#takes the biscuit

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

Out of all the times the universe was almost destroyed,

‘The Panopticon Closes’ absolutely takes the biscuit.

[keebokuun]

Don’t push your luck, N!

[destiny-hoodie]

Okay, sooooo.........I had a thought........

[beescake]

i am in love with your sollux i think

sollux love party :]

if you’re interested heres some of my personal fondness thoughts on him.. big warning for the mega long read ahead aye

as we alr know sollux's rejection of participation somewhat mirrors dave's rejection of heroism, but even without getting cooked to completion i still find sollux's character v compelling beyond the fourth wall

as someone who doesnt get a pinch of that Protagonist Sparkle to begin with, he can openly say he wants to leave anytime…. and unlike dave, he actually Can leave the scene anytime. but he can never be truly Free from the story via permanent character death like the other trolls.

his irrelevancy is indeed relevant - he’s there so u can point him out.

while his image is intended to be a relic of past internet subculture, his role is not only about hehehaha being a Chad or a 2000s cyberforum 2²chan haxxor ragequit gamebro.

his continued existence also happens to add a Bit to the overarching themes of homestuck! a Bit that gives him longer-lasting thematic relevance compared to the trolls who could’ve had more character potential but didnt get to survive beyond the main story.

the Bit in question:

his defiance contributes to the illusion of agency (treating characters = people with autonomy). he’s “aware” of it, and that recognition is worth noting enough to forcibly keep him alive as both reward and punishment.

considering how his personality & classpect is designed its definitely a very haha thing for hussie to do LOL. he’s made to be op asf so he's resigned to doing dirty work, gradually deteriorating along the way but never truly dying. as fans have mentioned before, him openly rejecting involvement after a while of grim tolerance is like if the sim u were controlling suddenly stopped, looked up and gave u the finger while u were step six into the walkthrough for Every Possible Sim Death Animation.

but since he’s just a sim… the more he hates it, the more you keep him around. if ur sim started complaining abt your whimsical household storyline you’d definitely keep that little fuck.

but yeah i like that sollux is just idling. the significance of his presence being that one dude who's always reliably Somewhere, root core Unchanged, no individual ambitions (possibly due to fear of consequence?), and design-wise: a staple representative product of his time.

compared to dirk's character, who has aged phenomenally well into the present (themes of control + AR + artificial intelligence, clearer exploration around navigating relationships/sexuality, infinite possibilities of self-splinterhood and trait inheritance), sollux's potential is really... contained. bitter. defeatist. limiting and frustrating in the way old tech is.

the world continues moving on to shinier, brighter, more advanced automated things - minimalist and metaverse or whatever but sollux is still here 🧍‍♂️ going woohoo redblue 3d. (tho personally i imagine his vibe similar to what the kids call cassette futurism on pinterest mixed w more grimy grunge insectoid influences eheh)

conceptually-speaking,

at the foundation of it all, the rapid pace of modern development was built off the understanding of ppl like sollux in the past, who were There actively at work while the dough was still beginning to rise

thats one of the cool things abt the idea of trolls preceding humans! the idea that trolls like sollux excelled back when lots of basic shit still needed to be discovered, building structures like networks and codes from scratch, and humans will eventually inherit and reinvent that knowledge in ways that become so optimized it makes the old manual effort seem archaic, slow, and labour-intensive.

but despite information/resources/shortcuts being more accessible now, much of the new highly-anticipated stuff released on trend still end up unfinished, inefficient, or expiring quickly due to cutting corners under severe capitalistic pressures

meanwhile, some of the old stuff frm past generations of thorough, exploratory and perfectionistic development still remains working, complete, and ever so sturdy.

those things continue to exist, just outside our periphery with either:

zero purpose left for modern needs (outdated/obsolete)

or

far too important to replace or destroy, bcs of its surprisingly essential and circumstantial usefulness in one niche specific area.

which are honestly? both points that sum up sollux pree well.

dramatic ending sorry. anw are u still on the fence or are u Sick abt him like me </3

[incorrect-hs-quotes]

TG: yeah i mean it probably would have worked if i had used a recipe instead of just guessing

TT: You just guessed? It took humans thousands of years to make bread.

TG: it took me like an hour?

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

[prev]

For some reason, Pure Vanilla's dreams always take place in memories. The situations may be different, and the details may be blurred and absurd, built from a collection of fragmented moments spanning his life, but the locations themselves are always familiar.

That's why it is significant, glaringly so, when he finds himself somewhere he doesn't recognise.

It isn't a small room, but it feels smaller because it is hedged in by the dark shapes of bookshelves and chests. A large desk is nestled to the left, and a window sits ahead, clearly large but covered by a thick curtain. It leaves the room swarmed with shadows that seem to watch and breathe, hardly fended off by the feeble efforts of the desk's waning candelabra.

It makes viewing the room difficult. If he had his staff with him, Pure Vanilla would have cast some light, but he hasn't had it in his dreams for a while now, so he makes do with the meagre light he has. It is enough to realise that the room is a mess, the desk chair tipped over with books, scrolls, papers and quills, many of them looking like they were snapped, strewn about haphazardly. There's an inkwell on its side on the floor, spilling the abyss everywhere and soaking into the floorboards and loose paper.

The new location makes hope spark within Pure Vanilla, but it is dampened slightly by the uneasiness born from the visible disarry. "Where..?"

"This is my old study." As expected, Shadow Milk's voice swirls around the room to greet him, and a moment later, he emerges from the nothingness of the pitch-black corner, the edges of his silhouette blending into the darkness.

He doesn't look surprised or irritated at the sight of this time capsule of a room. No, his face is blank, verging on bored, as it often is when relics of his distant past crop up. It is a welcome sight, if only because Shadow Milk has a tendency of being more seriously receptive to questions when he wears that expression.

"What happened to it?" Pure Vanilla asks quietly, his voice bouncing back loud in his ears anyway. He doesn't move from where he is standing, a little wary of disrupting the mess on the floor before him.

Shadow Milk doesn't have the same hesitation, walking all over the littered documents with his arms folded leisurely behind his back. He peers down at them with a lazy gaze, but his voice and smile is light when he responds. "Oh, nothing interesting! I was just terrible at organisation, I'm sure you've noticed."

Well, being more receptive to questions doesn't mean he answers them honestly or in any kind of straightforward manner. The fact that Pure Vanilla is here already feels like enormous progress, because whether Shadow Milk made a conscious decision to meet here or not, his relative calm now must mean that he is willing for Pure Vanilla to see this, even if he isn't willing to explain its history.

Besides, Pure Vanilla isn't entirely oblivious. He has seen scenes like this before, and he can connect the dots himself.

Shadow Milk steps into the ink puddle and drags the abyssal liquid across the crumpled papers – a clearly intentional move, because he isn't bound by gravity unless he chooses to be – as he continues to scan the mess without a care in the world. He pauses at the edge of the candlelight's reach, squinting as he bends at the waist to get a closer look at a stack of bound papers.

Then, he lights up, dropping down to sit on the floor as he picks the papers up with both hands. He sits on the line between the fading candlelight and the hungry shadows, sinking back into the darkness like it is natural, but his eyes are all bright and his smile feels more genuine.

"One of my playscripts!" Shadow Milk announces, almost sounding giddy as he flicks through the pages with an air of fondness he doesn't quite manage to hide. Then, as if he can't help himself, he puffs his chest out a little and starts proudly explaining, some of his extra eyes flicking over to glance at Pure Vanilla. "I had dozens of these lying around. I never had the time to stage any of them myself, but they were extremely popular back then. That's to be expected, since I was the best wordsmith to grace Earthbread. Still am, to this day!"

In the dim, still moment that follows, stretching long and precious, Pure Vanilla doesn't see the Beast of Deceit before him. He doesn't even see the brilliant scholar, the Virtue of Knowledge, not quite.

What he sees is a Cookie, whole and complex and alive and beautiful, and his heart pangs, softly.

Pure Vanilla feels drawn to him, to the glimpse of something real and present, the current evolution of the past that lays abandoned around them, the past he has grown fond of in stolen glances, and suddenly he is moving. He carefully picks his way across the room, which isn't easy with the mess and the dark, but he manages, tiptoeing around ink and paper.

"It's their loss, to not have my genius plays anymore." Shadow Milk sighs dramatically as he begins to leaf through the script more carefully, silently reading it line by line. An edge of bitterness peeks through his tone. "Nobody knows how to appreciate good artistry these days. What more can you expect from little mindless fools?"

When Pure Vanilla sinks into a kneel beside him, Shadow Milk's extra eyes all gravitate towards him inquisitively, even as his main pair continue to soak in the script. The pressure of them drapes over Pure Vanilla like a cloak as he clasps his hands together in his lap, taking a moment to mull over his own words.

"...Perhaps you should try having a more open mind." He says finally, not unkindly. Shadow Milk stops, still as a statue, before turning to face him with a concerning crack of his neck that, despite knowing his habits by now, still makes Pure Vanilla wince.

"Huh?" The sound is flat and loud, too loud for the shrinking boundary of the study, and it is obvious he is offended.

"I've been thinking about you a lot recently, and your situation." Pure Vanilla admits, something placating lacing into his voice as his attention lingers on that beloved playscript to avoid meeting Shadow Milk's sharp eyes. "Have you ever considered the possibility of your imprisonment ending amicably?"

"Huh?" Shadow Milk repeats, his voice more abrasive as his patience dwindles. He heard him perfectly fine, Pure Vanilla is sure, but he must want an elaboration.

"You seem to think the only chance for your freedom is to escape by force." Pure Vanilla explains, glancing up to take in Shadow Milk's face, his brows furrowed and mouth an unreadable line. "But I'm sure a compromise can be made to some degree. The things you have done are too severe to be settled by an apology alone, but- but if we can agree upon a system of redemption and rehabilitation, then–"

Shadow Milk cuts him off with a wild bout of laughter that rips through the study like a clap of thunder, hunching into himself as he unceremoniously drops the script. He tries to cover his too large grin with a hand, his many eyes pinning Pure Vanilla in place with the frantic look crystallised within them.

"You're joking!" Shadow Milk forces out through his stubbornly smiling teeth, voice gravelly and rattling with traces of laughter just short of hysteria. "Do you even hear yourself? No, no, you must be joking!"

"Not at all. I wouldn't joke about something like this." Pure Vanilla insists, seriousness plain on his face as he shifts to face him fully, a little concerned by the reaction. "Good punishments are meant to teach a lesson. As long as you are willing to learn from it, I don't see why your imprisonment couldn't be renegotiated."

The laughter gives way to a cold silence, and Shadow Milk's eyes narrow as he grits his teeth in a half-scowl, hand still obscuring half his face. "You're serious." He says slowly, words dripping with disdain. Then he huffs, shaking his head as his voice takes on a more playful tone. "Don't be silly, I've told you not to overthink things so much. Besides, the Witches," and here, his attempt at playfulness falters under a charged growl, "would never entertain something like that. Cowards, all of them!"

Maybe Pure Vanilla is reading into things, overthinking just like Shadow Milk accuses him of doing, but he can't help hearing a note of hurt in his voice. The fact he brought up the Witches so quickly speaks volumes by itself, and sorrow and pity bubble together in Pure Vanilla at the thought of what Shadow Milk must view as the greatest betrayal.

"...I don't think they'll mind." Pure Vanilla says after a moment of consideration, folding his hands in his lap. "The Witches rarely interfere with the lives of Cookiekind – at least, not since I was baked. Even when you broke the Seal and escaped briefly, they showed no signs of interference."

"Cowards." Shadow Milk mutters again with a tight, sardonic smile. "Afraid of reaping what they've sowed. Of course they don't dare to show their faces anymore!"

Pure Vanilla frowns slightly, but chooses not to comment, glossing past that to deliver his point. "That means the terms of your continued imprisonment solely relies on the Faeries and White Lily, now."

"Yes, yes, yes, do you think I don't know that?" Shadow Milk huffs again, waving an impatient hand as he leans back against thin air. "And? Are you going to, what, appeal our case to our great and wise Guardian?"

"Well, yes, that is the idea." Shadow Milk blinks owlishly at him as if that was a surprise, and Pure Vanilla adds sheepishly. "Not immediately, of course. There are more pressing matters at the moment, and I don't want to add more stress to her shoulders." Then, quietly, more to himself. "...She's going through enough as it is."

The look Shadow Milk gives him is complicated, far too complicated to parse in the sparse lighting. When he speaks, it is weighted with disdain and disbelief. "That's actually your plan?"

"If you're willing to consider it seriously." Pure Vanilla's reply is sterner to express his own determination, a little frustrated by the lack of cooperation, but when Shadow Milk remains visibly suspicious, he softens again and sighs.

Of course he's supicious. Nobody has tried to lend him a helping hand since his fall from grace. To be forsaken like that would make anyone somewhat jaded.

"...Remember what you told me? We are the same." Pure Vanilla begins patiently, keeping his voice calm and soothing as he shifts a little closer to him. "We just fall on opposite ends of the same spectrum. I could fall to darkness, but it is just as likely that you could return to the light."

"Yes, and didn't I tell you that was a stupid thing to say?" Shadow Milk muses mockingly, head lolling too far to one side for his neck to still be intact. And yet, he was playing along, the whole of his attention resting on Pure Vanilla with a sense of intruige. That was enough to encourage him.

"You did, but you also told me that people change, didn't you?" Pure Vanilla continues steadily, not hindered by Shadow Milk's lazy rebuttal. "I understand you meant that Cookies can change for the worse, but quantifiers always exist in pairs, so the opposite is also true. Cookies – you can change for the better."

The flickering candlelight makes the colour of Shadow Milk's face murky, accentuating his flat expression as he straightens his head back on his shoulders with a dull crunch. His eyes burn like shooting stars as he says slowly, overpronouncing each syllable, "Possibilties are never guaranteed."

"Guarantees leave no room for possibilities. Similarly, an endless imprisonment leaves no room for change and growth." Pure Vanilla argues back mildly, and in an attempt to connect with him, he finds himself reaching out for Shadow Milk's hand. He clasps it gently between both of his, pulling it closer to his own chest as Shadow Milk's expression momentarily shutters in surprise.

"You've been abandoned for a long time, and I'm sorry about that." Pure Vanilla murmurs, head leaning closer to make sure Shadow Milk can hear him as he warms his cold, dissolving hand between his palms. "You have done awful things, and you needed to be stopped, but it is cruel of them to bury you alive without any chance to redeem yourself, to condemn you to stagnation."

Shadow Milk doesn't interrupt. His eyes rest squarely on their joint hands, and he makes no attempt to pull away, despite his intial surprise. His expression betrays nothing.

"I know you reject the idea on grounds of impossibility, but I truly believe you can change for the better." Pure Vanilla smiles down at their hands, voice warm and earnest, and it is the truth. He looks up, making sure to meet Shadow Milk's bright, bright eyes to convey his sincerity. "I believe in you. More than that, I care about you."

The word comes out a little shy, but not hesitant. He is making a point – trying to show that even if Shadow Milk may feel like he has been abandoned to rot, that doesn't have to be the truth.

Shadow Milk breaks his stony silence with a click of his tongue.

"You care too much about too many things." He retorts, a taunting lilt filtering into his voice as the corners of his mouth curl upwards. "That doesn't mean much. It just makes you a fool with a bleeding heart."

"And that doesn't make any of what I say less true." Pure Vanilla replies easily, projecting confidence. He refuses to let Shadow Milk scare him off now. "I really do care about you."

He hesitates for a tense second before moving one hand to cup Shadow Milk's cheek, to show him in actions. Shadow Milk stiffens under the touch, but relaxes in the next blink, baring too many teeth in a lopsided grin that dances along Pure Vanilla's palm, still vaguely mocking.

"Really?" Shadow Milk drags the syllables out, pressing his face into Pure Vanilla's hand as his narrowed eyes never waver from him. The darkness creeps over his shoulders, the protection of the old candelabra gradually shrinking. "Why, I didn't think you could be such a flirt!"

"I mean it, wholeheartedly. You can always tell when I lie, you must know this is the truth." Pure Vanilla insists and insists, because it is all he can do, a strange desperation starting to form, now that he can imagine a peaceful solution so clearly. He grips Shadow Milk's hand tighter, but the hand on his face remains carefully gentle. "All I want to do is help you, if you'll let me."

It is important that it is a choice Shadow Milk makes, and not something forced upon him. It won't work if it is forced. Still, as Shadow Milk's eyes grow lidded, Pure Vanilla suddenly can't bear to watch anymore.

"So please," he whispers as he closes his eyes, body leaning forward with the weight of his urgency, "can I...?"

There is a beat where there is stillness, and then Shadow Milk lets out a soft laugh, barely more than a breath. Pure Vanilla feels him move forward, fingers brushing his dough as his hand falls away from his face, and then– then–

Then their lips meet, and his mind goes blank.

The kiss isn't gentle. It isn't harsh or aggressive either. It just is, and just as quickly, it isn't again.

Pure Vanilla's dough is burning when Shadow Milk pulls back, his chest warm like the bowels of the oven, his stomach swooping in pleasant and sickening loops. Overwhelmed as he is, it is horribly difficult to open his eyes, but he is compelled with a need to see his face.

Unfortunately, even when he manages to force his eyes open slightly, there isn't much to see. The candelabra is quickly going out, its retreat inviting in a darkness that Pure Vanilla cannot see anything in, let alone the details of a face. The only proof that Shadow Milk is still there at all is the feeling of his hand in his, and the familiar presence of his gaze.

"You can try," Shadow Milk answers from the darkness, a teasing smirk audible in his words, "if you really think you can convince the Guardian of something as elusive as mercy."

Pure Vanilla nods quietly, certain that Shadow Milk can still see him even if the opposite isn't true, his tongue unable to find words quick enough to answer verbally.

When he wakes up, far later than he usually does and well behind schedule, his face is still glowing with leftover heat. He presses his cheeks into the cool surface of his pillow, and feels something in him settle, satisfied.

I can save him.

[next]

[kyoukris]

by the nine... have u seen her. ?

[flythesail]

I talk a lot about The Soup, but I do love it just on a storytelling level. Food is one of the easiest and most effective things you can include to make your stories feel more real. From a visual standpoint, what's more interesting: a character just sitting there talking to another character? Or, a character talking to another character while they prepare a meal, add a spice, taste it, etc. Even in written form, cooking (or eating) is a fantastic way to expand a scene. It gives you something to describe and gives your characters something to do. In episode 6 in particular, it also serves to humanize Qimir. We go from episode 5 where he's in the Stranger's mask ("what is that?") and killing Jedi left and right to episode 6 where we see him doing... normal things. Taking a bath, making soup, working on a project (fixing his helmet), etc. And in regard to it being a meal he's preparing to share with Osha, you have the idea that food is a universal form of connection. It shows care for another.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

transmascs heyyy transmascs come hither I'm from the tumblr census bureau

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

1x3 | 3x9

[tired-biscuit]

thank you @artmistersealy for yet another stunning piece of art!! i love you, i love you, i love you!

[dragonairice]

Woe. Sri Lankan Miku be upon ye

[the---hermit]

Pre exam screams

[nashvillethotchicken]

Lestat talking about Louis

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

Faerie Cookies are born with a song on their tongue, and a tune in their hearts – a gift from the trees, and the wind, and the moon. Music is baked into their very dough, which is why it is considered the purest form of communication, and why all their records are scribed in sheet music.

It is natural for a Faerie Cookie to hum their own melody when idle, almost compulsive, as if it cannot be contained by their body. Even Elder Faerie Cookie, wise and great, cannot resist the pull. When he serenades the sky, everyone stops to listen and harmonise, his voice strong and breathtaking even among the perfect tones of the voices of the Faeriewoods.

The only Faerie who doesn't sing is Mercurial Knight Cookie.

Really, in all the years Silverbell Cookie has known him, he has never heard a single note from him. He's always found it a little strange, compared to the neverending symphony that is the rest of the kingdom. Even compared to the other Silver Knights, who are more careful about following their songs' urges but still tap the rhythm along their weapons, Mercurial Knight is unique in his absolute lack of music.

Silverbell has only ever brought the topic up with him once, in a moment of pure impulse when he thought it was just the two of them.

"Why don't you sing?" He had asked, words blunt but softened by the sweet harmony of his own tune, melting into the sentence from his earlier humming. His bells had chimed along with it, stopping abruptly when he realised he had spoken aloud, with a little tinge of embarrassment. Still, he hadn't backed down, simply smiling sheepishly. "I've been meaning to ask. I don't think I've ever heard you before."

He hadn't said that it was strange, because that wouldn't have been very nice, but he had still heard it beneath his own words, despite his best efforts.

Mercurical Knight took no offense, though he rarely does with Silverbell. Instead, his expression had pinched slightly with confusion, glancing over at him. "Because there isn't any need for me to. My duty is to the Guardian. I cannot allow myself to be distracted by something trivial like singing."

It had been an earnest answer, and exactly the sort of answer Silverbell should have expected, but he had still found himself surprised. "But how do you ignore the call of your song? I know your oath is your highest priority, but I can't imagine always resisting its call."

Silverbell, himself, feels the pull of his melody at least once a day, if not more. To constantly resist it, he had thought, would surely drive him crazy.

"I don't have a song." Mercurial Knight had replied easily, as if that hadn't immediately shook Silverbell to the core, disbelieving. That was even crazier – no melody at all, not a single note floating within his head? Wasn't that lonely?

Mercurial Knight, who had become very familiar with Silverbell by that point, seemed to read his mind, the slightest amusement in his eyes. "It is as I always say. On the day the Silver Blessing was bestowed upon me, I cast aside everything. My flavour, my scent, and my song. Whatever it may have once been matters very little to me."

Silverbell had been unable to respond immediately, trying to fathom it. During his stunned silence, another voice had arrived to answer in his stead. "Does that not simply mean that the song you now carry is that of the Silver Tree instead?"

Silverbell had jumped a little, startled by Elder Faerie's appearance, and had hurriedly fixed his posture, well aware that he was still on duty. Mercurial Knight adjusted his posture too, though considering it had already been perfect before Elder Faerie's arrival, it hadn't made much of a difference.

Mercurial Knight had hesitated for a moment, before inclining his head in a slight nod. "If you say so, Your Majesty, then I must believe that to be true."

Elder Faerie, in all his brillance, had approached them with grace, a knowing look on his face. Of course, if Silverbell could tell Mercurial Knight had been doubtful, Elder Faerie certainly could.

"You may have not felt the urge yet, but not all songs surface frequently. Even I only feel mine on rare occasions." Elder Faerie had explained, almost gently. "The Silver Tree's song will surely come to you when the time is right."

It was Mecurial Knight, then, that had been at a loss for words, blinking slowly. He had glanced away a moment later to regain his composure, in a way Silverbell would dare say was shy. "...Thank you for your kind words, Your Majesty, but it truly doesn't matter to me. Silverbell was asking me about my song, that's all."

Elder Faerie had hummed in understanding, looking towards Silverbell for a split second, before returning his attention to Mercurial Knight. "Well, that doesn't make my words any less true." Then he had smiled, an elegant, mysterious curve. "There's no rush, of course, but I do hope to hear your song someday. You know, I have a feeling both of your voices would harmonise quite well."

Mercurial Knight had, somewhat helplessly, declared that he would be honoured to share his song with Elder Faerie if it ever arose, and that had been the end of it.

Or maybe this was the true end of it, because the opportunity to share his song with Elder Faerie had now been swept away by the winds of time, never to return.

Faeries do not mourn. To return to the soil beneath the Silver Tree is what awaits all of them, eventually, so they do not mourn. They only celebrate and honour the lives that were lost, and to do that, they organise a grand feast.

The atmosphere is light and jolly, a celebration of Guardians both new and old, and Silverbell is lingering by Mercurial Knight's side, a cup in his hands. Usually, he would have flitted off to mingle with the others by now, but after everything that has happened today, he feels like he should stay with him, at least for a few moments more.

The Silver Tree stands tall behind their backs, the evils within trapped securely once more, and its shadow falls upon Elder Faerie's final moments. Silverbell's eyes linger on the place where they watched him disappear. Inexplicably, it does not feel like he is gone.

A melody, low and stilted, imperfect, begins to drift in the air, curling around them. It takes Silverbell a moment to realise it, and when he does, he lets out a tiny gasp.

Mercurial Knight is singing.

He turns to watch him with wide eyes and, mortifyingly, they feel damp as he does. Silverbell doesn't cry – his voice is too high, and his eyes naturally dewey, so he hates to makes himself seem any weaker when he is a perfectly capable knight – but it almost feels like a near thing.

After all, music is the purest form of communication, and he is hearing Mercurial Knight's song for the first time.

It takes Mercurial Knight a moment to find his footing, but when he does, his voice smooths out, running rich like liquid silver. All Faeries have voices designed for song, so it is no surprise that it is beautiful.

Mercurial Knight does not look at him as he sings, steady but still quiet. Instead, he holds his glaive perfectly straight, his gaze lingering on an invisible grave. It is bittersweet, a gift come too late, but the song itself is not sorrowful, because the Faeries are not in the habit to mourn.

No, the tune is powerful and majestic, determined and confident. Before long, Silverbell finds himself drawn into it, his bells tinkling on beat as he sings along.

As it turns out, Elder Faerie was right, as he always is. Their voices blend together wonderfully, slotting atop one another as if they had been waiting endlessly for the opportunity. They sing, and sing, and sing, and though they barely look at each other, Silverbell feels closer to Mercurial Knight than he has ever been.

He hopes, somehow, Elder Faerie is hearing their duet. It's dedicated to him, after all.

[s0ddap0p157]

i am going,,.l INSANE W THE LACK OF RUST CONTENT ON HERE,,...,...

some ihatemyson + jimmy biscuit doodle :3