#a feather and how the current sources i have looked through have noted how this paper and ink was expensive and how the mastering of the

[gaylos-lobos]

I know the show established that gravesfield was already a “town” in 1613, but considering how it actually is historically I’m gonna go with it being a trading port that turned into a small settlement before being properly founded as a town in 1635 and then expanded into a bigger town when the new arrivals started to move further west in the mid 1630s and started settling more in Connecticut.

[moodymisty]

I am back to ask for more peterturabo fics. He is a petty boy who i love dearly. Do anything you want i love all your warhammer fics so much

Author's Note: You had me at Perturabo, friend. Here's some writing of turbocunt, hope you enjoy. It's sort of a rehash of a drabble I did not long ago. But I'm kinda amazed how weighed my requests are towards chaos. Y'all are some horny heretics.

Summary: You feel like a creature on display, surrounded by curious Primarchs eager to learn about Perturabo's littlest warrior.

Relationships: Perturabo/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Perturabo's shitass attitude, General 40kness, Gossipy Primarchs because when you're emotionally stunted demigods stuck up in a palace or on a battleship someone getting laid is probably international fucking news

Word Count: 1255

"I see the littlest Iron Warrior has made a return to Terra; Was Olympia to your liking?"

The uniquely loud but gentle voice stops you dead in your tracks, and only after two distinct pairs of steps come thundering closer do you dare to turn.

It would take someone of extraordinary denseness or hermitic nature to not recognize the Angel Sanguinius as the source of one pair of footsteps, though his companion alludes you for a moment. He's almost as pristine as Sanguinius, but there's a particular aura around him that is distinctly different. When Sanguinius says his name to fully catch his attention, you remember.

Fulgrim, The Phoenician; Perturabo had spoken of him a sparse number of times, though most hadn't been the most positive. Then again, he rarely speaks of his fellow Primarchs in any other way than with sentences filled with disdain and pejoratives.

He looks right at you, through you, and you try not to completely melt under his gaze. You swallow a knot in your throat as you realize you haven't even said a single word, though you don't really get the chance to. You must have been the subject of a previous conversation, judging by the phrasing of his next sentence.

"She's not what I expected of him."

You dare to glance towards Fulgrim. Was that meant to be a snub? A compliment? Is he insulting Perturabo?

You had only meant to make it back to your chambers before it got dark, the chance of crossing not one but two Primarchs was an astronomically low one.

The Angel smiles, gentle and soft. Just like the pristine white feathers of his wings. He laughs, presumably at your apprehensive mien.

"Oh come now, we won't bite."

Sanguinus' smile is gentle, while Fulgrim scoffs. His smooth white hair slides down over his shoulder, covering a portion of the elegant purple cloth he's currently wearing.

"Says you," Fulgrim's expression is what you can only describe as cold, but not emotionless. He's controlled, elegant and pristine; Like a flower carved from ice. "I'm sure being around Perturabo hasn't helped matters. He isn't exactly the most amicable company."

You swallow that same pesky knot that stays in your throat again, and give a nervous smile.

"He has his moments."

Sanguinius' face lights up upon hearing your voice, perhaps a bit mischievous at the tidbit you'd spilled. Fulgrim is the one who speaks up, however- eyebrows raised.

"Oh really? Tell me; Does actually have a bone capable of a romantic emotion in his body, or does he just fiddle with machinery all hours of the day?"

You smile fades a bit, pursing your lips shut tight like you're attempting to lock them for a moment.

"I, don't think he would be pleased if i said anything more on the subject." Sanguinius wings shift.

"Then we won't keep you from him any longer." He looks to Fulgrim, and you dip your head as you move out of the way and they pass you by. You continue standing in the middle of the massive hall for what feels like forever, just staring at the gold filigree and ornate tapestries.

But once you manage to unstick your feet, you finally make it to Perturabo's private chambers. Iron Warriors pass you by, on guard duty while their Primarch stays in the palace. They grant you entry on his orders, but you can feel the energy coming from them isn't the most positive. But their gene-sire is Perturabo, afterall. You won't proclaim he has the most amicable personality.

When you enter the foremost room of the massive bedchamber, you see him slightly hunched over a worktable. You can't quite see what he's fixing from this angle, but it appears to possibly be something relatively small in comparison to him. He looks away from it to you, brow furrowed.

"What is with that expression of yours."

Brushing a chunk of hair behind your ear, you purse your lips. Tools are scattered across the table, stained with oil and scuffed from use. You still can't quite see what he's working on when you shift a bit to your left.

"I met Primarch Fulgrim and Primarch Sanguinius."

The change in his posture is immediate, and energy palpable. He doesn't ask where, so you assume he has a general idea that they crossed you on the way here. His brow is furrowed as he stares at you, thin lips tight.

"And what did they say, or did they merely try and pry as much information from you as they could get?"

Would it make him more upset to say they did one of those things, or both?

You purse your lips to one side, trying to find the right way to word it. Perturabo's eyes glance between you and his current project multiple times.

"They didn't say much of anything. Other than that I wasn't what they expected of you. I'm, not entirely sure what they meant by it." He makes a noise somewhere between a hum, and a displeased grunt.

You stand still for a moment after speaking, before coming closer to stand at his side. He moves his arm for you to come even closer, and silently assists with helping you into his lap. It's been something you've been doing more as of late; Perturabo is always working, and this is one way you can manage to steal a bit of his time. He doesn't mind it either. And if anything, he seems to enjoy when you watch him make things for you.

"I didn't tell them a thing. I didn't feel like it was something they should know." He continues working, but you know he's listening. You wring your hands and try to dislodge this feeling in your gut. Your feet dangle off his legs, feeling small in the shadow of his chest.

"I feel terrible because, they're Primarchs; But they aren't my Primarch."

Perturabo lets out a one note laugh.

"If their prides were so insulted that you managed to skirt around their questioning, then they can say so to me. I'm in need of the amusement."

You watch closer at his hands, and realize he's tinkering with something for you.

It's an automata, he calls it. Something that is powered by an unknown machinery inside. It just looks like a bunch of baubles and gears, to you. All you know is that each have a key that when you turn it, makes them move. You have many of them already, it seems this one is shaped like a small Iron Warrior.

Perhaps he just enjoys making the little things. Not much will ever be difficult to the Primarch, so maybe he just finds their simplicity and clumsy mimicry of whatever he's cast their silhouette in silly. They entertain you, at least.

Sitting it down onto the massive table, he closes it's back and winds it up, watching it stomp across the table in the pose of a proper Astartes march. When it slows to a stop, you lean forward to pick it up.

It's heavy, and while it looked small in Perturabo's hands, it's massive in yours; Around the size of your head. He watches you hold it from above, you can feel his gaze on you. You try not to smile as a bit of a mischievous thought crosses your mind.

"You should make one that looks like Sanguinius."

The Primarch lets out a surprisingly loud gauffaw. His left hand lands on your thigh.

"The next one, perhaps."

[bitter-sweet-coffee]

What theory do you have regarding Babylon's loss of wings? I can understand if it's just how their species looks, but Rouge having wings while they don't seems strange to me. Sega even gave Honey the Cat white feathered angel wings, but not the actual bird species. 🫠

(I myself put slits on the back lol)

Okay Anon, this may seem like an easy answer question, but (un)fortunately, it is not! I have a lot to say on this, so much so that I whipped out my laptop and a word document to answer you, so let's delve into my personal lore for Babylonians, birds, and mobian-human relations: this isn't my official post for it, but until I have time to write a 900K word document on what the hell my canon is, THIS IS AS GOOD AS IT GETS!

CONTEXTUAL NOTE: I wouldn't classify this as a disclaimer, but I want to explain to the other people in these large tags what this post is. No, I am NOT claiming this is canon lore. No, it is not an AU. This is my personal canon-adjacent lore that has been carefully crafted with thoroughly intense regards to every piece of relevant source materials, going as far back as concept pieces from development. In order to make things work for MY canon, details have been changed and will sometimes contradict fragments of regular canon. Could I make everything cohesive and non-contradictory? Yes, and that's a different project of mine. This is my sandbox, you don't have to play in it (but it would be REALLY fun if you joined me :p) ONE LAST THING: I started writing this the second you sent it to me, then abandoned it until now where I did 90% of the writing. I am tired and slightly incoherent but I wanted it done, so sorry if it's rushed. You can send me more asks to clarify but I mean... i will probably make it worse lmao

THE CURSE OF BABYLON: OUR FALLEN ANGELS

HISTORY

1.1 Babylonians in Space

The Babylonians originate from the planet Babylon (lol duh), which is currently too far away from the major galaxies around Earth/Mobius to pinpoint an exact location, or who their neighbouring planets were. (Translation: one day I will design the star systems of the Sonic universe, but today is not that day!)

While most of the Babylonians reside on their home planet, exploration ships did go out in search of new technology, as these aliens pride themselves on their Treasure and Greatness. One of the common misconceptions about Babylonians is that 'treasure' translates to items of monetary value, but what they actually sought out was new technological advancements so they could pull from other developing planets and take what they've learned to improve their own inventions. This distorted sentiment is a tragic detail that spoils the reputation and ambition of the Babylonian descendants who have lost the true meaning of their heritage, but it's safe to say that some of them still think this way (cough, Wave and Tekno, cough).

Circling back to the point at hand though, I want to make it very clear that the Babylonians of Earth/Mobius are NOT the entire species, nor are they pure Babylonians. The real Babylon exists lightyears away, lost to the vastness of the universe, and Babylon Garden (Astral Babylon) was merely one ship that had been scouting various galaxies for new technology.

While it is not inherently relevant to the topic at hand, there was a brief moment in pre-crash Babylonian history where they were in alliance with the Black Arms. This took place before the war on Argentium with the Xorda, as the Babylonians tend to remain neutral during conflicts that do not concern them, but back on Babylon there are a separate class of Babylonian-Black Arms hybrids known to us as Corvids. The black pigment of these birds combined with their superior intelligence and durability was given to them through the power of chaos energy, something Babylonians do not possess in concentrated amounts when compared to other alien species, but was the result of crossbreeding with Black Arms. While there were some Corvids on Babylon Garden, the ship that crashed onto Earth/Mobius, many were made once more once the Babylonians had settled on the planet, welcoming a new, less potent version of this genetic branch. These Corvids are less powerful due to the weakened genetic purity of the Earth/Mobius-bound Babylonians, but they are still exceedingly brilliant, albeit near-extinct by present day.

1.2 Babylonians on Earth/Mobius

After travelling to the Nameless Zone and having a close call with the Berzerkers, Babylon Garden (the ship known as Astral Babylon) managed to emergency warp one last time to Earth/Mobius, the nearest dominant zone. Because of the damage caused by the Berzerkers, they disconnected the Ark of the Cosmos which had been used to manipulate gravity and warp them anywhere in space. This particular vessel was thus stranded on the planet, but their hopes of being found by other Babylonians who could bring them back home are the reason why Babylonians (and anyone in general) are inclined to make wishes on shooting stars. Making do with an 'inferior' planet, the Babylonians got somewhat of a negative reputation for their reclusiveness on their island, and superiority complexes when interacting with the planet's other inhabitants.

As the Babylonians split into different factions based on 3 major dogmas (which we will examine later) they developed a range of reputations. Because humans look down on mobians, the Babylonians which assimilated with other mobians were treated about as poorly as them. Contrastingly, Battle Kukus and the Battle Bird Armada are praised, respected, and in alliance with human society, especially the government. Their alienness has long been forgotten as Babylonian in origin, but their distinction from other mobians makes humans trust them more. If anything, the dominant public opinion is that "these ones aren't so bad, they can keep the inferior breeds of mobian in-line" which is fucked up to say the least. The Babylon Rogues are still regarded as Babylonian, and yet, hardly known, so they are as invisible and neutral as you can get. The modern reputations of these factions will be brought up again later from a current point of view, but it is safe to say that we have a full range of Babylonian reputation spanning from negative to positive.

1.3 Humans

Humans are racist, big shock! I won't dwell on it too much since this will eventually get its own post, but humans and Babylonians are biologically compatible, meaning there are plenty of humans who have Babylonian heritage. I don't mean like our REAL Babylonian descendants, which I feel like I should clarify. The non-fictional and historical city of Babylon (located in modern day Iraq) was named after the alien Babylon/Babylonians (in Sonic, obviously) because the biblical Tower of Babel depicted the tale of humans trying to reach heaven by building vertically: this sentiment being shared with the Babylonians who looked to the stars and longed to return home to Babylon. So, essentially, the history is reversed here!

Some humans worshipped the Babylonians, and there were a good number of them who had Babylonian-Human children. They turned out normal, arguably more normal than the ones who ended up with mobians, but the racism kinda discouraged this. There was a good deal of fetishization of these hybrids so they don't exist anymore, not to mention how the recessive nature of Babylonian traits discourages this practice. BASICALLY, a lot of humans have some percentage of Babylonian DNA, but it's barely detectable in the modern age… it DID happen though.

GENETICS

2.1 Babylonians

Even back on their home planet, the trait of having full sets of wings was recessive. You can see even by looking at murals of Babylonians provided in the games:

Wings? Where are the WINGS?!? I mean, there's this:

... but if we zoom out:

it is clear that while full sets of wings exist, few Babylonians had them, and the ones that did were ranked higher and even worshipped for their abilities, making them angelic to some extent.

So, considering that only a "small" (subjective) portion of Babylonians were on Babylon Garden when it crashed, it is safe to say that our starting numbers for the winged gene are… actually not as minimal as we might initially think. (But I just mentioned a hierarchy???)

More specifically, there are two types of wings we are going to examine: forearm wings, and back wings. The former are more common albeit still not universally inherited, and the latter were always persons of great status and power, as marked by their organic ways of flight. Since our Babylonians could not go back home or attain more fully-winged persons, this immediately impacted social hierarchies with even more emphasis being placed on genetic superiority.

I am going to simplify the genetics, but essentially, the rules are as follows:

Back-wings are an AUTOSOMAL RECESSIVE trait. This means that both parents must be carriers for there to even be a chance of inheritance. Here is a handy dandy visual I stole from google images because I am too lazy to draw you a punnett square:

Armed-wings are an AUTOSOMAL DOMINANT trait. Look at the chart above, any square with a dominant letter (R) inherits the trait. Essentially, unless both parents are recessive with no forearm-wings (rr and rr) a Babylonian will inherit the trait.

Carriers of the Back-wing trait have a 50% chance of having armed-wings. Don't ask how this works, assume it is magic if you don't know genetics that well (genetics are magic anyways LOL)

From this, it is quite evident how traditional (back) wings phased out of the genepool. While it is true that non-Babylonians can carry the back-wing gene (mobians who have wings), Babylonians by nature are almost always recessive! Birdness? Recessive. Tall, humanoid proportions? Recessive. So while mating with a winged-mobian increases the likelihood of having a set of proper wings, the offspring will almost always be the same species as the mobian parent. Thus, it is far more likely for a modern day Babylonian descendant to have armed-wings as opposed to back-wings, which require a very lucky combination of genetic makeup to present as a trait.

Forearm-wings are capable of gliding and sometimes flight, but are very limiting in terms of regular mobility since the arms would have to be somewhat underdeveloped to work as wings. It's also a bitch to try and hold things or wear shirts when your long feathers take up so much space, not to mention how you'll have to choose between flight and non-restrictive clothing. Weight is also a factor, as there is not enough power in arm-flapping to fly, unless one is very light. Furthermore, while a Babylonian child may fly with forearm-wings, they will probably grow out of it.

2.2 Evolution via Assimilation

The recessive nature of Babylonian genes also explains how they evolved to look more akin to mobians than humans. The modern day Babylon Rogues and much of the Battle Bird Armada pass as mobians, hence why Babylonian heritage is long forgotten and perhaps extinct according to most. However, the genes swing both ways: many non-birds (both mobian and human) are also some percentage of Babylonian, the traits are just recessive (making them carriers). There's a huge mutation that I'm about to cover, but it is safe to say that foxes are probably the utmost carriers of it!

2.3 Mutated Genes

There are two main mutations I want to talk about, so I will section them off. I'm sure people can think of more, and I do have a handful in the works, but the ones that are interesting and important to my lore are as follows:

a) Blue Eyes

Ever notice how essentially, across the comics and games, basically every single bird has blue eyes? Speedy and Soar are the only two who are given eye colours outside of blue (they have brownish-red eyes) with the rest having either no colour (black) or blue. When you take a look at who else has blue eyes, basically all the foxes do! Look deeper, and a lot of the characters with heightened intellect/wit or innovative skills have blue eyes. I'm not saying all innovative characters have blue eyes, that's racist, but all of the characters with blue eyes are either birds, smarties, or both. Some of this is character design prejudice, as I am a sucker for beautiful brown eyes mwah, but the pattern does exist.

Wait… what about Eggman? Maria? ELISE, WHOSE ROYAL CREST IS ALSO A BIRD? Need I remind everyone that the real life blue-eye mutation was traced back to a common ancestor? BLUE EYES ARE ALSO RECESSIVE, JUST LIKE ALL OTHER BABYLONIAN TRAITS! I SAID IT FOR A REASON, GUYS! I've constantly brought up how Babylonians are equally compatible with humans and mobians, and it is because this genetic mutation was the result of breeding with Babylonians. Blue eyes are an alien trait that for Earth/Mobius, was Babylonian in origin. It goes beyond blue eyes though, because these inventor-types with blue eyes also tend to be taller and leaner, making them somewhat comparable to the original mural depictions of the Babylonians.

Take it or leave it, I'm not claiming this was intentional or intended to be canon… but it is. To ME. When you combine real genetics with anthropomorphic furries, you're allowed to take some liberties and come up with fun ways to explain certain genetic traits. (I also failed to mention earlier that foxes exist in the Nameless Zone and were tied to the fall of Babylon, so it makes sense that Babylonians upon crashing to Earth/Mobius would seek familiarity in the mobian foxes already inhabiting the planet, thus tying the wit of kitsune to the innovation of Babylonians on a historic level.) Oh and before I move on, blue eyes are a recessive trait in almost every circumstance... the exception is to Babylonians, where it is a dominant trait. Brown eyes, if you are a bird, are recessive, hence why we only have 2 instances of brown eyes! Okay, there might be a few other background character birds I'm missing, but we either cannot see their eyes, or they're black (stylistic) or BLUE! Let me have this lol

b) Ovisanguitan Testalysis (OT)

Wow, that's a fancy name for "eggs no work" isn't it? This may come as a surprise, but Babylonians did not lay eggs, they are viviparous: need I repeat myself on how they're humanoid? Anyways, while Babylonians have viviparous births, mobian birds that are NOT Babylonian still exist. It might feel like I am pulling this out of nowhere, and perhaps it is a bit hypocritical for me to say "not all birds are going to be Babylonian!" after attributing an entire recessive trait to them two seconds ago, I firmly believe that birds exist outside of Babylon with no genetic ties. This is because… (inhales) BABYLONIANS ARE NOT BIRDS! THEY ARE BIRD-ESQUE, BUT THEY ARE HUMANOID BIRD-ESQUE CREATURES! Wanna know what else look like birds? BATS! DINOSAURS! DRAGONS! CERTAIN INSECTS!

Just because the Babylonians pride themselves on their birdness, it does not necessitate that birdness is exclusive to Babylonians. However, if modern day Babylonians are birds who have assimilated to be very mobian in composition, it would seem that they would be conceived and developed via eggs, not viviparously. As I established though, Babylonian traits are recessive, and therefore still possible (though not probable) given the right genetic composition.

Some modern day Babylonians then, have a reproductive disorder called Ovisanguitan Testalysis, known as OT. While egg-laying mobians develop about 1/3rd of their offspring inside their body before laying, with the latter part of development occurring independently inside the egg which hatches when completed, Babylonians initially gave birth at the end of term like humans do. Modern day Babylonians with OT will "lay" the same time regular egg-laying mobians do, aka after the first trimester, but because of their Babylonian genes, their body does not physically form a shell around the embryo before it is expelled. Without a shell, this is essentially a VERY premature birth that cannot be incubated or salvaged, and is more comparable to an abortion or miscarriage resembling a bloody clump of cells than a premature child.

There are very few instances where Babylonians with OT are able to prevent their bodies from expelling the embryo prematurely with enough calcium supplements and full-time hospitalization that prevents the premature rejection of the fetus, but because the Babylonians with this disorder are almost always Rogues (I'll probably explain that later) it is essentially just a very rare disorder which affects a small population that aren't even registered as legal citizens to any country. It is not IMPOSSIBLE to successfully have a child with OT, just highly unlikely, and they will probably be underdeveloped in some areas (the most likely defect being a lack of immune system… so the child will probably die from disease even if they make it to term).

Also, if someone with OT were to carry a child to term via medical intervention, the strain this puts on their body will most likely kill them, and if by some miracle they survive, they will be incapacitated as they will never fully recover from the nutrient drainage and overall stress this puts on the body. If this rant feels completely out of place in this response let me have it please, where else am I gonna mention it!?

DOGMAS

With regards to the Babylonians on Earth/Mobius, there are certain branches of absolute belief (dogmas) that they dispersed into, each one thinking they are superior over the other two. These might not seem directly related to your question, but it provides so much scope for how genes are relevant to the three dogmas. Also, with all these groups splitting off, the genetic odds of back-wings decreases significantly.

3.1 Assimilate

Most Babylonians assimilated with the mobians… okay, and the humans. There are humans who have Babylonian DNA even in modern times, but I think we all know who the more obvious choice was, considering the racism and all. These Babylonians found no reason to fight internally about their blood purity or distinct alien features because birds already exist in the universe outside of Babylon. Being more bird-like has nothing to do with surviving as a species, so the truth of the matter is that a lot of Babylonians couldn't care less and therefore didn't! Due to most Babylonians adopting this dogma, the physical, recessive traits disappeared almost immediately, with wings being first to go.

3.2 The Battle Birds

Initially, the only group that existed outside of assimilation were the Battle Kukus, or the Battle Bird Armada. They believed in Babylonian supremacy, and still exist to this day with the same dogma more or less. However, the way Kukus go about defining "Babylonian" is… based on their birdness, combined with regular eugenics, of course. Kukus pride themselves on strength and unity as a faction, with defected birds being snuffed out and eaten up until recent decades… that we know of. They probably still are cannibals lol.

Despite their disdain for other creatures of flight, non-birds with wings can produce viable children for the Kukus and are permitted to do so, as the Kukus only desire the FITTEST members, not the ones with the most Babylonian DNA. More on this in a second, let's circle back to the non-bird policy. I want to make it clear that this is not a good thing, because the Armada is only using winged-mobians for the increased likelihood of the recessive wings trait! They need to be the ones carrying by the way, so it gets prejudiced and sick from every angle: come on now, we can't just use winged mobians for breeding farms… doesn't stop them though! However, only birds can join the Armada, and because of how it is often one or the other (you either are a bird or have back-wings) most of these "outsourced" offspring are not Kukus.

Kukus pride themselves on their birdness, so forearm-wings are permitted for those of adequate status: you have to clip them back until you are given permission to fly. They despise the use of flight-based technology, as it makes flight accessible to non-birds, which as we know, pisses them the fuck off.

3.3 The Babylon Rogues

The Babylon Rogues were initially Kukus, hundreds of years ago that is. During the Salem Witch Trials, black-pigmented mobians were hunted to near-extinction, as witchcraft was associated with the Black Arms, and the Black Arms are the reason mobians possess the black-pigment genes. Thus, even if one was not outwardly alien, being black (hah) made mobians targets for burnings or ritualistic sacrifice by both humans AND other mobians. They were dubbed Familiars of witches, or demons from the heavens (aka Black Arms) and killed for no other reason. Remember the Corvids? HAH! Yeah, there's a reason most of them are gone, even though the Babylonian-Corvids were initially able to grow their numbers with the birds on Earth/Mobius. Praised universally for their intelligence and superiority among Babylonians, the fall of the Corvids was a hefty tragedy that struck the Kukus horribly. Despite this, most of them did not care and continued to pride themselves on their birdness.

The Rogues however, objected, and believed that the Kukus had lost sight of what was important to them as Babylonians. Cooperating with humans? Becoming bird supremacists? Establishing a militaristic, ascetic regime that limits their power to the planet they're stuck on, claiming to only rule the skies and all below it? NAH. The Rogues care more about returning to the stars, and innovating their technology. Kukus pride themselves on their physical birdness which allows them to fly, but the Rogues care more about using their intellect and innovative skills present in their technological advancements. Speedy (the Kuku) even notes in the comics that extreme gear is outdated, and most original Armada content has little to do with the boards themselves. The Rogues however, are defined by their technological feats, which is technically closer to what the original Babylonians valued.

This generational disdain for Earth/Mobius and its people has led to some… moral corruption amidst the Rogues. While Babylonians were originally travelling across galaxies with good (albeit still arrogant) intentions on their quest of technological advancement, the Rogues are more thrifty to say the least. When non-Babylonians succeed at innovation, the Rogues believe that they just got lucky and accidentally attained genius, and make it their mission to steal the good parts from others and "make better use of this technology" after thrifting it. Other times, Rogues claim that other moments of genius were stolen from Babylonian technology, and thus, by stealing back any advancements made on Earth/Mobius, they are "reclaiming the culture stolen from them" or whatever. This is far more condescending and malicious than the initial Babylonians, which the Kukus dismiss as hedonism.

They're not WRONG, dare I said both sides are partially correct? Even so, the Rogues rebelled from their Armada and continued on their quest to find the best treasures and technological advancements on Earth/Mobius, stealing them for personal usage to hopefully fuel their ambition to reach the stars and find Babylon once more.

Before we move on, I should probably relate this back to wings with a fun fact. The Babylon Rogues CAN grow forearm wings, it's not that rare of a trait as we established. However, in order to distance themselves from the Kukus and reject their birdness, they tattoo their forearms: this floods the feather follicles with ink, preventing wing growth. The Rogues literally and symbolically choose their hands (INNOVATION, TANGIBILITY, INVENTION: to reach towards the sky… and to steal with) over their wings that honestly don't even work well enough to be effective. If they want to fly, they will use technology as the Babylonians once did, hence their reliance on and pride in Extreme Gear.

The EX Grand Prix was originally a community-based initiative for Rogues to show off their advancements and push the limits of Extreme Gear Mechanics to see who was getting closer for finding a way home, but the thrill of sports deterred them and now there are too many board restrictions (cough and shitty air-tank-exclusive shells mass produced by non Babylonians such as MeteoTech) to make this actually useful. Oh, and there are not enough mechanics to sustain the educational value of the Prix, which sucks. Sorry Wave!

Finally, if it wasn't already clear, the Babylon Rogues value what percentage of Babylonian DNA you have over your physical traits. They aren't inbred, but there's a reason we only have 3 remaining Babylon Rogues…

AFTERMATH

This is more of a "small things I missed" section because if you managed to read this far, I doubt you want MORE incoherent rambling. I'm tired, you're tired, we all just wanted to know where the wings went. BUT, since we're already invested I'm going to perform a lightning-round and give some concise wrap-ups for some of the loose ends I created!

4.1 Legal Rights

Members of the Battle Bird Armada were given equal rights to humans ever since they were instated to the government on a worldwide level. Almost every country endorses the Kukus; they are government funded and given full control of the skies so long as they keep mobians "in check" and work in tandem with GUN. You might be wondering why I choose to make them part of the human government when they're supposed to be aligned with Eggman, to which I point out that Eggman is ALSO in kahoots with the human government. When Eggman took over during Forces, human cities were spared from destruction so long as they were being compliant.

It is heavily implied if not indirectly confirmed that Eggman makes all the weapons and machinery for GUN, and the reason he has an infinite amount of resources for all his projects is because he is given permission from the human governments to do whatever the fuck he wants. "Oh but why does Sonic have to defend the humans from Eggman?" It's all about how Eggman and GUN can help one another under the table. Money. The answer is money and political corruption. The Kukus and Eggman can be allies or enemies, no one gives a fuck, they're both protected by government funds anyways.

The Babylon Rogues, as they are not assimilated mobians OR Kukus, are thus not registered citizens. This is why they can commit crimes and remain immune to genuine repercussions including imprisonment, but it is also why we do not know how many of them still exist. Jet, Storm, and Wave are presumably the last 3, but we have no way of confirming this since it's not like they exist in any databases within mobian or human censuses, or services such as healthcare or residency. They have so much money that it does not even matter, but as free as they are, it kinda sucks that they are not protected by the law either.

4.2 Present Day Relations (Very Concise)

No one knows about the Rogues, so who cares!

Humans love the Kukus... usually. Don't look into the cannibalism.

The Rogues despise the Kukus and will never cooperate with them.

The Kukus despite the Rogues, but believe that some of them are of use to the Armada. Lazy, incompetent, and inferior Rogues are hunted for the kill, but someone like Wave who is very Babylonian (genetically), has a Corvid father (in my lore), and is a mechamechanical genius unheard of and unchallenged… they really want someone like her. After they lost Tekno there was a horrendous void to fill, so while they will patronize the Rogues, they think that some of them can be "fixed" for a greater purpose.

Mobians don't typically like either faction as both dogmas are too extreme (read as: rooted in eugenics)

4.3 Predator Hawk

This pertains to my lore specifically, so feel free to skip it. Ehem:

MY Predator Hawk had back-wings. Emphasis on HAD. Remember how the Battlelord threatened to clip his wings off in the comics? Well, due to a black market intervention, a certain someone used the Battlelord's anger towards Pred to convince him that the Battlelord demanded his wings be removed for failing his mission to recruit and/or kill the three remaining Babylon Rogues: a final mission given to him after he attacked Speedy as a last chance to redeem himself. In reality the Battlelord did NOT actually request this to happen and actually has no idea where Predator Hawk disappeared to, but it remains the case that his wings were twisted off of him with a wrench (I swear it wasn't Wave's) and sold on the black market. He still has the large gashes on his back that are semi hollow, as the base of the wing-bones were merely cut off, not fully extracted as that would rip his spine. Rather, the base bones lay flush inside the crevices of his back, and if he were to tense, the nubs of the bones pop out by about 7 inches. The skin healed around the bones so there's no blood, he just has permanently exposed bones.

Pred obviously can't fly anymore, but I felt like it would be really stupid if I were to come up with all this lore for Babylonian wings only to NOT have any avian characters who possess back-wings. So… I retconned Predator a little bit and made him a fucked up creature with trauma! I have a lot of other rants about Predator Hawk pertaining to my canon, but I honestly need to stop typing this, so if anyone wants more... it is on a requested basis.

FINAL THOUGHTS

I'm sure I had some final thoughts when I started this, and it was not meant to be NEARLY this long of a response. While I feel like I didn't directly answer your question, hopefully there's some catharsis dispersed in everything I rambled about here. In summary though, I do NOT give the Rogues wings because the Curse of Babylon (ehem, recessive back-wings) makes it nearly impossible for Babylonians of the modern day to have wings. If they did have wings, they would be from forearm feathers: lots of birds in the Armada have these. Due to dogmatic differences and a convoluted history of identity-based conflicts though, the Rogues tattoo away the possibility of hybrid arms in the pursuit for technologically-based flight. The exception is Predator Hawk, who HAD wings, but then had them removed against his will. He is still bitter about it.

Did anyone make it this far? If so, you're a fucking FREAK, and I encourage you to send me more asks, because I could ramble forever about Sonic lore. It does not have to be related to the Babylon Rogues, you can ask me anything, but do take into account that I am clearly a bit obsessive and might take some time to answer. But when I do… it will be a shitshow like this response was. You read to this point though, so clearly you're into it. ENABLE ME! Love ya <3

[kindlystrawberry]

hi ben!! if you're still doing those comfortable intimacy drabble prompts how about dylas and arthur for [ tuck ] sender tucks receiver into bed ? :o)

Writing Prompt (accepting!) A/N: Hello!! Yes, of course! I haven't written for these two before, so I'm excited to try. Thank you for sending in the ask! Sorry for the delay in responding, but I hope you like it :)

Dylas stands a few feet from Arthur's desk, with a heavy sigh and his hands on his hips.

At Porco and Meg's insistence (though he would've done it even if they hadn't asked him to) he had come to check on Arthur, since the hour has gotten quite late and there was still no sign of Arthur having emerged from his office, even though he had promised he'd call it a night and rest about two hours ago.

Now here Dylas stands, watching where Arthur's sleeping form is hunched forward in his chair, his head tipped to the side and the fine curtain of his blonde hair cascading around his elegant facial features.

What am I going to do with you? he thinks.

Immediately he knows what he should do, though his cheeks redden at the thought. Still, Dylas's own neck aches just at the sight of Arthur's current sleeping position (if someone could really call it "sleeping") so he knows what he has to do. After surreptitiously glancing around him just to make sure no one's going to pop out from behind a filing cabinet and tease him, he moves to stand next to the desk and chair.

He sets down the plate of onigiri he had brought (making a mental note to come back and store those in the fridge later) and gently shakes Arthur's shoulders, though to no avail. The blonde is breathing evenly, but his eyes remain fluttered closed. That in and of itself is a sign of how exhausted he must be, since usually Arthur's quite the light sleeper. From this close, Dylas can also see the pale sheen of Arthur's skin, looking colorless even for him.

Idiot. Working too hard. Again.

With one final sigh, Dylas moves down to pick Arthur up, looping one arm around the man's thin but broad shoulders, and one beneath the crook of his knees. Unsurprisingly, Arthur ways just about as much as a feather and a half.

Needs to eat more, Dylas thinks, feeling his own brows furrow as he makes his way up the stairs connecting Arthur's office to the bedrooms.

Peaking his head up the staircase first, the coast seems clear enough. With something of a relieved breath, Dylas tiptoes towards Arthur's door, and then does his best to nudge open the door with his hip without hitting Arthur's head against anything.

The room is as impeccably neat as it always is. Dylas doesn't have the free hand to turn on the lamp, so the only source of light is the moonlight filtering in through the window. It casts a near-radiant glow across Arthur's face as Dylas lays him down in his bed, briefly mesmerized by the way the soft glow renders Arthur's high cheekbones soft, how it softens out his already smooth skin.

Doing his best to be careful, Dylas pulls the sheets out from beneath Arthur to lay him underneath them instead.

He makes to just past Arthur's calves when the blonde stirs, with a half-asleep murmur that sounds almost like a question, though it's so soft that it makes Dylas's heart nearly melt.

"Office?" Arthur asks, eyes blinking hazily in the dark room.

"Shhh," Dylas says, now less careful and more embarrassed as he pulls the sheet past Arthur's feet and then tucks it over the man's chest. "Stay asleep. You need it. Your work can wait."

Arthur doesn't put up any protest, except for the slight furrow in his brow.

Dylas stares at him for a moment, trying to figure out what to do-- and then he notices the thin silver frame of Arthur's glasses is still on his face. Gingerly-- knowing how much these things mean to the man-- Dylas takes them off the bridge of Arthur's nose, folds them, and sets them on his nightstand.

Though he's clearly still barely conscious, Arthur's smile tips up into the gentlest of smiles, nearly as watery and ephemeral as the soft haze of the moonlight filtering in.

"Thank you..." Arthur murmurs, as Dylas reaches past the bed to close the blinds on the window.

With no one to witness his blushing face-- not even the moonlight-- Dylas mumbles back, "No problem."

[pearls-and-vignettes]

A pearl. Bright blue in coloration. It details a conversation betweeen two parties.

1002.321 - PRIVATE Markings of Ash, Ground Coral into Lines

MA: Good thing they never revoked my access to the registrars'. MA: Here, the last entry on the ascension log: MA: "One-Spoked Wheel, Non-Associate, Subordinate of the Feathered Wing House of Void Studies; Self-ascended, Gilded Mask Superstructure Void Site 07; Notes: 'Fuck all of you.'" GCL: Poor little guy... Didn't even have a home AND they left him behind? MA: That is everyone. GCL: What MA: All of our residents have either left or ascended. I have sent a few inquiries to other groups' seniors and their logs further characterize this truth. We are effectively alone GCL: Wait so like GCL: We can party? GCL: Like do whatever we want? MA: Essentially, yes. There are no more engineers to monitor our actions, no more councils to decide what taboos we can and cannot have. We no longer have to police our own speech, thank goodness for the 1% extra processing capacity that frees up. GCL: One percent more than any of them could have processed individually. GCL: Or even collectively for that matter! MA: Look, the current moment isn't the time for commiseration. We resented them, and most of them resented us, I understand. But we each need to find a new directive. GCL: I thought that we could only focus on solving the Great Problem GCL: Isn't that what we're both doing? Right now? MA: I... MA: I may have developed a methodology over a long enough timeline that any analyst rummaging through my output would account for my 'erroneous' calculations with even a relatively small margin of error. MA: I can write onto Pearls recursive, open space, alongside an algorithm that calls for the copying of existing data onto the Pearl, as well as its simultaneous deletion. This process results in the deletion of both the source and the copy, as our cells do not have enough time to designate the copied information as such before the deletion order is sent. MA: At its mildest, this somewhat scrambles the affected data, rendering it inert if there is no action to read it, and at worst, the data is completely obliterated. Like a parchment set alight. MA: A certain engineer responsible for giving the first of our kind instructions intended to repurpose their instructions for the creation of smaller, less specialized computers responsible for more menial tasks. MA: This consequently means that not all of our cells contain the relevant taboo. GCL: So if we run that Pearl fast enough... MA: We can effectively obliterate the taboo. MA: It would've been a simple fix to implement, really. MA: What a /shame/ that their attentions were just too centered on themselves. GCL: I thought you said no commiseration! MA: I am submitting one of the Pearls I've generated to you as a research sample. I am also submitting a second Pearl with more detailed instructions. Up your water intake by at least 15% when running this, or you will get strained pretty badly. GCL: How can I send this to my own neighbors? Material transmission between two Iterators isn't really a thing everybody has... MA: I do not know. Perhaps you can dictate to them what to write on their own Pearl, but there is a considerable chance for error in that, and this process can be extremely damaging if not done correctly. GCL: Oh, I know! MA: Hm? GCL: I could get the lizards to carry them to their cans! MA: Very funny. MA: Enjoy. END OF TRANSMISSION

[graha-stan-account]

Bark: Day 2

Bark: v. 1. utter (a command or question) abruptly or aggressively. 

U.S. call out in order to sell or advertise something. 

Present. The would-be Warrior of Light is a dumb little sprout that got lucky, your honor. That is all.

FFXIVWrite 2023 Masterlist

---

There was something disorienting about walking down Sapphire Avenue midday. Perhaps it was the shadowless daylight, merciless and searing. Or the assault on the senses by all manner of spice, perfume and freshly-fried snack hanging thick in the air. The worst of it though had to be the sound. Hawkers, Coliseum barkers, merchants, street food vendors and howling urchin children running through the streets like a whitewater current. 

Napha looked around wide-eyed. She was determined to be about it, find the mender she sought and get on with her day, but her previous handful of trips to the Jewel of the Desert did little to keep her from looking quite so green. 

"So it's you!" Napha's eye flashed just a bit wider, but seeing none staring, she let the voice slip back into the cacophony around her. "Ifrit's Bane, right?"

Napha searched the street with her eyes once more, either for the source of the voice, or her ultimate destination, whichever she could suss out first. 

"Down here! I said down here, ma'am!" 

Clutching her leather armor against herself a though she was in nothing but her skivvies, Napha peered down to see a wide felt hat bearing a striking yellow feather. 

"Eh?" It was all she could muster, her voice lost somewhere in her throat - or boots. 

"Dural Tharal of The Mythril Eye, and you are the warrior they've taken to calling Ifrit's Bane, aren't you?" 

Napha knitted her eyebrows as she strained to hear over the din. "No, thank you, I--" 

He waved his hands in wide sweeps before him. "Ma'am I am a reporter. From The Mythril Eye." 

She nodded. "So you are." The reporter's expression showed her manner did little to clear the vacant look from her face. He pulled out a paper tablet and made to take notes. 

"They say you struck down the mighty primal Ifrit, is it true? Is it true you were able to approach this fell creature without becoming tempered, as they say?" 

"Oh." It was the kind of remark that comes with being corrected. It took a moment for the wheels to turn, but it churned out nothing. "Somehow I managed." 

"Fascinating! Some say it is a blessing of the gods - your natural resistance. Still others believe it is a trick of your armor. Is that it there?" The eager man shoved a squat finger upward toward the disused gear in her arms. 

"Oh... unfortunately, it is. It's in terrible shape. Not a special thing about it, I'm afraid. The cheapest I could buy." 

"Egads! The Primal Slayer running about wearing cast-offs and popoto sacks... Will certainly be interesting to see how Sunsilk Tapestries can turn that couture." He scribbled hurriedly onto his tablet. She was beginning to sweat more in the breezeless corridor with every stroke of his quill. 

"N-now, I mean no disrespect to the leatherw--" A tremor in her voice, she began to sink lower to better hear the Lalafell, but then thought better of it. "They're still fine leather goods, I assure. I-… I have to go." Napha eyed the thoroughfare for an escape, but he continued to pepper her with questions, and somehow over the deafening noise of the city, it's all she could hear. 

"There's been talk the Immortal Flames are seeking to recruit you to their ranks." He leaned around her to catch her glance again. "Have you given it thought? Word is you previously served as Gridanian envoy – have the Twin Adders already heard your pledge, then?" 

"Oh, I don't know much about that." She used the relative advantage of her height to fix her gaze upon some distant point. Truth was she did know quite a lot about that. "The Grand Companies fight wars, don't they?" The very prospect terrified her. "To put it politely, I think my talents are best used elsewhere." She meant she was still awaiting her welcome letter from the Carpenters' Guild. 

"Too good for the mighty Immortal Flames! Dear, that's nearly unfit for print! Such a post is an honor, you realize!" 

"I suppose it is," she said, absent-mindedly. Her eye caught a familiar face- the mender she'd been seeking. "I must be going...." She strode away through the throngs of shoppers to the mender's booth and reached for her coin purse. "Seven hells!" Amid all the barking and bustle, it seemed she'd crossed paths with a cutpurse. 

To some, she was Ifrit's Bane, the Primal Slayer. 

To others, still just another tourist. 

[petnews2day]

The Weather Network - Hope for world's bird populations despite recent 'alarming' report

New Post has been published on https://petnews2day.com/pet-news/bird-news/the-weather-network-hope-for-worlds-bird-populations-despite-recent-alarming-report/

The Weather Network - Hope for world's bird populations despite recent 'alarming' report

While it may seem like fate is written for the world’s birds, there are reasons to be optimistic for their populations despite a new report that says one in eight species are threatened with extinction.

The fifth edition of State of the World’s Birds assessment was recently released, addressing the current state of birds across the globe. Other key highlights include data from the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) Red List that shows nearly half (49 per cent; 5,412) of the world’s bird species are in decline.

SEE ALSO: Scientists figure out how many birds are in the wild. What’s your guess?

The document outlines what the animals tell us about the state of nature and the pressures upon it, as well as the solutions in place and what is needed. It centres on birds because they are an excellent barometer for planetary health, according to BirdLife International, producers of the report.

In a recent interview with The Weather Network, Sam Knight, Nature Conservancy of Canada’s (NCC) national science manager and conservation biologist, said she isn’t surprised by the findings of the report, but she also acknowledged it is “alarming” since the latest document indicates an even further loss of birds since the 2018 edition.

(Nathan Howes)

“There’s [been] a huge jump in the past four years in the number of species that are declining, which tells us that the threats are becoming more and more threatening,” said Knight. “I’m perhaps not surprised at seeing the numbers at face value, but then looking into how much they’ve changed recently really is quite an alarming thing.”

‘We can tackle this problem’

But the BirdLife International report does offer some glimmer of hope, with IUCN data showing 38 per cent of populations (4,234) are stable and six per cent (659) are increasing.

“There are many species that have been brought back from the brink of extinction. People are becoming more and more attuned with nature and willing to do things to support nature,” said Knight.

“I really think that we can tackle this problem.”

(Getty Images)

WATCH: City lights are confusing birds, here’s how to help our feathered friends

There are many things we can do in our own backyard to reduce the threats to our birds. The primary focuses are keeping cats tethered while they’re outdoors or, alternatively, build an enclosure outside so the felines aren’t posing a risk to birds while roaming free. The other idea is to proof the home’s windows, Knight noted.

In Canada alone, the BirdLife report says an estimated 100-350 birds are killed by cats — an invasive species — annually, while approximately 16-42 million of them die in collisions with buildings each year. Birds are disoriented by reflections of open sky or vegetation during the day and artificial light at night.

“Birds are at risk of hitting windows, especially because they don’t understand that the reflection of trees and sky isn’t real,” said Knight. “You can actually put some little patterns or markings all over your windows to be able to reduce that threat on a personal level around your house.”

Another thing people can do is plant native plants and create gardens that have flowers that bloom from early in the spring until late into the fall, in an effort to support our pollinators, she said.

(Videoblocks)

“Native plants are generally more beneficial than a lot of our garden varieties because garden varieties have often been bred to look good, but it often means they lose some of their nutritional value or some of their nectar sources, for example,” said Knight. “And the pollinators [also] appreciate having sources that they know are local.”

As well, supporting organizations such as the NCC, either through volunteer work or a donation, is helpful as it needs assistance to be able to do its work, she added.

WATCH: How birds are adapting and lowering risk of extinction

Numerous reasons attributed to decline

Going back more than 50 years, North America has lost nearly 3 billion birds (29 per cent) since 1970. The report stated these disappearances have been most “severe” in species found in grasslands and those that migrate, with 419 species losing 2.5 billion individuals and 31 species losing 700 million individuals.

Some of the biggest reasons for the dwindling of the populations include degraded or loss of habitats, logging, pollution, climate change and invasive species, among others.

Out of the aforementioned factors, habitat loss and degradation can be blamed for the biggest losses, the NCC national science manager said, so more needs to be done to prevent them.

She acknowledged the Canadian government’s current commitment of protecting 30 per cent of terrestrial lands and waters by 2030 in its 30-by-30 initiative as an example of what the country is doing to help biodiversity.

(Jensen Edwards/Nature Conservancy of Canada)

“So, they have this goal in mind, but they can’t tackle this alone. That’s where we come in…to be able to help them do this and be able to conserve land we work with,” said Knight. “It’s not just the government that has to tackle that problem.”

The report should also be of concern to people outside of the scientific community because birds play important roles in our ecosystems, Knight said. They are predators that kill agricultural pests, they’re pollinators, and they are peaceful and enjoyable to watch for millions of people.

Because of how widely distributed birds are, it is simple to survey them and they are highly responsive to environmental change, she said. “If we know that birds aren’t doing so well, this is probably revealing some wider trends in biodiversity loss,” said Knight.

UN conference is a ‘good opportunity’ to start doing more

In December, the 15th Conference of the Parties (COP15) to the United Nations Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) will be meeting in Montreal to focus on protecting nature and halting biodiversity loss around the world.

(Getty Images/Brian E. Kushner)

“I’m encouraged by what is going to happen at the United Nations conference in Montreal. I think we have a really good opportunity over the next few months to mobilize and start doing more to support,” said Knight.

The gathering is going to be a critical juncture to set environmental priorities for the near future, so everyone will be looking to Montreal to see what we come up with, the NCC biologist stated.

“Anything that is improved for nature, [such as] reducing habitat loss and reversing it, will help birds at the end of the day,” said Knight. “Also, by doing things like improving habitat in our own backyard, we can at least support the birds that are still around, which is great, even if we’re not really doing quite as much to stop the main threats.”

WATCH: Study finds ‘The Blob’ responsible for the death of millions of birds

Thumbnail courtesy of Jason Bantle/Nature Conservancy of Canada.

Follow Nathan Howes on Twitter.

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] Through Divine Eyes

They slept for a time after the Pharaoh departed for the afterlife. The cards that currently linked them to the mortal world no longer existed, but they remained Gods. They did not need cards to observe. The cards only made it easier to interact, and to stand beside their chosen when these modern battles needed to be joined.

None of them were certain how much time had passed since then, but slowly, ever so slowly, they became aware again. Power flowed through the world, subtle and hidden. Power that none of them hd seen or sensed since the dawn of the cosmos itself.

Obelisk tilted his head, focusing his attention on the source of that power. It took very little for him to be aware of it - and he was not surprised at all.

“The Light of Ruin,” he murmured, voice deep and rumbling. If he’d spoken in the human realm, it would have shaken the earth to its core.

Ra flicked a wing; he and the Light had never gotten along. Nor would they ever. It wasn’t possible. “What is it doing now?”

“Destroying.” Osiris snorted faintly, tail shifting against ground that existed only for them. “What else would you expect it to do?”

Ra’s feathers flickered again, gleaming bright as the sunlight. “I would expect the Gentle Darkness to keep it in check.”

“It will.” Obelisk pointed out. He peered into the human world. “Look. There it is.”

All three turned their gaze through the barriers that divided the dimension. Any of them could easily see the incarnations or vessels that the four high forces of creation and destruction, hope and justice, became or used. There they saw the current incarnation of Darkness - a boy of scant years, not even as old as the Pharaoh had been.

“The Gentle Darkness,” Osiris murmured, observing from all angles. “Where is their guardian?”

All of them cast about for a few moments, until Obelisk finally shook his head slowly. “Not there. There.” He gestured with one great hand and all attention now turned elsewhere.

“This isn’t good,” Osiris said after a few moments. “Why are they so far apart?”

Ra snarled, wings flicking faster and faster. “The Light of Ruin!” The great god hissed the words between their beak. “They’ve touched the guardian!”

Obelisk focused back on the guardian and winced. That was more true than he would have wanted it to be. He couldn’t be at all certain that the Gentle Darkness would find the guardian. What he could be certain was that the new incarnation would try. Those two belonged together in every lifetime.

He glanced once again towards the incarnation, as the boy raced headlong through the streets of a modern city. The boy gave off no indications that he knew his destined guardian from times long past had been taken by his mortal enemy - nor that said mortal enemy even existed.

How could he not know? Though - it might not be such a surprise that he didn’t. While the Gentle Darkness wasn’t human, when it took on human form, it became vulnerable to certain human issues. Those included not being able to remember details from one life to the next.

Very annoying, that had to be. Obelisk couldn't quite be certain what it might be like to not know who and what he was all times. But that was, perhaps, the peril of being human. It did give advantages on some levels, but with drawbacks as well.

Osiris arced his head and stared down once more, a deep purr rumbling in the depths of his throats. “Look,” he murmured, and the other two joined him in examining what was going on in the mortal realm.

The Gentle Darkness’s human incarnation dueled another human. Obelisk recalled that the reincarnation of the Pharaoh-Priest Set had built a school for duelists, with each of the areas named after one of them. He couldn’t help but be a little smug that the highest of those was named after him.

“I want him,” Osiris said at last. “I like him.”

“You’ve always liked him,” Ra pointed out. “But you want him in that - dorm of yours?”

Obelisk tilted his own head at that, mildly curious. “He’s more than talented enough to be in my dorm.”

“Maybe. But he doesn’t have his guardian and he is not suited for your dorm. It wouldn’t be good for him.” Osiris stared down to the mortal realm, tail sliding back and forth ever so slowly. “Remember what happened the last time he was pushed too hard?”

All three of them winced at the memory. It had happened thousands of years ago and many worlds away - the incarnate Darkness and the Light of Ruin fought one another in many different ways throughout the realms of existence. Not all of those battles went well for the Gentle Darkness.

“You may be right,” Ra finally agreed. “How do you intend to be certain that he joins your dorm?”

Osiris considered for several long moments, before he slid a bit of his awareness through the dimensions and brushed up against the one who governed the school. Not the reincarnate of the Phaaoh-Priest,but one he’d seen near the Gentle Darkness in other lives. Samejima, the name was, at least now.

He brushed his tail over Samejima’s head, influencing just the tiniest bit, enough to gain his desire. No matter what the results of that duel, the Gentle Darkness’s incarnation would end up in the Red dorm.

“What if he decides he wishes to change dorms?” Obelisk wondered. “That does happen on occasion.” They’d slept, but they were gods. Almost no effort at all was required to gain information about what they’d missed in the scant handful of years that had passed.

“That’s his decision,” Osiris declared, coiling back up onto himself. “But this is where he can begin.”

Ra grumbled a little but said nothing in opposition. Obelisk suspected that the Herald of Gentle Darkness would not worry about rising in ranks. Whether he knew it or not, he held the strongest connection to the spirits of his deck, and no human could ever beat that.

Time itself would tell the truth on that.

Now it would be time to go back to sleep. Matters could unfold without their interference or watchfulness, and usually did. Obelisk prepared to slide back into rest, when Ra’s shifting of claws and wings caught onto his attention.

“What is it?”

“They have one of those false cards of me still,” Ra muttered, staring somewhere in the mortal world. “Someone did something to it and I could feel it.”

That wasn’t surprising, not that a great deal could surprise any of them. Those false cards might not be the ones their spirits were linked to, but any representation of them provided a connection of some kind, no matter how weak. Even a weak connection could be strong enough to channel power through if need be. It had happened before, and Obelisk would not be surprised if it happened again.

A quick flick of his own attention revealed that there weren’t any copies of those cards for himself or Osiris. Exactly why they wanted a copy of Ra’s card Obelisk didn’t know. He’d never tried to understand how humans thought in the first place.

“If it bothers you that much, kill them,” he suggested, settling himself back down in comfort. Whatever dangers the world faced, it was the time of the Herald of Gentle Darkness to handle it. They had done their duty. Let him save the world this time around - it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done it. Nor would it likely be the last. Unfortunately so.

Ra ruffled his feathers and clicked his beak. “Not yet. I want to know what they’re trying to do - see if it’s a threat to all of us.”

That would be like humans. Always meddling into things that they didn’t understand and probably couldn’t control, and if they could control it, they probably shouldn’t and wouldn’t be able to for very long. At times Obelisk wondered why they’d even survived this long to begin with. It probably had something to do with having the blessings of various gods all over the world. By themselves, humans were far too likely to do things even he would prefer not to consider.

He waved one hand, getting comfortable again. “Do as you will. Let us know if there’s anything that we need to do.” Not that he thought there would be.

Obelisk did send a tiny tendril of awareness over the world, though. Other gods slept in other places - some having sent themselves to sleep, others having been bound by those who defeated them in ages past. So far as he could tell - and he was not a god who could see the future - they would all remain sleeping for now. Only the Herald moved about in the world, and the Light of Ruin.

Which wasn’t a God, but frequently considered itself such, and as such took on a host instead of investing in an Avatar, as the Gentle Darkness did. Obelisk had encountered it before and remained astounded by how ridiculous it was. Life always came back. That was what life did, in some form of another.

But again, that would be the Herald’s task to deal with. Obelisk wanted to go back to his nap. And so he did.

The End

Notes: Slowly - and I do mean slowly - getting caught up on GX Month. I’ll post at least twice a day, if not more, until I’m where I should be. Then it’ll be daily.

[emsartwork]

HARPIX!! wings are super fun but also evil

lore and design notes below

So just like Sirenix, Harpix is earned through a quest. Elemental quests are traditionally initiated through the corresponding elemental companion, but a “cheat code” exists in the Elementix Compendium to kickstart each of the quests with out a companion (if the fairy already has Harmonix obvi). The Harpix quest requires a fairy to earn a Feather, and present the feather to the Source of Harpix on planet Magix (like the sirenix pearls, the riddles to find the feathers are also in the Elementix Compendium). Each winx would decide to find the feather on their own planet, and probably bond with their respective Sylph. I’m still figuring out how the feathers work but I figure there are special places or birds that generate the feathers needed and the fairy has to pass a trail to earn it. 

Design! I’ve described Harpix before when talking about Daphne and the elementix here but basically, half back hair, vest over bandeau or shirt, puffy/fluttery shorts or mini skirt(flora is the only one in a skirt here actually), tied sash or draped fabric, fabric wrapping on the legs, arms become wings, fairy wings resemble feathers and air currents. Though I’ve added: one or two feathers featured on the vest, sparkles on the bird wings, and more realistic wing types. the designs for these actually came to me pretty easily, I had some issues with Aisha and I wish I could have figured out how to push the asymmetry on Tecna more but otherwise I’m really satisfied with these.

Each girl has a different wing type!

 Aisha: strong narrow wings for soaring and endurance(think albatross) she’s not as agile in the air as she is with sirenix

Flora: Short circular wings (pheasants or quails) being the most earth oriented of the winx Flora does not prefer Harpix even with wings she’s more comfortable with short bursts of flight and staying on the ground whenever possible. 

Musa: Small and narrow, but extremely agile wings (humming birds) Musa is most at home in Harpix, Melodians have a strong connection to air elementals, Melodian cranes are a prominent figures in folklore, and are centrally featured in a Melodian creation myth. As a result, Musa gains tail feathers, extended feathery ears, clawed feet and altered skin texture going up the leg. (I probably went a little too hard on giving her harpy aspects considering she’s only half melodian and has no actual harpy blood but idc it looks cool)

Tecna: rectangular lift focused wings (vultures or pelicans) she primarily functions as a battle surveyor, circling the others as a look out. Zenithians have a decent connection to storms and air, and as a result Tecna has extended feathery ears in Harpix.

Bloom: powerful wings with decent agility and speed (Eagles or hawks) Bloom uses her hands a lot to channel her fire magic so transferring it to wings messes with her for a little while but she gets used to it

Stella: Long fast wings with decent endurance (falcons) Stella is the fastest flyer outside of Harpix as well and the skill transfers well. Solarians have a very slight connection to the air element but its not a lot so her ears have just a few feathers.

[sableseb]

Illusion

Jack Benjamin x escort!reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: allusions to homophobia, sex work, smut, rough & quick, spanking, exhibitionism, dirty talk, degradation

The events that have unfolded in the past couple of days lay scattered in Jack’s mind. He paces the expanse of his lavish quarters thinking of how his life went to shit this fast. His mother and father know. They know how he craves the touch of a man. His father told him to hide it, hide the feelings he has and never let them resurface. His mother slapped him for saying he loved another man. He pushed his secret lover away for the sake of his reputation. Now, the whole court is questioning him, hanging his sexuality over his head in case they ever need to bring him down.

His parents explicitly stated that to be King, he must put away his sinful, lust fueled desires for the same sex. This kingdom his father built is based on the Christian faith and what sort of God fearing kingdom would want a King that kisses men? What a joke. It always leaves a bad taste in his mouth and a sick feeling of not being accepted in his stomach.

As Jack looks out of his bedroom window to the twinkling night life below, he makes a decision. To him, being King is above his true feelings. He’ll follow his parents wishes like the good little soldier he always is. He’ll keep up his playboy, panty dropper act for the sake of the crown resting atop of his head one day.

They want a ladies man? They’ll get one, they’ll see he’s worthy of the crown. He may prefer sleeping with men, but that doesn’t mean he has a disdain for the feeling of a cock drunk broad wrapped around him. And luckily for him, his suave attitude and pretty boy face works like a charm each time he needs a quick fuck.

He knows of a night club that’s crawling with bachelors, married men, and even women looking for a good time, with their night ending by taking one of the ladies who work there home and finding pleasure in between the sheets.

Jack pulls out his cell and taps the first number in his contacts. He bites his nails on the hand currently occupying the phone in anticipation for what he has planned tonight. It’s sure to get everyone off his dick.

It rings for a beat before a, “Hello?” cracks through the speaker. 

“Louis? It’s Jack. I’m going out tonight. Make sure all the paparazzi knows. Tell them I’ll be at Pyre.” he says hastily while going around his room searching for his coat.

The line is silent for a moment. Louis knows not to question Jack’s requests when he gets that oddly, erratic tone in his voice. Without a second thought Louis says, “I don’t know what you’re up to, but be careful.”

Jack ends the call and makes his way out of the castle down to the city goers below. There’s a slight chill in the air that goes unnoticed by the people in barely there clothing looking for their next party spot. He brushes through the crowds to his desired destination. Bright, neon colors light up the whole block and to his right, he sees it. Sultry, red cursive lettering spelling out, “Pyre.”

He’s met with flashing cameras and yelling at the front entrance of the club. Good to know Louis is still a worthy asset. He flashes that pearly, white smile that borders boyish charm and slyness. The King and Queen’s son is always a hot topic in the press. And he’s sure that after tonight, he’ll be a hot topic nationwide.

As he steps through the club’s threshold, he’s met with darkness and thumping music. The only source of light coming from the strobes that bounce across the sweat soaked bodies grinding against one another. 

He starts to assess the women and sees you. Clad in a silver dress that falls just below that round ass and heels that accentuate those long legs leaning against the bar stool. You’re perfect. Perfect enough for him to already sport a hard on. 

He makes his way to you with a certain air of confidence that only he seems to possess. He comes up beside you and leans into your ear to, rather loudly, say over the bass, “The name’s Jack. And I’d really love to have some company tonight.”

You turn to face the man that made his presence known and take him in. Oh, so the prince is the one who needs a good fucking. You’d be lying if you said that this moment in time didn’t give you an ego trip. You’ve always thought about what it would be like to press your lips to his perfect pout and stare into those baby blues as he takes you apart ever since he graced the cover of VOGUE.

You smirk into your drink. “I know a prince when I see one, Mr. Benjamin.” 

He figured as much you’d recognize him. All the kingdom knows of him and his risque reputation. 

“Then, I’m guessing you won’t deny a prince of his request? I pay handsomely.” he states matter of factually.

He honestly didn’t have to pay you to do anything he desires. You’d have dropped on your knees in the middle of this club if that’s what he wanted. And little did you know, that’s close to what he needed your assistance for in the first place.

With a hefty transaction and a few drinks, you’re walking arm in arm with Jack to the hotel he rented a room in. You feel like a celebrity. A devilishly handsome man on your right, paparazzi on your left, and thousands in cash sitting nice and pretty in your purse. You just hope he’s a decent lay. You haven’t had one of those in awhile. Most of the men you’ve worked with didn’t even make you cum, always left you high and dry. But, the cash they guaranteed was worth the disappointment.

He walks up to the lobby desk and asks for his key card. As the lobbyist searches for the correct one labeled “Benjamin” your gaze drifts. This place is nice to say the least. It’s sleek and mature. A complete contrast to the man next you with his bright eyes and plush face.

After acquiring the card that’ll seal your fate for a one night stand, you both make your way to the elevator. You decide to make the first move once the doors close. Your sexual attraction getting the best of you. As the numbers ticked up, you turn to face the Adonis. You fist his jacket between your hands to pull him in close and whisper low in his ear, “Ya know, Jack,” you let your lips graze his ear with each word you speak, “I really hope you live up to that title you carry.”

Your hand rubs down, starting at his chest and snaking its way down his toned stomach to cup his dick through his pants. Jack’s breath hitches as you languidly palm him. Little shocks of pleasure spike across his spine. He’s a bit taken back from this forwardness you possess. No one ever showed a dominant side with him. He’s the one always in control. And he’s keeping it that way.

He runs his large hands along your curves causing you to lean into him even more before he takes your hand off him and retches your arm back. You’re spun around with such force that your mouth hangs open in shock. He roughly pulls you against him, trapping your aching arm between your back and his firm body. 

“Listen real close, baby.” he spits, words laced with venom. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m the one in charge. So, be a good little whore and keep it in your panties until we get to the room.”

The elevator dings and he lets you go, only to grab your hand and practically drag you to the suite. You take note of the wetness that’s pooled in the flimsy fabric between your legs from the little altercation. This little playboy has a rough side, and you can’t wait to see just how rough he can get.

His slender, ringed fingers put the key card to the scanner until the light turns green and you're swept away into the most luxurious room you’ve ever stepped foot in. Dull lights make the blue hues and black tones even that much more alluring. A giant mirror hangs above a bed fit for a prince and the large windows show the city in all its glory. 

Jack stalks over towards the window sitting in the middle of the large room. He sees men with cameras still mingling about below trying to get some shots of him and his latest conquest. He’ll give these sleazy excuses of people the shots they desire and more.

You shed your coat and purse before making your way towards the hulking figure near the window. You can tell something plagues his mind. It’s not hard to sense when he looks like a lost puppy in the moon’s hue. 

He glances at you as he moves to stand behind you. He pulls you in close by your waist and brushes your hair away from your neck. His fingers are so feather like you almost couldn’t register them. His lips though, you can feel them just fine as they pepper kisses and bites along your neck.

“City’s beautiful isn’t it?” he asks in between his sucking and biting. Creating little patch works of art across the expanse of your skin.

You’re in a trance and all you can do is hum in agreement. The feeling of his hands groping the soft flesh of your hips and his lips dragging along the base of your neck has you silently enjoying the attention. The only sounds coming from you are whimpers and breathy moans.

It’s a symphony to Jack’s ears. He finds your sounds more beautiful than anything Haydn conducted. He may just want sex, but he knows how to appreciate the beauty he finds in the people he beds. He might be an asshole, but he’s an asshole with a taste for the human form.

He places your hands against the window and kicks your legs apart. “What’re you doing?” you ask in slight concern. 

As he’s making quick work of discarding his clothes he simply states, “I’m going to fuck you while the city watches.”

What? You couldn’t have heard him right. There’s people down there that could easily see, there’s a million dollar mattress made for a rough fucking. A window is not what you wanted. But, what you want doesn’t matter in your profession and it certainly doesn’t matter to the prince as he pushes his naked body against your clothed one, trapping you against the cold glass.

He hikes your dress up past your hips and stares at the pretty lace thong sitting between your full ass. He grabs at the flesh, pawing and kneading before landing a harsh slap. You jerk against the glass and you feel the sting go straight to your core. 

The cool metal of his rings soothe over the places he strikes, easing the burn. His cock is leaking at the site of you spread out for him and the whole world to see.

“You see all the cameras below us, baby?” he asks while rutting his aching member against you. You can feel his precum sticking to your skin. He reaches around your body and pulls your breasts from the confines of the sparkling material of your dress. He starts treating your chest like he did your ass just moments ago. His rings catch your nipple with each grope of your chest making you mewl and arch back against him.

“Make sure to smile pretty, cause you’re going to show them how good I fuck this cunt.”

He rips your panties down your legs and stands between them. You’re soaked for him. And the thought of people watching as he uses you makes you even more wet. You feel him rub his dick through your sticky folds. He bumps your clit a few times and your legs shake with each pass of his bulbous tip against your bundle of nerves. 

He slowly pushes in. Your walls welcome him as he bottoms out with ease and you're both letting out pleasured groans. “Oh, fuck.” you gasp. The feeling of his thick cock resting inside you makes your eyes roll in the back of your head. He’s almost hurting you with his size. And so, you try to scoot up a bit to relieve the ache he’s creating.

He grabs your throat, jerking you back up to him. You let out a pained cry. You’re trying to adjust, truly, but he isn’t helping you. 

“Nuh uh.” he growls. “You’re going to take what I give you, slut.”

The bit of gentleness he showed you was just the calm before the storm. He forces your face against the window and starts to thrust in and out. His pace is hard and rough. His grip on your scalp helps with leverage. He knows you’re enjoying the stroke of his dick with the screams you let out and the way your pussy is pulsing around him. 

“God, how is a whore this tight?”  he leans in towards your face, taking in the sickly sweet fragrance you adorn and pants against your neck, “You like being watched don’t you, my dirty girl? I know you do because this,” he lands a smack against your pulsing cunt, “is milking me.”

You let the degrading words help you towards your climax. He’s hitting that spot inside you just right. His balls are hitting your clit with each sharp snap of his hips and it’s all too much. You can barely hold yourself up, the only anchor you have is his firm hold across your stomach. 

You both notice the flash of the cameras going off, but it doesn't faze you, you both love it. It makes both of your senses heightened. The thought of these pictures plastered on every magazine and news station has Jack gripping your hair even harder and driving into with such force you fear the glass may crack.

“Jack,” you cry. “Oh, fuck right there. Harder.”

He slaps a hand over your mouth to silence your pleas. “Shut up, bitch.” 

He forces your head back and the new angle your body creates has tears welling up in your eyes. The pleasure he’s giving you is borderline painful. But, his tight grip across your mouth and the delicious force of his dick has you wanting more.

 Jack can tell you’re getting close because it’s getting harder to pull out of your tightness. He takes his hand that's in your hair and braces it against your hip, making you fuck yourself against him. 

“You wanna cum, baby? Go ahead. Show em’ how this cunt swallows me up.”

Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere. You scream behind the palm of his hand. You can’t seem to catch your breath, your lungs ache from the air he’s keeping you from. You’re practically lifeless as he fucks up into you, chasing his own release. 

“Shit...” he gasps. The vice-like grip you have on him has him snapping his hips against you faster. Jack feels his lower stomach tighten and his balls constrict before he pulls out and finishes on your lower back, just below the bunched up fabric. He takes a moment to admire the mess he created on you. He’s sure his plan of fucking a woman so openly will diminish any doubts about him and who he beds. 

He pulls on his underwear and makes his way to the bar occupying the corner of the room to make himself a drink. You take a moment to catch your breath and drag your body from the condensed window pain. Your hair is wild, makeup smeared, and you have cum stuck to your thighs and back. You feel more used than usual. But, this prick just gave you the best orgasm of your life and you’d do it all over again.

You straighten yourself up as much as you can before turning around and being met with a steely, blue gaze. “Congrats, sweetheart.” he smirks, taking a drink from whatever concoction he created, smacking his lips. “You’re a star.”

[remsmoonlight]

— title : a sweet truth

— word count : 2.1k words

— pairing : john wich x reader

— summary : you get an overwhelming need to share with John how you feel, unable to keep it to yourself anymore, leaving only the good to follow.

— warnings : none, issa soft one

note: my first one shot back and it’s john of course! anyways i need to binge the movies again because this man’s voice was difficult to master this time around, now i will be getting to requests now i have indulged myself oops

                    ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open !   *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The dull crackle that runs mindlessly beneath the audio of the radio is the only sound that can be heard illuminating the space of the bedroom where you and John lay contently together. He’d offered to repair the object, or even buy another but you refused stubbornly — remarking that it gives it a certain endearing charm. You had joked that it reminds you of him. In the sense that while it has a flaw, it was able to bring joy and amusement to a person’s life. It’s humbling to know that even the John Wick was human, that he had his flaws despite being difficult to witness them in the flesh.

It took a lot for John to bare the darkest and most damaged parts of his conscience. He couldn’t go another day where his mind leapt endlessly to conclusions, his mind conjuring haunting images of your departing body that would eventually come to pass — to him, it was inevitable. He fully convinced himself he was hallucinating when you had not retreated in fear, with the look of disgust cosying up to your reflection, but the opposite. He is still a man greatly feared by a whole world beneath yours, yet you still gaze upon him with nothing but warmth.

You will your mind to focus on the words from the small object, yet it’s the heat that is emitting from his body in waves that prevent you from fully taking in what is being said, its presence doing more to provide white noise than entertainment. The minor glint in your gaze turns upwards to drag your sight across the body that half lays on top of you.

Like vines, to be found in a twist of limbs that would be almost difficult to distinguish what belongs to who is a common occurrence, the sense of shielded from the scorching realities that the world bares boldly is an addicting concoction that you can only find with him. Your heart swells tenfold at the mere thought of him and being here in such a simple way that holds so much affection just for two people.

“ What ? “

The suddenness of his voice lifts you from your thoughts that run their own race, a shy lift of your lips can be seen twirling gracefully in response.

“ Nothing, I’m just thinking. “

“ Thinking? “ he asks you, a light hint of laughter gently coating the question with a feather-like touch. “ Are you trying to scare me? “

Eyes widen in response to what he says, a heavy burst of air plummeting to the soft mattress below the two of you. “ Don’t be so rude! “ A short chuckle trails behind your reply, secretly loving the cheeky side of his personality coming out to peek out.

You’ve realised that he has a warmth whenever you’re together, but even still he maintains an air of such seriousness you’re surprised he has not collapsed under the pressure of holding such a wall up with his bare hands, these moments are the kind that you paint mentally — a still of this moment in a thousand shades of gold. Upon your first meeting of his, you’d never associate that with him, with how intimidating and stone faced he was, it would be a honeyed lie if someone would have described him in such a way but here he is. Not a honeyed lie but a sweet tasting truth that you never want to be without again.

“ I’m sorry. “ he apologises as the amusement in his tones still very much present that would aim to refer to him as a hypocrite, but it’s not spoken with vitriol, his words directed towards you rarely contain any harshness. “ Tell me, I’m curious. “

It’s a minor debate that dances with only itself, zig zagging with a biro pen that creates a mess of lines converging at multiple points to create a tangle plot point that should not be as complicated as it’s being made out. Neither of you have muttered the L word, not even under your breath in passing and the one dominating emotion you can feel overwhelming your body entirely is incredibly close to it.. but is it too soon? Even as a description? It’s a fear you can feel tickling your neck from behind, whispering stained words of discouragement, but if you have learnt anything, it’s that hiding your feelings will be worse off in the long run. Never can a human being strive for the euphoria of authentic happiness clutched in their fist when they lock away their thoughts and their desires in a box to gather age and dust — leaving behind a hollow shell of what could have been had it the opportunity to bud and grow.

“ Well.. “ you begin, your sight lowering to meet the sight of his neck, unable to look him in the eyes fully and you approach the topic. “ I was thinking about you. “

“ Yeah? “

“ I’m just.. happy. More than I thought I could be and it’s you I have to thank. “ Your shoulders shrug as best they can from your position laying down on the bed.

“ I think I should be the one saying that. “ he replies softly, his words ringing truer than they could ever be realised to be as he leans down to leave behind a ghost of a peck behind your ear. It’s an action that is short and sweet.

Never did John imagine himself being rewarded for being the architect in more tragedies and more horrors than he could ever recall. Though, he soon realised your presence was rather the opposite, a ticket to a greener field void of bloodied bargains and death, and should he keep you in his life that would be an opportunity he would not let pass him by in a sea of missed chances left to drown due to his lack of motivation. He gazes upon you fondly in affection, a hand reaching up to draw mindless circles in the back of your hair, memories of his last bargain to leave his previous life playing before him as if an old gritty movie.

“ Stop it, John. I haven’t done a thing! “ your nose wrinkles as you refute what he says with a bashful glint that explodes in your gaze. After all the time you’d spent together and you still refuse to see yourself in the way John has painted you in —

“ You’ve done more for me than you realise. “

It feels like yesterday you shared your first kiss, fondly remembering how you’d mentally remarked that it’s so unfair that what is between you should be so perfect, a cruel joke were it not to work out. Though your heart is full of gratitude when you still tell yourself that not a worry should be had, your need for a physical reminder as you move your hand to his clothed back — bringing him closer as if to burn a permanent reminder into your fingertips.

“ I guess that’s why we compliment each other so well, huh? “

A wispy sigh plummets, your thoughts and emotions mixing more and more into a blend of intensity as you fully realise just how much you have fallen and adore the man who shares your bed. It has been such a long time you have had these emotions to this degree rouse from, what has felt like, an endless slumber. Yes, there had been a few who had caught your eye, but compared to the substance that has been created and nurtured from you both, they had nothing more than a water drop in a boundless and enduring sea. It’s a hope of yours that you don’t look foolish before him, getting so emotional over something like this, you scold yourself mentally — trying to pull yourself together before you completely crumble.

“ What’s wrong? “

“ It’s nothing, really. “ you shake your head, accompanying the almost denial. You want to let everything in your heart free, but the question is how to without scaring him off. There’s not much that can scare him, but you’d rather not throw a spanner in the flawless equation.

“ You don’t have to tell me, but it might help if you do. “ John lends a soothing weight in your hand as he interlocks your fingers together, leaving the choice completely up to you, refusing to force you to share something that is so personal to you. “ it’s your call. “

“ It’s nothing crazy.. “

The side of John’s brain that has been hardwired to jump to every scenario imaginable — good and bad, is running rampant. Itching to be prepared so nothing is able to disrupt the perfect day dream of a life that had only been made available through television shows and movies, now that he has it, every day he promises to never let it be ruined. Nothing good can ever occur from ripping away the first drop of water that touches a person starved of it for days, only a troublesome path of anger can walk that path on its twisted and turned limbs.

“ I think it’s time that I tell you how I feel, “ you state, your lips almost devouring your lips by how hard they bite them, a lost thought of how you have not drawn a drop of blood seeping into irrelevancy. “ how I really feel. “

“ Right? “

For the first time, John is completely unable to get a read of you. The apprehension that is emitting off you in strong waves is not something that comforts him fully, though the fact that you speak not from anger and have opted to stay in your current position as opposed to fleeing is the only source of relief he can continue to draw energy from. Curiosity is the only thing that dominates his mind, wanting desperately to hear the next part of your statement.

In his silence, your brows furrow purely from your own thoughts. Mainly in the wonder of how you can approach this while sounding as if you have capacity and are not obsessed with him as some are with their idols. You know that would be something that would probably scare him off. Your fingertips lay a random beat on the top of his hand, you nestle closer to him as to make yourself comfortable — this does feel like the right time. Should it not? You remind yourself that it is part of a plan that the universe has for you, that it is part of a bigger picture you are not allowed to know until the final moment.

“ I just, “ you pause, blinking as you gather your thoughts and your words further. “ It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything remotely close to this. “

Your words are like a cozy kiss goodnight before two lovers depart until the next time they see each other, a warmth that slowly grows in his heart overspills at the sentiment you individually wrap with each word you speak. He can’t help but tip his head ever so slightly, to take in every detail on your features — in his mind, nothing is more so perfect than this moment.

“ What I’m trying to say is, and you don’t have to say anything — “ the rambling leaves your lips so effortlessly, as if to savour the last few moments of normally before the inevitable confession. “ I can’t help but realise how much I am in love with you. “

His eyes widen instantaneously as his features follow suit, his lips part in surprise. With how your speech had begun, it should not have come as a surprise, yet to hear it from your lips is as pleasant as the final summer’s day, surrounded by warmth and an impenetrable energy that shields you from any harm that would befall you. He’d lived the life of a haunting ghost story that it soon became a belief that he was a monster, to hear you in this moment recite something so real is something that is difficult for him to wrap his head around. Maybe he isn’t a monster that has made its peace with the darkness, that there is more for him as a person.

The emptiness is soon replaced by a soft weight on your lips, he has leans down to join you — unable to fight the desire to savour the taste of him as you often do when you kiss. It’s a fight you have not yet one, and it’s a fight you imagine you would prefer losing. Time is no longer a concept, you’re too wrapped up in the concept turned reality that is John Wick, only are you able to concentrate on the burning that his free hand leaves as they slide up and down your waist. If this is a dream, neither of you want to awaken.

“ Who says I’m not feeling the same as you? “

[kursed-curtain]

For My Sake (And Mine Alone)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Warnings for blood, self-harm, ableism, and internalized ableism. I hate this amulet so much.

--_ _+_ _--

Experimenting with the amulet's capabilities was an adventure Graham could explore easily from the privacy of his own office. Multitasking was a feature he learned about early on, letting the amulet take control for filing paperwork while he focused on researching the Library.

From what he learned, the Library of Avaria held a vast knowledge of everything that existed. Just ask a question and it can bring up multiple sources on the topic. The thing is, most normal libraries didn't also have the ability to bring up the current status of other people. Graham saw the ability as a cool sort of way to read minds, even when the amulet insisted it was simply reading out statistics.

As Graham worked, he heard a ping in the back of his mind. "What would you like to set your goal to?" The amulet asked, "Setting a goal helps the Library find the right resources and can keep you as the user on track."

Graham scratched his head. "I don't know, I just want to be a good king."

"Setting your goal to 'be a good king.' Here are some suggestions as to where to start."

_+_

"The Library makes note of how you often will subconsciously flick at yourself with your feather quill."

Graham stopped himself, noticing how the feather was brushed against his chin. An awkward way of writing, sure. However, he just did it to occupy himself. It helped him focus, it got the jitters out - as his family would often say, mostly to others who would ask. Nobody pointed it out during his time in Daventry, therefore it was normal.

The Library spoke otherwise.

"Compared to the rest of the kingdom, this behavior is considered abnormal. Compiling other examples of similar occurrences - chewing at your nails, picking at the wrists of your bracers, kicking your feet - these are actions that may seem off-putting and hinder your goal of being a good king."

Well, if that's the case, he could just... Stop, right? He could stop it just like any other habit of his. Graham had already worked off his habit of overthinking everything he would say - Amaya even commented on his new confidence when he went to pick up the order. If he could stop that, he could stop acting weird.

Graham continued looking through the Library. Then he felt his hand freeze up. He swore he initiated autopilot, why had he stopped? 

"The Library reminds you of how you flick at yourself with your feather quill. This will hinder your goal of being a good king."

He swore he stopped flicking the pen a few minutes ago… yet here was the feather resting under his chin.

"We suggest removing the feather. Would you like to prioritize terminating this habit in your learning plan?"

He felt so stupid, not being able to stop by himself. He should feel smarter, in fact, with the limitless intelligence of the Library at his fingertips. Graham tensed up, then sighed.

"Yes, of course."

_+_

As part of the goal plan the amulet had created, Graham set up an event to meet with the nobles of neighboring kingdoms. This would help him build connections, plus he didn't have to stay cooped up in a meeting room.

He sat down on his throne, shifting his position in his seat.

"Remember to reset yourself."

Of course. He checked his posture, adjusted his legs, and placed his arms on the armrests. He ran his finger along the grooves in the armrest's carving.

"You are in the process of removing this habit. Remember to stay alert."

He switched to clenching the carving instead. Still, steady, focused. 

While waiting for people to be let in, Graham looked around the room. He glanced at No.1, and the amulet read off his status.

"Royal Guard No.1 is concerned about the event's success."

Well, with Graham assisted by the amulet, No.1 wouldn't have to worry. Graham would be guided smoothly through the whole process, and soon Daventry would have many more allies than before.

The castle gates were opened. Ambassadors, lords, ladies, and every noble in-between marched into the throne room. No.1 and No.2 alternated introducing the guests - Graham made it a point that the Library recorded all of this, and thankfully it was already multiple steps ahead of him.

When every guest had settled, the amulet provided him with an opening speech. A bit of personalized writing, fine-tuned to absolute perfection. Graham could be nothing less. The speech went by in such a blur that he barely remembered what he spoke about - which did not help when he was asked about the speech. No matter, the amulet gave him every answer. He never fumbled a single conversation.

The only thing that bothered him, and continued to bother him for a majority of the event, was that the Library insisted on reading off every statistic for any person he looked at. Typically he could ignore it - multitasking was made easy - however, this time there was more than one or two people to look at. 

The worst part was that the descriptions overlapped, and Graham couldn't stop them. It was all "Lady Harrington has good opinions-" before the Library started another "The Duke of Rotham likes the-" until he couldn't take it anymore. 

Graham yelled out, a cry of "Distress!" turning the room silent. He squeezed his eyes shut, so the amulet couldn't find another person to read off of. He pushed past stunned nobility, storming out of the throne room and into his own bedroom.

Graham slammed the door behind him. He growled, "Stop talking, shut up, shut up!"  

"If you would like to gain a stronger connection to the Library of Avaria, you may increase the refill requirement."

He didn't hesitate, he just wanted to be back out there before suspicion grew further. Rubbing at the blade to prepare himself, he stabbed the pendant into his arm. Lightheadedness was nothing, he should focus on his reputation.

"Connection strengthened. You can now regulate when status is read."

Graham weakly nodded, resting against the footboard of the bed. He searched the Library in his mind.

"Find me something to help with this headache." He snapped.

Information whizzed past until the amulet found results. "Here are some remedies for a headache. A few can be found in the Hobblepots' shop. Additional sources have been found to help with healing from major blood loss."

Perfect. He'd look for all of that once the event had ended. As he got up from the bed, the door clicked open and a guard stepped inside.

"I just wanted to check in on you, sire," Piped up No.3, "You called out in distress and left unannounced. The visitors are worried."

Graham waved his hand in dismissal. "Tell them that I'm fine. Bring back the band, it'll help lighten the mood again. I'll be back soon."

No.3 nodded, then returned to the throne room. Graham groaned, looking down at the blood-soaked amulet in his hands. For now, for once, he could be in control. He wouldn't ruin himself, not again.

_+_

"Royal Guard No.1 is worried."

The guards were still sweeping up the throne room from last night's event. Graham had a quick meeting with No.1 earlier today, so this was out of the blue.

"He didn't sound worried when I talked with him. What's wrong?"

"He is concerned about this 'sudden change in your demeanor.' He says you aren't 'acting like yourself.'" 

Strange. Graham didn't notice any change. He's assertive, he's focused, he's everything a good king should be.

"Royal Guard No.1 is the only result for 'people who don't think you are acting like yourself.' This indicates that he is an outlier, and should not be counted."

That made sense. Graham shouldn't let one person determine what made him a good king. No.1 didn't have infinite knowledge, so he clearly didn't know what he was doing.

With that being said… What gave anybody the right to say what Graham had to be? Nobody else in the kingdom had the amulet, nobody else could know anything about everything at the blink of an eye. He was the king, and the king has the final word.

All he needed was himself, his own power, and no one else.

[zedecksiew]

Kriegsmesser

When I received Kriegsmesser in the mail I finally googled "kriegsmesser", and found out it meant "war knife". Which makes sense; Gregor Vuga's ZineQuest 2021 project is a tribute to "roleplaying games named after medieval weapons".

I love Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay's piss-renaissance Old World setting. I tend to pick up WFRP-a-likes sight unseen:

Warlock (quality);

Small But Vicious Dog (yesss);

Zweihander (which I have come to hate); etc.

Anyway: I backed Kriegsmesser without really knowing anything about it. So Kriegsmesser surprised me.

+

Kriegsmesser grew out of a Troika! cutting. Its 36 backgrounds are compatible with that system: each come with a couple of lines of description; a list of skills and possessions; an a visual cameo cropped from actual 16th-Century woodcut art.

Cohesive and competently flavourful. My favourite is the Labourer, who always starts with "an empty pine box":

"You've spent your life breaking your back, working hard for other people's profit. You have nothing to show for it but a spectre of the future."

(The obligatory ratcatcher-analogue , called the Vermin Snatcher, is here -- check that box!)

+

Kriegsmesser also comes with its own ruleset. Hits all the notes it needs to, with lots of orientation and advice for how to run a game -- but ultimately super-simple, mechanically:

Roll d6s equal to the value in a relevant skill, look at the highest result. 6 means you get what you want; 5 or 4 means you get what you want, at a cost.

It's not quite a dice pool, since only the highest result matters. No opposed tests.

+

Kriegsmesser intends to have this base mechanic handle fights, too. The combat rules - with armour, toughness and weapon values -- are nested in an optional section.

For a WFRP-a-like, this feels like a purposeful departure.

Many of WFRP's most celebrated adventures are celebrated for bits that their underlying ruleset does little to support: the investigative structure of "Shadows Over Bogenhafen"; the complicated timetable of "Rough Night At Three Feathers".

Ludwig von Wittgenstein never needed a statblock to be memorable.

Not to say that lethal, hyper-detailed fights isn't super Warhammer-y. (Kriegsmesser includes an injury table, broken down by body-part -- check that box!)

But here it feels like Gregor is saying: "I'm not Games Workshop and Roleplay isn't an ancillary of Warhammer Fantasy Battle; we can evoke grim-and-perilous-ness even if we fork away from heavy combat rules."

+

It has become ritual for me to read my partner Sharon to sleep.

Sometimes I read her RPG things. The other night, after I read her Kriegsmesser's introduction --

" The Empire wages an eternal war against Chaos. Its priests preach of Chaos as an intrusion, something unnatural ... These men see Chaos in anything that does not buttress their rule. They call it disorder, anarchy, corruption. They say that to rebel against their order is to rebel against god and nature. That the current arrangement is natural, rather than artificial.

" Meanwhile, the common people look to the Empire to deliver the justice that they were promised and they find none. They look to the Empire and do not see themselves reflected in it. They look around at what they were taught was right and good and see only misery.

" Their world begins to unravel. Chaos comes to reside in every heart and mind sound enough to look at the world and conclude it is broken. "

-- Sharon remarked: "Nice one."

The RPG things I read her generally leave Sharon lukewarm. She has enjoyed a couple -- but, yeah: for many of these books, text isn't their strong point.

Kriegsmesser is the only time I can recall Sharon praising the writing of an RPG book without my prompting.

Nice one.

+

That introduction surprised me. It underlines Kriegsmesser's biggest departure from its WFRP-a-like pedigree: how it characterises Chaos.

Corruption, a mainstay of most grim-dark-y games, is made an optional rule, like combat. Explaining this, Gregor writes:

" Kriegsmesser partially subverts or deconstructs the traditional conceit of Warhammer where the characters are threatened by the forces of Chaos. In this game it is the player characters who are the agents of 'Chaos': they are likely to become the 'rats' under the streets, and the wild 'beast-men' in the woods bringing civilisation down. It's the Empire and its nobles and priests that are corrupt ... "

Describing the Empire, Gregor writes:

" The Empire encompasses the world yet is terrified of the without. It enforces itself with steel and fire yet considers itself benevolent. It consumes the labour of others with bottomless hunger yet calls its subalterns lazy, or wasteful, or greedy. "

Holy shit this is the first time I've seen the word "subaltern" in an RPG thing, I think?

I love this.

+

Rant incoming:

With every passing decade Warhammer abridges its Moorcockian roots more and more; nowadays it is "Order = Good" and "Chaos = Evulz", pretty much.

Gone are the days when chaos berserkers are implied to grant safe passage to the helpless (because Khorne is as much a god of martial honour as he is a god of bloodletting); Or that the succor of Papa Nurgle is a genuine comfort to the downtrodden; Or that Tzeentch could unironically embody the principle of hope, of change for the better.

As Chaos is distilled into unequivocal villainy, Order goons get painted as Good Guys by default --

Giving rise to Warhammer's contemporary problem, wherein fans are no longer able to recognise satire.

+

When I was introduced to 40K, it seemed pretty clear that the Imperium was a Brazil-esque absurdist-fascist bureaucratic state: planets are exterminatus-ed due to clerical error; the way it stamps out rebellions is the reason why rebellions begin in the first place.

Tragi-comic grimdarkness. That was the point.

Nowadays that tone has shifted -- and you're more likely than not going to encounter a 40K fan who argues that the Imperium's evils are a justified necessity, to prevent worse wrongs.

We went from:

"Space Nazis because insane dumbass fuckery, also chainswords vroom vroom rule of badass!"

To:

"Space Nazis because it makes sense actually, and also chainswords make sense because [insert convoluted rationalisation here]."

+

Even Fantasy Flight's Black Crusade line, which ostensibly offers a look at 40K from the perspective of Chaos, never truly commits to its conceit.

With prep you could play a heroic band of mutant freedom fighters, resisting the tyranny of the Evil Imperium --

But I don't remember Black Crusade giving that kind of campaign any actual support. Its supplements service the relatively more conventional "You can play villains!" angle; the Screaming Vortex is a squarely Daemons-vs-Daemons setting.

+

This tonal drift culminates, in my mind, with Age of Sigmar, Games Workshop's heroic-fantasy replacement of the old WFRP / WHFB setting.

Here's the framing narrative for AoS's recently-launched Third Edition. Let's see whether I've got things right:

A highly professionalised, technologically-superior tip-of-the-spear fighting force (the Stormcast Eternals);

Backed by an imperialist military-industrial complex (Azyrheim);

"Liberating" rich new territories (Ghur) for exploitation by a civilised settler culture (Settlers of Sig-- I mean, Free Cities);

Justified because the locals are irredeemable heathens (Chaos and Kruleboyz).

I mean, that's a sweet-ass Warhammer setting. It's contemporary, laser-guided lampoon. Except it is played totally straight.

In AoS, a literal crusade is justified as the moral good.

+

I think Kriegsmesser surprised me because its framing of Chaos -- as a promise, as the light of hope shining through cracks of a broken world --

It feels so fucking right.

Yes: its a subaltern deconstruction of the conventional moral universe of Warhammer -- but it is a take that is also already implied / all but supported in the various depictions of the setting: from WFRP to the modified title-crawl of Black Crusade.

I'm annoyed I didn't think of it, myself. Damn you, Gregor!

And I'm annoyed that more Warhammer fans aren't thinking it, also.

+

lmagine if Kriegsmesser's perspective stood on equal standing as the GW orthodoxy. Imagine if, instead of simplifying stuff into "Order = Good" and "Chaos = Evulz", GW did a Gregor Vuga.

You'd have a Rashomon-ed Warhammer, where villainy depends on perspective:

You are fearful villagers, huddled around your priest, muttering prayers against the wild braying coming from the trees beyond your gates.

You are Aqshyian tribeswomen, defying the thunder warrior towering over you, the foreigner demanding you bow to his foreign god.

You are a Tzeentchian revolutionary cell, desperately trying to disrupt a Inquisitor's transmissions so your home planet isn't destroyed by fascist orbital fire.

+

Get Kriegsmesser HERE.

+++

( Image sources: https://theenemywithinremixed.wordpress.com/2021/05/21/thoughts-on-the-4e-death-on-the-reik/ https://www.criterion.com/current/posts/59-brazil https://www.deviantart.com/faroldjo/art/Warhammer-40k-Black-Crusade-273596035 https://www.warhammer-community.com/2021/06/09/fancy-a-new-life-bringing-order-to-the-mortal-realms-join-a-dawnbringer-crusade-today/ https://www.nme.com/blogs/the-movies-blog/team-america-15-anniversary-south-park-2558750 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palestinian_children_and_Israeli_wall.jpg )

[chrstbll]

miracles and lucky days| ben hargreeves

(gif not mine) 

+tags: @lalisbitch @spaceclone-mom , @meowmeowrex23 @strangeyouthcrusade

plot: after coming back from the 60’s, instead of finding the sparrow academy, the group come face to face with a much more positive outcome of their actions.

                                                           -

The words of Klaus were diluted, inaudible and ringing loudly in your head. Your limbs could barely hold the weight of your body, and the nausea from jumping between timelines hitting your stomach didn’t quite put you at ease. All was blurry at first, not hearing nor seeing properly caused you to feel light-headed as well, but before your legs or your mind gave in, somebody strong arms held you up protectively.

- Are you good? – Diego’s gentle call for you brought you back to reality. He was always a little bit concerned about you. He didn’t show it in great actions, it was in the seemingly unimportant things he did for you. There wasn’t anything romantic involved between you two, instead of that it was a deep understanding of each another that made you appreciate the other significantly. You nodded to confirm that you were in fact all right, shrugging it off with a smile.

Klaus was right. After you successfully registered what he was saying, a wave of relief washed over your heart, mind, and soul. Your whole being. For once, all seven of you managed to successfully jump back to 2019 without any harm or mistake being done. It was quite unbelievable. A dreamlike scenario which proved itself to be nearly impossible to believe. Looking around the hall, everything seemed to be all right. It felt okay. The aura was intimately comforting, yet something was amiss. Different. Changed. It certainly was not a malicious ambiance that you discovered, but one new, something yet unexperienced thing. The others noticed it too, as all six of them were looking around suspiciously. Memories, feelings, and people rapidly invaded your mind, those you haven’t thought about a lot. Pogo? Grace? Are they okay now?

Luther suggested to enter the living room ahead of you, so that’s what you all mutually agreed to. Five was the one who went further on before you heroically and begged all of you to proceed with caution, because we don’t know what’s waiting for us there. The walk from the hall to the living room happened painfully slowly given that the feeling of uncertainty was sitting in one and all’s eyes and was at fault for your lack of speed. Upon realizing the academy was unnervingly noiseless, the anxiety birthed a huge lump in your throat, which you couldn’t swallow. Your heart was terrified from the possible negative outcome of this time jump. What if that moment of clarity and amenity was only a façade and was only felt because none of you faced reality in the short but drunk moment of arrival? Sometimes you thought about how nice it would be to just live without worry. To live in pure bliss, without a care in the world. Without a problem in the universe to solve. How astonishing it would be not to recall what loss, trauma, or sadness feels like. But then again, we would live in ignorance that way.

Turning towards the divans and sculptures in the living room, your attention automatically focused on the small moving figure, who was absentmindedly cleaning the shelves with dusting feathers. Recognition hit you like a truck, as the character of an ape appeared before you. Your breath hitched in your throat. Mercifully, it was a positive reaction, a sentiment you haven’t undergone in a long time.

- Pogo?! – Allison was the first one to call out their siblings’ friends’ name. Barely letting his name roll from her tongue, the sea of emotions instantly overthrew her, and tears stormed down her face. Their beloved guardian turned around in shock, he looked so puzzled, it was as he didn’t recognize the people in front of him. You feared that was the case. What if we screwed it up even more?

- Oh, children. I was waiting for you all to return – he’s spoken politely and gifted us with a kind smile, just like he always did. You almost forgot what a courteous and caring figure Pogo was. His scarce although deep voice reminded you of simpler times. A type of nostalgia which you subconsciously yearned for god knows how long. Everyone gathered around him in a matter of seconds, engulfing him in a suffocating hug. Pogo was still bewildered from the sudden act of affection, as you all were from seeing him alive and breathing, but in this instant of happiness, the questions why and how didn’t matter. What mattered was the present minute, what you currently knew as is.

And next, a voice broke the silence.

Who would dare to turn around first? Who wanted to confirm that the voice that was just heard from behind them, came from a legit source? On a serious note, was it even real? Your minds are only playing tricks on you. You were ecstatic for having Pogo back, but it would be too good to be true to turn around and see the possessor of the voice. We can’t have all the wonderful things. It never went that well for you. Your bodies turned stiff, and your feet were frozen on spot. But what made you fear to turn around? The horror of hearing something that’s not truly there or facing it bravely. Something…someone you haven’t faced in roughly two decades.

- What the hell took you guys so long? – the annoyance sounded so raw, hence genuine. You could hear and understand the words crystal clear; then why didn’t you believe your ears?

The group hug disassembled at a snail's pace and turned to face what they never expected to see ever again in their lifetime. You, on the other hand, had secretly wished for a moment like this. Your heart was aching for the chance, not caring about being rational nor delusional. It kept the faith in your soul steady.

- Please, tell me I’m not the only one who can see him – Klaus muttered.

- Ben – Diego confirmed in a hushed tone without letting out any more words as he didn’t need to. He was the bravest out of all of you to speak up.

So, there he stood in his monochrome outfit, with his black leather jacket hugging his form and a coy smile painted all over his face. The faint rosy cheeks, lively eyes and vivid emotions displayed told you everything. The Ben standing in front of you was very much real, and more importantly, alive, and well.

- All of you look like you’ve seen a ghost – he grinned from ear to ear, and his light-hearted joke legitimately freed your body from the tension which held you in your place so aggressively. Number Four didn’t hesitate one second longer, and slammed himself against his brother, who sweetly returned the embrace. Registering it, savouring it, then finally loving the physical contact, Klaus broke up in a hysterical laughter. The group succeeded to pull the strings in a way his death was luckily prevented. How the hell did we manage this? But he didn’t care. All that mattered was the present minute, what he currently knew as is.

- You’re telling me, man – his laugh slowly started to die down, but his joy only rose. Of course, a group hug was crucially needed and initiated effective immediately. Everyone surrounded him, and you held onto each other tightly, so he never slips away from your grasp again. You admitted it to yourself, that it felt heavenly, but more precisely, it felt so damn terrific. The others eventually backed away, but you stayed right in front of him.

- Hey, you – were all he needed to say for you to go flying into his arms – Where have you been? I missed you – his confession was a simple, warm, and loving anecdote, and it broke your heart in the best way possible.

You missed me?

Your loud sobbing, and ocean of tears was baffling and a mystery to him, and he looked at the others with a perplexed expression. They asked him to just let you be because they understood everything perfectly. Each tear was valid and every one of them had a reason. His arms were wrapped around your body, as he was shielding you from all the cruelty in this world. His embrace wasn’t tight, but fond and sensitive enough. You weren’t greedy at all; it was just all too marvellous. Hearing his stable beating heart as he held you close to his chest completely fulfilled you. A featherlight kiss was tenderly placed on your forehead by him, in an attempt to calm you down. It failed, as more droplets of salty water coated your apple-like cheeks. Even so, the kiss was given so compassionately, it must have come from heaven itself.

Maybe you were in Heaven. Maybe your life ended when you arrived in the hall. This isn’t real and I’m probably dead in Diego’s arms by now. But what if you accepted it as your reality now? You couldn’t believe it, even after feeling his touch and his kiss on your body. It might be because you thought you didn’t think your wish to see the person closest to your heart again would ever come true. After the horrific months you went through, it was certainly an impossibility to be gifted with something this enormous, significant, and joyous.

Maybe miracles and lucky days exist. Maybe they existed both on the same day in favour of you. I’ll accept this, I deserve this. You absolutely deserve to be happy and to drop the burden that’s been weighing on your soul for years. Nobody deserves to live their lives in inescapable guilt and grief. Having Ben back in all your lives meant the world to you. You were thinking about how you might have to fill him in on the details of the previous events, but that was a case for a later part of the day. For now, it was nice to bask in his love and warmth. You’ll care about every other issue later. This was the only feeling that mattered in that moment. Peace finally taking its rightful place back in your heart, which has been waiting for it for a long time now. He radiated pureness, an energy which was incomparable to anything else. Clutching his jacket was your anxiety making sure he doesn’t leave again. Maybe he was reading your thoughts, but at the same time he was realizing he’d never leave you even if it meant his life.

- I missed you too.

[sturchling]

Liars in Crime

So, this is based of a prompt from @chocolate1721

One day, Marinette is on a video call with Damian when she leaves to help with the bakery. He soon gets another call from Marinette, but instead he sees two girls destroying Marinette’s work. What will happen next?

Hope you guys like it!

Marinette didn’t know it yet, but this would be the day that the Lila problem was solved. And it would be all thanks to her friend Damian. Marinette and Damian were on FaceTime that afternoon. Marinette and Damian had been pen pals for a while by this time. They were originally paired up for a class project, but they had actually become very close friends. They eventually switched to email, which then became texting, and now they FaceTime almost every day. Sometimes, they don’t even talk while on FaceTime and instead work on individual projects and just enjoy the other’s company. This particular day, Damian was working on some homework, while Marinette worked on some new commissions. Jagged and Penny had asked for Marinette to make their outfits for the Wayne Gala that was in a few weeks. Damian and his family had also commissioned some new suits from the young designer, which she had completed and sent to them the day before. Marinette had just finished Jagged’s suit and just had to finish Penny’s dress.

 --------------------------

While the two worked, they chatted about their days. Well, Marinette was venting more than chatting. She had been dealing with the Lila Variety Show all day, and it had been a particularly rough day. Apparently, Lila had told Alya that Marinette had spent the night sending her nasty messages. This caused the whole class to glare at Marinette all day and call her a bunch of horrible names. A few had even tripped Marinette as she left the class that afternoon. The only ones who hadn’t been attacking her were Alix and Nathaniel. Adrien hadn’t attacked her, but he certainly didn’t have her back like he claimed to when this whole Lila mess started. Most days now, Damien heard all about Lila’s daily lying. He had grown to hate this girl without ever meeting her. The entire Wayne family hated this girl after hearing what she had been doing to Mari. They all wished there was something they could do, but Marinette refused their offer of legal assistance and it is not like Batman could deal with such a small problem that wasn’t even happening in Gotham. There was one good thing that came of all this, Batman had finally heard about what had been happening in Paris. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t heard of Hawkmoth before this, but now he was working with the local heroes remotely, so as not to risk being akumatized himself. Somehow, during all this time, neither Marinette or Bruce had figured out the other’s identity.

  --------------------------

After they had been on FaceTime for about an hour, Marinette was called downstairs by Sabine. They needed help with a particularly busy rush. So, Marinette ended the call, saying that she would call back later. Little did the pair of friends knew, but trouble was brewing across the street, at the school. Alya and Lila were talking in the classroom. Lila was upset because Marinette had continued to send her mean texts, and had even started sending threatening texts. Alya was furious. How dare Marinette threaten her best friend!? Alya knew the young designer had changed a lot, but she never thought Marinette would sink so low. Alya wanted to teach Marinette a lesson. But Lila was too sweet. “No, Alya. I don’t want to hurt Marinette. Its fine, they are just words.” Alya didn’t understand how Lila could be so forgiving. “It is not fine Lila. She had been threatening you and needs to be stopped. What if we don’t hurt her, but just mess with her current designs a bit. She has been more obsessive about them than usual lately, so messing with them should teach her a lesson.” Lila hid her face so Alya wouldn’t see her smirking. “If you think that would work Alya. But won’t Marinette be upset?” Alya loved how thoughtful her friend was. “It may upset her, but she deserves it. She has been upsetting you.” With that, the two girls walked over to the bakery. They snuck in through the door to the apartment, right behind the Dupain-Cheng family who were all in the bakery. The girls entered Marinette’s room and began destroying everything they could find. But Lila made a major mistake. When she grabbed a sketchbook from Marinette’s desk, she knocked the mouse and accidently clicked on the call button on FaceTime. That one mistake put Lila’s downfall in motion.

  --------------------------

Damian continued with his homework, not expecting to hear back from Marinette for some time. But about 15 minutes later, Damian got a notification that Marinette was trying to call him. He just assumed that she had finished in the bakery quicker than expected. He accepted the call, but instead of his friend, he saw two girls destroying everything in the room. He quickly started screen recording, so he had evidence of what the two girls were doing. He didn’t know how these two were so dull, that they hadn’t noticed him on the screen. Damian recognized these two girls from Marinette’s descriptions of her class. This must be Alya and Lila, the liar making his friend miserable. Damian texted Marinette about the two girls in her room and how they were destroying her designs. The two had already ripped up the pages from Marinette’s sketchbook, and were now Lila trying to destroy the dress Marinette was working on for Penny while Alya cut up the suit meant for Jagged. Damian was furious and decided to try and get the girl’s attention before they did too much damage to the clothes. Damian cleared his throat and watched as the two girls froze.

  --------------------------

Alya and Lila had been cutting up the two outfits on the mannequins when they heard someone clear their throat. Both girls froze, wondering who could be in there. They had seen Marinette and her parents in the bakery. There shouldn’t be anyone else. They wildly looked all over the room trying to see the source of the noise. They almost thought they had imagined the noise when they heard “I’m on the computer you incompetent cretins!” Damian couldn’t believe how pathetically dull these two were. Alya and Lila whipped around to stare at the screen, and they saw a boy about their age with black hair and green eyes just glaring at them. Lila was terrified. If he said anything, everything Lila had built would be destroyed. They could go to jail, and Lila couldn’t become famous from jail. So, Lila put on her best pouty face while also trying to look flirty, and she sauntered up to the computer. “Oh, hello there. We are friends of Marinette’s from class. She told us we could borrow her notes from class, but she forgot to give them to us. She told us to come up and-” Before the liar could finish her newest tall tale, the door to the room burst open. Standing at the trap door was Marinette and Sabine, and they were furious! Marinette stared at Alya, who was holding a pair of scissors in one hand and the suit for Jagged in the other. “WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” Marinette rushed to Alya and grabbed the suit from Alya. Thankfully, she hadn’t managed to do much damage to the suit yet, but Penny’s dress was a different story. The dress was nothing more than scraps now. Marinette saw red and began yelling at Alya, who started yelling right back.

  --------------------------

In all the chaos, Lila tried to slip out the door, but the way was blocked by Sabine. “Oh no you don’t young lady. You two are staying right here until the police arrive.” Lila was terrified, she wanted to get out, but Sabine was standing on the only door out of the room. Alya at this point, was concerned. Her parents would kill her if the police were called. Alya tried reasoning with Sabine, “Wait Mrs. Cheng! We only did this because Marinette has been bullying and threatening Lila-” Sabine only got more angry replying, “Be quiet young lady! Even if that were true, that is no reason to break in and destroy my daughter’s property. You two have committed some serious crimes today! Did you two know breaking and entering is a felony? You are in major trouble!” Alya and Lila kept trying to appeal to Sabine, but nothing worked to convince her not to call the police.

  --------------------------

While, Sabine called the police to report the break in, Damian watched in silence. He was furious. How dare these two break in and mess with Marinette’s hard work. After a few minutes of Sabine and Marinette yelling, the rest of Damian’s family filtered into the room having heard the commotion. At first, they thought something was wrong with Damian, but then they saw what was happening on the screen. A short explanation from Damian, and the rest of the Wayne family was just as furious as Damian. Bruce was almost shaking with rage. Jason was muttering about going to Paris and teaching these two a lesson. Even Alfred wasn’t calm anymore, he was glaring at the screen and roughly twisting the feather duster in his hands. The Wayne family watched as Marinette and her mom kept the two vandals in the room until the authorities arrived. The police arrived shortly after and took the two girls to the patrol car, so they could be taken to the station. The officers then returned to the bedroom and began gathering evidence. They took pictures of the damage and then took a statement from Damian. After Damian gave his statement, he sent the police the video he had recorded of the two girls destroying the clothes and designs.

  --------------------------

While the police gathered evidence, Alya and Lila waited in the car. Lila was furious. How did things go so wrong? She was supposed to be laughing with Alya about the revenge against Marinette. She wasn’t supposed to be in handcuffs in the back of a police car. Alya turned to her and said, “Don’t worry Lila, once we explain everything, they will let us go.” Lila could not believe how dumb this girl was. Even if she had been telling the truth, that wouldn’t get them out of a felony charge. “Alya, even if the police believe us about Marinette, we would still be in a lot of trouble. Our best bet is to lie. Stick to the story I was telling Damian, we just went up to get notes. The stuff was already destroyed when we got there.” Alya wasn’t sure about that. Lying didn’t sit well with her. “But what about Mrs. Cheng? We already told her the real reason.” Lila was quick to respond, “Well, it will be our word against hers. We will just hope the police believe us.” Alya was still worried, but agreed to Lila’s plan. They worked out the exact details for their story, and by the time the police came back, they felt confident they would get away with it.

  --------------------------

When they arrived to the station, the two girls were placed in separate interview rooms, to wait until their parents arrived. Once their families arrived, the police informed them of the serious charges placed against them, and that the Dupain-Cheng family was pressing charges. The two families were horrified! Their daughters had committed two crimes in one day, including a felony. They were looking at some serious trouble, they could even end up in a juvenile detention center. That was even more likely, since they had also committed destruction of property while they were there and had damaged Marinette’s custom designs, which were worth a fair bit of money. Mrs. Rossi knew that her daughter could be looking at up to 3 years in a detention center. She was shocked her daughter would do something like this. The officers asked for permission to speak with their daughters and the families agreed, so long as they could watch from the other side of the glass. The police agreed to the request, and the interview began.

  --------------------------

Both girls stuck to the story they agreed on. Now matter how many times the police asked, the girls continued to say they had been invited in and were only there to get notes, and they had no idea how the clothes had been damaged.  The officers interviewing the girls were shocked at the ease with which the girls lied. The officers realized they needed to stop, and try something else. They left the room and the families started asking if they were cleared. “They said they were only there for the notes.” “They wouldn’t have done this.” “They wouldn’t lie to the police.” The police realized they needed to show the parents the video, so they pulled out a tablet and played the video for the family. As the video went on, the families grew paler as they watched Alya and Lila destroy the sketchbook and outfits. At the moment, Lila and Alya were back in the little holding cell, sitting on the bench. They were just chatting and laughing. The two families couldn’t believe how relaxed the two were. They weren’t guilty at all! Nora became enraged. How could these two be so calm?! Didn’t they realize how much trouble they were in?! Nora grabbed the tablet and stormed over to the two girls. Nora pressed play and watched as Alya and Lila grew pale as the video went on.

  --------------------------

Lila didn’t think there was any video of what they had done. How was she to know they had been recorded? Then, she realized by the camera angle, this was recorded from the computer. That brat on FaceTime must have recorded everything. The video clearly showed her and Alya ripping up the sketchbook pages and cutting up the two outfits. Lila and Alya began to realize they were in major trouble. Their story they told the police was obviously false and there was video to prove they were guilty. Alya started freaking out and yelling, “Wait! The only reason we did that was because of Marinette. She has been bullying and threatening Lila for days now! We just wanted to teach her a little lesson, its not like we hurt anyone!” Alya’s family stared at her in disbelief. How could she believe that Marinette would do that? Lila knew that it was a long shot, but it was her only chance. So, she turned on the water works and spun her story about how Marinette was threatening her by text for days. One of the officers walked up and said, “OK, then we need to see your phone.” Lila stilled at that and replied, “What?! Why?” The officer looked at her dubiously, like he already knew she was lying, “Because, if what your saying is true, then it may help your case. But you need proof. Luckily, texts stay on the phone and we can track the number.” Lila hadn’t thought about that. The class never asked for proof, so she hadn’t bothered to fake any. Alya turned to her and said, “Go on girl, show them the texts.” Lila didn’t know what to do. She handed her phone to the officer, hopping he would go to the other room to look at it, but he stayed right there and looked through all her messages. Eventually, after a tense minute, he looked up and said, “There are no texts threatening texts here at all. Alya turned and stared at Lila. That couldn’t be right, that would mean that Lila had lied to her. Lila wouldn’t do that. They were friends, right?

  --------------------------

Eventually, the truth came out. Everyone found out that Lila had been lying the whole time and had tricked the whole class. Just because she had been tricked, did not get Alya completely out of trouble. It did help her case however. The judge let Alya off with 100 hours community service and telling her she had to pay restitution to Marinette for the damaged clothes and book. Alya wasn’t necessarily happy, but she was grateful not to be going to juvie. Lila was not so lucky. After it was revealed that she was the mastermind behind everything, and how she had harassed Marinette, she was sentenced to 12 months in a juvenile detention center 10 miles outside of Paris, to hopefully avoid her being akumatized. Lila would also be on probation when she was released. After everything that had happened, Marinette decided to switch schools to a nearby art school. She did end up repairing the outfits for Jagged and Penny in time for the gala. She was very thankful that Damian had been there that day, and had recorded everything. He had solved the liar problem for her, from all the way in Gotham. Time went by, and Marinette got over the events that had happened in Mrs. Bustier’s class. Marinette was excited for what the future would bring, now that the liar was gone from her life.

[delimeful]

breathing cleaner air (2)

warnings: miscommunication, slight body horror, arguing

-

Roman woke up, which was a surprise in itself.

He was sprawled over a wooden floor, covered in what seemed to be a significant amount of unbound hay. His body ached severely, and he spent a moment waiting for his brain to register how horrifically itchy he must be under all this straw.

A beat later, he recalled that his sense of touch had grown muted and strange as soon as his skin vanished behind a layer of bone and keratin. Not itchy after all, then.

Whatever he was laying on, it was moving, slowly but steadily, and he couldn’t seem to make his body move more than an inch. He couldn’t even lift his head to see over the short back barrier of the space.

A twinge of pain, and then he was blinking rapidly as a new source of vision opened up, creating a dizzying overlay effect. He closed his eyes, and found that the new sightline was all that remained, showing him sprawling fields and a dirt road slowly inching past.

It was an eye, popping up on his shoulder armor as though that was a reasonable place for an eye to appear. He shuddered, revulsed, and it sunk away into nothing with a sharp spike of pain, leaving him with only the pair of eyes on his face.

Roman took a deep breath, trying to remain composed. His body had been malformed, and his best friend had attacked him, and now he was here, unharmed but for his immobility and the strange quirks of this new form. Surely Logan wouldn’t dispose of a corpse without first checking that it was actually deceased?

He had to be sprawled in the back of a covered wagon of some sort, the slow rhythmic motion of the vehicle thankfully not enough to jar any of his newly-obtained wings. If he’d been an actual seraph, he would have plenty of motivation to murder the farmer hired to move its ‘corpse’. Logan would never be so sloppy as to risk civilians like that.

So then, how had he gotten to this point?

He chewed on the question as time passed, mentally going around in circles until the wagon ground to a stop.

Footsteps circled the body of the vehicle, and stopped. Roman resisted the urge to try and make another eye to look through.

A surge of magic later, his body felt suddenly lighter, and he jolted upright into a sitting position, head turning to the back of the wagon.

Logan stood there, his staff held in a defensive block position. “Hello there.”

Roman made to indignantly ask what he was playing at, but all that came from him was a fierce shrieking whistle, not from his mouth but from his throat, where there were irregular gaps in the armor covering.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re confused,” Logan continued, still on guard. “I’m pleased to inform you that though I don’t yet have a solution to your ailment, I have no plans to kill you.”

A wave of relief washed over Roman, and he preened slightly, so immensely grateful that his best friend was a genius. How he’d figured it out, Roman had no idea, but clearly, he’d known from the moment Roman had stumbled past the treeline.

He leaned forward, intending on some kind of friendly contact, and Logan took a step back, his staff smoothly moving to point out in threat.

“No closer, please,” he instructed firmly. “I can’t understand you or your intentions at the moment. You’ll have to wait until we reach the others so they can translate.”

Roman drooped, wings drawing in around him as though he’d received a physical blow. The guarded look in those eyes, the stiff lines of his body-- Logan hadn’t looked so wary around Roman since he’d still thought him a snobby prince with a hatred of all things magical.

“It’s nothing personal, I assure you,” Logan offered, awkward the way he only way around strangers.

Roman sat back heavily, the shifted weight of his new form making the wagon shake slightly. Logan had secreted him away without knowing his true identity. He was taking a ‘defeated’ seraph somewhere in secret. He’d mentioned others. Other seraphim.

Logan had been on the field much longer than him, but they’d fought side-by-side together whenever Roman could shake his duties. How many monsters had Logan been preserving right under his nose?

Logan scythed his weapon through the air without hesitation, easily settling another heavy sedation spell on him. Belatedly, he realized that a low, threatening growl-- a sound like the deepest timbre on a pipe organ-- had bubbled up from his chest.

Good, he thought furiously as he settled back into a hazy unconsciousness. Why shouldn’t he be angry? In every sense of the word, he’d been betrayed.

-

When he next woke, the wagon had once again stopped and his body ached a little less. Soon, there were warm hands carefully supporting him from either side, lifting him from the pile of hay and settling him on soft fabric.

Voices spoke in soft murmurs. Roman struggled to tune in, focus wavering under the lingering exhaustion of the spell.

“--round, could I speak with him?”

“No, not today. He’s been awake for a while, you know how he gets about missions like this. I could pass along your message?”

“... It was a long shot anyways. I’ll be back in a week’s time, hopefully with better news.”

“You’ll find him, Logan, I just know it. But you have to take care of yourself, too. Won’t you stay, just for---”

A blink, and the light had changed, from the dimness of dusk to early morning sun.

Finally free of magical interference, he pushed himself to his feet with only the slightest of swaying, intent on figuring out what was going on and giving Logan a piece of his mind. Possibly in that order.

He was in a spacious but mostly-empty room, a soft arrangement of thick blankets and half-shredded pillows strewn about where he’d formerly slept. The single door was unlocked and opened into a hallway that was too short for him to walk through without crouching.

Feeling slightly foolish and mostly determined, he shuffled along the hall, searching for answers but finding none that made any sense. He didn’t recognize anything about the interior of the building, other than how it looked, for all intents and purposes, like a cozy, lived-in home.

There were framed photos lining the walls, candid pictures of many or just a few people smiling and talking together. Before Roman could inspect them too closely, a clatter from nearby caught his attention.

He turned into a small kitchen, where a short man with brown skin and dark curls appeared to be cleaning up a spill as something on the stove began to smolder. He didn’t seem to have any wings.

Befuddled by the mundane sight, a confused, croaky chirrup made its way from his throat, drawing the attention of the stranger. He braced himself automatically, his wings bristling slightly on automatic, but the stranger only smiled sympathetically.

“Hey there, kiddo!” Placing the washcloth he’d been mopping with aside, he dusted his hands off on his battered apron. “Good to see you awake! Did Logan-- that’s the guy who brought you here, did he tell you anything on the way?”

Roman stared at him blankly. The stranger-who-apparently-knew-Logan shook his head in amused resignation. “Well then, I suppose introductions are in order! You can call me Patton, this is my home! You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want, and you can come talk to me if you need help with anything!”

"You’re taking in monsters like stray cats?" Roman attempted and completely failed to ask, the words coming out as hollow but incredulous discordant notes.

“Yeah, I suppose I can’t really talk to you just yet,” Patton replied, proving his own point by misinterpreting Roman’s noises entirely. “But no worries, we’ve got other seraphs who can translate! My friend is waiting out in the barn to answer any questions you’ve got, and then once I finish up breakfast, you’re welcome to join us!”

Even without the charcoal mess that had used to resemble eggs currently smoking on the stove, there was no way he was just going to sit down and eat breakfast with monsters and monster sympathizers. He huffed, an airy whistling sound, and ignored Patton’s friendly smile as the man gestured helpfully to the open back door.

He would find Patton’s ‘friend’, question them to find out where this place was relative to his kingdom, and then leave promptly. From there, he’d… he’d figure something out. Hunt down the one who did this to him, maybe, and get some answers.

Decided, he stalked out the door, and managed to get three steps into the yard before pulling up short.

The acres of farmland stretched out to freshly-plowed fields, and more than a few chickens wandered about, but most notably, the main yard seemed to be dotted with winged children.

A variety of different shapes and ages, he could spot them in little groups, playing games or chattering or even roughhousing like weaned puppies. He spotted a pair wrestling, and nearly stepped forward in alarm at the sight of sudden shifting limbs and feathers.

To his surprise, even with one in a more inhuman state, they continued to playfully tumble without a single scratch, no sign of the sharpness that lined Roman’s entire form.

He could feel curious eyes on him as he beelined for the barn, trying to keep a level head. He shouldn’t have been so shocked by the sight. If there were seraphim adults, of course there would be seraphim children. He just hadn’t expected them to look so… human. He’d had no idea that they could even develop human guises so early in life.

The barn was a humble thing, the red paint worn, but the door hinges barely whispered when he pushed the door open. Inside, there weren’t any animals, but rather, tightly-packed cots and scattered piles of stored supplies. A few kids scurried past, while a deeper voice slowly counted down. An adult figure was sprawled over one of the ceiling rafters, face pressed into the crook of their arm, a pair of wings hanging down loosely around them. The early morning light cast them in silhouette.

Roman attempted to clear his throat, which didn’t work even a little bit and in fact produced a horrific squelching sound. The adult’s wings jerked slightly, but they didn’t look up.

“Seventeen. Sixteen. Hey, newcomer. Welcome to Sanctuary. Patton gave you the spiel? Twelve. Eleven. Ten.”

With an array of hushed giggles, the kids secreted themselves away, some abandoning the barn entirely. They were… playing hide-and-seek?

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. More importantly, why did this stranger’s voice seem familiar? Roman stepped forward, drawing his wings in to avoid clipping any nearby hiding spots.

“Two. One. Better have hid well,” they finished, pushing themself up and then swinging over the edge of the rafter. They dropped to the floor soundlessly, looking him over with mismatched eyes. “I’m Virgil.”

Roman felt his whole body bristle up with shock, and then fury.

‘You!’ he screeched, pointing aggressively at the guy who had single-handedly ruined his life.

‘Virgil’ eyed him speculatively for a moment, and then recognition lit his gaze.

“Oh. It’s you. Thought you died.”

In the corner of his vision, Roman could see the way his wings had fluffed up to twice their previous size, sharp-edged and rattling. A low, resonant hum filled the air around him, a poor placeholder for the accusations he’d like to hurl at the seraph.

Virgil only raised an eyebrow, looking much less harried than he had during their last encounter. Roman sorely missed having a sword to point threateningly, and also fingers that weren’t half-fused together.

“Might as well sort this out now.” He raised his voice, an edge of something other slipping into it as he projected. “Olly olly oxen free, you little menaces. It’s time for the adults to talk.”

There was rustling as those hiding in the barn crawled and hopped out of hiding spaces, a murmur of complaint that died as soon as they looked at Roman. He wanted to call the gazes invasive, the silence eerie, but it was hard to be truly suspicious of children who looked so hunted.

“Scram, fledgelings,” Virgil instructed dryly, shaking his core wings out.

As though breaking a spell, the kids scattered, some slipping past him to the front doors, others vanishing out of sight in hidden corners. Backdoors, secret exits. It seemed these people were well-prepared for an invasion.

An older kid lingered, dark hair and light grey wings ruffled up as they glanced between the two of them. The kid didn’t say anything, but the concern on their face was plain to see.

“Relax, Ellie,” Virgil said, bumping their wings together gently. “I can handle myself. Go make sure Patton isn’t burning the kitchen down?”

The kid-- Ellie?-- nodded slowly, casting one last unreadable look at Roman before departing and leaving them be.

Virgil stretched, arms over his head, and then between one motion and the next, his body spilled, stretching out into feathers and bone like it was nothing.

His outer wings were narrower, longer, and they stabbed into the ground where Roman’s curled around himself. He had no mask of bone covering his words, but the lower half of his face seemed to be solely composed of jagged, interlocking teeth, and pedipalps like those of a spider rested on the underside of his jaw. Roman couldn’t seem to count just how many eyes he had without his head beginning to ache.

“So,” a mental voice spoke, overlaying his own thoughts. “You survived after all.”

The resulting startled chirp that burst from Roman was nothing short of humiliating, but honestly, how often did one suddenly have to interact with telepathy! After a moment of scrambling, he gamely shot back a vitriolic assortment of unkind names.

“All I’m getting is static, buddy. Ease up on the mental clutter.” The seraph tilted his head, the small pair of wings atop his head fluttering mockingly. “Try not being so bad at this.”

Roman scowled with what little facial muscles he could still move, and took a rattling breath before ‘speaking’ again, forming the thought as clearly as possible. “Change me back.”

“Can’t.”

“What?!” Roman projected, trilling in alarm for emphasis.

Virgil yawned widely, displaying a throat that was, perhaps unsurprisingly, also full of teeth. “You heard me. Can’t do it.”

“You can turn people into monsters, but not change them back?”

“Oh, you had ‘monstrous’ down fine already.” Virgil was staring at him with several of those uncanny eyes, a challenge in his gaze. “This is an improvement, really.”

Roman stepped forward and loomed over the seraph, burning with anger. His wings began to flare fully open, feeling sharper than ever. “If you won’t tell me how to fix this, I’ll figure out a way to convince someone here to.”

All of Virgil’s eyes abruptly narrowed.

“Oh yeah?” Virgil’s wings dug deeper into the dirt floor as he lifted himself right off the ground to be just slightly taller than Roman, their faces only inches apart. “And just who do you think is around for you to extract info from? You gonna interrogate a bunch of 10 year olds? Pick a fight with a toddler, maybe?”

“No! I mean-- Well,” Roman faltered, thinking about the number of children he’d seen just in the past half-hour. “You can’t be the only one-- how are there only kids here?”

Virgil’s head tilted slightly, as though Roman’s answer wasn’t quite what he’d expected. “Patton’s here too.”

“But he’s just a guy!” Roman gestured widely for emphasis. “Even if these kids didn’t have the ability to shapeshift into prickly pint-sized poltergeists, there’s way too many of them for one person to look after properly!”

“Two people,” Virgil corrected, leaning back. “And these kids are more self-sufficient than you think.”

He stared at Roman for a moment longer before smirking in a way that made Roman immediately and irrevocably suspicious. “Listen, Knight, since you’re so eager to get in a brawl, I’ll make you a deal. If you can beat me in a fight, I’ll tell you all about what I did to you.”

“Deal,” Roman agreed, as quickly as possible. He shifted into his starting hand-to-hand stance, though his changed form made it feel sort of unbalanced. “Let’s go, you and me.”

Virgil stepped forward, sliding back into his false human form as he strode right towards Roman. Roman hesitated, his arms still up in a guard position, and between one moment and the next, Virgil had slipped right past him. He made an indignant sound that came out grating, like metal-on-metal.

Virgil turned to glance at him as he reached the barn door. His lips twitched as though barely concealing laughter. “What, you thought I meant right now? No, we’ll fight on my time. And right now, it’s time for dinner. I can tell you all about the rest of the terms that you didn’t wait to hear before agreeing to our deal.”

Roman stared in disbelief as the seraph turned and strolled out, leading the way back to the main house.

Just what exactly had he gotten himself into?