#we drive each other batty

[perpetualexistence]

We Drive Each Other Batty

Alenoah Week Day 4: Royalty/Vampire AU

Alejandro Burromuerto is an absolute menace to the kingdom of Wawanakwa. He comes from a legacy of vampires that strive to control as much land as possible. He's only recently set his sights on Wawanakwa, and within a year he's enthralled three towns into being his local blood bank. Life is pretty good for him.

He's so confident in his abilities that he decides to go directly for the castle itself.

Aaaand almost immediately finds himself caught by King Chris's personal bodyguard, Chef, who knocks him unconscious with a pan before he can enthrall Chris.

The smart thing to do would be to kill Alejandro. But Chris is a petty man who prefers humiliating people.

Who better to ask how to do that than his personal court-wizard-in-training who Chris specifically because he's snarky and petty?

Noah gets dragged into this and comes up with an idea. If he likes mind controlling people so much, then let Alejandro be on the other side of things. Tinker with a familiar bonding spell to turn Alejandro into a familiar. He'll be forced to listen to someone else's orders, and can't harm anyone except in defense of his wizard. Plus, if done right, it can have the added benefit of making him 'fun size' thanks to having to categorize Alejandro as a bat to make this work. That way his vampire strength and speed won't be as much of an issue.

There's two problems with this plan.

One, the bond can only be created with a wizard who doesn't have a familiar yet. Most adult wizards do. It's even a requirement to bond with a familiar at some point in a good amount of magic schools.

And two, the bond is usually done with two consenting parties. Since Alejandro would be fighting it the whole time, keeping the familiar bond would be an active effort on the wizard's end. It's possible if you find a wizard with enough power, but good luck trying to convince a wizard to be a spell battery.

"Say, kid. You don't have a familiar yet."

"Mclean. Don't you dare."

"Think of it as a new part of your job description!"

"I'm not going to deal with a psychotic vampire for your sick amusement!"

"Sure you are! Do a good enough job and you might get a better holiday bonus this year!"

Thus Noah has accidentally sealed his fate to being stuck with a 4 inch vampire who is absolutely livid at this humiliation.

They both hate this situation so much. Alejandro can't mind control Noah because that's the first thing Noah ordered him not to do the second Alejandro woke up tiny, confused, and pissed.

Noah can't just leave Alejandro alone in a cage in his room all day because the longer and further he stays away from Alejandro, the weaker the bond and the more likely Alejandro will break free from it.

Alejandro keeps trying to persuade Noah that he's learned his lesson the non-magical way. And Noah shuts him right down because he knows that's a lie.

If Alejandro's really being difficult, Noah has no issues with throwing him into a bird cage and ordering him to shut up for a while. Noah really wishes he could just order him to shut up forever, but Alejandro starts fighting against the bond even worse when he can't speak, which usually ends up giving Noah a headache. Temporary relief is the best he can manage.

That and taking him to Chris to see what humiliation Chris and Chef have decided to put Alejandro through for the day. That usually brighten's Noah's day.

Alejandro still gets his own little revenges in. He looks for every loophole under the sun within Noah's orders. He banters at every given opportunity.

He'd love to give backhanded compliments to Noah in front of people that aren't Chris and Chef. However, no one else is allowed to know that Alejandro is still alive.

Letting a vampire live is a big no-no, even if Chris approved of it. Vampires still need generous amounts of blood to survive. Animal blood works somewhat, but it's more like living off rations. Vampires can only get full nutritional value from a human. Which doesn't really endear humans to vampires. (Part of Noah's job is to let Alejandro feed from his as well. It feels more like four little needles than a serious bite, and thanks to Alejandro's new size he doesn't feel that woozy when Alejandro has had his fill. Noah doesn't mind it nearly as much as he pretends to.)

Plus, Alejandro did get some of his hooks outside of the castle, so there's a decent chance someone could recognize him and decide to take advantage of the fact he's easily killable. So when around others, he takes full bat form and pretends to be a regular familiar. He's lucky he can at least talk with Noah telepathically so he doesn't have to be completely mute.

Still, it's not all bad. Now that Alejandro is, magically speaking, a bat, he can actually experience sunlight. He'd always used the metaphor 'you're as radiant as the sun' when charming others. It's a different thing entirely to actually feel its warmth.

Noah takes notice the first time when Alejandro is completely silent for once. He sees Alejandro staring directly at the sun in awe. He actually looks kind of cute sweet like that.

Except Alejandro is staring directly at the sun, and so Noah has to snap Alejandro out of it. He isn't just going to someone blind themselves, even if it is Alejandro. It's almost a shame to see the mask fall back on his face. (Too bad he didn't notice the flicker of shock at someone showing concern for Alejandro's wellbeing.)

With forced proximity, the two start to learn more about each other.

Alejandro learns about Noah first since he can't help but observe the fact that Noah is reading textbooks, but he hasn't seen Noah attend school once. When Noah isn't reading, he's catering to Chris and Chef's whims.

Noah still seems to be doing just fine, though. He knows Noah is advanced for his age based on what he's reading and how much he gloats about it. Still, if he was advanced than Alejandro would expect a tutor to be guiding Noah along to suit his level. The only adults he's seen consistently during his stay with Noah is Chris and Chef.

Alejandro points this out to Noah, and receives a long rant from Noah in return.

See, Noah's completely self taught. Before Chris, his family couldn't afford to get him a tutor. This isn't inherently a problem. Some wizards will take on apprentices for their service rather than for payment if they see potential in a particular student.

The problem is no one wants to teach a child who wants to learn dark magic. Nobody that Noah would ever want to meet, at least.

Noah could lie about not wanting to learn forbidden magic. But he'd always risk getting caught by whoever's training him. Not to mention the risk of getting himself killed because he was performing something dangerous without anyone to save him.

Plus, he considers it incredibly stupid that dark magic is a taboo subject to learn. The reason why creatures like Alejandro get away undetected for so long is because everyone else is more than happy to stick their heads in the sand. Their solution to combat evil is to simply not talk about it. As if that's just going to make it magically go away.

The only real way to learn how to counter it is to study it. It's like how making an antidote for a poison requires a bit of the poison itself so your body knows what to fight against.

Hell, it could even be used for good! Even something like Alejandro's hypnotism. It can lull a growing angry mob to not be stupid. It can force a different evil bastard to do something good.

But no, people like Alejandro screw it over for everyone else, and now any time he tries to make these arguments he's 'the bad guy' or 'should be barred from magic for everyone's good'.

Noah got lucky. Chef found him when he was insulting yet another wizard who shot down his chance at apprenticeship. He might have forgotten angering someone who can throw fireballs isn't the best way to guarantee your own safety.

Chef dragged him away and attempted to yell some sense into him. When it was clear that Noah was still just as defiant, he dragged him directly to Chris. Who ended up liking his spite and sarcasm, and offered him the job of court-wizard in training. It was hard for Chris to find any wizard willing to stay with him too long. And he's got plenty of dark magic crap that he has stored away. Both of them get what they want!

Noah wouldn't learn how demanding Chris was and how he'd make people put a lot of effort into stupid tasks that drive less patient people mad until later.

He took the deal because it was the best he was going to get. He knows he's being underpaid compared to what a regular court magician would be making. But for as much as Chris is a pain of a boss, he's given Noah exactly what he's wanted. He'd dare to say that Chris and Chef cared about him. Though Noah will refuse to say if he feels the same way about them.

Alejandro can't help but admire Noah for that. Deep down past that apathetic, snarky exterior, there is someone who's capable of ambition. Or at least capable of using spite as a motivator.

Alejandro's mask slips as he ends up sharing how he can relate. He gives off the airs of a vampire who's been around for at least a century or two. Truth be told, he's only a couple of months older than Noah. He's aging as a human would, for now.

He, and his lineage, are born vampires rather than bitten. Hence how he can have multiple thralls at once and transform into mist or a variety of animals. Bitten vampires are lucky to be able to hypnotize one person, and are typically limited to the advanced strength and speed.

So he can certainly one up the average vampire...but not other born vampires. Or vampires who have actually lived for centuries. He's still considered nothing more than an insolent child not to be taken seriously.

He does have the expectation on him to expand the Burromuerto influence. But he's constantly being compared to other relatives and their accomplishments. Particularly that of his brother José who has a couple of decades over Alejandro's head.

Alejandro has been working hard to close the power gap. He's been training to be as strong and fast as possible. His hypnosis works so well because he put in the work to learn how to actually charm people. The magic is to make sure the feeling stays for longer than it would naturally. But getting people to do what he wants? All him.

And it's still not enough for anyone else. So he decided to get a headstart on the family tradition. He was supposed to wait until he came of age, but he was already strong and confident in himself. Going off and succeeding early would prove everyone else wrong.

He'd been doing so well, too. He hadn't even needed to kill anybody. Unlike most of his family, he doesn't particularly care for it. Not because he cares that much about humans. But because he sees it as a waste of a resource. Sure, you can inspire fear into others with a death. But that fear can easily turn into outrage, and rebellion. It will be harder to control a population that is actively working to fight against you. Much easier to charm them and have them not even realize anything is wrong. Everyone is alive, and there is nothing to worry about. They just have to give a bit of blood every once in a while. And for that, Alejandro would make sure nothing else would dare to touch them.

That last part of the story concerns Noah. A lot. But it's...nice? That Alejandro cares? Enough to value a human life. Considering the rest of his family, it's a miracle Alejandro's got anything resembling compassion.

And at least he's finally being honest about something for once. Noah prefers honest but callous to kind but insincere. This part of Alejandro's still concerning...but he likes it more.

It's the start of these two doing more than just argue with each other. Alejandro's still not happy about being small. He complains about it just as constantly. But it's no longer lashing out at Noah. Noah doesn't really throw him into the time out cage anymore. Alejandro is gentler when he bites into Noah's neck to feast. Noah is less tense when it happens. He leans into it more. They bicker still, but they're actually willing to work with each other.

It's how they figure out a loophole. Neither can't really use their own magics to their full potential anymore....but they do now have access to each other's magic. They just have to be willing to train each other in it.

On Noah's side, Alejandro is trying to teach him how to hypnotize others through charming them. It doesn't go well. Noah's terrible at giving compliments. Changing his wardrobe to accentuate Noah's looks doesn't help when he doesn't flaunt them. That shopping trip to get Noah a new outfit definitely didn't awaken anything in Alejandro. Except it does. Noah is indulging him in one of his favorite activities. He looks cute in some outfits, hot in others. Noah mocks, Noah teases, Noah banters. It's just Noah, actually. Noah's cute, and he's also hot. Oh no. Alejandro's got himself a crush. ...MOVING ON FROM THAT-

Eventually, it clicks. This isn't working because Alejandro is teaching Noah how to be a Burromuerto. Which Noah certainly isn't. To charm someone, you have to work with what you naturally have and exaggerate it. Noah has snark. Use that to insult people that his victims would hate, not the victim themselves. Nobody likes being insulted, but everyone has something that they love gossiping about. That's Noah's in to get others to open up.

Then, there's the actual ask. Noah can't directly say what he wants all the time. Sometimes that may work, but sometimes what he wants is directly opposite to what someone else wants. He can find out when it's safe to be direct or not through gossiping. Then, if it's not safe? Make them feel safe. People underestimate Noah because of his age and figure. Use that.

Noah's just a pathetic, cute scrungly little guy who doesn't do much. What's the harm in letting him take a dangerously powerful grimoire off your hands? He's not going to do much with it. He's just curious.

Noah grins with pride the day he's able to hypnotize a guard who constantly abuses their power into humiliating himself.

On Alejandro's side, Noah's willing to teach him shadow magic. He wants to start with teaching Alejandro how to change their shape, and then move on up to making them solid.

There is also teleporting through shadow, but Noah's not teaching him that. That would give Alejandro the ability to leave Noah. Which would be bad for the whole 'keep Alejandro in check thing'. For no other reason. Noah wouldn't miss him. Not one bit. They just have to stay together for practicality. That's all. Let's get back to talking about shadows.

Alejandro assumes this should be a piece of cake. It's just another form of manipulating, just with a thing rather than a person.

He's terrible at it.

He coaxes, he begs, he pleads with the shadow to just move, and it refuses him. He's cursing in Spanish at an inanimate object.

Noah laughs at him for this. This earns Noah some curse words.

Noah tells him to stop treating magic like it's a person to be charmed. It's not. It's a thing. It follows orders so far as you figure out the right language. You tell it what you want, and then it gives it to you. No convincing, no tricking. Just asking.

Alejandro can't ask for one thing when he means another. That just confuses the magic and makes things not work. He needs to be direct for once in his life. Trust in his own ability to make something happen. Not in his ability to trick someone else into making something happen.

It takes Alejandro a while to just ask the magic to do what he wants.

I can't figure out how it'd work on Alejandro's side yet. Probably because I haven't yet defined the kind of magic he can do. 'Standard wizard fair' isn't going to cut it if this is coming from a personal bond/something that's intrinsic to Noah that would simply take a different form with Alejandro. It'd definitely have something to do with tying into how Alejandro doesn't actually NEED to charm people/force them to like him to get what he wants. His problem would definitely be that he's trying to force the magic to go exactly how he wants it to go. But magic's not something that likes being tamed like that. So Alejandros's got to learn to effectively say what he wants and just trust in his own abilities enough to make it happen.

When he does?

Alejandro shows off with a little shadow puppet show. He orchestrates puppets no bigger than him from atop Noah's bookshelf. It's endearing, it's sincere, and Noah is screwed because he is in love with this little vampire.

The more they teach each other, the stronger they grow. Neither realize it, but the bond is no longer draining each other.

They learn about this when someone attempts to mug Noah when he's running one of Chris's errands. The mugger grabs an Alejandro in bat form and slams him against stone to stop Noah from using magic. Alejandro is alive, but in a daze. Noah immediately makes tendrils of shadows to fling the mugger into the nearest wall, then hold them aloft in the air. He's running for Alejandro who's mumbling, asking if Noah is alright.

Noah doesn't know healing magic, but he's putting all of his focus into figuring out something to help Alejandro. It's working somewhat. Alejandro's head is clearer, though his body is still damaged. Noah puts more effort into making sure all of Alejandro is better. So much so that he doesn't notice a second mugger coming to check on their partner, who is now sneaking up on Noah. Noah is grappled before he can react, and is dragged away kicking and shouting.

Alejandro acts before he can think twice about it. The next thing he knows, he's standing at eye level with both of his newest victims. He hisses, his fangs bared, ordering them silent before they can scream about his presence. They are to release Noah and grovel.

The muggers do so without hesitation, their eyes glazed over. Alejandro wraps his arms around Noah in a hug. His grip is tight. He is at his full strength and could crush whoever he desired. He is gentle with his querido and plants a kiss on his forehead.

Alejandro wants so badly to drain them dry, but Noah takes priority. The muggers are to leave, turn themselves in, and forget the type of magic Noah and Alejandro used, and their faces.

The muggers leave, and the two are left to look each other in the eyes for the first time.

They stare for a while. Neither of them quite sure of what the other wants to do right now. Noah's the one who breaks the silence first.

"This late growth spurt's a bit much, wouldn't you say?"

Alejandro snorts at the absurdity.

They agree to keep the familiar bond as it is. It still lets them communicate with each other telepathically, and lets them use the other's magic.

They'll have to hide the fact that Alejandro is at his full strength, of course. Particularly from Chris and Chef. Alejandro tries and finds out that he can shrink at will now. Truth be told, he doesn't mind it anymore. (He's touch-starved, and rather enjoys being held and pampered by Noah.)

Alejandro also promises not to go enthralling everyone.

"Just five thralls will suffice."

"No."

"Two?"

"No!"

"One? I'll even make it Justin. Just imagine the things we could have him do."

"...No."

"You hesitated!"

"Stop tempting me!"

"Is it really tempting if you were already thinking it?"

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"That's not the point!"

The two stop when they realize that bombshell just got dropped.

They finally have proper confessions and decide to start dating. Alejandro immediately offers to turn Noah into a vampire so they can live together. Noah immediately shuts him down. Alejandro's sad until Noah explains.

One, that's a huge commitment when they've literally just started dating. And two, if Noah did that now then he'd have to be a teenager forever. He hates being a teenager NOW. An eternity of that? Hell no. In the future though? They can come back to this, and Noah'll let him know if he changes his mind.

Alejandro is more than happy to wait.

Fun little side note: Alejandro's got a bat form, and I already know exactly which species he is!

Meet the vampyrum spectrum! Also known as the spectral bat, or the great false vampire bat. They're carnivorous little guys who eat birds, rodents, and uniquely, other kinds of bats! Part of their natural habitat covers Peru, and they're also fun in that while most other bat species are polygynous where it's just one male with multiple females, these guys are mostly monogamous! Perfect for Alejandro!

[tkwrites]

Okay I'm done now and heading to bed, one last question.

Can you name a favourite fic for each of the boys?

Hi my Lovely,

There are quite a few of your asks I haven't answered, but please know I'm not ignoring them. They'll just take a little more time to respond to.

I can tell you my favorite fics, though:

Matthew Tkachuk - Back To You because it's such a complete story. I love the way he and Jessie meet, lose each other, and then are thrown together by fate again. I also feel like I really captured that sassy side of Matthew's personality in this fic, which I was really worried about at the time I was writing it. This is also the story that I think would be easiest to flesh out into a full length novel.

Nico Hischier - I love all the parts of his story for different reasons, but I think It Doesn't Matter Part II is my favorite. I had actually written the whole sequence of nude sketches for another character, but ended up scrapping the whole story because I couldn't find any real conflict for them to resolve. When I realized I could use it for Nico and Lena if she was an artist, I was thrilled and got to work rewriting it for them. In the end, the only things that stayed the same were 5 of the 6 poses. Getting into and out of them changed, as did the characters relating to each other during them. I love all the longing and awkward tension between them in this piece, as well as how they finally end up confessing their love for each other. Finally, the culmination of all of their longing into the final sex scene? Chefs kiss.

Quinn Hughes - This one is so hard. I've written so much about Quinn and Sarah and I love all of the pieces for one reason or another. If I had to pick three favorites, they would be:

1). Five Days of Joy because I'm so proud of this fic. It took SO long to write, but I love the way it turned out. I love that we go through so many consecutive days and such a gamut of emotions with Sarah and Quinn.

2). The Second Time is Better because I love the portrayal of a more real first time. One of the things that drives me batty about romance novels is how the characters get together and always seem to have this instantly amazing sexual connection. No room for human failing or first time jitters. In reality, it takes time to build sexual chemistry and connection, and I went into this piece wanting to show at least some of that.

and 3). Second Nature because I think it has the prettiest prose. I still think this passage is some of the best writing I've ever done:

This was ultimate flirting in Quinn’s book. Something he knew he could do. When someone wanted to talk about music, or art or classic cars, he was a fish out of water. But talking hockey? He could do that all day long. Convincing someone to like the sport he loved so much? There wasn't a more ideal situation. 

“Oh, good,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him. 

This was a perfect evening. Casual and comfortable. Cooking for someone he - liked, and kissing her whenever he wanted, taking no worry of who might be watching. 

Letting himself get swept up in the kiss, he slid his hands over her hips and tried to commit her scent to memory. No matter what happened - though he was pretty sure nothing bad was ever going to happen with Sarah - he wanted to remember this. She smelled like a dream he’d had as a boy. Like vanilla and warm skin and fireside, summer nights. It was an outlandish notion, but he couldn’t shake it. 

All her life, Sarah had read stories about star-crossed, fated lovers thrown together by chance and circumstance and serendipity. But those were all just stories. Even when her grandpa talked about meeting her grandma - like they were always meant to be together, and just had to find each other to make it happen - it seemed like folklore. A tall tale he spun to make their love story seem more epic. 

After writing all this out, I realized perhaps you meant favorite writing from other authors. Let me know if that's something you'd like me to answer.

[lilydalexf]

Here are some very good fics that involve the X-Files episode "En Ami." Enjoy!

Animus Possidendi by Aloysia_Virgata (@aloysiavirgata) “It looks good on you,” he said flatly. “It looks incredible, actually. But I still hate it. Get rid of it.”

As Friends by @heartbash Post-episode En Ami (715). Mulder and Scully have a hard conversation about the Smoking Man's manipulation of Scully and the nature of their evolving relationship.

As We Forgive Those by haphazardmethod Mulder was so angry in En Ami. What happened to reconcile him to Scully's actions? Barbara tells me most people said "sex." This is not that story. "The fact that forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us isn't honored more--I blame that on writers. Because the easy story to tell is the vengeance story, and it's known to satisfy. This guy shot my brother. How's the story gonna wind up? And what does a reader think? OK, that's settled. So it's just the easiest of all stories to tell. So it in fact encourages, makes reputable vengeance." -- Kurt Vonnegut. This is not that story, either.

By All Accounts, Today Was A Disaster and The Art of Breaking by @rationalcashew Post-En Ami. We know Mulder’s pissed, but so is Scully. Angst. MSR.

The Choices We Make by a_steady_wish “You need to see a doctor,” he insisted, hand on the small of her back, more forceful than usual; the tips of his fingers pressed into her flesh enough that although she knew she wouldn’t be bruised, there would likely be red marks for a little while afterwards; he was marking that curve as his own.

Coming Clean by @starwalker42 "Loving Mulder is as natural as breathing. It’s not lost on her that she’s currently underwater." Mulder and Scully deal with the fallout from the events of En Ami.

The Course of True Love by ML (No summary provided)

The Darker Side of Love by fragilevixen (@fragilevixenfic) Mulder does not want to talk but he does not want Scully to leave, either. “Betrayal stings in a bitter way but regret leaves an even bigger hole in a heart.” – Unknown

Devoured, cleansed by @frangipanidownunder Set post En Ami.

Divide and Conquer by @mldrgrl A post-En Ami drabble.

False Front by cecily_sass (@cecilysass) Scully comes home from her road trip with the Smoking Man. Mulder’s been waiting and worrying. No one likes to feel fooled. Missing scenes from the end of En Ami.

Haptics by Pam Gamble Another interpretation of the En Ami aftermath. Haptics: Information conveyed through the sense of touch.

Iconoclasm by Diana Battis Variations on a theme of truth.

In Milford by DarlaBlack (@sigritandtheelves) This time she leaves

Let Bygones Be Bygones by @mldrgrl Post En Ami/Chimera smut. Mulder's still just a wee bit mad about Scully running off and Scully's just angry that he can't let it go.

Momentum by @dreamingofscully The choices Scully makes in En Ami cause some unintended consequences for herself and her relationship with Mulder.

Nature's Dark Gift by bluesamutra Daylight is coming and the shadows are gone

No Quarter Given 3: Surrender by Mish It can only end in mutual surrender. (No Quarter Given part 1, part 2, and part 4 - part 4 is unfinished)

A Poison Tree by @rationalcashew Post-En Ami. Mulder and Scully are pissed at each other over the events of En Ami. There do be smut here.

Shadow of the Sword by Dreamshaper 'She had been used before. She would be used again. Spender Sr. might not have realized that she had finally allowed herself to love Mulder, but he had known all along that his deceptive promises would drive a wedge between them, and he probably considered that a perfect reward for his efforts...'

Shadows of Ashes by VivWiley Is the price of betrayal calculable?

Those Who Wait by OnlyTheInevitable (@gaycrouton) Punctuality seemed to be written into Scully's bones, yet when it came to Mulder, she never quite seemed to get the timing right.

Three Times - Overture, Overture Mirrored, and Restart by Joann Humby Scully's missing, having left home with CSM. When she returns, emotions are running high. / After a sexual misadventure in the aftermath of En Ami - Mulder and Scully still haven't talked about what happened. Mulder returns from his trip to England to find Scully considering fate.

Untitled by @mldrgrl Consider this a post-epish piece for En Ami

What Partnership is About by Anna Greenway A post episode story for En Ami. Mulder and Scully play Monopoly.

Wing and Prayer by Revely (No summary provided)

Yo Creo and The Payment by Elanor G Tensions run high between Mulder and Scully after the events of En Ami. A new lead on Cobra threatens to lead them further into darkness. / After En Ami, a conversation. And payment for services rendered.

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith is well and completely aware that his boyfriend is, objectively, a bad bitch.

He’s seen him shoot through the crook of someone’s arm to disable an entire warship. He’s seen him wink and brush by seasoned Blade and send them stumbling. He’s seen him choke someone out with his legs alone. (He’s been choked out by Lance legs. Several times. He’s even instigated that happening.)

But one thing Lance is before anything else; before he is a paladin, before he is a friend, before he is a badass, before he is anything, he is a complainer.

“You never take me anywhere,” he is fond of whining, as if they are not on a floating hunk of metal and polymer in dead space at all times. Or getting shot at. They are in the equivalent of the cross-Atlantic highway at three in the morning in a century old car that breaks down every two hundred miles like clockwork, and also sometimes they just get bombed out of nowhere. That is their life.

We never do anything, he says. Bah. Sometimes he thinks he is going to scoop his boyfriend up and — throw him at something.

But he knows that would never. Not really. As much as Lance drives him batty (and he does drive him fucking batty — he’s been huffy at Keith for a week because Keith didn’t listen to him on a mission, in a dream, and died. He has had an attitude for six days), he really and truly loves Lance more than anything. He loves the way Lance snorts when he laughs and trips over his own two feet more often than not and talks in his sleep and forgets English words and shrugs about it. He loves the magnitude of Lance’s smile and the endless brown of his eyes and the way he always kisses Keith’s clavicle before bed and doesn’t know he does it. He loves the way Lance leans into him without thinking when they sit next to each other and holds his hand when they walk. He loves how Lance fights for a way to meet his eyes when missions go to shit and asks him what to do next just to help Keith focus on something. He loves the way that his jacket was mysteriously fixed the time the old thing wore a hole along the seams and Lance played dumb about it like it could have been anyone else. He loves the way Lance coos over every animal they stumble across, no matter how horrifying, the way he cries his eyes out at every single movie and smacks anyone who looks at him. He loves the way Lance’s entire person always just seems to bubble out of him, like he’s holding his bleeding heart with open fingers.

Keith loves him in a way he didn’t think he deserved. And so it bugs him, really, that he can’t take Lance places, can’t buy him every ugly flower he wants or take him to hole-in-the-wall clubs to dance like Keith knows he wants to or even just go to the space mall with him.

Floating junkmobile in space or not, Keith is going to treat him or die trying. He is.

“So we’re not even close to something with gravity?” Keith clarifies, perhaps a touch desperate.

“Farther than your brain can conceptualise to even an asteroid,” Coran confirms, with no subtle amount of amusement.

Keith purses his lips. “Could we, like…travel there?”

Coran holds his gaze for a moment, eyebrow raised, then returns to the medical supplies he was sorting through.

“I’m afraid not, dear.”

“Why not?”

“I’m quite fond of not getting ambushed.”

“What if you just dropped me off? Then you can go back to not getting ambushed.”

“No.”

“I’ll keep my comm on! For real this time! Just a couple vargas.”

“Unfortunately not, Number Three.”

“Please?”

Keith does his best to widen his eyes the way Lance does it when he’s trying and succeeding at getting his way. He somehow dilates his pupils on command, which Keith doesn’t know how to do, but he figures he can most certainly try. Coran likes him, anyway. He said so.

“Child.” Look of amusement still slotted firmly on his face, and also somehow sporting a piece of wizened reading glasses that he was not wearing three seconds ago, Coran carefully sets down the equipment he’s holding, standing to walk over to Keith. He places a hand on Keith’s shoulder and leans in. “I am not dropping off one of the leaders of Voltron alone on a swap moon for a ‘couple vargas’. You understand why.”

Keith sighs petulantly. “I would get super murdered.”

Coran hums. “You would get super murdered, yes.”

He claps Keith’s back heartily, nearly sending Keith sprawling, then turns back to his sorting. Keith waits til his back is turned to silently and dramatically fall to his knees and mime screaming like Troy Bolton in the third High School Musical Movie (Shiro has too much of an influence on him). He had really hoped Coran would magically have a solution.

“Although,” Coran says, making Keith jump and scramble to his feet (thank every deity to ever exist that Coran keeps his back turned or Keith would crumble to humiliated dust), “if you’re looking for a change of scenery for whatever reason, there are lots of secluded places in the castle.”

Keith flushes red. He knows that’s not how Coran means it — only Hunk knows about them, having magically been able to keep his mouth shut after the whole found-your-lion debacle — but he can’t help where his mind goes, and he’s standing in front of someone who is for all intents and purposes his father, basically, or at least one of them, and it’s horrible and embarrassing and the worst. Imagining that in front of Coran, who once cried and told him he’s just so proud of the man he’s becoming, is just — no. He can’t handle having a father figure again. He’s going back to being a sad orphan.

Well. No.

Whatever.

“Okay bye Coran,” he says loudly and tellingly, practically sprinting out of the room in mortification. He considers ducking into his room to see if Lance is there, but he knows Lance will ask what’s up, and the idea of explaining to him and then hearing him laugh himself to tears adds a beautifully shiny cherry to his sundae of suffering and he decides otherwise.

He ducks instead into the kitchen, hoping it’ll be empty at this time so he can eat his feelings away, but of course that’s not the case. Hunk stands with his hands on his hips at a counter, knife clenched in his right hand, glaring at what Keith hopes is a vegetable of some kind.

“Hey, Keith,” Hunk calls, slowly moving his knife so as to not startle the vegetable.

The vegetable twitches. Keith pretends it doesn’t, choosing to ignore its existence and hoisting himself up to sit on the counter while Hunk is too distracted to stop him.

“I have a dilemma,” he whines when Hunk fails to ask further questions.

“You and Lance are slowly morphing into the same person,” Hunk comments idly. “I have to deal with two of you now. It’s exhausting. Go back to hating each other.”

Keith smiles. “No.”

“Ugh.” He makes a sudden move towards the nightmare vegetable and it panics, throwing itself off the counter in sad vegetable suicide and splatters on the floor. Hunk sighs for a very long time, then reaches for a rag. “Tell me about your dilemma then, catboy. I am looking forward to clowning you.”

“I need to take Lance on a date,” Keith says. “An amazing one.” He tries to be cool and normal for three seconds before remembering that Hunk caught them making out on a moon when they still pretended to hate each other and knows there is no worse shame. “One that is worthy of him, you know? I want him to feel treasured.”

Hunk raises his eyebrows. “Take him to the space mall to commit crimes again. He loves doing that.”

“Coran said no.”

“Observation deck?”

“Makes him sad.”

“Pool?”

Keith tilts his head to the side, considering. “Well, maybe. But we do that all the time. Plus anyone could just walk in on us.”

Hunk groans loudly, chucking the dirty rag at Keith’s face. Keith manages to dodge but only barely.

“You two and your stupid sneaky shit. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to cover for you two so you can giggle about your secrets?”

Keith grins guiltily. “Love you, Hunk.”

“Shut up. I hate you. When everyone finds out I’m going to point and laugh. I don’t even understand why you bother.”

Keith shrugs, twisting the rag sound his fingers. “It’s not…” He sighs. Hunk must sense the shift in the air, because he stops what he’s doing and hoists himself up next to Keith, even though he hates it when people sit on the counter, and leans against him. Keith shoots him a small, grateful smile.

“There’s something special when it’s just the two of us, I guess. Like being in our own little blanket fort. The lighting’s low and every sound feels muffled and it’s hard to breathe and everything else fades, for a bit.”

Keith doesn’t know how else to describe it. His Pa used to build him blanket forts, when he was really little, and he would stay in there until it collapsed on top of him. The same safe feeling settles in his chest when he lies in bed with Lance, when they stand back to back in battle, when they’re as closely pressed together as they can be. Like he’s wrapped in blankets and floating on air.

“Do that, then,” Hunk says softly. He grabs Keith’s hand and squeezes it softly. “Lance loves you, dude. He just wants to spend time with you. He complains because of who he is as a person, but he doesn’t…he swoons about you, man. It’s honestly kind of embarrassing.”

“It is, isn’t it.”

For all of his poking and whining, Lance was the one to move his stuff into Keith’s room. It was Lance who pulled him in with a smirk when Keith knocked on that door, asking what they were next. Lance who pulls him back under the covers in the morning and peppers kisses to his skin, Lance to whisper their first I-love-you, fast and near silent like a gasping inhale, Lance who thought Keith was asleep when he whispered you make me happy like no one else into his hair.

Lance wants him. Plain and simple. In whatever way they have, floating piece of junk or not.

“You got something?” Hunk murmurs.

“Yeah,” Keith says softly. He smiles at his friend, eyes crinkling when he grins right back. “Yeah, I got something.”

He thinks about blanket forts and low lighting and feeling like floating. He thinks about the first time they were ever a team on the castle. He thinks about all the picnic dates in all the romcoms Lance makes him watch.

Suddenly he can’t sit still for another moment. His blood feels like it’s buzzing, and his fingers twitch. He has an idea and if he doesn’t implement it immediately he’s gonna die.

“Get out of here,” Hunk says tiredly, shaking his head in amusement. “You stress me out. Go bother Lance.”

Keith presses a smacking kiss on his cheek because he is, at the core of him, annoying. The action startles a laugh out of him, because at the core of him, Hunk is not nearly as much of hater as he pretends to be.

“Bye Hunk! Love you!”

He runs out of the room to Hunk’s rolled eyes and his own wide grin, heading straight for the pool — he’s got some prep to do.

———

He’s shifty the whole day and he knows it. Lance knows it too, based on the narrowed, judgemental eyes, long, considering glare, and the way he flicks Keith on the forehead mid-spar and says “You’re being shifty, weirdo.”

Keith grabs his hand and kisses it just to make Lance smile on reflex and then scowl about smiling when he’s trying to be mad. It’s all very predictable and amusing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says lightly. He even pitches his voice to sound more innocent and everything, just like Adam taught him.

“Ugh,” Lance responds.

They go back to sparring, and Keith can’t keep the smile off his face for the life of him. He’s just — so excited. He can’t wait. (And, also, his refusal to answer Lance’s questions is visibly pissing him off, and that’s always fun.) He makes an excuse after a couple hours, kissing Lance loudly and obnoxiously on the cheek before running off, leaving him in the training room and circling the castle three times to make sure he’s not being followed before ducking into the kitchen. As Hunk had promised yesterday when Keith had explained his plan, there are dozens of supplies laid out on the counter and a detailed instruction manual. Keith makes a mental note to clean Hunk’s tools until they are shining in thanks.

Keith, says a pink post-it note on the manual, you’re a whipped loser. Love, Hunk.

Keith grins, folding up the note and tucking it in his pocket. He takes inventory of the supplies, making a special note of the weirdo lump shaped fruit that Keith knows taste like strawberries, that Lance is obsessed with and Hunk often has to literally claw out of his hands when they’re on ship so that Lance doesn’t eat them all. (Actually, now he just puts a lock on the fridge. It’s a problem. Lance loves those strawberries more than Keith, probably.)

Confident that Hunk will keep Lance distracted and praying that no one comes into the kitchen and asks him what the hell he’s doing, Keith gets started. He chops up vegetables, whisks up batters, cuts sandwiches into cool shapes (a sword, Mothman, and an elaborate brachiosaurus) for three straight hours, tucking everything away into a basket and then into the very back corner of the fridge and hiding it behind a case of soda that no one but Keith likes. He barely manages to finish cleaning up the kitchen by the time Shiro and Pidge stroll into the room to get dinner, and both of them eye him suspiciously.

“You’re early,” Pidge says, eyebrows raised.

“You’re never early,” Shiro adds. “I usually have to go send someone to drag you.”

“I’m hungry,” Keith says primly. He’s not, really, since he’s been snacking on stuff as he’s been cooking, but he marches over to the goo machine and squirts himself a bowl anyway. He’ll pull a Lance and feed half of it to the mice, it’ll be fine.

The rest of the team files in a few minutes later; Allura with her hair stuck up in a million places and her nose nearly pressed to her tablet, Coran guiding her by the shoulders so she doesn’t walk right into the counter (again); Hunk and Lance side by side, Lance aggressively swinging their joined hands.

“Hello!” he announces loudly to the room, and it says something about him that every single one of them smiles on reflex, saying hi back.

Lance takes his usual spot next to Keith, Shiro on his other side, Hunk across from them. Under the table, Keith links their ankles together, because no one will look for it and every time it makes a pleased flush grow on the back of Lance’s neck.

“Guess what,” Lance says twenty seconds into a comfortable silence because nothing makes Lance squirm like not talking for ten seconds.

Allura sets her tablet down because she is nosey. “What?”

“I beat Keith at sparring today. Twice,” Lance brags.

Keith scowls at his goo. That’s true, but only because he fought dirty. Keith had him pinned and Lance kissed him, and what was Keith supposed to do, shrug that off? Unlikely. And unrealistic. It’s not like Lance is going to be doing that to fight enemies.

Well. He better not.

“Because you cheated,” Keith mutters.

“Nope, nuh uh, didn’t happen. You are just old and grey and losing your abilities.”

“I’m barely one year older than you!” Keith cries.

Lance smirks. “Elderly, basically. Geriatric. I went easy on you today because I was worried about your knees.”

“Oh, you fucking —”

“Boys,” Shiro interrupts sharply.

They both jump.

“One meal,” the Black Paladin sighs, hand sliding down his face. “Just — one fucking meal, where you two don’t fight.”

“I don’t get it,” Pidge comments, irritated furrow to her brows. “You guys hang out, like, all the time. You’d think you’d be able to talk without jabbing at each other.”

“I think they’re just weirdos,” Hunk says flatly looking at them with a very pointed expression. “I think they just enjoy going at each other. Like weirdos.”

Beside him, Lance averts his eyes, biting his lip to hold back laughter. Keith looks away so he doesn’t have to do the same.

“Sorry, Shiro,” Keith says, working hard to keep his tone neutral. “I’ll do my best to not rise to Lance’s bait.”

“And I’ll try really hard to be okay with stinky mullet’s presence as a whole,” Lance promises.

Shiro only shakes his head and sighs harder. Keith reaches over and pinches his boyfriend’s thigh in revenge.

After dinner, and an aggravated pinching contest that ends with them straight up brawling beside the table and the team looking like they wanted to pelt food good at them, they wait for everyone else to head out to the common room before making their way down to their rooms.

“We’re not joining everyone else?” Lance questions, looking pointedly at their joined hands, blatant as they are in the hallway.

Keith hums, lifting their joined hands and looping around Lance’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Lance stumbles into him, laughing as Keith manages to catch him and keep them both upright.

“Nope,” Keith says, smiling into his hair. He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively — God, he really is becoming Lance. “They’re all tired of us, I think. Perfect opportunity for us to have some time without any interruptions, I was thinking.”

Lance grins. “Sounds good to me.”

The stumble into their room giggling.

———

Hours later, Lance is half asleep on his chest, and Keith traces lazy shapes onto his back. The hallways are quiet, even if he strains his ears. The only thing he can hear is Lance’s even breathing, and the steady thud of his heartbeat. He checks his watch — ten thirty. Everyone else is asleep or close to it.

It’s time, he thinks.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, lips pressed to Lance’s hair. “Wake up.”

“‘M not asleep.”

“Good.” Keith shifts slightly, forcing Lance’s head to move, which earns him a sharp smack on the arm. He grabs Lance’s wrists and holds it there, rubbing a thumb on the palm of his hands. “Up you get.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Lance.”

Lance groans loudly. “I am comfortable,” he laments. “Your tiddies are comfortable. I’m not moving, Pillow. Lie down in silence and be grateful you have the honour of sleeping with me. I’m a delight.”

Keith snorts, but doesn’t back down. “Get up or I tip you over.”

“Yeah, right.” Lance settles right back in, confident in the knowledge that Keith would do nothing of the sort.

Well, he’s wrong.

Careful to tuck his hand over the back of Lance’s head and neck, Keith flips them over at whip speeds, sending them sprawling over the side of the bed and onto the floor in a heap of skewed blankets and flailing limbs.

“You’re such a butthead!” Lance shrieks, smacking him repeatedly on the chest. Keith once again grabs both his wrists and holds tight, pinning him to the floor with his own body weight. He knows Lance isn’t really mad because he hardly puts up a struggle.

“I love you,” Keith says in response, leaning over to peck his boyfriend smack between the eyes. Lance huffs, grinning. “Come on. We’re going somewhere.”

“Ugh,” Lance groans again, but he grabs the hand Keith offers and pulls himself up anyway. He mutters derisively the entire time he gets dressed, but Keith wisely decides not to push it. “Let’s go, dingus. You better be bringing me to a five-star restaurant and then hotel.”

Keith bites back a grin. He knows his line.

“And where the fresh hell am I meant to find that, bastard?” he responds dutifully, wrapping his arm around Lance’s waist and tucking a hand into his back pocket as they walk.

Lance smiles coyly, leaning into him. “That sounds like a you problem.”

Keith rolls his eyes, smiling. “C’mon. We gotta stop in the kitchen first.”

Ignoring Lance’s pestering questions, which is one of his favourite hobbies, Keith steers them towards the fridge and grabs the basket he prepared, tucking it under his arm before Lance can steal it to look.

“If you peek I’m tossing it in the incinerator,” Keith warns.

Lance pouts. “That’s biphobic.”

“You’ll live.”

“Nope. I just found out the love of my life doesn’t accept me for who I am. I’ll try to choke it down, try to get over it, but it’ll eat me alive. Every night after you fall asleep I’ll cry until I pass out. Resentment will build. Eventually I’ll start turning away every time you kiss me. And then we’ll fight, and I will be too heartbroken to defend our relationship, and then all will crumble and we’ll be bitter exes until we die. I see it all now.”

“There are actual playwrights that are less dramatic than you,” Keith observes, looking at Lance’s gesturing in amusement. “I’m pretty sure most of them would beg for lessons.”

“They would be lucky as hell to have me.”

“They would be, baby.” He’d aimed for mocking, but his voice comes out fond and gooey and whipped and he knows it. Lance knows it too, judging by the shy little smile he sports, the pleased flush on his cheeks.

“Where are we even going?” he asks, a clear change of subject. “We’ve been walking the halls for ninety years.”

Keith scoffs. “We have not. And we’re going to the pool.”

Lance stops them mid-step, groaning. “Aw, come on! It’s nearly eleven, Keith!”

“And?” Keith asks, tugging him forward. He goes, but not without whining.

“You are the worst pool partner. You never just want to chill and float. Oh, no, it’s gotta be laps, you fuckin’ jock. Fuckin’ — olympic tryhard ass.”

Keith doesn’t even try to hold back his laughter, and through all his groaning Lance is laughing, too, and even when he’s complaining and being ridiculous and mocking Keith, Keith loves him. There’s not a second of the day when Keith doesn’t.

“Just come on,” he says, finally pulling them into the pool. “You’ll like it. I promise.” He holds his hands up to Lance’s eyes, raising a brow in question, then laying his palms over the top of Lance’s face when he isn’t told to stop.

Lance sighs, but he lets himself get manhandled, let’s Keith guide him up the walls like Coran showed them until they’re finally settled at the edge of the pool. Keith sets down the basket, takes a deep breath, and removes his hands from Lance’s face.

“Happy everyday,” he says quietly.

It takes Lance a moment to register the set up in front of him — the giant blow up kiddie pool floating on the real pool, layered in pillows and blankets. The projector on the wall, queueing Lance’s favourite movie — 10 Things I Hate About You, even though Keith can’t stand that movie and never lets it get picked during family movie nights. The soft lighting sending waves of dappled light reflecting all over the room, making the browns of Lance’s eyes shine gold. The scent of chocolate covered strawberries coming from the now-open picnic basket in Keith’s hands.

Lance m, predictably, bursts into tears.

“You — you jerk,” he cries, flinging himself onto Keith, who barely manages to catch him with an oof. “You are — the worst person alive. I despise you.”

Keith grins, setting down to basket to hold Lance in his arms properly, squeezing him as tight has he can, trying to — say, what he feels, with his body alone. Because there aren’t words for it, he doesn’t think, the way Lance is the first person he seeks out in any room he’s in, the way one touch from Lance has the tension melting from his body in bad days. How even when they’re at their worst and screaming in each other’s faces, there’s a voice in Keith’s head three times louder than anger that booms, don’t you dare hurt him. How he hasn’t felt this kind of safe with a person since his Pa; since he was tiny and young and not afraid of the world yet.

“I take it I win this dating thing?” Keith teases, face tucked into the crook of Lance’s neck.

Lance laughs wetly, breath still shuddering and tears still leaking out of his eyes, and turns his head to kiss him slowly, hands pressed to either side of his face.

“You’re a dickhead and I love you more than air,” he says, smile wide and breathtaking. Keith has to bite back to urge to do something insane like ask him to marry him. God. He’s so — hngh. How is Keith supposed to explain. What he is to him.

“C’mon,” Keith says instead of any of that, voice kind of hoarse. He wraps their hands together and pulls them closer to the edge of the pool, kneeling down and reaching out to steady the floatie and holding it as Lance crawls in. He hands him the basket and tumbles in after him, falling onto his chest, and he feels it shame as Lance laughs, quiet and fond, and he knows he won’t be able to move away. So he settles into him and Lance’s hands come up automatically to rest in his hair, and Keith fumbles for the remote and plays the movie and hands him strawberries and watches Kat and Patrick fall in love and thanks anyone who is out there, from every atom in his body, for getting Lance’s dumb ass tied to a tree and having Keith the only one available to save him. And for the magnetism, between them, and the way Keith has never been able to hide himself from him.

“I love you,” Lance whispers as Kat reads her poem, fingers tangled around locks of Keith’s hair. “I mean it. I do.”

Keith turns his head slightly to kiss the inside of his knee, eyes closed, breaths heavy. “I know.” He lets himself bask in it, Lance’s love, and smiles. “I love you, too.”

———

first part

based off this video

[inblackwoods]

Isidor and Simon, Daniil and Artemy

There’s one line that Daniil says to Yulia that has been driving me absolutely batty. Yulia says:

“You can call these demons what you want… you may refer to the Hair Eater as ‘time’ if this will make you any happier. I am comfortable with a more juvenile vernacular. It is what I am used to.”

And Bachelor replies: “You are repeating something that Isidor had once told me, almost word for word…”

When did this conversation happen? We don't have many letters between Daniil and Isidor to know how well they knew each other or how often they spoke. How did they meet? Why? How close were they? It’s hard to say, but Daniil refers to Isidor as “[m]y gentle associate, my selfless advisor.” Assuming he’s not being sarcastic, this is high praise. It also makes me think that Daniil took Isidor’s words to heart- deeply. That means that this idea, that people can be using different words to talk about the same things, is one that Daniil is more comfortable with than he’s always given credit for. Bachelor might be more open to setting aside semantic/linguistic differences for the sake of finding middle ground to agree on.

In the introductory healers cutscene, Daniil says, “it seems unlikely that we will ever get along well,” and then a few moments later he amends that statement to, “no… We won’t ever get along.”

That sounds sad. He seems almost like he had hope that the other two immediately dashed to pieces. Before, it was "unlikely" that they would get along "well," not impossible that they could get along at all. Now it is simply "we won't ever get along." He seems uncertain, perhaps because it is against his hard logic to completely bar any possibilities without confirmation. And he is usually adherent to standard social etiquette/ideas about politeness. It is possible that certain ideologies can find overlap and find a means of coexistence. But unlikely. Termites and Utopians don't often share tables. 

But Isidor tried to teach him that they could, and Daniil tried to remember that.

[senseandaccountability]

One thing that I really dislike about Veilguard is that (spoilers through most of act 2)

the tone of the Lighthouse crowd is so chipper, so life coach-y whereas DA sidequests in their usual way are all about death and despair and little codex entries about idk people dying alone in the dark not because of some god’s failure but because people suck and betray each other out of greed and fear. See: overarching theme of the series.

And the Crossroads are LITERALLY FALLING APART AT THE SEAMS with Solas’s guilt and regret and you can, as you poke around there, fight a Boss Champion called The Betrayal of Felassan which the Caretaker says is extremely powerful because FELASSAN and there are notes and codes entries scattered everywhere that tells a much more subtle story not just about him but about the past. But it drowns in the many variations of the same group convo circled around the topic “so Solas regrets what he did?” WELCOME TO THE MEETING ROOK, YOU ARE ONLY TEN YEARS LATE LET’S START FROM THE BEGINNING AGAIN, SHALL WE? The main narrative is trying too hard to make him a (very sexy) Trickster God of Trickery and it exhausts me when the minor things like Solas’s memories and the codex give me a much, much better character and depicts an Empire that got corrupted by its own brilliance and lack of boundaries and Solas and the likes of him being counterweights to that, forming the line that should not be crossed, questioning authority - which is ANOTHER CRUCIAL THEME FOR THIS SERIES. The subtext talks about the dangers of blind worship, of hierarchies (please remember Solas proto-anarchist takes on society in DAI, his genuine disgust at all sorts of servitude, his spite if you abuse your Herald status, his entire CHARACTER) and abuse of power, of entitlement and lack of morals. You can do this thing, but should you? That's one of the crucial things about Solas as a character too, it cuts through the best and worst of him. His greatest fear, as he tells a friendly route Rook after Blood of Arlathan, is to end up like Elgar'nan, entitled and blind. As a summary of this moral conundrum the game gives us “SO SOLAS AND MYTHAL WERE DOIN’ IT?” and Rook’s refusal to accept that is written like “ewww, not the guy in my head doing it with Mythal” like some overgrown teenager. THAT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE, ROOK? 

Also, the lack of subtlety and nuance about the Veil thing drives me batty like Solas tells Rook that he had made a plan to minimize the damage done to the world when the Veil was meant to go down. No follow up for that though. Like, is that a possible option to consider? Solas says Varric wouldn’t have agreed to thousands dying (I’m really not even sure about that characterization of Varric) and Rook is meant to just let that go? Come on. I want Rook to talk to Solas - THE CREATOR OF THE VEIL - about the Veil. I am so extremely uninterested in “exchanging verbal jabs” with the Dread Wolf (I hated you so much, Purple Hawke, you were part of the reason I stayed away from the DA fandom for years) I WANT THE LORE OF THE VEIL AND ITS ACTUAL CONSEQUENCES OVER THE PAST TEN YEARS WHAT ABOUT THOSE, FEN’HAREL TELL ME WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN UP TO. 

Sorry. Those were… some words. 

I don’t even think Act 3 is going to solve these issues for me (NO SPOILERS), but we’ll always have fanfic, I guess. I’ll write a coda where everyone is miserable and has existentialist convos about mortality and morals and faith. 

--- A friendly reminder of this DAI banter that never fails to break my heart, and tell us the truth about Solas in a less clunky way than group conversations at the Lighthouse:

Cole: You didn't do it to be right. You did it to save them.

Inquisitor: Solas, what is Cole talking about?

Solas: A mistake. One of many made by a much younger elf who was certain he knew everything.

Cole: You weren't wrong, though.

I really, really wish Veilguard's main narrative gave me a sense of wanting to depict this.

[rcmclachlan]

Fic Writers Q&A

I was tagged by the ever lovely @cecilyv! Thanks <3

How many wips do you have currently?

*stares tiredly into the camera* Like, nine. I'm only actively working on four, though, because I don't think I like the others. They know what they did.

Which one are you finding the hardest to finish? Why do you think that is?

The correct answer is all of them, because the first blush of a new pairing has faded and now I'm settled in, so it's like pulling teeth. I have a million ideas, and every time I start to write one I end up abandoning it for something else. And so it goes, and so it goes. The closest to done is the Tommy & Jee hangout fic. I'm not sure how I want it to end and it's driving me batty.

What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you?

It looks like me being woken out of a sound sleep around 4am with a tiny shard of a scene in my head. I then turn over and try to go back to sleep, but the scene is already in its like 20th mitotic division. Finally I give up the ghost and sullenly pull up the notes app on my phone. This is how it happens almost every single time. Y'all, I'm so tired.

Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different?

Nah, but I usually will find a song to play on repeat softly in the background—something with a steady beat but isn't too loud or complicated. The flavor of the week is "Hysteria" by Def Leppard.

Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organised?

My heart says 'write an outline' but my head says 'no, dummy, haven't you learned by now that when you write an outline I think it means we've gotten the whole story out so we don't actually need to write anything?' It's my curse: every time I write an outline, my brain seems to clap its hands like it's already finished the job and the need to write the actual story completely disappears. So now I just wing it (with varying results).

Tagging: @dadvans, @beefcakekinard, @sonatine, @ripeteeth, @waldorph, @rageprufrock, @lemonistas and anyone else who wants to!

[lostloveletters]

Hi Battie! I just read your Woody/Brady fics and I loved them! Do you think the Bradys and the Egans get together after the war? Are there family vacations? Would love to know any HCs you have for the two families. Thanks!

Thank you so much Jess!! I’m so glad you like them, that means a lot to me🖤 

I absolutely love this question! Woody and Holly stay super close after the war and run up their respective phone bills while they get used to not seeing each other pretty much every day after going on nearly 4 years of it. So if they have any say in it, the Bradys and Egans definitely get together at least once a year, besides reunions the 100th has.

Woody doesn’t mind driving, and the interstate makes it a hell of a lot easier to go on roadtrips than before. Usually the Bradys make their way down to the DMV since the Egans’ house is pretty big, and there’s a lot to do with the kids in DC. I can see it being a spring break trip because summer there can be brutal. However, Upstate New York is gorgeous during the summer, so the Egans head up to visit the Bradys for a week or so. Maybe they rent a big house near the Finger Lakes together. Of course there’s managing moods and tantrums and nap times during these trips, but they’ve dealt with worse😅

I can see Holly’s and Woody’s oldest daughters, Cindy and Sam, actually being friends and not just “we hang out because our parents are friends.” They probably write to each other!

🦇 Battie

[will-continue-livinglikeimtrying]

When we meet each other for the first time... again.

[hwasang]

Love those renchanting designs, they look great in your style! You guys have any fun headcanons about them you wanna share? I'd love to hear em!

thank you!! what i love about this ask is that you know my gf and i feed each others brainrot over this. anyways, we got a few

i think martyn is fox coded but lexi says he is more cat coded but also will go with fox coded.

i need to do a fucking line up but there are so many people thats so many people to draw TAT but really martyn isnt Small, hes 5'8", its just that ren is Massive

ren loves to bite, which was already drawn out by this person, but we also believe that martyn is Into it, and also has gotten to a point where, unless its the neck, he doesnt really gaf.

we both like to make them gnc but martyn is more obviously so. ren paints his claws, and likes to wear long skirts if the weather calls for it while martyn is a lot more creative with his expression

i consider ren more of a shifter than a werewolf, but i still like calling him a werewolf. mandatory moon shifts are still fun. hes also horse sized doggo. he likes to flop onto people he loves, in or out of wolf form. again martyn has gotten used to this.

i usually don't use the name dogwarts for a couple of reasons, one of them being how i headcanon the red army as a pack, like a proper one and everything. AND OH BOY THAT REQUIRES ITS OWN POST HONESTLY

I AM UNWELL ABOUT RED ARMY

i have many many thoughts abt how ren, martyn, skizz, etho and bigb interact with each other, how its changed their relationships fundamentally with those closest in their lives. ren had false and doc, but now hes got four others who he needs to have close at all times because he wants to take care of them and thats impossible bcus three of them are not on hermitcraft server, theyre not /home/ with him, and it drives him a bit batty and makes it easy to take advantage of him. doc, etho and false can only do so much.

and of course ren and martyn are proper soulmates, not whatever was going on in double life. no wonder bigb thought ren was cheating on him

OH AND I HAVE A WHOLE LIST OF THOUGHTS ABOUT MARTYN AND THE EVO KIDS

[perpetualexistence]

Perp's Alenoah Week 2024 Masterpost

To make all of our lives mainly mine easier, I'm going to put all the links to my Alenoah Week AUs/Fics here!

For anyone reading this in the future, know that they all have sfw giant/tiny in them! Because I made it my personal goal to do so, and I satisfied that goal, and am thus happy.

Day 1, First Date: A Small Matter of Planning

Day 2, First Meeting: An Eel's Plea

Day 3, Role Swap: Coils and Toils

Day 4, Vampire AU: We Drive Each Other Batty

Day 5, Gender Swap: Betwixt a Sea of Hair

Day 6, Amusement Park: Through a Funhouse Mirror

Day 7, Free Day (Demon AU): Slumbering Pride

[crackinglamb]

I've got some for you: - Common fandom complaint you are sick of hearing. - There should be more of this type of fic/art - That one thing you see in fics all the time

😈

Common complaint I'm tired of is answered here.

More of this type of fic/art

PLATONIC LOVE!!!!!!!

[deep breath]

Seriously, wtf, fandom? Why must everything be so shippy (sexual)? I don't know if it's my aro showing or what, but I desperately wish there was more actual, real friendship depicted in fics and art.

Even in romantic pairings, it's like...do they even like each other? Would they take care of each other while they're sick? Pick up their mail? Feed their cat? Go grocery shopping together? Sit in companionable silence? Do they even know what 'companionable' means?

I've made a real effort in my own writing to not just depict my couples being horny for each other, but also having things in common. Or not! Sometimes they disagree! And it's not the end of the world! How bout that?

That one thing I see in fic all the time

Okay, this one was answered in the other ask too (and be warned it's NSFW for those heading over there to read it), but don't worry. I have MOAR.

Homonym misuse.

Some of it is English as not the primary language. These writers get a huge pass and an extra kudo for effort, because I would never even attempt to write something in a language I wasn't fluent in. My salt here is not directed at anyone writing in English when they're native in something else. Hell, I get it. English is a terrible language, and I AM a native speaker.

Some of this happens because there are entirely too many people who've sampled the 'fanfic is cringe' koolaid, so they take no pride in it, nor put forth any particular effort. And you know what? Fine, that's valid. Whatever. This is a hobby we do for free. But don't come crying to me when your sloppy, unedited, full of typos and bad formatting fic gets no attention. You can't spout out one side of your mouth that you don't care and whine about lack of validation out the other.

Because you know how easy it is to clear up half those typos? Spellcheck. And even better, a grammar check. And guess what? AO3, which is where I do all of my reading, has a spellcheck function when you're in editing mode. So does tumblr, right now. It's currently telling me that 'tumblr' is spelled wrong. There is absolutely no excuse.

Now, grammar, on the other hand, is a little tougher, I'll admit. But googledocs has it. My gmail has it. I would assume commonly used apps like Scrivner have it.

A sampling of the more egregious ones I see:

Taught is the past tense of teach. The word you're looking for is taut. To pull tight.

A ball is a spherical object. To bawl is to cry loudly.

They're, their, there. 1 - contraction of 'they are/were', 2 - possessive voice, 3 - location.

You're, your. Again, the first one is a contraction of 'you are/were', the second is possessive voice. C'mon people.

Bare is naked/uncovered. Bear is carry (or a living thing).

Slight is small or a little bit. Sleight is a form of slide. It's the one you want for prestidigitation (ie sleight of hand).

Faint is dim, or a state of unconsciousness. Feint is a parry or block.

And this one is entirely petty and I know it. But it drives me batty. Cum is Latin for 'with'. Come is...you get it. 🤣🤣🤣

Thanks for the asks. 💕 From this list.

[tiredassmage]

more bg blorbo posting!

longer time blog friends may recall something of rhyst as my jedi knight from swtor, but he also has an older sister, rhiannon! and true to form, trying to get their looks right in bg3 was a hell i spent like three hours slogging through for each of them because despite how long i've had them as ocs, they're probably one of the bigger mysteries to me as far as appearance. [which i think, case in point, rhyst has gone ginger since the last time i've posted about him. dyed ginger at least as far as swtor edition is concerned, but ginger nonetheless!]

i've been back and forth on the details of these siblings... pretty much since i decided that they were siblings. and rhyst always gives me interesting conundrums because he's technically cut out of the same cloth as tyr is and a lot of that, thematically, still likes to show up and leave me feeling like a wet dog in flooding road pothole during a storm. that also meant for a while that him and tyr shared some similarities in appearance, too, and while i've decided my brain might explode if i tried to address that in the galaxy far, far away, i thought i could have a bit more fun with complicating everything in their fantasy land adventures, lol!

so! rhyst i have made as an oath of ancients paladin, and in my heart a paladin of tyr [i'll address that in two seconds, i promise, lol]. i've been lazy on downloading the deities mod i'm pretty sure exists for paladins bc i'm not ready to get into his playthrough for real yet [or rather, the latest one. considering he has seen. a few attempts already in bg. i swear, this man and not knowing what he really looks like driving me absolutely batty], but i might yet. anyway, that's not particularly important. he's the younger of the siblings by a year or two and is generally like a really, really happy to see you labrador. rhyst is kind of a burning idealist and kind-hearted. he's ready to look for the best in just about anyone, or at least acknowledge that, if circumstances had been different, people he winds up crossing blades with may have seen differently. he's fond of stories of heroes and i'd say he's... the kind of still young enough where he hasn't had his ideals and drives of "why can't we all just get along" thoroughly tested yet; the world hasn't had a chance to jade him.

rhiannon is a light domain cleric of kelemvor and sometimes the one that's a little bit more ready to start swingin' of the siblings. [though if you put them both in the same room, they can mutually come to a conclusion that bashing things is the correct way to resolve a problem, and will do so with gusto.] while both of them can hold fairly rigid to their sense of right and wrong, i think rhiannon has had a teensy bit more practical world experience and was the bolder traveler of the two of them.

and with harper heritage, both of them firmly stand by doing what needs to be done.

both are born and raised in baldur's gate, primarily by their mother, a city druid. what they know of their father is mostly stories, but rhiannon might've met him once or twice.

so, the reason i mentioned tyr [the oc] in all of this, lol, is bc i keep making bg-edition of his family group bigger, lol.

the man, the myth, the legend, etc etc. tyr who i've realized i should probably start calling oliver in baldur's gate to steal a leaf out of one of his covers bc for all the 'finding new paths in life' after spending his first couple of decades working as an assassin, going by the name of the in-universe god of justice is maybe a bit more sacrilegious than i'd diagnose him with. not that the man is particularly faithful to authority and the divine, exactly, but he's also not looking to pick a fight with the god of justice. a few others, maybe more so, but that's getting ahead of ourselves.

so before oliver sort of settled down for good and moved out of the city, he did spend a little time with the harpers, and that kids, is how i met your mother. [badumtsh!] (whom i still have to name. rip)

it's a relatively short relationship i imagine, compared to the fact that oliver's now married with two other daughters (one biological and one adopted), but also pretty amicably ended. i think rhyst and rhiannon's mother wasn't quite interested in keeping up with the likes of the harpers anymore and was a bit more ready to settle in, where oliver still saw work to do [and involvements to atone for, which is perhaps deserving of a post of it's own because gods know him and alucren have. (gestures) Things going on between them].

so, ~unfortunately for dear mum, rhiannon and rhyst sort of inherited the harper's bug, and a nose that wouldn't leave a layman's "well enough" alone. rhiannon seeks to lay to rest the undead i think partly inspired by dear old dad's previous connections as an assassin, and rhyst pursued the path of a paladin inspired by heroic tales and talk of honor and following codes and oaths taken.

undecided just how involved in the plot i'll get them, but i do think it'd be a lil fun to at least have one version of events where there's a kinda silly family reunion to the tune the likes of "of course you'd be in the middle of all of this. how can we help?" [oliver and jaheira shaking hands and sighing over wrangling strong-willed kids]

[soumaizumip]

My Soccerwife Might Be Dead and I Am Going to Have to Learn to Be OK With That (But For Now I Am Very Annoyed)

god ok 204, let me down one last time (overreaction) (still waiting to actually see him if we even get to but the implications are driving me batty)

at this point i can’t even say if i think they’ll actually ever bring the old kunigami back. they seem just fine letting this be the way he is now

i Really wanted him to be punished in this game. if he was going to change this would have been it. this should have been it

at the very least i wanted him to get knocked down a peg. he had one goal which he basically stole from isagi which seemed to have already been going in without his intervention

i wanted him to get a lower bid this time

and yet

and it’s basically just the same thing. he hasn’t changed from when he first came back “he’s big and we trained him to be an asshole, and the people love that” 

everything points to him being successful right now, that this is what works and this is what he should be doing

hell his bid doubled even though he BARELY played a part in this game WHICH HE SHOULD HAVE PLAYED MORE OF BECAUSE IT’S AGAINST CHIGIRI AND IT SHOULD HAVE MEANT A LOT TO HIM NARRATIVELY AS MUCH AS IT DOES TO ME, A RELENTLESS FUJOSHI WITH A FIRE BURNING IN HER HEART OK I’M SORRY I’LL MOVE ON

we are being told he will not change, that nothing so far has driven him to change, whether it’s being outshone by isagi, ignored by his team, or... chigiri, at all

they really got my damn hopes up with their reunion, and their reactions on the field... when in the end it did not matter at all

this game was not about them, it was not about kunigami

when, no fujo, i think it really should have been. that’s how it was quite literally set up to be so i don’t think that’s unreasonable to think

What was all this for then. truly. did they forget they wrote this 8 months ago

if this is not what is going to get him to change then what fucking is how much more grandeur do you need because any opponent they face from now on does not know the old kunigami and does not give a shit about him (we are ignoring that on paper no one in blue lock gives a shit about each other you know what i mean)

i’m not gonna act like i know better than the author but literally what was the point of this game then. it dragged on for eight months. 204 has isagi recapping what he ‘learned’ which is learning to use his eyes for the 80th time

the game ended up having the most development for yukki? (or maybe that's just all i remember bc it took 8 fucking months) which is fine. but that didn’t need to result in their win

this win just felt like it has no point for isagi (he’d still have his revelations but who he was facing was irrelevant) and germany when a loss would’ve meant a lot for kunigami. hell even with them winning the writer just seems to not care about seeing any kind of story line for him through. and that makes me sad

maybe im jumping the gun maybe we’ll get meaningful reactions from the 2 of them after this but... i am not expecting anything anymore for this round

because honestly what can chigiri even say after this. what a kick in the face

he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on anymore to wake him up. chigiri lost, kunigami won, and he’s more successful than he’s ever been. they keep hinting at a “pride before the fall” for nagi but i doubt they’ll go through those motions for kunigami

also chigiri should’ve had a way higher bid but i didn’t know where to say that. he is the goddamn speed star

[jobey-wan-kenobi]

What's the baby 124 + 125 post?

Excellent choice, sir! Mainly because this is one of the few where don't mind unloading the entire thing.

I wrote it as a sort of prologue for my other WIP about 125 (later Edward) and 36 (who was originally 124, but got promoted). The larger fic takes place during WWI, where the idea was that both engines were sent to Sodor for war service. This WIP makes full use of the IoS notion that Edward was such a poor steamer that his original railway dngaf about getting him back. Really leans into him being a mess of an engine. In contrast, his twin 124/36 is a stellar performer... and rather condescending. They drive each other batty. Sodor is sort of a coming-of-age for them both.

And maaaaybe, by the end, they will have grown up enough that they can respect each other.

Maybe.

Anyway the baby post is a "fifteen years earlier..." sort of prologue where 124 first comes to life in the workshop (kinda too reminiscent of my fic where Henry comes to life!) In his first few days the themes for his life are already established...

(tagging @honorary-twat to make sure they don't miss this...)

---

Glasgow, 1900

It’s funny, how engines come to consciousness. There is something there, before they are yet steamed, even as they are being built. A dim, subpersonal awareness. It absorbs the language of its makers, concepts of distance, and the universal dreams of its own kind. 

Something in the air of the shop made Furness Railway No. 124 anxious before he was even brought to life. Birth was one overwhelmed moment—and then relief. Sharp eagerness. Now, he reckoned, he could get to the bottom of it… find out what had unsettled him even in the primordial sleep. 

He couldn’t speak, for no human had yet spoken to him. So he gazed around, patient, even wary. A soldier in unknown terrain, doing recon. The workshop was too busy for anyone to have yet noticed that he had come to life. Even from where he was positioned, able to see perhaps a fourth or fifth of the space, he saw many scurrying small men and many great half-built frames. He knew the latter would be other engines, one of these days. Sometimes those half-built frames frightened engines both new and old. 124, still minutes young, only eyed them with curiosity. His gaze was slow-moving and comprehensive. By exploring in this way it took him half an hour to realize, with a start, that there was another engine on tracks beside him, between him and the brick wall of the works. This one was lifeless too, but very much more than half-built. Some men were working on his undercarriage, but to 124 the engine looked to be already complete, or else extremely close. 

124 to be sure was inexperienced. And yet he had been born with a great stock of intuition for his own kind. 

When he had twitched with surprise to see the other engine, he had attracted the attention of some of the workers. They stirred, pointed, even smiled a bit, but no one spoke to to the engine yet. They checked the pressure gauge, took some other readings, and sent an apprentice to go fetch the master engineer, while they mostly continued with their work—not rushing, but never slacking, either. It was one of the busiest periods in the shop all that year, and indeed 124’s first impression of life was that there was no moment to lose. 

The master engineer checked his pressure valve, too, before coming round to 124’s front, where he nodded to the engine in satisfaction and welcome. “Hello, there! You’ve certainly come to very quick.” 

124 knew, instinctively, that he’d been praised. Like any engine, no matter how new, he instantly adored the feeling. “Thank you! What do I do now?” 

The designing engineer chuckled. “Practice some patience. I can see you’re ready for the world. But the world’s not quite ready for you! We must do all sorts of tests first, you and your brother too, before we ship you out.”

“Is that my brother, then?” 124 looked over at the engine beside him. 

“That’s right. We’re on schedule to bring him to, tomorrow. He’s to be 125. You’re 124—”

“I know,” said 124, with considerable self-satisfaction. He’d overheard something, somehow, before—in the before time that he was already forgetting. But he knew instinctively that it was unusual that he had come to with knowledge of his name. 

“—and I am your creator,” the master engineer went on, voice placid and untroubled, though it deepened slightly when he continued. “You will call me ‘sir’, and my men, too. We’ve taken a great many pains in your making, 124.” 

124 absorbed everything about the past moment, and realized that he had made an error. “I’m sorry I interrupted you, sir.” 

“You’re just come to, and excited,” said the master engineer kindly. 

“Yes, sir.” For a moment, 124 could hardly restrain his eagerness, and wanted to ask how soon he could move. But some instinct held him back. He wanted to behave properly. There were so many firsts ahead of him, and he was resolved to get them all right. “But I won’t do it again.” 

The master engineer gave a slight smile. “You’re a clever one. Quite a few of your older brothers were like that, too. I’m proud to have made you, 124, and I believe you’ll be a credit to our shop. For now, you must wait. The performance team are preparing to come and test you. You needn’t be anxious at all about the tests; that’s our concern. Your concern is to mind what you’re told. One of our drivers will begin to explain your controls, and you must listen to him very carefully, for until you learn them you can’t be of any use.” 

That was more motivation than 124 even needed. 

After being idle and unfocused so long, it was warm and exciting enough to be worked over by the performance team and addressed; besides, 124 was so curious about what he learned of the unseen panel by his lovely crackling firebox that he tried to get his driver to explain more than the basics. The driver snorted and said that there was no point in hearing more until they were able to move… and then the team lead said that they may as well. There was still daylight, and the yard was clear: They couldn’t do a full test run, but they could get in a driving lesson. 

Venturing outdoors, cramped and smoky though the sky was, still proved such an overpoweringly exciting experience that he didn’t even mind his fire being let to go out. Most engines suffer their first experience with the cold very much, but then, most don’t take in as much life their first day as observant 124 had. He had already quite mastered his basic controls, and he had distinguished the various men far more carefully in one day than some works engines would if they had served in that shop for a year. He sank gratefully into the shallow but still restful unconsciousness of sleep. 

After only a couple days of the same, 124’s busy mind had picked up a great deal about his world—his whole world, and not just the high-vaulted workshop and the cramped, slow testing tracks that surrounded it, weaving in and out of the industrial neighborhood. 

He had, perhaps, picked up more than a brand-new engine should. 

It wasn’t all due to his unusual acumen. Possibly it was due to him being unusually alone, among his kind. They tried to steam his brother the following day, but were thrice unsuccessful, instead working late into the night, running tests, and trying to find what they had forgotten. There was a little works engine, but she was kept busy, and had long since learned to be uninterested in the engines who were steamed to life only to be so quickly shipped out. Every other engine there was still just at the stage of being barely a frame. 

So 124 paid a great deal of attention to the talk of the men, and he soon understood that they didn’t consider him nearly as special as he felt. They were never harsh with him, but, even apart from being busy with their work, it was the still-barely-begun engines that were the matter of interest. They dropped their tools and their jobs often to peer over diagrams and work orders and correspondence. 124 and 125 were old hat. They had already now made eight of their sort for the Furness Railway alone, and dozens and dozens, nearly identical, besides. The men were trying to dispatch the twins as quickly as they could, not only because the owners had paid well to put a rush on their order, but because the interesting job would be the rest of the Furness batch. 

It was thus that 124 discovered the cause of the anxiety he had been born with. On the one rail, it was very nice to think that his railway needed him to arrive so badly—especially when 124 knew (for he’d been told, with approval) that he had learned his controls very quickly, and could be trusted to start taking trains at once. He was eager to be needed and useful. 

But for so short a time! For it was the new engines that they really wanted. 

124 was not yet two days old, when already he understood that he was not exactly a new engine. He had been designed to be replaced, as quickly as the engineers now before him could work. 

And that feeling was not so very nice at all. 

Fortunately, 124 was not the sort disposed to defeat. This knowledge made him anxious, irritated, and determined. It drove him half-mad, wishing to be shipped out, as fast as possible, and to get started. They needed to be out there. They needed to be on their railway, learning as quickly as they could to do their job so well that they would be indispensable. 

But first, of course, his twin would have to wake up. 

Days had passed, and 125 still couldn’t be steamed to full pressure. 

The men were as impatient as 124. The other four—the even-larger Seagulls, as they joked—were of a newer design, and the men were eager for the challenge. 

Of course, in 125 they had a challenge on their hands already. 

This was no fun sort of challenge, though. It was a mystery, and an absolute bother. 

The performance and engineering teams alike were put under great pressure to get the second engine in the rush order up to steam. They tried to be professional, especially since they were aware that 124, obediently quiet, was nevertheless paying his usual sharp attention—engineers in such a shop are as much nannies as mechanics—but by day three there was still a fair amount of swearing through gritted teeth. They checked, and double-checked, and to the naked eye everything seemed fine. 

“I think the engine is just plain contrary,” muttered the performance team lead at last, to the master engineer. 

The latter frowned. “I have to doubt it. None of the rest of this sort were like that.” 

“Number twelve?” asked one of the senior engineers, with a bit of a twisted grin. 

The master engineer still didn’t crack the glimmer of a smile. “Nonsense. They complain that he came out headstrong, but he’s always been eager enough to get steamed. They all were.” 

“Some of them were shy. Thirty-three, if I’m remembering right, had to be specially coaxed—” 

“Oh,” cried 124, involuntarily, “but he just moved!” 

Everyone looked over, but the engine looked to them as still and dumb as ever. 

“Forgive me, sirs,” said 124. “But I saw—something.” 

“He gives those signs of life,” agreed another engineer. “He’s trying. We’re trying. Something isn’t connected right, somewhere.” 

“We ought to do some dismantling,” said another. “Starting with the pipes.” 

“We told them the engines would arrive this Saturday,” said the master engineer, severely. “We never promised he’d be conscious—but he has to be in one piece!” 

So they didn’t dismantle the pipes, or much anything else. The firebox was cleaned and scrubbed, a different grade of coal was brought in, and they tried again, late into the night. 

124 was jealous of all the attention focused on his brother—of course. Locomotives are incredibly sensitive to this sort of thing. It does not mean that they are specially selfish (nor, of course, specially selfless). It just comes naturally. You are always aware of the little tells that reveal if someone is richer or poorer than you. 

For engines, human attention is currency. It’s what determines the duration and the quality of their lives. 

So, they notice. Who gets more of it than they do… who gets less. It would be sheer obliviousness to not pay attention. 

So indeed, 124 began to feel rather ignored. But not to the point of stupidity. He wanted very badly for them to find a solution to his brother’s problem. 

They were twins—only the two of them, against a wide world—and 124 hardly expected to thrive if the other didn’t. 

The next morning, with another indifferent fire on their hands, the performance team decided to summon the works engine to shunt 125 into the yard. The movement might stir up the fire until he could move on his own power. That wouldn’t be ideal, but at least it would demonstrate that it was possible to get the new engine’s boiler up to full pressure. 

“Excuse me, sir,” said 124 quietly. He felt a strange tenderness all the sudden. “I’d be happy to do it.” 

“No, 124.” The performance lead wiped his brow distractedly. “You’re too big and clumsy for such work. Not to mention,” he added, belatedly trying to soften the blow of these unconsidered words, “the operations team is more familiar with Lucy. We don’t want any accidents, now do we? Not with the both of you still mint condition!” 

124 murmured something meaningless and respectful. Inwardly, he was fuming. 

Unfortunately, an engine at the works has few such secrets. The men certainly noticed the change in his steaming, and grinned knowingly among themselves, and occasionally someone would pat 124’s running board as he passed. It was a gesture of comfort and support, but 124 found it patronizing, and hated it. 

Anyway, the yard experiment was unsuccessful. After two hours the works engine shunted 125, still steaming weakly and utterly lifeless, back in the spot next to his twin. 124 closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, so that he wouldn’t be provoked into saying something that good engines shouldn’t. 

He was terribly impatient. If 125 had steamed to life when they had first tried, they could have been sent out by now, and arrived home early. They could perhaps have already started their work before Saturday… 

124 should have begun to sometimes hate his brother, much as he sometimes hated the men. But then, every so often, as the men worked to build up his steam, there would be swift flashes of life from 125. For seconds, a face identical to 124’s would start to emerge—flickering in—then almost at once flickering out. 

It was brief, but it was enough. Every time, it amazed 124 too much to stay altogether angry. 

For all they were anxious to bring 125 to life, the team dispatched to him grew smaller every day. Every day new parts arrived, which were to be used to assemble the even-larger Seagulls, and so every day one or two more men were switched from one project to the other. 

There was a murmur going about that 125 might have to prove a write-off. The master engineers looked very grave about this. 

The men stayed very late each night—until there came an evening where the head engineer ordered everyone to clear away from the troublesome engine. “Give him space,” he said grimly. “If it’s shyness, then all our fussing has put too much pressure on him.” 

“Do you think that’s what it is then, sir?” asked the foreman. 

“I don’t know. But I hope so, because we haven’t the time for it to be anything else. We’ll try again tomorrow. Bring your lucky rabbit’s foot!” 

124 couldn’t sleep that night, and not only because he was still struggling with the discomfort of his own fire having been dropped. Now that he had experienced what it was to be fully steamed, like most new engines, he tasted death each time he was left to cool. 

In the stillness and dark, convinced that there was no one else, 124 hissed to his still unborn brother. 

“They need to do your tests tomorrow, if we’re to be shipped out on time.” He didn’t feel as stupid as he’d thought he would, talking to nothing and no one, hearing his low voice not even quite breaking the silence. “We’re needed at home… for now. You must steam up.” 

More silence. Bits of dust could be seen floating lazily in the moonlight that illuminated the windows. 

The next morning, 124’s fire wasn’t lit. There was no need; he was fully tested, approved to leave, ready. They lit 125’s, and left him to try to steam, quite abandoning the twins. 

124 tried to strike up conversation with Lucy, the workshop tank engine. 

“Don’t ask,” she snapped. 

“Don’t ask what?” 

“Your sort always ask what it’s like out there, what’s going on in the world, all that rubbish.” 

124 had a few questions. He decided that Why shouldn’t I ask? was more urgent than “My” sort?

She snorted and eyed still-lifeless 125. “The head engineer wants everything calm over here, doesn’t he? And I can’t stay sweet, if you ask me. Who knows! There’s a war in South Africa, and influenza, and Olympics, and big new ships, and big new locomotives. I don’t see nor hear much any of it, anymore. I used to work the rails too, you know. Now I’m stuck here. Not that I’m such a fool, as to complain about being wanted. But don’t ask me about ‘the world’. You’ll find it all out soon enough, little racehorse!” 

“I am not a horse!” 

“‘Course you are. A racehorse, good for nothing but short bursts of speed, and needing far too much fuss to even do that much. Like the ones who took over our line, years ago. ‘Course,” she added, with oversweet malice, “you’re more of a colt, really.”

“Do you mean to say,” inquired 124 coldly, making the most of their height difference to gaze down upon her, “that I’m small?”

Lucy was strictly unawed. 

“As your sort go, yes. You’d better keep up a good gallop on that English main line of yours, for you don’t have much of a future in goods, once they make enough of your new cousins. Yet you’re not small enough, to find a nice useful niche, like I have.” 

“Lucy, lass!” hollered one of the workers, needing her down the other end of the yard, and 124 was secretly relieved to not need to figure out a way to be rid of her himself.

Without his fire lit, 124 couldn’t get all that angry or worked up. Yet he ached to move, to finally leave the works. He shouldn’t mind galloping till his wheels fell off! He was full of unused life and resolve. And he only felt more and more restless, as he felt the mounting steam coming off 125. It was ticklish, and only reminded him of his own lack. 

After a while, he realized it was really quite a lot of steam—at least, by 125’s standards. 

Without much expectation, he looked over, and found his brother awake. He didn’t flicker back out again; he was in full steam, and really, really there, eyes slowly roving over everything… just like 124’s had done, five days earlier. 

Some instinct kept 124 quiet. Brothers they might be, but an engine’s first words are not for other engines. Their creator had the right to speak first. He knew that intuitively. 

The master engineer was indeed close by that morning, and did not need to be summoned: He was one of the first of the men to notice. He quickly made a gesture for the rest to keep their peace, and make no sudden movements, as he watched 125 from the corner of his eye for a while. He seemed to believe that 125 could be all too easily startled back into unconsciousness. 

And yet his resolve to stay away only lasted so long. Even for someone as experienced as him, it’s very hard to resist new life. 

“Are you finally with us, then?” 

“Yes!” 125 sounded delighted. “Oh, thank you. This is much better than before!” 

“Before?” The master engineer’s furrowed brow couldn’t help smoothing out into a faint smile, as he swiftly grasped for the soap bubble. “Why, what was it like before?” 

“Why, it—was—” In his turn, the brand-new engine’s face fell by degrees into confusion and frustration. “—it was like being… I don’t seem to remember, now.”

“None of us do,” said the master engineer, wistful. He hadn't really expected to be able to peek behind the veil. “Man and machine alike. It’s the price of being alive.” 

“Oh, but I was just there.” 

The master engineer gave one last smile at his creation’s dismay. “Let it go. Didn’t you just say that this is better? Besides, we have no time to lose. Do you know who I am?” 

125 didn’t. At least, no machine ever has the word for it, to match the instinct. But when the engineer identified himself as his creator, 125 looked down at him with frank, dazed admiration, and heard the first simple rules for his life with gratitude. 

“You’ve given us a great deal of trouble, 125. Why did you come to now, and not earlier? We wanted you to steam up days ago.”

“Oh?” Blank and confused, 125’s fresh delight at existence began to fade into regret. “I—I really don’t know, sir.” 

“I suppose you were too overcome, and held back,” said the master engineer, not altogether unkindly, “but now that you’ve done it once, you won’t be frightened again, will you?” 

“Oh, I don’t think so, sir. It’s so exciting, being alive.” 

“It is—at first. But there are days when it’s not so nice, you know, yet you must always wake and come to steam when your fire is done up. I hope you intend to be a credit to this shop, for we’re known to turn out good engines. Then, too, your railway needs you to get to work very urgently.” 

“Yes, sir,” said 125, slowly, guileless. “I’m very happy to do whatever is wanted. I’ll get started at once, if it will help make amends.”

“Good.” The master engineer did not speak with much conviction, but it was clear that he intended to give the benefit of the doubt until further incident. “Mr. Wylie will come over, to begin your testing and training. Mind him carefully. You have a lot to learn, and I hope you will do it as quickly as 124 here did.” 

125 had not yet taken in the silent engine next to him. But now he looked, and his anxiety vanished in a wholehearted smile. “Oh!” 

He did not need further introduction. By some instinct, he knew his own twin at once—and 124 could see that he did. 

124 smiled, too. Despite the five days of knowledge and worry somewhat weighing down his own new wonder, he also found something wholly satisfying in that moment—as if now he had finally been completed, too. 

They were two of a kind. No matter what the world held in store, it would be much more manageable, together. 

It seemed there was much to manage. 124 watched, idle and resigned to “practicing some more patience,” as they crammed in 125’s driving lessons, and then all his test runs, eager to ship off the twins the next day, and to collect their bonus for meeting the accelerated deadline. 

It made for a long day; they didn’t finish the last test until well after sundown. 124 was mildly jealous, for he had not yet been out of doors at night, and knew no fear of the dark. But he told himself reasonably that, after all, tomorrow they would go home, and he should get his own chance soon enough. 

In the meantime, he was grateful that the series of tests seemed to go fairly well. 125 behaved creditably—no embarrassment to any brother—and, still more, seemed to have more than his fair share of a steam engine’s eager and guileless charm; the performance and operations teams, at first unenthused by the assignment, seemed to be in great spirits by the end of the long day, and bid their newest engine good-night fondly. 

After all that, 124 felt relieved when they were left alone in the dark. And he should have expected that 125 would fall asleep rapidly, for his had been a much fuller first day than his twin’s. 

But 125 grew fretful in the dark and quiet. 

“You need to rest,” said 124. “Tomorrow’s a big day for us.” 

125 sighed. “I'd like to… but… I, I don’t think I dare let my fire go out.” 

124, wise with five days and nights of vast experience, tried to soothe what he had been told was a common fear. “Every engine feels that way, the first time. You must be brave. The cold isn’t so nice as being in steam, of course, but it doesn’t hurt, really.” 

“No, it’s not that. What if… oh, what if I can’t get up to steam again, when I’m next wanted?” 

“Oh, but won’t you?” 124 was newly anxious. He hadn’t anticipated this. 

“I don’t know,” whispered 125. 

“Designer said you were frightened before. But surely you won’t be frightened a second time. Getting up to steam isn’t even so hard as going cold!” 

“I don’t think I was frightened! I don’t quite remember, of course…” 125’s face was screwed up with effort. “… but I could almost swear that I wanted to get to steam. I wanted to very badly, but I couldn’t. I don’t think Designer’s right—I think something was missing. It was easier to come to, once I didn’t feel so crowded ‘round. But it wasn’t that I was afraid, before. I am afraid now. There’s—there’s something, I feel it, something inside that's not quite right; I can’t help it, and if the engineers can’t find it…” 

124 had grown even colder, despite not being lit that day to begin with. 

“There’s nothing,” he said, with finality. “You’re imagining it. Designer said it was hard because you were too shy, and he knows far, far, far more about engines than we do.” 

“Oh, of course he knows more about most things. But he doesn’t know what it’s like being an engine. I know that much at least, and I can’t help thinking that he made a mistake.” 

“I won’t listen to such disrespect!” 

“Oh, 124! It’s not disrespect, indeed it isn’t. It's lovely, being alive, and I want terribly to oblige him.” 

125’s voice shook. 124 had never heard strong emotion before—and it couldn’t be said that he cared one whit for the experience. 

“Well,” he said, backing down before he experienced too much more of it, “there’s no use fretting and staying awake all night. They won’t want us to steam in the morning—we’re not to transport ourselves! It’s only when they deliver us to our railway that we’ll be wanted, and perhaps even that might wait a night… I don’t know how long it takes to get there, from here.” 

“Oh, the fireman told me. Eleven hours, including a break for the crews. He says we’ll not be there until well after tea-time. When is tea-time?” 

“I don’t know,” said 124. 

“What is tea-time?” 

“I don’t know. But there’s no good in you trying to keep your fire lit, when you won’t move for an entire night and day!” 

“No, I suppose not.” 125 sounded more cheerful, puzzling over the tea-time mystery. “Thanks for not letting me stay awake all night—that would have been foolish. I’m awfully glad you’re my brother.” 

In five days of life, it had not yet occurred to 124 that engines could say such things. And he didn’t trust it, all at once. Not coming from this rather unreliable brother, still only hours old. Perhaps it wasn’t proper, for engines to be so affectionate. It was one of many things he hoped to figure out soon. 

“I’m glad we’re going home tomorrow,” said 124. “Let’s get some sleep.” 

[infizero]

one day i will make a beautiful full rewrite of sonic forces like ive always dreamed of doing since i was a 14 year old girl

(ok so um. i started writing stuff in the tags and it accidentally got so long i went far beyond the tag limit. whoops. so this is just an actual post now. read more for my insane sonic forces rewrite ramblings)

i want to so fucking bad. every time i think about the wasted potential that is forces it makes me so depressed ToT i cant help but love forces despite it being garbage. the soundtrack is banging, the character customization is fun, i LOVE infinite, it attempted a darker story like the good ol days..... its so fucking bad but there were so many cool ideas and it drives me insane

also its one of the few sonic games i've actually played firsthand. purely because it was free on like the playstation game pass thing or whatever its called. and i did genuinely have fun with it even if it was pretty easy. also for the longest time of me being a sonic fan, forces was the latest mainline game. that era is when i got into sonic so idk. i cant help but look fondly on it even though its writing choices drive me fucking batty

while thinking about all this i came up with an interesting idea. so. there's something so fucking cool to me about infinite and the avatar's dynamic like. the way that infinite, despite his powers... him being a mobian and that scene of him flying right beside you and stuff..... idk its like he feels more on your level then some like ancient god villain or whatever.

that flying side-by-side scene esp inspired this but ANYWAY. what if, to make him AND the avatar character more interesting.... they were like. childhood friends or something. or just knew each other in the past in general. that would add SO much depth to their interactions within the game of like. infinite calling them weak. flying side by side. infinite's whole classic "character trying to reinvent themself" thing.

like infinite is using the power of the phantom ruby, trying to become strong because shadow called him weak and everything <- which btw this motivation has gotta change/be expanded upon cause this shit is still so silly. shadow called him gay and that's infinite's whole motive. cmon now we can do better than that

ANYWAYS. but that desperation from infinite to become an entirely new person - changing his name, wearing the mask, etc etc. that could become even more interesting if you add someone into the mix who knew infinite BEFORE his transformation.

and i know i know the avatar is supposed to be able to be projected on and stuff whatever whatever. but like idk man. plenty of protagonists have pasts that are part of the story even tho they're customizable. and besides it wouldnt be like a full backstory for the avatar. just the fact that they knew infinite once upon a time. and maybe something happened that split them apart or something. idk. but whatever happened between then and the events of the game wouldn't be elaborated upon, so you'd still be able to come up with your own story for your character if you want to.

and then the avatar's presence in the story could present a conflict for infinite. maybe despite him trying to act like he doesnt care, he like. hesitates. or lets the avatar go at some point. or something. and that gets him in trouble with eggman <- on that note. MORE CONFLICT BETWEEN EGGMAN AND INFINITE. im a little fuzzy on that aspect of the game but from what i can remember that never really goes anywhere. i want infinite being fickle about eggman's orders to MEAN SOMETHING!!!!!

also. i guess infinite could still ambiguously die at the end. but he'd definitely survive and show up in a later game, a la shadow. i need him to. my special boy.

anyways but going back to the avatar and infinite. i rlly think this could make both of them far more interesting than they are now. infinite rlly doesnt have like. an arc over the course of the story? hes just kinda. there. we get his backstory but in the present he kinda just. fights you a few times and then he dies. the end. this would actually give him something to do during the story, even if it was just like. brooding over why he let the avatar go or something.

and like..... i feel like forces SHOULD focus a lot on infinite? at least more so than the actual game did. like it doesnt have to be a shadow sa2 situation where like the whole game is centered around his story but i honestly... wouldnt be opposed to that either. like the war stuff is not that interesting im gonna be real.

also btw OBVIOUSLY the whole "sonic being imprisoned and tortured for 6 months with zero consequences" thing would be changed. that shit is so stupid and pointless. idk for sure if i'd just get rid of it outright or alter it, but probably the latter. cause like it IS actually an interesting scenario: how would these characters react to sonic being presumably dead? (long-term. 06 does not count LOL)

like that genuinely is a fascinating scenario to explore but i think one of the main things is that it would have to take place soon after it happened. none of this 6 months later amy wistfully going "sometimes i still dream sonic is with us....." shit, that is so dumb. WHAT is the point!!!

i'd want the story to start like fairly soon after sonic gets captured. and it wouldnt just be "sonic characters act as war generals" simulator. if we're doing this we are going ALL in. full focus on the characters' emotions and mental states which fluctuate over time. at the beginning they're hopeful but as more time passes with no sign of sonic and them losing more and more land to eggman, things start to crack. that could genuinely be so interesting to watch as long as it was treated with the actual seriousness it deserves instead of the cop-out edginess with no repercussions that the actual game has.

speaking of this part. TAILSSSSSSSS tails in forces was the wasted opportunity of the century. im gonna be real after having so much time to think about it, i really dont think that tails cowering after sonic was defeated was THAT egregious. i definitely think it could've been handled better, considering he had both beat chaos before and thought sonic had died before, BUT. tails is, at the end of the day, still a little kid. no matter how much hes grown and everything, thinking his big brother is fucking dead is probably still gonna fuck him up big time!!!

i also think that the idea of tails out on his own is SO fucking interesting and i am so mad every day that they barely did anything with that. maybe tails DID stay with everyone else at first. maybe after enough time everyone else presumed sonic to be dead and tails got upset because he knows sonic can't be dead, he always comes back, he did last time this happened right? and he left one day without telling anyone, attempting to try and find sonic himself.

and then he comes across omega all trashed up, and him fixing him, oh, idk, ACTUALLY MATTERS? (crazy i know) omega gets fully restored (plus some upgrades, of course) and it becomes the two of them against the world. throwing in a little craziness here but what if omega sticks with tails bcuz tails (who is definitely um. a lil more fucked up from everything) promises that hes directly interfering with eggman here, and that he'll actually allow omega to full on KILL eggman if/when they get the opportunity to. (tails is not fucking around) i just really need these two working together to be a thing.

rouge and shadow could also be MIA. i dont know if i'd want them as part of the larger resistance, they'd probably just be trying to help stuff on their own, but maybe at some point they'd realize that shit is really fucked this time and the only way they'll be able to stop eggman's reign of terror is by joining forces (lol) with the larger group. power of friendship and teamwork and all that, as is forces' main theme.

anyways. this is kind of all ive got swirling in my brain right now. i dont know how i'd tackle sonic's imprisonment itself. i definitely dont want to be in a position like the canon story where sonic should 100% be traumatized by what happened. bcuz i feel like thats probably a bit much lol... so maybe keep him imprisoned that whole time but get rid of the torture. idk, if we want to really get crazy with it we could throw in a whole thing where its like hey eggman why arent you just killing him? isnt that what you've wanted to do this whole time? funny how you're... keeping him alive like that. isnt easy bringing yourself to kill this kid you've basically watched grow up huh? even if he is your biggest enemy. idk that could result in way too much going on. but it could give a reason for sonic being kept alive + a reason why his imprisonment wasnt too crazy bad. just spitballing here.

ANYWAYS ANYWAYS. for real thats it I NEED TO GO TO BED. good god. maybe i'll rb this post at some point with more ideas if i have them. hell maybe i'll even write this whole thing someday..... regardless. GOOD NIGHT NEW YORK CITY!!!!!!!!!!