#once upon a time we used to GO OUT to entertain ourselves

[wheredafandomat]

You should be mine

Prince! Loki x Queen! female reader

18+| contains smut, infidelity, bit of angst

The door to the carriage swung open revealing the cheering crowd of Asgard as well as the familiar sight of the bifrost. You began to exit, the arm of one of your maids being replaced by Lokis as he offered it, as well as a small smile as you began to exit the carriage. You took it, looking over at Thor once your feet were placed firmly onto the ground only to find him entertaining the crowd by throwing his hammer in the air and catching it. He loved the attention, you shied away from it as did Loki.

“He can be quite brooding” Loki remarked, closing the door to the carriage behind you. “He’s rather immature.”

“That’s no way to speak about the king.” You replied, smiling at the maid who began fixing your tiara. “Your king.”

“As well as being king, he’s also my brother and I have plenty choice words about him.” Loki grimaced as Thor stumbled, nearly hitting the ground when his hammer threatened to slip out of his grip.

“I don’t doubt that.” You answered with a small smile before making your way towards your husband who had finally stopped tossing his hammer around. Once you reached him, he took your hand in his, giving it a small squeeze before you both addressed the crowd. Thor was going on a visit to some of the other realms in the hopes of uniting them and being the queen of Asgard, all royal responsibilities fell to you now. As Thor continued to speak, Loki made his way towards the other side of you, offering reassurance as Thor promised Asgard was in good hands. You smiled sweetly as he spoke, the crowd loving their rulers as if you three were above the all mighty. If only they knew the chaos, the lies, the deceit that lurked behind the palace doors, they’d not be as cheerful, trusting.

“And so I leave Asgard with the knowledge that my Queen consort as well as my brother the prince will take good care of it.” Thor declared before finishing his speech.

“You told me you wouldn’t be going to Midgard.” You spoke in his ear, spotting one of his warrior friends holding the roster which clearly had Midgard on it.

“It’s only a short visit.” He replied, keeping a smile on his face for anyone who could be watching your conversation.

“We don’t meddle with midgardian affairs unless of course it’s her you’re going to see.” You spat, Loki glancing in your direction as he heard the argument.

“I’m allowing you to take the reins here y/n, and you have Loki to help you with any royal duties you are unfamiliar with. See this time as a good thing.” Thor smiled brightly before pressing his lips to yours, the crowd erupting with more hearty cheers before Thor left your side, making his way towards the bifrost.

“So I was thinking that we’d build a statue in the middle of the square perhaps with a wishing well for the children to—are you even listening?” Loki demanded, looking at you as you sat on the throne, admiring your nails.

“Oh brother mine, how you drone on.” You sighed, looking towards him.

“I am not your brother.” He affirmed.

“In law” you corrected, rolling your eyes.

“I’d not use the term brother of any sort to describe our relationship considering the fact that we—well, let’s just say found ourselves engaging in rather amorous team bonding activities upon your first arrival at the palace.” He smirked as you blanched. “And a few times after you had settled in at the palace and that one time in the gardens and how could I forget that time in the—”

“Shhh, shh, sh.” You hushed, jumping from your throne and striding towards Loki before slamming your hand over his mouth.

“Oh come on, I know you think of me when you’re with him” he spoke in a low tone, pushing your hand away from his face causing you to take a step backwards “I bet you think of me when you’re alone too; legs splayed open as you touch yourself. Just, thinking, about, me.” He continued to speak, stepping closer towards you as his eyes dipped from yours down to your lips. “I’d go as far as to say you want me now, your body craves my touch. Doesn’t it.” He finished, eyes meeting yours again. You swallowed thickly before you answered.

“You can build the statue.” You replied before pushing past him and walking out of the throne room, aware of his eyes on you as you did so. You made your way towards Thors bed chambers knowing that Loki wouldn’t try to find you there. You didn’t frequent it much. You both had separate ones as well as one shared one you both didn’t visit anymore. At the beginning of this courtship, one you were both practically forced into, sleeping together in there was something done for pleasure, enjoyment rather than out of love because you both weren’t in love, you doubt your feelings for one another have  flourished since. Your relationship together was a convenience, you both knew that but deep down you had hoped that you could grow to love one another. With the lack of love came the lack of intimacy and the lack of intimacy grew into a desperate need for fulfilment; fulfilment the younger prince provided. You knew it was wrong, of course it was wrong, but you needed something, anything. You knew that Thor had been unfaithful but when he vowed that he wouldn’t again, you promised the same. How very ignorant of you.

Stepping inside, the first thing you noted was the jewellery on the dressing table, clearly a woman’s but not yours. The wardrobe was open a jar and you practically ripped the door off when you noticed ladies nightwear hung up. They looked different, not of this realm. You felt nauseous when you realised it was hers. Had he had her here? On Asgard? You began ripping the things off of the hangers and throwing them onto the floor. How dare he? Despite not explicitly being in love with Thor, you couldn’t help the tears that began streaming down your face at the betrayal.

“Am I to remind you that when my brother isn’t here, I’m not just a prince, I’m practically king.” Loki warned, his eyes narrowing at the guard that was standing in front of Thors chambers.

“But-I-sir” the guard fumbled before Loki pushed passed him with an exasperated huff. Opening the door, he swallowed down the sarcastic quip he had for you as he saw you destroying some garments with tears staining your cheeks.

“Oh y/n.” He exhaled sympathetically, making his way towards you on the bed as he took the scissors from your hands.

“She was here.” You cried, falling into Lokis arms as he sat next to you on the bed. Looking at the shredded clothes and the tears in your eyes, it was evident who she was. He’d never treat you like that, how Thor treats you, as if you were some common wench. He’d treat you how you deserved to be treated, he’d romance you, hold you closely, touch you tenderly, that much he was sure of. There wouldn’t be a day you’d deny his love for you but fate hadn’t allowed that possibility to come into fruition. You didn’t belong to him, you were Thors.

“You deserve so much better.” Loki spoke earnestly, kissing the top of your head as he cradled you to his chest.

“D-do you actually mean that or are you just saying it?” You questioned, sitting up properly.

“I mean it.” He reassured, conjuring a handkerchief before he began dabbing at your damp cheeks. There were a few moments of silence before you spoke again.

“I do” you sniffled, looking at his face as he concentrated on wiping your tears away.

“You do?”

“I think about you” you admitted “a lot.” Pausing his movements, Lokis eyes met your own before you continued. “I think about the nights we’ve spent together, the days, I think about the times I catch you looking at me, all the times we’ve been so close to just running away together. I think about the women you bring to the palace, the ones you sleep with in the brothels, I wonder if you think about me when you’re with them, if you touch them how you touch me, if you kiss them how you kiss me.” Lokis eyes dipped to your lips in what felt like the tenth time today before he cupped your cheek, brushing his lips against yours in a gentle kiss.

“There’s no one I’d touch like you, I am yours entirely.” He uttered, looking deeply into your eyes. “You possess me y/n.” He finished before you kissed him again, more purposefully, more passionately. He pulled you flush against him, kissing you back intensely. His hands held your cheeks, his tongue pushed past yours as you parted your lips. You moaned into the kiss as he pulled you into his lap, laying against the bed as you straddled him.

“But you do touch them yes?” You spoke, panting as you caught your breath back. There was a new fire in your eyes, a determination, Loki noted it as his lips curled up into a smirk.

“Yes.” He agreed.

“Show me how you touch them.”

Wordlessly agreeing, Loki switched your positions so that he was above you, between your legs as he leant down, capturing your lips again. You lifted your hips slightly, wanting to grind against his evident bulge as he rolled his hips against yours. The constraints of your clothes were proving bothersome, stopping you from receiving the pleasure you deserved, the pleasure only he could grant.

“Loki.” You mewled, needing more of him, desperately.

“You want to be taken like a whore hmm?” He muttered, pushing your dress up your legs. You nodded in response, hiking your dress up further. Freeing his cock, he gripped it with one hand as he reached between your legs with the other, pushing your underwear to the side before gathering your slick and lubricating himself with it. Your head fell back as you felt his fingers against your clit, toying with it for a few moments before his fingers were replaced by the tip of his cock. He ran it through your folds, teasing you, taunting you. You tried to raise your hips again, needing to feel him. “No, you’ll take what I give you.” He tutted, holding one of your hips down with his hand before he lined himself up with your entrance.

You both moaned as he pushed inside of you, filling you completely, your walls wrapping around him, coaxing him further. He gave you mere moments to adjust before he was pulling out and entering you again. Your nails dug into the leather of his tunic as he fucked you, teeth bared as he swivelled his hips. His name fell from your lips in hushed praises as his hand reached between you both, circling your clit in slow rehearsed circles. You were drowning in pleasure, finally getting what it was that you craved. Your hand wound up in Lokis hair, the black trestles wrapping around your fingers. You could feel your climax approaching quickly with every calculated thrust.

“Lokii, I’m so closee.” You gasped, eyes closed tightly.

“Go on, let go” he cooed, edging you closer to the precipice before you came with one last lewd moan of his name “that’s it” he coaxed, thrusting into you a few more times as your walls pulsed around him.

“Ohh Loki.” You whimpered, coming down from your high as he continued entering you slowly, prolonging your orgasm.

“He doesn’t deserve you” he spoke, leaning down to kiss you “you should be mine.”

A/N: OMG I WROTE SOMETHING 🤮 wheredaficsat 😂

Tags:

@lokisgoodgirl @mischief2sarawr @mochie85 @lulubelle814 @lokisninerealms @lokiprompts @vickie5446 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @mcufan72 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @lokilvrr @evelyn-kingsley

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki (marvel) #oc fiction #loki fanfiction #loki smut #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki x reader fluff #loki x female reader smut #thor x reader angst #loki of asgard #loki marvel #loki laufeyson

[thescribeoflostmemories]

The Doll House

Yan! Modern Childe x 'pet'! Fem! reader x yan! modern Pantalone (Xtra Dessert!)

Minors do not interact or better yet, if you're uncomfortable with dark fiction. You may look away and nothing will be gone from you.

Thirsty fans, come git yer round 2 dessert. I know you guys have a separate stomach for it. Have a mood board for this fic too.

Warnings: R18+ Explicit content, Using Childe's actual name, Dub-con/non-con(?), bondage (ribbons), cosplay, use of titles/pet names: Sir, kitty, sweetie etc.., And more unnamable things to come. (+ Bad writing of smut)

This is my apology to you guys since I ran into some difficulty making the requests given in my inbox or chat, because I'll be busy for the next couple of days for personal reasons. - Puppeteer

"Y'all are thirsty, ps. Scribe doesn't know about this so please keep it between you and me." - Falaila

¶🗡️¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥🗡️¶

"Give me a little twirl, Darling." Pantalone commanded as you move your body around in the black lolita style cosplay.

"A-ah… " letting out a low moan as you took a step. Feeling the cat tail wag inside of your rear, no doubt that Pantalone got it just for his entertainment. Sweet chimes of bells ever bounce along with you as you get near the Regrator who sat upon a red velvet-y couch.

"Now, that's a good girl. Big improvement from last time." He smiled, having you on his lap, nipping at your exposed skin. Savoring the sight of you wearing the things he picked. Especially that collar of yours, customised embossed on the leather with his title. Hands roam around your body while your head rests on his chest. You couldn't do anything with your hands tied by a ribbon.

"Pan-!" Feeling the sharp pain on your bare bottom under your skirt making you yelp.

"Tsk, tsk, _. We talked about this, address me properly." Pushing up the frilly skirt before resting his hand on your butt cheek, rubbing it.

"I'm s-sorry, master." Whimpering as you buried your face against his chest out of humiliation.

"Mm, there we go." He hummed seemingly satisfied, it had been at least a few months after taking you in. His other gloved hand stroked your head, occasionally playing with the cat ear headband. Meanwhile, the hand that's on your ass teased you by pushing the tail a bit further in before rubbing your exposed cunt.

"Does my little kitten miss her master filling her up?" Teasing as to get a lewd reaction from you, while leaving love marks all over your neck. Knowing this would be enough to piss off Ajax once he comes back.

"We have all the time to ourselves, sweetie." Inserting his fingers in your sopping wet hole. "Oh, rose." He hissed when he felt you rubbing against him on his lap. Pulling his digits out and forcing you to lick it clean. Hesitant lips pried open as your tongue identifies the substance. “ Tasty?” Another jest, a humoured chuckle resonated from his throat.

He retreats his hands from your body, first you hear the jingle of his belt, then his zipper. It caused you to shiver in fear. " Don't be scared now." He mused before forcefully pulling you down on his lap, entering your warm entrance.

"Ngh… Master… It's too much..!" You were about to say his name again but rather not get humiliated. Tears welled up in your eyes as the pain slowly subsided into pleasure. He could feel you squeezing him tight, another spank is earned this time, his hand just squeeze your buttcheek.

"Shush, you take it as it is with pride." Kissing the side of your head before moving your hips to meet with his, letting your mouth make incoherent, lewd noises. What adds to your mortification is that the immoral act is on display to whomever enters or opens the door.

Jealous eyes met with his, the Regrator merely smirked and thrust his hips more. Hearing those sweet melodious moans from your lips satisfies him along with the saccharine tolls of the bells. Baby blue eyes that peered from the crevice of the door, stared coldly at him with an ill intent. His grip on your ass hasn't left, with one final thrust, he came inside of you. Some of his cum dribbled out, biting his lips as he felt you also came all over him.

"Mm, fuck… Who do you like better, doll. Me, Or a child?" He's asking a rhetorical question. Because he knows you'll choose him, right? It is also to taunt the little peeping tom in the room who made eye contact with him. His smile turned smug when he saw a child giving him the middle finger from the crack between the doors. In response to that, Pantalone's hand made contact with your pinkish butt cheek again earning another moan from your candied lips.

Before you could even speak, the door slammed open. "You fucking bastard, getting a head start!" Looking back at Ajax who had his shirt tattered a bit, he got into a fight earlier. While Pantalone just hummed and pulled you closer to his chest.

"Look, you're scaring her.." He cooed, kissing your forehead. It irked Ajax as you started to dread the sounds of him taking off his pants. "Oh, I'll fucking show you." Grumbled the 11th seat.

"W-wait-! I'm not ready- ah!" The cat tail is removed from your teased asshole as his cock slowly sinks in, replacing it. Letting out a loud groan, both men felt how your gummy walls clenched around them.

But that didn't stop the ginger haired combative man. "H-huu.. s-sir..!" He didn't hear your plea as he grabbed onto your bound hands from behind and used it to pull and push back into you.

"Fuck..! So, tight!" Ajax huff in your scent as your voice bounces off the room he can't even hear the sweet sounds of the bells placed on you.

Not seeing that scheming smile on Pantalone's face, he wasn't lying when he told you that he'll have more time with you than with Tartaglia. Especially when Ajax just came back from work. He figured that Pierro would assign the youngest to another turf for another shake down soon, leaving less time with you.

"Hope you don't mind working overtime, sweetheart. Unless you want us to breed you just before our wedding tomorrow."

#fatui x reader #genshin x reader #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #childe x y/n #genshin fanfic #yandere pantalone #yandere childe #genshin smut #Falaila's Dessert #Scribe's not here!

[thenightcallsme]

ATWOW | Neteyam Sully, pt. 2

"Every hiss and yell is echoed by the cries of Tuk. She calls to her sister in heart-breaking anguish, who begs her to remain calm. Nobody is calm."

Synopsis: An experiment to improve the Avatars as a child who managed to escape lab confinements and seek refuge among the Ometikayan clan, you are a nobody. You have no family name, no natural ties to the land of Pandora, yet the Sully's took you in. Life could not be the same without them, so when they are forced to leave to protect the clan, fate settles in, and you find yourself journeying alongside them in search of the foreign lands and ways of the Metkayina Clan. Threats of the sky people grow closer every day. Not only is everything you know tested by their advances but by the relationship you have with Jake Sully's oldest son. ...Neteyam.

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Ometikaya OC (Gi'anya, or Gi for short)

Contains: established OC POV, mild violence, crude language

Word count: 4,757

find the rest of the chapters in my masterlist here :)

• • • • •

In fleeting moments, amidst the chaos that has been a year dictated by intergalactic war, I find peace among nature. Pandora’s landscapes never cease to amaze me despite never knowing anything else. Today is one of those fleeting moments. Jake, Neytiri and Neteyam have left on a routine scouting mission, leaving Me, Kiri, Lo’ak Spider and Tuk to entertain ourselves. Not much is expected at High Camp today, so instead of the usual supply gathering and children watching, we take off into the floating islands.

The five of us scale a network of interlocking roots connecting the islands. Whispy clouds snake over the green landscape below, ascending between the suspended masses of rock. Shadows from the larger islands above cast abstract shadows over the forest. In the distance, swarms of birds and untamed Ikrans alike weave through trees and dangling roots, carefree in their nature.

Spider leaps over a lap in the root path, careful not to slip on the lush plant life. Being human, he is incapable of the many athletic feats we Na’vi can achieve, but Spider is an enigma for his species. Growing up alongside us has taught him better agility and reflexes than humanity could teach him. Their dependence on machinery had doomed them. Spider was not like them. As he makes the jump, he cuts off Lo’ak, who laughs, impressed.

“Go, monkey boy, go!” Kiri calls.

“Guy’s wait up!” Tuktirey whines.

I’m unsure of where we are heading. It is not unusual for us to explore the forests of Pandora, but usually, we are exploring together. This time, Lo’ak has enticed us with a vague proposition. You have to see this, at least once. Just once. I was both intrigued and off-put by his persuasions, but upon the other’s interest, I decided to join anyway. Knowing Lo’ak, someone had to be there to ease the blame if he did something stupid, and being the oldest out of us five, who better than me?

After finding our way to the ground, Lo’ak leads us through a dizzying maze of trees and plants. Following his lead, we cross a fallen tree across a small river cutting through the rich soil, only wide enough to allow single file. Fluffy mosses carpet the bark, indicating it had fallen a long time ago. Tuk comes to a stop in front of me. She pants as she crouches down beside a large plant in the height of its bloom. Blue tendrils sprout unfurling pink petals. With a giggle, she runs her small fingers through the tendrils, which come to life and adhere to her skin. I give her a light tickle on her back and whisper for her to continue, though it’s not before Lo’ak notices the distraction.

“Tuk! Keep up!” her big brother urges, throwing his arms wide in exasperation.

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, okay.”

“Bro, why’d you bring her anyway?” Spider questions.

Lo’ak, with a shrug of his shoulders, comes to a stop. “She’s such a crybaby. She’s all, ‘I’m telling. You’re not supposed to go to the battlefield, I’ll tell Mom if you don’t let me come.’” 

“The battlefield?” I repeat in disbelief. “Lo’ak.”

Lo’ak gives me a deadpan stare as if to seem unbothered, but the way his ears twitch downwards gives him away to his guilt. “Yeah, so?”

“So? Your dad would skin us, and I don’t feel like testing him now of all times.” I sigh.

“Oh, come on, what happened to the unbothered you?” Lo’ak counters. “Neteyam is rubbing off on you too much.”

I purse my lips. The jab is lighthearted, but sometimes I wonder the same. In my youth, I was reckless. In fact, sometimes Lo’ak is so alike me, I wonder if I’m looking at a walking catalogue of my past mistakes. On the day that the sky people returned, my mindset sobered. I had become so comfortable in my life without them, too comfortable that, upon their return, an anxiety I did not know I had buried deep down resurged. I’ve spent every day since living on edge. My influence is not great in our clan, but if even the smallest thing I can do helps towards defeating them, Eywa knew I would do it tenfold. 

But she also knew that I missed being carefree.

At my silence, Lo’ak’s tone loses the hard, defensive edge. “You’re not going to turn around, are you?”

“And miss out on seeing the battlefield when I’m this close?”

A smile that is not short of relieved pricks at the corners of his mouth. “That’s what I like to hear.”

It only takes two more minutes of weaving through the jungle before Lo’ak comes to a halt, turning to face us with a proud grin. With a flourish of his arms, he points to the canopy above. Spider whistles in morbid amazement.

Suspended by the embrace of gnarled vines is an old hovercraft. The glass of the front windshield is caved in, the remaining jagged edges coated in grime and fallen leaves. Old designs are overshadowed by the flora that attempts to reclaim the hunk of metal. Rays of pale sunlight shine between the four turbine rotors on either side. From the base of the tree that the vines hang from are great, protruding roots. The arched formation allows us to reach the vines and climb. Lo’ak takes the lead and scales a rather thick one and hangs from the rail. As he does so, Kiri dismisses herself, more interested in the plant life than the ghosts of Pandora’s past.

“Are there any dead bodies up there?” Tuk asks.

Lo’ak peers into the craft, leaning out to say, “Just one skeleton in the pilot seat. The rest must have been cleared out a long time ago by the animals.”

I climb up the vine and tentatively place one foot inside the haul. The rusted metal groans in protest but holds. Satisfied, I swoop through the frame, but not without warning the other two to be careful.

Inside the metal frame of the craft are worn seats charred from an engine fire years ago. Equipment and leaves are scattered throughout and glass sprinkles the floor where windows have smashed. Lo’ak has found himself in the cockpit, sitting in the empty seat and pressing the unresponsive buttons. The array of electronics is confusing to him but makes some sense to me. In my days living with the human scientists, they taught me how to operate machinery—on a smaller scale, obviously. But there were many times when I found myself in the hauls of these things, pestering the co-pilots on its inner workings. 

The human’s ability to guide and command the craft mesmerised me. Hours of my childhood were spent inspecting the way their small fingers glided across the panels and eased the yoke, memorising the use of each one. Over the years, that information has faded, but some of it was still there.

“I haven’t been in one of these things since I was a kid…” I murmur.

Lo’ak is initially confused, then… “I didn’t mean to—”

I shake my head, cutting him off. “No, it’s fine. I had happier memories when flying.”

“Did you fly one?” Tuk asks as she peers around my leg, examining the yellowed bones of the past pilot. 

“I wish. No, but the controls make sense to me. If it still worked, first…” I reach over the pile of bones and flip a switch on the overhead controls. Unsurprisingly, the craft isn’t responsive. “…fuel cock is on. Then the ignition is turned off aaaand the throttle needs to be at about a half…” The throttle, which is found between the seats, is a trouble to move. My fingers then glide across the control panel, picking out the buttons and switches I can remember. As I do so, I mumble beneath my breath the order of startup. “Then the propeller speed lever is set forward, supercharge witched to auto… now ignition foes on—oh, wait, the carburettor air intake filter is closed before that.”

As I ramble, the three watch with interest. Most notable is Lo’ak, who watches my every move carefully as if I’m meant to instruct him. Spider seems indifferent and Tuk is half interested in the view from the shattered windshield than aircraft nonsense despite being the one to ask.

I end my display by releasing the booster-coil button and screwing down the primer pump. “And now you have a running Aerospatiale SA-2 Samson.”

“Impressive,” Lo’ak says. “You reckon you could fly one?”

I just shrug. “I could keep it airborne longer than you could.”

He makes a face as if the very reasonable answer is a challenge. Tuk brushes past me to examine the unintelligible jumble of controls.

“Hey, what does this—”

As Tuk reaches for an enticing red button, my drops and I pull her away without a second thought. “Maybe not that one, huh?”

She frowns. “Why?”

“It’s the release for the cluster bombs.”

“But it can’t do anything—the thing can’t even start.”

“I know, it’s just…” I shake my head. “After years of being unexploded the detonators and charge deteriorate and they get more sensitive. There’s no research on how our environment speeds or slows the process, so we need to be extremely careful. In fact, I think we’re done here.”

Lo’ak rolls his eyes and jumps to his feet. The craft sways. “Come on, Gi, don’t be boring.”

“She has a point,” Spider counters. I give him a look of thanks before turning back to Lo’ak with a ‘see?’.

“I’m bored anyway. Can we find something else?” Tuk asks.

Exasperated, Lo’aks only answer is to shoo her towards the exit, which we climb down one by one. Beyond the thick canopy, the brightness of the blue sky has dimmed into a haze. Midday is nearing; so is the eclipse. I chew at my lower lip in restlessness. There’s no time to find something else because we’re always supposed to be home by eclipse. Even leaving now would be cutting it short.

Our one problem is that Kiri is nowhere to be found. I’m not worried that she’s gone far, but the tightly packed plant life makes it exceptionally hard to find things. Spider and Lo’ak have clashing ideas of where she went and decide to split up. Spider and I go one way while the other two go their own. I hum softly as I follow the human boy through outstretched branches and leaves. Lively tendrils from those explosions of pink flowers suction to my legs, arms and tail as I push through, enticing me to sink into the fertile soils and lush foliage. No wonder Kiri would rather waste her time connecting with life rather than dwelling on the spoils of the past. 

“Kiri?” Spider calls out, his voice slightly muffled from the oxygen mask. He pushes past a ridiculously huge leaf that hangs down from a spindly tree. He calls her name once more, stops, comes to attention, and then advances with purpose. He’s found her.

Laying in the confinements of a quiet clearing is Kiri, curled up on the grass. The pink-tipped, leafy fingers sprouting from the ground sway around her unnaturally—there’s no breeze this deep in the forest. Instead, the grass sways in ripples around her, as if she was the source of a breeze. Woodsprites drift around her, shimmery and iridescent in the fading sun. The sight would, on some occasions, be strange—the seeds were far from the Tree of Souls. Kiri, however, seems to attract them as if she were the tree herself.

Spider drops to her side and shakes at her shoulder, repeating her name. When she doesn’t wake at first, I step forward and stroke her hair from her face in worry. With an exceptionally strong shake, Kiri is finally pulled from her deep sleep. She brings herself up with heavy breathes. You’d think she just ran a marathon.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She lowers her gaze. “I was doing that…thing again, wasn’t I?”

Spider gently brushes away a sprite that drifts before him. “Yeah, you were.”

“Kiri?”

“Kiri!”

Lo’ak and Tuk’s distant voices reach the clearing. Soon after, they become visible. They both usher us over hurridly and we are quick to comply. The dimming sun sets me on edge the closer it reaches the obscuring planet. Our pace is rushed as we make our way back to High Camp. Although, we don’t reach the ascent to the flying mountains before Lo’ak comes to a sudden stop.

“What is it?” Kiri asks.

Wordless, he leaps down from the snaking roots and onto the forest floor, coming to a crouch to examine something in the soil. Spider follows suit. Nervous at the time that is being wasted, Tuk starts to pace, reciting how much trouble we’d face coming home after the eclipse.

“It’s way too big for a human,” Lo’ak murmurs to Spider.

The comment piques my interest. Pressed into the damp is a large footprint, as Lo’ak said, too big to be human. Not only that but there are no markings of the four or five toes from the Na’vi and Avatar. Instead, the imprint is shaped to resemble the sole of a shoe. Native Na’vi didn’t wear shoes. Those who did were Avatars, and even then, most of the Avatars we knew had adopted the lifestyle down to the clothes.

“Avatars?” Spider voices the shared thought.

Lo’ak purses his lips and surveys the surrounding bush. “Maybe. But they’re for sure not ours.”

Then, wordlessly and in sync as if their ideas were telepathically shared, Spider and Lo’ak rise, carefully creeping forward. Each footstep falls in tandem. Us three girls stand to follow. Kiri tilts her head in confusion.

“What are you doing?” She asks, only to be shushed by her brother.

“We’re tracking.”

Silently, we follow the two off the root path and into a thick underbrush. The ease I’d felt on this day off has vanished, replaced by a heavy, sickening feeling in my stomach. Every sense has suddenly heightened; the smallest rustle of a leaf in the wind has my ears perking up and swivelling in its direction. I find myself with my hands hovering at my sides tensely as if ready to fight. But fight what, I’m not sure. All I know is that instinct is there.

Ahead, the boys slow at a break in the thick foliage, stopping short of a dense fern. The five of us peer through the leaves and at a clearing beyond, greenery illuminated by the blinding, but still dying, sunlight. Swallowed by the roots of a budding tree is a train car looking piece of modified metal. Beneath rust and moss and fungi, the shapes of windows and a door are briefly visible. I can’t get a good enough look, my vision obscured by a towering blue figure sporting human clothing and human weapons.

An Avatar. One unlike those I knew.

It was undoubtably a male. His closely cropped, dark hair fades into the long braided queue protruding from the base of his skull—a trait of the Avatars, unlike the queues from the top of a Na’vi’s skull. His clothes are that of human military; a tactical vest over a khaki tank top, camo trousers tucked into combat boots and a black throat mic. In his hands was a hefty gun at the ready. A second was strapped to his thigh. No doubt his person was riddled with weapons. 

As the Avatar approaches the cart, three more follow; two males and a female. Tattoos, human clothes and human weapons are adorned by the Avatars. None of them are our own…instead belong to the sky people who reinvaded Pandora a year ago.

“We are never supposed to come here,” Kiri whispers to her brother. “Dad is going to ground you.”

Lo’ak shushes her. “Can you stop?”

“For life.”

Lo’ak ignores her, instead nudging at Spider. “Bro, we’ve got to check this out.”

Despite my appaled look and hissed, “Absolutely not,” the two breeze past me as if I was nothing but a thought. I hang back with bated breath and a racing mind as the two advance, bows in hand. Being the oldest here, every mistake they make will fall on my shoulders. Just being her is enough to earn me a piece of Jake’s mind. You should know better. I can already hear the scolding echoing in the distance as if the future was calling to me. A warning. And yet here I am, frozen and afraid to cause a scene as Spider and Lo’ak close in on the Avatars. Kiri gives my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. There is nothing we can do.

Up ahead, the two linger behind the overgrowth of a fallen tree. They lean in, sharing whispers I cannot hear as one of the skinhead Avatar enters the metal shed. The female leans through a broken window to watch. After a few minutes, he exits and motions to another Avatar sporting a pair of sun visors. The deepness of his voice reaches my ears and hints at an accent similar to Jake’s, but his words are incomprehensible.

Relief relaxes the tension in my shoulders when Spider and Lo’ak retreat back to the bush, silent and unnoticed. Lo’ak’s hand hovers over his throat mic. There’s a second of hesitation as he shares a look with his human friend, and after a long, regretful sigh, he presses the mic.

“Devil Dog, Devil Dog, this is Eagle Eye, over.” There’s a faint hum from his earpiece as someone responds. “I’ve got eyes on some guys. They look like Avatars, but they’re in full camo and carrying ARs. There’s six of them. Over.”

There’s a second of pause as he listens to the response. He scrunches his face as he prepares to answer.

“Um… We’re at the old shack.” Another pause. “Me, Spider, Kiri, Gi…and…and Tuk.”

Spider grimaces. So do I. Now we’re all in trouble.

“Yes, Sir, we’re moving out.”

Lo’ak rises as he gives his final answer. The rest of us follow, taking no time to retreat as quickly and quietly as possible. Once enough brush is passed, we rise from our crouches and move at a faster pace through the forest. Tuk races a few steps ahead.

“You’re going to be in so much trouble,” Kiri says snidely.

“Shh, Kiri, stop.”

I shoot the both of them a look. “If anyone’s getting in trouble here, it’s me! I’m supposed to be responsible for you lot, and I let one thing slide, just one—”

“Guys,” Tuk interjects, swivelling to walk backwards. “Come on, it’s almost eclipse.”

I’m only half paying attention to what she’s saying, frowning as that uneasy feeling returns in full swing. It has lingered since discovering the enemy Avatars, but now my fight or flight senses are screaming at me. My gaze wanders ahead of Tuk in sudden fear. A shadow of blue catches my attention, visible and then not within a second, but enough to confirm my fear.

But it’s not in time to warn Tuk.

From behind the trunk of an ancient tree, an Avatar springs from hiding. Tuk is tackled into her grip. She screams and everything erupts into chaos.

The four of us snap into offence and from a line, Lo’ak and Spider drawing back armed bows with snarls and me brandishing my obsidian blade. If it were just us four against one Avatar, I would have no reluctance to launch forward and sever her head from her neck. When four more Avatars emerge from hiding armed to the teeth with alien weapons, I instead remain still, knowing better. Lo’ak and Spider share my concern. That doesn’t stop us from raising our weapons.

Loaded ARs are trained at our heads. In broken Na’vi, the Avatars shout at us to lower our weapons. For a moment we are all at a standstill, screaming at each other with weapons drawn. But we are at a disadvantage. The humans possess adult Avatar bodies, tall and packed with muscle, brandishing automatic weapons that would riddle us with bullets before a single arrow could land. The fight is unfair. With Tuk in their hold, it’s not a fight worth attempting.

“Put it down, or I’ll shoot you!” One of the males yells at me

With a toothy snarl to mask my fear, I slowly lower the blade, drop it to the ground, and then raise my palms in submission. Lo’ak is next to heed their words and urges Spider to do the same. The second his bow meets the grass, the Avatars are moving, launching at us with vice-like grips void of any kindness. A substantially large male takes my wrists in his hands. I cry out as his knee slams into the back of my thigh, forcing me to the ground and switching both wrists to one hand so he can grab my queue. Pain seers through my skull as he squeezes. Every hiss and yell is echoed by the cries of Tuk. She calls to her sister in heart-breaking anguish, who begs her to remain calm.

Nobody is calm.

“Nobody fight back,” I remind the others at the sight of Spider’s exceptional struggle. “Do as they say.”

The Avatar holding me gives my wrists an unnecessary shake, taking the rest of my body with the movement. I slam into his back. “Shut up and don’t move!”

With a proud and purposeful stride, the skinhead slowly makes his way through the circle of captives. His gun remains at the ready. “What have we here?”

Another Avatar comes behind me, taking one of my hands from his companion’s hold. He stretches out my arm with unnecessary strength and spreads my fingers. He then reaches for Kiri with his free arm to do the same. 

“Hey, Colonel, look,” he says in their language, “check it out. Four fingers. We got half-breeds.”

With nothing more than a thoughtful nod, the Colonel makes his way towards Lo’ak. “Show me your fingers.”

Slowly, Lo’ak brings his hands forward, uncurling his clenched fists to wave taunting middle fingers in his face. The Colonel only smiles.

“You’re his, aren’t you?” Jake’s. There’s no mistaking who he means. Lo���ak snarls, causing his grin to widen. “Oh, you’re his, alright.” The male holding Lo’ak steps back, allowing his Colonel to grab Lo’ak’s queue. He’s forced to stand beneath the pressure, groaning in pain. “Where is he?”

“Sorry, I don’t speak English…” Lo’ak says slowly in Na’vi despite knowing their language. “To assholes.”

He snarls and shakes Lo’ak, replying in butchered Na’vi. “Where is your father?”

A gut-churning cry of pain is urged from Lo’ak as the stranger Avatar clenches his queue harder. His knees buckle slightly beneath him. Kiri’s lip quivers at the sight. Tuk cries harder. Despite the look of pain etched into his face, he does not yield to the stranger. Brave. Stubbornly brave. It irks to Colonel, evidently so in the quiver of his upper lip into a short-lived snarl.

“Really? You want to play it this way?”

He unsheaths a blade and everything is thrown into chaos.

“Stop!” I blurt out. “Enough! We have done nothing for you to attack us like this! Do you not have any courtesy?!”

The Colonel’s head swivels so fast in my direction you would think it would fly right off. His grip loosens on Lo’ak and the blade lowers. “What.”

I scowl. “You heard me.”

“Oh, I heard you alright. I hear you perfectly.” His attention is entirely divided. It’s enough to have him stepping away from Lo’ak and in my direction. “You speak English very well.”

“It’s my first language,” I murmur.

He hums in some sort of agreement. “I can hear it in your accent. Impressive. Why don’t you tell me, instead…”

Knife still drawn, the Colonel approached me with interest glinting in his otherwise emotionless eyes. There’s something incredibly offputing about this Avatar. I’ve seen many before, but none of them carry themselves like he does. Otherworldy is the first word to come to mind, and of course, he is from another world, but it’s not admirable or captivating. It’s terrifying. 

“Where is your father?”

I simply shrug. “Who knows? I never met him.”

He snarls. “Don’t play games with me, girl.”

“I’m not lying!” My voice rises when his knife nears. “I was a lab experiment!”

His knife lowers. Thankfully, he believes me. “Project Hawk, huh? I didn’t know anyone survived that fiasco. Fine then, you’re no use to me.”

Without a second thought, the Colonel seizes me, spinning my body so that my back is pressed to his armoured torso. A muscular arm locks around my neck. Any more morsels of strength and my windpipe would begin to close. My breathing hardens and I beg in protest as another Avatar takes my two wrists and binds them crudely with strange electric cuffs. The hard edges rub my skin raw. Satisfied with my immobilisation, I’m spun to face the Sully’s. Tuk wails and the others watch with wide, horrified eyes as a knife is held at the ready against my stomach. A noise escapes me in fear.

“Don’t fight back,” Kiri begs quietly. “We just need some time.”

“Don’t hurt her!” Spider demands.

The Colonel walks me towards Spider in order to address him. “What’s you’re name, kid?”

I share a look with Spider. He’s uncertain. I simply nod. Buy time. I mouth the words. The vague movement of my lips registers, and without further instructions, Spider speaks.

“Spider,” he answers breathlessly. “Soccoro.”

I feel the Colonel’s breath pause. “Miles?”

“Nobody calls me that.”

“Well, I’ll be damned…” he murmurs. “I figured they sent you back to Earth.”

“Can’t put babies in cryo, dipshit.”

There’s a moment of silence as the two stare each other down. It’s less challenging and more…unsure. The Colonel knows who Spider is and from the confusion beneath a fogged oxygen mask, the familiarity is not mutual. Rightfully so; I’ve never seen these Avatars in my life.

“What are we doin’, boss?”

The question from Spider’s captor is only answered by a silent, emotionless glance as the Colonel is pulled from his far-away stare. Instead, he reaches for his throat mic, speaking codenames to someone none of us can see. He waits patiently for a callback. The conversation that entails is not surprising, but my heart sinks nonetheless.

“We are standing by for extract, over. Be advised, we’re bringing in high value prisoners.”

The Sully’s and I share worried looks. Our time was being cut extremely short, and with our help also on the way, there was no telling who was going to get here first—the sky people or Jake. 

The Colonel and the rest of his Avatars promptly bind the others with handcuffs and drag us carelessly through the jungle and back to the battlefield. It’s swarming with more Avatars than I was aware of. Upon direct orders, our feet are swept from beneath us, knees forced into the dewy grass. No amount of pleading even amounts to a more comfortable position. My knees quickly begin to ache. 

Fear settles in the longer we wait. The more I try talking to the Colonel, the less impressed he is with my fluid understanding and ability to speak English. Cold steel presses against the soft flesh of my stomach at my endless rambling.

“You shut it,” he hisses. “You’re English just made this a hell of a lot easier, and it would be a real shame if I had to reward your usefulness with a knife in your throat.”

“My throat?” I scoff. “You’re full of shit, you know.”

He hums. “Fine, you call my bluff. I need your throat. But your fingers? You could do with losing one. Call it a favour, perhaps, to help you blend in with the savages.”

I don’t talk after that. 

As the sun finally disappears behind the distant planet, the Colonel watches something on a tablet given to him by his comrade. It was a file extracted from the old mech body suit used to fight Jake many years ago. From the sounds of the Sully’s familiar voices and the cracking shatter of glass followed by dying wails, it’s the video file documenting Spider’s dad, Miles Quartich’s, last moments. The Colonel doesn’t speak as he watches the violence. Once the video finishes, the sun has entirely disappeared.

#avatar #avatar the way of water #atwow #neteyam #neteyam avatar #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x oc #fanfiction

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave - A Baldurs Gate fanfiction

CHAPTER 15

Nobody tells you how quickly time flies by when you’re a parent. Jenevelle is already three months old, and she’s been nothing short of a miracle in our lives. She’s still so small yet so full of life; full of smiles and laughter throughout the days, and hardly cries. Gale and I finally have her transitioned to her room in her crib now, which was so hard – not for her, but for me. Having her in the bassinet by our bed gave me a sense of comfort, knowing I could easily check up on her and make sure she’s breathing. On another note, I’m grateful for our friends, but especially since she’s been born. Karlach will come and babysit once or twice a month while Gale and I go out and have a night to ourselves, which has been so nice. At first, it was an adjustment leaving her for the first time, but I’m glad we are able to get a break every once in a while.

The morning sun rises, and I notice Gale isn’t in bed with me. He does like to wake up rather early and enjoy the dawn, drinking his warm coffee and watching the sun rise. That’s when he has his best ideas for research. I get out of bed and notice Gale on the balcony, where he’s holding Jenevelle and they’re both enjoying the outside world.

“Ah, there’s my love,” Gale says, smiling as I sit down next to him. He leans in for a kiss as the morning sunlight pours over our skin. “Good morning. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, of course not. I was just ready to get up and start my day. I’m glad you are both having a quiet morning.” He gently bounces Jenevelle in his arm and takes a sip of his morning coffee with the other.

“Indeed. I’m just happy you got to sleep in some. I got so much done this morning. I had some sort of…morning epiphany that caused me to wake up and get a jumpstart on the day. I did some of my studies, made breakfast for us, which is sitting on the kitchen table by the way, and I got Jenevelle up, dressed, and fed…” As he continues to speak, I can’t help but admire him. “...and I just wanted to make your morning a little easier since I don’t teach today.” His brown eyes shimmer, transitioning into a tint of golden honey as the sun shines upon his face at a perfect angle.

“I appreciate you and how considerate you are. I truly love you more than words can define,” I tell him as I stretch my body, releasing all tensions held within me. He smiles, trying to fight that cute chuckle he always does.

“Thank you. That means the world to me. I love you too.” As we sit here enjoying the peace, the gentle breeze of Waterdeep air brushes the messy hair out of my face. As I look down at the town square below us, I see there’s a festival going on with various vendors and some bards playing some tunes for a large crowd. I actually notice Shadowheart, believe it or not, and it’s as if she’s looking for something in particular. She’s probably doing some shopping. I’m thinking about going down and buying Jenevelle a crochet owlbear or maybe a quilted blanket.

“Are you thinking about the festival?” Gale asks, studying my face.

“Erm, no…”

“You want to go, don’t you?” I laugh lightly, but then hide it with a fake cough. Is it silly for a grown woman to want to go to a fun festival?

“Can we?” He smiles and hands the baby over to me as he stands up from his seat.

“Of course. Let me go get dressed and we can head out. I’m going to avoid a robe this time, just in case some of my students are there. As much as I enjoy discussing the physics of magic and teaching others how to perform it correctly, I’d rather spend my time with my family enjoying the beauty of Waterdeep and its festivities.”

While Gale goes inside to get ready, I continue to observe the happy crowds from above; people casually dancing to the music, live entertainment of a comedic orc doing stand up, and of course delicious food. Mmmm. I can smell funnel cakes from up here.

We head down to the fun market area for the festival and notice various shops and vendors on every corner throughout the square. So many children are running around playing, eating, and having fun. I almost can’t wait until Jenevelle is walking and can enjoy fun events like this, playing with other children. For now, I have her wrapped in the baby carrier attached to my body, curled up and comfortable as we stroll the calming streets of Waterdeep.

“What a perfect day for such a festival. I clearly don’t get out enough, I feel like I haven’t seen any signs anywhere,” I say, observing the exciting area around us. I do notice a few clowns around us, which immediately brings flashbacks of Dribbles the Clown back at Baldur’s Gate, except we killed him and he was actually a shapeshifter. Long story short, he and several other shapeshifters were sent by Orin to murder me. Now that I look back on it, I feel honored to be such a threat to her.

“Oh, I have a slight inkling this was all planned last minute,” Gale says, chuckling. “Nonetheless, it’s fun to get out and enjoy this time together.”

We grab food and sit down at the music event, where three high elf bards are performing some new music I haven’t heard of before, but they’re pretty good! As we’re watching the concert, I hear my name nearby by a familiar voice – Shadowheart, perhaps? I turn around and notice her approaching us, and she sits down next to me. She has a bag full of items she bought from the various shops and vendors.

“Shadowheart?”

“I know I live like, two blocks down from you, but I saw you two walking and wanted to…give the baby a gift. But then I lost you when I spotted you both at the festival. I didn’t want to interrupt any future plans you might have later, so I figured I’d come by now.” She hands me an adorable pink owlbear plush from her bag, which is almost as big as Jenevelle herself. “The pink owlbear was the last one left. Since I don’t have children yet, I figured I’d spoil your little one while I still can.” I smile, taking the owlbear plush from her.

“Wow, this…is so kind. Thank you.”

“You want children, Shadowheart?” Gale asks. “Man, I wish I knew that earlier. We’d have asked you to babysit if you ever wanted to get the feel of parenthood.”

“I… I do. Now that our adventures are in the past, I’m in a comfortable position where I know I could be a mother. I would adopt, however.”

“A very kind and selfless choice.” I don’t know why but it surprises me that she wants to be a mother. I never got that vibe from her, but I do recall her saying right before fighting the elder brain that she ‘wants to have children once this is all over.’

“Definitely come by when you can. If you’re free tomorrow, maybe you can come by and we can have some tea or coffee while Gale is teaching?” She smiles with pure delight, as if she’s excited to hang out with me for the first time in a few weeks. I don’t know why we don’t get together more often.

“I’d like that. I’ll see you tomorrow then. I better go grab Astarion before he commits some heinous acts in the middle of the square.”

Gale and I shop around, getting new handmade clothes for Jenevelle and various fruits, vegetables, and other ingredients so I can bake a yummy dessert. Baking is one of my specialties, after all. After soaking in the sun partaking in a lovely little family venture, we head home due to Jenevelle getting fussy. However, we get home to put her down for a nap and she is screaming inconsolably. What we thought was her being tired is actually fear; something is causing her to feel sudden fear.

After about thirty minutes of her lying on my bare chest, she calms down and falls asleep. This was unusual behavior for her, especially since she hardly cries, but I’m glad she’s doing alright now.

“My head is throbbing from the screaming. I can’t imagine how she was feeling. I do hope she’s okay,” Gale says, carefully eyeing our sleeping baby as she sleeps in her crib.

“Me too. Maybe she’s just exhausted? Teething? Growing pains?” We watch her sleep peacefully in her crib for a moment, then head down to the living area to relax for about an hour or two. We plop down on the violet velvet sofa next to each other, curled up in a cuddling position. I’m worried about Jenevelle, but I’m sure I’m just being paranoid.

“You might be right about her possibly having pains of some sort, but part of me believes something else is going on. Maybe she saw something that frightened her. Poor baby,” Gale says, followed with a sigh. “I hate feeling daunting like this, but that must be part of being a parent, hm?” He kisses the side of my head for a couple seconds straight, one of the various affections I adore. “I love you. I think we’re doing pretty well as new parents.” I look up at him with my dark brown eyes, staring directly into his as we snuggle closely.

“I love you too. So much. And I couldn’t agree more.”

My love for him gets stronger by the minute every day. It seems like just yesterday I was pulling him out of a portal within a rock and we had an awkward introduction. Look where that unusual encounter got us!

I suddenly remember that Karlach is supposed to come over tonight to watch Jenevelle while Gale and I attend our monthly date night.

“Oh damn, I forgot we were going out tonight. My mom brain sure shows its true colors now,” I mention.

“Do you want to cancel?”

“No, no, it’s okay. Jenevelle will adore seeing aunty Karlach.” I really try not to cancel our date nights since we don’t have them too often; however, Gale’s mom is coming down in two weeks so we may get another one then. She’s been dying to hold and babysit our little girl.

“Good. I look forward to our evening together.”

I smile as I watch the glowing sun set from our living room window, thinking how blessed I truly am. Life is finally perfect again.

#bg3 #gale dekarios #baldurs gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #karlach #dnd #dungeons and dragons #astarion #shadowheart #gale bg3 #fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #wyll ravengard #halsin

[rtnortherly]

Tierney, and Where the Story Began

Recently did a series of polls to decide on my Baldur's Gate 3 Early access character. What we landed on was this:

Tiefling, Trickery Cleric (Tymora), with an Entertainer background.

This is them, as decided by popular vote:

And this is their story, as I have decided. Some of the details might not apply so well once I get into the game, but I have had so much fun coming up with this story all the same. I am already very attached.

(TW: Depression, abandonment, grief)

~ I was born Tierney, in a small hamlet southeast of Loudwater to a solitary trapper who spent more time in the foothills of the Greypeak Mountains than amongst other folk. I grew up understanding the quiet solitude of the vast world around me, and the few times we ventured into towns to sell leather and furs and meat I always found to be bizarre and almost fantastical. The rhythm and closeness of it all seemed almost supernatural to me.

For the most part though, my mother and I kept to ourselves. She raised me alone, but I never felt the absence of other people. The land was too full of life for that, and mother was too good at telling stories for me to grow bored or dwell upon loneliness. Some of the things she would tell me she’d declare were history, sometimes heart breaking and cruel, sometimes powerful and undeniable.

“The bones of our world,” she call them.

Other times the tales she wove were strange and silly, impossible things full of wonder and humour. I would laugh and laugh and insist that I did not believe a word of it and that she could not fool me.

“Why, my little rabbit’s foot,” she would say, winking at me over the fire, or as she set traps, “anything is possible. Don’t you know the world is vast?”

That was before she got sick.

I’d thought I had know solitude before, that it was a comforting friend. Without her I realized what it was to truly be alone. I tried to be like her, I did. I tried to be content under the open sky and among the trees. I looked for serenity in the dirt under my feet, and the nip of the wind across my face. I told myself stories by the fire and as I set traps, sang songs she used to sing. But with no one to rely on except for my own self, the world began to feel a little too big and a little too indifferent and cold.

The twilight caw of the carrion birds began to contort into eery and eldritch scream. The barking of foxes and coyotes began to sound a little mocking and hungry. It was odd to find the shadows of the forest haunting, twisted and dark when once they had been cool and welcoming shade.

And then came my thirteenth winter, not even a year after my mother’s passing. It was a cruel and terrible long freeze. Prey grew ever more scarce, and what I did manage to catch in my traps often got scavenged by other creatures and I found myself more and more often trying to fend off the starving forest creatures, patrolling my trap line in the bitter cold, exhausted and with a constant cough and sniffle.

And then, when spring should have already been easing back the thick snowfall, but was continuing to hide its face, the large cats began to come down from the mountains, ravening with hunger.

I remember going out to check my traps, mind foggy with a fever I couldn’t shake, and stomach hollow with hunger that my dwindling stores of grain could not sate. I remember the blood, the torn carcass, and the low, yowling growl that drifted somewhere between warning and hunger.

I remember thinking that my luck surely had run out that day.

The rest is a blur of snow and fear and branches clawing at my face. The cold burned in my throat and lungs, and my ribs ached with the beat of my heart.

There is no outrunning wild beasts. Especially not as a sickly child, half starved and near delirious from fever. It didn’t matter how well I knew the woods, not with the snow hungrily devouring my awkward, gangly stride. I wasn’t so foolish as to think that climbing a tree would help keep me away from a mountain cat, that I could out last its patience in the cold.

But I ran all the same, and I prayed to whoever might have been listening.

I’m sure it was the luck of the devil that sent my tumbling head over heels down the steep embankment that overlooked a cold mountain creek, frozen over for months. It left me with cracked ribs, a dislocated hip, and a concussion that did nothing for the fever. I was told later that I bounced off of no less than three rocks and four trees, and rolled off a drop of at least eight feet, and I was lucky the snow that had built up over the frozen stream cushioned my fall somewhat. And most of all, I was lucky for Crusoe.

He never would tell me what he was doing out in those woods, all on his own. He’d just wink and tell me how very fortunate I was that he had been. He’d tell me that I was lucky he had been born with a knack for little tricks and magic, and that the mountain cat was too clever to risk a fight with a person who could apparently hurl fire at it. Wild animals are like that. They won’t risk the damage of a fight for a morsel of prey when they’ll have better, surer chances elsewhere.

And then he carried me, a strange and unconscious child who’d all but fallen from the sky back to the nearest town to be healed. It wasn’t an easy process. It took more than a couple weeks to clear the fluid off my lungs, and to keep the fever from coming back. Never mind that I was malnourished and had bones that needed mending. Out in some small hamlet that was still locked in by the long winter there was no magic healing for me. I had to do it the hard, long way. To this day my hip aches in the cold.

As for Crusoe, I don’t know why he stuck around, not really. He was as much a stranger as I was to the little hamlet, supposedly a traveler by trade. He could have left me there, a problem for the townsfolk to solve. Maybe he pitied me, maybe he took one look at the horns crowning my skull, and the dull embers of my eyes, and knew I would not have an easy time fitting in. Maybe it was some noble sense of responsibility that made him want to see me well and looked after with his own eyes. Maybe it was something else, some other thing he wanted to cling on to.

He never spoke of his family in all the years that I knew him after all, and there were times I saw a weariness in his face that made my chest hurt. For all the connections he made, for all the people he spoke to, I wasn’t even sure if he had much in the way of friends. He was always happy to listen, to share a drink and a laugh, but with the exception of the months it took me to heal he never stayed bound to one place for very long.

When the spring finally came, we left together. We’d not discussed it. I just woke up one morning to find that he had packed our things and was told that we could eat on the road. He had seemed to be in a rush, but when I asked about it, he told me that he’d gotten an itch in his feet and if he stayed any longer he thought he would go mad.

Over the course of the next six years we travelled up and down the Sword Coast, drifting from one place to the next. I learned a lot from Crusoe in that time. He was a thespian by nature, and used his talents for storytelling to make his living. He was impressed by my own repertoire of tales, and taught me to expand on that. I learned to change my tone, how to pace my words and adjust the tempo of my speech. I learned to act, to give life to my characters. I learned to breathe from deep in my chest, to project my voice far and wide—something we found my devilish heritage gave me quite the advantage at. I learned how to shift my expressions on a coin. I learned to improvise, and I learned how to listen and remember.

Most of all, I learned to never forget that all the world was stage (that seemed to mean different things to Crusoe, at different times, and I’m not sure I’ve uncovered them all yet).

But then, just as I was about to turn twenty, something changed. I couldn’t quite put my thumb on what gave it away, the moment I truly noticed, but one day it was as if suddenly Crusoe’s stage was a little different than mine. As if he was reading from a script that I did not know, and looking out at an audience I could not see.

Perhaps I’m simply imagining things in retrospect, trying to find some through line, some explanation for the change, but I look back on those times and I wonder if maybe his smile was a little strained, if I caught him staring blankly into the distance, some half formed and frozen expression on his face that I couldn’t understand. When I woke up in the night, on the side of the road, why had he still been awake staring up at the stars, or maybe into the deep darkness between them, so very still that I’d wonder if he’d turned to stone.

I may never know, because I woke up one morning, in a backwater town with an inn that had little more than three rooms to rent, to find Crusoe and all his things gone.

For a while I thought that he might come back so I stuck around, doubtful and confused. After several weeks of telling stories for meagre coin that grew more meagre by the day, I decided that maybe if I hit the road I would cross paths with him. Maybe I’d find him standing in a town square, his eyes alight with mischief and merriment, a hoard of small children gathered around him with faces contorted in awe. Maybe I would find him sitting on a stump by the side of the road, the end of his pen caught between his teeth and ink on his fingertips. He would look up in surprise, flush with embarrassment for being caught. We’d fight. He’d make excuses, and I would sulk and stew in bitterness. Things wouldn’t quite be the same, but we would make it work and maybe I would finally learn about some of his stories. The ones he never told.

Four months later I found him in a small seaside town, emaciated and stuck in a coma in a small church that was little more than a shack with a shrine and a loft. He was being tended to by the young priest and herbalist who tended to the church, and she told me that he had washed up on the shore one morning, covered in strange injuries. The fishermen had brought him to her for healing, but she had not been able to do anything for him, because he was cursed and it was far beyond her abilities to undo whatever fell magic had bound itself to him.

I stayed for a time, fearing he would simply slip away the minute I wasn’t looking. Lorelei, the priest, said that his condition was very unstable, and that he was clinging onto life by only a thread. All I could think of was that look in his eyes as he stared into the space between the stars, and whether maybe that hadn’t been the case for a very long time.

I tried to find answers for where he had been, and what had made him this way, but all of his things were gone, lost to the sea no doubt. The only thing that was left was a a strange metal amulet that Lorelei warned me not to remove, as trying had stopped his heart and forced her to resuscitate him—something she wasn’t sure would work a second time. Other than that, he had a two faced coin in his pocket, which both Lorelei and I determined was utterly mundane as far as our limited abilities could discern.

I sat by his sick bed (I tried so hard not to think of it as his death bed, but it grew harder as time passed and he wasted away more and more), flipping that two faced coin over and over in my fingers, and I talked. I told stories we had told together a hundred times or more. I asked questions that I had always been to afraid to ask. I whispered accusations, and I begged, and I bargained, and I almost gave up hope.

I think I almost would have gone mad sitting there in that chair, if not for Lorelei, who dragged me outside one day to help her with her rounds in the town delivering medicines and checking in on the people.

Maybe it was because it was all I knew how to do, but on one such venture I found myself telling a story to a child who sat by the fountain and stared with sad little eyes at the other kids and fiddled with the pinned up legs of his empty trousers. And then I told another one, and another, and at some point I might have cried.

It was nightfall when I stopped, the parents coming out and urging the crowd of tiny faces that had collected around me to return home breaking me out of my daze. Across the way, Lorelei looked on. She came and sat next to me and we spoke for a time, late into the night, far away from Crusoe’s sick bed with the stars shining down on us both. We spoke of many things, and many of them were very embarrassing for me, fears that had snaked along my thoughts since my mother had left me, but had bared their fangs since Crusoe had left.

And so Lorelei told me about faith, and she talked to me about chance, and she talked to me about fate. And then she slipped the coin from my fingers with a tiny little grin, and tossed it into the fountain and told me that at the end of the day, it was all a gamble. It was just up to us to rig the odds.

I can’t say when my path found me. It simply happened gradually over the the following years, as I helped Lorelei with her duties during the day, and local legends and all many of accounts regarding vile magics during the day, hunting for a solution. It happened gradually, with every coin I’d toss into the fountain, and every late night by Crusoe’s sick bed pouring over books and texts I’d uncover from the church’s lacklustre library, or buy from travelling merchants. It happened on my short forays to nearby towns as I chased rumours and hunted for scholars and arcane practitioners. It happened with every bruised knee and rattling cough I watched Lorelei tend to.

It happened with ever fragile bit of faith I cultivated in myself.

It happened with every time I held on to Crusoe’s hand and thought of all the things I would say when I got him to wake up.

It’s been more than six months since I have seen him last. I found a lead, and I will chase it down, come hell or high water. Lorelei will keep him alive until I return, and when I do, I’ll wake him up, and we will tell each other our stories.~

#writing #creative writing #character background #baldur's gate #baldur’s gate 3 #game character #bg3 #bg3 mc #dnd character #cleric #tielfling

[princess-sphie]

WARNING ‼️

this story is for entertainment purposes only all actions in this story or fiction. if you do not enjoy such content, please exit my page thank you. 

Y/N POV:

I throw my pencil down in the lean back in my chair with a sigh. I glance at the clock for the fifth time today hoping that time will go by faster. 5…4...3…2…1* the school bell rings* my entire class jumps up and Heads out the door I wave at my kind teacher And Follow them behind as I walk out the classroom Laughter fills the air Spring break had them all too excited they were too eager to stay at school for another second I, on the other hand had to stay behind in order to finish an exam. I grabbed all my belongings from my locker and headed to the classroom. Welcome back.y/n, once you are finished, bring it up to me and you are free to go for break she said gesturing me to take a seat. I kindly knotted and begin my test. A few minutes later I feel a buzz in my left back pocket. I glanced at the teacher and slowly took my phone out. I turned to the side to read the message appearing: “where are you?” I shut my eyes tightly as I swore to myself for forgetting my plans after school I looked over at the teacher that was grading papers and typed in apology. As quick as possible “sorry taking an exam. I’ll be done soon.” I turned my phone off and threw it in my backpack beside me trying to focus on my test 5:30 PM.

I gather all my things and stuff them into my backpack as I get up to walk my test over to my teacher “thank you sweetie have a good break and be safe” “ yes ma’am you too” I say, as I throw my backpack over my shoulder and head out, I grabbed my phone and stand outside of my school “I’m done” I sent the text to my boyfriend as I put on Music to keep me company. Tae  and I haven’t seen each other for about two months due to him being back home for promotions he comes down to visit every once in a while when he has time, even though we do not see each other often my feelings for him never change a lot of people think long-distance is hard, but we somehow make it work before I could skip to the next song I hear a honk I shoot my head up in a smile creeps upon my face. I run to the car before me smiling hard as ever I open the passenger side door, hurrying in and lean over to kiss my boyfriend “Hi baby”

I say reaching over to put on my seatbelt “ I didn’t know you had to stay for testing.” Taehyung says yeah, me neither, but I took my time and ended up running out of time I say, as we both laughed to ourselves

Are you hungry? He grabbing my hand and interlocking fingers.Ugh I’m starving. I throwing my head back onto my seat for about 10 minutes before reaching along the way, I came up with an idea to sit at a local park and eat our meal we pull into a park and drive until we see a good enough spot. Luckily, we were able to find a parking at the top of the sightseeing hill. The city looks so beautiful the both of us get out the car and head to the truck too lay down the seats grab the blankets we bought before getting there in and lay them down on the car floor we grab our food and get comfortable as we eat and talk about our day and how beautiful the view was just a few minutes later we begin to hear small steps on the roof of the car my beer feet that were dangling out of the car, became soaked “ It’s raining baby put your feet in” tae tells me as he grabs the handle of the trunk and closes it. This would happen to us. I complain to tae who is now climbing to the front seat don’t be sad it’s OK he says reassuring me he turns on the car AC so that it doesn’t get humid while we eat thank you my love, you know I hate humidity He smiles at me while turning on music then heads back, we sit and eat for about 15 more minutes until we were done in full. I laid down on my back and let out a groan, resting my hand on my now bloated stomach tae lays down beside me, scooting over to feel my warmth. Beautiful night I say, looking out the window even though it rained I’m glad we’re still enjoying it. He says, lifting his hand to grab mine. I turned to look at him and allay on my side, my arm was holding up my head as I admire the man before me he bops his head to the music looking up at the car ceiling As a smile creeps upon my face, as I guide my hand to his.Twirling a stand of hair that was out of place he mumbles the lyrics. He knows to the song as I begin to trace my hand on the side of his face. What is it? He said, looking up at me I just love this I answer looking around the car and outside the windows. I love you the confesses,eyes meet mine and not breaking  I looked back down at him, and connect my lips to his. I placed my hand on the side of his neck as my thumb rest against his jawline. I feel his hand grip my waist, and I let out a quiet gasp She uses it to push me down as he covers over me, kissing me down on my jawline, then back up to my lips, Memorized by his kiss, my fingers struggle to find the end of his shirt but before I could, he stops me in my tracks “what” I asked lips centimeters apart from his “in the car” he trying his best to catch his breath. I am by kissing him again, successfully, pulling his shirt over his head our kisses turned into a heated make out session in the matter of minutes. His hands were roaming my body as well as mine. He kissed down my neck along side my jaw and back up to my lips. He lifts my shirt up and sees my stomach and bends down to kiss me leaving me breathless he continues to come up to my lips and neck, unable to escape my sweet kiss. “ you smell, so good “ he says as his tone tickles the croak of my neck. It’s sweet, like candy by Ariana the one you got me, I say, giggling at the moment “ I clearly have a good taste, because I can’t get enough of your aura “ he says fingers gliding across the top of my jeans. He leaves my lips and eyes meet the bottom of my jeans, attempting to take them off. He pulls them off, and I feel a slight breeze on my heat. I quickly close my legs in shyness, no need to be shy, baby he says, reassuring me his fingers glide across the hymn of my back lace panties before sliding them off of me my lower body now n**ed, sensed an immediate jump as.Taes cold fingers roam my inner thigh. He looks up at me with a bright seductive eyes before bending down, and tasting me, my fingers grabbed his locks for control as he makes me feel good. my heavy breathing gets louder as he goes faster coming to a stop before I could finish. He rushes up to meet my eyes, taking off my shirt, leaving the both of us naked, he then slides in, and we fall asleep.

18+ Candy ( Bts Taehyung) ONESHOT

#bts fanfic #kim taehyung #18+ only #follow #for more context #SoundCloud

[heroes-fading]

tumblr did eat this but as a wise poet once said “honey i rose up from the dead i do it all the time”

so i feel like i have been slowly entertaining in the back of my head for a year or two now the idea of writing again. it started with like, writing bad poetry in journals. i’ve been consuming media, but in a lot more of a disconnected way. engagement was like, reading reddit and twitter threads for a day and putting it back down. then episode 8 happened, and i was like FUCK i’m unglued.

to put in perspective what kind of shit i was up to in high school: i wrote half a million words of like...once upon a time fanfiction. and in that i found lots of lovely connections to people but amidst a sea of other factors: being a literal teenager who still thought i could be the smartest person in the room (spoiler: never), having no real social net outside of the internet (and i will say my internet friends -- many of whom i still love and talk to today -- got me through some of the WORST times of my life), and having a very fragile ego. probably related to points a and b. everything felt like the biggest thing in the world because my world did not feel very big.

now i look back at it like...holy shit you wrote a goddamn novel. who cares if it was like, literature or not? 

to be honest one of the things that got through to me was this cj the x video, especially their point which i’ll recap here:

“We are under the impression that art is something special people do, and to do it well makes you a genius, and to do it poorly is embarrassing. This sectioning off of the art world for artists from regular life and regular people is completely artificial and it is bad for the soul of your society.”

and they talk a bti about the Terrifying Ordeal of Being Known and perfectionism and just the amount of fuccccckin mental blocks we put around what’s good art and bad art and we spend so much time agonizing over what’s good and what’s cringe and you know what? embrace cringe! who cares! none of us will live forever!!! sharing art is the way we sustain ourselves in the long run.

i always have an internal voice saying something’s not good enough. i’m Always like “damn, these metrics ain’t metricing like they were earlier...” and then i’m like fuck...am i doing this for the Idea of Fandom Success or because of my fun silly lil hobby? my fun silly lil hobby? aight guess i ought to just embrace the Terrifying Ordeal of Being Known and accept that silly lil numbers ain’t what’s fufilling, it’s the practice of writing and sharing and going at the end of the day “at least one person liked this, and being known isn’t the Most Horrific Thing Ever”.

another thing i Never did when i was a teenager is tell anyone i wrote fic in real life. now my husband and friend and sister-in-law know (the latter involved either alcohol or being confined to a plane, which is a lot like alcohol) and you know how much they think i’m embarassing? they don’t. oh and actually a co-worker. they just go “lol, this is My thing” and it’s a novel they tried to write in college or fanart they post on a secret instagram or a monsters inc page they ran in high school (all real examples) because everyone has some kind of thing they care about, some artistic expression, and we’ve conditioned people to think trying is embarassing. trying is vulnerable and the point, i think! no matter how cringe! 

and vulnerability is this awfully stingy thing because sometimes when you think about it for too long it’s not unlike putting your hand on a hot coal. like, fuck, laying awake at night knowing that people know You Tried and what if they still didn’t like it? humiliating. awful. please schedule me with the goddamn firing squad. you didn’t get the metrics you wanted. or worse, you did and now people don’t think you deserve it. they’re gonna find out you’re just a big fanfiction writing fraud.

but maybe that’s the point! i don’t know! vulnerability is hard and painful and growth and sincerety is almost WORSE. but there’s also something lovely and cathartic about it and at the end of the day knowing that other people feel that, too. can never get too lost in either sauces of thinking you’re the worst thing ever or the best and the only one who gets it. just gotta accept the vulnerability of it all~

i’m back in my daydreaming era, i think fic gave that back to me. i shut her off for a little while, but she’s still there! and it’s not the worst thing, having overwhelming creative ideas on the treadmill or in a hotel lobby or furiously writing in a google doc in the middle of the night even if it does feel Silly. sometimes it does make the world a little more magical, framing in a narrative. 

(my therapist at some point has made comments about my narrative framing skills in the context of my life and getting out of a shitty family situation with a lot of embedded generational cyclical fun stuff to a point i have a lot of the things now i used to dream about despite it, my pathological need to write my way out also applying to my life and maybe it’s not the worst way of moving a locus of control inwards. i used to dream about feeling safe and being respected interpersonally and professionally because it’s something no woman in my family ever really got and i get that now. anyway, as i said, radical vulnerability!)

narratives are powerful and meaningful and art is too, i don’t care if it’s fanfiction at the end of the day! we’ve all felt something or gptten something or felt community and that’s meaningful enough. 

this is a very long-winded and frankly chaotic way of saying sure, i’m a writer enough!

#fic talk #and talk and talk............. #i have a job i love that fufills what i want to Do and Be but also i will always love writing so much #and to get to do that in space where i get feedback and community #at the end of the day when i'm hittin #g that lil refresh button for a dopamine hit because social media has broken our brains #i do take a deep breath and be like #oh cool #i did that #and the more we police that feeling or worse misplace it the harder it gets to the Point #of just doing shit for the sake of it and having a good time! #don't get sucked into all the other shit #i think a big turning point in my life honestly #was being in the car after having the worst fucking day of my life or second worse #after a really terrible situation with my mom #and i was in a goddamn target with a radically different hair color in my hands #and after that i was like #i'm not doing this to myself! #i'm not going to doom myself! #i'm going to listen to some goddamn kelly clarkson #because of you LEGENDS ONLY #and live for myself here and build my own existence #i literally found old journal entries to myself saying something to the idea of this #and then i interned at my current job and met my husband and slept on the floor of people i still love and am friends with today #and this isn't fic but #NARRATIVE #and what i was and wasn't going to do #and i read that a year or two ago and just bawled my eyes out #because she did that :') #and that's the power of building something for yourself and owning your own lil narrative even if sometimes it's just lil fanfic

[scattered-irises]

Tale XV: Tấm Cám (▬▬▬)

ANNNNDDD I’m back! This is the longest and penultimate tale of my Happy☆Heroine☆Sniper fic! The epilogue has also been finished. I must say, I am very proud of my people for putting such a creative spin on the classical Cinderella story. I grew up with this story and now share it with you...but with a Zexal twist.

Rating: Mature  

Word Count: 25k (Rest in fucking pieces, just like some of the characters in this story)

Characters: Vector, Rei Shingetsu, Yuma Tsukumo, Ryoga Kamishiro

Relationships: Yuma/Vector

Warnings: Ahhh shit...here we go...Cannibalism, murder, death, Vietnamese and Chinese mythology, gore, animal death, abusive parents, reincarnation

Summary:  A young peasant finds himself continuously reincarnating to return to the love of his life. With each reincarnation, his sanity wanes and his thirst for revenge grows.

Ngày xửa ngày xưa, có hai anh em sinh đôi. Anh tên là Tấm, em tên là Cám. Mẹ hai anh em mất lúc hai anh em mới sáu tuổi. Mấy năm sau, cha của Tấm và Cám cưới lại cho hai anh em có được mẹ hiền…

  Allow me to translate that for you, if you don’t speak my story’s original language.

  Once upon a time, in a land far away, there were two twins. The older brother’s name was Tấm. It means “fragrant rice.” The younger brother’s name was Cám, which can be translated to “animal feed.” Their mother died when the twins were only six. A few years later, their father remarried in order for the twins to have a loving mother in their lives…

  I’m sure you know where this is going, from your previous adventures with me. 

  That’s right! I’ve known that you were with me this entire time. I don’t care what you think about the poor or not-so-poor heroes and heroines. I can’t hear you. That’s the curse of my existence. I can do nothing about the fact that I am a character from a story, nor the fact that I know that I serve to only entertain and educate beings beyond my sight and hearing. 

  Condemn me, hang me, praise me. I’ve seen it all. 

  But you don’t care about this, do you? You only want to be entertained. You want to be entertained until your eyes melt off and your skin turns to sandpaper and your teeth fall out of your mouth.

  Very well.

  Entertain I shall. 

  To all the beings who can run their eyes across these words, here is the story that you have all been waiting for. 

  Mine.

  H☆H☆S

  …

  Ah, right. Before we begin, let me tell you something about names. There are the names that we choose for ourselves and the names that everyone else calls us. The twins, for example, were known as Hansel and Gretel in the first tale. I translated their names to Ryoga and Rio because that was the name of their souls. Although characters’ names may change throughout each incarnation, their souls’ names will remain unchanged. Sometimes I’ll translate them for you, sometimes I won’t. It depends on how generous I’m feeling. 

  Anyways, Cám is the fairytale name of my twin, Shingetsu. Tấm was my name. We’ll be going by the names of our souls, just for convenience’s sake. 

  Alright, no more delays. Here comes the story.

  H☆H☆S

  “Vector, you cretin! What did I send you out in the fields for?!” bellows his stepmother. 

  Vector stares in open-mouthed shock at his empty basket. Quickly, he glances at his brother, whose expression remains placid. Their stepmother, Madame Sương, stomps over to Shingetsu. She puts a hand on her hip, long nails stretching across her stomach. 

  “And you…,” she begins, picking up Shingetsu’s basket. Her painted lips break into a smile. “Goodness! You must have worked so hard!” 

  She looks into the basket filled to the brim with river shrimp and pats Shingetsu’s shoulder. 

  “Thank you, mother!” says Shingetsu, basking in her praise. “Oh, please be kinder to brother…He just wanted to take a bath!” 

  Heat fills Vector’s cheeks. He had spent all morning catching those damn shrimp, stomping through mud and silt while Shingetsu sang and danced. After he had caught the shrimp, Shingetsu had offered to carry their baskets home while Vector bathed in the nearby stream. He digs his nails into his trousers. Why was he so foolish? As he meets their stepmother’s glare, he takes a deep breath. 

  “Shingetsu switched our baskets after he told me to take a bath!” he protests. “Then he carried both of the baskets home because he—”

  “Vector! You’re the older brother! How could you be so irresponsible, blaming your brother like that?!” snaps Madame Sương. 

  “It’s the truth!” protests Vector. 

  His stepmother glares at him. It was difficult to tell her age, from her long, dark hair to her plump lips. There were rumors that she had enchanted Vector’s father, her mismatched eyes never revealing her true motives. With each move she made, her strange earrings chimed in response. Despite her beautiful appearance, her heart was as ugly and cold as stone. 

  “Shingetsu, get me the cane,” growls their stepmother. 

  “Yes, mother,” says Shingetsu. 

  Vector looks at his brother for support, only to see the same placid expression. Why did he keep on falling for Shingetsu’s ploys? His sweet lies, his unfulfilled promises, his kindly exterior…It seemed like everyone, including him, was under Shingetsu’s thrall. 

  “Mother, you have to believe me,” begs Vector. “I spent all morning—”

  “Silence! All you do is spout lies about your brother. I’ve half a mind to cut your tongue out,” hisses his stepmother. 

  Vector purses his lips, swallowing the lump in his throat. He watches as Shingetsu runs off, never looking back. In the silence of the humid afternoon, a gnat buzzes by Vector’s ear. He bats it away, gritting his teeth. His brother had no right. No right to be loved better than he was, no right to be spared his punishments. After all, it was Shingetsu who had neglected his filial duty, not Vector. When their father fell ill, only Vector had remained by his side. 

  After their father’s death, Vector served their stepmother without complaint. It was he who stoked the fires, he who caught the fish, he who cooked. Shingetsu only pretended to help while sucking up to their stepmother. Surely, their stepmother must have been simpleminded (although Vector would never say that aloud). Because of Shingetsu’s endless praises and wheedling, she had always made sure that Shingetsu got the best. New clothes, the best morsels of food and whatever else pleased him. 

  “Mother, here,” says Shingetsu, returning from outside. 

  A glint fills their stepmother’s eyes as she takes the rod from her stepson. Vector grits his teeth and bends down, fingers digging into the soft earth. 

  “How many do you think he deserves?” she breathes, her burgundy eyes running across Vector’s back. 

  “Oh, mother, please…just ten!” cries Shingetsu. 

  Madame Sương laughs, each laugh sounding like a piece of shattered glass. 

  “Such a kind child you are…Fifty lashes it will be.” 

  Vector closes his eyes and grits his teeth. Someday, he would have his deliverance. 

  FWACK! The first hit lands squarely on his shoulders. Vector bites down a cry. His back has been lacerated with the lashes of his previous canings, a tapestry of scars for all to see. In his past life he must have sinned greatly to have received such abuse. Yet what exactly did he do to deserve such a fiend for a mother?

  FWACK! 

  “This is to teach you a lesson that liars aren’t accepted in this household!” snaps Madame Sương. 

  FWACK! 

  Vector looks up to see Shingetsu standing in the corner of the room, his face unreadable. For a moment, their expressions mirror each other’s.

  H☆H☆S

  “Silver fish, oh silver fish, come up to play. I have sweet rice for you, fragrant and fresh as day. Do not accept the others’ gruel, for it is mixed with clay,” whispers Vector. 

  He leans over the well, his muscles screaming in pain. Slowly, he sprinkles rice into the water, waiting for his friend to appear. When he sees his fish’s silvery head peek up from the surface, a small smile fills his face. 

  “I’m so sorry for being late,” he whispers. “Stepmother was beating me.”

  The two dots on top of the fish’s eyes furrow. Its mouth closes and opens, as if sympathizing with Vector. He lowers the tips of his fingers into the water, closing his eyes as his fish gently kissed each one. Compared to the hotness of his pain, the fish’s lips felt cool and reassuring. He looks into the fish’s golden eyes, bursting with intelligence. If only he could understand what it was trying to say. 

  “Oh, just another one of Shingetsu’s ploys…,” murmurs Vector. “You know how he is.” 

  The fish kisses his fingers once again. 

  Sometimes, he believed that the fish was his real mother, reincarnated as a fish to watch over him. He runs his hands over her cool scales. She was always there for him whenever he needed to talk. Often, his tears would fall into the wall and onto his fish-mother’s scales. Because of this, she often wore a sad expression when seeing him. 

  “They’re having dinner right now,” continues Vector. “I had the shrimps’ shells and heads to eat with my rice.” 

  He was always left with the undesirable parts of their meals, as if he were a dog. 

  “I’m full, don’t worry.”

  Tonight, maybe he could pick some fruit from the village roads. His stomach growls at the thought. 

  “Vector! Where’s my tea?!” calls Shingetsu. “Mother wants some too!” 

  Sighing, Vector looks down at his fish one last time. 

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. 

  The fish lets out another voiceless sentence. 

  H☆H☆S

  “That’s quite a limp, Vector!” exclaims Mr. Vân, their neighbor. 

  Vector shrugs in a noncommittal manner and continues down the village road. 

  “Don’t test your mother’s patience too much, you hear?!” calls the man. 

  Usually he would respond to Mr. Vân’s comments but today he found no energy. Dragging his feet down the village road, he stops as a couple of children run past him. 

  “What are you waiting for?!” calls the child. “There’s an imperial proclamation!” 

  An imperial proclamation? Vector slightly straightens up. Since when did the king bother to send envoys down to simple villages? Despite his aching muscles, he quickens his pace and walks faster towards the heart of the village. Along the way, various neighbors wave to him, all remarking on his limp. Vector forces a grin and carries on. 

  He knew what they said behind his back. 

  If only Madame Sương could be kinder to him. If only Madame Sương treated both Shingetsu and Vector equally. But perhaps it was because Vector was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck that his life was so hard. Already one foot in the grave, Madame Sương would push the rest of his body in eventually. They were all waiting for that day. 

  Then they could make a show of mourning, just like at his father’s funeral. 

  His stepmother had obscenely wailed during the entire ceremony, lamenting on what was to become of her and her two children. In silence, Vector and Shingetsu had held hands throughout the entire day, mirror images of solemnity. The day after the funeral, she began to burn their father’s books. 

  As he passes Mrs. Lan’s copse of banana trees, Vector hears a eunuch’s high and plaintive voice. Despite his bruises, he quickens his pace. Never before had he heard such an imperious accent!

  “Hear ye, hear ye inhabitants of Sunflower Seed village! Hear ye, hear ye!” calls the young eunuch, sweating profusely under the summer sun. 

  He was surrounded by a retinue of guards, their white armor almost blinding to look at. The villagers look at Vector with pity and surreptitiously part the way for him. Mumbling his thanks, Vector limps to the front. 

  Disdain fills the eunuch’s green eyes as he looks at his audience. All of them were plainly dressed, most sporting patches on their shirts. Their feet were covered in dirt and their faces were bronzed by the sun. 

  “From the palace of King Yuma of House Hope, eighteenth of his name, Protector of the Amber Kingdom and Hero of the Song Yến, we bring news of victory over the marauding forces of the Turtle King!”

  The villagers cheer over the victory. For as long as Vector lived, he had heard only snippets of the war. To hear that it had finally come to an end brings a twinge of relief to his heart. His stepmother was constantly threatening to send him off to fight for the king. 

  “To celebrate the continued independence of our kingdom, our great king is proclaiming a feast of endless bounty in the spring! All in the great Amber Kingdom are invited!” continues the eunuch. 

  Excited murmurs fill the village square. Vector’s heart skips a beat. He had always wanted to leave the village and see what was beyond the forest. 

  “Come old, come young, come poor, come rich! The king wishes to bless his people with plenty!” cries the eunuch. “The feast will begin on the first full moon of spring and continue until its waning!” 

  “How far is it, from here to the capitol?” asks Vector. 

  A hint of irritation crosses the eunuch’s face at being addressed without permission. He flutters his feathered fan and gazes at Vector with disdain. 

  “Two days on the swiftest steeds!” he declares.

  The excitement in the village intensifies. After Vector’s question, various villagers clamor for their own questions to be answered. Vector slowly sinks away from the crowd, carrying the news of the king’s proclamation deep in his heart. Perhaps at the capitol, he could find a job as an apprentice. Then he could send money back home while Shingetsu took his place. Or, he could become a sailor. He could travel to the faraway places in his father’s books, from the frigid mountains of the Rhoine to the glass palaces of the Trien people. The treasures of the world would be his to discover then, endless and bountiful. 

  He makes his way towards the marketplace, the news slightly alleviating the pain in his legs. 

  H☆H☆S

  “Vector! There you are!” calls Shingetsu as Vector returns with offerings for their father’s altar. “I prepared a meal for us while you were gone! Mother says it’s delicious!” 

  Taking Vector’s hand, Shingetsu pulls Vector inside. 

  “Just a moment! I need to clean father’s altar!” calls Vector. 

  Shingetsu pouts. His eyes turn to the altar, where their father’s photograph lies behind a plate of bananas. 

  “Fine,” he grumbles. “Don’t get upset if all the good parts are gone.” 

  Vector scoffs as he replaces the bananas with oranges. Since when did they ever save him anything good? After stacking the oranges on the plate, Vector lights an incense stick and bows to his father. 

  Please watch over Shingetsu and me as we make our way through this world. And please, watch over me as I make my way towards the capitol to find a new life for myself, prays Vector. 

  He bows four times and then places his incense in the holder. For a moment, he looks at his father’s photograph. Taken when he was young, he could see that he had inherited his father’s chin and sharp eyes. An avid reader and scholar, their father had always ensured that his sons received the best education. Vector swallows a lump in his throat as a memory fills his mind. 

  It was a lazy summer afternoon where his father returned home early from his post. They were all gathered in a hammock, gently swinging in the humid breeze. Shingetsu had fallen asleep on their father’s chest while Vector leaned on his shoulder. As their father chewed on some betel nuts, he told them a tale about children flying to a world filled with pirates and mermaids. 

  Oh, why was fate so cruel? 

  Bringing the bananas into the dining room, Vector pauses upon seeing the meal that Shingetsu had prepared. A large fish was splayed in the middle of the table, its silvery scales dimly shining in the light. His stepmother greets him with a cold smile. 

  “Come, child, sit. We haven’t had a family dinner in such a long time,” she calls. 

  Slowly, Vector lowers himself to the floor, placing the bananas by the fish. His hands shake as he takes a bowl of rice from the table. 

  “What’s the matter?” asks Shingetsu, his expression innocent. 

  “Where did that fish come from?” utters Vector. 

  Shingetsu grins, showing his sharp canines. 

  “I caught it with my bare hands in the stream today!” he chirps. 

  Their stepmother chuckles and puts a hand on Shingetsu’s shoulder. 

  “Your brother is quite the fisherman, isn’t he?” 

  The fish has no head to tell if it was actually his own fish. Vector picks up his chopsticks and puts a few slices of cucumber onto his rice. 

  “Oh, come on! You should try some before it gets cold!” urges Shingetsu. 

  “I…don’t have the appetite,” murmurs Vector. “One of the king’s eunuchs came to make an announcement today.” 

  Immediately, Shingetsu and their stepmother’s brows raise. Vector holds their expression with a brief flicker of satisfaction. 

  “The war against the Turtle King ended and to celebrate, the king is hosting a spring festival where all are invited,” relays Vector. 

  “When?!” demands his mother, nearly knocking the table over. 

  “The first full moon of spring. It’ll last until the moon wanes,” replies Vector.  

  Shingetsu and their stepmother exchange excited glances. 

  “Goodness! There’ll be so many eligible maidens there!” gasps Madame Sương. 

  “Oh, mother, do we have enough to tailor me new clothes?” wheedles Shingetsu. 

  “Of course, of course! Nothing but the best for my son!” 

  “I want something dark blue with bamboo patterns! And shoes! Yes, new shoes from Mr. Duyên as well!” adds Shingetsu.

  “Of course! Of course!” agrees Madame Sương, cackling. 

  Vector quickly finishes his meal and slinks out to the backyard. The sounds of Shingetsu and Madame Sương laughing brings a wave of nausea up his chest. Panickedly, he runs to the well and taps on its walls.

  “Silver fish, oh silver fish, come up to play. I have sweet rice for you, fragrant and fresh as day. Do not accept the others’ gruel, for it is mixed with clay,” hurriedly recites Vector. 

  Nothing. Vector wets his lips. He peers deeper into the well. 

  “Silver fish, oh silver fish, come up to play. I have sweet rice for you, fragrant and fresh as day. Do not accept the others’ gruel, for it is mixed with clay,” repeats Vector, his eyes filling with tears. 

  The well’s clear depths reveal nothing. His heart begins to race. Running to the refuse pile, he digs through the cucumber skins until he finds the fish’s head. Empty golden eyes with black dots for eyebrows. Dull silver scales. Despite the shaking in his limbs, he stumbles back into the dining room. 

  “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” he cries, brandishing the fish’s head. 

  His stepmother briefly looks at him in shock. Then, she resumes her typical cool expression, arched brows slanted and lips slightly curved into a smile. 

  “You’ve raised it so well. It would be a pity for it to grow past its prime,” she replies. 

  Vector briefly turns to Shingetsu, who was avoiding his gaze. Surreptitiously, his brother slips a piece of fish into his mouth. 

  The world spins. Before he could scream again, Vector runs to his room. In the silence of his dark, dirt-floor room, he sobs. He muffles his cries into the hem of shirt, his eyes burning with rage and sorrow. He had raised that fish since she was a small guppy. One day it had merely appeared from the depths of the well, offering consolation to his grieving self. Each morning and night he had faithfully fed her rice from his own bowl, watching in awe as she grew. 

  When he was younger, he had dreamed that one day, the fish would grow big enough for him to ride. Then, it would take him across the ocean and to far away lands. 

  She was privy to all of his sorrows, all of his secrets and joys. He was certain that she had understood every word he said yet was powerless to reply. 

  His throat seizes up as he chokes down a sob, the fish’s head still clutched in his hand.

  Like his mother, she had the same golden eyes. Her scales were the same colors as his mother’s hair. Even her expressions, aided by the two dots at the top of her eyes, resembled his mother’s. But perhaps he was just being too hopeful. The last photograph of their mother had been burned alongside their father’s books years ago. 

  “Child, why do you cry?” asks a young man’s voice. 

  Vector starts. Looking up, he gasps upon seeing a young man in white robes sitting on his bed. His hair is long and purple, curled at the ends. In the dim light, he slightly glows. 

  “Wh-who are you?” asks Vector. 

  He hurriedly looks for a weapon. The young man takes out a curled piece of wood and taps it against Vector’s bed. 

  “Can’t you see? I’m a sage!” he says indignantly. 

  Vector stiffens.

  “Sages are supposed to be old, with white hair and beards!” protests Vector. “Just where did you come from?!” 

  He’s answered by a huff and crossed arms. 

  “Alright, I’m a sage-in-training,” mutters the young man. “I’ll earn my beard in a thousand years.” 

  A snort escapes from Vector, deepening the sage’s frown.

  “I’ve never heard of that. Where did you come from?” he asks.

  Surely he wasn’t from the village. His robes were far too fine and his skin far too clean. The young man’s nostrils flare and he crosses his arms. He glares at Vector with his unnaturally blue eyes. In the darkness of the room, they slightly glow. Despite this, Vector can’t help but think of a petulant child. He bites his tongue, trying to keep himself from smiling. 

  “I told you! I come from the court of the Jade Emperor! Before I can earn my beard, I have to help a million souls!” snaps the sage. 

  “You definitely don’t act like one,” retorts Vector. “Sages are supposed to be calm and possess otherworldly knowledge. You’re just a brat.” 

  The sage’s face turns an alarming shade of red. He digs his nails into his wooden staff and lets out a long suffering growl. Throwing his head up in the air, he exhales. 

  “If I told you to bury your fish-mother’s bones beneath your bed, would you listen to me?” he asks in a slow and controlled tone. 

  Vector raises a brow. 

  “Why? It would stink to high heaven.”

  For a moment, the sage’s lips twitch in the facsimile of a smile. 

  “As you’ve noticed, that fish isn’t just any fish. It’s a magic fish, imbued with your mother’s love. She won’t rot and will come back to help you in your time of need,” explains the sage. 

  “And all I need to do is bury her bones?”

  “That’s right.”

  Vector looks down at the fish head and scoffs. 

  “For a sage, you’re very human,” he remarks.  

  When he looks back up at his bed, the youth is no longer there. In the darkness, he stares at the empty space. Perhaps he had become so angry that he ended up hallucinating the entire ordeal. Despite that, the young sage’s advice gives him a hint of hope. With his bare hands, he begins to dig a small hole beneath his bed. 

  H☆H☆S

  Buoyed by the thought of the festival and the appearance of the young sage, Vector worked tirelessly from dusk to dawn. As the days grew closer, he could feel the heaviness lifting from his shoulders. Soon he could be free. He could serve his family in a different way, by sailing the seas or by learning a valuable craft. Free from the cruelties of his stepmother, no task would be too hard. 

  One morning, Vector approaches the table with bowls of congee and freshly picked cilantro. 

  “There’s something I’d like to ask you, mother,” begins Vector. 

  Madame Sương raises a finely plucked brow. 

  “Speak,” she commands. 

  “May I go to the king’s spring festival with you?” asks Vector. 

  Slowly, their stepmother’s eyes turn to Shingetsu, who was sipping from his congee.

  “What do you think, Shingetsu?” she drawls. 

  His twin brother breaks into a vibrant smile, similar to when they were young. Each tooth shines like a pearl. 

  “Oh, yes, yes, yes! Please, mother! Vector’s been working so hard!” wheedles Shingetsu.

  Their stepmother chuckles and sips her morning tea. 

  “Very well. You may go,” she says, setting down her teacup. 

  Her voice hardens and her eyes narrow. 

  “But only if you finish your chores,” she warns. 

  Vector lets out a sigh and his shoulders lower. He smiles a genuine smile and bows. 

  “Thank you, mother. Of course I will,” he says. 

  Soon, soon, he would be free. 

  “Now hurry along. I want the best fabrics for our clothes,” she says. 

  “May I choose some fabrics for myself?” asks Vector. 

  Their mother’s red lips tighten into a thin line. 

  “I’m afraid there isn’t enough money from our tenant farmers for that. You’ll have to find something of your father’s to wear.” 

  Vector’s smile remains pasted on his face. 

  “Of course. Apologies.”

  Him, wear the clothes of his father? He would be the talk of the village! 

  Vector walks out of the house and briefly looks up at the sun’s position in the sky. He still had time before Miss Nhi’s shop opened. Opening the hatch to the house’s cellar, he climbs down. The mud walls are lined with shelves of preserves. Wine caskets line the floor, some empty, some filled. In the corner of the cellar is an old cedar trunk, a gift from Vector’s grandfather. 

  He pulls it into the center of the cellar and undoes the latch. Perhaps he could rework some of his father’s clothes into more modern styles. The clothes of an office clerk were far from flattering. Upon opening the chest, he is briefly brought back to the past by the smell of foreign cologne intermixed with cedar wood. Vector closes his eyes, remembering his father’s laughter. 

  Taking out the first outfit, he’s dismayed to find that the watered silk has been eaten through by moths. From its faded blue dye, this must have been his father’s wedding outfit. Lamenting its loss, Vector sets the outfit aside and takes out another one. The linen shirt in his hands has been spotted with mold. Sighing, Vector digs through the chest of clothes to no avail, each article of clothing ravaged by time and neglect. 

  “Vector!” snaps his mother. “Why haven’t you gone yet?!”

  Vector drops a pair of torn trousers and looks up at the cellar’s exit. 

  “I’m coming!” he replies. 

  Hurriedly, he throws his father’s ruined clothes back into the chest. Surely, he would find something before the festival arrived…

  H☆H☆S

  I’m skipping some of the details here because the festival isn’t actually where the story ends. In fact, it’s where the true story begins. You probably don’t mind, since the beginning is pretty much like any other Cinderella story. Poor kitchen wretch gets tortured day in and day out until a magical being appears and saves them. 

  How many times have you heard this same story, over and over again? 

  Anyways, they worked me so hard afterwards that I didn’t have time to find any clothes for the celebration. I was up at dawn cleaning the house and then preparing breakfast for those two. In the afternoons I had to go to the market. Usually my stepmother would have sent me back afterwards, because I was always missing something. Then came the midday meal. Afternoons were spent tending to the garden, mending clothes or catching fish. Most of the time I had to cook dinner as well. Nights were usually spent washing clothes or sewing my stepmother and brother’s clothes. 

  You get the idea. 

  Before I knew it, the night where the entire village would ride off towards the capitol had arrived and I had nothing to wear.

  H☆H☆S

  “You’re positive that you’ve done everything?” drawls Madame Sương. 

  “Yes, mother,” replies Vector. 

  Madame Sương narrows her eyes. 

  “Ah, I almost forgot. Just one last favor, if you will,” she begins, eyeing Vector’s dirty clothes with disdain.

  Compared to her and Shingetsu’s vibrant silks and flowers, Vector was nothing but a drab crow. How shameful it would be, to bring her raggedy child to the capitol for all to see! Madame Sương sneers at the thought. 

  “Fetch me baskets of red, green and black beans. I’ve half a mind to make the king’s favorite dessert drink for our journey,” says his mother. 

  Quickly, Vector calculates the amount of time it would take to brew the drink. Relief fills his chest. He would make it. Barely. If he ran fast enough after the caravan, he could hitch a ride with one of the stragglers.

  “Yes, mother!” he says, running off. 

  He runs into the kitchen, placing the basket of green beans on his head and carrying the two other baskets. Upon returning, his stepmother beams. 

  “Excellent,” she says, taking the baskets from Vector. “Such a hardworking child…” 

  Upon taking the baskets, she immediately upends them onto the floor. Vector’s heart leaps into his throat. Looking up at his stepmother, he is met by her cold expression. 

  “Goodness, how clumsy I am. Once you can re-sort all of these beans according to their color, I see no problem with you joining us…,” drawls his mother. 

  Vector briefly looks up at Shingetsu, a lump in his throat. His brother helplessly shrugs. 

  “In these silks? Mother would scold me for ruining them!” protests his brother. 

  Madame Sương wraps her arm around Shingetsu’s, pulling him away. 

  “Oh no, don’t even think about it! Your brother is a fast worker. He’ll eventually reunite with us,” reassures their stepmother. 

  They leave in the light of the setting sun, their steps silent on the ground. Vector looks after them, his chest clenching in pain. Distantly, he could hear the bells and laughter of the festival caravan. Once again, his eyes burn. 

  He picks up a red bean and places it into the nearest basket. Then a black bean. Another red bean. Green. Black. Red. Black. Clenching his teeth, Vector sweeps the beans aside, cursing his fate. 

  Turning to his father’s altar, he yells,

  “I was never unfaithful towards you or mother! What did I do to deserve this?!” 

  His father’s portrait remains silent. Vector clenches his fists and storms over to the altar. A dying ray of light illuminates the bowl of betel nuts. 

  “Why? Why was I given this fate? Why not Shingetsu?” he whispers. 

  The lump in his throat becomes harder to swallow. Tears brim in his eyes. 

  “We share the same face but not the same fate…” 

  From the beginning, he had been taught to honor his parents and their memory. This would sow good karma for the rest of his life. Meanwhile, Shingetsu did nothing but play. When their father fell ill, he drifted further and further apart from their father’s sickbed. Vector grits his teeth. 

  “Those of unfaithful and ungrateful hearts will have their punishment due, whether in this life or the next,” remarks the voice of the young sage. 

  Vector whirls around, his heart skipping a beat. Sitting on the windowsill, the Sage looks at Vector with a resigned expression. His white robes are dyed orange by the setting sun, his shadow stretching across the floor. 

  “And what about me?” utters Vector. 

  The sage lazily blinks, a small smile on his lips. He slides off of the window sill and lets out a low and long whistle. Raising his staff, he chants, 

  “Feathered beasts, far and wide, sort these beans to the side. Green with gree, red with red and black with black. If you dare to eat even one of these beans, I won’t spare you flack.”

  From his father’s altar, Vector watches as a flock of birds gather in the house’s entrance. They ranged from plain little sparrows to large herons. Gently, the sage strokes a heron’s beak as the birds flew into action. 

  “There. Now go to your bed and dig up your fish-mother’s bones,” instructs the sage. 

  Shaking himself out of his surprise, Vector hurries to his room. Quickly, he digs beneath his bed. When his fingers touch the tip of a clay urn, he pauses. Where had the bones gone? He continues digging until he unearths six small urns. Taking out the first one, he takes off his lid and spills its contents onto the floor. A miniature carving of a horse tumbles out. Made from fine ivory, it appeared as if it was a decoration from a foreign land. 

  Setting it aside, Vector takes out the second urn. Triangular packets wrapped in banana leaves fell out, one after the other. From the smell of it, Vector immediately knew that they were his mother’s bánh giò, a sticky rice cake stuffed with pork and a quail egg. He unwraps the first package. His stomach growls in hunger and his mouth waters at its tantalizing appearance. Taking his first bite, he briefly melts at its warm and familiar taste. 

  For a moment, he smells his mother’s perfume. He closes his eyes and chews, the warmth of the bánh giò lingering in his mouth. As the sun sets, he finishes his bánh giò. Although he had just one, it felt as if he had partaken in an entire feast. Looking down at the remaining packets, he found that there were three left. Putting them back in the urn, he moves onto the third one. 

  A series of bracelets and necklaces fit for a king spills out of the third urn. Even in the darkness of the room, the jewelry shimmers like the sun. Running the gold through his hands, Vector can only imagine what wealthy nobles could afford these. 

  The fourth urn contains robes of red and golden silk filled with intricate patterns of bamboo leaves. He runs the silk through his hands, its coolness similar to an evening breeze. The matching pair of trousers was made of the same material. Reaching into the fifth urn produces a headdress of gold dotted with flecks of rubies. 

  The final urn contains a pair of golden slippers embroidered with silver rabbits. 

  Vector briefly seizes up, his eyes filled with tears. 

  “Take that miniature horse to the front yard and then change,” instructs the sage from behind. 

  Turning around, Vector gives him a smile. 

  “Thank you,” he utters. “Thank you.” 

  The sage gives him a brief nod and then smiles, fading into the long shadows of the house. 

  Cupping the horse in his hands, Vector walks to the front of the house to find that the birds had made quick work of the beans. Then he walks out and places the horse by the door and returns to dress. 

  When he finished dressing, he walked into his stepmother’s bedroom on silent feet. Taking her prized bronze mirror from his stand, he walks into the final rays of day and looks at his reflection. In robes the color of beaten gold and red, he looked like a prince. Placing the mirror back on his stand, Vector picks up the urn of bánh giò from the floor and walks into the front yard. 

  A white horse whinnies at him, its body decorated by golden jewelry and leather satchels. Carefully, Vector places the urn in a satchel and approaches the horse. He offers the horse his hand. The animal nuzzles its head against his hand, its body cold like the ivory it was carved from. 

  “Hello there,” greets Vector. “Are you ready?”

  The horse snorts in response. With a grin, Vector hops onto the horse and slowly trots towards the village procession. 

  Upon seeing him, Mr. Vân’s eyes widen. 

  “Vector!” he exclaims. “Where did you get those clothes and that fine horse?”

  Vector smiles at his neighbor, eyes running down the portly man’s cerulean robes. 

  “My parents continue to provide for me, long after their death,” he replies. 

  Urging his horse into a gallop, Vector soon finds himself at the head of the procession and then ahead of it, blazing across the land in a streak of red and gold. No one except for Mr. Vân had recognized him. 

  H☆H☆S

  “Who is he?”

  “He must be an official!”

  “Such stunning craftsmanship…”

  “Could he be an envoy from the Turtle Sea?”

  Vector slowly trots through the capitol, drinking in everyone’s awed stares and whispers. What would they have said, had they known that he was merely a peasant boy? He holds his head up, admiring the bright red lanterns and flowers that adorned the streets. In the capitol, everyone appeared to be wealthy, dressed in bright robes and shiny shoes. 

  The cobblestoned streets shone beneath the sun and soon, Vector could hear festive music. In the long convoy that followed behind him, there was a rich array of peasants and nobles. The peasants walked while the nobles rode on palanquins and horses. A small thrill filled Vector’s chest at being taken for a noble. 

  Unlike the quietness of the village, the capitol was in a constant buzz of excitement. Hawkers declared their wares. Shoppers constantly bargained. The restaurants and stores were always filled with curious customers. Never before had Vector seen so much food, the varieties and amounts almost endless. 

  He reaches into his horse’s satchel to find a bag of coins, which he then spends on some grilled meat. As he bites into the hot and fragrant meat, he closes his eyes in contentment. It was a perfect blend of paprika, pepper, salt and lemongrass. 

  “This is amazing!” he exclaims. 

  The cook bows at receiving such high praise. Vector grins, riding towards the center of the capitol. In the background, the royal palace loomed. 

  The closer he got to the center of the festivities, the slower the pace of the convoy. His heart beat with anticipation, wondering what he would witness at the festival. If the capitol was already this abundant, what would the festival hold? 

  When he finally arrived, he was greeted by an explosion of color. Flowers from all parts of the world adorned the streets. Troupes of singers, dancers and acrobats filled the streets. There was music in every corner. The streets were filled with people, all gathered together in harmony. Tables filled with food were constantly restocked. There were ten roast pigs, laid across the red tables in a row. 

  Dismounting, Vector startles upon seeing his horse vanish. A weight fills his pocket and he reaches in to find that the ivory carving of the horse laid there. 

  Now free, Vector runs towards the tables laden with food. It seemed that everywhere he went, the festival goers cleared the way for him. 

  Grabbing a meat bun from a table, Vector takes a small bite. Its warmth brings a smile to his face. With his other hand, he takes a pastry wrapped in banana leaves. 

  “How now, young noble!” calls a scholar across from him. 

  Vector lowers his head in greeting. 

  “And from what province do you come from?”

  “Moonshadow Province!” replies Vector.

  The old scholar’s bushy eyebrows raise in surprise. 

  “What’s a handsome young scholar like you doing in such a rural place?”

  “I was born there,” responds Vector. 

  The old man splutters in surprise while Vector happily eats his food. 

  Throughout the day, Vector is met by similar responses. Never before had he felt so full, the tables constantly replenished with food. Never before had he felt so happy, surrounded by opportunities galore. Everywhere he went, people cleared the way for him. 

  When the sun was low in the sky, a hush fell over the festival as people gathered together to dance. Rumors filled the capitol as the sun set. Girls giggled while men puffed up their chests. The king was said to participate in the sunset dance. 

  As they gathered in the square, Vector clasped hands with a young man with tanned skin and bright eyes. Women looked at him in envy while Vector exchanged smiles with the young man. 

  “What’s your name?” asks Vector. 

  The young man’s grin brightens, revealing a row of pearly white teeth.

  “It’s Hy Vọng,” he replies. “You?”

  Vector raises a brow. 

  “That’s an unusual name,” he remarks. “I’m Tấm.”

  Hy Vọng closes his eyes, a wistful smile over his face. 

  “‘Fragrant rice,’ huh? That’s my favorite! Drizzled over with some green onions in fat and that’s a perfect meal!” 

  Vector looks at the young man’s finely tailored clothes and his simple tastes in surprise. Hy Vọng chuckles. 

  “You don’t believe me, do you? I should make you some!” 

  “O-oh, no, I’ve had some! Every morning, actually,” confesses Vector as the music begins. 

  Now it was Hy Vọng’s turn to be surprised. 

  “You? I thought nobles liked you loved your three-course breakfasts!” 

  Heat fills Vector’s cheeks. He’s thankful that the sun was setting. 

  “I’m not a noble!” he confesses.

  His companion looks at Vector’s jewels and fine robes doubtfully. He slightly frowns, tapping his chin with a finger. 

  “Not a noble? Only a noble or a god could afford such clothes,” he remarks. “What kind of god are you?”

  “I’m a simple village boy whose parents continued to provide for him, long after their deaths,” replies Vector, pulling Hy Vọng into the dance. 

  “Parents, huh?” murmurs Hy Vọng. His eyes grow distant. 

  Vector’s smile fades upon seeing Hy Vọng’s melancholy expression. He squeezes Hy Vọng’s hands.

  “They died when I was very young,” adds Vector. 

  A moment of silence passes by as Hy Vọng’s expression falls. His eyes briefly pull away from Vector’s and into the past. 

  “Mine too,” he murmurs.

  “Really?” breathes Vector. 

  Hy Vọng nods.  

  Over the joyful music, the two are lost in a quiet dance of their own. For a moment, Vector felt as if he knew everything about this stranger. He could see the loneliness in Hy Vọng’s eyes and the sadness that tinged the edges of his mouth. Awkwardly, Vector reaches into his pocket and produces a tamarind candy he had purchased from a nearby stand. 

  “When I was sad, my father used to give these to me. Would you like one?” he asks. 

  A small smile fills Hy Vọng’s face. He takes the candy from Vector’s hand, his fingers lingering on Vector’s for longer than was necessary. 

  “Thank you. These are one of my favorites.” 

  For such a young noble, he was less carefree than Vector had expected. When the dance began, every step of Hy Vọng’s was practiced. To Vector, it seemed as if dancing was a second instinct to the young noble. The dying rays of the sun kisses his skin and sparkles in his ruby-colored eyes. 

  “Who takes care of you now?” asks Vector. 

  Hy Vọng responds with a wry smile and a shrug. 

  “Everyone, here and there,” he answers vaguely. 

  “Really? I’m alone,” breathes Vector. 

  Briefly, their hands part. When they come back, Vector realizes that Hy Vọng’s hands are exceptionally warm, just like the sun. 

  “Is that why you came to the capitol?” asks Hy Vọng. 

  “Yup. To start anew.” 

  After the festival, he’ll go to the harbor and look for a ship. Hopefully, he won’t encounter his stepmother and brother before he leaves. 

  Hy Vọng briefly looks around at the spirited square. The dazzling colors of the city brings a small smile to his lips. Despite that, his eyes are sad. 

  “Be careful,” murmurs Hy Vọng. “The capitol is full of danger.” 

  “This is how I’m welcomed to this city for the first time?” teases Vector. 

  A hint of color fills Hy Vọng’s cheeks. He forces a grin and scratches the back of his head.

  “Sorry! I promise that I’m usually not melancholic! If there’s time, I’ll show you the koi ponds and the best restaurants here!” promises his companion. 

  Vector sticks his tongue out. 

  “Nothing’s better than the food from my hometown!” he boasts. 

  Hy Vọng lifts his brow. 

  “I’ll take you up on that challenge! In one sitting, I ate 26 of the Lotus Restaurant’s meat buns!” 

  “26? That must mean that the owner’s skimping on the portions!” calls Vector above the din of the fireworks. “Miss Lê makes pork buns that can feed a grown man and his entire family!” 

  His companion beams as the fireworks explode overhead. 

  “Oh, really? Then she hasn’t met a man with an appetite like mine!” 

  The sound of a lively folk dance starts up. Hy Vọng perks up and he pulls Vector into the throng of dancers. 

  “I heard this song from a distant mountain village during one of my travels!” exclaims Hy Vọng. “It’s a dance that involves everyone in the village, young and old!” 

  Vector can feel everyone’s eyes upon him and Hy Vọng as they gather into a circle. Even among the brightly colored silks of the festival-goers, him and his companion’s outfits shine the most. Women stare at Vector and giggle. Well-dressed men look at the handsome couple with approval. Vector’s heart soars as the circle begins to spin, a rainbow of fabrics dazzling his eyes. 

  “It’s a dance to celebrate the rain!” explains Hy Vọng. “The circles grow and then divide, representing the ripples and changes of water!” 

  Vector holds onto his companion’s hand tightly as the circle grows. He searches the crowd for the faces of his stepmother and brother, yet can’t find them. Relief lowers his shoulders. The circle continues to spin and grow, Vector trying to hang onto his companion as desperately as possible. For once, he had found someone who was willing to listen to him. Someone who had experienced the same pain as he had. 

  As the music crescendos, their hands briefly release and Vector lets out a gasp at the absence of Hy Vọng’s hand. The world briefly stops as Hy Vọng grins at him. With his face lit up by the fireworks, he looks even more lively than before. Then his companion turns away, joining a smaller circle. Vector’s cry is lost in the throng, his hand grabbed by a pair of strangers and his body pulled into another circle. 

  As Hy Vọng’s head disappears into the colorful array of dancing bodies, Vector can only watch as his companion draws farther and farther away. Twirling, stepping and weaving through the steps of the folk dance, Vector tries to look for the young man’s red bangs and bright eyes to no avail. At the end of the dance, he finds himself in an entirely different part of the city.

  Looking down at his feet, he curses under his breath as he finds that one of his shoes is missing. Stumbling back into the center of the festivities, he attempts to look for his shoe. With the amount of people that continued to pour in, finding a single golden shoe was an impossible task. Sighing, Vector wanders away from the crowd hoping to find a cobbler. 

  At night, the lanterns in the capitol dyed the city in shades of red. Shadows seemed to dance on their own in the alleyways. Festival goers filled the streets. Distantly, the sound of fireworks filled the air. Looking around, it seemed that the restaurants were even busier than in the morning. Hobbling about, Vector curses under his breath. 

  “Young prince!” calls a voice. 

  Vector stops.

  “Young prince!” repeats the voice. 

  Vector turns around to see a young hostess standing in the doorway of a bustling restaurant. 

  “Are you hungry?” she asks. 

  Looking down at his bare foot, Vector reluctantly nods. He walks into the restaurant. Immediately, the smell of congee and fragrant jasmine rice fills his senses. 

  “What can I get for you?” asks the hostess, eager to serve such a richly dressed customer. 

  “Tea…a bowl of rice…and a meatbun,” requests Vector, remembering Hy Vọng’s boast. 

  A hint of a frown fills the hostess’ face. 

  “Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asks, brows slightly furrowed. 

  “Do you know any cobblers that are still open? I lost my shoe during the festivities,” says Vector, motioning to his bare foot. 

  The hostess looks down at Vector’s dirt-covered foot and bites her lip. Perhaps this wasn’t a prince. Perhaps this was a thief. Despite that, she pastes a smile on her face. 

  “Mr. Nguyễn should still be open, although he’s quite busy. He’s three streets away,” replies the hostess. 

  Vector smiles and places three gold coins into the hostess’ hand. 

  “Thank you.” 

  The hostess hurries off, her heart leaping at the amount of gold in her hand. Meanwhile, Vector looks around at the establishment. There were festival goers from distant lands, their clothes a clear marker of their foreignness. Some wore long capes that ill-suited the humid weather of the Amber Kingdom. Others wore elaborate headdresses. He even spotted a few members of the neighboring mountain tribes, their headscarves colorful and well-tailored. 

  A mixture of languages fills the room, from the almost-understandable languages of the mountain tribes to the foreign tongues of the westerners. Vector looked on in fascination as a young man with long white hair fumbled with chopsticks while his blond companion stifled a laugh. The man gave his friend a few words of advice in a language that sounded nasal and lilting to Vector’s ear. 

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?” calls a voice from beside him. 

  Vector jumps upon seeing the young man beside him. Turning to him, the young sage smiles. Dressed in civilian clothing, with his hair tied in a ponytail, he appeared just like any common laborer. With his chin resting on his hand, the sage looks at Vector with half-closed eyes. A woven basket was strapped behind his back, his staff sticking out. 

  “You…!” 

  “Here you are,” says the hostess, serving Vector a meatbun, a bowl of rice and tea. 

  “Ah! Please get my friend a cup of tea and some vegetarian canh chua!” calls Vector. 

  “Excellent!”

  The hostess grins and hurries off.

  “How did you know what I wanted?” asks the sage. 

  “Frankly, I don’t even know what’s on the menu,” retorts Vector. 

  The sage looks around. 

  “Well, there’s dumplings…crab soup…buns…more dumplings…egg noodles…”

  “Enough…,” mumbles Vector. “I stuffed myself silly at the festival.” 

  He’s answered by a chuckle from the sage. Vector frowns. 

  “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be off meditating or something?”

  The sage places a finger on his lips and makes a shushing sound. 

  “Sage-in-training, remember? I don’t have to give up all worldly pleasures all at once,” he drawls. 

  A moment of silence passes by as Vector sips his tea. In the humidity of the restaurant, it was almost too much to bear. He takes a bite from his bun. Honestly, it was quite average compared to his neighbor’s buns.  

  “I lost my shoe,” mutters Vector. 

  “You’ll find it again,” replies the sage, resting his head against his folded arms. 

  “How?!” sputters Vector. “It’s lost in this city of a million people! It’s probably already gone for good!” 

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that…” 

  “Stop speaking in riddles!”

  With a chuckle, the sage shrugs and holds up his hands. 

  “Sorry. Sage in training.” 

  “I could strangle you!” growls Vector. 

  “I’d like to see you try,” drawls the sage. 

  Vector downs his tea and glares at the young man. 

  “Why are you helping me? I don’t even know your name,” mutters Vector. 

  “First off, my name is Phạm Huyền Dương but my fellow sages call me Cá Mập.”

  Dương is interrupted by a snort. Briefly, he frowns. 

  “From ‘dark ocean’ to ‘shark…,’” muses Vector. “Looks like you didn’t go far.” 

  Dương rolls his eyes. 

  “I was born by the ocean. Of course I’ll never stray from it,” he retorts. “And secondly, the karma you’ve accrued from your loyalty to your parents have resulted in Heaven’s admiration. I was assigned to you to carry out Heaven’s decree.” 

 Vector’s heart skips a beat. So his prayers had been heard. He grins, just as the hostess arrived with a bowl of canh chua, rice and tea. The smell of the soup’s spices earns a smile from Dương as he grabs his chopsticks. 

  “That looks absolutely delicious!” he says. “Thank you!”

  The hostess blushes. 

  “Anything for our best patrons!” 

  Paying the hostess another gold coin, Vector watches as Dương eagerly partakes in the meal.

  “Why don’t you come to the festivities with me? There’s lots of food there,” offers Vector.

  Dương shakes his head. 

  “‘Can’t. Worldly pleasure,” he replies with a full mouth. 

  Vector watches as the young man quickly downs the soup and then the rice. 

  “Haven’t had anything this delicious in ages!” exclaims Dương. “On the mountains, all we have are peaches and the rice offerings our followers give us.”

  “I’m planning to stay in the city so you could definitely stop by,” offers Vector. 

  Dương briefly pauses, something unreadable flashing by his eyes. For a moment, Vector could see the expression of the wise sage that Dương was training to become. The young man smiles, although his eyes remain unreadable. 

  “Yes, I’ll take you up on that offer,” says Dương as he finishes his bowl of rice. He looks at Vector’s bowl. “Are you finishing that?”

  Vector shakes his head and pushes the bowl towards Dương. His companion grins and dumps its contents into the remainder of the soup. 

  “Oh, I need to come down here more often…,” he mumbles to himself as he digs into the soup. 

  Over the sounds of the sage happily eating, Vector rests his hand on his chin. Hy Vọng…such a strange young man. Despite his carefree exterior, he had experienced so much sadness. He had always thought that nobles lived luxurious and happy lives. He begins to tap out the rhythm of the folk dance on the table, closing his eyes and trying to relive the moment. Warmth…oh, he was so warm when he held Hy Vọng’s hand. His heart felt as if it could burst out of his chest from the warmth. 

  “Any chance I could bother you for some vegetarian buns?” asks Dương. 

  Vector wryly smiles at the young man.

  “Remind me never to become an immortal. It looks like they don’t feed you well up in the mountains,” chuckles Vector as he looks around for the hostess. 

  “Did you hear? The king is looking for the owner of a shoe!” shouts a young and heavily powdered woman into the restaurant. 

  Vector jumps. 

  “What does the shoe look like?!” shouts Vector above the din of the restaurant.

  “Golden and embroidered with rabbits!” cries the woman. 

  Vector’s heart nearly jumps out his chest. He stands straight up, preparing to leave. 

  “Well, there’s my cue to go,” says Dương. 

  When Vector turns around, the sage has vanished, leaving behind a stack of empty bowls. As the murmurs arise throughout the restaurant, Vector shoves the rest of the bun into his mouth and then slips his remaining shoe into his pocket. He hurries into the streets of the capitol, the cobbled stone paths smooth beneath his callused feet. 

  “Where is the king?!” exclaims Vector, looking around. 

  “There’s a line stretching into the palace courtyard!” replies a running woman. 

  Vector hurries after her, clutching his robes in his hands. 

  “How long?!” 

  The woman doesn’t look back, running along with the rest of the crowd. 

  “All the way to the gates!” 

  Vector’s heart falls. He runs into an alleyway and takes the horse carving out of his pocket and places it on the floor beneath him. Before his eyes, the horse grows. Once it was at its full size, Vector leaps onto the horse and rushes towards the city gates. 

  H☆H☆S

  You know, I’m a very patient man, having served my stepmother and brother for most of my life. For two days, I waited in that line, surrounded by girls from all walks of life. The wealthy ones demanded to be carried by their retainers. The poor ones had to endure hunger and the burgeoning heat of the spring. There were those who were turned away by the guards at the palace gates because they had cut the line. I saw a few pretenders as well. 

  As long as I had the second shoe in my pocket, I knew that I would be chosen. But then what? 

  That question followed me the entire time, even once I arrived at the palace courtyard. 

  Sitting on his throne, shaded and fanned by a retinue of attendees was Hy Vọng, radiant as the day we had met. Upon seeing him on his dais, my heart almost stopped. 

  He motioned for the next person to try the golden shoe. A frail girl with a dirt-covered face approached the head eunuch, who held my golden shoe in his hand. Despite the hundreds of feet that had tried on the shoe, it remained pristine. 

  When my turn arrived, our eyes met and King Yuma smiled. It was a smile that still warms my heart today, when he has long moved on in his various reincarnations. 

  H☆H☆S

  “A perfect fit,” declares the head eunuch. 

  Vector reaches into his pocket and pulls out the matching pair to a chorus of gasps. 

  “As you can see, I’m the true owner of these shoes,” he declares. “They were gifted to me by my parents.” 

  The eunuch’s shoulders lower in relief upon seeing Vector’s stately robes. 

  “And you are?”

  “Vector.”

  “Family name?”

  Vector smiles, his heartbeat racing. 

  “Of the Sunflower Seed village in Moonshadow province,” he replies. 

  The eunuch’s face slackens and the palace court erupts into a series of gasps and hysterical screams. 

  “A peasant?!” chokes the eunuch. 

  He turns to the king with a face paler than the clouds. 

  With a single nod, King Yuma steps from his throne and approaches Vector. 

  “As a king and the father of my subjects, I must remember the heartbeat of our kingdom lies in the peasantry. What could be a better match?” declares the young king, clasping Vector’s hand in his. 

  Behind Vector, a few maidens faint. Meanwhile, his heart beats with a mixture of fear and joy. True, he had wanted to escape his family and start a life on his own terms. However, he had never expected to marry the king for his new beginning. Looking around at the astonished courtyard, he sees a purple-haired noble stifling his laughter. 

  H☆H☆S

  This was where the story was supposed to end. I didn’t question the rapidity of the marriage, given the nature of fairytales. Miracles happen everyday in these worlds. All this meant was that I could have a happy ending. See, happy endings in fairytales almost always end with a wedding. Love is what makes the world go round, after all! Ha ha…

  I would have forgiven my stepmother and brother at the wedding and lived happily ever after with the king. The karmic balances would have equaled out because of my suffering and my subsequent forgiveness of my tormentors. I wasn’t selfish or resentful, unlike my cousin. 

  I was pure. 

  And yet, time ticked on.

  I had to survive the gossip and rivalries of court. The treacherous games of the eunuchs and nobles were similar to Shingetsu’s games, but deadlier. Despite the commoners’ love for me, they were kept away from the palace. Yuma was my sole comfort. 

  On the day of my father’s death anniversary, I was almost excited to return home and pay my respects.

  H☆H☆S

  “Your majesty!” greets Madame Sương, kowtowing. 

  “It’s alright, mother,” reassures Vector, stepping out of the palanquin. He turns to the eunuchs. “Thank you for your services.” 

  Upon seeing his childhood home again, tears fill Vector’s eyes. It was shabbier than he remembered, the thatched roof unchanged since he had left. The trees around the home had grown since the wedding, more shade covering their yard. Looking down at his stepmother and stepbrother, a small smile fills Vector’s lips. Their clothes were still elegant and crisply tailored, thanks to the allowance Vector sent home monthly. 

  “Rise,” says Vector, approaching his stepmother. 

  Unexpectedly, his stepmother embraces him, sobbing loudly. 

  “It’s been so lonely since you’ve left for the palace, my son,” she cries. “Shingetsu and I have dreamed of this day!”

  Joining his mother, Shingetsu embraces Vector as well, tears dripping down his rosy cheeks. 

  “It feels like part of me was missing when you vanished!” adds Shingetsu. 

  Awkwardly, Vector returns the embrace. He only had until sunset before he had to turn back. 

  “Oh, I was so cruel to you!” cries his stepmother, running her hands through Vector’s hair. “Gods strike me down!” Vector pulls away from both his stepmother and twin, a serene smile on his face. Compared to the bloodthirsty courtiers, their antics were amusing. 

  “It’s alright,” breathes Vector through his tears. “I forgive you.” 

  An apology and love. That was all he had ever wanted from his stepmother. Madame Sương’s sobs increase as she kneels onto the floor and touches her forehead to Vector’s feet. 

  “To have a son who forgave his cruel stepmother for her past sins…Only so few could be lucky!” she cries. 

  “Come in, please! I cooked yours and father’s favorite meal!” invites Shingetsu, tugging Vector’s hand. 

  “Wait! I need to pay my respects first!” says Vector, pulling away from Shingetsu’s grip. 

  Taking his shoes off, Vector steps into the threshold of the house. His father and mother’s altar remains where it has always been. Lighting a stick of incense, Vector clasps it between his hands and bows. 

  “Although I’ve risen to lofty ranks, I will always remember my origins,” begins Vector. “Please continue watching over me as I navigate the dangers of the Amber Court.” 

  After bowing, Vector sticks his incense into the pot and moves into the dining room. A plate of bánh bèo awaits him and Vector’s stomach growls. 

  “Do you like it?” asks his stepmother from behind. 

  Vector turns around and gives her a smile. 

  “It’s wonderful, being able to have a home cooked meal after all these months of rich palace food,” he replies. “Mother, please have a seat.” 

  “But you’re the king’s consort…”

  Vector shakes his head. 

  “And you’re my mother. Please sit and eat.” 

  Wiping the tears from her eyes, his stepmother takes a seat and picks up her chopsticks. Vector then settles down beside Shingetsu. 

  “It smells delicious,” notes Vector. “You’ve really improved your cooking skills.”

  Shingetsu brightens up at Vector’s praise. 

  “Really?!”

  “Really.” 

  Together, the family begins to eat, the table quickly emptying. 

  “Apologies for coming empty handed. My carriage of presents should be coming soon,” notes Vector. 

  “Nonsense!” laughs his stepmother. “You’ve already done so much for us! I’m planning on sending Shingetsu to the capitol next year to become a scholar thanks to your support!” 

  Shingetsu blushes. 

  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he admits. 

  Vector smiles and pats his brother’s hand. 

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s the least I could do.” 

  Once everyone had finished their meal, Madame Sương wiped her mouth and stood up. Clearing her throat, she turns to Vector. 

  “Forgive my impertinence, but would you be willing to do your mother a favor?” asks Madame Sương. 

  Looking up from his tea, Vector nods.

  “What do you need?”

  “Ah…as you know, your mother is no longer young and Shingetsu is no use at climbing trees. Would you be able to climb the areca tree out in the back and bring your father his favorite areca nuts?” 

  “Oh, please?” wheedles Shingetsu. “You were always climbing the trees like a monkey when we were younger!” 

  “Of course!” agrees Vector. “Let me do that now.”

  Taking off his outer robe and placing it in Shingetsu’s arms, Vector rolls up his sleeves and walks into the backyard. Wistfully, he gazes at the empty well. Remembering his stepmother’s past cruelties, he shakes his head. No, no, she and Shingetsu had changed. Loneliness and time had taught them the error of their ways. 

  He approaches the areca tree and begins to climb, his stepmother and brother following close behind. 

  “Be careful up there!” calls Shingetsu as their stepmother disappears into the cellar.

  “I will!” says Vector, slowly inching up the tree. 

  The thin trunk of the tree slightly sways with each movement Vector makes. He swallows hard as he gets higher and higher. When he was young, the tree was already tall, planted in the time of his great grandfather. Their father liked to sit beneath the tree while Vector climbed and tossed his beloved nuts down to him. The memory warms Vector’s heart. 

  Once the first bunch of nuts comes within reach, Vector takes a deep breath and reaches out his hand. Plucking a few nuts, he brings them to his pocket. Looking down, he sees that his stepmother has returned, an ax in her hand. 

  “Don’t mind me!” calls his stepmother. “There’s a whole family of fire ants down here! I couldn’t stand to have my dear child be stung by such beasts!” 

  She swings the ax at the tree while Vector holds on for dear life. He closes his eyes, praying that the thunk thunking would stop. 

  “Mother, please!�� cries Vector amidst the hackings of the ax. “If you keep on cutting the tree, I’ll fall to my death!”

  Deaf to his cries, Madame Sương continues to chop at the base of the tree. Vector winces and clings on for dear life, wrapping his limbs around the thin trunk. For a moment, the world completely stills. The birdsong stops. The hacking of the ax stills. The world holds its breath. Blood stops flowing in his veins. 

  And then the world spins again, in loud, righteous fury. He feels himself falling, the world rushing towards him. The areca tree cries with a voice centuries old, raining its nuts onto the ground. Briefly, Vector catches a glimpse of his father reading in the shade of the trees, his hammock swinging in the breeze. He looks up and smiles before the world seems to tear itself in two. Stars dance in Vector’s eyes and his head screams in pain. It feels as if he’s been struck by lightning. Warmth fills his face and as his vision leaves, he sees Shingetsu and Madame Sương looking down at him with matching expressions. 

  “Quick. Strip him before the blood gets on the robes.”

  The world fades away as if it were a painting made of sand. Vector closes his eyes and feels himself being carried away by the winds. 

  H☆H☆S

  It sucks, being dead. 

  Did you know what they did to my corpse? 

  After stripping me naked, they cut my body to pieces and fed me to the neighbor’s pigs. 

  What had filled these people with such evil and ungrateful malice? 

  They greeted the gift wagon with their usual theatrics, this time with Shingetsu parading as me. In their bloodied hands they clasped gold and fine robes, donning them as the pigs feasted on my corpse. 

  No one would notice this deception, for we were twins. 

  No one except Yuma and Heaven. 

  H☆H☆S

  He awakens in a cold cavern standing in a long line of people. Vector scratches his head and winces at the sore. Looking around at the gaunt men and women, he frowns. The last thing he remembered was that he was in his childhood home. It was the beginning of the rainy season, but it never became this cold. 

  “Where am I?” he asks. 

  An old man turns around and looks at him. Pity fills his face. 

  “You’re in the underworld, child,” he murmurs.

  The underworld? The word makes Vector chuckle. He was only twenty springs old, young and healthy. How could he be dead?

  “That’s impossible,” he replies. “I have a kingdom to return to!” 

  The old man shakes his head and shuffles ahead. Looking around, Vector notices the gloomy pig-headed sentries walking throughout the caverns. With their beady eyes and twitching snouts, Vector shakes his head in disbelief. It was like the paintings at the temple. 

  “Excuse me…,” he calls to a guard. 

  The pig oinks in response and clutches its glaive tighter. 

  “I think there’s been a mistake.” 

  Another pig walks up to Vector. Its companion snorts in its ear. Together, they begin to laugh in a series of high-pitched squeals and snorts. Without replying to Vector, they walk away. 

  Sighing, Vector awaits his turn at the front of the line, reminded of when he waited to try on his slipper. 

  When he arrives at the front of the line, he stiffens upon seeing the imposing figure before him. Surrounded by animal-headed attendants was Diêm Vương, a man dressed in dark robes and a large crown. Vector bows, his limbs shaking. It couldn’t be. 

  “Rise,” booms the King of the Underworld. 

  Vector stands and gazes at Diêm Vương’s endless records. 

  “Prince Tấm of the Amber Kingdom,” reads the immortal, stroking his long beard. “Death from a fall.” 

  Memories of his stepmother cutting down the areca tree fills Vector’s mind. Pain shoots up Vector’s skull as he remembers falling to the ground.

  “Th…there has to be a mistake,” chokes Vector. “I still have so much to live for.” 

  “Indeed,” says Diêm Vương, eliciting a series of gasps from his attendants. “Your life was not meant to end this way. I grant you expedited reincarnation in the form of an oriole to return to your love.”

  “B…but my body…” 

  The immortal narrows his eyes, an eerie flame igniting in their black depths. 

  “Is no longer on this earth.”

  “What?” 

  An imperious looking mynah-headed official lets out a squawk and unfurls a scroll. 

  “Before unassuming swine you were sacrificed, white flesh and bone ground beneath indifferent teeth. Come the morning, you will be resting in bits within the bellies of beasts,” reads the mynah. 

  A chill runs down Vector’s spine. He looks up at the king of the underworld and slowly bows, his head touching the cold stone floor. 

  “Forgive my impertinence, but, will my stepmother and brother atone for their sins?”

  Diêm Vương sighs and strokes his beard. 

  “Cross the Bridge of Reincarnation, child. That is a secret I cannot divulge,” he says. “Make haste, for the universe must have its stories…” 

  Standing, Vector crosses his arms. What did Diêm Vương mean in that last bit? Judging from his irritated expression, he had no time to elaborate. 

  “Thank you,” Vector says as a pig-headed sentry ushers him away. 

  “NEXT!” squawks the mynah official. 

  The sentry leads him through a series of tunnels lit by dim crystals. Distantly, Vector could hear sobbing and screaming. When they arrive at a massive cavern, Vector stops to look around. Bridges that seemed to lead to nowhere crisscrossed the area. Wandering souls wandered back and forth through the bridges. Trees seemed to grow from the walls and the ceiling, obeying no natural order. Beneath him, a boiling river flowed backwards. 

  Behind him, the sentry nudges him with his glaive, snorting. 

  Vector shakes his head and moves across a stone bridge. 

  “Are my parents still here?” asks Vector, looking around. 

  He’s answered by silence. 

  They ascend a series of steps and enter a garden. An old lady sits by a weathered tree. Upon seeing Vector, she smiles. 

  “Have a seat, child. Come and drink my soup,” she invites. 

  The pig-headed sentry reaches into his pocket and shows the elderly woman a tag. For a moment, the elderly woman’s smile wavers. She takes the bowl of soup and pours it back into the spring. 

  “I see. Best of luck to you, child,” she calls as Vector is hurried along. 

  Leaving the cave, they enter a dark cavern that seemed to stretch into eternity. A red bridge yawned before Vector. The sentry oinks and motions to the bridge. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Vector takes a step forward. His footsteps fall silent on the well-worn stone. Looking behind him, he finds that the sentry remained where he was. 

  “This is it, then? The bridge of reincarnation?” asks Vector. 

  His response was a single nod. 

  Vector takes a deep breath and gives the beady-eyed sentry a smile. 

  “Thank you.”

  As he walks across the bridge, he can feel the sentry’s eyes on his back. It’s cold, although there’s no breeze in the underworld. In the darkness he blindly walks ahead, praying that he would see his king again. Sometimes he thinks he hears his stepmother’s laughter. Other times he thinks he hears Shingetsu teasing him. Distantly, he hears Yuma’s laughter. 

  Vector quickens his pace. 

  “Vector, what’s the rush?” calls a voice from his memory. 

  Briefly, Vector pauses. He puts a hand on the stone railing and looks back. 

  Nothing. 

  He takes another step. 

  “Son, please. Turn back and come read with me,” continues his father. 

  Vector bites his lip. Perhaps his father was still here and not reincarnated. Perhaps he had overlooked his father, who was waiting on one of the hundreds of thousands of bridges in that massive cavern. 

  “We have so much to discuss.” 

  Yet Vector remembers Shingetsu’s cold expression as he leaned over him, watching as life drained from his skull. Lips pressed into a thin line. Eyes devoid of expression. Unblinking as Vector had let out a final choked cry. 

  “Strip him before the blood gets on the robes,” commands his stepmother.

  Vector grits his teeth and continues on. No. His stepmother couldn’t take this final piece of happiness away from him. Not if he still had a say in this. 

  “Oh, Vector…,” sighs a wistful voice from behind. “What’s the use of revenge?”

  Vector digs his nails into the stone.

  Mother. His real mother, who had gifted him those wonderful bánh giò. He forces himself to take a step forward. 

  “Vector, please. Your father and I are both waiting for you,” says his mother. 

  Vector grits his teeth. So this was why people drank Mạnh Bà’s soup of oblivion. 

  “Mother, I’m sorry. I want to have happiness,” says Vector as he forces himself to go on. 

  “You can be happy here!” protests his mother. “Please!” 

  His mother would never scream at him like that. She would have wanted him to be happy. Memories of his gentle fish-mother fills Vector’s mind. Vector shakes his head and begins to run down the bridge, the voices of his mother and father distorting into hellish screams. 

  Soon, he begins to see a hint of light in the darkness. He quickens his pace, feeling his limbs grow lighter. Stretching out his arms, he feels his feet leave the ground and feathers sprout from his skin. He closes his eyes, casting aside the white robes of the underworld. When he opens his eyes, he is freely flying into the beautiful blue skies of the Amber Kingdom.

  H☆H☆S

  In his garden, the young king plays his moon lute, looking wistfully up at the heavens. As of late, his beloved was behaving strangely. His eyes were colder and his smile never reached his eyes. Despite that, he professed his undying love and admiration for his king in endless droves. It was almost as if his love had been absorbed by the court’s obsequious mannerisms. Yuma sighs as he plucks a wrong note, the melody falling apart at the discordant sound. 

  Yuma had thought his husband was different, hailing from a small village in the rural countryside. At the festival, he had seemed removed from the worldly luxuries around him, eyeing the common folk and nobles with the same set of eyes. He wore his robes as if they were simple peasant’s garb, easily weaving his way through the dancers as if he were walking across a meadow. Vector seemed unconcerned about his robes dragging on the dusty streets, instead more focused on the world around him. 

  Now all Vector does is wheedle Yuma for more gold and jewels, earning the ire of the finance ministers. 

  Yuma leans his head back against his chair and plays another song. 

  Oh beautiful moon so high above, 

What secrets have you heard tonight?

  Tell me of the peasant girl’s new love,

The soldier’s greatest fears 

And the father’s secret worries

  Why carry such secrets alone, paling your beautiful features?

  An oriole begins to chirp in tune and Yuma continues to play.

  I see that you and I are the same,

King and Moon

Our burden is ours alone to bear

  When the oriole continues to sing along, note for note, Yuma stops. He looks around, searching for the bird. When he sees the yellow bird perched on a nearby branch, he smiles. 

  “How about this one?” he asks. 

  Tonight, tonight, I am going off to the festival

Across the hills and through the clouds I fly

Towards the fairyland of Mount Bồng Lai

  Where I will feast from the flower fairies’ table 

And dance with the fair immortal maidens of legend

  Come, come, in your cups you will see

Slightly tipsy on the rice wine of heaven

The true meaning of life

  The oriole sings along with heartrending passion, similar to when he and Vector used to sing together. Whenever he had time they would go out to the garden and sit in the pavilion, Yuma with his lute in hand and Vector with his voice. Yuma holds the oriole’s gaze and holds out his sleeve. 

  “Sometimes, I think that my husband has been taken away and replaced by a wizard. If he was truly my Vector, he wouldn’t speak to me with such cold smiles and blatant lies,” muses Yuma. “If you are my true husband and have been transformed, fly into my sleeve.”

  Immediately, the oriole lands in his sleeve. Yuma lets out an incredulous squawk. Such things only happened in fairytales. He gazes down at the oriole and its unusual amethyst eyes. Nervously, he looks down at the bird. 

  “H-hey, I was just joking! Y-you couldn’t be my husband!” protests Yuma. 

  The oriole continues to stare at him with its eyes, the same color as Vector’s. 

  “But if you truly are him, then how would you be able to prove it?” 

  Bending its head into its wing, the oriole pulls out a silver hairpin decorated with an amethyst. Yuma stiffens. 

  “But…Vector said he lost that!”

  The oriole drops the pin and lets out an indignant squawk. How could he have lost such a thing, especially when it was Yuma’s first present to him? 

  Yuma purses his lips. Perhaps it was all a strange coincidence. 

  “Well, would you happen to know our favorite song?” 

  The oriole closes its eyes and then begins to sing a folk lullaby. Yuma’s brows furrow as the oriole hops onto his hand. Lifting the bird to his face, he frowns. 

  “Then who’s—”

  “Your majesty!” calls Shingetsu, running into the garden. 

  Head to toe he is dressed in gold, shining brighter than the sun itself. Yuma shields his eyes. 

  “Vector,” he mumbles as Shingetsu embraces him. 

  Looking up at him with wide eyes, Shingetsu says, 

  “Today, the chief minister of finances reprimanded me! Punish him for me, please?” 

  Looking down at his husband in bewilderment, Yuma slowly extricates himself from Shingetsu’s embrace. 

  “You have to understand,” he begins. “Our kingdom is just recovering from its war with the Turtle King! The people are exhausted!” 

  Shingetsu pouts and then looks down at his jade bracelets. 

  “I thought you said that I deserved the best. What’s a few more bracelets?” he mumbles. 

  “I…” 

  Just then, the oriole swoops towards Shingetsu’s face, eliciting a shriek of terror from the young man. 

  “Get it away!” yelps Shingetsu. 

  “Don’t touch him!” exclaims Yuma, pushing Shingetsu away. 

  A flash of anger fills Shingetsu’s expression. 

  “A bird over your own husband? Just what—”

  The oriole dives for Shingetsu’s face again, only to be blocked by Yuma’s body. 

  “Please!” says Yuma. “Not now!” 

  For a moment, the oriole glares at Shingetsu. Then it flies back into the trees. Dusting himself off, Shingetsu looks at the bird in disgust. 

  “Have that bird killed!” he bellows. “It attacked a royal personage!” 

  “I’ll have none of that,” snaps Yuma, cheeks red with anger. “As long as you parade yourself around shining with gold, birds and dogs alike will rush to you.” 

  Shingetsu splutters in indignation. When he’s unable to find a proper response, he storms away in disgust. Left in the silence of the garden, Yuma sighs. The oriole lands on his shoulder, nuzzling his cheek. 

  “I have to go back to work,” he murmurs. “But I’ll return whenever I have the time.”

  The oriole lets out a mournful trill. 

  Vector had always hated parting with Yuma. The young king turns to the oriole and caresses its feathers. 

  “How did you become like this?” he asks the bird.

  Mournful eyes look at him and Yuma’s heart wrenches. After a few moments, the oriole responds with a folk song.

  From the same vine two gourds grew

Both slender and green 

Yet when farmer Hùng cut them open

Only one was white

  Yuma shakes his head, unable to understand. 

  “I’m sorry. I need to get going,” he says.

  The oriole flutters into a branch, looking at him with mournful eyes.

  H☆H☆S

  Over the weeks, Yuma strayed further away from his husband and closer to the oriole. Shingetsu could only watch in jealousy as the king sang and played with the bird. His wheedling and begging now fell on deaf ears. The courtiers he spent time with slowly pulled away from him as his debts stacked and his pockets remained empty. 

  All because of that bloody bird. 

  On a particularly busy afternoon, Shingetsu slinks into the empty garden and looks around for the oriole. From his observations, the oriole always seemed to perch on the king’s favorite seat. Standing in the shaded pavilion, he lets out a series of low whistles. 

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are…,” he calls. “He knows, doesn’t he? That I’m not his husband?” 

  Shingetsu looks down at his hands, bedecked with jewels. 

  “It doesn’t matter, though. He’d still have to marry me anyways once my twin died.”

  A flash of yellow flutters by Shingetsu. The oriole lands on a nearby table, glaring at him. Shingetsu chuckles upon seeing the oriole’s purple eyes. 

  “Well, well…If it isn’t my dear husband’s pet,” drawls Shingetsu, reaching out his hand. “Come. I have sweets in my pocket for you.” 

  The oriole remains where it is, glaring at the treacherous twin. Shingetsu reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of areca nuts, a smile slowly filling his lips. 

  “What do you think about these? I picked them myself,” says Shingetsu. 

  He remembers cutting up Vector’s body beneath the moonlight, his flesh at first refusing to split. Only after Shingetsu had soaked his brother’s body in lime did the flesh give way. In the end, it hadn’t even appeared like human flesh anymore. Just lumps of misshapen, grayish meat that could have belonged to any animal. 

  Upon seeing the nuts, the bird flaps its wings and dives towards Shingetsu’s face. With a laugh, Shingetsu snatches the bird from thin air and grins at its helpless squawks. 

  “Don’t try to ruin this for me,” murmurs Shingetsu, tightening his grip around the bird. “I’ve gotten this far and no damn bird is going to get in my way.” 

  Shingetsu grins as the bird’s squawks slowly decrease in volume. He continues squeezing the bird, digging his golden claws into its soft feathers. Warmth trickles down his hand as the bird’s blood flows from the punctures in its flesh. The bird frantically struggles in Shingetsu’s grip, its muscles and bones brushing against Shingetsu’s hand. 

  As a young child, Shingetsu had always been fascinated by the work of the town’s butcher. He delighted in seeing the muscles and bones exposed in the sun, writhing in the summer heat. The death-knells of the animals as it was bludgeoned to death stirred something in Shingetsu’s stomach. Nothing brought him more delight than watching as life drained from an animal’s eyes. 

  It was a pity that he was forbidden from pursuing the trade. 

  When the bird has completely stilled, Shingetsu places the bird in his pocket and wipes his hands with a handkerchief. He licks his lips and makes his way towards the kitchen. 

  “Your majesty!” calls the chef, bowing. 

  Shingetsu grins and tosses the bird’s carcass at the chef’s feet. 

  “Pluck its feathers and cook it for me,” he commands. “Season it with your best spices and serve it with my favorite herbs.” 

  The chef balks upon seeing the bloodied bird and Shingetsu’s wicked smile. After a few moments, he bows again. 

  “I-it will be done,” he stammers.

  “Hurry. I’m ravenous,” says Shingetsu as he walks away. 

  H☆H☆S

  Vector wakes up in the underworld with a pained gasp. Returned to his human body, he touches his hands to his face and runs his hands down his limbs. Unlike the first time, he is alone. Looking up, he sees a nervous horse-headed attendant whispering to Diêm Vương. The King of the Underworld strokes his beard as he looks down at his scrolls. On his other side, an ox-headed attendant sharpens his blade.

  “I see…,” Diêm Vương muses. 

  The attendant pulls away, looking at Vector with wary eyes. 

  “Approach,” calls Diêm Vương. 

  Slowly, Vector walks forward. The god stares down at him with furrowed brows. 

  “Unusual indeed…,” he murmurs. 

  “Please let me return again,” begs Vector, falling to his knees.

  He’s answered by a sharp glare, sending a bolt of ice through his chest. 

  “Don’t interrupt his Highness,” snaps the ox-head. 

  “Are you aware that it is rare, exceedingly rare to have three reincarnations in chronological proximity of one another?” booms Diêm Vương, eyes blazing. 

  Vector looks down at the stone floor, his hands shaking. He had to get back, no matter what. His Yuma was waiting for him. There was still so much time to be had together. All of the sunny afternoons they hadn’t spent. The delicious meals and festivals they would celebrate together. A kingdom, waiting for their beloved consort. 

  The ox-head snorts, the ring around his nose tinkling. 

  “Yet…,” begins Diêm Vương, running a long nail across his records. “Your happy fate has been intercepted twice now.”

  With a start, Vector looks up. 

  “Happy fate…?” he echoes. 

  He’s known nothing but pain. 

  “Your story was meant to end once you arrived in court and married the king,” reads Diêm Vương. “Yet it continued until your untimely death.” 

  “Why?” utters Vector. 

  Diêm Vương turns his eyes to the horse-headed attendant, who whickers nervously. 

  “The circumstances are currently unclear, but we had a similar case a few moons ago as well. We didn’t bring them back and instead had them reincarnated into an entirely different fate,” recounts the horse.  

  “Clearly, that isn’t a permanent solution,” snorts the ox. 

  The King of the Underworld lets out a sigh, the entire walls of the cavern shaking in response. He looks down at Vector, his eyes burning with flames. 

  “Another reincarnation then,” he proposes. “As a tree.” 

  “A tree?!” exclaims Vector. 

  “The karmic points you obtained as a bird were insufficient for a higher plane,” says Diêm Vương. “Or would you rather have an entirely different fate?”

  And wait for the underworld to deal with his brother and stepmother? Long after they’ve lived a life of luxury and cruelty? 

  Vector bows his head. 

  “Apologies. I will take the life of a tree.” 

  Diêm Vương nods and takes his seal. He stamps over Vector’s name for the third time, his brows furrowed. 

  “Take him to the lower bridge of reincarnation.”

  Vector stands and walks past the attendants. In turn, the ox-head hurries after him.

  H☆H☆S

  “Where is my bird?” asks Yuma. 

  Shingetsu leans on a chair, stretching. 

  “I’ve already told you. I don’t know. It probably flew away because it got bored of you,” yawns Shingetsu. 

  His husband balls his hands into fists. Over the past few days, the dark circles under his eyes had increased. Without his precious oriole, he had grown easily irritable and colder than he usually was. Yuma begins to pace, much to Shingetsu’s annoyance. 

  “He couldn’t have disappeared like that!”

  “‘He?’” asks Shingetsu, raising a brow. “How are you so sure?”

  “I just do!” snaps Yuma. 

  “Your majesty!” calls a retinue of attendants. 

  Yuma whirls around, glaring at the head maid. She looks at him with red cheeks, her chest heaving. 

  “Speak,” commands Yuma. 

  “Your majesty…! It’s…it’s a miracle,” breathes the maid. 

  The young king raises his brow. 

  “What?”

  “The tr…tree,” wheezes the maid. “In your garden.” 

  Shingetsu snorts and looks down at his rings. What could be so special about a tree?

  “It just appeared this morning! W-with orange leaves and pale bark. L-like a tree in the North’s autumn!” 

  Everyone knew that the trees in the capitol stayed green all year round. As the sun shone throughout the entire year, there was no need for the trees to hibernate. Yuma’s agitated pacing stops. 

  “Show me,” he breathes. 

  “W-wait!” calls Shingetsu. “Let me see too!” 

  Hurrying after the attendants and his husband, Shingetsu stumbles into the garden and falls onto his knees upon seeing the massive tree. Its canopy covered half of the garden, looming over the other trees like a sentry. Slowly, Yuma approaches the tree and places a hand on the smooth bark. He rests his head against it. For the first time in weeks, he smiles. 

  “Rest assured I will take care of you,” he promises the tree with its orange leaves. 

  He turns to his staff, his smile bringing sighs of relief to the garden. 

  “From here on out, this tree will be named ‘Autumnal Joy,’” declares Yuma. “May it watch over me and my successors.” 

  For the next few months, subjects far and wide came to visit the miracle tree. Children played beneath its branches. Scholars sat beside it and composed poems. The young king took joy in sharing his tree with his people, often joining them in their festivities. On late nights he would climb its branches and play his moon lute. Sometimes, he would catch a whiff of Vector’s familiar, earthy scent. 

  Shingetsu watched in envy as the tree became more popular than he. One night, he walked out and attempted to climb the tree. The bark was slippery beneath his oiled limbs. While children had climbed it with ease, it took Shingetsu the entire night to climb it. Upon reaching a large bough, Shingetsu sits down and pulls down a nearby branch. Running his hand through a leaf, he looks down at its orange color. He grimaces at its color, far too similar to his brother’s hair. 

  With difficulty, he tries to yank off the leaf. After a few moments, it comes free and Shingetsu exclaims in triumph. Warmth drips down his wrist. When he looks at his skin, he pauses upon seeing the dark liquid dripping from the leaf. Looking up at the branch, he sees the same liquid dripping from the place where the leaf had been torn. Lifting his wrist to his nose, he sniffs it. A metallic scent fills his senses. 

  Blood. 

  Only animals were supposed to bleed. 

  Shingetsu’s heart leaps to his throat. His hands shake upon remembering Vector’s lifeless eyes staring up at him in betrayal. Tossing the leaf aside, Shingetsu quickly scurries out of the bough. The bark has now turned painfully rough, refusing to let Shingetsu climb down. Biting his lips, Shingetsu wraps his long sleeves around his hands and feet. 

  With each inch he crawls down, he feels his traction slipping. His limbs shake as the blood continues to drip from the tree. 

  “Well that’s uncharacteristic of you,” whispers the wind. 

  Letting out a shriek, Shingetsu leaps off of the tree and falls to the ground. His wails awaken the night watchman, who rushes over to him. 

  “IT BLEEDS!” screams Shingetsu, desperately crawling away from the tree. 

  His wails awaken the entire court, weary maids running into the halls to meet him. 

  “IT BLEEDS!” continues Shingetsu, crawling down the hall, his foot twisted. 

  He pounds on the gardener’s door, a crowd of concerned attendants following him. 

  “CUT IT!” screams Shingetsu, his bloody hand leaving marks on the walls. “CUT IT! IT BLEEDS!” 

  Because the king had gone to the mountains to make peace with the mountain tribes, the court had to heed Shingetsu’s orders. The following morning, five of the burliest gardeners approached the majestic tree with axes in hand. Shingetsu watches by the court physician's side, his ankle bandaged. As the gardeners cut into the tree, the wind whistled violently. 

  The tree groaned as it began to be marred by blows. Despite that, no blood flowed. There was only a clear and watery liquid, akin to tears. 

  “It’s an evil tree!” cries Shingetsu to disgusted glares. “Turn it into a loom for me! I will put it to good use!”

  The carpenters grimaced at the command. They had enjoyed their meals beneath the tree, its cool shade incomparable to any other tree’s. Upon looking at their surly faces, Shingetsu’s expression twists into a hideous snarl. 

  “You dare disobey me?” he growls over the tree’s screams. “I’ll have your heads!” 

  A child began to sob, who was quickly hushed by his mother. 

  When the massive tree finally fell, it crushed various patches of flowers. The ground shook from its impact and the garden echoed with the tree’s final scream. After the dust settles, Shingetsu lets out a chuckle. 

  “There. Now the light has returned,” he says, clapping his hands. 

  He looks at the courtiers, attendants and advisors. Everyone stared at him with barely-disguised disgust. Another laugh bubbles up Shingetsu’s throat. 

  “Surely, you must understand. As the prince’s consort, I only want what’s best for you.”

  Yet his victory was shortlived. The loom made from the tree’s pale branches was reluctant to obey Shingetsu’s orders, the thread often tangling in his fingers. One morning, as he was struggling to finish a shawl for Yuma’s return, the loom let out a low creak. 

  “Wicked reflection of mine, how dare you take what little I had? Must I always be miserable? This cruelty will not go unpunished,” hisses the wood. 

  Shingetsu rubs his eyes and then picks at his ears. Hearing nothing, he shrugs and continues weaving. His finger catches on a particularly rough part of the wood and begins to bleed. A droplet splashes onto the wood. Gritting his teeth, Shingetsu resolves to have all of the carpenters executed. 

  “Delicious, delicious…come give me more of your traitor’s blood, ” calls his brother’s distant voice. 

  Shingetsu gazes at his finger, the cut long and shallow. It begins to shake, like a leaf in the wind. 

  “All cruelties shall be repaid tenfold, one way or another,” whispers the wind. “ What say you to being a goby? ”

  Surely, he was still dreaming. Shingetsu quickly crawls back to bed and buries himself beneath the sheets. The loom lets out a creak. Thump. Thump. For a moment, it sounded as if the loom was moving on its own. Squeezing his eyes shut, Shingetsu prays for it to go away. 

  “Come. The underworld awaits, ” continues his brother’s distant voice. “ And there you will stay for eternity, you wicked wretch. ”

  “You’re dead,” chokes Shingetsu. 

  The thumping continues, now more like bare human feet. He could feel his brother’s cold gaze on him. A bead of sweat drips down Shingetsu’s nose. For a second, he cracks open his eyes. In the bright afternoon sun, he could make out his brother’s silhouette moving over him. He reaches out over Shingetsu.

  “I’ll pluck your eyes out and shove them down your throat,” hisses Vector. 

  Just as the hand lands on Shingetsu’s sheets, he tosses them off, screaming. 

  “Your Majesty, what’s the matter?!” cries his guards. 

  With a pale face, Shingetsu turns towards the loom, right where he had left it. 

  “It’s evil,” he chokes. “Burn it! It was threatening to pluck my eyes out!” 

  The guards exchange confused glances. Shingetsu grits his teeth and glares at them.

  “What are you waiting for?! Burn it!” he commands. 

  Rushing into action, the guards quickly carry the loom away. As they pass by him, he briefly sees his brother’s shadow walking beside the guards’. 

  “Scatter its ashes in the mountains, where it can never return,” blurts out Shingetsu. “I want the same done to the remains of that demon tree!” 

  As the days passed, Shingetsu plunged deeper into madness. Every shadow soon turned into his brother’s shade. The wind constantly whispered in his ear, wanting to pluck his eyes out. Not even in sleep could he achieve peace, Vector’s face constantly haunting him. He began to despise the darkness, demanding that a retinue of lantern holders remain by his bedside and wherever he went. He refused to bathe, claiming to see his brother’s shade in the water, ready to drown him. His nails and hair grew long for he feared sharp objects. 

  No matter what tincture the court physician prescribed, he continued to wake up screaming out his brother’s name. 

  To the rest of the court, it appeared as if the king’s consort was growing mad from his absence. With each day that passed, their yearning for their king’s return increased tenfold. 

  H☆H☆S

  Rule of threes, y’know? Since they hadn’t figured out why I couldn’t have my happy ending yet, they tossed me in the loop for another reincarnation. 

  ‘This was the last one though,’ they warned. 

  That’s also when I got the fairytale character speech they hate to give. Frankly, I didn’t know what to think of it at first. 

  Me? Just another character from one of my father’s storybooks? Diêm Vương and his attendants’ side comments finally made sense.

  Because of the karmic imbalances, I ended up going beyond ‘happily ever after.’ 

  I like to think that in my own way, I’m just as alive as you. 

  Anyways, from the ashes of the loom, a decandra tree grew. I was reborn inside one of the decandra fruits, spending my days swinging in the wind. 

  They’re really good and smell nice. I considered sticking them in the mouths or butts of my targets but realized that’s just a perfectly good waste of food. 

  One of the perks of working for the underworld is that you can get your hands on pretty much every food item that isn’t meat. I always make sure to have my fridge stocked with decandra fruits. If you need someone to be taken care of and come to my office, just ask for one. 

  It’s always good to share. 

  H☆H☆S

  Up in the mountains, there was an old woman known as Bà Xuân, or Lady Spring. She had her hair tied in a pink cloth with embroidered flowers, the detailed embroidery the only hint of her previous life. Her face was worn from years spent in the sun and the rain. Despite the hardships of her life, she was always smiling. 

  Living in a small hut at the edge of the mountain village, she tended to the orphans of the village by sewing their clothes and cooking their meals. Many of the orphans were the unfortunate fruits of the war against the Turtle King, their fathers and mothers never returning from the battlefields. This sadness Lady Spring knew well, for her own son had been taken from her by the war. 

  One summer morning, Lady Spring was walking throughout the mountainside when she spied a beautiful decandra tree. It bore no fruit save for one, hanging at the top of its luxurious branches. Even from below she could smell its sweet scent. Amongst the green leaves, the singular fruit shone like a jewel, swaying languidly in the breeze. The elderly woman held up her hand and said, 

  “Little golden decandra, oh little golden decandra, fall to me. I will only enjoy thy sweet scent and deign to eat thee.”

  A strong breeze blew and the decandra fruit neatly fell into her hand. Smiling to herself, Lady Spring tucked the decandra in her basket and made her way home. Upon entering her humble abode, she placed the decandra on the window by her kitchen. A beam of sunshine shone on the fruit, its golden skin shimmering like a chest of coins. 

  “How strong and healthy!” remarks Lady Spring as she gathers a few herbs from her shelves. “Please don’t wither while I’m gone. I must check on Little Thi’s cold.” 

  With that, Lady Spring shuffled away. After a few moments, the decandra shivered and peeled open. Its pulpy flesh formed into the shape of a human, slowly growing until it reached the size of a grown man. Pieces of the fruit paled, separating into fingers and toes. Parts of the flesh separated into hair and turned orange. Standing in the middle of the empty kitchen in golden robes, Vector looks around at Lady Spring’s humble living conditions. 

  The floors and walls were made of thickly packed dirt. Herbs hung from the ceiling. Lady Spring’s bed was a mattress propped on a worn bamboo frame in the corner of the room. A beaten mahogany chest rested beneath the bed. Opposite to the bed was a pile of clothes in the process of being mended. It was surrounded by a collection of jars that spread into the confines of the small kitchen. 

  Peeking out the window, Vector could see Lady Spring laughing as the village’s orphans flocked around her. 

  “Settle down, my dears!There are plenty of mountain berries for everyone!” gently chides the old woman.

  She delivers a handful of the red berries into the children’s hands. 

  “Careful! Don’t eat too much or it’ll heat your body up!” she warns. 

  A young boy sticks his hand into her basket and she swats his hand away. 

  “Nho! Wait your turn!” she says as she gives a girl some berries. 

  Vector watches the peaceful scene with a small smile, reminded of his own village’s children. From their raggedy clothes and dirty faces, he could tell that these children were seldom cared for. He looks at the pile of clothes in the corner, each one featuring an array of patches. Walking over to the pile, he proceeds to finish Lady Spring’s work. 

  So there were still some good souls in this world. After his stepmother’s cruelties and the treachery of the court, it had become difficult to remember the kindness that he had been shown by the citizens of the Amber Kingdom. 

  Lady Spring’s gentle voice and ever present smile was what made Vector fall into her hands. He could tell from her worn face that life had never treated her well. They were kindred souls, tossed about by the winds of fate. 

  After mending the orphans’ clothes, Vector proceeds to cook lunch for Lady Spring. He looks at her meager supplies and sighs. There was only a bag of rice and a few vegetables. For someone so kind and generous, she had little to eat. The injustice of the situation twists Vector’s stomach into a knot. While his selfish brother was parading around in silks and gorging himself on the palace food, this woman had barely anything for herself and the orphans she tended to. 

  He balls his hands into fists, remembering the countless nights spent eating his brother and stepmother’s leftovers. 

  “Need a hand?” asks a familiar voice. 

  Vector looks up at the kitchen window and jumps. 

  “Dương!” he exclaims. 

  Dương places his finger on his lips and makes a shushing noise. 

  “Don’t call me by my mortal name!” he hisses. 

  “Where in the seven hells have you been?!” whisper-shouts Vector. 

  “Up in the mountains, meditating!” retorts the young sage. 

  Vector glares at him. After a few moments, Dương sighs. 

  “Alright, fine, I was also in Long Vương’s kingdom. His daughter was hosting a pearl picking festival,” he admits. 

  After his adventures in the afterlife, Vector isn’t surprised that the dragon king of the ocean was also real. He looks at the young sage and his easy smile, as if nothing had happened since the last time they met. 

  “Why weren’t you there for me?” utters Vector. 

  Dương raises a plucked brow. 

  “What do you mean?” he asks. 

  Falling to his death. Being crushed to death. Then being burned to death. Vector grits his teeth. Unplanned death after unplanned death. If Dương was in charge of protecting his happiness, he was doing an awful job. 

  “Don’t play stupid. You’re a sage, you should have known!” snaps Vector. 

  Dương’s blank stare continues. 

  “As a sage-in-training, I don’t have access to heaven’s record books,” he replies. He looks around at the mud hut in bewilderment. “So what happened? Why are you here instead of at the palace?” 

  Vector holds Dương’s guileless stare with anger burning in his chest. 

  “I met the King of the Underworld thrice!” growls Vector, jabbing his finger in Dương’s face. “This is my third reincarnation!” 

  Immediately, the young sage’s eyebrows fly up to his forehead. His dark blue eyes widen and a cold breeze stirs his hair into a flurry. For a moment, he teeters from the windowsill. The clouds around them darken. 

  “Your what…?” Dương whispers. 

  “That’s right! My third chance! First a bird, then a tree and now a fruit!” yells Vector. “Where were you when I was killed all those times?!”

  Around them, the trees quiver. 

  “I don’t have the right to interfere with fate,” begins Dương, his eyes narrowing. “Nor do you.” 

  “Being happy was supposed to be my destiny!” screams Vector. 

  He crushes a handful of herbs into his hands, their heady scent briefly calming him. 

  “I begged and I begged Diêm Vương to bring me back because I was wrongly murdered,” continues Vector, his throat burning with pain. “And yet…”

  “No wonder,” murmurs Dương. “The Court of the Jade Emperor was in a panic when I came and visited.”

  The sage takes a deep breath and exhales. 

  “The truth is, I’m on probation. I was told that one of the thousand souls I was supposed to help was unable to achieve happiness despite fulfilling his destiny. It must be you,” says Dương. “But how?” 

  Vector bites his lips. The tears spring into his eyes. This was just a story. He was supposed to be one of the triumphant heroes in his father’s storybooks. How did it come to a screaming match in a decrepit mountain village?

  “I don’t know. They don’t know,” utters Vector. “But this is my final chance before they erase my memories and send me to another story.”

  Dương wets his lips and sighs. 

  “Well, if you’ve been allowed to reincarnate in the same place this many times then I suppose I can tell you what’s been going on in the Jade Emperor’s court.”

  He takes out his staff and waves it over the kitchen. Immediately, the smell of warm food fills the room. Vector starts upon seeing a feast laid out on the table. There were a variety of fruits and a large pot of rice with smoked fish. 

  “Before I forget what I came to do,” explains Dương. 

  Vector inspects the rice and fish. Every grain was pure white and fragrant. The fish was cooked to perfection. He raises a brow. 

  “I thought you couldn’t kill…”

  “No, those are the discarded bodies of dragons,” says Dương quickly. “Anyways…”

  Vector cuts a small piece of fish for Lady Spring and places it by her bowl of rice. Then he proceeds to peel an orange for her. Despite all of the food he was surrounded by, he lacked the appetite to partake in the feast. 

  “From the snippets I heard from the emperor’s advisors, it has something to do with karma,” begins Dương. “An imbalance tangentially related to us.”

  “How did that even happen?”

  Instead of answering, Dương ducks beneath the window. 

  “Lady Spring is coming back. It’s best if you hide,” whispers the breeze. 

  Standing up, Vector gathers his robes in his hands and hops back into the decandra. After a few moments, Lady Spring steps into her home. Upon seeing the feast, her eyes widen. She hurries towards the table laden with food, picking up her bowl of rice and scrutinizing it. 

  “Hello?” she calls, looking around. 

  Only the shadows answer her. The old woman frowns and tries a bit of the rice and fish. After tasting it, she smiles and places the bowl on the table. She quickly runs out of the house. 

  “My darlings! Come over to granny’s for a meal!” she says. 

  A chorus of excited young voices follow her. Watching from his decandra, Vector’s chest is filled with warmth. Soon, the entire house is filled with happily feasting orphans. Surrounded by her smiling charges, Lady Spring’s smile widens. She looks around every nook and cranny of her house for her mysterious benefactor. Upon seeing the mended pile of clothes, she puts a hand on her hips. 

  “Now isn’t that just odd!” she exclaims. 

  She chuckles and starts to pass out the mended clothes to the children, humming as she did so. 

  “Where did you get all of this food, granny?” asks a young girl. 

  Lady Spring ruffles her muddy hair. 

  “The gifts of heaven never cease to amaze,” she murmurs. 

  She doesn’t eat until the rest of the children have eaten and left. Sitting down to a bowl of rice, a few slices of fish and an orange, the old woman clasps her hands together and prays. 

  “Thank you, for everything. This old woman is not deserving of such a gift,” utters Lady Spring. 

  But you do, thinks Vector as Lady Spring begins to partake in her lonely meal. If anyone, it’s you.

  H☆H☆S

  The days passed by in this manner. Lady Spring tended to the children while Vector tended to her household. The young sage had mysteriously disappeared. Each time she came home, Lady Spring was greeted by a warm meal. After the feast from a few moons ago, Vector prepared food with what the old woman had. As she was gone for most of the day, Vector could wander deep into the mountains and forage. 

  No matter how hard he worked, he never tired or hungered. 

  One day, Lady Spring rose early and prepared to leave. Looking at the decandra, the old woman smiled. It was a long-lived fruit, as fresh and fragrant as the day she had found it. 

  “I’ll be going now,” she declares. 

  After a few moments, Vector emerges from the fruit and proceeds to mend the orphans’ clothes. Then he stokes the fire for the vegetable soup. 

  “You…!” gasps Lady Spring, standing in the doorway. 

  Vector jumps and holds the old woman’s astonished gaze. 

  “Who are you? What is your name?” asks Lady Spring as she approaches Vector. 

  “I…”

  Lady Spring clasps her warm hands in Vector’s. Immediately, his shoulders lower as he meets the woman’s sparkling eyes. Up close, she seemed even kinder than before.

  “My dear! Have you been the one mending my clothes, tidying my home and cooking for me?” asks Lady Spring. 

  Heat fills Vector’s cheeks. 

  “Yes,” he confesses. “It looked like you needed the help.” 

  Lady Spring lets out an exclamation of joy and pulls him into an embrace. Vector squeaks. After a few moments, he returns the embrace. 

  “Thank you, thank you. Oh…! To have someone like you look after someone like me…” 

  She pulls away from Vector and squeezes his hands. Her eyes glisten with tears. 

  “Oh, please stay and be my son,” she breathes. “I will give you everything I have and a mother’s love.” 

  Vector looks into Lady Spring’s chartreuse eyes. For someone so small, she had such a large and giving heart. He had seen the way the children ran after her. Her laughter always seemed to be infectious. When the villagers would ignore the orphans, Lady Spring would always be there to hold them. It had been so long since someone he loved had held him. 

  Vector’s lips tremble and he pulls Lady Spring into an embrace, wetting her shoulder with his tears. How could she hold him with such love when they had barely met? 

  “There, there,” soothes Lady Spring. “Oh, please…this is meant to be a joyous occasion!” 

  Despite that, the old woman’s voice warbled. 

  “F-for once, allow me to cook you a meal. I want to learn all about you,” murmurs Lady Spring. 

  She dabs at Vector’s tears with her handkerchief. Looking at the window, she notes that the decandra fruit’s skin had peeled into a flower, revealing an empty center. Returning to Vector’s face, she places a hand on his cheek. 

  “I knew something was special about that fruit,” she says. “But I didn’t know how special.” 

  Another wave of tears wells up in Vector’s eyes and he wipes them away. He blushes at the idea of anyone seeing him cry, seldom comforted whenever he does so. 

  “Please don’t leave me,” he begs. “Please.” 

  “Of course not,” chuckles Lady Spring. “Where would I go?”

  She leads him to the small table and sits him down. From her basket, she takes out an onion and begins to chop it. Under her breath she hums a folk song, similar to the one he and Yuma had danced to, all those seasons ago. Vector closes his eyes, trying to recall the emotions he felt that night. He had been so eager to start anew. In that capitol, he could have sailed away from all of his troubles. And yet…

  Yet there would be new problems. Even as the king’s consort there had been the gossip and the drama of the court to contend with. Perhaps sailing to a foreign land would give him only more foes to contend with. 

  Opening his eyes, Vector sighs. 

  “Oh, please let me help,” he says as he stands up. 

  “You’ve been working so hard for me though!” protests Lady Spring. 

  “I insist,” says Vector as he takes the knife from Lady Spring’s hand. 

  Taken aback as Vector expertly chops up the onion, Lady Spring puts her hands on her hips. 

  “I’ve never seen a young man so deft with a kitchen knife!” she exclaims. 

  A small smile fills Vector’s lips. 

  “I’ve been doing this since I was young, many, many years ago.” 

  Lady Spring gives him a smile and then moves to cook the rice. 

  “Why did you choose me?” she asks.

  Vector pushes the onions aside and begins chopping up green onion stalks. 

  “I sensed that you had a good heart,” he replies. 

  After a few moments, Lady Spring chuckles. 

  “I see.” 

  Once the stew and rice were cooked, the two settled down to eat. Despite his lack of appetite, Vector scooped himself a bowl of rice alongside some stew. 

  “Oh, how shocked I was when I came home to that feast!” exclaims Lady Spring. “How did you find all that food?”

  Vector grins. 

  “I had a friend help me.” 

  “A friend, huh?” mused Lady Spring. “I must truly be blessed…” 

  Taking his first bite of food, Vector stiffens. It was warm and comforting despite its simplicity. The spices of the anise enriched the taste of the stew and melded with the fragrant flavor of the rice. He quickened his pace, hungrily devouring his meal. It felt like Lady Spring had poured her love into each piece. 

  “Goodness! When was the last time you’ve eaten, child? What did you eat while you were in that fruit?” asks Lady Spring. 

  Vector wipes his mouth with his sleeve. 

  “I haven’t been eating,” he confesses. 

  Dismay fills Lady Spring’s expression. She hurriedly scoops Vector another bowl of rice and stew. 

  “You can’t possibly expect to take care of another person when you haven’t taken care of yourself!” she scolds. 

  Her cheeks flush with pink, similar to when an orphan boy had stuck her hairpin up his nose. Despite Lady Spring’s furrowed brows, Vector laughs. 

  “I suppose I got bored of my own cooking,” he confesses. 

  Lady Spring lightly pinches his cheek. 

  “Silly boy! From here on out, we’re cooking together!” she resolves. 

  “I’d love to,” says Vector with his pinched cheek. 

  Lady Spring’s expression softens and she lets go. Vector’s earnest smile filled her mind with memories of her son. How foolish she had been, allowing her son to fight for his father! 

  H☆H☆S

  My time with Haru, or, Lady Spring as you know her, was one of the happiest times in my life. Finally, I had a mother. A genuine mother who loved me. Despite the hardships of mountain life, I never spent an unhappy day in that village. The villagers quickly got to know me as Lady Spring’s adopted son. They were simple and honest people, working from dawn to dusk in the mountain fields. 

  Being with her healed me in a way the court never could. I learned to love the simple things in life again. The sweetness of mountain fruits. The laughter of young children. The songs of the mountain folk. 

  I rose with the dawn and slept beneath the moonlight. Although I despised taking care of my ungrateful stepmother and brother, it was different with Lady Spring. She made me feel wanted, like I wasn’t a burden to her. When she noticed that I had aches, she would help me rub them out before bed. When I drifted off to the past, she would bring me back with a gentle shake. 

  Looking at her eyes, I couldn’t help but think of Yuma. There was the same sadness in those eyes. Because of that, we understood the importance of burying our past and living in the present. She never asked about who I was before I arrived at her home. I never asked who she was either. Judging from the faded silk of her head cloth, I’m sure it was somewhere far. 

  And so, we lived peacefully in that mountain village. Every day was the same, but I didn’t find a problem with that. It was lovely, not spending every moment of my life looking over my shoulder. Surely, this was my happy ending. Although my thoughts constantly went back to my Yuma, I doubted that we would ever meet again. I couldn’t bring myself to leave my mother, not after all she had done for me. 

  Then why didn’t time stop and leave me there, like a butterfly beneath glass?

  H☆H☆S

  “Brother Vector! Brother Vector! Tell us the story of the boy who never grows up again!” calls a young child. 

  “Again?!” exclaims Vector, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. 

  “Yes! Yes!” cheer the chorus of orphan children. 

  “Alright…alright…,” sighs Vector. He takes a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there were two—I mean three—brothers named Wendell, John and Michael.” 

  A little boy blows a raspberry and Vector gently cuffs him on the head. 

  “No spoilers or else I won’t tell you any more stories!” he warns the child. 

  The children began to settle down, seating themselves in a circle around Vector. In the kitchen, Lady Spring was preparing lunch. She watches the peaceful scene, warmth filling her heart. Over the past few moons, Vector had truly proven himself to be invaluable. He reminded her so much of the son that she had lost that often tears would fill her eyes. Her own son had always been running about in the gardens, avoiding his lessons like the plague. It felt like overnight he had grown into a young man. Then, it felt like in the blink of an eye that she had lost him.

  She hums to herself as she mends the orphans’ clothes. Thanks to Vector, the children were spending less time roughhousing and more time learning. Every other day, Vector would gather the children for a lesson, told in the form of a story or a rhyme. Sometimes she would listen in, Vector’s spirited voice lightening the heaviness in her heart. From the variety of Vector’s stories, it seemed that her son had come from well-learned parents. 

  From outside, the children cheer. Lady Spring chuckles. Vector must have been telling them that story with the pirates again. 

  “Lady Spring?” calls a gentle voice. 

  The old woman turns around to see a young eunuch in amber robes. She stiffens as the young man bows and drops her needle. 

  “At last, our king has found you,” gasps the eunuch upon seeing Lady Spring’s headcloth. 

  A young man walks in through the door. He is dressed in simple traveling robes, yet the way he carried himself spoke of good breeding. He holds his head high, his eyes constantly observing the land around him. Upon seeing Lady Spring, his crimson eyes fill with joy. 

  “Grandmother!” calls Yuma, running towards her. 

  Lady Spring holds still as her grandson embraces her. He was the mirror image of his father, with the same bright smile and unkempt hair. The last time she had seen him, he was merely an infant. 

  “How…?!” utters Lady Spring. 

  Yuma’s eyes fill with tears. 

  “I looked all over for you! Didn’t you hear? The war is over!” he declares. 

  Lady Spring’s legs shake. Yuma supports her in his strong arms. Up close, she could see that a beard was beginning to form at the ends of his chin. Yes, she had remembered the eunuch’s announcement. Yet she could not bring herself to partake in the festivities. There were far too many ghosts in the capitol, reminding her of the past. 

  “Gods…how grown you are,” utters Lady Spring. 

  Yuma grins and swipes his nose. 

  “I’m twenty years old now!”

  “You look just like your father,” murmurs Lady Spring, her eyes filling with tears. 

  At the mention of his father, Yuma’s expression clouds. He touches his forehead to his grandmother’s. 

  “May he and my mother rest in peace,” murmurs Yuma. 

  Lady Spring dabs at her eyes and pulls away. Decades of living in the court forces her to straighten her back. Her back aches in response, the long-repressed memories making their way through. She clears her throat and blinks away the remainder of her tears. Grandson or not, he was still the king. 

  “Of course…! Where are my manners? Please, sit outside! I’ll have some food prepared for us!” says Lady Spring as she ushers Yuma outside. 

  Running to the backyard, she motions to Vector. 

  “We have a guest!” she declares. “Could you help me prepare some tea and heat up the bánh giò?”

  Detangling himself from the orphan children, Vector nods. 

  “Who wants to help me?” he calls. 

  Various children run into the kitchen in response. Vector turns to Lady Spring and smiles. 

  “We’ll have it done before your seats are warm,” he promises. 

  Walking to the front of her house, Lady Spring clasps her grandson’s hands in hers. 

  “I should have been stronger,” she says. “Your grandfather was such a cruel man, sending his son off to war.” 

  Yuma shakes his head. 

  “Don’t worry. The kingdom is at peace now.” he reassures his grandmother. 

  Lady Spring sighs. 

  “But the orphans of this war are not. I will care for them until my final breath.” 

  The young king furrows his brows.

  “I see. So you won’t be returning to court?”

  His grandmother scoffs and crosses her arms. 

  “No. Never again. I plan to die in this mountain village. The air is good and the people are honest.” 

  She’s answered by a chuckle reminiscent of her own deceased son’s. A pang fills Lady Spring’s chest. 

  “You have a point there,” agrees Yuma. 

  They spend a moment in silence, admiring the trees and warm weather. Distantly, a bird calls. A cool breeze stirs up some dust. Tonight, there will be a full moon. Lady Spring leans back against the wall of her home, watching as the clouds swam by. 

  “Hello, here is your tea!” says a young child, placing a teapot on the table. 

  Followed by two other children with cups in their hands, the orphans look at Yuma with wide eyes. The young king thanks the children and ruffles their hair. He fishes in his pockets and gives them pieces of candy. After thanking him, they scurry off into the darkness of Lady Spring’s home. 

  “Orphans?” asks Yuma. 

  Lady Spring inclines her head.

  “Poor things. Some never even knew their mother’s faces.” 

  Yuma sighs. It seemed like every part of the country had been affected by the war. Children had grown up knowing nothing but loss and hardship for almost three generations. 

  “My rule will be a peaceful one,” he promises. 

  Lady Spring looks at him with her sharp eyes. 

  “Do you swear to the gods?”

  “I swear.” 

  He takes a sip of his cool tea, closing his eyes and savoring its earthy aroma. There was nothing better than the food of the common folk. 

  “How did you find me?” asks Lady Spring. 

  Yuma places his hands behind his head and leans back. 

  “A young farmer. He had purple hair and blue eyes,” he replies.

  Lady Spring raises a brow. 

  “We don’t have anyone that looks like that in our village,” she muses.  

  Her grandson shrugs in response. Taking another sip of his tea, he sighs in contentment. He had spent moons wandering the mountains. Across the various villages and tribes he had visited, he noticed that almost all of them had orphans. The nights were long and sometimes rainy. Sometimes he was reluctantly welcomed, the villagers suspicious of a stranger. To them, he was just another mouth to feed. 

  Although the cities of his kingdom prospered from the war, the villages continued to suffer.

  “Bánh giò! Bánh giò! Bánh giò!” calls a group of orphans, scurrying out with a plate heaped with food. 

  Yuma’s brows jump upon seeing the way the banana leaves were folded. They were perked up at the ends like rabbit ears. A pang fills his chest. Only one person folded banana leaves like that. 

  “Who folded these bánh giò?” he asks, picking one up with gentle hands. 

  Warmth fills his grandmother’s expression. 

  “Why, my adopted son did! He has the most unusual way of doing things you see…” 

  Lady Spring trails off as Yuma jumps up from his seat. 

  “Please, let me see him!” he says breathlessly. 

  Taken aback, Lady Spring briefly stiffens. She gazes at the rabbit-shaped bánh giò, wondering what could have excited her grandson so. 

  “O-of course,” she says, standing. “Vector! Could you come out for a moment? My guest wants to see you!”

  Yuma remains standing, the excitement rippling off of him in waves. When Vector emerges from the darkness, Yuma lets out a choked gasp. Vector’s eyes widen in shock. The two lovers hold each other’s gaze, moons upon moons of separation doing little to diminish their love for one another. 

  “Is it truly you?” whispers Yuma. 

  “It is,” utters Vector. 

  Without another word, the two fall into a tearful embrace. Vector breathes in Yuma’s familiar scent, memories of the warmth they shared filling his mind. 

  “How? How? First the bird, then the tree…!” recounts Yuma. 

  “Then a decandra,” finishes Vector. 

  “Grandmother! This is my consort!” says Yuma, color filling his cheeks. “How did you find him?”

  “Why, from a decandra tree!” responds the old woman. 

  As he wipes away Yuma’s tears, Vector leans his head against Yuma’s forehead. 

  “I went through the underworld thrice to see you again,” he whispers. “I had to beg and beg the king of the underworld to reincarnate beside you.” 

  “Gods…!” exclaims Yuma. “Gods…!” 

  He turns to his grandmother.

  “Please, let me take my love home!” he begs her. 

  Lady Spring motions to Vector, despite the sadness in her eyes. 

  “From the beginning he had chosen me. The decision to stay or not is in his hands,” she replies. 

  Pulling away from Yuma’s arms, Vector embraces Lady Spring, lifting her from the ground. The old woman lets out a yelp of surprise.

  “Thank you. Thank you for being a mother to me when I didn’t have one. I’ll never forget your kindness and will return. I promise on my ancestors’ graves,” vows Vector. 

  Lady Spring holds her son tight and kisses his cheeks. 

  “Go on, then. Return to your destiny,” she utters, her voice wavering at the end. 

  Vector gives his mother one last squeeze and then lowers her to the ground. Looking back at the mud hut, he beckons to the orphans. 

  “Come out, everyone! I have some important news to share!” 

  To the laughter of both the children and Lady Spring, Yuma and Vector kiss. 

  H☆H☆S

  Upon leaving that village, I thought my heart would burst. I couldn’t tell if I was more sad or joyous. The orphans cried me a river, my mother joining them at the end. In turn I shed a few tears and then Yuma joined in. 

  It would be one of the last times I would cry.

  Returning home was a joyous procession. Everyone was astonished to see that the king’s consort was once again in simple peasant garb. I clasped every hand that reached out to mine, relishing the ability to connect with others. As a bird and a tree, I couldn’t have done those things as well. There is nothing like clasping the hand of another human being, their pulse beating beneath your hand and their muscles moving beneath yours. In that moment we are united beneath the banner of the living. 

  Although I was overjoyed in the daytime, the night, with its enforced solitude, reminded me of my true purpose. 

  Revenge, simple and easy. 

  Oh, I had so many things planned. 

  After my return, Shingetsu was tossed into the dungeons. The guards were happy to do so, due to Shingetsu’s increasingly paranoid demands. I heard he fought like a hellcat. 

  What about evidence, you ask? Ha. There was no need to prove to the court that I was the real Vector. The king’s word was considered gold.

  During my return banquet I revealed every single cruelty I had endured beneath Shingetsu’s hands to a horrified court.

   I left our stepmother out of the story because I was planning something special for her. 

  Then came the reincarnations. My miraculous story, of continuous reincarnation and the favor of heaven made the courtiers fear me. I was like a hero from one of our country’s myths. Constantly, I regaled the court on my exploits in the underworld. The more I told of the fearsome animal-headed attendants and of Diêm Vương’s wrath, the more fear I instilled in the courtiers. I rarely ate, drank or slept, adding more evidence to the fact that I had transcended mortal boundaries. 

  Fear is good. Fear is power. 

  I nursed my plans for revenge for weeks, making sure that they were as fully developed as possible. When I was finally satisfied, I ordered for his release from the dungeons. How humble he was, in his maddened and starved state! A thrill filled my stomach upon seeing him. 

  He looked at me as if I were a ghost. His hair was unkempt and his teeth were filthy. The pristine skin around his nails were all peeled, the red flesh beneath them raw and painful. What once was shiny gold rings were now caked with his own blood, digging into his skin. He crawled to us and begged for forgiveness, his keening almost inhuman. 

  For a moment, I almost wanted to forgive him. 

  H☆H☆S

  “Please…!” wails Shingetsu, digging what little nails he has left into Vector’s leg. “Please forgive me!” 

  Surrounded by the eyes of the astonished court, Vector slowly bends down and places his hand on his brother’s. The sun shone behind him, crowning him with a halo. He smiles, amethyst eyes sparkling with youth. Unlike Shingetsu, time had been kind to him. His skin was clear and his smile was filled with grace. There were no gray streaks in his hair while Shingetsu was beginning to have a few strands graying at his temples. 

  The silence of the court mounts, confusion, fear and hatred for the crawling figure before them swirling in the oppressive air. 

  “Of course,” says Vector, ignoring the gasps around him. “It was what our parents would have wanted.” 

  Shingetsu’s mouth hangs open, revealing a chipped tooth. 

  “R-really?” he utters.

  “Really.”

  Shingetsu’s chapped lips quaver. His head touches the ground with a loud thunk as he erupts into sobs. 

  “Oh please…! Tell me how to become as beautiful as you…!” he begs. “Please…!”

  Shingetsu’s tears fall upon Vector’s shoes. Vector crouches and strokes his brother’s head. Leaning close to Shingetsu’s ears, Vector whispers, 

  “Dig a deep hole into the earth, enough for you to stand in. Fill it with boiling water from a freshwater stream and bathe in it beneath the summer sun.”

  “W-will you help me?” whimpers Shingetsu. 

  Vector gives his brother another saintly smile. 

  “Of course.” 

  He pulls his brother into an embrace, his serene expression unchanging as Shingetsu wailed into his ear.

  “Please! Please cleanse me now!” begs Shingetsu. 

  A small thrill fills the pit of Vector’s stomach. He turns to the astonished guards. 

  “Please go to the western courtyard and begin digging a pit the size of a man,” calls Vector.

  Quickly, the guards shuffle away to the back of the palace. Murmurs begin to fill the courtyard. Vector scans the courtiers’ furrowed brows and feels a wave of excitement wash over his stomach. 

  Rising, he returns to Yuma and clasps his hands in his. 

  “My poor brother was merely doing his duty after I fell to my death,” begins Vector, meeting the eyes of the awed courtiers. “He did not wish for the Amber Kingdom to mourn my death.” 

  With his other hand, he reaches out to Shingetsu. His brother takes it with the desperation of a drowning man. 

  “Please, rest well. The underworld itself sympathized with the people of our kingdom and hastened for my reincarnation,” reassures Vector. “I only regret that I had taken so long to return in my proper form.”

  No longer was he afraid of the courtiers and their petty gossip. The poisonings, the plots, the vying for attention…all seemed pointless after his various journeys through the underworld. He glides through them with his head held high, refusing to grace his former tormentors with a second glance. If they were to kill him, he would merely reincarnate. 

  Walking behind the palace, Vector walks towards the small pit that the guards were beginning to dig. He turns to his brother. 

  “You must help them as well,” he says. 

  “W-with what?” stammers Shingetsu. 

  “Why, with your fingers! The earth needs your blood,” explains Vector. 

  Crawling over to the pit, Shingetsu stares down at the hole. After a moment of hesitation, he begins to dig with his fingers. Vector turns to Yuma, staring at Shingetsu in disgust. 

  “Please, I wouldn’t want to hold you back from your duties. I’ll see you tonight,” says Vector. 

  Yuma gives Vector a brief nod and then scowls at Shingetsu. Placing a hand on his husband’s shoulder, Vector leans towards Yuma’s ear. 

  “After tonight, he won’t bother us again,” he promises. 

  “Very well,” murmurs Yuma. “Your benevolence never fails to impress me.” 

  The young king walks off while Vector takes a seat by the palace wall. Shingetsu digs until his fingers begin to bleed. Despite the tears brimming in his eyes, he continues until Vector stops him. 

  “It’s deep enough now,” says Vector, rising from his seat. He turns to the guards. “Go get the boiling water.”

  He looks down at Shingetsu’s bloodied fingers, more blood than flesh after hours of digging. His twin brother turns to him with fearful eyes. 

  “N-now what?” he asks. 

  “Now we cleanse your spirit. Jump into that pit,” instructs Vector. 

  Shingetsu looks at his brother and then repeatedly bows, his forehead hitting the ground in rhythmic thunks .

  “I’m sorry! For strangling you…for cutting you down…for burning you…! I’m sorry!”

  Vector smiles and lifts Shingetsu’s head from the ground with his foot. 

  “Everything will be forgiven after you cleanse yourself with boiling water. The heavens will it so.” 

  Nodding, Shingetsu crawls towards the edge of the pit and lowers himself in. He looks up at Vector expectantly. A line of guards have lined up by the palace wall, each person bearing an urn of steaming water. Vector inclines his head and the first man approaches.

  His brother screams as the boiling water hits his feet. Sitting by the edge of the pit, Vector looks down at his brother’s bulging eyes and desperately grasping hands. The water continues to be poured into the pit, Shingetsu’s screams ignored by all. 

  “This was what you wanted, no?!” calls Vector over Shingetsu’s screams. “You don’t have the right to whine about it if you asked for it!” 

  Over a deluge of steam, a reddened hand grasps the edge of the pit. The tips of the fingers have the bone exposed from the hours spent digging the hard earth. Vector chuckles and kicks the fingers back into the pit. A drowned scream answers Vector. 

  Once the entire pit is filled, Vector motions for the guards to stop. 

  “Now, fetch me an urn that can fit a body, a sack of sugar, salt and the sharpest knife in the kitchen,” instructs Vector. 

  He laughs to himself over Shingetsu’s fading cries. There wasn’t even any need for him to convince his idiot brother, so deteriorated was his brother’s mind. The steam smells of mud and human fluids. Vector wrinkles his nose. It was a rightful end to such a disgusting human, even more rightful when he had ended his life with his own vanity.

  As the steam clears, Vector finds Shingetsu’s body floating in the water. He gives it a small kick. 

  “Well, you’re clean now, aren’t you?” drawls Vector. 

  His brother’s body is bright red, boiled through and through. All the dirt from the dungeon and the pit swirls around him. For a moment, he’s reminded of a pig wallowing in the mud. Vector looks at Shingetsu’s shriveled eyes, sunken into their sockets. They’re wide open, staring into the sun. 

  Turning to the remaining guards, Vector says, “Fish him out.” 

  Two burly men drag Shingetsu’s body from the pit and lay him on the ground. The knife and urn are presented to Vector along with the bags of salt and sugar. Taking the knife, Vector cuts away Shingetsu’s clothes. Beneath the white prisoner’s robes is even redder skin, marred by ugly scratches. 

  “It’s only fair, isn’t it?” drawls Vector as he begins sawing off Shingetsu’s fingers.

  H☆H☆S

  “Your majesty!” exclaims Madame Sương, bowing to the royal palanquin. 

  Vector steps out and looks down at his stepmother. 

  “Rise,” he calls. 

  Upon seeing Vector, Madame Sương’s smile briefly wavers. She looks at the guards with their solemn expressions. 

  “H-how?” she utters. 

  She had heard the rumors of her son reincarnating. She had laughed it off, thinking that it was nothing but an old wives’ tale. Yet, the person before her was not Shingetsu. Her favorite would never look at her with such contempt in his amethyst eyes, nor would he treat her with such indifference. 

  “Heaven wills it and thanks you for your service,” replies Vector, motioning to the guards. “It was very brave of you to send your remaining son to the palace.” 

  A large ornamental urn decorated with rabbits is presented to Madame Sương. 

  “For your efforts, I have prepared this fine selection of sweetmeats for you,” says Vector. 

  The guards lay the urn down with a thunk. Madame Sương’s fearful expression melts into a relieved smile. 

  “O-of course. And y-your brother?”

  Vector places a hand on his mother’s bare arm. She shivers at his frigid hands. 

  “He has fulfilled his dreams of traveling afar,” he responds. 

  Without another word, he turns around and returns to his palanquin. The procession solemnly leaves the village, the clanging of the palanquin’s bells clearing the way. Left with the urn, Madame Sương opens it to a heavenly aroma. The meat is a pleasing color of red. She dips her hand into the urn and tries a piece of the meat. Expertly seasoned, she chuckles in delight. The meat was perfectly tender and soft, even more than lamb. Oh, such a kind fool was Vector! It seemed like no matter what she did, she would always be forgiven. 

  Above her, a crow caws. 

  Paying it no attention, the woman continues to greedily eat the meat. How sweet it was! How soft! It must have belonged to an animal that was raised in the lap of luxury! She trembles at the delicious taste, nothing she had eaten before able to be compared to its sublimity. The crow flies overhead, eyeing the urn. 

  Snarling at the animal, Madame Sương shoos it away. 

  “What have you done to earn such a delicious treat?!” she screeches. “Go away!” 

  Lugging the urn into the house, she proceeds to eat her lunch of rice, vegetables and the gifted meat. As a vain woman, Madame Sương often ate less than the average villager. Due to this, her hunger found no end. She ate and ate from the urn until she found it half empty. 

  Overhead, the crow cawed again. 

  Taking another piece of meat from the urn, she rips it in half and slowly chews on it. Surely, there had to be a way to rid herself of that nasty bird. She could chase it away with a broom, perhaps. She could hire the village hunter to kill it. 

  Coming out of the house, she finds the crow perched on her rooftop. The crow flutters to her feet and stares at her with its intelligent eyes. It’s an ugly creature, with pitch-black feathers and a short beak. After holding her gaze for a few moments, it cocks its head.

  “How delicious, the flesh of your own! Please, can I have a bone?” asks the crow.

  Madame Sương’s heart jumps out of her chest. She drops the morsel of meat to the crow and runs back into the house. Returning to the urn, she digs through its remains until she finds a tuft of orange hair. The tufts of hair soon reveal themselves to be attached to a head with empty sockets and wrinkled skin. Letting out a scream at seeing her beloved son’s face, Madame Sương collapses into the urn. 

  Days later, the villagers would find her body rotting in the heat, the skin sloughing off of her bones. The stench had alerted them to her body, so putrid and foul for such a meticulous woman. When they found her son’s head inside the decorative urn, they believed that the wicked woman had finally gone insane and killed her son. 

  The notorious duo was buried in the pauper’s field, where their bones would forever rest with the people that they had once eschewed. 

  H☆H☆S

  Upon hearing the news that my mother had died, I was overjoyed. Surely, after all my tormentors were dead, I could finally have a happy ending.

   Don’t believe the person that said there’s nothing at the end of revenge. There’s satisfaction. Sweet, sweet satisfaction. Like a cool mango on a hot summer day, its sweet juices dripping down your chin. 

  And yet, time went on. 

  My husband took no concubines, much to the chagrin of his advisors. Without an heir to the throne, the king’s bloodline would become extinct. Yet, our fates weren’t supposed to extend beyond our happily ever after, so how could he have known? 

  Still, if our days were going to be spent idyllically under a warm sun, then what was there to complain about? We would grow old together, our hands intertwined like vines. Watching as gray streaks dotted your beloved’s hair, knowing that you are doing the same is a comforting sensation. In old age, one’s smiling eyes seem more merry than when they were younger. At night, we could warm our weary bones by the fire and compare our ailments. 

  That was not the case for me. 

  On his way to make amends with the Turtle King, my husband’s boat sank in a summer storm. Soon, I found myself crowned the King of the Amber Kingdom. Despite my people’s love, I couldn’t accept my crown with a smile. 

  If I was so favored by the heavens, then why did I always lose the people I loved? 

  As the Decandra Monarch, I spent my days listening to my people’s woes with a heavy heart. Despite all of my pain, the words of Diêm Vương continued to serve as my guide. 

  If I held justice in my heart and kept myself pure, my happy ending would eventually come. 

  It was on my deathbed that I realized I had lived virtuously to no avail.

  H☆H☆S

  Stirring from his bed, Vector looks at the young physician entering the room. His brows slightly raise upon seeing Dương. He clears a path through the monks, mourners and advisors. Kneeling by Vector’s bed, he places a hand on Vector’s wrinkled and bony hand. Upon seeing Vector’s wizened face and white hair, Dương frowns. 

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” utters Dương, a hint of fear edging his voice. “None of this was.” 

  Vector pulls his hand away from the young sage and glares at him. 

  “As the sage in charge of your happiness, I failed,” continues Dương, holding Vector’s baleful glare. “Because of this, I’ll be forced to return to samsara until my debts are cleared.” 

  “Leave,” orders Vector. 

  Dương swallows the lump in his throat. He lowers his head.

  “We’ll meet again, I promise,” he vows. 

  Vector closes his eyes and takes a shuddery breath. How innocent he had been, slaving beneath his cruel stepmother. She had never done anything genuinely kind to him. When he had the time, he should have smothered the bitch in her sleep. He should have played the games at court, gathering as many allies as he could while slowly eliminating his enemies. If he had denounced his stepmother and stepbrother for their cruelties before their father’s death anniversaries, he could have been spared the trips to the underworld. 

  If only, if only, if only…

   When he opens his eyes again, he feels a weight lift off of his shoulders. A cool breeze blows through the air and he finds himself back in Diêm Vương’s office. Unlike before, they are alone. 

  “Welcome back,” booms the King of the Underworld. 

  Looking down at his youthful body, Vector gives it an experimental stretch. Then he crosses his arms and leans against the wall. 

  “I was told that this wasn’t supposed to happen,” he drawls. 

  Diêm Vương slightly shakes his head and then looks down at Vector’s name. It had been stamped over three times, the name almost obscured by the red ink. 

  “There is an imbalance in this universe,” begins Diêm Vương, stroking his beard. “After negotiations with all afterlife departments, we’ve come to a compromise.” 

  Vector raises a brow. 

  “Don’t tell me it’s what I had to go through,” he mutters. 

  The King of the Underworld clears his throat. 

  “Allow me to finish. We’re starting a new department in the afterlife. I would like you to be its first employee,” proposes Diêm Vương. 

  “Oh?” 

  “To take care of this situation…we’ll have you enter various stories and arbitrate the karmic balances for us. There’s quite a list.” 

  Vector frowns. 

  “And how will I arbitrate?” 

  Diêm Vương slowly blinks. 

  “You have experience with disposing of problems, don’t you?”

  Vector chuckles and shrugs. 

  “It depends.”

  Physical experience? Unfortunately, very little. During his rule, he only ordered the executions of the most heinous of criminals. The want to eliminate those that bothered him? 

  Oh, more than enough.

  “The other option for you is to reincarnate into another story,” says Diêm Vương.

  Immediately, Vector’s smile fades. He balls his hand into a fist. To be killed again. And again. To come to this damned place, again and again. An unending cycle of misery. 

  “Never,” he growls.  

  “Then will you take this job?”

  “You’re not giving me much of a choice,” growls Vector. 

  Diêm Vương narrows his eyes. 

  “You’ve cheated death long enough now, child. Your soul has deteriorated with each cycle you’ve been through. Souls are not meant to be rapidly reborn.” 

  “If I take this job, will it mean that I’ll never be reborn again?” 

  “Correct.” 

  Vector grits his teeth. No more gruesome deaths. No one will ever cut him to pieces and feed him to the pigs again. No one will ever fry him and eat his mutilated flesh again. No one will burn him ever again. 

  “Deal.” 

  Pulling a long black stamp from a drawer, Diêm Vương stamps it on top of Vector’s name. He shows Vector his name, stamped over and over again. On top of the red reincarnation stamps is KARMIC ARBITRATOR. 

  A heavy wind blows into the office. Vector looks at his hands, cleared of all the blood it had shed. He feels heavy yet light at the same time, his body floating in the wind. 

  “There will be no need to eat, drink or sleep anymore,” declares Diêm Vương above the howling of the wind. “You are now immortal and a member of my court.”

  A burning sensation fills Vector’s neck. His hand flies to the area and he grits his teeth. When the burning sensation stops, he finds Diêm Vương’s emblem embossed onto his collarbone. The black characters glare at him, glowing with an eerie pulse. 

  “Welcome to the Court of the Dead,” booms Diêm Vương. 

  Vector’s world blurs and then darkens, the wind wailing in his ears. For a brief second, a bolt of pain tears through his body. In this moment, he can see his previous reincarnations in other tales. A sorcerer. A farmer. A trickster. A prince. The memories of his most recent lifetimes rush through him in a blaze of anger. Then he awakens, coughing on a desk. 

  Before him, a large book sits, just like the books from his youth. Its cover is worn through and dotted with holes. Its edges are burnt, as if it was rescued from his stepmother’s fires. The smell of tobacco and betel nuts emanates from the leather. Vector takes a deep breath, reminded of his father. He runs his hands along the edges of the book, surprised to find that it was quite sturdy. 

  Getting up on unsteady feet, he looks down at the title. 

  REGISTRY OF FAIRY TALES

  Then, he turns to the name plaque by his desk. 

  Vector

Happy☆Heroine☆Sniper

Associate of Lord Diêm Vương, Karmic Balance Department

  Turning around, he sees a long rifle encased in glass. Its metallic body shines beneath the lamp. He approaches the rifle, his heart rapidly beating in his chest. This. This is his salvation. 

  H☆H☆S

  Oh, it looks like we finished right on time. This next story will be far, farther than all of the stories we’ve been to before. I don’t know any of the characters in this one. Maybe you will. 

  Judging from its aura, something is terribly off with this one. 

  Ha, I’ve caused quite a mess for the fairytale universe, haven’t I? Rules are meant to be followed, not teased and stretched until they shatter. 

  Heroes are meant to fall in love and ride into the sunset. They must possess pure and unyielding hearts. Villains deserve to be punished, regardless of their intentions. The hero does not have the privilege of doing evil things to achieve their happy ending. 

  Just kidding. I made up the third one. 

  To me, we’re all bastards.

#zexal #yugioh zexal #vector #rei shingetsu #yuma tsukumo #foilshipping #ryoga kamishiro #vietnamese mythology #writing from iris #H☆H☆S

[etherealacoustic]

Unknown Feelings

Pairing - Kim Seokjin x OC

Warnings - slight mention of anxiety

Day by day, Jung Jisoo was getting used to the trainee life once again. It was difficult due to the gap, but continuous practice helped in increasing her stamina and endurance of the immense workout sessions quickly.

It was her routine by now to wake up early than the others, get herself ready, make breakfast with Jin, and then leave for the building.

Today was Jisoo's first weekend after five days of extreme rehearsals, she thought to reward herself with an extra hour of sleep.

The members were slowly waking up but the girl was still fast asleep.

"Let her sleep for some time more," Namjoon whispered as he folded the blankets. "She wakes up way earlier than us".

"Yah Yoongi, help me with the breakfast," Jin said with a yawn.

"Lead the way," Yoongi drawled out in a sleepy voice.

"Well someone's enthusiastic," Hoseok chuckled making Jimin snicker.

"Come on now, get your lazy asses up and be of some use," the elder mumbled.

"Let us sit for a while, hyung," Jungkook groaned and fell back onto his bed.

"You've been sitting for nine hours straight," Hoseok laughed.

"I'm still tired".

"How about we go somewhere today? Just hang out and have fun?" Taehyung questioned eagerly.

"Namjoon and I have to go over the songs once more," said Yoongi and stood up straight with quite a lot of reluctance.

"Hyung!" Jimin frowned. "Today is called a weekend for a reason. You can do that later as well! Let's just enjoy ourselves".

"We'll visit the Han River!" Jungkook suggested. Excited to go out and have fun after five long days of continuous training.

"And also a walk on the Dongho Bridge Walk," added Namjoon and smiled as he too wanted some relaxation.

"Alright then, clean up everyone," said Jin. "I'll wake Jisoo after some time".

Everyone got up and began tidying up their beds, while also picking up scattered belongings and returning them to their rightful places.

It was about 8:30 when Jisoo finally woke up. Grumbling softly due to her not being a morning person at all, she grudgingly opened her eyes.

Her bunk was next to the window and gave a wide view of the outside community. Soft sunlight was pouring through the transparent glass and reflecting onto her skin, making her body light up with a golden glow.

"Morning sleepyhead," Jin whispered softly as he watched the girl drowsily rub her eyes.

He let out a fond smile at her messy appearance. Her hair which was tied neatly in a braid before sleeping had fallen out and was completely tousled. Dark locks framed her face while also sticking out in every direction. Her eyes were still half-closed and mouth slightly open.

He went over to her and sat down on the bed. "Still sleepy?" He questioned and chuckled upon receiving a grumpy nod as an answer.

"I'm tired, Jin," she sighed and moved herself to rest against the wall, being mindful to not raise her head too high.

"I know, love. I know," he exhaled heavily. Wholly understanding the exhaustion, stress and pressure that was weighing her body and mind.

"Then let me sleep," she mumbled and felt him wrap his palm around her hand. A deep, amused chuckle reverberated in his throat as he moved closer.

"No no don't you dare close your eyes," he threatened, lips stretching to form a mischievous grin.

She groaned loudly and harshly swatted his outstretched hand away. "Begone".

"Don't be rude," he grumbled and rubbed the back of his hand where she had smacked him.

"Then don't test my patience. Let me sleep. Please," she muttered. Her eyes were on the verge of closing entirely.

"You've already had two extra hours of sleep. How can you still be drowsy?" He asked, feeling entertained by this.

"It's a skill," she replied. "The one thing that I excel at without even trying".

"Come on now," Jin coaxed as he rubbed her shoulders gently. "Breakfast's ready. We're planning to go visit the Han River and hang out too".

"You shouldn't be so good at convincing me," she muttered and rested her head on his shoulder, trying to get a few minutes more to sleep.

"What can I say, it's my speciality. Especially with the ones that I know really well," he laughed. Lips stretching and eyes crinkling at the corners in small but pleasing happiness as he ruffled her hair, making it messier than before.

His laughter died out at the lack of response and he looked down at his best friend in slight concern, but a snort escaped his lips at seeing her asleep again.

"What can I do with you," he mumbled and shook his head affectionately as he glanced back at her face. Tranquil, serene and relaxing expressions filled it. She looked too peaceful, too content for him to wake and disturb.

Back in the living room, the members were wondering what was taking the two so long.

"Did they drop dead or something?" Yoongi wondered as he considered heavily.

"Not her. I think hyung is definitely murdered," Jimin said with scary confidence.

Namjoon got up to check on them. He noiselessly walked towards the room and poked his head in, about to call them but closed his mouth at the view.

Their backs were facing him. Jisoo's head limply resting on Jin's shoulder. His arm wrapped around her, and it looked as though he was trying to pull her towards him each second even with their proximity.

Namjoon watched it and a smile slowly formed on his face, showing off his dimples. By then, all of the members had also gathered outside the room. All standing with grins on their faces.

Even though the boy and girl of the subject had no clue whatsoever, the rest all knew. It was that obvious. Not through the words no, but through the actions.

They all watched, only one thought running in everyone's minds.

This was indeed the start of a beautiful relationship. And God were they waiting for that day.

~☆●☆~

"Who knew you could cook so well," said Jisoo after finishing her breakfast. "And that too without my help".

"I'm not that useless," Jin muttered and rolled his eyes. "Yoongi helped me".

"I think it's the other way round actually," she retorted and chuckled upon seeing the smirk resting on Yoongi's face.

"Noona, have you ever seen the Han River?" Taehyung questioned.

"No, I haven't," she replied shaking her head. "When I was a trainee, I didn't get much time for myself. So visiting other places was out of reach".

"It's the best place when you need to cool down and de-stress," said Namjoon making her smile.

"Shall we go then?" Jungkook asked and the rest nodded.

"Let's have a blast," Hoseok grinned.

"Let's have a blast," Jisoo agreed, chuckling at his enthusiasm.

All eight of them were soon on the streets, on the way to their awaited destination. Everyone was decked in knee-length shorts and light-coloured shirts with bucket hats and baseball caps atop their heads. Namjoon and Jin had backpacks on them containing water bottles and other materials to pass time.

Everyone had agreed to start the journey by walking and then maybe taking a taxi somewhere later if they're tired.

"Let's take a taxi. I'm tired," Jin groaned and rested his palms on his knees.

"We haven't even walked for ten minutes yet," Jimin chuckled and slapped the other on the back harshly.

"But I'm exhausted!" He whined and smacked Jimin back in response.

"Hyung, are you really that old to get tired after walking for ten minutes?" Hoseok questioned and Jungkook, being the youngest sniggered cheekily.

But all he received was a glare and another whine.

"Oh, come here you git," Jisoo muttered and walked over to Jin. "I'll give you a piggyback".

Jin's face lit up immediately while the rest stared disbelievingly at her solution.

"You sure?" Namjoon asked. "It's still a long way ahead".

"Don't worry I can do it. He's as light as a feather. And if I do get tired, I'll simply drop him," she smiled sweetly.

"I'll make sure that you don't," Jin glared and wrapped his arms around her shoulder tightly as she hoisted him up and started walking like there wasn't a twenty-year-old boy on her back.

"Is he really that light?" Taehyung inquired curiously as he watched her carrying him effortlessly. It had been ten minutes and she hadn't even broken a little sweat.

"Nah," Jimin grinned. "Noona's just too strong".

Jisoo laughed as the two 95-liners kept teasing Jin about everything they could think of. But Jin just stared unimpressed and buried his face into her shoulder blades.

They were all walking silently, gazing around and taking in the surroundings as their feet moved. Some were looking at the trees that bore beautiful flowers, some scanning every shop to look at the menu there while others just looked around randomly.

"We're finally here," Yoongi sighed and everyone looked relieved to finally reach their awaited destination.

They crossed the road and in front of them were two pathways made of solid grey stones and on the sides were lush green bushes along with a few trees and short grass.

The rest smiled at Jisoo and Jungkook who were looking around in awe at the beautiful greenery that surrounded them.

"You two go stand there," Hoseok instructed and they looked at him in confusion.

"What? Why?" Jisoo and Jungkook questioned in unison.

"So we can leave you two there all alone and run away somewhere," he retorted rolling his eyes.

"He wants to take a picture," Namjoon explained, laughing at them who were still appearing to be clueless.

"Couldn't you have just said that before?" Jisoo asked with narrowed eyes but went over to the assigned spot.

She watched as Jungkook slowly walked over to her, his face bowed down in strange nervousness.

One day Jin and she were chatting when he mentioned the maknae's slight anxiety. And Jisoo understood, of course she did. She wasn't used to easily conversing with new people and Jungkook was just fifteen. He had that kind of feeling of being intimidated by his seniors.

The pressure of being the youngest and trying to match with the others was tiring. She tried to make small talk with him whenever she could, hoping that he would loosen up to her.

"Hey," she whispered so that only the boy could hear. "It's okay. You're fine. Don't be nervous yeah?" She smiled warmly.

To her relief, Jungkook gave a nod and stood close next to her, hesitatingly wrapping his arm around her waist. She laughed and put her arm around his shoulder, pulling him close and ruffling his hair in a sisterly manner.

"Say Bangtan!" Taehyung yelled and the two conceded and posed accordingly.

They heard the satisfying click of the camera and hurried over to see the picture.

Everyone smiled at Jisoo's ecstatic grin paired with Jungkook's bunny smile. Their hands formed gang signs above their heads as they posed. The fresh and leafy scenery behind them just added more beauty.

"Let's take a selfie," Jin suggested and handed over the phone to Namjoon who was the tallest.

Namjoon stepped to the right and held the phone high above to capture everyone.

"Hey! I'm not visible!" Jungkook grumbled and changed his position to stand in the front.

"Hyung you're blocking me!" Jimin whined at Yoongi who shared a mischievous glance with Jisoo.

"Not my fault you're short," he replied shrugging casually making her snort.

"Hey don't raise your hand like that! It's obstructing the masterpiece that is my face!" Jin scolded the maknae who snickered at the last words.

"I'm way more good-looking than all of you combined," he stated firmly.

"Oh yeah?" Jisoo challenged with her eyebrows raised. "I beg to differ".

Namjoon lowered his hand and looked at Hoseok who was sighing and shaking his head at their infinite complaints.

In the end, everyone was standing close to each other, their bodies pressed to get themselves pictured properly. Some were crouching slightly while the shorter ones were standing on their toes.

And finally, a very chaotic, lovingly obnoxious photo was captured. Despite the image being messy, it was one they cherished with their hearts.

"Great," Jin smiled in satisfaction at the outcome. "Who's coming with me to get some snacks?"

"ME!!" The maknae line yelled and quickly went over to him making the elders chuckle.

"Alright alright, calm down! Anything specific we should get y'all?" He asked and nodded at the food items told.

"Noona?" Jungkook called out to Jisoo who was standing a little far away from the group, looking at the early evening sky. "What do you want?"

"Jin knows it!" She yelled back as an answer and her best friend nodded in confirmation.

The four turned, walking in the direction of the shops and stalls while the other three wandered about randomly.

"Come on," said Namjoon as he beckoned her over. "We'll go sit near the Han River".

"Yeah let's go," Hoseok nodded, joined by Yoongi and together the four walked in silence, not wanting to break the rare but pleasant serenity that hung over them.

Once they were close enough to wholly see the Han River, Jisoo let out a small gasp at the scenery.

"It's beautiful," she breathed out in awe. Her eyes scanned every inch of the natural creation, taking in everything as though it would disappear if she blinked.

The Han River, a beautiful stretch of dark blue flowing as long as ever. The surface was calm and cool, looking quite unaffected by the worries and stress left by people along the shoreline. The late afternoon sun blazing bright, the rays reflecting onto the water and lighting the earth underneath with a glossy sparkle.

"Amazing isn't it?" Hoseok laughed softly at her amazed expression as they all leaned against the railing.

All Jisoo could do was nod her head. Not a single word came to her mind to describe this wonder before her, not a single phrase seemed to do justice to this breathtaking sight.

"I've visited this place so many times and it still leaves me speechless," Namjoon smiled and sat down on the soft grass, the others following his actions.

"Isn't it strange sometimes? That in this clear water exist our truths, our lies, our sorrows, our grief, our every emotion," Yoongi murmured as he too gazed ahead and sighed.

"I remember writing a poem because I had the exact thought years ago," she responded.

"You write poetry as well!" Hoseok exclaimed in surprise and she nodded.

"I can write songs just like that, but somehow I can never jot down poems," said Yoongi.

"Do you remember the poem? Can you tell us?" Namjoon asked,  interested in this confession.

"I have it written in a book. I'll tell you when we get back home," she smiled. Her cheeks got a little flustered at his curiosity to know.

"Read it in front of everyone," Yoongi added. "Even I want to hear it".

"I just know the poem is gonna be amazing," Hoseok smiled warmly.

"Oh stop it now, you're making me blush," she grinned bashfully. A faint red painted her cheeks and some type of giddy feeling spread inside.

"THAT'S MINE! DON'T YOU DARE STEAL MY SNACK, JEON JUNGKOOK!" Jimin's scream interrupted their peaceful atmosphere.

"Can they be any louder?" Yoongi frowned as the stillness was replaced by commotion once again.

"What's going on?" Namjoon asked with a frown on his face at being disturbed.

"Hyung he stole my snack!" Jimin cried out, still trying to chase the rather speedy maknae.

There was at least twelve feet distance between the two when Jungkook stopped to poke out his tongue and wiggle it teasingly.

Jimin groaned as the swift fifteen-year old took off once more.

Jungkook dodged being captured easily, showing off his agile physique. He suddenly took a turn and ran over to stand behind Jisoo, using her as his human shield.

"That's weak," Jimin muttered. Giving up on this banter and sitting down to catch his breath.

But then he watched in disbelief as Jungkook carelessly threw the packet away and grabbed something else, not sparing another look at the thing responsible for Jimin's exhaustion.

"Why did you even take it if you weren't going to eat it?!" He grumbled as the others roared in laughter.

"Just wanted to have some fun," Jungkook shrugged as he started eating his food with a smirk.

"Remember something?" Jisoo grinned as she looked at Jin.

"Very clearly," he rolled his eyes, hoping for nobody to notice but of course he was wrong, of course the members would instantly perk up at something like this.

"What is it?" Taehyung asked eagerly, wanting to know the story.

"Once I had taken one of his snacks and had him chase me for half an hour," she laughed.

"And then you threw it after I accepted defeat and picked up a different one to eat," he muttered but a small smile could be seen on his face.

"Noona's going to tell us one of her poems when we get back to the dorm," said Hoseok excitedly.

"You write poetry?" Taehyung asked with a huge smile. He loved poems.

"Yeah I do," Jisoo answered at the same time as Jin said, "Yeah she does".

As Jisoo's gaze drifted ahead, she immediately took out a camera from her bag, capturing the different hues of the sunset that showed radiantly.

The sun was slowly setting down and all of the members strolled about to do their things. The air was again drowned in calmness.

Some were laying on their backs and staring at the sky, countless thoughts running through their minds as they relaxed.

Some roamed around to take pictures of everything that attracted their eyes, including them.

"It's nice isn't it?" Jin sighed as he lay down next to his best friend.

Jisoo hummed and smiled in agreement, not wanting to break the soothing silence by talking.

Jin turned his head, directing his gaze on her. He bit his lip and looked to be thinking deeply.

"I'm lucky to have you in my life you know?" He suddenly mumbled after a long pause.

"Where's this sentiment coming from?" She chuckled softly and turned around to face him.

He was sitting up, face bowed as he stared at his lap while fiddling with his fingers. A faint blush coated his neck and slowly covered his cheeks while his lips formed a small pout.

"Don't laugh," he muttered. "I just thought you should know".

She sat up and turned her whole body to properly look at him, " I already know that".

"Good. You- You're really important to me. Don't ever forget that," he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

Jisoo let out a hearty chuckle and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "No need to be so awkward, idiot".

"Yeah yeah, I love you too," he laughed, resting his head on her shoulder.

"I didn't even say that in the first place," she frowned, trying not to smirk broadly at his flustered and equally exasperated expression.

"I hate you," he groaned, removing his head from its resting place.

"I love you too," she grinned cheekily and forced his head back onto her shoulder making him smile despite his frown earlier.

Unknown to the two laughing friends, a picture was quickly snapped by their members who were all smirking.

They took a taxi on the way back, not wanting to be tired after spending a long day on foot.

"Ahh," Jimin sighed as he flopped down on his bed.

"Anyone up for some hot chocolate?" Jisoo asked and smiled as she saw seven heads turn to look at her in unison.

"I take that as a yes," she laughed and quickly went into the kitchen to prepare.

Within ten minutes, everyone had a mug of hot chocolate in their hands, as they played around in the bedroom.

"Noona! Your poem," Namjoon exclaimed making Jisoo's eyes widen in recollection.

"Give me a minute," she quickly went over to open her suitcase and grabbed a black diary. "Got it".

But as she flipped over to the page and looked up to see them staring at her expectedly, she suddenly became anxious.

Numerous opinions came to her mind, most of them being negative.

"Jisoo," Jin whispered, gaining her attention. "It's okay. You hear me? It's okay".

She nodded, swallowing the nervousness and taking a deep breath as she began.

"Leave your worries by the shoreline,

And run your bare feet through the sand.

Let the water be a soft bed,

When you cannot bear to stand".

"Make friends with flying seagulls,

And hold the sun up on your palm.

Before you duck beneath the water,

Where the world is mute and calm".

"Tell the fish all your problems,

As they all come swimming past.

When your lungs are close to bursting,

Swim above the waves and gasp".

"Let the water hold your sadness,

And wash it right out to the sea.

So like a message in a bottle,

All your worries are set free".

"And the sea might make you feel alone,

But the world has troubles too.

For how else do you suppose,

The ocean got so blue?"

She looked up with a grin, glad to not stutter or stop while reading. But the smile soon slipped away after being met with quiet.

A trail of thoughts pushed their way into her mind, forcing her to believe the silence was no doubt a bad one. She wasn't always a pessimistic person, but right now her brain was overflowing with gloomy ideas.

A hug from Taehyung pulled her out of this, she was steered back to reality.

"It was beautiful," the boy whispered as he let go and looked up at her. She could see the clear awe on his face.

"Yeah?"

"Elegant in every way, Jisoo," Yoongi nodded, thoroughly impressed by the lines.

"I told you right, it's okay," Jin smiled and tugged her against him, leaning his head into hers.

"Have you written some more?" Namjoon asked, hoping she had.

"A few," she replied and saw his mouth stretch wide into a grin.

"You'll read them someday? Please?" Hoseok asked.

She looked uncertain but after the maknae line kept pestering her and starting a mantra of please, she agreed happily.

After some time, almost everyone was asleep except for Jisoo. She lay in bed, just staring at the barely visible ceiling. For once, there were encouraging thoughts that occupied her mind.

"Yah? Are you awake?" Jin's voice called out in a whisper, speech deep and rough due to sleep.

"Yeah," she mumbled back.

"Don't think so much. You were perfect, you are perfect. Don't you ever doubt yourself okay?"

"Okay," she replied, a grin painting her lips.

"Okay," he muttered back, a soft smile lingering for a few seconds before disappearing as sleep took over them.

~☆●☆~

Here's a chapter from my Wattpad story 'Love Of His Life' Hope you liked it! Do send me requests for any member.

Also, the poem isn't mine. I found it on Pinterest and it's from "e.h". All credit goes to them.

Thank you for reading!

Peace out x

#bts #bts ff #bts 8th member #bts fanfic #kim seokjin ff #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #jeon jungkook

[nickgerlich]

At The Movies

I have many fond memories of going to the local movie theatre when I was a kid. My pals and I would ride our bikes for what seemed an incredible distance (it was only about two miles), lock them up to a street sign, and pay a modest price to enter.

I couldn’t tell you what we saw, but I do know I loved that old theatre. It was like the theatres you could find in nearly every town, even the small ones. They were where people went for entertainment, to see and be seen, to socialize. Marquees and signs were often spectacular, resulting in civic pride.

Sometimes I am amazed to find that towns of only a few thousand supported not just one, but sometimes two or three theatres. Canyon once had two theatres and one drive-in; Tulia—with only about 4500 residents—once had three theatres.

In the century that has elapsed since many of these theatres opened, much has changed. Whereas there was virtually no competition at the time, technology slowly eroded that market position. Radio and television provided people with options, something they could do at home. Later, cable television saw our choices grow exponentially. Stir in VCRs and then DVD players, and suddenly we had less and less reason to venture out to watch a movie.

Concurrent with increased competition among how we entertained ourselves was the push to the suburbs, which saw sprawling cineplexes with as many as 20 screens being built. All of these combined to tap nails into the coffin of the historic theatre. There have been resurrections in some towns in recent years, usually community-based efforts to restore and save what they have. It takes millions of dollars, though, and even if these success stories result in special event venues instead of functioning movie theatres, it’s still good.

I have become very enamored of historic theatres in recent years, this time photo-documenting them on my travels, and writing about them for magazines as well as on my Insta. It’s a great passion, because tracking them down takes me to many dying cities screaming to be photographed in their entirety, not just the theatre.

Today, the competition continues to increase. Streaming services have made it difficult for the suburban megaplexes to survive. Blockbusters are increasingly few and far between. Direct-to-streaming as well as content created by Netflix, et al., give us many reasons to stay home. Besides, even if there is a blockbuster, we know it will be available via streaming soon enough. Oh, and never mind what COVID did to theatres. They have had a hard time recovering.

Were it not for Barbie and Oppenheimer last summer, it would have been a dismal year for theatres. The much-publicized Taylor Swift tour then led to a concert video for fans not able to see her live, and this too was shown in theatres.

Which leads us to the current problem. “Finally!” the students said. ”He wrote more than 500 words just getting to his point!”

Chains like AMC are having to reinvent themselves, or face extinction. AMC plans to show more concert videos, which they assume—I mean hope—will have the same draw as Taylor Swift’s. It’s an idea worth trying, but they must first convince artists to shoot these in the first place.

But which artists would customers be willing to pay good money to watch a concert video? Taylor Swift, yes. But U2? Rolling Stones? Beyonce? There could be a lot of hits and misses alike.

And then there’s AMC’s effort to pad revenues by upping the viewing experience, as well as to merchandise it. Collectible popcorn buckets that fetch $25 and private-label AMC-branded snacks have helped, but still not nearly enough to erase a $182 million loss last year.

Like some restaurants and retailers, AMC is shuttering under-performing locations, while building new ones in areas it thinks have a better chance of surviving. But when one of those behemoth movie houses is closed, there are few ways to repurpose them. Once upon a time, churches might rent one, much like they did with dead malls. Those days are over, though, with church attendance in steep decline.

Unless AMC and their competitors can truly rise from their own ashes, it’s going to be tough going. There are too many other ways for us to watch a movie. I am perfectly content with my streaming. I have only been to one movie since COVID; I had to see what the Barbie thing was all about, if only to be able to discuss it. But before COVID, I only watched one movie in a theatre for several years prior.

Given the choice, I would definitely go see a movie in a vintage restored theatre, though. I would do it not so much for the film, but for the experience. Those old theatres were magical; cineplexes are about as sterile and saccharine as it gets.

Meanwhile, I continue my pursuit of the old, the long gone, the forlorn. Because I can put myself in that motion picture, a movie in my mind that has no price of admission. It’s a good show.

Dr “Fade To Black, Roll Credits” Gerlich

Audio Blog

#marketing #AMC #movies #theatres

[eirian-houpe]

TMI Tuesday question based on current events: Have you ever met one of the celebrities of your fandom (actor/writer/creator)? How did it go? Did it have any effect on your fannish-ness? If you haven't, who would you want to meet?

Hey, thanks for the ask and so sorry it's taken me so long to get to answering it. I love this question, so here's an answer that I hope you'll find entertaining.

I've met quite a few celebrities of my various fandoms. Emilie and Giles for example from Once. They were both delightful, and I cherish the memories, especially the ones of Giles and I winding each other up about the performance of our respective (UK) football teams the one time. Emilie's just a sweetheart all round.

I've met a few Trek actors as well, because I go to many conventions and the cruises with @peacehopeandrats. That's always fun and usually quite cerebral, as most of the folks we tend to run into are from DS9, and the majority of those actors are classically trained, and besides have some serious interests to talk about and share.

Speaking of conventions, I was at a con in the UK for Stargate Atlantis. It was a tiny con by US standards, with maybe three or four actors there, so it was very intimate, and there I was able to spend a good deal of time speaking with Christopher Heyerdahl. (He played the Wraith Todd, and also the Athosian, Halling.) He was very gracious, and kind... I mean, to give you an example of his kindness, a friend who couldn't make the con had asked if we could ask him to say hi, and he told us to get her on messenger and he spent a good many minutes typing with her. He signed one of my fanfiction episodes that I had printed out, "Glad to be a muse."

My earliest encounter with a celebrities with from one of my fandoms was when I was in my teens. I was a huge fan of a show from the UK called Robin of Sherwood. My favorite character in that show was the Saracen, Nazir; a role played by the actor Mark Ryan (who these days has various roles in the Transformers movies, was in Black Sails, and has worked as a swordmaster on many projects, e.g. the movie King Arthur.).

Now, and then...

Anyway... at the convention he was demonstrating the use of his scimitars, and offered to teach some basics to people at the workshop. It was one of those situations where everyone was shy, or maybe scared to make a fool of ourselves, but something made me volunteer.

For several long minutes that also went past in the blink of an eye, I found myself living that cliche where the teacher 'puppets' the student. He stood behind me, guiding my movements through some basic routines, and... aside from the fact that it was a TOTAL fangirl moment, the actual techniques, the moves and such stuck in my memory, and though I still find writing fight scenes really hard - I still draw upon that experience - especially when writing sword fights, which I do quite a lot in my Tolkien fictions.

Thanks for the ask, and the stroll down memory lane!

#TMI Tuesday #asks answered #fandom #kelyon

[doublegoblin]

Rituals and Red Tape Chapter: 7

Along the fine line of the filigree it split itself in twain. Fine tendrils of flesh and fiber swaying along a breeze unseen or perhaps, more of a current? Supple skin rippled and pulsed with the thrum of something deep. With stretching and ripping, the skin once taut was torn, down down the sweet ichor poured. We beheld this hateful thing as from beyond the darkness and veil of secrets a sickly pale light shown. From this light grew a shadow. From this shadow a pearl took center stage. A pale clouded eye stared down from its nest as tendril waved unspeakable words.

Peter had now opened his eyes and recoiled in fear. I stood steadfast and stared back at the opaque observer. Its vision cleared as life returned to the cold dead stare. Brilliant crimson and fatty yellow swirled around a deep purple pupil. Which contracted to a pin prick before more of the creature sloughed off the comfort of conformity. An elder tongue shook the chamber over and over, more life blood spilling from the parasitized rooms. Symbols of malice and contempt etched themselves into the air in a toxic hue. Yet I remained still and silent.

“Al-” his words were cut short as I threw him through a portal.

The grand tumor swayed slowly now quiet as stone. With each pendulum swing the room shifted and moved to keep it upright. Letting out a guttural hiss the  entity carved itself a mouth filled with gnashing needle teeth.

“To think we must subject ourselves to this form of correspondence.” An indulgent regal tone poisoned thought and space alike. “Speak worm, how dare you intrude upon our court uninvited. Though we must commend your ability to locate our holy domain. Perhaps you are not a worm, mayhaps, a sickly grub.” With malicious glee it grinned and with a great flash of purple light drew me closer.

I was dwarfed by this obstinate ocular object, ten of me would not even touch the pupil. But yet, I stood firm.

“State your name for the record.” I commanded with a trembling stomach.

Caustic saliva hissed along the ground as the beast laughed “How novel! The grub thinks to command us! You have entertained us, so we shall fulfill your request, grub. We are the grand duchess of quivering flesh, the baroness of sanguine sacrament, the highest of ordained rulers of eternal life, M’al’stomexra.”

Always with the convoluted names…

Summoning forth a clipboard, a form, and pen I stared deep into that open sore of a pupil “Very well M’al’stomexra I just have a few questions I need to ask you. This is to satisfy ruling 2B7G of regulation H54T concerning the unauthorized and/or unregulated emergence into this plane of reality by entities of deific class seven or higher.” I grab a hold of the pendant around my neck and speak into it “This is Alex, I need to request authorization for interaction with a class seven entity. Noticeable and extensive reality tears have been noted along with the endangerment of local Dreamers and possible Denizens.”

Several bells chimed back in response.

“Oh thank goodness, the system isn’t down this time.” I nod and release my grip and summon forth a chair to set upon. Unfortunately the only material to reshape was this fleshy growth and now my backside was wet. 

During this interaction M’al’stomexra was unable to speak, not through anything that I had done, but the tightness of her grimace betrayed her calm demeanor.

“While we wait I suppose we can go over a few of the more basic questions that don’t require authorization.” I place the lead of the pencil to the paper and clear my throat “I’m sorry but I will need you to state your name once more for official documentation.”

“You insolent worm! How dare you speak to us as such! I will consume your essence for this trespass!” She thrashed in a rage and gnawed at her own lips. Molten blood spilled and hardened into jagged crystals on the ground.

I sat there tapping the pencil against the paper.

The large pupil then dilated and her tone was flat as she stared into the middle distance “M’al’stomexra…” blinking rapidly she returned her gaze to me “How?”

Nodding and scribing “Thank you. Now, by what means did you find an entry here? Please be as specific as possible.”

Once more she is over taken “We had whispered secrets into the mind of a particularly incorrigible worm. We spoke to it in loving tones. Filled its mind with the runes and incantations needed to bring our holy vessel into this reality. With proper sacrifice we were permitted access through the open sore.” A fearful rage overtook her “What is this grub doing to us, why are we unable to resist this urge?” Her voice erupted forth causing the dark red liquid to swell up and away.

“Thank you for being so forthcoming, now I do need to inform you that you have several outstanding violations that really do need to be addressed, but before that, and I am sorry but this is all by standard procedure, can you please elaborate on your exact business of being here? Are we here for business, pleasure, a little of both maybe?”

I watched as her pupil rapidly fluctuated between dilation and expansion. Biting down upon what would be her lower lip she groaned and snarled. “Insect! It has no…hrng…control over us!” A wave of undiluted malice poured from the writhing mass.

Leaning back in the chair I sighed “Ma’am please answer the question, otherwise we are just going to be here forever.” My words remained steady but in preparation for what incomprehensible tantrum would soon be upon me, I turned the cloth of my robe to a chitinous armor that sealed itself around me. 

Red lightning arc’d across the room. Thick electrical tendrils streaked across every surface as she fought against the judicial restraint. The room, shuddering, with each convulsion as she chewed at her own tongue. 

“It…has…no…control! We seek a chair amo-no! Sniveling putrid creature! Our qualifications are as follows-silence!” Her flesh now boiling; a wall of heat seared the ground black. “You. Will. Not. Control. Us!” She then grew very still. Unblinking. Frozen in place. Flesh and form transmuted into an opaque crimson crystal sphere.

After waiting a few moments I grabbed ahold of my pendant “Entity appears to have ceased all activity. Submitting for escalation of allowed authority and possible relocation of said entity.”

A monotone voice responds “Submission accepted: Authorization pending approval from high management please wait.”

“Damnit Dave.” I whispered, still eyeing the impending threat above me.

“Alex?” A voice called from far behind me.

Shit! How did he get back here so soon?

I turned to spot Peter high along the smooth wall waving down at me. He then disappeared back beyond the horizon, only to come sprinting back and leaping into the air. With a noticeable grace he dove down into the slurry, not even making a wave, and swam over to me.

“Woah! That’s some pretty neat armor, although in my opinion the one glowing green eye is a little overkill.” He, without even being asked, critiqued while drawing closer. Still damp with, whatever, the liquid was.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed trying to not take my eye off the orb.

“I thought we were on the assignment together?” He pouted then spotted the orb “Wooooah, did you do that?” He jogs over and stands close with wide eyed enthusiasm.

“Peter, please back up that thing is still very dangerous.” Taking a step towards him a spider web of cracks creeps up the surface of the orb, small shards falls like snow to the ground.

There was no time to think. Within a flash I had closed the short distance between us and retreated to a safe distance. The fragile egg had cracked and the searing yolk oozed in thick strands to the ground. Where it touched grew black and putrid before crumbling to dust. A beating light illuminated the shape inside as it twitched and moved. Impatient about its birth a six digit claw shears through the shell. Razor talons of crimson rend large chunks away from the whole as a second begins its own work. 

Once a sufficient opening had been made the amniotic sac sloughed from its prison, two long and slender arms waving limply during the descent. These arms clawed into the ground and the mass was dragged to the waters edge before submerging under the surface. Then: silence.

Holding Peter close in a high hallway I walked us back from the edge. “Peter, listen to me, you need to get out of here, this isn’t the greatest place for a rookie to be.”

Struggling against my grip “I thought we were supposed to be doing this together? Can you let go, you’re squeezing me too tight.”

“Sorry.” I eased my grip and let him slip away. “I know, but, shit, things are different now. I thought we were just going to be taking care of some minor issues…not this.” I looked behind us towards the end of the hallway, still nothing.

“And do you care to tell me exactly what this is?” He leaned against the wall crossing his arms.

“Oh, I mean yeah? I’ll see if I can put it into some easy terms. So the long and short of it; that thing is an entity from outside this reality that has found her way into this one via the use of deception and skirting regulation.”

“I see, so it broke some of the rules?”

“Yes! Thank you for paying attention.”

“So…what do we do about this?”

“We don’t do anything; I have to take care of it.”

“How? And, why can’t I help?”

“Well, either she is going to leave of her own accord or I have to escort her out of the reality; she is always welcome to come back, she just has to be sure to go through the correct channels and regulations. And, you can’t help because you don’t have the proper clearance for this kind of thing.”

“Alex.” The single note of Dave’s voice exited from the pendant.

“Hang tight Peter, I’ve got to chat with the boss.” Walking a few steps away I brought the pendant close to my head for a more private conversation. “Dave. What the hell Dave!?”

“Alex. There is no need to raise your tone with me. I can understand your communication just fine. Also can you elaborate? Are you asking about Hell or merely relaying some negative emotions by invoking the name?”

“I’m relaying negative emotions Dave, you sent me and a rookie to deal with an interdimensional interloper!” I hissed looking back at Peter, he was sitting nicely on a couch not too soaked in viscera.

“Alex. You are my most trusted manager. An asset to this team. Who else would I send?”

“Dave that's not th- nevermind, look, you can’t just shove new hires into very dangerous situations and expect them to stick around.”

“Alex. I am feeling as if you are missing the chance for some wonderful one on one bonding and training. Think of how excited Paul-”

“Peter.” He looks up to me and I wave a hand and point to the pendant.

“Alex. Do not interrupt. Peter. Think of how exciting for Peter this must be. I am certain you are both doing a wonderful job. As it stands. I see you have requested advanced authorization. I see no need to approve it. I wanted to reach out to you directly and let you know. I am working on our communication. As per HR recommendation.”

“Dave! We have a potential Board candidate, I need the extra oomph.” I turn to look back at Peter and at the end of the hallway is a single glowing eye, encircled by teeth, Peter has not noticed it yet.

“Alex. Please elaborate what oomph means. I am unaware of this word and wish to understand. So as to add it to my lexicon.”

The eye moves back, showing the head of this new figure. It is a bloated and undulating mass of flesh is the rough approximation of a human head. Exposed teeth curve up into an uneasy grin that bisects most of the face. Rearing back I see it raise an arm, claws positioned towards Peter in an open palm cup.

“Alex. I am sure our communications are still open. Please define oomph.”

All motion slows as the arm begins to heave it’s mass closer and closer. Daves voice is not but static to me now as the world melts away. 

A thunderous crash.

Dust filled lungs.

Darkness.

Then a pale blue light.

“A-Alex?” Peter coughs.

Pulsating flesh had encircled us, the heat hot as a sauna. Yet it was kept at bay by the oscillating and rotating scripture cast by the hammer I held in my right hand. Shielding Peter behind me I stared forward and gently pushed him back. Without a word I felt him leave my side and pass through the gap of the claws. The rhythmic pounding of his feet becoming fainter and fainter. 

“Alex. After some reconsideration your request has been approved. Please have a full definition of ‘oomph’ prepared for your next employee review.” The blue glow faded as Dave disconnected.

With the protective layer gone, the hand closed around me and dragged me from the hallway. My body shook as I felt the monstrous being laugh. “Pitiful insect.” It hissed while hurling me towards one of the far walls.

As I soared through the air I got a good look at it. A humanoid form was clothed in thick layers of undulating flesh and viscera. The misshapen head did not rest upon a neck, but rather, it was suspended by an interwoven mesh of tendons and ligaments. It fashioned its garbs into the manner of some kind of royalty. The skin of this morbid monarch was rough and pitted with sores. Above its head was a slowly rotating crown of mangled and fused dreamers all crying out silently in pain. I then hit the wall and felt my own body shudder.

“You thought to forestall our grand arrival! How foolish!” It raised the back of a hand to its face, hiding its maw as it laughed. “Yet here we stand, in our radiance and divine glory. The worm should be honored, it will make a fine consort.” With a howl of wind it lunged with arm outstretched and a ravenous smile.

Peeling myself from the me-shaped hole I steadied my breath and the world slowed once more. At the current moment my right arm felt limp and a telling warmth was spreading from the shoulder joint down to my fingers. With a wince I swapped which hand gripped the hammer and withdrew my injured limb back into the body. Unable to hold her in place she was closing the gap, slowly, but the gap was shrinking all the same.

Should I say some kind of one liner? I think that would be appropriate here. Something along the lines of ‘you’re not my type’ maybe. 

I mean…she is pretty huge…but yeah, no, the seeping wounds are kind of a deal breaker. Plus she keeps calling me worm and insect…she does have nice hands though…damn it Alex focus!

The Queen was starting to speed up. 

Waiting for my moment I gripped the handle of the hammer firmly. The form shimmered like quicksilver as the mass centered around the head, not as elegant as the mace I had held, but this war hammer would serve me better. My eyes trained on her slender fingers. I tensed my left arm and counted my breath. Her enchanting eyes gleamed with predatory bloodlust, her claws now a hair's breadth from my head. I choke up on the hammer, time starts to rapidly advance. 

“No thank you!” My hammer cracks the sound barrier and her hand in half. The momentum of the swing carrying me along the arc.

Damn it Alex! Fuck it no more words!

The hammer lodges itself deep into the ceiling and I dangle in the air, held aloft only by my left limb. The Queen howls in pain as she holds her bisected arm. Seething with rage, fire licks the ground around her and a thick red smoke billows from the wound as it closes. The blood ocean boils and hisses as the room becomes shrouded in a thick red fog; her piercing yellow eyes were spotlights in the haze. 

Contorting my body I place both feet on the ceiling and pull. Drywall and other building material falls as it gives up the prize. A few pieces must have struck her as I was suddenly illuminated in the sickly yellow. As a thick crack spreads from the impact site I find more and more leverage. Crouching into a low stance I store as much energy as I could before swiftly extending and releasing it all at once. Metal scraping against plaster I am sent into a nosedive at breakneck speeds. With sight being useless right now I closed my eyes and felt the world rush past.

A meaty crack.

A deluge of liquid roaring.

The soft ground buckling under my feet.

My speed was too great; to keep from falling into the boiling roil I dropped the weapon low, like the anchor of a ship. Thankfully I could only feel the scalding on the back of my heels. Now useful my sight beheld the shadowy form of The Queen clutching at her head. She writhed and swung wildly at the air; the mist swirling and leaving clear wounds. Shoulding the hammer on my shoulder I waited in a ready stance. The end was still a ways away.

Now at ground level I could truly appreciate her scale. Maybe hundreds of feet tall? I was, well, an insect in comparison. Her face twisted in pain and unfiltered aggression as she held where her left eye had been, before I had my way with it. Her steps boomed and shook where I stood as she searched and searched. I broke off into a sprint, trying to keep the weight balanced well enough. Despite all odds she must have heard the pitter patter of my advance; turning now to me she slammed a dagger heeled foot into the ground. Pulsating veins erupted from below and thrashed around like snapped cables, spewing caustic agony everywhere. I ducked just before having my head knocked off by a girthy artery but was smacked directly in the chest by the second branch.

The impact is softened by the armor but the force still stabs through me. With the hammer on my shoulder I was thankfully top heavy enough to still charge on; albeit with a slightly left curve. She had plunged her heel too deep and became entrapped in the flesh. I thrust my shoulder up; as the hammer rises I lean into its weight and let the momentum slide the shaft down my hand. Gripping tightly just before the end the force sends the entire mass in a horizontal arc. The first strike plows through her achille’s tendon before the circle is completed and the second doubles back and tears foot from calf. 

Howling in agony she drives the bloody stump down towards me. I raise my weapon high but still she drives me down. I can feel my legs buckling and snapping. Her blood has coated me, it burns, but it provides enough lubrication to let me slip my way out from being reduced to an Alex-puddle. No longer having such an easy time standing, her good leg buckles and bends as she drives a hand down to steady herself. The ground squelches. My limbs scream for a moment of rest but I press on. Placing myself near one of her nails I raise my hammer high. She swipes with her free hand and I have just enough time to redirect my swing to the more important target. With a deep boom her hand snaps back and begins to rise into the air. Before it is out of reach I grab a hold now holding both my hammer and her fetid flesh. 

Letting go I let myself be carried high up. Being thrown into that wall was starting to catch up with me, that blow to the chest had messed something up inside, and she had caught me off guard with that stomp and now even my legs were starting to fail. I had to take this chance.

Gently landing back on the ceiling my right arm was corporeal once more. The pain was seering but I gritted my teeth and grasped the handle with it. Digging into an opening in the armor I pulled the golden rings out from my robes and tossed them down. Golden stakes dug themselves into The Queen's limbs and chest from portals opened by the rings. Attached to these stakes were thick golden chains that strained under tension as they held her in place. Under her another larger golden portal began to open, the destination an inky void. She roared and howled against her bonds, gnashing her teeth like some kind of beast at the chains. Now holding the handle with both hands I leapt from my spot as a target of gold superimposed itself on her head.

“Subsection A of Interdimensional translocation clearly states: that those in the party of the intruded retain full right of action against those in the party of intruder. As such given the nature of your ingress into this reality you have been found in violation of several accounts of trespassing, unregulated coercion, impersonation of upper sphere beings, and other items not stated outright.” fighting through the agony I lift the hammer and hold it high above me as I fall, the head doubling in size “You will be fined equal to the extent of damage done to this reality.” The size triples, “You will be placed onto a reality wide watchlist and barred entry for several cycles until your case can be re-examined.” Now within striking distance I swing the hammer, ignoring the sound of something snapping “Despite this, we hope you enjoyed your time…now get the fuck out of my reality!” 

The ground around us quakes as her head is jettisoned away from its woven perch. Hot blood showers the room as it is lost into the void. Once it had passed beyond the horizon all the portals instantly closed, the stakes and chains dissipating into golden dust. My weapon also dissolves into fine powder before fading from view. Breathing heavy, I'm thankful that weight is gone.

The ample bosom I had been standing atop of begins to quickly putrefy. A horrendous smell surrounds; to escape nauseating circumstances I translocate to the other side of the massive interior quickly. As the body is reduced into a black slurry the walls of the chamber heaved and shed their fleshy exteriors. An audible sigh echoed throughout the entire hotel; at least I assume so, it was pretty damn loud. Small beetle-like things emerged from smaller holes in the structure and began to repair the damaged portions. With a sense of some kind of pride I hobbled my way towards the crown of residents. They had fallen still, peaceful expressions covered their faces. I hadn’t had a great chance to notice but in the center of this crown was Jacob, crystalized into a facsimile of a ruby. With stiff robotic movement he took notice of me, and waved. I waved back.

“We’re going to need a cleanup crew, also,” as I spoke into the pendant I counted the number of forms in the crown “send word to the morgue, have them open twelve spots.”

A sharp pain in my back, a concussive force, warmth. 

Stumbling forward, two arms wrapped around my waist “Alex! You’re okay!”

“Hey boss…woah, you look like shit.” 

Prying Peter’s arms off with a groan “Thank you for the kind words Andrea, wait, what are you doing here? Also Peter, please don’t, I’m in a whole world of pain and you’re not helping.” I held Peter at arms length by shoulders.

“Little guy made his way all the way to the office to get help, said you were fighting something huge.” Andrea clapped Peter on the back, this lifted his sullen expression. “Nobody else wanted to come, but I had some time to kill, come to find out you were already done.” She looks around the room. “Caretaker is not going to be thrilled about all the repair work.”

“Well maybe he needs to keep a better eye on his tenants.” I nod to Jacob, who waves at Andrea and Peter.

They both wave back.

“Is it dead?” Peter cranes his neck to look at what remained of The Queen, nothing much more than bleached bones and bile now.

“Huh? Oh, no. Banished. For now at least. She can try submitting an actual request form in a few cycles. Look I’m beat, Andrea do you think you can handle watching Peter for a while. Maybe show him around the morgue?” The armor around me had now returned to the familiar cloth of my robes, tattered and torn.

“Morgue? L-like, dead body m-m-morgue?” Peter had drained to snow white.

“Not exactly kid. Think of it more like a, um, lost and found? Also a repair shop? Look, I can explain on the way.” Andrea holds him in a tight side hug “I’ve got it boss, go take a breather before we have to carry you there too.”

“Thanks Andrea, I owe ya.” I called forth a portal right to my office.

“I’ll add it to the board.” She and Peter wave as the portal closes behind me.

Taking three steps forward, I collapse into my chair. 

Maybe it’s finally time I took a vacation.

#writing #original fiction #writeblr #original writing #creative writing #original work #work in progress #fiction #chapter 7 #RART #my first attempt at a big action scene #cw blood #cw gore #cw violence #cw dismemberment #dark fantasy #big hammer go brrrr

[stevishabitat]

The Mask of Mental Illness

Universally beloved dancer, actor, DJ, and executive producer Stephen ‘tWitch’ Boss died by suicide at the age of 40. In the wake of his passing, millions of people have expressed the shock of seeing a human being so outwardly radiant succumbing to such internal sadness.

Those of us who live with chronic depression are never surprised when someone leaves prematurely. We know there is often zero correlation between a person’s outward appearance and their internal condition.

William Shakespeare said that all the world is a stage, and he was onto something.

I know because I’m a master thespian and I am but one in a large company of great actors surrounding you right now.

Every single day we put on the most brilliant performances and most people watching us have no idea that it’s all theatre: a carefully scripted tragic comedy staged in real-time in their midst.

There are plenty of us out there practicing our stagecraft where you live and work and study, but you’ll probably never realize it—that’s how good we are. We don’t do it for the recognition, in fact it’s because of what we so desperately want to hide that we’ve been forced to choose this vocation at all. Our gift is crafted out of necessity; a required skill honed in the crucible of awkward moments, buried sadness, and the perceived weight of expectation.

One of the things you learn when you live with a mental illness, is that everyone has a capacity for compassion, and many people usually reach theirs well before you stop hurting. At some point your pain eclipses their ability to carry it and you realize that your despair is a problem—for them.

This is where the performance begins.

Because you don’t particularly enjoy being you, you begin to imagine others may grow weary of being around you. You learn to read people’s body language, to look for signs of their ambivalence, to sense their perceived impatience, and you endeavor to play the part of someone else: someone who isn’t depressed.

And when you do, you don’t even need to be all that convincing to sell it. People are usually more than happy to suspend disbelief in order to keep you in character. They’ll play along because that storyline is far preferable to the one where someone around them is afflicted with sadness.

Often people will be willingly complicit in the charade; choosing not to look too hard, not to notice the cracks in your facade, not to catch you breaking character in the shadows. They will prefer the performance to the performer.

I’m asking you to not be one of those people.

I’m asking you to choose to really see us.

When you ask us how we are and we tell you we’re fine—ask again.

Don’t let us off the hook.

Refuse to be fooled by our best, most believable efforts to fool you.

The word hypocrite originally meant “actor”. It once denoted a person who played a part; someone who wore an actual mask upon a stage for the entertainment of others. It wasn’t as derogatory a word as it is today, alluding now to some intentional moral duplicity; the act of showing one person and being another.

And though our deception is not sinister but survivalist in nature, it is heavy and hurtful and it is never far from our minds. We feel the crushing weight of our duplicity every day. It sits there on top of the already present sadness, compounding it all, adding to the depression we already carry the guilt of trying to pretend we aren’t depressed.

And here’s the deal: we probably aren’t going to call “cut” and let you see the real us at this point. We’ve long ago assured ourselves of the consequences of that kind of authenticity and so you’re going to need to do it for us.

You’re going to have to be the one who sees through the mask, who steps into our space, who looks us in the eyes and who tells us we can stop pretending. You’ll have to be the one to assure us that life doesn’t have to be great and everything doesn’t have to be wonderful and we don’t need to be fine for us to be close to you or welcome in your presence.

But having said all this, know too, that all the kindness in the world may not be enough. ‘tWitch’ was surely surrounded by people who loved, respected, and fought for him every day, as are many of those who ultimately lose their battles to stay. he performance is simply too exhausting.

Because as tired as we are of our depression, we’re as tired of pretending we’re not depressed.

We’re ready to retire from acting for good.

Bring the house lights up and help us exit the stage.

[the-hem]

“In Reality.” From the Rudra Hridaya Upanishad, the Exploration of the Mysteries of the Sacred Heart.

From that Lord Siva who performs a terrible penance in the form of Supreme Jnana-Marga “Road to Liberation.”  This whole world is created which is the food of the mortals. 

This world is Maya. It seems to appear just like a dream. It is superimposed on the Lord just like a rope on a serpent. This is the eternal Truth. 

There is no creation in reality. All is absolute. All is Truth. Knowing this, one is liberated at once.

The world is food for mortals, the Upanishad says, it provides the objects of desire and revulsion and gives us ways to acquire or avoid. To off-road it from the bipolar path, the sages say, is to drive the freeway of Liberation. 

The Buddhists call the path to desire “shenpa” or “hooking”. They say “don’t bite the hook,  don’t get caught up,” which is much harder than it sounds because we don’t always feel willing to look the other way. 

Read Pema Chodron’s work on shenpa, you won’t regret it: https://tricycle.org/magazine/dont-bite-hook/

Pema is right and so are the verses above, we have two choices if we want to be Liberated- to look away, or to be willing to view what is there with precise accuracy, and act appropriately. The Script says this means we have to contact life with the faculties properly, called Right Contact, and then we have to perform Right Action. 

Right Contact and Right Action are all we really need to Liberate ourselves. We need the Right Attitude, in other words. Everyone worries this means they won’t be able to grab a beer and hook up or look at the high school with lust in one’s heart (don’t you love it when he says he wants to go grab a beer?)

I suppose it’s butcher and sexier than being asked to get a glass of whine. =Twinky boys with big hair! 

So which aspects of desire lead to what is real, AKA the serpent, and which ones are delusional, AKA the rope? And what role does correct apprehension of the objects of desire play in avoiding the urge and consequences of sin, the acting out upon incorrect desires? 

And how do we answer the big questions over which desires are completely forbidden altogether and displease or offend God? And is there is a difference between these as far as He is concerned? 

In the verse before this, we touched upon the fact any desire that leads to violence is off limits. There is no wiggle room there. As with the desire to be a god or to be distracted by one, ie to commit idolatry. 

Will God agonize on your behalf if you do something silly and are late for work? No, He will not. If you say FUCK really loud, does He flinch and put it on the list? No, He does not. If it bothers someone and you notice, it’s polite to say sorry and watch your mouth going forward, but the heavens don’t tilt or anything. 

If you see someone on the train and he’s delish, and you want to ask him out or he makes a gesture, or you get ants in your pants and go on Grindr or Tindr does God mind this? Only if your partner finds out. 

Should you own a gun, can you wear a dress to work, are these things sins or not...does entertaining these different desires to “sin” matter in settling the affairs of the heart, or should we wear plastic bags around and cut ourselves off from the world completely and sterilize ourselves to death? 

What role can discretion in the utmost play in obtaining and maintaining freedom from the wages of sin? 

It is everything! 

First as the Upanishads say comes discretion, then comes the absolute, the desire to do good. Very often, this means doing what is right. 

If any of this is to work, we must be willing to see how happy the world is around us. Happiness is absolute, the desire to be happy in real time is the path to liberation and there are right and wrong ways to be happy. 

Often it is paved with penance, but and if that is how it must be, keep walking but the Script says to repent and atone fixes that. But first, be discrete. 

*Speaking of discretion...

Twinky = < 25 yo.

Candy= >18<21 yo.

Chicken= under 16 yo. 

Tiki= very bad luck.

Never do a kiki with a tiki. 

[frankjerry311]

Health Guidlines For Holiday And Business Travel

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Raise money for your journey by selling unwanted possessions on the online market place or inside a garage sales event. The money generated from these activities can go directly on a journey 'treat' like a massage, meal or pleasure trip.

Of course, half finding out of planning for a getaway making use of your spouse or partner is choosing the romantic destiny. Luxurious, long uses the beach or an abandoned retreat involving mountains? Lot so a number of different romantic destinations for new parents. It is just a question of locating the right fit for a. Do a little research into the different new parent friendly resorts. Depends upon how far along into the pregnancy you are, health-care professional . want acquire a place with a clinic native. just in the situation.

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Australia gave us Forster's Beer and Crocodile Dundee, but they didn't stop here. After dominating the leisure and entertainment worlds, they tackled travel. Qantas is the national airline of Australia and rivals every airline on the planet in the service you will from the flight attendants and aviators. But the food they serve, extending its love to coach customers, is cuisine. They are rated in the top airports known to man in arriving and departing on available free time.

The Aussie's have made air travel a pleasure again.

However, the actual first 48 hours at 3600m altitude in Lhasa you can do not to help eat. Overnight you force yourself to drink and nibble, since cannot sleep anyway, whereas in the morning you return the food almost un-tampered with. At altitudes above 4000m you recognise very clearly how the body is not quite to ensure. For each movement possess to convince yourself. However, it cannot make sense, to plan and have enough money for the trip and then to the particular days in Lhasa between the sheets. So, we "persuaded" ourselves to want the next outing. Atlanta divorce attorneys hotel and each drugstore, a genuine effort . oxygen from your handy pressure bottle with two hoses for the nose. This bottle helps a lot against the consistent headaches. However, it will be good for your few seconds. After that, headache is . A good business concept.

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[nietzschesbible]

Old Friend

I sit waiting for you Old Friend, waiting for you to come and whisk me away. Out into the(…) on another of our great adventures.

I have known you since before I knew light or touch, smell or sound - indeed before I had a heart. I will know you long after I have forgotten the senses. You brought me here to The In-between - I called to you in silence and ever my trusty servant and loyal Old Friend you replied ‘as you wish’. You are my Oldest Friend.

I remember how we took hold of each other and chose to be become(…)?

In the beginning there was some confusion as pain became knowledge. The light was brighter than we had anticipated - it hurt. Seeing has yet to become a comfortable pastime. If we are in darkness too long we hunger for the light. Conversely if we’re too long in light we grow weary of seeing all. Addicted to existing we are at the beck and call of The Endless Cycle. There is no grey place other than The In-between.

Once adjusted to The Endless Cycle we came to an agreement. The Contract was impressed upon and witnessed by The Grand Emptiness. We would learn to love. To make it interesting we invented time - as a kind of game. We also invented games as an excuse to invent time. The formula for almost all things adhered to the flip-flopping equation. Which we’d invented just to justify our endless craving for entertainment and indeed to justify justification - weren’t we funny?

“If we must sleep, we think everything else should sleep too.”

“A unified darkness?”

“Ah ha”

*the light goes out*

“Like that?”

“We love it!”

“As you wish”

And that was it. We’d learned to love. We’d satisfied The Contract. Together we conditioned the light and darkness and loved what we had made. Everything from the primordial swamp and beyond. It was beautiful, we should know, we invented beauty after all (there was some serious refining, blob fish - total oversight) but that’s just it! It was ugly too, and absolutely perfect. We rejoiced in it’s gnarled and broken places. We had flip-flopped ourselves to a wild success. The Endless Cycle demands both light and darkness. We had discovered balance. You and me Old Friend.

The best invention of all was - lying. We know you won’t believe us but that is of course by flip-flopping design. Let us explain, after we invented time we rose to the challenge, we chased the invisible competitor and indeed we learned to love and quite quickly mind you, instantly, actually because time is an illusion - nothing is real. Actually don’t worry about that, we’ll come back to it when you’re umm older? Where were we? Oh yes - The Contract was clear, our only task was to learn to love. In completing The Contract we were finished. We would have to leave and return to the In-between and the(…) we had made would return to the infinite vastness of The Grand Emptiness. In learning to love we were condemned! To love! We had not bargained on love being never ending. We love every single thing we’d made or we wouldn’t have made it! The dread and fear of loosing something so precious was unthinkable. So, to preserve it - we learned to hate(…). We learned to dislike what we had created, find fault in perfection, show distain and distrust of our creation - all so we could preserve(…)

Ok, Ok. Fine the truth then! Why did we invent a conscience? Flip-flop!! The above is plainly untrue and in violation of The Contract, we’re not allowed to actually go around ‘hating.’ That’s like destruction of cosmic property. So, to save all of(…) deception was born - we learned to lie. There was one slight problem though - we didn’t want all of(…) to think that it’s creator had made a mistake! So, to save face, we convinced all of(…) that love needs hate to exist. Naughty fibbers.

What we didn’t count on was(…)’s continual growth and it’s need for love. We should have gathered anything made of love would only seek to make more of it. So, in(…)’s deep search for love, hate in turn ran wild. There were wars, famines, bombs and murder. And I won’t lie - it really was deeply entertaining. Destruction was loud and explosive, messy, painful and fun. Mean kids popped birthday boy’s balloons, there was hazing, career politicians and the movie Mean Girls. Nagasaki and Hiroshima glowed softly in the wake of the Fat Man and Little Boy for decades and in the flickering light of destruction(…) learned not just to hate but came to know infinite fear and sadness.

We’ve never seen something so terrifying and beautiful. We revelled in the awesomeness of(…) and it’s complexity. Somehow the invisible partitioning of some aspects of(…) made other aspects grow closer and more intimate. We understood the extremes of creation. We realised that we too had been accidentally destructive. The Great Emptiness wasn’t crowded as such but it also wasn’t empty anymore. We learned that there is no creation without destruction.

All of a sudden we longed for the grey. The In-between beckoned us back to it’s cradle-less nothingness. How could we leave(…)? How could we possibly leave our creation to be uncreated? In true flip-flopping nature and to our complete surprise it became clear that through all the lies and hatred the love and faith(…) had appointed itself it’s own creator and destroyer of worlds. Destruction became an essential flip-flopping part of The Endless Cycle. For every thing that was destroyed love was required to rebalance(…) The belief in our lie that hate was essential had come manifest - as is the flip-flopping way. We discovered independence and faith. Still we worried - wasn’t this all against The Contract? Shouldn’t there only be love? In that moment I remembered how bright the lights had seemed when we arrived. Pain would become knowledge and(…) would find it’s own truth and live in love and acceptance of it’s complexity - in time. Acceptance would be the last lesson and to allow our creation to learn it, we would have to lead by example and forgive ourselves - even the most powerful creators make mistakes.

It was hard to leave(…) but The Endless Cycle demands balance, the time to return had come.

So, we left that what was once The Grand Emptiness.

As we journeyed out into the grey I felt us un-becoming Old Friend. Like an act of tender violence you slipped free from me and I was once again alone. A moment passed and I heard you call to me in silence - ‘I promise I’ll be here when you’re ready.’ I realised my lesson to learn wasn’t just to love but that even in the In-between no one is alone.

So, now I sit waiting for you Old Friend, waiting for you to come in and whisk me away. Out into the(…) on another grand adventure (…

#godislove #creation #philosophy #thoughts #story things #original story #story thoughts #storytelling