#also disregard the hand I was too committed to the reference

[spandexinspace]

One man and his very small, super-specific harem.

Inspired by this:

[girlfromenglishclass]

Alicent Hightower and Criston Cole's friendship makes sense for a number of reasons, but the foremost is the fact that he has always taken her completely seriously.

Alicent's life can moderately be described as a series of indignities and humiliations. Not least becoming a child-bride, mocked by her husband, disregarded by her princess, and played by her father. All of this contradicts this fact that she is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and mother of two princes and a princess. (Three if you count poor Daeron)

Fire and Blood notes that she is beloved by the people, which I imagine is a consolation. But in her daily life, she's mostly beloved by Criston Cole.

She's so disregarded as the Queen that she can be openly laughed at, but never by him. Obviously he's wretched, but that's not the point.

In the scene where he confesses to her, her every mannerism does not communicate the image of a powerful Queen, but he still treats her that way. She speaks with rigid formality, gives concessions to members of the royal family, prefaces her question that she would never question Rhaenyra who she holds "in highest regard." She even addresses her formally as "the Princess." She's even wearing the same clothes she wore as an unmarried lady in the court. She's acting like a child, not a Queen.

But Criston speaks to her with deference as his Queen anyway - because she is. He refers to her as "Your Grace," begs her pardon, and asks that she only kill him if she is "a clement Queen." Even in asking something of her, he puts her on a pedestal. This is entirely unlike her prior treatment, where she is an afterthought.

It is notable that her green dress scene, the moment when she symbolically embodies her power as Queen, comes after this revelation by Ser Criston. She starts acting like a queen once someone finally treats her like one. This is what she wears to spare him, earning his loyalty.

We see this respect again in how he treats her children. When he rebukes Harwin Strong for putting hands on Aegon, he says "you forget yourself; that is the Prince." He makes no concession to the fact that Lucerys, who Harwin has interceded on behalf of, is also a Prince, and ahead of Aegon in line. Criston is making no appearances to respect the illegitimate line, but acting as though Alicent is the true Queen, and her children uncontested heirs. Whether he is correct to do this is a less interesting question than what it means to Alicent.

This respect finally comes to head when he kills Beesbury, claiming he "will not suffer insults to Her Grace, the Queen." Obviously this act is barbaric, but it is also, twistedly, chivalrous. Beesbury WAS insulting her - accusing her of a regicide she, decidedly, did not commit. As her sworn protector, these are fighting words. It is only when Alicent, not his commander, tells him to yield, that he does.

Some explanations for this have been that his feelings are romantic. I disagree heartily, mostly because Alicent is not adulterous even with reason to be, but also because Criston is treating her as a Queen, not a woman, exactly as he should be, per his roles. When she says "everything you feel for me," it is pointedly followed by, "as your queen."

Many people pointed out his hypocrisy in saying that "every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence" even though he curses vulgarities at Rhaenyra. And it IS hypocritical!! But it is also interesting. Because of the two of them, it is Alicent who reflects this image of the Mother, this "clement queen," that he reveres. He doesn't have to want Alicent to worship her. He lost respect for Rhaenyra because she disrespected his sworn chastity. It makes sense that he loves Alicent chastely.

This reminds me of a line in one of Jaime's chapters in which he remembers having to stand by while Aerys abused his own Queen. He protests that they're supposed to protect her too; she's also the blood of the dragon - they have to protect her. Ser Barrison replies "yes, but not from him." Criston takes this attitude with a bit more teeth. He protects her from everything, except him, also known as, everything in his power.

[usercelestial]

personally as cute as I think all the shipping stuff is im a little more preoccupied with the glimpse at pre-fall crowley because of a couple things. first it's made explicitly clear that crowley heavily outranked aziraphale; to the extent that at their first meeting aziraphale is just a random angel he thoughtlessly summons to assist him with starcrafting. aziraphale is infatuated with angel crowley on sight but crowley barely registers him. secondly we don't actually get angel crowley's name- aziraphale introduced himself, and crowley never bothers to reply, either too focused on his work or just being completely dismissive of someone he views as a subordinate. either way. he never says it and aziraphale never learned it.

nooo i know right, that's such an interesting idea that i'm excited to see explored. crowley and aziraphale had met before eden but crowley must have been such a different person back then.

i'd love to see that different side of crowley when he was an angel, maybe he's a little pretentious and stuck-up about his work so he doesn't pay attention to others. of course he wouldn't really care about aziraphale that much, what initially drew them together in the garden was the fact that they are both obviously not a typical angel and demon. when they meet on the wall, crowley perks up at aziraphale telling him he gave his sword away, disobeyed god, and was questioning whether or not he had done the right thing, behavior obviously not exhibited by many angels. this is where crowley starts to develop feelings for him. aziraphale is different and crowley recognizes this when they meet for the first time as angel and demon, not only because he's fallen and knows that only fallen angels are supposed to have doubts but also because he used to be an angel himself and he knows first hand how angels are supposed to act and think and aziraphale is the complete opposite.

but where they actually first meet crowley wouldn't have much of a reason to pay attention to aziraphale. before crowley fell, he was just an angel, one who is only just about to find out how different he is not only to the other angels but also the other demons. a perspective he didn't have pre-fall.

i think that information does re-frame that first interaction after crowley had fallen. he's a new person with a new name and a new perspective on heaven and hell and really sees aziraphale for the first time under this new identity. who he was before, his rank, it didn't matter because he still fell and i truly believe that crowley feels there is something fundamentally wrong with him because of it. that's part of why hozier's take me to church feels so impactful in reference to crowley's character because, disregarding the romantic themes there, it also conveys that in the eyes of the church, if you can't conform, there is something fundamentally wrong with you. crowley feels like he was born sick and there is no forgiveness for that. he asked questions, he got it wrong, it wasn't on purpose, he didn't think any of it was serious, until suddenly he was free falling into oblivion. he seems to just enjoy pushing the boundaries until one day he pushed too far and fell out of line. i don't believe he was aware there would be actual permanent repercussions for that pre-fall, possibly because of his rank in the heaven hierarchy at the time. he didn't have the full picture, he was stuck in his work, in the hierarchy, and possibly didn't realize those rules applied to him.

and it's not that aziraphale was a perfect angel, he had doubts and questions, it just seems that his cognitive dissonance and genuine fear of repercussions (again repercussions that crowley may not have been aware of pre-fall) prevents him from fully committing to them. part of what probably worries him about crowley so early on is that he does see how crowley likes to test things, how curious he is and ultimately how similar they really are even if aziraphale is better at ignoring those urges then crowley. one of the main differences between them is that crowley got punished while aziraphale slid under the radar.

what i'm saying here is that crowley pre-fall seems like an entirely separate person from the crowley we know now, for better or for worse, because obviously falling was a traumatic experience that gave crowley a lot of issues with self-hatred and a distorted way of viewing himself but it also gave him a broader perspective that frames crowley's character and contributes to the growth of his relationship with aziraphale.

[ka-go-me]

Name: Kagome, Mei, Miko, Kags Relationship Status: married or not, depends on the era. Gender: Cis Female Romantic Orientation: Bi-curious Preferred Pet Names: She doesn't really have a pet name per se...She is referred to as neko miko, but not sure if that counts--cause no one's actually called her that to her face.

Opinion on True Love: for some people yes, others not so much. For her, it depends on your choices.

Opinion on Love at First Sight: Yes, and no. She believes in infatuation at first sight, as that has happened many times to many different people...But actual love, no. That needs to be built.

How ‘Romantic’ Are They?: Fairly. She loves the little things that make a relationship go 'round. And spending quality time with the person of her affections works on a lot of levels.

Ideal Physical Traits: I don't know that she really notices the physical traits too-too much...I think she's more into the personality, and how the other person feels. Sides--she's with a hanyou that has exotic traits all around~ Who could she really compare that to? xD

Unattractive Physical Traits: She's been courted by all kinds of squirrelly looking dudes. xD Not sure she cares much. Just as long as the person isn't an A-hole.

Unattractive Personality Traits: She really doesn't care for overbearing assholes, as said previously. So, self-centered dickheads who tend to think they're the Gods' gift to the world. *CoughSesshoumaruCough* really set her teeth on edge. On the flip side of that--she doesn't really like those kinds of people who will bend over backward and let you walk all over them in gross muddy shoes if you wanted to either. Wet tissue kinds of people *CoughHoujouCough*.

Ideal Date: She never really had conventional 'dates'. All of her time alone with prospective beaus came fraught with danger, excitement, possible loss of limbs...The two times she *almost* had normal dates--the first one never got off the ground because she became too worried about Inuyasha, and the second one was crashed by Inuyasha...so--lmao...maybe a conventional date would be an ideal date?

Do They Have a Type?: . She said once to her modern era peeps that her type was: someone who wasn't violent, selfish, mean, or angry, but was kind and understanding. She also said "basically the opposite of Inuyasha" But we all know that---she fell for Inu anyway...despite all those things--and she found he was kind, and mostly understanding. xD ANYWAY.

Average Relationship Length: Any 'guy' she's tried to be with besides Inuyasha lasted about a month, at best.

Preferred Non-Sexual Intimacy: Snuggling and talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

Commitment Level: ALL IN until such time as she feels disregarded by the other party. And if talking about it doesn't help...then she'll distance herself.

Opinion of Public Affection: Eheheh...She mostly holds hands, but she will use PDA as a way to deter any potential gawkers.

Past Relationships?: VERY short lived one date with Houjou, then later she had a budding month-long relationship with a guy called Amon.

Writer’s Note: Kagome is the kind of girl who will wait around for ages for her interest to notice her...She's shy to reveal her feelings, especially once she realizes she has them, and will try to bring them up to her intended with kind of obscure references, beating around the bush because she's embarrassed to come out and say it directly and she hopes that what she does say elicits the desired effect. . Even once she has the person, some things are very difficult to talk about, and she'll hold them bottled up inside till she's depressed because she can't find a way to express them, and the fact that she's totally afraid that if she does her intended will just dismiss them and her anyway, even if she knows they won't. . She's very insecure, but it doesn't mean she won't give the relationship her all, and do everything in her power to try to make the other person happy.

tagged by: @adversitybloomed (thank you my sweet~! 💚💗) tagging: @holified, @akarxuu, @theunknownmasks, @diivineray, @serenitasmusas And all of you lovely people.

[kawarikisaki]

Alrighty then~☆

I'm going to start by saying that I really wasn't kidding when I said that there are a lot of different things that different animals can be used to symbolize, even taking the assigned colours into account. The world is vast, and so sometimes they'll symbolize different things in different parts of the world as well.

So keep in mind that I'm not an expert on symbolism so there might be more to this than what I can see, but also I might be cherry picking whatever suits my biases.

So as already established, Hakuba means White Horse and Kuroba is Black Feathers.

Alright with that out of the way, I'll start with Kaito's side of things.

A black bird (there are a lot of black birds... crows, ravens, blackbirds, magpies, Grackles, Cowbirds....) generally speaking is often seen as ominous. They're symbols of magic, mystery, and death.... but also rebirth, wisdom, and good fortune. In Japan specifically they're even seen as messengers for gods and therefore tend to be a positive symbol.

While black feathers on their own tend to represent a change or a need for change.

I mentioned in the previous post too that Kaito is also associated with white birds- even more specifically doves. He keeps a good number of doves for his magic tricks, Kid's costume is pure white, and he and others often refer to his glider as his 'wings'. So let's get into that as well.

And I think while some of that isn't directly relevant for Kaito (Kuroba is his family name after all, some of it has to apply to Toichi instead, or perhaps Kaito will grow into it), but a good bit of it does have clear ties back to Kaito even if just on a shallow level.

Magic? Kaito is a magician, even if he doesn't cast spells the concept of magic is important to him. Mystery? Mystery is kinda part of the MO of a phantom thief. Death? Kaito himself isn't really associated with death, but his fathers death is a major motivating factor to him. Rebirth? I think we can safely take Kaito's becoming Kid as a sort of rebirth. Wisdom? Not really Kaito's thing. Good fortune? Kaito has pretty insane luck. Change or a need for change? I think that one is also pretty clear.

White birds tend to represent peace, purity, innocence, happiness, creativity, new beginnings, and good luck. And once again a lot of those have a clear tie back to Kaito. This will go on forever if I do it the same way I did with the black birds. So I'm just going to discuss the ones that seem like outliers.

Peace an innocence aren't really the first things to come to mind when thinking about a chaotic thief, but Kaito is innocent in the sense that even though he's actively commiting crimes he hasn't gotten any blood on his hands, and similarly even if his heists aren't traditionally 'peaceful' both Kid and the police know that no harm is expected or intended that 'peace' is only broken when a third party intervenes. As for happiness, that can be easily tied to Kaito's given name- the Kanji used for Kaito actually translates to something like 'cheerfulness'.

And of course as also previously mentioned if we disregard colour entirely, birds are often a symbol of freedom. Which fits Kaito pretty well as well.

But now onto Saguru.

This side is probably going to be more messy, because I do think that the chess knight is actually the correct interpretation of 'Hakuba' but I'll add more on that after I talk about literal horses for a bit.

So then do we get anything if we set aside the colour? Yes actually. Just like birds, if you don't consider the colour then horses are actually also a symbol of freedom. (Leaving us once again in this fun dichotomy of Kaito and Saguru being the in the same position but in entirely different ways.) But once again that doesn't quite fit Saguru, he's not actively imprisoned or anything, but he doesn't seem like he's free to just do whatever he wants either.

As most anything white, white horses also represent innocence, purity, and good luck. They're also symbols of health, nobility, the wisdom to make good choices, confidence, heroism, and triumph.

And like with Kaito some of these are a good fit, but some of them just don't quite match up. So once again I'll go one by one.

Innocence? Well Saguru isn't a criminal, so I suppose it's not entirely inaccurate. Purity? Doesn't really have a clear tie in here. Good luck? Saguru doesn't seem unlucky, but he's never really been portrayed as lucky either. Health? We never really see him seriously injured (though he does go to the hospital in the Specials after being effected by sleeping gas) is that enough to consider him healthy? Nobility? I feel like this one fits pretty well. Wisdom to make good choices? That one also works, Saguru is pretty consistently shown to be pretty on top of things when it comes to decision making. Confidence? Saguru has that in spades. Heroism? Well he's on the side of justice, so let's chalk that one up as a maybe. Triumph? The vast majority of heists/cases we've seen him participate in have actually ended in what I'd consider to be draws.

Now... I could take the fact that a lot of that doesn't really line up with Saguru is portrayed and try to spin it into having to do with the expectations that are almost certainly foisted on Saguru as a result of being part of a wealthy/influential family. About how he's expected to be some kind of triumphant hero with a pure heart that always makes the right choice, and that no one can possibly live up to that kind of perfect image no matter how hard they might be trying....

But I'm not trying to spin it that way, because while that reading is definitely there it's also kinda a stretch. I am not just jumping to conclusions, I have a grappling hook.

Anyway.... this brings us back to the chess knight thing.

The knight in chess is of course meant to represent an actual knight, however that doesn't mean that's all the meaning it has. It's a very strategic piece in chess because of it's unusual way of moving. It can be used for aggressive plays, but it can also be easily overlooked by opponents who are trying to avoid more obvious threats. And I think that very much does fit Saguru as we see him.

Been answering a lot of questions lately but haven't been asked one that let me bring up this one specific point I love talking about yet. So this is the post for that.

And it gets its own art too:

And if that doesn't clear up the topic for you....

Well, I'm talking about Kaito and Saguru’s names- but not those ones. No, I’m talking about their family names, Kuroba and Hakuba.

Starting with the kanji. Kuroba reads as 'black feathers', and Hakuba reads as 'white horse'. So even just at the base level they're both asigned a colour and an animal (or in Kaito’s case just the features of one.)

Now of course black and white are often used to symbolize things being opposites. It's a sharp contrast. A clear symbol of them being on different sides.

As for the animals, there are a few things that could be read into that, horses and birds are both used to symbolize a pretty wide variety of things, so there’s a pretty wide range of ways they can be taken even with the colours being specified. But the only one thats really notable for what I want to say here is that a birds wings often represent freedom (and im disregarding the color here because Kaito is associated with both black and white birds).

Anyway, the part i do want to talk about, is the fact that 'Kuroba' can be read as a Japanized 'Clover', which of course paired with the black colour harkens to the clubs suit of playing cards. And in with that in mind Hakuba's 'white horse' can instead be taken as a chess knight.

The two are playing a game together, the game or cat and mouse, cops and robbers- the thief and the detective. But they aren't playing by the same rules, they aren't focused on the same things... they aren't playing the same game, not really.

And both of them know that. Because Kaito knows what his real goal is, and Saguru knows that the police aren't the biggest threat that Kid is facing.

Kaito’s game is a game of bluffs. One where the stakes are high, and he keeps raising them higher by drawing that attention to himself with the intent to force his opponents the people that killed his father to make a mistake. If his poker face cracks, if he slips up he will actually die, and if he doesn’t he could land himself in jail with his freedom stripped from him. Kaito’s game is dangerous.

Saguru's game is a game of calculation. One where moves are carefully crafted and information is carefully controlled to try to reach a desired result... but the game is stretching on longer than he's ever played before, and he's changed his mind about what that 'desired result' even is. But he does know that if he keeps playing his game with the same intentions that he had when he started then he's liable to lose a friend.

But Saguru can't just switch games either, even if he's been able to recognize that Kaito's playing a game with cards, he doesn't actually know what game Kaito's playing.... is it poker? Old maid? Spades? Blackjack? And even if he knew, how is he supposed to play cards if all he has is chess pieces, Kaito's keeping as many of the cards as he can close to his chest... ..... yeah okay so that metaphor started to get messy near the end.

[wizkiddx]

hiiiii !!! if you are accepting requests at the moment, can i ask something about reader and tom expecting a baby, one day while he’s drunk she sees him flirting with another women and when she confronts him he snaps at her and tells her he’s not ready for this “shit”. So they broke up and broke contact for months, until he shows in her apartment regretting his words and they talk but she suddenly at that moment gets into labor?!? I remember seeing a concept similar in a movie but I would love if you couldn’t bring it to life! Thank you so much in advance, appreciate your work a lot 🧸🤎

right so I loved this so much it has become a multiple parter and im not even going to apologise. so thanku so so much anon for getting me out a little rut!!!

summary: when toms caught out all hope looks lost - probs part 1 of 3 but it could get a bit longer too lol

warnings: serious angst, reference to abortion, cheating, a whole lot of swearing (im British sorry not sorry)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hi babe, just to let you know Yamna’s invited me out for dinner this evening so don’t worry if you get home early and im not back! I love you x”

It was a spur of the moment plan, which was a rarity recently. The past 5 months since you’d found out, you could name barely 5 occasions you’d been out past 8 oclock- trading your heels for fuzzy slippers and dresses for massively oversized tops and joggers. It wasn’t how you had expected to be spending the summer before your 25th birthday but it was now your life. The rooftop bars, the wild nights, the get aways had all sort of been cancelled for… for the rest of your life.

Because an 8 month pregnant belly isn’t something you can ignore.

Sure…. it wasn’t the plan. Not the plan to be pregnant with your boyfriend of only 6 months, who at the time you didn’t even live with. But you were making it work. And now, you were just excited. It was the start of a new story with Tom, and you’d got past the phase of being sad and mourning your youth. Because the little bubba inside of you, she was pretty awesome and you really couldn’t wait to meet her.

So yes, you had been home alone eating ice cream from a tub when Yamna knocked on the door. She’d been one of your best mates for as long as you could remember so when she’d turned up unannounced with mascara smeared under her eyes you’d cancelled your plans of a pathetic alone evening. Her boss had just given her the sack - which was no surprise. He was a backwards tory old git who couldn’t handle the fact Yamna was a woman doing the job better than he could ever dream of.

So yes, you’d suggested going out to the fancy new bar down the road - to celebrate the fact she no longer had to put up with the arsehole. Obviously you couldn’t drink and neither did Yamna, but you go to a bar for the atmosphere - and the selection of mocktails they had was insane.

Your boyfriend Tom was already out, he said he had a meeting and then dinner with some execs he needed to shmoosh. Of course you didn’t mind, but he had been working a lot recently, in order to be able to have the time off when your baby girl arrives.

So after sending a little text and giving Yamna another hug to try and turn the evening from disappointment to celebration you walked out the door with a smile on your face. Maybe you could pretend, just for an evening to not be pregnant and whale-like?

///////////////////////////

The bar was just a 10 minute walk so it wasn’t long before the two of you were soaking up the atmosphere. It was all decorated in a rustic fashion, with old exposed wood and dangling lightbulbs from the ceiling and the drinks were incredible. The type that have dry ice or flames or some other sort of fantastical display of edible decorations. Even Yamna had perked up, especially when a guy from the table across had bought you both a round of drinks.

“I’m just gonna pop to the loo.”

“Do you really need the toilet or do you just want to parade infornt of the fit rich man who keeps looking at you?”

“ Is both an option?” You laughed as Yamna slipped off her stool, winking rather dramatically as she did so. She was unbelievable - but at least this way she wasn’t thinking about her work, or lack thereof, anymore.

Happily you sat scrolling though your phone, seeing that tom had messaged you with an okay, before flicking through instagram.

And that was where the happiness ended.

For in a hurried manner, with a face looking a lot more ghosted than when she left, Yamna took her seat again.

“Are you okay?” Immediately your worry took over, the way she was biting her lip and not meeting your eyes not helping.

“I um yeh-yeh. Just I think I saw Tom.”

“Tom as in my Tom?” Her almost guilty looking nod had your scrunching your eyebrows, why was it such a big deal Tom was inside?

“He didn’t see me I don’t think but er… he just looked pretty close to a girl and I-“

To be honest you stopped listening at that point, heart dropping out the bottom of your chest. Because it made sense, he had been so distant recently and even if you’d been lying to yourself that it were work - this seemed much more likely. Whilst nodding along, pretending to listen to Yamna, instead your attention was solely focused on fiddling with the promise ring he’d got you after the two of you decided to keep the baby. He’d been so committed, so ready for this unexpected news. He’d said he was in for the long haul.

“Y/n?”

“sorry I um… it’s probably just a work colleague he needs to sweet talk. I’ll um-I’ll just go say hello.”

“I’m coming with you.” She spoke astutely, very much forcing herself into the situation.

“No no I’ll… I’ll come back if I need you, just wait here.”

Her face was so grim and destitute, as much as you were pretending it was okay - you knew it wasn’t. Before Yamna could protest further, you slipped off your seat ( clumsily thanks to the elephant belly) and walked with fake confidence back inside.

It took you barely 3 seconds to hone in on Tom, call it mothers intuition. He was on a booth in the corner with 5 others on his table but none of whom you recognised. It was 2 other guys and 3 girls - the six all paired off in mathcingly initimate conversations. Apart from that you payed almost zero attention to the others, attention solely focused on your boyfriend and the girl he had his arm round.

She was everything you weren’t. She was skinny - you, as previously mentioned, looked like you had a beachball stuffed under your top. She was blonde with sleek and perfectly styled waves at the tips of her long her - yours was thrown into a messy bun due to the last minute plans.

Most importantly - right now she was wrapped in Toms arms, whilst you stood alone watching.

God knows what came over you, but with confidence you never normally had you marched up to the table, just waiting at the end. One of the men you didn’t recognised, arrogantly asked you ‘can I help you’ - but you completely disregarded it, eyes solely fixed on Tom. He took a moment more to look away from the leggy girl, but as soon as he did his eyes grew massively wide.

“Y/n I-I-“

“Fancy bumping into you, I thought you were out with work executives?” Frantically casting his gaze across the table, you could see the cogs whirring to try and come up with an explanation.

“No I-I was but then Charlie here came over, we used to be mates at school and-“

“Oh fuck off Tom., I cant deal with this right now.”

You didn’t even have the energy to listen to his clearly fake excuses as to why he’d landed himself in that situation. You also certainly did not have it in you to maintain the strong face, you could feel everything shattering inside of you.

Because it was so blindingly obvious by how he had acted. You’d caught him out and you both knew it.

And it fucking hurt like hell.

So you exited the bar as fast as physically possible, hearing the shouts of both Yamna and Tom behind you. You didn’t know what you needed in that moment - except that neither of them were the answer. Tom though, presumably the faster of the two, managed to catch up - grabbing your arm to make you halt in the road.

There was this moment between the two of you that time almost seemed to freeze. The two of you, in an otherwise pretty empty residential street, at 9:30 at night, in a moment that you would never have again. From your point of view, you saw the slightly bloodshot and bleary eyes, widened with panic and fear. For Tom he saw the floods of tears down your cheeks, which you hadn’t even noticed were freely streaming.

But in that moment there was, at least, the slightest bit of peace. The slightest bit of hope - that he could explain, that he had some ludicrous but valid reason for the situation you had walked in on. Just a smidgen of hope that this were recoverable.

But then he had to open his bloody mouth.

“Y/n I swear nothing-“

“That didn’t look like fucking nothing!”

“It was I swear! We just-“

“Tom this is your one and only chance. I don’t care if your off your face, if you don’t give my a miracle of a reason as to what the fuck THAT was - then I’m gone.”

“Don’t say that Y/n, you don’t mean th-“ He tried to grab your hand which you snatched away, like you had just scalded it on a hot plate. Like he had hurt you.

“I swear to god I’ve never meant anything more. So cut the shit.”

“FIne-fine! Um so we were at the meeting and then on the way out I bumped into George and hes been a good mate of mine for years.” All you did was hum, arms crossed and making sure you had a metre of distance between the two of you.

“So he said god you look like you need a drink and I agreed because its been stressful as hell recently.”

“Oh its been stressful; for YOU has it? I’m so sorry Thomas, has it been hard for you while i’ve been throwing my lungs up with morning sickness? Has it been stressful that I’ve been running on zero hours sleep because she kicks me all bloody night? ” Your words were laced in a posioned sarcasm, to which Tom just stammered to.

“Please just let me.” Given he was supposed to be fighting for you, he sounded pretty darn defeated already.

“I said yes to the drink.” He skipped out the bit that had angered you, to which you rolled your eyes at. “And one turned into two and more and then I don’t know-“

“Your going to have to try a lot harder than that.” You deadpanned, taking a small step further back still.

“I mean it! The girls were all his friends and we were just talking.”

“Just talking? All pressed up and arms round her?”

“Yes!” As indignant as he retorted, it didn’t not make up for what you had seen with your own eyes.

“Your such a bullshitter Tom!”

“God why wont you just listen to me?” He cried, wobbly doing a little 360 on the spot, in what appeared to be exasperation.

“Because your just spouting fucking lies! And you try and blame it all on poor little tommo being stressed which is-“

“I HAVE BEEN! Running round after you! I’m just tired of this shit!!! So kill me, for having one night of freedom!”

Tom was too deep in his angry lecture to take any notice of you. Which is why, once finished, he waitied, breath heavy and nose flaring. He was waiting for you to scream back at him. To give it back. He was too drunk to notice the change in your demeanor.

“I’m tired of this shit.”

It was just reverberating round your head. Again and again and again. He was tired of your relationship and you hadn’t even become parents yet. He was at his wits-end and the baby was still unborn. What the fuck was going to happen when baby arrived? Clearly there was no hope. It was dead. Your relationship was dead with no chance of revival.

Because he’d said it. Your relationship was shit, and nobody can put up with something they hate for that long. Not 18 years. Not while bringing up a child.

So with a new sense of dread and fear and complete and total isolation you uttered three single words before hysterically running away.

“Don’t follow me.”

Not now, not ever.

?to be continued?

~~~~~~~~~~gahhhh I hope u enjoyed! I also REALLY CANNOT THINK OF A NAME FOR THIS MINISERIES --> if anyone can think of something pls inbox me!!! ~~~~~~~~

tom taglist: @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08 @prancerrparkerr @wildxwidow @Elishi03 @arctic-monkcys @Ownbauer13 @tomhollandlol

[calling4glaives]

Personnel File 4: Titus Drautos

While technically if we continue to go alphabetically by first name, Drautos should appear later, he is referred to more often as Drautos and so we're doing him next. :P Sorry for the late posting; there were too many rabbit holes that caught us up, especially regarding his name. *grumble grumble* As always, pictures are courtesy of @capsource, who is a blessing.

Titus Drautos

From the Facebook blurb:

Name: Titus - Latin: the name of the co-ruler of Rome with Romulus, the Sabine (native tribe) king Titus Tatius, thereafter a common Roman name: an Emperor known for his martial skill (including the destruction of the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem); Titus Andronicus, a fictional Shakespearean character who commits terrible acts of revenge; a fictional tyrant with good intentions; and many others. WARNING: this is a tvtropes-level time suck. Drautos - ??? - This one is harder. Google translate tells us it means insurance in Lithuanian, though I think we can probably disregard that one. It could be many words that have been Latinized into a name by adding "-os" to the end, including English sources like draught or drought, or Greek ones like dragon, drao - a verb for action that also gives us the term drama, or drax - a handful. Using the Japanese spelling, it could also be Doratos, meaning “of a spear or shaft of wood”. Germanic/Norse sources have a similar word draugr that can mean both the undead creature we’re most familiar with through games and stories but also a trunk of a tree or a fighting man. Following that back to older roots, we get the reconstructed words dreugana which means to deceive or a retainer (which is appropriate) and druhtiz which means a band of retainers, a troupe. Derived from those, and somehow even more on topic, is the Old Norse drótt which means a household, a people, or the group of bodyguards of a king and all sorts of other fun ideas for sources. Do I think Square thought this hard? Probably not. Is it fun anyway? Yes.

Equipment: Drautos is one of the most colorful people we see in Insomnia, with his red leather jacket and panels. (As Drautos he uses black and red with purple and silver highlights, and as Glauca silver and purple with black and silver highlights). In some ways, his look is reminiscent of Genesis from FFVII, albeit played much more seriously.

His uniform seems to be a combination of the Kingsglaive uniforms - the cuffs around the wrists and upper thigh, identical boots, what looks to be the base of a hood in his wide inner collar, the symbol down the front (though whether he wears it in honor of his glaives or they of him is a bit of a chicken and egg debate, and we don’t see that long version on the Royal Guards or the Kingsglaive after the fall, as best I can tell) - and the common markers of status among Insomnian/Lucian elites - the high collar (though very exaggerated in his case), the asymmetric longer left sleeves, the hint at longer robes via the skirt panels – and his own personal style - the overlapping jacket front (and the requisite Square fashion zipper, which is how you know he’s a main character), the mail and reinforced leather piece over his shoulders, and the braids connecting his shoulders and mail sleeves.

His necklaces and medals have the feeling of formal awards, though we see literally no one else wearing them. In the field, he wears the symbol of the Kingsglaive on his many necklaces, though this is replaced by some sort of cross-like medal when he dresses up; this, with the addition of the other medals somehow attached to his jacket, is the only difference between his field and formal uniforms. (He wears the field uniform again during the fall of Insomnia; I guess he had time to remove the medals and change the necklace when he was missing during the panic over Luna)

The only comparison with Drautos’s medals are the ones won for Chocobo racing, though the medallion portion of those appears flatter and simpler. The chains and braids might have a parallel in the pair that cross Nyx’s chest, though his is worn much differently that Drautos’.

The leather shoulder piece almost resembles the leather and reinforced collar of Nyx’s field uniform, but is still much larger and differently shaped. The pattern inside the high collar almost appears to match the dickies from the Luche-style uniforms.

When he is driving in Noctis's car with Nyx, he appears to have ditched both the high collar (which seems smart, just for the peripheral vision) and the shoulder piece, mail, oversleeves, shoulder braids, and medals. I wonder if this is why he can tell Nyx to drop the formalities – he’s “out of uniform”. [[NB: unlike the bros, Drautos enforces seatbelts in the car]]

He has a classical western straight-edged sword belted at his side, just as his glaives carry theirs sheathed on their persons rather than in magical storage as Clarus and Cor do. Unfortunately, he never uses this sword in the movie.

ETA: Drautos also wears his sword on his right hip, implying he is left-handed, while Glauca wields his sword in his right hand or with both. As we never see Drautos as Drautos use his sword, which hand is actually dominant or if he is ambidextrous is unknown.

He also, unlike most of the glaives, has an actual cell phone rather than ear pieces.

Background: Drautos is from Cavaugh, the island where Insomnia sits, but not actually from Insomnia. His village is destroyed about 30 years ago during the war, and then he is taken in by Regis. Despite this closeness, Cor and Noctis both refer to him as Drautos rather than Titus in the audio drama and opening scene respectively, which implies a sort of distance, but he is trusted implicitly by them all. He clearly resents the wall being withdrawn by Mors and how Regis is running the fight (“For the honor of my home, I fought and killed under a king I loathed. And still, he betrayed me. He betrayed us all.” - the betrayal is presumably the treaty and Insomnia being sacrificed for Noctis, because it comes after the loathing and fighting, plus Regis didn’t pull back the wall himself, he inherited that position and didn’t change it).

After that, he rises to be one of the top three swordsmen in Lucis, along with Cor [[and presumably Clarus?]] and takes over the Kingsglaive at some point in the fifteen years between its founding and the present. He was probably the founding leader, but it’s never outright stated. Sometime in there he became Glauca. He could be the original Glauca, who is presumably the one who killed Queen Sylvia, or there could have been many over the years. It’s hard to tell under the armor. Clearly he’s been doing this long enough to recruit fellow traitors and put this plan in motion, but that could be anywhere from a year to a decade to two. What assurance does he have that Niflheim would keep its word, and how did he get the armor?

The man is running two armies, one from quite the distance. If he’s done so for long, it is both a sign of competence – that’s a huge amount of work, even if one is small and the other is mostly automated, and on top of that he has managed to do so undetected – and possibly of incompetence – when he holds all the cards, he still hasn’t been able to bring Lucis down yet. [[How did this man have any time to sleep?]]

Rank: The shoulder tabs he wears are slightly fancier than the rest of the glaives’, and appear to have a wide/narrow/narrow pattern that matches, if anything, the common sleeve insignia for vice admirals across many navies. Though he is called "Captain" throughout the movie, he appears to be of higher ranking for practical purposes, based on his status in Lucis.

Death: There is debate over whether the psychomancer who has Nyx’s kukris is Nyx or Drautos, who had Nyx’s kukri in his chest while Nyx had none. I tend to think the streaks and reddish eyes (though it could be the light of dawn) as Drautos dies indicates demonification, as is the fact his eyes crack open as we last see him.

Personality: Drautos clearly cares about his past and his responsibilities very much. He is a harsh leader, but has the respect and loyalty of his soldiers, and is capable of moments of relative softness in private. He has a tricky mind capable of assessing those around him and taking their actions into account in his plans, and is capable of projecting an image and living a double life for years. He is unbelievably determined and dedicated to his idea of right.

Relationships: The facebook blurb says he is a hard man to please, but he clearly has some relationships with his soldiers and superiors.

-Nyx Ulric: Drautos is Nyx’s mentor, and seems to care for him as well, though less than his cause. The car ride seems a last minute attempt at feeling out Nyx’s loyalties, and minutes after he orders Nyx’s death and Nyx is shot on those orders, he holds his hand and seems to have some reason to still want Nyx’s good will - either as a way to ease his death, or perhaps merely as a key to the ring and the princess. He has multiple opportunities to kill Nyx from the signing room onward that he just doesn't take.

-Regis Lucis Caelum: Drautos’s issues with Regis seem to be personal as much as political, but he seems to respect him as well. Regis is unsurprisingly shocked by the reveal of Glauca’s identity moments before his death, but though he contemptuously shoves Regis’s body to the ground, Drautos does no further damage, nor does he draw out that death. And while the bow before might be mocking, the salute after seems sincere. Otoh, he misses several chances to kill Regis without him knowing that Glauca was the one who killed him, including right after removing the ring from his hand.

-Luche Lazarus: Drautos trusts Luche with everything from running battlefields to what his true intentions are, but due to the time constraints of the movie, we don’t get to see moments like Nyx’s where they actually talk. Is it a commander-loyal subordinate relationship, one of true trust, or is Luche yet another tool?

Behind the Scenes: Drautos is portrayed, voiced, and given his face from the wonderful Adrian Bouchet, who is very nice to us all. If you don’t know him by now, check him out on twitter.

Everyone has theories about Drautos, and most of his past is left for us to fill in. Please share your theories and speculations, or things we might have missed! We'd love to hear it. (Or, you know, see you explore them during Legends week)

2022/7/14: Edited to fix some information surrounding Regis's death.

2022/11/2: Edited to add information about handedness.

[abysscronica]

Is it hard to have a phd in science? Or a career in general? Is there a place you would recommend for it?

Hey, thank you for the question. I'm not sure exactly to what aspect you refer when asking whether doing a science PhD is hard, so I'll be talking a little generally. Feel free to ask for more details if I miss the point.

Depending on where you are, it's often not easy to get accepted as a PhD candidate. As far as I'm aware, there's always a selection, and both the criteria and the difficulty level vary with geographical areas and university ranking. (there is also industry PhD, but I know little about it so I'll be sticking to discussing the one in Academia). For example, in Oceania you need to win the PhD position and a scholarship (unless you can afford to pay 30 to 100k per year in tuition fees), and the competition is fierce: people ask for candidates that already have papers in high-ranking journals. This already screens out many European candidates, because here most universities simply don't give that opportunity to students, differently from the US/Australian system (and some countries in Asia too). The most common way around is getting to know your potential host professor/lab by doing an internship or so BEFORE applying for a PhD position. Like doing Erasmus, your diploma thesis, or any kind of exchange there. These collaborations often end up with a PhD offer from the host, especially in US.

Remember that doing a PhD is a great entry ticket to some countries, so don't be surprised if foreign students highly exceed locals, especially in US - Americans are often less inclined to go for a PhD when they have better paid options right after college.

Once you do get accepted into a program though, the real stress starts (I'm only talking about science PhD, I know too little about other disciplines). PhD students ("graduate students" in US) are often expected to completely dedicate their time and energy to their project. Work/life balance can be entirely disregarded, and sometimes you're not even entitled to ask for it. It's always a matter of luck finding a supportive work environment, and I've heard terrible horror stories. Hell, I've seen awful treatments of students, breakdowns, people fainting, burnout, dropouts. On the other hand, if you're lucky, you find a nice environment and your project proceeds smoothly, you can have a great time. In science there are always bumps, turns, stops, deadlines, so moments of stress and despair will come. You also have to be prepared to present your results and answer questions at international conferences. BUT the achievements, the collabs, the confidence, how much you grow as a scientist and person are all priceless rewards. Discovery itself can be a priceless reward.

In short, PhD is not for everyone, but it's definitely achievable by most people, you just have to be prepared of commit years of your life to research and not lose your motivation in tough times.

Feel free to ask for anything more specific if you're interested.

[rukafais]

Do you have any general art tips? I really enjoy your art! (If you want more specific questions, uh, tips on lining and anatomy?)

Aw gosh anon! I’M REAL HAPPY YOU STOPPED BY TO SAY YOU LIKED MY ART so uh i’ll try my best to give tips.

LINEART

This is going to sound a bit wishywashy but a lot of lineart is about confidence and patience. Depending on what you want to do with it and your patience level, you’ll need to do a lot of it (and you’re probably going to) before it gets to looking the way you want. Lineart is difficult! But I have super shaky hands and I can still get lineart looking pretty good so hopefully you will do better than me!

Specific tips: - Get out some paper and draw things in pen/ink/other materials that are permanent and can’t be erased. This will train you to make your strokes more confident and to commit to shapes and lines. Also it’s fun, so have fun with it! Weird shapes pop out of things you can’t erase and you can have a lot of interesting times making them make sense.

- If you like hatching and adding value through drawing lots of lines on things, you can practice making your lines steadier with exercises that involve it, like these.

(source)

- If you’re a digital artist: Use stabilizers if shakiness frustrates you. Stabilizers reduce the jitter of your pen, which is fantastic. It’s a tool like anything else, so if you need it, make use of it! You can tune it higher or lower depending on your comfort levels; if you don’t want to use the stabilizers any more, you can always reduce them.

- Practice quick strokes, drawing lines from an A point to a B point, things like that. If you don’t like how it’s come out, you can just keep doing those exercises until you get something you’re satisfied with. This is the confidence part I mentioned - a shaky or uncertain hand will produce the same quality of line, which are usually unsatisfying (unless ofc wobbly lines are what you want, in which case go forth). Usually, a quick stroke that commits to its path looks better than an uncertain slow one, quality-wise.

ANATOMY

- If you can take any kind of life drawing class, you should do it at least once in your life! They’re super helpful and they help you train your eyes to see what’s there, and not what your brain assumes is there (which can be two different things). Very good for just learning the shapes and curves of real bodies.

- Study a lot of real-life references. If your style leans more towards the stylized, you’ll need a good foundation of real life references to know where you can bend and break rules and disregard what you learned. If you’re a realistic artist, well, you’ll need lots of references of real life people for obvious reasons. Building up a stock of references in your head from good quality stuff online means that you’ll know where to go if something’s confusing you and you’re less likely to fall victim to biases and same body/sameface syndrome.

- Tutorials that show lots of base shapes of the human body are great! Tutorials that gender lock certain shapes to men and women are not great. Avoid those or you might end up having shape biases that you have to actively undo (like me, whoops).

- A lot of people have their own free tips and ways for working out perspective. You should gather as many of these references as possible because it’s 99% certain that someone else will have had your exact same problem and you’ll be able to solve it by piggybacking off their work and knowledge. There’s no point in struggling and reinventing the wheel if someone else has already made the wheel and improved on it.

- Feet and hands are usually the most difficult hurdle for a lot of people. Don’t worry about it too much.

[arhvste]

❝ effortless ❞

masterlist!

01 -> 02

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

an -> this is the longest chapter i will be including in the series, i just needed to get the base for the plot down i promise i’m not gonna make you all read 2467 words every update !!

drowned out chatter faded the further you wandered down the halls towards the place you’d practically be calling your second home for the next year and-a-half. your arms swung slightly by your side as footsteps strode from behind.

“ya know,” atsumu piped up suddenly, taking in your optimistic aura. “this isn’t gonna be the most glamorous job.”

“i’m more than aware.” you shot back not letting the pseudo blonds comments dampen your approach to the new position you’d been approached to take.

despite being a well-known volleyball team with notably talented players, inarizaki had yet to fill the role of a team manager with them ultimately dismissing the role and disregarding the hopes and intentions of finding someone willing to take the role seriously and with the right intentions of being a team manager. they had applications sent in, a flood of them to be precise, but alas, majority of the applications were just desperate attempts from girls just trying to find away to inch a little closer to the miya twins. the few that weren’t from the mass of girls were from other students but their applications were either filled in wrong or their availability wasn’t compatible enough to work with the club.

“i don’t get why yer so eager to start. yer gonna have to do things like fill up water bottles and wash the bibs we use for practice.” osamu commented as you hummed dismissively towards his attempts to break your spirit.

“because, i don't have to be referred into an actual club by my homeroom teacher now and your mom said you two will be helping me take care of the… less dignified, aspects of the role now. that means washing your smelly kit and towels. remember?”

atsumu scoffed while osamu settled with a short huff of annoyance. that was indeed part of the deal you had made when the twins had requested your assistance in the team.

you had been close friends with the talented twins for as long as you could remember. you’d even go as far as to say you were practically the third miya sibling. raised and grown up together tightly, the three of you stayed knitted together up to the present day. you were someone the two boys felt reliant on, but they were also ready to drop their own activities should you need their assistance. you were well-liked by the twins and that was something the majority of the student body envied but not to the point where they’d say anything and risk having one or worse, both, the boys overhearing them bad-mouthing you and result in them to take the situation into their own hands.

it was atsumu who had first suggested you become the team manager a few weeks prior to the present moment. you were attending another regular visit to the miya residence and atsumu had brought it up over dinner with yourself and his family.

“hey, we kinda need a manager. i think kita’s gettin’ a little stressed cause nationals will be approaching soon and they didn’t have one last year either.” atsumu looked up at you as you had a mouthful of rice.

you momentarily glared at him for turning all attention over to you when he clearly knew you were eating. you swallowed and shook your head at the boy sat across the table to you.

“i dunno, that seems like a big commitment.”

“i mean, i won't lie to ya it is, but being in any club is a commitment so ya might as well join one yer more likely to enjoy.” osamu chimed in as his mother caught your attention.

“don’t let the boys pressure ya. i think it would be nice if ya did it though darlin. both boys can walk ya home after and samu’s right. joining as their manager is better than being put into a club ya might not like attending seeing as yer yet to join any extra curriculum.”

you whined and leaned back in the soft wooden chair in the miya’s homey dining room.

“you just said not to let the boys pressure me and then joined in yourself!”

mrs miya laughed and waved off your complaint. “they get it from me, what can i say.”

you glanced up from the now softly steaming food to face the two boys across from you. atsumu had a soft but still smug smile painted across his face while osamu wore a slightly sympathetic yet hopeful expression on his. you were almost ready to give into the pair right then and there but ultimately decided that if you were to brush up on the rules of volleyball, the twins were going to have to brush up on the rules of you too.

“fine.” you stated to which atsumu smiled brightly too. “i’ll be your manager since i really don’t want to be assigned to any other club but,” you paused and didn't miss the way their eyes darted back to yours. “i’m not washing your disgusting training stuff and the towels. i also don’t want a hoard of your fangirls stampeding over me at any given moment and lastly, i get my own room for overnight stays when we have to attend matches that take place further away. comprende?”

atsumu shrugged and agreed to your terms as osamu followed suit. “great,” you finally smiled a little. “talk to kita and i’ll get started with it whenever he deems suitable.”

mr and mrs miya sent thankful smiles your way to which you softly returned before turning back to your meal completely unaware as to what chaos you had just unknowingly brought upon yourself.

back to the current moment, you stopped outside the two large doors leading into the spacious gym with slight hesitation. the small crack between the doors gave you the first exposure to the area you’d be finding yourself more familiar with from now on.

“what's the hold up?” atsumu queered looking down at your now thoughtful looking expression. “ya were excited to get started just a moment ago weren’t ya?”

you bit the inside of your cheek as your palm lay rested upon the flat surface of the gym door. “i don’t think excited is the word, but you think i’ll do fine right?” you frowned slightly, internally scolding yourself for letting such intrusive thoughts invade your mind just before you were about to introduce yourself to which would be ‘your boys�� in the fast approaching future.

“we wouldn’t have asked ya if we didn’t think it would be a role fit for ya.” osamu replied, resting his hands behind his head. you scoffed and shot a look from behind you towards the grey haired twin. “liar, you two just wanted someone to wash your gross kit.” atsumu snorted before ruffling your hair, stirring irritation inside of you. “think yer the one whose forgotten our end of the deal where we agreed to help ya out with this. we’re in this with ya together now, let's get movin’.”

atsumu left you no time to protest as he pushed the doors open having it swing widely so the gym lights flooded the slightly dimmer hallway giving anyone looking a perfect view of the three of you. heads turned in your general direction as a result of the minor scene the blond had caused leaving osamu to only roll his eyes and for you to stand meekly between the twins as atsumu ushered you inside the clean smelling gym.

“this is y/n, the new manager i said we had gotten you!” a proud smile tugged on atsumus lips as the other boys looked you up and down as if you were some sort of animal being fawned over in a petting zoo.

“shut up! you didn’t get me, i agreed on my own terms!” you hissed at the setter elbowing his side slightly. osamu snickered at your public scolding towards his twin as the rest of the team began to gather round. kita sent an apologetic look your way as he approached you with a firm hand.

“it’s nice to finally meet you l/n-san. please take care of us and we’ll do the same.” his voice calm but transparently clear, you had never met someone so genuine and almost proper in your life. “likewise.” you smiled taking his hand to give him a confident shake in greeting. leaving you with a firm nod to depart from you and talk to the coach, kita gave you one last look of what you could’ve read as thankful but you weren’t completely sure. the better you got acquainted with these boys, the better you’d be able to read them which was your first goal set in becoming a manager they could rely on the same way the twins did.

aran was next to approach you with a clearly thankful smile. “i haven’t seen ya around in a while y/n, good to see yer the one the twins informed on the empty role.” you smiled back at the ace and placed your hands behind your back. you were already well acquainted with aran due to the twins association with him from a young age. back then, yourself and the twins came as a package deal whenever suited so you had been introduced to the ace from a younger age and had built up the same respect for him as the twins had.

“i wouldn’t say informed but more of a pressured attack on me.” aran grinned at you as atsumu retaliated with a “not true!” from across the courts where he was helping set up the net. “either way, good to see ya here. nice to have the three miyas in one place.” you scoffed in amusement before waving off the comment.

after being thoroughly introduced to a handful of members before practice had officially started, you sat down on the bench beside the coach as he went through the basics of the game as the boys played. you already knew a handful of rules and techniques to the game which was a given considering just how close you were to atsumu and osamu, but you were grateful for the refresher as you observed the players and took your first attempt in noting down particular quirks and techniques you noticed each boy possess.

training lasted 2 hours which was longer than the usual club activities but you understood that the volleyball team were a particularly important asset to the school so it was only natural they’d be granted more time for extracurricular. osamu was the first to approach you with a towel wrapped around his neck. “so,” he said before wiping any excess sweat on his face. “what did ya think?” you smiled and took the towel from his hands before tossing it into the nearby laundry bin.

“it was… a lot better than i thought it was going to be.” you meant that earnestly. it was a little overwhelming at first that you’d assume anyone would find that understandable seeing as you had practically been thrown into the deep end with a group of boys you were not particularly familiar with. “that's good then. glad we convinced ya?” yourself and osamu wandered towards the door leading towards the boys changing rooms where their bags were kept. “for now.” you stopped outside the door and nodded for osamu to head in with the other players. he hummed content with your reply before following suit with the small litter of players entering through the door to retrieve their things.

you waited 5 minutes for the boys to leave the changing room before saying your thanks and goodbyes to the team you were slowly getting more to grips with. it was going to take a while to get into the swing of things but you were certain you’d find enjoyment in it somewhere along the line seeing as your first practice wasn’t awful.

the three of you chattered among yourself as usual with atsumu dominating most of the conversation and osamu only butting in to contradict his brother. you were as always, in between the two boys as they asked you how you found it and what you thought. after reassuring them for the 6th time, they gave in and accepted your answer as genuine. despite not saying anything, they were a little guilty after springing such a heavy role on you but they knew you’d pull through no matter the circumstances so they were ultimately satisfied in their choice.

“practice was intense, but i kinda liked it.” you hummed as you walked under the dim street lights illuminating the paths ahead.

“yeah i guess it was, it’s not always like this though. i think some of them were a little more into it seeing as you were there today.” osamu mentioned as he stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets.

“you think?” you raised an eyebrow as atsumu sighed.

“i know that’s the case. you practically had the same effect kita has on all of us. not me though, i’m always good whether yer there to watch or not.”

“i’m sure you are.” you chimed as the three of you approached your street. “ya know who was playin’ a little intensely today though?” osamu raised an eyebrow to his brother's question. “who?”

“suna. he seemed a little more into it today.”

you raised an eyebrow in question as you looked back to glance at atsumu. “who’s suna?”. atsumu hummed as he began to describe the fellow second year. “tall, six foot one i mean, dark moppy hair, kinda hunches over when he’s standin’.” you thought back to the players you had been vaguely acquainted with within the past few hours. your mind touched upon every player's face you recalled until it landed on a certain face you were sure fit atsumu’s description. “number 10?” osamu hummed, confirming your hypothesis correct. “wonder what got into him though, his surroundings don’t usually motivate him unless he’s explicitly told to stop slackin’ maybe he just had an off day.” the grey haired twin suggested to which atsumu agreed. you shrugged as the three of you stopped outside the front of your own house.

“well, training was an absolute delight. see you both tomorrow.” you waved the boys off as atsumu sneered at your borderline sarcastic comment. “stop lyin’ ya loved it and are thankful we picked ya really!”

you laughed at his call out comment as osamu waved and ushered his brother away before you closed your front door shut before leaning back on the door for a moment.

suna huh? well, if your job was to analyse the players and pick out when they were having off days, you’d just have to start watching their number 10 a little closer.

taglist! : @inakou @tsukkaria @al3x1ss @elianetsantana @archivednikes @tendo-sxtori @haajime @moonlightangel @tetsukuroosgf @lexysclubhouse @your-consulting-fangirl @chibichab @brokeasshoee

— italics means i was unable to tag !!

— please send an ask to be added to taglist !!

[thedevillionaire]

Surrender

So, I spend a fair bit of time in a supernatural soap opera world I made up. The background is crazy but I’m finally biting the bullet and posting a fic. You don’t have to know much about it for this one, though - he’s a Demon and the most powerful resident the Underworld has ever seen, she’s a Vampire, a little kink adjacent, interested in maybe learning a bit of magick. And they’re a mutually very devoted couple. I make an attempt at what they look like here . Also this one, which I posted here a while ago, sorry about repeats. Any questions, please ask! But anyway...

----

She loves watching him.

Sometimes too much, perhaps, since despite this demonstration being very specifically done for her benefit, she’s allowed herself to become lost in mellifluous cadence of rich velvet baritone and the dance of long, elegant fingers weaving accompanying airpatterns as illustration, a smooth and balletic fluidity of motion seeming almost at odds with that commanding, tall and broad-shouldered physique, the imposing force of presence, radiant authority that draws all eyes upon him everywhere he goes, and thusly she’s neglected to actually...well, comprehend anything. Again. And now he pauses, the small cluster of leaves he’s holding without touch hovering midair between them, and looks at her in expectation, encouragement. 

Am I supposed to say something now? Oh god, I’m supposed to say something now. Kia gazes up at Cerberus – and the leaves, the introductory Kinesis exercise he’s showing her the mechanics of – from her tree-stump seat in the woodland copse and wonders how she can reasonably ask him to repeat everything he’s just explained without having to admit that she didn’t pay proper attention because he’s so fucking stunning he’s practically cinematic. 

Although, she finds herself noting with interest, she…may not have to admit anything quite yet. A momentary frown and vague flicker of confusion crosses his face, the piercing intense focus in those famed eyes of emerald becoming hazy, falling away, and he inhales sharply, shakily, glances upwards and pauses in a completely different kind of expectation before inhaling sharply again, more deeply this time.

She loves watching him surrender.

Ah?

Huh. Not now, apparently, as breathy anticipation stalls and fades, eventually dissolving unfulfilled.

He wrinkles his nose, rubs it a few times, shakes his head in curt negation. “Sorry, love. *snf!* Thought I was going to sneeze.” 

Indeed. As if she needs to be told, and she smiles just a little, inclines her head in acknowledgement. Her gaze remains fixed on him as he takes another short pause, brief frown, twitch of the nostrils, then with a quiet Hm, another sniffle and a very slight shrug, he returns his attention to the original matter at hand. The leaves have remained in Kinetic hold throughout, and she’s not as surprised as she otherwise might be; she’s more than well aware that he’s exceptionally skilled. The best ever. This is nothing for him, no more than an effortless parlour trick. “Darkling?” he prompts, and she knows he’s referring to the question he’d asked her earlier that she hadn’t been paying the proper kind of attention to. Unfortunately, she has even less of an idea now than she did before, which she hadn’t really thought was possible but oh well here we are, and he definitely expects an answer – or at least he does for a moment, until she’s saved again by a returning and clearly more acute distraction. “Oh, one moment, I…” His brow creases and he turns aside from her in magnificent profile, a gods-forged angular precision entirely at the mercy of whatever stealth tormentor is apparently bothering him right now. “Hh-hh…” She loves watching him surrender because he does it so rarely but he does it so well, so absolutely, this man who submits to nothing, to nobody. Except, of course, to her��and except, perhaps, to this – this simple, common, insistent and equalising need, and she warms at the thought as her beloved, the all-powerful Demon king,  loses control. He inhales deeply, urgently, and altogether gives in to a bracing double, almost doubling over with the force of it, heavy and demanding. “Hhh-AHTSSCHHUU! ahh-HEHTSSCH-uu!” She catches the fleeting, almost startled look in his eyes as he glances across to her in apology, as if he’s surprised to find himself capable of such ferocious capitulation, as if he hadn’t been gearing up for precisely that outcome all those expectant moments before. A wet sniffle as he presses a firm hand beneath his nose to no avail, his breath staccato, and hitches into another mighty sneeze. “Huh…ah-HH… AAHTSSCHHUU! Gods. *SNF!* Pardon me.” “Bless you,” she purrs.  Pushing a curtain of long, disarrayed ebony hair back from his face, he thanks her quickly, sniffles again, frowns and rubs his nose with purposeful determination. Annoyance now mixes with perplexity, and he pinches the bridge of his nose against the still-insistent irritation, blinking rapidly, and gives a brief, crisp shake of his head, as if by sheer willpower he can refute this, end this here and now. As if his focus wasn’t already unstoppably disintegrating anew. She loves watching him try to regain his composure. Oh, he’s not going to succeed – the helpless shift in his expression tells her clearly that this is a battle already lost…and once committed, he’s never been the type to do things by halves.  “Damn it, excuse m…” He manages to Create a handkerchief in a lucid micromoment, burying his face in it as he succumbs again. “Hhh… hh-TSSCHH-uu! Hh-TSSCHH-uu! Gods, I…I don’t know wh-hH… hh-HHAHTSSCCHU!” He groans heavily, almost a growl, sighs with frustration palpable, and offers her another apology, however unnecessary that may be.  Always the gentleman. A soft, private smile crosses her face as a craving heat suffuses her. “Bless you!” Her interest does not mean disregard for her love’s comfort, though. “Are you okay?” He gives her a quick nod, blows his nose and sniffles in tremulous, uncertain recovery awhile, steadying himself as best he can, before looking over at her through increasingly reddened and watery eyes. “Um, if you…” His breath, still erratic, catches in encore, and he crushes the back of his hand against his nose in steely denial, sniffles hard. “If you… *SNF!* If you don’t mind, though, perhaps a… ah… Hh-hh… Ohgodswhatthe…”  His hard-fought-for composure crumbles in seconds. “Ahh-TSCHH-uu! *SNFF!*” Another series of sniffles follow; he exhales heavily, wipes his eyes, and turns from her to once more blow his nose. “Goddamn it,” he mutters. “Pardon me…again.” He pushes his hair back from his face and clears his throat, and the insistent itch actually seems to back off a little, giving him a moment of respite, though he’s not at all confident about how much longer his fortune will hold. He suspects – much to his wary displeasure – that the likely answer is not very, and he presses his fingers against still-rebellious sinuses, attempts to reclaim a little dignity. “Perhaps a change of venue?”  “Ah.” She takes a cursory glance around the copse and its variety of trees, shrubbery and wildflowers, nods sagely. “Maybe somewhere a little more…private?” she says, suggestive sensual, then adds with a quiet chuckle, “I was going to have to ask you to start over anyway.” He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Did I…” He sniffles softly; she notes his momentary frown and accompanying flare of his nostrils, and the vexed waver in his expression as he rubs his nose again. “Did I not…” A sharp intake of breath, and she pauses, attention fixed – oh, again? – on what is plainly inevitable, no matter how much he may wish it otherwise. And this time he is clearly out of patience, rolling his eyes in exasperation and inhaling deeply moments before any remaining focus he has dissolves, and he comprehensively gives himself over, sneezing again, emphatic, unstoppable. “Ah-HEHTSSHHUU! Fuck! *snf!*” Resentfulness now shines brightfurious in irritated, teary viridian as he meets her gaze from beneath strands of newly dishevelled midnight; by the look in his eye he’s one step from incinerating this entire damn woodland just to teach it a damn lesson, and she thinks that although he…probably won’t, that perhaps she should redirect his attention just in case. Besides, she muses, as his breath quavers and he sniffles again, it happens that she very much wants to…needs to get out of here too.  She loves watching him, but sometimes…ohgod, sometimes watching is simply not enough. “Bless you, sweetheart,” she murmurs as she moves to him, internally burning, and wraps her arms around his waist. “Feel free to get us out of here whenever you like.” Standing on tiptoe, she now reaches up to weave one hand through his hair, pulling him nearer, silencing his apology with a finger to his lips, and soothes him with boudoir whisper, “Shh, it’s alright. Sometimes we’re all…just a bit at the mercy…” She kisses him hungrily, urgently, and abandons speech for heat-suffused Mindsend –  :of forces beyond our control.: 

[inb4belphienaps]

boundaries

<pt. 2> warnings: fluff i think word count: 1525

belphie listens to your retreating footsteps, back still leaning against the metal as he tries to picture how you look. from your voice alone, he thinks you probably have a kind face. the approachable kind at least.

your eyes, well, with a hint of mischief as he's gathered from the stories you tell him. getting dragged into (and sometimes instigating) his brothers' antics suggested that you didn't take yourself too seriously.

and then he remembers your laugh. what he'd thought he'd find irritating is instead confusing. the instinct to ignore it grows ever weaker with each visit. he even finds himself smiling at the sound now. your amusement in itself could apparently be...amusing.

but that wasn't all.

there's a tightness in his chest when you leave. the walls of the attic close in on him ever so slightly and he's suddenly reminded of his current predicament.

he was essentially a prisoner here. how thoughtful of lucifer to have made one of his favorite napping places the very bane of his existence. he'd long gone past the stage of finding comfort in the familiarity of the floor-length drapes and antique lights.

they did little to dispel the loneliness.

eventually, he gets up from the floor and with that one motion, he begins to formulate a plan. a plan that would hopefully serve as a solution to his misery.

a plan he sets into motion the next time you come up those stairs.

he's counting the number of conjured arrows he can aim at the center of a painting (some relic from the celestial realm, he reasons with disdain) when you interrupt him, causing all the arrows to dematerialize in a puff of violet-tinted smoke.

"hey, i brought some reading with me today. hope you don't mind."

the smoke shifts in the air at your arrival, as if a gust of wind had come through the room.

"what's it for?"

papers shuffle. he hears you take a seat and slides off the bed. he walks up to the wrought iron gate, wishing you'd just move and sit in front of it so he can see you. at first, he'd thought you were shy. after your second encounter, he'd realized you were just being cautious. and for that, perhaps you weren't entirely stupid.

"seductive speechcraft."

oh the irony.

"an assignment?"

you hum in confirmation. he listens to the scratch of your pen, watching your elbow move. diligent, weren't you?

"maybe i can help you."

you scoff. he raises a brow.

"no thank you. don't think i don't know how you are with words."

oh? that was interesting. the two of you never really did talk about what you thought of one another. there's no time like the present then.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"the way i see it, you're far too confident. and maybe that works in your favor", you say between flipping pages and scribbling notes.

oh...how adorable.

"don't you trust me?"

a huff. he sees your shoulder slump and wishes he could gauge your expression. were you genuinely upset at his question or at the notion itself?

"i mean...you haven't exactly given me a reason not to."

yes. like you'd implied, he'd made sure of it. not only so you could continue to help him but also, so you would keep coming back. he'd been the one to break the ice and tell you stories. and he'd made you feel comfortable enough to do the same.

"and?"

you stop writing. the corner of his lips quirks upwards. the moment you'd decided to disregard lucifer's warning and find him, had it simply been curiosity?

"i don't know. you won't...try anything, will you? hurt me or something, i mean."

he feels a pang of guilt. at another point in time, he probably would have. he curls his fingers around a crest-shaped notch in the gate and rests his forehead against the back of his palm, figuring it best to be honest.

"i won't. not anymore, anyway."

you visibly stiffen. he sighs inwardly.

"so it crossed your mind."

"it's complicated. try not to take it personally."

truly, it was. if he wanted to explain it all to you, he'd have to recall memories that were still too painful to re-live, even (or especially) in his dreams.

"well that doesn't make it any easier."

the wheels in his head spin as he tries to figure out a way to convey his emotions without setting himself off. keep it vague.

"before this", he gestures, hoping that it comes across in his tone (after all, he wasn't just referring to your sole influence). "i didn't have the highest opinion of humans."

you remain quiet.

"i basically blamed them for us falling, among other things."

the fires of his rage had subsided to embers. in his isolation, he'd had months to come to terms with his prejudice. during the initial turmoil, amidst the anguish that plagued him, he'd had to learn to separate himself from the emotions. to view the events as merely events.

it'd been (and still was) a bitter pill to swallow. that it hadn't been the man's fault his sister had fallen in love with him. that it was only out of that same love that she'd committed sacrilege. that...he'd needed someone to pin it on in the end.

"i realize that that hatred was misplaced."

hatred, he'd said. you sit in silence in an attempt to give the both of you a second or two to think.

he's nervous. what could you be thinking of him following such a confession? he lifts his head to see your elbow tucked in at your waist. were you resting your hand under your chin? were you...scared of him?

"i should hurry along with those pacts, huh?"

his eyes widen. and he laughs under his breath.

"there's no rush. not really."

you sigh.

"aren't you lonely? beel misses you, you know."

before he can make sense of the new thoughts attempting to de-rail his train of thought, he's answering you.

"it's not so bad with you here."

you chuckle. it's like a weight is lifted when you do. this sort of apprehension he felt around you, although uncomfortable, wasn't entirely unwelcome.

"charming, aren't you?"

and you turn your head slightly. he eyes the ends of your hair, how they catch the dull glow of the lamps in the attic. he wants to see you.

"do me a favor?"

"hm?"

"come into the light."

another laugh, this one more amused than the last.

"curious? to see the face of your savior?", you ask, a sarcastic confidence coloring your words.

"yes. that and i'll show you a trick if you do."

you drop your pen to the side, letting it roll across the top of your notebook. you want to see him up close too. the painting in the hallway had made him out to be rather sad. a part of you wanted to dispel that image for good.

"promise?"

"i promise."

he isn't aware that he's holding his breath until he meets your eyes and comes face-to-face with an expression that stirs up a feeling he'd almost forgotten.

attraction. how foreign it feels and yet how befitting it is of the situation.

"um, hi, i guess."

the awkward smile on your lips has his stomach twisting.

"hi."

fuck, i wish we'd done this earlier, he thinks.

"it better be a damn good trick you're going to show me."

how much more pleasantly that sentence flows as he's looking at you, taking in the curve of your mouth and the flush of your cheeks. he figures he shouldn't stare but then again, this 'trick' didn't require a lot of focus.

you watch as he stretches his closed fist out through a gap in the gate. you wonder for a moment, whether he's going to ask for your hand.

as he mutters an incantation, you gasp. swirls of purple and magenta snake around his fingers, and a pulse of light from within them sends goosebumps down your arms.

he opens his palm and there lies a butterfly in the center of it - a delicate, almost translucent butterfly with wings that shimmer. it takes off, fluttering away from him and you lift your hand to greet it.

its delicate wings brush against the tip of your thumb and you smile as it gently lands on your palm. upon closer inspection, you marvel at the intricate patterns on its back and soon it leaves, flying past you, making its way down the stairs.

his eyes never waver, even as you return your gaze to him once more. it's enough to make you stammer.

"t-thank you. uh...you'll have to teach me some time."

in the wake of your admiration for his 'talents', he takes your hand. his touch is surprisingly warm and his skin soft.

"i'd be happy to."

he places a kiss inside your palm and your heart, much like the butterfly, flutters. such intimacy from a man with sharp teeth.

"is it okay if i stay a bit longer?"

you're sure he notices the anticipation in your voice, how it quivers, expectant.

"of course."

[thisaccisdead]

“Half Full” - Moceit Fic

Content/warnings: referenced past manipulation, alcohol, a lot of discussion of things the sides have done wrong, but none of them are intended as unsympathetic. they have done some b a d stuff but they’re learning and we love them all yknow?? (namely warnings for virgil being overprotective/lashing out, and me being on my bullshit anti-roceit agenda)

Notes: You all know I’m not a writer, but I had a thought about a?? Characterization for Janus?? Which as I reread this is kind of very OOC, but idk I just thought it was neat, and I do go crazy for moceit hurt/comfort.

Finding the moral side crying in the middle of the night was, all things considered, not too surprising. After all, Janus knew every time Patton lied about his happiness. However, he had suspected to find him with loud, messy sobs. With a tin of cookies almost finished. Not with a bottle of wine and a blank, tear-tracked face.

He didn’t even seem to notice Janus’ entrance until he cleared his throat.

“Oh,” Patton uttered, gaze flicking to the other side. His face didn’t gain any clarity of expression. He just started putting away the wine and finished off his glass, making moves to leave. “Sorry.”

Janus took a moment to hide his shock at the scene, and at Patton’s reaction to him. (What, had he thought the moral side would come running into his arms for comfort? He was being ridiculous.)

“Give that here, you imbecile,” Janus said, taking the bottle from Patton’s hands and pouring himself a glass. There was no bite behind his words, at least not in a meaningful way. He’d lost his edge. “So, you’re just up for fun, I assume?”

“Hm,” Patton failed to respond. “Are you going to stay up?”

“I’m sure I’ll be back to bed in a moment.”

“That sounds like a lie.”

“How out-of-character that would be for me,” Janus smiled.

Patton half-smiled back. “You wanna watch something?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“A documentary on Greek philosophers.”

Janus frowned at the dry film Patton pulled up. “You think you’ll enjoy this?”

“I think it’ll be boring as fuck,” he said, casually. Janus turned to him in mild shock, while he simply yawned. “But Logan wanted me to watch it. Maybe it’ll be more interesting with you.”

Janus nodded, careful to hide his smile behind his glass.

•••

The movie was, as Patton had so eloquently predicted, boring as fuck. Also, quite hazy by the end, due to all the wine. They had been quiet near the beginning, but by the end they were talking over everything in hushed whispers and even a laugh from Patton, every so often.

The next day, when Janus walked in on breakfast, he swore Patton’s smile changed. From a brittle, stiff form--forced in the tense atmosphere--to something more relaxed. Relieved.

“Oh, hiya, Janus! There’s a seat here if you wanna stay,” Patton patted the chair beside him.

Janus stayed.

•••

“...Janus is right.”

“Of course,” Virgil scoffed.

It was the first whole group discussion they’d had since the… wedding fiasco. And while Virgil didn’t seem surprised by Patton’s words, Janus most certainly was.

“Obviously, I am. I knew you would agree, Patton,” Janus lied.

Patton was too preoccupied to do anymore than hum at Janus’ statement, all concerned glances over at Roman. Ugh, Roman. Still all mopey after the last video, he was currently staring determinedly at the floor. Him and Patton should have let all of that go by now--the past was the past. Hadn’t they learnt about moving on?

“Are you sure, Patton?” Thomas asked. “I’ve always gone to this event before. And, I’ve always made it through--”

Patton shook his head. “You know there will be family members there who don’t respect you. And who choose not to learn. I know I’ve always been the one to say they deserve your love anyway, but… I don’t know if they do.”

All of the sides stood in shock for a moment. Janus schooled away a proud look. 

Logan was the first to speak, slowly nodding. “...Yes, well, Patton does bring up an interesting point. Thomas, you tend to give people the ‘benefit-of-the-doubt’, which can be a good thing, and has led to you improving relationships in the past. However, if the other people are actively refusing to learn, no progress can ever be made. And so the effort would be for naught.”

In no time flat, Thomas was coming to his big realization about not owing certain people certain things, yada yada yada, doing the outro, yada yada yada. Janus was about to sink out, with that new, odd, and decidedly wonderful vindication that he was right, when--

“Deceit, wait.”

Janus sighed, audibly, and made sure to put on his most sardonic smile. “Yes, Virgil?”

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“You’ll have to be a little more specific, dear.”

“Don’t--” Virgil grit his teeth and huffed out a breath. “With Patton, I mean.”

“Hm. Really, Virgil, I wish I knew what you were referring to, but--”

“Oh, cut the bullshit!” He finally snapped. “I don’t know what you’ve been playing at with him, if you think you really like him, but you’re just gonna do to him what you did to Roman.” 

Janus cringed at that, though he tried not to. Virgil knew just how to get to him. “Well. Thank you for this conversation, Virgil. I’ll be considering it deeply,” he said sarcastically, before sinking out. Though, it wasn’t as much of a lie as he would have liked.

•••

“Janus? What are you doing?”

Patton had found him pacing around the living room. And he hadn’t even had enough time to mask his aggravated expression when the moral side entered.

“Dishes,” he replied sourly.

“Right,” Patton said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ve used that one enough to see through it.” He joked, smiling bittersweetly. It was such a sincere look he was giving, so ready to comfort. Janus wasn’t used to it. Whether the ‘it’ was sincerity or comfort he couldn’t say.

“It’s just--I don’t see why I should have to apologize to him,” Janus spat out.

Patton came over to the couch, motioning for Janus to join him. He did.

“Virgil?” Patton asked. Janus looked away. “...Ah. Roman.”

“He shouldn't have laughed at my name!”

“Yes,” Patton nodded slowly. “We've all done things we shouldn’t’ve.”

“...Are you implying something?”

Patton raised a brow. “Calling two sides evil for the price of one?”

“Oh, please,” Janus scoffed. “You’ve always thought Remus was evil.”

“...Yes. And I’m learning why that’s wrong,” he admitted.

That gave Janus a pause, but he quickly disregarded his surprise. “Well, I already reminded you, Roman started it.”

“No, he didn’t.” Patton looked away. He took a deep breath in, silent for a beat too long. “...I did. A long time ago.”

Janus narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I told him he was dishonorable to side with you. That treating you as more than a villain was evil.” Each word sounded like it pained him. Each a confession, although Janus had been witness to all of it. “It’s all always been my fault.” Tears silently began to fall down his cheeks. He blinked, as if to somehow subtly dispel them, but they only fell harder. 

And, oh.

Oh no.

Janus really didn’t want to do this next part.

It would be so easy to let Patton believe that. He could even comfort the side, tell him he was forgiven, help him through--all without revealing anything. 

Save himself. It was what he was built for.

“Patton… it wasn’t all your fault, per say.” Patton glanced up at him, confused, and it was his turn to look away. “I quite blatantly flattered Roman. I manipulated him, used him--whatever you want to call it. All because I wanted his favor in... that case.”

“Well, I already knew--”

“Except, it wasn’t just that case,” Janus rushed out before he could lose his nerve. “It started when I first revealed myself to Thomas, remember? Really, I just wanted to test the waters, at first. See what I could get away with, and who I could get away with it with.”

Patton had a blank look as he sorted through his memory. “ ‘Love the outfit, Roman,’” he finally quoted.

“...Indeed,” Janus sighed. “It became clear that Roman would be the easiest to get to. Which makes sense from his need-of-praise mixed with lack-of-praise. And he is the romantic side. And I just knew, one day it would be useful if he was…somewhat biased, so if…”

“If you and him were a little… friendly?” Patton finished, sadly. Disappointedly. 

Janus nodded. Then, quickly, he rushed to add, “I mean, nothing that bad! I didn’t kiss him. We were never dating. I just may have implied--”

Patton’s face changed from disappointed, then. To something else. Something worse.“Right. No. Of course,” Patton said. “Not that bad at all.”

That lie from Patton’s tongue ached in Janus’s chest for the rest of the day.

***

Remus wasn’t in their side of the mindscape when Janus returned to it. Which he didn’t make too much of, sulking around and rewatching Good Place episodes, until Remus skipped in covered in… blood? No. Much more unusual--red paint.

“What have you been up to then, hm?” Janus asked, as polite as he was disinterested.

“Painting with Pat! Drawing with Daddy! Look!” He shoved a messy, still drying canvas in Janus’s arms. It was a finger painting of mutilated arm, rather tame for him, but perhaps that was because he made it with--

“Patton?”

“That’s what I said! Geez, who stole your ears? Oh, wait, was it me? That sounds like me. But, of course, it doesn’t sound like anything to you!” He cackled.

“I still have my ears, you gremlin,” he hissed. “But you’re right, there’s nothing for me to be surprised about, since you and Patton are on such great terms.”

“Exactly!” Remus confirmed. “Wow, you heard about it quick, JJ! It was just this afternoon, he came up with those pouty puppy eyes, gushing apologies, asking me to be his wittle fwiend~” he batted his eyelashes mockingly. Heat rose in Janus’s chest at that, and he almost lept to defend Patton, embarrassingly, but luckily Remus continued before he could. 

“Which, was kinda stupid; guy made it sound like he had committed war crimes against me or some shit. Like, yeah, dude was a dick to me; I was a dick to him. That was meant to be our whole dynamic! Now whenever I scare him--what?--I’ll feel guilty, who wants that?! I liked being enemies. But maybe I’ll like being friends more.” He shrugged. “Time will tell, right? That’s a great idea, actually. I’m gonna go make some clocks that just scream every hour. Oo, or every minute! Yeah, that. Seeya, Janny Fanny!”

Janus gaped, left uncomprehending, while Remus sped off.

He tried to imagine it--Remus. With Patton. Chatting, smiling, joking. Remus would, of course, be able to bring much more reckless fun to the father figure than he might otherwise go for. Patton might enjoy some of Remus’s more childish humor. In an odd, backwards way they made a sort of sense.

The image made Janus’s blood boil. He should have been pleased for them. He knew that, but it didn’t help. And--what? Had Janus thought he was special? Fancied himself the singular, blessed demon chosen by an angel? Patton’s new bestest buddy?

No. He should’ve known that was never on the table. As it turned out, Patton was simply being polite to everyone now. That didn’t mean Janus had changed in his mind. It didn’t mean Janus had changed at all.

He was a villain. He had been going about this all wrong, trying to be more than he was made for. He needed to remember that.

***

“How the tables table, huh?”

“That is how the phrase goes,” Janus remarked dryly as Patton took a seat by him. Janus offered him the wine bottle, but he put a hand up and shook his head. 

“Well, at least I’m not crying,” Janus sneered. 

“No, wouldn’t want to ruin your dignity like me, right?” Patton half-joked. Half-joke, half-smile, half-truth. Nothing Patton did went full way. “Wanna talk about it?”

Janus scoffed, and went back to nursing his drink.

“Right,” Patton frowned. “Listen--Janus, I wanted to apologize. ...Again,” he added, with a half-laugh. Half-laugh, half-hurt. Whatever. “I shouldn’t have gotten so judgmental earlier. Morality and judgement tend to go hand in hand, even when they shouldn’t. And I got defensive on Roman’s behalf too,” he admitted. Janus grit his teeth, glaring at the wooden counter. Defensive over Roman. Friends with Remus. “Look--I’ve done bad stuff too. I had no place to judge you now, when it’s clear you have now learned.”

Janus laughed, suddenly, bitterly, at that. “Oh, have I, now?” 

Patton blinked, tilting his head. “...Yes?”

Janus rolled his eyes, and downed the end of his glass. “Listen, Morality, I’m not like you. I don’t need to go on some learning spree, down the path of beautiful ethics and self-improvement. I’m not meant to be a little, lovely side. Maybe learning my name made you forget; I’m Deceit.You heard Thomas yourself--I’m a flaw. So, I don’t do guilt. I don’t plan on too much learning. And I definitely won’t be spewing out apologies, like some sides I know,” he bit out each word. He wanted to make Patton leave. Maybe cry. Make him realize what Janus really was. But he just sat there with that stupid, sincere, concerned gaze.

“I’m not built for it!” Janus continued, growing more frantic at the lack of reaction. “...I can’t.”

Janus shoved his hand to his mouth in an attempt to cover the first sob, but it was too late. Soon his shoulders were shaking, his head in his hands, breaths unsteady. There were warm arms around his back, pulling him against a cardigan-clad chest, soothing whispers in his ears. He realized his hat had been taken off as he felt fingers run through his hair. 

“Janus,” Patton began softly, moving back slightly so that Janus could meet his eyes. “That sounded like a lot of lies to me.”

Janus shook his head firmly, fumbling to pull his gloves off and put his hands up. “Patton, I swear, that is the truth!”

Patton looked at him for a long moment. Then, he reached his hands out, and slowly took Janus’s. Janus let him. “You can lie to yourself, you know,” he said softly.

Janus’s eyes burned, and he had to force himself not to spill over the edge again. He was hyper-aware of their contact, now. The warmth of Patton’s skin against his was intoxicating.

Patton looked down at their hands too. He squeezed them lightly, a 3 beat pattern. “They’re so cold,” he frowned.

“Are they, now?” Janus aimed for sarcastic, but it came out unsteady. 

“Mhm.”

They were quiet for a long time. Unmoving. As if a word, a breath, could break them apart. 

“I’ll apologize,” Janus said finally.

“To Roman?”

“...Yes,” Janus agreed. “And to you.”

“What for?”

Janus looked down at their intertwined hands, waited for Patton to follow his gaze. “The things I want.”

“Oh,” Patton breathed. He rubbed his thumb along the back of Janus’s hand. “I… don’t think the things we want are so different anymore.”

“Hm.” Janus let go of Patton’s grip, just for a moment, in order to pull the other closer. Patton melted in his grip immediately, head laying on his shoulder. Janus returned the embrace. “Maybe not.”

[neshai-esper]

Seth: The Murderer of Osiris

Seth as the Demon of Death

“O Osiris, I lit a torch for you upon the day that your mummy was wrapped. I drove away Seth when he was on the point of stealing your body.”

From Pyramid texts and Coffin texts it is evident the deceased was held to be in great danger of entering upon the paths of Seth. The presupposition of the well-known "Stundenwachen" at the bier of Osiris is, that also after the murder Seth seeks to harm Osiris as a destructive Demon of Death.

"The idea that Osiris death or wounds should be hidden occurs often. In a text which is written on the mummy-mask, it is said this mask was given to Osiris by Re in order to hide what was done against him, to keep secret the blow which Seth dealt against him; to the initiated Osiris' weariness is uncovered and he may see his blows; but else-where it is said of the enemy that he has betrayed ( ?) Osiris' weariness to Seth and has talked about his hidden blows."

In the Pyramid texts Nut is called upon to stretch herself over her son Osiris and to hide him from Seth. This prayer presupposes that Seth was considered capable of doing violence to a corpse. The fear that Seth might commit an outrage upon the corpse seems to be founded on the conviction that Seth cut Osiris into pieces. in the Book of the Dead Osiris is sometimes called "the dismembered one" (01.4).6) The Egyptians hoped to see their friends and relations back in the hereafter "freed of the onus of Seth and of the count of Isis”.

The following supplication is addressed to Re: 

"Deliver me from this god, who seizes souls and licks that which is rotten, who lives on offal and is in darkness and obscurity, who terrifies the weary— it is Seth".

Seth not only disturbs the order of life and death by murdering Osiris so that he suffered "ein schlimmer Tod," but even after this he tries to cause confusion. He is the griffin in whose hand Osiris is. He is the destructive Demon of Death, who "lives by robbing him (i.e. the deceased). It is notable that it is not the murdered victim, but the murderer who is generally represented as a demon of death who can find no rest.

The Sacrifical Animal

When the Osiris myth, the crucial moment of which is not murder and dismemberment but resurrection, arrives at its height, it merges into the Horus myth, with which it constantly proves to be closely linked in the texts. Griffiths 5) has acceptably argued that the two parties in the judgment of the gods are not Osiris and Seth, but Horus and Seth, for the dead person who is identified with the god who is at law and sometimes called Osiris, is given that name because everyone, once dead, is called Osiris. 

Data regarding a so-called punishment of Seth do not seem to refer to an essential part of the Osiris myth, but to have resulted from specu-lations about the ritual, particularly the sacrifice. As sacrificial animals are bound, killed and cut in pieces, so we hear that Seth and his following suffer this fate. 

V̲a̲n̲ d̲e̲r̲ L̲e̲e̲u̲w̲ remarked: "That the sacrifical animal is regarded as the enemy, and vice versa the enemy as the sacrifice of the god, is a common conception both in earlier and later times." Van der Leeuw here seems to reject the idea that the killing of sacrificial animals was regarded as punishment or vengeance on Seth, as K̲r̲i̲s̲t̲e̲n̲s̲e̲n̲ did too.')

The significance of Seth in the Osiris myth may, I think, be summarised as follows. Seth is he who opposes the order of life and death by murdering Osiris, who had to die. The Egyptians have hardly mentioned the motives of his act. Occasionally it is related that Seth excused himself by saying that Osiris had come too near to him and had defied him. Usually no activities towards Seth are ascribed to Osiris; he is essentially a passive god. Precisely this passivity, however, might be a defiance for Seth. Perhaps the Pyramid text mentioned above might be understood as signi-fying that Osiris had appeared to his brother Seth as the god whose essence is death and as he who must die, and that it was this which aroused the aversion and aggression of Seth, whose unbridled zest for life clashes with passivity. I believe a better understanding of Seth's role in the Osiris myth may be gained by looking upon this fratricide as a suicide, not so much because of a few texts which state that Osiris is the ka of Seth  or that Seth came forth from Osiris! - but from general considerations.

If Osiris is the God of Absolute Life, whose essence includes Death, then the duality of Osiris and Seth is that of death and life. Osiris is death from which life arises, and Seth is life which produces death. Owing to the duality of Osiris and Seth which now came into being, death, which before had formed a unity with life, became visible separately in the strange brother. Seth attempts to get rid of death, i.e. Osiris who must die, by murdering his brother. This is the behaviour of the self-murderer, in whose life death does not remain hidden until he is completed or overtaken by it, but to whom death appears as his double or alter ego and who feels the need to murder death, so taking his own life

The Egyptians do not seem to have overlooked the suicidal character of Seth's act.

"Seth is in all evil which he has done.”

...that is to say, the evil which Seth has done rebounds upon his own head. It was remarked above that in representative Osiris texts such as the great Osiris hymn Louvre C 286 and the Ikhernofret stela the murder of Osiris by Seth is not mentioned, because the chaotic is assembled into a structured order.

By killing Osiris, Seth has slain himself and given himself as a sacrifice. The sacrifice of Seth and his following in the ritual is the dramatisation of the murder of Osiris in its true perspective. It symbolises the end of Seth the demon of death, who as a suicide could find no rest. It unites him with his brother, Osiris the god of the dead.

It confirms the cosmic order and does away with duality. Since the murder is not only the culmination, but also the end of chaos, it can be celebrated as a sacrifice. This does not mean that the Egyptians attached a positive value to the murder as such, for that remains not only the end but also the culminating point of the activities of the order- destroying Seth. "He who is mentally disordered lacks the blind spot which aids one who is mentally healthy to deny, annul and disregard as trifling, the reality of his own death and its surrounding presence, so that by far the greater part of mankind is 'surprised' by death."

Funerary texts repeatedly state that Seth must carry Osiris. One of these texts hinted that after his resurrection Osiris homosexually abused the wicked Seth. 

Griffiths!) rejected the view advanced by Van der Leeuw. He goes on to remark: "What is strange is that neither Rusch nor Sainte Fare Garnot in their studies of these 'carrying texts' have recognized that Seth's role is really that of a ship in a funerary voyage. Sainte Fare Garnet speaks of Seth as a 'mount for Osiris to ride'. But animals were not ridden.

"I have killed for you him who killed you.... You are upon the back of him who is in the form of a bull."

The final clause of this utterance  shows, that the bull or bull's head is connected with a ship. As the boat of Sokaris was decor-ated with the head of a gazelle and a bull, that had been sacrificed, thus it seems that the ship of Osiris could be decorated with the head of a bull, so that the sacrificial bull representing Seth must carry Osiris as a ship

No more than the binding, killing and cutting in pieces of Seth as a bull, would Seth's carrying as a ship or a ship with a bull's head seem to be purely a punishment or an act of vengeance upon Seth. It is indeed not only Seth, but also Horus or the children of Horus who carry Osiris. Sometimes Horns and Seth carry Osiris together.'

"It is the true saviour from the realm of the dead, because it manages to carry the god and the dead person across the waters of death ... All sacred boats have the same power of resurrection, and of all it may be said that this power constitutes their most typical characte-ristic"

Viewed in this way, Seth is not only a murderer and demon of death, but also assists the resurrection of Osiris. This would mean that he is the demonic initiator, who leads his brother to life through death by violence.

Illustration by Sebastian Horoszko

[lazylazyhowl]

A work in progress— (sasusaku oneshot)

—because the Sharingan may let him copy a lot of things, but skills of the heart are not amongst them.  [Sasuke. On, accepting himself. And her.]

AO3 Link

—

"Maybe next time."

His words are calculated.

Maybe, he's said, and given himself a way out. Given her a probability that, should the odds fall through later on, he can point at and absolve himself of responsibility. The same shit Itachi pulled when they were younger, really, except he won't apologize for it.

He sees the way her face lights up with hope and feels a mirroring force of optimism inside him that he has to clamp down to keep from bursting through the surface and muddying the reality of what he's doing.

His journey cannot involve her no matter what. He's not ready to be with her in any capacity of the words. Perhaps never. But he also doesn't want his last—but only for a while, he adamantly tells himself—memory of her to be a frown.

She's been burdened enough where he's involved. So he'll let her see him off with a smile, even if it's only self-gratification.

There is no guilt when he leaves her with his own smile and gratitude and goes on his way.

.

.

The day before his departure, she demanded a spar. He was bleary-eyed squinting at her, in her ninja gears, standing in the damp cold of early morning in front of his door, the flush of her cheeks of strange particular interest to him for a moment before he simply nodded.

She cited professional purposes ("I want to make sure you're in proper conditions for travel, Sasuke-kun.") even though he had already agreed. Even though her reason was crap and made no sense whatsoever.

He wondered if that was the only reason she thought he would accept, even if not believe; and if her request the only one she thought he was least likely to turn down.

He wondered if she was right.

Thanks to her he never had to find out. He only had to hurry and leave for the training ground with her, knowing Naruto would appear soon after, demanding the same of him. But not for the same reason. (Whatever that might have been.)

.

.

He helps people during his travel, but otherwise generally stays away from them. It's for both his and their good.

More for his.

People ask too many questions, and even the simplest ones dredge up far more than he's willing to deal with.

"Who are you?" they'd ask. "Just a shinobi," he'd answer.

But he's not just a shinobi. Avenger. Missing nin. Akatsuki. Terrorist. War criminal. The list goes on and he cannot in good conscience cross off any one of the items. Those personas, damned as they are, are still a part of him, and if he closes his eyes, he can recall them all in sickeningly vivid details.

"What's your name?" they'd ask. "Uchiha Sasuke," he'd tell them.

And then it's a coin toss on whether recognition and fear flit past their expressions. For the first few times, he's even considered using an alias, but that would have been such a meaningless thing to do in a journey of redemption.

And cowardly.

He's done with running away.

Or so he tells himself.

.

.

It's a calm, sunny day when he stops at a dango stand in a village near the border between Fire and Rain. The decorative flags caught his eyes, he supposes, but he still can't quite pinpoint what has possessed him to purchase a stick of dango for himself.

Itachi loved these (his chest tightens the way it does whenever he's reminded that he can only refer to his brother in past tense), and maybe that's it. But then what?

He isn't one to waste food (though it's debatable whether this is 'food') so he brings it to his mouth and slides the first ball of dango from the skewer.

And he flinches, not from the taste but from the smile that flashes through the front of his mind, innocent and genuine.

His throat runs dry. Too sweet. He makes it through the second ball of dango before leaving the rest behind on the table.

.

.

The night before his departure, Naruto finagled him into joining the rest of team 7 for ramen as his farewell party. There wasn't just team 7 at the party.

She was there, of course, with same the dark rings beneath her eyes that he'd noticed rather belatedly during their spar in the morning. Those hadn't kept her from giving him a few bruises and grazes, but he'd be a little less bothered by them if she hadn't also healed him up afterwards.

("But you don't like the hospital, Sasuke-kun.")

She was out like a candle before they even got to the main course.

Being enthusiastic neither for the people nor the ramen, he jumped at the opportunity and volunteered to take her home.

As he left the shop with her, Naruto called after him not to try anything funny and the table erupted into laughter and catcalls. He did not dignify any of that with a response.

She was completely malleable in his arms (Susanoo), her warm breaths seeping into the chest of his shirt, and he didn't dash through the air and over the roofs of civilian houses to get to the shinobi side of the residential district.

Abrupt movements could wake her, and she would fight to stay awake again.

Susanoo used enough chakra already and he needed to be conservative for tomorrow.

Reasoning ironed out, he took a leisure stroll to her apartment, occasionally glancing down to ensure her eyes remained peacefully closed.

.

He supposes he did attempt something funny that night. He called upon his Sharingan and committed to memory things that rightfully should be of no consequence to him.

.

.

He enjoys the long stretches of solitude in his travel, even if his voice will croak from disuse once he hits civilization again.

He likes forests best, especially after rain. The musk of earth and tree sap reminds him that clean air exists, and there is no curious gaze on his Rinnegan, no whispering except for the rivers and trees.

A heavy flapping of feathers reaches his ears, and he holds out his arm to receive the messenger falcon.

Letters from his team.

Naruto rambles, illegible at places, about everything and anything that has happened and then some more; and Kakashi includes some personal postscripts after a mission briefing.

He reads hers last, after feeding the bird and sending it away.

He's forgotten if he was the type to save the best or worst for last.

It's the first time she's written to him, and she's surprisingly succinct. Perhaps reserved. A greeting. Comment on the weather. Well-wishing. Her name. And that was all.

But against all logic, he felt her longing for him.

He isn't sure if it's the way the ink seems to tremble at certain strokes, or how the creases where the paper was folded adds a depth to the spaces she's left between the sentences, that seem to be filled with unspoken sentiments. Or if it's just his inflated ego.

He burns every letter he receives, as the information might get into the wrong hands, but can't bring himself to do the same for hers.

Fortunate, then, that she's written nothing that would be of interest to anyone.

(But him.)

.

.

The feeling of her eyes on him was calming, almost spiritual, like a brush of warm smoke at the back of his neck, downy feathers on his skin. He could have pretended sleep forever if she wasn't likely to figure him out the longer he kept up the charade.

.

.

It occurs to him one night, looking out the dirty window of an inn, that he has no idea who he is, if not war criminal, not terrorist or Akatsuki or missing nin; if not an avenger.

He's certainly no hero.

The more people he helps, the less he feels himself. There's a disconnect between what he's doing and what he knows himself to be. More often than not, he'd ask himself—what would Naruto do? What would Sakura do? What would Kakashi do? What would Itachi do—have done? (Damnitdamnitdamnit.)

And whatever he'd think they would do he'd do just that. It makes for surprisingly simple problem-solving.

But at his core he's not selfless like Itachi. Not faithful like Naruto. Not loyal like Kakashi. Not kind like Sakura.

At the end of the day, he still doesn't know what he would do.

He scarcely acknowledges it, but he keeps chasing after the back of these great people. He's running himself ragged trying to catch up, but he's so aggravatingly slow that it's a wonder he hasn't lost sight of them all.

He fears it's only a matter of time. And then he will once again be lost and directionless.

He's Uchiha Sasuke, and he no longer knows what that means.

.

.

"Oniichan, you suck." This statement is followed by chattering agreements of the other kids crowding around him on the dirt floor of the orphanage.

Children are vicious creatures, he's beginning to learn. He struggles to recall if he was ever this much trouble to Itachi as a kid. They are also incredibly unhygienic, and they incessantly tug at his clothes and hair, poke at the stub of his arm with such disregard that he almost misses the fangirl treatment from way back when in the village.

By the fifth time that they make him redo the voice for the rabbit-dog-cat-looking thing in the story, he's teeteringly close to setting Amaterasu-fire to the worn book in his lap.

His rescue comes in the form of the old matron appearing in the doorway announcing dinner. The children abandon him like one would a sinking ship.

"Thank you for playing with them, Uchiha-san."

He nods noncommittally as he receives his own bowl of food from one of the older kids. It was hardly his choice when the little ones ensnared him within their circle of skin and bones, threatening to cry if he didn't comply, so he thinks her gratitude is therefore unneeded.

None of these is needed. The feeding him, the lodging. He's only sticking around for at most a few more days to take care of the group of mountain bandits that has been harassing the orphanage. He would have been fine setting up camp nearby and not having to deal with the children growing attached (because he knows they will), but the matron insisted.

He's always had this inexplicable soft spot for the elderly, and he wonders if it's not in parts due to the fact that so few in his world get to be old and grey.

.

.

 "So Little Piggy went to ask Mommy Pig."

The matron's lilting voice floats to his ear as he perches atop the roof of the orphanage, miles and miles of moonlit forest spanning out before him.

 "'What is happiness, Mommy?'"

 "'It's your tail, sweetie,' said Mommy Pig, and Little Piggy looked at her wiggling tail."

For the longest time, he's had an idea of what happiness should be.

It was the firmness of Itachi's back. His mother's warm meals, and his father's approving grunts. It was a compound brimming with powerful chakras, and memories of children play-training in the clan's private training grounds; and red tomatoes getting snuck out of his mother's garden.

 "Little Piggy looked at her tail and began to chase it around in circles until she was out of breath. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn't catch it at all!"

Happiness was home, when home wasn't yet piles of bodies and dark corridors and slipping on cold blood.

He has no idea what happiness would look like now.

 "'Mommy, how can I ever catch happiness?" asked Little Piggy."

 "'Well, sweetie, your tail will always be there. Why don't you keep walking and let happiness follow you?'"

He closes his eyes and taps into the warm hum of collective chakra inside the orphanage, the tiny sparks flickering dimmer and dimmer as sleep slowly claims the children.

 "And so Little Piggy listened to her mother. She walked forward without worry, for she knew her happiness is always wiggling right behind her. The end."

"Goodnight, my dears."

Matron closes the book and gets up from her squeaky chair to stand by the window right beneath where he is, likely to stare out into the forest.

"Goodnight, Uchiha-san."

If he didn't have his shinobi hearing he never would have caught the whispered words.

He's turned the bandits in to the authorities and said all goodbyes in the afternoon. She doesn't know he's there, and he's all the more puzzled.

He stands guard for the rest of the night and silently slips away from the orphanage's grounds at the break of dawn.

.

.

The weather in Tea is shifting into spring when he arrives at its border. After a few days of travelling in silence, he stumbles upon a cherry blossom tree that has flowered early, its cloud-like plumage colourful in a sea of solemn green; low-hanging branches swaying in invitation.

He tells himself it's as good a resting spot as any, and feels a decided sense of betrayal that the spilling flowers don't smell the way he thinks they should.

.

.

A letter arrives suddenly, informing him of her kidnapping, and he doesn't remember another time that he's been more desperate. She's not someone who'd just let herself be taken, and he fears the worst.

Her letters that he's saved in his pocket weigh like a ball of lead near his heart. He's running as if his life's at stakes. Perhaps it is. For the first time since getting the Rinnegan, he wishes he knew how to control it better.

Then, watching her take down her captors, he learns these:

She's grown so much, has come so far from that little girl she once was and no longer needs to be rescued, least of all by him.

He's the very reason why she's been taken in the first place, her weakness, just that kind of toxic existence to her.

After making sure she will be safe, he leaves and doesn't look back.

.

.

Just as she has been born into this life to love him, he must have been born with the sole purpose of bringing her pain.

He only needs all of two weeks in Konoha to have her crying before him again. The weather is grey as if matching the storm in his heart. They're standing in front of that bench where he's left her once upon a time, and he can't say he doesn't notice how history is dangerously close to repeating itself.

Every muscle in his body is coiled for battle, ready to cite the 'maybe' in his promise and gain the slightest semblance of equal moral grounding with her.

She's chewing on her lip in an attempt to bite back her emotions (probably more for his sake than hers. She needs to stop making things easy for him). The tears haven't spilt yet, but they are there, glazing over jewel-like green eyes.

"I thought this time surely—" She cuts herself off when her voice cracks and chews on her lips some more, breaking eye-contact. "What went wrong, Sasuke-kun?"

.

 Before he could stop himself, he'd already slapped her hand away, shouting at her not to touch him.

She simply smiled, like a mother dealing with the tantrum of a child, and calmly finished changing his bandages while guilt still had him in its vice.

.

He went wrong, but what else was new? With her, he's both a madman and a smitten fool, angry and frustrated and thankful and disgusted and confused and elated and most of all scared. Terrified.

The way she hugs herself and seems to be on the brink of falling apart is nauseating to look at. He's getting worked up over what was supposed to be a simple goodbye. But that's the problem, isn't it? Nothing's ever simple when she's involved.

"You know that this is your home, right? You've never needed to earn any right to stay in it."

"…I know."

She raises a doubtful eyebrow. "Do you?"

.

It had taken him two years and countless good deeds to finally find the resolve to forgive himself and return to Konoha as someone he thought would be worthy of his friends.

Yet all it took was one smile from her to undo all the confidence that he'd built up like it was a house of cards. He realized immediately that no amount of atonement would ever redeem him enough to be worthy of her.

"Welcome home, Sasuke-kun."

 And the worst part was that he wanted to stay regardless.

.

"Don't be annoying, Sakura." And he can see her visibly shrink back like she's been hit. He might as well have. His fist curls at his side, itching to do something just to stop her from further torturing her steadily swelling lip.

Instead of leaving him alone as he expects her to (and how senseless it is to keep expecting something that will never happen), she steps forward and grabs gingerly onto his mantle.

"Are you…unsatisfied in Konoha? With m—with us?"

He doesn't respond, and she seems to take his silence as agreement and starts to cry in true. Big, fat droplets roll down her cheeks as she matches his gaze. The raw hurt in her eyes startles him.

"What will make you happy, Sasuke-kun?" She tightens her grip, pulling him infinitesimally closer, choking on her words. "Please, please tell me how I can make you happy."

"That's not your problem." That's apparently also a wrong thing to say. She looks resigned now, and the sight somehow claws at him even more. The wind picks up suddenly, nearly drowning out her next words.

"Do you even want to be happy?"

He thinks for a length and honestly cannot say for certain he does. He can hardly picture what his happiness would be now that the old one is so drenched in blood, and misery is a lot harder to take away from a person.

It's ironic, then – or perhaps apt – that he would chase after something he doesn't really want. Because he's full of greed and self-gratification.

She once again takes his silence into her own narrative and lets out a long sigh. Meeting his gaze again, her eyes are already dry, red-rimmed, beseeching. Her voice is but a whisper.

"Is there something you want, Sasuke-kun? Anything?"

If she puts it that way, he wants a lot of things, as a greedy man should. Full control over the Rinnegan. Restore his clan. A tomato garden. Her. To name a few.

But he looks at her, her red eyes and tear-stained cheeks and bruised lip, and sees that she is all wrong compared to everything he's etched into his memory; and blurts out the single thing that floats up to the forefront of his mind right then.

"I want you to be happy."

It takes her a second to react to his words, her large eyes becoming impossibly larger as her mouth opens only to close again. He's not sure why she's so surprised. Of course, he wishes her happiness, even if that will be independent of his own.

A million emotions seem to flicker past her expression in a second, of which he only identifies disbelief, suspicion, melancholy and finally exasperation before she inexplicably bursts into a short fit of giggles. She lets go of his mantle and, before he can miss the anchoring hold, reaches for his tight fist and brings it up between her palms, squeezing.

"I can do that."

She's smiling that smile that unravels him to his core again, her eyes glittering. And he can blame his carnal desires for overriding all of his faculty, but he finds himself ensorceled.

"How about we work on it together, Sasuke-kun?"

His chest is strangely free of heaviness as he uncurls his fingers, almost in a daze, and encases her callused yet delicate ones.

"Hn."

.

.

A few days before his departure, he asks if she would come with him and she agrees easily, if not a little exasperatedly that he'd waited so long to ask, and he's mystified as to why he's stayed up all night worrying that she wouldn't.

.

.

Three months into their journey together, a newly formed part of him is startlingly assured that she will always have his back, and nothing—nothing can ever change that.

.

It takes a while longer, but the day finally comes that he figures it out.

He's Uchiha Sasuke, and he means everything to Uchiha Sakura.

—

Notes: I do not own the children story.

[goattypegirl]

Harrow the Ninth Live Read: Chapter 6-11

Con: It’s been a while

Pro: We finished part 1!

Con: this post is hella long now.

Chapter 6

Eighth House icon. Oh no. Gotta say, not a fan of the characters from the Eight House in Gideon the Ninth, whose names I now forget. There was Big Dude and Mayonnaise Twink. 

OH OK WE’RE STARTING OFF WITH SOME LOCKED IN SYNDROME SHIT. 

So, panicked person wheeling Harrow is given the title “Sacred Hand.” I vaguely recall seeing that before; is that a title given to Lyctors? Is this one of the OG Lyctors finally making an appearance? Wheeling the frozen Harrow to the Emperor to “unfuck accordingly?” Well, maybe not. Presumably another Lyctor would be able to “unfuck accordingly” themselves.

Oh disregard it is a Lyctor! And if we go back to the Dramatis Personae, this should be... Mercymorn! Originally of the Eighth House! She seems nice.

“It was his order that she not be touched.” Did the Emperor do this? But hwhy?

Calling Harrow and Ianthe babies is kind of hilarious. Aaaand Mercymorn just knocked this random person unconscious. OH wait is this the person the Emperor said to make static-y noises at? Survey says... maybe? They were called the Saint of Joy, which seems a unique title?

The whole description of the Lyctor and the way she visually dissects Harrow is so poetic, but something else catches my eye here. Harrow says her eyes did not have such a startling transition, which helps confirm my theory that Harrow is suppressing or undid the Lyctor process.

Also using the power of Cringe, Harrow partially(?) undoes the paralysis spell done to her. “An emotion was playing out over her face that was- not unfamiliar to you- but nonsensical; you discarded it.” Eh? What emotion could this be referring to? Confusion over what Harrow did? Awe? Fear? All of the above?

OH okay before I forget, Harrow formed a bone hook inside of her to do that, and she made that bone sheath to hold on to the sword, so maybe her necromancy isn’t being suppressed? Well, maybe. That feels more... internal? Like she hasn’t grown any full ass skeletons from bone dust yet.

...Why is Harrow afraid of telling Mercymorn her actual age? Why is the Body telling her to lie? Why fifteen??

Relief? That’s what flashed across Mercymorn’s face? Oh, duh, because Harrow did that and didn’t immediately die. Duh. Also she straight up said “hiss”? That is weird. Also, thinking back, it is weird there wasn’t an age requirement in the Lyctor trials. Also Mercymorn took Ianthe too???

“You’re not as pretty as Anastasia.” Anastasia being the member of the Ninth House listed with the Lyctors, but not as one of the Saints. Doing this liveread has its advantages, namely that I can remember shit that happened earlier! 

OH WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT. “AS Anastasia,” not “As Anastasia was.” Implying Anastasia’s still alive? Matches her name not being struck through in the Dramatis Personae, and Mercymorn said there were 3 OG Lyctors now. Which matches with Anastasia not having that line about being a Saint! I’ve connected the two dots!

Okay there’s a lot going on here. Why is this normal necromancer so fascinating to Ianthe and Harrow? What she’s doing is pretty dope to be fair. Mercymorn called Ianthe 12... which... huh. More on that in a second. First, I need to google what the fuck an animaphiliac is... probably in an incognito window. Oh, okay, it’s just a style of necromancy in this universe okay thank God. Mercymorn also said Ianthe wasn’t as attractive as Cyrus... which is weird... And it reminds Ianthe of being with Mummy... I assume she means her mother, comparing her to Coronabeth? Oof.

So, back to the lowballing age thing. Mercymorn assumes Ianthe is 12, probably  because she’s super old and has forgotten how mortals age. Harrow seems to have subconsciously picked up on this, which is why she lied about her age. I’m still in the camp of the Body being non-supernatural in origin. Yes, she has Gideon’s eyes, BUT, she spoke in the voice of Harrow’s mother and Aiglamene. SO, my theory is that the Body is a product of the trauma Harrow’s gone through, that’s kind of externalizing Harrow’s inner thought process. Like I said earlier, I’ve read Twig, and this is reminiscent of that.

OH hey we’re headed to the frontline apparently? Because 3 warships got shot down suddenly? Which begs the question I’ve had in the back of my mind since first picking up this series, who the fuck are they fighting??? Probably not Ressurection Beasts, given what we know about them. Other humans, probably? Dominicus (probably) isn’t Earth or humanity’s home planet. 

Okay, hold up. The Emperor is trying to get to the frontline now, Mercymorn wants him to return to “the Mithraeum”, which is presumably the capital of the Empire outside of the Dominicus system? Also, Emperor’s been on the ship for 80 years, and been away from the Mithraeum for 100... Once again, the math’s not adding up...

Okay, so God hugs Mercymorn, she freezes, he confirms that he is leaving, and that he knows exactly who shot down 3 warships???

Okay cool we’re not headed to the fronline, we’re headed to the Mithraeum, whatever the fuck that is.

Ohhh and the Cohort necromancer girl died, or committed suicide? And the Emperor brought her back? ...There’s a story there.

Ohhhh Mom and Dad are fighting.

OKAY ONCE AGAIN A LOT TO UNPACK HERE BUT THE MITHRAEUM CAN ONLY BE REACHED BY ONE MEANS???? AND IT MAY HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH BEING A LYCTOR???

...Hey. So. Here’s something. In the description of Mercy’s sword, it says it has a white knob at the end of, and I quote “-you didn’t know the exact technical word. It was a pommel though.” There’s a disconnect there, between Harrow’s knowledge, and the narrator’s knowledge. This has happened a few other times, like just a few pages ago, Harrow says a room is used for bodily functions, but the narrator jumps in and says no one in the universe would call it that, it’s a toilet. And this is going to sound kind of batshit, but like 6 years ago i was in to Undertale, and there was a popular theory that the narrator in that game was a separate character from the PC and... a lot of the points used in that theory kinda ring true here... even the use of second person narration...

So the narrator is a separate character from Harrow? Now, whether this narrator exists in-universe, or if this is a really cool stylistic choice, is another story. Right now I’m leaning towards... I don’t know. Well, hm. If the Body is a kind of externalization of Harrow’s inner thought process, maybe the narrator is an internalization? 

That makes no sense.

Something to keep in mind.

Anyway, the shuttle detaches. There’s a sort of irony, in God being tired of people martyring themselves for him, but giving a speech saying “hey if you die in my service I love you.”

OKAY I think we’re about to go faster than light using necromancy? This should be good. OH OKAY WE’RE TAKING A SHORTCUT THROUGH HELL. COOL.

...so what was their original method of faster than light travel that turned out to be unusable? did it have to do with neutrinos in italy?

okay I love Mercy and the Emperor’s dialogue here. Again, objectively, I’m sure they’re bad people who have committed several warcrimes... but the way they bicker is just hilarious.

I’m googling hyperpotamus, and i’m only getting other Harrow the Ninth livereads, so it appears to be a term made for the book. But I have a terrible feeling it’s a pun on hippopotamus.

There are so many quotes here that I absolutely love, including “said the Lord of the Nine Houses, who apparently existed within a complex power dynamic.”  and “The magma metaphor falls apart from here.” 

...Oh. Okay, serious time. Even at the very start, just post-Resurrection, two of the Lyctors fell to the Resurrection Beasts. Well, one died, and one was “removed from play.” Which sounds horrifying.

So we’re dipping into Hell because you can move fast there. Hell is full of angry ghosts. This explains the ghost ward. Lyctors have hacked the system, and so can kind of survive there. And we learn what happened to Cassiopeia, one of the deceased Lyctors. (Interestingly enough it says she baited physical portions of the Ressurection Beast. Not a beast. Nor is it given a number...)

ALright so entering the River physically sounds fucking horrifying. I’m very glad we only have to do it this once and it definitely won’t come back later in the book nope definitely not.

“and that you felt alone in your head.” ;_;

Chapter 7

Sixth House icon.

There’s not a lot to say here, besides how freaky this is. How much do you want to bet that the faint wail Harrow hears is coming from the coffin with Cyntherea’s body?

JOHN. GOD’S NAME IS JOHN?? #NAME LORE UNLOCKED. IM JUST SO HAPPY I FINALLY HAVE A WAY TO REFER TO HIM WITHOUT STRUGGLING TO SPELL EMPORER EVERY FUCKIN TIME.

Also, Mercymorn knowing his like actual human name further implies some stuff about the timeline of the Ressurection, which I was wondering about previously... but that’s a discussion for later because Harrow’s in Hell!

Not a lot to say here besides 

fuck.

A few things. One. I think they’re going to get out of this okay? And by okay I mean alive? We know Ianthe, the Emperor, and Harrow live up to the point of the Prologue, and I don’t think Mercymorn is going to die already. 

Two. Cassiopeia was from the Sixth House, going by her Cavalier’s last name, which explains the chapter icon.

Three. The lights? The last page or so is very metaphorical, but, at the beginning it says Harrow perceived herself as a “sickly radiance”, and that she perceived the others on the ship as a light as well. She later said she was an “ova cluster of two hundred pinpricks of light.” So I think in this deep part of the River Harrow accidentally sent herself to, souls (maybe?) are displayed as lights. Harrow’s own soul is literally made up of the hundreds of dead House Nine kids, which is. Spooky. But then, at the end, when they jump out of the River, they bring 5 lights with them. So... either something hitched a ride with them, or it has something to do with Harrow suppressing Gideon and the Lyctor ritual. Everyone else on the ship has undergone the Lyctor ritual (or something similar, in John’s case), and they only have 1 light each. At least to Harrow’s eyes. BRUH IDK WHAT”S GOING ON. 

Chapter 8

No further answers here, this is a flashback chapter! So, sheared skull = flashback. And this chapter is going to feature the Fourth House, apparently. Who was Fourth House again? Oh no it was the kids. Oh no. ;_;

So, we are continuing through Harrow’s re-imagination of the events of Canaan House, with her Ortus OC in tow.

Of course Harrow is overwhelmed by normal tea, and of course Harrow thinks dressing up skeletons is stupid. 

AND of course Harrow would have a private prayer wishing doom on anyone that looks at her with any kind of emotion.

Hold up, the Anastasian tomb? Reserved for warriors? And presumably derived from the word Anastasia, the mysterious not-Lyctor of the Ninth House?? 

I can already tell Anastasia is going to become my Pepe Silvia. 

Ohhh this is going to be a lore bomb about the timeline of the Ressurection and I’m going to need to pull out my copy of Gideon the Ninth to see if any of this shit actually happened. 

TEN? TEN NORMAL ASS HUMANS? AND FIVE NECROMANCERS?? BUT THERE WERE SEVEN LYCTORS. THE MATH DOES NOT CHECK OUT.

Okay so I checked and none of this shit actually happened! In fact, Teacher actually said there were 16, 8 necromancers, 8 cavaliers. Where the fuck is Harrow getting 10 from? Who knows! And rather than explicitly saying “hey check out the basement labs to see how to become a Lyctor,” Teacher actually said fuck if I know. Not actually. But still.

Oh of course it’s called the Sleeper!! I had Kill Bill sirens playing in my head when I first read that. 

So,  had a whole ass monologue here, but this is already very long and im sleepy, so to very quickly summarize, the Parahumans series had an entity known as the Sleeper that was intentionally very mysterious and raised a lot of questions amongst fans, and the fact that there’s another entity here known as the Sleeper is flooding me.

So, I’m spooked. Again, this entire conversation did not actually happen. Teacher’s dialogue is precious. “go where I durst not go: because I love my life, and I love noise, also.” and “I do not know the answers to any of these questions, only that, already, you are being too loud.”

So, the rest of the chapter plays out with Ortus complaining to Harrow. Intriguingly, he says that Harrow doesn’t have much of an imagination, when she says there was no one else to choose as her Cavalier... And then one of the skeletons says, “Is this how it happens?” harkening back to Parodos, when the Body says something similar. There’s a lot to unpack here. One, like I said previously, because Ortus, and apparently the entirety of Canaan House, is a product of Harrow’s mind, they can maybe give some insight into Harrow herself. However, the fact that Ortus seems to break character and chastise her for her lack of imagination is... I don’t know.

Okay, theory time. “The Work” alluded to in the letters is not only the suppression of Lyctor-hood, it’s also the erasure of Gideon, and the creation of these false memories. Meaning Lyctor!Harrow somehow crafted them; there was conscious effort behind it. Which means we can totally pick these scenes apart to gain further insight into Harrow! The skeleton and the Body asking if this is what happened, and Ortus breaking character (maybe) are her subconscious breaking through... Maybe that ties into my idea of the narrator being an internalization or compartmentalization of Harrow’s trauma? Hmm...

Chapter 9

Seventh House skull, and not a flashback. I’m guessing this is because we’re going to inter Cyntherea’s body here.

Okay, so time seems to have passed. IDK how much of the River Harrow remembers here. It seems like she recalls it like a bad dream. Ianthe’s here, and they’re in a chapel made of bone. Or at least one absolutely covered in bone. 

Here’s a question. The necromancy Harrow excels at, that’s creating a whole ass skeleton from a single bit of bone. Is she actually creating a new skeleton? Or is she reforming one. Like if she had two teeth from the same skeleton, could she use that to make two new skeletons? In the last chapter the Ressurection was described as not creating anything new... does that apply to all of necromancy, or just what the Emperor did?

Also another side note, Harrow says the stars glow with an unearthly light, which matches what the Emperor said, that they restarted the stars near the Mithraeum with thanergy, so they’re weird now. Except... wasn’t Dominicus restarted the same way? Or is the Dominicus system a hybrid of thanergy and thalergy? I’m getting my energies mixed up.

Anyway yep it’s Cyntherea’s funeral, and Harrow is checking the fuck out.

Okay we have a new Lyctor... and I’m guessing it’s Augustine, since he and Mercymorn are fighting.  

Okay and John’s giving a speech and giving more lore about the pre-Ressurrection and it’s confirmed that this guy is Augustine and-

First gen? Second gen? Sixth installation?? Valancy? ANASTASIA?

bruh im so flooded and this is supposed to be such a reverent moment.

Ohhh this is awkward now that they’re pulling Ianthe and Harrow forward. Okay we get a formal introduction to Mercymorn and Augustine. Augustine trails off before the third... and asks if he, the third surviving Lyctor, knows about the missile strikes...Is the third Lyctor the one leading the people who shot down the warships, which is sounding increasingly like a rebellion rather than a battle against others? Who’s the third again ah fuck it’s ORTUS.

ORTUS is apparently interested in “you-know-what”. Which I don’t know what. Please elaborate. 

ORTUS is here and he’s skeletal. OH AND SO IS RESSURECTION BEAST NUMBER SEVEN.

FUCK.

(bruh what the fuck is a pseudo-Beast)

Okay yep time to fight an eldritch god.

Speaking of which, God’s name is John confirmed.

And Harrow bled from the ear and fell unconscious, hearing the name ORTUS.

Chapter 10

Pog we’re almost done with part 1. Fifth skull, sheared, so it’s flashback time. 

I don’t recognize immediately where we are; apparently this is in the library in Canaan House? Though I don’t remember one from Gideon the Ninth. We see a bit of personality from Ortus, when he complains about Fifth House poetry, which is nice. 

Oh, wait, never mind, that was Magnus speaking. Ortus remains as boring as ever.

Hehehehe dick jokes.

Hey so no fake vow of silence in the false memories of Canaan House! That’s interesting. As is Magnus and Abagail being here, and them being pretty fleshed out characters. As are these cooking instructions from the Lyctors...

HOOOOOOOLD the phone here. The cooking notes mention an M and Nigella... which was the first name of Cassiopeia’s cavalier... How would Harrow know that? The easy explanation is that this is a note that Harrow actually found, and is placing here in her fake memories... The other explanation is that something funky is afoot...

Ooohkay Magnus is asking if this is how it happens now. The simulation is breaking down. AND ABAGAIL CAN TELL THAT HARROW IS A LIVING WAR CRIME. PANIC.

Okay now we’re getting Ortus emotion! He is a grown ass man Harrow. At least, he would be, were he not a figment of Harrow’s imagination.

HEEEEY

WHAT THE FUUUUCK

WE’RE CONTINUING ON THIS DYING EGGS THING

PROBABLY WILL BE RELEVANT LATER.

Okay and the simulation breaks down further when Ortus says “you did have a cavalier with a backbone, I’m not them.” Interestingly enough, it’s hours later Harrow realizes something’s weird... Huh...

Chapter 11

Seventh House skull.

Literally just a paragraph saying Harrow sleepwalked and stabbed Cyntherea’s body.

...She sleep walked... the Sleeper from the fake Canaan House...