Xeno Series
This used to be the main story collection (as far as my directory/config structure), and it still pretty much is now it's a last-resort catch-all.
71,961 / 93
And a chorus should follow her. An astonishment of angels should surround.
Hearts for Gala. Hearts for Gala! Always, hearts for Gala.
It's bitter like the bottom of a keg, gone off, off, off.
For all the ways that hands can care, and hearts can mend what's already there.
Something much more serious than asthma - and if he could minimize it, he would.
Some days, it seems like the only hobby anyone has is thinking about family drama that's already long gone by.
There was a time - briefest time - when Mumkhar still tried, and he would call a young Fiora, chubby-cheeked, "angel face" because he didn't yet begrudge that Dunban was a saint.
That was then. Now, Fiora is gaunt and pale and keening. She hasn't a scrap of righteousness left in her, or maybe that's all she's got. And yet, the expression on Egil's awestruck face tells a much different story.
That was then. Now, Fiora is gaunt and pale and keening. She hasn't a scrap of righteousness left in her, or maybe that's all she's got. And yet, the expression on Egil's awestruck face tells a much different story.
Minoth hates to have to apologize, but it's all he can think to do. If Mythra agreed, he would know it by now.
half a life never appealed to me
Like static, she clings.
but this way he'd only be losin' one daughter, 'stead o' two.
Mythra wonders - is it enough to be beautiful?
Maybe redundant, but never irrelevant.
A kiss for luck and we're on our way... Not so simple as.
Thank the heavens! The kid is alright.
As if anyone could possibly know what Glimmer had been through.
Only time can tell how far forward the connection will carry.
The extent of your will; like a song that presents proudly its motifs and develops them all, all, all.
Today, this fine Wednesday, I worried endlessly about dates and the impossible task of preserving the human mind. But everything is alright, after all.
It has always been summarily obvious what Cammuravi is. Might that not also be who he is?
Sena often keeps Aegaeon up at night, but he doesn't mind.
How bold they are! But of course Godcleaver and Stoutheart should be nothing but.
Minoth struggles with proximity to Addam.
Lora discusses the thousand natural shocks with Minoth.
A cat is a cat - how about that?
One such universal constant: anachronism.
Central tenet: old people have got it figured OUT.
sure fine whatever
So, of course, the address by "dear Hugo" to "dear Addam" is a hot, distant euphoria.
Three possibilities, each equally likely and equally embarrassing.
Gala is a little shy...
Gala and Bart share some tender moments while camping.
It's not compulsory heterosexuality. It's something much stupider than that.
Through the visor, Fiora sees diamonds and diophantine dilemmas.
They all have so much pain.
They all have so much pain.
A mother never forsakes. A mother only copes, clutches, clings.
Mio is counting her blessings.
Just try and stop me!
And remember the better words later - to say surely, in your heart.
Whatever he is, whoever they are, he's got to go all in for meaning.
Homecoming is passed down like a treasure through the ranks, as each cohort bubbles up.
To a flower, the soil is only full of nutrients. Not the corpses beneath.
What follows on from family...can't be too bad, then, can it?
We all need someone to lean on - and not just for three seconds, and over! No, no. A good long while.
Aionios isn't quite a perpetual motion machine. But it's...something like that.
After it all, it is still about rights, and reassertions.
With use case expended, they expire together.
The feeling of drowning, alone, is quite familiar to Rex.
Indeed. They are Ardainian Blades.
Just as long-windedly: the masculine urge to punch a persistent POS right out.
Minoth makes a diagnosis, one to one.
Twinkling, a vagary star, the ghost catches Mio's golden eye.
#xenogearsocsweep
thank u Zest for Gala thank u Rue for moral support
thank u Zest for Gala thank u Rue for moral support
Not this way. Not this time.
It's a razor-thin decision, and she's bleeding out.
If I say something stupid it is always Alana's fault. Exclusively. And I am giving her big kiss.
There was a tremendous vulnerability in accepting strength and resolution.
No ether lines, no ears, no wings! Just two honest hands, and then another two more.
Not such a monumental nuance, between the two.
Embellishment, et al.
He is a puzzle to be studied, and a bundle of knots to be taken apart and cut back together.
In my humble estimation.
In my humble estimation.
I think you're one too.
Hey, hey, everybody's got their habits! If making camp in the colony's all you've got, you've gotta make it your own, haven't you?
Stand up and fight!
But...why?
But...why?
Egil fights until he can't anymore, but the thing that dies isn't his spirit.
Cheering. I can't stand it.
Id growls. "Why should I assume that you're any different?"
Bart grins. "Because I am."
Bart grins. "Because I am."
Nah, I'm only kidding. You can have anything you like.
It was uncomfortable. It didn't make sense. It was the routine.
There they go...
Free to flutter in memories of their wasted wings...
Dromarch's angry.
The feeling is exquisitely simple and extraordinarily clear.
"He said it was hell, living here."
"What, in Torna?"
"What, in Torna?"
What once was lost...still may never be found again.
It's a little something about saying hello to the monster living under the bed, and a little something about relentlessly re-pasting the glow-up stars to your ceiling.
Krelian finds solace in a certain supercomponent of the soul.
Let it go on. Let it go out.
You know what? Death to Nopon.
Fine for you, all that time you've got.
Change is something they all wish for. Or at least, maybe they once did.
In the lonely gazebo, high above Ignas, they speak of simple things.
There are many ways for a new journey to begin. It took some doing, but this is mine. No comment on whether it should be ours.
There's something special about Mythra, here and now, that catches Jin's attention.
In a word, Mira is hostile.
Not obsolete just yet, are you? Rather, your story's only just begun.
Reyn is just like Gadolt.
No he's not.
No he's not.
It takes a while, for Shulk to wake up.
In other words, the moral quandary of the damsel on the railroad tracks should be quite simple. Shouldn't it?
Blocked. Blocked. Blocked. You are all blocked. None of you are free from sin.
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there.
I did not die.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there.
I did not die.
"How are you, Shulk?"
How am I. How am I?
How am I. How am I?
So deep, so wide. Will you take me on your back for a ride?
In French, they say "Tu me manques": you are missing from me. It is, indeed, quite a beautiful sentiment - though need the missing always be that of incompletion?
[Xenoship Week 2021 - Day 5: Letters/Journal]
[Xenoship Week 2021 - Day 5: Letters/Journal]