#no goals are stolen goals and no one can convince me otherwise

[remedy7411]

I am trying to be reasonable and the Canucks v Utah Hockey Club game last night. I really really am. But it is NOT working.

Because I really want to know what the fuck Rick Tocchet was thinking? Does he just not know how to motivate his team? Is he a bad coach? Why couldn't he get the boys to shoot the puck at the net? It is a failure on the players that there were only 15 shots on goal and it is a failure of him as their coach.

I might actually look for his post game and see if he said anything about the fact that the game was sooo lobsided in shots on goal and why he was unable to motivate the team.

Honestly, I'm glad I focused on the Stars game because Robo played sooo well and I have more thoughts on RoopeRobo and RoboOtter because I have problems, but I am also kind of regretting not paying more attention to the Canucks game (I watched during intermissions and then after the Stars game for the last two thirds of the third period.) and that clearly wasn't enough because they looked like a different team then they did at the beginning of the month and not in a good way.

Elias Pettersson was trying so ridiculously hard to make something happen and had a couple of really good chances. Same with Brock Boeser. But you can't score if you don't shoot the puck at the net. Idk, I just feel like the coach should have done some coaching to help the players more...

[viiinx]

- Isn't imperialism something that all the Lord commit? Beside keeping power over all of Fodlan in every ending, Claude hold power over Fodlan and intervene military with his far superior army as King of Almyra while Dimitri keeps the stolen Sreng territory ( the diplomatic relation does better in some of Sylvain ending, but no mention of relishing the annexed southern half is made ).

And I would say Edelgard is not driven by a desire for imperialism. In hopes, she ally with Claude and it's Dimitri that chose to opt out neutrality to fight the Empire. You cannot attack the Church without attacking the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and in a war of this scale the Alliance necessarily get involved. Otherwise she has no goal of conquest, as shown by her words towards Brigid ( Petra in chapter 18 explore, Petra endings in CF, Petra support especially in Hopes ) and Almyra ( Insurmontable paralogue )

- "An ideal you have no way of uphold" how so? Edelgard is pretty much shown to succeed in CF, it's what stated and indirectly showed in numerous endings?

- I think an important element to consider is that Edelgard is not only here to get rid of crest. She's explicitly here to get rid of the nobility too ( Edelgard support with Ferdinand (A), Caspar (A) Lysithea (A), Hanneman (B), Constance (A), CF event 10 "Facing the Kingdom" and many other, so many CF endings, etc ).

- Do they actually depend that much on Relics for survival? Holst is one if not the strongest soldier in Fodlan despite lacking a Crest and a relics, and even the strongest crest bearer like Dimitri and Rodrigue can fall easily to simple soldier.

- To be fair what Sylvain is suggesting kinda would be present without the Church influence. While it's not exactly his idea of a flame orb, the Church banned oil "Flammable Black Water: A sticky black liquid was discovered in northern Faerghus. It burns fiercely and emits a highly toxic gas." explicitly for its nature as a weapon "The use of this wicked substance was forbidden by decree of the archbishop for the following reasons:

1. Misuse could result in accidental death.

2. It could be used tactically by those lacking magical ability.

3. Competition for it could cause strife.".

- Dimitri and Edelgard AM dialogue is complex. To me they're both not really listening, their discussion was kinda useless. Dimitri says he comes to try to understand her actions but never actually does and Edelgard is already sure in her belief, none of Dimitri points are something she didn't reflect on before. On both side, they are already convinced of their ideal and aren’t there to change their mind.

- To me it's again important to consider Edelgard wants to abolish crest but also nobility which is very tied to it. Correct me if I'm wrong but the Faergus noble don’t show interest on that point, and in the case of Dimitri pretty strongly maintain it. As an example in one of his ending says he "secure their line as a dynasty that lasted for generations to comes". Or in Hopes he directly state he protect the Church because he needs the Church doctrine to legitimate his power.

As for Edelgard not collaborating it's because it's too risky and require information she does not and cannot have easily. You know what the Blue Lions want because you know them well, but Edelgard’s does not. Fhaergus is known as very traditional and seems to value the crest the most so it’s rational to generally assume they won’t be sympathetic toward reform against. It’s especially the case since the Blue Lions don’t really publicy show their disdain towards crest pre-timeskip. Dimitri even defend them with the same argument you're using on their necessity. Furthermore, Edelgard would risk to give her plan away if she were to try to make her intentions clearer to find ally. She's in a situation were she cannot alert the Church or it's ally ( which Faerghus is ), as well as constantly navigate TWSITD watchful gaze. She does make a careful attempt with Claude in pre-timeskip VW but it does not lead to anything sadly.

- Why is the Church not bad? They banned life changing invention ( the shadow library ), they censor book ( VW cutscene and the shadow library ), they lie about Fodlan whole history, they directly lie about the very religion they're propelling, they show hostility towards other religion ( the woman at the altar in the Abyss ) and non-believer ( Claude and Leonie support, "Dare not doubt or deny the power or existence of the goddess." from the book of Seiros ), in the case of the Nabateans they keep the same figure in power for centuries and present themselves as saints, they military intervene in other country to defend their interests ( all of white clouds ) and they maintain power over the nobility of each nation especially Faerghus, their religion is used to legitimate nobility and especially the Emperor/King/Duke through the idea that crest are a gift of the goddess, etc

my evolution as a fe3h fan is rlly funny to me lol. i played the game for the first time when i was 15 and now at 19 im playing through three hopes (yes im super late dont ask) and the fact that there have been times where ive been obsessed with EVERY HOUSE is rlly funny to me

at the start i was a claude and golden deer stan through and through bc funny meme house and also the nemesis fight

then when i was starting to get a little more politically minded i fell into the “edelgard did nothing wrong” camp because. yeah!!!! meritocracy!!!! united!!!! fuck religion!!!

and now as an adult with a lot more awareness and a lot less edgy atheism i came to the conclusion that not only is imperialism and destroying people’s lives for an ideal you have no concrete way of upholding bad, but the entire “let’s get rid of crests” argument is not even a solid one because it centers adrestia and doesn’t take into account the other two regions’ need for heroes relics.

correct me if i’m missing something or if i’m wrong, but no one in adrestia’s nobility actually has a hero’s crest. if they have crests, they’re saint crests, and saint crests have compatibility with sacred weapons, which are different to heroes relics because anyone can use them without turning into a beast.

additionally, adrestia doesn’t have any immediate neighbors that could cause them trouble. it doesn’t directly border a non-fodlan country, and they seem to have taken care of their brigid situation by kidnapping petra. the empire has no immediate threats.

the kingdom and alliance tho????? they border sreng and almyra respectively, which seem to invade at the drop of a hat and force houses gautier and goneril respectively to be in constant combat. those two houses literally DEPEND ON THEIR RELICS FOR SURVIVAL. until someone figures out a better way for them to defend their lands, they NEED crests!!!

obviously this isn’t necessarily a good thing, since we see the path that miklan and rufus as crestless older sons go down, but it’s not like the kingdom is exactly keen on keeping this in place either. in three hopes they talk a ton abt how crest bloodlines are dying out and how something needs to change. hell, sylvain is someone who directly benefits from faerghus’ crest dependency and yet in his supports with shez, he’s going and devising powerful weapons that people without crests can use!!! we see time and time again that the young nobles of faerghus are interested in the same things edelgard is: establishing a more equal society, and decreasing the need for crests. but why doesn’t she just collaborate with them to that end???? why doesn’t she hear dimitri out when he tries to talk her out of continuing on this path????

oh yeah. the church.

i’m probably gonna yap abt the church later lol i’m running out of steam on this ramble. tiktok is banned and so this is what i’ve resolved to do while i sip my morning coffee lol bear with me

[antigonick]

FIVE CHARACTER TROPES

RULES: List five tropes applicable to your character, then tag others to do the same. (Tropes Wiki), repost / do not reblog.

(okay apparently it’s a Una day today, let’s do this). 

tagged by @forestcreatures​ and @impossible-rat-babies​ ♡ thank you, I’ve been losing my mind on TV tropes for a full hour. Tagging @ace-of-kings @mihqorio @heartbrreak and @ardellian​ if you want to!

Una.

FALLEN HERO / ANTI-HERO / FACE-HEEL TURN Not all villains are born. Some are made, and none are more tragic than the Fallen Hero. As the name implies, the Fallen Hero used to be a hero before doing a Face–Heel Turn. They may even have been an Ideal Hero or another equally optimistic archetype, up until the moment when they suffered something bad enough for them to lose all faith in good and idealism, be it the loss of a loved one, too many good deeds coming back to bite them hard, betrayal by someone they trusted the most, too much distrust from those who should have been allies, or some other faith-shattering event. It might even be a drawn out process of seduction to The Dark Side or fall from grace. Some Evil Old Folks happened to be this type in their younger days.

What they choose to do about it determines what they become:

If they retreat into themselves and fight evil mercilessly to dull the pain, they become an Anti-Hero, though if this fight is motivated by vengeance, they may run the risk of becoming like the very monsters they have sworn to destroy.

DETERMINATOR

A character — good or evil, male or female, young or old — who never gives up. Ever. No matter what.

There is no stopping the Determinator. They do not understand tact. They do not Know When to Fold 'Em, and it's a waste of time to tell them the odds. No one can reason with them. They'll do whatever they have to without question. No price is too great to pay for success, up to and including their own life. Do not expect them to realize they might be better off letting it go, even if they can barely stand. If you're ever kidnapped or lost with no hope of rescue, they'll be the one who will find you. Their adversaries will shout, in exasperated rage, "Why Won't You Die?!". For them, there is no line between "perseverance" and "insanity."

The nobility of their goal is not necessarily proportionate to their persistence. This is just as often an obsessive rival with a grudge as it is a hero on a chivalrous quest, and where their willpower ultimately leads them will depend both on their role and on where the work stands on the Sliding Scale of Idealism vs. Cynicism.

TELL ME HOW YOU FIGHT

and I will tell you what you are. You can tell a lot about a person by the way he fights. This is when a character's fighting style reflects his personality or methodology. Similar to Weapon of Choice except here, it's not so much what you use as how you use it.

• Suicidal Tactics: Character launches forward, not caring about leaving himself wide open to attack. It is a style appropriate for Blood Knight, a Death Seeker, a Leeroy Jenkins or a Berserker. Could be an Action Bomb.

• Self-Imposed Challenge: Character eschews weapons when everyone else uses them, or otherwise limits his power (and it may not be by choice); appropriate for a Proud Warrior Race Guy or variety of Martial Pacifist or "smiling, wrinkly old man" types. May be used by Blood Knights or Worthy Opponentswho can't get a satisfying fight any other way, which shows deserved overconfidence. May be fond of saying I Am Not Left-Handed.

• Fights Like a Normal: If a superpowered character prefers good old martial arts, then either he is too arrogant (villain) or afraid (hero) to use his powers, or he might simply find "normal" skills more enjoyable (either hero or villain).

• Close-Range Combatant: The character in this case is strong, confident and/or reckless, shining on hand-to-hand combat and often overlapping with the suicidal tactics described above, but with an emphasis on this character's lack of reach being a potentially crippling weakness.

ENEMY WITHIN

A specific form of Split Personality. Maybe the Body Horror became a bit too fused with someone. Maybe the Unstoppable Rage is getting... too unstoppable. Perhaps The Atoner's past is taking on a life of its own. Either way, the enemy is behind the hero's eyes, and its time is coming when it can take over. Until then, it'll do all it can to control him and get him to give in to its Horror Hunger. The thing to stress most is that the Enemy Within is the hero. He or she cannot simply exorcise it out. Often the Enemy Within is the cause of the powers that the hero has that allows them to do what they do. With Great Power Comes Great Insanity, remember?Often, since Evil Is Cool and Evil Feels Good, other characters may realize the danger before the hero and need to convince him.

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS

Usually, not quite a villain, but they act antagonistically enough that they're little better. Something has happened to our Fallen Hero: his village was destroyed, his friends killed, his puppy roasted on an open spit, his bike stolen, whatever. All that matters is that It's Personal, and he feels that the law just isn't suitable enough (or has become too corrupt and ignorant) to be of any use to him in settling the matter. He may justify his actions by claiming that it's Justice he's after, not vengeance, but anyone with half a brain can easily see that he's out for Revenge... unfortunately, we can also see that the more he hunts the cause of his woes, the more he takes on the villain's personality and mannerisms—something that our "hero" is too blinded by his single-minded goal to realize.

Our avenger may have good intentions—the fiend may well be too dangerous to be kept alive—but ultimately, his obsession with dealing out due punishment (or worse) and his refusal to think about what he's doing twists him into a monster just as bad as, or even worse than, the one he's hunting. And even before he gets to that point, it's nigh-impossible to turn him away; calling him out on it will be ignored or retaliated against. The Power of Friendship and The Power of Love were lost to him the moment the atrocity that sent him on his wild goose chasehappened; he feels that Team Spirit is just a hindrance, and that Love Is a Weakness that he can't afford to have.

Also includes, but not limited to (can you tell I’m cheating yet?): What You Are In The Dark, Beneath The Mask / Becoming The Mask, Escaped From the Lab / Become a Real Boy, Unreliable Narrator, No-Holds-Barred Beatdown, Berserk Button, Blood Knight / Knight Templar / Death Seeker / in Harm’s Way, Don’t You Dare Pity Me!, Heroic Sacrifice, Cute Bruiser, Mugging The Monster, Jerk With a Heart of Gold, Sir Swears-A-Lot, Telepathy, Love is a Weakness, Mind Rape, Roaring Rampage of Revenge, Humans Are the Real Monsters, The Power of Hate, and, indulgently, Birds of a Feather, Interplay of Sex and Violence, In Love With Your Carnage, Undying Loyalty, The Only One Allowed to Defeat You, I Know Your True Name. 

[cardboard-aliens]

I like to think that both Jack and Tenenbaum knew what was happening with the Big Sisters taking little girls from the surface and that Jack wanted to help Brigid by going back to Rapture with her, but she was adamant about him staying on the surface to be there for his daughters that he was able to save.

I agree! I mean I don't know how deeply they knew about Big Sisters and their origins (you'll have to forgive me, my ARG knowledge is surface level so you can correct me on that if it does good deeper into that lol) but with girls disappearing around Atlantic coasts, the sightings of Big Sisters, bundled with Meltzer contacting Tenenbaum they would’ve had a solid enough picture of the problem to make a plan of action, especially since they’re one of the few people who actually know about Rapture in full on the surface- though I don’t think they’d know anything about their enemy in Lamb or her goals.

Of course, Tenenbaum, in her work of atonement for her work on ADAM and Little Sisters, considers saving the stolen children and stopping whoever is behind it her responsibility and burden to bear, and Jack is a morally upstanding person and learning that more children are being forced through the horrors of Rapture that he’s experienced, that his daughters had to go through, would want to help and be a part of saving the next generation of little sisters.

Like you said though, Tenenbaum would not allow Jack to come with her. He’ll always be ranked among her little ones, regardless of how grown he is, and after eight years of peace of and healing she wouldn’t want to drag him back and expose him to more pain- plus he does have his children that are still dependent on him and need support. The last time he returned the city he’d been an object on standby- he didn’t have anything to leave behind and that’s not the case now.

I think Jack would try and argue with her about it (they’re both so stubborn sdjkfls) to convince her to let him go in place of her (because he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to her either, they’re family). He was designed and built to survive and take Rapture in the first place, he’d have a better chance of surviving (Idk if having Ryan’s blood would still give him an edge by BS2? I imagine Ryan’s genetics would be too built into Rapture to completely get rid of, but I can’t remember if there was something in BS2 that implied otherwise).

Of course, none of this logic sits with Tenenbaum at all, and in the end, she goes back alone with the knowledge that Jack and the girls are away and safe for the horrors she’s facing- and knowing that if she never comes back home he’ll never forgive her. He made her take his wrench so she can’t forget, and maybe for a bit of good luck (if you don’t think the wrench she has at the end of Minerva’s Den is Jack’s idk what to tell you- it IS and in this Ted Talk I will-)

Leaving Jack to hold down the fort on the surface until Tenenbaum comes back home, trying to figure out how to balance the truth of the situation with his daughters while making sure not to let anything slip that might remind them of their pasts. Tenenbaum’s absence would be too noticeable to not have a conversation, they all loved her. Together they all have to support each other as they wait for her to come back.

[simplyalexeiofficial]

Not explicitly romantic, but I plan on posting it to Ao3, so it may eventually get a second chapter, we’ll see.

-~-

After the disaster that was the seasons of 1814 and 1815, there wasn’t much left that Penelope Featherington had to lose. She’d lost her father, her friends, and her family’s reputation, and really, all that she’d begun with since the moment her mother had presented her and her sisters to the Queen.

That wasn’t quite true, the more she pondered it. She still had Lady Whistledown, she supposed, but that was a mere consolation prize for everything she’d sacrificed and had stolen from her.

After cousin Jack had absconded with most of what little remained of their fortune, Portia began aiming all of her attentions at Penelope‘s unmarried sister, Prudence. She would have been insulted, were it not for the fact that she’d long become resigned to her mother overlooking her.

Really, the only joy she managed to find after the ill-fated Featherington Ball was sneaking out and spending time with Genevieve.

Genevieve Delacroix, the faux-French modiste who, like Penelope, hid secrets behind a carefully constructed façade. Their late-night meetings in the back of the dress shop were the highlight of Penelope's otherwise bleak existence. Genevieve had a sharp wit and an even sharper needle, and her stories of Paris, the fashion world, and the artistic underground of Mayfair provided a welcome escape from the confines of her reality.

Unfortunately, the more she learned of the indulgences she would never have been allowed in polite society, the more she began to indulge in them herself. Having no measure of experience with them meant that she had no concept of balance, and indulgence swiftly became overindulgence.

One evening, as the pair sipped tea laced with burgundy amidst bolts of fabric and half-finished gowns, Genevieve looked at Penelope with a serious expression. "You know, ma chère, you have a strength about you that not many possess. The world may not see it, but I do, and I worry for you."

Penelope smiled faintly, touched by the words but not entirely convinced of the warning behind them. "Thank you, Genevieve. Your friendship means more to me than I can say."

Genevieve set her cup down with a deliberate motion and leaned closer. "Penelope, I see you slipping. These late nights, the drink... They are a dangerous path. You must be careful. The ton is not forgiving, and neither are its vices."

Penelope sighed, a mix of frustration and resignation. "What does it matter, Genevieve? The ton already sees me as nothing more than an old maid. A spinster. Lady Whistledown’s columns are the only place I hold any power."

Genevieve's eyes softened with concern, and she reached out to hold one of the debutante’s hands in her own. "Power, yes, but it comes at a cost. You wield it like a blade, but you must not cut yourself in the process."

Penelope knew her friend was right, but the escape was so alluring, so intoxicating. Every sip, every secret meeting, felt like reclaiming a piece of herself that had been lost to the demands and disappointments of her life. Yet she couldn't deny that the warnings were beginning to weigh on her.

-~-

Benedict Bridgerton was adrift. He had no purpose, no goal to work toward in life, and the one thing he did have was bought for him without his knowledge. Even worse than being adrift, he was a fraud. It was on one such evening of wallowing in his woes that he found himself among the soft glow of candles and lanterns illuminating Henry Granville's late-night salon.

He wandered through the throngs of guests, exchanging mild pleasantries and offering polite nods. He had accepted the invitation to Granville's party out of sheer boredom, hoping that the artist’s circle might provide a distraction from his discontent. His eyes scanned the crowd, seeking something—anything—that might spark his interest.

Granville's gatherings were known for their eclectic mix of guests: aristocrats, artists, and intellectuals mingled freely, creating a lively and stimulating atmosphere. Benedict sipped his drink, feeling slightly out of place after so long but grateful for the anonymity the large party afforded him. As he made his way through the crowded hall, he spotted Genevieve Delacroix, her distinctive curls drawing his attention.

"Miss Delacroix," he greeted with a plastered-on charming smile. "Always a pleasure to see you."

"Benedict," Genevieve replied warmly, though her eyes shone with less enthusiasm than usual. "I was beginning to think you had abandoned us for the more traditional soirées."

"Not at all," he laughed. "I find Granville’s gatherings far more... distracting in my time of need."

She tilted her head, studying him for a moment before leaning in conspiratorially. "If you're looking for distraction, I might have something for you."

Benedict raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Genevieve's expression turned increasingly serious, and she nodded towards a secluded corner of the room. "I believe you might find someone in need of your particular brand of charm and kindness."

Curiosity piqued, Benedict followed her gaze and saw Penelope Featherington, slumped on a bench, a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. Shock rippled through him; he had no idea Penelope was connected to Genevieve or the Granvilles. Her usually composed demeanor was notably absent, replaced by a haunted, lost look.

Benedict frowned, concern knotting his brow. "What happened?"

"She's been having a rough time," Genevieve said softly. "Too much loss, too many disappointments. And now, too much wine."

"I see," Benedict replied, his voice grim. "And you know this…" When the modiste kept her lips pressed in a grim line, he decided it would be more pertinent to follow that line of questioning at a less dire time. He instead thanked Genevieve and made his way over to Penelope.

As he approached, the full extent of her inebriation became evident. Penelope looked up, her eyes glassy and unfocused. "Mr Bridgerton," she slurred, a weak smile pulling at her lips. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Miss Featherington," he said gently, sitting down carefully beside her. She immediately rested her cheek against his upper arm, shocking him with her casual display. "Are you all right?"

"Never better," she replied with a bitter laugh, raising her glass in a mock toast. "Just enjoying the evening."

Benedict sighed, taking the glass from her hand and setting it aside. "I think you've had enough for one night."

She looked at him, her expression shifting from defiance to vulnerability. "Why do you care? You are not responsible for me, Mr Bridgerton.”

"Because I do," he said simply. "And because you deserve better than this."

Penelope's eyes filled with tears, and she looked decidedly away from him even as she leaned her cheek more heavily into the warmth of his sleeve. "That is not true."

He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You’re not alone, Ms Featherington."

She shook her head, not bothering to wipe at her leaking eyes. "I am, though."

Benedict’s heart ached at her words. "No, you have the Bridgertons. You have us."

Her responding laugh was bitter, a harsh sound that cut through the evening's warmth. "Do I?" she retorted, still not looking at him.

The question struck Benedict like a blow. He realized with a sinking heart that Penelope was right. Despite her closeness with his family, she had been left to fend for herself once Colin had absconded back to the continent after insulting her and Eloise had refused to see her after some undisclosed falling out. He thought of his siblings, each absorbed in their own lives and pursuits but still surrounded by the love and support of their family, and felt a pang of guilt when he realized Penelope did not have the same.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "You're right. We've failed you."

Her frown softened slightly, but her sadness remained. "I do not want your pity. I just want... I don't even know anymore."

He looked at her, seeing for the first time the depth of her pain and the similarity in their discontent. Both of them were lost, searching for meaning in a world that often seemed indifferent to their struggles. Benedict took a deep breath, making a decision he hadn’t fully realized until that moment.

"You have me, Penelope," he said firmly. "You do not have to navigate your troubles alone. Not anymore." She shook her head in denial, and he quickly dove in to reassure her of his sincerity. “I understand what it feels like to be adrift," he whispered, his voice surprisingly steady. "And you deserve someone who sees you, truly sees you, and cares for you. Let me be that person."

For a moment, Penelope was silent and finally looking at him, her eyes searching his face as if trying to gauge his sincerity. Then, slowly, she nodded. "Thank you, Benedict."

He smiled warmly, helping her to her feet. "Come on, let's get you home. We can figure everything else out later."

As he escorted her through the heady throng of revelry, Benedict felt a sense of purpose that he hadn't felt in a long time. Perhaps, in helping Penelope find her way, he might find his own as well.

I love soft Benedict and I was thinking for a prompt Pen's really down after 2x08 where she lost Eloise and Colin's cruel remark her mother being extra nasty to her after her cousin Jack anyways somehow she learns but having accidents and hurting herself it takes some of the internal pain away and as she learns it she becomes more frequent anyways Benedicts the only one who notices her suffering and can relate that's all I got I know kinda a lame plot lol.

Not lame! I don’t necessarily feel comfortable writing self harm though. I do like the base premise, and it does spark a similar idea I’d could play around with. Keep an eye out for something soon!

[highendphasers]

a brief evaluation of near and mello’s dynamic within the story, because i wanna get some things cleared and organized in my head. this is probably gonna be a bit messy, so i apologize in advance. 

i’d like to start off at wammy’s. even though we’re given very little insight to how wammy’s actually behaved, we know a very important fact about mello’s life there - he was always second, no matter what he did. he needed to try when near didn’t. i think people misunderstand mello’s thought process here, and automatically jump to the conclusion that mello hates near himself. in my opinion, mello really only hates his status as number one, and hates how he’s better at practically anything he tried to do. this was a big factor in his growing inferiority complex that never left his mind and left him aching to be ahead of near. this wasn’t about near as a person, but rather, his struggle to being seen for what he’s good at himself and his ache to be better at something. let’s get that out of the way.

their actual relationship at wammy’s is pretty blurry. mello says that they never got along, and near gave off the impression that they were on pretty good terms and still talked about mello fondly over the years. i’m gonna go out on a limb and say that mello was coming from his rank perspective and near was coming from their interactions and the way they got along otherwise. near seems to know quite a lot about mello, which leads us to believe that they were around each other pretty often. i like to think that this, mixed with near’s attachment problems and mello’s general distaste towards wammy’s house and all inhabitants (AND mello’s habit of lying) makes their relationship as kids as competitive, with some complicated feelings about each other, but being in each others space more often than not. note: this does not exclude mello’s hatred towards being number two. he was still a dick to near abt that. it gets a bit more complicated after L’s death, and the years following. i stand firm by the fact that i don’t think mello ever hated or will hate near. near has never hated and will never hate mello. when mello might be a factor in the kira case, near doesn’t say all that much about it - simply “you always let your emotions get ahead of you”. near thinking fondly and rather kindly of mello over these years is proof enough to me that he still values him in his life and even trusts him more than he trusts the SPK. he pretty much let mello get a hold of valuable information and even come into their headquarters scot-free. they’re going towards the same goal, just with different passions and different ways of getting there. near’s ambition is directed through the SPK. mello’s ambition is fully within himself.  i think that they’re both manipulative in their own ways. near accepts the challenge of a race despite not thinking about it like one (his hair covering his eyes, which is always a telltale sign of a lie in manga). he uses mello behind the scenes to get more information which pisses mello ALL the way off because of his need to be his own person. mello regularly manipulates the people he needs to work around to get what he wants and i think this is one of the traits that they both share with L and also a reason why they would have no moral problems working as a team lol. mello’s feelings towards near have deepened and gotten way more torn apart especially after the explosion, because while mello pulled the trigger to set off the bombs, i have a small theory that mello at least partially blames near for cornering him (and blames the rest on himself for being so stupid as to even let him come close to backing him into such a dangerous wall). nonetheless, mello is pissed and angry and he Needs To See Near. and even when he sees him, he leaves with a smile from a promise of doing the thing they did most - compete against each other. they feed off each other, and that is SO important. they both want to go their own ways in life and that’s no question. they butt their personalities together often. nothing could convince the other something unless they REALLY put in the effort and dedicated themselves to it in a formative and healthy way (which, as we’ve seen, will take many years of therapy and more than one fight). they have so many contrasting traits, and completely different foundations, yet share core similarities. near knows he’s better and mello is desperate to be better. you can see bits of near in mello and bits of mello in near whether this came naturally or from them rubbing off on each other subconsciously. when near discovered the true way mello died, he put his head down in what i would like to think is grievance. mello didn’t have to give near any information, he didn’t have to threaten to shoot instead of put a bullet in his head the moment he walked in. he didn’t have to stay close to near. i think thats something a lot of people miss. in the end, they stayed close, metaphorically. they were two sides of the same coin. i think in the sense of meronia it wouldn’t make for a 100% healthy relationship, but a VERY interesting one. the need and want for each other despite them both knowing they could never live together or be with each other 100% of the time because they’re both stubborn and need different stimuli. stolen makeout sessions and complicated dislike that mixes with being hopelessly in love. mello goes back to near and near goes back to mello even though they know they shouldn’t and after years of growth and development (if mello lived) i think it would make for a pretty nice dynamic after plenty of nights spent together and then abandoned and arguments that formed new understandings and.... Yea. yea.  that’s my take for the night! i wanna add onto this later and maybe edit it and rerelease it but. we will see. i love near and i love mello and i think they want to kiss 100% of the time.

[husbandograveyard]

Can i please have I,K,V letters for luffy and Ace? Thank you so much in advance ❤️❤️

Hi anon! I write max 5 for these at a time, so I chose to do all 3 with Ace and the first 2 with Luffy!  Feel free to jump in and ask V for Luffy again (in addition to 4 other letters/characters if you want, just make sure the combination is 5 things to write for me!), as long as the fluff alphabet requests are open~ (they are for now still!) Enjoy~ ! ヽ(o＾▽＾o)ノ

Fluff Alphabet: Ace - I, K, V & Luffy - I, K 

Ace 

I - inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Ace is incredibly insecure when it comes to actual relationships. Constantly doubting if he’s worth having people around that actually care for him. Of course, Luffy and Sabo helped, and being a part of the Whitebeard Pirate’s family made it a little easier for him to open up his heart, and yet. It takes you a lot of patience, a lot of affirmations. Ace worships you, thinks you are the best, most wonderful thing in the world, and will often tell you so. He has a hard time believing you when you tell him the same, but eventually, it gets better, with his family’s love and yours, Ace gets better at loving himself, and returning that love to you even more. 

Because Ace believes in you one thousand percent, he’s so supportive of everything you do, that if you need any convincing or help to overcome any struggle in your life, he will be there, every step of the way. You lift each other up and bring out the best in each other. 

K - kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Ace is warmer than the average human, a side effect of the mera mera no mi, and so his kisses are warm, no matter the temperature of the place where you’re kissing. The first kisses are very soft, tentative, his insecurities shining through a little. As the relationship progresses, kisses will get more intense, passionate but also more playful. His lips are a little dry because he has a terrible habit of biting on them whenever he’s thinking or focussing really hard. 

Ace is a fantastic kisser and he cannot get enough of kissing. Whether it is stolen kisses, quick pecks on the cheek or nose, Ace loves being close to you and loves kissing you. Ace loves it when you kiss his face, focussing on his freckles. It makes him all red and flustered, which you think is the most adorable thing ever, he loves making you all blushy with his kisses too. 

V - value - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Ace has three important things in his life: his brothers, his crew family and you. He’d kill and die for all three of them without any hesitation. He values you and your relationship so much. More than his own life. Again, he’s pretty insecure when it comes to him deserving love, so he does need some reassuring and you telling him he is worth just as much. 

Compared to the other two, you do need to understand that Ace will do anything and everything for his brothers and crew too. He will definitely dedicate the most private time to you, but you will have to understand that sometimes he’ll be off to visit his brothers, do missions for his crew and fulfill duties otherwise. 

It is a must for a relationship with Ace that all his family, at the very least, approves of you. You don’t have to get along great, although it would be a huge plus if you did. But he cannot be in a relationship with someone that would really clash with his family and or their ideals, it would tear him apart too much and he does not ever want to choose, he just wants to love. 

Luffy 

I - inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Trying new things? Afraid to do something? Luffy is always up for any kind of adventure and he loves it if he can take you along without putting you in any immediate danger. If you are scared to do something, he will try and convince you to do it anyway, and eventually, you’ll be inspired to be more fearless and adventurous than you were before. He makes you grow as a person, and the other way around, you help Luffy mature and be a little bit more diplomatic. Only a little, because this stubborn monkey will always follow his heart first, and that’s a quality you cannot ever change. Not that you would want to.

Luffy’s inherent talent is to inspire everyone and anyone around him without even trying. If there were any goals you had that you tell him about, he will do anything to help you achieve them, without interfering too much, it is your goal after all and not his, and you need to be proud of your accomplishment of reaching it yourself! 

K - kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Luffy tends to be a little over-enthusiastic in almost everything he does, and his kisses are no exception. With little to no experience, you’ll have to be a little patient with him and how rough he can be. It’s never his intent to hurt you, he just cannot help it, he gets carried away in the moment. 

Luffy is not too big on long passionate kisses anyway. He generally prefers hugging, or soft and cute surprise kisses while you’re doing other things together. Forehead kisses, kisses on your cheeks, nose, soft pecks on the lips, those are way more frequent than actual French kisses. 

The first kiss was very sloppy, a little clumsily done and in the end had made you laugh a lot, which is a huge part of why you love him so much, he makes you so happy and is able to make you laugh even with the smallest actions. You actually had to ask him to kiss you, making sure he was okay with it too, and when he went in, it was all teeth no passion. He got better after, especially if you let him know that you do like the occasional passionate kiss, everything for his lover!

[sethrine-writes]

Daughter of a Devil, Ch. 27

Main Characters:  Father!Dante & Daughter!Reader

Words:  1631

Warnings:  Mild canon-typical violence, Angst (but definitely some bittersweet happiness)

Story Summary:  Being a parent wasn’t easy, nor was there such thing as being perfect at it. Good news for Dante, seeing as how he doesn’t have the slightest idea in hell what to do with a child. Sometimes, he was certain that fighting off a horde of demons was a far better match than keeping up with his own daughter. Well, at least he wasn’t going down without a fight.

A/N:  So close to the end of this series! And the end of the Vergil arch is here! Enjoy!

------

Chapter 27 - What He Never Could Have (1 yr.)

For Lady, the battle had just ended.

Lying before her, cold and lifeless to the world thanks to four shots from her own gun, was her father, Arkham. He was an evil man, one that had allowed a demon to corrupt his heart in hopes of obtaining Sparda’s power and becoming an all-powerful entity. He had killed her mother and countless other people just for this one goal, had ruined her life, and for that, he paid the ultimate price by her own hands.

A laugh escaped her lips as she looked up into the sky, the light sound soon turning into relieved sobs and cascading tears.

“Here I thought I wasn’t gonna cry.”

She stayed like that for several minutes, arms resting lethargically against her raised knees as her mismatched eyes stared into the grey sky above. It looked like morning was quickly approaching, but all that could be seen was the gloom of shadows and ashy colors. Still, it was better than the darkness that had taken over some hours ago, a sign of, hopefully, the end to a nightmare years in the making.

Something shifted strangely to the right, catching Lady’s attention almost immediately. Reflexively, she twisted her body until she was on one knee and in a position to attack, aiming her gun at the source of the movement. Instead of a rogue demon coming from the rubble as she had thought there would be, a passageway that had previously been sealed off had suddenly opened. Within, she could see a staircase leading down, and a sound that sounded like gurgling of some sort echoed from the chamber.

Lady stood and followed the path into a well-lit, open area. In the middle of the chamber stood a large bed-like structure with walls that came to her waist. Within, Lady was surprised to find a child lying within, her tiny arms wrapped around a stuffed animal.

“Well, hello. What are you doing here?”

You looked up at the new sound of a voice, eyes wide as you took in the curious face standing above you. You reached up after a moment and began to babble, surprising Lady even more at the ease of which you accepted her presence. With the slightest bit of hesitation, Lady reached forward and took hold of you, carefully lifting you from the makeshift playpen and cradling you in her arms.

From what she could tell, you looked unharmed and taken care of, unbothered by whatever destruction had been occurring all night. You couldn’t have been any more than a year, at most, a darling little girl with a striking feature Lady felt almost familiar with.

“That hair...”

”Oh, one more thing-”

Dante turned to look over his shoulder at Lady, her weapon she had allowed him to borrow, Kalina Ann, resting comfortably on the opposite side. His eyes were set, holding so much more seriousness than any of their previous interactions before, the light, carefree nature hidden within all but vanishing in that one moment of time.

“They took something from me, something I can’t live without. If you find it, keep it safe for me.”

He turned and continued on his way for possibly the final battle that would determine the fate of the world. Though she didn’t quite understand what he meant or what exactly he was talking about, she owed him that much to at least attempt to find whatever it was that had been stolen.

She would have been a fool not to try.

“Could you be what he was looking for?”

---

Dante was in the midst of fighting off Vergil, swords clashing and sparks flying through the air like lightning striking the night sky. He had not wanted things to come to this, yet in the end, he had expected it. Despite the outcome, Vergil was still family, still his brother. It was pointless, however, to make him see reason when he was so hell-bent on his own idea of power.

“Why did you take her away from me when you could have easily gotten my attention?” Dante asked after a brief separation from steel against steel. “Seems a little below you, even for your standards.”

Vergil paused for a moment himself, twisting his sword within his grasp for a few moments before darting forward once more with intent to kill.

“Nothing is below a man seeking power.”

More clashing of swords, even more sparks lighting the darkness around them. Vergil was becoming slower, and it was easy to tell that he wouldn’t be able to hold up much longer. Dante was faring a little better, but he, too, was becoming tired. The next blow would be the final blow.

“You know, you were always the smarter one of us both; you always had that “holier-than-thou” complex that just really pissed me off. Why the hell were you so envious of me? No…why are you still?”

Vergil panted heavily from a distance away, eyes narrowed and casting a venomous glare toward his twin counterpart.

“I never could understand you, Dante. No brains, but always well-liked by many. No need for power, yet stronger than ever. It unnerved me, not understanding how you were possibly better than me. It wasn’t until recently that I finally understood.”

Without warning, he came running forward; Dante had no other choice but to follow along. It was time to end it all.

---

Vergil had been defeated.

Dante’s will was strong enough to overcome the power his brother possessed and still continued to seek, all because he had set out to this place for one purpose. He would protect you and the world he would be raising you in until his final breath, even if it meant defeating his one and only brother.

“You…always had what I never could have. Strength beyond power, awareness beyond knowledge…it seems, in this instance, you were more powerful than I."

The portal was closing from above, the area around them crumbling from the closing of the gates. Vergil clutched at the amulet around his neck, the one their mother had given to each of them so many years ago.

“No one can have this, Dante... It's mine. It belongs to a son of Sparda. Leave me and go, if you don't want to be trapped into the demon world. I'm staying."

He looked around briefly, an air of finality about him set in stone.

"This place was our father's home; your daughter will have no place or sense of purpose with her father here.”

Dante gave a defeated look of his own, knowing he would not be able to convince Vergil otherwise. He couldn’t save his brother from himself; it was something even he had no influence over.

But he could still have his life with you.

---

“I need that back,” Lady stated with the slightest smile, pointing at her weapon, Kalina Ann, while carefully cradling you with her other arm.

Dante leaned against the large weapon resting upright on the ground, a small smile playing at his lips despite his worn appearance.

“Tell you what; I’ll trade you for that bundle of joy you’ve got there.”

Lady looked down at your suddenly gibbering form reaching out for Dante, eyes even brighter than before. She couldn’t stop the slight laugh that escaped her lips.

“Deal.”

Once Dante had you back in his arms, he held you close to him in a semi-tight embrace for several long moments despite your struggling at the end. It surprised him how much he had been affected by your absence, how much he really missed having you there with him, tugging at his hair and reaching for the amulet around his neck and nearly poking his eyes out when you got too excited.

He pulled you away to get a better look at your person, happy to find that you had not been harmed in any way. Vergil could have had anything done to you, could have killed you in the blink of an eye, yet he had kept you safe and sound, away from all the mess he had created.

Maybe there was some part of him that wasn’t so cold-blooded, after all.

“Are you crying?”

“It’s only the rain,” Dante responded, fully aware of the tears falling down his face. He was happy, and he was upset, two conflicting feelings that were wreaking havoc on his emotional state.

Lady looked up and around the area they had found themselves in. It was wet in some areas, if not a bit dusty from the rubble, and water was standing in puddles here and there, but it was no longer storming as it had been.

“But the rain already stopped.”

Dante smiled a bit then, a sad sort of smile that spoke volumes.

“Devils never cry.”

“I see.”

You suddenly gave a loud squeal of excitement as you reached forward to grab at Dante’s hair, taking hold of the strands in the front and trying to pull them back. You then became sidetracked by the shimmering red of the amulet around his neck and preoccupied yourself with the object shortly after. This forced a laugh from both Dante and Lady.

“Maybe somewhere out there even a devil may cry when he loses a loved one, or when he finds another. Don't you think?”

Dante smiled then, holding you steady with one hand under your bottom while the other came to run through your fluffy locks of hair.

This was something Vergil had been talking about, what he could never have. You were what made Dante stronger, what gave him power in his weakest moments, and what made him strive to become a better person and a better father.

There was nothing else Dante could ever ask for than to do right by you.

[jokertrap-ran]

(未定事件簿) EVENT! 「消失的黄金」 [Tears of Themis] EVENT: The Lost Gold Translations (Xia Yan Chapter 2-01: Forest Zone)

“Regardless of what the other party is holding against you as a threat, be it information, the stolen goods; heck, even me, if I happen to fall into his hands… You'll prioritize your safety as the highest.”

*Tears of Themis Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *(y/n) is your name when in direct referral; otherwise referred to as MC.

Location: Forest

I decided to go with Xia Yan after we dispersed from Camp. Judging from the look on his face, I knew that he was trying to think up a little essay in his head to "convince" me otherwise.

Xia Yan: Dong Hechuan's way too dangerous…

MC: Halt! Stop speaking, let me speak.

MC: Let me ask you this. Is your mission here so top secret that you're required to act alone?

MC: If so, then I'll turn back right now and won't bother you.

MC: Don't you even DARE to lie to me, I can tell whether you're lying or not!

Xia Yan: There are some confidential things, and I don't have to act alone, but…

MC: You said that general robberies are not under the jurisdiction of the State Security…

MC: Which means that even though Dong Hechuan knows the location of the Stolen Gold and intends to steal it for himself, arresting him isn't your goal here, right?

Xia Yan: Theoretically speaking, yes.

Xia Yan: But now, I want to prevent him from hurting any others since there are so many people on this Island.

Xia Yan: Moreover, if Lin Dahai really is looking for him, only to kill him with his own hands, I won't stand by and watch him get killed either.

MC: From what I can conclude from your words, the objective of your mission is simply to locate the loot that hadn't been recovered from the Gold Robbery back then.

Xia Yan: Yup. To find the stolen goods and ship them on their merry way home.

MC: Thus, me being by your side is something that you absolutely need now, more than ever.

Xia Yan: Why…?

MC: Rather than arresting him right off the bat, you need more information about the lost goods from his own mouth.

MC: You're a big hunk of a man who looks agile enough and clearly has much experience of survival out in the wild. Someone like you would only make his hackles rise all too easily.

MC: He may treat you as a Treasure Hunter, or even a Policeman, and have his guard up against you.

MC: You should know how sensitive the prisoners, who've just gotten commuted from prison are, especially with suspected violations of law hanging over their heads.

MC: Therefore, you need a female partner so that you can pretend that you're just a couple, here to enjoy yourselves on this Island, to bring down his wariness.

Xia Yan: A c-couple!?

MC: What? Does the thought of being a couple with me offend you so?

MC: How many times have we already been mistaken as one by the people around us? You're lucky I don't hate you for it yet.

Xia Yan: No, no! I didn't mean it that way!

He waved his hands in panic, and did a brilliant demonstration of what it was like to "shake one's head like a rattle".

MC: So you agree?

Xia Yan: Yeah, you've got me.

MC: Great! Then let's get moving!

MC: You're the best partner to have when it comes to Outdoor Survival Activities!

Xia Yan: Wait a sec, I agree, but only on 3 conditions.

Xia Yan: If you don't agree to these terms, then I won't bring you along with me no matter what you say.

MC: Ok, spill. 

Xia Yan: One, you absolutely have to listen to me; if I tell you to retreat, you'll retreat, no questions asked.

Xia Yan: Two, no matter when or what the situation may be, your safety will always be of the utmost importance.

Xia Yan: Regardless of what the other party is holding against you as a threat, be it information, the stolen goods, heck, even me, if I happen to fall into his hands…

Xia Yan: You'll prioritize your safety as the highest.

MC: Don't talk nonsense, Xia Yan. How would you ever let yourself fall into their hands?

Xia Yan: Promise me.

MC: Fine. I promise that I won't throw myself into the fray.

MC: Don't worry. I've already prepared myself since I was the one who's asking to go along with you.

MC: Besides bringing all the necessary supplies and equipment with me, I've also signed up for a Field Survival course along with another one on the side, that taught me fighting skills, prior to coming here!

Xia Yan: Fighting? Why didn't you just ask me to teach you then?

MC: You? Teach me? You've been off doing Investigations even on the weekends recently! You can't really be expecting me to wake up at 5 in the morning to undertake classes from you, right?

MC: Cut the working-class some slack, Detective Xia!

Xia Yan: Then let's wait till this busy period's over…

MC: This conversation has totally gone off-track thanks to you. Hurry and spill the beans already! What's the third condition?

Xia Yan: The third condition's…

Xia Yan had suddenly picked his bag up, speeding away before he had even finished speaking.

MC: Hey!

Xia Yan: The last one to reach Dong Hechuan's location will be responsible for procuring fish for lunch!

MC: How shameless of you, Xia Yan! You stop right there!!

I watched him dart off, running speedily into the distance, and I, in turn, hurriedly tried to catch up to him. Dong Hechuan's position was also getting closer in the same direction as we ran forth.

Soon, we will be encountering the main target of the Operation.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-07: Beach Zone) | Next Part: (Xia Yan 2-02: Forest Zone)

[gasp-iwrotesomething]

Four Minutes Too Late (SFW)

Summary: MC had four minutes to bring him back; what she thought to be enough time. She was horrifically wrong. Now, after returning home numb from her failure, MC’s heart chips at the last note he left for her... and she wishes she could sock him one last time. 

Word Count: 1,928

Genre: Angst (SFW)

Warning(s): MAJOR SPOILERS FOR CAL S2, EPS 10-12, mentions of death, a bunch of angst

A/N: Here’s an alternate version of the finale of Cal North’s season 2 where the resurrection fails and MC reads the note he wrote to her. The idea of this is right up my alley for severe angst so enjoy this heartbreaking fic as much as you can.

Also inspired by the this post by @official-alex-cyprin.

MC couldn’t keep still.

Despite the numbness infecting her body, MC’s legs continued to carry around the room as she paces restlessly. How could she rest? Cal was dead. He was gone and he would never come back. MC had repeated that a thousand times over in her head at this point but somehow, after stating this in the space and comfort of her room, it still rattles her from the inside out. First with her heart shuddering and crying with the truth at hand, then the tears that prick her eyes goading her to actually cry. I failed. I failed him. And he had to suffer the consequences. She shuts her eyes against the intense waves of guilt and frustration and sadness that all lap at her, tugging and knotting her heartstrings sordidly. As morbid as it sounded, it was true; no one could convince her otherwise. Cal had sought her out specifically--asked for her assistance and utter trust--and relied on her to do her part. Bring him back to life. But she didn’t. MC tried with every ounce of her being to focus on breathing life back into him, conduct CPR until his chest moved, stab the adrenaline shot into his heart until she could feel the dull thump of it against her fingertips... But nothing happened. Thirty seconds passed--nothing. Then a minute--nothing--then two, then three, then four until Wrath had to pull her away--drag her back into reality and relay the message that it was too late. Cal was gone.

MC collapses backwards onto her bed as more guilt swamps her. What about Avi? The little boy had no idea what Cal had been planning and now that the plan failed, how in the hell would the troupe be able to break the news to him? He was so small and pure and spared from the hard travesties of life; with Cal there to raise and monitor him, Avi never had to experience loss or true grief. And now he had to face all of those inevitable feelings with the loss of his legal guardian--the person who he saw everyday and who he loved most of all. Avi would experience grief from the person who had gone through hell and back to assure that Avi never went through the past he had lived through. That shred of happiness was gone; stolen right from under his feet like it was nothing--like Cal was nothing. That, more than any other revelation MC experienced, is what tears her heart into ribbons. She couldn’t wash her mind clean of the last moments of Cal’s life--the look of regret and longing. The feeling that there was something that should’ve been said--something that should’ve been shared between the two of them. It was almost a physical thing wedged between them, thickening the air and wrapping around them like a blanket of urgency. MC recalled how she wondered if they’d ever break that silence between the two of them; wondered if this was the last fragment of regret she’d have to tote for the rest of her life if she failed.

And she did, and now the blanket was hopeless around her shoulders.

MC heaved a quavering sigh. How was she supposed to live with that? Live with the fact that she never got to tell him how she felt? That she never gave him the chance to speak his heart? Was that even a possible thing to do? The answer is turbid, unable to be fruitful to her aching chest, and she palms the tears gathering in her brown eyes. Was Cal’s death really her fault? Of course it was--she had been in charge of resuscitating him after all. And that wasn’t even the most morbid cluster of the guilt buzzing within her rib cage. MC had seen him take his last breath, felt the last essence of life leave his body; she had seen the blue of his eyes dull as they closed for the final time. She watched him sip the venom and she felt his heart slow and then stop against her hand. MC had felt his blood on her fingers, felt the lively warmth of it as Cal stilled and passed on to wherever he was destined to go. She had been the last thing Cal saw right before he died. The thought sickens her. Though it should be beneficial to her consolation process, it just made her want to bend the rules of reality and rewind time. I shouldn’t have been the last person Cal saw: it should’ve been Avi. It should’ve been Avi, for god’s sake!

Cal loved Avi more than anything and to pass without seeing him again--for the last time? MC couldn’t even fathom the prospect of it, her pulse twittering in her chest painfully. But Avi watching Cal die wasn’t something that should’ve happened; he’s a kid, he doesn’t deserve to have that mental image ingrained in his head for the rest of his life. MC retracts her wishes almost as fast as she forms them. Cal wanted Avi to live a life devoid of the sinister life of being a demon hunter--he wanted him to grow up a way that Cal didn’t get to. Avi seeing Cal dead didn’t align with Cal’s moral compass or even his goals for Avi. The least MC and the troupe could do was carry on his intentions and raise Avi just the way he did; to be a kid without a care in the world. MC presses the heel of her hand against her closed eyes. If only I had enough time... I could’ve prevented this whole fiasco. I could’ve saved Cal and he could be with Avi right now, happy and safe. We could break the wall between him and I and spread our feelings out on the table--be truthful with one another. MC descends into a spiral of ‘what if’s’, picturing a life--a reality--where Cal and her could be together. Where everyone was happy--where no grief or loss or Cal-lessness existed. 

Then she bolts upward as she remembers the note Cal had left for her.

MC’s heart races and trips and stumbles in her chest. For an earth-shattering moment, MC isn’t weakened by her everlasting grief; there’s just anticipation and giddiness, a storm of butterflies whisking around her belly. The note! How could I have forgotten about the note?! She mentally slaps herself for her idiocy and then rummages through her pocket, producing the envelope with the tiny, pleading writing scrawled on the outside. He had been so adamant that I don’t open this if it does work... what did he want me to see? The curiosity fluttering through her heart becomes more belligerent as her fingernail shimmies under the flap of the envelope, sliding to the left and summoning a gentle ripping sound to fill the air. It’s most tense during the long and surprisingly robust sound; as if mirroring the rhapsody of patter her heart sings. The flap flutters loose, gifting MC with access to the contents within. A note with a yellow tinge peeks at her from over the ‘v’ of the envelope. There it is. The note Cal wants me to read now that he’s... MC’s internal monologue fades off as the knot in her throat tightens--how was she supposed to read the note and not break down? Just thinking about the deceased gunslinger has her heart aching like it did when he had passed--more specifically, when the four minutes passed on. 

She slips the note from its bed of ivory white paper and carefully unfolds it, her heart beating so fast as if it was about to break free from her chest. She had no idea what would be inside--what Cal would’ve wrote--and what exactly would it change? Unless it was some voodoo spell that could resurrect Cal if she recited aloud, MC doubted that the contents would do anything to heal the tear that still scathed her. The paper unfurls in her hands, inviting her eyes in, giving passage to the few words that were scrawled in big yet careful letters.

I want to kiss you.

MC doesn’t move. In fact, she stills, her brown eyes traveling over every curve and line like it would all disperse into something else--something she didn’t even know. The realization thwacks her once it comes and as soon as it does, MC’s mind whirls with the implications--the possibilities. Cal wanted to... kiss me? A roll of warm emotions uncurl within her--like a long elegant carpet stitched in the classic style of a quilt--and her hand instinctively rises to her chest. So he had feelings for her too. All along, Cal had-! MC wanted to punch something, preferably the gunslinger himself, for leaving her with a dream that would never be. A dream that died along with him that night. With a shaking sigh, MC laughs--first lightly, then louder, hoping that letting it out would alleviate the pain that crowded her rib cage. It doesn’t, to say the least; all it does is heighten the urge to cry to the point where she’s laughing and vigorously scrubbing the tears gathering in her tear ducts. Now she looked like some kind of lunatic from a generic horror film--laughing and crying like she’d never known what a normal emotion felt like. Of course Cal would leave me hanging like this; why did I expect any sort of relief? But there was relief--relief that the connection between them wasn’t just a thread visible to only MC (and the rest of the troupe), but was also tangible to Cal as well. Maybe she should’ve been content with that; able to melt into a sense of giddiness that they both had feelings for one another. That there was an understatement between them of more. Maybe that was enough. But it’s not enough--god, why can’t it be enough? She was selfish to not be happy with the last thing Cal left for her--that was her first instinct--but how could she? She had been shown a future that she’d never get but had always wanted. 

MC slumps. She didn’t know how to feel about this anymore. Should she cry out of joy or cry out of misery--out of grief? MC didn’t even know if there was a right answer to that. For a moment, MC stares at the note, unable to do anything else. Then, tentatively, MC raises the piece of paper up to her lips. She kissed the note gingerly as if it were Cal's mouth, her heart full yet so empty. In her mind, she wonders how the kiss would be between the two of them. How Cal reacted, how he tasted, how his breath smelled, how soft his lips were, how warm her chest would grow... The curse of his absence settles into her fantasies and her heart ripped apart again--torn. She’d never be able to kiss him--never, no matter how much she wished otherwise. All MC could do was hope that wherever Cal was right now, above or below, that he felt the kiss.

Heard her heart's mournful orchestra and knew that it played for him alone.

Knew that she felt the same as he did for her.

That Cal knew that she wanted to kiss him too.

And that she would if she could--a thousand times over until his mouth never knew what it felt like to be unkissed.

“I’m sorry,” She murmurs softly, that hope that he’d hear it a flower flourishing in the ecosystem of her heart.

“I’m so, so, sorry, Cal.”

~FIN~

[fakeyellow]

Kamilah and co. must deal with an MC who is hell-bent on killing them. Part 1 here.

The first time Kamilah enters Mila’s room to give her a blood pack, she attacks her with a makeshift wooden stake.

It’s only the instincts that Kamilah has honed in the past two thousand years that save her because her mind goes blank, unable to process what is happening.

She easily disarms Mila, twisting her arms back and pressing her down to the floor, and Mila jerks around beneath her, furiously trying to escape.

“Don’t touch me!” Mila screams and Kamilah immediately backs away, the words slicing into her better than any weapon.

Fear is rampant in Mila’s eyes as is hatred as she stares murderously at Kamilah, “He never loved you, you know. It was all a lie because he just felt bad for how pathetic you were.”

“Gaius loves me,” Mila declares emphatically, “And he’ll never love you even if you kill me.”

Kamilah feels as if the breath has been stolen from her in one blow; she can so clearly remember the last time Mila had said such things, when she had confessed her love for Kamilah.

And here she is, declaring her love for the very monster who killed her.

Kamilah feels helpless; she wants to cry and just shake Mila by her shoulders until her memories return, until Mila remembers. She wants to kill that son of a bitch who dared manipulate Mila and her fist clenches at her side even as she knows she needs to calm down.

At this point, telling Mila the truth would only serve to isolate her further.

“Tell me if you need more,” Kamilah finally says, nodding at the blood pack that had fallen from her grip in the tussle and leaving.

The others are all waiting for her outside, having heard everything and their faces are filled with worry.

Kamilah merely shakes her head and leaves for the spare bedroom she’s currently staying in.

And once she’s alone, she leans against the door and falls to the floor. Kamilah takes a few deep breaths, willing the tears not to fall, and she just sits there for a couple of minutes.

Her hand is tight around the necklace that Mila gave her as a Solstice gift, that precious token of her heart, and Mila’s blood is warm in her grasp.

The necklace calms her down. That’s right. Mila is still alive and that is more than anything than Kamilah could have ever hoped for.

Kamilah’s resolve hardens and she gets up.

Mila is alive and that means Kamilah will stop at nothing to regain Mila’s memories.

—

Although Kamilah doesn’t want to, they all agree that Kamilah should not be going into Mila’s room for the time being.

Of all of them, Mila clearly reacts the most to Kamilah and Kamilah is the only one that she’s attacked.

The others are greeted with frosty silences despite their efforts to engage Mila to talk about her past year.

Until one day, Lily walks in and finds Mila sitting in the corner of the room, her knees clutched to her chest.

“Are you okay?” Lily asks and Mila lifts her head to reveal her face splotchy with tears.

“What do you care?” Mila says miserably, the bite gone from her voice.

“We all do, Mila,” Lily says, carefully going closer to her and finally sitting next to her, “We all care so much about you.”

And perhaps the days locked up in the room have finally worn down Mila but she responds.

“Why couldn’t you leave us alone?” Mila asks wretchedly, “Why did you try to kill me so many times? I never hurt any of you!”

Lily’s mind begins to race- this is the first time Mila’s opened to any of them and she has to be careful so that Mila doesn’t shut down.

“We’d never do that!” Lily can’t help but exclaim before pausing, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Mila scoffs halfheartedly, “Gaius warned me you’d try to do this. Try to turn me against him with your lies. It’s not going to work so just go.”

There is no room for negotiation in her voice and so Lily gets up and leaves, but it is the most they’ve gotten her to speak and it is a sign that progress is slowly but surely being made.

—

Although Mila doesn’t have any more moments of weakness, she cools down significantly and they decide to cautiously let her out of her room.

She wanders down to the basement once and sees Jax training in the studio. Her curiosity gets the better of her and she watches the speed with which he waves his sword with awe.

Jax completes a particularly complex move before he calls out to her, “Want to join me?”

Mila hesitantly approaches him, unable to contain her interest, “You’d let me have a sword?”

Jax grins, “Maybe we’ll start with wooden swords then… But I was teaching you, you know. Before Gaius took you.”

Mila doesn’t respond- by this time, she’s heard their stories about how Gaius was the one to steal her memories and trick her numerous times.

Part of her wants to believe them because they’re so convincing, the story filling in all of the gaps. Wouldn’t they have killed her by now if that was their goal?

But then Mila cannot handle the consequences if what they are saying is true and Gaius has really stolen everything from her.

Mila picks up the sword wordlessly and finds her body falling into a position that feels familiar even though she has no memories of swordplay.

“Less talking, more fighting.”

—

Over the next month, they all take turns showing Mila things from her past, things that she used to enjoy doing, and although Mila’s memories are still long gone, she slowly finds herself warming up to them.

She’s especially close to Lily and Lily can’t help but feel guilty about this, reassuring Kamilah that it’s probably because Gaius knew the least about her and wasn’t as able to brainwash Mila against her.

But the words are hollow because Mila has also grown close with Jax and Adrian. It is only Kamilah that Mila still fears, that Mila can’t help but flinch from.

It is killing Kamilah to be so close to the woman she loves and yet so far but she keeps her devastation close to her heart and secret.

She doesn’t want to overwhelm Mila by telling her of their relationship, of the depth of her feelings for her.

Instead, she forces herself to be content with the few, precious moments she is able to have with Mila.

Mila’s stopped attacking Kamilah upon sight now but she still keeps her distance when she can.

And then one day, while Mila is left alone with Kamilah, she asks, “Can you help me with this?”

Mila’s voice is hesitant but Kamilah immediately snaps to attention, walking over to her with forcefully slow steps even as she wants to run to her.

In Mila’s hands are a wooden sword and a cotton cord that she’s unsuccessfully trying to wrap her sword with.

Kamilah nods silently, not trusting her voice, and helps hold the sword as Mila carefully wraps the handle in cord.

“I-I have your sword if you wanted it,” Kamilah finally says, clearing her throat.

“My sword?” Mila perks up before turning closed off again, “Sure. Since it’s mine.”

Kamilah leaves the room and then reenters with a sheathed sword that clearly has been taken care of. When Kamilah gives Mila her sword, their hands touch accidentally and Mila clutches her hand to her chest.

“Bye,” Mila says quickly as she gets up and runs away from the room with her sword. Her heart is racing and Mila feels more confused than ever because… Kamilah’s hand on hers had felt so right.

—

The foundations of the apartment suddenly tremble and they all know in that moment, that the day has come.

Gaius is here.

He brings with him a large force of Ferals that storm the apartment and everyone’s main goal is to protect Mila.

Gaius appears for the first time in the flesh and he smirks evilly at Kamilah, the first to see him.

“My queen,” he says.

Kamilah sees red; this is the monster who’s hurt Mila, who’s stolen her memory and bewitched her. This is the man responsible for the past year of pain.

She screams wordlessly and charges at him but Gaius seems to revel in her pain, unafraid.

Their knives clang against each other as they battle furiously.

“Did you enjoy my little gift?” Gaius goads Kamilah who responds with an ever fiercer assault. She can sense the others fighting in the background, keeping the Ferals at bay so they cannot attack/distract her.

It is in the middle of this chaos that Kamilah finally sees Mila appear in the corner of her eye.

Gaius takes advantage of her lapse in focus and his dagger carves a wicked gash in her arm that causes her to hiss in pain.

Mila is visibly torn, her eyes darting from Kamilah and Gaius.

Gaius notices her now and his face quickly softens, his voice turning gentle, “My love. I’ve finally found you.”

He turns from his fight with Kamilah, his attention solely on Mila now, his hand outstretched to her.

Kamilah also focuses on Mila, her heart filled with fear. She can’t lose Mila. Not again.

“Don’t,” Kamilah breathes out desperately, “He’s been lying to you this entire time. He’ll only hurt you!”

Mila remains frozen between the two, unable to choose and Kamilah cries out with all of the pain and fear she’s feeling.

“Please. Please, Mila.”

“My love,” Gaius says a little more forcefully now as, “Surely you haven’t fallen for their lies. You haven’t forgotten their many attempts to kill you, have you?”

Mila’s face hardens.

And then Kamilah feels her world shatter all around her and she runs futilely after them only to fall helplessly to her knees as Mila places her hand in Gaius’s and Gaius whisks her away in the night.

A/N:

I honestly don’t know if there’ll be another part of this lol sorry. There’s one moment I want to write but I otherwise don’t have an ending planned so we’ll see what happens

[techbranding]

Does My Startup Need A Tech Branding Agency?

We recommend having bi-weekly check-ins to discuss the process, open questions, etc. However, we prefer to present results and updates asynchronously − it saves a lot of time for both sides. SketchesAt this stage, we explore concepts and general directions on how the logo could look. We follow Visual positioning and Brand expression findings and recommendations. This stage helps to examine a lot of concepts and shapes fast. These Terms of Participation permit you to join the Discussion only https://craftandroot.com/industries/tech-startups/.

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The tone adapts to communicate with them while upholding the overall voice’s focus. (Namer is pretty close — after all, a name is a very, very short poem that captures a brand’s eidos.) When not creating kickass names, she may be found kayaking with her son or making music with her husband.

We are not condoning or admiring this approach but it’s almost certainly part of a bigger strategy. Intel uses video to spark emotion and create a connection with their audience. Health care workers, ventilator makers, teachers, drivers and key workers. It’s a play on their key messaging “what’s inside” but it’s on trend and very smart.

Watch our event replay from Tuesday, January 19, where we continue to discuss and answer questions on the new coronavirus relief bill and how it pertains to small businesses. CO— aims to bring you inspiration from leading respected experts. However, before making any business decision, you should consult a professional who can advise you based on your individual situation.

Gift card fraud can be a gateway to stolen payment credentials, drained bank accounts and even stolen identity. Certain projects, images, and products are trademarks of and/or copyrighted by their respective owners. Develop a Personality.Your business has a personality – a tone that it uses to communicate to the audience. Many businesses don’t sufficiently develop a personality, or don’t keep it consistent. Yes, send me the BizBuySell SellerNewsletter, which contains advice on selling a business and email only promotions. We are sorry, we were not able to submit your issue for this listing at this time. The information in this listing has been provided by the business seller or representative stated above.

Brand Name Creation

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If your startup can bend light, slow time, or stretch infinitely, we should talk. Established in 1996, the website is an international marketplace of businesses for sale.

A play on okey-dokey, Mochidoki makes use of the product descriptor in a fun and playful way, all while recalling the product’s Asian roots and sounding bite-sized and delicious. Designed for business owners, CO— is a site that connects like minds and delivers actionable insights for next-level growth.

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Thanks for sending that over, one of our team will be in touch real soon. Go from over 15,844 agencies to a shortlist with Agency Spotter. Firebrand has given my team the bandwidth to focus on what's really important. Webgamma produced effective deliverables that contributed to significant growth of our brand.

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With a BA in English Literature from Dartmouth College and an MFA from the University of Massachusetts’ English MFA for Poets & Writers, Stevie is also no stranger to the power of words. As head of Catchword’s East Coast operations, he’s typically the project lead on all right coast accounts, and recently managed projects for Volkswagen, McDonald’s, Kellogg, and First Alert. He graduated from Brandeis University with a BA in History, and earned his JD from the State University of New York at Buffalo. is a collection of ultra-premium brandable dot-com domains—merging the best in messaging, memorability, length, and flow. Our linguistic and cultural evaluation is backed by an international network of native speakers in more than 100 languages. And, when Catchword first sampled Gordon Dessert’s new line of mochi , we knew we were naming a truly category re-defining confectionary.

Let us guide you on how to use the appropriate tools to reach your marketing goals. Abundant growth opportunities; little to no marketing up to this point. We apologize, but the feature you are trying to access is currently unavailable.

Payment schedule should be adjusted to the project you are running together — so the initial investment on your side is reduced. What I would like to show you is that with a right partner you can focus on your strengths and outsource other tasks without losing business. More than that, you can expand your service line and utilize your talents on new platforms that you did not have an access to.

BizBuySell has no stake in the sale of this business, has not independently verified any of the information about the business, and assumes no responsibility for its accuracy or completeness. We partnered with Oculus to pioneer VR’s mobile and social future.

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They keep their brand voice highly practical and focused on solving prospects’ pain points. They use demo videos to educate and inspire confidence in their products. This is an example that companies do not need to invest their energy into all available channels, but rather pick one or two to focus on. Partner testimonials, PRs on closed deals, fundraisers and case studies by the likes of Yahoo Finance and Harvard Business Review communicate the reputation and importance of this brand. Communicating diverse topics across different channels whilst maintaining voice consistency and brand integrity. The Facebook page features a cover video with main takeaways of what the company stands for and a striking summary of their offers. They connect their user base with immersive food and beverage tours, skip-the-line tickets for attractions, craft classes, niche offerings and other immersive experiences.

[aurelacs]

Ten of Wands

An Ezra/F!OC Red Dead Redemption AU

WORD COUNT: 4.9k

CONTENT: some canon typical violence, mentions of spousal abuse voyeurism, hunting

A/N: Shit’s heatin’ up thank u very much. Also this is the most I’ve written in one go in years please clap.

This is set in the Red Dead Redemption universe, however there’s no spoilers for either game, and you don’t need to have prior knowledge of the games to understand the fic. I’m just using RDR for the setting and the time period (1899). Hope you enjoy!

chapter list | masterlist | read on AO3

III. The Heirophant

Annie arose in the large, plush bed convinced she had dreamt the night before, but her hair was still wet. Her skin still smelled of the rosewater she bathed in the night before. It was the first bit of luxury she ever had in her life. The dream sat in her mind, bouncing like an echo or an old memory trying to stay relevant. The figure was faceless, nameless, unknown, but the blonde patch and her mind said otherwise. It felt improper. It felt wrong. She wouldn’t deny that it made her blush.

She brushed her hair out and placed it in braids before leaving her room. Ezra was waiting for her in the sitting area by the front desk. As she descended the stairs, she noticed a small look on Ezra’s face, one she couldn’t read. His eyes widened, the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. He was so involved in his own thoughts that he scrambled to stand up as Annie reached the bottom of the stairs.

“You look, um. You look good. I am assuming the rest served you a world of purpose.” He was bouncing from foot to foot, clearly eager about something. “Are we ready? I have a bit of a revelation for you waiting a little away.” 

Ezra rode the two of them about a mile outside of Strawberry before slowing down near a clearing by the Owanjila Dam. Hitched onto a tree was a beautiful Appaloosa with a grey-spotted coat. The mare was nibbling at a small branch as they approached. The horse was already saddled, its mane and tail clean and shining. Something about her felt off. 

“You stole her.”

Ezra didn’t even hesitate as he walked over to the mare. “I did steal her.” 

“I am trying to start my life anew. I don’t get there by stealing a horse.”

“Well, in the eyes of the law, I am the one that stole the horse, so please consider this new chapter of your life further untainted.” 

Annie remained by Ezra’s horse. The more she thought about the situation, the further her blood began to boil. They were both wanted, both on the run, and he chose to steal a horse? When did he steal it? Where did he steal it from? Did he make a trip back to Valentine while she slept? His bounty might be full of petty crimes that he could serve time for a leave, for her getting caught guaranteed a rope. It felt like a betrayal.

“Where did you get that horse?” Annie stormed up to him in a fit of confidence the likes of which she had never felt. She stared him in the eye, daring him to tell her Valentine so that she could ride off with his horse, leave his roundabout way of speaking, his smirk, his stupid blonde patch in the mud that caked their shoes. 

“That is not of import.”

“It is to me.” 

“Is that roses I smell on you? I find it befitting-”

“Do not change the subject.”

Ezra sighed. The horse was stolen, but he didn’t take it from the Valentine stables, and he wasn’t the one to steal it. He explained to her that his purpose in Strawberry was selling information on stagecoach itineraries to postal workers, who would sell the information to outlaws interested, and then give Ezra a cut of whatever they took. According to one of the outlaws, his partner had taken a liking to one of the horses on the coach, and Ezra chose to take the outlaw’s old horse in lieu of cash. Her name was Lucille. 

“Look little - little lady. Next time I would greatly appreciate a ��thank you’ before you try and rip out my throat over a kind and honest gesture.” 

“I will thank you when we reach Armadillo.”

Ezra scoffed. “This is an exciting side of you I have not seen before. Perhaps staying at the hotel was a bad idea.”

This time Annie did smack the hat off of Ezra’s head. Before he had time to respond, she hopped on Lucille, and began to ride back in the direction of Strawberry. She rode slowly to allow him to catch up. His hat was still off and hung on the horn of his saddle when he pulled up beside her, hair sticking out in various places, some pieces waving over his forehead. Annie couldn’t help but think the look was kind of charming. He had shaved during their stay in Strawberry, the stubble gone from his cheeks, leaving only his mustache. It made the symmetrical bald patches on either side of his chin less noticeable. 

Ezra had them follow a path along the Upper Montana River instead of riding on the main roads. He felt it would be too risky, saying that the stagecoach robbery he helped organize was executed a little too close to Strawberry for his liking. The sun warmed her face as they journeyed on. When the land necessitated it, they crossed the river and settled on the roads the rest of the way to Blackwater. The surrounding area resembled what Annie saw in her dream all that time ago: a mixture of desert and wheat fields, so different from what she was used to in Valentine. 

Blackwater was the most advanced town Annie had seen yet. Most of the roads were worn down dirt paths like Valentine and Strawberry, except for the one that ran through the middle of town, which was cobbled with light stones and lined with poles with wires Annie had never seen before. Ezra directed them to the saloon on the corner of Main Street. 

“I might be a minute. If you hear screaming or hollering or otherwise concerning noises, pay it no mind.” Ezra tipped his hat at Annie and sauntered into the saloon.

The clientele clashed with the decor of Blackwater’s only saloon. While the decor suggested something along for a higher class, everyone from the local drunk to the actual high class businessman filled the place, surrounding the bar and card tables. Annie sat on a couch opposite the bar, opting to fold her hands in her lap and simply wait for Ezra to finish his business. She wasn’t even sure if she would be able to hear any “concerning noises,” as customers slowly began to file in as the afternoon went on, and a man began to play the piano. 

An hour since they first entered the saloon, and Ezra was nowhere to be seen. She knew he had disappeared up the stairs, but hadn’t heard anything since. No one had paid her any mind as she continued to sit patiently on the couch, not ordering anything or acknowledging anyone. Her goal was to keep her head down in any way she could. 

Annie’s head shot up and over to the stairs when she heard a thud echo through the saloon. At the bottom was a well dressed man, badly bruised and crawling towards the exit. At the top was Ezra; a small smirk of amusement etched on his face, similar to the one he was wearing when he and Annie first met. His pistol was out and in his hand, but at his side and remained there as he slowly waltzed down the steps. The entire saloon had silenced over the spectacle, the creaking stairs the only sound to be heard. Annie felt stuck on the couch. It was like she was a slave to the sight of a form of Ezra she had never seen before. 

“Mr. Martin, I was under the humble impression that we had a deal. And I intend to honor it.” 

Mr. Martin continued to crawl backwards to the door to no avail as Ezra reached him in an instant. Annie could almost see the sweat beading on his forehead. Even his mother wouldn’t have been able to recognize him: both eyes were nearly swollen shut, his nose broken, an ugly bruise grew above a large welt across his jaw. Annie glanced over to Ezra and saw that his right hand was in no better shape than Martin’s face. No one moved a muscle as Ezra crouched over him. 

“The next time our paths cross, you will pay what you owe me or I will put a bullet in your head and sell your corpse to the first buyer to clear your debt, are we at yet another agreement, Mr. Martin?”

“I-I-I gave you all I have.” 

“And it is not enough,” Ezra cooed. He cocked his arm back and Mr. Martin flinched. “You have reached the end of my patience. I am giving you another month before you learn that, unlike you, I am a man that makes good on my word.” 

Ezra stood up and holstered his pistol, leaving Martin on the floor, his eyes never leaving Ezra’s back. Annie didn’t realize that she hadn’t broken eye contact with Martin until Ezra cleared his throat beside her.

“Birdie,” he said, holding out his hand. Annie didn’t take it. Instead, she stormed out of the Blackwater Saloon and rode off in a general direction that she hoped led out of the town. Blackwater’s one cobbled road sounded off in her ears as the sound of Ezra coming up behind her grew closer. By the time she decided to slow down and give him the chance to fully catch up, the sun had started to slip under the horizon.

“There is a clearing a few more miles from here, by the lake. If you slowed up, I’ll be more than happy to lead us to it.” 

Annie relented, slowing Lucille to a trot so that Ezra could pass her. The anger inside her continued to boil as he guided them to the clearing and began to set up camp.

“You could have killed him!”

“If I wanted him dead, he would already be in the ground, I can assure you that.”

“There was no need to make a scene. Someone could have gotten the law. They could be coming after us right now.”

“The people of Blackwater know better than to come between a man and his debts.”

It infuriated Annie how Ezra kept his cool. Never raising his voice, never so much as a sign that he was as angry with her as she was with him. If he was, it was the one thing he kept to himself. Not that she couldn’t have secrets of her own. She still wasn’t sure if Ezra actually believed her about her husband, even with the bounty poster in his hands. And still had the… dream from Strawberry. An inkling she kept held to her heart, one she had mulled on over and over as the time passed. She knew it was getting to her, dwelling. Annie could feel it in how her eyes lingered on Ezra too long, how when she wasn’t thinking about Armadillo or her husband, or merely surviving, her thoughts were on him.

How her heart annoyingly skipped whenever he called her ‘little bird.’ 

These thoughts, this way of thinking, emerged after Strawberry and took hold of her in ways she couldn’t help but cling to. What kind of man was he, outside of this life? Had he helped someone like he was helping her before? How did he like his coffee? What would he be like as a father? Thoughts that never crossed her mind with her husband.

Maybe, at some point, Annie did love her husband. Some time when he was still courting her, making sure he went a little overboard. Too many flowers, staying out a little too late. Overly grand gestures that weren’t red flags then, and even now Annie struggled to see them. To properly recall just when the levee broke. By comparison Ezra’s gestures, if they were such, were subtle, quiet, the direct opposite of the boisterous personality he put on. Never rushing her, never raising his voice, holding out his hand to help her stand up or get off her horse, a hand she never took but he always offered. Even with what he did in Blackwater, she sought to find the spark of cruelty she saw in her husband and came home empty. It plagued her: were these the gestures of a man who had interest in her the way she might have interest in him? Or just the gestures of a man with a soul. 

Annie emerged from her tent to prepare dinner when something in the lake caught her eye. A figure with their back turned, far enough out that the water reached their waist. It was Ezra, bathing. On first instinct, Annie wanted to turn her eyes, or run back to her tent. Instead, she kept watching, too caught up in what she was seeing to give in. 

He was beautiful. 

The moonlight bounced off of his tan skin in a way Annie was sure would be blinding had she been closer. Even from the distance, she could see some of the scars that laced his back from prior exploits. She watched as the muscles in his back danced as he stretched to massage an ache, or rub the water through his hair. He turned around and she ducked back inside, hoping he didn’t catch her. Annie paused before peeking again. Ezra’s front was facing her, droplets of water running down from his hair to his neck, his collarbone, down the trail of his sternum and over the small crest of his belly until it came to rest at the small patch of hair under his navel that she could tell continued under the water. She could barely make out how his face grimaced when his hurt hand made contact with the water. Her cheeks flared so warm she was convinced they would actually catch aflame. 

Ezra grew closer to the shore and Annie scrambled to get the stew started. It wasn’t much, but she figured it might be a little more filling than eating what little was left of the venison Ezra caught. He made his way over to the fire, white linen shirt hanging loosely and unbuttoned on his shoulders. He dug around in his satchel and pulled out clean gauze. Annie watched as he struggled to wrap it around his hand on his own.  

His deep eyes shone with concentration, illuminated by the fire light, and she caught herself taking too-long glances every other minute as she tended to their meal. When he finished, he cleared his throat, a move Annie found out of character for him.

“Might I request your help in buttoning my shirt, little bird?” He held up his bandaged hand as though she may have forgotten. “I myself am not much of a fan of this manner of dress. It feels… far too vulnerable for a man of my persuasion.” The look on his face told Annie that it was the truth. There was a certain discomfort in the way his lips tightened in a straight line, a tenseness in his shoulders over the knowledge of his exposure. 

“I told you not to call me that,” Annie said, standing up, trying to hide the smirk that betrayed her statement. Ezra rose to greet her. He held his arms out about a foot away from his torso, as if to say ‘I’m not going to touch you.’ 

“You’re right. My apologies.” She started to work her way up his shirt. The way they were standing allowed the fire to wrap around his skin, giving it the appearance of an indelible warmth. It took everything in Annie not to look down and watch as his belly rose out and in with each steady breath, or remark on how she couldn’t see his hip bones make delicate peaks below his skin in the lake. She found it hard to deny herself a peek at the same dusting of hair that disappeared under the waistband of his pants. Who was this woman she had become?

“Why do you call me that?” Her knuckle accidentally brushed against his skin as she fastened a button in the middle of his torso, and a string of electricity shot through her hand. The feeling was equal parts guilt and relief. When she looked up at him to gauge a reaction at the contact, she saw that he was looking straight ahead, focused on the horizon behind them. 

“What? ‘Little bird?’” Annie nodded and Ezra opened his mouth as though to answer, then paused. He didn’t respond until she had finished buttoning his shirt.

“It’s because you call to mind a hummingbird, always flitting around, always moving. But why would that matter if you do not want me calling you such?”

“Just a curiosity.” The fact that the first time he called her ‘little bird’ was when she was frozen in place in Valentine was not lost to her. “We’re running low on meat as well.” 

Ezra settled back onto his bedroll with a small grunt. “Then it is good fortune for us that the only thing Mr. Martin could provide was a map with prime hunting locations. You need to learn how to shoot, anyway. I don’t doubt the MacFarlanes would find it suspicious if a woman who is interested in falling under their employ did not know her way around a gun. And not just pointing a shotgun.” He winked at her. 

Annie’s sleep was plagued by dreams and nightmares that choked her. In the beginning, she found herself in Ezra’s embrace, forehead pressed against hers and rocking them slowly back and forth to a song that wasn’t playing. A feeling of weightlessness washed over her, and her chest swelled to the point where she thought it might burst. It was calm, serene, like her mind was telling her that it was her destiny to be in his arms, that they were made for her, when her husband appeared, angrier than she had ever seen him. Redder with rage than he had ever been. He pulled her down from the sky by her ankle and sent her crashing down to the soil beneath them. He didn’t lay a hand on her except for that, but he screamed and screamed until his voice was hoarse, and Annie couldn’t find a way to wake up. 

The sun had barely risen when Ezra decided to wake her by poking his hand into her tent and waving around a bowl of the leftover stew. There hadn’t even been enough time for sleep to have crusted over her eyes, or for her mind to shake the feeling that her husband had broken through her dreams and was waiting for her on the other side of the canvas tent. She chose to eat her leftovers in silence, away from Ezra, hoping to quell the floating feeling in her chest and the ghost of her husband’s ire. Ezra had already packed up the rest of the camp and urged her to hurry before the sun rose.

“Deer like to feed in the early morning. If we find them before the sun is risen, they will be less likely to see us.” 

Annie followed Ezra on horseback as he pored over the map, trying to decide which marked area would give them the best opportunity. He settled on a spot in the middle of the Great Plains, near a small settlement called Manzanita Post. Half of Annie’s sight was filled with rolling fields, the flaxen grains already reflecting the dawn to the point of blindness, the other with dense forest that filtered out what little sun was to be had. 

“Before we get started, we should teach you just how to shoot. If you had pulled the trigger back in Valentine, you would have positively obliterated your right arm.” 

Ezra pulled the rifle from the horse’s saddle and modeled at Annie on how to hold it. “You want the butt to rest in this part here,” he motioned underneath his own shoulder, “so that you don’t hurt yourself from the recoil.” When he passed the rifle off to her, she simply held it in her hands, not confused, but hesitant. 

“Everything all right?” To Annie, holding the gun felt wrong. Thinking about settling it into the meat of her shoulder and pulling the trigger with no threat sat awkwardly inside her. A deer wasn’t her husband, or a lawman, or the only thing that stood between her and freedom. This felt more cold, more calculating than what happened back at her home. She shook off the question.

“I would do it, but as we both well know my trigger finger is somewhat out of commission for the time being.” Annie nodded and hiked the rifle into what she believed was the correct position. She looked over to Ezra for approval. He eyed her stance over once, twice, before approaching her and asking permission to touch her. She nodded once more. 

Ezra pushed himself flush against Annie, his chest to her back, arms against arms, as he molded his body to hers to better assist her. It was the most physical contact Annie had in months. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure there was no way Ezra couldn’t feel it through her back. Ezra placed his right hand on her right arm to help adjust the positioning. The gauze did nothing to alleviate the sheer heat that came off of his skin. A burning sensation that overcame every inch of her flesh as the fingers of his left hand danced around her wrist to straighten it. His instruction fell upon an unfocused mind as the blood in her veins pulsed so loudly it was all she could hear. The sturdiness of his body all she could think about. If she turned her head slightly, she could kiss him, was the first thought she had once the shock wore off. He could bury his curved nose into the crook of her neck and inhale her scent, nibble her earlobe, tease her until she begged.

Annie yelped as Ezra tapped his foot between her ankles, shocking both of them to the point of separation. Her daydream had sent her whirling, mind too hazy at that point to even want to hunt,  to do anything more than to take him in the middle of the forest. It was a miracle she hadn’t dropped the rifle. Ezra looked at her, concern flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry, birdie, was it me? If you aren’t ready I am sure I can figure something out.” 

“No, no, I just… lost focus.”

Ezra had her reposition the rifle, this time keeping his distance as he adjusted her stance and the way she held the gun. If he felt that touching her was a necessity, he would ask, and touch her like she was a porcelain doll one wrong move from cracking. By the time Ezra was finished, the gun felt comfortable in her hands, like it was an extension of herself. He suggested first firing into a tree, to test her aim. 

“You need to keep your breath steady. When you go to fire, hold your breath, and exhale when you pull the trigger.” 

Annie did as he said, and the bullet swiftly pierced through the thin tree’s trunk. She turned to him and saw his hands raised in the air in celebration. He insisted on her taking a few more shots “to turn her misplaced pride into assured confidence.” When Ezra thought she was ready, he hitched Lucille onto a tree, opting to take his horse with them instead. 

They ventured into the wooded area, Ezra’s eyes scanning the ground for tracks or other hints of recent activity among the forest floor. He kept his arm outstretched in front of Annie to encourage her to tread slowly and quietly. Annie couldn’t hear a sound, no twigs snapping or birds singing, as though the forest’s density stole all signs of life in its wake. Ezra gasped quietly.

“It’s shit.” He pointed out the dung on the ground and continued to move in the direction he thought best. His feet moved more quickly as he found more signs more frequently: a tuft of fur on a tree, a group of broken twigs, actual hoof prints. Almost by instinct, Ezra grabbed on Annie’s shoulder to stop her as he caught sight of a deer  grazing about a hundred yards away. It was a buck, and far larger than Annie could have ever imagined. Its antlers were magnificent, large and complex, almost hypnotizing as she continued to stare. Ezra coaxed her to crouch. It made them smaller and reduced the risk of the buck potentially seeing them and running off. 

“You need to make sure your aim is perfect, do you understand, little bird?” Annie nodded, too deep in concentration to correct him, focusing too hard on making sure her heart rate didn’t spike too hard from the name. She adjusted herself once, twice, three times until the rifle practically melted into her. The buck paused from grazing and looked up, and Annie took her shot. The recoil ricocheted through her body and almost blew her clean off her feet. When she gathered her bearings, the buck was on the ground. This time she raised her hands in celebration, an ecstasy coursing through her that she couldn’t compare. Ezra wrapped his arms around Annie’s waist and spun her.

“That was phenomenal, birdie! Annie Oakley only wishes she were as skilled with a rifle as my bird.”

Ezra, stunned at what he let slip, immediately placed Annie down and made his way over to the buck. Annie joined him and eyed her work. The shot was clean, right through its head. She felt a surge of relief at the thought. Ezra began to talk about breaking it down, keeping the meat, selling what they couldn’t use themselves. He told her he would teach her how to do it all when they returned to their camp. His cheeks, when he looked back up at her, were red. Annie helped him tie the buck onto his horse and they rode back to camp. 

His silence worried her. It grew louder the closer they got. He didn’t look back at her, didn’t say a word as she watched the carcass wade with the rhythm of the horse. Ezra seemed to perk up when they made it back. It gave him a reason to talk, something he’d never needed before. Cutting the antlers was gruesome, skinning the buck even more so. By the end of the ordeal, Ezra was back to himself, and Annie had to help him in and out of his shirt, which was covered in blood.

Ezra looked over the map, tracing their path to the nearest settlement “We can sell the pelt and antlers at the butcher in, uh. Oh.” 

“What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing. The closest butcher is technically Armadillo, unless you would like to sojourn back to Blackwater.” 

“I can sell them in Blackwater as long as you stay put.”

Ezra laughed, his smile widening at the sentence. It was infectious and Annie felt the corners of her mouth tick upward. She had never felt this before. A smile to pair with a smile, a want deep in her belly. 

“Fair deal, birdie,” he answered. Ezra looked at her with the anticipation that she would chastise him once more for using the pet name, but it never came, and he smiled again.

It was resolved, she thought. In the morning, before she made her way back to Blackwater, she would let Ezra know how she felt. If he didn’t feel the same, he had the time to leave to keep whatever bond she might break somewhat intact. If he did? The thought scared and thrilled her at the same time. It would be a first. To feel something as intensely as what smoldered inside her be matched and mirrored. The subliminal kind of fear that comes with being known and loved. She craved it, let the thought of it fill her with joy and mix with the confidence she felt as she ate the venison she hunted herself. She wished Ezra a good night, hoping that he heard something in her voice that would tell him that tomorrow would be different. 

Annie wasn’t even able to fully settle into her slumber before she awoke with a gun pointed in her face. A man she didn’t recognize stood behind it, hair cropped short and slicked back with pomade, beard well trimmed, his smile gleaming in the low light. In another life, in a different situation, he would be handsome. 

“Mrs. Annie Grey, if you come with me quietly, I won’t kill you.”

She couldn’t find it within herself to cry, or even react. The shock, the resolution, an ember that had gone untended for so long she was sure it had been extinguished. As she exited her tent, she looked over to where Ezra slept, anticipating that she would find him with a bullet in his head. Instead he lay there, still asleep, though a second bounty hunter had a gun pointed at him as collateral, to ensure her silence. The one who had intruded in her tent saved her the humiliation of hogtying her. He waited until she had mounted his horse before tying her hands behind her back, and securing the other end of the rope to his horse’s saddle. 

Even as the three of them rode off, Ezra didn’t wake, and Annie didn’t scream. 

Tag List: @aforces @borderlinedindjarin @immundusspiritu

[blackjack-15]

Puttering Around — Thoughts on: Secret of the Old Clock (CLK)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: CLK, CUR.

The Intro:

In our next Jetsetting game, Nancy travels back from Modern-Day England and straight into 1930s Titusville (aka River Heights 70+ years ago) to help an acquaintance who’s in the middle of two unrelated plots to turn Titusville upside down.

A game famously reviewed as “pleasant but inconsequential”, Secret of the Old Clock tends to be passed over for both praise and censure, famous for two minigames (the sewing minigame and the mini-golf) but otherwise overlooked. It’s a shame, really, that it’s sandwiched in between two much flashier games, as CLK is a wonderfully solid entry into the Nancy Drew series. It pioneers the two-culprit variation on the standard Nancy Drew plot, tackles a new time period, and includes dozens of in-jokes towards the Nancy Drew books.

It’s also the first introduction of Carson Drew as a phone character, which is a lot of fun, and makes sense that he’d show up in the game that includes nods to all things canon. He doesn’t show up again until much later in the series, so it’s nice to introduce him here after hearing about him for 12 games.

As opposed to CUR right before it, CLK takes care to ground itself in a linear plotline, handling its story with relative ease and taking care not to reach too far out of the box. This is one of its greatest strengths, and provides a much better game overall because of it. It’s a simple story, pretty well told.

Though it doesn’t stand up to other more “simple” games before it such as CAR or DDI, it never reaches any of the lows of SCK, FIN, or CUR, and allows the player to be sucked in to its fantastic facsimile of life in the 1930s for teen sleuth Nancy Drew — blue roadster and all.

The Title:

As CLK is a mixture of the first four Nancy Drew books, it retains the title of the first book. As a nod to the history of Nancy Drew, it’s a great choice for the title.

Unfortunately, though the Old Clock does appear and hold secrets, it’s just not prominent enough to deserve the title that it holds. The other three books — The Hidden Staircase, The Bungalow Mystery, and The Mystery at Lilac Inn — are other options, and The Mystery at Lilac Inn would have been the most appropriate title. It doesn’t have the immediate name recognition, which is why they didn’t pick it, but it really is much better and encapsulates the game much better, as the game revolves around the Mysteries that are tied to the Inn.

That’s all I really have to say about that, so onto the mystery!

The Mystery:

Nancy Drew is summoned to the Lilac Inn to help Emily Crandall, the friend of Nancy’s friend Helen Corning, who needs to put her recently deceased mother’s jewelry into a safe, and figures that Nancy’s father would have one.

If it sounds to you like a simple, if slightly contrived premise, then you’d be right.

Once Nancy gets there, however, she finds out that Emily is cracking under the pressure of running an Inn, that her guardian Jane Willoughby isn’t as much help as she should be, and that Emily and her mother were depending on money from Josiah Crowley’s will, which mysteriously only included his recent ESP teacher, Richard Topham, rather than the Crandalls and the local banker.

From there, things go from bad to worse as the inn’s kitchen catches fire, Emily’s jewels are stolen (and partially returned), and voices in the walls start manifesting — not to mention the fetch quests around Titusville that Nancy is sent on and the ridiculous Richard Topham hiding everything about himself other than how pompous he really is.

Nancy soon figures out that this mystery is two-headed, with one side revolving around the Inn itself and the other around Josiah Crowley’s real — and missing — will. Our villains catch on too, however, and Nancy has to race against their suspicion to expose the frauds, discover hidden secrets and identities, and solve the Secret of the Old Clock.

As a mystery, this one really is quite good for its time. Dual villains, each unconcerned with the other, hidden inheritance, Shakespeare references — it’s got it all. Though Jim Archer lets it down a bit in his sheer nothingness, and it functions as a howdunnit with a weird whodunnit beginning, CLK is solid ground after the incredibly shaky mystery in CUR, and it’s a lot of fun to play through.

The Suspects:

Emily Crandall is our protagonist and resident watering pot of CLK who spends the game moping and being Generally Unhelpful. Her mom’s death notwithstanding, Emily’s stressors are the Inn, her lack of money, and her fake-guardian making her think that she’s crazy.

So maybe her total lack of common sense in wanting to call in Nancy because Nancy’s bound to have a safe at home is a result of copious amounts of mental stress. One can only hope so, as by her next birthday she’s the legal owner of the Inn.

Emily actually would have been interesting as a villain, but she, like Jim, just isn’t enough of a presence in the game — which stands out since she’s the closest we’ve got to a main character! She cries a lot, she sits a lot, and that’s about it. She would have had to be a misguided villain, convinced that her guardian (who would have had to actually be Jane Willoughby) is after her fortune…but HER still isn’t up to that level yet, and it’s probably better that they went with a story they can tell wholly and mostly convincingly.

Honestly speaking, Emily, being as she is, is a more successful Linda Penvellyn, which I don’t actually think is unintentional. She’s being harassed and abused by someone who’s basically a family member but is still largely unfamiliar to her, the tie to her remaining family is gone (though Emily’s mother is dead, unlike Hugh Penvellyn), and she is being gaslighted to believe that she’s crazy.

Emily was allowed more agency, more screen time, and more pity by the writers and creators, and because of that, her situation with her Evil Jane is far more obvious to the average player, and she’s treated with far more sympathy than Linda historically has been by the fandom (though recent fan discussion has begun trending in Linda’s favor, which I think is wonderful and fantastic).

Jane Willoughby is, of course, not Jane Willoughby after all, but actually Marion Aborn, proving that identity theft in the 30s was as easy as…well, saying that your name was someone else’s name.

An acquaintance of the actual Jane Willoughby and a petty thief, Marion intercepted the letter about Gloria’s death and Jane’s status as Emily’s guardian and decided to try to cash in on potential cash by tormenting Emily until she signed over the Inn. Exploding the kitchen, stealing Emily’s jewels, and attempting to make the girl think that she was crazy to make her sell the Inn before her 18th birthday (after which Marion would receive no profits).

As one of two culprits, Marion is the more “subtle” culprit and has the more complicated background, but is also the one you have to deal with the most, and thus suffers slightly from being in the spotlight (and thus showing the obviously evil side of her) a little too much. As this game isn’t really concerned with its culprits as a centerpiece, however, Marion’s antics fit right in.

Marion also gets points for being a much more intelligent abusive culprit (contrasting Jane), working hard to make Emily think she’s crazy with a clear goal in mind and even going as far as stealing, then partially replacing, Emily’s jewels to really hammer home the idea that the girl wasn’t mentally well to others — and to Emily herself.

Richard Topham is a self-proclaimed ESP expert and everyone-else-proclaimed dick who ended up somehow being the beneficiary of Josiah Crowley’s will, despite his spoken intentions to leave it to the Crandalls and Jim Archer. He also has a very obnoxious cat named Uri, voiced by a lovely cat named Carl (though I bet you were expecting me to say Jonah Von Spreecken — never fear, he shows up as the Tubby Telegram guy!)

Richard is our other culprit, guilty of falsifying Josiah Crowley’s will when no one could find the original, leaving most everything to himself rather than to the Crandalls or Jim Archer as Josiah wanted. A slight throwback to the 1920s obsession with spiritualism that itself was a post-war reaction to massive death, Richard is as sleazy as they come, testing Nancy for an “inferior mind” and taking advantage of every situation in order to come out on top.

As a culprit, Richard’s technically the one with the bigger crime, but is overshadowed by the plotline with Emily and Marion and is thus a little forgettable, even though it was his actions that started this whole mess in the first place.

Finally, Jim Archer is the local banker who’s not having too good of a time during, well, the Great Depression, where hundreds of banks (and dozens of bankers’ hearts) failed. Promised a boon by Josiah Crowley, he, like Emily, is left in the lurch after the false will was presented. Jim was also a fellow student with Carson Drew at law school, but turned to banking as a career instead.

Despite his office being the location where Nancy finally figures out the mystery of the titular Old Clock and where she discovers that “Jane” is actually Marion, Jim really doesn’t have much to do in this game. He gives Nancy the dreaded sewing minigame and reminds the player that the stock market crash was a recent event, but other than that has very little impact.

Jim would have been a poor choice for a villain — he just doesn’t have the personality or impact necessary — as the only storyline readily available would have been him doing Dirty Deeds to keep his bank afloat…except for the fact that if he were a villain, his bank would have been doing fine, with no need for the will anyway.

The Favorite:

My favorite moment in the game, odd as it might seem, is the CB radio conversation-slash-puzzle. It’s so rare in these pre-Nik games that we actually get to see the lives of those not really related to the case/mystery and get a sense for the world spinning on despite the incident, and this is a great example of that done right.

Like the “freezer moment” mentioned in my Danger on Deception Island meta, this moment where Nancy can see how Josiah Crowley’s life has impacted people for the better, rather than the main game where so far his death has made everything worse. It’s a wonderful moment, and honestly the game is worth replaying on the merit of that alone (though there are many wonderful things about it).

My favorite puzzle is getting down into the secret passage (and all of the puzzles within the passage). It’s a ton of fun to find hidden passages that aren’t full of Deadly Traps or human remains, and the whole Creepy’s Corner puzzle is delightfully campy and awesome.

The best location in the game by far is the carriage house, where the aforementioned conversation takes place. Beautifully lit, nicely hidden away in stages, and the only place that doesn’t feel like a 1960s set of a 30s period piece.

I love this game as homage to the original Nancy Drew titles; though they’re changed somewhat to suit both a video game style and the take on the original canon that the video game universe took (such as making Nancy’s mother’s death at 10 as it was originally, which was the smartest move they’ve ever done).

Video-Game-Style Nancy’s far more like her original 30s version than the sanitized, “fashion-ized” version in the 60’s rewrites — a fact that becomes more and more clear as the series goes on — and it really does show here, as cowboy-cop Nancy wrangles not one but two crooks.

Speaking of, the last thing that I’ll mention in this section is the fact that there are two different culprits, each uncaring of the other. In a game series that was originally only supposed to be 12 games long (meaning CLK would be the last one), this is a delightfully fresh take and it makes untangling who did what a lot of fun and makes CLK different from most games before it.

I’ll talk more about this in later Nancy metas, but the shift from “one crime, one culprit” to a more “spread the guilt” approach really makes the games go up a level or two in enjoyability and in complexity, and CLK is a great example of how just having two culprits really makes the game much more fun to play around with.

The Un-Favorite:

All of that being said, there are some things in CLK that I really don’t love.

The sewing puzzle is honestly the worst; it’s hard with a mouse and nearly impossible with a trackpad, it’s tedious, and it doesn’t matter for the rest of the game, which is probably the worst part given how much effort it takes. It’s a puzzle for a puzzles’ sake, and doesn’t tell us anything we don’t already know (we know Jim’s not doing well; we know it’s the Great Depression, etc.), not to mention not rewarding the player nor Nancy for the effort.

My least favorite moment in the game would have to be Nancy’s first encounter with Richard Topham. Nancy’s autonomy is usually respected in both the 30s original drafts (less so in the 60s re-writes) and in the games, and Richard’s comments about lesser minds and his little test are, even with Nancy’s snarky comment about him in her diary, frankly out of place.

They don’t serve as a “relic of the times”, they don’t make us hate Richard more than we would have for stealing money from people who are literally drowning in bills and debt…and as much as the Nancy Drew books and character are feminist rather than Feminist, it’s honestly not great to have both his ‘clients’ during the course of the game be women that he treats the way he does.

It wasn’t necessary to have him behave the way he does, it contradicts the Spiritualist movement (which was most popular among women to a startling degree, and male Spiritualists tended to treat their female clients very well because that was the bulk of their clientele), and it doesn’t tell us anything new about him, because Nancy and the players already know he’s a fake and a blowhard.

The Fix:

So how would I fix Secret of the Old Clock?

The first and biggest fix I’d make is to include a strong storyline about Spiritualism. As noted several times above, Spiritualism was a huge force in the 1920s, and a period piece set in the year 1930 should necessarily reflect that. Quite frankly, all the nonsense about Jim Archer’s wife should just be cut and replaced with a big Spiritualism puzzle of some sorts.

I’m not saying a séance — no need to retread MHM — but an actual nod to Spiritualism (and through it, the first World War, which given Nancy’s age of 18, would have happened when she was a child) more than just “and this character is a psychic of sorts, don’t really think about it” would improve the game and ground it in its time period. Other than the references to money troubles and the ease of identity theft, there’s not much to ground CLK in its period, and I really think a Spiritualism storyline would aid that.

And if Spiritualism is involved, Richard becomes a more present, more serious character — and a more serious threat. It also opens the opportunity for the two plotlines to intersect — is Emily being driven crazy by stress, an enemy, or a malevolent spirit (which could even be supposed to be her mom, should they want a slightly darker turn)? Richard might visit the house to ensure there are no ‘malevolent presences’ around — and ensure that Crowley didn’t hide his will there.

It wouldn’t become a ‘haunting’ game; it would instead work on the aesthetic of familiar spirits — something that would be explored more fully in the next game.

I know this has been said, but I can’t emphasize enough that the sewing puzzle should be cut, even if there’s nothing to take its place. It’s a perfect example of the wrong puzzle, the wrong controls, and the wrong side-quest at the wrong time. I’m also not sure why they made Jim Archer a middle-aged banker rather than Helen Corning’s fiancée, but that’s too small a change to really bother with.

The other important change I would make is to change CLK from a weak whodunit — our culprits are already clearly the culprits — to a strong howdunit, which is what it really wants to be.

The beginning can stay the same — Nancy’s journey, Emily’s mother’s death, Richard’s faking of the will, Josiah Crowley’s death and promises, etc. — but introducing Richard Topham at the Inn, there to ‘visit’ and offer condolences and because he sensed Heavy Psychic Energy and wondered if it was coming from the house or from Emily. Have Emily tell Nancy in confidence that the other reason she called her in was because she’s either going crazy or being attacked on all sides, and the game can proceed on from that point.

Because the villains aren’t secret or even quasi-hidden in plain sight — save for Marion’s identity theft — it’s a much more natural shift to a howdunit than other games. Emily’s living in fear of Marion, running the Inn, and the possible Malevolent Spirit that may or may not be her mother haunting her through the Secret, Secret Passageway in the Inn, and Nancy’s suspicious of Richard Topham who inherited all of Crowley’s wealth, of the ‘hauntings’ of the Inn, and of the missing will and the gifts Josiah left behind.

Those two plotlines alone are enough to carry the game, especially including the Edutainment section on Spiritualism that would tie in with Richard Topham (and possibly include Emily’s mother having an interest due to her husband dying in the war), and so Jim Archer just isn’t needed as much. Whether he stays in the game in an even more reduced role or whether he’s replaced by a ninth-hour character in the form of Emily’s actual guardian, the real Jane Willoughby, is up to personal preference (though I personally like the second option).

Like all the Jetsetting games, CLK begins with a small problem that snowballs into larger and larger consequences. By emphasizing a Spiritualist plotline (culminating with the technology-based ‘encounters’ Josiah had with his CB radio friends), trimming down the fat with Jim Archer, and selling CLK from the beginning as more of a howdunit than a whodunit, CLK would improve enough to be more than just a good game, and become a standout of its era — as befitting the start of the titular teen detective.

[pinkrival]

anonymous said: Could you make a post about Peony and Petunia's backgrounds as well as how Bede recruited them and their relationship with him? Really like your blog btw!

               aww, thank you, anon!

               originally i was just going to link back to the post i originally made about them and then maybe expand on what i already wrote... but then i decided that was boring, so i did you one better!

-------

                ❝ it seems lady opal has picked a successor. ❞ nan mentions offhandedly over tea one day.      ( she isn’t really your nan, but in a town as small as ballonlea, everyone starts to feel like family eventually. )

               you arch a brow. opal had been looking for someone to pass down her title to for as long as you could remember. you would have been lying if you tried to say you didn’t spend much of your childhood dreaming about taking the role for yourself. nothing came of it, of course; you and your sister both dropped out of the gym challenge when kabu proved too difficult a roadblock to overcome, and that was the end of your professional battling career. still, you look to peony, trusting her to read the silent question in your eyes.

               she dabs at the corner of her mouth with a napkin and asks, ❝ what are they like? ❞

               nan ponders this for a moment, then says, ❝ he’s... interesting. ❞

               and that was the end of that.

-------

               even in a town as isolated as ballonlea, the champion cup is a big deal.

               the employees at the tiny general store had been gathered around the telly, mumbling to each other during the intermission before the finals.      ( they only dragged out the old television during this time of year, you knew. it was too distracting, otherwise. ) one cashier was begrudgingly handing money over to another — from his grumbling, you pieced together he had bet on the champion’s younger brother to come out victorious.

                ❝ — can’t tell me you aren’t miffed by all this, too! ❞ he was still ranting when you walked over to the counter and started unloading your groceries. impidimp nudges your leg and holds up a chocolate bar, eyes pleading. ❝ petunia! ❞ you look over at the sound of your name, snatching up the candy and placing it with the rest of your purchases.      ( impidimp cackles victoriously. ) ❝ who are you pulling for, huh? hop, right? hop should’ve been the favorite to win! ❞

               you glance at the screen, then back to him. you shrug. no preference.

               it only takes a few minutes to bag and pay for your groceries. the walk home isn’t a very long one — yet another good thing about living in a town as small as ballonlea. the streets are even more deserted than usual, with everyone likely at home and glued to the telly, waiting for the intermission to be over. it’s only you and peony this year. mum and dad are off in unova, busy working on their next big pokemon musical      ( they made you promise to record the finals ) and nan is at the stadium. had to take care of something, she said. you assume it has to do with lady opal and the new successor.

               you make it to the cottage      ( hopefully ) before the intermission ends. it takes a bit of finagling to get the door open with your hands full, but you manage. impidimp races inside, waving around his half-eaten chocolate bar like it’s a prize.

                ❝ PETUNIA! ❞ your sister shouts as you’re unloading the snack haul. you think maybe you cut it a bit closer than intended — but there’s something about the urgency in her voice that makes you suspect this has to do with more than the start of the finals.

               you peek into the living room, bag of crisps still in hand. it’s a mess — the floor is covered in a mismatched flood of blankets and pillows. impidimp bounces on a stolen couch cushion, kicking his little feet to and fro. there’s a bowl of what was once popcorn — now reduced to a pathetic handful of kernels — and an embarrassing number of empty soda cans, enough to stack into a pyramid shape. at the center of this chaos is your twin, wrapped in a cheri berry-patterned comforter. her hair is a mess and she hasn’t changed out of her pajamas. none of this strikes you as particularly unusual.

               then she points at the telly and you follow the movement with your eyes.

               the finals have started — or have they? you squint. there’s a boy on the screen you only vaguely recognize. his hair is a mop of pale curls and something about his eyes cuts right through you. it takes you a moment to notice what he’s wearing      ( is that a gym leader’s outfit? ) and then another moment to recognize ballonlea’s trademark pastels.      ( that’s our gym leader’s outfit. )

                you feel the bag slip right out of your hands. this must be lady opal’s successor. which means... lady opal’s successor just crashed the finals. oh. oh.

               somehow, you manage to find your voice just to say what peony is too kind to. ❝ he’s going to make us all look like idiots. ❞

               she bites her bottom lip, but doesn’t disagree.

-------

               despite giving up on your gym leader dreams, you and your sister still enjoy a good battle.

               you mostly dabble in doubles these days. perhaps that was the reason why neither of you managed to make it through the gym challenge — individually, your skills are nothing to write home about, but together you become an unstoppable combo. twin telepathy, peony often claims.       ( the same so-called telepathy that allows her to translate your thoughts into speech without ever asking you to voice them. ) if only the league challenge allowed you to participate in pairs; perhaps things would be different, then.

                ❝ aww. ❞ your opponent groans. ❝ bested again by foxglove’s fury. ❞ it’s a nickname the townspeople gave the two of you when you were children; your combined talent for double battles quickly became infamous. thus, foxglove’s fury. you didn’t care for it much, but peony thought it was simply adorable. you tolerated it for her sake.

                ❝ that was so much fun... ❞ she turns to you, clapping her hands in delight. ever since the finals, it felt like your passion for battling had returned with a vengeance.      ( though you were mostly just glad to see peony actually happy about something. ) you nod, mirroring her smile. impidimp tries to give swirlix a high five, only to forget he doesn’t have arms to reciprocate it with. he gets around this issue by sticking his hand on the other pokemon’s face... affectionately? nailed it.

                ❝ evidently the rumors were true. ❞ an unfamiliar voice reaches your ears. you turn around to look at the speaker, and freeze when you realize who it is.

               the gym leader. lady opal must have been teaching him well, if he had already mastered the art of appearing out of seemingly nowhere. it’s strange seeing him in person. he’s smaller than you expected, yet sharper. vibrant and ethereal in a way the screen couldn’t quite capture that did him proper justice.      ( those eyes are even more piercing up close. ) he tilts his head, regarding you and your sister with a calculating stare. unexpectedly, the gym leader raises his hands to clap. one, two, three times. a polite gesture  — yet something about it screams awkward and stilted and artificial. ❝ it seems you do have some measure of talent. ❞

               you look at peony. she looks at you, then back to him. ❝ um... ❞ her voice threatens to falter. ❝ s — sorry, but... did you need something? ❞

                he nods, then says, ❝ battle me. ❞

                what.

                ❝ what? ❞ peony voices your thought aloud, though she seems just as shocked as you are.

               the gym leader      ( what was his name again? beet... bede or something? ) seems unsympathetic. he takes a step closer, tilting his head. there’s something challenging in his violet stare — hungry for a fight. ❝ i said, battle me. ❞ blunt and to the point. ❝ i want to see how strong you are for myself. ❞

               you and your sister exchange another glance. you frown. she turns back. ❝ we... we aren’t really sure... ❞

                ❝ fine. ❞ you’re surprised he gives up so quickly, but then he holds out a great ball. ❝ in that case, i’ll only use one pokemon. is that acceptable? ❞

               you can feel peony’s eyes on you, searching for an answer. you glance at the great ball, then bede’s face. he looks determined. it’s actually a bit intimidating, how intense this kid seems. like he’s so ready to prove himself that he’s willing to go all in at a moment’s notice.      ( is he always like this? ) after a moment, you shrug.

                ❝ well... ❞ peony still hesitates a second longer. ❝ okay... ❞ she perks up. ❝ y — yeah! we’ll show you! just because you’re lady opal’s successor doesn’t mean you can get all cocky y’know! ❞

-------

               ... you lose.

               it doesn’t even seem to take much effort on bede’s part — his hatterene is simply a monster. you both throw your best strategies at him, and he easily dismantles them piece by piece. it’s more than a little humbling, to say the least.

               after the battle, he regards both of you coolly. ❝ not bad. ❞ bede says.      ( it sounds unnatural, like he isn’t used to giving compliments. ) ❝ although i can see substantial room for improvement. ❞ he looks at you for a moment longer, seemingly deep in thought. then he asks, ❝ how would you feel about becoming gym trainers? ❞

               eventually, you both agree.

-------

               as time goes by, you start to learn more and more about him.

               first, the basics — his name is bede. he’s fifteen years old.      ( fifteen! he’s practically still a baby. ) his birthday is on november eleventh. he’s left handed.

               he prefers tea to coffee, and tells everyone he drinks it plain.       ( the reality is usually an even mix of tea and copious amounts of honey. ) sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking, he’ll eat entire sugar cubes like candy. in spite of this, bede still claims to be indifferent towards sweets.

               he’s quite possibly the most stubborn person you’ve ever met. once he sets his mind to something, he won’t give up even when common sense dictates his goal a lost cause.

               he likes making bets and wagers — especially when he feels confident in his chances of victory. the gym leader claims not to cheat, yet petunia is utterly convinced she caught him sneaking extra pokeopoly money under the table during game night. you think cheating only counts as cheating when it comes to light, and stuff an extra wad of bills into your left sock to compensate. still, bede always ends up winning.

               he devours knowledge like his life depends on it. occasionally you find him lurking around the gym, tearing through textbooks drier than the sands of stow-on-side.

               he literally lives inside ballonlea stadium, out of what was once an old office or storage room. you discovered this when you opened the wrong door, only to be met with floral pattern sheets and a fluff of white hair you initially mistook for a very tiny wooloo. a sylevon sat curled upon the blanket pile. she blinked with curious eyes and purred loud enough for you to hear across the room. you wisely chose to shut the door.

               he dislikes reporters and being interviewed, but will tolerate it up until a point. once they try to pry a little deeper than bede would like, he immediately makes up an excuse to cut things off.

               he can literally eat the same exact food ad nauseam. you know this because you had to stop him from eating fruit yogurt and granola for breakfast for the sixth day in a row.      ( begged him, please just let me make you an omelette, until he finally relented. )

               fairy type pokemon all seem to adore him. he disappears into glimwood tangle for hours on end, and comes out with hatenna and impidimp following him like he’s the pied piper.

               he has no knowledge of any popular tv shows or movies that aren’t related to pokemon battling. as this is an unforgivable crime, you declare a weekly movie night absolutely mandatory. he rolls his eyes the first time he hears it, yet still continues to show up and steal all the popcorn.

               his moods tend to fluctuate. most days he’s confident and determined, if a bit aloof. then he slips into a sudden downward spiral and you can barely find him      ( physically and emotionally ) let alone hold a conversation. it’s worrying. you look at this kid — technically your boss — and see the shadows of so many demons looming over him, knowing you can’t fight those battles for him because he won’t let you.

               ❝ what do you think about him? ❞ you decide to ask petunia on a whim. she thinks about it for a moment, then looks at you and shrugs, the corner of her mouth pulling upwards in a half-smile. her eyes are soft, clear fondness held in those evergreen depths.

               you nod. ❝ yeah... i think so too. ❞

               he’s kind of like the weird, prickly little brother you never had.

-------

              ❝ ... bede? ❞ it’s his room, so you do the polite thing and stand in the doorway — not entering without a proper invitation.      ( even if he left it open. ) his back is mostly to you, crouched down in front of a drawer. you’re not sure what he’s doing — you’re not sure he’s doing anything, because he isn’t moving. it’s actually a bit eerie.

               you open your mouth to call him again, when a flash of gold catches your eye — no, a watch? your brow furrows at this, but before you have time to think about what it means, bede turns around and catches your eye. ❝ peony — ? ❞ he looks... terrible. face pale. eyes flat and exhausted in a way they have no right being — not on someone that young. you can’t recall ever seeing bede look so frail and uncertain before, and it’s a bit jarring. like seeing a meowth suddenly start chattering in perfect english.      ( you wonder what the watch means to him, if it has anything to do with this. it has to. )

               quickly, you find yourself pulled out of your musings when he repeats your name again. you shake your head, feeling color pooling in your cheeks. ❝ aha! s — sorry! sorry, um. i wanted to ask about your plans for the gym mission — ❞

               bede quickly puts the watch away — you can tell he tries to be sneaky about it, hoping you won’t notice. you pretend not to, if only for the sake of his pride.

               ... but as you go over the paperwork together, the gears are already turning in your head.

-------

                ❝ what... what is this — ? ❞ it’s almost funny how confused bede looks, standing there with a plate of cookies in his hands. he stares at them incredulously, as if he’s never seen oatmeal raisin in his entire life.      ( you hope he likes them. you’re pretty sure he likes them. )

               you swallow down your anxieties and reach out to ruffle his hair. ❝ cookies, silly! ❞ bede does the thing where he scrunches up his nose and squints at you — like he’s trying his absolute hardest to look displeased.      ( but really isn’t. ) ❝ i made them for you! ❞

               one would think the act of being given homemade cookies wouldn’t send one spiraling into emotional turmoil, but the array of expressions that flash across bede’s face indicate otherwise. his jaw works, and it takes him a moment to settle on a single word. ❝ ... why? ❞ why. like one tiny act of kindness is enough to throw his entire world into disarray. why. like it’s absolutely beyond his understanding.

               you smile at him gently. ❝ why not? ❞ he looks like he wants to protest, so you nudge him with an elbow. ❝ c’mon, bede! they —  they’re gonna get cold at this rate! try them already, i want to hear what you think. ❞

               he stares at you for a moment, then hesitantly selects one and takes a bite.

               his eyes light up. ❝ they’re... good. ❞ he sounds genuinely surprised. more than that, he sounds happy.

               mission accomplished, you think. ❝ i’m glad. ❞

[notafeeling]

Infinitesimal (Part I)

A/N Infinitesimal (originally titled in a haze as “LOGAN IS BARRY BLUEJEANS”) is a Sanders Sides AU set in the world of The Adventure Zone: Balance, a DnD podcast made by the McElroy brothers. If you have not started The Stolen Century arc and don’t want spoilers, do not read.

Pairing: eventual logince (Logan/Roman)

Genre: scifi; slowburn

Warnings: temporary character death; TAZ-canon-typical violence

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary:

Logan had always thought that being a human meant he had to work harder and faster than everyone else to truly make a difference in the world. When his home is consumed by an intergalactic force known as The Hunger and he’s forced to go on the run through space with six others for a century, he realises that that’s not exactly true.

Or, Logan accepts an offer to join the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration and to travel around the mysterious planes that control his planet for a few months, but ends up hopping realities and dying a whole bunch alongside his mismatched crew members, learning how to love somewhere along the way.

-

Logan knows that, as a human, he has certain limitations in this world. For one thing, his 80-year expected lifespan is nothing compared to the centuries-old elves and dwarves who are considered teenagers. For another, it means he can’t rely on magic. He doesn’t have enough time to spend it mastering something he was never meant to have.

He turns to science at a young age.

The stars call him from outside his dirty, cracked window, and he dreams of the day he can fly among them. He wants to touch, he wants to grow, he wants to be something more.

Even at 8, he knows that his world doesn’t have the technology for that, and won’t for a very long time. It doesn’t stop him from yearning, though.

His parents send him to an academy at 15, only because he managed to get a scholarship. He graduates at 17 at the top of his class.

It’s still not enough.

He devotes the next five years of his life to mapping the stars and their constellations. Nothing that hasn’t been done before, but Logan’s determined to do this on his own.

If he won’t be able to live among them, then he’ll commit them to memory. Maybe he’ll travel along the constellation Pneuma Cascade in his dreams.

-

Having two suns is a fact everyone on Phaethon has long since accepted. The early civilisations made entire mythos surrounding those two stars alone, and children of his world are told stories of two lovers who chase each other endlessly. The second is dimmer because of his eternal pining, but he will follow the other to the end of times. When parents are asked why, they reply “because they’re in love,” and that’s all there is to that story.

Logan’s long-since moved on from folklore and the notion of love. Instead, he wants to know how. How can these two massive celestial objects coexist without succumbing to one another's’ gravitational pull? How does his planet, as small as it is, only orbit around the two without being sucked in?

Those questions give Logan purpose.

-

At 30, Logan finally has something to show for all his research.

The problem with examining two suns is that first of all, you shouldn’t look directly at them, and secondly, they’re too far away to properly study.

He devises a tool. It’s mostly cylindrical, and the otherwise hollow interior contains several panes of glass. Originally it was designed to filter out the sunlight, but Logan quickly figures out how to magnify the image he’s seeing.

(It’s kind of embarrassing that it took someone with corrective lenses for his short-sightedness to figure that one out, but all that matters is that it works.)

It takes him a few more years to have a perfected prototype. And he sees something no one else has.

He can see the suns in shocking clarity, but he doesn’t care about them (too much) anymore. Instead, he focuses on the slight rift between them. It’s not exactly a rift, more like… a divide. A shift.

Logan spends countless hours studying this, almost forgetting to breathe at times. This is what it’s all been leading to. There’s more! He can be more, do more!

It doesn’t take him much longer to figure out that the second sun is a double of the first. No, not exactly a double.

The second sun comes from the Ethereal Plane. The existence behind theirs, to put it simply. So it’s not a double, more like… the same one, but ever so slightly behind.

And the divide? It’s a weakened point between his plane - the Material Plane - and the other. Which means-

Holy shit. If there are other weakened points to other planes, then they could travel. He could explore! Not just magic-users who pop into the Ethereal Plane for brief moments, nor necromancers trying to break into the Astral Plane, no. Everyone.

Notes and ideas spill furiously from Logan’s mind, down through his arm and onto a thick, leather-bound journal. He lives off of caffeine and adrenaline as he completes his paper on Interplanar Travel, and not long after, he’s contacted by Thomas Sanders, the leader of the newly established Institute of Planer Research and Exploration (IPRE, for short).

Thomas offers him a position on the team of explorers that will be tasked with travelling across planes and, hopefully, beyond that at some point. He explains that although not too long ago, their world certainly didn’t have the technology, ever since the Light of Creation fell there’s been massive leaps in scientific advancement.

(Logan must have been holed up in his study during that time, as he has to pretend he knows exactly what his future boss is referencing.)

It’s everything Logan’s ever wanted, so of course, he accepts.

-

YEAR 0.

10 months later, and he meets his teammates. He’s already known and worked closely with Thomas (soon to be Captain Sanders) for the past few months, and he’s certainly earned Logan’s respect, but the rest of the team has some… shortcomings.

For one thing, he isn’t sure why they need two wizards who also double as cooks (Roman and Virgil) though he supposes the fact that they’re twins who seem to have done everything together makes them a package deal.

And, okay, he gets why they might need a cleric, but surely Patton could also double as the journalist (a young tiefling named Kalumnia), or vice-versa!

Also, if they have a ship that can withstand the heat of passing between two suns and the extremities of space, then why can’t they add a few weapons? Why do they need a security officer? Can’t the twins do magic?

He doesn’t have much time to convince Thomas to hire more fitting members (why not a maintenance crew?) because he meets all these people right before they’re given matching red robes with IPRE emblazoned on them and are told to walk onstage in front of the largest gathering of humans, elves, orcs, tieflings, dragonborns, etc. that Logan’s ever seen in his life.

He’s more than happy to let his Captain manage the questions from various reporters while he sits back and attempts to get to know his crewmates. After all, he’ll be living with them for a few months, possibly longer if the mission is a success. Might as well get comfortable.

“So,” Logan murmurs to the person he’s seated next to (Roman? Or maybe Virgil?), “why did you sign up for this?”

The high-elf casts a cursory glance in his direction as his twin whispers something in his ear, making him snort. They’re definitely laughing at Logan, which. Okay. He can deal with childish behaviour.

“Look! His ears are going red. You embarrassed him, Ro,” the furthest one says.

“I did not! You’re the one who made me laugh!” Roman retorts.

It’s a relief when Thomas calls him up to the podium.

“Salutations. My name is Logan and I’m the Science Officer of IPRE.” His voice rings out all around him and reporters call his name. He chooses one at random - a young human woman with wild hair.

“Hi, Linda from Phaethon Press here. I read your report on Interplanar Travel and I’ve been blown away with the progress you’ve made since!”

“Thank you.”

“Anyway, could you explain what you’re hoping to find or learn from your journey?”

Logan’s struck once more by how much he has to explore and a wide smile spreads over his features. “Well, not much is known about the other planes. The Ethereal Plane is usually only used for short periods of travel because of its ever-changing nature. To stay there too long would leave you clueless about how to get back to the Material Plane. And we all know about the Astral Plane, where the departed souls from our plane go. While we don’t have any concrete goals because of our limited knowledge, we do aim to explore the other 9 planes. We don’t know what we’ll find - maybe new life forms or energy or-”

Roman fakes a cough as he exclaims, none-too-quietly, “Nerd alert!”

Logan clears his throat. “Uh, so, we basically aim to explore and research the planes.”

“You don’t say,” he hears Virgil mutter.

God, he can’t imagine living with these people for the next few months.

-

The night before they leave is spent drinking onboard the newly-christened “Starblaster”. Logan makes a face every time he hears the name, but it was suggested by a drunk, giggly Roman and backed up by the equally intoxicated members of his team.

He wants to put as much distance as possible between himself and the twins, so he joins Patton and Kalumnia, who spends half the conversation listening and the other half writing down everything that’s happening. Logan has to admire her penmanship.

“Goodness, I wonder what other planes there are?” Patton wonders aloud.

Logan’s interest is piqued immediately. “Oh! I’ve actually been thinking about that a lot. We know there’s some sort of Celestial Plane because that’s where clerics draw their power from- though I suppose you already know that.”

“I do, but I don’t mind!” Patton smiles.

This guy is infinitely better than the twins, Logan decides. “So that, the Ethereal and the Astral are the planes that have the most impact on ours, so they must be closer or at least, larger and more prominent than the other planes. Therefore, the other planes aren’t likely to bear any sort of intelligent life, but the magic there could be completely different.” Magic that he might possess.

“That’s so cool!”

Kalumnia nods. Her bright, golden eyes watch Logan as he continues to talk, pointed ears perked. Patton asks questions and his own brilliant blue eyes widen whenever Logan mentions something he previously hadn’t known. Even Missy, the security officer Logan has avoided due to the scowl she wears, wanders over and joins the discussion.

For the first time in his life, Logan’s listened to. He could get used to this.

-

It turns out he could and should get used to it because as they leave Phaethon, a thick, suffocating darkness descends on it. They catch a glimpse of 11 other planes before black tendrils shoot out of their plane and pierce the others, and slowly drag it into its massive, incomprehensible form.

“Head for the rift!” Logan yells as his Captain maneuvers them through space.

Columns shoot out at them but the Starblaster dodges them with ease. Alarms blast, ringing sharp and shrill as they rocket towards the two suns, picking up speed each nanosecond.

He, Kalumnia, Thomas and the twins are huddled at the front, staring straight forward into the divide.

Patton and Missy are the only ones brave enough to watch as everything they’ve ever known, everyone they’ve ever loved, is consumed.

They just have to get to the rift. If they do that, they can break through to another plane. They can survive, they can run. They just have to get through, and they’re almost there, so close-

“Right!” Logan cries. Whatever’s attacking comes through the rift, barrelling straight for them.

Thomas jerks his controls to the right, tilting the ship so far that Logan crashes into the side.

His crewmates scream as they collide with something, sending them spiralling through space. Hungry black surrounds them, reaching out, trying to ensnare them and pull them in, but it only ends up flinging them in another direction.

“Change of plans!” Thomas yells, lifting his controls high, trying to break free.

The monster makes one last desperate grab, colliding with the bottom of their ship with a loud clang!

They’re flipped end over end, further and further from the rift. Further from the other planes. Logan’s head bounces off of hard metal, his body thrown around like a sack of bricks. There’s a snap, and then burning pain shoots through his right arm. His vision fades as the pain magnifies, becoming so intense it's unbearable. The panicked yells of his teammates seem so distant, but he manages to pick out a scream of “Roman!” and Patton making one last, desperate effort to heal them.

Black greets him soon after.

-

YEAR 1.

Pure, white light surrounds him. Threads of light stitch him together, restoring his body, and it’s not long before it unravels and reveals the rest of the IPRE members. Logan watches as its wisps are drawn away and disappear from sight, fading into the night sky. Except… he’s on the Starblaster’s deck. So it’s not the sky, it’s… It’s space.

There’s not a single scratch on any of them - apart from the battlescars Missy shows off proudly, but they had always been there. Nothing shows that they had just survived an attack on their home planet, unless… Unless they didn’t survive? Or Logan dreamt it? Or…

A sob breaks the stunned silence surrounding them. Virgil pushes past Logan as he runs toward Roman, tackling him to the floor.

“You died!” He screams. “You died. You were dead. I saw it; I saw your body in front of me, Ro. How are you- how could you-”

Roman pries his arms out from under Virgil and wraps them around his brother. “Shh, it’s okay, I’m here,” he murmurs, stroking Virgil’s purple hair. His eyebrows are knitted together, trying to remember what happened.

Logan does the same.

“Are we- did we die?” Patton whispers. “Where are we? Where’s Thomas?”

At that, Logan realises that there are only six of them. He bolts towards the cockpit. The rest of the team, barring the twins who seem content to fuss over each other, follow in hot pursuit.

The door slams open as the four of them charge through. There, at the controls, is their Captain.

He bolts out of his chair and spins around, hands raised as he readies a spell. When he sees his crew, his whole body relaxes and he goes limp. Missy rushes forward to steady him.

“You’re- you all disappeared,” Thomas breathes out as he’s lowered to the floor. “You all were taken by this- by this light, and then I was surrounded too! I came to back in this chair and you were all gone. I thought- I thought I was alone.” His voice drops to a whisper at the end there and even Logan has to inhale deeply to stop the panic that rises when he imagines being forever alone in space.

Patton grabs Logan’s wrist, pulling him towards Thomas and Missy, and Logan doesn’t fight it when he’s scooped into a hug.

Patton’s arms may not be able to reach around all of them, but they’re warm and comfy and remind him of his parents. At least they didn’t die at the hands of that… thing.

Logan’s the first to pull away. “We need to take stock of what we know and what we have. Our first priority is to figure out what that being was and if it’s going to attack us again. Then…” His gaze catches sight of a plane. And another. And another! Excitement stirs inside him. “Then we explore.”

-

It takes them around ten minutes to realise that the twelve planes they’re flying around are completely different from theirs. It takes Logan two days to draw the conclusion that by not jumping through the rift and being thrown off course, they somehow managed to enter a new… planar system? Reality? He couldn’t say.

Basically, there’s no going back home - if their world even still exists.

Roman and Virgil are the only ones who don’t seem to care at all.

Logan doesn’t know much about them (other than the fact that they delight in tormenting him) so he doesn’t want to judge, but their carefree attitude is somewhat rude to Patton, Missy and Thomas who are in mourning.

On the third day, they decide to test their luck on this new Material Plane. As Thomas eases the Starblaster into it, they’re greeted with luscious green forests and wide, stretching savannahs and grasslands and mountains-

The likelihood of that is astounding, and Logan spends quite some time with Kalumnia chronicling the biomes of this planet.

But that’s about where the similarities end. There are no oceans, though there are lakes and rivers, so water isn’t a problem. However, the fauna is even more interesting.

The population of this strange place is mostly made up of giant creatures that are up to ten, twenty, thirty times their tiny, Phaethonian frames.

“Now I’m not the only dwarf,” Patton jokes when they first hover above the planet, trying to find a safe place to land. Logan lets out a stunned laugh, but it's more from the joy of a new discovery than anything else.

-

That night, Logan lays on the deck of the Starblaster, admiring the countless new constellations and planes, all his to explore!

It’s so clear, up here on a mountain in an undeveloped world, far from artificial light sources. It’s serene, it’s beautiful, it’s-

“Ro, let him be a nerd in peace.” Virgil’s furious whisper cuts through the pristine air and immediately, Logan has a sour taste in his mouth.

“Hush, brother.”

Logan resolutely keeps gazing up at the stars, ignoring as Roman’s boots clack against the metal. He ignores it when they stop by his head, and he continues to pretend Roman doesn’t exist even when he plonks himself down beside him.

“You’re missing out on a glorious feast, you know,” Roman says at last.

Logan tries to detect the sarcasm or the hidden meaning, but he either needs to brush up on his social skills or there isn’t any. Which, coming from Roman, is impossible.

He slides his eyes to his left. In the starlight, Roman’s usual vibrant red robe and equally crimson hair are paler, softer. Instead of his constant smirk and perfect death stare, he seems almost wistful as he too stares into the sky. Logan tears his gaze away and clears his throat.

“I’m fine with freeze-dried cubes of nutrition.”

Roman laughs, and that too is gentle compared to the harsh delight Logan had committed to memory after only a few days. It’s hard not to memorise it when it’s being directed at you more often than not. “Weren’t you the one talking about rationing? C’mon, Lo, me and Virge went through all that effort to take down one of those beasts! Aren’t you going to at least try it?”

Maybe Roman just has a really annoying whiny-voice or maybe he’s hungrier than he thinks because Logan actually considers it. Then he remembers that they don’t know if the meat on this planet is even edible, let alone feast-worthy. “Who said you could call me Lo?” he replies instead. It comes out harsher than he intends.

Roman scoffs and jumps up on his feet. Logan frowns and looks up at him, only to find a scowl as Roman avoids his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Sorry for trying to include you, I guess.” The clacking of his shoes is considerably louder as Roman stomps back to his twin, who murmurs a quiet “I told you so.”

Logan’s insides squirm uncomfortably. Something in him urges him to apologise, but he fights back the feeling. He didn’t do anything wrong. He just wanted to ensure the food wasn’t going to kill him. What’s so wrong with trying to survive?

(Later that night, he sneaks into the kitchen and finds a plate with a slab of meat and a couple of roots. He throws away the note that reads “You’re welcome -R” and braces himself for the first forkful of his new diet. Instead of the strange, bland flavour Logan expected, when he bites into the mouth-wateringly tender meat, he’s met with an explosion of tastes. He can see why Thomas insisted on tasking both Roman and Virgil with cooking now.)

-

The Light of Creation falls early the next day. Logan misses it (again), but when he wakes up, it’s to Thomas flying the Starblaster at breakneck speed towards where it fell.

“Why has it come here?” Patton asks. No one has an answer.

They find it a few hours later, and already, the surrounding fauna looks… smarter?

There’s a cacophony of sound as a mixture of bleets, honks and moos turn into something singular, cohesive. It’s the sound of language.

“After only this much time?” Logan questions.

“Yeah, well. That’s kind of what happened in our- in Phaethon,” Thomas explains. “When it fell, it didn’t take long for people to start inventing things. You invented your little, uh, cylinder thing-”

“Telescope.”

“Yeah, telescope, when it fell.”

“It was a work in progress!”

“But you only perfected it after the Light, right?”

Logan can’t say for sure, so he stays silent. It’s not like it’s a bad thing to make scientific advancements, it’s just… He wanted it to happen from his own merit. Not because some mythical light suddenly gave him the ability to.

“So,” Virgil pipes up from where he’s leaning against the wall, “should we take it?”

“I really want to steal it,” Roman says.

Logan sighs. “Can we at least see what these animals do with it first?”

“No! I mean, yes, but we shouldn’t steal it,” Patton says, wide-eyed.

“It’s not stealing,” Virgil replies. “It’s not theirs.”

“But it’s not ours either!”

“Not until we take it.” Roman pats Thomas’ shoulder. “C’mon, Cap, let’s get this thing.”

They wait a week and then bring the Light onboard.

-

In the following months, Virgil and Roman rope Patton into learning the new animal language and over dinner, they talk in a series of grunts and honks that make Logan infuriated. He pretends he isn’t trying to figure it out by delving into the food (still as delicious as the first time, if not more) but at some point, Virgil and Roman confront him.

“Want us to teach you?” Roman asks, and Logan, pride be damned, nods.

-

Missy starts building herself a home. She gets Logan to make a saw and then she chops down a tree (and she only needs the one). After a month, she has a nice home that she and Kalumnia often stay in.

Patton studies the flora while Logan studies the fauna, and together they help Kalumnia with her chronicling of this world. Dwarves must have some connection with a nature god because the plants lean into Patton’s gentle touch. Flowers spring up underneath his fingers and he thrives out in the jungle.

Thomas remains on the ship, but he’s never alone. They meet up for dinner every night (Missy loves climbing a mountain every day, for some weird reason) and they talk about the progress they’re making in this world.

Logan can speak the language too now, and even though he hated it before, more often than not he, Roman, Virgil and Patton are communicating in it.

It’s a nice rhythm they’ve settled into. Logan thinks he could get used to this.

-

Another month passes. Everything goes to shit.

Patton notices it first. The grass is dull; the wind quiet. The sky is darker and the lakes are no longer a clear crystal blue. He tells the others about this and Logan wonders if it’s because of their ship, or their presence, or maybe the Light.

He’s answered a few hours later when the 13th plane arrives.

Its form is bigger this time. Darker. More violent. Shadows pierce down from the sky and form humanoid shapes - some short and stocky, some with pointed ears, some who look human - and Logan’s struck with a terrifying realisation that these shadows are people from Phaethon. Or, he should say, were.

Logan and Patton aren’t far from the ship, and the twins, although they like to explore, have been sticking close by recently. Kalumnia had already been in her study onboard, and Thomas is at the controls when Logan enters. Missy, however…

As Thomas brings the ship up into the sky, the rest of them search desperately for Missy. They know they can’t stay too long. This thing, this beast, it’s stronger. Smarter. They need to escape before one of the shimmering black columns pierces their ship and they’re bound to this plane.

“There!” Virgil cries, his elven eyes picking up Missy’s struggling form.

She’s fighting valiantly, taking out multiple shadows with just one swing of her axe. The animals around her stomp and charge, but it’s not enough.

“I can’t get close enough!” Thomas says, weaving the ship through the black.

“Fine!” Roman shouts, and then he runs out of the cockpit and onto the deck, then flings himself overboard.

Virgil rushes to the edge. “Bro, what the fuck?!” He calls, before he too leaps over the railing.

They see the twins float downwards, blasting off spells as they go, and it’s not long before they’re down there fighting with Missy.

Roman’s body becomes a force of fire, burning bright as he flings massive fireballs into the fray. Virgil summons a massive bolt of lightning and the resulting thunderclap is so loud it hurts Logan’s ears.

“We have to go,” Thomas murmurs. Logan and Patton’s heads whip to him. “We have to go, now!” He says more forcefully this time, and Patton starts arguing with him.

“We can’t leave them behind!”

“If we don’t leave then that’s just more carnage, more bodies for that thing to consume. We’re leaving.”

Logan has never, ever, heard such a cold voice coming from Thomas. But he understands.

“Look, Patton,” he begins, “when we left Phaethon, I died. And so did Roman. But we came back. I don’t know how, and I don’t know if it will keep happening, but we need to leave. Or else there’s no hope for them.”

Patton tries to argue, but Thomas is already flying them away, out of the Plane, then out of the Planar System. He doesn’t react when Patton pulls at his arms, trying to get him to turn around. He’s not cold, he’s calculating. Thomas- Captain Sanders is making an executive decision and Logan knows he can’t change it.

The black follows them, and he sees it withdrawing from the planet in favour of pursuit. The cogs in his head turn as the white threads from a year ago weaves around them again, and Logan manages to cry out “It wants the Light!” before he’s wrapped up entirely.

-

YEAR 2.

Logan wakes up on the deck of the Starblaster, Virgil behind him. Like last time.

He furrows his brows and races back to the cockpit, and sure enough, his captain is there.

When everyone piles in, Logan’s in the middle of theorising.

“Every time we leave a planar system, we’re brought back to our original positions,” Logan says, mostly to himself but Kalumnia starts to transcribe what he’s saying in her journal. “That thing-”

“The Hunger!” Roman supplies.

“Not your most creative name.”

“Got a better one, Virge?”

“Fine, the Hunger wants the Light of Creation. When we left with the Light, it left the planes alone and tried to follow us. When did the Light fall on Phaethon?”

“About a year before the Hunger came,” Kalumnia murmurs.

“And it was about a year after the Light that the Hunger found us on that plane, too!” Logan clasps his hands together and straightens up. “Is there a blackboard on this ship?”

Kalumnia nods and leads them to her study, then wordlessly hands Logan a piece of chalk.

It’s the first time Logan has been in here, and he’s blown away by the countless journals and books from their home planet that remain on the sturdy oak bookshelves. There are also sketches pinned to a corkboard, mostly depicting the strange life they had encountered on the other planet. They’re only sketches, but the extraordinary amount of detail blows him away. How had Kalumnia kept this to herself all this time?

He shakes his head and gets to work. “So, what do we know?” He asks, then divides the board in two. He labels one column “Already Know” and the other “Need to Know”, then scribbles some notes in the former.

“The Hunger’s shadows looked like Phaethonians,” Missy says.

“Yeah, but they could change their form at will. I would blast one with fire and the black would disperse before coming together as a new Phaethonian.”

“It was stronger this time,” Virgil adds, shaking ever so slightly. Roman wraps an arm around him.

Logan nods and continues scrawling. “That means that when it consumes a plane, it adds it to its… collection. Its army.”

“We just left a plane full of massive creatures! How are we supposed to fight that?!” Roman exclaims.

“Well, no. As I said previously, when we left, it followed us. It started to withdraw from the Plane.”

Patton turns to Logan. “You mentioned the Light before we- we reformed. Why would it want that?”

He shrugs. “That’s why we have a Need to Know column,” he answers, then adds that exact question to the board.

“A better question,” Virgil steps forward and takes the chalk from Logan, “is how are we reforming?” He looks around expectantly.

“There’s this light that surrounds us - almost like thread.”

“I think I know what that is,” Captain Sanders says at the same time Kalumnia adds, “It’s the Bond Engine.”

Seeing their blank looks, both of them shake their head.

“We’ve been living on this ship for a year. How do you not know what the Bond Engine is?” Kalumnia has a rare smile on her face as she and the Captain launch into an explanation.

“The Bond Engine doesn’t use any fuel, it runs on bonds.”

“Bonds are what tie us to the Planar System. They’re the experiences and the connections we have to the planes, and it allows us to travel between them without the risk of ending up in a black hole.”

“How come we were able to leave both Phaethon’s System and the other one?” Patton asks.

Kalumnia and Thomas shrug, but Logan’s quick to reply. “It must be the Hunger. We haven’t been able to leave any Planar System until it comes. It must… cut our bonds with the planes. That would mean we don’t have ties to the Astral Plane, so if we die, we don’t go there. Instead, the Bond Engine brings us back onto the ship, in our original positions.”

“So what I’m hearing is,” Roman begins with a grin that he shares with Virgil, “we’re basically immortal, right?”

“No, because we do still die, we just come back-”

“Technicalities, technicalities,” Roman dismisses. “Anyway, this year I’m going to do some wild shit!”

“If you die on me, I’m going to be so fucking pissed,” Virgil threatens, but he also seems excited to be able to do whatever without consequences.

-

The Light falls into an ocean. They’re unable to retrieve it when the Hunger comes and instead, fly away as soon as they see its black pillars descend. Call them cowards, but at least there wasn’t much life on this planet to begin with. If there was any, it’s all gone now.

-

YEAR 5.

Logan hadn’t meant to become friends with the twins. It’s more like that they decided they were going to hang out with him, and he hasn’t been able to shake them since.

He finds he doesn’t mind, which is a feat in and of itself, considering he hasn’t had friends for the roughly four decades he had been alive for.

-

One night, they’re stargazing. Well, Logan is.

Roman and Virgil are wrestling each other next to him and surprisingly, Virgil wins.

“How are you so strong?” Roman whines, flexing his arms to show off his quite impressive muscles.

Virgil shrugs. “I chug my bone juice,” he replies, and Logan decides not to question what he means by that. “Do you give up yet?”

Roman laughs and charges Virgil. His momentum carries him forward and he crashes into his twin, then he swipes his leg out from under him and pins Virgil to the ground. “Take that!”

“Oof, my bones,” he deadpans, and Roman helps him up.

“Are you two done?” Logan asks.

Instead of insulting him, like they would’ve done five years ago, they nod and sit beside him. Logan’s chest flutters when Roman leans into him easily, knee gently bumping his own every now and again.

“So,” Virge begins, and judging by the glint in both his and Roman’s eyes, Logan has a right to be worried.

“We were thinking,” Roman continues, “that we don’t know much about you.”

“And we know everything about each other!”

“So why not tell us about yourself?”

Logan sighs. “What do you want to know?”

Virgil considers this, then asks, “Do you have a last name?”

“No.”

“Cool,” Roman says, “It’s Bluejeans now.”

“What?” Logan splutters. “You can’t just give people last names! And these jeans are comfortable and practical!”

“Whatever you say, Mr Bluejeans, sir,” Virgil mock salutes.

Logan tries to argue with them, but it’s clear he’s getting nowhere. “Fine! Have it your way, Virgil… Purplehoodie.”

Virgil laughs, and okay, it wasn’t his best work, but it’s not like Bluejeans is any better. “So what? Roman and I are twins. Does that make him Roman Purplehoodie? I don’t see a fucking hoodie, nor anything purple. That doesn’t make sense, Lo.”

Logan doesn’t react to the nickname. Instead, he exclaims, “Neither does Bluejeans!”

“You wear blue jeans!” Roman protests.

“And your brother wears a purple hoodie!”

“Not all the time!”

“Almost all the time!”

“Oi, keep it down!” Missy shouts from somewhere inside the ship. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Don’t worry, we’re just playing card games in here!” Patton tells them.

“They ain’t need to know that!”

Even though Missy was bluffing, they stop arguing.

“Do I get to ask a question now?”

“Fine, shoot Mr Bluejeans.”

“I’m never going to get rid of that name, am I?” Both Virgil and Roman shake their heads. “Alright. Can I ask a question now?”

The twins glance at each other and shrug. “Seems fair.”

Logan ponders for a moment. He doesn’t really have any burning questions, but he supposes there had been one thing he was always curious about. “Are you two identical?”

Virgil’s gaze flashes to Roman, then back at Logan. The movement is so quick he almost misses it.

Roman leans back on his palms and puts on an easy smile. Logan knows that he’s only pretending, but he doesn’t get the chance to backpedal before Roman answers him. “Nope,” he pops the p.

Logan waits a moment, then opens his mouth when no explanation follows, but Roman must have changed his mind about how much he wants to share.

“I’m trans,” he blurts. Logan watches as Virgil’s arm snakes around his brother and studies Logan for his reaction.

He doesn’t miss a beat as he says, “Oh, but you look too alike to not be identical.” It’s awkward and kind of clumsy, but he genuinely means it in an “I thought you were identical twins” way and not a “How can you possibly look so masculine?” way. Virgil and Roman seem to pick up on it, at least.

“Genetics, dumbass,” Virgil replies, and the three of them laugh. “Honestly, the scientist should know this!”

“I’m an astrophysicist, not a biologist.”

“Those words? Fake.”

“You can’t call words fake.”

“All words are fake!” Roman and Virgil retort at the same time.

Logan goes to argue. Then he considers it. And okay, maybe they have a point. Especially their words. He’s not sure if they’ll find another Planar System that speaks Common - or any of Phaethon’s languages, in fact. It doesn’t stop him from wanting to learn the others’ languages though, so he gathers up the courage to ask a second question.

“Would you two mind teaching me Elven?”

-

YEAR 12.

It’s a good thing he’s fluent in Elven now, because this new place is entirely elves. It’s literally called Elfington.

He and the twins have no problem fitting in, and to their surprise, neither does Kalumnia.

She shrugs and with an abashed smile she admits, “I know all of Phaethon’s languages.”

Roman and Virgil share a wide-eyed look. “That’s how you always knew about our pranks!”

“We thought you were a mindreader or something!” Roman adds.

Kalumnia laughs. “I do know that spell, but I wouldn’t invade your privacy like that.”

-

That year, he and the twins almost exclusively talk to each other. Kalumnia joins in on their exploits around town, and Logan notes that she’s much less reclusive than at the beginning of their journey. He supposes over a decade of selective company would result in that.

Wait. Holy shit. Had they really been doing this for a decade?

Logan catches a glimpse of himself in a store window. At fifty, he expects wrinkles around his eyes like the ones Patton’s had since day one, but no. There aren’t creases in his forehead, no grey hairs, nothing. For all intents and purposes, he hasn’t changed one bit.

Maybe Roman and Virgil weren’t too far off when they joked about immortality.

“And they call me vain!” Roman huffs as he comes to stand beside him. Despite his comment, he leans in to fix his hair in the reflection, running his slender fingers through newly-dyed red. It’s like this at the beginning of every cycle, and for the past week they’ve been on Elfington, all Roman has talked about were the hairdressers and the possibility of dye.

Logan’s friend is always excited when they begin a new year just because he gets the colour back in his hair. He suspects Virgil shares the same enthusiasm, but at least he doesn’t talk his ear off about how he should be able to invent dye when it starts to fade. For starters, he’s an astrophysicist, and secondly, he’s busy, thank you very much.

He wants to study the Light. Considering it has such a big impact on both the Starblaster crew and whatever plane it falls on, they need to learn more about it. Maybe one of these cycles, they can find a way to fight off the Hunger.

Logan doesn’t know how that would work, but this new world that’s positively teeming with life renews his motivation. He doesn’t want to see them get destroyed. He doesn’t want them to fall to the Hunger.

They’ve already recovered it so he wastes no time in setting up experiments.

Around the second month, Roman starts popping into the Starblaster to “make sure he isn’t nerding too hard” (his words, not Logan’s). At first, it’s only for a few minutes. Roman asks a few questions about what he’s doing, Logan responds with questions about what he and Virge have been up to, and then Roman goes back to Elfington.

As time passes, Roman grows more and more keen to help. It gets to the point where Roman and Logan do their experiments together. Kalumnia records for them, keeping track of what they’ve found (the Light of Creation emits waves of some form of energy) and what they need to know (what the fuck is that energy). Missy mostly makes sure that the pair eat and drink when necessary, occasionally throwing them over her shoulder and dragging them to bed.

Even Captain Sanders checks in on their progress (and with the two of them working together, it’s truly remarkable)!

The only one who keeps his distance is Virgil.

Logan finds out the reason for this on their tenth month.

It’s a typical afternoon. Logan had visited Elfington for last-minute supplies, and he had been carrying armfuls of metal parts and spell components when he heard low voices around the corner, where his newly-appointed lab was.

He pauses. He quickly figures that one must be Roman (he had told him to go ahead, but he must have wanted to wait) and therefore the other is Virgil. He considers making his presence known, but it sounds like they’re arguing. And the twins never do that.

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, honestly.

“I know why you’re doing this,” Virgil hisses. “You want to stay here.”

“I do not! And even if I did, what’s wrong with that? We haven’t had a home since we were fucking twelve, why can’t you just settle down?”

“This isn’t about that and you know it.” When Virgil continues to speak, his voice loses the anger and instead takes on a much softer tone. “Roman, we have the Light. There’s nothing else we can do for them.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do! In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been doing this thing for over a decade. We either get the Light and some people die, or we don’t and everything gets consumed by the Hunger. We’ve tried fighting it, we’ve died, and honestly, I don’t give a shit about the planes anymore!”

“How can you say that?” Roman murmurs. Logan’s equally surprised by that revelation.

“Look,” Virgil sighs. “We’ve been to like, four planets with life on it. And each time, we decide it’s a grand idea to make friends! Why not build our bonds? But at the end of the year, it’s the same thing. We fly away and we watch those people get torn apart into nothing. They’re dust. We’ve only had each other for so long, and you and the other five people on this ship are the only people I can count on. Everyone else? They’re dust, Roman. If we see them as anything else, we only get our hearts broken. And I can’t take that. Not for however long we’re stuck on this ship, going through the motions.”

Roman’s silent for a long time. Eventually, though, he says, “You’re lying.”

“What?”

“You’re lying,” he repeats, more forcefully. “You can try and pretend like you don’t care, but I’ve seen you with those kids. I know you care about them as much as I do. And I know you’ll fight for them at the end of the year.”

“Because they’re us, Ro!” Virgil’s outburst shocks Logan. He knows he definitely shouldn’t be listening at this point, but he’s frozen in place. “I mean, seriously? Two elven siblings, living on the road? When I see them, all I see is me and you as preteens forcing ourselves to entertain sickos by streetfighting just so we can eat. All I see is you giving me your one jumper because you know I hate the cold even though you were freezing just as much. All I see is us fighting over who should have the last scrap of food, not because we wanted it, but because we wanted the other to eat. So, of course, I’m going to fight for them. But at the end of the day, if it comes to saving you or saving those children, there’s no choice.”

Logan hears Virgil stomp the opposite way and when he’s sure Roman’s alone, he steps into the corridor.

Roman’s back is to him. Logan takes another cautious step forward, then another, and as he gets closer, he can see how he’s shaking. Roman’s fists are clenched at his sides, head hanging low.

“Roman?”

Roman straightens his back and raises one hand to his face. Logan can’t see what he’s doing, but when the hand comes back wet and Roman turns around with red eyes and a watery smile, he can hazard a guess.

“Hey, Lo!” he greets, far too cheery. “Let’s get to work!”

He doesn’t have time to ask what’s wrong because Roman grabs his arm and pulls him into the lab. All day, he interrupts Logan when he goes to offer comfort, and his smile is too wide, too forced. Logan doesn’t understand why he feels sad too.

-

At the end of the year, Roman pulls all-nighters alongside Logan. He and Virgil have long since made up, but his brother still steers clear of the lab. Logan doesn’t blame him - he’s never heard the pair fight before, and he’s sure it’s something they want to avoid.

Roman’s project that he had Logan helping him with is almost complete. It radiates a golden hue and its form almost replicates the Light exactly. It’s far from perfect, but it might just work. At this point, that’s all they can really hope for.

When the Hunger comes, they’re ready. Roman and Logan order Thomas to bring the ship over a mostly empty country (some mountains bordering an ocean) and they fling the fake Light down, watching as it splashes in the water. Immediately, the black smog that was chasing them dives down.

The Starblaster uses this chance to dart away, hurtling through the skies at breakneck speeds and it's not long until they breach Elfington’s atmosphere. The Hunger chases them, having figured out what they’ve done, and it seems angrier, more determined.

Little darts of black break free of its form and head for the ship, determined to bring them down. Thomas banks right, then left, before dipping down low. The other IPRE members have long since learnt their lesson about seatbelts, but they do rub at their necks during this process.

Roman and Logan share a smile. Most of Elfington was saved. Not just some, most.

Maybe they can win.

-

A/N That was the first part of Infinitesimal! If you enjoyed it, feel free to ask questions/scream to me about it because this is possibly one of my favourite concepts and I will take any opportunity to talk about it.

I hope I was clear with the whole Planary System stuff. If not, there’s more of an explanation coming in the following parts as well as some romance and maybe a touch of necromancy! Who knows? ;)