#i just needed an opposite of blackstone

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Eldritch!König's Ever-Watchful Eyes

I'm writing this as I'm about to get an IUD inserted, so please pray for me here. Last time the pain was so bad I had to go to the hospital. Either way, I'm channeling my fear of pain into my fear of Summoned!König, so that's what's keeping me stable. Most likely half way through I'll be in an Uber home (or if I'm feeling extra, the bus).

Edit: I took the bus.

Story below the cut.

Tw for disturbing imagery, mental torture, insects

Under His Watch

König watched your scurrying out of the corner of one ice cold eye. He found it amusing, how you seemed so desperate to please a party that saw no worth in so much as the air that passed through your lungs. Really, Summoner, you're just another cog in a machine. You could relax a bit, if you'd like. You didn't need to spend hours assembling finger sandwiches and preparing jugs of cucumber water. If you wanted to have high tea, he could have a full table set for you in a snap of his fingers, but you always refused his help. It was starting to irritate him, actually.

"Watch the skins," he drawled as he watched the winds blow through fields of canola flowers, "Srgt. Blackstone is picky about his apples."

You didn't bother asking how he knew this, instead taking out a peeler without a word.

König raised one bushy eyebrow at your diligent obedience. You were such a good pet, weren't you? You hung on every command he gave you, but he knew this blind obedience would soon be your downfall. You needed some semblance of a spine if you wanted to climb from your current rank. Or rather, he'd need to plant one in you, whether you liked it or not.

"Don't add so much cress," König closed his weathered eyes, "it will throw off the balance."

"Will it?" you questioned, but put the sandwich aside regardless.

"It will," König confirmed.

He watched you hurry back and forth, a mindless ant playing house for a faux queen. He could squash you all with the twinge of a thumb.

In truth, König considered the entire display mindlessly absurd. You were laughably pathetic in your attempts to charm your superiors. You could spit on their boots and they'd clamber for so much as an acknowledgement from you. Didn't you realise how much power you held over them? You had him, didn't you?

You seemed so desperate to please these vermin above you. You had the most powerful summon in the entire continent, maybe even hemisphere, and yet you seemed desperate to try and gain the respect of ticks that were determined to burrow into your side. If only you knew how much power you commanded.

König snorted when you scrambled towards the knock on the door. You squeaked as you broke a glass statue in your hurry. Once you'd turned the corner, König twirled a finger and the statue was set to rights on the table.

You didn't mention the statue when you led your commanders back to the kitchen, instead focussing on keeping your eyes down to avoid angering the old ones. When they turned to look at König, they quickly averted their gaze. At the very least, they knew their place before him. They'd just need to learn that you were just as much a force as he was.

However, he could sense how fearful his mate seemed. You were so nervous, and his presence o ly seemed to amplify your anxieties. He mercifully faded into the shadows, and like all humans, out of sight out of mind. It saddened him how your shoulders relaxed when he had left your sight.

The great old ones sat at the table you set for them. You served each of them as the mindless drone you were, but they paid no attention to your desperate attempts to pacify the forces above you. Instead, they focussed on the avatar in their midst.

You sat at one end of the table, opposite from the space you'd so thoughtfully given to your commander. Now that your summon was out of sight, they focussed on honing their strength and focussing on your pitiful presence.

"You made great efforts to prepare yourself for us," the Admiral mused as his own summon sniffed the sandwich you'd prepared. Once the summon nodded, he took a tentative bite.

"You used no help from your summon to prepare for us," a commander observed.

"I didn't want to offend," you admitted weakly.

This got the attention of the old ones. You didn't want to offend them? König could smack you for being so oblivious.

"Well you have done well," the Admiral observed before narrowing his equiline eyes, "so far."

"I hope I will only continue to please," you mindlessly agreed, a fateful amen to the powers that reigned above you.

König could hear the whisperings in your commander's minds. It sickened him. If it were up to him, he'd have you pressed over this table beneath him, claiming you to prove who you were truly loyal to. The fact that they dared to picture you between their legs made him want to castrate each and every one of them. He'd teach them later, once their heads hit their pillows. Until then, he'd watch over you silently.

"A summoner as powerful as you could advance quickly,' the admiral's eyes glinted, "we certainly think you have potential, based on the results here."

"Really?" you blinked owlishly.

"There is no doubt in your abilities," the Admiral took another sandwich, cream cheese and lox, "as long as you can prove your dedication, you could easily be sitting among the people you see here within a year."

A year? The thought was so alien to you that it took you an entire minute to process it. You, an old master, in just a year? It was unheard of.

"But that's impossible..." you heard the words come forth, but your face was numb.

"Not so, summoner," the admiral's teeth gleaned in the afternoon glow, "I think we could find good use for you. How would you like to join us?"

König saw you nod your head, a good little pup. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"All we need are a few favours," the old master spun his web, "nothing egregious, just some things to ensure your abilities."

You perched on the edge of your seat, an alert retriever waiting for your masters command.

"We only ask one simple request," the Admiral leaned forward, "and that would be your summon."

"My summon?" you frowned. They wanted you to hand over König? Your heart clenched, and everything within you screamed in protest.

"Your first attempt to summon brought you an avatar of chaos," a general pitched in, "with more training and guidance, imagine what you could summon next?'

"You could have an army of angels at your fingertips," another added.

You could always get another summon, but give up König? Something churned within you.

"I'd have to think-"

"No."

The sunlight was snuffed out around you, leaving you in complete darkness. Tendrils crawled around your throat, loving chains binding you close.

"I am not some pet to be passed," a voice echoed by each old one present, "not a single one of you, not with your armies of summons or all the arcane knowledge in every library of earth can bind me to your command."

The Admiral screamed as a cloud of gnats bloomed from his throat.

"You are all toddlers playing with matchbooks."

A general was bound to his chair with thick, slimy tentacles as centipedes crawled from his ears and into his mouth, stifling his pleads for mercy.

"This summoner is my mate."

The other general went slack-jawed as images of maddening carnage flashed through his eyes.

"Now bow to me."

All ten old masters immediately dropped to their stomachs. Their hands were stretched up above them, small antenna reaching up to a higher power that held nothing but disdain for them. It was a wretched sight, too horrid for your little brain to comprehend.

As soon as it came, the sunlight slowly filtered in with carefree abundance. The fields grew brighter than before, the clouds outside particularly billowy in their columnus mirth.

The remnants of lunch had turned to rotten mulch on rusted trays. Insects crawled through the piles with gleeful delight. As the old masters slowly climbed up the table legs to their feet, they shook and shivered like mice in cats of oil.

The admiral's eyes met yours, then a pair of eyes behind you."

"You may leave."

They were gone in an instant.

AU Masterlist

[tanadrin]

[epistemic status: a bunch of semi-related thoughts I am trying to work out aloud] It has been noted countless times that reactionary politics rely on a feeling of threat: our enemies are strong and we are weak (but we are virtuous and they are not, which is why they’re our enemies!); we must defend ourselves, we must not be afraid of doing what needs to be done; we must not shie away from power generally, and violence specifically.

And there are lots of contexts--like when talking about the appeal of reactionary politics in the US before and at the beginning of Trump’s rise to prominence, or when talking about hard-on-crime policies that are a springboard to police militarization, or (the central example of all this in the 21st century) the post 9/11 PATRIOT-act terrorism paranoia that was a boon to authoritarians everywhere, and spurred a massive expansion of both control and surveillance in everyday life--where critics of reactionary rhetoric are chastised for their failure to appeal to the other side, because they come off as callous towards their concerns and their real fears and anxieties.

And while this might not be strategically correct, frankly, I think there’s a sense in which it is justified to be callous towards those concerns. Because those concerns are lies. They may be lies borne out of a seed of real experience (9/11 did happen, of course), but the way that seed is cultivated by focused paranoia, by contempt toward cultivating any sense of proportionality or any honest comparison of risk, the way it is dragooned into the service of completely orthogonal political goals (”the CIA/NSA/FBI must be able to monitor all private communications everywhere in the world, just in case it might prevent another 9/11″) chokes off any possible sympathy I might otherwise feel. American paranoia about another couple thousand lives being lost in a 9/11 like event resulted in a number of deaths literally multiple orders of magnitude larger in Iraq and Afghanistan. During the former, some years Iraq was suffering the equivalent of six or seven 9/11s a year.

So, any fear-driven policy must not (for example) say “to prevent disaster X happening again, we’re going to make it happen 270 times over to someone else.” That’s not reasonable. And “fear is a bad basis for crafting policy” is not exactly a revolutionary observation. There’s that probably-apocryphal story of a Chinese professor responding to Blackstone’s Ratio--you know, “better that ten guilty persons go free than one innocent person suffer”--with “better for whom?” Which is supposed to be this trenchant and penetrating question that makes you reexamine your assumptions. But it’s always struck me as idiotic. Better for society! For everyone! Because the law only functions well if it is seen as a source of order and justice, not as an authoritarian cudgel; because a society in which anxiety drives policymaking and legal responses to social ills is one that is in the process of actively devouring itself; because flooding the public discourse with language that dehumanizes criminals and makes it easy to separate the individual from universal principles like civil rights is an acid that destroys the social fabric.

Fear as a germ of reactionary politics manifests itself in lots of ways outside of both historical examples, like fascism, or more recent examples, like US foreign policy during the war on terror. Fear and its link to purity-attitudes, with a low level of scientific literacy in general, drives stuff like the organized anti-vaccine movement. In the Hertzsprung-Russel diagram of political tendencies, I’d argue it’s a big factor in the wellness-to-Qanon track. It’s a big part of tough-on-crime rhetoric, which in the American instance in particular also draws on an especially racialized form (cf. the “Willie Horton” ad). Fear and purity and anti-contamination anxieties are even big in opposition to nuclear power, because most of the public just has a really bad sense of what the comparative dangers of nuclear vs fossil fuel are; and because the former has been culturally salient since 1945 in a way the latter hasn’t, nuclear contamination feels much more threatening than fossil fuel waste, despite by any measurable harm the latter causing far worse problems, even before you factor in any risks from climate change.

I would like to argue in particular that true crime as an entertainment genre, and wellness culture, and fears about child abuse all contribute to reactionary politics--they are in themselves major reactionary political currents--in a way that cuts across the political spectrum because they are not strongly marked for political factionalism. A lot of the rhetoric both from and around true crime entertainment promotes the idea that violent crime exists, or at least can flourish, because of an insufficiently punitive attitude toward crime; one that can only be fixed by centering victims’ desire (or putative desire) for retribution in the legal process, by eroding the civil rights of the accused, and by giving the police and prosecutors more power. Obviously, this is just 80s and 90s tough on crime rhetoric repackaged for millennials; it centers individual experience a bit more and deemphasizes the racial component that made the “Willie Horton” ad so successful, but it posits that there is only one cause for crime, a spontaneous choice by criminals that has no causal relationship with the rest of the world, and only one solution, which is authoritarianism.

Wellness culture leverages purity concerns and scientific illiteracy in ways which are so grifty and so transparently stupid that it’s by far the least interesting thing on this list to me; its most direct harm is in giving an environment for the anti-vaccine movement to flourish, and I’m always incredibly annoyed when people talk about how the medical establishment needs to do more to reassure the public about vaccines’ safety and efficacy. Again, strategically, this may be correct; people dying of preventable disease is really bad. But doctors as a body didn’t promote Andrew Wakefield’s nonsense; doctors as a body didn’t run breathless article after breathless article about vaccines maybe causing autism; doctors as a body didn’t scare the bejezus out of folks in the 90s and then act all surprised when preventable childhood diseases started breaking out all over the place.

Although outside the whole anti-vax thing, I think there are lots of other harms that wellness culture creates. It tends to be fairly antiscientific; in order to sell people nonsense (because as a subculture it exists almost exclusively to sell people things) it has to discredit anything that might point out that it is selling nonsense. Whether the anti-intellectualism that flourishes in these quarters is a result of intentional deceit or just a kind of natural rhetorical evolution probably varies. But it is an important component of wellness culture to be able to play a shell game between “big pharma doesn’t have your best interests at heart,” “you don’t need your anti-depressants,” and “laetrile cures cancer.”

The way in which fears of child abuse are turned into a reactionary political cudgel probably actually annoys me the most; whether it’s Wayfair conspiracy theories, conservatives trying to turn “groomer” into an anti-queer slur, or just antis on tumblr, the portrayal of sadistic sexual threat aimed at children from an outside malevolent force is compelling only because the vast majority of child abuse and CSA comes from within families and within culturally privileged structures of authority like churches, and this fact makes everyone really uncomfortable, and no one wants to talk about it. I remember getting really annoyed during the Obama years when the White House wanted to talk about bullying and anti-LGBT bullying in particular, while studiously avoiding blaming parents and teachers in any way for it, despite the fact that all the coming out horror stories I know are from people’s parents turning on them.

Now, very conservative politics have always opposed dilution of a kind of privilege for the family structure; they envision a family structure which is patriarchal, and so dilution of this privilege is dilution of the status of patriarch. Very insular communities which cannot survive their members having many options or alternative viewpoints available to them, including controlling religions but also just abusive parents who want to retain control over their kids, also bristle at the idea of any kind of general society-wide capacity for people to notice how parents treat their children. But beyond that, I think our society still treats parents as having a right of possession over their children and their children’s identities, especially when they’re young, and bolsters that idea with an idea that the purity of children is constantly under threat from the outside world, and it is the parents’ job to safeguard that purity. The result is the nuclear family as a kind of sacred structure which the rest of society has no right to observe or pry open; and this is a massive engine of enabling the abuse of children. To no other relationship in our society do we apply this idea, that it should be free from “interference” (read: basic accountability) from the rest of society.

Moreover, the idea of childhood as a time of purity and innocence, which not only must be protected from but during which children must be actively lied to about major aspects of how the world works, is one of the last ways remaining to an increasingly secular culture to justify censorious and puritanical Victorian morality. It is hard to advocate for censorship to protect the Morals of the Christian Public, when nobody believes in the Morals of the Christian Public anymore; but “think of the children!” still works as a rallying cry, because of this nagging sense we have that age-appropriate conversations with children about adult topics will cause them to melt or explode.

In many ways, these anxieties on behalf of theoretical children are the ones I am most contemptuous of. Not because child abuse isn’t a serious problem--it is--but because the vector imagined for it is almost entirely opposite the one it actually tends to occur along. People who pretend that the primary danger to children is from strangers are usually woefully misinformed; people who pretend it is from media are either idiots or liars seeking a cover for their craving for censorship.

In conclusion: while it’s not possible to exorcise all our neuroses from our politics, anymore than we will ever exercise all our neuroses from our aesthetics, there are some we should be especially on guard against. A sense of threat, and anxieties which tie into concerns about purity and fears of contamination, are two big ones. These produce policies that are not only badly correlated with the outcomes they ostensibly want, but actually and severely destructive to them, in the same way that invading Iraq was actively destructive to any notion of preventing terrorism, saving American or Iraqi lives, or promoting political stability in the Middle East. And we should hold in healthy suspicion anybody whose politics seem to be driven by similar neuroses. Some merely believe very harmful things. Some are actually actively deceptive. None will achieve any of the higher aims they claim as justification for their beliefs.

[gracehosborn]

A little silly snippet from a chapter of TAI: Vol 1 I’ve been working on just because I feel like it this Sunday morning:

“Where are Blackstone’s Commentaries?” Lifting my gaze, I was attended to by the sight of my friend looking down towards me, his left hand yet having left the wooden table. Inhaling quietly, I allowed my gaze to drift in the direction of what he sought as I gave reply. “Down this aisle about four bookcases, the third shelf from the top. If you are also in need, Machiavelli’s works are in the shelves right across—oh, and some records of the old English courts are in the back corner.” “Thank you,” said Troup as he began walking towards my left. “Have you not thought of employment here? You’re constantly in here as it appears—Demetrius running about his library.” I chuckled. “Away from Ceasar? Or to distract himself from the Egyptian court?” “Is there a difference when he just wanted to surround himself with old books and scrolls?” Laughing, I glanced down at the large volume resting still, the leather feeling firm yet smooth against my knees, they bent upwards to support it. “No I wish not to work here. I have other pursuits in mind—you know this.” Hearing soft approaching footsteps, I gave glance towards my front, seeing a flash of the light blue breeches the librarian—who had previous to this been walking about the shelves—wore, he then turning and following my friend down the row, yet turning into the opposite shelving before he reached him. As a swift brush of wind was moved about in his movements, the librarian spoke with an air of amusement. “You flatter me: comparing this lowly mass of poor shelves to the Library of Alexandira.” Hearing a laugh escape Troup, I lifted my eyes to watch as he carefully placed what I presumed to be the third volume of Blackstone’s Commentaries atop the first two then balanced flatly against his left arm. Turning towards me, Troup smiled, glancing towards his left at a thud of a volume upon wood and the quick gasp which the librarian let out. “Can we not be supplied better storage—darn shelf has been here some 15 years—lowly,” I heard the man quietly hiss with a tired, tried sigh. A touch of sympathy grazed my fingers as I slowly flipped the next page of the Metamorphoses, my shoulders falling in concequence of the feeling. “’Tis not so lowley, sir,” I called out. “Designating it as such does it a diservice.” Emerging from the shelves once more, the librarian took to adjusting his blue waistcoat with his left hand, his right occupied in holding a few volumes, while he chuckled. “Of course you would say such a thing, Mr. Hamilton.”

[anotheraldin]

You told the previous anon that there was nothing sinful from her description but if you’re involved with someone for years even if it’s just online and it’s without a family member monitoring your conversations a person will definitely develop some kind of emotional bond or attachment to them especially if it goes on for so long and there’s no assurity that the conversations won’t become flirtatious or go even a step further. So how is this entirely permissible or halal? Even if we do know our limits, shaytaan can lure us into something impermissible and the fitnah of the opposite gender is too real. The limitations of Shariah are not just to protect us physically but they’re also to protect us emotionally and specifically our heart. Just curious.

Salaam!

I can only go by what the person told me there anon, and I can think well of them instead of assuming those things. Also, I don’t ascribe myself that view that you seem to for yourself so I guess we can be at a disagreement as a result of it.

Gender interactions aren’t so easy to just say you need a parent present monitoring your conversations or else it’s haram. Blackstone Academy did a fine job with a seminar in this topic and touched on quite a bit. I previously shared it and I’ll reblog for reference.

[scoundrelstars]

League of Traitors

We fight the Long War, not through vain notions of duty and honour, but through a far purer purpose: hatred. --Ferrous Ironclaw, Warsmith of the Iron Warriors

[118.M42]

The tortured thrum of the void engines echoed throughout the Hangman’s Shadow like a heartbeat. Pict-screens shone sullen red, casting the cluttered Workshop in a bloody hue. The vaulted compartment echoed with the sounds of forging metal and agonizing screams blending together in a discordant symphony.

The Workshop was a nightmare combination of fabricator’s shop, surgical suite, and sorcerous library. Mortal men and women were strung up on steel trusses, skin and muscle flayed from their bodies to reveal bones upon which articulated mechanical arms carved blasphemous runes with lascutters. Maulerfiends, unholy amalgams of flesh, fire, and steel were chained to the decking in rows, their balefire hearts banked low. Occasionally, the screams that echoed through the Workshop would flare the daemon-engines to lash out at the mortal slaves who tended them, but they were in no short supply.

The ship lurched suddenly and Halaphus Stein, Warsmith of the Iron Warriors, grimaced as he mangled the exposed brain of the man he had on his table. He was a lord of the IV Legion, but centuries of mechanical adaptation and transplantation had elevated him to something that was so much more. He was clad in armor of gunmetal that shifted and moved with a mind of its own. Cabling and articulated tentacles coiled about him like living things, draping him in an unsettling mechanical cloak.

He’d been in the middle of hard-wiring the unfortunate’s synapses to a delicate, eight-pointed cogitator star that would have fed the brain with an unending stream of crushing dreams so vivid as to be real. Hours of work ruined.. Instead of a powerful testament to the Ruinous Powers’ revelations, he was left with a drooling vegetable. He remained calm; he had left emotion behind in another age. His prostheses, however, had their own reactions. His cloak of mechadentrites lashed out with a rage all their own and hurled the failed experiment across the Workshop, leaving trails of blood and spinal fluid where it streaked across the deck.

Mechanician slaves scattered out of his path as the metahuman warrior retrieved his cruel-looking war axe and stalked out of his lab.

The bridge of the Hangman’s Shadow was a thing of precision horror. Legion serfs, mutated beyond recognition, had become one with the machineries and consoles of the great ship. Distorted faces pressed against the fabric of the bridge’s walls to whisper dark secrets or maddening truths in languages long dead. Dataslate screens, holo-tanks, and auspex displays flickered with leering daemons who were drawn to the ship’s fell presence. Only the chosen of the Dark Gods--or those who had left their humanity behind--could command a glorious amalgam of machinery and warpcraft like the Shadow.

The ship rocked again as Stein came through the bridge doors. Something was hitting the void shields, the Warsmith could feel it.

“Report,” ordered Stein. His voice was a deep, digitized rumble.

Baltarius, Stein’s second, was hunched over the railing of the command pulpit, issuing orders to scurrying slaves, ship’s officers, and stoic Iron Warriors. He was clad in his battleplate, his helm mag-locked to his belt. Stein’s mechatendrils writhed with displeasure at the breach of protocol.

Baltarius saluted with one fist. “Warsmith. The sensorium has picked up a group of unknown ships in-system from the translation point. Initial scans reported they were scrap, but as soon as we began our acceleration burn, they opened fire with long-range ballistics.”

The Warsmith strode to the ship’s command throne and sat, his thrashing cable cloak snaking to interface with the Shadow’s systems. Sensory data flooded his mind and he began to take in the tactical situation. The ship was burning steadily towards Vraesis, the misbegotten star at the center of the system. Stein had expected more Imperial activity, even here in the far reaches of the heliosphere, but sensors picked up nothing. Only the strange foe-signs milling just off the ecliptic of Vraesis V. Auguries and scrying put a heavy Imperial presence in this sector, but so far, there was no sign.

The Iron Warrior continued. “The Tyrant of Enmity and the Bilious Prize, along with their tenders, have powered to full yield and are proceeding at full burn sunward in pursuit.”

“Enemy strength?”

“Unknown, lord. Auspex findings for all active threats read as system debris until they engaged. All active foes have changed course away from pursuing ships.”

Another missile on a ballistic course reached them and exploded in a blaze of nuclear fire. Hangman’s Shadow’s void shields flickered, but held. The plates of Stein’s armor trembled in annoyance as the squirming fleshmetal shifted. The enemy was so far away that the incoming missiles were unpowered by the time they got in close. This made them easy targets for point defense and maneuver, but even so. They were proving to be an exasperating navigational hazard.

He was a master of mechanology and yet he recognized nothing of the readings coming in from the sensorium. The enemy ships were of unknown design, built in ways that defied all logic. A more in-depth study was needed. Preferably when his fleet wasn’t taking fire.

But for now, he needed to reign in the fools racing in-system.

Stein stood, cabling unspooling  from his harness, letting him walk about the bridge while still being plugged into the bridge systems, and took his place on the hololith communion pad at the center of the bridge’s great gallery. He banged the butt of his warcog axe on the deck.

“I want Antaryon and Mortekai. Now.”

The fused vox-slave let out a gurgling acknowledgement and the hololith pad ignited with ghostlight. After a short moment he felt the data handshake through his neural uplink verify the connection to the Tyrant of Enmity and the Bilious Prize. At least those two were still coherent enough to answer their vox.

Ghostly figures appeared as if through mist. Motes of light coalesced in the hololith to form the hulking figures of two massive Astartes.

Antaryon, lord of the Sons of the Butcher, was a towering pillar of fury. The hololith light seemed to dance and burn around him. His battleplate smouldered like black iron out of the forge and he wore a cloak of ragged skin taken from his defeated enemies. He paced, dragging the tip of a savage daemon blade across the deck of his bridge, leaving furrows of tortured metal. Stein’s tendrils recoiled in disgust, but the Warsmith himself showed no reaction to the wanton destruction of his ancient voidship.

In contrast to the Khornate lord’s impatience, Mortekai of the Mouldering Claw, was a languid presence, wholly unperturbed by the sudden summons of the nominal master of the the entire raiding force. The hololith motes danced around his projection like flies. His green Terminator plate was distended and cracked, Bilious fluid leaked from the joints and rotten flesh spilled from rents in the once-proud armor. His enormous bulk was carried by a horde of gibbering daemons that shouted and gamboled around him. The lord of contagion picked at the rusted surface of a cruel axe that rested across his swollen gut.

“Stein,” Antaryon spat, “what could you possibly want now?”

The insubordination would have rankled ordinary men, but Stein let it pass him by.

“Return to formation,” he said, “Sensorium readings do not support this course of action. Caution is required. Enemy strength is unknown.”

“Caution is cowardice and I do not follow cowards,” growled Antaryon, “This foe is mine. I’ll offer their skulls to the throne and yours too if you get in my way.”

“So impatient!” chortled Mortekai. He spoke like he had fluid in the lungs and the nurglings that held him jeered and echoed his words, “I must say that I am eager as well. We don’t want to let the enemy die without the seven blessings.”

“There is an asteroid belt between the fourth and fifth planet. Enemy ships appear as dormant debris. Calculations point to an ambush there.”

“I do not need a lecture on how to wage war from a glorified servitor. Nor will I be taken by surprise by Imperium dogs. There’s nothing in this system that could pose a threat to the Tyrant.”

Stein contemplated letting both of his “subordinate” warbands rush to their death. Would the Despoiler praise his foresight or punish his wastefulness? Losing two complements of Astartes warriors could be a black mark against him.

His contemplations were cut short by his vox-slave’s pained announcement of an incoming message.

“It is from the fourth planet, my lord. Enemy transmission!”

“Main viewer,” said Stein, “We shall see the face of our enemy, my lords.”

On the bridge’s massive pict-plate, the image of an Ork of truly massive size fuzzed into view. It sat upon a throne of scrap, weapons, and crude effigies atop a plateau of alien green stone. Crackling emerald energy danced in crystaplas bottles that were tended by smaller orks in white coats and set into carved alcoves within the stone. The sky was clouded by the exhaust of a legion of orkish vehicles idling below the throne dais.

“Well, well, well,” grumbles the Ork, “wot ‘ave we ‘ere? Puny ‘umies makin’ their way inta Warrakka’s system? S’been a long while since we fought any ‘umies!”

The image resolved even further and Stein was able to make out the truly incomprehensible armor in which the Ork was clad. Stacks belched black smoke and crude hydraulics powered a savage pincer claw that looked like it could cut an Astartes in half with ease. Muscles bulged beneath leathery green skin and red eyes flashed with brutal cunning.

“You’m be in my sights now!” it bellowed, stomping on one of the grots that was scampering around the scrap throne, “You’m be eager for a fight! But don’t go tryin’ ta be sneaky! Only Orkses can be sneaky! SHOW ‘EM BOYS!”

Threat warnings lit up the sensorium as the Ork Warboss’s order burned like fire through the system. The entire asteroid belt seemed to light with red foe-sign as dorman ships came online at the huge Ork’s word. Antaryon’s ship was barreling straight into what looked like an asteroid fortress bristling with ship-killer weapons.

A savage smile split Antaryon’s face. “This is more like it! Weapons to power! Bring reactor up to maximum yield!”

Stein dismissed the holo-ghost of the Khornate lord and went back to studying the Ork’s ferocious countenance. All along his body, strange electrodes were burrowed into his flesh. Arcs of emerald power crackled from the strange electro-bottles that surrounded the dais. The white-coated orks that scuttled around the ramshackle machinery started gibbering excitedly. Their boss’s ire was up.

“We’ll kill ya just like da other ‘umies! We gots da Horderock! FIGHT DA WAAAGH AND DIE LIKE DA REST! I’M DA BIGGEST, BADDEST WARBOSS AND YOU BOYS ARE GONNA FIND OUT!”

All around Warakka, his minions were dramatically throwing switches on their machines with great showers of sparks. More green lightning streaked and cracked, rending deep furrows into the dais. Most was drawn to the electrodes in Warrakka’s flesh and he bellowed as the power coursed through him. Muscles bulged and grew as the energy danced into him. The chords in his neck strained as the Warboss hunched over in pain.

The machines sputtered and started to explode, causing the Orks to start jabbering excitedly. Warrakka howled as he grabbed his vox-caster and started laughing. It seemed to Stein that the Orks eyes were looking through the vox and right at him. His tendrils thrashed with excitement.

“You think you gots what it takes, ‘umies?” he growled and crushed the caster in one massive hand. The vox went dead.

Stein turned to Mortekai, who was watching bemused through the hololith. “Make sure Antaryon doesn’t get himself killed. It seems the Orks have our warpstone.”

[redorich]

In the HermitCanyon au, How is my favorite Bee armored Admin doing? How long does it take for Xisuma to become.. aware of what is happening? For the first few sections it seemed like he was in a coma/unconscious. In the most recent bit Impulse tells Etho to get Xisuma, so at least theoretically he can now move, but how long has it taken him to get there, and where is he on the scale to full recovery? Are the other hermits keeping him safe with rabbit stew? (if they have rabbits that is...)

Part 2 of this.

Etho comes back twenty minutes later with a solemn look on his face. (At least, Puffy assumes. She can't actually see most of his face because of that mask of his.)

"X is in a bad way today," he says quietly. "I can take Puffy to him if you guys would like to stay here with Zedaph."

Impulse and Tango look nervously at each other. On one hand, they very much would like to stay with Zedaph, who is mostly healed but still very loopy and probably should not be moved. On the other hand, allowing Puffy deep into the Hermits' inner sanctum is a risk in and of itself, let alone with only one Hermit with her. Etho's a good fighter and a wily bastard, but Puffy is most certainly no slouch.

In the end, it comes down to trust. How much can they show Puffy before they can no longer trust that she won't snitch? How sure are they that she won't try to kill them all and steal their stuff?

"Tell Xisuma I said hi," Zedaph warbles from the bed in the corner of the room, out of any window's line of sight.

As Etho presses a button which removes a panel of the wall in a whir of piston noises, Puffy snorts out a little laugh. "I'll be sure to do that."

Tango nods subtly to Impulse. If Puffy brought Zedaph back to the canyon, saved him from a painful respawn, and didn't once ask for anything in return, then the Hermits can trust her at least this much.

Etho leads Puffy through a short hallway into a large circular room with a domed ceiling. The room is mostly quartz, though the walls are lined with sea lanterns and oak leaves. It’s beautiful. This place has been hiding under her feet this whole time?

“This is the Atrium,” Etho says, “or at least the main one. Come on, getting a mule will be more trouble than it’s worth if you’re not carrying anything.”

Puffy is speechless, utterly and profoundly, when Etho takes her through a tunnel on the opposite side of where she entered. It almost looks as though the tunnel here was carved by hand, then completely redone in dirt and grass and vines to give it a secretive, high fantasy look.

“Hey, Etho!” says a dark-haired man with a big smile as he comes trotting out of a branching hallway to the left. “Hey--” He catches sight of Puffy and his smile dissipates into panic. He shouts incoherently and dives back into the hallway he just exited.

“Hey Bdubs,” Etho greets impishly, then turns to Puffy. “Man, it’s like he saw a ghost or something. Maybe Mothman.”

Puffy bleats out a surprised laugh. Up ahead, she spots another Hermit lurking around the corner of the archway Etho is leading her toward.

“Etho,” says a tall blonde woman. “Cleo wants to talk to you about, er...” The blonde woman glances at Puffy. “Her thing,” she finishes lamely.

“Well, as you can see, I’m a bit busy at the moment. Would you mind telling Cleo so she doesn’t skin me alive?” Etho says sweetly.

The blonde woman snorts. “Face the music, Mothman. I’ll take care of Puffy from here. I assume you’re taking her to Xisuma?”

Etho wilts. Clearly, whoever this Cleo person is, she’s not someone to piss off. Puffy wonders what Etho did.

“See ya around,” Etho waves, somehow both cheery and morose at the same time, like a funeral for someone nobody liked. Puffy and the blonde woman watch him go.

“My name’s False, by the way,” the blonde woman says. “Thanks for the bandanna. Normally I’d be wearing it, but I just got back from beating up Iskall.”

The woman-- False-- laughs. Puffy is once again taken aback by the idea that the Hermits actually use the items that she makes for them. 

False takes off in a brisk walk toward the archway she’d come out of. Jumping a little bit at being torn from her thoughts, Puffy hurries to follow. It’s hard to keep up, since all Puffy wants to do is stare. She must be in the living quarters-- they let her in the living quarters?! Each door matches the high fantasy, underground sort of aesthetic, but a few doors are left open and each one is remarkably different on the inside. One room is built entirely out of red and white concrete, whereas another is Nether-themed with actual fire, and the room down the hall is entirely underwater!

One door is different. It’s got blue-purple banners along the frame, and when False opens the door for Puffy, she can see that the room is made of blackstone bricks. Maps of the Dream SMP line the wall, and in the center of the room there is a mildly ornate table made of warped wood.

At the end of the table in the back of the room, opposite the door, sits a trio. To the left, there is a plain-looking man with a beard and an “at” symbol on his shirt. He speaks in a Southern accent to a man on the right side of the table, who wears a red sweater and twirls a feather between his fingers like the cat that got the canary.

In between the two, at the head of the table, rests someone very unique. He’s obviously tall, that much is obvious even when he’s sitting down. He’s also got mesmerizing purple eyes which glow faintly against the dark of the blackstone. Puffy doesn’t know why, but she gets the feeling that they’re supposed to be glowing much brighter.

As taken by the man’s eyes as she is, Puffy doesn’t notice the non-invasive breathing tube the man also has (a cannula? She doesn’t know what it’s called, but that sounds right) until the man’s gaze falls upon her, still standing in the doorway next to False.

“Oh,” the man says. “You’re not supposed to be here. Welcome.”

False steps forward, breaking Puffy from her trance. “Puffy, this is Xisuma, Joe, and Grian. I’d introduce you to them as well, but... you know.”

“I don’t know-- oh,” Puffy says awkwardly, catching sight of the massive crochet blanket she’d made for the Hermit months ago, draped across Xisuma’s shoulders.

“Why are you here?” Grian asks with a tilted head. “No offense or anything, but I just lost a bet. I had three diamonds on Cub bringing you in here eventually-- he’s the one you usually meet at the barrel, you know.”

False interjects, “I didn’t bring her down here, it was Etho!”

“Shoot,” Joe says. “Cleo wins yet again.”

“It was Zedaph, actually,” Puffy says. All eyes turn to her. “I found him on the surface. He was really injured, so I brought him back here. Impulse and-- Tango? Yeah, Tango-- told Etho to take me down here.”

Puffy uncharacteristically twiddles her fingers a little bit, feeling in over her head. “Uh, you know I’m not gonna tell or anything, so... Why am I here?”

The full weight of Xisuma’s piercing stare falls upon her. Even as fragile as he looks, even as strong as Puffy is, she feels a jolt of apprehension.

“You’d know more about the red vines than we do,” he begins. “Etho mentioned that they’re what hurt Zedaph; he’s mentioned them on multiple occasions, and never in a good way. How long do you think it would take for those vines to reach our village, and what do you think would happen once they do?”

“As far as we’re aware, there are several players who are proponents of the vines, and claim they originate from some sort of egg?” Joe adds. “I’ve had a hard time calculating how big of a mushroom we’d need to make an omelet out of the egg, but apparently most of my fellow Hermits do not in fact want evil eggs on their omelets.”

“And how come the End is inaccessible?” Grian cuts in with a whine. “I want my elytra.”

Xisuma huffs a laugh into the cannula. “As you can see, we have many questions which only a native Dream SMP player like yourself can answer. In the interest of keeping ourselves safe--” he trails off into a coughing fit.

Puffy bites her lip, feeling as though she really shouldn’t be seeing this. Joe rests his hand on Xisuma’s back.

“You give us answers, and we’ll give you diamonds, netherite, whatever you want. And when we move out-- well, it wasn’t much of a secret anyway-- we’ll offer you a safe place with us,” Grian speaks up on Xisuma’s behalf.

A thousand thoughts spin inside Puffy’s head. She feels like Dorothy in that tornado, and Grian’s offer is the Wicked Witch. “Did you guys really save Tommy’s life?” she finds herself asking.

The Hermits seem taken aback.

“The blond kid?” False asks. “Yeah, but he was unconscious the whole time. I think Scar told the kid to keep us a secret, but... I don’t think any of us expected that to actually work.”

Puffy laughs disbelievingly. “He’s the one person on the entire server who keeps insisting that you guys aren’t real.”

“That’s good to hear,” Xisuma says quietly. “Do you have an answer for us, or would you like some time to consider?”

There are a thousand and one variables Puffy needs to think about. What is Dream’s stance on the Hermits? Who will she be setting herself against by allying with the Hermits? What will Puffy have to expect, from both underground and surface-dwelling players alike? Which players can she take in a fight?

Fuck it, she thinks. “You’ve got yourselves a deal.”

Xisuma smiles. Despite his ill condition, she gets the feeling that this nice, mild-mannered man is far more dangerous than she could ever hope to be.

“I’m glad to have you on our side, Puffy,” he says. “Thank you for your help.”

[michaels-two-dads]

Interrogation Room (Beeduo)

AKA If Tubbo won’t write Nuke Lore, I’ll do it myself.

“Tubbo.. why are we here?” Ranboo asked, “What is this place?”

Tubbo had led him to one of the gray towers outside of Snowchester. It was one that he had been working on lately, but it’d changed since the last time Ranboo had seen it. When he’d last seen it, the inside of the tower had been hollow. He hadn’t been sure exactly what its purpose was before, and to be honest, he hadn’t exactly been paying much attention at the time. Clearly, though, Tubbo had made some drastic changes in interior decorating.

The floors and ceiling were made of a mix of blackstone and obsidian, absorbing the flickering orange light of the lanterns that hung from chains above. The room as a whole was claustrophobic to the next degree, hardly large enough to fit the single table and two chairs that served as its only occupants.

Ranboo couldn’t help but be reminded of another room, one with hastily-written signs on the walls, a jukebox in the floor, and water dripping in through the ceiling. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to be reminded of.

“Have a seat, Ranboo.” Tubbo said.

Ranboo frowned. Tubbo hadn’t answered his question, and his tone of voice had taken on that toneless, hollow quality, the way it got when someone mentioned Technoblade, Schlatt, or Dream. Something was very wrong.

“Uh- okay?” Ranboo said. He hesitantly pulled out the closer chair and sat down.

Ranboo wasn’t used to feeling this uneasy with Tubbo- usually, it was everyone else that he felt uneasy around. His eyes tracked Tubbo as he made his way past Ranboo to the other side of the small room, taking a seat in the chair opposite to him.

He watched as Tubbo opened a small drawer on the side of the table and pulled out a piece of paper, placing it in front of Ranboo theatrically.

“What were you doing on this date at this time?” He asked.

Ranboo let out a laugh, unsure of how else to react as he looked at the piece of paper, “How am I supposed to know, Tubbo, I- Mining, probably?”

He searched Tubbo’s expression for a sign of whether he accepted that answer or not, but his husband offered nothing, expression staying blank.

“Check your memory book.” Tubbo said.

Ranboo blinked, “Uh, my memory book isn’t like a- like a diary. I don’t date my pages, and I don’t write in it every day. I just use it to.. to keep track of important things- things I need to remember.”

Tubbo tilted his head to the side, a crack in his cold facade as his curiosity showed through, “Like what?” He asked.

Ranboo tapped a claw on the surface of the table, “Major events.. Michael..” He paused, making eye contact with Tubbo, “..You.”

Tubbo flushed, kicking him in the shin underneath the table, causing Ranboo to yelp in pain, “Stop flirting with me.” He commanded.

Ranboo bit back a grin, “I wasn’t!”

“You were.” Tubbo shot back.

Ranboo let the grin spread across his face, resting his chin in his hand, “Well, maybe a little.”

Tubbo kicked him again, “Stop it! This is serious!”

Ranboo rose his eyebrows, “Is it?” He asked. “Because you still haven’t explained what’s happening.”

Just like that, the temporarily light-hearted tone dissipated. Tubbo sat up straighter in his chair, his hands moving to fiddle with the zipper on his coat. After several seconds of silence, he finally responded.

“The thing is, big man, that something.. something has happened. Something bad. And I.. I need to ask you a few questions about it, just in case.”

A thousand scenarios flashed through Ranboo’s head. Was everyone alright? Did someone get hurt? Had something happened to Tommy? Or Michael?

“Wha- Can I- Can I ask what it was that happened?”

Tubbo didn’t answer for a few seconds, “..Let’s just say..” He trailed off, then started again, “Let’s just say that something has gone missing- something very, very important, and something very, very dangerous.”

Dangerous? What on the server was dangerous that had to do with Tubbo? There was nothing that Ranboo could think of, except for-

“Wait, Tubbo, you’re not- You’re not talking about-“ Ranboo lowered his voice, “Tubbo, are you talking about the nukes?”

Tubbo’s expression shifted, and Ranboo’s eyes widened.

“Is one of the nuclear weapons missing?!” Ranboo asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew that the answer was yes.

“Be quiet!” Tubbo shouted.

Ranboo shrunk back a little, startled by the harshness in his husband’s voice.

“I’m the one who will be asking the questions here.” Tubbo said firmly.

“Alright, that’s fine, that’s fine.” Ranboo said. “Sorry- That’s my bad.”

Tubbo wavered for a moment, and then his expression softened a little, “It’s alright, big man.” He said softly. He cleared his throat, “The thing is, Ranboo, the thing is that when Jack Manifold and I left the object that I will call a ‘firework’, and when we came back to find that it was missing.. you were the only other person online.”

Ranboo frowned, “Wait.. you don’t.. you don’t think I took it, do you?”

He knew it was a stupid question. Of course Tubbo thought he took it. Why else would he be here? But something in him still had trouble believing it.

Tubbo wavered, “I.. I don’t..” He set his shoulders, “We have to explore all possibilities, Ranboo. There’s no other suspects left.”

“So you think I took your nuke.” Ranboo said.

“Firework.” Tubbo corrected. He formed the word strangely.

Ranboo averted his eyes downwards, “Right, sorry.”

There was a moment of tense silence, eventually broken by Tubbo.

“And I never said I thought you took it, I just said we have to consider all possibilities.”

Ranboo looked up, “So you don’t think I took it?” He asked hopefully.

Tubbo didn’t respond.

“..Tubbo?”

Tubbo looked him dead in the eyes, “Did you?”

“Of course not!” Ranboo responded automatically. His tail twitched nervously.

Had he taken the nuke? He liked to think that the answer was no. He liked to think that he wouldn’t do that- but what he hated was that he had no idea whether he had or not.

According to his memory book, his enderwalking self was motivated by stopping “conflict”. Nuclear weapons definitely fell under the realm of “conflict”. But even in his enderwalk state, would Ranboo really steal from his own husband?

Out of anyone in the server, Tubbo was probably the person that Ranboo trusted the most. Ranboo certainly trusted him more than himself. And though Ranboo would admit that he had never liked the nukes, he had always tolerated them, because Tubbo assured him that he would never use them, and he trusted his word.

However, the idea of his enderwalking self with that kind of power.. that was terrifying.

When Ranboo looked back up at Tubbo, he had to look away. His blue-gray eyes pierced right through him.

“You don’t seem very sure.” Tubbo stated.

Ranboo exhaled a sigh, shutting his eyes tightly as he hung his head. Tubbo knew him too well.

“I’m not sure.” Ranboo admitted softly. He felt a familiar feeling of guilt clawing into his chest.

Ranboo felt a hand over his own, and he opened his eyes to see Tubbo smiling at him with an earnest expression. “Come on, Ranboo. What possible reason would you have to steal it?”

“I.. I don’t know.” Ranboo said.

“Then why would you not be sure?”

“Because-“ Ranboo stopped, suddenly gripped by a sense of urgency. He moved his other hand to clasp onto Tubbo’s. “Tubbo..” He inhaled deeply, trying to find the right words, “There are things I’ve done that I.. regret. Things that I don’t remember doing.”

Tubbo frowned, “Then how do you know you did them?” He asked.

Ranboo let out a pitiful laugh, “I just.. I just do.” He choked out.

Tubbo was quiet for a few seconds, taking in Ranboo’s words.

“I think we’ve all done things we regret.” He finally said. “Just because you don’t remember them doesn’t make you any different from anybody else.”

“But-“

“Nope! I’m right.”

Ranboo laughed fondly, blinking away the sting of tears that had been threatening to fall, “Alright, fine.” He said.

At that, Tubbo moved to sit down properly from where had been leaning far over the table, a smug smile on his face. “Good.” He said.

Ranboo smiled at him, reminded, as he often was, of how much he loved Tubbo Underscore-Beloved.

They sat in silence, until eventually Tubbo began to tap his fingers on the table, a far-away expression on his face. He appeared to debate something for a long time, before the tapping finally stopped, and he turned his head towards Ranboo solemnly.

“Ranboo, I need you to do me a favor.”

Ranboo tensed. The word “favor” immediately put him on edge. A voice in his head said danger, danger, tread carefully.

Despite all of that, Ranboo found himself saying, “Of course. Whatever you need.”

Tubbo’s brow furrowed slightly, before smoothing out again, “Tell me you didn’t steal the nuke.”

Ranboo’s heart dropped, “What?”

“Just tell me you didn’t.”

“Tubbo, I- I can’t.” Ranboo said.

“Why not?” Tubbo responded.

“I- There’s no way for me to confirm that.”

“So?”

Ranboo stopped for a moment, taken aback, “So there’s a chance I’d be lying to you!”

Tubbo was quiet for several seconds, staring at Ranboo with an intense expression, “Then lie.” He whispered. “Lie to me, Ranboo. Tell me you’re certain.”

Ranboo’s eyes widened, “Tubbo-“

“Please, Boo.” Tubbo’s voice was quiet, soft, and wrought with emotion.

Ranboo’s heart twisted painfully. He opened his mouth to say something, to force out a response- an argument- but the only sound that came out was a distressed enderman thrum.

He paused, took a deep breath, wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and tried again, “I-“ Ranboo’s voice cracked as he took in Tubbo’s appearance. At the sight of the desperate, pleading look in his husband’s eyes, his resolve broke.

“Okay.” Ranboo said weakly. “I didn’t take the nuke.”

“You’re certain?” Tubbo asked.

Ranboo held back a sigh, “Yeah.” He said. “Yeah, I’m certain, Bo.”

Despite the pit of dread that had already begun to settle in his stomach, seeing Tubbo’s shoulders visibly relax at his words made it difficult for Ranboo to regret his decision.

Soon enough, Tubbo had plastered on a cheery smile, all traces of vulnerability gone in an instant, “Alright, then!” He exclaimed, standing up. “Interrogation over, I reckon.” Then, he actually winked at Ranboo, “What do you say we get out of here, Memory Boy?”

Ranboo let out a startled laugh as he felt his face heat up, completely caught off-guard by the shift in tone, “I- I, uh- I-“ He stammered, “I- Um-.”

Tubbo’s smile widened, clearly proud of himself, and Ranboo laughed, his heart fluttering, “Sure.” He said. “That sounds good.”

Then, Tubbo walked out of the room with a skip in his step, leading the way out.

Ranboo began to follow him, but stopped after the first few steps, hesitating. He surveyed the room around him, swallowing thickly as their conversation fully set in.

His hand twitched at his side. He needed to write this down. He knew he did. As much as he’d like to ignore it forever, as much as he wanted to deny it in the way that Tubbo did, he had to remember. He had to know if he had really done it.

Ranboo took out his memory book, the leather cover feeling familiar against his clawed hands. He opened it carefully, then turned to the next blank page. After a moment’s deliberation, he took out his quill and wrote:

One of Tubbo’s nuclear weapons has gone missing.

He paused, then scratched out “gone missing”, replacing it with:

One of Tubbo’s nuclear weapons has been stolen. He asked me about it today. I was online on the day it was stolen, but Tubbo doesn’t believe it was me.

“He trusts me” Ranboo began to write, but he scratched it out halfway through, feeling silly about how much warmth the phrase made him feel.

Tubbo’s voice called to him from outside, “Ranboo? Are you coming?”

“Yeah!” Ranboo called back, “Yeah, just give me a second!”

Ranboo jotted down a simple question in his book:

Did I steal the nuke?

Then, he closed the book, put the quill away, and he jogged out of the room to catch up with Tubbo, who cast him a smile.

“Finally.” He said. “I was just about to file for divorce.”

Ranboo laughed, because it was a joke. At least, he was pretty sure it was a joke.

“Please don’t do that.” He said to Tubbo.

“Don’t worry, bossman.” Tubbo said, bumping their shoulders together, “You know I would never actually do that.” And before Ranboo could swoon too much, he added, “You’re too rich.”

Ranboo smiled, and they left together.

But even as they went, even as Tubbo took Ranboo’s hand, even as their fingers interlaced together, the weight of his memory book sat heavily in Ranboo’s pocket, and the weight of that unanswered question sat even heavier on his mind.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 5/5

Book Blurb: Lord Lysander Blackstone, the stern Duke of Montcroix, has only one interest: increasing his considerable fortune. After a series of betrayals, he keeps his emotions buried deep. Money, after all, can't break a man's heart—or make promises it can’t keep. But when his reputation for being heartless jeopardizes a new business deal, he finds himself seeking a most unusual—and alluring—solution . . . Once an up-and-coming ballerina, Miss Geneviève Valery is now hopelessly out of work. After refusing to become a wealthy patron's mistress, Nève was promptly shown the door to the streets. When she accidentally saves the life of a handsome duke, she doubts the encounter will go any better than her last brush with nobility. But instead of propositioning her, Montcroix makes Nève an offer she would be a fool to refuse: act as his fake fiancée in exchange for fortune enough to start over. Only neither is prepared when very real feelings begin to grow between them. They both stand to win . . . but only if they’re willing to risk their hearts.

Review:

He is known to be stone cold and like a Gargoyle but he might have just met his match in a sharp and beautiful ballerina who would sooner rip him apart than give him the time or day. Lord Lysander Blackstone, the duke of Montcroix is known for his stone cold demeanor that is reminiscent of a gargoyle to the point where his nickname is Stone. The only thing he is interested in is increasing his fortune and legacy after a series of betrayals and a harsh childhood he has learned to keep his emotions buried deep and to maintain a cool demeanor. When a potential business deal is put into jeopardy based on his reputation he finds himself asking for help from the most unusual person. After getting lost he ends up at the end of the gun of up-and-coming ballerina Miss Geneviève Valery, also known as Neve. Neve dreams about making it big as a ballerina, she loves dancing, but after a jealous suitor injures her sister and destroy’s her sister’s dancing career and her parents death Neve is left as the only bread winner and she has to find a way to get a job on the stage... preferably without having to be propositioned in order to get the role every single time. Neve doesn’t want to sacrifice her body or soul, so when she runs into Lysander and he offers her a job, she think’s its the perfect way to help pay off her rent, take care of her sister, and have spare money to hold her off until she can find a job. Lysander needs a fake fiancee, someone to hold off the vying mothers and daughters, and something to prove to his prospective business client that he isn’t heartless and can be trusted to buy the land. It was a simple offer: dress up, play companion for one ball, and get paid 100 pounds and she can keep the dress... except what starts off simple starts to heat up as the undeniable chemistry between the two lights up. Lysander and Neve are opposites, he’s cold she’s hot, he only sees the black and white and she see’s in shades... and yet for all their bickering comes passion and the undeniable urge to kiss each other. Lysander wants more and he offers a new arrangement: she stays and continues to be his companion until the season is over and he will pay her 5000 pounds and if she wants more he is willing to give it to her. Yet for all their brewing romance, they both have their own demons and struggles to get through. Lysander is struggling to deal with the childhood trauma his father put him through, the betrayals of his ex-fiancee, and just learning to let down his walls and let himself feel emotions while Neve is struggling to deal with if she can trust Lysander, if she can open herself up to someone like him, and if she is willing to risk her heart. They’re both so amazing, I loved reading this book so much and CANNOT WAIT TO READ THE REST OF THE BOOKS IN THIS SERIES!!! AHHH the romance was just perfection, their bickering and bantering, and their chemistry was off the walls. I swoon for them seriously. If you’re looking for a wonderful historical romance with lots of witty banter and seriously steamy romance, THIS IS FOR YOU. The pining, the light angst, the emotion... its so good.

*Thanks Netgalley and Forever (Grand Central Publishing), Forever for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (April 27/2021) - Facing Fears

Ponk confronts Foolish at the Community House and plans to build a supreme fridge to make things up with him after the Banquet.

Tommy, preparing for the prison break, decides he needs to face his fears before he does so.

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Foolish

Tommyinnit

Tubbo

Ranboo

Captain Puffy

---

- Ponk starts off in the cobblestone pyramid base.

- Ponk looks at the photos on his walls and puts on his shoes.

“Chat...today, we make the supreme fridge. We lost a friend -- it should’ve been Eret, okay? In all honest, it should’ve been Eret...it’s sad. It’s all so sad to think a friend of mine -- another friend! -- betrayed me like this, you know?”

“I guess...Purpled won’t be needing our supplies anymore.”

- Chat thinks Ponk doing a deep voice sounds like Sam. 

- Ponk wants to make it up to Foolish, and what better to do than make him a supreme fridge? He still has the cake Foolish gave him at the Banquet. He had no idea. 

- He starts mining down the Netherite blocks. Purpled won’t be needing these anymore.

- Ponk then goes over to Niki’s city to retrieve supplies.

- Badboyhalo is like that one friend who’s way too into a pyramid scheme and tried to get everyone else involved.

- When a dono points out that Ponk still got involved in the scheme, Ponk replies: 

“I mean...look. The pyramid scheme gave me structure to my life, alright? What kind of structure did I have before then? Huh? Think about it. What was I doing? Who was I sharing my thoughts with, chat? Exactly. So anything with structure was probably better than that, you know?”

“‘I had Sam?’ I had Sam. Chat. What did Sam do to me?”

- Ponk makes it to the ocean monument farm.

- Sam joins the game.

Ponk: hello...

Sam: You’re cute :)

Sam: Later <3

- He leaves. Purpled joins the game.

Ponk: So

Ponk: LOOK WHO IS HERE

Purpled: hi ponk

Ponk: DONT HI PONK ME

Purpled: ok

Purpled: bye ponk

- Purpled leaves. Ponk realizes he missed out on his chance to play Bedwars with him.

- Ponk gets a message back and goes to play Bedwars.

- Foolish notices the renovations and new obsidian layer on L’Sandburg. It doesn’t actually look too bad, and he decides he might keep it.

- After Bedwars, Ponk returns to the cobblestone pyramid to get things. He takes a closer look at the photos again. Sam is crossed out with red in one.

- Ponk waits at the Community House for Foolish. He has a photo of him and Foolish and a cake.

- Foolish asks what happened at the Banquet. Ponk boats over to him, but Foolish notices his eyes are still red.

- Ponk tells him that he never knew Foolish was going to get hurt. He was just the coat man.

Ponk: “Look at me! Does this look like someone like the guest of honor? No, alright? To have to serve people that have betrayed me, Foolish! How do you think that hurt? And then to see you! Taken up there by my friends, alright! I don’t know.”

- He tells Foolish that they’ve had good times together, that he saved the cake Foolish gave him. He gives Foolish the cake. When Foolish worries it might be poisoned, he says they can eat it together.

- Bad said he’d found armor in a chest and gave it to Ponk. Ponk didn’t know he was going to need it.

- Foolish asks how he knows this isn’t some sort of trap. Ponk tells him that he wants to make it up to Foolish.

Ponk: “Obviously, you can’t trust me and I know that, right. But I wanna make it up to you. Okay? Trust is something I hold very dear to me, and for me to break it, alright...be it from a third party’s perspective, okay? I didn’t have much to do with this Banquet, Foolish, you have to understand me.”

Foolish: “You’re telling me the Egg isn’t in control of you right now, is what you’re saying?”

Ponk: “The Egg helps me, Foolish. It gives me structure, okay?”

Foolish: “Do you still believe the Egg is some kind of good thing? Do you believe it’s actually something you should have in your like?”

- Ponk tells him to walk with him. Foolish points out he led the attack on his temple, all for the Egg.

Foolish: “You did it for the Egg! Thinking you would like, impress it or something, like it would give you more! What’s the real problem, Ponk? You haven’t explained. What’s the real problem? Your hand, like what’s with your hand -- what’s with the Egg in the first place--”

- Ponk tells him they don’t talk about the hand. That’s something he has to deal with. But he’s truly sorry, and he’s going to build Foolish a supreme fridge.

- Foolish is still concerned about the eyes. Ponk says the eyes mean nothing. Foolish doesn’t know how much Ponk has lost, who he’s lost. 

- Foolish snaps, saying he died. Does Ponk know how scary a thing that is?  Ponk replies that he does know, but Foolish is taking it out of proportion.

Ponk: “A quick death, or a slow, painful one, Foolish? Come on, man.”

- Ponk will still lay the foundations for the fridge. Even if Foolish chases him off, he will come back, day after day, to build the fridge and prove that he’s a good person.

- The Egg provides free Starbucks, and that is worth it.

- Foolish says he can’t trust Ponk until the red eyes and everything in his system are gone. Ponk says it will all be explained in time.

- Foolish has had enough and leaves. He heads back to the summer home. Ponk got him thinking about death again. He makes it back to the green light to calm down.

- Foolish then goes to continue building, to finish the mansion.

- Tommy wasn’t there for the Banquet. The Blood Vines are gone from the path now, and he is not afraid of the Egg. He wonders where it went.

- He has something to do today. He heads over to Snowchester to meet with Tubbo. Tubbo and Ranboo come over to the mansion.

- Tommy pulls Tubbo aside to speak with him alone. He asks Tubbo about how, after the Disc War Finale, he gave Tubbo the Nightmare armor set. He wants it back.

- He asks for Tubbo’s help with some things, but doesn’t want Ranboo there.

- Tubbo takes Tommy into the Snowchester vault. Tommy says he’ll give the rest back, but he wants to keep the Totem of Undying. Tommy puts on Dream’s armor.

- Next, Tommy and Tubbo go over to Pogtopia to retrieve Tommy’s sword. They open Sam’s vault door and Tommy gathers his things.

- Tommy and Tubbo go mine some obsidian in Pogtopia. He needs obsidian and blackstone.

- He gets home and cleans up the blood on the Prime Path. Ranboo arrives and gives him more stacks of obsidian.

- He explains to Tubbo and Ranboo that in a few days’ time, things are going to change, and he’s not strong enough yet. He wants to face the things he’s scared of.

- Tommy mines below the watchtower. He wants to create two bunkers. One that replicates the Final Control Room, and one that replicates the prison.

- Tommy asks if either of them have been to the prison. Ranboo says no, Sam doesn’t let him in. Tubbo says Sam didn’t let him in either.

- He tells Ranboo and Tubbo that he’s afraid of taking damage.

- Tommy’s heard rumors about the Panic Room and asks Ranboo what it was. Ranboo says it was just a room he went to when he got stressed, kind of like what Tommy’s making but the opposite.

- After they finish the bunkers, Tommy leads them all to Logstedshire. Tommy walks around, looking at everything there and remembering what happened.

- Next, Tommy goes to visit the exact recreations of the rooms in the museum. He meets Eret on the Prime Path.

- He asks Ranboo and Tubbo to lock him in for a minute and walks into the Final Control Room, talking through his feelings, pressing the button like he did when it happened.

- Tommy starts looking through the chests and finds the book that Eret left for Wilbur named “I’m Sorry.”

Tommy: “It’s okay...it’s okay because times have changed, and so have people. Not all people...but most.”

- They leave the museum and Tommy asks Tubbo to stab him with a sword.

- Tommy then goes into the recreation they made of the prison cell. He starts panicking and asks to be let out. Tubbo and Ranboo let him out. He tells them that in the next few days, it’s all going to change. He’s going to try and do what he should’ve done a long time ago.

- Tommy gives Ranboo a hug and thanks him for helping. He asks Ranboo to leave, then tells Tubbo to come up the watchtower with him.

- There, he tells Tubbo about dying and coming back. He and Tubbo had the chance to kill Dream and they didn’t, but now, Tommy’s going to break into the prison and do it.

- He needs from Tubbo a couple of things, and Tubbo can’t tell anyone -- even Ranboo -- about this. He needs Tubbo’s help to get him several invisibility potions, defenses stronger than TNT: withers.

- People are going to be upset with him because getting rid of Dream will get rid of the revival book. Tommy says the revive book isn’t worth it to keep him alive. Being in between life and death was worse than just staying dead.

- Most of all, he needs Tubbo to trust him.

Tommy: “This isn’t the right thing to do, Tubbo. It’s the only thing to do.”

- He tells Tubbo he’ll see him soon and leaves.

- Tubbo and Ranboo go off to fight some wither skeletons for skulls.

- Later, Ranboo goes mining with Tubbo in VC.

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

[frombeyondtheblackhole]

Hermit DSMP Swap AU: Part 9.2

[TW // Blood, description of injuries, descriptions of unnatural body functions (aka the mechanics of zombie anatomy) It can be a little unsettling and I didn’t know if this might be someone's trigger so I wanted to cover my bases. Most of the triggers listed are in the first part, there is only a little blood in the second. There is also a summary at the end if you don’t feel safe reading the whole thing.]

---

Cleo’s movements felt sluggish, her injuries restricted her movement as she ran, a deep cold filling her chest. How close to death had she been?

She slowed to a halt breathing heavily, trying to catch her breath. Quackity was nowhere to be seen. That was good. She heard footsteps approaching and turned to the sound. She could see the slight warping in the air of the effects of an invis potion. “Etho?” She breathed.

“Here, drink this,” He said, shoving an Invisibility potion into her hands. She blinked at it trying to think of something sarcastic to say, but her mind came up blank. Instead she just uncorked the bottle and downed the contents. She was reminded how strange Invis pots always felt. It was smooth going down mixed with the tingle of carbonation and left a feeling in her mouth like heavy cream.

“When we get back to base I can make you some potions of harming to treat your injuries,” Etho explained, as he summoned his axe so Cleo would be able to see where he was and follow him.

Cleo tried to pay attention. Her breathing still felt tight and labored. Had one of her ribs pierced her lungs? She didn’t feel pain but that didn’t mean that injuries didn’t affect her at all. It actually could be a real problem when trying to figure out what was wrong. She just felt cold radiating through her whole chest and back. She coughed, tasting iron. That Quackity fellow really did a number on her, she needed to be more careful in the feature, she thought as she followed Etho.

They came to a blackstone wall, Etho switched his axe for a pickaxe and pried away the stones in the wall to make a hole. He passed through and then motioned with the pick for Cleo to follow. Once on the other side he replaced the stones.

This side of the wall was what looked like a courtyard. There was a tall stone tower and a fountain in the middle. A path made its way from the front gates around the fountain to the tower and a wide wooden staircase made its way up a hill starting on the opposite side.

Etho climbed over the fence that surrounded the small area where they had broken through. Cleo followed quickly behind. They were halfway to the fountain when the door to the tower opened. Etho froze and his axe disappeared. Cleo held her breath.

Someone with fair blond hair in netherite armor worn over a white hoodie and a gold chain medallion around ther neck came out. Thee had ther phone pressed against ther ear as thee spoke. “And why should I care?... How much are you willing to pay me?” Thee held ther phone in place with ther shoulder as thee closed the door behind thim and moved to stand near the fountain.

Cleo felt Ethos hand find her arm and he carefully began to lead her away from the person by the fountain, circling around to give thim a wide berth.

Cleo looked back over her shoulder. Thee was still speaking on the phone but ther eyes were locked on them, following them. “I heard you hired Purpled for a job and then blew up his Spaceship. Why should I trust you?”

“He sees us,” Cleo hissed tugging at Etho’s grip.

“What?” Etho breathed.

“I’ll take the job if the pay is good. But understand, I’m not as naive as Purpled. If you mess with me I won’t be joining you. I’ll be destroying you.”

Etho and Cleo broke into a run.

“Make that double and it’s a deal.”

Cleo and Etho were at the stairs now.

The person in the hoodie hung up. There was a splash and a whoosh as thee stepped in the fountain and riptide sent thim flying through the air, landing halfway up the stairs with a thunk, right behind them.

Cleo let in a gasp of breath, spun on her heel and kicked thim square in the chest with a yell. Off balance from ther landing thee reeled back and tumbled down the stairs.

She was breathing heavily again. She had forgotten to breathe for a bit there. She didn’t need to breathe to live but she got rather sluggish if she didn’t breath while performing strenuous activities.

“Awesome, now come on,” Etho said, grabbing her arm again and running up the stairs. They came to the top of the stairs, their pursuer not far behind. Etho dragged Cleo inside the house at the top of the hill and into a side room. There was a trap door with water under it.

They heard the sound of the front door opening and Etho shoved Cleo into the hole, following close behind. Cleo swam down the water stream and came out into a tunnel with water running down the center. Must be the sewers.

There was a splash next to her and she looked up as Etho came out of the water stream. She could make out the faintest outline, his invis pot must be wearing off, She probably didn’t have much longer either.

“I think we lost thim,” Etho sighed, leaning over and resting hands on his knees to catch his breath. Unlike Cleo he actually did need to breathe to live. He straightened and looked in the general direction of Cleo. “Alright let's get going, it’s not much farther.”

Cleo nodded then remembered she was invisible “Alright.” She followed Etho down the tunnel.

“Who was that?” Cleo finally asked. Now that they were walking it was easier to breathe, or more accurately, she didn’t need to breathe as much.

Etho glanced over his shoulder, Cleo’s invis was starting to wear off too and he knew where to look now. “I think that was Punz,”

“Punz? You mean the famous Mercenary? Didn’t thee go missing several years ago?”

Etho nodded. “If thee's taken a hit on us, that's going to complicate things.”

Cleo sighed and looked up at the ceiling “Ugh, of course it would.”

Etho stopped. He took out a redstone torch and held it up close to a patch of andesite on the wall. Pistons sounded and a section of the wall pulled back to reveal a doorway into another hallway. Cleo passed through and Ehto followed, pressing a button on the wall and the door closed behind them.

The contrast was drastic. The sewers were mostly natural stone with torches running along the walls. This hall was well lit from above, light from several shroom lights shown through leaves that hung from the ceiling. Sand stone, striped birch, striped warped fungus stems and a mix of other blue blocks decorated the walls. A combination of striped jungle wood and what looked like the tops of beehives made up the floor.

The hall was rather short, leading directly into a larger round room of a similar design, with leaves and bushes hanging down from the ceiling mixed with shroom lights. A slightly raised path ran around the perimeter, warped fungus fences created a railing with portions of the fence forming trellises that ran up to the ceiling, letting leaves grow down them. Striped warped steam ran underneath the railing and down in pillars at intervals to hold up the walkway. A staircase went down to meet the lower level. It looked like there was a space for more hallways to be dug out in the other three cardinal directions. A round warped fugus table sat in the middle of the room.

TFC looked up from where he sat in one of the chairs at the table sharpening his pickaxe, his other tools and gear sitting laid out on the table waiting their turn. “Oh, hello there. Glad to see you both got back in one piece,” he chuckled.

“Barely.” Cleo drawled.

“You can sit down. I’ll be with you in a minute,” Etho said, going over to some bookshelves along the wall where a brewing stand was set up on a desk.

Cleo grabbed the railing and used it to steady herself as she made her way down the stairs. Now that the danger was gone she felt shaky. The zombie part of her brain could override any injury and keep going well past normal limits but afterwards it often felt like getting hit by a truck. She grimaced, carefully sitting down in a chair across from TFC.

“Ooh, that doesn't look too hot… What happened out there?” TFC asked, putting his pickax down across his knees.

Cleo’s scowl was more of a grimace “A megalomaniac with an axe tried to cut me in half. I think he’s scared of me though. Told him I was unkillable.” Her dry chuckle turned into a cough.

“Easy there, You still have a big hole in your back,” Etho said, climbing down the stairs with a potion in hand. He came over and moved to stand behind Cleo. He carefully moved her hair out of the way of the injury, “Now hold still,” He said, pouring some of the splash potion of harming over the wound. She felt a warm tingle fighting back the cold. He then handed another bottled potion of harming to Cleo. She drank it. Warmth filled her chest as her breathing began to come easier.

“I’ll be sure to make up a stash of these now that you're here.” Etho said.

Cleo noticed an arrow sticking out of her leg and she scowled. When did that happen? She yanked it out and let it fall to the floor. It was only a minor injury; it would take care of itself on its own after a bit.

Cleo straightened in her seat and crossed her arms looking at the other two guys. “Alright, so what’s the plan now?”

---

Punz followed the targets into ther house. After searching the house and finding it empty thee remembered the entrance to the sewers, but the trail was cold and there was no sign of them. A sweep of the sewer’s brought up nothing.

Reluctantly Punz exited the sewers at the community house and returned to ther house. Upon entering thee found Quackity rummaging around in ther stuff. Quackity glanced up as Punz entered, he pulled a healing potion from the chest and turned to sit down on top of it as he downed it’s contents. The front of his shirt was torn and bloodied, but the potion seemed to do the trick.

Punz scowled. “What are you doing here?”

Quackity grinned, showing his teeth, his gold tooth glinting, “Seeing as you agreed to work with us on this I came to talk details and strategies.”

Punz walked inside and leaned against a wall. “We’ll as far as details go, I spotted the invis particles of what I believe to be your targets while I was on call with you. I chased them here but I believe they escaped into the sewers. That’s all I’ve got, now your turn. Tell me everything you know.”

Quackity shrugged “One of them is named Cleo, she’s a zombie with red hair. She’s the one who showed up at the same time that Foolish went fucking missing. I never saw her accomplice, he was invisible when they ambushed me just now, but she called him Etho.”

“Etho? Like the redstoner? What would he be doing here?” Punz muttered.

“Wait, you’ve fucking heard of him?” Quackity started.

Punz’s brow furrowed and thee shrugged “Etho Slab is a famous redstoner. I don’t know much about him though. Last I heard he was spending a lot of time on a whitelisted server called Hermitcraft.”

“Alright, so a fucking Zombie and a redstoner kidnaped Foolish, how is that fucking helpful?” Quackity scoffed.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that they were even able to get onto the server in the first place. I doubt Dream invited them. He was against inviting anyone new ever since he invited Tubbo and Tommy.” Punz rubbed ther chin, thoughtfully. “You said Cleo took Foolish’s place just after Foolish went missing. It’s possible they utilized a specific hack. I used it once or twice, before I was invited here, to get on to whitelisted servers.”

“If you know how this hack works, why can’t you use it to go to this Hermitcraft place and get Foolish back.”

Punz shook ther head “I would need someone on the other side to swap with. Besides, it usually requires the person you’re swapping with to set some stuff up on their end to make the swap possible. So either they found a way to do it without the consent of the target or Foolish was helping them.”

Quackity gritted his teeth, fists clenched “Fuck.”

“Since there are two of them it’s probably safe to assume that Foolish isn’t the only one missing. The hack works by tricking the server into thinking you are a preexisting whitelisted member. It is a little more complicated than this, but on a basic level by swapping ID’s the player gets booted from the server they are currently on, if it is a whitelisted server, If two players do this at the same time they swap places by default.”

“Alright, but I was talking to Foolish when he disappeared, I would have noticed if he was hacking.”

“It could be possible that they found a way to change his ID remotely. Or what is more likely, Etho was already on the server at the time Foolish disappeared and was able to change Foolish's ID once he was on the server.”

“Ok so, let me get this straight. These guys used Foolish to get onto the server for some fucking reason. But for them to get onto the server in the first place they needed someone on the inside to let them in. Meanwhile, you’re here, and you seem to know an awful lot about how this hack works. How do I know that they didn’t just pay you to get them onto the server.” Quackity said standing up.

Punz rolled ther eyes, “Because I’m still here.”

“No, no, no, no. don’t pull that on me. I’m not fucking stupid. Like you just said, It wouldn’t’ve had to have been you that got swapped, you could’ve swapped their ID with anyone.”

Punz shook ther head “It’s bad business to lie to a paying client, you're just going to have to believe me.”

“Alright, alright, here’s what we're going to do. I’m going to write up a contract that confirms my right to rescind payment if I find out you worked with these hackers, or if you work with them at any time in the future before our contract is completed. Does that sound reasonable?” Quackity said, pulling a paper and pen out of his inventory.

Punz smirked “Finally, a professional on this backwater server. I like the sound of a contract, but mind you I get to add some of my own terms to it.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Why don’t we go back to Las Nevadas. I’ll treat you to a drink and we can write this up properly,” Quackity grinned, a predatorial glint in his eyes.

[Summery: Cleo and Etho run away from Quackity. Quackity hires Punz to help hunt down the Hermits and find Foolish. Punz Chases Etho and Cleo but they escape. Etho recognizes Punz; They were a relatively well known mercenary before they went missing a couple of years ago. Etho shows Cleo the base and heals her up using harming potions. Quackity rendezvous with Punz and they discuss details. Punz theorizes that the Hermits may have used a hack that tricks the server into thinking they are a preexisting whitelisted member. If two people on two different whitelisted servers swap ID’s they swap places.]

[cupcraft]

You know, I keep thinking about Limbo on the SMP.

To define a Limbo, there are a few things I've thought of. To some it's a half-way point, to some it's a point in which you await to be saved, to certain characters in the SMP it seems a lot more like a place of suffering than it does a transitional point, and I have no idea why.

What we know from Limbo so far is that once you lose all three lives, you are sent to this place that is quite punitive, and embodies things that you fear/hate/etc. Like c!Tommy's is a feelingless void, with no sight, barely touch, and encompassing darkness and this is besides the fact dying and reviving felt like his "soul was splitting apart". And we know c!Tommy is claustrophobic, has triggers around dark places (Blackstone and the prison), and is a person very much characterized by the fact he feels a lot. He loves with his entire voice and actions, he feels anger and protectiveness with every battle and argument, and he /hugs when he's feeling adoring enough. He's attached to objects that represent more than that, that represent the feelings he has with others. He adores sitting on his bench and seeing the sunset/sunrise at the other side of the land.

Limbo is not that for him. It's unfeeling, it's cold, it's painful, it's crowded, it's empty, it's nothingness. The only thing he has to him is hearing other's voices from what I understand.

Limbo seems not to be a place of rest or transition, it seems to be the most pointed punishment to the character of a person. It's almost the exact opposite of what fulfills that person.

But why? This is what I really wanted to talk about. And it also brings into question who is that really has domain over Limbo? We know XD can rescue people from death, but we also know c!Kristin is Death herself. Other than that, it's kind of curious of how Limbo is even created because it's either a natural part of death, or it's something completely unnaturally created, I don't know.

And the why, well, I don't know either. Because if Limbo be a perfect place of suffering, why are these characters suffering? And I know some might say "well c!Wilbur blew up L'Manberg...etc" but c!Wilbur is not a villain. His story is not that of a villain, some evil force to control the server. He's a man who lost, who lost hope, who genuinely needed help and support, who asked his own father to assist in his suicide. A punishment does not seem fitting for someone like that. And even when you look upon MD, what is he being punished for? For trying to stick up to c!Dream? What is the point of Limbo? Are they meant to learn something then transition into a peaceful death, is this what XD or c!Kristin intends for the dead? Or are they meant to suffer, is c!Wilbur meant to conclude "we were no good for that place" after 13 years on that train?

And all I know is XD has these revive books and the book itself, by it's use, can prevent the owner from going to Limbo or having a ghost. So is Limbo XD's domain, is it for his own amusement?

I don't know.

And I know this analysis probably makes no sense, seeing as that my answer is I don't know, but I just feel like I want to discuss and put my thoughts out there. Feel free to add on, correct, or share your thoughts. Because I really would want this to be a good discussion.

[dodo-begone]

I've decided to go back to my roots with this one the classic Ender creative mode isekai but with a slight twist rather than the Dsmp it's the hermits so apologies if any are occ.

You should probably be freaking out alot more than you were, after all you were stuck in a game world that's normally not exactly a good thing but well you did freak out for the first few weeks. Now though you had sort of just accepted it I mean this was pretty good you were in creative mode so you didn't have to worry about getting food or monsters attacking you and you could just build to your hearts content. You were actually starting to prefer this to your old life honestly. Granted you were getting used to the fact that you didn't look like yourself anymore you were your minecraft skin, the villain one you made complete with the netherite crown, and yeah you might have decided that hey if you look the part might as well play the part right.

The towering blackrock Castle that loomed over the rest of the smallish island you had spawned on was very nice and really tied the whole evil empire thing you were going for together. The town looked just as ominous being mostly made out of dark oak with soul torches and soul lanterns lighting everything up since while you wouldn't get attacked by mobs your poor villagers would and well you couldn't be an evil empire without citizens to rule over. To be fair you didn't know if you could be considered evil beyond the whole *aesthetic* but hey you were having fun so you weren't exactly splitting hairs over the technicalities here. The wall you had just completed circling the island looked good and best of all you could still see the castle from sea level outside of the wall so it really did look like a final bosses lair, patting yourself on the back you returned to the castle after all you still had to do the throne room, if you had remained for a few more minutes perhaps you would have found out you weren't alone in this world.

Ren groaned just completely done with today, he and Doc had spent the last day and a half looking for a shipwreck since a certain duo had ransacked the one they had already claimed but after hours of him rowing and Doc sticking his head under the water to see if his mechanical eye could spot a ship they had absolutely nothing to show for it. At this point they were so far from the continent that Ren was a little concerned that they would get lost at sea but Doc had a compass so all was good, it was surprising that they hadn't even found any landmasses beyond a couple tiny islands. Just a little more and they would call it a day and row home, what he wasn't expecting was a sharp inhale from Doc turning around to see what he was staring at, yeah he could see how those gigantic Blackstone walls could get such a reaction, if he squinted he could just make out.... was that a castle? Whatever it was it most certainly wasn't hermit made none of them built off the continent, he quickly got his communicator out he needed to tell Xisuma about this.

Xisuma wasn't expecting his meeting with his helscraft counterpart to be interrupted by the ding of his communicator, but reading through Rens message he could feel a headache come on, of course Helsknight and evil X weren't the only ones to come bother the hermits. He quickly turned to his evil half and asked who's counterpart had built a island base, only he got a very confused look in return and a evil x who slowly and quietly confessed that it was only him and helsknight that had travelled to hermitcraft so whoever that was it wasn't one of his helscrafters. That was very very concerning.

Ender-anon

Hope you like it Dodo.

Oh i absolutely adore this ender!!! Thank you so much for sharing- i added a lil thing to this and i hope you enjoy it, even if it goes far from what you were imaging. Because i most likely went SO far away form what you had thought.

You're essentially a god because you're in creative mode. Absolutely untouchable to anything and everything. And that made you cocky, confident. Yet not confident enough to travel far from your new sanctuary. It was odd, truly. The ominous and dangerous aura that the build gave off shouldn't be so comforting, yet here you were, seeing this place like a cottage home instead of being intimidated by the oppressive presence of the castle and city.

If/when the helscrafters see your build, they'd be impressed. Such a large and evil looking build. They creator definitely needed some kudos. I mean come on, it was a masterpiece! Building something like that in survival would've taken ages and not even talking about the material gathering. They may not be builders like the hermits, but they can recognize a great build when they see it.

When they meet you, it's like whiplash. Excuse me? Um, why do you seem friendly? Why can you fly? Stop floating already! And you're over here just acting like this is normal? Mostly carefree, yet an anxious energy just emanates from your actions. You were the exact opposite of what they expected you to be. The vibe between you and the build was more than shocking, but they could use this to their advantage.

How fortunate they were to have gotten to you before the admin. Now they could make you out into something you weren't and keep you all to themselves. Get whatever they want from you and portray you as a mythical and menacing entity that had been living in the world long before any of the hermits joined.

You know what'd be even funnier? Them saying that you were one of the gods that they believed and worshipped. Yep. That's totally what you are. That's why they're getting these amazing stuff without trying. Their god gave them a stack of enchanted golden apples EACH what did you get loser? idk i thought that was funny to me it's kinda late good god

[kozozaki]

We really fucked up this time - Ranboo x Reader Chapter 4

Y/n will be a little touchy with Tubbo this chapter (Tubbo and Tommy throughout the story) Y/n is just really comfortable around them and I don't have a better way of showing that than them hugging and stuff. Everything with anyone that isn't Ranboo is platonic no matter how much it doesn't seem like it.

Y/n hadn’t been to L’manburg in a couple of days, she didn’t want to be there until she was required to. Ranboo came over that day as he promised, it was really sweet of him to offer. Y/n must admit, she didn’t realize how lonely she was over there until Ranboo showed up, it was nice having someone over who she got along with.

She was just barely missing the qualifications to be considered late. She rushed to the holy lands, where the meeting room was, “Y/n, you’re here! I didn’t think you would want to come after, the other day,” Fundy said.

“Umm, yeah, I’m sorry, I broke down for no real reason. B-But I’m fine now,  I promise!” Ranboo had comforted her a lot when he was there.

“It’s perfectly fine Y/n. Are you okay though, really? If you have a nervous breakdown in the middle of the meeting, I’ll feel responsible, please, tell the truth, Y/n,” Tubbo made her feel guilty, but it wasn’t completely a lie, she was feeling better for the most part.

She nodded, “I promise, Tubbo.”

“Big Q and Fundy, you will be seated on the left side, Y/n and Tommy will be seated on the right, Tommy, you will be next to me,” Tubbo informed. Everyone nodded and prepared themselves to enter the room, as the atmosphere was already tense, they couldn’t imagine how it would be in there. Y/n gave Connor a confused look. He shrugged as if to say, ‘I don’t know why but I’m here’.

They entered the blackstone building, Y/n’s anxiety rising by the second at the sight of her older brother. They all sat in their designated spots.

After a moment of silence, Dream spoke, “Hello,” they all greeted him in return, some more hesitant than others, “Did you bring a book and quill?”

“We need the minute man,” Tubbo said. Y/n blinked in confusion until Ranboo came through the door holding a book and quill. She smiled nervously at him. She couldn’t tell, but Ranboo felt extremely guilty, she looked so uncomfortable, and he was the one who pushed her to go to that meeting. 

Tubbo and Dream began discussing the possibility of Tommy being exiled and the walls, but Y/n zoned out when she heard Tommy breathing heavily next to her. She grabbed his hand to calm him, and it helped, but not great.

Dream began to say that Tommy couldn’t curse towards anyone and he lashed out at him, “You can’t silence my swearing you motherfucker!”

To which Y/n yanked his hand downwards and he groaned in pain, “Tommy you have to learn to shut the fuck up when you need to, okay?” She scolded him, he was like a brother to her, she didn’t want him to be exiled.

“Fine, jesus…” he breathed out. Y/n zoned out once again, for who knows how long, not noticing what was happening until Tommy started taking apart the table.

“Tommy what are you doing?! This is the exact opposite of what I just told you!” He ignored her still and stood on a makeshift podium.

“Dream, you idiot. You walk around all day, thinking you’re the shit. This isn’t some insanity thing, I’m not going down Wilbur’s path, I’m not getting exiled, because my friend, you have nothing of mine. But Dream, a long time ago, I got something of yours.”

“Tommy…” Y/n whispered, not loud enough for him to hear. She was scared, he had no idea what he was doing. Tubbo put a comforting hand onto her shoulder, “Tubbo, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“It’s okay, Y/n,” she nodded slowly, she had no reason not to listen to Tubbo. She had no reason to not listen to anyone in the room, everyone had been there for her and helped her.

Tommy paced towards the enderchest, “Dream are you familiar with your old pet horse? What was its name, Dream?” Dream pulled out an axe and Y/n put her hand out to stop him but Tubbo pulled her back, and she melted into the slightly taller boy's arms. Her head rested on his shoulder as a few anxious tears fell from her face. He wasn't gonna let Dream kill Tommy, but if he couldn't prevent it, he sure as hell wouldn't let Y/n see it.

“Kill me all you want Dream, kill me all you want, what was it’s name?” Y/n seethed at the boy’s confidence that she used to admire before it got them into shitty situations like the one he was in now.

“I can’t it’s the holy ground,” Dream said. Y/n let go of Tubbo and turned around. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet. There was no way he still cared, he didn’t care about anything, even his sister, why would he care about a horse that died months ago? 

“What was it’s name, Dream?” 

There was a small moment of silence, “Spirit,” he stated. Y/n knew better, she knew he was only pretending to have trouble saying Spirit’s name, pretending to have trauma attached to that name. But she didn’t speak up about it. No one would believe her.

“Spirit, ‘Tommy confirmed,” Months ago, months ago, I retrieved Spirit’s remains, an item that means so very much to you. You don’t have anything on me anymore, not even the discs! And I’ve been holding onto this for so long. You have nothing on us anymore.”

“Tommy, you’re speaking out of line,” it pissed Y/n off when Tubbo spoke like a president, like he was more entitled than Tommy and her, even though he was more entitled. And he was correct, Tommy was speaking out of line. She wanted nothing more than to be with her friends without any issues, just like it was in the summer.

“I can speak out of line, what does he have on us, what does he have on us?!” Tommy repeated, not understanding why nobody else was contributing to his detestable words towards the man. 

“He has the power to destroy our nation, you’re being selfish Tommy, you’re acting like the bad guy here,” Y/n had it up to here with Tubbo’s hurtful words towards Tommy, he was one of the most selfless people she knew even if he didn’t seem like it.

“No no, Tubbo, listen, he’s had my discs all this time, he’s had the high ground, but Spirit is the one thing he actually cares about, he doesn’t have anything on us, alright? As long as we speak to Skeppy and Purpled before him, which we can do easily, Tubbo, you have one of them, we’ll have all four discs!” Y/n looked up from the ground, was it truly that simple? Dream took her discs, wait and chirp when she fought alongside Tommy, Sapnap, and Tubbo that day.

“Everyone thinks I’m out of line, everyone thinks I’m being naive, no. Dream, you don’t have anything on me anymore. You don’t have the discs.”

“But he has shit on us!” Fundy argued.

“Tommy, what if I get it, Tommy? Right now I have nothing, but what if I get it?” Dream tried to threaten.

“Cause Dream, I can burn Spirit,” Dream visibly tensed at Tommy’s sheer lack of care, “Why is no one else freaking out right now?”

The room devolved into Quackity, Tubbo, Tommy and Fundy talking over each other, “Well Dream you don’t have anything on me, and I have Spirit on you. And this is the only item that means anything to you now, and it’s in my possession.”

While listening closely to Tommy venting to make sure he didn’t fuck up any more than he already had, Y/n made her way across the room over to Ranboo. He had his sunglasses off once more, and by looking closer she had noticed that his left sclera was black and his right was the normal white. His eyes also had a soft glow to them. She realized she had been staring at him and her face was quickly covered in a red hue as she muttered curses at herself, halfway hiding behind Ranboo and half hugging him from his side. 

Ranboo looked down and smiled sadly, she was getting stressed again, he could tell by the way her hands were shaking slightly as they clasped together on the other side of his torso. She looked up at him, her breath feverish and her eyes moving around his face sporadically. He ran his hand through her hair, attempting to calm her down. He set his hand onto her shoulder since that always seemed to work more than other things. Her frantic breathing patterns had ceased, but her shaking stayed. He decided to leave her alone and let her hug him. Since that first time they had hugged each other, it seemed to be one of Y/n’s favourite things to do. Besides, he could always help her more later.

She shifted her focus onto the conversation happening elsewhere in the room, “Tommy, tell him what he has to do,” Fundy spoke, no longer wary of joining Tommy’s side.

“Dream. You’ve got to take down those walls,” Tommy ordered, Big Q and Fundy chuckling in delight, Dream had finally been put in his place. At least that’s how they viewed the situation, “Let’s go, we don’t need the holy land for protection anymore,”

“This is a really bad idea,” Y/n agreed with Tubbo, it was relieving to see her cruel older brother finally at everyone else’s level, but it was all a ruse. He didn’t care about Spirit. But she didn’t say anything about it. She loved seeing Tommy happy like this, but if she said anything while he was in this mood, he would either not listen or it would put him in an unbearably upset mood. She knew it would be apparent why she was so silent during the meeting in a few minutes regardless.

They all stood there just outside of L’manburg. Fundy and Quackity were just making fun of him, “Well Tommy- ugh,” Dream groaned in annoyance, knowing he couldn’t make a sufficient rebuttal, “Tommy, if I get a- grr,” Tommy made a surprised laugh, taking pride in the fact that Dream couldn’t do anything. Y/n scoffed and turned away back towards the direction of the museum. His difficulty speaking was patently fake, why was it just her that realized it? Her eyes became cold and dull to anyone who didn’t bother looking closer. She was so frustrated, she couldn’t do anything. Tommy and Tubbo are the only ones that ever took her seriously, but they’re both being arrogant. 

She only turned back around towards the walls when she felt a hand on her shoulder, turning around to see Ranboo towering over her with a sweet, nervous smile. She returned it the best she could, and Ranboo snaked behind her. Y/n saw a small section of the walls being torn down by her brother and smiled a little. It wouldn’t last long, but when he wasn’t being unruly, it was nice to see Tommy proud of himself.

Dream stood still, before beginning to place back the obsidian that he had been forced to mine. Tommy, Fundy and Big Q were bewildered, Y/n looked guilty, and Tubbo was indifferent, they both knew it was bound to happen, “Y/n? Y/n you have a really guilty look on your face right now, did you do something?” Tommy asked very quickly, “Or- You knew that this was gonna happen. Didn’t you?”

She looked away with an even guiltier expression, laced with a sad smile as she watched her older brother build the walls even higher, “Why didn’t you say anything!? I would’ve stopped if you’d just say something!”

“Because I like seeing you happy,” Y/n sniffled, “and if I told you he didn’t actually care, you would either ignore me because you were being arrogant, or you would be upset. So I just didn’t say a thing,” Tommy looked at the girl with sad eyes as Dream jumped down from the walls in front of them.

“Tommy. Listen, you fucked up this time,” Tommy asked him not to swear, “No, Tommy. I don’t give a fuck about Spirit, I don’t give a fuck about anything actually, I care about the discs. I care more about your discs than you do! That’s the only thing I care about actually! I don’t care about Spirit, Spirit was my horse, died ages ago. I care about the discs, cause that’s what gives me power over you, your friends, and everybody that you care about because you care about the discs more than anyone else here. So if you are not exiled from L’manburg, I will build these walls until I can’t anymore! I will keep everybody inside, I will hire guards, Punz and Sapnap to patrol all around the walls keeping them inside. No trade, no one leaves, no armour or they get slaughtered inside,” Y/n was grinding her teeth against each other, Dream was pissing her off. They both had slight anger issues, like brother like sister, “Don’t try and threaten me! I don’t care, I have lost all care for anything in this world-”

“Really, so if I burn Spirit, right now, you wouldn’t care-”

“Burn Spirit, right in front of me right now!” That was it. Y/n couldn’t take any more of him yelling at Tommy, and she snapped. In one swift movement, she was in front of Dream, holding the flat of her gleaming netherite sword to his neck, effectively putting decent space between him and Tommy.

“Quit shouting at Tommy Clay!” She could only see one of his eyes from behind his cracked mask, but they told her everything she needed to know. He was taken aback, he seemed to have temporarily forgotten how much she cared about Tommy. She used his real name, that even she rarely used, and she only used it when she was beyond pissed. She wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he tried anything, he knew that for sure. Despite being nearly a foot shorter than him, she was a threat to everyone if they pissed her off or hurt or offended someone she cares about. Dream’s eyes flicked over to Ranboo, someone else she seemed to care about a great deal, “Don’t you fucking dare,” she spat, knowing what that look meant.

“You wouldn’t kill me, you’re too-”

“I would,” she said simply, with a sick smile, “I would kill you. Half those discs are mine too, I couldn’t care less if you lost one, or two, or all three of your lives.”

“Well this is the only thing you’ve had attachment to this entire time, how do I know you aren’t fucking lying?” Tommy stated shakily.

“I have an attachment to you and Y/n’s discs.”

“What- Why would you care about them, they’re ours, why do you even care about them?”

“No no no, Tommy, they’re my discs,” the edge of Y/n’s blade pressed further against his neck, just a bit more pressure and it would puncture his skin, “I’ll get them, I’ll keep them, and I’ll put them in my enderchest for the rest of your lives. Listen Tubbo,” Y/n took her sword away from his neck and walked back towards Ranboo only to be engulfed in a hug. She faced the scene while leaning her back into his chest (or waist? I don’t fucking know he’s too tall. ribcage?). “You have three days. If you don’t exile him in three days, I’ll do what I said.”

“What does that entail, what the fuck do you mean?” Tommy asked.

“L’manburg can be independent, but L’manburg can’t be free,” Dream answered simply. Dream stopped talking and immediately went to raise the walls.

“Tommy you had one job. You had one job. To be positive, to be peaceful. And you messed it up,” Tubbo criticised. 

“You fucked up,” Quackity whispered, “You really fucked this up now Tommy-”

“No this is on you two as well!” Tubbo shouted at Fundy and Quackity, and they all argued for a moment while Tommy just stood there, watching Dream build up the walls, bewildered at what had just occurred. Y/n huffed at the sight, Ranboo just held her tighter to his chest.

“Tubbo he’s only doing this so he can get under your skin to get you to turn on me,” Tommy tried to tell him but he wouldn’t listen.

“No, he’s very clearly doing this to get the discs, cause he wants them.”

“You guys are idiots, he wants Tommy as far away from L’manburg as possible, while also getting the discs to gain control of Tommy and I,” Y/n affirmed quickly. They both turned towards the girl who was rested in Ranboo’s arms, that was standing behind Tubbo, both giving her a baffled look, “What? You guys didn’t realize that?” Her face was covered in blush as she realized how weird it must look to them that out of nowhere Ranboo and her were so comfortable with each other within less than a week of him being here when it took her at least a month to hug even Tommy. She exhaled in relief when they turned away, but also grief when they started arguing.

“You couldn’t do one thing for me, Tommy! And it was for your own good! So you know what, if the roles were reversed as you said, yeah, you probably wouldn’t have exiled me, because I would’ve actually listened to you and done what you said! And maybe had a couple ounces of respect! You’ve messed this up for no one but yourself,” There was an agonizing silence after Tubbo’s line, but as much as it angered Y/n seeing Tommy pushed around, it was the painstaking truth. Tommy had no one to blame but himself and Dream, “It’s selfish.”

“I’m gonna say it now,” Big Q sighed, “What’s happened has happened, there’s no going back.  What do we do next?”

“We have three days-”

“Tubbo-” Tommy started.

“I don’t want to exile you, okay?!” Tubbo yelled.

“This whole war, all of this, L’manburg, everything. This has started way before L’manburg, me you and Y/n versus Dream. This can’t be where we split now, you can’t- it’s always been us three, man, we can’t- C’mon, please, you-,” Y/n zoned out until Ranboo spoke up for Tommy.

“Tubbo, you said that Tommy was selfish. You said that Tommy doesn’t care about anyone else, well that’s not true. I robbed George’s house too. I did it with Tommy. But in court, he said that it was just him. He could’ve pinned the blame on me, there was evidence that it was me. But he didn’t. He’s not selfish. Me and Tommy robbed George’s house, we didn’t mean for it to burn. We didn’t mean to burn anything down.”

“Tommy, is this true?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“He covered for me. He’s not selfish. Calling him selfish after what he did, I’ve only been on here for about five days, is it? That’s not selfish. Tommy isn’t selfish-”

“Ranboo, stop,” Y/n said, no longer leaning into him but standing up on her own with his arms around her, “Stop trying to pretend like I wasn’t there too.”

“Why didn’t we question Y/n? She’s always the one who causes most of the damn fires around here anyway,” Big Q said. 

“You didn’t even think about it? The girl who’s nickname is literally firebug? I didn’t burn it down, and neither did Tommy or Ranboo. I simply burned a tree, went back to George’s home and the outside was burning. Both Tommy and Ranboo were inside, there was no way they could’ve started it,” she left out a few details, of course, but it wasn’t like they could fact check it.

“Tubbo I’ve put the discs aside for so long, I think for once, now that Wilbur’s gone, now that the dictator, the man who has exiled us before, Schlatt, is gone. Tubbo you can’t turn into what you hate. You can’t be the next Schlatt. If you exile me, you’re following in that mans footsteps.”

“Well, as long as I can’t be the next Schlatt, you can’t be the next Wilbur,” Y/n’s eyes narrowed, he really had the audacity to compare Tommy to Wilbur. Quackity started talking and she left, she’d had enough of her brother’s bullshit for one day.

OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY I HAVEN’T UPDATED IN NEARLY A MONTH! I’ve been meaning to write but this chapter was especially difficult. I probably updated too quick in the beginning, giving out chapters every two or three days like they were candy. I’ll probably start updating around once a week. Also if anyone would like to draw fanart for this book that would be very pog, my discord is in my bio!

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Wilbur Soot has joined the server!

And immediately defys God and aggressively adopts both the sweet but unhinged blond child and the furry fox! He was kind of joking about the drug van and all of that, but Dream still pissed and frustrated with how the disks war has gone with his little brother and this random kid who is trying to use him(not he is just befriending Tommy Dream calm down), so he is a little to trigger happy with the punishments and shut down of this new people trying to take over the potion making of the server.

So they now have to unite and protect themselves of the attacks, and with that L'Manburg was born between high walls of Blackstone and a wish to stop tha fighting and war and be independent and free.

And Tommy is so lost because even though technically they are in opposite sides, Tubbo is still trying to reach out to him, to sit in the bench he made after sneaking out of the walls that are his home to listen to the disks he helped take back, sometimes talking about random topics and others just... sitting there with him. He didn't try to call out the favor when the war started like Tommy thought he would, to make Dream stop and let them be (Tommy himself didn't believe that he could with the look on dream's face, but... he would have tried), he doesn't even ask for help in the fights and explosions they suffer, he just... is there, and is friendly to him as against the fox he calls brother snarling at him and the leader of this all who just treats him coldly if they have to. Tommy doesn't understand it, but... he is happy like this, he is happy with the company of the soldier, even though he can see and feel the watching of both sides brothers trying to make sure his relative is safe.

He isn't happy when he encounters one of the other resistance members talking with Dream about a date and a place and an deal they had made. He is scared when the date is soo soon, he was running through the forbidden walls and descending to the darkness of a room packed with everyone, and the middle of the caos that erupts Tommy protects Tubbo against the blade of his own brother, but couldn't avoid his death by the hands of his brother's friend. And there, Wilbur saw behind the mask of the famous "neutral brother" of the tyrant who was again killing them and destroying their home, he saw Tommy, the brother he never had and mourned with Phil and his friend the death of, the brother he wished so much to be alive and see grow and teach him the cords and notes he was learning on his guitar, the brother that, apparently, was alive and "well", standing silently besides Dream following him around wearing the same mask as the hunter.

Dream was ready by the side of Tommy's bed when he wakes up after his first death, and venom spills out of his words when he asks and demands why he was in the control room and why he put himself between his blade, why was he fighting with the group of stealers and "drug" addicts? Why he didn't listen to him and stayed out of this trouble of people who needed to learn a lesson.

That was the first time the brothers really fought and screamed at each, and dream, o dream so high on his pride and certain of being right, challenged Tommy if o so he liked so much of these L'manburgians, what about he fought for their independence in a fair duel? What about you live with them instead of the greater Smp? What about he just leave dream to be with o so liked Tubbo and his stupid bees?

Tommy actually listened to him, and in the next morning he packed everything of value and run away, to be in the outsides of the European country by the sea, hurt and heart broken that his own brother kicked him out and exiled him from their friends and their home. But on the bright side, Tubbo visits him every hours he feels like, sometimes dragging Fundy or Niki or Manifold or in rare times Wilbur to see him and maybe talk, or just sit there with him and listen to his disks by sunset or under the stars.

Oh I like this. I like the fact that Wilbur recognizes Tommy and the fact that Tommy is still conflicted with his allegiances. And then we get Tommy running away and man this is good. This is so good.

[felidaefighter]

What Fate Cannot Burn

[Written before Niki had the news broken to her by the Syndicate; starfate is a platonic soulmate/best friend relationship, coined from @ufuckingpastry and their amazing fics! My wonderful friend and beta-reader @voidofthestars​ also has amazing fics with the term!]

Niki and Fundy don’t want to call themselves starfated, thinking it too cruel with their pasts. But someone has to break the news about Wilbur’s revival to Niki. They have a chat.

     Fate, it seemed, had always been against Niki and Fundy. Perhaps that was why they had always danced around their courtship, never solidifying anything as pale, never calling themselves starfated. The two had grown up together, embraced by the blackstone walls of L’Manberg. They had fought for their freedom and pets together, they had survived famine together-- they had, despite all their hurt, forgiven the traitor who raised them together. They had campaigned together, side by side, sharing ideals and morals and an understanding that they refused to color. They had also watched everything they’d been raised as, the ideals they were taught, had believed with all their heart, crumble with the walls to reveal the harsh truth of what was buried underneath, deeper than the TNT that waited amongst its foundations.

    Manburg did horrible things to its people. One of the worst things it did was destroy the pale courtship of Niki and Fundy. Fundy, coddled yet abandoned, desperate for love with no cornerstones to ground him, stayed loyal to the place that had been promised him, rather than its ideals. Niki fell the opposite way, and had screamed to the sky as the trust for her moonstruck-companion evaporated into the sky with the smoke of the flag she had sewn with her own two hands, with the symbol of everything they had ever fought for. Even the steady, parental hand of Eret could not calm the pain she had felt as she lost the relationship she never dared to name to a tyrant’s command. Eret could never understand. Only those in L’Manberg knew true betrayal. As it had always been.

    After the war, L’Manberg just wasn’t the same. And neither were two of its youngest citizens. Not just for the way that Niki couldn’t so much as look at Fundy without seeing the burning flag, or the way that Fundy couldn’t look at Niki without knowing she truly thought he would be so willing to side with Schlatt. Because Wilbur was dead, and Wilbur had been everything. Wilbur had been the embodiment of L’Manberg, and he had killed it, just as he’d killed himself. Because he was Fundy’s dad and Niki’s friend and he would rather destroy himself and the nation he had built than let them have it. Neither of them really knew who to blame or where to turn. But they didn’t turn to eachother. No matter how much their hearts ached and how they could read one another in a single glance, even now, they turned away. Fate had never been kind to them. They refused to give it one more thing to tear away.

    Even amongst the crowd after Dream had promised annihilation on L’Manberg, they didn’t speak to one another, didn’t make eye contact. And as the next day they watched their home, the place that bore every footprint and memory from their childhood, turn to rubble beneath their feet, they exchanged not a word, but a silent understanding as the two stood together and Niki herself burned the last roots they had to the doomed nation that would never again fail them as it had so many times before. Together they mirrored one of the men who had raised them, and saluted in heavy silence as a final goodbye.

    And with no more roots to hold them to a place they could no longer call home, Niki and Fundy parted. Niki tried to tell herself she didn’t care where Fundy had gone, and in time her moonstruck feelings were buried under the mountains of rage and grief and resentment that had piled on over the years with no true outlet. To Niki’s surprise, she found a companion who shared not just her resentment, but her childhood home-- it seemed that she and Jack shared a quartz-colored heart, so they claimed themselves a duo and started working together. It was nice. It was almost starfated. They shared goals and even acknowledged it as courting.

    But as Niki started to find herself and move on from the endless pain, no longer focusing on the harm of others but on the healing of herself, she found what everyone who seeks a cornerstone relationship eventually finds to be true: When resentment for the same thing is the only thing shared, there can never be true peace or trust or understanding between them-- not when one moves on and the other sits in their pain and anger. After a heartbreaking discussion, Jack and Niki ended their courtship, all the more pained for having known it as such. Niki’s pale heart sang for the loss of Jack, and she found herself missing the quiet understanding that she and Fundy, even at their worst, even angered to the core at one another, had shared. It was a feeling that could not be replaced. She ached for all she had lost, but knew she could not sit in her pain. She moved forward. She found ideals that suited her and were not thrust upon her. She harvested wheat, made flour, made dough. She baked.

-----

    Niki had stopped work on the city for the night, closing the door to her own living space within the cavern walls and sighing. She put a kettle on the stovetop, preparing to relax. Most of her day had been spent acclimating new refugees from other areas of the land into the city, cataloguing how many of the pre-made apartments had been taken and attempting to calculate what would need to go into the expansion. The city and citizens were getting used to one another, so to speak, and Niki was rather proud of how beautiful it all was. The only thing they really needed more of was chunks of ice; caves were kept at such a consistent temperature that any baking or cooking needed an outside interference, since they couldn’t just open a window to cool off their apartment. Niki was so wrapped up in her thoughts about the day that she almost didn’t hear the short, timid knock on her door.

    “Coming! I’m coming!” She called, rushing up to the door. In her defense, she hadn’t exactly been expecting visitors-- she opened the door and stood in minor shock-- especially not this one. “Fundy…?” Niki asked softly, surprise coloring her words. Ears flattened back against his head and fidgeting with his own padded fingers, Fundy stared at the ground, hardly even glancing up at her. “Hey, Niki.” She… she didn’t know what to say. This was the first they’d spoken to one another in what seemed like years. She knew what to do, though. Niki opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Please, Fundy, come in!” Fundy hesitatingly stepped inside-- he finally looked at her, and it was with such a pure expression of feeling lost that it made her almost want to take him into her arms, run her hands through his fur and soothe his aches-- a feeling that startled her, that she hadn’t felt since she broke off her alliance with Jack.

    She couldn’t bring herself to do that, though. It had been too long and there was too much unspoken. Instead, she decided on practicality. “What brings you here, Fundy? Do you need a home? We still have a few apartments that aren’t taken,” Niki said, attempting to anticipate his needs. “Nooo, it’s not that…” Fundy replied, drawing out his words, and Niki gave the fox hybrid a patient smile. He’d always had trouble articulating bad news-- that was okay. She didn’t have anywhere she needed to be for the rest of the night. She gestured to the sofa, and Fundy took a seat, sitting on the edge as if he didn’t belong and might need to bolt at any second. Niki was grateful she’d started making tea; there wound up being just enough for one cup each. She handed one to Fundy and his ears flicked in silent thanks.

    Niki sipped her tea as Fundy stared straight into his. “I wanted to find you because, well, I think… I think you should know.” Niki gave a soft questioning hum, encouraging him to continue. “So… y’know Wil… my dad… your friend… he died…” Niki frowned a little. If it had to do with Wilbur-- her heart ached, and she felt a kinship with Fundy in that moment. She knew. She did. “Yes,” Niki answered quietly, “I know. It’s been-- it’s been a long time since his death. It’s been hard. What happened, Fundy? Has something new come up?” Fundy’s yellow eyes flicked up and met Niki’s own, filled with grief and confusion. His gaze softened, remembering that they had, in fact, been-- almost been. He relaxed a little more into his seat, but he kept his hesitant and uncomfortable expression.

    Foxes don’t like to go in straight lines when they travel, and neither did Fundy like to speak in one. “So… something happened, at the prison, with Wilbur’s ghost… he was there with Tommy… and Dream…” Niki stiffened a little bit at both the names, and decided to hold off on her confusion about a ghost. “Because Dream has this revive book, right? So Dream… he threatened to Tommy to bring Wil back… apparently Sam fucked up…” Niki furrowed her eyebrows, desperately attempting to not become aggravated. It was a lot of non-information. “Fundy, what are you saying right now? What happened?” She asked, needing clarity. Fundy sighed, straightened up, and looked at her with a sudden focus to his gaze. “Dream… Dream brought Wilbur back. Wilbur is alive again. Tommy and Tubbo and Ranboo have all seen him-- I told Phil and I think he might be with him now.” He stared at Niki, tail twitching nervously.

    Niki was frozen. She held her teacup in a strange, mid-sip position, as if time for her had stopped before she took the action. “Wilbur is… back?” She asked, voice shaky in disbelief. “How?” Fundy shrugged helplessly. “I… the revive book, I guess. It’s real-- apparently Dream guinea pig-tested it on Tommy and it’s real. And now Wil is back. He’s alive again. Good ‘ole… Wilbur…” Fundy trailed off as it sank into both of them. Wilbur. God, what had he become? In Pogtopia? The dark ravine where the resistance gathered, the desolation that drove him to destroy his own home and force his father into an assisted suicide. Wilbur, when he had died, was not the man they knew and loved growing up in the safety of L’Manberg’s blackstone walls. Niki set her teacup down and watched it grow cold.

    Screwing together her eyes, Niki took a deep breath to steady herself and made a decision. She picked her teacup back up and took a sip-- it wasn’t yet lukewarm. Fundy, seeing her do so, did the same. “I don’t know how I feel about that,” Niki finally admitted. “Yeah,” Fundy agreed-- there in his voice was the telltale shake of an almost-laugh, done in nervousness, and it dawned on Niki that it was a family trait that he shared with Phil. “Phil will be happy, at least,” She posited, and Fundy agreed. “Yeah. He seemed hopeful. Wil-- he said Wil lied to him about the elections. I don’t really… know what that means.”

    Niki put a hand on Fundy’s shoulder. “Maybe… maybe you aren’t the only one who just wants his dad to be proud of him,” Niki offered with a small, empathetic smile. Fundy let out a very strange noise that was partly a sigh, partly a groan, and partly a sob. “I guess.” But she could tell he knew she was right. “Wilbur is…” Here, Niki tried to piece together her own thoughts. “Wilbur is a very complicated man with very complicated morals and relationships. He was our friend, and he hurt people-- but he was hurting too. I don’t know what death is like. I don’t know what being dead for so long would change him to be like.” Fundy, despite the somber mood, was relaxing a little-- and Niki, to her own surprise, found herself doing the same. He enthusiastically agreed with her description of complexity. It was definitely true.

    Niki took another big, courageous breath. One step at a time. She knew how to do this. “But if there’s anything I’ve learned lately, it’s that we cannot stop living our lives because of something like this. We can’t let ourselves become overwhelmed and paralyzed because of one big emotion. It isn’t good for us. It isn’t good for anyone.” Her grief, the loss of L’Manberg. The rage at Tommy and the feeling of entitlement, that if they just got an apology they could move on-- but not before that, never before that. The ache she felt, that shooting star that almost could have been before Jack sank himself so deep into rage it made him mad that she wasn’t drowning in it too. All of it came pouring out of her in that moment, like an overflowing cup that had finally finally been allowed to spill over. She might have been crying. Fundy’s eyes, too, shimmered with the same pain and understanding.

    “What do we… what do we do, then?” He asked, voice ragged as if he’d been holding back the tears that were now being blinked away for years (he had). “What do we even do? What can we do?” He nearly shouted it, desperation leaking from his voice. Niki sniffled, wiped away her eyes, picked up the empty teacups and brought them into the kitchen. Fundy followed, a familiar feeling to it all. “We can… well…” She set the cups down gently, turning to Fundy. He looked ready to listen to anything, about then. Gods above, the two of them had missed eachother more than they’d ever be able to put into words, huh.

    Suddenly, Niki smiled warmly, and Fundy picked up the nostalgia on her mind. “Do you remember, way back in the old days? When L’Manberg had its walls?” Fundy looked at her inquisitively, but his ears were perking slowly as realization started to find its way into his head. “I remember a lot of things from back then,” He said-- and it was true, they both did. The phrase pale danced around her head, the word starfate itched at her heart. “When I was stressed out,” She recalled, opening cabinets and drawers and handing things to Fundy-- who was arranging things in a specific way, but didn’t seem to realize he was operating on muscle memory or he would’ve known where she was going with it-- “Or when I wanted to create something. I would go down to the docks, because--”

    “Your bakery,” Fundy realized. “I do remember that.” Fundy looked down at his paws, realizing he was mid-measure and, subsequently, losing his place. “Oh god I think I fucked it up,” he muttered under his breath-- and Niki laughed, pleasant and happy. “You were doing fine, Fundy. It’s the last scoop of flour,” she reassured him. As Fundy muttered about the quality of the cake and Niki started measuring the other ingredients, she tried to clarify what she had initially been getting at. “For a long time, I was swallowed with anger,” she explained. “Anger about everything that had happened, because it was so unfair. But it wasn’t anyone’s fault. There was nobody to be angry at. The only person it was hurting was me.” And Jack. Jack’s own anger was hurting him, too. She swallowed down the broken shell of quartz that memory made her feel.

    “So you just… stopped being angry?” Fundy asked, genuinely trying to wrap his mind around it. Niki shook her head. “I don’t think it’s quite like that. I just needed to focus on myself, instead of what others had done. Do what I like and try to think for myself instead of just believing everything everyone else told me to.” What Wilbur had told her. What Wilbur had told them. She shook her head a little to clear her thoughts. L’Manberg had been good, but… it was never perfect. Not the way they were taught it was. “I guess I get what you mean,” Fundy said, and Niki felt enveloped by the sense of understanding that came with being with Fundy. He knew her just as she knew him, and even limited in their words they could communicate to one another what they meant. Even after all this time, it seemed they wouldn’t fall apart that easily, that they were two of the same according to fate.

    “It seems hard, though,” Fundy said, setting a glass bowl on the counter. Niki furrowed her eyebrows again thoughtfully. “It is hard. It’s better than being miserable all the time though.” Fundy jiggled the bowl as Niki poured the mixture, evening it out so it would cook properly. Fundy opened the oven door, and Niki slid the cake in. “I guess I am pretty tired of being miserable,” Fundy agreed with a hesitant chuckle. “That’s the spirit!” Niki exclaimed, grinning at him. Fundy laughed properly this time, three short bursts that sounded from his chest, and grinned back at her. “Hey, if you say so. It’s not much though. It’s really, really not.”

    “Nooo it’s good, it’s a good start! You have to start somewhere, Fundy,” Niki encouraged, and Fundy just shook his head, laughing ever so slightly. “I dunno, I mean… kinda hard to do when I don’t have a home and none of my friends talk to me anymore and Wilbur is suddenly alive again.” Niki looked at him sympathetically. “You could start by doing something that makes you happy. What do you like doing, Fundy?” Fundy stared awkwardly around the kitchen. “...Eating cake,” He offered with a hesitant giggle. Niki giggled in turn. “Well,” Niki said, “Lucky for you, if you stay here for a little bit you can do that pretty soon.”

    “I don’t know what I’m going to do after that,” Fundy said, turmoil in his heart too easily stirred, “But yeah. I’d like that.” He absently started wiping down the counter, old routine still embedded into them both, and Niki stared at him, gaze lingering for a moment. Looking at him now, she could see how his ginger fur didn’t shine the way it used to, how his ears were in a constant flicked-back state of distress. They’d both been uprooted when L’Manberg was destroyed, but it seemed he may have been left far more unmoored than she had. She wanted to groom his fur. She wanted to hold him until his tension was gone and his ears perked up bright and happy. She wanted to get rid of the ache in her chest and the ache in his. She wanted to get rid of the way her heart sang moonlit songs around him, despite it having been years. She wanted-- she wanted him to stay. Just for a little bit.

    Niki started to get out the frosting. “Stay here for a few nights,” she said unprompted, “In the city I mean. While you sort out your thoughts. I know I’ll need to sort out mine too. Maybe--” And here, she hesitated-- “Maybe we can try and sort them out together.” It was an invitation of vulnerability that neither of them had in a long, long time. Fundy stopped what he had been doing to stare at her; Niki vehemently ignored his gaze to continue focusing on the task at hand. He thought for a moment, and she hoped desperately he wasn’t thinking about the implications. “I’d like that,” he finally answered, quiet and truthful. “That would-- yeah. That would be nice.”

    “Well,” Niki said to fill the awkward silence that had sprouted after that, “One thing at a time. First you’re going to help me frost this cake when it’s ready.” Fundy laughed and agreed. And Niki thought about what she’d said to Jack, and what it had really meant. Baking again. Trying to heal despite it all. And she thought about the fox hybrid next to her, who, despite all his troubles, was baking too. L’Manberg was gone forever-- it was never coming back. Even if Wilbur did. And, well. Neither of those things had been quite what they had seemed. Places were gone and people had changed. Some for the better. Some for the worst. Some just… different, in inexplicable, unattainable ways. In ways that couldn’t be reached.

    But Niki was slowly realizing that not everything was gone. Fundy was still here, in her kitchen, baking with her. And in as many ways as she couldn’t figure out how to feel about Wilbur being alive again, she was grateful for one tiny thing about it. That it had brought Fundy to her doorstep. That she could share cake with someone who shared a quartz-colored heart with her. Maybe-- maybe it was fate.

    With the quiet hum of the oven being the only sound in the small apartment, Niki leaned against Fundy’s shoulder, feeling the soft fur of his neck against her cheek and hearing it squish against the fabric of his jacket. Fundy carefully put an arm around her and placed his chin on her head. “Yeah, I missed you too,” He murmured. Niki let out a heaving sigh and let herself sink into the warmth. And they still couldn’t call themselves starfated-- not after everything. Not yet. But for a moment, tucked away in a small apartment, hiding in the rising scent of cake and the warmth of an oven, they could feel it; they could know it. They understood one another. And, just like when they were kids-- for now, that was enough.

[mythrilhusk]

Why Can’t You Trust Your Own Eyes: Part 1/?

You can not sleep now, there are monsters nearby, the server whispers.  

Hannah jolts awake, the hilt of her sword leaping to her palm. The pale roses embedded in her skin sing with the promises of new life and colorful meadows. She grits her teeth and groans, flopping back into her bed. Listening to the babbling water, she stares up at the blackstone ceiling of her underground base. 

Water splashes by the entrance, accompanied by a heavy grunt. Leaping to her feet, Hannah draws her sword and scowls at the two intruders. "What the hell're you doing here?" 

The larger, scarier of the two steps in front of the other, holding up his paws appeasingly. "Chill, we didn't know this place was occupied. Just let us heal up, and we'll get outta your hair." 

Hannah takes a cautious step towards him. He's some kind of pig hybrid: pink fur and ivory tusks and sturdy build; oddly familiar for some reason. But he's covered in blood, black and red and green mingling down his skin and matting in his mane. Several barbs from an Elder Guardian stick out from his arms and ribs. An arrow pokes from his shoulder. How is he still standing? 

"It's not all mine," He chuffs at her confused and concerned look. 

"Y-yeah, I can see that." Hannah lowers her sword. The other man peeks timidly out from behind his protector. His face is covered with a cracked mask. He's soaked, filthy, and leaking green blood from several wounds. It would be a mercy to kill them both, her roses hiss. Hannah's accustomed to dispensing mercy. 

"Uhh, listen, we're not gonna steal any of your pots, but do you have any food? I can repay you later." The pig hybrid rests a gentle, cautious paw on the masked man's shoulder. "He's pretty badly hurt, and, ha, so am I, not gonna lie." 

The memory clicks in her head. Technoblade. That's why he's familiar; he helped Quackity drive out the Eggpire from their own Banquet. Hannah's sword itches in her hand. She sheathes it. "Get deeper in," She orders, making up her mind. 

They're on the run from someone, or something, and they're weak. Hannah could kill him, or she could turn him in to his hunters, and that would be one more enemy of the Eggpire down. 

Technoblade nods and guides his companion down through her base. Hannah follows them, ready to draw her sword at any moment. But Technoblade limps, and the other leans on him, gasping in pain with every step. They've fought so hard just to get here. Something that is not the Egg unfurls in her heart, sharp like the thorns of a quince. 

Hannah throws down two beds for them, deep in the torchlit blackstone halls. Technoblade sets his dying companion down on one, sets his respawn on the other, and leans against the wall. "Gonna kill me now?" 

"I don't know what you mean," Hannah lies quickly. 

Technoblade sighs, staring away at a flickering torch. "I'm not goin' after the Eggpire right now. We just need to heal." 

"But you will," She notes coldly. "After you heal yourselves, then what?" 

"We've kinda got more pressing matters on our hands, not gonna lie." Technoblade shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant, but Hannah can see the tension in his shoulders. 

This isn't right, her roses hiss, and she should listen to them. She should contact Bad, contact someone. She could kill both of them herself right now; they're weak, they're at her mercy. 

The blossoming pity in her heart strikes conflict. 

"Welcome to my secret base, I guess," Hannah sighs, suppressing the sliver of pity as she offers a stack of bread. "Don't steal, don't grief, and don't mess with my stuff." 

She'll keep an eye on them for now. Perhaps if she's kind to them, Technoblade will think twice before trying to interfere with the Eggpire again. 

Technoblade takes the bread and offers some to his companion first. "Hey, it's not potatoes." 

"Not hungry," He grumbles. Technoblade shrugs and leaves half the bread by their bed while he noms a few loaves. 

Hannah leans against the opposite wall. "Who are you?" 

Technoblade gives her a wary glance. "This is, uhh, my cousin, uh, Axel." 

"I hate that name," Axel growls. "Techno, give me a cooler name." 

"He hates his name," Technoblade says helpfully. 

"Oh." Hannah doesn't quite know what to make of the obvious lie, but she lets it go. 

Technoblade bobs his head to her. "Yeah, uh, thanks for your hospitality, by the way. Most people on this server prolly woulda killed us by now, not gonna lie." 

"Just me," Axel mutters, "You're safe." 

"Not if I'm in the line of fire protectin' you," Techno retorts casually back. Axel visibly relaxes, but still turns his head away with a quiet scoff. 

Techno's wounds have started to close as the food takes effect. It's not as fast as a healing or regen pot, but Hannah's not wasting her precious resources on two refugees, much less an enemy of the Egg. Axel still hasn't eaten, but he's started contemplating a loaf of bread, at least. He turns away to lift his mask and nibble it. It takes one tiny bite before he loses his restraint and devours the bread hungrily. As his hunger's filled up, his wounds start to close up as well.  

They're both still filthy, however, and getting the blood and mud all over the sheets and walls. With a huff, Hannah pushes herself away from the wall. "There's a hot spring farther down. Clean yourselves up once you're healed." 

"K."  

Hannah turns back and examines them. They're both unarmored, unarmed, and completely harmless. "You can sleep here for the night, too, I guess." 

Just one night. That's all. Then they'll be on their way. 

++++

AN: My AO3 is Rogue_Swordsmith. This is a lil idea I had, of Hannah taking in Techno and Dream after they escaped prison. Techno can’t contact the Syndicate atm, cause Sam is watching all communication channels, so they’re alone and on the run. ;p I might continue it, I might not, but if you feel inspired, you’re welcome to take this idea and run with it. 

Part 2