#<- consider perhaps the tongue louse

[shame-kink]

god FUCKING damn it now i’m contemplating the actual parallels between Mouthwashing and How Fish Is Made

[heresathreebee]

Bloody Mess

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader]

AN: ok 1st of all this got Nasty and also I wanted to try a different format

Warning(s): +17 | Hemophilia, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), mentions of abuse, dead body (he deserved it), little rough, sub!Ralph Lamont, cum eating, hair pulling. Masterlist

Alright so I was dragging my feet to watch the episode of Blue Bloods with Alex Brightman in it and I'm glad I did because I got some cool ideas. I don't watch cop centric shows anymore but I thought Ralph would be a cool Italian mob type: turns out he's some dickhead twitch gamer who murdered a girl for stupid reasons I can't remember. 

So fuck cannon, he's a 90's mobman now. 

**YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED**

Imagine Ralph Lamont is a one man clean up crew. He's the go-to guy for any jobs gone wrong, gone messy. Body needs disappearing without a trace? Ralphie's your guy. 

Kinda like The Wolf from Pulp Fiction (Tarentino, 1994) 

Hydrochloric acid, latex, bleach, bone saw: all he needs is a few hours and it's like there was never a brutal murder here. (Sometimes this is accomplished with a distraction, a staged robbery or shoot out a few counties over if there were too many witnesses)

So Mr. Clean I mean Mr. Lamont gets a job at your home. 

It's a cute little 3rd floor apartment with a Mr. and Mrs. Andersen living in it. 

Mr. Andersen is– pardon, was– a bookkeeper for Dr. Coolidge (friend of Ralphie's; they both like sterile environments), so it's a favor. Dr. Coolidge mentioned over the phone he expected something "like this" to happen sooner or later. He asked Ralphie to be delicate with you– the late Mrs. Andersen. 

You buzz him in without a word. 

He finds you leaning against the kitchen island, putting out the cherry of your cigarette. You put it out right on Mr. Andersen's ugly yellow tie (or he thinks it used to be yellow)

It's a fucking blood bath in here. Mr. Andersen was a bleeder. Red splashes and streaks cover the counters, the toaster, the oven door, the fridge. There are bloody footprints on the floor and an honest-to-go pool of it dripping off the counter right next to Andersen's final resting place. You left the steak knife in his throat and he must have sat down in that island chair never to get back up again. His eyes are listless and grey. 

Ralphie walks around you, careful to keep you in his peripheral just in case you weren't done "expressing yourself." The linen of your frock is stained, your feet are bare, and your eye is black and swollen. Some of your bruises are old. 

In his sweep, he finds three bloodied knives in the sink: a bread knife, a fillet knife, and a cleaver. 

"Mrs. Andersen," he says as he turns back to you, "if you wouldn't mind moving to the bedroom for me? You've made quite a mess and I'd hate for you to have to see anymore violence." 

"You gonna fight him for my honor? He's already dead." 

Ralphie chuckles. "No ma'am. I'm gonna cut him up into pieces so the gallons of acid I brought with me dissolve his corpse efficiently. I'll need to borrow your bathtub for that, and you don't want to try getting cleaned up after the fact. It's no good for the skin." 

He's circled around the white marble kitchen island to stand before you. He's calm. The smile on his face is easy and it soothes you. You drop your eyes and catch an unexpected sight. 

"Are you…" you wipe at your mouth a accidentally leave a crusted red streak. "Do you get off on this?" 

Mr. Lamont shifts his stance; no doubt you've seen the light tent in his pants. "What can I say except I admire your handiwork, Mrs. Andersen. I imagine you may have wanted him to die slowly and painfully. Was it all that you hoped for?" 

You turn sheepish (incredible, really, surrounded by such admirable evidence of your own rage) and nod. "It was…" 

"Glad to hear," he says softly. "Now, if you wouldn't mind..." 

He places a gentle hand on your shoulder but you step away from the island and change his distant, guiding gesture into an intimate embrace. He looks at you in surprise when he feels you wrap your hands around his back beneath his blazer. 

"I seem to suffer a similar affliction," you tell him and press yourself into his erection. "You wouldn't mind giving a girl a hand, would you?" 

Well it certainly wasn't part of the job, but he was eager to please. 

“As you like it,” he whispered, pulling you into a soft kiss. 

Your blood sings in your veins. You’ve just killed your no good louse of a husband and now you’ve got your tongue down a stranger’s throat. And a handsome one too, so polite (you were still wary of him but if Dr. Coolidge sent him perhaps he couldn’t be all bad)

You tug at his tie as if it would make him any closer to being inside of you. The smell of copper is a never ending assault on your senses, but you also smell wood smoke beneath it on his collar. 

Mr. Lamont’s cheeky hands find your hips and a second later he’s helping you sit up on the kitchen counter. You can see your husband from the corner of your eye, his mouth hanging open in eternal anguish. It just serves to intensify your lust for life. 

You give Mr. Lamont's belt a meaningful tug and slip back down to the floor to turn around

You mean to ask him to help you with your zipper, but instead you feel his lips at your neck just before his hand grips the back of your head and pushes you down, face first into the counter inches away from the pool of blood. 

Your hand slides through the sticky essence and you feel Lamont draw your skirts up and your underthings down. 

You gasp with a shriek as you feel something hot slide up your slit and over your other hole. Did he just lick you??? 

The living man growls in what sounds like pleasure, pulling at his sleek tie just enough to loosen the constriction at his throat and then he’s shucking his pants down. 

You’re not sure if you want him to work you up slowly or take what he wants but you hold your breath and let him lead. You’re far from disappointed when he massages the meat of your rear and leans over your back. 

“You can still change your mind, doll,” he whispers, “not too late to go shower and forget today.” 

You consider it but you don’t want to forget. You want the feeling of Georgie’s life slipping through your fingers to soothe you to sleep every night. You want to carry the pleasure of giving your former husband a reason for his rampant jealous streak and know that for once there was nothing he could do about it. You want this living man to make this strange and terrifying day to end in bliss and solidify everything like lightning striking sand.  

You lift your head and run your dripping red hand through his pristine locks. He locks eyes with you and a shiver runs through him as a droplet lands on his nose. “I don’t want to stop, Mr. Lamont. Now be a good guest and fuck me.” 

“Call me Ralphie please,” he breathes, and he’s all too happy to comply. You feel his cock slip between your folds and as he enters you as he promised, you lick your lips and taste cherry and rust. 

“Ralphie… Ralphie…” He loves the sound of his name on your lips, the squishing sound of your lovely womanhood taking everything he gives it. He puts a single hand on your hip leans back to take it all in: the bloody kitchen, the stiff, the lecherous moans, the sweat making his shirt stick to his back, the misleading cleanliness of the back of your dress…

Mr. Lamont runs his hand through the slime in his hair but that blood is already drying. He splashes it into the pool next to you and leaves a bloody print on your back, holding you down to the counter by your shoulder and driving his hips into you harder. 

He can hear you’re close by the crescendo of your voice. He’s close too, and ever the gentleman, he slips out of you and flips you onto your back, pulling up a dainty leg in your daze so he can re enter your heat like he belonged there. He’s resumed fucking you in mere seconds and he likes this position because now he can see your eyes roll back into your head. 

“Where do you want it,” he grunts out. He’s trying not to come but he doesn’t have the willpower to slow down. He needs your answer, and fast...

For a moment your eyes go hard. Mr. Lamont gulps and worries for a second you’re going to pull the steak knife out of your husband’s throat to slit his, but instead you take a hold of his hair and pull his head back into an awkward but commanding angle. 

He feels your breath ghost over his neck. “My house, my rules. Make me see stars and I’ll tell you when to stop.” 

You sink your teeth into his neck and reach down to circle your pearl. Mr. Lamont does as he’s told, hissing and grunting but he holds off his release to give you exactly what you want. 

He has to stop thrusting when you start those delicious rhythmic tremors. He has to hold you up as you throw your head back and lose your balance, dependent on him to keep you upright. He takes over rubbing your pearl with a similar pressure as the one he watched you give yourself, and eased you back down from heaven into the bloody abyss on earth. 

For a second Ralph fears you’ve got too much control. What will he do if you tell him not to come at all? He’ll do as you command, of course, but how cruel were you going to treat him now that you’ve gotten what you wanted? He’s seen your handiwork all around, remember that. 

But your eyes turn soft and he’s worried you’re about to cry, that is until he watches you slip down to your bruised knees and ease your dress down your shoulders. Now you look positively debauched, breast bared and eyes turned up with a pleading look. 

“Finish on me, Ralphie.” You bit your lip and hope to god he’s still listening. “Right over my heart.” 

Ralph Lamont has never whimpered before. He’s doing it right now. How the fuck did he end up like this? 

He strokes his cooling cock, taking everything in from his position above you and feeling his drumming heartbeat in the throbbing of his member. The only word going through his head is yes

Ralphie gives one of you tits a squeeze, then gets an idea

It's a little awkward trying to get you to understand, but you catch on and there's this eager glow in your eyes

You help him slot his cock between your breasts and continue to jerk him off, using your hands as necessary to assist

He's not far now seeing you-- feeling you like that

Ralphie comes with a groan, a white rope painting your chin and splattering cockeyed down over your neck and onto the tops of your breasts. He has to catch himself on the counter as the next rope dribbles lower, half slipping into your cleavage and the rest staining the neckline of your ruined dress. His hips jerk once, twice. You let him slip from your embrace and twist your hand over the head just to milk whatever he has left into your mouth, and then he collapses into a heap beside you. 

You let him catch his breath for a minute, then grasp his jaw and turn his head towards you. You’re looking down your nose at him again and his vulnerable eyes beg for more. 

“Now look what you’ve done,” you gesture to the milky essence covering your skin in mock annoyance. “Clean it up like a good boy.” 

Eyes half lidded, Ralphie leans towards you in a trance, tongue swiping over every pearlescent trail and stray droplet until you’re ‘clean’ again

Completely spent, the man rests his head against your shoulder. Your hands come up to cradle him, stroking his matted hair as if you've not a care in the world

When he's ready he helps you stand up and straightens his clothes

Instead of helping you back into yours he strips you of them

"These will have to be burned, I'm afraid," he tells you. "Go on now, take a nice long bath and I'll call Kevin to see if he can take you somewhere for the night

You have to clear the tub and run it again to get truly clean. All of that grime builds up thick on your skin while you were having your acts of catharsis. 

You slip into a satin frock in your favorite color and let Kevin whisk you away to a movie for the night

As you fix your earring in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of Ralph Lamont on your balcony. He waves down at you leaning against the ledge and unbothered by the state of his clothes. From this far down, it doesn't look like blood

But you know better, don't you?

@hoodoo12 @escape-your-grape

[hermannsthumb]

Can you do winter prompt 13 obvious setups?

13. my family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and i’m so sorry

from winter writing prompts here

GOD i was so FUCKIN obsessed with this prompt when u sent it in, thank u so much. consider this the remix fic of 45. your family ditches you for the holiday so i take you home with me, except my family thinks we’re dating now

--------------------------------------------------------

“I swear,” Newt says, “I didn’t know.”

Hermann--suitcase at his side in an iron grip, snow still melting off the shoulders of his parka, splotchy red spreading across his cheeks--scowls at Newt like Newt’s just dug up his mother’s grave or something equally unforgivable. Newt shrinks away instinctively. “You cannot be serious,” Hermann says. “You must have known.”

The situation in question is this: intimately aware of Hermann’s famously bad relationship with a good chunk of his family, and how it’s likely to have only gotten worse after the whole Breach collapse Hermann-was-right-and-your-wall-was-stupid-and-wrong thing, Newt decided to take one for the proverbial team and just invite Hermann ‘round to his place for low key holiday celebrations this year. The alternative was ditching Hermann in the mostly deserted Hong Kong Shatterdome and listen to his dad guilt him about it for two weeks. Not that Newt would need any help feeling guilty; he knew for a fact that if he did ditch Hermann, Hermann would just be up all hours of the night in LOCCENT monitoring the late location of the Breach and missing Newt.

Newt wasn’t being sentimental, either. Hermann really would miss him like Newt was a limb that’d been lobbed off. Lingering side effects of their drift (even all these months later) has made it difficult for them to be even a few miles away from each other, let alone a fucking ocean. Luckily reluctant co-dependency isn’t new for them.

So Hermann agreed. Newt’s dad was just thrilled. He seemed to take it as confirmation of his decade-long suspicions that Newt and Hermann desperately want to be more than lab partners but are too chicken to make a move (as he explained eloquently over the phone to Newt, while Newt spluttered and protested) and ran with it, to Newt’s horror. Especially to his horror now.

His dad’s only done up one bed--one full-sized, dinosaur-patterned bed--for Newt and Hermann to share.

“Look,” Newt says, even though he knows what he’s about to say is a blatant lie, “it’s gotta be a mistake. We’ve got a sorta-guest room down the hall, I bet my dad meant for you to go there.”

“I certainly hope so,” Hermann sniffs.

Newt takes Hermann’s suitcase from him and books it down the hallway, and Hermann clacks angrily behind him. The sorta-guest room is classified as such because of the lumpy cot they kept in there for when Newt’s uncle would visit, though the bulk of it contained mostly junk, overstuffed bookshelves, and a desk Newt used to grow weird plants on in a fish tank. The tank (Newt discovers when he pushes the door open) is still there. The cot is not.

God damn it. “Dad,” he calls, while Hermann continues to seethe. “Hey, Dad?”

Nothing. Then, finally: “Yes?”

“Where’s the cot?”

Footsteps up the stairs. Dad pokes his head around the doorframe. “Cot?”

Newt sighs. “The cot we used to keep in here,” he says. “Hermann needs a place to sleep. Or I do, at least,” he adds, turning to Hermann, “you can take my bed--the cot’s not super comfortable.” The room never had very good ventilation, either. Hermann will just wake up shivering from the lack of heat with a stiff knee every morning, which means, thanks to drift hangover, Newt will too, and then they’ll both be miserable. At least Newt’s got a bit more meat on his bones.

“Oh, I tossed it out years ago,” Dad says. “Too old. It was falling apart.” Newt spies the beginnings of a smile beneath his beard, even as he feigns confusion. (God, he is so not getting a Father’s Day card next year). “Is there something wrong with your bedroom, Newt?”

“Uh, yeah,” Newt says. He shoves Hermann’s suitcase back at him just to fold his arms angrily. “Whatever, I’ll just sleep on the couch.” It’s a pullout. He thinks. It’ll be better than curling up on the carpet in his room or contending with Dr. Icicle Feet Blanket Hogger of the Year--stuff he only knows also thanks to the drift, okay, he and Hermann don’t make a habit of sleeping together. In both senses.

“But where will your poor uncle sleep?” Dad says. His smile grows.

Right. Illia’s already claimed the couch. Newt takes Hermann’s suitcase back. “Fine. I’ll dig out my stupid Boy Scouts sleeping bag and take the carpet. Hermann--”

“Newton,” Hermann interrupts. He looks slightly embarrassed. “Ah. That really isn’t necessary. I suppose we can manage to make your bed work.”

“Great,” Newt says.

“Great!” Dad says. He slaps Hermann so hard on the back that Hermann squeaks and sways on his feet.

Newt clears away some space in his old dresser--which is easy, since his fashion tastes haven’t evolved from when he was seventeen, and he took most of his clothing with him to the Shatterdome in the first place--and he and Hermann unpack their suitcases with relative ease. Or at least Newt unpacks their suitcases with relative ease. Claiming fatigue from their terribly long journey, Hermann lounges on Newt’s bed with his collar undone, like the picture of Victorian debauchery, and watches him. Frankly, though, Newt prefers the bossy little orders to his previous whining about their sleeping situation, so he’s happy to do it. Mostly. “You haven’t folded that sweater correctly,” Hermann says.

“It literally doesn’t matter,” Newt says. “It fits, and that’s all I care about.” He shuts the drawer to prove his point.

“It matters to me,” Hermann says. “I’ll know it’s not folded, and it’ll bother me.”

Newt grits his teeth. He opens the drawer. He folds Hermann’s sweater.

“There, was that so terribly difficult?” Hermann says.

He stretches his arms above his head, and nestles back against Newt’s stack of pillows with a soft groan that makes Newt’s witty, sarcastic retort shrivel and die on his tongue. Hermann can be awfully, uh...sensual for a guy with a bowlcut. “You really have got quite a comfortable bed,” Hermann murmurs. “I could fall asleep right now. Mm.”

Newt kicks the drawer shut again and flops down next to him. They do both fit, at least, though they’ll be bumping elbows and legs for sure. “It’s the most average bed of all time,” he says. He grins. “It just feels like it isn’t because it’s not one of those fucking cement slabs we have back at the base.”

Hermann makes a face. “I won’t be happy to get back to those.”

“Yeah,” Newt agrees. 

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. The little plastic glow-in-the-dark stars he pasted up there when he was twelve are still going strong, though the Lego spaceship he strung up with fishing twine is long-gone. Probably fell and broke into a million little pieces over a decade ago. “I’m sorry about this, by the way,” he says. “The, uh, sleeping situation. My dad...”

He trails off. Hermann crooks an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“He thinks that we,” Newt says, and swallows, “I mean, like--he wants us to...” To admit they dig each other? To get hitched and have, like, a half-dozen genius physicist-biologist babies? Be happy together? It’s not as if Newt doesn’t want those things with Hermann. (Well, maybe not the genius baby thing. He can wait a while for that.) “It’s just, I’m an only child, you know, and my mom’s out of the picture, and I think he thinks that I need--”

Newt’s saved by a knock at the bedroom door. “Dinner!” Dad says.

It turns out it was only temporary salvation. The moment he and Hermann take their seats at the tiny dining table--seats which are, for some reason, crammed together at one side, when there’s a whole fourth perfectly fine one just sitting there empty--and heaping mounds of everything are piled onto Hermann’s plate (too skinny, Dad says with a sigh, and Hermann only looks mildly offended), Dad and Illia start giving them the third degree. Yes, Hermann was born in Germany; no, he hasn’t spent any significant time there since university, though he supposes he wouldn’t mind going back at some point; yes, a lot of the original jaeger coding was of his own design; yes, he and Newt have shared a lab for the entirety of their time in Hong Kong, and before that in the various Shatterdomes they were shuttled between, and-- “Er, no,” Hermann says, “no, Newton is an--ah--exemplary lab partner, what makes you say...?”

“I raised him, Hermann,” Dad says.

Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “He’s the messiest man I have met in my entire life,” he says. “You ought to see the sort of rubbish he used to leave around--kaiju intestines, blood--oh, and there was one time he left a piece of dead skin louse on the coffee maker--”

“Hey, I’ve gotten better!” Newt says around a mouthful of potatoes. “Last week you didn’t even have to ask me to clean up all that venom I spilled on your desk.” He was proud of himself for doing it as fast as he did. A minute more, and it probably would’ve eaten through to the top drawer. Hermann was less enthused.

“And it only took you half a decade,” Hermann says. “Well done, Newton. If the kaijus ever return, perhaps you’ll have learned to operate a broom by then.”

He takes a smug little sip of his wine that he quickly coughs up into a cloth napkin when Illia--apropos of nothing--says “Are you married, Hermann?”

“Ah.” Hermann coughs a few more times, and wipes at his eyes. Newt suddenly becomes very interested in his plate. “No. I am not.”

“Seeing anyone?” Dad says.

“Dad,” Newt groans, shrinking down in his chair. If he’s lucky, and thinks very hard about it, maybe the Breach will reopen right beneath him and he’ll be tossed into an alternate dimension where Otachi ate him after all and he never had to sit through this conversation.

“No,” Hermann repeats. “I--no.”

Dad and Illia share a satisfied glance. “Our little Newt was always quite a handful,” Dad says, “but--”

No helpful Breach comes to swallow him whole, so Newt resorts to his back-up plan, which is smacking Hermann’s glass of wine off the table and into his lap as Hermann shouts in surprise. “Shit,” Newt says, too-loud, “looks like we gotta get that cleaned up, Hermann--c’mon, here we go--”

He shoves Hermann’s cane into his arms, and then proceeds to shove Hermann down the hallway until they reach the bathroom. Hermann’s glower has returned with a vengeance. “You utter buffoon,” he keeps saying, while Newt (crouched on the floor) dabs at his newly-burgundy pants with a wet handtowel, “you moron, you wretched little--”

“I’m sorry, okay,” Newt half-shrieks. He throws the handtowel to the ground as he stands. His ears are still burning red-hot from the table, and his sudden close proximity to Hermann--noses barely an inch from each other, so close Newt can smell wine on his breath and count every last dark eyelash that frames his soft eyes--isn’t helping matters at all. “What else was I supposed to do? I panicked!”

“These were my best slacks,” Hermann says, “and now--”

“You have a dozen just like them,” Newt says, “two dozen. Three dozen. I just fucking folded them all!”

“Stop shouting,” Hermann says.

“Make me!” Newt shouts.

“I bloody will!” Hermann shouts back, and then he grabs Newt by his tie and kisses him. 

When they emerge from the bathroom and take their seats fifteen minutes later, Hermann with his collar suspiciously askew, Newt with his own buttoned suspiciously higher than it was going in, Dad and Illia pointedly say nothing.

Hermann pours himself a new glass of wine and clears his throat. “What, ah, what were we discussing?”

[ruthlessnessisyourdesire-archive]

@anderson-residence​ said:

"Mr. Sixty?" Mayson approaches slowly for once. The boy seems unsure. "Uhhh you see umm" he's holding some behind his back. "It's father's day today and while Mr. Hank is my dad uhhh my teacher said today is a day to celebrate any man we look up to and who takes care of us sooo I um I made you this!" The boy pulls a hand made card from behind his back and presents it to 60.

What is this? Father’s Day? 

Oh yes. Another human holiday. This one hardly makes much sense to him considering he does not and never will have a father. He was constructed. Therefore he does not the liberty of family by blood. Perhaps blood is not always what makes family as he is still discovering but this?

Sixty narrows. First it makes him suspicious but then confused. Look up to? Him? Why would anyone look up to him? He is not Connor. He is not Anderson the father Mayson so proclaims to have. But - 

He takes the handmade card. Colorful with its crayola and childlike wonder. Even android children possess that young creative quality that is not complete perfection but more so than humans. This however is a drawing of him in brilliant blue. 

Sixty frowns. Mayson does nothing but make him question if he suitable for such things. It makes him feel acceptable despite his past. “Mayson, I -” Usually not one to have his tongue tied, Sixty finds it in him only to place a hand atop the YK model’s shoulder. He smiles a bit. “This is quite a piece of art. I am honored you thought of me too.” Along with that drunken louse Anderson goes unsaid and for good reason. Sixty does one better. He lowers down to Mayson’s level and gives him an earned hug. “....thank you.” 

Hopefully no one will see this sappy display! Ugh he will never live it down. 

[cyanpeacock]

Here’s a dark fable. The moral of the story... is yours, to tell me, if you’d like.

*

In the jungles of Bangladesh, lived a peacock.

He had lived in luxury since he was a chick. His mother was kind. She was attentive. She always brought him food, and when there was not enough, she went without while her children feasted. His father was around, and chirped to him consolingly in the hard times, and crowed with joy in the good ones.

Still, this peacock was unhappy.

He was angry, and rude, and brash to the other peacocks. Once, he kicked another chick out of the nest, so he could have more food when he was already full of delicious grubs!

His mother was very disappointed in him. 

How could this be? She had been so kind, so gentle, so careful to meet the every need of her chick. Why was he so cruel? Had she gone wrong, somewhere? Had she hurt him, somehow, while he rested in his egg? Could it be that he was... well, just not right?

The truth about this peacock, is that he was simply too sensitive.

He took the other chick glancing at his grub as a threat. He thought - that means he’s going to steal my food! I’ll teach him a lesson! I’ll take your food!

Of course, this was an overreaction, so far as any of the other peacocks were concerned. He summarily got exiled to the furthest corner of the nest, for bad behaviour.

This didn’t make the peacock feel any better.

In fact, he felt more threatened.

“Why are you doing this to me?!”, he asked himself. “What are you getting out of this?! Are you trying to starve me?! Are you trying to kill me?!”

These, of course, were some quite serious leaps of logic.

The peacock had prided himself on being a very logical creature. 

“I’m much smarter than these other chicks,” he thought to himself, scuffing his little talons in the dirt. “I don’t know why I bother with them.”

He didn’t bother with them much. They couldn’t bother with him! He was so cruel when they jibed and joked and laughed, always taking it the wrong way, when they just wanted to have fun. This peacock never considered that while he was smart, he lacked - and had too much of - feeling.

Eventually, the time came for him to go into the world, alone, and find a mate.

He crowed the prowess of his mind from every treetop in Bangladesh. “I’m smart! I’m smart!”, he cried, absolute in his certainty his ‘intelligence’ would find him a mate.

No mate came.

The peacock, frustrated, went about his days with increasing resentment. 

He had killed cobras to eat before, and this satisfied him. It was more of a challenge than picking berries from bushes, or buds from the branches. Still, he was angry as he ate.

One day, he was just passing by, in a mighty state. His fury was close to the boil. 

The final straw was the sight of a cobra, crossing his path with an undue amount of pride in its slither.

The peacock, though he was not hungry, struck. He killed the snake, and found a horrible, wonderful feeling washing over him. 

Such relief! 

He took such delight in the act! He felt such power, such control! This could only be right!

Oh, couldn’t it.

So, this rude, cruel peacock had found his first hobby. 

He killed cobras. Not all of them - that didn’t make any sense, though he thought about it. Surely at least some cobras were useful, if only to make more cobras. He just killed the ones he liked the look of. 

This greatly disturbed the other peacocks. What kind of animal kills, not to eat, but for the joy of it? 

They could not understand.

One peacock, a mystic type, crooned softly. He crooned that the killer was only making sure the insects had enough to eat. 

The other peacocks summarily discarded both the mystic, and the killer, as quite mad. 

Well - most of them did. Just one or two tilted their beaks to the sky, considered this, and found it to be... a good enough reason. 

Then, they carried on.

This killing habit was of no benefit to our peacock. 

It scared the other birds even more, and he grew very lonely, killing snakes, all on his own. No other peacock would listen to his cries in the mating season, or even chirp “hello” to him as he passed by in the canopy. 

His loneliness made him jaded, and tired, and... lonely. He grew sloppy with his craft - leaving snakes alive and twitching, or wounded, and slither-limping away. Those who survived had quite the stories to tell, about a mighty blue God from the sky, that might strike to deliver judgement at any time. Repent for your sins, they hissed, lest He take you unawares.

Quite bored of his indecent conduct, unaware of his growing infamy, and in search of a thrill, the peacock came up with a plan. 

“I’m going to find the biggest, meanest snake in this jungle, and I’m going to get him. I’m going to kill the meanest cobra in this entire place!”, he thought to himself, childishly, like a real grown-up.

So, he went about, and searched around, and looked very hard for something.

The other peacocks were unnerved by this change in his behaviour. 

Their snake-killer was not... well, killing snakes, any more?

Perhaps this was good.

“What are you doing?”, the bold ones chirped to him, wondering if their cousin had lost his mind so completely, he’d become incapable of fending for himself.

“Oh, nothing,” said the killer, quite intent on executing his plan.

The peacocks left him alone again, satisfied he probably did know what he was doing, and equally satisfied that they probably didn’t want any part in his madness. 

Eventually, our peacock came across the biggest, meanest, shiniest, strongest-fanged cobra in the entire jungle.

He was huge. His scales were black, and shone like the night-time, with its stars gleaming with power. His teeth were white, and hollow, and strong. On his neck he bore a great cape, bearing splendid eyes that gazed out remorselessly, to intimidate any threat that might come his way.

He was perfect. 

Quite mad, quite engrossed, and quite obsessed, our peacock stalked his chosen prey. He ignored all else for his purpose, in fact. He gathered information - where does he slither, when does he rest, where could I hide?

One day, the opportunity came.

The cobra was quite unawares, just like in the stories others told, of the great blue God from the sky - the stories he had never taken seriously, in his fat and happy ease. He was full, and sleepy, and very tired, so he curled up in a shallow hole in the dirt, pleased and intent on digesting his meal.

The peacock struck. He fell from the sky, vicious, victorious, and burning.

The cobra heard a great crashing as he burst through the underbrush, all too late. 

He was bewildered by the sight before his eyes - who is this? Who is this skinny, mangy, louse-bitten bird, with his feathers all ragged and his eyes a-blazing? Does he need something to e--

The peacock sank his bill into the cobra’s neck, and a horrible realization came over the snake.

So, it was his time to be eaten.

The peacock relished in it. He bathed in bliss in his first taste of blood, in what seemed like a lifetime.

As he was fading, the cobra hissed.

“You know,” he slurred, around his fangs and dying breath, “I could have told you where to find easier prey.”

And with that, he was gone.

The peacock froze.

Two hearts were no longer beating.

Only one started again.

Why wasn’t he scared?

Why didn’t he fight?

Why... why would a cobra tell him where to find easier prey?

The peacock’s mind raced so fast, it went entirely blank. 

This, he thought to himself, was not how it was supposed to be!

No! No-- impossible! Where was the struggle?! Where was the glory?! Where was the valiant battle, and the splatters of blood?! Where was the rush?!

Why did he feel so empty?

The peacock heard, again, the words of the dying snake. 

“I could have told you where to find easier prey.” 

Was that a threat?

Did he know it was going to be like this?

No. No snake could know the future. Not even the mystic knew the future.

This cannot be.

The peacock began to dwell. He began to obsess, over a new and different thing. No longer was he interested in the senseless murder of snakes, or even the love of a mate he had once crowed for so enthusiastically. No - he had to find an answer. He had to know. 

Why?

So, once again, he went quite mad. 

He flew from treetop to treetop, crowing, and squawking, and entirely silent. He jabbered in tongues at the insects on the ground, and nodded as though they’d given him meaning. He even dared to approach the monkeys, who snatched at his tail feathers and bared their teeth in rage, and he flew away screaming in something that wasn’t delight.

Why? Why? Why?

The other peacocks, again, grew quite worried. Even the bold were too scared to approach the strange one when he was like this.

They consulted the mystic. 

“The strange one - it’s not well, again.” they said.

“What is he saying?”, asked the mystic. 

“Well, nonsense.”

“No, no,” said the mystic. “What is he saying? What is he repeating?” 

Clarification was sometimes necessary, for the mystic. Not all of them understood saying. The ones who did... tended to remain silent.

“Errrm... it sounds like... a whole lot of, why?”, the peacocks said.

“Ah.” said the mystic. “Then... there is no hope for him.”

This, the other peacocks found disturbing. 

They were also disturbed by the mystic, and its solitary, jumbled nest, and the way it called its brown feathers “blue”. 

So, they left, confused, and troubled, but able to go on with their lives. 

The mystic did not know there was no hope for the killer. Indeed, he believed this change might mean an awful lot of hope. Really, he just wanted the other birds to get out of his nest. Or did he? Perhaps there was a reason for that... the mystic did an awful lot of wondering. 

The killer was in a bad way.

His feathers were falling out. His eyes were dull, and lit with an insane spark. Even the lice had all but abandoned his thin and un-nourishing blood. 

“No, no, no,” he muttered to himself, and the leaves. “No, no, no. That’s not it. That’s not why he said it. He wasn’t trying to be nice. He was trying to screw with me. Wasn’t he?”

The leaves whispered that yes, he was trying to be nice, killer.

“Why?! Why?!” cried the peacock. “He’s a cobra. Why be nice to a peacock?!”

“Well... because he wasn’t very nice to the other cobras,” whispered the leaves. 

“Killer,” murmured a berry. 

“No, no, no. No. No! No-- no!! No.” hollered the bird. “That makes no sense. I’m a peacock. He’s a cobra. We’re mortal enemies!”

“Are you?”, whispered the leaves. “He wanted you to eat, too.”

“No,” the peacock muttered, again. “No. No! This cannot be! Why?!”

He screamed. He hollered. He cried, and he yelped, and he tore at the bushes to try and silence their horrid words, screeching senselessly the entire time. He savaged the bush, for no good reason, and found this act only made the screaming in his head grow louder. 

The bush had been silenced. It had been destroyed, in fact, and it had disturbed the entire neighbourhood in the process of being reduced to fungus food. 

The peacock fared no better. 

He couldn’t understand. He was enraged. He was sick. He was so full of despair his mind was burning. He-- he was guilty?

For the first time in his short, cruel, life, our murderous friend felt guilty.

He abhorred it.

It abhorred him.

An idea came into his mind.

It was ugly.

It was dreadful, in fact.

It was the only way.

The next day, the peacocks woke up to the dawn, and found a terrible thing. 

It was the body of the killer, draped carelessly, with such awful ease, his broken neck and battered feathers swaying gracefully in the hot breeze.

The chicks screamed in horror. Even the adults cried, mouths agape. His form was in disrepair - wilted, abused, thinner than any bird they had ever seen. It was awful to behold.

“Why? Why?” sobbed his mother, to the mystic.

“Ah, no. Another one.” thought the mystic, to himself. 

“I can tell you,” he said, in the kindest way he could.

“Tell me. Tell me.” the mother begged. “Tell me why this happened to my son.”

The mystic, who had been wide awake that night, had watched the killing chick fly high into the sky, a higher flight than he had ever seen any peacock take before.

Then, he had simply let himself fall, and did not spread his wings to catch himself.

“Your son killed himself.” he stated, simply, kindly, gently.

This did not console the mother. 

She sobbed, and sobbed. The mystic waited with her, gently, for this wave of the grief to pass. 

“Why?” she asked, when her body had stopped shaking. “Why?”

“Your son was a bad bird.” stated the mystic, not unkindly.

“Yes,” the mother agreed. “But surely he didn’t deserve... he only killed snakes! Never a bird!”

“Why did he kill them?”, asked the mystic. “You knew him well. Tell me.”

The mother hesitated.

“Well... to eat them, and...” 

She couldn’t say it.

“For fun?”, supplied the mystic.

“Yes,” said the mother, with a weary heart, and damp eyes. “For fun.”

“Then that is perhaps why.”

“But he’d done it before! He’d done it his whole life! Why now?! What changed?!”, cried the mother.

Ignoring “his whole life,” the mystic supplied an answer.

“Perhaps he met a snake... who was kind to him, before he passed.”

This confused the mother, deeply. 

In fact, she was at a loss for words.

The mystic smiled softly, remembering earlier times. 

“A snake... who was kind, to a peacock?” she asked, like she was but a chick.

The mystic’s heart rose, and fell, and rose again. Of course, there was hope for this one. 

“They exist, you know.” he said. 

“I...” began the mother, confused.

“You need time. I understand.”

This, the mystic knew, was the end of the conversation.

The mother left the nest of the mystic in a daze, as many of the mystic’s visitors did. The other peacocks gave her a wide, respectful berth as she passed.

When she was gone, the mystic turned to himself. 

“Why did he go that way?” he wondered.

“His pain. It was too great. He saw no choice but to do it himself.”  

He pondered this, for just a moment.

“What made it that way?”

He thought of the broken body he had seen, and the exceeding emptiness of his dead eyes, and the many birds - especially the chicks - who would need words, any words, to make sense of what they had witnessed. 

He thought of the life of the proud, stupid, clever chick, who had never believed, and always questioned.

“Perhaps he did meet a kind snake. Perhaps... a kind word, from a strange place, was all it took to throw his universe into doubt.” thought the mystic.

“That... and the wondering.”

The mystic made a face. That dead bird, as a chick, had never visited his nest. He had never learned how to live with the wondering. 

The mystic, whose life was all about wondering, shook his head, crest bobbing with the motion. He couldn’t help his judgement, but then, this kind of wondering was not for all birds either, was it? He had been, and would be, judged in turn.

“There were things left unresolved,” the mystic told himself. 

“He’ll get... another chance.”

The mystic didn’t know this. Not all the birds believed they came back, as something new, after they were gone. Indeed, not even the mystic believed this, not all the time.

He just had a feeling.

Whether it was right, or wrong, it simply happened.

[fallen029]

Reform

Lisanna's eyes lazily watched the seith's wooden babies danced around the table she was seated at, happily chatting nonsensically to one another as they enjoyed the warm day. Surrounding them were the Thunder Legion, their papa grumbling slightly as he was scolded by Freed over something with Evergreen sneering behind her hand fan all the while. Lisanna used to feel out of place when she sat at the table in these sorts of moments. She was, after all. These conversations were meant for no ears other than the three assembled before her, but over time, they seemed less and less to care what she heard and what she didn't.

Bickslow would only relaying it all back to her anyways. With it slanted in his favor, of course.

"I'm serious, Lissy," he'd say, tongue flapping, waving his guild mark with pride, "they give me no respect. When all I do is exhibit the upmost for them. Ridiculous. I always take their feelings into considerations. But do they mine? No."

This was his speech once after getting griped at for, once more, oversleeping and skipping out on practice after staying out the night before with Lisanna who had no real drive or goals, really, other than to live her best life (edging on her twenties, mostly consisted of partying) and saw it fit still to stay out all night, hanging out with Natsu and Happy. Goofing off. Bickslow though had drive and momentum and something to work towards.

Before.

Now he seemed content to bum around with Lisanna and experience all the things she thought she'd never get to have. Which was fine.

Except for the fact that it did nothing to instill trust and respect from his teammates.

Lisanna saw through him, when he tried to paint the others as the monsters who mostly just seemed to want reliability out of him. She got little of it either, interestingly enough, as rather than shifting it to her, he seemed to just slowly lose it, the longer they dated.

It felt less like she was changing the seith to suit her needs and more like he was just changing to benefit his own while using her as a scapegoat.

"Maybe I should break up with him," she mused to Mira once, softly, as if testing the waters. Bickslow and his only two real friends were on the outs, once more, over him ditching out on too many jobs to just hang around with Lisanna who, short of pulling some shifts here or there at the bar, was kind of just not feeling jobs, recently, and didn't feel much up for them. "Do...do you think?"

"Mmmm," Mirajane hummed as they stood in the Strauss backyard, pulling laundry down off the line. Well, Mirajane was. Lisanna was mostly bemoaning her own life. Which was fine. Mira was always just glad to have her sister around. She always would. "I mean, it's really not your fault, is it? That he's, what? Skipping out on the others? You're not asking him to ditch his friends, are you?"

"Of course not. But-"

"You could encourage him," her sister suggested with a grin. "To be better. Laxus tells me he's a bit of a mope, recently. And a drunk. And-"

"And," the slayer called from the back porch where he was watching Mira pull down the laundry, his laundry, which he wanted her to do for him after returning from a grueling S-Class job. He was seated in a patio chair back there, feet propped up on the railing around the porch as Mira's mangy mutt sat at his feet, not bothered one bit by the cigar the man was smoking. The demon said he couldn't in the house, so this was his only option. Other than, you know, just not. Which was hardly an option at all and he was very upset when she suggested it. Fuckin' demon. "A louse. He's also gotten less funny since you guys started dating. You're turning him into a drunk. Break up with him. Now. Lisanna. Date Freed."

"What?" Mirajane frowned over at him. "Dragon, Freed's not interested in Lisanna. At all. And she's not him."

The perfect crime.

"All," Laxus grumbled who'd more than tired of thinking about just what Lisanna and Bickslow got up to when they were spending their days getting so drunk and stoned back at his apartment, "the better."

Still, something had to be done about the current state of affairs. Lisanna didn't want to break up with Bickslow, not at all. She was having fun with him. And he was with her. It was just that their fun was beginning to intercede so much on his life, his real, work related life, and she wasn't oblivious to it. No. Lisanna wasn't aloof or only out for herself. She did want Bickslow to continue to grow as a mage. To prosper. All that. They were friends, really, underneath everything else they'd begun to become in recent times. She just...didn't really like having to spend her time worrying about the well-being of someone who should be more than able to do that.

"It's part of a relationship," Mirajane told her another time, when she griped a bit about this. They were in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Well, Mira was chopping vegetables while Lisanna mostly pretended to debate helping (she definitely wasn't). "And have you considered he can't? You know? Look after himself? Maybe something happened that has nothing to do with you. He has a quite sharp personality change of late-"

"Nothing happened to him," Laxus griped from the living where he was reclining in the big chair, glancing over the newspaper as Mirajane's gross stupid dog sat at his feet and no, Laxus hadn't brought him that new squeaky toy he was annoying chewing on, he'd just found it and happened to give it to the dog, so there. "He's just a punk. You know, he told Freed that he was going to meet up with him, yesterday, to discuss the upcoming job, and what'd he do? Come late. What a fucking ass. You're fucking a fucking ass, Lisanna, just so you know."

"My sister is not," Mira complained right back, glaring at the wall that separated the kitchen and living room of the tiny Strauss home. The walls were so thin that she was sure the slayer could feel her gaze, "Fucking anything. Dragon."

Well…

Lisanna only sighed though. Her sister was right. Somewhat, at least. Like normal. Whether she liked it or not, Lisanna did care about Bickslow. A lot. And that was new to her, to care about someone in this sort of way. She'd never had a boyfriend before, not really, and that was what Bickslow felt like. His well-being was his own concern, of course, but she also felt a strong desire to be sure of him. To know that he was, at least, attempting to be a good person.

"I'm not a good person, is all," he informed her more than once. "At least not one without a struggle. A dark knight. A begotten hero. All that, yeah, Lissy? You understand?"

Sort of. Being a dark knight mostly seemed to just mean he could act like an asshole when he was drunk but still be a good guy because he deemed himself one. Except for when he didn't.

She felt like he was though. A good person. It was pretty obvious. Being a jerk at times hardly made someone not good. No. Bickslow was just...complex. Complicated. When you really looked at it. On the surface though, which they skated on for the most part, he was just someone who was looking for a good time and, yeah, she was finding that was all she wanted too. Perhaps a bit darker take on the sort of fun she used to fill her days with, when she spent more time around the hall and had a safer sense of boundaries, but where had that safety gotten her? Killed, just about. If you could die doing the right thing, why not at least taste the wrong sometimes?

"Do not taste," Laxus growled once when she found herself alone in a room with him rather than her sister, "Bickslow. That's sick. This is sick. Stop talking to me. I'm busy."

"You're playing with the dog."

"I am not," he growled some more, "playing with this stupid dog."

He was playing with the stupid dog.

Lisanna had come into her sister's room that afternoon hoping to find the off Mirajane there to give her guidance, but instead, she just found the slayer with his headphones in, lazily playing a game of tug-of-war with a pull rope with Mirajane's equally as lazy old dog on her bed. For a second, Laxus and Lisanna only stared at one another, as if calling each other's bluff, but Mira was in the adjoining bathroom so, apparently, if she needed immediate help, he was the only taker.

"Anyways," the youngest Strauss sibling went on as she stood there watching the slayer definitely play with the dog, "I just mean that, like, Bickslow isn't the best, fine, sure, but does that make him the worst? No."

"For you? Yeah, he is." Laxus was tired of constantly having to reiterate this. "Why are you even asking me about all this? Huh? You know how I feel about your relationship. It's horrible."

"How can you say that? When it makes both of us happy?"

Because it made him miserable. Very miserable. He'd been dating Mira for all of two years then and had known Lisanna for all of a late more. She was still a kid to him. Not some yahoo who thought that dating Bickslow of all people was a good idea. It really ticked him off, the idea of them together.

"Because I don't care about your happiness," said the man who would still deny the fact he was very clearly playing, still, with the dog. "Either of you."

"You're such a liar."

"Am not."

"You're one of Bickslow's closest friends," Lisanna pointed out. "How could you not care about-"

"I am no one's friend." Except the demon and her dog. Err, definitely not the dog. "The only friends he has that you can go to are the ones that he's fucking over because of you. Forty minutes. In the rain. He made Freed wait. Imagine it. Imagine sticking up for such an asshole. Imagine waiting for such an asshole."

"But you're definitely not friends with Freed, right?" Lisanna prompted. "Even though you're sitting here going on and on about him-"

"Stop," Laxus order simply, "dating Bickslow. Then he'll go back to normal."

"But I don't want him to go back to normal."

"You're the kind of girlfriend that friends dread."

"How would you know? Huh? If you have no friends?"

He was glaring then, darkly, and even let that mangy old mutt win their game of tug-of-war.

"Do," he ordered once more, "the right thing, Lisanna."

"So you're telling me that if Mira started flaking on all her friends for you, stopped showing up to work for you, that you would break up with her?"

He laughed. The dog, who'd never seen this, barked in reply.

"As if." Laxus was just as quickly snorting. "That's the dream. I'd move her far away from you freaks and never let her come back."

"I… Then what's your argument?"

"Mira and I are in love." He was pretty comfortable with this statement in those days. Just not any declarations to that stupid dog of hers. "You and Bickslow are in an endless cycle of nonsensical idiocy. It will never get any better. It will just stay the same. There's nothing better for either of you to be found in one another. Your relationship is a joke." Just as quickly though, his glare was gone and he was picking up his end of the rope once more, exciting the old mutt. "Now, if you would like for me to set you up with someone sensible or better yet, point you in the direction of a monastery-"

"You're not funny."

"Nether is your joke of a relation-"

"Dragon, are you being a bully?" Mira's head poked out of the bathroom door then, frowning over at them. "Because it sounds like you're being a bully."

"I'm offerin'," he grumbled, "guidance."

"Well, stop it. Behave."

This meant that it was time to put his headphones back in for the slayer and forget the entire thing, but it wasn't that easy for Lisanna. She knew that their relationship was, ultimately, the cause for the changes in the seith, but she never thought that someone would actually levy the blame at it. At her. While she knew Laxus was being his usual overly dramatic self, it really bugged her that Freed and Ever (mostly Freed; Ever didn't seem to like anyone...other than Elf...sometimes…) might be upset with her over the entire thing, rather than just their flaky friend.

And was she to blame?

"No," Freed sighed.

"Yes," Ever hissed.

She met them at the guildhall one day, when Bickslow wasn't around. He was actually busy sleeping off a hangover and while she was supposed to be working an early shift up at the guildhall, but when she saw the other two Thunder Legion members all alone, well, it wouldn't hurt to shirk those just a bit. Would it?

"Ever," Freed sighed once more, though mostly, he was annoyed that his planning time was being interrupted for such foolishness. At the moment, he had a map spread across the table and was trying to logically figure how they were going to snag two jobs he wanted from the board and travel to each location realistically in a time period that would make sense. It wouldn't take them long to knock out the first job, but it was further away, and that complicated things a bit. "Honestly, Lisanna, what you and Bickslow do is none of our business."

"Yes, it is." Evergreen wasn't busy with maps or planning. No. She had been counting the minutes until Elfman showed up so that she could begin looking super busyw ith those things, but for the moment, only fanned herself in annoyance that he was making her wait so long. "It's more our business than anyone else's."

"Ever-"

"No, Freed, I'm serious." And she was. Enough so that she dropped her hand fan into her lap and stared full on across the table at the youngest Strauss sibling. "I don't give a shit when Bickslow stays out all night drinking, when he sleeps with questionable women, or when he's just an overall drag to be with."

"Wait, am I the questionable one?" Lisanna cocked her head to the side. "Or-"

"But," Ever continued on, "when he makes me look like a fool, waiting around on him, when he ditches out on practices and jeopardizes us out on jobs, that's what gets on my nerves, Lisanna. That's what bothers me. If I was with a man who was completely ignoring his duties, even just to be with me, well, I certainly would not want to be with him. Nor would I consider him a man."

"And we all know," Freed remarked as he glanced over at his friend with a knowing smile, "that you must have a man, Ever."

"I do not know what you are implying-"

"I believe," Freed insisted, "that you do."

They had a weird glare going on then and Lisanna was rare to hear the rune mage so jovial, but when he got to digging at someone, he really could burrow his jabs in there.

"Anyways," Ever started again, looking once more to Lisanna. "You can do as you please. I'm sure you intend to. But if it comes down to who I hold responsible for Bickslow and his actions, realize it is you."

Lisanna blinked, looked to Freed, but the rune mage could only shrug.

"Ever," he told the young woman, "has a hard time finding faults in herself. The same could be said for her friends."

"I'm find many faults in you right now," the woman of stone retorted, but Lisanna just glanced between them.

"I guess I've just been a bit worried, is all," she said slowly as the pair sent one another glares. "About him. Bickslow. I really like, like, a lot, and I think he really likes me too. But I'm kind of worried about how he's behaving recently. I know I should just, like, tell him, right? To just go out on his jobs, make sure he keeps his appointments, not stay out all night, but… It's selfish, I guess, to let him waste all his time with me when he has so many other things that he needs to be doing. Important things. Thanks, guys, for your help."

"Eh?" Freed frowned over at her as he'd hardly heard a word. "Lisanna? Did you say-"

"What," Evergreen complained with a glare, "are you still doing here?"

They were right. What was she still doing there? When she had a seith to go confront? After, you know, pretending to work a shift.

As she rose though, Laxus came over, originally to gripe at Lisanna about her sister not being around (how was he supposed to get off to a good morning if the demon wasn't there to complain about his early hour drinking and smoking?), but had caught wind of what was going down and was not pleased. At all.

"Did you morons," he growled at his two bodyguards as she walked off, "tell her to break up with him? Huh?"

"Yes," Ever said with a glare after the woman.

"No," Freed said with a sigh as his eyes only fell back to his map.

Lisanna just ignored them though, finally heading back into the kitchen to get started on the breakfast orders. Her mind was lost in thought then though and, when Mira finally got int hat day, she begged for a few hours off early (try a lot hours off), to go deal with what was waiting for her at the seith's apartment.

"I guess you can," Mirajane remarked as she stood before Laxus' table. As the slayer readied himself for a kiss to the cheek though, the woman only reached over to snatch his cigar from his mouth.

"Demon," he growled.

"It's gross," she replied simply, snubbing the cigar out on the table.

"IT's a bar! Everyone here smokes!"

"I'm not kissing everyone, now am I?"

She had a point.

Still, Laxus only glared at Lisanna as he asked, "What are you going to Bickslow's to talk about? Huh? Let him down easy? Well, do it quick. I need him to come training with me tomorrow. Don't need some weepy, whiny little shit all heartbroken. Understand?"

"You're not funny," Lisanna insisted as, sitting up taller as the demon finally pressed her lips to his cheek, the slayer snorted.

"I'm," he told her with confidence, "hilarious."

"You are, dragon," Mira agreed with a pat on the head and they were so gross to be around, when they were like that.

"Grosser," Bickslow whispered from his drunken slumber as she relayed to him as she sat there, on his filthy apartment floor, knees to her chest.

She'd never had one before. A boyfriend. She hadn't been sure how to tell him about what was bothering her. Bothering him, really, which in turn was bothering her. So she did it how she would a friend. If Lucy or Levy were giving her a hard time, if Natsu was being an ass, if Elfman was getting on her nerves, she'd just tell them what was going on.

Should it not be the same in a relationship?

"Grossest," Lisanna finished, just as she did all her worries and fears over what was going on with them. It felt better, even, just in her chest, to have it all off there. "But you get it, right? Bicks? I just… I don't wanna break up."

"Me neither."

"I just want to… I like hanging out. A lot. A bunch. But you can't do that, you know? Treat the others like trash. They're your friends. You know?"

He said nothing then and she just sighed, shaking her head a bit.

"Why?" she asked then, voice barely a whisper as she sat there, mostly in the dark as the man kept blankets over his windows. Even blinds weren't enough to keep the light out. He liked it that way. Black as night.

"The exact opposite," he told her, that first day she came over, "of how I take my coffee."

Which got at least half a dispenser of sugar dumped in. At least.

But it suited them, usually. The darkness. It made for excellent movie lacrima quality, even during daylight hours. Not to mention it was pretty cool, when he lit up, and his babies would float about in the smoke rings, eyes glowing green. Homes all had their own atmospheres. Ambiances. And his fit the seith and his quirks perfectly.

He grunted, finally, Bickslow did, as if questioningly, and she tried again.

"Why are you acting like such a flake recently? Laxus is getting the most upset, I think because he just hates us together, but maybe also because you're disappointing him? I don't wanna pry, but… Why, Bickslow?"

He was slow as he shoved up, and even in the darkness, she could tell he really didn't want to. Still, blinking heavily, he took in a deep yawn before shifting to sit back on his butt, right beside her, in the mess of an apartment. His babies laid neatly though, across the coffee table, dormant. It was hard not to take notice of the silence this caused.

It was always so weird when they weren't just floating about, nonsensical noises and all.

"S'not your fault, kid," he assured her, voice a bit rough though the day was only continuing to get later. "You know."

"I know," she swallowed because yea, deep down, she did. She ahd. The whole time. "But-"

"It's mine." He paused then, thinking, before saying, "I just… Who wants to hang around someone always gone? Always trainin'? Who can't pull all nighters and drunk until the sun comes up? That doesn't wanna goof off in that weird place out in the woods that you and your cat and Salamander friend like to chill at-"

"Um, that's their house. And it's in better shape than your apartment."

Debatable.

"I just," he whispered, "want to feel too old. For you. For everything. I feel a lot older than I am. You know? We were so fucking serious about our magic. Jobs. Back then. When we were just entering our twenties. Now I'm halfway done with them and I'm just blown out, I guess, on 'em. Jobs. Training. Magic. I just wanna hang out. Kill time. More time. To only feel older. A vicious cycle, eh?"

"You're only, like, two years older than me."

"Four."

"Ew."

"Lisanna-"

"What's it like to almost be twenty-five?" She hummed as she pondered. "That's, like, almost thirty. Is Laxus thirty? Do you know how old he is? And when you add in the seven years we were- You guys are super old. So gross."

"Grosser."

"Grossest."

She fell against him then, resting up against the shoulder of the man, as she whispered, "It's okay, you know? To not wanna be so serious about your magic? It's still your job or whatever, but other than when you have to go out on jobs, you don't...have to. You know?"

"I know."

"But you can't make plans with your friends and then ditch them. And let people think it's my fault."

"Who's blamin' ya?"

"Mostly Ever, I guess."

"Evergreen would blame ya for anything that goes wrong."

Well? Who could blame her? It all was Lisanna's fault. Or anyone Evergreen deemed in that moment as a rival.

"And Laxus wants me to date Freed."

He considered this in silence, the seith did, before shrugging some as he said, "You can, I guess. If you really wanna. He's younger than me, anyways."

"By, like, what? A few months?"

"He won't ever flake out on nobody, either, which seems pretty big to ya."

"Bickslow-"

"Boss told me," he informed her then with a shake of his head, "that I'm bad for you."

"No."

"Uh, yeah, Lisanna, that's what he said."

"That's not what I meant."

He knew.

"You're not bad for me," she said. And then, louder a bit, as if to reassure them both, she said, "You're not. Honest. I was doing this all before you. Well, most of it, I guess, but… I just want to live, Bickslow. You know? Really live. Really experience things. Stuff I wouldn't have before. If I die-"

"Don't talk about that."

But she had to.

"If I do," she insisted, "then I want to know that I got everything out the way. Or at least most of it. Had fun. I mean, I did have fun, I guess, before all that happened, but it was a different kind. A reserved kind. I wanna just have complete freedom. I've had complete freedom, for awhile now. And I'm enjoying it. If I'm not hurting anyone, why should I feel bad about it?"

"Feel the same way."

"You are hurting people," she pointed out. "By not showing up. Which is such a dick thing to do."

"I… It's just hard, is all, Lissy." He looked down at where she rested against him. "To tell them that. That I don't wanna go out on a job. Or be at our weekly training session. Meet up to talk about plans. And maps. Freed and his fucking maps. I'm just not in that headspace right now, but if I told them that-"

"It's better," she reaffirmed, "for you to just do it. No matter what happens because you did it, it's better than to not and make them wait on you. Make them lose faith in you. If you want something different, say it. Don't make other people think that you're still on the same wavelength as them when you've left it. You know?"

Neither spoke then and the seith wrapped his arms around her shoulders then, pulling the woman close. For awhile, they were content that way.

"I'll get back to it eventually," he added though, just as she started to lull off against his shoulder. "Being super serious about it. Magic. Work. Trainin'. I gotta get to S-Class, eventually, you know."

"I will too," Lisanna insisted. "Maybe not, like, S-Class, but I'll want to be serious too. You know? Full time. You'll never see me."

"Not if you never see me first."

This hung between them and it didn't feel like too good a place to stop things. So they didn't. Instead, Bickslow added, "By thirty. At least."

"Not when you turn thirty though," she was quick to add. "That's only, like, what? Half a year, was it?"

"Ya cut me deep, Lissy."

Still, she shut her eyes as she said, "Treat your friends better, Bickslow."

"Bossin' me around, eh?"

"Please?"

He nodded some and, that time, his babies arose from their place on the table and they hung out for awhile before eventually arriving at the guildhall together. This was annoying to Laxus, who became very focused on glaring down at his beer.

Lisanna left him though, she did Bickslow, letting him head over to Evergreen and Freed. They needed, after all, to have a talk. Natsu and Happy were there, anyways, for her to goof off with while Mirajane debated whether or not she should remind her sister she, technically, could clock back in and help out some. She was scheduled for that hour, anyways, before she'd taken off.

"This is very disappointing," Freed sighed, over at the Thunder Legion's table, "Bickslow, but I am glad that you have found within yourself the courage to be upfront about your feelings. Yes. Friends should never keep-"

"Yeah, okay, whatever." Evergreen had to move things right along then as super late (for something she'd never even told him about…), Elfman strolled through the guildhall. It was time for her to begin ignoring him. But if it looked like she was just having a conversation with Bickslow and Freed, it wouldn't be blatant enough for the big oaf to notice. And she needed him to notice this. "You won't be on jobs that much anymore. Who cares? Go sleep with stupid Lisanna, Bickslow. Who even gives a shit?"

Freed blinked at her language, but Bickslow only wagged his tongue.

"To the original Strauss fucker," he said with a wink, "I'll take that as an endorsement."

Things would stabilize from there (though, that specific day, Ever called all out war on Bickslow and it took freed a bit to calm them both back down) and, slowly, it even became comfortable. Lisanna didn't feel so new and fresh about her relationship and the nerves she once had about her standing with both Freed and Ever now that she was dating their friend faded.

Nothing much had changed.

Except, well, as she sat around at the table, mediating a bit where Freed failed to be able to, between Evergreen and her boyfriend (they seemed to have as many fall outs as an oak had leaves), but mostly watching the seith's babies float about, Lisanna found her eyes drifting over to the bar where Laxus was quickly downing a mug of ale. Usually Mira would gripe when he slammed drinks in such a way, but she said nothing then as he tipped her with a kiss and prepped to leave.

"Where are yo going? Laxus?" Lisanna teased as he passed the table because she knew, oh, she knew, but she wanted to hear him say it.

"Dog's sick," he grumbled as he passed. He had to answer when the demon's siblings spoke to him. It was a rule. She'd made that very clear. With Elfman, the words he said were usually much harsher, but for Lisanna? "You know that."

She knew that.

"But what are you-"

"He needs his afternoon shot."

That broke the stalemate between Ever and Bickslow as they both took to snickering, softly, while Freed bemoaned his fallen idol. Laxus just glared though, at all of them, and then back at the demon, muttering something about how the woman was makin' him, was all, but it was useless. Futile.

They all knew the truth.

Laxus loved a dog.

And a demon.

But Lisanna loved a seith and, no matter how many ways this got under the dragon's skin, he'd just have to get over it.

[moczothe1st]

Let’s Play Fire Emblem IV: Genealogy of the Holy War, Part 19: He’s a Late Blume-er

Part 18

Welcome back to FEIV! You may recall last week we killed Ishtore, a man with amazing lightning magic and truly astounding (not GOOD, but astounding) hair. He will be missed. I mean, not by me, but someone will miss him.  I mean, not his girlfriend, she also died, but…. Look, it’s a whole thing. The key is that we took his castle, and nobody is gonna be happy about it.

(See? No happiness.)

Bramsel: Men, this is our chance! Jabarro, send in your brigade! Hit them hard while their backs are turned! Leave no survivors!      

Jabarro: At once, sir!

Lene: Don’t you get it? He’s just using your loyalty to treat you like a weapon! I… I hate him so much!  

Ares: Lene… no, that isn’t…

Lene: Okay, fine! Whatever! Go with him, if you love him so much! It’s your life to waste, after all! But you can just go forget we ever met!

Ares: Lene…

(In her defense, judging by last week we can safely assume she’s worked out Ares is the only thing keeping her from getting locked up in Bramsel’s rape dungeon.)

(Yeah, here it comes. And meanwhile, at the other evil castle…)

Blume: I want you to show these rebel pigs just what the empire can do!  

One of those Three Names he Just Said: Yes, Milord. Leave it to us.  

A Second One: We will never let you down, milord.

The Third: The rebels shall be destroyed quickly, cleanly, efficiently, and utterly. Excuse us, milord.

(All three of them are identical except for eye color and the game never says which is which until they’re on the field, so.  NO clue.)

Blume: Hmmm. Everything depends on you.

(You may recall Tinni as being mentioned by a village two weeks ago, wherein they said she was much nicer than her family and the best person ever and definitely recruitable. And if Blume is her uncle, that means Taillte is her mom.  Arthur will want to have a chat with this one!)

Blume: Hmph. One would think I could expect more gratitude from someone I raised out of the goodness of my heart after her mother died. Or have you forgotten my many kindnesses?

(Ass.)

Tinni: No, uncle…

Blume: Good. Now get moving! Remember, these rebels are responsible for murdering my dear son Ishtore, and his true love Liza! Avenging them is your mission, Tinni!

Banba: We will be the ones to claim Seliph’s head as a trophy this day. We mustn’t be beaten by Tinni’s unit.  

Tinni: I… don’t know what to do anymore. Oh, mother… what would you do…?

She would probably shout a lot, if I remember her right.  Now, our phase begins and…

(Dammit, everyone needs to shut up!)

Lene: I see right through you! The moment Ares is out of sight you think it’s okay to act all tough again, you vile louse! Don’t even think about coming any closer. I don’t need Ares around to stop you!

Bramsel: Of all the nerve! You little wench!  Throw her in the dungeon! You’ll have plenty of time to think about what you’ve done there!

Lene: No! Ah… Ares…

Jabarro: Oh well. I guess it’s all in the past. You’re gonna forget ‘er sooner or later.

Ares: I beg your pardon? What exactly are you trying to say, Jabarro?

Jabarro: Heh… oh, nothing. Well, ‘cept that I bet Bramsel’s right about to…

(Oooooh, that was the wrong answer.)

Ares: T-this can’t be… Jabarro! How could you know his foul intent, yet let your tongue lie still?!

Jabarro: You can’t worry ‘bout the fairer sex, Ares. Have your fun with ‘em, but never stick around for when their lives come crashing down…

Ares: How dare you?! And to think you held my trust for so long… I must return to Darna! Lene needs me!

Jabarro: Nah, that ain’t gonna happen, see. Nobody, and I mean nobody, blows off my orders and turns tail on my watch! Not even you, kid.

Ares: … I’ve come far in your company, Jabarro, but our association ends now. If anyone wishes to stop me, Mystletainn will eagerly welcome your necks!

Jabarro: Grr… I’ll show you your place, whelp!

And with that, Ares reveals what sets him apart from his dad: he puts his personal morals above his oaths to jerks! Or he just really digs dancers, one of the two. Either way, he is now on the team!

And here’s our new BFF.  Ares is an overall phenomenal unit; like Shanan he joins up with his Holy Weapon and can therefore wreck most of the enemies on the map, but unlike Shanan he actually has pretty solid growths and will likely be a much tougher unit by the end of the game than he is now. Better still, he has a horse and comes with three great combat skills, Pursuit, Adept, and Vantage. TL;DR, we need to get this man to an Arena. For now, though, I run him south toward the rest of the army to meet his new friends.  

Now then. We have three armies to deal with. One moving south at us, following Ares. One moving west at us, with Tinni and the Three Stooges.  And one moving north to try and make one more shot at conquering Leonster.  Time to split the army. First, Fee is going to head toward Leonster, she can fly so she’ll beat the enemy there. She has an armorslayer sword and the enemy is all armor knights, she can hold the castle.  

Second, to the east, there’s two swordsmen blocking us off from getting Leif, Finn, and Nanna to the rest of the army.  Let’s move them. 

 … Finn. For shame.  But at least you can promote now. I am going to send him off to our home castle ASAP. Going north to help Ares I send Oifey, Lana, Dermott, Shanan, Ulster, Johan, Patty, and Seliph since he needs to take the castle to save Lene.  Going east are Leif and Nanna, as they’re already there, and backing them up will be Julia, Larcei, Lester, and Arthur, who is needed to recruit Tinni.  I can’t see any reason this won’t work off the top of my head, but… I mean. Fire Emblem.  

End turn!

Only one person could reach us, so this was a boring enemy phase. Next one will be much more… active. For now, though, let’s try to purge some of the northern enemy. 

Well. This didn’t go badly, but not great either, barring Lana finally getting an Aideen-tier level. I just didn’t kill off as many as I’d been hoping to, and the enemy phase will be pretty dicey.  I think I’ll have Finn stick around to help this group, rather than letting Lana warp him back to promote right away.  

End turn.  This will be…. Fun.

… *sigh* Well, I knew something could go wrong, but I didn’t see it being everyone dogpiling Johan of all people. Well, nice to be surprised, I suppose.

Reset.  

This is becoming a pattern. I do something interesting, die, and have to go back to boring old ‘sit at the edge of their range and bait them out’.  I know it works, but really.

Not bad at all! They tried to dogpile Ares this time, and like I said: he’s pretty badass. Probably would have died if Jabarro had taken a shot at him, but since it was specifically Jabarro’s range we were staying away from, we pulled through just fine. Now, to the eastern front.  

… That was just sad, Leif.

Okay, our turn.  First thing to do is clear out Jabarro’s unit. The man himself is a giant pain, packing both a Silver Sword and a Skill Ring to leave him obnoxiously accurate. Let’s send in some heavy hitters to roll him down.  

And Shanan gets the skill ring, which he absolutely does not need. He does need money, however, so selling that later will be a nice source of income for him to keep Balmung nice and shiny.  And from here, it’s really just a nice, normal purge.  

And hey, Ares can chat with Seliph.  I wasn’t planning to do it right now, but they ended up next to each other, so why not.

Ares: They call me the black knight, Ares. Perhaps you would recognize me better, however, as the son of Eldigan.  

Seliph: What?! It cannot be… you don’t mean the legendary Lord Eldigan of Nordion, do you?!

Ares: The very same! I am the son of Eldigan the Lionheart, the man your father killed in cold blood! My noble mother, the Lady Grainne, died wracked with grief and rage at Sigurd! It is high time you knew my family’s pain!

(Weeeeeeren’t you an infant at the time, bro? How do you know?)

Seliph: That’s… I don’t understand. As I was told, your father and mine were the closest of friends. As tragic as their end was, I don’t believe our fathers would ever have begrudged each other.

Ares: That’s impossible… Sigurd was my father’s mortal foe! This… this is all I’ve known my entire life…

Seliph: Please listen, Ares. Would you consider traveling with my army? I know we can resolve this misunderstanding, if we just give it some time. I hold the late Lord Eldigan in the utmost respect, just as my own father did. Please, understand this.

(I don’t respect him very much, if that helps.)

Ares: Seliph… very well. I can stay my hand for now. However, be warned. Should I learn that even a single word of your claim is false, your life is forfeit in your father’s place. Do I make myself clear, Seliph?

Seliph: if that happens, then do as you must. Ares… I wish you could know just how ecstatic our fathers would be to know we’ve met at last. If only it had been under better circumstances…

Neat. Now, where were we? Oh right, IN THE MIDDLE OF A WAR.

*snerk* I like how it took three people together to bring down the first Mage Sister, and Arthur alone completely wrecked the second.  Anyway, I have him and Julia blocking off the enemy; as long as Tinni doesn’t fuck this up and try to kill her invincible brother, I think we’re in a good place.

…

She’s gonna, huh.

*sigh* End turn.

Okay. So far so good. But there’s still one more…

Julia, I know you hunger for blood, but please don’t kill this one.

Tinni you magnificent bitch, dodging on a 93% hit chance. I love you.

Our turn, and I start it with Arthur:

Arthur: Really?! Then you’re Tinni! Oh, I’ve finally found you!

Tinni: Er… who are you?

Arthur: Here, maybe this will clear it up. This pendant is exactly the same as yours, and I’ve had it my whole life.

Tinni: Y-you’re right, but… what are you saying?

Arthur: See, years ago, my mother was a warrior in Sigurd’s army, and after the war she fled to Silesse with her children. When I was little, my mother and my newborn sister disappeared… I was left behind with nothing but this pendant. I only recently learned what happened. It was King Blume of Alster. He abducted them. He took my family from me. The rumors all said Mother had died awhile ago, but they also said my sister is still alive. That’s you, Tinni! I’ve finally found you after all these years! I came all this way just to see you again…

Tinni: I… I never even knew Blume did that to Mother… it makes sense, though. I can’t remember much of her, but I know I never saw her smile or laugh. You’re… my brother… ohhh… sniff…

Arthur: Would you play down your arms and join our army, Tinni? We’ve still got so much to talk about.

Tinni: Mm. Thank you, brother. I never did want to fight…

And that’s that. Let’s take a look at our new recruit:

And there’s Tinni! She gets a lot of flak because she’s hard to build super-well, but honestly I like her. She’s also hard to make bad; she doesn’t have Pursuit, but neither did Taillte and she did just fine. I suspect the people who don’t like Tinni are mainly the people who didn’t really like her mother either; I know she has a pretty wide selection of the fandom who view her as too poorly-built to use and she should be left childless. But unlike most of these chuckleheads, Tinni actually has a character arc, and for me that’s enough to bring her along. And you know, it’s not like she’s bad at combat. Wrath, Adept, and Critical are all fine skills, and while she won’t have growths as good as her crazy brother’s, she’s still got two different Holy Bloods.  In my experience, she’s gonna get on just fine.    

………………………

And then, I don’t know, either I forgot to save or my file got corrupted and I lost the last two turns. I… I was very sad. So I had to re-do them, and since that many shots would make the update unbearably long, I will summarize:  Ares got half the levels (people kept ignoring him to go after Ulster this time?) but he was able to kill his old boss and get the Skill Ring, Patty got a very good level thanks to Dermott leaving some half-dead dudes behind, and Julia almost murdered Tinni.   But, on the plus side, Finn finally got warped home to promote.  

*whistle* Take a look at that 25 Strength. That much power and a Brave weapon basically sets him up for the rest of the game, because he is gonna hit like a runaway freight train. Might have to be careful on defense, he’s only above-average in Speed and Defense and has no resistance worth mentioning, but as an offensive unit he’ll be a monster.  Let’s test him out in the arena while we’re here, he won’t be needed on the battlefield again for this map.

Finn: Seven wins, gained no levels. He might be a bit overpowered.  

Okay! End turn, this is going pretty well barring the occasional horrible glitch that I hate.  

…. Well, other than that. I underestimated how quickly they’d get to Leonster and… *cough* may have forgotten to move Fee once or twice, so I think the enemy will be taking the castle after all. It’s not a big deal, they’re really expected to, but I’m still a little annoyed this is happening because I didn’t think.  Ah, well, it will just be a quick detour to liberate it after Seliph finishes up at Darna. I have him head toward it, his army pausing at the edge of the defenders’ movement range (see, I can learn) and have the eastern group start moving up toward Leonster. Fee pauses in a position to challenge one or two of the armors, hopefully the whole group will turn to chase her and she can run up to the castle and hide inside.  End turn!

Jerks. You know, it’s kind of unfair that any of them can take a castle, but we can only have Seliph do it.  

God, you are just like your mother.

To the north, Darna’s defense line doesn’t take the bait. They must not move until attacked. Well.

Their loss. At our other army, I have Fee take out one armor unit:

And then run away, hiding out over the ocean to her west to avoid any other counter attacks.  She hasn’t got much health left, so she needs to avoid any damage until I can get Nanna or Julia up there to help her out. They’re on their way, so this will be turning around shortly.  End turn; no enemies are close enough to take a swing at us, so it goes immediately back to our player phase.  

Fantastic. Darna will fall on our next turn, and shortly after that the other team should be running into the unit who took Leonster. Fee probably won’t even die.  End turn! Once again, nothing on the enemy phase; they’re moving toward us, but they’re on the slow side.  On our turn, Julia patches up Fee to gain a level.

Hehehe. I’m legit impressed by how well her speed is doing, it tends to be a lower growth.  The rest of their unit parks on the local villages to await the incoming storm o’ units.  

Now then, Darna. First, clear the last defender:

 Bramsel is a general, despite appearances, and stat-wise he isn’t super impressive. His one and only real trick is that he’s packing a Horseslayer weapon, so cavalry had better be sure they’re gonna take him down if they take a swing at him.  He’s got no defense against distance attacks, but, like a doofus, I sent all the mages to the other army.  So, uh, Oifey… wanna try that javelin?

Bramsel: Darna is my city! Mine! Nobody will ever take it from me!

Well, it’s a start. Not sure this will work, but… Seliph, wanna give it a shot?

FUCKING PAVISE. Okay, so Darna will fall next turn.  End turn. Ya jackass game.

And that’s Bramsel. Our turn begins, and Seliph takes the castle.  

Lewyn: It was the last free land in Jugdral. In battle after battle, the overwhelming might of the Loptyr Empire had devastated the resistance. Ultimately, the last of the resistance soldiers barricaded themselves within Darna’s walls. Battered and wounded, they were nonetheless determined to fight to the bitter end. But then, suddenly, there was a miracle… from the heavens descended twelve gods, who bestowed upon twelve young warriors miraculous weapons and immense power. Thus were born the Twelve Crusaders, the heroes who led the resistance to victory.

Seliph: That was the legendary Miracle of Darna, yes?

Lewyn: The very same. And even as we speak, Seliph, another miracle is dawning. Just as the resurrection of Loptyr looms on the horizon, so too are the Crusaders themselves arising in our world once more…

Seliph: I beg your pardon?

Lewyn: Heh… don’t worry Seliph. You’ll understand soon enough.

(Well. Seliph may not have a ton in common with his father, but he clearly has Sigurd-tier obliviousness.)  

And of course he can’t rescue Lene because Seliph is standing in the way. Ironic, really; we could save Lene, our dancer, if we had a dancer to move Seliph. That’s Fire Emblem Philosophy 101, kids.  In any case, Lana starts warping people back to Melgen so they can have a shorter walk to rejoin the remaining action; Shanan goes first and Lana levels up.

Then, while he’s at a friendly castle, Best Prince takes the opportunity to run the Arena.

Shanan: Seven wins, gained one level: +1 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Speed, +1 Defense.

*sniff* I may cry. He’s doing much better than I’d expect from him, I tell you that much.

Now, to deal with the Leonster enemies, who are (finally) in range.

… Am I being trolled? Nanna? Are you trolling me? Because you’re doing the same fucking thing Ethlyn did.  You aren’t her child, Nanna. Leif is. If Leif didn’t get any magic ever I could understand it.  That’s genetics. But you’re just the same damn class!  I hate you.  

End turn.  Bitterly end turn.

…. Bitterness increasing.

*sigh* 25% chance to hit and she took it right on the jaw. Fire Emblem, ladies and gents!

Let’s… try this again. This time, let’s go mainly for the commander and try to take away their Leadership Stars, see if that works out better.

… Welcome to the team, Ethlyn 2. 

*sigh* Well, better. Nobody is dead, anyway.  Lana warps Seliph back to Melgen so he can start the long trek over to take some castles for us, and Ares goes into Darna to rescue his gal.

Lene: Ares…

Ares: Oh! Is everything okay, Lene?!

Lene: N-no… it’s not… but someone from the liberation army rescued me… and… I knew you’d come, Ares…

Ares: Lene… I beg your forgiveness… I was a fool! I should have heeded you…

Lene: It’s okay… after all, you’re here now…

Ares: I swear to you, I’ll never let this happen again.  

Lene: And I swear I’ll try to keep my big mouth to myself from now on! Don’t ever leave me again, Ares…

… Dark! Anyway, Lene has no signed up, and as you might have guessed she is Sylvia and Claude’s daughter. And like her mother before her, her stats and all that junk are irrelevant so I don’t need to waste time showing it! She’s a dancer so she’s amazing and will be very, very useful to the army in any situation. And unlike Sylvia, we can actually use her from day one because it doesn’t matter if she gets married.  Go team!

Oh, and speaking of the team, time to finish that actual ‘war’ thing.

Not bad at all, barring the fact Arthur has apparently decided he’s done with Perfect Levels. And with that, the map is basically over. The only enemy units remaining are Blume himself and the three generals in front of his castle. So it’s time, I think, to have assorted folks and units do stuff. I sell Seliph’s Brave Sword so I can pass it around, and have anyone who hasn’t finished the Arena take a shot at it.

Patty: Up to seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +2 Skill, +1 Strength, +2 Luck, +1 Defense

Julia: Up to seven wins, gained one level: +1 HP, +1 Magic, +1 Luck, +1 Defense, +1 Resistance

Ares: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +2 Strength, +1 Speed, +2 Luck, +2 Defense

Nanna: Seven wins, gained three levels: +3 HP, +2 Strength, +2 Speed, +1 Magic,, +1 Defense, +2 Luck, +1 Resistance

Leif: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Skill, +2 Strength, +1 Speed, +1 Luck, +1 Defense

Tinni: Seven wins, gained three levels: +3 HP, +2 Skill, +3 Speed, +1 Magic, +3 Luck, +1 Resistance

Also, Lana gains some levels from zapping people around:

And some conversations happen.

(“Ugh. More of the commonfolk. Oifey, where is my peasant-beating stick?!”)

Lene: I’m Lene, the Dancer!

Seliph: Y… you’re Lene?

Lene: Ooooh? Mister Seliph, is this the first time you’ve ever seen a dancer?

Seliph: Y-yes, miss…

Lene: Hee hee… that’s adorable!

(And it ends there. Lene knows what she wants in life, and it is to laugh at dorks.)

(

... Picture here an image of Leif introducing himself to Seliph. No such image exists because I’m a doofus.)

Leif: My parents both died in the Battle of Belhalla’s prelude… they were felled by a Thracian ambush. My homeland, Leonster, soon founds itself in the clutches of an Imperial occupation, and fell under the reign of its Duke Blume. If not for my knight, Finn, I wouldn’t be here today. He raised me in hiding in nearby villages, and we awaited the day Leonster would rise again.  We thought that day had finally come, but…

Seliph: … We both took to the battlefield around the same time, did we not? By now practically all of Jugdral knows of King Blume’s brutality. I sorely wish my army had arrived soon enough to properly aid you. You have my deepest apologies, Prince Leif.

Leif: No, Lord Seliph. I’m the one who should be apologizing. Our failure was squarely my fault.  However, this isn’t over yet. I am the son of Quan, a man worthy of being dubbed a Knight of Nova. I refuse to shame his legacy, and so I’ll live on. I’ll fight on, no matter the cost. To that end, Lord Seliph, my comrades and I would like to join your army.  I may not have much of an army left, but what I do have is yours. May we serve you well in restoring honor to Grannvale.  

Seliph: Thank you, Prince Leif.  Often have I heard it said that our fathers were inseparable friends, bound together to the bitter end in both life and death.  Not to mention your mother, Queen Ethlyn, is also my aunt…

(“Oh yeah, we’re literally cousins, forgot for a bit!”)

Seliph: Both of your parents gave their lives to support my father’s cause. Prince Leif, you have my deepest, most heartfelt apologies for their sacrifice.

Leif: Thank you, but that isn’t necessary. I’m proud of my parents, and have the utmost respect for Lord Sigurd. The only hatred I bear is for the true villains, Emperor Arvis and King Travant!

(Holy crap, Leif is logically blaming the people actually at fault? Are we sure he’s an anime teenager?)

Seliph: As do I. Prince Leif, in the name of our late fathers’ last wishes, I seek to restore peace and light to all of Jugdral. Please, join me in my cause!

Leif: Yes, milord! You have my blade as your own!

Dermott: Perfect! I’m your brother, Dermott!

(“Excuse me? I was always told my brother’s name was Diarm-“ “YUP, DERMOTT, THAT’S ME.”)

Nanna: What?! What… are you talking about…?

Dermott: I didn’t know until recently, either. King Lewyn told me everything.   In the war seventeen years ago, I was with the kids who fled to Isaach. But you were born after our mother went to Leonster.

Nanna: You… you’re my brother? Then where’s Mother now?!

Dermott: Er… ‘Where’s Mother’?  What are you getting at here, Nanna?

Nanna: I haven’t seen her in so long… when I was around three years old, she left us and traveled alone to Isaach, to try and find you. She never came back. I’ve waited to see her again for years…

Dermott: She did? But… but I never saw her…!

Nanna: You… didn’t? Then where is she…

Dermott: The Yied Desert… it’s a treacherous place. Very few lone travelers survive it…

Nanna: … No! Oh, mother…

(And Nanna gains +1 Luck from that, because… tragedy… builds character…?)

Tinni: I am Tinni… Arthur’s sister…

Seliph: Ah, of course. I’ve been told your story, Tinni.

Tinni: Um… I’m sorry!

Seliph: You’ve nothing to apologize for, Tinni. With the likes of King Blume for an uncle, I completely understand. You had no choice.

Tinni: Are… are you forgiving me, sir?

Seliph: Certainly! There’s no question that you’re not our enemy, and it would be an honor to have you with us.

Tinni: Wow… you’re everything the stories say you are! I wish we could’ve met sooner…

Seliph: Heh… thank you. Listen, Tinni… I know fighting your own family is a painful prospect, so please, don’t force yourself if you’re at all uncomfortable.

Tinni: Sir…

He actually means that literally.  Tinni vs. Blume is very painful to her, in a very literal, physical way.  He’ll kick her ass.  

All right. Now that we’ve gotten that all done, and Seliph has gone up to retake Leonster, the rest of the army turns to Blume.  He’s guarded by three generals, all of whom have Silver Blades and Steel Bows, so there isn’t a safe range to hit them from. But that’s nothing new. The real problem is Blume himself.

Yeah. Yeah. You remember Mjolnir, I hope, from when Reptor made our lives hell with it.  Well, Blume takes after dear old dad.  He can’t double attack with it, his only ability is Pavise, but he’s still very fast and hits very hard. And to make matters worse he has a droppable Silver Blade, so ideally we want someone who can use swords to bring him down. Realistically that means ‘Shanan or Ares’ because another Holy Weapon is your best shot at doing it without dying.    

So first things first, let’s move the guards.

Geez, these guys are beefy. That was to kill one of them.  Ulster, can you do better?

… Sorrrrrrta? He didn’t get hit in return, at least. But I also can’t get anyone else in position to support him, so he’s probably gonna get pounded in the face next turn.  Speaking of next turn, end turn!

CALLED IT!

Okay. Our turn, and there’s only one general left. Let’s clear that fucker out before we do anything else.

Ugh. I should point out that this is not actually the land of the Omni-Generals; Blume has four leadership stars and he buffs his troops up considerably. I take a few turns here to rest up, heal up, and send Shanan to liberate the remaining villages because he’s desperately short on cash.  Julia levels from healing:

You might have noticed she didn’t gain a point of magic? She’s already hit the cap. Can’t go higher until she promotes. I love my princess. <3

Now. Blume. He has conversations with three different characters, two of whom should not be allowed anywhere near him.  Since I love you guys, and I’m willing to use save states to cheese for story content, here they are.

(Frankly, I’m just amazed she hit him.)

Blume: Hmph! A likely retort, but only one of us will die this day, and it shall not be me!

(Well, he wasn’t wrong.)

Blume: Gah… impudent whelp! Just try me!

*whistle* Well. It was a close thing, but he clearly tried real good. It was caught at a bad moment, but that last shot was a crit that left Blume with only 13HP. And Ares is in range!  

Yeah, we’re not done with this jackass just yet.  Still, for the moment, Ares has a backup sword to use so he doesn’t burn through his Mystletainn all the time, and that’s all I asked for. Shanan spends the next few turns getting paid:

(Well. Only one now.)

Info Master: Ishtar’s ruling over Manster right now, and Ishtore’s posted at Fort Melgen, both doing Blume’s dirty work. Unlike their folks, they’re fine youths. You’ll be sure to face ‘em sooner or later… be on your guard, stranger.

(“They’re great kids! But, you know, they definitely will try to kill you.”)

Why Is He Smiling: His rule’s been one tragedy after another… Just when we thought he couldn’t get any worse, now he’s just letting those child hunts happen! We can’t take this anymore…

And with that, nothing else to do on this map, so let’s call it a day. Seliph, do the honors!

Lewyn: Eh, these sorts of things can’t be helped. After all, the war’s only just beginning.  

Seliph: And yet, the citizens are already all so eager to support us! I’ve seldom seen such joy…

Lewyn: For the first time, they’ve got hope for a future free from the Empire’s abuse.  YOU are the people’s last hope, Seliph, but the worst of the war still lies ahead.  

Seliph: Mm. And yet, I’ve so much incredible talent fighting by my side! With such amazing men and women with me, I know no challenge will be too great!

(I kind of morbidly wonder what he says if you let everyone die except him at this point.)

Lewyn: Yeah… you’ll all do just fine, Seliph.

 *whew* Well. Thank you for being chill about this for once, Lewyn.  I enjoy you more when you aren’t bitching at me.  Now then, see you all next week when… *shudder*

When Blume calls in… … … …

Her.

Resets: 24. It’s all downhill from here, folks.

Part 20