#depriving me of the chance to at least THINK about what that reason might be

[hippo-pot]

frustrated b/c i'm having to learn basic grammar/syntax stuff outside of class when like. you would think. a class. would be the place to go. to learn grammar/syntax stuff

[sequence-trotter]

With Sunday's drip marketing, one reaction I've seen is surprise that he's still on his same path toward the same goal of paradise.

But of course he is! HSR patch 2.2 Penacony is a long string of scenes where Sunday is like "debate me, please debate me, I feel a little bit like I'm going crazy here, how are none of you seeing what I'm seeing, someone please debate me." He sees a cold and uncaring logic to the world and desperately wants to be wrong about his conclusions.

And no one debated him. They overpowered him and broke his illusion via power rangers distress call and "severed [his] Path with their hands," as he put it, but no one really debated him in good faith on the terms he set. Of course he hasn't changed! No one was even faintly capable of articulating an alternate position!

unacceptably long-ass boring post incoming. if you click the read more you have only yourself to blame. i had to put in subheadings for navigability this post is a MESS

(authors note: in an absolutely embarrassing travesty i managed to hit the picture limit per post so this will be a post in multiple parts. this part covers Sunday's goals and Robin's initial response. A follow-up post will cover Firefly and the Astral Express's response, as well as the final confrontation and what this all means)

(double note: due to post length limitations this ended up being three reblogs long. completed version here.)

(A note before we set off: I do not think the HSR writers are very good, or more charitably, I think the constraints under which HSR is made pretty much preclude it having a thematically satisfying narrative. Not the least of these constraints is the obvious fear around having anyone playable be "too bad," which is why Blade was introduced as an implacable force of ancient vengeance for crimes unutterable, and now he's your 35-year-old coworker who jokes about killing himself. Everything I'm saying here is just interpretation, and it will certainly not be the game's take, since the game's moral reasoning doesn't seem to extend very far beyond "the Astral Express is good guys :)". Accordingly, please take this in an appropriate spirit, as someone looking for griminess and nuance in a game with a distinct deficit of either and an extreme unwillingness to treat its most interesting concepts as anything more than set dressing or very loosely-implied subtext.)

So to start you gotta ask, what is Sunday so mad about? Why does he demand that you debate him?

I. Sunday's Goals: "A Paradise Exclusive to Us Human Beings"

In his own words, what Sunday is fighting against is the fact that the world runs on predation and violence. Order is the enemy not of Chaos, but of Nature, and natural selection.

For Sunday, the problem is not merely that bad things happen in the world, or that the weak suffer. The problem is that the world is cruel in its design. The logic of survival is cruel. The extent of the problem is not just the dove dying to predators, though that is a huge part of it. It's the average worker, required to work at drudgery or worse, usually for the benefit of another, and always under possible threat of deprivation and death, because the nature of the world is that you must work or hurt or exploit or kill to survive. It's the man who sold his children into slavery for the chance at a better life, but more importantly it's those children, an afterthought in the end even to their father.

It's not just the suffering alone that he is responding to, either. In suffering and deprivation, Sunday sees a loss of control and choice. that necessarily entails a loss of dignity and meaning. Both the Astral Express and Firefly object that people should have the right to choose, but Sunday simply responds that they have no greater ability to choose under the status quo. To Sunday, a man who lives in a literal dream world, a life lived struggling for better things might be noble, but it is unequivocally not as dignified or happy as one lived in bliss.

This is part of why he's so fixated on the idea of weakness. Sunday perceives a distinct difference between people who believe their struggles give their lives meaning, and people who do not feel themselves to be free in the first place and thus find no greater meaning in their struggles. He clearly sees the second group as weak (a term he uses without judgment), and unable to fully express and experience their human dignity as a consequence of their position.

Sunday sees the history of Penacony as essentially recapitulating this struggle over and over. Hanunue frees the prisoners, but can neither secure Penacony's permanent freedom nor give the former prisoners full and dignified lives. Then Hanunue dies, and Sunday's sort of intriguingly ambivalent in how he portrays the Harmony taking over. It's actually kind of inspiring and humanist! This is a guy who's still deeply invested in Harmony's ideals.

But of course, we don't need a direct critique from Sunday to know how the Harmony has failed Penacony. We've seen it with our own eyes over and over. Do we need Sunday to tell it to us again when we've already spent our time with Chadwick, and Cocona, and Tizocic II? We have already seen over and over and over again in Penacony how systemic constraints and problems drive people who could have lived bright lives down dark paths, even in the Dreamscape.

Most intriguing is the third act, ostensibly the future, in which Ena arises and then is cast down because the people reject THEIR paradise in which THEY control and define all things. This could kind of be a jump to the past...except that Ena's previous "death" was due to absorption by Xipe during THEIR ascension, not because the people cast THEM down. The only event it appears to bear any resemblance to is...well, you beating Sunday in a few missions' time, because you reject his paradise since it's all in his control. Weird!

Back to the main matter, Sunday believes that true human dignity and flourishing requires not just freedom from outside control by otherss, but freedom from suffering and privation. He sees the weak (in his thinking, people spiritually unable to rise above suffering) as people unable to fully express themselves, who deserve the dignity of a life free of suffering or bitter choices. He spells this all out quite plainly in his opening lines to you when you arrive at the grand theater:

So we know what Sunday wants. And we know his answer to it: the Sweetdream Paradise (as I will be calling it here because I think it's funny and also because the sweet/bitter dichotomy is a huge part of Penacony thematically). He will use the power of Xipe's Emanator (Dominicus, the Harmonious Choir), and the remains of Ena (unclear if these are like, conceptual or metaphysical or what) to become something new (context implies possibly a new Aeon of Philosophy) that will enable everyone to sleep forever, entering a Penacony-esque dream in which nothing bad can truly happen, sustained by whatever new thing Sunday becomes. Everyone will be experiencing life through dreams while Sunday is the only thing awake in the real world, but that won't matter anyways because the dream will be basically the only thing that exists, without even Aeons interfering. It would be a truly human paradise. (One interesting little note here is that Sunday seems to quite clearly resent the Aeons for standing above humans and for offering no true solace to the suffering. No Aeons No Masters)

(I know I said above I think Sunday may have been becoming the Aeon of Philosophy and he says here his intent is not to become an Aeon. But the enemy description is pretty clear that Order and Harmony are forming the shell of an egg for a new god and the enemy is called "[Embryo of Philosophy] Sunday" I think it's pretty fitting both for his Icarian plan and the narrative role of Aeons that he was on the brink of accidentally becoming one, and probably having his original goal and his humanity subsumed into the nascent Aeon's Path. To me that seems an equally fitting ending for his hubris.)

What's really interesting to me about the Sweetdream Paradise is that the game goes out of its way, before it begins, to make it seem like a viable alternative path.

Such a dream could never be stable! Well, with a Stellaron and an Aeon (and idk, an Aeon's metaphysical corpse), all things are possible, so jot that down. You just want to set up a totalitarian regime under your dead God! No, LOL, I also hate God! Did you miss the whole dungeon before this about how much people hate God, and how much I in particular resent God for allowing suffering and human weakness? People will have no freedom of choice! People are free to make whatever choices they like in the Sweetdream Paradise, they just won't ever face bitter consequences as a result. Sorry I'm removing their freedom to [checks notes] sell their soul to the literal devil (hi Jade!) for short-term gain and guaranteed long-term suffering. I'd hate to lose that! People won't be real! Okay, well, Penacony seems to count as plenty real, and it's literally the same thing. Hell, Black Swan is literally a memetic entity who exists only in your perception! But she counts as real. So clearly we're just haggling along some kind of continuum of real-fake here, there's no hard line like people want to say there is.

The implicit purpose of all this setup is to force a true philosophical debate about the suffering of the "weak," the way the status quo demands and accepts this, and whether it can be justified or redeemed by freedom or choice. The other, more common approach would be to use practical limitations as a narrative eject button, e.g. "well, we've learned your Sweetdream will inevitably collapse anyways due to Stellaron Reasons, so even though your purpose was noble and our stance on it is still ambiguous, we have to stop you." I thought this was neat on HYV's part, because I think that other approach sucks. Call it the Legend of Korra approach, if you like: a plotline comes too close to criticizing the power fantasy underlying this particular type of genre narrative, so it's time to "fix" it by revealing the villain as comically evil and actually totally insincere.

So here's Sunday's position: suffering is not just bad but inimical to the truest possible human dignity, and if we can abolish it by means of totalitarian magic god ritual we ought to. How do our heroes respond?

II. Robin – "Which Aeon Can Make Our Dreams Come True?"

Well, first up is Robin, who responds so poorly I honestly felt like the writing was unsubtly overcorrecting for Sunday's position's inherent unpopularity (no one really likes totalitarian philosopher kings and gamers hate being controlled, Gamers Rise Up). She's like, "I get that people feel like they achieve some essential happiness or dignity here, but the big problem with Penacony is that it's FAKE and it's TOO TEMPORARY" and Sunday gets to just sit there and be like "yeah hmmm sure would be nice if someone could answer those problems easily by making the Dreamscape the literal only thing in the world and therefore the realest thing there is and also permanent."

Then Robin makes a hard left turn into completely wild arguments and is like "and that man suffering from a terrible illness who lost everything should have to be suffering in the real world because idk maybe they could have fixed his disease? I'm not like a doctor or anything but they say doctors are real good these days."

Completely deranged argument. Though honestly I kind of love this version of Robin and wish they'd go all the way with her. She's a girlboss bootstraps libertarian pop star let her live that truth.

Anyways here's where Sunday and Robin have their direct argument.

Humans deserve a chance to fly, says Robin. Okay, says Sunday, well we live here in the real world where vast billions of people never will. It's all great and cool for the anime protagonists and pop stars of the world to talk about self-determination and the human right to make your own meaning, but the rest of us live every day in a world where the powerful determine the future.

That last line of Robin's is so funny to me. "If that were true, then only the powerful would have the right to determine the future." BINGO, QUEEN! YOU GOT IT! That's the world you live in! Not one where everyone flies!

When you say "Birds belong in the sky, even if they can't fly," what you mean is "I see the death and suffering of others as acceptable and even necessary to give my life meaning." You can't have one without the other. This is what Sunday objects to.

What's interesting about this is both Sunday and Robin are actually slipping in their attachment to the Harmony. Robin credits her failure to sing to her own weakening faith in the Harmony, and Sunday later claims it was actually due to him and his attachment to Order (and also the whole Oak family's like psychic hive mind of evil under Gopher Wood). But here, Robin is like "Well, the Harmony says we should care for the weak." She doesn't exactly claim the statement for herself. And she shares Sunday's fears that the Harmony is incapable of creating the kind of paradise they both dream of.

So here we are right at the start of Sunday introducing his beliefs, and Robin's responses not only have been kind of weirdly un-nuanced in a way that makes her side look bad (I just can't get over her saying that dude who lost everything in war should have chosen expensive and painful rehabilitation as a moral matter. Robin what are you talking about), but she clearly is sympathetic to Sunday's concerns and is openly asking him what his conclusions mean they should do.

Of course, HSR 2.2 ignored Robin for no discernible reason, so we will be denied any further development of this discourse between the siblings. But Robin will return in the final battle, and when she does, she will both reveal that she is not thinking in the Harmony's terms, and that she has only practical objections to Sunday's course of action, rather than what he really wants: a different and more compelling logic to replace his own.

[semisolidmind]

That anon made me think about a hypothetical scenario of Peng trying to move up on Reader, but tbh I don't think Peng would EVER stand a chance against the twice as bad AU monkey husband duo.

Azure contantly gets the L but he is nice to Reader + he's friends enough with the two warlords to not make them immediately consider killing him if he treats Reader a lil too nicely in the beginning.

He's suspicious but he's a likeable guy, so it's not too weird of him to be genuinely polite to the queen of FFM.

Peng, though? bro's getting COOKED. literally. He's not slick like Azure, if he tried anything it'd be over for him. He's a bird-shaped mean girl, so it would immediately draw suspicion on everyone if he suddenly started being super nice to Reader after being so vocal of his disapproval towards a human queen.

I bet Wukong and Macaque (especially macaque since peng likes antagonizing him so much) would love to have a reason to destroy him in a fight 💀

FR.

like, this feathery fuck could make that mental and emotional switch from "ugh, mortals" to "but this one's kinda ok/how funny would it be to steal her" and you can bet the boys (but mostly macaque) would be on them in a second. there is no way they wouldn't clock the birds' intent the minute the bastard sidles up to reader. they sorta trust azure, they're fine with yellowtusk, but the monkeys KNOW that you canNOT trust peng.

any time the bird has the chance to get reader alone, macaque makes sure to be there or at least within striking distance. he knows reader doesn't trust peng either (and why would she, after their history of shit talking and belittling her), so he's not worried about her falling for any smooth talking, but he is worried that they might cross a line.

i could see this situation coming to a head with peng making some sort of big move on reader, mac hears it and stops it, then challenges them to a fight (like a serious challenge, to the death kinda shit).

and while wukong wants to make that bird into a roast as much as his brother, he knows that it'll be important for macaque to beat the shit out of peng by himself. despite knowing how dangerous the monkey bros can be, peng continued to poke and prod and test the limits of macaque's patience. the monkey king won't deprive his brother of getting to serve some well-deserved comeuppance. in fact, he makes a sort of show of it, announcing the fight and inviting his allies to watch.

the battle is a brutal one. normally wukong is the one to fly into a jealous rage at any slight against reader, while mac is the one to keep a cool head. but this time, the shadowy simian lets aaaaall that carefully controlled anger out in a truly vicious display of power. the bird demon has a tough time keeping up with their rival's attacks. though both combatants take some heavy hits, it's clear that peng is losing.

like. macaque could beat peng to death here, and there really wouldn't be anything anyone could do. the bird broke a rule. they pissed off the wrong demon at the wrong time. given their history, nobody has any reason to stop macaque from slaughtering his rival, and it'd be within his rights to kill them for disrespecting his wife. wukong finds it all far too hilarious to do anything but laugh at peng getting their ass handed to them, and reader knows it's going too far but won't speak on peng's behalf (both because she doesn't like them and she feels like she has no right to deprive mac of his revenge).

azure would have to beg a pardon on behalf of his stupid chicken of a sworn brother before they actually die.

wukong is hesitant to grant it. azure knows what that birdbrain did. they laid hands on the monkey king's queen, and he knows wukong has killed others for far less. that miserable pile of feathers should consider themselves lucky that the monkey king hasn't joined in on their punishment. if azure didn't want his lackey to get beaten bloody, he should've kept them in check. not to mention the fact that peng has had this macaque-issued beat down coming for a loooong time.

by the end of it, peng is nothing more than a crumpled pile of bloody feathers in the dirt. azure and yellowtusk have to scrape them off the ground and portal back to camel ridge in disgrace and defeat. they don't show their faces on flower fruit mountain for a good long while.

as for macaque...despite being clawed, tired, and a little bruised, he reigns victorious. in his adrenaline induced stupor, still covered in dirt and blood, he storms right up to reader and steals a nice, long kiss. it leaves her lightheaded, his hands on her the only thing keeping her up. he huskily promises that they'll "celebrate his victory" later. reader feels a little faint.

wukong would normally protest his brother getting peaches all to himself, but after that fight? eh, he's earned it.

[queen-of-scissors]

What happens if creator has a lot of squishmellows and misses them?

Heres a challenge for you: The characters cannot and i mean cannot make another set of squishmellows the reason for this is because the squishmellows the reader has are gifts from there family.

Challenge accepted.

masterlist

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

İm huggable too!!

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

You let out a dreamy sigh, and they were at your side as soon as they heard you.

"Your highness? Are you alright?"

With a forced smile, you looked at them from where you sat, "No need to worry, I'm fine!"

"Realy..? But you don't look fine."

"İ just-"

"Do you feel unwell?!" Green-haired man in the crowd, Baizhu, split the group to get near you. "Please tell me the symptoms."

"No, i-"

"Are you bored?" The boy with blue braided hair, Venti, teleported beside you with a gust of wind "shall I sing for you?"

"Guys-"

"Perhaps you are experiencing the feeling of being burnt out" the god of mora gently spoke, "May I suggest some calming tea? Brewing them shouldn't take long, only 4 hours should be enough"

"Will you hear me out?"

The room goes silent, they were embarrassed to realize they acted before giving you a chance to explain. How childish it was of them.

Don't be mad at them pls they are just trying to help ;; they can't stand the thought of you feeling down!

You sighed once again.

"...i just missed my squishmellows"

"Pardon?"

"I missed my extra fluffy, stuffed animals"

Zhongli looked at you sweetly "is that all? Well then, you need but ask"

"Noooo they won't be the same as my babies ;;"

Everyone turned their head to face you, faster than how Ei turned back to her creation. You had a child?!?! When?! How?! Do you have a court in another world?!

"Ok, before you take everything I say literally again, let me tell all of you this;.

No, they are not my actual children. İ call the pillows this because I love them so much"

Ohhh, oh ok they did NOT understand

"Now that won't do~" Yae Miko cooed "Leaving Their Highness deprived of the warmth and fluffiness they need is absolutely unacceptable! Hmmmmm"

She looked at you, seemingly lost in thought, but you could see the mischievous look in her eyes. Which also made you realize the light purple glow coming from her back.

"Perhaps," she stepped forward, making her tail more visible for all to see, "you might find my fur more huggable than your pillows~ would you like to try?"

"THE AUDACİTY-" one of your acolytes screamed, though they seemed redder than you are.

"Excuse me??" Tighnari let out an offended gasp "You think you can replace the holy object that they hold near?"

"Well, could you? Please spare yourself the embarrassment and don't act like you would not like to be at the pillows place as well~"

"Ok- listen here- what kind of a fake hybrid doesn't like being petted?" He admitted, blushing.

Gorou shifted uncomfortably, he also wanted to at least tell you that he would love nothing more than being your personal cuddler, his pride doesn't let him be teased about it. Yae picked up on that, however,

"Hmm? What is it general? Do you have something to say?"

You see him tense up so you decided to take the situation over

"Thank you Miko, knowing that you got my back makes me feel better haha!"

She smiles "anytime your Grace, my offer still stands if you choose to take it whenever you May need it ~"

"Hey creator~"

Your head instinctively turns to one of your titles being sung.

Venti, who is now in his Archon form, decided to fluff his wings in your direction.

"My feathers need a bit of brushing, it is such a pain doing it by myself, would you help this frustrated Acolyte with your divine touch?~"

You hear a deep growl from behind you.

"Foolish Bard. Stop this nonsense this İNSTANT"

"....Said the dragon Archon in his dragon form waiting for pets." He mumbled

I don't know about you, but if I Heard that Zhongli is in his dragon form? İ would turn my head so fast that even xiao would be jealous of my speed-

But for the sake of keeping it all reader-friendly, and keeping in mind that not everyone is a simp, let's just say the reader decides to stop the chaos.

To stop the chaos, you have 3 choices

1- pick one of them

2-pick all of them

3- shut everyone up and wait for albedo to open a portal to get you your squishmellows back.

Warning: option 3 May cause them to get damaged in some way. But don't worry creator! Your acolytes are here for comfort :D

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 37: Alexander's Housekeeper

Masterlist > Next

September 1925

TW: Captivity, mind control, mentions of abuse and murder

Just as Oliver had feared on his first night, it was far too easy to get used to living in a vampire's manor.

He'd spent the past few nights utterly engrossed in the books Alexander had picked out for him, primers on the supernatural world and its history. Oliver had always had a fascination for material like this, for horror stories and medieval descriptions of witchcraft and pictures of fairies at the bottoms of gardens, but he'd logically seen it all as just entertaining curiosities. Now he wanted to devour everything related to the strange new world he'd found himself in.

Naturally, he was focusing on information about vampires -- their strengths and weaknesses, their culture and habits. He learned that only blood taken fresh from live humans could truly sustain them -- bottled blood of the sort found in his master's icebox was at best a temporary salve to hunger, and animal blood did very little. It also was clear that very few vampires held moral objections to taking thralls. At least according to the vampiric author of the book he was reading, any vampire of means would have a handful of them in the household, usually taking the roles of servants and pets.

He remembered what Alexander had said in the auction house, that it had been months since he'd had a fresh human. If he were speaking the truth, he must have been starving and weak. That did track -- he had looked so utterly exhausted and spent when Oliver had arrived, and acted so much like a starving man when he'd fed. And now that he had fed, he was very obviously healthier and in better spirits.

The strange part was that a vampire that clearly had so much wealth went so long without sufficient blood.  His master had remarked several times now that he hadn't been prepared to take a thrall, and that Oliver's situation had forced his hand. Why not, though? If moral considerations and money were clearly no object, what reason did he have for depriving himself? Given his power, why hadn't he taken Oliver from his bookshop the moment he decided he wanted him?

And what had happened to his previous thralls?

Perhaps he might get a chance to ask his master himself.

"Well, now, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

Oliver whipped around to see a complete stranger, a curly-haired man with a dusty blouse and a curious expression. He was grinning and baring her fangs. Oliver's heart raced -- what was another vampire doing here? Did his master know? He must, or so Oliver hoped, but he couldn't help but shrink himself against the shelves in fear.

"What a rich morsel Lord Alexander's found. Not every day I come across a thrall like you," he said, putting an arm on the shelves next to Oliver, blocking his means of escape. "Wonder if the lord of the house would mind me taking a taste."

"Please don't, sir," he said. Being fed on by his master was one thing, being fed on by a strange vampire with unknown intentions was quite another. "I think my Master -- I don't think you should --"

He laughed, loud and long, and backed off. "You know I'm just yanking your chain, right? I'm not going to eat you. Lord Alexander would fire me on the spot, if he didn't ram a stake straight through my heart."

Oliver let out his anxious breath as he remembered who this person must be, the vampire housekeeper that Alexander had mentioned. "So -- you're not going to --"

"I'm Kenny. I keep the place tidy and do the lord's laundry and such. And it looks like I'll be cleaning up for his pretty little thrall, now," he said, and Oliver wasn't sure how he felt about that designation. "Honestly, it's about time he got a new one. Whoever heard of a vampire lord who doesn't have any thrall? I think he was even drinking bottled blood."

"That's... bad, right, sir?"

"I mean... I drink bottled blood a lot, yeah, but that's because I've only been a vampire for a few years and I'm poor as dirt. Can't afford a fancy thrall, too much of a coward to go get my own and risk hunters. At least bottled blood sates the urge for a little bit," he said. "If I were a rich lord, I'd have a whole mansion full of thralls at my beck and call. A different flavor of blood for every day of the week, and they'd all be attractive, too."

"So do you know what happened to Master's last thrall, sir?" Oliver asked, before Kenny lost himself in his fantasy world, seizing on the opportunity to get some of his questions answered.

"Oh, yeah, Henry? Awful thing. Got killed by a jealous vampire, from what I heard." He leaned in a little too close to Oliver. "I assume that vampire's dead now. Lord Alexander's not a vampire I'd like to cross. Not a bad boss, though."

"How long have you --"

"I see you've met my new thrall," said a deep voice from behind Kenny.  "I hope you understand that his blood is not part of your compensation."

Alexander was barely taller than Kenny, and significantly scrawnier, but Kenny still was immediately cowed. "I'm not harming a hair on his delicious little head, sir," he said, bowing meekly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"See that you don't. And refrain from terrorizing him as well, in the future."

"Yes, sir."

"And make sure you do a thorough job of cleaning the main bed and bath on the second floor from now on, and do any laundry left out for you. I won't have my thrall living in squalor."

"Yes, sir, understood."

"...I'll increase your pay, to compensate for the additional time."

"Oh, thank you, sir," said Kenny, his face lighting up. "Between rent and saving up for a thrall of my own, I can always use the money. I'll go clean the new thrall's quarters right away, sir." 

He scurried away, and Alexander fell sideways into an overstuffed leather couch. "Are you doing well this evening, Oliver?"

Any of Oliver's unease melted away in his master's comforting presence. "I feel very well, sir. How are you? Is there any way I can be of service?" 

His master's smile was relaxed, and he looked so much more at ease than Oliver had ever remembered, even when he was patronizing the bookshop. "Not at all, you're doing quite enough, and I hate to interrupt your reading," he said. "But if you don't mind, I would appreciate your company by the fire. The nights are starting to grow chill, and it's quite agreeable to have one's thrall near."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver eagerly, sitting next to Alexander on the couch, and feeling a soft thrill as his master beckoned him closer, close enough that they were brushing up against each other. His master gently pet his hair before cracking open a book and settling in to read.

Oliver picked up his own book, relaxing with the warm fire and the proximity of his master. A perfect scene of contentment. 

Except for the one thing that had been worrying him and stealing his focus...

His master did seem like he was in a good mood. This might be a good time to press him.

"Excuse me, sir," said Oliver, "I don't mean to interrupt your reading, but could I ask you a question?"

Alexander's eyebrows raised, and the look on his face suggested that Oliver's request was about to be denied. "Very well," he said, after a long moment. "But I might advise against asking questions if you suspect you won't like the answers."

Oliver felt a small twist, a spark. "With all respect, Master, I prefer to know the truth regardless."

"That's admirable. Truly," said Alexander, looking surprised. "Lily really did do a fine job with you -- I appreciate that you can push back. I've been lacking that, lately. Too far up in my own head. She'd put it in much more vulgar terms, of course." He sat up. "Ask, then, but understand that many things are better kept private."

Oliver felt relieved that they had an understanding of sorts. "What happened to your last thrall, sir?" he said bluntly.

Alexander let out a sharp laugh. "Of course that's the first thing you'd ask. I can't say I blame you. I'd want to know the same in your shoes." He sat in silent thought for a moment. "He was killed by a vampire."

His heart pounded. "Why, sir?"

"It was the doing of my sire. Most of the misfortune that befalls me is," Alexander said. "I haven't been eager to have this conversation, but you should know about him."

Despite his curiosity, Oliver was getting the feeling once more that he was in over his head.

Previous >> Masterlist >> Next

The Bookseller parts have been getting longer and longer, so I've been splitting them up so I can return to a more regular posting schedule. 1-2K words a week was possible, 3-4K words a week was pushing it. Hopefully I'll be able to post a part a week along with asks and side stories!

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

I hate Halsin's ending and here's why:

The thing I hate most, honestly, is the lack of continuity.

Halsin feels guilty for not being able to lift the Shadow Curse sooner and on his own:

"Thaniel is trapped in the Shadowfell, but thanks to you efforts, I know where to look. Now, I must go there - alone. [...] This opportunity has been a hundred years in the making. It has to be me, and only me."

"[...] I wasted too much time already - years in which nature has suffered."

"[...] Nature suffered while I dawdled, and allowed myself to be distracted."

Him about being Archdruid and the responsibilities as such:

"I wanted to try and find him [Thaniel], but we couldn't stay - we would have all succumbed. When the Archdruid of the Grove, my predeccessor, was seized by the curse, I had to lead the survivors to safety. That was my first day as Archdruid. An inauspicious beginning."

"I reveived a dispatch from the Grove [...] My chosen successor, Francesca, has proven to be a wise choice. Perhaps the wisest I ever made as Archdruid."

"I was all too eager to surrender my responsibilities towards the grove. Perhaps I was never meant to be Archdruid, to be a leader. [...] I cannot help but wonder if there was more I could have done. Perhaps I may yet have the chance some day."

"[...] I live for the wilderness. Comfort is for the farm animal, snug in its pen."

His plans on returning to the former Shadow-Cursed-Lands:

"Still, I would like to return here some day. See Thaniel and Oliver again - in my meditations, or perhaps in person, if the Oak Father wills it. I hope he does. [...] Anyway, once the curse is lifted, nature can take its course without me. I belong at your side."

His future plans:

"[...] The Shadow Curse occupied me so entirely and for so long... I almost miss the purpose it gave me. Now, I must find a new one."

"My mind still drifts to that dream I shared with you, for a better future for all those who need it... but that must wait. I remain yours of course."

Things he says to you regarding you relationship:

"I haven taken many lovers. My heart does not stir lightly. But it does now."

"You are all I want, but I won't hoard you to myself. Let others know the happiness of being with you."

"[...] The Grove became my family, with Silvanus as my teacher. And now, I have you."

"We shall triumph. Our time together does not end here."

"[...] So long as I am surviving, and I have you by my side, I am faring as well as anyone can be."

When breaking up with him:

"[...] If that's truly what you desire, I shall respect it. No matter how much I wish it was not the case. I will remain by your side whenever you wish, of course. As ally, advisor, friend... in any way you desire, safe for as a lover."

When you change your mind about breaking up:

"I'm glad you have reconsidered, but please don't trivially bring up such difficult topics. My heart can be wounded like any other "

"[...] I told you your heart is yours, but I do not wish for mine to be toyed with."

... and break up with him again (lol):

"Does it please you to see me crestfallen? That is the only reason I can think why you might toy with my heart like this."

"I warned you not to broach such matters lightly. Perhaps you care less for me than I supposed..."

Nicknames for Tav (at least the ones I heard):

"my love" and "my heart"

When being in a relationship with him and asking for having more partners:

"[...] Don't punish yourself on my account - remember we are both free to roam and love as we see fit."

"I'm glad you didn't feel the need to deprive yourself. To deny the most essential of impulses is to cut yourself off of nature."

"[...] I asked for freedom to follow my heart, and of course, I offer it in return."

"[...] I'm glad you shown yourself to be comfortable in exploring without me."

When in a relationship with him, having sex with Mizora and telling him you didn't enjoy it:

"[...] I'm sorry to hear that [...] I just hope it doesn't dissuade you from exploring nature's bounty. If you ever want to talk, my ears are all yours. Any part of me is yours, should you wish."

In conclusion:

Halsin feels guilty for not being able to lift the Shadow Curse sooner and on his own, wasting 100 years by doing so.

He feels like he failed as Archdruid and that he's not made for being a leader.

He doesn't want to settle down but roam.

The Shadow Curse was the only thing on his mind and his only purpose for 100 years.

He doesn't know what to do, now that the curse is lifted, and is looking for a new purpose.

He voices his wish to eventually see Thaniel again.

He's poly, had a lot of flings, and doesn't fall in love easily, but he fell hard for you.

He talks about sharing the future with you.

Halsin's ending:

"They [refugees & orphans] need help - help what this city cannot provide right now. I shall aid them to make a new place for themselves, in Thaniel's realm, under nature's watch. [...] There were nine whole wagons of children in tow. They are my duty now. 'Daddy Halsin', they call me. Who am I to tell them otherwise? We are each free, as we always were... but that does not to be the end. You must visit me soon [...] I shall have my own selfish reasons for wanting to see you again, if you wish the same."

How the game ends:

Halsin brings the refugees and orphans to Thaniel's lands, inevitably becoming a leader again and settling down.

He tells you to visit him, but doesn't ask you to join him, meaning he doesn't actually want to share that "dream I shared with you, for a better future for all those who need it", treating you like a normal fling instead of the love he claims you are.

It's a weird, unsatisfying ending, and honestly, most possible endings are. Baldur's Gate 3 is such an amazing game, but most endings feel incredibly rushed or unsatisfying (I'm especially glaring at the Karlach & Astarion endings, but that's for another rant). My dislike for the Halsin ending isn't that he doesn't magically turn monogamous, but that he tells you over and over again how much you mean to him ("You are all I want", "Anything for you, my heart") and then he just fucking leaves on his own without even asking if you want to join him. He's just like "I found a new purpose, bye, see ya, visit if you want to fuck."

It feels like the writers just gave up in the end - or didn't have enough time left to do it right (I get that, I work as a translator & editor). It just feels weird.

[shiraishi--kanade]

i hope ur not still flaring up, but if youre up for it i would like to hear ab the chronic pain mfy headcanons :)

Hi! I was hesitant to answer this because I had a very severe case of internalised ableism today for some reason but don't worry I think I shooed it away. Headcanons under the cut!

By the way did you know that childhood abuse increases the chance of being diagnosed with an autoimmune condition later in life? Now you do. I think about this in the context of chronic pain Mafuyu a lot.

So... It started around Junior High graduation. Nothing major, really. Sometime Mafuyu would overdo it and her hands would cramp, or it would be raining and something was picking on her knees. It's normal, honestly. It's probably what most people experience, no? Mafuyu doesn't really know.

She doesn't keep track of it, so she doesn't really notice when it gets worse, only that it does - she's in pain more often and for longer. She writes it off for soreness after the archery club (she knows it doesn't feel the same, but she doesn't have the time to worry about it), or, on the opposite side, being too sedentary. She flares after the mock exams and fights with her mother, but that's just... She doesn't know, really. She's exhausted, but it would make sense she would be, right? It feels connected to her "true self" somehow in a way Mafuyu can't quite piece together, but it still falls in the static behind her because of everything else.

She doesn't consider she might be sick, not really. It doesn't feel like when she was sick, on Kanade's bed or a long time ago in the childhood, and Mafuyu doesn't really register it might be a different kind if illness; she knows about them on periphery but she's... Not supposed to be. She eats healthy and exercises a lot, so why would she be sick? It's probably just sleep deprivation. Or physical strain. Or something.

Then, when she moves in with Kanade, after she works things out with her dad, it hits. Everything that was keeping her afloat, that constant fight or flight response her body was grasping at like a lifeline, sensing a slightest bit of relief, crumbles and can't hold her up anymore, and suddenly Mafuyu finds herself unable to sleep and feeling like someone is pushing needles between her bones.

She knows she's in pain, but even still, she doesn't really have the idea of what is different and what isn't, her pain not quite bringing new feelings out but pooling on those that already were there. The line between "normal" and "not normal" is thin, and Mafuyu already can barely thread it, so whatever this new thing is, she pushes it aside.

Surprisingly, the first one to notice it isn't Kanade - her line between pain and no pain is blurry as well (I also hc Kanade as disabled, sue me), it's Shizuku. She notices how her friend's shoulders seem more slouched than normal, a little uneven in a subconscious attempt to find a position where it hurts least, and the way her usually steady hands tremble when she aims the arrow.

Mafuyu doesn't open up when Shizuku asks if she's okay, not yet; but it does give her the idea to bring it up to N25.

"Wait, how long have you been like this?"

"I don't know. About a year?"

"What do you mean about a year?! And you didn't even mention it?!"

...Yeah, at this point they know Mafuyu too well to actually be surprised.

They figure it out from there. They're still not quite sure what to do, or what is it, but they take care of Mafuyu when it gets bad enough; Ena shares her gloves and Honami figures out what foods make Mafuyu feel worse or better the next day, and Kanade is careful to not let Mafuyu do any chores in her stead when she's feeling better and dead set on overworking herself out of habit. Mizuki jokes about how ironic it is for the future nurse to get sick herself, then offers to alter Mafuyu's clothes so they feel better against her painful spots, then gets her in touch with Saki-

And Mafuyu is still in pain, and she still has to act like she isn't, to go to archery club and school and pretend like everything is normal, and she still isn't sure how she feels about it, but she knows she much prefers to be in pain right now than how she was at her own house.

[riewritten]

Are you thinking of writing an Erwinxreader for Valentine's Day (of course no compulsion!)

i almost forgot it's still valentines in other countries (it's yesterday in my place) i wonder how it went for you, reader. nonetheless, since you requested and i want to chase the holiday til it's over, please accept this rough part 2 of too pleasing in the eye (just did a quick revision to fit the season). DISCLAIMER that you don't need to read the first part to get this one. though it has (i think) the same level of fluff u might enjoy, too.

ALSO yes, there's a day of love in paradis. yes because i said so 🤭

TOO PLEASING IN THE EYE

AN EPISODIC SERIES • ERWIN X GEN NEUTRAL!READER

TAGS: canon AU and fluff

WORDS: 2k | AO3

If there's someone who'd forget the very day deemed to be oozing with warmth amidst winter cold, it might be no other than you. 

Luckily for you, your boss could remember in your stead—well, no. Erwin specifically gambled that you'd forget, and to amuse himself by winning, he piled you with lots of paperwork the night before. Not fair, he knew, but he never was fair to begin with. He was bored, with nothing amusing to do as his line of work deprived him of appreciating the mundanity of holidays for good.

He got nothing amusing to do and apparently, the number one list on solving that involves you.

With the tick-tock of the clock, bubbling sound of boiling chamomile, and scent of newly baked pie, Erwin was emptily humming in his head; would you forget or would you not? How long would you be spacing out? Would he be given the chance to stare for five solid minutes this time? Would he—

"Commander!" you shrieked from the outside which followed suit with a bang; Erwin just knew it was the sound of your head against the door. Seems like he won, not a minute upon your arrival and you're already in disarray!

But when you opened the door and petals flew alongside your entrance, Erwin had to take back his win. 

"I tripped over the flowers at your doorway! I thought your office was a funeral!"

He barely heard you; he was stunned. It never occurred to him that a mixture of you and measly flowers his horse would just step on during a bloody expedition would look so… oh no, has he finally reached that level of "down bad" Hange talks about? How can the Commander be this cliche?

"Why are those in my office?" He knew the answer—it was either his subordinates or admirers, but he didn't think you'd be dumb enough to trip over it.

"I don't know, I was about to ask!" still, you attempted to fix your composure after the unceremonious fall. "The regiment smells so good today and I'm surprised Levi's not the reason why. I almost daydreamed while walking."

You really forgot the occasion which called for his win but he rather felt defeated with the realization of his affection. How strong could you be — to be able to beat him without even knowing? Erwin can only know.

"Have you finished what I asked you to do?"

You frowned, pointed at your eyebags, then handed him heap of documents.

He felt guilty, don't you worry, that's why he's doing as planned. "Good job. Now we have to personally deliver this at the royal palace. Tell me if you're ready to go." He stood up and ushered you to sit as he prepared the meal at the pantry.

"But I just—" you sighed, breathing still ragged from all the running, "I just came here."

Erwin came back with the dessert, "you can space out all day if you want."

"Why?" you shot him a look of doubt, "Are you scheming something?"

Sharp. "The least that I could do for piling you with a day-worth of work, I suppose." 

"How long can I rest?"

"As long as you want. I wasn't kidding."

"Heh, I got the best boss." You let out a muffled squeal, "I think I'll apply as a full-time staff member in the regiment once our commission's done."

Erwin just sipped his tea with a cordial smile. He sure as hell would refer you to a much more decent job instead of this one. Not only would you distract him by being too pleasing in the eye, but he also doesn't think he can maintain this professional dynamic any further. 

Oh, only if you know.

"Sorry for saying this, Commander, but I feel like I'm being treated to the best trip of my life instead of running errands."

"Then you must have a nice way to look at things. Hange would be whining by now. Continue what you're saying about that bird."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about the bird. I mean, I've never eaten a cake like this. How can this be so good? And this is the first time I've ever been given the opportunity to enter Wall Sina!"

And there could be more opportunities for you if Sina wasn't gatekept to begin with, Erwin decided not to say it though, as he doesn't want to ruin the mood. "The bird," he called your name with a chuckle, "Continue with the bird."

“Okay, so Dudu the bird who learned and sang a new song whose words she did not really know the meaning of," you crooned as if it was a lullaby, "was then caught, killed, and cooked for dinner because in the song, she was actually begging people to kill and cook her! That was it. That was what I read in that book."

"And why do you think you resonate with that bird?"

"Because I'm Dudu, but rather than not knowing the song at all, I think I'd just forget what it means. I'd forget what it means and it would render me to a dinner meal." 

Erwin laughed, which kind of surprised you because Erwin never laughs. He chuckles, but never did you hear him laugh.

If you get to space out again, you're certain it's this scene that will play out.

"I'm ranting over my memory issues, Commander. I'm ranting and you're laughing."

He really did take his time, not even bothered if you're offended. After wiping his eyes a little and a last sigh to retain his composure, he said, "All that and yet you still persist in living on your own. You're dead set on being independent when you can rely on people for that so easily."

"Well, as amusing as this quirk is, I'm not very proud of it. It'll get annoying to anyone involved in the long run."

"I'm pretty certain there are people who'd be willing to take lengths for that, someone so devoted to remind what's needed to be reminded."

"Nope, not true."

"It is."

"No."

"Yes, it is."

You're confident to prove a point, "The landlord is too busy with merchants. The headmaster is on the edge of firing me. Moblit is too occupied dealing with Hange. And oh, don't get me started with how Levi would just shout at me if he notices."

Erwin hummed, "Tell me more."

"And Miche wouldn't even bother. And, uh… who else? I don't have many friends… oh, you! You'd be too—"

Oh.

Your thoughts were cut off and it didn't help with how he raised his eyebrows with a smile. "Hm? I'd be too what?"

No, it would be so haphazard of me to assume what I just assumed. "Why are you smiling, Commander?"

"Before you go home, I can arrange your paperwork so you'd know what's needed for tomorrow."

"You already do that."

"There would be a note on what's urgent and what could wait 'til the next day. The documents would be secured nicely in a folder so you won't have much difficulty browsing it."

"You already do that," and oh, how bad you wish that you were as slow at this as you usually are. Maybe by then you wouldn't have much difficulty walking because of a very flushed face.

"Hm, what more could I offer..." he pondered, "Oh, maybe I can have birds knock around your window during daybreak. That's the usual time you wake up. I’ll see to it that they wouldn’t sing phrases they don’t know about."

The usual time you wake up? How did he even manage to remember such trivial information?

"Well, that one you hadn't done yet."

"Then it's settled."

He might've meant that as a friend, right? Friends do care for you a lot. They could offer their time, although limited. They could—oh no.

He said someone who'd be so devoted to you to do so.

So devoted. So devoted. The Commander rarely uses synonyms for too much unless it really is.

You looked at him, a bit too aghast, but instead of calming down he just riled your fluster by saying, "I could offer so much, don't you think so?"

You chuckled nervously, clinging to the last bits of reluctance, "Well, yeah. Not everyone can do that, I suppose."

"Indeed. In fact, I might be the one most fitted for the job."

There, you stopped in your tracks. He took a few steps before halting too.

"W-what do you mean—" you stuttered; the drumming of your chest irked you. You asked it to stop. You really want to hear his answer very clearly. "What do you mean by that?"

He turned to you—hands on the pocket of his green coat with a cordial smile that's just so endearing to see, something that appears often in your daydreams.

It's a knowing smile, too, as if to subtly confirm your doubts. "What do you think?"

"Stop messing around," you glared but quickly turned away to whisper, "you're giving me false hope on this, Commander." 

"Come again?" But he heard that loud and clear. It's evident by how his smile got replaced with surprise. "Hope?"

You defeatedly sighed, "Nothing, not that it's important—"

"Repeat what you just said. I didn't hear you clearly."

You didn't answer even after he walked to close the distance. He called your name, not sternly but urging. "Repeat that."

"You're giving me false hope on this. You can't just blabber about someone so devoted only to make me realize that you've been doing just that all along." Too ashamed to admit yet defeated with his urging, you continued, "I mean, I just know the headmaster revealed how I've been holding you with affection for a while now, but it doesn't mean you get to play around that!"

When you raised your head again, resolute to berate him, you realized what you just did.

The commander looked genuinely surprised, as if that was the most shocking thing he had ever heard — just as if he was not hearing the most abhorrent truths and seeing the vilest of realities in his line of work.

"Oh my god, the headmaster didn't tell you?"

After a few blinks, what clicked next was a smile, insinuating that he got hold of the situation again, that whatever he was scheming tonight had finally been achieved.

"I mean, I would pay him fortunes for that information." The revelation gave him tremendous courage, too. He slowly reached for your hand, clasped his fingers at yours, and lifted it up until it reached his cheeks, "I wonder why he didn't. The headmaster has a thing with money."

"My hand,"

"Yes? What's with the hand?" He gave it a chaste peck without averting his gaze away, amusingly so. As if already aware of how his eyes, let alone that very whisper, could deprive you of comprehending such a question. It was his usual knowing look — asking things he already knows and acting out situations he knows how would end.

"Are we—" oh, don't hold back on assuming now. He's establishing it loud and clear. "Are we really supposed to work for an errand today?"

He shrugged, but your hands remained on his cheek nonetheless. "Well, where are the papers?"

The inquiry brought you back in fear.

"We didn't bring them with us! I forgot!" But your confusion became a glare upon realizing, "You said you'll be the one to bring it. I didn't forget, It's not my fault!"

"I never said you're at fault."

"Oh? Okay," you quickly fixed your composure, why am I so nervous about this? "Just for the record because I'm always the one at fault for the things that are forgotten."

"Don't worry, I'll never get angry about it." Erwin guided your hand so it'd be wrapped around his waist. He then cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead. "Unless you forget this moment first thing in the morning."

His gesture worked as a spell to awaken you that this is neither a product of your daydreaming nor a fragment brought by the sweet scent of cakes and tea — no, not this time, not from hereon.

And thus it brought you warmth, the warmest amidst winter cold. And as this day can never slip from your mind again, you hugged him tight and replied, "Well, this is what I'll be dreaming of once I space out again."

🏷 @watyousayin @frenchdyer (sorry for bombarding you two w/ erwin updates ㅜㅜ) | SUBSCRIBE HERE

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dudu the singing bird came from hitting the budapest by noviolet bulawayo ! do give them a read, i loved their writing style

[tobiasdrake]

That leaves the final question. Okay but why tho?

This is a doozy.

*deep breath* Here we go. Here it is. Rock bottom. We know it's Kiyo. It was obviously Kiyo and every ounce of deliberation only further cemented how obviously Kiyo it was. But why?

What was it that drove him to murder? Was it Angie's authoritarian rules? Was it the destruction of the Flashback Light, depriving everyone of a chance to learn more about their missing past? Was it her monopolization of the Necronomicon? Her growing cult of influence over the community?

Even the Director's at a total loss for what happened here. And she wrote his character.

"Please tell me this has something to do with the actual plot I wrote for this chapter. I am so fucking confused right now."

There were so many interesting reasons why someone might kill Angie. She managed to make an enemy out of practically everyone in the roster. So what was it that moved Kiyo's hand?

By purest of coincidence, she happened to walk in on him while he was setting up the murder. It's literally the exact same explanation that 2-3 already used for Hiyoko's death. 3-3 is so dedicated to being unsatisfying that it's now recycling plot points in place of the myriad interesting reasons that could be used for Angie's death.

Wow. That sucks. But at least he had a good reason for killing Tenko, then? Right?

...

He did it because he's a genderfluid mentally ill serial killer. He has DID and gender, and it drives him to kill people. Also he used to fuck his sister when she was alive; They are very unambiguous about that in scenes I will not screencap.

That's.

THAT'S the motive. He did it because he's crazy. And gender. And gender crazy. That's it. That is the full explanation for what happened to Angie and Tenko.

Holy. Fuck.

Hoooooooooo.

...

I am willing to cut Kodaka some slack for Chihiro. Some. Not a lot, but some. Kodaka fucked up with Chihiro. He screwed up writing a trans character so hard he wound up writing what is effectively an allegorical transmasc story out of a female-presenting AMAB.

But it doesn't feel malicious. Chihiro wasn't a joke. Chihiro was grossly mishandled, but not for the purpose of ridicule. In fact, the franchise has a strong reverence for Chihiro and his creations, even in the sequels. This is a character that Kodaka seems proud of.

I am willing to cut Kodaka some slack for Toko/Jack. Some. Not a lot, but some. Toko/Jack is a joke. The punchline is that the serial murderer never kills a single goddamn person in the entire game. That's hilarious, but doesn't require her to be a gross DID stereotype.

And, much like Chihiro, this is a character who's beloved by her franchise. Toko got to costar in her own spinoff game, even, that examines her character in greater detail and works her into a healthy, sustainable relationship with another human being. It's great!

...

But Kiyo?

Kiyo is utterly inexcusable.

I have, at multiple points, expressed the opinion that Kodaka burned out on Danganronpa. DR3 was his attempt to hastily wrap it all up and close the book, and V3 was his attempt to torch the franchise so he could finally be done with it.

3-3 is Exhibit A in that argument. After starting out so promising, after offering so many interesting hooks, this case went south so far that it ultimately devolved into Kodaka screaming furious slurs at the screen. I can think of no possible reason why this would have happened, other than to lash out.

It's notable that in his immediate next game after finally freeing himself from the yoke of Danganronpa, Kodaka would deliver the best LGBT character he's ever created. He can write better than this. Screaming furious slurs at the screen was a choice he made.

Whatever the reason, however this happened, I want to say that this is the worst thing Kodaka has ever written.

I can't, in good conscience, because I've played Ultra Despair Girls and when it's good, it's great, but hoooooly shit the missteps.

But I can, in good conscience, say this is the worst case of any core Danganronpa title.

[goldenworldsabound]

Alright. I've got to admit something cause I'm tired of being unable to post what I want here.

I got into Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel. So if that's on your DNI, I guess here's your chance to block me. That being said though, if you're on my tag list please at least shoot me a message letting me know you'd like to be removed? You were my friend - so I hope you can do me this kindness before you go. And please, this should go without saying - I'm still the same person I've always been, and please don't stoop so low as to harass me.

That being said, if you can stick around just a bit more I wanted to talk about it. To be honest, it's always seemed wrong to me that the community picked this up and decided these shows were iredeemable. These are queer focused shows that tackle complex subjects. They are queer stories (like literally helluva boss focuses on canon queer relationships) that hold nothing back. They do cover sensitive topics, so of course one needs discretion when watching and it won't be for everyone due to the adult nature of the show, but they have received a lot of vitriol I don't think they deserved.

That being said, I know the primary creator (V./ivziepop) has done a mix of things. Some are potentially false or overblown, and some definitely are not good. But the thing is these shows are made by more than just her. And I see no reason to deprive myself of a well crafted set of queer stories because there might be one bad apple helping make it. I can and do think critically about the media I consume, always.

And honestly, I think a lot of the backlash comes from how the online queer community always treats indie creators - if it isn't 100% perfect for everyone (which is impossible), it shits all over them, while still praising shows made by large corporations for crumbs of queer rep (or for nothing!).

So that's my stance on this. If you choose to block me for this, that is your choice, and I will unquestioningly respect that. But I hope you won't, because you are my friends, and I hope that you can understand my point of view.

[trangenderstan]

@zephrunsimperium (i hope you don't mind the tag)

Here are my controversial thoughts on Ford's self-sacrificial nature provided for your viewing pleasure by my crazy sleep-deprived brain

I think it's a common misconception that Ford wants to die. From the fanon portrayals i've seen, at least, it seems like the general consensus is that "Oh poor boy he thinks he's so wrong and he's so guilty he wants to die for the cause because of it" which i do not agree with. At all. Maybe it's my personal bias due to relating to the character so much, but still

Ford wants to live. Ford is shown to actively enjoy life when he gets a chance to experience it. The problem is, he needs attention. He needs attention, validation and understanding and what better way to achieve said validation than by making a heroic sacrifice to defeat the big bad plaguing the multiverse. Sure, he might not be there to enjoy said attention, but it doesn't occur to him in the blind pursue of "Please, i want people to recognize me. I want people to admire me just like all my teachers did back in school. I want to mean something"

The main reason why i think he actively tries to avoid death while at the same time almost romanticizing it in a way is due to the fact that he seems to almost... Put it off? He's trying to set goals for himself. Goals he thinks are a staple of how committed to the cause he is, but are actually reasons for him to continue living. "Oh well, i can't die now, my journals aren't hidden" "Oh no i can't afford to get hurt since i need to defeat Bill", he seems so much more passive about death than, for example, Stanley

I know it might be hard to understand since my thoughts on this are so contradictory and drawn from personal experience, but this is my take. I might expand on it properly when it's 3am and i'm pumped full of caffeine but this is it for now

[houseofashesif]

he was born and raised in Varanasi, India until the age of 10. then he immigrated to Britain with his parents where he studied in █████ University till he was 18. (p.s. i changed his past from Keaton's death to simply getting tortured physically and mentally)

ABOUT HIM (p.p.s it's all jumbled up soooo-)

➤ Ayaan originally wanted to be a Wildlife Biologist, maybe a part time Toxicologist, but his father wanted him to join I-DIE so he did. albeit reluctantly and against his will. because his father insisted so.

➤ has a surprisingly very british sounding accent despite what people think when they hear about his indian heritage

➤ tends to violently and unexpectedly switch between hindi, english and bengali whenever he's agitated or just mad in general

➤ can be frequently seen facepalming himself on the face and letting out an anguished "কি খারাপ অবস্থা" (basically "what the hell" In english) whenever someone messes up something before him, which they frequently do owing to his intimidating reputation

➤ has a pet venus flytrap. and a poecilotheria metallica (aka peacock tarantula) too. which he always brings to work with him. apparently it's his emotional support tarantula. don't question it.

➤ his favourite animal is the Eastern Green Mamba.

➤ has been bitten by snakes more than 50 times so far. that, not including bites from wild hornets, his pet tarantulas, scorpions and etc

➤ Ayaan's house has a small greenhouse behind it, which is basically filled with all sorts of poisonous plants. 90% of them at least. but who even dares to test the statistics out. the poisonous garden is filled with Lily of the Valley's, Oleanders, Marigolds, Peruvian Lilys, Water Hemlocks, Wolfsbanes, Angel's Trumpets and many more. so better stay away from it. if you value your life that is.

➤ also has a seperate section in his house where he keeps all of his poisonous pets together. anyone walking in might think they just walked into a wild jungle out of the blue. one filled with creatures capable of killing you within minutes.

➤ weirdly enough Ayaan likes polishing and manicuring his nails with the greatest care as if his life depends on them (jk im just exaggerating), he will frequently pick the polish on his nails or simply pick his nails in general if nervous or uncomfortable or even flustered. at least the remaining ones that is. Ayaan is missing 4 nails on his left hand including his thumb, then 2 nails on his right hand, courtesy of the kidnappers. he greatly cherishes his remaining nails. and is therefore always seen wearing black gloves no matter the circumstances. wouldn't wanna scare people off yknow.

➤ for some reason, Ayaan attracts the attention of animals, especially this one time when he and keaton (when they were still alive) chose to explore one of their bases in rome instead of riding in a cab, and he petted a cat he found by chance on the streets and the next thing he knew he became their new god

➤ "he killed me. Father just killed me."

➤ "i feel like i did a really good job, so you should give me overtime compensation and an extra long vacation"

➤ ”ah someone died here? no biggy, i come from varanasi afterall, the city where the world comes to die.”

➤ "i used to have this creed, if you can't trust them, don't use them. if you're gonna use them, trust them."

➤ he is a very llight sleeper. even the lightest creak of a door swinging in the wind is enough to wake him up immediately. therefore seeing him sleep deprived and drinking an unholy concoction of monster drink with vodka and iced coffee isn't uncommon. very rarely will one ever find him heavily asleep.

➤ despite his dyslexia, Ayaan loves reading books, newspapers, magazines and literary works of any kind. he usually prefers to read nonfictional works like autobiographies, even instruction manuals over fictional works because they expose him to more vibrant and useful words, plus providing insight on different real-life events and experiences. sometimes he may read a realistic fiction or two, but that's only if he finds nothing else to read. he’ll usually read them for an hour or two everyday inorder to keep his mind fresh with the knowledge. his favourite book is ‘daughters of the samurai; a journal from east to west and back’.

➤ Ayaan was once addicted to marijuana and smoking, but slowly he got rid of his unhealthy addiction. however he still smokes, although not as bad as he used to. however there are times when he's so stressed that Ayaan will start reverting back to his past self and smoke as many as three packets all at once in a single day. it's surprising how his lungs haven't collapsed yet.

➤ thinks very lowly of people, especially politicians. imagine his surprise and horrow when he was assigned to one. he planned to quit the job for a second there but hesitatingly agreed to the job fot some reason. hmmm…

➤ although he's more of a non violent person (if speaking and humiliating people into submission is anything but), Ayaan won't hesitate to throw hands if he wants to. he's skilled in krav maga, taekwondo and muay thai, courtesy of his father. he will beat the shitz outta you, then mock you by going "why you weak? huh why do weak?"

➤ has an especially soft spot for scalpels and sniper rifles. although he isn't partial towards pick axes and haandguns either.

➤ will look into the eyes, call you the ugliest piece of disgusting wet stale dough then walk away nonchalantly as if he just said that potato chips are made from potatoes.

➤ oranges are his favourite fruits. not because he actually likes it but because he can spray the citric acid in its peel on the eyes of any unfortunate fool who dares invade his personal space.

➤ personality wise, he can be described by the following words. Sophisticated. Quiet. Listless. Calm. Sadistic. Workaholic. Generous. Determined. Dense. Volatile. Sensitive. Ill tempered. Self destructive. (das a lotta worse tho)

➤ has shown multiple signs of psychopathy in the past despite not being a psychopath, including his apparent lack of empathy for those around him and his balant disregard of law. literally he doesn't even bother to remember people's names and only calls them as 'you'. only remembers Nadia's and Ailbhe's name.

➤ as a reciprosexual, Ayaan has never really formed any kind of strong relationship with anyone so far. not even his own family members. he thinks dealing with people is annoying already, and having a significant other isn't even in his list of to-do's before death. therefore he is quite dense. no scratch that, he's so dense light bounces away from him. every time someone tries to flirt with Ayaan or express their feelings for him :

➤ as a child (and adult) Ayaan suffers from an undiagnosed reactive attachment disorder. “a condition in which a child is unable to establish healthy attachment with parental figures or primary caregivers. [...] children with RAD have been so disrupted in early life that their future relationships are also impaired. they may experience difficulty relating to others and are often developmentally delayed.” [source : helpguide.org]

➤ can be VERY VERY petty and vengeful depending on the circumstances. he likes to return the pain back 10 fold worse to those who are unfortunate enough to piss him off.

➤ likes to talk about adult stuff in a pretty anatomically scientific sense. especially about kinks, sex and etc. even though he isn't kinky at all (or is it) he has QUITE the knowledge on it and several more forbidden stuff.

➤ he is NOT a kid friendly person. if a kid were to ask him a question like "how are children made?" he'll gladly give the child a detailed explanation about how sex works and how babies are actually made. mothers especially dislike him. he wonders why, seeing no wrong in it.

➤ can swear like a sailor. and he can rapidly change his cuss words from english to hindi to french within the span of a sentence. and he doesn't give a shit about what others think about him.

➤ one of his biggest pet peeves is people eating his food. he doesnt mind sharing his food with others, but isn't it a common courtesy for people to ask permission before they eat your food? apparently not, and this ticks off Ayaan to no ends. he’ll gladly buy you another meal if you are so hungry, but please don't touch his food without his permission. maybe if you ask nicely he may be willing to share some with you tho

HELLO HELLO 👋 here's my detailed profile on my MC Ayaan :D (@rf-interactive ) he's gonna be paired up with Roman, much to his dismay XD

To those who don't know what it's about, QUICKLY GO AND CHECK OUT RESPICE FINEM BY THEM IT'S SO GOOOOOOOOOOOD

[kiruuuuu]

Kiru's Advent Calendar, Day 6 🖊

Today is the second part of the Smoke/Mute university AU that burns so slow you might not even notice it getting warmer (oops). Please enjoy! (Rating T, slice of life, ~1.5k words)

.

The first week of a semester smells different – James can’t describe it, the mix of new beginnings and old fears, of friends he hasn’t met yet, of structure and effort and motivation. A month or two in, this feeling has subsided, but right now he’s drunk on sleep deprivation, comforting familiarity, friendly faces and topics to discover. His mind juggles several syllabuses with an idea of where he’ll do a presentation on what, when he’s going to study for which exam, which professor he’ll need to suck up to. It’s electrifying, his buzzing thoughts make him feel more alive than the prospect of moving in with his girlfriend. Today, he’s best friends with absolutely everyone.

“Were you at that party?”, Seamus asks while they’re making their way to the most daunting area on campus – the section reserved for the faculty for mathematics.

“When the chav had his nose broken, you mean? Of course, it was brilliant. I would say ‘should’ve seen his face’ but I think the pics made the round.” Somehow, it was always the aspiring lawyers who threw the best bash with the fanciest alcohol and most troubled people. Not James’ crowd either, though he relishes the conversations. Most of the attendees are at least interesting. “Why, you think I did it?”

The large Scotsman by his side flashes a grin. “You definitely could’ve.”

“So could you, you’re built like a fucking truck. If someone runs into your fist, sayonara to their consciousness.”

“I’m a gentle giant”, says the man infamous on the pitch for simply running through his opponents like they’re made of cardboard. “Everyone knows it’s the small goblins to watch out for.”

“Not saying I wouldn’t have liked to punch him, but Morowa would’ve killed me. Also, I don’t do anything unprovoked.”

“You two still together?”

Irritation rises up at the question. “Yeah. Why, you got a bet to lose?”

“If I had, I’d have long lost already.” Seamus side-eyes him. “You have to admit though, you two are pretty… different.”

James considers the fact that he’ll spend the evening crashing yet another event to which he’s technically not invited while Morowa will be busy organising a fundraiser for underprivileged schoolchildren. A fair assessment, sure. “We are. But she’s grand. No idea what she sees in me, must be enough to share her living space with me after a few months though.”

“Aye, that’s nice. Moving closer to campus then?”

“That, and away from toxic masculinity. I had the choice between doing the dishes or moving, and while I could name a few profs who’d salivate at the chance of discovering a new species of mould… it’s not for me. Why do guys think it’s a good idea to live together?”

“It’s fun as long as you don’t need to fill in the holes in the walls caused by overenthusiastic frisbee tossing.”

“Or uncontrollable video game rage.”

“Or homework-induced frustration.”

“I should’ve moved in with you back then, I bet you’re all reasonable.”

Seamus shows yet another smile. “I would make you clean up after yourself.”

“Not an option then, gotcha.”

The noise level rises sharply the second they set foot in the maths library. James has stopped being surprised once he figured out why this one operates by a different set of rules to all the other libraries: it’s more of a collaborative space than a place to study in peace, there’s always someone here who studies maths full time and can help the poor souls who are stuck on their last attempt at an exam deciding their future. Besides, the maths students oftentimes need to consult their seniors themselves, asking about lectures whose mention alone causes grimaces and words of sympathy. It’s a safe haven for everyone seeking counsel on n-dimensional spaces or probability distributions, or any topic obligatory for the other natural sciences.

James had to find out early on that chemistry requires quite a bit of maths.

Half of the library is actual shelves filled with dusty books which are either mandatory for lectures and therefore as tattered as they are sought-after, or a single student once needed a specific copy for their master’s thesis and so it’s doomed to remain forgotten for eternity. There’s little in between. Tables and chairs are scattered about the rest of the room, rearranged differently every time James is here, made to match the current study groups. Miraculously, food and drink is allowed as long as there’s no mess, and plenty of students take advantage of this fact to spend their lunch break here and catch up with friends and acquaintances.

Despite the context, despite the bad memories of all-nighters pulled to merely pass, James likes it here. It’s cosy.

The two of them split up to gravitate towards their own, Seamus merely delivering something to a roommate of his while James dives head first into his posse of chem buffs who immediately make some space for him at their table. Most of them are agitated about the requirements in maths III and animatedly discussing how to divvy up the work since they’re allowed to hand in assignments in groups of three. They’re not optional this time, the prof seems to have a hard-on for participation and not only checks attendance but also forces them to do his stupid exercises by making them a requirement for the exam at all. They need to get half the points at least to be allowed to take it.

“Seems like they’re sifting hard this year”, someone whinges, “I’m thinking about delaying my bachelor’s and taking the class next year. They switch profs, the other one might not have a stick up his arse.”

“I think it’s doable”, a girl pipes up and gets elbowed in the side almost immediately.

“But only because you’re sleeping with a maths genius.”

James raises his brows at the guilty giggle and can’t help but ask: “Yeah? Who’d you pull? Don’t tell me it’s the ginger, he gets all the good ones.” In a way, helpful maths students often turn into celebrities for the other disciplines, with people greeting and waving at them whom they don’t even know. Gossip spreads fast and James prides himself on being part of the reason.

“No, no, he’s sitting over there. The one marking exams.”

He follows the direction indicated with his eyes and lands right on a lad frowning down at a stack of papers, twirling a red pen between his fingers. He’s tall and half-Indian with serious bed hair, a cute face and nondescript clothes. In a way, he seems familiar until it finally clicks and James recognises him as the poor bloke who made the mistake of asking him about his training routine. Or something like that. “You mean him?”, he clarifies and points at the visibly frustrated guy.

“Nooo, not Mark! The one next to him!”

There’s someone else sitting at the table with a similar expression, absorbed in pretty much the same task. James has never seen him before, so his attention shifts back to its previous target. “Who’s he, then?”

“That’s Mark”, the girl replies as if James should be well aware of who he is. “Don’t you know him? He’s the one who doesn’t talk.”

“He doesn’t talk?”

“Yeah! He knows absolutely everything but won’t help you, even if you ask. I once had a super simple question and he wouldn’t even look at what I’d written. For some reason, the maths people like him. I don’t think he even does maths.”

“Mark?”, someone else joins their conversation. “Yeah, he’s in electrical engineering. But he does all kinds of other lectures for fun, he’s insane.”

James tunes out while the other two discuss how chemistry compares to engineering and watches Mark as he angrily scribbles out points which likely aren’t as numerous as they need to be for a passing mark. James is familiar with the concept. Remembering how vaguely friendly their last interaction was, he wonders whether he could show off a little and involve the social recluse in a brief conversation, cementing his own image as someone who knows next to everyone, and eventually decides that yes, what the hell.

Wordlessly, he gets up and saunters over to Mark’s table where his neighbour lifts his head to peer at him curiously, whereas Mark doesn’t even acknowledge his presence. At this distance, James realises he’s not as gangly as before, so either he’s been eating more, or he actually started exercising. The thought fills him with warmth and it’s not the pure joy of knowing he might’ve positively impacted someone else’s life, not only. It’s also partly because he feels eyes in his back and knows how great it’d feel to return to his people after having conversed with a god.

Well. Kinda like that.

“Hey”, he offers after Mark hasn’t so much as glanced up after two or three seconds.

Dark brown eyes meet his for a heartbeat and James thinks this is it, kneel before me everyone for I have tamed the shrew, and then Mark simply says: “I’m busy.��� And goes back to his papers.

.

“Told you”, grins the girl once he’s sat back down, his cheeks red with embarrassment, “he doesn’t talk.”

“Fair enough”, is all he replies and that’s that.

[karygurl]

infiltration? send the white mage! (ffxiv)

Takes place in Shadowbringers after returning to the Crystarium post-Il Mheg. After the pressure that the Eulmorans have put onto the Scions, perhaps it's time to return the favor. Word count: 8.6k

In the aftermath of the night sky returning to Il Mheg, there was much cause for celebration among both the fae and the people of the Crystarium. Once Cassandra had had a chance to rest, the strange tight feeling in her chest had eased somewhat, no doubt from the high tension in rushing to defeat Titania before the Eulmore army could overwhelm her friends… and the sudden appearance of Emet-Selch, Ascian and founder of the Garlean Empire. Something about the man had set her on edge in a peculiar way that she’d not felt around his other Ascian brethren, but she couldn’t put her finger on what the difference could possibly be. Strangely, the Ascian had introduced himself, asked for cooperation and then left. The odd nature of his offer hummed about in her mind as she headed for the Ocular, eager to discuss whatever the next step was in their grand scheme to save the world. 

“If Eulmore’s army is to pose such an obstacle at every turn for us,” Alisaie began after everyone had arrived, “perhaps that is the next region we should focus on.”

Alphinaud nodded his agreement. “If we deprive them of their tenuous armistice by restoring the night sky, then perhaps at least some of the people will see Vauthry and his so-called peace for the lie it is. Without fear of retaliation from the sin eaters he purports to command, his army might fall apart or at the very least, reduced in capability.”

Minfilia nodded in agreement, but paused a moment later. “But… we don’t know where the lightwarden is. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anything about it, though I was confined to the tower, so…”

“I spent much of my time making inroads with the population, but did not think to inquire as to a possible lair for the lightwarden itself,” Alphinaud confessed. “Perhaps I can return to Kholusia and begin inquiries. Though for obvious reasons, I fear I should avoid Eulmore proper for the time being.”

“That would work to our advantage,” the Exarch announced. “As you were on your way back to the Crystarium, I received an invitation from Eulmore. It seems Vauthry intends to hold a masquerade ball, and I’ve been invited.”

“Planning a party so soon after retreating?” Thancred’s acerbic tone dripped from his words. “He certainly has peculiar priorities.” 

“Was it only thee who hath received an invitation?” Urianger asked, and the Exarch nodded.

“Regardless, we now know that there is an event that we may be able to take advantage of. I fear I will be of little direct assistance, as openly bringing a guest would be out of the question. A more obvious trap I cannot fathom, and whoever is associated with me would be put in danger. However, it would be an event ripe for infiltration.”

“To make the most of our efforts, I propose to speak with the inhabitants of Stilltide and Wright, so that I can gather information while still remaining in the wings should aught occur,” Alphinaud offered.

Alisaie immediately lifted a finger to wag at him. “And I’ll be with you to keep you out of trouble, brother dearest.” 

Thancred spoke then to Minfilia, her face falling as he did. “It would be best if you remained at the Crystarium. No doubt Vauthry and Ran’jit would be all too eager to put you back in a cage should you be discovered. So our best options to crash a ball would be…”

“I would venture forth, if thou wouldst have me.”

All eyes turned to Urianger. Thancred, to his credit, simply smiled at his friend and clapped a hand onto his arm. “Swimming to the island will be required in order to infiltrate it, and more than that, I need you to take care of Minfilia in my stead.”

The wave of disappointment that swept over Urianger was brief, particularly vanishing at the mention of swimming, and he swiftly agreed to take responsibility for the young oracle. 

“That leaves you and me, Thancred?” Cassandra hesitated only a moment before nodding. “My skills in espionage are lacking for sure, but if things go belly up, I’ll be sure to get us out safely. That includes you, Exarch.”

Their positions decided, they moved on to planning. The Exarch would not be making an appearance in Eulmore in person; he would be sending an image in his stead. Though he could do so from the Ocular, the illusion would be more powerful if he could have a piece of the Crystal Tower brought into the canopy of the gaudy city itself. Thancred and Cassandra were tasked to carry a piece with them as they infiltrated the island. They’d swim in at the changing of the guard a few hours ahead of the event, remain in the derelicts for a time to make sure they hadn’t been discovered, then change clothing and sneak into the city. They’d plant the crystal in the main hall near the aetheryte plaza, which would give the Exarch a connection via the aether network to give his projected image greater strength. The Exarch assured them that he was capable of destroying the crystal when he was finished, so there would be no need to retrieve it should a retreat be necessary. Alphinaud and Alisaie would be in Wright and keeping an eye on the city as they conducted their inquiries, just in case their assistance was needed.

The twins headed off to the amaro rookery as Thancred and Cassandra saw to their preparations. Formal clothing and masks commissioned from the Crystalline Mean for them both, waxed canvas bags to keep their items dry as they swam, setting out in clothing that they wouldn’t mind leaving behind, and extra supplies. She followed Thancred's directions to the letter, adding a few additions of her own, before they headed out to to the amaro launch to catch their own flights to Kholusia.

On their way to the launch, they rehearsed a few sparse details of a concocted backstory: a new name for him as a free citizen, and for her as one of the bonded. “First time at a masquerade ball?” Thancred asked her from atop his amaro as she adjusted the pack at her back, trying to make certain it wouldn’t fall off as they flew over the continent. 

“Afraid so,” she responded as they took off, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of the rushing wind as they wheeled over Lakeland. “Despite the Wood Wailers’ love of masks, I don’t think masquerades are very common in Gridania.” She was about to mention the banquet in Ul’dah, but caught her tongue. Even though it had been some time since that disastrous evening, and for him an additional five years on top of that, it wasn’t a memory she cared to relive in any part.

“Ishgard is known for their balls. Stuffy affairs normally, but their masquerades have a certain charm,” Thancred said, his tone almost a little wistful. Missing the Source, no doubt.

Cassandra hummed in interest, the sound nearly lost beneath the din of the amaros’ wings. “Been to several of the former, but none of the latter. Lord Edmont requested that Alphinaud, Tataru and I attend a few when we first arrived, to prove that House Fortemps stood behind us and to show our status as wards wasn’t some kind of shameful secret. And after the Dragonsong War, there were so many invitations that I had to ask Artoirel to help me narrow down the offers to only the ones that would embarrass him were I to be absent.” She smiled ruefully. “Noble house drama is too complicated a web for me to comprehend.” 

“Not at all,” he insisted, lips pulling in to a wide grin. “It can be fun to put together the pieces, and once you do, it’s hard to take an over-stuffed noble seriously when you know for a fact that he’s sold his wife’s jewels to acquire a painting of a dhalmel that he simply had to possess.”

“Truly??” she asked between bouts of laughter. She couldn’t imagine one of the men from the Ishgardian high houses delighting in something so absurd.

Thancred nodded, eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief that she hadn’t seen in them since they’d been reunited. “With that kidn of knowledge tucked away, those events become less drudgery and more of a circus. Perhaps next time the occasion arises, when we’re not fishing for information, I can be your guide.” 

“I’ll take you up on that once we’re home,” she stated firmly with a smile, and was grateful when he returned it. The mere thought of a plan to come, some future certainty, helped to quell the butterflies in her stomach. They would weather this, together, and return home with a bright future waiting for them. She would make it happen.

Between Thancred’s knowledge of the guard rotations and both of their skill in traversing areas under water, they had sent their amaros back to the Crystarium before plunging into the depths of the sea and were able to arrive at the rear end of the derelicts beneath Eulmore with little fanfare. Several of the inhabitants gave them sidelong glances as they rose from the surf, but all turned a blind eye. People washing up from the ocean wasn’t particularly rare here, after all. The pair trudged together toward a particular tent at Thancred’s direction, and his contact there, a miqo’te-- or rather, mystel-- with burgundy hair and a toothy grin was happy to see him, even moreso once he’d carefully unrolled the bag he’d hauled with him and unpacked supplies to hand out to those who lived in the shadow of Eulmore.

Thancred glanced to Cassandra as she began to unload her own burden, and his eyebrows rose when she pulled similar supplies from her own pack. He hadn’t expected her to have thought to bring extra supplies for those in need down here, and he couldn’t help but grin. Of course she had. She was nothing if not helpful to a fault. 

At his direction, the mystel bounded off to lead them to those best able to distribute the supplies, their arms steadily lightening as they were passed out. Food other than meol, blankets and cloth, fishing line and small sets of tools. Cassandra’s time in Eulmore had been brief, but Thancred apparently had made a much greater impression. Even though it had been several years since he’d been able to approach due to looking after Minfilia, a few people still remembered him and greeted him with hearty hellos. 

Though he did his best to gently remind them that the Crystarium was a safe haven for any who’d wish to leave their place under Eulmore’s thumb, nearly all ignored his offer. The meol was too good, apparently. Unfortunate, but Cassandra understood. Though they wished to help people, she couldn’t force them unless they wanted their help. 

As always, she was grateful for Thancred’s expertise. He seemed to know exactly where they could and couldn’t go to stay out of line of sight of the guards, knew who to talk to and when they needed to get ready. They took turns borrowing their mystel friend’s tent in order to change into their formal clothing, Cassandra struggling with the absurd amount of openings and tiny buttons lining the back of her gown. She’d faced and triumphed over similar circumstances in Ishgard when she’d first learned about their layered styles of dress that helped keep out the cold, but the temperate weather of Kholusia meant there was little need for layers and apparently all the more need for showing skin. 

The deep red gown had actually been commissioned some time ago from the Crystalline Mean by a Eulmoran, but had never been sent for. It was a wholly impractical garment of course, so it had languished until Katliss had remembered its existence and dug it up. A few tailors had worked quickly to alter it to Cassandra’s form, and suddenly she’d been in possession of a dress that hopefully was close enough to pass as Eulmoran fashion. She couldn’t imagine what the point of it was though, with the wide yet tight openings over her cleavage and at the middle of her back as well as the slit that rode up her leg nearly to her waist. She was no prude, and between the thigh highs and matching red undergarments that covered her particulars the amount of skin out in the open wasn’t that ostentatious, but all the same, this was probably the most exposed she’d ever felt. 

With a heaved sigh that she hoped might bring her some courage, she pulled on the delicate shoes with lace at the ankle and lacquered flowers decorating the heel before finally exiting the tent. When Thancred turned to look at her, she’d lowered her face, ostensibly to fuss with the slit at her leg to make sure it fell properly. 

“Enchanting.”

“Hopefully they’ll be so enchanted that they forget to speak to me,” she said with a self-conscious huff of laughter, ignoring the warmth rising into her cheeks at the low rumbling tone in that single word. No doubt he was simply trying to reassure her; he’d have said the same no matter what she wore or how she looked. 

As a last touch, he held out the mask she was expected to wear for the ball, a black and crimson piece of confectionery with similar lacquered flowered detailing as the heels of her shoes. The mask covered most of her face, curving around to the hollows of her cheeks with a delicate chain hanging from both sides that draped under the curve of her bottom lip. 

Cassandra nodded but before accepting it, she combed her fingers through the loose waves of her air-dried hair before fastening it in a loose ponytail over her shoulder. Better to refrain from putting her hair up in the style she’d worn when she’d visited Eulmore before, she figured, then reached out for the mask. 

She pulled it from his hands but he held onto the silk ribbons at its sides and stepped around her. Once she’d lifted it to her face, he worked to weave the ribbons in and out of her hair before fastening it, the dexterity of his fingers with the delicate straps surprising her.

“That’s quite a skill,” she remarked as he finished tying the mask, snug and secure.

“Both Minfilias share a love of ribbons,” he remarked quietly, and she could hear the warm ache in his voice. 

Nodding once they were both set, Thancred bid farewell to his associate among the Derelicts and they worked their way toward the base of the city. The plan was relatively simple: Thancred, dressed a Eulmoran guard’s uniform that had been smuggled into the Crystarium by a former resident, would escort her into the building under pretense of her being a lost ball attendee. They’d head for the stairs, stopping briefly for him to quickly change and drop off the uniform somewhere in the army headquarters in the tower’s middle levels, before heading up to the Canopy and the masquerade proper.

The plan went off without a hitch. Thancred did all the talking, of course, much to her relief; he’d spun a tale of “this airheaded, well-meaning chit” sneaking off to look for seashells for her hair, or somesuch. To be honest she missed most of what he’d said, her heart hammering in her ears as she did her best to appear suitably chastened. Thankfully, it seemed that the door guard mistook her nerves for remorse and impatiently waved them both inside. 

The stairs were no easier than the first time she’d climbed them with Alphinaud; in fact her heels made the climb even more strenuous, but slowly but surely they arrived at the Understory in the middle of the tower, strangely empty as she peered inside. No doubt many of the guards were at posts around the party. 

She’d barely turned her back on the space to give Thancred some privacy, her gaze sweeping the stairs for any patrols or wayward guests, when he stepped around her in a tailored suit sleek and yet on the verge of pompous with its detailing and coat tails. Perfect for Eulmore. But how had he changed so quickly? She lifted her eyes from his outfit to his face to see a smirk pulling at his lips. He’d done that to show off, hadn’t he? She exhaled sharply with a smile. This man.

Cassandra wordlessly helped him with his mask when he lifted it to his face, reaching out for its ties though he hadn’t asked for her assistance. Though her fingers were nowhere near as deft as his, she still ensured that the mask was firmly in place and absently pulled a few locks of his hair free so that they wouldn’t snag uncomfortably. Both of their outfits now in place, they resumed their ascent.

The tower gave her even more chills now than it had during her first visit, almost humming around them as they climbed the stairs. The music swelled as they rose, as did the strange feeling in her chest, almost as if it were stiffening, pressure squeezing it tight. As they arrived at a doorway and Thancred cracked it open, looking for anyone who might notice their entrance, her hand rose to her throat to try and assuage the worrying sensation. Surely it was nothing, simply nerves?

Thancred’s eyes turned to her, and before he could ask, she nodded at him with a smile. She was fine, it must simply be apprehension making her jittery. Espionage wasn’t something she had ever been comfortable with, but surely Thancred had this handled, and the mask would prevent anyone from recognizing her. 

His searching gaze didn’t let up for another moment, but he offered her a small smile in return and his arm. Wrapping her fingers around his elbow, she followed as he took one more look out into the hallway and then slipped them both past the door and onto a walkway that led directly to the Canopy.

The pair turned the corner into the open main floor, and their senses were assaulted with the myriad of overly opulent delights at every turn. The music rose to fill and echo within the soaring space overhead, food and drink placed strategically about the hall with their potent aromas wafting from every corner, conversation ebbed and flowed, laughter echoed in high pitched raucous nattering. Were it not so manufactured and fake, it might actually be inviting. 

Cassandra pasted a smile onto her face, determined to not let her thoughts show as they usually did. She kept her hands wrapped lightly around Thancred’s elbow, likewise determined to not crush his arm in a tight worried grip and give away her anxiety.

She remained mute as Thancred greeted several nobles-- free citizens, she reminded herself-- with gusto, and they returned his greeting before they moved on again.

“Do you know them?”

“Not at all.”

Gods, she wished she had his confidence. Primals she could face, but scheming nobility? She’d fumbled far too much in Ishgard even after she’d become some kind of figurehead whose missteps were easily forgotten, and still hadn’t learned enough to feel confident in the slightest. Thank goodness he was here with her. 

Had she been an outside observer, she would have easily believed Thancred was one of the free citizens of Eulmore. He had the confidence, the charisma, and projected the signature carefree attitude of someone who expected luxury with ease. How did he do it? She hoped she looked the part of a bonded citizen next to him, at awe at everything he did. It had been a good cover for the stumbling she knew she’d be prone to. And it had worked the last time she’d been in Eulmore with Alphinaud, had it not?

Their amble around the floor led them toward one of the tables piled high with assortments of food and bottles of wine. “Might as well avail ourselves of the luxuries while we’re here. Care for a bite?”

Her eyes scanned the food, trying to tamp down on the disgust she felt thinking of the people in the Derelicts subsisting on nothing but meol. The smells wafting from the dishes were pleasing but something about the food itself was revolting, turning her stomach in a sudden lurch. She shook her head quickly, hoping her reticence wasn’t noticed or perhaps chalked up to maidenly vanity. 

“Don’t see anything to your liking?” he asked quietly, lightly, in case anyone was listening.

When Cassandra shook her head once more, he nodded and continued their circuit of the room on their way to the aetheryte. As they passed it she reached down and fussed with the lace at her ankle, while gently letting the blue crystal the Exarch had entrusted her with slip from her fingers and sink to the bottom of the shallow pool. To her surprise, a soft Thank you echoed in her mind in the Exarch’s voice. He must have been waiting for her and the connection was now made. Thank goodness, at least part of their plan had been accomplished. She allowed herself a brief moment to close her eyes and breathe-- regardless of what happened the rest of the night, that much at least was a success.

“Are you all right, my lady?” the voice that she’d heard in her head was suddenly in her ear and her face snapped up to see the Exarch kneeling next to her. He wore his robes as always, though he sported a full face harlequin mask beneath the deep cowl. She blinked as she accepted his hand, only the hum of aether beneath her fingertips giving away his illusion. Had she closed her eyes for that long, or had he simply blinked into existence? There was still time before his meeting with Vauthry; she hadn’t expected him to appear so soon, or so suddenly.

As she stood, Thancred nodded at their new companion. “Care to take a turn with her before your audience?” he offered lightly, eyes carefully sweeping the room. 

Cassandra understood what Thancred was asking: he wanted to do what he did best, slipping into the shadows, without her at his side. It was no slight against her, and she knew it; she wanted him to succeed, and that meant leaving her to her own devices for a while while he put his skills to use. She placed a hand on his forearm, squeezing gently in reassurance before stepping back. Thancred gave her an exaggerated bow (though was it truly exaggerated, or was just that level of pomp expected in Eulmore?) before sauntering off and she quickly lost sight of him. Damn, but he was good at that. 

“Well then,” she turned to the Exarch with a smile. “Are you my guest, or am I yours?” 

“I believe we are both guests,” he said cheerfully as he pulled her arm to the crook of his elbow, “And we can experience this adventure together however we see fit.” 

They’d only just stepped away from the aetheryte when the music swelled and nearly every couple in the Canopy stepped forward, surging toward the open plaza and taking up a position with clasped hands raised.

A dance. And they were in the middle of a sea of couples. 

“I don’t know this dance,” she murmured, nearly in a panic. She wasn’t a poor dancer, but she wasn’t good at picking up steps on the fly, she needed practice. Would it be too visible if they were to sneak out to the balcony, perhaps? Would it be any better to visibly stumble her way through a dance she didn't know, calling attention to herself amid all of these people?

The Exarch shifted her hand again back into his palm, and once he’d lifted their hands to match the others on the floor, he turned to her with his head slightly bowed. “Fortunately it’s one I’ve learned, and a rather simple one at that. Unless you would prefer to quit the floor? I would leave the decision to you.”

He was asking her to trust his judgment, in so many words. He believed that this was something she was capable of. She nodded in a split second decision and though his entire face was covered, she could feel the smile behind the mask that was meant for her. 

The strings rose together with one vibrato note, shivering in the air building anticipation, and then the rest of the ensemble began to play and the first step began. 

The Exarch was right, the dance truly was simple. The steps were quite basic, the spectacle of it created by the upper bodies of the couples tipping back and forth though even that was an easy pattern. She quickly realized that the dance wasn’t for the sake of the dancers themselves; it was for those observing, to see couples in an inner and outer circle moving in grand observable gestures. How very like Eulmore, to pretend to be lavish and decadent for all but have its opulence truthfully meant for the enjoyment of the one overseeing it. Her eyes darted toward the lift to Vauthry’s chambers, but she quickly looked away and instead tried to concentrate on her dance with the Exarch.

The swish of his robes and the swaying slit in her gown were accentuated by the basic pivoting steps that led them around and around the inner circle of dancers. “I’m glad the dance is as simple as it is,” she murmured. 

“Gaudy, but unsophisticated. Like much in this place.”

She bit down on her laughter, trying to remain quiet. “I was thinking the same.” Her voice lowered further. “The food is… strange, though. I’d suggest not partaking… if you’re even able to, that is.”

“The food?” he murmured, head turning slightly toward one of the expansive tables laden down with foodstuffs. “Understood. Hopefully the lack of enjoyable victuals isn’t ruining your adventure?” 

She chuckled. “The glitz and glamor are a spectacle for certain, but I’d prefer venturing to new places and getting to know people my own way.” Her eyes scanned the people around them. “Helping people, openly. Not working against them. Though unfortunately the former almost always ends up requiring the latter.”

 After a particularly deep dip, they both snapped upright and she found herself pressed up against him as they moved, their similar heights even more pronounced. “Take heart, my friend. There will be many more adventures ahead of you, more memorable than even this.”

He had such faith in her, it confused her but also heartened her so much. “I hope you'll be there when--”

“Ah, the friend of our master is enjoying the reception!”

The Exarch halted his steps, Cassandra stopping with him, when the two fanciful jongleurs in Vauthry’s employ moved toward them in unison. The other dancers on the floor, forced to dodge them, murmured aghast until they saw just who had stopped them and then they moved aside gracefully. 

“Our master awaits you, if you’ll mind our interception!”

Cassandra curtsied low, praying that the two women wouldn’t recognize her from her previous disastrous visit to Eulmore. Thankfully, they seemed more interested in Vauthry’s lauded guest. 

The Exarch nodded slowly, before turning back to Cassandra and leaning forward to press her hand to the molded lips of his mask. “Find your partner, and be safe,” he murmured before releasing her and following the two comical assistants. 

Cassandra followed after them, if only to use their wake to dodge the dancing couples about the floor. Once she was free of their spinning movements however, she wasn’t quite sure what to do. Her eyes swept the wide room but didn’t see Thancred anywhere. Should she hunt him down, or remain in one place? She didn’t want to disrupt his information gathering, and besides, his eyes rarely missed anything, so if she stayed put, then surely he would come across her at some point. And so she stayed, watching, listening in to any gossip she could glean from those standing nearby, but didn't encounter much beyond useless gossip that made her feel so out of place. It didn't help that the emotional hums she'd felt from those around her had all been quiet little hums. Carefree. Shallow. She'd expected as much from her previous visit, but having this vapid superficial hum around her when the world was suffering clenched her heart in an iron grip.

She’d been so busy watching the crowds that she’d missed the tall form slowly but confidently striding up to her until he was nearly upon her, the hunch in his shoulders and the red Ascian mask covering half of his face unmistakable. How--?

“Attending a lavish ball and I didn’t even warrant an invitation?” he remarked as he stood next to her, hands sweeping out in mock outrage. “One might begin to think you didn’t desire my company.”

Her eyes snapped from him to the crowd again. No one seemed to be paying the two of them any mind despite the man’s theatrics, and Thancred was still nowhere in sight. Emet-Selch seemed to be all words and no plans so far as she’d seen in his brief introduction, and despite his flair for the dramatic, surely he wouldn’t create chaos in the middle of the masquerade? He hadn’t seemed eager to cause a commotion in the Crystarium. But there was no telling if his words could be even remotely trusted, what his plans may be, or if he was hiding something to unleash on them. She shouldn’t underestimate him.

He noticed her watching the crowd warily and sighed. “None here would recognize this mask, save perhaps one. I’m simply another guest at the masquerade to these pitiful half-lifes. Would you care to indulge me with your company? Parties such as this are so dull without a good conversation partner.” 

“What could you possibly want to talk about with me?” she asked in hushed tones, her eyes darting toward him and then back at the crowd. “You know who I am, and that I will do everything to stop you from another Rejoining. What more could we have to discuss?”

The disdain dripping from his voice was unmistakable. “Is that all you think about? Are you so eager to craft your entire persona around being ‘the hero’ that you’re above discussing the weather?” 

She turned to him then, incredulous. “What weather? There’s only ever light outside!”

“As a permanent fixture of the world, it is therefore an eternal topic of discussion, is it not?” Emet-Selch sighed heavily. “Well then, what would you talk about with the others about the floor? The gaudy decorations, perhaps? The garish fashion and soulless, vapid guests?”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed slightly, watching his bored expression that gave nothing away. “If you think so little of this party, why are you here?”

“I would ask the same of you,” he responded, raising an eyebrow. “We both know your presence here isn’t due to the celebrations themselves.” 

“Fine, then. Where is Kholusia’s lightwarden?” she asked, voice low, nervousness fluttering madly in her chest. Was she making a mistake asking him directly? Then again, he must already be aware of their plans to eliminate the lightwardens. What did she have to lose?

His lips curved into a wicked grin at the lower edge of his mask. “Ah, she speaks her mind at last. And what makes you think I know its whereabouts?”

“They’re integral to your plan. You’ve played your game long enough that I know you’re too good to not know the position of the pawns on the board.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, dearest hero, least of all with me.” He cocked his head then, his sharp yellow gaze watching her, assessing from behind his mask. “Though it won’t hurt to tell you that you’re closer than you know.” 

Could she trust that he was telling the truth? Or did he seek to mislead her and have her chase down false leads? “It’s below the tower then?”

Emet-Selch sighed so heavily then, he nearly folded inward on himself as he allowed his head to droop. “What’s the use of a riddle if you’re just going to interpret it literally?”

“What’s the point of answering a question with a riddle in the first place??” she hissed back. Something about him rose her hackles, and she couldn’t describe why. She’d been taunted by Ascians before, and Emet-Selch’s words were hardly more cryptic than those of his brethren; on the contrary, he was far from forthcoming but neither was he obtuse. But something about him made her want to fight. “Either it doesn't matter if we know, or it does. Why leave it up to chance?”

He was still giving her that unamused look, his tone mockingly slow as if pointing out something that should have been patently obvious. “To observe your methods. I can hardly determine whether we’re suited to be allies if I’m unfamiliar with how you operate.”

“‘How I operate’??” Cassandra bit back her words, trying to temper the volume of her voice. The last thing she needed to do was bring attention to herself. “I don’t do games, Emet-Selch. Either aid us if you truly wish, or stand aside. You may be immortal, but our lives are limited enough as it is.” 

His eyes seemed to dim then, his expression falling from derision to something… remote. Unreachable. He reached out then, one finger following the edge of her mask down her face and onto the line of her jaw. “That, I know all too well.” Leaning forward, his gloved finger lingered while his thumb hovered over her lip, the delicate chain at her chin growing warm. “Happy hunting.”

Emet-Selch pulled his hand away and in the same movement turned to leave with an exaggerated flippant flick of his wrist, his slow tired movements accentuated by his perpetual stooped shoulders. She watched him leave, the edge of her cheek tingling from the scrape of his glove, and once he’d disappeared from her sight around a corner, she pivoted and headed in the opposite direction with purposeful strides, not wanting to stand there any longer. She felt too exposed, needed to shake the burst of… whatever that had been, that had risen up in her. For much of the evening her nerves had keep her silent, but with him they’d nearly led to an outburst. Where in the seven hells had that come from?

She strode purposefully for the open air walkway that surrounded the Canopy, hoping that leaving the crush of the crowd inside would help her head to clear. Perhaps Thancred would spot her easier if she were alone and not one face in a sea of them.

She inhaled the sea breeze that tugged at and threaded through the low ponytail at her shoulder as she stepped out onto the suspended walkway over the Derelicts. The path was specifically created to hang out over the edge of the island, hiding the plight of those below from sight, and she leaned against the railing to instead look out over the horizon and try to make out the sun setting behind the glare of light. 

The sight was demoralizing, were she to be honest with herself. Before she’d come to the First, she couldn’t fathom the concept of light as a source of pain or misery. But now that she was here, observing it take over and stagnate overhead, robbing this world’s people of any chance of peace, she had finally understood the calamity that the Exarch and Minfilia had worked so hard to delay and avert. Watching the light aether suffuse and stale and stand still was terrifying, and she needed to stop it.

“Taking in the beauty? Perhaps I could fetch a mirror for you instead.”

Cassandra had been so wrapped up in her musing that she startled at the congenial voice next to her. Too distracted again. With a quickly indrawn breath, she attempted to turn in a somewhat coordinated manner to the tall man standing at her side, his gaudy dodo mask encrusted with gemstones.

He offered her a deep bow and a wide smile that she certainly didn’t trust, though she returned his gesture with what she hoped was an appropriate curtsy all the same. 

“It’s quite an honor to spy a fresh face! I don’t recognize you. Even with the masks, I know most of of the residents of Eulmore. How are you enjoying the masquerade, mysterious damsel?”

“It’s… like a dream,” she hedged. A dream of something pretty but wrong, something that became less beautiful and more horrific the longer one stared. 

The man leaned in, eyes sweeping over her quickly and lowering his voice to what she assumed was meant to be sultry murmur. “Then don’t wake up, angel. I’d like to stay a while. Unless your patron isn’t one for sharing?” 

She blinked, not sure how to respond to that; was she even supposed to? She knew what he was implying but she was a long way from Buscarron’s Druthers, from the drunks who had propositioned her and were easily turned aside with a laugh and failing that, a jab from her elbow. The unspoken rules of high society were ever elusive to her. 

At her silence, he chuckled as if he’d simply told a joke, though somehow she doubted that had been the case. “To whom do we owe the pleasure of your company? Perhaps someone I know?”

Cassandra had practiced their cover story, had recited it over and over in her head, but now when she needed it the most, it vanished from her mind and left her standing there wide eyed and with no response to offer. The air seized in her lungs and any words she attempted to summon turned to ash on her tongue.

The man’s eyebrows rose as her silence stretched on, then he settled into another smile. “Come, then, I hear the next dance is about to begin. We’ll take a turn about the floor together and see if we can spot your keeper.”

He reached down, snatched one of her hands in his, then raised it in what she assumed was some kind of deferential manner before pulling her along to the dance floor. Was this all right? She didn’t particularly want to dance with this man, but she couldn’t think of a polite way to extricate herself. Besides that, did a bonded citizen have the right to refuse a free citizen of Eulmore? And surely causing a scene would be worse than acquiescing? It was only a dance, she could hang on for that long. 

The man in the dodo mask pulled her to the outer circle of dancers, the hand grasping hers turning it in his grip. “There now, you’re a natural. Have you been taught--” 

“There you are.”

Cassandra struggled to remain still and not exhale in abject relief at the familiar voice, Thancred appearing at her side as if from thin air and wrapping his arm around her waist. The simple reassurance of his touch had her leaning against him more than she intended. 

The man eyed Thancred’s tight hold on her briefly before he allowed his hand to slip away from hers. After giving Thancred a wink and a nudge in the shoulder, the man wordlessly bowed to excuse himself. Thancred accepted the gesture with a genial smile and pulled her hand into his free one once he was out of the way.

“Are you all right?”

Cassandra sighed heavily, trying to keep from falling against him entirely as her tension fled. “Embarrassed is all.”

Before she could say more, the music swelled around them and the couples all moved this way and that to take up their positions. Right, the man had said another number was about to begin. 

Thancred lifted her hand between them, lowering his head to press his lips to her knuckles with the barest hint of pressure before he spoke quietly, the words only for her. “Care to dance? It would give us a chance to speak.”

She nodded immediately, the private smile that curved his lips in response nearly but not quite hidden behind her hand. She didn’t need justification to dance, not if it was with him.

His arm remained at her waist as their joined hands rose to their sides, and she recognized the dance as one she’d spied earlier when she’d been waiting for him and watching the crowd. Thankfully, she had the general gist of the movements, and Thancred’s lead allowed them both to step to the rhythm alongside the rest of the crowd of dancers with relative ease.

“What happened?” he began, his gaze darting to sweep their surroundings for a moment before returning to focus on her. 

Her lips pulled into a frown; she didn’t particularly want to admit to her failure, but keeping things from him served no purpose. “I just choked over a very easy question. Nothing happened, just… nerves. Subterfuge will never be something I’m good at.” 

He hummed in dissent. “The fault lies with me. How did you end up on your own?”

As she explained the events that led to the Exarch being called away and Emet-Selch approaching her, she felt his fingers at her side curl tighter against her.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked again, his voice lower than before. His eyes were carefully sweeping over every inch of her with an intense focus that left her mouth dry. It made her feel strangely exposed. 

Thancred was ashamed that he hadn’t noticed that Cassandra had been alone. She’d been right to stay in one place, the better for him to notice her as he took stock of the room, but somehow he’d managed to miss her. How could he have missed her? Beyond the dress that put so much of her on display, she was real in a way no others in this entire misbegotten city were, to the point that not even keeping herself safe was enough to jeopardize her genuine nature. Not ideal for a mission requiring subterfuge, perhaps, but as far as their companions went, she had still been the best choice to accompany him. Should they encounter the lightwarden themselves, she had the best chance of getting them out alive. For that matter, it was also the case should the city itself turn on them. 

Honestly, there shouldn’t have even been a point where Cassandra needed to respond and offer answers, he should have been beside her. He should have realized that the arrogant leader of Eulmore would call for the Exarch at his whim rather than the appointed time. Still, he’d thought he’d had a moment to do what he did best: listen in from the shadows. Cassandra, as skilled and powerful as she was, was still a novice in stealth. He’d wanted just a short while to listen rather than cajole, in case that might yield different results, but alas, he’d had no luck whether from the shadows or from his precisely crafted questions. Though some of the free peoples of Eulmore were eager to speak of the sin eaters on the upper levels that resided with Vauthry, as if being in their presence was some honor to be proud of, none had seen any out of the ordinary or particularly powerful that would imply to him that a lightwarden was present. 

If not here, then where? He fervently hoped that it wouldn’t come to that; perhaps Alphinaud had seen or heard something come alight in his efforts. 

“Really, I’m fine,” she insisted, and that brought him back to the present, her small smile an attempt to reassure him. She squeezed his hand, and reflexively, he returned the pressure. “Did you have any luck?” When he shook his head, she sighed. “Me either, beyond that madman’s riddle, if it’s even worth considering.”

“It’s more than I’ve heard all evening,” Thancred offered, his smile returning. “Perhaps I should be taking lessons from you.”

The thought was so absurd, she couldn’t help but smile. “I’d happily teach you what I know, though unfortunately it boils down to simply ‘find an Ascian and hope they wish to brag about something instead of kill you outright.’ It’s an awfully rare occurrence, unfortunately.”

The thought of Emet-Selch speaking to her gave him pause. Though Thancred hadn’t seen them speaking together tonight, even during their first encounter there had been something about the way the Ascian’s eyes lingered on her as if he found it difficult to pull them away, and it bothered him. The weight in that gaze had felt more personal than simply an Ascian contemplating the Warrior of Light. 

Thancred coaxed Cassandra into going over the conversation she’d shared with the Ascian one more time, but there wasn’t enough there to fill in the gaps. Something about it needled at him; he’d need to find a way to get some answers from the bastard.

If he’d taken to giving her hints and riddles, no doubt he’d be back sooner than any of them wanted. Thancred needed a plan for that, too. 

Once the dance had ended, he released her waist but not her hand, gently pulling her along to the the outer walkway. When he found a secluded spot with no other prying eyes about for the moment, he allowed her hand to slip from his grip and he leaned his elbows onto the railing. Though the sun had set, light shone overhead as it always did. Unending, unchanging.

Cassandra pressed herself against the railing next to him, eyes looking down though she couldn’t see the derelicts that she knew were below their feet. 

“Where did you find her?” The question fell unbidden from her lips, and after a moment, she continued. “The last time you were here, I mean.”

He knew who she was asking about, even before she elaborated. 

Minfilia.

His eyes never left the horizon, though his mind retraced the path he’d taken, the steps he’d raced to cover. His voice was flat when he responded. “In the depths of the tower. Below the waterline.” 

Cassandra inhaled sharply, her heart clenching tight in her chest. That meant… not just a cell, but one with no windows? That poor girl… 

She reached out, resting her hand on his sleeve. “It can’t have been easy for you, coming back here. We’ll find a way to fix… this place,” she said, sounding like a promise. “It may not be perfect, but I--”

A bellow from above shook him out of his reverie, and he and Cassandra shared a look before he immediately pulled her toward the main circling stairwell that led down and out of the tower. The bellowing continued, punctuated with heavy thumping; apparently the meeting with the Exarch had ended, and it hadn’t gone the way Vauthry had hoped. Not that this outcome was a surprise; certainly, it was the one truly predictable thing about the evening.

Thancred hoped that the Exarch had been correct in his assertion that once his projection was finished with its work, or forcibly destroyed, the crystal left in the fountain would take care of itself. For him and Cassandra, it was time to leave. 

He held her hand as they ran down the stairs, hoping to get to the bottom and out the main gate before Vauthry had any time to finish his tantrum and bellow orders. It brought to mind his escape from the tower with Minfilia, though at least this time they were both dressed to fit in as just another pair of guests as far as anyone knew. 

And Cassandra’s hand felt different in his. He’d grabbed Minfilia’s wrist, desperate to pull her to safety, but he hadn’t felt right doing the same to his current companion. A defenseless young girl was different from the vaunted Warrior of Light. Her delicate fingers curled around his, their constant pressure serving to remind him that she was with him.

When she squeezed tighter in panic, he felt the angle of her grip change and he pivoted just in time to catch her as she pitched forward. Surefooted, he straddled two steps as he pulled her close, her body pressed to his with their hands still intertwined.

Exhaling heavily in shock, she took a moment to replant her feet and nodded stiffly to him. Even with their hurried flight from the tower, he was reluctant to let her go but stepped back and continued forward, moderating his pace more carefully and keeping her hand tucked away in his.

One the base of the spiraling staircase was finally in sight, he slowed his descent and pulled Cassandra tighter to his side, murmuring to her, “Laugh with me.” 

Her awkward barked laughter would have had him wincing, were he not already schooling his expression. Changing tactics quickly, he continued, “Ah, if only you had something amusing to laugh at, for instance the time my charge and I discovered all of Urianger’s clothing had been replaced with flower garlands by the pixies. He emerged from the Bookman’s Shelves to greet us wrapped in nothing but blooms, looking like nothing so much as a float in a Little Ladies’ Day parade…”

Her laughter then was genuine, perfect, the sound warming him. He added in his own laughter to sell the act and merrily waved at the guards at the door, acting for all the world as if they were two carefree nobles out for a bit of air.

When one of the guards tried to stop them, Thancred shooed them off with a haughty gesture and another laugh and the two of them paraded their way through Gatetown, keeping up the merry charade. 

Once they’d passed the large cliff that hid the wretchedness of the outer hovels from the gates of the city, they rested against the side of the stone to shake off the feeling of the tower. 

“I wish we’d had better luck,” she murmured, her tone holding a hint of bitterness. “If only I’d tried harder--”

“Your job was to infiltrate with me and ensure that we both made it out alive,” he reminded her gently, “and by my estimate, you’ve done just that. Well done, Cassandra.” The buoyant smile that lifted the corners of her lips was contagious, its warmth spreading into his chest. He held out his arm to her, admittedly not in an effort to keep up the charade but just to keep her close. “Care to join me on a walk to Wright? I believe there’s a particular pair of twins who await our arrival.”

She accepted his arm gratefully. Somehow, despite the myriad of tense and stressful moments at the ball that nearly made her break out in a cold sweat just thinking about them, she wasn’t quite ready for the evening to end.

“Are you planning on keeping your dress?”

She blinked, considering the question as they walked arm in arm. “I… I’m not sure? I hadn’t considered it beyond tonight. I suppose it’s tailored for me personally now, though I can’t imagine where else I could possibly wear it. Isn’t it a bit much?”

Thancred had no need to cast his eyes over the figure beside him to remind himself how the dress looked; he’d already memorized the way the deep crimson highlighted the fawn tones of her skin, the teasing window to the curve of her spine, the impossibly high slit and near sheer stockings that hinted at the shapely legs beneath. He had no doubt the image would haunt him for nights to come, regardless of whether she ever wore it again. “I believe you promised me an Ishgardian ball, when we return. Perhaps it might be suitable, if you can manage to keep from freezing to death in it.”

Her laughter settled a tension in his chest that he couldn’t define. The road to Wright ahead of them was devoid of danger as far as he could sense, Minfilia was safe in the Crystarium, and he had a woman on his arm. Not just any woman, but the one who proffered the closest thing to the concept of “home” that he’d ever felt, who was finally by his side after years of waiting for her arrival. For the first time in a long time, he was truly content with where he stood. 

[quietquaking]

i’m copy/pasting a conversation i just had with my partner on mental health to here in the hopes that it might help some people. so, here we go.

*tw*: mild mentions of suicidal thoughts

my partner: i’m sorry i’m not getting better. it’s my fault.

me: there’s no reason to be sorry. and it’s not your fault.

partner: how the fuck is it not my fault

me: ok lemme try and armchair-diagnose you real quick

i’m guessing you think it’s your fault because things aren’t getting better. despite the much larger amounts of mental health representation in media these days, most of it is of people getting better. this can be good to see, but it’s also very discouraging for people still stuck in their traumatic situations, such as yourself. you compare your minimal amount of progress to theirs, and feel like you’re doing something wrong. you may also blame yourself because, quite honestly, you don’t really want to get better. maybe because you think you deserve it, or because your struggle defines your personality and you don’t think you’ll be anybody without it. or, like you said, you see the lack of progress and see what you’re doing to slow it down as well. ok. time to disprove all of those reasons.

for one, the fact that you’re not getting better is entirely expected. this is because you are still stuck in the trauma that is highschool and your household. it is quite literally impossible to get better when you are still actively getting hurt. there is no way to go about it. the main thing to do is survive, so that you have the chance to heal afterwards.

on the topic of part of you not wanting to get better, for if that’s something that applies to you. there’s really no scientific or logical way to dispel this one, so i’ll do what i can, which is offering my own personal experiences as an example. i was in that exact scenario. i came out of eighth grade a depressed, guilty, anxious, suicidal mess. for a variety of reasons. then, i started feeling a little bit better. immediately, i got so guilty and tried to make myself be depressed again. i thought i didn’t deserve the happiness, that it would prove everything i went through was just me being dramatic, and altogether fake. i also thought without my jokes about my sleep deprivation, eating habits, and suicidal wishes, i wouldn’t have a personality. i would turn bland and normal, sink into the masses of other teens who are marginally ok with everything, and disappear. well, it didn’t happen. i was slowly convinced/forced by my friends that i did deserve something better, if not happiness then at least a lack of depression. i let it go, and my issues faded, became less up-front and in my face. they’re still there now, but since i don’t hold them to close to myself, they’re much easier to handle. and, i grew a personality. you’ve seen it for yourself- i’ve grown into a flourishing young person, with lots of hobbies and talents and friends, and i actually enjoy my life, at least sometimes. it can sound impossible, and fake, and it’s easy to respond with “oh sure it worked for you, but it won’t for me”. but that’s not something you can know unless you actually give it a chance. just try. let go of your demons, and let them coexist, rather than clinging to you like an evil little thing ready to suck out all your dopamine.

now the hardest one. your own faults being magnified. you see yourself, the depressed, anxious, worn-out version that is the only one you can find. and you see the things you may be doing wrong, slowing down your own progress, digging your heels into the mountain you built out of self-hate and refusing to move forward. you connect the two, and see yourself as the problem. i won’t lie. you’re not perfect, nobody is. you’re definitely doing some things that don’t help anything, and very possibly make things worse. but that does not mean you are to blame. you are not the one that started the cycle of neglect and blame and abuse in your household. you are not the one that instigated the bullying and harassment from the assholes at school and your brother. if someone else started a fire, and you added a single log, would you blame yourself for the forest burning?

you are not the reason you are hurting. you are not the reason you’re not getting better. you can, of course, improve your own behavior, as everybody can. but you are not the root of the problem, and you have no reason to blame yourself.

(there is more if anyone is interested but i feel like this post is already long enough)

[ellowynthenotking]

Apr 21

Dear Dad, 

We’ve stopped in a smaller town. It’s not too bad here. Small people are friendly—too friendly, honestly. They’re all very excited to have people in town for their festival. It’s another little town set up because the nearby towns have gotten too big. 

I don’t know what the festival tomorrow is about. I’m hoping maybe I can make a little money or something. Maybe there’ll be something I can do to get more spells. But I didn’t see anything or anyone who looked like they might have spells or be willing to trade them for work. I should see if I can figure out the light show thing that the con men were doing. It was certainly cool enough to make a little bit of money from people having fun at a festival. 

I have to figure out how to actually cast the spell, though. I don’t even know where to start with learning to cast that one, or even what it was called. This is another good reason to have stolen some of the items the cons had. Maybe one of them could have teleported us far away from the people following us or canceled out whatever spell they were using on us. 

OR something. 

We’re leaving the wide kingdom of many small towns quickly. Off in the distance is a long line of trees that seems to extend well past the borders of the mountain range. I think that’s where this kingdom ends. This whole area has been pretty mowed down to make it into farmlands. There is not a lot of wild, rampant growth like there is off over there. 

But it’s been a while since we stopped to catch our breaths. And even if we do manage to get distance, we still need stuff like sleep. The cultists, I’m pretty sure, need sleep, too. 

It’s pretty late, and I’m tired. We’ve been going even faster all the time, so I feel like we’ve been jostled around even more. I think I’ve been getting motion sick from being in the cart all the time. Writing the letter from the cart the other day really didn’t help. 

However, the festival will hopefully include food, music, and something fun to do other than drinking.

Maybe I’ll even be able to dance with Grace again. It’s always fun to dance with her, even if we fail to learn the dances of whatever local group we’re with. It’s still entertaining. She makes it fun.

I really enjoy that. 

I really enjoy spending time with her. She’s just really cool, nice, and fun to be around, even when we’re just sitting together. 

And thank God she doesn’t snore. Will and Zunair both snore up a storm most nights and so does Reese if he sleeps on his back. I don’t think I snore, at least. No one’s said anything to me if I do, so I have to assume that I don’t snore. 

The festival might be fun, though. I have to hope it is. It would be a chance to relax a little. I think we’ve put enough distance between us and the cultists to deserve a chance to relax, at least.

The possibilities are endless—as long as there aren’t any cultists. Then, the possibilities are very endful, mostly because we’re probably just going to run as far away from them as fast as we can, and then probably going to be mad, sleep deprived, and full of all kinds of stress again—you know, how we have been pretty much all the time recently. 

Riley had been pouring over the maps, too. She wants us to figure out someplace to meet if something happens and we get separated. This is basically what I was talking about with Willow a week ago, but now it’s her idea, so we gotta do it. 

It makes me want to roll my eyes, but I know it’s a good idea, and I won’t argue. 

The only problem is Riley’s also getting paranoid, so it’s like she wants us to have the plan to meet, but at the same time, she doesn’t want us to know what the plan is in case something happens so it can’t be used against the rest of us. Which is a little odd but also understandable?

I’m not going to think too hard about it, though.  

We’ll have a plan when we have one; for now, I’m going to sleep.

Love, Jack

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