#that's all it is. I promise there is no deep state puppet master making them do this

[meezer]

oh yeah because the supreme court right now is doing SUCH a good job upholding leftist, democratic values. another well thought-out take from a children's cartoon icon 👍

[vampimich]

Some of my Carlo’s HCs

This is just a HC I wanted to share regarding Carlo and his interests. The idea came to me as I was playing and wearing the Workshop Master’s Workwear and realizing that maybe that is just how Geppetto always dreamt of seeing his son. And then the thought that Carlo probably dreamt for the same as a child hit me as train.

(This is basically just me rambling about how Carlo initially wanted to be a Workshop technician, and why he never confessed his feelings for Romeo.)

Being Geppetto’s son, I believe he was born with a huge curiosity, creativity and imagination. I clearly see him tinkering with every toy, radio and device in his house. Pulling them apart just to see how they worked and then putting them back together as they were or even creating new things in the process. BUUUT (and a big but) he was also interested in the stalker’s life.

He loved stories about their achievements, their great deals and how they saved others or hunted for treasure.

And I fully think that Carlo had all the potential to be an overachiever child. If life had been different for him, he would have pursued both careers. Living as a Stalker but using everything he learned as a Workshop Technician to create gadgets, weapons, equipment, anything really, to help in his line of work.

But we all know that wasn’t how the story ended, right? And that was mainly because of his old man.

I would say that when still living with Geppetto , his father used to praise him and encourage him whenever he created something or tinkered with any stuff around the house.

But even this “support” and “praise” he offered his only son was half-hearted because the famous craftsman was obsessed with puppets. And even if Geppetto himself worked in any other invention or craft, it would revolve around puppets one way or another.

And being the self-centered person that he was, he very much expected for Carlo to follow his exact footsteps. So yes, he was proud of his aptitude for craftsmanship, but he would always threw comments like: “What if you created your own puppet, son?” Or “Maybe if you modify this here, we could give a boost to puppet’s strength”.

And when Carlo stood his ground stating that his invention’s purpose was something completely different or that he was not interested in anything related to puppets, Geppetto would just be dismissive, losing all of his interest in his son’s projects and just throwing him empty compliments so he could back to his own work after that.

And this of course strained the father-son relationship even more and made the young child to come to hate puppets, since they were not only keeping his father from him, but now he also wanted to force them upon his life. And we have been told how stubborn the boy was, so I can clearly imagine him creating more things non-puppets related , or pretending he was a stalker and had completely ditched the idea to go the workshop technician route just to spite Geppetto.

Because, even if deep inside of him he craved for his dear father love and approval, there were some things for which he was not willing to back down, like his interests and passions. (But without realizing he would let his father to have some small wins like his hair style and what he was allowed to wear for example, which didn’t bother him that much and it gave him the move needed approval he was looking for).

So at this point and despite the differences in opinions and the constant bickering between the two because of Carlo’s projects, he was still on his way to become a technician-stalker but it all changed for good once Geppetto abandoned him in the Monad Charity House.

For the first few nights, in which Carlo must have been completely hopeless and heartbroken, I’m sure he considered just doing everything he could to make his father happy. Maybe if he used his talents to work on puppets, maybe if he promised to became a technician specialized in puppets, his father would take him back… spend time with him… tell him that he loved him.

But before he could completely give into this this idea he was introduced to Romeo, a boy who shared his same interests in the Stalker’s life. And for once, Carlo felt that he was not alone anymore and that his dreams were valid. There was someone else who shared his passion, and who didn’t try to change his focus. Romeo just accepted him and his ideas and plans as they were. He sometimes offered his own point of view, but he was never dismissive and he always considered what Carlo created or came up with.

So during these days Carlo’s interest in the stalkers path grew bigger and bigger. And the relationship the boy had with his father strained even more. I can imagine the old man visiting his son sporadically or taking him out of the Rose State to take him to social gatherings and special events (because of course he would be the kind of father that brags about having the perfect child even if he doesn’t even know what or how exactly that child is doing). And in those few encounters they had, Geppetto surely would throw comments expressing how he could not wait for his son to graduate and become a technician so they could work together, and this finally broke the final straw in Carlo.

His father didn’t care for his own interests. Now he was sure that it didn’t matter if he changed his focus completely to please the technician master, Giuseppe would never take him back home because he was completely focused on his own work. He just wanted to avoid parenting by so he would have more time for his puppets. It would be ideal of him if his only son became a technician as well so he could brag about how much he was like him.

And now with these feelings in his heart, Carlo would do everything in his power to go in the complete opposite direction of his progenitor’s wishes, even if that meant denying a part of himself he knew he was, and he knew he loved as much as his dreams of being a stalker.

Romeo noticed the very exact moment when this decision was taken as Carlo came back to the charity house and threw all of his prototypes and creations into the trash. And even if he tried to pretend it was only so he could focus completely on becoming the best stalker in the world, Romeo saw right through him and tried to convince him not completely ignore that passion of him, but Carlo refused. And even if he always died inside to tinker with stuff he found or to bring to life an idea he had, he forced himself to forget about it, which pained him, but at that point he just wanted to have zero common ground with his old man. (Not really, tho as he still wished things could change between them, after all he was still just a child looking for his father’s love.)

And as part of this long HC I can also add that Carlo had really strong feelings for Romeo. He kinda noticed Romeo had feelings for him too, but he didn’t acted on these feelings.

Why?

Two reasons mainly.

The first one: when he was younger, he was afraid of what his father could say about it. Geppetto had voiced time and again how he was supposed to marry a high class lady, since they were part of the high society too, and give him wonderful grandchildren.

Carlo couldn’t care less for girls at that age but it was an idea engrained so deep into his mind that he felt his father would distance himself even more from him or abandon him completely if he knew he was in love with a boy, who happened to be an orphan with no social status whatsoever. So he just pretended the feelings were not there.

But the feelings were there and they grew stronger as the spent more days together. And with time (and all the fights he had with Giuseppe) he decided that he didn’t give a damn about what others or his own father would say about him having a relationship with whoever he wanted.

But his graduation was coming closer and he needed to focus on finishing his studies. After all he needed to become the best stalker in the world so he could forge his own path and ensure that him and Romeo would not have to deal with the Stalkers faction’s bullshit going around. So he would wait after graduation to confess.

And here is where reason number 2 comes in.

Graduation drew nearer and he was all grown up now. And even if he had such a horrible relationship with his father, Carlo was still desperately looking for his approval. He wished they could somehow patch things up. He desired that Geppetto finally saw him for whom he was now, and not for who he expected him to be. Then maybe he could go back to creating and fixing stuff again, then maybe his old man would see it was worth spending time with him.

So when the date came closer, they asked Carlo what he wished his necklace to be engraved with, to which he decided to leave it blank. His first thought was to give it to Romeo, but he also wanted to give it to his father, as a token of a new start for them. He almost had it engraved with a message for the famed workshop technician but something inside of him was telling him the man would disappoint him again.

So he would left it to fate. His heart harbored hope until the very last moment, but his fears became true as Geppetto didn’t show up. This enraged Carlo to new levels, and in a fit of rage he quickly engrave the necklace himself with the famous. “To Romeo, Your friend C. Thinking that when his father found out about this, he would feel jealous and miserable for having been denied such a precious memento.

He then proceeded to give the necklace to Romeo, who was over the moon with the precious memento. He was happier than Carlo had ever seen him. And in that moment it dawned on him, that even if he had initially thought of giving the necklace to his dear friend and love interest, he had actually given it to him because he wanted to hurt his father.

And that pained him. Romeo didn’t deserve that. He thought he didn’t deserve being with someone with so much daddy issues, someone who constantly put up messing up with his father as a priority, instead of making the guy he was in love with and that made him so happy, happy as well.

So he decided to hold onto his feelings a little longer.

He promised himself that he would become more than a legendary stalker, and once he did, he and Romeo would flee Krat. They would go somewhere where he was not the son the son of Geppetto, master technician; where there were no more puppets, no social classes, no anything. Somewhere where he could forget about this burdens, somewhere where he could love his friend and live together with him, the adventures they dreamt as kids. Somewhere where maybe, he could allowed himself to be that creative child that he once was and that he craved to be.

Once he did, he would be ready to offer Romeo what he deserved. And so he made that goal his new purpose in life.

But we all know how this story ends. With a tragedy. Both taken by the petrification diseased, but both being given a second chance by that which Carlo hated so much, puppets.

And while P will never be Carlo, I believe that besides his personality he inherited some of his “feelings”. Like how he was so keen on getting Geppetto’s love and approval, or how he reacted when Romeo’s ergo called him Carlo, (or even how he proved the boy inside his P-organ wrong when he could feel his ergo feeling awashed by sadness when Geppetto died, when Carlo had tried to convince himself he couldn’t care if his father died.)

And if I might add, I think P, would spend a lot of time with Eugenie and Venigni after the alchemist’s defeat , learning everything he could from them as inventors and craftspeople, because this as well, is part of Carlo’s personality shining through and finally being able to do through a proxy what he denied himself for so long during his first life.

Well that was long but it’s finally out of my system. Thanks for reading till the end! (Also, sorry for any mistake, English is not my first language :p)

[ofthecaravel]

Heaven In Time

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3: Bleeding Hearts, Angel Voices

Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka

Summary: The last supper. Or is it?

Tags: Religious trauma, hella guilt tripping/mentions of religious upbringing, internalized homophobia, sliiiiiight slut shaming, sibling fighting, slight sauciness

Words: 10k

A/N: As promised, here's the playlist, as well as the last chapter of this little series. Thank you all so much for being so sweet about it and I'm so happy you liked it!! Tell me all your thoughts!!! OH also, I'm aware that only Catholic priests really wear clerical collars, but I decided to include it because Josh is dramatic and would think it looks cute. Okay enjoy

~~

“This is it?”

“Yup.”

“Wow. Somewhere along the way you failed to mention that it’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“It’s practically sinking into the lake, Dan.”

Already crabby, Sam really wanted to be able to trash the house looming in front of them. But for all its ghosts and lonely corners, Sam couldn’t write off the fact that his childhood home (and Jake’s new permanent place of residence, apparently) was and had always been a sight to behold. It wasn’t particularly flashy with its modest white paneling having been frayed by weather and stained with mildew, and it certainly wasn’t modern by any means. However, with the silver maples conspiring around it and a lakeside view from the bottom of the hill it rested on, the house with all its flaws and farmhouse style charm was enough to make Danny’s eyes widen. 

“I didn’t know my parents had moved,” Sam noted softly, heart racing as he observed his brothers’ cars in the driveway and wondered where his dad’s station wagon was parked now. 

“I’m sure Jake will fill you in on everything,” Danny assured Sam as he parked next to Jake’s crappy Volvo. He cut the engine and studied Sam’s apprehensive expression out of the corner of his eye, selfishly hoping that Sam would call the whole thing off and they could drive off towards the loving embrace of Danny’s own childhood home just beyond the state border. He knew his parents and sister would absolutely adore Sam, but he wasn’t sure that Sam’s brothers would welcome him as readily.

“Okay,” Sam blurted, smacking his hands against his thighs and letting out a fast exhale. “Quick overview before we go in.”

“Right,” Danny nodded. Honestly, he could use a refresher. It was always a struggle to get Sam to talk about his family like this.

“Josh is the oldest,” Sam started, beginning his list of points by marking them on his fingers. “Technically. He’s older than Jake by, like, I don’t remember, a couple of minutes. Super friendly, loud as fuck, took up my dad’s pastoral duties after he got deep into the televangelist bullshit that I’m sure he’s still doing now. He was a natural, of course, given that there’s nothing he loves more than the sound of his own voice.”

“Harsh.”

“Dude, trust me. You’ll get what I mean. Anyways, you’ve met Jake. Sort of. He’s very…passionate, which you’ve seen. Kind of hot headed, very one track minded. He basically runs the whole ministry from the shadows, even when Dad was still pastor. Josh gives the go ahead, but Jake’s the organizer. He’s busy 24/7 and has been since they were, like, 12.”

“Doesn’t sound very sustainable,” Danny commented. Sam let out a laugh and shook his head.

“It is not,” Sam agreed bitterly. “But he likes barking orders and playing puppet master, so I guess it works for him. And, I mean, school and youth group pretty much taught us that there was no other way for us to live other than doing church shit all day every day, so I can’t say I’m surprised he turned out this way.”

“Pretty relentless, huh?”

“Yup. Especially when your dad’s running aforementioned church and giving you shit for doing anything, I don’t know, childlike? Or for just enjoying stuff?”

“Definitely explains why Jake was such a dick about your cute ‘fit,” Danny said. “Those values trickle down if you let them, I guess. I still don’t think you had to change, by the way.”

“I definitely did,” Sam muttered, looking down at the plain jeans he’d pulled from his suitcase and the thin flannel he’d buttoned over his chest after their backseat tryst. “Josh would’ve lost his shit. No way he’d go full ‘Ooh, look at me, I’m a man of God and that means I get to preach with corporal punishment’ route, but he’d sure as hell think about it if I showed up in those shorts.”

“Baby,” Danny lamented, heart sinking as he watched Sam fiddle with a button while wearing a sullen expression. “We don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” Sam insisted, reaching for Danny’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “For, you know, closure.”

“Okay,” Danny relented, still hesitant but trusting in Sam to know when enough is enough.

“Okay,” Sam echoed. “Okay. Okay, let’s do this.”

Sam pulled Danny in for a quick kiss of courage, bounced once in his seat, let out a nervous sound and then threw open the door and climbed out. Danny chuckled and got out, locking up the truck and watching with adoration as Sam shuffled towards the peeling front steps. 

-

“One second!”

The voice came booming through the rattling front door after Sam had given it a timid knock to the beat of three. Almost instantly, Sam’s nerves flared with electrifying panic and he spun to face Danny.

“Actually,” Sam declared in a rushed, reedy tone. “Fuck this, let’s go.”

“What?”

Before Sam could drag Danny down the stairs and bail harder than anyone has ever bailed before, the door swung open with a melodramatic bang and then there was Josh. Danny could immediately see the startling resemblance between him and Jake, but there was something particularly unique about Josh that immediately set him apart. Danny assessed his tidy curls and the clerical collar nestled snugly at the base of his neck and knew it must be these physical differences, but he stood there puzzling nonetheless. Josh’s face was lit up with a plasticine cheer that seemed to be his resting expression, but at the sight of his deserter younger brother turning to him like a deer in the headlights, his face morphed into uncharacteristic shock. Once again, Danny stood in awkward silence as the useless mediator. This time around he had the good sense to step to the side before the situation devolved.

“Oh,” Josh said simply, his graceful hands rising to cup at the sides of Sam’s face with practiced theatrics. “Oh, praise be to God. Sammy. You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Sam repeated, already faltering under Josh’s fiery gaze. “Hi.”

“I can’t believe it,” Josh breathed, tears glittering in his eyes as he shook his head with wonder. “I just can’t even believe it’s really you. It is, right? Or are you some agent of the Lord sent to test my faith in His protection of you?”

“Pretty sure He’s not worried about your faith, Josh,” Sam muttered, grasping Josh’s wrists and lowering them. “I’ve been protected just fine. It’s me, I swear.”

“Thank God,” Josh blubbered, throwing his arms around Sam and pulling him into a crushing hug. Despite it all, Sam accepted it gratefully, crossing his arms behind Josh’s back and holding him just as hard. This was the reunion he’d been dreading the most, but his shame was temporarily assuaged in the comfort of his brother’s embrace.

Danny kept his silence as they hugged, but eventually Josh caught his eye and appeared to register that there was someone on the porch other than Sam for the first time.

“I’m sorry, I’m being rude,” Josh began after he let Sam go, wiping a tear with the heel of his palm and presenting his other hand to Danny. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Danny,” Danny introduced himself, giving Josh a firm handshake and smiling nervously. Even though so few words had been exchanged, Danny had to admit that it was enough to feel that Josh’s presence could quickly become overwhelming.

“Daniel,” Josh grinned, pleased. “I assure you our home tonight will be no den of lions.”

“Of course,” Danny smiled, completely disbelieving of Josh’s sentiment. “Pretty sure that was revealed to me in one of my many visions. …That is what Daniel did in the Bible, right?”

Josh’s laugh erupted out of his chest and he clapped Danny on the arm with an approving grip. Sam shared a look of surprised amusement with Danny, whose shoulders flickered with a shrug as Josh came down from his laughing fit.

“Good man,” Josh wheezed. “Ah, that’s funny. Am I right in assuming you’re Sammy’s companion in the travels I’m sure he’s had? The travels I simply cannot wait to hear about?”

“Correct.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” Josh beamed, flashing his wide smile back on Sam. “I knew this would happen, you know. That He’d send you a guardian angel to watch over you. I prayed for it.”

“I’m truly blessed,” Sam agreed, giving Danny a private, bashful smile while Josh became temporarily distracted by propping open the door.

“That you are,” Josh professed, gesturing into the house as he crossed the threshold again. “All of us are, really. Now I don’t want to keep you waiting on this drafty old porch, please, come in, come in.”

Josh went in first, flying ahead of Danny and Sam as the door closed behind them and the house swallowed them whole. 

“Here we go,” Sam whispered, nearly inaudible. Josh guided them, humming and singing under his breath as he reached to graze his fingers against the walls of the hallway lined with crosses of all sizes and finish.

“It’s going good so far,” Danny whispered back. “He likes me.”

“Wait ‘til he finds out what kind of guardian angel you are,” Sam murmured. Danny flushed and snaked his arm behind Sam and gave him a pinch on his side, only inches away from the situationally appropriate angel wings messily inked on Sam’s lower back. 

Sam bit back a muffled squeak and smacked Danny in the arm. He was ready to send another flirty whisper his way, but when they emerged in the kitchen, Sam froze up once again at the sight of Jake stationed at the stove. Jake’s hair had been relieved of its outdated ponytail and skirted over his shoulders in messy waves, swaying with motion as he tended to a pan.

“When you said surprise guests, I was certainly not expecting a surprise like this!” Josh cried, shaking Jake by the shoulder. “You drive me nuts.”

“You drive me nuts, it seemed only fair,” Jake smiled. “I’m surprised you saw me come home acting the way I was and didn’t immediately know Sam had something to do with it.”

Sam let out an offended little exhale from his nose and Jake finally regarded him and Danny, renewed tension stretching between them all as he gave them a curt, impersonal nod.

“You really came,” Jake noted plainly, gaze lingering on Sam before turning back to the stovetop, pushing sizzling green tomatoes around the skillet.

“You invited us,” Sam reminded him, cautiously approaching and watching him work. “Enthusiastically, actually. Is this Grandma’s recipe?”

“Yup,” Jake answered flatly, still refusing eye contact as the oil snapped and leaped when he flipped the tomatoes.

“It smells divine,” Danny piped up. Jake gave him a side eye that Danny honored with a nervous, polite smile, but Jake ultimately shut him down with empty air. 

“It’s all divine in this house,” Josh followed up dreamily. 

“Well, hopefully it doesn’t taste like ‘disappointment’,” Jake muttered pettily, bringing up Sam’s words from the gas station. Sam sighed and took a step back from Jake, who filled his space by moving from the pan to open the oven, poking noisily at a covered tray. 

“Come on, Jake,” Sam groaned. “We come in peace. I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”

“And I don’t want this catfish to char,” Jake countered. “Scoot.”

“I’ve scooted, thanks,” Sam frowned, taking another step back. “Why are you acting like we’re showing up uninvited? You literally asked us to come.”

“Hey, what has gotten into you two?” Josh interjected, finally absorbing his twin’s clipped tone. “We should be celebrating. And we have company, so if you could save us all the trouble of picking apart your rude semantics, that would be lovely. I mean, honestly.”

Jake let out a huff and continued working to pull dinner together, plunging the kitchen into icy silence as Sam sneered at the floor to prevent any tears from creeping up on him. Danny wanted nothing more than to hoist him up and carry him out of the house, but he watched helplessly as Josh came over to Sam and gently pulled him out of the room.  

“You two can hash it out later, okay?” Josh whispered, and Sam nodded as they crossed the threshold into the wood paneled dining room. The dining table was set with four crisp placemats, all of them centered in the middle of the table under the flowering hands of the chandelier. It was odd for Sam to see, considering he’d never known the table to be set without a placemat at the head of the table for his father. 

“Sorry,” Sam apologized, falling into old habits. “We ran into Jake at a gas station and it ended…weird. You know he can be kind of-”

“Snippy?” Josh finished for him, pulling out a bundle of cutlery from a drawer. “Righteous? Yes, he can be. Lord knows I know. He’s working on it. Been working on a lot since you left, actually. Some days I swear he out prays me.”

“When did Mom and Dad move?” Sam asked, changing the conversation while robotically accepting and laying down silverware as Josh handed it to him.

“Two months ago,” Josh replied nonchalantly. “Turns out Dad’s broadcast made its way to Nebraska and amassed a following there, so they picked up to be closer to his flock.”

“Nebraska?” Sam exclaimed, nearly dropping the bundle of forks in his hand. He swallowed the revelation with a shiver of relief and an equally strong wave of grief, no doubt felt by the lonely little boy he carried inside him. Sam realized with blank shock that there was a very good chance he would never see his parents again.

“So, what, they just up and left?”

“Yeah…”

“For Nebraska?”

 Danny walked in then, unable to withstand Jake’s angry clanging for another minute.

“What’s in Nebraska?” Danny asked innocently. 

“Our parents,” Josh explained with a weak smile. “I trust Sam’s told you about our Dad’s post preaching venture?”

“A little,” Danny lied. He’d heard plenty about what the Kiszka patriarch had been up to since retiring and passing on the torch of preacher to his oldest son: good ol’ American televangelism, complete with the incensed ramblings and an addiction to being on screen. From what he heard from Sam, this came at the cost of quality time with his family. Sam had assured him the blow was softened significantly considering they’d all been fruitlessly clamoring for his affection for their entire lives and were long accustomed to the scraps they’d been dealt.  

“I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised,” Sam laughed flatly, shooting Josh a knowing look. “Lord knows Dad has the means to afford it.”

“Oh, here we go. I don’t want to hear your conspiracy theories, Sammy,” Josh replied sternly. “I have faith that every drop of his viewer’s donations go right to the Convention.”

“Right,” Sam muttered. “Just like the college fund did.”

Josh stiffened, bright eyes suddenly cast in shadow as he set a glass down on the table. Danny’s eyebrows silently rose in curiosity. He’d never heard mention of college.

“Always the firecracker, Sammy,” Josh said with a brusque laugh, recovering with shocking speed and slipping his cheerful mask back on with ease. Sam rolled his eyes and carried on doling out glasses and napkins, but Danny found Josh’s abrupt mirth disturbing and studied him from where he leaned in the doorway. Danny had felt quite certain in his assessment of Jake when they’d met, but with Josh, he couldn’t quite pin what it was about him that kept Danny’s attention.

-

Dinner had gone off without a hitch, much to the surprise of everyone at the table. There was a bit of a rough start when a chilly direction from Jake had Danny positioned at the seat farthest from Sam, one that also conveniently faced the portrait of Jesus on the wall. But after they’d all sat down, Josh had led them in a tearful round of grace praising Sam’s safe return and then insisted on hearing every single detail of their cross country journey. Knowing that “every single detail” would send both his siblings into cardiac arrest, Sam had regaled them with only the most entertaining stories. Danny felt his heart swelling in his chest watching Sam settle into his natural element, rolling his wrists in the air and grinning like a madman as he detailed engine mishaps and eccentric motel squatters. The biggest surprise of all was Jake slowly warming up as the conversation rolled along, never contributing more than a few words at a time but eventually offering up the smallest of smiles and persistent eye contact as his little brother rambled away.

“I just can’t believe it,” Josh noted brightly at the tail end of one of Sam’s stories. “You’re so bold now, Sams. I remember when you were such a little scaredy cat too scared to get the communion wafers from the back room by yourself. Now you’re out there roughing the wilderness and pushing cows off the road.”

“Trying to push cows off the road,” Daniel corrected with a smile, remembering how hard he’d laughed watching Sam push with all his might against a cow where its herd had blocked the road somewhere in Texas. “Emphasis on trying.”

“I pushed that big one with the brown spot!” Sam argued. “You saw! He went running!”

“He felt bad for you, Sammy.”

Jake let out a snort that set them all off into their own fits of laughter, save for Sam who open mouth scoffed and mouthed threats to Danny across the table. Despite his faint indignation at Danny poking fun at him, Sam felt a great rush at the light hearted mood that had settled over the room. For a split second, he thought of a world where they could eat dinner like this on a regular basis, but he held himself back from indulging in that hope and laid it to rest in a far corner of his mind as quickly as it had risen.

Sam found it to be a wise choice when the laughter died down and Josh, completely unknowingly, killed the mood.

“Is it a hassle to find churches near motels?” Josh asked with sincere interest. “Or is it nice to settle for one day a week when you’re always driving around all willy-nilly?”

Jake let out another snort and Sam and Danny made awkward eye contact across the table.

“They don’t go to church, Josh,” Jake answered for his brother. Josh blinked and Sam bowed his head, suddenly very interested in tearing at the seedy heart of the tomato at the end of his fork.

“I suppose we can be few and far between,” Josh nodded. “I don’t think it’d hurt to peek in on a general Christian service, though. It’d do the job if the Baptist radio stations don’t reach wherever you end up.”

“They don’t want to go to church, Josh,” Jake continued. Sam kicked him under the table and Jake shot him a snotty look, raising his eyebrows haughtily as Josh turned to Sam.

“Is that true?” Josh asked, sounding a little hurt. 

“Did nobody here read the note I left?” Sam mumbled childishly, keeping his eyes down as Josh sputtered and looked between him and Danny. Danny couldn’t muster anything more than an embarrassed cough, also looking down but keeping his eyes firmly glued to Sam.

“I did, about a thousand times,” Josh insisted, shifting his entire chair to face Sam. “But I figured you’d, you know…well, maybe I don’t know.”

“I bet there’s a lot we don’t know,” Jake added, kicking back when Sam kicked him again. 

“What are you, 12? Stop it,” Josh snapped, adding his own kicking leg to the fray. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You should’ve seen what he was wearing when I saw him,” Jake said conspiratorially.

“Jake, shut up!” Sam hissed. “You’re so fucking prissy.”

“Woah, language!” Josh scolded, throwing his hands up. “Everybody take a brea-”

“He was practically naked. From where I was, I actually thought he was a girl.”

“Okay, Jake, give it a rest,” Danny snapped, anger finally giving him the courage to speak up.

“I’ll “give it a rest” when you stop necking my brother in broad daylight, how about that, Florida?” Jake snarled, tossing his fork on the table with a furious clatter and crossing his arms. Danny’s mouth clamped shut at the same time Josh’s fell open. Sam let out a strained howl, staring daggers through his brother’s skull as Jake sent them right back.

“God, Jake, you’re so, so,” Sam stammered, insults piling in his mouth. “You’re so fucking jealous!”

Jake didn’t reply, but his eyes fluttered from the sting of Sam’s words. Sam had hit a nerve with sharp precision and they both knew it.

“What on God’s green earth is Jake talking about?” Josh asked, eyes glued to Danny where he wilted in his chair. Danny drew in a breath like he was about to answer, but they all found that the silence he gave instead was just as clear as if he’d spoken. 

“Sam?” Josh asked, a little desperate. For some reason, he didn’t sound as deeply disappointed as Sam had imagined, and certainly not as mad as he’d feared. 

“I hate you,” Sam whispered across the table to Jake, ignoring his other brother searching his face for something he’d missed entirely. “I said I didn’t want to fight.”

“Are we fighting, or am I just saying things that are objectively true?” Jake countered with eerie calm. “You don’t go to church. You dress like a girl. You’re screwing a total stranger. Anything else you’d like to add? Is he paying you, perhaps?”

Sam’s chair scraped loudly as he got to his feet and sent it banging against the wall. He crumpled up his napkin and threw it in Jake’s face before storming out of the dining room, leaving behind another frustrated cry that was cut off by the metallic clang of the front door. Josh turned to Jake with his own expression of genuine anger. 

“Do you want him to leave again?” Josh growled, glaring him down before casting his eyes on Danny. “Daniel, I am so sorry. Please, forgive us.”

Jake’s face grew cloudy and sullen at Josh’s fury, clueing Danny into whose opinion he must value most in this world. He sank further in his chair when Josh breezed past him and followed Sam’s warpath out of the home, leaving Jake and Danny to sit side by side in their private rages after the door had slammed for a second time.

-

They sat there for a very long time. Danny wanted to run to Sam (he was always running to Sam, and he thought maybe he always had been) but knew that Sam needed Josh more than him. As much as he was not enjoying this trend of being left alone with Jake, he sat with the storm cloud beside him and did his best to steal glances and collect information without Jake’s knowledge. When they’d first encountered him, Jake had seemed so eager to fly Sam back home to the nest. He’d seemed almost understanding, or as understanding as someone like him could be, but it’d spun out within seconds. Danny was trying to figure out the exact moment that had turned him into a cold shouldered teenager so desperate to cut Sam down. 

 When slyly sliding his eyes to try and gauge Jake’s expression, Danny startled slightly to find that Jake’s focus had shifted from the wall to him. When he followed the low trajectory of his tired gaze, Danny saw that Jake was staring at…Danny’s scuffed cowboy boots. From the looks of it, he was tracing the stitchings in the brown leather. Lost in a daydream, maybe? Danny considered with a note of private amusement that Jake might be looking at his boots and tucking himself into a fantasy of cowboys and fast horses. Maybe that was something he and Danny both did; escaping into an idealized reality when the one at hand was too much. 

Then, with a jolt, it clicked. The way Jake had grown cruel when Sam had defended his new look and new life, no doubt shattering Jake’s pre established perception of his baby brother. Inviting him to dinner and cooking what Danny knew were some of Sam’s favorite foods, only to spoil it all with appetite stealing jabs. How he had shrank under Josh’s disappointment. How he sat now, staring at Danny’s boots like he wished they were his. 

Like he wished he could run.

“I’m sorry, Jake,” Danny blurted. Jake jerked at the sudden sound and regarded Danny with wide, confused eyes. He blinked once before his face crumpled, perplexed.

“For what?” Jake asked, all bite gone from his voice. He sounded almost friendly. He sounded a little like Sam, actually. Danny used that familiarity to gather his confidence.

“I’m sorry Sam didn’t invite you to go with him. That must’ve really hurt.”

Jake’s expression held its dumbfounded composure but Danny could see the emotion shift from confusion to something akin to being completely crushed. He barely blinked and Danny watched his eyes fill with tears.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jake hissed, his voice wobbling slightly as his lip curled in feigned disgust. “You two are going to die out there, one way or another.”

“You must be a masochist, then,” Danny accused, continuing to find his nerve. “Because I’m willing to bet that Sam wasn’t too far off when he said you were jealous. I’m really not trying to be rude, I’m just trying to understand.”

“Understand what? Why I hate your guts?”

“You don’t hate my guts, Jake. And I sure as shit don’t hate yours.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You didn’t even give me a chance.”

Ah. There was another puzzle piece clicking in place for Danny.

“That’s another thing I’m sorry about,” Danny said honestly. “I shouldn’t have shut you down like that. It’s just - and this isn’t an excuse, it’s just an explanation- it’s just that I’ve spent the past year trying to get Sam as far away from what he was running from. And, well, you’re a part of all that in one way or another. But I should’ve understood your circumstances the same way I do Sam.”

Jake was quiet for another beat, swallowing and sniffling before letting out a sigh.

“I guess I shouldn’t have shut you down like that either,” Jake admitted. “And I guess I should thank you for keeping him safe and, well, alive. It’s just so weird to see Sam like this. He’s so…”

Jake’s lip trembled in a particularly Sam fashion and his eyes drifted off into space as tears began to roll down his ruddy cheeks.

“He’s so happy,” Jake breathed, in awe. “He was right, he was never happy here. I pushed him too hard. Josh was too wrapped up in his own crises. Our parents never gave him a second glance. And now he’s so free. He got out. You two have done so much and gone so far that it just makes everything at home feel even smaller. I guess I didn’t realize until I saw him again that there was something to ‘get out’ of.”

“It’s okay,” Danny whispered, reaching out and putting a hand on Jake’s arm. “Hey, breathe, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Jake wailed, fully swept up in his hysteria now. “It’s not okay. This is supposed to be a place people flock to, not run from. And, shit, if it was so bad that he had to run, you’d think he’d have the decency to at least tell me and Josh. You’d think he’d ask if...”

Danny thought he’d be more distressed watching Jake completely spin out, but he was actually pretty calm. He supposed this was par for the course in a place like this. Another holy man laid to waste by a betrayal. Another brother struck down by his brother, laying still while the other wandered. In some twisted way, there was something divine here, but not in the way that any of them wanted. Danny suddenly felt even closer to Sam, and he shivered a little with the understanding and satisfaction of it despite the gaunt atmosphere over the entire estate. He kept a steady hand on Jake’s arm when he crossed his arms on the table and buried his face shamefully, the lean crest of his back shivering with an unruly sob. 

“You should go, Jake,” Danny whispered. “I mean, you should leave, too. You can’t be happy here.”

“That’s not an option for me,” Jake laughed, his face still hidden by his periwinkle sleeves. “There’s too much here for me to leave behind.”

“Josh?”

“Josh,” Jake repeated, voice wobbling. “Always gonna be Josh. As much as I’d love to have a week to myself without having to set up a million church activities or food drives or buying a trunkful of candles, I know he can’t handle the responsibility all on his own. It’s just easier if I do it so he can focus on writing sermons and doing confessions.”

“What happened to having faith in each other?”

“He doesn’t want to handle the responsibility on his own,” Jake corrected. “That’s another thing. In all honesty, I always thought if any of us were going to make it out of here, it’d be him.”

“Really?” Danny asked. From what he’d heard, Josh was more than happy with a microphone in his hand and adoring congregants standing at the ready to harmonize with his gospels. 

Jake calmed slightly, resurfacing from his arms to rest his chin and catch his breath. His round face was still flushed with emotion and Danny resisted a very genuine urge to brush his hair back from where it lay lingering on his cheeks, kept there by stray tears. 

“Josh…” Jake trailed off, his gaze finding comfort counting the slats in the blinds. “Josh struggles. I mean, we all do, but he…I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me much. I just know something keeps him convinced that he’s not worthy of being the pastor. Which is ridiculous, in my opinion.”

“Really,” Danny repeated, slightly more somber as he thought back to his first impressions of Josh and the immediate recognition whose source alluded him. It came to him in a wave, then, along with the fond ache of understanding.

“No one is more deserving,” Jake continued. “There’s no one as kind or as devoted as him. I think it’s just the church, well, the Convention, really, that has certain ideas that make him feel…unworthy, maybe. There’s an expectation he thinks he doesn’t live up to.”

“He’s..?” Danny trailed off, testing the waters cautiously in case the conclusion he’d jumped to was entirely wrong. 

“He’s my brother,” Jake said firmly, finally looking Danny head on. “And my best friend. That’s all that matters to me.”

Danny sat back in his chair, a long held breath (of relief?) escaping his chest as his understanding of Jake finally crystallized. He wasn’t really a sharp tongued, verse slinging Bible thumper with a million little hills to die on. Jake was a man who was first and foremost devoted to his family, and he was willing to forego all of his wants for their needs. He was a brother, and he feared for how the world would treat his brothers, both inside and outside his little world. And at the end of it, he’d withstand feeling forgotten if it meant they felt seen. He had never been angry, not really. Just hurt.

“You’re a good brother, Jake,” Danny insisted, flashing Jake a smile. “You and Sam should have a chat before the night is through. And I still believe you should think about leaving. Both you and Josh, actually. There’s a lot of world you’d really like to see. Obviously it’s not my place to tell you what to do, but I do think it’d help.”

“You’re probably right,” Jake agreed. “And thank you. Sorry for, you know, everything.”

“It’s no problem,” Danny said genuinely. “I’m happy to help.”

“You are, aren’t you?” Jake laughed. “I’m surprised you’ve stuck around this long, honestly. Especially since you’re not religious. But I guess if you’ve put up with Sam for a year and not jumped overboard, you must be accustomed to some nonsense.”

“I don’t ‘put up’ with him,” Danny asserted. “It’s a privilege to get to spend so much time with him.”

Jake watched him with an arched, amused eyebrow, finally straightening in his chair to smooth his hair back and settle with his arms crossed. 

“So, what, I’m gonna wind up being your brother, too?”

“I mean…in a way,” Danny laughed, heart racing. “If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Jake answered, shaking his head slightly. “I figured. I mean, after he hit 21 and had no dating prospects or interest in dating at all, I assumed he was gonna forgo it completely. I just guessed he was more interested in his commitment to the church, like Josh.”

“Seems they both had their reasons to stay away from girls,” Danny noted.

“I suppose they did,” Jake said with a light laugh. “And still do. But, wow, Sam really does light up around you. I’ve never seen that with him.”

Danny smiled, blushing with warmth again as he tried to recall Sam’s expression when he was around. He’d always been smiley and wide eyed when looking at Danny, complete with pupils blown wide and overtaking the honey brown of his iris while he mapped Danny’s face. Wasn’t that how he’d been before they met? Apparently not. 

“You’ve got good intentions?” Jake interrogated, nudging Danny’s knee with his own. “You treat him right?”

“I do, I do,” Danny insisted, crossing his own arms and grinning. “I sure try. He’s easy to love.”

“You love him?”

“I…yeah, I do,” Danny affirmed, certain of his answer. “I didn’t even mean to say it like that, but, yeah. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Jake smiled, yet slightly subdued. “Just…be careful, okay? At least as long as you’re in Alabama. Especially in Shady Grove.”

“I know,” Danny said softly, a little more morose. “Sam warned me about that. Another reason he left.”

“Another reason we should go,” Jake replied reluctantly. “Right?”

“Right. Believe me, nowhere is going to be perfect, but I think you’ll like the version of Josh you’ll meet when he can be himself. I’ve loved watching Sam come out of his shell.”

“I wish I could’ve been there for that,” Jake whispered, choking up again. “He’s probably out there right now telling Josh how much he hates me.”

“Don’t say that.”

-

“I fucking hate him.”

“Sam.”

Sam had bolted the second he was out the front door, but Josh had known where to find him. Ever since Sam had been young enough to start throwing the tantrums that had made him so intolerable to their parents, he always fled to the dock at the bottom of the hill. Ever the mediator, Josh had spent his fair share of time on the rotting wood planks listening to Sam vent his frustrations as they plunged sticks and rocks into the murky water, eventually advising him with echoes of affirmations he’d heard from the mouths of older congregants. But they were adults now, and as Josh sat on the dock with Sam curled into his side, he realized with a faint panic that there were no more words to borrow but his own. 

“I do,” Sam insisted, his head resting on Josh’s shoulder as he glared out over the blurred surface of the small lake. “I really do. I’m done with him.”

“No, you’re not,” Josh sighed, throwing an arm around Sam’s shoulder and rubbing his arm. 

“Whatever,” Sam grumbled. “I want to be.”

“You don’t have any kind of hate in your soul, Sam,” Josh told him. “God takes it from you and leaves you even more kind and enduring.”

“Josh, stop,” Sam whispered, sending an embarrassed thorn right into Josh’s side. 

“Stop what?”

“The God stuff. Please. Just, not now, at least.”

“The ‘God stuff’ used to make you feel better.”

“No, it didn’t. I just didn’t say anything.”

They sat without speaking for a minute. Without their voices, the rushing rain sounds of the mayflies and the hush of the surrounding trees filled the void between them. 

“You could’ve said something,” Josh murmured. ���Especially if it would’ve stopped you leaving.”

“It wouldn’t have,” Sam answered. “I’ve thought about it a lot. I think I would’ve left no matter what happened.”

“Oh,” Josh said, sounding small. “Did you know that before you left?”

“To some degree.”

“...I would’ve liked to know that, too, Sammy.”

Sam swallowed a guilty lump in his throat and sulked further against his brother. 

“Sorry,” Sam whispered. “It was selfish. It’s just…I was scared if I told you, you’d tell Jake, and then he’d tell Dad, and then you’d all hatch some master plan to keep me here.”

“I suppose that’s not an unfounded fear,” Josh admitted. “Remember when Jake had his little Sunday school girlfriend? I didn’t see him for, like, three days after Dad got wind of it.”

“Exactly. And then you would’ve written up some elaborate, guilt trippy sermon and sat me down in the kitchen and made me talk about my feelings for 2 hours minimum.”

Josh laughed a little, drawing a knee to his chest against a cool breeze that rolled off the lake.

“I’m pretty predictable, huh? Goodness.”

“And that wouldn’t have worked because if I talked about my feelings…”

“What?”

“...”

“What, you wouldn’t want to hear my feelings about the whole thing?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s too late for that now. And that’s not-”

“I haven’t even told you how I felt,” Josh pointed out. 

“I know how you felt,” Sam murmured, tears searing his waterline again. “Maybe it’s you and Jake with your creepy twin telepathy, but I felt you both the whole time, even all the way out in California. It’s horrible. Some days I couldn’t even enjoy myself because I could feel the disappointment two thousand miles away.”

Josh felt tears of his own threatening to spill over hearing that. It had never occurred to him that a lifetime of observing at the sidelines would’ve made Sam so accurately attuned to his family’s emotional patterns.

“Sammy,” Josh exhaled. “It pains me to listen to this. You don’t have to feel so guilty about everything.”

“Neither do you.”

Josh bristled slightly, lifting his cheek from Sam’s hair and looking down at him.

“What do you mean?” Josh asked gently. 

“I know you didn’t want to be pastor.” 

“Well, I love it now.”

Sam pulled away from Josh and crossed his legs under him, staring out over the water before staring Josh in the eye with a look so sincere and cutting that it made Josh lean back slightly.

“It’s okay if you don’t, you know,” Sam said evenly. “It’s okay if you’re upset.”

“What do I have to be upset about?” Josh teased, pushing Sam’s bony shoulder. “I live in this beautiful little town and get to spend my days with its beautiful little people talking about what I love. Plus I just got my baby brother back. I’d be a fool to complain.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Josh, cut it out,” Sam snapped, grief fizzling into frustration. “You sound like Dad at his worst. Why can’t you just drop the act for 2 seconds and admit you hate it here?”

Josh’s eyebrows flew up and he let out a reflexive laugh, anxiety coloring his tone as it fluttered cautiously out of him. Sam looked at him pleadingly, grabbing his brother's hand and gripping it tight.

“I know you didn’t want to be pastor,” Sam repeated firmly. “I know you wanted to go to college. And I…I know you’re gay.”

Josh immediately froze, falling silent as Sam stared into his eyes and what felt like his soul. 

“And that’s great,” Sam continued on, a tear escaping his eye and rolling down his cheek. “It can feel amazing if you’d just let yourself feel anything. Trust me, I know. You’re not trapped here, dude. You can still go to school and be yourself and be happy. You just have to put yourself first for the first time in your fucking life.” 

Josh, struck dumb, couldn’t do anything but breathe as his heart burned in his chest and pushed up hot tears that blurred his vision of his brother. His brother, who was undressing his façade with effortless impatience that made Josh begin to wonder just how transparent he truly was. Or was it only Sam, who was part of him in so many ways, that could see how blind Josh was? When he spoke in dizzying circles of hell and damnation, were his congregants shaking their heads in pity with the knowledge that all Josh was really doing was scaring himself back into submission?

“If you’re really okay with how your life is turning out, tell me now and we can never talk about it again,” Sam promised. “I swear to God. I will leave it alone.”

Josh hesitated further, pulling his hand from Sam’s and letting out a slow breath. Looking down at the cloudy water swaying underneath them, he wondered how big of an inhale of it would take for him to sink right to the bottom. 

“You’re right,” Josh confessed, his voice as soft and as uncertain as Sam had ever heard him. “I didn’t want any of this. It’s too much pressure. And the more I read the Bible and listen to the sermons from out in Texas and Georgia…the more I lose faith in what I’m supposed to be telling people.”

“Yeah,” Sam whispered, finding respite in Josh’s honesty. “I never really believed we were all born sinners.”

“I still kind of do,” Josh admitted. “But now I’m thinking there’s no amount of trying that’ll change that. I do all of this praying and writing and confession but I’m still…”

“It’s not sin, Josh. How you feel, how we both feel. There’s nothing to be saved from when it comes to that,” Sam insisted with quiet urging. “Seriously.”

“Maybe,” Josh whispered, picking at the skin around his nails as a dark coil of shame slithered in his stomach. “It just isn’t natur-”

“It’s like this,” Sam started, trying to put something into terms that would get through to him. “God is everyone and everything. Maybe that’s something I still agree with. And when you stop dedicating yourself to trying to get him to pay attention to you, you start to see Him or whatever “He” really is everywhere. You realize that you’re honoring Him by honoring yourself and doing what feels right to you. I don’t know if that’s something we’ll get rewarded for in heaven, but the reward of it on Earth is enough for me.”

“‘Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it’,” Josh recited with a nod. “Hebrews.”

“Sure. Yeah, actually, yeah. What I’m trying to say is you should live for yourself, Josh, not God or Dad or anyone. And if you still want God, you’ll find that without even trying.”

“Did you find Him with Danny?” Josh asked quietly. “In Texas?”

Sam blinked in surprise. He’d never thought about it like that, but…

“I guess I did,” Sam breathed, a smile drifting onto his face as he thought fondly of Danny. “At the start, at least. Now it’s all just him, no capital H.”

Everything was Danny to him, in complete honesty. Even though Sam only half believed the whole speech he was giving to Josh, he couldn’t deny the divinity he felt in the presence of his boyfriend. His best friend.

“I want that,” Josh murmured. His throat closed with emotion as he forced the words out, but it felt good to say. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d expressed wanting out loud, and based on the look on Sam’s face, he realized it may have never happened before.

“Go get it,” Sam said fiercely, his grin growing wildly when Josh’s eyes lit up a little at his encouragement. “You wanna come to Florida with us? We can find you a nice, alligator hunting boy.”

“Slow down, slow down,” Josh laughed, holding up his palms in surrender. “One step at a time.”

“Just Florida, then. We’ll ask Danny.”

As if summoned, there grew the sound of hushed voices and the sound of shoes on the wooden steps down to the deck, bodies hidden by the trees and the dark. Eventually they emerged, Jake hopping down from the last step that had been laid too high, bending at the knee from the impact as long legged Danny casually stepped down beside him. Sam and Josh turned to face them, leaning back on their hands and giving little waves. Without any words, they all knew the night’s battle had blown over, and Sam reached for Jake as he sat down between him and Josh. Jake received him with a hug, both of them bent into each other awkwardly as they murmured brief apologies to the other. Josh, unable to stay out of anything ever, leaned into their embrace and struggled to wrap his arms around both of them. Danny laughed as he settled next to Sam, their knees bumping as Sam attempted to wiggle out from the hold Josh had joyfully trapped them in.

“I’m just so grateful,” Josh wailed with phony passion. “I love my family!”

“You’d hug Mom and Dad like this?” Jake asked incredulously.

“...I love my brothers!”

All 4 of them laughed again as Josh finally released them, immediately proceeding to chastise Jake in a low voice as he fiddled with the frizz his hair had accumulated. Sam teetered backwards and landed with his back to Danny’s chest. Danny took advantage of the twins getting distracted and planted a kiss on top of Sam’s hair, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment at the consolation of Sam back in his arms after the whirlwind day they’d had.

“All good?” Danny whispered in Sam’s ear, smiling when Sam nodded and tilted his head to grin up at him.

“You?” Sam asked, humming when Danny mimicked his own nod back to him.

“Jake said we can stay the night in your old bedroom,” Danny informed him, repeating what Jake had said in the conversation on their way out of the house. “But he won’t make us breakfast.”

“Fuckin’ liar, he will,” Sam laughed, reaching a hand up and lovingly stroking Danny’s cheek as he utilized his other hand to smack Jake’s thigh. “What’s this about no breakfast? You want me to burn the place down trying to make toast?”

“I’m just not babying you anymore is all,” Jake announced, smacking Sam right back. “Danny agrees it’ll be good for our relationship.”

��Traitor,” Sam complained, smacking Danny on the cheek and squealing when Danny scoffed and smacked him back. Jake let out a brash cackle and Josh a defeated groan.

“You’re like the Three Stooges,” Josh whined. “Also, coming from you, Sam? That’s a bold accusation.”

“Wow!”

“Look who’s finally growing some balls,” Jake continued to cackle, hooking his elbow around Josh’s neck and pulling him into a side hug. 

“The state of my balls are none of your concern,” Josh muttered, which made Sam and Jake let out identical barks of laughter. The three of them got whipped up into a frenzy of bickering and Danny watched with a grin and a bloom of warmth flowering in his chest at the sight. There was something being healed here, he thought, and he could almost see the misguided little boys they’d once been as they tussled and giggled on the groaning dock.

It was strange to think how differently he had felt just a few hours ago. With Sam in Danny’s life, it seemed like things changing at the drop of a hat was something that Danny was going to grow well accustomed to as long as he was around. After that night, even with Sam squirming out of his grasp to try and push his brothers into the lake, Danny knew with complete certainty that he wanted Sam to stick around forever. It was time he told him that.

-

“How was your shower?”

“Arctic.”

Danny laughed and opened up the wing of the sheets and comforters to welcome in Sam, who came rolling in with his hair still wet. He was clad in linen pajamas from his teenage years that fell slightly too short on his wrists and ankles, while Danny lay under the blankets in only his boxers and socks. Even though Sam’s skin and hair was freezing cold from the shower and dampened his own skin, Danny pulled Sam against him and struggled with the blankets to bundle them together as best as he could. 

“There, now we’re a proper burrito,” Danny smiled, kissing the tip of Sam’s nose.

“I’ve never had a burrito,” Sam whispered in a hushed, secretive voice. Danny gasped.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not!”

“Well, that's okay, we'll remedy that. Plus, they’re not half as good as this,” Danny mumbled, using his grip on Sam’s back to pull him further into his bare chest and tuck Sam’s head into the crook of his neck. “Was the water really that cold?”

“Sub-zero,” Sam promised with a shiver. “Those assholes hogged all the hot water, I bet. Typical.” 

“I’ll warm you up plenty,” Danny purred, sliding his hand up Sam’s shirt and tracing his fingers along his cool skin with featherlight touch. Sam shivered again and giggled, nuzzling deeper into Danny’s neck.

“Not in my childhood bed you won’t, pervert,” Sam murmured against Danny’s skin, which seemed to be radiating great waves of heat like he were a human furnace. 

Said childhood bed had been a source of poorly hidden smiles from Danny, who finally admitted through a smothered laugh that the entire room looked like his grandma’s room back in Florida. No doubt done up and never redecorated for the daughter his mother had been expecting and never received, the wallpaper was pale, flowery and hung with silver crosses. Picture frames held stitched psalms that sat cheerfully on the vanity facing the bed. The double bed barely fit the both of them and, as Sam admitted through laughs of his own, the sheets and comforters that surrounded them now did, at one time, belong to his granny. When they’d first walked in, Sam had felt the loving ache of being remembered upon finding that the bed had been made and the room had been tidied for his return.

“How about some sleep, then?” Danny offered. “We’ve had a long day.”

“No kidding,” Sam quietly agreed. “I’m glad what happened did happen, shockingly enough. I really thought it was going to be a trainwreck. I should’ve had more faith in them, I guess.”

“You’ve got just the right amount of faith,” Danny hummed, eyes drifting open and shut as he grew sleepy from the perfume of Sam’s shampoo and his natural sweetness. “I’m really proud of you, baby. I know that was a lot for you. You’re a tough cookie.”

“I’m your tough cookie,” Sam murmured, tickling Danny’s neck with his nose and planting a lingering kiss on the pulse thrumming violently under his lips. Danny let out a breathy groan and gently dug his fingers into Sam’s back as Sam mapped a sleepy path of kisses along Danny’s neck.

“Easy, cookie,” Danny raggedly chuckled, smoothing his palm up and down Sam’s back as he fought in vain to stave off the growing pressure in his boxers. “I thought being in this bed was a no go.”

“It is,” Sam doubled down, lips dragging against Danny’s skin as he whispered. “Just saying thank you real quick.”

“You and your fuckin’ ‘thank you’’s,” Danny smiled, eyelids fluttering fully shut as he tilted his head back and gave Sam more area to cover. “This is like that first night all over again.”

“I was so embarrassed,” Sam giggled, his breath fanning out in warm bursts over the thin layer of saliva cooling on Danny’s skin. “I thought I’d gone and fucked up the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Sweetheart,” Danny cooed, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“No, I’m not,” Sam refused, pressing his cheek into the hollow of Danny’s collarbone.

“Yes, you absolutely are, my little California love.”

“Even after today?” Sam asked, sounding more uncertain than he wanted to. “I can’t think of a single other person on Earth who could’ve sat through all of that bullshit and still liked me at the end of it. Like, I really can’t apologize enough. Especially for Jake’s crazy ass.”

“Especially after today,” Danny insisted. Sam lifted his head from Danny’s chest and looked up at him with an unconvinced sneer, their noses brushing as Danny raked his fingers through Sam’s damp waves and searched for the fortitude to say what he felt. These were the moments where Danny felt it the strongest; Sam burrowed into him with his eyes as wide and wondering as the day they’d met. This was what love was to him.

“Sam,” Danny whispered sincerely, voice low and breathless. “If it meant I got to keep you by my side for 10 extra minutes, I’d live today over and over again. Do you understand? There is nothing you could put me through that I wouldn’t stick around for. Not when I’m this ridiculously in love with you.”

Sam’s already wide eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets at that, pupils expanding slowly as a nervous smile wound its way onto his flushed face. Danny smiled at him, feeling a flush of his own beginning to heat his body from his heart outwards. 

“You’re what?” Sam asked, leaning back slightly to look at Danny properly. 

“You heard me,” Danny teased, pinching the rosy apple of Sam’s cheek. “What do you think about that?”

“I think you’re crazy,” Sam laughed, shimmying in their cocoon of blankets and limbs to readjust his arms to wrap around Danny’s neck. “And may have been dropped on your head as a baby.”

“How did you know that?”

“It’s the only rational explanation as to why you’d go and say that,” Sam flouted breezily. 

“Is it really so hard to believe?” Danny asked, making a pitiful face that made Sam’s heart flutter. “You make it very easy to be in love with you, as a matter of fact. I don’t have to try at all.”

“I love you,” Sam murmured, in awe. It’s not like he was stupid, he knew Danny had to have loved him for them to have gotten as far as they had, but it still felt entirely unexpected to actually hear it. After a year of being startled awake by Sam’s sleep talking, patiently listening to stories of the worst of Sam’s childhood punishments, even sleeping sitting up in a jail cell in New Mexico when Sam’s newfound chutzpah found purchase with a rowdy biker, there was Danny at the end of it all. Patiently awaiting what fresh hell Sam would drag him into next. 

“I love you, too,” Danny assured him. “But are you in love with me?”

“Fucking obviously,” Sam blurted. “I'm so in love with you, Danny, fuck. I didn’t realize I even had to clarify that.”

“Of course you did! How else would I know?” Danny laughed, eyes glittering with glee and relief at Sam’s confirmation.

“I thought I had made myself plenty clear when I followed you across the country with zero hesitation. Twice.”

“I guess that’s fair.”

“Also, I mean, you popped my cherry, so.”

“You weren’t gonna give that up for just anyone, huh?” Danny laughed, his freckled nose crinkling. 

“Nope,” Sam smiled flirtatiously. “I was saving it for truuue looove.”

“Is that what this is?” Danny asked softly, his smile paling with uncertainty as he searched Sam’s dark eyes. 

“I hope so,” Sam breathed, his heart racing just as fast as it did when he was still learning to look at Danny without feeling faint. “Do you think it is?”

“I do,” Danny said sincerely, cupping Sam’s jaw. “Let’s say it is and go from there.”

“Works for me,” Sam agreed, nervously tilting his chin forward and melting from the inside out when Danny met him with a fiery kiss.

Sam was no stranger to the possessive pressure Danny preferred to apply when kissing, but there was something fierce behind this kiss that left Sam feeling utterly and completely loved. Lying in the same bed just over a year ago, Sam recalled how he’d bundle the blankets into a wall to press his back against as he slept, pretending it was someone to keep him steady and wake him in the morning. He thought of how that was something he didn’t need to dream about anymore. He thought of how lucky he was. How blessed.

“I’m starting to think Josh may have been right,” Sam sighed against Danny’s mouth, now tucked under him with Danny’s loose curls tickling his cheeks. “I think you’re my guardian angel.”

“You’re the angel here,” Danny insisted, thinking of Sam’s tattoo and feeling his thighs tighten unconsciously on either side of Sam’s hips. “Never gonna let anyone clip your wings ever again.”

“I’m serious,” Sam whined, twining his fingers in Danny’s hair and pulling him closer. “You’re the real deal.”

“Maybe Josh did get one thing right tonight.”

“Speaking of Josh…how do you feel about another passenger on our way to Florida?”

“He’s going to have to share the backseat with Jake if that’s the new plan, ‘cause I’m pretty sure I convinced Jake to pack up too.”

“Family road trip,” Sam sang. “I hope your parents don’t mind.”

“No, they’ll love a full house,” Danny answered. “And my sister will love peer pressuring them into doing stupid shit.”

“I can’t wait to see them drunk for the first time,” Sam confessed with a laugh. “They’ll be fucking ridiculous.”

“I don’t know if you’ll want to see them like that if they’re anything like you were the first time you got drunk,” Danny teased, nipping at Sam’s earlobe. “I’ve still never heard you talk like you did that night.”

“Stop that,” Sam giggled, muffling a squeak when Danny kissed the sensitive skin under his ear. “I don’t even remember half of that night.”

“Your brain is protecting your dignity,” Danny joked, his voice low and warm against the shell of Sam’s ear. “You were kind of a slut.”

“Yeah?” Sam asked weakly, panting slightly from so little. Danny tended to do that to him.

“Oh, yeah. Big time. You cried when I wouldn’t put it in.”

Sam immediately slapped a hand over Danny’s mouth and shushed him theatrically, attempting to smother him when Danny laughed hysterically and tried to lick and bite at his fingers.

“What if they heard you!” Sam hissed, his wrists now pinned beside him as Danny held him down with visible triumph.

“Then I’ll apologize!” Danny laughed, jostling as Sam tried to wrench himself out from under him. “You’re the one making the mattress squeak all suspiciously. This is a Christian household, Sam, I mean really.”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“I hate you,” Sam declared quietly, sharp eyes trained up at Danny with a glimmer of mischief dancing at his waterline. Danny smiled fondly and lowered himself so their chests were pressed together. He cocked his head, looking Sam over with his hazel eyes lush with emotion.

“And I will love you ‘til the day I die, Sam Kiszka,” Danny announced, pressing his lips to Sam’s with careful appreciation and keeping them there for the hours that followed. 

In the morning, they’d clamor and argue and shed tears before pulling out of Shady Grove with a body in every seat of Danny’s beat up little truck. They’d follow the fate line to Florida to settle and heal and wander from the path like they always did. But that night, they had nothing to do but lay under the blanket of the whistling Alabama sky and love each other.

They’d find in the years and decades that followed, it never got much more complicated than that.

~~

Taglist: @holdingup-fallingsky @milojames16 @spark-my-nature @bladenotblaze @currentlyfangirling10

[darkittensniper]

BLACK LOTUS

Pairing: Cassandra x Donna

Wc: 1.7k

Summary: Cassandra gets her Cadou. Things don't go as planned. Donna is called to handle it.

AN: This is in response to an ask by @muffinsin. I hope you enjoy this, even if I did like butcher the request for Beauty and the Beast and this came out instead. I mean its kinda like it... but mostly not. Again im sorry for that! Your next request I'll do better on I promise my child! Even then this one for you my FAVORITE and ONLY CHILD!

Donna stood just shy of the smaller women’s sleeping form. Pitch colored mourning dress covering the tall, lithe frame of the Lord. Fingers longer than most, short, trimmed nails painted a glossy black. Veins, healthy and thick snaked along underneath pale skin. Clasped in front of her, Donna had to stop herself from reaching out and touching icy skin. The Lord had only to move a few inches and long toned arms could easily pick up the women and pull her to the Lord’s chest.

The women in question was Cassandra Demitrescu. With the brown-haired girls Awakening from Mother Mirandas Cadou experiments. The middle daughter had attacked the Priestess. From the moment those piercing yellow eyes opened, they held nothing but a feral rage. Clawed hands had cut the Black God deep in her stomach. Had the Priestess still been human, the blow would have killed her. Black mold sludge like blood had spewed from the wound. For all three of the daughters, Cassandra was the only one who did not get to go home with her Mother and siblings.

Lord Beneviento had been whisked away from her manor to come to aid Mother Miranda. The girl seemly had lost all function to speak, the lack of understanding any spoken words. Reverted to the base primal nature in her mind. A raging beast the Black God had called her as she ranted at Lord Donna. Donna had heard even less of what the Black God was talking about, her focus as soon as she stepped into the laboratory had been the blood covered women, crouched in the corner. Snarling and gashing her teeth, small cub like fangs sticking out of her mouth. Seeing that she was very much covered in not only the Priestess blood, but also her own. A jagged and very open wound starting from just under her neck, continuing down between her breast and to her belly button. It looked horrible, but Cassandra didn’t take notice. She felt only anger, fear, and an insatiable hunger.

The Lord had never seen anything so beautiful. Even with every inch of her covered in filth, and her own viscera Donna was ensnared instantly. The instant Donna walked over to the women; Cassandra instincts were sent on high alert. Everything about this veiled woman screamed deadly, predator and prey. And the brunette-haired women didn’t like feeling like prey. Hackles raised as blood poured from her mouth, coating her chin in a fresh wash of crimson. Launching herself at the Lord, intent to gut this woman. Strike first, state your power. A warning. These types of feelings were cording through Cassandra even if she could not make sense of them. She needed to act. This veiled woman was dangerous. Very. Very dangerous.

“Black Lotus.”

The words raspy and deep, barely above a whisper. The slight winkle of the mourning veil the only other sign the lithe women had spoken. Mother Miranda flinched. The next moments caused everyone except Lord Beneviento herself a wave of atrociously violent nausea and vertigo. Raising well-built hands from centuries of gardening, craftsmen work in her family business, and various other fields of knowledge. The elegance of each finger, each in a certain fixed motion, much like the Master Puppeteer she was. All four of Cassandra limbs were now under the sole control of Lord Beneviento. Blooming forth from her left hand a three-petal lotus started to form from the skin there. This otherworldly flower continued to unfurl outwards on itself, a silver-tinged eye forming in the middle of flower. It wriggled and blinked around sporadically, vine line black tendrils whipped from the growth, lashing the air.

The fluttering of Mother Mirandas swarming into her flock of crows falling on deaf ears. The Black God having barely escaped but a small taste of the true power Lord Beneviento wielded. This was the problem, at least in the eyes of Mother Miranda, the dollmakers had no control of just who got affected by her powers. Or so Lord Beneviento made her think. All the Lords of the Village knew out of all of them, their youngest sister had the most control of her powers. For only she truly knew just how deadly they could be if she ever truly lost control.

Cassandra made no noise as she watched the veiled women disappear from her field of vision. Looking around wildly, nose searching over her own scent, trying to find something. Her arms and legs were still unresponsive to her, which sent a new wave of fear into her. The flies spilling from the wound along her chest flew around only to come back to their place inside of her. Seemingly just as confused and disoriented as Cass. She couldn’t swarm. Only bite at the air and let loose long rage filled wails.

 A warm finger being placed upon the screaming women’s forehead. Yellow eyes freezing on the Lord’s finger. The wails quieted, no longer echoing off the walls, instead more of a wounded animal noise left Cassandra. Feeling her body lose all semblance of control, the room was spinning The lack of any feeling was the next thing the smaller women noticed. Before even if she hadn’t shown in, the burning pain along her neck, sternum, and stomach had stopped. She felt weightless, like every inch of her had turned into pure energy.

The Lord watched on in utter fascination. She knew the girls mind was easy to warp to her will. The mental barrier had been all but non-existent from the second Donna had contacted her mental. What did intrigue the tall lithe Lord even more, was just how shapeless and chaotic the brown haired women’s thoughts were. If one could call them thoughts. Instead Donna Beneviento found pure, primal emotions.

Hunger.

Bloodlust.

Rage.

Such a feral seething rage Donna could taste it. And oh what a decadent taste it was. This Lord had been ‘starving’ for centuries. Not for food. Not for drink. Not for anything else material in this world. She had been starved of the right obsession.

Cassandra Demitrescu had become that obsession. As soon as the Lord had laid her eye on the women, who now lay slumped on the floor. Yellow eyes were fixed on the writhing mass that made up the Black Lotus on the Lord’s hand. Not that the poor girl could look anywhere else even if she tried. Not only did the petals of the lotus produce an intoxicating scent, teasing at the potent power that lay within. The sporadically moving grey tinged eye also held the same bewitching effect. As long as Donna wished it, Cassandra would be under her hold. Even if eye contact is broken, even if lungs are cleared, once the Black Lotus has latched on, there is no running from it. Even in death there is no escaping the madness that can be brought upon even the strongest willed minds.  

Not that Donna wanted to torture her little doll. Lord Beneviento liked that. Her little doll. There would be all sorts of other sweet tortures this veiled Lord could bring the women. For right now though Donna only wished to bring peace to the wounded girl. So that’s just what she did, removing every pain receptor in a body is easy when the Lord could name off every single last one them. Next came Cassandras sight, steeping the women in darkness. The lost of her vison did not cause the panic Cassandra had been prepared for. A calm like nothing she had every felt, before or after her Awakening. The slight shift of the Lords finger along her forehead, sliding along her temple, down to her jaw. Lingering there for a few more seconds. The Lord’s body tingled, but not from the women’s frigid skin, but from her own excitement. Donna Beneviento had not touched anything ‘alive’ in a very long time. Her free hand curled into a tight fist, shaking from the amount of pressure she was applying.

Blood was drawn under the Lords facial veil, having bitten her bottom lip till the point of bleeding. Cassandra’s nose twitched, hands flexing. Having bypassed the lulled state, the Lord had put her in. A spinal reflex, not a conscious movement. Having come right from the spine itself, bypassing the brain completely. The sensory stimulus of the Lord’s blood had caused this, triggered a nerve in the primal side of Cassandras body. The women had even for a split second had overcome the paralytic effects of Donna’s ability. A sharp snapping sound as the Lord snapped her fingers. Cassandra body again fully back under her control, the Lord having released her. The Black Lotus on Donna’s left hand fell from the pale skin it had grew from. Landing on the floor, the eye in the middle being crushed under the clipped heel of the Lords boots. Grinding her heel into it, the flower itself crumbling into grey and black dust.

Cassandra drew in a deep breath, the wheezing of her lungs exposed to the outside world sounded like dry leaves against each other. Sandstone colored eyes looking right the Lord, even though the veil, Donna felt those twin orbs of amber looking right at her. The deadly aura around the Lord did not lessen as she bent down to inspect the gaping wound along the women’s torso. A flush coming to pale cheeks as her eye scanned over the lush mounds that made up Cassandras chest, the rather pronounced jutting angles of her hip bones. The wide padding of soft fat layered over the hard brawn of the girl’s thighs. Glad that the veil hid her wondering eye as eased her arms under the women’s shoulders and one under her knees. Bridle style. Shoulders as wide as they were feminine carried the girl’s weight with ease, holding them extremely close. The cold bite of Cassandras skin felt nice against the warmth of the Lord.

Never in her life had Cassandra been on the receiving end of finding someone stronger than her. The mold smelling women didn’t count. The women in the long white dress who had left with her sisters didn’t count either. The only strength that Cassandra found herself responding to, and coming to quickly be enthralled with was the veiled Lord. Even if her scrambled brain could not put words to these feelings, the lack of even knowing what a word was made it impossible.

Lord Donna Beneviento had ‘a lot’ of work ahead of her to rehabilitant and mold this fierce women into the perfect obsession she had already become.

[cyprian-the-legendary-saiyan]

"Many have described these as uncertain times. And while that may be the case for the rest of the world, I can tell you what is certain: the United States will remain strong... and it will remain safe. That is my promise.”

S - 10

P - 5

E - 5

C - 10

I - 10

A - 8

L - 5

[Our members were once the puppet masters of the United States, quietly pulling strings at every level of power in the nation.]

` ` ` ` ` `

「 Name 」

Damian Luther Hyde

「 Species 」

Human

「 Gender 」

Male

「 Sexuality 」

Straight

「 Origin 」

Chicago

「 Age 」

10/17/2258

「 Allegiance 」

The Enclave

一

「 Body 」

6’5, 200lbs

Damian has a athletic build given his height and weight, he stands tall above his fellow officers, yet underneath his uniform is a heavily scarred and torn body from years of combat.

「 Face 」

Damian’s face, despite it almost never being shown behind the mask he wears, is a decently preserved one, if it weren’t for the heavy scarring around his mouth and eyes, he’d be mistaken for a model. His eyes are a soft amber color.

「 Hair 」

He keeps his hair neatly trimmed and combed, yet he keeps it long

「 Voice 」

Damian’s voice is one or authority. While somewhat deep due to the scarring on his throat, it’s the mask he wears which makes his voice even more intimidating.

「 Clothes 」

He typically is seen wearing his Enclave Uniform, as he holds his position with pride, the few times he is seen without it, he is either in X0-2 Power Armor, or he is in prewar style clothing.

一

Personality

` ` ` ` ` `

In the complex and tumultuous world of Damian, there exists a multifaceted individual whose characteristics combine to create a captivating and enigmatic persona. Damian is more than just a man; he is a dynamic blend of virtues and traits that make him stand out in any setting. A close observer would find themselves in awe of the many layers that comprise this unique individual.

One of the first qualities that strike anyone who crosses paths with Damian is his unwavering courtesy and cordiality towards his allies. Whether it's a fellow soldier, a close friend, or a casual acquaintance, Damian treats them all with the same level of respect and warmth. His amiable nature is not just a facade; it's an integral part of his being, as he firmly believes in the power of building meaningful connections with others.

Yet, beneath his friendly exterior lies a mind that is constantly thinking and planning for the future. Damian is no stranger to anxiety and worry, especially when it comes to tactical matters. His ability to anticipate potential challenges and threats has earned him a reputation as a strategic mastermind. He spends countless hours contemplating various scenarios, working tirelessly to ensure the safety and success of his allies and the causes he holds dear.

With charisma radiating from every pore, Damian effortlessly captivates those around him with his jovial, humorous, and proud public persona. As a officer of the United States Enclave, he employs his natural charm to influence and persuade others. His public speaking skills, combined with his wit and sense of humor, make him an adept communicator, able to rally support and inspire others to follow his lead.

Beneath the glimmering surface, however, there lies a profound sense of pride in his heritage and the work he does. Damian takes immense pride in representing the United States Enclave, and his passion for his role is evident in every word he speaks and action he takes. This pride is not born out of arrogance but from a genuine belief in the principles and values that the Enclave upholds.

One of the most defining aspects of Damian's character is his deep-rooted respect for courage, loyalty, selflessness, and duty. He holds these virtues in the highest regard and seeks to embody them in his own actions. This unwavering commitment to principles serves as a moral compass, guiding his decisions both on and off the battlefield. In his eyes, character and integrity are the true measures of a person's worth, and he actively seeks to nurture these qualities in those under his command.

Despite the responsibilities and pressures that come with his role, Damian displays a remarkably generous personality, especially towards those under his command. He recognizes the sacrifices and dedication of his team, and he doesn't hesitate to acknowledge and reward their efforts. His leadership style is marked by empathy and compassion, always seeking to uplift and support those around him, fostering a sense of unity and camaraderie within the ranks.

The journey into the depths of Damian's character unveils a multifaceted individual with contrasting yet harmonious traits. His courteous and cordial demeanor belies the far-thinking, tactical mind that is always planning for the future. The public image of a jovial and humorous spokesperson contrasts with the deep pride he feels in his role with the United States Enclave.

However, it is his unwavering respect for virtues like courage, loyalty, selflessness, and duty that truly defines Damian's character. These principles are the cornerstone of his decisions and actions, guiding him through the complexities of life and shaping him into an inspirational leader. Yet, through all the challenges and responsibilities, Damian remains generously supportive of those around him, fostering a sense of unity and loyalty within his team.

「 Likes 」

He likes his troops and the command he holds

He values pre-war values over anything else

He loves America and the people it once held

He values righteousness over peace

「 Dislikes 」

The Old Enclave, mostly Stationed at Command Post Enclave the Oil Rig

He hates Tyrant, those who force their will upon others.

The Brotherhood of steel, for the murder of his men, the scarring of his face

The Raiders, their crude and cruel methods of existing

一

History

` ` ` ` ` `

The Enclave. The last bastion for the old America to arise from. Only the top ranking of the old world government knew about its existence. One of these individuals was General Edward Hyde, this was Damian’s Pre-war ancestor. Damian would be born on a enclave facility, R-1017, a outpost stationed in the Chicago area, after the defeat of Colonel Autumn, the few remnants would head to this Facility. During this point in time Damian was merely a Major at the time, focusing all of his efforts on reclaiming the Chicago area, unlike his three counterparts. President Richardson, President Eden, and President Thomas Eckhart. Damian remained focused on a new goal, reclaiming the America of old, not through violent Genocide, but by showing the side of the government that most had forgotten, by the people, for the people.

In the year, 2287, he’d successfully have the Chicago area under Enclave Control, yet even after that, he was informed about enclave assets on the west coast, and in Appalachia. Making a choice he’d have him and a elite squad, nicknamed the Black Devils. Named after the X-02 power armor they wear, would head to Appalachia to establish a presence there. Afterwards he'd turn his attention back onto the Nation's Captial, The Captial Wasteland, Formerly known as Washington DC.

Gear

` ` ` ` ` `

「 Total caps: 1776」

Plasma Pistol

X-03 Hellfire Power Armor

Galling Plasma

3 Synthetic G.E.C.K’s made by M.O.D.U.S

A C.A.M.P.

Blueprints for a water Purifier

Radio to Contact both the Kovac-Muldoon Platform, and Chicago

A Combat Knife

一

Skills

` ` ` ` ` `

「 Best Skills 」

Inspirational

Pain Train

Science!

「 Worst Skills 」

Iron Lung

Lock Picking

Scrapper

一

“If I must choose between peace and righteousness, I choose righteousness”

[alberivh]

unwanted lovers

the lovers of the sinner, the thieves of the nation. Caught in despair after hiding their motives behind the ruins of aristocrats , they were now together behind the cells of execution, loving each other in no bounds of life nor death.

diluc x gn!reader

contains (proceed with caution) : major character death, gruesome death, execution. (Heavy angst, comfort/hurt, bad ending)

a/n ; I’m very sleepy these days so enjoy reading this

“diluc..are you sure we’re going to be alright?” , standing behind the cliff, both hands and leg chained up in a huge rocks; standing beyond the other side of the sinners-walls. The cliff was a sharp one, designed to be a punishment for fugitive to regret. But you in the other hand..looked like you didn’t regret anything. Seems like you gone numb and missing, probably dying out of beneficial, but for what exact reason..? Aren’t you going to die? Aren’t you?

The air was in a perfect shape, blowing through the ears of whisper into corruptors mind. It was breezing and perfect, a match for a dead end. The flowers were all a bare minimum, seems as if it was never supposed to grow; Same as how the contradictions between you and diluc relationship.

“we sure are going to be alright…haha”

a simple small affairs of thieves, relationship grew beneath titles. scrawling through the nights of the nations, searching for victims to be devour. Fortune, foods, informations and many more. Dangerous or so, we could talk about it later; after all, privileges of the poor are none to another. Dirts fill the clothes of people with nothing, looking like a lost dog from the leach of their master; it’s how you both look. generally speaking, maybe you both are really perfect from one another. Poor and worthless, messing up the people whom privileges drowns them to exploitation. beneficial for business and public figure, making the knives on both of your throat approach the second you both slaughtered another man.

diluc look so much more than perfect, he is astonishing. Fit more to be a corrupted man instead of a filth whom licks someone toes to be payed. And to live to the fullest, he repayed those who are involved with the corrupted government, by either slaughtering them or just..stealing their granted fortune. It is a job, and to be specific it is a living hell to be in love with your own partner. Loving seems so mature, yet you both found it to be quite bothersome. or maybe that’s just how nature works for someone who grew in an abandoned wilderness. Like how diluc live after his family died, like how you live after you lost everything to the ego’s of the rich.

you both were empty, like you predicted it to be. Diluc was a scum, same as his only eye which felt like a sharpened death. kissing his dry lips as you cried in his chest, embracing the figure of a red-hair thief who ones told you an eternal peace, for the poor we live and for the rich we died, that’s how our life’s work sweetheart. Even if death embarrassed your cheeks, all you wished is for you both to be alive as soon as the worlds ends to be a better place. The smoke of his cigarettes surrounded your cries, it stings the pain of abandonment, like the cries of lovers who only lives to die in the age of glory. although you wouldn’t assume the fact he was a worth of a thousand years of reincarnation, he sure is enough for puppet like you to be pleased.

“still wearing your brother’s eyepatch i see? What’s up with you always wearing it around? You look better without it anyways.”

“he lives in the other ground of the walls, possibly already meeting my father right now. He was beneath 6 feet under the ground anyways, would you like to mourn him?”

“you could just told me he’s dead, Diluc”

“i can’t he’s supposed to be alive after all.”

that’s how you know Diluc’s past, how’d you believe his slaughter and warm to be an abominable crime. As much as you loath those who stick with their family principles, you expect nothing more than Diluc’s ability to keep you both balance from the assumptions of the rich. He is a tool and a lover, even if you fall out of love with him, you could still rely within his power..or so you thought. Fate was cruel, they decided to lend a hand for the inability to be punished by the divine.

You found a comfort at his kisses, it was beautiful. A single line of poet to an old paper, perfection. Never have you though to be deeply in love. dancing like nobody but yourself and diluc himself. Skipping through the laces of fingertips as the mansion burns to the ground, how beautiful the sunset is at the evening; the dust of the corpses which were buried trying it’s best to find the wind, but they were corrupted and only both of you were worth to be despaired. The soul of the worthless, the soul who craves justice for the none; oh god, you both really are in love.

Embracing nothing but him, loving the movement like no one but him, only him, my beloved diluc. The flowers petals which was turned into a thousand of flames are now flying and surrounding the neighborhood. Burning the whole corrupted society was unexpectedly mesmerizing. It seems like it covered the injustice of your action. Burying people underneath their grasp, leaving terrors to the innocent, maybe fairness are really that blind.

The mansion was burned to dust, leaving nothing but bones in the investigation. The fortune you took was nothing, the burns of the screaming neighbors are your daily teases. Diluc found it pleasing that you both are in love once again. Dancing once again. But this time, both of you were chained up in a chamber. Legs full of bruises, cheekbones gone frail, and lips were all drying in horrors. you both are dying in tremors.

Dancing in each other arms, suffering in worth, it’s the last night they thought. The swaying burns of guilt, the loving kisses of embrace, it’s so addicting. Although diluc was hesitant to let go, maybe it’s time to grew on the fact by loving was a cursed from the start. For both of you and diluc. The chains in your legs were rotten, making a deep infection on your ankles. A fatal sources of death and unbalance.

“can we promise something diluc?” , your voice gone hoarse. Trembling and terrified, dying wasn’t so ruthless but seeing diluc suffer was something you wish you could unchange. It’s exhausting to live like no one, maybe diluc felt so too. You were too scared to shed another tears to his chest, anxiety was planting it’s ideology beyond the walls of your mind.

The night was peaceful, maybe the starry sky doesn’t deserve it’s view. Humans are frail, fragile, and too much of a pain to begin with. If you were a god, maybe diluc could be your lover for the rest of your eternal realm. The next life would be fine, just make diluc safe from the grudge of death.

“let us marry each other in the next life, even if it meant for one of us to die again..”

“your wishes is my command, love” , an agreement. He agrees to be in love, whenever the situation is those words would always be kept near. Marriage aren’t that simple to be idealized, but knowing this is your last wish, why not accept the terms? He asked himself.

“you don’t need to be formal like that y’know Diluc, we’re in the same bounds, a fugitive in a prison..”

“well that doesn’t change the fact you’re my lover?” , he replied again. The same silence scowl your emotions to a mess. You really wished you did more than just this, everything. Kissing his lips wasn’t enough, tearing up in his chest wasn’t enough, loving him wasn’t enough and lastly, maybe in the next life your time was too short. can i sacrifice the whole world for you then? So anything that could happened in this state, all of it was for us to met again. I’m too selfish to let go, you are the best thing that universe have fortune to be.

I accept each granted the world has gave, even if it meant for me to die again. Let go of diluc’s hand, let me be the crystalflies Diluc envied; An eternal peace for lovers to reincarnated as. If anything has happened to both of us, let share the burden towards the undeserved. Because in our next life, maybe there wouldn’t be us, just you and another person in chains of eternal love-life.

so whenever i’m lost diluc, intertwined my hands again. And you, whenever you’re lost diluc, love me all over again. Because if this time wasn’t enough, then let us die in each other embrace. Loving you was an intention i never have despises, and as those ancient story told. ‘The once fallen first are the once who fell in love harder.’ I though it was a wise poet, but maybe know i understand, Diluc.

I lost you after you fell to the cliff, i have no regret on loving you. But if time was partial enough for both of us, i rather fall for you without any requited relations with you anymore. Diluc, you’re free. As free as the ocean waves, as free as the guides of the wind, you’re free. I’m sorry for letting you fall away from the range of my life, i’m sorry..

so please Diluc, meet me again sooner or after, i love you.

the pleas for the corpse to hear, here you standing in the cliff alone, waiting for someone to push you apart; to follows Diluc’s path. oh diluc..he look so lonely down’s there..blood all over his head and torso; as he saw you fallen down to his side. Eyes opened in shock, as the knife inside of his stomache rumbles to death. Stings. It stings. He watches the world shutter in his eyes, the eyepatch he use was no longer his brother remnants, it was just a decoration for another corpse to be buried in burden of love. He seems so pathetic in this state, seeing you fallen to his side and couldn’t do nothing but smile.

diluc why am i the only one talking here?

The bloody place you both fallen through was a perfect place for continuation. Trying to slip your head to diluc’s unwary neck, the warm part of his body you couldn’t let go. You heard the whispers of the wind once again, it seems it pitied the living and the dead. Diluc heartbeat was long gone, possibly gone when he smiles at you; for the last time. Diluc was just a body now, your lover have returned to another universe. To another universe you promises him before.

‘in heaven we’ll be free..in heaven we’ll get married diluc.”

the thought of you slowly losing consciousness was better than before. the warm of Diluc’s corpse was starting to fade, same as how your instinct shatter to pieces. The only thing you could see beside the sky was the knife inside his stomach, waiting for it to be freed from the blood of the filth. But your strength was long gone, death already ruins your eyes in despised of being in love. As the ancient tales says in the end of the page, they told the audience a never-ending happy tales, a hope for the lovers to heard at the end. you both are free now..

TAGLIST : @mikachuchu , @zierx @childeluv @urujiako , @chichikoi , @noirkkat , @aphrodicts-imagination , @icecappa

proofread; @mikachuchu (thank you so much wtf mika ily for this /p)

[ichika27]

Random Thoughts on Saiyuki Zeroin

The show is finally over and it was great! No wonder a lot of people liked the original manga version. I was supposed to make this days after the last episode but I kept forgetting and putting it off. This has been in my drafts since after I posted the episode 11 comment post and I have just finished it today haha.

I was gonna put some of these on my episode 11 thoughts but it’d get too long so I’m posting it here separately. These are my personal thoughts and comments on this show/its characters. It could get rambly and you might even say “It’s not that deep!” but to me, somehow it is - overly dramatic lol.

I’ll be reusing some photos from my other Saiyuki posts.

My Thoughts on Hazel Grouse

Saiyuki Reaload -Zeroin-’s episode 11 broke my brain and made me think too much after watching it. I literally went to bed contemplating on what life is before going to sleep. It’s stupid but I love it when a story makes me think this hard.

Hazel’s question at the beginning of the episode 11: would anything have changed if he had taken care of the flower his master had given him? My thought is that there may have. His master gave that to his as he needed to learn something stating that demons/monsters take lives and so Hazel must learn something about life. The lesson would’ve been perfect for Hazel who has the ability to resurrect people from the dead.

-Hazel is an exorcist who has to kill demons/monsters as a duty. He’s also very biased against demons/monsters - to him, it doesn’t matter who or what they are cause they’re all better off dead.

-Hazel could bring the dead back to life with his ability so long as he has another life he could take to replace it. He also has a pendant that could easily store as many souls as he could to use whenever it’s needed.

These two things together on Hazel is kinda... he acts like a jerk. He hates demons and don’t give a crap about who they are with an example being that demon kid from the first few episodes. And he can bring people back to life so he doesn’t really mind anyone becoming collateral damage if needed be like in that episode with the human hostages. He was willing to shoot them if the others didn’t make their move.

As a result, killing demons/monsters gives him a bonus of having extra souls to revive the dead giving him more reason to be ruthless when dealing with them. The demons/monsters are all evil and he can use their lives to bring anyone back and these make it seem like his decisions/actions are justified.

And being able to revive the dead, he doesn’t really care as much if humans die because he can just bring him back. His appreciation for life seemed to have lowered cause he can easily end/bring it back whenever he wants to. Maybe if he’d realized how precious life was, he might have had a bit more sympathy for other people.

I mean, according to Gato’s flashback, Hazel was not happy with what he did that, even if it wasn’t his intentions, he did kill Gato. He promised he wouldn’t do anything like that to humans again then fast forward to Zeroin episode 3, he was thinking of shooting the hostages. He said he was bluffing but the way he reacts to people dying seems to me like he doesn’t see it as a big deal anymore. The death of the sick human baby too - he doesn’t look as affected as Goku and the others and used the baby’s death to verbally hit the party with basically a “See? if only you let me kill that demon kid then I could’ve saved this one!”

I’m not saying Hazel’s a bad person but everything that he went through until now just made him not care enough about life itself due to how easy it was to kill and bring someone back. That was until the pendant broke as he no longer has an easy fix for death.

I wasn’t sure if I should bring up the revived humans attacking the Sanzo Party. Like, Sanzo and the others (and I guess even the audience) think Hazel’s been using the revived humans as puppets to attack the Sanzo Party but he said it was just a side effect of the humans being killed by demons and wanting revenge. It hasn’t been brought up again after the first time the groups separated with a sort of a bit more positive impression of the other so I’m not exactly sure what’s right and what’s wrong. On the other hand, they’ve been on that town with almost everyone being resurrected humans and those people never attacked Goku, Gojyo, and Hakkai so Hazel might’ve been lying. If he was (which is most likely), it’s another addition to the above as he didn’t mind using humans as puppets knowing they could die again cause he can just bring them back whenever he wanted.

My Thoughts on Ukoku Sanzo

Ukoku Sanzo’s Muten Sutra’s power is “Nothingness”. As explained in the show, it’s turning anything into nothing making them disappear or erasing them. It’s shown when he cut off Gato’s arm and several trees in the surrounding areas when it came to physical things while for things that don’t exactly have a physical form, he was able to stop Sanzo’s attack by making it disappear and of course, he can erase existence itself.

He tried in this very same episode to erase Genjo Sanzo’s existence and as the darkness from the Muten Sutra got closer, we see more of Sanzo’s time with his comrades disappear one by one. The end result if the others hadn’t come to save Sanzo would’ve been his inexistence. I do wonder what would’ve happened had Sanzo completely disappeared - how would things be in the world and the places the Sanzo Party had been to?

His power is pretty scary and unlike Sanzo, it seems he didn’t even need to say anything to activate it which made him a hard opponent to beat. They weren’t able to actually kill him and it makes sense as he’s stronger than they are. They were able to injure him though so that was awesome already.

While he’s not exactly a good person, I can’t say I completely hate him. He’s an interesting and also somehow entertaining character. He’s not gone, just back to hiding away and I’m excited to see how they’d deal with him in the very end of the series.

The Theme of Life and Death

This entire season there are talks about “life” which isn’t surprising considering a new character’s power ties into that. I actually like this as there’s something more to think about in-between all the shounen action going on. The Saiyuki series as a whole isn’t stranger to this theme of life and death because of what the plot is but this season felt like it really focused on that.

The important characters shown in this arc/season who aren’t the main protagonists have ties to the theme in their own ways.

Hazel has the power of life as he can revive the dead but at a price. He had no qualms when killing demons and then using their life to bring humans back. And then the power of resurrection itself coming from a demon who kills humans.

Then there’s Bishop Filbert, Hazel’s father figure and mentor, tried to teach him about life using the flower and some words of wisdom (that Hazel didn’t listen to). Hazel understood it only at what I guess is the end of the journey he decided to take.

There’s also “death” that is tied to Ukoku Sanzo who has the ability to end someone’s life past the point of death to inexistence. His power came from one of the Founding Sutras of Heaven and Earth - the sutras said to be part of a single one that created the world. Ukoku used this power to destroy and nearly kill some of the characters and in Gato’s case, he succeeds.

Gatty Nenehawk or Gato is kind of the in-between as he had died and he was revived. Basically an undead living on which is paid for by the death of others.

Hazel can give someone another chance to continue their lives and have a future while Ukoku can take everything away and not just a person’s future but their past as well. They do have something similar going on though: they’re clinging to someone from the past. Memories of their moment with those people becoming flashbacks in the show.

Hazel’s past with Bishop Filbert which shaped who he is as a person and is the reason he travels in the first place. Ukoku’s past with Komyou Sanzo and the bet they made with each other shown in the first and last episode which seems to be the reason he fought the Sanzo Party (and maybe one of the reasons he’s doing what he does now).

Gato on the other hand is who he is also because of how he was raised in his tribe but it doesn’t seem to tie him down like the other two. The flashback with his past happened only once and near the end as well. He had accepted his death because he was taught that it was how life goes but he doesn’t hate the 2nd chance he got. He never got mad at Hazel for accidentally killing him or intentionally bringing him back. He doesn’t think about the future he won’t have once he passes away permanently but it doesn’t bother him. He lived and he’s satisfied with that. In a way, he was like the human version of the flower Hazel was supposed to take care of back in the day. I mean the whole “Flowers wither, yet they bloom.” - Gato lived and he died and to him, that’s how it is even if Hazel didn’t understand at first and wanted to keep reviving him.

It’s not even just them cause there’s also the village of demons that they ended up in somewhere in this season. The demons there have lived long enough in the situation where humans have taken their only close water source while driving them away. They knew the humans did not like them and it was only a matter of time before a fight would ensue which did happen in the end. They’ve already accepted that it’s the way life would be and even when they knew they could die, they were ready for it.

On the other hand, the humans there, especially those leading them, didn’t seem to be in comparison. They knew there’d be a war as they were the ones who wanted it in the first place and they knew there would be deaths on their side as well but they chose to act when someone like Hazel arrived who can bring their dead back.

In the end while many died, especially the adults in the demon village, there are children who survived and they will continue to live on. On the human side which, many had died as well and it’s unknown if anyone survived but as Sanzo and Hazel had left them to their fate, they’re suffering the consequences on how they chose to live.

Other Thoughts

It’s hard to judge most of the characters for their choices and actions. The show was at least able to give us the reason as to why they’re the way they are. I hated Hazel at the beginning due to his personality and how he treated those around him but in the end, I couldn’t hate him fully. I liked his character and I understood at least why he was like that and he had character development as well. Gato was nicer but he was also acting under Hazel’s orders so he can’t just do what he wanted. He does what he can to try and make Hazel see his point of view which I think is good enough.

Even the main characters contemplated and how they’d react had they been in Hazel’s position. They knew that depending on the situation, they may have chosen the same path. When the subject is of their own deaths, they’d accept that it would happen but it doesn’t mean they won’t fight to keep on living longer.

The demons in that one village eat humans and see them as food but it’s difficult to hate them with how circumstances have put them in that position. They weren’t that bad either and it wasn’t like they were actively hunting for humans to eat. They still eat regular fruits, vegetables, and animal meat and are just living the way they could.

I nearly forgot but there’s also the human town that decided to make a deal with demons. While I understand why the people there accepted that their leader had been in cahoots with demons, they do other things that I feel are unacceptable. They wanted to survive so I get why they’d continue playing along to the fake barrier thing. On the other hand, capturing and torturing innocent demons are horrible. I remember them saying they deliberately hunted them - the demons (who are young) they had been using as some kind of freakshow didn’t end up anywhere in town and were taken from the mountains. It’s messed up.

At least the demon village who eats humans only eat those who do end up inside their space. As disturbing as it sounds, it’s better than them actively hunting for humans to eat. There’s also the fact that after surviving the effects of the minus wave, they were reverted back to their human-eating nature. Humans on the other hand don’t really have an excuse as to why they were being assholes so I’m less likely to find their actions acceptable.

That said, the Sanzo Party had been in several human villages this season and the ones who decided to separate themselves almost completely from demons turn out to have terrible people in them who decided to do acts beyond that of merely wanting to survive.

How Things Ended

It’s hard to accept but not everything had a happy ever after and it can’t be helped with how the world worked in the story. The first village they went to had people experience loss twice (the death of their loved ones the first time and when those revived died again later), the demons being tortured in the “safe” human town weren’t rescued and the people there are likely to capture and torture more in the future, the demon village burning to the ground with most of their inhabitants dying, and then there’s Hazel’s sort of ambiguous ending.

I remember the first season of Saiyuki having a bit more happier ending for the places the Sanzo Party passes through. But as the group get closer to the west where the minus wave is stronger, the worse things are and the harder things are to deal with. It’s a sad but understandable progress in the series.

It feels a bit more realistic as well as four random people stopping by somewhere can’t just fix everything permanently. Those living in the demon village knew this as well when they told Hakkai, Gojyo, and Goku that while they accept the trio’s help for now, a war is still inevitable since the trio won’t be there to help them forever.

I guess in a way it also ties to the life and death theme. Time goes on and doesn’t start or stop when the boys come and go - it merely moves and their presence affects the way it does for the moment they were there. They might leave something behind (an impression, or a result) but they won’t be there to keep things the way they are or continue to change things for the better. In the end, the future of those places is still in the hands of those who are still living in there.

End Thoughts

That was very long. It was longer than what I was expecting it to be but it was sort of an overall thought of the 13 episodes I watched so it can’t be helped. It was fun watching the series and I hope that someday, we get another season.

The OP made me feel hyped up and the ED made me feel emotions. Hazel has a noticeable accent (same as Bishop Filbert) which I couldn’t ignore at times (I don’t hate it though, it was just attention-grabbing). Ukoku is funny and interesting - I don’t mind listening to some of the bizzare things he’d say but at the same time, I’d like for him to get punched in the face very badly lol.

That was fun and I guess it’s all I have. Thank you for reading this mess.

[mahizli]

Bonds (Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, 22 BBY)

Art by Mokorney and Part 22 of ‘Sparks of Hope’

***

Dooku held nothing but contempt for the Skywalker boy – no finesse, no subtlety, and no mastering of emotions, without much room for improvement. The Force knew he had tried to curb similar faults in Qui-Gon, very long ago, but his former Padawan had found his balance into meditation, oddly enough, and Dooku had only needed a few seconds to assess that Skywalker was completely unable to achieve it, and never would be.

Dooku was no fool. He could sense how powerful the boy was, what an asset he would play once he would have fallen completely – he was also very much aware of the interest his Master had in him. An interest that Dooku needed to be watchful of – because he knew how easily a Sith Apprentice could be replaced.

Dooku was no fool – and that was why he was keeping Ventress just close enough to control her, and just far enough for her not to attract Sidious’ attention unnecessarily. Ventress was fierce, skilled and loyal to a fault – and since he could not have Kenobi yet, she was a tolerable substitute.

It did not mean Kenobi was entirely lost to him, though – and Dooku watched him wake with carefully hidden interest, sitting up and rubbing his brow silently, helping Skywalker to recover.

“How you could choose to walk out there and get yourselves caught despite my warning is truly beyond me”, Dooku quipped, taking delight in watching Kenobi’s eyes widen slightly.

His former Grandpadawan’s eyes wandered to the electric bound wrought around his waist, attaching him both to Dooku and Skywalker. And the Count was surprised to feel resolve and relief seep through his incredibly strong shields. Kenobi was quick to place himself in front of Skywalker, holding him back and shielding him with his body, as soon as Dooku began to provoke the boy – it was frankly too easy. One just had to mention his arm, and watch Skywalker go feral.

“You will pay”, Skywalker hissed. “For all the Jedi you murdered on Geonosis.”

“That, my dear fool of a Jedi, is entirely your Master’s doing. Remind me again whose rescue it was that needed two-hundred and twelve Jedi?”

“Don’t you dare…”

“Anakin.”

Kenobi’s voice was calm. Measured, and so very soft. His body language still spelt protectiveness, one hand lightly placed on Skywalker’s left forearm. His face looked pale, in the dim light of the cell – but there was nothing but steadiness in the Force around him, and the command on his shields was frankly impressive.

“The Republic is going to send envoys with the spice. We need to get out of here before. And since we appear to be bound together, for the time being, I suggest we refrain from murdering each other.”

“You want us to team up with him?!!”

The indignation in Skywalker’s voice was grating – and Kenobi sighed.

“Currently, having you running in different directions is no option for me.”

He gestured towards his waist, a small smile playing around his lips, and Skywalker huffed.

“Good point, Master.”

They spent the next hours trying to escape from Hondo Ohnaka’s cells, only to found themselves back there. Dooku just shrugged, mentally, not overly worried and secretly impressed when Kenobi pulled that mind-trick on the stupid Weequay sentinel.

“You don’t want to stand guard. You want to deactivate the cell bars and… go out drinking.”

They watched the guard turn to a mindless puppet and set them free, and Kenobi muttered:

“Almost too easy.”

They had been prisoners together long enough for Dooku to recognise the small frown between Kenobi’s eyebrows as a sign of worry. He was not projecting anything into the Force, his signature surprisingly mild and gentle, but Dooku had already learned that his former Grandpadawan’s mind never stopped running.

They left the cell for the second time, running towards the exit, and suddenly Kenobi was pushing him behind a crate, palm splayed on his shoulder, body shielding him in an unconscious, protective move mirroring his earlier one.

“Hurry along, Dooku.”

His sharp, focused grey eyes darted around, and Dooku realised just how strong and dangerous his Grandpadawan could be, even without a lightsaber. Obi-Wan’s sleeve was brushing his, and he had adopted a defensive Soresu stance, but his hand was trailing behind, feeling for Skywalker in the Force, attuned to his reactions – and this was Qui-Gon’s training.

Qui-Gon had perfected the dual Master-and-Padawan technique along with Feemor, and brought it to completion with Obi-Wan, who had mastered the skill himself along with his own Padawan.

Dooku could have invaded their bond through the Force – but such was a crude, dirty thing reserved for the ones like Maul, whom Dooku abhorred and despised. Instead, he focused on the quiet signs: Obi-Wan’s small tilt of the head, the way his shoulders relaxed once Skywalker shifted his own position, and the quiet smile in his eyes when they started to run in sync.

Their bond was not closed, clearly, and this was so very interesting – but it also tugged at something Dooku had though to be long purged from his very system.  

Something reminding him of a vibrant green blade, of Qui-Gon’s quiet, casual shrug whenever Dooku ordered him around – but his Padawan had been dutiful and strong, truly skilled in the Force and so very warm. Until Feemor had died. Until Dooku lost Qui-Gon’s friendship and goodwill for good – because his Padawan had always been too headstrong, and too tender-hearted.

“Jump!”

They were still bound by the waist – Obi-Wan linking them together, and Dooku heard his gasp when Anakin grabbed the fence, leaving them both hanging below him.

“You’re too heavy. I can’t do it.”

They were slipping, and suddenly the link between him and Obi-Wan snapped – and then Dooku felt warm, strong hands grab his.

“Are you crazy, Master?! Just drop him!”

But Obi-Wan’s hands just tightened around his, eyes narrowing in steely resolve even as the bound tugged at his waist, drawing another pained exhale from him.

Never.

The small word echoed in the Force with quiet determination, and Dooku almost winced in pain, because the dedication within sprang from something so old, so long forgotten it burned, around his chest and in his very mind.

Ohnaka’s men somehow managed to knock Skywalker out and drag them both up in one fluid motion, and they soon found themselves back in their cells, finally separated but still unable to flee.

Dooku’s wrists hurt and he was somewhat short of breath, and so was Obi-Wan, who was bent above Skywalker’s unconscious body and had yet to straighten fully, arm wrapped around his waist.

“You should have dropped me”, Dooku stated, but Obi-Wan just huffed, with a small, annoyed shake of the head.

He fumbled through his utility belt, and managed to unfold a small Bacta patch, placing it against the welt on Skywalker’s brow, then he splayed his fingers, pressing them gently against his head.

Skywalker let out a soft moan, then his limbs seemed to relax and Dooku watched Obi-Wan’s face soften, his features still focused but appeased as he guided the boy into a healing trance.

“Rash, and unbalanced.”

This got Obi-Wan’s attention, and Dooku soon faced those calm, grey eyes, watching his Grandpadawan straighten, Anakin’s head still cradled in his lap.

“He might be skilled with machines. Wires. Even lightsabers”, Dooku dropped. “But he has not mastered anything in the Force, and he will disappoint you, if he hasn’t already.”

“Anakin will never disappoint me.”

“Don’t be so sure…”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed, but then his Grandpadawan shook his head.

“I know what you are trying to do. And it will not work. You want to sow distrust and hatred between us. You want to belittle Anakin in my mind, and in my heart. But you cannot. Because those faults you point out are known to me, and known to him. Because I did not seek to raise a perfect machine, or a droid, when I took Anakin as a Padawan.”

“Did you? Take him as a Padawan? Or was it something more complicated? A promise to the one who had raised, and forsaken you?”

“Qui-Gon did not forsake me.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was very quiet. He was not a small man, but he was definitely smaller than them both. Thin. A small reed, Yoda had always called him. And Dooku knew just how very fragile he was, how insignificant the Dark side of the Force made him – their duel was only months old, and he had brought him down within seconds.

Yet, just now, there was a conviction and a power radiating through him that seemed to dwarf them all. Obi-Wan raised bright grey eyes towards him, and Dooku realised, then, that the boy had worked hard towards balance – and that his efforts had not been vain.

“Qui-Gon believed in him. And, when it came to choose between Anakin and myself, he chose him because he saw, and realised, that Anakin needed him more than I did.”

“You do not resent him? For calling you only stubborn, and capable, in front of the whole Jedi Council, when you gave him twelve years of your life?”

It still irked something in Dooku. It had made him want to shake Qui-Gon until his teeth rattled – but Qui-Gon had died before Dooku had even known the full extent of the mess he had made with Obi-Wan, and then… Then Dooku had realised that the Jedi Order was nothing like it should anymore – nothing like it could.  

“And what kind of a Padawan would that make me?”

Obi-Wan’s voice was just a whisper, and his face had turned very pale, but the resolve had not left his eyes. On the contrary, something warm and light had begun to seep through his shields, permeating the Force around him, and it was searing open that small, long forgotten spot deep into Dooku’s chest.

“What of the years Qui-Gon devoted to me? What of Qui-Gon choosing me? Of helping me understand the Force, and myself, and the world around us, every single day of my apprenticeship? What of the love and care he provided, for my mind, body and soul, giving me all he had and even more? What of the devotion he inspired in me – strong enough to help me come back to him when I almost fell? How could I resent him for caring for a boy who deserves the world, and who was unwanted by most, yet who holds such promises?”

His Grandpadawan was facing him, features pinched yet glowing so brightly in the Force – and there was no contempt in Obi-Wan’s words, just genuine truth and belief. And it was painful.

“Qui-Gon taught me to be gentle with the faults we can find in others, because he was not perfect and never sought to be. He simply sought to improve himself. And this is something Anakin does as well – which is why he will never disappoint me.”

“Such meekness…”

“Call it whatever you want. I do not care.”

“Have you no pride at all?”

The question was genuine – almost taking Dooku by surprise. Obi-Wan however just raised his eyebrows, hands finding Anakin’s shoulders.

“And who am I, to place myself above so many others? We are a whole, Dooku. And just because I have no interest to dominate or best others does not mean I do not seek to improve my skills, and my way of understanding the Force.”

“How can that be enough?”

Dooku was laughing now, but it sounded cold and foreign to him.

“Because it is.”

There was sadness, and compassion in Obi-Wan’s eyes – and Dooku realised then, that this conversation had to end. That he would not gain the boy to his side that day – that he would have to wait for the war to extinguish the light into Obi-Wan’s eyes, for the battles and losses to harden his heart, for the despair to invade more of his mind, until he would be ready to hear some of the truths Dooku had come to embrace.

“I wish you would see it. I wish it would not be you we had to fight, day after day and night after night. But if I must, I will – because it is worth it.”

“What is…?”

Skywalker’s quiet mumble brought them both back to the small, grey cell they were still stuck in, and Obi-Wan’s eyes instantly searched for his face.

“What’s worth it, Master? Why are we back here with him?”

“Because your Master would not take your advice to drop me”, Dooku quipped.

“’Course not.”

The childish surety in Skywalker’s voice was surprising, and the boy lifted a hand, gently patting Obi-Wan on the arm.

“I’m the evil one here.”

“Hush now, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan’s hand had not left his brow, and his eyes met Dooku’s again. Steely, with a hint of sadness and unshakable resolve. His Grandpadawan wrapped an arm around Skywalker’s chest, and gave a curt nod.

And despite of himself, Dooku nodded back – because Obi-Wan was definitely worth a conversation. His Grandpadawan also had the means to defend himself, and to get himself – and Skywalker – out of this mess. And so, when Ohnaka’s men went to fetch them, leaving him alone in his cell, Dooku wasted no time preparing his own escape.

When the power died down, he killed the guards and the men facing him without any remorse. And he did not look over his shoulder, not once – determined to leave Florrum as soon as possible, and return with enough forces to burn it to the ground.

Just like he would burn the small part of himself Obi-Wan had brought back to life, because it was not part of Dooku’s plans and schemes.

Some bounds were better severed, and Dooku was honing his blades.

But not just yet.

[drwcn]

#9 【Carbon in the Steel】

cql au: everyone is an orphan except wwx; dark!twin jades

The Brothers Lan 

There was once a little house, on the outskirts of a farming village beyond the tiered rice fields south of Meishan, far, far away from Cloud Recesses. Both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji remembered that house. It was the house Father had built for Mother, and it was there that they were born. 

It sat at the base of a hill where many tall bamboo trees grew, and in the garden, there had been gentians, indigo and violet, that bloomed beautifully every summer. 

Lan Xichen would dream sometimes of that house and of the wonderful days in those early years. 

Father, look! 

Excellent form, A-Huan. Very good. Much improved. Now, remember to keep your balance on your front… 

These days he could no longer recall Father’s face. His voice though, Lan Xichen still remembered as clear as a bell. On the other hand, his brother Wangji did not remember much of Father at all; instead, it was Mother’s smile that he could never forget. 

Mother, can A-Zhan and I stay with you and Father tonight? 

P’ease, Mo’her. 

Lan Xichen remembered hugging his baby brother like a doll and strategically weakening his parents’ resolve using his baby pout and big puppy eyes. A-Zhan was always a trooper, so cooperative, so excellent at looking like a perfect toddler.  Stoic though. So stoic for a baby. What a weird kid. 

We had a bad dream. 

Bad dweam.  

Those were obviously lies. They never had bad dreams then; those would come much later, when their reality became worse than any nightmare they could ever imagine.

Jiujiu never needed to tell them that Mother and Father were dead, or what death was. They’d seen plenty of creatures die: the village’s cattle they butchered for the new year, the spinster's kittens that didn’t survive the winter, and the pheasants they caught and roasted for A-Zhan’s birthday. 

Father had been a lifelong vegetarian, so eating meat didn’t agree with his stomach, but he never enforced such rules on his sons. In fact Father didn’t enforce any rules on his sons, except to show kindness where they could and to be true to their hearts.  

Father probably didn’t anticipate just how difficult it was to be kind when the world had been so wholly unkind. Nor did he anticipate that he would die in such a violent and sudden manner without even so much as a goodbye.

I don’t remember what were the last words Father said to me. Wangji would confess to Xichen one day. I don’t even remember what Father looked like. 

They were by the marsh catching lobsters with jiujiu when it happened. Mother suddenly appeared and spoke words that were foreign and frightening - Gusu Lan, cultivators, siege, pursuit, escape. Go. Now. She didn’t hug them or kiss them. Lan Xichen remembered Wangji reaching up towards her to be picked up and the confusion and heartbreak in his eyes when she pushed him back into jiujiu’s waiting arms.   

A-niang...

At a certain point, jiujiu must’ve done something to them, because neither Wangji nor himself remember any part of their journey out of that village. When they woke up, they were somewhere high up and deep in the mountains. His little brother had looked at him and he had stared back and they both knew then that their parents were dead. Curled in their jiujiu’s arms, they cried themselves into another fitful sleep, and all the while, jiujiu didn’t wake up once, too exhausted by the endless days of travel. 

To them, jiujiu - like all adults - was old, but it was not until they grew up that they realized that Zhao Zhuliu at the time of their parents’ demise had been no more than twenty years old, barely more than a boy himself.  

~

Life with jiujiu was quiet, but after some time, they were able to find a sliver of happiness. 

Zhao Zhuliu was a quiet man, always had been, and that didn’t change just because he now had two young children on his hands. But he loved them, his sister’s only blood left on this earth; by god, he loved them beyond reason. 

Jiujiu was not a talker, but he was never distant, and though he was strict in his training of their cultivation and their swordsmanship, he was never harsh. So yes, life was quiet, but at least for a while there was a roof over their heads and food in their belly, and they never had to wonder where they would be tomorrow…

When jiujiu failed to return from his night-hunt, Lan Xichen knew that something had gone terribly wrong. 

Lan Xichen was the older one; he was thirteen. Practically an adult, he told himself. If jiujiu never came back, then he was just going to have to take care of Wangji. 

Whatever it takes. 

His brother was not a needy child, but when he turned eleven, he seemed to have found his appetite and ate everything Xichen could get his hands on. Fishing was the easiest and hunting a big game lasted them a while if he could preserve it just right, but even if he collected berries in the mountains and wild herbs in the forest, he still needed grains, still needed new clothes for the winter, and still needed oil to light a lamp at night so Wangji could continue to practice his calligraphy. 

He did try; you must know. Lan Xichen did try to do things the right way, but there was only so much money he could earn by book-keeping at a shop, or running errands for merchants, or even waiting tables at an inn. He was a child, and desperate, and nobody would pay him a dime if they could get away with a nickel. 

It didn’t take long for Xichen to learn that the fastest way of earning money was often the most unsavoury and that he wasn’t above reaching for those means. There were no lengths Lan Xichen wouldn’t go to keep his brother safe and happy, no asset within his arsenal of skills and attributes that he wouldn’t hone and weaponize to make himself stronger. He got good at stealing, got great at cheating, and grew accustomed  to killing. Every so often...if there were other offers available, well...Wangji would never need to know. 

Morals do not matter if Wangji went hungry. I can’t let Wangji go hungry.

And, once a year, Lan Xichen would buy a box of osmanthus pastry, like the kind Mother used to make for them - flakey and fragrant, rich but not overwhelming - and he and Wangji would sit together under the stars and finish the box all in one go. 

“Happy birthday, didi.” 

Chewing slowly on the osmanthus pastry, Wangji would smile, and it would all be worth it. 

“Thank you, xiongzhang.” 

~

Then, three years after jiujiu was taken, a startling news broke out over the lands. 

After years of internal strife, the dirty politics of Lanling Jin finally fractured the once glorious reigning sect. Jin Guangshan’s many children and their scheming “little mothers” formed factions and allied themselves with subsidiary sects all vying for control over Lanling’s seat of power. (小娘 xiao’niang = little mother, what one calls one’s mother if one’s mother is not the legal wife. The “real” mother of any children would always be the legal wife, while their birth mothers are ‘little mothers’.)

The details of Jin Guangshan’s demise was not entirely clear, but eventually it was his third son Jin Zitao who became the new Sect Master Jin. Being only eleven years old, it was clear to anyone who had eyes that he was a puppet, completely controlled by the whims of his regent mother, Jin Guangshan’s once favourite concubine, and the ancient respected Qin family who had promised their daughter Qin Su to be his bride once they both come of age. 

People had praised Qin Su’s stepmother, Sect Master Qin’s second wife, for securing such an advantageous marriage for a daughter not even of her own blood, stating that with the Dowager Madame Jin’s clever mind and Sect Master Qin’s seniority and experience, surely the murky pond of Lanling would become peaceful once again. 

The bigger question now was with three of the five major sects being led by minors - Qishan’s 14 year-old Wen Yuefan, Yunmeng’s 13 year-old Jiang Wanyin, and Lanling’s 11 year-old Jin Zitao - who then would become the next Chief Cultivator. Qinghe Nie seemed the most obvious choice at first glance, for they were the fiercest warriors, but given Sect Master Nie Heqiu’s most recent close encounter with yet another qi deviation, it seemed perhaps the real day-to-day leadership role was fulfilled by his first son Nie Mingjue. At seventeen years of age, he was certainly older than his contemporaries, but still a far cry from what was required to be His Excellency.  (温越凡 Wen Yuefan = Wen Qing’s courtesy name) 

Naturally, all eyes were drawn then towards Cloud Recesses, whose previous chance at obtaining the seat of Chief Cultivator had been dashed when its sect master at that time, Qingheng-jun, mysteriously vanished more than a decade ago. Now it seemed that Gusu Lan’s fortune was about to change yet again, when what once should have gone to Lan Cenrong now fell to his younger brother Lan Qiren. 

News of his rise to power had spread far and wide, until every man, woman, and child knew his name. Until Lan Xichen heard from a gossiping bar-keep at a tavern. Until Lan Wangji heard from the children playing on the street. 

One morning Lan Xichen returned to their temporary home to see Wangji sitting in front of the breakfast he’d prepared (when did he learn to cook???) and a purse on the table filled with silver coins and small gold nuggets.

“Wangji...where did you -” 

“I don’t want you to go out at night again, xiongzhang,” said Lan Wangji bluntly. 

Taken aback by Wangji’s tone and his implications, Xichen quickly gathered his wits and tried to maintain control of the conversation. “That doesn’t answer my question; where did you get the money?” 

“I also went out last night, after you assumed I fell asleep and left.”  

Xichen’s blood went cold. “You...went out? Out? In the middle of the night?! To do what?!” 

Lan Wangji’s stoicism did not waver. “What one usually does to get paid at night. What you’ve been doing for years.” 

In three long strides, Lan Xichen strode up to his little brother - his baby brother - and yanked him up by the collar. Grabbing his arms with both hands, he forced Wangji to look him in the eye as he exclaimed in a mad panic, “You didn’t! Tell me you didn’t!!” 

God, Wangji, what have you done, what have you done - how could I let this happen - I should’ve done better - 

Wangji did not blink, but after a long terrible silence, he said, “No. I didn’t. I just followed you. I saw.” 

“You saw…” 

There had been a man who eyed him with interest. Lan Xichen wasn’t looking for business - hadn’t been looking for months - but winter was coming and Wangji was growing so much he would need several new sets of robes. Xichen hadn’t been working as many hours as he’d been previously. He needed to train, to cultivate - they both did - so that one day they could do what needed to be done. The core melting technique was not to be trifled with lightly, jiujiu had warned them. They needed time to practice, to perfect it, time that couldn’t be used to earn income. 

While yes he could steal and yes he could kill, Lan Xichen realized early on that those two options often caught the attention of local authorities or worse the local cultivation sect, especially if his activities were too frequent or too conspicuous. Sometimes it was just easier… 

“The money, then?” 

“Don’t you recognize the purse?” 

Xichen turned around. He did. He did recognize that silk embroidered draw-string purse. It belonged to the man from last night. He had taken money out of it this morning to pay Xichen for his time.  

And when they parted ways, Xichen had gone to a public bath house to get rid of any incriminating evidence on his body before going home to his brother. That was his routine... had been his routine for years… 

“I shoved his body down a well. That should buy us enough time to get out of this town. You weren’t planning for us to stay that long anyway right?” 

“Wangji…Wangji -” Lan Xichen turned away. He couldn’t face his brother, who now knew what he knew. 

“Xiongzhang, don’t do this for me anymore.” Lan Wangji’s hand found his own, squeezing it tightly. 

“It’s - it’s really not a big deal.” Lan Xichen tried to laugh it off. “I don’t do it that often. Really - I am your older brother, it is my duty to -” 

“No. No more. From now on, if you go out, I go out. I’m old enough -” 

“You’re thirteen, a child!” 

“So were you.” 

Lan Xichen closed his eyes. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I know I’m done waiting.” 

Lan Wangji was talking, of course, about their vengeance. It was what they spoke of on most nights when they couldn’t sleep. For mother and father and jiujiu, they swore they would not rest until they razed Cloud Recesses to the ground and burned the core out of every last one of their disciples before slitting their throats.  

Wangji came around to face him again and stared him down with his brows furrowed tightly above bright determined eyes. “It’s not fair. The Chief Cultivator was supposed to be Father! The heir of Gusu Lan is supposed to be you! Instead - instead...”

Tears welled up in his little brother’s eyes. “They hurt you, ge, I saw. I saw.” 

Choking with shame, anger and a pain he couldn’t describe, Lan Xichen pulled Lan Wangji into a crushing hug. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Wangji. I’m sorry I couldn’t do better. I’m...” Words failed. As Lan Wangji cried into his chest, Lan Xichen looked up to their leaky roof and their bare, striped walls, and wondered what the ethereal Cloud Recesses would look like. All that should have been theirs, should’ve been his, belonged to someone else. 

Lan Qiren is Chief Cultivator now. He’s still holding jiujiu captive. He needs to die. The people who killed Father and Mother; they all need to die. 

“You’re right, Wangji, you’re right. No more.”

“So you won’t leave at night anymore?” 

“I won’t. The world has taken everything from us, I think it’s time we take what we are owed. Once we are strong, we will save jiujiu and avenge A-die and A-niang.” 

“And if people try to stop us?” 

“Then we will destroy them and anyone else that gets in our way.” 

[the-nysh]

*record scratch* .....Oi!! Anon, I understand you're upset too, but you know I can't really condone that 'revenge' you're actually implying. :'D (Mainly cause if you have a problem with other people's Garou takes, go take it up with them, as you can probably tell I won't respond or agree to those that veer on unjustly victim-blaming Garou at his expense for this, or those that seem morally complicit in the same evil/apathy/callousness/sadism that led to his purest humanity getting so cruelly violated against his will.)

Because the situation is thus: I would be just as upset if the same thing happened to Genos, as I care about him too. The equivalent scenario would be something like: if in his current state of abject powerlessness/frustration to DO something without any limbs, he sees Saitama once again reaching for his heart (as Genos had just experienced) or Kuseno's drones (or even the man himself) descend the battlefield to assist him as usual. The rare few people Genos has already been shown/established to trust and care about. ...But it's in fact 'god' here to use Genos' natural human love/loyalty towards his loved ones against him for his own gain, to forcefully take everything of value from him, and turn Genos into a 'mad-cyborg' agent against his will and awareness/understanding of what's even actually happening. :')

And THAT is precisely how it would feel. As Garou, in his most recent encounter with Bang, just learned how it was safe & okay to trust in the words of his master who still loves him, in a Bang who still wants to save, support, and re-connect with him too despite all their rocky differences & mistakes. Whose most recent lesson he left for Garou was to 'follow the voice (wants) of his heart.' And whom deep down, Garou genuinely wants to feel valued, validated, and accepted by for once, enough that he opens up his most vulnerable humanity, in a purest, natural desire to properly re-connect with Bang - to complete/answer the unfinished gesture they’d started healing before, without even a second thought to doubt it. But BAM! It's actually the most cruel, twisted evil trap & 'punishment' from god for Garou even daring to feel human instead. Congratulations for finally showing some honest emotional growth for once. (/s) (Now Saitama could have chosen to extend a heroic hand in empathy in response to someone’s unwell cry for help, but his previous offer was exchanged for the hand of true Evil to grasp and ‘help’ -as in corrupt/violate- Garou’s very best humanity instead.)

And now, ONE could choose to be just as sadistic as this redraw in the current webcomic by switching targets. Since wc Garou is 'fine' while wc Genos is a prime liable candidate to be manipulated, framed, or exploited into another ‘mad’ cyborg puppet against his will. Especially when he’s on his last body that can’t be ‘fixed’ as usual, too. ONE could choose to do the same thing to Genos here that he didn't do to wc Garou in exchange. :') But again, only if ONE's feeling particularly sadistic in making Genos suffer - since he could also tempt him with an image of his dead Kuseno (whom Genos never got the chance to fully 'connect' to, with all his unsaid regrets) to twist the knife even further. (Uuugughh, but then I would be just as sickened to see that.) But then yes, it would become Saitama’s responsibility to save/help Genos, as he'd already decided/promised to support him at his side if anything were to happen to Kuseno. There’d be no excuse to give him the benefit of a doubt, then.

But even if any of that awful stuff were to hypothetically happen, you still wouldn’t blame Genos for any of it, would you? Or outright accuse him of ‘cowardice’ or weakness for simply & naturally wanting to reach out, answer to, and re-connect with a loved one (which as a lesson in mp100 is a source of strength; plus how much has Genos wanted to be actually noticed by Saitama!? especially in the webcomic!) Or even for him 'choosing' or ‘accepting’ such a 'deal' against his own awareness either, because no, he'd be reaching out and responding to a loved one he already trusts. That victim-blaming him would be so fundamentally cruel & and morally unfair to him too, right? :) So, Garou absolutely cannot be blamed for that act of evil exploitation happening against him either.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Aragorn and Boromir: one of them was late to/forgot about an event for the arguments thing!

Alright! They didn’t argue-argue because they REFUSED. Idiots. But they did have some weird emotional conversations so that’s as good as we’re going to get. I hope you enjoy! 

Title: Sweet is the Air

Pairing: Aragorn/Arwen/Boromir - basically. 

Summary: Set in the same time-line/AU World of Naming the World & My Land is Bare. So, Boromir survived Amon Hen, to everyone’s great joy. The main plot-points remain mostly the same. Barring some people living who died in the canon. 

This is post-ROTK. Denethor remains alive, the ghost at the banquet. 

--

‘Did you forget?’ Aragorn asks.  

‘I didn’t,’ Boromir says. 

Aragorn repeats: But did you? It’s alright if you did.  

‘I didn’t,’ Boromir insists.  

Aragorn wishes the man would just admit to it. Yes, he forgot. How hard is that to say? Yes, it slipped his mind that they were going to have a Talk with Denethor about The State of the Stewardship. Or, more truthfully, Yes, he forgot because he wanted to forget because he doesn’t want to talk to his father about The State of the Stewardship. 

‘Do you know how hard it is to corner your father?’ Aragorn asks, attempting to not be annoyed. Because he isn’t annoyed. This is only the third time this has happened, after all. And the first occurrence of Boromir’s lateness to the Denethor Conversation had a legitimate cause; the second - well it could be argued to be legitimate. A third time though? 

But he’s not annoyed. 

(Arwen, last night, You’re annoyed. Aragorn, insistent, I am not annoyed. Arwen raised an eyebrow and therefore looked eerily like her father, For some reason I remain unconvinced. Have you told him you’re annoyed? This made Aragorn scowl and so he therefore looked like a statue of one of his dead relatives, Why should I do that? I’m not annoyed. There’s nothing to talk about. Arwen, I’ll tell him if you don’t. To which Aragorn tried to forcefully declare: You will do no such thing but that merely prompted Arwen to pantomime opening a window and hollering out, Boromir, your king is frustrated with your inability to manage your father. Aragorn became horrified, You wouldn’t dare. At which Arwen smiled and said, Just watch me.) 

‘I promise I didn’t forget - it was only, I was tied up,’ Boromir states. 

Aragorn swallows: well that is a terrible excuse. Because that is not a kind thing to say. It is not a worthy thing to say. Boromir deserves better than Aragorn being missish. Because they are no longer on the road. Because the Fellowship is over. The Four Hunters has long been disbanded. 

Gods, Aragorn thinks bleakly, I’ve been king for ten months now. 

‘Well, it’s terribly difficult to force him to have ten minutes of time. Your father is wily.’ 

Boromir nods slowly. Picks at his nails. Looks at the sad bushes, the dismal remains of summer roses, jasmine climbing up columns, the naked trees. Aragorn isn’t sure how to proceed. He should have practiced. Arwen told him to practice. Aragorn despairs. 

‘He is,’ Boromir finally agrees. ‘He is very wily. A puppet master. I don’t -’ he stops. Aragorn waits with great expectation. Boromir works his jaw for a bit. Does more scanning of the environment so Aragorn can’t see his eyes resting still for more than a second. Aragorn worries Boromir is going to leave. He does this when he wants out from a situation. When he wants to disappear into captain-hood and slide sideways from duty as, essentially, regent-steward.

‘I can’t do this,’ Boromir finally whispers. 

‘You have to.’ 

‘I can’t, Aragorn. I really can’t. He’s my father.’ 

Aragorn makes a sympathetic face. He wants to say that he understands but that would be a lie so he keeps quiet. He cannot imagine Elrond no longer firmly grasping the world in front of him. He cannot imagine Elrond forcing this situation upon himself. There is no dignity to it. Aragorn cannot imagine Elrond without dignity. 

Boromir is silent which causes Aragorn some small anxiety. 

‘It would be a kindness, I think, in the long-run,’ Aragorn tries after another minute of muteness from the future-steward passes. 

‘Yes. It would be. It is.’ 

‘No one need know the reason of why he is being set aside.’  

Boromir looks at him with a sidelong expression. It is almost a sneer. ‘Everyone knows.’ 

‘Is that what frightens you? That people know and will think less of you for your father’s - um-’ 

‘Madness?’ Ah yes, here is a Boromir sneer. ‘Insanity? Lack of mental stability? Gone off with the birds?’ 

Aragorn nods. 

‘No, that doesn’t frighten me,’ Boromir says. ‘I can handle it well enough. It’s more that - well, it’s demeaning to be relegated to old, doddering man. It takes a person’s pride from them and gods, I feel like he’s lost so much already. All the things that matter, too: his position, his son to a certain degree, his father’s affection, my mother. I think, in many ways, pride is all my father has left.’ Boromir draws breath to continue only to deflate. Aragorn wants to comfort him but isn’t sure this is the time or place or, indeed, the best approach. 

It’s hard to know how to handle Boromir. He has more walls than Aragorn can fathom, at times. When he thinks he’s through one, there will be another five he didn’t anticipate. All of this alongside Boromir’s dislike of receiving reassurance. Comfort. Vulnerable affection, as Arwen calls it. There is such a deep fear of being seen as weak or, Aragorn thinks, being thought to be a burden. 

Aragorn tries, ‘Your father has more than that. And he hasn’t lost you.’ 

‘I was speaking of Faramir.’ 

‘Ah.’ 

Boromir’s humourless smile. ‘It’s all a bit of a mess, isn’t it? I’m not sure what I thought would happen after the war, but it wasn’t this.’ 

‘It’s hard to know how people will take things. And, I mean,’ Aragorn shrugs helplessly. ‘There were extenuating circumstances. No one knew about the palantir.’ 

‘No.’ 

‘And, well -’ he stops. Shrugs. Boromir raises an eyebrow, but otherwise he is still as stone. As a king of old, the ones whose names are lost to time but their faces are committed to rock with paint, with chisel. To Aragorn, Boromir has always conveyed more of the regal air he thinks is expected of a king. That he, himself, should display. 

What a thing, to walk into a room of foreign dignitaries, have the King of Gondor be announced and everyone looks at Boromir. Which Aragorn cannot blame them for, because he too would look at Boromir. Honestly, he thinks not for the first time, their roles should have been switched. Boromir should be king, Aragorn can be steward. 

‘Yes?’ Boromir prompts. 

‘I was just thinking, is your father truly mad or merely desperate?’ 

Boromir opens his mouth then closes it. 

‘Sometimes, it can look like the same thing,’ Aragorn continues, gently. He is so desperately trying to be gentle. ‘It’s as you said, he has his pride. He was raised to be Steward of Gondor. To be the sole ruler of this land and then I went and showed up. He’s desperate to hold onto what is, at the end of the days, is rightfully his.’ 

A dismal nod from the future-Steward. 

‘Perhaps there can be a compromise--’

‘No,’ Boromir shakes his head. ‘Not over this. It’s all or nothing with the Stewardship. I know my father, he does not share power.’ 

‘But you always seemed to have a position of influence --’ 

‘Of his making and of his control,’ Boromir shrugs. ‘So, you will either have him as Steward or me. It won’t be both.’ 

A bird’s screech ricochets through the courtyard that is empty and feels so desolate, like they are in Hollin or on the empty steps of Emyn Muil. Boromir has turned and begun a slow, meandering tour around the garden. He pauses where an arch looks out over the city, the River Anduin snakes its silver body through the eastern land of Gondor. Osgiliath shines in the distance. Boromir’s back is to Aragorn and the Future-Steward who is essentially acting-Steward, rests a hand on columned archway. Robes drape in such a way that he is a shadow against white marble, dappled grey. Aragorn wants to go to him but suspects it would be unwelcome, at this exact moment. 

‘My father once told me that he couldn’t remember what happiness was and I said that there would be brighter days yet, that he would live to see them. And he has, there is sun and the clouds of Sauron are gone, but he is not better.’ 

Aragorn thinks that a monstrous thing to tell one’s son. To say: I can’t know warmth, so light the fire and if you do not, then all my coldness is your fault.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says instead. He suspects Boromir won’t take kindly to having his father be called monstrous. 

‘Why?’ 

Aragorn stalls in thought then just shrugs and says that he is sorry because that is a lot to say to a child. 

‘I wasn’t a child.’ 

‘Still,’ Aragorn says, if a bit lamely. 

Boromir sighs, turns to face Aragorn. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t be the one who tells him that he is being pushed aside.’ 

‘Would you be able to be present?’ 

Boromir’s lips thin out into a line and his unhappiness at the prospect is a wave how it rolls from his shoulders. But he nods in agreement, as Aragorn knew he would. Still, it is a relief to have a firm agreement. 

Or, as firm an agreement as he is going to get at this juncture. 

He had asked Faramir: What should be done about your father? And Faramir had gone a little wide-eyed and said, I don’t know. What do you mean? And Aragorn had sort-of motioned as if that could contain everything that had happened. Faramir had then shaken himself out of whatever place it was he went when the question was posed and declared that the person to ask is Boromir. Boromir always knows how to handle our father, Faramir said with confidence. If you want to get Denethor to do things he doesn’t want to do, you have to have Boromir do the asking. 

Later, Aragorn relayed this to Arwen who said, What family have you gotten us tangled into? And Aragorn had replied, primly, I’m absolutely sure it’s worth it. And Arwen had laughed and said she agreed and that she trusted him. It’s just, really, that was what said? 

‘I’m glad you’ll be there,’ Aragorn says. ‘I’m happy to do the talking it’s only, your father is quite fearsome. Like a tempest. Or a sandstorm.’ 

‘Don’t be mean.’ But Boromir said it with a smile so Aragorn feels he can continue. 

‘Just, this time, don’t forget.’ 

Boromir mocks becoming affronted. ‘Excuse me, your royal highness, I did not forget. I got tied up in other very important affairs of state and therefore was merely late. By just five minutes, mind you, and you had already scarpered.’ 

Aragorn takes his arm and steers them towards the covered archway that will slowly weave back to offices and studies and rooms of state. ‘Tempest,’ he says. ‘Remember that.’ 

‘Right. Or sandstorm.’ 

‘A deluge.’ 

‘I’m going to make a record of these.’ 

‘You don’t need to do that.’ 

Boromir grins, ‘I absolutely do.’ 

Aragorn shakes his head, ‘If this is the sort of treatment I am going to receive from you I shall pass you over in favour of Faramir.’ 

‘Oh thank the gods,’ Boromir dramatically sighs. ‘Finally, the man has a good idea. The first time I’ve heard one from him since we met.’ 

‘I wouldn’t go that far -’ 

‘Let us run across Rohan for a week, he said. It’s a good idea to chase two thousand Uruk-Hai with only four people, he said. Trust the former-traitor-witch of Rohan to be of aid on the paths of the dead, he said. Let’s hike across a mountain in February with no firewood, he said.’ 

‘These were all brilliant ideas, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ 

Boromir laughs, then, a full one. And Aragorn grins because it is a pleasant sound to hear and these are sunny days. Despite the shadows that linger in them and the ghosts of still living men who haunt the halls of this palace, there is sun and there is warmth and there is, at the end of it all, something like hope for a new start.

[janeykath318]

BuckyNat Fantasy AU

For @green-angst-and-ham

“How much farther?” 

“Not much,” answered Lady Natasha softly. “Quietly now, Sir Steven. We cannot afford to alert the sentries just yet.”

Steven nodded and followed her silently, leather boots making very little sound as the pair crept toward the lair of the evil Hydra sorcerers, who were finally going to meet their doom today. 

The land had suffered greatly from their cruelty and inhumane magic and thousands had died at their hands or killed by the fire of their fierce black dragon, who periodically emerged from the Serpent Mountain to wreak havoc.

Ostensibly, Natasha and Steven were here to slay the dragon, but their true mission was rather different, for the Hydra dragon was no natural dragon, he was a man under a powerful spell, captured years ago in battle and now forced to do their bidding. 

Steven had been Sir James’s close companion and had grieved his friend’s supposed death for years before he had met Natasha and she had told him of her own captivity under Hydra and that she had known and loved James before they’d turned him into their puppet. 

Natasha had spent long years searching for answers in dusty magical tomes and seeking out the most renowned Wizards in the land in hope of learning how to break the spell that held James captive. 

Finally, she had succeeded in finding it and together with Sir Steven, was nearing the end of her quest. Her heart pounded as they drew closer to the entrance to the cave where the dragon was chained. Several stern looking guards were posted outside, but they would soon pose no threat. 

Natasha looked at Steven. 

“It is time,” she told him. “Remember, it is crucial that you not interrupt me when I start the ritual, no matter how perilous things become, do you understand?” 

Steven nodded somberly. The risk they were taking was very high and there was a good chance neither would survive, but it was one they were both very willing to take. 

“I understand.” 

“Then, let the rescue commence,” Natasha said, giving him a confident smile. 

Stepping in front of the cave mouth, she waved her hands and cast a spell that put all the guards into an enchanted sleep. Steve bound them and dragged them away where they wouldn’t be any bother. Step one completed, they entered the cave and Natasha led the way through its winding, twisting passages until they reached the largest chamber where the shape of a huge beast could be seen, chained to the wall and deep in slumber. 

The dragon was huge and fearsome looking, with sleek black wings and scales and deadly claws and a large horned head with flared nostrils that gave out puffs of smoke as he slept. As they grew closer, Natasha could see he looked rather thin and gaunt and the iron chain was digging into his neck cruelly. His left front leg appeared to be made entirely of silver. 

She saw Steve’s mouth tighten in anger at the sight and her own heart ached thinking about the mistreatment he’d suffered from those brute sorcerers. Normally, he’d be surrounded by his handlers, but they were currently being engaged in battle by The wizards and knights of the Golden Shield. 

Taking a small bottle out of her pouch, Natasha carefully opened it and let the contents waft around the room as she began speaking the words of the spell that would break James’s enchantment. 

The dragon began to stir and large red eyes glared at them suspiciously as he sat up on his haunches. Steve moved to stand closer to Natasha, ready to throw up his magical shield of protection, should The Dragon breathe fire at them. Natasha calmly continued chanting, words flowing effortlessly from her lips. It had taken her months to memorize it all and it would likely take at least ten minutes to cast. 

What she had not told Steven was that the spell was so powerful, it could very well drain her life force and kill her by the time she finished. Stephen Strange had almost refused to even give her the formula, so concerned was he for her safety. 

What did her safety matter while the man she loved continued to suffer so? 

She swallowed the lump in her throat and kept speaking. 

The dragon was growling at them now, eyes blazing and mouth opening. Steve threw up the protective shield just in time as a blast of fire burst toward them. Natasha held her ground, sweat trickling down her neck as she recited the spell. 

The dragon continued to blast fire at them and grasp with his claws, but due to his chains, he couldn’t get around Steven’s shield and growled angrily before giving up and sitting back down.

Feeling herself weakening every minute, Natasha steeled herself to finish her mission, Steve standing silently beside her. 

As she uttered the final words, she pulled out a blue powder and threw it into the astonished dragon’s face. 

A piercingly bright light appeared and Natasha sank to her knees, feeling as though she’d been kicked in the chest. As she tried to get her breath back, she heard Steven gasp and looked up to see the light dissipate and the dragon gone, leaving the huddled body of a man where he’d been. 

Steve reached him first, but only because Natasha could only crawl in her weakened state. He broke the chains off of James and began looking his unconscious friend over worriedly. Natasha’s eyes filled with tears as she recognized James’s human face, bruised and battered, dark brown hair falling past his chin. The rest of his currently bare body was littered with various scars and marks from tortures she didn’t want to even begin to imagine. 

“Oh, James,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and muttering a quick healing spell, forgetful of her lessened powers.  

The last thing she saw before she blacked out was Steve’s panicked face.

She woke up in James’s arms, with his big beautiful blue eyes looking down at her with love and worry in them. 

“Natasha,” he murmured. “You saved me. How…..”  

She rested her hand on his face and enjoyed its warmth, relief and joy coursing through her. She had her James back!

“With a lot of help and practice,” she told him. “It was a complicated spell to master.”

“Without doubt,” he agreed, placing his right hand over hers. “You nearly killed yourself for me. Good thing Steve here had some healing potions.” 

He gestured towards Steve, who was standing guard some yards away to give them space.

“It was worth it, James,” she said tenderly. “I love you and I never stopped.” 

James’s expression twisted as he fought back tears. 

“Natasha, my love, I longed for you for so long. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” 

His voice broke and he buried his face in her hair, breathing hard. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long.” She told him. “Those Hydra dogs made it very difficult to undo their enchantments, curse them to the black pits of Hell.” 

Her vehement tone had him smiling again and he helped her sit up.

“Do you feel able to walk?” He asked. “We should probably make ourselves scarce before any of them come back.”

The healing potion seemed to have been very effective, because Natasha found she could indeed stand and walk, if a little shakily.

“Yes, but James,” she asked, noticing his silver left arm, “what happened to your arm?”

He gave a grimace and pulled on a tunic Steve had given him. In one of his more optimistic moments, Steve had decided that human Bucky would likely need clothing once he had been transformed and had packed a whole set.

“Happened during the early days as a dragon before the enchantment had been perfected. I transformed back into a human while flying and nearly died in the fall, which cost me my arm. For a long time, I wished I HAD died.”

Natasha’s heart ached for him again and she saw Steve visibly wince at his friend’s words. Leaning up on tiptoes, she took his face in her hands and kissed him. James seemed surprised, but definitely returned the kiss eagerly. 

“There,” she said, after they’d managed to pull apart. “Feel a little better now?”

James outright grinned at her teasing tone and she basked in the glow of it, not having seen of of his becoming smiles in way too long. 

“With this kind of treatment, I’ll be good as new in no time,” he declared, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. There’s no telling how long their flirting would have gone on had Steve not given a polite cough.

“Loathe as I am to interrupt this happy reunion, we really do need to be going, friends,” he reminded them, though his own eyes were sparking with delight. “It would be best if we put on our Cloaks of Concealment.”

James and Natasha took his advice, and soon three grey-clad individuals were stealthily exiting the caves. No one spoke until they had managed to leave the Serpent Mountain far behind and then James heaved a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly to both of them. 

Natasha squeezed his hand in response and Steve said firmly, “You know I’d do anything for you, Bucky.” 

“I remember,” James said fondly. “How many times did you go off and fight something well beyond your strength because it looked askance at me? Does he still do that?”

“Less often now that he has a wife and child,” Natasha informed him. “Lady Margaret has been wonderful in talking him out of overly reckless ventures. And when she can’t, she usually joins him.”

Steve blushed and James turned to him, looking downright delighted. 

“Lady Margaret! Really? My heartiest congratulations, Steve! So You finally got up the courage to speak to her!”

Steve mumbled again and started walking faster to avoid his friend’s questions. 

“Oh, they’re an absolute delight,” Natasha told James, green eyes dancing with mirth. 

“I’m sure they are,” he agreed. “I have so much catching up to do, especially with you.”

He kissed her hand with a look that promised a lot more, and Natasha’s heart fluttered in a way it hadn’t in a very long time. Her James was finally free. 

[sabineelectricheart]

Sans Logique

Summary: Questioning Beliefs (Act II). Sebastian has an argument with the Grand Cleric and Hawke argues against deontology.

Rating: K - Intended for general audience 5 years and older. Content should be free of any coarse language, violence, and adult themes.

Words: 1421

Notes: Based on this song.

“I’m giving it all up!” A masculine voice from the feet of Andraste’s statue exclaimed with conviction. “I made a vow to the Chantry, and it was wrong to turn my back.”

“Sebastian! Listen to yourself!” Another, a female, rebuked. “You’re as impulsive as the day you turned away from us! Do you really think the Maker wants another rashly spoken vow that you’ll abandon when the next passion takes you?”

Ah, so it is that once more. I had come to the Chantry to bring my mother’s offerings, and it appeared I arrived at the wrong moment. The Grand Cleric had taken upon herself to force Sebastian to reconsider his position towards a religious life, while the nobleman stubbornly insisted he was certain of his desire for taking on the mantle of Brother.

Perhaps I should leave discreetly, as I should not intervene in such affairs. Yet, I was curious about what would ultimately happen, and considering my services for Sebastian, killing off the Flint Company, rescuing the Harimann family and investigating the state of governance in Starkhaven, I supposed I was still heavily involved.

“I will not…”

He tries to argue but is promptly shut down by Elthina.

“This is your life, child. Don’t spend it being blown about like a weathervane.” Then, she looks at me from the top of the stairs. “There’s Hawke. Maybe she can talk some sense into you.”

I walk up to the statue. “Good afternoon, Grand Cleric, Sebastian. I bring this week’s tessera, in the name of the Amell family.”

“I’ll see to this.” She picked up the bag and left.

I, then, turned to Sebastian. “She seems frustrated. Is the Grand Cleric upset with you?”

“She thinks I’m fickle, but I mean it!” He insisted. “It was wrong for me to break my oath to the Chantry three years ago. I’ve turned against the Maker, and for what?”

The man paced angrily, trying to let out some frustration. “Why would I want to rule Starkhaven and deal with jackals like Flora Harimann for the rest of my life?”

“You sound like you have made a decision, already.” I pointed out.

He sighed. “No, I didn’t.”

I raised my eyebrow and motioned for him to carry on.

“When I think about going back to Starkhaven… Calling on allies like Flora Harimann, all the corrupt, scheming nobles, my throat swells shut in horror.” The archer said, an uneasy creak on his forehead growing more pronounced. “When I think about staying, I’m at peace.”

I sat at the steps of the staircase, and motioned for him to sit next to me, which he complied.

“Well, how about we look that from another angle?” I offered. “Let’s work with suppositions. What would you do, for instance, if you formally renounced the throne and joined the Chantry definitively?”

“Well, for starters, I must convince Elthina my commitment is sincere. Then, I will remain here, in Kirkwall, to represent the Maker’s interests the way she sees best.” He said, matter-of-factly.

I nodded. “How about Starkhaven, then? What would happen?”

“My cousin Goran remains on the throne. He rules until the day he dies, and leaves the throne to his offspring.”

“Well, didn’t you say your cousin was rather… simple?” I put it lightly.

“He has not been graced the sharpest of intellects, yes.” Sebastian confirmed, a mean smile graced his lips.

“It sounds like he is an easy target for manipulation on part of ill-intentioned noblemen.”

“I suppose there is a reason why Johanne chose to promote his rights for the throne instead of my brother’s.” He conceded.

“You know how nobles are, they are selfish and insensitive. Goran’s reign spells hard times for the common folk of Starkhaven. Perhaps you should give more thought about that, too.” I argued.

Sebastian scoffed. “I don’t have hubris enough to imagine it matters to the common people who rules them. Someone will take the reins. The fields will be planted, the crops gathered. No one will notice that a Vael lives and isn’t there, and I can devote my life to the Maker’s will on Thedas.”

“It most certainly matters to the common people who rules over them, Sebastian.” I said, full of conviction. “Perhaps more than it does for the nobles and merchants, and I ought to believe you agree with me, or else the doubt would not plague you.

“You are correct in assuming someone will take the reins, as for being the sovereign, there is always candidates. However, wanting to do the job and doing it right are two very different things.

“To rule,” I continued. “Is the art of negotiation, of striking compromises. It is no place for a puppet, whomever it is the master. Besides, you have the chance of doing something great for the little man of Starkhaven, you can protect him from those who only see him as a beast of labour, you can provide for him.”

“So, you are saying I should take the throne? Do you propose for me to go back on my vows?” He asks, with an edge of his voice.

“I speak no such thing.” I countered. “You do not have to be Prince, but you do have a moral imperative to leave Starkhaven in good hands. If those hands are yours or of others’, that is for you to define.”

“I see.” He sighed. “You are right, of course. However, this discussion is moot. I cannot return to Starkhaven and submit my people to war without a clear sign this is the Maker’s will.”

“Sebastian, dear, don’t you think you are asking too much out of the Maker?” I said, sweet but firm. “You are not Andraste. He will not speak to you. He will not tell you what to do. Look for a sign will only serve to soothe your fear, and while this is all fine and good, your omission is as significative and impactful as your actions.”

The man stood up. “You do not understand, Hawke! I made a vow to the Chantry, and I refuse to turn my back to it once again. The Maker was there for me when I had no-one else, I will not forsake it once for the first thing that comes up. I will live a righteous life, and I will exert His will.”

I looked deep into his light eyes and said, “Very well, Sebastian, but I do not remember the part of the Chantry that says the Maker has an abacus to take count of our sins like they are cattle on a field.”

“What does this have to do with anything?!”

“I mean that there is no action on a void, Sebastian. We are not isolated in the world, nor our decisions are self-contained. You paid for the murder of the Flint mercenaries, yet now they cannot do any more harm to anyone else. You were wrathful with the Harimanns, but you banished a demon from this earth.

“You did good with your evil. Is it invalid just because it does not follow the doctrine to the letter? Did it destroy everything you built in the last seven years? What about me? Am I wicked for assisting you?

“Life is messy and difficult and painful, and the logic the Maker uses to judge us is beyond our understanding. We will all go out on the other side a little bit like Andraste, and a little like Maferath.

“There is no problem in going back on a few promises, if the end result is the happiness and prosperity of a city. If it means you will make every day of your life a day in the public service.

“Besides,” I also rose to my feet. I kept my eyes glued to his, despite me being rather shorter than him. “You are not alone anymore. While you keep a righteous path, I can assure you the sisters will have you, and if they don’t, you will still have me.”

I hugged him tightly, letting the smell of mint from his robes fill my nostrils. “I know you are trying to do right by the world, and I will support you, Prince or priest. I can only hope, however, that you heed by my advice and do right for Starkhaven, too.”

His tanned arms encircle my shoulders and pull me closer. “Thank you, Hawke. You gave me plenty to think about. I promise you I will do my very best.”

���That is all we can ask of you.”

*_*_*_*_*

Dragon Age II Masterlist

[rewolfaekilerom]

why reread books?

//NOTE: This was originally posted to Wordpress on 04.24.2021//

I didn’t write last week. Whoops. I could come up with an excuse, but I don’t need to. I spent 7 years in grad school, and some 17 years before that in regular school; this blog is my way of reconditioning myself to love writing for the sake of writing and not to write out of some obligation or feeling that I’m not doing enough.

I work 40 hours a week, and most of that’s with writing in some way, shape, or form. I’m doing plenty.

So, today’s post.

I started reading P. D. James’s Death Comes to Pemberley today. (I promise I’ll write about the Sookie Stackhouse series. I finished it last week and have so many thoughts, but I’m not quite ready to share them.)

The first few pages of Death Comes to Pemberley (this is about as far as I’ve made it) are a clever retelling of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, because that’s what James’s book is based on. I read Austen’s novel ages ago–probably as a teenage and probably next to a pool. I think I was made to get a PhD because one of the challenges I set myself one summer as a teenager was to read all of Austen’s novels. I think I got through most of them, but I don’t really remember. I was a bit of an oddball and a nerd. My dad and I would go to the public library every weekend, and I went through a phase where I’d take out a stack of poetry books just . . . to read in study hall. Like I said, weird kid. I thank my parents for indulging my love of books, even if it meant that I was an overgrown child in grad school for too many years and filled their lives with sympathy stress.

Anyway. I think I mentioned in my previous post that I like to reread books. What I mean by this is a few different things, actually–or, rather, this rereading can come in a few different forms.

I, of course, mean it in the straightforward sense. I’ve reread Rebecca many times, and I’ve reread Barbara Michaels’s oeuvre many, many more times than I’d ever be willing to admit.

But by “I like to reread books,” I also mean “I like to reread books–sometimes immediately after I’ve finished them.”

I’m definitely not proud of this, but I reread both the After series by Anna Todd–you know, the One Direction fanfic that’s actually a really gross (in every sense of that word) depiction of a tremendously abusive and toxic relationship–and the To All the Boys… series by Jenny Han immediately after I finished them. Ironically, I wouldn’t have ever picked either series up if it weren’t for a podcast I started with two friends that will likely never see the light of day. In any case, Han’s series is genuinely good; I relate to Lara Jean’s character in the sense that she’s quite similar to how I was as a teenager; there’s a comfort there that’s coupled with a forced humility–I like laughing at myself, even when someone else is also laughing at me. And Todd’s series is . . . trash, which is probably what makes it compelling. It’s not a series you read to feel good about yourself or other people; it’s a literary car wreck, something you want to look away from because it’s terrible and you know it’s bad for you, but you also feel some inexplicable compulsion to stare it directly in the eyes and engage.

For all my bravado, I’m usually pretty good at picking my battles and not engaging, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t help but engage (and reengage) with the After series. Maybe I’ll delve into that in another blog post, though I’m thinking that’ll have to be something akin to a therapist visit, and it’ll most certainly be something I’ll have to work through repeatedly.

The most straightforward reason I can give for why someone might immediately reread a book is that they feel like they devoured it too quickly the first time so they need to go back and pay closer attention. I’ve done this with a few mystery books–Tana French’s The Witch Elm, for instance–because I’ve finished the book feeling a bit like I didn’t read closely enough and so missed out on some of the author’s brilliance. I immediately begin rereading in hopes of really appreciating what the author has to say and how they’ve said it.

I might also immediately reread a book because I feel like the ending came too soon–like I maybe didn’t get to spend enough time with the characters or in their world, like maybe I’m not ready to leave that fictional universe or to let go of that story. I think this is fairly relatable. I’ve read heaps of tumblr posts and heard from many friends that sometimes finishing a book is a sad experience because, as with any ending, there’s a certain degree of mourning that has to happen for the thing that has been lost. In the case of finishing a book, you might feel compelled to mourn the loss of a particular experience, world, space, or set of characters. Those things still exist on the pages of the book–hey, we write about literature using the present tense because those things continue to exist even after we’re finished with them–and they also exist in our minds. But the thing about finishing a book is that, though the memory of that reading experience stays with us, the experience of being guided through that fictional world ends. The author is, of course, our guide through their fictional world; when we finish a book, we lose that guide. Depending on how we feel about the author’s voice–or, perhaps more appropriately, the narrator–we may feel a greater or lesser sense of loss.

I don’t really Elizabeth Bowen’s or Alix Harrow’s writing styles (these are honestly the first two authors who came to mind; I know they’re very different–so, see, I’m well read!), so I don’t feel a great sense of loss when I leave their fictional worlds, however compelling they might be. But I do tend to like the types of narrators Emily St. John Mandel, Octavia Butler, or (the Janus-faced–multi-faced?) Carolyn Keene offer readers (again, it’s like I’m trying to pick completely unsuitable pairs, but I swear I’m not), so I feel a sense of loss when I’m forced to separate from those narrators because I’ve finished experiencing their physical manifestations–the bound collection of pages on which they live their finite lives.

Someone might argue that those narrators can live on in the reader’s mind just as the fictional world they inhabit gets taken up and finds new life in the reader’s imagination. I like that argument, but I think it overlooks the simple fact that the narrator’s voice isn’t all that matters here. That narrator is a puppet, and the author is the master puppeteer who directs what the narrator does, says, and conveys–that is, how the narrator guides us, the readers, through the story. So, again, when we finish a book, we lose our guide through–sometimes even our friend in–the fictional world.

To wax poetic for a second, when we finish a book, we get to move forward in time while the narrator is stuck back in time. There’s something so sad about leaving someone behind, and it’s especially sad when we have to leave someone in a not-so-pleasant world–even if it’s fictional. It’s the reason a story like Peter Pan is so sad–Peter is a nasty little tyrant, but we (or maybe just I) can’t help but feel bad for him because he’s left behind while everyone he loves and who loves him grows up, because that’s the natural course of action. As one of my grad school peers once pointed out, Barrie’s narrator begins the book by marking Peter as exceptional–as the exception–because he’s the only child who doesn’t grow up.

So, to get back to my point, when we reread a book, we’re trying to recapture and reunite with that guide, that friend, who we’ve had to leave behind because of the simple fact that we outlived them. After all, our lives continue to go on after theirs have ended. The operative word in that first sentence, though, is “try.” There’s a saying about how you can only experience something for the first time once, and I think that’s very true for reading a book. You can only be fully immersed in a narrator’s present moment and fully subject to the will of a narrator one time, and that’s the first time you go through their story with them. In every subsequent journey, you have the advantage (or disadvantage?) of knowing exactly where the story will take you, and so a bit of the mystery–or helplessness, or naiveté, or whatever–is gone.

That said, though, I’m not sure I’d go so far as to argue that you can only experience the story “as it’s truly designed to be experienced” one time–that first time. I’m sure this perspective has something to do with some deep-rooted prejudice I have against attributing meaning or intention to an author. I don’t want to probe that prejudice too much at the moment because I suspect it’s coupled with layers of anxieties that are all somehow connected to four years of graduate coursework spent feeling a bit like the dumbest person in the room.

I’ve read a lot of books (#humblebrag), so, naturally, I’ve read books in a lot of different environments, for a lot of different reasons, and in a lot of different states of mind. I like to think of myself as generally a pretty “good” reader–that is, in the sense that I’m able to appreciate stories for what they are and to suspend my disbelief, sometimes while a very distracting “real world” goes on around me. Again, that’s probably partially because of my training. I’ve read in silent libraries, backseats of cars and on crowded buses, at pools, in bed, in fields, at busy airports, in cabs, at bars and coffee shops, at house parties–and those are just physical places. I’ve also read in diverse situations, including while immensely happy, having just had a fight, while crying, because it’s assigned reading, while heartbroken, while trying to also keep a conversation going, during class, because this book reminds me of something else, while anxious, when very tired, during the middle of an argument, out of curiosity, while waiting, and the list goes on. The sheer volume of reading one has to complete (or at least try to complete) to keep up with a grad-level literature course means that one has to be okay with reading whenever and wherever. I’ve literally carried a book with me on a date and to the grocery story “just in case” I had some extra time.

To get closer to my point, this is all a very long way of saying that there are so many circumstances that can affect our reading experience that it’s impractical for an author or a reader to think that there’s only one way to read a story. Take a relatively broad circumstantial reading category like “beach reading.” There are so many different beach scenarios that an author–even one who’s willing to settle for a very broad interpretation of “beach reading” like “reading near a large body of water with some level of distractions but in a generally relaxed mood”–can’t attempt to predict. I’d honestly be surprised to hear that an author aiming to write “beach reading” would even try to get more specific than that. After all, we don’t really have categories like “tropical beach vacation with friends reading” or “rocky Maine beach on a solo vacation reading.” I doubt an author would attempt to get that specific because, after all, writing is a career and those who do it need to create a product that will be marketable to enough people to make it worthwhile and to secure a living. And for an author who isn’t writing professionally, it hardly seems worth it to even attempt to take the time to try to predict the circumstances that might surround their audience’s experiences with the finished story. There are simply too many variables, so the goal must be, to some degree, at least, to write a story that conveys something to someone in whatever circumstance they happen to be in at the moment they’re reading. That’s a monumental task. An author might, then, have an “ideal” reader in an “ideal” scenario or state of mind or whatever, but they can’t ever write to that “ideal” alone–and that’s even if they’re writing for themselves, since they don’t know what frame of mind they’ll be in when they experience the story again (unless, of course, they don’t intend to experience the story again, in which case nothing matters except the present, which is pretty interesting in itself but not what I’m talking about right now).

But something I’d also like to note is the simple fact that sometimes stories are better–more interesting, more effective, more whatever–the second time we read them. I’ve read books with perfect focus–in a quiet library, for instance–and not found them all that compelling; I’ve also gone back to those books later–once I’m in a slightly different place (mentally, physically, emotionally, without the pressure of reading for class, whatever)–and genuinely enjoyed them. I’ll readily admit that sometimes I’m just a better reader, and sometimes I’m a better reader of a particular type of book than I might be otherwise. As humans, we’re perpetually in flux. Books are more or less stationary objects that don’t really change. We’re what changes, so we might be in a better position to appreciate a book at one point in our lives than at another point.

So, I might reread a book to recapture that first reading experience. But I might also reread a book to have a different reading experience, to meet the narrator when I’m a slightly different person. My goal might be to relearn or refresh myself of the lessons I learned through reading that particular story, but it might also be to gauge how I’ve changed. Each time I reread a story, I have a different reading experience: I notice different things; I feel different feelings; I appreciate different characters or appreciate the same characters differently; I take away different ideas about my current world based on not only how my current world compares to the fictional world but also how my current world compares to the current (now past) world I lived in the previous time(s) I experienced the fictional world.

Oy, that was a lot. And I could complicate this all further by delving deeper into why we read at all–why we sign on to read a story, what we how to get out of the reading experience, and what reading actually does for us. But I already wrote a dissertation, so I’m not going to do that again. Also, we all read for different reasons and we each read different types of stories for different reasons, so there are so many variables that it’s hardly worth it to explore that topic in a really broad sense. Maybe a narrower sense would be more productive, but I’ve already written enough for today.

What I want to say is that I’m definitely not alone in rereading stories. There are ample reasons to reread stories, the most straightforward of which being that it can just be enjoyable to do.

And to think that this post grew out of the idle thought that I’d like to reread Pride and Prejudice. And I’m still only three pages into Death Comes to Pemberley! Well, okay, onward.

xoxo, you know.

[newstfionline]

Tuesday, April 20, 2021

Minneapolis Braces for Verdict in Floyd’s Death (NYT) MINNEAPOLIS—Around midday last Monday, Samir Patel received a phone call from his friend, a dentist: Gunshots had rung out, his friend told him, and the contractors who were rebuilding the office he lost in last year’s unrest had fled. He was boarding up, and he told Mr. Patel he should move quickly to protect his own business, a dry cleaning shop. Elite Cleaners, Mr. Patel’s shop, is on a side street, not far from the shell of the Minneapolis Police Department’s Third Precinct station house, which burned last year in the aftermath of George Floyd’s death. The surrounding community of Lake Street, a corridor of immigrant-owned businesses—taquerias, furniture shops, liquor stores and cafes—was devastated by looting in the days of protests and the riots that followed. The city has said that the unrest led to $350 million in losses, with more than a thousand buildings either destroyed or damaged. As the trial of Derek Chauvin, the white former police officer charged with murder in the death of Mr. Floyd, a Black man, draws to a close, the city is on edge, fearing that a not-guilty verdict would bring anger, chaos and destruction once again.

New migrant facilities crop up to ease crowding, again (AP) For the third time in seven years, U.S. officials are scrambling to handle a dramatic spike in children crossing the U.S.-Mexico border alone, leading to a massive expansion in emergency facilities to house them as more kids arrive than are being released to close relatives in the United States. More than 22,000 migrant children were in government custody as of Thursday, with 10,500 sleeping on cots at convention centers, military bases and other large venues likened to hurricane evacuation shelters with little space to play and no privacy. More than 2,500 are being held by border authorities in substandard facilities. So many children are coming that there’s little room in long-term care facilities, where capacity shrank significantly during the coronavirus pandemic. As a result, minors are packed into Border Patrol facilities not meant to hold them longer than three days or they’re staying for weeks in the mass housing sites that often lack the services they need. Lawyers say some have not seen social workers who can reunite them with family in the U.S. Both Donald Trump and Barack Obama faced similar upticks in Central American children crossing the border alone in 2019 and 2014. The numbers have now reached historic highs amid economic fallout from the pandemic, storms in Central America and the feeling among migrants that Biden is more welcoming than his predecessor.

Students’ struggles pushed Peru teacher to run for president (AP) As schools across Peru closed due to the coronavirus pandemic, Pedro Castillo tried to find a way to keep classes going for his 20 fifth- and sixth-grade students. But in his impoverished rural community deep in the Andes, his efforts were futile. Seventeen of the students didn’t even have access to a cellphone. Tablets promised by the government never arrived. “Where is the state?” Castillo, 51, told The Associated Press after a day of planting sweet potatoes on his own land. It was the last straw for Castillo, who over 25 years had seen his students struggle in crumbling schools where teachers also cook, sweep floors and file paperwork. He’d already dabbled in activism with the local teachers’ union and helped lead a national strike in 2017. But now he went further, tossing his name into a crowd of 18 candidates in Peru’s presidential election. Defying the polls, the elementary school teacher came first in the April 11 voting, albeit with less than 20% of the overall vote. The stunning result gave him a place in June’s presidential runoff against Keiko Fujimori, one of Peru’s most established political figures and the daughter of former president Alberto Fujimori. It is her third attempt to become president. Castillo’s unlikely campaign comes at a turbulent time for the South American nation that has suffered like few others from the COVID-19 pandemic. It recently ran through three presidents in a week after one was removed by congress over corruption allegations. Every president of the past 36 years has been ensnared in corruption allegations, some imprisoned. One died by suicide before police could arrest him.

New direction needed: EU launches website for citizens to discuss its future (Reuters) The European Union launched on Monday a website for citizens to debate the future of the 27-nation bloc as the exit of Britain, climate change, the COVID-19 pandemic and the rise of nationalism force the EU to reflect on how it wants to develop. The website, available for contributions in the EU’s 24 official languages, is part of what EU institutions call the Conference on the Future of Europe—a forum for debate to help identify issues the EU needs to address in the changing global context. “The conclusions of the conference could be the backbone for reforms in the Union in the future,” one of the leaders of the initiative, member of European Parliament and former Belgian Prime Minister Guy Verhofstadt told a news conference. The website prompts debates on subjects including climate change, the environment, health, the economy, social justice and jobs, the role of the EU in the world, values and rights, the rule of law, security, digital transformation, democracy and migration. Citizens can also launch their own topics.

Cheating at Greek universities (Foreign Policy) Greek universities are experiencing a crisis of confidence in their students as remote learning takes the place of traditional education. Professors have noted surprisingly high marks from previously poor students, raising suspicions that the students may be using underhanded tactics. “Result averages are up, and people we haven’t seen in years are showing up for exams because the system makes it easy to cheat,” Kostas Kosmatos, an assistant professor of criminology at Thrace’s Democritus University told AFP. Sofia, a psychology student, admitted to have taken two exams “on behalf of two of my friends and nobody realized.” Resourceful students have created technological workarounds to boost their chances during exams, crowdsourcing answers in live chats with students at the University of Crete even enlisting a linguistic expert to help them during exams. “But even he got a verse wrong,” Angela Kastrinaki, dean of the University of Crete’s literature department, told AFP. “So I got 50 papers with the same mistake. It was funny.”

Russia Expels 20 Czech Diplomats as Tensions Escalate (NYT) A day after the government of the Czech Republic blamed operatives from Russia’s military intelligence agency for a series of mysterious explosions at an ammunition depot in 2014 and expelled 18 Russian diplomats, the Russian government announced on Sunday that 20 Czech diplomats would be ejected in response. The expulsions signal further escalation of tensions between the Kremlin and western governments, reaching an intensity not seen since the Cold War. The spat between the Czech Republic and Russia comes just days after the United States imposed heavy sanctions on Russian government officials and businesses in response to a large-scale hacking of American government computer systems. In a statement, the Russian Foreign Ministry called the Czech accusations “absurd” and accused the government of being an American puppet. “In an effort to please the U.S.A. following recent American sanctions against Russia, the Czech government in this instance even exceeded its overseas masters,” the Russian Foreign Ministry statement said.

Montenegro’s billion-dollar dilemma (NYT) Few Europeans thought it was a good idea for Montenegro to take a mammoth loan from China to build a highway. Now the tiny, mountainous country is asking the European Union for help to repay the debt—and the answer, so far, has been no. The situation in Montenegro is the latest skirmish in an escalating global push for influence by China, which has made inroads in economically weak countries by offering loans that demand loyalty to Beijing but otherwise have few strings attached. Montenegro’s first debt payments are due this summer. The $1 billion loan is nearly a fifth the size of the country’s entire economy. Montenegrin leaders say they won’t miss their loan payment this summer even if no E.U. aid is forthcoming. European officials said they wanted to help Montenegro but were searching for a palatable way to do so. Linking the aid to the loan too directly could be politically difficult, since many E.U. officials do not want to be in the position of effectively paying down a Chinese loan that E.U. leaders warned against in the first place. “China has been filling any opening it felt it could,” said Vuk Vuksanovic, a researcher at the Belgrade Center for Security Policy, a Serbian think tank. “Local capitals were hungry for cash, particularly on big development issues like infrastructure. And the Chinese were willing to go places where Western institutions were not.”

Afghan Women Fear the Worst, Whether War or Peace Lies Ahead (NYT) Farzana Ahmadi watched as a neighbor in her village in northern Afghanistan was flogged by Taliban fighters last month. The crime: Her face was uncovered. People silently watched as the beating dragged on. Fear—even more potent than in years past—is gripping Afghans now that U.S. and NATO forces will depart the country in the coming months. They will leave behind a publicly triumphant Taliban, who many expect will seize more territory and reinstitute many of the same oppressive rules they enforced under their regime in the 1990s. The New York Times spoke to many Afghan women about what comes next in their country, and they all said the same thing: Whatever happens will not bode well for them. Whether the Taliban take back power by force or through a political agreement with the Afghan government, their influence will almost inevitably grow. In a country in which an end to nearly 40 years of conflict is nowhere in sight, many Afghans talk of an approaching civil war. “All the time, women are the victims of men’s wars,” said Raihana Azad, a member of Afghanistan’s Parliament. “But they will be the victims of their peace, too.”

Hard-line Islamists take 6 Pakistani security personnel hostage amid deadly clashes (Washington Post) A hard-line Islamist group on Sunday took six Pakistani security personnel hostage after days of deadly clashes in the northeastern city of Lahore over a French satirical newspaper’s publication of cartoons depicting the prophet Muhammad and the arrest of the group’s leader by Pakistani authorities. A senior police officer and two paramilitary fighters were among those taken after protesters surrounded a police station and stormed the compound, according to Lahore police spokesman Arif Rana. A week of violence across the country has left at least four dead, according to the protesters. Police officials say thousands have been arrested. The tensions driving the protests, led by the Islamist party Tehrik-e-Labbaik Pakistan, have been simmering for months after French President Emmanuel Macron honored a teacher who was beheaded last year in France after he showed a class the cartoons depicting Muhammad. For many Muslims, depictions of the prophet are blasphemous and deeply insulting. Macron’s comments sparked protests across the Muslim world last year.

India’s capital to lock down as nation’s virus cases top 15M (AP) New Delhi was being put under a weeklong lockdown Monday night as an explosive surge in coronavirus cases pushed the India’s capital’s health system to its limit. Chief Minister Arvind Kejriwal said in a news conference the national capital was facing shortages of oxygen and some medicine. “I do not say that the system has collapsed, but it has reached its limits,” Kejriwal said, adding that harsh measures were necessary to “prevent a collapse of the health system.” Similar virus curbs already have been imposed in the worst-hit state of Maharashtra, home to India’s financial capital, Mumbai. The closure of most industries, businesses and public places Wednesday night is to last 15 days.

Pacific Ocean storm intensifies into year’s first super typhoon (Reuters) Strong winds and high waves lashed the eastern Philippines on Monday as the strongest typhoon ever recorded in April barrelled past in the Pacific Ocean, killing one man and triggering flooding in lower-lying communities, disaster officials said. More than 100,000 people were evacuated from coastal areas, according to provincial disaster agencies. The core of Surigae, or Bising as the storm is known locally, is not expected to hit land. But with a diameter of 500 km and winds reaching 195 km per hour, parts of the eastern islands of Samar experienced flooding, while several communities lost power. The first super typhoon of 2021 foreshadows a busy storm season for the region in the year ahead, experts say.

Lebanon’s crumbling capital (AFP) Beirut’s roads are riddled with potholes, many walls are covered in anti-government graffiti and countless street lamps have long since gone dark. At night, car drivers creep cautiously past broken traffic lights and strain their eyes for missing manhole covers, stolen for the value of their metal. Many parking metres have been disabled in protest over an alleged corruption scandal, while cars are parked randomly on sidewalks. To many, the dysfunctional capital has become emblematic of a country mired in its worst crisis since the 1975-1990 civil war after decades of mismanagement and corruption. Much of Beirut’s infrastructure started falling apart long before last August’s massive portside explosion killed more than 200 people, levelled the waterfront and damaged countless buildings. Amid the crisis, the Lebanese currency has collapsed and continues its downward slide at a sickening rate that in itself is deepening the problem. As the currency has dived by more than 85 percent on the black market, wary contractors are steering clear of any municipal repairs that are paid for in Lebanese pounds.

Eleven dead, 98 injured after train derails in Egypt (Reuters) Eleven people were killed and 98 injured on Sunday in a train accident in Egypt’s Qalioubia province north of Cairo, the health ministry said in a statement. The train was heading from Cairo to the Nile Delta city of Mansoura when four carriages derailed at 1:54 p.m. (1154 GMT), about 40 kms (25 miles) north of Cairo. More than 50 ambulances took the injured to three hospitals in the province, the health ministry said. The derailing is the latest of several recent railway crashes in Egypt. At least 20 people were killed and nearly 200 were injured in March when two trains collided near Tahta, about 440 kms (275 miles) south of Cairo.

South Africa wildfire (Washington Post) Cape Town ordered precautionary evacuations of communities living along the edges of city landmark Table Mountain on Monday as firefighters struggled to contain a fire that gutted historical landmarks, including the oldest working windmill in South Africa and a library housing African antiquities at the University of Cape Town. The fire started Sunday morning near the memorial to colonial leader Cecil Rhodes and quickly spread uncontrolled beneath Devil’s Peak in Table Mountain National Park in an area popular with weekend hikers and cyclists. By Monday morning, strong southeasterly winds, which were expected to reach more than 30 miles per hour (50 km/h) later in the day, had pushed the fire toward densely-populated areas above Cape Town city. Well-known tourist sites, such as the Table Mountain aerial cableway, were temporarily closed. Heavy smoke engulfed the city forcing the closure of a major highway and other nearby roads. Hikers, park visitors, visitors to the nearby Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden and hundreds of students from the university campus were evacuated on Sunday.

NASA’s Ingenuity Makes First Powered Flight On Mars (NPR) “Orville and Wilbur would be proud. NASA’s Ingenuity helicopter has made the first-ever powered flight on another planet, 117 years after the Wright Brothers’ historic flight on this planet. The flight itself was modest. The 4-pound helicopter rose 10 feet in the air, hovered briefly, and returned to the Martian surface.

[nixalegos]

Sinstone Shuffle

Cazimir looked to the others and gave the signal. A mortal dumb enough to come across the supposed ‘quest’ to help the self titled ‘Avowed’ was nearly there, plodding slowly down the stone steps into the nearby overhang and alcove. Davrion, Radomir, Feronia, and Timandra, all true Venthyr took their place, not so close together as to warrant suspicion but to be in position nodded at the signal and tried to make themselves look busy mulling over the shelves and piles of destroyed sinstone fragments. Fragments they in truth had destroyed not hours ago. It was promising to be a very fruitful evening for the Inquisition. The mortal on the other hand, looked as if they were fit for the Maw from dress alone. Armed to the teeth in tacky gadgets and malefic implements. Even the choice of cloth screamed desperate outrage in Cazimirs more than educated opinion. “Ah, Maw Walker…” He said with open arms, gesturing for them to come closer. “You come just in time…” As soon as the hooded man came under the overhang towards the ruin he gave the signal. The others, as practiced, drew their dueling blades, and Davrion leveled his ridiculously oversized crossbow at the mans back. “To surrender to us. Our Sire might have been bested, but Sinfalls puppets are long overdue for some humility.” He said as he drew both his exquisitely sharp long knives. He noticed the hooded man turn his cowled visage stiffly. “We have you five to one mortal.” The Venthyr said proudly. “So you do.” The hooded man said in a surprisingly deep voice, turning his apparent attention to Cazimir. “Any sudden moves and we’ll take your life before we take your anima. To think you fell for a fabricated request for aid this close to Inquisition held territory.” “Figured it would help my reputation.” The mortal replied a little too casually for Cazimir’s liking. “Right. Arms behind the back while my associates clasp you in irons.” Caz stated, gesturing for Feronia to approach. “You’re to be drained while still alive, can’t have you slipping into the Maw without penance.” “Before you do.” The mortal stated, the five Venthyr pausing and raising their weapons again. “I have to know if what the other Avowed said about these...sinstones being magical.” “What about them?” Cazimir snarled. The mortal, all too arrogantly spoke loud in his ungranted request. “Show me the stones marked Lord Nixalegos Defireza Felscythe!” Nothing happened. Davrion laughed first, followed by Feronia. All five of them coming to laugh at the idiotic man between them. “You mortal twit. Sinstones are granted to the -dead-. You don’t HAVE a sinstone. And they don’t work with your voice. But don’t worry, we’ll make sure you pay dearly for every sin you bear...and a few you don’t.” Cazimir said gleefully. The mortal didn’t seem bothered as he added. “Under cause of death.” The sound of a stone fragment falling to the floor followed. The laughter stopped instantly. Followed by another as a fragment of stone seemingly -leapt- off a nearby shelf and landed near the mans boots. Cazimir had never once, in a thousand years of being an Inquisitor seen such a thing. “A sorting trick taught by the ever blind Accuser no doubt.” He said, as if to rationalize the oddity. “So you’re a killer. Adorable. Is this your way of saying you’ll give us a hard time?” The mortal said not a word as another fragment of stone, from the opposite end of the room landed near his boot. Then the clatter of three more shards came raining from the pile behind Cazimir himself. “So a proficient killer then. That’s fine, proficiency means little compared to skills honed by centuries of practice. Hav-” A dozen fragments of stone clattered down into the growing mess near the mortals overly heavy looking boots. Timandra dropped her blade, and simply ran out of the open aired tomb and into the night. Two dozen more stone shards from across the room landed and bounced into the pile, and the mortal made not a single move. Just stared at Cazimir with a grin. Feronia dropped the heavy iron manacles, and too fled, away as the pitter patter of sinstones clattered down from the shelves and piles in handfuls of numbers at a time. He didn’t see so much as hear Davrion’s hunting shoes scamper away back towards the Halls. Radomir to his credit stayed there, blade readied to pierce into the mans side, until a stone fragment hit him in the head. Radomirs eyes met Cazimir’s own. Their blade lowered and soon followed the others. Nearly a hundred plus fragments of sinstones had piled on the floor between the mortal and him. “You’re seemingly a very...dangerous man. But no matter. I have punished worse, many times.” Cazimir said proudly, knives at the ready. “No amou-” The cacophony of sounds of one of the old shelves slamming onto the floor threw his impressive boast to the winds as over a third of a graveyards worth of names spilled onto the floor near the mortal. “As you sought to capture instead of merely kill, I’ll give you this token of mercy. Run.” The mortal said the last word with a voice that struck a chord in Cazimirs long dead heart. Of panic and dread. Cazimir didn’t remember running out until the spires of Nathria were visible overhead. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “You could have killed them.” The succubus said, revealing itself from invisibility as its master lightly searched among the ruin. The demon tried to wipe the stone dust from its all too graceful hands with little success. “Yes, but now those bastards won’t be so keen on preying on mortals, even if it was partially fear spells woven in between each little clattering.” He said, pleased with his clever little piece of stagecraft and improvised drama. “A damn shame they don’t actually respond to voice. How in the hells am I going to find a grand inquisitors name out of this mess?”