#one of the very final Plays for Today before the series was formally shelved in mid 1984; adapted from a short story by celebrated Irish

[mariocki]

Play for Today: The Cry (BBC, 1984)

"It's best forgotten about."

"You're not gonna be making a complaint?"

"Complaints? We're not making any complaints! We don't want to know about any complaints."

"Complaints against who?"

"Well, the police."

"Who should I complain to about the police?"

"Well, the police, I suppose."

"What good would that do me?"

[lovelylaurie]

Chronology - Part 2

Adolescence  Laurie x (March) Reader Words: 2478 Request: @psychshawnjuleshanluke A series where each part follows reader and Laurie’s relationship over time.  Part 1 | 2 | 3 

--

     Meg sighed dreamily. Her breakfast plate sat untouched before her. Jo screwed up her face, “Ugh, gross!” She followed the gaze of Meg’s fluttering eyes out the window, only to find John Brooke on the path outside, gazing back at her, “Aaah! Gross!” She ran across the room to draw the curtains. Brooke looked embarrassed and began to walk away briskly. Amy looked up at Meg mischievously and slipped a few pieces of toast off her plate with a sly hand. 

     Over the past few weeks of summer, your world had begun to change, ever so slightly shifting into maturity. Meg was engaged now and seemed wholly unable to think about anything else. Though you wanted to be happy for her, and wished for her to have the future she wanted, you, like Jo, couldn’t help but feel some contempt. Just last winter, you were running around and romping as usual. But come spring and summer and everyone was suddenly different. Jo, noticing this as well, had a quicker temper than ever. Too much talk of the future sent her storming off to the attic, presumably to skulk. And you were inclined to agree. Even Amy, though still very much a young girl, was beginning to realize her dream of becoming an elegant lady. She fussed about her hair and clothes and accessories. Instead of playing Pilgrim’s Progress, she had taken to strolling around the house haughtily, pretending to be some rich aristocratic lady. But worst of all, worse than any of this, was Laurie, who would be going off to college in the fall. The thought of it alone gave you an acute sinking feeling. For now, you were attempting to ignore it and live every day to the fullest. But it was a difficult thing to take your mind off. You kept returning to an image of the March house, quiet, dark, and dusty, reeling from the twin losses of Meg and Laurie. Though you knew the house would still be full, and Meg would visit often, the feeling of loneliness was incredible and overwhelming. The other loss, Laurie’s, somehow loomed darker, more ominously leering. “Well! I’m off!” you stood up suddenly, trying to shrug off the intense foreboding that gripped you. “Where are you going?” Jo asked defensively. “Laurie’s,” you answered, without so much as a glance back at Meg’s dazed and faraway expression.      You ponder, as you walk the path to the Laurence house, how difficult it is to leave one’s closest friend. It has you utterly and completely torn. In seeking comfort and escape, you turn to Laurie. His presence, his very being, has always been its own consolation. His smile warms your heart and his cool, contented expressions calm you. But now, every thought of him is a double-edged sword. Every thought of him has you thinking of his coming departure. Every chime of his laugh and twinkle of his eye has you missing him already. But loneliness and distance are worse, so you seek him out every chance you get. And however much you want to stay at home with your sisters, you simply can’t. Jo’s contempt is similar to, but different than, yours. She seems to have already fully realized these changes and departures, and stubbornly resolved to refute them every chance she gets. Meanwhile, you have been ignoring it as much as possible. Her animosity and constant irritation only worsen your loneliness. By now you have arrived at the Laurence house. You enter without knocking, as has become custom. But upon entering the study, the scene before you causes your cheeks to redden with embarrassment. Laurie and Brooke are seated at the table by the window in the midst of a lesson. At the sound of the door, Laurie, whose legs are resting nonchalantly on the table in front of him, turns to look at you. Relief washes away his expression of extreme boredom. “(y/n)!  What a wonderful surprise.” He jumps up immediately and waltzes towards you. Brooke looks hesitant and you look horrified. How could you have assumed Laurie would be free? Of course he would spend his few months remaining before college preparing academically. Or at least, his grandfather would force him to. Your blush deepens as you consider that just as he has served as a distraction for you, from change, you have served as a distraction for him, from education. “I’m so sorry, I should have knocked.” “Nonsense, come in.” He is wearing a white linen shirt with large, flouncing sleeves and an unbuttoned silk vest. You make a move to leave, but he shuts the door and leads you away. Brooke looks exasperated, “Laurie, please sit down.” He is ignored. “You are always welcome, (y/n), I insist.” Part of you, the polite and mannerly part, wants to leave. But the door feels miles upon miles away, and the thought of spending a day alone is utterly and gut-wrenchingly awful. After an awkward pause, you say to both of them, “I’ll let you get back to your lesson, but do you mind if I stay?” Brooke seems taken aback, but accepts, “I suppose that would be alright.” “Stay as long as you like,” Laurie assures you, returning to his seat.     So you settle into the study, walking the shelves and flitting through old books. Laurie follows you with his eyes, and Brooke appears worried, presumably that your presence will only distract him further. But then you immerse yourself in a book and read quietly on a couch, close enough to hear them but far enough away that you are apart from their discussions. With time, you notice that Laurie is more quiet and subdued than you expect, and his feet have not returned to their spot on the tabletop, Brooke’s tone loses its edge of irritation, and Laurie buttons up his vest while reciting verb conjugations in Latin. By lunchtime, they’ve finished. The second he is allowed, Laurie strides across the room and seats himself beside you on the arm of the couch. “I promised Grandfather I’d eat with him, but after that, I propose the wildest and most riotous adventures.” “I can’t wait.” You smile and Laurie continues talking, but out of the corner of your eye, you see Brooke giving you a long and pensive stare before leaving. The following day passed with little to note. Laurie was occupied almost until dinner time and you were forced to spend the day between Jo and Meg, where a sense of animosity was growing.     But during breakfast the day after that there was a knock at the door. Marmee answered and you heard her conversing with Mr. Brooke. When she returned, she asked for you. Meg looked considerably crestfallen. Jo rolled her eyes, “You’re already engaged, Meg, seriously.” Brooke had the same thoughtful look he did two days ago, as he said, “Good morning, Ms. March-” “(y/n)” “-(y/n). I was wondering if you noticed anything out of the ordinary regarding Mr. Laurie’s level of focus while you were present the other day.” You tried not to laugh at the way he said ‘Mr. Laurie’ or at his exceedingly formal tone. He was about to be your brother-in-law for Christ’s sake. “I’m not usually there, I can only speculate.” “Well, you see… He was focused, intent, and, well, reasonably respectful.” “Which he isn’t usually, I’m sure.” He nodded, “Correct. I attribute it to your presence.” At that, you blushed a bright scarlet. “He frequently skips lessons or rushes out early, and I’ve noticed that it is to come here, and, frequently, to see you. But while you were with us, he seemed placated. Or at the very least, temporarily mollified. I came here, Ms.- (y/n)- to ask that you accompany us again today.” “Okay,” you squeaked, “I’ll just… grab a few things.” Laurie has been your best friend and closest companion for almost as long as you’ve known him, but your pulse quickened to think that you could have that effect on him. You returned to your family and found your sisters’ faces full of amusement, even Meg. “I’m going to accompany Mr. Brooke to the Laurence house today,” you proclaimed matter-of-factly. “I’m glad to hear that Laurie will be focused on his lessons,” Meg chided. Jo and Amy laughed and Beth and Marmee smiled as you gathered your book and scarf in a small bag and hurried out.     When you arrived at the study a few minutes later, Laurie was slouched against the window with, once again, complete and utter boredom. “Brooke, I could have sworn I saw- (y/n)!” He sprang across the room to greet you, “Oh, please tell me you’ve come to take me away. I can’t stand another minute of this.” “It’s 9 am,” you laughed. “I’m at my breaking point.” He smiled with an air of levity forming at the corners of his lips. “Vive la révolution, Laurie, but only after your lessons.” You resolved to thoroughly explore the room today, and laughed at Laurie’s frequent proclamations of “Vive la révolution!” whenever Brooke scolded him for getting off task. Other than that, he remained focused and even appeared at times diligent. Many days were spent just like this one as the summer drew on, hours wiled away in companionable silence and distant closeness. You would remember these times, later, when he was away, and imagine he was beside you in your loneliness. Perhaps equally lonely, himself.      Finally, as you neared the end of summer, Mr. Brooke deemed Laurie prepared for higher education and released him to his final weeks of freedom. He then could often be found at the March house, as early as breakfast, and frequently staying late into the evening.     One afternoon, a week from Meg’s wedding, you had both escaped from the preparations and planning to the woods surrounding your houses. You had climbed up to a low-lying branch of a large tree and was now seated there, reading. Laurie was lying down on the grass below you, gazing lazily at the sky through the tree branches. “I can’t believe one of the March sisters is getting married,” he said. “Yes, and to your teacher,” you replied bluntly, trying to brush him off and avoid the conversation. You still wanted to ignore everything, but the time was fast approaching when you wouldn’t be able to any longer. “Is there something on your mind, (y/n)?” His tone is tender, soft, and caring. “Nope, I just want to read my book.” He chuckles, “No, you’re not.” You look down and glare at him, “And how do you know that?” “You haven’t turned a page in the last ten minutes.” “That’s what you’ve been paying attention to?” He must have been more bored than you thought. “What else is there to?” You didn’t realize until later what he meant by this, but for now, you just stared at him curiously. “Come down.” He sat up against the trunk of the tree and patted the space next to him. You sighed, gave a small smile, and obliged, hopping down from your branch to sit beside him. “So this has something to do with Meg?”      You paused before responding with an apprehensive, “Yes.” Meg’s marriage was definitely part of your melancholy. And although you didn’t plan on telling him this, Laurie’s leaving for school was affecting you much more. “What about her?” “It’s just- she’s getting married and- and moving away. And as much as I want to be happy for her, which I am, I can’t for the life of me figure out why.” Laurie gave you an odd look, so you continued, “Okay, I know why. But it’s just that she’s leaving all of us for this… this boring bachelor. I just find it odd.” “Perhaps it is, but they love each other very much. And you know what happens when two people love each other very much-” “YES! I do, Laurie!” you shrieked, and you both burst into laughter. Then you saw that familiar glint of mischief in his expression that had you forgetting everything, forgetting Meg, forgetting Laurie’s university. But soon it all came rushing back, because this is what you would miss, that look in his eye, that smile. You stopped laughing. Laurie stared at you contemplatively as you leaned back against the tree trunk and pulled your knees up towards your chest protectively. His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, “But that’s not everything, it is?” “No,” you admitted. He didn’t respond and instead put his arm around your shoulder, allowing you to lean into him. He traced circles on your shoulder with his finger. You sat here for a while, reveling in this hint of bliss, before he whispered, “You can tell me what it is if you want.” You couldn’t say no anymore, you couldn’t simply walk away. Not here. Not now. “You, Laurie. It’s you.” His finger stopped moving and his arm hung over you with far more weight than it had just moments ago. “You’re leaving and I’m going to miss you,” your voice broke, “so much.” The softness wasn’t gone from his voice, but something else was there as well, something much more morose, “I have to do this, (y/n).” “I know that, and I couldn’t possibly ask you to stay, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” “(y/n),” he turned your face towards him, putting his hand on your cheek, “I will think of you and I will write to you and I will come home as often as I can, I swear it.” He was just inches away. Your heart beat fast, and though you didn’t quite know or understand what was happening here, you loved it. “Laurie-” in a second, he closed the space between you. The kiss had a depth of emotion and feeling that encapsulated everything you could have possibly said in that moment. It was not long before you would forget what you were going to say, the memory being overshadowed by what came next. You put a hand on his chest. He was warm and soft and it felt so natural to be this close to him. The kiss ended, but he didn’t pull away.  Then, from somewhere behind you, you heard, “(y/n)! Laurie! Come, it’s time to get back to work!” It was Marmee. Laurie merely sat up straighter and looked in her direction, but you jumped up and brushed yourself off. As you and Laurie walked home, you realized how fast your heart was beating and how breathless you felt. You were dazed and stared off with a glassy and faraway look that was oddly similar to the one Meg had recently adopted. Laurie was skipping slightly as he walked, unable to control a smile spreading across his face.

[evakuality]

Oh, Allie, I love your writing. And I love some sweet banter. What about 38 for davenzi? ❤️

Thank you for playing!  I hope you don’t mind this becoming part of the longish fic that I’ve been working on.  For you, Camilla, it’s the final chapter of the fic that grew out of several prompts! (If anyone else wants to send more, the list can be found over here, and chapter one is available on tumblr here and Ao3 right here).  This chapter is also available on Ao3.

Rings, Riddles and Revenge.  Chapter Six: “Why can’t you appreciate my sense of humor?” 

David

The bell over the store’s door tinkles, alerting David to a new customer entering.  It’s instinct now, the way he reacts to that sound.  His face settles automatically into its customer service facade, and he straightens his back ready to smile and welcome whoever this is with his best, and most perfectly polite, service voice.  Out of the corner of his eye, David can see his coworker grinning and he remembers, relaxing a little.

He’s not in his old shop anymore.  He’s not expected to have the same sort of stiff formal approach when talking to customers.  In fact, he’s expected rather to be warmer, more open.  He’s been working here for the last few weeks but it still hasn’t become second nature to act more naturally, the bell bringing muscle memory in before he can even stop himself.  He hears Sonja’s delighted cackle as his body slumps a little, and he huffs his frustration while rolling his eyes at her.

“I can’t get over your face every single time,” she says.  “It’s been weeks and you’re still like a dog when its master comes home, all alert and eager to please.”  

She pats his arm, her amusement clear in the ostentatiously condescending nature of the contact.  Being here is such a different experience, David thinks as he ducks out of her way and growls his fake irritation.  Sonja likes to tease and mess with him.  In her own words, ‘a quiet workplace is a boring workplace,’ and so David has to watch out for pranks at strange moments as well as this sort of banter.  He loves it.  Blows her a kiss through his affectation of a scowl.  Her grin widens as she nods towards the door.  “Better watch out,” she says, “today’s customer is your boyfriend, and he might get the wrong idea if you keep doing that.”

David’s fake scowl dissipates immediately as he looks up and indeed sees Matteo, grinning his own smug satisfaction at him.

“This reminds me of that first day I met you,” he says, leaning his arms on the counter and bending forward so he can peck David’s cheek.  “That serious face, and perfect smile.  Do you want to call me ‘sir’ to make it feel like old times?”

“Ass,” David says, returning the kiss but pushing at Matteo’s arm where it’s lying on one of Sonja’s new projects.  Matteo glances down at it and pouts as he moves the arm away form her work, and sadly away from David’s.  Matteo always hates this, David thinks with a small smirk of his own.  He may pretend to be above such things, but Matteo does like to be able to snuggle when he comes in, and Sonja’s projects are the only thing he’s not allowed to mess up.  They’re the only thing that gets in the way of their closeness.  Well, those and the times when David has to actually work, greeting customers or placing stock carefully on shelves.

Still pouting, Matteo sits down on a stool at the far end of the counter.  “Why can’t you appreciate my sense of humor?” he asks, as he leans onto the counter and tilts his head in the way that David knows is an imitation of his own.

David smiles, his fondness bleeding through into the attempt at exasperation.  “I do appreciate it,” he says.  “In the right place at the right time.”

Matteo pokes his tongue out, making David laugh.  It’s always like this, quiet teasing and silliness, and he’s not sure how he could ever have thought of Matteo differently, as the serious guy with the sad eyes and aura of melancholy.  That’s not who he truly is inside.  

The store’s bell tinkles again, and once again David’s spine tightens, he drags his eyes immediately away from Matteo’s, and his service smile flicks up and onto his face.  He catches it quickly, lets himself relax more naturally, but not before Matteo snorts his amusement from the other end of the counter.  David squints back over at him, hoping he can see the frown and will behave.  No such luck.  Instead, Matteo lounges more firmly against the counter, his eyes alight and the same cheeky grin David fell for on his face.  He looks smug, as if he’s waiting to see how David handles whatever he’s about to throw at him.  

David goes through the motions of ascertaining what the customer wants and making sure he knows where in the store to find it before he can give more attention to Matteo and that look.  Something about the whole situation is prickling his ‘I’m being pranked’ alarm bells, and he squints suspiciously in Matteo’s direction once the man has moved away.

“Those clothes look awfully familiar,” David says, as he makes his way back down the counter to where Matteo is perched.  

“I certainly hope so,” Matteo says with his grin widening.  “We’ve been living in the same place for a while now.  I’d say you weren’t doing your share of the laundry if they didn’t.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” David says, sure now that something is going on.  “That’s exactly what you were wearing that very first day I met you.”

Matteo shrugs, seemingly unconcerned on the outside, but David knows him well enough to know that something really is up.  He’s a little too nonchalant in the way he’s poised on the stool and in the way he’s leaning, his body not quite as relaxed as he wants David to believe.  

“I wear the same clothes sometimes, David; that’s a thing you know.  We can’t all be like you with your huge range of clothes.”

He’s teasing, his voice soft and loving as he says it.  Because it’s a standing joke among all their friends that David only wears black or Matteo’s clothes, and Matteo knows saying this will get him an exasperated loving glance.  Still, David refuses to be put off.  He carefully moves Sonja’s precious project to the side and picks up his cloth to dust.  

The store is one of those places that seems to pick up dust just by existing, and a sunny warm bar of light highlights every mote in the air.  It’s part of what gives the store its lived in and comfortable feeling, but it does mean that David is almost constantly dusting to try to keep it somewhat pleasant for the customers.  It doesn’t really need a proper dusting today, but the cloth gives him something to do while he examines Matteo and it’s something he’s done so often that Matteo won’t be suspicious when he sees it happening.  

From under lowered lashes, David watches as Matteo’s eyes dart towards Sonja and one lip quirks up at the side as he licks them nervously.  David can see her face from where he’s standing and she’s got a fond, exasperated expression around her eyes.  She nods, tips her chin in David’s direction, and Matteo takes a breath and turns back towards David.  Through the stirred up dust, he looks almost angelic as his face slides from cheeky amusement into something more serious.  David looks down at the counter briefly, trying to compose himself; Matteo’s face like that always has this effect on him.  He can’t concentrate on anything else if he’s looking at Matteo when he’s focused in that particular way.

“The diamond in your engagement ring is fake,” Matteo says softly, drawing David’s eyes back to him.

“Excuse me?” David says, letting the cloth fall onto the counter as he takes in Matteo, holding out a battered old leather ring case, not quite down on one knee, but definitely not lounging anymore either.

Matteo

“I said, the diamond in your engagement ring is fake,” Matteo repeats.  His heart is hammering, even though he knows David’s going to agree.  They’ve even talked about this and about how long they’d wait before one or the other would do this.  But Matteo can’t wait; once he’d had the idea he couldn’t see himself doing it on any day other than this one, exactly one year since David said those words to him.

Even so, even though he knows with every atom in his body that David is on the same page, the entire world slows down after he says the words.  Matteo watches as David’s face shifts through a series of complicated expressions, his lips pressing together in his startlement and his eyes widening, the lashes framing them flickering up with his surprise.

“I don��t have …” David starts, and then his face flushes, red staining his cheeks, and his breath sucking in while his eyes widen as he gets it.  “You ass.  That’s my line.” 

David’s voice is wobbly with emotion, though, and Matteo grins, relief flooding his body and leaving him almost weak with it.  “I know, but I always wanted to say it.  Anyway,” he adds, shaking the box.  “You do have an engagement ring.  If … if you want it.”

The fondest, most loving expression crosses David’s face, softening his features into something almost boyish, and Matteo’s heart leaps as he reaches out to touch the box gently.  “Is that …?”

“Yeah,” Matteo says, opening it to show him.  The ring lies there, glowing innocently exactly as it did a year ago when David had told Matteo the news and his heart had sunk into his shoes at the thought that he couldn’t help his mother out, after all.  “It’s my dad’s ring.”  

What better revenge could Matteo get on his father, after all, than using it for this?  Being happy with it, not as an object of value and something to be paraded about as a sign of family honor, but as a sign of his love.  He’s been happier than he’d ever dreamed possible since he decided not to sell it, so why not gift it to the person who helped make that true?

“So,” Matteo says, wanting to hear an actual answer now.  Even though he can see it in the flush on David’s cheeks, the tremble in his hand and the joy in those gorgeous brown eyes, he needs to hear it out loud.  “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” David says.  “Of course I will.”

His discarded dusting cloth is lying on the counter, forgotten, and he stares at Matteo as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing and what he’s just said.  For some reason, Matteo is fixated on that cloth, and on the hand that sits quietly next to it, the hand that should by rights have a ring on it right now.

Matteo reaches out and picks it up, notices the shake in his own hand as he wrestles the ring from the box and holds it out with a questioning quirk of his brow.  David nods, so matteo carefully and gently pushes the ring onto his finger.  It’s not quite the right fit, sits a little loosely as it slides down.  David curls his hand over to keep it in place, looks at it for a long moment and then glances up at Matteo with a smile.  It’s not his usual grin, not the normal fondly amused or exasperated look.  It’s filled with an honest, pure love, and Matteo’s breath catches in his throat.

“Do you think maybe you could come over here so I can kiss you properly?” Matteo asks.  He can hear the emotion in his own voice, and winces as he notices Sonja’s cackle behind them. She’s enjoying this, enjoying their less-than-perfect conversation.  David hears her too and his eyes narrow a little as he looks over at her for a moment.  Matteo looks her way as well, sees the way she’s trying to hold her own emotions in and lets out a breath.  David steps out and around to where Matteo is standing.

“I feel like this was a bit of a set up,” he says as he reaches Matteo, nodding over at Sonja as he wraps his arms around Matteo’s waist.

“Mmmm, I might have had a little help in getting everything exactly right,” Matteo admits, propping his own hands up onto David’s shoulders and smiling.  

He’s not going to admit to it all, at least not yet.  Not to the fact that he did dig out the exact clothes he was wearing that day they met, nor to the fact that he’d had Sonja precisely timing his entrance so that he could say the words at the exact moment David had said them a year ago.  He’s not willing to admit to being that sappy, not yet.  It’s one thing to be this way, it’s quite another to be open and naked with that truth.  He thinks David might get it anyway, if the small huff of laughter he gives is any indication.

David’s nose is running up and along his own, sending sparks down his spine.  It’s something Matteo’s become used to over the last almost-year they’ve been together, but it’s different now because they’re officially engaged now.  That’s a whole new world of things opening up for them, and Matteo sighs in happiness as he tilts his head up and David finally, finally presses his lips to Matteo’s.

“I love you,” David says when they finally part.  

Matteo may have heard those words a hundred times before this, he may have known deep in his bones that it’s true, and yet hearing them today feels different, feels bigger somehow.  He runs his own nose along David’s, listening for the inevitable small gasp David makes when he does it.  It’s these things, the small things, that matter most and Matteo sighs into another kiss.

“I love you too,” he says when they part again, letting his fingers feel the ring where it sits on David’s hand.  “Who’d have thought this little thing would bring us here like this.”

“Yeah,” David agrees, grinning as he takes matteo’s hand, pressing the warm band of the rings against his own fingers.  “Who’d have thought that awkward man with the fake ring would be the one to propose to me?”

Rolling his eyes, Matteo quiets him with another kiss.  This is what he’s always wanted, and in some ways he wants to thank his father; if it hadn’t been for his obsession with the ring Matteo would never have found David and never have found this.  It seems like revenge can be sweet, after all.

[momestuck]

Let’s read Hiveswap Friendsim... volume 8!

Welcome back, apologies it’s been a good couple of weeks since the last one of these. Last time, we had a fun entertaining art heist and a fun horrifically traumatising mass murder! What are we in for next?

This episode is called Of Stresses, Song and Otherwise. Our trolls today are...

Tyzias and Chixie. Tyzias looks like a programmer (though so far ‘computer nerd’ stereotypes tend to be yellow bloods, not teal), while Chixie... not sure what her deal’s gonna be! (Watch as I get everything wrong again.) Not sure if Tyzias’s horns are naturally like that or if they’ve been cut.

Tyzias

Tyzias is written by Lalo Hunt, who has previously written Tagora - clearly someone with a thing for teals!

Tyzias’s theme kicks in almost immediately. As now seems to be standard for tealbloods, we have harpsichords.

Our narrator is starting to get the slightest hint of like... restraint about the ‘MUST BEFRIEND EVERYONE THAT MOVES’ attitude. They actually don’t immediately go for like... jumping on Tyzias and trying to forcibly befriend her, but walk past... unfortunately she falls over. Impressively, she keeps her coffee cup level despite tripping over a rock.

Her typing quirk seems to be using lowercase letters, and repeating all uses of ‘w’ and ‘m’ four times. OK...

The narrator convinces themselves that this is the prelude to some kind of teen romance where they’re the cool person who helps the fallen nerd. Uh huh. Our extremely cool protagonist.

So we start helping her out and find she’s a lawyer. That’s like... every tealblood we’ve met now? Canon said they were also civil servants but OK, I guess everyone just loves Terezi. (To be fair, I also love Terezi.)

We get our first choice, prompted by the realisation that she’s a lawyer:

Tradition dictates that one of these is an instant-death option. I can’t help but expect that the ‘obvious’ choice, picking up more papers, will be the one that fucks us over.

...maybe not. We carry on going, and find out our dear friend Tagora has been talking about us, and he may be in a ‘group project’ with Tyzias here...

We spend some more time trying to get her papers together, against the best efforts of the wind. The narration emphasises just how tired Tyzias looks - quite the contrast from Tagora.

In fact, that carries us all the way up to the second choice. We can either suggest a breather, or trying to sort it somewhere else.

Let’s take a breather.

Insufflation sacks! Guessing that’s a narrator improvisation rather than actual Troll terms.

We take her to a ruined tower, which the narrator has apparently been spending time in when they’re not busily befriending every troll who survives long enough to get a portrait. This merits a new background.

She’s not hugely impressed by the idea of urbex (unrelatable tbh, if an alien appeared and wanted to take me to do urbex i would be there in a heartbeat), but the narrator actually shows some backbone and encourages her to climb up anyway. (I guess our broken ribs have healed some by now? I can’t honestly remember if we’ve fixed them all in this particular series of branches...)

Tyzias explains to us a bit about the political order on Alternia - that the Condesce rules, and this used to be a watchtower before she got higher-tech drones and so on. She doesn’t seem entirely happy about ‘her imperial bitchiness’...

We reminder that she’s teal, which uh... gee, narrator.

Looks like we’ve found an Actual Decent Person troll! Wow.

She’s particularly fed up with her whole role in the system, which she describes as the work to maintain suffering - because everyone is guilty, no matter what, and trials are just a formality.

Depressed, exhausted, horrified by her society... this troll is pretty relatable after all actually.

We ask about political parties (lol, good luck) and rebellious movements. She fills us in a bit on what we know to be the Signless/Sufferer’s rebellious movement, and the subsequent rebellion by the Summoner (which someone might have written up an infographic about for you... pssst).

Tyzias keeps going in a spirit of ‘ah, fuck it’. And gets more confident as she does...

Sounds like she’s got some kind of radical law project in mind. To me, the idea of changing the system within is like... kinda obviously never gonna achieve the substantial change needed, but I can totally respect it as a harm reduction measure.

this screenshot is going on my main

We get to telling her a bit about Earth. The protagonist tries to, well...

That’s a way to put it lol.

How romantic!

Damn, this episode’s a bit real lol

As a final kicker we learn that what she’s been drinking out of her mug is... just water. She’s putting on an act to give people a reason why she seems so depressed and tired all the time.

And with that, she takes a nap, and we get another friend.

D’aww.

Unfortunately, we lucked onto the best outcome on our first playthrough, so that means it’s all downhill from here. Which is a shame because I care about this troll.

First, for our instant death option, let’s stand around paralysed by the image of a gavel instead of helping with her papers. So rather than the bait-and-switch I was expecting, this plays out in the way most people would expect: she tells you to stop trying to ‘help’.

I thought it was a picture of a gavel, not an actual gavel! But OK. [treacheryofimages.jpg]

Now let’s try the other option: helping her organise her papers someplace else instead of trying to give her a break.

Unfortunately, in the process of sorting her papers, we lose one. I’m sure that’s not a Chekhov’s gun or anything.

This is a Very Good typing quirk.

The bookhive (library) turns out to have, what else, hexagonal shelves.

That’s cute but damn, not gonna be efficient...

This narration turns out to be read out loud. ‘wwwwowwww, harsh’ says Tyzias, but says that’s basically true. (I would motion that nearly every caste in Homestuck, at least going by the characters we meet, is a nerd caste...)

Tyzias mentions a few. Interestingly she says ‘goldbloods’ rather than ‘yellowbloods’.

We learn a bit about her legislacerator training project.

The narrator doesn’t want to hear this, but I’m kind of amused by the ideas of ‘scrolls of evisceration’. On Alternia, they know all to well that the ‘law’ is just a way of describing the ostensible legitimising limits to violence.

Tyzias mentions the difficulty of finding scrolls that haven’t ‘been scrubbed nice and fuchsia’. Which suggests that the Condesce, or another fuchsia-blood has been fiddling with the law?

The narration draws attention to some of the recurring tropes. But to be fair, we’ve only actually had to fight a highblood one time.

But no, it’s time for more interactions between our friends! Hooray!

Are we still wearing his bathrobe?

The guy seems to know a bit about what Tyzias is up to. Uh-oh.

I’m so glad our friends get along so well!

Anyway after Tagora pisses off, we get back to working. And that’s when the missing page comes up.

Figures. We’re in the shit.

Inexplicable product placement. This, of course, leads to a pun: ‘goregle docs’. But of course, that is monitored by the Condesce.

It’s actually quit easy to get onto at least some parts of the darkweb. There’s pages on the normal web which list the .onion addresses of various TOR hidden services. It’s pretty fascinating to have a look around at what’s up for sale for the kind of nerd who actually owns a bitcoin wallet.

Anyway, losing the page scuppers our friendship. She goes to retrace her steps - without us.

Anyway that was neat. Total shock: Bryn finds the exhausted, depressed nerd with radical politics relatable?

Chixie

Chixie’s route is by the ever-prolific Aysha U. Farah.

So what’s the premise for Chixie? Well, it seems to be fashion.

I guess we are still in a bathrobe after all. Also... I would quite like to see the protagonist in one of Elwurd’s jackets. They’d look ridiculous, but it would be cute.

Anyway, we could always go back to our highly fashionable friend Cirava, but I guess our protagonist has other plans.

We seem to have found the ‘Alternian nightlife’. The protagonist briefly speculates whether it should be ‘daylife’ instead, but seemingly not. We pop round the back of a club, which merits a different take on the whole ‘back alley and dumpster’ setting!

Chixie shows up, standing outside a door. The protagonist contemplates a disguise, and we get a joke about cosplayers...

It seems like she’s maybe trying to convince the people behind the door she’s propped open to let her perform. We have the choice of grabbing the door or standing there like an asshole. Let’s grab the door, since that seems like the obvious option. Of course, you never know with this game if the ‘obvious’ choice will cause you to fuck up and accidentally murder someone.

We are still wearing Tagora’s bathrobe. Haha.

So we let her in, and she says thank you... and goes inside, locking us out. Welp. Guess this was the instant death option lol.

So now let’s try the ‘stand there like an asshole’ option.

Her typing quirk is all-lower-case, and separating lines with slashes, much as you’d represent lines of a song. The narration describes her voice as musical.

It seems she is, in fact, a performer of some renown. She presumes we know who she is.

While we might be experts in moisturewave, whatever her genre is... not so much.

Speaking of moisturewave, Cirava gets a shout-out.

She uses ‘they’ pronouns for the protagonist, which is nice. Anyway, she takes us to visit her dressing room, and orders us to put on some actual clothes while she deals with harassment from someone who threw all her stuff out of the dressing room. Well, the ablutionrobe was nice while it lasted.

We end up wearing a dress.

This might be a kind of ‘fuck you’ to the earlier narration which seemed to implicitly mark the protagonist as male. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Anyway I’m all in favour of wearing a dress for the rest of friendsim.

So does the protag! Nice :)

Anyway, we learn what’s up with Chixie. She’s been kicked off the programme because a band with a purpleblood drummer showed up at the last minute. Well, that’s bad enough, but oh god guess who shows up next...

I literally shuddered.

Please can this be the arc where we absolutely beat the shit out of Zebruh? Please Aysha, I’m begging you.

The narrator determines that Zebruh is ‘not the kind of friend they want to hang out with’. Which is putting it mildly.

Zebruh, incidentally, has not changed one bit.

We get to our second choice.

Honestly anyone’s guess which arc is gonna be the positive ending here. But let’s try exploiting our connections, as utterly odious as they may be.

That was absolutely a mistake, lol.

He goes off to go and put her back on the programme. She’s like... for fuck’s sake, protagonist.

Anyway, what Zebruh does in response to our mentioning her missed performance is... literally buy the club out from under the owner, who’s ‘just’ a teal, and makes Chixie the headliner.

Of course, this is obviously him just trying to get sexual favours of some kind from someone who can’t say no. Like so obvious it probably doesn’t even need to be said.

There we go. Can we please put this fucker through the mirror or something.

Chixie knows exactly what this is and she’s understandably not pleased. We’re gone.

Yeah that’s like... pretty fucking deserved.

Now let’s try the route where we like... don’t do that horrific shit we just did. Hey, finishing on a happy ending... hopefully.

Please leave, Zebruh.

She seems to like... actually like us, which we haven’t really done anything to merit, but here we go. She even invites us to follow her chittr.

She admits we doesn’t know we aren’t creepy, and we assure her we’re less creepy than Zebruh, which like... low fucking bar!

Anyway, the band that scooped her comes on stage. The narrator muses on whether trolls are forced to dress in their blood colour by law or tradition.

Wow, that is cruel.

She sings along...

Apparently like... all troll lyrics are black metal lyrics?

We get a second branch! How extravagant.

So, because I’m curious, let’s try ‘you should do something!’ I see this going badly, but let’s give it a shot.

She goes and puts on a phantom of the opera mask, and grabs a mic - which I guess is wired in and has its levels turned up? I don’t know...

That is a raw look though.

Time to interrupt their set. I am hype to see this, even though we’ll probably end up getting culled.

And she starts a friggin... rap battle?

It’s a rap battle that’s also a limerick! Yeah. That’s something.

Anyway, Chixie does... very well at the whole rap battle thing. (Only the first five lines are a limerick). Makes me wish there was voice acting, if only for this bit!

I strongly suspect this is mostly a parody of like, existing rap songs, which I’m too culturally ignorant to see. All the same, the scene is well written and satisfying.

We escape outside, and Chixie freaks out a bit. And then gets simultaneously relieved and disappointed that she can’t be identified because of the mask. But, since she hasn’t changed clothes, someone catches her... and praises her performance.

Ooh, diamonds huh?

So that was in fact the good outcome. Which means after that epic rap battle, we now have to see the branch where we go to a bar and get miserable. Yep.

Of course, on Alternia, we don’t have alcohol... but Faygo.

And it actually makes her drunk!

She speaks on matters of fame...

And of course, this is mediated by blood colour. Lowbloods must be hypervigilant, while highbloods will get praise regardless.

Again, the metaphor layer is paper thin here.

Come to think of it, nobody does seem to have a job in Alternia. It’s like... fully automated luxury imperialism.

Anyway Chixie passes out on the pile of clothes and we get a... well actually it’s given a ‘victory...?’ label, but it’s clearly less victory than the awesome rap battle.

So yeah. That’s an outcome.

And there we go! That’s the end of the episode. I have a... perhaps unfair feeling that like... if Hussie was writing, this wouldn’t be nearly so on the nose about like, oppression. But who knows.

Fun episode I think. This game’s grown on me a lot now we’ve gotten used to the format. Or is it just that if you spend enough time with a massive sprawling multimedia webcomic, you get a little obsessed with it, even if it’s not actually... good?

[sing-swan-spring-swan]

color me complicated

part two of the “color me in” series

A sequel to color me colorblind, in which Fitz and Dex meet up at a bagel shop and everything is awkward and awful, until it isn’t. Involving copious amounts of boys being stupid, and rain,

Fitz prided himself on being timely; the minutes on his watch flashed 3:30 just as he stopped in front of Starkflower. He generally took his bike to school, but Biana had something to do earlier that morning, which meant his parents had dropped him off. That meant he’d had to walk, which took longer, but Fitz wasn’t going to miss this chance. When the last school bell rang, Fitz had immediately grabbed his stuff and rushed off campus to ensure he wouldn't be late. It was just polite, after all. Of course, he spent the rest of the way there trying to convince himself it had nothing to do with the fluttering feeling in his chest—thank you, foolish heart—but that was entirely irrelevant. He was here, at Starkflower, he was on time, and best of all, he’d managed to avoid getting rained on by the gray clouds overhead. There was going to be a rainstorm, he was sure, but he could deal with that later. Along with any odd fluttering feelings.

The door swung open easily, and Fitz was instantly draped in the smell of baking bread (or bagels, as it might be) and the scent of what was likely wood smoke from the ovens. From his left, Fitz caught a different smell: a whiff of sugar from Ripplefluffs, the next-door cupcake shop. It was separated from Starkflower by a wrought-iron divider, patterned with vines, but the two shops were partnered together.  He’d never been in either shop before; he’d often imagined what it would be like inside. Unfortunately, there had always been some other commitment or place to be. Still, the place felt like home, almost: warm, cozy, and comfortable, as if he’d been there thousands of times and the bakery was just welcoming him back. There was just one thing he couldn't see: Dex.

Fitz assumed that, for most people, Dex would be easy to spot, more or less. Red hair stood out, even if it was just strawberry blond. Fitz, on the other hand, couldn't see red, so there was a chance he'd just missed Dex's face. It was, admittedly, a small chance—there were no more than 20 people in the small shop altogether, and even that was pushing it. Still, he scanned the people again, searching for blue eyes and freckles. Some part of him knew it was pointless; Dex obviously wasn't there. Then again, that didn't mean Fitz couldn't deny that fact for as long as possible. Even if ‘as long as possible’ was only a few more minutes, as he ran his eyes over the other patrons one last time.

So Dex wasn't there. As much as he wanted to stay in denial, Fitz had to accept that. But just because he wasn't there now didn't mean Dex hadn't been here earlier. Maybe he'd written the wrong time on the note. Maybe he'd come in earlier, and then left when he couldn't find Fitz. Maybe he'd just needed to rush out for a moment and he'd left a note saying that he'd be back soon. Fitz just had to find someone who'd been here for a while, most likely an employee, and then he could ask them. If Dex had come in, Fitz was certain almost everyone would have seen him, working color rods or not; it was hard to miss a not-too-quiet, occasionally distracted boy with a tendency to bump into things and stunning blue eyes—aaand focusing. Fitz’s entirely unrequited crush on Dex had no bearing on anything happening right now, at all. He just had to find a cashier who hopefully didn’t look too busy, without getting distracted by annoyingly gay thoughts.

A short, matronly woman stood to his right. She had an apron tied around her waist and long gray hair done in a braid that fell to her hips. The woman, who appeared to be the manager, was telling a customer for what must have been at least the third time that no, they didn’t have any more stew, they’re very sorry, if you’d like to come back tomorrow we’ll have a fresh batch then, miss. Fitz thought she had near saint-like patience; despite the obstinate customer, she hadn’t raised her voice or gotten angry. Despite that, Fitz could see the beginnings of exasperation pricking at the corners of her eyes, so he thought maybe if he gave her a way out, she'd tell him about Dex. Besides, she seemed nice enough. Fitz headed over.

"Pardon me, ma'am?"

The woman glanced over, and he caught a flash of relief before she turned back to the customer.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I must get back to my other customers, thank you."

Without waiting for a response, the woman turned around, braid swinging, hooked her arm around Fitz's, and guided him over to the other side of the shop, near the divider.

"Thank you for the escape, child," she said, releasing his arm and dusting infinitesimal particles off her apron. "Now, what did you need?"

Fitz, who had been caught off guard by her reaction, took a few seconds before he answered.

"Um, I'm looking for someone. His name is Dex?"

"Dex? Red hair, freckles, blue eyes?"

"Er—yes." Fitz wanted to ask how she knew Dex but didn't really want to get off-topic. Dex's personal life was none of his business either way.

"Unfortunately, I haven't seen him today. You must be Fitz, then?"

Alright, now he really was curious, and perhaps a little suspicious too. Who was this woman, who somehow knew both Dex and him, especially since he'd never seen her before?

"Yeah, my name is Fitz. How did you know? And how do you know Dex?"

"He's a regular here," she said, as if this were information everybody knew, "and he talks about you."

Oh. So that was how.

Fitz almost couldn't believe her. Dex hated him with a vengeance; why would he ever spend any time thinking about Fitz, aside from when they were forced to interact? But then, if Dex really hated him, why had the boy invited him over to Starkflower at all? All of it was far too complicated for a Tuesday afternoon, and Fitz would much rather not deal with it. He was just about ready to leave when behind him, the woman spoke.

"You make a very cute couple. It reminds me of Lilli and me, when we were girlfriends."

Fitz whirled around, shocked.

"I—He—We're not dating!"

She looked at him quizzically, as if to say Really? I was so certain you were.

"It was just—I needed some help on my homework—Dex hates me—we would never—"

"You're rambling."

"Dex and I are not, nor will we ever be, dating." Fitz finished emphatically. He couldn’t make his feelings go away through brute force, but perhaps if he tried he could at least make them a bit less obvious; hopefully, that would also convince this woman Dex wasn’t dating him. Fitz didn’t stand a chance with Dex, no matter how much he liked him, and he didn’t particularly want to be reminded.

"Alright, child." It was placating. Fitz would feel mildly insulted if she wasn't being so nice about it. "Here." She snatched a bagel from the shelves. "On the house. Go sit down, Dex should be in soon."

“I—”

The woman pushed the bagel into his hand.

"Take it."

“I—ma’am?”

“No need for the formalities. Call me Calla. Now go, find a table before they’re all gone.”

Fitz bobbed his head silently. Then, trying to reclaim his wayward thoughts, he claimed a nearby table and prepared to wait.

Dex knew he was late.

In his defense, it wasn’t really his fault. He couldn’t have known that Mr. Bronte would have pulled him into an entirely unplanned meeting about his Comp Sci project. There was a super cool tech program at Foxfire, and Dex had longed to get in since he’d enrolled. However, every student who wanted to get into the program had to create and present a tech project, whether it was software, hardware, or both. Dex was making a more efficient way to organize school records, and he was proud of it. It was good; he deserved to be proud of it. But Mr. Bronte didn’t see it that way.

He doesn't really think it's good enough either, but he's not getting into that now.

So, he was late because apparently an A- in English was ‘concerning’—he knew he had to do better, but once again, not getting into that—and now he had to rush. Dex snatched his stuff and careened out of the school gates, heading for Starkflower.

He'd already been horrible to Fitz earlier because of the whole colorblindness thing in chemistry. Standing him up would seem a little extra cruel, especially since Fitz already thought he was an insensitive prick.

Not that he could stand Fitz up anyway. Because this wasn't a date. So he couldn't stand Fitz up, because this was not a date where people could stand other people up or anything.

Point was, he was late and that was rude. No matter what he felt about Fitz, Dex couldn't just keep him waiting. He had to hurry, if he didn't want to be later than he already was.

If he'd checked his watch, Dex might have seen that he was only ten minutes late, more or less. Even still, the talk with Bronte had already felt like hours, and he didn't have a sense of time anyway. For all he knew, Fitz had already left.

Wait.

Dex skidded to a stop in front of Starkflower, a sudden realization hitting him. Fitz probably had already left. There was no reason for the other boy to believe anything good about Dex. He'd been incredibly rude since they'd met.  So when he hadn't shown up, there was no reason for Fitz to believe he was coming. Actually, Fitz probably thought Dex had played a really cruel prank on him. But then, should he even bother going in? Maybe if he just left now, he wouldn't have to deal with the guilt. Dex knew it wasn't the right thing to do. But it was easier, and Dex was tempted.

And then the weather chose for him. The gray clouds hovering above had finally decided to rain. Dex felt one drop, then another, and then suddenly it was pouring. All his thoughts were abandoned in favor of not getting soaked, and he ducked into Starkflower to avoid the storm.

The bell chimed as he swung open the door. Instantly, he was surrounded by warmth. Smells of baking bread permeated the air. Dex felt himself relax. He was in Starkflower: familiar, comfortable, and safe. That was when he heard it.

"Dex!"

And oh, he knew that voice, and oh, he was in trouble. Dex whirled around to see Fitz, seated at one of the nearby tables with his laptop out. Fitz looked at him as if the other boy had always expected him to be there, and it was a shock, yeah, but also kind of nice.

"Fitz?" Dex's disbelief colored his voice. He regretted it immediately when hurt flashed over Fitz's face.

"Did you not want me here?"

"No, I—I was surprised you waited. I haven't really given you a reason to believe in me."

Fitz visibly brightened, smiling.

Oh wow, he's really cute—no. Stop it, Dex thought. He'd had one barely-even-decent interaction with the boy and the minor knot of feelings in his chest had already spiraled into a massive crush, which would almost certainly go unreturned. What was he doing? Why was he doing this? And most importantly, why couldn't he stop?

He was pulled out of his slightly panicked questioning when he heard Fitz.

"Dex?"

"Oh, yeah."

He pulled up a chair and sat down. Fitz didn't move. There was a moment of silence where neither of them knew what to say. Dex was starting to fidget uncomfortably when Fitz asked, "Aren't you going to get your laptop?"

"I, uh, don't have a laptop," Dex responded. It was kind of embarrassing, but his family didn't have money to spare and he wouldn't ask that of them.

There's more silence. He was definitely fidgeting now, fiddling with his thumbs like that would help anything.

"Uh, sorry?" Fitz said.

"Sorry for what?" Dex responded, and maybe the words came out too harsh or Fitz was just embarrassed, but Dex knew he'd said something wrong when Fitz abruptly stared down and didn't look back up.

They were back to silence. Dex wished he knew what to say or what to do and he honestly wished he could do anything at all, but he felt frozen. Guilt, anxiety, and completely misplaced affection tangled in his chest, and the mess they made was strangling him. He had to apologize for what he'd done earlier; that was why he'd originally invited Fitz over here. But how was he supposed to do that, when every time he met Fitz's eyes, his brain got sidetracked with a useless crush? It was completely unhelpful!

Okay, understatement of the century there, but at this point Dex would have settled for anything.

"So, um, science?" he said, grasping at anything to break the silence. Apparently, anything even included homework.

"Science," Fitz replied, with audible relief.

He pulled up the website on his laptop, and then Dex remembered.

"Do you, uh, um, mind if I, uh—"

"Oh, um, yes, sure, no, I mean, go ahead."

Dex nearly groaned out loud. He was never going to get through this. At least, not with his sanity intact. Fitz scrolled down to the first picture, where a deep red flame was burning.

"Dark yellow?" Fitz guessed, leaning in closer as if that would help him see the color. Their shoulders brushed, and Dex's breath caught in his throat. There was electricity was running through his veins, and the feeling terrified him.

"Dark red," Dex corrected, pulling back as quickly as he could. His voice was thick, choked up, and doing nothing to convince Fitz he wasn't in love. When Dex glanced up, though, he saw nothing but confusion and what almost seemed like betrayal. He hadn't been expecting either of those. But what he focused on were Fitz's eyes. They sparkled, like crystals caught in the light. It felt like Fitz was looking into Dex's soul, and it scared him but he never wanted it to stop. Dex wanted to know the person behind those eyes He wanted to do things like take that person out for coffee, or buy him flowers, or—

He looked away.

Yeah, he was never going to get through this.

Fitz cleared his throat. "Next?"

"Mhm, yeah, sure," Dex said, staring intently at the paper, even though he already had his answer written down.

Fitz scrolled down again, except this time, Dex knew better. He made sure that they never touched, and definitely never made eye contact. If he wanted the slightest chance of surviving this, he would have to make sure his crush didn't interfere.

Fitz wanted to scream.

Dex wouldn’t look at him. He wouldn’t even meet Fitz’s eyes. What had he done wrong? Was it because he’d been insensitive? It was because he’d been insensitive, wasn’t it? He shouldn’t have assumed. How was he going to fix this?

How could he fix this, when Dex wouldn’t even look at him?

Fitz didn’t know what he was supposed to do. The only thing he could think of was to bury his head even deeper in their chemistry homework. But, of course, he couldn’t do that without Dex either, so Fitz was stuck in this awkward game of avoidance. Tension hung thick in the air, and it was stifling.

If he were anyone else, he might have been able to handle it. Fitz was sure even Sophie, the most oblivious person Fitz had ever met—seriously, how had she and Keefe managed to miss their feelings about each other—would be able to manage this better. Then again, Sophie was so unperceptive she might have missed the awkwardness entirely, which wasn’t really a solution so much as it was a bigger problem. Keefe, on the other hand, would have made a joke about how “it looks like we’ve got . . . chemistry” or some other equally blatant pickup line.

Unfortunately, Fitz wasn’t clueless enough for Sophie’s solution, nor was he reckless enough for Keefe’s. His solution wasn’t really a solution, just more of the same: focus on your work and pretend nothing was there. It wouldn’t work for long, and it didn’t actually solve anything, but it was the best thing Fitz could come up with.

Dex, however, was making that solution especially hard.

Every time Fitz leaned over to check his answers, Dex leaned away. Every time Fitz leaned in to move to the next picture, Dex pulled back. It was as if Fitz had strep throat or another incredibly contagious disease. He’d thought the two of them had gotten over their animosity. Dex didn’t still hate him. Did he? No, he’d been through this train of thought already and it wouldn’t get him any more answers. Fitz just had to finish this. They were on their last problem either way, so it wouldn’t be long. Fitz stared at the image, and saw what looked gray-yellow to him. Although, it could have been green, red, or actually gray-yellow.

“Green,” Dex told him.

Boron, Fitz wrote.

There was silence.

Fitz didn’t want to leave now. He felt like he couldn’t; there was too much left unsaid. But Dex was already putting his papers away and if he didn’t say something, Dex would leave and nothing would ever be solved. Fitz had to say something.

So he did.

“Dex?”

Dex stiffens.

"Yeah?"

"I know—" Fitz cuts off, lost. There's a pause.

"You know what?"

And it’s like those words break his brain-to-mouth filter because suddenly words are spilling out of him and he can't seem to stop talking.

"I know you don't like me, alright? And I'm sorry for whatever I've done to you that made you hate me like this, but I thought we were over that. I thought we could be friends. You brought me here. And now you're back to actively avoiding me. Why did you tell me to come here? Did you just want to say "oh, sorry, that thing in chem was a fluke and I actually still hate you”? I can't even lean closer to my laptop without you pulling away. I don't understand, Dex."

Fitz took a shuddering breath, reined his emotions back in, but he had one more thing to say.

"You won't even look me in the eye."

And he was done. He'd said everything. Whether he got answers or not, this was in Dex's hands now. To be honest, he wasn't really expecting answers. Dex would probably get defensive, or just leave. But what happened next was neither of those things.

"You have pretty eyes."

Wait. What?

Had—he heard that right?

"I have pretty eyes. You think I have pretty eyes." Fitz sounded like a broken robot, but he was dumbfounded, and he needed a little clarification.

Dex mouthed wordlessly for a second, before shrugging, helpless.

"Yeah."

"I—is this why you've been—"

"Yeah."

"So, you—do you really?"

"Uh, yeah."

They fell back into silence. Fitz knew he had to respond somehow, but—how? All his feelings were coming to the surface, and he couldn't deal with any of them. As he stared blankly, searching for words, Dex shouldered his backpack.

"I'm sorry. I'll go." Dex said, and turned away.

"Wait, no." The words near burst out from Fitz. He couldn't remember thinking them, or taking a step forward, for that matter. But he was here now, staring at Dex's back and knowing in his bones that he was not willing to lose this whatever-it-may-be, this might-be-something, this chance. Fitz took a deep breath, scraped up whatever confidence he could, and called on his inner Keefe.

"I think you have pretty eyes too."

Dex turned back to him at that and blinked once, twice. Then, of all things, he started laughing. For a moment, Fitz thought Dex had gone insane. “I don’t see what’s so funny?”

More laughter.

“Dex, are you alright?”

Dex raised his hand in the universal sign for "give me a second" as he tried to get himself under control.

"It's just," more laughing, "that's the best you can come up with?"

Alright, that stung a little.

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not eloquent enough for you."

"No, I didn't mean that," Dex said, still snickering. "But this is such a mess.  I hated you for more than a year because I thought you hated me, and I've been awkwardly avoiding you this whole time because I'd just found out you didn't hate me and I was sure you would if you found out I had a massive crush on you, and I wasn't expecting this. And, I mean, now—" Dex gestured in front of him, as if to indicate everything, and started laughing again.

And well, when Dex put it like that, it was kind of funny. Fitz found himself smiling, and then chuckling, and then laughing right along with Dex at the absurdity of the situation. The rain was pounding at the walls and people were starting to give them looks, but they didn't care. For now, it was just them, in the corner of Starkflower, laughing at the sheer weirdness of the world.

(And if Lilli came in just at that moment with a kiss for Calla and a tray of free cupcakes from Ripplefluffs, drawing the attention away from the two boys in the corner because she and Calla knew just how long Dex had been pining, well, they could thank her later.)

It took forever for Dex to finally stop laughing. Every time he got close, he'd look at Fitz and remember, well, everything. That would start it all over again, and it would be at least another minute before he could even begin to calm down. It was a vicious cycle, but eventually he did manage to breathe, and they tried to get back to work.

Fitz remembered he had a bagel, which was cold but still good, so Dex cut it in half and Fitz took one. Chocolate chip bagels were Dex's favorite, and the fact that Fitz just so happened to have one wasn't lost on him. It especially wasn't lost on him when he went to go get cream cheese and Calla winked at him. Still, even meddling bagel shop owners couldn't change the fact that Dex wasn't done with his science homework, thanks to analysis questions. He'd planned to leave once they'd finished the actual image part of their science homework, but this storm and his lack of an umbrella gave him some extra time here, so he might as well use it. And besides, he probably should have been thankful. Calla and her wife had probably had a pretty big hand in this, whatever this was. He still wasn't going to call it a date, but Fitz liked him, actually liked him back, despite everything. Dex felt like he could do the impossible, like defy gravity or fly to Saturn or kiss—

Anyway. Homework.

He wouldn't get much done though because, a few minutes into question one, Dex realized something.

"Wait."

"What is it?" asked Fitz.

Dex stared at him, stunned.

"Did Mr. Leto know?"

Blood rushed to Fitz's face and Dex's jaw dropped. He'd been right.

"He did know! That was why we got paired for every single project in English that year!"

Fitz looked mortified, and Dex wondered if he'd done something wrong.

Then Fitz muttered, "I may or may not have written a poem about your eyes. He came to his own conclusions."

"That was about me?"

Dex was honored. He remembered that poem; everyone in their class did. It was maybe the best piece of writing that had ever come out of a 9th grade English course. Knowing that the mysterious blue-eyed person had been him—well, it was nice.

Fitz, who was growing more embarrassed by the second, finally sputtered, "Well, it's not like I'm the only one who was found out!"

Dex wanted to say “yeah, you were the only one,” and hide all his awkward stories about Biana trying to matchmake— for someone so decidedly single, that girl could spot a crush a mile away. Even still, fair was fair, so Dex inhaled through his teeth and said, "Biana tried to set us up once."

Fitz stared, all prior embarrassment forgotten (although his cheeks were still a little flushed and Dex found it infuriatingly cute).

"My sister did what?"

"Well . . ."

And so Dex told his story. And then Fitz told another one, and Dex told another one, and by the time they realized what time it was, it was already 5:15. If Dex didn't go now the late bus would leave without him, and he'd end up having to sleep at school. Unfortunately, the rain hadn't let up at all. If anything, it had gotten harder, and Dex still didn't have an umbrella. He was going to get soaked, but he didn't really have any other choice. Dex swept his things into his backpack, stuffed his sweater on top for some meager protection against the rain, and prepared to be drenched.

As he headed for the door, Fitz caught his hand.

"What are you doing? It's still raining outside, you'll get wet."

Dex shrugged and pointed to the clock.

"My bus leaves at 5:30, raining or not. I can't really wait."

"But it's pouring! You don't have anything to protect you?"

"In my defense, the weather forecast said nothing about rain. Besides, you don't have anything either, do you?"

Fitz didn't reply to that, but he didn't have to. His wince was answer enough.

Behind them, someone coughed politely, and Dex looked over to see Calla, holding a brightly patterned umbrella.

"If you need an umbrella, I can lend you mine and use Lilli's, but we've only got the one."

Oh, thank goodness, Dex thought. "I could kiss you right now," Dex blurted out, before realizing what he'd said. "Um, I mean—" Fitz cut him off and Dex had never been more grateful. "We'll take it, thank you." Calla smirked and handed Dex the umbrella. "Have a nice walk, you two." Heat rushed to his face, and the ground suddenly grew very interesting. Dex was intently studying the pattern in the wood when Fitz laid a hand on his arm. "So, I'll get my stuff?" "Yeah, sure," Dex responded.

He watched blankly as Fitz scooped up his backpack. The other boy headed to the door, sweeping it open and bowing dramatically.

“My lord,” he said, grinning, and suddenly all the awkwardness in the air was gone, like a breeze had blown the clouds away. Dex bit his tongue to hold back his laughter and tilted his head up imperiously.

“Your services are appreciated,” he replied, striding through the doorway and opening the umbrella. Rain pattered down on everything, tapping a drumbeat on Calla’s umbrella. Dex smiled back at Fitz.

“You coming?”

They walked back in silence, but it was companionable silence, the kind that hung easy between them. The quiet tranquility wrapped around Fitz like a warm blanket, and he reveled in the feeling of being there, with Dex, who against all odds actually liked him back. He would think he was dreaming, but even his dreams couldn’t come up with something like this.

It was cheesy to even think it, but there was nowhere else Fitz would rather have been. It felt as if he could stay there forever, in this moment, with rain tumbling down all around them and Dex's hand in his. Time might have been frozen, held in limbo, forever floating in a little street a few minutes from Foxfire, with two boys holding hands under a brightly patterned umbrella.

Of course, time wasn't frozen and they couldn't stay there forever. The campus was just up ahead, and Fitz could already see people getting on the bus. Dex had to leave or he'd miss his ride home. That didn't mean Fitz wanted him to go.

"I have to . . ." Dex trailed off, but he made no move to let go. Fitz squeezed his hand.

"Here, take the umbrella. You'll need to give it back to Calla later." Fitz pushed the handle towards Dex, who released his grasp on Fitz's hand to grab it. Something small and petty inside him whined at the loss. Fitz ignored it.

"But, aren't you gonna—" Dex gestured to him vaguely. "You know?"

Fitz was about to say something like "No, I'll be fine" or "Don't worry about me," but Dex was standing there looking at him, worry and concern and something else in his eyes. Fitz stared at those eyes, bright blue eyes, truly blue eyes—he was so uncertain of color most of the time but he knew, deep in his bones, those eyes were blue—and he chose to believe that something was the same warmth he'd been holding in his chest this entire time.

They were inches apart.

Maybe it was bravery. Maybe it was only sheer recklessness. Maybe it was the fact that Fitz was a hopeless romantic who'd always longed to kiss someone in the rain.

But whatever it was, it was what pushed Fitz to lean down those last few inches and softly, gently, touch his lips to Dex's.

The world glowed. That was the only way Fitz could explain what kissing Dex felt like. He'd imagined it thousands of times, but nothing compared to this. Nothing even came close. This was something entirely new and different and wonderful. This was everything turning into light, bright as sunrise, and all around him the taste of Dex’s lips on his, the feel of Dex's hand in his hair, the sense of Dex whirling and growing and surrounding him.

When they broke apart, Dex was staring at him like there was nothing and no one else in the world.

“So.” Fitz cleared his throat. “Are we, um, dating now?”

The blinding smile Dex gave him when he said yes was the most beautiful thing Fitz had ever seen.

(He would come up with an explanation for Biana later, as to why he was soaking wet. For now, though, he would simply stare as Dex ran to the bus, still awed by his wonderful, amazing, magnificent boyfriend, and so, so very much in love.)

[themockingcrows]

Two Fates, Two Kingdoms Ch. 11: Safety In The Unknown

AO3 mirror: [X] This chapter is SFW.

Though the winter rips and tears at castle Prospit, life continues to move within it. The down side, however, is that the hostilities brewing towards Dave from the other members of staff over his special treatment now have less filters in their way and even fewer witnesses. Luckily, he is not alone. Aside from John, his siblings, and the curt librarian, the seamstress Kanaya continues to be a shining beacon of friendship and comfort. He might not know what a moirail is, but he certainly enjoys having one.

    Castle Prospit remained locked in the grasp of swirling snow, and Dave remained locked in with John, much more at ease with his lover than anywhere else in that slow crawl of a castle. True, he could occasionally get the heir to leave the room, go to meals with his siblings or brave the icy air to step out into the garden space and admire just how much the world had changed. ..Till Dave inevitably wanted to throw a few snowballs and John would quickly retreat like a grouchy cat. It was worth it for the brief moments of fun, but not worth it to wind up alone again in his play till he inevitably followed John back upstairs.

    They had begun to work through the books Karkat gave them together, but it was slow going. Those things took focus that neither of them had when they were in the middle of trying to avoid hibernating like bears, or otherwise distracted by each other, caught up in the privacy the chill afforded them and how appealing sex was in lieu of that. Well. That, and just how much body heat could be generated under the blankets as well. Must faster torn through were the other books that could be read in their own time, John devouring tales of history and adventures and legends, and Dave continuing to eagerly advance through learning to read Prospitian, as well as learning to write the flowery, flowing script with a more accurate hand.

    Mostly. Most of the letters still looked the same, but if Dave adapted them into something a bit more akin to Skaian script, or even better the messy lovechild between Prospitian and Dersian, it was much clearer and less prone to spilled ink and frustrated scribbling. Practice papers were carefully stored with John's belongings, not just to keep them hidden and keep Dave safe, but to preserve the sheer amount of dicks he drew when focused on something or agitated and lost in something he was trying to work on.

    Charming, really.

    Today was a day of changing the books out alone since John wasn't feeling up to leaving his little den. The hallways were cold enough that Dave could see his breath and feel the burn in his throat while walking down certain corridors, cold enough that he actually took to wearing slippers and a loose cloak as he traveled around, able to handle working with less but more than happy to indulge in the soft fabrics and gentle feeling of warmth they offered. Really, anything was a literal breath of fresh air compared to the stifling heat from the fireplace, and the mostly empty halls were relaxing to let his mind wander in.

    He paused by the door to the library, knocking at it with his knuckle a few times before popping the door open and letting himself inside. Formality here was.. wavering, Dave had come to realize. General niceties like knocking, minding manners, speaking softly, etc. were all common place and expected. Full formality like waiting outside to be let in because he was a slave was not. Same as with Kanaya, he expected Dave to let himself in if he wanted in, same as everyone else in the building, and would only change that if he was in the presence of another member of the household. ..Or if Dave fibbed and used the more constant fallback of “Master sent me, I have to follow my orders promptly and this was the quickest way” that obviously annoyed the household staff.

    A re-shelving and inventory was underway from the look of it. Karkat was nestled among empty shelves, unopened crates, massive stacks of sorted books and open crates of scrolls, going down a list he'd written before to confirm against a new list. Different papers indicated the new organization method he planned to put into action to accommodate the new acquisitions, which sections would go where being marked with different colors. A gargantuan project, but one that was perfect to do in winter: more solitude, less people being interested in leaving their rooms as often, and a nice chill to the air if he worked up a sweat. This would probably kill him in the height of summer, or at least make him want to die for potentially getting sweat on the covers.

    Dave adjusted his grip on the books he'd brought to return and approached slowly, clearing his throat.

    “Pardon. I knocked, but you seem really focused. Is it okay to exchange these?” Dave asked. “I don't know which sections you've already removed from the shelves, but Master wanted me to get some new options while he's resting.”

    “Couldn't be bothered to bundle up and drag himself down here, huh? Prospitians and their aversion to cold. It's like watching cats try to navigate a puddle, lifting their paws every few seconds and looking alarmed that there's moisture touching them. In the center of a puddle that they stand in every single year to cross,” Karkat grunted, shifting the stack he'd been working with so he could get up from the ground and dust himself off. “Give them here. I can get a selection for him easily. Next few books in this series, probably another more serious history text. There are actually some new books on ghosts and legends in the crates, but he'll have to be patient, because I'm not digging those out till they're damn well ready to come out and be shelved,” he said, deftly sorting a few of the books Dave held in offer into different stacks before moving to put the rest in their home shelves. Empty handed again, he reached to grab a few others from different shelves and different points in the library, coming back to Dave's side to hand them over before pulling a few directly from the stacks he'd been working with on the floor, yanking quick enough to not have them all topple like a stack of cards and instead thump quietly down to their new positions on the floor.

    “There. That should do him.”

    “And, uh. … And me?” Dave asked quietly. Books were still hush-hush, and the library should be empty, but just in case, Dave was cautious. There were already enough hostilities around him, he didn't want to add even more special treatment to his list of reasons why a lot of the staff was aggressive.

    “Oh. Yes, right, forgive me. My mind's a bit cluttered today,” Karkat said, raising a hand to thump it against his forehead. Stupid, he'd literally just put away a volume in the Dersian selection, that should have jogged his memory but no: muscle memory automatically pulled him through this time. “Are you wanting more of the same series you were working on, for the Prospitian?”

    “Yes, please. They're a good mix of too easy and a bit hard, keeps me on my toes. I'd be fine with whatever you recommend from the Dersian section, however, you seem to have copies of things I've either read and forgotten about ages ago, or things I've not gotten around to reading and didn't know of.”

    Karkat lifted his chin, proud and a little smug. Yes, good, praise his collection more. It wasn't funded by his own coin, but it was maintained with his sweat, blood and affection and each purchase was usually made while consulting him to avoid getting extra copies of unwanted volumes. It was a very important job, after all, and this was truly his domain.

    “And the Skaian offerings we have: need anything more from that yet?”

    “Oh, Gods, no, not yet,” Dave said hurriedly. “We're, uh. ..We're still working on that.”

    “I imagined you would be, it can be a bit much to get through if you're not practiced in translation habits,” Karkat said, bypassing the Skaian books on his shelves and pondering what else to grab for Dave. Eventually, he settled on a fat volume of tales from the borderlands, collected by a traveler as he walked the entire border of Derse and wrote of what he saw and who he met. All their stories were varied and colorful, with notes added to clarify or expand on the authors thoughts while he was being told these tales by others. Dave ran his fingers over the cover a few times when he got hold of it, adjusting his grip on the other books to do so. After so much flowery writing, it was really soothing to see something in the familiar letters of home. The cover was even a soft, dusky purple.

    “Thank you, I've not read this one either, though it appears that it'll be a good one to plow through, Dave said finally, once he realized that he'd gone quiet. “Thank you for keeping so many books from Derse on your shelves. I know you would have anyway, but even so: it means a lot to me.”

    “Of course I'd keep books from Derse on the shelves, especially with the war going on. That's usually the first thing to go during any stupid conflict: books. Scrolls. History. Keeping that safe hopefully prevents MORE stupid mistakes in the future, or at least prevents the past from being erased. Keeps the enemy human, whether people want that or not.”

    “..You know, I'd not thought of it that way?” Dave admitted. “Our library at home is stuffed to the brim as well, but I never really thought about why that was. Huh.”

    “Leave it to a fucking prince to not consider the importance of humanity,” Karkat said, rolling his eyes. “It literally took you being in chains to realize that. This is amazing. If all royals were in shackles for a year, they'd probably all change their tunes. But that'll never happen,” he said, waving his hand. “Now, do you need anything else, or are you going to stand here lurking and staring at me while I figure out which shelves go where and what to tell the carpenters to start building for additions? It might not seem like it to you, but I'm working, and I'd like to keep it that way.”

    “Oh. No, no, these should be fine,” Dave promised, moving the stack a bit to make the Dersian volumes less noticeable against his chest.

    “Excellent. ..Oh. Wait, no, one thing,” Karkat said suddenly, darting quicker than Dave had ever seen him move to go get something out of an opened crate further back in the room. Another purple cover, though this one was soft and silvery with its script in Prospitian. “I need you to deliver this to Kanaya, if you would. I've also gotten some correspondence for Jane from a Skaian publisher.. but I think it may be easier to have someone else deliver it. You're already running errands, I don't want to pile more work onto you. Those stupid towers are hard to climb when you're weighed down.”

    “A publisher in Skaia?”

    “Yes, she sent several letters pestering this fellow half to death about some pony book she was enraptured by. I think back when you first got here, actually? She translated most of it herself in a single chunk because she was so taken by it. It's modern, or at least fairly modern, so it was much easier to get through than the book you and John are in possession of. Apparently, the publisher wrote back, or sent note from the author. Or is telling her to leave them all the fuck alone and stop heckling them,” Karkat chuckled. “I'll send it with someone else though, like I said. The delivery for Kanaya, though, I'm insisting on. You need to spend more time with your moirail, Dave, take advantage of the slower months.”

    “I'm going, I'm going. I've just been. Busy. Very, very busy.”

    “I already can guess how busy you've been because I'm not blind, and I'd prefer some strong spirits and a boar bristle brush to scrub that image out of my mind with as soon as possible,” the man said with a sudden grimace. “Now, get moving. I've got important work to do, and you're distracting me, Dersite. Jingle on your way. Beat it.”

    With a half joking bow, Dave shuffled back and away from the librarian, back out to the halls. He could see the delivery for Kanaya was written in Prospitian, but between the color and the title, he was a bit confused. ..It seemed familiar. Was this a book from Derse as well, or another Skaian volume that had been translated? Why did it seem so familiar, what was he missing? Dave wished there was a way to jog his memory as easily as to jog his steps along the corridors, chin up and ignoring the few stares and mutters he caught in the more populated areas that he jingled his way through in pursuit of his delivery.

    “Look, there's the Dersite,” he heard said softly. “Unaccompanied again.. Acting like he's so much better, just because he's the heir's favorite plaything.”

    “I don't think he's nearly vicious as the rumor is, considering how much he's already gotten from us.. Especially unarmed. He can't fight back either way, not in chains. If he fought one of us, we'd get a slap on the wrist for disruption, he'd probably land in the dungeons or at the end of a flogger,” another voice said, amused.

    Just keep moving, don't engage, and everything would be fine. It was only when he had to interact with the others that things got tense. Dave could deal with people staring and muttering easily. Didn't stop him from shuffling a bit faster, hurrying on towards Kanaya's the more voices he heard commenting behind him.

    Not safe. Very not safe, and they were absolutely fucking right. The most he could do was shove back, more would be pushing his luck even though the family enjoyed him. He couldn't risk pushing that letter too much, or that favor might fall away in the face of keeping peace among the ranks of the house staff. A slave acting above a hired servant was unheard of, and the special treatment he got was no secret.. but he wouldn't be able to fight back. Not safely. And certainly not well in numbers.

    Ignore it and hurry on, there was nothing he could do but bear and ignore.

    Dave calmed himself when he reached the seamstress' room, taking a few deep breaths to slow his heart before he kicked the bottom of the door a few times.

    “Kanaya? It's Dave, could you open the door for me, my hands are a bit full. I've got a delivery for you, too, from Karkat,” he called. The door wouldn't be that big of a struggle to open on his own, but eh. This saved steps, really. Announce his presence and get to see his friend even sooner, AND get the door open without any struggle.

    Though she didn't call back to him, he heard the immediate shuffling and some clatters from inside as she scurried around, soon popping open the door for him. She was wearing a few layers, all topped with a warm looking shawl in several bright colors draped over her shoulders, and a smile lit up her face.

    “Oh! Dave, I knew you were coming eventually, but I wasn't sure just when. Please, come inside and set all those down. You said something from Karkat?” she said, standing back to hold the door open for him, gesturing towards her work table. She'd been working on something, though from the many pieces he wasn't able to tell just what or if it was a single thing or multiple small items.

    Relieved of his burden, and hearing the soft click of the door behind him lock the safety inside, Dave picked up the top book and turned to hold it in offer.

    “He said this was for you?”

    “Ahh, yes, finally! I'd ordered this some time ago, after hearing about it from some of the maids. I'm so glad it's finally here, I was worried he wouldn't order it for me after all,” she sighed, taking the book and hugging it tight to her chest.

    “What is it, though?” Dave asked, pulling up a stool and perching on it, leaning on his elbows over the table to relax. “A novel?”

    “Oh, yes, it's uh. Well. A romance novel, actually.”

    “Is it any good?” he asked, grinning at the way she was measuring her words and enthusiasm.

    “Terribly good, from what I've heard. I loved the last book by the same author, and this one is supposed to be even better,” she said, pulling the book from her chest to look at it.

    “Is it a really good romance novel because it's really romantic, or because it's really romantic and full of lewd things?” Dave teased, and his smirk only grew bigger when the book immediately went back to her chest and her cheeks lit up pink.

    “It's... in Prospitian anyway, you wouldn't understand it that well,” she said, but returned the grin in embarrassed amusement. “But considering the maids are the ones who got me interested in this author to begin with, and it's spreading like fire in the staff quarters, the answer is yes.”

    “To which one?”

    “Yes.”

    “Kanaya you're being difficult,” Dave pointed out.

    “And you're being short and nosy,” she teased right back, reaching the book out to thump him on the head gently on her way past him to tuck it away safely for later out of immediate view. “Were you just coming for the delivery, or will you be staying a little while?”

    “Staying, if that's alright with you. It's not as stifling in here, and John's not expecting me back immediately. ..And it's been a while since we just got to sit and chat, mm?”

    “I don't see the point in burning up wood and coal like a wildfire when I can keep a comfortable flame in the grate and just keep on layers. It's not like there's a shortage of cloth happening,” Kanaya said. “Since you're staying, come. Let's go back to a more cozy spot and have something to drink while we talk. I've got some snacks as well, if you're alright with letting them warm by the grate for a little bit or don't mind eating them cold.”

    At Kanaya's offer, Dave stood up once more and followed her towards the back of her work space before being tugged gently down to the floor. The heat was rising from the nearby fireplace, but the floor around it was cozy and comfortable, and where they eventually perched was also more comfortable by virtue of the tons of fabric scraps that she had accumulated into a fairly neat pile atop a large tarp. More rolls of fabric in their entirety were settled here and there, some soft, some bulky and more for being rested against, as well as bags tagged with different colors of wool.

    “This is quite the nest,” Dave said with a soft whistle, nestling down and relaxing once Kanaya offered a cup and poured some well steeped drink for him, already sweetened and tinged paler with milk. He gave it a brief sniff before enjoying a long sip, savoring the flavor and spices. This was definitely not a Prospitian or Dersite blend that he was familiar with, but it made for a perfect atmosphere once Kanaya settled down against his side and sighed.

    “Isn't it? I've been keeping scraps and remnants since starting this job. There's no sense in throwing any of it away, there's always a need for sudden patches, or matching additions in tiny quantities, or blankets, or stuffing, or.. well. Too many things to name, really. So I keep them when there's more than a palm full, and with how many projects come through here for me or other assistants, there is no shortage of that. It also makes the most comfortable sit in the castle, short of one of the royal's suites. And it's all mine.”

    “You're not wrong. I've been in everyone's quarters but Jake's and the king's, and so far, this is a definite contender,” Dave hummed.

    They sat in silence for a time, drinking their drinks and just enjoying being side by side again. Dave could feel the tension melting from his bones, and from the way Kanaya's features relaxed, she was feeling the peacefulness as well. They ate a few small, baked pocket sandwiches over light conversation and catching up, sating their hunger and swapping news. Not too much excitement, and the most she was looking forward to as far as work went was spring arriving. So much flowy fabric to whip out, light colors and pastels that would be flooding in if the fashions from the other cities were going to hold true and make their way to the capital.

    Eventually though, they wound up in a lazy cuddle while talking, natural as could be. Kanaya had shifted to her side and rested her head in her own hand to idly nibble a few dark colored cookies, and Dave had settled to lay against her waist with his upper back, toying with a soft fabric scrap and running it between his fingers over and over. The conversation had turned from lighthearted things to more serious subjects, such as the similarities of what they had gone through during training, the pain and the ache and terror of it. The problems they'd faced, and some that Kanaya faced even now that she'd been free for so long.

    “Nobody would fault you for being homesick, Dave. I don't care how much love you may have for John, being ripped away from home and brought somewhere else doesn't just go away. You still feel the burn to return to home. I still feel the burn to return to Alternia, even if I'm not sure it would be so safe to do so anymore.. I hope you can see Derse again, or at least get in contact with your family somehow.”

    She was a treasure. An absolute treasure who listened, who had wonderful things to say, and who said them in just the right tone to make him not feel foolish for bringing it up in the first place. It was a raw wound to open up, many of the things Dave had to say, but she listened and calmly responded when it felt right, or just kept her hand moving to stroke at his hair or along his upper back to encourage him to keep going.

    No risks. No problems. Just them talking in a comfortable, warm, safe space. It was like being with John but.. different. Wonderful in its own way.

    “It's not quite homesickness, though. It's foolishness. I don't want to just go home and see my family, or even just go and stay safely in Derse forever. I want to take John, too. It's.. it's complicated, now,” Dave said, sighing. “When I first got here, I wanted to die for what they'd done to me, or I wanted to kill them all and escape, or just escape in general. Now though, there's John. Even his siblings, actually, they've ALL been nice to me. They're considerate, they don't ask me to do more than I feel I can, none of them order me about. They seem to worry about my well being, even, and I can't tell if it's just a favor to John or because they like me at all, but it's all so complicated. I can't have both. I can't have Derse AND John, and I'm not willing to give either of them up.”

    “Perhaps if the war ever ends, you can. Wars are messy things, but the thing about them is that the more things change, the more they stay the same. And the more they stay the same, the more they change. There may be open borders again someday. Perhaps you could settle right in the center of the countries,” she chuckled. “Or flee to Skaia even.”

    “Two princes on the run, to be wed,” he said, though his stomach gave the briefest, happy flip. Married to John.. that would be a lovely thing someday, perhaps. When pigs flew and he wasn't acutely aware of the fact that, as things were right now, he'd most likely be forced to sit and watch John marry someone else in a political marriage. The same situation would await him in Derse someday, of course. The expectation to marry, to sire children, to further the crown and the familial line was not an uncommon thing in royal homes. At least in his situation, the bride would not be a mystery.

    ..But it wasn't a bride he wanted, when all his heart sang for was a tall man in shades of blue and gold with messy dark hair and a smile like sunlight. It was an impossible predicament. And it wouldn't be bearable, if John were to marry. Dave wasn't sure he'd be able to handle what he'd be expected to cope with, and the very idea made the earlier happy flip turn to nausea.

    “..It's just a dream, though. One I can't have, Kanaya. It hurts to even think about,” he admitted. “And even now while there is the consolation of at least having John here, and of having your friendship to see me through, there is still no peace for me. Things could be so much worse. I was prepared for so much worse, but I was not expecting it to be from servants,” he said.

    “...Servants? What are they doing that's so bad?” she asked with a frown, brows lifting. “Or who is doing the wrong thing? Someone will be getting pins left in their alterations for them to sit upon.”

    “Most of it's not that bad. I'm just whining,” Dave said with a shake of his head, turning the fabric in his hands to start unraveling bits of the thread that made it up, focused on the new task intently as he spoke. “A lot of jeering and nasty things being said to me, or about me being a whore and a beast. I've had water thrown on me, I've been tripped multiple times, shoved, trays knocked out of my hands or jostled so I'd spill. ..They're angry I'm treated the way I am. I understand in a way, but at the same time, I don't.”

    “You're the easiest target of all for unhappy, vicious people. Though, depending on which ones are doing the worst of it, they could just be like that in general. Some of the employees here are.. not that friendly, really, I'm glad they don't interact with the public at large when events are held here,” Kanaya tutted. “And as for WHAT they're saying, you know as well as I and John and everyone else, that it's not true. You're not a beast, even if you pretend to be one with your biting and glaring, and you're obviously not a whore. You're just.. in a really bad circumstance that someday you may be free of. Were it my world, my power, I would do this for you in an instant. It would already have been done.”

    He smiled a bit, reached back a hand to squeeze Kanaya's when her empty one went to touch his hair again. They laced fingers and he sighed a bit, the tension and upset beginning to slip away once more like magic.

    “I think it's gotten worse over time, is the thing. It used to be funny. I'd growl and snarl and show my teeth, and people would scatter and leave me be if I was with John or not. Now though, it's.. it's not. It's threatening. I feel apprehension when I go to the halls and someone starts jeering with no witnesses or guards around. I don't imagine they'd do anything, not more serious than bruises and frustration, but. ..I don't know. There's a definite sense of ill ease lately, and it's gotten so much worse since the festival, I can barely wrap my head around it,” Dave murmured.

    “Try to stick near guards, then. Or try to make John come with you more often. Try to find the staff members that don't do that and be friendly as you're able towards them if you're receptive. Maybe having more people warmed up to you will help discourage the loud, rude ones a bit more than usual,” Kanaya said. “And visiting me more often as well. I can wait for you in the hall sometimes, if we plan ahead what days you'll come. Or even come get you sometimes, if it's as bad as you say. Discourage anything from happening within my earshot at least, same as the library. ..You're loved, Dave. You're cared for by more people than you know, even here, and that will see you through things one way or another.”

    He smiled, pacified, and nodded. It was a stretch, with how he was feeling, but.. it was encouraging enough that he couldn't help but agree with her. It made sense enough for him, calmed him down, and made the situation not seem so bleak.

    He was loved, and that would work things out somehow.

    “Right. Alright, enough of that doom and gloom, I can't handle more serious talks right now, it's exhausting. ..Thank you, Kanaya. For listening.”

    “Dave, you don't need to thank me, this comes with the territory,” she reminded him, amused. “You listened to me earlier as well, and I've not spoken of those terrible things in years. I agree though, it's exhausting. Would you like a bit more to drink, or a few more snacks? I need to get back to work soon, but while you're here, we might as well make a good time of it.”

    “No, thanks, I don't think I could handle anything more. That drink already has me ready to bounce off the walls, it's quite amazing.”

    “Isn't it?” she hummed, though for having had so much she looked calm and peaceful as ever. Must be quite used to it, or be getting some other effect that Dave was being spared from. “My own take on a favored blend, since it's not available here at a sane price. Import prices are ridiculously steep for some of the simplest things,” she tsked.

    “I think.. I think I'm going to head back up to the room now actually,” Dave said. “I'm feeling much better, I'm full of energy, and things finally feel brighter again. I'd like to keep that perfectly in mind when I'm going with my hands full like this, it'll keep me calm.”

    “I'll be seeing you and John either tomorrow or the next day,” Kanaya said when Dave started to slowly get up from the pile of fabric and find his legs once more, shaking the few clingy remnants off his body and smoothing down his clothing. Yes, she supposed it was time to get up, no sense in staying in a pile ALL day after all. “Some new bedclothes for both of you, and some gloves as well. I was experimenting on how to make some nice, light wear gloves for indoors or gentle use and retain some grip, and I think by adding segmented portions of very soft leather to the pads of the hands and fingers will do the trick just fine. I'm just adding the finishing touches on everything, shouldn't be too terribly long, but it'll save you a trip.”

    “Tomorrow or the next day, got it. I'll be looking forward to it,” Dave said, waiting till Kanaya was up to give her a tight hug around the middle, resting his head and cheek against her fondly. “I'll try to visit more often as well, not just for deliveries. I'm sorry I've not been coming around as often.

    “Shhh, don't apologize, things slip around a lot and I know your situation. Though, because I know your situation so well, I do request that you await my arrival fully clothed if possible? John as well. I've seen him bare for measurements many times over the years, I can survive not seeing more than I have to now,” she said as they pulled apart, Kanaya pinching either of Dave's cheeks and tugging them gently before smooshing either side to distort his features when he squirmed and complained.

    “Yes! I will! Geeze, first Karkat, now you. We're not rabbits you know.”

    “Young love: close enough,” Kanaya chuckled as she released him and headed back to her table, adjusting her shawl back into place as she went. “Be safe on your way back, Dave. And thank you again for the book. I'll see if I can find a way to explain the contents easier next time.”

    “Or at all,” Dave snorted as he picked up his books again and opened the door, turning to give her a loose bow out of habit. “Later then. Have a good day, Kanaya.”

    The smile she flashed at him when she waved and he left remained stuck in place for quite some time after, as did the warm, peaceful glow of an early afternoon of contentment spent with a moirail. ..This wasn't like being at home in Alternia, where everyone knew the social customs so well already, the implications, the expectations of the bonding. But considering Dave didn't understand everything about why it meant so much to her, and was still more than willing and capable of filling the part? The way they could relax immediately, and feel that sense of peace?

    This very moment was the closest to Alternia she had felt in years.

[maddiviner]

Regarding the Witchways Alternate Reality Game (ARG) and the Witchcraft Community

First off, let me assure you of a few things.

I myself am a real person and a practicing witch. I've studied magick in various forms since I was a teenager, and while I've detoured into things like ceremonial magick and Thelema, my main focus is witchcraft, and also Tarot (hence the diviner part of my name). 

I've been on Tumblr since September of 2014, and I strive to create interesting, helpful and informative content for fellow witches while improving and practicing my own writing ability and learning more and more about magick. 

So, yeah, I'm not a fictional character, since some folks were asking. I also don't think witchcraft or witches are a joke or game in real life, but magick has a long tradition of appearing in fiction, and as someone who has even verged into pop culture magick before, I personally have never saw a problem with writing fiction about witches, even if it verges into impossible magick.

Christinia (@vaguemagick) and her (admittedly quite creepy) mentor Leda are fictional, though. I know, because I'm part of the ARG troupe that created them, and, in fact, I wrote many of the scripts for the ARG, namely outlines for Chris's blog posts and scripts for the videos that will eventually be posted as part of the game. 

Some folks have been saying they're getting tons and tons of messages from many different blogs that are part of this game, but I'm afraid those messages are either from actual witches and being misinterpreted, or were sent by opportunistic trolls, because there is exactly one blog involved in this (Chris's blog).

Some other characters were planned to show up later and we have accounts for them (empty), but right now, Chris's blog is the only ARG blog in the community whatsoever. 

As well, I do want to note that Chris's blog has not been sending out private messages or asks to any actual witches, aside from those who contacted us via the website specifically asking for a trailhead. The blog in question has been responding to messages it receives and reblogs, but beyond that, there is not, nor would I want there to be, a horde of fictional witch characters invading our community.

And, as you might expect given recent events, it goes without saying that from now on, Chris's blog and all related in-game Tumblr blogs will have a disclaimer on them, and all posts will be tagged with ARG.

The main reason a disclaimer was not included originally was, as silly as it sounds, tradition. As you're probably aware if you've been following this, traditional ARGs (such as I Love Bees, the Beast, and ChangeAgents) did not include disclaimers. 

I'll admit I'm not entirely sure how the tradition developed, but during this game's development we consulted with some ARG players, most of whom said disclaimers break the verisimilitude of the game and that they disliked them. Nevertheless, given things being as they are, I think we can all agree that disclaimers are necessary now.

As you can see from this tag, I've run alternate reality games before with various troupes, nothing major and many of them were quite small. I mention in my bio  that transmedia storytelling is a major interest of mine, and has been for some time. 

I'm also one of those people who often likes to combine my interests, so around fall of 2015, I began thinking about designing a witchcraft-inspired alternate reality game, and gathered together a small troupe to do that.

The idea was to have a game designed by witches, for witches. As in, a game that, while having some fantasy elements, would feature mostly actual witchcraft practices that we (the main creators, witches ourselves) are familiar with and actually practice ourselves. We thought this would be a neat twist on the fantasy genre, which, as I think we all know, usually has very little in common with actual magical practices.

Someone had made a comment earlier that we're treating witchcraft as a joke and disrespecting actual witches. While I understand most of the concerns people are having with interpreting the blogs as real, I must say I can't understand that comment. 

As an actual witch working with other witches on this game, I certainly don't believe I treat witchcraft as a joke, in this context or any other. Witchcraft can and often needs to be light-hearted, but it's not a joke, and, as a witch, I know this. The game is fictional, yes, but I honestly don’t feel like we’re disrespecting witchcraft because we, as witches, have created witch characters. The other concerns, regarding confusion being caused, I do completely now understand.

As alluded to in this post, we conceived of the concept of this game and the basic storyline in late 2015, and spent that time putting it all together, finding people for various tasks, and putting together the puzzles (which, yes, there will be puzzles later on). We had planned to fully launch the game in April of 2016, but that didn't materialize due to financial considerations and the fact that at the time I was impromptu relocating to Poland. We, at that point, shelved the project for almost a year.

A few months ago, I personally began poking at the assets created for the game again, and discussing it with other people who had worked on it. We eventually decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and relaunch it, so we made plans to do that, and created new sites.

 I made a series of posts (visible, again, in this tag) about this, both to the blog @alternaterealitywitch and to @maddiviner, about the site and game launching. Given the positive response I seemed to get from the community with regards to these posts, we decided to go ahead and launch the game.

Unfortunately, as you all likely know, many people felt deceived when the game formally launched (we count the post about the package as the launch, long story) and it became apparent that it was, in fact, just a game.

A lot of people felt it was deceptive and manipulative for us to make posts to Chris's blog that could be mistaken for a real person's account, and at this point, given all the conclusion, I have to concur that it was a mistake. As I've said, all future ARG-related blogs will include a disclaimer. As well, all individual posts will include the tag #ARG.

I really do have to apologize for this. It was never my or anyone on the team’s intention to manipulate or deceive the community, and I was quite naive to assume that most people in the community would have seen the initial posts about this and know the blog was a game. I also must apologize to those who messaged or directly interacted with the character's blog not realizing it was a character blog prior to the package post. 

We were both unaware of what was really going on, insofar as 1) they thought the character was a real person, and 2) the ARG troupe thought they were playing the game, when in reality they didn't know it was a game. 

In any case, I hope this clears things up and prevents any future mishaps or problems. Once again, we're quite sorry about all this, and most of what has happened today was unanticipated by us. In hindsight, many mistakes were made, and we must apologize for our lack of forethought.

On a final note, an apology for not addressing this sooner. We’re scattered around timezone-wise, and many of us had other commitments as well. This all transpired overnight where I am (Poland) and it was only upon waking that I became aware of the confusion.