark.

It was the best way to describe it. But even if it hadn’t been night all the buildings, people, the sky, everything, was dark and cold.

Kaiba could only vaguely recognize this as Domino city by the sight of the Kaiba Corp building in the distance. But even that had some weird dark amalgamation that had been built up from its original roof.

People were rushing to get home. Almost as if they were scared of what would happen if they stayed out too long. It was only 8pm by the sign on a nearby store though.

And more concerning, at the sight of himself people freaked out and went scuttling away like frightened cats before he could speak to them.

“What the hell happened here?” Seto mumbled to himself.

He didn’t know what street he was on, and didn’t recognize any of the names on the signs. Like the whole city had gotten rehauled except for KC. 

Then he heard an announcement from speakers he couldn’t see.

[Curfew is in ten minutes. Please vacate the streets.]

He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to know what transpired in this world. He checked his duel disk. With how far he’d come, he’d be stuck here for a while until he had the strength and the power to get back home. Maybe he should lie low. One way or another he’d have to find a way to get out of sight. Someone or something must be enforcing that curfew.

[oonajaeadira]

State of the WIP Address

There’s been a lot of Pats x Preciosa in my brains this week. The next two sessions are heavily outlined and some dialogue is already in place. Good Things Take Time 3 is outlined and the final line of that is written. Y’all getting some answers soon...

But I really miss my Javi, so I might be writing another one of those next. This one has Javi following Sunday around like a puppy dog and surprising her with something nice and just a lot of him smiling at her because it’s what I need right now.

And if you haven’t heard, Writer Wednesday’s coming back!!! So we’ll see what happens with that! Maybe more Ezra x Tinker? Who knows?

I will probably get a little more writing time next week too....

Completed this week:

GTTT Truth or Dare Session: This is Enough For Now - PATS x Preciosa (f!reader)

A list of what I’ve got on the fire for the immediate future:

Javi G x Sunday 7 (outlined)

PATS: Truth and Dare 4 and 5, GTTT3 (heavily outlined)

Thief x Locksmith 6 (lightly outlined. Having a little block on it....)

LMR Chapter 13 (still in plot rehaul. But I’m currently doing a rewatch and getting into my feels....)

Writer Wednesday???

[exilethegame]

mythosi side and romances. Does increasing the mythosi mean we could lose our ro? Is it like going to the darkside? Do we lose control of ourselves more?

It’s hard to answer stuff like this just because we’re still so early in the game and it’s all still very early in production. That being said-- this is the alpha build of the game, and once I finish it, along with the basic editing and things, I plan to completely rehaul stats to add everything I wanted to but haven’t yet (which includes new branches, character relationships, etc). However, I’m adding everything that I currently can into this build.

Now to actually answer your question-- 

The mythosi side of the commander isn't necessarily a bad thing. You’ll be able to choose MC’s mentality when it comes to it. One example being MC views losing parts of their humanity as a necessity in order to keep the peace, another being MC loves the power high they get from abusing their abilities. Obviously those are two very different mindsets and will bring out very different reactions from the people around them.

Different type of mythosi commanders will also suffer different repercussions for their abilities. A demon MC won’t go through the same problems a werewolf MC will. 

As for going to the “dark side”...I’m very purposely trying to set up the game to where there isn’t any good or bad side. As of now, it might seem like there’s clear good and bad (Plaithus vs. The Circle, but even then you can see plenty of flaws with Plaithus), but that’ll change as MC travels more and meets more people.  It’s really hard to explain this without entering blatant spoiler territory, but I will say the deeper into the game we get, the less obvious good and bad will get, and it’ll become very clear that there are no right answers. 

So maybe becoming more mythosi is good. Some characters might be proud of MC for doing it. Some might even encourage MC to become power hungry. Some might hate it. If MC refuses to use their abilities at all, some might get angry at MC. Some might view them as cowardice or weak. Some might take it into their own hands to fix things.

It all depends on other stuff. No one variable in the grand scheme of things will completely control whether mc is good or bad, and no RO or character will respond to any two MCs in the exact same way.

[sepublic]

TOH deserves better

           Y’know what?

           Now that I’ve… Had time to really focus and think and process about the news for The Owl House and its shortened Season 3, now that I’ve really dealt with other things in my life, I’m…

           I’m angry. I’m genuinely MAD…

           The Owl House has always been a comfort show for me! It’s a show I’ve loved, its characters and worldbuilding and mystery is fascinating to me and it’s inspired me! When Season 1 ended... I was excited. I was prepared. I braced myself for the story that Dana Terrace and the writers intended to tell us. I knew we had at LEAST two more full seasons to go, based on Dana’s comment about a third season.

           Season 2 would’ve been a safe season in a sense. A season where we’re in the middle of the action, where we can get onto things that have been planned and set up; But at the same time, it’s not the final season! It’s not the end. There would’ve been an entire, full season, twenty or something episodes after that. I could’ve sat back and enjoyed Season 2 in all its entirety, as another phase of the story set in the middle, and when it was all said and done, I could speculate and hope and wish and think about this final third season; Assuming we wouldn’t even get a fourth!

           But no… NO, Season 3 is literally just. THREE episodes, each twice the normal length, so like six episodes; But still, it’s obvious with how it’s formatted into a trio that Season 3 will be less a season, and more the final battle and climax of the show, the culmination of everything else! Which means for all intents and purposes… Season 2 IS the final season of the show. That everything we want to see, we hope to see; It can only happen in Season 2, because Season 3 is the final battle in a sense.

           Warning: A LOT of text and upset ramblings below!!!

           And that deeply angers me. I’ve done the calculations and there are fourteen episodes we’re missing out on, due to Season 3 being cut down. Fourteen episodes to do any wide variety of things; To focus on side characters, to flesh out lore and plot. To extend and focus on character arcs, to introduce and establish things; Fourteen episodes to introduce, develop, and finish various arcs and smaller plots! There’s SO much to do in fourteen episodes, especially in regards to relationships, and even representation as we talk about Luz and Amity and everyone else!

           And out of NOWHERE, out of the blue- We don’t get that! Dana Terrace herself admitted on Twitter that she left in December to focus on the news. I’m not entirely sure on how production works, but I imagine she and the crew were working on Season 2A when they got this news… Which means they’re going to have to COMPLETELY rehaul and rehash their plans for Season 2B as a result. They’re going to have to hastily pull together and rush the arcs they had planned out, so it can lead up to Season 3.

           They expected fourteen episodes of development; And now they have to resolve that within the remaining ten or so episodes of Season 2, which is already jam-packed with the original plans. At this point, any criticisms for the show’s writing or pacing that might come later down the line… I can’t take it seriously in good faith. Not when I know how Disney just screwed over Dana and the crew so suddenly, so abruptly, so HUGELY. Season 2 was supposed to be the mid-point, and you KNOW there are a bunch of arcs and little plot points that will never see the light of day, or be rushed, to accommodate the change!

           And it really angers me. Season 3 would’ve been made after a lot of fandom response- So all you fans of the Detention Kids, who would’ve liked to see more of them? Season 3 would’ve been the time for Dana and the crew to throw the fandom a bone… EXCEPT, because it’s only three/six episodes, there’s no way the Detention Kids will get focus now. Not when there’s the actual climax of the show left. There’s no room to have fun, to focus on side characters or expand even more on pre-established ones. Fourteen episodes’ worth of kind, small little moments that stand out- Gone, down the drain, never to see the light of day to begin with!

           I just… Feel so BAD for Dana and the crew; Dana fought so hard for this story! Her roommate said that nobody wanted to see a story about an old witch and her young apprentice, and you know what, Dana FOUGHT for that story and got it for us! She had to deal with censors for Lumity, but she fought for that! Dana and the crew were EXCITED to tell us, they no doubt had so much planned and in store, you can tell from the tone of the Reddit AMA and the Charity Livestream, all of which were done months before Disney told Dana and the crew about Season 3 being downsized.

           And like… Dana herself said that she’s still down to do future Owl House content. If Disney asks her to –with pushback from fans- then yeah, she could do more! We might get an epilogue or sequel series… But that doesn’t change how the pacing of the show will be disrupted. How a lot of arcs will have to be prematurely rushed through and finished, instead of having the loving time taken to develop and appreciate them.

          Characters will be rushed through, we had FOURTEEN episodes taken from us! Characters like Belos or Kikimora, or Odalia and Alador, the antagonists- They’re not guaranteed to survive or make it past the end of Season 3, so even if we got more content post-S3, it wouldn’t really be able to remedy for their drastically-shortened screen time, unless through flashbacks or resurrection or whatever. Characters, arcs, development, all are being shafted here.

           And this ANGERS me! Like I said, The Owl House is my comfort show. I finished Season 1 with the full understanding that we weren’t even halfway through yet; We still had SO much more to do, so much more to see, amidst all of the wonders that Season 1 had provided! But now I feel cheated. I feel cheated, because sike! Actually you WERE halfway through, and that changes everything about the tone, the pacing, the setting of the show. Suddenly I’m already looking forward to and anticipating the end, because the end is DIRECTLY after Season 2; And I can’t enjoy it as much, because now I have that anxiety and dread as Season 2 ends that… THIS is the final, full, regular season.

           It was just supposed to be another season for me to enjoy, to further flesh out the show- And out of nowhere, I have to approach this with a sudden sense of finality, I’m forced to really appreciate it even further, because this is it! This is all we have left, when until then, I thought we had so much more! And it’s angering. It’s abrupt. Season 2 was in many ways supposed to be carefree and hands-off…

           But now, I have to approach it in an existential sense. With the full understanding that the show is essentially ENDING by this point, with each new episode, we’re on a timer now. We’ve lost the luxury of Season 1, that Season 2 would’ve had, if it was the midpoint in the series. And now I can’t enjoy things as much because just as quickly as I got these new arcs and characters and developments, I have to watch them be quickly wrapped up. 

          I barely even got them, I was looking forward to more of it, there should’ve been more, and then bam! It’s already done, just kidding! Like it was handed to me, and then abruptly torn out of my hands barely a few seconds later, after I’d anticipated an entire day alone with it.

           I hate this. I’m angry, I’m sad, I’m disappointed. I had so much wonder and joy that this was only the beginning, but now it’s actually the ending! I had so much to look forward to, so much promised- And this show was doing well! It was SUCCESSFUL, Lumity brought a HUGE influx of popularity, and you know what? The show deserves that! 

          Not just for being good in general, but also- This is SUCH a huge step forward in representation, especially given how this is DISNEY of all channels… With Luz being a bisexual, ADHD, character of color! Amity fully being a lesbian ON-SCREEN, no censors, nothing held back, her crush treated and fully indulged the way a straight person’s would’ve been!

           The Owl House deserves so much for just that alone. So much attention, and it got attention, it was arguably at a peak because now so much fans are tuning in… And Disney, those paradoxical cowards, they decide to end it early!? I’m angry. I’m frustrated, I’m sad, I was told to expect more, to just enjoy myself in the moment, but now I have to readjust my sense and perception of everything in anticipation of a sudden end.

          And I’m sure that’s what Dana and the crew have to do as well, they were so excited, no doubt planting things in Season 2A to be resolved later in Season 3… But nope, now they have to rush it through and finish it in Season 2B, along with everything else they had planned! And they might have to cut out stuff from Season 2B, to make room for the ending of those pre-established arcs!

           It’s frustrating and clumsy and sudden, and it just… ANGERS ME! It makes me genuinely mad and frustrated, like I want to punch a wall… And I hate it! And a part of me hopes and wishes that if the fans really DO give enough of a backlash and demand, maybe Disney will change its mind. 

          If we say enough, ASAP, then maybe Disney will delay Season 2B so that Season 3 can be extended back to its proper length, allowing Dana and the crew to redo Season 2B as they originally intended. I’d be fine with waiting additional time, as much as the crew needs, to redo Season 2B with the understanding that they have that full third season back!

           I’d GLADLY, happily, let the crew take their time to redo Season 2B to its original glory and plans, to better set up a full Season 3! I’d let them take their time, I wouldn’t complain at all, I’d still watch! So Disney, go ahead, change your plans abruptly AGAIN, it’s not like you have no qualms screwing over this show or other content creators with this kind of back-and-forth, look at Matt Braly having to contend with True Colors being delayed and almost censored, only for the whole thing to be useless because the original episode was leaked anyway! He had to rush out the Season 3 intro, I’m betting this RIGHT now!

           But even if it was delayed, even if it was released early… It doesn’t change the actual show itself. It doesn’t change the actual story, just how it was presented- But the story itself, it remains intact. The Owl House doesn’t even get that. Brevity can be the soul of wit, but if you’re suddenly told out of nowhere to chop it down, it’s not gonna be the soul of anything. 

          It’s just… SO UNFAIR, and it makes me genuinely pissed off. Like, I could handle True Colors being delayed by the end of the day, because the show is otherwise the exact same- But TOH being so drastically reduced, abruptly shortened, I think that’s honestly objectively worse… So I braced myself for and adapted to one bad thing, and then got another thing even MORE terrible! Much more terrible, in fact- Amazing.

           I’m just… Tired and frustrated. Like it feels like I had this happy thing in my life and it was taken away from me, I can’t even have that, I can’t have the hope and anticipation for more, that’s it! It’s already done and gone! I knew I’d have to prepare for that eventually, but in a manner that felt fleshed-out and well-rounded, like I’d really had my time to enjoy and appreciate… But just kidding! It’s like a punch in the face, and it makes me honestly depressed and sad, and I kind of don’t know what to do besides… Ask for more, and hope?

          A part of me feels like the investment, the enjoyment, was lowkey all for nothing, meaningless and worthless, now that so much was cut down- And obviously it IS worth it, it always is! But in the moment of despair, I’m asking… Is that it? It was all for nothing, then… All that effort. All of that speculation and enjoyment and anticipation. 

          All you had look forward to, all of that emotion you put in- So much of it is going to be left unresolved because how the show was so enormously cut down. And now it makes me hesitant to invest in other shows, I’m afraid, in case they get cut down like this, in case my attention is punished and deprived for engaging with the material like that to begin with.

           As a viewer and someone who loves and enjoys media, I feel like there’s a trust that’s being breached, I can’t really rely or depend on things I enjoy to last or stay there, so why bother getting invested? Why put in the effort for fandom and content if it’s going to be gone like THAT, if all plans are thrown out the window, and all attention and feedback is meaningless! 

          What’s the point of showing that you love this, of expressing yourself, if you’re going to get even LESS than what you’d cautiously hoped for? Why hope at all? There’s this bitterness left inside of me, that you shouldn’t have bothered enjoying or getting invested, or pouring yourself into this, because in the end you weren’t going to get anything close to that.

           Which, fan content is ALWAYS valid! But it’s usually done to expand on stuff that’s already there… But if there was nothing there because it got pulled last second, then why bother? Why enjoy if it’s so brief? Why invest if the conclusion is so sudden and out of nowhere? Why care at all? And I know that shouldn’t change how I feel… 

          But with Infinity Train and Amphibia, I guess I really can’t count on anything, not even the mutual solidarity of numbers, to change a thing. So why hope for and ask for more and better? Why even enjoy what I have, knowing it’ll be cut off by itself in the future because the planned arcs were forcibly dropped? I can’t enjoy an episode as part of a larger story now, just a shorter one, and now there’s this pressure.

           Pressure, that’s it- A pressure on the show. A pressure on the writers and audience. To suddenly cram in and make the most of this time. Pressure on every Season 2 episode to go above and beyond to make up for the almost complete and utter lack of Season 3; Season 2 will practically have to carry the weight of TWO seasons on its back, two condensed into one! And it just… There’s so much pressure. No time to breathe or enjoy myself or relax, because now it’s all suddenly ending and fleeting in front of my eyes when I hadn’t done that, and now I go back and yell “Come back!” 

          I wish I’d enjoyed it more knowing it was already ending, but it’s too late. I wish I could’ve done something, but what could I have done? And I really did try to appreciate and cherish this to my ability, but I did so expecting more, as I should’ve- And now it feels I didn’t do enough. I feel cheated. Like the rug was pulled under me, that my effort was rendered naught and never enough no matter how hard I tried, the game is rigged.

           I’m frantic. I’m paranoid. I’m already having to say goodbye and brace myself for the end, when I expected at least another full year to unapologetically not have to worry about that, to just be in my zone and be myself and ENJOY… To not have to worry existentially like that. I can’t have that peace, I can’t have that longing, lasting fun. 

          I knew it’d come to an end, but now I can’t have the time to properly enjoy and relax and appreciate it, to truly live it out meaningfully and deliberately… I’m going to have to laser-focus now and put aside other things, because this thing is NOW and won’t last, unlike the rest; And in a way, that kind of rush and pressure, it just ends up paradoxically making the whole thing LESS fun, even!

          So in my attempts to appreciate and enjoy it more, I enjoy it less. It’s like a punch in the face in direct retaliation for getting invested and attached, for actually being connected to the story. I’m being punished for enjoying, for letting myself feel, so why ever bother with that, ever again? Why should I get attached? I’m just punished for that, so I won’t bother. I won’t put myself out there so even if it DOES see itself through, I won’t have been there for it from justified paranoia, and then I’ll miss out when it IS there. Like I can’t win, no matter what- So why participate?

          It doesn’t matter, it’s all useless. “It makes me happy”, well, maybe that’s no longer even a reason to do and make and enjoy things anymore, huh! And now I’m just… Bitterly putting it aside. Feeling like I should’ve known better, that at least I’m being more ‘mature’. I feel like Luz in the first episode, throwing her book away, her prized hyperfixation that invigorated and brought so much meaning to her… I feel like Luz, just almost apathetically, in resignation, throwing it into the trash while someone smiles and tells me it’s okay and good and I SHOULD have done that, actually!

           It’s making me tired and exhausted. I didn’t want to have to suddenly feel and deliberate over all of this, all at once, right now- But I feel I’d regret it even more if I DIDN’T do that, and then it ended, and the time and moment, the opportunity, it passed! It’s a frantic dread and paranoia that means I can’t appreciate and enjoy properly, because every little thing I so desperately claw at and prize and treasure, but also I keep telling myself not to get my hopes up, and…

          It lowkey makes me want to curl up and cry? And sob, because now that insecurity, that voice in the back of my head, it was RIGHT, I really should’ve listened to it to begin with, and not ever bothered! Don’t risk the trust in connecting with someone else’s story that’s still in process, only ever engage with stuff fully finished. 

          I can never enjoy that anticipation and hope now, of being along the ride for the journey, of just getting to look out the window and wonder; Not knowing the ending, but looking forward to it! And I can’t do that anymore, not when I’m afraid of the trip suddenly grinding to a screeching halt out of nowhere!

           But yeah, I’m just… I…

           …I’m sad. I’m angry, and now I’m sad. Depressed, outright, directly because of this, when otherwise I wouldn’t have been- And that’s painful and frustrating and makes me feel like I’m being tossed around a whirlwind, with no hope. No say or agency, just a constant bad hand I have to brace myself for. So all I can do is curl up and lie down and hope for the worst to be over, and never dare to be so ungrateful or greedy to ask or hope for more, for good things, just for the bad things to lessen or stop.

          In the end, it didn’t even matter, so I should just throw it all away, never try again; And everything I did beforehand, up until then, I’ll look back at it all, those fond and innocent memories, and I’ll look back with an eternal bitterness that will forever corrupt and scar those recollections. So even the past, which allegedly can never change, is ruined for me! The past never gets better, it only gets worse, so WHY… Why believe and hope, and love and live???

          I’m just a stupid fool for being so invested in this cartoon, in fiction, why don’t I just GROW UP and focus on REAL things that matter, huh?!? I really do feel like Luz genuinely thinking and resigning herself to the Reality Check camp, having that childlike passion and joy just whittled down and strangled, feeling it die out; Knowing it will, so just getting it over with and killing it now, before I have to mourn later.

          I shouldn’t ever put forth the trust in engaging with others’ stories, just my own because I at least have control there, I should just be alone and by myself with only my stories, and never get to connect with or experience companionship with others’ stories, ever again. Just build up my walls and hide and be alone and isolated as I’ve always been- It seems even with fiction or media, I’m STILL by myself! There’s an intimacy in reading and emotionally engaging with others’ stories, where other writers put a piece of themselves into that… Hoping others will read and respond and reciprocate, and feel the same!

           Well, maybe I shouldn’t put myself out there, either, in fears of being punished and cut off and whittled down like that! Why express myself, why be, why live? Why be invested into the soul of others, manifested in their own content, if it’ll never come to fruition, if my own soul will only hurt for connecting?! This is worse than a fave or a comfort character dying, because at least the integrity of the story itself remains and is worth it.

          There’s always the chance of a return or a revival or a flashback to appreciate, but THIS… This is real life. And it’s THE ending in the most abrupt and literal and tangible sense, of the media itself; An ending more powerful and harsh than any resolution to an arc. Because now NOTHING will ever be expected to come out from this, ever again- No new content, nothing else to enjoy. Media is like a fantasy, an escapism from real life, but even when I fully expected and accepted and saw the boundary and end between fantasy and reality… I still get punished with reality regardless! I can’t escape that real life because it WILL go out of its way to directly cut in and interfere, and ruin, what I love.

           So why escape? Why invested? Why love? Why should I ever feel comfort??? It’s all stupid. I’m stupid. Life is finite and it’s merely what’s directly in front of you, don’t dare to dream or imagine, or think or hope, just focus on what’s in front and get by and try to live… Or at least ‘survive’. Or ‘not die’, I guess.

          And now I resent real life even more for ruining this for me, when beforehand I could still like and appreciate it, even if I still needed some time away every now and then. So paradoxically, trying to get me to focus on real life, has made me detest it moreso! It’s that whole thing of don’t bother trying because you’ll just get punished for it, just passively wait and receive, don’t LIVE. Don’t stake initiative or agency.

          At least if a character dies, the universe and immersion is still intact, if not moreso because then you feel and become even MORE connected and get that emotional catharsis, everything up until then and after takes on a whole new meaning and appreciation; But if it ends in real life, the immersion is gone. The fantasy is permanently shattered, and now it’s all worthless in hindsight because you’re reminded that it was never real to begin with.

          And what little you DID get, is now ruined; And you’re not going to get anything else new, either! You can’t even KEEP things anymore… You’re just a bitter fool who’s going to get old and wither, look back, and become even MORE bitter and miserable. All of the emotion you felt, it’s been rendered worthless and meaningless, that connection once made… And I hate to see things ruined like that, so maybe don’t have things to begin with!

          I’m bitterly, enviously jealous of others who still manage to enjoy, because why are you still invested?! Why still keep trying, don’t you realize how pointless it is!? And now I’m just ruining that for them, I’m ruining THEM, in my own mind and heart and place in life. How can you still keep going!? So even that stuff they make, that fandom content that exists on its own more or less in a sense, even THAT is marred and ruined for me… And I feel like I’m internally ruining that for others, that makes me feel guilty as I loathe myself for being so awful, so why believe that I can be better? Why try to be better then?!

           I’m envious, because you guys still manage to cope and handle this in a realistic way, in a safe and mature manner. And anything others make, it’s just a cruel, cold reminder, a mockery even, of what I’ve lost, of my dashed and ruined hopes. And then I can’t bear to look at or even enjoy THAT, especially stuff made post-announcement, because you guys managed to keep making it anyway. And me, I didn’t, so what does that say about miserable old me? But then don’t make this about MYSELF…

          Seriously though, if you’re going to still enjoy and create, please do so! Don’t let this bitter fool stop you. Don’t let me hurt you. Just keep going out there and be yourself, me, I’ll… I’ll figure something out I guess? But yeah, that’s MY problem, not yours, those of you who keep creating anyway, you’re everything I admire and more! You’re all heroes in a sense, and I encourage and fully support you- If my ramblings make you hesitate or discourage you, then just throw them aside and disregard that! I’d never want to intrude or interrupt someone’s own expression, not when I mourn my own, that’s for sure!

           And y’know what? Other people who keep creating… You remind me that there IS hope. That there maybe is a point in going on and being invested, especially indie creators, because y’all have control and agency and take over what you make, and don’t have to depend or rely on, or fear, some gross corporation butting in and pulling the strings, threatening to revoke and take it all away! Thank you, I’m grateful, truly I am, I’m eternally indebted in a way I can never fully repay. Maybe I can try to make up for this by continuing to make my own things… So now this depressed, cynical rant, suddenly it takes a more hopeful turn as I write it, because of others!

           And now I’m thinking to myself… It IS worth it to connect. For those little moments of inspiration and joy and hope that others can instill. Thanks, you guys. Out of nowhere, you suddenly made it better for me, and kind of helped me overcome this depressive slump; And here I was, just thinking and resigning myself to the end! I guess it never really IS the end… And what I said about feeling like Luz, throwing away her beloved book and joy of her life? Well, she DID go back to grab that book, and in doing so, found love, found family, and happiness she couldn’t have anticipated beyond her wildest dreams!

           …Even so, wishful thinking aside, this has all been a whirlwind to me;

           I’m tired.

[chaosmax]

Fanfic author interview

Tagged by: @espisayer （*＾-＾*）

Name: Mew

Fandoms (you write for): Just YGO right now. Though I used to write for several old fandoms.

Two shots?: Yes I used to do those, usually if something had more than one ending or if it was something I intended to be a oneshot but then enough people commented saying they wanted more of something. 

Most popular multichapter fic: Technically ao3 says it’s an old Warrios one but uhh... we’ll just ignore that bc it was trash. YGO wise it’s Making it Right going by overall views, comments, and kudos. I really need to get back to that one I miss it TwT. Painful but good family kush, I miss gremlin ghost Mokuba.

Actual worst part of writing: The putting it all together part. I’m generally pretty good at outlining and knowing where I wanna start and where I wanna end up. The trouble is bridging things and making it not feel like filler that’s going on for too long and such. Also the last moment readthrough before hitting post is the WORST. Because that’s when you see all the stuff you wanna change but it would require rehauling pretty much everything and it’s too late to do that now : “).

How do you choose your titles?: Route A of me titling things-- I know what I want to title this thing before I’ve even typed the first sentence. Maybe a lyric from a song, a few or one word that’s the focus of the fic, or just something that sounds really nice. Route B of me titling things-- I reach the end of writing the fic and go “oh shit” and spend the next 15 min trying to think of a good song lyric or something that goes with it.

Do you outline?: If it’s a oneshot I have an entire doc just for shorter drabbles that have my ideas scribbled down in brackets that’s usually just one sentence that I ride through the whole thing. 

For longer stuff, oh yes. Outlining is a must. I have a discord server with just me in it and have a timeline in one of the channels for all my fics of what I want to happen that I go back and edit as I come up with more ideas.

Ideas I probably won’t get around to: Oh boy. Speaking of, I’ll just read some off the drabble ideas I’ve still not gotten around to off from that doc: Duel Links Kaiba and how he calls all the DM characters replicas, Jou and Shizuka struggling to grow up and realizing how much their parents’ divorce messed them up mentally vignette style, light and funny idea of Kaiba and Diva talking about that time Diva turned into a giant green rage monster fun times haha, Isono trying to stop the abuse he saw going on when the bros were kids, and AU oneshot where mainverse Seto goes to a dimension where the KC takeover plan failed, that dimension’s Seto is killed, KC tightened its grip on the world, and Mokuba was out for revenge on Gozaburo who he suspects killed him.

Best writing trait: Sweats. Uhhh... I think my endings are pretty impactful hopefully? I like ending things on a powerful line. I’ve also been told I’m good at showing and describing when a character is experiencing double-edged and convoluted feelings, which is important to me and I hope I’ve kept that up.

Callouts @ me: Brain if you could let me finish ONE multichapter fic that’d be NICE before fixating on another idea k thx. Just... if I could finish more things in general and not focus on the numbers on ao3 or the notes would be nice too.

Spicy tangential opinion: I agree bad epithets are : “) and they are so common in fics and it makes it hard to read. Also basically anything other than italics for emphasis really grinds my gears? The occasional bolding I can allow, but using them left and right just... it makes it hard to read especially when paired with all Caps it just feels like yelling and hurts to read. I feel like unless you’re trying to put the emphasis somewhere where it wouldn’t normally be read as, the words themselves should deliver the punch. Not giant text, not bolded text, not colorful text, just the words.

Tagging (only if ya wanna): @rainstormcolors and @dragonidpyrus12 and any other fic writers that wanna do this!

[cilldaracailin]

A Kind Of Magic

Hello my lovelys! I am so sorry for not posting on Tumblr yesterday. I was in full writing mode and had to keep going or my train of thought would have been lost but I am back with two more posts for you this evening! :) While reading this part, I realised that I have not translated any of the Irish words in previous parts or given a phonic pronunciation of them as I did on AO3 so I apologise for that. My bad. I will go back and change that now on my previous posts. This is another one of my favourite parts from this story. It makes me smile a lot. So here are the words first: Cwtch - is Welsh and pronounced ‘kutch’ (As google told me) Camogie - Ka-mo-gee (Where gee rhymes with key) Sliotar - Shlit-her And the pictures for this part help visually with what cwtch looks like and what hurling is :) Thanks again for all the lovely Tumblr love. You are all wonderful! 

22

“This is the part where I kiss you.”

Robyn arrived home from work on Monday in a wonderful mood. The funding she had managed to secure had arrived and it was more than she thought they were going to get and was very excited about the research she had started on for rehauling the garden. Also, the new girl who had started was fantastic and an absolute God send for Robyn, taking up Valerie’s old position in the preschool room easily and the children already loved her.

“Hey Taron!” She called happily as she hung up her coat in the closet at the door. “Taron?” She called again as she walked out of the closet and closed the door. “Tar…” Robyn stopped speaking when she walked into the sitting room. “Oh no.”

Lined up along her couch were her teddy bears and sitting in his usual space in the corner was Taron with a large blue dinosaur on his knees.

“Hello Robyn.”

“Been snooping by any chance Taron?” She asked.

“I had no idea there were drawers under your bed and when I opened them, I found all of these!” He said smiling.

When Robyn had purchased her bed, she made sure it had lots of storage space underneath and she used a lot of it to keep her soft plush bears and animals, not willing to put them in her attic. Being a woman in her thirties it was not very grown-up to keep teddy bears on display but she couldn’t part with them so kept them, but kept them hidden away.

“You are like a bloody sniffer dog.” She said as she sat on the poof.

“I love them all but this dinosaur I think is my favourite.” He said giving it a squeeze.

“I don’t have a particular favourite but you might have seen a pattern here.”

“These ones?” Asked Taron as he pointed to the right side of the couch where he had all the Care Bears lined up.

“Yeah the Care Bears. The brown one, my favourite. Tenderheart Bear.” Robyn moved and lifted the large plush toy and sat down on the couch. “You probably think I am a wierdo, with all the teddy bears.” She said hiding a little behind the bear in her hands.

“Not at all and don’t make that noise at me. I don’t judge you for any of this. I told you. I love them all. I had a good time pulling them out and looking at them, wondering what story you had for each of them.”

“Well the one you are holding I won from a claw machine in Galway.”

“Seriously? This thing is fucking huge! It’s bigger than my upper body and you won it from a claw machine?”

“I am quite talented at them. The rainbow unicorn, London bear, glitter eyed bear and a few of those smaller ones I have won from the claw machines. The glitter eyed bear is actually called Freddy.”

“After Freddy Mercury?” Asked Taron as he reached over for the soft brown and black bear.

“Yeah. Remember in the 7/11 I told you about the time I had to sing the Queen song and freaked out over remembering the words?” Taron nodded at her. “Well that gospel music festival was in Galway and I won that bear and called it Freddy.”

“Do they all have names?” Asked Taron, putting the bear back.

“No, just the ones that have a memory attached to them.”

“Does this guy have a name?” He asked holding up the dinosaur.

“Nope. The festival was in Galway the next year as well and I won him too.”

“Can I name him?” Asked Taron.

“Be my guest.”

“Let me have a think.” He said as he turned the dinosaur around so he could look at him properly. “So, you also love the Care Bears?” He said.

“I know I am a nineties kid but I loved eighties cartoons and the Care Bears were my fave. I have been collecting them. I had auditioned for Wednesday Adams for the musical society and desperately wanted the part but I was so ill during the audition I couldn’t sing the song, didn’t get the part and I went to Tesco afterwards to buy my weight in chocolate and there on the shelf was this bear, True Heart Bear, one of the first original Care Bears. I was so excited and it was a bloody bargain at fifteen euro. It was going to make up for my terrible audition. She was beautiful, all rainbow coloured but when I went to pay for everything, they couldn’t sell her to me. She wasn’t supposed to be on the shelf and I questioned it and they still wouldn’t sell it to me. I even rang the head office the next day to complain and the person on the phone was so lovely but it was something to do with stock rotation and they couldn’t sell the bear. I was absolutely devastated and as you can tell. Still as bitter as ever.” Robyn laughed a little. “Seems petty, it is just a teddy bear, but at the time it meant a lot to me. Still does but I cannot get it anywhere however I do keep adding to my collection. No idea what I am going to do with them. Maybe I will build another room and put them in glass cases and display them all!” She laughed. “And now I am rambling about fucking Care Bears. Jesus Robyn shut up. Shit sorry Taron.” Robyn felt her whole face heat up with an embarrassing blush while Taron’s face lit up in a massive grin as she rambled on.

“I am calling this dinosaur ‘cwtch’” He said.

“Bless you.” Replied Robyn which made him laugh hard, Robyn not having a notion to what word Taron had just used, but she knew it was Welsh.

“You are the epiphany of cwtch.” Taron chuckled. “It’s a very special welsh word for a hug or comfort but not just any hug or kind of comfort. It’s the most important and extraordinary type of love you can feel for a person. It’s more than just a hug, it is something shared between two people, that only those two people understand and have this connection of pure trust, faith and belief. It’s what we have and it’s what I am calling this dinosaur so when you look at it, you will call him cwtch and smile and think of our time together.”

Robyn moved the care bear that was between herself and Taron and sat right beside him. “I love it. Cwtch.” She repeated. “Though I don’t need a blue fluffy and glittery dinosaur to think of our time together Taron but…” She took the dinosaur from his hands and made the sign of a cross over his blue forehead. “I now christen thee, cwtch.” She said. “And it is official.”

Taron took the plush back. “You carry a very important name now catch and you must uphold the honour that comes with such a responsibility and always be trusting, faithful and believe that one day I will be back to take you out from your home of darkness and show you the light!” Taron held the dinosaur over his head and started to sing the chorus from The Circle of Life, Robyn chiming in with the Zulu words.

Laughter filled the air as Taron lowered the dinosaur slowly to his lap, the two grinning at each other. “Can he stay on the couch? I would feel bad putting him back under the bed so soon after his christening.”

“Why not. He matches the décor.”

“So, he would have been going back in if he was a red dinosaur?” Asked Taron.

“Yep.”

Taron hit Robyn with the dinosaur, gently. “Don’t worry cwtch, I’ve got your back.” He stood up and placed the newly named animal in the corner. “I will put these back for you and I wasn’t lying when I said I like them. I like snooping around your home and I like it even more that it doesn’t seem to bother you at all.”

“I told you Taron, nothing to hide.”

“Can’t wait to see what I discover tomorrow.” He said giving her a wink before he turned and grabbed a handful of her bears and walked around the couch. “I also want to write a strongly worded letter to Tesco for you. Not very fair having the bear on the shelf but not selling it to you.”

“Thanks Taron. I mean you have connections, might sway them to dig through their store room and find one for me, especially if they get a letter from none other than Elton John.”

Robyn stood up and picked up some of the Care Bears and helped Taron to tidy all of her precious bears back under her bed.

After dinner, Taron sat lazing on the couch, his new dinosaur friend beside him while Robyn was outside routing in her garden shed for something. He had no idea what she was looking for, but quickly added the garden shed for his next place to snoop. He saw her through the glass doors closing the garden shed and she walked around the side of the house and in through the kitchen patio door.

“Right Mr Egerton. It’s time to get physical.” Taron looked over the side of the couch to Robyn who was holding two wooden sticks in one hand and two white balls in another. “We have spent way too much sitting on that couch. I think it is time I introduced you the concept of hurling.” Robyn carefully threw one of the balls his way, Taron catching it in two hands.

“Hurling?” He asked looking at the small leather ball in his hands the same size of a tennis ball.

“Yep. One of the most fast paced and some would say dangerous sports played in Ireland.” Robyn walked over to him, bouncing the ball on the end of the stick she was holding.

“So, you know I am under doctors orders to rest.” He said. “I am not allowed to play hurling.”

Robyn grinned at him. “Well come and get some fresh air with me then.” She handed him one of the sticks that was flat with a curved end. “It doesn’t take much effort.”

“You just said it was one of the most fast paced and dangerous game in Ireland.”

“When you actually play the game properly. We are just going to go and hit the sliotar, the ball, with the hurley stick into the goal.”

“Me and cwtch are just going to hang out here.”

Robyn moved to stand in front of him, her head tilted. “It’s just like cricket.”

“I am feeling kind of achy today. Think I should stay on the couch.”

“Achy my arse!” Laughed Robyn. “You had no trouble moving all those bears to the couch earlier.”

“The bears are light.”

“I will show you how to bake key lime pie tomorrow.”

“Ok so you just hit the ball like cricket?” Taron got to his feet while Robyn smirked at him. “What’s the shit eating grin for?” He asked.

“Men are easily bribed.” She said as she started to walk away from him still hopping the ball off the end of the hurley.

“You were a sporty kid, weren’t you?” He asked as she followed her out the front door, closing it behind him.

“Absolutely not. I never was sporty but dad encouraged me to play camogie, the female version of hurling. I gave it a season but then gave it up. I am not a sports person but every now and again, I head out to the football field and have a play around.”

“And now you are dragging me with you.” Taron said as he watched her still volley the small ball off the hurley stick.

“I will pay you in baking skills and to be fair you kind of owe me.”

“How?”

Robyn stopped and caught the ball in her left hand. “Do you think any other woman would have allowed you to snoop so much through her home and not say anything about all the re-arranging you have been doing?”

Taron smiled a little. “I was wondering if you were ever going to say something. I have been waiting for the backlash for moving all of your stuff around.”

“No backlash to come from this woman.” She said, walking up the drive to her old childhood come. “I have found it amusing.”

“You switched the shampoo back to way I put it.”

“I can get used to little changes, though the DVD’s will probably not stay backwards. My OCD is not liking that change at all and I am just going to get the dog, if that’s ok. She’ll happily run around the football field while we are in there.” Robyn could see a little confusion in Taron’s eyes as he followed her around the back of her old house. “And like I said you owe me.” Robyn used the hurley to roll a green tennis ball back and flick it up in the air, catching it in her left hand along side the other ball she was holding.

“Should I be worried?” Asked Taron as they walked into the back garden.

“Nope.” Answered Robyn giving her mam a wave through the kitchen window and she continued on into the house, Taron right behind her.

“And you’re back for more stories Taron?” Asked Lizzie when her daughter and guest strolled into the kitchen.

“Nah just for Pearl.” Answered Robyn, the dog running her way, tail wagging. “I am going to show Taron how to play hurling.”

“Do you want a helmet?” Robyn’s dad strolled into the kitchen when he heard his daughter mention hurling.

“A helmet?” Taron looked to Robyn, eyes wide. “I need a helmet?”

“No, you don’t and we are going now. I only wanted the dog.” She lightly pushed on Taron’s back. “You don’t need a helmet. Let’s go.”

“Don’t hit the ball at his pretty face Robyn!” Called Lizzie as her daughter rushed out of the door, pulling on Taron’s hand as he went, the dog following them.

“Maybe I should take up the offer of the helmet.” Questioned Taron as they walked back down the drive.

“We are going to be hitting the ball at the goal, not each other.” Robyn gently threw the tennis ball down the road, the dog running straight after it.

“I don’t need matching bruising on the other side of my face though.”

“Thought you said you trusted me?”

“I do.” Taron replied quickly. “It’s the wind and force of gravity that I don’t.”

“Good answer but you’ll be grand. This way.”

Robyn made her way in through a small hole in the hedge, calling Peral who came running, Taron following her up the small incline and into a football field he had no idea existed beside her house.

“Welcome to Kilcreen’s local GAA club. You have gained access through the private entrance.” She grinned, picking up the tennis ball Pearl had left at her feet and throwing it further away this time. Robyn walked over the grassy area and ducked under the bars to get onto the pitch, the dog coming back with the ball again. She dropped the white leather ball from her hands and picking up the tennis ball, threw it in the air with her left hand and with one swift swing of the hurley, her two hands holding the handle, hit the ball for the dog down the pitch.

“Thought you said you only played for one season?” Taron watched at the dog ran full speed after the ball, while Robyn used the hurley to pick up the other easily and catch it in her hands.

“I did. I just don’t have the interest in the competitiveness of it and anyone can hit a ball with a hurley.” She walked over towards the goal. “Even you.”

Taron dropped the ball she had given him and hit it gently with the hurley, taking his time. He enjoyed how she easily invited him into her world and surprised him daily with little adventures. He hit the ball a little harder, still conscious of his healing ribs. Pearl ran past him and dropped the ball for Robyn and she quickly picked it up and hit it again for the dog.

“Are you even allowed in here?” He asked as he stood beside her in the middle of the goal posts.

“Absolutely.”

“Are you just saying that?”

“No one would try to kick me out. My dad is president of the club. He has been involved with the club since he was a kid and has coached many teams. He also got the funding which helped build that clubhouse.”

“Like father like daughter!” Laughed Taron.

“Yes, you could say so.” Robyn picked up the tennis ball Pearl had left for her again. “So, I can come in whenever I want and no one can say anything. You want to try and hit the ball for her?”

“I don’t think I will be as good as you.”

“She won’t care. She just wants to run after the ball.”

“You go again so I can watch and learn.” Robyn threw the ball up, swung back the hurley and hit it hard, Pearl galloping after it. “Just like that.” Robyn looked to him. “Don’t give me that look Taron. I watched Rocketman. I know you hit that baseball on your first take and nearly every take after that.”

“Ahh shit. I forgot about that.”

“Maybe I should have compared hurling to baseball instead of cricket.”

The dog came back with the ball and dropped it at Robyn’s shoes. Using the hurley, she picked up the ball and handed it to him. “Just don’t hurt yourself. Or me.”

Taron took two long strides away from Robyn. “No guarantee I will get this first go.”

“No pressure on you to do that.”

“I don’t want to disappoint Pearl.” When Taron moved away from Robyn, the brown and white dog followed him and sat sitting patiently waiting for him to hit the ball for her.

“I’ll speak to her if you don’t hit it.” Grinned Robyn.

Chuckling, Taron pulled his phone from his pocket. “Let’s make some more memories.”

“You want me to video this?”

“Yeah, why not. I can show my mates at home.”

“Don’t you want a practise shot?” Asked Robyn as she set up his phone to video.

“I am going to take a chance on the first try. Can’t let Pearl down.”

“Ok I am recording.”

Taron threw the tennis ball up in the air, a little higher than he meant to, with a thud that echoed around the empty field, hit the tennis ball a little further than Robyn had, the dog taking to a sprint to run after it.

“Ahh yes!” Shouted Taron with excitement. “And it was a little better than yours!” He gloated doing a little dance as he walked back over to her.

“That was a tennis ball, not a sliotar. It is a lot lighter.”

“You can do better?” Asked Taron taking the phone from her and turning it so both their faces were in the frame.

“Yes, I can do better.” She replied.

Taron held his hand out towards where he had been standing. Robyn smirked at him and picked up the sliotar and walked away from him, Taron filming her the whole time. The dog came to stand at her feet with the tennis ball, Robyn took it from the dog and threw it to Taron to catch. “Go sit with Taron.” She said to the dog, who followed her instructions and sat at Taron’s feet “Stay.” She hopped the white ball off the end of the hurley. “If I hit this further than you hit the tennis ball, then you have to go and get it.”

“Sure. That’s all?”

“You want me to ask you to wear your Elton hot pants and send a picture of you doing so to Claire? And Maggie?”

“Ok so loser goes to get the ball.”

“Yeah that’s what I thought.”

It took less than five seconds for Robyn to throw the slightly heavier ball in the air and hit it very hard, the echo resonating around the empty field, as she put her whole body weight into the strike, the ball landing just past the forty five metre line on the opposite side of the pitch, much further than where Taron had hit his.

“Tennis ball?” She asked looking to Taron, who stood with his mouth slightly open but he threw her the tennis ball. From his throw, she hit it with the same force as the sliotar and the tennis ball travelled further. “Go Pearl!” She called and the dog left Taron’s side while she went to stand beside him. She took the phone from him. “Go Taron!” She laughed and he made a face for the video he was still filming and started to walk down the grass field to where Robyn had hit the ball, while she started to sing We Are the Champions as he walked away. She continued to film Taron as he picked up the ball and walked back to her.

“You still filming?” He asked throwing her the ball.

“Making memories, Taron, making memories.” She caught the ball and handed him his phone back. “You want to try and score some points now?”

“Let give it a go.” He agreed finally stopping the recording.

It was a half an hour filled with their laughs and shouts, Taron enjoying his newly learnt skill. He took it easy, making sure he didn’t push himself too hard but still celebrated each time the ball went through the posts into the goal and even more so when it flew over and between the bars.

“If you keep pulling out all of your surprises for me before Saturday Robyn, I won’t want to come back.” He said as they sat on the ground in the goals, Pearl between then, panting hard from all of her running around.

“And you have figured out my master plan.” She let out a fake cackle, Taron laughing at her.

“So, you don’t want me to come back then?” He said throwing some grass at her.

“You will always be welcomed back with open arms.”

“And baked goods?”

“If there is nothing in my fridge when you arrive, we can bake something together.”

“Like key lime pie?”

“Like key lime pie.”

“So, when do we get to make that? It was my reward for learning hurling with you.”

“Tomorrow?” She suggested. “I will have to get the ingredients in the shop.”

“Yes shopping! I love shopping.”

“We don’t need a pile of stuff Taron. Just the ingredients for the pie.” Robyn looked his way when a pile of grass landed on her arms. “And there is no surprise inside it either.” She picked the grass from her arms and threw it back at him. “It is one you could make for your mam and you won’t need a recipe for it. It’s very easy and simple.”

“You do realise that the things you are good at, like hurling, baking and playing piano are simple for you because you are good at them.”

“Well you are good at throwing grass it seems!” Robyn took some more grass from her jumper. She threw it back his way, another wade of blades landing on her once she got the others off. “Taron, you are…”

“Handsome? Funny? Incorrigible?” He asked grinning.

“That last one yes.”

“Oh, so you don’t think I am handsome then?” He got to his knees, his two hands at his sides, full of grass.

“Because I am really going to say that to your face.”

“So, you do think I am handsome?” Robyn shook her head at him, throwing the tennis ball for Pearl, who ran after it.

With the space between them, now that the dog had moved, Taron took the chance to move closer to Robyn. “Say it!”

“Nope.”

“Say it. Say ‘Taron you are handsome.’” He did the best Irish accent he could muster up, grinning as Robyn rolled her eyes at him.

“Nope.”

“You really should say it, especially if you believe it is true.”

“No, I really shouldn’t and nothing you can do will make me say it.”

“Oh really?” Taron dropped the grass he was holding onto the ground and with his two hands started to tickle Robyn, her hands immediately trying to push his away but Taron used his strength against her and continued to tickle her mercilessly. “Tell me!”

“Never!” Robyn tried to lay down, turn over and crawl away but Taron grabbed her sides and turned her over onto her back and got his hands to her stomach again, fingers tickling her skin as it came on show as she tried to move away from him.

“I won’t stop till you say it!” He laughed, enjoying how Robyn’s chuckles came from deep inside, as she squirmed under him. “Why Robyn I never knew you were so tickly.”

“Taron!” She called still laughing. “You are not going to break me!” She tried to moved his hands again but he knelt firm, nimble and soft fingertips running up and down her sides. Using her feet, Robyn started to push herself backwards, desperately trying to get away from Taron as he tickled her sympathetically, his own laughter filling the air. He snuck his hands under the elastic band of her hoodie and aimed straight for her ribs, Robyn immediately squirming more under his warm touch.

“Come on chicken, you know you want to say it!”

“Never!” Robyn tried to drag Taron’s hands by his wrists from under her jumper, but her movement only made him more determined and he put a little more vigour in the speed of the tickles. “Ok ok! Taron please stop!” She cried, wet tears starting to form at the corner of her eyes from laughing.

“Tell me you think I am handsome! Admit it!” He demanded feeling his hands slip down her stomach and she wriggled away from him. “Don’t even Robyn!” He chuckled.

Robyn moved a few inches backwards again when she felt Taron’s hands ease a little but then she felt a weight on her right leg and realised that Taron had thrown one of his legs over hers to carefully pin her down. “Taron!” She put her two hands on his chest and gave herself one more push backwards, while trying to knock him over with her other leg but her laughter suddenly stopped and she gave a shout of pain as her head hit the goalpost, Taron lifting his hands immediately from her.

“Robyn?” He asked concerned as he heard her groan a little, laying down beside her, so he was curled up protectively against her left side.

“Ugh why do I always get the raw end of these play fights.”

Taron brushed her hair from her face as he leaned over her, his leg still entwined with hers. “You ok?”

“Yeah I am ok.” She said bringing her left hand up to rub the back of her head. She felt Taron’s fingers beside hers as he massaged where she had hit her head off the wooden goal post, his hand that had moved her hair away now at the back of her head. “I hate being tickled.”

“I noticed.” He said grinning at her. “You sure you’re alright?” His hand moved back to her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. Taron felt his heart skip a beat, his stomach drop and a heat rise to his cheeks as he half held Robyn in his arms on the grass on the ground. His eyes closed when he felt Robyn’s left hand rest on his cheek and when he opened them, he didn’t even feel himself moving closer to her but her face was getting closer to his, freckles and blue eyes becoming clearer as he moved. A shaky nervous breath left his lips as Robyn’s hand moved from his cheek around to the back of his neck, her fingers twirling through his hair, her fingertips leaving electric sparks against his heated skin.

Robyn had never seen Taron’s eyes so dark, their colour changing almost completely to brown with a slight ring of green around the edge. Her right hand was still flat against his chest and she could feel how his heart beat changed quicker than a finger click. Her left hand automatically went to his cheek, her hand on skin that was blushed and warm and Robyn knew it wasn’t from their effort of trying to play some Irish sport. She inched her hand down his jaw, his growing beard soft yet coarse against her fingers. He hadn’t bothered to shave since last weekend and as her hand moved down his neck, her thumb grazed the mole at his throat and she felt him swallow as she lightly trailed her fingers across to the back of his neck and into the hair as the back of his head. Her eyes closed for a few seconds as his own hand cupped her cheek just as delicately as she had held his and when she opened her eyes, Taron’s forehead met hers and she watched as he bit his bottom lip before dipping his head a little so their noses touched.

A tennis ball dropping on Robyn’s neck, made her break the intense stare she had with Taron and her heart started to beat rapidly after it had near stopped as his perfect face moved from hers. Her hand dropped from the back of his neck , Taron moving right back from her face and she was sure the red tint that filled his face mirrored hers and just as she had been working on ignoring those bubbling sparks, within milliseconds, they were ignited again but Pearl had finally found the ball she had thrown earlier and happily dropped it back to her master, not caring that she was lying down on the grass with her new friend, breaking the tender but charged connection between herself and Taron

“Thanks Pearl.” Robyn pushed the dog’s nose from her face as she started to lick her. “Ugh Pearl no.”

Taron moved so Robyn could sit up and took his leg from hers so she wasn’t pinned down any more. They sat side by side with each other, Robyn throwing the ball for the dog again. It was the first slightly uncomfortable silence that ever fell between them, both thinking about what would have happened if the dog hadn’t of come back with her precious ball.

Taron was desperate to run his hands through his hair, stand up and shake himself off but instead made himself sit still and try to take calming breathes without Robyn knowing he was doing so, but as she sat right beside him, their shoulders touching, he could feel the one long breath she took. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who needed a minute or two to collect themselves. He tucked shaking hands under his arms but felt Robyn hook her right arm through his left elbow and the kiss she placed on his left cheek triggered the good kind of tingles on his skin.

Nervous energy ran through Robyn’s blood and she really needed to do something with her hands as she started to pull at the skin around her thumbs. Her heart was still racing and from the corner of her eyes, saw Taron slip his hands under his arms so she linked her arm with his and without thinking twice moved so she could kiss his cheek, lingering a little with her lips pressed against his soft skin before she turned back to stare in front of her.

“Taron?”

“Hmm?”

“You are easy on the eye.”

He chuckled a little. “Robyn?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re alright.” He chuckled more when she pulled her arm from his and dug her elbow gently into his left side. “You know I think you are beautiful Robyn. Inside and out.”

“Taron?”

“Yep.”

“You are handsome.”

Pearl came running back with the ball again this time dropping it beside Taron, who threw it for her again.

“We should probably head back.” Said Robyn as she looked to Taron. “It’s getting dark.” She dropped her left arm around his waist and leaning her head on his shoulder, gave his waist a squeeze when he didn’t answer or look at her.  “Few more minutes?”

“Please.”

Granting Taron his wish, she gave him another little squeeze, Taron dropping his own arm around her waist and when Pearl came back, Robyn made her lay down beside her, so they could just sit together and watch as the sky changed from light blue to dark blue to black, taking their heat from each other as they night drew in cold, that slight awkward moment between them setting with the sun, their usual secure feeling coming back quickly.

[turbobyakuren]

Idea for a Geronimo skillset rehaul 

1: Target buster up + ATK up + crit up

2: Target arts up + NP gen up + NP battery

3: Target quick up + crit star gen up + crit star gain

NP: keep as is it’s perfect

Idea for a Caster Gilles skillset rehaul

1: keep debuff success up & increase arts

2: reduce all enemy's NP damage + increase all allies' NP damage + increase the ATK of all chaoic allies

3: keep as is

NP: dmg to all enemy, increase HP max + def up for gilles (np level) ; reduces ATK and debuff res for all enemies (overcharge)

Idea for a Boudica skillset rehaul

1: Strengthened 1st skill became good so keep as is

2: Maybe add another effect? I can’t think of something aside “gain crit stars” but i think this is too easy

3: Maybe grant a Def ignore buff in addition to the arts up

NP: Keep as is (post strengthen ofc) it’s not too bad but maybe add one more effect

[duskowithapen]

You Remind Me of The Babe

Chapter Two

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Platonic 

Warning: Minor Graphic Description of Vomit

Read on AO3

Read on Fanfiction

AySo did not like electro-magnetic pulse devices. They interfered with the communication between their synapses and processors, disrupted the rhythm of their heart, caused minor damage to their wiring from stray electrical discharge, and were quite an inconvenience. Slumped on the dusty ground of the hanger, AySo accessed their memory banks from the hours prior to being forcefully disabled.

Magic Baby had been quite an easy infant to take care of (after comparing their interactions to the recollections AySo collected from the Holonet). He was calm while AySo completed the repairs, enjoyed the bone broth Motto prepared for him, and entered REM sleep just before the rise of Chenini. Despite Motto’s protests, they continued the repairs after placing Magic Baby in their bunk for safe keeping. By the first sunrise, the Razor Crest was suitably repaired. There were many things AySo still wished to do – a complete rehaul of the fuel lines, repairing, reprogramming and recalibrating the navicomputer (they hacked into it during the more monotonous repairs, and it was dreadfully out of date), and a deep and thorough cleaning off all exhaust vents, wire casings, landing gear joints, and other such grime-ridden areas, among other things – but Motto threatened to remove their leg if they picked up another tool before the Mandalorian returned.

While AySo would be able to prevent any of their body parts being removed without permission, they owed Motto much for not turning them into the Hutts, so they obliged. Five and three-fifths of a standard hour went by. Magic Baby explored the hanger, bringing AySo small items that the infant found interesting. Occassionally he would use his Force to collect items out of reach. This would consistently be followed by a period of peace and stillness.

A humanoid male entered the hanger, heralded by the sound of his hover-bike. Motto greeted him with Magic Baby in her arms – she must have believed it to be the Mandalorian – but it was a different bounty hunter. AySo had been chased by him when she first arrived of Tatooine three standard months ago. He was wielding a blaster and aiming it at the infant.

Unacceptable.

They ignored the conversation that ensued, recording it for later analysis. (*Motto: What the fuck do you think you’re doing!* *Unknown: Do you know what you’re holding, how valuable it is?* *Motto: I don’t give a flying womp rat what you think the kid’s worth, you’re going to put down that fucking blaster!*) AySo used the various equipment cluttering the hanger as cover to make their way to the bounty hunter’s blind spot. Loosening their joints kept their movements silent. A wire seemed to twist in their lower thorax. Adrenaline rushed her system, setting off alerts. The lizard they consumed 48 standard hours ago now sat uncomfortably in their second stomach. They did not want to do this.

They had to.

AySo was in position. In one hand was a metal pipe – not their weapon of choice, but the most accessible at the moment. They went to step out. Sixer screeched past their foot with a battle cry.

The bounty hunter cursed as he spun, a wide shot singeing a couple of AySo’s dreads. They leapt forward, barely missing the humanoid’s legs with the pipe before twisting to snap his legs out from underneath him. He pulled them as he fell, both smacking into the ground. Another shot went off, impacting beside AySo’s head and sending up a flare of rock and sand, but they didn’t blink. They grappled with the bounty hunter for a moment, trying to claim control of the blaster. A knee collided with AySo’s side. Integrity alerts ran through their processor, but they were ignored in favour of extending their spine and wrapping the majority of their torso around the bend of the bounty hunters’ arm and twisting. There was a crack and a scream. The blaster barked next to AySo’s auditory sensors, creating static that almost covered the sound of flesh and scales burning along their shoulder. They twisted again, pining the bounty hunter’s legs with their own for a moment. Glancing up, AySo caught sight of Motto backing away with Magic Baby. The bounty hunter took advantage of their momentary lapse in attention, grasping both of AySo’s hands and rolling to sit solidly on their thorax. Their hands were pinned above their head. No matter how AySo moved their legs, the bounty hunter would not be dislodged.

He grinned. It was not a nice smile. “Ah, the infamous Hydra. I thought I saw you on the ship earlier. I wonder, does the Mandalorian know what kind of bounties he surrounds himself with?”

“I am not a bounty,” AySo said, only half processing the conversation as they focused on the construction of their right lower leg. They had not had cause to do this for some time, but the program was still within their data banks.

“Not according to the Hutts. They’re willing to pay handsomely for whoever brings them the Hydra’s head.” The bounty hunter shifted his grip – one of his arms was definitely broken – as he fiddled with something in his pocket. “Two bounties in one day – the Guild will have to accept me now.”

“Who is the other bounty?” AySo asked. They quickly severed the sensors within their leg, ignoring the sudden numbness. There was more than one reason why AySo cut off their jumpsuit at the knees – and not to show off their *pretty purple scales* as Motto liked to say. Behind the bounty hunter, the calf of their right leg slowly disassembled itself. The sound of excess parts hitting the ground was muffled by the sand.

“That little green gremlin doesn’t look like much, does he?” The bounty hunter shrugged and pulled out a small circular device. “Now, don’t move.”

The second the circle touched their head, small claws emerged and pierced the gaps between their scales. AySo thrashed, dislodging the bounty hunter, as electricity invaded their systems. Their ocular program was the first to go offline. The last was their auditory. It recorded one last soundbite –the distressed cry of the infant.

And that brought them to now.

**************

The Mandalorian slowly put his blaster on the ground, sparing a glance at the body beside it. It was Motto’s assistant, the strange looking Uraei. She was sprawled out on the sand, pitch black eyes meeting his sightlessly. Her right leg – he thought it had just been a prosthetic – was half disassembled, with something resembling the bare bones of a blaster attached to it with wires. A glowing circle was attached to her head, above one eye. Even as he straightened, the glow faded and disappeared. A blue light slowly circled in her eyes.

His hands behind his helment, he turned his attention to Calican. “Cuff him,” he ordered, pushing Motto forward.

She stumbles towards him with a pissed-off expression. “You better have a plan, Mando,” she muttered lowly, glancing down at her assistant. She saw the lights too. Her smile was both relieved and vindictive.

Calican hadn’t shut up. “You’re a guild traitor, Mando! Running off with one bounty – and then not catching the other one? Why’d you even take me up on my offer if you knew that Hydra was right under your nose?!” Sweat was beading at his temples as he shuffled the wiggling child in his broken arm. The womp rat was crying and reaching out – at one moment for him, and then Motto’s assistant the next. The Mandalorian readied his flare, even as Motto dragged his wrists behind him.

“Maybe you’re not the great bounty hunter everyone thinks you are,” Calican continued, “if you can’t –” He broke off.

There was a high-pitched whine. Motto’s assistant sat up. Her grin was wide and feral, revealing shiny white fangs. In her hand was the strange blaster, still attached to what remained of her leg. It glowed blue. “Put down the infant, nerf fucker.”

In response, Calican held the child up higher. “You won’t shoot me! You can’t risk hitting the kid!”

The feral smile grew wider. “I do not miss.”

There was a flash of light.

Calican wasn’t standing anymore. He had crumpled to his knees the second his head disintegrated, dropping both the child and his blaster as he slumped forward. Motto’s assistant lunged forward, catching the child against her chest with a cry. The wires pulled out of her leg with a sickening squelch, still connected to the blaster she’d left behind.

The Mandalorian was quick to pick up his own blaster, aiming it at her. “Give me back the child,” he ground out. The name Hydra wasn’t familiar – but who knows what she’d done to get a bounty on her head.

Her eyes now contained three blue rings. The child cooed up at her face, poking the metal circle with one claw. “I will not cause him harm.”

Motto stepped up beside him, pushing his blaster to the side. “Put that thing down, Mando. AySo’s no threat to you.”

“She made a blaster out of her leg,” he deadpanned. “That doesn’t sound like ‘harmless’ to me.” But despite his misgivings, he holstered the blaster. The child trusted her – and he seemed to have pretty good instincts regarding people.

“AySo’s a one trick pony with that – I can tell you right now that the leg’s the only full prosthetic.” Motto brushed past to poke at the remaining pieces of the leg.

“They, you mean.” There was a metallic undertone in AySo’s voice. Almost like his own modulator. “I prefer non-binary pronouns.”

****************

AySo stared impassively into the Mandalorians’ visor. Their stomach hurt. A foul taste lingered on their tongue. They wanted to throw up.

“I mean you no harm, Mandalorian.” They said haltingly, the electricity having upset the delicate balance between their organic and mechanical vocal cords, and they weren’t trying to be intimidating now. “The infant would be distraught should you be injured, and I have been tasked with ensuring his safety and happiness.”

Motto huffed as she wrapped a length of cloth around the remainder of their leg. “That’s AySo’s way of saying that they’re attached to the kid. Now, are you gonna give me a hand, or are you just gonna stand there and brood?”

The Mandalorian stared for a moment, before turning around to pick up AySo’s blaster and wires. Tension they hadn’t noticed tightening their spine relaxed, until their limbs went limp across the sand. Unfortunately, this also relaxed the hold they had on their gastrointestinal system. They were quick to push Magic Baby into Motto’s arms before turning to the side as they vomited. Black bile dripped from their lips into a pool of half-digested lizard.

There was more than one reason why their leg blaster was a last resort.

A rough hand pressed against their back. “Are you okay, AySo? That bastard wouldn’t let me check on you earlier – I wasn’t sure if an EMP could kill you.”

“It caused damage to both my organic and mechanical systems,” they choked out around another mouthful of bile. “I will be fine after a reboot and repairs.” They had begun those, even as they diverted power to the blaster, and AySo shuddered as sensation ran up their disassembled leg. The coarse cloth was rasping against the exposed end of their nerves.

Magic Baby cooed (*Noise Identified: Concern*) as he struggled out of Motto’s arms and into AySo’s lap. Their hand shook as they brushed it over the soft ears. “I am glad you are okay, Magic Baby,” they murmured, “I would have been most displeased if you had been injured.”

Motto snapped at the Mandalorian, “Put those part on the table over there, then get back here. I’m gonna need help moving this one.”

She then waved over Fiver, Eighter, and Sixer, the latter beeping in binary. *Sorry AS0.* The droid looked as distraught as a fully mechanical individual could. *Got in your way.*

AySo beeped back. *All good in the end. Be more careful next time.*

Motto tapped Sixer on the head. “I need you to grab AySo’s repair kit from her bunk. The rest of you, I need some food, a fuel cell, some replacement wire, and some bacta from the first aid kit. You know what, just bring the kit.”

The Mandalorian kneeled by their other side. His helmet was focused on the child still sitting of their lap. “Alright womp rat, I need you to get off her – them.”

Magic Baby just held onto their jumpsuit tighter, reaching up towards their face. He made more noises (*Noise Identified: Concern. Noise Identified: Confusion*). AySo reached up too. “Thank you, Magic Baby. I had almost forgotten.”

The Mandalorian made a choking noise. “Magic baby?”

AySo slipped their fingertips under the EMP and tugged, ignoring the trickle of oil and blood between their scales as the claws ripped free of their flesh. They would have to examine this later, to see if there was a way to shield their systems from it.

Motto threw up her hands. “Don’t go pulling things out of yourself AySo! You’re still organic enough to feel pain!” She snatched away the infant, carrying him over to the table. “Bring the stubborn creature over here Mando.”

When the Mandalorian hesitated, AySo started to lift themselves off the ground. If they crawled, keeping the remnants of their disassembled leg from dragging in the sand, they could make their way over to the table with a minimum of discomfort.

“And don’t let them do it themselves!”

The Mandalorian huffed something too muffled for their systems to decipher, reaching down and easily pulling AySo over his shoulder.

“I am not an invalid, Motto,” AySo said as they were deposited gently on the table. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Uh huh.” Motto didn’t even look at her as she tugged at the jumpsuit, pulling it away from the blaster wound across their shoulder. “That’s why you keep wincing whenever your leg touches the ground.”

Examining the programming controlling their micro-expressions, AySo was appalled to see it in shambles. Their body was responding to most outside stimuli visibly.

“So,” Motto began as she unwrapped AySo’s leg. “About payment.”

The Mandalorian tilted his helmet from his chair, firm hands holding the squirming infant on his lap. “I got enough credits from Calican to pay you.”

“Don’t want your credits.”

AySo disconnected the sensors to their leg as Motto began reconnecting the wires to their blaster. They had been turned back on during their reboot. They were curious – Motto had never refused credits in the three standard months they’d known her.

“Then what do you want.”

“I want you to get AySo off this planet.”

Both AySo and the Mandalorian froze.

What?

Motto looked up and met their eyes. “The Hutt’s know you’re on Tatooine. Calican contacted them to make sure the word-of-mouth bounty they had out on you was going to be honoured while he waited for Mando to come back. Who knows what they’ll do to you if you’re caught?”

AySo had a very good idea. They had been caught by Hutts before.

“And Mando, your ship needs a lot more work and constant upkeep. AySo’s the best mechanic I’ve ever met – better than me. They can probably do something about the kid’s bounty too.”

Magic Baby had a bounty? Interesting. A subroutine was created and immediately started exploring the Holonet. They wanted more information about that.

“I don’t want any droids on my ship.” The Mandalorians voice snapped AySo out of the strings of code and binary.

Their mouth tilted downwards by five degrees. “I am not a droid, Mandalorian. I am an augmented individual. Despite my cybernetic and mechanical enhancements, I still retain an organic consciousness. The more accurate classification for what I am would be cyborg.” They considered it to be an ill-fitting and outdated term, but close enough.

“I don’t need a crew.” He said after a moment.

“Your ship still requires upgrades. Your navicomputer is dreadfully out of date and running at 57% capability. Your hyperdrive looks like a two-year-old was given leave to try and program it. The Razor Crest, while a gorgeous piece of machinery, dates from before the Empire, and much of its technology reflects that.” AySo really did admire the Razor Crest. They always had a weakness for well-designed ships. They embarrassed themselves once in front of some Rebellion members when they were given the chance to work on the Millennial Falcon. “And I may be able to do something about the infants’ bounty – I was able to prevent my own bounty from being widely circulated, after all.”

The Mandalorian crossed his arms. “Why do the Hutts want you? Why do you have a bounty?”

“Oficially, I do not have a bounty,” AySo groaned as a series of supporting ‘bones’ were snapped back into place. “Unofficially, the Hutts want my head because I assist in running the freedom trail.”

Something relaxed in the Mandalorian’s shoulders. “You’re a slave runner.”

“I do not participate often in the physical escapes. I assist mainly in creating new identities and preventing freed slaves from being found again. I also regularly hack the Hutt systems to reorganise funds. The Empire remnants have also tried to find me, as I am technically a traitor to both the Republic and Confederacy of Independent Systems, due to my actions during both the Clone Wars and post Empire take over.” AySo allowed themselves to bare their teeth. “I am only technically a traitor because they refuse to admit to their participation in my existence.”

The Mandalorian made tilted his helmet. “You were created by the Empire?”

“I was augmented, experimented upon, and trained by an organization that later became part of the Empire. As far as I am aware, given that my memories before augmentation were removed, I was not a willing subject.” AySo didn’t like to thin about the blank spaces in their memory banks. They were left intentionally blank, in the hopes of finding footage from the times when they were Dana Hilal.

Something in their face must have discouraged any questions, because the Mandalorian was silent. Magic Baby looked up at him. Whatever he saw in the infant’s eyes must have changed his mind because he sighed. “Fine. But only until the Crest is fixed. Then I’m setting you down on another planet and you can find your way from there.”

AySo nodded. “Agreed.” While they would regret leaving behind their ship – or what remained of the poor thing – they had very little choice. They needed to get off Tatooine one way or another.

“Fine.” The Mandalorian stood and sat the child down in his place. “I’m going to get everything set up on the ship – how much longer are you going to take?”

Motto closed up a panel in their leg. “Not much longer. It’s mostly getting everything into place here – AySo can do their diagnosis and everything while you take off.”

Well, they were doing it right now, devoting a subroutine to collaborating the results, but it would take longer than they had to complete it. “If Eighter could please collect the box from my bunk, it contains my belongings. I will not take up much space or credits on your ship, Mandalorian.”

He grunted before walking away. Motto turned to look at them. “I’m gonna miss you kid… but I don’t pity you having to put up with that.” And she tilted her head in the Mandalorian’s direction with a laugh. “At least you’ve got the Magic Baby to keep you company.”

Said Magic Baby cooed a little in agreement, climbing the table to sit in their lap. AySo placed a hand on their head. “I do not much care for the actions of organics – I am looking forward to upgrading the Razor Crest. Such a fine ship does not deserve to bear such outdated machinery.”

Motto laughed and closed up the final leg panel. “Save the sweet talking for the ship, kid.”