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painted-bees · 7 months

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September 23rd 2010

i) The tide was lower than Magritte had ever seen it.

Perhaps ‘seen’ was the wrong word to use. The inky darkness of night swallowed the barren, stoney features of Smelt Bay, as well as the ocean that lapped distantly at its shore. Rather, she heard it; the white noise of the waves breaking unusually far away. All the better, honestly. She wasn’t here to swim. In fact, Smelt Bay was a terrible beach for swimming. It wasn’t just that the frigid coastline lacked in soft, warm sand; the uneven and slippery rockbed that composed the entire stretch of bay was covered, acre by acre, in countless oyster shells. They adorned almost every rock they could cling to, and their razor sharp edges could slice easily through hand and foot like a warm knife through butter. Which is why Magritte plodded along, slowly and carefully, in her brand new hiking boots.

Raf had cautioned her against clambering around the beach so late at night and, usually, she heeded his anxieties about it. It wasn’t initially her intention to scramble down the bluff and onto the beach; she had only wanted to come out and watch the seafoam crash gently upon the stones. At night, under the moonlight, the contrast between white foam and inky water enchanted her with its otherworldly beauty. However, upon reaching the beach, the tide had been drawn out further than she could see. And so now, she was looking for it.

She had the good sense not to stumble forward in the dark, using her phone's flashlight to illuminate the path in front of her. She loved scouring the beach at low tide. Countless crabs of all sizes scuttled and scurried beneath the unnatural light of her phone. Her eyes met with the occasional, chubby pink and purple starfish that had been abandoned by the retreating ocean. Both the crabs and the brightly coloured starfish were a common sight on these beaches and, while she appreciated their company, they failed to make her pause. What did capture her attention was a fat, orange blob of a creature.

What are you? Magritte stopped to crouch down for a better look, lifting her phone to shine upon it. Oh, just another starfish… Well, no. Not really. It had one, two, three, four…eight…thirteen legs! She stared at it for a moment of deliberation before extending a tentative forefinger to poke its roughly textured, glistening surface. Before her finger could get within an inch of it, a gentle blanketing wave of frothy ocean fanned out between her and the creature, covering both it and her hiking boots in several inches of freezing water.

With a startled yelp at the stabbing cold, Magritte bolted upright as she found herself soaked to the ankles.

“Aw, shit-!” She lifted one foot out, and then the other in an awkward hopping skip, trying in vain to keep her feet up, out of the rogue wave. Apparently, the tide had been a lot closer than she thought. She continued her silly, wet, hop-scotchy walk back towards the bluffs with a self-depreciative chuckle. She expected the wave to recede.

But it didn’t.

Instead, another wave layered itself on top, swallowing her calves, and then another that submerged her past the knee. The arresting shock of the cold was outcompeted by the jolt of fear that kicked her into a frantic scramble. As she abandoned caution, the forceful current of the tide rose past her waistline, shoving her forward and off her feet. The water’s piercing chill bit through her chest, squeezing a sharp gasp from her just as her head was pulled beneath the waves.

Primal terror possessed her to reach forward with her hands and find purchase on any surface she could grab. Her fingers closed around fists full of jagged oyster shells that held like cement to the stones they were anchored to. As the ripping current suddenly dragged Magritte back, the soft flesh of her grasping palms may as well have been wet tissue for how well they maintained their structure. What little air she held her lungs escaped with the muffled scream that boiled out from her throat. She tumbled like a rag doll as she was pulled backward by the powerful riptide. Her knees and elbows painfully scraped across the oyster-laiden ground in intervals that only served to further disorient her.

Panic crescendoed, blackening the edges of her vision just in time for her head to break through the surface of the waves. She treaded water with wild, unevenly flailing limbs, drawing in a sharp gasp that was quickly strangled by a fit of wet coughing. Chest, hands, arms, knees, everything burned. And what didn’t burn felt as though it were being needled by cold knives. She couldn’t stop coughing. She couldn’t draw a proper breath. Her head rushed with the sound of waves. Or blood. Her eyes were useless as strangled tears obscured her vision.

Until, at last, her coughing subsided, and she drew in one…two…three shaky, shallow breaths. She held it for a moment, the best she could.

And…it was quiet.

The sound of water lapping at her jawline and behind her ears outcompeted the volume of waves across the distant shore.

The very distant shore.

She released her breath, surrendering to over-exerted panting. But, even her starving lungs were too constricted by the freezing water to draw in proper gulps of air. Her breaths were short, sharp, and uneven as she attempted to scan the landscape for signs of the shore.

She could not see land; not even the light of distant houses. Beneath the starry sky, the world around her seemed unnaturally dark.

A nervous laugh broke out of her throat, accompanied with a teeth-clattering, quiet little chant. “F-fuck, fuck, f-fuck, fuck.”

The searing hot pain of her oyster-inflicted wounds had, at least, subsided rather quickly. She didn’t attempt to move her fingers, let alone ball her hands into fists. She didn’t even dare to look at them. She could barely feel them at all.

Experimentally, she drew in as deep a breath as she could, and stopped treading water. She felt herself begin to sink, and with more effort than it was worth, she shrugged off her jacket and kicked off her boots. Or rather, her boot, singular. Apparently, she had lost the other one already. Her feet were so numb that she couldn’t feel the difference. Shedding the remaining boot hardly made her more buoyant, but it felt like it helped.

She attempted to curl her lips into a smile. “O-okay, w…well…If I had to choose…between f-freezing to d-eath or drowning, I’d rather freeze. S-so let's focus on that, I g-uess.”

Bleak.

Was there any point in swimming when she couldn’t see the shore? How long could someone survive in water like this? Was she afraid of dying?

Not nearly as afraid as I was just a few moments ago.

She should have felt…more upset than this. It seemed strange. Maybe she was just too cold to think properly, but most likely, the reality of her situation hadn’t set in yet. After all, the situation was salvageable. A boat could come along and haul her out of the water. The tide could wash her up onto the shore. There were lots of different little islands around here, she was bound to wash up on the shore of one, right? What were the chances of that happening before she could freeze to death?

…How long would it take for the hopelessness to set in? If she could keep making light of the situation, it couldn’t be that bad, right?

“And, yan-n-no…it’s been a g-good run.”

…Hasn’t it?

Truth be told, things had only just started getting really good. Well, kinda. This year was a rough patch. Uncle Bill’s passing in late April had really…thrown things askew. But the island was a perfect escape from the fake sympathies, the incessant phone calls, the social obligations…all the stress… It was gonna give them the peace, quiet, and space to properly grieve. We were gonna start playing music again. They had only been on the island for a week. The cottage Bill had left to Raf was so nice. It had a piano. It was cute. Warm.

Of all things, it was the thought of the cottage’s little black wood stove that made Magritte’s eyes water with a sudden stab of helpless dismay.

No, why? That’s so stupid.

Why the stove? Why not the grief of her parents? Why not the fact that she’d never be able to play music again? Why not–

“Raf.” It came out as a croak that she barely even recognized as her own voice. “S-shit. I’m sorry, Raf. M-man. This was my s-stupid idea. It was my id-dea to come here, it was s-s-supposed to be so good. B-but…th-this is r-really…gonna…wreck you, isn’t it.”

There was a long pause as Magritte bobbed uselessly with the waves, trying to will her numb, sluggish limbs to move in a manner that allowed her to survey her surroundings once again for any sign of land. Maybe she should just start swimming in a direction, would that have been better? Would it make her feel warmer? Or…would it just exhaust her faster?

She was already so tired.

I don’t want to be anyone’s traumatic loss, I just want to be warm.

How the hell did this even happen? What caused the ocean to hit her so suddenly, like a river?

It doesn’t make sense. What if this is just a really bad dream? I could wake up in bed, soft and warm, and held…coffee...and…eggs. Over easy in front of the wood stove. Pyjamas…slippers, but like…not the linoleum kind, it needs to have enough structural integrity for breakfast…to support the…workload and drive me to the–

-PIFFF-

Magritte hadn’t realised that her eyelids were closed, but the sudden explosive hissing that erupted right beside her caused them to snap wide open. For a second, she thought that something had fallen off the top shelf of her closet. But almost as quickly as she imagined that, the biting cold water encroaching on the corners of her nose and eyes reminded her of where she was.

-FIFFFFF-

The same sound again, slightly further away. Panic rejuvenated her for a brief moment until she saw the source of the noise. A jet of pale mist erupted from the surface of the water, and in its wake, a dark, triangular silhouette glided smoothly downward. The wet, rubbery flesh glistened in the moonlight before sinking beneath the rolling waves.

Whales.

Magritte attempted to lift her head enough to see if she could spot them again. Sure enough, three or four more of the creatures surfaced silently. The ghostly silhouettes of their dorsal fins were all that gave away their position. These must have been the orcas the neighbours had mentioned. Even Raf once managed to catch a glimpse of them from the shore, but Magritte hadn’t been with him to see it. She had wanted so badly to look at them…

“Oh…well, thanks for showing up, guys.” Her teeth weren’t clattering anymore, but she could hardly bring her voice above a whisper. For some reason, her throat felt so tight. “Please don’t toss me around like a seal… I’ve seen what you do to them…on t.v.”

The whales responded with a series of loud, spouting breaths; some nearby, others further away. As she recalled the image of a half flayed seal rag-dolling through the air, anxiety blossomed in the pit of her stomach, Magritte turned her gaze upward and hung it on the three bright stars of Orion’s belt.

If making noise is encouraged as a way of deterring bears from harassing hikers, maybe the same was true for whales and swimmers. I can be weird and loud, can’t I?

She attempted to sing a song. Her strangled voice rasped, fruitlessly struggling to be heard above the sounds around her.

“What are you hunting up there in the stars?

Is it beasts, or demons, or old battle scars?

Do you remember the warmth of my palm in yours

Is it buried in rubble from all of those wars?

You’ve lost yourself so far, far away

Searching for ghosts and impossible prey.

You’ve flown too far from the earth and the sea,

Please come back…come back…

…Come back to…”

As her words drifted, so too did she; down, down, into the cold, quiet void.

And it embraced her, lovingly.

ii)

Raf’s eyes opened to the sound of ocean waves and a dull ache in his neck. Light poured out from the cottage windows, pooling warmly across the sprucewood deck and the white, woven hammock that cradled him. An earbud filled his left ear, but no music played. Either his iphone had come to the end of his playlist, or it had run out its battery life while he slept.

With a tired groan, he sat up and stretched, gingerly tilting his head to loosen the painful knot in his neck. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but he should have expected it after a relaxing joint and some quality tunes. He wasn’t sure what had woken him up. Perhaps it was the chill. It wasn’t cold enough for his breath to hang in the air, but it was chilly enough for him to wish for a sweater–rather than a t-shirt–beneath his jacket.

Or maybe it was the concussive sound of the waves.

The ocean wasn’t visible from his cottage. There was a strip of dense forest that lined the property and separated it from the bluffs. Still, the white noise of the ocean could always be heard through the trees. The salt could be smelled on the breeze, and it could be felt collecting in his hair. It must have been exceptionally turbulent out there tonight, for he could hear the waves crashing with an unusually loud clarity.

Raf lifted his phone and turned on the LED screen to check the time. Its battery life was still good, but as he had suspected, his playlist had played through to the last track.

1:34 a.m.

The corners of Raf’s mouth twitched.

Magritte hadn’t woken him up to herd him into bed when she came home. Was she pissed off at him for declining to walk with her?

In fairness, he had been…difficult to manage the past half year. And it became increasingly obvious that Magritte’s bountiful patience had been running thin over the past month or two. She had begun to adopt his defensive snippiness–not at him, but at the things she knew infringed upon him. Phone calls, text messages, the gestures of concerned friends and colleagues reaching out to see if he was okay. The cold, prying interrogations–thinly veiled by hollow sympathies–querying for available pieces of his uncle’s estate.

The man’s body hardly had time to grow cold before Ephrem representatives began hounding Raf about the company shares he had inherited. His family in Monaco had gone so far as to request the retrieval of Uncle Bill’s body. “He should be put to rest on home soil”–but his will had detailed what was to be done. By his request, Uncle Bill’s body was kept here, in British Columbia. Raf had to take care of it all; the estate, the funeral, and the vultures.

All he wanted to do was hide.

And, in a way, that’s mostly what he did. He managed as much as he could, but once the funeral had been concluded, his energy and willingness to keep on top of things dissolved. He just couldn’t…deal…with the people. Any of them. At some point, they had all stopped resembling human beings, and felt more like a pack of feral dogs with no purpose greater than to sate their gluttony. Every interaction bloodied him with clawing, hungry teeth.

Magritte picked up the slack for him. It was…beyond her ability, honestly. But she did her best, at the expense of indulging her passions. While he isolated and avoided the torrent of his unwanted responsibilities, Magritte had lived those months constantly on the backfoot, attempting to hold things together and never quite managing to see any of it through properly. It was simply too many balls for her poor little arms to carry, and as she tried to pick up the ones she had dropped, more always spilled out.

Last month, it had finally driven her to tears.

Raf had been woefully inadequate at showing his appreciation for her efforts and, even as he watched her sob in frustration, he found it difficult to provide any meaningful comfort. Nothing broke his heart quite like seeing her cry, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to promise any fun distractions. He couldn’t tell her, in earnest, that things were fine. He couldn’t give her the reward of knowing that she had been able to make everything right and good for him. He could only tell her that he knew she was doing her best, that he was glad to have her with him, and that he loved her.

More than anything, he loved her.

Talk was cheap. He knew that better than anyone. But living in ‘survival mode’ left very little in the way of emotional resources, and he had become very cold, irritable, and distant. Still, Magritte sought out his company. She wished to share good experiences with him and did her best to take care of him despite his diminishing reciprocation over the past few months.

Retreating to Cortes Island had been her idea. She had never visited the place before, but when Raf described it as a tiny, isolated little community with no supermarkets nor chain restaurants, no hospitals nor police stations, and with the population of a small school, her eyes lit up.

“It’s perfect! We could just disappear there and take a year–or five–to just…recover from everything!” Her tone had taken on a conspiratorial tone when she added, “We don’t have to tell anyone.”

She had underestimated the scope of work that accompanied ‘disappearing to a small island for a year’. In contrast, the workload was all his mind could fixate on. But– a body of water separating him from the relentless chaos of the mainland was appealing enough for him to commit to the move. And so, they made their hasty preparations, packed up, and left without a word.

A week had passed since they moved into the small cottage, and Raf had to admit that the quiet calm of the island was…a relief.

He had asked Magritte for a month. A month of nothing; no outings, no plans, no obligations–just rest. It was the closest thing to hibernation he was ever going to experience, and she had agreed to it. It didn’t stop her, though, from inviting him out for walks, and to see the ocean with her. It was the bare minimum, and he should have obliged her more often than he did. But truly, all he wanted to do was stay home, smoke weed, listen to music, and sleep.

And that’s what he had chosen to do when she invited him to watch the waves with her, some time after 10pm. She didn’t seem bothered when he lazily declined to accompany her, but perhaps she had grown cranky about it during her time out. Seeing him passed out in the hammock, she probably left him to endure the natural consequences of his poor choices, and went to bed without him.

Honestly, catching a chill and a sore neck was negligible punishment compared to the guilt of disappointing Margie. On the other hand, he had asked her for a month–just one month–to be as lazy and absent as he wanted to be, and she had agreed to it. So if she was pissed off at him–

Her shoes were not at the front door.

Usually, Magritte kicked her boots off before entering the house, and rarely brought them inside. Raf opened the door, expecting to see them on the shoe rack, but they weren’t there either. Nor was her jacket strewn over the back of the couch as it should have been.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and marched quietly up the steep, narrow little staircase to the second floor. Down the short corridor, his bedroom door was still open and he could see through to his window and the night sky that overlooked the foot of his bed. Peeking his head in, the blankets laid smooth and undisturbed across the mattress, folded over to expose the neatly arranged pillows.

Raf pulled himself back into the tiny corridor with a bewildered frown. “Margie?” It wasn’t a yell, but his voice projected loudly enough to be heard throughout the small cottage.

There was no answer, only the gentle hum of the fridge downstairs, accompanied by the rustling of leaves in the breeze outside. And the crashing of waves upon the unseen shore.

With an agitated groan Raf dropped back down the stairs, towards the front door, and hastily put on his sneakers. Something at the beach must have captivated her. Maybe some weird sealife, maybe partying campers. Either way, she had lost track of time, and now he had to go find her. At least she couldn’t be disappointed with him if she had chosen to stay out at a worryingly late hour.

The beach wasn’t more than a fifteen minute walk away, and all he had to do was follow the gravel road down the slope, onto Potlatch Road, and then down to Smelt Bay. There were no lamps lining the street, and so Raf found himself relying on his phone torch to light the path ahead of him. Despite the darkness, it wasn’t an eerie nor dangerous walk by any means. Accompanied by the singing of crickets, he was comfortably familiar enough with these streets, trusting them even with a lone, wandering Margie.

As he made his way briskly down the long, paved length of Potlatch road, his curiosity was tickled by just how close the sound of lapping ocean waves seemed to be. Perhaps it was the way it echoed off the treeline, but it sounded as though it were almost right in front of him.

Raf rounded the broad corner towards Smelt Bay–and stopped.

The pavement directly beneath his feet had become gradually more wet, as though a heavy rain had passed through recently. That would have been strange enough on its own. He’d have definitely noticed if it had been raining, and there wouldn’t have been such a clear, sudden border between dry ground and waterlogged asphalt. He lifted his phone light to shine it further down the road, and frowned.

Ahead of him, the street was covered in a thin layer of water, seafoam lapping over concrete and into the grassy ditch. As he continued a tentative pace forward, the water wasn’t quite high enough to spill over the rubber soles of his shoes. He walked until Potlatch met with Smelt Bay Road, where he was granted an unobscured view of the beach. The ocean’s waves broke over the bluffs, flooding the street and the grassy plots of land that faced the open bay.

“...The hell?” He muttered, barely above a whisper.

The ocean had to have risen a fair few feet in order for it to breach the bluffs. Was it possible for the tide to get this high? He watched as an empty bottle, tangled within a plastic bag, washed across the street alongside a random toque and a mess of uprooted reeds. Debris, both natural and unnatural, lined the waterlogged road. An enormous, sea weathered piece of driftwood that had spent years as a reliable landmark on the stony beach–now sat wedged askew in the ditch. A flash flood?

Tsunami.

Wait–

Anxiety closed its claws around his gut, and twisted.

“Margie?!” He barked out her name in the direction of the beach.

He took a few automatic strides towards the submerged bluff before halting, and he turned his phone over in his hand. Opening his contact list, he hit Magritte’s number and pressed the phone to his ear. Cell coverage on the island was spotty at best, but to his relief, the call connected. As it rang, he paced, his feet kicking up cold water into his shoes.

“Come on, answer your phone. I’m not gonna be mad at you, just answer your damn phone.”

He let it ring until the robotic voice of the phone operator made him hang up.

And then he tried again, to the same result.

What the hell could he do?

What was he supposed to do?

Don’t catastrophize, it’s not the worst case scenario, it never is.

Immediately, his brain had filled him with thoughts of Margie getting bowled over by enormous waves and dragged to sea. But, based on the fact that no one else was out inspecting damages or lamenting their losses, things probably hadn’t happened as suddenly nor as violently as his imagination pictured it. Realistically, she likely saw the tide start to come in and watched it from a distance, perhaps with some other folks who were hanging around the area. Plausibly, she was at a campsite somewhere, talking about it over smores and cheap booze. Or something like that.

But then, why didn’t she answer her phone?

Raf had already turned around and began walking in the direction of the camping lots. All he had to do was find one that still had a fire going at this time of night. But, as his feet left solid pavement and marched onto the dirt road of the Smelt Bay campsites, he found that the tide had flooded this area as well. The inch of water blanketing the ground turned it into a muddy mess. There were no tents pitched in any of the lots. No campfires, either. Two or three of the lots housed a parked RV, elevated off the ground. Dry, and oblivious to the seawater beneath their tires. None of them showed any signs of waking life. Magritte wasn’t here.

Coming upon one of the empty lots, Raf found a sturdy tree stump that had clearly been fashioned for seating, and dropped himself down on it. He buried his face into his hands with a fraught sigh. There had been tents here, he knew that much. The inhabitants likely packed up and abandoned the lots in favour of finding a dry place to spend the night. If the RVs and trailers were still here, clearly there couldn’t have been much of a panic. The waterline hadn’t risen catastrophically.

Still, Magritte was missing.

He tried to call her one more time, and was greeted unhelpfully by the operating system once again.

What if she had gotten home after he had left to find her?

The thought pulled Raf back onto his feet, and what started as a swift walk home hastened into an anxious jog.

The tide, he noted, was slowly receding. A length of road that had been submerged when he first arrived was exposed once again to dry off in the chilly night air. For some reason, the sight of it relieved his anxiety somewhat. There was nothing inherently dangerous about the strange tide; it wasn’t any kind of disaster. Likely, Margie was at home, worried and waiting for him. Her phone battery must have depleted. It would explain why she wasn’t calling him back.

It wasn’t long before he was walking down the long, rough, unpaved driveway; under the boughs of spruce and cedar trees and into the clearing of the cottage's wild, grassy property.

Approaching the house, he called out her name across the yard to no answer. The lights were still on in the living room and kitchen. He climbed the two steps of the porch up to the front door and, calling her name once more, he opened it.

No response.

Before stepping inside, he kicked off his muddy shoes and then closed the door behind him.

“Margie.” His volume was conversational as he scaled the narrow flight of stairs to the second floor and diligently checked each of the bedrooms.

No. She wasn’t here.

Then…where was she?

Not the ocean. Not the ocean. Not in the ocean.

Sitting down on the foot of the bed, Raf stared at the floor and tried to fight off a wave of despair.

There was no way.

There was no fucking way. It would have been beyond cruelty to leave him like this. He wasn’t gonna be able to…it wasn’t something he could handle.

Steadying himself with a deep breath, he scooted over to his side of the bed, took his laptop up off his night table, and unfolded it on his lap. A phone jack tethered it to the wall behind the nightstand and provided a serviceable internet connection. He opened a browser and typed into the search bar; “How long to wait before making a missing person report?”

Apparently the answer was “not at all”.

Raf looked up the appropriate number to call, picked up the phone, and dialled. >>part iii, iv, and v<<

#Hi-Note #this is just the beginning...there is more to come dw haha #Cortes meet-cute lmfao #if u can call it that #Rafael #Magritte #Cortes

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twst-kumi · 2 months

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Weeping Maiden prologue part 3

Alexis smiled cutely as he joined the two. His hand still held [Name]’s hand, and he eagerly talked. He was like a sweet child, eyes full of curiosity.

Aurelius couldn't help but grumble as they walked together. It felt like someone had just snatched his place right under his nose.

“_So… the lady in blue?

_She was a courageous adventurer, full of curiosity and kindness. One day, she got to a kingdom that a terrible queen terrorized. She was so terrible that she cut off the head of anyone who displeased her. Indignant of the blatant abuse, she rose against her and inspired many others.

_What happened after that?

_She slew the Jabberwocky, the terrible Queen's champion, and helped the tyrannical queen’s sister to dethrone her. Turned out the tyrant usurped her sister's thrones. I would have to be there at that time. So much drama.”

[Name] smiled as she listened to it carefully. She was curious about everything that the world she only knew behind the screen was expanding before her eyes. It felt more natural. She couldn't help but look at the academy with curiosity. It was like a whole level of hidden lore. Seeing her so immersed in their culture, Aurelius smiled brightly. He felt more excited to show her this world.

“_ Next is the seventh sea princess. She was the youngest princess but didn't hesitate to enter the human world to make peace. At that time, the merfolk and the humans were at war. It turned out that it was all a misunderstanding created by the king’s sister, who was plotting for the crown. She married a human, creating an everlasting peace. They said she was a sage and creative person.

_Her dorm, Oceanid, is led by Rielle. Her direct descendants and the crown prince of the merfolk.

_Oh, I see.”

She knew Rielle. He was like a shadow in Azul’s background story. Knowing he led on the octomer’s bullying, she wasn't really thrilled to meet him. [Name] had a special relationship with the bullying subject. Even more, after she discovered her brother’s school life and the bullying he received. She hated herself for not noticing it at that time.

“_What about the Asian-looking woman?

_She is a hero in an old empire in the east. She had the courage to dress as a man and join the war against a terrible man to protect her family and the emperor. The emperor even recognized her as a war hero.

_Wow, I don’t think I could have even half of her courage.

_Right? Well, everyone in the Kingsword dormitory is both courageous and athletic.

_Stubborn, too.”

Alexis added with a gentle smile. Aurelius subtly glared at the boy like they were some kind of enemy. The more petite boy only smirked at him before leaning against the beautiful girl. He pointed at the only man in the row of statues. It was fun to provoke the other boy.

“_See that man? That prince Ali ababwa.

_Like, Alibaba Express?

_No, Ababwa. And why Express? Is it something from your world?

_Forget it, so… prince Ali?

_He was the lost prince of a kingdom in the desert. He grew up in complete poverty before they found him and saved a princess from a sorcerer who wanted to force her to marry him. The princess was so touched by his generosity toward the commoner that she fell in love with him, and they married.”

[Name] looked at the statue in awe. It didn't have such a lore in the game, but it was exciting and fun to hear. But as much as she started to love this world, she needed to return to her world. She still had her missing brother to find. The young girl surprised herself when she noticed little to nothing she cared about her parents. As she expected, she still couldn't forgive them.

Not liking how deep she was in her thought, Alexis leaned against her ears, gaining an exasperated glare from Aurelius. He mischievously whispered.

“_I would love it if you could focus on me instead, my lady.”

[Name] jumped away, both embarrassed and confused. What was that for?

Alexis looked at her with an amused glint. She looked like a cute rabbit to him. So easily startled and flustered. The sweet-looking boy couldn't help but want to bully her more. Maybe he will try to get a taste next time. She looked absolutely delicious.

Aurelius pushed the girl behind him, now openly hostile to Whitecourt’s student. He grunted as he stepped further between them. Both glared at each other fiercely; they looked ready to get into a fight. It was [Name] who stopped them from going further.

“_A… anyways… What about her?”

Aurelius still glared at Alexis before softly turning to the statue.

“_It’s the Wise woman. She was the chief of an ancient tribe dwelling on ancient magic and wisdom. She loved to explore the world around her and used the knowledge she gained from it to protect her people from invaders. In the end, she was so powerful that they had to flee. Even so, she was very kind and spared them, allowing them to return home.”

Aurelius explained, still glaring at Alexis. His hand pressed against the small of her back, and he walked her away from the main street. As they walked into the building, Neige waved at them happily, running to her. Next to him was another blond boy.

“_Princess! Are you ready for your first day? If you need-!

_She is not a baby Neige. Don't overwhelm her too much.”

Neige ran up to them because she could hear the other students talking about her. It was to be expected as she was the only girl in the academy.

“Hey, look, it’s the girl who appeared in the sacred tree room.”

“Yeah, so the rumors are true. We have a girl in our school this year.”

“Did you hear how Neige called her? I mean, she does look like a princess.”

[Name] blushed a little as she could hear them talk. It looked like she would bear that name until she got home. Neige patted her head while looking at her fondly. She was so adorable. Neige dared not say it out loud, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

“_Hello, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Ash Blueglass, Apple Red’s vice dorm leader and a close friend of Neige.

_ I’m [Name] Yamada, and it's nice to meet you too.”

After a brief greeting, she walked to her class with Aurelius and Alexis. Both seemed to have calmed down from their quarrels, but they couldn’t stop glaring at anyone coming too close to her for their taste. Their first class was history with Mr.Pot, a friendly middle-aged man who loved telling stories. He looked funny in his white costume, purple and gold cuff lapel, blue shirt, and pink tie. It was so mismatched it actually suited him. The next class was Alchemy with Teacher Makoa; he was a big man with a proud smile. The man felt a little overwhelmed by his overly confident behavior.

“Hey there! Welcome to the Palace, the academy's one and only cafeteria. I’m Tanis, the chief cook here. Let me or Remy know if you need anything.”

[Name] looked at the charming cook, surprised at his friendly gesture. Behind him, a mouse beastman was also working expertly. She took her tray and sat down with the other. It would be long before the other students would stop staring at her.

The meal was delicious.

She laughed with her new friends while enjoying herself before it was time for her to go to her next class, sports. The teacher, Li Chen, was an ancient Chinese Spelldrive player who retired and became a teacher here. He was a rigorous teacher to his students. At the end of the day, they buy a slushie in Scrooge’s convenience store.

“_Oh, right! do you want to join a club, [Name]?

_I promised Neige that I would go to the music club.

_You love music?

_I guess you could say that. I used to play violin, some piano, and some singing.”

They looked at her in interest; she naturally had a pretty voice, and they wanted to hear her sing now.

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imaginethebeautifulworld · 4 months

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So I was reading Phantom of the Opera and some of Erik's descriptions made me think so much of Gil! I remembered how amazing your Hades and Persephone fic was, and I was hoping you could do something with the Phantom too? Thanks so much!!!!

Hello, Anon! I absolutely adored Erik in the book, and now that I read your ask, I can easily see the similarities, too~ I grew up on a weird blend of the book, musical, and both the 2004 and Lon Chaney films; I tried to honor that blend in this a bit, but a majority was pulled from memories of the book. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for your patience~

The theatre was filled to bursting, the audience awed, riveted, mesmerized, your voice weaving an enchantment over hundreds of unsuspecting admirers.

He was proud of you.

Your voice reached him even in the highest and most of isolated rafters, a platform forgotten- abandoned- by the stagehands stationed several stories below. Your voice was full, carrying all of the strength and conviction and passion as the character you were playing.

Gone was the timid spirit he had stumbled upon all those years ago, broken and shattered from loss, left with only the protections of a then-aloof guardian and a firm, dispassionate teacher.

He was drawn to you from that first day, a twist of compassion, of understanding; in spite of your upbringing and (even then) impressive talent, you were still an outsider, your peers and the other students keeping their distance, leery of your background, and some envious even then.

Yes, the companionship and camaraderie would come in time, but in those first few months, he saw the same loneliness and sadness in you he'd once carried so heavily himself, and his heart ached to comfort you.

The first time he spoke to you was purely accidental, a slip of a whisper he prayed you would dismiss as a ghost, or mere imagination. He had grown too comfortable in answering you when you were alone, his voice always near silent as you spoke to your mother, your father, and sometimes the angels themselves.

It was the latter with which you had caught him, crying out with a broken heart after discovering another student had sabotaged your satin slippers, intent on seeing your failure, your embarrassment, and (as likely was the case with that particular little shrew) your dismissal from the school.

But you persevered, successfully completed your performance, never once showing your distress until you were away from the others. It was only then, hidden away in a forgotten practice room that you showed your anger, your sadness, your hopelessness. The mask had fallen, and he was once again struck by the beauty of the fractured soul he admired so deeply.

"Please," you whispered, and it broke his heart to hear it, "I feel so alone."

It ached, being unable to comfort you, seeing your progress and healing of the past few months tested so needlessly. He ached for you; he was angry for you.

"You are not alone."

It was a fleeting, foolish slip, his temper and his longing both getting the better of him. Your sudden silence choked his own breath, his entire body freezing in terror.

For a moment, for an eternity, there was naught but silence.

He didn't dare move, fearful of how even the slightest shift of fabric could give him away, could startle you, could-

"I was half-afraid I had gone mad, speaking with shadows and expecting them to finally reply."

You were... teasing him, only a little, though at the time he was still petrified that you would demand he reveal himself. You had moved closer to the false panel, studying it closely, seeking out any faults that might give away its secrets. For a moment, your eyes were perfectly level with his own, and he feared you could hear his heart racing in his chest.

But soon enough you had drawn away, crestfallen. "Perhaps I have gone mad," you murmured, sighing in defeat. "Perhaps the rumors are true, and you are nothing but a ghost."

Memories of his time spent serving in the court of a distant empire flickered to memory, a rueful sound resembling laughter slipped past his defenses. "Of the many things they may wish and claim me to be, dead is not yet among them."

Your focus once more returned to the panel, and he instinctively took a step back. "Please-" he began, quickly cutting himself off.

Where others would have pressed forward, you paused, then took several steps away from the wall, granting him his distance, a warm sense of appreciation, and another he couldn't name at the time, sparkling to the surface at the warm breath of relieved laughter you released soon after. "You- You're really there."

That moment, one he could still so clearly remember as the peripeteia, the decided, unexpected change to a familiar script, one which would set the trajectory of both of your lives for the next ten years. It would lead to many late nights spent in practice, in conversation, in debates about the literary characters you loved so dearly. "I am always here."

Your aria had drawn to a close, the spell broken by the deafening roar of the audience's applause, and Gilbert was pulled from his memories, unable to conceal his smile.

Brava, Schatz. Bravissima.

He stood to his full height and began to make his way towards the nearby ladder.

For your role, another scene yet remained- a joyful reunion between your character and the valiant hero following the defeat of the jealous villain, a happy end to a romance so riddled with tragedy.

Gilbert needn't see the ending; it was a tale as old as time.

His footsteps were silent and certain, following a path he could traverse in his sleep; he had already paced it many times in his dreams.

Of all the false doors he had constructed in his opera house, there was one he had yet to pass through, one which now loomed before him. The room beyond was bathed in the ethereal golden glow of candlelight, a world outside of the darkness, fueling even more of the torment already plaguing his mind.

He was haunted by his doubts, by his need to... His need to properly introduce himself.

You had risen so high, could fly even higher, could rise above anything the fools in this theatre could ever hope to imagine. With your voice, your grace, your elegance, and your perspicacity, he had no doubts you could soar to a realm where only angels once dare tread. Perhaps it was wrong to want to burden you, to-

Movement on the other side of the glass brought his thoughts once more to a standstill. You were laughing, carefree, glowing with happiness and a brilliant light which followed everyone through the corridors after a triumphant performance. His heart fluttered to see you so beautifully framed, a living portrait he yearned to touch.

He frowned at the thought.

These feelings...

He had cared for you when you first arrived, a deep friendship slowly growing, even as he never allowed you to glance upon him. Slowly, then almost in an erupting whirlwind, those feelings had adapted, deepened, solidified. He was left hoping, wishing...

You were an Angel, in the most benevolent, compassionate of ways, but even an Angel would surely shun a Devil's Child.

For that was what his eyes and his appearance had always been: that of a devil. And surely-

Another figure was entering the room, and you were quick to abandon the comfort of your velvet settee, rushing to embrace-

No.

You were laughing, falling into conversation with an ease that only came-

You were familiar with this... this boy.

Perhaps even intimate, his traitorous thoughts interfered, the herald to the invasive darkness which followed.

It was a cold, bitter thing, rising from the depths, twisting and corrupting his every breath.

He had been careless, allowing you your freedom, allowing you to slip away to the gilded sanctuary of your guardian's maison de ville.

This boy dared to presume he could even look upon you, let alone embrace you, speak with you so candidly, even addressing you by your given name-

Gilbert felt his rage, his envy, grow stronger, even as that bedamned Raoul finally departed for the evening, leaving your bright smile in his wake.

You often called Gilbert your "Angel of Music," a bringer of light to your once dreary and dark days. You used it affectionately, a term of endearment for one you saw as a companion, a compatriot in curiosity.

But much like his namesake, Gilbert was Fallen, cursed, a creature of shadows and Night.

It took so little to pull him back into the Darkness, and now, with the sting of envy plaguing his every thought, Avarice and Doubt whispering in his ear, his ambitions had changed.

You were his.

He would ensure no one else could dare claim you, would have the slightest chance at your heart.

With skill honed from years of practice, Gilbert silently slid open the trap door, his voice carrying over to you in a tone he himself barely recognized. "Insolent boy. The impertinence of him, sharing in our triumph."

You startled at his voice, turning to him instinctively, your eyes widening in disbelief, before you graced him with your brightest smile yet.

Your joy glittered with more radiance than any star in the heavens, but its glimmer eclipsed your awareness, obscuring the darkness in the figure stealing ever closer.

"Hello, Engel."

Thanks for reading!

Special shout-out to @the-scribe-and-her-scribbles for unwittingly inspiring me today to finally sit down and write. She's an amazing writer, and if you haven't checked it out already, I highly recommend her ongoing series It Will Come Back.

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corruptedcaps · 8 months

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Jane’s Ascension

Special thanks to @lsat (discord: thedivergence, Twitter: LSAT1886) for generating the images used here that allowed a long time idea of mine to come to life.

It had nearly been a year since Tarzan and Jane had defeated their nemesis, the cruel and power-hungry Queen La. She was a formidable adversary, known for her dark magic and ruthless ambition. Queen La had ruled over a faction of jungle-dwelling followers, seeking dominion over all living creatures. However, her reign of terror had come to an end when Tarzan, Jane and their friends thwarted her wicked plans, banishing her from their realm.

It was only now that they had decided to explore the ruins of La’s once thriving city of Opar. Jane had always been enamored by the mysteries of the jungle. Her days alongside Tarzan, swinging through the treetops and learning the ways of the wild, had filled her heart with love for both the man she adored and the lush, untamed world around her. She begged Tarzan to bring her back to Opar, to explore its secrets now that the once threat was long gone. Tarzan had been hesitant but he couldn’t say no to his love.

“Tarzan this place is amazing isn’t it? Just think of how bustling and vibrant this place once was. It makes me sad that it all ended when La was defeated.” Jane said with a hint of melancholy. Tarzan did not understand her fascination with a place he could sense held great darkness but looking at her he knew that he would do anything for her.

Unbeknownst to both of them, Jane’s words travelled on the air around the ruined city causing the stone walls to creak and the wind to howl. It was as if her words breathed life into the city and it responded by opening a hidden door to a chamber below. Jane and Tarzan looked at each other confused. Tarzan knew Jane would want to investigate but he felt uneasy. Before he could voice his concerns she was already descending into the hidden chamber.

As they descended they saw in awe the full scoot of the chamber. It aas steeped in a chilling aura of both grandeur and malevolence. The walls were adorned with faded murals that depicted the cruel reign of Queen La, showcasing scenes of conquest, subjugation, and dark rituals.

The chamber's ceiling, supported by ornate stone pillars, bore intricate carvings of jungle creatures and twisted vines, as if nature itself had been subjugated by a twisted will. Shafts of eerie, filtered light penetrated the chamber through narrow cracks, casting eerie shadows upon the cold stone floor.

At the center of the chamber, on an obsidian pedestal, rested a necklace. It glimmered with an unholy radiance, its central red gem catching the scarce light and reflecting it in unsettling patterns. Its beauty was mesmerizing. So much so that Jane, who didn’t want for anything in the world, felt immediately compelled to reach out and touch it.

As her fingers barely brushed against the surface of the gem, an otherworldly sensation coursed through her veins. Her eyes widened in surprise and then immediately vacant. She stood like a statue with her index finger barely touching the necklace the entire time.

However Tarzan was quick to notice his paramour was eerily silent and when he saw her transfixed state he jumped into action pulling her away from the necklace. Jane crumbled in his arms unresponsive, seemingly comatose.

“Jane! Jane! Wake up Jane!,” he said urgently. “Hold on, Jane. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Desperation etched his face as he made a painful decision to leave Jane. He knew there were wise shamans living on the far side of the jungle, keepers of ancient knowledge and medicines that might hold the cure for Jane's mysterious ailment. Without delay, he set out on his perilous journey through the dense, untamed wilderness.

Meanwhile, in the solitude of the chamber, in the depths of her coma, Jane found herself walking amongst the buildings and the people of Opar. However this wasn’t the Opar she knew, all empty and ruined. This was a vibrant, alive grand empire. She followed the flow of people to the central hub, the palace. At the center of this opulent building, was a lone woman, beautiful, powerful, strong. It was Queen La like Jane had never seen her. Jane’s hate for all the valuess that La held faded away as she gazed in awe at the magnificent queen astride her throne.

Up until now no one paid Jane any attention, it was if she were a spectre, floating around unseen but one person now saw her. With a smirk and a gesture to come closer, Jane found herself gravitating towards La. Only once she got closer did she notice that the cocoa skinned Queen was positioned in such a way to show off her glistening bare pussy. The sight stopped Jane in her tracks.

“Come closer Jane, pay tribute to your Queen. Taste royalty so you too may ascend.” La said in a purr. Jane was transfixed, almost hypnotized by La’s words as she knelt in front of La and leaned into the monarch’s most prominent care of regions.

Jane’s tongue gingerly touched the top of La’s clit. As soon as it did it was a revelation for the reserved English scholar. The taste was unlike anything she had known before. It was pleasure personified and Jane wanted more.

Placing her hands on La’s smooth thighs, Jane pulled the Queen closer to her face so she could exploring her depths deeper. La let out a soft moan that Jane took to mean she was equally enjoying the experience.

However as both Jane and La were experiencing pleasure like no other, a voice was breaking through to her. It was Tarzan’s. His voice was acting as her conscious, compelling her to wake up, to reject La’s empty promises. His voice sliced through the trance she was experiencing and she pulled herself away from La.

“Wait this isn’t right, this isn’t who I am.” Jane said unsteadily getting to her feet and wiping away the juices from her lips. However with lightning speed La rose and stood behind her, whispering in her ear.

“And who are you exactly Jane? A sidekick to that muscle bound moron? A damsel in distress always waiting on your prince to save you? Aren’t you tired of that?” La purred in her ear as she place her hands on Jane’s hips.

“Wouldn’t you rather be something more capable? More powerful? More feared? Wouldn’t you like that?” La said as she pulled Jane closer to her, their bodies touching from neck to thigh.

Maybe it was fear that kept Jane from moving but maybe it was La’s tempting words that kept her there. Maybe it was La’s soft breath on her nape that caused Jane to forget about Tarzan in that moment. Maybe it was the promise of beauty and power that made Jane whisper, “More than anything!”

Jane closed her eyes as she felt La’s warm embrace around her sink into her skin. She felt La’s very essence be absorbed into her body in a pleasurable slurping sound. She felt her drab and simple clothing become La’s gloriously revealing regal attire. Gold hooped earrings drip from her ears pairing well with think gold bracelets adorning her arms.

Her skin gradually taking on a deeper, exotic tan, reminiscent of the sun-kissed hues of the jungle. But the changes were far more profound than a mere alteration in complexion and clothing. Her body seemed to ripple with newfound vitality, her curves becoming voluptuous and alluring. Her nails grew long and sharp, like obsidian talons, ready to strike.

Jane's once-ordinary hair thickened and lengthened, cascading down her back in a torrent of glossy, ebony waves. Her breasts swelled with a newfound plumpness, going from a meagre B cup to a commanding double D. Her figure transformed into an embodiment of seduction and power.

Muscles that had once been delicate and feminine now hardened, sculpting her into an athletic and toned form, blending grace and strength in a way that was both sexy and fearsome.

Carnal images and sensations filled her mind, like a vast library of pleasures were getting downloading into her brain. Knowledge of magic spells, hexes and curses invaded her brain and gave her intimate expertise as if she had been a student of the dark arts for decades. It was intoxicating.

Opening her eyes she found herself now awake from her coma, standing back in the chamber alone. The necklace that had started all of this was clung tight to her chest. Her eyes, now shimmering with a malevolent light, reflected the eerie radiance of the cursed gem. In that moment, her transformation was complete, and a dark presence had taken root within her.

She gazed at her reflection in an ancient, cracked mirror within the chamber, and her voice, now dripping with seductive cruelty, echoed in the silence. "Ah, much better," she purred, her own voice sounding both familiar and yet profoundly altered, "I was once so naïve, so kind-hearted. But look at me now."

With a haughty laugh, she envisioned herself ruling over Opar, Queen La's dark legacy reborn in her. "I shall be the new queen of this empire, and the jungle will tremble at the mention of my name. No one can resist the allure of power, especially when it's draped in such beauty."

Her fingers, adorned with long, razor-sharp nails, traced the contours of her transformed body, admiring her newfound allure and power. "The jungle will bow before me," she continued, her voice filled with icy determination. "And Tarzan... oh, Tarzan, he will come to realize the joy of serving me."

Almost as if he had been summoned, Tarzan appeared at the foot of the chamber having descended with a shaman mixture that he believed would reawaken Jane but found it suddenly unneeded.

There, before him, stood Jane, but she was unrecognizable. Her once-kind eyes now glinted with a sinister light, and her body had transformed into a vision of seductive power. She wore the cursed necklace with an air of cruel confidence.

"Jane?" Tarzan's voice quivered with disbelief and desperation as he stepped closer.

She turned to face him, and a wicked smile danced upon her lips. "Oh, Tarzan," she purred, her voice dripping with both familiarity and malevolence, "you've returned."

In that moment, Tarzan realized the depth of the darkness that had taken hold of his beloved Jane. "What has happened to you?" he pleaded, his heart heavy with sorrow.

Her laughter was chilling, a stark contrast to the laughter he once knew. "I've embraced the power that this necklace has given me, Tarzan," she declared. "I am the new queen of Opar, doesn’t royalty suit me perfectly?"

Tarzan's eyes pleaded with Jane, desperate to reach the woman he loved, hidden beneath the darkness that had consumed her. "Jane, please," he implored, his voice filled with anguish, "you must destroy that necklace. It's corrupting you."

But Jane merely chuckled, the sound cold and heartless. "Tarzan, you underestimate me," she said, her voice dripping with scorn. With a swift, mocking gesture, she tore the cursed necklace from her neck.

Tarzan's heart leaped with hope, but it was short-lived. In the palm of her hand, she squeezed the necklace causing it to crumbled to dust, as if it had never existed. Jane's eyes blazed with a newfound malevolence.

"I don't need the necklace to be queen, you fool," she sneered, her gaze locked on Tarzan. "The power is within me now. I am the queen of Opar, and no one can challenge my reign."

A sense of dread washed over Tarzan as he realized the extent of the transformation that had taken place. Jane had become a force of darkness, and there seemed to be no way to reach the woman he had once known.

"In fact, as a show of my power," Jane hissed, her voice filled with a chilling determination. With a casual flick of her wrist, the very vines that had once been their allies came alive. They slithered and twisted through the air, responding to her dark command.

Tarzan's eyes widened with alarm as the sinewy vines snaked around him, their grip growing tighter with each passing moment. His powerful struggles were rendered futile as they constricted, holding him immobile, like a helpless prey ensnared in the jungle's unforgiving embrace.

Jane's eyes bore into his, devoid of the warmth and love he had once known. Instead, they gleamed with an eerie satisfaction, reveling in her newfound dominance.

"Tarzan," she taunted, her voice dripping with cruel delight, "you see, there is no escaping my rule. The jungle is mine to command now, and you are but a mere obstacle."

"But you may be useful to me yet," Jane mused with a sinister smile, her lips curving in a mocking grin. Leaning in, she pressed her lips to Tarzan's with a chilling, calculated tenderness.

As their lips met, a malevolent energy surged from Jane's mouth into Tarzan's, and a darkness seemed to creep through his veins. Agonizing pain wracked his body, and he convulsed as a profound transformation began.

Tarzan's muscles bulged and expanded, his body becoming more impenetrable, like the very stones of the jungle. His once-tanned skin turned an eerie shade of gray, and his eyes, once filled with warmth and life, darkened into abyssal pools of black.

Through the torment, Tarzan's voice turned cold with an eerie subservience as he asked, "What is your bidding, my Queen?"

Jane's malevolent laughter echoed through the chamber as she gazed upon the creature that Tarzan had become, a loyal servant of her dark reign. The jungle had truly fallen under her dominion, and she held the once-mighty Tarzan in her thrall, a grim testament to the extent of her power.

“Come my pet, there is much to do.” She said with a knowing smirk as she released Tarzan from his binds and he followed her obediently.

For another tale of Jane’s corruption check out this fantastic story here by @misseviehyde

#f2f #corruption #bitchification #magic #evil bitch #magic jewelry #corrupted jewellery #evil couple #fanfic #ai image #merged #corrupted couple

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goldenmagnolias · 9 months

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Lost in the labyrinth of my mind

Pairing: OC High Lord of Dusk x Archeron!Sister

Summary: Reverie Archeron has always been different. Different in a good or bad way depends on who you asked. Now a High Fae, and with another war approaching she tries to be as helpful as she can around Velaris and with her baby nephew, but at a High Lord meeting, the countless dreams she has as a child and the feelings that are not quite hers suddenly make sense and things become something that she never could have seen coming.

Warnings: I do mention some melancholic feelings that some can link to depression and I do intend on portraying that alongside with other mental health issues (not only in the MMC and FMC but on other characters). It will be a more thorough conversation in the future, and whenever they will be present I will place them in the warnings, but for now that’s all ☺️

Masterlist // ao3

CHAPTER I: BY NIGHTFALL

Velaris was beautiful.

Reverie Archeron thinks it doesn’t matter how long passes she will always find the city breathtaking. More often than she allows herself, she’s wonder what would have been like to grow up in the bustling and colorful streets. How joyful things probably would have been.

But she didn’t, thankfully Nyx will grow up roaming through the streets and the shops, with a house big enough for the whole family to have their rooms and then some spare ones. A warm fireplace on cold days alongside warm wool blankets. Food for whenever he feels hungry. And love.

Love of a mother and a father. Love from his aunts and uncles.

Feyre is giving her son the childhood they dreamed about.

Life in the mortal lands was never easy. Specially with Father acting the way he did. Most times things would be harder than usual.

Feyre would go out in the woods to hunt. And Reverie would scrub floors, and cook full meals on a empty stomach for a few measly pennies so she could buy the bare minimum to keep them alive.

If that version of her could se herself now she would probably cry.

For yes, she technically had died. She had been thrown into the cauldron and it’s water she had been taken apart and remade.

Into High Fae.

The slender and statuesque people that she didn’t fit in with, or didn’t feel like she did. She barely saw herself in the reflection when she looked at the mirror. Because the Calderon had left it’s mark on her sisters by giving them magic. In her case, it stole her coloring. Her hair became as white as snow. Like the light brown had been a watercolor her whole life and the second the water took ahold of it. It completely vanished.

And she would probably also cry over the fact she didn’t have to count money, and overwork herself, that they had a warm fireplace, a family overflowing with care and love. A bedroom all for herself, a sprawling bookshelf that tended to grow as Feyre’s inner circle and Nesta’s Valkyries gave her as presents, she had more clothes than she felt like she needed and notebooks to write as she pleased.

Still, the darkness lingered. She had nightmares, night terrors, awful ones. Melting memories and what if, and fears. The war that was approaching, Kochei’s presence lurking did little to calm her heart. Although Elain hadn’t seen anything yet, and both Nesta and Feyre still seemed calm.

So she focused on helping Feyre with Nyx, and the Priestess with some of the young kids in the city, trying to make herself useful.

“Ria?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. What did you say?” Reverie says turning to her sister with a small smile, her eyes moving away from the window

“I asked if you’d like to go to the High Lord’s meeting at Winter with the rest of us.” Feyre says.

“Oh?” Reverie can’t help the surprise in her features. “Well if that isn't be too much of a problem.”

“it’s settled then.”

Little did Reverie know that the meeting would change everything.

….

“There’s more chairs than usual.” She hears Gwyn whisper to Azriel.

The only court present so far is Night.

“Lucien,” Rhysand voice comes.

“No idea.” Lucien says from beside Elain.

It’s like a siren song, the symbol that has been on her dreams for years now. She moves slightly, eying the symbol on the chair. Second later there’s a wave of magic coming from outside the castle — she feels like she should know from who but she doesn’t.

Golden eyes lose focus slightly and she feels her knees giving out and Nesta’s arms are around her.

Everything is muffled. Her ears are ringing.

Something is wrong. Something is off.

It’s like a thousand and one emotions are running through her at the same moment. She raises a hand pressing it against her chest.

Gods, what’s wrong with her?

‘Reverie breathe, you need to breathe.’ Feyre’s voice echoed in her head and she feels her presence.

She is breathing isn’t she? Gods feels like someone is trying to break her rib cage.

“She’s shutting down.” Reverie hears Elain’s voice through the muffled noise that seems to be over her ears.

But then all the sound vanishes overtaken by another one completely.

She can hear laugher, her own laugher, feel a kiss being planted on her cheek, someone hugging her, the sound of a baby cooing, the scent of the sea, wind moving through her white curls.

She has the vague awareness of more magic entering the room but then her awareness completely slips away from her.

But something comes alive in her chest, something that seems to wrap around her heart, caress her soul, as if to say.

I’m here.

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silyabeeodess · 5 months

Text

FusionFall Headcanons: Sunny Bridges

Sadly, Class of 3000's representation in the game is pretty minimal--with mainly just the Sunny Bridges' Auditorium giving it a spotlight. With that, my own headcanons for how its characters would fit in FusionFall have also been limited, as there just isn't much material to go off of. However, inspired from returning to some of the show's music, I'd like to expand on ideas I've had sprinkled with other posts I've made. For now, let's focus on none other than Sunny Bridges himself:

With the auditorium situated in what might be the heart of entertainment for the City areas, Marquee Row, it's unlikely that Sunny originally intended for it to be anything other than a typical venue. Likely constructed prior to his days as a teacher, he may not have even cared for it at all depending on whether or not it was built by the time he started losing his passion for music. It was just another mark of the fame that was wearing him down. However, after his experiences teaching, he started using the auditorium to give young and upcoming artists the chance to explore their own talent on a professional stage. Classes and workshops could be taught there alongside the big concerts, and the auditorium grew as a place of both education and community.

It should go without saying that his time as a teacher revitalized his passion, enough for Sunny to continue acting as a mentor. He might still have issues with the music industry itself, but he's found himself again, along with the importance of music in his life and the lives of those around him. Thanks to that, he wants to keep passing on those lessons and bits of wisdom to others.

That strength in music came in-full when the war hit. The invasion stretched across every community around the globe, with a sense of peace stripped from everyone. Even when nanos were introduced and the tide began to turn, with nothing to help people escape from the daily terrors and lack of normalcy, morale was low. However, that is one of the great powers of art: To give moments of escapism, beauty, and hope in otherwise awful situations. In a situation where people can't even walk out of their homes without facing monsters, where soldiers constantly roam through the streets, when all the places and things you did that you used to find comfort in have been taken from you... Music is something anyone can take part in no matter where they are or what they have. You don't even need tools or instruments when you've got a voice to sing with, feet to dance with, and hands to beat out a rhythm. Music is something any person can take with them anywhere and can be the most widespread and uplifting of the arts. Sunny knows this, and so his part of the war effort was to share that spirit with anyone who needed it.

The Fusion Fighter radio network was already established when Sunny began volunteering himself and his students. However, Sunny plays one of, if not the, biggest role for it. Besides his own music, he also has the connections to bring in many other great artists. Again, he may not like the music industry, but his knowledge of it and his work with his students has given him some means of handling a good chunk of the administrative stuff many other creatives can have difficulty managing. He can get a jumble of talents working like a well-oiled machine. He'll help set up live performances as well, particularly in the City areas and especially at the base in the underground mall.

Inevitably, these efforts that were once his step away from the spotlight have dragged Sunny back in. Before his name could fade from people's minds after he left stardom, he ended up becoming a figurehead among all of these war-time entertainers. Anyone who didn't know him before certainly knows him now, whether or not they're fans of his music. Resuming his celebrity status isn't something he wants, and he makes that point well-known. Nevertheless, he's also glad that his music is reaching people and for all the right reasons.

Sadly, Fuse does not think the same way. Of course, the tyrant won't go after artists the same as he will other figures in the war effort, but he has caught on to how much hope and inspiration Sunny gives to people. If Sunny is ever left vulnerable, Fuse's army will take the chance to take him out. On the upside, there's also plenty of soldiers who'll gladly protect the musician when called.

#fusionfall #headcanons #video games

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toxic-ship-tournament · 1 year

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ROUND 1 / SIDE B / POLL 2

Esmeralda Poofenplotz x Alice Luoja ( @cantdanceflynn ) vs Pash x Illoma ( @floralprintshirts )

lyrics by The Amazing Devil (Battle Cries)

who makes up your ship?:

Esmeralda Poofenplotz(Canon Phineas and Ferb character(although I draw her differently from canon)) and Alice Luoja(Background character turned Phineas and Ferb oc)

why does your ship deserve to be considered the most toxic?:

THEY BASICALLY STARTED OUT AS TWO DUMBASS TOXIC AF TEENAGERS GOING TO EVIL SCIENCE HIGH SCHOOL TOGETHER AND BEING THE TERRORS OF THE SCHOOL(POOFENPLOTZ BC SHES BIG ON BEAUTY AND WOULD BASICALLY DESTROY EVERYONE'S SELF ESTEEM AND ALICE BC. SHES WILLING TO KILL ANYONE WHO RLY FUCKS W HER), AND WHILE THEY ORIGINALLY HAD A RIVALRY IT GOT A LIL TOO HOMOEROTIC VERY QUICKLY AND THEY DON'T RLY KNOW HOW BUT THEY ENDED UP DATING. THEY ENDED UP, SURPRISE SURPRISE, RUINING EACH OTHER EVEN FURTHER THEN THE TWO OF THEM WERE ALREADY TRAUMATIZED!!!! A TYPICAL INTERACTION BETWEEN EM PRETTY MUCH WENT ALONG THE LINES OF POOFENPLOTZ POKING FUN AT SOMETHING ABOUT ALICES BODY OR PERSONALITY SHE KNEW WOULD TICK ALICE OFF("YOU KNOW, I'M NOT SAYING YOU NEED TO LOSE WEIGHT, BUT THROWING UP YOUR LUNCH LATER COULDN'T HURT"), ALICE GETTING PISSED OFF AND PULLING A KNIFE ON HER("YOU KNOW, MAYBE THIS TIME I'LL CHOP OFF YOUR TONGUE, STOP THAT HORRIBLE NOISE YOU CALL A VOICE"), AND THEN SOMETHING WOULD HAPPEN OR ONE OF THEM WOULD FUMBLE OR FLIRT AND THEY'D JUST GO BACK TO NORMAL BANTER AND TERRORIZING PEOPLE. THEY DID CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER, AND WHATEVER THEY WERE EXPERIENCING CERTAINLY FIT SOMEWHERE WITHIN THE STRANGE AND NEBULOUS RANGE OF ROMANTIC LOVE, LIKE THEY DEFINITELY LIKED EACH OTHER, THEY WERE JUST TOXIC AS SHIT AND HAVING THEIR BEHAVIORS EXPANDED UPON OR REINFORCED BY THEIR ENVIRONMENT. EVENTUALLY ALICES OBSESSION W GODHOOD AND HER IDEA OF PERFECTION (ONE THAT HAD ALWAYS BEEN THERE, EVEN IF POOFENPLOTZ MADE IT MORE PHYSICAL) ENDED UP DRIVING THE TWO APART, WITH HOW HORRIBLE ALICES DECLINE WAS, AND POOFENPLOTZ ENDED UP BASICALLY LEAVING AND IGNORING HER AS A DESPERATE ATTEMPT TO SNAP HER OUT OF HER DECLINE BUT ONLY PULLED HER FURTHER IN. AS IT STANDS NOW IN THE PRESENT, THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS A COMPLICATED SPIRAL OF "POOFENPLOTZ ACTUALLY HEALED AND REALIZED HOW AWFUL SHE WAS BEING AND WHILE SHE STILL HAD A DEGREE IN EVIL SCIENCE SHE HAD TO USE SO SHE MIGHT AS WELL GET A JOB DOING THAT, SHES ALSO RLY TRYING TO FIGURE OUT EVERYTHING W THE CAST AND HELP THEM, ESPECIALLY MILLIE AND PINKY, WHILE ALSO DEALING W " WHOOPS YOUR EX IS BACK IN TOWN AND SHES NOW BEEN RESPONSIBLE FOR MORE DEATHS THEN MOST FULL ON TERRORISM COMBINED, BUT SHE IS ALSO STILL KINDA HOT SO *NONCOMMITTAL HAND GESTURE*, YA KNOW?", MEANWHILE ALICE IS "OH RIGHT. SHE QUALIFIES FOR LOVEMUFFIN TOO. IM ALLOWED TO DENY ON HER ON TERMS OF HER BEING MY EX, RIGHT? BUT ALSO IM STILL GONNA INVITE HER TO OUR MEETINGS AND ALSO OFFER TO LET HER " LEAD" THE CULT IVE MADE THAT CONSISTS BASICALLY JUST OF MY VERY ABUSED OWN SON AND A VERY ABUSED TEENAGER WITH ME BC IF I CAN CHANGE HER MIND I CAN CHANGE ANYONES!"

ship tags/playlists/pinterest boards?:

Esmeralice, https://m.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLnP0Xop8gS5VdFNCP4Uetvq2pM5A9NZTe <- BAD PLAYLIST BY MY STANDARDS OF USUALLY A HUNDRED SONGS AT LEAST BUT ITLL DO FOR NOW

****

who makes up your ship?:

My ocs Pash and Illoma!!

why does your ship deserve to be considered the most toxic?:

OKAY SO theyre blorbos from a book a plan to write and basically the premise is that the main character, Illoma, is tasked with assassinating Pash. Theyre both from different families that have control over dragons and are both dragon riders in their own right. Illoma is from the 2nd most powerful house right after the royal family, which Pash is a part of. Their empire is ruled by an immortal god-king who has had many children over the course of his long life. Pash is one of his many descendants, but highest in the line of succession after her father (which is meaningless since the king is immortal). Basically, Illoma's mother believes that Pash's parents are going to try to find a way to kill their emperor and put her on the throne. This would be a terrible outcome for everyone because Pash is a hedonistic party girl who seems to have no regard for her own life or the lives of other people. She shows up to important meetings drunk/high, has a reputation for sleeping around with women, and is overall just an undisciplined mess. Illoma is a dutiful daughter who follows the rules of society, so when her mother tells her that she needs to kill Pash for the good of the empire, Illoma does what she says. It’s easy to emotionally disconnect herself from the action at first because Illoma doesn’t know Pash at all and doesn’t particularly like her. So she tries to poison Pash. When it fails the first time, she tries again, and again, and again. None of the poisons she’s been given are working. So Illoma is left with no choice but to get closer to Pash so she can try to kill her more effectively. The twist ends up being that Pash is basically a hommuculus created for the sole purpose of dying in some blood ritual that will kill the immortal god-king. She has a year left before this happens, but until then, he body has the regenerative properties of Wolverine. So with what little time she has left, she’s decided to keep herself entertained by fucking with Illoma. At one point, she makes a toast in Illoma’s honor to praise her tenacity and drinks the goblet Illoma poisoned while making direct eye contact with her. It only gets worse from there. As they grow closer, Illoma finds that she has more and more trouble keeping her gay thoughts in check. She is a super repressed lesbian and Pash is a very much not repressed lesbian. Illoma resents Pash quite a bit for being able to break all the rules without any consequences but genuinely has fun when they go out on excursions together. Lots of projection on Illoma’s part and gaslighting on Pash’s (“haha what do you mean you stabbed me last night, Im sitting right here at breakfast!”) Halfway through the story they start boning. Illoma is still actively trying to figure out a way to kill Pash and Pash is both aware of this and aroused by some of her more intimate attempts. They have an actual connection and like each other as people, but they have opposing goals and lots of underlying animosity to work out. In the meantime, they’ll be making out about it.

ship tags/playlists/pinterest boards?:

I use the tag "dragon horse girl story" on my sideblog to vaguepost about them!! :D

#alice x esmerelda #pash x illoma #cantdanceflynn #floralprintshirts #toxic ship tournament

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antique-ann · 1 year

Text

A One-Shot of A Dream I Had..

Chayanne and Tallulah were back at Wilbur's playing in the tree house. Chayanne was jumping around doing water bucket clutches from the patio, while Tallulah was reading the books Phil had put in the tree house. They were waiting on Phil to come back from getting some materials so they can go on an adventure today.

"Tallulah... oh Tallulah... Don't be afraid we're just here to visit!" they heard call out from below the tree. Two strangers were approaching the tree in search for them. They noticed Chayanne as he climbed up the tree house to protect Tallulah, sword in hand ready to battle. Tallulah dropped her book and hid behind Chayanne.

The strangers started climbing up the tree and Chayanne immediately urged Tallulah to the patio, and he jumped to the ground, water bucket clutching. He left the water on the ground and screamed "Tallulah! Jump! Jump!" Tallulah without hesitation, jump into the water below.

They both ran towards to waypoint as fast as their little legs could, but when they got to the waypoint, they were surround by the strangers. Chayanne body blocked Tallulah from them and whispered, "When I say go, take the waypoint back to abuelo's. Get help." Tallulah didn't want to leave her favourite tio behind, but she knew they needed help and nodded.

"There you are little Tallulah..." one of the strangers hissed, his eyes narrowed at the eggs with a hint of crazy. "Give her to us... we just wanted to see her real face... they said if we cracked her open and see her real face... we would become gods of the island..." they continued as they slowly crept their way closer to the two eggs, cornering them.

Chayanne gripped his sword tighter from fury, the whole time keeping his eyes on the strangers for sudden movements. "GO TALLULAH GO." Chayanne screamed, and Tallulah took the waypoint. The last thing she saw was Chayanne fighting off the now angry strangers with his life.

"ABUELO! ABUELO!" Tallulah called out, panic and fear running through her veins as she ran around the top of the wall looking for Phil. Phil had heard the pop of the waypoint and appeared around his stack of chest by his dirt roofed house. "Tallulah? What's wrong?" he rushed to her as she flung herself into her abuelo's arms. "Tio... danger... strangers..." she sobbed into his chest.

In a blink, she was in Chayanne's room with Phil by the door. "Stay here. I'm getting Chayanne home. I promise." He gave a little peck on her head before closing the door. The last thing Tallulah heard were the sound of crows cawing and fluttering away in unison and the pop of the waypoint.

Chayanne was fighting off the strangers with everything he had. Putting in crits and blocking hits with his shield like how Phil had taught him, but he was slowly losing his strength. "YOU SHIT EGG. WHERE HAS SHE GONE?!" the strangers demanded angrily. Chayanne placed another good hit to one of the stranger’s ribs with the hilt of his sword, a small crack sounded.

Chayanne, out of breath and huffing, was about to give in when suddenly he heard a pop from the waypoint. All of them paused in their tracks and turned to look, to find a man with pitch black wings spread open, pointed high, surrounded with a threatening and commanding aura. "LEAVE. MY CHILD. ALONE." Phil glared at the strangers with piercing blue eyes filled with rage and the promise of death.

Normally, people would have cowered in fear or run away with their tails tucked between their legs. For Chayanne, it was the first time he saw his gentle and funny dad that angry, and he stared in awe and admiration at the beauty and terror that is the Angel of Death himself. Chayanne decided in that second that he will become just like his dad.

"Chayanne. Come." Phil called out and Chayanne sprinted to his dad. Phil caught Chayanne in his arms and carried him, holding him close. Even with rage pumping through Phil's veins, his hold was gentle and full of love. Chayanne snuggled into his shoulder. Suddenly, the sky turned dark, as dark as the void. Behind Phil and Chayanne was the sound of wings fluttering, and a murder of crows cawing loudly.

Chayanne watched as Phil lifted his sword and slowly pointed it towards the two strangers. The crows dived past Phil and Chayanne towards the strangers, and all Chayanne could see was black feathers swarming and consuming the strangers into the darkness. Phil placed Chayanne down and nodded towards the waypoint. Chayanne placed his hand on the waypoint and teleported, the last sound he heard were the tortured cries of the strangers.

On the other side of the waypoint, Tallulah paced around anxiously, she tried playing her flute to calm down, but it didn't work. She was about to throw her flute onto the ground out of frustration when suddenly two pops from the waypoint reached her ears. Phil opened the door and Tallulah rushed out to greet her tio with a tight hug, let out a sigh of relief. "You're okay!" she exclaimed.

Tallulah clung to Chayanne like her life depended on it. "I wished I was stronger; I could have helped." she whispered sadly as the weight of the stressed sunk into her shell. She felt a hand giving her soothing pats. "You did Tallulah! You got abuelo to help! If you didn’t, I don't know what would have happened." Chayanne pointed out. "I helped...? Tallulah looked up at Phil and Chayanne with tears in her eyes. "You did sweet child." Phil assured as he carried both Chayanne and Tallulah into his arms.

"The strangers wanted to crack Tallulah open." Chayanne voiced out. "They said they would become gods of the island if they saw my real face." Tallulah chimed in. Phil frowned. "The fuck? That’s bullshit. Someone is probably trying to kill the surviving eggs again by spreading rumours. This island is fucked up!" he thought out loud. "Don't worry. I will protect you with my life and I'll punt the fucker who made up that rumour." Phil promised and the two eggs nodded.

He carried them into Chayanne's room and sat on the bed. "You both have been really, really brave today. I'm so proud of you." He hugged them close. Chayanne and Tallulah looked at each other, safe and sound, being smothered in love, and they cried.

They held each other as they let it all out, Phil snuggled them close and shielded them from the world with his wings. They stayed like that until they all fell asleep, which was how Wilbur found them when he came home.

#oneshot #hurt/comfort #qsmp #chayanne #tallulah #philza minecraft #minecraft #qsmp eggs #qsmp chayanne #qsmp tallulah #qsmp philza

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thehappiestgolucky · 9 months

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I, for one, would love to hear you talk about monster hunter. *Hands you one "free rant about monster hunter" card*

You have genuinely no idea the beast you just unleashed but i am taking this card in my mouth and tearing it like a rabid animal

Monster Hunter - despite being very well known in Japan, still feels like a hidden gem in the western world. And I get it - its a hard game for beginners to get into because of just how many mechanics there are and especially when I first discovered it back in like 2012 ish. It also wasn’t well marketed. In a time where everyone sung nothing but praises about Skyrim - I found a game that genuinely changed my life. I mean that so literally.

I had practically gave up on art and things that made me happy - and whilst I still have pretty intense depressive episodes - I nearly quitted art altogether back then. You can thank Monster Hunter that I’m even here being able to ramble about it.

The games breathed a life into an ecosystem that I had never really seen done in games before and after - the only current contender being Rain World. I’ll be blunt - I don’t like Skyrim, which made me so sad as a kid. The combat is clunky and I was bored so quickly with the lack of coolness from the dragons. So to see what Monster Hunter brought in such a variety - made me want to art again. Every creature is thought out in both individual and ecosystem - how they interact with other and how they adapt to their habitat. And some designs are fun, cool or downright scary - and each one fights like you would expect it to.

My first Monster Hunter was 3 Ultimate on the 3ds - after seeing one of the adverts on the TV featuring a Brachydios chasing down hunters down a volcanic cavern - cornering them. Little me was in such awe - it was the coolest design I had seen in ages. I couldn’t get many games but I managed to get that one after pestering my mum a lot - and I’ll be honest I was fucking terrified at first! but then I got better and understood it - started just fighting the monsters. Its an experience I’ll never forget. When you spend nearly the entire 50 minutes you get fighting an absolute tank of a monster because you don’t have the right equipment - but you keep going even when you run out of healing items because when you do manage to win its a rush that I still have never felt in any other game. It both rewards and punishes risks - it entices you to grind and prepare and throw that all out the window.

I’ll be the first to admit Monster Hunter has flaws - especially the game I first got - but they’re flaws that keep getting sorted out with each iteration of the franchise. For all those flaws you battle through to see and feel the grit and beauty of the game - the brutalness it offers but the rewards when you each and every time make it step by step.

I felt a rush finally beating the Lagiacrus that terrified me, I was grinning stomping on the Brachydios that dominated the trailer, the awe of the Caedeus in a unique and almost somber fight against an ocean god - and the fear, terror, adrenaline, frustration and euphoria of solo falling the Dire Miralis, a living volcano that boiled a sea by its presence. And beating an Alatreon is still such a difficult, nervewracking task. But you still try. you may lose, but you try again.

It’s a game with memorable and beloved characters - full of life and fun, jokes and genuine touching stories hidden behind simple interactions. Each receptionist that you get the quests from have their own unique personality and goals that you learn from passively just doing the quests - 3 Ultimates guild receptionist always pulling out her hand written book of monster information basically boiling down to “Oh thats awful, well good luck!” or even just “Whoops nothing here! Dont die!” is genuinely so fun and engrossing than any tragic story for a quest giver can give to me. And bro - Monster Hunter is not known for its story or characters, it’s known for its monsters and gameplay and rightfully so.

I know the complaints of Capcom - but as a FPS disliker I can firmly say they just don’t fucking miss with combat. The giant Great Sword feels clunky and meaty - and landing a hit with it feels like you’ve torn a chunk out of the monster. The small lathe Dual Blades feel like the risky weapon they are, sacrificing protection for raw DPS that can double for status effects as it quickly repeatedly applies them. The newest weapons added being the Insect Glaive and Charge Blade being such unique mechanics that through iterations of games still hold their light.

And the base mechanics of these weapons are hard to learn they are - you only realise how many hidden and complicated mechanics and combos there are after so many hours of playing. You will never steamroll Monster Hunter on your first game - but the more you do it later games makes you feel like the veteran you are, adapting to the new mechanic whilst having the basics down. Its a learning curve each game has actively tried to make easier and easier to overcome.

That’s another thing about this franchise that I adore - they iterate each time, trying new things with each entry to both make every one feel unique from the others despite sharing the base mechanic each time, and trying new things. 3 Ultimate had underwater combat, which was received poorly, and as much as I want it back for its unique cast of monsters - and to bring my beloved Lagiacrus back its full glory, I know why they’re hesitant to bring it back. 4 Ultimate focussed on a mounting mechanic - the Insect Glaive was created with that in mind. It was received well but informed it was overpowered. So it stuck around for Generations Ultimate but that wasn’t the main mechanic of Gen, Generations introduced Hunting Styles - anime power moves basically. And they were fun as hell. In World Iceborne they introduced a new style altogether - a basic slate to show the new polish of the franchise. The art style was still there - the iteration brought the franchise to a new light. Hunting styles vanished in replacement of the Grappling Hook thing - which was uhh mixed. In the latest entry - Sunbreak - they mixed the grappling and hunting styles together in such a unique and fun way - introducing a new way to explore the world and use your combo knowledge to really dominate a hunt.

They try - and god when they do it well they do it well.

Monster Hunter was not my first game ever. That was Pokemon Pearl. And whilst that means the Pokemon franchise does hold a gem in my heart - I’d be dishonest if I didn’t mention Monster Hunter Stories - a spin off to Monster Hunter I didn’t see coming. Its everything I wanted out of Pokemon. Its everything I still want out of Pokemon.

And the first game was basic - it had a fairly generic but heart warming story and the characters still shone as fun as they always have. Reverto my beloved.

But then came the sequel. I didn’t believe we’d ever get one because the first game flunked in the west.

And just like each iteration of the main franchise before - Stories 2 did exactly that - change. Be better, learn from previous mistakes and change. You could bring in your knowledge of the main games to fight the monsters - you can build your team in any way you wanted - and the story matured with it. I urge every disheartened Pokemon fan to give the free demo on the Switch a shot. Its so worth it. Its the one I recommend to newcomers BECAUSE its so much more accessible and you never have to play the main games to adore the nature of the franchise. Even watch a Kinship move compilation if nothing else - its everything I wanted Z moves to be and more.

I will say - it isn’t a game for people with flashing problems or camera issues. Its unfortunate, that it limits a bunch of people despite the settings in place that aim to reduce that. But if you can handle it I urge you to give the free demos a shot. You might not like it - you might find it’s not to your tastes or you don’t like how it plays. And that’s fine. Games are for the people it appeals to. Monster Hunter simply appeals to me.

Look at the monsters, watch the ecology videos on youtube. Its wonderful, its goofy, its serious. Genuinely seriously look at the MUSIC. There’s a reason Proof of a Hero played during the Olympics. Listen to it now/lh

The community is… alright. There’s a larger amount of gamer bros unfortunately but some are gems. Hell, the official Twitch livestream gaming each week is really fun and wholesome! I just listen to it when I’m doing things because its just people! Playing a game!

Overall, its just a game I hold so dearly to my heart. It’s creative, the devs care so much and it shows through every piece of art, each monster, everything that this franchise is. Its love. Its nature. And its wonderful.

#happy rambles #long post #*ahem* its 2 AM i’m sleeping now #i probably missed more but this is already long as hell lmfao #please though. if nothing else listen to the monster themes #they’re SO good on god i could assign so many characters to themes and be a banger each time #this ramble isn’t cohesive but i dont care #get special interested/lh

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blueheartbooks · 2 months

Text

Navigating the Depths of Humanity: A Review of "Moby-Dick" by Herman Melville

Herman Melville's "Moby-Dick: or, The Whale" is a literary masterpiece that continues to captivate readers with its rich tapestry of adventure, philosophy, and exploration of the human condition. Published in 1851, this epic novel tells the story of Ishmael, a sailor who embarks on a whaling voyage aboard the Pequod, captained by the enigmatic and obsessive Captain Ahab. As the voyage progresses, Ishmael and his shipmates become embroiled in Ahab's relentless quest for vengeance against the great white whale, Moby Dick, leading to a harrowing and ultimately tragic confrontation.

At its core, "Moby-Dick" is a profound exploration of themes such as obsession, fate, and the nature of evil. Through the character of Captain Ahab, Melville delves into the depths of the human psyche, revealing the destructive power of unchecked ambition and the consequences of pursuing one's desires at any cost. Ahab's single-minded pursuit of vengeance against Moby Dick serves as a powerful allegory for the folly of human hubris and the inherent darkness that resides within us all.

One of the most striking aspects of "Moby-Dick" is its vast scope and ambitious narrative structure. Melville weaves together a diverse array of genres, including adventure, philosophy, natural history, and maritime lore, creating a multifaceted and immersive reading experience. From the intricacies of whaling to the metaphysical musings of Ishmael, the novel's narrative is as expansive and boundless as the open sea itself, inviting readers to ponder life's deepest mysteries and contemplate the nature of existence.

Moreover, "Moby-Dick" is renowned for its richly textured prose and vivid evocation of the maritime world. Melville's descriptive powers are on full display as he paints a vivid portrait of life aboard a whaling ship, from the harsh realities of shipboard existence to the awe-inspiring beauty of the ocean's depths. Through his lyrical language and vivid imagery, Melville captures the essence of the sea as both a source of wonder and terror, imbuing the novel with a sense of awe and reverence for the natural world.

In addition to its philosophical depth and evocative prose, "Moby-Dick" is also a timeless meditation on the human condition and the search for meaning in a chaotic and indifferent universe. As Ishmael grapples with questions of identity, mortality, and the unknowable mysteries of existence, readers are drawn into a profound and transcendent journey of self-discovery and enlightenment. Through Ishmael's experiences, Melville reminds us of the fragility of human life and the enduring power of the human spirit to find meaning and purpose in the face of adversity.

In conclusion, "Moby-Dick" is a towering achievement of American literature that continues to resonate with readers for its profound insights, rich imagery, and timeless relevance. Melville's magnum opus stands as a testament to the enduring power of the human imagination and the boundless depths of the human soul. With its epic scope, philosophical depth, and unforgettable characters, "Moby-Dick" remains a masterpiece of world literature and a testament to Melville's enduring genius.

Herman Melville's "Moby-Dick: or, The Whale" is available in Amazon in paperback 22.99$ and hardcover 29.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 314

Language: English

Rating: 10/10

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

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carewyncromwell · 10 months

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“Will we ever find our Neverland? Will we ever be at peace again?”

~“Neverland” by Crywolf

x~x~x~x

previous part here! // full tag here! // original concept suggested by @ag907

x~x~x~x

Carewyn bolted off of the stool she’d been sitting on with such force she knocked it over. Her eyes flooded with tears that blinded her, and yet this time, these tears gleamed like a beautiful rainbow, because there was no sorrow within. Only joy.

“JACOB -- JACOB!”

She ran to him. Her joy was so strong that she actually ended up coming right up off the ground, flying up to him so as to better reach him. Jack pulled out of Blaise and the other pirate’s hold, his hands likewise clutching at the air, until they reached each other. Carewyn threw her arms around her brother’s neck -- Jack clung to her even as his legs gave way and he collapsed onto his knees. He didn’t even care that his hat had fallen off. Instead he cradled the back of Carewyn’s head in his hand and held her tight.

“Wyn -- my Wyn -- ”

“Jacob, you’re here! You’re here, Jacob!”

“Yes!” choked Jack. “Yes, Wyn...I’m here -- you’re -- you’re here...you’re...you’re so big, Wyn! How long has it been...my little Wyn...my little sister...”

Jack’s hand in her hair was trembling.

“...Carewyn...” he whispered.

He cried even harder as he started to laugh.

“Your name is Carewyn,” he said weakly. “Not Wyn, not Winnie, it’s Carewyn.”

Carewyn beamed through her tears. “Yes, Jacob...”

“Mum called you Winnie,” Jack mumbled, almost awed by the recollection. “And I’m...I’m Jacob. I’m not Jack, I’m Jacob...”

“Yes, Jacob!” Carewyn assented fervently.

Jack -- no, Jacob -- was sobbing openly now. He kissed the top of Carewyn’s head, pulling away just enough to look over her face through his teary eyes.

“Oh, Wyn, look at you,” he breathed. “You’re so grown up! Oh, Wyn -- can you ever forgive me? I almost forgot you, Wyn -- forgot Mum...Wyn, I’m so sorry...”

“Me too, Jacob,” Carewyn mumbled as Jacob brought her right up beside his chest again, bringing his hand through her hair. “Me too -- ”

She squeezed him tighter still as he rocked her back and forth like a child. Her eyes were flowing with tears, but she’d never smiled bigger in her life. She even kept floating up off the ground in her brother’s arms.

“It’s just like Mum said,” she said through her tears. “Neverland is where dreams come true -- I dreamed and I dreamed, and...you’re here, Jacob, you’re really here!”

Jacob and Carewyn sat on the floor together, unable to let go of each other or stop crying in pure joy. For that moment, they didn’t see or think of anything else around them -- not until a low, dark Bass voice cut in.

“Indeed he is...as are you.”

Jacob and Carewyn both looked up. Hook stood over them, adjusting his hook offhandedly as he smiled coldly down at them.

“It is truly nice to have Winnie back where she belongs,” he murmured, his eyes boring into Jacob, “isn’t it, Jack?”

Jacob stared at Hook. In the span of the next ten seconds, his face had lost all of its color, his eyes once again brightening with an awareness he’d been lacking. Unlike when he remembered Carewyn’s full name or his mother, however, this revelation was a horror he could barely put into words.

“No -- no, no -- ”

He whirled on Carewyn. “Wyn -- Wyn, you’re supposed to be with Amari -- !”

Carewyn blinked, baffled. “Jacob?”

“You’re supposed to be with him -- he was supposed to keep you safe!” Jacob said, his voice torn by anger, anxiety and absolute terror. “You shouldn’t be here -- you have to get out of here now -- !”

Charles shot a pointed look at Blaise. In an instant, Blaise had swept forward and roughly grabbed Jacob around the waist, hoisting him up off the ground and away from Carewyn.

“No!” cried Carewyn. “No, don’t take him! Jacob! JACOB!”

The little girl desperately tried to hang onto her brother’s hands. It proved difficult, though, when Hook seized the back of her nightgown with his hook and seized her around the waist too with his other hand -- it made it impossible for her to fly and get free, no matter how much she kicked and squirmed -- and Jacob was torn out of her reach.

Jacob writhed in Blaise’s grip, even as the First Mate yanked him toward the open cabin door.

“Run, Wyn!” he bellowed. “Run back to Amari, Wyn! Forget about me! Forget me and run! Fly away -- !”

It was only seemingly with the burst of adrenaline that came with anger that Blaise managed to accrue enough strength to wrestle Jacob out the door and slam it shut behind him.

“You must forgive your brother,” Hook said in a cool voice that bordered on disdain. “I thought he’d be more appreciative that I reunited you with him, after so long...”

Carewyn’s eyes were overflowing with tears as she looked up at Hook.

“Let him go! Please, bring him back!”

“Now, Winnie,” Hook said, and he seemed oddly pleased to see Carewyn so upset, “of course I will. I would be happy to reunite you, once Jack’s discipline has expired.”

“Discipline?” repeated Carewyn. The word gave her serious misgivings.

“Naturally,” said Hook. “He was the one who tried to keep you from me. Are you not curious about how your brother knew you’d been with Orion Amari, without me telling him so? Why he never once sought you out, if he knew you were in Neverland?”

Carewyn stared up at the pirate captain. His blue eyes -- identical to hers -- gleamed with something darker even as his smile spread.

“Where shall I begin this tale...?” Hook murmured absently, as he crossed the room to look out the window. “Ah yes -- perhaps when your thoughtless brother left my ship and went off to the mainland by himself one day and didn’t return until after nightfall. I was very displeased, when I found him missing -- even more so when he lied that he had gone exploring and gotten lost. Had to break his leg, to ensure he wouldn’t try to go running off again...”

Carewyn felt like her heart had been squeezed.

“You monster -- how could you -- ?!”

“It was a bit cumbersome, when trying to deal with the centaur brat at Marooner’s Rock,” Hook cut her off cleanly, disregarding her righteous fury altogether. “Fortunately Orion Amari still played into my hand, and my hook, trying to save his two new Lost Kids. But in the cave, I heard you sing that melody which of course is mine and mine alone, and my suspicions were aroused. I had thought at first that the last child of the three my crew saw on the clouds was simply one more wee pup of this ginger-haired family that Amari had stumbled upon in the Other World -- but if, in fact, she knew my song, there was only one possible reason why. And sure enough, some interesting rumors started fluttering about the island -- of the Lost Kids’ new mother, with the eyes of a pirate.”

Carewyn felt Hook’s eyes on her through the glass of the cabin window.

“I knew you were one of mine,” said Hook, “but I was not completely certain that you were the Winnie I sought, or some other new pirate entirely. All my suspicions as to your identity were confirmed, however, when my helmsman Ashe brought you to me.”

His eyes flitted over to the brown-eyed teenager still standing by the door -- he’d had his eyes locked on the closed cabin door, but he looked up, startled, when he was addressed. Carewyn turned to look at the Pirate Without Pirate Eyes -- his face was almost as pale as Jacob’s had been, but his jaw was clenched: almost as if looking Carewyn in the face and seeing her tear-stained cheeks was difficult for him.

“He said he’d taken you for your eyes and for your resemblance to Jack’s accounts of you,” Hook said, his eyes boring into Ashe’s reflection in his cabin window. “And yes, for certain, those are fair reasons. But my helmsman was unaware of just how much I knew.”

Ashe tore his eyes away from Carewyn’s at last, unable to keep looking into those eyes so like Jacob’s. His brown eyes were rippling with turbulent emotion before he shut them tight.

“By the time Ashe brought you to me, I was already more than aware that Jack had stolen away to see Orion Amari that night and cajoled him into stealing you away. Who else would have the ability to bring you here, to this paradise of youth? Who else has a home I know not the location of? Why else would Amari have kept his Lost Kids’ new ‘mother’ so hidden? Why else would Jack’s moods be so turbulent -- longing to see you, and yet also being determined to keep you away from me?”

Hook turned away from the window at last to face Carewyn, his hand adjusting his hook.

“In surrendering you -- the precious treasure I sought for so long -- to my mortal enemy,” he said very softly, “in allowing my mortal enemy to deceive and manipulate you for his own ends -- to keep you from your only remaining family...Jack has been disloyal to his captain and orders. That is why he is now being punished.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes flashed with righteous anger. “Don’t talk about my brother like that! Or Orion! He’s a good person, and you’re -- you’re just a cruel, wicked old man!”

SHUCK.

Hook brought his hook down hard into the wood of the wall right beside Carewyn’s head. She flinched, immediately going silent, but her eyes bore into his with loathing.

“‘A good person,’” recurred Hook. His eyes were so empty and emotionless, they were akin to some ice-cold doll. “I suppose that’s why he takes children away from their families? Lures them away like some Pied Piper, promising them bon-bons and fanciful dreams? Have you never wondered why all of his ‘Children’ have no mother? Why they needed you to fill that role for them?”

Carewyn’s face lost some of its color.

“Not all of them lost their mothers the way you did, Winnie, my dear,” said Hook very quietly. “They lost them through the more wicked efforts of Neverland -- that wicked forgetfulness that Orion Amari has so willingly embraced.”

The memory of Orion’s words in Pixie Hollow returned to Carewyn’s mind.

“We all forget, Carewyn.”

“That’s part of what Neverland is. It wants you to forget your pain – leave behind your greatest sorrows, from that Other World. It wants you to be happy, and at peace…be young and free, forever.”

“...Forget him, and be happy.”

“He wants them to forget -- wants you to forget. He wants you to forget you ever had a family -- a home, a life before Neverland. All he wants you to know is that you’re one of his. For if you remember anything else...well, then you wouldn’t be his anymore. With your memories gone, you would have nowhere else to stay but with him.”

Carewyn felt her eyes welling up with tears and she clenched her jaw, trying to look brave.

“You’re a liar,” she choked.

Despite her words, she was full of a dread and foreboding she could hardly describe. Hook seemed to know it too, and he cleanly yanked his hook from the wall.

“If you want your proof, just look at the two boys that came with you, Winnie,” he said lightly. “Charlie and Bill, I believe you called them? Brothers, you said they were -- born of the same mother, back in the world you were from. Do you think their mother was where they learned that shepherd rhyme, the one Bill taught you? Did you know their mother, little Winnie? How much of her do you remember now? Do you even know if she’s dead or alive? How much of their family do you think Charlie and Bill even remember?”

“Stop it!”

Clearly all of this had struck a nerve. Carewyn wrapped her arms tightly around herself and withdrew, trying desperately to keep herself from completely breaking down.

Hook, however, merely used her shrinking posture to lord over her like a quiet, dark shadow. It made Carewyn feel tiny -- smaller than she ever had before -- shrinking in the face of such oppressive, silent darkness.

“They...wouldn’t forget,” Carewyn whispered. “They love their mother. They wouldn’t forget her...”

They couldn’t forget their mother...Carewyn’s heart felt like it was being ripped in half, just imagining it. She loved her own mother so much -- to make her dearest friends forget their family --

“Not out of their own will, perhaps,” said Hook softly. “But they weren’t given much of a choice, were they? Orion Amari simply...took them. Took them away from that world where they remember who they were, with no intention of sending them back...”

“Orion did not just ‘take them!’” Carewyn said fiercely.

“No,” Hook said pitilessly. “No, I suppose he only really wanted you. That was what he and Jack had arranged, wasn’t it? Amari was supposed to bring you to Neverland -- keep you away from me. Your two friends...were just a lovely little perk.”

Cold flooded Carewyn’s entire body like an ocean wave.

Was...was that true? That Orion had only brought Bill and Charlie along because of her? It was likely that they wouldn’t have let her go alone, if Orion had invited just her. But Orion had said he’d bring them back home --

Wait. No, he hadn’t. Bill had left his parents a note, to tell them where they’d gone...then Charlie had said they could be back home in time for supper. And Orion...Orion had just shrugged. He’d never said he’d take them home...

“…Forever is an awfully long time,” Carewyn’s own words came back to her, followed by Orion’s response --

“And yet it can feel like nothing at all.”

He knew. He’d known they’d lose track of time, hadn’t he? Even though Bill and Charlie had only intended to stay overnight and be back the next morning...even though it was clear that they’d been gone far longer than just one day...Orion hadn’t said anything.

“You belong here, Carewyn. With us. The Lost Kids.”

Orion had never intended to bring Carewyn home. And because Bill and Charlie had come with Carewyn...he never intended to bring them home either.

Now many people, children or otherwise, would’ve been overwhelmed with anger, resentment, maybe even hatred toward Orion in this moment. Ashe had certainly expected such a reaction. Instead, however, Carewyn only seemed to shrink further -- losing the last spark of resistance she’d had as her blue eyes flooded with fresh tears.

“...It’s my fault...”

The words fell from her lips without her even realizing it. They made Ashe straighten up sharply, startled. Hook, however, only seemed to gain a darker tone to his eyes.

“It is,” he said as softly as a demon might whisper in someone’s ear.

He bent down to get down on Carewyn’s level, but it only served to make him look more like a predator, as that malevolent look darkened further in his forget-me-not eyes.

“Orion Amari only wanted you,” he whispered. “Your brother only told him to find you. If it weren’t for you, Bill and Charlie would still be safe at home, with their mother. They wouldn’t be Lost -- doomed to forget everything and everyone they ever loved...motherless and lonely, running from the likes of me. They’d be living their lives safe at home with their family. If that family even still exists.”

Overcome with emotion, Carewyn covered her face in both hands. She tried incredibly hard not to break down into sobs, but tears leaked out of her eyes despite herself as she crumpled in on herself, her shoulders quaking. His eyes still dark with that cold, snake-like blackness, Hook very slowly brought his arms around the small girl and actually embraced her.

“There, there, Winnie,” he murmured. “I know it hurts. Betrayal always hurts...”

His silver hook ended up right beside her neck as he brought his china-white hand through her ginger hair.

“But you see now why I cannot allow you to return to the likes of Orion Amari. He only ever played with your emotions from the start -- took advantage of your kind heart, to get what he wanted...”

Ashe couldn’t help but keep a very close eye on the hook resting against the crying child’s helpless neck.

“You are one of mine, Winnie,” Hook said with a serpent’s attempt at kindness. “My blood and my flesh. It’s only natural that I would do all matter of things, to ensure you remain safely here, with me. If Amari or his Lost Kids ever took you from me again...I would have all the motive in the world to hurt them, if only to protect you from them...”

Carewyn looked up, horror in her teary eyes.

“No!” she said. “No, I won’t let you -- !”

“It’s all up to you, Winnie,” said Hook. “I will not forget your existence here. And I will not rest until you are mine. I will do anything I have to in order to make sure you and Jack remain here, on my ship...”

His blue eyes sparkled with more of that dark, satisfied glint.

“...Ah yes...and that’s the other rub, isn’t it? Now that you know Jack is here with me...could you live with yourself if you did leave? Could you forget that your brother is here with me -- alive and alone, on my ship -- sailing under my flag and following my orders? Could you bear it if your precious Amari hurt your brother while fighting my crew -- maimed him, as he did me?”

Carewyn flinched as the pirate captain tapped his cold hook against her neck.

Ashe’s lips knit together as his black eyes narrowed. He’d known Hook was a wicked man -- he was a pirate, so that was par the course. And Ashe knew that Jack would ultimately be happier in his sister’s company than being separated from her forever...it was the reason he’d even revealed Carewyn’s existence in the first place. He’d wanted Jack to be reunited with his sister. Then he would have everything he wanted and needed in Neverland, and...he would stay. He’d forget the Other World and his life there and happily stay...

But even so...Captain Hook truly was a heartless bastard.

Carewyn was shaking visibly now -- not just from her sobs, but through legitimate fear. As she shook, though, she went deathly quiet -- and eventually, all of the shaking seemed to have blasted some fresh adrenaline through her.

“I -- I’ll stay,” she burst out. “But -- but you have to do something for me, first!”

Hook cocked his eyebrows.

“You said your word is your bond,” Carewyn said with as much courage as she could muster. “Well, so is mine. ...I’ll give you what you want...but you have to give me what I want, first.”

Hook looked almost intrigued. “And what is that, little Winnie?”

“You have to let me go back to Orion,” Carewyn said very firmly. “You have to not follow me, or have me followed, on my way back to his hideout. Give me one night to send Bill and Charlie home. Then I’ll come back here to stay. ...I give you my word.”

Ashe’s brows furrowed. It was astounding enough that Jack’s sister was brave enough to try to make a deal with Captain Hook himself -- but she made no deal to advance herself: only to protect her friends and return them to their family. Even Orion Amari...even with how much she had to have resented him for how he’d tricked her and her friends...even he had somehow earned her protection, in this moment.

Ashe didn’t think he’d ever encountered anyone quite so selfless in all his life. Certainly not aboard the Jolly Roger. And clearly, neither had Hook -- and that was why he slowly rose to his feet in something like triumph, his eyes narrowing and his lips spread into a cold smile as he extended his only hand to her.

"...Very well. I will allow you to return to Orion Amari, one last time. You may tell your friends the truth of his deception -- perhaps even challenge him of the validity of it, if you so wish. And then, by nightfall, you will return, and never leave again.”

“You promise you won’t follow me?” Carewyn challenged him.

“I do.”

“And you won’t have me followed either?”

“I will make no attempt to seek out Amari’s hideout through your return.”

Carewyn’s shoulders relaxed ever-so-slightly, even as her jaw clenched slightly and she gave her best attempt at a stoic nod. Her face was as white as a sheet as she took his hand and shook it to seal the deal.

"We have an accord,” said Hook.

Gently releasing her hand, the pirate captain headed back to the table where Blaise’s tea service was still set up.

“When you return, Winnie, I should like very much if you sang for me again,” he said without looking at her. “Perhaps for your brother and the rest of the crew, as well. All of us do so enjoy singing, to pass the time.”

Carewyn couldn’t look at him either -- her eyes instead flitted to the far corner.

“...Yes, sir.”

Her eyes landed on Ashe. He too was looking at her out the side of his eye, looking more uncomfortable than ever.

“Good,” said Hook. “Your brother has baldly refused to sing for me once, since he arrived, even when all of us crew members have chosen to sing together. It has greatly displeased me...”

He picked up the empty blue cup in the set, cradling it lightly.

“I’m sure you think I’m very cruel, Winnie,” he said airily. “But truly, once you return home to stay, I think you will see I can be kind. Especially when someone has given me proper motivation to do so.”

Hook glanced over his shoulder at Carewyn, still cradling that blue-patterned cup. The bottom of it was a faded gray -- stains likely left by that “black licorice” drink he’d poured into it so many times before.

“You see this tea set?” he indicated the one he was holding, as well as the red, yellow, and green-patterned ones. “I forget where I first purchased it -- but an image I do retain is of four children, each one holding one of these four cups...”

Something misty trailed over his eyes.

“...My children, I think...” he murmured.

That mistiness passed quickly.

“...The child that held this one was very quiet -- soft as a springtime breeze and frail. Her eyes were like mine, her face heart-shaped, and her hair, long and blond. And she was gentle -- intelligent and patient, calm and serene...”

Carewyn could see a restrained, but loving smile on the inside of her eyelids -- her mother’s smile. The shift in her expression made Hook tilt his head a bit, examining it.

“She’s familiar to you, isn’t she?” he asked. “That child that was mine?”

Carewyn nodded without looking up. Hook’s forget-me-not eyes narrowed that bit more.

“You are Lane’s,” he murmured. Had he lost sight of that fact temporarily, in all this? “She was mine...and so too are you.”

His pale, doll-like face was very unreadable as he gently slid the tea cup into Carewyn’s hands, making the little girl look up in surprise.

“I realize my kind of brew isn’t to your taste,” said Hook with a very small smile, “but I hope you will keep this -- as a memento of your mother, who I likewise wish was with us.”

Carewyn looked from Hook to down at the teacup and back. Her squirming stomach that made her distrust and dislike the man who had broken Jacob’s leg and was threatening the safety of everyone else on the island was painfully at odds with her heart, aching with longing and grief for her mother.

“...Thank you,” Carewyn said at last, very reluctantly.

Pleased by her lack of resistance, Hook shot a cool look at Ashe.

“Take her ashore, helmsman, and then return promptly. Winnie knows the way back to us, after she’s dealt with her affairs.”

Ashe’s eyes narrowed a bit. “...Yes, sir.”

He averted his eyes when Carewyn looked at him, instead heading over to the door and holding it open for her.

“After you,” he said brusquely.

Glancing at the pirate out the side of her eye, Carewyn swallowed, before -- securing the blue teacup safely beside her heart in both hands -- she forced herself to plow out of the door, right out onto the deck.

The other pirates with eyes like hers -- Pearl, Claire, and Blaise -- all quickly looked up at her at the helm. They watched her follow Ashe across the deck and then onto the gangplank toward shore -- Blaise even went to go confront Charles, when he likewise came out onto the helm -- but both Carewyn and Ashe stubbornly kept their eyes averted, trying to pretend they weren’t there. Carewyn desperately looked around for some sign of Jacob, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“He’s down in the brig,” Ashe reminded her under his breath. “He’ll likely remain there until you return.”

Carewyn looked up at Ashe, startled. The Pirate Without Pirate Eyes had very stiff shoulders and his voice was oddly hard, but his face betrayed some shame despite his best efforts.

Carewyn considered him carefully.

“...You’re not part of our family, are you?” she asked after a moment.

Ashe scoffed. “Of course not -- I don’t look a thing like you.”

Carewyn frowned deeply, clearly confused. Ashe stole a look over his shoulder at her and then scoffed again.

“Hn -- if you’re thinking Hook coerced me to join, then you’re wrong,” he said dryly. “I wasn’t forced to become a pirate -- I chose to. I had nothing to live for and even less to die for, so I came here. I joined Hook’s crew of my own free will -- and I stay for the same reason.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes grew a little smaller.

“Yeah, yeah, judge me all you like,” Ashe said coolly, “your brother’s more than rambled on about how much of a saint you are and how sweet and brave and kind you are and all that. But I like being a pirate. I like not having to answer to anyone -- to not having to impress anyone, or look out for anyone except myself. Your brother does too, whenever he forgets to feel sorry for himself. He’s been able to be happy here -- at least until he remembers how much he misses you...”

Despite the bluntness and defensiveness of Ashe’s posture, something a little more pained and almost jealous rippled over his features saying this.

“He’s miserable...thinking of being apart from you,” he said more lowly. “Whatever stupid thought he had in giving you over to Amari -- whatever idiotic idea made him hurt himself and you, by keeping the truth from you and staying away from you...he can’t let go of his past and be happy, so long as he’s separated from you.”

He stole another look over his shoulder at her. Upon finding that she was looking right at him, though, he quickly looked away again in a vain attempt to obscure his emotions again.

“You’ll both be much better off together here than apart,” Ashe said brusquely. “Sure, maybe Hook’s a villain, and yeah, maybe you’ll have to toughen up and accept that life’s not fair and Neverland isn’t all sunshine and rainbows...but well, you’ll survive it. Your brother has. I have. And even if things aren’t perfect...well, we’re both Lost too, even if we’re not kids anymore. ...We’ve just been Lost together.”

Carewyn didn’t answer. Ashe wanted to look over his shoulder at her, but he could feel her eyes on his back and so stubbornly kept his focus ahead as they reached the section of the woods where he’d first found Carewyn, not far from Pixie Hollow.

“Here you are, then,” Ashe said dismissively. “Hook will expect you tomorrow, before nightfall.”

Carewyn bowed her head solemnly. “Yes.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Avoiding her eye, Ashe stuffed his hand in his pocket and turned on his heel to leave.

“Well...see you around.”

Ashe was startled by Carewyn taking his hand. When he looked at her, he found a very pale, but oddly brave look on her face.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out rather strained.

Ashe blinked. He then almost immediately tried to brush it off.

“For what, walking you to shore? I was just following orders...”

But Carewyn shook her head. “No. I mean for...well, what you said earlier. I don’t agree with you, at all,” she added, meaning to clarify. “I don’t want to be a pirate...and I don’t think Jacob does either, not really. Especially not under someone like Hook.”

Her blue eyes softened.

“...But you said...you were Lost too. And that...well, when Jacob was here, in Neverland...you two were Lost together. And even if I know Jacob didn’t tell me the truth because he wanted to protect me...I think you only told Hook because you were trying to be a good friend...not because you wanted Jacob hurt or locked up.”

Ashe was horrified by this idea. “Well, obviously! I mean, sure, I knew Hook would be mad, and yes, he has taken his anger out on Jack before, but -- well, you were going to be part of his crew, which he wanted, so I thought...”

He brushed off the end of the sentence, not seeing the need to go on about whatever fake outcome he’d conjured up in his own head. Carewyn didn’t seem to mind, though.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad at you -- and I’m sure Jacob isn’t either, even if he might act mad at first. I just...well, like I said...thank you. For being there for Jacob. I’m really glad he had you, the way I had Bill and Charlie.”

Ashe stared at Carewyn for a moment, perfectly bewildered. He felt his face flushing and, very quickly, he looked away, trying and failing to hide his embarrassment.

“Well...uh...I...”

His sharp-lidded brown eyes betrayed something a bit more fragile as he glanced at her. She offered him a weak, but still rather brave smile, and gave his hand a squeeze as she released it. She then turned on her heel toward the woods, taking a deep breath before slowly starting to walk away.

“Are you going to be okay from here?” Ashe asked, before he could stop himself.

Carewyn turned back around to look at him, startled. Ashe wanted to hit himself -- where had that come from? Had Jack astral-projected himself out of the brig and momentarily possessed him or something?

Carewyn, however, gave him a kind smile and nodded.

“...Mm-hmm. I know the way back, from here.”

Ashe knew she wasn’t just thinking of her way back to the Lost Kids’ hideout either, from the way her eyes dimmed, glancing past him toward the horizon. Even despite the darkening of her expression, though, she kept that slightly strained smile on as she turned and disappeared into the trees. Her hands were clasped over her heart, holding the blue-patterned teacup that her mother had used so long ago.

Despite her hesitation at accepting Hook’s “gift,” she cradled it in her hands with the utmost care.

Oh, Mum, she thought, as all of the hard-fought courage she’d been desperately clinging to slowly fell from her face. You warned me about how dangerous Captain Hook was...and you were right, Mum, you were right. But...

The thought of Bill and Charlie made Carewyn’s heart hurt.

I can’t let him hurt them, Mum -- and I can’t let them forget their mother like I almost forgot you and Jacob, Mum...

If she did, she knew she’d never be able to forgive herself...

x~x~x~x

Carewyn arrived back at Hangman’s Tree very, very late that night. Only Orion saw her come in, from his spot sitting up in the “cubby” spot inside one of the tree’s branches.

Despite seeing her, though, he did not move or make any attempt to make his presence known. Instead he watched her put down some pretty-looking blue and white Lost Thing beside her little cot, before tucking herself in, curling up in a ball, and going right to sleep.

Orion silently watched Carewyn sleep from afar off and on for a while. At one point, he even floated down toward ground level so as to get a better look at her, as if making sure she wasn’t injured. Her hair was neat and there were no scrapes or blood, but her face...there was disquiet, in how she slept. And her lips...

Orion’s black eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly.

The warm, kind, well-loved-teddy-bear wrinkles at the corners of Carewyn’s lips -- so evocative of resilience to Orion, when he’d first seen her -- were a shade darker now.

Was her sorrow about forgetting her brother to blame for that? Was...what he’d said about Neverland, about how both he and it wanted her to forget...to blame for it? Was he...?

This thought was so unpleasant that Orion immediately pushed it away, wanting to scare it away like some meddlesome bird trying to steal his lunch.

He hadn’t wanted to hurt her -- that was part of why he wanted her to come to Neverland in the first place. The Other World was full of pain, and Carewyn had clearly known a lot of it, despite still being a child. But here, pain was easily forgotten. Grief and suffering and loneliness...they were all easily forgotten here. He didn’t need to apologize for making her cry. She’d forget she was sad in the first place, by the next morning -- Neverland was good at making people forget pain and sorrow. And if any bit of her sadness remained, he could make it up to her. He could take her somewhere else fun, or bring her a nice gift, or fly with her that bit higher into the sky. Then they could be just as they were...happy and free, like they were with the fairies...

Orion merely brought a hand up and gently patted the top of her ginger head -- just as his Shadow had, when he’d first come to collect it at the Weasley family home. Then, without saying a word, he withdrew to his own cot and likewise went to sleep.

Even if those darker lines remained...she could at least forget what had darkened them in the first place. Then she’d stay, and be free. Then she’d smile again.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #my writing #my art #peter pan au #jacob cromwell #carewyn cromwell #charles cromwell #duncan ashe #orion amari #bill weasley #charlie weasley #fanfiction #ohhh orion you really don't know what you're in for :<#also yes charles is a gaslighting SOB I mean come on HIM talking about ANYONE else manipulating anyone for their own gain is ridiculous #yes he's obviously projecting everything he's doing to carewyn onto orion #but sadly orion's choice to lure carewyn to neverland is easy to demonize #because yeah even if he did it with the thought that she could be happy in neverland and he likes her as a person and wanted her to stay #he still was deceptive and roped both bill and charlie into the whole thing when he *knows* they have a family who would miss them #doesn't mean charles and orion are the same by any means #but you can see how captain charles hook would take advantage of the black-gray morality here

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chouxtranslations · 2 months

Text

Shizun 028 - Anti

It was hard to join a fandom. It was even harder when it involves a star of Hu Sui’s calibre.

Lu Yunzhen spent half a day looking for information on his phone, but he couldn’t figure out the fandom rules. He finally joined a new fan group and introduced himself as a new fan, only to be met with a barrage of questions after a warm welcome.

[What are Hu Sui’s hobbies? Favourite food? His type?]

It was basic homework for any fan.

Lu Yunzhen had Mo Changkong answer as he didn’t have memories of his past life.

Mo Changkong gave it a thought. “He liked to laze off, act spoiled, and sleep. His favourite is chicken bones. Qingqiu foxes are lovers by nature. They’re both filled with love and yet completely heartless. He goes for all types.”

Lu Yunzhen fixed up the responses and hit sent.

The mod went apeshit. [Nonsense! You fake fan! You anti! How dare you insult our husbando! His hobbies are reading and the arts, his favourite food is tomato salad! And he is known for being chaste, there’s never been a single relationship rumor even this many years after his debut!]

The entire group chat was in flames.

The mod was very decisive. She promised to protect their gege’s good reputation on threat of death. The ban was immediate, and she immediately mocked the man named “Cloud recess” on various social media, saying that antis these days are just awful and don’t even do their homework right!

Lu Yunzhen was stunned…

“Shizun, I didn’t make a mistake.” Mo Changkong was also confused. He was annoyed by this shidi, but they did spend all those years together and he wouldn’t make these basic mistakes. “A-Sui hated reading and if there are too many words it makes him sleepy… Shizun had to lecture him a lot because he keeps slacking off, and Jingnian would hit him with his disciplinary ruler. Not to mention… how can a fox be a vegetarian?”

He still insisted that this guy was their little shidi and should be brought back.

Lu Yunzhen had no choice but to continue. After flipping through all his contacts, he remembered that He Mengmeng seemed to be a fan of Hu Sui.

When they first met, she had given him many compliments saying Lu Yunzhen had eyes like her favourite celebrity. She’s also shown off signed photos when she went to movie screenings and fan events.

Rich and pretty fans like He Mengmeng had money and connections, and thus more information than the usual fan. Maybe she knows where Hu Sui is right now.

Lu Yunzhen sent her a message.

After the server issue was finished, He Mengmeng was finally on the right track with the game’s open beta. She just had several meetings where she had to beat down sexist old pigs and yell at irresponsible new hires. With a belly full of ire, she opened her computer’s screensaver, wanting to calm down by looking at her favourite celebrity.

Hu Sui is so handsome… 360 degrees of perfection…

A Hu Sui a day keeps the bad mood away.

After enjoying the beautiful photos, she opened the group chat for hardcore fans, wanting to squeal over their idol together. Suddenly she saw the screenshots of a dumb anti and the mocking that surrounded it.

Hop hop candy: [Our husband loves to be clean and elegant, how could he like munching on chicken bones?!]

Red cat plushie: [Our husband’s favourite novel is “Cafe mocha in the deer wilderness”. It’s super literary and romantic! I kept it by my bedside and read it for half a year!”

He Mengmeng joined in the bashing. [This anti is ridiculous, how dare they mock our idol!]

She looked at the screenshots again and felt like this “Cloud recess” guy’s display name and profile picture seemed familiar. Mulling over it for quite a while, she notice that there were 2 new messages on her phone.

Cloud recedess: [Xuejie, are you there?]

Cloud recess: [Xuejie, do you know Hu Sui’s itinerary?]

A blue sky, a white cloud with a smile.

That profile picture looked just like that anti?

???

She shakily unlocked her phone, and fell into abject terror after confirming that “Cloud recess” was her Lu xuedi…

There’s magic around his life! Every female star he liked would leave the industry, and now that he seems to be turning gay, male stars probably can’t escape the fate either!

She almost begged while kneeling. “Xue di, please leave our Hu Sui alone! You should go be a fan of the movie king Liao instead. He’s handsome and a good actor and a perfect idol!”

The actor in question had some rather nasty leaks involving infidelity while his wife was pregnant… his reputation was beyond nasty…

Lu Yunzhen was surprised. “Xuejie, what are you saying?”

He Mengmeng tried for argumentum ad passione. “Hu Sui has a weak body and often has to stay in the hospital. He’s had very few movies and events in the past 2 years, and he really can’t handle your adoration…”

Lu Yunzhen finally understood the misunderstanding. Not wanting to say that Hu Sui was his disciple from a past life just in case Mo Changkong was mistaken, he explained, “Hu Sui might be a relative of mine, I want to take a look at him.”

He Mengmeng was stunned.

Hu Sui had said in an interview previously that he was separated from his family and really missed them. And Lu xuedi was an adopted orphan who never found his family. The two of them looked similar, especially those peach blossom eyes which were almost identical…

“I’m just going to take a look at him from far away.” Lu Yunzhen promised.

He Mengmeng’s heart hurt thinking of her little xuedi losing his family and living alone. She gritted her teeth and decided to trust him. “Hu Sui is in our city right now, he’s at the lijing hotel, you can try to get a glance there.”

Lu Yunzhen was ecstatic and thanked her profusely.

“Please don’t be his fan. If he quits the entertainment industry I’m going to be the forever enemy of his fanclub!”

“Yes ma’am, I’ll never be his fan!”

…

The nurse brought his discharge papers.

Lu Yunzhen had his suspicions confirmed. The services at the private hospital were astronomical and Long Jingtian had already took care care of all of it.

Most of his money had gone to auntie Qin, the fire insurance payment was still being sorted out, and the remaining money had to go deal with the damage to the other neighbours. They didn’t have a lot of damage but they still needed short term rent, furniture, etc…

Lu Yunzhen messaged Long Jingtian.

The latter replied that his dad really liked the tea, and that his dad was about to buy him a lamborghini thanks to Master Lu’s efforts. This small amount of money was no matter, as long as master deemed him worthy of friendship.

Lu Yunzhen promised to treat him to a meal later.

After a lot of hesitating, Long Jingtian asked. “It was a fire wasn’t it, Master Lu? What about… that bastard?”

It took some time before Lu Yunzhen realized he was asking after Jin Yunu. “He’s a little injured and taking quiet rest right now. Things should be fine in a few months.”

Long Jingtian’s reaction was immediate. “Hahaha! That’s exactly what he deserved.”

Lu Yunzhen really didn’t understand this idiot’s logic…

He heard that movie stars are very busy and was worried that Hu Sui might leave the city soon. As soon as he left the hospital he called a taxi to head straight to lijing hotel.

It was one of the most luxurious 5 star hotels in the city. The whole place smelled like money and was filled to the brim with shining, golden decorations and antiques on display.

It was the first time that Lu Yunzhen had been in such a place and he glanced around in curiosity. After seating Mo CHangkong in a resting area sofa, he went to the front desk and asked. “Jiejie, is the movie star Hu Sui here?”

The beautiful woman responded with a business like smile. “My apologies, but Mr. Hu isn’t here.”

Celebrity stays have to stay a secret.

“En, I know he’s not here.” Lu Yunzhen was very good at dealing with working professionals and knew what she was thinking. He passed his phone number towards her and asked politely. “Jiejie, if Hu Sui comes to stay in this hotel, could you tell him that someone named Lu Yunzhen is looking for him?”

The receptionist took the slip of paper and look at him suspiciously.

“I’m a distant relative of his and needs to contact him about something.” Lu Yunzhen took out his student ID from his backpack. “Jiejie, I’m a student at Haiping University, I’m not a bad person. Look at our photos, don’t we look alike?”

The receptionist was amused and took the paper. “If Mr Hu comes to stay at our hotel, I can ask for you.”

“Thank you, jiejie.” Lu Yunzhen answered happily.

He jogged back to Mo Changkong. “We can stay here for a bit. If there’s no updates then we can find a cheap hotel to stay at…”

“Don’t worry.” Mo Changkong smiled coldly. “I can smell the fox. This palace seems alright, he should get a room for Shizun.”

“Changkong!”

Mo Changkong immediately held back his attitude. “I’ll be polite…”

…

The receptionist called the butler at the penthouse suite and asked him to pass along the paper.

There was a big plate of roast chicken that had been disguised as tomato salad with illusion magic on the dining table.

Hu Sui had just woken up from a nightmare. He was shaking his fluffy tail in a bathrobe and calling his manager while irritated. “Did you find him? Has there been a record of them checking into a hotel after the fire? Look closer, faster! Tell me the address as soon as you find it…. And also ask if it’s 2 beds or 1 big bed. This is very important, I’m worried…”

There was a knock in the door.

Hu Sui liked to stay in his original form when he’s alone and didn’t like being around mortals. He had already chased out his personal assistant long ago. Hiding his tail and ears, he replied with irritation. “I didn’t ask for room service.”

“Mr Hu, do you have a relative named Lu YUnzhen?” The butler asked politely.

The room door was opened in an instant.

The normally well dressed and distant movie star Hu Sui had ran out with messy hair and a casual white bathrobe. His dazzling peach blossom eyes were filled with anxiety. “Where is he?”

He’s even prettier than on tv.

The butler couldn’t help but swallow. Dizzily, he answered. “In the lobby.”

Cautiously, Hu Sui continued. “How did he seem? Is he out of sorts or confused?”

The butler was confused. “I don’t know.”

Hu Sui immediately ran towards the elevator. A few steps in he realized that this appearance would be impolite towards Shizun, so he hurried back to change and asked the butler to bring the man up instead.

He’s immensely worried.

Da shixiong is nothing but obsessed, with an an awful personality and endless crimes. He’s worried that Shizun had already fallen into his evil clutches. Da shixiong did things very intensely, and even more so when he went insane. He saw the sorry state the Shizun had been in when he was rescued…

There were many arcane ways to control a mortal heart.

If da shixiong wanted to do something bad, there’s no way that Shizun could escape. Lord knows they would have already done the unthinkable by now and Shizun had turned into a shiniang.

He just had a nightmare that da shixiong had forced Shizun to city hall to grab a marriage license, then there was a marriage and da shixiong was holding a stick and threatening him to call him daddy…

THAT’S TOO SCARY!

#shizun #feng yu nie

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