#the way he keeps at least one hand on ugo AT ALL TIMES

[tennis-kittens]

Boomin Beaver collection • Alejandro Davidovich Fokina & Ugo Humbert • Open Sud de France 2023

[sayakxmi]

[Magi reread] Night 72: Wisdom of Solomon

Honestly, I just think it looks kinda funny.

Look at all the shits Aladdin doesn't give.

Sth about the way his smile falls.

OOF

Idk I just think it's a pretty cool pose

Honestly, he looks so cool this chapter.

You go, boy

Honestly, I'm only putting it here bc it's Judar saying that. I sometimes forget that he's pretty smart. When it comes to magic, at least.

I still love it so much that Ugo was teaching him this entire time, because he knew he wouldn't always be there to protect him;;;

And also Aladdin raising his hands like a conductor. Looks awesome.

Honestly, so far, pretty hype chapter, which Imma be honest with you, it was very needed. After all these chapters of misery and desperation, we finally have something that turns the tides, something that makes us breath a litte easier, because not all hope's lost.

It's totally random, but it made me think about a post of the screenshot from Twitter about somebody complaining that Dune has no humor in it - and, just for the record, the entire explanation of that person's point is very good and exactly what I'm referring to. That is, the humor lets you calm down a little so that whatever awful comes next fucks you up even harder. And I thought about it, bc it's kind of like that here? The tides are turning, as I've said, so we feel like things can still turn out ok.

But they won't. Cassim will have his heart-to-heart with Alibaba and die, people will see their dead loved ones and calm down, and Balbadd will still be lost. We're made believe things will be alright and that we'll win, but in the end we'll lose so much. I think looking at it like that is pretty neat.

I forgot Alibaba's still next to him.

Get wrecked bithc

Oh, right, you were still kinda impaled.

He's sending Sinbad & Morgiana somewhere else, but I'm kinda putting it here bc it reminds me abt one scene in the Magnostadt Arc?

"Gimme a sec," I say, as if it wasn't my post that I'm only gonna publish after writing the entire thing.

HA. KNEW IT.

Anyway, so this is Aladdin's gtfo pose.

Give it a few more arcs & you're not gonna be so happy.

First of all, I love that Aladdin's able to read the situation here & conclude that, nope, no can do. There's this humility to him, which in this moment is pretty horrifying - he came in & gave everybody hope, only to admit that he can't win against Judar as they are now. Scary as it is, though, it's much smarter than hoping they can just... power through. Sometimes you can't, and admitting that you can't is more likely to help than trying to force it. At least this way, they can begin to come up with other ideas.

The other thing is, Alibaba's reaction. I might be reading too much into this, which, fair, I tend to, but I'm thinking about Alibaba's tendency to just... trust others so much, so easily. Which is fascinating, considering he has every right to have severe trust issues, given how often he gets betrayed, but at the same time, it kinda connects. Alibaba is quick to trust and believe (given at least one reason), and he can be a bit naive in this. If he trusts somebody, he trusts them all the way. When Hakuryuu goes nuts, he still goes to him to try to talk, believing Hakuryuu isn't too far gone (which is proven very wrong), or in the Magnostadt Arc, the moment Sinbad & SSA arrive, he just. Fuckign faints like that. He's been keeping himself up with sheer willpower, and the moment somebody he believes in appeares, he just relaxes. He can let them handle that, right?

And it's kind of the same here. Aladdin, who'd bailed him out of pretty bad situations a few times, is here, so things are going to be alright, right? But no. Aladdin admits, he can't win. There's no easy way out, leaving it for others to handle. Alibaba needs to put in his work, too.

I wouldn't describe Alibaba as selfish, but when you really think about is, his self-confidence issues are making him selfish in situations like that. It's one thing to let somebody help you, but it's another to have somebody do all the heavy lifting, you know? It kinda makes me think about the contrast between Alibaba & Sinbad. Alibaba's belief in everybody but himself vs Sinbad's belief in himself only. Obviously, the right choice is in between. Early SnB!Sinbad wasn't so bad, but the seeds were there, and he just kept digging himself deeper and deeper into the extreme. Alibaba, on the other hand, started off on the extreme, and slowly learnt to believe in himself to eventually find himself in that healthy middle ground.

Man, I really dislike putting entire pages, but, honestly, this is so good. Aladdin reminding him why he fights, and showing him how people feel the same, how he was the one to push them forward.

"Everyone's hopes within their hearts." Small reminder that all Amon's spells have hope-related names. For example, from the wikii: "Amol Dherrsaiqa [...] is a corruption of the Arabic phrase صاعِقة ظِرّ الأَمَل Ṣā3iqa(t) Ẓirr Al-Amal, which means "Flint Lightning of Hope"."

I really love that. This is Alibaba's role in the story, after all. But if you think about it, it's all the King Vessels' role, Alibaba's just the one who ends up the most succesful.

It looks kinda funny

RIP Alibaba

All we know about that Wisdom of Solomon thing is the hype and that Al-Thamen freaks out. Neat.

Also, I really like what it turned out to be. It's not some deus-ex-machina trick to fix everything. Frankly, it's not all that useful on its own. But Aladdin is capable of making use of it, because he puts in the work to make use of it. I'm not feeling the right kind of wordy today, but basically, he isn't just given a power up, he actively works to turn it into a power up.

[morimakesfanart]

Sindria’s Prophet Ch1

I shut my laundry alarm, slipped on my flip-flops and headed to the basement to get the clothes from the drier.

My frustration lead my hands to my eyes while taking the steps down. I had been hyper-fixating on Sinbad's character arc again. Constantly vacillating between love and hate for this fictional character was driving me, and everyone who had to live with me, up a wall. I needed to get my Sinbad feelings under control before I ranted my best friend/sibling/roommate's ear off again. They would just remind me that you don't get to choose your hyper fixations. Or your comfort characters. Or who you're attracted to. As they've said before, "people are attracted to appearances and personalities. That's why it hurts so much when we find out someone is a bad person."

"Ah!" Vertigo pulled me out of my thoughts as I tried to take another step down after already hitting the bottom of the stairs. I groaned at my own lack of awareness.

The lighting was different. 'Did the power go out?'

The space around me was pitch black. I felt like I was being pulled. It was like feeling the current in a stream. I got walking.

A very dim light grew around me. All of the shelves of my basement were gone. Was I dreaming? I've been a lucid dreamer since I was 5 so it was possible -sure as hell felt similar. Given my mental state, it made sense that I couldn't control the dream like normal and only had awareness.

Hopefully, having to do laundry was part of the dream.

Worried voices came from a turn up ahead.

As soon as I made the turn I saw a bunch of people panicking around a child on the ground. More people came from behind them to see what was going on.

"He isn't breathing!"

I had first aid training back when I was a student and had experience using it into my time as a teacher. I was by the child's side in a flash, having squeezed past the useless people swarming around them.

Long blue hair in a braid, open blue vest, turban, and a golden flute. This was Aladdin from Magi, and I knew what was wrong with him.

I ripped the flute from his hands as Alibaba and Morgiana rushed over. Alibaba pulled Aladdin into his arms and pleaded for his friend to hold on before I could check his condition. At least I had removed the flute so he wouldn't die.

Maybe I *was* a little too obsessed with Magi to be reliving it in a dream, but this gave me an opportunity to do a thing I always want to in scenes like this -hell, I've had to do it with real people.

"Put him down! And stop shaking him!"

The two just stared at me.

I gestured to the ground. " He's weak so holding him like that could hurt him. Put him down."

The desperation on Alibaba's face was one I've seen before in series and on real people. I knew Aladdin would live and I had training, so I could face this calmly, but he didn't.

My words finally register and he put his friend back on the ground. I passed Ugo's flute to them adding, "Keep this away from Aladdin." Holding the flute would hopefully give him something to focus on. "He was pouring all of his magoi into that empty vessel -basically killing himself."

Luckily Aladdin's breathing had returned immediately. I pushed up the sleeves of my oversized hoodie, and adjusted his posture to help his breathing and checked his pulse.

The crowd watched while I checked Aladdin's condition. His pulse and breathing were both uneven, and I felt a weird sensation like I could tell he was drained of energy -like a nearly empty well. I knew the future though so I wasn't too worried.

"He's unstable but holding together," I said. Alibaba and Morgiana were still in shock at seeing their friend like this. "He will live, and wake up when he's ready in a few days. I promise."

"Thank you." Both teens said with shaky voices.

Then I looked up at the crowd, "Can someone get a stretcher or something so he can be moved safely?"

Gold eyes were watching me with an unreadable expression.

How could I forget that Sinbad and Ja'far were in this scene?? Sinbad was the one who originally yelled to remove the flute from Aladdin's hand. There was a look of recognition in Sinbad's eyes as our eyes met, and I felt that strange current again. My stomach went cold. He might be my favorite character, but I also knew all of the horrible things he has done and will some day out do. And I knew I'd probably struggle to keep composure around him.

All the same I felt a pull towards him that I couldn't deny. I tried to play it off, and turned back to focusing on Aladdin.

A guy left and returned with the stretcher, so Aladdin was moved safely.

I hung back as the main cast followed the stretcher to wherever Aladdin was going to be staying until he obtained Solomon's Wisdom. The more space between Sinbad and me, the better.

I needed to decide where I was going next. I tried to change the dream. I didn't want to live through the revolt in Balbadd nor have to deal with Sinbad or my feelings. Still nothing. I could still feel that current strongly, so I couldn't be awake. And yet it seemed the only thing I had an affect on was myself.

A few people were watching me. I was wearing an over sized zipper down hoodie that was just long enough to hide my short-shorts -not to mention my flip-flops and glasses. I didn't exactly fit in. Even I thought it was weird though; in dreams I'm normally in a t-shirt and jeans or at least have my legs covered.

Thin fingers pulled my sleeve to get my attention. "Please come with us." Morgiana stared at me. I could tell she wasn't just asking me to come, she wanted me to help look after Aladdin since I knew what was wrong with him.

She was only slightly shorter than me. She'd get taller in a few years.

I sighed. I couldn't bring myself to say no -especially not when the others also seemed to be waiting for me.

---

After securing Aladdin a private room, Ja'far confirmed his condition.

"How did this happen?" Alibaba panicked over his friend. "This is so much worse than in the dungeon!"

"He used too much magoi." Sinbad and I said in unison. We glanced at each other, and I gestured for him to do the honors, inwardly cursing my tongue. I knew he was going to explain but I couldn't stop myself from answering anyway when I saw Alibaba's worry in person. I identify with aspects of Sinabd for a reason.

The violet haired king explained how even though Aladdin was a Magi, he was too weak to call upon the unlimited magoi of the surrounding Rukh so could only call upon his own.  Even a Magi can die if he loses too much magoi.

During his explanation, Sinbad had watched me out of the corner of his eye. No doubt he was looking for my reaction to the boy being a Magi. I couldn't find it in me to act surprised given the circumstances even though the last thing I needed was for him to pay attention to me.

I took note of his unnecessary lingering on my chest and bare legs though. Sinbad will always be Sinbad after all.

I decided to add information. "The Djinn isn't even in the metal vessel anymore., so his efforts were wasted."

"How can you tell?" Sinbad asked. I couldn't tell if it was genuine curiosity or a test.

I pointed to Ugo's flute in his hands, "The most obvious sign is that the star isn't on the metal vessel anymore." It was something Sinbad was going to take notice of anyway. "Besides, it wasn't Aladdin's magoi fueling Ugo, so when the magoi ran out during the fight there was nothing left keeping Ugo here."

Alibaba and Morgiana were too worried about their friend to notice the name drops, but the King and his aid caught them.

"Regardless, Aladdin needs rest."

We all left the room. Alibaba and Morgiana went to tend to more of the injured. Sinbad and Jafar were supposed to meet up with Masuru and help manage the situation, but instead pulled me aside to a different private room. It was the one with the small table they used after joining the fog troop. Sinbad sat on one side and gestured for me to sit across from him. Ja'far stood behind him.

"Now then, who are you? You're clearly not from around here." Sinbad's nonthreatening smile didn't actually put me at ease. "I could have assumed that you heard Alibaba call Aladdin's and Ugo's names earlier, but you didn't blink at hearing Aladdin's a Magi and now you even know why his attempt to save his friend didn't work. You don't seem to be a magician or a dungeon capturer." He smiled, but he was gauging how much of a threat I was. "Hmm?"

I couldn't blame him for being suspicious of me; I appeared out of nowhere, dressed like no one in this world had ever seen, and knew way more than average. He may have even thought I was a member of Al Thamen. I had to swallow my nerves if I was going to get through this. I tried to think of it like a business meeting, so at least I'd be half put together.

I shrugged, "I doubt you'd believe me even if I told you, King Sinbad." No way he'd believe I was dreaming. I purposefully said his name and title to make it clear that I knew who he was even though he hadn't introduced himself yet. I tried not to, but the longer I looked at him the more nervous I got, and even though he was the Sinbad that I had fixated on and found so comforting he still gave off a slightly dangerous air. I felt a light blush coming on.

"You'd be surprised how much we know. Why don't you try anyway?" Of course Sinbad wouldn't be deterred.

I sighed. "Then would you believe that I actually read this world's fate many times. And I mean more than feeling it's waves. I know exactly what's going to happen next."

"What?” the room seemed to gasp with them. They had been through many adventures and seen many unbelievable things, but never had they met someone who could read fate. The way Sinbad tensed when I mentioned the waves gave me a good feeling -almost like I actually had some level of control.

Part of me regretted saying it of course. However, I thought it would be safer to tell the truth than to lie and reveal it later. Besides, there was no believable answer I could give.

"What type of fools do you take us for?!" Ja'far yelled at me.

Sinbad put a hand between us, quieting Ja'far. "Can you prove that?"

I thought for a moment and looked between them. "If I can 'predict' events that will happen during the next 24 hours, would that be proof enough?"

Sinbad's gaze was piercing, but I knew I wasn't lying and returned it. His eyes were like molten gold with all of his focus. It was the longest I had looked at him directly since I arrived in the world. He was much prettier in person -too beautiful. If he didn't say something soon, I was going to start studying him and get distracted. He had glanced at my legs and chest a few times already, and I was ready to return the favor -even if I'd appear weak to him in the process. Seeing him without his metal vessels was a rare sight after all. He was a good art reference when fully gilded, but it was much easier to see his form when there was just clothes covering it. He almost looked soft; he definitely look about 10,000% more touchable when not covered in a thick layer of gold, silver, and jewels.

"Fine." Sinbad's words shook me from my thoughts. "What is going to happen next?" His smile widened. His sudden charming act must have meant he noticed me ogling him a bit, but I wasn't about to drop my guard for a gorgeous face even if I was blushing.

I answered, "Tonight, the person who has been leaking information to the fog troop will reveal himself -no, I won't say who 'cause it's more fun that way, but let's just say he normally stands behind the king of this country- and he will let everyone know that said king plans to sell his citizens as slaves to pay off his debt to the Kou Empire in order to keep his luxurious life style."

This garnered an even louder, "WHAT???"

I ignored them and carried on with my recounting of the story. "Alibaba will struggle with the stress from being asked to fix things by Morgiana and the informant due to his inexperience. You will step up again, and in turn become more disappointed in Alibaba's abilities than you've done already. Then while drunk tomorrow morning you will voice your disappointment only to be over heard by Morgiana, who will tell you of a past accomplishment of Alibaba's that will make you realize you judged him too quickly. Jafar will call you out as being a drunk idiot-"

"HOLD on a second! You seriously think he would sell his own citizens?" Sinbad's had to be remembering King Rashid and not wanting to believe his son would destroy his legacy that badly. Things were worse than he thought, but it explained many of the problems he was seeing in Balbadd.

I figured he probably only had such an animated response unlike in the original because of how I said it -like the outsider I am, without emotion.

I put my hands in my hoodie pockets. "Soon enough, you will be able to ask the leak yourself."

"Hmm." Sinbad seemed to think he'd find answers somewhere on my form if he looked at the right spot or he was just checking me out openly. His eyes were piercing as he said, "That's still a very serious accusation. What will you do if it turns out you're wrong?"

I sighed and looked away. "Probably the same thing I'll do if it turns out I'm right: try to use what I know to help people and survive another day." If I was going to be dreaming this seriously about any series, I was going to do my best to help, even if I end up changing the plot in the end. I've never been the type to stay still.

"It will be interesting to see what happens." Sinbad seemed to accept my words. "I do have another question."

"Oh?"

"What's your name?"

Ah that. I had been hoping he wouldn't ask. "Call me whatever you want." I really didn't want to hear him say my name.

"Then," the smoldering look he turned on me was too much, "how does 'Beautiful' sounds?"

My face became red as the setting sun as it crashed into my hands. I couldn't tell if I was more embarrassed to be called such a thing or if it was second hand embarrassment for Ja'far having to put up with such a man.

"Whatever! Fine! I don't know why I was expecting anything different from the womanizer of the seven seas, but here we are!"

Ja'far looked at me with pity as Sinbad chuckled at my reaction.

I continued spewing embarrassed nonsense, and left before he could try to to get anything more from me.

I can only assume that the two would go to do whatever they originally would have during this part of the story.

---

This was becoming the most realistic dream I'd ever had. I'd had dreams before with smell, touch, pain, etc, but this one had no time skips, and I felt hunger. In some of my past dreams when I got tired it was actually a sign that I was about to wake up, but it felt different here. It felt more real.

I couldn't take it. I either needed food or sleep or both, and I had no money to get either.

It was a bit sneaky, but I went back to the room Aladdin was resting in. Alibaba would spend some time there later that night after getting asked to save the country. He wasn't there when I arrived, so I was pretty sure Sahmad hadn't revealed himself as the informant yet.

Aladdin was doing as expected. I was a bit disappointed that I wouldn't get to actually meet him before I woke up. He was a good boy -a perv, but still good.

One of the corners of the room had a gap in the supplies so I sat down in it. Some poles would block view of me from the door and most of the rest of the room. I pulled my hood up, my hoodie over my knees, and laid my head on my knees. Hopefully, when I'd wake up I wouldn't have to do laundry.

---

Honestly, I didn't want to wake up. The air was dry so my throat hurt, my back hurt from sleeping in a bad position, and I was really hungry. It would be easier to just sleep a little longer until my hunger subsided so I could move to actually get food.

My stomach growled at me for not taking better care of myself, and I groaned back in frustration. 'I really should get up and feed the cats at least...'

"H-how- How long has that thing been there??"

I blinked my eyes open and looked up at the source of the voice. With my hood no longer protecting me, the sunlight from the window assaulted my eyes. I jerked my head back down with a squeak, "Too bright."

The voice was Alibaba. There were others with him, but I didn't get a good look. How was I still dreaming?

I think I heard someone say, "so this is where she was hiding," under their breath but I could have been hearing things.

Gentle steps made their way towards me and stopped about a yard away. "You're the one who helped Aladdin before, right?"

I lifted my head up slowly that time. I tried to look Morgiana in the eye while adjusting my crooked glasses. "Yeah. That was me," I mumbled.

She was crouched in front of me. "Can you look at him again please?" Her eyes pleaded with me.

"You said he'd wake up in a few days. How long will he need??" Alibaba joined her on the floor making me jolt.

This was not my idea of a good wake up call.

"Calm~ down~" I said through a yawn as I stretched my legs out then stood up.

I walked past them both and up to the sleeping Magi. My too long sleeves covered my hands and I couldn't be bothered to fix them as I yawned into the fabric again.

The two got up and watched me. There was definitely someone else in the room but I couldn't see them past my hood, and I was still too sleepy to care.

Aladdin was sleeping like he would be for a while. What was I supposed to see? "I don't remember exactly how long. He won't wake up until after his Rukh goes and visits Ugo."

A cluster of voices shouted "What?" and "How?" with varying levels of detail.

"Oh right.. That was a secret, wasn't it? Forget I said that." I really should have waited until I was more awake to say anything.

Not looking at any of them, I closed my eyes and moaned. "I just woke up. And now I'm achy from being in that position for so long." I flapped my sleeves in frustration and in an attempt to wake up more. I opened my eyes again, still looking down at Aladdin. "As long as you take care of his body, he'll be fine."

And then my stomach growled again spoiling the moment. My left hand pressed into my stomach. I really felt that one. "Can I impose on you guys for food? I don't have any." I was glad my hood was up. I could feel my eyes getting watery. When I was young I got hangry, but as I got older I started becoming sadgry instead.

There was a light clapping sound and a jovial voice answered me, "Food is not a problem, Ms. Prophet! Just come with me and we'll get you fed."

I turned to the source and saw Ja'far giving me his best professional smile.

[storytimefromthecreed]

What Could Have Been

Inspired by the AU @wardisahi I started writing and it became this. Enjoy!

“Sleeping all day?” The voice giggled. What would have sounded like music on any other occasion, was an alarm clock presently. Ezio knew that when she was up, he was up, regardless of how late they went to bed the night before. Grumbling a response, he buried his face into the pillow and the result was her pulling it out from under him. Sun light blinded him and Ezio growled.

Rosa stopped her laughing long enough to see a dark look enter Ezio’s eyes and she tossed the pillow at his face. Too late, it seemed, as he wrapped his arms around her waist and she fell back into the bed with a soft thump. “Oh, is that how you want to play?” Ezio’s laughter filled the room at her weak attempts to squirm out from under him. Pressing his lips to her neck, she let out the squeak he so desired. “Say you’re sorry, mio caro.” Ezio pressed his lips against her once again, and her voice went up an octave.

“N-Never!” She said in between fits of laughter. 

“Is that so?” Ezio began his assault again. “Caro.”

“Fine, I-I’m,” Rosa was laughing and Ezio paused just long enough to rest his chin on her chest and watch her recover. The blush in her cheeks had turned to red, and there were tears in her eyes. She looked at him again, laughed once more, and took a deep breath. Calming herself, she jut her chin out. “What are you looking at?” There she was, the tough street leader he’d fallen in love with all those years ago. Rosa hummed, running her fingers through the tangles of his hair. “Hm?”

“Nothing,” Ezio breathed, finding that he hadn’t remembered holding his breath. “Just,” Gently, as if she would break, his fingers caressed her cheek and she leaned into his touch. The years had only added to her beauty as it had her fire, and that’s how he knew. He wasn’t sure when the change from friend to lover to more had occurred, all that he knew was that when he looked at her now, he wanted nothing more. She was his best friend, personal cheerleader and trainer, and pushed him to be better. How lucky was he? Ezio cleared his throat and kissed her gently on the lips, his body hovering over her. “Just thinking about how Claudia will kill me when she finds out I saw you.”

Rosa tangled her fingers behind his neck and pulled him down for one last kiss before they rolled out of bed. Shaking out her hair, she padded towards the window as Ezio pulled on his clothes. “She had to know if you wouldn’t come see me, then I would come see you.”

“Wise of her then,” Ezio tied up his hair and took Rosa’s hands, “to let your room be so close to mine. Don’t think she’d try to stop you.” 

“No one better try.” Rosa sang and Ezio reached for her lips once more, making her laugh. “There’s plently more for that later. People are going to wonder where you are, and the sun’s coming up. We don’t want Claudia finding out you got through her defenses to see me.”

Ezio winked, “Oh, I’m sure the whole house knows I came to see you last night.” With a kiss on her forehead, Ezio soared, like his heart, out the window, leaving Rosa and that white dress that hung in her room behind him.

Landing in a pile of hay, Ezio rolled, cleaned himself off, and was awarded a slow clap from the shadows. Turning over his shoulder, Ezio prepared for the twarting Claudia would give him, but found a more friendly face. “Machiavelli!” Ezio opened his arms to his friend and they embraced. “You made it!”

“Of course!” Machiavelli laughed, clapping him on the back and withdrawing to take a good look at him. “I thought only your leap of faith was looking good, but it looks like all of you is.”

“Thank you, amico.” Ezio laughed, “I’m not the only one! I like the...” Ezio pointed to the grays that adorned Machiavelli’s temples and ran like silver in his inky hair. Machiavelli swat his hand and pointed to him too. 

“I’m not the only one, it seems. Tell me, Ezio, you’re not truly planning on looking like,” he gestured at Ezio’s hay covered outfit, “all day?”

Ezio laughed, “Claudia would kill me.”

“And Rosa?”

“Who do you think put me in this condition?” 

“Come!” Machiavelli threw his arm over his friend. “I’m sure there’s something we can do about it, if we put our heads together.”

“We’re going to need more heads.” Ezio laughed, and followed his friend toward his room. He wasn’t sure what to make of the small smile on Machiavelli’s face, but they soon began talking of their adventures and he forgot about it until the turned the corner and a great yell went up. 

In an instance, heart pounding, his hidden blades sliced out of his forearms, their noise masked by the yell from the room. “Congratulations!”

Ezio was pulling into a hug, still stunned, until he heard, “My friend, so good to see you!”

“Leonardo?!” Blades returning to their bracers, Ezio held Leo and pulled him tighter. “Work let you leave?”

“Had no choice considering it’s such a speical day.” Leo hummed in his ear and Ezio looked around the room filled with familiar faces. His heart swelled. 

Giving Leo a final last squeeze, he admired the gray in his hair, trend his friends were sharing apparently. “Leo, my oldest friend! It fills me heart with such gladness to have you here with me.” 

“Nipote! Where else would we be?” Uncle Mario pulled him into a hug so tight that Ezio was lifted up from his feet.

“Don’t break him, Mario. He’s got a lot of heavy lifting to do from this point on.” Antonio clasped his arm and pulled him into a hug. “Though, knowing Rosa, she might be the one lifting you.”

“Ha ha.” Ezio rolled his eyes, but he knew it were true. “You all made it! Nothing could make this day any better.” Ugo was there as was La Volpe, and the other members of the Italian Brotherhood and Thieves Guilde. “But what as Teodora? Paola? My mother?” His eyes flickered to his Uncle Mario.

“Worry not, nipote. The women have their own jobs. We are left with ours.”

“Which is?” 

“Getting you ready!” A cheer went around the room.

“You’re not thinking of keeping those on? Are you?” Leonardo eyed his hidden blades, and Ezio flexed his wrist.

“Wouldn’t be an Assassin event without them.” La Volpe bowed low, and Ezio pulled him into a hug.

“It’s my wedding! No business today!” Holding out his forearms, Leo undid his bracers. La Volpe had his outfit, Ugo had the bath ready, Machiavelli and Leo argued with Antonio and Mario on how to style him. Ezio was groomed at least a dozen times over, poked and prodded, his hair moved this way and that.

“What do you think Rosa will think?” Leo clasped his hands together, all smiles.

“She won’t recognize him, don’t think I do.” Antonio teased.

“I dare so, Ezio, there’s a nobleman under that Assassin after all.” Machiavelli smirked, and though Ezio rolled his eyes, he knew his friends had done well. Admiring his new clothes and fresh style, Ezio turned this way and that. He didn’t recognize himself. He looked like a proper, more polished version of himself. He hoped Rosa would like it. 

Wondering of her, he hoped her morning was going smoothly. No poking and prodding for her. Only a relaxing day. This was her day, after all. Mario, as if reading his thoughts, leaned in. “Word is, the bride is ready. What say you, Ezio?” Antonio had returned with wine glasses. Ugo helped hand them out, and Leo gave him one. “To the man, the legend, the one and only, Ezio Auditore de Firenze!”

“May his life be happy, filled with love and peace!” Leo raised his glass.

“And to my friends! May I be blessed to stand with you always!” Ezio added.

“To all those who stand against us,” Ugo raised a glass. “Good luck!” 

“To the bride and groom! Long may they reign!” Machiavelli concluded, and the men cheered and drank. Not a moment had the wine touched his lips, Claudia stormed in. And by stormed, Ezio felt she might have invented the term. Gliding in like thunder clouds, Claudia welcomed all the men and began ushering them out.

“Come on, all of you! We’ll be late with all this celebrating. Remember, we have more afterwards.” Claudia pushed out her Uncle Mario.

“Come on, you heard the boss!” Uncle Mario gave Claudia a kiss on her forehead and the men ushered out, giving Ezio kisses, hugs, and words of encouragement on their way out. 

“Sister.” Ezio opened his arms, and Claudia dove into them.

And began adjusting his shirt and fixing his hair. “Let the men work on Ezio, Mother says, it’ll keep them out of our way, ha!” Happy with how he looked, she finally smiled and hugged her brother. “Oh Ezio! I’m so happy for you! Everything is perfect, I promise! And you look amazing. How are you feeling? Is there anything you need?”

“I need,” Ezio put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a small smile. Nerves bit into his stomach and made his veins feel like alive. “My sister to take a seat. I know everything is perfect, that’s why we asked you to do this.” Ask was a strong word. Claudia leapt at the mention at the wedding and forbid anyone else from spoiling it. A normal wedding, she said, no Assassin business! “Where is Mother?”

“On her way in. She wanted to speak to you.” Claudia looked over her shoulder and their mother walked in. 

Eyes teary, she took Ezio in and Ezio removed himself from Claudia to hug her and kiss her on both cheeks. “Oh, my Ezio. How handsome you look.” Mama Auditore mused and fixed his hair. “You’ve grown so much these years, from a boy to man faster than I could blink. Now look! You’re getting married! I know, if he was here, your Father would be very proud of who you are and what you’ve done. Both of us.”

“Mother.” Ezio blinked back tears and hung his head. 

Taking his chin and lifting it high, his Mother looked him in the eye and copied the stance. “None of that today, or ever again, my son. This will be the happiest day of your life, and then your new adventure starts. Love your wife as you loved her before she gained the title. Listen to her, protect her, guide her. After today, the pair of you are a team. Until death do you part. Do you understand that?” Ezio nodded. “Of course you do, now, shall we? We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.” Ezio extended his arm and his mother took it. Claudia hurried to his other side, fixed his hair back, and took his other arm. 

Taking in a deep breath, Ezio felt steady in the arms of the strong women in his life, and step after shaky step, they took him out of the room and into the courtyard. The sun shone pleasantly, filling the courtyard to reveal a flower covered arch in the center. Rows of chairs were arranged neatly allowing on both sides, making an aisle. Claudia and his mother stopped him from proceeding farther, and Ezio took it in.

Flower petals lofted lazily in the spring breeze, how Claudia managed that he could never guess, and flowers adorned the seats of the aisle. Standing under the arch was La Volpe. Seated were his friends and family, looking over their shoulders to point, wave, and smile at him. Ezio felt like the sun itself, that he would explode with the light and love he was recieving. Tears filled his eyes and he laughed, “Claudia, thank you. Mother, thank you. It’s...perfect.”

Claudia squealed and dabbed at his eyes. “Don’t you start, Ezio, or I will too.” He laughed.

“Claudia, it’s his wedding, he can do what he wants.” His mother chastened her, but Claudia made a face and Ezio laughed as more tears rolled down his cheeks faster than she could dab them.

“Ready?” Claudia smiled, her voice barely a whisper. Taking their arms firmly, Ezio nodded and they walked him down the aisle. Passing by Uncle Mario who gave him a thumbs up, Ezio smiled. Ugo and the thieves gave him a salute which Ezio returned with the hand holding Claudia’s. Machiavelli and Antonio gave him nods, and Leonardo’s smile was so massive Ezio could only laugh and mimic the gesture.

Once placed just so under the arch, and his mother giving him a kiss on the cheek, Claudia helped their mother to the seat in the front. Ezio rolled his shoulders and shifted foot to foot thinking all the while that the doors held Rosa just on the other side and how he wanted to look like her prince when she walked through them. La Volpe leaned in, fixing Ezio’s hair. “Don’t be nervous. Just remember to soak it in. It goes by in the blink of an eye.” Ezio nodded, feeling better. 

Music started, and the doors he’d been eyeing opened. Everyone rose and turned. An excited murmur rang through the crowd, but all that faded away at the sight of Rosa, his Rosa, dressed like an angel. His knees buckled and Ezio was sure he would’ve fallen had La Volpe not professionally placed himself by his side and held him fast. No one saw. No one ever saw La Volpe’s work. Pulling himself up, Ezio found himself holding his breath again as Rosa’s eyes met his and a large smile broke like the sun emerging from behind the clouds. 

Ezio thought he was the sun, but he was mistaken. Rosa was the sun, powerful and bright, commanding the eye of all, blinding him with her brillance. Her faze transfixed on his, and Ezio felt the tears running down his cheeks again but he didn’t brush him off. Instead, his grin stretched across his face and he felt a new energy replace the nerves. An excitement! He was ready! 

Hurry up and walk down the aisle, so I can be your husband, he wanted to yell, but he controlled himself. Antonio walked her down the aisle. “Who gives this woman away?” La Volpe asked and Antonio stood proudly.

“Her Mentor.”

La Volpe nodded, and Antonio kissed her hand before placing it in Ezio’s outstretched one. At her touch, Ezio felt anchored. Looking into her eyes, the rest of the crowd faded away, and they stared at one another.

“You look...” Ezio was at a loss of words.

Her hand hovered over his face and Ezio kissed her palm. Fixing his hair, she cupped his face and then slid her hand down his arm to hold his hands. “Perfecto, as usual, Signor Auditore.” Rosa beamed, and La Volpe cleared his throat.

Oh yea, they were sort of in the middle of something. Helping her to the shade under the floral arch, a breeze shfited the petals again, and Ezio just stared. If he had to go through all he had to get back here to her, he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He’d do it every day if it meant getting back to her. Looking into her eyes, he knew she was thinking the same.

La Volpe was right, the wedding was a blur. He remembered he forgot his cue, being lost in Rosa’s eyes, and made the crowd laugh. Uncle Mario and one of Rosa’s friends handed them the rings. Once placed on her finger, Ezio gave it a kiss. A tradition he would do for the rest of his life. 

“Now, by the power vested in me, I pronounce thee, husband and wife!” A cheer went up, and Ezio heard the part he’d been waiting for. “Ezio! You may now kiss the bride!” Throwing a fist into the air and pulling it down quickly, Ezio whirled Rosa around and dipped her low, kissing her as passionately as he had this morning, which suddenly felt so very far away, and righted her as a deafening roar sounded. “Now! Let’s party!”

By the end of the night, Ezio must have danced with everyone twice! His shoes were most likely ripped apart! The thieves performed a dance of acrobatics, his mother got a dance, of course, and he danced with his wife, god he loved saying that, whenever someone else hadn’t stolen her. Leo was standing awkwardly to the side, enjoying himself from afar, when Ezio strode up to him.

“Is everything alright, Leonardo?” Ezio asked, and offered him a glass which Leo refused. “A brave man, you can dance without?”

“I uh, I’ve never...” They both looked at the dancefloor and Ezio shook his head.

“Not on my wedding day.” Ezio bowed low and offered his hand. “It would be my honor, Signor de Vinci.”

“Ezio, are you sure? Surely you’d rather dance with your wife.” Leo tried, but there was an excited light in his eyes.

“She knew what she was getting into, and she would do the same.” Ezio twitched his hand, and Leo took it. Leading him onto the dancefloor, the music picked up and Ezio lead. Leo was given many a twirl and soon the others joined. By the end of the night, Rosa was back in his arms, her head on his chest, his head on hers. Taking a deep breath, taking in her scent, Ezio closed his eyes. This is how the rest of his life would be. His wife at his side and his friends surrounding him. And so it was.

[temporoom]

This post is about something very personal and difficult for me to talk about, especially in a language which is not my mothertongue. So I will ask you to be nice with me, to not send me hate messages or political opinions. I honestly wrote this whole post with trembling hands, talking about this kind of subject is hard for me so please, be nice. Thank you.

Okay, that’s a difficult question for a lot of different things (including the fact that it hits a bit too close to home for me). So I asked specialists about it (A.K.A. my mother who specialize in autism and I really don't want to say more on this subject), so here is my full answer with the explanations as to why.

No, Norman does not have the asperger syndrome.

I know it could feels like he has it for a lot of different reasons that I’ll explain. But no. He is not asperger. Aspergers have a few particularities that define them as being asperger. You consider them as being asperger as long as those particularities affect their daily life on a constant basis :

Difficulties with social interactions : problems looking at people directly in their eyes, problems with keeping a trivial conversation, as well as a lack of flexibility in those.

There’s two types of aspergers : the ones who avoid social interactions at all cost since it’s difficult for them, and those who searchs them but who don’t have a filter when they talk, always saying their honest opinion on things. It has nothing to do with negativity or positivity in this case, it really is just an honest opinion.

They focus on a particular subject in which they will get very comfortable with and in. They usually wants people to understand this subject they are into, so they will talk about it often an explains when the people they talk to doesn’t understand. They won’t talk about this subject to people who seems to clearly don’t care about it, but since it’s what they like to mainly talk about it can also mean that they can just stop talking to this person definitely. Since they are very comfortable in this subject, they won’t get intereste in other subjects and try to come out of this comfort zone that they made for themselves. 

Aspergers are usually either hypersensitive or hyposensitive. For example : one individual can be unaffected by the cold, but can be very affected by strong smells to a point it can become overwhelming and undomfortable. It usually has something to do with the five senses that are : taste, sight, earing, smell, and touch. 

Asperger people usually prefers when there’s rules to follow, it usually is more comfortable for them.

Autistic withdrawal : something that happens between 2 to 4 years old usually, when the child will progress abnormaly quickly but will isolate himself. After this sudden progress, they will develop slowler than other children during the rest of their lives.

You must have noticed one thing, I didn’t talked about intellect. It’s for a simple thing : intellect has absolutely nothing to do with being asperger. Aspergers can be very smart people as well as people with a basic intellect. I’m insisting on this because someone at school already told me that aspergers were obviously smart people while it’s wrong. Society usually shows smart asperger because the contrast between the particularities I talked about and their talent is impressive for most people. But intellect has nothing to do with asperger syndrome.

Now here’s the thing : you can have one of those particularites and still not be asperger. You are asperger when those particularities affect your daily life. You can also be asperger and only have a few of those particularities, but you are as long as it affects your daily life.

Now let’s go back to the main subject with Norman :

Norman clearly doesn’t have any problem with social interactions. He can look at people directly in their eyes, he can keep up with trivial conversations, and he is very flexible when talking to others.

He doesn’t avoid any social interactions as I said, and he does have a filter when he talks (or else he wouldn’t be able to lie to Mama)

I don’t think you can consider Emma a subject. 

Now here’s something that maybe Norman is affected by : he seems to be sensible to cold as early on in the show he puts on a cardigan (before anyone else it seems). But that’s the only noticable thing. He doesn’t seem to be hypersensible or hyposensible to anything besides feeling easily cold. (Or he’s like me and likes to have two layer of clothes all the time even if it’s useless)

Clearly, Norman doesn’t care about rules (otherwise we wouldn’t have this first chapter)

We can’t tell for that one since we almost never saw Norman Younger, but from the novel I don’t think he was affected by it.

Yep. Norman is anything but asperger. But he indeed as a special thing that people often misinterpret as asperger syndrome because of this intellect trope that I talked about earlier. And something that I think a lot of TPN readers can relate to :

He is a gifted child.

It sounds like a quality because in English you don't have the word “surdoué” (translated literally : overtalented). But being a gifted child actually has a lot of cons that can all fit Norman :

As you can guess, gifted children have obviously a superior intelligence. The difference with aspergers is that they are aware of it, maybe too aware of it. They usually notice it when they are at a very young age (around to 2 to 3 years old, when they enter school).

Aspergers have difficulties with social interactions because it’s usualy hard for them to either follow the conversation or to keep a filter on. Gifted children have the same problem... but it’s mostly because they feel like people around them are absolutely stupid, and that it should be common sense to undestand what they are talking about. They talk with adults a lot because they feel like they can talk on the same level with them, and not with other children their age.

They are not obsessed with a specific subject, they usually can keep up with multiple hobbies and subjects at the same time without being particularly into it.

The less rules they are, the better a gifted child feels. A lot of gifted children feels out of place at school because of those and because of how the school works. That’s why a gifted child can be a top student as well as a really bad student. They can be CEO, but also gang leader, to even simple artists… their only limits is how people perceive them.They usually like to experiment and to discover new things. 

Gifted children know they are gifted, and will progress quickly during their whole life. 

I don’t think I need to explain how each of those fits Norman.. and overall a lot of the GF children. 

And I can already see you coming with your “but he lacks flexibilty in his way of thinking you said it yourself in one of your posts!”. He doesn’t, he just thinks that since he is smarter, his opinion is obviously the right one. 

I’m sorry if you hoped that Norman could be asperger because of indentification or because you would think it could be nice. But from what I stated in this post, I personally don't think he is.

But if you want other character that I think that are asperger (and this time I’m sure of it) : in Magi the labyrinth of magic, Uraltugo (or simply Ugo) seems very asperger to me. And in The Fantastic Beasts And Where to Find Them, Newt Scamander is definitely asperger and no one can convince me otherwise, it’s the most unsaid asperger person I’ve seen in fiction so far.

At least, even if i ended up saying that he is not, I hoped you could learn a few things as well. I usually avoid talking about this type of subject because it’s too personal for me, but as I wrote this post I think I could somehow learn how to deal with it. So thank you! I hope you have a nice day!

[rachelsmuses]

The past few years had been anything but kind to Aladdin. He’d lost so much in the short time he’d been in this world: his freedom, his future, Ugo...but yet he still kept his head high. After all, life wouldn’t be like this all the time, right? Just like Morgiana, he’d be free from this prison called slavery in time, and then he’d be able to finally reunite with those precious friends of his. 

At least...that’s what he told himself at the very beginning. Hopping from house to house, country to country had been a constant struggle for his hope. There were good families - ones that would treat him right, make sure the young boy was well taken care of and had plenty to eat.  And there were bad ( vile, vicious people that would abuse and make him feel like he was nothing no matter how much he’d protest, to the point where he found it was a lot easier and less painful just to keep silent about what he thought and try not to get into anyone’s way ). Still, he refused to give up, even after five years. He was a magi, a sorcerer of creation, and while he didn’t even know the basics of what magic even was, he would not succumb to just being a slave all his life. 

When he’s sold again, it’s to the Kou Palace; to an empire known for it’s conquest and battles against the great kingdom of Sindria, and he despises it more than any other house he’s served under. He’s seen first hand what they’re capable of, had even lost the only good family to them, and while he was forgiving, he can’t help the bitter taste that rises on his tongue the moment he steps foot onto it’s soil. When he’s told he’s to serve the oracle it comes with a “he likes weak little playthings like you” and Aladdin’s face scrunches into a terrible display of displeasure. He knows of this oracle too, and although the idea of meeting another magi brings a spark of faith, he knows enough about the rumors of Judar to understand it won’t matter.

They grant him the chance to keep his clothing at first, but he knows all too well he’ll have to suffer through those stuffy robes eventually, and he can already feel that itchiness brushing against his skin. When he’s presented to Judar, he is to kneel, and with a soft sigh, he obeys. The room is far too cold for his liking, and when he’s told to look his new master in the eye, he does so with such malice and discontent it could earn him more than he bargained for. 

He’s instructed to state his name in order to see if it pleases the other, and when he does, his head turns to avoid all gazes. 

“I’m Aladdin.” 

[romionequickiefest]

Brisk Brillance

A little something for the parents in the group. This is inspired by my own son who, although he was the best baby ever, became known as the “sex warden” due to his uncanny ability to hear a zipper drop through three rooms and two closed doors. I am also proud to announce that through discipline and editing, I was able to bring this one in at fighting weight: 698 words!!

Category: Parenting Rated M Drabble

It was partly Rose’s fault, to be perfectly honest. She’d been the kind of baby that made new parents feel invincible-like they’d mastered every problem inferior parents were too inept to solve. She’d slept through the night before she was a month old, switched easily between breast and bottle as her mother’s schedule required, cooed constantly, and could entertain herself indefinitely. As a result, Ron and Hermione laughed at the frustrated tales many young parents relayed: tales of fatigued and sexless days.

Then came Hugo. He was by no means an unhappy baby, just one who required constant attention. He slept little, and while awake, was content to remain forever in his mum or dad’s loving arms. On the rare occasion that he could be coaxed into a charmed baby swing or play yard, the tiniest indication that his parents were enjoying a kiss would bring about a meltdown.

So, to say that Ron Weasley was surprised when he arrived home to his lovely, although slightly frazzled, wife pulling him quickly into the kitchen for a heated snog, would be an epic understatement.

“Now that’s my kind of welcome!”

“Shhh! We have to be quiet!”

“We do?”

“Yes…Rose and Hugo are in her room watching a video,” she continued in answer to his doubtfully cocked eyebrow, “He’s obsessed with her today, for some reason…we should take advantage while we can.”

“Sounds brilliant, but we both know that kid can hear your knickers drop through two closed doors and a silencing charm.”

“Precisely why I’m not wearing any.”

“Fuck.”

“If you’re quick and quiet.”

“I prefer slow and loud, but I’ll take what I can get.”

With the practiced brisk brilliance obtained only by shag-desperate parents, Ron snogged his wife as he backed her toward the counter. Once there he lifted her up, leaving her hands free to deftly lift her skirt and unzip his trousers. He moaned quietly as her fingertips brushed his embarrassingly quick erection, while her heels dug into his arse, urging him forward.

“Damn woman, don’t you want me to fondle your bits a little first?”

“I can do that myself, but nothing can take the place of you inside me.”

“Bloody hell!” He whispered, his forehead resting on hers. “This is gonna be quicker than you bargained for if you keep saying shit like that.”

He looked down into the small space between them to see her rubbing his cock up and down her wet slit. They both hissed as she brought him to her opening and inched forward to bring just his tip inside. Her position left her little control over the situation, so she encouraged him deeper by pushing him forward with her feet and opening her thighs even wider. He replied to her demand by slamming into her in one deft movement.

Ron relished the feeling of her being wrapped around him in every possible way. He knew he would not be able to hold out long against his rapidly approaching release. He could, however, bring her with him just as quickly. He pulled her closer and thrust into her with short deep strokes, punctuating each word he breathed across her ear.

“Being quick like this…do you remember? That first summer? Desperate for each other?”

“God, yes.”

“I still remember…that first taste of you… your sweet fanny in my face…watching you come.”

“More.”

“Still the sexiest sight I’ve ever seen…could never get enough. My cock deep inside you, fucking you, loving you.”

“Fuuu”

“Come…with me…you feel…too…fucking good…Mione!”

She did just that-the force of his climax triggering her own. They clung to one another, struggling to even out their breathing. They had just enough time to finish a cleansing charm before they were called back to parental reality by a commotion down the hall. Hugo’s wail was broken by Rose’s call.

“Mummy!! ‘Ugo needs ooh!”

Ron and Hermione chuckled as they straightened their clothes, relieved that the day had given them at least a few moments. She gave her husband a quick kiss and headed toward the kitchen door.

“Why don’t you let me, love? You’ve been with them all day.”

“That, my dear, is the second best plan I’ve heard today.”

[the4thmagi]

2, 31, and 45

2: Do they have any daily rituals?

Of course! It’s not nearly as detailed in the personal hygiene department considering he’s fairly low maintenance when it comes to his appearance, but Aladdin does his best to keep a schedule for at least half of his day. He wakes up, gets dressed and re-braids his hair if need be, finds something small to eat for breakfast such as fruit, and then does a physical work out to keep his magoi and body in the same shape it’s been in since after the rigorous training with Myers. He tries to study up on spells of all kinds and learn about different cultures, and hopefully gets through at least one book a day if not more. Other than that, what he does usually ends up being where he’s at and what needs to be done to help the world become a better place. 

31: Most prized possession?

Without a doubt his flute. It was the only connection he had to Ugo after he left the Sacred Palace, and although Kougyoku had destroyed his chances of summoning the Djinn through it, he still cherishes it very much. I headcanon that he has it on his person at all times, but given his time skip appearance, it’s probably well hidden underneath his robes (though I kind of like the idea of it hanging off the backside of his belt. )

45: Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

It depends on the situation. He likes to use both words and actions to express just what he’s saying to another person. Hands are a big part of everything he does, and he sees them as a way to connect and show just how meaningful everything he says. If it were something along the lines of a war, deeds would probably be the more chosen tactic ( such as him using his Gravity Magic in order to push back the soldiers of Reim without killing a single person in the process. He said he’d end the war without any loss of life, and went through with it in action to back up his word). 

[fake-zagan]

Koumei, Solomon and Lo'lo headcannons for when they find they're s/o as a child and doesn't remember them because they're time was reversed?

Sorry this took 5ever.

Koumei, Solomon, and Lo’lo finding their s/o as a child…

Koumei

★ So when Koumei goes into his and his s/o’s shared room and sees a lump in the blankets, he thinks nothing of it. He proceeds with moving towards the bed. But when he pulls back the covers, and see’s a tiny child, he doesn’t even know how to react. At first he just stands there, completely confused. He assumed that maybe some child has found their way into his room, but man, it looked kind of familiar.

★ when it started stirring, and waking up, he stayed still. When they both met eyes, he thought that maybe his s/o had a child that popped up out of nowhere, because wooow. It really looks like Y/N.

★ “Who are you..??” He says rather harshly.

★ “I’m Y/N. Who are you!”

★ “You mean Y/N’s son/daughter??”

★ “Ew– what?? No!! I’m only 6 I can’t have kids ‘ya weirdo!!”

★ He takes them to see Judar to see if he can see who this mysterious kid is. When the Magi confirms that; yes, this is Y/N, as a child.

★ He would ask this newly formed s/o-child if they wanted to return home, if there was a home to return to, and if not, he would opt to finding someone else to take care of them. He would be really confused as to how it happened, and would feel a little awkward taking care of them himself for the first little while. So for the time being, he would keep a close eye on them, while he did research on anything that could reverse it. If there wasn’t anything, then he would leave it at that. He might even resort to a father figure tbh. take care of them. Any feelings he had, would slowly whither, and grow into some platonic feelings, since they’re obviously now a child.

Solomon

★ He was informed that something had happened to his s/o, and every time he asked what happened all they said was, “You’ll have to see it with you own eyes.”

★ When his eyes fell on a mini-Y/N, they both looked at each other with unfamiliar eyes. There was recognition on Solomons end, But from Y/N’s perspective, this was a strange lookin dude with some really long blue hair.

★ “What’s this??” He holds his hand, motioning towards the child.

★ “That’s Y/N. they went to sleep, and when they awoke– This happened. They don’t recognize any of us. We’ve looked through books, scrolls– anything. But we couldn’t find anything that would tell us what’s happened.”

★ He’s a little curious as to what’s happened, but knows there are other, more dire matters at hand. He knows that Ugo and others will look into it, and maybe come up with something. But, until they do, Solomon chooses to have little-Y/N be put through school, much like any other child should. Never really lets them accompany him on any journeys he takes, still in fear for their safety.

Lo’lo

★ He’ll start the day by saying good bye to his s/o, and go to the coliseum to do his daily activities. But when he comes home, he’s suddenly worried when he can’t find his s/o. He searched everywhere inside the place, but they were nowhere to be found. When he peeked out into their backyard, he was puzzled to see a child crouched over, and tending to the the little vegetable garden his s/o had planted.

★ When he went outside to see what the child was doing, he was surprised to see their welcoming smile. Usually most kids feared him, he was a towering giant after all. With the most calm and soft voice he could muster, he asked them who they were.

★ “I’m Y/N! You’re super tall!! Can I sit on your shoulders!?” They looked at Lo’lo as if he put the sun in the sky; and they’d even believe him if he said so. He knew something was a little suspicious. One of the few people that looked at Lo’lo so starry-eyed was his Y/N, and not to mention this child’s interest in the garden Y/N built. As absurd as it sounded, he had an itchy feeling about this.

★ He picked them up and sat them on his shoulders, taking them to see Titus. Knowing the Magi would know what’s up.

★ Titus had to do a double-take when he saw Y/N. Knowing something was a little off. Well a lot of off.

★ He had no idea how to fix this, so now they were stuck with a tiny child. Which wasn’t so bad, at least mini-Y/N could run around with all the other Fanalis children, and grow up to become great warriors with them. As odd as this was to Lo’lo, he really saw no chance at fixing this. He’d be a little pained by it all, but no use crying over spilled milk.

[caveartfair]

How Flashy, Trashy Las Vegas Has Played Muse to Artists

Photo by Bettmann/CORBIS/Bettmann Archive.

What, exactly, is Las Vegas? “A place where millions of suckers flew in every year on their own nickel, and left behind about a billion dollars. But at night, you couldn’t see the desert.” That’s Robert De Niro’s character from the film Casino (1995) talking about the city and the wasteland that surrounds it. Maybe more than any city in the world, Vegas evokes an engrossing bunch of images: Neon signs, roulette wheels, dead celebrities officiating wedding ceremonies, all working as one to dazzle tourists into surrendering their savings. The city is one big symbol for life, for America, for anything and everything else—and, as De Niro subtly suggests, it was designed to be not only lived in, but looked at.

Overwhelming, poetic, a feast for the eyes—why, then, has Las Vegas not left a bigger footprint in the visual arts? It’s hard to think of the Impressionists without picturing the grand boulevards of late-19th-century Paris, or Expressionism without imagining the smoky alleyways of Weimar Berlin. So where is the Edgar Degas, or the Otto Dix, of Sin City?

Double Elvis, 1963. Andy Warhol TAG TheArtGallery

Even Andy Warhol, whose bombastic, proudly tacky Pop Art creations would seem to fit Vegas like a glove, only visited the town once, in 1963—apparently, he won at roulette using a strategy borrowed from his Dada precursor, Marcel Duchamp (which sounds suspiciously like a metaphor for his entire career). That same year, Warhol completed Double Elvis (1963), a silkscreen which today seems to foreshadow the endless local impersonators who popped up after the King’s death. In more ways than one, Vegas has caught up with Warhol’s vision: The city, with its bottomless supply of second- and third-hand glamor, has become one big, friendly Pop Art painting, in which nobody is quite at home but everybody is welcome.

Maybe there’s a reason why relatively few of the notable artists whose work seems relevant to Vegas culture actually hail from Las Vegas: Its gushiest fans and sharpest critics tend to be passers-through. It’s not that the city lacks for homegrown artists—actually, it wouldn't be much of a stretch to say that Vegas’s whole economy depends on talented creatives, from musicians to dancers to gymnasts to comedians to magicians. But, in a city defined by dizzying extremes, outsiders’ gazes are likely to be the sharpest; they have an easier time recognizing the comedy, the pathos, and the unlikely democracy of life on the Strip.

Take Ralph Steadman, the Welsh artist best known for illustrating the works of gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson. Steadman first became friends with Thompson after supplying sketches to accompany Thompson’s coverage of the 1970 Kentucky Derby; that highly influential sports article, “The Kentucky Derby Is Decadent And Depraved,” ends in the sinking epiphany, “We came down here to see this terrible scene: people all pissed out of their minds and vomiting on themselves and all that ... and now, you know what? It's us...” Something of the same disillusionment animates Steadman’s illustrations for Thompson’s greatest work, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1971): on the surface, the drawings depict the grimy little corners of America’s most infamously sleazy city, but after a while you may start to feel as if you’re looking in the mirror.

The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved, 1970. Ralph Steadman The Chambers Project

Who, for example, is “The Audience” in Steadman’s disturbing, and genuinely obscene, illustration of the same name? The man and woman at the center of the image (patrons, it’s safe to assume, of a dirty movie) are too busy licking and gnawing at each other to notice what they’ve paid to see. That leaves only us, out here in the real world—and Steadman seems to be daring us to believe we’re any prettier than his pen-and-ink creations. In the cover illustration for Fear and Loathing, the two main characters drive off toward Las Vegas, which Steadman reimagines as a towering Emerald City, and we stare after them, unsure whether we’re heading for utopia or inferno, or which one we truly deserve.

The architecture of Las Vegas was clearly an important source of inspiration for Steadman and it’s arguably the city’s single greatest contribution to the arts. That, at least, was the thesis advanced by Denise Scott Brown, Steven Izenour, and Robert Venturi in their influential architectural treatise Learning from Las Vegas (1972), published a few months after Fear and Loathing hit bookstores.

It’s a mark of how stodgy American architecture was in the early 1970s that the authors spend a good chunk of their introduction merely arguing for their right to treat Vegas architecture, with its giant cowboys and cacophonous neon, as a legitimate subject. Thumbing their noses at the then-inescapable dogmas of Le Corbusier and Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, they connect the layout of the Strip with an early modern European tradition of “expressive architecture” that reaches its culmination in the playful, deliberately disposable style of Vegas hotels. Widely scoffed at in its time, this theory—and Las Vegas itself—may get the last laugh yet.

Study: Big Edge, Las Vegas, 2007. Nancy Rubins Gagosian

Jeff Koons’s Popeye sculpture at the Wynn Theater in Las Vegas. Photo by Phil Guest, via Flickr.

For in architecture, as in painting, as in literature, the monumental and the serious have for some time been losing out to the unpretentious and the self-aware—and on both counts Las Vegas enjoys a half-century head start on most of the rest of America. In his gleefully provocative essay, “A Home in the Neon” (1997), the great art critic (and long time Vegas resident) Dave Hickey makes the case for his city as the most refreshingly honest (!) place on Earth—and the birthplace of “the only indigenous visual culture on the North American continent, a town bereft of dead white walls, ficus plants, and Barcelona chairs—where there is everything to see and not a single pretentious object demanding to be scrutinized.”

Creative people from around the world continue to visit Vegas and revel in, or recoil from, its wild permissiveness, translating that permissiveness into books, films, drawings, paintings, songs. Meanwhile, Vegas just keeps being itself, indifferent to what anybody thinks.

Can it go on like this forever? Las Vegas has only been around for about hundred years; in that time its population has continued to expand, and for the last ten years it’s been more or less recession-proof. And yet its existence always feels precarious, dependent as it is upon a steady supply of gamblers willing to travel to the middle of nowhere and a steady supply of water brought in from God knows where. It’s hard to look at Nancy Rubins’s public sculpture Big Edge (2009), composed of more than two hundred canoes, rowboats, surfboards, and kayaks smack-dab in the middle of Vegas’s CityCenter, without snorting at the sheer, perverse uselessness of the thing—the whimsy, or stupidity, or black humor, that would lead someone to pile boats in a city on the verge of a major drought. Likewise for Jeff Koons’s 2,000-pound stainless steel sculpture of Popeye, the world’s most famous sailorman, which for a brief time decorated the executive offices of the Wynn Las Vegas.

Ugo Rondinone, Seven Magic Mountains, 2016. Image by Travel Nevada, via Flickr.

It’s inevitable that most public artworks in Vegas emphasize their incongruity instead of trying to mask it (how could they blend in with the Mojave?). Insofar as Las Vegas has its own distinct aesthetic, it may stem from this very sense of incongruity—vulgar, brazen, with more than a touch of pathos. The Swiss artist Ugo Rondinone’s Seven Magic Mountains (2016), a stack of colorful boulders located ten miles south of the city in the middle of the Ivanpah Valley, is like a miniature portrait of Vegas in all its pride and piteousness: A buzzing, glittering fly in the ointment, refusing to conform to its surroundings, its survival—like everything else about it—a matter of chance.

Maybe the most telling encounter between an artist and Las Vegas took place in 1968, when the land artist Nancy Holt arrived in the city from back east. Throughout the ‘70s, ‘80s, and ‘90s, Holt—who passed away in 2014—designed quietly powerful artworks formed from sand, concrete, and soil; her most famous, Sun Tunnels (1976), consists of a set of concrete tubes arranged to block off different parts of the vast Utah horizon. When Holt came to Vegas fifty years ago, she was immediately overwhelmed: “It lasted for days,” she later said, “I couldn’t sleep.” She wasn’t talking about playing the slots, or seeing Elvis or Sinatra or Sammy. She was talking about the desert.

from Artsy News

[morimakesfanart]

Sindria's Prophet #08

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [AO3]

** TW/suicide of family member implied (it is marked ahead with ((text)) so you know what to skip) ~POV shift Mori~ In my old life I had spent 4 or so years as a historical reenactor for the mid 1700's through early 1800's on my weekends. My group mainly acted as pirates/privateers and sang sea shanties. We had done performances on different ships, but every time we were invited onto a period ship I couldn't make it, so I was geeking out when I saw the ship we'd be taking to Sindria. I prayed it didn't show on my face. Sure it was exciting for an other world's nerd like me to get to see a ship like this in use, but to everyone else it was a normal ship. The ship had two masts -both square rigged with a fore and aft sail at the back for better steering. Considering the reputation for the waters around Sindria I expected a bigger three mast ship for strength, but who was I to judge?

With only two masts, this ship probably only needed a crew of about nine people to allow for different shifts. It didn't look like it had room for many passengers. No doubt, Sinbad didn't expect to be bringing four extra people back with him. I was in full on research mode by the time I got on the ship, and I tired my best to not stand out or get in the way. Getting to look up at the rigging from on the deck was an experience. After everyone was settled I'd definitely make a point to look around more. I might even take one of the scrolls out and try drawing the deck of the ship since I never got around to drawing that gorgeous room in the hotel. I considered myself lucky that no one tried to talk to me until the rooms were being divided out -I had been hyperfixating so I might not have even noticed if they did.

Studying the ship could only boost me for so long. About 15 minutes before we left the port I could no longer ignore that my head was throbbing from exhaustion. This headache was undeniably becoming a migraine if it wasn't one already. I decided that sleep was the next thing on my agenda. Luckily, I made that decision around the same time the rooms were being divided out. I had figured I'd end up in the same room as Alibaba, Aladdin and Morgiana, but Alibaba was put in the same room as Ja'far and Masrur. Everyone put their bags down, and headed back on deck except me. I sat on my bed with my head in my hands as I started to let myself fully calm down. In the quiet it hit me just how much I had been using working on the scrolls as a way to avoid thinking about my guilt and lost home. I'd have to find time when no one else was in the room to work through these feelings. There was no way I could keep it bottled up until we reached Sindria. "Excuse me, Miss Mori?" Aladdin had re-entered the room and closed the door. We might not have been formally introduced but he was told who I was. "What is it?" I lifted my head to look at him, and tried to keep my expression positive. I felt the waves rising. A Magi was talking to a Prophet in private; something was bound to happen. The walls of the ship creaked, and I heard steps and the floor boards creak in the hallway. The wave got a little bigger. Silence hung in the air as the boy just stood there. Instead of trying to guess what he wanted I waited. His hands tightened around his staff. Aladdin looked nervous as he confronted me. "I know you say you've read Fate, but I don't think Fate is something written in stone. It's something that everyone makes together. It can always change." The hallway floor creaked behind the Magi again. The wave was getting bigger. Someone was definitely listening in, and there was only one King that was a chronic eavesdropper.

"I agree," I said bluntly. I wanted Sinbad to hear my answer. Ten years ago, he came to the conclusion that Fate was something already written as a way to cope with his guilt and trauma, and he thought he was 'the chosen one' for being able to read ahead through the waves, but he was wrong on both accounts. "You do?” Aladdin was surprised. It must sound weird coming from someone who read Fate. "I've read more than one Fate for this world, so I know there is no one true path." The manga, anime and OVAs were a little different after all. "And if Fate couldn't be changed then I couldn't be here." I turned so I was sitting facing him. "You see, I wasn't in any of the Fate I read. I wasn't even in this world until five days ago." The magi took a few steps towards me with wide eyes. Aladdin had felt very alone for not being from this world -now he would know he wasn't the only one. It wasn't a reveal that caused problems on its own when Aladdin explained in the original so I didn't see an issue in letting Sinbad overhear about me either- I had already implied as much the previous day. I felt the need to elaborated. "Everything I do changes the Fate I read because I wasn't here. For example, only one of the Fates I read showed the conversation where you all found out about the Kou Fleet. Remember how I yelled at Alibaba? If I didn't convince him to leave then King Sinbad would have knocked him out, and Alibaba would be kept asleep with medicine for this whole trip. Since I was there this time, I was able to change that." "Oh!" He brightened up a bit. "I much prefer things this way." "I agree. Like this it will be much easier for him to heal." I looked down at my intertwined hands. "I have no idea how this will change the Fate I read though." Aladdin hummed a question mark, but he didn't say or ask anything directly. I answered the obvious question to my words, "I can't read a Fate that I'm a part of, so now that I'm here I can't read how my actions are changing Fate. Eventually, the Fate I did read will become useless, and I have no idea if I'm changing it for the better." It was only as I said it that I remembered that Sinbad was listening. I had basically just told him that my usefulness as his Prophet would have a definite expiration date. All I had wanted was to let Aladdin know that he might not be able to rely on me for everything. I definitely wasn't thinking clearly. Aladdin cut into my thoughts. "Is that why the Rukh are so active around you? Because you weren't originally a part of the Flow of Fate?" "Probably." I didn't know what else to say. I knew I had to be making distinctive waves in the Rukh just by being here, let alone with all of my changes. "Miss Mori, where are you from?" I hummed in amusement at that. "I'm from much farther away than you or your parents-if you can believe it." I was from the same world as the person who wrote the original Fate of this world. There was no way I could tell anyone that. He was shocked again. It was written all over his face that he was questioning if I was really from a dimension farther away than Alma Torran. Aladdin gripped the flute that he always wore. "Then... Are you the person he didn't recognize?" "He?" Which 'he' -oh. I lowered my voice. "Ugo?" I put one finger over my lips and looked at the door. Sinbad has to remain ignorant about the Sacred Palace; he's too self-absorbed. Aladdin looked confused at my change in volume. He followed my gaze to the door and back then nodded. He didn't look all that surprised that I knew about Ugo. I kept my voice low. "Aladdin, let's talk more about this some other time. The walls have ears on such a small ship. And I'm exhausted." "Okay. Rest well, Miss Mori." Aladdin spoke at normal volume. I heard a scramble in the hallway, the magi left, and I put my glasses in the top of my bag for safe keeping. I could hear Aladdin through the wall. "Oh! Mr. Sinbad, Mr. Ja'far, did you want to check on Miss Mori too?” "Uh, yes. How is she doing?” Was King Sinbad's response. I could hear the nerves he was trying to

cover up. "Real smooth there, Sin." I mumbled as I finally drifted into unconsciousness. --- I was a young man of 20 some years. I had started a family. We didn't have enough money for food. I ended up taking a risky job because I knew it would pay better. ... No. I'm a six year old girl? I don't remember if I had parents, but I remember going to visit this old dog every day. ... If life was hard, and I had nothing to loose then there was no reason not to bet everything I had on one last round. How could I return to my family without money? The last time I saw my son he was three. Would he even remember me? ... Ya know, when you grow up with someone and everyone else can see your chemistry you'd think it would be obvious that we'd marry when we grew up, but she met someone else. ... I knew things were bad, but I never even considered that my neighbor was stealing from me when I was at work. Bastard stabbed me with my own kitchen knife when I caught him. --- I wasn't myself in my dreams. Every time I woke I had to ground myself and remember where and when I was. Rereading the scrolls I had made helped. Just how many Rukh had merged with me, and why? I had no connections to any of those spirits while they were alive. Was it just because ghosts like me? I wrote down every dream I had; their lives might have been over, but they were a part of me now. I was too exhausted to go on deck, and I could feel that there were still more lives inside of me that I had to get aquatinted with. When I wasn't sleeping, I was working on scrolls again since I at least had enough energy to write and draw. My breathing was getting difficult, and I was struggling with temperature regulation. I wasn't okay enough to tell if it was my body struggling with the changes in my magoi, like when Sinbad took in all the Rukh after the Fall of First Sindria, or if I was just sick. After making sure I could still use magoi manipulation I decided that it was probably the later. I mainly left that room for food, and I waited until almost everyone was done before going. I avoided talking to others too. If I was sick I needed to minimize my contact with others. Alibaba seemed to be in a similar state to me. We both found that staying near each other when around the others made them less likely to approach us with the depressing cloud that hung over us.

Those that did see me could obviously tell I was unwell. From their words it seemed like they were assuming I was just mourning -they were only half wrong. It gave me an easy excuse to leave, so I never corrected them. I did feel bad for worrying everyone. The whole situation sucked. I wanted to cry. I had been in lock down back home because of Covid-19 for 8 months as an at risk person (it's still Oct 2020 in this story). I was literally in a fantasy anime world now. I wasn't given a better immune system, but my boobs didn't need a bra anymore??? WTF?? If the current arbiter of Fate was me writing fanfiction, then they had a lot of explaining to do. ... Who was I kidding? I knew why I would write something like this. I wanted to see more stories about people like me -someone with my disabilities and life experiences- get to be someone "valued" even if they couldn't be on the front lines. My migraine wouldn't go away, and it wasn't the only part of me in pain. I think I got palpitations a few times -breathing was even worse during those episodes. If I hadn't had health problems growing up I probably would have been panicking. I knew it was stupid to not tell anyone what was going on with me. But would anyone even be able help me on a ship? Telling them would just make them worry more than they already were. Aladdin and Morgiana could tell something more was wrong with me; I couldn't fully hide from them while sleeping in the same room. They must have let the others know since they gave me some pain killers at some point. It tasted awful. I'm honestly not sure how affective it was, but it did knock me out. ((Skip to the next paragraph to avoid the trigger)) At least I was left alone most of the time. I had no choice but to sit with my thoughts about Balbadd. I grew up mourning. The blood on my hands might not be the same as losing most of my loved ones back home, but it was damn similar to when I was in high school thinking "if only one of us had answered the phone that day." The Balbadd revolt would have been much worse if I wasn't there. And even if I had said something sooner there was little that could be done to actually stop Al Thamen when they had their hands so deep in that country. Even with Sinbad there to sway Fate, Al Thamen would still find a way to spill blood. Even if I told Alibaba days in advance and he tried to talk to Cassim about it, Cassim wanted nothing to do with Sinbad, so any help that came from him would be refused. Cassim was twisted around Issnan's fingers and out for blood. I did the best I could. My actions did save some people. I'd have to take solace in that. --- I woke up to something wrapped around me, almost like I was tied down. I couldn't move my legs. I gave up trying to untangle my skirt and covers from me, and just pulled the skirt out from under the cloth belt -kicking the whole mass off like a cocoon. I had put my underwear on underneath and I still had the tunic on so I wasn't left totally uncovered. Star light shown in from the window. I had slept through another day. I couldn't remember my dream. Maybe I had finally returned to having my own dreams. The other beds in the room were occupied. My head was still swimming. I felt trapped. I needed something. I heard the waves outside, and felt the waves of Fate washing over me. Their sounds called to me. Back home I had used the sounds of waves to meditate and stim regularly. I had been hearing them all this time, but I wanted to see them. I didn't bother to slip on my flip-flops as I made my way to the door, didn't even think about grabbing my glasses until I was already on deck. It had been so dark below that I couldn't see anyway, and didn't realize I wasn't wearing them. The wave of Fate I had been following lead me farther into the space. When I hit it's end, the adrenaline that had got me that far died out. The night air hit my legs and I shivered. It was colder than it was at night in Balbadd. I thought we were heading south. Did I still have a fever? The cold reminded me that I really should have put on

my shorts or something before coming out here. The tunic just barely covered me. My vision was going grey scale. This was bad. Really bad. I recognized this feeling. I was about to pass out from not being able to breathe right. I used to have fainting spells as a kid because of my weak raspatory system and needed to carry smelling salts for a few years. The last time it happened was about five years ago -I had been really sick. My head was throbbing; my heart was pounding. Guess I was sicker than I thought. I needed to focus on breathing and getting to the ground. I stumbled to the bowsprit (the pole that sticks out the front of the ship) as support. I needed to get to the ground safely before I collapsed. I'd gotten a concussion once because I didn't get down before the black out hit. A wave crashed into me from behind. If I hadn't been putting all my weight on that wooden shaft I would have been pushed over even though it wasn't a physical wave. What in the world was behind me that would cause such a wave? I removed one arm to look back as my knees started to give out. There was definitely someone there. Their color balance didn't match anything I could remember, but they were really familiar. Without my glasses I couldn't really tell anything -especially since everything was becoming different shades of black. And I already had bad night vision. The light was fading. Shapes were getting harder to discern. Even though I was breathing deeper I hadn't managed to counter the fainting spell. I was going down. I definitely fell, but it didn't feel like I fell for long enough to hit the ground. The feeling across my back was really familiar. Someone had caught me.

Sometimes I was able to stay conscious when I fainted. It was kinda like ending up in sleep paralysis but with a -20 to all sensory inputs. Seemed like this was one of those times. I couldn't hear what they were saying or see them. It was like my head was deep under water. There was a pressure on my forehead. Were they checking my temperature? When someone faints you're supposed to lay them on the ground and position them so they can breath easier. This person didn't take first aid classes or forgot or something because I was being lifted upwards instead of laid down. It was really warm and comfy though. I liked this feeling. What was it? Safe? Was that it? I hadn't felt actually safe in a long time. I certainly didn't feel safe in that house back home even after everything was over. Maybe it was the feeling of warmth and safety. Maybe it was the way the waves were moving. Maybe it was the numbness that comes with blacking out. But whatever it was had stopped the pain. With the pain gone I calmed the rest of the way. I felt my spine straighten out onto a soft surface. The warmth faded even though something was now covering my legs. I was in a bed. The cold was back without a source of warmth to leech from. I definitely had a fever if I was this cold. Damnit. I grew up with all sorts of chronic health conditions and have always gotten sick easily. Even though I was now in an anime world, I was still me. Was I going to die in this world from some common illness that was already cured back home? We might not have had a lot of money back home but I was lucky enough to get a job with usable health insurance that let me work from home during a pandemic. I could at least get medicine every time I got a normal illness. I was finally able to afford to get and keep an inhaler. Not that any of that was of use to me now. My motor functions were returning. I rolled to the side and curled into the fetal position. I had lost everything. No home. No friends or family. Who would want to look after a stranger with nothing to give back? I was doing what I could to seem worthy of the main cast, but how long would that last? The story would reach its end in five years. What would I do after that? What was the point of all of the savings I had managed to make back home if I was going to be Isekaied? I had been the main bread winner and now my family couldn't even use my savings because I hadn't left a body behind as proof that I had died. All of the thoughts and feelings I was still running from were flooding through me. I couldn't even distract myself with writing scrolls or anything. This was probably for the best. Pushing things away for much longer would be unhealthy. And if I couldn't let myself feel miserable when I was sick and alone, then when could I? I let the tears fall. I hadn't been a loud crier since I was a kid, so I was caught off guard when I could hear my own sobs. I didn't have it in me to hide any more. The bed I was on creaked but I hadn't moved. There was a new weight on the mattress.

I wasn't alone.

The concept that someone was checking on me hurt harder. I didn't grow up in a healthy environment, so now feel immense guilt when someone shows me genuine kindness. But I am also aware and recovered enough to know I deserve kindness, so the guilt always paired with an equal amount or more of relief. I felt a hand stroke my hair. They wanted to comfort me. And I wanted comfort. The waves washing over me encouraged me seek out more. I used what little strength I had to pull myself against them. Having undeniable proof that I wasn't alone and that someone cares was overwhelming. The relief made me cry harder. I'd have to thank them later. But for the time being I'd pour out as much emotion as they'd let me.

[readbookywooks]

‘Abduction!’ Basta savoured the word. ‘Sounds good to me. Really good.’ Capricorn gave him a smile. Then he looked Elinor up and down as if he were seeing her for the first time. ‘Basta,’ he said. ‘Is this lady any use to us?’ ‘Not that I know of,’ replied Basta, smiling like a child who has just been given permission to smash a toy. Elinor went pale, and tried to step backwards, but Cockerell barred her way and held her firmly. ‘What do we generally do with useless things, Basta?’ asked Capricorn quietly. Basta went on smiling. ‘Stop that!’ Mo said angrily to Capricorn. ‘Stop frightening her at once, or I’m not reading you another word.’ With every appearance of indifference, Capricorn turned his back to him. And Basta kept smiling. Meggie saw Elinor press a hand to her trembling lips, and quickly went over to stand beside her. ‘She’s not useless. She knows more about books than anyone else in the world!’ she said, holding Elinor’s other hand very tight. Capricorn turned round. The look in his eyes made Meggie shudder, as if someone were running cold fingers down her spine. His eyelashes were pale as cobwebs. ‘Elinor definitely knows more stories with treasure in them than that spineless reader of yours!’ Meggie stammered. ‘Definitely!’ Elinor squeezed Meggie’s fingers hard. Her own hand was damp with sweat. ‘Yes. Absolutely, that’s true,’ she said huskily. ‘I’m sure I can think of several more.’ ‘Well, well,’ was all Capricorn said, his curved lips tracing a smile. ‘We’ll see.’ Then he gave his men a signal, and they made Elinor, Meggie and Mo file past the tables, past Capricorn’s statue and the red columns, and out through the heavy door that groaned as they pushed it open. Outside, beyond the shadow of the church on the village square, the sun shone down from a cloudless blue sky, and the air was filled with scents of summer. It was as if nothing unusual had happened. 19 Gloomy Prospects The python dropped his head lightly for a moment on Mowgli’s shoulders. ‘A brave heart and a courteous tongue,’ said he. ‘They shall carry thee far through the jungle, manling. But now go hence quickly with thy friends. Go and sleep, for the moon sets, and what follows it is not well that thou shouldst see.’ Rudyard Kipling, The Jungle Book They did indeed get enough to eat. Around noon a woman brought them bread and olives, and towards evening there was pasta smelling of fresh rosemary. But the food couldn’t cut short the endless hours, any more than full stomachs dispelled their fear of what the next day might bring. Perhaps not even a book would have done it, but there was no point thinking of that, since they had no books, only the blank walls and the locked door. At least a new light bulb was hanging from the ceiling, so they didn’t have to sit in the dark the whole time. Meggie kept looking at the crack under the door to see if night was falling yet. She imagined lizards sitting outside in the sun. She’d seen some in the square outside the church. Had the emerald-green lizard that scurried out of the heaps of coins found its way outside? And what had happened to the boy? Meggie saw his frightened expression whenever she closed her eyes. She wondered whether the same thoughts were going through Mo’s head. He had hardly said a word since they were locked up again, but had flopped down on the pile of straw and turned his face to the wall. Elinor was no more talkative. ‘How generous!’ was all she had muttered when Cockerell had bolted the door after them. ‘Our host has graciously provided two more heaps of mouldy straw.’ Then she had sat down in a corner, legs outstretched, and begun staring gloomily at her knees, then at the grubby wall. ‘Mo,’ asked Meggie at last, when she could no longer stand the silence, ‘what do you think they’re doing to the boy? And what kind of a friend are you supposed to read out of the book for Capricorn?’ ‘I don’t know, Meggie,’ was all he replied, without turning round. So she left him alone, made herself a bed of straw beside his, then paced up and down between the bare walls. Perhaps the strange boy was the other side of one of them? She put her ear to the wall. Not a sound came through. Someone had scratched a name in the plaster: Ricardo Bentone, 19.5.96. Meggie ran her finger over the letters. A little further on there was another name, and then another. Meggie wondered what had become of them, Ricardo, Ugo and Bernardo. Perhaps I ought to scratch my name here too, she thought, just in case … but she was careful not to think her way to the end of that sentence. Behind her, Elinor lay down on her straw bed, sighing. When Meggie turned to her, she forced a smile. ‘What wouldn’t I give for a comb!’ she said, pushing the hair back from her forehead. ‘I’d never have thought that in a situation like this I’d miss a comb so much, of all things, but I do. Heavens, I don’t even have a hairpin left. I must look like a witch, or a washing-up brush that’s seen better days.’ ‘No, really, you look fine. Your hairpins were always falling out anyway,’ said Meggie. ‘Actually, I think you look younger.’ ‘Younger? Hmm. Well, if you say so.’ Elinor glanced down at herself. Her mouse-grey sweater was filthy, and there were three ladders in her tights. ‘Meggie, it was very kind of you to help me back there in the church,’ she said, pulling her skirt down over her knees. My knees were like jelly, I was so scared. I don’t know what’s come over me. I feel like someone else, as if the old Elinor has driven home and left me here by myself.’ Her lips began to tremble, and Meggie thought she was going to cry, but next moment the familiar Elinor was back again. ‘Well, there we are!’ she said. ‘It’s only in an emergency that you find out what you’re truly made of. Personally, I always thought if I was a wooden statue I’d be carved out of oak, but it seems I’m more like pearwood or something else very soft. It only takes a villain like that to play with his knife in front of my nose and the wood shavings start flaking away.’ And now the tears did come, hard as Elinor tried to keep them back. Angrily, she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I think you’re doing splendidly, Elinor.’ Mo was still lying with his face to the wall. ‘You’re both doing splendidly. And I could wring my own neck for dragging you two into all this.’ ‘Nonsense. If anyone around here needs his neck wrung it’s Capricorn,’ said Elinor. ‘And that man Basta. My God, I’d never have thought the idea of strangling another human being would give me such enormous satisfaction. But I’m sure if I could just get my hands round that Basta’s neck, I—’ On seeing the shock in Meggie’s eyes she fell guiltily silent, but Meggie just shrugged her shoulders. ‘I feel the same,’ she murmured, and began scratching an ‘M’ on the wall with the key of her bicycle lock. Weird to think she still had that key in her trouser pocket – like a souvenir of another life. Elinor ran her finger down one of the ladders in her tights, and Mo turned on his back and stared up at the ceiling. ‘I’m so sorry, Meggie,’ he said suddenly. ‘I’m so sorry I let them take the book away from me.’