interests: puyo puyo and madou monogatari, proseka, enstars, umineko, original fiction (with OCs), femslash/yuri, supernatural/human, queer fic in general
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CW: I write about suicide frequently, as well as death and mortality in general. My work is mostly SFW with some dark elements. I write about disability sometimes and dissociation...I am multiple but able-bodied. Please let me know if any of my work depicting physical disability is harmful in any way.
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tags:
I generally tag everything by fandom and character.
#one shot: Any one chapter fic greater than 1k words
#multi: Multi chapter fics. I recommend using the /chrono filter on desktop Tumblr.
#snippets: A catchall tag for ideas/work in progress/draft stuff
#hc: Headcanon compilation posts. Tagged by character.
#meta: Analysis stuff tagged by fandom/relevant character.
I don't follow AO3 all that closely and I've been busy working on my visual novel, but it's times like these where I am grateful I have my more recent works mostly backed up here
In Hallownest's dying days, the Pale King meets with his court for the last time and attempts, just once more, to ensure his eternality. Written for the 2025 Silksong Gift Exchange in the Lacenet server for Enderivo!
Prompt: "How the White Palace Fell"
Read on Ao3
Word count: ~3000
The shining jewel of the kingdom, the City of Tears, shut its grand gates at the first sign of infection—not before expelling all who showed even the smallest hint of being Infected. Together, Hegemol and Isma had been tasked with the purging of the infected and securing the safety of the city and its waterways.
"Hegemol, has the perimeter been secured?" Isma asked the burly knight.
"Aye, it has," Hegemol affirmed, using his mace to turn over the carcasses surrounding them, hiding their face and eyes from passersby. "I reckon we've rid ourselves of the last of the sickened ones. All we have left to secure the gate and the waterways, now." The large and imposing bug's voice was steady, but there was a certain melancholy in it. Isma gave him a silent nod. Their task was not an especially complicated one, but the duty weighed heavily on their shoulders. The city shed its eternal tears on the lonely pair. They waded through the piles of corpses of infected and uninfected together. They arrived at the fountain in the heart of the city—the statue of the Hollow Knight.
Time seemed to slow for just a moment. The knights gazed together at the statue in silence. Isma glanced at Hegemol, who bowed his head in reverence to the Hollow Knight, then muttered a prayer to Hallownest. She wondered what he prayed for. That they would be safe? That this would all be over? That everything would somehow go back to normal?
For a moment, she wondered if she should pray as well. There was little she could ask for. Strength, cleverness, or swiftness would be appropriate, but she could only muster the will to pray for one thing. "May Ogrim and I see each other, just once more."
"Isma," Hegemol spoke, finally breaking their mutual silence.
"Hegemol?"
"We are to go our separate ways here, as you know," he said calmly. "But the others are with Their Majesties. They gave me no orders beyond defending the City and its waterways, did His Majesty tell you otherwise?"
Isma shook her head.
"I received no more instruction than you did, Hegemol," Isma replied, her head drooped downwards like a wilted flower. "There is much we don't know, and only time will tell what our next orders are, and if they will be safe." She clasped her hands together and held them to her chest. "I can only hope they will be…"
Hushed, yet panicked voice clamored at the gates of the White Palace. The Infection returned with a vengeance and ripped through Hallownest at breakneck speed. The dying and already dead threw themselves at the palace doors in rage, but to no avail. Crowds upon crowds of bugs, both sane and infected, were mowed down by the few remaining guards of the palace who still had their reasoning intact.
The inner walls of the Palace were not a safe refuge. Retainers and servants ran amok inside, fleeing from malfunctioning Kingsmoulds and Wingmoulds. Weapons crashed into the walls of the palace, and the Wingsmoulds gathered around fleeing bugs like flocks of gnats. Constructs that still retained any obedience to the king fended the rebels off, but for how long would they remain loyal? That Void within them would turn at any moment, and many retainers already fled for their lives through the Palace's myriad of secret passageways. The few who remained stayed as an empty display of loyalty to their King, who was nowhere to be found.
Hidden away in a secret wing of the Palace, the Pale King and his court concealed themselves. The room's seal only opened to bearers of the Pale Court's insignia. This inner sanctum of the White Palace was well defended, but time was running out. Yet, the Pale Court—or those who were present—remained locked in fierce debate. The Pale King was seated at a circular table. At his right sat the White Lady, and at the left sat his daughter and successor, Hornet. Dryya was seated at the White Lady's right hand, and from there sat Ze'mer, then Ogrim. The emptiness of the two remaining seats seemed to only add to the tense atmosphere filling the room.
"Your Majesty, with all due respect, it is not safe for you to remain here," Dryya spoke coolly. Her expression unflinching, as though they had not all been yelling and threatening each other mere moments ago. "I suggest a tactical retreat to Her Majesty's garden, I and Ze'mer will surely be able to protect you both." Ze'mer, who sat at her left, nodded in agreement.
"My word is final, Dryya," the Pale King replied. "Let it be known that I do not doubt your ability, nor do I doubt Ze'mer's."
"Then why, sire?" Ogrim suddenly stood from his seat and argued against his beloved King. "remaining here would be meaningless! We can't call ourselves the Great Knights of Hallownest if we left you here to die." Ogrim's booming voice shook the table, causing Ze'mer to shrink away from the large knight. "Why must you throw our loyalty away? Were we not your closest compatriots who stood by your side, no matter what?"
"I do not spurn your loyalty, Ogrim, but I will not allow my beloved knights to throw themselves into harm's way for my sake," the Pale King said, resting his hand on Ogrim's claw. "Forever you will remain the Knights of Hallownest, immortalized in memory, but my final command is that you leave me and the White Palace. Nothing will remain of this place once the dreadful Infection—or something worse—takes it."
"Nym'King, your words pain me so. Ogrim speaks truth. To leave you here to die, oh… Che' would feel that she has failed you as a knight, as a protector, as she who vowed life and limb to protect this great kingdom." Ze'mer's barely audible voice trembled. She had been wailing, weeping, and crying, but she couldn't seem to summon up anymore energy for that. The streaks left by her tears were proof enough of her loyalty. "Is there truly no other options left but to abandon you, and to forsake our beloved home of Hallownest?"
The Pale King turned to Ze'mer and, for just a moment, softened his gaze and was silent for a moment. Those in attendance waited with bated breath, then he outstretched his arms and began to speak.
"My knights," the Pale King's voice thundered. In spite of his small stature, the grandness of his presence seemed to completely fill the room with his glorious light. "This is the last request I make of you, as your King. My last request as the singular, eternal Ruler of Hallownest."
Dryya straightened her shoulders, Ogrim sat down, and Ze'mer's downtrodden expression transformed into the countenance of a battle-hardened warrior. Despair-stricken as they were, they could never fail to heed of one of his Majesty's orders.
"This is a task without an end, one that will continue in perpetuity. It shall be as eternal as Hallownest itself, and only you, my dearest, beloved knights can complete it."
"Yes, sire," they replied in unison. The Pale King cast his gaze towards a map of Hallownest. Although previously used for strategy meetings, it was now nothing more than a fragment of the kingdom's past.
"I ask…that you live. Live and remember," the Pale King spoke slowly, as if savoring the last words he was imparting onto his knights. "You are the only ones who can carry on the memory of Hallownest at its prime—before the Infection, before the Void, before the inception of the Hollow Knight."
"Is that truly…all you ask of us, your Majesty? Nothing more than remembrance?" Dryya asked, almost in disbelief.
"Not only is it all I ask, but it is the most important duty to ensure the eternity of Hallownest," the Pale King flourished his arm in a dignified sweep. "As the kingdom's memory is lost to the Infection and to the annals of time, your memory will live on in my stead. In Hallownest's stead. You are no longer just my knights…but protectors of this kingdom's memory itself."
"As you wish, your Majesty! We shall always and forever trust in your judgment," Ogrim zealously promised. "Your knowledge and wisdom surely exceeds ours, and we shall follow your guidance to the ends of the world."
"You have my gratitude, Ogrim. There are individual requests I must make of each of you, of course. Fierce Dryya, I ask that you take charge of the Queen's Gardens and protect the White Lady with your life."
"It would be my honor, your Majesty." Dryya bowed, already holding her rapier proudly.
"And Ze'mer, I ask that you lend them your aid, but to also watch over this kingdom's dead from your manor near the Resting Grounds. There is no telling how the Infection will grow and spread across Hallownest…"
"She shall not disappoint you, nym'King."
"And last but not least, Ogrim." Ogrim bowed to the Pale King, waiting for his command. "You must return to the City and relay my message to Hegemol and Isma, and after that…I leave the rest to you to decide; how you remember us is in your hands."
"I shall not fail you, your Majesty."
"I know you won't. None of you will, my loyal knights."
"Sire, what of the White Palace? Surely you know that the constructs within the palace are rebelling, and the Void and infected masses are laying siege upon its gates," Dryya asked.
"That, I request you leave to me. It is not that I do not believe you can fend them off, merely that… I hope to preserve the White Palace in my own way."
The knights silently nodded, giving their assent. As the king trusted them, so too did they trust in him.
After determining the safest routes throughout the kingdom for their tasks, the knights prepared to make their leave. They exchanged their final farewells with the Pale King, Hornet, and the White Lady before taking up their weapons and filing out of the room one by one.
Ze'mer and Ogrim departed first, knowing that their help was much needed on the front lines now more than ever. Dryya helped the White Lady to her feet.
"Dear Dryya, a moment, if you please?" the White Lady looked at her with pleading eyes. She bowed her head to the White Lady and let go of her hand, allowing her to turn to the Pale King. The queen's tendrils entwined with the Pale King's hands. Even in her diminutive form, she towered over him; their pale glow flooding the nearly empty room with a divine light.
"My beloved Wyrm, have you foreseen this outcome? Is there truly no stopping this?" she asked, the desperation apparent in her voice and in her eyes, which shimmered with tears.
"The future is not a linear path, but like the flow of water," he assured. He placed another hand over hers, his voice growing somber and quiet. "If it finds an obstacle, it branches and splits, again and again—it finds a way to reach towards that 'end' mortal bugs call the 'future'."
"Then there remains no more obstacles for us to erect, you say?"
"It's difficult to say. Whether this end was inevitable or the result of many diversions and redirections, it is the present we have been dealt."
"Then I shall face that fate with your same courage, my love." She embraced the Pale King tightly, unsure she would ever see him again.
"Face it with that courage, and with this..." He placed a white fragment in her tendrils and closed them over it. "A piece of our bond. Broken and separated it may be, the pieces shall find a way back to each other, someday."
The White Lady cradled the precious fragment in her vines. There were countless memories stored within it, and she had hoped there would be many more in their near eternal lifespans—but that wish of hers would never be fulfilled.
She said nothing to him, but embraced and kissed him tenderly; their union truly invincible against all that would raise their arms against it.
Dryya took the White Lady's hand in hers. She saluted the Pale King one final time, knowing that he had entrusted her with something so vital and important—not just his wife, but a piece of their union.
"My lady, I swear to protect you until my last breath," vowed Dryya, with her head lowered in reverence.
The White Lady said nothing. She only gave a nodded and held her half of Kingsoul closer to her heart. Despite her lack of mask, her expression was unreadable. Her eyes carried a strange mixture of emotions. Joy, sorrow, and mourning, which all neutralized into a perfectly still and regal expression.
With the final knight and his wife at last departed, there was but one bug who required the Pale King's attention. Hornet—an ever silent watcher, a sentinel, one who was never easy to place. She stood from his left hand, seemingly ready to make her departure, yet still prepared for her father to make a demand of her.
"Child, come hither," commanded the Pale King. Hornet did so, her expression stern, cold, and calculated as ever. She was clad in the formal garbs of the White Palace, and at first glance, was nigh indistinguishable from a member of the Pale Court.
"What would you command of me?" she asked, not as his daughter, but as his subject, and his knight. Within her burned a fire that the Pale King could never hope to tame, but he hoped that it would someday burn the refuse left behind and bring about a happier end.
"There is nothing I could ask of you."
"Of course there isn't," replied Hornet. "There was no meaning, no significance in my birth for you."
"That is not what I meant, my child," he said, almost scolding her.
"Then what did you mean, sire?"
"Simply that I could command nothing of you. It is not my place to determine your next destination. That is something only you can do for yourself."
"Strange, you seemed more than happy to choose for my half-siblings," she retorted.
He turned away from this daughter and towards the map of Hallownest in the chamber. There was no answer, no justification he could give—for if he did, he would be admitting the flaws in his plan.
"Your judgment is as venomous as I expected," he replied at last. "At least you have something to remember this kingdom by, this…one thing I loved, so dearly…I just couldn't let it go." A tear formed in the Pale King's eye and rolled down his cheek. The first, and last, tear Hornet would ever see him cry.
"…Know this," Hornet spoke. "I do this for my mother and for her sacrifice. Not for your bargain, not for your Hollow Knight, and most certainly not for the sake of this kingdom." She stood proudly. Though her stature was barely much taller than the Pale King, she truly looked the part of the princess and protector of Hallownest. "I shall remember this kingdom—its birth, its glory, its sins, its fall—not out of remembrance, but so this shall never come to pass again."
"You were never mine to command, even if you are my daughter," the Pale King replied with a strange tenderness. "You never accepted me as your father, and perhaps…that is what set you apart." He paused for a moment. "You exist between the lines that define our world—and, eventually, you shall understand the full extent of your potential." His gaze was filled with a strange mix of pride and melancholy. She was his one child who he could communicate with, truly communicate with. And yet in his infinite knowledge, he lacked the wisdom to respond to her.
"There is much to learn, yes, but nothing more you can teach me," She turned away from her king—from her father—and released the clasp on her pale cloak and revealed the scarlet robes beneath. The vivid, fiery color was a stark contrast against the sterile interior of the White Palace.
"I can only hope someday you will find a better teacher then, my daughter," he watched her turn to the door, and restrained himself from saying, "And know that I'll be proud of how you'll grow, no matter what."
With a wave of his hand, Hornet's crimson garb disappeared behind the sealed door. She didn't turn at the sound of the door closing, and the Pale King was left alone in the hidden chamber.
Alone, yes.
At last, he was alone.
His Court, his Kingdom, his Rule, it would continue to reign eternal. Hallownest would not die, it would merely sleep. It would dream, just a little longer. From his cloak he drew an artifact. An ancient, unnamed creation of the moths. He cradled it in his hand, the foreign and ancient powers within pulsing with each step he took.
Well, it wasn't the first unknowable power he's tampered with. To a Wyrm, few things were truly in the realm of the "unknowable", they just had yet to be discovered; today he would discover the true strength of this invention.
Within his chamber lay one deactivated Kingsmould. Fully functional, but deactivated. Asleep, in a sense. If the impurity in his spawn did not originate from him, perhaps the Void itself could think…perhaps it could dream. No one had tested it, thus no one could deny it, could they?
He'd prove it.
It was a last ditch effort to preserve himself, and it certainly wasn't guaranteed to work…but if it did, perhaps eternality wasn't so out of reach, even in his current form.
She had an advantage he didn't, to persist even as a memory, a dream, a fleeting thought gave her power. He, so bound to the material world as he was, could only hope his memory carried into perpetuity by those he trusted.
And so, he pressed the artifact gently into the Kingsmould's chest. Immediately the Void within reacted, and the Pale King lurched backwards. He watched in amazement as it attempted to wrestle the foreign object from its body, but the sigil of Dreamweaving glowed brighter, yet brighter, causing the Void to retreat fully within its shell.
The light spread with such swiftness and completely engulfed the White Palace.
In its place remained the palace's foundation, the swarm of confused and aimless Infected, and the shell of a slumbering Kingsmould.
I want to write Lacenet but my next fic which is about Lace being jealous of Hornet and Second Sentinel's friendship is going to take a while and I'm feeling a kind of blocked artistically. Does anyone want to send some prompts to fund my lacenet addiction.
I'll probably just make them drabbles and nothing crazy unless someone suggests something really good.
I want to write Lacenet but my next fic which is about Lace being jealous of Hornet and Second Sentinel's friendship is going to take a while and I'm feeling a kind of blocked artistically. Does anyone want to send some prompts to fund my lacenet addiction.
I'll probably just make them drabbles and nothing crazy unless someone suggests something really good.
I want to write Lacenet but my next fic which is about Lace being jealous of Hornet and Second Sentinel's friendship is going to take a while and I'm feeling a kind of blocked artistically. Does anyone want to send some prompts to fund my lacenet addiction.
I'll probably just make them drabbles and nothing crazy unless someone suggests something really good.
Lace's diminishing store of Silk has left her weak and wracked with pain, but surely the bellhome Hornet never uses will make for a perfect place to die in peace.
Lace lay in Hornet's bellhome. Reconstruction of the Citadel had left her without an abode to return to, and Hornet had both generously and begrudgingly opened her doors to the silkspun creature. It's not as though Hornet ever used it, thought Lace. Hornet never seemed to falter, fatigue, or hunger, much to Lace's frustration. Her body had always been on the verge of fraying, thinning, and unravelling. It was even more precarious with her Mother gone.
So here she lay. Her thinning, weakening, and unravelling threads causing her to spasm like a creature writhing in a trap.
She must have looked so revolting. Her cold, mechanical digits flexed with each surge of pain, and she dug her claws into her frail body. Perhaps death would truly come for her this time...
Then the door opened.
Lace looked up from her pain-addled stupor with a disdainful expression.
"So the spider appears when her presence is the last thing I desire," she mocked.
Hornet only sighed and placed a heavy-looking sack upon the desk. She ignored Lace and counted some beast shards strewn upon the tabletop.
Lace returned the gesture in kind and turned away from her, but the pain returned with a vengeance. It tore through her fragile body, causing even Hornet to jolt at her sudden cry of suffering.
"Your Silk. It's depleting, isn't it?" Hornet asked, approaching the bed attempting to examine Lace, only for Lace to swat her away.
"Keep your claws off me, you brute," Lace snarled, but Hornet only sighed again.
"We've been through this already, you child." Hornet sat on the bed next to Lace and held her arm again. "You would, eventually, need to have your Silk replenished."
"Well I don't want your filthy Silk near me at all, you beast!"
"So you'd rather I let you wither away and die atop my mattress?"
"Yes, actually," Lace affirmed. "You would've been saved so much trouble if you had simply left me down there, you know," she said, then turned to face Hornet with a smirk plastered onto her face. "I wouldn't have had to inconvenience you by dying on your doorstep." Her provocative words didn't move Hornet, who merely took this as an opportunity to restrain Lace. "Wh-what are you doing?! Unhand me!"
"Hold still," Hornet commanded, and Lace froze up near instantly. Her deft claws traced across Lace's face, cheeks, neck, and shoulders. Her eyes darted across her body with the speed and precision of a Pharlid searching for its prey's vital point. "How frequently did she replenish your Silk?"
"...Every month or so, lest my threads begin to fray and split from themselves."
"And when was the last time you had it replenished?"
Lace thought for a moment.
"...A month and a half," she said matter-of-factly.
"And you thought I'd just let you waste away, did you?"
"Well, not exactly. You're never home, I figured you'd be yet another inattentive caretaker," mocked Lace.
Hornet tutted.
"Are all beings made of Silk this ungrateful, or is it just you?" Hornet near groaned with exasperation. "I do come home, but you avoid me. It's like you're trying to get yourself killed out there."
"Oh my! I never thought you'd catch on. Good job~" Lace praised her facetiously. "Now let me fray so I can finally be out of your hair, my spider dearest," Lace taunted. Hornet released Lace from her grasp and stood, but not without scanning Lace's body once more.
"I do not find this behavior endearing, pale one," Hornet began, "But my role here is not to force you to live. Merely to allay your suffering."
"And that means...?"
"It means that if you are going to writhe where I can see you, I'll shut you up so I can have a modicum of peace back." A storm of threads whipped around Lace, connecting her wrists and ankles to the posts of the bed. Although she could move them freely and walk around the room, she wouldn't be able to leave the bellhome.
"Wh-what is the meaning of this, you brute?! Fiend! Beast!" Lace shrieked, attempting to cut the threads with her metallic claws, but they didn't give.
"...You can still move your hands and stand, you know," Hornet explained dryly. "I refuse to allow you to suffer while you're here. At least in the future you should have the courtesy to die where I won't have to see it." Hornet crossed her arms and watched Lace struggle against her threads. "But you're here, so I have to intervene."
Lace stopped her ridiculous twirling, looked at Hornet, then huffed and balled her hands into fists. Obviously she considered running somewhere else. But where would she go that this meddlesome spider would actually leave her alone? She followed her straight into the Abyss—Lace was certain she'd just come running in again to play the hero. She opened her mouth to protest, but...
"If you're going to throw a tantrum, at least undress before you start so I can do something about your pained screaming," Hornet grumbled, her fingers fiddling with a string of silk from her spinnerets.
Lace tried to retort, but...she couldn't come up with anything. She undressed herself at Hornet's command, revealing her torso—completely made of silk. It was featureless, white, and aglow with a faint light. Hornet approached her with a thick set of threads in one hand, then ran a finger through the frail silk composing Lace's being. Her touch was as gentle as when she strummed her Needolin,.
Lace twitched at the foreign sensation, but remained as still as she could. Her eyes transfixed upon Hornet's profile. She seemed transfixed upon the weaving of Lace's form.
"So how does it feel for my hideous form to be fully bared to you, O Pale One?"
Hornet sighed and looked up at her, completely unamused. "I am attempting to decipher the weavings. If you would so kindly not make this any stranger than it needs to be..." Hornet's fingers slid under a threading of Silk, causing Lace to jolt in pain. "Hold still," Hornet commanded once more, stretching the Silk ever so slightly upwards. Lace yelped.
"You should be more gentle if you want me to be still!" retorted Lace. She attempted to push Hornet off of her, but the tugging at her core made her shriek again. "Don't tell me you're doing that on purpose, you sadist!"
"Quiet. This pattern is deeply intricate, I have to make sure I get everything right," Hornet continued to tug at the strings as delicately as she could, but Lace still squirmed at every opportunity. "If it weren't for your dreadful personality, you'd be a walking marvel," Hornet said. "You should be glad that you're not in the hands of someone who would really want to do some lasting damage... It'd be very easy to bind something incorrectly here."
"Is that flirtation I hear? From you, of all people?" Lace teased, only for Hornet to tug again at the strings. "F-fine, fine, fine! I'll be still! I'll be quiet!"
"Good. I don't want any neighbors to get the wrong idea," Hornet quipped. Lace let out an exasperated groan. "I'm going to attempt to recreate the pattern now, but it may take a while," Hornet breathed slowly, chanting under her breath. With the tips of her claws, she tenderly grazed the tightly bound threads of Lace's body. A pleasant vibration ran up Lace's back, and she felt herself relax under Hornet's care. Slowly, a stream of Silk flowed smoothly from Hornet's spinnerets, to her fingers, then into the seams of Lace's body. The silk weaved its way through her whole body, finding all the hollow places of weakness within her.
The sensation wasn't foreign to Lace, but this felt...different. Her mind drifted away to another time and another place. Hornet's Silk felt warm and comforting, but her mother's... Her mother's touch was mechanical, practiced, and precise. She was never sure if her mother put any affection into the act. Lace, and the other Silkspun before her, were disposable. They were nothing more than creations built to love and be loved for only a fleeting moment. They were never truly real enough.
The roses of the Cradle bloomed softly around Lace as her memory of her mother's gentle caress grew more vivid. She felt her countless, yet hollow, 'I love you's. She felt the Silk surging into her body to renew, restore, and ensure that she'd never change. She'd forever be Silk's perfect knight, servant, doll, and daughter...
"Lace?"
Lace's reminisces halted, and she was dragged back to a dingy bellhome, where she was strung up by a dreadful spider.
"I never thought you'd call me by name, spider." Lace's attempt at teasing Hornet was disrupted by her broken voice.
"Nothing else seemed to rouse your attention, so I had to," Hornet replied. "Your eyes were so far away."
"...I suppose I was somewhere and sometime, far away." Lace's senses slowly return to the present. The pain diminished and her strength returned with each thread. She even started to...like feeling the warmth of Hornet's hand over where her heart would be.
"You're not in any pain or discomfort, are you?"
"Oh, so now you're concerned about that?"
"I have always been concerned, but I have to exercise more caution when binding my Silk to yours, Lace," Hornet explained, moving one of her hands off of Lace's chest and dangerously close to her golden claws. "One wrong stitch and I may have to rip and redo a whole portion of your body..."
"Aww, does the spider want to tear her helpless prey limb from limb?"
Hornet shot Lace a warning look. She nodded and obediently shut her mouth.
"While you're irritating enough that I could envision myself doing as you say, it is not so instinctual for me to prey upon the weak and helpless..."
"Oh, so you do think I'm weak and helpless," Lace groaned. Her obedience didn't last long.
"Let me finish, you child." Hornet scolded, ceasing the production of Silk from her spinnerets. Then, she ran her hand softly across Lace's chest and torso. The motion surprised Lace, but she didn't...dislike it. The warmth of Hornet's claws was welcome against the soft, new silk of Lace's body. "...Good. you seem to have taken to my Silk well." Hornet breathed a sigh of relief, relaxed her shoulders, then released the threads binding Lace to the bed. Threading her Silk into such a complex construct was no easy task, but one she would have to become accustomed to. "...Weak or helpless are the last words I would use to describe you, pale one," Hornet began. "You have strength in you yet. All that remains is for you to find it and trust in it."
Lace didn't respond. She merely looked at their hands, which had somehow become intertwined.
"...Again with your gross platitudes, spider?"
"I mean every word I say, Lace." Hornet's grip seemed to tighten on Lace's ever so slightly. "Accepting my words for what they are and believing me are decisions you must make on your own." She leaned in closer to Lace, still holding her hand. They stayed that way for a moment. Wordless and motionless they remained, until Hornet separated her hand from Lace's and stood at the side of the bed. "...Only you can decide what is right for yourself."
Lace didn't speak after that, and Hornet soon departed on another one of her many errands. She remained in bed, curled around herself, gazing at the hand that Hornet had so gently held, and meditated upon her words.
Lace has a bad habit. Hornet can't, and won't, stop her, but at least she's there to reconstruct it before it's too late.
Read on Ao3
Topics: Lace/Hornet, Self-harm
Word count: ~600
Lace picked at the silken strands hidden beneath her metal forearm coverings. The snap of each string triggered a surge of satisfaction in her mind, and so her metallic claws continued to snip away at them. It was perfectly painless, but she almost wished that it hurt.
Pain wasn't foreign to her. She could feel the slash of a pin or the bite of a muckroach, but it never seemed to work when she inflicted it upon herself.
Such a useless body. It couldn't even make her suffer the way she deserved.
The door swung open. Hornet stood in the entryway, carrying two parcels under her arms.
"I'm delivering some building materials to Songclave, if you'd like to make yourself...useful..." Hornet said, but her last word trailed off. She just stared at Lace's golden bracer with an incredulous, exhausted expression. "Again?"
"When you leave me alone for so long, do you expect anything else, spider dear?" Lace teased, raising her wrist as if showing off the frayed strings to Hornet.
"I was only gone for a half hour, but you really are such a child," Hornet sighed and grabbed Lace's arm, examining the damage she'd done to her silk. "At least it's not your whole forearm this time." Hornet immediately produced a lightly glowing string of Silk from her spinnerets and quietly chanted in ancient Weavewords. It coiled and wrapped around Lace's arm, slowly sewing and restoring the scars to their original form.
"Really, you needn't be so concerned," scoffed Lace. "It doesn't even hurt when I do it."
"Then why do it at all?" Hornet interrogated her, not looking up from her task.
Lace didn't reply. Hornet already knew the answer. This back and forth was almost routine between them at this point.
"If you really desire me to make my own choices, you wouldn't cause such a fuss every time you find me in this state."
"I'm not stopping you, just preventing the scarring from getting worse," Hornet huffed. "They're different things."
"Of course, of course. So says the wondrous crimson hero who dove straight into the Abyss to save one who never deserved it to begin with!" Lace mocked. Hornet shot her a gaze that could kill.
"Do whatever you want with your body, but as long as I remain here in Pharloom, you'll have to contend with me keeping you alive as long as possible." Hornet punctuated her words by tying the last strands of silk together and she stood, picking up a package in her arm.
"Oh my, it almost sounds like you're cursing me. A hero who won't let the horrible villain die, doomed to suffer forever... Woe is me!" Lace complained theatrically.
"You've cursed me with your presence as well, pale child," Hornet chided, then put one of the packages on the desk next to Lace. "It'll be better for you to be distracted."
"...I see no point in helping to rebuild the kingdom that caused all my suffering in the first place," Lace said, pushing the package away.
"At least rebuild it into a place you can tolerate being, without constantly trying to destroy yourself."
Lace gazed at her forearm. Some of the Silk still faintly glowed with the essence of Hornet's Soul, standing out from the rest of her body. Without another word, Lace picked up the package, picked up her pin, and followed Hornet out of the bellhome.
Short little one shot inspired by a headcanon I had about the names in Horse Race Tests.
Note: The characters in my interpretation are animals, not necessarily horses but most are hooved or equine in appearance.
Read on Ao3
Topics: Cyan/Superstitional Realism
Word Count: ~1000
"What name did they give you?"
"Ugh, you're going to laugh."
"I won't, promise!" The smaller horse beamed up at them. "I'll tell you my name after you tell me yours, so that way we're even!"
"Okay, fine, but you better not laugh!" They playfully shoved her with their hoof. She nodded. Of course she did, it was like she didn't know how to make fun of people. They breathed and said, "...Superstitional Realism."
"Superstitional...Realism..." She stumbled over the words.
"It's a mouthful, huh?"
"No, no! I w-was gonna say that I think it's a great name!" she reassured them, but her amazed expression was soon chased away by her furrowed eyebrows. "Honestly, I wish I went first now." She sighed. "My name's...pretty underwhelming," she muttered and scratched at the dirt idly.
"Oh no you don't. No backing out! You promised that you'd tell me." Realism wasn't genuinely bullying her, but she was curious... If she was so impressed with a name as ostentatious as hers, then hers must be something less so, right?
"Hahah! Okay, okay, just try not to be underwhelmed." She chuckled sheepishly. "It's... Cyan. Just. Cyan." She looked away from Realism, as if she was hiding the shame of her name.
"Just Cyan? Like your coat color?" Realism asked a bit incredulously. "I didn't even know they could just...name you one word, honestly."
"A-apparently they can! And I got the most...boring one ever!" Cyan flicked her tail and pouted, her fluffy hair tousled by the movement.
"Hey, it's either that or something as ridiculous as mine. I heard someone in our cohort's got *three* names," she joked to try and get Cyan's mind off of her disappointment, but it only seemed to make it worse.
"Better three names than a singular plain one if you ask me! Even *you* didn't believe it at first..." Cyan sighed, and flopped down in the grass under the shadow of a tree, hiding her face in her forelegs. It was then Realism realized where they'd messed up. Ugh, they were *not* good at hiding their reactions, were they?
"No, no, I think it suits you!" They patted Cyan's shoulder with their forehoof, only for Cyan to pull away from them.
"It's plain and completely ordinary?" she snapped back.
"...Not like *that*," Realism replied, a bit wounded. "You're misinterpreting me again. You know I don't think that of you, right?"
"...Right... I know you don't think that way," said Cyan, uncovering her eyes. "You're too...nice. Not like other unicorns I've met."
"Haha, well, I'm not like them in more ways than one." Realism pointed to her stunted, deformed horn and wagged her tail. "Plus, I can run just as well as any other horse! Other unicorns are too spindly for the speeds we reach!"
"Honestly, I think you can run better than a lot of the others...!" Cyan praised her with beaming eyes. "You were really something out there on the track!"
"Oh, stop it. I may be *good* but I'm not that special," they deflected. Realism then averted her gaze to hide her embarrassment and looked out across the racecourse. Other horses were doing laps and stretches -- training to get the most out of every bit of sunlight they got. The weight of their current path and those who came before them began to weigh on Realism's mind. "But we're really here, huh. ...I didn't think I'd make the cut, honestly."
"I'm surprised to hear that... I thought you were super confident out there. Meanwhile... I just barely got in," she lamented again, her shoulders slumped over. "I guess that's why they just gave me the most boring name ever."
"Chin up." Realism playfully laid on the grass next to her and playfully headbutted her. "Cyan is just a racing name, you know. You've got a better real one, don't you?" they asked.
"I-I do, but...telling you is against regulations, isn't it? I don't even know why they give us new names just to race..."
"It's...tradition... Lots of people come to the races to forget their troubles, and that's not just for the audience -- it's true for the racers, too," Realism explained as if that was second nature to her. She crossed her forelegs before continuing, "And it makes things easier for the racers. We can all just...know each other as our racing selves. No past baggage to weigh us down. It's just us against the track."
"...I want to know you, though..." Cyan said, placing her forelegs next to Realism's. "What happens if you tell someone your name...?"
"I don't know, honestly. I'm sure others have gotten away with it, though. Rules are more like suggestions, these days."
"Then let's make a promise!"
"A promise to what?" Realism cocked their head to the side and their ears craned forward.
"To tell each other our real names!" Cyan declared, "Um, when we both win a race, I mean," she quickly added. She stood to her feet and strutted in the grass playfully, "Wouldn't that be a great promise? That way we both have something to strive for, Realism!"
"Heh, you're making it sound like it'll take forever for us to win."
"Not what I meant!" She huffed, but the two laughed together at her sudden exclamation. "I meant that...I like racing with you! And I want to keep this friendship going, and... I think it'd be nice for us to have something off the track too," she seemed to lean in closer to Realism, but something held her back. Her head hovered between the motions of nestling against Realism's neck and retreating back into her own bubble. Realism met her halfway, pressing their foreheads together.
"...Alright. We'll promise," they touched their forehoof to hers. "I'll tell you my name once we both win." Cyan's cheeks warmed at the sudden closeness to Realism, but she reciprocated.
"I promise."
---
I never did get to know her name. Realism stood in the dimmed racetrack. They watched Merryment and the other...horses, if you could call them that, running through the maze of corridors that kept them from their goal. They couldn't will their body to move.
A dark horse ran past them, its eyes focused on the path that led down to the goal that would determine their fate. Realism's heart ached, they knew who that was. They couldn't do anything to stop this, now.
"Hey... Cyan... ...I never told you, did I...?" they whispered, watching the familiar figure gallop into the darkness and become nothing more than a silhouette. "My name... ...it's..."
Oh my god thank you SO MUCH!!! I SAID ON BLUESKY ALREADY but I fell out of my chair when I saw this and I'm just shocked to receive fanart from one of my favorite artists 😭😭 thank you so much 😭😭
Rafisol visits Steam City on an important job, but the weather and a clumsy courier throw her schedule into disarray.
Prompt: Storm
Read on Ao3
Topics: Ally/Rafisol
Word count: ~2300
Heels clicked against the wet cobblestone road and a lone figure's shadow stretched long beneath the dim street lamps. On such a drenched and dreary night, only a few brave souls would dare to venture into the darkened side streets of Steam City. The light drizzle didn't seem to bother this stranger, but it was difficult to read her expression beneath her hat.
In one hand, Rafisol carried a hefty-looking suitcase with a mysterious logo emblazoned on it. In her other was a closed umbrella, which was an odd sight given that the few others walking down this gloomy road had their umbrellas open. Some had given this visitor a second look before moving along with their night--not willing to get involved in whatever shady business she was clearly up to.
There was a sense of urgency in her steps. Those who saw her wondered if she was going to close some suspicious deal today, or perhaps if she was some mysterious investor looking to buy up property in the city? Ever since the mayor had begun several projects to promote the city's expansion, many investors had journeyed far and wide to get their hands on some prime real estate. That seemed to be the case with this new visitor, but her unreadable and stern expression made it hard for anyone to be certain.
She suddenly stopped underneath a street lamp and looked up at the sky. The clouds looked heavy with the coming rain.
"...I am lost." Her whisper was barely audible over the din of the ever-turning gears of Steam City. Even at night, this city never truly slept. She rifled through her pockets and pulled out a crude drawing--it looked like a map of some sort, but the text was splotchy and barely legible. She stared at it for a solid 30 seconds before putting it back. Then she turned the corner and melted into the darkness of an alleyway. If her intel was correct, this should be a shortcut to her destination, but her informant must have been half-awake or inebriated when he gave her this sorry excuse for a map.
She inched forward in the darkness towards a light at the other end of the alleyway and found herself in an open, well-lit area. It appeared to be some sort of main street. There were considerably more people here--some factory workers on their way home after an overtime shift, most likely. People were taking out their umbrellas or shielding their heads with their coats, and that's when she noticed that the storm seemed to be picking up in intensity.
She kept walking; she didn't even pause to open her umbrella. The hustle and bustle of a crowd was good cover for her, anyway. Her destination was opposite of the residential area of Steam City, so she pushed through the rushing crowd of people, drawing a few curious eyes towards her.
Upon reaching the end of the crowd, she turned onto a sloped road lined with shops that were closed for the day. The raindrops were growing larger by the second, and the wind only started to howl more loudly in Rafisol's ears. She pushed through, until...
"W-WATCH OUT!!"
Rafisol turned her gaze upward. A girl on a bike was barrelling towards her at full speed.
In one swift motion, she threw her umbrella aside, tucked the suitcase under her body, and dodged out of the way. Rafisol found herself in a deep puddle, but at least the parcel was safe and dry inside the suitcase. The sound of running footsteps drew closer to her, mixed in with the sound of the falling rain, until the reflection of a young woman showed in the puddle's surface.
"A-are you quite all right?!" The frantic voice sounded like the girl on the bike. Rafisol lifted her gaze and saw her worried expression. She was leaning over and extending a hand to Rafisol.
"Yes, I seem to be unharmed," she cautiously took the girl's hand and stood.
"Oh, goodness me, you wouldn't be soaked like this if I wasn't rushing... I'm dreadfully sorry...!" With her hands clasped together, she bowed a few times and begged for Rafisol's forgiveness.
"I should have also been paying more attention. I am just glad no one is harmed. I'll be going now," Rafisol said and tried to escape the conversation, but the girl's grip on her hand suddenly tightened.
"N-no! Please, allow me to take you on my bike! And I'll dry your clothes for you at my home... It's the least I can do! I insist!"
"I'm in a rush."
"At least dry up first!" the girl persisted.
Rafisol quickly realized this wasn't the kind of girl who would take "no" for an answer. She figured it would be painless to comply and then slip out later.
"...Alright."
"Thank you! Then, hop onto the back seat of my bike, if you please!"
"Come in, come in! You look soaked to the bone!"
The courier took Rafisol's coat and hat, shook the rain off of it, then eagerly hung it on a rack mounted to the wall. Her own work hat and coat soon followed suit. Then, she skipped over to the radiator and turned the valve to warm the room. While doing so, she suddenly gasped and turned. "Oh, where are my manners? I'm Ally. I'm ever so sorry for running into you on my bicycle! I just didn't think the roads would get so slippery so quickly... I thought the rain wouldn't pick up for at least another hour!"
"Accidents happen. My name is Rafisol," Rafisol replied and stored her umbrella in a small bucket by the door. This girl seemed harmless, so she decided acting disrespectfully would be pointless.
"Rafisol? What a lovely name! I'll make some coffee for you, Miss Rafisol!"
No one had ever described her name as "lovely" before. Unusual.
"Just 'Rafisol' is fine," she clarified.
"Ah, alright, Rafisol!" Ally busied herself with a moka pot to make the aforementioned coffee. "Feel free to take a seat anywhere you'd like!"
Rafisol nodded and left Ally to her work. The walls of Ally's small flat were covered in all sorts of sentimental memorabilia--mostly framed collector's stamps and envelopes. It felt cozy, albeit a bit messy. There were all sorts of knick knacks left on a side table by the radio; they looked to be some half-finished crafts that Rafisol couldn't identify without getting closer. She opted not to wander too much.
To dry her suitcase, she placed it a short distance from the radiator, and chose to sit on a well-worn chair near the coffee table.
"I haven't seen you around before, are you new here?" Ally asked after putting the moka pot on the stove. She leaned against the counter of the kitchenette, her chin cupped in her hands, staring eagerly at Rafisol.
"I'm visiting," Rafisol answered curtly.
"Visiting? For business or pleasure?"
"...Business."
"We have a lot of people like that these days. The post office is simply buzzing because of all of the outside correspondence! So that's why I've been working extra shifts, both in and out of the city, but then I started rushing trying to get one more delivery in today--and that's how I crashed into you! Ahh... I guess that's why they say 'haste makes waste', though," Ally explained. "The mayor is supposedly expanding the city, but I feel like I can barely keep up, haha!"
Rafisol nodded. "Perhaps your office should hire more workers," she said in an attempt to divert the conversation away from herself.
"They're trying, I know that! But some of the people in our office work one or two other jobs, so the schedule is always a little hectic--" she seemed ready to fire off about work politics when the pot started to gurgle. "Oh, it's almost ready! Just hang on one more minute." With an expert motion, she cooled the base of the pot, then poured the piping hot coffee into two mugs.
"Careful, it's hot," Ally placed one mug on a the coffee table and sat on the sofa, opposite of Rafisol. Rafisol nodded as a 'thank you' and held the cup in her hands. ...She really was cold. She didn't notice until she held the mug in her hands and felt the warmth leak into her body.
Ally sat patiently, her wide eyes still twinkling eagerly. Was she waiting for her opinion on the coffee...? Rafisol blew on the coffee to cool it and took a small sip. The bitterness of the beans and the sharp caffeine shot through Rafisol's body, seemingly waking her senses from their cold slumber.
"It's good."
"Oh, thank goodness! I haven't made coffee for someone in a while. It's just me here, so I usually end up throwing out some of it every time I make some for myself..." Ally cupped her mug with her small hands, which seemed to hold a lighter-colored liquid than Rafisol's. "So, um, it's nice to have some company--even if it's unplanned," she added and grasped the cup a bit tighter, as if savoring the warmth of it.
"It is pleasant. My line of work doesn't often allow for downtime like this." She looked out the small window into the dark cityscape, and the rain just seemed to getting stronger by the minute. She supposed her client would just have to deal with a slightly delayed delivery.
"I guess we both got lucky, then, haha!" Ally took a sip from her coffee and placed it on a coaster. "...What is your work if you do not mind me asking?"
"..." Rafisol looked coldly at her.
"I-if you'd rather not say, you don't...have to...!"
Rafisol's cold gaze cracked. What did she say?
"I... It just seems that you have an important job, so I was curious..."
This girl really was unusual. In other situations, people would start assuming what Rafisol does.
"...That's right. It is important."
"Oh...?"
"But I would rather not say."
"Oh..." Ally looked a little dejected when she said that. So she was curious, but not enough to pry completely.
"...It is something like your job, though not exactly the same."
"Oh, really...?!" Her eyes practically lit up. "So that must be why I felt such a kinship with you!"
"A...kinship...?" This girl had gone from "unusual" to outright "eccentric".
"I mean, um, I feel so much love from delivering packages and letters... I can feel how they connect people across time and space, so I just felt the same strong passion from you!"
Really. That's how she saw it? Rafisol had never stopped to think about her work. It was merely something she did and luckily, it was something she happened to do well.
"I see."
"A-am I right...?!"
"Hm... I'll let you figure that out."
"Ohh, you're so mean!" Ally playfully pouted. "But, alright! I'm sure I didn't feel that spark for no reason, though."
"Fine, but we aren't playing guessing games all night."
Rafisol felt a small smile creep onto her face. There was something about this girl. For all her eccentricities, her naivete, her innocence... It was refreshing to meet someone who wasn't putting up a front for once. Who didn't assume, but simply let things be. She wouldn't mind chatting with this girl through the storm.
Ally stood and took Rafisol's empty coffee mug from the table. The two passed the time talking about Ally's collections and work: the places she's travelled and seen during her time as a courier. Apparently, the bike was something she saved up for herself so she could bring more orders with her more easily on jobs outside of Steam City. She was nothing more than a girl who wanted to explore the world and connect it in her own little way. Charming.
Rafisol glanced at the clock and saw that it was half past nine, then she looked outside to see if it was still raining. It seemed to have let up, thought it was pitch black outside. She stood and picked up her now dry suitcase and walked towards the door.
"Huh? Where are you going?" Ally put the mugs in the sink and walked towards the door as well.
"I said I would only stay until I dried up, didn't I? I would rather not impose." Rafisol took her coat off the rack and wrapped it around her shoulders. "So I'm leaving now, but it was nice to chat with you."
Ally clutched at her skirt nervously like a child.
"I see. Well... It was lovely to meet you." Ally forced a smile for Rafisol. "You can pop by and have some coffee with me anytime, you know!"
"I'll keep you in mind," Rafisol assured her. As she turned to leave, Ally suddenly placed her hand on her shoulder.
"Wait! Um, let me...give you something. It won't take long for me to find it!" She bolted off before Rafisol could get a word in, so she stood by the door with her umbrella and suitcase in hand. In a little over a minute, Ally returned. She took Rafisol's hands in hers and placed something in there, it felt like a small piece of paper, but she closed Rafisol's hand into a fist before Rafisol could see what it was.
"There! You can look at it when you leave, okay?"
"...Alright. Thank you, Ally." Rafisol bowed slightly and allowed Ally to open the door for her. "I'll see you around, hopefully."
"Yes, hopefully!"
The door closed on Rafisol, leaving her back in the cold and dark streets of Steam City. Beneath a street lamp she took the small souvenir Ally had gifted her out of her pocket and examined it. It was a small stamp with a unique design on it: two small birds holding a singular branch together. She looked back in the direction of Ally's flat, then back to the stamp. Then, Rafisol placed it in her other pocket, away from the map, for safekeeping.
Her silhouette melted away into the dark shadows of Steam City, but she knew she'd be back again one day.
'Alice' couldn't stop thinking of the strange dream she had the day before she worked up the courage to talk to 'her'. Bits and pieces of it started to spill out from her memory onto the page, and one day, they caught 'her' eye. (Note: No reference to the Ensemble Stars universe. This is self-contained within the world of Dramatica Act 3)
Ever since that day, 'Alice' started to daydream in class more than usual. She'd find herself idly doodling the inhabitants of wonderland in her margins, though with some changes here and there. She didn't draw with the intention of showing them to anyone, but part of her wanted to remember the warmth and comfort of that world. Her friends were..."nice", but sometimes a bit too rough with her.
During lunch period, she sat with her group of friends. They'd usually talk about the same old things--baseball games, weird rumors at school, club activities, but one of her friends decided to push her buttons today.
"Hey, ■■■■! How'd it go with you-know-who?" her friend Uichi asked. His glasses exaggerated that stupid smirk on his face. She knew she was in for some teasing.
"Uh, who?" 'Alice' feigned confusion at the question.
"You know, 'her'! I thought I saw you go up to 'her' after school last week."
"No way, it's about time! Did you make your move, dude?" Toyoo suddenly cut into the conversation while swiping something from Alice's bento.
"Nah, I didn't... I just...walked with 'her' home, nothing crazy." 'Alice' picked at her lunch, defending it from any further pilfering. Plus, she didn't want to give the guys anymore room to tease her about this.
"Maaan, you've gotta say something eventually!" Uichi sighed. "You know a bunch of other guys have got their eye on her."
"I mean...it's not like she's some kind of prize," 'Alice' said.
"You think you're gonna get her with that gentlemanly act? Girls these days like the assertive type, you know. If you aren't charming like me, I mean," Toyoo boasted.
"Oh and do you have any experience with that, Mr. Suave Guy?" Uichi prodded, these two were always bickering like this, so 'Alice' was glad when they finally ignored her and moved on from teasing her.
...Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to try talking to 'her' again. She knew where 'she' lived now, so it wouldn't be weird to stop 'her' after school again, right?
As soon as the dismissal bell rang, 'Alice' changed her shoes and ran to the school gates to meet up with her. She made up some excuse to walk home with 'her' and 'she' agreed. She just hoped that her friends weren't secretly watching from somewhere.
On the way home, they started talking about classes, how their friends were doing, what sort of stuff they do at school or at home... Eventually the topic somehow turned to 'Alice' sharing her notes with 'her'. She'd totally forgotten about her notebook doodles, but they immediately caught 'her' eye and she seemed to be happy to see the pages that were nothing but drawings.
"Is that one supposed to be me?" 'She' suddenly asked, pointing to a sharply dressed figure with cat ears and a puffy tail. The long, dark hair was probably a dead giveaway.
"Uh-uhm... Yeah..." replied 'Alice' sheepishly. Her face's temperature was rapidly rising and she half-hoped that she would either pass out or drop dead from embarrassment. Preferably the latter. Hopefully the guys would put together a decent funeral for her--
"She's so cute! Do you draw a lot?"
'Alice' was taken aback. She expected something more like, 'what's with the cat ears?' Or maybe, 'I don't think I really would dress like that.'
"Not really, I just started kind of recently..." 'Alice' lied. She did draw a lot as a kid, but stopped when she got into her first year of junior high.
"Really? Wow, you're pretty good if you just started recently." The girl leaned in closer to 'Alice', nearly touching her shoulder. "Can I see more?" 'she' asked with an excited twinkle in her eye. Suddenly, 'she' reeled herself back in and added, "It's okay if you don't want to show me though, no pressure..."
'Alice' could hardly believe it. 'She' wanted to see more of these embarrassing scribbles?! Well, it's not like they were that bad or that weird, but how would she even explain it to 'her'? Should she just go, 'Yeah, I had a dream about you and my friends, but we were all in this place called wonderland where I lost my memories. Also you were a cat and I was a girl there and my name was Alice.' ...Maybe she should leave that last part out.
After deliberating for a moment or five, 'Alice' finally reluctantly relinquished her notebook to 'her'. She tried to stammer out a warning that things might not make sense, but she couldn't get the words to come out--it was like there was a wad of cotton stuck in her throat.
'She' wordlessly flipped through the pages. 'Alice' studied her expression carefully, but tried not to make it too obvious--she did notice she would stop to read the notes next to some of the drawings, but she just...kept smiling at all of the drawings. No matter which one she was looking at. She put the book back in 'Alice''s hands where their hands touched--for just a moment. 'Alice' couldn't bring herself or look at 'her', so she just kept her eyes on her notebook cover.
"So...uh...what...did you think?" she stammered.
"I really liked them...you're super creative, ■■■■. I hope you keep drawing."
"Thanks... It's nothing, really! They're, like, based on a...dream I had...?"
"Really? So I was in your dream? And I had cute cat ears?"
Shit. Why did she say that?
"U-uh, it's not like it was a weird dream or anything!" 'Alice' quickly tried to veer the topic anywhere else. "I just remember thinking one of the people in the dream there had your eyes..." Except that she quickly made it much weirder.
"My eyes?"
"Th-the... The person with the cat ears, yeah..." 'Alice' slowly lifted her gaze again to meet 'hers' and 'she' was looking at them with her kind and clear blue eyes. 'Alice' would look at them forever if she could. They stayed like that for a moment, before the girl asked a question.
"...Can I ask you one more thing?"
"Yeah, what is it?"
"Who's the cute girl with the bow?"
'Alice' flushed, then frantically opened her notebook to make sure she had the right character in mind. Though, honestly there was only one who fit the description of "cute girl with a bow". She ended up flipping to a page filled with drawings of Alice with the Cheshire Cat, then showed it to 'her' to make sure it was the right one.
"Yeah, her! she has the same eyes as you," 'she' said.
"Sh-she does?" 'Alice' examined her drawings again. She was drawing herself as she showed up in the dream, but she wasn't sure how to explain that. "Well...uh...it's...up to you if it's her or not...?"
"Hmmm..." 'She' stared at the drawings a bit longer before looking up at 'Alice' again. "Well, I think she's super cute. Will you show me anything else you draw in the future?"
"Sure... Honestly, you're the first person I showed these to. I think the guys would laugh at me if they saw these."
'She' giggled. "I'm happy I'm the first person you showed them to, then."
'Alice' smiled at her and put the notebook back in her backpack. It's a good thing they still had a ways to go until their fork in the road.
Kanade and Mafuyu tended to forget to eat, so they both agreed to at least eat one meal a day together.
It eventually turned into a daily ritual for both of them. On school days, they'd eat together whenever Mafuyu returned home and on the weekends, they would eat together in the afternoon. It was a nice change from Kanade's previous habit of eating cup ramen whenever her body forced her to eat, and it gave them time to talk through their work process. Honami would sometimes join in on the conversation and she was more than happy to provide her own prepared meals when she did her housekeeping. Though, Mafuyu decided to cook today, which was a nice change of pace. Kanade helped by taste-testing the food and reassuring Mafuyu that everything was perfectly seasoned; Mafuyu's lack of taste made cooking on her own a bit of an ordeal.
But, even though their late lunch today was delicious, Kanade wasn't sure if Mafuyu was happy with her own cooking--much less satisfied. Her expression remained unchanged throughout every step of the process: pressing the tofu, tasting the soup stock, and sitting down to eat the food. It was like she was just going through the motions like a machine. What was it like to live like that, Kanade wondered. There wasn't a hint of joy in Mafuyu's eyes no matter how hard Kanade studied her, but she knew that this Mafuyu--the unmasked Mafuyu--always expressed herself differently and imperfectly. She hoped that somewhere, deep down, that this Mafuyu was at least content here.
After discussing how to structure the bridge for their latest song, Mafuyu suddenly stood and began to clear the table. Kanade quickly held out her hand and shook her head.
"You can relax, Mafuyu," she said. "You already went through so much trouble to cook for me."
Mafuyu looked at her for a moment, then sat down without protesting. Kanade picked up her plates, stacked them on top of Mafuyu's, then cautiously brought the pile to the sink.
"Thanks for cooking again, Mafuyu," Kanade repeated.
"It's nothing."
"Still, I know it's not easy to cook. You know me, I struggle to even cut an apple." Kanade laughed at herself.
"If you practiced a bit, you can work your way up to it eventually if you want to."
"I will, but it's nice to have you and Mochizuki-san around to help me." Kanade scrubbed the reside off of a bowl and looked outside the window. "Do you like cooking?"
"I'm not sure," mumbled Mafuyu.
"Well, I think you're good at it, even if you can't taste it yet."
"I thought that maybe, if I tried to cook...I'd..."
Mafuyu's voice trailed off as if it was breaking. Kanade waited for her to continue, but the last part of the sentence never came.
"...Mafuyu? What did you think would happen?" asked Kanade, but still no response. The sound of the clattering plates and running water punctuated the silence. Her brow furrowed, but she didn't turn around. Mafuyu's breathing was so still that it was like she vanished from the room, so Kanade let the water run over plates. The white bubbles swirled then vanished out of sight. Kanade turned the tap off, hung the last plate on the dish rack, dried her hands, then finally turned around. Mafuyu was still seated at the table, but she was looking down at the ground with an unfixed gaze. Her breathing was quiet, as if she was searching for the right words to explain how she felt.
Kanade sat next to Mafuyu and reached for her hand under the table, wrapping one of them in both of her palms. Mafuyu's hands were always so cold, as if she'd never known warmth in her life, so she hoped that the meager warmth from her body could thaw Mafuyu's cold heart.
"...I...thought..." Mafuyu stuttered, quietly, as if the words were cracking through a thin sheet of ice. "I thought... I could understand my mother...a bit more..." Her voice wavered as she explained, "I remember thinking...her food was delicious before, but suddenly I couldn't taste it." Mafuyu brought her free hand up to her chest as if searching for something to cling to. "I wondered...if I made something myself, would I be able to understand anything...about her...about me...? But..." Her fingers tightly tugged at the fabric of her jacket. "But... I don't understand anything still. Maybe I'm just the same...as her..."
"That's not true, Mafuyu," Kanade gripped Mafuyu's hand tighter as if wanting to be the anchor she was searching for. "You're not like her."
Mafuyu lifted her gaze to Kanade, still expressionless, still unfixed, but her eyes seemed to plead for an answer from Kanade.
"I know you don't know yourself, Mafuyu, but in the time you've lived here, I've seen how thoughtful and caring you are. Even if you can't see that in yourself, I...all of Niigo sees that in you," Kanade spoke softly, almost whispering. "I hope that someday, you get to know yourself in the way we know you."
Mafuyu didn't reply. She simply rested her head on Kanade's shoulder and closed her eyes. Kanade stared at her, watching the tension in her body melt away and listening to the subtle sound of her breathing.
"Will you stay here until I get to know myself, Kanade?"
Welcome to Raptor’s Femslash February Bingo 2025! Round 2: Electric Boogaloo
This year with four different prompt bingo cards—light prompts, dark prompts, spicy prompts, a combined one with all prompts—to celebrate Femslash February 2025. All fandoms, content and warnings welcome! Enjoy! ❤️
Rules and prompts in text form under the Read More!
Rules:
When: all of February
What: focus of your work should be a wlw / femslash / f/f ship, i.e. a ship with two or more female presenting characters, gender bending welcome
How: it’s totally chill, just do a single prompt or aim for bingo(s), whatever you want! You can get your bingos with one fic, with multiple fics, whatever you like. Choose one of the bingo cards and mark what prompts you're using. Interpret the prompts however you'd like.
Any fandoms, any characters, any ships, any content though please tag appropriately, any type of fanwork—fics (no minimum or maximum wordcount!), art, poetry, moodboards... go wild!
Tag #femslash feb bingo when posting it here on Tumblr and mention this blog so we see your posts and can reblog
AI-generated works are NOT allowed
Crossposting with other events allowed
Most of all: have fun!
Prompts in text form
Light prompts:
Wilderness
Accidental baby acquisition
“Tell me again.”
Meet ugly
Body swap
First kiss
Mirror
History
Once in a lifetime
“Who else but you?”
Wrong number
Opposites
Token
Curse
Festival
“I’ve been waiting a long time.”
Dark prompts:
“You could have died.”
Last kiss
Chains
Before the fall
Attic wife
By a thousand cuts
“Do you regret it?”
Demon
Fatal flaw
Spite
Poisoned
Bad neighbors
Hunting
“And you thought I loved you.”
Forbidden
Mind control
Spicy prompts:
Begging
Rope bondage
Shower sex
“Does that feel good?”
Sex pollen
Marking
Blindfold
Size Difference
Breathplay
“Stop distracting me.”
Power Exchange
Dirty Talk
“Behave.”
Orgasm Denial
Praise kink
Suspension
※ Contains some spoilers for Puyo Puyo Puzzle Pop ※
Purely my interpretation of what transpired before Amitie met up with Klug in her episode and what Klug argued about with his book.
Topics: Klug & the Crimson Spirit, canon compliant
Word count: 1k
Note: I wrote this quickly so please let me know if there are any errors. Don't read this if you want to go into Puyo Puyo Puzzle Pop without knowing any story details...
Klug had expected today to be a day like any other, though he was thorougly perplexed by the unusual vibrancy of the trees, the slightly longer path to the school gates, and the distorted sound of birdsong. "Hm, strange, but I suppose it's nothing I should worry about." As he approached the gates of Primp Magic School, he was greeted by the familiar pillars topped with the school's emblem and another familiar figure. "Sig? What are you doing on campus today?" It was a holiday, so he expected to be the only one visiting the school grounds to get ahead while everyone else was slacking off. Sig didn't respond to his question, and as Klug approached him, he noticed that something was…off. He was leaned up against the front gate of the school, sweating and shaking while clutching at his left arm. Klug finally reached him, which seemed to draw Sig's attention as his unsteady gaze turned upwards.
"…Oh. It's you, Glasses," Sig replied shakily. "I'm just on my way somewhere else." His voice seemed strained and raspy, and he wasn't really looking at Klug, but somewhere past him.
"I see. Where are you headed today?" Admittedly, Klug usually wasn't all that interested in his classmate's plans, but seeing Sig like this must have been some cause for concern, right?
"That's…none of your business," Sig suddenly stood up straight, but his legs seemed heavy and his steps unsure. He walked forawrd and pushed past Klug, bumping into his shoulder and shoving him out of the way. Without turning, he muttered, "I just need some time alone…" and walked away from Klug, still stumbling and clutching his left arm tightly.
Klug blankly watched him walk away in a daze. He stood there, taking a moment or three to process the conversation he just had, if you could really call it a conversation when suddenly, a sharp voice from the pages of his book suddenly called out to him, snapping him back to reality. "Wh-wha--?!" He yelped and flipped open the pages, freeing a small red spirit from its confines.
"There's something very wrong happening here," the spirit stated frantically. "We need to follow him, now," it urged, trying to stretch itself out from the book to no avail.
"Uhm, hello? Mind giving me some more context to this?! Because between the two of you, I don't have a clue what's going on," Klug held the tome closer, keeping the spirit from straining itself to escape. "He's not normally so curt and you don't normally get this worked up about things, even when it comes to him-- Wait a minute," he stopped suddenly and looked around hurriedly. "How are we talking? Is this another dream?! I could've sworn I woke up properly." He started pinching and slapping himself, but it had no effect. "Wh-what in the…?!"
"I know, I'm just as confused as you are," the spirit of the tome had finally calmed down and spoke to Klug, though a hint of anxiety was still in its voice. "I saw you awaken this morning, and on the way here, you suddenly walked straight into a dream," it explained. "This is unheard of, and should be impossible." It turned to look at the path down the direction Sig had gone once more. "We have to go after him."
"A dream? that's preposterous! I mean, magic of that caliber shouldn't be possible," Klug scoffed at the spirit's explanation and shrugged. "But if it is the case, I'm sure Sig has nothing to do with it, he's barely all there as is."
"You saw how he was acting, though. You can not be honestly telling me that was normal behavior from him?!" it raised its voice and flared up at Klug, the pages fluttering in from the force of its anger. "If he is not behind it, then there might be someone else pulling the strings. Others besides me would want the power he possesses."
"Tch, and what do you want to do about it? Remember, you're still trapped in here," Klug said as he tapped the book. "It's not like you could do anything about this situation. I say we gather more information before running after him on another one of your silly chases!" Klug punctuated his statement with a slame of his book. The heavy cover squished the spirit back inside, though it still trembled with rage from its captor. "Calm down already!" He commanded while trying to muffle its nagging and whining. "We'll figure it out somehow--"
"Klug? What are you doing…?"
"Meep?!" Klug gasped and snapped his head around to see Lidelle standing behind him. She was looking up at him with that usual worried expression of hers, but she seemed more like a deer in a headlights than usual. "Oh, uhm, nothing! Nothing at all, just… Trying to get a stubborn fold crease of of this darn book, haha!" He awkwardly held the book aloft and made a show of pressing the covers together, as if he really was trying to get all the creases and dog-eared pages out of it. The pressure on the book squeezes more muffled and strained cries for help out of the book, though Klug attempted to cover those with laughter. "Hahahahaha! You see? Nothing strange going on here!" He flashed a grin at Lidelle, hoping she'd go away so he could collect his thoughts in peace, though her expression was just growing more and more concerned with his every word.
"W-well, you don't really look relaxed to me," she calmly replied. "You don't need help with something, do you…?" Lidelle leaned forward slightly as if to get a closer look at the tome, which prompted Klug to lower it and swiftly hide it behind his back.
"No, no, nothing at all! Now, uhm, just run along please! You're wasting my precious time with this idle chatter, Lidelle." He shooed her away and turned around, trying to avoid prolonging this interaction anymore.
"If you say so… Please, uhm, d-don't be afraid to ask if I can do something, though…" Her ears drooped sadly and she walked away, leaving Klug on his own, standing in front of the gates of the school. As soon as her footsteps faded away, he breathed a sigh of relief, examined the tome, and furrowed his eyebrows. "Just what am I going to do about this situation…"
A few years after graduating from the School of Sorcery, Lala receives a letter from an old friend requesting her aid in a dungeon-crawl.
Set in an canon-divergent universe following Final Exam.
There will still be some references to the Puyo Puyo continuity.
Word count: 1.6k
It all started with a letter. A letter from beyond the village, at that. Lala had never stepped foot outside of the village all of her life -- nothing besides a few odd jobs on errands to nearby villages. So a letter from outside of town, addressed to her of all people, was quite unusual. Though now she was regretting even opening the thing in the first place. Sitting in a dingy, dark pub wasn't how she'd been planning on spending her afternoon off. But... It's not like she really had plans.
Her life had devolved into a monotonous routine: help her parents at the temple, help out at the school, do errands and run deliveries here and there, and on it went.
It really had become dull without Arle to entertain everyone with tales of her adventures. ...Lala didn't realize just how long she was going to be away.
"Is Lala here?" A familiar voice came from the entrance. It wasn't the voice of the blue armor clad girl she was thinking of, but the voice of a dashing young man with dark hair and blue eyes that matched his magical earpieces. "Thank you," he thanked the barkeep and approached Lala's table, waving at her. "Lala! It's good to see you." He approached her for a hug, which Lala awkwardly returned after scrambling to her feet.
"Camus!" Lala blushed, "Wh-what are you doing here?" Camus let go of her and pat her head, causing her cheeks to redden more. "I received a letter in the mail today, can you guess who it was from?" Lala hid her dumbfounded expression, she thought Arle had only asked for her! Her letter never mentioned Camus!
"Uhh, was it your grandma?"
"Hahah! An excellent guess, but no, no, it was from our friend Arle! She's coming back after all this time, and she wants me to help her on a nearby dungeon crawl!" Camus looked like he was about to burst with excitement. Sometimes, Lala felt like she was the older between the two. He really hadn't changed even after all this time, always bombastic and wearing that stupid, silly, dreamy smile on his face. He had been their senior at the School of Sorcery, but he never had any dreams of exploring beyond his village to expand his knowledge. Somehow, he seemed perfectly happy staying behind to assist with running the school, and at this rate, he was on track to become the next headmaster.
"Oh, what a coincidence!" Lala turned around to hide her reddening face and pulled her own letter from her satchel. "She sent me one too!"
"She mentioned you in my letter, that's why I was looking for you." Lala's head turned around quick as lightning.
"She what?! She never mentioned you in my letter..." Lala frantically skimmed it again. This was so embarrassing...!
“I think she wrote mine after yours, haha, it sounded like she was worried that you wouldn't come along without...some kind of incentive?" He shrugged.
"Not sure what I have to offer you, though." Lala grinned in an effort to disguise her gritted teeth.
"Great," she said sarcastically. "Damn it Arle! And damn it Camus! How can you both be so boneheaded in two different ways?!" she thought to herself.
"Well, it'll be fun to see her! Let's both do our best, Lala!" He struck a pose that could be called...heroic if it wasn't so lame. She sighed, dreamily as she could. Though she couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just become lamer and lamer as the years went by.
"Yeah, let's give it our all," Lala said halfheartedly.
"Hey, you two!" The two mages turned around to see a familiar face. Arle grabbed Camus' hand and pulled him into a one-armed hug, who returned it gladly, and then did the same for Lala, who returned it...awkwardly.
"It's so great to see you after so long!" Arle beamed at them. Her skin had tanned from being in the sun so long, and her hair had a certain glow to it that it lacked before. She looked the same and yet, something about her almost blinded Lala.
"So, how have things been? I've really wanted to write more, but you know how I am."
"Things have been peaceful around here," Camus said. "A bit too peaceful, if you ask me. I was delighted to receive your letter the other day."
"Good!" Arle clapped her hands in delight. "I saw this dungeon was just nearby, so I knew it'd be perfect to invite you two along. And it's the best way to catch up."
"Guu!" A mysterious voice chimed in, and Lala realized that a small, furry creature with long ears and a strange jewel set into its forehead was standing attentively at Arle's feet.
"You're still hanging out with that...thing?" Lala pointed hesitantly to the yellow-furred creature.
"Huh? You mean Carby? Of course it's still with me!" Arle scratched its forehead. "I go everywhere with it. I don't think I could imagine adventuring without the little guy anymore."
"It's excellent to have a companion with you on your travels, I say," Camus exclaimed and raised a tankard. "Arle, would you like a drink as well?"
"Camus! This isn't a time to be drinking," Lala scolded before Arle could respond.
"What? It's a special occasion to see an old friend. Besides, we're old enough now." Camus nudged one of the containers against Lala's shoulder, but her nose wrinkled at the bitter smell of the alcohol.
"Haha, well, I suppose it wouldn't be any good for a temple girl to be caught drinking in the middle of the day." Lala rolled her eyes while Camus and Arle both laughed, her ears turning red from the conversation topic.
"Hahaha! Man this really brings me back, but I'll have to turn you down on the drink offer, I'm kind of getting sick of the stuff really..." Arle refrained from saying more when she felt the daggers from Lala’s glare.
"A-Anyway, let's get down to what I really wanted to ask you guys about!" From her worn bag, she pulled out a map covered in familiar and unfamiliar runes. Evidently, a ruin was unearthed near their home village and word was traveling fast! Adventurers were already flocking to it by the dozens, and Arle wanted to be among the first to get there before everything cool about it was snatched up by treasure hunters and merchants. It was unusual for her to dungeon crawl with others, Arle had always been a solo player, but it seemed that she wanted some extra muscle and support to back her up in case things got hairy.
"So? What do you guys think?" Lala and Camus looked at each other, then nodded back at Arle.
"Of course we'll help you," Lala reassured her.
"Yes, yes, anything for a friend of ours," Camus chimed in.
"Thanks, I knew I could count on you guys!" The three cheered and joined hands, and Carbuncle jumped onto the table and put his paw in with the rest.
******
The sun sunk below the treeline, tinting the sky a rich red. Together the party of three adventurers left the pub and walked to their respective homes. Arle was eager to see her mother again, so she dashed on without the other two. With Carbuncle in tow, the other two mages watched her bound off with the energy of a 6 year old girl. She found herself almost wanting to chase after her, but stopped when she realized she was with Camus. Her. Alone with Camus. She just registered the situation she was in. With her hands gripping her skirt, she looked up at him and smiled, grateful that the low light was hiding her flushed expression.
"Shall we head home?"
"Yes, let's." They walked side by side, occasionally interrupted by other villagers making their way home and by children playing in the low light, trying to make the most of the sun before it went to bed. Lala's breathing gradually steadied and she stole another glance at his face. He'd grown into such a fine young man, and her parents had always asked her if her childhood crush would ever bloom into a true romance, but...she'd never managed to work up the courage. The question could just never come up naturally, and there was always an apprehensive feeling that followed her when she thought of her love for Camus...
"She's certainly grown, hasn't she?" Camus broke the silence.
“Huh?"
"Arle," he clarified. "She's the same at her core, of course but it seems her time away from home has truly honed her into a fine sorceress."
"I suppose so... She could still stand to learn some manners," Lala harrumphed and turned her nose up, only for Camus to laugh.
"Ah, but then she wouldn't be Arle, would she?" "...You're right," Lala murmured dejectedly. The tomboy who just won the spirits' favor by sheer luck was really Arle, through and through, always going wherever the wind took her -- but something about her now really blinded Lala...metaphorically.
Somehow, the way she had grown in the few years she was away from the village made Lala want to see more of her. Unlike Camus, who had stayed in the village his whole life and was right there for Lala to have a life with, there was an urgency for her to be with Arle's side. Where had this come from?
“Ah, here I am. I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early!" Her train of thought was interrupted by Camus taking his leave and walking down the path to his home. She waved wordlessly to him with a small smile stuck on her rosy cheeks, but unlike earlier, she felt no desire to chase him down the path.
Aya takes up caring for the school garden.
Prompt: Flower language
For the year of the OTP event.
Read on Ao3
Topics: Aya/Sig, one shot, flower language
Word count: 930
She'd taken up gardening in recent months. Klug suggested it, really. They said it'd be a good way to familiarize herself with her new vessel, get herself moving, and get outside more.
He made a sound argument, but she was reluctant to be outside where the sun would be beating down on her for hours at a time. Reading about plants and how to care for them was one thing, but actually *caring* for plants was something else entirely. She couldn't think of a good counterargument though, so she started by volunteering for the gardening duties at school just to get them off her back.
It was a simple job and all she had to do was work in the school garden, and everyone was more than happy to help the "new" student with caring for the luneflowers and other flowers planted in the garden.
Contrary to everyone's expectations, she ended up being the one to teach them about the flowers rather than the other way around.
Luneflowers really were lovely flowers, perhaps her favorite after her beloved hydrangeas, and they invoked such fond memories in her heart... Well, maybe "memories" is too strong of a word. More accurately, they filled her with a sense of longing and nostalgia--a bittersweet sadness. She could never assign a face to those feelings, so her mind just conjured a blurry mess of colors and faint voices that had faded over time.
She tried not to dwell on those feelings, at least not anymore. Thinking about it for too long would just give her another splitting headache and force her back into the cramped pages of that dusty book...
She returned from her brief daydream and looked down at the old metal watering can she was gripping. She wondered how long she'd been standing there holding that. Embarrassed, she looked around like a nervous animal to see if anyone saw her do something so embarrassing. Her shoulders relaxed once she determined that there was no one in the immediate vicinity... She always came a bit earlier than the others after school since she tended to space out like this *and* she wanted the chance to do something without others watching...
With a delicate hand, she plucked a petal from one of the luneflowers and a small blooming anemone. She sat on a wooden bench fashioned from a log, fished a small book out of her pocket, and tucked the blossom and the petal lovingly between the pages. Other dried specimens crunched as she turned the pages to the newest blank ones. She penned the date and type of flower on the pages and then closed the book, inserting it back into her pocket with a swift motion.
"Are you allowed to do that?"
Aya stood at the sudden voice and turned around. It was just Sig... oh, right, Sig was her duty partner today, weren't they? He stood behind the bench with a net in his hands, meaning that he was probably catching bugs before the assigned duty time after school as usual...
"It's fine as long as I'm not caught, isn't it?" She retorted while averting her gaze from him back to the flowers.
"Just asking. Never thought about doing that, is all," he stepped over the bench as he spoke, then laid the bug net on the flat surface. "Are you saving them for something?"
Aya looked back at him, then to the flowers, then back to him. ...She didn't expect him to understand, but she withdrew the book again and flipped to the first few pages. Dried flowers and petals were were pressed to the pages, their colors bleeding onto the off-white paper of the notebook.
"Nothing in particular," she muttered. "I lack most of our--my memories-- so I thought keeping physical reminders would be...good... for me," she shut the book again and thrust it back into her pocket, eager to get this awkward interaction out of the way so they could both go home. "Even if they're bound to rot eventually, I want something to show that I was here." She gazed at the flowers again, that same bittersweet feeling creeping its way into her heart once more.
"...Kinda like the luneflowers, huh," Sig replied, though she couldn't tell if it was a question or a statement. He picked up a trowel and began to work in the garden, plucking weeds and removing other foreign objects in the soil.
"What do you mean?" Aya asked, quickly following suit with a pair of gardening scissors as she pruned and cut dying blossoms form the flowers.
"You mentioned it yesterday," he continued, "That luneflowers have been in Primp as long as you can remember. Even before Primp existed, you said." They looked inquisitively into the large discs of the flower and continued their work, "They're sort of like a reminder from the people before Primp that they were here before, even if no one's around to tell us anymore."
Aya stopped her work and looked at the flowers.
"I suppose it's similar," She snipped a bud that had been burnt by the sun. "...I suppose that is what they mean to us now, but I wonder what they meant before..." she gently lifted a drooping flower head and thought of her lost memories once more.
"Maybe they don't really need to *mean* anything," Sig stood and dusted the dirt off his hands. "Maybe it's okay for them to just be a reminder."
Aya looked up at him, then once more to the flowers, and smiled bitterly.
