#then there are things i feel less inclined to draw now that im in Posting mode again. oh life is very mysterious is it not

[lunarharp]

things.. uh... Gentry era au

[veliseraptor]

Hello ! I've read a lot of the posts you shared or wrote about horror, especially in reaction to "pearl-clutching" discourse against the whole genre.

It was very though provoking (thanks!) but I was wondering if/how you draw the distinction between that and, well, honest and "legitimate" bad review / negative analysis of some individual stories who happen to be horror ?

Oh, for sure. Of course there's legitimate criticisms to be made about individual horror works, or even about horror as a genre on the whole. I'm never going to claim that there isn't. While I do feel like there's a place for the "let people have fun" school of thought around media criticism, I don't think it should be a blanket smothering of all criticism - mostly, as with so many things, it is worth considering your time, place, and audience. For your own sake as well, I find.

I do think that sometimes the language of "criticizing" or "being critical" has become a handy mask for people to say whatever they want in some of the same (though less pernicious) way that people use "I'm just asking questions" to shut down discussion of misinformation and conspiracy theories. Again, #notallcriticism, much of it is good and beneficial and keeps things fresh (and me thinking), even the criticism I ultimately might end up disagreeing with. And at the same time, I do see the tendency popping up sometimes to use the idea of "legitimate criticism" as a way to shield a person from disagreement (the somewhat infamous "think critically about x" translating to "and you'll agree with me" comes to mind.)

As far as the how, well, it's certainly a little your mileage may vary - what I might read as an unfair review of a book I liked, for instance, someone else might read as a well-deserved ripping to shreds of a mediocre work, and it's certainly possible for neither of us to be "right" about which it is. Some of this - maybe even a lot of it - is a matter of perspective.

I guess I would think of two things that shape my perception of how someone is talking about a work or a genre, in general and in particular with horror:

1. Is the writer familiar with the genre? Do they have at least a passing familiarity with the conventions, tropes, and other narrative tics that tend to crop up? If not, are the criticisms they are making marked by that lack of knowledge (ime some of the discourse about the A Song of Ice and Fire falls victim to this, sometimes). I'm not saying that criticism is invalid coming from someone without genre knowledge, but I am saying that I'm more inclined to be skeptical of criticism that comes from someone who clearly dislikes the specific genre they're discussing, because it sometimes feels like a willful lack of curiosity and unwillingness to engage with a text/genre on its own terms.

> Addendum to this: is the writer familiar with the genre as it stands recently? Horror now looks rather different than horror fifty years ago, just for instance.

2. Is the argument or point they're making actually coherent? Is the analysis solid and grounded in at least some kind of evidence or source? (Is the author using screenshots of tweets in lieu of actually writing about the phenomenon they're discussing?) I can't always but I'd say I can usually at least recognize, even if I disagree, when someone is actually taking what they're engaging with seriously and when they're not (in terms of the work put in to convince me what they're saying is true, relevant, and important), and if they're not taking it seriously then why should I?

And one more, I guess, which feels obvious but sometimes on the internet isn't, because people love to have opinions (I get it! so do I!):

3. Has the writer actually read (or watched/played/whatever) what they're talking about? This ties in a little with point one but is slightly divergent, because someone can to an extent be familiar with a genre without having read it. But someone talking authoritatively about the problems with something they haven't actually had direct contact with, based purely on a set of cultural osmosis and related assumptions, is frustratingly common, and people will assume that they know what they're talking about from that alone and are qualified to make a sweeping judgment from that position. And I'm just not going to take criticism made from that perspective very seriously.

That's how I'd draw my lines, anyway. I don't claim to be an authority, certainly; I'm a gal on the internet with a big mouth and a lot of opinions. I think the important things here though are a. I certainly don't think that there's no such thing as legitimate criticism (in the negative sense) of horror works or horror as a genre, and b. I have particular standards for how I judge that criticism based on content and context.

I guess it's also worth noting, with this particular example, that the other question is "how much does this feel like it aligns with the present moral panic around dark or disturbing content in fiction?" and if the answer is "a lot" then I'm significantly more likely to dismiss it.

[cutemeat]

wait as a newish fan can you tell me how / why rob is misogynist? (like besides his weird things on the podcast lol idk if theres more) and also who is jordan lol

ok im gonna say first of all i was mostly just joking in those tags ur referring to KJNFGDKJ just as full disclosure before I dig into this any further. ..

that being said, me joking abt that stuff in regard to rob is bc it just seems like rob is insecure about how he's contributed to a shitty system and really screwed someone (jordan reid, aka the original Sweet Dee) over personally and after being made more aware of his place in contributing to said system he's overcompensating while he's working thru some of that.... and uh. in all honesty it's something that i find funny and make jokes about cuz i am also someone with an extremely fragile ego n it feels good to deflect and make fun of someone else for having a fragile ego LOL

so it seems like rob's talking on the podcast and in other interviews abt misogyny n trying to 'correct' himself or pulling out that fuckin button on the podcast for 'Solves the North Korea Situation'.... i think this ties into him reconnecting with Jordan (who, like i said, was the og sweet dee who got booted from the production at the last minute largely as result of her n rob breaking up n none of the other guys backing her up...) and basically writing the MQ ep A Dark Quiet Death about that whole situation and the falling out.. idk it just seems like. maybe having to reconcile the fact he has been A Part Of The Problem and an asshole has gotten to him n again it feels like he overcompensates for that in the pod n i like to exploit those insecurities im familiar with in my own ways for laughs LOL. but yknow... i am a 20 yr old unemployed HS drop out on tumblr dot com n hes got a nice mansion and successful career in the film industry so i dont feel like im gonna hurt any feelings here..

so with all that context out of the way: i dont think rob is Actually some raging misogynist ... and if he is I wouldn't know either way cuz I Dont Know The Guy! so def take what I say here with a grain of salt I am very often not being serious and bad at using tone indicators so I do apologize if any of it gets confusing kjndfgkjd. he def has been misogynistic in the ways a lot of men will be without rlly thinking much of it (think dennis' obliviousness to how insane some of his logic about women sounds on sunny, but maybe less predatory but again idk the guy lol) but as of now he seems like he's more aware of that n better late than never n all that!

(once again.. a lot of my opinions here are mostly based in my own experiences and emotions projected onto people and situations I have only heard accounts of in articles/blog posts/podcasts n interviews so def keep that in mind. don't take me as the authority on anything lol. google 'jordan reid' + 'always sunny' and read thru her old blog posts about the situation if u are so inclined and draw your own conclusions! but like i said it's a mostly interpersonal thing between two ppl i dont know and it doesnt seem like there's much bad blood on that interpersonal level anymore rather than anger with a system that failed her. that being said its def a part of the shows history that shouldn't just be forgotten or discarded as it is apart of a larger issue anyway. srry this is all so messy if it wasnt obvious by how badly i am at talking abt this stuff i feel weird talking about strangers lives even celebs but yknow. tbh if i wanna make jokes abt this shit i should be prepared to explain myself anyway. like god im so bad at talking abt any of it seriously but i always wanna know all the dirt cuz I'm so fuckin nosy I love drama n gossip and Backstory!!!)

+ this is an older article that sorta sums up the events n links to her blogpost about it!

[toaheadcanons]

General reaction time! Again, this will contain HEAVY SPOILERS FOR TALES OF ARCADIA AND RISE OF THE TITANS. SKIP THIS IF IT GOT THROUGH YOUR FILTER.

So, let's begin. Firstly, as beautifully visually executed as the movie was, I think we all could tell the full original team wasn't working on this part of the TOA project. Setting that aside for a moment though. Trust me on this.

I was SHOCKED at the animation quality this time around. TOA has almost always had pristine graphics, and a movie budget took things to a while new level. Well done, TOA animation team!! 🥰🥰🥰

The MagiScience Camelot. Can I live there? Also, do they live there?? It's sort of unclear, did everyone just decide after the end of Wizards to form their own little bubble or???

I'm curious as to whether the time loop could result in a sort of 'duplication glitch' for the Amulet. I'm putting my speculative stuff in yet another post, because WOW that ending gave my lil' brain a lot to work with

There were so many fantastic scenes intermixed with the not-so-great points. The Best Man scene. That whole sequence in which there's some Blaaarghy hinting sandwiched into the scene between the couples comforting each other. I just 🥺 I know there are a few dull points here, but that whole ten minute span is just so on point. I really wish that accuracy to the characterizations carried all the way through.

I really, REALLY need to know how much time passed between Wizards and ROTT. Really really. Like I know the kids were 15-16 at the start of season 1, and 16-17 by the end of season two, but from there time becomes quite nebulous. I'm speaking in age specifically for our human characters here, as we still have no idea about how the Akiridion, Wizard-Immortal and Trollish life cycles actually work. Like I get that now they're later teens to early adults in age, but considering some of the err, plot choices, I think it's important to know?

I'd love a series, a comic, hell a set of shorts even, where Steve gets some main character time. I really wasn't a fan of him being sidelined the whole time. Give me my Creepslayerz please, Mr. Netflix.

I've started to look at this less like a movie and more like Predacons Rising, a made-for-TV movie/special finale episode. Except, knowing DreamWorks, we also may be seeing the beginnig iteration of another "[name here] of Berk" style of different series, set in different points in time. ESPECIALLY with that ending.

Speaking of, I know a lot of folks were quite upset with the end. I was too for a while, but those braincells just keep on bouncing around, and I have an inkling that however they decide to show us the potential/alternate timeliness, we'll see them somehow.

I'm actually quite excited about the idea of Trollhunter!Toby. From the beginning, I always thought he'd turn out to unknowingly be half-Troll or a changeling or something. Boy has a natural inclination for stones and crystals, the teeth issues, his stature and body-shape, hell, he seems at home in the scenes in Trollmarket throughout the series.

Please, Mr. Netflix, show us what his armor looks like? 👉👈🥺

Okay, picking back up on this not being the original creative team. There were some significant missed opportunities here, not only to draw on previous character development [Steve is a knight, Toby could have used his hammer instead of the glowing sticky-magic, etc.] but also to draw on ideas from The Book that would have gone REALLY well here! Lol and here I was hoping for the "what counts as a bridge" scene. 🤡

For those who don't know, Trollhunters in its original form is a book that reads much like a movie. It features a much different Jim, a much different many characters in fact. There were actually a few references I did catch! If you haven't had a chance to read it and you'd like a palate cleanser, READ IT. Oh it's so good I so wish more people read the book-

Aaaaanyway, back to the topic. The reason I'm looking at this more like a special than a movie is because is feels like it should have been a special. Or a miniseries even, like Wizards. This was a bit much to pack into a <2h timeframe.

BUT, I also feel like they could have waited to spring a plot like this on us until they had a concrete "next steps" plan. If they had, say, separated the beginning of the loop from the film, and used it as the beginning of a Trollhunter!Toby [Insert media type here] teaser/trailer, I have a feeling I'd be more happy with it. Also, why replace Anton's voicework for the audition speech? That I am truly upset with. The loop itself is actually quite intriguing, though.

All in all, I'm honestly pretty satisfied with the film. It was brutal, don't get me wrong, and for future reference I'd like to know how much it cost Netflix to get it a Y7 rating. That said, the parts that were done well were done VERY well. Im interested to see, when the series crops back up, what the true plan is moving forward, but until then my name is my bond. I make TOA headcanons, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. Thank you all for getting on this roller coaster, it was one hell of a ride and I hope we get to do it again soon 😁

[legends-live-in-memories]

I Have Too Many Opinions. ep. 1

lmao. i got encouragement to post my opinions on fandom things and now i want to make a miniseries doing just that. so here i am. doing just that.

im putting it under the cut cuz this was 4 whole pages including the disclaimer. yes i put a disclaimer and i explain why.

Anyways, here is the first piece in what inevitably will become fandom info dump, this time on thomas astruc’s writing on miraculous ladybug. but only some of my opinions cuz we would be here all day otherwise.

So… a disclaimer before I begin… 

I do not hate Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir (yes i'm using their government name). I am quite a fan of the show actually despite its faults. I am also older than the intended audience but was obviously younger when the show first aired which is how my interest was piqued (the fact that its been 6 years and only 3 seasons says more about the show than me being a fan for that amount of time but also i never want to rush content creators cuz they're doing their best) and due to my age, there will be inherent bias in my approach of what i'm about to say as there is in EVERY opinion. The fact that it is an opinion should imply the presence of bias but most people tend to lack the critical thinking skills required to draw that conclusion ANYWAYS…

If I did hate the show I would not have this blog nor would I be even writing this because i tend to not give more than 2 seconds of thought to things i actively dislike (some of yall should give this a try) and i'm allowed to like things that are designed for an audience that i was originally a part of but grew out of. (I don't suddenly stop liking things because I'm older despite what many younger fans seem to believe about older audiences. I also don't need to be ‘allowed’ to do anything cuz i wasn't asking for permission anyways.)

This will not be character bashing, astruc bashing nor fandom bashing cuz, again, that would imply i hate any of those elements and if i did, i would not dedicate brainpower to them. Analyses and criticisms of media are fun and engaging and required if you wish to produce good enjoyable content. Now most of this should be already assumed and self-explanatory but people on the internet like to play morality roulette roll dice on purity culture and I rather have documentation that I am in fact not bullying fictional 14 year olds or a grown man. But alas, people get trigger happy whenever someone has less than 1000000% positive opinions on something they like and will throw out words they can't define (gaslight, baiting, toxic, problematic, gatekeep etc) in an attempt to defend their blind devotion, 

which is not needed, if you like something you never have to defend it, even if i don't like it. If you respond to anything I post saying you disagree with me, I will not argue with you. I won't debate back and forth and try to convince you that the things you like are wrong. Unless you are being absolutely tone deaf to what i'm saying, you wont get a negative reaction from me. So don't try to fish for a fight. Please. I got metaphorical hands for days and I'm mean, you don't want me hurting your feelings on the internet. Do yourself the favour. Difference of opinion is how we get diversification in media and is inherently a good thing. Now that that's out of the way, please don't ever let me have to say that again. I beg.

Now onto the fun stuff

I didn't know what I wanted as a first topic so my trusty internet friend @moonlitceleste suggested astruc’s writing… 

AND BOI do i got some opinions on ole tommy boi. Again I don't hate the dude. In fact, he has worked on a few shows that had defined my childhood, including but not limited to W.I.T.C.H. (all eps available on youtube for those interested, 2 seasons, general fun time all around).

So I don't think he’s scum of the earth but I do think his approach to writing mlb specifically has more misses than hits.

The first big miss is that he has no idea how to write 14 year old girls. At all. Almost every girl he has ever written feels like some terrible archetype built entirely for marketability and childish projection and pubescent self-insert (kind of). He has never been a 14 year old girl. I have. In fact when the show first aired, I WAS around the (assumed) age of the mlb characters. The behaviour he passes off as quirky or awkward or just the character’s genuine personality tend to perpetuate harmful stereotypes of teen girls found in the media and are never actually addressed as harmful. they just get swept under the rug. Marinette’s exuberant collage of teen heart throb model boi Adrien Agreste and her very painful almost fan worship she has of him (which flip flops like a paper sandal in the rain) being portrayed as a cute school girl crush uwu, Chloe being the y7 Regina George, Alya being the token best friend of colour with her ‘sassy’ personality (i want y'all to imagine me eyerolling so hard i bust a vessel in my eye), Kagami being the very damaging Perfect Asian Child stereotype. And before y'all get on your dusty soap box and defend going on about “BUT IT'S FOR CHILDREN”,,,, know this.

 i don’t give a solid fuck. 

Not one. 

Children arent stupid. Children are always going to remember the richy bitchy blonde who bullies the art kid, and the big kid, and the shy kid, and the non white kids, and was only nice to her equally rich white friend who she probably had a crush on or was only ever civil to her equally white lapdog. They're going to remember the half asian girl who was never allowed to actually be asian or the only black girl who existed solely as a soundboard for enabling bad habits or chastising the main character for the same habits she enables in the first place (boi aint THAT a topic for later). Like do i really need to explain that alya chastising marinette for taking max’s spot in gamer just to play with adrien rings absolutely hollow when she actively encourages her to sabotage the contest she’s in just so Kagami doesn't win?? Like I don't have to explain that right?? Again kids arent stupid and its quite something that Mari gets chastised for proving herself the best video game player regardless of her intentions just cuz it comes at the expense of max’s feelings/ego but is actively encouraged to sabotage not only kagami but herself by extension cuz kagami is ‘competition.’ Adrien is not a trophy to be won. And no I don't expect 14 yrs old to be perfect and to always make good decisions but these decisions are never addressed as being bad decisions. they get swept under the rug cuz those decisions were necessary for the ‘plot’ but astruc can barely keep characterization consistent and his characters suffer for it and it's the same children you preach are watching it that suffer as well. Cuz guess what? I KNOW 14 yr olds aren't like that cuz i've been there done that (this is the last time i'm saying that i promise) so I know astruc is just metaphorically throwing darts to figure out who says and does what without consideration for pre established personalities to drive the stalemate plot along. The same kids you say are watching this don't know that that's not how preteens work and will absorb and internalize those dynamics like baking soda and vinegar. Cata-fucking-strophically. 

And I haven't even gotten to the boys yet. Which honestly doesn't require much explanation anyways cuz they suffer the same fate as the girls. Tired archetypes with nothing to give them life. Nino falls into Adrien’s person of colour token best friend who dates the female lead’s person of colour token best friend so they can have cute double dates uwu. Except the plot goes nowhere and we have no inclination of romantic development beyond moments that only act to actively convince me to anti ship the lovesquare (i don't want to do that so i self indulge in fanon that actually cares about the characters and plot. may i interest you in True Sight on AO3?). Max is the residential nerd but it doesn't matter (cuz he and everyone are dumbed down for the sake of ‘plot’), kim is the sports jock (which interestingly subverts the asian comedic relief stereotype but only barely) and luka is cute older guy ™ that wears black nail polish and is in a band. The point of all this is to say there is no depth in the characters. It's especially blatantly obvious with the characters astruc doesn't like (chloe). Again, it being a show for kids is not an excuse to be absolved of putting effort into the characters you make.

This is one of the biggest misses astruc has. I haven't even gone into all the nuances of this particular miss. And i havent gone into how that works against him in the plot either. Mostly because the plot itself hasn't gone anywhere and partially because I wanted to go into the plot (or lack thereof) separately as its own miss. 

AND BOI is it a miss. 

SO home boy astruc wanted to reap the benefits of a serial show with ‘engaging’ plot without putting in any of the work to make a linear storyline and relying on the episodic format for, again, marketability. You can't have the best of both worlds, you are not Avatar: The Last Airbender. Which btw has a lot less episodes and a desired end goal that didn't involve top dollar. Legend of Korra did but that's not the point and it had its failings with that too. I challenge you, tell me how many episodes actually contribute towards a plot point or introduce new thematic elements to the show? Can you name them? I can and I'm going to include the plot points that moved the story in some direction if only temporarily. Yes only temporarily for some of these and i will explain later. (if you're in the server you already saw this list *wink*)

25/26. Origins- self explanatory, the beginning of the story, 

24. Volpina- introduction of the grimoire and Master Fu (kind of) and no, Lila is not a plot point,

28. The Collector- proper introduction of Master Fu,

37. Sapotis- introduction of Rena Rouge,

41. Syren- introduction of new aquatic power ups,

44. Anansi- introduction of Carapace,

47. Frozer- introduction of new ice power ups,

48/49. Style Queen- introduction of Queen Bee,

51/52. Heroes’ Day- introduction of Mayura and mass akumatization,

66. Startrain- introduction of Pegasus,

67. Kwami Buster- Marinette wears multiple miraculouses,

68. Feast- backstory as to how the miraculouses were lost,

69. Ikari Gozen- introduction of Ryuko,

70. Timetagger- introduction of Bunnyx,

71. Party Crasher- introduction of Roi Singe and Viperion,

73. Chat Blanc- alternate timeline that essentially means nothing but got a reaction out of fans anyways (myself included)

 77/78. Love Eater/Battle of Miraculous- Marinette becomes guardian and other heroes lose their miraculous,

New York Special- other heroes exist and there is an American miraculous box,

That's 21 episodes. 21 out of a heaping 78 plus 2 specials. Everything else was just your typical akuma of the day episode and everything that happened outside that had no lasting consequences on the plot thanks to the miraculous status quo. Was it entertaining to watch Lila stir the plot of the class dynamic? Hell yeah. Too bad it meant nothing by the end of the episode cuz we were struck with miraculous status quo. She literally doesn't appear again until Heroes Day. that is from episodes 25 all the way to 51, she means nothing and yet she is treated with the severity of a b-villain/rival thing. She means nothing by the end of Volpina if I'm being honest. She is only relevant for 20 mins of episode time she’s in then it's back to magic status quo that undoes any shift in dynamics and relationships. It's like Spongebob who can't get his driver’s license. The worst part is I actually like Lila and I wish the story treated her with the seriousness we as an audience are expected to treat her with. Despite being painfully inconsequential by the end of each of the 3?? 4?? episodes she’s in, it's entertaining to watch a character create drama just because. 

Too bad it means nothing.

Astruc is constantly building up suspense to something ‘important’ only for it to not deliver and fans are constantly having the rug pulled out from under us. Oblivio teased us with a reveal only that gets undone cuz memory akuma. Chat Blanc teased us with romantic development but that gets undone cuz time travel bullshit. Feast introduced more miraculous lore and the history of the guardians but that means nothing by the next episode or ever (i'm not including any reference to the season 4 trailer cuz i've been around the block a few times and im familiar with this lil dancy dance). Heroes Day teased us with a possible future team of heroes but that gets undone in Battle of Miraculous cuz ????? why?? (here's why; astruc was having a jolly ole time letting us know how irredeemable Chloe is at the expense of shooting his own stagnant plot in the foot. Again, discussion for later.)

Too bad anything that slightly swerves off course from the akuma of the day gets undone or ignored. Too bad nothing has any lasting consequence. I mean, if anything did, the episodes would have had a consistent order and release schedule so im not scrambling to watch the leaked ep in Portuguese or something while the french dub is two episodes behind while the english version hasnt even been dubbed. I really wonder how he plans to conclude the show when he’s so afraid to step out of the corner he painted himself in.

Again, not going into nuances. If you want you can ask for more specifics (i doubt anyone would) but this is really just a slightly detailed general overview of my opinions on astruc’s writing. 

I was going to include another miss in his approach to this show but imma save that for another time. 

How’s that for a ‘first’ post?

[invitedeath]

SEPHIROTH                          — relationship & plotter call.

hello lovely isolians! it’s been actually ages since i made my first one, or my second one, so i’m coming back with new vigour & hopefully some new ideas to tempt you all into friendship ( or...enemy...ship) with sephiroth!

so liking this post means that you are 100% down with interacting with me in some fashion! ways this might happen may be... → me sending you im’s / tumblr asks to plot or chat! i can be quite a talkative person as a forewarning, as i love discussing rp things as well as getting to know my rp partner!  → if we are already friends on discord or twitter, i might message you that way to ask you about plots or ideas or to run things by you. → exchanging ask memes / meme day things that might be a bit more personal than a general sentence meme. → possible random starters or musings dedicated to your muse, sometimes i get sudden inspiration for these things! i will always check first that you’re okay with taking on a new thread, but yes this is for just... if i get inspired & want to put something up for you! → general tomfoolery and shenanigans in character ( and ooc if you like )

you can contact me via the im system here, by the /ask feature or you can ask for my discord/twitter if you prefer those. just let me know. discord is the most private however so we’d need to chat a bit more elsewhere first just for my comfort! i am in the isola discord sever however so we can totally talk in that server for a bit too!

FRIENDS.

↪ honestly friendships aren’t typically on the agenda for him. he is arrogant beyond belief and considers everyone to be weaker than him or to some degree unworthy of his time or energy. he really does not have any interest emotionally in anyone besides himself, instead he is far more likely to use and discard people when they are no longer needed. HOWEVER, in 2020 sephiroth underwent quite a big character development stage, essentially his long-term goal came to a head and it backfired pretty back when he got all his powers back, so while he’s super strong again now, he’s also semi-content (i guess) with living in isola for a while, if only so he can figure out how the multiverse works (meta, i know). he talks to people now (wow!) and engages in mostly philosophical conversations, about... life. death. etc.

↪  i am down to... vague villain-alliance type deals with fellow power players here. he wont consider your muse a friend, but rather a pawn or even a means to an end, that end being his goal of generally using this island for his means, apologies. preferably the intellectual, over-powered, edgy types will probably gravitate towards him more, but i’m willing to throw anything at the wall to see what sticks. he’s not a nice guy, by any means, but it would be interesting to see how he has to play the game here to his advantage until he regains powers. i especially would like to interact with other villains who are kind of just chilling, maybe they’re veterans in spirale also and they can share a glass of wine over watching all the citizens running around like ants. we could also do a murder if you are into that. 

↪ there are some cases where he might engage in conversation with non-villain types and these would likely be far more dialogue-heavy threads including metaphorical topics or debates. the conversations of life, death, mortality, good vs evil, frailty of existence, legacy, power and corruption, calamities, birthright and betrayal are just some of the topics possible to arise in discussion. that being said, whilst these topics would be of interest to him, the character themselves must meet his standard of what he considers worthy of his time eg. those just willing to argue with him will bore him whereas someone curious to his nature might be treated to an actual conversation. over time this has opened up into most people being capable of talking to him. he has less patience for over-eager plucky types, but anyone with a respectable manner who likes talking a lot will probably find an interesting conversation partner in this... ONLY SLIGHTLY CHILLED sephiroth. he’s not totally chill, he’s just a lil chill.

↪ warriors, outcasts, villains, intellectuals, fellow puppet-master type villains especially, those he ‘befriended’ in past events, perhaps even neighbours to his castle would all be likely connections. friends of those he has worked alongside or met, or those wishing to seek great power and know of his existence might seek him out also, but yes... ““““friends”“““ is a very difficult term for him. he’s getting better.

→ his most recent developments see him as a far more casual version of his canon self, over a year of living as close to a “domestic life” as possible have meant that whilst he is aloof and cold, he is also far more likely to be out and about, buying wine at some creepy gas station at 4:30am for example. he chats when he’s in the mood and might even stick around to cause some chaos for the sake of boredom eating him alive. so whilst he is still very much a dangerous inhabitant here in spirale, sephiroth is currently Domesticated somewhat. 

ENEMIES.

↪ heroes of all shapes and sizes might feel threatened by the ominous presence of a monster who seems inclined to side with chaos as opposed to peace. he’s not outright starting fires here but he is present in the more morbid moments of isolian discourse, an omen of death lingering on the sideline. he has his plans and he may just mock you with them, but in general since he does and WILL cut down npcs ( or players ) alike, he makes for the perfect villain. BE WARY he has all of his powers unlocked and knows the island well. fighting him would not guarantee your victory, especially if you are a freshly applied character.

in feb 2020 he almost brought chaos to spirale too so i’m sure anyone holding a grudge or wary of a potential threat like that would be very aggro towards him.

↪ he has traumas. plenty of them. some of them originate from labs and white coats, meaning he might just view you as an enemy if you’re a scientist or someone who dabbles in human experimentation. his reasons are his own, but let’s just say that if you consider him a good candidate for poking and prodding with scientific equipment, you may just lose an arm.

↪ i LOVE fight threads especially really gritty, bloody types. i would prefer to plot these out so we know what’s going on beforehand, but feel free to develop these with me honestly i love a good old classic villain hero showdown. he’s less likely to get into these without a good reason but if we do one, the winner is randomly determined via generator to make it fair if your character is also uncapped!

→ police/law enforcers/general crime stoppers might remember him for causing a bit of trouble in the past! insert how bad me be gif. try and ??? get him to apologise i guess. arresting sephiroth sounds like the plot of a funny movie. 

LOVERS.

↪ this man has a bf now, can you believe it? 2021...isola gay rights. 

MISC.

↪ pawns and such would be a fun dynamic later. his general presence is pretty terrifying, so it wouldn’t be a stretch if you have an appropriate muse for them to be fearful enough to carry out some little tasks for him. this might be more common later on, but i’m down to discussion for it currently!

↪ places you may find him can include:                 ↪ near his residence ( personal housing; castle in the mistwood  )                 ↪ fibonacci ward ( levels 3 and 4 especially due to the museums and things. but also the lowest levels, he tends to wander around there as if searching for something... feel free to try and figure out what it is )                 ↪ golden ward ( the university if only to borrow books from the library, he can read there for days at a time without sleep or food. he reads all kinds of things, both fiction and non fiction. )                 ↪ archimedes ward ( pretty much everywhere in this ward, it’s my favourite. he enjoys music and art sometimes. hit me with that biblical shit. )                ↪ the mistwood ( 100% down to be that cryptic creature that leads you from your path to your likely doom )                ↪ the city of yesteryear ( typically the underground areas, just investigating really. any strange occurrences would likely draw him there as would any presence of a strong power. )                ↪ atop skyscrapers, looming at the ‘edge’ of the world we can currently explore, typically more active at night, perhaps at the scene of a murder / attack ( plotted ), if he’s feeling extra ballsy he might be found in a bar but its very rare. very VERY rare, wandering broken buildings, invading scientific facilities or buildings. he’s not going to be found in busy, socially strained areas basically.

↪ i’m down for any ideas you might have too for plots so feel free to just message me if nothing here caters!

STATS PAGE | APPLICATION | PLOTTING PAGE

[kahenn]

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. REPOST DO NOT REBLOG !!

NAME:  Bunny

PRONOUNS: she/her

PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION: discord (most easily reached there), you can IM me but I’m slower because I don’t use the tumblr app. 

NAME OF MUSE(s): Miki Fuyuno 

RP EXPERIENCE/HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?): Ugh, don’t make me think about it. (15 years probably, but that really is meaningless. 9 years on tumblr tho) 

PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED: tumblr, deviantart, and way, way, way, back in the day, quizilla and gaia online lol. 

BEST EXPERIENCE: I have literally made some lifelong friends and connections through this weird little hobby and honestly I think that’s pretty cool?

RP PET PEEVES/DEALBREAKERS: Unnavigable themes and too much aesthetic that your posts/blog is inaccessible. I’m not talking nice edits or a bit of small text. I’m talkin formatting that’s all over the place, links that are impossible to find, weird contrast or tiny tiny text that makes things hard to read. It doesn’t even look good and when I have a terrible time navigating your page, it really puts me off from wanting to write in the first place.  Purple prose is bad. 

A deal breaker is ignoring my OC’s lore. There’s no point in RPing with me if you’re not going to take into account her story. I try to make her meld pretty seamlessly in to the world, without overtly shoehorning her into any canon character’s story lines, so as to not directly step onto canon’s toes. The most you have to acknowledge is her existence, some characters will know her by association or as an acquaintance at most at a base level. Some don’t need to know her at all. Basically, if you’re going to RP with me, you ought to take all of her shit seriously otherwise why are you here?   

MUSE PREFERENCES

FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT: Definitely fluff or smut. Angst has its merits for sure, but I really dislike angst just for the sake of angst. You know, putting our characters through turmoil for no other point than to just make things terrible for them. I like a bit of angst if it’s plot driven and has some sort of resolution, but mainly, rp is an escape and a hobby that I do to unwind and enjoy myself. So I prefer to write things on the happier side! On the topic of smut, I like that to have some plot. I don’t write smut just for the sake of smut. It has to make sense for our character’s prior interactions. It has to be going that way, you know? There has to be some build up and development before it gets to that point. 

PLOTS OR MEMES: I have the memory and foresight of a goldfish so even though there are things i think of that make me go “oh my god i really want to write that!!!” I will forget about it until I am randomly reminded of it again. That could be days or months in between lol. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good plotted thread and I love screaming about scenarios of our muses with my partners, but honestly, I really like when a good meme segues into a thread. Just feels natural. Please reply to my asks, lol. 

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: I’m somewhere in between. I like at least a few paragraphs for serious/involved threads. Dash comm, quick back and forths, or silly stuff I really don’t expect more than a few sentences. I can get long and wordy if the thread and mood is right (I am looking disrespectfully at Rowan). 

BEST TIME TO WRITE: Time is meaningless, I type shit out when the whim strikes me. I honestly have no pattern of when I write best. Generally I write best when I am not tired and not in pain (I am often these things, haha). Sometimes that’s late morning, afternoon, or late night. Spin the wheel, see where it lands! Can’t sayI get any words out early morning though. 

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S): Miki is my brain child so probably. I’m not a giant tsundere, nor am I 5′0″ tall and blonde but...I am also fond of plants/nature/gardening and the like. Certainly not to the extent Miki takes it. I kind of like domestic hobbies (baking/cooking, knitting, drawing) while Miki is less inclined to those. We like pink (but I take that one to the extreme). 

I stole this, now you should steal it also. Stealing is ok. 

[blacknovelist]

Hi 👋 I love the ageswap AU it’s cute! So what’s the relationship between Mentor Shigaraki & Student All For One is like compare to canon? Sorry if this has been ask before but I’m curious to see your opinion? (Thank You For Reading.)🙏

Hi!! I’m so glad you’re enjoying Ageswap – content for the AU’s pretty inconsistent in coming around (the au itself is pretty inconsistent sometimes but shhhhh we’re just here to have a good time) but it always makes us happy, haha. This isn’t a question that’s come up, actually, tho I’m really glad u asked?? Because I only got caught back up to the manga recent-ish, so me n @guardianlioness got to hammer out a whole bunch of details on that end out while we were conferrin’ about this

hang on to ur seats folks bc im here to finish my school work and talk a lot

and i’ve just finished my school work

(also, as an aside: me and lioness always want to talk about ageswap. I don’t think i’ve deleted a single ageswap ask, they’re still here, waiting for me. they’ll happen eventually, probably, I guess, one way or another, and thank u to everyone for bein’ patient

Also also, spoilers abound bc of some names I’m dropping! If you haven’t made it through that one League of Villains arc with the Liberation Army and don’t want spoilers, this isn’t the post for you.

So in the much broader sense, we’ve at least discussed the history of One for All and All for One to some degree over here, but we’re gonna expand, add, and shift stuff around a smidge probably, in actual AU context. The important tl;dr is basically that the League is just a group that opposes the users of One for All after a vendetta when One for All first manifested, and All for One (who henceforth will be referred to as AfO, probably, because although Shigaraki’s his name it’d be confusing, I think, to just leap wholesale into that) was the child of Izuku’s as-of-yet unspoken of OfA mentor, who was assumed dead along with the rest of the mentor’s family but was instead taken in by Tomura (as we’ll be calling Mr. Shimura Tenko from here on out, to try and reduce confusion still and also bc in the beginning he didn’t have the name Shigaraki ) when Tomura lead the league to wreck OfA mentor’s shit bc he’s petty like that.

Now I don’t necessarily need to get into the big details – for the sake of brevity, I’ll make a separate post on AfO, his goals, the brother whomst he loves a lot that we’re giving him for canon parallels in spite of how much we’ve already bungled stuff up, and AfO’s relationship with Toshinori now that that’s all been hashed out – but I do want to point out that, for a time AfO was unaware that Tomura was the one who destroyed his home, only that Tomura was there and saved him and his little brother. OfA mentor hid/went underground/stopped using their family name of Shigaraki after the rest of the family died in grief, so Tomura used that to persuade AfO to not run back to his parent until AfO was swayed to his side, so to speak.

For the most part, Tomura and AfO’s relationship in Ageswap is something of a twist again on canon. See, and this is fun because we love drawing those lines between characters, Tomura (in both Ageswap and canon) is a fascinating emotional sort, both in relation to his mentor/student AfO, but ALSO to Izuku, who does studies on quirks and mumbles a lot and has incredible observational skills, whereas Toshinori is a beast of instinct and feeling, which again foils him to the far more calculating AfO and his logical student! That is to say, the parallels are criss-crossing: Toshinori could be attributed towards Tomura, where AfO could be towards Izuku. Now, obviously, it’s not a 1:1 ratio because nothing is, but it means that when we flip the dynamic we get something just as dysfunctional and unhealthy as in canon, but in a totally different way!

Tomura’s something of the Worst Mentor Slash Elder Sib Figure Ever in this world. He’s a hot mess to AfO’s young meticulousness, and through him AfO kind of. learns to live a little, so to speak. Or at least, relax and also take what he deserves w his quirk bc hey, he has the power, why not?

The general attitude we’re giving Tomura in this AU is kind of…. unnervingly touchy-feely or close physically, esp given what his quirk is. AfO isn’t quite so scared of it, because it’s Tomura, who’s a beloved teacher and friend, but it’s something of a (possibly unintentional, haven’t decided) way for Tomura to keep the League metaphorically close. Because he acts so relaxed and familial, it draws the League together and makes them less inclined to leave, later. And even if they wanted to, well… Tomura’s right there, and we all know what his quirk is. The relationships he’s fostering are just as unhealthy as in canon, just differently.

I think the dynamic might be that Tomura’s encouraging AfO to go apeshit, basically. Kind of like “you have this quirk you barely use/barely know about, and you can do all these things, so why don’t you?” ish, pushing him to overhaul a world/society that condemns his quirkless brother and keep his own power so tightly wrapped he suffers, you know? There’s a weird extra-close obviously openly familial aspect to the League, which is meant to parallel how awkward Izuku is with Toshinori and how they maintain a distance even though they also care and love each other a lot, and it has everything to do with the way Tomura acts and holds himself. Also, the League all refers to him as Tomura in private, to kind of…. sit on those close pseudofam vibes.

As for what AfO thinks of his mentor… well, AfO is the one who offered his family name “Shigaraki” for Tomura to use, a name that even Izuku hadn’t known because his own mentor never told him in their attempt to separate from their grief. So, you tell me what his thoughts might be.

[cptablovegood]

Absolutely no one asked for this or probably even wants this but I’m less than a hundred pages in to Fool’s Errand and Fitz and Beloved are already ruining me so I’m literally just going to make a note of every time they’re being super in love (even if Fitz is constantly obtuse and refuses to admit it) just for my own (in)sanity..

———————part 1————————

Apparently only original posts show up in tumblr searches some imma just have to keep adding on to this rather than reblogging hope you’re ready for a shit so guys!

“I see a love that wends its way in and out of all your many years. That faithful heart has been absent for a time, but is soon to return to you again.” A witch reading his LOVE LINE! She also makes a direct comparison to Molly. Fitz foolishly thinks it’s about Starling but Beloved arrives soon after so we know its about them. HIS LOVE LINE GUYS!

“Your one true love is stitched in and out and through you life. Love will return to you.” You could interpret this as being about Molly as I think they end up getting back together after Burrich has died but I’m way more inclined to believe this is about the Fool. For one its the same witch says its right after the above. Fitz himself also dimises Molly. But mainly the phrasing. The White Prophet and his Catalyst are often described as being interwoven and bound together despite of any distance and time. Like the metaphors are parallel making me think this is about the Fool. Which means… Beloved is Fitz’s one true love! Guys can Robin Hobb just give me a fucking break please!

*a whole paragraph admiring a horse* “The rider was fully worthy of the horse.” He thinks his mans is fine ok!

“He smiled. Something turned over in my heart. I moistened my lips, but could find no words, no breath to utter them if i had. My heart told me one thing my eyes another.” Ummm how fucking in love is Fitz? He hasn’t seen the Fool in 15 years and he’s speechless and his heart is doing somersaults? His eyes are saying wait that’s not how i remember the fool but it doesn’t fucking matter he KNOWS its the fool HIS HEART KNOWS.

“I open my mouth, then helplessly spread wide my arms. At that gesture that said all I had no words for, an answering look lit his face.”Again he’s literally speechless but that doesn’t even matter the Fool can fully understand him. Soulmates don’t need such trivial things as language to communicate!

“He glowed as if a light had been kindled in him” Im sorry thats some romantic shit.

“He did not dismount but flung himself from his horse towards me.”  Hi the Fool literally launched himself off a horses back into your arms!

“The horse shied away but none of us paid her any attention.”  They’re so absorbed in each other.

“In one step i caught him up. I enfolded him in my arms as the wolf gambolled about us like a puppy.”

“‘Oh Fool,’ I choked. ‘It cannot be you, yet it is and I do not care how.’” Emotions are literally choke him he’s about to start crying, I-

“He flung his arms around my neck. He hugged me fiercely. … For a long time he clung to me like a woman.” Yeah we know Fitz has some old misconstrued ideas about love and gender so for him to even parallel that is a lot ok…

“Until the wolf insistently thrust himself between us.” Ok so not only would they have carried on clinging to each other if Nighteyes hadn’t have forced them apart but also the wolfs reaction is super fucking important as well. Like Nighteyes is Fitz’s Wit beast. He has never loved another person other than Fitz so loyally and without question. When he first meets the Fool he trusts him straight away and calls him pack long before anyone else. Fitz even gets jealous of their bond in the first trilogy until Nighteyes explains that why shouldn’t he trust and love someone so fiercely if Fitz already feels this way about them.

“…wiping away tears. I did not think less of him for them. My own ran unchecked down my face.” Urgh thank you Robin Hobb for letting men cry! But they are both so overcome with emotion and not ashamed or embarrassed to show the other person that they’ve been brought to tears by their reunion like wow they’re so in love.

“He flowed to his feet, every nuance of his grace as familiar to me as the drawing of breath.” He likens simply seeing the fool moving to something that is habitual and that sustains his life I-

“He cupped the back of my head and in his old way, pressed his brow to mine.” I would argue more tender than a chaste kiss.

“He stared at me, his eyes touching the white streak in my hair and running familiarly over the scares on my face. I stared just as avidly…” they’re drinking each other up after so many years apart committing each other to memory again.

“The wide grin that lit his face erased all years and distance between us.” something as simple as a smile can bring them right back together like they haven’t been separated for 15 years.

“I felt something from him; the thinnest knife-edge of of shared awareness. … ‘All down the years’ his voice going as golden as his skin ‘you have been with me, as close as the tips of my fingers, even when we were years and seas apart. Your being was like the hum of a plucked string at the edge of my hearing, or a scent carried on the breeze.’”Maybe I’m smoking crack but I think this might be the most romantic thing ever? ‘his voice going golden as his skin’ why does that warm my heart so??

“‘Had I possessed the Skill in truth you would have known I was there. At your fingertips, but mute.’ I felt an odd easing in my heart at his words, for no reason I could name” Fitz mate thats love. Love and the confirmation and realisation that you had never and would never truly be alone or lonely.

“It was a boys thing to do, this immediate offering to share a prized possession and my heart answered it, knowing that no matter how long or how far apart wed been nothing important had changed between us.” Like you might be men full grown now, having lived completely separate lives, not knowing each other for the last 15 years but your love is so pure it has not been marred by age or distance!

“I blinked my eyes and for a minute I was back in the Fool’s hut in the mountains, healing from my injury while he stood between me and the world” he remembers how the fool protected and shielded him and nursed him back to health.

“He created reality around himself, bringing order and peace to a small island of warm firelight.”

“Light ran up his cheekbones and dwindles as it merged with his hair.”

“‘In the space of a sundown, you show me the wide world from a horses back and the soul of the world within my own walls.’” Before the Fool came Fitz was feeling listless and suffocated by his own life. Is there a more beautiful thing than being renewed to vigor by someone you love? The Fool basically brings him all the possibilities and life that he had forgotten he could have. Also he calls the Fool ‘the soul of the world’ how fucking beautiful is that. and the fool is so fucking happy that he could do that for him.

“We are whole.” This said by Nighteyes which I again think is super important. He feels the same about the Fool as he does about Fitz. And although him and Fitz are Wit bonded and him and the Fool not he does not feel that they have been truly complete without him.

“Like sundered pieces of crockery that snick back together so precisely that the crack becomes invisible, the Fool joined us and completed us.”

“The Fool’s presence was in itself an answer and satisfaction.”

“That evening remains for me always a moment to cherish as golden and fragrant as brandy in crystal glasses.”

“I stayed away from you as long as i could. he offered the words like an apology.’ He literally cant keep himself from fitz. “Any time that you returned to visit me would not have been too soo” And Fitz doesn’t want to be left alone Beloved he wants your company!

“Nighteyes and I spoke as we did was not an effort to exclude him from our circle. It was that our circle made us one in a fundamental way we could not share. ‘Yet once we did and it was good.’” Even the wolf wants them to all be joined again and share their thoughts and feelings!

“He extended his hand to me as if he proffered an invisible gift on those outstretched fingertips. I closed my eyes to steady myself against the temptation. ‘I want it as i want breath itself Fool take it away please.’” He is having to ask the Fool to remove the temptation because he wants that wholeness, that one’s again so badly but he knows it’s a bad idea. It is taking all his will to decline it and I think of the Fool offered again he wouldn’t be able to resist a again. Also this is the 2nd time he has likened the Fool to something as fundamental as breathing.

“‘I dreamed of you once. You were sick or injured. A man leaned over you, I felt he wanted to hurt you so I-’ ‘It’s quite likely ou saved my life.’” Even when the Fool was Amber and Fitz did not know her his subconscious was looking out for her and protecting her. He fucking skill pushed someone to leave her alone without even realising it was her.

“‘Sometimes when I was most alone I mocked myself that I could cling to such a hope. That I could believe I was so important to anyone that he would travel in his dreams to protect me.’ ‘You should have known better than that.’ I said quietly.” Ok so this hurts my heart a little because Fitz always denies that he loves the Fool the way in which he wants to be loved by Fitz. I mean I don’t think that’s true at all because their love is way more intense and intimate than any woman that Fitz has ever been with Molly included the only boundary between him and the Fool is sex which arguable we know Fitz doesn’t always think is related to love cos he slept with Starling. And it fucking kills me that when Amber was in her darkest place she clung on to the hope that Fitz did truest love her but at the same time laughed at herself cos Fitz himself had told them otherwise previously. And here he has the audacity to contradict her. Like how could you ever doubt it? Cos you told them to doubt it mate! Why are you so fucking obtuse Fitz!

“‘Should I?’ He gave me the most direct look I have ever received from him. I did not understand the hurt I saw in his eyes nor the hope. He needed something from me but I wasn’t sure what it was.” Urgh again Fitz is so blind! You just need to hold him and admit to him how much you love him get over yourself and your whole ‘I can’t love you like a man loves a woman’ bullshit cos like the Fool rightfully said you didn’t love Molly cos of what was under her skirts!

“‘Were you expecting me to leave tomorrow?’ ‘I thought you might I didn’t hope it.’ ‘That's good then for you could have hoped in vain.’” They’ve finally been reunited after so long and neither one of them wants to leave the other.

“I suddenly realised the immensity of what i had asked him … like all direct questions I had ever asked the fool I both dreaded and longed for the answer.” This just feels very fucking intimate to me lads sorry to say

“‘Good night Beloved we have been apart for too long.’” Umm the Fool fucking gave Fitz his own name. His true name that he had never told anyone. His name that his own mother called him. They’re gunna ruined me these two.

This is literally only the first chapter that they have been reunited in and my heart already can’t take it!!

[happyfunnycoolgirl96]

I was looking for the 2d post but i found this too i think its from a week ago-->

Ok i cant be the only one who does this so im raising the poll bc i must know. Am i the only one who gets easily obsessed with "things"? Like hobbies passions activities and pieces of media no matter the obscurity. But this is the thing- it only lasts for periods of time, like it seems to go in waves. I'll be so so obsessed with something for a short period of time and learn everything about it and read all the tv tropes pages on it and pirate it if its a game or movie and play/read/watch/whatever it over and over and draw art for it and froth at the mouth about it for a few weeks and then either totally abandon it, or "file it away" as something i find mildly interesting in the future. And these files are what I call my current interests, even if im not really into them as i once was. What this is about right now obviously is my big ass sonic phase that is completely obscuring every interest right now. Like my pokemon phase was last year and theres a wartortle figurine in my room that i recall being the shit but looking at it now i think... why is this even in my room? I dont even care about pokemon. And i find it hard to care about any media beside sonic bc thats what the thing is now. Its not a new thing either because i remember these waves since elementary school and its always the most embarrassing inane shit like... the 6teen stoked and tdi trifecta. Ren and stimpy. The simpsons was a big one i remember. my ssb brawl month in middle school!??? There are so many, like really there are a LOT. and I try hard to hide how hard these waves hit because its true, its just unusual when someone can flip so harshly from loving one thing to total apathy. Sometimes the waves will last from a week to almost a year, and then after i find myself not as media-crazy as i was before i’ll go into a remission phase and my interests will even out a little more. Then... maybe in a few weeks, maybe in a couple of months, or even longer, someway I’ll find either a new thing or go back to an old thing and the cycle will start again. Maybe its not at manic as it sounds and some waves hit much harder than others, but Im starting to think these periods of obsession aren’t as common as I thought there were. The constant is, though, is that I'll always seem to go back to some interest some time, so the interests "rotate" in a way. One week I'll be really obsessed with cooking and create 50 little buffets in a day then just stop cooking completely for a week. Sonic was really the shit in my second year of middle school and now its back, but so was animal jam in the first year and gorillaz in third and dancing in the fourth, but so was dancing in second of elementary and waynes world freshman year. I think sonic also came back for like a week that year that was weird. I really am leaving out a lot. Sometimes the obsession-less periods can get rlly long too...

I feel inclined to call these ‘special interests’ except they just seem to be the same amount of obsession in shorter, multiple spans of time and of varying topics which makes them less special i spose and also im not autistic

I just feel kind of crazy, like obsessive-crazy like this even if it makes me happy. But i wouldnt feel that way if everybody else did it like me so i guess that shows if i really should care or put a name to this whole thing anyway

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (7)

A/N: y’all ., ., .,,. . ..  we’re finally getting to the Good Shit. my hand was literally Over the “post” button and then i remembered “oh shit this is supposed to be touchstarved roman”, so, uh, that’s not reflected in this chapter at ALL. but it’s still filled to the brim with angst. but like, hurt comfort angst. i think i can call this a hurt comfort, right? right

WARNINGS: cursing, arguments, yelling, like a lot of yelling, Complex Emotions, self-hatred (implied) — if I missed anything, please let me know!!! <3 <3

Words: 6575 

Pairings: im proud to say that this has some Logicality. only 20,000 words into the story and we’re finally getting small tastes of ships. still DLAMP endgame but by god. 

Part 1 (chivalry is dead) — Part 2 (i’m wishing) — Part 3 (the bells of notre dame) — Part 4 (honor to us all) — Part 5 (i’ve got no strings) — Part 6 (god help the outcasts) — Part 7 (go the distance)

AO3 link!

@starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda@askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil

i hope y’all like this one!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

______(tumblr’s not letting me put a line so ive manually created it)______

It seemed that, without Roman’s focus, the Imagination sustained a regular day/night cycle. Logan made a mental note about it as they watched the sun go down behind the forest hills, perfectly in tune with his internal clock’s knowledge of the real world’s time. The sky, however, was darkening more rapidly than it would normally. While walking through the forest, he hadn’t noticed any incline changes, so perhaps the forests were thicker than he’d originally thought. The map didn’t indicate that, anyway.

It was a fascinating place, the Imagination. It seemed semi-sentient — at least, based on how the Playwright described it and from what they’d seen so far. Logan regretted not asking to see more of it when Roman was….

No. He’d ask Roman to show him once Roman had returned. His chest hurt a tiny bit to think of it. Nothing was out of reach.

He faced forward again, marching silently. Patton was humming, had been for the whole trip, humming Disney songs.

The Child was staring at Logan still. It was unnerving, for many reasons (A child? Roman was a fucking child? Why was he staring so much? How much less formed were each of the Romans? How did they select what they looked like? Who was the Child based upon? What did he believe?) so he looked away.

“Stop,” the Child patted Patton’s back, “Stop here.”

“Ooookay,” Patton stopped, and Logan stopped behind him.

They’d been walking towards the castle this whole time, away from the sunset. It was clearly huge now, with multiple large spires with red and glittering gold flags. Patton thought it looked straight out of a medieval movie, almost too grand to just be based on Disney alone, though it did bear some resemblances to the castle in Disneyland. It was incredibly pretty.

Oh, sure, he’d seen the Imagination before. Patton and Roman had sat at the window in his room and Patton would listen to Roman as he talked about the various worlds he created. Sometimes it was a balcony with seats and a tea set, but he liked the window sofa more, since he and Roman could sit in each others’ laps and bundle up beneath a pile of blankets. Patton could recognize this castle from a distance. He’d seen this setting before, with the forest and large lake and glittering dual rivers that Roman’d named and then renamed and named again, though Patton couldn’t remember what names he finally chose.

Logan seemed surprised by it all, though, and Patton didn’t want to make it seem like he was rubbing his friendship with Roman in his face. Plus, he’d never been inside. Things were a lot bigger up close.

Yeah, he could see how Logan kept frowning around the world. How he’d been glaring at the Child for the whole walk. Patton’d made a pun — “This sure is a magic kingdom, eh?” — and he hadn’t even groaned!

Patton shifted his weight on his feet, casting Logan a worried look as the logical side inspected the building before them. Whatever was eating at him, he hoped it’d settle soon, because Patton knew they’d need Logan thinking properly to get Roman put together.

“We’ve gotta go in here,” the Child pointed to the building.

It was an unassuming door with two steps leading up to it, attached to a building that looked exactly the same as the others. Besides the door was a wooden sign, fixed to the stone wall, that read “Art Museum (Ages 3–6)”. It was a fairly unassuming building, similar to the other stone buildings to the left, right, and other side of the road.

“Okay,” Patton reached out and touched the door’s handle, just to be interrupted by the Child waving his arms up.

“No! No, no, not yet!” he put his hands out.

“Not yet? Well, what’re we waitin’ for?” Patton put his hands on his hips, watching the Child with a small smile.

“The sun is lowering. It will be night soon,” Logan added, giving the sky a quick glance again.

“But the Artist can’t know that you’re Dad and Mister Logic,” the Child said, mirroring Patton’s hands-on-hips position.

Logan, on the other hand, crossed his arms in thought. “Why can’t he know? Is he a danger?”

“Nah,” the Child shook his head and pointed a finger at Logan. “The Artist doesn’t like you most.”

Logan exhaled sharply. His brow furrowed, nose scrunched, as he processed THAT. Of course,the Playwright supporting him meant there was a counter. Of course Roman didn’t harbor only positive feelings towards him. Logan knew his and Roman’s opinions differed on a multitude of topics, often resulting in unpleasant quarrels. He knew. And, yet, it hurt. “Come again?”

“The Artist doesn’t like you. Don’t worry, he doesn’t like Mister Anxiety either. Or Mister Deceit. He kinda sorta likes Dad?” the Child made a so-so motion with his hands, before letting his shoulders drop with an exaggerated groan. “Not really. He doesn’t like Dad. It’s okay, he barely likes Thomas!”

Logan looked toward Patton with a frown, now thoroughly confused, and was greeted with a similar confused pout. There was a part of Roman who just didn’t like any of them. Not even Thomas. That upset Patton fairly well, but Logan….was almost relieved.

The Child waved his hands again, sticking them up in between the two adult Sides. “Hey! Like I said, that’s okay! We just gotta walk around him and he probably won’t notice you.”

“Do you think he won’t notice that three people have entered his house? Especially two adults. Two full Sides,” Logan couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice.

If the Child noticed, he didn’t let on. “Yep! He barely looks up from the whatevers he’s working on, anyway,” he bounced on the balls of his feet, “Maybe….hm.”

He looked up at the sky and rubbed his hands together. Above them was a thick cloud. It would probably rain that night; they were still looking for him, anyway.

The Artist was probably getting worried. Right? Curfew was coming up soon and if Child got caught, Thief and Bard would be upset, and so Artist would be upset, too, right?

“We have to go in. If he asks, uh,” an idea popped into the Child’s head, and he snapped his fingers. “You can say you’re Dad guy and Teacher guy!”

Logan’s eye twitched. “Do you mean the characters from Thomas’ short videos?”

The last semblances of seriousness Logan held inside himself was shattered by the Child’s enthusiastic nodding. “Yeppers! They’re really nice! Teach is really good at making Dad laugh, and since this all happened, they’ve been—”

“The Shorts characters are alive inside the Imagination,” Logan wasn’t even trying to hide his disdain anymore.

He’d been half angry, half curious as they marched through the sleepy town. He could accept magic, sure, he could suspend his disbelief. It made sense that the Dominoes guy was in here. That was backed by science. But what in the name of Newton did the Shorts characters—

“Logan,” Patton held his hand and gave it a quick squeeze, “This is the Imagination.”

—okay, really, why the FUCK were the Shorts characters real in here?! — and the Child was now just rambling on about characters who were actually fictional. Characters who were characters. Scratch his curiosity from earlier, the Imagination followed no reason and he wanted out. Immediately.

Patton squeezed Logan’s hand again, in a rhythm, one two three four, tight, and raised his other hand toward the Child, who was still talking.

“Hey, kiddo,” the Child immediately quieted, looking up at Patton, “This all sounds fun, but can we talk more about it when we’re inside?”

Patton immediately regretted interrupting him. The Child’s lip curled inward, eyes growing wider as he nodded silently. He looked at Logan, who was scowling at the door, and wilted.

“Yeah. Not important. Okay,” the Child took the door handle and flung it open.

Before Patton could respond, he darted in. Logan looked at Patton, scowl replaced with a confused raised eyebrow, oblivious to the quiet tension he’d missed while internally monologuing.

Patton just slouched. The Child was more skittish than he’d anticipated.

The museum was dark and dusty, though not unintelligible. Patton entered first. There were drawings everywhere, some on actual pieces of paper, some on torn-out notebook pages, some on the wall itself. All of which were children’s drawings, of course, scribbles and splotches of paint. In the halls were also some sculptures on pedestals, most seemingly made of Playdough.

He stopped by a drawing of a house, two windows and a door, and read the placard beside it. Patton was pretty sure he had the same drawing in his room, tucked away in an old photo album.

“Thomas and Roman Sanders. House 41, 1994. Crayon on cardstock.”

Patton felt tears coming to his eyes. Thomas was only five, oh those were good times, learning about the world around him! Such a soft era. And Thomas’ grown so much since then, too.

This was an interesting place for someone to live, but considering his name was Artist, it made sense for him to live amongst his work. Patton turned around, a bright smile on his face, and motioned Logan to join him. “Logan! Come look at the art!”

Logan was standing just inside the door, which was closed behind him, eyes examining the exhibit. It was disorganized and clearly unkempt. Roman must not have visited in a while. Or maybe he didn’t have a curator for this museum. Before he could respond to Patton’s call, the Child’s voice echoed from down the hall.

“Are you coming?”

Logan and Patton shared a look, one disgruntled and one sheepish, and hurried down the hall lined with childish artwork. There were more houses, some family drawings, a fun looking self portrait with bright colors.

“Hurried” is an overstatement. Logan had to pull Patton away from a drawing on more than one occasion.

“Down here,” the Child’s whispers bounced along the walls.

They entered a room, still lined with drawings, and found the Child standing in front of one of the artworks. He held out a hand to them. “C’mon, we’re going in,” he said.

Logan squinted at the painting in question. Yes, painting, done in “Crayola Washable Paint on Cardboard,” according to the placard beside it. “Thomas and Roman Sanders. House 118.”

He looked at Patton for support that this was absolutely ridiculous, but was only met with another shrug. “It’s the Imagination,” he said, as though that explained everything, “Don’t think too hard, or you’ll get a headache.”

Too late for that, Logan thought, though he stopped himself from pondering. Instead, he grit his teeth and held Patton’s arm, determined to get to the bottom of this figurative rabbit hole. Patton himself took the Child’s hand.

The Child gripped Patton’s hand and leaned toward the painting. He pinched the painted door’s handle, tugged.

They all felt a pulling sensation, the Child pulling Patton who pulled Logan.

And then there was a door before them.

It was as though someone poured white paint all over their surroundings, from every angle, wiping away the museum they’d come from and leaving a blank emptiness behind them, all within less than a second.

Logan stared at the door. Then he turned, slow and steady, overlooking the blank white expanse. Like an empty page.

Something wasn’t computing. It’s the Imagination, he repeated in his mind, like Patton’d said earlier.

Directly behind them was the only piece of “world” they could see other than the door. It was another painting, of the museum, of the room that they’d just left, hanging in the middle of nothing.

Social realism, Logan thought. The painting’s placard read “Roman Sanders. The Art Museum repaint, 2019. Oil on canvas.” A reverse portal, created recently. Logan almost wanted to touch it and see how dry the paint was.

“C’mon, we gotta go inside,” the Child whispered, giving Patton’s hand a tug.

Patton, in turn, tugged Logan, who turned back around. “Sorry, this is just….” fascinating? Interesting? Enchanting? Something I would like to experiment with Roman on further? “Different.”

Patton watched the Child as he watched Logan. Roman was clearly still in there, Patton thought, and he didn’t want to be. And, to be frank, Patton understood that feeling. There were many days where he wanted to curl up into his hoodie and be young again, if only to hear a good joke once more. Those were the two-cookie kinds of days!

Maybe Logan couldn’t see what Patton was seeing? The Child’s big wide eyes, staring at Logan and Patton as though searching for approval. Or how he tried so hard to ignore Logan’s obvious contempt for the situation. It was obvious that the Child was actively trying to ignore it, but Patton didn’t miss how he flinched at Logan’s tone. The Child wasn’t naïve, not entirely — in certain turns of phrase and side-glances, the Child revealed his thirty years of life experiences.

But the Child also didn’t seem to notice that Logan wasn’t angry about the world. No, Patton thought as Logan turned back to the museum painting quickly, he was more upset at himself for not being able to understand it.

“Different,” Logan repeated, brow furrowed. It didn’t feel like the right word. He wasn’t usually one to have vocabulary troubles, but he couldn’t find a more adequate word.

It satiated the Child. Or, rather, the Child was thinking of something else. His hand was stiff on the doorknob. Patton leaned in, letting go of Logan finally to put both hands on the Child’s shoulders. “Go ahead,” he whispered. He hoped the Child could feel how much Patton loved him.

Perhaps he did, because the Child calmed down. Enough for him to open the door.

The most notable thing was the mess. There were a lot of things inside that door. Canvases, sketchbooks, pens, pencils, paint sets, notebooks, cups of water, all in piles or scattered about the floor. Some canvases were hung on the walls, too, and some were laid flat on the ground. Others were stacked atop each other or leaned in bunches against the walls. There was a clear path through the mess on the floor, that branched to the stairs on the left and then into the kitchen on the right. Logan could see a drawing tablet over there, too, propped against the wall. Where the laptop was, he couldn’t tell. Patton could see that most of the paintings were unfinished. Whether it be sketch lines still showing or just clearly half-painted, half-white canvases, not a single finished piece was in this clutter.

The second most notable thing was the person painting.

Another Roman — the Artist, most likely — was sitting on a stool in front of a painting on an easel. It was also only an assumption that he was another Roman, because he absolutely did not look it, clad in a white hoodie covered in paint splotches and red sweatpants, hood pulled up and covering his hair. The only thing that indicated his Roman status was the golden waves adorning his sleeves, the same as the waves on Roman’s crest.

He held a large painting palette in his right hand and a brush in his left, dabbing oil paint against the half-finished canvas in front of him. Another work in progress, it seemed.

The clutter and the painting didn’t bother the Child. He closed the door behind himself, being careful to not slam it, and cleared his throat.

The other Roman didn’t move nor speak. Just kept painting, dabbing his brush on the palette and swiping it along the canvas. The painting was unfinished, but it looked so far like an impressionist piece, Logan thought.

The Child coughed again, yet the other Roman didn’t flinch.

“I’m back, Arty,” he said.

“I heard you,” came the impatient reply, snappy and fast, the Artist not turning to speak to them, “Who’s with you?”

“Dad. And Teach. Dragon was mean today,” the Child was playing with the hem of his shirt

“Mhm.”

“It’s curfew. They couldn’t go back to their houses.”

“Mhm.”

“So they’re gonna sleep here. I’ll keep them in my room.”

“Mhm.”

The Child took Logan and Patton’s hands into his own again and pulled them toward the stairs. “Good luck with your painting,” his voice teetered off into silence as the Artist failed to turn again.

Patton opened his mouth, but the Child squeezed his hand and shook his head. Logan took a little more tugging, as he stood by the bottom of the stairs, trying to look at all the paintings. Some were paintings — oil impressionist, pop art, surrealism and cubism, even some De Stijl paintings — some were simple figure drawings on lightly-crumpled paper, some even….was that a painting of Virgil?

The Child tugged harder and Logan stumbled after him.

They made it to the top of the stairs. The Child let go of Patton and opened the door, ushering both of them in before slamming the door shut behind himself.

This was probably the most regular room they’d seen so far in the Imagination. A small twin bed sat in the corner, with a big canopy and fairy lights overtop. There were streamers and drawings and posters hanging all around the walls, even some stickers and some drawings done directly onto the wall. A wardrobe sat in the corner farthest from the bed, a desk and vanity mirror besides that, and five bean bags were arranged in a circle around a circle rug in the middle of the room.

There was an air of magic around the room, too. The fairy lights bobbed up and down slowly, despite being hung on wires, and the clouds painted onto the ceiling seemed to move. The ceiling was fairly low, too; Patton reached up, eyes stuck on a cloud in the shape of a heart, and found that he could actually touch them. The heart swirled around his hand, glowing light blue before dissipating entirely.

“Sorry about him,” Patton and Logan looked down at the Child — he’d gone to the wardrobe and was taking off his cloak, revealing a plain white shirt with the crest’s sun emblazoned across his back. “Artist’s, uh, not a people person.”

“So we saw. His work, however….it’s breathtaking,” Logan stepped aside as Patton went for one of the beanbags, “I didn’t realize Roman was that much of an artist.”

The Child snorted. He sat down on one of the other beanbags and started untying his shoes, chubby fingers unlacing them down a few notches. “Yeah, well. You never seemed interested. No one was. Arty doesn’t like leaving his art all alone, so ever since we formed he’s been in here with it.”

“Yeah, you said somethin’ like that.” Patton crossed his legs on the bean bag, leaning forward on his elbows toward the Child. “The Playwright also said something about everyone having different thoughts on what’s best for Roman.”

“Playwright!” the Child tossed his shoes into the corner behind the door and laid back in the bean bag, spread out with his arms open. “Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen him in a while, is he okay?”

Logan let his shoulders loosen and slouch. It….did feel good to unwind, after the events of the day. Maybe the adrenaline and shock were wearing off finally. He sat down on another bean bag, bending his knees as though he were in a normal chair. “Yes, he is fine. He is, ah, backstage, as he called it.”

“Yeah, I thought so. Artist doesn’t like Playwright at all,” Logan and Patton shared another confused glance at that, “Thief says it’s ‘cause he doesn’t like mister Logic, but I think he doesn’t like you ‘cause he doesn’t like Playwright.”

“Why doesn’t he like the Playwright? That seems counterintuitive, to not like yourself,” As soon as the words left Logan’s mouth, he realized how hypocritical it sounded. And how obvious the explanation was.

Patton seemed to notice as well, because he grimaced, putting a hand on top of Logan’s knee. The Child, however, just shrugged. “Well, I don’t like all of me, you know? I wanted to figure out what parts of me I could live without, but every part of me has an opinion about what part’s important.”

“I?” Logan asked, softer now.

The Child nodded. “Roman. I,” he made a gesture up at the air, and it reminded Patton a little of the hand flip Roman typically did when rising. “I’m Roman but I’m not Roman.”

“How does that work, kiddo?” Patton coaxed him.

“It’s like….” he trailed off, resting his hand on his chin as he thought. After a few quiet moments, he continued.

“Okay,” The Child sat up and patted his own chest. “Me. I’m the Child. AND I’m Roman. I’m all….”

He flopped backward again onto the bean bag, making vague gestures with his hands as he wrestled to find the words, only to find that there were none. No words truly.

The Child let his hands fall onto his stomach with a groan, staring upwards. Patton and Logan shared a nervous glance. It was clear something was bothering the Child, something integral to this Hunger Games of Romans situation.

“Take your time, kiddo,” Patton tried to comfort him, but his words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The Child was just looking up at the sky ceiling. After another few seconds, he heaved a sigh.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The sky?” Logan and Patton both looked up as well.

“With all the clouds that look like pretty things. And even if they don’t look like things, they look soft and fluffy and wonderful. And then, when there aren’t clouds, it’s the most beautiful shade of blue or a dazzling red, like how a nice summer night makes you feel?” The ceiling had been full of fluffy white clouds, meandering across the painted blue expanse, but as soon as the Child mentioned “dazzling red” the clouds began to glow pink as the ceiling’s paint color changed to red. He clapped.

“Or, or! Even better, sometimes, when it’s really, really late, and there are stars out? And every star is like a gem on a glittering cloak that the world’s putting on you?” the ceiling changed once more, painted black as the clouds vanished. One by one, twinkling stars seemed to glow from nothing against the ceiling backdrop. In actual constellations, no less.

“It’s all so….” the Child exhaled, “Beautiful.”

Silence followed. All three of them were now laying on the bean bags, looking up at the twinkling stars and the occasional barely visible line that connected them. They just starred, Logan and Patton unsure of how to break the silence, until the Child continued himself.

“That’s what I want Roman to remember,” Patton looked at the Child, who was watching the stars. He spoke with a strong determination, voice set. “That’s what I want to see. The beauty.”

He faltered, closing his open mouth and gritting his teeth. Logan looked away from the sky now, too, and watched the Child as he closed his eyes. Wiser than he seemed. “But that makes me really childish, doesn’t it? If we just see the beauty, then that means we’re ignoring all the bad stuff. And if we’re too childish, we don’t get taken seriously, and we really need to be taken seriously. I mean….”

The Child glanced over at Patton, and he could have sworn that the Child had tears in his eyes. Oh, he hoped he wasn’t crying. Patton reached out, offering his hand to maybe comfort him, but the Child just shrugged, unwilling to look at him anymore.

“We see how you get treated, Dad,” Patton’s brow furrowed in confusion, hand retracting a little, as though the Child’s words hurt. “No one takes you serious and you always have to prove yourself. We don’t take you serious, either, a lot of the time. ‘Cause if you’re childish, then you don’t deserve to be taken seriously. That’s what Roman tells himself. Tells me. But it’s wrong.”

Now the silence was just awkward. Patton lowered his hand into his lap as the Child looked back up at the sky. There was no denying now, now that the Child’s quiet breathing hitched and stuttered, that he was crying.

“It has to be wrong,” he whispered between gasps.

Slowly, the Child pulled his hands up to his face, rubbing his eyes and sniffing into his hands. Patton was going to start crying himself, watching the Child cry. He turned to Logan with a bitten lip. He knew, deep down, that the others didn’t always take his opinion seriously. Heck, it was a running theme! Patton the childish, the inner child, the baby. But Jesus, that was point blank.

“You’re correct, Roman. I don’t always understand you both, but the things I don’t understand aren’t…they aren’t unimportant. Occasional immaturity does not equal insignificant. We….” Logan faltered and looked up at Patton, who was staring at him now, tears dotting his eyes.

They really did walk on him, didn’t they? Logan considered the times he had helped elevate Patton’s concerns, and the situations in which Patton’s concerns were elevated. No one took the puppet suggestion seriously, until it was proven successful, and Thomas himself had to step in to get them to even consider it as an option. Along with that, Deceit was able to mimic Patton by, what? Literally saying he was a fan of cartoons and was silly? It was so easy to character Patton into a caricature of immature glee that he, Roman, and Virgil barely noticed.

That was the insult, wasn’t it. Childish. Not to be taken seriously. Silly and immature. Was that what he thought of Patton?

Patton wiped his tears and looked away. “I….guess that’s true. But hey! That’s what comes with being Thomas’ inner child, isn’t it?” there he went, voice heightening in pitch as he tried to make it sound as though he weren’t so upset with Logan’s silence and the Child’s assessment. “Your dorky ol’ Dad can be a lil’ goofball a lot of the time.”

“Your goofball-ness is welcome, often appreciated. We….do have a lot to learn, about having fun and seeing things anew.”

Patton looked over at Logan, who was watching him with determination. The Child, too, was watching Logan with both eyebrows raised, having grabbed a pillow from his side to press his face into. His eyes were two large spotlights.

“I do not understand the Imagination. I cannot claim to. But there IS immense beauty in this world you’ve created, and I see that it would be a waste to focus on making logical sense of it rather than take in the world around as a work of art. It might be childish, but sometimes….a little childishness is what we need to maintain a healthy lifestyle and a healthy headspace. Your input is appreciated.”

If Roman was having these sorts of concerns, about being perceived as childish or not, then Logan knew it was likely Patton had similar concerns. He chided himself mentally for letting this self-consciousness fester but a direct approach was always the most efficient.

And it was all worth it to see Patton smile and remove his glasses, wiping the tears from his downcast eyes.

“Thank you for sharing your concerns with us, kiddo,” the Child smiled at the nickname and rubbed the back of his neck, turning away for a bit. Patton smiled at him, then at Logan, beaming like the sun. “Logan put it real well.”

Logan fixed his glasses, pleased with himself, and the Child patted his arm. “Thank you, Logan,” he said.

They sat in silence, eyes flicking with new brief understanding between each other, until there was banging from below the floor. Patton squeaked and Logan stiffened, but the Child just groaned into his pillow.

“WHAT’RE YOU TALKING ABOUT UP THERE?!” the Artist’s voice boomed from below.

“JUST TALKIN’ ABOUT THE OTHER SIDES WITH TEACH,” the Child shouted back, voice muffled by the pillow.

“WELL, SHUT UP ‘BOUT THEM! THE DRAGON BITCH’LL HEAR YOU!”

“YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

“YOU BRATTY LITTLE—DON’T MAKE ME COME UP THERE!”

The Child leaned his back, groaning loud and angrily. “FINE! SORRY!”

Logan and Patton exchanged worried glances. Had the Artist heard that whole conversation? They looked to the Child for any thoughts or input, but he just shook his head.

“He won’t come upstairs. Ugh, I was doing real good at not saying your names,” he rubbed his face, rubbing the tears into his skin to hide them, “It’s–It’s like the taboo system. Dragon, he put a curse on your names so all of us can hear it when someone says them. The others aren’t really scared of that, they–they….Artist doesn’t want anyone finding this house. He heard me say your name, mister Logic.”

Before either of the adults could respond, however, there was another crash from downstairs. The Child frowned and climbed off the bean bag, kneeling on the ground with an ear pressed to the rug.

“What—” Patton was cut off by the Child shushing him harshly.

They weren’t confused for long, though, as the voices grew more raised and angry.

“—TOLD YOU—FUCK OUT!” they heard the Artist shout.

“I WILL ONCE YOU STOP TALKING SHIT ABOUT THE OTHERS! THEY’RE IN OUR REALM NOW, THEY COULD HEAR YOU!”

Patton raised his eyebrows. He looked at Logan, who was frowning at nothing. When he noticed Patton, Logan mouthed “Playwright.” He didn’t seem like the type to be so….explosive.

“WELL TOUGH, PLAYWRONG. I DONT GIVE A FUCK IF THEY HEAR ME! I JUST DON’T WANT DRAGON SHOWING UP, THOSE UNGRATEFUL CRITICAL ASSHOLES—”

“THEY’RE MUCH MORE THAN THAT, THEY’RE BETTER THAN ALL OF US COMBINED, YOU STARVING STEREOTYPE—”

The Child stood up slowly, stepping carefully on the rug and sliding his feet along the wooden floor. He slid all the way to the door. As slow as he could, he clicked the lock in place, and let out a breath. The yelling died down immediately to a whisper, as though locking the door disconnected the room from the whole house.

“That’ll keep them out. They’re probably not gonna come up here, can’t get into my room now, but if they find you then we’re all fucked,” he mumbled.

“Language,” Patton mumbled, and the Child giggled at him. “No swear words when there’re children present, you know that!”

“Yeah, yeah—” the Child cut himself off with a yawn, shoulders hiking up slowly.

He shuffled back to the bean bags and collapsed into the one he’d been sitting in. He curled into a ball, huffing a small sigh. Patton yawned, too, and smacked his lips. Logan had to stifle a yawn himself. They were contagious.

It had been a long day. They were due for a sleep, especially after the arduous experiences they’d had throughout the day.

“Y’know, I didn’t think the Playwright’d let y’all in,” the Child’s words jumbled over each other, and he covered his mouth as he yawned again.

“What makes you say that?” Logan pressed.

Despite the tiredness, he knew there was something wrong with his initial read of the Playwright, and this situation didn’t leave space for those kinds of errors. The Child shrugged. “I….from what I know, he’s more….he likes things done his way. He really wants all of you approve of him. Mostly mister Logic, but all of you. And he really, really, really doesn’t like Princey. Him an’ Dragon an’—an’—” the Child yawned again, mumbling the rest of his sentence incoherently, but Logan didn’t process that.

There was another mention of this “Dragon” character. Logan rubbed his cheek, arms crossed on his knees as he ran the new information through his mind. The Playwright was volatile — he scoffed quietly, of COURSE Roman, with his boisterousness and exuberance, wouldn’t be able to contain his energetic nature into something reserved and quiet. He had his quiet moments, but he couldn’t maintain stoicism forever. They would have to assess him again, it seemed.

“I thought….” Patton whispered, and Logan looked up at him.

Patton’s eyes were downcast at the ground, brow furrowed in anguish. He’d thought they’d gotten at least one part of Roman, one bit to understand that they were accepted. That Roman was LOVED, damnit, because that’s what it was! He was loved, Roman was loved, and by God it felt like he’d failed if one of his friends doubted that so much that he couldn’t believe that.

“I’m gonna sleep. Just right here. Y’all can take the bed if y’all want,” the Child’s voice slurred together, halfway asleep already and cutting into both adults’ trains of thought.

Patton sighed. He slowly switched into Dad Mode as he pushed himself up and rolled his shoulders. “Nope. You’re a growing boy, kiddo, you’re goin’ in the bed.”

He stooped down and picked the Child up, chuckling quietly as he groaned in dramatic despair. Still, the Child wrapped his arms around Patton’s neck lazily, snuggling against him once more. Logan crossed his legs on the bean bag and watched as Patton sat on the bed, rubbing the Child’s back, and tried to pry him off.

“You need to get in bed, kiddo,” Patton whispered gently, “You’ve gotta sleep. A prince needs his beauty sleep, right?”

The Child giggled. “I’m not a–a–a,” he yawned again, “A prince! I’m a child!”

“But you’re gonna grow up to be one! You’re gonna grow up to be a great prince, ruling over all the Imagination,” Patton was whisper shouting, putting on a grandiose voice full of gusto.

He mimicked blowing a trumpet with one hand and the Child laughed, patting Patton’s hand down.

“Nuh uh!” he hummed between tired giggles.

Logan stood up behind Patton and gently took the Child’s hands. The Child looked up at him, squeezing Logan’s hands sleepily and giggling.

“You will be a valiant prince,” he lifted the Child’s hands away from Patton, and he took the cue to start tucking the Child into bed, “You will be a prince, lion-hearted and loved. But tonight, you must sleep.”

The Child squeezed his left hand, then his right, and laid down in the bed he’d been placed in. He looked so comforted as Patton pulled the blanket up higher around his face, big brown eyes questioning as he looked up at Logan from beneath the edge of the blanket.

“Will they listen to me?” his voice was thick as he teetered between unconsciousness and lucidity, “Will–Will they care, when I’m a prince?”

Logan nodded at him, and Patton nodded too. They were both sure, sure as the sky is blue. “Yes,” Patton whispered, “Everyone will hear you. And you’ll live happily ever after, my Prince.”

The Child giggled quietly. Slowly, he snuggled into the bed, and his hold on Logan’s hands relinquished, now gripping the blanket as he curled into a ball. Within mere seconds, he was snoring softly.

Patton stepped back and stretched. He looked up at Logan, who was removing his glasses in preparation for sleep.

“Wanna sleep on the floor?” Patton asked, “Or should we stack the beanbags in a square and use those as a bed?”

Logan considered the bean bags for a moment, actually, before deciding the morning back pain wouldn’t be worth it. “I think we can suffer the floor for a night,” he said, taking his coat off and spreading it out on the ground.

Patton followed suit, throwing his cat cloak down and spreading it out like a bed mat. They both slowly climbed to the ground beside each other, fitting themselves into the space that was to be their sleeping mat, grabbing some of the pillows and stuffed animals strewn about. At least the carpet was soft, adding extra padding. They both laid down, heads resting on some of the Child’s pillows, staring up at the stars on the ceiling.

Though they were both tired, Patton wanted to clear one thing up before letting himself drift off.

“....Lo,” Patton asked, voice soft. “Lo, are you awake?”

Logan sniffed. He was actually partway asleep already. “Yes, Pa—er. Patt.”

Patton giggled. It wasn’t always that he got to hear Logan call him by a nickname. He sobered up fast, though. “Did you mean what you said? About…about appreciating the childish things.”

Ah. Logan opened an eye. Patton smiled sheepishly at him.

He still had his glasses on. Logan turned to his side, facing Patton, reaching a hand out and taking his glasses off carefully. He slowly folded them and set them aside on the ground, with his.

“Of course I did. You provide important opinions and insight, often noticing details I….overlook,” Logan rested his hand on Patton’s shoulder, “You are appreciated.”

Patton beamed with a wobbly lip, more tears threatening to spill over. He slowly took Logan’s hand and pressed it to his lips. Not in a kiss, per se, but more to hold him close. To show that he was so thankful, so grateful for this acknowledgement. Plus, he was afraid that the tears would spill if he opened his mouth.

Logan didn’t seem to mind, though his face did turn a brighter shade of crimson, just barely visible in the starlight.

After a few seconds, Patton regained his stability. “Thanks,” he whispered. “We...we’re gonna get Roman back.”

Logan nodded, discombobulated. Patton’s breath on the back of his hand was comfortingly warm. There was that feeling in his chest. What was that?

He let go of Logan’s hand and rolled back onto his back, letting out a sign of contentedness. Their little prince was fast asleep and the next day would bring more trials. They had to find Virgil and Deceit and hopefully the Roman who’d been on the roof. They had to talk to the Artist. They had to confront the Playwright. They had to find the OTHERS and talk to THEM.

And Patton knew they’d be able to face it all head-on. He knew it in his heart. “Goodnight, Lo’. I love you.”

Logan exhaled beside him. Perhaps….things would be okay. He looked over at Patton, whose eyes were already closed, legs crossed and hands interlaced on his chest in a peaceful manner.

There was that feeling again. The data points — he was too tired to be thinking coherently, look at him, applying statistics knowledge to emotions of all things — indicated that he felt warm and fluttery near his lungs whenever he considered the other Sides. It felt as though his lungs were clenching, breathing constricting and carbon dioxide exhalation warming. That couldn’t be literal, though, or else he’d be ill. On this particular adventure, in this particular day, it’d happened a few times.

Perhaps he was just tired. It had been a long day, all of this just in one day. Logan would consider this issue more in the morning. However, he would indulge in the working hypothesis just once, whilst muddled in this warm-chested comforting confusion. “....I love you, too, Patt. Sleep well.”

It may have been a trick of the light or his mind, but Logan thought, just before he closed his eyes, that he’d seen Patton smile at him.

[searchingwardrobes]

Of Earth and Sea: 8/9

My fic for the 2019 @cssns will drop this Friday, so to celebrate, I’m re-posting my fic from last year (and also because I was a tumblr newbie back then and didn’t post the chapters here, just the link to Ao3)

Gorgeous art by @shipsxahoy!

Also check out the additional art that @cocohook38 made for this chapter here. I flailed like crazy when I saw it the first time! Our Captain Swan family dressed in elvish clothing is brought perfectly to life in her drawing.

Summary: Five years after their wedding, Emma and Killian are ready to start a family. But Emma discovers that raising a family isn't that simple when your husband is a Dunedin (half-elf) and your mother-in-law is neither dead nor alive.

Rated T

Also on Ao3

Tagging:(let me know if you want to be added or removed from this list) @welllpthisishappening @kday426 @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @snowbellewells @profdanglaisstuff @wellhellotragic @mythologicalmango @xhookswenchx @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @lovepurplepumpkins

Chapter Seven:

“Lend dreams nin mel

  Glenn-nai i even lands

  Lend songs bo i thul

  Im tur-feel ha in i nen,

  Im tur-feel in i coe,

  Im tur-smel ha in i gwilith”

Tauriel ran her hands soothingly through her little boy’s dark brown hair as he drifted off to sleep in her lap. Every year his hair got a shade darker. When he became a man he would mostly likely have black hair like his father’s. His eyes were already that stunning shade of blue. He still had Tauriel’s freckles, but those seemed to fade as the years went by. She sighed as she watched the eight year old’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. Oh, how she hoped her son would choose a different path than that of his father!

It worried her that he had fallen asleep like this. He was so thin and hungry. Life as a slave boy on that ship was much too cruel. A tear slipped down her cheek as she stroked her precious boy’s face. This wasn’t the life she wanted for him. Her heart broke at how she couldn’t even care for her own child. She couldn’t even pass any of her elven strength on to him, since she wasn’t fully alive. She found berries in the forest for him to eat, but what he really needed was lambas bread. Hopefully he would dream deeply enough tonight to find himself in the elven lands, and her people could give him better nourishment. She waved her hand over him and muttered in elvish.

“I polod im-gar, im on-na cin.”

Tauriel let out a relieved breath when some color came back into her son’s cheeks. Using magic in her condition was always a guessing game. One thing was for sure; it wasn’t enough to change her son’s circumstances.

Tauriel heard course words and laughter coming from the clearing on the other side of the trees. She eased Killian gently and swiftly from her lap and into a pile of soft moss. She waved her hand over the child once again.

“Taur, coe; beri-hi hen. Lore, nin red, lore tovon a lor.”

The moss and earth obeyed her command, wrapping Killian like a blanket. The roots of the tree nearby rose up and arched over him. No passerby would guess that a child slept there. Tauriel turned and moved on her soft and soundless feet towards the voices. She almost gasped at what she saw through the cover of leaves.

A man, of dark hair and strong, slender build, had a petite, buxom maiden against a large tree. She was laughing merrily, her head tipped back as the man trailed passionate kisses along her neck. His hand cupped her bosom.

The man was Brennan Jones.

Memories assaulted Tauriel of that painful day when she had found him with another woman. His hands caressing another in the same way he had caressed Tauriel just the day before. His lips drinking in the taste of someone else. It was a jarring image that no one should have to endure. The woman Brennan was with now wasn’t the same one she had caught him with that fateful day. Seemed he was faithful to no one.

Brennan moved to loosen the woman’s laces as she buried her fingers in his hair. He began gasping out, “Loreena! Oh, Loreena!”

Tauriel rolled her eyes as she turned to slip back to get Killian. The last thing the boy needed was to see the wretched man again. Not after the year of misery the poor child had endured. All because Brennan Jones knew nothing of faithfulness and commitment. But before she could take even a step, Brennan’s female companion corrected him.

“My name is not Loreena.”

The coldness of the woman’s voice gave Tauriel pause.

“Sure it is,” Brennan chuckled, flashing the woman that charming smile of his. Only someone who knew him well, like Tauriel, would be able to see the slight nervousness in his eyes. Tauriel bit her lip to keep from chuckling. The man had known so many women, he was bound to have difficulty keeping them all straight.

“No. It is not.” Then the woman transformed right before his eyes. Gone was the head of light brown curls, gone were the petite curves, gone was the upturned, freckled nose. Instead stood a woman of regal bearing, tall, with long, straight raven tresses and milky white skin. Tauriel clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from gasping.

“Carabosse!” Brennan cried. It was the mistress he had taken when wed to Tauriel!

“Yes, it’s me,” the woman replied coldly. “I’m surprised you remembered my name. What was it . . . Margeurite? The blonde you left me for? And you were married to the redheaded elf when you took me as a lover.” She chuckled wryly. “You like a sampling, don’t you?”

Brennan sauntered close to the woman, reaching out to stroke her shiny ebony hair. “Yet none were as exotic as you, Carabosse.”

“Your flattery will get you nowhere, Brennan Jones,” the woman told him, taking a step back. “You should know better than to become entangled with a witch. Especially if you do not plan on being faithful. What is that expression? Ah yes, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

Brennan’s eyes widened and he went suddenly pale. “Come now, Carabosse, surely we can – “ His words were cut off suddenly as he clutched his throat and gasped for breath. He lifted a trembling hand towards the witch for a moment, but then collapsed to the ground.

Carabosse knelt beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his face. “Sleep well, my former lover. Sleep long and fitfully. For I do not think there are any upon this earth who feel any kind of love, much less true love for a despicable man like you.”

She leaned forward and brushed her blood red lips across Brennan’s forehead, then stood. Still looking at the still form at her feet, she called out, “I know you are there, elf.”

Tauriel startled, and quickly began to head back to where Killian lay.

“Show yourself,” Carabosse called after her. As if Tauriel had any intention of doing her bidding. Until the witch added, “I know your son is with you.”

Tauriel froze in her tracks. She shut her eyes tight and pressed her lips together. She couldn’t risk the witch hurting Killian, so she squared her shoulders and stepped out from the copse of trees. Carabosse smiled serenely at her.

“You can thank me,” she told Tauriel, gesturing at the man sprawled upon the forest floor.

“You knew I was here the whole time.”

Carabosse shrugged. “I could have put him down in the room at the tavern. But I sensed your magic in the woods, and I thought to myself, now that would be awfully poetic.”

“So you’re just going to leave him here.”

Carabosse’s eyes widened in surprise. “You worry for his well -being? After the pain he put you through?” The witch gestured at Tauriel’s body, which had begun to fade slightly. “This whole wasting away thing you elves do. Surely you hate him.”

Tauriel looked down at Brennan’s handsome face. He had a way of charming a woman, of making her believe she was the only one so beautiful, so desirable. Looking back, Tauriel realized his praise was always for her beauty: her hair, her eyes, her figure. He never really knew her heart, her soul, or her mind.

“I gave myself to one who was not deserving. I should have opened my eyes before it was too late. And now I pay the price.”

Carabosse spoke with surprising tenderness. “A grieving heart can make desperate decisions.”

Tauriel’s gaze snapped up to the woman’s face, so cold, so seemingly indifferent. Yet there was a tiny bit of softness in her eyes. “H-how did you know?”

Carabosse shrugged. “Word gets around. Especially when it’s an elf and a dwarf. Two races who are supposed to hate each other. Besides,” she inclined her head towards the trees, “you named your son after him.”

This wasn’t a topic Tauriel wished to discuss with a stranger, so she lowered her gaze back to Brennan. “We can’t just leave him here. Between the wild life and the elements, he’ll be killed.”

“You elves,” Carabosse scoffed as she turned to go, “always helping. Always caring too much.”

“It is against our nature to turn our backs on the weak and suffering.”

“You can’t undo my magic.”

Tauriel tilted her head, “I can change it.”

Carabosse rolled her eyes, “Fine, suit yourself. As long as he spends many long years in that red, burning room of torture, it will be enough for me.” And with that, the witch disappeared in a cloud of blood red smoke.

Tauriel worked quickly once the witch had disappeared. Killian’s presence helped her stay corporeal for much longer than normal, but her time, even with her son, was coming to a close. She didn’t have much time left, and she still wanted to see her child back to his ship. So she first erected a protective coffin of sorts from roots and moss. Then she put a protection spell around it, so at least Brennan wouldn’t be eaten by wolves or freeze to death. Then she spoke a spell over him.

“Lore tenna sanda mel hir cin, lore mal an i lumenns-o tindu, lore.”

Essentially, the spell allowed Brennan to awaken during the brief time between twilight and midnight. Most likely, he would only be partially awake, for Carabosse’s magic was powerful. To most, he would appear like a bedridden, sick man, but at least he would be freed from the torture of that horrible red burning room. Tauriel’s counter-spell also allowed the sleeping curse to be broken if Brennan could find a true love. Tauriel rested her hand upon the twisted branches of the make-shift coffin.

“May you find a woman with a heart so pure that she can make yours finally faithful.”

Then she turned to walk back to their son.

****************************************************

The journey from the land of the woodland elves to Rivendell was normally one of many long weeks, so Emma was thankful for the pouch of beans that Anton had given them. She was ready to go immediately, but Killian insisted they stay the night so she could rest.

“Killian, I can’t possibly sleep with Elien still so far away,” she argued.

Killian reached out his hand and cupped her cheek, his expression a mixture of tenderness and concern. “You died earlier, love.”

Emma chuckled wryly as she grasped his hand and kissed his palm. “Only with us is that a normal occurrence.”

“And you will sleep, I can promise you that,” Galadriel told her, “many have come here to be refreshed on their journeys. You will feed on lambas bread and drink of sweet, refreshing springs of water. And by the time you have finished, we will have a bower ready for you.”

Emma pressed her lips together. She had to admit, she was starving and her legs felt like rubber. “Okay,” she finally relented, “but we leave first thing in the morning.”

“With you, that may mean eleven o’clock,” Killian quipped.

Emma smacked him, “So wake me up, sailor!”

He laughed lightly as he pulled her close. “I won’t let you sleep the day away, Swan, I promise. But I will make sure you rest.”

The elven meal they were brought didn’t seem like much: two squares of lambas bread, a wedge of cheese, and a small bowl of wild berries. Yet it satisfied Emma’s hunger completely, and every bite of the lambas bread sent a pleasant warmth all through her. Then she and Killian were escorted up the winding staircase of one of the enormous trees. One of Galadriel’s maidservants opened a door made of birch branches and thick opaque glass. It lead into a room that reminded Emma of both a giant bird’s nest and a domed hut. The bed was sunken into the bowl shaped floor, padded with the softest moss Emma had ever felt and piled high with blankets of soft deer skin. There were also piles of down stuffed pillows woven of silk. Killian told her the elves harvested the silk from the husks of the cocoons that hung in the trees.

Even though they had complete privacy inside their woven bower, the songs of the elves still filtered through.

“Lend dreams nin mel

  Glenn-nai i even lands

  Lend songs bo i thul

  Im tur-feel ha in i nen,

  Im tur-feel in i coe,

  Im tur-smel ha in i gwilith”

“It’s the same song you sing to Elien,” Emma said with a yawn as she curled up beneath the blankets.

“Aye, love,” Killian replied as he lay down behind her, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her close until she was tucked under his chin, “elvish lullabies. It’s why we know you will sleep long and deep.”

“You said we,” Emma said drowsily, her words beginning to slur, “I thought you didn’t like being called an elf.”

“Sometimes I don’t mind,” he answered, his own voice fading into sleep.

Emma turned in his arms to rest her cheek against his chest. Between his warmth, the rise and fall of his chest, and the song of the elves, fighting the pull of sleep was impossible. I feel almost like the bower is rocking gently, was her last thought before she drifted off, like sleeping on the Jolly Roger . . .

********************************************************

Elien Jones sat at the edge of the pool of water, gathering sticks and smooth, colorful pebbles. The mist from the waterfall that spilled into the pool dampened her strawberry blonde hair, curling the wisps that framed her face. She gnawed on her lower lip in concentration the way her mother often did.

“Is that a fairy house you’re building?” Elrond asked her kindly.

“No,” Elien answered simply, shaking her head. She picked up a waxy leaf and carefully stuck the largest stick through its center. Then she flipped over the sticks she had woven together and pushed the tall stick with the leaf through the center. “It’s a pirate ship,” she explained.

Tauriel pressed her fingers to her lips to suppress a smile as Elrond frowned. She schooled her features then turned to the eldest council member imploringly. “I beg of you to reconsider this plan. Elien is a special little girl. She doesn’t belong here.”

“Of course she’s special!” Elrond exclaimed. “The daughter of the savior, a product of true love, and a Dunedin? She is the perfect match for my grandson in every way. And one day, they will rule our people. United and strong once again.”

Tauriel shook her head wearily. “That’s not what I meant. Her magic is bigger than the elves, bigger even than her mother’s destiny. I have seen it. To keep her here would be like . . . trapping a majestic Eagle in a cage.”

Elrond gazed at her with furrowed brow, “They would rule more than just the elves then, a united kingdom of men and elves. A mighty force for good, for peace.”

Tauriel scowled openly. “Her destiny is more than preserving bloodlines. More than who she will wed.”

Tauriel turned away from the elf to go to her granddaughter. She watched as Elien pushed the little boat gently into the water. It promptly sank. She tilted her golden head for a moment, then lifted both hands towards the water. Her magic pulsed forth, the water bubbled, and the little boat popped back up on the surface. A shimmer swirled around it, and then it bobbed merrily along until it disappeared in the mist at the base of the waterfall.

“What a lovely ship,” Tauriel told the girl as she knelt next to her and wrapped an arm over her shoulder.

Elien smiled as she gazed into the mist, dimples appearing in both cheeks. Tauriel brushed the child’s hair back from her face, her heart aching at how much the child looked like Killian at times. He argued that she looked like her and Emma. But Tauriel often felt she was looking far into the past as she gazed into the little girl’s face.

“Effie,” Elien said, turning to her grandmother with a furrowed brow and a serious expression, “I knew you would come.”

Tauriel smiled as she cupped the child’s face in her hands. “Of course I did. And your mama and papa are coming too. We came to save you.”

Elien’s gaze drifted to the ground, the long lashes she had inherited from Killian brushing the tops of her cheeks. “No. You didn’t. I’m the one who will save you.”

Tauriel’s eyes widened in confusion. “Why do you say that, child?”

Elien’s mossy green eyes looked full of wisdom beyond her years as she held her grandmother’s gaze. “I have seen it in my dreams.”

**************************************************

Killian’s suggestive grin as he helped Emma up after they crashed through the portal was more irritating than attractive. Since she was more focused on dusting herself off and picking leaves out of her hair.

“What?” she snapped, then immediately sighed as she rubbed at a bruise on her elbow, “I’m sorry, babe. I’m just on edge and, you know, slightly battered.”

Killian’s gaze softened as he rubbed her arms gently. “I know, my love, no offense taken. I was merely admiring this look on you.” He then pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek.

Emma smiled and blushed even as she shrugged. “Guess I’d make a good elf, huh?”

Killian’s eyes took in the dress of rich burgundy velvet with gold trim. Emma’s fair skin was milky white in contrast, and the gold brought out the honey-colored hues in her hair. Lambas bread always made skin and hair brighter, but Emma’s seemed to positively radiate light. Her hair was held back from her face in the traditional elven way, braided in loose knots. Emma lifted her hand to pat the braids gingerly.

“These aren’t literally knots are they?” she asked hesitantly, “Cause that would be a pain in the ass to comb out.”

Killian blinked, not really sure what she was saying, more distracted at the shape of her arms as the wide sleeves of the dress slipped down to her elbow. The movement also gave him a peek of her cleavage against the scooped neckline. Emma just laughed and shook her head.

“You can take this dress off me later, pirate, let’s go get our little girl.”

The portal had deposited them only a half hour’s walk away from the borders of Rivendell, so they didn’t have far to go. Killian’s elven senses directed them, and they walked in silence for a few moments. Emma glanced his way, admiring the soft leather breeches he wore beneath the green tunic cinched at his waist. Over that he wore a cloak of lighter brown, edged in bright green thread. He had grumbled when the elves brought the garments to him, but in the end he had to admit that his jeans and leather jacket were not only worse for wear after the run in with the spiders, but weren’t warm enough for the woods they would be traveling through. Emma liked him in the outfit; she swore it made those ears she loved so much seem more pointed, made the flecks of green in his eyes more pronounced. Of course, she honestly liked him in just about anything. Captain Hook, “Prince Charles,” Killian Jones of Storybrooke, or Killian the Dunedin, he was all of those things to her. And she loved every part of him. He glanced her way and arched a brow.

“Admiring something, love?” he teased.

“Always,” she told him, grasping his hook in her hand. She didn’t let go as they made their way along, and finally worked up the courage to ask him something she had been wondering for quite some time. “Killian? Why did your mother stay away so long?”

He stopped abruptly. “What do you mean?”

Emma wet her lips nervously. “When she showed up right before our wedding, you said you hadn’t seen her since right before the curse was cast. That was a long time, and I thought she was cursed to wander after the one she loves most. So . . . “

Killian clenched his jaw, his eyes darting, landing anywhere but on Emma’s face. “I’m sure she was around, but . . . “ he finally met Emma’s eyes, releasing a long breath, “I told her I never wanted to see her again.”

Emma’s brow furrowed. “But why? What did she do?”

Killian lowered his head as shame washed over his face. “She did nothing. It’s what I did. The last time I saw her . . . it was also . . . the last time I saw my father.”

Emma’s eyes widened as she put it all together. “Oh.”

Killian ran his hand wearily over his face. “I was leaving that hut, leaving my father there cold on the ground, and there she was. She looked so . . . distraught. She begged me not to leave my little brother alone. Said she knew it would haunt me.”

Emma stepped closer, cupping his face in her hands. “Hey. Look at me. I’ve heard this story, remember? It didn’t change how I felt about you then, and it still doesn’t now.”

Killian nodded, blinking away shameful tears, and turned his face to kiss her palm. Then he grasped one of her hands with his and laced their fingers together. “I responded to my mother in the only way I could at the time – with anger and rage. I already was ashamed of what I had done, but I wasn’t about to let her know that. So I told her I had finally done what she never had courage to – I made our father pay for all of his crimes. I never saw my mother weep like that. How could I ever look her in the eye again? After what I had done? After I had become so dark?”

“And that’s why you told her you never wanted to see her again.”

Killian nodded. “And she honored my request. But I’ve always wondered. If it was because she – stopped loving me. That I had become such a villain that even she couldn’t love me.”

Emma shook her head as she drew closer. “I have heard your mother talk about you enough to know that could never happen.”

“My father’s love had its limits. Why not hers?”

Emma kissed him softly, first on the lips then on his nose, then each cheek. She then wrapped her arms around him, pressing her lips to his collar bone. “Because she’s your mother,” Emma whispered against his skin, “nothing could ever make me stop loving Henry or Elien.” She pulled back to look into his eyes again. “And she’s so much like you. You could never stop loving any of us either. It just isn’t in your nature; and it isn’t in hers.”

Killian stroked her cheek, a peace settling over his features. “In my heart, I know you’re right. That’s why I just can’t believe that she would take the Arkenstone.”

Emma took a step back, tugging lightly on his hook. “When have we ever let fate determine our future? This family fights for each other, sees the best in each other. I really don’t give a shit what you’re grandmother’s pool says.”

Killian chuckled as he walked alongside his wife. “That’s the Emma I love.”

*****************************************************

Emma had to admit that the towering waterfalls of Rivendell were a sight to behold. And she understood now what Killian meant about the air here. It strengthened her as she breathed it in, and the light seemed . . . not brighter, but more rich, making every color more vibrant.

Yet she cared little about her surroundings once a familiar voice cut through the air. “Mama! Papa!”

She and Killian’s elven escorts, though armed, were no match for their determination to go to their daughter. They both shoved the guards aside heedlessly as they dashed through the doorway into Elrond’s throne room. They then fell to their knees as they gathered Elien into their arms, peppering her with kisses. Killian had been right; the elves had taken good care of their little girl. She was well fed, and even seemed happy. And Emma had to admit she looked adorable in her tiny elven dress of lavender and silver.

“Can we go home?” Elien asked with a frown as she pulled away.

“Of course we can, cygnet,” Killian told her as he scooped her up.

“This should be her home,” Elrond spoke up, “with her people.”

Emma marched right up to the elf and without hesitation punched him in the jaw. “That’s for kidnapping my child. And for the record, her people are in Storybrooke.”

“But elven blood runs through her veins.”

“Well, so does human blood,” Emma snapped back.

“The fate of her people hang in the balance!” Elrond shouted. “We’re talking about the greater good!”

“And I’m talking about what’s best for Elien!” Emma was in the elf’s face now. “I know what it’s like to sacrifice having a family for the greater good. My daughter won’t suffer the same thing.”

“Then you and your husband can stay here,” Elrond argued, more calmly now.

“I don’t think your listening,” Emma seethed, “we’re taking her back to Storybrooke where she has grandparents and an uncle and godparents and friends.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t your decision.”

“Says who? I’m her mother.”

“Enough!” Tauriel shouted. It was the loudest Emma had ever heard her speak. “Elien is my granddaughter, not a pawn.”

“Besides,” Killian interjected, “it isn’t the elven way to keep a child against her will.”

Elrond’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed before he lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. His royal guard rushed into the room on their silent elven feet, their arrows making a soft, yet eerie swishing sound as they pulled them from their quivers in perfect synchronization and notched them to their bows.

“I stand corrected,” Killian muttered. He set Elien down gently. “Get behind me, little love.”

Emma inched her way over and she and Killian kept their daughter safely sandwiched between them.

“I don’t want to threaten you,” Elrond said.

“Could have fooled me,” Emma replied sarcastically.

“Elrond, you can’t seriously be considering forcibly removing a child from her parents,” Tauriel argued, “this isn’t the elven way!”

“Not the elven way?” Elrond snapped. “Soon the ways of our people will die out. More and more of our youth are leaving these lands, intermarrying with the race of men. Our magic is weakening, our lands dying.”

Tauriel laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Then perhaps it’s time we joined the race of men instead of keeping ourselves apart.”

Elrond’s face contorted with grief and sadness. “You sound like my daughter. My precious Arwen who will suffer your fate when her true love dies.”

“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” Tauriel asked gently. “Giving her a bloodline that will help her hold on as I have done.”

Killian exchanged a look with Emma, and then he stepped forward slowly, pulling the Arkenstone from the satchel at his hip. “If I may, my Lord, offer an alternative?”

“The Arkenstone!” Elrond breathed, reaching for it with a trembling hand.

Killian pulled it back against his chest. “Aye. The stone that will take away your daughter’s immortality. In exchange for my little girl, of course.”

Elrond’s eyes flashed. “Or my army takes it by force.”

“Or I take it!”

Every eye in the room turned in shock at the sound of the small voice. Elien Jones stood in the middle of the throne room, her green eyes flashing fire, magic tingling between her fingertips. She raised her hand towards her father, and the Arkenstone flew into her hand.

“What are you doing!” Elrond screamed, racing forward. Elien flung her hand, and Elrond was frozen in place.

Emma and Killian shouted their daughter’s name, but they found they were frozen in place as well. The stone pulsed an even brighter red in the little girl’s hand. Emma lifted frantic eyes to her husband, but he looked just as frightened as she did.

“Elien, honey,” Tauriel said gently, easing down on her knees in front of her granddaughter, “you need to put the stone down.”

“No, Effie,” Elien said in her little girl voice, “it’s meant for you.”

Elien placed the stone into Tauriel’s palm, then she placed her tiny hands over her grandmother’s. Magic sparked, and snaking red lines poured forth from the stone, enveloping Tauriel. When it cleared, she collapsed to the ground, and the stone rolled across the floor. It was no longer red, but a dull glassy color. Elien released her hold on the others, and Killian and Emma raced to Tauriel’s side.

“Mother,” Killian said gently, helping her up to a seated position.

She moaned and held her head, and Killian grasped her arms, half laughing in disbelief as he squeezed her shoulders, then her hands between his. She hadn’t felt so solid since he was a tiny lad.

“You’re . . . you’re . . . “

Tauriel put her chest to her heart. “I’m mortal.” She reached up and cupped Killian’s face in her hands, marveling at the stubble beneath her palms. Her little boy, all grown up, and she could finally really, truly feel him. “Oh my precious, precious boy.”

Killian embraced his mother then, holding her tightly as he hadn’t been able to in so many long centuries. Tears filled Emma’s eyes as she watched them. Elien flung her arms around both her papa and her Effie. Tauriel turned to her granddaughter and peppered her face with kisses. Then they yanked Emma in for a group hug.

“The stone chose you.”

The Jones family looked up to see Elrond standing over them. Emma smiled at Killian.

“Galadriel didn’t see your mother taking the stone, she saw Elien giving it to her.”

Tauriel shook her head. “But why? Why me?”

Elrond reached out and took Tauriel’s hand, helping her to her feet. “Because of the many long years of sacrifice for your son. You have earned your rest, Tauriel of the Woodland Elves.”

She turned to her son, her daughter-in-law, and her granddaughter. “And I know just where I’ll spend my final years.”

[albrtmason]

would you share some hosea headcanons you have? i’d live to hear them! i agree fandom tends to ignore him.

this is mostly backstory because thats the person i am and i like thinking of things as a Story. these also arent super polished because i havent had the time recently to put proper research into them!!! and this got a LOT longer than i intended so im putting it under a cut haha 

so hosea was born in the early to mid 1840s (1843?) in the allegheny mountains in what is now west virginia (would have just been virginia then, wv didnt exist until 63). he grew up in a small community, largely agricultural, and like most people in appalachia at the time, his family were subsistence farmers. he had his mom and his dad and two younger sisters.

his dad was in and out of his life from the beginning, especially into his teenage years. but its also through him that hosea really got his first taste of what it was like to be an outlaw: his dad was a moonshiner, and eventually hosea started helping him run it (but not distill it). what money his father didn’t gamble away or spend in brothels helped to support the family, which was more than others in the community could say.

(his father of course did a lot more than just run moonshine, and hosea knew that, but he never got involved

when hosea was around 15 or 16 (so mid to late 1850s) his dad was arrested and, his mother having passed away a year or two before, his sisters were sent east to live with a distant aunt. (they kept contact for a while, sending letters, but communication trickled to an end when hosea was in his early 20s and he never heard from either of them again) hosea was considered old enough to fend for himself so he gathered up the little money he had left and whatever could be sold and he headed west for lack of anywhere else to go. initially he had wanted to get enough money to buy a place for him and his sisters to live, but that plan fell through pretty quick

(he knew from his time running ‘shine that the best way to get money wasn’t ever through honest work but rather under-the-table sort of work, the type of work that wasn’t strictly above-board, the type of work where he could do what he wanted whatever way that he wanted)

and he just kept going west, bouncing from town to town to town. he started out running moonshine because that’s what he knew best but he eventually moved on to pick pocketing, petty theft, eventually armed robbery and hitting people’s homes. he preferred conning people though, cheating at cards or rigging roulette, being friendly and silver-tongued enough to get a man blind drunk and rob him of all he had and be long, long gone by the time he sobered up

we know of course that he met dutch in the mid 1870s (i feel like there’s a specific date but i cant remember it rn and im too lazy to look) when they both tried to rob each other, so he would have been in his very late 20s or early 30s by that point, and decently comfortable in the life he’d built for himself. he never really had a specific goal that he worked towards, no plan for the future or anything; he was just living for the present, or whatever. dutch changed that, eventually

(you could put all sorts of vandermatthews stuff here if you wanted and maybe i’ll talk about it in another post but right now i won’t)

he met bessie a while after he met dutch cus they stuck around in one place a lot longer than they usually would, around a year or so, and he took to her almost immediately. she wasn’t astonishingly pretty or anything- was just average, really- but she was well-read and thoughtful and horribly witty and hosea was terribly in love with her. he proposed just before he and dutch skipped town and they got married.

i like to think that bessie ran around with them without actually committing any crimes herself. hosea had been very upfront with her about who he was and what he did once they started a romantic relationship. and it was good like that, for a few years; she and susan kept he and dutch in line and it worked. but eventually i think bessie would have gotten tired of being so transient; i think she would have wanted to settle, to have a family, to be normal. and i think on some level that hosea wanted that, too.

in 1878 or thereabouts they picked up arthur and hosea really threw himself into trying to help him, because while dutch may have seen something of himself in arthur, hosea DEFINITELY did: he saw a kid who’d lost both of his parents and his home, not by choice, trying to make it in the world, just trying to survive. and while years of crime had made hosea rougher, sharper, more sly and less remorseful, he’d never really lost his sense of empathy. i think that dutch liked arthur well enough when they first picked him up, but it’s hosea that really insisted on keeping him around

so hosea became a sort of mentor (and father figure, i guess, moreso than dutch was) to arthur, and along with dutch taught him how to read and write and draw (though hosea was more lettered, and dutch more artistically-inclined). they taught him how to shoot and ride a horse and how to rob and kill. i think at times, especially towards the beginning, hosea would feel a bit guilty about dragging a kid into that sort of life, but then he’d tell himself that arthur would have fallen into it anyway, and with worse people than he and dutch

eventually bessie wanted to settle and put down roots and live, and a part of hosea did as well, so they left the gang for a bit to try and make it work. but hosea didn’t really know any other life than being a criminal; he was smart, he was clever and deft-fingered and a quick learner, but he wasn’t a tradesman and i think he would have started to chafe at the constancy of it all, and so he went back to the gang because being a criminal was all he really knew

like he said in the game, bessie understood. she knew what he was, who he was- she knew him. and he loved her, loved her as much as someone like him could; they tried to make their marriage work, with him gone all the time, and he really hated how it sort of echoed his parents because a part of him had hated his father, hated him for how sad his mother looked all the time, how she’d occasionally sigh and stare out the window like she was waiting for something. he didn’t want to do that to bessie, didn’t want to become like his dad

occasionally he’d split off from the gang and go and see her, often for some weeks, maybe a month, before returning. she was always happy to see him and she never complained but he always felt just a little bit guilty, even though they wrote letters to each other as often as they could. eventually though bessie got sick, real sick, and he spent three months away to be with her, to love her and take care of her the best he could, and to pray she would get better. she didn’t, though, and so he’d had to bury his wife, and like he says in some camp dialogue he spent the next year or so drinking heavily, enough that he was rarely sober and pretty much drunk all the time

john was the apple of dutch’s eye when he was brought to them and while hosea did the same as he did with arthur- taught him to read and write, and other things- it was mostly dutch who took over john’s “”education””. hosea was okay with that; him and arthur started running a few jobs together, just the two of them

as the gang itself grew hosea sort of asserted himself as dutch’s right hand man, if not almost an equal in leadership. he was more analytical and calculating than dutch, and he brought sense to dutch’s passion, taking his ideas and making them into something workable. and that was good, for a while; they worked well together, and by this point hosea was swept up in dutch’s ideas of striking out and making a home for themselves (though the was obviously still a bit cynical about it, as we can see in-game)

he was the only one really able to truly temper dutch, and the only one that dutch would really listen to criticism from, so he also sort of became an intermediary between dutch and the rest of the gang, where they would come to him with their problems and he’d pass them on to dutch and so on and so forth. that started to change though, little by little, and hosea knew that his friend was slipping away and there was not really anything he could do about it except be there to try and play damage control.

things never really got better but they sort of plateaued for a bit in a place where the gang was still safe and hosea was content enough with their position there, with the way dutch’s mind worked, but micah’s arrival really exacerbated dutch’s downward spiral because micah really enabled dutch’s passions and, well, dutch’s ego had always been his fatal flaw, and micah stoked that and kept doing so until eventually everything just fell apart

[thefloatingstone]

(Prices are in USD)

My commission sheet was a little confusing and cluttered, so I copied someone else’s way of presenting commissions just so it’s more clear X’D I hope they do not mind.

Anyway;

20 / 08 / 2018

Commissions are OPEN!

SLOTS

OPEN OPEN OPEN OPEN

As I am no currently working on the show at this moment, I need income for things like food, petrol, my meds, bills, etc etc. So We’re opening some commission slots!

Because my time is more limited than it was in the past, I’m not offering as wide a variety as I use to, and just for now, I am only doing single characters at the moment. I will also have to be strict as to what kind of commissions I am willing to accept. I will accept what I am offering here. Not character sheets, not headers or banners. What you see is what I’m offering. Also note rates have gone up as my time has become more limited and my needs have increased.

Additional Info:

- Paypal Only 

- no NS//FW, hate art of any kind, I reserve the right to turn down commissions I am uncomfortable with.

- References will be needed for characters/OCs I’m not familiar with (Pictures of just text is fine)

- I can provide a “Working size” version of any picture (usually 300dpi) as long as it is not used for profit.

- OCs/Furry/Ponysonas/Self Inserts/Monstersonas/AUs are all ok! I do not believe in Cringe Culture and will draw any character, OC or ‘sona you’d like!

- I am ok with keeping commissioners names anonymous if asked! I have done this with multiple people who want to stay anonymous on their commissioned pieces.

- Payment will be asked for AFTER the commission is finished. This is a fail-safe for me in case something happens and I am unable to complete a commission.

- Please contact me if you want a spot via IM.

- Please do not send me messages asking “How is the commission coming? / Are you almost done?” as this makes me less inclined to work on things. a lame excuse, but a true one.

- Commissions will be posted publicly to tumblr unless asked not to by the client.

- Clients must please ask before reposting commissioned pieces to their own blogs/pages etc. However, using pieces they have commissioned for Avatars/headers is fine and you don’t need permission (although credit will be appreciated)

Once all slots have been filled Commissions will be closed until I have completed everything. At which time I will evaluate things and decide whether to open them again or not.

Sorry if that all sounds very stand-offish but I’ve been burned quite a few times ^^; And I hope that will help answer questions you guys might have. If it doesn’t. feel free to message me with any other things you might want to know! Despite how scary those rules sound I like to think I’m pretty open and don’t mind talking or answering things :) (If you’re shy, you can ask questions via anon as well)

[starcourtscream]

ANSWER THE FOLLOWING SO PEOPLE KNOW HOW SHIPPING WORKS ON YOUR BLOG.

WHAT’S YOUR OTP FOR YOUR MUSE? :  chemistry,   of   course.   lydia   reacts   to   different   muses   in   different   ways   but   sometimes   things   just   work   and   surprise   me,   and   those   ships   become   my   favorite.

HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE? :  lydia  /  void  (1000+   years)   is   an    exception   of   course   but   considering   that   i   write   her   in   between   17   or   18   depending   on   the   timeline,   i’m   drawing   the   line   at   anything   above   that  UNLESS   we’re   specifically   doing   a   post   college   au   or   something.   like   m/arrish   and   p/ydia   ?   no,   not   gonna   go   there.   if   the   other   is   late   20′s   to   the   age    of   friends’   parents,   no.

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING? :   v e r y.   lydia   has   a   specific   type,   which   you    might   notice   in    the    current   ships   she   has   going   on   &   she’s   attracted    to   a    certain   aesthetic  /  attitude   but   what   mostly   makes    or   breaks   ship   potential   is   chemistry.   some   muses   can   be   as   sweet   as   cherry   pie   and   it   still   might   not   work  because   she   can   be   hard-shelled,   withdrawn   or   something’s   missing.   if   their   personalities   “match”   or   align   and   they   react   to   each   other   with   a   certain   energy,   i’ll   go   for   it   but   i   don’t   force   anything   just   because   it’s   cute   in   theory.   i’m   more   inclined   to   establish   platonic   ships   bc   she   can   never   have   too   many  friends,   but   i   try   to   make   it   clear   when   that’s   all   there   is.   not   everyone   is   gonna   impress   lydia   just   because   they’re   gucci   after   a   couple  of   nice   interactions.   she’s   not   easy.

HOW FAR DO STEAMY MOMENTS HAVE TO GO BEFORE THEY’RE CONSIDERED NSFW? :   i   mean   probably   when   the   clothes   come   off   and   what’s   happening   is    pretty   clear   ???   i   don’t   tag   it   though   because   of   tumblr’s   sensors   and   i   don’t   trust   their   promise   to   pardon   literary / artistic   content   and   i   don’t   want   my   blog  to   be   wiped   out   without   warning.

WHO ARE OTHER MUSES YOU SHIP YOUR MUSE WITH? :   right   now   my   favorites   are   stydia,   voidia,   lydia  /  sweet   pea   &   i’m   starting   to   really   like   lydia  /  bellamy.   also   lydia  /  mitch   rapp.   there   are   other   muses   i   do   ship   lydia   with,   like   HARDCORE   and   lydia   definitely   has   some   kind   of   connection   but   i’m   not   sure   how   the   muns   feel   so   i   try   not   to   post   about   them   too   much   so   i   don’t   look   desperate   (  i  know   that   sounds   so   stupid   lol  )   or   feel   like   i’m   pressuring   them,   i’m   kind   of   reading   between   the   lines   figuring   out   how   to   interpret   those   interactions   and   playing   it   safe   waiting   for   confirmation   but  mmmmm   there   are   definitely   a   couple   of   those   ;)

ANY NOTPS? :   lydia / jackson,   lydia / parrish,   lydia / aiden   &   lydia / peter.   *miley vc* can i get a hell no

DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU? :   yes,   please.   don’t   be   afraid   to   ask   bluntly   and   straight   up   like   “hEY   KITTY   DO   U   WANNA   SHIP   LYDIA  /   X ?”   or   if   i   see   romantic   potential.   it’s   so   easy,   i   don’t  bite,   just   slide   right   into   my   IMs.   no   formal   invitation   needed.

HOW OFTEN DO YOU LIKE TO SHIP? :   as   long   as   it   works   &   makes   sense   and   i   can   see   why,   or   if   lydia   encounters   someone   she   really   clicks   with   and   likes.

ARE YOU MULTISHIP? :   yaaaas

ARE YOU SHIP-OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS? :   honestly   it   might   look   like   it   with   the   ship   content   i   post   sometimes   because   they’re   relevant,   but   i’m   NOT   one   of   those   OMG!!!!   ship   drunk   obsessed   fangirls   who   ship   all   the   ships   just   for   the   sake   of   shipping   because   WE   CAN   !111!   yeah   no,  i   keep   it   real.   i   don’t   want   to   ship   anything   and   everything   just   because   it’s   possible,   i   prefer   things   to   happen   organically   and   for   true   connections   to   form   &   it   doesn’t   always   happen   but   that’s   my   favorite   way  to   develop   them.    THEN   i   get   excited   about   them   but   lydia   has   to   be   drawn   to   something   about   other   muses.   she   can   be   cordial   or   even   indifferent   if   things   aren’t   going   anywhere   but   i   do    enjoy   the   few   i   have   for   lydia   here.   i   like   to   see   what   happens   &   if   i   like   it,   it’s   a   green  light.   at   the   same   time,   some   ships   i’ve   never   even   thought   of   surprise   me.   if   they   happen,   they   happen.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM? : stydia   and   scallison   !

FINALLY, HOW DOES ONE SHIP WITH YOU? :   talk   to   me   in   IMs   and   be   direct   so   i   know   your   intentions   and   there’s    no   ambiguity.   this   also   helps   defining   our   ships   so   if   you   have  a   clear   idea   of   what   kind   of   ship   you   see   between   ours,   please   make   sure   i   know   so   i   don’t   accidentally   cross   lines   or   ruin   things.   i   want   to   be   aware   too,   because   not   being   on   the   same   page   and   not   knowing   is  really   weird.   if   you   haven’t   done    that   already   and   our   muses   have   some   kind   of   thing,   please   do   that   right   meow   !   clarity   is   key.

TAGGED BY :  taken   from   @srpntloyalty​   ♡ TAGGING :   @vanishcd​ @withinnocencelost​ @risaen​ @earthsheir​ @soaretheseboots​ @ownsgrief​ @scviorswan​ @earthbuilt​  @orionblood​  @andlied​  @fuckedforger​  @antichristborn  &  whoever   wants   to   !

[unityghost]

Scratches

I’ve come to supply the internet with more angst. One can never have too much angst. It’s kind of like parmesan cheese.

This fic, part 6 of my ultra-emo series Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels, is based on a prompt I got from @t-rexhighfives​, who proposed the following: “later down the line (like probably a yearor two in the future), sam having a particularly bad day (bc lord knows sam hasnt been allowed to work through his own traumas, both bc of everything that happens and bc he wont let himself work through it) and then gabe is having a moderately bad day (not awful, not the worst, but not great either) and sam is trying to help gabe and its just. not working. and gabe is like '... sam, you okay?' and sams just like ‘fine, im fine’ and they both know its a lie and so gabe decides that since sam has helped him so much, hes gonna return the favor (idk if this is even interesting or good, i just think it would be interesting to have the tables turned on sam lol)”

It was good, and it was interesting! So thanks.

WARNING: This story contains brief references to torture and sexual assault.

... The spirit had been slaughtered by a local priest, and was exercising his revenge upon the clergy at the church across from where he was buried. Every seventy years or so, the parishioners were given the news that their pastor - or, occasionally, the assistant priest - had been burned alive. The general consensus was that it was suicide, and that the latest victims had picked up the idea from the unfortunate history of the parish. Sure, there were rumors of curses, of witchcraft and phantoms - but it was all fare for a small town whose self-image was all eighteenth-century colonial New England serenity.

The whole thing should have been a simple affair - gathering the sources, visiting the church, identifying the grave. And all of that had indeed been pretty straightforward; what they hadn’t anticipated was how swift and vicious the spirit proved to be.

He caught them in the dead of night just as they were preparing to incinerate the remains. Dean was armed with a lit match, per protocol, and the spirit seized it from his hand before throwing himself at Sam, forcing him into the dewey grass. He began to scratch at Sam’s face with ragged fingernails, and he screamed about the priest who had counseled him, the priest who had believed that some people deserved an early damnation. The spirit howled about how he himself had been among the casualties of the rector’s delusion.

But the spirit gave a spidery smile as he spoke about burning any priest that dared to warn the congregants about the dangers of taking a fellow man or woman to bed, lest they find themselves punished by the devil - just as he had been punished by the Reverend Casper Lockwood.

Only as the spirit attacked his brother did Dean find himself grateful that Sam allowed Gabriel to accompany them. Wickford Village in North Kingstown, Rhode Island was one of the few places Gabriel had never been in his millennia of existence.

“It’s not like there’s any real reason to go to Rhode Island at all,” he’d insisted. “Who cares about clams and potholes? But,” he conceded, “I could use a trip to overpriced new-age tourist shops as much as the next guy. You ever get ahold of those A-to-Z angel encyclopedias? I’m gonna sneak in and draw Shrek all over them.”

But in the cemetery, Gabriel - whose grace had returned in full force over the year since his rescue from Asmodeus - wrenched the spirit off of Sam, whose face was streaked with blood from the wounds inflicted by jagged fingernails, and pinned him down. But the spirit was strong; it seized Gabriel’s legs and threw him into the ground, reversing their positions so that Gabriel was crushed.

But there is no taking away an archangel’s ability to start a fire once he’s made up his mind and has his hands free.

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the remains ignited.

Sam lay on the ground, listening to the growl of the flames.

By the time it was all over, the sky had inched from blue to gray, and Dean could barely stand up. Neither he nor Sam had slept in over twenty-four hours. He stumbled on his way back to the car, parked on the quiet village road strewn with the first shriveled leaves of late September.

“Dude,” said Sam, watching his brother collapse against the car. “You’re not driving like that.”

“I’m just tired; Father Pyro barely even noticed me.” Dean straightened up, pulled the door open, and hit himself himself in an inopportune area. “Son of a - !” He bent double and groaned. “You win this round, jerk. Get in the car.”

“No thanks, bitch. You think Cas could drive? I was thinking of hanging around, getting some breakfast at the café we saw on our way over.”

Dean raised his head to stare at Sam. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean, I can’t go to sleep now that it’s almost daylight.”

“I don’t even know where Cas - ”

“I’m here, Dean.” Cas shuffled over to them, face littered with fine bloody streaks just as Sam’s was. “Sam - ” He placed his middle and index fingers on Sam’s forehead and the pain of the scratch marks faded.

Sam touched his face. Only five o’ clock shadow. “Thanks. Now heal yourself.”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t have enough grace at the moment. Fighting back was a little more than I’d - ”

“Let me, brother.” Gabriel touched him just as Castiel had touched Sam, and the wounds melted away.

“Sam, you’re gonna have to drive,” Dean instructed. His forehead was wrinkled in discomfort but he seemed otherwise recovered. That clumsy accident was, Sam realized gratefully, the worst that had happened to his brother tonight. “Cas is exhausted.”

Castiel looked more closely at Sam. “Sam, are you all right?”

“Yeah, Cas, you patched me up. Should have saved some of that juice for your - ”

“No. I mean you look distressed.”

Gabriel shot Sam a sharp glance. “He’s right, kiddo. What’s the matter?”

“I’m okay.” Sam was embarrassed. “Just thought I’d stick around for a little bit. I can always sleep later. You guys can head on back to the motel.” 

“Sammy, you should come too.” Dean’s tone was gentler this time. “You need to get some rest. Come on.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m fine. Really. I promise. Later, okay?”

“I could use a cup of coffee myself,” Gabriel chimed in.

“You don’t need caffeine,” Sam pointed out. “It doesn’t do anything for you.”

Gabriel inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Technically you’re right. But in a much more important sense, you’re wrong. And besides, I just got a nice little bone-fire going for you guys, didn’t I?”

“You do realize how that sounds, don’t you?” Dean groaned.

Gabriel ignored him. “Coffee can only lead to more grace, am I right, little bro?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Castiel replied.

“Oh, you’ve had one too many herbal teas. This guy” - he jerked a thumb at Sam - “is a bad influence.

“Gabe,” Sam interrupted, “I kind of want to be by myself.”

“Archangel vote counts as two; it’s the rules.”

Sam scoffed. “Whose rules?”

“Humans aren’t allowed access to that kind of information. Know your place, Sam. Now let’s go; these two want to get on the road.”

Sam struggled for a moment before admitting defeat. “Whatever, yeah, fine. I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

Dean hesitated. “Call if anything comes up. We’ll be around.”

Castiel’s gaze met Sam’s. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Sam crossed his arms, shuddering against a chilly breeze. The sting of the wounds echoed in his skin like the remnants of a bad smell. “Yeah. Fine.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Gabriel promised.

With some reluctance, Dean and Cas climbed into the Impala, then drove away until they turned left on Main Street and disappeared.

Sam started walking in that same direction, saying nothing and refusing to acknowledge Gabriel keeping pace alongside him.

Sam kept touching his face, inspecting it for damage, and tried to ignore the twist of his stomach and the pounding of his heart.

But the silvery morning was too quiet, quiet enough to usher in a new voice: the voice that had playfully told him to hold still, that he wasn’t allowed to writhe in agony, that the more he screamed the deeper the knife would dig into him.

To Gabriel’s credit, he didn't try to initiate conversation. But it was hard for Sam to ignore the feeling of being examined from eight inches below.

The café opened its doors at 6:00, so they had fifteen minutes to lean against the bulky wood fence blocking off pedestrians from the water underneath. Off in the distance they could see a harbor and a few ducks and geese paddling their way into the daylight.

Finally, Gabriel spoke. “What was that?”

Sam shoved his hands into his pockets. “What was what?”

“The way you looked like you were gonna be sick the second that undadly freak of creation went back to where it belonged. What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

Gabriel’s expression darkened. “No, Sam. Nooooooo, no no no no no. I am not about to play the same game with you that you play with me.

"Sam creased his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” When Sam continued to look puzzled, Gabriel sighed. “That stupid back-and-forth where I freak out, and you become some kind of saintly masochist, and I try to get you to go away, and you say things like ‘Let me help you, Gabe’ and ‘I’m not gonna hurt you, Gabe’ and ‘I don’t want you to keep this inside, Gabe.’ That game.”

Sam looked away.

“Spill it, Winchester. What’s going on with you?”

Still averting his eyes, Sam muttered, “Bad memories. That's all.”

“That’s all.”

“Yes, Gabriel. That’s all.”

“Okay, well, what was that thing you said to me about trying to open up when someone offers to help make things feel a little less, I don’t know, soul-crushing? Oh, that’s right: you said to open up when someone offers to help make things feel a little less soul-crushing.”

Sam shook his head, thought about crossing his arms again, and realized he felt safer if he tried not to move at all. “You’re not going to want to hear it. It’s … it’s Hell stuff. It’d remind you of what happened with Asmodeus.”

“You mean like my stuff made you remember your time in the Cage?” He felt almost satisfied at the guilt that crossed Sam’s face. “Sam. Come on. It’s me. I owe you one anyway.”

“We’re not trading stocks,” Sam protested. “You’re not ready to deal with my shit, Gabriel.”

“Well if this stubbornness is anything to go by, you weren’t ready to deal with mine either.”

There were several moments of silence, in which Gabriel realized the weight of what he had said.

“You’ve helped so much,” he told Sam, hugging himself in a protective stance; and Sam could see that he was suddenly afraid someone would hurt him for his mistake. “I didn’t mean you haven’t. You’ve done a good job. You’re too patient, Sam. I don’t deserve what you’ve given me. Shut up,” he added as Sam opened his mouth to object. “My point is that I want to return the favor, not that I have to.”

Sam sighed. Gabriel let him have a few moments to think before Sam finally spoke. “That guy … the spirit … you saw the way he pinned me to the ground and made cuts all over my face?”

“Uncourteous bastard,” Gabriel agreed.

“Well …” Sam rubbed his palms together, staring off somewhere into the distance. “I still get these … these dreams about how Lucifer used to do the same thing. Only … only instead of trapping me on the ground, he’d throw me into the fire and keep me there while he drew on me. Pictures, you know - graffiti, sort of. Family pictures of all his brothers and sisters - every last one. But like …” Sam swallowed. “He used knives. All kinds of knives. I, uh - yeah. Yeah, that’s …” He trailed off, lowering his gaze to the sidewalk, examining his shoes - caked with clammy soil from the cemetery.

Gabriel tilted his head. “All right. Welp. That explains it. Now was that so hard?”

“Damn it, Gabriel.” Sam looked angry. “You know it is.”

Gabriel flinched. “I just … I want to help you.”

Sam glanced at him, and his expression softened in concern. “Gabriel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to - ”

Gabriel waved a dismissive hand. “No, no, I’m good. Really. But anyway, Sam - why are you keeping this under wraps? Or, I mean, are you? Isn’t your brother there to listen? Or my brother?”

“I don’t know; I guess they could be.”

“But you won’t say anything.”

“I …” Sam licked his lips. “Gabriel … you understand. You understand better than anyone. I can’t talk about it because … because there’s too much there. Because I want to forget. And because I - ” The words caught in his throat. Gabriel watched him closely, wondering how to handle this with Sam as well as Sam had with him.

“Because what?” he pressed.

“Because I - because the last thing we need is extra problems,” Sam blurted out. “You’ve all got enough to be dealing with. And me complaining isn’t going to change anything; you know that! Besides,” he added more calmly, “This was your first time on a hunt with us - ever since things started to get a little better. You should be worrying about yourself, Gabriel.”

“Did you forget what I told you about how archangels have the final - ”

“The way he held you down.” Sam’s voice was quiet. “I know what that must have done to you.”

Gabriel tensed and Sam almost wished he hadn’t said anything to remind Gabriel of all those nightmares, all those spasms of memories - memories of the cold stone floor against his back and the hard warm body on top of him. “I’m not denying that. But look at me: I’m okay. A little shaken up, maybe, but okay. I knew what I was getting into. And anyway, now that I don’t need food or sleep I won’t have nightmares or puke my guts up. So forget about me for a second.”

Silence fell again. And then Sam said, “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Gabriel gave an exasperated sigh. “Yes, yeah, Sam, I do. You’ve drilled that into my brain. But now that I have a clear head, I want to help you too.”

“Why?”

Gabriel stared at him in disbelief. “I don’t know, maybe something to do with the fact that you've held my head over the toilet in the middle of the night so many times I lost count? Or the way you made sure nobody ever touched me without my permission? Or how, after months of me clinging to you, you didn’t give up?”

Sam grimaced. “Well, that was because you were …” He tried to find a diplomatic adjective. “… troubled.”

Gabriel tutted. “If by ‘troubled’ you mean ‘an undignified disaster,’ then I agree. But how is this any different, really? Come on. I’m not gonna take a single thing you say seriously if you don’t prove to me that you can practice what you preach.”

“Gabriel.” Sam was frustrated now. “What happened to me happened a long time ago. You’re just getting back on your feet. You need to focus on - ”

“You’re right.” Gabriel touched his shoulder as delicately as possible, knowing what it was like to be afraid of touch. “It was a long time ago. But that means it’s been sitting with you for years. What have you done with it? What I’d really like is for you to let me know when something freaks you out - don’t just hold that in. But it doesn’t have to be me; it can be anyone.”

Seagulls squawked overhead. The twin aromas of coffee and pastries drifted through the crisp morning air; 6:00 A.M. had come and gone, and the café doors were open. But neither of them made a move to go in.

“I think I’d want it to be you.” The confession surprised Gabriel, and he blinked. “Because … I think you’d genuinely want to hear it. Not Dean; he’s worse than I am. He’s not even tempted to say anything and he doesn’t need me throwing out all these reminders of what he went through.” His features hardened. “But neither do you. I know you’re more interested, and it’s not that I don’t appreciate it - I do. But it’s gonna make things worse for you. Bring up all kinds of stuff.”

“That’s okay.”

Sam tried to quell his anger so that he wouldn’t frighten Gabriel. “No, it’s not. Not after all your hard work.”

Gabriel snorted. “I think you mean your hard work.”

“Give yourself some credit, Gabe.”

“You give yourself some credit! Man, are you difficult to work with! Look, you told me about the knife thing Lucifer did, and do I seem upset to you? Do I seem like I’m freaked out?”

Sam studied him. Then he said, “No. You don’t. I’m glad.”

“Great. Okay, your turn. Ask me if I think you seem upset.”

Sam gripped the bar of the fence until his knuckles turned white. “Okay - fine. I’m not gonna disagree with you.” A pause. “Look, I know what I went through. I understand what you’re trying to tell me, all right? But I’ll get over it. I’ve been dealing with this for long enough that I know what to do when things get bad. I don’t want to bring anyone else into it.”

“I hear what you’re saying about me and your brother,” Gabriel admitted, “But why won’t you talk to Cas? He’ll be fine.”

“He doesn’t know how to address this kind of thing. Can you imagine how that would go down?”

“What are you - ” Gabriel stared at him. “Do you even know him at all? Of course he’d know what to say! You’ve been the Three Musketeers for how many years now? And you think he’s not tuned in enough to help?”

Sam remembered how Castiel had looked at him back in the cemetery, brow furrowed in concern, and felt a twinge of guilt for misjudging him. “No, you’re right. That was a dumb thing to say.”


“Sam.” Gabriel somehow managed to sound simultaneously gentle and stern. “You don’t look okay. You really don’t.”

“Well I’m covered in graveyard dirt, so I’d have to agree with you there.”

“You’re pale. Sick. Shaky. Here, look - ” He picked up one of Sam’s hands to demonstrate that it was trembling.

Humiliated, Sam pulled away. “Don’t do that.”

But Gabriel seized his hand again and glared, no longer desperate but suddenly determined. “Listen up, you obdurate son of a bitch. I really, really don’t want to see you hurting. You always talked about how hard it was for you to watch me, remember? That’s what this is like! We’ve spent too much time together for me to play along and pretend you’re okay. I want to help. So please. Just let me.”

Sam paused, meeting his eyes.

Gabriel looked so much more like himself these days.

Sam took a deep breath. “I just don’t - ” He looked around, examining every part of the unfamiliar setting, hoping to distract himself from the tightness in his throat. “I - ”

Gabriel waited, still gripping his hand. When Sam didn’t continue, his voice softened. “There’s no one around, Sam. Just me.”

Sam looked at him, face flushed and eyes bright.

“It’s okay,” Gabriel went on. “Stop it. You’re hurting yourself.”

Sam turned his face away and squeezed his eyes shut. Now the prickling of the cuts was gone, replaced by the brininess of tears.

Damn it. After everything he’d been through with Gabriel - trying to bring him back to life, to coax him into something like what he had once been, to make the present feel stronger than the past - it was cruel of him to make Gabriel watch this.

Sam managed to compose himself enough to speak. “You know that feeling? The feeling that … that you can’t get out? That it’s happening right now and no one can help?”

Gabriel clutched his hand tighter. “Of course I do. But it’ll go away.”

Sam used his free hand to cover his mouth as the pressure against his chest became too solid to choke down.

“It will,” Gabriel insisted. “I’ll ride it out with you.”

Sam shook his head, clenching his eyes shut again, horribly ashamed. He lowered his hand. “It doesn't go away. It just - just gets worse before going down to where it usually is.”

Reminding himself that it wouldn’t get better - that it wouldn’t leave him alone - wrenched his control away.

He leaned up against the fence, trying to hide his face, trying to breathe.

“All right.” Gabriel put a hand on his back. “Just let it go back down to normal. Just wait for a few minutes. It’s gonna be okay.”

“No, it’s - that’s not what it feels like. Oh god - ” Sam shuddered, although there was no breeze this time. “You remember, don’t you? You know how bad it is. But you - you always talked about how you could tell the difference, how you knew your mind was playing tricks on you. Sometimes I just ... I don’t know where I really am, or who’s really with me. It’s - ” He released another harsh, desperate sob. “It’s too real.”

“Yeah, I knew how to separate one from the other. But only because I know how tricks work. They’re meant to feel real. And hey, so what if you can’t figure out what’s there and what’s not? Huh? Doesn’t change the fact that you’re gonna be fine.”

Nearly gagging from the effort of trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, Sam rasped, “Why did you make me do this? Why’d you want to make it stronger?”

“I didn’t!” Abruptly, Gabriel let go of his hand and took a step back. “I meant to make it easier!”

“I know - but -” He lowered his head, watching the sidewalk swim in a rough gray blur underneath him. “I told you not to.”

“Didn’t I always tell you the same thing?”

“No!” Sam jerked his head up despite feeling disgusted with himself. “I mean, yes, sometimes. But once in a while you … you looked for me. And you should have; I told you you could. But this is different, I ... I just wanted to be left alone.”

Gabriel looked helpless again. “You’re always alone. Because you don’t care about yourself enough to ask for what you need.” He hesitated.” You’re not scared of being touched, right? Not the way that I was?”

Am, Sam corrected silently. Aloud, he said, “Not usually. Not anymore. I - ”

Delicately, in case Sam wasn’t telling the full truth, Gabriel leaned forward and embraced him. Not the way Sam had done for him in moments of terror - Gabriel was so small that there couldn’t have been the same warmth and protection he got when Sam hugged him.

But Sam could tell he tried.

“I don’t care if you can’t tell what’s real,” Gabriel muttered. “You hold yourself together too well.”

“I really don’t.” Tentatively, Sam wrapped either arm around Gabriel’s shoulders.

“Come on. Your standards can’t be that high after a year of putting up with me.” Gabriel squeezed more tightly.

Sam was surprised - not so much by Gabriel’s outburst of affection but by his own reaction to it. He relaxed slightly, began to shiver a little less forcefully.

“That’s it,” Gabriel murmured. “You’re gonna be okay.”

They stood like that for several minutes, until Dean called to make sure everything was okay.

It wasn’t.

But gradually the wail of seagulls grew louder than the roar of hellfire.

...

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