#(even if its like. a cherub day in general for all the other reasons)

[taxi-boi]

everyone shut the fuck up pretend its still 413

WOW GUYS LOOK ITS THEIR DAY! ITS THEIR 413 DAY WOOHOO YEAH

[stars-and-darkness]

WIP WEDNESDAY!!!

week #6

this week, i thought we might do something a bit different, guys. this isn't technically a wip, as i don't believe i'll actually ever finish it. t's the first piece of tvd writing i ever did, over a year ago now, and i got some 2.5 k words in before i realised that it's not really going anywhere? so the chances of me picking it up again are pretty slim, but i thought you might enjoy reading what i have anyway. looking back on it, it seems that my love of the idea of liz adopting a bunch of mass murderers some 950 years older than her started early, heh.

but also, like, keep in mind this was early on, and that i didn't have as good a grasp on characters as i do now, lol.

happy mother’s day

Liz Forbes’s relationship with her daughter has been at an all-time best since Caroline became a vampire; she thinks she’s finally getting the hang of this whole motherhood thing. So naturally, she does the next logical thing and decides to adopt the first generation of vampires.

Their parents were shitty anyway.

.

Years ago now, Liz Forbes had read an article. She remembers it only vaguely; it was not a good time for her. Bill had left to chase his happily ever after or whatever with his boyfriend, and Liz had been left alone—scorned by the closed-minded conservative circles that made up most of Mystic Falls’ social scene, and with a daughter to take care of. A daughter who, as the days went by, sunk deeper and deeper into teen-typical moodiness, until what little understanding there was between them before Bill left was turned to dust.

The article was full of technical jargon she could not comprehend, and longer and wordier that it needed to be in order to convey its intended sentiment (at least in Liz’s opinion). It spoke of teenage brains and amygdales and other similarly confusing things. In the end, Liz was left with the dreadful piece of information that made all the years ahead of her dealing with her own impossible teen seem even more daunting.

Human brains fully develop at the age of twenty-five.

.

The first time Liz meets the infamous Klaus, he is the last thing on her mind—because not too long ago, Matt Donovan had carried her daughter into their house in his arms, weak and shivering, the skin at the crook of her neck torn and oozing sickly.

Still, the part of her mind that is still the Council member—and, oh, how ridiculous the premise sounds now, when her own daughter, her precious, precious Caroline is a vampire in her own right and happier than she’d ever been as a human—that part appreciates that she stands here in front of the ultimate predator. The monster monsters fear.

Klaus speaks, and it’s with a quiet, soft, oh-so-compassionate voice. He looks younger than Liz had imagined him, and so much sweeter; with his kind words and his golden curls and his dimpled smile. Monsters should not look like someone had taken all the finest features off the church cherubs and hewn a person from them.

And his request—oh-so-reasonable. Her support in the future, in exchange for Caroline’s life. Inviting him in in exchange for Caroline’s life.

She doesn’t even have to contemplate what her answer to his ultimatum will be.

When she is sure enough that he is gone, Liz stalks upstairs. The window of Caroline’s room gapes open; and Caroline herself rests on her bed, wan and weak, but already so much better than before. Where the ruinous bite had been on her shoulder is replaced by smooth skin.

There is still a drop of scarlet blood staining the corner of her lip.

Liz doesn’t ask any questions; she closes the window and strokes Caroline’s hair until her uneasy slumber turns into real sleep.

.

In the morning, Caroline won’t meet her eyes. Liz, who has had the whole night to contemplate just what she had invited into her home, can’t fault her for it.

(A diamond bracelet remains hidden up in Caroline’s room, with Liz none the wiser.).

The invitation is half-hidden in a way that means Caroline both wants and doesn’t want Liz to see it.

Mikaelson—it seems odd until she remembers some of Damon’s comments, and the fact that the eldest vampires in the world are actually Vikings.

It’s what is on the back that astounds her, though. Klaus’s handwriting isn’t the fancy cursive she would have attributed to him, but the blocky capital letters are in fact closer to the pictures she’d seen from the caves underneath the Lockwood estate. Runic. Because Vikings.

Save me a dance, he’d written, and though she’s only spoken with him for a moment, Liz can hear it in his accented, soft voice. Fondly, Klaus. As though there could be any confusion as to the writer’s identity in the first place.

“I can’t believe him!” Caroline rages and rants, all righteous indignation. A gown came with the invitation, layers of deep blue fabrics the names of which Liz doesn’t know.

Caroline refuses—at first—to even look at it. Liz feels mildly ill just thinking of her girl in that viper’s nest and yet—

Bill; dead. Caroline’s feelings towards the man who’d kissed her scraped knees and let sun ravage her sensitive, immortal skin will never be resolved.

“You should go,” Liz finds herself saying. “Take your mind off of everything.”

And if Klaus had wanted you dead, he had plenty of opportunity to do it that fateful night, and every moment since, she doesn’t say.

Caroline stares at her like she’d gone mad. But she goes, truly resplendent in the blue gown.

Liz notes the diamonds around her wrist. She assumes they came with the dress.

.

Caroline returns; uninjured but also somehow worse for wear. In the spirit of their newly-found connection, Liz tries to get to the bottom of the problem. It’s a blessing, this new understanding. The same part of her that warned her of the monster lurking behind Klaus’s blue eyes reminds her now, cynical, that all her daughter had to do for it was to die.

The new part replies, adamant and unyielding, that her Caroline has not gone anywhere.

“For a moment,” she answers cryptically, hair still done up and makeup still on even if the dress had long been replaced by a jumper and a pair of sweatpants, “I thought I saw the human inside the monster.”

“And he proved you wrong?” Liz asks before she can stop herself.

Caroline just shakes her head; and refuses to speak of it any more.

.

Days pass; Liz knows the Salvatores, the Bennetts, Elena and Caroline are scheming. They always are, as of late. She hates that the burden of fending off the oldest vampires in the world has fallen to children, yet somehow she can’t think of anything to do to help.

And no-one thinks to tell her everything.

One morning, she wakes to her daughter sitting listlessly on the couch, a half-drunk mug of blood in front of her.

She is dressed to entice, but her makeup is smudged, her dress rumpled and her hair a mess. Something went down last night.

“Caroline?”

“Bonnie’s mum was turned into a vampire.”

The rest of the story comes in halting pieces—a mother who had given her children eternal life now seeking to take it away, an ultimatum with Elena Gilbert’s life hanging in the balance, a betrayal of a deal—

And Liz can honestly say she doesn’t give a damn about Abby Bennett and her vampirism, because all that rings in her head is distraction, distraction, pretty blonde distraction.

“Caroline? You ... you ... a distraction?”

Caroline makes a face. It makes her look even more miserable than before, somehow.

“Klaus thinks he fancies me.” The word is odd, something Caroline herself would never use, yet Liz hears it perfectly in Klaus’s accent.

“Does ... does he?”

He can’t. That’s not how the world works, and by all accounts, there isn’t enough human left in Niklaus Mikaelson for him to ... to ...

Caroline throws her head back with a groan. “I don’t know! Maybe?” Then she shakes it, as though she’s giving up. “Even if he did, that’s over now.”

Liz doesn’t prod, but Caroline tells her anyway, fitting snugly into her embrace, her head slotted underneath Liz’s chin, like they used to do before—before.

“I used it against him, Mum ... there’ll be retaliation.”

And he has a standing invitation to our house, Liz realizes, and it chills her to the bone.

.

But the retaliation doesn’t come.

Life goes on as usual—or as usual as it can in Mystic Falls in these recent years. The mysterious murders take up most of her time, and her fear for what she’ll discover is almost enough to push the vampires and their spats out of her mind. It helps that the Originals have scattered with their mother’s failed attempt on their lives.

.

Here’s the thing, though.

Caroline may have recently celebrated her eighteenth birthday—and she’ll celebrate her nineteenth, and twentieth, and hundreds more if Liz has anything to say about it, and she does—but her body will forever remain frozen.

Seventeen.

And Liz remembers that damned article, and she realizes—Caroline’s brain will never mature to twenty-five. She’ll forever remain a teenager. What does it even do to vampires like Caroline and Stefan, stuck forever, with more experience under their belt than a human can have, aging them, yet immortality keeping them frozen in that young, young state?

It keeps her awake, sometimes.

.

The Originals all have false identities. She knows, because she’s the sheriff and things like these go through her hands, and she knows because Klaus’s place of birth is listed as London and his day of birth as January 15th, 1987. To a creature like him, those measly twenty-something years he claims to have must seem like the blink of an eye.

The sister’s, Rebekah’s, the one who stayed even after her elder brothers dispersed in the wind, claims she’s nineteen.

And Liz supposes that she is, in a way, except Rebekah has also been nineteen for over a millennium.

And it really shouldn’t matter that they’re stuck too—stuck in this odd limbo between child and adult, or that Liz keeps thinking, over and over again, that both their parents tried to kill them all in the span of a few weeks.

It shouldn’t matter.

It doesn’t—honestly.

.

Liz would like to file a formal complaint.

In the future, she would certainly like to be informed if a weapon that can kill Original Vampires has been found. Or if her friend, the resident vampire hunter who just so happens to also be her daughter’s history teacher has been turned into a killing machine with the express purpose of eradicating the vampire-kind, you know, the one her daughter belongs to.

This way, she doesn’t learn until the friend, the resident vampire hunter who just so happens to also be her daughter’s history teacher in question outs her daughter and her boyfriend as a vampire and a hybrid in front of the entire Council.

(Is the Council even aware werewolves are a thing, much less hybrids? Or are they still stuck on vampires? Oh, to be that oblivious again …)

She learns that Klaus is successfully desiccated and stuck in a coffin on its way to be dropped into the Atlantic when she is informed that Elena Gilbert will wake as a vampire in a matter of hours as a result of his sister’s vengeance. Then the Council kidnaps her daughter, Caroline somehow gets away, Elena completes her transition, and twelve people she’s known since she was a girl die in a gas explosion.

She doesn’t have time to celebrate Klaus finally leaving their lives for good before she sees him strolling casually down the street they live in, hands in the pockets of his probably-exorbitantly-overpriced jacket. His eyes meet hers, and he smiles in a way that reminds her precisely how easily his fangs can drop.

Liz runs home as fast as her very human legs can carry her, and bursts into kitchen with such urgency Caroline nearly drops the mug she’s taking out of the microwave. If it weren’t for those handy vampire reflexes, they’d probably have to spend the evening cleaning B positive out of their kitchen tiles.

“I saw—” Liz grinds out, fingers digging into the counter, “there—just—Klaus!”

Caroline turns towards the window, but the street is now deserted. Knowing the bastard, he strolled down it just to scare the living daylights out of Liz.

“Caroline! Why is Klaus not rotting in a coffin at the bottom of the ocean?”

Her daughter has the gall to look sheepish. “Don’t be mad, but—”

And that’s—finally—how Liz learns that:

Yes, Klaus had been desiccated. It took the combined effort of Tyler and the Salvatore brothers to hold him down, Bonnie’s magic and Jeremy’s sacrifice, but it had been done.

No, it didn’t last, because Bonnie Bennett would not risk the lives of her mother and friends with the Evil-Ric on a rampage. Considering that her daughter’s life was in the balance, and that Ric did manage to stab the White Oak Stake into Klaus’s heart, Liz doesn’t complain.

And, no, their Original infestation is not at an end—especially since Rebekah and Elijah returned into town to try and collect their brother’s body before they thought he’d been killed.

“And,” Caroline finishes, “I’m pretty sure Kol’s coming back, too, so …”

Liz does the only thing she can do and decides to deal with the problem after she has had a nap.

.

It takes Liz three days of cajoling to have Caroline confess to her how she’d escaped the Council, when neither Elena, Stefan, nor Rebekah herself has succeeded.

The answer, delivered in an annoyed growl, starts with a K and ends with laus.

“He was still in Tyler’s body,” Caroline continues. The pen she’d been using to write out their shopping list snaps in her hand and she doesn’t even notice. “Mum, I made out with Klaus. While in my boyfriend’s body. Why do things like these happen to me?”

Too much information. But also, the implications … “Care …”

She looks pained. “Nothing happened. He—look, I don’t want to give him any credit—gah. No. I can’t talk about this with you. You’re my mother.”

It’s not like Liz wants to discuss, or indeed, know, anything about her daughter’s sex life. “Care … are you sure? I know that—um. If you were … hurt …”

She looks supremely uncomfortable. “Mum …”

“You know you can tell me anything, right? Fine, nothing happened the other day, but …” She shakes her head. Her daughter is a vampire. There are very few who can hurt her anymore. “I’m here for you.”

Caroline gives her an odd look, and doesn’t speak again.

.

Liz doesn’t deny that she is tense. Weeks pass, and for some reason, no new and imminent threat emerges to wipe the world clean. The remaining Originals have settled down in their massive manor at the edge of town. It’s odd to think that the four of them are the most powerful vampires in the world when she sees them in the street, acting no different than regular humans. It’s odder still to remember that last year, there were six.

[semper-legens]

181. Shadow Wave, by Robert Muchamore

Owned: No, library Page count: 343 My summary: James' final mission is set to be a normal CHERUB mission - babysit the kids of some bigwig for a bit. Mundane, but at seventeen James isn't the prime CHERUB agent anymore. But when his old roommate Kyle comes in with a lot of information about his client's past, James and Kyle start hatching a new plan of their own. Protesting is far easier when you know your target's every move… My rating: 3/5 My commentary:

The final CHERUB book! Or, at least, the final book that I'm going to be covering here, as this is the last of James Adams' CHERUB career. He's seventeen now, so close to ageing out of the CHERUB programme, and needs to start thinking about his future and his career. This is the book that wraps it all up, and once again the narrative makes some weird decisions with regards to its focus and exactly what it puts emphasis on. But anyway. I've not got much today for preamble, so let's get into it!

Again, we have this very strange decision where the book isn't actually about the kids we've been following this whole time. About a quarter of the book is taken up with some flashbacks including Kyle helping out with basic training when he meets Aizat, a local Malaysian kid whose village is being destroyed and bought out by an oligarch named Tan Abdullah. That's the man whose kids are being protected by CHERUB in the present day. And a large part of those flashbacks involves a reporter who Kyle has contacted investigating Abdullah's exploitation in the area, once again following a character we've never met before rather than our main character in the final book of the series. I'd have thought that this book would pick up on the Brigands thread from the last book - something that doesn't rely on exposition, so we can use the time to explore our established characters a bit better. But no, the Brigands mission is wrapped up in a pretty anticlimactic way in the early parts of this book, and the main mission that this book focuses on is the babysitting mission with Abdullah's kids that James turns down. It's just a weird choice.

Anyway, James turns down the mission, but decides to help Kyle protest Abdullah on the sly. It's not a CHERUB operation or a sting operation in general, so the outcome we're working towards seems a bit fuzzy, which makes the way that the book wraps up seems odd. After being protested all day, and after reporters were digging into his career, Abdullah decides to flee with his family and ends up shooting himself. It just seems all too neat a conclusion, for a mission like this. Adullah takes himself out of the picture, so everything is fine. We don't get much on what happens to Aizat or his community or other communities like it, but that's not really what this book was going to be about? I'm also side-eyeing the character decisions made. James has never shown much of a conscience before, so him taking a stand is admirable, even if it does ring a bit hollow in the fact that he's soon to be leaving CHERUB, and cancelling on the mission has no real negative impact on him. Lauren's reasons for staying on the mission, meanwhile, are sound - she's earlier in her career than James, and if she turns down something easy like this she won't get juicier missions. But then all of that is undercut with another character saying she just wants to go shopping with the rich kids, which strikes me as a strange beat largely because Lauren is the one with the conscience - she's the principled veggie after the animal rights mission, after all. Odd characterisation.

So, what do I make of CHERUB as a whole? It's been largely a disappointing return for me, sadly. The series has some strange ideas of morality, and overall paints things as being a bit too black and white for my liking with casting antagonists as out-and-out villains or protagonists as uncomplicatedly good despite the ethics of each situation being far more complex. James as a character really suffers from what I can only assume was an effort to make him more appealing to the typical teenage boy, meaning that he's wildly homophobic and misogynistic in a way that isn't challenged by the narrative in a satisfactory manner. The choice to have most of the non-mission story be taken up with relationship drama is largely uninteresting, mostly because that kind of teen-soap-opera nonsense is at odds with the spy thriller genre of the books. While CHERUB as an organisation could be an interesting idea for a narrative, the fact that its ethics aren't satisfactorily examined in the story lead it to feel more like copaganda than anything else. That's not to say there's nothing to enjoy here - I did enjoy the books, and I carried on with the series to completion - but overall I don't remember it as well as I did, and that makes me a little sad, not gonna lie.

Next, time for some Doctor Who, and adventures with the Ninth Doctor.

[dnangelic]

She's here to offer a present, grin wide and bouncing forward on her toes: a cupcake, comedically misshapen, too large to properly fit inside its pastel wrapper. Bulbous on one side and concerningly flat on the other, the handiwork of a teenager with ideas loftier than skills. A generous amount of icing dotted with bright sprinkles threatens to spill over. Already some smears against her fingertips as she holds it forward. "Didn't know if you'd like chocolate or vanilla more, soooo I tried to marble it!" Don't ask where the others in the batch went (if they even survived, anyway).

@deiscension

and at first , he can't quite tell what it is that he's looking at . was it a cake ? a cupcake ? crème brûlée , the far more questionable and experimental variety , or an even more questionable and experimental-appearing icing-and-sprinkle soufflé ? try as he might to resist the immediate tickling poke on his sides at the ( just a little ! just a little lumpy ! ) sight , daisuke can't help but burst into laughter --- a high , explosive sputter that begins with him fruitlessly covering his lips until he's left spilling and bubbling out one cherub giggle after another , clutching his arms about his waist and hopelessly trying to pull himself back together .

' i'm --- sorry ! ' it's only after he's gone totally breathless that his hands , trembling slightly beneath the bright , brilliant red of his cheeks , make themselves able to properly accept her confection . ' shi qingxuan , i'm so sorry --- ! i didn't mean to laugh , i hope you didn't think i was making fun of you or something , it's just ... '

how could he have even begun to describe it ? seeing something like this handed to him so fearlessly , so boldly and energetically , brave even if only by the bold act of its very handing off in the first place . he could only admire it despite all of its obvious , and yet somehow endlessly endearing , flaws . how could she make even things like this seem proud and shameless ? for someone like him , who had similarly struggled himself to private tears and deep pits of depression over his lack of quality in just about every endeavor , the cake , cupcake , crème brûlée - soufflé was just ...

' i love it . i really do . ' enough that he could already feel his heart starting to pound , its shape no less a bulbous , asymmetrical thing , clumsily but carefully crafted by some god , no doubt . ' it's perfect . i mean it ... ! i can't think of a better gift , ' and he couldn't , really . no matter his curses , or shi qingxuan's own struggles that he was sure must have existed , wasn't this enough , at least just for the day ? a lopsided cupcake , a reason to be thankful that he had been born found in a friend , and the stain of icing that he could only hope would taste just as sweet in her mouth as would in his own .

' i'm going to take a picture of it so i don't forget ... ' and it wasn't a lie , though he's woven his running necessities into it . somewhere , for however briefly , would be azumano's one and only great phantom thief carefully framing her ambitious handiwork into the blurry box of flip-phone camera , an enormously pleased smile on his face . ' i'll be right back --- but i'm not going to start eating it unless you're right next to me , i promise ! '

[gothhisoka]

𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖞

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 18- 𝔞 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Ships: Chrollo x Reader, Leorio x Kurapika, Hisoka x Illumi

Genre: romance, dark academia, royalcore, university AU

Word count: 3k

Background: This is from my (gothhisoka) fanfic on Wattpad and AO3 called Hunter University. It is Chrollo x OC, but I decided to change it around for Tumblr. Both Chrollo and y/n are hiding things from each other but are both feeling the same attraction. A masquerade ball is held at your university. You don’t know if he even wants to dance with you, but apparently he does. He wants to do even more than that.

Tags: Fluff, first kiss, sfw

The masquerade hall was astounding. The high stone walls were adorned with scarlet silk banners. Golden fabric streamers hung from every banister of the second-level balconies. As in the entrance, symbols of cherubs and mythical creatures were splashed across the ceiling in a dizzying array. The light was dim, for all the chandeliers were set low in the traditional style of Venetian masquerades. Candelabras were scattered on every table and upon every wall.

Symphonic music was emanating from the open stage in the front of the room. A live orchestra was playing a gentle concerto as the students poured in. It was only 7:10, so not many were on the floor. The true dancing would start in another couple of minutes.

It was a scene out of a fairytale. The hundreds of breathtakingly dressed students only added to the general fervor of it all.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Chrollo said as he looked towards you. It was unclear whether he was talking about the room or how you looked tonight. Your bright eyes shone out underneath a bronze mask, which was catching the candlelight within its shiny material.

Still entranced, you were led by Chrollo to the table they had reserved. The troupe followed behind, engrossed in their conversation while you both remained in your own little world. He put his hand on the small of your back, simply aching to touch you once again. The feeling was mutual.

On the table, there were glasses already set up accompanied by a lavish bouquet of flowers. Uvogin pulled out a couple of bottles of champagne he clearly swiped from the restaurant. Everyone dropped off their bags at the table.

It appeared as if not all of the troupe members would be dancing. Franklin was already seated with his arms crossed. You looked at him questioningly, after which he said, "I have to guard the stuff." It was clear by his tone that he actually meant "I don't like to dance."

You smiled placidly and nodded in understanding. He was an unusual sort of guy. She was beginning to like him already. In fact, the whole Phantom Troupe was becoming gradually more likable as the night progressed.

You looked for Kurapika to bid him one last warning before he got whisked away by Leorio. By the time she spotted him, it was already too late.

You watched as Kurapika scratched at the back of his head, suddenly unaware of what to do with his arms. He was apparently awestruck by his dance partner's appearance.

The two made their shy greetings. Kurapika reached for his hand as any chivalrous partner would do. 

Soon a waltz commenced, floating around the room. A subtle violin and cello duet beckoned people out onto the floor.

You watched as Kurapika led Leorio out, their suit jackets glimmering synchronously as the lights passed. They took position still near their group's table, but far enough to have room to dance.

The wide floor soon filled with numerous other couples. Hisoka led Illumi out alongside Uvogin and Nobunaga. Hisoka and Illumi were practically professional dancers from the very start, moving to an elaborate step that drew the attention of all the students. People nearly cleared the floor to make room for them. This annoyed Illumi to no end, while Hisoka displayed a wild grin. They twirled, dipped, and did intricate step sequences, unquestionably rehearsed to perfection.

The rest were not as remarkably polished. Still, they appeared to be equally enjoying themselves.

Leorio and Kurapika laughed as one of them accidentally stepped upon the other toes or missed a movement. While they lacked coordination, they surely didn't lack chemistry. This was a good sign.

You could see their mouths moving but the music drowned out their voices. Kurapika attempted to guide Leorio in the basic box step, turning him once in a while. 

Most ignored the cameramen or simply didn't notice them lurking in hidden spots. You had some otherworldly feeling that sensed them under the shadows in the balconies. 

"Are you done watching?" Chrollo asked, holding his hand out to you just as Kurapika had done with Leorio.

You hadn't realized you were still staring out towards the masked partners on the floor. The ball was entirely overwhelming; the sound, the rapid movements, and the room itself were causing your head to spin.

Nonetheless, you snapped out of it and processed what Chrollo had just said. You just got offered a dance. A dance with him. 

You knew his indicative gestures were leading somewhere. That somewhere was here, into his arms. 

In front of hundreds of students, not to mention journalists itching to get a photo of the boy who was so famous. Not to mention his dance partner, who was no more than a low-level hunter wannabe.

Now's not the time to get nervous. This is what you wanted. Isn't it?

You stared down at his hand as if to ask "for me?"

You peered up to see the most gentle face slowly becoming riddled with doubt.

"This is what you want, isn't it?"

Is it? 

Now that you are actually here, in the position that used to be visible only in your imagination, you feel immense pressure.

In these weeks past, you didn't even question what you were getting herself into. To be fair, you weren’t sure what this night would be, exactly. Would you be met with a closed-off boy whose coldness warded you away or the courteous man who would rather teach you nen lessons than see you fail?

Is it even safe to get this close?

Chrollo's personality had shifted in the span of the night. It became full of genuine interest rather than his usual impassive curiosity. He, as a person, was becoming all the more real.

Real was dangerous.

This stream of consciousness only took a second. It took one look into Chrollo's eyes to know what your answer would be.

"This is what I want."

It was the first step. No, rather it was your first leap off a skyscraper.

You were falling. Hard.

His grip was delicate, holding your hand as if it was made of glass. Chrollo felt strange, being so unsure. He was normally an expert at figuring out people– what they felt and why they acted the way they did. 

You, on the other hand, were a labyrinth. He had always been so hesitant for this reason. Chrollo needed to be able to figure out a person in order to get close to them. With you, there was something buried deeper than you let on. It was virtually impossible to uncover. You put up almost as good of a front as Chrollo.

Or perhaps it was Chrollo's own mind that was muddied at the thought of you. His intentions versus yours, his morals versus yours. It all began to matter very much. What would he think in the end, after he got out of your what he so desired?

Nevermind that now. For Chrollo was feeling a mutual enthusiasm that you were plainly exhibiting. He led you out to the floor.

The Phantom Troupe watched with apprehension. They weren't used to their boss being so amiable. He couldn't be swayed by a simple person, and yet here he was.

"Can you dance?" Chrollo turned to you, putting an arm upon your shoulder. You already almost melted under the single touch.

You had reached the middle of the floor, far from the troupe. Was he that confident in his own dancing? The center could be viewed from all sides and balconies. You were sure to stand out.

"Not well," you said candidly.

Chrollo began a light step, swaying from side to side. This newfound tenderness was surprising. He was treating you as if you were a queen. And you couldn't get enough of it.

Wanting to grasp for more of this certain side of him, you said, "I can do more than this."

"As you wish," Chrollo said with a gracious smile.

He immediately followed a more complicated step, falling in line with the other couples on the floor. You pretended to ignore their whispers.

Just as you thought. He is an incredible dancer.

Every time you struggled to keep up he would adjust his pace. You worked like hands on a clock, moving as if set to one another's rhythm. The music now was a quicker allegro beat.

Your attire fanned out as you turned: your right hand in his, your arm on his shoulder. 

Now it was the students' turn to stare at Chrollo and you. It was unclear if it was because they recognized the boy under the mask, or they were observing the electrifying chemistry.

You couldn't help but beam as you sailed across the floor. Chrollo did not break eye contact and you did your best to do the same. 

A feeling overcame you as you continued to hold his hand in yours. It couldn't be described as fireworks or sparks, as often depicted by the romance novels she's read. It was more of an awakening.

Despite the weather turning cold, you felt as if it was spring. A revival. Things were blossoming, the rain washed away the grey of winter.

He was your spring.

It was odd. For Chrollo could be explained more effectively as ominous and intimidating, unlike a bright spring day. He should've been cold stone walls, closed doors, secret passageways.

But no, he was warmth itself.

If only you would turn away for a second you would notice a coldness settle that hadn't been there before. 

The way he looked tonight in his dazzling suit and mask, the way he said all those uncharacteristically gracious words: these were the things you would have etched in your memory for a very, very long time. Now, without Chrollo it would feel as if something were missing.

You would not realize this yet, as you were still in a state of pure elation. It was only the beginning.

But this was the connection you felt. Having it defined opened up a world of possibilities. 

Who would've known, it all came into fruition at a masquerade ball.

                                          ━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━

After a couple more songs, you left the floor. Sweat prickled at your brow. You were left panting after a rapid final dance.

Several students couldn't help but clap. You hadn't even done a thing. You were sure it was Chrollo's dancing that gained all the attention.

"You're better than I expected," you said.

Chrollo brushed back his hair which had fallen in his face with all the movement.  "I would say the same to you, y/n." He smiled, sizing your up.

You didn't dispute his return of the compliment. He was right. 

At the group table, Kurapika and Leorio were sitting drinking glass after glass of the bootlegged champagne. It would've been inappropriate to bring alcohol to such a prestigious event if many other tables weren't doing the same. Apparently, the students here did know how to have a good time.

Chrollo went to talk to Franklin as you sat next to Leorio and Kurapika.

"You both were amazing!" Leorio exclaimed as you approached. 

You grinned, "Where have you two been?"

"We were on the floor too, didn't you see us?"

You tried to laugh it off, "No... I was a little distracted." 

To be fair, you didn't notice the cameras, the students, or the other dancers either. 

"Sooo are you two going back out?" Leorio asked, leaning on his hand. His words slurred slightly.

You looked over your shoulder at Chrollo. He looked serious as he talked to Franklin. "I'm not sure. Are you two?"

"Yes, we plan on trying the group dance. Just like we practiced," Kurapika said, giving you a knowing look.

The synchronized dance was the signature of the ball. All those who learned it were allowed to participate. It was the last dance, so they would still be sitting for a while. The time was now around 9:00 and the hall would be closed by 12:00 a.m.

Before they could converse any further, Chrollo gently put a hand on your shoulder. "Sorry to interrupt, but I have something to show you, y/n."

He held his hand out again. This time you took it with no hesitation. 

"Ok," you leaped up, flattening out your dress.

You were all too willing to go wherever Chrollo pleased. There wasn't even a point where she needed to remind herself who this man was. His charm had influenced you too far already. There was no going back.

Kurapika gave you a warning look. You threw him back a smile. This did nothing to reassure him.

Chrollo interlaced his fingers slowly with yours, hesitating as you crossed under the balconies. You could've dissolved right then and there. It only further confirmed his gentlemanly attitude and respect towards you.

You couldn't even look at him. You felt your face growing hotter by the second. Thank god for a mask and several layers of foundation.

To your surprise, you were led far from the dance floor. You ended up at a small door in a quiet corner of the ballroom. The spot was underneath the alcoves and not a soul was in sight. Moonlight poured in from the tiny stained-glass windows.

"It's through here," Chrollo said, his voice barely audible over the orchestral music.

"Do I get to know where you're taking me?" You stopped in your tracks. You were thinking of what Kurapika would say. Even though you would follow him at the drop of a coin, you weren’t that stupid. He is a man, before all else. 

Something flashed in Chrollo's eyes. Was he hurt by your sudden distrust? 

"I'll show you. I promise you'll like it," Chrollo replied, creaking open the door.

There was nothing at first, only darkness. But stepping through the door bestowed an even more enchanting sight than the ballroom.

You gasped, "I didn't realize there was a courtyard out here."

Chrollo looked at you as if he were seeing you the first time tonight again. The profile of your face was highlighted by the moonlight. your jawline was your only feature that stood out, the rest of your was soft under the haze of darkness. The surrounding blue contrasted against your fading red lipstick. your hair had grown significantly more disheveled but it still looked utterly smooth. If Chrollo was bolder he would've run his hand through it and took you by your waist and done things he surely would regret for initiating too soon... he wanted to savor the moment when it inevitably came.

He smiled, despite himself. Neither of you noticed the cold, still warmed from dancing only moments ago. Chrollo watched as your eyes soaked in the scene before you.

It seemed as if the bushes and trees saved their last breaths for this space alone. Fall leaves hung over a gravel path. Ivy snaked up the surrounding structures, all encapsulating the tiny yard. A small table sat in the center of the path upon which a lantern was placed. He had come prepared.

The whole night: he had anticipated it all. He had realized your love, and, at this moment, you realized his. What he had yet to figure out was the depth of those feelings or where they came from. Or, most importantly, what was tucked underneath those feelings. That was what tonight was for.

The orchestra still echoed faintly through the ancient walls.

"Shall we dance? I never did like dancing in front of a crowd,"

You redirected your eyes to an equally beautiful scene. You were still in reverence. It was obvious now that he had planned it all.

Your heart swelled like an ocean wave, but all you could manage to get out was, "Are we supposed to be here?"

Chrollo looked at you dangerously, "To remind you, I'm not supposed to be anywhere." 

Before you could say another word, Chrollo stepped forward and lifted both his and your own mask off of your faces. 

"There."

Chrollo's undivided visage was in view now. The curve of his nose and tops of his cheekbones caught the light of the moon. His downcast eyelashes were full, framing his silver eyes.

As for Chrollos view, he simply needed to see your whole face to be sure that what you felt was really true. When he saw the arching of your lips and widened eyes, he knew it was.

He grasped your hand in preparation to waltz, deliberately intertwining his hand with yours. 

Timed perfectly, the music slowed. It was a couples' number. Inevitably, this had also somehow been planned by Chrollo.

This dancing was quite different than before. It was full of significance.

The song picked up with a violin. Chrollo pulled you close, your bodies almost touching. Your heat radiated off of one another. You felt almost giddy with attraction. What you wanted to do to him was far past your confidence, but you wanted it all the same.

His eyes didn't leave yours. A slight smile persisted on his lips. He hadn't enjoyed himself so much in years. And the last time he felt something like this, it wasn't nearly as genuine.

You swayed from side to side with only the moonlight and distant concerto guiding your steps. You made a move to rest your head on his shoulder. It was so that you could not look into his eyes as you spoke your next words. You snaked your arms behind his neck while he placed his around your hips. It felt good to be so close. You felt secure in his arms.

You really hoped this was going where she thought it was. But you needed to be certain.

"I want to know if this is true," you whispered, breaking the tranquil silence. Your breath was hot against his neck. It drove him absolutely mad. 

Unknowingly, you had echoed back the words Chrollo had been retracing in his head throughout the night. Is this true?

He feigned ignorance of the meaning behind your statement. "What's true?" Chrollo whispered back.

"Is all this premeditation for something else? Another scheme?"

Chrollo suddenly turned serious, "I will never do that to you again. This is for real."

You pulled back to look into his eyes, "But what is this?" 

Your face was lined with apprehension. After all that happened tonight, it still wasn't clear. Chrollo needed to change that.

He looked down at you, attempting to convey what you meant to him in his eyes. They overflowed with tenderness, admiration, and worship, even. 

You hadn't realized that he had these emotions in him. Now you understood. It was all because they were reserved for you.

His movement was swift. He lowered his face to yours, soaking in your divine scent. You didn't anticipate what was about to happen until his lips delicately brushed against your own, asking for an invitation. He clearly didn't need one, for your body responded immediately. Your hand trailed up to the side of his face. Chollo pulled your hips towards him. Your eyes fluttered shut.

And you kissed. 

It was intoxicating.

The taste of him nearly silenced your thoughts. It was a tang of wine and sweetness. You tried to let the feeling seep into your bones, agonizing over its ephemeral nature. 

Your surroundings dissolved into the inky night. You focused on how soft his mouth felt, how his hands upon your hips made you want to yield to all he could offer, and, in turn, all you could ever desire.

Seconds later, you unwillingly pulled apart. Your whole body tingled, edging for more. Both of your heartbeats were fluttering a rapid cadence. Remaining there for a moment– foreheads touching, breath tickling one another lips– you savored each other's presence. 

Your kiss was unlike anything either of you had experienced before. It was born out of lust but resulted in something deeper. Floating to the surface was an unbound attraction sparked by one mouth on another.

You both were left smiling with flushed cheeks. Goosebumps prickled on your arms.

"I hope that made it clear," Chrollo said pulling away at last.

The warmth disappeared and you were left in a state of longing. You could still feel the touch of his lips upon yours, a ghost of his sensitive movements.

You smiled lightly at him, "It did."

Chrollo held out an arm for you. "We best be getting back now."

You were frozen in place, coming to your senses. Holy shit.

The enormity of what that kiss meant came crashing down upon you. What would this mean moving forward? Everything had seemed so temporary with Chrollo, coming in and out of your life as he did in the past month. Was this temporary as well?

There was no time to dwell upon the future of their relationship. Although the promise of privacy in the courtyard tempted you to stay, there was still one more number to dance. 

                                      ━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━

[sailorgreywolf-legacy]

So....this was supposed to be an answer to a prompt. But I tried to save it to Drafts and Tumblr ate it, so I’m posting it this way instead. The prompt was “I see the way you look at him” for SpAus (requested by the lovely @enchantingtriumph )

One very important clarification: This happens before Chapter 6 of Legacy, and that scene. 

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

It had been a while since Austria had visited Madrid. It was not because of a lack of enthusiasm for his husband, because looking at Spain still made his heart race. Political entanglements in the German states had made it impossible to take the time to visit. 

He had written to Spain many times asking him to make time to come to Vienna, the answer had always been the same. It had been impossible for him to leave his empire unattended, even for a trip to see his husband. It had left Austria feeling slightly bitter towards the empire as a whole. Before his explorations, Spain had time for other things, and in recent years he had seemed entirely focused on babysitting the children that he had brought back from the New World. 

Austria wasn’t sure whether he had imagined a certain new impersonal coldness in the letters. He had told himself that it was his imagination, but Spain’s letters had seemed to become more formal. 

He had decided that it was time for a visit, even if it meant leaving some things to his ministers. If Spain was growing distant, then he needed a loving embrace to remind him of the passion in their marriage.

They were sitting on a veranda with the afternoon sun providing pleasant warmth. Spain’s palace in Madrid had such beautiful spaces to enjoy the pleasant summer climate. As he contemplated Spain across the table, he wondered if he should bring up any of his thoughts about his changing tone. Perhaps it would be better to wait until they were alone together at night. It seemed like it would sour the rest of the day if he were to raise it in the moment, and he didn’t want to start on something so unpleasant. 

He picked up one of the oranges and started to peel it, and momentarily contemplated whether he should have asked a servant so that he could keep his hands clean. He glanced at Spain again and broke the silence, “I have missed you.” 

Spain had been looking at the horizon like he was expecting something. He turned his head and replied, “I’ve missed you too. It’s been far too long.” 

The words sounded sincere enough, but his eyes didn’t seem to reflect it. Austria dismissed the feeling that it was odd, because it may have just been the time and the distance. The feeling dissipated when Spain smirked and added, “I can show you how much I’ve missed you later when we go to bed. There are some things I have missed quite a lot.” 

Austria chuckled; no one else would dare to be as bold as his husband. No one else would dare to voice their desires so clearly. He responded, “Have I left you lonely?” Spain smirked and said, “Oh, very lonely. My bed has been cold.” 

Austria could feel himself blushing. He was certain that he had missed this feeling that he was desirable to his husband. Before he could respond, the silence was interrupted by the sound of hooves. 

Spain’s head turned immediately. Austria was intrigued. This must be whatever Spain had been looking for so anxiously. Austria turned his gaze curiously towards the sound. 

It lighted upon a young man who was busy dismounting, and handing his reins to a waiting groom. The first thing he noticed was that the coat the man was wearing was exceptionally rich, and had gold embroidery at the sleeves. He couldn’t help but think how expensive that must have been. 

As he looked, he also noticed that the person that Spain was busy looking at also had incredibly fit thighs. He could at least appreciate that Spain had good reason to be so distracted. 

Then, the person turned to face them, and Austria got a clear view of his face. It took a moment for him to recognize the young man who had seemingly aged several years since he had last seen him. The last time he had laid eyes on New Spain the boy had been much shorter and had still had the chubby cheeks of a child. 

Looking at him in the moment, he guessed that New Spain had aged very quickly. He looked more like a strapping young man than a child. But, once he saw his face, Austria felt ashamed for looking at his thighs the way that he had. Though he did not look like the cherubic child that Austria remembered, he was still quite young. 

Austria glanced at Spain, who had yet to tear his eyes away from his colony. As he watched, Spain silently beckoned. New Spain smiled and immediately started approaching. 

Austria peeled off a segment of orange and took a bite as he contemplated the situation. Something felt like it had changed in the years he was gone. He took stock of the moment. 

The way that Spain was looking at his colony seemed to conceal very little, and New Spain’s smile seemed to return the feelings. New Spain was absolutely beaming when he reached the table. He noticed Austria and offered him a courteous bow. At least Spain had been careful to teach his charge proper respect. 

Spain said, “Ale, come sit with us.” 

Austria glanced around, counting the chairs. There were only the two, and he certainly was not going to give up his seat for a colony.  New Spain seemed to realize the same thing, and said, “Is there space for me?” 

Spain glanced around, clearly amused. He seemed to notice the lack of chairs, but was not fazed by it. He pulled New Spain into his lap and said, “See, plenty of space.”

 Austria raised an eyebrow at how comfortably Spain did that. With a small child he would not question, but New Spain was far from being a child. And the way that Spain took hold of his waist hardly seemed familial. 

Spain continued to speak to his colony, “How is he?” 

For a moment Austria did not understand the question, until he realized that Spain was asking about the horse which the boy had apparently been putting through its paces. 

New Spain was staring at Spain as he said, “He’s quite fast, and he listens well.” Spain was looking at him with rapt attention, and had little attention for anything else. He replied, “Then it was a good present.” 

Austria looked at the boy’s face, and he noticed the distinct pink that rose in his cheeks and the way that his gaze didn’t leave Spain’s lips. New Spain answered, “I do not expect so much for my birthday every year.” 

Austria was beginning to feel distinctly like he was the unwanted third person at the table. At that moment, he understood the sudden coolness in Spain’s letters. He had not been starving for romantic attention.  

Spain put his hand on the boy’s face and said sweetly, “If you want a horse every year, I will be sure that you get it.” 

Austria tried not to imagine the expense that it would take to fulfill that promise. New Spain laughed, though the statement had not been particularly funny. Then he said with a smile, “You’re too generous.” 

He seemed to be doing his best to charm Spain, and as far as Austria could tell it was working. He took note of the way New Spain was wearing his waistcoat unbuttoned, so anyone could see his undershirt.

 Spain planted a soft kiss on his colony’s cheek and said, “Go get cleaned up for dinner.” New Spain broke their moment and looked at Austria as he said, “Should I come to dinner?” 

Austria appreciated that the boy still understood what might be too far. Spain nodded and answered, “Yes, I am expecting you to.” 

New Spain nodded like he understood. Only then did he do as he was told. He stood up and gave Austria one last glance before he walked away.

 Without a shred of shame Spain turned his head to watch the boy walk away. Austria cleared his throat and said, “You haven’t been that lonely, I see.” Spain looked at him and said, “What do you mean by that?” 

It seemed absurd that he was going to feign any ignorance after what he had just done. But Austria clarified anyway, “I am not blind. I see the way that you look at him.” 

Spain shook his head like he had any room to pretend. He said, “It isn’t what you’re thinking. I am not doing anything with him.” Austria scoffed, and countered, “But you want to. Or do all of your colonies get horses for their birthdays?” 

He saw the facade drop as Spain realized that he was caught. His demeanor shifted, and he said, “Are you going to remind me to be faithful?” 

Austria would like to say that there was no room for other lovers in their marriage, but his mind lingered on how long it had been since they had seen each other. He sighed, and resigned himself to the inevitability of some infidelity. He answered, “No, I’m not. I know that I’m not here often, and you may not want to be alone.” 

It felt bitter to say it, but he was well aware of the proper way to react to a royal mistress. Spain looked surprised to get such an accepting answer. Before he could get too pleased with the permission, Austria added, “But, if you must do something, I want you to be discreet. I do not want all of Europe to know about this.” Spain nodded and replied, “Very well.” 

Austria was dubious at how easily he took the condition, but he was not going to push. Only time would tell whether he was able to keep the promise.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Whether It Works Out Or Not: Winter’s Cold, Part One

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: High Honor!Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit T.

AN: You kids lookin’ for a fix-it? Let’s get it started.

[Spoiler warning for the epilogue!]

Tag List: @huliabitch​​ @cookiethewriter​​ @pedrosbigdorkenergy​​ @thirstworldproblemss​​ @anonymouscosmos​​ @culturalrebel​​ @karmezii​​ @teaofpeach​​ @crookedmoonsaultpunk​​ @wrestlingfae​​ @zombiexbody​​ @nelba​​ @scribblenotes76​​ @toxiicpop​​ @mstgsmy​​ @misty-possum​​ @gallowsjoker​​ @midnightbeauty35​​ @lackofhonor​​ @renegademustelid​​ @missfronkensteen​

Part One: Strangers

Part Two: Friends

Part Three: More

Bonus One: A Brief Diversion

Bonus Two: Back In The Cage

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains brief mentions of pregnancy and general peril. Stay safe!]

"I want the fellow you've got in that cell. The one you're sending up the river." The mustachioed man demanded without pretext. "You boys give him to me and I'll make it worth your while, plus a touch extra." 

  "Listen mister, I don't know who you are or where the hell you came from, but that feller has five grand on his head. I doubt you've got enough scratch to make anythin' worth our while." The senior bounty hunter sneered, his boots still propped up on the table in front of him.

  A sack hit the table, the mysterious man undoing the drawstring slowly. "I've got six grand right here, genuine bill and coin. Count it all if you feel like it, or if you just want to touch it." His smile was mean , like the slash of a knife across his face. "Split between the two of you? Three grand apiece. Five hundred extra each. You boys really so well off that you can turn down five hundred window dressing?" The man queried.

  "Hell." The bounty hunter gawked at the money, then over at his partner, and finally back up at the man in front of them. "Jesus mister, you know this feller will probably die even before he reaches justice, don'cha? He's real sick. He was nearly dead on the mountainside as-is, and he ain't gotten better. Hasn't so much as opened his eyes in days!" 

  "Hey hey, if he wants him and he's willin' to pay that much…" The other bounty hunter trailed off, looking greedily at the bag on the table. "I ain't that inclined to turn the bastard in to the Pinks if I can make a little extra."

  "But we was gonna'-"

  "Or," the mysterious man sighed, "I suppose I could just take my money and be on my way." He began to retie the drawstring but the first bounty hunter stopped him. 

  "Hold up there, friend . We didn't even catch your name. Normally in polite society, a feller makin' an offer has the courtesy to introduce themselves."

  The man leaned in, sweeping his hat off of his head and offering a stately little bow. "Ah, where are my manners? Gentlemen, my name is Doctor Franklin Craft. Junior of course."

  The younger bounty hunter openly stared at him. "Ol' Doc Craft had a son?" He asked hesitantly. "All I ever heard about was the messy business that went on with his daughter's husband." 

  "Truly, a sordid tale. And she is actually the reason why I'm here." Doctor Craft ( junior, of course ) bowed his head in respect. "Before Irene...made her brief return to polite society, she chanced across the very fellow you have in that cell." Craft's grip on the brim of his hat tightened visibly. "He stole something from her. Something... irreplaceable . And while I may be unable to get it back, I can assure you that this man will be afforded all the comforts I can offer him while he lingers on this earth." He snarled sarcastically. "Now, do we have a deal?"

  ...

  Two Days Prior ...

  "Annie, you're a terror! " Irene laughed, scrubbing at the little girl's grubby face with the corner of her apron. "What have I told you about playing in the mud? Only in your mess trousers and only outside, right?"

  The child nodded, offering a beaming smile. Irene probably would have fallen for it, had the girl not tracked mud all over the modest dwelling. Anna was only a hair past one year of age, but she had been racing around from the moment she was able to walk. Irene was hard-pressed to keep track of her on her own. 

  It had been nearly two years since Irene had seen Arthur. Once she realized a seed had been planted during one of their pleasurable trysts, she took great pains to tie everything up neatly. Returning for her deceased husband's money had been her boldest move yet, but there was little the courts could do to dispute her claim to his property. Willie had purported that she was dead so he could remarry, and yet here she stood before them, hale and hearty. It had caused quite the uproar, if only for the unapologetic way that she had addressed everyone's shortcomings in dealing with her reports of abuse. 

  The railroad bonds he had hoarded so jealously became her failsafe, and it was with careful consideration that she began to invest in various ventures. Subsequently, there was the business of selling off every last thing . Every ounce of property, every stick of furniture, down to the hideous pewter candlesticks in the dining room. 

  Irene found herself politely turning down suitors left and right. Now that she was a woman of means, it appeared that men were willing to give her the time of day once more.

  It wouldn't be long before she would have real difficulty hiding how her body was changing. Irene decided to purchase a simple cottage up in the East Grizzlies, and it was there that she began making a home. A true home. A home of her own.

  She planted herbs, chopped enough firewood to last a lifetime, and went fishing and hunting in the nearby woodlands. The self-sufficient woman continued to live in relative isolation, only making the trip to Annesburg when she desperately needed a midwife. All the research and overheard lectures from her father couldn't have prepared her for labor, and she would be eternally grateful for the patient woman who had led her through the agony to emerge on the other side one daughter richer. 

  She named the baby Anna, her heart full to bursting when the tiny babe clutched Irene's index finger with all her strength. Little Annie Craft , her eyes just as devastatingly blue as her father's and her hair soon growing into a mess of tawny-blonde corkscrews.

  Anna held out a small rock to her mother, the muddy offering obviously one of contrition. "Sorry?" The child questioned.

  Irene sighed, rumpling her hair and accepting the pebble with a laugh. "Go get washed up, little one. It's nearly dinnertime."

  Anna nodded, trotting back outside to the small bowl on the steps that Irene had repurposed as a child-sized washbasin. 

  Irene took the small stone and wrung out her dishrag, scrubbing at the rock to reveal whatever it was that had caught Anna's eye with this particular specimen. It appeared to be quartz, the dull glitter in the last of the day's sunlight more than enough of a reason in a child's mind to acquire it. Irene smiled a bit sadly down at the small stone on the counter, then scooped it up and placed it carefully on the windowsill with the rest of its contemporaries. A few more pebbles, several dried up leaves and flowers, and the real prize, a snake's shed skin. All the treasures a small child could muster up and then some, proudly displayed.

  "Well! Gracious me, where did you come from, little cherub?" An unfamiliar man's voice drifted in through the windows and Irene jerked her head up, startled and dismayed to see a dapper-looking fellow on one knee in the mud of the front yard, her daughter's hand in his own as he presented her with a small paper flower. 

  The woman fairly bolted for the door. "Annie, love, come here!" She called benignly, trying not to distress the child. "What have I told you about strangers, wee miss?"

  Anna nodded, gifting the man one of her signature smiles but not moving. "She is a beautiful little girl." The stranger mused, rising to his full height and moving his hand to Anna's shoulder, keeping her where she was. "Her eyes, in particular! What a lovely shade of blue they are." He studied Irene standing on her front porch for several long moments. "I assume she must get them from her father, since yours are such a pristine hue of amber."

  "Indeed she does." Irene replied evenly. "Please unhand my child at once, Mister…"

  "Trelawny, ma'am! Josiah Trelawny, at your service."

  "Mister Trelawny, release my daughter and you may leave my property unharmed."

  "I had dealings with a man who has eyes like your little girl's, Miss Craft." He continued breezily like she hadn't spoken. How did he know her name? "Strong fellow, secretly altruistic, bit of a temper. Fiercely loyal." Josiah paused dramatically. "And currently , almost out of reach."

  Arthur . Irene knew she must have let something slip in her expression, for a knowing smile blossomed on Trelawny's face. The man let Anna go, and she toddled across the front yard to the steps. "What is it that you want from me, Josiah Trelawny?" Irene snapped. "Does he have debts that need paying?"

  "Heavens, no! That man has paid his debts twice over again." Josiah took a step forward. "Might we converse indoors, Miss Craft? The things I am about to tell you are matters that warrant a certain amount of... discretion ."

  Irene hesitated, then reluctantly nodded while beckoning him to approach. Trelawny followed her indoors, not speaking again until they had settled down at her small kitchen table.

  "Arthur, you see, is a friend of mine. Though I'm certain he would argue to the contrary." Josiah explained while he helped himself to the grudgingly-offered biscuits and fresh raspberry jam. "Currently, however, he sits in a filthy cell waiting to be judged. The bounty on him was very substantial, Miss Craft, very substantial indeed." He settled back in the chair, biscuit crumbs marring his damask waistcoat. "Five thousand dollars, by all accounts."

  " Five thousand? " Irene repeated in horrified dismay. 

  "Yes. Now, that is undoubtedly distressing enough. That is no simple room and board, ma'am! A man may work his whole life for funds such as those." Josiah leaned forward. "And yet there is something far worse that hangs like the sword of Damocles over his head, Miss Craft. Arthur is abysmally ill. He is plagued by that lunging pestilence, the consumption. Lord only knows how long he's had it, but it is ravaging him now in incarceration."

  Consumption . Irene had no doubt that she was white as a sheet at that news. "Why are you telling me this, Mister Trelawny?" She mentally congratulated herself on keeping her voice steady. 

  "The locals mentioned you are a woman of skill. That you know certain... remedies , though you are not permitted a doctorate so instead you must fall back upon the moniker of hermit witchery." Josiah steepled his fingers. "Then of course, there are the rumors I've heard about you being the long-lost Widow Carson. There was much ado about her in the polite society...why, over a year ago at this point! How time flies." His eyes were narrowed. "The dead woman who came from the wilds and returned to them just as fast, carrying with her a fortune and apparently ," those eyes darted to the oblivious child who was currently playing on the hearth rug, "an outlaw's brat-"

  Irene was on her feet in a flash, her palms meeting the table to cut the man off before he could continue. "You shall not speak so rough in front of my daughter, Mister Josiah, or I will make you regret opening your mouth. Mind your tongue while you sit at my table and take my hospitality hostage," she seethed. "What is it that you want from me? Did you simply come here to chastise me for having a child out of wedlock? I fear you're a touch too late to stop me on that front."

  "From you , my dear woman? Nothing at all!" Josiah exclaimed, seeming appropriately cowed by her display of backbone. "You misunderstand my intent. I am here because I am in search of a gentleman named Frank Craft ." His contrition gone, the man was watching her like a hawk . "I came across mention of him in Arthur's journal. Frank is... instrumental to a plan I have devised, you see."

  Shit . "Why don't you tell me about this... plan of yours and I'll see whether it's even worth Frank's time." Irene challenged him, folding her arms across her chest. Anna buried her face in Irene's apron, the child obviously picking up on her mother's discomfort. 

  ...

  Back In The Present...

  "Oh well done , sir! Well done indeed!" Josiah praised her roundly when she returned to their meeting spot with Arthur in the saddle in front of her. "You have performed admirably , Doctor Craft!" 

  "Don't forget your half of the bargain, Trelawny." Irene said sharply, peeling the false mustache off with a grimace. "I expect that money back in my hands in two days."

  "But of course! A few more investments in the Kilgore mines and I shall have your payment safely returned." 

  Arthur, who did not even seem to be conscious , started coughing and wheezing like his lungs were fit to come out. Irene didn't miss Josiah's look of extreme worry. "I'll do my best with him, Trelawny." She murmured. "I can't promise anything. He seems in a bad way."

  "The coughing started back in...April, perhaps early May of last year if I recall his journal entries correctly. It's a miracle he's endured this long." Trelawny stated bluntly. He shifted in his saddle, "speaking of his journal, I have that very item with me. Should he recuperate, I imagine he would miss it immensely." He tossed her the leatherbound book, and then tipped his hat. "I'll be off. Thank you for your assistance, Miss Craft."

  "Just get me the money, Josiah." She retorted, pulling her scarf up over her nose and mouth before spurring Bluster off in the direction of home. Arthur's mare trotted along behind them serenely, the other animal having always possessed a much more even temperament than Bluster. 

  Irene pressed her ear to Arthur's back after a time, listening to how ragged and labored his breathing was and her heart broke. She prayed like she never had before the entire ride home, prayed to the Good Lord to let her save this man.

  Please God, spare him, he's suffered enough .

  As she rounded the final bend in the road before the last thickly-wooded section, she was startled to see an enormous stag barring her way. The beast was a strange amber-white, boasting a many-pronged rack of antlers that would have left many a hunter awestruck. It practically glowed in the moonlight, nigh ethereal as it turned its head and studied the woman with one liquid, pitch-black eye.

  Irene cautiously reined in Bluster, who didn't seem concerned with the massive creature. That of all things was what made her uneasy. Bluster, the perennial coward, was wholly unbothered by the hulking apparition that currently sat in front of them. Chase was unphased as well, the mare actually lowering her head to graze the sparse grass. Bluster's breath fogged out around his nose, the air already sharp with the promise of winter, and Irene realized with a jolt of confusion that the stag had no visible haze from its breath around its head. 

  The deer that towered head and shoulders over her even while mounted turned in the direction they had been heading, and then set off at a stately pace. It stopped after a moment, looking back at her as if to say, " well? " 

  Irene clicked her tongue, coaxing Bluster to a careful trot. The stag appeared satisfied with this arrangement, soon picking up speed. It led her on a strange path, a bit more of a winding one than she would have taken, but Irene felt weirdly confident that this odd... vision was here to help. 

  Off in the woods to the left, sounding like it was dangerously close to the deer track she would have taken, she heard a furious crashing of branches and the yowling of a cougar as it chased down some unfortunate prey. 

  Irene looked wide-eyed at the stag and found that it had turned its head to stare at her once more. Bluster whinnied uncertainly, beginning to fidget as he doubtless caught the noise and smell of the big cat, and Irene urged him on a little faster. 

  Jesus , encountering a cougar at this hour, her with nothing but her revolver and the limp weight of Arthur further burdening Bluster? They would have been dead for certain!

  "Thank you." She breathed, feeling foolish for being disappointed when she received no reply.

  The stag finally halted on the rocky hilltop adjacent to the little hollow her stead rested in, still not an ounce of breath fog around its nose or issuing from its mouth, and Irene realized after a moment that it was waiting for her to continue onwards. 

  "Thank you," she said again softly, grateful even through her disbelief.

  The deer folded its legs to lay in the grass, as if to keep an eye out for danger while Irene dismounted and led the two horses down the steep incline. Arthur started to cough again, the noise sharp and hollow as his breath rasped in and out.

  "Nearly there Arthur, nearly there." Irene soothed, knowing that he was probably unable to hear her in his delirium. "We'll be home…" her words trailed off when she turned to look back at Arthur and saw that the stag had vanished. "...soon."

  Bluster whickered at her quietly after a moment, breaking the spell of her confusion. Right . Work to be done.

  ...

  " The queen will never win the game, for Rumpelstiltskin is my name! "

  Arthur couldn't even bring himself to wonder what the hell he was hearing. Some sort of distant nursery rhyme, and he wasn't sure if he was imagining the sound of a small child laughing fit to split their sides.

  Christ , he was tired. His body ached and his lungs seared like hellfire. Throat raw from coughing, tongue sour with the iron taste of blood. He had really, really thought he would be dead by now. Guess his body had other plans, the bastard .

  He went back under, muddling around in the red haze of semi-consciousness. It seemed like someone was always forcing him to take some kind of medicine. Bitter, scraping his battered throat like knives all the way down. Maybe it was poison. 

  Some strange salve for his chest, reeking so potently of mint that his eyes watered even though they were closed. It reminded him of the ointments Hosea had soothed the horses with, the damn man probably pious as a pope from all the anointing he did. 

  A ladle full of lukewarm water pressed to his lips and he drank as best as he could, though some of it ended up trickling down his chin. His jaw was physically sore from the rib-shattering coughing he had struggled through; it was all he could do just to pry his teeth apart. 

  Christ , he should be dead. He had been surprised enough when he managed to survive getting a hole blown in his shoulder without losing the limb to gangrene, but this was a whole new level of bullshit. 

  What little life he had left after enduring Dutch's madness, Micah had done his best to beat out of him.

  Maybe they wanted him healthy for the gallows. Put on more of a show if he was strong enough to raise his head. Arthur didn't have the heart or breath to tell whoever this was that their care was in vain. He was so far gone…

  Nobody could save him. Not even God himself could save Arthur Morgan at this point.

Winter’s Cold, Part Two

[frillshark-fr]

How do you get people to always buy your dragons? Genuine question

i was gonna say something like “haha i have no fucking clue” but that would be a lie i think about this a lot actually so i might have some insights i’ve been breeding dragons as my primary activity on FR since i started playing FR (in 2014...) and people have only started actually buying dragons from me consistently like, 5-6 months ago, despite 2-3 attempts at running a genuine hatchery onsite that always died due to lack of interest & not really being worth the effort. 

so ive thought a lot about what the hell is happening now and why my dragons are suddenly consistently selling and I think ive come down to these being the main points of advice i can give: 1. make friends! be friendly! don’t be weird! be a cool and fun person to interact with! 2. post consistently. post your dragons consistently. post about other stuff consistently. just be an active member of the community 3. POST YOUR SHIT IN THE “#FLIGHT RISING” TAG. THIS IS PROBABLY THE ONLY TRUELY HELPFUL THING I SAY IN THIS POST 4. make pairs that are sexy as hell and be openly proud of them. make dragons and pairs that you like, not what you think will necessarily sell. people can tell when you like stuff and being genuinely passionate about something, whatever the fuck it is, will get other people passionate as well longer versions/explanations under the cut because man this got a mile long. i wasn’t kidding when i said i think about this a lot and i am so sorry if you wanted something concise and useful

1. to be a little glib. i am mutuals/friends with more clout in the FR community than I do kjdshfdsfdhjhkfdf shoutout to everyone who draws their dragons really good on a regular basis because i am riding on your coattails to sell my dragons. i love you this was never my intent, obviously! DO NOT BEFRIEND PEOPLE BECAUSE YOU THINK YOU WILL GET STUFF FROM THEM IT’S JUST A REALLY BAD THING TO DO TO PEOPLE!!! i wouldn’t be friends w/ people if i didn’t genuinely like and get along with them! no amount of pixel cash is worth putting up with people you dont like or abusing people you admire!  but i’d also somehow feel wrong to just... neglect mentioning this factor. idk it’s probably a self-esteem thing sjdkgfhdsf i just Don’t feel like my #success has been totally out of my own effort because its not like im #hustling or whatever i just posted dragons and stuff happened

-----

2. being consistent! just. posting consistently! posting Every Hatchling I Have and Talking About Them On Tumblr!  Once I had a couple nests just sell super fast likely due to aforementioned clout, i was emboldened to just post more of my nests more often and I swear this has more effect than anything else. i just needed the self-esteem boost to Start Doing That posting consistently makes ppl follow u for ur content which gets even more people to look at your dragons which gets more people to buy your dragons.

-

2a. Also just post a lot in general, even if you aren’t necessarily posting about your dragons for sale. it definitely helps! just be friendly and active and people will come

-----

3. post your shit in the tag. not in “#dragon-sales” or “#fr-dragon-sales” or anything weird like that because I don’t know if anyone actually looks at those, but people definitely browse “#flight rising”. no matter how many followers you have, more people will see your content if you post it in #flight rising than if you just chuck it into the void. 

-

3a. however! do not put links into the post if you want it to actually show up in the tag. tumblr is cool in that it doesn’t actually matter that much when you post something, the same way it really matters on twitter bc twitter has algorithms that decide for you what it thinks you want to be seeing whereas tumblr just shows you everything in chronological order. if you post something into the tag at 1am... it will still be there at 2pm when people log on and start scrolling.

the only thing tumblr seems to consistently hide from a tag (and possibly a dashboard, but idk) are posts with links in them, as a half-assed attempt to limit spam. instead of linking to your sales tab/to the dragons directly in the post, reblog it with the links instead. to reduce latency between a post going up and the links being available, i type out the links in the initial post, cut them, post the thing into the tag, then very quickly reblog, paste the links, and post the reblog jdhfsdf. i don’t know if that benefits anything really? but it can sometimes take me a while to type links, so if i posted, pressed reblog, typed up all the links, then posted, it’d be like ~15 minutes where someone may see the post, think “oh i would like to buy those dragons”, then can’t find the link, think “oh well, i will just find it later”, scroll on, and just... completely forget about it. so uh. go quick?

-

3b. the armchair sociologist in me also thinks self-reblogging has the added benefit of like... you know how people are more likely to tip a barista when a dollar is already in the tip jar? or how people are more likely to take one of those little tabs on a flyer if one of them is already missing? i think that works with notes, too. i don’t know why i think that or why it happens i just swear once a post gets 1 note, suddenly it gets Even More Notes, and if it doesn’t get any notes for a while it will sit at 0 notes until the end of time. so giving yourself 1 obligatory note makes people more likely to interact. i think

-----

4. all of these are hard to quantify but this one is especially so: have cool and unique dragons. make your pairs sexy as hell. don’t put all your eggs (hah) into the one basket of selling dragons that are technically “popular”. we have all seen triple white/triple obsidian/triple orca/triple any other popular colors and cherub/pere/stained or wasp/bee/glim pthahlos or whatever. they’re pretty! we get it! but everyone has had one and everyone has had those pairs and market for dragons like that can be super oversaturated. try to break free from that and sell dragons that people can only get from you. I can’t tell you what to do though bc that rly depends on you. make pairs that you find exciting or interesting and people will feel that. i have a very specific theme and aesthetic that i don’t feel like is especially common on FR and i am genuinely very enthusiastic about it. marine shit is my Thing:tm: both on and off FR and dragons are one of my many ways of expressing that   if you have a Thing:tm:, either some fr-centric aesthetic (like being super into plague or earth or light or something) or something more general (such as any of the -punks or -cores)... just fuckin roll with it honestly. if you’re goth? make got h dragons. like scene stuff that looks straight out of a middle school in 2010? rock that hot-topic lair. outdoorsey type? make dragons that look like you’d meet them on a hike in the woods. it really works with anything!  people can tell when you really love something and i know that seeing someone really love something, even if it’s not necessarily MY thing, makes me really excited too!! 

-

4a. never show fear. people can smell fear. never be like “well this one isn’t that good” because suddenly now you’ve planted the idea that it’s ugly in other people’s heads when they may have really liked it had you not accidentally suggested to them that it’s an ugly dragon. people are EXTREMELY suggestible to even VERY minor cues so be always a little bit bolder than you think you should be you’d be surprised at how many times ive been like “eh, this one’s kind of a dud, i’ll probably have to exalt this one when the auction expires” and then that hatchling is the first to sell. never ever ever ever decide what other people like for them. always act like your dragons are the hottest shit in all the land and Believe It. this is what people mean when they say “fake it till you make it”

- 4b. also, idk if it’s true of everyone but it’s really off-putting to see someone having serious pity-parties for themselves, on sales posts or otherwise. ive had bad experiences with people who are uncomfortably quick to self-depreciate (because they were using their genuine self-hatred to manipulate me or my friends), so i might be a little more trigger-happy about avoiding this behavior than others, but don’t weaponize your sadness to guilt people into doing what you want. it’s really not cool.

-----

okay i think that’s my entire manifesto on how i do dragon selling. anon i am so sorry im sure you were expecting like “believe in yourself :)” and here i am dissecting dragon selling like it’s a frog in a science class

edit: AFTER ALL THAT I STILL THOUGHT OF ONE MORE THING. It’s not really a Point, just a Reminder:

i don’t post about all the times i have to exalt dragons that don’t sell. you are seeing me being very selective about what i post. you dont sit and stare at my lair or click through offspring lists or check old sales posts. there are a lot of times where someone just doesn’t sell. even now when i’m selling stuff pretty consistently i will still sometimes have dragons that don’t sell for seemingly no reason. even dragons I think are sure to sell will sometimes just... not. and that’s ok! you gotta just be.. ok with that. it’s par for the course. i typically list dragons for 7 days on the AH, give them a couple more days after their auction expires (partially because i forget, partially to give them a grace period for people to pm/ask me about them), and then exalt them after that point. w/ some dragons that i don’t think got a fair shake for one reason or another (such as the sales post not showing up in the tag or something) i do a little clearance (like the halloween dragons i recently posted) but for the most part if they don’t sell, i just exalt them. 90% of the time i don’t even bother to level them up i just press the exalt button and call it a day. it’s fine

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-08-06

♪ HS2 HS2 is baaaaack ♪

♪ HS2bloggin here we gooooo ♪

♪ Structural changes on their team but I don’t caaaaare ♪

♪ Already resooolved myself that its NOOOT gonna beee as good ♪ with inattentiveness to details characters like Terezi forgetting-what-they-used-to-know and an obsession with dwelling on traaageeeDEEE without relief-or-considering how weee’d feeeeeeel~ ♪♪♪ --so just gonna enjoy-what-i-caaaaaan about iiit~ ♪♪♪

Okay time for bankruptcy

> CHAPTER 11. History's Most Notorious Haters

Let’s see how effectively my perky new lowered-expectations attitude lets me enjoy this comic  *click*

wut

Oh.  so is this Dave drawing comics about current events or Regular Calliope doing so for our very first lanky look at her presumably-grown-up-more cherub form

> Knight: Keep it real.

HOLY SHIT IT’S DAVEBOT AND ARADIA

so we just get to SEE them?!  just like that???  no buildup or anything?  :D

Okay I’m marking out a little that’s a good sign.  Also what a nerdy cop-out to turn the roboteyes into glasses that’s barely passable which is perfect, the rest of his outfit looks pretty cool tho

DAVEBOT: and thats reason four hundred nineteen why despite my mans many accomplishments i will never acknowledge big skateboardings contrived message that tony hawk is the quintessential skater of our generation ARADIA: o_o DAVEBOT: not in these trying times

Good to see Ultimate Dave is being true to form with regards to the core of his personality

DAVEBOT: beep boop ARADIA: i have told you several times that i was a robot before and i know for a fact you dont have to say beep boop DAVEBOT: hm that sounds fake does not compute ARADIA: david DAVEBOT: mom

I was with this conversation until the last two lines what the fuck

(I’m reading into it aren’t I, Aradia was trying to be atypically proper -- even though she wouldn’t have the frame of reference to know without being specifically told that “Dave” was considered nickname shorthand for the human name David, and thus if she DID know there’s no reason she’d use it except to troll him -- and Dave’s just mocking her response.  Without any shame about his continued weirdness of calling people Mom, and by without any shame I mean he made the choice EXPLICITLY to intentionally evoke the awkwardness.  Wow I got a lot out of two lines.)

(Oh, also alt!Callie’s true Jade-body incarnation here probably prompted her to start using “David” by example.  There, various mysteries solved via a pile of assumptions probably to be disproven in the next couple lines I read.)

The Knight and the Maid stare at each other briefly, having exchanged enough meaningful glances over their time together to know when to drop it.

Would Time players have an easier time gelling this way, like this particular smoothness?  Dropping it just before it gets weird or excessively irritating?

(Overclasspecting)

ARADIA: i think we have exchanged enough meaningful glances over our time together to know when to drop this DAVEBOT: what i enjoy about our conversations is that you just say things like that

OKAY I SNRK’D AT THAT.  That was funny.

Initially.  And now I’m concerned whether Aradia is being controlled by the narrative-speak, or whether they’re both just humorously referencing the meta-text they can both see, or--

ARADIA: oh is that what you enjoy ARADIA: well we are both an infinite number of years old living countless lifetimes at once but thats no reason to waste any of our...

WHAT??!?  She’s an Ultimate Self too?!?

Um, okay!  Yeah!  So they’re BOTH just riffing on the narrative then.  But... why would Dave need a robot body to accommodate his Ultimate Psyche without getting sick but Rose not need it?  I can understand Dirk not needing it because the merging of the full breadth of his multiversal individuality gels well with him being a God of the aspect governing the power of his multiversal individuality, but Aradia?

Were the robot bodies not necessary after all, and the sickness Rose suffered and Obama thought Dave would have suffered some sort of ruse?  Are there shenanigans afoot?  (Or are we going with the “troll biology is better” cop-out?)

She knows how this will play out, having undoubtedly tried this joke on her friend in some timeline or another. Their rapport reflects a unique combination of their matching aspects but greatly differing classes. One a passive but powerful servant to time, the other wielding the aspect like a honed blade.

WH

WHAT????

PASSIVE SERVANT OF THE ASPECT?!? WHAT THE FUCK

Okay if that means anything like it sounds like I guess my class chart is finally blown up, sure, they only waited (*checks last edit date*) SEVEN AND A HALF YEARS TO BLOW THAT GUESS UP, SURE

Wow.  Okay, I feel some obligation to jump to conclusions and say the whole class chart is wrong, but let me stay strapped in to see if “passive” is as literal as one would expect alt!Callie to mean, or it just means “an active class passive compared to other classes”.  And, serving the aspect?  Oh dammit, now people are gonna come at me advocating a Maid / Page dichotomy about actively serving the aspect versus allowing the aspect to be served... or Page / Maid even, jesus

I wish I had enough energy to have those chats anymore.  I’d rather hold on and see the whole ridiculous chart scheme they have in mind... which is definitely (and hopefully) the one Andrew really drew up at the time and not made up by the staff, even if it throws away plenty of my old work...  I’ll just stop thinking about it and keep reading.

...

--no, I don’t think I can just stop thinking about it yet.  Dammit, brain.

So um.  Maids serving their aspect.  There was a whole “Maids serve” thing going on throughout the whole plot of Homestuck, but despite how prevalent it was, I wrote it off as the story riffing on the classical definition of Maid when the actual stuff Maids accomplished was something different and more specific, just like Knights constantly got riffed on for chivalry and the like.  Furthermore, service seemed like a really shitty class definition, when class definitions are the verbs one uses to interact with reality through Aspects to change the way reality unfolds, and “serving” isn’t really an action that results in change, implying a distinct deficit of agency that I wouldn’t have viewed as fair.  (Especially since you originally think “meant to serve others” and not “meant to serve the aspect”, implying even LESS agency.)  Furthermore, MOST passive classes from their descriptions seem to have a propensity to act “as if by the will of the aspect”, so even with the nuance of “serving the aspect”, devoting an entire class verb to service would just step on the territory of other active/passive class pairs’ passive sides, right?

But... IF we were to take this for granted as what it SEEMS... then concentrating on that angle of “serving the aspect” implies a whole lot more agency than a service class might sound on its surface.  The definition fits with the story better once you contextualize all the Maid-y references to service around Jane, for instance, with the additional idea of “serving Life” by baking prolifically and creating more of its symbols in food and--

--fuck.  “Serving”, like serving to others.  Serving the aspect as its attendant AND serving it out to others that need it.  Maybe this still IS part of the Additive class pair!  Whoa.  :O

Okay okay so, what I/we thought before was:

Create/Add - Maid / Sylph

Destroy/Reduce - Prince / Bard

But “additive” really isn’t an elegant verb compared to the “Destroyer” classes, so... could it be the “Servants” and the “Destroyers”?  Like Maids cleaning up and healing the broken wreckage strewn through the halls by a bratty Prince’s tantrum???

It’d certainly be weird... and it’d CERTAINLY be a wild twist where I was partially wrong in some fascinating ways but not entirely off base?

One a passive but powerful servant to time, the other wielding the aspect like a honed blade.

And yet, I can’t bet on this being the situation yet; not at all.  First, it relies on the idea that alt!Callie’s explicit narrative here is slightly misleading, which would be a pretty extreme thing to commit to, even for a technical truth like “she was saying it was passive relative to other classes even though it’s technically “active””.  Second... it would mean that Muses are even more wildly defined than the previous insinuation of hers, that the Sylph -- what we thought was the passive additive class -- was not enough like a Muse compared to a Witch.  Muses not being that Additive?  I could grudgingly understand that, but Muses not being anything like passive Servants?!  That would be EXTREMELY weird!

So... there’s not a whole lot of chance that I’m not dramatically wrong somewhere about these classes!  In a way that throws the entire chart into disarray!

I’m... oddly excited?  Huh.

That’s a pretty nice surprise that I actually feel that way.

:)

(Don’t hit me up all at once to discuss this Classpect development over Discord, I’ll still need a few days without talking about Homestuck to recharge as usual.  Like... maybe wait and come at me as a group chat? So I’m not talking about the latest developments separately with everyone?  No that wouldn’t work, how about... guh I dunno, look my outlook’s a little more positive right now but dealing with Homestuck still takes emotional energy okay?)

Okay the rest of this page...

ARADIA: ... DAVEBOT: time then make a weird face ARADIA: ........ DAVEBOT: waste time DAVEBOT: time ARADIA:............. DAVEBOT: i experience all points of time simultaneously please just say time and make a weird face

This is true.

ARADIA: .................. DAVEBOT: cmon megido youre killing me clocks ticking ARADIA: ... ARADIA: time o_o

The Maid casts a furtive glance around the empty crew quarters, as though to search for someone more sympathetic to her bit.

ARADIA: tough crowd

Dorks.

> ==>

(Lazy fruit-throwing sword-training I won’t bother to screenshot but looks fun)

(I mean, really lazy looking, these people really don’t have Andrew’s knack for action composition that would make the same amount of gif-creation effort feel like a microcosm of the event they’re depicting, unfortunately.  Again, I don’t blame them; Andrew was just too good at it.)

DAVEBOT: ok heres one DAVEBOT: how old do you think you are ARADIA: emotionally? ARADIA: that is a pretty heavy topic DAVEBOT: you know damn well thats not what i meant ARADIA: you know I have been through a lot dave DAVEBOT: ok ARADIA: its just so kind of someone DAVEBOT: ok i get it ARADIA: to finally ask how i feel ARADIA: i am beside myself with emotions ARADIA: i want to open up DAVEBOT: jesus christ ARADIA: shall i open up about my past traumas to you ARADIA: would you enjoy that ARADIA: to think even a frog like me can work through their pain with a dear friend ARADIA: you have truly blessed me on this day dave strider

Is Aradia JUST trolling here or is her Ultimate Self grappling with a ton of real unresolved trauma too that she’s bullshitting around Dave-style?

DAVEBOT: times fun when youre having flies

Okay that’s a damned good frog pun.

Alright now Davebot’s rapping

DAVEBOT: lacking tact i stay stacked while i breach contract DAVEBOT: sacred vows disavowed got divorce fever DAVEBOT: i leave her DAVEBOT: dont look back dont perceive her ARADIA: do you want to talk about it :( DAVEBOT: about what ARADIA: would you say you are hung up on leaving your wife and friends behind

Goddamnit is DAVE’S ton of real unresolved trauma leaking into his raps unintentionally Dave-style??  I knew we had to address it when we cut to Davebot but how about LESS TRAGEDY IN THIS COMIC MAYBE

DAVEBOT: arent you even a little guilty about ditching your boyfriend ARADIA: what ARADIA: oh fuck

Wh

But she knew what she was doing when she did it she explicitly did it didn’t she?  Epilogues quote:

DAVEBOT: what about your boy DAVEBOT: eyepatches ARADIA: oh sollux is in one of his moods ARADIA: this was all getting to be a bit much for him ARADIA: if i go ill probably just cut him loose DAVEBOT: good move

And then they stepped through the sky hole more or less.  Did like, distracted Ultimate Aradia not realize exactly how long she was leaving Sollux for, ie forever?  Or did she “ascend” to Ultimate status later and hadn’t thought back to the full consequences of her actions within this timeline?  Or both?  From the looks of the link we’ll probably find out on the next pa--

--Wait.  Something else I just thought of, unrelated.

If Aradia is an Ultimate Self, that’s another coincidentally Ultimate version of someone hanging around that happens to be on the prospective list of Soul-Powered Jujus that might have their creation loops closed in the coming story.  Could those two things play into each other somehow?  Like instead of their souls getting stuffed into the items, their “Ultimateness” is?  Or as if that’s a necessary component, or...  no, I’m probably overthinking things.

> (Months in the past, but not many...)

Uh huh.  Is that flashing because he’s “watching” Aradia leave?  But I thought Aradia SAID she was leaving--

> (==>)

--and that black hole portal doesn’t look as cool as it sounded in the Epilogues.  But why was Aradia acting surprised, she said “I’ll probably just cut him loose” mere MOMENTS before entering the portal, did she mean “cut him loose” as in “I’m going to talk to him before leaving” and then just IMMEDIATELY forget that she didn’t say anything to him because she cared so little???

Wait.  Waaaait wait wait.  I think.  I think maybe I missed some subtext.  Lemme do some fuller quotes here:

ARADIA: oh sollux is in one of his moods ARADIA: this was all getting to be a bit much for him ARADIA: if i go ill probably just cut him loose DAVEBOT: good move

His gaze remains fixed on her. She blinks and looks away, unsure what to say next. He’s standing perfectly still, presumably waiting for her to say something. She met him... what was it? Once, twice before? She can’t remember. But she knows this is a very different Dave. Aside from the metal skin, he seems implacably confident. But then, people go through changes. She’s been through more than her share. She cocks an eyebrow, recalling her own stint with a metal body.

DAVEBOT: hey earth to whats your face ARADIA: oh ARADIA: its aradia

[...]

DAVEBOT: youre coming DAVEBOT: better decide quick i doubt that dank fuckin hell funnel is staying open for much longer ARADIA: yes i suppose so ARADIA: thats where all the action is right? DAVEBOT: all the action that matters yeah ARADIA: off we go then :) DAVEBOT: word

He holds out his hand. She looks around, and assumes he means for her to take it, so she does. She didn’t know someone could fly this fast. He nearly yanks her arm out of its socket. She considers reminding him that maybe this isn’t necessary, since she can fly too. But she doesn’t want to risk saying more embarrassing stuff around this outrageously cool dude. Besides, they’re through the wormhole before she can even finish the thought. It vanishes the moment they’ve crossed.

...this was a SHIPPING thing wasn’t it.  She’s impressed as hell with Striderbot, she SAID she’d cut things off with Sollux, and then she was so busy being swooped off her feet and into the portal that she forgot to actually say anything to him.  Is that what happened????

Ultimate Self Davebot x Ultimate Self Aradia.  Huh.  Didn’t see that coming.  (Though, again... they could make it SLIGHTLY clearer that this wasn’t just a blatant continuity error.)

Anyway, a rare-don’t-get-used-to-it [S] page...

> [S] (Gaze.)

...Okay that was kinda funny.

> (==>)

SOLLUX: h0w the fuck am i g0ing t0 get d0wn fr0m here.

HAH!  Okay, he’s taking it pretty well.  :)  --and THAT’s what she realized she forgot, giving him a flight down from the tower before leaving.

GOOD.  KEEP THINGS HUMOROUS EVEN WHEN LITERAL ABANDONMENT IS HAPPENING.  THAT’S the Homestuck I was missing.  :)  :)  :)

> Back to reality.

(Since the black hole is outside “canon” reality.)

Those are some cool poses-AHAH JESUS CHRIST ALT!JADE YOU LOOK ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING XD

COULD YOU MAYBE HAVE CLEANED UP THE DRIED BLOOD AT SOME POINT OR IS SOME OF THAT FRESH FROM EATING MORE RAW MEAT

(Lord English’s blood leaving permanent timeless bloodstains would be a cool new thing to squeeze into canon i admit, i wouldn’t blame them for taking the excuse even if you could find small canon counterexamples I’m not sure of but dimly think might exist)

((ALSO SHE’S GONNA BE TINY NEXT TO THEM I DUNNO IF THAT MAKES IT MORE TERRIFYING OR LESS, PROBABLY MORE))

DAVEBOT: so youre telling me you dont even feel a little bad that you ditched him to be a weird death acolyte ARADIA: no i think he found my wiles both charming and irresistible DAVEBOT: not even an ounce of guilt or self doubt huh DAVEBOT: just like that DAVEBOT: no conversations about the greater good DAVEBOT: no revelations about your feelings

Is Aradia a jerk or weird?  Can’t decide.

ARADIA: do you often find your faith in yourself shaken like this or is it a new experience now that your mortal coil has been left behind DAVEBOT: what ARADIA: do you think now that all that is left of you is a literal ghost inside of a machine you are more or less likely to embrace finality DAVEBOT: oh dope more cult of one shit DAVEBOT: immortality changed you ARADIA: could it be that you are projecting your feelings onto my situation DAVEBOT: does not compute rose jr ARADIA: ... ARADIA: we dont have to talk about it DAVEBOT: thanks

Wow, I actually can’t follow this conversation at all.  Let me stare at it for a sec...

...okay, the first part she’s talking about DAVE’s faith in HIMself being shaken, not her own.  She’s not asking if he relates to HER experience, she’s contrasting it.

Then, asking if he’d be more likely to embrace death, or... Time?  Death.  Whether his self-worth has changed because he might view himself as “less real”, something Aradia doubtless struggled with when she was a robot who already had so many excuses to devalue herself at the time?  And then Dave talks about “cult of one” shit what does that even mean-...

OH.  Like she’s a death cult.  Gooot it.  Because Aradia’s of the position that death and ending should be celebrated, and Davebot understandably isn’t entirely bought in.  This is as hard to parse down as one would EXPECT conversations between two Ultimate Selves to be hard to parse down, unlike Rose and Dirk where their insane missions and glaring flaws shine bright enough through it all that you can follow their conversation flow easily.

JADE: They sit in each other's presence, the silence between them as meaningful as any words they could exchange. DAVEBOT: its always really cool to hear how meaningful my silences are DAVEBOT: especially while DAVEBOT: CALCULATING DAVEBOT: CALCULATING DAVEBOT: especially while i am attempting to experience them

Alt!Callie pulling a narrative-text AFTER a talk-identifier like “JADE:” is really hilarious in my opinion.

JADE: i do not need your approval. the story will continue how it must. DAVEBOT: beep boop hater detected ARADIA: wow is that true JADE: i am not a hater. DAVEBOT: classic hater line DAVEBOT: i know this because i am pouring through genuine actual quadrabytes of information on historys most notorious haters JADE: no, you aren’t.

Pffffff. This is pretty fun.

DAVEBOT: you are the exact opposite of a hater ARADIA: a liker DAVEBOT: ok DAVEBOT: perfect example your tolerance for whatever is going on with DAVEBOT: all this ARADIA: i think she looks quite lovely covered in the viscera of the all-powerful enemy she consumed ARADIA: floating lifelessly in our periphery ARADIA: observing our every action and noting its relevance :) DAVEBOT: uh huh thats what i mean

I was gonna note “liker” as additive for pointless classpect purposes, but really more quoting it just because I really enjoy this conversation.  I’m starting to get sold on the chemistry of these two a lot faster than I expected.

JADE: even though I understand that it must happen, i am growing frustrated with the direction of this conversation. DAVEBOT: do you want to talk about something else stinky JADE: what would you suggest?

How long has that dried fucking blood been on her

DAVEBOT: ok hear me out DAVEBOT: kanaya DAVEBOT: but like DAVEBOT: wearing huge jorts

That explains Homestuck’s twitter earlier

> Weeks in the future, relative to the original point of interest...

Wait wait which point of interest?  This time we were just viewing? *click*

I love what must be this shitty imagination-ship they’re using to cross the substrate of reality

> ==>

Whoaaaa.  So they DIDN’T stay in those outfits for long?  It showed them in a bunk bed earlier, it showed CallieJade still going around blood-covered afterward-- dammit, I’m having a hard time gauging exactly how much time is supposed to have passed between their entry into the black portal, their earlier conversation, and this moment.  And as likely as some are to call this poor scene composition, I can’t think it’s anything but intentional, given we’re dealing with a couple of Ultimate Time players bullshitting with each other.

Moments like these are not rare, and serve a valuable function to the story. They are able to show a passage of time with the bulk of the emotional labor of a lengthy bonding process happening off screen. How did we get here? What have they been through? These questions are often better left open to individual interpretation and can give the one interpreting a sense of ownership of the story.

See?  We’re being trolled is why.  (Even if the authors are pulling the trick Alt!Callie describes maybe a little too damn often, because a cut like this where we’re supposed to fill in the emotional gaps and intervening events ourselves as readers depends on readers’ faith that sensible events and decisions for these characters would OCCUPY the gaps, as if readers don’t have faith that what intervenes WOULD make sense to their understanding of the characters the way the authors are writing them... it just seems like an excuse to do whatever you want without adequately explaining yourself, when in reality if you’d spelled out the events that led to it we’d all cry foul at the mischaracterization.)

...okay, maybe I’m a BIT bitter.  Sorry.  Where were we?

JADE: As a point of curiosity- ARADIA: oh shit!!!!

The dead Cherub possessing the body of an equally deceased Goddess of Space pauses at the interruption.

She doesn’t talk much, then?  Too busy doing whatever talking you’d do as your other possessed Jade body?  Just how temporally related is you controlling THIS Jade compared to when you were controlling the other?  When that Jade pegged you as enjoying contact with friends, are these two just not enough for you, or did you “experience” the trips entirely separately?  I don’t THINK the alt!Callie possessing either Jade is a separate entity from the other, but...

Were she to voice her opinion, it would be that --actually-- it is not unusual for those whose primary concern is The Grander Scheme to have a passing curiosity about the insignificant. So when one really thinks about it, any annoyance with the attendant’s small mindedness is both understandable and warranted.

She pissed

...also, “the attendant”.  Even if “serve” is really the verb here, that phrasing really irks me as if she’s talking down to her.  Which, I mean, makes sense for alt!Callie’s character, but doesn’t make me feel better about this new definition being foisted on us.

ARADIA: :( JADE: as a point of order, you never answered dave’s question. ARADIA: which one he is very chatty JADE: you experience time in a way that is woefully unfamiliar to me and it has... piqued my curiosity enough to learn more. ARADIA: ?_? DAVEBOT: shes asking how old you are

Wait a minute, is Alt!Callie asking a question about a dropped topic from WEEKS ago?!  And is Davebot so in touch with Time and the meta ordering of topics that he actually CAUGHT ON that fast to what she was actually wondering about?????

This is getting more disorienting by the minute.

ARADIA: in this form our bodies stop aging once we reach maturity i think ARADIA: the god tier keeps our physical form locked in a state of undying ARADIA: even in death the bodies do not decay ARADIA: only lay dormant

THAT LAST PART IS FUCKING IMPORTANT.  It’s being brought up intentionally to tell us that JOHN’S DEAD BODY can still be in the wallet Terezi’s carrying around RIGHT NOW without having decayed over the past years.  I remember remarking in SOME previous HS^2 liveblog post of mine that I was alarmed by the decay that would have happened there (can’t find my remark on short notice and don’t really care to), so this explicitly dismisses it so we won’t be surprised by the fact that she could keep it in just-dead condition.

DAVEBOT: like how long have you been alive JADE: yes, that one.

[...]

ARADIA: oh maybe a few hundred years or so DAVEBOT: what JADE: what? ARADIA: well if i had known you were going to be so judgy about it DAVEBOT: when did this happen ARADIA: oh i spent some time in other doomed realities and timelines and came back before anybody could tell i was gone

Hm!

We knew she spent a LONG time in the dream bubbles, enough to talk to “pretty much all of the Nepetas”, but she was actually able to access a universe or universes and hop between them?  That’s not something any time traveller we’ve seen has been explicitly able to do intentionally before, quite like she’s describing.

DAVEBOT: oh just out for a bit of fun then DAVEBOT: just hopped on over to a different reality DAVEBOT: real casual like DAVEBOT: oh hello dont mind me just popping in to see if it really is as doomed as they say it is DAVEBOT: did not disappoint ARADIA: yes almost exactly like that :) DAVEBOT: who did you hang out with are they cooler than me ARADIA: it is complicated to explain DAVEBOT: oh ok nevermind then DAVEBOT: all clear

Yep, he’s kinda bewildered.  Is this Pesterquest stuff she’s referring to?  Did she stop by Pesterquest?

DAVEBOT: a whole alternate universe ripe with the coolest motherfuckers imaginable ARADIA: you were there too i threw your air conditioner into the sun DAVEBOT: wow thats fucked up DAVEBOT: thats not where that goes at all JADE: these events are not-canonical. ARADIA: rude

Ah!  Yeah, almost certainly Pesterquest.  (Still haven’t played that and have little inclination to now that I’m more sure we aren’t being gaslit with intentional continuity errors, just disappointed by actual continuity errors.)  Oh!  And that makes a bit more sense because I imagine that’s Black Hole territory, and that territory outside of Canon seems pretty rich and easy for time-travellers to hop between stories and timelines willy-nilly.  As they’re apt to in fanfics, which is the most appropriate way for things to be in that realm!

DAVEBOT: is that the trope of being hundreds of years old but looking young forever patently sucks ass DAVEBOT: a plot device an asshole would write ARADIA: :( JADE: that is not what i am trying to say at all. DAVEBOT: hmm wow yeah thatd really be a sort of pot/kettle situation i guess DAVEBOT: i cant believe im the only woke one here DAVEBOT: its hard being such a visionary AND such a fine metallic specimen DAVEBOT: but im an altruist first and fucking foremost ARADIA: so selfless JADE: yes, the greater narrative is truly blessed by your beneficent presence. DAVEBOT: oh so you got jokes now huh JADE: i have always had the ‘jokes’ of which you speak, but i have heretofore exercised restraint in laying you low. JADE: i possess knowledge of many of your iterations, as the scope of my powers allows me to exist in several narrative structures at once. DAVEBOT: but can she see why kids love the sweet cinnamon taste of cinnamon toast crunch JADE: i do not know, or care, what that means. ARADIA: neither do i :)

I’m actually really enjoying this conversation

JADE: its cultural significance to you as an earthling is wasted on the two of us entirely, as we have not conflated the misguided notion of clinging to nostalgic cereal advertisement trivia with socially relevant conversation.

Pff she literally checked her meta notes just now to learn what the cereal ads were after admitting she didn’t know what it meant and pretending not to care

> ==>

Oh, closer look at Davebot.  Are those actual SHAPED shades over his robotic eye bulges?  Weird, I thought it was just a lazy line drawn between them with red sharpie at first, Sans style.  That would’ve been funny.

> ==>

Ohh, I get it.  I was gonna say that was an unwarranted reaction... but he just realized that the Time-wait puns will be coming from BOTH his shipmates from now on.  That’s gotta be a downer.  :)

> ==>

HOLY

FUCKING

SHIT

IS ALT-CALLIE LAUGHING!??!?!?!??

That’s REALLY, REALLY GOOD!!!  SHE’S ALREADY LAUGHING OCCASIONALLY THAT MAKES ME SO HAPPY

“BEST NARRATOR” COFFEE CUP

SHE’S ADORABLE

> ==>

Ah, was that Jade kicking you out?  Or just the multiverse punishing you for being briefly happy :(

--oh, end of the update.  Guess that’s it for now!

...

Alright I know I’m A BIT BEHIND on covering the HS2 commentary,

But

I really would rather wait on that a bit longer if that’s alright.  Real busy and stressful week or two.  (Found out my hair is starting to thin noticeably at age 31!  Quite suddenly, too.  Blood test looks fine so it’s nothing serious... gonna see a doctor to check if anything can be safely done about that, it’s really hurting my self-esteem more than I thought it would.  Didn’t think it would hit my emotions that hard when it eventually happened, knew it was likely but not so SOON... really messing with my anxiety every time I accidentally touch my hair, now.  I’ll deal with it.)

If I sound really aimless in this post, I think it’s cause I am?  My mental and emotional energy’s REALLY drained.  I’m glad that June/July break in HS^2 happened when it did, and I’m definitely glad there’s apparently plenty in HS^2 I can really enjoy, if this update is anything to go by.  Maybe this comic can help lift me up instead of knocking me down.  :)

See y’all later!  More Patreon commentary blogging catchup after some other upd8.

[petri808]

The Perfect Pair

@twinstarsweek​ Angel/Demon prompt. Slight Cloak & Dagger reference

Was it weird that a demon could get bored doing demon things? Katsuki didn’t really care that the other demons teased him, frankly he didn’t give two fucks about what anyone else thought. He loved causing some havoc and sure killing despicable humans that deserved to die was like sport. And why not, hastening murderers, rapists, the pure dregs of human existence onto a fast track train to perdition gave him a real buzz. But that didn’t mean he was like the others who enjoyed the ruthless killing of anyone good or bad.

There were a few ways to get out of their realm which were like jobs if you will. To be summoned by a human… he hated this. You could break the rules and leave without a job, but the hell hounds would be sent to drag you back… and they never failed. A higher-ranking demon could assign you a job, such as unleashing a plague or to collect a human that is deemed too inherently evil to live any longer. And the final option is to be hired directly by an angel. Even though this was necessary to maintain the balance, many demons only took this option when no other work was available.

Call him crazy, but Katsuki was tired of being under the leader’s thumb and desperate for a change.

So, one day as he peruses the job board, he notices a new posting that sticks out like a sore thumb from the rest. The pearly white piece of paper with filigree gold corners signaled its source— An angel. His blood red eyes narrow in on the description:

Kind of vague but intriguing, especially the permanent part. Did it mean if he did a good job, it might keep him out of Tartarus for a long period of time because that was certainly enticing? Katsuki rips the paper off the board. ‘Contact Izuku, huh?’ He grins. Time to find out just who this angel was.

Human’s only had a measly understanding of what lay beyond their corporeal world and none of the supernatural creatures bothered to correct their misunderstandings. Creatures existed for different purposes. Aside from angels and demons, there were elementals, lost spirits, and a multitude of what the humans called gods. Each of these had their own realms where they dwelled like layers stacked upon one another, yet invisible to the corporeal world.

For demons it was Tartarus, angels inhabit Sion, and the other realms lay in-between. But the purpose of angels and demons are closer to the Chinese belief of yin and yang, to keep a balance in the corporeal world. The animals are easy to deal with for those creatures followed the basal instincts of life and death. Humans on the other hand were an offshoot of evolution that has become a bit problematic. In the beginning they followed the rules but over thousands of generations, has forgotten how to maintain a balance with the world around them.

Because of their loss of direction, angels were tasked with coaxing humans back in line. Those that refused are the ones the demons stepped in to deal with. A job was simple enough as long as they worked together… and there in lies the problem. It was rare for an angel and demon to get along for more than a job or two. Eventually their opposing natures caused friction. Katsuki knew that but figured what the hell, it was worth a shot.

He follows the directions on the flyer and finds Izuku at a small cottage in Sion. Their realms were so different from each other’s. Tartarus felt despairing, shadowed, and their homes bitterly heated. But Sion was full of blinding hope, and the homes looked warm and inviting. Even as a demon Katsuki had to admit it was a lot nicer to be there instead of his own home.

It was strange as he stood on the angel’s doorstep. There was a peculiar comfort washing over him that he’s never experienced before. Katsuki shakes his head to push away the weird sensations, chalking it up to the realm’s positive energy. He knocks at the door and stands back, not knowing what to expect.

When the door opens, out pops a smaller green-eyed male with the biggest smile plastered on his face. So, this is what an angel looked like? His skin was a touch luminescent, yet Katsuki could see freckles on the guys cherubic face. He wore all white, ‘no wonder the humans depicted angels in white,’ had tiny horns peeking out from messy green hair, and a pair of fluffy white feathery wings folded neatly behind his back. All in all, the guy was kind of cute.  

“Hi! How can I help you mister demon?”

Katsuki holds up the flyer, “you looking for a partner?”

“Oh yes!” the angel opens his door all the way, “please come in.” He gestures towards a living area, “have a seat. Are you thirsty?”

“Nah, I’m fine, just wanna know what’re you looking for. And by the way, the names Katsuki.”

Izuku takes a seat opposite the demon. “It’s nice to meet you Katsuki,” he smiles and takes a moment to scan over the demon. He’s seen a couple of them before, but it was the first time being up close. He notes the deep red eyes and the scowl that gave the man a scary disposition. Dressed mostly in black and reds, he had pointy horns that rose a few inches out of the dirty blonde hair, and a pair of leathery wings. Wow, these demons really were their opposites in many ways.

Satisfied, Izuku sits forward with his hands clasped in his lap. “Well, one of the things I do is look for people who still have good in their hearts but have gone astray and need help getting back in balance. Some are easy to work with, but others are so lost and broken, it takes a stronger push. So that’s where you come in.”

“To do what exactly?”

“Well, I guess you could say, some humans need to be scared or shown their fears in order to recognize them. That’s what you’ll help me with, then I step in to show them there is hope so they can change for the better. Basically, you’ll help me bring the human back into balance.”

It all sounded easy enough. Maybe not a lot of fun, but perhaps if the human decides to get physical, he’ll get to do some pushing back. Katsuki sits back and tilts his head slightly. “Alright, I’m game. When do we start?”

By the end of the second job, Katsuki had to admit this gig was a lot easier than he’d expected it to be. The other demons made working with angels seem like a real nightmare but Izuku was a total push over. Sometimes the guy was too damn tooth-rottingly sweet.

All the angel wanted to do was save humans from themselves and would pick some rather tough cases. He’s seen others go after little guys, such as drug users that had simply lost their way, but Izuku went for the top, targeting ruthless gang leaders or corrupt politicians. It was amusing at first that this mouse of a creature took such a route. Not that Katsuki was complaining, because scaring guys like those were a lot more fun than the weaklings.

Don’t get him wrong, Katsuki wasn’t doing this because he cared about the humans, that’s the angels forte. It was a job, he was out of Tartarus, and enjoying this new endeavor. In fact, between missions, he chose not to return to his realm. Izuku didn’t mind him crashing at his home, so he took up the offer. Sion was nice and cushiony compared to his own abode.

“So, who’s next on the agenda?” the demon kicks up his feet against the table and sits back relaxed on his chair. The pair were sitting at the angels dining table going over the next mission.

“Hmm,” Izuku closes his eyes, searching the human realm with his mind. “I see a wife abuser or a corrupt businessman.”  

Katsuki swiftly drops his legs and sit forward in his seat. He grins, “let’s get the abuser, those bastards deserve to have the tables turned on them.”

“I agree,” the angel smiles. “There’s no excuse for such behavior.”

“Perfect! I hope he gives us lip cause I’ll really make him shit his pants.”

Izuku was starting to get used to this demon’s rough personality and penchant for swear words. It was very different for an angel made of light, so he preferred to think of Katsuki’s darkness as just a way to peer into these sinner’s souls. Every human is born balanced, but as they grow are filled with both hope and despair for each challenge is an opportunity to gain strength. Some humans rise to the light and overcome, while unfortunately some give in to the darkness and are consumed.

There were legends of angels and demons who combined to affect the greatest changes in the human’s history. Divine pairings they were called, beings that not only worked together to bring balance, but were themselves the epitome of the balance in this world. And ever since Katsuki had arrived, Izuku felt an unusual connection with him. Of course, those stories were called legends for a reason because no one in this current lifetime had ever seen this special pair. But that didn’t mean the what ifs never crossed his mind.

Now some may wonder how an angel or demon could move about amongst humans and not be caught for what they were. There are human sensitives that could ‘see’ their true energy, but to the average person they appeared to be no different than any other human. It was a glamour that hid their otherworldly features, horns, wings, or their unnatural skin glow and shadows, turned off and on when the angel or demon saw fit.

Izuku’s human facade resembled a stereotypical nerd minus the glasses. Mousey messy green hair, freckled cherubic face plastered with a never-ending smile; he was too adorable to be walking around in a dilapidated ghetto type area.

“You know if I wasn’t here, someone might make you their bitch,” Katsuki teases the angel.

“I— don’t understand what that means.”

When Katsuki turns to look at his partner, his face heats up at the sheer innocence Izuku exuded. ‘Shit… c-cute...’ He clears his throat and looks away again. “It means you’d get kidnapped.”

“Oh!” the angel smiles. “That’s why I needed your help.”

Katsuki on the other hand fit perfectly in these areas. A piercing red gaze and scowl matched against his dark clothing choice caused most humans to give them a wide berth when walking on the sidewalk. He imagined passerby’s saw the pair as an odd couple because that’s exactly what they looked like. But odd or not, they worked well together, and he was starting to feel a bit protective over the angel.

He throws an arm around the smaller male’s shoulders, “stick with me and you’ll be fine mouse.”

The close contact triggers Izuku’s body temperature to rise a tad and he feels the heat surge into his cheeks. He couldn’t understand why this demon evoked unfamiliar emotions in him. Well, not exactly unfamiliar. As an angel, Izuku understood the positive emotions like love, friendship, caring, and all those that guided him. It was his affection for humans that drove him to do what he did, but he wasn’t supposed to feel these same sentiments for a demon. “Thanks,” he sputters out.

A few more months pass by as the pair racks up successful mission after mission. So far, only on two occasions did Katsuki resort to turning off his glamour in order to truly scare an individual because Izuku requested it be their last resort. It made the demon laugh when one of the men actually pissed their pants in fear. Well, they should have just listened to reason as far as he was concerned.

They would scout out their targets and figure out the best timing to approach to avoid a worst-case scenario. Izuku was meticulous at planning and that was the only thing that could drive the demon crazy. But it worked so far. Katsuki believed that angels and demons were not as immortal as the legends make them out to be. When they were in their human-glamour state, it also meant they were vulnerable. If it were just him maybe it wouldn’t bother him to push his luck, but his desire to protect this angel was over-riding his natural instincts. He didn’t want to risk Izuku getting killed.

Ugh, this was all making him soft, and yet Katsuki was too attached by this point. An unspoken connection had taken hold, so deeply in fact that the demon and angel shared a bed now. If Izuku was out of his view for too long, he would grow agitated. The angel didn’t help by not forcing them to stay cordial and allowing this unnatural affection to take root.

“We gotta go, we gotta go!” Izuku rushes into the living room one day in a panic. “Our target just acquired another batch of kidnapped girls!”

The demon gets off his chair just as the angel gets to him. Katsuki grabs his flailing arms to calm the panicking man and pulls the man tightly against his chest so he can’t pull away. “Whoa, whoa, calm down mouse! We haven’t worked out how many goons this guy has got working for him yet. We could be walking into a big shit storm!”

“But the girls!”

“I am not gonna let you do something stupid or get killed. Period. End of discussion!”

“Kacchan, we can do this!” Izuku’s eyes water and his lips turn down in a pout. “Together I know we can deal with whatever happens.”

A deep growl emanates from the demon’s throat halting the angels fight, “what part of I can’t risk losing you don’t you understand?! If 50 humans jump us, I might not be able to protect you.”

“I wouldn’t want to lose you either,” Izuku whines as the tears trickle down his cheeks. He believed with his entire soul in them. “I just know in my heart we’ll be fine.”

Suddenly, a bright light envelopes the pair, catching them completely off guard. Katsuki releases the angel in a panic that something just went wrong. Did they break a rule? Shit! It’s because he was getting attached wasn’t it? He shouldn’t be so damn attached to an angel, but he couldn’t help himself! “Shit! Shit! Shit! What the fuck!”

But Izuku stays calm. There was no pain, no sense of foreboding, or any inclinations what was happening was a bad thing. He looks over his glowing arms and realizes they were both glowing white. “Kacchan calm down.” It was his turn to grab onto the other. “Kacchan its gonna be okay.”

“Are we in trouble?!”

The angel could see the sheer panic in the red glowing eyes. Was this demon feeling true fear for the first time? But fear of what? “I don’t think so. I mean, it doesn’t feel like we are.” He pulls Katsuki into a hug. “Don’t be scared Kacchan, I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

“But why the fuck are we glowing?!”

“I-I think it’s because we just became a divine pair.”

“A what?”

[thepandapopo]

Absolute Truths

This idea wormed its way into my head and for the life of me I couldn’t get it out.

This oneshot is a little longer than the stuff I usually write (a whopping 8539 words), but I loved every minute of it. I tried editing it to the best of my ability, but honestly I suck at that. No beta, we die like Glenn. #SorryNotSorry #TooSoon ?

Please note this is non canon. The time frame for this is sometime after the Battle of Gronder post time skip and it is a mash up of the GD and BL routes (ie. Dimitri joins Claude and is no longer crazy; Rodrigue still dies. RIP).

Cross posted to ao3.

Pairing: Sylvain x Felix

Warnings: mentions of child abuse and PTSD

Synopsis:

When Felix and Sylvain get hit with a dark magic spell that reverts them back to children, the Resistance Army gets a deeper look into their bond and learn 5 absolute truths that form the foundation of their relationship.

OR

5 undeniable facts of Sylvain and Felix’s relationship.

Word Count: 8539

“Felix!”

Fuck. Sylvain loses sight of him for only a minute but that is all the enemy needs to overwhelm the already bombarded swordmaster.

Pulling the reigns sharply to the left, the Paladin charges across the battlefield, skewering any unfortunate enemies that dare block his way, the lance of ruin glowing like a beacon of fury despite the thick coating of blood on it. The air is heavy with the smell of smoke and dark magic, making it hard to breathe and blurring the red head’s vision. Regardless, Sylvain presses on; determined to get to his best friend in time before the group of mages over the hill finish casting… whatever ominous looking spell they are aiming at Felix.

“Sylvain, get out of here!” Felix shouts angrily, not even pausing his fighting to face the sight of Bella charging her way through the throng with her master astride her.

Shit. Felix cuts down another enemy.

It is never ending. No matter how many falls to his blade, another two enemies take their place. Felix isn’t stupid – he can see the group of mages prepping a dark magic spell in the distance, which makes him even angrier when he spots Sylvain riding to his aid.

Like hell he’ll give his childhood friend another reason to toss himself into harms way. Felix isn’t weak. He doesn’t need protection. And he sure as hell doesn’t want Sylvain to be the one who gets hurt trying to fix his mistakes just because he got a little too cocky and split from the rest of his battalion.

“Fuck.” Felix grunts and pushes his sword hard to disengage the thief that has him in a sword lock. He doesn’t bother to see if he is being pursued and dashes towards Sylvain who is now dismounting a short distance away, Lance of Ruin making quick work of anyone who strays too close for comfort.

Sylvain was undoubtedly within hit range of the spell now. If that idiot insists on being his usual self-sacrificing self, then the least Felix can do is use his own body to shield the older man and take the brunt of the damage.

The tell-tale crackle of magic behind him sets the hair on his nape standing.

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.

He isn’t going to make it. Damn Sylvain for being so slow – this is exactly why he keeps telling him to take his training more seriously-!

“Fe!”

The last thing he knows before succumbing to the darkness is a hard chest plate knocking the wind out of him and warm, strong arms that remind him of summers spent with a heart lighter than air.

----

1.       Sylvain always has, and always will protect Felix until the day he dies.

Leonie is one of two on the first shift of babysitting duty.

Undeniably, the orange haired paladin would be the first to admit that she wasn’t the greatest with kids, however there is only so much the tiny, and thankfully unconscious, Fraldarius boy can do given his current predicament.

No one really knows what happened after the enemy spell envelops Felix and Sylvain, the larger of the two curled protectively around his companion as they fall. No one even knows what the spell is.

But what they do know is that now, instead of a regular sized Felix Hugo Fraldarius and Sylvain Jose Gautier, they have a chubby cheeked blue haired cherub and an unfairly-cute-even-as-a-child ginger.

It is in the middle of bemoaning her poor luck at drawing straws when the mini-Felix begins to stir and she feels panic clawing its way up her throat.

“Ngghh…” small, unscarred hands balled into fist come up to rub at bleary amber eyes before they widen almost comically as they take in his surroundings.

“Uhh… hey.” His gaze snaps towards Leonie and she can feel her terror rising with mini Felix’s hysteria, clearly evident by the shiny glaze beginning to cloud his eyes and the fat crocodile tears gathering at the edges of his almond eyes.

“It’s okay, Felix. It’s just me.” She reaches out a hand tentatively in a placating gesture, but quickly withdraws back as young Felix lets out a squeak and scurries as far back into the corner of the bed as he can get, taking his older self’s wool Fraldarius crest blanket with him, as if it could shield him.

“Wh-wh-who are you?” The poor thing is absolutely terrified and damn it, Leonie wants to comfort him, but she is equally as distressed here and this is exactly why she didn’t want to babysit.

“It’s me, Leonie. You don’t… you don’t recognize me?”

It comes out sounding more like a statement than a question.

It’s so painfully obvious that little Felix has no idea who she is.

Which means he doesn’t have his memories.

Which means they are down two of their best generals.

Which means they are well and truly fucked.

So, Leonie does the only thing she can logically think to do.

“Come on,” She says, rising from her bedside chair and reaching for his arm. “We need to go tell Linheartd that the situation is much worse than we had originally thought.” But as soon as her hand wraps around his forearm, Felix screams.

“Oh shi-! Felix! Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you!”

If anything, this just seems to have the opposite effect and the wails increase to near piercing.

Leonie thinks it may be a trick of her mind, and probably her ears because holy crap does little Felix have a set of lungs on him, but she is pretty sure that Felix is screaming out a name.

Specifically, a name belonging to a certain red head that is, the last time she checked anyways, unconscious two doors down from his room and currently being watched over by Caspar.

“Fe!” The door bursts open and suddenly there is chaos.

Was being watched over by Caspar, Leonie amends in her mind.

“Get back here!” The blue haired warrior lunges and swipes his arm out trying to catch mini Sylvain who is slipperier than a fish in water, using his short height to duck between legs and launch himself onto the bed.

“Leave Fe alone!” Honey brown eyes that are so very familiar yet also so different, are glaring holes into Leonie and Caspar, proudly defiant and blazing with determination. Short arms stuffed into the smallest adult shirt they could find on short notice stretch out protectively, completely shielding Felix from sight.

“S-Sylvain,” comes the little sob from behind him and the older boy spares a second to throw a comforting smile behind him. “Don’t worry, Fe. I’ll protect you.” And Goddess, he sounds so genuine and earnest that it makes Leonie wonder what happened to cause their Sylvain to hide behind fake laughs and charming lilts of the tongue.

“Sorry, Leonie.” Caspar is gasping for air like he has just run a marathon. “I tried to keep him in his room but as soon as he heard Felix screaming, he was out faster than I could blink.”

“Ugh. Just go get Ingrid and the Professor.”

----

2.       Sylvain hates himself and his crest, but Felix likes him in spite of it.

A day later finds Ingrid watching over the five year old Felix (“What?! He’s five? But he’s so tiny.” “Don’t let him hear you say that or he’ll cry again.”) and seven year old Sylvain.

“Just stay in this area, okay?” She calls out over the din of raucous laughter echoing throughout the courtyard. “I don’t want you two wandering off and getting into trouble.”

The play wrestling pauses for a brief moment and little Sylvain sticks out a tongue at her.

“We don’t get into trouble! You’re just a party pooper!”

“Yeah! Party pooper!”

Shoving down the urge to smack her childhood friends into the next moon, Ingrid settles for watching with pursed lips as Felix dissolves into giggles, Sylvain’s grabby hands finding purchase in his sides and tickling him relentlessly. The look of such carefree happiness on their faces makes her heart clench and eyes sting.

If Ingrid is being completely honest… she misses this.

She remembers what it was like not carrying around a broken heart for a man buried six feet under, his remains not even whole enough to bring home. Back when she could play wrestle with Fe, Sylvie, and Dima in the dirt and then go to Glenn to kiss her knee better when one of them inevitably accidentally activated their crest and used too much strength, resulting in tears and scrapes and bruises.

It doesn’t do her any good to dwell on the past.

The dead should be left to rest, and the living should move on.

For an emotionally constipated guy, Felix is dead on with his philosophy.

Though she has long come to terms with her betrothed’s death, the small sliver of envy she has for her two oldest friends still lingers in the deepest, darkest recesses of her heart.

They’re lucky that they still have each other, even though they spend half the time bickering and denying their feelings.

“Is that the Gautier boy?”

Two monastery staff members stop beneath the path archway and look with undisguised admiration.

“So handsome at such a young age!”

“And I hear he’s incredibly charming too.”

Ingrid knows that Sylvain and hear them. He has always been keen of hearing, especially when it involves others gossiping about himself, for better or for worse.

Felix takes advantage of Sylvain’s distraction to get the upper hand and rolls on top, completely oblivious to the onlookers.

“If I were his mother, I would have secured him a betrothed as soon as he was tested for a crest.”

A hum of agreement. “Yes. His family is blessed with good looks so it would not be hard to secure an advantageous match. The Gautier line will likely continue on stronger than ever with such a prized heir.”

“Sylvain? Why did you stop?”

Felix is all wide eyes and adorable pouty cheeks, staring confusedly down at his best friend underneath him who has gone strangely silent with a strangled expression.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?”

The two gossipmongers snap to attention at Ingrid’s sharp tone, her expression clearly telling them to get the hell out of here or risk facing her wrath.

With rushed replies of “yes, sorry miss!” and “our apologies”, they scurry off down the pathway and disappear around the corner.

But unfortunately, the damage is already done.

“Sylvain? What’s wrong? Why are you sad?”

Gently, the older boy extricates himself from Felix’s death grip of a grapple and stands up with his eyes cast downwards. “Sorry, Fe. I… I don’t want to play anymore.”

“What? What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“I’m tired. I want to go back to our room.”

It only takes one look at Sylvain’s expression before Felix is latching his fists into the fabric of Sylvain’s pants with a scowl on his face.

“You’re lying to me. Why are you lying?”

“I’m not lying, Fe! I don’t want to play anymore.”

“We’re best friends aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah, of course we are.”

“Best friends don’t lie to each other.”

Ingrid has patiently watched the exchange between Felix and Sylvain to this very moment, hoping that they can sort out this argument without her intervening like she always did as a child, but through years of experience, she can sense that one of them is about to snap and she would very much like to avoid that.

“You know the only reason we’re best friends is because our parents are friends and we both have crests.”

There it is.

It’s absolutely heart breaking how Sylvain has already learned to self destruct at the tender age of seven. If Miklan were still alive, Ingrid would skewer him a thousand times over for instilling the mantra of ‘you’re not worthy of love’ into Sylvain’s head.

“Hey guys, do you wanna go-“

“You’re a stupid head if that’s what you think.” Felix’s interruption shocks her. His usually bright amber eyes are fixed in a watery glare leveled at the boy opposite him. Right now, Ingrid may as well be invisible for all Felix cares.

“What?”

“You’re a stupid head!”

Sylvain looks absolutely affronted.

“No, I’m not!”

“Yeah, you are!” a few tears have managed to slip beyond the barrier and trail down Felix’s cheeks. “I don’t care that our parents know each other. And I don’t care about any stupid crests.”

Felix marches up to Sylvain with all the anger he can muster in his five year old glory and reaches up to smoosh his cheeks together. “I’d still pick you to be my best friend in the whole wide world because you’re funny and nice and I’m always happier with you than Ingrid or Dima.”

Sylvain can only stand there with his lips parted in round ‘o’ from his cheeks being pushed together and a dazed look in his eye. Felix takes this as a sign to continue his little tirade.

“And I know you’re smart so you should stop being such a stupid head because I don’t care what you think. You’re my best friend and I’ll always pick you over any stupid crest.”

“Fe…”

She recognizes that tone. Ingrid looks away then because she fears that if she doesn’t, the part of her heart that belongs to Glenn might just twist its way into her throat and choke her with envy.

Sylvain is giving Felix that look that she has seen many times throughout their lives whenever she watches her two friends from afar. It’s one that everyone, except for Felix, has seen a million times and knows that to Sylvain, the world around him has fallen away except for one person.

“You’re my best friend, Sylvain. So, don’t lie to me.”

For the first time since the gossipers appeared, Sylvain lets a smile slip through.

“Okay. I promise.”

Felix eyes him warily and searches for any hint of a lie in Sylvain’s expression. Once satisfied, he loops his own pinky around the one outstretched to him.

“Good. Now let’s go play Knights and Bandits!”

Perhaps it is because Felix is always looking ahead that he never sees how Sylvain looks at him like he was the one who hung the stars and moon in his dark sky, illuminating his life with happiness and love.

----

3.       Felix feels so much and Sylvain is the only one who understands him even without words.

A collective sigh echoes throughout the monastery when they find out that mini Felix and mini Sylvain aren’t too picky with their food.

Granted, even as a child, Felix shows a proclivity towards eating meat; but with a little friendly jostling from his best friend, even the youngest Fraldarius son can be convinced to eat his brussel sprouts.

Which is exactly why Claude is so baffled when Felix starts to protest eating during mealtimes.

“What do you mean he won’t eat?”

He’s well aware that he probably sounds like an idiot, if the exasperated look Lorenz is giving him is anything to go by; but they haven’t had any trouble before so it makes absolutely no sense that Felix would start being picky now.

“It’s exactly as I said,” Lorenz frowns. “We were all simply sitting together enjoying a meal, when Felix stopped eating and refused to finish his dinner. I’ve been told this is now the third occurrence in a row that his has happened.”

“Was he full?” Byleth pauses from looking through some supply requests to chime into their conversation. Although she has not outright said anything, Claude knows his love well enough to tell that she is stressed about their current predicament. Felix throwing a silent protest against food is just one more thing to add to her pile of worries that she doesn’t need.

“Don’t worry, Teach,” Claude winks and flashes his signature grin. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. You just worry about securing our supplies for the next moon, yeah?” His chair lets out a deafening screech as it drags across the floor, drowning out any protests their former professor may have and providing Claude the distraction he needs to usher Lorenz out of the room with him.

“Claude, are you sure you know what you are doing?” The doubt rolling off Lorenz would have offended a lesser man, but Claude has spent his life being the underdog and he lets the words bounce harmlessly off him. “Felix is not an enemy to be outsmarted. He is simply a child who only adheres to emotion.”

“I am aware of that, yes.”

“Then why do you look as though you are about to hatch a scheme?”

Because he is.

And although Felix is not an ‘enemy’, per say, doesn’t mean that Claude can’t use his usual tactics of watching and observing his opponent until he has hatched a plot to take them down. Hence, leading to Claude’s current position tucked away in the far corner of the mess hall during the following breakfast.

Even on his off days, Claude is always watching and learning. He knows the favourite foods of all his fellow comrades in arms and he also knows whom everyone’s preferred companion is.

There is very little that escapes his notice, and the Resistance Army leader is confident that he will have a plan by sundown at the very least.

It is a little past 8am when the two children sleepily trudge their way into the dining hall with Bernadetta, their ward for the day, close behind them.

Nothing seems particularly strange or odd when they join the line to retrieve their meal; and nothing remarkable happens either when Bernie leads them to the only empty table left in the middle of the hall.

“Good morning, Bernadetta!” Raphael greets cheerily and shuffles his mountain of food over to join the trio at their table. “Good morning, Felix, Sylvain!”

The little ones mumble back a greeting, but their voices are lost in the din of the morning meal chatter.

So far, so good. Felix is still eating his porridge (albeit with an adorable frown on his face) and talking animatedly about goddess knows what with Sylvain, who occasionally turns to answer a question from the adults.

“Oh, good morning, Bernadetta, Felix, Sylvain!”

Slowly but surely, the table begins to fill as their friends meander into the building in search of food to start their day. Greetings are exchanged and unsurprisingly, Felix and Sylvain garner a lot of attention due to their current forms. Sylvain, ever the chatterbox that he is, fields most of the questions; Whether it is because he is being considerate of his quieter friend or if he simply relishes in the attention is debatable, but Claude cannot help but notice how his eyes constantly dart back towards Felix who grows increasingly frustrated.

“Oh, you’re just too adorable!” Annette’s squeal of delight reaches even Claude’s remote corner and he assumes that the wince he sees from Felix is due to the sheer volume of the orange haired mage. Sylvain, the current object of attention, just flashes her his prize winning smile; his dimples making him look even more endearing than he already is.

The adults gathered around the children don’t even notice that Felix has stopped eating. Nor do they see Sylvain quietly reach below the table to grab Felix’s smaller hand in what looks to be a gesture of comfort.

In fact, it takes another five minutes of cooing and fawning before Raphael, of all people, notices that Felix is now glaring with teary eyes at his bowl of half eaten porridge.

“What’s wrong, little buddy? Not feeling well?”

Immediately the attention shifts to him and the effects are just as disastrous as Claude predicts.

“I’m not hungry.” Some of the porridge finds its way onto the table as Felix pushes his bowl away with such ferocity, Claude is half surprised it doesn’t completely tip over.

“What do you mean you’re not hungry?” Annette frowns. “This is the fourth time you’ve left a meal unfinished. Are you not feeling well? Do you need to go see Mercedes?”

“No. I don’t wanna eat anymore.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Felix? We just want to make sure you’re not getting sick.”

“I’m fine.”

It’s a big fat lie and anyone with half a brain can hear the distress and frustration in the blue haired boy’s voice. One lone tear manages to squeeze its way out of Felix’s water logged eyes and that’s all it takes for the table to burst into a flurry.

Claude almost feels bad for Felix as the adults descend on him like a pack of vultures, all of them crowding him and trying to coax the reason for his distress out of him. The Almyran prince has half a mind to go over and rescue his friend in arms from a situation that is probably in his top ten worst fears, but before he can even get out of his seat, Sylvain is already bounding out of his chair with a teary Felix in tow.

Sylvain shouts something about ‘Knights and Bandits’ and they’re out the southern doors before Bernadetta can even process what has happened.

Felix’s half eaten bowl of porridge sits on the table completely forgotten.

----

At lunch, Claude decides to test a hypothesis.

He asks Mercedes and Hilda to sit with the kids at lunch and pay special attention to Felix.

To everyone else, he gives them strict orders to leave their table alone.

Satisfied with how his experiment is set up, Claude finally seats himself back in his observatory spot with his own lunch sitting in front of him.

He’s not expecting amazing results. In fact, he’s not expecting his first hypothesis to be a success at all, but he wants to try it none the less because there is always the possibility that mini Felix fundamentally operates much differently than the Felix that he is used to.

What he doesn’t expect is for Felix to immediately shut down the minute Hilda tries to engage him in some conversation about the games him and Sylvain play in the courtyard.

Today’s lunch special is Daphnel Stew and Claude has it on good authority that it is a favourite of Felix’s (technically Dimitri is a reliable source, right? They were childhood friends after all).

Sylvain tries his best to jump into the conversation and pull some of the attention to himself, but Hilda is every bit as smooth of a talker as Claude is; deftly maneuvering the conversation back to Felix no matter what Sylvain does.

This time, it is Felix that reaches for Sylvain’s hand under the table.

Except instead of just holding Sylvain’s hand, Felix starts to pull at it every time Mercedes or Hilda asks him a question, as if pleading for his friend to save him.

At least Claude could now say for sure that Felix is not, and never was, a fan of being the center of attention.

When the first afternoon bell tolls signaling the end of lunch, Felix’s stew remains uneaten and untouched. On the way out of the hall, Claude looks the other way and pretends not to notice when Sylvain steals an apple from the pantry.

His experiment doesn’t exactly succeed, but he cannot write it off as a failure either. The information gathered from his two observation sessions is plentiful and a solution is forming within his mind even as he makes his way up to the war room to meet Byleth for their afternoon strategy session.

By the time he pushes open the door to his usual haunt, Claude is absolutely certain of two truths.

One, that Sylvain knows Felix better than anyone could ever hope to compare, and two, Felix Fraldarius is incredibly lucky to have an attentive best friend like Sylvain because stars above, does he suck with using his words.

----

When the hour before dinner time rolls around, Claude makes sure to talk to everyone he passes by and give them the order that no one is to approach Felix and Sylvain’s tables at mealtimes anymore. He tells them to pass the word around and it doesn’t take long before the entire monastery is in the know of their Leader’s command.

“Care for company?” Byleth smiles and sets her tray down beside his own without waiting for a reply.

Claude does a quick survey of the area to make sure no one is looking before leaning in to land a quick peck on Byleth’s cheek. Joy flutters in his stomach at her rising blush and he merely laughs and winks at her stuttered protests.

“Check it out,” Claude quickly changes the subject and nods his head over to where Bernadetta sits exhausted with a now cheerful Felix and Sylvain. The latter nodding enthusiastically to their conversation with the occasional laugh and both of their plates near devoid of food.

A tiny rush of pride swells when he sees the relived expression on Byleth’s face.

“Told ya I’d take care of it.”

Underneath the table, he flips his palm facing upward so that he can intertwine his fingers with her searching ones.

“Yes, you did.” The unspoken thanks lingers in the air between them, louder than the constant buzz of activity in the room.

For the first time in a while, the former professor looks more at ease. And Claude, being the shit stirrer that he is, cannot help but toss a little fuel into the fire.

“So… who do you think will wear white at the wedding? Between the two of them, I think Felix is the better choice.”

“What?!”

----

4.       Felix has an unwavering faith and belief in Sylvain that he’s not afraid to stubbornly stand by to the bitter end.

“Annie, are you sure this is a good idea?”

If Mercedes is concerned, then Lysithea is absolutely certain that no, this is most definitely not a good idea.

They are at the part of the training grounds where the various magic users can come to practice and hone their spells. The ground is singed with charred marks from stray thunder and fire spells, the black streaks contrasting starkly with the pale stone underneath. To the side, there is also a sand pit where mages can practice some more destructive flame based spells.

“I’m just a little curious, is all!” Annette whispers back. “I know Sylvain is really good with magic even though he never uses it. He was the one who helped me understand that magic formula that I was stuck on for a week, after all. I was thinking maybe he might show an aptitude for Reason as a child.”

“That’s fine and all; but I’m not really sure how safe it is to teach a child how to conjure a fire spell. That just seems like a recipe for disaster.”

The orange hair mage cannot help but look slightly put out by Lysithea’s comment.

Yes, maybe it wasn’t the safest idea ever… but Annette just really wants to find out the extent of Sylvain’s inherent abilities. Even after she makes him promise to take his training more seriously, she still feels like he is holding back on her when they are paired together.

“What kinda magic are you gonna show us?” Felix is eager and bouncing on his toes. The House Fraldarius specializes in swordplay, not magic, so this is a treat for him and he can barely contain his excitement.

“Oh well, I was thinking we could start off with a basic fire spell!”

“Oooh, fire!”

Annette really hopes that Felix doesn’t have a penchant for pyrotechnics.

As much of a bad idea as this is, Lysithea can’t exactly bring herself to leave them in case something goes terribly wrong. She is the strongest, most advanced Gremory the Resistance Army has; with her around, she’s confident that the worst that could happen would be some singed eyebrows and possibly an impromptu need for a haircut. But even that is an outcome that she is hoping to avoid.

Once the target is set up, Sylvain and Felix eagerly make their way over to the sidelines to watch Annette demonstrate a basic fire spell.

It’s nothing special really. Even the older Felix and Sylvain could probably cast it without much problem, but to their younger versions, the small ball of fire is so grand and spectacular that it warrants oo’s and ah’s and enthusiastic applause.

“Wow! That is so cool! Isn’t that so cool, Sylvain?”

Felix is pulling on Sylvain’s sleeve and the older boy nods emphatically with admiration shining in his eyes.

“Do you think you could do it too?”

Lysithea is startled to hear the question Felix asks Sylvain. Of course, Annette was already planning to ask the Gautier boy to attempt the spell, but that was out of curiosity.

From the shining look on Felix’s face, Lysithea knows that he is asking because in his mind, there is nothing that his smart, talented best friend in the whole wide world cannot do.

“Magic is difficult to learn and takes time. It can take years for some to learn just the basics.” She cuts in before Sylvain can answer.

She doesn’t want Felix to unwittingly trap him with an unrealistic expectation that he cannot meet and she figures it is better to disappoint him now rather than allow the red head to try and then feel guilty when he disappoints his friend.

“Sylvain is smart. I bet Sylvain could do it!”

Felix is pouting in that way that they are all quickly learning means ‘I’m right and you can’t convince me otherwise’.

“I’m sure Sylvain is very smart!” Mercedes agrees and gives the boys her best placating smile. “But I’m not so sure that a person could learn how to cast a Fire spell in one day! Why, it took Annie and I at least a week of practicing before we could do it!”

“Yep, I remember I almost burned my eyebrows off the first time I tried! But I can teach you the basics maybe and then we can bring you here again next time to practice?”

The urge to verbally reprimand the warlock for her relentless pursuit to satisfy her own curiosity rises and Lysithea has to physically clutch her biceps to stop herself from bursting.

Fine. If they were so eager to set themselves down this path, then so be it.

“Yeah!” Felix is literally vibrating with excitement and Sylvain looks nervous but determined to not let his admirer down.

Heaving a sigh, Lysithea moves to settle next to Mercedes who sends her an apologetic smile.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

----

Unsurprisingly, Felix does not do so well with learning the basics.

The diagrams and symbols are a little too much on the side of complex and it becomes apparent rather quickly that there is a reason the Fraldarius men carve through the battlefield with swords instead of magic.

“Aw, it’s okay Fe! You’re still the best with a sword anyways. You don’t need magic!” Sylvain ruffles his hair and smiles. “You’ll always beat me at swordplay.”

The small admission is enough to cheer Felix up and after a bit more nudging from the older boy, he runs off to play around with the wooden practice swords they have on the other side of the training room while Annette and Sylvain continue to work on creating basic magic circles.

It’s only after the third hour and Mercedes has long left to attend to various chores that Lysithea turns to watch Felix go through rather crude sword forms instead.

“You need to spread your feet farther apart.” Using her own foot, she nudges Felix’s left heel to the side to widen his stance. “Try striking again now.”

The wooden sword wobbles a bit in its trajectory, but the swing is undoubtedly much better than before. The sheer delight that lights up in Felix’s eyes almost makes Lysithea laugh out loud because she recognizes it as the same gleam she sees in the older Felix’s eyes when he executes a particularly hard maneuver.

“Why aren’t you watching Sylvain and Annie?”

For a five year old, Felix is incredibly perceptive.

Rather than lie to him, Lysithea opts for honesty because she is sure that’s what older Felix would have wanted.

“I don’t think he’ll succeed.”

Felix frowns. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. I know how hard it is to learn magic. I’m sure Sylvain is very intelligent, but it takes a lot of hard work to use Reason.”

“Sylvain can do it. I know he can.”

She sighs and turns a baleful eye down at Felix. “You’re a stubborn one aren’t you.”

“Glenn said that to me too when he didn’t believe me that I could stay up all night waiting for Sylvain.”

“And did you prove him wrong?”

Felix turns to full face her, expression full of gravity.

“Yup.” The dead seriousness of his tone looses Lysithea’s first laugh of the day and she cannot help but be drawn towards this little boy, the same way she was drawn to his older self.

Deigning not to continue a lost conversation, the cake loving Gremory opts to turn back and watch the progress that the other two have made, leaving Felix muttering to himself about his steadfast belief in his best friend.

----

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got!”

The sun is setting and it is nearly time for dinner by the time Sylvain and Annette break away from Magic and Sorcery: Vol 1. to actually put some practice to the theory they have spent all day studying.

“Now, don’t be too disappointed if you can’t get it.” Annette says while moving out of the way. “You did just learn the basics and it takes a lot of practice!”

Lysithea has not moved from her perch from a nearby bench. She’s still extremely skeptical that Sylvain will manage to do very much at all. Yes, it is true that he had a budding talent for Reason during their academy days, but Sylvain hardly ever applied himself to any of his studies. The professor had to literally force him to attend one on one magic lessons with her before his aptitude for spells finally emerged.

Although, she muses, this younger Sylvain seems to be more enthusiastic to participate in things he was interested in. Even now, the scrunched up look of concentration on his face is indication enough that the Sylvain Lysithea is used to is a much different creature than the one before her currently.

House Ordelia does not really have any established trade routes with the Gautier territory, but the Ordelia heir has heard enough to know that the current Margrave is an arrogant, crest-obsessed prick.

It doesn’t take a prodigy to connect the dots and surmise that Sylvain’s carefree attitude and refusal to apply himself to anything is a product of his father’s suffocating expectations.

Fuck Margrave Gautier.

Maybe Lysithea does want Sylvain to prove her wrong and succeed; then at least he can go back home and light his father’s breeches on fire.

She’s only slightly disappointed when her expectations prove correct and the best Sylvain can conjure is one tiny flicker from a lone flame in his hand. However, it is still much more than she thought Sylvain would be able to do and for that, she is genuinely impressed.

Annette is also very much awestruck with Sylvain’s quick learning and happily informs the boy of this all the way to the dining hall. Sylvain is uncharacteristically quiet as he listens to the older mage praise him, but he is not yet skilled enough in the art of hiding behind a mask and the slight downward tilt of his lips does not go unnoticed.

“You really did an amazing job learning so much in such a short time, Sylvain! Don’t be too disappointed that you couldn’t do it.”

Sylvain gives a weak smile in return, but it is Felix who ultimately responds; one hand clasped tightly in the Gautier’s and the other one balled into a fist.

“Sylvain can do it. Just watch.”

----

Dinner passes without much fanfare and the boys are eventually tucked in for the night. Claude and Byleth have long decided that a full-time night chaperone is no longer necessary; although occasionally, one of their friends will peek into the room in the dead of night before they retire, but very rarely do they find anything wrong that requires their attention. A week has already passed with no incident, so there should be no need to exhaust their soldiers by keeping them up at night.

Except this time, when Petra nudges the door to their room open – being extremely careful not to open it too fast lest the hinges squeak – she does not see any sign of Felix or Sylvain anywhere.

It is the dead of night, but Garreg Mach Monastery blazes alive with a flurry of panic at the toll of the emergency bell.

“You’re absolutely sure no one saw them leave their room?”

Seteth slams his palms on the table and interrogates the night shift guards; his brows furrowed and mind racing a mile a minute.

If the enemy has somehow managed to sneak into Garreg Mach and kidnap the children, then they are well and truly fucked. They may have to abandon their home base or at the very least do an extensive investigation of their current ranks and re-evaluate their current passive defense.

“There were no signs that a struggle was happening.” Petra voices from her place around the war table. “I am having confidence that they left with willingness.”

“Goddess, please keep them safe.” The situation leaves a bad taste in Flayn’s mouth; it is much too reminiscent of when she was kidnapped and although it has been years since the incident, the memories still plague her.

Byleth’s voice leaves no room for discussion, “everyone split up and search the grounds. Most of our facilities are locked up at night so that should help limit the number of places we need to search.”

Everyone dashes out of the room with their orders and branch off at the second floor corridor. Those once belonging to the Black Eagle house comb through the main hall while the former Blue Lion students check all surrounding independent buildings; the Golden Deer fanning out to cover the outdoor grounds of the monastery.

An hour passes. Then another. And another.

Soon it is 3 in the morning and the panic is truly beginning to set in, giving rise to an unsettling fear clawing its way up from the depths of the night.

“Dimitri, Dedue! Have you found anything?” Ingrid pants and skids to a halt just below the stairs to the Sauna; the rest of her Blue Lion classmates run up to join her and debrief their findings.

“Nothing,” Dedue’s tone is flat as usual but his strangled expression is enough to betray his underlying worry. “We have searched all the open buildings and the grounds. There is no sign of them at all.”

Annette is near tears now and Mercedes places a hand on her shoulder, offering her silent support even while she herself is fiddling with her shawl, an attempt to keep her mind occupied before it spirals.

“It’s not like them to run away,” Ashe frowns. “Did anything happen today? Were they acting weird at all?”

“Not really. All we did was practice magic at the training grounds.”

Mercedes frowns. “Perhaps they left something there and went back to retrieve it?”

“The training grounds should be locked at 11PM. No one should be able to get in or out until sunrise.” Dimitri shakes his head.

“Well then we’re clearly running out of ideas here!” Ingrid throws up her hands in frustration and rakes them through her hair which is on the verge of looking like a bird’s nest. “We’ve checked the dining hall and the greenhouse but –“

“Your Majesty.” Dedue’s raised voice cuts Ingrid short and they look over to see the doors to the training grounds swing open slowly with a slight push of the man’s hands. “The doors were not locked as we thought.”

It takes only a heartbeat for them to scramble through the large wooden doors and down the hallway, their rushed footsteps echoing like thunder in the stone corridor.

“Oh Goddess. I smell smoke. Does anyone else smell smoke?” If her heartbeat accelerates any more, Annette is pretty sure she will have a heart attack.

“It’s coming from over there!” Their King leads the charge towards the magical training arena where the smell of smoke is the thickest.

When they burst into the open area, they are prepared for the worst. Weapons are drawn and hands raised with spells on the tips of tongues, but the sight they are greeted with is enough to shock them into stasis.

There in the middle of the sandpit, hunched over and panting hard, albeit with a brilliant grin on his face, is Sylvain. The practice dummy a few feet in front of him is alit with flames, illuminating the room with an orange glow, casting shadows along the stone walls that flicker like a live audience.

And off to the side bundled up in a woolen teal blanket that they all recognize, is a tired, but extremely proud looking Felix Fraldarius staring directly at the newcomers.

“I told you he could do it!”

----

5.       Sylvain has given Felix all the pieces of his fragile, fractured heart, even if he isn’t aware he possesses it.

Although once his greatest secret, Ignatz no longer hides his passion for art from his fellow Resistance Army members.

It’s not uncommon these days for people to find him at random places in the monastery with his art supplies sketching away at preserving a moment in time on blank paper forevermore.

Today, he is sitting on a bench next to a large oak tree, just a stone’s throw away from the main grounds. Beneath the shade and tucked between two large roots lie Sylvain and Felix, both completely tuckered out from their earlier attempts at climbing the towering tree. Sylvain is starfished on the ground with his arms stretched wide; to his left, Felix lays curled away from him with his head pillowed on the outstretched limb.

Sylvain and Felix have been the talk of the monastery for the past week and it is pretty obvious why. It’s not every day that you see two high ranking generals revert back to their child forms. Especially the most notorious bother-me-and-I’ll-bite-your-head-off and if-it-breathes-I’ll-flirt-with-it Generals to boot.

Of course, stories of their shenanigans and troublemaking usually fill the daily meal conversations, but there is one topic that floats above all else; the one that makes the maids in the kitchen giggle and even the burliest of knights crack a smile:

It is clear that even from a young age, Sylvain Jose Gautier and Felix Hugo Fraldarius are absolutely smitten with each other.

The two are inseparable and Ignatz is pretty sure that even a blind man would be able to see the absolute trust and unspoken devotion they have towards each other.

Ignatz has spent the day watching Felix and Sylvain, not just because it’s his turn to babysit, but also because he is fascinated with their bond. He had once thought that the Goddess was the most beautiful thing in the world, but the rawness and purity of their relationship fills him with more piety and awe than any portrait or statue of Sothis ever did.

It is like they are two parts of a well-oiled machine. Where one gives way, the other will step in to fill the gap; whenever Sylvain’s insecurities flare up, Felix is always there to chase the demons away with clumsy words and a physical display of affection, using his own body to ground his best friend and keep him close. Likewise, whenever tears well up in the youngest Fraldarius’ eyes (which is unfortunately quite often), Sylvain is there to wipe away the salty tracks and light up Felix’s heart with a smile warmer and brighter than sunshine.

Ignatz’s original plans were to draw the oak tree and the beautiful meadow of primrose flowers, but it seems that there will be a last minute change in muse.

Taking up his piece of charcoal, he begins the outline of what he thinks will be his fondest work to date.

Ignatz doesn’t know how long he spends sitting on that bench hunched over his sketchbook in silence with only the occasional birdsong floating through the silence. It’s so calm and peaceful that he doesn’t even notice that Sylvain has begun to stir until he looks up to find one of his subjects in a different position.

Leonie had warned him that Sylvain has a tendency towards nightmares. She had discovered that unfortunate fact in the first three days when each time she tip-toed into their room to check up on them, she found Sylvain wide awake with wild terror in his eyes and a sleepy Felix clinging to him comfortingly.

Strangely enough, Sylvain also does not startle awake from his nightmares. Instead, he slowly rouses himself as if from a deep sleep and if it weren’t for the glaze of lingering fear in his eyes, none would be able to tell that he had just woken up from a night terror.

That same glazed look is now flickering rapidly around him as if searching for the shadow of a monster that exists only within his mind.

“Sylvain…?”

Wild brown eyes finally settle on steady molten amber ones.

“Fe.”

“It’s okay, Sylvain. I’m here...”

Felix yawns and shuffles around until he is half wrapped around Sylvain with his left hand settling over Sylvain’s pounding heart.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you…” Small hands curl around the material of Sylvain’s shirt in a death grip. Felix’s loyalty and protectiveness so painfully evident even when the boy himself is half asleep. He manages to cling to the realm of the conscious for a little while longer, until the rapid thump thump thump of Sylvain’s heart slows to a steady lulling rhythm, pulling Felix back down under the veil of sleep.

Ignatz has silently watched this entire exchange and to be honest, he’s not really sure that Sylvain or Felix even remember that he is here with them. He cannot bring himself to make his presence known, so he continues to watch and observe.

He watches as the fear that was once in Sylvain’s eyes slowly recede again, the monsters inside his head vanquished in the company of his best friend. It only takes one more glance at the boy cuddled up to him with a hand protectively hovered over his heart to melt away the chains that bind him to the expectations of the people around him.

Here under this oak tree in a field of blooming young love, there is no crest or Miklan or nobility. There is only Felix and Sylvain.

Sylvain holds onto that truth as he wraps his free arm around the younger boy, tucking him more securely under his chin, letting the cool summer breeze lull him back to a dreamless sleep.

Ignatz pulls out a new page and starts a fresh outline. It takes him a little longer than anticipated to finish his drawing, but he figures it’s not such a bad thing since he likes this new version much better.

Later, as he trails after the now energetic boys back towards the monastery, Ignatz tucks his newest masterpiece securely under his arm, being very careful not to smudge the drawing or crease the paper.

After all, Claude did mention something about a wedding and Ignatz thinks that his drawing will make a fine gift.

----

Bonus: They’re just two idiots in love.

“Go away. Can’t you see I’m trying to enjoy my meal?”

“Aww, don’t be like that, Felix! You know, the younger you was much cuter. Definitely less prickly, too.” Dorothea pokes his cheek and snatches her hand away before Felix can stab it with his steak knife.

It’s been roughly a week since Felix and Sylvain have returned to their normal sizes, the dark magic having run its course and fizzling out without so much as a final spark. To the rest of the Army, this is a joyous occasion as it means that two of their best generals are now back to normal and can command them again. But to the last class of the academy… it is bittersweet.

Of course, they want their friends to return to normal. But that also means that Felix will go back to hissing and spitting with all the fury of a spooked cat and Sylvain will go back to seducing any individual that makes eye contact with him for longer than half a second.

“Better do as he says, Thea. Felix’s looking extra grumpy today and we wouldn’t want you to lose a pretty little finger.” Sylvain winks at her as he sets down his own meal and settles in the seat across from the swordsman.

The opera singer snorts, “right back to the flirting as usual. Save your hollow words for some other girl.”

“Ouch. Give a guy a break! I just recovered from a dark magic spell after all. Doesn’t that warrant some pity?”

“The only pity is that you immediately lost all your innocent and cute appeal when you reverted back to your regular body.”

Felix scowls at them, “if you insist on continuing your flirting, I’ll just eat my meal elsewhere.” He moves to stand but Sylvain is quicker and grabs his wrist, preventing him from moving.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop. Just stay, okay? Please? For me, Fe?”

Sylvain is looking at Felix with that expression which he knows he cannot resist and Dorothea takes this opportunity to slip away while the two engage in a silent conversation with only their eyes.

“Fine.”

Their meal continues with little fanfare and easy conversation. Around them, their old classmates are scattered in their own little groups and if they notice, none of them mentions anything about how everyone seems to avoid sitting at Felix and Sylvain’s table.

Easy conversation flows into dessert, or more specifically: Felix wordlessly giving Sylvain his peach sorbet and Sylvain beaming a rare genuine smile and promising to join him at the training grounds first thing tomorrow morning.

The sun is slowly dipping below the horizon when Sylvain and Felix gather up their dishes. On their way out of the dining hall, Ignatz stops them with a heartfelt congratulations and a bundled up package that looks suspiciously like one of his works.

“Congratulations? For what?” Artfully tousled red hair shifts as Sylvain tilts his head in confusion and reluctantly accepts the gift.

“O-oh, well Claude just said…”

Dread rises up from the pit of Felix’s stomach. “What did that schemer say this time?”

“…He said that you two were getting married.”

“What?!”

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- Plots and Planning

Something different for this story.  I have decided to write how the various factions of the different universes that make up the story would react to all these new galaxies colliding.  This particular one is the Imperium of Man and the forces of Chaos from Warhammer 40K.  Why them?  Because they are the most gung-ho and definitely two of the most powerful groups within all of the universes, so I had to find some way to make sure they didn’t go into this new reality all guns blazing.  Divine intervention and brotherly bickering will do that nicely.  It is about to get real complex real quick, so if you have any questions, most definitely feel free to ask.  I will be writing more of this style, so if you have a request about a certain group or government, please feel free to ask.  As per usual, none of these characters or universes belong to me.  Enjoy the story.  

A note on timelines:  This takes place around 950.M41, during the height of the Ciaphas Cain book series.  This is before the the 13th Black Crusade and the Fall of Cadia.  

Warhammer 40k Galaxy

Holy Terra, Throneworld of the Imperium of Man

Holy Terra.  The birthplace of the human race.  Seat of power of the most dominant empire in the galaxy.  The most sacred planet in the galaxy to humanity, for it was here that the Emperor himself sat upon the Golden Throne, here that holy humanity was born, and here that the leaders of the Imperium, operating in the Emperor’s stead, convened.  And today was a most important day, for the High Lords of Terra, the council put in place by the Emperor to guide the Imperium in His absence, would meet to discuss the current situation.  

The gilded spires of the Imperial Palace reached into the sky, towering above all the rest of the structures on the planet as the massive bells of countless cathedrals tolled noon.  The entire planet was one massive city, housing hundreds of billions of people.  And, quite a beautiful city at that.  For here there were no ugly grey skyscrapers or disgusting constructs made of glass and cold steel.  No.  Here, every building was a work of art.  Reaching into the sky, some tens, if not hundreds, of kilometers high, they were all masterpieces, created by the finest architects ever born of the human race.  All had the same architectural style, a mixture of what ancient Terrans had called Greco-Roman and Gothic.  Huge domes, massive towers, and flying buttresses, all ornamented and carved to a ridiculous detail, stretched as far as the eye could see.  But, despite their size, or decoration, the Imperial Palace put all the other buildings to shame.  

Stretching the entire length of what had once been known as the Himalayan Mountains, it was the largest and most beautiful structure on the planet.  Created by the finest architect ever known to man, it was the seat and symbol of Imperial power, and the most protected fortress in the galaxy.  It was here that the God-Emperor of Mankind sat upon the Golden Throne, and it was here that the High Lords would convene.  

  The room was opulent, paneled with wood from ancient and long-extinct Terran trees, and lined in gold.  The ceiling had a massive fresco of the Emperor and his sons, painted in loving detail and framed by statues of cherubs where the walls met the ceiling.  The High Lords of Terra, leaders of the twelve most powerful branches of the Imperium of Man, sat underneath it at a long table draped in a white cloth.  Interestingly enough, for the rulers of an empire whose expressed purpose was to exterminate all non-humans, few of the High Lords looked like normal men and women.  

If one was to look at the table through an overhead view, then the man at the top right was the most easily noticeable, despite being far from the largest or most dangerous-looking person in the room.  He wore elaborate, overly decorated crimson and gold robes, and a human skull, massive reams of paper spilling from its maw, hovered over his right shoulder.  He was the Master of the Adeptus Administratum, the administrative and bureaucratic division of the Imperial government, and currently he was rambling about taxes in the Segmentum Obscurus while the other Lords pretended to pay attention.  

Sitting next to the Master of the Administratum in a clockwise direction was one of the few normal looking individuals at the table.  While his hair was grey and cybernetics were peeking through at the base of his neck, he still looked human, and still looked alert.  He was the Grand Provost Marshal of the Adeptus Arbites, the Imperium’s state police.  He sat quietly, unobtrusively, while his college prattled.  

Further down the table was a figure that towered over the rest and did not look even remotely human.  It was at least ten feet tall, and a mass of augmentations, slithering wires and metal plates peeked out from behind a large red robe emblazoned with a cogwheel symbol.  The rest of the Lords seemed unnerved by his...her...its gaze, as if the lenses built into the lump that could be called a faceplate could see right through them.  (Which, incidentally enough, they quite literally could, if the user wished it)  The being was the Fabricator General of Mars, and the leader of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the branch of the Imperium charged with overseeing, preserving, and repairing technology.  

Next in line was a tall man wearing a deep blue uniform.  Golden epaulettes adorned his shoulders, and cold green eyes surveyed the table from beneath carefully combed grey hair.  He was one of the few completely normal looking people at the table, and his position was Lord High Admiral of the Imperial Navy.  

Fifth from the top was an odd looking man who huddled deep into his crimson robes.  Unlike many of the others, he appeared to have absolutely no interest in the man talking at the head of the table.  An air of moroseness seemed to cling to the very air around him as he huddled into his chair.  He was the Master of the Astronomican, in charge of overseeing the sacrifice of thousands to fuel the God-Emperor’s massive navigational beacon.  

Last on the right side of the table was a petite white-robed woman.  Her hair seemed to shimmer several different colors in the light given off through the room's massive stained glass windows, and her eyes gleamed violet.  A pure white strip of cloth, emblazoned with the Imperial Aquila, covered her forehead.  None of the other High Lords would look directly at her face, and she seemed to take great amusement at this by striving to look whomever she was speaking to directly in the eye.  They would then flinch and look away as quickly as possible.  She was the Paternoval Envoy of the Navigators, the semi-human beings responsible for steering Imperial starships through the miasma of the Warp.  

Continuing clockwise, at the bottom left of the table was a pale faced man in another white robe.  His face was shrunken and seemed to be drawn inwards to his hollow eye sockets.  However, despite his non-existent eyes, he had the unnerving tendency to stare directly at the face of whomever was speaking as if he could see perfectly.  He was the Master of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, the school in charge of training Imperial psykers.  

(Authors note:  If you don’t know what a psyker is and you desire to find out, ask me separately.  It’s too complicated to explain here.)

Next to him was a tall, muscular man clad in a tight-fitting black suit.  His face was completely normal, with strong cheekbones and a jutting jaw, all framed by short cut jet black hair.  His eyes were steely grey, and if one was to look closely, they would see that those eyes concealed a breathtaking malevolence behind them.  He sneered and stared at his colleagues as if they were prey instead of the most powerful collection of beings in the galaxy, for he was the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum, the organization tasked with destroying any threats to Imperial power in subtle, or not-so-subtle ways.  

One up from the Grand Master was a relatively normal looking grey haired man.  His chest was so covered in medals it was hard to see exactly what color shirt he wore underneath, and the left portion of his face was dominated by a metal plate and cybernetic eye, replacing the real flesh he had lost in an explosion long ago.  He was the Lord Commander Militant of the Astra Militarum (more commonly known as the Imperial Guard), the Imperium’s main ground fighting force.  

Farther to the top of the table was a figure swathed in a heavy grey robe and cowl.  The lower part of the figure’s face was feminine in nature, but nothing else could be gleaned about her nature due to the cowl’s shadow.  She sat stock still, eyes moving as if looking for threats from beneath the hood.  She was the representative of the Imperial Inquisition, the dreaded secret police, tasked with finding, hunting down, and eliminating any and all threats to the security of the God-Emperor’s realm.  

Next to her was a tall, imposing woman with hair dyed a silver-white.  A fleur-de-lys was tattooed on both her cheeks, and she radiated an air of power.   She was wearing a massively ornate suit of gold and black power armor, and moved inside of it with the ease of long practice.  She was the Abbess Sanctorum of the Adeptus Sororitas, more commonly known as the Sisters of Battle.  They were an all-female organization of soldiers dedicated to the Imperial Church.  

And, speaking of which, the medium sized man at the top of the table was the Ecclesiarch of the Adeptus Ministorum, also known as the Ecclesiarchy or Imperial Church.  He wore white robes emblazoned with the Imperial Aquila, and perched upon his head was a tall mitre of white and gold.  

“Thank you very much for your report on the tithes, Nuchanldus,” said the Inquisitor before the Administratum head could continue speaking.  “But I believe the reason we’re here is to discuss the current situation.  Eight other, different, galaxies have appeared beyond Imperial space, several of them attempting to make contact with us.  We do know that there are humans in at least several of them.  However, we know nothing beyond that.  We are here today to decide how we shall proceed.”  The Abbess turned to her and scowled.  

“None of this would have happened if it were not for your Ordo Chronos.  They tried to break the laws of time and reality, possibly tried to contact the Ruinous Powers, and most definitely broke almost every single Warp-related law of the Imperium.”  The Administratum head spoke up once more.  

“That is correct.  Article 288731-J of the-”

“Yes, thank you,” shot back the Inquisitor with an annoyed glare.  “The Ordo Chronos has been sanctioned, dissolved, and will be handed over to the Ecclesiarchy for punishment, effective immediately.”  Everyone stared at her with shock.  The High Lords always played power games, vying to have their own group come out on top.  To hand over an entire subsection of your own organization to another, whether they broke the law or not, was not just unheard of, it was completely unthinkable.  The fact that the Inquisition was willing to do so meant that things had gotten very, very, serious.  

“Statement- new galaxies have endless possibilities for the discovery of new technology.  Request- Mechanicus wishes to immediately deploy to uncover new technology.”  The Fabricator General’s voice emitted from a speaker on its faceplate, and sounded mechanical in nature, as if it was coming from a badly-tuned radio.  

“Wait a moment!  We have no idea what sort of threats are awaiting us in these new galaxies!  For all we know, they could be completely overrun by beings of Chaos.  We cannot afford to start another war,” said the Commander of the Imperial Guard.  The Ecclesiarch spoke up.

“How do we know what their capabilities are?  It is our duty to purge the-”

“An Inquisitor by the name of Amberley Vail in the Damocles Gulf region has already dispatched a team to find out exactly what these other galaxies are like.  With that team is an exceptionally noted Commissar by the name of Ciaphas Cain,” interrupted the Inquisitor.  “We will see exactly what these new galaxies are like.”  

“This Inquisitor Vail shows remarkably forwardness,” said one Lord.  

“No she does not!” snapped another.  “The Inquisition has completely overstepped its boundaries.  It cannot be the only organization allowed into these new galaxies!” The table dissolved into bickering before the Commander of the Navy pounded his fist on the table for silence.  

“Enough of this squabbling!  You said that there are humans in these other galaxies.  If any of them were alternate universes to our own, then it is possible that the Emperor is alive and well there.  If so, this could be our salvation.”  Hushed murmurings sounded before a new voice broke the silence.  It was inhumanly deep and resonant, and if one were to listen to it, they would be able to feel the power of its wielder. 

“Unfortunately, neither the Emperor or Imperium exist in any of the other galaxies.  They are all completely different from each other and from our own.”  The High Lords turned in surprise at the being who dared to interrupt them, then went meekly silent.  Standing in the room’s entrance, wearing golden armor so incredibly ornamented it made the Abbess’s look like crude metal riveting, was a nine-foot tall man.  Man, however, would be completely inaccurate and slightly insulting to describe this newcomer.  He was a demi-god, lantern-jawed and brown haired.  Flanking him were two other soldiers of the same height, wearing the same style of armor, and welding spears so large that any normal human would tip over if they tried to carry one.  They were the Adeptus Custodes, the personal bodyguard of the Emperor of Mankind.  Genetically enhanced to a ridiculous degree by ancient sciences created by the Emperor himself, they had no peers, no equals, and no superiors save the Emperor.  Each was a masterpiece, and each created to be able to counter any threat.  And now, their leader had strode into the High Lords’ chambers unannounced.  Many of the Lords inclined their heads respectfully as the Ecclesiarch spoke.   

“Captain-General Launceddre.  An honor to see you here.”  

“The Emperor has spoken to us.”  Launceddre dropped the bombshell without pause or preamble.  Several of the High Lords audibly gasped.  The Masters of the Astronomican and Astra Telepathica looked up in interest.  

“How have we not heard of this?”  

“It is a recent development.  We came here as soon as possible,” replied Launceddre.  

“How did the Emperor speak with you?”  Launceddre frowned.  

“It was all rather strange.  As you may know, the Emperor cannot speak in His current state.  But this time… somehow He did.  He spoke aloud.”

“What did he say?”  Most of the High Lords were leaning in, hanging on the Captain-General’s every word.  Even the massively augmented and emotionless Fabricator General seemed interested.  

“He told us to ‘approach the new galaxies with caution.  Use diplomacy and peace, for we will need allies.’”  

“Diplomacy?” scoffed the Inquisitor.  Every eye (or in some cases, empty sockets and cybernetic machines) turned to her.  

“Are you questioning the word of the Emperor?” asked Launceddre plainly.  The Inquisitor paled beneath her hood.  

“No- no of course not!  I would never…” she stammered.  

“Good,” replied Launceddre.  “Summon the masses of your organizations, for we have planning to do.” 

Within the Eye of Terror, Sicarus, Daemon World of the Word Bearers Traitor Legion

Heavy footsteps sounded on the distorted rock floor.  They drowned out the chanting of prayers to the Dark Gods, drowned out the crash and squeal of the heavy iron gates opening, and drowned out the whispers that came at the figure’s approach.  For there were whispers.  Whispers of fear, whispers of awe.  The figure towered over all of the whisperers, towered over even the super-human guards of the Word Bearers, and almost came up to the very top of the twisted iron gates.  The figure gathered a crowd, all servants of the Dark Gods, who knelt and prostrated themselves at the figure’s feet, for the figure was touched by the gods themselves.  

Mortarion, the Death Lord, Primarch of the Fourteenth Legion, Champion of Nurgle, strode purposefully down the path from the outer gates leading to the Templum Inficio, the home of his brother.  Seven massive men followed him, staying exactly forty-nine paces behind him.  They were his personal bodyguard, the Deathshroud Terminators, and it was their job to sacrifice life and limb to protect him.  Not, of course, that he needed protecting.  His body was beyond that of any human, any alien, any creature of the material realm, even beyond the god-like physiques of any of his father’s creations.  He spat the word out like a curse in his mind.  He was beyond the touch of his father now.  

He stood a full sixteen feet tall, taller than all of his brothers.  Great wings, creaking and rotting, gifts from the Lord of Decay, sprouted from his back.  His flesh, tougher than steel, fused with his armor, creating a disgusting, dripping, mess, another gift from his Lord.  A massive scythe, his preferred weapon, was strapped to his back, and an oversized pistol, glowing with ancient and eldritch power, was attached to his hip.  His eyes, glistening with a thin sheen of mucus, stared out with hate from under a heavy hood.  He was the living embodiment of death.  He was the Grim Reaper made flesh.  And currently, he was very pissed off.  

Why, why, did he have to be here?  He didn’t want to be here.  He could be doing a thousand different things; concocting plagues, gardening, feeding the oversized insects, gifts from his Lord, that always seemed to follow his sons, hell, even perhaps murder some of his loyalist nephews.  He would rather be anywhere else but here.  Here, in his brother’s domain.  He had received summons from Lorgar, whom he hadn’t talked to in 10,000 years, to come here and deliberate the current situation.  Not so much as a “Hi Mortarion, how are you?” in 10,000 years, and suddenly Lorgar needed his help.  That was the reason he was here, he suspected.  Always, he was required to solve problems that his imbecile brothers or his bastard of a father couldn’t.  Never “Mortarion, we really appreciate your help!” or “Hey, Mortarion, I want to talk with you,” it was always “Mortarion, we need your help!” or “Mortarion, we have a problem that we can’t solve.”  Mortarion do this, Mortarion do that.  He was fed up with it.  He was prepared to ignore the summons, but Nurgle, his master, had ordered him, as His champion, to be present at the meeting.  It was then that Mortarion had heard the worst news of all.  All, all, all, of his brothers would be there.  Gods damnnit.   

Lorgar he could stand.  Even though Lorgar hadn’t talked to him in 10,000 years, he could stand him, for Lorgar was level headed and possessed a degree of common sense, which was more than he could say for most of his kin.  Angron he could stand, too, because Angron only cared about killing things, which was fine by Mortarion.  Perturabo, another of his brothers, would be there as well, which he didn’t mind either.  Perturabo he liked, for Perturabo was much like himself.  But the rest… the rest.  Fulgrim was too glitzy, too showing, too pretentious, and was, to put it mildly, a complete and utter deviant.  Magnus, another brother, he completely loathed.  Magnus and himself had never seen eye to eye, and he considered Magnus to be a dangerous imbecile who flung warpcraft and magic around with no thought of the repercussions.  Then there was Alpharius, who no one liked, because Alpharius had made it his mission in life to be as sneaky and secretive as possible.  And, of course, inevitably, unfortunately, there would be his nephew, Abbadon.  After Horus, another one of his brothers, had been killed by father, Abbadon had taken over Horus’s forces.  Horus was a real leader of men, a good general, a good brother, and, at least from Mortarion and the rest of his traitorous kins’ perspective, the true leader of the Imperium of Man. 

Abbadon...left much to be desired.  In 10,000 years, he had launched twelve, just twelve, attacks on the Imperium.  None of them had succeeded, several of them being defeated by mortals.  Abbadon was a complete failure of a general who thought himself equal to his uncles.  That was plainly not the case, and Mortarion had no idea why Lorgar had invited Abbadon to this meeting.  He knew for a fact that Lorgar and the rest of his brothers couldn’t stand the man.  It must be something important indeed for all the leaders of the Traitor Legions to be summoned.  And now Mortarion would find out what.  

Word Bearers, the sons of Lorgar, saluted to him as he walked through the long hallways of the temple to his brother’s chambers.  The boiling, unnatural, red sky of Sicarius could be seen through massive stained glass windows emblazoned with the eight-pointed star of Chaos.  Mortarion walked through endless hallways, some weeping blood and pus from the walls, others distorted to unnatural and horrifying shapes, until he reached the inner sanctum.  Two massive daemons, one a deep blood red, covered in spines and with far too many teeth, the other a mass of necrotic flesh and weeping boils, guarded the door and bowed as he approached.  The heavy black stone double doors opened, souls of the damned trapped inside screaming in agony as they tried to break free.  And inside, his brother.

Lorgar Aurelian, Primarch of the Seventeenth Legion, his form twisted by the powers of the Dark Gods and his face illuminated by unholy light emanating from within him, rose from his seat with what could be described as a smile on his face.  

“Mortarion.  A pleasure to see you after all this time.”  Mortarion gave a half agreeing nod, half respectful bow.  

“I can say the same about you as well.”  He looked past Lorgar and nodded affably at the two other forms seated at the massive stone table.  

“Perturabo, Fulgrim, good to see you.”  He glanced at Fulgrim and did a double take.  “I must say, you’ve changed since I last saw you.”  Fulgrim smiled dazzlingly.  The effect was rather ruined by the odd, unnatural perfectness and violet hue of his face.  

“I have been blessed by the Dark Prince.  I am now more beautiful than any other.”  He paused for dramatic effect as Perturabo rolled his eyes.  “I am perfect.  You must have obviously noticed my face, which is-”  Mortarion cut him off.  

“No,” he stated bluntly.  “Why do you have four arms?  And why in the name of the gods do you have a snake tail?”  Fulgrim glanced down at the lilac tail that had replaced his lower body.  

“I… uh… it’s a gift from Slaanesh. Whom, of course, I serve, as you all well know.  It represents-”

“Yes, thank you Fulgrim,” said Lorgar before he could say anything else.  Apparently Fulgrim had been rambling before Mortarion arrived, something he most definitely did not regret missing.  

“Now we have Mortarion here.  Where’s everyone else?” asked Perturabo tiredly.  Before anyone else could answer, an ear splitting crack filled the room as everyone inside was dazzled by a flash of blinding light that seemed to be every color in existence, yet at the same time had no color.  The air cleared, and, standing where the flash had appeared, was a tall figure in ornamented armor.  His skin and hair were both pure crimson, and his one good eye glowed with eldritch power.  Magnus the Red, Primarch of the Fifteenth Legion, had arrived.  Mortarion promptly gave him a glare that had, on occasion, wilted plants.  

“Still so unnecessarily dramatic,” Mortarion sneered.  Magnus shot him a glare that could literally kill.

“Mortarion.  Still so extraordinarily obtuse.  Tsk, tsk.  How are your psychic powers working out for you?” replied Magnus.

“They are not psychic powers!” exploded Mortarion.  He settled uncomfortably into a chair.  “It’s science.”  Magnus rolled his one eye, which rather spoiled the gesture.

“Oh yes, of course.  Creating an entire planet with your mind and killing things with a gesture is science.  Please tell me more.”  

“It is not your pathetic and dangerous sorcery, you moron.  I’ve seen sorcery growing up.  It ruined my adoptive homeworld.  My science does not destroy or rend reality as yours does.  It complies-”

“You still are so incredibly stubborn as to think that is not sorcery?  I’ve seen infants with a higher I.Q. than yours!”

“You’ve just been sour ever since I was proven right at the Council of Nikea,” said Mortarion.

“I am not!  I was not wrong then, and I am not wrong now!  Father just listened to you because he wanted to limit my greatness!” 

“Or because you can’t cope with the fact that Leman and I were right.”

“Do not ever say that fucking name!”  

“What? Leman?  Leman, Leman, Leman…”

“Shut up!”  

“Would you two please stop?  The Council of Nikea was ten thousand years ago.  Get over it,” said Lorgar, exasperated.  He sighed.  “While you two were bickering, Abbadon arrived.”  Mortarion and Magnus looked up to see a figure, much shorter than the rest of them, encased in black armor, sitting at the edge of the table.  “Now we’re only missing Angron and Alpharius.”

“Let’s get on with it, Lorgar,” said Fulgrim, looking bored.  

“But Angron and Alpharius haven’t arrived yet!”  

“Angron is now so consumed by bloodlust that I doubt he could even form coherent sentences, let alone plan for the future.  And Alpharius is probably around.  Somewhere.”  

“...fine.  Right, let's go,” sighed Lorgar.  “You are probably wondering why I summoned you all here today.  Recently, through the bending of time and space, nine different galaxies, from nine different realities, have come together to exist in one universe.”

“None of this would have happened if it wasn't for your sorcery, Magnus.  Again, I’m right.”

“It wasn’t my fault!  It was my idiot first captain, trying to reverse his Rubric.  He was conducting an extremely delicate psychic ritual.  The Imperial Inquisition arrived, two extremely powerful points of energy originated from other galaxies, the ritual went to hell, and here we are,” said Magnus.

“Which still proves my ten thousand year old point that sorcery-”

“Mortarion, shut up,” interjected Lorgar tiredly.

“Thank you!”

“Magnus, you too.”  Magnus harrumphed and crossed his arms.  Lorgar rubbed his forehead.

“This is why we never get anything done.”

“Hey, I actually get things done.”  Abbadon spoke for the first time.  “The rest of you just sit on your planets, doing nothing, while I-”

“Shut up and let me talk,” said Lorgar.  “Anyway, as I was saying, nine different galaxies came together.  It is our job to spread the truth of Chaos to all of them.  However, the problem is, none of us can do it alone.  So, the question is, how do we proceed?”  The room exploded.

“We attack now, get the false Imperium out of the way, then destroy anything that dares cross our path!” said Abbadon.

“No, we bide our time, marshal our forces, and wait for the perfect moment to strike!” shot back Mortarion.

“I disagree.  The Warp in the other universes is calm and uncorrupted.  We use this to our advantage.  We hold psychic mastery over everyone except Father.  With the power of the Immateriums of the other dimensions, we can finally tear down Terra's psychic defenses and destroy the Astronomican, thus dooming the Imperium forever,” stated Magnus.

“No!  I will not partake in any of this psychic nonsense.  I-”

“You’re a psyker, Mortarion.”

“No I’m not!  It’s… different.”

“No it’s not!”

Two Hours Later

“Okay.”  Perturabo interrupted Mortarion, Fulgrim, and Magnus, who were currently bickering over whose legion had better-looking armor.  “Lorgar.  Thank you for making me sit through another gods-damned family reunion.  It’s been fun, everyone, but this is pointless and I’m leaving.”  He got up and walked out of the room.  

“Wait!  You can’t leave!  We haven’t even come up with anything yet!” yelled Lorgar to his retreating form.  

“Enjoyable as it has been watching some of the most powerful individuals in the universe bickering like schoolchildren, I must say I agree with Perturabo,” idly intoned Fulgrim.  “I have better things to do with my time.”  With a snap of his fingers and a puff of sweet smelling lavender smoke, he disappeared.  Lorgar turned helplessly to his remaining brothers.

“We can’t just leave with nothing!  We have to come up with some form of plan.”  Magnus sighed.  

“I have a feeling that even if I came up with the most brilliant of plans, some of my brothers wouldn’t follow it just out of spite.  Do what you want.  I’m leaving.”  He snapped his fingers and disappeared with a loud pop! and swirl of color.  Mortarion turned to Lorgar.

“Sorry we couldn’t come up with something.  But if we did, I would probably end up doing all the work anyway.”  And he, too, strode from the room, leaving the servants of Chaos with no plan.  As per usual.

That’s it.  I must admit, it was quite fun writing the Primarchs arguing with each other.  Again, if you have any requests, comments, criticisms, or concerns, feel free to ask.  Also, if you like the “governments interacting” more than the Scoundrels, or vice versa, please tell me.   

[jensenknowsdeanbetterthanyou]

My previous post here addresses how Dean has been written as the caretaker of Sam and sometimes blamed (by the writers) for not being responsible enough towards his younger brother when he’s only four years older. Or how the general lack of age difference is not properly addressed, which means either the writers genuinely think it’s healthy and normal for a person who is only four years older than their sibling to have that level of responsibility and don’t think Dean being pushed into that role was abuse, or they know it’s fucked up but choose to force the caretaker!Dean issue anyway and ignore its implications. 

The (good) writers did actually address it in the early seasons, through flashbacks of their childhood where we see a very young looking child!Dean with a shotgun, left by John alone with an even younger Sam, and when adult!Dean blames himself for not protecting Sam all those years ago, he has now older Sam beside him saying it wasn’t his fault. We see the horrifying truth of their childhood.

Then, for some reason, (possibly inferior writers replacing the old good ones) as the seasons progressed, Dean’s caretaker roles started to become more romanticized. Even in episodes like Bad Boys, when Dean chose to go back to his family, putting Sam above his own happiness, it’s painted in a romantic light. And then we got Just My Imagination, which had the audacity to paint child!Dean in a bad light because he wasn’t taking care of Sam enough when they were both children!! (The only thing I took from that episode was that not only did Sam have Dean to take care of him, and John constantly worrying about him, putting Sam first ahead of Dean, he also had an imaginary friend whereas Dean had no one. And yet this was supposed to be Sam’s tragic childhood story.)

Whenever we get a situation where Dean is overly protective towards Sam, the lack of age difference seems to be this unaddressed elephant in the room. 

And when the writers chose to ignore the elephant, they’re trying to force the audience to do the same...and that’s why we’ve got their bullshit casting choices in the later seasons. 

Because they’re trying really hard to force the idea that Dean is Sam’s caretaker, that’s just the way it is and we should not be questioning it. 

I made some points about the casting of child!Dean and child!Sam the other day on twitter and feel like this needs to be repeated. 

Just copying and pasting because my brain is mush.

copied from my twitter account: 

“I swear the reason why they keep casting actors who look nothing like bb!Jensen for young Dean is because an actual lookalike would not fit the writer's (wrong) narrative. 

Young Jensen had big eyes and an angelic face, so a kid who actually looked like him would be too "soft" looking when they want young!Dean to be "tough" - no only young!Sam! is allowed to be soft, he's the one we're supposed to sympathise with and was apparently the only brother to have a terrible childhood. 

Look at the victim-blaming Just My Imagination, they actually cast a kid who looked more like YOUNG!JENSEN with big doe eyes to play YOUNG!SAM!! That kid looked NOTHING like young!Jared/Sam but that didn't matter...the whole episode was a "poor Sam/mean Dean" bullshit fest and to ram it home they deliberately cast this cherubic child to play young!Sam so we would sympathise with him more, meanwhile, Dean is now being written as this "tough bad boy" so again they cast to suit. 

The last kid was great acting-wise, but he looked nothing like Jensen, it's blatant that the writers/producers/casting people are denying Jensen's and therefore Dean's angelic looks when he was a child because they don't want us to look at young!Dean and go  Not Dabb and co anyway. This is probably why they keep casting child actors who are far older (teens and even twentysomethings) to play young!Dean and yet cast much younger child actors to play Sam to enhance the age difference. 

We get it, Dean was never a child....except he was, he was a sweet, angelic-looking child (had to be if he had Jensen's face) who was soft and scared inside, as much as any child would be under the circumstances he grew up in, and he had to be strong and brave, he had to look after Sam, he followed John and his orders because that was the only way he could get his Dad to be close to him. He was fighting monsters while still a baby. 

But the writers these days only care about Sam's childhood not Dean's. They now write young!Dean as just an extension of John, or as a "bad boy" who was irresponsible and wasn't there enough for Sam. Even when they created Bad Boys, the last real sympathetic look at young!Dean, they still enhanced the age difference by making Sam look about 6 years old, when he was supposed to be 12 because Dean was 16. 

It's obvious bias, the writers are denying Dean's traumatic childhood, they're denying that he was as much of a victim of his upbringing as Sam was, if not more because while Sam had Dean...who did Dean have?”

These are the casting choices from s4 onwards. I’d be interested to know if the episode writers have any say in this because the first one After School Special was written by Andrew Dabb (and his treatment of young Sam and Dean in this particular episode is a whole other discussion). 

Anyone who says you don't judge a person by looks is missing the point. TV is a visual medium, it's visual storytelling and this....

Dean aged 12-14? (Just My Imagination)

Sam aged 8-10?

...this...

Dean aged 16 (Bad Boys) 

Sam aged 12

and this...

Dean aged 17 and Sam aged 14!!! (After School Special) 

tells a very different story than the reality which would have been something like this.....

Yeah, no agenda there at all. 

[autumnblogs]

Day 41: Caliborn: Enter

https://homestuck.com/story/4956 It’s pretty natural that Dirk’s move on Jake is going to put a strain on Jane’s friendship with him, even if he hasn’t made it yet; I think it definitely gives some insight into Jane that she reacts the way that she does. Not exactly a graceful loser, and in a way that is really pretty passive-aggressive.

She’s not as open and honest as Jade is; as the Prospit Dreamers go, in general, she’s really pretty guarded.

More after the Break

https://homestuck.com/story/4961

The AR, I feel like, gives us a pretty good look into who Dirk is, and while we already know that he impulsively jumps to the first solution he can think of, we can see through the shades that he tends to advise people to do the same things that he does.

Dirk is an extremely headstrong guy, and while he’s both very intelligent, and would really like to be a Puppetmaster, he can’t help but let his personality shine through his puppets; and he can’t help but let his first inclination determine his course of action. He’s him, after all. Why would he question his own judgement?

A bit like how Kermit the Frog is really just Jim Henson the Frog.

https://homestuck.com/story/4962

So what is a Juju?

Juju is a word which comes from French, and means plaything. It is a term that has been used to characterize the Folk Magic and/or Folk Religion of the people of West Africa, in much the same way that Totem has been, or that Fetish has been. In a nutshell, Juju can mean both Spiritual Power (as Mana), and an Object of Spiritual Power (as an Amulet) - the physical manifestation of the thing, and the thing itself are the same, in this sense.

The God and the Idol are the same - at least, they are to the external viewer. While it should be clear that this is a reductive view of it, the fact of the matter is that, a central part of a lot of religious practice in general is to treat the image of a thing, and the thing itself, as though they are the same; and we see this sort of image-based performance all throughout homestuck, through symbols, and rituals, especially where they are empty signifiers - symbols and rituals that have been emptied of their original meaning, and are now practiced only for their own sake.

Following the rules actually doesn’t seem to pay all that much in the world of Homestuck, and almost universally leads to disaster - which in no small part appears to be because the creator of the rules is Lord English.

https://homestuck.com/story/4965

I think it’s pretty interesting that Caliborn’s conception of smut is something as tame as fluffy hand-holding and caressing. While on the one hand, we can just say “Cherubs think it’s taboo because they can only enjoy Caliginous romance” I think we can also associate it with the relatively sexless nature of Homestuck, beyond how horny the characters are, and a few oblique references (which is not a bad thing; it’s about teenagers). In spite of all of the suggestive language and content, there is no possibility of consummation in Homestuck, or even until well after the end of Homestuck, because Caliborn’s vision of intimacy is a sexless one.

https://homestuck.com/story/4967

This takes a turn for the fucked up at the end. I mean, it’s all fucked up to begin with, but it’s such a non-sequitur.

https://homestuck.com/story/4968

Caliborn uses consumption related metaphors and imagery in relation to smut. Aside from jokes about Vore, what’s the significance of that? That the intention of Caliborn and Calliope is to comment on the fandom of Homestuck itself (continuing the identification of the Characters with the Audience that we discussed yesterday) is not really a secret to anyone. How does Caliborn view engaging with Homestuck, and how does he therefore view engaging with Andrew? His view is Hegemonistic and Predatory. From his point of view, the universe he inhabits is full of things to be consumed; objects to absorb, break down into the parts of themselves that make him more powerful, and the parts that can be discarded.

https://homestuck.com/story/4970

I really never get tired of Caliborn, he’s so awful.

https://homestuck.com/story/4971

His conception of human romance is one where he conceives of women as essentially objects of gratification; woman on woman is allowed, I suspect, for much the same reason that it is often rationalized that f*tanari porn isn’t gay; how could jackin’ it to two women be gay?

The idea of women as actors who exist for reasons other than to gratify men, and other than to gratify Caliborn in particular does not occur to him.

Obviously, men don’t exist to gratify each other. That’d be too mutualistic.

https://homestuck.com/story/4981

The Interplay of Sex and Violence.

As long as this sequence is pretty much over;

Why does Caliborn want to play a game? I think the answer is in line with the overall theme of Homestuck. Cultural transmission.

In his book Homo Ludens Dutch historian Johan Huizinga discusses the nature of Play as an element of cultural transmission, and as a necessary (but not sufficient) condition for the generation of culture.

What this means in a nutshell is; Games aren’t the only thing that is necessary for culture to be created, but they are necessary for culture to be created. Can’t have culture without games. A big part of this is because games serve as a stage for human beings to symbolically and ritualistically practice the activities that, as a member fo their culture, they will one day have to perform in order to survive.

This is why games like Tag, and Hide and Seek are the oldest in the world; humans are persistence predators, we hunt down our prey by just not giving the fuck up.

Caliborn’s game is Irony and Porn; insincerity, reproductive activity, etc. and gaming is intrinsically competitive to him; he uses his game as a form of power over Dirk Strider, the power to make him suffer, although since he’s such a dweeb, he’s pretty bad at making him suffer.

https://homestuck.com/story/4986

Meenah likes games too, but her enjoyment of them seems to be a lot more authentic, sincere - as opposed to being a form of power for her to hold over her enemies, her little word-games, with her fish-puns, are a source of legitimate joy to her, and the fact that Aranea will engage her in them creates friendship between the two of them.

https://homestuck.com/story/5027

All this may not have a whole lot of substance to it (I’m making posts at this point almost 40 pages apart), but that doesn’t mean it’s devoid of worth. Homestuck has plenty of pathos, and in spite of the fact that Andrew adores making fun of us for caring about these characters, I do actually care about all of these characters.

They sure have come a long way.

https://homestuck.com/story/5083

As Roxy is ostensibly the stealth leader of her session, we should generally be willing to accept her takes as gospel in a way that we don’t take other characters’ (at least to a certain extent). We just got done talking about how important rules are to the cherubs, and to Caliborn explicitly - we should take heed of the fact that Roxy is very willing to throw caution to the wind and abandon the rules.

Rules in Paradox Space are largely harmful restrictions to be worked around, rather than auspicious maxims to adhere to.

https://homestuck.com/story/5071

Caliborn is a serial forced memer. We’ve already talked oodles and oodles about symbols and rituals and empty signifiers; what is a forced meme except for an empty signifier? An attempt by a malicious third party to turn a meaningless set of pictures and words into a symbol, a symbol that signifies nothing other than itself, and commands the attention and adherence of people in the culture? Rules for the sake of rules. Memes for the sake of memes.

https://homestuck.com/story/5089

Roxy’s anxious babbling is just so much like Dave’s, it’s hilarious. Their language less so.

https://homestuck.com/story/5092

The answer to what a ball’s topspin is, by the way, if you didn’t already know is

an English.

https://homestuck.com/story/5099

Why does Calliope want to be a Troll so badly?

The answer is that she doesn’t want to be a Cherub.

Why doesn’t she want to be a Cherub?

That question could probably keep me up all night, but I think I have an answer right away. Cherubs are arbitrarily powerful, and Calliope does not want to be a Cherub. She wants to be anything other than a Cherub. I can kind of relate to that, even as a human being. After all, there aren’t cherubs and trolls around, even though they are conceivable. Of all of the things we know for sure that consciously exist in our own universe, humans are the most powerful things we know exist for sure. I’d spend a lot to not be one; power, after all, makes us more inhuman.

https://homestuck.com/story/5116

Since I can’t pass up an opportunity to comment on the metanarrative indulgence of the second half, let’s pause to appreciate the term MacGuffin; in a nutshell, an object which exists to be desired. Its only purpose in the story is for someone to want it.

https://homestuck.com/story/5217

The fact that Dirk is conscious of the internal head-goings-on of Brain Ghost Dirk, and is therefore, to some extent cognizant of the head-goings-on of Jake English just opens up so many questions that I still don’t really have an answer to.

https://homestuck.com/story/5238

I rag on Dirk a lot for being a piece of shit.

But man, he is so cool.

https://homestuck.com/story/5246

This entire awful romantic escapade has been created by the Auto-responder, and while Dave has been complicit in it, he is not the puppetmaster behind it. Sound familiar?

https://homestuck.com/story/5252

This flash is just so delightful to me.

It’s the first time Roxy has ever touched another living human being and look how delighted she is.

LOOK HOW HAPPY SHE IS.

https://homestuck.com/story/5261

Now that we know who Lord English is, we have an opportunity to get to know him a little more as a person. Aside from his absurd commitment to puzzle-murders, his strange relationship with romance and sexuality, and his awful and perfunctory craftsmanship, here’s the most important thing to understand about him;

He will always destroy something irreplaceable if it means he can acquire more power.

[dailychapel]

God my Champion, embolden me with the power of Your Holy Spirit when I am tempted to fear. Please strengthen me, help me, and hold me up with Your righteous right hand. These circumstances will not prevail against me, for You champion my cause. These troubles will be like grass that withers in the heat of the sun, for Your hand of blessing rests on me. Amen.

[Psa 18:2-16 NKJV] 2 The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer; My God, my strength, in whom I will trust; My shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. 3 I will call upon the LORD, [who is worthy] to be praised; So shall I be saved from my enemies. 4 The pangs of death surrounded me, And the floods of ungodliness made me afraid. 5 The sorrows of Sheol surrounded me; The snares of death confronted me. 6 In my distress I called upon the LORD, And cried out to my God; He heard my voice from His temple, And my cry came before Him, [even] to His ears. 7 Then the earth shook and trembled; The foundations of the hills also quaked and were shaken, Because He was angry. 8 Smoke went up from His nostrils, And devouring fire from His mouth; Coals were kindled by it. 9 He bowed the heavens also, and came down With darkness under His feet. 10 And He rode upon a cherub, and flew; He flew upon the wings of the wind. 11 He made darkness His secret place; His canopy around Him [was] dark waters [And] thick clouds of the skies. 12 From the brightness before Him, His thick clouds passed with hailstones and coals of fire. 13 The LORD thundered from heaven, And the Most High uttered His voice, Hailstones and coals of fire. 14 He sent out His arrows and scattered the foe, Lightnings in abundance, and He vanquished them. 15 Then the channels of the sea were seen, The foundations of the world were uncovered At Your rebuke, O LORD, At the blast of the breath of Your nostrils. 16 He sent from above, He took me; He drew me out of many waters.

[Jer 5:1-31 NKJV] 1 "Run to and fro through the streets of Jerusalem; See now and know; And seek in her open places If you can find a man, If there is [anyone] who executes judgment, Who seeks the truth, And I will pardon her. 2 Though they say, '[As] the LORD lives,' Surely they swear falsely." 3 O LORD, [are] not Your eyes on the truth? You have stricken them, But they have not grieved; You have consumed them, But they have refused to receive correction. They have made their faces harder than rock; They have refused to return. 4 Therefore I said, "Surely these [are] poor. They are foolish; For they do not know the way of the LORD, The judgment of their God. 5 I will go to the great men and speak to them, For they have known the way of the LORD, The judgment of their God." But these have altogether broken the yoke [And] burst the bonds. 6 Therefore a lion from the forest shall slay them, A wolf of the deserts shall destroy them; A leopard will watch over their cities. Everyone who goes out from there shall be torn in pieces, Because their transgressions are many; Their backslidings have increased. 7 "How shall I pardon you for this? Your children have forsaken Me And sworn by [those that are] not gods. When I had fed them to the full, Then they committed adultery And assembled themselves by troops in the harlots' houses. 8 They were [like] well-fed lusty stallions; Every one neighed after his neighbor's wife. 9 Shall I not punish [them] for these [things]?" says the LORD. "And shall I not avenge Myself on such a nation as this? 10 "Go up on her walls and destroy, But do not make a complete end. Take away her branches, For they [are] not the LORD's. 11 For the house of Israel and the house of Judah Have dealt very treacherously with Me," says the LORD. 12 They have lied about the LORD, And said, "[It is] not He. Neither will evil come upon us, Nor shall we see sword or famine. 13 And the prophets become wind, For the word [is] not in them. Thus shall it be done to them." 14 Therefore thus says the LORD God of hosts: "Because you speak this word, Behold, I will make My words in your mouth fire, And this people wood, And it shall devour them. 15 Behold, I will bring a nation against you from afar, O house of Israel," says the LORD. "It [is] a mighty nation, It [is] an ancient nation, A nation whose language you do not know, Nor can you understand what they say. 16 Their quiver [is] like an open tomb; They [are] all mighty men. 17 And they shall eat up your harvest and your bread, [Which] your sons and daughters should eat. They shall eat up your flocks and your herds; They shall eat up your vines and your fig trees; They shall destroy your fortified cities, In which you trust, with the sword. 18 "Nevertheless in those days," says the LORD, "I will not make a complete end of you. 19 "And it will be when you say, 'Why does the LORD our God do all these [things] to us?' then you shall answer them, 'Just as you have forsaken Me and served foreign gods in your land, so you shall serve aliens in a land [that is] not yours.' 20 "Declare this in the house of Jacob And proclaim it in Judah, saying, 21 'Hear this now, O foolish people, Without understanding, Who have eyes and see not, And who have ears and hear not: 22 Do you not fear Me?' says the LORD. 'Will you not tremble at My presence, Who have placed the sand as the bound of the sea, By a perpetual decree, that it cannot pass beyond it? And though its waves toss to and fro, Yet they cannot prevail; Though they roar, yet they cannot pass over it. 23 But this people has a defiant and rebellious heart; They have revolted and departed. 24 They do not say in their heart, "Let us now fear the LORD our God, Who gives rain, both the former and the latter, in its season. He reserves for us the appointed weeks of the harvest." 25 Your iniquities have turned these [things] away, And your sins have withheld good from you. 26 'For among My people are found wicked [men]; They lie in wait as one who sets snares; They set a trap; They catch men. 27 As a cage is full of birds, So their houses [are] full of deceit. Therefore they have become great and grown rich. 28 They have grown fat, they are sleek; Yes, they surpass the deeds of the wicked; They do not plead the cause, The cause of the fatherless; Yet they prosper, And the right of the needy they do not defend. 29 Shall I not punish [them] for these [things]?' says the LORD. 'Shall I not avenge Myself on such a nation as this?' 30 "An astonishing and horrible thing Has been committed in the land: 31 The prophets prophesy falsely, And the priests rule by their [own] power; And My people love [to have it] so. But what will you do in the end?

[1Co 4:1-21 NKJV] 1 Let a man so consider us, as servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God. 2 Moreover it is required in stewards that one be found faithful. 3 But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by a human court. In fact, I do not even judge myself. 4 For I know of nothing against myself, yet I am not justified by this; but He who judges me is the Lord. 5 Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord comes, who will both bring to light the hidden things of darkness and reveal the counsels of the hearts. Then each one's praise will come from God. 6 Now these things, brethren, I have figuratively transferred to myself and Apollos for your sakes, that you may learn in us not to think beyond what is written, that none of you may be puffed up on behalf of one against the other. 7 For who makes you differ [from another]? And what do you have that you did not receive? Now if you did indeed receive [it], why do you boast as if you had not received [it]? 8 You are already full! You are already rich! You have reigned as kings without us--and indeed I could wish you did reign, that we also might reign with you! 9 For I think that God has displayed us, the apostles, last, as men condemned to death; for we have been made a spectacle to the world, both to angels and to men. 10 We [are] fools for Christ's sake, but you [are] wise in Christ! We [are] weak, but you [are] strong! You [are] distinguished, but we [are] dishonored! 11 To the present hour we both hunger and thirst, and we are poorly clothed, and beaten, and homeless. 12 And we labor, working with our own hands. Being reviled, we bless; being persecuted, we endure; 13 being defamed, we entreat. We have been made as the filth of the world, the offscouring of all things until now. 14 I do not write these things to shame you, but as my beloved children I warn [you]. 15 For though you might have ten thousand instructors in Christ, yet [you do] not [have] many fathers; for in Christ Jesus I have begotten you through the gospel. 16 Therefore I urge you, imitate me. 17 For this reason I have sent Timothy to you, who is my beloved and faithful son in the Lord, who will remind you of my ways in Christ, as I teach everywhere in every church. 18 Now some are puffed up, as though I were not coming to you. 19 But I will come to you shortly, if the Lord wills, and I will know, not the word of those who are puffed up, but the power. 20 For the kingdom of God [is] not in word but in power. 21 What do you want? Shall I come to you with a rod, or in love and a spirit of gentleness?

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.

Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

[on-fic-writing-spree]

Chapter 12: Escape

Word count: 3137 words

Notes: y’all can read this on AO3 now too!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27798118/chapters/68081842

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“I…” Roman hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. Then, an idea came to mind. “There isn’t much I could say that can make you trust me, because that kind of thing is earned, not given. So, how about you ask me whatever you want, and I’ll answer as honestly as I can. No tricks, no fancy words, no lies. But I will tell you this upfront now, that you do matter to me, and no amount of hurt they could cause will ever change that. You matter to me, Virgil.”

Virgil started to look around as they listened, hoping they could find something to at the very least break through the wall. Then they could get to Roman. If it even was Roman. They still weren’t sure, but even if it wasn’t, maybe they could convince whoever it was that they could be useful? Maybe they wouldn’t hate them as much. And Virgil could be okay with that—they had known Roman wouldn’t have felt the same way in the first place, but that didn’t mean Roman and Pride still had to hate his guts, right? “Already lying,” Virgil answered, giving a dry laugh. “Don’t worry Princey, you were always a great actor, but even I know that isn’t true. And that’s... that’s okay. I don’t have to. You don’t choose if I matter to you,” Virgil answered weakly. They grabbed a stick, trying to see if the bricks were held together by cement or something more easily broken as they pressed into the edges. “I won’t bother asking. Either way I won’t leave you here, okay?” they said finally.

“I’m being serious Virgil, you matter to me in more ways than one,” Roman countered, sighing, “but I appreciate you not leaving me here to rot. Where ever are you? Pride said something about a forest, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he was lying to my face.” At least Virgil wasn’t having a break down, that’s a plus already.

“Just shut up Princey, I’ve been through enough bullshit for one day, don’t you think?” Virgil answered bitterly, a bit frustrated that nothing much came of using the stick. They grabbed a small stone, using it to try and break away a weakened edge of the wall. “Some ditzy little garden. I don’t know. Pride made it for me, said it was part of his plan to start over. Guess it was pretty stupid to believe that, right?” Virgil’s voice wavered, and they desperately hoped that Roman would argue with them, saying that it wasn’t stupid, that there was some hope, even if they truthfully knew there wasn’t. They went quiet, chipping away at the stone.

“I don’t blame you for falling for it,” Roman mumbled. “Someone creating a whole magical space just for you? I’m sure anyone would want to stay.” She thought back to the love comment Pride had made, and decided it wasn’t the time to bring that up. “I surely would have, without a doubt. I’m just glad you haven’t fallen under their spell completely,” she said, a note of true sincerity in her comments. “I was worried about you.”

“When have you ever worried about me?” they scoffed, hitting the wall harder now. They couldn’t take forever and they knew that. They had managed to get a small chunk loose, using their fingers to pry it from its spot and wriggle it out. “Roman, truly, if you’ve ever cared about something other than yourself, it sure as hell wasn’t me, and this whole ordeal really proves that.” Virgil didn’t really understand much about Pride, or what was left of Roman, but Virgil wasn’t too worried about figuring that out. It was easier to play bitter than to sit their sulking and being hurt.

“Not nearly enough, to tell the truth,” she replied, the feeling of shame creeping up on her. “And… you’re completely right. I hate saying it but,” she scrunched up her face, “I’m not exactly the shining beacon of kindness I pretend to be. I left you alone for years with the others, I didn’t try to reach out, and there’s a million ways I could say I’m sorry, but I know it wouldn’t make a difference.” Roman took a breath. “But as soon as we’re out of here, I’m going to spend my every moment trying to make it up to you. That I promise.”

“Living with them wasn’t a bad thing, Roman. Don’t talk about it like it was. They’re the only family I have,” Virgil sighed out, chipping a bit more at the wall. They could hear the door towards the front starting to creak open, and Pride calling for them in a sing song voice. He let out a quiet huff. “Shit—I’ll be back soon. Don’t go anywhere,” Virgil said, before mentally face-palming at the word choice, but they didn’t have time to dwell on it now. They hurried off, taking the bunny with them and threw on a smile. They weren’t a great actor, but Roman was currently depending on them, they’d make it work.

“That’s not what I-“ Roman promptly shut her mouth as soon as he heard the other hurry away. There would be time for this later, assuming Virgil wasn’t about to meet her same fate.

Having quickly adjusted to the new title, Pride waltzed into the garden picnic basket in hand, a sharp eye on the look out for Virgil. As soon as he spotted it, his grin widened. Poor ignorant Virgil, how easy the foolish fell. “I hope I didn’t take too long darling, how are you enjoying things here? I see you’ve become rather attached to one of my creations,” he said sweetly, glancing at the rabbit.

“No, not you weren’t too long! I’ve been playing with Fluffles since you left!” Virgil giggled. Even to force a laugh felt like acid bubbling in their throat. “I hope nothing you had to do was too stressful, or at least that you’re able to be done with it now,” they chirped politely. “Was there any specific spot you had in mind for the picnic?”

“All taken care of, for now at least,” Pride replied, scratching the bunny behind the ears. God, it sucked being nice to it. “And I have a special spot in mind, if you’ll humor me,” they grinned, offering a hand. Here was too close to Roman’s cell for comfort, and Pride wasn’t about to risk those two chatting it up. “I think you’ll find it particularly mesmerizing,” they chirped.

Virgil couldn’t help the fluttering in their chest when Pride reached out his hand, taking it and intertwining their fingers together: Maybe Roman was lying—maybe Pride was trying to protect them from Roman. Who really knew? Virgil wasn’t sure of much anymore. The mere uncertainty terrified Virgil. They didn’t know who to trust, but there wasn’t a reason why they couldn’t enjoy this for now, right?

Pride had carefully led Virgil away to a more secluded part of the garden. “Be careful now, I don’t want you getting lost in here,” they said lightly, and moved a wall of vines away. Behind them was an ornate fountain that spilled over into smaller pools, encircling a clearing of stone, enough space for two with a little room to share. Within the smaller pool koi were swimming about, occasionally hopping out for a moment as if saying hello. They led Virgil to the center and set out a blanket before gently pulling the other down to sit. “So? What do you think?” Pride asked eagerly.

Virgil followed quietly, allowing themself to be lead. They smiled some when noticing the pond, setting down their new found furry friend in favor of looking at the pond, where they could see a wavy reflection of themself in the sparkling water. They giggled softly as one of the fish jumped out of the water, getting a few droplets of water on them. “It’s perfect... like everything else here,” they murmured, looking back to Pride.

“I’m glad you think so,” Pride smiled, opening the basket and offering Virgil a sandwich. “I know you ate earlier, but you weren’t exactly on the shortest of trips, and it’s important to keep your energy up,” he said kindly, eyeing Virgil over. “And this won’t be the last of my surprises, I can tell you that. I have plenty more planned for you, cherub.”

Virgil smiled fondly at the concern, taking the sandwich and moving to sit next to Pride. “Thanks,” they murmured. They ignored the thought that the food could be poisoned, instead taking a bite, as if to say ‘screw you’ to its own mind.

Luckily it was not, because Pride had some common sense, even if Virgil’s anxiety wanted to disregard it. He knew eventually people would ask around regarding Virgil, and it was a safer play to keep it alive rather than dead. Pride himself did not eat, but instead made light small talk about the other adjust to things here, and generally tried to keep up an air of friendly flirting, to keep it distracted.

Doing its absolute best not to pay attention to much of it, they occasionally nodded their head. It was an odd mix, to feel the twist of a knife every time the other flirted, meanwhile feeling its heart flutter all the same. Given any other circumstances, they would’ve broken down and started crying right there, but they had to get Roman out of there. Honestly they weren’t even sure if they were going to bother to save themself. Maybe they deserved this. Pride had to have a reason to hate them, right?

Pride squinted ever so slightly at the other after a while. Something was off, but they couldn’t quite place it. “Angel, are you feeling alright? You look like something’s worrying you, I can see it in your eyes,” he said, cupping the side of Virgil’s face. “If there’s anything I could do to help, please tell me. I hate seeing you like this.” Pride hoped that the charm wouldn't be wearing off so quickly, but he had prepared to take a few more ‘drastic’ measures if they were necessary.

Virgil couldn’t help but flinch at the touch, and god, words could not describe how badly it wanted to just cry. “It’s—it’s nothing. I’ve just been overthinking a little and well... I still don’t get why you’re being so nice. You always seemed to hate me,” Virgil mumbled their quick excuse. “I love all of this, I really do, I just... don’t understand it.” They looked down shortly before looking back at Pride. “But I guess I don’t really need to understand it to enjoy it, right?” Their eyes flickered across Pride’s face, mostly just looking to know that what they said was okay, that they hadn’t terribly messed this up. The moment hung heavy in the air, and Virgil knew they had cut off their own breathing, unable to actually get another breath in while they waited for a response, a signal, any sort of sign that told them they hadn’t screwed this up again.

So it was still broken... Pride felt a bit of relief: it was only stressed, and of course it was. It was only natural. He smiled kindly, “Oh Virgil, I could never hate you. In truth, I’ve made some mistakes in my time… one of them was pushing you away when I should have been there for you. I’m sorry, and I know that isn’t enough, but I want you to be comfortable here, and around me. It must be hard to trust me, and I’m not rushing you in any way, but I hope you can see that I mean you no harm, some day.” Pride lowered their hand to grasp one of Virgil’s, and pressed a light kiss to its knuckles. “You have nothing to fear here.”

Virgil felt their heart jump a little at the kiss, and honestly, they knew they had to pull this off. After a frantic moment of worry, they pulled at Pride’s shirt, pulling him close into a kiss. It only lasted a few fluttering moments, and Virgil themself didn’t know how to feel about it, but they’d have to worry about that later. They threw on a sheepish look, slowly loosening their grip on the other’s shirt and clearing their throat. “I... uh... sorry,” they mumbled.

Pride was taken aback, and momentarily startled, but once Virgil had pulled away, they chuckled. “What did I say about having nothing to fear here, hm? If you wanted a kiss you only had to ask,” they replied cooly, pressing a kiss to its forehead. Pride found it almost adorable how infatuated Virgil was with them, it was certainly useful. “You have nothing to apologize for, love,” they murmured.

Even if Virgil knew there was no truth behind it, they couldn’t help practically melting at the nickname and kiss to the forehead. Roman could be lying, they continued to try and convince himself. They could be happy here, with Pride. Happy and blissful and ignoring the rest of the world. But even then, did they ever deserve it? Virgil pushed the thought down, looking down in his lap where they nervously fidgeted, trying to steady their breathing.

Pride smirked with glee at how easy this was turning out to be. They leaned forward slightly, just enough to be in the other’s space without invading too much. They moved a hand to gently tilt Virgil’s chin up, staring at it with a curious shade of tea rose flashing in Pride’s eyes. “What’s wrong, love? You’re still worrying about something. You can’t hide things from me darling, it’s best if we just talk things out,” they said, a touch of darkness to their words.

“It just feels like a dream, I’m just still scared that I might wake up,” they breathed out. “Can I... can I kiss you again? I just wanna be sure it’s real—“ Virgil would’ve continued his nervous rambling if it wasn’t for a knock at the door.

“Sir, it seems as though you have a few visitors. I’ve invited them in, but they’d like to talk to you. Janus and Remus I believe they said their names were?” Logan called, not opening the door. He knew better than to invade the prince’s privacy that way.

Virgil had to hold in a sigh of relief when they heard Logan. At least they wouldn’t have to keep up the act much longer. If it even was an act. Virgil wasn’t entirely sure, and that in itself was concerning.

Pride turned their head towards the door and frowned slightly, but shook it off quickly. “I should go take care of that. I won’t be long, love,” Pride said, moving away from Virgil, but stopping for a moment, kneeling in front of the other. “And, as for if this is reality or not-“ they pressed a quick kiss to the other’s lips, “I would like to think it is,” they said lightly, standing up and walking towards the door. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone,” Pride teased, shutting the door firmly behind them.

Roman was still waiting with bated breath for Virgil to return. Pride had moved the two far enough away that their conversation was nothing more than a whisper to her ears, and it made Roman worried.

Virgil let on a fluttering smile when Pride pulled back. “I won’t,” they promised, counting quietly the steps that echoed in the hall until they heard no more. They stumbled to their feet in a hurry, running back to the wall, searching to try and find where they had started breaking it in. “I don’t know how long we have, so we’re gonna have to be quick,” Virgil remarked, grabbing the rock and going back to chipping away the block. It was a good thing Roman hadn’t fixed up this area in a while because it weakened at least somewhat. When Virgil pushed through a rather large chunk, hissing as they scratched their fingers, they pulled their hand back and tried to kick in the stone with their foot. Virgil had a lot of feelings to figure out, but now wasn’t the time or place, and given that they still didn’t know if they could trust Roman, they wouldn’t be telling her much.

As soon as a hole was made within the wall, Roman could sense the magic that Pride had cast over the garden. It reeked of negative energy, nothing at all like the things she would conjure. But it was still magic, and Roman could work with that. She focused while Virgil was trying to fully break through, on summoning something, anything that could help them. Eyes screwed up in effort, after a long minute of concentration, a simple lock pick clattered to the ground. “Damn, am I glad to hear your voice again,” Roman said softly, genuinely happy that Virgil had returned.

“Sure you are,” Virgil uttered bitterly. They had the sense to know that Roman was only ‘glad’ because Virgil was saving her. “Let’s just focus on getting you out of here,” they added, with a soft sigh. The blocks towards the sides were still perfectly in place, but the ones above it weren’t as sturdy. They walked around for a minute, finder a larger stone and just chucking it at the wall, watching as both the wall and the rock crackled little bits. Virgil picked back up their smaller stone stone, chipping away another few chunks before weaseling their way through the wall, glad for their tiny body frame. “Now what’s the plan? How are we getting you out of here?”

“I was being serious, and I hope you can pick locks because right now this was the only thing I could make,” Roman confessed, nudging the lock pick by his foot. “I know somewhere we’ll both be safe for a while, Pride won’t be able to find us unless we want to be found.” All of this talking was really wearing Roman down even further, but she couldn’t show Virgil that, they needed to be supported right now.

Virgil took the lock pick, actually getting the chains undone rather easily. “Janus taught me,” they mumbled, then headed for the door, hooking their arm around the bars and undoing that lock too. It was a bit more of a struggle, but they got it shortly after, pushing the door open. “Go. He’ll know if I left first. You can get further away. I won’t be much help if I get you caught. I can sneak out later—I’ll be fine.” They didn’t believe that in the slightest, but they gave Roman a reassuring smile anyway, heading back to the hole in the wall they’d created.

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