#the part remaining looks not too bad but its not flowering and looks small now... andbim trying to see if i can possibly save the part icut

[em1e]

⠀ 五条 + 夏 // RECUERDOS ⠀ ༝ ༝ gojo satoru + geto suguru ⠀ ༝ ༝ 3.2k words ⠀ ⚠︎ angsty kinda my b. this is a cyoe type story ! ⠀ — [ part 2 ] you were supposed to be dead, but by some miracle gojo's found you. geto, too.

i. dead

He thought he was going crazy, at first. 

Who wouldn’t? You were supposed to be dead. Go on and call him psycho for seeing you in everything, everywhere. 

The first thing he catches is your scent (it’s like picking up on something so vaguely familiar from childhood - an old memory that makes him double take and look around for what could possibly bring back the reminder of happier times). Gojo follows the smell absentmindedly through the busy streets, haphazardly bumping into other people and muttering half-hearted apologies without pause. He stops when he sees (h/c) hair enter a local grocery store.

It wasn’t possible, right? You were supposed to be dead. He follows behind without much thought, the soft chime of the doorbell making the clerk look up and greet him with a smile. He doesn’t acknowledge them, eyes set on your figure as you head towards the back of the shop - already knowing where whatever you have in mind to purchase is. Gojo keeps his distance, watching from three aisles over as you pick between two different apples, weighing and squeezing and examining until you decide the one in your right hand is much better than the one on your left. You bag the right one and put the left back in its place. From here, he can see your face clearly and he thinks numbly if there is a God out there, surely they are taunting me.

It’s you. You in every way he remembers you. The same soft gaze over everything your eyes meet, the same gentle but deliberate touch, everything done with confident intent. There’s small hints to prove you’ve grown older, that you have changed - more adult, more mature, but deep down he feels it. It’s you. 

He finds himself following a few steps after you as you leave the store. He can feel his own heartbeat in his ears, mind traveling a million miles a second as he tries to come up with some sort of explanation as to what was happening in front of his eyes. You stop at a pop-up flower shop, laughing animatedly with the owner before deciding on a bouquet of your favorite and carrying them away in one hand, the other clutching the rest of your belongings and recently purchased groceries. And he watches as you enter a nearby apartment, watches through the window as you greet the doorman with a smile and offer him one of your flowers, and watches you disappear behind the elevator doors. 

He leaves with a bitter taste in his mouth. 

ii. reunited

You were supposed to be dead. 

He’s brought back to that reminder looking at old pictures of when you went to Jujutsu High with him and Geto. Your smile so wide in each picture, your eyes crinkle in the corners with your arms thrown on either boy's shoulders - the bitter taste returns to his mouth. 

He knows now, you aren’t dead. Some part of his mind rejects the thought, some part of him rejoices in the fact. Gojo’s done some research on his own (also read: stalking) to find you seem to have a normal life. What happened after that fight?

Memories flood back from that dreadful night ; buildings were crumbled around them, and all Gojo could manage to think about after the demolition was where you were. He watched you take a bad hit, watched you fall off one of the many now broken down buildings, and you had yet to reappear among the other faces. Geto, as if sensing his friend's stress, starts to scream out. 

“(y/n)!”  

Geto’s scream is met with silence, and for once in his life, Gojo can’t find it in himself to move forward. To join his friend in his search for something. A corpse, part of your shirt, anything that could show proof of your remains, to prove that you were even there in the first place. 

Geto finds nothing in your wake, falling to his knees into the rubble and digging until his knuckles are all scraped from the cement and brick and glass and digging still when his fingertips are raw and bleeding, hoping to find anything. 

But he doesn’t. Gojo remembers numbly how they buried an empty casket. Pronounced dead with no body to match the call. He’s brought back to wondering why. Why you never told them otherwise, why you never came back to the school, why you never fixed this wrong. Does Geto know you’re alive? Your death absolutely crushed him, molded itself around his heart and formed a tough shell that Gojo finds hard to crack. 

He figures out your routine is just that - a routine. Very plain in every sense of the word, but easy to follow, easy to plan around. 

So it’s no surprise to him when you leave that same grocery store, items balanced meticulously in hand while saying something to the clerk who knows you by name. Without a second thought, Gojo pushes himself away from the wall he had been watching you from, head held high as he walked forward with mock intent to enter the same shop and oops - 

He’s knocked everything out of your hands! 

And consequently, has knocked you down as well. You’re quick to apologize, despite being the one to take the brunt of impact, and go to gather your items as quickly as you can. Gojo crouches to assist you, waving off your apology hastily. 

“No, no, no need to apologize. I wasn’t paying attention.” He ends with a hum, picking up a now bruised apple that rolled out of your bag and offering it to you. 

Here, he can see your face up close, and he takes in every little detail from behind his sunglasses. You finally look up at him as you take the apple from his hand, giving a small smile that makes something in his chest twist. 

“Thanks.” You shove the fruit back into your bag and Gojo offers his hand as he stands up, which you take gratefully. He grips your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting his own drop back to his side, chin up and head tilting slightly as if he’s really thinking about something. 

“Say, do I know you? Ya look familiar.” 

Your own head tilts in mock of his, eyes scanning his face and figure before your lower lip juts out and you shake your head, “No, I don’t think so. What’s your name?” 

His eyes narrow from behind his dark lenses, though he offers you his hand, “Gojo Satoru.” You shake it with an apologetic smile. 

“Yeah, no, I don’t recognize that. (l/n) (y/n).”

He drops your hand for a second time with a hum, “You must have one of those faces.” 

You shrug, smile ever-growing at him and he wonders if the sun could ever be as blinding in comparison. “It was nice to meet you, Gojo. Sorry again for running into you!” With a final wave, you’re moving past him to go back to your apartment. He knows this because he knows you. He knows you have to go home and start dinner right before your favorite show comes on TV so you can watch it while you eat. Then you’ll clean your kitchen, brush your teeth, and read a chapter from your favorite novel right before bed. 

Somehow, he also knows watching from a distance won't be enough forever. Things still aren't exactly clicking to him. Did you really not remember him? Or were you just saying that? He leaves with the hope of finding out.

iii. living

Gojo doesn’t intend to lose you a second time. He settles this with himself laying awake one night, room dark and mind heavy. If you left for good reason, he’s sure he could accept it. Maybe, with more thought, he could bring you back. Such a selfish hole to spiral down. 

It doesn’t keep him away the next day, already shopping at your frequented store. You come in five minutes earlier than he expects, and to no surprise head straight for the fruits. A perfect apple already in hand, he pretends to look between the selection of remaining apples, head tilting back and forth as he examines ones he knows aren’t nearly as good as the current in his grasp, but putting on a show for no one in particular. 

You step beside him, already giving him that big smile he’d recognize miles away and pick up an apple to examine yourself. 

“Funny running into you again.” You pick up another and compare them with the squeeze test. 

He pretends he’s surprised that you’re suddenly beside him, turning to look at you as if he wasn’t studying you the minute you stepped in the building. 

“Oh, it’s you!” He says after a moment, offering a small smile in return, “Very funny running into you! You wouldn’t believe what I found.” 

He passes you the perfect apple without much thought, not catching your amazed daze at the fruit as he reaches for his wallet to pull out the picture of the three of you and offering that as well. “I couldn’t get such a pretty thing like you outta my head - knew I recognized you from somewhere.” 

You all but gawk at the photo, apple long forgotten as you take in every detail. 

“Is this me?” 

He watches your expression shift from behind sunglasses, unsure what to make of this statement. 

“It is.” He says finally, “Do you . . . you don’t remember?” A small shake of the head is his answer. “This is you,” his arm brushes against yours slightly to point out the obvious, “this is me, and this is Geto. We were all friends back in the day.” 

“You . . . knew me?” Your voice is so small, and Gojo forgets for a moment that the two of you aren’t the only ones in this store, in this reality. 

“I . .. did, yeah.” He looks around and finally takes in the other patrons in the establishment, the workers joking and having a good time and Gojo hates that he’s potentially ruined your week with one photo. “Say, why don’t we get outta here and I tell ya all about it - maybe you can tell me what you’ve been up to, too?” 

It’s like his voice breaks you out of a trance, doe-eyed expression moving from the photo to finally look at him. You offer a small nod, frozen in place for a second longer before giving one more look to the photo and then looking away again. “Sure, that sounds good. D’ya mind me finishing up here? We can go back to mine after and talk?” 

For the first time in forever, you sound hesitant. Unsure. You don’t know what to make of Gojo or of that photo and everything blurs together until you’re stepping foot in your apartment, bags placed on the counter as Gojo enters your home. A silence surrounds you, though it’s not truly unwelcome. For a moment, he can see your discomfort with him - he’s uncertain if it’s because he’s in your space, or if it’s from the new found information. Part of him thinks it’s a mixture of both. 

“Nice place.” He hums absentmindedly, sliding off his shoes with his hands in his pockets, taking in everything as an official guest and not some stranger staring in from the street. 

“Thanks,” you’re moving to keep yourself busy, putting away things and picking up others to make it seem tidier than it currently is, “wasn’t expecting guests, sorry for the mess.” 

Gojo honestly doesn’t feel like anything is out of place - it all feels so homey, so uniquely you that if you told him this is how everything was meant to be, he’d believe you without a seconds hesitation. 

“S’okay, just seems lived in.” He’s careful to not rush in too quickly, not wanting to make you any more anxious than you already are. “Nothing wrong with that.” 

You finally gesture towards the living room, grabbing waters from your fridge and passing him one as you sit on the couch. He takes this as an invitation to sit as well, keeping his distance while you tuck your legs under you with them crossed. He opens his mouth to start, but you beat him to speaking while openly staring at him. 

“What’s with the sunglasses? I don’t think I’ve seen you take them off . . . well, ever.” 

Gojo almost wants to laugh at the question when you ask. You used to know. Surely this wasn’t all an act, right? 

“Light sensitivity,” he says simply with a shrug. A silence falls over you again, and you relish in it while looking around your apartment. “What kind of questions do you have?” He asks finally, deciding someone has to break the silence and he seems to be the one with less anxieties. 

You suck in a breath, meeting his gaze and then looking away. 

“Who . . . How do I know you?” 

You know he’s already explained it to you, but it seems just partial. Clearly, there’s more. Other things, whatever they may be, are missing. 

“We went to high school together,” he leans into the couch, arm slinging over the back, “you, Geto, and I were really close friends.” 

“Were?” You parrot, practically begging for more than the small crumbs he’s provided you with. 

“Were,” he repeats simply, “you disappeared one day after-” flashes of you falling from the building come to mind, “after school one day. We never saw you again.” 

“Oh.” You say quietly. “Did anyone . . . look for me?”

“Yeah,” he feels his chest tighten, Geto falling to his knees and digging desperately, “never found anything. It’s almost shocking to see you here now, honestly.” 

When he finally looks back over to you, you’re staring holes into the floor. 

“I woke up in a hospital a couple years ago,” you say without being prompted, “I didn’t . . . Couldn’t remember who I was or what happened. The doctors told me there was an earthquake in the area and an older couple found me in the rubble of a destroyed building . . . I never . . .” 

“Never got your memory back?” Gojo finishes for you, taking in how much you struggled to talk about this. You shake your head. 

“Not fully. Eventually I remembered who I was, I guess, but not really anything else. There wasn’t any record of me anywhere so I was basically . . . I dunno, a nobody. Started from scratch.” 

He watches you intently, trying to decide if this is really all true. You have no reason to lie to him, right? This couldn’t all be some ploy?  

“Can I see the picture again?” You ask so softly that Gojo doesn’t think he could ever deny you. He pulls the photo out of his pocket and gently passes it to you. You stare at it, taking in every detail like it’s the first time you’re seeing it again. “Who did you say this other person was, again?”

“Geto,” he hums, “he was one of our closest friends.” 

“Was?” Your eyes shift from the picture to him. 

He nods, “He and I sort of fell out, after a while. We don’t really talk anymore.” 

You nod in return, seeming to understand. Silence washes over the two of you again, and Gojo makes no move to change it this time. 

The two of you spend the next few hours trading questions between each other - you asking Gojo how things were in the past, and Gojo returning with how things are in the present. He learns you’re a school teacher at a local elementary school (and you love all of your students with your entire being), that you are still the kind hearted person he remembers you once were (how you go out of your way for others is admirable), and that you were thinking about getting a new pet (but you’re unsure if you’d be able to give them proper attention). 

He leaves with more than one of his questions answered, and with an invitation to come back around anytime on your tongue as he walks out of the apartment. He knows the offer is something he will take to heart. 

iv. memory

Knowing what you do now feels . . . weird. Gojo has made it a point to drop by every now and then, a ‘healthy check-in’ he likes to call it, but you suspect he just wants to rebuild whatever bond you’ve lost from the past few years. You don’t mind, honestly, happy to reconnect. 

He happily talks about your past, retelling memories in hopes of maybe bringing something back, but it never does. He avoids talking about Geto (you suspect it was a bad falling out) and you don’t pressure him to speak about the male.

No one could imagine your surprise when you see the enigma walking around the streets on one of your days off. 

He holds himself high, a confident aura surrounding him so thick you freeze when he passes you. You’ve never been one to be so direct, stunning even yourself when you turn on your heel and tap his shoulder gently. He makes it no urgency to face you, posture unchanging as he takes you in. 

He eyes you up and down, and you almost wonder for a second if maybe he isn’t who you thought you were. The picture you’re basing his looks on is what, 15 years old? Should you really be betting the entirety of introducing yourself on that? 

“Something I can help you with?” He asks, voice much softer than you expect it to be. 

It pulls you out of your own stunned silence, blinking at him, “You’re Geto right?” You almost cross your fingers he says anything but no. 

“I am, who are you?” 

You breathe a small sigh of relief, shoulders visibly relaxing. 

“I’m (l/n) - (l/n) (y/n), I knew you looked familiar.” You don’t see how his eyes widen slightly, too distracted by your own excitement to notice. “Gojo has been telling me about how we used to know each other, it’s crazy you’re here right now!” 

“(l/n)?” He repeats, still taking in everything that is you. “Haven’t heard from you in a while . . .” You were supposed to be dead. 

The thought weighs heavy in his mind, and he wonders for a moment if maybe this is some cruel trick by a curse. Maybe this is God punishing him for any of his wrong doings. 

He doesn’t realize you were talking to him until you’re tilting your head at him expectantly, waiting for a reply. 

“Sorry,” he waves apologetically, “I spaced out. This is just quite the surprise.” 

“It’s alright,” you offer a smile, “I was asking if you’d like to catch up? If you’re not busy, of course.” You add quickly, not wanting to suddenly take up his day if he already had plans. 

The curses at his side voice their concerns, their need to talk strategy and plan, but Geto returns your smile and gestures to a nearby cafe, “I have some time.” 

You don’t realize how nervous you are until you’re sitting down with your drink, Geto sitting across from you with a smile that you don’t think has left his face since you got his attention. 

“So,” he starts after taking a sip of his drink, “where have you been all these years?”

[x-bee-x]

In the meantime, before I make an official post, here's some of my feelings turned into something.

Reaper

I'm sorry if I made you cry, I kind of made myself cry.

710 words

Bad adjusted his cloak and hood once more, unclenched and reclenched his fingers around the grip of his scythe, then let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

He brought one arm up and around to the child riding on his back, his arms wrapped lightly around his neck, fluffy hair tickling a bit as they buried his face in Bad's collarbone in comfort.

This was probably the worst part of his job, doing all of this with kids.

It doesn't matter if they were ones he knew in the previous life or not, how long he knew them before he got to know them again while they were on this journey together, they were still kids.

Little bodies that rode on his back or held his hand or were tucked in his arms as they slipped through the veil between Life and Death together.

Bad started moving again, the child with fluffy hair and a too large yellow and green shirt still on his back adjusting his hips and legs slightly to remain his hold, and off they went.

"Just a little bit longer, kiddo, you can rest soon."

They reached the island of white and pink where two more tiny beds sat, one holding a boy wearing a mask that looked like an animal skull, the other with a girl with curly dark hair.

The two stayed physically laying on either side of their father.

One of the kids had an arm above his head and bent at the elbow, the other on top of his father's hand.

The second one was curled on her side and had a crow plush toy tucked into the crook of one of her elbows, the other reached out and almost touching her father's hand.

The father laid on his back in the middle, one hand splayed and fingers twitching slightly under the small hand resting on top of it, the other with its elbow bent and resting on top of the girl's head and fingers tangling in her hair lightly.

"Hi little ones. Are you ready?"

The souls glanced at their father once more, each pressed a kiss to his cheeks, and nodded, Bad waving a wrist and letting the scythe vanish, before holding out both hands for the boy with the mask that looked like an animal skull and yellow duck innertube, and the girl with curly dark hair with flowers in it, and they left.

The four of them came up on a gate, an arch, different from the one Bad stood before once upon a time, but similar still.

Two women stood at the entrance, crouching to a much shorter level when he and the children approached to greet them.

One of them wore a a long black dress, a wide brimmed hat on her head and a veil in front of her face, she had dark hair that reached the top of her back.

The other wore a long white dress with flowers decorating the front, she had shoulder length wavy pink hair.

"Hello lovely creatures. It's nice to officially meet you three. There's actually someone else waiting to meet you too."

The woman wearing black stepped to the side, revealing a handful of meters inside, someone wearing the same animal skull mask and had pink hair.

The two let go of Bad's hands and the one climbed off of his back, but none of them left yet.

He crouched down to their levels and the three of them hugged him with all their might, which wasn't a lot, but it was perfect.

"Thank you, Tìo Bad, goodbye for now."

And the boy with the mask that looked like an animal skull and the yellow duck innertube and short blonde hair ran to the man with pink hair and had the same mask,

"Gracias, Tìo Bad, I'll miss you."

And the girl with curly dark hair with flowers in it and a a little purple nightgown ran after her brother.

"Obrigado, Tìo Bad, for everything."

And the boy with fluffy hair and a too big yellow and green shirt and a prosthetic half of a leg walked to the woman in a white dress and was scooped into her arms.

Bad's job was done now.

[cheshire-silent-cat]

Move my heart

Hobie x reader (Pt2)

What a crazy story line, I don’t even see Gwen like this but at the same time I do, I think she is very mistrusting especially in the new movie, anyways Hobie still remains my knight. I thought of this part of the story while washing my hair and because I yelled “Eureka!!” I got soap in my eyes and mouth, so take that as a sacrifice worth your likes, follows comments and all that good stuff. For those of you who actually love me, I’m fine Dw and for those who are laughing 🖕 😂. Jk love you guys and enjoy the story, pls let me know if you see any mistakes so I can fix ‘em.

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Arriving at the scene, Miguel and Hobie attempted to attack it head on, but were thrown out of the way, Hobie made impact with the solid wall, exhaustion taking over his body and he did not get up “Hobie!!” Gwen screamed, every plan thought of failed, this goblin monster was just too big, in order to keep Hobie safe, you used your web to leave him on a park bench away from the battle, the others devised a plan to manually push the monster into a portal back to HQ, and there they could try to contain the monster, using brute strength they all pushed the monster into the portal but it was resisting, roaring to keep them away, till this moment you had not exactly engaged in the fight instead you had been watching , you spotted a splinter at the root of the monster’s wing, you jumped on it’s back, “hey spider-belle, that is really not safe, get down” miles yelled out, you pull out the wood piece, and the monster lets out a huge sonic roar in pain, you pop down in-front of the monster and in tried moving back, it tried wiggling off but you were persistent, “easy….easy, you’re ok” the monster slowed down to your voice, “now, see I’m not so bad hmm? How do your wings feel” you ask hopping down and it flaps them frantically, then nuzzles it’s nose into your stomach lifting you up and you hug back “you are very welcome” it drops you down very slowly and you end up sitting on your knees with the beast’s huge head on your thighs “we allowed you go on a rampage, we must have frightened you….so much, I’m sorry, but it’s alright now” you kissed the beasts head, the beast stood up straight raising its huge hands to you and you climbed on, it moved you to its head and you both walked into the portal, you promised to visit and the machine sent the beast home.

After several hours, hobie opened his eyes, he had been laying on your thighs and he was completely embarrassed, his hands were wrapped around your waist signifying that he must have pulled you into this position, you were talking to him, he expected, you were cursing him for putting you in such a position so he pretended to still be asleep in order to hear what you had to say to him (in his sleep) but to his surprise you were humming, fiddling with the spikes on his mask, your voice was so sweet and calm he felt like he was floating, and you smelt like award winning flowers, and your waist was so small his face was buried in your open torso and to him your skin was like clouds he had never slept so peacefully, “oh you are awake” you sang and instinctively Hobie jerked up in embarrassment, “uh Yh Yh” he said looking away from you “how did you sleep” you asked trying to meet his gaze “feel like I was smashed against a brick wall” he said his thick accent attempting to soothe your worries “that’s cus you were tough guy, can you stand” you asked getting up from the bench, “don’t worry about me sweetheart I’ll be fine, I don’t believe in pain, that’s a fascist excuse for slacking off” his voiced trailed off as you looked at him with utter disbelief but you still respected him for some reason, “alright c’mon big guy” you place his hand over your shoulder, and Hobie stands up, he thinks of fighting your intentions but he couldn’t bring himself to refuse you and ends up going with it as you support a limping Hobie into a portal to his world .

“Creepy how you know where I live, love” he says, “oh this was a guess” “meaning??” “I was just going to keep portal jumping till I found your world” you both laugh and drop Hobie on his couch, you attempt to take off hobie’s mask but before you could reach it Hobie grabs your hand, and you pull back, resisting the urge to take off your own mask.

“Sorry… I’ll leave, take care of yourself ” you say stepping back to open a portal. “I got a shit ton is of pot and I don’t think I can finish it all by myself” Hobie said his hands waving around as though he was actually making efforts to look cool “pot as in weed?” You asked closing the portal, “love, I’m asking you to stay” he said in a condescending tone, “fine I’ll go start the kettle” you were met with a confused silence “what?? I don’t smoke and this place is freezing, you have your way and I have mine” you say looking away as you pour the already hot water into a cup of grass, as you are doing this Hobie gets up walks auto behind you and places his jumper on your shoulders, scared and blushing out of your mind you turn around to leave, now finding yourself cornered by him, his tall body towering over your small frame, both your eyes gazing at the masks of one another, and in that moment time stood still.

A few minutes later you found yourselves laughing at each others music and politics related jokes, making voice impressions and giggling like kids, you still had your masks on but both of them were raised above their mouth and noses as they smoked and drank the pot, although you were both pretty high, every time you drank your tea, you made a subtly unimpressed facial expression, “so how is it” he gestured to the tea, “it’s an acquired taste” you giggled, “so it’s shit” he asks “what? No” with that he picks the cup out of your hands and try out the tea, “I was right, try this” he says holding a blunt to your lips, “I’m not sure I’ll be good at it” you say attempting to slide away from him, he snakes his hand around your waist to stop you, reluctantly to take the blunt in between your lips.

See this wasn’t your first time smoking pot but you weren’t sure if it would be up to his standards, after a few drags you got up, “I should be on my way home now” you giggled, “nah nah, no portal jumping, under the influence”, “I’ll be fine tough guy-“ he got up pulling you to him and kissing you out of the blue.

The next morning, you woke in hobie’s room, wearing his jumper over your suit, next to you he was still sleeping, with his mask on revealing his nose and mouth, flashes of last night resurfaced in your memory, and you suddenly felt the urge to leave, not just because you didn’t know how much time had passed in your own world but because it had been a while since you had last kissed a person and you were not trying to catch feelings for someone you knew wouldn’t feel the same way. You snuck out of hobie’s room, gently closing the door after you, now turning around to leave, you are met with gwen’s harsh gaze, of course you did not know how to feel, she had been judging you from the moment she met you, not because she didn’t like you, it was because she did not trust you, she was used to being the only girl in the friend group, the only girl around Hobie, and not having another girl around one of her closest friends especially this super skilled, super sexy beloved spider person that is now wearing her friends jumper that she usually wears, sleeping in a home she usually sleeps in. The silence is loud, so loud that the uncomfortable atmosphere manages to wake Hobie up, a shirtless but masked Hobie walks out of his room and at that same time a portal opens and out of it appears Miles and pavitr, “hey gwenny, you’ve met y/n AKA spider belle” he says snaking his arm around your waist in attempt to dim the awkward atmosphere, “hang on, she slept here” Gwen asked sounding a tad bit ruder than usual considering the fact she was talking like you were not in the room, Hobie might be a punk but he is still a respectful gentleman which also means he won’t take shit like that, in an annoyed and defensive tone he responds to Gwen “yeah what of it”.

[edenslittlecow]

Eden missing culver(pc)

It was time like this the hardest to get through.

Eden cleaned his rifle by the fire, unloading the ammunition and meticulously going over the barrel with a piece of clean cloth. Not a single spot was missed. The hunter had been doing this for 15 years. He had great experience dealing with his trusted rifle but he was taking his time. Something he only started to do recently. The fire next to him was warm and cozy. A different warmth to….the boy.

Now the barrel was polished and clean enough Eden could roughly make out his reflection on it. He looked down and put the rifle away.

Eden stuck to his schedule no matter if he was sick or tired. Even after the boy arrived at the cabin, his schedule was still consistent. Nothing really changed. There simply was just so much work to be done here. Work to be done to occupy his mind.

What is the boy doing right now?

Culver always returned to his mind now that he was free. The boy would even crawl into it sometimes when the work was less demanding. If he was tired, he would think about those doting gray eyes and he would feel better, as if the weight in his shoulders was lifted.

Who is he with?

Is he safe?

The boy approached him like an innocent fawn every time. A prey that was shy and timid, but was sure in his footsteps. A stupid prey really. Like an animal that was never hunted once in his life. Even though he had been hunted before. Countless times. He was….hurt… too. He still chose to place trust in the hunter, over and over again. So gently eating out of the hands of the hunter. “I forgive you. I love you.” He would say while nudging Eden softly. “I know you are not a bad person Eden.”

“I am yours, and yours alone.”

How can such softness remain untouched without protection?

He needs to be protected. He needed to be kept beside the hunter. That would be the only way to ease Eden’s mind.

The smell of the hunt lingered on his jacket still. The residue needed to be brushed off. He never mind doing it by himself, hanging it up and brushing it. After all, it was this way for years. Only recently since the boy’s arrival, Culver started doing it for him. As soon as he hung the coat up on the coat stand they both made together, the boy would brush his coat, rubbing some of the stains out. His long maid dress swayed back and forth as he worked so gracefully. Reminding Eden of a pretty bird flapping their wings. There was always this certain memorable elegance to his movement.

The boy loved doing things for the hunter, no matter how big or small the chore. He would Hum a sweet tune while doing it, like a pigeon cooing. It was something so soft in the background, almost as if it was a part of the sound of the forest but you can’t help but miss it when it was gone.

The gun the boy fired with Eden’s supervision. The coat the boy brushed, and cleaned before. Even the book Eden picked up, was the same book the boy had touched and read through. He could not help to imagine Culver’s soft fingers on the book, reading to Eden as the hunter felt the weight of his tiny body on him, like a weighted blanket.

Why won't he just get it? Why did he have to go back? Could he see how much danger he was putting himself in?

Eden always hated that place. It was no place for a boy like him. His Culver, so dainty and delicate. He would be snatched away…..And worse…..

There was so much danger Culver could get himself into. And his Culver chose to jump into the fire. Willingly.

Eden sighed and touched the inner hem of his shirt. An embroidered flower adorned its inside. Eventually he resumed reading.

There were still days before the week was out.

[alwayslosingtheplot-blog]

Make a world with me (Part 3)

Part one

Part two

@saqvobase suggested having the islands be on megafauna! Which opens up a whole load of possibilities. You have the classic giant turtle situation, which is cool but I think I want to go a different route.

Maybe a different kind of shell, like a sea snails mollusks. Barnacle-like entities which stay still and don't move but can create very turbulent seas during mating season. (This might be too gross)

Or maybe it is unknown that a creature was even involves. Part of a mystery. An island which vanished in the middle of the night and no one knows why or where it went - only for it to turn out that the creature it was on woke up and ventured out to the sea. Maybe it didn't go out to sea but down into it, or left broken buildings and pieces in its wake so that the other nations think that it sank and allows for an myth like Atlantis. Maybe another island lies on the skeletal remains of a long-dead Levithan, it's body bringing a bounty of fish and nutrients like a whale fall. If they dig deep enough under the thin layer of top soil they will hit the layer of bone. Maybe the body is finally only now finished providing for the area, with even the marrow stripped clean and many of the species that the locals rely on are starting to leave the area.

Or maybe an island is an dormant or abandoned hive structure, and these human-sized eggs are about to hatch. Maybe the islands are a series of giant eggs, and the entire populace lives unaware that when they hatch, these creatures are going to be very, very hungry.

Maybe all of the above along with natural geographical features like as @thecrazyworldbuilder suggested like volcanic activity or river deltas which make the maps weird and funky and a little unexplainable. I'm thinking that their might be a mountain range as well, which has valleys dipping under sea level or rock slides with huge chucks falling off and being washed down to form rocky isles.

I said in the last post about the idea of some of the Greek myths being brought along by a classical student, so for a naming system I'm thinking of naming the inhabited and known islands after Greek nymphs and rivers after Potamoi.

Thinking about the geography of each island isn't a bad idea either to help better inform how I build up the cultures living there. I want to keep the islands small and the resources tight to encourage tension and a strange combination of conflict and co-dependance between the islands. I'll probably do a bit of research into the myths and try and tie the islands loosely into them, but I'm not going to be too stringent about that.

The Islands

Alseid - Lots of groves, small lakes and one large river. Several towns, a city and one of the largest populations in the Islands.

Anthousai - Isle of flowers. Fields of flowers used all across the islands for perfume, food (think rosemary), and medicine. These flowers look like hyacinths.

Auloniad - The mountainous island. Lots of snakes. (Eurydice was an auloniad, so maybe do something to do with the 'underworld' here.)

Aurea - Also mountainous, but less so than Auloniad, this island is known for high cliffs and beautiful vistas.

Crinaeae - Lots of small springs or hidden sources of water instead of one large river results in many, many small settlements rather than a large city.

Daphnaie - The seat of the Laurel Crown and home of the largest city, and largest navy of all of the islands. Tries to exert its power and rules on the other islands.

Dryad -'The Crown's shame'. Covered in an oak forest. Many have tried to settle there but none have succeeded for unknown reasons, which is galling to the government on Daphnaie as it is quite close to them. Currently there is a small settlement in a harbour.

Eleionomae - Very wet, mostly fresh-water bog. People here mostly live on floating homes even inland because of the constant risk of flooding.

Epimeliad - Home of apple orchard and shepards. Epimeliad has a small city and something akin to a royal family of their own, although they have much less influence that Daphnaie. Epimeliad has many allies through trade and patron many groups looking for new islands and 'safe places to land' on the mainland. This is why Daphnaie has never invaded.

Hamadryad - Thousands of butterflies migrate here once a year from the mainland to mate. The island also has several monkey colonies who steal from and torment the villages that have been set up here in the last ten years. There was an older settlement here, but a sickness swept through and killed almost all of them forty years ago. The small few survivors moved to other islands, and their children made up the main contingent of new settlers.

Hesperides - The most easterly of all the islands, the sunset isle; When the sun sets on Hesperides, it sets on all people. The mainland, and the monstrous megafauna that roam it, can be seen from its beaches. There is a pilgrimage many people take to do just this. The main religion of the islands started here and the main monastery is located here. The singing priestesses often mentor for singers from all over the islands who wish to master their craft.

Hyades - The rainy island. Amazing farmland, surrounding by thriving sea life. This could be on the skeletal remains discussed above (fish and nutrients from the bones making the farming so good).

Lampas - Known as 'the funeral isle', and sometimes more optimistically as 'the exploring isle'. This small island is where most travelers go before heading off towards the open seas or towards the mainland to try and find new places for people to settle. Home of witches, which can give protective charms and read the future of those venturing out for a cost.

Leimakid - The island of meadows and pleasure. Legend says that the three warring nations came to fight on the shores of Leimakid and the island was the so beautiful that all the warriors dropped their weapons and refused to stain it with blood. It now houses the 'seat of peace', where nation leaders meet for negotiation under the watchful eye of a the 'peace-keepers' sent by the religion.

Leuce - The 15th island. It is an island with many white/silver popular trees. The duel nature of the leaves of this tree (dark on one side, light on the other) make it the source of many myths and rituals. The trees are planted along beaches to strengthen sand dunes and prevent erosion. This is a contest nation, where individual strength is more highly valued than anything else. It is where the Games take place once every three years to determine the fastest, the strongest, the best that the islands have to offer. It is also where the Funeral Games take place for recently deceased royalty.

Limnad- The lake isle. One of the largest islands has three large lakes for which is is famous. Farmers here are trying to develop new farming methods and trying to cross breed and encourage crops to grow more calorie-rich versions. Think of it as doing to the turnip-like crops what people have done to potatoes.

Meliae - Known for its honey and development of medicine. No nation dare attack this small nation, for every other nation would turn on them and destroy them.

Melinoe - The nightmare isle. This tiny island was once the home of a small monastery. There was a raid from unknown raiders. No one knows exactly what happened but everyone of the raiders and all the priestesses were killed. Any crew who lands there feels ill and are plagued by night terrors until they leave. Rumor says that one priestess survived and that it was her that killed all of the men in fury, and that she still roams the island, killing any man who dares step foot off the beach.

Minthe - A mostly barren isle, rocky and mostly soilless, living here is extremely difficult. The island is good for growing some herbs (such as mint) but it hard to live in, which is why Minthe only has a small population despite it's size. The people here mostly take their living from the sea. A place nobles of high rank are often banished to.

Naiad - Known for its waterfalls and the migration of fish that swim up them once a year to mate. There is a large number of deer, wolves and bears on this island.

Nephele - the peninsula. This is the only place where it snows. This stretch of land has mountains to the North which block it off from the rest of the mainland. Living here is difficult, because the dangers that invest the skies, but not impossible - at least that is the mantra of the three new settlements trying to take root on the coast.

That's it for now. I'll continue this next post and then jump onto something else once I have a bit more to play with.

I'll probably have to do a post on each individual island and the culture that lives there but I am quite happy with what I have so far. I may run out of nymphs before I do islands but that is a problem for another day.

[espectres]

‘ careful, now. ‘ a single black wing stretches itself out towards the other, rough-looking and enormous but still willing to acquiesce to any touch and curiosity. ‘ —- no tugging. ‘ not that dark and his generous heart didn’t trust the other, but these were amongst his most precious parts. not the black feathers but the grandiose limbs they were attached to, proof of a hidden namesake that the soft curl of the phantom thief’s lips refuses to pronounce. the touch of a hand too instinctively lifts to land lightly on shou’s shoulder, marble-esque palm keeping, if not silently pleading the other close. even if shou marvels and wonders over his wings, dark’s gaze lingers softly, fondly, every sharp feature filed down by tenderness and a faint light. ‘ otherwise… you can do whatever you want. take your time. ‘

@dnangelic

As strange and wack as psychic powers can get, Shou has never been able to fly. Sure, the right amount of energy, concentration and telekinesis could lift him off the ground, help him float a couple feet. Maybe even jump blocks and buildings, saving time and sparing himself the public transport experience. But he doesn't suppose Daisuke would go outside with a pair of wings like these simply to be in time for a school bell after having overslept. 

" I won't, I won't. "  He says against a lighthearted chuckle, a wide grin plastered upon his lips. He doesn't hide his profound curiosity nor his fizzling eagerness, he's been wanting to take a closer look on the wings since a while now, they have always been so captivating. Capturing his attention in fleeting moment of closed distances and quiet intimacy. It's really cute when they flutter, he has once commented without a single thought in his mind besides the image of a small bird nestling next to another, happy to be home. There were instances where he'd been worried of the way his eyes would jump to the wings just for seconds, and it would feel wrong to look at them instead of the face of their owner. Or perhaps it felt wrong to look at all, could it possibly be similar to how he feels ?  To the way his gut would twist when the wrong eyes get a glimpse of the myriad of white scars of his body, offering him useless pitying looks.

He hopes that's not the case, he hopes the trust offere to him as these wings reach out would never become some cause of regret. 

" ... "  The esper feels ridiculously small, but not in a particularly bad way, it's simply as strange as how he's imagined it would be, or as standing next to a horse. Both experiences making him hyperaware of his short stature, something he can be very miserable about, but that's for another day. Right now his eyes remain fixated on the feathers, their dark shine so pristine and alluring. Moreover, they feel unnatural, a presence that engulfs like fragrance of flowers he's never smelled and standing under lights of stars that never existed, all alone. And it takes Dark's hand on his shoulder to prompt and remind him that he can actually move like humans do instead of just sitting there and letting himself drown in the otherworldly sensations. 

Hand reaches out to land a light, real touch- something simply human that has nothing to do with how much magic the wings carried without trouble. They slide between his fingers, amicably soft despite giving the impression of being sharp as blades. Shou briefly wonders if the wings needed preening like other birds' would, but only briefly.  He assumes magic would work its magic magically enough for that & moves to the next question on his mind. 

" Are they any heavy ?  Wait that's stupid - "  With purpose he moves closer, trailing across secondaries until he reaches a joint, it feels so fragile under his weak grip, anything unlike the sturdy well protected bones of a human. He can tell, he's fractured plenty, and none were magical. " What if they break ? " 

[bookofkatherine]

Touched by an Angel.... or a Celebrity?

Have you ever wondered what makes a star a star? Why they give out stars for the Walk of Fame in Hollywood, why talent scouts search for 'that star quality' or why one guy sells out stadiums while the other can't fill out a coffee house?

I used to wonder.

Not anymore.

I could tell you I learned the truth by studying the subject for ten years, but I'd be lying. Oh! I have studied the subject for ten years, but most of what I know is from first-hand interactions with the red-carpet world. Or, to be more specific, I'm involved with the powers-that-be in Hollywood- the ones who run the show, keep the glitz and make the glamour.

And it's not what you think.

But once you know, things start to make a lot of sense. The world isn't so confusing anymore. And you start to see the magic at work all around us - little things we take for granted. But would be miserable without them.

If it were up to the Devil, the Earth would be scorched- a poisonous sulphur landscape blackened and without life.

But it isn't. Earth has forests, flower beds, healthy crops and stunning mountain ranges with glorious sunsets. Oh, we humans have certainly harmed the Earth, hunting its most amazing wildlife into extinction, but we aren't the only ones running the show.

Oh no. We are not alone

_

The truth is, angels are among us. They can take any human form they'd like. Some are good. Some are bad. And here on Earth, the split between the two is 50/50.

You may have heard that a third of the Angels fell when Satan rebelled against the God of the Angel Armies. But what you haven't heard is this:

• A third of the Angels remain in heaven. They are the stars that watch us from above. All of them are faithful to the Lord. They are ruled by Enoch, a prophet-turned-angel wrote wrote the very first book of the original Bible: the Book of Enoch. In some texts he is known as Metatron after he becomes an angelic leader in the heavens.

• A third of the Angels are called the Fallen. Yes! That's right! Only 33% of all angels fell, meaning Satan's is in the minority. These Fallen Angels are down here on Earth, living among us and in the dark places, like the bottom of the ocean, dark caves, etc. Some will even possess humans. Either way, the Fallen Angels don't have much Authority. Their Authority died when they rebelled against the Throne. Instead they must get permission from the Lord to make any kind of move. And thus, to their abject horror and dismay, they end up carrying out the Lord's judgment against their own followers, and strengthening their enemies through attacks fashioned just so! So that the attack acts as training for the Lord's faithful.

• The final third of angels remain faithful to the Lord too, but they're bound to Earth as well, counteracting the evil angels banished to this soil. These obedient angels garden the Earth, keeping time, keeping the calendar, guiding the seasons and the elements, feeding the rivers, instructing hibernation, waking the trees and putting them to sleep in winter. You can categorize their ranks by the order of nature, from the wind to the sea to the rivers to the rain, each is ruled by an army of angels across the Earth.

_

Now here's the interesting part: angels can have babies with humans. And these are the bloodlines that form many of the Royals around the world as well as many celebrity families.

Thousands of years ago our celebrities would have been called gods in many cases. But the truth is much more simple: angels walk among us and they are glorious. And their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren walk among us too. And those boodlines shine.

They shine whether you see them walking in a mall or on the big screen or on the small screen. They stick out in a crowd. They glow and sparkle. People tend to gravitate towards them or look up to them. We use cosmetics to try and look like them. Have you seen what drugstore makeup looks like? It looks like stardust in all sorts of shapes and sizes, liquid to powder.

But those who don't need makeup sparkle anyway, don't they? They shine like a star for a reason. Stars are angels. And certain bloodlines have angelic DNA.

Me? I can't have children. But I am in love with many angels, most of whom I met through Hollywood.

And now we've left, living on a different coast. Hollywood has had to kill off most of my angel's plotlines as a result.

But we have a battle to fight.

The Last Battle.

For more daily updates, visit my Prophet's Journal feed on Twitter! @ prophetsjournal !

...

C'mon... you guys didn't really think Chris Hemsworth was human, did you!?

[haellen-o]

FFXIV Write Prompt #1: Envoy

(figured i'd take part in this after some convincing. though its only unofficially, no 24 hour time limit and no sticking to any orders. Just whatever tickles my fancy and what prompts i like)

“To walk a land bereft of world ending danger…” Halcyon smiled softly, holding an elps flower in their hand “Tis an odd feeling after such a long time” They spun the flower slowly, examining it… Who knew such a small thing could’ve been so important to the survival of the very star itself

They stood there for a time, listening to the crashing waves against the rocks, the sound of birds. And the quiet chatter of sharlayan… A gentle smile crept across halcyons face “If only you could’ve seen the beauty of this world, maybe things would have been different?” They mused idly to themself

“I was wondering where you were” a familiar voice called out from behind

“Ah, Y’shtola” Halcyon turned with a gentle smile “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was merely curious where the hero of the star had gone after their battle, most would be celebrating” Y’shtola joined halcyon on the edge of the cliff. Enjoying the sounds

“I came to think, to contemplate… To unwind” They responded “It's not everyday you summon your best friend and the man you would’ve wanted to be your boyfriend from beyond the grave to help deal with an existence ending threat” A short laugh escaped, followed by a deep sigh “It's not everyday you realise you’re truly the last of your kind” They said with a solemn tone

Y’shtola had no idea how to really comfort that… How do you comfort a being far older than you who is the last of their kind?, still. Y’shtola placed a comforting hand on halcyon's shoulder “Try not to bear that weight alone will you? I can’t ever begin to understand how you feel. But you’ve got friends who are willing to help you whenever they can”

Halcyon smiled, a gentle warmth filling their body “Thank you” They responded simply, returning their gaze to the ocean as the two stood there for a moment in silence

“What will you do now?” Y’shtola asked

“Well… My duty I suppose” Halcyon laughed “i am the Fourteenth seat of the Convocation of Fourteen. Shepard to the stars, it is my duty to travel the world and know its cultures and people. While my kin and fellow members of the convocation may be gone, I still remain to walk the lands. As azem has always done” Halcyon paused, face twisting in thought “No… Shepard to the stars is too forward, it sets a bad precedent…”

“For the warrior of light? I don’t believe anyone could argue your title” Y’shtola laughed

“My deeds go far and wide, tis true. But there are corners of this world where my deeds have not yet reached, my words yet touched” They let out a small grumble of thought, bringing their hand up to cup their chin between finger and thumb “Something to get one’s head around i suppose”

Y’shtola chuckled slightly again and shook her head “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually. You have a way of managing that even when it comes to the most obscure of thoughts. I shall leave you to think” Y’shtola bowed her head and began to walk away

“Y’shtola?” Halcyon called out, glancing back

“Yes?” 

“Apologies for earlier, my wounds were deep and no healing magic you could conjure would heal them” Halcyon said simply 

Y’shtola shook her head “Think nothing of it. I’m glad you’re okay at the very least. A temporary discomfort outweighs your survival. I believe” Y’shtola smiled softly “If you need me. I’ll be with the others. An envoy from the new world arrived and i’m curious what business they have in sharlayan” With that y’shtola continued walking away

“Envoy…” Halcyon mumbled, eyes widening “That’s brilliant!. Envoy…” They mumbled to themself, the fog cleared and the thoughts were finally crystal clear “Halcyon. The world walker. Last of their kind. Envoy of the sundered world…” Halcyon looked out to the ocean, holding their hand out and letting the wind carry the elpis flower away “Yes. That will do quite nicely i think” Halcyon put their hands behind their back with a triumphant smile

The wind blew gently, carrying the scent of grass and ocean far past them… It was time to enjoy this new world and truly discover what it had to offer, to meet new people and break bread again. No longer obsessed with stopping the evil that lurked in the shadows… Though maybe one more adventure wouldn’t hurt “What would you think of this world had you the chance to explore it. My old friends?” They mumbled idly again, thinking of the past once more…

[your-local-grubdog]

Together in the Storm Chapter 13: What Cetacea Saw

Story Summary: Olimar is back home once again, ready to rest and recuperate from everything that had happened. Yet the universe keeps throwing unwanted surprises his way, making rest difficult. He just wants to make his (now rather large) family believe that he’ll be okay. Because he is, for he has to be.

Story ratings: No archive warnings apply, Teen and Up Audiences, and General/Non-Ship Focused

Chapter Summary: Cetacea tells Olimar about some data that it has been decoding.

Sorry for another short chapter, I just didn't need something longer to get this idea across. The next few chapters are also shorter for similar reasons, but the end is also coming up so they should lengthen out again for it!

Read on Ao3 here!

===

"Captain Olimar?"

"Yes, Cetacea?"

"... I don't mean to alarm you but, uh, could you perhaps close the door...?"

Olimar was sitting in his office at home, getting ready for when he would soon have to return to work. He wasn't... Thrilled by the update, to say the least, but he had no choice in the matter unfortunately. He'd still have to go back to work despite the aching protests of his still healing body. He was uncertain about why Cetacea would want the office door shut, but he nervously stood and closed it as requested. He then turned to the little hub on his desk.

"Okay, what is it?"

"It's about when I was offline. See, we ships have a feature meant to help us still collect data even when ruined as my hull was. It's intended to catch acts of vandalism and space pirates."

That made Olimar raise an eyebrow as he leaned against the wall. "So, you could still "see" and "hear" even then? Were you still... a-aware?"

"To answer your second question: no. These emergency systems run on the bare minimum necessities. So I was not aware that I was off until I was turned back on again. Though, even if I was, I wouldn't be in any sort of pain."

Olimar looked away then. "I - I know but... s-still."

"Sir, please do not worry. We cannot feel pain, or abandonment, or anything else for that matter. We are merely complex AI, not truly self-aware people."

The captain only made a weird sound of discontent at that.

With a sigh, the ship's AI continued; "The catch to this system is that the data takes a while to decode. I've been back online for twelve days already, and have only now been able to access this information. And what I saw was..." it then trailed off, pausing for a few moments, before finishing with "You may want to sit down for this."

That made Olimar's ears pin back as he slowly walked around his desk and sat back in his chair. "W-What happened, was it bad?"

Cetacea remained quiet for perhaps too long before responding with "I think so, but I'm uncertain."

Olimar took in a shaky breath, willing himself calm. "O-Okay. What is it?"

"Well..."

===

It was a rainy day in the Garden of Hope, Cetacea's old hull laying broken in the mud, its parts whirling away weakly. The area had recently been picked clean of fruits by the Koppaite crew, and as such neither they nor the pikmin were to be found here.

Something else, however, was here, picking over the ruins of its old home.

The wraith was fairly small, actually, and dusty purple in color. A long hole stretched down its back, not unlike the one the Plasm Wraith had. It seemed to sing to itself as it looked over the remains of the mireclops, soon plucking the various flowers growing on its corpse. It seemed at peace, almost enjoying itself as it continued to cradle flowers in one of its four arms.

The peace wasn't to last for long, however.

A second wraith soon slithered in, a long snake-like tail present where its legs should have been. It was larger, clear crystal in color, and had horn-like protrusions on its head. Upon seeing the smaller wraith, it let out a loud screech, an indescribable yet distinctly unholy sound. The purple one dropped its flowers, soon screeching in return. The two wraiths slowly circled each other, a low rumble emitting from each. They seemed to just stare and growl at each other for the longest time.

Then, in a swift move, one of the clear wraith's arms crystalized as it dashed towards the other. The small purple one dodged with ease, a cloud of spores soon surrounding it. The clear one, however, was unaffected by it. As it began to seemingly laugh, the purple one turned to flee. The clear one grabbed it, crystalizing its arms again to gain a better grip, before slamming it against the ground. Before the purple wraith could recover, the clear one morphed its crystal arm to have a clawed hand with which it stabbed into the purple one with. The smaller wraith let out an agonized screech as the horned one ripped out a dusty purple cube from within it. It then used its new claws to penetrate the cube, black goop spilling out of the fresh wounds. Soon after that, the purple wraith went still, then melted into a small puddle on the ground.

The crystal casing around the clear wraith's arm vanished then, a tendril wrapped around the purple cube. The wraith then absorbed the cube, which slowly dissolved away within the wraith. After a few moments, the clear wraith let out a cloud of spores for no discernible reason.

Seemingly happy with itself now, the wraith left.

===

Olimar was left frozen after Cetacea finished its story. It took the captain a long time to say anything at all as he stared blankly at the wall. Eventually, he shakily started with "S-S-So there... There's more wr... W-wraiths..."

"Affirmative, captain."

"And they... They kill each other."

"I am not sure what the motivation was. If it was predation, or a territorial dispute, or something else. But yes, they can and do seem to kill each other."

Olimar was quiet for a few more moments before shakily asking "And when they do, they.... They gain the others' powers."

"That appears to be the case. The spores were identical to each other as far as I could tell."

"Is that why they kill, then? For power?" He asked. The wraiths were, as far as he could tell, just like people. But they also weren't, they didn't act quite right. Like a Hocotation infected with rabies. Even that, however, didn't feel like an apt description. Regardless, killing for the sake of power sounded like something they were capable of.

"... I can add that to the list of theories." Was Cetacea's eventual reply. "We have no proof of anything thus far."

Olimar merely nodded in response, lost in his own thoughts. Then, in a quiet voice, he asked "So how many wraiths did the Plasm Wraith kill?"

Cetacea didn't answer that question.

"It had so many abilities. Fire, water, crystal, electricity, illusions... At least four others killed, then, more if I'm unaware of other abilities it may have..."

And it has captured him. Kept him. Cared for him. Hurt him. Worried over him. Nearly killed him.

The two didn't exchange any more words, both merely silent as Olimar's head reeled with countless possibilities and worries.

But now, he found himself hung up on one question.

What was the Plasm Wraith's original ability?

[cuckoo-among-beasts]

HC: Eating Problems

This post contains a mix of disordered eating, though mainly of the 'not enough' kind. This hc is based on things I've noticed that I recognise in myself mixed with ancient male beauty ideals. This is not something that will be directly mentioned in threads (other than him sometimes skipping meals and similar) unless agreed on or a starter for the topic has been liked or a meme with it sent. However, would you like to incorporate it in our threads, you are welcome to do so.

Huaisang has always loved beautiful things and this includes himself. From being called cute as small child, to being call pretty as a teen and beautiful as an adult. Being naturally smaller and slender in built than the average Nie, and with rounder, softer features, he knew he fell into the second of the two male beauty ideal: dainty and elegant (the other being strong and fit).

This on its own isn't bad, but Huaisang, like many other children, was a bit chubby when young. Liking to lounge even as a kid, he also, of course, enjoyed being carried. As he grew, as a healthy kid should, he was jokingly told by others he would soon be too big to get carried. This wasn't anything he took to heart then, but it would remain in his mind. It wasn't until he reached puberty that the less than healthy thoughts began. As he physically matured, he naturally grew slender, his 'baby fat' disappearing and although his features remained soft, he also began appearing more elegant in features. People commented on that and he liked it. He got compared to dainty flowers and fragile pretty birds and he loved it way too much.

That's how he started eating less. A mix of not eating his full meals and sometimes skipping them completely. It was never too bad, but enough to keep him on the skinny side of healthy. Though there were occasions when he did lose a little too much weight, times when he wasn't doing great in general, like during the Wen Indoctrination and the Sunshot Campaign. And later, when his brother died.

It was first after his brothers death though, that things ended up going bad and he just didn't eat at all, or just barely, for some time. It required intervention from er-ge and san-ge for him to eat better again. Though this was out of mourning, and betrayal, rather than wanting to fit a specific ideal. After their intervention, he goes back to his old "regularly skipping meals" thing, but not enough to raise most people's eyebrows, he's good at hiding it. Though looking dainty and fragile becomes even more important with his Headshaker persona.

It's not until after he's had his revenge that things get worse again. Revenge has been done, but it didn't help with his feelings the way he thought it would and now he's also alone. He has neglected his sect, so he doesn't have much support there, he has no friends and no family. He's alone. Once again, depression is part of his lack of eating, but it's also a sense of familiarity, something that he knows, something that's been there from before things went south and he's clinging to that. Plus, to the world, he is still the Headshaker, even if he intends to change that with time.

[thedo0zyslider]

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep - 1k words

Based off the poem "Do not stand at my grave and weep" by Chole Harner Really just impulsive refection of some empires events

A03 Link

There is fire roaring in the distance, there are cracks spreading through the earth and there are buildings being split in half. The world is ending, as it has ended many times before, and will end again, many times after this. It ends differently each time, sometimes it is quiet, and sometimes it is loud and painful and searing. This time is quite bad, the universe thinks, most people won’t make it far.

In one kingdom, one in the mesa, a palace is ripped in half. Its king has died with it, and the ocean that borders the kingdom is dry. You can see just how far, just how deep into the earth’s crust the ocean truly goes. It is dark, disturbing, and the ocean’s heir left with the waves. The swamp next to it was drained of any liquid as well, dead cod and the occasional salmon flapping in the empty river banks until they died of asphyxiation.

A desert in the west looked no different, save for the new cracks that now littered into the structures of the sandstone buildings, causing houses to collapse in puffs of dust. It was a place that had clearly been abandoned long ago. A structure, one that resembled an ant hill, had been sunken into the ground by the rifts in the earth. One smaller rift led up to an altar, the energy of the sacred place seemingly stopping the destruction before the altar could come to any heal harm. The candles placed on it were on their last legs, now small pieces of melting wax. The flames had gone out with the world.

A flowery kingdom had massive cracks fracturing it, and the last remaining pop of color was a flower, one that radiated an aura of magic. No one was here to feel the aura though, the plant's efforts to simply live being rendered futile. A kingdom of mushrooms and its neighbor, a settlement deep in the jungle, were being eaten by flames, the heat all consuming as it ate away at whatever life used to exist there. An old campfire deeper into the jungle, yet outside the jungle kingdoms’ reaches, burnt out slowly.

The mountain kingdoms were either burning as well, or covered in nasty red vines. The burning one, the one made of amethyst, looked the best of all the kingdoms, having only small fires and debris on the floor. Yet the dragons who once lived in the land had abandoned it with its people, leaving the amethyst to sit and lose it shimmer. The kingdom covered in vines was far worse for ware, the red, evil looking plants having eaten away at the snowy settlement. The plants had an opposite aura to the one in the flower kingdom, sinister and thriving in spite, or simply because of, the destruction. Though at one point they had stopped by a statue of a stag. They had stopped in other places, and the owner was presumably dead, indicated by how the vines were starting to shrivel up and dissipate like holy water had been poured on them. A bloody sword, the thing that stopped the vines, lay unseen to the world, its user in a better place. Hopefully.

A plain’s land was destroyed in full, the kingdom that used to lay there reduced to almost nothing but ashes. This is where the end of the world had started, and it certainly looked the part. A pair of inventors' goggles survived, somehow, despite being in the center of the blast. The item felt important, but there were no people here to explain, and the earth certainly could not tell you why.

A kingdom across the small stretch of civilized land was overrun with sheep, their coats the crimson color of blood. They belated unhappily, and the buildings seemed to crumble and shake in the wake of the horde’s wrath. That’s right, a horde. There were far too many sheep to be called a simple herd. They were mostly concentrated around an old, exploded summoning circle, the thing that had presumably brought them there.

The reason for said summoning circle’s destruction was not far off, it was a kingdom with a beanstalk rising from the center. A burning kingdom, where the fire had eaten the magic, and its ruler with it.

“Do not stand by my grave and weep”

At the top of the beanstalk, in a small building off the side of the plant, there lies a pile of ashes. Ashes that seemed to have come about by withering, something, or someone being withered away into nothing more than black specs. Items laid around the ashes, items of a dead woman. Items that would soon despawn, just like their owner had not too long ago.

“I am not there, I do not sleep”

A strangely colored goose sits in a hole, a hole meant to protect it from the raging destruction above, as the bird appeared to be flightless. The goose was yellow, and the one thing in the kingdom that held any semblance of magic still. The hole was probably going to suffocate the goose if anything, especially if it kept calling and calling for its owner, wasting precious oxygen. The poor bird was unaware that its owner would not come, could not come to retrieve it ever again.

The world is over.

“Do not stand by my grave and cry”

There are murals built for a goddess once new civillations start to arrive. Her kingdom is long forgotten, her people are long gone. The only thing the remains of that golden goose’s owner is her name, translated across lord knows how many languages. No one knows how she came to be a goddess, or why she is worshiped, she just simply is.

It is a fact that as accepted as natural, as normal, just as the seasons are in the new world. She is gone, she is their god, and her name is etched into the history of many civilizations over the years.

She is a god. Their god, the peoples god. The god of harvest, the god of war, the god of sunflowers, god of the sun. She has many names over the centuries, yet the motifs of sunflowers stay, even when she is considered a god of war and battles and blood, she has the same flowers in her murals to contrast.

“I am not there”

A man stands in front of a tapestry, one old, faded and torn. It shows a woman with light hair, her eyes are closed and her hands folded as if she were praying. She is surrounded by sunflowers, stalks of wheat, and what seems to be a beanstalk is blurred into the background, with large yellow birds around its base. It is unknown who she could be praying too, as the woman depicted is most likely a goddess herself. Maybe she is praying to the gods that are long gone, the one a certain sky god scarcely mentions, and when he does he’s quiet, uncharacteristically so, almost somber, like he’s mourning old friends he can barely recall. The man would know, he’s very personal with said sky god.

The woman is very familiar to the man, just as he is to her. His face has stayed the same, unchanging for centuries. His hair is no longer gray now, brown once more with the life granted from reincarnation. He has the same scar over his eye every version of him has, always gained in a different way. Sometimes the way the scar happens is so deeply traumatic he cannot speak of it, other times it becomes a fun story to tell at parties. It is one of the few things that never stay consistent in his many lives. This time the cause is more on the traumatic side, unfortunately. This version of him cannot be free of hardship, it seems.

More hardship will come to him sooner rather than later, and it will be relentless until this world too ends, just as the goddess’s did all those lifetimes ago. For now though he remembers nothing of that, and the beloved goddess herself is only a vague feeling of familiarity in his brain. One that makes him want to cry, yet also fills him with calm, both for reasons he cannot recall. He’ll remember soon enough, in due time.

He’ll remember when a strange portal opens to another place, bringing newcomers with it. He will meet her again, not the same lady that has been painted before him now, but similar. A different life of hers, a different version of her, yet she is still the same deep down. She too will hold an unexplained fondness for sunflowers.

But for now he will sit here and wonder why this ancient empire he is in worshiped her, why his home worshiped her, and why that sky god has made a temple in her honor. He will wonder what she did, who she was, what happened to deserve this level of remembrance, in a world where history is poorly persevered and their predecessors forgotten to the winds.

Unbeknownst to the man there is a shining, golden crown of old behind the tapestry of the goddess. Twelve gems are placed onto the piece of jewelry, and most have lost their once vibrant colors. This item will not be found till later, when he has remembered. If he saw it now the pain might be too unbearable, so maybe it is best the crown lies hidden for the next little while. It is the crown that ended the world after all, her world, his world.

There is something etched into the stone under the tapestry, lovingly craved by some long dead follower of the goddess. Interestingly enough the first part is not in english, and the man wonders if the follower was like him in that regard, and who exactly used to live in this old, decaying city capital. It makes him wonder who’s buried in the tombs around him. Marde de Girasoles. The carving reads, it seems to be a blessing of some sort. Grant their next life a bountiful harvest.

Marde de Girasoles. It means mother of sunflowers, and the man finds that quite fitting for the woman in front of him. He smiles lightly at the tapestry, giving it one last look, a look full of a lot of emotions. He feels love, sadness, grief, longing, and joy wash over him all at once. A strange combination of emotions, not pleasant either, and one that he wouldn’t mind never feeling again. He leaves the artwork to its secret cavern, walking out of the passageway to it, the passage marked by a wither rose, of all plants. Though he did emerge into a tomb, so maybe it was appropriate.

He goes home and plants sunflowers in his empire. He builds her a church. Her name is Santa Perla, the Mother of Sunflowers.

“I did not die”

[hong-kong-art-man]

His Success Is The Result Of Perfection Is Hard Work For Almost A Century—The 96-Year-Old Master Wong Kai (黃佳) Who Made Dance Lions In Hong Kong, The Only Remaining Of The Great

The like-minded great artists and artisans are always alone.

‘Artists’ focus on creating works pleasing his spiritual desire while the work of ‘artisans’ focuses on accessorizing and functionality in order to satisfy the needs of a customer. The work of artists and artisans can both show aesthetics but the style of an artist is more individualistic and thus artificially cherished. The artists exhibit their work in museums or galleries. Artisans often sell their crafts at fairs and shops, and they welcome commercial order in large quantities.

What does it mean to commission art? ‘Commissioning art’ is when a client hires an artist to create an artwork based on his request. Hotels like to commission an artist to do decorative art prints for rooms. When an artist is too eager to do commissioning art, he is no different from an artisan.

Some artisans refuse to produce works without passion and just to fulfill a need. They have artistry in their souls and their visions are artistic. For that, a great artisan may be better than an unremarkable artist, and for that, let us salute our city’s 96-year-old extraordinary artisan Master Wong Kai (黃佳) who has been making ‘lions’ for lion dances since 1940s. The lion dance is usually performed during traditional, cultural and religious festivals. It may also be performed on important occasions such as business opening events, special celebrations and wedding ceremonies.

The Chinese lion dance is usually operated by 2 kung fu dancers, one of whom manipulates the head while the other moves the rear end of the lion. Chinese lion dance fundamental movements are a kind of Chinese marital arts and the movements take place to a vigorous beat with drum, gong and cymbal.

The crux of success of a lion dance is whether the ‘lion’ looks like a real lion? There are northern and southern ‘lions’. The appearance of the lion artifact does matter. Does the lion head look pretty? Is its hair soft and tactile? Are its eyes sharp and brave? Are the ornaments and patterns unique and eye-catching? Is the body graceful and regal, with flowing manes and a delicate tail?

Master Wong Kai is small, slim, healthy but a bit feeble. He thinks sharply and a walking cane is always next to him. He did not look like 96 years old. Money is irrelevant to him. A kind factory owner gave to him some corridor space so that he can continue his artisan career. Master Wong smiled, “When I don’t eat or sleep, I work. I only work for customers who appreciate my art.”

He recollected, “I was born in Canton (the present name is Guangzhou). When I was a kid in the 1940s, I was a helper in my father’s flower farm. Soon, World War II took place and we fled to Shek Tong Tsui (石塘咀) of Hong Kong. Dad took me to temple fairs and I participated in lion dances. I was greatly fascinated by the lion artifact and decided to be an artisan. I made dance lions and dance dragons. In the 1950s, I made even small dance snakes, fishes and prawns around the dragon when festival celebrations were grand in those years. Now, all such dances are small-scale. Young people look down on traditional cultures.”

Master Wong sighed, “I have been looking for an apprentice or successor for more than 60 years but people just came and left. It requires at least 15 to 20 years, through practice and experience, to acquire the artisan skills of making a dance lion. As income is bad but the time and effort to be spent are out of proportion, young people would prefer being a factory or office worker.”

I asked, “Master, I was told that a dance lion consists of 13 parts. Could you briefly tell me what they are?” Master Wong took a sip of puerh tea and explained, “A remarkable dance lion can be revealed on the craftsmanship, such as (1) forehead painted with unique patterns, (2) particular face colour patterns representing a certain historical hero, (3) rustproof and reflective mirror placed on forehead, (4) silky smooth pompoms, (5) firm and unturned nose,(6) graceful ‘buddha’ or ‘crane’ mouth, (7) bold and perky horn, (8) movable and cute ears, (9) hair that is made from good rabbit hair, (10) a pair of blinking eyes, (11) shining molded teeth, (12) beard made of horse tail hair and (13) top grade fabrics for the lion body.”

Master is proud of himself and said, “Apart from the aesthetic sense, my success depends of course, on my craftsmanship and also one important thing—the availability of great materials. Unfortunately, we now live in a world of relying on fast, cheap, ready and factory-made supplies. Let me give you a few examples. It is not easy any more to find fine horse tail hair. How can I afford 100% silk for the pompom? Where can I find animal teeth to fabricate those of a dance lion? Good old days are gone. Modern people just want more and more, and in a speedy way. They have no interest in or patience with nice old things.”

I was silent. Master Wong’s friend Sam Tam (譚定邦) who arranged this great interview added, “I am a kung fu master. I am also sad to see the gradual loss of Chinese traditions and cultures in Hong Kong. The city is moving too fast and relentlessly. Mass production replaces highly skilled artisans with a large number of sub-divided unskilled jobs with lower wages for workers in a factory environment.”

Master replied, “In Mainland China, they now use big factories to manufacture dance lions and dragons. They use low-quality and inexpensive materials such as yuanbao paper (元寶紙), plastics and nylon strings. Hand painting is no longer necessary and replaced by those printing machines.”

I was silent for a while again. I said, “Industrialization imposes its harsh rhythm onto humans. Operating it, we also move mechanically and un-spiritually, and become part of the machine.”

Master Wong drew a deep breath and said, “Be it as it may. I am Wong Kai. I insist on my own ways. I can die at any moment but I insist on working as an artisan with artistic determination and ambition. I still want to create more dance lions in Hong Kong and tell the future generations what are the best forms, molds, materials and processes for such art pieces. Factories cannot and will not defeat artisans. I work alone on a factory corridor as an artisan every day with no regrets.”

“Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.” I look at the great dance lions created by Master Wong Kai and feel strongly one thing: success is the result of a perfectionist’s attitude—hard work, hard work and hard work!

Maurice Lee

Chinese Version 中文版: https://www.patreon.com/posts/xiang-gang-ru-he-90823886?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link

Dance Lion Head Structure Introduction  https://www.rthk.hk/chiculture/bamboocraft/c2_structure.htm  Acknowledgement-RTHK

Dragon and Lion Dance Culture in Hong Kong  https://youtu.be/zZHXM8Z7yOM?si=-B- pYuyMZZmbBNLE  Acknowledgement-RTHK

Creation of a Dance Lion  https://youtu.be/4J26bJwNIrA?si=z0VbuEHDHntudwOi  Acknowledgement-eh

Lion Dance  https://youtu.be/JVBxZbEudfM?si=KmGldmDCbusGMoYn  Acknowledgement-NewTV

[tai-janai]

The world stands still.

You look into his eyes. He knows the decision you have made, as if he was still in that head of yours.

He shifts his hold on the blade to one hand. His claws are more dull than yours. His scales, more sparse. He's different after waiting for you. He won't change anymore once you are gone.

The Hero:

You know, I never said it aloud while we were together. Even though I felt it, I really should have actually told you. I always wanted to. ...I love you.

He smiles wide, squinting his eyes shut.

The Hero:

And, once you're gone, that will never change, right? I always will love you.

When he opens his eyes again, they are filled with tears. Your own eyes begin to sting.

"I love you, too."

The Hero:

A-and I'll tell them everything. You don't have to worry.

His voice is quivering. He is stalling.

You take his free hand in yours.

"It's okay."

You are not afraid. The part that fears death has already begun to fade.

It is in your nature to fight what comes next, but your existence was a miracle. A contradiction. Your death will be their freedom.

You fold your hands in your lap and watch the blade shimmer as it is raised.

Tears fall from the Shard's eyes as the blade plunges into your soul.

---

The only noise in the basement is his quick, shaking breaths. His eyes remain shut for a moment. The gash in his heart has been made, and it cannot be undone. But it will heal. It isn't bad. It means something.

His eyes open. The basement is not what it had been. His other Half is gone. Vanished, along with death, and everything else it was.

The Shard is in the cabin from before, the one he left. The room is darker than he remembers. There is a mess of dried blood on the floor. Everything is made of metal.

Drops of guilt still falling from his eyes, he rises to his feet. At first, he fears something went wrong. He looks down at the blade that is still in his hands. It has the other's blood on it.

He drops it, and it clatters. Stepping away, he wipes his face. The crying never seems to stop.

With a few deep breaths, he gazes at the way back out. Leaving the blade, he goes to climb the "stairs."

It is a bit treacherous. All of the footholds cut into his feet. It does take some time, but he reaches the upstairs of the cabin.

The metal table that originally held the blade has been moved to the center of the room. On it sits a handmade clay vase with a few blue flowers in it; quite fresh, only slightly wilted. He walks over to the table and admires the plant. There is a calmness to the moment, a stillness.

After that time, the Half hears wood creaking outside. Before he can do anything, the door opens.

He remains frozen when the Being walks in, a new, identical flower in its hands. It is one of the ones he and the other Half saved. It has grown, and adorned itself with rings of metal. It doesn't notice the other at first.

Then, their gazes meet, and the larger one's eyes widen to saucers.

The Stubborn:

Holy shit.

More tears fall down the heroic one's face. He thought they had stopped by now, but he was quite mistaken. They both remain frozen, too shocked to move.

Wings on both of them perk up when they hear a scampering approach them, and another Being screeches into the room, claws sliding on metal.

This one is smaller and hooded, and doesn't give the heroic one a second to spare before it dives over the table and tackles him in a hug.

They are both thrown backwards as the small one buries himself in the original one's arms. He hugs back, recognizing it immediately.

The Hero:

Furball...!

The Stubborn:

Is that how you're referring to us in your mind?

He laughs. He moves the table to the side and joins them in their hug. Big arms wrap him tight enough to hurt, but it's the best hurt they've ever felt.

The Hero:

And you're the rocky one. Oh my god.

He is absolutely sobbing as he laughs with him. They are warm.

The Stubborn:

I came back every time the flowers started wilting, I couldn't just give up on you.

The Hunted:

I heard the knife, and then you climbing the ramp.

They separate when the smallest one, caught between them, starts to wiggle.

The Hunted:

The others.

The heroic one wipes his face as the hooded one drags him by his hand out of the cabin. The larger one follows them out.

The Stubborn:

Everyone!

From different wooden huts and between the trees, all the others poke their heads out. Then, with toothy smiles, they all come rushing out into an overwhelming group hug, shouting and exclaiming how much they've missed him. The Half can't stop the tears of joy as everyone hounds him, blinded by relief that he is back, and he is okay. Everything is warm.

They speak over each other, furious with concern and bleeding love.

The Paranoid:

Do you understand how long you've been gone!?

The Cheated:

You couldn't have given a warning when you had to dip out like that?

The Broken:

It's been so tiring since you left...

The Cold:

Yes, and quite dull.

The Contrarian:

But now you're back!

The Opportunist:

We've missed you, dear hero.

A bright one, adorned with pearls and seashells, takes the Hero's face in its hands.

The Smitten:

The Angel, what happened to the Angel?

They all step away to give him room to respond.

He looks at them all, before he stares at the ground. His grin turns sad.

A few gasps and sighs come from the crowd.

The Hero:

There's a lot to say... He gave up everything for us. In the end, he chose to die, so all of us could continue to live... forever. Without any more pain, without the basements. With each other.

Some comfort others.

The Stubborn:

He couldn't have come with you?

The Half turns and shakes his head.

The Hero:

This was the only way to ensure we never died. He loved us. It was for our sake.

The Smitten:

That poor, beautiful creature.

Another one steps forward.

The Skeptic:

What happens next?

With an inhale, the remaining Half raises his head. The wound in his heart reminds him that the love of the other Half is ever-present. The others all look at him, astonished by the optimism he radiates. It is silent, but the wind blows through the trees. The sky is starry and bright.

There is so much to explain. The echo, the cabin, the choice. But, he has all the time in the world.

He enthusiastically takes the cynical one's hand in his own. Tears flowing down his cheeks, the remaining Half grins.

The Hero:

Whatever we want.

Reunite

Path 12: An End

(Chapter Select)

At the bottom of the stairs is the basement. Smooth stone walls and cobble flooring. A lone, barred window that lets in bright white light.

The Other sits at the other end. It does not wear a metal chain around its neck. Held tightly in its hands is a pristine blade. His form has changed somewhat; he looks softer than you remember, and a cape is wrapped around his shoulders.

It looks at you, and its eyes soften. Its lips turn upward for a sad, relieved smile. It is happy to see you. After everything the Echo said, you still feel like he is a part of You.

The Hero:

Hey...

His voice is weak. He tilts his head and watches you approach, but he does not move.

"Did you hear any of that?"

Something flashes in his eyes, like he hasn't figured out if he did or not. Then he scratches the back of his neck.

The Hero:

Yeah, I... The, uh, sound travels pretty well into here.

You sit on the floor in front of him. He seems a bit flustered.

The Hero:

I-it was... a lot of information. I'm not really sure... how to take it.

"How did you get here?"

The Hero:

Oh. I... got really worried after you got taken away by a pair of hands, so I kind of... followed you. It wasn't that hard, I know your psyche pretty well by now. But before this place was anything, I'd already been split from you. Then, I was put down here for... some time. I don't know, time is really weird here. It felt like forever but I know it wasn't.

He looks down at the blade in his hands.

The Hero:

And this thing was here. It's always supposed to be, right? One of those, uh, rules?

"What about the Others?"

The Hero:

Well, I finally reached the end of the last world, so they're probably all together. Knowing them, they're all probably looking for me. I'm only here, though, after I left that last world, there's no part of me left with them at this point. Not 'til I leave this one, too.

The Hero:

That world... At the end, you had been taken over by something, were you? The thing that wanted those Beings dead... The Princess?

You remember the way your body did not feel like yours. The way your mind conflicted with itself, wanting the Being dead, because it was meant to kill you. You remember that fear of death.

The Hero:

Are you okay?

You look into his eyes. Your eyes. His eyes.

"Do you know what you were supposed to be?"

The Hero:

Ah... The Long Quiet, He called it. If you're asking if I was ever that, I don't really know. Your memories are all I have, and all we know is that we woke up in a cabin.

"Did you know you were supposed to slay the Princess? And by connection, me?"

It laughs a little.

The Hero:

I only barely knew there was a Princess, mate. I had no idea what we were or what we were supposed to do. My only sense of purpose came when we saw that first Being, anxious and trapped. We felt bad for it, even if it was terrifying and hated us.

The Hero:

The... idea of killing you feels weird. You're so... me. But I've been doing it this whole time. It's something I was made for, like some... inevitability. It feels obvious until I take the second to think about it.

Its eyes trace the edge of the blade.

"What comes next?"

He thinks. His face contorts in frustration.

The Hero:

I... I never felt like the one making the choices here. He said I am choice, but I don't know how to make any, myself.

The Hero:

He made it sound like three options. I have qualms about each.

The Hero:

I could slay you, the way I was always supposed to. Death and change would be gone, and all of the other guys will get their happily forever after in the places they are now. Or ... We fix ourselves back up to being... what, everything? A god? And then... things will just... keep going?

"And the third option...?"

The Hero:

I stay here with you, and we don't do anything, forever. The cabin crumbles and it'll be just us. And... I'll never see the others again. Nobody will join back together, but, they'll eventually die. I, uh... don't think the guy upstairs would like that too much, though... Um. I... I don't know if I like that one, either. But it is... an option.

You think about these choices. Everything about them scares you.

"Do you have a preference?"

He looks to the side, flustered, and a hint of a smile he's trying to hide. He gestures vaguely at you.

The Hero:

Well, I'm not gonna lie, I-I liked being, y'know, Us.

With a pause, his gaze turns downward.

The Hero:

But I liked being with Them, too.

The Hero:

And... I hate to say this, but they would not like being anything but what they are now. Like, they love you, they really do, they're unbelievably grateful for everything you've done for them- But I... It wouldn't be... what they wanted.

He shrugs and leans his head to the side.

The Hero:

You could do it anyway, though, I guess. They probably wouldn't be able to do much once we're all in one piece.

He looks into your eyes, and his feathers droop.

The Hero:

After everything, would it still be freedom? Your choice, limiting theirs...?

"Why are you making me decide? I thought that wasn't my role."

The Hero:

I don't know? I didn't make the rules here. I'll go along with whatever you come up with. I mean, I am choice, right? The thing that gives you the options...? Not the one making the decisions.

"You clearly have a preference, and it's the one that means I get slain."

The Hero:

It's not like I want you to die. Just, out of everything so far, I don't want what we've given them to go away.

He sighs. You know be is conflicted. He fidgets with the hilt of the blade. He really is more them than he is you. But, you don't blame him.

"I'm scared. I don't know what being a god would be like."

The Hero:

I don't know, either, but this is it. The big ultimatum.

Decisions. You were never made for decisions.

You can die along with Death, and let the others be happy in what remains of the construct for all of eternity.

You can go against the others' wishes and reunite the way the Echo offered, with Death eradicated.

Or you can stay here alone with the Other, keeping him with you forever, while the worlds and the shattered fragments continue on, dying and reforming.

[haurchefants]

Coping

Gunji keeps going back to the First, despite having no “real” reason to return.

He was back in this room; sun shining bright through the window he’d left wide open the last time he’d been here. Hopefully someone had the wherewithal to check in on the room to close it whenever it rained, he thought, shrugging his coat off and tossing it across the table.

The table had remained in the same state he’d left it. A kettle full of long neglected water he never quite got around to turning into tea, a notebook left wide open and a pen rolled off to the side. The small bunch of dried red poppies still left strewn across the wooden surface.

An usual flower to go through the process of drying, but it reminded him.

Gunji sat on one of the low stools beside the table and exhaled a breath he’d been holding too long, hands resting on his knees as he glanced around the room.

He had no reason to keep coming back here… There was no particular reason, no job for him to do. Excuses had been made, of course, for why he of all people wanted to have a day to himself. It had become an unintentional habit to visit, and an even more unintentional constant lie to hide it.

There was no reason to lie… so why had it been his immediate reaction the first time someone had asked? And why had he continued every subsequent time since.

They were all innocuous lies, of course; saying he had an errand to run or something inconsequential of the like. Regardless of the fact that he knew it would be an easy lie to call him on. All one of his friends had to do was ask why he hadn’t been answering his linkpearl when he was out. Because, no doubt, he was in a place where the simple connection of the linkpearl would not reach.

Maybe he was worried they’d question why he was there. Not that it was if he was doing anything particularly bad.

Simply… sitting in the room he’d called home for little over a year, staring out the sunlit window. Sometimes, when the light of day was bright enough, it would fill him with a small surge of panic. A tiny rush of fear that the Light had returned, though in his mind he knew that the First was, for the most part, completely fine for the time being.

So there was no reason for him to be here; to return here, time and time again, whenever he had a moment of free time.

He should be back on the Source, not here, sitting in this lifeless room staring out a window to a landscape that wasn’t his.

Sometimes he thought about visiting more than just this room. Perhaps the imitation city at the bottom of the ocean, sure to fade from existence one day now that the creator of the memory was long past. The thought of returning to that place, though, brought a cold chill to him.

The only thing left for him down there was the bitter sense of loss and the crippling sense of self-doubt that came when he reflected on the choices he made when he was there.

Staying, though, he reminded himself, wasn’t an option, and it should never have been a thought he considered for as long as he did.

It was the fluttering of wings that took his attention from the morbid thoughts that had begun to occupy his mind, and Gunji looked up from the fixed spot on the ground he had been staring at. A bird had perched itself on the railing of the flower box that hung from the window.

Bigger than most that you could catch in the Crystarium, but familiar to him. Gray feathers flecked with white, a large, scooped yellow beak, and unusually intense golden eyes peered through the window at him. It shook its head and fluffed out it’s feathers as it settled on the railing.

Standing, Gunji crossed the room to approach the bird, not at all put off by its presence. It was not the first time it had visited. Usually, even, it was already in the room by the time Gunji arrived, as if it always knew when he would be there.

He lifted his hand as the creature watched him intently. It lifted it’s head, a clicking noise coming from its beak, before it dipped it’s head to his hand.The feathers were always softer than he thought they should be, Gunji thought, as he gently ran his fingers over them.

“You know, this is still a pretty weird choice for an incarnation of yourself, you know.” The words were quiet, barely above a whisper, knowing that he’d be heard regardless.

The only response he got was the sound of ruffling feathers and two piercing gold eyes boring into him. As per usual.

It was foolish of Gunji to repeatedly go out of his way to visit the First just for this. A weird bird that visited him whenever he sat in his room in the Pendants. There wasn’t even a guarantee it was what he thought--it probably wasn’t. What were the chances?

And as he said, a weird choice of creature to present yourself as.

Then again, he was a weird man.

The bird made that clicking noise once again and nudged Gunji’s hand to notify him that he’d stopped petting the deeper he got into his thoughts.

Sighing, he absentmindedly scratched along the bird’s chin, watching it finally close its eyes.

“You know, one day, I’m going to stop showing up.”

Silence.

“I don’t even understand how you know when I’m going to be here.”

Gold eyes were open again, simply staring at him.

“I mean it when I say I’m going to stop coming here.”

Stupid, to think that the bird looked like it knew he was lying.

It’s a bird.

Nothing more.

Just a bird.

“I’ll remember you regardless of whether or not you keep coming to see me.”

[kawaiianimeredhead]

Some of the plants in my life right now ❤

[lycianlynx]

✢⁎. slice through life

inferniso​:

Their question hurts more than any harpoon or wretched dragon-killer. Piercing through her scarred scales in no more words than Idunn could count on her fingers, Chad reminds her of the freedom she’s lived so long without.

“What would I wish for?” she repeats, and her hide cracks, and her voice trembles once, “… I have never been asked what I would wish for. I… don’t know…” 

Admitting such a thing so freely only makes the wound hurt more–only scrapes blood with a claw more fearsome than her own. A clockwork doll in need of a wind-up, a stringless kite plummeting back down to earth and forced to pick up the pieces, living among the dirt… Idunn is without direction. The ideals she chases–of freedom and heart, of soul and will–have tarnished now that her gaze has been affixed to them. Freedom for its own sake, she would say she lives for, or a will to have a will. 

Neither of which she inherently understands. Her definition of choice had always been one chosen for her. Even now, when the village elders tell her to do things she loves and enjoy the world around her, she’s really just following orders. Chad asks a simple question, but begs so much more of Idunn. They demand she know what freedom is when demanded of you by another, if ever she’d like to have her own wish.

Her body tenses. The stem of her dandelion rubs against sliding fingers–splitting the fibrous tube at the bottom. And it wet her hands, with the sticky substance it contains. Only the top remains, the head left undamaged.

She would feel bad for the poor flower, were her thoughts not trudging through a desert and the locust’s buzz of ideas. 

Idunn feels inclined to follow her guiding star, as she always has, as she always will, and answer with ‘peace between humans and dragons.’ But is that truly her wish? She wants it, yet it was he who wanted it first. 

What parts of destiny are her own, and what is just precept? 

The dragon is too damaged to entertain such a thought right now, too busy trying to collect together all that is her. So when her eyes open, they have that sorrowful look in them. Like they failed a task, like the shirked a duty. Chad is by no means her superior, and still that behavior resurfaces,

“I don’t know,” said again, so that it may convince the both of them, “Could you… Make a wish first? So I can see how to do it myself.”

His reaching hand is met with — What is he even supposed to call it, the way her voice wavers? The way his question, posed as a childish test of character, poised like a carelessly-tossed ball, was taken, as if he’d decided to drive a needle into her hand after all? Wishing and wanting and reaching was first nature, was always granted, at least in silence, even in hardship (especially in hardship). Wishing and dreaming and wondering...

Chad can’t imagine how she’s never been asked. He can’t imagine how noone’s ever had the heart to ask her. Even the most timid kids back home had something to wish for when their birthday rolled around, when Father brought out the pastries no matter what, no matter how small, no matter how stupid. A sunny day. An easier life. A little cat-shaped doll they saw at the marketplace the other day. Someone to come welcome them into a proper family. (That one stung a bit, sometimes, but it’s a nice wish, regardless.)

The flower crumples a bit in her hand. The boy’s frown shifts closer to confusion, to upset rather than anger or fear or any kind of posturing they’d been doing just moments prior. She looks at them like... What is that? A scolded child, a reprimanded student, themself when they think they’ve fucked something up something fierce?

She doesn’t know... She doesn’t know. Unbelievable. Chad never struggled with finding wishes or dreams, even when they were stained red with fury and vengeance, a shade they can’t muster here in the sun and the fields. But their wishes had seldom been too big, and easier to talk about, to confess to when they were small, just like those dandelion seeds.

Finally, they give in, kneel next to her with a sigh; Thread, meet fabric, look to the other side, properly, this time. “Yeah, sure.” Deft hands pluck a dandelion (though their gloves dull the sensation, nails unable to bite into the stem to make it easier), and hold it up to the sun, still frowning, thoughtfully. The wind begins to pick up again, ruffles the fluff of it, nothing takes flight quite yet.

“Wishes don’t have to be huge, or anything.” they state, even though they don’t owe any kind of explanation; It comes to them like muscle memory, this kind of casual comfort, casual and automatic like house-handiwork, patches on pant-knees. “Like, me, right now... I could say some big, heroic wish, yeah? But...”

They bring the flower closer, close their eyes, and puff, a short but strong breath of air — And the seeds scatter into the air, plentiful and light, flying to reach saints know where.

A pause. “I wished for chocolate cookies to be in stock tomorrow.” The tips of their ears turn a bit pink as they look down at the now-bare stem, still frowning, but now bashful. “They were in stock today too, but I want to be sure.”