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eloquentmoon · 5 days

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The Ladies Nienna and Ayane

this beautiful piece was created by @kimageddon, commissioned by @stardustbee for my birthday and it has to be one of the most special and gorgeous pieces i have ever received!!! it was inspired by a fic i wrote for bee about the friendship our OCs have between universes, the second time they meet. nienna (left) is my oc who is also the reader character from my fanfiction by the light of the second moon and ayane (right) is bee's oc from her fic the dance of sun and moon. this piece is part two, part one was a gift from bee last year which you can find here here. i'll post the new fic below just in case any friends are interested. love you, thank you so very much!!!!!!!1

The lady Nienna sits alone in her gardens, on the edge of a shallow pond, beneath the branches of draping swaying trees. It is a fragrant dusk evening on Naboo, and the growing summer breeze licks at her skin, her lower arms exposed from her sweeping green gown.

She is sketching privately in a little book, a habit from her youth that she was never able to forsake. Her drawings are much more profound than they were when she was a young woman, her skills and precision having improved over the years during her career as a portrait artist and art-critic. What has stayed the same however, is her muse. Her lover from her days as a young adult, and once again now, as a grown woman of thirty-five: the renegade Sith Lord Maul. Her reacquaintance with him did not go as smoothly as their first meeting all those years ago did, with petty squabbles and resentment and unspoken words muddying the waters of their reunion. But in the last year they have comfortably settled into a relaxed yet unusual dynamic. She cannot call it a relationship, no - he is much too damaged and maddened and chaotic for such a thing. However, whatever it is that they have now, it suits them well enough.

Nienna assesses her work, the sketch is of her lover from their meeting a couple of days ago. He had paid her a surprise visit, handsomely stylish in new robes and a pendant around his neck, an emblem of a rising sun that signifies his underworld criminal venture, Crimson Dawn. She thinks that his new aesthetic suits him now that his frame has grown larger with age, power and wealth. The dark tunic and gold regalia fits the powerful vision of him impeccably. His durasteel legs gleam in the same way that his brushed chromium weapon does, the hilt of the thing bold and dangerous: he carries it constantly at his hip like another cybernetic limb. She hums softly as she looks over her rendition of this strange man that is inexplicably tangled up in her life, feelings of an even stranger love tugging at her heart. She thinks over all that they have been through together, all that they have faced alone. How they have found one another again.

She notices a change in the air, then. A hazy sweeping density that plunges her into a soft weightlessness. She blinks rapidly, dropping her sketchpad to the plush grass as she stands. It is a unique dreaminess that she has felt before, in a life long ago, but cannot seem to place. She spins around, searching between the trees and exotic flower-beds as she senses that she is being observed. The forest before her morphs, the rich greens and browns of leaves and soil twisting into deep reds and hazy ochres of a rocky landscape. Before she can register the ominous curiousness of her current predicament, a silhouette emerges from the blur, the definition of the figure slowly morphing into full clarity. It is a vivid and feminine shape, tall and striding with purpose.

A woman that is heavy with child.

She is wearing a black dress with silver detailing at the waist and the dark fabric flows around her exquisitely as she walks, her thin hand resting protectively on her large belly. Her pale shoulders are exposed, but the reddish light of the strange scene warms the tundra of her skin. A choker of gleaming metal adorns her throat, the necklace engraved with the emblem of a raven, bold and solid. She has dark inky hair that is swept neatly from her face, half is up, braided with a twisting delicacy at the back of her head, the rest of it straight and silky, falling shiny and rich down her back.

Nienna becomes painfully aware of her own appearance, of her hair, which sits wild and bushy and curly around her head, her fingers stained with charcoal, her long dress, though custom-made, artisan and beautiful, has foliage and dirt littering the materials of her skirts from lounging in the grass all afternoon. Why must she always appear moonstruck and crazed, especially when facing strangers in the woods? It is a commonality of her whole life, her wild, earthy aesthetic always coinciding with strange meetings in the forest. She sighs, attempting to maintain her dignity and embrace her own rugged beauty in the face of the regal brilliance of the stranger's own.

The woman stops when she is a few strides from Nienna, squints her eyes at her, as though trying to place her. Close up, she seems less ravishing and more…frightening. Ethereal wrath burns beneath her expression, the weight of experience roaring in her irises. Those eyes…

"It's you," says Nienna, recognition morphing her expression into awe, astonishment lacing her words. "Ayane. The friend from my dreams in girlhood." She tilts her head, takes in the image of the looming, elegant woman before her. "My, you've changed."

Her friend’s eyes are the same colour as she remembers, but where they were once the blue of open summer skies, they are now the iced rage of a stormy sea. Though she seems more mature and wise, there are no lines of age marking her skin. Those lines are around Nienna’s eyes though, the years of her life beginning to stain her complexion, the youth slowly being leached from her skin. Ayane looks frozen in time, yet vibrant with the wisdom of a lifetime.

“Nienna,” greets Ayane, a soft smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. “It has been a while.”

“How are you here?” The shorter woman asks bluntly, her confusion overriding her politeness. She reaches forward into the red mist that has followed Ayane into her vergant gardens, wiggles her fingers in it. It's cold.

Ayane purses her lips, looks around her. “Curious, isn’t it?” Her palm circles her pregnant stomach as she wanders. A silence settles around them, both unsure of how to approach this odd reunion. A crater of years rests between them, a vast distance between universes, as well as the inherently perplexing nature of their meeting. Nienna has thirsted for knowledge since she was freed from her home planet, and has scoured the worlds in search of it. She is an intelligent and well read woman, the itch to learn and rid herself of that childish naivety she has always loathed in herself as necessary for her as breathing. She researched her dreams, her strange visions and the odd meeting she had with Ayane as a young woman, and has only discovered one potential connecting factor - The Force. It beguiles her, frightens her. Mystical and maddening, its clutches have haunted her for her entire life. Is it the cause of this meeting now, too?

Nienna watches Ayane closely, following her movement with wide, green eyes. Then the woman stops cold, and a wash of menace sluices down Nienna’s spine.

"What is this?" She asks sharply, danger rippling in her voice. Nienna follows her extended finger, which points to her sketchpad on the ground, its pages open to her newest sketch of Maul.

Nienna frowns, blinking. "My art," she answers defensively, not appreciating the sneering nature of Ayane's tone.

"Why are you drawing him?" There is confusion and accusation in her eyes as she glares at her. The grave shadow in her gaze starts to become literal, the whites of them darkening to black. Her anger burns her irises red, and her lips instinctively pull back, revealing sharp fangs. She all but hisses at her.

Nienna flinches. She is perplexed at her friend’s sudden wildness and grim transformation, at how she recognised her lover in the sketch. "You know him?"

“Know him?” spits Ayane violently, "He is my husband. The father of my children."

Husband? Nienna is dumbfounded, completely taken aback. “Impossible.”

Ayane looks down at her body, swollen with the very opposite of Nienna’s truth. “This babe will be our third.” When she looks back up again, her darkness has dissipated, her anger quelled by the reassurance of their unborn child. Her eyes are the familiar blue Nienna first recognised, her mouth and lips returned to normal. It is as though Nienna imagined it.

Perhaps she did.

Third. The word rings in her ears. Three children? How could he possibly reproduce? It is physically unfeasible. A fantasy. Nienna bends to the ground and picks up the book.

“This sketch of him is an image from three days ago, Ayane. Look closer. At his lower half,” she insists, assuming this all to be some terrible mistake.

The pregnant woman takes the sketchpad from Ni with gentle fingers. She straightens upright, then brings the drawing closer to her eyes. She looks over the subject of the drawing, making note of such a unique face, a face that definitely belongs to Maul. It is unmistakable, what with his casual expression of contempt, the imposing crown of horns, his handsome nose and jaw: her soulmate's features are as familiar to Ayane as her own body is. She sees the cybernetics of his legs, and her bewilderment grows. Why does he have those? Why is Nienna drawing him?

“Who is he to you?” she demands coldly.

“I don’t have words for it,” Nienna replies truthfully, unable to make sense of what he is to her. Ayane stays silent for a moment, and Nienna tries to further explain, but the words do not come easily. “He is my liberator, my tormenter…my…” she tapers off.

Ayane disappears from herself for a moment, her gaze vacant as she looks into the distance, as though she is searching for something. And she is, internally, reaching out to her bond with Maul, trying to pass the bridge that connects their minds in the Force. But there is nothing there. No bridge, no connection. No bond.

“I cannot feel him,” she whispers, fear and awe strangling the reality out of her. “Not here.”

Nienna’s sense returns to her at these words, and she recalls her previous experiences with Ayane. She is not from this world, this galaxy, this universe - that much is clear. Perhaps she and Maul exist together as husband and wife, as parents…somewhere else. A different set of circumstances, a separate path.

Another Maul.

“Was he not bisected, where you are from?” she asked tentatively, her stomach twisting. Marriage. Children. How would he be capable of such things?

“Yes,” Ayane says sadly, to Nienna’s shock. “He was grievously injured in battle. But he was healed.” Her watery blue eyes meet the earthen green of Nienna’s. Nienna raises her hands to face, turning away from her friend. Healed?

“I don’t understand,” mutters Nienna, her heart pounding. “How does one heal from an injury of that magnitude?” She has never heard of such a thing, not once in her life. How does a man regain his legs, his reproductive organs, when they have been detached from his body? His survival itself was a miracle, and now this?

“We are from different planes,” assumes Ayane calmly. “My dimension is vastly dissimilar to this one.” She pauses, her lips pouting, her hand on her chin, her eyes glowering in thought. “It appears this…connection…that you and I have, Nienna, is somehow attached to our relationship with him.”

Nienna turns back to face her, and her expression is painted with disbelief. "We are connected…by him?"

“It is our commonality, is it not?” She asks, running her eyes over Nienna. “What is your relationship with Maul?” She spits, and she waits for that violent rage to erupt inside of her, the horrific rush of vengeance that rattles her bones when another woman is associated with him. Nienna doesn’t answer, and Ayane’s patience runs thin, unable to prevent herself from adding, "Do you love him?”

The air is sucked from Nienna’s lungs as she nods. “I do,” she admits breathily, in slight fear of Ayane, the image of her strange eyes and sharp teeth so recent in her mind. She braces herself.

But Ayane does nothing, says nothing, because she is taken aback by her absence of rage. Then she suddenly makes sense of it: it’s because the man Nienna loves is not her Maul. She is not connected with him in this realm, which is why she cannot reach him through their bond. It isn’t him, here, he isn’t hers. He is Nienna’s. Nienna has the same realisation, as she registers that she has not felt any resentment or animosity to Ayane since discovering their shared lover. That she has felt no need to lay claim to him at all.

“Oh,” Ayane murmurs, then smiles, the lack of fierce fury a soothing relief. She looks at Nienna, fondness in her eyes. A pause. “Nienna, this is ever so strange.”

This was not what Nienna expected to come from her friend’s lips. Compassion and empathy courses through Ayane, as she considers the Maul in this dimension, his disability and trauma. The toll this must have on her friend.

"I'm sorry," says Ayane softly. "That in this dimension you will not be able to bear him children."

Nienna snorts. "Don't be. I'd never have his children, even if he could give them to me." Ayane steps back, starting, her hands protective over her stomach.

Nienna’s eyes widen. "Forgive me. What I mean is that I never would have children. Not his, not anyone's."

Ayane seems confused by this.

“I birth enough creation with my art,” Nienna explains. “This world, this galaxy, this universe. It's no place for a child.” She shakes her head. “Not here.”

“What about marriage?” she asks.

“No,” Nienna insists. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you…happy together?” asks the dark-haired woman curiously.

“That is a complicated question. Our…romance,” Nienna answers, “is not at all conventional.”

Ayane giggles, and it is a heartfelt melodic laugh that breaks the tension between them. “I suppose that’s an intrinsic element of loving him.”

Nienna nods, then pushes her hair from her face. Hesitates.

“Can I ask? Your eyes. They changed colour…”

“Ah yes,” Ayane says nonchalantly. “That happens. I’m not exactly human.”

Nienna does not need to know any more, doesn’t want to. She accepts Ayane’s answer, happy to move on. A hard lesson she has learned is that though truth is sweet and enticing to her, sometimes it is the best course of action to resist knowing more than you need to, more than you are entitled to. She has become rather skilled at treading that line.

“Tell me, Nienna,” requests Ayane, extending her pale hand towards her to give her back her artbook, “of your non-conventional relationship with my husband. I am curious.”

Nienna snorts a laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement, and Ayane begins to giggle in tandem with her. Nienna takes the sketchpad back from Ayane, then reaches out and takes her friend’s hand. “I shall enlighten you whilst I take you on a tour of my gardens.”

The two wander in the timeless dreamscape, and Nienna identifies and shows off her multitudes of flora as she weaves her life story into words. She tells her of the Moons, her youth as a surgeon’s daughter, Maul’s sudden imposition on her life and the harrowing changes he inflicted upon it. She leaves out the details of their physical relationship, because though integral to their story, it does not seem to have a place in this conversation. Nienna sensed the depth of Ayane’s jealousy that rages in her blood. It is less painful for them both this way.

The walk of the forest is hazy, littered with odd watery scenery that indicate they do not walk the physical realm of her world. It is perplexing, how they are together, why they are together and what relevancy it has to their relationships with the former Sith Lord. The two recall their time in the woods, all those years ago, how they both awoke with a physical remnant of the dream; their flower crowns.

“I treasure that gift,” Ayane confesses. “I still have it, to this day.”

“So do I,” says Nienna. The delicate blue crown made with flowers from Ayane’s world sits under lock and key, alongside her other most valuable and sentimental artefacts. It lies in the pages of her secret sketchpad that she treasured all those years ago.

After a pause, Nienna turns towards Ayane and asks, “What do you suppose is the meaning of our meeting tonight? Do you believe there is any rhyme or reason to these events? You are clearly much more knowledgeable and experienced in these matters than I am.”

Ayane sighs softly and shakes her head. “I have not the slightest idea. But I am glad that, for whatever reason, we were able to be reunited again.”

“Me too.”

The two women have now completed a lap of the entire gardens, and have returned to the spot where they were first reunited. They both perch on the edge of the pond, and Nienna retrieves her pouch of pencils that she placed between the rocks.

She smiles softly, then places her sketchbook and tools on her lap. She has an idea, and is slightly nervous to ask Ayane about it. Eventually, she takes a deep breath, and flicks through to an empty page and looks at her friend.

“Ayane, would you mind if I did a quick sketch of you? I am a portrait artist, I’ve spent my life perfecting my technique and collecting the faces of those from across the stars. It would mean an awful lot to me to put this beautiful evening to paper, to be able to draw…you.”

Ayane blinks slowly, her hand still resting on her pregnant belly protectively. She seems unsure, but after pondering it for a moment, she ultimately nods, and a tender smile forms on her lips. “Of course, my friend. I would be honoured.” She looks around herself, and reaches for her hair. “Do you want me to…should I…?”

Ni shakes her head. “No, you look great where you are. You’re perfect, Ayane.”

And so she begins to sketch her muse, starting with an outline of the vampiress. Nienna’s wrists and fingers glide swiftly across the page, and she works fast but precisely, her expertise apparent in her quick fingers and the concentration painted on her face.

Ayane feels awkward at first, and doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. She shifts, and looks at the ground, her body rigid. She looks more and more uncomfortable as the time stretches on.

“Try and…relax,” advises Nienna kindly when she notices Ayane’s discomfort. “Just look at the stars, at the moon. Watch the sky. Think of your family. Think of…him.”

Ayane nods, and exhales softly. She shifts again, and then looks up into the sky, and smiles. “I’ve always loved the stars, the moon.”

Nienna smiles, sketching as she replies. “As do I. It is a joy to be able to walk beneath the light.”

After a while, Ayane inquires softly. “Do you know of Dathomir, Nienna?”

“I do.”

“Dathomir is where I reside,” she says, looking around her at the abundance of flora, the vibrant greens and earthy browns. Nienna’s gardens appear to be the very antithesis to Ayane’s home of rock and red mists. “It is rather…different from yours.”

“Stars,” Nienna exclaims, “you live there? How do you stand it?”

“What do you mean?” asks Ayane, somewhat shocked.

“It’s not the…um…most comfortable of environments?”

Ayane nods, and smiles knowingly. “I suppose it can seem that way to some. For me, it’s my ancestral home, the residence of my kin. It is where I was born to be.”

“I do not have the same attachment to it. I went once, at the request of…him. It was not the most pleasant of atmospheres, to put it lightly. I haven’t returned since.”

Ayane giggles. “I can only imagine what the humidity did to your hair.”

“Exactly! It was awful. He said I looked like some kind of wild woman.”

Their laughter fades, and then the peaceful silence returns until Ayane breaks it. “Tell me Nienna, have you watched the moons from the Dathomiri mountains?”

Nienna pauses, and exhales. “No, I haven’t. I have yet to accept another of my lover’s invitations to his native home.”

“The next time he requests your presence, oblige him,” Ayane suggests. “Allow him to walk you up to the mountains. Watch the skies at night. It is the most beautiful thing - I can hardly bring myself to describe it. If your Dathomir is the same as mine, that is.”

The artist pauses in her sketching, and looks into the ocean eyes of her friend. “I will, Ayane. Thank you, that is very thoughtful. And I shall think of you when I look upon the moons of Dathomir. I will give the place another try.”

The two women sit beneath the Naboo night sky as Nienna continues to sketch Ayane under the moonlight. The breeze remains gentle and floral, and it brushes against them in a soothing caress, the leaves around them rustling softly. The evening stretches into the timeless dreamscape, and then, it is almost finished.

Nienna completes her sketch, drops her pencil and flexes her fingers and wrists. “Ah,” she sighs in slight pain. “My hands aren’t what they used to be.” She then shuffles over to Ayane and presents her the portrait. “What do you think?”

Ayane sucks in a sharp breath as she appraises the image of herself on the paper. Lady Nienna is highly regarded as being in possession of a rare and unique talent: in laying bare truth. She is able to present to the world, in full clarity, the hearts and desires of her subjects through their eyes and expressions.

The drawing of Ayane presents a softened reflection of the vampire, as though Nienna has delved deep into her mind and forced forth the girl from her younger years. Hope and loss and confusion gleam in Ayane's eyes, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as though in anticipation - as though that young girl she used to be is poised and ready to run from her life.

It's raw and candid and real: exquisite.

"Oh, Nienna…" Ayane says, her voice trembling with emotion. "I've not seen this version of myself for many years."

Nienna smiles softly, her eyes glazing across her work. "That's the person I first met. The Ayane I know." She meets her gaze. "The Ayane you are, deep down. My friend."

A tight fist of sentiment twists in Ayane's chest. Then, a soft breeze flickers the pages, revealing a self portrait Nienna sketched a few moons ago.

"This is you," Ayane says. The woman in the sketch has darkness in her eyes, yearning warping the clothes she is dressed in in a strange darkness. Her face, though neutral in expression, screams for purpose and liberation. Haunted.

"It's who I was. Who I am."

A pause. The dreamscape warps and glitches, and Ayane becomes slightly…transparent.

"It's fading." Ayane looks around herself, hesitance and resistance paints her expression. "Our time is coming to an end."

"Take this." Nienna tears out the self portrait, crushing it into Ayane's palm. "Remember me. I'll remember you."

Ayane's eyes water. "I hope to see you again, one day."

"As do I." Ni swallows, holding her sketchpad to her chest. "Goodbye Ayane."

"Nienna," Ayane says as she begins to fade, reaching her hand towards the shorter woman. "Remember the Moons."

And then she disappears, the crimson dawn of her home, universes apart, evaporates into the dark swamp greens of Nienna's gardens.

Ni takes a breath, the weightless feeling dispersing. She is grounded again. With charcoal stained fingers, she flicks to the page in her book that held the drawing of Ayane.

It's still there.

#thank you #eloquentmoon #stardustbee #ayane arinori #nienna fern #my ocs #friends oc #art #kimageddon #fic #moonie birthday 24 #by the light of the second moon #the dance of sun and moon

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cryley · 11 months

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Petrichor - Part 5

matty healy x reader (fluff) word count: 2.3k warnings: mention of cigarettes A/N: (moved from @cryley-fics where it was originally posted) Hey besties! ♡ AHH it's the last chapter! I had so much fun writing this fic and I hope you all enjoyed it. Will I continue this series with a sequel? Who knows ♡ ▹ masterlist ▹ part 1 ▹ part 2 ▹ part 3 ▹ part 4 ▹ part 5

“Sorry about the slight mess.”

I locked the door behind us and placed my bags on the couch.

My place was small, but it was mine. I was proud of myself for getting a place of my own even if it was just a small 1 bedroom apartment.

Matty chuckled as he looked around, “What mess? You should see how the studio back home gets when we’re all in there.”

“Well I typically try to keep everything as tidy as possible, but I’ve been busy with work lately.”

He scanned the artwork that littered my walls. I tend to impulse purchase every piece of art I enjoy before forgetting I don’t have wall space to display the art, so my decor style looks a bit maximalist. He was silent as he walked through my living room as if it were some sort of museum. I watched him as his feet were almost rhythmic until he stopped in front of a particular piece.

“Oh, uhm.” I started to become a bit embarrassed, “I used to photograph shows a while ago while in college.”

He looked back at me with a smile. I froze a bit as my mind seemingly zoomed out to view my tiny apartment in a wide-angle lens. Matty Healy standing in my living room. Me standing awkwardly in my kitchen. Matty looking at a photo of himself on stage. A photo that I took and hung up in my living room.

“When was this?” He turned back to the photo.

“I’m pretty sure it was 2015.” I moved a bit closer to him and the photo.

In the print, Matty stood center stage in front of the classic neon box. The lights hit him so perfectly that I didn’t have to do much editing for this shot. Only a bit of his features were visible as it was mostly a silhouette.

“This is pretty good. Do you still photograph shows?”

“I mostly do portraits now.” I moved next to him, “I think I’d like to revisit shows again, but for now I’m enjoying my current projects.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell that he wasn’t staring at the photo anymore. His eyes were planted on me. I tried my hardest to pretend I didn’t notice.

There were little moments when he looked like he was interested in me, but I knew that wasn’t the case. I was probably just reading things wrong and didn’t want to make a fool of myself. I tried to ignore things the best I could to keep myself from getting delusional or excited about what I knew wasn’t possible. Matty Healy, a famous musician, could have any model he ever wanted, interested in me? Even him asking me on a date in London was probably just him being nice in a friendship kind of way. Returning the favour for me showing him a cool record store and keeping him company while he’s bored on tour.

“So, uh, I’m going to shower while we’re here if that’s okay.” I turned to transition to my bedroom door, “I’ll only be a bit, but there should be drinks in the fridge, and feel free to peek through my vinyls or tv.”

He gave a thumbs-up accompanied with a smile.

I did the same with a chuckle before closing my bedroom door behind me. I sat on my bed silently for a minute just to try to process the last day and a half. His footsteps echoed as he was slowly walking around and stopping every once in a while.

I later emerged from my bathroom now fully feeling clean. I pulled on a long-sleeve dress I quickly picked out. It wasn’t too formal, but definitely nicer than my typical jeans.

I could hear through my door that a Cure album was lightly playing. He must have taken me up on the idea to search through my vinyl.

I light knock tapped on my door just as I sat down at my vanity.

“You can come in.”

My door opened to reveal Matty, now in just his white undershirt.

“Hey, can I possibly also shower really quick?”

“Definitely!” I nodded and stood up to go fetch him some towels from my linen closet.

He smiled as I handed him the towels, “Thank you. I didn’t get the chance to this morning and I probably smell horrendous.”

He didn’t smell horrendous at all. Somehow he still smelled perfect.

I giggled to play along, “You can use any of the bottles in the shower. I don’t know if they’ll work great for your curls, but they’ll manage.”

I continued back to my vanity to start my makeup ritual as I listened to the sound of the shower mixed with the Cure lightly in the background. Every once in a while, I thought I could hear Matty lightly singing something, but couldn’t be too sure of what he was singing or if I was just imagining things.

I pulled on my shoes and jewelry as my last step of getting ready as I heard the door slowly open.

“You look nice.”

My eyes couldn’t help but pan up and down in awe as he re-entered my bedroom now shirtless and damp. I could feel my heart thump through my chest.

“Thank you.” I leaned against my wall.

He looked into my eyes for a long moment before his voice cracked a bit.

“So, I’ve been wanting to do something, but have been a bit hesitant to just out of misunderstanding and time and place and all that nonsense.” he walked a bit closer to me until he was close enough to touch.

His eyes looked less tired but deep in thought. I wish I could peer inside his mind.

He stepped one step closer, “I don’t want you to think that you’re just another fan I pull onto stage or that I’m doing anything purely to add a number to an imaginary list I have hidden somewhere to create some high score.”

I allowed my eyes to meet his. All of my thoughts spilled out of my brain and onto my floor. Was I wrong this whole time?

He was incredibly close to me. He still had a slight smell of sweet tobacco lingering on his skin. His longing eyes shifted down. My eyes did a similar switch from staring into his deep brown eyes to moving my gaze down to his smooth lips.

Before I could question what he meant, his lips pressed into mine. The kiss was soft like his lips. I could feel my heart speed up with every second that went by. His hand found its way to my hip as he shifted his body closer to mine, gently pushing me closer to my bedroom wall.

I was waiting for this.

I smiled into the kiss and his mirrored soon after. I didn’t want this to end.

His other hand moved up to cup the side of my jaw as he resumed the kiss, deepening it even more. The taste of tobacco lingered on his lips. I could sense that he was trying his hardest to keep the kiss soft and sweet, but the grip of his hand on my waist was telling me he wanted more.

I took that as a sign to softly bite down on his bottom lip. An unexpected, and probably unintentional, moan escaped him. I smiled into the kiss again.

His breathing became a bit shaky as my hands moved from his waist up to his neck and then up to tug lightly at his curls. Our lips moved perfectly in sync. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Without removing his lips from mine, he pulled me away from the wall and over to the edge of my bed. Our kiss broke for only a second as he sat on the edge and softly pulled me onto him. I gladly followed his directions, causing my dress to bunch up from placing my legs on either side of his lap.

My hands settled into comfortable spots on his bare chest while his settled on my hips. He returned the light nibble I teased him with before. I returned the unintentional slight moan. I wanted nothing more than this.

The kiss continued for some time before he broke it to rest his forehead on mine.

“As much as I want to continue this, we’re going to be late for dinner.” he smirked, “Also, I wouldn’t want to move too quickly and spoil what I had planned for our date in London.”

I chuckled and kissed the tip of his nose.

This caused him to smile a bit bigger than he expected. Sometimes I could catch him off guard enough for him to give a goofy smile instead of the kind of smile he probably practiced in the mirror. While both genuine, the unrehearsed one made me feel more accomplished in a way. Like I made him smile so much that he forgot about his whole act of trying to look handsome. As if anything he did made him look less handsome.

With a quick peck, I reluctantly maneuvered off of his lap. I straightened my dress in the mirror as he pulled his sweater back over his head.

“You look beautiful Y/N.”

His arms slid around me from behind as he placed his head on my shoulder. I smiled as I looked in the mirror at the both of us. We looked good together.

“You look beautiful too, Matty.”

He craned his neck around to kiss my cheek before letting go. I moved to the living room to turn off my record player and put away the record.

“Good choice by the way.”

Matty appeared in my doorway, “Thank you. It was hard to choose from your collection. All good choices.”

I grabbed my jacket from the coat rack and slid it on over my dress, “Ready to go?”

“One second.” His gaze was back on me as he moved next to me.

He smirked and leaned down to place a peck on my lips.

“Okay, now I’m ready.”

I playfully rolled my eyes as we exited my apartment. I wasn’t going to complain at all about the spontaneous kisses, but how he got them was very cheeky and he knew it. I often stole some extra glances while with him. I wanted to take in every single moment and remember everything. I never wanted to forget how he cocked his head to the side as he smiled. The way his lips curled up ever so slightly as he chuckled, forming small smile lines in the crease of his cheeks. I didn’t want to forget the way his hair smelled of shampoo with the lingering hint of cigarette smoke in the morning. The way his curls draped over his forehead and that some of them were speckled grey.

“Y/N, are you coming?” Matty waved at me from the street, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I nodded and joined him in my car. We had to drive back to the venue to meet the boys for dinner. I wasn’t sure where we were going yet, but I assumed it was going to be a nice place due to the boys talking about what they were going to order this morning.

“So,” my fingers drummed on my steering wheel, “When do I have to request off work for London?”

He scrolled through the calendar on his phone, “I’ll fly you out on December 31st. Be prepared to stay for around a week, I’d assume.”

“A week? I don’t know if I can take that much time off work, Matty.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can cover your paycheck.”

“Matty - “

“Don’t worry about it Y/N!” He playfully threw his arms in the air.

I smiled even though I was a little embarrassed about not being able to pay for my flight or felt insecure about taking that much time away from work. I’m sure he wasn’t used to having someone like me in his life. He surrounded himself with successful musicians and models that could pay their own way I’m sure.

I was interrupted by Matty’s hand placed on my thigh, “You’re in your head again Y/N.”

I was surprised that he was able to tell when I was distracted or in my head about things. I think he knows from experience.

Sooner than I had expected, I parked my car on the road near the buses. I dreaded him and the rest of the boys leaving tonight after dinner. Yeah, Matty promised to fly me out to London to see him again, but for some reason, I feared that he would change his mind in the time between now and the end of the year. What if he met someone else while on the rest of the tour? What if I don’t hear from him after he leaves?

“I’m excited to show you around my city.” He smiled over at me in my passenger seat.

I couldn’t help but to smile. His reassuring words made some of my worries go away.

“Me too. You haven’t even left and I’m excited to get to see you again.”

His hand gave a light squeeze of my thigh.

My eyes gazed forward out of the windscreen, “Promise you won’t change your mind?”

His eyes changed and his smile dropped its shape. The side of my face was met with his cupped hand.

His lips were my favourite part of him. They pressed against mine. Soft and passionate. Longing and sweet. I could sit here in the front seat of my car for hours with my lips against his. Our mouths moved slowly in unison. It was a sweet kiss where neither of us were wanting dominance. It just was.

“I promise, Y/N.”

#fluff #matty healy #matty healy fic #the 1975 #matty healy x reader #petrichor #matty fic #matty healy fanfic #the 1975 fic #my fics #ry.exe

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thatlittleegyptologist · 2 years

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My high school AP art history teacher once stated that ancient Egyptian art looks largely “the same” because the religion didn’t change until Akhenaten created a monotheistic religion, only then do we see naturalism emerge in art a la Queen Nefertiti’s bust. At this point I’m aware that this is a bad take, but I was wondering if you might be able to unpack it a bit more. Reading about how ancient Egypt spanned a six thousand year period makes me feel like it couldn’t be possible for there to only be one stylistic evolution in their art, or that there were no religious movements besides the one Akhenaten led.

Yeah, that's a trash take. Unpacking it a 'bit' more is quite an undertaking, especially since I'm being asked to unpack 6000 years of artistic changes. There are more changes than just the Amarna period, as well as there being more than one religious change.

First off, I'm going to paraphrase this post by @rudjedet on art, with her express permission, because frankly I do not have the spoons to fully address artistic change over 6000 years in any meaningful way. It's a lot to ask of someone outside of an actual research project. So, with that being said, be prepared for this to get long because this is a long question with a lot to unpack. All images will have their id in alt text.

So, art. It changes quite a bit, but the changes happen over centuries, rather than defined blocks in time for 'styles', and they're really not that noticeable to the untrained eye. The Egyptians also strived to keep their art style the same way On Purpose, which I feel I've talked about a lot over the past few days, but we've circled back to it again. To talk about art I'm going to borrow Sonja's use of statuary for examples.

The Ancient Egyptians always portrayed themselves as an ideal. What that ideal was did change over time - in the Old Kingdom, it was a man in the prime of his life, strong and fit. See for example this statue of Menkaure:

All Egyptians in their art and their tombs sought to present themselves this way, as this is how they would appear in the Afterlife and also because art is imbued with Heka meaning that you don't want to show yourself looking out of shape or that could come true. For Menkhaure, this is supposed to reflect his strong leadership and virility. Remember, Egyptian art is about image propaganda. This is why it largely tends to follow certain trends that people mistake for being 'static'.

This propagandistic projection was still largely the case in the Middle Kingdom/early Twelfth Dynasty (so when Senwosret I ruled), but it did shift to a portrayal of the king as a man with a care-worn face and big ears, to indicate that he was very concerned with the well-being of his subjects. This was largely due to the fact that there had been famine, and the people of Egypt had suffered. So, what better way of showing you care is to reflect that in the statuary.

This is a head of a statue of Senwosret III, and you can see that while he still looks like a fit ruler, still youthful, he has considerable lines in his face and around his mouth, bags underneath his eyes, and even a wrinkle in his forehead. This is meant to display his worry and concern for Egypt. His ears are large and sticking out, which we’re relatively certain wasn’t a portrayal of reality, but as stated above was a way to indicate a predisposition to listen to both the gods, and his subjects. Senwosret II also does this, but going further back you can see the statuary of Senwosret I is all smiles. This change occurs over less than 100 years, and then after this period changes back to the above style. Tomb art in this period, while remaining the same aesthetically, moves from fully carved to painted, as colour beings to be introduced to more private spaces.

Towards the New Kingdom we see a reversal towards the strong and fit archetype, but with far more of an emphasis on youthful facial appearances. See, for example, this statue of Thutmose I:

(Fun thing: the number of times I see this statue but people have labelled it as Hatshepsut because it's a little more feminine in the face is a very large number).

Round, plump cheeks that display an extremely youthful look. He looks like he’s barely out of puberty when he's likely a grown man at this point. Again, it's propaganda. He's projecting the image he wants people to see, and the image Kings want people to see in Egypt really doesn't change all that much.

Then the Amarna Period happens. And… well you already know about that. Akhenaten seems to break all molds for Egypt, pushing religion, the capital city, foreign relations, and even art all out the window in a very short amount of time.

But it's definitely hyperbole to say he did this out of the blue. I definitely need to point out here that new changes to the art style were already happening under his father, Amenhotep III, and grandfather, Thutmose IV, at least, but the changes there are still relatively subtle. Religion is also changing at this time, but I'll get to that in a bit.

You can see it well in this sculpted head of Amenhotep III, though:

A slightly elongated face, very pronounced lips, almond-shaped, large eyes. If you didn't know, most of you would probably automatically assume this was a piece from the Amarna period. Akhenaten then, almost overnight, just went all-in with this:

The biggest differences between this and the head of Amenhotep III, you’ll see, aren’t so much in the face, but in the body. Akhenaten has round hips and a soft belly, instead of the rock hard musculature that previous kings had themselves portrayed with. It would be inaccurate to use the term “more realistic”, as some people are wont to do, because it implies that Akhenaten truly looked exactly like that and by all accounts it is rather unlike Egyptians to not, in some way, show a perfected version of a thing or person. But it is probably true that a lot of Egyptian rulers had a “good life” belly on them in real life. In fact, it's common throughout all periods to have at least one statue of yourself with fat rolls as it demonstrates wealth and prosperity i.e. the ability to have enough food.

Then we move into the post-Amarna period, and while there we see a return to the more stylised portrayals of pre-Amarna art, the belly and a more subtle version of the fat rolls remain. You can see it in this statue of the Treasurer Maya (on the right, his wife Merit is sat next to him):

Even after this period, when you tend to get Late Period kings trying to replicate older periods and not quite getting the proportions right, the art still evolves and changes. It's just that the overall aesthetic, remains pretty much the same. As I said before this is a deliberate action on the part of the Egyptians. They wanted it to remain the same due to their obsession with archaism and keeping Egypt in it's Golden Age (the Old Kingdom). What you see as static, isn't really at all, but you've got to know the difference between the time periods in order to see the often subtle differences.

As for religion, and I'm going to wrap this up pretty quickly because we don't need anything near the length of what we have above, there are multiple changes but they occur across centuries so they don't have the same dramatic shift as the Amarna period did. Since Ancient Egypt had a pantheon of gods, there was always a 'chief deity' who sat above the rest of them as they were favoured by the priests. In the very early periods this was the goddess Neith, over time she faded out as the popularity of Osiris rose and he became the chief deity. After a few centuries you can see this change to Amun, and his priests became very powerful. During the reigns of Thutmose IV and Amenhotep III, you can see them focusing more on the Aten as the chief deity, but because Egypt had grown significantly by this point the priesthood of Amun was in direct opposition to the King. What Akhenaten did when he caused upheaval makes more sense in this context, especially since it was largely the High Priests of Amun that he was targeting. Once Akhenaten was gone, the priests restored Amun as chief god and that never really changed. Other gods became popular, but they did not oust Amun as head of the pantheon. But as I said, these changes were largely incremental rather than the huge change Akhenaten implemented. They took so long to happen that they wouldn't have been truly visible to the people living through them. There weren't religious movements because religion was the purview of the King and the Priests. Main pantheon worship was supposed to be done by the king alone, but in reality this was delegated to priests. The general public did not enter the temples unless it was festival time and even then they were restricted in the parts they could access. The reason there were no religious movements is because it was the purview of the state rather than its people to perform most of the religious rites, and if the state is in control of something it's very unlikely to change unless they can see that change as one that is expedient for them. After the Amarna period there were some small changes in the way people chose to worship their gods, but the state religion did not change. Like with art, it is this way because the Egyptians wanted it to be so. Also there are only 5 million people in Ancient Egypt. Why change what works?

#my dinner went cold while typing this lmao

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jezmmart · 1 month

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Chamomile Comic Trivia #31

#159 - Notice

It's Sam! I wish I had written down more about my decision to add her, although at this point I'm fairly sure I wasn't certain she was going to become a main character - in fact it was RIGHT around the week this posted that I began work on the first proper cover art for the series which of course did not include her.

Her design was based off this old one-off pin-up girl art from 2017, technically making her the first ever major Chamomile Comic character to exist, sort of.

She was named after Sam Lloyd, likely known for his portrayal of Ted the Lawyer from Scrubs. The news of his death had recently broken and I had just recently begun listening to Fake Doctors, Real Friends, the Scrubs rewatch podcast, as my go-to background entertainment when colouring the comic specifically each week. It still is now, albeit intermittently since they don't always produce an episode each week and I no longer have a backlog to catch up on. Now granted, I don't love the podcast as much as I used to - can be a bit cringey at times as these two hollywood actors chat about utterly unrelatable anecdotes from their lives - but it's overall been enjoyable and it'll be weird to find something new to accompany my colouring if it does come to an end or stops being enjoyable once they permanently pivot into... whatever they plan to do after they run out of Scrubs episodes. It's been part of my colouring process for the comic for longer than it hasn't been now, haha. So... yeah it felt right to honour that connection to my comic with Sam's name, on top of the fact that Scrubs is just straight-up one of my favourite TV shows and Ted was always a character that gave me big laughs.

Of course... I realised after that I'd introduced yet another character to the comic ending in "-a"! ...But whatever, it's a common thing. Not so long ago I had 5 co-workers simultaneously whose names also ended in -a, lol.

The decision to have had her always be around simply came from not having any strong ideas to introduce her and preferring the idea that at least some of the cast already knew her. The gag's been done before, but I thought it'd be extra funny to introduce her with a scene in which she is specifically announcing her departure from being a regular face in Cammie's life, which typically would mean the same for the audience in most works with actually established characters.

Final little bonus note - in panel 1, Cammie once again is entering with a handful of steaming coffee.

#160 - Official

I didn't really mean for it to be so small it's barely legible at web size, but the little sign on the panic alarm button behind the till says "Real emergencies only Cammie!", in reference to #50.

#161 - Before

All that Scrubs talk regarding Sam is kinda fitting, because they did the "this character was always here!" gag there too. For their one, they edited her in on various memorable shots and pretended the main character didn't notice her being present, here I obviously extended the frame on the end of several punchline panels from previous comics.

Here's a gif that shows the original panels compared to the new ones, showing both the new and old art isolated as well so you can see exactly what I drew to extend the older panels which naturally weren't drawn originally knowing that I would one day be extending them!

The second of the three Sam flashbacks is just a nice little bridging one, but it did take me a while to decide for sure which way around I wanted the first and third flashback panel. For the first: while there's been a little bit of mild bad language in the comic once the seal was broken here, Sam's "bitch" is the first time such language has appeared so it amused me to place it in a scene that has already happened long ago just barely outside of the audience's perspective. For the third: the joke is of course that the reveal of Sam's additional dialogue is particularly adding nothing to the scene whatsoever - like, as if Cammie making a fool of herself would even be remark-worthy at this point. I felt both these two goofs had a good punch to them in their own way so yeah, I remember being conflicted over whether I had chosen the funniest possible flow of these three gags.

Of course, the final joke of this one, in case it wasn't obvious (I could see it being subtle for some), is that Mimi's whole running gag is she's a side character who also has existed in the comic for long before her first on-screen appearance, yet Cammie never remembers her.

#162 - New

The art and dialogue structure of the first two panels here is identical to #160. I think it being a time-saver on my workload for the week was definitely a factor - for whatever reason I needed it at the time - but I also remember going for something with that choice beyond just that... But I can't for the life of me remember what. I don't think the parallel between the two comics adds anything reading them back now.

Anyway here's Newt! I really thought at the time that he was going to be as significant an addition as Sam, and I did come up with the idea of introducing a regular male character at the time I chose to bring Sam in, with Sam's introduction - and exit - being an amusing way to introduce a surprise new character.

...Then I proceeded to never really get any super strong story ideas for him lol. More detail on that in a second. I haven't forgotten him though, frustrates me that he keeps getting sidelined!

#163 - Training

Standard behind-the-scenes retail frustration humour here. I can neither confirm nor deny how much is based on my current employment. A little detail of authenticity/flavour is that they're watching a DVD intended for widescreen on an old non-widescreen TV that's clearly been in their staff room for at least a decade. Such was the case for my painful training videos too! (It's all online now as of a few years into when I started, so some progress has been made I guess).

#164 - Huh

It's not made clear yet, but the new status quo that Sam is a receptionist at a primary school is established here - the coloured hanging letter signage on the wall that is too perspective'd to read says "WELCOME TO OUR SCHOOL".

I chose this as a job for her based simply on the fact that my Mum has often worked in school offices for most of my life. She wasn't a receptionist but it was the sort of job where I have some... vague enough memories of the "behind-the-scenes" enough to draw something along those lines when I needed to show Sam at work.

Getting back to Newt, obviously the goof here is that Cammie is just being a sore loser about her friend leaving and Newt is about the most cool-sounding interesting person you could imagine meeting. Unfortunately that involved specifically coming up with fun sounding stuff that are not super common to do or know people that do, so despite the super interesting combo of cave-diving, stand-up and polyamory these are all things I feel like I'd have to do thorough research on to represent in the actual comic accurately... which is something I'd like to do but, time is finite and I have so much pre-existing experience with being a silly nonsense person. Would you believe it, there's another character in the comic for whom that experience lends itself very well!!

Speaking of whom, the first appearance of the bell on the door in Repeat 1 Records was only a month after Cammie got the job. She works fast!

[Trivia Archive | Browse from most recent]

#jezmm #chamomile comic trivia #art insight

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onedaughterofman · 1 year

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You, forever (Chapter VIII: Spawn of pure malevolence)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader

Summary: The Clergy takes something from Copia, but he refuses to let go.

Warnings/tags: descriptions of corpses and deaths, implied/referenced murder, discussions of Luciferianism and religion. I'll probably edit it again another day, but if I don't post it now I'm afraid I'll never will. Around 4K words!

PREV CHAPTER HERE

“I heard the wind has changed in Har Megiddo.”

Below the surface, the Necromancer’s boots emit a thunderous sound against the ground. The echo travels through the chamber, vibrating in the walls before getting lost in the distance.

In slow motion, they stride around the room. Those dim eyes examine the surfaces, rapidly bypassing the decorations and statues that clutter the corners before centering on the glass coffin in the middle of the place.

Oh.

Huge pupils expand even more inside the light irises when the Necromancer takes a step forward. Then, another. Gaze locked, they move cautiously towards the casket. It's not an ordinary occurrence to find a corpse so carefully curated, so beautifully cared for. There are flowers and gold jewelry surrounding the body, delicate silk and velvet enveloping it like a fine cerecloth.

Those are not merely bloody, mangled human remains.

No. That is a piece of art and there’s nothing the Necromancer wants more than to lay their hands on it, to make it twirl under the midnight sun. All it would take it'd be a twitch of their fingers...

Of course, they can’t do anything for as long as Papa Emeritus stands in the way.

Such a shame.

Such a pity.

“I love what you have done with the place.” The words are devoid of emotion, completely empty. Indifference coats each syllable, extending the spaces with air. “I can’t believe this has been down here all this time.”

Papa Emeritus IV continues to be silent. Guarding him, stand two ghouls. They all stare in the Necromancer's direction, following every slight movement.

The leather of Papa’s glove creaks when he tightens his fist, muscles tensing upon the gesture. His clothes are spotless, carefully tailored to drape around his body in a way that it wouldn’t fit anyone else. The Necromancer has a good eye for details and they must admit that Papa radiates a strong aura of power and royalty, to the point it’s almost intimidating.

Fortunately, the Necromancer laughs in the face of authority. The glass is cold when their hand falls flat on the surface, nails grazing over the smooth material.

Tap.

“This is nice.”

Tap.

Papa doesn’t reply. The black polish on the Necromancer’s nails is chipped and messy, a somber color on the extremely pale skin. It requires a considerable effort not to react when they move closer, face almost pressing on the coffin and head leaning to one side. The warm breath fogs up the glass, coats the surface that shields your body from the dust and humidity of the underground tunnels.

“The mortician did a good job with this one.” Dark hair falls flat on the Necromancer’s forehead, casting shadows over their eyes. Yet, it does nothing to hide the undeniable glint in them. “Looks like they sleep peacefully.”

Too peacefully. The Necromancer practically feels as if they could rouse you up with a few snaps of their fingers. Over your nose, the black nails tap once and then twice, waiting for a reaction.

Nothing happens, there is no fluttering of eyelashes or twitch of your brows.

You’re dead.

That’s good.

It’s better when they are dead. The deceased can’t judge, complain or do anything but follow orders and dance round and round. To be the puppet master, the one who controls and possesses, that’s a distinctive type of privilege very few have.

It’s a gift, something that must be appreciated and exploited to the full potential.

Not everybody agrees. Looking back, the Necromancer finds Papa Emeritus IV standing a few meters away, jaw tense and burning gaze. Another short sound emerges from the glass when their nails tap again, never averting their eyes.

“Stop it,” Papa barks, and the ghouls bare their teeth at the command. The infernal creatures are practically as tense as he is, ready to jump and attack at any threat. The Necromancer fears no ghoul or Papa, but they have to admit this one is different from the rest. Historically, Papas have inevitably been nothing but a figurehead, a puppet in the hands of the Clergy.

Not this one.

Papa Emeritus IV possesses a certain air of danger surrounding his body and the unmistakable scent of Death holds close to his robes and skin. When he moves, the screams coming from beyond the grave sound louder, rising in a never-ending chorus of misery.

The voices inside the Necromancer’s head never shut up. It’s annoying, terribly so. The damned crave violence, blood, yearn for more destruction. Everywhere Papa goes, the shrieks follow him, for he has sent so many souls underground, condemned many to burn and decay until the end of times.

A hollow laugh escapes their lungs. The Necromancer remains still, back straight as they take half a step to the side. “I don’t think your lover minds it,” they affirm. “But I have to admit I’m a bit saddened at the fact that the body is unburied. Digging them up is the best part."

“I’ll give you everything you need to work with.” Copia assures hastily, moving a hand to motion at the other. “But don’t test my patience.”

The Necromancer’s teeth shine under the pale glow radiating from the old lamps. Oblivious to the threat, their lips stretch in a grin before they let out a few bitter chuckles. Even if their shoulders shrug, the hand never leaves the glass. Their palm lays flat on the surface, as a blatant provocation. “If you don’t like me, you can always get yourself another necromancer. I know the Clergy occupied some. They used to bring Nihil back all the time.”

Papa’s reply comes rapidly, brimming with poison. “I have already asked them.”

“Is that so?" They mock, elongating the words. "What did they say?”

“Bringing my love back is not the same as the old man.”

Naturally. Reanimating a corpse to perform an action for a few minutes at most it’s not a complex task. It’s children’s play. Now, to bring back someone for an extended period, both in body and soul…

That’s a whole different story.

That’s insanity.

Fortunately, the Necromancer rejoices in it. “The underworld is very possessive of the souls that fall into it.” They explain, circling around the box. “If you don’t know where to search, you might end up roaming in the dark forever.”

Papa Emeritus is unimpressed. He merely huffs, a hardened expression plastered on his face. “You will find the way," he states, nonchalantly, but it still sounds like a command.

No. It sounds like a threat.

The Necromancer’s hair moves to follow the soft nodding of their head, as they muse over the situation. “This one has been gone for a while,” they say, examining the body. “An ordinary human with no spiritual influence or important connections to the occult. Their soul could be anywhere. We’ll have to search for weeks, months even, and if we find them we’ll have to gamble with Death,” a pause. “Shit. It’s going to be a mess. Are you sure you want both body and soul? Can’t it be only the body? It’ll feel just the same.”

“I demand for all of them. Don’t play games.”

It’s not easy. Necromancers prefer to summon the recent departed, since they still retain some lucidity. Usually, that timeframe is limited to twelve months following the death of the physical body. Even so, a big part of the success will depend on the circumstances around the demise.

The circumstances, as far as they heard, are messy. “Like I said. If you don’t appreciate how I work, find another person.”

Papa’s touch burns like hellfire. His leather glove is harsh over the Necromancer's skin, fingers curled tight on their forearm. They try shaking him away to no avail. Under the hazy lights, his white eye casts a strong, almost blinding glow. Waves of energy emanate from his body, shaking the Necromancer to the core.

That’s the power of an Emeritus.

It’s terrifying, intoxicating.

“I searched everywhere! Nobody wants to do this,” Papa yells, pulling them closer. The following words are muttered through his teeth, barely discernible. “You are the only one crazy enough to accept, Goore.”

“That I am.”

Mary Goore. Expert necromancer, a brilliant person with a prosperous future, cradled by fortune and the promise of wealth and honor since birth. Goore, the first born of an influential family within The Clergy.

Also, Goore, the teen who was expelled from the Academy of the Occult for questionable necromancy practices and devoted the rest of their days performing in rundown bars, doing everything in their power to spit in the faces of the higher-ups.

Mary Goore, who died more than a decade ago and then without any forewarning came back to life. The story says a corpse covered in cemetery dirt and hair full of maggots rose from an unmarked grave during the snow moon.

How could that happen, nobody knows. “Not even Death wanted them,” Mary said with pride upon questioning. Not even the cold, unforgiving grip of the Undertaker could halt them.

Hell spat them up.

Now, Mary is in front of him; an unhinged smile tattooed on their lips. The gesture does not match the desolation inside their deep pupils and the mix of those two things does nothing to bring peace to Copia. Yet, he doesn’t have any other choice.

Copia is desperate, restless. It’s either Goore, or letting his lover go.

He can’t do that.

You belong with him.

You belong to him, not Death, not Satan.

You belong to him only.

“Is it true?” Papa asks, this time in a more subdued tone. He allows them to go, and Mary clutches their forearm with their left hand. “Can you bring anybody back?”

Mary’s chest expands with pride. There’s arrogance in their body language, oozing from each pore. Goore can detect the smell of his despair, his need. They know they have him right in their palms. “I can. I was the only necromancer talented enough to bring myself back, after all.”

“So it wasn’t a lie, then.” There are many versions of the story. Copia has got wind of most of them. “You fell ill and died, but managed to perform a ritual before exhaling your last breath. How?”

It’s an unfortunate thing. Goore was young. At the time of their death, they were only in their twenties. A fresh corpse was buried on unmarked ground, without a gravestone or a funeral. No one wept for them, not even their parents. The Clergy didn't want to be related to Mary Goore anymore.

The day they died, it was just another Wednesday.

A slow, hollow sound emerges from their throat when they laugh. Underground, the echo is louder, more distinct. Copia feels shivers down his spine, and the ghouls must sense some change in his demeanor, because their muscles immediately stiffen. A slight gesture from his fingers informs them to remain in place, not to attack.

“Is that what they say?” Mary questions, brows furrowed and head tilted. “I fell ill?”

No emotion can be found in that laugh. How such an empty sound can harbor so much bitterness and anger, Copia can’t thoroughly comprehend. He stands still, fingers curling and uncurling. The ghoul on his right growls, letting the deep rumble carry an explicit warning.

Below the surface, the earth screams for blood.

Goore’s energy is overwhelmingly negative, intense. Stinging like ice, but with a burning tinge in it. When their mouth shuts, those black pupils return to Copia’s face. “The stories about my demise are too lame, man. Do you want the truth?”

There’s no reason to say yes. Still…

Copia wants to know. Knowledge is power. He nods.

“Good boy,” Goore says, mockingly. Papa Emeritus bites his tongue not to react. “After those old men got rid of me, I did a bunch of things to piss them off.”

Stealing corpses from the Ministry’s cemetery and forcing them to play songs for their band, for a start. Goore didn’t recall their names. They merely knew those cadavers were important to someone, because they had the best tombs full of lovely flowers and glistening gravestones.

Then, the papal paint. Messy and greasy, tainted with blood and dirt. That was blasphemous, a spit on all their faces. Mimicking and tarnishing something so holy arose a wave of outrage and shock, making a few old men and women clutch their crucifixes in dismay.

Naturally, the open mockery played a good part. Repugnant was on its way to become an established band and they were about to make it big. Someone had to stop them.

“I was doing just fine playing my shit. One day I drank something weird and blacked out. Then, I woke up inside a coffin, mouth sewn and so cold.”

Being buried alive is a dreadful way to die. At the beginning, the desperation clings to your body and heart. The blood flows rapidly, so hot it makes you believe you are capable of opening a way through the wood and dirt.

You can’t.

When the lack of oxygen hits, there’s only despair. It becomes so bleak inside the coffin, frigid to the point you feel your joints slowly freeze. However, Death doesn’t come until your body starts decomposing, while your heart is still fighting.

Lost in the darkness, drowning in your own voiceless screams, you wish you could die faster. It’s torture, a terrible punishment. Goore seized all the dread, clutched it between their palms and reversed it into a spell.

They transformed their death into a rebirth.

Goore finds it funny but also sad. The process of decomposition is fascinating, they investigated and memorized it when they were merely a child.

An old poem in a foreign language, nine beautiful pictures burning in their memory.

After the heart stops, the body temperature drops but it will require hours until it becomes completely cold. Initially, the hands and feet get cold, then the lack of blood circulation causes the skin to look pale. Purple spots commence to appear, born from accumulated stale blood. The dehydration and acidification of muscles make the whole corpse stiff.

What once was a lovely face fades quickly like flowers after the summer. As the autumn leaves, life falls to the ground and evanesces into nothingness. There is no difference between the old and the young, no escape. Sooner or later, faster or slower, everyone dies.

The first step is recent death, then distension. Faces turn dark and lose their characteristic rosy color and the hair withers before tanging with roots and wood. As the organs rot away, the gasses push beyond the grave.

In a deserted tomb, the spirit goes to the other world in solitude.

When exudation comes, the melted fat, blood and fluids emanate from the corpse, coating the surface with disease. At this point, the corpse is beyond recognition. The rotten skin begins to fall, mixing with the body’s impurity.

The wind, sad and cold, is the only one who continues to mourn the dead.

Remaining skin and flesh will soon be gone as well, turning purple and blue before vacating space for the bones to appear. The necrophages will feast and devour for long days and nights, white maggots and green flies covering the dirty remains.

It arrives the time when there is no more flesh, blood or fat. There are only bones, lonely, empty. No one recognizes the name of the person they belonged to or the story behind them. The plagues disappear, wilt and die.

Everything becomes dust and only the trapped spirits cry at night by the grave, waiting to see if the ashes bring new blossoms or more decay.

That didn’t happen to Mary Goore. They ruled over putrefaction and decomposition, remaining petrified in time.

They conquered Death and came back.

“Was it the Clergy?”

Copia is the first one to shatter the silence. His eyes are lost in the distance, staring at ghosts no one but he can see. They dance like shadows, round and round, hitting the walls and falling on the floor, crawling around the dirt and dust, damned.

“Who else?”

A cold grave and sudden death. That’s the sole thing The Clergy can offer to their detractors. Goore knows it well. To become a threat and a distraction, someone who goes against those old men wishes… That’s something no one desires.

A cruel fate. One that both you and them shared.

“I don’t care anymore. I knew who I was provoking, but did they? Were they willing to sacrifice their life for sticking with you?”

The saliva is thick when Copia swallows, but his throat remains dry. The weight in his chest becomes more intolerable than before, burdened with the pressure of Goore’s accusation. Copia’s poor heart beats once, then twice before ceasing.

He’s speechless, silent. Something dark moves behind his back, a shadow with sharp nails and putrid breath. The claws scratch at his nape, grazing the arteries in his neck. A sonorous, guttural screech escapes its throat.

“You promised,” it whispers. “You promised we’d be okay.”

“Murderer.”

Guilt is a faceless monster, a spirit that perches on your shoulders and squeezes tightly until there’s no oxygen in your body and your lungs burn and cry for relief.

For a brief moment, Copia wonders if Mary Goore can perceive it too.

They do. “I bet you also knew it. You look dumb, but you are not that dumb.”

Anger is a good motivator. Copia’s jaw is clamp shut, tense. His teeth press on each other as a low growl erupts from his throat. To his right and left, the ghouls imitate the gesture, celebrating the promise of fresh blood, tender flesh and violence.

The energy permeates the room with an oxidized crimson color, almost like rust.

“Of course I didn’t,” Papa spits through his clenched jaw.“I thought they were safe. Everything was going great. Ghost was becoming more and more popular, the tour was a success, we had so many projects and…”

“And? Where’s all that, now?”

Gone.

It’s long dead and gone.

“I’ll kill you,” Copia whispers softly, after a bit. If the statement is intended to threaten Goore or to bring a resemblance of comfort to himself, he doesn’t know it. There’s no power in his words, no strength in his voice. There’s only coldness, a biting lot of it. The raw indescribable emotion should be capable of paralyzing anyone, but Goore stands their ground.

“You could try, right. Hell will spit me back out, just like it did once.”

One step, then another. The heavy combat boots sound like ground mines in Copia’s ears, exploding louder and louder as they get closer.

“I can hear what they say,” Mary confesses, hushed like it’s a secret no one else should know.“I hear the voices.”

“Hear them?”

Copia must have said it out loud, in a tone full of confusion, because Goore replies. “Of the dead, inside my head. Are you curious? Do you want to know what your lover says?”

No, his soul screams. No, Copia doesn’t want to know it. He doesn’t trust Mary Goore, doesn’t even trust himself. Knowledge is a gift from the Dark Lord, but also an onerous burden not meant to be carried on weak, weary shoulders.

Copia’s head barely shakes, breeze caressing his hair. Goore disregards it, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. The warm, wet breath hits his skin like needles. “They want to return to tear the flesh from the living.They are so fucking pissed.”

For the first time in weeks, months even, Copia is scared. No, not scared. Terrified. Your anger and hate are something he never had to confront. He rejoiced in your love, your tenderness and mercy. He embraced all the sacred and divine you gave him.

The dark, the bad, the ugly… He’s not prepared to witness it, to experience it. You must love him, forever.

You must adore him as much as he does.

When Mary’s laugh dies, the gleam remains in their eyes. “That’s a spawn of pure malevolence, the one you got there.”

A rabid fury, a corpse corrupted with malicious energy that fills the veins and permeates the tissues like embalming fluid. Anger consumes this cadaver, tormenting the spirit even far beyond the grave.

According to ancient scrolls, it is believed that in the event of a premature or violent death, the corpse retains part of that unused vitality. Stored deeply inside your guts, Goore can feel the complex whirlwind of emotions. It’s exhilarating, intoxicating.

“That’s enough.”

Papa Emeritus never pleads. Not anymore, but his voice sounds a lot like a plea, a prayer. His gaze is lost again, somewhere far. Still, when his pupils focus on the present, they feel a shiver run down their spine. Mary Goore doesn’t know when to shut up, but the threatening aura of Papa forces their mouth shut.

“I’ll do it,” they start, taking a few steps back.“Give me a few months, and you’ll have them again.”

“Weeks,” Copia spits out, through clenched teeth.“You have three weeks. No more. Don’t fail, or I’ll have you on your knees begging for death.”

An audible sigh. Goore leans forwards, tilting their head down in a short reverence, a mocking gesture. “As you wish, Eminence. You’ll get exactly what you are asking for.”

Before Goore leaves the underground room, an entourage of ghouls behind his back, Papa raises his voice one last time.

“Do you think they regret it?”

“Who?”

“Do you think the infernal divine regrets granting you this power?”

Goore’s laugh is boisterous, but again there’s no cheer in his eyes. “Infernal divine, you say?” They growl, biting down each word. “No, you got it all wrong. It’s the necromancer the one who demands the obedience of demons and other spirits, thanks to the power that was conferred upon them by a god.”

“God?”

They are ridiculous. Copia feels the air freeze in his throat as he struggles to understand the delirious rambles of a crazy person. When Goore continues, their pupils are completely black, an empty vortex.

“Yes,” a long pause follows. “I am my own God.”

Essence of the Sun, brighter than any other before him. A dual star, an Angel of Immortal light so beautiful and free. Hidden within old scrolls and ancient rites, He is the one who can awaken those who call, who reject the emptiness of a fake god and yearn for a liberal spirit.

He, who loves those who love Him, who comes for those in need. Through air and aether, from fire and earth, coating the water that makes us humans, He exists and can be sought within. Clothed in the sun and yet awakened in utter darkness, He rose as a beautiful man who will break the enemy’s will and uplift the strong who embrace Him.

Then, why?

Why is he alone?

Why is he lost?

Why is he the one to suffer, when he did everything right, followed every rite and prayer to perfection?

Why?

“Lucifer,” Copia mutters, lungs devoid of oxygen.“Lucifer, offer me guidance.”

Please.

What would become of life without a lighthouse on the horizon? Nothing but darkness. Lost as his soul is, Copia clings to safety. These old transcripts in his hands are safe, just like the sacred books that weigh on his lap.

“Hail Lucifer, rise Lucifer, come Lucifer, descend upon me, Lucifer manifest.”

Recite from the text.

Renich

Pray for guidance.

Tasa

For strength.

Uberaca

For mercy.

Biasa

For fortune

Icar

For glory

Lucifer

For absolution.

A man like him, bathed in blood and destroyer of empires, should seek no absolution. He has tarnished everything sacred and unsacred, both holy and unholy. He has tested and bypassed the limits of generations, delivered nothing but death and decay to his Church of Satan.

If the Old One is pleased or displeased, Copia doesn’t recognize it. He’s not like Primo, who used to hear His voice, or Secondo, who saw through His eyes. No, Copia has always been alone in this world, consumed in the dark, crawling blindly like a parasite.

Not even Lucifer is willing to walk by his side. Not even Satan or King Belial. There's no King Asmodeus, no Beelzebub, no Astaroth or Stolas.

No one is here to save him or laugh at his demise.

Copia is completely alone. Yet, he recites.

“Lucifer, Lord, King and emperor come and rise”

Among the rubbish from the ruins.

“Lucifer, The Fire of the south, The Air of the east”

Rise from putrefaction and waste.

“Lucifer he who is eternal, Lucifer come unto me".

Unto a servant, a believer.

Unto a fool.

NEXT CHAPTER HERE

Ps: the art Mary remembers is called Kusözu or "Painting of the nine stages of a decaying corpse". The poem (Kusôkanshi) is based on those paintings and was written by a Buddhist monk named Kukai.

The prayers at the end are based on "The Bible of the Adversary" and invocations from the Temple of the Ascending Flame. Will they work? Who knows.

I worked hard on this chapter and I'm still not sure if I like it. It was a big challenge, something different than the past chapters, but I hope you enjoy it. Mary is here.

#ghost band #ghost band fanfic #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv x reader #mary goore #ghost band x reader #cardinal copia #ghost bc #my writing #my fics

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capacle · 1 year

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New paths going forward

Last November, I shared on Rеddіt my 2-year perspective as a full-time game designer.

Since then, that post's been seen more than 80,000 times.

The conversation helped me investigate aspects of my career going forward.

And some important changes are about to happen.

If you follow me, you probably remember a thread from August, in which I announced that 2022 would be my last attempt to make this path work.

Well, it's 2023.

And although I consider my Раtrеоn a success, I'm still below 50% of my goal.

What now?

One of the major takeaways from that reflection was that I spend most of my time promoting my games, rather than making them.

My actual "job" is selling games, if I'm being honest.

Ironically, I'd potentially make more games if I were not a full-time game designer.

In general, the advice I received on how to make a sustainable living out of games was to double-down on that path.

Do more marketing, follow more trends, become an actual company.

Look at my career as a proper business, not as an art project.

And also:

Foster a community around one of my games, offer support and create supplements, and so on, instead of making many different games.

Either that, or offer my services as a freelance writer/editor.

All these ideas have something in common:

I don't wanna.

It took me a long time and a high dose of self-honesty to admit that I'm not willing to do that.

I've just turned 40, and after leaving a somewhat successful career to pursue my dream, I'm not ready to succumb to what the market demands.

Not quite yet.

So what am I going to do?

Stop.

Not with games, but with the rest.

To become what I truly am, I'm deciding first to stop being what I am not.

No more constant marketing, no more trying to keep up with 11 different social platforms.

I'll still promote and share my (and friends') stuff eventually, but I'll stop worrying about it.

It was like having 20 tabs constantly open on my mind's browser.

Spencer Campbell once said he wishes he could be a TTRPG hermit who goes into the mountains and then eventually emerges with a new game.

Well, I might just try that.

Hopefully, the free time allows me to explore more, to be curious once again.

To let my mind wander.

I'll continue with my Раtrеоn, I love that little cozy corner we created together.

I also polled about creating a game design-focused nеwѕlеttеr, and got an immensely positive response.

So that is going to happen.

Again, with no commercial pressure whatsoever.

I am well aware that this resolution is a self-inflicted commercial annihilation.

The Algorithm™ will swallow me whole and spit me out on the shores of irrelevance.

But I'm tired of swimming against the tide.

I just want to float for a while.

If you like what I do and want to support me on this unusual path I am in, I deeply appreciate you.

I gathered my nеwѕlеttеr, my Раtrеоn, my games, all in one page.

Here are all the ways you can follow me.

Feel free to share it around.

#ttrpg #ttrpg design #indie ttrpg

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notgonnatalkmuch · 1 month

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Can someone explain what the hell is going on?

For context, my blog name says it all: I only really pop on Tumblr once a week to check out writing ideas, fan art, and the like, and then I'm essentially dead for who-knows-how-long afterwards.

I'm also as cis straight as a circle (any pronouns work!), and maybe it's because of how little I pop on here, but Tumblr has always, always been a queer-friendly place to me, and I'm always comfortable checking out whatever blog I see.

One day, as innocent little me is scrolling through my home feed, I see a staff post apologizing for the banning of someone called "predstrogen" because of TERF harassment (which, unfortunately isn't a surprise at this point :/), and I go "Oh, well they apologized, so I think that's good?" Then I click on the thousands of notes below...

And apparently this is far, far from enough, and shit's hit the fan as TERFs dominate Tumblr.

I am begging someone, anyone, to please, please catch me up on what I've been missing. This sounds like a major emergency, and I don't wanna fall behind news on stuff like this ever again, because the day I just turn a blind eye to anything like homophobia, transphobia and aphobia is the day I go to hell.

#seriously what the fuck is going on with Tumblr #this all sounds so fucked up #I really hope predstrogen is doing okay #this must be super hard on them(?)#now that I think about it I don't actually know what their pronouns are #help? ^^;#trans #transphobia #predstrogen #lgbtqia #queer #queer community #lgbt

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umbry-fic · 5 months

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Heart Beats

Summary: She counts the steady beats of his heart, and promises to always protect him.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving Rating: G Word Count: 1721 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 12/11/2023

Notes: A short fic written to Heart Rate ♯0822.

~~~

The first time Colette had listened to the steady thump of Lloyd’s heart had been, like most things, an accident.

She’d gone to visit him, treading carefully through the familiar forest path, a basket of her grandmother’s cookies held tightly in hand. Her gaze had been trained on the ground, on the lookout for any pebbles or stray twigs that could spell disaster. It had been one of the rare days that she’d been allowed to leave the Church before the sun had sunk beneath the horizon, and she’d been determined not to ruin it, eager to share the promise of delectable treats with her best friend after a long, draining day of memorising scriptures.

He’d been sitting on the river bank, kicking his feet in the river’s gentle waters when she’d emerged from the forest. At the sight of his russet eyes widening and a grin spreading across his face as he’d jumped to his feet, all thoughts of caution had fled her mind, and she’d rushed towards him with an answering smile, the fatigue draining from her body.

Time and time again, she forgot just how slippery the logs bridging the two sides of the river were.

Somehow, he managed to prevent her from falling face-first into the water, the two of them slamming into the dirt with a rather loud thud.

All the air having been driven from her lungs, she simply lay still, her head resting on solid warmth as strands of gold pooled around her. Her ear pressed against Lloyd’s chest, she could hear his beating heart, the sound echoing in her ears. He didn’t move an inch either, likely staring up at the wide blue sky as he nursed what had to be an aching pain at the back of his head.

For a moment, there was nothing in the world but the two of them, and the steady thumps, continuing ever onwards to a regular rhythm. It was strangely alluring - she felt as if she could close her eyes and lose herself in this sound, one she had never considered before now.

“Ow,” he’d mumbled, breaking the strange spell that had fallen over her. In an instant, they had scrambled to their feet, a callused hand offered to help her up. She would apologise for the fall and the broken cookies, and he would tell her there was no need to, and the incident would completely slip his mind.

But still, she mulled over it.

~~~

“Press two fingers to the other person’s wrist as I demonstrated just now. You should be able to feel their pulse,” Professor Raine instructed.

The classroom bustled with activity, students leaning over to whisper in their friend’s ear as notes were discreetly passed from desk to desk. Professor Raine had decided to hold a lesson on basic first aid, having declared that just because she was the only one in the room that could actually use healing artes did not mean that learning “such important life skills” was useless.

“Here! You can check mine!” Lloyd grinned, stretching out his arm so it was at just the right height.

Furrowing her brows in concentration, Colette did as Professor Raine had instructed. Two fingers pressed to the wrist at a certain spot…

“Oh! I can feel it!” she gasped in delight, concentrating once more to count the beats in her head.

1, 2, 3, 4…

~~~

It became something of a habit. Whenever she could, she’d find some way to count the beats of his heart. When he slid his hand into hers, for just a moment, she would shift her fingers to press against where his pulse leapt against his skin. The few times he’d noticed, blinking at her with confusion in his eyes, she’d flushed and averted her gaze, mumbling an excuse of practising what Professor Raine had taught them.

How could she explain when she struggled to understand it herself? His heartbeat, strong and steady, was intimately tied to his life. So long as one continued, so too would the other. It was a reassurance that he was still here, by her side, his presence enough to make her forget, for just a bit, the duty she carried.

She couldn’t possibly tell him how terrified she was that one day, she would lose him. Whether she succeeded or failed to regenerate the world, she would have no choice but to leave him behind, and she would never listen to the beating of his heart again. And if she failed, then the world would slip closer to ruin, and that steady sound may finally falter. That was the one thing she could not bear, the one thing she could not let pass.

Clinging tightly to each beat of his heart as they gave her the strength to carry on… She could never tell him why.

Yet he did not prod her for a reason, even when she would press her ear to his chest whenever they lay down on the gentle inclines by Lloyd’s home. Even without her feeble excuses, he had come to accept this strange habit of hers. And in the quiet moments after a long day, he would open his arms to her and she would snuggle close, keeping pace under her breath.

1, 2, 3, 4…

70 beats a minute, just as Professor Raine had explained once in science class.

And as she listened to that soothing rhythm that could calm the storm of hidden emotions that raged within her, she knew that her own rhythm was syncing with his. Lulling her into a peaceful safety, where nothing could hurt her.

He was one of the lives that she had born to save. A life that would flourish so long as she gave hers up.

Surely, it would be worth it.

~~~

“Colette?”

Lloyd turned at the sound of her footsteps against the rough rock of the mountains, deafeningly loud to her ears. Above him, the moon hung high in the sky, not a single cloud present to stop its light from washing the shabby roofs of Hima in liquid silver. Beside it, the Tower of Salvation rose into the heavens.

Averting her gaze from the sight and trying her best to suppress the shudder that ran down her spine, she took the hand Lloyd had instinctually offered, heart clenching at the worry swimming in his gaze.

Can… I… She traced the words on his palm with care, biting her lip.

Before she could even finish the sentence, he had pulled her close, letting his chin come to rest atop her head. It was a position they’d been in countless times before, yet the knowledge that this would be the last time she would ever know his embrace hung over her head, grief threatening to tear her fragile heart apart. Turning her head to rest her cheek against him, she closed her eyes, letting that familiar rhythm drown out all else.

She could almost pretend they were back in Iselia, the Journey of Regeneration but a far-away thought as they drifted off to sleep on grassy knolls, dirt staining their clothes from the unfortunate tumble they’d taken when she’d tripped over empty air again.

1, 2, 3, 4…

“Of course you can,” he whispered, running a gentle hand through her hair before his arm fell limp to his side. She pretended not to notice the way his other arm trembled as it tightened around her, nor the guilt that coloured his voice. “You always can.”

She let out a soft huff of air, writing on his arm before pulling back to observe his face.

It’s speeding up.

“Ah, um, that is -” he stuttered, red flooding his cheeks.

Nervous laughter filled the air as she did nothing but smile, drinking in the sight of him and trying her very best to memorise every feature. With the moonlight illuminating him from behind, he was so very beautiful - enough to make her tender heart ache around its splintering cracks.

If she still could, tears would burn her eyes at the realisation of all she would truly lose once dawn broke. She wanted nothing more than to take his hand and flee from this mountaintop, to run until she could no longer see the looming tower that would be her final resting place. But she couldn’t condemn him to a dying world. No matter what happened, he had to live.

And so she said nothing at all.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered into her hair.

She stopped breathing for a split second, before she caught herself, remembering to give nothing away. Rising on her toes, she brushed her lips against his still-flushed cheeks, forming he would never hear.

I’m sorry.

~~~

Kneeling at the altar in the Tower of Salvation, head bowed, an abject terror gripping every part of her as she prepared to give all of herself away, she thought she could hear a heartbeat. A faint one, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Perhaps it was just the sound of her own frantic heart, desperate to escape her fate. But some part of her clung to the idea that it was the world’s pulse, weak but still struggling to continue - the last, enduring breath of a slumbering Goddess. And as it echoed on, the panic gradually cleared from her mind, Remiel’s words washing over her. Her duty had been made clear to her since she was young, and it had come time to perform it.

Her heart would die, in a certain sense. Yet it would continue beating, long after her soul was dead, becoming a part of the very world itself. And so, she was certain, all the love held within it would remain. The love for this world, for its people, for Lloyd… And thus, with a wobbly smile on her face, she said goodbye and released the final seal, knowing her love would survive her. It would never die.

It would protect this world, long after she no longer could, in the form of a Goddess who would take her place, surrounding Sylvarant with her warm embrace and breathing life into its dying form.

So long as Lloyd could live… That was enough.

Thank you, for bringing joy to my days, and for teaching me what it means to have been glad to have lived.

#fanfiction #tales of symphonia #colette brunel #colloyd #ack i realised the last part is a bit off canonically oops #but oh well #one shot

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ikatako38 · 2 months

Text

Hey all, I have some good news and some bad news.

The bad news

is that TPWCH is going on an emergency (unplanned) hiatus. This means I won’t be making any effort to work on the fic or any related work such as art and side projects, whicle I try to get myself back on my feet. This means we might miss the 2nd Anniversary Special, but I will post it eventually even if it’s late. I’m really excited to share it with you! I don’t know how long this emergency hiatus is going to be, but I think somewhere around a month would be a reasonable estimate. Keep in mind that this is when I’ll start working on things again, so it might be a few more weeks after that before you start seeing content again.

The good news

is that I’m going to be emptying out all my WIPs, notes, and any other content I can easily throw at you guys to help hold you over throughout the break! So anyone following me here should be getting a bunch of exclusive content over the next several weeks.

Also,

since everything’s getting pushed back, I think now would be a good a time as any to start Ship Wars! I’m not going to put an exact start date on it yet, because it will take a bit of work to kickstart, and I don’t know when I’ll get around to that, but once I do get it started it should mostly run itself!

So…

I feel like I’ve been saying this a lot lately, but thank you guys so much for sticking around with me through all of this. I’m painfully aware that I’ve only uploaded one and a half official chapters since April, and I know that I’ve lost a lot of readers because of that. So again, thank you so much for staying. It really means the world to me.

I’m sure the question a lot of you probably have on your mind right now is, Is Tako ever actually going to finish TPWCH? And with how things have been going lately, that’s a very valid question. To be 100% honest with how I’m feeling another the fic right now, I kind of wish it could just be done already. Or that it could just somehow write itself. But the reason for that is that I’m so excited to share with you all other parts of the TPWCH universe that are just waiting to be written! I really don’t see myself dropping the TPWCH universe anytime soon, and I really don’t see myself dropping TPWCH itself anytime soon, either. And an important reason for that is simply that… I don’t have any other ideas to write. Even for other fandoms. It’s a bit crazy just how strong of a hold TPWCH has had on me for three years now.

By the way, that’s not normal for me. Back on my FFN and Wattpad days (don’t bother going to look for my accounts, they don’t exist… yet 👀), I was usually working on 3-5 fics at once and was constantly having ideas for new ones, to where it was a struggle to keep up and I to make hard decisions about priority. I don’t know if I’ve gotten less creative with ideas as I’ve gotten older or whether TPWCH is just the first universe to be so interesting to me that I don’t have any need or desire to come up with new things outside of it.

Either way, if I have no desire to work on other things, the only way TPWCH would ever stop is if I stopped writing altogether, and that’s just not going to happen. Writing has been a huge part of my life since I was ten, and maybe even younger. It’s my most important hobby and makes me happy. If I don’t do it for too long, it’ll actually make my mental state worse.

So I really don’t want you guys to think that this is like a vacation for me, or some sort of respite from the… AWFUL chore of writing. (　ﾟдﾟ) Really it’s more like I’m grounded from writing until I can get my grades up. (;_;) The grades in this case, yes being my university grades but also my life in general because it’s been kind of a mess lately. Within the last two weeks, I fell out with two of the closest people I’ve ever been to and pretty much the only irl friends I have at this point (the Discord server will know who these people are). One of them going very badly and increasing my conviction that everyone secretly hates me. （╹◡╹）On top of that my room is slowly becoming uninhabitable, I’m not sleeping, and I’m just constantly stressed and anxious. But I’m gonna be okay. The fallings-out are very fresh and will fade with time, and just two days ago I finally got a consultation for ADHD. I now have initial diagnoses of ADHD and Social Anxiety Disorder, which I should be starting treatment for in about a month, so I’m really hoping that will help me somewhat to get back on track. And all the support from everyone between Discord, here and AO3 has always helped, and I’m sure it will continue to help. Many of the people I’ve met online through the fic have ironically been far more supportive and trustworthy than the people I’ve met irl. You’re all so real for that ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Wow, that got really long! Thank for reading this far!

#tako’s updates

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bluejaybytes · 5 months

Note

like idk their personality what they look like their motives/views? I'm just curious lol

So, first things first. Shockingly, I've actually posted... basically all of my recent art! I normally RARELY post my art on Tumblr, but I've bene in a sharing mood as of late and have been posting things only a few hours after I finish them, so there's honestly... not much new I can post since the only thing that hasn't been posted is a WIP that I'm already planning on posting when it's done (And it is Not in a state I'm ready to post it lol). THAT SAID! I'm gonna talk about Scarlet because she's got art I haven't posted here before <3 Everything's below the cut, because I anticipate this being... very long and rambly. Whoops lol <3

(Note: I put this in a word counter after writing it. It's over 2.3k words. Apologies for being unable to write in anything shorter than an essay)

Normally I don't post anything that's not completely finished, and while the "main" drawing of her is finished in the sense I'm not going back to add to it further, it hasn't been properly colored or lined, it's just cleaned up sketches, so I haven't posted it before. It's a good few months old and it shows, but it's honestly fine lol. The icon is from earlier this week however, I just typically don't post the icons on their own, since I've made a ton of them and also showed them off in the relationship web I posted last week (Which honestly I will probably post again once a few more OCs have their icons made and added properly)

Scarlet's from the Octarian domes, specifically one that hosts a decently large amount of residential areas, and has two younger sisters, Crimson and Ruby. Scarlet's around ~24, Crimson's ~21, and Ruby's ~17, and they're all quite close growing up, with Scarlet very much embracing her role as the oldest of the bunch and always sticking by them. In fact, it's her desire to be close with her sisters that essentially ends what was a promising career as a weapons engineer for her early. Weapons engineering is a very prestigious role, and Scarlet's both incredibly interested in it and also genuinely very good at it, but due to how highly it's regarded, it also means she'd be unable to be around her sisters anymore, as she'd be too busy with training and working in other domes and with other engineers, so she ends up leaving weapons engineering behind, and instead just trains as a regular soldier.

Even with her staying in a more average position, she's still very talented, and she fairly quickly ascends through the ranks and ends up as an Elite and assigned her own squad to lead, stationed out in the outskirts of the dome she grew up in. Despite her rank as an Elite however, she keeps the traditional red coloration that's typically only for lower ranked soldiers, both as it's a shared family color, and her squad all respect her enough that she doesn't feel she needs to conform very strictly to the hierarchy for colors to have them recognize her as in charge.

Through her own request, Crimson, who's just a regular soldier, is part of her squad, and while their job is considered very important, as they guard the exits between the domes and the surface, it's still... very boring. There's really nothing around, and most of their days are just... patrolling, finding nothing, going back to camp. It's a very soulsucking job for her in all honesty, a lot of the glamor that draws people in to the military life is just... nonexistent. It's miserable and she's achieving nothing. She stays where she is, she wants to be there with Crimson, and she gets to stay, while not really... in contact with Ruby, as there's no cell service all the way out where they are, but close enough to Ruby that if there was some family emergency, she'd be able to get home quickly to be there with her. At this point, she's just counting the days until she's able to quit, or at the very least, take an extended break to go back home and feel like a person again.

It's on one of her patrols, however, that she ends up running into May. She'd gotten the command to stay alert for some teenage runaways that'd escaped police capture a few months prior, but, unbeknownst to her, May was one of them. While she'd never really known May specifically, she'd been the childhood best friend of Ruby, so Scarlet knew her from all the time that Ruby had spent with her, and all that she talked of her. She'd already been feeling miserable and disillusioned with her life as a soldier at this point, and the realization that this fugitive she'd been keeping an eye out for was a kid she personally knows, and knows wouldn't be a runaway for no reason, is just another moment of question for her.

May doesn't really recognize her at first, with it having been years since Scarlet had actually been home, but once Scarlet calls her by name, May remembers her, and pleads to not be taken back home. Scarlet, while not knowing her exact motives for running away, definitely empathizes in that moment, as someone who's tired of the miserable state they're living in, and she also just can't sit idly by watching a homeless teen beg to be given even the slightest mercy. She tells May she's not going to turn her in, and instead invites her to sit down and just talk with her. Neither have had any new company in months at this point, so she figures it'll benefit them both.

Their conversation goes well, and while May isn't willing to talk about the circumstances that've lead to her being on the run, they both are very clearly able to recognize themselves in each other. In the end, Scarlet knows she can't just let a homeless teen go hungry, and tells May to meet her out there the next day at the same time, and that she'll give her some of her rations for that day to hopefully help out a bit. May's still a little unsure, especially since she doesn't like to stay in one place for too long, as well as the fact she's still trying to find her way to the surface, but she's not really in a position where she feels she can deny a safe, reliable food source, so she agrees.

It's, of course, at their next meeting that Scarlet notices May barely picking at the food she's brought. It's at this point Scarlet realizes that May's not just one of the runaways she'd heard about, but that she's the one who's known to be traveling with a kid. May hadn't wanted to actually talk about it before, as her little sister, June, stays behind at their temporary camp for her own safety while May goes out scavenging for food and looking for a way out, but this only further pushes Scarlet into wanting to help her. She already felt like she had a moral obligation to help May before, but now knowing she's also got a kid with her means Scarlet absolutely can not and will not let them go without her help, at least as much as she can offer.

Scarlet ends up going from giving half of her own days food rations, to stealing from the food supply, as well as grabbing some spare clothes, to make sure May and June have enough to eat and take care of themselves a bit better than they were before. Ultimately, her squad can always request more supplies, but May and June aren't in a position to help themselves like she can. This, however, does not go unnoticed. Her squad notices the lessened rations, and ask her what she thinks is happening. She insists it must be a sea slug, or at least some kind of animal that got into their food supplies, it's happened before, it's fine, they can just go ask for backup, don't worry about it. For the most part, her squad accepts her dismissal of the topic. They do find it weird, but ultimately, Scarlet has never been one to do anything like this before, and the long time away from home has been weighing on everyone, so it's most likely just stress getting to her.

Crimson notices, though. She also notices Scarlet's retreat from their usual nightly chats, instead opting to go on "destress walks", or "extra patrols", excuses varying from night to night. Scarlet's dismissal of the issue, her increasing time spent away from camp, and her lessened time spent with her all eventually push Crimson into stalking her on one of her times out of camp, and watches from a distance as Scarlet actively betrays her squad and her duties as a soldier to hide, feed, and protect a fugitive runaway. Crimson absolutely loses it, jumping out from her hiding place and revealing herself to have seen everything, and tells Scarlet she needs to hand May over now. Scarlet just can't do it. She hesitates before telling Crimson she won't, not because she's hesitating in her decision, but because she's scared of admitting it. She doesn't want to live this life, where a scared, homeless teenager and her little sister are expected to instantly be arrested and turned in, where they guard the exit to somewhere they're constantly told is hostile to them, yet have spent all of this time and never seen a proper enemy soldier. She's not going to turn May in for the crime of wanting to leave. And then Crimson attacks her

Scarlet wasn't sure how Crimson was going to react, but it certainly wasn't what she was expecting, as Crimson ends up pulling out a pocket knife she'd been carrying, and fully intends to seriously harm her. Scarlet's caught entirely off guard, and the fight goes very poorly for her, especially considering Scarlet's only weapon was an Octo Shot she didn't have ready, and even if she did, she doesn't want to attack her little sister. Eventually she's able to muster the strength to attack back enough that she gets Crimson off of her, and down long enough for her to take off running. May had bolted the moment the fight broke out, and Scarlet has no idea where she ran off to, but she knows her way out of the domes, having been patrolling the outskirts for this long

It's still over a days walk to the exit before Scarlet is far enough out from her camp that she feels safe enough that she can stop, and really assess the damage Crimson did to her. She's lucky in the sense she'd been carrying some basic first aid supplies on her when everything happened, she always liked having it on her just in case one of her squadmates needed it, but it ends up being enough to prevent her from getting any of her wounds infected. However, the damage is still fairly bad, even if she's able to stop it from getting worse, with Crimson having nearly fully blinded her in one eye, as well as giving her some nasty wounds that eventually scar over. Ultimately, she's lucky she didn't lose the eye entirely, but it's still an absolutely miserable experience regardless.

From there, she makes it to the surface surprisingly easily. She knew the way out, and the exit she took wasn't too far from Inkopolis, so she's able to get there within the month. Her positioning right next to the surface meant she was already required to know some of the Inkling language, so while she's not at all fluent, she's able to get by enough that she's able to pawn off her armor, as well as practically anything that isn't directly necessary to her survival. Her armor specifically is important however, as she wants to get rid of anything that could potentially relate her to being an Octoling soldier, and while she doesn't realize that really no Inklings would think anything of it, she can't risk it. She uses the funds to get herself a place to stay for a while, and is finally able to just rest for a minute.

From there, she actually adjusts surprisingly well to everything on the surface. Her skill with weapon tech is actually in very high demand, as the need for weaponsmiths and repair workers is at an all time high, so she's able to get an apprenticeship at a repair shop in quick time, and not only does it pay well, but she loves the work. While it's not the same as what she was training to do in the military, weapons engineering, she just loves working with weaponry as a whole, and while she doesn't personally play, it's also a reassuring notion for her that she's able to pursue a lifelong passion of hers in a way that isn't actually tied to war and combat, it's all just a silly game everyones playing, there's no actual stakes

It's around two years before she ends up seeing May again, however. After the fight broke out, May ran back to her camp, grabbed June, and just... picked a direction and ran. It took another few months wandering lost before May was actually finally able to make it out, and given how big of a city Inkopolis is, she and Scarlet don't run into each other naturally for quite a long time. They both carry around a lot of guilt surrounding the situation though. Scarlet feels as if she basically just... abandoned May, who was in this desperate situation, and that she should've made more of an effort to look for her before she just left, and May feels like she's responsible for everything that happened to Scarlet. The two meet when May, going in for weapons adjustments to make sure everythings up to date for league regulations for June's first time trying out a game of Turf War, ends up at the shop Scarlet works at. The two are overjoyed to see that they've both settled remarkably well in on the surface, and that they both even made it out in the first place. It alleviates a lot of that guilt for both of them, as while they both end up feeling as though they should've handled the situation differently, this is at least proof neither party ended up worse off afterwards. They're also able to stay in touch after this, which helps them both feel a little less alone as one of only a few dozen Octolings in hiding on the surface.

Ultimately, this is where I stop being able to describe things solely from Scarlet's point of view, as when Crimson reenters the story, there's a lot of extra context that needs to be added as to why everything worked out the way it did, and somehow this has already ended up longer than the time I laid out literally the entire plot of all of my main OCs. Good lord above. I was not joking when I said this would take a long time to write and when I said I'd write a lot.

Sincerely, thank you so much for asking, I do apologize for letting this one... also get out of hand, since this is... a lot of text for anyone to read through, but I do so, so very much appreciate the chance to let myself just kinda shed the feeling of cringe for a moment and just let myself infodump about my OCs lol. Peace and love on planet earth <3

#my OCs #my art #i uh #yeah.#2.3k words.#NEXT AUTISM OC POST WILL BE ABOUT RUBY. I GUARANTEE YOU.#shes the one who's getting art rn thats taking forever but Will Be Posted Eventually.#umm id also like to elaborate on Crimson post-attack at some point. but oh boy she ALSO has a lot going on. so. yknow #autism. moment.#i know ive said it a lot already but still thank you sooo much <3 i really really do appreciate it more than i can express #My own OCs are a special interest for me which is. its hard.#what do you MEAN if i want content of my special interest I HAVE TO MAKE IT MYSELF????#anyways. thank u <3 #(id also like to elaborate on June at some point. shes like. Literally one of the ones with the most thought put into-#-yet she has BARELY appeared in my autismposting bc May is more directly plot moving)#the squits

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solarfeylix · 5 months

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Craig of The Creek Week 2023✨️

Prompt 3: Past/Future

Rating: E for Everyone :3

"A Glimpse Into The Future,"

Starring Characters: Tabitha, Courtney, Stacks and Kelsey

Summary: Stacks, Kelsey, Tabitha and Courtney have a black out during a sudden thunderstorm at Groovy Smoothie. When the lights flicker back on and the chaos dies down however; it appears the quad of girlies have been transported to the far future, where having fun is outlawed and magic is a lost art.

Story Type: Short Story; Warning! LONG POST

●●●

"So, there's a NEW Ythrith of Scriggith book coming out, but this time TWO NEW CHARACTERS are being added!!! Dude do you know what this MEANS?!" Kelsey excitedly jumped around Stacks, who held a few thicker books in her scrawny arms as they walked down the street to Groovy Smoothie.

Looking overhead, Stacks noticed a dark, menacing cloud looming overhead, the scent in the air changing almost instantly as the wind picked up.

"Yeah, Kelsey I know you're excited; but I think we should hurry up and make our way to the shop quicker than this. Look..." Stacks pointed towards the sky, gaining Kelseys attention for a moment before it was abruptly stopped by the sudden flash of a blinding, white light and rumbling sky.

The two girls ran with haste to the smoothie store, breathing heavily as they dashed inside and closed the door shut behind them; Stacks even dropped one of her favorite books along the way.

"Hey woah, what's going on?" Courtney noticed from across the room at her counter, removing her apron and name tag as she hastily moved toward Kelsey and Stacks, who were just now regaining their breath.

"We ran here to get out the storm. I'm sorry Courtney, it's just too far from home to walk back without getting entirely soaked." As Courtney knelt down and handed the two some spare smoothies that were left behind, she smiled and nodded in understanding.

"Tabitha, clean off that booth over there would you? I'm gonna let the girls sit there to wait out the storm," Courtney motioned to the table in the far corner that looked rather dank and eerie, but hey, at least it wasn't rainy and thundery.

"Why do I have to do it?" Whined Tabitha, who did as asked anyway. Either because she had to, because she had a heart for the kids, or because of her love for Courtney (or all three), she did it anyway. As she cleaned the last bit of trash off of the booth, the storm started to pick up and get stronger; the wind once or twice throwing the door open until Courtney locked it shut and flipped the open sign to closed.

"Looks like it's getting pretty bad. Where did our Boss say that emergency thing was?" Courtney questioned Tabitha, but Tabitha just shrugged.

"I didn't pay attention in that meeting, unfortunately," Tabitha said, holding out her cellphone and rapidly texting on its glossy screen.

Zzrrtt, Zzzt...

The lights began to flicker and the wind again picked up. Worried, Courtney decided to sit with Stacks and Kelsey to ease their nerves; Stacks especially looking shaken up as such.

Zzzt, Crack!

A nearby tree downed itself into the street, causing a large, thick wall between the way home and their location longer than usual when this all cleared up. Stacks began to shake a bit with anxiety as the wind began to howl more aggressively and the rain began to hit the roof and sound like metal pellets being shot toward the inside from the rooftop.

With each crack of thunder, Kelsey noticed the tension in Stack's body and couldn't bear the silence any longer. With a deep, calm breath in and out, Kelsey bravely spoke forward.

"Ya know, this is just like one of the stories I read, where this thunderstorm-"

CRACK! BOOM! ZZZ...ZZRRTT!!!

In a sudden instant, the lights went out, and everything shut off all at once. It was so dark outside. It was almost like you couldn't see anything out there in any of the large windows displayed within the store. Not the street, the other buildings outside, the cars, nothing. The four girls couldn't even see themselves.

In a span of what seemed like forever, the storm let up to visiblity; the rain still pelting hard and the wind howling against the building, and the lights came back on within the smoothie store.

As the girls looked around them, they realized they were no longer in a smoothie store but rather huddled together in a grocery store with robotic employees and holographic ads strewn about.

As they looked at each other, each of them noticed they didn't quite look as they did before. They were all older adults, in their mid to late twenties, in strange cyberpunk-esque clothing and dawning cybernetic implants.

"What.is.going.on?" Tabitha demanded an explanation, harshly whispering amongst the group about their whereabouts. Courtney, who looked drastically different with half of her entire body being robotic, looked equally freaked out.

The once preteen Stacks had eye implants that made zooming into whatever a breeze with high definition technology, and was now a young adult. As Kelsey examined herself, she noticed she appeared muscular and thick, dawning the fewest implants of the group.

"Where are we? This isn't really...funny." Stacks pointed out the futuristic setting of the world. She noticed several posters that had images of cameras, some that had the cameras marked out, some that had images of confetti and happy-looking people silhouetted into dancing shapes crossed out, and many more.

Around them, they notice everyone looked sad, almost miserable...what happened to the world? Is this a sign of things to come?

Kelsey looked deep in thought as she took the scene in around her. Suddenly, she bolted out of the grocery store abandoning the group, only to return with a look of fear and amazement across her face.

"I think we should...let's just go outside." Kelsey threw her hands up and motioned for them to come outside.

When they stepped out, the world was blanketed in a dark sky. The rain was still falling, but the world was dreary; void of any sort of happiness or joy. The people walked solely to their jobs or to grab whatever the grey block of "nutrition" they were selling along their way to work or to home/from. The world had no color; no buildings like McDonalds or anything that might indicate a small amount of joy in this desolate world.

All around them, there were giant robots fashioned as police officers, presumably, who were ripping people off the street for what seemed like small offenses, like smiling or sharing laughter; Stacks witnessed across the street, one of those blue and red officer bots snatching a mother away from her daughter because of a hug. Nearby, the same happening, but to a child playing with a tin can they found in the street.

"Is this...supposed to happen?" Courtney questioned, tears welling in her eyes as she took it all in around her. Despite the holograms, the neon lights, the low life high tech concept this world they were thrown into had, nobody was allowed to partake in any fun, joy, happiness, pleasure, leisure, or anything inbetween. The world was solemn, silent, and quiet; hardly a world anyone would want to be in.

"FREEZE."

As the group tried to move forward and find someplace safe to group together and figure out a plan, they were halted by a RoboBot.

"FREEZE. IDENTIFICATION."

They looked at each other worryingly, careful to maintain monotone faces and stonewall eyes.

"IDENTIFICATION. PLEASE PRODUCE YOUR IDENTIFICATION."

As they fluttered their pockets, shook out their shoes and dug around in other places looking for some form of ID, none were to be found until Kelsey looked down and saw four identification cards, presumably, at their feet.

Picking them up, she handed them to the Robobot who essentially inserted the cards into its system ATM style.

"ID PROCESSING. PLEASE STANDBY."

...

They waited in silence, before a loud shrill from the robot sounded off.

"WANTED FUGITIVES FOUND. STANDBY FOR ARREST. WANTED FUGITIVES FOUND. STANDBY FOR ARREST. WANTED FUGITIVES FOUND. STANDBY-"

As the Robot blared a cherry red light and screeching noise, more robots gathered. Kelsey then noticed the emblem of a crown behind each of their backs. She knew who was behind this...all of this.

"Xavier...." She gritted her teeth together and clenched her fists shut.

A loud whopping noise in the sky could be heard as a large, floating carrier landed nearby, official Android officers pooling out of it weaponry drawn.

"ON YOUR KNEES, NOW!" one demanded, using the butt of its gun to bash Courtney into the ground.

Kelsey and Stacks looked at each other, fear riddleing their bodies as they were handcuffed with hyperhot, laser based cuffs.

"Take them to President Xavier. That's an order." The Strongest of the officer droids demanded as we were hauled into the carrier like sardines and locked in.

"President Xavier...?!" Stacks looked at Kelsey, and even more fear fell across her face. "In this future, he became pretty much big brother?!" Shuttering with fear, Stacks began to softly cry.

"I wanna go home, Kelsey..."

Kelsey felt a large wave of guilt. If she hadn't of encouraged Stacks to go to the Groovy Smoothie, if she hadn't encouraged any of this they would probably still be in their world still.

Shaking with anger, Kelsey smiled at Stacks to reassure her; not allowing her to see the fear that riddled her being.

"I have a plan."

•••

When they finally felt the carrier land, the officers took them out one by one, placing them all together before moving into the large, overpowering building above. Large drones scanned the area, and robots were protecting every nook and cranny. Except one.

As they brought our fugitives into Xaviers lair, each of them began to accept their fate; but not Kelsey. Kelsey was always the hero in her stories. This time, it's a chance to be a hero in others'.

"Well, well, well...after twenty years of hiding, here are the four that got away," a mechanical voice sounded from across the large, Hollow room in which the four stood. In the dark, a small light balanced onto a now adult Xavier, who sat in a large throne made of pieces of Cybernetic body implants.

"This world is mine now, fugitives. You can't stop me. You couldn't even stop me back then at the great capture the flag war!" With a snap of a finger, Xavier lit up the dark, Hollow room to reveal all the creek kids Kelsey and Stacks played with, even the creek Elders, frozen in the time they lost the game of capture the flag.

Craig was in the glass, frozen with a smile on his face.

Kelsey grimaced.

"You're evil!" Tabitha growled.

"And you are?" Xavier flung himself over to Tabitha, grabbing her face within one hand and flinging her back down. "Oh, the one they call Tabitha."

Looking at the four, Xavier scowled.

"There is no more fun. No more playtime. NO more toys. No more games, books, candy...it's all gone. This world lives and breathes by my order and rule; what I got is what I deserve. To thwart that just because you think you can is a sin in and of itself punishable by death," Xavier yawned, "With you four out of the way, I can finally never worry again about some stupid rebels trying to mess with my power!"

Laughing manically, Xavier pushed a large button. A hiss was heard as an echo. The four of them looked at each other in deep uncertainty. Kelsey was still waiting for the moment to strike.

"I'll ensure none of you escape...because this time, I'm going with you!" Xavier lunged forward, smiling as if he had lost his mind entirely.

Kelsey finally stood, anger welling in her face and voice as she began to force her handcuffs apart.

"Code RED!" An officer Droid called, sleep pellets flying around as everyone dove for cover. The pellets hitting some of the cryprisons were the creek kids, frozen in time, stood; causing the glass to break and them to wake up.

As the crew all banded together, they smiled at each other, all of them breaking free from their cuffs.

"It's time you freeze, Xavier!" Kelsey cried out, throwing her cuffs across Xavier's head and incapacitating and officer, using its arsenal of sleep pellets to send Xavier to a very long nap time.

As the cryofrost began to near closer to them, they looked for an exit, but there wasn't a clear one. As Kelsey looked around in the rummage and chaos left behind, she discovered the liquid in which the original creek kids were frozen was draining into an old sewage pathway.

"Guys! Over here!" Kelsey cheered, getting everyone into the sewer passage and hopefully, out of this hell.

"Stacks, keep going until you get yourself and everyone else out. I have to reprogram these robots...if I don't make it out, tell my dad I love him!" Kelsey held Stacks hands as she said those words, closing the sewer gate behind her.

Kelsey ran through numerous halls before finding the one obviously labeled "Robotics Programming," and went inside, mouth covered and body layered with clothing.

'ENTER PASSWORD' was displayed on the largest monitor. Looking around, Kelsey pieced together the password by viewing the few things left behind from his youth. Entering it, she reprogrammed the robots to discontinue their purpose and do the opposite; incarcerate those who refuse to have fun instead!

As Kelsey was leaving, the Cryofrost stopped, and after running past the room where Xavier once was, she notices he was gone. The whole building suddenly turned a bloody red, and the phrase, "Self Destruct in T-Minus 10 Minutes" rang throughout the halls.

As Kelsey ran, Xavier stopped her in her tracks.

"Youre.not.going.ANYWHERE!" he yelled, lunging at Kelsey, knocking her to the ground.

"My entire life, you and the other kids in the creek always thought I wouldn't be anything. I wouldn't be better or powerful! Ever since I stole that wish from the heart of the forest, I knew this was the life I was destined to lead. You and your stupid rebellion won't change that! No matter how many times you run, no matter how many times you piece the pieces together, you'll never be like me! You'll never be on my level!"

As he screamed, he hit Kelseys implants and ripped her mechanical arm from its mechanical socket. Screeching in pain so loudly, it could be heard in the sewers below.

Stacks teared up as she escaped the sewers with the others, hoping Kelsey would make it...

Kelsey pushed Xavier off.

"Self destruction in T-minus 3 minutes!" Kelsey stomped on Xaviers cape, and used a shard of the glass that broke during his initial attack to staple him to the floor.

"I'm sorry Xavier, but I have to go," Kelsey said, Xavier struggling to free himself.

Kelsey ran into the sewer systems, and the explosion erupted with a loud THUD; shaking the ground and causing rubble to block the entrance of the sewer. Kelsey jumped out the exit, and met Stacks in a hug.

As they embraced, Kelsey felt a tap on her shoulder, then a forceful shake.

•••

"Hey, the storms stopped," Courtney handed a smoothie to Kelsey as she gently shook her awake. As Kelsey looked around, she noticed she was back at Groovy Smoothie, back in Herkleton, and back as a child.

"Oh my gosh did I do it?" Kelsey excitedly jumped, "Did I save the world from Xaviers evil reign?!"

Stacks, Tabitha, and Courtney all laughed.

"I guess so. You took a pretty long nap for a while," Stacks laughed, "Let's head home."

"Yeah, lets." Kelsey replied, "Oh! Thank you, Courtney and Tabitha, for letting us wait here."

"Your welcome, kiddos."

Kelsey gave them a light wave, and made her way home with Stacks. What a wild adventure, Kelsey thought; how many would they have in the future?

#cotcweek2023 #craig of the creek week 2023 #cotc #craig of the creek #craig of the creek fanfiction #cotc fanfiction

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