#UNLESS it was the fault of the patron for not following the rules

[windy-trickster]

Amdala has anyone been scared or had a negative experience in your illusion manor? how do you handle any bad reviews you get?

"Everyone who comes in haas'taa sign aa paaper so they know whaat they're gettin' into, y'know? The maagic I use for my i||usion tricks caan be quite daangerous to certaain types of tro||s." "If somethin' baad haappens, I refund 'em in fu|| aand maake sure my crew tends to them in the correct maanner. I aain't no stuck up showswomaan |ike others tend to be. I try my best to maake sure peop|e aare saafe aand understaand the daangers." "It's aa|so why young tro||s aain't aa||owed in. Cou|d daamaage their deve|opin' paan."

[ivy-kissobryos]

Salut. A long time ago you recommended Seven Spheres by Rufus Opus in a reading list, but only very recently I was able to actually read it.

I send this ask hoping that maybe you'd be comfortable sharing your experience with the rituals of the book. The author presents the planetary initiation in such a dramatic reality-altering process that I find it a bit hard to put my faith in it at times, so again, if it's okay by you, I'd love to hear your experiences with it.

If I were to be frank, I didn’t follow the instructions exactly as per Rufus Opus’ writing. Although to be fair,I honestly can’t seem to recall instances where I’ve ever performed any ritual exactly as written (aside from certain rites from the Greek Magical Papyri), so this isn’t Opus’ fault or anything. As someone who works extensively with the planets and stars in my practice, I can say that Opus’ rituals are theoretically sound and should provide good results. There are just some things I prefer to change about the rituals. So, what I’ve done is take the concept behind Opus’ workings and devised rituals of my own.

In other words, I think Opus’ rituals can be life changing if you adapt it to suit whatever paradigm you’re working from rather than doing things by the book. For example, some things I changed is that I used hymns from the Picatrix rather than the just the Orphic Hymns. As a witch with a Patron who rules over the night and the stars, I also found it much easier to include Him in the ritual rather than following the original script which calls upon just Christ who I respect but hold no allegiance to.

It should also be noted too that the AOTH ABRAOTH BASYM ISAK SABAOTH IAO section of Opus’ script is directly lifted from the Headless Rite of the Greek Magical Papyri. I don’t know why Opus didn’t explain how he adapted that from the PGM and his reasonings, but I can assure you too that the Headless Rite is incredibly effective in many uses.

But to directly answer your question: even though I can’t claim to have done Opus’ rituals as written, I can confirm via my knowledge and experience with planetary magic that Opus’ ritual are theoretically sound and should provide results. I have taken the backbones of Opus’ method and adapted them for my own needs. It is my take that any intentional and direct engagement with the planets when done properly can be life changing.

This is because planets are gods, if one is approaching planetary work from a perspective of astrolatry rather than pure, planetary magic without any faith involve. Surely you must’ve heard tales of how working with, let’s say, Hekate have changed people’s lives. It’s the same with planets, especially if you approach them asking them to “initiate” you. In this case, the planets will often cause you to lose things in their sphere which does not serve you (Venus breaking off certain friendships or relationships in your life, Jupiter causing you to change jobs etc).

And it is this point that I wish to promote my pamphlet detailing my workings with Venus and an angel of Venus here: https://www.hadeanpress.com/shop/venus-as-mother

Planets can and do cause upheavals in your life.

Thus, I would recommend that — if you don’t already have an established practice in sorcery or planetary magic — you try one of Opus’ rituals as written and see how it goes. The rituals are exceedingly simple, requiring not much materia nor time. There really isn’t much to lose (unless you somehow manage to offend a planet but that’s beside the point). Then, play around with the ritual structure and personalize it to you.

[marauders-venting]

Pardon My French

pairing: wolfstar (sirius x remus)

genre: fluff

warnings: none

words: 3556

note: thank you to @ probably_wizardingworld_artist on instagram for helping me translate things into french. also i got some of the lines that sirius says from this website https://www.fluentu.com/blog/french/french-pick-up-lines/

a/n: if you dont speak french (like me) dont look up a translation! everything will be clear by the end of the fic and its more fun if you find out along with remus. i mean, i cant really stop you if you want to translate the sentences but thats just my advice :)

Remus was sitting in the library, a French to English dictionary open on his lap, sighing in frustration as he flipped through the pages. For the past couple of weeks, Sirius had taken to murmuring things in French under his breath and it drove Remus crazy that he didn’t know what they meant. He had asked Sirius on several occasions but Sirius always refused to tell him. But the fact that he didn’t understand the words wasn’t the only reason it drove him crazy when Sirius spoke French. It’s not Remus’ fault that Sirius sounds really hot when his lips curve around the words in “the language of love”.

Remus tries not to think about it but it’s becoming increasingly more difficult because every time they’re alone together Sirius seems to find something to say in French (if only to piss Remus off).

The last time Sirius had said something in French to him had been last weekend. It was the first sunny weekend since the winter and Marlene had suggested that they all go down to the lake for a swim.

Remus’ brain could barely form a single coherent thought from the moment Sirius took off his shirt; he was too busy trying not to stare. He remembered jumping into the lake and trying to get warm by swimming to the far side, away from all his friends. Sirius had followed him to make sure he was okay.

“I’m fine,” he had said, smiling slightly at Sirius. “Just cold.”

“Oh okay,” Sirius said, looking relieved. He had glanced back at their friends before whispering, “On devrait t’arrêter pour excès de beauté sur la voie publique” and submerging his head in the water and swimming back to James, Peter, Lily, Marlene, Dorcas, Mary and Alice. Remus had felt a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

Then there was the time that Sirius had skipped Quidditch practice to visit Remus in the hospital wing after a particularly bad full moon. James, being the captain, had been able to delay the practice so that he and Peter could come to visit as well but they had to practice for the game the following day. James had to be at the practice because he was the captain and Peter had to be there because they didn’t have another Keeper to fill in. But James had given Sirius permission to stay with Remus (which showed just how terrible he felt that he couldn’t stay as well). They watched a bit of the practice from the hospital wing but Remus was getting frustrated, having to stay in a hospital bed for so long. So, after clearing it with Madam Pomfrey, Sirius helped Remus climb all the way to the Astronomy Tower. They sat up there watching the sunset when Sirius said, “Il y a tellement de soleil dans tes yeux que je bronze quand tu me regardes.”

“Ugh, do you make it your life goal to patronize me?” Remus had said.

“Of course, Moony, what else would I live for?”

“Are you ever going to stop doing that?” he asked.

“Probably not,” Sirius had replied, grinning at him. “It’s too much fun.”

“Why do you even bother?” Remus said. “You know I don’t understand a single word of what you’re saying. Why don’t you go talk to someone who speaks French?”

“Because then they’d know what I was saying,” Sirius replied simply. He had refused to answer any more of his questions.

Remus had needed to spend that night in the hospital wing again. All night, Sirius’ voice rang through his head but every time he tried to make something coherent of it, actually words or letters or even sounds, he couldn’t. He could never remember what Sirius had said long enough to actually look it up or ask anyone.

But lately, Remus had noticed that Sirius had been repeating the same sentence in French practically every day. He recognises the sound of the words in Sirius’ mouth.

So today, Remus waited until he was alone with Sirius, waited for Sirius to say what Remus knew he would. And when he did Remus repeated the words in his head a million times until he remembered them. And now Remus was in the library and looking up the words in a dictionary. 

He knew that he could’ve gone to Lily and asked her to translate it for him but he didn’t want to. He knows it’s stupid but he feels like this is something that Sirius is saying to him and only to him. Remus had never heard Sirius whisper in French to anyone else. And as much as Remus pretended to be annoyed by it, he actually liked that he had this with Sirius. He liked that they had something that was just their own. And even though it was probably nothing, he didn’t want to share it with Lily right now.

Chaque jour je tombe plus amoureux de toi. That was the sentence. Remus looked up each word individually and came to the conclusion that he must have heard wrong or maybe the words were spelt differently to how they were pronounced. Because there was no way in hell that Sirius had said these words to him. It was impossible. Right? Remus didn’t know. And he knew that the only way he could be sure was by asking Lily. He had asked Sirius a million times to no avail. And he needs to know what Sirius has been saying to him, especially now that there’s a chance… No, Remus tells himself, you just translated wrong. Don’t get your hopes up. So Remus gives in. He’d rather ask Lily and find out what Sirius has been saying to him every day for the last month than keep this to himself without even understanding it.

“Hey Lily,” he started, getting her attention. Remus had waited until the two of them were alone, just in case he had translated right. Which he hadn’t. He knows he translated it wrong. But he’d still rather nobody knew about it. “What does ‘chaque jour je tombe plus amoureux de toi’ mean?” He fumbled across the words a bit, hearing how terrible his pronunciation was. Lily looked at him, her eyebrows raised.

“Where on earth did you hear that sentence?” she asked.

“I read it somewhere,” Remus lied easily. “So what does it mean?”

“It means ‘every day, I fall more in love with you.’” Remus’ jaw dropped open. “Remus, who told you they’re in love with you?”

“What? Nobody! What makes you think someone said that to me?”

“You said that you read that sentence somewhere but if you had read it, you would have no idea how to pronounce it. Besides the look on your face when I told you what it means is more than enough. So who was it?”

“None of your business,” he said. “But y–you’re kidding, right? That’s not actually what it means. Right?”

“No, I’m not kidding, Rem. That’s what it means,” she replied, laughing at the look on his face. “Come on, tell me who it was.”

“No fucking way,” Remus said. “Besides, they’re probably joking. I mean… no, they’re definitely joking.” Lily shrugged.

“Just ask them,” she said. “And then you have to tell me who your secret admirer is.” She poked him in the side.

“Stooooop,” he said, jumping away from her and laughing against his will. “I’m going.” He got up and started walking away.

“Have fun with your mystery lover,” she called after him without looking back. Remus rolled his eyes but his mind was racing. So apparently he hadn’t been wrong. That was what Sirius had said to him. What does this even mean? He’s teasing you, said a voice in his head, like always. Sirius doesn’t love you. Not like that. But he said he does. Don’t be stupid. Sirius isn’t in love with you. He’s joking. Like always.

The next time Sirius said it, they were in the Room of Requirement. Sirius had ambushed Remus in the middle of his prefect rounds with Lily levitating a cardboard box in midair. Typical. He had practically given Remus a heart attack by interrupting his conversation with Lily, leaving Remus to wonder just how much of the conversation he had overheard.

“So have you talked to your mystery French lover yet?” Lily had teased. Remus groaned.

“No, I haven’t,” he said. “And I probably won’t.”

“Why not?” Lily demanded. “They’re being very romantic, Remus, you should at least appreciate their effort.”

“I’d appreciate it more if they’d just tell me what the fuck they want instead of sending me coded messages that they know I don’t understand,” Remus grumbled.

“Moonyyyyy,” Sirius said, coming up from behind him. Remus jumped, turning around, heart racing in his chest.

“Sirius? What are you doing here?” he asked. “You know it’s after hours, right?” Sirius snorted.

“Yes, Remus, I am fully aware of the fact that I’m breaking a school rule,” he said, smirking.

“Are you aware that technically Remus and I have to turn you in?” Lily said.

“Ah, but do you really plan on doing that, Evans?” Sirius asked.

“That depends,” she replied. “Why are you here?”

“Right,” Sirius remembered, then he turned to Remus. “James forgot to put this box with the rest of the stuff for tomorrow so I said I’d take it. And you’re coming with me.”

“Remind me why again?” Remus said.

“Moony, come on, don’t make me go alone. I’ll be lonely,” Sirius pouted.

“You are insufferable, did you know that?”

“And yet, you’ve tolerated me for 6 years now.”

“Yeah, the keyword there is ‘tolerated’,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. “Lils…” he started, turning to her.

“Nope,” she said before he could even ask. “No way. You are not leaving me to do these rounds alone because then I’ll die of boredom. So unless you want me to tell McGonagall that your planning something for tomorrow, you’re going to finish this floor with me and then I’ll go back to the common room and you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

“Evans…” Sirius pouted.

“Nope, that’s non-negotiable, Black. Also, do I want to ask?” She gestured to the hovering box.

“The less you know, the better,” he said. “Although, I would avoid the classrooms near the dungeons tomorrow if I were you.” She nodded and Remus thought he saw her smile slightly for a second.

“You go on, I’ll catch up,” he said to Sirius, knowing that Lily’s mind would not be changed. He couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t have let her leave him to finish this chore alone either. She was right, it was painstakingly boring. Which is why he would much rather be with Sirius. But it was only fair that he finished tonight’s rounds with her; she did cover for him around the full moon, after all.

Sirius pouted but knew better than to argue and turned to go to the Room of Requirement. Remus watched him and he disappeared up a flight of stairs. Only then did he notice Lily was smirking at him.

“What?” he asked, sounding a bit defensive.

“So Sirius is your secret French admirer?” she said.

“W–What?” he spluttered. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, for one, the look on your face when he showed up right behind us while we were talking about your mystery lover,” Lily said. “It was the look people make when you’ve just been talking about someone and then they show up and you’re worried that they may have overheard you.”

“That… is a very specific look,” Remus said, avoiding the question she was asking.

“Then you smiled at him when you called him insufferable,” she said.

“So?”

“So it was one of those I’m-smiling-at-you-while-I’m-teasing-you-cause-I’m-secretly-in-love-with-you smiles.”

“Again, that's a very specific expression,” he said.

“Look, I know you like him, so will you just admit it already?”

“Why? What good would that information do you? It’s for me to worry about and for Sirius to never discover, ever.”

“Remus, you’re kidding, right?” she said. “Sirius literally told you that he loves you, in French no less.”

“Exactly, Lily. In French. If he actually meant it, why would he say it in a language that he knows I don’t understand? He just knew that I would look it up and he wanted to make some joke.”

“I really don’t think so, Remus,” Lily said, shaking her head. “I think he really loves you.”

“He doesn’t,” Remus said. “He can’t. Not like that.”

“Remus, do you love him?” she asked. Remus closed his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I love him.”

“So why are you doing this to yourself? Just ask him what he meant when he said it. You don’t even have to tell him anything, just ask him what he meant.”

“But… what if he says it was a joke?”

“First of all, I don’t think he will,” Lily said. “But if he does, that’s what you’re expecting, isn’t it? It won’t be a surprise or anything.”

“I know, I know, I just…” Remus sighed and looked away from her. “I don’t think I’m ready to hear him say it. To be properly rejected.”

“Oh, Rem,” she said. They had reached the end of the corridor and Lily stopped to hug him. “Obviously I’m not going to make you do anything. You know what I think. Go find Sirius now, he’ll be waiting for you. Do what you think is right.”

“Yeah,” Remus said, hugging her back. “Yeah, okay.” So Lily went in the direction of the common room and Remus went to the Room of Requirement.

He found Sirius sitting with his back against the wall, the box beside him.

“You’re an idiot,” Remus told him, trying to put the conversation with Lily out of his mind. “You’re practically begging to get caught.” Sirius shrugged.

“I was waiting for you,” he said. “Come on, let’s go in.” They paced back and forth in front of the wall three times. We need a place to hide our things, Remus thought. A door appeared and Sirius opened it, leading the box in with his wand. They had been here before to hide loads of things. The room was pretty cluttered from years of students dumping their things in it but they knew where exactly to hide the box so that they’d be able to find it tomorrow when they needed it. Remus followed Sirius through aisles upon aisles of junk, looking at all the broken, discarded things people threw in here.

They found the corner where they’d left everything else and Sirius added the box to the rest of the pile.

“Are we done here?” Remus asked.

“Yep, we can leave now,” Sirius said. They had started walking back towards the door when Remus heard Sirius say it from behind him.

“Chaque jour je tombe plus amoureux de toi.” Remus turns to him and stops him in his tracks.

“Pads, why do you keep saying that? Who are you talking to?”

“Remus, you are aware that you’re the only one here right? I’m talking to you.”

“Then why… why are you—?”

“I know, I know, you don’t understand French,” Sirius says. “That’s why it's fun. It’s amusing to know something that you don’t, for once.”

“Sirius… I know what that sentence means,” Remus says quietly. Sirius’ neck snaps up.

“What?”

“I know what that sentence means,” Remus repeats.

“No, you don’t,” Sirius says, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I do. I asked Lily after the last time you said it. She translated for me.”

“Fuck, I didn’t know Lily could speak French,” Sirius says, rubbing a hand over his face. “So… so this whole time you’ve known what I’m saying? So you know that I… you know that I… oh god, Remus I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I didn’t want to… I was just…” Sirius starts to back away, shaking his head and looking anywhere but at Remus. Remus reaches out and grabs his hand.

“Don’t go,” Remus says. “Sirius. Is it a joke? Are you making a joke? Actually, no, don’t tell me. Cause if it’s a joke I’d rather you bury me under all the crap in this room and spare me the pain.”

“What?”

“It’s not a joke, is it?” Remus asked, a pleading look in his eyes.

“No,” Sirius said, softly. “It’s not a joke. I’m sorry, Remus, I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” Remus said, pressing a finger to Sirius’ lips. “Sirius,” Remus tucked Sirius’ hair behind his ear. Remus was vaguely aware of Sirius stepping towards him, towards his touch. “I love you, too.” Sirius gapes at him

“Really?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Remus says. He’s still holding Sirius’ hand. He pulls Sirius closer and lets his other hand graze Sirius’ cheek.

“Puis-je t'embrasser?” Sirius whispers.

“Pads, I… I don’t know what that means.” Sirius lets out a small laugh and looks down at the floor. Then he looks back up at Remus, his grey eyes glistening in the last sliver of sunlight. He’s biting his lip.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Remus says, without thinking. He feels the blush blooming on his cheeks but Sirius is already kissing him, rising on his tip-toes to make his lips reach Remus’. Remus feels electric currents dancing around his body, unable to contain the excitement. He’s kissing Sirius. Sirius is kissing him back. Sirius loves him. Sirius loves him in the same way that he loves Sirius. Sirius is snaking his hands around Remus’ waist pulling him closer. Sirius’ hair is soft, tangled between his fingers. Sirius is here, in his arms, and it’s everything Remus has been wanting and more.

“Wait, so now can you tell me everything you’ve been saying in French the whole time?” They’re sitting in the same large armchair, hands still linked together, legs tucked against their chests, knees and thighs and hips pressed together. Remus is very aware of every point where his skin is making contact with Sirius’. He’s counting them.

They found the armchair in the Room of Requirement; it’s unclear to them whether the chair is something that’s been dumped in the room by somebody else or if the room conjured it up because they were looking for it. 

Neither one of them wants to go back to the common room yet. Remus doesn’t want to see Lily’s smirk and to have to admit she was right at the moment. He’ll do that tomorrow. Right now, all he wants is to be with Sirius. To press little kisses to his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, his lips just because he can.

“Oh god,” Sirius says, burying his face in between Remus’ shoulder and the back of the armchair. “It’s like you want me to embarrass myself.”

“This surprises you?” Remus kisses the corner of his mouth. Then his jaw. Then his neck. Just because he can. “Please.”

“Ah fine,” Sirius gives in. “Um, what do you want to know?”

“What did you say that day at the lake?” Remus asks.

“Oh that. I said, ‘on devrait t’arrêter pour excès de beauté sur la voie publique’. It means uh… ugh, you’re going to laugh at me for this. It means ‘you should be arrested for excessive beauty in public’,” Sirius said, blushing. Remus rolled his eyes but he felt his cheeks heat too. He smiles a little.

“What about that day on the Astronomy Tower?” he continues.

“Ugh,” Sirius buries his face in his hands. “You’re trying to kill me. I said, ‘il y a tellement de soleil dans tes yeux que je bronze quand tu me regardes’. Which means, uh… ‘there’s so much sun in your eyes that I get a tan when you look at me.’”

“You’re quite the poet, aren’t you?” Remus smiles. “And what about tonight?”

“I thought you said you knew what that meant,” Sirius says. “Or were you bluffing the whole time?”

“No, I know what it means,” Remus says. “I just want to hear you say it. In English this time, please.”

“So demanding,” Sirius teases. “I’ve said it in French a million times already and you want me to say it in English? What difference does it make?”

“Well, none to you, you speak both languages.”

“Oh, alright,” Sirius says. It’s the first time Remus has seen his face really go red. He decides he likes it. “Every day I fall more in love with you.” Remus can’t hide his smile, nor does he want to, as he leans in to kiss Sirius. He brushes his lips against Sirius’ timidly before connecting them, his hand caressing Sirius’ cheek. Remus loses count of the points of contact between him and Sirius as their bodies melt together and Remus worries that he’s about to wake up from a dream. But when he feels Sirius’ hand gently tracing the scars on his hand he knows that this is real, that Sirius can really love him. Sirius does love him.

People come to the Room of Requirement to throw things away, to hide things that they don’t want anybody else to know about, to leave things they never want to see again. But that night, Remus didn’t just leave something in the Room of Requirement. He found something, too.

[templepurohit]

According to the Tirumala sthala Purana, the legend of Venkateswara is as follows: Once, sages headed by Kashyapa began to perform a fire sacrifice (homa) on the banks of the Ganges. Sage Narada visited them and asked them why they were performing the sacrifice and who is the patron deity of the sacrifice. Unable to answer, the sages approached Sage Bhrigu (who had an extra eye in the sole of his foot) to determine the worthy patron god among the Trimurti, the Hindu trinune gods. Bhrigu first went to Satyaloka, the abode of the god Brahma. At Satyaloka, he found Brahma reciting the four Vedas in praise of Vishnu, with each of his four heads, and attended upon by his consort Saraswati. Brahma did not notice Bhrigu offering obeisance. The angry sage cursed Brahma and left Satyaloka. He then reached Kailash, the abode of the god Shiva. Bhrigu found Shiva deep in meditation with his wife Parvati by his side. Feeling ignored, Bhrigu cursed Shiva too and left for Vaikuntha, the abode of Vishnu. At Vaikuntha, Vishnu was resting on the serpent Shesha with his consort Lakshmi in service at his feet. Bhrigu was infuriated and kicked Vishnu on his chest, the place of Lakshmi in Vishnu's body. To pacify the sage, Vishnu held his legs and pressed them gently. He squeezed the extra eye in Bhrigu's foot - the symbol of his egotism. The sage realized his folly and apologized to Vishnu. There upon, Bhrigu concluded that Vishnu was supreme of the Trimurti and informed the sages the same. Lakshmi was angered by Vishnu's action of placating Bhrigu who had kicked her place in Vishnu's body and thus insulted her. She abandoned her heavenly abode and resided in Karavirapur (Kolhapur) on earth. After her departure, a forlorn Vishnu followed suit and took abode in an ant-hill under a tamarind tree, beside a pushkarini on the Venkata hill, meditating for the return of Lakshmi, without food or sleep. Taking pity on Vishnu, Brahma and Shiva assumed the forms of a cow and its calf to serve him. Lakshmi in the form of a cowherdess sold the cow and calf to the king of the Chola country. The Chola king sent them to graze on the Venkata Hill along with his herd of cattle. Discovering Vishnu on the ant-hill, the cow provided its milk, and thus fed him. Meanwhile, at the palace, the cow was not yielding any milk, for which the Chola queen chastised the royal cow herder severely. To find out the cause of lack of milk, the cow herder followed the cow secretly and discovered the cow emptying her udder over the ant-hill. Angered by the conduct of the cow, the cow herder flung his axe to harm the cow. However, Vishnu rose from the ant-hill to receive the blow and save the cow. When the cow herder saw Vishnu bleed by the blow of his axe, he fell down and died of shock. The cow returned to the king, bellowing in fright and with blood stains all over her body. To find out the cause of the cow's terror, the king followed her and found the cow herder lying dead on the ground near the ant-hill. Vishnu rose from the ant-hill and cursed the king to become an Asura (demon) because of the fault of his servant. Upon the king pleading innocence, Vishnu blessed him to be born as Akasa Raja and that the curse would end when Vishnu will be adorned with a crown presented by Akasa Raja at the time of his marriage with Padmavati. Thereafter, Vishnu, as Srinivasa, decided to stay in Varaha Kshetra and requested Varaha (the boar avatar of Vishnu) to grant him a site for his stay. Srinivasa ordained that a pilgrimage to his shrine would not be complete unless it is preceded by a bath in the Pushkarini and the worship of Varaha before him. Vishnu built a hermitage and lived there, attended to by Vakula Devi who looked after him like a mother. A while later, a King named Akasa Raja who belonged to the Lunar race, came to rule over Tondamandalam. The childless Akasa Raja performed a sacrifice to gain an heir. As part of the sacrifice, he was ploughing the fields. The plough struck a lotus, which had an infant girl in it. Upon the advice of a divine voice that the girl would be a harbinger of fortune, the king adopted the girl and named her Padmavati, since she was found in a lotus (padma). The princess grew up into a beautiful maiden and was attended by a host of maids. One day, Srinivasa, who was hunting, chased a wild elephant in the forests surrounding the Venkata hills. In the elephant's pursuit, he was led into a garden, where Padmavati and her maids were picking flowers. The wild elephant frightened the princess. But the elephant immediately turned around, saluted Srinivasa and disappeared into the forest. Srinivasa, who was following on horse back, saw the frightened maidens, but was repulsed with stones thrown at him by the maids. He returned to the hills in haste, leaving his horse behind. Srinivasa informed Vakula Devi that unless he married Padmavati, he would not be calmed. Srinivasa then narrated the story of Padmavati’s previous birth as Vedavati and his promise to marry her. After listening to Srinivasa's story, Vakula devi offered to go to Akasa Raja and his queen and arrange for the marriage. On the way, she met the maids of Padmavati and learnt from them that Padmavati was also pining for Srinivasa. Vakula Devi went along with the maid servants to the Queen. Meanwhile, Akasa Raja and his queen Dharanidevi were anxious about the health of their daughter Padmavati. They learnt about Padmavati's love for Srinivasa. Akasa Raja consulted Brihaspati, the guru of the gods, about the marriage and was informed that the marriage was in the best interest of both the parties. The god of wealth, Kubera lent money to Srinivasa to meet the expenses of the marriage. Srinivasa, along with Brahma and Shiva started the journey to the residence of Akasa Raja on his vahana Garuda. At the palace entrance, Srinivasa was received by Akasha Raja with full honours and was taken in procession on an elephant to the palace. In the presence of all the gods, Srinivasa married Padmavati, thus blessing Akasa Raja. Together, they lived for all eternity while Lakshmi chose to live in his heart forever. Venkateswara's chief temple is located at the top of the Seven hills in Tirumala, the location of the divine marriage. A kalyana utsavam celebrates the divine marriage. Even today, during the Brahmotsavam at the temple, turmeric, kumkum and a sari are sent from the temple to Alamelu Mangapuram, the abode of Padmavati Devi . https://ift.tt/kyIEX0L

[utilitycaster]

You’ve talked about this subject before, so do you mind sharing your thoughts on ExUs use of rule of cool?

Hi anon,

So I have had some frustrations with EXU, specifically plot based; the vibes are immaculate, the characters are great and well served by each other and the DM-ing, and all the individual moments are fun and emotionally engaging but to me it feels like too many balls are in the air to stick the landing (this metaphor brought to you by a universe in which gymnasts also juggle while in the air I guess), unless next week’s episode is like, 7+ hours - it’s not that I can’t follow the plot so much that the pacing of said plot has felt increasingly unbalanced. I will reserve judgment until it airs, and I’m still very much looking forward to it, but for all the reasons I mentioned liking before, rather than any expectation of the mysteries being resolved. With all that said I think Aabria’s use rule of cool has been incredibly skillful and indeed I credit the immaculateness of the vibes to that*.

Now, having written more than you probably wanted to read for a mostly unrelated introduction with its own footnote: D&D actually allows a ton of agency and wiggle room, if you actually read the rules, and the idea that it doesn’t is a lie told by people who want to plug their favorite indie game. The overarching rule is “The DM has some degree of final say.” In other words, rule of cool is included in rules as written.

Anyway a lot of the “rule of cool” things, at least that I’m thinking of (also please give me examples if I’m on a totally different page than you) were boons during a tricky battle granted by a weird ancient rock, maybe, and I think that’s completely valid! Brennan Lee Mulligan does this with some frequency; Brian Murphy and Matt Mercer tend to grant things like this more formally through homebrew magical items but I think Aabria making it spontaneous fits well with her personal DM-ing style and makes more sense in the context of, well, being in the middle of the jungle.

The Opal and Ted magic stuff is also well done. I mentioned this a couple years ago when Fjord’s powers were lost: there is not much in D&D on how to handle how issues with one’s warlock patron (or deity) may resolve and it’s really up to the DM. Tasha’s pretty much gave DMs the barest of outlines on how to handle subclass/class switches and I see this as related; everyone resorts to Rule of Cool in this space, if you think about it.

I will admit I’m not personally a big fan of granting advantage after a roll is failed, unless it was a legit error, but I will also admit both that I’m a hardass and also that I struggle with moving the plot along as a DM at times and this might be part of it; I can’t really fault a DM on an actual-play show for doing so when the alternative is “nothing happens”. Indeed, when you consider her casual portrayal of some of the deities and NPCs (a very valid and enjoyable stylistic choice) and Aabria’s greater willingness to drop not only out of character but also “DM mode”, if that makes sense, I actually think even more rule of cool might have addressed some of my frustrations with the plot. She could have revealed much more earlier on, because low level characters understandably miss a lot and the series is time-limited.

Which is a learning moment for me! I think my thoughts on rule of cool are more flexible than I’d realized! I still think most things can and should be handled within the rules but a DM with good rule of cool instincts (and I think Aabria has some of the strongest rule of cool instincts I’ve seen) can and perhaps should lean into that more heavily. It’s certainly a specific style and it might not work for everyone, but I think it works here.

*FWIW I think an 8-episode at 4-ish hours each is a really tricky length for actual play, and I think the pre-existing setting and the need to play to both long-term fans wanting an update on Tal’Dorei and new fans complicated things further and I will probably write more about this next week, when I know how things have ended and any future intentions. But just to sum up: I feel Aabria’s DM-ing has been great but far more suited to a longer, more sandbox-y campaign, and indeed if this were a 16 or even 12 episode series I’d have absolutely no concerns at this point, but right now I'm like "how are you going to resolve Myr'etta, Poska, Ted, the missing week/Thordak/whatever Fy'ra was doing, the Ash Hole, the tetrarch in the Iron Authority, and the Circlet of Barbed vision in 5 hours when I also want more Observer lore; let's go in with no expectations of most of those being resolved and be pleasantly surprised if they are."

[fragmentedink-archived]

Hell to Pay: Chapter Fifty-Six

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXV, XXXVI, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XXXIX, XL, XLI, XLII, XLIII, XLIV, XLV, XLVI, XLVII, XLVIII, XLIX, XLX, LI, LII, LIII, LIV, LV

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

Biela was in one of the cities of Assyra, helping provide some form of comfort and support to the many grieving families left without their young. The cities of her kingdom were slowly building their way back to their former glory thanks to the war ending, but there was still much, much work to be done.

And she would not rest until it was.

She was still half tempted to take her frustrations out on that angel and his foolish cousin who decided to defy nature in her lands, leaving her people to pay the consequences. But she held back, if only so they could live with what they had done.

Dacia and Caius both were with her to provide as much light and warmth in this time, something she had always lacked the ability to provide. Dacia stood by her side while combing the streets for a period of respite.

“I do hope this haunts them,” Biela said, darkly, letting Dacia link their arms together.

“I am sure it will,” Dacia replied. “Levant and Amara both.”

“Hmph.”

They let silence fall for a bit longer when she felt a tugging at her skirt. She nearly thought it was some mangy animal, but stopped moving when she realized it was a child that was clinging to her skirts, clearly trying to keep herself from tumbling to the ground.

“Who’s child is this?” Biela demanded, looking around.

Dacia was already moving to scooping her up when Biela locked eyes on a violet eyed child that had a hand half reaching for the toddler in Dacia’s arms. She nearly went after them had it not been for their bolting like a rabbit, likely to get as far away from Biela as physically possible.

Of course it ran. Biela never had much luck with children capable of forming their own opinions. They more often than not were best left silent. But for some reason, this particular toddler decided to demand her attention.

Dacia seemed to be looking the child over, checking for cuts or bruises, though she couldn’t find any. She gave Biela a look that had Biela frowning at her. “What.”

“Well, clearly she had a home.”

“Oh really?” Biela asked. “From the looks of it I’d say she was missing a few requirements for that, considering her very dirty skin on top of her very dirty clothes.”

“Well all the more reason to take her with us,” Dacia replied. “Children are dying. We cannot let another fall through the cracks.”

“I suppose,” Biela said, eyeing the child staring right back at her. She squinted.

When the child removed her hand from her mouth, as soaked with slobber as it was, she still reached out for Biela. Biela frowned in distaste. She had been soaked in blood once, but she still was not a fan of fluids from infants. “I will not take you,” Biela retorted to the baby. “But fine, we will bring her with us.”

Biela thought back to the last thing Raziel had said to her the day before. That ‘Congratulations’ stuck out in Biela’s mind and she had half a thought to go wring that old bird’s neck.

She hated seers.

---

Lev was closing the door to Eden's nursery oh so carefully when Ash found him. And by found him, Lev meant Ash smacked the side of his leg with his cane. Lev stifled a yelp, so he didn’t wake Eden, and glared at Ash. It was safe to do so because Ash couldn’t see him.

“Ow,” Lev mumbled, sidestepping another sweep of the cane. “I- can I help you?” He paused, and quickly corrected himself. “Is everything okay?”

“Hm. Pick a new tone,” Ash said, flippantly. “I want you to make yourself useful and take me to Cameron’s library.”

Lev sighed softly, and started walking. “It’s this way,” he said, just to get Ash started. “Though I don’t think he’s got any books in braille.”

“Well lucky for me I’m not going to be the one doing the reading,” Ash replied, following after him.

“Am I-” Lev bit off his questions, and instead said, “It’s up these stairs, and then we’re gonna take a left.”

Ash slowly followed after him, taking one step at a time, clearly not quite used to climbing the stairs without the morsels of eyesight he once had.

Lev quietly narrated the path he took to one of the tables he liked to frequent during the few times he’d had the time to sequester himself away in the library. It was near the very meager collection of fiction Cameron had; most everything else in here seemed to be non-fiction of all sorts.

“I’m sure there’s a system,” Ash said, side stepping the things in his way. “Knowing Cameron it’s bound to be just as elaborate as his many personalities.” At Lev’s confusion Ash sighed. “A catalogue. Something to classify the books to keep them separate by title or genre or subject or something.”

“Oh. Oh. Yeah. There is. Do- do you need me to find you a book?”

“I want you to find every book in Cameron’s library about the gods,” Ash said, leaning against one of the shelves. “You’re going to actually learn something about well, something aside from whatever romance novel you are currently gurgitating.”

“Gurgitating,” Lev mumbled to himself, trying not to sound annoyed. He puffed out a breath, and then, “I’ll see if I can find a few. There’s a table next to you if you want to sit.” Though Ash might prefer to stand, so he could complain about that too.

He could feel Ash’s glare against his back. “I’m coming with you, genius,” Ash said. “How about you knock the attitude off. I can feel your passive aggressive puffiness from here.”

Lev considered that, and then decided honesty was the best policy. “I’m just a little cranky,” he said, and then added, “And so are you. I’m sorry if I’ve been snapping at you, though. Shouldn’t take crankiness out on someone else. Not their fault.”

“Duly noted,” Ash said. “I’ll be sure to pass that along to someone who cares. Now take me to the books.”

Lev led the way, gathering every book Ash told him to, up until his arms started to get tired, and then he very firmly insisted they go back to the table. “I can’t carry any more,” he said, “And I certainly can’t read all of these in one sitting. The rest aren’t going anywhere.”

“That’s fine,” Ash said, taking a few books from him to tuck under his arm. “You won’t be able to retain all of what you need to know if you do that.”

Lev sighed, loud enough for Ash to definitely hear this time, but just settled down at his table, spreading the books out. Ash took the chair across from Lev and had him pull out the first book.

“Do you want me to read out loud?” Lev asked after a moment of staring at the introduction.

“Tell me what you know about the gods,” Ash said. “The angels should have given you a rudimentary understanding of each god in school, but angelic teachings tend… to embellish a little and make Asmi seem more important than the others. Which is not to say they’re not important,” Ash added, hastily. “As they are the god to the angels, but each is important and I want to figure out how much work you’re going to need to understand.”

Lev paused, trying to dig up memories well over a century old. “I knew of Asmi,” Lev confirmed. “And they said that demons split their worship between... Five? Five gods? I think? I know demonic magic is tied to specific gods. I think. Or- there’s a choosing?”

“There is Kaveh, the oldest- twin to Asmi, who is the one who created both the other gods and the demons. Demons were pulled from the earth as angels were the stars. Kaveh’s magic is one of the most powerful, bestowed as they are the oldest god in the pantheon,” Ash said. “They rule magic such as telepathy and forms of telekinesis and other mental based magics.”

Ash took a breath. “Asmi, as Kaveh’s twin, was born at the same time. It was just them alone in the universe, right? Asmi created the angels so of course they would become the patron to all angels. As they are tied to the natural balance, all our abilities come from nature.”

“Third,” Ash said, “Is Mizra. Mizra is the seer. Knows all that is, was and all that could be. They’re known for being relatively… prickly, I guess. Just like Kaveh, but a different flavor. Next is Ruya. Ruya is the god of echos and reigns over the illusion workers. And lastly is Basim who rules over empathy based magics. Anything having to do with the emotional spectrum. Each god has access to the rawest magic, but only demons can access the designated power that each god rules over.” He paused, took another breath and leaned back. “Does any of that make sense?”

Lev blinked several times. “I...” he trailed off. “That was a lot. But.. I think so?” Even though Ash couldn’t see, Lev ticked them off on his fingers, “Kaveh is the oldest, and rules mental magics. Asmi is balance, Mizra is the Sight, Ruya is echoes and illusions. And- Um. Bas- Basim is empaths?”

“Yes,” Ash said, satisfied. “They’re each patron to a particular person they find interesting, so a person can have two gods bugging them, but only hold power for one, if that makes sense? They might just… be a little more enhanced. Kaveh: the cunning and resourceful; Asmi: the natural order and witches; Mizra: survivors; Ruya: the wild and unchained, and Basim: patron to the merciful.”

“I... I think so?” Lev said hesitantly. “Does everyone have a god who is their patron? Or only specific people?”

Ash rose a shoulder. “I think it’s just certain people that the gods have taken a liking to. I haven’t read anything about every single demon having a patron on top of their god.”

Lev nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said out loud after a moment. “I think that makes sense.” He tapped his thumb on the book, and then asked thoughtfully, “Do gods favor bloodlines? I never really paid much attention to if demons’ magic was genetic or not...”

“I do think sometimes it’s through bloodlines, unless a god has deliberately chosen the child. Their magic usually comes in around five to seven years old; just like an angel’s,” Ash said. “The gods wait to see what the child will grow into and go from there.”

“That makes sense,” Lev mumbled, more to himself than anything, and then said, “So there’s no real way to know what kind of magic Eden will have, then?”

“Not until she’s close to five, no.”

Lev gave a small hum. “Does Asmi ever choose demons?” He asked, just out of sheer curiosity.

“If they find a liking to a person, sure,” Ash said. “They’ll most likely bless that bloodline. Isn’t Sorin a demon with fire magic anyways? Also, Asmi likely is responsible for the few powerful bloodlines of demonic healers. They’re very rare, just like elemental demonic users.”

Lev gave a few blinks. “I didn’t-” He thought again. “Right. Fax’s cousin.” After another awkward pause, he added, “I forgot. Fax had fire magic too. He just so rarely used it. Mostly to light his cigarettes or the fireplace.”

Ash looked vaguely disapproving with the mention of cigarettes, but said nothing about it. “Sazra’s bloodline is most likely one blessed by Asmi. She’s one of the very few demonic healers I have met. And she’s a very strong one at that. Probably why she was in this house for so long. Demons were never very kind to their healers- always enslaved them.”

Oh. Lev looked down. “I’m guessing she wouldn’t want my pity,” he said slowly.

“Probably not,” Ash said. “But back to what I was saying. Power and magic are tied to the gods and the gods are tied to us. Sometimes even the gods walk among the people, though Asmi is somewhat trapped in their realm whereas the other gods are not.” Ash grimaced. “Instead they get to use me as their mouthpiece.”

“They’re trapped?” Lev asked, his concern getting dragged away from Sazra. “That sounds awful.”

“Less trapped and more they don’t have a physical form,” Ash admitted. “If they want company from us mere mortals they are very capable of yanking us to them.”

“Oh,” Lev said, considering that. “Do they do that often?”

“I’m not sure with other people besides me,” Ash said, “but they sure do like my company. Maybe a little too much.”

“I’m sorry,” Lev said honestly. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“It’s fine,” Ash said. “I’ll manage.”

Lev frowned, but Ash couldn’t see. He tapped the book with his thumb. “Do the gods talk directly to their followers often? Like when... when Asmi spoke to me, before I came back? Or did they only do so because I was... partly dead.”

“I think… they were curious and infuriated. Not many people show up on the gods' radar. When they do, they take notice.”

Lev nodded. “So they don’t visit people often. And that’s true for all the gods?”

Ash lifted a shoulder. “From what I’ve seen, yeah. Maybe us mere mortals aren’t all that interesting in the grand scheme of things, though I’m sure they do find our little lives absolutely hilarious sometimes.”

“Ah,” Lev said, rubbing his face. “I suppose bastardizing nature would put me on their radar,” he sighed.

“And now we don’t have magic,” Ash said, sardonically. “I’m sure we’ll be hearing from Asmi soon.”

---

Cameron was seated in the chair while Darius napped. He had been working on the backed up paperwork from the last several days. He had a solid chunk of paperwork from both the club and further Obsidian Court workings when there was a feather light knock on the door.

He bit back his irritable sigh and looked up to see one of the sentries standing stiffly in the doorway. Cameron flicked Darius a look, to make sure he was still sleeping before fixing his attention on the sentry. “What do you want?”

“There’s an angel here,” they said.

“I am aware there are several angels here,” Cameron said, crossly. “Be more specific.”

“Raziel,” he rushed out. “Um, she said her name was Raziel.”

Oh brilliant. “And what does that overcooked chicken want?” Cameron said, flatly. “Lev is unable to speak with his family for the next several decades.”

“She’s here for you, sir.”

“You can tell Raziel to fly her carcass back to her roost,” Cameron said, turning his focus back to his work, dismissing the sentry to do his bidding.

Cameron had but a few moments of peace before the sentry returned, looking rather ashened. “I’m afraid she was rather insistent, sir.”

Cameron sighed sharply out of his nose and got to his feet. The sentry stiffened slightly as Cameron walked past him, ordering him to not take his eyes off Darius while Cameron dealt with the ancient angel.

“And to what do I owe this displeasure,” Cameron said, eyeing Raziel, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Mizra sent me,” Raziel said, irritatingly calm as always. “So unfortunately, I am not able to leave until I’ve passed their message along.”

Cameron’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I haven’t been to a temple in well over five hundred years.” In fact, he had never stepped foot inside one to begin with. “Why would they bother themselves with my presence now?”

“Both kingdoms are healing,” Raziel said. “And they’re tired of waiting for you to come to them. I’m sure if I hadn’t reached out to them for my own reasons they would have found another way to reach out to you and demand you listen.”

Cameron fixed his jaw. “We’ll speak in my office,” he said, walking past her.

Raziel followed him, staying a good three paces behind him until they reached the office. She even settled in the chair without prompting, hooking one knee over the other.

Cameron took his place behind his desk and leaned back. He eyed her for a few seconds, trying to figure the best approach to handle both Mizra and Raziel. “I have not participated in the Rite,” Cameron said, evenly. “I am not able to, so I do not have any connections with Mizra.”

Every demon born had their god and had their own coming of age where they cemented their connection to their god. Every demon, legitimate or not, was supposed to form the connections with their god in order to fully claim their abilities. Cameron never had, his mother had forbade it, so his magic was barely a whisper of anything- calling it a magic felt like too grand of a word. He had never spoken to a priestess, of any god. Cameron had no Rite to claim.

Raziel didn’t even blink. “Then complete it. Before Mizra starts meddling more personally.”

“I do not have the time,” Cameron said. “And I am now much too old. Have been for well over five hundred years.”

“Make time. Your god demands it.” She flicked her fingers at him. “Your household doesn’t need a second god looking at it with ire. Nothing I remember of the Rite says you can’t complete it later in life.” Her silver eyes tracked his every minute move. “I’m sure you’re not the only one with subpar parents.”

“I suggest you do not speak ill of my parents,” Cameron said, flippantly. “They’re my problem and they’re also dead. No need for you to make judgements that do not pertain to you. Besides, the Rite is a demonic passage. Perhaps you should keep to your own lane in that matter. I will make time, but it will have to wait.” Cameron rubbed his temples, alleviating the growing pressure. “As I said, I am busy.”

“I did not mean offense,” Raziel said mildly. “I spoke only of what Mizra told me. And on top of what they’ve said of your parents, ill or otherwise, they have insisted you speak to them.”

“What part of ‘I am busy’ seems to get lost in your decrepit mind?” Cameron snapped.

It was then that Cameron felt himself be… pulled somewhere; he and Raziel both. Cameron went very still when a very pale… being was standing in front of him. Mizra, he presumed, with their pale skin and white hair, almost a similar likeness to himself. They looked less than pleased to drag him here into their realm. “When I request you,” they said, coolly. “I do not mean to be put off for something you consider more important. There is nothing more important than I, do you understand me?”

“My apologies,” Cameron said. “I did not mean any disrespect.”

Mizra’s eyes narrowed. “There is not an ounce of respect in your frail little body, Cameron Luain.”

“Mizra,” Raziel said. “It would make pulling us here rather pointless if you lose your temper now.” And then she smiled at the god.

Mizra fixed their mouth into a thin line. ���Your mother,” they said, turning back to face Cameron, “defied my wishes when she decided to keep you from me in attempt to keep you powerless.” Cold washed down Cameron’s skin. “She is now rotting in the ground and no longer an obstacle, therefore, I am very kindly requesting you have the Rite performed.”

Cameron flicked Raziel a glance before tightly folding his arms over his chest. “I suppose I will make the time,” he bit out, bowing his head slightly.

He could feel their very smug faint smile directed his way. “Very good,” they said. “It seems when I told Raziel to fix you, I had not accounted for how foolishly bullheaded you male creatures are.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” Raziel interjected. “I apologize I was not able to successfully pass along your message on my own.”

Mizra frowned at her. “Yes, I do suppose you did fail in your one task, Raziel. I had expected far better from someone I had blessed.”

“I suppose I’m out of practice,” Raziel replied. “I’ll do better next time.” If Cameron didn’t know better he’d say Raziel’s silver eyes, so eerily similar to Mizra’s, crinkled with affection at the god.

“As you should,” Mizra said, primly. “Failure is unacceptable and I would so hate to find someone else to keep me company. Most of you mortals are rather boring.”

Cameron was rapidly growing all the more irritable with these too ancient beings and found the phantom pain in his head to be growing steadily behind his eye.

Mizra cut their focus to Cameron. “And while I have you here,” they said, “I expect you to start eating something. You’re too thin and disgusting. You need to eat more.”

Cameron stared blankly at the god. “You want me to eat more?” he echoed.

Why would a god care about his eating habits?

“Oh please,” Mizra huffed, “I do detest repeating myself.”

“I could always check in on him,” Raziel offered.

Cameron cut her a withering glare. The last thing he needed was Raziel to babysit him. “Last I checked,” Cameron said, “you were barred from Lev’s presence.”

Mizra waved a dismissive hand. “You make it sound like I care what your little king wants,” Mizra said. “Raziel will do my bidding and hold your hand if need be.”

Cameron felt rage boil under his skin, but promptly kept his mouth shut.

“I highly doubt I’ll need to go that far,” Raziel said, amused.

“Was there anything else you required of me,” Cameron bit out.

“Oh very well, very well,” Mizra said, “If you’re going to act like a child I will send you back. Raziel, I will speak to you soon.”

With that, Cameron felt himself be dropped into his body.

Raziel looked annoyingly unruffled. “So I’ll see you next week?” She said lightly.

Cameron got to his feet and leaned over his desk. “Get the hell out of my house right now,” he snapped. “If you are not off of my property in the next five minutes I will not be so pleasant. Get out now.”

Raziel lifted a single brow, but stood gracefully. “I’ll let you know before I come over next time,” she said on her way out. “Do not make Mizra wait much longer. They have much less patience than I.”

Cameron let the door shut behind her before he nearly collapsed in his chair. He grabbed his head, tight, hoping to alleviate the pressure building, but it did very little.

---

Nik woke from his nap, still angry and irritable. The last twenty-four hours had not done much for his temper so he had taken a nap. And that did not help either. He wandered the house and found a rather beautiful man in the bedroom, sitting up in the bed. “Well you must be Darius,” Nik said, crossly.

The man gave him a rather mild smile and nodded.

Nik’s eyes narrowed. “So are you crippled and can’t talk or are you being annoying on purpose.” When Darius didn’t say anything, because of course he didn’t, Nik said, “Right, whatever. So I guess you’re Cameron’s boyfriend or something? And you were dead, so why didn’t you stay dead? Nevermind, that’s stupid. I guess if you were going to defy nature, you might as well do it for Cameron.”

Darius cocked his head and reached for a pad of paper only to scribble a ‘It’s nice to meet you, Nik.’

“Oh please,” Nik said, “I’m being a dickhead to you. You don’t need to lie to me.”

‘I’m not lying,’ Darius wrote. ‘I’m rather used to crass language when people are upset.”

“I’m being crass?” Nik demanded. “I think you being alive is rather inconvenient for me since everyone in this damned house knows who the hell you are besides me.”

‘I apologize for Cameron not telling you,’ Darius said. ‘It was all rather sudden. I do hope we can be friends, Nik.’

Nik rolled his eyes. “Do I look like someone who has friends?”

‘Ash and Amara seem rather fond of you,’ Darius observed.

Nik rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, Ash and Amara make bad choices daily, so I wouldn’t hold either of them to a high standard. Case in point: bringing people back from the dead and killing a million kids, but hey, what do I know?”

And now he’s in the line of fire.

Sympathy shone in Darius’ eyes and it took tremendous effort to not wipe that infuriating look off his face. “Stop looking at me like that,” he snapped. “I’m not Cameron and I’m sure as hell not Lev. Puppy eyes don’t work on me.”

‘Well, I’m actually a cat.’

“Oh great,” Nik said. “You’re a cat.”

Darius gave him a dry, feline smile. ‘Not a fan of cats?’

“Not this particular one.”

‘If it helps,’ Darius wrote. ‘Cameron loathes cats as well.”

“Well he clearly likes you,” Nik said, frowning. “If you claw up my clothes, I’ll cut your hair off.”

‘Well, I will make a note to leave your clothes alone,’ Darius replied.

“I think you enjoy mocking me,” Nik said. “You get to waltz in and drop into my relationship because Cameron killed you or something. I’m sure the whole thing was very traumatic.”

That was the moment Lev chose to poke his head in. His brows furrowed in his usual expression of worry, and he was quick to cross the room. Nik folded his arms as he watched Lev kiss Darius on the cheek.

Traitor.

Lev was just as quick to tuck himself into Nik’s side, however, insistently tugging at Nik’s arms until he could pull it around his shoulders. Against his will, Nik felt himself loosening as Lev scented him, a low soothing purr coming from Lev as he did.

“Is everything okay?” Lev asked.

“I mean I guess,” Nik said, crossly. “I wake up to him in my bed that I can’t even sleep in because I guess it was his bed first, or something.”

Lev nosed at Nik’s jaw lightly. “It was,” Lev said unhelpfully, and then, with irritating optimism, Lev added, “We can pick another room. Any room. I doubt Cameron will make you stay in the rooms he’s moved us to right now. And I also doubt he’d say no about much of anything when it comes to decorating your new room. Not right now, anyway. The opportunities are almost endless.”

“Whatever,” Nik said. “I have to move around my life because Cameron felt bad for killing the guy.” He glared at Darius frowning at him. “You’re not special,” he said. “Just because you’re some pretty face doesn’t mean shit. We’re all pretty faces. Don’t expect me to get in line to kiss your ass like everyone else.”

Darius blinked at him, seemingly bewildered, but he just nodded at him.

“Nikolas,” Lev chastised, but even his scolding was tempered by worry. “Darius hasn’t done anything. And I was the one that asked for him; I’m the one that told Cameron he was still there.” Lev hesitated, and then added gently, “Darius helped me while I was dead. He kept me steady, kept me sane. He deserves another chance as much as I do. More. He’s a kind person, Nik. That’s all.”

Nik sighed through his nose. “Fine,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Is Cameron home or is he going to resurrect some other not-boyfriend?”

Lev shrugged. “Last I saw he was in here with Darius, so I don’t know.”

‘I think he’s in his office,’ Darius offered.

“I’m hungry,” Nik mumbled, pathetically.

“I can go get Cameron,” Lev offered, oh-so-helpfully. “With everything going on I don't think it’s a good idea for us to touch anything in his kitchen. Besides, Eden should wake up from her nap soon, and she’ll need a snack too.”

“Okay.”

---

Lev knocked on Cameron’s office door lightly, but didn’t wait to open it. The room was dark, and Lev almost assumed it was empty, but he heard a quiet, “Shut the door,” from the direction of Cameron’s desk, so he slipped inside, closing it obediently.

After letting his eyes adjust, Lev realized Cameron was bent over the desk, head in his arms. Lev chose to approach slowly, hovering his hand over Cameron’s shoulder before ultimately letting it drop back to his side instead. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“I’m fine,” Cameron said, stiffly. “Just a headache.”

Right. Lev worried his lip between his teeth. “Nik’s hungry,” he finally said. “I can make him something, if you’d like.”

“Fine,” Cameron said, dismissively. “Just clean up after yourself.”

Lev nodded, but didn’t move. “I had something else to ask,” he finally said. “If that’s okay?”

“Alright.”

“I should probably get back to training, if I can get Ash to sign off on it? Or Sazra?” Lev fiddled with the bottom of his shirt, and then grimaced. “Or- can I? I don't- it doesn’t have to be you, but- I had planned- without my magic- well, without my magic, I really am useless, aren’t I? And I don’t like feeling like I’m a vulnerability for Nik, especially when he’s pregnant.” He took a deep breath, hardened his tone. “I won’t let anything happen to my mate.”

“Probably,” Cameron agreed. “Get it okayed by Ash and Sazra and I will put it into my schedule. I’ll fit you in.”

“I- oh. Okay,” Lev said, trying not to be too enthusiastic. He put his hand on Cameron’s shoulder as he started to say, “Thank you,” but his voice died a little as he realized just how thin Cameron’s shoulder was.

Cameron carefully removed Lev’s hand from his shoulder. Even in the dark Lev could see Cameron giving him a slow once over, noting how clothes that had fit perfectly a month ago were just a little loose now. Lev hadn’t paid attention before, but Cameron’s shrewd gaze made him hyper aware.

“Make sure you eat too,” was all Cameron said in the end. “And close the door behind you when you leave.”

Lev swallowed. He ran his fingers through Cameron’s hair once, just to reassure himself that he could, that they were both still there and then backed for the door. “I’ll bring you something later,” he promised. “And some painkillers.”

He made sure that the door clicked shut as quietly as he could.

---

While Cyrus flipped through one of the several books he’d lain on the bed, Sorin napped sprawled on his lap. Sorin’s surprisingly strong tail wrapped around his wrist insistently, the prehensile appendage tugging every once and a while as the demon dreamed.

Cyrus had spent the last few hours reading up on the gods. While he was certainly more educated, he felt like it was only a surface level understanding of them. Which- understandable. There was a lot, and these were gods.

Rather than continue to stare blankly at the pages, Cyrus settled more deeply into the pillows he was propped up against. Sorin huffed at him, his tail tightening briefly, but when Cyrus made no move to get up, the demon fell asleep again pretty quickly.

Once the house was quiet, Cyrus closed his eyes and tried to remember how Darius had shown him how to reach out for Asmi. It’d certainly been more ritualistic than Cyrus was able to do right now, but even attempting without the words and candles and pomp and ceremony, when Cyrus opened his eyes, he was back in the warm room, Asmi seated before him.

“Asmi,” Cyrus said, dipping into a small bow. He looked up, offering a small smile. “Will it always be that easy to reach you?”

Asmi lifted a brow. “If you were aware of your studies, you would know,” they said, amused.

Cyrus gave a shrug in acquiescence. “True,” he said, “But who better to ask my questions than you? I’ve been reading, while my mate keeps me on bedrest. Trying to understand all of it. The sheer amount of literature to wade through is... overwhelming.”

Asmi brought their tea to their lips. “I imagine getting caught up on nearly forty years of spellwork will take you some time. I’m sure you will now have plenty of time to do so without your magic distracting you.”

“Was taking my magic an opportunity to learn or a punishment?” Cyrus asked, out of sheer curiosity.

Asmi merely gave Cyrus a slight smile.

Cyrus settled in the closest chair with a bit more weight than he usually would. It seemed even in this dimension he was weaker than usual. “Some things have to remain a secret, then?” He asked, mulling it over.

“I told you there will be a price to pay,” they said. “You will pay it tenfold. I do not like to be made weakened by anyone, and this time, my point will be made.”

“I understand,” Cyrus said quietly. “I don’t take this lightly, and I will work hard to learn what I can while without magic.”

“Excellent,” Asmi said, setting their mug of tea down. “You will not regain your magic until I am satisfied.” Asmi flicked a hand, and with a ripple of magic Ash, Lev and Darius appeared in the room with them.

Ash was quick to bow deeply before standing upright wearily. “You summoned me?”

Cyrus flicked a glance at the other two; Lev was quite bewildered, though he gave an echo of Ash’s movements after a beat. Darius gave his own slow bow before quietly buckling into the chair behind him.

Cyrus thought about moving to check on him, but Lev beat him to it, fussing quietly while keeping an eye on Asmi warily. As much as he hated to admit it, he was relieved. It would have taken a lot of energy to stand. Instead he fixed Asmi with another curious stare. “I assume you have a message for all four of us?”

“You should watch your assumptions,” Asmi said. “But yes, I do and I did not feel the need to repeat myself four different times.”

“Apologies,” Cyrus murmured, before falling silent expectantly.

“Apologies noted,” Asmi said, crossing their legs. “I have spoken to Levant already, about carrying a piece of the burden should you defy the natural balance once more. You have all felt its effects. There is and will be a void where your magic was and would be, and that void shall remain until you earn the right to your magic. I demand respect from the lot of you and for you to learn a lesson.”

Ash looked a mix of rage and submission but ultimately hung his head without a word.

“How do we earn it?” Lev asked, and then immediately looked like he wished the ground would swallow him up. Cyrus grimaced in sympathy, but he’d been wondering the same thing, and so he simply looked to Asmi again. Earning it could mean a thousand things, and they were all from different places and backgrounds in life.

A serpentine smile curled on Asmi’s lips. “I am glad you ask. You will all learn everything about the gods, you will worship and devote yourselves accordingly. You will become nearly as knowledgeable and devoted as a priestess and you will not have your magic returned to you until all of you satisfy me. Not one, not three. All four of you will satisfy me or none of you will satisfy me.”

“Understood,” Cyrus said. He’d honestly expected something worse, and judging by the surprise on Lev’s face, so had the angel. Ash and Darius were harder to read, but that was just fine.

Asmi’s eyes narrowed, seemingly reading his mind. “Be glad it is not Kaveh. Would you wish to want harsher punishments, I am sure they will be more than willing to provide.”

“Of course,” Cyrus murmured. Where faint enthusiasm had grown in Lev's expression, it’d quickly become ashen, and he’d reached for Darius’ hand silently.

Darius quietly squeezed Lev's hand. “Your mercy is much appreciated,” Darius murmured, hoarsely. “We will do all that you ask.”

Lev nodded vigorously, again simply echoing the sentiment.

“I will make sure to help in any way,” Ash said. “I already have Lev reading the old books on the various gods from Cameron’s library.”

Cyrus nodded slowly. “I might reach out to you,” he said to Ash, before adding, “And Sorin can find resources for me in places I cannot go. Though it might be a few days; we’re going to be moving soon, before Biela’s mercy wanes. I won’t be welcome in demonic territory at all for the foreseeable future, if ever.”

“I can’t leave Cameron’s house,” Lev piped up nervously. “And Darius shouldn’t be moving around much yet either.”

“Well it’s not like your magic is going anywhere,” Asmi replied. “I’m sure you will figure out how to get to a temple. The lot of you are irritatingly creative.”

“Best see if Biela has any mercy left to spare,” Cyrus advised, even as he thought internally that they might not get their magic back in the next half century just from this.

“Better chance of draining the ocean with a straw,” Ash muttered.

Lev sighed softly, and looked down at Darius. “I can talk to Cameron,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”

When Darius nodded tiredly, Asmi said, “If you all have nothing else interesting to say I am sending you back.” They didn’t give much room for Lev, Darius, or Ash to speak before they disappeared.

Cyrus blinked at where they had been. “Thank you,” he said, and then clarified, “For taking the time to explain. You could have left us to flounder.”

“I see no point wasting my time,” they said, dismissively. “You will likely have the most to learn, as you think you are above myself and had performed that heinous magic twice. You will find my mercy and my forgiveness is not easily won.”

Asmi waved a hand and sent Cyrus back to his body. Judging from how Sorin’s face was so close to his he could feel the demon’s whiskers tickling his face, it’d been obvious that Cyrus hadn’t been in bed with him in any way beyond physical. Sorin pressed a paw to Cyrus’ chest slowly, spreading his toes and digging his claws in. Five sharp points let Cyrus know just how pisssed Sorin was.

“Alright, alright,” Cyrus muttered. “I’ll rest.”

Sorin gave a pointed sniff, but backed off, nosing the books onto the floor before Cyrus could move them himself. He draped himself across Cyrus’ body, purring deep in his chest the moment Cyrus relaxed.

Point taken.

---

Nik found himself getting summoned to Cameron’s office. He couldn’t even come get him himself, instead he had one of his toadies come and fetch him. Nik did pause, though, when he realized Cameron’s office was pitch black. “Cameron?”

“Sit.”

“Well great to see you, too,” Nik muttered, plopping down on the chair across from him. “For what have you summoned me?”

Cameron looked up in his direction, his eyes glowing animal bright in the darkness. It was so leery; NIk kept forgetting demons could do that. “I want you to go stay with your brother,” he said.

“You’re seriously kicking me out?” Nik said. “Is it because I refused to kiss Darius’ ass?”

Cameron blinked slowly at him, clearly not aware of Nik and Darius’ previous conversation. “No,” he said, mildly. “And it’s not forever. You can come back, if you want, during the weekends or for a couple of days during the week, the choice is yours.”

“Is this because of the demon lands being poisoned?”

“Yes,” Cameron said. “And since you decided to keep the fetus, and you decided to mate with me, that makes you both my responsibility, and I’m not going to let your sentimentality cause a miscarriage or stillbirth because you wanted to be near Lev.”

Nik felt heat rise in his face. “So what, because you mated with me, so my dad couldn’t take me home, you now have control of me?”

“If you want to be so frank,” Cameron said, bluntly, “we can do that. Demonic customs and all of that. However, consider it me giving you the choice to come back a few days of the week. I’d rather keep you off demonic land all together if I had my way about it.”

“And you don’t?” Nik snapped.

“If I had my way about anything, your brother would be dragging you by your ear back to his house in the next thirty minutes,” Cameron said, sharply. “If I had my way, you wouldn’t be back until the fetus was well past four months old when the likelihood of an infant death was not nearly so high. If you wish to act like a petulant child, do it on your own time.”

“I am not acting like a child.”

“Yes,” Cameron said, “you are. You’re throwing hissy fits when you’re not getting your way and yelling at people for things they had nothing to do with. You are actively being a selfish little twat who refuses to not do what the hell is the right thing to do because you want to stay with Lev.”

Nik stared at him in shocked outrage. “Did you seriously call me a twat?”

“Is that all you got from that,” Cameron snapped. “So help me if I have to make the choice for you, you are not coming back to this house for the next eight months, you hear me? I will have your brother tie you to a fucking tree to make my godsdamned point.”

Nik opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to form a thought, let alone a coherent sentence. “...fine,” he said. “I’ll go. I just, I didn’t want to leave either of you, especially when you can’t follow.”

“We will be fine,” Cameron said, a shade calmer. “I’m sure Lev will facetime you or knit you some baby blanket to pass the time, or whatever it is angels do for their pregnant mates. I don’t really care as long as both of you stop pissing me off.”

Any other time the idea of Lev knitting would make him wheeze. “I’m sorry,” Nik said, leaning back into the chair, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I’m just- I feel like I can’t get my footing lately and all of us are spinning out.”

“Well this will be a good chance for you to get grounded then, isn’t it?”

“When am I going?” he said, defeatedly.

“Nate will be here within the hour.”

----

It was dark when Eden woke. It was dark and she did not like that. No one was there to pick her up, and she didn’t like that even more. Papi had left her again. She remembered him leaving, and then Da had put her to bed instead of the pale one later that night. That was too many alterations to what was right and she did not like it.

Not one bit.

A shrill shriek bubbled in her throat, and she banged her hands on the side of her crib the moment she pulled herself up.

No one came to pick her up, which really was unfair. Eden deserved to be picked up. She screeched again, but the house was silent other than her cries.

Filled with the determination of a child wronged by the world, Eden scrabbled her way over the side of the crib. She hit the floor with a solid thud, and almost began to cry from the shock of it all. After a few minutes of sniffling, Eden was on her way again, hooking her little fingers around the door. It took a few tries, and she got it stuck on her leg more than once, but she got it open.

One of the Big Talls stared down at her, seeming as startled to see her as she was to see them. Rather than wait to see what they’d do, Eden booked it, moving as fast as she could crawl on chubby baby legs.

Behind her, the Big Tall said something loudly, and unwelcome hands grabbed her around the waist. Eden wailed a toddler war cry and bit the nearest finger with her little fangs. That seemed to work, because very quickly she found herself on the ground, even if the Big Tall still had a grip on her, and had cushioned her fall.

---

Cameron had yet to go to bed. He was sitting it the dark in Darius’ room past midnight with a small light and his book. His head snapped up when he heard Eden’s telltale screech-crying right aside a grown demon’s screaming as well.

He quietly sat down his book, ignoring the pain pulsing behind his eye and wrapping around his head and headed for the sound in question.

He found Eden on the floor, sitting and crying and smacking the sentry’s face, perhaps to get him to stop screaming. Or maybe she just felt like hitting someone.

Cameron scooped her up off the floor and peered down at the sentry’s bleeding hand and back to Eden’s sharp little fangs. “I see your venom has come in,” he sighed. He toed the sentry’s face up in his direction. “I will make sure to add this inconvenience to your paycheck. When you get a hold of yourself, take the rest of the night off.”

With that, Cameron stepped around him and took Eden down the hall. She was sniffling and mouthing at Cameron’s shoulder. He lightly pinched her leg. “Bite me and I’ll bite back,” he warned.

She seemed intent on ignoring his threat.

Cameron opened the door of the bedroom Lev was sleeping in and flicked the lights on. “Wake up,” he said, even as Lev stirred awake.

Lev propped himself up on his elbow and squinted at them. “Eden?”

“You wanted to keep the baby,” Cameron said, irritably, tracking across the room. “Take her. Be careful, though, her venom came in.”

“Oh baby,” Lev said, reaching for her. He was sitting up by now, and once Eden was safely in his lap he started rubbing her back lightly. “She can stay in my bed tonight. Maybe she had a nightmare.”

“Maybe,” Cameron agreed, tiredly. “Just don’t roll on top of her, I guess.” He started for the doorway and flicked the lights off once more, at least giving himself some relief. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

Cameron made his way back to his chair, rubbing his temples on the way. Unsurprisingly Darius was sitting up, waiting for him. He patted the bed on the side Cameron had always slept on, clearly offering him the spot.

“You should be asleep.”

Darius gave him a very long look that Cameron chose to interpret as he should be as well- and then promptly dismissed it. “I have work I need to be doing.”

A small crease formed between Darius’ brows and he patted the bed more insistently.

Cameron sighed sharply. “If I get in, will you stop being a nuisance and go to sleep?” When Darius nodded, pleased, Cameron sighed once more and began undressing slowly, doing his best to not further aggravate his headache.

He crawled into the bed and put his face in the pillow, all too aware of the coolness of Darius’ skin next to his.

tagging:  @incandescent-creativity @solangelo3088 @lil-miss-red @halstudies @littleyellowdinosaur @caelisis @idreamonpaper

[mystic-sanctuary]

A (Hopefully) Helpful Guide to Syskids

A very quick disclaimer here: This is based on my own experiences as a Caretaker with the kids we have had and currently have within our own system. Some of, or even many of these things may not hold true for other systems.

Written by; Bronya (Admin, Archivist, Caretaker)

[GUIDE BELOW THE CUT.] [WARNING: VERY VERY LONG.]

Topics covered below;

Some Miscellaneous Basics

Getting to know your SysKid

Caring for your SysKid

Caring for your SysKid - Headspace Specifics

Navigating SysKids and Trauma

Okay, with that out of the way! Dealing with SysKids can be challenging, just like dealing with outside children, though with a few extra challenges because these children are in a system and that can make just about anything challenging at times!

Each SysKid can bring their own unique challenges, so there's no real "every SysKid can be handled like [x]" type situation here. The very first step to learning how to care for your SysKid(s), however, is to get to know them!

Their interests, their dislikes, and for lack of better phrasing, their maturity level. Do not expect your SysKids to always be 100% like their age group. Remember, they have a much older brain now, so for example, your 4 year old SysKid may have a wider understanding of things than, say, a bodily 4 year old might. That doesn't mean they won't still react to those things like a 4 year old would, though! Another 4 year old SysKid, however, may be a lot more similar to a bodily 4 year old. There's no way to tell for sure until you interact with and get to know them!

Our system is both Polyfragmented and Gateway, which means I have seen many SysKids come and go, and we currently have quite a few as well!

Some of them behave more like their age group than others, some seem to fluctuate between an age group (for example, one of them is in the 4-6 range). Some SysKids are nonverbal or some form of altverbal.

Unless otherwise specified by your SysKid, it's absolutely okay to treat your SysKid like an outside kid- as long as you aren't rude or patronizing about it. Yes, I know, "why would I be that way to a kid", but unfortunately I've seen this happen.

Syskids also have their own various boundaries and capabilities. We have a few SysKids who are able and allowed to front alone, provided we are at home.

This isn't plausible for everybody, of course, due to various personal situations the system may have at home, and not all SysKids are able to front on their own anyway.

There are also systems who cannot control their switches which can lead to a SysKid in front alone, and to all of you, you are not a bad person for ""letting this happen"", it isn't your fault if you can't control your switches. Tips for you& include leaving notes for your SysKid if need be (we have a personal discord server we often use for this, for example, which has exclusively us in it), or letting close, trusted friends know about the SysKid in advance so they can help if they're able and needed.

In the case of the two SysKids we allow to front on their own, we know they are responsible/"mature" enough to follow the rules we've set for them without needing to be reminded/regularly enforced/etc.

These rules are pretty basic and by large focused entirely upon their safety: Who they can and can't talk to, discord servers they can and can't talk in, websites we know are safe for them vs websites we aren't sure about or know have inappropriate ads on them that occasionally manage to worm their way past our adblockers.

We also make sure they know, at all times, SysMates they can pull to front or call for help when or if they need it. For us, this includes myself, the Protectors, and a few others who are either Caretakers or have good parental or caretaker-y inclinations. This is something that, while they've both teasingly told us we don't have to keep reminding them of, we often keep reminding them of before or while they front.

"So, how do I get to know my SysKid(s)?"

Find out what they're interested in and spend time with them! Spending time with SysKids is very important, in my experiences. This may include playing with them in headspace, depending on your systems headspace situation, or even watching movies with them while fronting together!

Some SysKids may be shy- they may open up more as they get comfortable around you, but they also might not! If your SysKid is shy, you may need to approach them with more caution and gentleness than other SysKids might require. Some SysKids may not adjust as quickly as others to their new surroundings, either.

Think of... Getting a new pet, for example. They don't know you, your home is new to them, and that can scare them. You have to get them to warm up to you slowly; no rushed movements and soft attempts to initiate play times, etc.

Running with this same analogy, some new pets don't have a problem with any of that, and are in fact just excited to see all their new surroundings and meet all the new people around them!

SysKids have as much variation! For explanation on why I went with this analogy, I know a lot of folks do not have experience with children outside of Systems, for any number of reasons (not having younger siblings, never babysitting for others, etc.) and getting a new SysKid can be just as unique and even as challenging an experience as getting a new pet!

"How can I care for my SysKid?"

One SysKid can have a different set of needs than another, so the answer to this question can vary quite heavily. However, a few examples I can give are:

1. Spending time with them! This can range from coloring together to watching a movie with them! If you live with another system who has SysKids or live with somebody who is comfortable interacting with SysKids, you could even arrange playdates with them.

2. Giving them snacks or treats while they're in front, or even in headspace if your headspace functionality allows for this. Everybody's headspace is different, and some don't have a headspace at all, so this may not be possible outside of front and that's okay!

3. Like the above, depending on your systems headspace situation, this one may not be possible outside of front. However, this one also depends on your SysKid! Some SysKids can get grumpy after a little while without sleep. If you have multiple SysKids, this can get a bit challenging because you'll be trying to arrange multiple naps at once- not everybody is going to want to lay down at the same time.

4. Depending on your systems communication and the verbality of your SysKid (we have a kid who can only say one word, for example), you can also ask your Kiddo what they need or would like to do.

Obviously with this one, you may have to use your own judgement. We've all been kids at one time or another, and SysKids are often no exception to the "wanting to do things they see 'big kids' doing" mindset.

And of course, as with any SysMate, do not force your SysKid out of their comfort zone. This can be damaging to any SysMate (and your relationship with them), so of course it can be just as much if not more so with SysKids. If it's a situation where it's something the body needs that the SysKid is uncomfortable doing and your fronting situation allows you to: do it yourself or have another SysMate do it unless your SysKid has expressed wanting to become more comfortable with whatever it is.

For example, several of our SysKids are uncomfortable with things like going to the bathroom! That can seem like a weird, simple thing they "should be able to do", but keep in mind they are a child and your body isn't. That's a big difference! We are typically able to do fairly fluid switches, so we are able to switch the SysKid out of the "Main Seat" so to speak to do this for them, or "with" them if they've said they want to be more comfortable with it.

"What about in headspace? Do I need to watch them all the time? When should I check on them? Etc."

For me personally, I'm usually with most of our SysKids a good portion of the time. Of course, some of them have other SysMates they'd rather be with most of the time or spend time with sometimes, and that's okay too!

We usually try to keep an older SysMate with all our SysKids, but depending on your headspace, this might not be absolutely necessary.

For us, our headspace is not only incredibly large (an entire world in it's own right, at this point), but dangerous. Even a lot of older SysMates use the buddy system when traveling outside the main city just in case they run into more dangers at once than expected.

If your headspace is safe enough for your SysKid to be alone, it's still a good idea to check in on them! How often you should check on them probably depends on your SysKid's age and how they behave! For example, particularly chaotic SysKids may need to be checked in on more than SysKids who aren't quite so chaotic, just to make sure they aren't getting themselves into any trouble.

If your SysKid is usually fairly loud and there's a period of silence, that'd be a good time to check on them! If your SysKid is usually pretty quiet, you may need to use your own judgement for when to check on them! For example, you might be anxious about leaving them alone if they're pretty quiet, so maybe you'll feel more comfortable checking on them every 5-10 minutes or so.

And of course, if you hear them getting angry or crying, etc. that would definitely be a good time to check on them! Chances are they tripped while playing, can't get a toy to do what they want it to/can't figure out how to get it to do what they want to, or even messed up something they were drawing or coloring.

Personally, when I'm leaving our SysKids momentarily unsupervised for any number of reasons, I check on them anywhere from every 5-15 minutes, varying depending on amount of noise they're making and what kind of noises they're making, but it's important to keep in mind that I'm watching several SysKids at any given time!

To help myself stay organized, and because we have an entire city so this was a plausible option for me, I run a sort of kindergarten-daycare type thing within headspace! All our SysKids have an older SysMate they live with, and not all of them need or are interested in keeping up with any sort of solid education within headspace, so it more or less functions as both!

It's also possible your SysKid might not want to be left alone at all, maybe just at first while they adjust or even indefinitely, and that's okay too! A lot of kids don't like being left by themselves. In this situation, having them hang around another SysMate they like would be a good idea if you aren't sure who to put your SysKid with in this case.

In any case, if you are checking in on your SysKid, it's important to remember that you're not just making sure they're okay! Seeing you check in on them, whether you say this or not, reminds them that you're there for them and to help them/to care for them.

It's also important to remember that your SysKid might try to convince you to sit and color or play with them for a while during one of these check-ins! If you have the time to sit with them for even just a few minutes, I recommend it! It might not seem like much, but in my experience it often means a lot to them and can strengthen your bond with them.

"How do I navigate SysKids and Trauma?"

This can be challenging. Whether it's your systems own traumas, the SysKid getting stuck in front with somebody in a bad state of mind (it happens! front can be finnicky and disagreeable at times, even for those of us who can usually control their switches), your SysKid having ExoTraumas of their own, or even your SysKid being a Trauma Holder!

An important thing to remember in these situations is that, despite the trauma, your SysKid is still a kid! They may not fully understand the trauma they're experiencing (or witnessing). It can be hard to explain things to them if they're asking about it, and you may not even feel comfortable explaining it to them. In this case, it's absolutely okay to try and boil it down in a way a kid might understand- like adults often try to do with bodily kids.

Obviously, Trauma can be likely to stress your SysKid out pretty heavily. Like with older SysMates, coping skills will be helpful for them. Because this is a kid, these coping skills may be pretty different. It can include giving them their comfort item if they have one (for example, a favorite blanket or doll), playing their favorite movie and watching it with them, holding them while they're scared or upset, and comforting them (I usually go with soft "shh" noises and "it's okay", while reminding them that I'm here for them and they aren't alone. Also, just listening to them the same way you would a friend! They may not make as much sense in some cases, but they appreciate having an ear just as much!)

In the case of systems with trauma, avoiding putting your SysKid in situations you know triggers the rest of you because of that trauma as best you can is a good idea!

For a personal example, due to one of our own traumas, we are very Hydrophobic. Things like Showers and Baths are nearly impossible for us most days, and we never get out of them without anxiety attacks or bad dissociation. So even the SysKids who have said they "don't mind" taking a shower or bath through the body do not get to do this.

Some days we have a hard time even drinking water, so on those days we either make sure whatever we're drinking isn't water when the SysKid/s front, or we don't let them front that day.

Again, we are usually fairly in control of our switches, so this works for us, but things may be more complicated to navigate for other systems depending on the nature of their trauma/s and fronting capabilities.

Since that is not our situation, I will not try to make assumptions for how you can navigate your situation if this is how things are for you- given more information, I could certainly try to give you advice, however this is a random tumblr post, and I almost definitely do not know most of those reading this!

Ending notes!

For now this is all I really have, though I can always edit or reblog with more at a later date if need be! If you read this far and have any questions or comments, you're welcome to leave a message on this post, send us a DM, or drop an ask in our inbox! We have Anon turned on as well, for anybody who gets anxious about asks that are off-anon, etc.

[sodamnbored]

I so badly want a Roman prequel series. More than a Solangelo book. There could be so many great things in it.

Ideally, we’d get a series, basically original PJO but on the Roman side, presumably then following Jason in the same way we originally followed Percy.

But that would just be rehashing what we’ve already seen! Jason’s story would be too similar to Percy’s! - I hear you cry. But bear with me.

Yes: there would be some big similarities - following a son of one of the big three as he grows up and masters his powers and all that. And yes it would also conclude with him fighting a titan. But! I also think they’re different enough that it would read more as parallels than just copy and paste. It could be really interesting.

For one thing: Jason is starting way earlier than Percy. And I am desperate to know about the wolves thing. Correct me if I’m wrong, but all the info we have thus far is pretty vague, no? We know he went to the wolves when he was about two years old. But we don’t really know how long he stayed with them.

There’s the idea that he was raised by wolves (which don’t get me wrong I love that) and only went to the Legion when he was older - for parallels sake say about twelve. But we don’t know that’s the case for sure. He might’ve just spent the more or less normal time period with the wolves, or even if he were there longer than most - a year, two years even - he might’ve toddled off to camp still pretty young.

Cause this is another thing: we know very little about Camp Jupiter. In CHB you see for a fact that there are plenty of young demigods there, talking ten and under. Unless I’m mistaken, we never really heard mention of any little kids in the Legion right? Hazel was what, thirteen, in SoN, which is fairly young, but I don’t think there was any mention of anyone much younger than that. There was the little girl helping Terminus, but she was from New Rome not the Legion. And the Legion isn’t a summer camp of course, that’s a crucial difference.

They are quite literally an army, preparing for war should one ever arise. So do they have a minimum age requirement? Would not be unreasonable to assume they would. We know the majority of Legionaries are legacies from New Rome as opposed to actual half bloods, so it’s not unreasonable to think these kids live normal lives in New Rome until they hit a certain age and get conscripted/have the option to join the Legion for training.

If this is the case, then Jason might not’ve been with the wolves for years at all. He could’ve done his time and then been passed along to the care of New Rome. Set up somewhere to go to school and grow up and have something of a life to prepare him for his future in the Legion. That would be an interesting difference from Percy who had grown up not knowing about his heritage, for Jason to be fully aware of his godly parentage and to grow up knowing he was heading to the Legion as soon as he was old enough. I’m not sure about timings because in The Lost Hero pretty sure he’s fifteen and has twelve lines on his tattoo “for twelve years of service in the Legion” according to the wiki; but the wiki for the tattoos alone says the lines can be for years at Camp Jupiter or for completed quests and such, so it could mean he was toddling about CJ at three years old in mini Legionnaire armour like Caligula (oh the irony), or just that he crammed a crap load of cool stuff into just a few years when he was older.

So the series could quite happily start with him joining the Legion and maybe just summarise his life before that, have the important parts explained as relevant to the plot, I dunno. But it would give us more info on how Camp Jupiter actually works because personally I am clamouring for more info on the Romans.

Presuming that Jason is at least a Probatio by the time he’s about twelve (and it’d be cool to see him earn his full place in the legion too), that also means we’d get to see other people’s stories happening alongside his.

We know he fought the Trojan Sea Monster at some point, so that would be a cool quest to see play out. We don’t know a lot of other things he’s done, but we can assume he’d have been in the Legion when Reyna turned up, which would also be a really interesting story to follow.

We know from tSoM that Reyna and Hylla were on Circe’s island, when Percy was about 12/13, and it seems in SoN that he and Reyna were both around the same age, 16 or so. We know Reyna and Hylla spent some time after tSoM on Blackbeard’s ship before she made it to Camp Jupiter. So somewhere between ages 12-16, she would pop up at camp and I firmly believe she would’ve been Jason’s friend before they both became Praetors. And I would kill to see it. I wanna see them go on a quest together so badly. They would be an awesome team.

But we’d get to see Jason go through the steps, Probatio to Centurion to Praetor. We’d see him improving the Fifth Cohort’s standing in the Legion. We’d see Reyna become Praetor. (We’d ideally see Jason and Octavian gently bitch at each other like with Percy, but that’s just for me.) We’d get to see Jason and Reyna being Praetors together for a bit hopefully. That would be cool. And no doubt the series would conclude with their side of the Titan War, with Krios’ defeat - which would be so cool to see!

Being able to see more of their side of the war would also be really interesting as well. Because surely, there was more to it for them than just that one battle out of nowhere right? They must’ve been aware of the war and enlisted by the gods to help out right? Maybe there were some other titans for them to fight, maybe they had defectors too? Perhaps they were under the impression Kronos was still chopped up in little bits and Krios was running the show, either wanting to take Kronos’ place as the big cheese, or thinking the titans were working to reform Kronos, but they were kept out of Luke’s side of things so they didn’t realise that he already had been? Who knows. Certainly not me, cause we don’t have any books on it.

And there would be opportunities to have almost crossovers. Particularly regarding the war. They might just overhear things that don’t necessarily make sense to them but that we get, stuff like that. See some aftermath from one of Percy’s visits to the area. So many options.

Oh also actually, just for added angst and a different view than Percy’s, there was that freaking tragic bit in HoH I think where Jason thinks about his mother. The part about following orders and rules bothered him, but he insisted on doing so and keeping his promises because his mother had abandoned him and broken her promise. That would be an interesting aspect for the narration and his point of view because it’s the exact opposite of Percy. Percy doesn’t mind pushing the limits with the gods and exploiting loopholes or calling them on their faults, focused on surviving till the end of the day when he can go home to his mother and forget the gods and their stupid rules. Jason, on the other hand, doesn’t have anywhere to go back to. Camp Jupiter and the roles he’s given there are quite literally it for him, so even though he may resent it as much as Percy, he feels the need to bite his tongue and do everything in his power meet expectations and stay in line, etc. And yes, it’s for the benefit of others like he said in HoH, but maybe also the threat that if he makes too much trouble, where else is he gonna go and who else outside the Legion does he have?

Unfortunately we wouldn’t get to see Frank and Hazel come into it as newbies because that would’ve only happened after the war, so unlikely the series would continue after they beat Krios. But it’d still be a good set up to lead back into HoO alongside original PJO.

Also, I wanna know if Jason would’ve been particularly aware of his dad handing him off to Juno, or if she took a back seat until yoinking his memories out his head and dumping him on a dusty bus. I quite like the idea of him knowing, that she wouldn’t have been shy about popping up now and again as his patron, maybe sending him quests, offering occasional assistance like Poseidon did for Percy. Juno cared about her little champion, you can’t tell me different. I’d like to see her drop by from time to time. Or if he just accepted he was Jupiter’s and his dad basically never wanted to talk to him, and was a bit blindsided when Juno popped up after his hit on Krios.

Maybe he was just heading to bed after a long day of Titan slaying, thinking what he’d have for breakfast tomorrow and poof - Juno staring at him in his PJs, doesn’t he feel underdressed. Barely gets out an “um-?” before she’s like “got a quest for you. Surprise!”

(Since we got The Fall Of Jason Grace from Apollo in ToA, this series could be called something silly like The Rise Of Jason Grace to mirror it. I dunno.)

Either way, I need this. We deserve this. I will literally pay like 20$ per book if we could get this.

Wrote this hella sleep deprived and without sources and I’m still in ToA and haven’t read the extra books yet like demigod files and the Probatio one, so anything I’ve missed, had been answered, or is just plain wrong, let me know.

[huilian]

stop confusing my name, dad!

AO3

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon

Summary: 

Bruce has too many children, or, 5 times Bruce calls his children by the wrong name.

A/N: this is inspired by this post by @in-fearful-day-in-raging-night​. Please check them out! They post quality batfam things! The first four have dialogue stolen (with permission) directly from the post, and the last one is mine. I wanted to add one time Bruce got called the wrong name, but couldn't figure out how to do it properly, so... sorry?

***

It’s a quiet morning at the Manor. Too quiet, with two of his children currently on attendance. Admittedly they’re all here because they crashed after a truly exhausting patrol, but Bruce has trained his children well. They are never too tired to wreck havoc inside his home. 

Bruce walks towards the kitchen silently. If his children are quiet, he can be quiet too. He has to catch them before they catch him, or the consequences (for him) will be even worse. 

No one in the kitchen. At least, no one Bruce, with his extensive training, can detect. He walks in gingerly, still scanning the room for hostiles, namely, his children. If they are not in the kitchen, then they are somewhere else. He has to stay vigilant.

Yesterday night was truly an exhausting patrol. Why are his children like this? 

A crash. Somewhere on the second floor. 

Bruce runs towards it. He knows, logically, that it is most likely his children doing what passes as fun between them, but he can’t shake the nagging feeling inside him. What if it’s not his children? What if someone has come to hurt them? Bruce runs. 

He stops dead in his tracks, however, when he sees Damian. Who is standing in front of Tim’s door, frantically trying to break it down, while dripping wet. Bruce distantly notices an upturned bucket some feet away from his youngest son, but he’s much more interested in the fact that his youngest son is breaking his other son’s door. That is made of solid wood. 

He’s going to break himself. Bruce, with no other thought besides stopping Damian, says, “Dick, stop that! Wait, no.” Why is he calling Dick? It’s clearly Damian in front of him. So he tries again. “Jason,” no, that’s not right either, “no, Tim, ugh, Cass, I mean Damian! Stop that!” 

Damian, who thankfully stops his assault on Tim’s door, glares up at him. “Father! How dare you confuse me with Drake!” 

Bruce opens his mouth to scold Damian, because breaking down his siblings’ door is not acceptable behaviour, but then Tim’s door opens, revealing the boy himself. “Damian, he literally called everyone’s name, and that’s what you focus on?” 

“He called me by your name! It’s a disgrace I will not stand on!” 

“He went through everyone’s name! And I’m not a disgrace!” 

“Ha! You admit you are a disgrace!” 

“I literally just said I’m not a disgrace, you little brat. Are you even listening?” 

Bruce sighs. Tim and Damian arguing is basically an everyday occurrence by now, but the headache it inflicts upon Bruce never stops. Why are his children like this? 

“Enough!” Bruce shouts. “Damian, breaking down your siblings’ door is not acceptable. Jason, stop pranking your little brother,” because Bruce knows enough by now to be sure that the bucket was Tim’s doing. 

Silence. Normally a Tim and Damian argument can’t be solved by just a simple admonishment, but Bruce is going to take what miracles the universe decides to give him. Bruce turns to go. He needs coffee, because yesterday night was truly an exhausting patrol, and he has work to do today. 

That is, until Tim shrieks, “Jason?” 

Oh no. 

“You’re calling me Jason?” Tim scoffs. “Unbelievable.” 

“Tim, Tim, wait, I’m sorry,” Bruce stammers, but Tim scoffs again. 

“Jason. I’m done with this. Come on, Damian, let’s leave Bruce to his inability to remember his own children’s name,” Tim says. Then, he adds, low enough to pretend that he doesn’t want Bruce to hear, but just loud enough so that Bruce can hear it perfectly well, “Batman, my ass. Can’t even remember his children’s name.” 

“For once, I agree with you, Drake.” For someone who is spitting mad at being called Tim just a few minutes ago, Damian follows Tim easily enough. 

Oh no, oh no. Those two working together is going to be unstoppable. Bruce shudders to think about what they are going to do to him. 

(He got locked out of the kitchen. And then his room. And then his car. Basically every door he tried to open today is locked. Even the entrance to the Cave is locked, and he made it. Why are his children like this?) 

It’s always good whenever all his children are in Gotham, patrolling with him. Provided they are not there because of a massive Arkham breakout or an apocalypse that needed all hands on deck. It’s always good whenever all Bruce’s children are patrolling Gotham with him because they all decided to visit. 

(He knows it’s the overbearing parent in him, but he likes all of them patrolling Gotham with him because if they are on patrol with him, they are not getting into any trouble he can’t help them out of. Ideally they would not be getting into any trouble at all, but Bruce knows his children. That hope had sailed long ago.) 

Since they are all here tonight, Bruce decides to do one of his semi-regular sweeps of the illegal bars. There are a lot of them tonight-almost all of them, really, except for Black Bat who has her own mission tonight-so Bruce is hoping that this time the message will stick longer. 

He left this at the very end of the patrol, when the bars are at their most crowded, so that it would hit even more people. Robin is already with him, of course, and he registers the rest of his children gathering next to him. 

It’s not that complicated of a bust, so he feels comfortable just giving instructions on the go. “The patrons are not committing any serious crime, not yet, but they are planning to do so. We’ll stop the planning, but no use of force unless absolutely necessary.” He waits for confirmation from all of them, already pulling his mental map of the bar. “Nightwing, take the left entrance.” Wait. That’s not what Bruce meant. That’s not what Bruce meant at all. “No wait, Robin, no, Black Bat, Red Hood, Batgirl, whoever you are,” Bruce points at Tim, then clicks his fingers a few times. It doesn’t make that much noise, especially with the gauntlets on, but the gesture itself helped. “Red Robin!” Finally! His children change their names far too many times, Bruce swears. “Take the left.” 

He’s greeted with silence from his children. Then Tim (Red Robin, Bruce’s mind helpfully supplied) said, “Wow, B, thanks for that.”

The statement from Tim seems to unlock the rest of his children’s mouth, because everyone starts talking all at once. 

“Black Bat’s not even on this mission!”

“Wait, so-”

“I swear he does this all the time!”

“-who’s taking the left?” 

Bruce decides to focus on the actually relevant question (thank you, Dick), and growls out, “Red Robin is taking the left. Nightwing will come with me and Robin through the front entrance. Batgirl, stay on the back entrance and handle any runners. Hood, take the right.” 

Everyone seemed to be paying attention, for which Bruce is grateful for, but then, because his children will never let anything go, Jason said, “Are you sure it’s me who’s taking the right and not Robin?” 

Stephanie looks like she also wants to add something, but Bruce cuts her out before that. “Yes. Now positions, everyone.” 

They move, but it’s only because his children (and Bruce notes this with not a small sense of pride himself) are professionals. Bruce is sure that he will pay for this, with interest, but that can wait until after they finished this bust. 

It’s just him and Dick, tonight. Robin has a test tomorrow, and Bruce knows that Damian is going to ace the test, patrol or no, but the rule has always been and will always be no patrol before a test, so Damian is staying in. The rest of his brood (Bruce has a brood now. He would have laughed had you tell him that a few years ago.) have their own cases, and so Bruce is patrolling with Dick. 

It reminds him of days long passed. 

“Robin, fall back and we’ll rendezvous at the docks,” Bruce says to his comms. Dick is a few blocks away, having split with Bruce to check in with someone he saved a couple weeks ago. It’s a quiet night, at any rate, and Bruce just wants to sweep the docks once and go back home. 

There’s no answer from the comms. Bruce is starting to panic, because Dick knows better than to not answer his comms. He starts to move towards Dick’s location, while trying to hail Dick again, when Dick, finally, blessedly, answers, “Do you mean me?” 

Bruce is so relieved to hear Dick’s voice that the meaning of his words doesn’t register to him for a minute. Why wouldn’t Dick think Bruce meant him? “Yes, of course I mean you,” Bruce says. 

“B,” Dick’s voice sounds exasperated, even through the comms, “it’s been well over a decade since I’ve been Robin. There’s been four other Robins since me.” 

Oh. Bruce mentally rewinds the conversation, only to shamefully realize that a, he did call Dick Robin, b, Robin, the actual Robin, is currently inside his room, and c, Dick is right. “Sorry, Nightwing.” 

Bruce hears Dick sighs. “What should I do with you, B?” 

“Next thing you know, he’ll be calling me Batgirl.” Oracle. “There’s a mugging two streets over, Batman. You might want to check it out with Robin.” 

“Hey! Don’t lump me in with him, O! I know better than that!” 

“It’s your fault. You’re the one who made him start taking in kids left and right,” Barbara says. “Go high, Nightwing.” 

“You know I’ll always go high, Oracle.”

Bruce is content with letting the two of them banter as he takes down the mugger. He knows these two. They can run their mouth off, but they’ll still do their job perfectly. And besides, it is nice to hear Barbara’s voice. That just makes it feel more like the old days. 

Bruce keeps his mouth shut though, partly because he’s still reeling from calling Dick Robin, and partly because he cannot trust himself to not call Barbara Batgirl. Like he said, tonight reminds him of the old days. 

He finishes neutralizing the mugger at the same time as Nightwing emerges in his point of view. He checks the bindings one more time, then looks up. 

“O, tell me something,” Nigthwing has a huge grin on his face, “you keep recordings of our comms, right?” 

Oh no. Dick wouldn’t. Barbara wouldn’t. 

“Of course, Nightwing. Is there something in particular you need?” 

Then again, it’s Dick and Barbara. Robin and Batgirl. They would. They absolutely would. 

“Can I get a recording of tonight’s conversation?” Dick looks Bruce right in the eyes as he says this. “I need to share it with my siblings.” 

“It would be my pleasure,” Barbara says. Even Bruce can hear the smile in her voice, and he knows Dick would hear it even more. He can’t win against the two of them. He hasn’t been able to for years now. “Should I send it to Batgirl as well?” 

“Oh, please do,” Dick says. “I can’t wait to see their reaction.” 

Bruce sighs. Not so much like the old days, after all. At least back then, they didn’t have anyone to share his embarrassing moments with. 

“Red Robin, what’s your position?” They’ve been trailing this particular shipment for a few weeks now, and Bruce wants to close this case as soon as possible. 

“Uh… I’m standing next to you?” Tim says. Damn it. He’s doing it again. 

“... Red Hood, what’s your position?” He can’t be blamed that his children choose very similar sounding code names. Even he can’t remember everything. 

Of course, Jason would beg to differ. “Fuck you, B, if you can’t even tell us apart, I’m not telling you jackshit.” 

Bruce sighs. “Hood, please, let’s just finish this now and have the pissing contest later. We need to stop the shipment from getting to the streets.” 

“Fine, but only because I don’t want to let the drugs get on the streets. We will have the pissing contest later, mark my words.” 

Bruce starts to feel relief, but it’s apparently too soon, because Tim (dear, dear Tim) says, “What about me? Stop forgetting my name, B.” 

“Um, little bird, he forgot my name, not yours.” 

“He substituted my name for yours! That means he forgot my name too!” 

“Boys,” Bruce feels very strongly the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, but forces it down because he’s wearing the cowl, “please stop arguing. Let’s, let’s just finish this. Please,” he whispered the last word, unsure whether it’s a plea or a prayer. 

Tim looks at him, and Bruce has the feeling that Jason, from his own perch, is also looking down at him. Tim nods, and then eerily, both he and Jason say, “Fine,” at the same time. 

Bruce knows that this is not over, not even close, but he’s so relieved that they agreed to shelf this for now. So he says again, making sure he says the right name, “Red Hood, what’s your position?” 

“Up the second rig, Batman,” Jason answers. There’s still an underlying sense of Jason being pissed off, but at least he’s answering Bruce’s questions now. 

“Noted. I’ll drop down on the sellers, and Red Hood, you’ll be coming with me,” Bruce recites the plan. He waits for the confirmation, but it doesn’t come. 

“I thought I’m coming with you?” Why is Tim sounding so confused?

Damn. Damn. Bruce swears. 

“You messed up our name again, didn’t you? Fuck you, B.” 

Bruce swears again. This is going to be a long night. 

“Batgirl, three men your way,” Bruce says. 

“My way? Are you sure, Batman? I’m inside the vents?” Stephanie says. 

This is getting ridiculous. Why does he keep mixing up his children’s name? He doesn’t even have that many of them. “Black Bat, three men your way.”

Cass looks back at him and gives him a smile that promises pain to everyone that dares to come her way. He knows he doesn’t need to give out warnings to Cass, but he still worries. He watches as Cass delivers perfect takedowns one after the other. It calms him, to know that Cass is much, much better than he is. 

The sense of calm doesn’t last though, because his comms hiss alive again. “Did you just forget that I’m Batgirl?” 

Bruce sighs. “No.” That’s the truth, too. He just mixes up the names sometimes. More than once, he wishes that his children aren’t passing down names and taking new ones every other year. It’s getting harder and harder to keep everything straight in his head. 

“Wait, is this the thing Red keeps telling me about? You mixing everyone’s names up?” Stephanie sounds absolutely gleeful. 

“No, Robin. Focus on the mission, please.” 

Cass, who had casually taken down every thug in the area, walks over calmly to Bruce, and says, “You just called her Robin.” 

Bruce freezes. Oh no. Now Stephanie’s never going to let this go. 

“Did you just call me Robin?” There it is. 

“Sorry, Batgirl.” 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe it! Batman, mixing up people’s names! O sent me that recording of you calling Wing Robin, but I thought that’s that! I can’t believe it!” 

“He mixes up Red Robin and Red Hood all the time,” Cass says. 

“You didn’t! B! No wonder Red keeps bitching about it to me!” 

“Are you in the command room yet, Batgirl?” Bruce swallows down his embarrassment. Focus on the mission. Focus on the mission. 

“Yeah, I’m copying their data as we speak, B-man. How many times have you mixed up the Reds?” 

Bruce considers lying, but then, Cass is right there. She would bust him right away. 

“Three,” he grits out. 

“Four,” Cass says. 

“Three. The time with Condiment King doesn’t count.” 

“Condiment King? Oh this conversation is gold. Please tell me the story, BB.” 

Bruce closes his eyes. For the umpeteenth time, he asks himself, why are his children like this? 

[nvalentino]

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 {𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬} • 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐨

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is my way of putting the story of two against the world into my own style and fixing things that bug me about the game. This is in no way meant to diminish the writer’s work, but everyone has different taste. 

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k+

Movies have always been my escape. A way to distance me from a crumbling economy and stressful days at work- something simple. There’s nothing quite like mindlessly inhaling popcorn in the dark, alone with no one to judge you. All the while staring at an enormous silver screen for two hours straight. I love that it’s a world away from my own. 

My town’s movie theatre isn’t much, but she’s got character. Sat on the corner two run-down cross streets, her paint- peeled walls crawling with thick vines and the crooked marquee sign whose lights don’t work has almost become a second home. So when I heard she was hosting an all-night crime movie marathon, I’ve never bought a ticket faster in my life.

When I show up to the theatre, there’s a line wrapped around the block and they’re all dressed as mobsters, Femme Fatales, wise guys... these are my people. I look up at the marquee, which reads: ‘FILM MARATHON: ALL NIGHT GANGSTERS.’ 

My heart nearly jumps from my chest. I’d been waiting all week for this, for my break. I finally reach the front of the line, and I’m greeted by Murray, the owner of the place. I think he’s been hunched behind that ticket booth since Bogart ruled the box office. 

“What’s a looker like yourself doing here alone on a Friday evening?” It’s always the same. No matter how many times it seems I show up in his lobby- Murray always forgets me. It’s lovely to know I’m so memorable. 

“Are you ever alone when you have the characters on screen?” I keep my tone light and teasing. Can’t be cruel to Murray- bit like roundhouse kicking a puppy.

“You look familiar, you a regular here?” Ah, there it is. Scratch my previous statement, I’m at least a little important. Guess all those hours spent in front of him’s paying off.

“That I am.” I rest an arm on the counter, an even smile on my face. Murray leans closer, getting a better look at me. I’m all too used to all his antics by now, and smiling is the easiest way to get alone.

“And your name is?” Can’t have everything in life, I suppose, and, as lovable as he is, he hasn’t been all there for the better part of a decade. 

“Murray, it’s me, {Y/N}.”

“Oh, right,” he smiles, straightening back to look me over. “Why didn’t you say so? You know my eyes ain’t what they used to be.” I have to hold back a laugh, but it’s easily covered with a large grin. “I didn’t take you for a fan of gangster movies.”

This time, an amused scoff passes my lips. Resting my hip against the counter I feign an offended look, “It’s like you don’t even know me anymore, Murray. I love gangster movies.” 

“So do I, kid. The slick-talking, the high drama, the whirlwind romances.” A wistful look crosses his eyes, like that of a family member flicking through family photo albums reminiscing about the old days- then his face clears up. “Speaking of romance, where’s your date?”

Talk about beating a dead horse. I nearly always turn up alone to the movies- no matter how much I’d like to have someone to bring. But I come the same way each time- all by myself. “I just told you. I fly solo. I don’t need a wingman. Besides, why bring a date when you have the company of the beautiful people on the big screen.”

A look of concern washes over Murray’s face- something much unlike anything I’ve seen on him before like he was deep in thought. “Fair enough. A movie star will be your date tonight, then.”

“Exactly,” I laugh. “Now, can you let me in?”

“Can you show me your ticket?”

I reach into my pocket, eager to get inside so I can buy a box of popcorn and soda. But my pocket’s empty. Oh, god no. I reach into my other pocket. And to my absolute shock, there’s nothing inside but lint and a cracked phone. Instantaneously, I’m checking everywhere: coat pockets, shirt pockets, back pockets- each and every one of them like the last: empty. My heart sinks- I lost the ticket. Only me. I nervously read my surroundings. A line of impatient movie-goers behind me, an elderly ticket-take in front of me, and a sign in big bold letters that hangs above him. Tonight’s showing: Sold Out.

“Your ticket, please?”

“Oh, god, Murray- I-I can’t find it,” my hands glide over every pocket again- desperately trying to find some trace of the ticket.

I feel a lump burning in my throat and a wet gloss beginning to coat my eyes. If losing my ticket wasn’t bad enough- feeling the burning stares of the long line behind me is tipping my scale. “I’m sorry, dear. I’m not sure what I can do. We’re all sold out.”

My eyes fall to my feet as murmurs sound from behind me, doing my best to hold back the disappointment and embarrassment boiling over. “Right. My fault.” My cheeks feel hot, my entire body’s burning. I can’t believe it. A week’s worth on excitement drained out of me in a matter of seconds.

Just as I take a step away from the counter- Murray calls my name. “Hold on. Maybe there’s something I can do.” I turn around, and Murray looks at me with a sceptic’s eye. “You really want a date with a movie star tonight, do you?”

“Yes. Please, I can’t tell you how long I’ve been looking forward to this.” My pride’s the last thing on my mind, focusing solely on pleading with the man in front of me.

He reads my expression, seeming to gaze straight through me, and then he straightens out his vest. “You’re positive?”

“Murray, I’ve never been more positive about anything in my life.” Okay, drama queen- dial it back a bit.

“Very well.”

“One of my customers cancelled their reservation last minute. And they were very important. From Hollywood. You can take their place if you’d like.” And with those words, my face is overtaken with joy.

“Wow, Murray, thank you so much.”

Murray retrieves a golden ticket stub from the booth, and it sparkles underneath the glow of the marquee. He rips the stub in two and hands me the other end. Something in his eyes sparkles like he knows something that I don’t. “Choose your adventure wisely, kid. It’s almost showtime.”

For a moment, I’m captivated by the ticket- the grumbling line behind me forgotten. Admit One has never felt so... special. I stride past Murray, toward the doors to the lobby, the sweet smell of salted buttered popcorn pulling me inside.

But when I waltz inside, everything about the rundown movie theatre is different. The sticky floors have been replaced by slick velvet carpeting. A grand staircase sits where the pinball machine used to be. Thick red curtains have replaced the shredded B-Movie posters. And the people around me are dressed like they’re from a ball in the 1920′s. This room alone could buy all the places I’ve ever lived. This isn’t my theatre. The dimensions aren’t even correct. I’m either hallucinating or this is all a dream. Either way, I’m spooked. I’ve got to get out of here.

I pivot back to the door and yank at the handle. But it won’t budge. I can feel my heart bursting from my chest. Everything feels so real- there’s no way I’m dreaming. I wrap both hands around the handle this time, clutching the ironclad door. But it’s completely seals shut. Okay. Don’t Panic. There has to be an explanation. For why... for how... for how I’ve been magically transported to a movie palace from the early twentieth century. Just hearing myself think that makes me light-headed. This can’t be real.

I turn around once again, and in my delirium, I see a sharply dressed man eyeing me from amongst the crowd. His angelic smile looks like it’s worth a million bucks, and his eyes are like none I’ve ever seen in person. The colour of honeyed whiskey and unbelievably sharp. This only happens in the movies. He only exists in the movies. One of the crime flicks about the Roaring Twenties. But I can’t place exactly which one. With a sly wink, he confidently turns away from me and moves through the crowd.

Intrigued, and left with little other options, I follow him. But he’s elusive. I walk faster, but the faster I walk- the further away he seems to be. He reaches for an expansive, gold-plated door. And before I can even call out to him, he’s on the other side of it. Oh, come on.

I hurry my pace, clumsily weaving my way between the other guests until I reach the door myself. Without so much as a thought, I pull the door open and step into a buzzing room packed with boozy patrons dancing to the boisterous symphonies of Broadway jazz. I watch in amazement as women in sequin flapper dresses do the Charleston with men suited up in black tuxedos. Unless I’m mistaken, I’d say I’ve just stepped foot in a rowdy speakeasy from the jazz age.

Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. I pinch myself. Ouch. Not dreaming. I turn my attention to the crowded bar, its customers getting tipsy on saccharine highballs. If there’s one thing I need right now, it’s a glass of something strong. I move swiftly to the stool studded counter.

“What’ll it be?” The bartender, a bow-tie clad man whose greying hair is slicked back from his forehead, asks.

“Oh- uh, what are my options?” He points to a chalkboard behind him, which has the names of several drinks etched into its surface. Fuck. I should’ve paid more attention to the drinks featured in all the movies I watch because I have no idea what any of these mean. 

“She’ll have a Gin Rickey with a dash of syrup.” The words come from behind me, saving my breath. “And I’ll be having an Old Fashioned, old-timer.”

The mystery man pulls a glistening silver case from his jacket pocket as the bartender begins synthesizing our drinks. He flips open the case revealing a handful of perfectly rolled cigarettes inside. How do you talk to a man from an entire century ago? Especially one so... gorgeous. Don’t reference memes. Easier said than done.

“Care for a smoke?” He flashes that five-star smile at me again as he retrieves a matchbook from his coat. I shake my head- mind racing. Don’t mess up, don’t mess up, down mess up...

“Where am I?” Way to go- not crazy at all. Definitely, something a completely normal and functioning human being would ask. 

“You don’t know where you are?”

You’ve fucked up- own it, but try and keep your stupid contained. You’re supposed to be wooing him- not scaring him off. “Not exactly.”

The man ignites a match, the flicker of a flame painting his face in moving shadows as he lights the cigarette. He returns his silver case and the matchbook to his jacket pocket. “You tell me your name and I’ll tell you where you are.”

“{Y/N}.” So far so good. My mind is still reeling- eyes combing over every inch of the room- trying to find a sign, anything, to prove that this is all real. “I’m dreaming. Aren’t I?” The sudden sensation of being spun around takes over my body.

“If this is a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up.” I feel my cheeks warm at the words, at least one of us is articulated. “The names Nicky. Nicky Valentino.” Nicky brings my wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss to the top of my hand. I swear I can feel my soul departing

“Charming as you may be, I’m not from here-” my already jumbled sentence gets interrupted by the bartender. He places the candied, kaleidoscopic drinks before us. Nicky slips the man two bills, then looks at me with those mischievous hazel eyes.

“Cheers.”

I hesitatingly clink my glass with his and place the cold drink to my bottom lip. I take one sip and my mouth contorts with the overwhelming taste of tart. “Right- so as I was saying.” My tongue feels dry, tight as I glance around the room once more. Think, think. 

“Doesn’t take a wisehead to know you ain’t from New York.” Even with my own tense posture, all his words hold a lilt of teasing.

“Yeah. But I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.” What do you even say? ‘Hey, I’m not just out of state, I’m out of century.’ I don’t know how that’d go over, but I’m imagining not well.

“Of course you’re supposed to be here,” it’s a good thing I’m not standing because the look on his face is enough to buckle my knees. “You’re the person of my dreams, and this is my dream, right?” His honeyed and soft words do loosen my shoulders- but I can’t help my tangled mind.

“Okay. How can I explain this... I’m not even from your...” Right words, right words. “Your... dimension” Could be better. 

“So, like from upstate?” I have to hold back a scoff- he’s a total dork. Nicky coyly grins to himself, expression morphing into one I’ve only ever seen on a silver screen. “Can you pinch me? ‘Cause now I know I’m dreamin’.“

The tightness in my shoulders dissipates as I laugh at the remark. If there’s one thing he’s exceptional at- it’s being annoyingly charismatic. “I’m still not sure I can explain this right. Do you like going to the movies?”

“Yeah. I like the ones about wise guys, car chases, and the ride or die sidekicks.” Fitting.

“W-well... it’s- it’s... it’s like everything became a... a movie for me.” How in the world do you word this? “You’re like a-”

“A movie star?” I nod, and he considers this like it isn’t the slightest bit absurd. He exhales a thin stream of smoke from his lips then chases it with a sip of the Old Fashioned. “Listen, if it’s a movie, you gotta know some things. This movie is fast, it’s dangerous. Until about five minutes ago, all I wanted was the entire world and I wanted it all to myself.”

“And now?”

“Now I still want the world. But I want it for two.” Between the alcohol and the compliments, my head is spinning in the best way possible. Nicky was right: if this is a dream, then keep the damn lights off.

“That’s very poetic of you, F. Scott.” Everything about him is magnetic, drawing me closer with each word. I can’t help myself but lean in.

“You forgot my name already? It’s Nicky.”

Lord, he’s definitely a dork. “No it’s- never mind.” Nicky places his hand into the pocket inside his coat and pulls out a thin black jewellery case.

“I want you to have something.” He cracks open the case, and inside sits a breathtaking diamond bracelet with enough shimmering carats to blind me. It’s excessive. It’s perfect.

“Nicky, what is this?” I train my eyes on him, trying my best to get a read on him, but he’s impossible. 

“Do me a favour. Just try it on.”

“I can’t... I’ve only just met you. And-” 

My argument is cut short with a raise of his eyebrows, “I’m a movie star, right? So why not play the part. You can’t take it off soon as you finish your drink.” I let my eyes fall back to the case, combing over the bracelet.

“I may never finish my drink.” The words tumble past my lips with little thought- nearly catching myself off guard with the brashness.

“I’m counting on it.” I watch as Nicky removes the bracelet from the case, fingertips brushing my skin as he cuffs it delicately around my wrist.

“So, what’s your game, Nicky?”

“My game?” He seems confused by the inquiry, but I can’t think of a reasonable time someone would fork over something so expensive to a total stranger.

“Yeah. What do you want from me?” Nicky stares at the strand of diamonds that fits perfectly around my wrist. I suddenly feel off- like I’d overstepped an unspoken boundary. “It’s a fair question considering five minutes after meeting me you’re giving me diamonds. Usually, guys wait to the third date for that.”

“I’m setting my price.”

“Your price?” Baffled by the words, my eyebrows knit together, “your price for what?”

“Leaving it all behind.” Shoulders dripping, I scan over his face. He’s just as unreadable as before. What does it mean? Leaving it all behind. Nicky only offers a warm smile, like he can read mind and in his eyes, I catch a glint of sincerity behind the bravado. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have somewhere to be.”

“You’re kidding?” I scoff.

“We’ll be in touch. I guarantee it.” I can’t even protest, Nicky gets up from his stool and walks away. 

“No, Nicky- you’re not- you can’t leave me with this bracelet!” My protest is futile, falling to deaf ears. He’s already a third the way to a far door. “Nicky!” But he either can’t hear me or doesn’t want to hear me. “Damn it!” Once again, Nicky eludes me as he finesses his way between guys and dames.

This time, I’m not letting him get away from me. I leap out of my seat, and the barstool nearly crashes to the floor as I hurry after him. I knock into a couple in the throes of a drunken kiss, interrupting what would have been a perfect moment. I collect my footing and peer ahead. Nicky is more than halfway now.

I’m a foot from the couple before a hand circles my wrist, spinning me on my heel to find a man already a few drinks deep. “Where you goin’, sugar?” His breath reeks. 

“I-I... gotta,” his fingers are curled into the bracelet. “Let me...” I wrench myself free from him, stumbling back into another drunken couple standing behind me, “go.”

As Nicky’s hand wraps around the door handle, I take off, leaving the man and couples in my rearview. Just as I get within spitting distance, he pushes the door open. I reach out for him, grabbing a hold of his wrist before he can take another step. Feeling my grip, Nicky spins around to face me. The door slams shut behind him. A brash grin enveloping his face.

“You’ve done good, kid.”

“What do you mean? Was this some kind of test?”

“If it was, how do you think you did?”

“I’m not sure the type of person who wants to test me is the kind of person I want to be around.” Nicky lays his eyes on my hand, which is still tightly gripping his wrist.

“You sure about that, toots?” Instantly, my skin goes hot from embarrassment. I quickly retract my hand from his. He’s so frustratingly sauve.

“I’m- I’m sure.”

“Hold on, I didn’t say you should let go.”

“You didn’t need to.” Nicky inches closer to me, interlocking his fingers with mine.

“{Y/N}, I was only teasing. I don’t want you to let go.” He grasps my hand as if letting go would mean he’d lose a part of himself, a lifeline. “In my world, the less people you keep close, the less chance you have at getting hurt. But... you’re not from my world, right? So maybe there’s room for an exception.”

I squeeze his hand tighter, our hands clasped together in an unspoken devotion. I look up into Nicky’s eager eyes, and then at his lips before asking, “you want me to be your exception?”

“That’s right.” Nicky lets go of my hand and turns away from me. “Follow me.” He pushes the door open, enthusiastically walking into another sizable group of strangers outside. As I follow Nicky out of the room, he’s gone from sight. And so is everyone else. 

I’m back in the movie theatre lobby- my movie theatre. The place is completely empty, and an eerie quiet has set over the room. I pace a few steps until I’m smack dab in the centre of the room. And now that I’m back to my world, I’m already longing for the adventure promised by the other. And my hand’s feeling awfully empty. So is my wrist. The bracelet. Fuck. I’ve had the damn thing for forty seconds and it’s already been nicked.

“Is someone going to explain all this to me? What the hell is going on?” Then, a hand taps me on the shoulder. “Whoa!” I yelp, startled at the other presence in the room. “Murray! Jesus, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

“What’d ya think, kid?”

“The movie. What’d ya think about my movie?”

“Murray! You knew about all- all this?”

“I know what goes on in my theatre.” Murray momentarily looks down and polishes a brass button on his coat. “I’ve been showing movies for the better part of my life, and I know when I see a movie star. You, my friend, are a movie star. The question is: are you ready for your close-up?”

“What... what do you mean?” Everything is hitting me at once. That really wasn’t a dream.

Murray inhales with pride as he observes his theatre. “There are many theatres in this joint, all playing crime films from the great American eras. You’ve been fortunate enough to see the trailer for one, but did it suit you?” He places a hand on my shoulder, and we walk to the entrance of the first theatre. “Is the ostentatious world of Gatsby’s New York, of raucous speakeasies and illegal rum-running in the roaring twenties your adventure?”

He turns to look at me, kind eyes shining with expectancy. My heart rate jumps at the question, giddy for the prospect of adventure but anxious for the consequences. No movie is perfect. “I can just... be a part of it?”

“For now.”

“What about this world? The real world?”

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to escape. Besides, who’s to say what’s real and what’s not.” Murray smiled a wistful and weathered smile. Like what I pictured a clock would smile, full of known and unknown. “What’d you say, kid?”

 He’s right, I’d be fooling myself if I said otherwise. I want this- I think I’ve always wanted something like this. With a calming breath and a final look around the theatre, I nod. “Yes.”

“Very good, your co-stars are waiting inside.” Murray steps aside, gesturing to the door. “Enter whenever you feel ready.” 

“No time like the present.” I take another deep gulp of air, trying to silence my screaming heart rate. I’m not dreaming. This is real.

“But remember, this is a cinema: once the movie begins, there’s no rewind button.” Thanks, no pressure. I’m nervous, to say the least- but this is what I’m supposed to be doing. I proceed into the movie theatre entrance, its double doors awaiting my arrival. I push open the doors and walk into my starring role.

Lights. Camera. Action. Two Against the World.

[sabineelectricheart]

Past Premises

Summary: Sylvain has a strict view of the world. His professor challenges it.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 4600

Notes: It turned out to be quite long, but I find I like it. I hope you do, too.

Sylvain Gautier said he would never trust anyone because humans were self-serving and fundamentally flawed in all capacities.

That changed with Byleth Eisner.

Truth be told, the nobleman did not really believe in the inherent goodness in his fellow human. He is not blind, as a general rule, people just sucked. They were useless unless you could use them for something, and so it was better to find a way to exploit their weaknesses and harness their strengths, kicking them to the curb before you were kicked yourself.

Of course, he has been friends with Felix for so long, he cannot help but exclude his single-minded partner-in-arms from this narrative. He supposes he also feels a dutiful fondness for Dimitri, and he would feel rather irritated if someone took advantage of the naiveté of Mercedes or Ashe or even Annette and Ingrid, but still. Exploit for not being exploited.

However, despite not feeling any particular allegiance or shared history, he came to found out that Byleth was different. She changed his outlook in life.

Sylvain treated her very differently, and not different in the same deferent but contemptuous manner he treated Manuela and Hanneman. He genuinely respected and cherished his professor; in a way he cannot remember ever doing with absolutely anyone.

He wonders why. Maybe it was because of how she treated their class. She was patient and accommodating of all their idiosyncrasies, but knew exactly when and where to press them to be better. She was a stabilizing presence for Dimitri, she helped Mercedes harden and Felix soften, she encouraged Dedue to face his trauma, encouraged Annette to mend fences with her estranged father and Ashe to face the realities about his patron.

The professor even managed to make Sylvain himself make peace with what happened to Miklan, a feat so great they should commemorate her a statue in Fhirdiad.

It was hard to find much fault with Byleth Eisner, and the nobleman found himself increasingly unwilling to try.

*_*_*_*_*

Sylvain Gautier said he would never care about what anyone thought of him, because fuck them, thank you very much.

That changed with Byleth Eisner.

When she had shown up with absolutely no warning, she turned everything on its head, which was quite rude, in his opinion. He was very used to being fawned over by girls, but she revealed quickly that she was cut from a very different cloth.

What she found interesting was not what most girls found interesting, probably forged on a life of violence and want and whatever happens when you are raised on a mercenary band, and that immunity to the generally feminine proclivities included Sylavin himself.

He never had to try before to make anyone like him, it just seemed to come with the territory. His Crest did the heavy-lifting for him, and the Gautier charm and beauty closed the deal. The few people who did not like him, drops in the ocean that they were, were not worth his time.

Byleth was different for some reason, though. There was something about her that made him self-conscious and awkwardly aware of things he said or did that she might frown upon.

Goddess, frown, she did. She found him to be exceedingly arrogant, sexist, and in possession of an exceptionally large ego. She was thoroughly unimpressed by the way he used his status as a crest-having nobleman to manipulate people, especially women, into doing things for him.

They were little things, mind you, like getting a snack from the kitchens or covering for him during a detention, he was not so uncouth into manipulating naïve girls into his bed, but it made no difference to her. She thought it was particularly deplorable the way he approached his interactions with girls.

“You present as if you feel like they owe you a date just because you lowered yourself to look at them.” She had said with cold judgement one evening. “It is frankly disgusting.”

He felt downright chastised, and, much to his shock, he felt extremely guilty and embarrassed that he did anything to appear like a filthy philanderer to her.

It was then he realized he cared about what Byleth Eisner thought of him. He cared a lot.

*_*_*_*_*

Sylvain Gautier never believed that he was manipulative.

That changed with Byleth Eisner.

Sylvain tended to believe he was better than everyone else. That made it pretty effortless to hone in on easy targets for particularly exploitative manipulations, because he would feel little guilt. Some of these services were mostly benign and turned out fine in the end, with only mild humiliation or a few hours of work lost on the part of the victim.

However, sometimes, he disregarded every conceivable limit.

There is no way for a man to know when was the last time the woman has bled, and so Sylvain usually trusted whatever his bedfellow would tell him. He tried to take his own precautions, pulling out and finishing on his hand, but there were times that he loses himself in the act.

One such instances, with a particularly cunning kitchen maid, had her saying she was pregnant with his child. So, he took the easy way out and tried to vanish from her reach. To that end, he manipulated Ashe to ceding his bedroom. It was fine, the archer was more than glad for helping his classmate, even if it meant having to sleep on the entrance hall and dressing at the sauna changing room. It was all very benign.

Byleth, however, did not think it was benign at all. In fact, she made it a point to single him out in the dormitories when it was the most occupied in order to humiliate him as an almost-punishment.

“Serves you right!” She had said scathingly, while throwing him out of the bedroom by the ears and throwing his clothes out the door, the entire academy coming around to see. “You do not think of anyone but yourself. You do not care who you hurt as long as you get your piece of the pie out of it. You're lonely on the inside, and some day, you will end up actually being alone. Who would want to be friends with someone they can never be sure is trustworthy? Pathetic!”

Sylvain was humiliated, and at first, he was infuriated. She had no clue what he was like and who he was, so her accusations and presumptions were baseless. With time, though, he slowly began to admit she may have been right. Ashe really should not have let him take over his room, and regardless of any moral failings of the kitchen maid, what they did took them both, and he had a responsibility to foot.

Finally, Sylvain started to feel guilty. He compensated his classmate with a new, illuminated copy of Loog and the Maiden of Wind, and tried to assume paternity of the kitchen maid’s unborn child, at least for the time being, but his professor had the forethought of taking her to an exam and Manuela concluded she was not pregnant at all.

He realized Byleth was the first girl to ever stand up to him, not counting his own horrible mother. No one ever dared talk to the heir of Margraviate Gautier the way Byleth had spoken to him that night, and he had to admit he thought that that was pretty admirable. While he did not necessarily enjoy being humiliated in front of the entire high society in Fódlan and surroundings, it did make an impact.

Not long after, he began to notice the way the light would catch her eyes during dusk, turning them from sea blue to almost green. He noticed that, in the morning, she put a thin layer of butter on her toast followed by an equally thin layer of jam, which she would eat while reading the Acta Archiepiscopae, the daily publication of the acts and orders of the Church of Seiros. He noticed that before morning classes she would put two pins in her unruly hair to keep them away from her face, and by lunch, they would have already broken free without her notice. She always noticed after lunch, though, and instead she would put her hair in a bun on top of her head. He noticed that her hands were prone to chap in the cold, and that the balm she used smelt like peppermint.

Most of all, he noticed that, now, when she looked at him, he felt nervous and his heart would speed up. Most peculiar.

With a snicker, Ingrid told him that what he had were feelings for Byleth Eisner. Blinking owlishly, Sylvain realized she might be right.

*_*_*_*_*

Sylvain Gautier had never once been turned down by a girl he had asked out, not when they were fresh conquests and not him revisiting those girls particularly talented in bed. Not once.

That changed with Byleth Eisner.

The first time Sylvain asked Byleth out, she thought it was a joke, and he could not believe it. Any other girl would have swooned just because he was talking to her, but not Byleth.

She thought the whole idea was hilarious, preposterous really. Her outrageous response? A flat no! She turned him down flat and Sylvain was not prepared to approach a situation like that, because it simply was not done.

The second time Sylvain asked Byleth out, she had the audacity to get irritated with him. Irritated! The nerve! She acted as though he were a gnat that kept flying around in her face and one that always came back, no matter how hard she tried to shoo it away.

The third time Sylvain asked Byleth out, she was well tired of his persistence and yelled at him to leave her be.

“This is highly inappropriate, and even if it were not, I have no interest or intention of ever going out with the likes of you.” She had raved with a look of utter contempt on her face. “You are not to be trusted, Sylvain Gautier, and I am not a fool.”

Needless to say, he was speechless. He began to realize that he was turning into a stupid character from a stupid novel like Loog and the Maiden of Wind, and then became depressed because his only options at that moment were to either become a brood like Dimitri or an ingénue like Ashe, and neither seemed particularly enticing.

He also realized he would do just about anything, within reason, to make Byleth Eisner like him and, hopefully, date him.

*_*_*_*_*

Sylvain Gautier said he never gossiped, and that gossip was "women's talk".

That changed with Byleth Eisner.

Sylvain never really cared for propriety, but if there was something that he begrudgingly respected was privacy and self-determination. Gossip was just uncouth. However, he was determined to find out what made Byleth tick, but he would never figure it out by talking to her, and so some recognition could not be beneath him.

It was not that he did not want to talk to her, but she was so disturbingly stoic and cagey about her own life, it made him shudder with unease. The only moments she showed genuine emotion was when her students needed support, and in his case, this usually translated to exasperation and tough love. When he really thought about it, he was not sure why he actually liked her when he knew next to nothing about her, but the heart wants what the heart wants, he had mused with an internal dramatic sigh.

Sylvain decided that in order to discover what made Byleth Eisner, Byleth Eisner, he would have to, ugh, gossip. It pained him to have to stoop to gossiping and eavesdropping. He dearly hopes he is not found out, if not for his pride, for the absolute ass-kicking he would receive from his professor dearest.

He targeted the girls of his class, specifically Mercedes, Annette and Ingrid, approaching them one day to ask them about her. He realized right away that that was a big mistake. Not only were they unwilling to talk about Byleth, they took advantage of the opportunity of actually speaking to Sylvain face-to-face by descending upon him like wrathful harpies to berate him for consistently badgering her. Needless to say, he never tried that one again.

After a very regretful drunken tryst with Manuela trying to extract information, Sylvain decided his best course of action was to use magic and his sneaking abilities to listen in on his professor’s conversations. He did not really want to do it because he felt like it just proved Byleth's point, but he was desperate at that point and was almost begging on his knees to Jeralt for if only a kernel of information.

During one particular instance, he hit a jackpot. Dorothea and Byleth were talking about nobles, Sylvain in more specific terms, in what was clearly meant to be a private conversation.

“I might be more inclined to give Sylvain a chance if he was not that much of an entitled bastard.” Byleth had said. “I wonder if this is consequence of his Crest.”

Sylvain would not deny that he was hurt by that. He wanted Byleth to like him, and wanted her to see someone good and noble and loyal.

It was then and there that Sylvain Gautier swore he would change Byleth Eisner's mind, and to prove he meant it, he vowed it on the Goddess Tower on the monastery’s anniversary a few Moons later.

*_*_*_*_*

Sylvain Gautier said he would never change for anyone or anything.

That changed with Byleth Eisner.

After witnessing that conversation between Dorothea and Byleth, Sylvain worked incredibly hard to be a person his professor would be proud to know. He became responsible and tried to carry his own weight around the monastery. He became more respectful of the girls who approached him, and he never approached any on his own. He also really tried to deflate his huge head and treat people like they were his equals.

The first time he saw Byleth's shocked reaction to the new him, he did a jig inside his head because he knew his personality shift was something that she never thought he was capable of.

The longer he spent working towards change, the more impressed she became, though she would not care to admit it.

Sylvain had to confess that, at first, he only tried to change so that Byleth's opinion of him would improve. However, he found that as time went on, it became easier and more rewarding to help others and treat them with respect. He realized that, before, people told him what he wanted to hear so that he would like them. Becoming more approachable made it easier to foster real friendships instead of fake ones, which he, begrudgingly, admitted was better than being worshipped.

Still, it did funny things to Sylvain's heart to see Byleth begin to smile at him instead of sigh disapprovingly.

The nobleman vowed that he would keep trying to prove himself to Professor Eisner, so he never had to be without her smile again.

*_*_*_*_*

Sylvain Gautier, deep down, never believed he needed anyone.

That changed with Byleth Eisner.

At the ripe old age of twenty, Sylvain started getting restless. With the growing discord that was blooming from the approaching war, he began to feel useless and like he wanted to get in on the action.

It could have been that the opposing side mostly consisted of those he had broken bread for years at the monastery, or that Dimitri’s leadership was questionable at best and disastrous at worse, or that he could sense impending danger like electricity across his skin. It could have been a combination of the it all.

Either way, his mood was generally poor and Byleth found herself to be taking the brunt of his temper more often than not. After a while, she could not bear to continue shouldering his anger as if she were the cause of it and, as a result, she left him. With reason, as he could not find fault in leaving someone who has, repeatedly, threatened to kill and/or force upon marriage to her for her Crest.

Not fifteen days later, the Archbishop turned into a dragon and ate her whole, presumably killing her.

Fuck.

Sylvain' world tilted on its axis and it felt like he was dying. For months, Byleth had been the anchor he had tethered himself to, and she had kept him afloat when he felt like he was going to drown.

His professor had been the reason he became the man that he was, so who was he without her? When they were together, in the deceivingly idyll of school, he had taken for granted her unwavering presence in his life and with her gone, he realized how much he truly needed her, how much he had always needed her.

After the war began, Sylvain assumed the traditional duties of Margrave Gautier and patrolled the border with Sreng, making it clear to those filthy barbarians that they would not be able to catch the kingdom unprotected.

He cried himself to sleep for a week straight when he came home on leave one day to a regretful Alois, who carried with him the Lance of Ruin, found amongst the wreckage of the monastery. It had been so surreal until that point, but holding the weapon he had entrusted to her care in his hand was a physical reminder that she was really gone.

It took a literal slap in the face from Ingrid to wake him up out of his funk. She took no mercy on him, and pointed out how pathetic he had become in Byleth's absence.

“She died defending us, protecting us, you useless waste of space!” The blonde knight barked at her former classmate. “She died so that megalomaniac dictator with horns would not kill us all! The least you can do is get off your fat, smelly arse and do something about it!”

Even though he took no pleasure in hearing that his beloved died so he could live, Ingrid’s speech reminded him that, while the professor would not be coming back, he had to act as if she were. To birth upon a world where she would be glad to live in.

So he did, for four long years, until the day Dimitri had made them promise to return to the monastery. For a blessing of the Goddess, Byleth never came back on a promise and miraculously attended their reunion, too, coming back into the Blue Lions’ fold, from where she should have never left.

After looking at each one of them in awestruck appraisal, she hugged Sylvain tightly. He was not sure who cried harder then.

He would never take Byleth Eisner for granted ever again.

*_*_*_*_*

Sylvain Gautier never really cared for romance.

That changed with Byleth Eisner.

On the day that Byleth finally agreed to go out with him, in the middle of a terrible, terrible war, Sylvain immediately grabbed his horse and did a parade around the monastery and the village below to share on his happiness, all while whooping and cheering.

It was not until he returned to the stables and placed his horse on a pen for the page to feed it that he realized he had absolutely no idea about what to do in a relationship.

Sylvain never had a girlfriend before. He had plenty of casual flings, but he never made an effort to stick with one girl because, frankly, he just did not care for the idea. However, with Byleth, the things he felt for her ran far deeper than anything he had ever experienced before, so deep that he entered entirely unexplored territory.

He was terrified. He is a good-for-nothing, after all, he had no business with love.

To be perfectly honest, he got such a case of cold feet that he very nearly broke things off with Byleth before they had even begun, but, with a firm word from Ingrid, some eye rolls from Felix, and several incredulous squeaks from Mercedes, Sylvain finally calmed down and came to his senses. He realized he had something special with his former professor, and while it was scary, it was also exhilarating and exciting.

Regardless, Sylvain did not know how to do the whole romance thing. Do girls even actually like flowers and candy, he had wondered. He came to the conclusion that he had no choice but to ask Dorothea, despite being quite frightened by the prospect of being chased around by an angry swordwoman or worse, laughed off the monastery.

In the end, he was extremely grateful that he did, because he was completely off base. He figured he should have known better, since Byleth had been defying expectations ever since he met her. After taking her to a horseback stroll through the woods around the monastery, they had a nice picnic by a pond, followed by a few matches of checkers.

He knew he did the right thing when, upon returning to the dormitories, Byleth turned and beamed at him.

She could weaponize that smile, he had thought as his heart arrested in his chest and his palms started sweating. She's going to kill me some day.

One night, a year into their relationship, as he stared at her while she was sleeping on his chest, he knew with certainty that Byleth Eisner was one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

*_*_*_*_*

Sylvain Gautier would never admit to being scared, ever.

That changed with Byleth Eisner.

As the war continued to strengthen around them, Byleth and Dimitri were repetitively called away for missions due to their unique skill sets, and Sylvain was sick with worry for his girlfriend and crazed monarch. It was a constant source of stress, and at times, he could not even stomach eating.

While the attack on Enbarr advanced to a glorious closing act, Dimitri returned from his latest mission to the Imperial Palace with Edelgard’s head on his left hand and a maniacal laugh on his lips. Byleth did not return at all.

When Sylvain heard the news, he had thrown up because he knew the outcome could not possibly be good.

The Blue Lions became increasingly more agitated the longer Byleth was gone, and after a month and a half missing, the Church gravely made the decision to pronounce her missing, presumed dead once more.

The news devastated her former students, but none other more than Sylvain, who reverted into a shell of a man once again. He never imagined he could feel devastation beyond what he had felt when the green-haired woman disappeared for the first time, but this certainly trumped that feeling a hundred times over.

Sylvain could not help but to think that the more you have, the more painful it is to lose. Six years ago, he lost a professor, now, he lost the love of his life. He could not stop picturing the little girl with green spike hair like hers and amber eyes like his. He had the image of a tranquil life up north, of days of horse-riding and peacekeeping and nights of devoted love underneath thick furs burned into the back of his eyelids.

Most of all, as he fingered the plain Gautier box holding a simple band with a simple stone. He could not stop imagining what it would have been like being able to say I love you, Lady Gautier before they went to sleep every night and as he woke up next to her every morning.

It was a stormy night when a dark figure entered the Royal Palace of Fhirdiad. The Blue Lions were gathered in preparation for the peace talks that would begin to be held amongst the Kingdom and the former Alliance and Imperial noble houses. It was concerning, as every guest was accounted for, and no one was supposed to waltz into the King’s residence so inconspicuously.

However, when Byleth limped through the banquet hall door and slumped against the door frame, thoroughly ragged and covered in scratches, bruises, and blood, it turned into pandemonium. Sylvain felt like the air had been sucked from his lungs as his legs gave way beneath him, and he no longer felt like he was inside his own body.

For the first time since she went missing, the newly-anointed margrave sobbed until he was physically unable to cry anymore.

It took several weeks for Byleth to fully recover, and almost an entire year for Sylvain to let her out of his sight. While it left her thoroughly rankled, after a while she understood that he was just scared and let the issue lie.

The experience was something he never wanted to relive for a third time, and it taught him a valuable lesson. Life is short.

Even though they had not talked much about the future and she was completely blindsided, Byleth Eisner said yes when Sylvain proposed.

*_*_*_*_*

For his entire life, Sylvain Gautier never believed he would have true purpose or meaning in his empty life.

That changed with Lady Byleth Gautier… and Cordelia Gautier, his two girls and the absolute centre of his entire universe.

Following the war and Edelgard’s defeat, Sylvain married Byleth in a small ceremony surrounded by only close friends in their new territory. Alois was entrusted with giving away the bride, which he did while crying obnoxiously, and Dimitri was to officiate.

A little over a year later, Byleth bounced her own daughter around their large, northern manor, covered in furs and shivering with the winter cold, but always so very happy to be there.

She did not notice and would not know for several years, but Sylvain filled up at least an entire sketchbook of renditions of just her and Cordelia. Every so often, he would secretively look at the pictures and smile to himself, letting the warm feeling in his chest fill his entire body.

Years later, Sylvain would look back on his life with his wife and feel content. His daughter would be worried about leaving so far south to Garreg Mach for school, after her magic aptitudes did not warrant an acceptance to the academy in Fhirdiad. Her mother would assure her it did not matter where she would go, they would be always with her, and she would glare at Sylvain when he would jokingly whisper behind his hand, “As long as it isn’t Enbarr”.

Cordelia would end up being as intelligent as her mother and a bit of a heartbreaker like her father, much to Sylvain' displeasure. Where's my lance when I need it?, He would think with a glower. In the end, she would settle, shockingly, on Lady Varley’s son and moved permanently into Imperial territory, which pained her father so, but he was happy if she was happy.

As the years passed them by, they brought children, grandchildren, godchildren, fortune and happiness beyond belief. For their entire lives, every so often with adoration in her still-green eyes, Byleth would murmur to him, “I love you. Thank you for the opportunity to live out this wonderful life.”

Sylvain Gautier had had a lot of never’s in his life, of denials and ordeals. It took Byleth Gautier (née Eisner) to change everything for the better. After so many years chasing the next high, he was pleased in his staunch belief that there was not a single experience he wishes he had had, and that is the most important thing for him.

*_*_*_*_*

Fire Emblem Masterlist

Three Houses Masterlist

[randaccidents]

The Plan (Part 3/Finale)

And we finally have the deal to end all deals! Will Wels succeed in his plan? Will he steamroll a chaos entity? Is he alright? Read on to find out!

Jokes aside, I finally wrote fluff yall *confetti*

There might be some follow ups like with Fractured (that I need to write haha)

And there is a bad end to this fic you can look out for! *leaves you on this ominous note*

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

TW: strong descriptions of pain

A deal with the devil. Except its the Vex and not the devil.

As always, Shadow People AU comes from the lovely mind of @mine-sara-sp

Wels woke sitting in an oaken chair, a diamond pickaxe wedged into the table before him.

Quickly, Wels stood and looked around. To his relief, nothing had changed from the last time he had slept. The crossroads table, the diamond pickaxe wedged into the wood, the cake selection, the four locked doors, the bookshelves, the chandelier. He rubbed the burning cold from his arms. Good, that means that the Vex has no idea what was coming to them.

A shiver went up his spine as a presence made itself known. Speak of the creeper. Wels turned back to face the table.

Sat on the handle of the pickaxe was a singular vex mob, smiling viciously at him. Wels could feel the sudden burning spotlight of the Vex and knew that if he looked up now, there would be more vex mobs on the chandelier.

The voice that came from its mouth was crashing, shattering, bells and windchimes, and painfully familiar to Wels at this point. You know why we are here. It spoke the words Wels heard every night. We want to make a deal with you, tin knight.

And this time, he agreed. "Sure, why not."

Wels could tell that he had surprised the Vex when they didn't immediately respond. The vex mob acting as a mouthpiece had its eyes narrowed at him, and he could feel the others in the room doing the same, turning the spotlight of its glare from a harsh flare to blinding focus. You are trying to trick us, as you have once before. What is your goal?

Wels shrugged, ignoring the crawling feeling of being watched by too many eyes. Too many nights with the Vex had numbed him to the effects of its focus. "My goal is to protect my family and friends. To do that I have to protect myself." He raised an arm to point accusingly at the mob. "But you are making it difficult, with the pain and forcing me to hide things. So I've decided that a compromise might be easier. Is that fair?"

Two vex mobs holding iron swords flitted down to cautiously settle on the handle of the pickaxe, guarding the mouthpiece. A compromise, you say. And there will be no tricks on your end?

“Only as many as you throw at me.” Wels settled himself back into the oaken chair he woke in, fingers steepled before him. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

Finally, a reaction that Wels wanted from the Vex. The vex mob's grin relaxed into something that could only be described as sly as more of the vex mobs flitted down from the chandelier above; or was it the ceiling? The eyes in the room only increased. The mobs perched on the remaining chairs in the room, on the table, on the handle of the pickaxe. Wels had to hold back a shudder when the vex mobs collectively turned to look at him, just as it had in the past. He couldn't give them anything to use against him here. Paladin was depending on him. 

Finally, the mobs spoke as one. Yes, let us begin. The Vex wasted no time in laying out its demands, eagerness clear in its multilayered voice. We want you as our Anchor. The Convex have been ignoring us, and we need more Anchors to spread our chaos. We will give you power, and you will obey us when we call. Do we have a deal?

But Wels was already shaking his head, tsking softly at the Vex. "I said this was a compromise, not a one-sided deal." Wels held up two fingers as he kept talking. "I have two conditions of my own that need to be kept before I accept your deal."

The vex mobs seated around the room exploded into action, creating a whirlwind of bodies above him, adding their voices to the outrage and indignation of their patron. U̸͖̬͈͝ň̷̡̗̻̊̚͠a̵̫̳̦̍͐͜c̴̮͇̈́̏c̴̢̾e̵̜͛̂̉p̴̤͘t̷͎̾̿͠a̵̡̞̎͌̎̕b̷̡̘̣͖̎̄͒̈́l̵̗͇͔̱̒͌̀ȩ̵͙͇̿͌̊͋!̵̙̋̅ ̶̠͂͋I̷̱͜͝m̷͖̰̻̜͌͆p̸̙͝õ̵̫̘̺͉ṣ̶͓̣͚̔s̵̨̟̓i̸͔̦̰̐b̸͔̩́̃͊l̸͍̞̼̫̐̏e̵̯̝̐̔̍͝!̵̜̯̪̃̓̃͋ ̷͔̌Ý̶͕̯̰̙̌̈o̸͔̾̉u̸̯̠̣̭͝ ̵̦̭͚̦̃͋̋c̵̰̞̊̒͠a̵̢̦̞͚̐͗n̵̛̳̲̘̥̈́̀ň̷̰̺̘͑͆õ̵̙͖̦̫͆͗̌t̴̗̤͇̒̾̕̕͜ ̶̲̻͚̼̐͌d̶̨̰̲͈̊̽̾̈́ó̸̰̺̅͘ ̷̨̣̈ţ̸͔̂͠ḩ̷̞͓͂͑͠ǐ̶̠̯̬̈s̵̨̼͇̺͆̑̈͠!̶̘͌̐̾̒ ̵̩̮͈́͐̊T̷̨̏͗h̴̢̟̅́̒̑͜í̴̺́́͂s̶͍͛̚ ̵͙̥̜̀ï̷͇̍͌͘s̵͉͎̯͊͆͐͜ ̴̘̹͓͒n̶͕̗̱͂ő̴͓̮t̴͖̖̰̔̋̐ ̷͚̖̠̠̅͊h̴͓̼̜̅̀͘o̴̡͉̪̝͆̔́͘ẇ̵̘̝̦͉ ̵̨̼̻͈̐ţ̴̛̈͆h̸͈̙́͛͜i̷̜͘n̵̍͜ģ̶̩̣̖͋͌̄s̴͉̟̜̏ ̷̠̼̊̄̑͜å̷̩̜̾̈͝ŗ̸͝ȇ̷̞ ̸̨̖̙̃̊͒d̷̳̓̐o̸̩͆̽n̶̲̟̝̑̐ě̴̳̚!̸̩́̔ ̶̞̝̓̓W̷͇͑͝͠͝e̶̡͉͛ ̴̠̲̹̏͠á̶̖̬́͐̚r̴̭̮̈́̏̓͑e̵̬̯̋̃͊͝ ̴͍͖̅̿̏͘m̷̤̣̤̓͝ö̶̡̲̦̬̈́́̓ŕ̴̗̠̝̲̓͠e̴̢̬̮̳͑̓͌̈́ ̸̻̀p̶̧̪̋̐̃̈́o̶̬̖̔w̵̙͓͑͌͝e̶̖̻̥̙̅͊͊ṛ̷̥̹̈̉̈́f̵̫̣̙̌́͘ú̴̬̳͙ĺ̴̞̹ ̶̧͎̥̓̈́͗w̶͔̞̞̓̈́̇͑e̶͍̝̫̍ ̵̲̿̈̎d̵̳͔̀ì̴̩̜̮̌͂ͅṟ̶̅̏͒ͅe̸͕̠̱̱̿͌̂c̷̭̹̦̈́͜ẗ̴̠̠́̽ ̴̳͠t̷͚̲̬̠͊̅h̸̹̘̜̹̓ḯ̷̭̮͐̔s̸͈̈́̊̉ ̷̗̓͝ḏ̸͈̒e̶͙͕̣̅͐͜ä̸̠̳͑̉l̶̡̰̭͈̓ ̵̟̌́ŷ̸̨̓̑̕ȏ̸̢̜̅̍ù̶̖̱̜͆́ ̴̹̤̠̽̔m̵̘̝͓̎ü̵̹̞̏s̶̪̹̻̔t̸̛̝̥̉͆͆ ̸͙̎͌l̷̡͊i̷̜̿s̶̹͐̾̓͝t̸̬̭̻̫͐̇̍͘e̶̲̔̔ͅn̷̯̐ ̸̢̙͑̎t̶̠͕̓͋o̶̧̳͍̣̎̄ ̶̺̗̔ū̵̦̣̠̙ŝ̴͕̫͖̄̚͝!̷͙̟̽̌͝

And through it all, Wels sat there, arms crossed. His ears echoed and hurt, but he had to get his point across first and he needed his ears for that. "So you don't want this deal I presume?" He shouted up into the whirlwind of mobs above him. Suddenly, there was a singular vex mob floating in his face, mouth twisted into an uncharacteristic frown, and Wels had to resist the urge to flinch away, staring resolutely into its eyes.

O̴̼̝̓f̸̱̜̐̎̍̚ ̴͈̝̥͌́c̵͍̑̊͆̂ö̵̭̩̎͝ű̶͇̺̘̲̞̍r̵̯͈̙̭͑͂͂́͠ͅs̵̩͑̈́͘e̵̡͌ ̶̤̗͆̑w̵̡̥̥͇͛͝͝͠͠é̴̙̯̯ ̶̱̗̲̓̆͠w̴̡̽̌̕ã̷̬n̶̛̫̑͜t̵̨̡̓̎͒͋ ̷̲̈͒̐̓́t̵̝͈͋͂̾h̴͔̗̏̌͂͘i̵̢̳͓̣͑̇͋̈́͝ṡ̷̨͇̈́̕ ̷͐͜͠ͅd̴͕̙̣͋͌̚͜e̸̹̐͠ą̵̰̑̂̉̀ḷ̵̛̝͊̑̎̽,̶̼͎͕̊́̔̚ ̵̘̄͆̽͑b̸̳̳̪̙͉̿u̷̩̖̥͈͛̒̈́͘ͅt̵̢̯̖̊̋̎͝ ̸̨̢̧͖͈͗̌̀̋͊y̵̡͈̞̥͊ͅo̷̮͂̀͠u̸̧͙̖̔̓̎ ̶̨̑̍̈̑á̸̬̖̬̎̈́r̴̬̩̓ė̴̦̤͓̯̊̈́ ̸̬̪̜͚̏ń̴̥̞͇̏͛̊̃ȍ̸͖t̴̩͍͈̾ ̴̨̬͆p̸̡̨̘̂̄ḻ̶̪́̀͂̒ą̷̪̯̥̬̌y̷̧̢̝͙̅̆į̷̫̘̞̮̿́̑͑̃ṇ̸̢̨͒̔̿̋̒g̵͇͉̓̾͠ ̴͍̝̫̏̃̑b̵̘̟̪̿̚͠ỳ̶̛̙̳̘͗ ̴͙̟̮͗͋̊͝ẗ̸͇͕̳̫̞̽͠͝ḥ̴̉̐͗ͅe̸̘̺̭̠͛̅͆ ̶͖̇̈́̊́̚ŕ̴̟̰̎̂ự̸̪̖̼l̴͍̏͌̊̉ę̷͎͖͇̈́ṡ̴̞̤͊̈́.̸̺̬̼̎ The freezing anger in its voice made Wels shiver slightly, mind flashing backwards to replay old scenes from past nightmares and The Incident, but he stood his ground. "This is a compromise, not a deal." Wels reiterated patiently. "The rules are different. You give your demands, I give mine, and we both find a common ground we can agree to. Are you willing to play this game?"

The Vex actually seemed to consider this for a moment, the whirlwind of broken noises above him slowing. The vex mob before him drifted backwards to resettle on the handle of the pickaxe in a way that could only be described as sulkily. The vex whirlwind above him dissipated, the mobs resettling one by one into position. Only this time, there was no mass of mobs on the handle to give the illusion of unity and mess with his head. There was only the singular vex mob, face still set in an unhappy frown. Somehow, the Vex's gaze felt more piercing alone than when there had been more mobs. Its voice was soul-shattering when it spoke, the many layers condensing into only two echoing each other, adding weight to the statement. Fine. Let's play your game. What are your conditions, tin knight.

Rubbing his ringing ears, Wels sat back and thought through what he needed to say. He knew that the Vex were manipulative, so he had to be thorough. "Firstly, you cannot corrupt any of my shadows. Hear me out," he quickly added, seeing the vex mobs bristle and feeling the temperature of the room drop several degrees. "I get that part of what happens in a deal is corrupting shadows. I live with them both. But Paladin is affiliated with Abyss and Cavalier is affiliated with Puzzler. I don't want them to come after me when my shadows get corrupted, and I don't think you want them on you either. I know Abyss has kicked you out of some shadows before, imagine if you got his full wrath. And if Abyss needs an army to fight Puzzler, what about you?"

The two remaining voices of the Vex twisted and weaved in the space between them, thoughtful chimes filling the air. They have aligned themselves with The True Darkness and The Watchful Eyes? That is unfortunate. We are thankful that you have brought this to our attention. The voices multiplied and the pressure of its words decreased. Wels took a deep breath he didn't know he had lost. Yes, we agree. We will not touch that which is yours. Both its alignments are too troublesome to meddle in.

Something about the sentence was wrong, but Wels brushed it off. He had to make sure none of his future shadows, if he had any, were affected prematurely as well. "I'm talking about all of my shadows, summoned or not. You are not to touch them unless they come to you first, alright?"

Why are you so possessive of them? The Vex didn't sound malicious or angry, but rather genuinely confused. It cannot do anything without you. It is but a tool to be used to improve yourself. Do you not control your tools well?

The way the Vex said that word, 'tool', struck something deep in Wels, a part that had been forgotten since he came to Hermitcraft. His voice was low and dangerous when he echoed the word the Vex had used. "Tool?"

The Vex didn't seem to notice the danger, or maybe it dismissed the danger Wels presented as insignificant. It is a mob added for your benefit, no? To multiply your items? That makes it a tool of yours to use. It is your own fault that it has abandoned its original purpose. You should have kept it in its place, as we have been with the shadows called Avarice and Keloid.

Hearing the Vex call the shadows tools made something in Wels furious. The pressure of it filled his ears, and his voice was biting as he spoke back to the Vex, standing from his chair. "They are not. Tools. They are people with their own sentience and their own choices." Wels took a step towards the mob before him with each name he said. "One is called Paladin, and prefers the pronouns they/them, and the other is called Cavalier, and so far prefers the pronouns he/him. Avarice and Keloid prefer the pronouns it/them. Do not call my family tools and possessions. They are sentient people who make choices. They are not for people to use."

His chest was heaving, breaths heavy after such an outburst. There was a whining drone in his ears and the only thing he could think about was how dare they treat living people like that.

Your family? We wonder how that came to be. They are but simple mobs. Would you care to elaborate?

The voices of the Vex cut through the fog of his mind like a knife, shocking Wels back to cold reality. The vex mob before him had its smile twisted back onto its face, waiting for his answer. Wels shivered. This was a trap, he could feel the anticipation in the air. He had given them something to work with, and now he had to get out of the trap they were laying. He took deep breaths, in, out, in, out, until he was calm again and his mind was sharp. Then slowly, cautiously, he worded his answer.

"They have sentience, and those who have sentience are more than mere mobs. They should have a choice. Aren't you a sentient mob as well? Should you be a tool for me to use?"

The sound of iron being shattered bounced about the room. The vex mob before him looked away, faking boredom. This topic bores us. Let us move on to your next request.

He had won, escaped the trap, but he had to be sure that he got what he wanted. "So you won't corrupt any of my shadows, now or ever, unless they come to you first?"

Screeching, tearing metal was the noise that issued from the mouth of the vex mob before him, forcing Wels to cover his ears at the piercing noise. FINE. We will not touch your shadows, now or ever, without it being their choice. Can we move on now tin knight?

That reaction brought a satisfied smirk to Wels' face, quickly disguised to prevent further wrath from falling on him. Now for the real hard part. "My second condition. I do not want you to ever take control of me in any way without my permission. I want freedom to decide if I follow your orders an-"

And suddenly there was molten iron in his throat, cutting off his speech. His scars burned with searing fire and he crumpled to the floor, gasping for air through a pained throat. Above him, the Vex loomed, the many vex mobs circling above and glaring down at him.

You d̵̢͓̘͕̞͙͕̯̱͓̪̟͇̍͑̈́̃̀͋̐̾̀̊̍̇͝a̴͓̞̘͍̺͓̒͛̋̀́̇̇͋̏̆̈̒͌̕r̶̡̧̫͔̳͓̈́͑͗e̸̫͉̐͒̓̃͑̇̈́̂̈́̀̈́͋́̀̄͝ to ask us for a deal and then remove the most crucial detail? Your previous success has gone to your head. We think we might have to knock you off your high horse.

And the world became a familiar scene of blue as fire ripped through his body, seizing his body in a blaze of pain.

Wels didn't know how long it was before the pain was ripped from his body, leaving him cold, aching but relieved on the floor. His throat felt raw and scraped; he must have been screaming. His body still felt the lingering burns as he shivered on the cold hard floor. Above him, the Vex spoke, voice singular and clear of distortion. Are we ready now? Will you listen to my demands?

Still on the floor, Wels nodded his head. He knew he was in no position to do anything with his body still recovering from the attack. Even if he did still have more to say. Guess the Plan will have to be readjusted. Shifting to press his back comfortably against the frame of the chair behind him, Wels gave the Vex a small thumbs up.

Wels could feel the proverbial eye roll at his actions before the looping voice of the Vex spoke again. We believe we've said this once. But we will say it again. We want you as our Anchor, to make up for the lost chaos the Convex have been neglecting.

The Vex quieted, obviously waiting for a response from Wels. Parsing through the words, Wels found one point that confused him. "What does being an Anchor entail?" he rasped out.

The sigh the Vex released whipped at his face, whistling through the wood. So cautious. Why can't you be more accepting? Wels glared up at the nearest vex mob he could see without straining his neck. It looked down at him. Our Anchors get powers from us, and in return they have to cause some chaos in their worlds every now and then. It can be pranks, trolls, griefing, as long as chaos is achieved. All we ask is that you listen when we call for more chaos, otherwise we will punish you. Is that satisfactory to you?

That... wasn't as bad as he thought. It was better than he thought. But he had to be certain. "I get to keep my free will?" He asked suspiciously.

Some of the circling vex mobs landed before him on the floor with soft clinking noises. Its voice had returned to its normal multitude, twisting and molding and breaking in many bell-like formations. Yes. We are chaotic, but we are not all bad. We treat our Anchors well. Have you seen our Anchors the Convex complain about us?

They had a fair point, Cub and Scar never did complain about the Vex. "So I suppose we've reached a compromise. I will be your Anchor, and you will not corrupt my shadows. Deal?"

He held his hand out with his limited strength. The faces of the vex mobs before him blinked upwards into their normal smiling grins as they all reached their tiny hands forward to shake his own. Ḑ̵̨̘̪̞̣̲̻͖̰̼͔͓͌̌̽̔̂͒͒̓e̶̹̗̤̯̍̊̃̋̆̂͊͆̚͘a̷̛͉̹͉͈͆͗̇́́̆̀̍̊͗͛͑̉͋͑̇̂͗ļ̸̟̫̥̤̹̬̱̩̎̍̐̓̉͛̈́͛̈͝͝ͅ.̷̨̘̫̜͔̺͙̩͈̬̅͆̒́͗̚͝ͅͅ

Their joined hands burst into blue flame, but it strangely didn't hurt at all. The sound of bells and windchimes dipped and rose through the air. Wels could feel power knocking at his mind, asking to be let in, and he opened the door to the bright blue magic. It was a rushing rapid, swirling in to fill his veins, reaching every part of him and threatening to sweep him away.

Just as quickly as the floodgates opened, they closed back up, leaving the newfound power to settle inside Wels as groundwater, potential hidden beneath the surface. The vex mobs released his hand, floating upwards in satisfaction at their accomplishment. Sit up. We have much to discuss about your new powers, and limited time before your body decides to wake up.

Obeying the command from his new patron, Wels sat up, finding his aches gone and energy restored. Looking up at the new multitude of vex mobs before him, Wels smiled.

"So, what do I have to know about my new role and powers?"

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

When Wels next opened his eyes, he found himself looking up at a familiar ceiling. The feeling of water under his skin remained, letting him know that what had happened was not just a dream. There was a hand in his own. Paladin. He squeezed lightly.

"Wels!" As expected, Paladin's face was quickly looming over his, worry etched deep into their face. "Are you alright? How did your part of the Plan go?"

Wels chose not to answer that, pushing himself into a sitting position. There was something he had to check first. He stared deep into Paladin's eyes, looking for any sign of blue.

"Wels?" Paladin asked cautiously. "Is everything alright?

Finding no hint of blue, Wels smiled gently. "Yep, everything's alright. The Plan worked! Well, mostly worked."

"Mostly worked?" 

Wels shifted guiltily on the bed, smile turning sheepish. "Turns out being an Anchor, as they call it, wasn't actually so bad. You won't get corrupted, but you also can't get any powers from them without a deal. At least the most important things worked out right?"

Paladin sighed, leaning forward to rest their forehead against Wels'. "I thought something was wrong because of how you acted. If you think it's fine, then its fine. As long as you're safe."

Wels's arms came up to grip Paladin's. "No. As long as we're both safe. That was part of the Plan, remember?"

Paladin laughed breathlessly. "Of course." They closed their eyes and squeezed Wels' hands tight. "And it worked. We're safe now."

Wels mimicked the gesture, eyes closed, exhaling softly. "We're safe." He whispered, wonder in his voice.

They sat like that for a while, breathing each other's air, before Wels suddenly pulled away. "I almost forgot!" Wels exclaimed, eyes shining, bouncing off the bed. "There's a little something I learnt from the Vex that I have to show you!"

Not waiting for an answer, Wels closed his eyes and concentrated, feeling for the wellspring beneath his skin. Finding the tap, Wels let the image he wanted flow from his fingers like thread. Within seconds, he could feel the item he was creating fall into his fingers, the spun vex magic lightly brushing his fingers. Grinning, he spun back to face Paladin. "Look what I got!"

But Paladin was staring at him in fear. Grin fading, Wels released the magic, unknowingly allowing his eyes to fade from pure electric blue back to his normal dark blue irises. "Paladin?"

The shadow shook their head slightly, shakily smiling up at Wels. "Sorry," they said, a tremor in their voice. "But your eyes glow blue when you do that, you know? Gave me a fright. What did you want to show me?" Wels could hear the abrupt change in topic and let it slide past him, instead allowing his grin to return.

"Do you remember this?" With a flourish, Wels lifted his arms, revealing the cape he now held. Paladin's eyes widened, the shadow almost falling off the bed to touch the cape. "This is... my cape?"

"Yep! Well, as close as I could get it." Wels proclaimed proudly. Leaning forward, he settled it around Paladin's neck, snapping it into place with a bright blue clasp he had added. "And it's yours again!"

Paladin looked at him, cautious hope swimming in their eyes. "Didn't you say I can't get vex powers without another deal? Can I really keep this?"

Wels never stopped smiling. "Technically, I made it. So it belongs to me. And I say that you should have it. It will come back to me if you die, but I can always give it back when you are summoned."

Paladin's excited hug of happiness made Wels laugh. "Try it out! You should be able to go two-dimensional and fly with that, since its magic and not an item!"

Paladin didn't waste any time, quickly diving in and out of the shadow Wels threw on the floor, marvelling at how the cape never seemed to fall off their shoulders to Wels' delight. Popping out of the shadow, Paladin flexed their shoulders in an instinctive movement, wings instantly furling outwards as large draconic wings. With a powerful flap, they were hovering in the air. The excitement lasted only a moment before they let out a scared yelp and the wings dropped back into a cape, sending Paladin falling down into Wels' arms. Wels smiled down smugly at Paladin. "Why hello there princess."

Laughing, Paladin pushed their hand into Wels' face, causing Wels to lose his balance and send them both falling back onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and laughter.

"Guess we still have to get that fear of heights out of you!" Wels ribbed gleefully, gasping for air through his laughter.

"Good luck catching me when you try!" Came the cheerful response, laughter lining the words.

Eventually, their laughter calmed, and they untangled themselves, sitting on the bed side by side, cape slung over their shoulders. Wels' hands played with the edge of the cape, playing with the magic of the fabric, while Paladin fiddled with a piece of iron, molding it into small shapes with their bare hands.

"Thank you so much for what you did for me Wels." The words were said softly, yet were clear in the silence of the room. The answer was just as soft, and just as clear.

"You're family. I would have done anything for you."

In the ensuing silence, Paladin began to hum. The melody was soft, gentle, but haunting. Wels swayed with the invisible beat. At a singular point that only they knew, Wels opened his mouth and began to sing.

"Just like balloons, we soar on our own.

Finally free from the pain of our home.

And just like balloons, that no one will hold.

Free from the truth, that no one will know~

No one will know~"

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 22: catching up with some old friends

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

At the end of August, a hand-drawn - some of the graphite or charcoal or whatever it is that smears off onto Apollo’s hands when he opens the envelope - invitation arrives at the Wright Anything Agency. Addressed to Mr Justice, Ms Trucy, and Mr Wright, it cordially welcomes them over to Deauxnim Studios on Saturday. “Guess Larry finally found a place he wanted to get settled,” Phoenix says, picking up the envelope and turning it over. “He’s been bouncing around for a while.”

He passes the envelope back to Apollo, and on the back side of it, a scribble on the flap in a childish, spiky scrawl, very different than Vera’s writing, reads, V. says your new lawyer can come too, forgot about her. 

“Better not let Athena see that.” Phoenix chuckles. “She’d hate to think she’s forgettable, even to a girl she’s never met.”

Apollo and Trucy arrive first on Saturday, after grabbing ramen for lunch somewhere that isn’t Eldoon’s, leaving Apollo with a strange guilty feeling that he isn’t patronizing Salt Hell. It’s a weird thing to think. Like he’s grown attached to that place, whether he wanted to or not.

He spent the morning, before he left his apartment, arguing with himself about whether or not he needed to bring iron with him. He doesn’t want to hurt Vera by accident, but he’s wandering into an unknown household of Mr Wright’s acquaintance, and that gives him a real sense of fear. Like sure, he’s met Larry before, but the guy accidentally became a witch. Doesn’t really inspire much confidence. And Apollo can’t even ask Clay’s opinion, because he never told Clay that Vera is a changeling, and he doesn’t want to get into that. In the end, he decides that he’ll be careful, but it’s better to take precautions, and slipped the iron ring onto his finger. 

No one answers the door but Trucy tests the handle, finds it unlocked, and bounds right in. Apollo decides that he can’t really be faulted if he’s following her to keep her out of trouble, and heads in after. “Helloooo!” she calls, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Vera! Uncle Larry! We’re here for the artists’ loft grand tour!”

Apollo wouldn’t call it a loft, but the fact that it’s an artist den is obvious. On the wall right in front of them there’s a half-finished mural of a snowy landscape. To the left, canvases and poster boards spill out through a doorway, resting on the floor and propped up against the walls, depicting landscapes and fruit bowls, the Steel Samurai, a portrait of Vera with her face divided down the center as human and fae both, and one that is just splotches of blue like someone dipped a sponge and threw it. They pick their way carefully between the canvasses and enter the room, brimming with more paintings and charcoal sketches. There’s one of an orca leaping out of the water; another depicts a demon that, all considered, appears a bit like Tenma Taro would it drawn by someone who got a third-hand description. It doesn’t have arms, simply wings where its arms would be that have talons at the joint, and the drawn tongue reaches halfway down its chest, while its head lacks its weird batlike ears. But it’s definitely Tenma Taro, enough to send a shudder through him. 

A year ago, examining the paintings to find that someone he never met had been following along to every case Apollo defended, and an accompanying feeling nothing short of horror in discovering it. This time, this is - she is - a friend keeping up with what’s going on even when they haven’t spoken in months. It’s nice to know. 

Footsteps hurry down the hall. “Hey, Vera!” Trucy says, and did she say it before or after Vera actually appears in the doorway to let them know that it’s her and not Larry? “We arrive! Good to see you!”

Vera looks better than Apollo remembers last, bright-eyed and not as pale as she used to be. Written in her face, the color in her cheeks and the curve of a smile, is that she is not a scared shut-in anymore. She explains that she lives here now, got her father’s house sold to escape the trauma associated with it - well, she doesn’t say the latter clause of that statement but they all know it well enough - and Larry bought this place and she’s subletting a room from him. “Though I asked him a month ago how much it would be and how to pay him and he said he’d get back to me and hasn’t.” Vera frowns at the wall. There’s a framed photo of her and her father hanging there. “I should probably remind him.”

“God, I wish my landlord would forget to collect,” Apollo mutters.

Trucy laughs. “I think that’s Polly telling you not to remind him,” she says. 

“I’m a lawyer,” Apollo says. “I would never say that.”

The three of them stop in front of a painting of a weird-looking but familiar dog and in silence, stare at it. Loud, exuberant knocking on the door heralds Athena’s arrival. “I’m not late, am I?” she asks. “I know the rule is that you’re not late unless you get here after Mr Wright, but that’s for work and not social events, right?” Apollo shrugs. Athena thrusts her hand out toward Vera. “Hi! I’m Athena Cykes, the new lawyer at the Wright Anything Agency! Nice to meet you!”

“Uh - h-hi.” Vera hesitates a moment and then shakes her hand. “I’m Vera Misham. Nice to meet you.”

“Trucy and Apollo said you were a client of theirs - oh! Did you paint all these?”

The panic in Vera’s eyes subsides. Wondering what all they’ve told Athena about her, why she was their client or whatever else. But Athena’s asking about her artwork now, and Vera is good about talking about her art, so she waves Athena back into the room they were just in and shows her the sketch of the orca. Trucy circles around the desk at the wall, and after a minute calls over, “Hey, Vera, who’s this?” She waves a large photograph of a woman, standing in the snow, her black hair tightly twisted on top of her head, her tired lined face wearing a knowing smile. Apollo would swear she’s familiar. When Apollo goes over to the desk, he sees a few pieces of scrap paper with hasty sketches trying to copy the woman’s face, pushed to the edge and onto the floor. 

“That’s Mr Larry’s mentor,” Vera says. “Ms Elise. She’s the one who began the Deauxnim name. I wanted to paint a portrait of her, as a gift for him, but I haven’t figured her face out yet. I—”

“Is that guests I hear?”

Vera snatches the photo from Trucy and shoves it and the loose papers in between the pages of a sketchbook. Larry leans up against the doorway. “Long time no see, Trucy!”

“Uncle Larry!” She charges him and nearly knocks him over. “Yeah, it’s been practically forever! Since like, since we saw Gourdy!”

“Who’s Gourdy?” Athena asks. 

“You’ll see,” Trucy says with a grin. Apollo sighs and resolves to find some sort of excuse to miss this event this upcoming December. Clay will be in space then, and Apollo is going to use that time to sleep in and not be heckled for it. 

“Apollo, hi,” Larry says, now that he’s gotten his wind back from taking a magician to the stomach. “And Athena, hey, nice to meet you, I’ve heard all about you.” He extends a hand for her to shake by resting his elbow on Trucy’s head. “That you’re the crazy kid who helped Nick out with his first case back.”

“Did you get to meet the orca?” Vera asks. “How do you defend an orca? I followed in the news as best I could, but I still don’t really understand.”

“Well! Let me tell you.” Athena, thrilled to have someone new to regale with her tales of penguins and orcas from the aquarium, immediately launches into it. Apollo still doesn’t know how much of her telling is exaggeration. When he and Trucy had questions about the investigations, Athena was always quick to be the one to answer, and Phoenix and Pearl left her to it. Was the penguin as finicky as she said, and so freely allowed to roam the aquarium when it would be very easy to consequently steal the penguin - probably. Apollo will believe anything, when it comes to their cases and clients. 

“I’m never gonna live this one down, am I?” Phoenix appears behind them, from the entryway, and Athena and Vera both jump. 

“What, you just barge in and don’t even knock?” Larry asks. “Rude! What kind of guest are you, Nick?” Phoenix grins, and that’s the weird thing that has struck Apollo the few other times he’s seen Phoenix and Larry together. That Phoenix almost reminds him of Clay, then, now, whenever it isn’t Larry reminding him of Clay. The way they gleefully give each other shit. The strength of that many years between them. 

“You defended an orca in court, Boss,” Athena says. “You are not going to live it down.”

“You co-counseled the defense of an orca!”

Larry takes them back to the sitting room - he and Phoenix bickering about whether or not his decor and entire vibe is pretentious - and pretentious is not the word coming to mind for Apollo. Now he feels the artist loft thing, mismatched furniture and clashing decor. A polished wooden table has a lace tablecloth and six all-slightly-different wicker chairs, while the couch makes him think of the Victorian era. A candelabra with lightbulbs sits on the end table. Landscapes and watercolor illustrations hang on the walls, and in between two of them hang a deformed analogue clock that looks like that famous melty-clocks painting. There are three pedestals around the room, like what a museum would keep vases on. Two of them do have vases, one empty and one filled with some wilted flowers, and the third has a small statue, about a foot tall, that again looks like another famous painting, the distorted face of the screaming man on the bridge. 

“When’d you get back into metalworking?” Phoenix asks, eyeing the statue and then the clock.

“Oh, nah, that’s just way old stuff I had boxed up and finally had some space for,” Larry says. “Clock’s ancient, you’d been talking to me about some course you were taking where Dalí kept coming up. Other one’s a vent piece - last metalwork I did after the Thinkers.”

“Don’t tell me it’s a clock too,” Phoenix says.

Larry, halfway into the next room - from what Apollo can see, it might be a kitchen - leans back out. “Dunno, why don’t you try it and find out?”

Phoenix watches him leave and then turns back to the statue. He casually hefts it in one hand, bouncing it a little to test the weight, and then he grabs the head and twists it to the side. A scream emerges from it. Not a very convincing one, with the canned sound of being recorded on a device with not great quality, and made by someone who is trying not to disturb the neighboring apartments - but the suddenness of the sound still makes Apollo jump, and Athena and Trucy both scream in tandem with it. 

With a heavy clonk, Phoenix sets it back in its place. He sighs, but with a smile visibly threatening to break through. “Real cute,” he says to Larry, who returns with a shiny, fancy metal tray of plastic containers of store-bought cookies. Why did Apollo think that the aesthetic clash would subside. “The Scream. Absolutely hilarious.”

“Hey man, it’s an accurate representation of my mental state at the time.” Larry sets the tray down on the table and gestures to them all to sit down. “I thought about giving it to you as a representation of how you probably felt too, and then I thought that might be—”

“Poor taste, yeah,” Phoenix interrupts.

“Yeah, so I had that in a box for a decade, and honestly probably gonna put it back because imagine like, an earthquake hits in the middle of the night and it falls over and just screams.”

“You could probably have it put in a gallery as a piece of performance art, or something,” Phoenix says. “Have it set just precariously enough, and cue screaming.”

“I don’t think I understand art,” Athena says, grabbing two cookies. “I mean, I get it, but also don’t at all.”

“That’s not about the art,” Phoenix says. “That’s just Larry.”

Larry slaps Phoenix’s hand as he reaches for a cookie. “You can’t be rude to me in my own house! My own house in which I have so graciously invited you!”

“I think Vera invited us, actually,” Trucy says. Larry rolls his eyes. 

“Yes, I wanted to tell you all,” Vera says, and the silent scuffle between Phoenix and Larry ceases immediately. Trucy sets the screaming statue back in its place with a guilty look, having been about to unleash it on the unexpected audience of everyone but Apollo who wasn’t looking in her direction. “I’m going to be published!”

“Woohoo!” Trucy throws her arms around Vera’s shoulders and hugs her from behind. “Look at you go!”

Vera’s cheeks start to turn pink, and then in the center there’s a growing bluish tint. “Nice work, kiddo,” Phoenix says. “When’s the book come out?” His eyes flicker toward Larry. Had they talked about this before, that Phoenix, specifically, knew there was a book? - Or maybe he just knows Larry’s career enough to expect, of course it’s a book. 

“Um.” Vera thinks for a moment. Trucy flings herself into the chair next to Vera that she had previously abandoned. “The beginning of November. Advance copies were just sent out and we got ours last week.”

“Can we see?” Apollo asks. “Or is that trade secrets?”

Vera drums her fingers on her cheek. “I suppose we could show you. If I know where we put it?”

“Somewhere beneath five sketchbooks, probably,” Larry says. “I’ll go take a look in a bit.”

“So you write children’s books, right?” Athena asks. “That’s what Mr Wright said. Write or illustrate? And-or?”

“Vera came up with this idea, I wrote it, and she did all the illustrations,” Larry explains. 

“I kept thinking about everything you said about names, that one time, Trucy,” Vera says quietly, and though all of them can hear her, and Athena especially looks interested as the only one of them who wasn’t here before, who is shut out of this particular shared history, but even she doesn’t say anything. “So,” Vera continues, a bit louder, “I’ll be a published illustrator under the name ‘Verity Deauxnim’.”

“That’s a good name!” Trucy says brightly. “Verity Deauxnim! A real solid sounding stage name! Or whatever it is for authors. Nom de plume? That always makes me picture just like, a really bushy mustache. Get mustache glasses for your author portraits!”

“You know—” Larry begins, and Phoenix groans and places his head on the table. “Hey! Nick! Why’s your daughter more supportive than you are? It’s not a bad idea!”

“It’s a silly idea,” Phoenix says. He lifts his head. “But I’m glad to hear you’ve got that figured out, Vera. It’s not gonna lead you wrong, picking up the Deauxnim name for yourself.”

“It’s already done so much work saving Uncle Larry from the worst surname known to the world,” Trucy says.

“Yeah, was a whole real tragedy that I wouldn’t be known as ‘Larry Butz, the guy who was on trial one time for murder and did nothing else good ever’. Except like, that time I was the Steel Samurai on stage, that was pretty cool, even if I’d thought I was signing up for tech crew.”

This is the man who accidentally became a witch, isn’t it? That tracks. “What’s the book about?” Apollo asks. 

Larry ends up answering first, Vera wide-eyed startled at being asked a question while she was trying to eat. “It’s an Ugly Duckling-type story, with the vaguest amount of actual animal research.”

“How vague is vague?” Phoenix asks.

“I’m a storyteller, Nick! I can’t be getting, like, neurotic about having all real true facts in there if it’s gonna get in the way of telling a good story, you know?”

“I feel like that’s how all of our witnesses treat their testimonies,” Apollo says. Athena shrieks with laughter and drops her cookie onto the table. Phoenix is silently and pointedly conveying something to Larry with just eyebrow movements and grimaces. Larry is pointedly ignoring it. 

“Fortunately,” he says, pointedly, so that his ignoring Phoenix has looped all the way back around to Phoenix obviously having his attention, “Deauxnim picture books are not witness testimonies! And if we want to fudge it when we’re talking about ducks, that is our right!”

“Then don’t leave us hanging,” Phoenix drawls. “I’ve learned more about orcas than I ever wanted to, so what’s this about ducks, besides the ugly one?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t want to know about orcas,” Athena says. “What’s not to love about orcas?”

“There’s a kind of duck that lays its eggs in the nests of other birds, like the cuckoo bird,” Vera says. “But the baby duck is nicer than the cuckoo babies because it doesn’t, um… throw the other eggs out of the nest once it hatches.”

“Ah,” Trucy says faintly.

“That would not make a great children’s story, I don’t think,” Apollo says. The secret extra-dark Ugly Duckling tale. Maybe even, if Apollo really thinks about it, that’d be the kind of shitty story that Datz would tell them. The interloper successfully makes it in to toss aside the ones who are supposed to be there; the usurper wins. That’s the kind of shitty story they lived.

“That’s why we didn’t do cuckoos,” Vera says. “That’s why it’s the duck that - that ends up put into a family where it wouldn’t naturally belong. The actual ducks in real life realize, because that’s part of, um, how they are, and they leave right away. But that’s not exactly what the story is. We stretch it a little. Like Mr Larry said.”

It should have hit him sooner, the reason that Vera had the idea for an Ugly Duckling story - the child of a different species dropped in a nest and left there to figure it all out for herself. It makes so much sense from that perspective. The swan that doesn’t know it’s a swan and thinks itself an odd duck is a just changeling.

“So then you got to draw a lot of fluffy cute ducks?” Athena asks. “I’d have gone with penguins, myself, but I see the appeal.”

“You said you got to meet a penguin at the aquarium, right?”

“Yes, but she hated me.” Athena still sounds like she’s about to start wailing when she talks about it.

When the familiar tune of a cartoon theme song starts up, Apollo figures it’s Trucy fiddling with something else. “Is that the Steel Samurai?” Vera asks. 

“Yeah.” Phoenix pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Ringtone. Friend of mine won’t let me change it. Ah, hello, what’s up?” He doesn’t look concerned when he answers, but he starts to frown, slowly, his eyebrows creasing together, and everyone else at the table glances at each other. Phoenix turns around in his chair so that his elbows rest on the back of it, a finger pressed against his free ear to shut them out even though no one is talking. “You don’t remember? That - no, yeah, I can - yeah. I can just meet you there.” His chair scrapes on the floor when he pushes himself out from the table. Athena winces. Phoenix doesn’t move for another moment after he pulls the phone away from his ear, a blank stare fixed on it. “Sorry,” he says, finally standing and pushing the chair back in to the table. “I’ve got to go. Friend’s having an - issue.”

“What’ve They done now?” Larry asks, with such particular emphasis that even though he doesn’t name them Fair Folk or fae, they all know. 

“Oh, for once it isn’t them,” Phoenix says, much lighter than Larry did, like they could be just any group of human friends. 

“Then tell Edgey I say hi.”

“I have human friends other than Edgeworth, you dick.”

“Name three.” Larry looks very smug. 

“Gumshoe, Franziska, and - Ema. Notice I’m not including you.”

“Is this what people mean when they say ‘male bonding’?” Athena asks. “Is that what this is?”

“Something like that,” Apollo says. He thinks of Clay, again, Clay needling him this morning that almost all of Apollo’s social life is now based around his job. (Apollo can’t leave the Agency. Apollo would have one friend left.)

“Yeah, I noticed when I had to find out from Edgey that you got your badge back and were off to court for an orca! You couldn’t even give me a call for that, huh?”

“I was busy with, you know, defending and being in court.” Phoenix claps a hand down on Vera’s shoulder. “Sorry I’ve gotta run out on you like this. But it’s good to see you again, glad you’re doing well. And I can’t wait for the book, too.”

“O-oh.” The poor girl sometimes looks so shocked whenever Phoenix talks to her so casually, so supportively. Like after she ruined his career she doesn’t understand how he can be so happy about hers. Even if he did set her up with it. “Thank you.”

“I guess I’ll go look around for our advance copy,” Larry says, watching Phoenix leave. “A sneak peak for everyone who’s staying here.” Phoenix flips him off over his shoulder, without turning around. “Not in front of the children!” Larry yells, standing himself. “And Nick, yo, next time I wanna hear about your stupid court stunts from you and not Edgey.” Larry turns, disappearing from the room the other way. “You kids hang out and talk about memes or whatever kids talk about.”

“Did you hear who Daddy was talking to?” Trucy asks Athena.

“I don’t listen in on phone calls unless it’s like, a case, usually,” Athena says, which is a statement with a lot of qualifiers there. Leaving her bases open while not technically lying, so no tells for Apollo or Trucy to call her on. 

“Ugh.” Trucy slumps and her head falls back against the chair. “What good are cool powers if you can’t help me pry into my dad’s private life with them?”

Vera coughs softly, a gentle nudge to the nosy gang to, ideally, stop being so damn nosy. Trucy stands up and goes to sound the screaming statue again, startling no one because she’s snickering the whole time too. “If this weren’t so heavy I’d use it in a magic show,” she says. “Watch as the beautiful, talented magician pulls the mysterious screaming statue out of her Magic Panties!”

“Really would prefer not to,” Apollo says.

“Coward,” Trucy says. 

“How is the magic show going, Trucy?” Vera asks. “Have you made any progress on finding a venue to perform in?”

Trucy catches them all up on her latest exploits in her attempts to become a professional stage magician. She’s convinced, utterly, that while the era of magicians on tv saw its heyday decades ago, she’s going to be the one to bring it back, and without “cheating” by using her real magic. “Like if I wanted to use real magic, I’d set up a shop on the streetcorner peddling suspicious plants as having come straight from the realm of the Fair Folk themselves, and then when angry repeat customers come back, I use Mr Hat to distract them and make off with their wallets!”

“Trucy, that’s how you get arrested on theft and drug dealing charges,” Apollo says. “I don’t want to have to deal with that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Trucy says. “I guess selling random plants would be suspicious. Someone at my school tried to sell kale pretending it was weed, once.”

“Sometimes I get sad that I missed out on all those stupid weird high school experiences that people get to have,” Athena says. “I mean, sure, I get weird court stories, and I don’t regret the path I’ve taken at all! But sometimes I just feel - I don’t know, something, about missing out on those regular growing-up experiences.”

Apollo opens his mouth to say that there’s really nothing Athena missed, because grade school and secondary school sucked, and everyone’s “funny high school stories” are just them repressing the rest of it that sucked, but Vera speaks first and says, “I do too, actually.”

“Oh?” Athena asks. She probably figured there was something more going on in Vera’s story when they mentioned that she’s a former client of Apollo’s, but being a nineteen-year-old professional is Athena’s normal. Though there’s higher odds of it in artistic fields than law, probably.

“I was homeschooled,” Vera says. “By my father. I… I didn’t really go out much.”

Athena nods sympathetically. She sits with her chin resting in her palm for a while, as Trucy spins a few more stories of what’s happened at school lately - repeatedly assuring Apollo that she and Jinxie stay far to the sidelines of it - looking at Vera. After a few minutes of this, Vera seems to notice, casting a quizzical glance at Athena. “Something about you reminds me of a friend I had when I was little, before I moved away,” Athena explains. “I can’t put my finger on it.”

“It wouldn’t have been me,” Vera says. “I didn’t have any friends when I was little.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant,” Athena says. “I had only the one friend back then - I was a real shut-in, actually, myself. Her name’s Juniper. She was a real quiet, sensitive type, didn’t have any other friends like me, didn’t go out much at all. Not really an artist, other than a couple years ago she said that she’d taken up knitting, but there’s just - a certain je ne sais quoi.”

“Oh,” Vera says. She starts picking at her nails, which now appear to be whiter and pointier than they were before. Another slip, from wondering, perhaps, if the similarity Athena sees is just in personality, or something she doesn’t realize she’s picked up on. Do the inner voices of human and fae sound different? Is that something Athena can notice - something she even knows she notices?

“Found it!” Larry reenters the room, waving the book around a little too much for Apollo to get a good look at the cover yet. “It was on the unused sketchbook shelf.”

Vera nods in understanding. Athena doesn’t follow so easily. “You have a shelf full of unused sketchbooks? How many do you need at one time?”

“Different kinds of paper work better with different materials,” Vera explains. “So when there’s a sale, we stock up.”

“Part of being a writer is having a lot of cool notebooks that you never actually plan on using,” Larry says, which is coming close to almost offering an explanation, but a much worse one than Vera’s. He sits back down at the table with them. “So doing traditional art is also a lot like that, except I do eventually use the sketchbooks. Mostly.”

“Oh, so it’s like how Mr Wright never uses all the law books we have in the office, right?” Athena asks. 

Trucy takes the book from Larry and drags her chair around the table to squish herself in between Apollo and Athena, so they can all read from the same angle. Vera is chewing on her nails now, watching them with apprehension for any reaction, though they’ve barely even considered the cover yet. “That’s exactly what it’s like, I think,” Trucy says.

-

The lights in the office are off, though the door to the back room is open, and Phoenix always closes that one before he leaves. Though, he figures, if she’s gotten here before him, it’s not like she would actually have need to turn the lights on. That’s the thing about being blind - the dark isn’t any different than the way it usually is. 

He finds Thalassa sitting next to his desk, leaning up against the side with her knees pulled up to her chest and her head rested against them. Phoenix scuffs his feet noisily across the carpet and her head turns, just slightly, while keeping her face buried. She knows he’s there and doesn’t want to acknowledge him. He lowers himself to the floor across from her and rests his back against Apollo’s desk, and he waits in the dim light that Mia has only partially switched on. 

“I almost forgot.” Thalassa raises her head, and because Phoenix doesn’t have his magatama on his person - he left it in his desk, next to her soul - she looks perfect, statuesque and glamorous, not a wrinkle or hair out of place. Perfect enough that she’s wholly unnatural, armored as she is in glamour to become something cold and stony. “I almost forgot everything.” Her hands, clutched tightly in her lap, unfold from around her mitamah, deep blue like a twilight sky. “I left myself a memo that should I find myself slipping, I was to call you for help - but I thought it was just that, slipping somewhat, and the most I would forget was your office address or phone number, not why it even was that you were the one who could help me at all.”

“And it wasn’t,” Phoenix says. 

She nods. “It was everything. About you, about my children, about everything from when I came to this office after the trial. And then everything before I was shot. I was left again with that darkness, and Borginia, and the two trials here.” The duration between losing her life, and finding her soul. 

“Do you think, because of the length of time you’ve not been around it?” Phoenix asks. “Or perhaps distance - but you’ve stayed in LA this whole time, right?”

She regards him for several second; blind though he knows she is, her Sight remains, and with that she can pinpoint his own Sighted eyes. Just hovering ominously above a necklace-shaped noose. A bit weird, no doubt, and Phoenix doesn’t have to doubt because Godot told him it was weird in a stronger term than weird. (Speaking of weird, there’s something thematically to contemplate that magic gone wrong, the fae crossed, so often deprives humans of their eyes, even when they are left with Sight. Ema would tell him that two isn’t a large enough sample size to draw any actual conclusions, scientifically, but for his purposes, Phoenix is going to ahead anyway.)

“Not quite,” she admits. “I did return to Borginia for a short time. I wondered, as I did, if I could uncover some connection or reason as to why it was there I was sent following my death.” Her tone is so casual, so calm, that it’s uncomfortable. This huge blank in her past, why she was there at all, and she speaks of it like it’s no concern to her. “And more than that, there were some last affairs of Lamiroir’s to put in order - Lamiroir, the duo, Machi and I, I mean. He can never return to Borginia, and so there is nothing more there for me.”

“Shit, yeah, the smuggling charges, that’s…” Machi, fifteen years old, functionally exiled from his homeland, sitting in jail knowing he won’t even have a foundation to build off of when he gets out, because Borginia’s draconian cocoon-smuggling laws are a sword over his head for the rest of his days. “I hope they didn’t give you any trouble over it.”

“Thankfully, they seemed satisfied that I truly had no part in what Machi and Daryan did,” she answers. “Or - considering that the country has been in an uproar since last year, with a very long debate about what we owe the rest of the world when something so dangerous could also save lives - perhaps the customs officers were very tired of talking about cocoons.” She smiles faintly. “Perhaps Borginia will have its own legal reforms, as you are striving for here.”

Nothing like a high-profile celebrity case to catch the public’s eye, if the lawyer on defense doesn’t fuck it all up.

“So it could have been the distance that you traveled that caused this problem,” Phoenix says. “Or the combination of time and distance, or just time.” And with magic, nothing ever easy. “But either of those could be dealt with,” he adds. “You could drop by the office more to - to refresh your memory. Could say hi to the kids, too.”

He means - or, if she had asked, he would have said he meant - she could say hello as Lamiroir. The kids helped her out by defending Machi, and they still, quite regularly, listen to her music. (The only place where their musical tastes converge, really.) But she decides what he means without asking, and with a curl of her lip, hiking her shoulders up, she says, “I will not reenter my children’s lives while there is a chance that I will only cause them further grief.”

She reaches up and runs her hand up along the desk, finding its edge to hold on to and pull herself up to her feet. For a moment Phoenix fears that she will leave the conversation on that note and walk out, but she seats herself delicately on his desk, her hands primly folded in her lap and one leg crossed over the other at the knee. As classically poised as she ever is, and Phoenix is glad she’s decided to stick around. Maybe Mia would stop her, but Phoenix knows he wouldn’t have gotten on his feet in time. Why did his bones stop being able to take any kind of pressure as soon as he hit thirty? Why do humans live at all; merely to suffer back pain?

But he doesn’t really like carrying on this conversation with Thalassa looking down on him, either, and with a groan he drags himself upright and sinks into Athena’s chair. “Perhaps placing my soul back in the hollow it was carved out of will simply drop me down into the grave I so narrowly escaped all those years ago,” she continues bitterly. “Or perhaps one day my memory will have regressed to the point that I will only be Lamiroir the amnesiac even while I sit with my soul held in my hands.”

“But we don’t really even know that will happen,” Phoenix says. “I very much doubt that will happen.”

“Do you,” she says curtly. “Pray tell, how? Even I do not know - could there have been some other spell cast by Magnifi to keep me alive, or was my soul’s separation all that was necessary? Can you tell me that? Can your friends know unless they have bought the souls of some unlucky damned humans and then watched them die, as an experiment?”

Pearl is the one researching how to set this right. Neither she, Maya, nor Iris knew when he first asked, but Phoenix isn’t the type to give up on someone, and Pearl has a vested interest in becoming as powerful as she possibly can to support Maya, so she won’t be giving up, either. As far as Phoenix knows, anyway, there have been no souls experimentally bartered about. And Pearl had agreed that if anyone was likely to know the nuances of these particular magics and how to help her, it would be them, that faraway hidden place that the Winter fae branched from thousands of years ago. She and Maya just - couldn’t divine where in the world that is, that one final Court they know nothing about, know no one who has ever been.

No one besides Thalassa.

“Fine,” he says. “Yes, we’re still trying to figure it out - yes, we don’t know that it won’t, but we don’t know that it will, either. And say, for argument’s sake” - because that’s what lawyers do, argue, and a smile twitches onto her lips - “that you were actually to die or have your memory wither away. That you think that may happen. Shouldn’t you meet your children now, tell them the truth, while you can? They deserve to know, at the very least, that they’re siblings.”

Her smile vanishes; her brows furrow. “Then if I am dead or in essence lost, you of course may tell them.”

Of course, she says, after she has not made that obvious. It would not have truly shocked him if she’s instead said that she would bury her childrens’ relationship with her. “And when they ask how I found out and how long I’ve known? Why I hid it for that long? Do you think they won’t hate me if they know that I knew you, and kept the chance for them to ever meet their mother from them? It’s not like I can lie to them about anything!” There’s nothing satisfying about making a point that shuts her up. Both sides of this argument are the the losing ones. “Do you think that either of them would simply not care about what happens to their mother?” 

Trucy is hurting, daily, ever since she learned the truth of her grandfather’s magic; she doesn’t hide it with a smile at home. She wants to be a stage magician because that’s the kind of magic that will only make people happy, will never hurt anyone. And Apollo’s never talked to Phoenix about it, but Trucy informs him that there were several foster homes in the picture, none ever stayed in the picture, and that Apollo always changes the subject (“Conspicuously,” she says, over dinner, no idea that she’s talking about her half-brother, “changes the subject. Polly’s really bad at lying.”) if she asks him about family.

“I do not know,” she says. “You are the one who knows them—”

“And I know they would care! That they’d want to know you!”

Thalassa goes quiet. She presses her fist against her mouth and closes her eyes, inhaling loudly and exhaling even louder. “This is precisely the trouble, that you are the one who knows them.” She lowers her hand, curls it tight around her other hand and her mitamah. “You, you reckless, stubborn, fool of a man! What may I expect from you next as you think you may - go about trying to set this right? To save me - do I wait for you to bargain away your own soul to your fae friends, so that they may better understand, because their help you ask of them has a price? Or do I let you search for the Summer Court and their reserves of knowledge - so that you may die there, as Jove did, seeking something from them that they will never offer you?”

“What was Jove looking for?” Phoenix asks. It’s a new piece of an older story, that at the end of last year (one of the few times they communicated between October and now) he’d asked for clarification on two points. First, if she knew where the Summer Court was, and when she shut him down she preempted his second and third questions, too: no, she would absolutely not tell him where the Summer Court is, and yes, Jove had died there. She hadn’t then said that he was looking for something. 

A sharp, searing pain bursts through his chest, launching his heart up into his throat where it pounds with the staccato rap of anxiety. It echoes in his head the same way, thumping at the forefront of his skull, not quite painful but nonetheless a weight all the way down behind his eyes, settling in with conflicted feelings; exhaustion wants them to close and burning wants them to leak. He wants to run, he wants to hide, there’s no fight in his instincts, only flight and freeze, and a powerful cold seeps down his skin, from across his shoulders down his arms. Shuddering, he crosses his arms together tightly, as though the gesture will form a physical barrier that will spare him from the ice in Thalassa’s eyes.

It’s her, he realizes, belatedly. It’s just glamour, just manipulated perception. Just, hell of a word to use when she’s decided that rather than project her stony detachment, beauty that refuses to show an emotion behind it, she’ll put the fear of god in him instead. Fear of her. “You’d rather I not ask that question,” he says. 

“Forgive me, I did not mean to be so emotional,” she says, and that would, genuinely, be comical. Her face had not changed at all, not a quiver at the corner of her mouth or between her brow. The only sign of her emotionality is what she made Phoenix feel. She squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her hands together in front of her mouth, taking a few silent seconds to recenter herself. The pressure in Phoenix’s chest loosens. She’d probably understand if he went to grab the magatama, stop her from doing this to him again. “But understand this, in everything of yourself that you risk for my sake, every time you dig for something new and dangerous - my children know you.” Implying that he’d have something else to want to research in the Summer Court, were she to say more. She’s not that good at deterring curiosity. “It would be much more painful to them if they were to lose you, than if I were to wither away.” 

Implied: the cynical weighing of lives to determine which one of them it’s better to save. Implied: we can’t both come through this in one piece. It’s the calculations that Rimes and Prosecutor Blackquill made and tried to toss on Phoenix: Sasha or the orca, you can’t save them both. 

And how, again, did that trial work out?

“Fortunately,” Phoenix says, “it’s far from guaranteed that those are our only two options. In fact, I’d say that it’s very unlikely.”

“You could have been a Gramarye,” Thalassa says. “Because there is one thing besides magic that the men of this name are skilled at, and that is pulling unearned confidence out of their asses.”

“Ah,” Phoenix says, with the vague sensation of being smacked in the face. “We could call it optimism. That might be nice.”

“Of course,” she says, not sarcastic but instead sounding pitying, and that might be worse. “I admire the faith that you hold, truly, I do.” Which is why she just called it overconfidence, no doubt. “But this way you stick your neck out for others means that it is your neck on the line.” She touches her fingertips to the base of her neck, her blue, blue eyes fixed on one of the few aspects of him that she can see. Funny, that; she doesn’t know what color his eyes are beneath the Sight or the way his hair refuses any and all attempts to flatten it or the shape of his face, but she knows the worst moments of his life, his greatest enemies, secrets that he never intends to share. On the other side, to balance their scales, he knew her before she remembered her. 

“I fear where it ends,” she says finally. “Because you and I are not lucky people, darling.”

Both so unlucky that it almost doubles around - that it’s frankly a miracle they’re alive. “Yeah,” he says. “But you don’t know me at all if you think I’m just going to give up on someone.”

[araminia16]

Best of the Situation (1/2)

Chapter 2

Beau slammed her fist into the metal door three more times before delivering a frustrated kick to the offending object. The sharp zing of pain shot up her leg as she limped back to the single bed where Jester waited. The usually talkative tiefling now sat quietly on the bed with a somewhat vacant stare at nothing in particular.

Beau had woken first after the camp came under attack and a sharp pain drug her into unconsciousness. She woke fully clothed in a room with thick opaque glass on either side and a single metal door with no visible way to open it. Jester woke up shortly after Beau groggy and now afraid. It was too much like the Iron Shepherd's even though Beau had taken her icy cold hands and promised she wouldn't let anyone hurt Jester.

Beau sat aggressively back down on the bed and the pent up aggression clawed now at her throat.

"Beau," Jester whispered. "What do you think they want with us?" Her voice shivered in the air as Beau absorbed the words.

"I really don't know, Jess."

Luckily they didn’t have to wait long for a figure to appear from thin air nearby. Beau instantly leapt for it and collided with the wall as her foot passed through the now apparition who merely chuckled at the attempt to disable it.

Beau righted herself and stalked around the cloaked figure. It was impossible to tell what the race was, let alone the gender even as they began to speak, “Hello. I’m sure you have plenty of questions as to why you have awoken here in this rather nice room together. Your companions are well and you will not have to stay long so far as you follow the rules.”

“Yeah well I’m not much on rules,” Beau crossed her arms over her chest with a glare.

“Beau,” Jester’s chided which was enough to silence her further.

“You might want to reconsider your stance on them for this particular trial. This is a rather exclusive...club of sorts where our patrons have certain tastes and volunteers are obtained from nearby. You will not be harmed unless you wish it and you are free to go once you have fulfilled the terms I will lay out.”

“Why should we believe you? You totally abducted us.”

“You can think whatever you wish but the door over there will not open unless I will it. You will be compensated for your time as well so do not worry. And your pairing has been chosen by our patrons. Along with those of your companions. They seem to have a taste for the exotic as well as some girl on girl action if you will.”

Beau let the words process before she interrupted with a sharp sound, “Girl on girl action? You want us to fuck in here? What the hell kind of sickos are you?”

“I was getting to that but yes. We want you to ‘fuck’ as it were. Our patrons will be viewing from beyond this room eagerly but there will be no interruptions as such. When they have been satisfied with what they see they will notify me and the door will open. A purse will be in the hallway out of this complex and once you leave the location will be purged from your memory.”

“People want to watch us have sex? Mama had some ladies who did that sort of stuff but I don’t think I want to.”

“And that is entirely your choice. If you choose not to participate here then you will be rendered unconscious and transferred to the room where the patrons tastes are more about blood and pain than pleasure. Either way you will win freedom and healing should the latter be necessary.” The voice did not waver as it outlined torture as a possible option.

Beau cringed and Jester gave a high noise of distress, “I think we’ll pass on that.”

“Excellent. I would have been rather put out to mar such a pretty canvas as the blue one.”

“So we have to have sex and then we get to leave? No questions asked?”

“Precisely.”

“Do they have requests? I mean if they are watching us screw why not add to it?” Beau’s biting sarcasm attempted to mask the distress she felt clawing at her throat.

“Oh. Many. Would you like a list? Each request is worth a monetary amount which will be added to the purse should they be fulfilled.”

“What constitutes as sex?”

“Well for our male/female pairs the parameters are easier. For females only there must be flesh exposed and one or both must come but there are no rules necessarily on how it comes about but if the patrons are not satisfied you will remain until they are. Though they are not cruel about the whole ordeal. Most just have a voyeur complex and wish to fulfill it.”

“I need to pee,” Jester announced the figure gestured to a part of the room where a door swung open and the tiefling nearly ran to it and shut the door firmly behind her.

“We going to be fed? And get our weapons back?”

“Oh. Yes. They should also be on the way out. I can tell you aren’t happy with this arrangement and I do apologize for the inconvenience but the girl is rather pretty so it won’t be any real hardship.”

“She’s my best friend and she was kidnapped before. This is not good for her at fucking all.”

“Ah. Well nothing to do for it now. I shall produce food in the room for you both and allow some time to acclimate. When the stone on the wall changes from red to green things will be viewable so do keep it in mind and try not to insult the patrons. They do not take well to it.” With a nod the pleasant monotone figure vanished.

Jester sagged against the wall as the taste of bile and vomit twisted her mouth in a grimace. The sweat along her limbs and face now cooled rapidly from the panic which gripped her. She couldn’t be taken again. Not again. Couldn’t watch them hurt Beau and wherever Fjord, Caleb, Caduceus and Yasha were she wanted to know they were safe. She couldn’t be alone again where they talked about her as if she weren’t there. As if she were just an object. She had seen Nott disappear before they were taken and hoped her goblin/halfling friend was safe.

“Hey, Jessie. Are you okay?” Beau’s gruff tone came through soft and gentler than usual and Jester summoned up her mask.

“Yeah. I just had to poop too. No big deal. Is that creepy guy gone?”

“For now yeah but this is such bullshit. I can’t believe these creepy fuckers exist here where they can just kidnap us and expect to watch us have sex.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know if you were listening or talking to the Traveler but these jackasses want to watch us screw and if we do they’ll let us go.”

“Not to keep us?”

“Not from the way that person talked. If it was a person.”

“But you don’t like me like me, Beau.”

“You don’t have to like like the person you have sex with, Jester. But I wanted to talk to you first before this all starts up and you have to real with me, okay?” Beau did like like her but that wasn’t the point.

“Sure.” Jester staggered to her feet after the dizziness passed and a new anxiety twisted her belly up as she sat on the toilet cause she really did need to pee.

“Have you ever had sex?”

There it was. The daughter of the Ruby of the Sea had to have had sex before. She read enough smut to be an expert at it by now but aside from masturbation Jester hadn’t even kissed anyone let alone done more. Her mama told her once she started it wouldn’t stop and so she should save it for someone she loved. “No.”

“Okay. Have you ever done anything at all?”

“No.”

“No kissing?”

“Fjord didn’t count and neither did Caleb so no. It sounds really dumb doesn’t it?”

“No. Not at all, Jess but I mean I can try to get us out of here again. When they come to try to take us to the torture room I’ll just pop pop and we can escape.”

“What if it doesn’t work? I don’t want to be tortured again, Beau. I can’t.”

Maybe Beau noticed the way her voice changed in pitch and she quickly soothed, “Okay. Okay. So what do you want to do?”

“It’s no big deal right? Sex? The books make it not a big deal at all. We’ll just do some stuff and leave.”

“But you don’t like girls so that might be a problem.”

“I like you, Beau and I know you won’t hurt me because you are my best friend so its better than some stranger who doesn’t care about you. Is it a lot different with girls? We haven’t read that many lesbian smut books for me to know.”

“Same general idea but I’m glad you trust me. I means a lot.” And it did. The way Beau’s treacherous heart thudded at the idea of kissing Jester and of touching her and making her moan brought a blush to her cheeks.

“I don’t know if I want them to watch me and see me naked and stuff.”

“I’ll keep you covered up.”

“Okay.” Jester stood and cleaned up before she opened the door to find Beau sitting against the wall close to the door. She looked up at Jester’s fragile smile and sighed.

“I’m so sorry. We should have done a better job keeping watch.”

“It’s not your fault Beau but you better pee quick before the stuff happens. I know I can’t orgasm when I need to pee.”

“Yeah.” Beau leaned onto her hand a popped her feet under her in one smooth motion. She used the bathroom and splashed water over her face. Sex had never made her nervous before but her hands trembled traitorously until she clenched them into fists and wiped the excess water off her face. Her hand lingered on the doorknob and she took a deep breath before she joined Jester in the other room. The stone on the wall still gleamed red and Jester sat on the bed with a barely touched plate of easy finger foods and a half empty glass of wine nearby.

Beau approached her slowly and slid into the bed next to her with the plate between them. Even though her stomach snarled for nourishment she couldn’t do much more than a few bites to curb the hunger and a full smooth mouthful of wine.

Jester stared forward with her hands in her lap over the symbol of the Traveler at her belt. Her fingers twitched and clenched while Beau watched. “Should we take some stuff off now or--?”

“Maybe our boots or something. Just to be comfortable.”

Beau leaned over the side and unlaced her boots while Jester did the same. She moved the plate of food off to a side table and was about to open her mouth to talk when the light changed to green and the words died in her throat.

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                                                 Set, the God of Chaos,                                             whose origins stem from Ancient Egypt.                                                 He is now a City Council Member                                                    and the owner of Rip n Rage.

FC NAME/GROUP: leo / vixx GOD NAME: set PANTHEON:  egyptian OCCUPATION: city council for egyptian pantheon / owner of rip n rage HEIGHT: 6’2” DEFINING FEATURES:

set has multitudes of scars all across him that vary in shape and size, some with stories behind them and some without

tattoos cover his body, primarily across his arms and chest area, although he holds the ability to shift them to new ones or negate them from his skin completely

his eyes are naturally a simmering gold, but brighten to a more fiery orange color when he uses his abilities

a heavy burn mark in the shape of a scorpion has scarred the inside of his left forearm, something he refuses to discuss the meaning behind to most he comes across

PERSONALITY: set is a troublemaker above everything. his entire existence, after all, is to create chaos and strife. regardless of his approach to you, whether friendly or otherwise, it should be known that there is almost always an ulterior motive. set is not without his inner thoughts, and has a tendency to use his silver tongue to rope one into a contract before they even realize it ― a contract he seldom ever adheres to.

however, even despite his wishy-washy behavior he is not one to be trifled with. set is equally cunning and intelligent as he is strong and well attuned with his abilities. years of watching the human population has allowed him to adapt to their ways and learn their weaknesses, utilizing such in whatever he may need. set is always one to play dirty, and was never shy away from doing the work himself.

still, set is not without his faults, however. while he is strong physically and mentally, he has a problem dealing with new threats. he has a tendency that, if he is unable to properly size someone or something up, he will become irrational and tense. this causes him to close up completely, and more often than not, to lash out. he also is not very keen at making friends out of the blue, so you would need to prove yourself “significant” enough to get to know him. when you do, however, you will find he cares for people in a very ‘special’ way so to speak, rather that the longer the relation between you two is, the kinder he will become.

HISTORY:

I. WARMONGER

The last thing Set would have wanted in all of eternity was to end up on some island surrounded by fog that was filled with the sons and daughters of every deity imaginable, including his own.

And other gods. He hated the other gods.

Time had been unkind to the patron of chaos and creation. He once had power, tons of it, and made the very sands of Egypt quake in fear. He watched empires crumble, kings rise and fall, warriors wet the grass and desert with their blood all in the name of everlasting glory. But they were not everlasting. Nothing was.

Still, Set took great pride in the battles fought over the ages. The trickery and malice caused by him was a trophy in a treasure room- a symbol of his power. He enticed mortals, created pacts which he never upheld, and gave leaders their power in return for blood. War became his symbol, and the chaos that followed was his weapon.

He was proud, he was powerful. But most of all, he was feared.

II. DIVINE

He first became worried when warriors, previously accepting of each other, began to quarrel between each other. Diplomatic disagreements had become history, and soon disputes were solved with blades and arrows. Still, his worry was more a pang of uncertainty that simmered down in his belly. They did not prove to be too meddlesome in his affairs, rather quite the opposite. These warriors brought battles and war, something Set was quite fond of, and in one of the few times in his existence, he simply sat back and watched. It was interesting, to say the least.

Egypt had changed overtime, modernizing and expanding. However, time told that these warriors were not fighting to solve national problems, despite what they told the population, but for the throne. This corruption, enticed by Set, ravaged the population, knocking off more people besides the fighters than he could count. Overtime, and despite Set’s efforts, the fighting began to grow out of hand as distrust and malice plagued the minds of everyone, keeping from a single ruler to be found. Despite Set being a sort of overseer in the balance between order and chaos, it was not his exact domain to rule in, and the other gods had already been working frantically in an effort to keep a hold on the civilization that was quickly unraveling before them. The divine beings were losing their grip, and quickly at that, and to add to the mess the idea of a supposed “single supreme god” had been promoted to the egyptian population, causing the gods’ power to diminish greatly.

Quite frankly, Set understood why most of them chose to lose faith in them, and for once in a very long time he was scared.

In fact, Set, the great god of chaos and trickery, was terrified.

III. EVANESCE

It was 1902 when Set officially left Egypt, and renounced his title as one of the gods overseeing it. The Egyptian population, significantly lessened due to war and disease, had given up by now keeping ties with the old religion save for the small loyal stragglers. The gods had dispersed, not telling anyone of their plans and Set was no different. Whether some stayed and tried to reclaim the people’s faith or not, Set was gone. New religion had wiped him away, and instead of praying to Set to end violence and his malicious intent, the people prayed to an everlasting god high above.

Set was small, and he hated the feeling.

Hypothetically “packing up and moving away”, Set began to wander the earth for a new home. Other gods, present in their respective territories, would not have the god of chaos. No one wanted him, and so he instead went to places that he could practice his magic and control temperament on his own terms. These places were different to what he was used to ― Set had grown accustomed to endless deserts and fertile riverbanks, but he found himself in grasslands and looming hills. He became very territorial over his newfound home, especially since, unfortunately, there were very few of them. This caused a rift with other nearby gods, especially those that controlled certain aspects of the territory Set was in, and small scuffles began to break out. Humans would note the skies darkening at random intervals of the day, the smell of rotting wood plaguing the air, and terrible storms appearing and wiping away people and buildings. Overtime, the conflict between Set and the other gods began to completely change the environment, making it go from lush, green, and full of vegetation, to barren, rocky, and without a single tree in sight.

Even Set, not one of the most “caring” individuals on the planet, knew he had to leave.

IV. ASCEND

He was like an infection when not in his natural domain, and this infection would keep spreading into other areas unless Set did something about it. If anything, he didn’t want to piss off an entire legion of divines who were more than happy to defend their realm and join together in utterly obliterating the god of chaos.

So, he chose to find a solution.

Set started inquiring to many beyond, taking on the shape of different vessels as he searched within the human population. More often than not, these people would know nothing about places empty of other gods and cultures, and so Set was left with no answers. However, over time he managed to catch snippets of information regarding a mysterious place home to deities and their children alike, where any being with ancient power housed in their blood could find a home.

Set, although slightly adamant against sharing the same land as others, took this as a blessing and immediately set off to find this island, called “Mount Phoenix”.

He was not disappointed in what he came to discover.

POWERS: set holds the ability to control one’s mental state to varying degrees, although not to the extent of full ‘mind control’, manipulating fears, worries, memories, and emotions to fit his needs. if he pleases, the god of chaos is able to twist someone’s entire view on others as a whole, and even themselves ― making his own truth out of lies is what set does best, and few are able to withstand his charm in the matter. aside from this, he is able to induce anxiety and even to the extent of insanity if he’d like ― set likes to ‘play with his food’ so to speak, and while he very easily can cause one’s mind to snap, he normally reserves it to be the very last of punishments.

alternatively, set’s passive ability is a subset of his main ones ― those that stand near to him for whatever length of time will begin to feel uneasy, the urge to ‘act up’ filling their veins they can’t seem to kick. the longer one is with him, the more those feelings multiply ― either until they act on the wantings or go insane trying otherwise. while it is passive, set does have some control when it is related to varying levels of intensity, mostly for when he needs to have a serious moment with someone else (that of which is few and far between).

STRENGTHS:

set, innately, is a master manipulator and warrior and over the centuries his abilities have become incredibly strong. the majority are unable to resist his temptations and influence, particularly preying upon the mortal side of demigods that is more easily influenced by his chaos.

if panicked or in a state of urgency, set can ‘overload’ his abilities in a wave of sorts around him ― this effectively destroys the mental state of those within a 20 foot radius, leaving them either entirely insane or in some circumstances, entirely brain dead

in the event that he simply would like to watch and not be directly involved, set can somewhat ‘negate’ himself out of a situation and cause his presence to be entirely ignored. this is particularly useful when there are large fights occurring and he would simply like be entertained, something set often indulges in one way or another.

WEAKNESSES:

when set negates himself from a situation and someone/something outside or within of the conflict causes him to be dragged directly into the chaos, then there can be trouble and the suspicions may be turned on him easily.

when set uses his abilities on more than one person it involves varying levels of focus. doing such upon one person is easy ― almost like breathing to him. however, with groups of 5-10 he must be very focused and have all his attention on those people.

when using his abilities, he must be very careful when it comes to other deities and their reactions, especially considering what they might do if they attack him. asides that, set’s powers are heavily diminished against rather ‘holy’ and ‘innocent’ gods and demigods ― it is difficult, if not impossible, to garner chaos out of something that barely has traces of it within them.

[touchmycoat]

kinktober: day 8

okay in this installment of sub!Marco, shit’s getting real intense. trigger warnings for this one immediately under the cut

day 8: face slapping ( @midnightluck ahahah remember when i told you today’s kink was something else entirely; it’s getting there OTL)

(TW: their approach to consent as portrayed in this fic is Marco basically insisting he doesn’t have/doesn’t know his hard limits when it comes to subbing for sadomasochist play, and they engage in play with the pronounced goal of finding those limits, via getting Marco to say the safeword. There is mutual trust established as play commences, but if this model of consent negotiation is iffy for you please don’t read it!!

Also the kink itself. It happens at the very very end.)

//

//

(direct continuation from this)

“Look, can we sit?”

Quite thoroughly inflamed with guilt at this point, Ace nodded, then folded up his legs and sat down on the floor right where he stood. The intention was to gesture his willingness to listen and his desire to learn; he expected Marco to take the seat higher up on the bed.

Sabo sat down on the floor a split second after Ace, and a few moments later, Marco also folded himself onto the floor. Marco's room was by no means big, but still, none of them were touching.

“I'm sorry, okay?” Ace began, when the silence dragged on and Marco looked more troubled. “This was my idea, but I just don't see how we could possibly get you to admit it.”

“Admit—?” was all Marco managed to get out through gritted teeth.

“Your total lack of boundaries?”

It wasn't that Marco shrunk further away at Sabo's succinct diagnosis. It was just that, for a man usually as physically suffused as Marco, his current rigid frame that seemed to lack even breath (did phoenixes need to breathe?) was... diminishing. Neither Ace nor Sabo had ever seen Marco like this, really. Even Sabo looked a bit uncomfortable at his own characteristic sharpness.

“We just don't want to end up hurting you,” were Ace's final words, the real heart of the matter. That was the absolute truth and Ace was glad he said it—but he had no idea how it would be taken. It could certainly be heard as patronizing, and Ace imagined Marco coldly sneering and dismissing them, two childish idiots who didn't get this kind of relationship, who were too sensitive and damaged with their stupid insecurities. Or worse, Ace thought, it could be heard as cruel. A fundamental rejection of Marco's desires, his character, his behavior. You are not what we want, they seemed to be saying. You've made it your mission to give us everything and still somehow, you managed to miss the one thing you should've given us all along.

Oh, Ace was terrified. He really should've left this well alone, shouldn't he? Now, this was going to be the thing that broke them beyond repair, that took them down a road from which there's no turning back. Ace had struck the match—but dammit, if he had known they were such a goddamn oil spill—

Marco's face, when he looked up, made Ace realize that he was just as terrified. Of losing this. And, Ace thought, losing breath, he'll believe it's his fault.

“I don't know,” Marco said, devastatingly, “how to fix this.”

“What do you—” It's this precise moment that revealed to Ace how much he was used to relying on Marco. Marco's steadfastness, Marco's experience, Marco's judgment. There was so much going on that he didn't understand, but—he forcibly centered himself with a deliberate breath—the question was simply how to move forward. “Okay. Well, you've never asked to be on the masochist side of things, so we just want to hear you admit that you don't want it—”

“But how can I not want it?”

The words, the implications, plus the sheer amount of frustration in Marco's voice sent Ace reeling. He stared, but Marco had clammed up again, lips gone bloodless and fingers wrought so tightly that every hollow bone must be strained on the verge of cracking. Ace could hardly press with Marco in such a state.

(Ace couldn't. But Sabo, happily, would.)

“Well. You are either completely and frustratingly missing the point,” Sabo began, incurring an agitated glare from Ace. Of all the times to pick on Marco. But Sabo was staring straight at the top of Marco's hung head, the meanness in his tone somehow not mean-spirited. Something, Ace thought, was shifting into decision. “Or—” There was that thing they all did on the battlefield, where a man becomes more by projecting his presence all big and predatory. Sabo did, and Marco, to Ace's surprise, glanced up, looking more compelled than cornered. “—you're about to give us the explanation for how this will work.”

(Sabo, for all his previous silence, was of course just as invested. No matter how much he may pretend, there wasn't a drop of indifference running through Sabo's bloodstream.)

Ace—well, he didn't get it, per se, the precise frequencies of the reverberation between Sabo and Marco. But he could still pick up on it, and trust it, and ride it. So he too pulled straight his spine, settling his elbows on his knees until Marco looked over, pupils at an indeterminable width.

“Explain what you meant,” he commanded, and Marco's lips parted on an inhale.

“I,” Marco's voice came out rusty, straining to capture all the right words at such a crucial juncture, “understand yoi, why you would doubt me.”

The first waves of a storm pummeling the ship hull; the words hurt, and begged for absolution. But Ace and Sabo held their ground. It wasn't that they were holding off Marco, but the perfect opposite—they were holding firm the walls, keeping space for Marco to speak.

“But please—” A word that cracked in the air. A word with splinters, catching skin. “—believe that when it comes to you two? When it's something you genuinely want?” Ace sudden remembered the thought, when asked if he genuinely wanted too to take a crop to Marco's flesh, the answer wouldn't be no. The thought caught, like a match has been shoved deep into Ace's guts and then kindling was piled around it. “Whatever you need, whatever you ask for yoi, there is nothing I don't want.”

Sabo hopped to his feet.

“Interesting!” There was a bite to Sabo's flash of grinning teeth as he reached down and pulled Marco up standing. Ace rose as well, hyperaware of every motion as he watched the decisive points of contact between Sabo's hands and Marco's arms. “So you're saying, whatever we demand, no matter how uncomfortable it is for you, you'll not just be fine with it, but love it? Crave it? Get off on it?”

Marco looked wary, as if he thought it might be a trick question. But when Sabo hummed, “well?” with an expectant lift of an eyebrow, he gave a nod.

Then Sabo was turning to Ace, conspiracy in every coy bat of eyelashes.

“Do you believe him?”

Ace watched Marco. Asked himself, how should I?

“No.” Marco's sharp breath punctuated his reply, and Sabo seemed pleased. Before the rejection could sting too long though, Ace stepped up. He took hold of both sides of Marco's open shirt collar (Sabo graciously stepping out of the way) and tugged Marco forward, until they were better centered in the room. Then, he told Marco, “guess you'll just have to convince us.”

A lone hardwood beam ran the length of the bedroom ceiling, mounted in perfect bisection of the cabin. Marco, sometimes, hung damp laundry from it.

Clink! In one deadly motion, Sabo had yanked his undone belt loose from his trousers, doubled it over, and pulled the length of leather across the back of his neck, a hand cheerfully dangling on either end.

“The game is pretty simple,” Sabo declared, before interrupting himself with a critical tsk. Ace got the view from the front as Sabo's booted leg stuck out and kicked Marco's bare feet wider apart. Marco's eyes in turn got wider, but he held the stance. “That's more like it. Oh, the rules. We hurt you until you beg us to stop.”

“You want—” were out of Marco's mouth before he bit down the rest. It was clear what he was asking though, and clearer still that he was asking Ace. That Sabo could happily hurt Marco was never part of the sequence of doubts.

How should I believe him? That question sat, Ace realized, in both his own mind and Marco's. Faith had to start somewhere. So Ace reached deep down into himself, right into the heart of the fire.

“Take the sash off your waist,” he ordered softly. “Tie one end to your wrist.”

Rooted around until he found the flint piece sitting there, superheated and sharp enough to slice open his palm.

“Throw the other end over the ceiling beam.”

Let the blood pour out, red as the flames. A sacrifice. A summoning.

“Grab it. Don't lose your grip now, unless we tell you to.”

He summoned forth a primal memory—a night, not too long ago all things considered. A night that had been so perfect that it sent Ace into hysterical panic when he was finally by himself again. He summoned the Ace who feared, and wondered if smashing the precious things on purpose would be better than inevitably losing his hold on them. He summoned that Ace forward, and answered yes.

Marco, who met that Ace's eyes, seemed more and more the doe-eyed prey. But what sort of prey tested the serrated edges of teeth like he was testing the waters? What sort of prey followed every order in grateful, obedient gestures and let all his veins hang bare?

“Say,” Ace bid, voice crackling with smoke, “mercy.”

“Won't mean anything now, obviously,” Sabo drawled. The only thing giving away his facade of nonchalance was the way the leather creaked in his ever-tightening grip. “But go on. Gotta make sure you know how.”

Despite Marco's whole body indicating his aversion to the task, Ace didn’t back down.

“Or can't you follow this very first order?” Sabo's fucking voice. He must be the temptation of every creation myth.

“Mercy.” The word darted from between Marco's lips like a rabbit from a beaten bush. What a strange, almost ridiculous vision he made: one of the strongest men Ace has ever known, standing barefoot and bare-chested, one hand raised high above his head with the sky blue wrap of cloth around that wrist like the thread of a balloon kept from flying away.

Ace flexed his hand, and slapped Marco across the face.

“Say mercy again,” he demanded. Marco, fingers white around the cloth, shook his rapidly reddening cheek no. Knuckle to Marco's chin, Ace righted Marco's head, before backhanding him with the same hand. “Say mercy.”

“No,” Marco gasped. “Thank you.”

The sharp indrawn breath this time was Sabo's.

(cont’d)